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“I’m experimenting,” Eddie tells Buck, that night on the couch, and he doesn’t even realize what he means until he says it. Until Buck’s eyes go wide, flickering down to Eddie’s bare thighs, and the jut of his throat bobs as he swallows. Eddie had meant it more in a—letting himself have juice kind of way. Letting himself do a full-out Risky Business montage in his underwear, the kind he always wanted to do as a kid, when he was grown and had his own house, away from his parents and sisters and nosy overbearing neighbors. That’s what he meant.
But it came out as: I’m experimenting. And Buck had just finished ranting about Tommy, about Kinsey scales and beards and Glee, so the space between them rang with implication, after that. Eddie could have taken it back. Could have fixed it, clarified. He just—didn’t want to. Because, in that moment, he realized it was true.
“Buck,” he’d said, feeling naked in more ways than one, “I think I might be gay.”
Buck’s eyes had gone, impossibly, even wider. Without looking away from Eddie, he reached for his unopened beer on the table, popped the cap, and chugged the entire thing. He let out a heavy breath, after. Set the empty bottle down. Slapped his hands against his thighs.
“Okay,” he’d said, something hoarse and determined in his voice. “Let’s do this.”
—
Now, Eddie’s brain might have gone— places, when Buck said that. He’s only a man, okay? A man who’s now experimenting, trying to let himself feel joy, who was sitting half-naked on a couch with his best friend—his newly-single, devastatingly attractive, bisexual best friend. And maybe it wasn’t too hard to make the leap from joy to Buck, after that, to sit there buzzing with fresh-drunk beer and pray that Buck was thinking the same thing.
Of course, in his horny post-endorphin-releasing haze, Eddie had forgotten a very important thing.
This is Buck.
So, approximately one week post-couch, they’re waiting in line around the corner from a gay bar, Eddie nervously fixing his collar and fidgeting with his buttons.
“Stop that,” Buck says, without looking. “You look good.”
Eddie feels his cheeks heat, and wishes for a moment that he hadn’t pre-gamed so heavily. He’d needed the confidence boost, but now he just feels—dizzy, and warm. Buck’s dressed like he’s trying to kill him, his curls soft and unstyled, his top two shirt buttons undone. He’s already been hit on by about a dozen L.A hopefuls.
“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, and wishes for the universe to swallow him whole.
“You sure this is okay?” Buck checks, finally glancing over. Something in Eddie’s voice, the patheticness of it, must have tipped him off. “We can go still go home and put on a movie. No pressure, seriously.”
Home, Eddie thinks, and blinks a couple times. “No, it’s okay,” he says, bouncing on his heels as he tries to psych himself up. “I can do this. We can—have fun. Grab some drinks.”
“Right,” Buck echoes carefully. He glances at Eddie’s feet. “As long as you’re sure.” There’s a pause, then, before he adds, in a slightly lower tone: “And if you’re gonna mess with the buttons, you should undo a couple. At the top.”
Eddie trips over the sidewalk.
Buck laughs, grabs his elbow, and helps him stabilize as the line shuffles forward. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases. “I’m just saying, y’know. So we match.” He nods down to his own bare throat, as if Eddie hasn’t been sneaking glances all night. As if he couldn’t recreate it atom by atom in his memory.
“Right,” Eddie says, even dizzier now. “So we match.”
Buck eyes him. His hand is still cupped around Eddie’s elbow, fingers gently brushing tender skin. There’s a moment of decision that passes over his face, and then he takes a step closer, his other hand lifting to Eddie’s collar. “Can I…”
“Yeah,” Eddie chokes. “Yeah, sure.”
Eddie’s not sure if time literally slows down, inching by at a snail’s pace, or if Buck’s just moving with dramatically reduced speed. The jury’s out. All he knows is that it feels torturous, as Buck’s fingers bump up against Eddie’s throat, closing around the first button with impossible gentleness. Buck’s gaze is lowered, wholly focused on his task, his bottom lip even sucked a tiny bit into his mouth. It’s moments like these where Eddie remembers he wasn’t drinking alone.
By the second button, Eddie’s pulse is racing. He wonders if Buck can feel it—then thinks he must, with how close they are. Maybe he can even hear it.
On the third, Buck stops. His hands linger. Eddie’s got a deep sliver of chest exposed, now, and he feels oddly self-conscious about his chest hair. Is that something bisexual guys are into? Is it something Buck’s into? From a purely academic standpoint, of course.
They’ve been standing here for too long. Make a joke, Eddie thinks frantically, because he honestly can’t tell if Buck’s planning to keep going, or if he’s just zoned out entirely. But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a croaky: “Good?”
Buck’s eyes flick up to meet his. He looks—fuck. He looks hungry. “Good,” he echoes, just as hoarse. His hands linger on Eddie’s chest, his thumb rubbing over a bare patch of skin. Over Eddie’s chest hair. Is that a yes to the hair? Should he have shaved it, or is that weird? Either way, it’s too late to do anything now.
“Eddie,” Buck says, voice low.
“Buck,” Eddie echoes.
“Hey!” a college-aged girl shouts behind them, and her friends laugh. “There’s a line, dipshits!”
She’s obviously wasted, and barely out of high school—is she even old enough to be here?—so Eddie, very maturely, doesn’t flip her off. He just sighs, steps back from Buck’s hands, and tugs him along to the entrance. Rude or not, the girl was kind of right—there’s about ten spaces worth of empty line ahead of them. They have to speed-walk to catch up. Eddie grabs Buck’s hand, to keep him close. No other reason.
Buck’s hand is big and warm against his own, his skin littered with little ridges and old scars that Eddie can’t stop himself from feeling, because he’s drunk and the texture feels cool under his thumb. There’s a little strangled noise, from somewhere far away, but Eddie doesn’t stop investigating.
At the entrance, there’s a very goth-looking woman stamping hands, a bored look on her face. She spots them, though, and her pencil-thin eyebrows raise almost to her hairline. “Well, well, well.” Her fingers crook in Buck’s direction, a gimme kind of motion, and he pulls his free hand out of his pocket to surrender it for stamping. Happily, Eddie does the same. “Aren’t you two cute,” she says, eyes flicking over them with interest. “How long have you been together?”
Eddie blinks, trying to do the mental math. He moved to LA—how long ago, now? “Six years?” he guesses, looking to Buck for assistance.
Buck’s eyes are very wide. Very pretty. “Six… Eddie, how much did you drink?”
“I dunno,” Eddie mumbles, squinting. “I took a really big swig of the tequila while you were putting your shoes on.”
Buck cracks a helplessly fond smile, shaking his head. “What am I gonna do with you?”
The hand-stamper looks between them like she’s watching a middle-school volleyball match. “Cute,” she says again, with more of an implication this time, but it’s one Eddie doesn’t have enough mental power to figure out. “Have fun in there, boys."
“We will,” Buck promises, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “Thank you. C’mon, Eddie. Let’s get you—some water, maybe. Just to start.”
Eddie pouts, waving goodbye to the goth lady as Buck drags him inside. “You’re no fun,” he complains, and his words sound a little slurred even to himself, so—maybe Buck has a point. But whatever. “I thought we were supposed to be doing something joyful.”
Buck pauses, at that, and Eddie knows he’s got him. He pokes Buck’s side, grinning relentlessly. “You’re supposed to be taking your mind off you-know-who. Get a drink with me. Stop worrying so much.”
“I’m gonna worry,” Buck says, but he’s softening. “It’s my job.”
Eddie softens, too. He can’t help it. He feels all—mushy, and also like they’re moving towards something, the two of them. He hopes Buck feels it, too. “Well, I’m doing good. I’m doing great. Have a drink with me. C’mon.”
Buck laughs, gentle and flushed, then nods. As they move towards the bar, a single conjoined unit, Eddie takes the opportunity to look around. It’s dark, with neon blue and purple strobe lights coming from the dance floor, and some sort of pop song he doesn’t recognize thrumming through the speakers. Still, it’s not crowded enough to be stifling, but there’s enough people here that Eddie doesn’t feel alone, or singled out. Buck must have done his research. There’s all kinds of people, too—it almost feels like all of LA is in this room, everyone who doesn’t fit the mold, everyone who needs a little joy. Eddie’s smiling, he realizes. Really smiling.
Despite the low crowd, the bar’s still pretty packed, so Buck holds one finger up and lets go of Eddie’s hand, leaning in closer to shout over the music: “I’m gonna order for both of us.”
“Okay!” Eddie shouts back, even as his hand stings with the loss. “Let me just—” He reaches for his wallet, but Buck snorts, pushing his wrist back down.
“Are you kidding? My tab, Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, stilling. Buck’s face is—really close. There’s a tone to his voice, he thinks, one that he recognizes from Buck’s interactions with other people, but not usually with Eddie. Is he flirting? “Well—I’ll get the next one.”
And Buck—he winks. “Sure you will,” he says, and his hand passes over Eddie’s hip, brushing up against the bare skin underneath his shirt, as he moves past him to the bar, leaving Eddie alone. Eddie stands there dumbly, feeling the stickiness of the floor through his shoes. If he lifted his feet, they’d make little popping noises. But he doesn’t.
Flirting.
Huh.
Eddie feels very full. Of alcohol, and blood. It’s making him hot. Dizzy. He wants to dance, but he needs to wait for Buck. Maybe Buck will dance with him. Maybe he’ll touch his hip again. Maybe he’ll undo another button.
Eddie’s pants are starting to feel a little tight, and not just because he dragged them from the depths of his closet. He shifts his legs uncomfortably.
“Eddie?”
And that’s—not Buck. Eddie frowns, half-twisting to look for the source of the voice. He recognizes it, strangely, but can’t quite place it.
Then, dimly lit under the strobe lights:
“Father?” Eddie blurts.
Father Brian bursts out laughing. He moves a little closer, different in the dark than he was in the day: messier, a little roguish. Eddie’s mouth feels dry, and he smacks his lips, interested in the feeling. Desire, he recognizes, lets himself recognize. Attraction.
“Just Brian is okay,” Just Brian teases. He looks Eddie up and down, assessing. “I thought you were straight.”
“I thought you were celibate,” Eddie says. His cheeks are very warm, but he’s—he’s enjoying this. He likes Brian’s eyes on him.
Brian laughs again, shifting a hand to the back of his neck, the same way Buck does when he’s been caught at something. “Ah, well. A man’s not allowed to look?”
Eddie ducks his head, smiling. “I don’t see the harm in it,” he allows, peeking up at Brian through his lashes. Flirting, and shamelessly. He means it—what’s the harm? Eddie’s out, now. They’re both attractive guys. Attracted.
Brian looks his fill, his lips curving up. He takes a step closer.
“Eddie! Who’s your friend?”
A solid presence slots itself by Eddie’s side, almost in front of him, Buck’s shoulder lined protectively against his own. He’s balancing a small tray of rainbow jello shots, his fingers tense around the edges. His words are all wrong, Eddie can tell: too loud, too tight. He’s almost vibrating with it.
Eddie blinks up at him. “Buck,” he says, then nods at Brian. “This is Father Brian. Father Brian, Buck.”
Again, Brian laughs, though it’s more cautious this time, more polite. “Really, it’s just Brian,” he says, and holds out a hand for Buck to shake.
Buck doesn’t take it. He shifts so he’s holding the tray with both hands. “Father,” he repeats, as if trying to solve a riddle.
“The priest,” Eddie prompts. “From the other day?”
Buck’s eyes widen, shock overtaking hostility. “The—from—the one who told you to dance in your underwear?”
Brian’s laugh is startled out of him, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to contain it, but he’s still grinning, mostly directed at Eddie. “You what?”
Eddie grins back. “You told me to do something joyful.”
“Well, I’m sorry I missed it,” Brian says, his smile softening. His eyes are—sparkly, almost. Eddie stares at them in wonder.
“So,” Buck says, very loudly. “A priest in a gay bar. Never seen that before.”
They both turn to stare at him.
Immediately, Buck flushes. “I mean, uh—not that I have anything against—! That’s great, man. I mean, it’s cool that you’re—it’s just—” He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry.”
Brian smiles at him, no harm done. “It takes all kinds,” he says simply.
“Cool,” Buck says. He sounds a little hollow.
They all stand there in a—not exactly a circle. More of a stand-off, Buck and Eddie attached at the hip, Brian lingering at Eddie’s side. After a moment, Brian starts to shift his legs, eyes darting away. “Well, I better…”
“Wait,” Eddie says. He doesn’t know why he says it. He doesn’t, but he does, because Brian looks so sad, and Buck’s arm is tightening around his waist, and Eddie is a bad person, a little bit. “Do you like jello shots?”
Buck’s arm spasms, and Eddie absentmindedly pats his hand in sympathy, the one that’s curled around Eddie’s hip. Brian looks between the two of them, eyes wide. “Do I…”
“There’s enough to go around,” Eddie insists, stubbornly, and nudges Buck’s side. “Right, Buck?”
“Uh… yeah,” Buck says, voice flat. “I guess.”
“Alright, then,” Eddie says cheerfully. “You in, Brian?”
Buck looks like he wants to cut in again, say something about priests and alcohol, but his mouth twitches, and he holds his tongue. Eddie interlocks their fingers, leaning back against him, as a reward. Or something.
“Well,” Brian says, considering it. “Drink and be merry, right?”
Eddie cheers. “That’s the spirit.”
Things get a little—fuzzy, after that. Buck lightens up by a few degrees, but not by much, as he instructs them both on how to take jello shots, circling his finger inside the cup with what seems to be, in Eddie’s expert opinion, way more of a suggestive motion than the action really calls for. Maybe it’s normal, though. Maybe Eddie’s just drunk. He’s definitely not too drunk, though, to appreciate the line of Buck’s throat as he tips his head back, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucks the jello from the cup, the honestly obscene noise that results. Buck smirks at him, afterwards. Eddie feels very hot. He thinks about taking his shirt off, toying with the hem of it, winding the fabric with his pointer finger. But he’s not that far gone. Not yet.
Brian, to their surprise, downs his like a champ. When Buck and Eddie blink at him, wide-eyed, he just grins and says something about college, and not always being a priest. Buck looks put out again, sulking and pouting, and Eddie, for some reason, can only think of Gerrard’s voice saying: your broody little pout. Eddie hates to agree with Gerrard. He needs more shots.
The night stretches lower and longer, darker and dirtier. Eddie can feel the bass through his shoes, vibrating up through his legs. He wonders if Buck feels it differently, with all the metal he’s got in there. He wonders if it hurts, or if it feels good. He hopes Buck feels good. Eddie feels good. Eddie feels great.
Brian’s extra handsome when he laughs. He’s extra handsome when he tucks back another shot, slamming the plastic against their little table—because they’ve moved, at some point—with an over-dramatic flourish. He’s having fun, Eddie thinks, and the thought makes him smile.
“Isn’t this fun?” Eddie shouts at Buck, leaning sideways to knock their shoulders together. Buck’s staring off into space, and he has to blink several times to bring himself out of it.
“What?”
“I said, isn’t this fun?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Buck says loudly, but his face looks all sour, like a pinched lemon. “It’s great.”
Eddie frowns. “Are you not having fun?” he asks worriedly. He looks back at Brian, nervous that his people-reading skills aren’t so good after all. “Are you having fun, Brian?”
Brian’s nose scrunches as he smiles. It makes him look like Buck. “I’m having fun, Eddie,” he assures him gently. “Thanks for inviting me over.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, something dull in his voice. “Thanks.”
Buck is sad. Buck should never be sad. Like, ever. It’s just wrong. Eddie thinks as hard as he can. What can he do? What would make Buck happy? Usually, he’d pass Chris off on him, but that’s—yeah. Not thinking about that right now. What would Eddie do? What makes Eddie happy?
He gasps. “Dancing! We need to dance, Buck. C’mon, c’mon.” He tugs at his arm, at his shirt sleeve. “We haven’t danced all night.”
Tentatively, Buck’s lips curve in a smile. “Yeah? You want to?”
“Yeah!” Eddie’s standing, now, reaching out for Brian with his other hand. “Do you dance, Brian? Do priests dance? Or is that, like, sacre—sac—um. Not holy.”
Brian snorts, but he’s looking between Buck and Eddie, wary. “Maybe I should sit this one out, Eddie.”
“What? No way.” Eddie gets a hand around his bicep, tugs harder. Buck’s shirt is silky smooth under the fingers of his other hand. He tightens his grip. “You deserve joy, too. Unless you’re scared?”
Brian looks past Eddie, right at Buck. There’s a few, very obvious seconds of silence. Eddie can feel Buck against his back, a solid line of heat, and Brian’s arm under his palm, and—he’s not stupid. He knows there’s some sort of issue, here. But he’s drunk enough to push all the repercussions onto Sober Eddie. It seems like a good plan.
“No,” Brian says slowly, and Buck makes a low, dissatisfied noise. “I’m not scared.”
It takes Eddie a few seconds to remember how to form words. Buck’s pressed right up against his back, now, his hips against Eddie’s, his free hand on Eddie’s hip. Eddie forgets, sometimes, how much bigger Buck is. It feels like a lot, when they’re back-to-chest like this.
“Let’s—uh,” Eddie says, then gives up on forming words at all, just tugging them both into the crowd. They follow, trailing close behind him, Buck’s hand sprawling possessively on Eddie’s waist. The beat changes, the song clicking into some trashy mid-2000s Kesha song that Eddie remembers hearing on the radio. It’s no Old Time Rock & Roll, but it’ll do.
Pressing into the throng of people, Eddie reaches inside his head, disconnects his shame from his body, and dances. In a way, there’s so many people here that he feels safer, less exposed. Everyone’s dancing. Everyone’s queer, or at least open to it. No one’s looking at him.
Eddie raises his hands over his head, rolling his hips, tugging lightly at his own hair. It feels—it feels good. It feels solid. Powerful. Sexy, even.
Even through his closed eyes, though, he can feel the weight of attention. Maybe scratch the part about no one watching him. He opens his eyes, blinking into the blue-purple lights, and sees Brian in front of him, close but not touching, a small smile on his lips as he watches Eddie. “You’re a good dancer,” he says, when Eddie catches his eye.
“Thanks!” Eddie shouts back, grinning. He can feel Buck behind him—two hands on his waist, now, burning-hot points of contact. When Eddie turns his head, though, Buck’s not even dancing—just standing still, looking down at him, like he’s holding him steady. Eddie presses a little farther back, frowning, until their hips meet. Hesitantly, Buck’s arm wraps around his waist, almost hovering.
“Eddie?” Buck says, eyes flickering over his shoulder. Brian’s been tugged away by someone who looks at least five years younger than them, but he’s laughing, shaking his hips and nodding his head to the beat.
“Buck,” Eddie says, and tips his head back onto Buck’s shoulder. “Dance with me.”
Eddie can feel the hitch of Buck’s breath against his back. “Are you—are you sure?”
This is stupid. Buck is not stupid, but he’s asking a stupid question. Of course Eddie is sure. He drags a hand down to cover Buck’s own, intertwining their fingers over Eddie’s hip. “I’m always sure,” he mumbles, which doesn’t make the most sense, maybe, but it feels true. “C’mon, Buck.”
Slowly, tentatively, Buck moves. The friction is so good that Eddie groans under his breath, tugging at Buck’s grip to tighten it, squish them even closer together. It’s electric, even through all that fabric. Eddie wants him closer. He wants Buck inside him. It’s not a new thought, but it has him unconsciously pushing his hips back, swiveling them, and Buck lets out an echoing groan in response.
“Eddie,” Buck mumbles, right in his ear. His lips brush against Eddie’s temple, and he shivers—he hadn’t realized he was so sensitive there, in the space right where his hairline ends. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.”
From across the room, now, Brian catches Eddie’s eye. He winks. Giggling, Eddie falls back against Buck, his rhythm faltering. It’s almost like they’re spooning standing up, and oh, isn’t that a nice thought. Eddie closes his eyes, imagining it: a sunlit morning, miles of bare skin against his. “Mm. Bed,” he murmurs.
Buck puffs out a surprised exhale, a sharp burst of hot air right against Eddie’s skin. “Eddie,” he says again, like it’s the only word he knows. “Are you… you’re drunk.”
Buck tries to separate them, then, to rip away, but Eddie just turns in the circle of his arms, grabbing his wrist. “Maybe,” he allows, tugging Buck closer. “But I want you all the time.”
Eddie watches with satisfaction as the confirmation ripples over Buck’s face—his eyes go darker, hungrier, and he visibly swallows. “We should talk about this,” he whispers, and Eddie can only hear it because they’re standing so close. “I mean—just a second ago, you were all over Brian.”
The words are bitter, and Eddie frowns. “I don’t want Brian,” he says. “He just—he looks like you.”
Buck blinks a couple times at that, like he’s recalibrating, straining his neck over the crowd to take another look at Brian, who’s now grinding with a drag queen. “He does not,” Buck protests. “Or—maybe a little, I don’t know. But he should—he should be your first, Eddie. If you want to—explore. I don’t know if I can—” Buck’s eyes are shiny, Eddie realizes, and he reaches up with a thumb to rub at the tender skin underneath them. Buck leans into his touch, looking wounded. “I love you, Eddie. But I can’t be an experiment.”
Suddenly, Eddie feels more sober than he has all night. “Buck.”
Buck just stands there, looking like a hit dog, and Kesha stops singing but someone else starts, someone Eddie’s not young or hip enough to know by name, but right now, nothing else matters except for this: Buck doesn’t know that Eddie loves him.
“Come on,” Eddie says. He grabs Buck’s hand, pulling firmly until he stumbles into a follow. Ignoring Buck’s half-hearted protests, Eddie weaves through the crowd, back around to the bar. Along the way, he spots Brian again, waving with his free hand, and Brian waves back. Maybe he’ll have to visit him at church, to apologize. Maybe he can work it into a confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
This is a different type of confession: Eddie, dragging Buck back past the goth bouncer, back past the sprawling line of club-goers, out to the alley. It’s not an ideal location. It smells like garbage and sweat. Eddie wouldn’t have picked it, if it was up to him. But this can’t wait another second.
“Buck,” he says, once Buck’s been pushed back against the wall, Eddie standing in front of him. He curls his hands on Buck’s chest, trying to focus, to sober up. Everything’s blurry, and his ears are ringing. He stumbles a little, and Buck catches him, his eyes big and worried.
“Eddie, it’s fine. We don’t have to—”
“No,” Eddie says loudly, squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers twisting in Buck’s shirt. “Stop. You don’t—you need to know.”
Buck takes a deep breath, which expands and contracts against Eddie’s hands. “Okay,” he says shakily. “Okay, Eddie. What do… what do I need to know?”
“That you’re… you’re everything,” Eddie blurts, feeling sick. He looks up into Buck’s eyes, pleading. “You’re not… I would never… you’re my best friend.”
Buck’s mouth twists wryly, like he understands, but Eddie can tell from his face that he doesn’t understand at all. He smooths a hand down Eddie’s arm, placating. “I know, Eddie. It’s okay. You’re my best friend, too.”
“No,” Eddie says again, shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s… you’re…” He flattens his palm over Buck’s chest, right on top of his heart, just to feel it beat. They both fall silent, looking at the place that connects them.
“Three minutes and seventeen seconds,” Eddie says quietly. He doesn’t mean to say it, but he does. “That’s how long I lived without you. And I… I can never do that again.”
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, looking pained. He lays his hand over Eddie’s, slotting their fingers together. “You won’t have to, okay? You’re not losing me. We don’t have to… I’m happy with what we have. I’m so happy, just to be here with you.”
His eyes are getting shiny again, so Eddie presses up on his tiptoes, steadying his free hand on Buck’s shoulder, and presses his lips to his birthmark, holding them there. Under his palm, Buck’s heart beats faster. He’s shaking, just a little, in Eddie’s grip. “So am I,” Eddie murmurs, against Buck’s skin. “That’s not what this is. I…”
He pulls back, looking Buck in the eye, trying his best to arrange the words in an order that makes sense. “When I look at Christopher, I see you,” he says. “The best parts of you, right there in my kid’s smile. And—and I could listen to you talk forever, just because it’s you. You infuriate me. You’re reckless, and I wish you would take better care of yourself. And I—I touch myself, thinking about you. Wishing we could—do things, that I’ve never done. I want you to show me. I want to learn with you, and I don’t care if I look stupid, because you never make me feel stupid. I just… You’re not an experiment, Buck. You aren’t. You couldn’t be. You’re… you’re the answer.”
“Oh,” Buck breathes, his cheeks glistening. He blinks, sniffling, his lashes wet and clumped together. He’s never looked more beautiful. “I… I love you too, Eddie.”
Eddie smiles. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Buck’s, rubbing their noses together. Playful. Exploring. “Good.”
Buck nudges back, their lips brushing, testing the limits. Eddie feels so, so alive. Like he’s burning with it. He closes the gap.
It’s dirty almost immediately, Buck gasping into his mouth, like he hadn’t actually expected him to do it. Eddie runs his hands up to Buck’s hair, winding in his curls and tugging, and Buck’s gasps deepen into moans, vibrating against the roof of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie wedges a thigh between Buck’s legs, desperate with it, this driving need to get closer, to crawl all the way into Buck’s skin and make a home there. Nester, he thinks, a little deliriously. I nest.
“God,” Buck gasps, when they break for air. Instantly, he starts kissing a path down Eddie’s jaw, then his neck, his tongue darting out at random intervals, his teeth scraping skin. Eddie mostly focuses on staying upright, which is much harder at the moment than it should be. Buck kisses down his throat, down the exposed sliver of chest, then back up. Seems like he doesn’t mind the hair after all. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” Buck moans, after another firm kiss. “Did you say—did you say you touch yourself, thinking about me? Did I hear that right?”
“Mm,” Eddie agrees, because he does, and lets himself be manhandled back against the wall, Buck flipping their positions. “Yeah, we should circle back to that.” His stomach swoops as Buck looks down at him. He’s never had this before, a partner who’s stronger than him. Bigger, too. His mouth waters.
“We should,” Buck agrees, panting against his mouth. “But maybe not in the alley. That’s—it feels a little Buck 1.0 of me.”
“Fuck the point-ohs,” Eddie says, grinding their hips together in protest. “They’re all you. I love all of them, Buck. You weren’t a worse person just because you were a little horny.”
“Oh,” Buck says, his eyes bright, his voice affected. He looks like he might cry again. “You—you really do, don’t you?”
“Hm?”
“Love me.”
Eddie pulls back to look at him, his hand migrating to Buck’s shoulder, his thumb settling in its favorite spot by Buck’s collarbone. Buck’s body is so good for holding. So nicely shaped. “I do,” he says. Then, because he has no filter: “You’re so easy to hold.”
Buck blinks. “Thank you,” he says, sincere and a little watery.
“Welcome,” Eddie says. He grins. “You wanna get out of here?”
Buck laughs, then tangles their fingers together, already pulling up the Uber app with his other hand. “Eddie. I thought you would never ask.”
Together, they go home.