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Eddie is watching reruns of Hotshots and making his way through Buck’s frankly adorable little basket of baked goods when his phone rings. He dusts his fingers off on his shirt (the button down that he didn't bother to change out of after the virtual appointment) and picks up without even looking at the caller ID. There's only three people that automatically get through his do not disturb settings, and only one of them who would call him at midnight.
“Hey, Buck.”
“Eddie.”
He can tell from those two syllables that this is a ‘I felt the urge to call Tommy and so I picked up the phone and called you instead’ kind of conversation. Eddie grabs a scone, settles back into the couch and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table; settling in for a couple of hours of deep dive into a topic he never would have considered interesting until it was told in Buck’s enthusiastic Wikipedia voice.
“What’s up?”
“Eddie, what kind of porn do you watch?”
Eddie drops his scone. “Uh, what?”
“Porn. I need suggestions.”
He doesn't know what possesses him to answer instead of hanging up, but he opens his mouth and, “I don't know, the normal kind?”
Buck makes a noise halfway between a laugh and sigh. “What does that even mean?”
Eddie squirms, suddenly unbearably hot in a way that has him pressing his thighs together, tense and unsure, he's about to tell Buck to fuck off but then “I just go into pornhub type in amateur, click on the first video and then turn my phone upside down because I hate the way the girl looks at the camera and I, uh, listen to it I guess?”
Why the fuck did he just admit that? Eddie plants his feet on the ground, is about to end the call, get up and throw himself into oncoming traffic when Buck hums thoughtfully.
“Huh, amateur ? And that works?” He asks, he's got his Wikipedia voice on, like he's about to deep dive into the recesses of Eddie's stunted sexuality, and for some reason instead of raising his hackles, it eases Eddie out of the tight coil of stress he was subconsciously winding himself into. He relaxes back against the couch.
“Yeah, mostly. I can't handle when pornstars talk dirty, it's so unnatural, completely throws me off.”
That gets a proper laugh from Buck, and Eddie feels warm in a different way to before, more pleasant and soft than raging shame-fueled heat. He digs his toes into the carpet.
“Okay, so no direct eye contact or poorly executed dialogue. Is there anything that you actually like, though? All I've heard is complaints.”
Eddie tilts his head back and stares at his ceiling, what does he like? He doesn't watch porn all that often, mostly he only really touches himself in the shower, goes about it the same way he brushes his teeth or folds laundry, like a task that needs to be done. It's rare that he feels the need to luxuriate in it. Unbidden he thinks of the priest telling him that he denies himself joy. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the last time he felt actually good while he got off by himself, tries to imagine what got him there.
“I guess I like it when they're being loud? Like the moaning I mean. Cause I'm not looking at the screen.”
“Mmm, that makes sense,” Buck says. Eddie can hear him typing in the background, lulled almost by the gentle clicking of keys and rustling of fabric as he shifts position. “Just the woman moaning loudly or both?”
“Both, I think.”
“And I guess position isn't all that important considering you only listen?”
“I mean, it's probably boring to say but I guess missionary? I don't know, I like it when it's more intimate, more realistic and not so… over the top. That is boring, isn't it?” Eddie huffs a little self deprecating laugh at himself. Buck was right when he said that Eddie had more complaints than wants.
“It makes sense for you,” Buck says, and it's low and earnest and not at all judgemental. Eddie feels himself melting even more into the couch, feels himself smiling.
“Glad my porn habits are in character,” he replies, “Have no idea what that would mean for your tastes, though.”
“Everything I like keeps reminding me of… so it's not really been doing it for me lately. Honestly, I've been baking out my frustrations but I've run out of flour.” For some reason, Eddie is inexplicably glad Buck didn't say Tommy's name out loud. Doesn't bring an intruder into their strange little midnight conversation. “I totally thought you were watching porn on your tablet earlier today, by the way, not looking at houses.”
“You thought I was watching porn in the middle of the afternoon, fully dressed in my kitchen?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Buck laughs again, and Eddie all but preens, smug in a way he doesn't really know how to examine. “And then tonight I was… anyway, I thought, I bet Eddie’s kitchen porn wouldn't make me want to call my ex.”
“You thought my “kitchen porn” would be so boring it couldn't possibly remind you of anything?” Eddie should probably be offended. Instead he's still kind of basking in that warmth, Tommy never made Buck laugh like this, he thinks. And then he promptly shoves that thought to the side.
“I thought your kitchen porn would be so straight it couldn't possibly remind me of anything. Get back to my Buck 1.0 roots or something.”
“Okay, enough with the kitchen, Buck 1.0,” Eddie huffs, letting the laugh enter his voice so Buck knew he wasn't actually offended, he doesn't know why he says what he does next, doesn't know why it slips out of him like a wink, fast and dirty, “For the record, I save that shit for the bedroom or the couch.”
“The couch?” Buck asks, and it's different from before, it's tinged at the edges with something, like it came from his chest rather than his throat. Buck's still curious, still prompting but it almost sounds like the first day they met, almost sounds like a challenge.
“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says, he doesn't mean to lose the joking edge, to sound so truthful, but he's caught trying to figure out the change in Buck’s voice. Trying to figure out why he's shivering when he's the furthest thing from cold.
“Eddie Diaz, you dog ,” Buck’s teasing him, and some part of him knows this is the part where he's supposed to huff, to change the subject. Eddie can hear Buck shifting again. He wonders if he’s in bed. He wonders if he's on his own couch. He wonders why it matters to him so much.
“Does that make sense for me too?” God, why does he sound like that? Like he's accepting the challenge?
“You know,” Buck rasps, “It kind of does.”
Eddie realises in that moment that he's painfully, achingly hard.
“Hey, Eddie, thanks for the suggestions, I think I'm gonna try them out now.” Buck says, as if that's not an insane thing to say to your best friend. As if Eddie isn't squeezing himself through his boxers just to get some relief.
“Ah, yeah, any time, man,” he replies and oh fuck, he sounds kind of wrecked? Has he sounded like that the whole time? Buck disconnects but not before Eddie has time to pick up the unmistakable sound of a pornhub intro, which means that he's actually?
Eddie’s boxers are shucked down his thighs and his hand is furiously pumping before his brain has time to catch up. He thinks about Buck asking him what he likes, thinks about Buck looking that up on his laptop, thinks about Buck listening to the sounds of fucking on Eddie's suggestion—
The sound that tears out of him is like nothing he's ever made before, high and frantic and needy . He's fucking up into his own fist with every down stroke, head thrown back, whole body strung taut and trembling as it builds and builds inside him, this wave of pleasure. He's so close but it feels like too much, like if he lets go he'll lose himself to it but he can't stop and then he thinks about Buck. Thinks about those big, strong hands holding him tight, thinks about him whispering ‘I’ve got you, I've got you’ right in his ear, his hips snap forward sharply, once, twice, and then Eddie fucking loses it. The wave crests, his entire vision whites out, he's coming and he's coming and he's coming and he can't stop and it feels, fuck, it feels so good . It's so intense it takes a moment for him to realise that he's the one making those helpless whimpers. That he's the one shuddering through aftershocks and not the world breaking and rearranging itself around him.
He just had the most earth shattering orgasm of his life and it's the thought of his best friend's voice that tipped him over the edge. And now he has to clean up the mess and pretend everything is normal and fine. He's so fucked.
***
Morning catches Eddie glaring into his coffee and once again contemplating throwing himself into oncoming traffic. He didn't get much sleep, thoughts spiralling in epic Buck level proportions, as he tried to figure out how to fix it. How does someone take back jerking off to their best friend even though they're straight and said best friend is still caught up on his ex? He can't un-come his brains out. He can't even call himself straight anymore, can he? Is he gay? And well fuck, he lied to that priest. Is lying to a priest worse than lying to yourself? He'd loved Shannon, that isn't a lie. And he'd cared for Ana and Marisol, he'd had sex with them, it had been fine . But it hadn't felt like it had with Shannon, and it certainly hadn't fucking felt like his own hand and Buck’s voice in his ear last night.
He's got his tablet out and he's googling ‘why does it feel better when it's my best friend?’ before the thought can fully form. He doesn't even look at the search results before he's quitting out of the app. Nope. Nah uh. He sets his tablet, his stupid fucking tablet that started this all, face down as far away from him as possible and drinks his cold coffee. He's been shot, multiple times, he can face Buck at work without turning himself into a complete trainwreck about it. He jerked off over his best friend. No biggie. Crazier shit happens all the time.
He leaves out the kitchen door so he doesn't have to look at his couch and does not think about Buck falling asleep in the exact same spot that he... Because he's fine.
He gets to work and he drags his feet and the dread pooling in his stomach gets heavier and heavier until he's sure he's gonna be sick or pass out or something equally as embarrassing. Eddie doesn't know what to expect and he's never done well with that. But then Buck spots him and he's bounding over with a grin on his face, just like always, actually even more energised than he has been lately, and he's bumping his shoulder into Eddie's as they walk and he's rattling off something Eddie wouldn't be able to recite if a gun was pressed to his head because he's awash in pure relief. It's normal. Everything is normal. And he doesn't have to talk about it and he can pretend he's not in the middle of yet another crisis, just the ongoing crisis of before. He grins, giddy with it, and bumps Buck’s shoulder back and it feels so right he could cry but he doesn't. He's fine.
The day is made up of their standard calls, he and Buck work wordlessly in tandem as always. There's something settling about working with Buck, about not having to figure out how to get something across because he knows he's already being understood. Eddie's always struggled with bridging that gap, with finding the balance between what he knows someone needs and what he's able to give. Usually he gives more than he has and doesn't say anything until he's doing something stupid like turning back for the woman that looks like his dead wife. With Buck it's like they're already on the same page. And even when Buck prompts him into putting voice to thought, it's not like he's dragging it out of Eddie, it's like Eddie's a dam ready to burst and Buck's guiding the torrent out safely, easing the pressure of the build up. That's why, even as much as he wants to, Eddie doesn't quite meet Buck’s eye most of the day. He knows Buck's noticed that he hasn't slept, he knows Buck probably saw the way he took a pause before flopping down beside Buck on the couch in between calls. Probably felt his body do a confusing mix of tensing and melting when Buck leaned over him to grab the console controllers. Because if he gives Buck too much of an indication that there's something welling up inside him, then Buck will find a way to let it out. And Eddie doesn't know what he'll say if it does.
It's not until almost the end of their shift, Buck and Eddie are in the kitchen trying to stay awake for the last half hour, when Hen approaches with her head cocked to the side, piecing something together.
“Hey, Buck, no baking for us today? You didn't break and call Tommy did you?”
Buck's eyes flick between Eddie and Hen and for a moment he smirks, mischievous, and it reminds him of when he first joined the 118, sends a pang of something bittersweet through him because he's thinking he might have to leave this place, this family, in order to save his relationship with his son and doing that means leaving a part of himself behind. He'll always choose Christopher first, but it'll kill something in him to go. And then he registers that Buck’s smirk has morphed into a shit eating grin and he's saying,
“Oh, I, uh, actually found something else to keep myself occupied last night.” He's looking at Eddie as he says it. Eddie feels himself burning alive.
“Uh huh… and do I even want to know what that means?” Hen looks amused and sceptical, her signature brand. Thank god she's looking at Buck because if she was looking at Eddie she'd somehow know every shameful detail of his night and he would burst into flames right then and there.
“Probably not,” Buck says cheerfully and then, because Eddie's convinced at this point that god hates him for possibly being gay and possibly lying to a priest about it, he claps Eddie on the shoulder and says, “Hey, I gotta go talk to Bobby about something, don't fall asleep while I'm gone, hotshot.”
Hen turns to look at him, probably to share their patented, Buck is an idiot but our idiot look. Except Eddie is bright red and obviously about to die of something and Hen falters.
“Eddie? Are you doing okay over there?”
Eddie thinks about trying to google his way into some answers this morning. About how he doesn't know what to type to give him what he needs. He thinks about the priest. He tries to say I'm fine but it comes out like, “How do you know if you're attracted to someone because you want to be or because you know you should be?”
Hen blinks. Pauses. Blinks again. And then very carefully comes so she's standing beside Eddie and not in front of him, not caging him in.
“I mean, and I say this with all the love in my heart, Edmundo, if you're asking that question you already know the answer.”
“Yeah,” Eddie chokes, “I guess I do.”
“Hey, come here.” Eddie can't remember the last time he let someone who wasn't Christopher hug him, he thinks it was Kim. That only makes him cling on tighter. “It's gonna be okay, Eddie, I promise.”
When Buck gets back, they're sitting side by side at the dining table in a silence that doesn't feel weighted with expectation, and Eddie knows Hen is looking between them and seeing something she didn't think to look for before. And he knows that it's safe with her anyway.
He's gonna be fine.
***
Eddie gets home and he should be exhausted. He should be falling onto his mattress, dead to the world. Instead he's wired. He thinks about the edge of Buck’s grin. He thinks about the fact that Buck asked him what kind of porn he watches. He thinks about Hen telling him he already knows the answer. He's sitting on his couch about to type in Buck's number when his phone rings.
“Hey, Buck.”
“Eddie.”
He swallows, “What's up?”
There's a pause where he thinks Buck is weighing his options. Where he thinks Buck is making a choice. And, because he and Buck are on the same page, because he's the flood and Buck is the valley. Because he already knows the answer and Buck's always been more introspective than him. He knows what Buck will say before he even says it.
“Do you wanna know what kind of porn I watch?”
“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.
“Okay,” Buck says and it sounds like relief, “But, Eddie?”
“Yeah, Buck?”
“You gotta tell me if you need me to stop.”
Eddie’s breathing hard, like he's run one of Gerard’s stupid roof drills, he swallows, feels how dry his mouth is, nods and then realises Buck can't see him. “Yeah, Buck.”
“Yeah, shit, okay. You said you like to hear it?”
Eddie needs to get out of his clothes immediately. He pops the button on his jeans, lets his head fall back against the back of the couch. “Mmhmm.”
“I took your advice, found something intimate, something loud.”
“What, uh, what did you think? Too boring?”
“I liked it,” the way his voice dips low, confessional, shy if not for the undercurrent of a smile he can hear. It has Eddie twitching in his seat, restless with the heat that's running through him.
“You liked it, huh?” He doesn't mean to sound smug but then Buck’s huffing a laugh through the phone and Eddie’s scrunching his toes hard into the carpet.
“Yeah, I did. But Eddie?” And that's all it takes, his name on Buck’s tongue all slow and sweet, like honey. He's fully hard in his jeans.
“Mmm?” Eddie responds half because he knows Buck is waiting for it, half to put voice to the swelling need pooling in his abdomen.
“I have to disagree with you about something,” and then there's the sound of a zip and Eddie’s breath hitches, “Your no talking rule. I think you just haven't heard it done right.”
“ I think you should show me .” He doesn't even have time to register what he's said before Buck is whining into the phone and Eddie is squirming out of his jeans.
“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck says and he's ragged, he's breathless, “Are we doing this? Because we can't go back if we're doing this, you know that right?”
“Buck,” he says and he doesn't have to say anything else, because Buck hears it all.
“Yeah, okay, I got you, Eddie, I got you.”
Eddie palms himself through his boxers. “What happened last night, after you hung up?”
“I came so hard I saw stars and I haven't thought about calling Tommy since.”
Eddie knows there needs to be a conversation about that, needs to be some clarification, but for now he indulges the lick of fire that curls through him. His voice is rough when he says, “Good. Think about me.”
“Shit, Eddie, I didn't know I could until last night.”
“Yeah? Me either.”
“Are you,” his throat clicks as he swallows, “Are you in bed?”
“No, I'm on the couch.” Buck groans, and Eddie slides his thighs apart, lets his thumb tease the edge of his waistband. “You got a thing for my couch, Buck?”
“Apparently. You know, that's what did it for me last night? Thinking about you on the couch, coming undone .”
“I did, god Buck, as soon as you hung up I was gone.”
“Yeah? Did you touch yourself, Eddie? Did you think about me?”
Eddie pushes down his boxers as the other holds the phone closer, he's never liked to be watched during sex, always felt like it was a performance and he was falling short. But he wants Buck to hear him now, wants Buck to listen to the way his breathing changes when he takes himself in hand, wants him to hear the whisper soft glide of skin on skin.
“Yeah, I thought about you and then I had the best orgasm of my life. You kinda rocked my world and you weren't even here.”
“ I want to taste you .”
Eddie pushes into his own fist, slow and aching, and lets his mouth fall open on the moan that elicits.
“I want to get on my knees for you, I'd be so good, Eddie, so good. I'd start slow, get you nice and warmed up, make you beg for it and then once you were out of your mind, once you didn't even remember your own name, I'd swallow you down and fucking—” and then he cuts off with a little, punched out, “ah!”
Eddie moves faster, swiping over his head to collect the precum already dribbling from his slit, using it to help ease the friction. He's sunk further down, legs spread and feet planted firmly to keep himself from sliding right off. He thinks about Buck kneeling there, between his thighs. He thinks about Buck's mouth and his own fingers running through those curls. He thinks about holding him in place and thrusting his hips.
“Would you let me fuck your mouth?”
Buck keens, Eddie can hear him, he can hear him, slick and fast and dirty, oh fuck—
“Ngh, yes , Eddie , yes .”
He chokes on a whimper at that, strips his cock mercilessly, thighs and ass and stomach clenching tighter and tighter with each stroke. It's building again, the pleasure climbing higher and higher and he's helpless to stop it, but this time it's a fire, an inferno. He must sound fucking wrecked, desperate, because Buck's humming into the phone in response, encouraging little sounds that only add to the heat.
“What do you need? Tell me what you need.”
“Buck, Buck, Buck ,” he says like a prayer, like Buck’s his saviour, “ Please .”
“Come on, Eddie, come in my mouth, I wanna taste it, I want to choke on it, come on —” Eddie sobs, hips stuttering and Buck gets so close to the phone, he's gasping, wild and frantic, he's on the edge just like Eddie and “—come for me, Eddie.”
The inferno inside him explodes , fire lancing out from the core of him and Eddie arches off the couch with the force of his orgasm, making a mess of his hand and his boxers, his stomach and thighs, as his come spurts out of him in waves. Distantly, he can hear Buck moaning, long and drawn out and winded and satisfaction curls through him, leaving him aglow in the feeling of it, basking in the final warm embers of his pleasure. It's like dancing in his underwear times a thousand, it's joy incandescent. He's never felt more like himself and he knows .
Eddie laughs, and he's the realest he’s ever been but also he feels like he's floating? On the other end of the line, Buck slowly gets his breathing under control. Eddie wishes, suddenly, achingly, that he could touch him. Could bury his face in his neck and breathe him in. Instead of running from the thought, he chases it, follows it down a winding path of cut off daydreams and ignored desires. He thinks he's probably wanted Buck since the moment they met. Eddie laughs again, helpless and hopeless and happy.
“I think I'm gay,” he says at the same time Buck says,
“I think I'm in love with you.”
Eddie snaps back into his body like a car crash, “What?”
“Um, I gotta go.”
And then Buck hangs up. He hangs up .
“What the fuck?”
***
When Buck doesn't pick up his calls, he doesn't panic. When Buck calls in sick, even though he never calls in sick, Eddie does not panic. When Eddie uses his key after work to get into Buck's loft, psyched up and ready to have an adult conversation in person and everything, it's empty and Eddie does not fucking panic. He gets angry.
He remembers what Buck said, are we doing this? Cause we can't go back if we're doing this and he wonders when he and Buck slipped off the same page. Wonders how that meant something different to Buck than it did to him. Wonders how Buck could say I've got you , and then fucking drop him the second he's falling. He wonders why everyone that says they love him just ups and leaves.
When Buck shows up for his next shift, days later, it's like the lawsuit all over again. Eddie sees him, sheepish and imploring and trying to catch Eddie's eyes, and Eddie feels like there's a beat missing from his heart, like he's taken a step expecting solid ground and he's fallen into the void instead. Like the person he isn't supposed to struggle to communicate with is a blank wall and his voice is being buried with each brick that piles up and up. He turns and walks away and just like the lawsuit, he doesn't turn to look at whatever that does to Buck, because he doesn't want the pain, he wants the anger. It's easier to hold. He's built for it.
“Eddie, come on,” Buck says.
Eddie says nothing.
“Eddie, are you okay?” Hen says.
Eddie says nothing.
“Is this going to be a problem?” Bobby asks.
“No, Captain.” Eddie says. Buck makes a noise like he's wounded.
Eddie grits his teeth and says nothing.
They get partnered with other people for the rest of the shift.
***
There's only three people that automatically get through his do not disturb settings. He looks at the caller ID and his lungs fail him.
“Chris? Christopher? It's so late, are you okay?”
There's silence at the other end of the line and then there's a sniffle.
“I think I'm ready for you to come get me, dad.”
Eddie sinks to the floor.
“Okay, Chris. You want me to come to Texas?”
“I wanna come home.”
***
Eddie has flights booked and bags packed before he remembers that he has a job. His hands are still shaking when he dials Bobby, when he presses the phone hard to his ear just to remind himself he's real. This is real.
“Eddie, is everything okay?”
“Bobby, Chris called, he needs me to go to El Paso. I can't— I've booked the earliest flight. I'm sorry for the short notice but—”
“Eddie, breathe. I understand, be with your son. Just keep in touch okay? Let me know what's happening.”
Eddie could collapse from relief for the second time in as many hours. He's been so fucking lucky to be part of the 118, to have Bobby as his captain. To have Buck. The part of him that always feels hollow when Buck's not around, the part that's been gnawing, a gaping black hole somewhere vital while they haven't been talking, raises its head. Eddie thinks about I'm in love with you . Thinks about hearing those words, chasing them, and finding nothing on the other side of the line. Thinks about Buck.
“Hey, Bobby. Could you… could you tell Buck?”
“I think he'd probably appreciate it more coming from you.”
“I know but I've got to go, my flight is soon, I don't… I don't have time.”
It's the coward's way out and he knows it. Bobby sighs.
“Okay, Eddie. I'll tell him. But you need to talk to him when you're able. It's what he deserves, do you understand?”
Eddie does not want to think about how much Bobby does or does not know.
“Understood, Captain.”
He's halfway to the airport when his phone rings.
Eddie stares at it for a long moment. He doesn't know what Buck's going to say, hates that he doesn't know, that there's that wedge of apprehension now, that he ruined things by making loving him something people have to run away from. He stares and then he lunges to answer because this is about Chris, and even if he's ruined things between the two of them, he won't get between Christopher and his Buck.
“Hey, Buck,” he says. It's the first time he's said a word to Buck in days.
“Eddie.”
Eddie's heard Buck broken, he's heard him defeated, he's heard him collapse in laughter, he's heard him choked up with tears. He's even heard him panting and riled up and wanting, now. But he's never heard him angry. Not like this.
He doesn't say what's up . They sit in silence, the sounds of the road softening the awkwardness only slightly.
“So. You really are, leaving I mean. Bobby told me.”
“Chris called me, Buck, he called me .”
“You're going to Texas.” It's short and it's clipped, icy in a way that Eddie feels in his bones. He's been wrong-footed, somewhere, because even with all that's going on between them, Eddie thought for sure Buck would be just as happy about Chris coming home as he is.
“I… of course I'm going, Buck. It's Chris.”
Buck blows out a sigh of air, it's a little shaky, the first crack in the ice, “Yeah, I get that. I do. I just thought maybe you'd say goodbye.”
“What, like you said goodbye?” He doesn't mean to come in so hot but it's hard not to wrap himself in it to fight off Buck's chill.
“I needed some space, Eddie. To sort through everything in my head. I've just broken up with someone and then I'm realising I've been in love with someone else the whole time? I needed time to think. And, god, do you know what Tommy said when he broke up with me?”
Eddie burns, tastes ash on his tongue, “I don't want to hear about fucking Tommy right now.”
“—He said I'd break his heart, he said he was my first but he wouldn't be my last. And I've been going insane, Eddie, trying to figure out what that meant, if it was just some excuse so he could leave or if he knew something I didn't. I think he knew. I think I knew, I just didn't want to look at it too closely. Didn't want anything to change.”
He feels the fight go out of him then, feels his shoulders slump and if he weren’t driving, he’d lay his head down on the steering wheel and try to breathe through the miserable squeezing of his ribcage. But he was driving, and Buck was waiting. Buck of all people, who knew that loving Eddie was akin to natural disaster, “I guess I can't blame you for not wanting to say anything, given my track record.”
He hears Buck inhale sharply, hears another crack in that cold front, hears what sounds faintly like traffic underneath it all, like Buck's driving too, “ Eddie , no.”
“I mean,” he pushes through, and it's so much harder than talking about porn, he laughs at himself even as he struggles to string something coherent together, “I think part of the reason it never really works out for me is that I'm always chasing after what I think I should want. What I think Christopher needs. What my parents would— what they would like to see? I never, um, let myself think about what I want. But that's only part of it, you've seen me in action, Buck, you know I'm just not good at it. I'm not good.”
“Eddie, stop .”
“And I'm not gonna pretend like it doesn't hurt, but I'm just saying, I get it. I wouldn't want to be in love with me either. And I'm sorry. For being a dick about it. We should probably stop having these conversations over the phone.”
“Eddie, shut up.”
Eddie's spiral eases to a confused halt and he frowns, “What?”
“You're so fucking— god, Eddie . I didn't freak out because I'm in love with you! Being in love with you is so fucking easy I didn't even realise I was doing it because it's always felt right, you and me. Being in love with you is who I am, at this point, it's natural, it's good, Eddie. It's the best thing I've ever done. I freaked out because you're my favourite person in the entire world, you're the one person who gets me, who understands me, who fucking has my back through everything life throws at me, and you're leaving me too!”
“Buck,” he whispers, and there's no ice in his voice anymore, Eddie is electrified by the raw emotion in it. He's wide eyed and mouth open and completely blinded by the sheer force of everything in Buck's voice.
“I freaked out,” Buck continues, as if Eddie isn't having revelations in the driving seat of his truck trying to navigate airport parking, “Because I thought being your best friend was enough, and it is, it's perfect, it's not a consolation prize, any way you choose to have me is enough. But then you were talking about El Paso and Texas, and I realised I wasn't enough and I, I crossed the line. But you, Eddie, you . I didn't think you'd cross it with me. I don't know how to let you go when I've heard you… Eddie I fucked it all up and I don't know what to do.”
“You're in love with me,” Eddie says, and something important, something vital, clicks into place.
Buck's voice is wet and soft and a little scared when he says, “I'm so unbelievably in love with you.”
It's dancing, it's coming undone on the couch, it's sunlight under his skin and laughter and bumping shoulders and catching eyes and a steady hand on him, holding him together, and his name fitting so perfectly in someone else's mouth. Eddie sees Buck’s Jeep the exact moment it all falls into place.
“How did you get here before me?”
“You hate driving, Eddie. And you drive so slow. Of course I got here before you.”
He's out of his truck and Buck’s there, and Eddie hasn't looked at him properly since before the second phone call, hasn't let himself look the way he finally, finally figured out he wants to. Buck looks like he's coming apart at the seams, eyes red and hair wild and he's beautiful, he's so beautiful. Eddie feels it like a punch to the stomach, like he can't get enough breath in his lungs, like he's suspended in midair. And he's looking right back at Eddie like Eddie holds the world in his hands, like he expects Eddie to drop it.
“Hey, Buck,” he says. Buck sways in closer.
“Eddie.”
“I think I'm gay,” Eddie says. Buck, all furrowed eyebrows and big blue eyes, twitches out a smile at that, small but genuine.
“That's, that's great, Eddie.” And he says his name so soft and careful.
He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, “I think I'm in love with you.”
Buck goes abruptly still.
“I think I've been in love with you for a long time.”
Buck reaches out, cups the side of his face with trembling fingers, exhales shakily in the ever lessening space between them.
“I'm not moving to Texas.”
The fingers twitch.
“I'm getting Chris and we're coming home. To you.”
Buck's forehead touches down on his own. His nose skates along the side of Eddie's, his eyelashes flutter against Eddie's cheek.
“Buck.”
Eddie knows what it's like to drown. Physically but also emotionally. He's been drowning most of his life. Kissing Buck is like finally breathing fresh air. It's gentle at first, reverent and chaste. It's Eddie who tilts his head just so, who fits them together, who winds his fingers into Buck's curls and uses that to erase any space between them. Eddie who pushes Buck back against his Jeep, who chases the spark into the flame, who licks into Buck's mouth and fits a hand under the hem of Buck's shirt and presses it into his bare skin. Eddie who gets his teeth into Buck's bottom lip and bites down, almost meanly, certainly possessively, just to feel the way Buck whines into his mouth, slips further down the car, long legs either side of Eddie, held up by Eddie's body and not much else. It's Eddie who pulls away with a reluctant sigh.
“Um, wow.” Buck says, hazy and a little giddy. Like he can't quite believe it.
“Yeah,” he sounds wrecked.
“Move your fucking car, asshole!”
Oh right. Eddie turns and glares at the guy hanging out of the window of the white sedan stuck behind Eddie's truck as Buck begins to giggle. He chooses to ignore the fact that he'd apparently left his truck in the middle of the lane, door open and still running. He doesn't have the space to be embarrassed. He's so full of joy he might actually die from it.
“You're gonna be late,” Buck says and then, “I can't believe you chose airport parking over sucking it up and asking for a ride.”
Eddie turns back to Buck and ignores the indignant “you can't be fucking serious!” he earns from sedan guy in the process.
“When we get home, we're going to talk about this. About us. Just… wait for me, okay? Wait for me at home?”
“I can do that.”
Eddie grins, “Okay, okay I have to go. I'll see you at home . Okay?”
“Yes, Eddie. I get it.” Buck's rolling his eyes but he's laughing as well and Eddie’s about to get his son back and he's about to make sure Buck knows that it's him, it's them, for as long as he'll have them.
Eddie gets into his truck and he's not the same man that exited it.
“Eddie.” Buck says as Eddie pulls away, because neither of them hung up. He sees Buck watching him in his rearview mirror, sees his phone cradled up against his ear “I love you.”
“Hey, Buck. I love you too.”