Work Text:
They find Delilah a little after five am.
Buck is chewing on a pastry—homemade (still needs some work. Not that you’d think it, by the way Eddie had practically inhaled his.) They’re huddled on the firehouse couch, Eddie scrolling through Tiktok aimlessly. Head pressing against Buck's shoulder. Which is—new. Sort of. New, at least, in the sense that it’s deliberate, and not just something that happens when they’re falling asleep on the couch. But Buck’s not going to question it.
It might be the worst thing Chris has ever done, downloading Tiktok to Eddie's phone. "So I can send you funny ones, Dad," he'd said. "I send them to Buck, too." He does. Funny animal videos, videos poking fun at millennials, this is you and dad attached. Buck rolls his eyes, reacts with a laughing face. Sends Chris some, too.
Eddie’s currently transfixed by a rug-cleaning video, frowning. "No one lets their rugs get this dirty, Buck."
Buck huffs out a laugh, makes a noise of agreement. Flakes of pastry flutter down into Eddie's hair. Buck flicks them out absently, watches Eddie swipe to the next video. This one is UFC. Then another—lawn-mowing. And another—men pummelling each other again.
“I need to delete this app.” Eddie says. “How does it know I like MMA? And it showed me bagels yesterday after we’d just been talking about getting bagels.”
“Algorithm,” Buck answers, takes another bite of his pastry.
Eddie swipes to another video. It’s basketball. Buck tries not to laugh.
“I can’t believe I let Chris talk me into this,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should delete it from his phone, too.”
Buck rolls his eyes. “You’re not deleting it from Chris’ phone.”
Eddie sighs. “Fine,” he agrees, “but I’m deleting it from mine.”
Buck’s surprised he hasn’t deleted it already. It’s been three days. He’s about to say as much when he hears the cry.
It echoes tinny through the dead-quiet, early morning stillness. Eddie snaps his head up from Buck’s shoulder. Pauses the video as Buck swallows down his pastry, freezes and says, "Is that a baby?"
They listen, unmoving, to the sound, echoing, echoing. It is, unmistakably, a baby.
Buck shoots up, pastry flying everywhere, Eddie leaping up beside him in almost perfect unison. They follow the echoing wail, scramble down the stairs, past the engines, to its source. Just outside the firehouse door.
And there she is.
A tiny bundle, wrapped up in a green blanket. Her face is scrunched up, little toothless mouth open in a big, harrowing cry.
"Oh my God," Buck gasps, heart lurching him downwards to scoop her up into his arms.
There's a note on the ground underneath her. Eddie grasps at it, holds it up.
Her name is Delilah. I'm so sorry.
Eddie turns the note over. There's nothing else, just that.
"Oh, honey," Buck says softly, sways into an instinctive rock. He lays the pads of his fingers soft over the baby’s round, red cheeks. They’re a little cold, but not too cold. "I’ve got you. It's okay, you're okay. You’re gonna be just fine."
Buck looks up at Eddie, and they stare at each other for a suspending moment before their Safe Haven training kicks in.
Eddie exhales a breath, says over the cries, "Let’s get you inside, baby girl,” and curves his hand around Buck's elbow.
Buck swallows thickly, looks down at the baby’s—Delilah’s—sad, crumpled face. He sweeps his eyes over the street, quick. But there’s no one. It’s eerily still, as if no one was ever there. So he lets Eddie guide them back inside, keeping his gaze fixed on Delilah's face, makes shushing sounds as they go.
It's been a long while since their last Safe Haven Baby. A little boy. His terrified mother handing him over to Hen with a broken, repeated sob, "I can't, I can't, I can't." Buck remembers the sting of tears in his eyes at her distress. Hen had asked her if she wanted an I.D. bracelet. In case she changed her mind. But the woman—girl, really. Eighteen, nineteen, maybe—had shook her head, I can't, and fled. Buck still thinks about her sometimes.
Delilah’s still howling out her little lungs when they get back up to the loft area. Loud, wracking wails. Eddie leans over her, where they’ve paused by the kitchen, strokes his fingers over her sparse hair as Buck sways with her.
She’s so tiny, can only be a couple of days old. Eddie’s hand is like a gentle giant’s next to her. Though, that might also have something to do with the fact that Eddie has—well, big hands. They’re impossible not to notice. Buck generally tries not to. But like most things he tries not to think about where Eddie is concerned, he’s never been particularly successful.
He notices now, with a tender warmth in his chest. Eddie’s big hand so careful and soft against Delilah’s fragile head.
"We've got you, sweetheart," Eddie soothes, “we’ve got you.”
It works. Delilah's cries hiccup to a slow stop. Buck watches her face change, settle. Big, wet eyes gazing up at Eddie, wide, transfixed. Like Eddie's made of soft, warm light. Safe.
Buck breathes out a little laugh, feels something fizzle like pop rocks under his ribcage. Murmurs, "I think she likes you."
Eddie smiles down at her. She coos, her little hands reaching up towards his face. "We'll need to check her over," he says quietly. "Call social services."
"Yeah," Buck breathes, watches. Watches Eddie grin big, toothy. Watches him make funny little faces, Delilah's blue eyes like saucers.
Eddie pokes his tongue out, boops Delilah gently on the nose, then says, “I’ll go tell Bobby. I think he’s still up.”
As soon as Eddie goes, Delilah’s little face scrunches right back up, mouth opening into another bawling sound.
"Hey, hey, don't worry, sweetheart,” Buck pacifies, tries to. “He'll be right back, I promise." He walks the kitchen with her, tries bouncing again, rocking, shushing. Sings as many of the words to Hey There, Delilah he can remember, softly and out of key. None of it works.
Buck tries not to take it too personally. If anything, he sympathises.
He breathes out a sigh, leans forward and touches his nose to the soft skin of Delilah’s head. “I don’t like being far from him either,” he tells her. Whispers it like a secret. "Maybe we should form a club. What d'you think? Just you and me.”
Eddie reappears before Buck can, in fact, establish whether Delilah is open to the idea of an Eddie Diaz Fan Club. So he shelves that one for now.
As luck would have it, Bobby is still up, apparently tackling the "Everest Mountain of paperwork" he hadn't had a chance to get done over the last couple of shifts. This is the, well—not q-word, Buck doesn’t even dare think that. But the most relaxed shift they've had lately. A few calls throughout the day, none of them particularly taxing or horrific. Only a couple during the night, the last around an hour ago. A man who'd drunkenly dropped his keys down a grate and got his arm stuck trying to retrieve them. Buck had had to valiantly choke down his laughter, avoid Eddie's eyes when the man had slurred out, "Lube me up, Mister Firefighter Man," while Eddie smothered the man's arm in lube to slide it out of the metal. They'd giggled like children in the engine after, Bobby rolling his eyes at them both, long-suffering but fond when he said, "You're as bad as each other."
So, it's been—relaxed. Nice. More like family time than work time. Dinner uninterrupted by an alarm, an episode and a half of Hotshots watched, very comprehensive inventory checks, Chimney forcing everyone to do Buzzfeed quizzes. Decent bunk time, too. Though, Eddie had opted not to turn in to the bunks after their last call, asked, "Coffee?" and Buck followed, instinctive. Said, "Caffeine me up, Mister Firefighter Man," and Eddie shook out a laugh, bumping Buck's shoulder as they ambled up the stairs to the kitchen while everyone else disappeared for some shut-eye.
Buck's grateful he did now—follow Eddie—as he gazes down at a still crying Delilah while Eddie relays that Bobby's calling social services.
Then, “I’m gonna check her over,” Eddie says, holds up a med bag he must have grabbed on the way back. “Can you check for formula? There should be some in the Safe Haven pack. I think she’s hungry.”
Buck nods. “Yeah, ‘course.”
“Oh, a diaper too.”
“On it,” Buck says. “Here.” He gently passes Delilah over, settles her into the cradle of Eddie’s arms.
"Hey there, baby girl,” Eddie soothes over her still-spluttering cries. “Oh, I know. I know. It’s okay.”
She looks up at him, eyes widening. Then it stops. Cries halting with another little hiccup as Eddie smiles down softly at her. “There we go, cariño. You’re okay.”
Buck feels that pop rock fizzle beneath his rib cage again. Breathes out, "You're magic," without quite meaning to.
He can hear the adoration, the love, in his own voice. He sucks in a breath, wonders if Eddie can hear it too. Part of him hopes Eddie didn’t hear at all. But another part of him—
It’s not a new feeling, is the thing. The realisation, when it happened—weeks ago now, when Eddie had said, “Stay.” A hand curling around Buck’s shoulder—was less a realisation of the feeling. It was a realisation that it wasn’t a new feeling. Everything changed, and nothing changed. Because Buck has always felt like this, for so long he’s not even sure when it started. It just took him several years, a sexual awakening and Eddie moving to Texas and back to be able to name it.
But now that he has named it, he keeps noticing. When it spills out. How often it spills out. And he doesn’t know how to stop it. Probably doesn’t even need to. Because it’s not new. It’s been spilling out of his chest the entire time. He’s been walking around with his love for Eddie seeping out through the spaces between his ribs, oblivious to it. Which—well, he feels a little stupid about. Because of course he’s in love with Eddie. It’s crazy now that he ever thought he wasn’t.
There’s a part of him, too, that doesn’t want to stop it. A part of him that wants to just fucking. Say it. Let Eddie hear it.
Because sometimes, ever since Eddie got back from Texas, he catches Eddie watching him. Across the room, across the engine, across the couch, the dinner table, the bed they share. Because sometimes, he notices Eddie’s touches lingering longer than they used to. Because sometimes—most of the time—he wakes up in the morning to Eddie’s arm curled around him. Because sometimes, he thinks Eddie could love him too.
It wouldn’t be so crazy. It wasn’t so crazy. Not for Buck. Maybe it wouldn’t be for Eddie.
But maybe it would.
He watches Eddie now, chuckling at Delilah. Watches him shift his gaze up to Buck, cheeks a little pink. Thinks he probably did hear what Buck said. Watches him smile, soft and open, and thinks it wouldn’t be so crazy.
Delilah reaches her little hands up, fingers prodding at Eddie’s mustache. He’d let it grow back in over the last few weeks. Said it felt more like him now. Different. It’s been—well, it’s been a bit of a revelation for Buck. Now that he knows how he feels about him.
Eddie giggles. "I know," he says softly, "tickles, right?"
Delilah looks up at him, little hand trying to grab at the bristles.
Buck feels like someone's poured soda over the pop rocks in his chest. "She likes you," he says, for the second time tonight, can’t stop the fondness in it. Then, "Definitely a 'stache fan too,” he teases.
Eddie hums in agreement. "She's in good company, then," he says. He pulls a goofy face at Delilah, before he slides his gaze back up to meet Buck’s. “Isn’t she?”
Buck feels his breath stutter, a small staccato inhale. He has no idea what to say to that. Whether to—well, he's not even sure he could deny it. He's not sure Eddie expects him to. Deny it or otherwise. He’s looking at Buck with a soft, focused certainty, mouth tilted into a smile. Like it’s known. Like he wants Buck to know that he knows. Like he’s putting it out there for Buck to decide what to do with.
Buck decides. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Guess she is. On—on both counts.”
It wouldn’t be so crazy.
He drops his eyes down from Eddie's careful gaze. Has to. Before he starts tumbling out words that sound like I love you or fucking—marry me? God. He settles his gaze back on Delilah instead. Those big, saucer eyes staring up at Eddie like he’s—well, magic. Like he’s the centre of the universe. Thinks, me too, kiddo.
“Buck,” Eddie says gently, a little huff of a laugh. “Formula?”
Buck blinks, shakes himself. “Oh. R–right. Yeah. Gimme a minute.”
Eddie chuckles, says to Delilah, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Buck’s going to make you a nice, big breakfast, yes he is” as he carries her over to the couch. “He’s a good cook, I promise. One of the best. Don’t tell him I said that though. We don’t want his head getting too big.”
Buck’s heart squeezes, releases into a flutter.
Then he busies himself with figuring out the preparation machine, making the formula. Listens to the soft lilt of Eddie’s voice as he talks quietly to Delilah. Buck can’t make out the words, just the affectionate, soothing tone of them. It feels so—domestic. Buck can almost imagine they’re at home. That this is their life. Eddie bouncing a baby. Buck making up a bottle. Chris sitting at the table, probably telling his new sibling how painfully uncool their dads are. He has to breathe through the want for a moment.
Once the formula’s done, and he’s triple checked the temperature, Buck grabs a diaper and wanders back over, kneels down next to Eddie.
“All good?” he asks.
Eddie nods. “She’s being such a brave girl, aren’t you?”
Delilah coos at him, eyes never leaving his face.
Buck watches quietly while Eddie finishes his checks. Hands deft and so gentle as he makes sure Delilah has no external injuries or bruising, murmuring to her softly as he does.
“Good job, sweetheart. Let’s check this leg too, okay?” he says, lifts her leg carefully to check underneath. Wiggles her little toes with his fingers. “Perfect.”
It makes Buck well up a little, blink misty eyes. He knows, has always known, how good with kids Eddie is. Knew the moment he saw Eddie and Chris together. Felt his heart squeeze with it. It was that, really, that sealed Buck’s fate. Being witness to the gentle, whole-hearted way Eddie cares, loves. Then, at some point, not just witness to, but the focus of that care, that love.
Buck never really stood a chance.
“She’s all good,” Eddie says. “At least as much as we can tell here. Social services will probably get her properly checked out.”
Buck nods. “Good, that’s—” swallows around the lump in his throat, “that’s good.”
“Here,” Eddie says, lifting Delilah up. Buck stumbles back to standing, lets Eddie put her in his arms.
She makes a twisting sound, like she’s going to start fussing again.
Buck shakes his head. “Maybe you should take her. She likes you better.”
“You’re good,” Eddie says, a fond whisper, “look.”
Buck does, looks down at Delilah’s face, staring up at him. Not quite as wide-eyed as the way she looked at Eddie. But, well. Buck can understand that.
Delilah gurgles, fingers grabbing at Buck’s chin, and Buck breathes out a laugh.
“Think she likes the stubble,” Eddie says. “Sensory.”
Buck smiles. “Good job I didn’t have time to shave before work.”
“Well, you would have,” Eddie argues. “If you’d got up when the alarm went off. Chris is better at getting up than you, and he’s a teenager.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck says, rolling his eyes. They have this argument at least every other day. “Bottle?”
“I’ve got it,” Eddie says.
Buck holds her while Eddie feeds her, his other hand resting warm on Buck’s arm. A tender quiet falls around them, Delilah’s little suckling sounds the only noise to be heard. Buck watches her, warmth flooding his chest. Finds himself thinking, I wish we could keep you. Doesn’t miss how natural the we felt. He lets himself imagine, just for a moment, that she’s theirs.
He breathes out, looks up at Eddie. Finds him looking at him. For a split-second, Buck thinks Eddie’s going to look away, pretend he wasn’t watching him. But he doesn’t, just keeps his gaze on Buck. Steady, unwavering. Lets the moment stretch out.
Someone, somewhere, clears their throat. Then, "Social services are here," Bobby says, quiet. Buck hadn't even heard him come up.
Buck clears his throat, swallows, at the same time Eddie says, "Won't be a minute, Cap." His voice is thick, gaze shifting from Buck back down to Delilah. Her eyes are starting to droop.
Bobby nods, looks curiously between them, then down to Delilah, expression softening. "You guys have a knack for that,” he says. “I’ll let her know you’ll be a minute.”
“Thanks, Cap,” Buck gets out.
Eddie slips the bottle from Delilah’s mouth, and Buck lifts her gently to his shoulder, tries not to wake her. He rubs over her back, pats softly, grins at Eddie when she lets out a little burp.
“Oh,” Eddie bursts out a laugh, bright, “you’ve got a little—”
Buck can guess. “She sicked up on me, didn’t she?” A parting gift, he supposes.
“Hold on,” Eddie says, still laughing. He grabs a towel from the kitchen, wipes at Buck’s shoulder. “Remind me to put this towel in the laundry.”
“And my shirt,” Buck says with a frown, but he laughs too. “Bet she wouldn’t have sicked up on you.”
“No,” Eddie agrees. “I’m magic, remember?”
Buck feels his face flush. “Shut up. H–here,” he says, passes Delilah over to Eddie so he can strip down to his t-shirt. He tosses his shirt onto the couch with the towel, then smiles sadly. “Guess we should—”
“Yeah.”
Buck brushes his fingers softly over Delilah’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay kid,” he whispers.
Eddie turns his head to where Delilah’s is resting against his shoulder, presses a kiss just next to where Buck’s fingers are, lips softly grazing his pinky.
“Come on,” Eddie says quietly.
The social worker is called Jenny. Buck listens, nods, agrees as Eddie explains how they found her, the medical checks that were given, her last feed. Finally, Eddie hands her over. She starts crying again the moment she leaves his arms. For some reason, Buck feels like crying too. He wants to ask Jenny a million questions, but only says, “Take care of her.”
Jenny gives him a reassuring smile, pats his arm. “She’ll be well taken care of.”
And then she’s gone, the firehouse settling back to stillness as she goes.
Bobby says, “Come to my office when you’re ready. You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.”
“Will do, Cap,” Eddie says.
Bobby nods, looks carefully between them, then leaves them be. Like he knows. Knows there’s something bigger happening here.
When he’s gone, Buck turns, finds Eddie’s eyes. He’s watching Buck carefully. After a moment, he reaches up and squeezes his fingers against Buck’s shoulder, thumb trailing over Buck’s collarbone. Buck sways into the touch. Stops himself from swaying too far. But they’re still close. Maybe too close. But they’re alone—as far as he can tell, anyway—so Buck doesn’t quite feel the need to correct himself.
Eddie’s breath comes out heavy between them. “Buck—"
"I'm gonna—do you want to go to the roof?" Buck asks. Before he thinks better of it. They have less than an hour left on shift. He could wait—probably should wait to talk about this. Them. The knowing. Until they get home, or at least until they’re not at work. In the truck, maybe. But that pop rock fizzle in his chest is threatening to overflow.
"Sure," Eddie says.
“Okay.”
They make their way back up, then up again. Quietly clamber up the stairs to the roof. Buck feels their fingertips brush, static-y. Almost flexes his own out to hook them around Eddie’s but stops short. Maybe Eddie feels it too, maybe he’s just tuning in to the telepathic link that they’ve honed for years, because he closes the gap for him. Links their fingers, pulls Buck up and out onto the roof.
He stops once they’re out, just a step ahead. Buck waits, watches him quietly, watches him turn around. His skin glows golden in the light of the early morning sun. Buck stares at him, the light of him, drinking him in for five, maybe ten seconds, before Eddie’s moving. He backs Buck into the door, fingers reaching for Buck’s jaw.
Buck lets out a soft sound as his back hits the metal, hands instinctively settling against Eddie’s waist. Then belatedly realises they let the door shut. The door that only opens from the inside.
“Shit, Eddie,” he says. “The door.”
Eddie lets out a laugh, tips his head forward until it’s resting against Buck’s. Says, “Buck, I don’t give a fuck about the door.”
Buck laughs too. “Okay, well. You might,” he points out. “When we have to call someone to come free us.”
Eddie shrugs. “Cross that bridge when we come to it.”
He rubs his nose softly over Buck’s, and Buck closes his eyes, sighs into the touch. “Yeah,” he says belatedly, “okay.”
Eddie says his name, breath warm in the close space between them, and—Buck kisses him. Barely. Just a slow press that lingers on Eddie’s bottom lip. He pulls back, just enough to look at him. Says, “We’re—we’re really doing this?” Like he has to check.
“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. He thumbs over Buck’s lip, grips at his chin and tilts his head slightly.
“Eddie—”
Buck cuts off with a shaky breath when Eddie presses his mouth to the underside of his jaw. Says, “Oh,” stupidly, a hand flying up to sink into Eddie’s hair.
Eddie huffs out a laugh through his nose, warm against Buck’s skin, trails his mouth—his mustache—up to where Buck’s jaw curves, lips settling over Buck’s pulse point in a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Buck shivers at the sensation of it—the wet of Eddie’s mouth and the scratch of the mustache.
It was different last time. With the mustache. Buck didn't know. Not like this, at least. Sure, he knew it looked good. Beautiful. Hot. Sometimes caught himself looking, eyes lingering. Sometimes caught himself wondering what it would feel like. But it was more abstract. Normal. Eddie was hot, in the way he always had been, in the way Buck had always noticed. Noticed, but never questioned. The mustache was no different. It was hot. Buck noticed. It was normal. He was a good best friend.
It was normal to notice the way Eddie’s hair fell softly over his face when it was freshly washed. The way Eddie’s cheeks flushed pink sometimes. The way his lips are the same colour. The way his mustache sits so prettily above them. The span of his hands, the flex of his arms, the warm glow of his eyes in the sunlight. And it was normal to wonder how that soft hair would feel threaded through fingers. Whether his flushed cheeks would be hot to the touch. What the scar on Eddie’s lip, the bristles of his mustache would feel like if someone—abstract—were to kiss him. What those hands could hold and cradle between them, how much weight those arms could hold, what want would look like in those eyes.
Except none of it really was. Normal. Buck's not sure how he ever believed any of that was normal. He’s not that good of a best friend.
Eddie kisses just below Buck’s ear, then pulls back, looks at him.
One of his hands slides down from Buck’s face, travels down the length of Buck’s arm. When he reaches Buck’s hand, he takes it in his own. Guides it upwards, presses Buck's fingers to drag over his upper lip. It's almost—sensory. The tickle of the bristles against his fingertips goes straight to Buck’s dick. Which is—well, not entirely unexpected. But it still makes Buck’s breath stutter in surprise.
"You like it," Eddie murmurs, pressing the line of his body closer into Buck's. Just a small movement. But enough of one that he can probably feel the way Buck’s cock is fattening up. The thought, that Eddie can feel it, not just know it, but feel it, makes Buck a little lightheaded.
"Yeah, I like it," Buck admits, a whisper. Leaves I like you unspoken. They both know this is about more—a life-changing, unquantifiable more—than the mustache.
Eddie hums, breath warm against Buck’s fingers. Says, “Good," and Buck hears something like a whimper tumble softly out of him.
Eddie's eyes darken, and he keeps them locked on Buck's. Rolls his hips up, slow, deliberate. Rubs the mustache over Buck's fingers, then drags them down to press a hot, lingering kiss to the tips of them. Buck feels it, all of it, everywhere. In every nerve, every atom. In the drum of his heart, the heavy weight of his cock.
They've barely even skimmed the surface, and Buck already knows. Knows that this is the best sex he's ever had. Because it's Eddie. Because no one has ever known him like this.
Buck rocks into him, asks the question that’s been spinning around his head like a carousel.
"How long?"
Eddie kisses down his fingers, over his palm. "How long have I wanted you? Or how long have I known you want me too?"
"Both,” Buck says, digs the fingers of his other hand into Eddie’s arm, just to feel the muscles there.
"I don't know,” Eddie laughs breathily. “God, I think maybe the whole time. And—you I knew for sure three weeks ago."
Buck thinks, the whole time, rolls it over in his head, and then decides he can’t think about that, actually. Fuck. Because it fills up his chest, threatens to spill up out of his throat in a sob. Instead, he tries to cast his mind back three weeks. Remember what he did, what he said, that could have given it away. But even that feels like too much—everything is swimming, sinking. Down, down, down. To where they're pressed together. To the hot, heavy weight of his cock. Buck's so hard now he’s not even sure what day it is anymore, let alone what was happening three weeks ago. God, they’ve barely even kissed yet. It would be embarrassing, how desperately hard he is from not much at all—Eddie’s mustache, a slow press and rock of hips, an open admission of want—if it weren't for the shape of Eddie's equally very hard dick pushing against his.
“I can’t—” remember, he tries to say. But then Eddie’s taking Buck’s fingers into his mouth, wet tongue sliding over them, and all that comes out is, "Oh, fuck.”
Eddie makes a noise around them, low and deep. Like it rolled out from the depths of his chest. He sucks on Buck’s digits, pins Buck to the door with his eyes, his body.
Buck feels a little like he might die. Grinds his hips, fingers clenching into Eddie’s waist.
It's not enough. He needs more, more, more. He needs—
He slides his hand around, grabs at Eddie’s ass and pulls. Lines them up better, so his cock drags over Eddie’s through the fabric of their pants. Buck feels more than hears Eddie groan, the vibration of the sound around his fingers.
“Fuck,” Buck says. He sildes his fingers out of Eddie's mouth and shoves them into his own. Gets them wetter, chasing the taste of Eddie's tongue on them. Eddie gazes at him, expression blown out, and Buck makes a desperate, urgent sound, tugs at Eddie's pants with his other hand. Thinks, off. Off, off, off.
Eddie catches on quick. “Yeah,” he says, “hold on,” and pulls back a little, reaching down with both hands to loosen them, push them down far enough for Buck to get his spit-wet fingers around Eddie’s cock.
They both moan when he does. Buck marvels at the silky heat of it, the feel of it, the size of it. He slides his hand up, massages the head a little bit.
“God, Buck,” Eddie’s saying. He pushes into it, pitching forward, and rubs his mouth back over Buck’s jaw.
Buck inhales, sharp, says, “Eddie,” on the exhale. He strokes Eddie’s cock with a little more finesse, and Eddie whines into Buck’s cheek, lips dragging wetly, mustache prickling against Buck’s skin.
Buck feels his cock jerk, pushes against Eddie’s hip and begs, “Eddie, kiss me. Please, please.”
Eddie does. Technically. He presses his lips to Buck’s skin, kisses over his cheekbone, over his eye, right where Buck’s birthmark is. Works his way back down Buck’s jaw. Kisses his chin. Until finally, finally, Eddie kisses him, fingers curling into Buck’s hair. It tips the world, and Buck falls into him, gets lost in Eddie’s mouth, in the way Eddie’s tongue sweeps into him, taking him apart. God, Buck can’t believe they made it this far—now, today, the last seven years—without this. He whimpers into Eddie’s mouth, rocks into Eddie’s hip, remembers what he was doing before Eddie put his tongue down his throat when Eddie fucks up into the now loose grip Buck has on his cock.
Buck breaks the kiss to spit into his hand, get it a little wetter, then starts to stroke Eddie with purpose, hot and fast.
“I think I wanted you the whole time, too,” he says, breathless against Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie shakes out a laugh that stumbles into a moan somewhere in the middle, then says, “I know, Buck.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, because of course Eddie knows, and resumes their kiss. Bites at Eddie’s lip, slides his tongue in, deep and hot. Then breaks it again with a groan to say a little wondrously, a little deliriously, “I can’t believe I’m kissing you.” Then, “Fuck, Eddie. My hand’s on your cock.” He hears how silly it sounds the moment it comes out, but he doesn’t care. His hand is on Eddie’s cock. Eddie, his best friend. Probably—definitely—the love of his life.
Eddie laughs again, giggles breathily against his mouth, says, “Buck,” and then Buck’s laughing too, slanting the tilt of their lips together in another kiss, feels Eddie’s smile against his.
He quickens the pace of his hand, and Eddie slides his lips to Buck’s cheek, panting. "Buck, wait," he rasps, fingers tightening in Buck's hair. Buck leans into it, lets Eddie pull him back where he wants him.
“Slow,” Eddie chokes out. "Slow down, bud. Let me touch you."
Buck obeys, almost too quickly. Body reacting to Eddie's command like a dog told to heel. He slows his hand to a lazy glide, works over the head of Eddie's cock while Eddie breathes hot into his mouth, fumbles to undo Buck's pants and shove them down far enough to free Buck from their confines.
Buck shudders into his touch, cock dribbling out precome as soon as Eddie gets his hand around him. Eddie thumbs the slit, spreads it down to ease the slide.
He kisses over Buck’s neck, stretches the collar of Buck’s t-shirt to get his mouth on Buck’s shoulder. “Show me how much,” he says.
“What?” Buck manages, dazedly.
Eddie bites at his shoulder, says, “Show me how much you want it,” and Buck loses it a little, can’t help it. Shoves into Eddie’s hand desperately, hand scrabbling to grab at Eddie’s back for leverage.
"There we go," Eddie says, "Good," and Buck whines. Feels his body flush hotter, feverish. The fizzing in his chest spreading outwards, like it’s in his fucking blood. Everywhere.
Fuck, he needs to come. Can feel it tugging at his skin already, peeling back layers, exposing him for Eddie to see. “Eddie,” he pants. “Eddie, fuck. I—”
"Don’t. Not yet," Eddie says breathlessly, and Buck stills his hips before he even realises he's doing it.
Eddie lifts his head up, looks at him in hazy wonder. “Jesus. So good at taking orders.”
Buck is going to die. “Eddie,” he begs, stretching out Eddie’s name. “Please, pl—”
Eddie kisses him, different this time. Slow in a way that makes Buck’s chest pull, heart ache. The kind of kiss that you can see the rest of your life unfold in.
“I wanna—like this,” Eddie mumbles against his bottom lip, then wraps his long fingers around them both.
Buck shuts his eyes, a sound punching its way out his throat at the sensation of Eddie’s cock hot and hard against his own.
Eddie presses their foreheads together. “Open your eyes, baby,” he coaxes.
So Buck does, looks down, watches, drunk on it. On the way Eddie works their cocks together. Wet, pink heads disappearing into Eddie's fist. On the way his own leaks out more precome as Eddie thumbs over it.
"You're so wet," Eddie says, almost to himself. Like it’s a vital piece of information that he needs to treasure, catalogue. He thumbs over the slit of Buck's cock again on the upstroke, with something like determination, and Buck gasps. Gets wetter, somehow, leaking out more, bending to Eddie's will. Like leaves to the sun.
He can’t stop watching, can’t stop bucking his hips. Their cocks sliding together, Eddie’s big hand working them faster until—
"I—fuck. Eddie. Eddie. Gonna come."
"Good," Eddie breathes, and Buck keens, wants to ask him to say it again, please, wants—"Good boy." That.
His orgasm catches him by surprise. Though, he's not sure why. Because of course Eddie knows. Knows exactly how Buck works, what he wants. What he needs. He always has. Buck chokes out Eddie's name and comes and comes and comes. Soaking them both. He's still looking down, watches it happen. Watches him make a mess of them both. It gets all over Eddie’s shirt, all over Eddie’s hand, their cocks.
“God, Buck, look at you,” Eddie's saying, hand moving urgently. He grabs at Buck's hair with the other as Buck shakes through it, cock still spitting out come pathetically. Wrenches Buck's dazed gaze upwards and licks into his mouth with a groan, like he’s trying to climb down Buck's throat and into his chest. Or maybe he’s trying to swallow Buck down into his, consume him. Buck would let him. Would take up residence there, with Eddie’s blood and bone and heart. He's hard-pressed to think of anything he wouldn't let Eddie do.
The kiss quickly devolves into something messier, Eddie losing coordination, panting into Buck’s mouth as he nears the edge. Buck digs his fingers into Eddie's neck, shudders at the mounting oversensitivity, the quick stroke of Eddie's hand just this side of too much. He hears himself make a small sound like a hiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie must notice, because he stutters to a pause, which—Buck growls. Gets his hand around Eddie's, bites at his lip in encouragement.
"Don't stop," he rasps, guiding Eddie back into a quick, hot stroke. Wetter now. So wet he can hear the slick sound of it. "Wanna feel it. Please."
Eddie says, "Buck," brokenly, and shoves up into their joined hands, again and again, hot and feverish, chasing it.
Buck whines. "Yeah, that's it. Just like that, Eddie," he encourages. He swipes the hand Eddie's not fucking into through the mess of his own come, brings it up to thumb over Eddie’s mustache, his lips.
"Oh, fuck," Eddie groans, sucks Buck's wet thumb into his mouth, and then he's coming. Buck presses their foreheads together, makes sure to look back down, take it all in. Eddie spilling hot over them both, hips spasming.
He pulls Eddie in by the neck, drags his tongue over Eddie’s mustache, tastes himself, then kisses him, slow, messy. Eddie's hands scramble for Buck's waist as he kisses Buck back, slides them up underneath his shirt. Warm, sticky, big. So, so big over Buck's ribcage. One of them settles, just over Buck's heart. And Buck feels his chest rise to it, heart trying to find its way into Eddie's hand.
"I'm in love with you," Buck murmurs after a moment, quiet against Eddie's mouth. "Just, uh. You know. In case that's not obvious."
Eddie lets out a breathless sound, reaches up to touch Buck's face. "Oh, it is," he says, a soft, teasing lilt. "Subtlety's not really your forte, Buck."
Buck feels a laugh bubble out of him. He ducks his head down to bite at Eddie's shoulder. "Fuck off."
Eddie laughs too, huffs it out into Buck’s hair before pressing a kiss to his head.
When Buck pulls his head back up, Eddie's looking at him fondly. "It's not really my forte, either. I put you in my will, remember?"
Buck remembers. Remembers it the way you remember a dream. Not sure whether it was real or not. Remembers how long ago it was, too. Years. "That long?"
"Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “I think so. Longer, even."
Buck swallows, kisses his jaw, his cheek. "Okay, so. What happened three weeks ago?" he asks. "That you—knew. I mean, that I—how did you know that I knew?"
Eddie breathes out. "The night Chris was over at Hen and Karen's.”
Buck casts his mind back, and then he laughs. Bright and loud. Because of fucking course it was. Of course Eddie knew the day Buck did.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing. Just—continue.”
Eddie looks at him curiously, but continues. “You made us dinner. Bolognese. You opened that bottle of red that you were saving for a special occasion."
"It was a special occasion,” Buck argues. “We just became roomies."
Eddie laughs, giddy and bright. "We already were, Buck."
"Okay, sure.” Buck nods. “But it was official. You asked me to stay."
And that was it—Eddie asked him to stay. In the quiet afternoon of the—their—kitchen. Buck had been emptying the dishwasher, passing dishes to Eddie to put away, and Eddie said, “Stay.”
Buck had paused, holding a mug. Said, “What?”
“Stay, Buck,” Eddie said softly, taking the mug from Buck’s fingers and setting it down, reaching up to curl his fingers over Buck’s shoulder. “Here. In our house. With me, with Chris. You don’t need to find another place. You have a place. Here.”
“Eddie,” Buck said, floundering like a fish, heart in his throat. Asked stupidly, “Where would I sleep?”
Eddie had laughed, eyes so fond. “With me. Where you’ve been sleeping.”
“Yeah, but I mean—” Buck said. “Long-term.”
Something had flickered in Eddie’s expression that Buck couldn’t quite fathom at the time. “We’ll figure it out. Just—stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Buck, I’m always sure about you,” Eddie said, and something inside of Buck just. Gave way. Like it couldn’t hold the dam shut anymore. Surrendered to it. He thought, I’m in love with him. Then, Oh, fuck. I’ve always been in love with him. Then, a little hysterically, Maddie is going to be unbearable about this.
He’d took a breath, another, another. Said softly, “Okay.”
"Yeah, I did do that,” Eddie’s saying now. Then, something softens into his expression. Realisation. “Wait, was that when you—"
“Yeah,” Buck says, breathes out a small laugh. “Fuck. Okay, your turn. Was it the wine that gave me away?"
Eddie rolls his eyes. "No, Buck. It wasn’t the wine."
"Then—"
"After, on the couch. You said you'd never had anywhere that felt like home. Until me and Chris. And you looked at me like," Eddie pauses, thumbs over Buck's bottom lip. "Like you look now."
Buck leans into Eddie's touch. Gravitational. "How do I look now?"
“Well, like you just came all over me, for one,” Eddie teases, like he can’t help himself. “Firehose.”
Buck chokes out a surprised sound, shoves at his shoulder. “You’re so annoying,” he says. “Answer the question, Eddie.”
“Seriously, Buck. It’s all over me.” Eddie leans back, trails his fingers over Buck’s drying come on his shirt.
Buck tracks the movement, covers Eddie’s hand with his own, interlocking his fingers. “You like it,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, it’s hot,” Eddie breathes, leans back into him, slides his lips over Buck’s in a slow, lingering kiss. Then, "Like you want me to kiss you," he says, soft. “You looked at me like you wanted me to kiss you.”
Buck exhales, asks with amusement, "So why didn't you?"
"Because I knew everything would change,” Eddie says, fingers stroking over Buck’s face, something in his expression broken open. “Buck, you’re my best friend. I can’t—” he cuts himself off, swallows thickly.
"Oh," Buck breathes. A realisation. Pieces slotting together. Embarrassingly, he feels his eyes fill up. Feels the wet of it on his lashes when he blinks.
Eddie laughs, so soft. "That’s what's getting you? You're my best friend."
"No, yes. Shut up," Buck tells him. "You're my best friend, too."
Eddie thumbs under Buck’s eyes. "I know, bud."
"You won't, you know," Buck says. Because, well. He gets it now. "Ruin this, I mean. You couldn't—like, seriously. There is—nothing. Nothing you could do that would."
"Can't go back now, anyway," Eddie breathes out. "I can't—Buck, I can't not have this with you. This," he says, and kisses him. A soft, slow slide of lips. "But also—this." He motions between them. "Us. Best friends. Partners."
Buck thinks about Shannon. About how hard Eddie clung on. How he couldn't make all of the pieces work together. Whispered admissions after a few too many beers. They were always one or the other. Best friends, lovers, partners, parents. Never all at once.
Buck reaches up, soothes his fingers over Eddie’s cheeks. He presses a kiss to Eddie's jaw. Another, and another. "You know that—that none of those things are mutually exclusive, right?" he murmurs. Pulls back just enough to nose over Eddie’s mustache.
"I know that."
Buck raises an eyebrow. Then leans back, raises his fist, holds it out. "Do you?"
It makes Eddie laugh, bright and warm.
Buck looks at him expectantly. "Don't leave me hanging, man. Come on, we nailed that work roof sex. Ten out of ten for teamwork."
Eddie hums, looks at Buck like he’s magic. “They should make a note of it in our next yearly review.”
“Exemplary partners,” Buck says. “Work very hard together.”
“You’re the worst.” Eddie grins, the same easy grin he's thrown Buck's way for the last seven years. He meets Buck's clenched hand in a fist bump and says softly, "I love you so much." Then, belatedly, "God. We're on the roof. We’re at work."
"Yeah," Buck laughs, "should, uh—should probably put our dicks away."
Eddie looks down, like he forgot. "Little late for that, Buckley."
Buck slides his hands down to Eddie’s waist. "Here, let me—" he says, pushes Eddie back a little so he can get his hands on Eddie's pants, tuck him back in, fasten them up. "Probably no one saw." Probably. Most of the higher rise buildings around the firehouse are far enough away. Most of them.
"Would you care if they did?" Eddie asks as he returns the favour, fastens Buck up.
"Oh, we're getting into that already?" Buck waggles his eyebrows, counters, “Would you care if they did?”
Eddie flushes, cheeks filling up pink so fast it makes Buck feel a little hot. He files that one away for later questioning.
“We’re gonna have to call someone,” he says instead. Because they’re coming up to the bridge they need to cross. Or, well. The fucking door. They’re gonna have to tell someone they’re stuck out here.
Eddie groans, head falling against Buck’s shoulder. “In a minute,” he says.
“Okay,” Buck agrees, wraps his arms around him and lets them sink into an embrace.
Eddie presses his full weight into him, hands sliding up Buck’s back, face pressing into Buck’s neck. It’s—different. To any other time they’ve hugged. Which isn’t surprising as much as it is revealing. They’ve hugged a lot over the years. But—maybe less than they should have, Buck’s realising. It always felt—weirdly anxious. Like Buck was trying to remember the rules. Where to put his arms, his face, how long to linger, whether to add a little friendly pat. It felt awkward in a way he could never quite fathom. Now, though. Well, now he knows why. Knows it felt awkward because they were trying so hard to fight what felt natural. They were trying so hard to make it—not this.
They stay like that for a while, holding onto each other. Because they can. Eventually, Eddie pulls back, and Buck says, “I think Ravi’s our best bet. He’ll ask less questions. Probably.”
Eddie nods, like he’s somewhere else. Then, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” he asks quietly, as Buck pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Delilah, I mean.”
Buck pauses, relocks his phone. “I hope so,” he breathes, feels a little ache in his chest. "You were good with her, you know. I almost wished—I kinda wished she was ours.”
It comes out like a confession, an admission. It is, he supposes.
"Yeah,” Eddie agrees, looks up at Buck with something soft, open in his eyes. “Me too.”
Buck takes a breath, then says, “I think I want that. With you. If that’s—”
“Yeah,” Eddie says again, then huffs out a little wondrous laugh. "Man, one fumble on the roof and you're already planning more kids, huh? At least marry me first."
Buck's brain stumbles over the implication of the more, heart swooping, before it even registers the rest. When it does, his breath catches a little.
He clears his throat. "One fumble on the roof and you're already proposing marriage," he counters, thick. Then, "I would. Marry you," he says.
Eddie grins. "Yeah?"
Buck stares at him, chest doing intricate somersaults not dissimilar to Olympic gymnasts. "Are you—are you being serious?"
Eddie shrugs, expression earnest. "I meant it when I said I’m always sure about you, Buck.”
“I—” Buck stutters, wonders how many times it’s possible to fall in love with the same person. If this is just going to go on and on forever. Falling in love in different ways. “I mean—yeah. Yes. If you—But we haven't even—" His mind cycles through a myriad of things they haven't even. Gone on a date, for one. And, well—a lot. A lot of things that have been swimming about in Buck’s head for weeks now. Him, on his knees. Eddie on his knees. On his back, Buck sinking down onto his cock. Eddie inside of him. Buck working him open with his fingers. Vice versa. Everything. There’s so much.
Eddie laughs, low. Like he can see every thought playing in Buck’s head. "Shift's almost over," he mumbles. "We could do some of that when we get home. Whatever it is you're thinking. Maybe I can knock you up while we're at it."
Embarrassingly, Buck feels his knees buckle at that, legs liquefy, feels his cock twitch. Bites down on his lip in attempt to smother whatever sound is trying to escape.
Eddie notices. Because of course he does. Sucks in a breath, says, "Oh," on the exhale, something like awe in it. "You like that."
"Eddie," Buck whimpers.
Eddie looks over him, eyes curious. “You want me to knock you up? Give you a baby.”
Buck pushes his hips into Eddie’s without quite meaning to, and Eddie says, “That a yes?” He drags his hand down, cups Buck’s hardening cock through his pants. "Oh, you really like that.”
"I would like you to stop talking," Buck says, but it comes out more like a plead. "Before I—before I forget why it's a bad idea for you to fuck me on the roof of our workplace."
Eddie punches a breath out of his throat. “Fuck. Okay,” he says, grins a little wickedly. Canines showing. He pushes forward, catches Buck’s lips in a kiss, biting, then says, “okay. Home. We’re going home. Now. Call Ravi.”
"We're still on shift," Buck points out a little breathlessly.
"Pretty sure we can duck out early just this once. There's probably enough of B-shift here by now,” Eddie says, glides his fingers over Buck’s chest, drags his mouth to Buck’s ear, murmurs, “Besides, this is an emergency. We gotta get a baby in you, stat.”
Buck whines. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says, but he’s already unlocking his phone, scrolling through his contacts to bring up Ravi.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take Ravi long. A few minutes. Enough time for Eddie to pull his come-stained shirt off—“I think some of it seeped into my t-shirt, Jesus,” he says. Buck nips his arm. “Shut up, Eddie.”—and for Buck to breathe his way back to relatively normal.
As soon as the door’s open, Ravi looks them over, takes in Eddie’s folded up shirt under his arm, their dishevelled hair, flustered cheeks. “I’m not even gonna ask,” he says, deadpan. Then, “Wait, no. I am. Did this just happen?”
“What?” Buck says.
“You two,” Ravi says, pointing excessively between them. “Is this new? Like, today new?”
“Yes?”
Ravi huffs. “Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have taken that bet.”
Buck blinks. “Bet.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ravi says as they head down the stairs. "Oh, hey. Heard you guys had a baby.”
“Did we?” Eddie says with a grin at Buck, “I feel like I’d remember knocking Buck up.”
Buck really is going to fucking kill him. “Eddie,” he says.
Ravi sighs, long-suffering. “Yeah, I’m not gonna touch that one,” he says. “Congrats, or whatever.”
Buck grabs a hold of Eddie’s arm, pulling him. “See you in forty-eight, Rav!”
*
Bobby 🫡
You two left without filling out the paperwork!!! 📝
Buck
Oops
sorry Bobby! first thing next shift we swear 🙏
Bobby 🫡
Ok, don’t make a habit of it
Any other paperwork I need to prepare? Relationship disclosure forms perhaps?
Buck
gotta go cap
emergency!
see you Saturday