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Eddie’s giggling maniacally with Christopher over their annual rewatch of Corazón salvaje on Buck’s couch, bowl of gummy candy between them, when they’re interrupted by a resounding crash. It sounds potentially devastating, and it travels damningly from somewhere near the vicinity of the kitchen. It’s decidedly the loudest thud Eddie’s heard in years, and he’s first at the scene of catastrophic accidents for a living.
A slightly inhuman groan quickly follows. Very dying bird-esque. Chris jolts violently, Sour Patch Kids going flying, while Eddie full-body winces, sucking in air through his teeth.
He’s on his feet in a jiff, speed-walking to the source. He knows with grave certainty there’s only one person besides himself under this roof who’s capable of emitting a noise like that.
Eddie rounds the corner, and sure enough, lying on the hardwood is Buck, forearm draped quite cinematically across his forehead in an Oh, Woe is Me imitation. His ungainly limbs are sprawled all across the floor—an aggrieved starfish.
He looks up at Eddie from beneath furrowed brows. “I’ve been wounded,” he grumbles.
“Oh, my God, Buck.” Eddie’s instantly on his knees. He’s pretty sure something pops on his way down. “What happened? Where does it hurt? Talk to me.” The line of questioning might be overkill, but he’s gathering clues.
His eyes dart around the space and take stock of their surroundings, trying to ascertain the source of the injury. He spies a faint red spot on the dining room’s doorjamb. About four feet below it is Theo. One fist is pressed guiltily over the toddler’s mouth, and his bottom lip wobbles perilously. He’s twisting the toe of one of his Paw Patrol sneakers into the other.
“Sweetie, it’s okay. C’mere.” Eddie beckons him over. “Were you boys playing? Buck’s fine. Just banged up.”
“That’s some pretty intense playing. I jumped a foot in the air back there,” Chris inserts, the clacking of his crutches coming to a pause just behind Eddie’s bent frame. “Was Buck running around with… cutlery?”
“Mijo,” Eddie warns, chiding. He scans Buck top to toe, hands hovering uselessly over Buck’s chest like he’ll be forced to administer compressions at any moment. Buck’s covering his forehead with a broad palm in a protective gesture, applying pressure.
“Lemme see it, Buck. Gonna have to play medic here.”
Buck groans like he’s just been asked to file his taxes early, but he acquiesces and lets Eddie drag the hand away from his hairline. Eddie keeps their fingers tangled and flips both of their palms. There’s some blood in the center of Buck’s.
Theo and Eddie gasp in unison. Buck just hisses like a startled cat. “Yeeowch, Holy mother of fu–”
“Maybe don’t finish that sentence, Buck,” Chris cuts him off promptly. “Unless Theo’s learning curse words today.”
“Fudge,” Buck squeaks, chastened. “I’ve been impaled.”
“You’d have to sprint through the wall for that to be a factual statement,” Eddie snorts despite himself, silently commending Buck’s ability to curb the expletives that would be pouring forth if there weren’t a four-year-old at the scene of the crime.
Eddie looks to Theo once more and turns serious again. His breathing has started to hitch in the telltale signs of an oncoming tantrum, and there are tears gathering at his waterline.
“I’m sorry, Mista Poop,” he whimpers, scuttling closer to Eddie’s side. They’re conveniently at level height with Eddie crouching like he is, so he’s not surprised when Theo seeks comfort and noses snot into the neckline of Eddie’s shirt. Theo peers at Buck's prone body remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to.”
“No sweat, sweetheart.” Buck gazes at his toddler with nothing but fondness. Eddie notes that there is sweat beading at his temples, but that Buck’s trying to mask some of the pain for Theo’s sake. “You won that round of tag fair and square, Spider-Man. Congrats.”
Theo cracks a tiny smile that Eddie can feel against his sleeve. “I get all the points?”
“Yessir.” Buck tries his best to salute with the hand not currently cradled in Eddie’s palm.
“Alright, monsters, I’ve gotta get this Disney princess to the bathroom,” Eddie says. He soothes the scared tension on Theo’s face with a tickle to his side.
“Is Buck Cinderella, Teddy?” Theo inquires, rocking on the balls of his feet and rubbing his chubby cheek into Eddie’s bicep like a tiger cub.
“You bet, kiddo.” Eddie dislodges from Theo’s hold temporarily in an attempt to haul him and Buck up from the ground, but is instead met with an indignant squawk.
“You have to do a countdown, Eddie,” Buck clicks his tongue petulantly, shooting him the stink eye. “I’m pushing thirty-five. These things need to be worked up to. Slowly.”
“God forbid he gets up on his own right now, Dad. His dignity’s been obliterated.” Chris pushes his glasses up his nose matter-of-factly.
Theo giggles like he understands any of the big words being volleyed back and forth right now.
Eddie shakes his head, forlorn but permissive. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He rises stiffly, nudging lightly at one of Theo’s shoulders to redirect him towards Christopher.
Eddie holds out his arms, hovering over Buck at a relatively dangerous angle. Who knows if he’ll pull another muscle. The odds are not in his favor.
He grips Buck’s wrists tightly. “Okay, on your mark, get set… Up. Upupup, c’mon.” Eddie pulls with more force than necessary, and Buck careens right into his personal space on his way to standing. Not that Eddie’s complaining. If anything, he feels pleasant tingles bubbling below his skin.
“I’ll just go ahead and clean myself up, Eddie,” Buck grins sheepishly, recentering himself. “I’m gonna collect pieces of my pride on the way. Like the gold coins in Mario, or something. It’ll be an adventure.”
“So now you’re capable of exertion,” Eddie chuckles, pushing a hand into the small of Buck’s back. The extra support isn’t strictly required, but Buck certainly isn’t protesting. Eddie privately basks in the nearness. “Yeah, not happening. I’ve got ya.”
Buck flushes blotchily, like Theo just took a red crayon to his cheeks and pressed down with all his might carelessly.
Eddie simpers, then twists to address the boys. “Okay, maybe you two should put on another episode of that telenovela while I get Buck set up in the bathroom. No more chaos for tonight. I’ll make dinner after. How bout’ chicken with smiley fries?”
He aims the last part at Theo, but he looks between Buck and Eddie doubtfully. “Is Daddy gonna be okay?”
Chris loops an arm around Theo’s neck. “Remember it’s my Dad’s job to fix cuts and ouchies, right, buddy? He makes people better every day. Buck’ll be fine in no time, I promise.”
Theo leans heavily into Chris’ side, and Eddie can see the simple reassurance and the implicit trust wash over his features.
It’s infinitely relieving to see. Eddie remembers the first few weeks of Theo’s fostering process. Only Buck could calm him down after a nightmare about Connor and Kameron. He’d had such a hard time letting people in.
Eddie’s heart squeezes affectionately. He loves how close the boys have become; how Chris can turn a stormy temper into sunshine just by offering subtle encouragement. Eddie’s fifteen-year-old son is basically Gandalf, and he’s endlessly grateful that Theo slowly allowed the two of them into his fractured but huge heart. Small children are resilient like that, but the gentleness and vulnerability that Theo has held onto in the face of what he’s endured is remarkable. Eddie’s surprised by him daily—loves him unconditionally.
“Okay, Kiss,” Theo responds, and Eddie’s chest caves in further. He has a habit of slurring the name and mispronouncing ‘r’ sounds when he’s due for a nap. He’ll grow out of it, but that doesn’t stop Eddie from wishing otherwise.
“Gonna get your Buck all patched up. Don’t you worry,” Eddie reassures, and he feels Buck’s eyeroll before he sees it.
Right on cue, Theo yawns. He summons what Eddie believes are the last remaining dregs of his energy to dart out from under Christopher’s arm and forward to hug Buck’s knee. “Feel betta,” he lisps against Buck’s jeans, kissing him through the denim.
Buck ruffles his wavy hair. “Thank you, honey. Be good for Chris, okay?”
Theo bobs his head up and down, then skips to the living room, mollified for now.
Chris watches him go briefly. “So there’s this thing called watching your step…” he starts, gazing back at Buck. His withheld smugness is completely transparent to Eddie.
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck mumbles, letting himself be manhandled as Eddie turns them towards the dimness of the hallway. “If Theo passes out, just tuck him in on the couch with the purple quilt. Can’t be the blue, he’ll have a meltdown. You’ll thank me later.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Chris jokes, adjusting his grip on his crutches. “By the way, I hope it feels better too, Buck,” he tosses over his shoulder on the way out, because he’s the best kid in the world and Eddie knows that even though by all appearances the injury is relatively minor, none of them like to see Buck in pain.
“Thanks, Superman,” Buck says, slumping into Eddie and looping an arm around his nape for more leverage. Their sides are smushed together perfectly; aligned in ways that make goosebumps scatter recklessly over his whole body.
Eddie guides them down the hall and over the threshold of the bathroom adjacent to Theo’s bedroom, flicking on the light switch upon entry. The room floods with cozy illumination. Against one wall there’s a white porcelain tub, fish-themed shower curtain pushed aside to display rubber ducks dotted across the rim in a neat line. One of them has a firefighter helmet positioned on its yellow synthetic feathers. Another is blue with official police officer garb—a birthday gift from Athena. Bluey vanilla bubble bath soap sits nestled in another corner of the tub, and Eddie spots Buck’s citrus and herbal shampoo—a last resort because of his curl treatment—behind some splash pals on a stick-to-the-wall caddy.
Next to the tub on the floor, there’s a curved shower bench atop a fuzzy dinosaur rug that Eddie’s sock-clad feet dig pleasantly into. Eddie knows Buck sits on the chair to wash Theo’s hair. It takes significant pressure off of Buck’s bad leg when he needs it.
He and Theo’s established routine only involves nighttime baths, and Buck’s confided that he does often require the seat so that he can better rest his legs after a twelve or a twenty-four. Buck’s content to make the sacrifice. He doesn’t want to change or force a toddler out of any patterns, and Eddie’s inclined to agree with him on that one.
Eddie separates from Buck to drag the stool by one of its four legs to rest in front of the vanity where the sink resides. He hastily twists to look back at Buck, who essentially takes up the whole doorway even with a slouched posture.
Buck reaches behind himself to turn the knob, effectively shutting himself and Eddie into cloying humidity. There’s no AC unit in the bathroom, and LA’s just now reaching the precipice of that evening period that brings blessedly cool relief.
Buck narrowly avoids banging the back of his scalp against the over-the-door rack that hangs Theo’s hooded Toy Story towel and a few of Buck’s own white and blue striped ones that have somehow ended up in here.
He shrugs sheepishly. “Guess the last thing I need is another head wound, huh?”
Eddie laughs, stepping forward to push down on Buck’s shoulders to get him to sit with his back turned to the mirror. Buck gets the memo, going where Eddie puts him easily. He refuses to acknowledge the twinge in his gut at that slight obedience. He swipes a froggie face towel from the cabinet beside the sink and starts to roll it skillfully with deft fingers.
“What’re you doing?” Buck murmurs.
“This’ll cushion your neck. I don’t want it digging into the ledge. I’m gonna hover you over the sink to rinse your cut after I inspect it.”
Buck smirks. “Inspect it? How serious. Are the blue gloves making an appearance? Sterility is highly important, I hear.”
“Hm. Bet you’d love that.” Eddie catches an outward flinch, refusing to let it show. He wrangles it masterfully, even more so when Buck’s eyes widen like he asked for something clandestine and is only just now catching up. “Stop stalling and tilt your head back, please,” Eddie finishes quietly.
Buck does so without argument, once again doing awful things to Eddie’s ego and nervous system. He slips the cotton towel under Buck’s nape swiftly.
“Good. Now spread your legs and take your shirt off.”
Buck’s face comes right back into view, whipping up and just missing a collision with the faucet.
“W-What did you just say?” Buck gasps out, scandalized. “Did you–”
“I need room to work, and unless you want water all over your grossly expensive top, you should shed the layer. It’s hot as a pistol in here, anyways.” Eddie plays it off with a careless shrug. He pretends he doesn’t register the tips of his ears burning or the fact that water is a substance that, last time he checked, dries. Semantics, whatever. “And you should really be more mindful of the injury that’ll be renting residence on your hairline if I don’t get to it, bud. Wouldn’t wanna mess with a pretty face or the Gods that grant them.”
“I– you– pret–” Buck stammers endearingly, mouth flapping open and closed repeatedly for the next thirty seconds. “Fine. Bossypants.”
He removes the navy garment, mumbling under his breath all the while. What’s left is Buck in a white tank top. A life-ruining white tank top. An obscenely tight white tank top that’s clinging to his pecs vulgarly.
Buck proceeds to lie back once more, practically baring his throat to Eddie… in a devastating white tank top. A white tank top that’s displaying chest hair. The tank top situation is dire, really. Irreversible, since Eddie would rather do something crazy like wade into Hen’s Waters of Scrutinization than admit outright to Buck that putting the overshirt back on would be better for Eddie’s fraying honor.
He steps between Buck’s massive thighs, making room for himself as he gulps like a cartoon character. He tries to mentally prepare for all the touching that’s about to take place by sorting through a mental checklist of plausible distractions. He lands on wisecracking, naturally.
“I read this article last Thursday about things you're advised against as a parent. Stomping around indoors with a toddler was listed at number four. You being… big certainly didn’t help the situation.”
Nailed it.
He taps gently at Buck’s cheekbone with the back of his hand. Buck takes the hint, only looking a little peeved. He moves minimally to let Eddie turn both levers for the faucet, testing the pressure and temperature.
“Yeah, well. The cardinal rule is that you never argue with a toddler. Especially not one who's been up since five a.m. I’ve known that since Maddie had Jee-Yun.”
“Touché,” Eddie grants. “I’m waving my white flag.”
“It was my fault, anyway. Of course I’d smack into a wall,” Buck says, flailing his arms out wide. “I just. I-I get so caught up with Theo, y’know? All I want is for him to be having fun. He deserves to have fun after the year he’s had so far.” He heaves a weighty sigh. “I didn’t mean to scare him. I should've watched where I was going.”
“Clumsy, you are,” Eddie quips, insides panging with intense sympathy as he pumps soap into his palms, lathering them up before rinsing with lukewarm water.
Buck sends him a sidelong glance. “My neck’s cramping, man. Do you have to be this thorough?”
“You said earlier that sterility is important. Hence, clean hands are important.” Eddie’s dripping thumb moves to wipe away some residual blood that’s dried near the splotch of Buck’s birthmark. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job with Theo. Give yourself some grace, okay? You deserve to let loose, too. A game gone wrong is hardly a big deal in the grand scheme of things.”
Buck flutters his lashes at him, pupils dilating. “Thank you,” he murmurs softly, and Eddie is going to do something highly inappropriate if he doesn’t hone in on the professionalism that has to be floating around somewhere in his conscious mind.
Buck’s earned all of the casual support that Eddie has to offer, is the thing. He’s been completely in his element with Theo for the six months that he’s been under Buck’s care. Any parent is prone to a few setbacks or blips along the way, but Buck’s hiccups—if they can even be called that—are well-intentioned. He’s been reckless but eager since he and Eddie met. Obviously that would translate into raising a young boy who takes after Buck in ways that still manage to amaze Eddie.
The guy also has a resolute competitive streak. He’s a terribly sore loser, to boot. It was inevitable that he’d end up slamming face-first into a corner while chasing Theo—that’s Buck in all his glory. He indulges Theo’s every whim; is constantly entertaining and putting on a rambunctious show if it means getting a smile on his kid’s face. Buck sprays him with hoses on scorching days, cuts his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into stars, will heedlessly skip his morning coffee if Theo insists on introducing him to a new Lego set that he smashed together.
Buck’s the kind of parent—has been for years, if Eddie’s honest—who will drop everything if Chris asks for help shooting things in a video game that won’t matter to him come bedtime. The kind of parent who says ‘no’ in the store when Theo asks for something for the sake of teaching a lesson, but a week later will magically pull the item from seemingly nowhere with a resounding TA-DA! because he has perpetual good cop tendencies and possesses bleeding sappiness.
Every part of Buck is fit for fatherhood. He was absolutely made for the role, no question. Eddie thought so when Chris was seven and whispered with him in the backseat of a Jeep Wrangler about how awesome he thought Buck was after an earthquake, and he holds the same sentiment almost nine years later.
He will forever be trying to return the endless favors that Buck’s added to his own plate like it’s nothing. He wants to make Buck’s life less daunting with every fiber of his being—looks at Buck’s siren blue eyes and knows with certainty that he's content to be caught in his orbit for years to come: his partner, his baker, his best friend. Eddie decided a long time ago that Buck will never outgrow those titles. They’re his alone to keep and hoard like a dragon with its gold.
Eddie clears his throat pointedly, slotting himself tighter against Buck’s frame as he bends down to examine the gash. It’s linear and about an inch and a half in scale.
“What’s the verdict, doc? Stitches?” Buck ventures. “Don’t tell me the hospital will have to do the gross glue. Dermabond? Your pouty lip is sending me mixed messages.” His voice croaks as he pokes at Eddie’s ribs. “Give it to me straight, Eddie. The suspense is killing me.”
“Be patient, there’s too much blood caked at your hairline,” Eddie answers, clenching his jaw in concentration. “I can’t see how deep it goes. I gotta wash it. Can you put your head back again for me? Yeah, there you go.”
Buck shudders and scrunches his nose when he makes contact with the water.
“Too cold? I can adjust–”
“No, it’s– it’s good, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yep,” Buck pops the ‘p.’
Eddie braces himself—brings a hand up to support the column of Buck’s neck while his other palm pushes Buck’s unruly curls off of his forehead.
Buck sucks in a sharp breath, emitting a sound of distress. Eddie grimaces, resolving to tug at the open wound as little as possible.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eddie shushes, watching the water run in rivulets over Buck’s temples as his cupid’s bow twitches in discomfort.
Eddie sweeps his touch over Buck’s hair and cards his fingers through ringlets until he’s tentatively gripping the base of Buck’s skull. He tugs delicately so that the crown of Buck’s head is angled even further back, water sluicing over his worry lines.
“Eddie,” Buck whines—skating a fine line between a noise that encapsulates pain or pleasure. Maybe it’s both. Eddie hopes it’s more of the latter. He feels like someone just picked up a handful of live coals and violently shoved them down the back of his henley.
This whole thing is straying far from innocence. He liked the noise and he wants to hear it again; just under different circumstances. In a softer setting, preferably.
Eddie’s quads are skimming Buck’s pelvis, and Buck’s plush lips form an immaculate ‘O’ as his hands come up to scrabble at and bracket Eddie’s hips, pulling him implausibly nearer with his vice grip.
“You’re okay,” Eddie fusses. He rubs the skin behind Buck’s ear soothingly, brushing the shell of it. “Almost done. Won’t need stitches.”
Buck nods up at him feverishly, curls romantically wet and eyes drooping like he could fall asleep if he were anywhere else. His teeth skim briefly over his bottom lip, and Eddie has the irrational urge to bite him there. His stomach coils tight at the thought—like a snake about to strike out and sink its fangs somewhere it shouldn’t.
Once Eddie’s satisfied that the wound’s been under running water for an acceptable period, he ceases his ministrations long enough to open the medicine cabinet hidden behind the mirror. He rifles around for an endless minute.
The point of Buck’s nose grazes the tendons and veins on the inside of Eddie’s wrist still holding his skull firmly in place, and he grunts under his breath in fumbling frustration when he knocks a few small miscellaneous tubes over, cheeks blazing.
Eddie distractedly snags a roll of gauze, scissors, and an antibiotic ointment that has a high probability of being magically infused. The salve has done wonders for any surface-level scrapes that Chris and Theo have accumulated as of late. He swipes a bottle of Ibuprofen to be on the safe side.
He sets his stash down one by one, shutting the mirror and resolutely avoiding Buck’s penetrating gaze as he grabs another clean blue towel from a neat stack atop the lid of the toilet tank.
Eddie releases Buck completely to better grasp the towel by two of its corners, stretching it wide in a clear invitation.
Buck hangs back against the ledge of the sink carelessly, letting the moment dangle. Beads of water dissolve into his tank top—spots of wetness that Eddie sort of wants to trace with his tongue. He looks up at Eddie from beneath light lashes all-too devoutly.
Instead of pushing the swarm of images that Buck’s stare conjures away, Eddie lets himself wonder if it could follow them to the bedroom. If he could intensify the worshipful nature of the look while tangled below pristine white sheets. He refuses to bat away the idea of Buck’s head digging into a pillow instead of rough granite; refuses to shut down picturing what shapes Buck’s curls make after good sex.
Hands squeeze Eddie’s waist like it’s instinct. Buck kneads at Eddie’s love handles mindlessly, bunching the fabric there. A shiver zips down his spine in response to the thumbs sweeping reverent, wide arcs along his hip bones. There’s balled up energy festering beneath his skin that’s keen to burst forth and ooze from his pores—like evidence of Eddie’s plight that he’s positive Buck must have noticed by now.
“Sit up, bud,” Eddie whispers, seeking a distraction lest he combust. Buck listens immediately, again. Eddie unceremoniously throws the towel over Buck’s face, startling a yip from him.
Eddie begins drying his drenched curls in erratic movements, treating Buck like a golden retriever who has just been out back tumbling in the mud. Buck’s leg starts jittering, which is an obvious tell. If he had a tail, Eddie knows it’d be wagging or thumping sporadically against the floor. He’s careful not to chafe the cotton material against Buck’s injury as he works.
The towel is tugged from Eddie’s grasp abruptly, and it pools at their feet sinuously. He blinks birdlike at Buck, and before he can protest there’s a full mop of hair being shoved into his midsection.
A yelp catches in his throat at the coldness determinedly seeping through his henley. It only takes a moment to put that sensation on the backburner, though. He’s too busy scruffing Buck’s neck and surrendering to the sudden but entirely welcome proximity.
Despite the chill, Buck is made of warmth where Eddie grips his neck. He harbors body heat, and whenever Eddie can, he leeches it. Now isn’t an exception.
There’re hot puffs of breath making their way through the thin fibers of Eddie's shirt where Buck is rolling the crown of his skull rhythmically, like he’d rather have Eddie’s torso drying his cut and not a random cotton accessory. Buck’s hands haven’t once moved from their position on his waist.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” Buck smears the words into Eddie’s clothed abs decadently. “Can I make it up to you? The next few six-packs are on me. Or I’ll bake those snickerdoodles.”
Eddie’s stomach clenches at the aching familiarity of the gesture. He doesn’t know if it's the fact that Buck believes he needs to repay Eddie’s assistance like the perpetual fixer that he is or if Eddie’s just exhausted, but he’s already coaxing Buck away from his midriff with two palms on either side of his stubbled jaw.
He can feel Buck’s panting breaths intimately. Fingers skim across Eddie's waistband, and Buck’s eyes play a tennis match with Eddie’s whole face as he waits for a response.
Eddie’s fate is sealed. He dips down promptly, pulse jackhammering as he closes the minimal distance—an answer in itself.
Buck returns the kiss with fervor, tongue coming into the mix as he melts into it. His big hands slide under the hem of Eddie’s top, tickling his tailbone. Eddie moans into his mouth, pointer finger circling the dimple that’s nestled itself into Buck’s left cheek due to all the grinning he does routinely.
Eddie wishes impulsively that he could smush their foreheads together without irritating the gash. He settles for nosing at the divot next to one of Buck’s smile lines and nipping the edge of his top lip. Buck gasps prettily in response, pushing his chest up and out.
Eddie’s always been more of a man of action. He’ll dabble in vulnerability, primarily with Buck, but he’s struggled with putting particular words to what their situation is for a while. Maybe it’s cowardly, leaning down and pressing their lips together without hesitance; without an overdue challenging conversation first, but he’s wanted to for months. Kissing Buck is the physical manifestation of the affection he’s stewed in for the better part of a decade. There wasn’t a name for the feeling before. How could there be when the emotion was buried beneath countless misdirecting others?
Buck is bumbling. He’s loud. He challenges Eddie and bickers with him to no end.
Eddie loves him, anyway—knows that love is reflected and returned. It’s the type of love that he can finally be confident in. Eddie only ever felt that surety and endurance with one other person: his son.
He can’t narrow a realization down to a specific instance. Eddie guesses that’s what makes Buck so special—the love has been there, and it can’t be helped.
Buck makes him brave enough to desire more, and the newfound understanding that he would rather risk a leap of faith than go one more second without indistinguishable closeness does Eddie in.
Their lives are full of chaos at the hands of a grieving toddler and a teenager, but the joy that’s derived from their tumult, and being able to field it with Buck by his side? Eddie’s long since reached the conclusion that the only person he’d be this happy handling these trials and tribulations with is him.
He wants to keep Buck—sends a silent prayer to the ceiling that his luck will let him.
Eddie pulls back from the kiss to brush their lips together. “You’re the easiest person to take care of, alright?” He speaks directly into Buck’s mouth, wanting the words to seamlessly pour down Buck’s throat and spread out to somewhere intrinsic, like his bone marrow. “I should apply that ointment now,” he adds, and their teeth clack.
Buck blushes like he’s on Mars instead of his seventy-five degree bathroom, and Eddie pecks the corner of his bottom lip, shifting incrementally to retrieve the medicine.
Buck tries to recover quickly when Eddie pops the lid of the tube with a flick of his thumb. “So… how long does that stuff have to stay on?” he asks shyly.
Eddie thinks he’s trying casual and missing by a mile. “At least three days,” Eddie responds, goading. “Preferably five, if I have anything to say about it.”
“I rest my case, then.” Buck waggles his eyebrows, evidently back to being difficult when it means getting a reaction out of Eddie. “Bossy. Five days is criminal. An arrestable offense. I wouldn’t bail you out.”
Eddie knows he’s totally bluffing; knows Buck would come running if he called. “When it comes to the chain of command, where does a licensed paramedic fall here, Buck?” he holds up the salve menacingly, shaking it in a clear taunt. It’s being applied whether Buck likes it or not.
“Keep talking dirty and see what happens, Eddie,” Buck leers, cockiness appearing in full force like an adorned second skin, insecurity evaporating.
Eddie chokes on air, coughing once; twice, before he regains composure. “Keep spitting filth at me and I’ll show you bossy.” He compresses a dollop of ointment from the tube onto two fingers, drawing a crescent on Buck’s forehead as he coats every part of the wound. Buck deflates like a balloon, leaning into the touch like keeping it is all he’s really worried about.
“And, if you stay still, I might give you the one Scooby-Doo bandaid we have left instead of standard beige,” Eddie tacks on smartly. “Kids’ll be pissed, but hey. You win some, you lose some.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Buck huffs a laugh, reaching out to catch Eddie’s wrist. He pillows his lips against Eddie’s knuckles. “I can’t say no to you.”
“Mm,” Eddie fidgets with the neckline of Buck’s tank top insatiably, winking as he tugs on it for another kiss. “Like that was ever in doubt.”