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“Come on,” Buck goads, tripping over himself as he follows Eddie past the threshold. He's still riding the high of the auction, preening about earning his charity of choice eight thousand dollars.
“No,” Eddie says flatly. Unfortunately, Eddie is not as enthused as Buck.
Buck keeps his mouth shut as Eddie toes off his shoes, busying himself with unbuttoning his jacket. He arches an eyebrow when Eddie huffs, lining his shoes up by the door.
He’s frustrated; that much is obvious. But Buck’s frustrated, too. He doesn’t understand why Eddie isn’t even a little bit curious about who his mystery bidder might be—who he’s going on a date with.
Eddie shrugs off his coat like he genuinely, wholeheartedly does not care. He’s tense, sure—but that’s Buck’s fault. He’s been prodding since they climbed into Eddie’s truck together, right after the auction.
Coat and shoes off, Eddie makes a beeline down the hall. Hot on Eddie’s heels, Buck veers after him, following him into the kitchen.
“You’re not even a little bit curious?” Buck asks. When Eddie flicks the kettle on, Buck sidles up next to him and grabs two mugs off the drying rack.
“Thanks,” Eddie says, ignoring the question as he grabs the tea out of the cabinet. The skin around his eye has darkened over the course of the day, and though Buck would prefer it if Eddie stopped getting injured altogether, he hadn’t been lying at the hospital. It does look sort of sexy.
Looking away hastily, Buck lifts himself onto the counter beside the sink and bites the inside of his cheek. Eddie spoons honey into one of the mugs – Buck’s mug – and, conveniently, avoids Buck's gaze entirely.
He takes his sweet time, pouring the water once the kettle's boiled. Then, finally, he looks at Buck.
“I’m the mystery bidder,” he says, face unreadable.
Uncomprehending, Buck blinks once, very slowly. “You—uh. What?”
“The mystery bidder,” Eddie says, tapping the counter as he averts his gaze. “It’s me.”
“You bid on yourself?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.”
A sudden silence stretches between them. Which makes sense. Buck needs a moment to… process. This is just—entirely unprecedented. He knew Eddie had been reluctant to sign up for the LAFD auction, but to bid real money on himself just to avoid going on a date? When it’s for charity? That’s—well. It’s odd, Buck thinks. Even for Eddie, who is a pretty weird guy, at his core.
It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t know the full story, either.
“So, uh,” he says, waiting for Eddie’s gaze to find his again before asking, “Who made the call for you? While you were- you know. On stage.”
Pursing his lips, Eddie lifts Buck’s mug. He stirs once before handing it to Buck, clearing his throat.
Eyeing him, Buck takes a careful sip.
Eddie says, “Maddie.”
Buck chokes. He sets the tea down at once, thumping himself on the chest.
“Shit,” Eddie says, hand finding Buck’s forearm. “You okay?”
Something horrible and itchy swells in Buck’s chest, a churning sort of throb that feels almost inflamed, like he’s infected with it. It’s misplaced jealousy, Buck justifies. He’s always been overprotective when it comes to his friends and family—of course his body would misinterpret the situation and fill him with envy and a million other inappropriate feelings.
Hoarsely, Buck manages, “What?”
Eddie frowns, and Buck hurries to clarify, “With— I meant Maddie. She bid on you?”
“She bid on me for me,” Eddie corrects, still looking a little concerned.
“R-right,” Buck croaks weakly.
God. This is a nightmare. He’s not even entirely sure why; he just knows that this development is not good.
“Right,” he says again. He doesn't know what his face is doing. “I get it. Just… you really hate dating that bad?”
Stepping away and out of Buck’s orbit, Eddie leans against the kitchen island. There, making a face, he shrugs.
“No,” he says, unconvincingly. “But I don’t have the energy for it. Not right now.”
“The energy?”
“I just got Christopher back,” Eddie says, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel like… meeting someone new. Or… or having to perform.”
Something pings in Buck’s brain, hearing that. He remembers an old conversation—one he must’ve been a part of years ago, surrounded by the team. Eddie had said… What was it he had said? Something about dating feeling like a performance?
Which is, essentially, what he’s saying now. Again.
“It’s not a performance,” Buck says slowly. He’s aware he has to choose his words carefully, which has never been his strong suit. But he wants to get this right. This is important.
Snorting, Eddie says, “It is.” Then, he allows, “Maybe not for you, man. But for the rest of us, it’s— it’s a whole thing.”
“A whole thing?” Buck echoes. “That’s evasive.”
Eddie levels him with a look. Buck stares right back.
“It doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, eventually. “I just don’t want to. End of story.”
“Eddie,” Buck says, hopping off the counter. “You haven’t even looked at a woman in over a year. Just— we can try clubbing again? I won’t be—”
“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, something like desperation shining in his eyes.
Buck hesitates. “I just—”
“No.”
“If we—”
“Buck,” Eddie raises his voice, and Buck’s mouth snaps shut with a click. Swallowing, Eddie says, “I already know what I want. Who I want. And I can’t… It won’t work. Okay?”
Freezing in place, Buck valiantly pretends his heart doesn’t drop with a sudden, violent lurch. His gut twists, a pulse of dread knocking him so off-kilter he sways where he’s standing and- it’s fine. He’s fine.
This is fine.
“Buck?” Eddie says, unsure now.
It is not fine.
He knows what’s happening, knows that the panic is encroaching. But he can’t panic. Not about this. Not about Eddie taking interest in someone els— in someone.
Rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans, he opens his mouth again.
“I—uh.” Buck clears his throat and then clears it again for good measure. “Is– do I know who it is?”
An emotion flits over Eddie’s face, there and gone again like a trick of the light.
Feeling oddly raw, Buck takes a halting step forward. “Do I?”
Exhaling, Eddie tips his head to the ceiling. When he speaks, his voice comes out thin, barely above a whisper.
“Please,” he says. “Leave it. Just this once.”
Beneath his ribcage, Buck’s heart gives an uncomfortable thud. It’s not unlike a disobedient child, stomping their foot. But Eddie looks serious, like any more questions might tip him over the edge, so Buck wrestles the urge to push into submission. He doesn’t want to know if he could make Eddie cry.
So, instead, Buck smiles weakly. “We don’t have to go clubbing.”
It's the right thing to say, startling a small laugh out of Eddie. He lowers his head again, nose pointed at the floor as he breathes out a soft, “Thanks.”
Buck hesitates. A couple of months ago, he would have made a joke now, he’s pretty sure. He would’ve mentioned, casually, that he’s kind of beat, and Eddie would’ve told him to take the couch.
But things are different now. They’re not like that anymore.
Which is good, Buck reminds himself. Best friends aren’t supposed to live together. Not in their mid-thirties. Not when they’re both single.
Besides, the couch is currently covered in Eddie’s and Christopher’s laundry, colour-coordinated and neatly organised. Moving all of it to the coffee table would be a pain.
“I—should go.”
There. He said it. It’s just as well he leaves now, anyway; Eddie needs to go to bed so he wakes in time to pick Christopher up from his sleepover tomorrow. Buck won’t be here to offer to do it for him.
Leaning against the counter, Eddie watches Buck, saying nothing. They both do that, these days. Something about the quiet moments draws their eyes to one another. Buck wishes he knew what it meant.
“Okay,” Eddie says, once the moment’s stretched as far as it can without growing uncomfortable.
Buck nods jerkily. “Okay.”
Naturally, Buck drives to Maddie’s.
There really isn’t any other way his night could have gone, unless he’d indulged in the split-second he considered calling Tommy. Unfortunately, thinking about Tommy brings an onslaught of memories to light that, within seconds, circle right back to Eddie.
I don’t have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.
He had said that. Out loud. Verbally. To his ex-boyfriend. That is something that happened in real life.
Jesus Christ.
Groaning, Buck presses the brake pedal gently, slowing ahead of a red light.
Honestly, he thinks, he’ll be lucky if Tommy ever likes an Instagram post of his again. He’d basically told him, to his face, that he didn’t have feelings for him.
And before that, vaguely, that he did in fact have feelings. For Eddie.
But, hey—it wasn’t a Freudian slip. Tommy just caught him off guard. And it was a nice thing to say! Kind of. He basically said that he doesn’t need to want to fuck someone just because he has a crush on them.
Not that he has a crush on Eddie. Though in terms of… physical attraction, he can admit that, maybe, sometimes, he gets a little dizzy around him.
Just—look. Buck can admit it: Eddie is an attractive guy. Denying it would be pointless. Buck’s a thirty-four-year-old man with eyes, for one. That’s not to mention his overactive libido. He’s man enough to admit, with the necessary hindsight, that Tommy hadn’t been entirely wrong to worry about Eddie being his competition—if only because Buck, on occasion, has trouble looking away from Eddie.
But it’s not like Buck’s in love with him. Not at all. Eddie’s just really aesthetically pleasing to look at! And Buck might not be an artist, but he looks at him with artistic appreciation, alright? Eddie’s a beautiful man. Sue him.
And Eddie had looked good at the auction, dressed in a white tank top that did unspeakable things to his shoulders. And biceps. And forearms. And neck. And–
Okay, the point is: Eddie had looked good. The strobing lights had painted him in a monochromatic purple, and he’d been sweaty, and when he raised his arms Buck had caught a glimpse of his armpits and had felt a little like a Victorian lady catching sight of a bare ankle. The bass had been pulsing in time with Buck’s heart, and he’d had a moment, stood backstage staring at his best friend, where he’d thought that maybe— maybe this was more than aesthetic appreciation.
And then, like the responsible adult he is, Buck locked that thought into a tiny box and put it in a bigger box and buried it.
The thing is this: Buck’s feelings don’t matter. Eddie Diaz is straight, and he’s Buck’s best friend, and he has enough to deal with. He doesn’t need Buck’s bleeding heart thrown into the mix. (Though, Buck often feels like Eddie deals with it anyway, given how prone Buck is to spilling his feelings all over the place anywhere, red, hot and messy. Eddie takes good care of him. Because he’s a good friend.)
Maddie swings the door open approximately thirty seconds after Buck knocks, still wearing what she wore to the auction.
“You might throw up,” Buck tells her.
“Hi, Buck,” Maddie says mildly. “Why might I throw up?”
“You’re lactose intolerant.”
“I’m not following.”
“I’m milk,” Buck says. “Because, clearly, I have an expiration date.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “I thought the auction went well?”
Nonsensically, Buck says, “My soul is not well.”
Five long seconds tick by. Then, sighing, she cracks the door open and gestures for him to come inside. “I’ll put on some tea.”
“No need,” Buck says, breezing past her. “I had some at Eddie’s.”
Following Buck into the living room, Maddie asks, “You went home with Eddie?”
“I–” Buck hesitates, falling into the couch. “I did. We took his truck; I had to grab the jeep at his place anyway.”
Sitting beside Buck, Maddie smiles. “Okay. Did you two get ready together?”
Suspicious, Buck narrows his eyes. “Yeah. He, uh. He needed help picking out an outfit. And– and the whole thing with Abigail kind of got to him, so I drove Chris to his sleepover.”
"That was nice of you," Maddie comments, mild as ever.
"Sure," Buck says, sweating for some reason. A little annoyed now, he says, "Thanks, by the way. For keeping me in the dark."
"About?"
"Bidding on Eddie."
"You're welcome."
"Sure," Buck says, again. Like an idiot.
A moment passes, and then Maddie says, “Hmm.”
“Hmm? What does hmm mean?”
“Nothing,” Maddie says. She purses her lips the way she always does right before she says something devastating. “It’s just interesting.”
Buck braces himself. “Interesting?”
“Interesting, how Eddie paid two thousand dollars to avoid going on a date with a woman.”
“Two thousand five hundred,” Buck corrects immediately, predictably devastated.
Maddie shrugs. “Just saying.”
Okay. Buck can salvage this. He’s done it once already – it wouldn’t be so crazy – and he can do it again.
“He’s my best friend,” he says. It’s a terrible defence. Maddie has described Chimney, her husband, as her best friend on a hundred separate occasions.
Because Maddie’s an angel, she lets it slide. “Is it brotherly?”
“What?” Buck asks, weary.
“Eddie,” Maddie clarifies. “Do you love Eddie like a brother?”
“Totally,” Buck lies.
Closing her eyes, Maddie takes a deep breath. It looks a little like she might be praying. Buck dutifully stays silent.
“Look—” Maddie says, and her voice comes out surprisingly gentle. “Eddie’s not some Devil-may-care Lothario. He doesn’t do casual dating. I get that, I do. But he doesn’t seem interested in dating women, period.”
Buck swallows. “So?”
“So,” Maddie says, steeping her fingers together. “It makes me wonder, sometimes. Why you’re so invested in getting him a girlfriend.”
“I just— I–” Buck cuts himself off, frustrated. “I just want to give him that. A partner. Someone to come home to. He deserves that.”
Maddie’s face gentles. “So do you.”
Stupidly, Buck’s eyes prickle.
“I– I guess I just…” Buck clenches his jaw.
He doesn’t know how to explain it to Maddie. He so desperately wants Eddie to have someone. He really does. But the thought of it, of Eddie wrapping his arms around a shapeless stranger, kissing the side of their face, intertwining his life with them—it fills him with unease.
Inhaling, he tries again, “I guess I just didn’t believe that people actually— wanted me around. But then I met Bobby, and the team, and you came back, and—Eddie. Eddie showed up.”
He doesn’t have the words to describe what Eddie joining the 118 had actually been like. Sure, the first two shifts had been rocky, but once Buck got over his peacocking and Eddie lowered his guard… it feels reductive, calling it magic, but that’s what it had felt like.
And Buck’s been told many times before by many different people that he’s loved, that they’ll miss him, that they would stay if they could, but when Eddie’s hand had clasped his—
It was the first time Buck believed it. That Eddie was telling the truth.
Eddie would always have his back.
He looks up at Maddie, whose face has morphed into something sad.
“It was a passive belief,” Buck tells her quietly, scratching the side of his nose. “Thinking people would be better off without me, I mean.”
“Beliefs aren’t passive, Buck,” Maddie says, voice gentle. “You either subscribe to a belief, or you don’t. Time just… reinforces it.”
“I know.” Buck reaches for her, squeezing her hand. “But I got over it a long time ago, okay? I promise, I’m— I’m good.”
Eyes flickering between Buck’s, Maddie nods. She turns her hand, squeezing Buck’s hand. “And Eddie,” she says, almost carefully. “He helped?”
Buck ducks his head, huffing a laugh. “He gave me something to fight for. I was so young, Maddie, a– and all I wanted to do was prove myself. To Bobby, to you, to myself. But Eddie, he gave me Christopher. He made my connection to his own son legally binding, like I was worth something.”
“Legally binding?”
Oh. Right. Buck’s never told her about Eddie’s will.
“Ha,” Buck pulls his hand back, rubbing the back of his neck. “He put me in his will, after the— the well. But he didn’t tell me about it until he got shot.”
“He—” Maddie’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “He did. Okay.”
“Maddie,” Buck whines, something restless and wild clawing at his chest. He doesn’t know why he wants to prove Maddie wrong. It’s just something he has to do. As a little brother, and as a not-entirely pathetic adult man. “You’re reading into things.”
“I don’t think I am. Personally. But that’s a personal belief I am personally subscribed to. So.”
“The point is,” Buck says, mindful to keep quiet so he doesn’t wake Jee-Yun, “That I want good things for him. Because he’s— he’s a good thing.”
Maddie looks at him then with the same care she used to when he was a kid.
“You should tell him that.”
“That would be crazy,” Buck says feebly. “Wouldn’t it?”
Maddie delivers her final blow: “I don’t think so.”
Crumpling like a wet napkin, Buck says, “Fuck.”
Buck is uncomfortably aware of his limbs on his drive back to Eddie’s. His legs are just very long, is the thing. Whenever he gets into an unfamiliar vehicle, he has to spend several minutes adjusting the seat to his liking, unwilling to fold himself into the shape of a pretzel to make himself fit.
Maybe, he thinks as he flicks the blinker aggressively, if he were better at fitting himself into the space presented to him, he’d be less of a mess.
It isn’t until he’s pulling into Eddie’s driveway that he realises how late it is. Ten minutes past midnight is an unusual time to drop by a friend’s house.
Nervously, he kills the engine and slips his phone out of his pocket.
Buck: U awake?
He only has to wait a couple of seconds for three little dots to appear beneath his message.
Eddie: Did you lose your key?
Heaving a sigh of relief, Buck reacts to Eddie’s message with a thumbs down and climbs out of his car.
Walking up the driveway, he looks up in time to see Eddie standing there, leaning in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He’s dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt now, hair soft and curling over his forehead, which means he’s had time to shower.
Buck slows as he approaches, unsure how to proceed.
He settles for a classic.
“Hey.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “Hey.”
“How’s, uh.” Buck closes the distance between them in three very slow strides. “How’s the eye?”
“Tender,” Eddie admits, which is more than he would tell anyone else. Buck knows that. Eddie doesn’t tell anyone when he’s hurting, proficient enough with shoving everything down. And when that doesn’t work, he moves. He moves, and he stays in motion—like the time he quit the 118 and started working in dispatch, and felt so stuck he begged for his job back. Like the time Chris fled the state and Eddie just—froze. A man stuck in time, until something snapped, and he ran after him, and chauffeured strangers around, and argued with his mother, and, eventually, came back.
But then Bobby died, and then undied, and Eddie had to re-certify, and Buck’s not entirely convinced Eddie’s stopped moving, actually. Not for a long, long time.
“You iced it?” Buck asks.
“Soon as I got back from the hospital,” Eddie says, nudging Buck through the door with his shoulder. “You know that.”
Buck does know that. He drove Eddie home once he had given his statement to Athena. He’d asked about the whole ordeal once they were both in Buck’s car, and let Eddie fill him in on the gaps he had missed. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from feeling sort of sad, because he should have been there. Eddie shouldn’t have had to go looking for Abigail alone. He shouldn’t have had to discover a knife in his truck’s tire by himself.
But Buck can’t think like that. He’s Eddie’s friend. He has his back, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be there for every little thing.
Besides, he got to take care of Eddie later, even though pressing a cold compress to an already-injured eye hardly felt much like caretaking in the moment.
“Wanna crash here?” Eddie asks when Buck doesn’t say anything, shutting the front door and locking it behind him. “It’s pretty late.”
“Couch is, uh, out of commission,” Buck reminds him, peering down the hallway like the couch itself might appear and announce that, actually, Eddie put away all the laundry in the time it took Buck to leave and come back.
That does not seem to be the case, though. Eddie’s already turning around, heading down the hall. Casual as anything, he says, “Bed isn’t.”
Buck blinks. As always, he startles into motion as soon as Eddie’s out of sight, because he’s hardwired to follow Eddie anywhere—whether that be to hell and back, or–
The bathroom.
Eddie presses Buck’s toothbrush into his hand as soon as he shuffles up to the sink next to him, toothpaste already on it.
“Bed?”
In the mirror, Eddie arches an eyebrow. “We’ve shared before.”
And who is Buck to argue with that? It’s solid logic. Just because Buck’s aware of his bisexuality now doesn’t mean anything has changed. At all.
Because he has manners, Buck waits for Eddie to apply toothpaste to his own toothbrush before he starts brushing. He tries to stay focused on the task at hand, but his eyes keep sliding back to Eddie in the mirror. Even like this, mouth foamy with his teeth bared, he’s a vision to behold. Tired Eddie is one of Buck’s favourite Eddie’s—when he’s sleep-rumpled and soft, and his shoulders finally lose some of their steady rigidity.
Just as Buck starts brushing his tongue, Eddie’s eyes flicker up, meeting his. He snorts a laugh, and Buck’s heart skips three beats.
He’s so in love with him it hurts.
Oh no, he thinks faintly, lowering his toothbrush.
Around the toothbrush, Eddie asks, “You okay?”
This is the worst day of my life, he thinks. Then, mentally, he corrects himself, slotting this day below the day he got struck by lightning. Dying trumps unrequited love, probably.
He looks away from Eddie. “Long day.”
The look Eddie gives him is not unlike the one Maddie gave him earlier, like he’s not sure whether to be worried or amused.
Be worried, Buck thinks darkly.
Eddie says nothing as they finish up their respective routines, loitering as Buck finishes up with the face creams Eddie has, on more than one occasion, called frivolous and entirely pointless, Buck, seriously.
He bumps Buck’s shoulder when he’s done, and Buck can’t help but smile. It’s reflexive, at this point. An instinct baked into Buck’s DNA.
They turn at the same time, before Buck pivots to flick off the big light. Squinting through the dark, Buck takes a step toward the hall, but he overestimates where the doorway is, and stumbles.
This, unfortunately, means that Eddie also stumbles. He manages to grab Buck’s arm the same second that his back collides with the doorway. His momentum carries Buck with him, accidentally yanking him right into his space.
Suddenly, they’re pressed chest-to-chest, noses almost brushing. Panicked, Buck finds Eddie’s eyes in the dark, who looks just as shocked as Buck is.
“Sorry,” Buck exhales shakily, heart galloping like a herd of stallions.
“It’s…” Eddie starts, throat clicking as he swallows. “It’s okay.”
Without meaning to, Buck’s gaze slips down to Eddie’s mouth. In the dark, he can just barely make out the thin scar on his lip. A dangerous, half-frenzied thought floats by, urging him to touch it, to trace the scar with the pad of his thumb and familiarise himself with it.
Fuck. What is he doing?
Eddie still hasn’t let go of him.
“E-Eddie,” Buck whispers. He’s not sure what to do, except apologise again.
“It’s okay,” Eddie reiterates, soft enough to kill. His eyes are locked on Buck’s, the way they so often are. The way they have been since he returned from Texas.
Their height difference is hardly significant, but like this, Eddie has to tip his head back ever so slightly. He exhales, and Buck feels his minty breath on his lips.
Unbidden, heat pools in Buck’s gut.
The hallway lamp casts a gentle light over Eddie, half-shrouded in shadow as he is. He looks almost holy. Holy and devastating. He feels almost drunk, having to lock his muscles in place to keep from swaying closer, even as he tips his head down to breathe in the soft notes of Eddie’s coconut shampoo.
He should pull away. Right now. That would be the normal, best-friend thing to do.
But Eddie’s still holding onto him, and Buck can’t. He can’t move, not until Eddie asks him to. His hand around Buck’s forearm might as well be a leash. A leash Buck really, really doesn’t want to slip out of.
“Buck.”
Buck returns his gaze to Eddie’s face, half-lidded eyes finding Eddie’s.
At his sides, Buck’s hands twitch with the need to touch him. And—well. Eddie hasn’t cracked a joke yet, hasn’t shoved him away or– or anything.
Hesitantly, Buck lifts his arm, skimming his fingertips over Eddie’s forearm. Eddie shivers at the touch, eyes flickering down to watch Buck’s hand drift higher, finding purchase on Eddie’s bicep. He squeezes gently, breath leaving him in a whoosh.
It’s a really good bicep. If he were allowed, he would bite it. Gently.
Against him, Eddie twitches. Buck can’t make himself look Eddie in the eye any longer, so he lets his eyes drift, settling again on Eddie’s mouth.
A dull thrum of want pulses through him, and Buck tamps it down as quickly as he can. He can look, he decides. He can look, but he can’t touch.
Slowly, as if cataloguing his moves to him, Eddie lets go of Buck’s arm. His hand drifts up, settling on the side of Buck’s neck, thumb pressed to his pulse point.
Convulsively, Buck swallows.
He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what Eddie’s thinking, and his own head is spinning.
Into the quiet, Eddie exhales, “Tell me to stop.”
Buck’s breath hitches, eyes flickering back up to Eddie’s.
This is it, he realises. They’re both here, finally, toeing the line neither of them has crossed before. It’s a terrifying realisation, knowing that no matter the choice, things will be different after this.
But things have been different for a while. Maybe things can be different in a new way.
Summoning all the bravery he can, Buck shakes his head.
That, it seems, is enough for Eddie. He tilts forward, nose brushing Buck’s as he pauses, leaving them both suspended in the moment.
Buck holds his breath, even as his eyelids flutter shut.
Voice thick with want, Buck says, “Please.”
Hand tugging gently at his neck, Eddie slots his mouth against Buck’s.
His lips are warm and plush, and Buck melts. As softly as he can, he returns the kiss. He wants to convey what he’s feeling, which is a little difficult given that it ranges from let me stay, let me be yours to holy freaking shit, take me now—but Buck thinks he does an okay job.
Tugging Buck closer, Eddie tilts his head, separating their damp mouths only for a moment before leaning in again. This time, he kisses Buck more surely, licking at the seam of his mouth as he presses up into him.
Arousal slams into Buck. He can't think, whimpering into Eddie’s mouth as his hand fumbles to find Eddie’s waist. He parts his lips around a quiet gasp, and Eddie doesn’t waste a second, tongue brushing Buck’s smoothly.
Of course Eddie’s a good kisser. The bastard’s good at everything.
Buck gives as good as he gets, licking into Eddie’s mouth. The sound of their synchronised panting is a little obscene, paired with the wet sound of their lips meeting again and again and again.
This, Buck realises, is the last time. This is his last first kiss. He’s sure of it.
Buck sucks at Eddie’s bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth long enough to elicit a soft moan from Eddie. Lightheaded, Buck tries to grapple with the fact that he did that. He’s the reason Eddie made that noise.
Giddily, Buck grins. This means he has to stop biting Eddie’s lip, but it’s so, so worth it to see the look on Eddie’s face.
He looks wrecked. Even in the dark, Buck can tell his pupils are blown. His mouth is wet and puffy and pink, his cheeks a similar colour, flushed as they are.
“Holy shit,” Buck breathes, still grinning.
Eyes wide and disbelieving, Eddie rasps, “Yeah.”
A warm feeling blooms in Buck’s chest, winding around his ribs. It feels too much like hope. But maybe he’s earned a little hope. Given the whole Eddie-kissed-him-first thing.
Still, he finds himself asking, “Was that– was that okay?”
A look so fond it steals the breath from Buck’s lungs overtakes Eddie’s face.
“More than,” Eddie tells him. He draws a circle beneath Buck’s jaw with his thumb, lips curving into a smile when Buck leans into the contact.
Flickering his eyes between Eddie’s, Buck smiles back.
“Earlier,” Buck says, keeping his voice hushed, “When you said you already knew who you want…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, enraptured by the way Eddie’s eyes go soft and wide all at once.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Eddie says, “Buck…”
“Is it—”
Is it me?
The words fight to escape, but Buck doesn’t let them. He can’t be wrong about this. Not now, with everything hanging on the line.
But Eddie nods. Once, sharply.
“It’s you,” Eddie whispers.
At once, Buck’s vision blurs. He sucks in a breath, tipping forward to press a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s face, cheek, and jaw—overwhelmed and so full of relief he’s fit to burst.
He presses another kiss to the side of Eddie’s neck before deciding to stay there. Eddie seems to agree with Buck, hand squeezing the back of his neck.
“I love you,” Buck confesses.
Eddie squeezes him, nose pressed to Buck’s neck. “I love you too. I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it.”
Clutching the back of Eddie’s shirt, Buck says, “You didn’t have to.”
“Kind of think I really did.” Voice shaky, he adds, “You’re my best friend.”
They stand there for a long moment, halfway between the bathroom and the hallway. It's really nice, holding Eddie, and being held right back. Buck can count on one hand how many times they've hugged over the years. He's pretty keen on making sure they hug, like, at least once a day from now on.
When Buck pulls back, he doesn’t pretend his eyes aren’t damp.
“Don’t go on a date with yourself,” Buck blurts.
Eddie laughs, short and surprised. “No?”
“No,” Buck says, unable to fight the smile trying to split his face in half. “No, uh– I think, maybe, there’s another candidate.”
“A better candidate?”
“Not a chance,” Buck says immediately. “But—it might be less lonely, if I’m there too.”
The smile Eddie gives him is so sweet Buck full-body flushes. "Deal."