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Light comes in soft through the gauzy curtains that he’s got strung up on his bedroom windows.
Eddie’s got blackout curtains on his, but Buck likes it better like this: the drift of breeze through the open window, the way the sunlight dapples over their skin, the neighborhood waking up to a lazy Saturday morning while they settle down for a post-shift nap.
They’ve been doing this more often lately, tagging along to each other’s houses.
Buck’s not really sure what to make of it, or if he’s ready to actually look at it too closely, but it’s nice for what it is: a warm body in his bed, Eddie’s breaths slowing down and evening out, an arm draped around his waist.
One day last week, when he woke up around noon, he was curled like an open parenthesis around Eddie’s spine, knees tucked up in the hollow space of Eddie’s legs, hand splayed low on his stomach, and when he’d sucked in a breath and tried to pull away, Eddie had just wrapped a hand around his wrist to keep him where he was.
It's things like that that make his head spin, make him feel crazy and warm and like he doesn't know where the ground is half the time.
Now, he feels himself start to drift, sleep heavy on the closed lids of his eyes. Eddie’s hand is in his hair, sorting through curls still damp from the shower he took before they left work.
“I was thinking we could go to the beach later,” Eddie says after a few minutes, voice soft and close. “If you want. You, me, Chris.”
Buck doesn’t open his eyes right away, but he hums, lifting his eyebrows a little. He feels hazy and syrup-slow. Easy and loose, like a piece of taffy left out in the sun and pulled until it goes soft. He takes a slow breath, then another.
“Maddie and Chim, too,” he says. His eyes drift open, but only halfway. Eddie’s closer than Buck expected him to be, his face only a couple inches away on the pillow. “And the kids. Mads’s been asking me.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, quiet. His hand drifts out of Buck’s hair and down, thumb brushing over the ridge of his eyebrow where his birthmark sits. “I’ll text Chim when we get up.”
He yawns, then lets his hand drop lower, coming to rest against Buck’s jaw. Buck blinks again, slow. Heavy. His hand reaches out under the comforter and brushes over the crest of Eddie’s hip.
It’s tentative.
The touch, but the whole thing: laying here together, hands on skin. Making family plans for the weekend. Some corner of Buck’s brain already planning what he’s going to pack in the cooler for them all. Thinking ahead to later when Chris will cajole them into a post-beach movie night if he doesn’t already have plans with his friends. Collapsing together onto the couch with a pizza, knees knocking together and not pulling away. Making some excuse to spend the night and then curling up together with their skin still sunwarm and soft from the saltwater. Running a hand up Eddie’s back just to feel, tempted to open his mouth against his shoulder for a taste.
Eddie would let him, he thinks. He’d probably let him.
He shifts, and their legs tangle up, slotting together. His hand curls over Eddie’s hip, and Eddie’s fingers press into the bone of his jaw, drawing him in just a little closer, face angled, sharing air.