downbuddie
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Public Bookmark 758
Mystery Work
Part of Closed Fics
Summary
This is part of an ongoing challenge and will be revealed soon!
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Summary
“Eddie! Eddie, hey, hi. Sorry. Theo, don’t touch that! Don’t touch that! Ah, frick. He’s - - he’s touching it.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No. No. I’m - - locked out. Theo is locked in. Well - - he locked himself in. Accidentally. I think. I’m pretty sure. Anyway, I need your key. I need your key really fast. Theo! Buddy. Please. Don’t eat that. That’s not for eating. Theo. Theo. Don’t - -” Buck lets out a loaded, patient breath. “Ideally as fast as you can.”
Or, Theo locks Buck out. Eddie comes to the rescue.
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Summary
Eddie Diaz is on what is possibly the worst date of all time. A tall blue eyed stranger saves him from his predicament.
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Eddie's about to stand up from the table—to simply get the hell out of there, and wait on his Uber out of sight—when something unexpected happens. His people-watching-subject is now approaching the table, no longer sat at the bar.
"What the hell?" The man's piercing blue eyes are fixed on him.
Eddie goes tense, a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. He catches the mischievous quirk of the other mans mouth though and isn't sure what he's in for.
"And who the hell is this?" Blue Eyes whips around to face Eddie's date, eyebrow set in a firm line. Eddie wonders if he's a model or something in his free time. This was LA after all. Eddie makes a mental note to ask him if he's a model.
"E-ethan?"
"Are you sure about that E-e-ethan?" Blue-Eye's crowds into his area and sticks a finger in his chest.
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Summary
“You want a bruise?” Eddie mumbles—and it’s by sheer magic that Buck doesn’t drop to his knees and propose right there. Eddie doesn’t give him a joke about asking for a hickey at thirty-five. Nor a joke about asking for a hickey before they’ve even kissed, much less had a mere two minute conversation about what this is no—Eddie just… gets it. Because Buck isn’t asking for a hickey, or a love-bite, not in traditional terms. He wants a bruise. He’s already bruised all over from horrible, abusive people, he has fucking taser marks on the other side of his neck that are still tender.
Buck looks like he’s been through the ringer, because he has been through the ringer—they both have—and if he has to see them each and every day in the mirror for the next few weeks as they fade from red, to purple, to blue, to yellow, to gone—he wants to know that at least one of them wasn’t born out of cruelty. Not an injury, but rather a piece of art—one carefully painted out of this—out of them—with Eddie holding the paintbrush in the form of his beautiful mouth; his intoxicating, safe, undivided, irreplaceable attention.
Series
- Part 8 of codas, spec, etc.
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Summary
“Wait,” the man says, reaching out and tugging on Buck’s shirt.
Buck rights himself and looks down. There’s a small tear revealing a bruise right at his ribs. He sucks in a breath when the man slips his hand under, making contact with Buck’s flank as he lifts the shirt up.
“Jesus, he got you good,” he remarks before dropping the ice pack into the bucket. He continues pulling Buck’s shirt up, big brown eyes flicking up and down. Buck huffs and takes it off completely, swallowing when the man plants his hands on either side of Buck’s waist.
“Got you good, too,” Buck croaks, already painfully turned on. “Gonna be a shiner.”
When Buck starts a fight in a bar, a stranger comes to his rescue. Buck brings him back to his hotel to patch him up.