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Buck has been at the beach for less than two minutes before all his leg hair, ankle to mid-thigh, is covered in sand. Helping hand from, of course, his four year old ward, whose first port of action was to fill up his little plastic bucket with sand and then fling it in Buck’s general direction, like gritty, unappealing wedding confetti.
Beside him, Chris and Eddie snicker.
Loudly, Buck says, “Hey, Theo, did you know Eddie’s favourite beach activity is being buried in the sand?”
In his peripheral vision, Eddie grimaces, and Chris cheerfully adds, “We could make him a merman tail.”
“Mermaid,” Theo says with authority, and then gallops straight for the water.
“Fuck,” Buck mumbles, already sprinting after. Eddie’s half-heartedly yelling Theo’s name behind him, and Buck reaches his off-leash toddler just before the babiest of waves manages to lick his tiny toes, scooping him up. “Hey, no running off, especially into the water, okay?”
“Wanna go in th’ water,” Theo pouts. “You said we could all—”
“I know, kid,” Buck jogs him in his arms, mostly as a distraction tactic. “But first, we gotta put on sunscreen, and get you into your floaties, and then we can go in the water.”
Theo sighs, deflating in his arms. Buck cheers silently—a parenting win so easy that on most days it would probably have reduced him to relieved tears. He deposits Theo on the picnic blanket Eddie’s set up, firmly weighed down by a couple of collapsable beach chairs, because Eddie is a princess averse to sand in his asscrack. Hence the sand-mermaid threat. But Buck won’t poke fun at him for that, not today—thirty-five has brought with it a humbling need for lumbar support. Plus, it’s not like he’s missing out on the sand component of being at the beach. Theo’s making sure of it.
“Shirt off, sunscreen on,” Eddie orders. Chris is already in just his trunks, slathering his pale, freckly arms in sunscreen. He hands the bottle back to Eddie, turning around so his dad can get his back.
Despite having a front row seat to it these last nine years, Buck still always feels his heart swell to bursting seams when he sees how tender Eddie is with Chris. Even now, nearly sixteen years old, tall and gangly, and Eddie’s face is so, so soft as he rubs sunscreen into the space between Chris’s shoulder blades.
“Thanks, Dad,” Chris mumbles, putting on his prescription sunglasses.
Eddie kisses the top of his head, and then grins when Chris groans and contorts his body to get away from the public display of parental affection.
“Who’s next?” Eddie says, hands still covered in cream. Buck’s tugged Theo’s stripey t-shirt over his head and wrangled his floaties on, so he gives him a little pat in Eddie’s direction. “Hey, Spider-Man. Let’s not cosplay all that red, though.”
Theo blinks at him, uncomprehending and uncaring. Eddie laughs and kneels on the blanket, smearing sunscreen over Theo’s front, his arms, pudgy legs, his little face, nose and cheeks, before turning him around and getting his back.
It’s remarkable, Buck thinks, that Eddie’s hands are so large a single one spans nearly the entire width of Theo’s body. He doesn’t have to move his hands except to rub the sunscreen in. Theo squirms in place, impatient to get to the fun parts of the beach.
“Okay, okay, hold your horses,” Eddie says, giving his shoulders one last pass. “There ya go. Ready for the beach.” Even kneeling, he’s taller than Theo, and Buck’s heart once again tries valiantly to explode when Eddie drops a soft kiss to the top of Theo’s curls.
The feeling lasts only a second, immediately replaced by ever-familiar resigned panic when his toddler tries to make for the surf like a greyhound out the gate. Buck lunges, grabbing his arm, the momentum swinging Theo clean off his feet. Buck winces, glad small children are less likely to dislocate limbs. Or so he hopes, from personal experience.
“You said,” Theo whines, lower lip set mutinously.
Before a full tantrum can commence, Chris takes Theo’s other arm, clasping their hands. He has to stoop to do so, and Buck’s heart can only grow so much. His favourite people, who he loves more than anything, who love each other too. He thinks, secretly, about what they must look like to the other patrons of this beach. If they look like a family.
“Only by the edge until I get there, okay, Theo?” Buck says, but he’s looking at Christopher, who tilts his head into the sun and gives Buck a lazy smile of reassurance. Buck’s heart goes BA-THUMP, about ten decibels louder than normal operating standards. Big brother looks good on Chris. And standing hand-in-hand, same mops of burnished gold curls, the boys couldn’t look more like a matching set. “Then we can go in deeper. Stick with Chris, yeah?”
Theo gives a heartfelt harrumph of assent, letting Chris lead him down to the water’s edge at a calm, non-cannon-launcher pace.
Buck sighs, ready to collapse into a chair already. No, scratch that thought, he is not old enough to park his ass and get leathery in the sun all day. He’s gonna do beach day right. That means swimming. That means sandcastles. And it’s basically his sacred parental duty to teach Theo how to get crisp edges on a turret. He whips off his shirt with gusto, and is met by Eddie looking at him in amusement.
“What?” he asks.
Eddie shakes his head. “Just enjoying whatever face journey you were on.”
Buck throws his t-shirt in Eddie’s face. Eddie emerges from the fabric with an undimmable smile, chucking it onto one of the chairs. With his other hand, he tosses Buck the bottle of sunscreen.
Buck slathers it on himself, knowing he’ll burn something awful if he doesn’t. When he gets to his back, Eddie watches him contort himself for ten amused seconds before snorting and saying, “Turn ’round, bud. I got you.”
Buck turns obediently, facing the expanse of the sea. Theo and Chris are poking at something along the shoreline. Buck hopes it’s not alive.
Eddie takes the sunscreen from him and Buck can’t help but whole-body shiver when his palms touch the warm skin of Buck’s back. Big hands—they don’t quite span Buck’s width but they’re still. Big. Softer than he remembers. Not that he keeps a mental catalogue of the texture of Eddie’s hands. Still, he must have started using a hand cream or something. He wonders what it smells like. Well—they probably just smell like sunscreen right now.
It's familiar, the way Eddie rubs in sunscreen in broad, purposeful strokes. He keeps a firm pressure, nearly massaging it into Buck’s skin. Buck can feel himself relax, posture going slack, listing back into Eddie.
By the water, Chris is picking up what looks to be a large bivalve. Theo’s small arms reach for it, and Buck can see his little mouth talking a mile a minute, ocean breeze whipping the words out of audibility. Eddie’s palms give Buck’s shoulders one final sweep, and then his mouth is pressed to the back of Buck’s neck, a quick kiss.
“All done,” he says, patting Buck’s shoulder.
Buck glances back at him over his shoulder. “Want me to get you?”
Eddie’s in his standard beach outfit: board shorts and a loose-fitting black tank. “Nah,” he says. “Got my shoulders. Not getting in the water today.”
“Boo,” Buck boos. “You can’t come to the beach and not get in the water.”
“Watch me,” Eddie says placidly, flipping his sunglasses down and lounging comfortably in one of the chairs. He stretches under the sun, limbs long and golden brown already. When Buck doesn’t move—just distracted, that’s not a crime—Eddie jabs him in the shin with his big toe. “Go on, get. That seaweed’s not gonna poke itself.”
As if rehearsed, Chris and Theo both call a loud and slightly concerning, “Buuuuck.”
“Go,” Eddie says, tipping his face up into the sunshine. He’s like a cat in a patch of warmth sometimes. Not quite the Labrador-who-rolled-in-mud vibe that Buck brings to the table. “Our offspring have summoned you.”
It’s only because Buck’s attention is divided right now that his heart doesn’t register our offspring and begin a nuclear countdown. He gives Eddie a mock salute and jogs down the beach, reaching the kids to what is surprisingly a delightful discovery: a little hermit crab making its way across the shore with a shell much too big for it.
Chris is regaling Theo with hermit crab facts—facts Buck can parrot perfectly, learned on many an aquarium jaunt together—and Theo, his inattention curbed in the face of his adoration of Chris, squats in the sand and watches the crab shuffle along.
The next four hours are a blissful bustle of splashing in the surf and wonky sandcastles and hunting for cool shells. Eddie joins them for the latter, picking his way along the dune. He even appeases Theo’s desire to mermaid-ify him by allowing mismatched clam shells to be placed on his pecs as he reclines in his chair, a briny brassiere.
They both register the moment to pack up and go home at the exact same time, Theo fading fast and being fussy about his juice box. There’s a new—or new-ish—camaraderie they share, a single look exchanged to be on the same page. That’s been there at work and in their friendship for years and years, but this parental version of it makes Buck feel giddy. It reminds him of when Chris was young enough for it to feel like this, but turned up to a hundred, because he’s not second-guessing his place here anymore. He and Chris pack everything up while Eddie holds Theo at his hip, pointing at various dogs on the beach to distract him.
It’s only when they’re ready to leave, making their way up to the wooden boardwalk, when Eddie presses a casual kiss to Theo’s temple, does Buck realise, a phantom touch to the back of his neck.
He thinks about it all the way to South Bedford, thinks about it while bathing a belligerent Theo, thinks about it while showering himself. He gets out of the bathroom, last one to get clean, and pokes his head into Chris’s room.
Chris is playing Kingdom Come: Deliverance II—which he has not permitted Buck to be involved in yet, which is fair, they don’t have to play everything together, even if at one point not very long ago they did—his desktop rigged to the PlayStation he’s allowed to have in his bedroom on weekends. He’s got headphones on, and behind him, Theo is totally conked out in Chris’s twin bed.
Chris raises an eyebrow in question when he sees Buck, lifting one padded ear of his headphones. Buck shakes his head with a smile, closing the door on them gently.
And you see, if he thinks about it, which he has done maybe too much, it makes sense, actually. Eddie kissed Chris, kissed Theo; of course he kissed Buck. He was just next in the production line. Habit is a bitch, and Eddie may be the most naturally affectionate person Buck knows. Besides, there’s nothing inherently non-platonic about an innocuous kiss. On the back of his neck! That’s not reserved for romantic context.
Eddie’s in the kitchen, prepping dinner. Spaghetti bolognese, which is gonna be a mess where Theo is concerned, but that’s what wet wipes are for. He jumps when Buck clears his throat, and, from the back, the tips of his ears are red—a surefire indicator of embarrassment Buck is deeply familiar with when it comes to both the Diaz boys.
“What can I do?” Buck asks, stepping into the kitchen.
“Um,” Eddie says, “you could peel the carrots.”
Buck walks over to the utensil drawer in which the peeler lives. Notably, a drawer about a foot from Eddie’s hip right now. Like some kind of nervous horse, Eddie skids back two steps when Buck enters his space.
“Jeez,” Buck says, “I’m not gonna stab you.” He brandishes the peeler suggestively.
Eddie mumbles something unintelligible and moves around to the other side of the kitchen island to continue his own chopping.
All through cooking, and dinner, and bedtime, Eddie acts like he’s been caught committing a crime every time Buck addresses him. Bedtime is always tough at the Diaz house, because Theo is thrilled to be having a sleepover with Chris, every time. Today is smoother than usual, Theo so exhausted by the sun and the sea he has a fiery but blessedly short meltdown and then barely makes it through dinner without faceplanting into his spaghetti.
(Like father, like son, Buck gives himself permission to think. Just for a second. Fleeting, but still incontestably real; and with it, the aching memory of blinking awake to Bobby disgruntledly handing him a stack of paper towels for his own sauce-stained cheek.)
It's only because Buck has been extra-tuned into Eddie tonight that he notices the flush that returns to his face when Buck tucks Theo in and kisses his forehead. How he’s ruddy-cheeked when Buck blows a silly kiss at Chris, who rolls his eyes but makes a show of catching it. He’s still pink-eared where he’s stood at the sink doing the dishes when Buck follows him into the kitchen.
Buck considers his options. There are two things that could be going on.
One: Eddie is just embarrassed by his slip-up at the beach. Kissing your friend on the back of his neck isn’t something they usually do—with each other or any of their friends—so this is just Eddie being self-conscious. Buck could ignore it and it wouldn’t affect their lives in any way.
Option two is different. Buck’s less sure of this one. It’s just—if it were him doling out kisses of affection with the people he loves and trusts and is building his life around? He’d be pretty embarrassed to give a kiss and not receive one back. Or, maybe not embarrassed. Maybe a flavour of rejection. And now he knows he’s definitely projecting, because Eddie doesn’t grapple with rejection the same way Buck does.
Eddie glances back at him and his cheeks turn rosy, quickly looking back at the sink. He uses one sudsy hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. The t-shirt he’s wearing is ancient, the collar stretched out and holey.
Buck just wants this to feel—balanced. His whole relationship with Eddie is like that. They both may need different things at different times, but the other is always there to give, to support. There’s a give and take that feels right, that feels like for once Buck isn’t leeching or over-committing. Buck and Eddie—the give and take is shared.
And Buck has taken, so to tie this up in a neat little bow and move on, he should give.
Eddie must hear him approach from the back, because he tenses up more with every one of Buck’s footsteps. Buck feels fairly certain this is the right move. Eddie’ll stop being self-conscious once they’re on even footing again.
“Thanks for washing up,” Buck murmurs, a step behind Eddie.
Eddie shrugs. “S’no prob—”
Buck presses his mouth gently to the back of Eddie’s neck, goosebumps rising all over the stretch of golden skin his sagging collar reveals.
There’s a sharp intake of breath—Eddie, not Buck. Buck thinks he might be holding his breath. He’s not entirely sure he knows how to breathe at all.
And then Eddie relaxes before him, shoulders slumping as he finishes scrubbing the big pot.
Success, Buck thinks. Now back to normal.
Eddie turns off the tap, turning around in the small space left between Buck and the kitchen sink. “Been waiting for you to do that all day,” he admits, cherry blush dusting his cheeks. “Well. Since I realised what I, um. Did.”
“Yeah?” Buck says. Huh. Maybe this will be their new normal. Just a little looser with affection. He kinda likes that parenthood has brought this out in them, that they’re teaching their boys that male friendships can look like this, can be so full of tactile love.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, smoothing a damp hand down Buck’s chest. That’s also new. But Eddie’s never been sparing with his affection. The warm kitchen lights make his eyes look like burnt honey, speckled gold. Buck has only a second to dreamily think pretty before Eddie gathers the fabric of Buck’s t-shirt into his fist, using it to pull Buck closer, eyes fluttering shut. And then he’s kissing Buck.
Buck is being kissed, on the mouth, by Eddie, and the shellshock is so total right now his brain grinds to a complete halt. Hell, his body feels like it’s been turned to stone. Medusa has nothing on Eddie’s big brown eyes. And soft pink mouth. And massive gentle hand, still soapy, cradling Buck’s jaw.
Eddie kisses like he does everything else, with purpose, on a mission. Also very Eddie is how gentle he is, exploring but not pushing. Buck’s eyes are still open. Buck’s not not kissing back, but he doesn’t think it can be counted as kissing, either. Importantly—devastatingly so—Buck is being presented with an option he didn’t know was on the table.
He’s too late in his realisation, Eddie pulling back, forehead creased, presumably by Buck’s inaction. Buck takes an eager, open-mouthed step forward in an attempt to course-correct—not that he has any idea what course they’re on, only a feeling that there’s treasure or a shipwreck waiting to happen up ahead. God, he hopes it’s treasure. This feels like treasure.
Eddie’s back hits the counter. He’s looking at Buck uncertainly. Buck doesn’t know if the uncertainty is about reciprocation, or if the uncertainty is—about Buck himself. About doing this with Buck. Eddie wouldn’t be the first to have doubts.
He reaches out, hand circling Eddie’s wrist. Eddie looks at where they’re joined, looks at Buck and swallows with a determination that is so achingly familiar to Buck he desperately wants to hold Eddie.
As if Eddie has ever been anything but sure of Buck. Dead certain. Unflinchingly so. This is the man who legally tied Buck to his family, to his kid, a year into knowing him. After Buck had let him down anyway.
It was a natural disaster, Buck, is what his brain immediately supplies, a perfect echo of Eddie.
So, no. Maybe for the first time in his life, Buck trusts that someone is sure about him. All of him. Has trusted it for years, so there’s no real reason for him to doubt this.
Like treasure, maybe this thing between them has been there for a long time, just beneath the surface. Lost if you forgot to look.
Buck’s eyes are wide open now.
“Are, um,” Eddie starts. “Is this—do you—”
“Can we do that again?” Buck asks, breathless with it.
“Oh,” Eddie blinks. “Kiss?”
Buck nods, so frantic he would be embarrassed if his body could do anything but try and contain his heart right now.
Eddie grins, posture relaxing. Buck would say it’s like the sun has come out, but the sun’s been out all day. All day, in Eddie’s glow. He leans against the counter and smooths a hand down Buck’s chest again, a little more playful this time. Buck feels a thrill run up his spine.
“I think we can arrange that,” Eddie says quietly.
Buck shuffles even more into his space, matching grin making him feel lit up from the inside. This time, he kisses back like he means it, and oh, how he means it. This time, everything bleeding out of his heart, Eddie takes. Buck gives and he takes it.
They kiss until Buck’s mouth is swollen with it, until they separate and he looks at Eddie’s equally swollen mouth in wonder.
It’s remarkable how normal it is. They brush their teeth and get into opposite sides of Eddie’s bed just like every other time Buck sleeps over. This time, though, Eddie manhandles Buck under the covers, positioning them so he can big spoon Buck. Buck’s been the little spoon plenty, but he doesn’t think it’s ever felt like this. So completely held. Like what he imagines drowsing in the backseat of your parents’ car as the streetlights flash by is like, if you had a good childhood. Safe.
“Perfect day,” he mumbles into his pillow.
Behind him, arms wrapped around his bare torso and pulling Buck flush against himself, Eddie kisses the top of his spine. Kisses the spot each bump of Buck’s vertebrae would be, were he not so brawny. His mouth lingers each time, this trail of damp tenderness. Down, down, down Buck’s back, low as he can reach from this angle, the softest set of kisses Buck has ever received. He kisses back up Buck’s spine then, mouth ruffling Buck’s hair when he says, “Pretty perfect life, if you ask me.”
It's not, theirs especially—it’s messy and complicated and scary, a lot of the time. The lows are low and the highs are high but Buck gets it. The everyday, the in-between, the highs, hell, definitely the lows: getting to do it with Eddie, all of it? Yeah, he’s inclined to agree. That is a pretty perfect life.