Archive of Our Own

Tommy Kinard (Buck’s ex): (10:34am)
Hey, Eddie
I saw Evan last night and he told me you moved away, just wanted to say good luck with everything

Eddie reads the message once, twice… ten times.

What the fuck?

He sets his phone down with a shaky exhale and stares at the half built dresser scattered across the floor, Christopher’s dresser, the last piece to finish his room, the one thing he swore he’d get done today.

He picks up a screw, grabs the screwdriver, and tries to focus. He gets exactly half a turn in before his hand stalls, suspended mid-air like his body just forgot what it’s supposed to do.

What does he mean, he saw Buck last night?

He shakes his head, and grabs the phone again.

I saw Evan last night and he told me you moved away.  

I saw Evan last night.  

Saw. 

As in they were in each other’s company, as in they were together, as in Buck and Tommy were with one another.  

He told me. 

Told.

Told, as in spoke to, as in they communicated, as in Buck and Tommy interacting with one another. 

Since when are Buck and Tommy speaking?

Since when are Buck and Tommy speaking about him?

Last night.

Night implies… things.

Time. Intimacy. Pillow talk.

Horizontal activities.

Well… not necessarily. Maybe they just, bumped into each other, or maybe it was casual, a quick chat. Yeah, maybe Buck mentioned his move in passing, like it was no big deal. 

Just small talk. 

Harmless.

Right?

It doesn’t mean that Buck and Tommy are back together.

It doesn’t mean that Buck is…

That Buck is folding himself back into old patterns, into old arms, into a bed that isn’t…

Eddie cuts the thought off so hard it makes his stomach lurch.

He scans the message again like maybe it’ll say something different this time, something that doesn’t mean Buck was with Tommy last night. 

That Buck—No. Nope. Absolutely not.

Maybe Buck texted him. Yeah. Yeah, he could’ve just messaged Tommy, mentioned Eddie moved to El Paso in a casual, totally non-romantic way, because that’s what friends do. Right?

Buck and Tommy could be friend now, he guesses?

Why not?

But Tommy said he saw Buck.

Saw him… that means in person, right? 

Or maybe he saw him and didn’t speak to him, so Tommy text Buck to say he saw him, and it came up that Eddie moved.  

But why the hell would that come up?

Why the hell are they even talking?

Buck had been doing so well, not talking to Tommy after the breakup.

He’d thrown himself into baking, Eddie had been one of the unintended but grateful beneficiary of the fallout, scones on Sunday mornings, warm banana bread during shifts, cookies with the chocolate still soft in the centre.

Every tray of muffins was another day of no contact, every loaf was a quiet triumph, every bake was freedom.

Buck had been perfecting the art of post breakup silence, radio static, total blackout, not even a like on social media.

It had been a little impressive after the first couple of days where he nearly crumbled. It was proof that Buck knew what he deserved now, that he knew he was worth more.

But now, he’s just out here casually dropping Eddie’s life updates to Tommy? 

Like Eddie is just some late night gossip? 

Like it’s… he’s nothing? 

Like Eddie’s move, his entire life, is just another fun little tidbit to toss out in conversation with the ex that broke his heart?

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t fit.

Unless… 

Unless it wasn’t just a conversation.

Eddie clutches at his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt like he might be able to tear the feeling out. It’s not just pressure, it’s sharp, like someone’s laced wire between his ribs and yanked on it, threading a knot that cinches tighter with every breath he can’t take.

It feels like a fist, solid and merciless, shoved straight into his sternum and twisting, grinding into bone and muscle relentlessly.

He tries to breathe through it, deep and steady like he’s supposed to, but his lungs seize like they’ve forgotten how to do the one thing he needs most.

Evan told me you moved away.

Nope. Nope.

His breathing stutters in sharp, uneven gasps, and he starts gulping in quick, shallow breaths, desperate for air, for anything, but it’s not working. 

His lungs won’t expand, like they’re locked shut from the inside.

Panic swells in his body, his finger tips going dumb.

He hates this.

Hates the way his body betrays him.

Hates when he panics, and he can perform basic fucking human functions. 

Hates the rising tide of helplessness when he can’t… won’t, breathe.

His vision goes blurry and tilts, he attempts to stand but fails, the floor rising up to meet him. He folds, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, bowing low to something he can’t name, something that will hopefully help him breathe.

Maybe if he gets low enough, still enough, the world will stop spinning.

Maybe then he’ll be able to breathe.

He pushes himself onto his knees, trembling arms barely holding him up. His face hovers inches above the floorboards, hot stuttered breath fogging the wood. His fingers scrabble for something to anchor him, nails dragging uselessly across the grain.

There’s no pain.

No burn in his knees, no bite in his skin, just this crushing absence and panic. 

He gasps again, but nothing. The air stays at the edge of his lips, refuses to sink in. His chest refusing to expand like rusted iron.

He tries to count.

In for four, hold for four, out—

No, no, no, it’s not working.

His body is here, but he isn’t.

His mind is racing somewhere else, screaming down dark corridors, trying to claw its way back to the light.

But he still, can’t feel a thing.

Why was Buck with him?

He crawls pathetically towards something, shoving pieces of the dresser out of his way, and reaches the wall, plants both palms flat, and pulls himself up on his knees, back stiff, head tipped up like maybe if he stares at the ceiling hard enough, the universe will be kind.

Come on, Eddie.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

You’ve done this before. You’re not gonna die.

Come on. You can do it. 

He screws his eyes shut.

He tries not to see it.

Shakes his head, and squeezes tighter, begging his brain to stop.

But it doesn’t.

His mind turns on him, traitorous and cruel, Buck tangled up with Tommy in bed. 

In his house.

The image is seared behind his eyelids now, crystal clear, vivid in a way that feels almost cinematic. It doesn’t blur or fade like a passing thought, it lingers, etched into his mind with brutal precision, like it was pressed there with a red hot iron.

It scorches every time he blinks. 

The sting isn’t just in his chest, it melts through him, slowly scalding him, bleeding into muscle and bone until it feels like his entire body is holding its breath, waiting for it to pass.

But it doesn’t.

It just burns.

Jesus.  

Are they back together?

Is that it?

I saw Evan last night.  

Two weeks. He’s been gone less than two goddamn weeks and Buck’s…

He swallows down the bitter taste of bile, and tries to push it away.  

In for four, hold for four, out—

Forget it.

He stares at the ceiling, notices marks on the fresh paint job near the light fixture, and a fucking cobweb in the corner. He tries to stay there, in that moment, tries to get a breath in like a normal person.

Just breathe.

Babies do this shit, you can do this.

When he finally starts to calm down, he slumps back, sits on his heels, leans into the wall and presses his forehead against it like the cold surface might finish the job he started.

What the fuck was that?

A panic attack… over Buck seeing Tommy. 

That’s insane.

Buck is a grown man, and if he wants to hook up with his trash fire of an ex who, if Eddie’s being really honest, deserves to be pelted with tomatoes in the town square for how he treated Buck at the end. 

Well, that’s Buck’s choice.

If he wants to do that, it’s whatever, go ahead.

He can fuck whoever he wants— in his house…

Eddie coughs, a raw, scraping sound that claws its way up his throat. It burns, shredded from the struggle to breathe, and the cough spirals into a choking gag that has his whole body convulsing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His stomach twists violently. 

He’s going to be sick.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, stumbles to his feet on legs that barely feel connected to his body. They tremble under him, knees locking and unlocking as he lurches forward.

He groans as his foot slams into one of the scattered pieces of the unfinished dresser, the pain blooms up his shin, but he doesn’t stop. 

He can’t.

Jesus Christ.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he drops to his knees again, bracing himself on the cold porcelain as his body heaves, first in dry, aching gags, then for real, and its violent and gut wrenching.

His hands clutch the edge of the bowl, knuckles white, breath stuttering between each wave as if even now, his lungs can’t decide whether they’re on his side or not.

It feels like he’s vomiting up everything, panic, grief, guilt… until there’s nothing left but the hollow ache of it all.

When it’s finally over, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for the faucet. Doesn’t rinse the taste from his mouth or drag himself up to brush his teeth.

He doesn’t even have the strength to stumble to the kitchen and drown the whole thing in tequila, though the thought flickers dimly, ten shots, maybe more, anything to shut his brain off.

Instead, he just lets himself collapse back onto the cold tile, the bathroom spinning around him like a fucked up carousel. He stares up at the ceiling, blank, unmoving, safer than anything happening behind his eyes.

Time passes, he’s not sure how much.

Eventually, he lifts a hand and drags it down his face. 

That’s when he feels it, the wetness on his cheeks.

He hadn’t even noticed.

He’s crying. 

Fucking pull yourself together.

Eventually, piece by piece, he gathers the energy to stand.

He brushes his teeth, scrubbing until his gums sting, trying to erase the taste, the memory, everything. He forces down a bottle of water and a granola bar, one of the only groceries he has in the near empty kitchen, it’s dry and he barely tastes it, but it settles his stomach enough to function.

He goes back to what will be Christopher’s room, back to the mess of screws and instructions and half assembled wood that still needs to become a dresser.

But before he picks up the screwdriver again, he grabs his phone.

Eddie: (12:23am)
Thanks.

He stares at the screen for a beat, jaw clenched, pulse still ticking in his throat.

Asshole.

And finally, he gets back to work.

Maddie Buckley-Han: (9:33pm)
Hey, Eddie, just a quick text to see how you’re doing. Also thought I’d be sneaky and let you know that Buck is doing okay. I know you worry about him too.
Kisses to you and Chris 🥰

Eddie stares at the message, thumb hovering over the screen, his heart doing a weird little stutter thing it’s been doing way too often lately.

He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t exactly the kind of message he didn’t need right now.

Buck’s sister, letting him know how great Buck’s doing. 

How fine he is. 

How okay he is now that he’s apparently back with Tommy.

Fucking Tommy.

Today should be a good day, a great day.

His kid moved in with him, they had a lovely evening, talked about school while Eddie made dinner and Christopher did his homework at the counter like no time had passed at all.

They ate together, just the two of them, and it felt good, conversation came easy, natural in the way it always had. 

Christopher asked about Eddie finding a new job, and he explained how he’s waiting to hear back from a local station. It’s not him being judgemental or nosey like his mom every time she asks if he has a job yet, just Christopher’s endless curiosity laced with low pressure, it was so his kid it hurts to have it directed at him again. 

Chris then launched into his latest shift in interests, ditching chess club for robotics. Apparently, chess wasn’t holding his attention anymore, and now it was all circuits and sensors and programming. He complained about how the robotics club at school is small, only four members, and badly underfunded, but that didn’t seem to dull his excitement in having a new hobby.

Eddie just listened, heart full, watching his son talk with that spark in his eyes again, like the past few months hadn’t weighed so heavily on them both.

They played video games afterward, Chris kicking his ass for almost every game, and then he said goodnight, heading down the hall to his new bedroom. 

For the first time in nearly half a year, his son is asleep under his roof, in the place he’s supposed to be.

Eddie lies down on his back, staring at his bedroom ceiling, contemplating whether mass arson would be an appropriate emotional outlet.

Why the hell does he care so much?

He should never be the guy to give relationship advice, not even close, a fucking squirrel would be better help in that department. 

But Buck deserves better than Tommy.

Buck had asked Tommy to move in, taken that leap, and Tommy responded by breaking Buck’s heart. That isn’t how love should work, that isn’t what Buck deserves.

Eddie resents the idea that anyone thinks they can treat Buck like he’s disposable, like he’s not this bright, relentless force of nature that makes everything around him better. 

It’s why Eddie hasn’t spoken a word to Tommy since they breakup.

Because, well, Tommy is clearly an idiot. 

No taste, zero emotional depth, a clear lack of compassion. 

Tommy also has a fucking shit sense of humour. Eddie can’t stand people who think being mildly offensive counts as a punchline. It’s predictable, lazy, always riding the line between cringe and outright obnoxious.

The guy laughs at his own jokes more than anyone else does.  

It’s like after a couple weeks, once you peeled back the surface, there wasn’t much else there. 

No fire. No depth. Not good enough for Buck.

Not that Eddie had ever been comparing them. 

Or thinking about it that hard. 

Or at all, really.

He just knows Buck deserves better. Deserves someone who sees him clearly, really sees him, and still thinks he’s extraordinary. Someone who doesn’t flinch when Buck loves hard and messy and all in. Someone who can meet that kind of love with steady hands.

Not someone like Tommy.

Never someone like Tommy.

Buck deserves someone who doesn’t back away, and instead who will meet him head on. Who doesn’t run when it gets messy, or when Buck spirals, when he throws himself into a dozen new passions in the span of a week.

Buck deserves someone who can see all of that and think, Yeah. That’s mine.

He deserves someone to match his crazy, who will always be there no matter what, someone who will bend the rules for only him, just like Eddie would.  

Pause.
Rewind.
Play back.

Like Eddie would.

Wait.

Hold on.

Like he would.

He blinks up at the ceiling as if it’s suddenly rewritten with the bold, blinding truth. His heart stumbles again, just once, but enough to make him feel it. 

Really feel it.

He juggles the facts in his mind, careful, cautious, like they’re glass balls and one wrong move will send them crashing to the floor, in shattered jagged pieces.

Buck.

He’d had a panic attack at the thought of Buck being with Tommy. 

Not annoyed. Not mildly uncomfortable. 

A full blown, chest crushing, gasping for air, collapsed on the floor in a heap panic attack.

That isn’t normal.

He hates the idea of Buck being with Tommy, that part’s easy, he knows that. But the more he lets himself sit with it, really think about it, in the way he’s always shoved aside like it was too dangerous to ponder, he realises it’s not just Tommy. 

It’s anyone.

He hates the idea of Buck being with anyone.

He always has.

He hated Abby, and he didn’t even know Buck that well back then, just the sound of her name made something in him tighten.

He didn’t give much thought to that girl from the earthquake, can’t even remember her name, she was more of a footnote… but still, he’d kept an eye on her, just in case.

Taylor? God. Taylor sent him into full bitch mood every time she opened her mouth. Everything about her rubbed him the wrong way, too sharp, too smug, too self involved.  

The death doula was short lived, a blink and you miss it kind of situation, which spared Eddie from deciding whether to loathe her too, but he was ready, if needed.

And now Tommy.

Tommy, who used to be his friend. Who he now kind of wants to push into oncoming traffic, or, at the very least, knows he wouldn’t shed a single tear if his helicopter accidentally took a nosedive into a mountain.

He’s always told himself it was about protecting Buck, watching out for him. 

Because Buck deserves better, because Buck is his best friend, because he cares about him.  

But none of them were ever good enough, and none of them ever would be.

Who would be enough?

No one, that isn’t him. 

Fuck.  

He has always vetted Buck’s partners like it’s a matter of national security, watched them carefully, waiting for them to slip up. 

He’s been measuring the people Buck dates against himself like he’s running some quiet, invisible competition… for years.  

Is that normal? Probably not.

He feels insane.

He feels like driving back to LA right now, pounding on Buck’s door, and… what? 

Grabbing him? Shouting mine like a jealous child? Kissing him until Tommy’s name evaporates from existence?

Jesus Christ.

Where the fuck did that come from? 

Kissing Buck. 

He… 

He presses a hand over his face, groaning and turns over in bed to push his face into the pillows. 

He wants that, how did he not know he wanted that? 

This isn’t normal behaviour towards a friend? Has his relationship with Buck ever been normal?

It’s not just protectiveness or friendship.

It’s him. It’s Buck. It’s always been Buck.

Oh.  

Oh, fuck. 

Holy shit.  

He loves him.

Buck:
You free to call?

Eddie stares at the message for a long time and pushes his tablet aside forgotten, and leans back in his chair at the dining table.

Buck has text him a million times before.  

It feels… different now.

Seeing Buck’s name pop up on his phone, the flutter in his chest, the heat that rises behind his ears, it’s all been happening for a long time and he thought it was normal, but now that he knows. Now that the curtain’s been pulled back, he can’t unsee it.

This bubbling anticipation isn’t how you react when your friend texts you. The nervous energy building in his stomach, isn’t  because he hasn’t heard from Buck in a few days. 

It’s because he has, against all logic and self awareness, a big, fat, painfully obvious crush on Buck.

God, crush doesn’t even begin to cover it, its feelings.

Big, big feelings.  

Feelings that, in hindsight, have been lurking just beneath the surface for years, masquerading as loyalty or protectiveness or whatever word he could slap on it to avoid the truth.

He’s spent the entire morning falling down a rabbit hole of panic Googling search terms he never thought would exist in his search history, and getting more and more unglued the more he browsed.  

Can you realise you like the same gender at 33? 

mid life sexuality crisis 

In love w/ my best friend and he’s a man and I’m a man 

gay sex 

gay porn 

Does liking gay porn make you gay?

Is getting off to gay porn and imagining your male best friend gay?

Is it gay to like gay porn more than real sex with women?

Sue him. Twelve hours ago, he thought he was straight.

He even scrolled through Reddit for a bit, hovered over the post button in a few threads, then decided he didn’t want to risk getting doxed or have someone hack his bank account and steal his identity.

Still, reading helped. Apparently, he’s not the only one who’s had this kind of revelation, and despite all the big feeling he’s being slammed over the head with, that fact makes him feel a little less like the world’s biggest idiot.

He reads about spectrums, and fluidity, and honestly Eddie’s pretty cut and dry, he just wants to know what his deal is. 

He gets that sexuality isn’t always loud or obvious now, how sometimes it depends on a lot of different things to really know what and who you really are.  

Still, What is he? Who is he now?

Eddie isn’t sure. 

He isn’t sure about much, except the fact that he loves Buck.

That little fun fact is startlingly clear.  

He kinda feels like he’s been put in a goddamn blender, his mind and body are now a puree of confusion and questioning.

He tries not to think about it too hard, tries to stay distracted in his little Google bubble, but then something small will slip through, and suddenly his body is on fire with secondhand embarrassment.

Memories he’s carried for years are rearranging themselves with terrifying clarity.

Little things. Big things. Monumental, world shifting things.

Like how much he touches Buck.

Which he will admit, on its own… isn’t a big deal.

The thing is, Buck has always been tactile. It’s who he is, from the moment they met, Buck has been the kind of person who reaches out without thinking, who closes the space between people with easy affection. A hand on a shoulder, a nudge, a hug that lingers just a little longer than expected. Eddie grew used to it over the years, the way Buck folds people into his orbit without hesitation, and he loves it about him.  

The embarrassing part is that is that Eddie is not like that. He likes his space, he keeps a deliberate distance, even from people he cares about, except Christopher obviously. Physical affection has always felt earned, cautious, rare.

Apparently… unless it’s Buck.

Because with Buck, he’s different. He touches him all the time, leans in to it, even reaches out first.

He’s tactile in ways he isn’t with anyone else, in ways he’s never been with anyone else. 

And he never noticed, until now.

Now he can see it, all of it, with the kind of brutal clarity that makes his face burn. Every accidental brush, every knee pressed against Buck’s under the table, every casual hand on his shoulder that lingered just a little too long.

It’s mortifying.

Because it wasn’t accidental. Not ever.

He flashes through memory after memory like some kind of deranged highlight reel.

The most embarrassing moment that keeps popping in unwanted, is one time Eddie was showing him Muay Thai at the gym, and kept knocking Buck to the ground, again and again, until he was straddling him and didn’t get up right away.

Every time he thinks about it, he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.  

It’s telling. So telling. And Eddie has never felt like such a fucking idiot in his life.

There’s one more memory that won’t leave him alone. Persistent, and bubbling up over and over, rising like it’s full of helium and at the centre of all this chaos.

The night Buck told him he was handing in his notice to his landlord and planning to sublet from Eddie, helping him get back to his son.  

He remembers how it felt, this overwhelming, irrational wave of relief, like someone had handed him oxygen after holding his head underwater.

He remembers gratitude. But also something bigger, something so much heavier, something that had cracked open in his chest and filled every inch of him.

Love.

He didn’t name it that at the time, because of course he didn’t, he just thought he was overwhelmed.  

He just felt full, so full he could barely speak. 

If Bobby and Hen and Chimney hadn’t been standing right there, if they’d been alone…

Eddie can’t help but wonder, if he would’ve kissed him.

He feels like he might have.

He wouldn’t have planned to, he wouldn’t have even thought about it. But the feeling had been too much, too big to contain, and now he understands why.

Because that kind of moment?

That’s exactly why Eddie loves Buck.

And he’s finally, finally, beginning to see it.

He pulls up Buck’s contact, heart pounding, thumb hesitating for a beat before he hits call.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

‘Hi! You’ve reached Buck, well, technically you haven’t, thats the point of voicemail. Anyway, you know what to do. Leave a message and I’ll call you back! Okay, thanks, bye… beeeeeep.’

Eddie huffs a laugh despite himself.

God, Buck. 

The message must be new because he’s never heard it before, the man really added his own beep, even though the system’s beep comes straight after his. It’s so stupid, so perfectly him.

He doesn’t leave a message, just sighs and sets the phone down.

He should’ve called back earlier, when Buck texted. That had been forty minutes ago now. He’d known he would call him eventually, there hadn’t really been a question of that. When it comes to Buck, there never is.

He’s halfway through texting instead, when his phone lights up in his hand.

Eddie stops for a second and stares at Buck’s name flashing across the screen, before giving in and pressing answer.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“Hey,” Buck replies. “What’s up?”

Eddie pauses, then pulls his phone away to double check the text. He already knows it’s there, he spent the better part of an hour staring at it, but something about hearing Buck’s voice makes him fumble.

“You texted, wanted to know if I was free?” he says awkwardly, resting his head in his palm. Now that he’s speaking to him, he suddenly feels a little unmoored.

“Ohhh, right. Yeah, I did,” Buck says. “How’s Texas? Heard any cows yet?”

Eddie snorts. “No, but I borrowed the communal horse and rode into town to get my spurs polished.”

“Busy day then, huh?” Buck chuckles, and Eddie can practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, yeah. Got a hoedown later too.”

What the fuck is he saying?
He’s so embarrassing.
Is he always this embarrassing?

A beat of silence passes, then Buck softens. “How have you really been? Settling in okay?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says. He stands, wanders to the fridge and opens it, frowning at the near empty shelves, he really needs to go to the store. He grabs a water bottle. “Chris quit chess.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Moved on to robotics now, says the club at school’s barely got any members and no budget, but he’s all in.”

“I’m sure you’ll have your own Wall-E by the end of the month.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “How about you? Heard you’ve been busy.”

There’s a pause.

“Have you?” Buck asks, puzzled. Eddie can almost see the furrow in his brow, probably that cute little confused tilt of his head too.

Jesus Christ, Eddie, get a grip.

He hums noncommittally, trying not to let his thoughts drift, trying not to picture Buck with Tommy, laughing over something, leaning in close. 

He tries to not picture hands on skin, kisses that don’t belong to him.

“Bobby’s mom turned up,” Buck offers.

Eddie blinks. “His mom’s alive?”

“Yeah, I didn’t thinks he was either, she’s this religious healer or something. We got called to one of her, uh, services? Big carbon monoxide leak.”

“Damn,” Eddie mutters, he opens his water bottle and takes a sip.

“She looks way younger than I expected,” Buck continues. “His brother’s here too. It’s been… a lot for him, I think.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’ll shoot him a text,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter. “Sounds heavy.”

Then Buck’s tone shifts, casual, but pointed. “What did you mean, by the way?”

“What?”

“When you said you’d heard I was busy. I mean if you didn’t mean Bobby’s mom, I don’t know what you mean?” Buck laughs awkwardly and Eddie freezes, his grip tightens on the water bottle, and his skin suddenly feels cold.  

Shit.

He clears his throat again, stalling. The silence stretches too long, too heavy. “Uh… well…”

What the hell is he supposed to say?

Yeah, your ex texted me and now I can’t stop thinking about you two in bed together and it’s driving me slowly insane. 

Oh, and I’m in love with apparently. 

“This is awkward,” he mutters under his breath.

Buck’s voice sharpens slightly. “Eddie.”

Eddie exhales, shoulders sagging. “Tommy texted me, said you two...” he trials off awkwardly, he is so uncomfortable.  

“Wait…” Buck sounds hesitant now, cautious. “Tommy told you we hooked up?”

Silence, for just long enough to thicken the air, and Eddie can feel his pulse ticking faster. 

He didn’t want to hear that, hadn’t wanted to feel the sting of confirmation.

That what he suspected was true.

“He said you mentioned I moved.” Eddie’s voice is tight now. “And he wished me luck, didn’t mention that fun part.”

There’s another pause, and then, quietly, “Oh.”

Eddie’s stomach turns, he’s in hell. 

“Yeah, so… you slept with him huh?” He knows as soon as it leaves his mouth it’s too clipped, too accusatory. 

Buck exhales, hard. “What’s that tone?”

“What tone?”

“That tone,” Buck snaps. “Like I did something wrong.”

“I just didn’t think you were going to go back to him.” Eddie says carefully, he breathes in through his mouth and exhales though his nose a couple times to try and calm down.  

“It wasn’t intentional,” Buck sighs, already frustrated. “I was out with Ravi, and Tommy happened to be at the same bar. Not shocking, since he introduced me to the place.”

“So you saw him and what… tripped and fell into bed with him?” Eddie’s clenched his jaw. 

“It wasn’t like that. We talked, I mentioned you moved and that I’d moved. He asked to see my new place. It just… happened.”

Buck’s new place.

His house. His house. His house.  

His bedroom. 

He’s going to be sick again. 

His home, the place Buck moved into, to help Eddie get back to Christopher. The place that held movie nights and midnight beers and moments that meant something more now.  

He can’t stop the words before they spill out, cruel and defensive, his tone icy and sharp. “Wow, already christened the place. That’s fast, even for you, Buck.”

The silence on the other end sharpens.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Buck snaps.

Eddie flinches. “Nothing. I—”

“No, come on, say it. What does that mean, Eddie?” Buck pushes, voice rising.

He feels trapped, like the walls are closing in, like he’s been backed into a corner with no way out. His palms feel sweaty, chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow, like there’s not enough air in the room.

He’s angry.
He’s hurt.
He’s confused.
He’s jealous.  

It’s too much all at once, emotion piling on top of emotion with nowhere to go.

And it keeps coming.

And. And. And.

His body is trembling under the weight of everything he can’t say, everything he didn’t know until now.

“I’m just saying,” Eddie starts, “it’s only been a couple of weeks and now you’re fucking Tommy Kinard in my bedroom—”

“It’s not your bedroom anymore,” Buck cuts in, his voice sharp. “You made sure of that, when you left.”

“So I left and you thought, ‘hey, you know what’s a good idea I’ll fuck the guy who dump me and treated me like shit.’”

Buck’s breath catches, hurt now, clear in the silence.

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty for this, Eddie,” he says, low. “You don’t get to police what I do when you’re the one who walked away.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t walk away from you,” Eddie fires back, chest tight, voice splintering at the edges. “I walked away from the city, the job, not you. I never walked away from you, Buck.”

Silence.

“I—” Buck starts, but it crumbles before it becomes anything.

And just like that, the fight, the anger, leaves Eddie.

All the heat, all the sharp, frantic edges are gone, and replaced with something cold and heavy that settles deep in his gut.

No. No. No. No. No. No. 

This isn’t them, they don’t argue over the phone like this.

They don’t argue at all. 

Not like strangers with broken parts between them, jagged words and biting tones. 

And, It’s all his fault.

He pushed too hard, said too much, let all this new emotion cloud his judgement and talked to Buck like he… 

Like he isn’t Buck.

Like Eddie can just walk around judging Buck for stuff that honestly has nothing to do with him.

Like he’s his boyfriend and not his friend.

He has to fix it. Now.

“Buck, I—”

“I’ve got to go,” Buck says, breathlessly. His voice is shaky, fragile in a way Eddie’s never heard before. “I’ll… yeah. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

The line goes dead, the silence sounds like finality.

Eddie exhales like he’s been punched, one hand pressed to his chest like he’s physically holding his heart in place.

Oh, no.

Hen: (11:12am)
Hey, Eddie, I hate to do this, but do you know what’s up with Buck?
I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s been miserable and just keeps grunting and snapping at everyone and we’re worried 

It’s been two weeks since their fight.

Two weeks of silence. 

Or, no, that’s not even true. 

It’s been two weeks since Buck went silent, Eddie’s been trying to talk to him. Reaching out in anyway he can, he’s sent texts Buck just doesn’t answer, voicemails he probably doesn’t listen to. He even sent an email, and yes, he knew that it was a completely ridiculous, kind of desperate attempt, but he had to at least try.  

Eddie told himself he’d wait. Let Buck come to him, let him have the space to be mad, to hate him for a while, if that’s what he needed. Eddie had hurt him, he said things that he knows he shouldn’t have.

But it just doesn’t sit right with him. 

Buck is too open, too wired for connection to keep walls up for very long. That’s more Eddie’s thing, the brooding, the silent treatment, the slow burn of resentment he doesn’t know how to let go of.

Then again… Buck’s never frozen him out before. Eddie’s never been on the receiving end of the Evan Buckley cold shoulder, and now that he is, he’s starting to understand just how devastating it feels.

Because maybe Buck doesn’t stay angry, but Eddie still hurt him, and Eddie’s starting to realise he doesn’t know how long hurt lasts in Buck’s bones.

He hasn’t asked anyone about him, not once, bit his tongue till it bled holding back. Because he doesn’t want to look desperate, doesn’t want anyone knowing how fucking wrecked he’s been without Buck.  

But then Hen’s messages him again. 

Hen: (11:19am)
Also, I hope you got good news today!! 🍀

And the dam inside him groans under the weight of it all.

He’d been trying to not think about it.

No, he didn’t get the job.

He flops on his couch with the weight of disappointment pinning him down. His savings are circling the drain, and if things keep going the way they are, he’ll have no choice but to accept the bullshit offer from his dad, some stiff, soulless desk job that’ll kill him slowly.

He doesn’t want that. 

He wants to go home, he wants to be at the 118, he wants Buck. 

Texas feels like a punishment. 

Everything is too quiet here, too familiar and foreign at the same time, too far from everything that makes life bearable for him.

Except Christopher, his kid is finally smiling at him again, talking to him nonstop, forgave him after long conversations about everything that happened. 

Christopher is the only thing holding Eddie together right now.

So he lies.  

Eddie: (11:25am) 
Haven’t heard from the job yet
Also haven’t heard anything from Buck
Just let him work through it 
He’ll come around and talk to you when he’s ready

God, he might not have talked to Buck, but he is taking up every inch of space in his fucking head.

Eddie’s trying to hold it together, but his mind feels like a battlefield, dodging bullets, ducking shrapnel, thoughts exploding too fast and too loud to outrun.

It’s like he’s been walking around with a blade lodged just beneath his ribs, twisting every time Buck enters his mind.

Everything hurts.

He doesn’t know what to do with all this love, it’s wild, tangled, too much all at once. Holding it in is slowly suffocating him, making every breath feel like barbed wire snagging through his lungs, painful with every inhale.

It’s exhausting, and maddening. 

He feels half feral with it, like he’s losing his grip one heartbeat at a time.

He keeps telling himself Buck will break, that he’ll cave and reach out. He has to right, because Eddie knows Buck. Knows that he doesn’t hold grudges. Knows his heart.

But then the thought creeps in, slow and poisonous, What if he’s with Tommy again?

And suddenly, Eddie’s not so sure he knows anything at all.

He nearly types out a message to Hen, fingers hovering over the screen, ready to ask the question that’s answer might kill him, is Buck with Tommy again?

Because Buck never really answered, never said if it was more than just hooking up, and Eddie’s imagination is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Eddie freezes as a horrifying thought pops into his head, and suddenly he bolts upright like he’s been electrocuted, staring up at the ceiling like it might give him a fucking answer. 

He counts to ten. 

1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10.

It doesn’t help.

Because if Buck is back with Tommy…

The guy who hurt him. The guy who didn’t appreciate him. The guy who didn’t take the time to even get to know him properly. 

The guy that Buck wanted to move in with him.

What if he does? What if Tommy’s toothbrush is already in his bathroom? What if his clothes are folded into Buck’s drawers in his bedroom? What if Buck’s been cooking in his kitchen humming to himself with someone else’s arm around his waist?

Oh god, they’re definitely going to have sex all over the house. They already defiled his bedroom, didn’t they? That’s old news. Nowhere will be safe, the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen, probably against the goddamn fridge just because they can.

And then his brain really betrays him.

Christopher’s room.

Jesus Christ.

Buck wouldn’t. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

No.

Eddie sits up straighter, heart pounding like he just heard sirens. Buck has morals and standards, he’s a sentimental person. He cried at a video of a mommy otter cradling her baby the day before he left, he’s not a monster.

But then again… people lose all sense of reason when they’re horny. 

Eddie’s seen it, he’s lived it.

Still, Buck wouldn’t. Not in the room where Eddie used to tuck Christopher in every night? Where he knows there is still a collection of Captain America stickers on the closet door?

No. No way. 

He knows Buck better than that.

But also… do he and Buck even know each other anymore? Because apparently Buck is now the kind of guy who can just… vanish.

Who can ignore Eddie’s texts and possibly has Tommy living with him right now.

The idea festers like mould. 

The thought of Tommy touching what’s his. 

Of Buck letting him press him into the kitchen counter, leaving marks along his neck, make sounds Eddie’s house should’ve learned with him there to hear them.

His stomach turns to acid.

It’s his house. 

His home. 

Even if the mail isn’t addressed to him anymore. Even if his boots aren’t at the door. Even if Buck changed the furniture and the paint and the goddamn shower curtain. It’s still his.

And if anyone’s going to fuck Buck in his house, it should be him.

God.

That’s the truth he’s been dodging, burying, trying to drown out with everything he can. The gut deep, bone deep, all consuming truth that swallows him whole every time he lets himself think about it.

He’s jealous, absolutely rabid with it, possessive in a way that makes his skin itch.

He feels destroyed by it. 

He wants Buck. Every version of him. The loud one, the broken one, the soft one that only shows up in quiet moments. He wants to be the only one Buck loves. The only one Buck touches. The only name Buck moans in the dark.

He wants him, in every way, in any way Buck will let him have him, but most of all, in the ways he knows he can’t have him.

He feels the jealousy crawling through him like smoke under a door; slow, suffocating, impossible to escape. It’s thick in his blood, winding through his veins like something alive, coiling tighter every second. Twisting his thoughts, poisoning every memory, until all he can see is what isn’t his, and what should be.

God. He fucking hates Tommy Kinard. 

Hates that he touched Buck, kissed him, left fingerprints on him that Eddie hasn’t ever been allowed to. He hates that Buck trusted him, let him in, and he broke his heart, and worse that he might be letting him back in again.

He wants to rip that trust away, and replace it with his own.

He wants to take Buck and show him what it means to be wanted. To be kept. To be loved.

He wants to give him everything. His heart, his soul, his blood, the marrow of his bones.

He wants Buck under his hands, under his mouth, under his fucking name.

He wants to scorch every other man and woman out of Buck’s memory until he only sees and knows Eddie. Until his body forgets anyone else’s touch, every fleeting moment that wasn’t Eddie’s to begin with.

He wants to own him, claim him, crawl under his skin, settle in his lungs, stamp himself into Buck’s soul so deeply that no one else even dares to look at him.

He wants Buck to wake up thinking of him, aching for him, belonging to him in every way a person can.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Until the whole fucking world knows it.

Chris:
Dad, can you please come get me?
They cancelled robotics club
Forever
This is the worst day of my life 

No matter how dramatic Christopher sounds, Eddie doesn’t mind picking him up earlier, it’s only an hour earlier than planned anyway.

Christopher slumps into the passenger seat like the world’s ending. “My life is over.”

Eddie snorts as he pulls away from the curb. “Bit dramatic kid. You’ll find another club.”

“Oh sure, I’ll join the soccer team,” Chris says, raising his crutch in dry emphasis.

Eddie frowns. “You’ve gotten more sarcastic since you moved here,” he says, “And hey, you could still join the team if you wanted—”

“Please,” Christopher rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to join the soccer team. I want to be in robotics, but my school sucks.”

“Catholic school for you, Tiny Stark. What’d you expect?”

Christopher mutters under his breath, “Didn’t expect much from this place.”

Eddie glances over. “What was that?”

Christopher shrugs, eyes trained out the window, watching the neighbourhood blur by. “Just… you know, El Paso kinda sucks.”

That makes Eddie blink. He takes his eyes off the road for a second too long before snapping them back. “What do you mean? You love it here.”

“Who told you that?” Christopher laughs.

“You did. Grandma did.”

“I said it’s okay. Not that I love it. It’s boring. I mean compared to LA, it’s… whatever.”

Eddie frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me you don’t like it?”

“I do like it,” Chris says with another shrug.

Why do teenagers talk in riddles and shrugs?

Eddie’s brow furrows deeper. “Okay… now I’m just confused, Christopher.”

“I like it enough,” Chris says. “I’ve got friends here. It’s fine.”

“But?” Eddie prompts.

Chris exhales. “But nothing. I don’t really care where we live. You, though? I don’t get why you moved here. You hate it.”

“I—no. I don’t…” Eddie stammers, caught off guard.

Chris laughs lightly. “You can’t even lie about it.”

“It’s not bad,” Eddie tries. “I just… I liked LA, it was home for me.”

“So why didn’t you stay there?” Chris asks, voice even.

Eddie gives him a look. “Because you’re here. That’s not even a question. I’d move to the bottom of a volcano if that’s where you were.”

Chris shrugs again. “But you didn’t want to move here. So why didn’t you ask me to come home?”

The words land like a slap, and Eddie almost chokes on them. “What?”

Chris sighs. “I know we weren’t talking much, but you didn’t ask. I figured you wanted something new. But then you got here, and now you’re sad.”

I figured you wanted something new.

Jesus, could that be further from the truth. 

Eddie wants the same mornings, the same routine, the same home, as he had for the last seven years.

He wants Buck, to talk to him and see him everyday.

“Not talking made it hard to know what you wanted,” Eddie says quietly. “But all I wanted was you.”

Chris snorts. “You didn’t think a visit would’ve been smarter than relocating your whole life?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “You’d have come back to LA with me?”

“I was ready to talk to you. So yeah, plus, you know I miss California and my friends.”

Of course he does. 

What fourteen year old wouldn’t miss his life after making a snap decision in a day to move 800 miles away.  

Fuck. 

And Eddie, God, he’s been here a month and he misses everything about Los Angeles. And if he’d been smarter, asked Christopher what he wanted before moving, he could still have it all. 

But then he’s hit with a question, if they’d stayed in LA, would he have ever figured it out? What he really feels for Buck?

Probably not, he’d have kept going, pretending to not notice everything he now knows. 

Comfortable and stuck.

“Maybe I should’ve done some things differently,” Eddie admits quietly. 

Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “We can still go back. We could live with Buck.”

And Tommy.

Jesus.

“I don’t know about that,” Eddie mutters.

Chris looks over. “Why? Because you and Buck aren’t talking?”

“What? I never said that.” Eddie pulls into their driveway and switches off the ignition, he turns to his kid who just grins at him knowingly.

“You don’t have to tell me, you and Buck are both such loud mopers, and you are moping, plus you’ve been getting real weird when he comes up. And Buck was acting just as weird on the phone the other day. I asked if he wanted to say hi to you, and he got all awkward… a bit like how you’re acting right now.”

Eddie sighs, scrubs a hand down his face. “It’s just… been an adjustment.”

I realised I was in love with Buck, because he had sex with Tommy where I used to sleep every night, so you know, emotional stability has been on thin ice.

And I think I might’ve slut shamed him.

Not that Buck is a slut. 

Sex shamed?

Turned literally neon green with jealousy, and  combusted in an envious fuelled meltdown, and ended up pelting passive aggressive grenades at the one person I’d rather set myself on fire than hurt. 

“We’ll worked it out.” He adds instead.  

“If you’re unhappy,” Chris says, “we can just move back.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? Sublet this place, go home, tell Buck you’re sorry.” Christopher says plainly. “We could move back into our real home with him, we both know he wouldn’t mind, he’d probably be ecstatic actually.” 

Eddie stares at him, caught between heartbreak and awe. He’s still young, despite wanting to be grown up, still hopeful and naive.

Still doesn’t get how messy the world can be.

“What makes you think I need to apologise?” Eddie asks, teasing him.

Chris doesn’t blink. “Buck would’ve already said sorry by now. Probably would’ve gotten on a plane and just showed up if it was his fault.”

“And I wouldn’t?”

“Of course not,” Chris says with a little smile. “You’d think you weren’t allowed to. So… you wouldn’t.”

He opens the door and starts climbing out.

Eddie leans back in his seat, staring up at the roof of the truck, Christopher’s words looping through his head.

You’d think you weren’t allowed to. So you wouldn’t.
You’d think you weren’t allowed to. So you wouldn’t.
You’d think you weren’t allowed to. So you wouldn’t.

Well. Shit.

⸻

Chim: (8:12am)
Eddie, my man. I need you to come back and sort YOUR man out, he’s losing it
He’s planned some wild charity drive and now I’m being held hostage at the asscrack of dawn on my day off making care packages like I’m in a sweatshop 

Attached to the message is a five second video clip.

Eddie taps it without thinking.

Buck is in the middle of his living room, Eddie’s living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes, rolls of tape, and piles of toiletries and snacks. Maddie stands off to one side, visibly overwhelmed, holding a fistful of granola bars while Buck, wildly gesturing with a clipboard, “No, five in each box, Maddie. We can’t just wing it, there’s a system.”

The video ends abruptly, mid eye roll from Maddie.

Eddie stares at the frozen frame.

It’s the first glimpse he’s had of Buck in five weeks. Three of those without a single word exchanged. The longest stretch of silence between them since the day they met.

He hits replay.
Then again.
And again.

Twenty three times.

He watches the familiar details like he’s starving for them. The way Buck talks with his whole body, the way his smile is only half formed, like he hasn’t had a real reason for a full one in a while. The circles under his eyes. The mess of curls, unruly, unstyled, like he hasn’t bothered with his monthly haircut.

And then Eddie sees it.

The hoodie.

His hoodie.

A huge, navy blue UT sweatshirt, frayed at the cuffs, worn soft with age and a thousand washes. It used to belong to his cousin, and Eddie stole it back when he was seventeen and heartbroken for the first time. He’s worn it ever since on his worst days, when he needed something that felt like comfort without asking for it out loud.

And now Buck is wearing it, and it absolutely drowns him in fabric. The sleeves pushed up haphazardly, the neckline stretched just enough to show the edge of his collarbone.

Eddie’s breath catches.

Because Buck looks… small.

And Buck is never small. Not in presence, not in personality, not in any context. But here, in Eddie’s sweatshirt, in Eddie’s house, barking orders like he’s barely holding himself together, he looks soft. Unraveled in a quiet, aching kind of way.

And just like that, a new kind of tug coils in his chest, a slow, sharp pull that feels suspiciously smug, but heavier.

It’s not just the sight of Buck in his hoodie, it’s what it means. The comfort. The closeness. The way Buck wears it like it belongs to him, like he belongs to Eddie.

It’s that quiet, possessive part of Eddie that he’s been trying to stamp out for weeks. But it’s like the embers have just caught fire again, stoked until they’re licking at his spine, crawling up his back making him shiver with it.

He tries to swallow it down, to be rational. But it’s there, and he can’t ignore it, loud now, insistent and certain.

That little gremlin inside him isn’t just whispering anymore. It’s digging its heels in, arms crossed, standing tall, staring at that hoodie and saying the one thing Eddie can’t unhear.

Mine.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

It’s like a claim.

Like a snapshot of everything he’s ever wanted, crammed into five seconds of terrible, shakey, video quality.

He locks his phone and leans back on the couch, tilting his head until he’s staring up at the ceiling fan as it spins lazily overhead. The blades swish through the still air, and Eddie feels his pulse syncing to their rhythm.

He needs… 

He needs to know.

He needs to know if Buck feels it too, this invisible string between them that hasn’t snapped even with distance, even in silence.

He needs to stop pretending it doesn’t hurt.

He needs to tell him everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s realised. That he wants him, not just in passing or in pieces, but with every fiber of his being. 

The words Christopher threw at him last week echo in his mind, sharp and clear. 

You didn’t think a visit would’ve been smarter than relocating your whole life.
Buck would’ve already said sorry by now. Probably would’ve gotten on a plane and just showed up.
You’d think you weren’t allowed to. So you wouldn’t.

Eddie exhales hard through his nose and pushes himself up off the couch.

“Hey, Chris!” he calls out, walking toward the hallway.

“Yeah?” comes his reply from the bedroom.

Eddie steps into the doorway to find Christopher lounging on the bed, laptop open, headphones half on.

“Pack a bag,” Eddie says simply.

“For what?”

“You’re going to your grandparent for the rest of the weekend.”

Christopher raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to LA,” Eddie says, voice even but filled with something unspoken. “To sort some stuff out.”

Christopher grins, suspicious but entertained. “Oh my god. Scandal. Are you doing something you shouldn’t?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, one hand on the doorframe, the other curled into a loose fist by his side.

“I think…” he says quietly, “I’m doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

Christopher beams. “Good for you, Dad.”

“Thanks, Kid.”

Mom: (3:44pm)
Eddie, you can’t just drop Christopher off, say you might be moving back to Los Angeles after a MONTH, and disappear
This is so irresponsible
Reply, please?
I can see you’re reading my messages
Edmundo?!

Eddie had honestly expected to receive more texts while he was in the air, but it seems she lost her steam quick. Maybe she finally ran out of things to say, or maybe she’s waiting to unleash it all in person.

He probably deserves it after he just spent a ridiculous amount of money, that he really doesn’t have on a last minute flight like it was nothing. 

So worth it.  

He ignores the messages either way and leans back in his seat, staring out the window of the Uber as it crawls along the freeway at a pace so slow it feels like punishment.

The glowing cityscape stretches around him, so achingly familiar it hurts. He just wants to get there. 

Not the house, but to Buck. He wants to see him, wants to hear his voice and see his smile, wants to know the answers to the questions he’s been asking for the last month. 

He taps his foot in rapid succession, his knee bouncing restlessly. His phone spins in his hand, thumb brushing over the screen in a mindless rhythm. 

It’s not helping. 

Panic is starting to nip at his heels, and that old, creeping sensation in his chest is making its way in. Too much. Too tight.

He forces himself to take slow, steady breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He reminds himself he’s not trapped, not in the a well, not in a war, not even in Texas anymore if this goes well. 

He’s just here. In traffic. On the 405.

He glances up at the roof of the car. There are a surprising number of lights in it, more than he thinks is necessary. 

He starts counting them. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Back again.

It works. Just enough. By the time the car turns down his old street, Eddie’s chest isn’t quite so tight.

And then they’re there.

Home.

Or at least, the house that used to be his home. Still kind of is. Still feels like it is, no matter how many miles he put between them. Buck’s truck is parked on the driveway, the porch light is on… nothing about it has changed, and somehow that hurts more than if it had.

He doesn’t know what he expected Buck to have done in six weeks. Erected a fountain in the yard with cherubs and a water feature?

No. Of course not. It’s just their house.

Plain and unremarkable from the outside, but inside, it holds everything. Memories, laughter, nights on the couch, whispered jokes, quiet mornings with Christopher’s giggles floating in from his bedroom. And Buck. 

Always Buck.

It’s almost 10pm, but Eddie knows Buck will still be up. Probably in the kitchen, elbows on the counter, snacking on something he’s not supposed to eat this late, or still making care packages with clipboards, and lists, and systems. 

And if he is asleep… well, Eddie knows where the spare key is hidden. 

It’s probably creepy to use it though right?

God. What if Tommy is in there?

He doesn’t have a plan for that. 

He doesn’t really have a plan at all. Just a bag slung over his shoulder, a pounding heart, and everything he’s terrified to say, but can’t keep in any longer.

He’s here.

He’s ready.

“Thanks,” he says quietly to the driver, then steps out onto the curb. He adjusts the strap of his bag and takes a breath, eyes fixed on the front door.

It’s time.

He walk to the front door and hesitates with his hand suspended in the air, he settles himself, and before he can overthink it anymore he just does it.

He knocks.

It feels wrong, like asking permission to wear his own clothes, or to sit at his own table. 

Like requesting entry into a life he helped build but somehow stepped away from.

It’s his house. And it’s not.

He watches the peephole open, a small flood of light, then snap shut with a sharp click that feels louder than it should for something so small. .  

And then… nothing.

No creak of the latch, no sound of footsteps. 

No Buck.

Seriously?

“Buck,” he says, tentative, uncertain, as if the name alone might carry weight, might unlock something on the other side of the door.

Still nothing.

He hadn’t exactly come with a plan, but he’d assumed Buck opening the door would have been a given. He’d figured there would be obstacles, like when he had to speak, to explain, to try and say everything tangled up inside him.

But this, this isn’t even falling at the first hurdle, it’s tripping over his own feet the second the starting pistol fires.

He sighs, drops his bag to the porch with a dull thud, and steps closer to the door, straining to hear something, anything, signs of life on the other side. 

But the silence is total. 

Still, he knows Buck is there. 

Doesn’t need to hear him to feel it.

They’ve always had that connection, like gravity, like instinct. Eddie can picture it perfectly… Buck on the other side of the door, leaning against it just as Eddie is, arms crossed, conflicted.

“Buck, open the door.” His voice is steadier this time. 

But nothing answers.

Panic starts to nibble at the edge of his composure.

Not now. Not this time. 

Buck, for once in your life could you not be so damn stubborn.

“Please,” he tries again, softer now. “I really need to talk to you. I promise, if you want me gone after… I’ll go. You won’t hear from me again. Just… give me this. One moment.”

And God, he hates how desperate and pathetic he sounds, like his voice has shifted into a new frequency, something pleading and low, worn around the edges with too many unsaid things.

“Please,” he whispers, resting his forehead gently against the wood. The surface is cool, but it doesn’t ground him. It just makes him ache.

Then, a click.

Eddie straightens as the door creaks open, slow and cautious, revealing Buck in the entryway, half curled in on himself like he’s unsure whether he wants to run or invite Eddie in.

He’s still wearing Eddie’s hoodie, old and oversized, sleeves tugged down over his hands, the hood pulled up like armor. It swallows him, just like the video it makes him look smaller than he is. 

Breakable in a way Buck rarely allows himself to be.

He’s a mess.

He’s beautiful.

It hits Eddie like a punch to the gut, how had he never seen it before? Not just the features, the physical, not the eyes or the mouth or the jaw. All of it. The everything of Buck that’s been right in front of him all this time.

They stare at each other in the doorway for a moment too long. A flicker of a smile starts at the corner of Buck’s lips, slow and unsure.

And then Eddie blurts it out, like his body jumps ahead of his brain.

“Are you dating Tommy?”

Buck’s smile vanishes like it was never there, and he folds his arms tightly across his chest.

“That’s why you’re here?” he asks flatly. “You came all the way to LA to start this up again? God, Eddie.”

“Just—” Eddie breathes in, searching for the right thread to pull. “Just answer the question, Buck. Please.”

Buck lets out a sharp breath and lets his hands fall to his sides. “No. I haven’t seen him since, and I don’t plan to.”

He reaches for the door, like he’s going to close it. “Is that it? You got your answer.”

Eddie doesn’t respond right away. His relief is immediate, visceral, but so is the pain underneath it. Buck’s voice is cold, distant, too flat. But there’s something else there, just beneath it, the way the words thicken toward the end, like he’s barely holding something in.

Eddie watches him retreat behind a mask, something rehearsed and calm and not even close to how he really feels. 

It kills him. 

Because he’s the reason Buck is wearing it in the first place.

“If that’s it,” Buck says again.

“You really think that’s it?” Eddie snaps.

Buck’s eyes narrow. “What do you want from me, Eddie?”

Everything.

He wants everything.

Every hour. Every word. Every breath.
Every quiet morning, and every loud fight.
Every moment Buck is willing to give.

He’s a greedy bastard, hoarding the idea of a life with Buck like treasure under a bridge. He wants the good and the bad, the mundane and the magic, the broken parts and the healing ones.

He wants it all.

But words have never been their thing, they are historically terrible with words. Doing. Showing. Being. That’s how they’ve always communicated, through actions, through presence, through the spaces they carved around each other when they didn’t even realise they were building a home.

So Eddie doesn’t answer.

He just moves.

He takes one step forward, enough to give Buck time to retreat if he wants to, but Buck doesn’t move. His eyes widen slightly, as if realisation is dawning, but his body stays frozen in place.

And then Eddie’s hands are on his face, dipping into the hood of his own sweater, cradling him like something sacred, like something he’s terrified of breaking.

And he kisses him.

Not tentative. Not cautious. Not even gentle.

He kisses Buck like he’s starving for it, like it’s a confession, a question, and a promise all wrapped in one desperate motion.

As if it’s the only language they’ve ever truly spoken fluently.

At first, Buck doesn’t move. 

Doesn’t breathe.

But then he melts.

Buck’s hands slide up, hesitating for only a second before gripping the front of Eddie’s jacket, like he needs something solid, something real, to hold onto. He kisses Eddie back with the kind of desperation that feels old, worn in, like something he’s been holding onto in secret, like something that’s been buried so deep but is finally breaking through the surface.

There’s no finesse. No slow burn.

They’ve burned enough.

It’s messy, off centre, intense.

And so, so real.

When they finally pull apart, breathless and wide eyed, it feels like gravity has shifted, like not just they’ve moved, but the whole world has tilted around them. 

Like something fundamental just finally clicked into place.

Buck leans back just enough to look at him. His lips are kiss bruised and parted, as if he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened. 

“I…” Buck starts, but the words don’t come. He lets out a soft, helpless laugh and rests his forehead against Eddie’s, needing a moment to realign. “You’re such an asshole,” he whispers, “I hope you know that?”

Eddie exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I do actually.”

Buck steps back a fraction, just enough to breathe, but his hands don’t leave. They trail down Eddie’s arms, finally resting on his wrists, thumbs brushing lightly over the thin skin there, right over the quick, heavy beat of Eddie’s pulse.

“You kiss me like that,” Buck says, voice hoarse, “seconds after you asked me if I’m dating Tommy?”

Eddie winces. “I didn’t want to…” He swallows hard, searching for words. “I don’t think I could’ve told you any of this if you were happy. If you were with him.”

“Tell me what, Eddie?” Buck’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the space between them. His eyes search Eddie’s like he already knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

They fall into silence again. The tension doesn’t disappear, it softens, rearranges itself. Becomes fragile, a breath away from breaking or becoming something brand new.

“I…” Eddie huffs a breath, a mix of a laugh and a shaky exhale. “I don’t really have a plan, if that’s not obvious.”

Buck raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t smile. “Then don’t plan it, just say it. Why are you here?”

And Eddie doesn’t hesitate.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I miss you.”

Buck swallows, throat working, but he doesn’t speak.

Eddie keeps going. “Because Christopher basically told me I was waiting for permission to want you. That you’d have flown across the country for me without blinking, and I didn’t even think I was allowed to knock on the door.”

Buck flinches at that, just barely, but Eddie sees it. Sees the truth of how much it hurt.

“And because I saw a five second video of you in my clothes,” Eddie adds, quieter now, voice catching, “and I knew I had to come home.”

Buck’s eyes flick back to his. “Home?”

“Home is wherever you are, Buck. You and Chris.”

Eddie rubs a hand over his face like it’ll help hold the emotion in. “I realised… the problem wasn’t even really that you slept with him here. It’s that you slept with him at all.”

Buck raises a brow, some of the tension in his shoulders shifting. “Careful, Eddie. You’re bordering on possessive.” He says, a teasing lilt filtering through.  

“Oh, I’m way past possessive,” Eddie says, and there’s no smile this time, no hesitation. 

There is really no point in lying now.

He watches as Buck’s lips part, a breath catching in his throat, a quiet gasp getting stuck just behind it. His Adam’s apple bobs with the effort of swallowing whatever that does to him.

Eddie steps forward, slow and sure, and gently pushes the hood down, revealing messy, fluffy curls. He threads his fingers into the hair at the back of Buck’s head and feels the faint tremble under his touch. Buck doesn’t move, but Eddie can feel the tension, the restraint, the way his whole body is barely holding still.

Eddie tightens his grip, pulling him closer until their cheeks brush.

“You drive me fucking crazy, Buck,” he whispers in his ear, like it’s carved straight from the centre of him.

And Buck exhales, a shaky and soft little sound, like maybe he’s been waiting to hear that longer than even Eddie realises.

Buck doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

So Eddie fills the space between them, low and steady and controlled.

He’s holding back a flood, choosing exactly which truths to let through.

“You make me crazy,” he murmurs against Buck’s skin. “Every time you walk into a room and smile so brightly at someone like it doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t destroy me with how sweet you are.”

Buck exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut.

“You make me crazy when you take care of people like it’s your purpose in life, and it kills me that you don’t even realise how remarkable that is.”

Eddie’s voice stays level, grounded, not trembling. 

He’s done pretending. 

He knows what he wants. 

“You make me crazy, when I think about you and Chris over the years, how it’s always felt like he was a little bit yours too and I’ve never really given you enough credit for that.” Eddie licks his lips and takes a deep breath, “Sometimes… it breaks me, when I think about how it must have felt like the world was falling apart that day on the pier all those years ago, but you save him and I know you would’ve died saving him if it came too it. I’ve only known how I feel about you for a couple of weeks, but I think even then I loved you.”

Buck’s hands are trembling now, fingers flexing around Eddie’s wrists, but Eddie doesn’t let up.

“You make me crazy when you let people love you only halfway. When you pretend you’re fine, and when you shrink yourself into something smaller so you don’t scare anyone off. You do that with everyone but me.”

Eddie pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, holding his gaze, locking in with something steady and sure. “You’ve never had to do that with me, and you never should.”

Buck’s eyes are shining now, wet at the edges, tears brimming in his waterline, but he doesn’t break. He’s listening, chest rising and falling like he’s bracing for impact.

“And you want to know what really gets me?” Eddie says, voice dropping even lower. “What has been keeping me up at night for weeks? It’s how badly I want you.”

Buck’s lips part again, but Eddie’s already there, continuing before he can speak.

“I want you tired and grumpy in the mornings, hair a mess like this, muttering about needing coffee. I want you curled up in my bed, pretending you’re not falling asleep like you do when we’re on the couches at the station. I want you right after a shower, in nothing but a towel, making terrible jokes while you drip water everywhere, actually…” he laughs, “I just want you in the shower.”

Eddie’s still calm, still collected, even as the weight of it all builds behind every word, every want and desire.  

“I want you next to me at night, and in the mornings, and every moment in between. I want you on the bad days, when the world feels too loud, and on the good ones, when it’s quiet and it’s just us. Just you and me.”

He leans in again, tilting his forehead gently against Buck’s.

“I want you when you’re brave. I want you when you’re scared. I want you exactly as you are, no pretending, no hiding.”

Buck is blinking fast now, as if he’s trying to hold everything in and it’s not working. His throat works around words he doesn’t know how to say, and still, he hasn’t looked away.

Eddie brushes his knuckles along Buck’s jaw, thumb catching a tear before it can fall.

“You don’t have to say anything yet,” Eddie whispers. “I just needed you to know. Because I can’t hold it in anymore, and I’m done with pretending you’re not everything I want. You don’t have to want me back, Buck. But I’m not hiding anymore.”

A long beat passes.

And then Buck lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped inside him for years. His hands slide up from Eddie’s wrists to his shoulders, holding on, not desperately now, but firmly.

Like he’s making his own claim, maybe he’s just as possessive as him.

“I do,” he whispers, voice cracked and soft.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

Buck leans down, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I do want you back.”

Eddie’s hands tighten on his waist.

Mine. 

“All of that,” Buck murmurs, against his neck, his breath warm and Eddie shivers at the feel, “Every bit, I’ve wanted it for so long, Eddie. I just didn’t think I was allowed to want you.”

Eddie smiles, small and full of relief, “You are.”

Buck laughs into his shoulder, damp and breathless. “Good. Because I’m so in love with you.”

And Eddie doesn’t kiss him this time. Not yet. He just closes his eyes and wraps his arms around him, tight and solid and whole.

“I love you, too.” He brushes his lips against Buck’s, “And I’m never leaving you again.”

Eddie doesn’t give Buck a second to process what he just said, not when Buck looks like that, not when he’s standing there in Eddie’s hoodie driving him crazy and he can take, Buck will let him take.

He places a hand on Buck’s chest and backs him up, slow and unrelenting, straight into the house like he’s on a mission, because in his mind… he is. 

Mission: Ruin Evan Buckley in the most thorough, satisfying way possible.

His hands slides down, tightening on Buck’s hips, not letting go, he’s not capable of letting go, his fingers digging in like Buck might float away if he doesn’t hold on tight.

He kicks the door shut behind them without even glancing back, pure muscle memory, and his mouth finally finds Buck’s like he’s been dying of thirst and Buck is the only thing that’ll quench it.

There’s no hesitation now. 

Just hunger. Just need.

Buck moans into the kiss, fuck, that sound is perfect, and his hands slide up Eddie’s chest like he’s trying to map the terrain of a country he already owns.

Eddie keeps pushing till they’re in the hallway, not even giving the boxes all over the living room a look in, and then grabs his wrists, pins them lightly against the wall. Not rough. Just firm enough to say Don’t even think about moving unless I tell you to.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, his voice gone ragged and rough. “Let me look at you.”

Buck’s pupils are blow wide, his lips are pink and swollen. He nods, breath hitching, and it’s over. 

Eddie’s gone. 

Done for.

Eddie lets go of his hands but Buck keeps them above his head, interesting, he thinks and he steps back just enough to take in the vision in front of him. 

Buck is standing there in that fucking hoodie, chest heaving and the hem almost to his thighs like he’s not actively dismantling Eddie’s sanity one breath at a time.

“You don’t get to wear this like it doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie says, his voice low and rough, unrecognisable to his own ears. “You don’t get to walk around in my clothes like that and not expect me to fucking lose my mind.”

Buck leans forward with a smirk and nips Eddie’s bottom lip, bites him, and murmurs, “Then do something about it.”

Jesus Christ. Eddie is going to die. He’s going to combust, erupt, explode, implode, and then shatter all at once.   

He’s going to do something deeply unholy in the next five seconds.

Eddie groans, it’s obscene, as he surges forward, kissing him like he’s trying to crawl inside his skin, because Buck is the only thing that exists in the world right now.

His hands slide under the hoodie and yank it up and off in one smooth motion, and when Buck’s bare chest is revealed… 

Eddie forgets how to breathe.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he huffs, dizzy with want.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen Buck shirtless before. He has, loads of times, plenty of times, too many to count. 

But not like this. 

Not when he’s allowed to touch. Not when Buck’s skin is warm under his hands and shivering from his mouth. Not when he’s tracing his tongue over Buck’s collarbones and catching Buck’s breath in his teeth.

Buck grins smugly pushing closer to him and breathlessly whispers, “Thought you liked the hoodie.”

“I love the hoodie,” Eddie mutters, dragging his hands down Buck’s chest and squeezing the firm muscle, bumping his nose against a nipple and biting it gently, grinning when Buck whimpers. “But this? This is so much better. This is fucking perfect.”

He pushes Buck back against the wall again, mouth everywhere, kissing, biting, sucking, each mark a declaration.

Mine. Mine. All fucking mine.

Buck gasps, arches into him, nails clawing into Eddie’s shoulders like he’s holding on for dear life.

Eddie grabs his thigh and hitches it up around his waist, grinding against him slowly, and he’s losing his goddamn mind.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” Eddie growls. “Fucking someone else in our house. Wearing my clothes. Haunting my dreams.”

Buck moans at Eddie’s words so loudly he thinks the whole of Los Angeles heard him, but Eddie doesn’t relent just rolls his hips harder, the weight of his body doing most of the work.

“Eddie—”

“No,” he snaps, nipping the underside of Buck’s jaw. “You don’t get to talk. You listen.”

Buck’s breath catches, he swallows and his eyes flutter shut. “Okay.”

“I’m going to make sure you know exactly who you belong to,” Eddie promises, dragging his lips along Buck’s throat. “And how long I’ve wanted you. How long I’ve been starving for this.”

Eddie begins to worship him, kissing down his chest, his ribs, his sternum, he feels like he’s tasting something sacred. Buck’s trembling now, skin flushed and taut under his lips. 

“You like this?” Eddie asks, slipping a hand between them, touching him like he already knows what makes Buck gasp, what makes his knees go weak. “You like being mine, Buck?”

Buck lets out a broken moan and thuds his head against the wall. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

Eddie kisses him again, so deeply possessive, his tongue sliding against his in a slow, wet drag that makes Buck whine into his mouth.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He wants to hear that again.  

“Say it,” Eddie breathes, pulling back to brush his lips lightly against Buck’s. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Buck whispers, his voice like gravel. “I’ve always been yours, Eddie.”

Eddie tries to hold back a strangled moan, but it’s like the words hit him right in the chest, right where he’s softest, and then he drops Buck’s leg and practically drags him to the bedroom, not bothering to hide the hunger in his eyes.

“You’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Eddie says, kissing up his neck, already planning every filthy thing they are going to do. “Not until I’ve had you in every single way I’ve imagined.”

Buck shudders, eyes locked on Eddie’s like he’s thrilled to be devoured and destroyed.

“Good,” he says. “Take your fucking time.”

The second they step into the bedroom and Eddie sees it, really lets himself see it, and he stops cold.

Not Buck.

The room.

His room.

It’s not just his anymore.

The walls are the same, but the energy’s changed. 

There’s a pair of Buck’s jeans, next to a pair of Buck’s sneakers on the floor by the closet. His cologne is on the dresser, next to the record player he remembers Buck buying at a yard sale years ago, a pop album he half recognises perched next to it. 

There’s a mug on the nightstand he knows has a little chip on the rim, it’s the same one Buck insists is lucky that Eddie has jokingly threaten to throw away multiple times over the years. He purposefully left it in the kitchen cabinet when he left, so Buck could keep it.

The bed, it can be their bed now, is unmade, sheets wrinkled and pulled low from that morning, probably when Buck rolled out of them wearing nothing but Eddie’s hoodie and humming under his breath like he belongs right here.

Because he does.

Because he always has.  

Becaus this is Buck’s space now too.  

And it guts him.

He’s so fucking gone for this man it’s actually embarrassing.

Buck pauses in the doorway, flushed and panting, and raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Eddie laughs, stunned by how hard his heart is thudding. “No,” he says honestly, stepping back over to Buck, he hadn’t realised how a far he’d drifted away from him as he looked around the room.  

He cups Buck’s face and kisses him slowly, deeply, savouring the warmth and softness of him, the home of him.

“You live here,” Eddie murmurs against his lips. “You really live here.”

Buck’s smile against his lips. “I do.” He nods. 

Eddie noses down the side of his neck, breathing him in, needing to taste every inch of this man until there’s not a trace of anyone else left on him.

“Then why the fuck would you ever let someone else touch you in this house?” he whispers, voice shaky. “In our home?”

Buck stiffens slightly, guilt flickering in his eyes, but Eddie doesn’t let him speak.

“I’m not…” he starts but loses his momentum, thinking of another approach as his thumb brushes Buck’s cheek. “I just… I need you to know that I’m going to make you forget anyone else’s hands ever touched you, anyone else’s mouth, anyone else’s bed.”

His voice dips, “Including Tommy.”

Buck shivers under him, mouth falling open. “Jeez, you weren’t joking, you really are past possessive, huh.” Buck laughs and teases. 

“Did you hear me, Buck?” Eddie ignores him, pressing his forehead to Buck’s. “I’m going to make it so when you close your eyes, all you see is me. You’re not going to remember what it felt like to be kissed by anyone else, fucked by anyone else, because the only thing left in your body is going to be mine.”

Buck gasps softly, and clutches at his shoulders like he’s trying to hold himself together. “You’re way better at talking dirty than I was expecting,” he manages, breathless and wide eyed, and pulling Eddie toward the bed. “Making a lot of big promises though, don’t you think?” 

“Plan on fulfilling them.” Eddie grins pushing Buck back onto the bed, and leaning over him, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, El Paso is pretty boring.” He doesn’t expect that to cause Buck to moan. 

“Good, you shouldn’t be there,” Buck pulls him down into a kiss. “Should make good on all these promises you’re making me.” He mumbles into the kiss.  

“You’re not ready for what that means.” Eddie mocks.  

Buck huffs a desperate laugh. “I think I am.”

“No,” Eddie murmurs, kissing down his chest, easing him up the bed with careful hands, reverent but urgent. Buck lies there watching him as he pulls back and gets rid of his jacket and t-shirt, “You think you know. But you have no fucking idea what all this does to me, seeing your stuff in this room. God, just thinking about your toothbrush next to mine could probably get me off. It’s not just hot, Buck. It’s— it’s like I’ve finally got everything I never thought I’d ever deserved.”

He leans down and hovers over Buck’s heart, pressing a small kiss there. “I love you so much it makes me stupid.”

“Then stay stupid,” Buck whispers, pulling him back up into another kiss. “Please, be stupid for me forever.”

Eddie moans into his mouth, nudging Buck’s thighs apart, moving slow now, because this is Buck, and Buck deserves to be undone piece by piece, with both fire and care.

They kiss, and he rolls his hips down and fuck, okay, yes, more of that. Eddie hands are braced on either side of Buck’s head like he’s trying to physically cage him in. 

His chest is heaving, his skin is flushed, Lord knows what his hair is going to look like in the morning if Buck keeps yanking on it like he is.

He pulls back, and Buck look fucking wrecked, and they’ve barely even started.  

Buck grins up at him, breathless and gorgeous, sprawled out across the bed like some sinfully eager offering, and Eddie swears his brain is melting.

It all feels like too much at once.  

And then he stalls.

Right there, hovering, blinking down at Buck with this look in his eyes like oh shit, this is real.

Buck’s grin softens. “Hey,” he says, gently. “You okay?”

Eddie breathes out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I just—” He looks down at Buck, impossibly fond and fucking terrified. “You’re gonna have to help me out here.”

Buck tilts his head, eyes curious, confused and searching for what he means.

Eddie clears his throat, and licks his lips, “I mean, I’ve never—” His voice dips low, rough and embarrassed. “I’m new at this. The, uh… the gay sex part.”

Buck blinks, and when his eyes open again, they’re smouldering.

“Oh,” he says, like the words have melted on his tongue.

Eddie tries to laugh it off, but his voice comes out more strangled than smooth. “I mean, I’ve watched some stuff, obviously, God, have I watched… not the point, I get the gist, but it’s different when it’s real, when it’s you, and I just, I really want to get it right, Buck.”

“You’re doing great,” Buck says gently, hands sliding up Eddie’s side, voice warm and teasing. “Very dominant, hot as fuck. Excellent start I’d say, couldn’t get any better.”

Eddie lets out a laugh, the tension bleeding out of him, and Buck’s grin turns feral.

“But if you need a little encouragement…” Buck pushes him up gently, guiding Eddie until he’s sitting back on his heels, his ass resting on his feet, his eyes widen, his heart hammers in his chest, breath becoming hard to find. Eddie’s hands fall to thighs, nails digging into his jeans as he watches intently.  

Buck holds his gaze as he shifts, legs spreading just slightly, the kind of deliberately slow movement that feels like the start of something dangerous.

A wicked little smirk ticks against his lips, and he arches his hips up and slides his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s, before pushing them down in one smooth, practiced motion.

His cock springs free, already thick and half hard, flushed and fucking beautiful, resting heavy against his stomach like it knows it’s about to wreck someone’s life.

Eddie stares like he’s been hit by a truck.

Holy shit.

His breath catches in his throat, mouth parted and all he can do is look, stare, gape, examine, admire. 

It’s like he’s standing in front of a goddamn altar.

He makes a sound, like an actual, physical sound. Something between a whimper and a prayer.

“I’ve always been good at talking people through it,” Buck says, biting his lip, tone going straight for filthy. “Think of me as your very willing tour guide, a teacher.”

“Oh my God,” he mutters, dragging his hands over his face. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Nah,” Buck says, his voice slipping into something as sweet as sin, his hands drags slowly down his body, wrapping around his cock, stroking himself lazily. “Just gonna blow your mind.”

Eddie groans, the noise sounds inhuman and he dives down, capturing Buck’s mouth in a desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth, grinding down into him like he needs to be inside him to survive.

Buck moans into it, hips rolling up again, bare and eager. “You feel so good already,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me, I want you to ruin me.”

Eddie gasps against his throat. “I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”

Buck shivers, head tipping back. “That’s what makes it so hot.”

Eddie presses their foreheads together, breath coming in short pants.

“Okay,” he murmurs, eyes locked on Buck’s, full of fire and love and a hundred filthy promises. “Okay. Then talk me through it..”

Buck grins, breathless and wild. “Buckle up, Diaz. You’re about to be a very fast learner.”

Buck’s still smirking when he adds, “Okay. First lesson.”

Eddie swallows hard, eyes dropping back to Buck’s cock again. 

Fuck, it’s perfect. 

Words he never thought he’d say about another man’s cock, but here he is.  

He wants it in his mouth, wants to know what it feels like. 

“I know,” Buck says, practically preening. “You’ll get your turn. But first…” He reaches up, curls a finger around the belt loop of Eddie’s jeans, tugging him closer. “You gotta get these off.”

Eddie blinks, still a little cock dazed.

“Come on, Probie, you’re never going to pass the test if you don’t put in the work,” Buck teases, voice dipping low. “You planning on staying dressed while you finger me?”

Eddie’s whole soul twitches.

He scrambles with the button of his jeans, hands a little shaky, breath getting shorter by the second. Buck watches him with open affection, eyes warm despite the wrecked flush on his face.

His jeans hit the floor, then his boxers, and Buck sighs happily when he sees him fully, Eddie’s cock flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip.

He’s so fucking horny, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his life.  

“God,” Buck whispers, hand grazing Eddie’s thigh. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Eddie can feel the blush blooming in his cheeks, and he leans in, pressing their mouths together for a slower, messy kiss. He needs it, needs a little grounding, a little reassurance and Buck is there to give it with whiny little pants. He pulls back, licking his lips. “Tell me what to do.”

Buck shifts, pulls his long legs up a little and spreads them wider, propping a pillow under his hips for leverage. “Top drawer. Lube.”

Eddie moves fast, grabbing the bottle and kneeling back between Buck’s thighs, heart hammering like he’s about to do something sacred, and maybe he is. Because Buck is laid out in front of him like he’s never trusted anyone more.

Eddie pops the cap on the lube, squeezing some onto his fingers while Buck watches, with the kind of lip bite that says he’s seconds from making it impossible to focus.

“Ready for the practical, Teach?” Eddie mutters, trying to sound cool, and failing.

Buck lets out a breathless laugh, eyes glinting. “Good initiative. I like the independent thinking, I’ll remember that when I’m grading your performance.”

Eddie snorts. “Jesus, Buck.”

“That’s Sir to you,” Buck says, shit eating smile on his face, he raises an eyebrow like he’s about to assign extra homework.

“If you think I’m calling you Sir with my fingers in your ass—”

“Well, that will also factor into the grade,” Buck says breezily, but his voice softens as he settles back into the pillows. “Start with one, just go slow.”

And just like that, the teasing takes a back seat to the moment itself.

Eddie swallows, nods once. “Okay.”

He reaches down, heart pounding in his chest like he’s about to launch a space shuttle, not finger his best friend. His hand trembles just a little as he finds Buck’s hole, the slick glide of his finger meeting warm skin, and when he presses in, gently, carefully… Buck shudders under him, a soft, punched out gasp escaping his lips.

“Shit—sorry,” Eddie blurts, already pulling back instinctively. “Too fast?”

“No,” Buck breathes, one hand flying out to catch Eddie’s wrist, his eyes a little wild and wide. “Feels good, you’re perfect. Just, yeah, keep going. You’re doing so good, babe.”

Eddie pauses, and blinks, his heart fluttering, “Babe?”

Buck grins, cheeks flushed. “Well I’m not going to call you Sir.”

Eddie snorts, relief and lust tangled up inside his chest, it’s just so easy with Buck. “Okay, well you’re getting one point deducted for sass.”

“Firstly, I’m the teacher and you’re the students, but don’t worry I’ll more than make it up for it in participation,” Buck mutters, already pushing his hips down into Eddie’s hand. “Just keep going.”

And Eddie does.

It’s not so daunting when Buck is looking up at him with humour and lust, actually this part is really fucking fun.

Eddie keeps going, just like Buck asks, slow, careful, attentive, because he wants this to be good. He wants it to be perfect.

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, finger easing in deeper, the tight heat around him making him dizzy. “Holy shit.”

Buck moans, hands fisting the sheets. “Yeah? You like that?”

Eddie groans. “You’re unreal.”

“I know, I am.” Buck pants. “You’re doing great, babe. Like, super suspiciously great. You sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve watched porn, Buck. I didn’t just stumble into this with a hope and dreams.”

Buck laughs, breathlessly, “God, I love you.”

Eddie freezes for half a second, just a blink, but then Buck looks up at him, wide eyed and soft and flushed all over. “I mean—“

“I love you, too,” Eddie smiles, something absolutely wild and warm curling in his chest, and presses a kiss to Buck’s knee before adding a second finger.

Buck gasps, legs twitching. “Fuck, okay, hi there, yes.”

“Still good?” Eddie asks, voice low and maybe a little focused on the way his fingers move in and out of Buck’s body, the view obscenely hot. He moves his other hand to rub slow circles over his thigh, but it’s cut short when Buck grabs his hand, the contrast between what his two hands are doing is insane and something soft and fragile blooms in his chest at the sight of their tangled fingers. 

I’m going to marry him.  

I’m going to put a ring on that hand.

Buck’s legs are locked and his breath coming in shallow pants. “Good. So good. A+. Keep curling your fingers like that—“ Buck groans, “yes, yes, fuck, like that.”

“You’re so bossy like this,” Eddie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it, just pure adoration.

“No, I’m just an excellent teacher,” Buck shoots back, flushed and grinning and frantic all at once. “Sex is about teamwork, Eddie, and I’m encouraging good results.”

“Okay, sure, Mr Buckley.” And Eddie adds another finger and curls it again, he thinks he might have this part figured out now, and Buck lets out a noise so obscene Eddie wants to record it and play it on loop in his brain forever.

“Jesus,” he whispers, “you’re so responsive.”

Buck lets out a ragged laugh, rocking his hips down onto Eddie’s hand, chasing the pressure. “You love it,” he pants. “Wait till I’ve got you laid out like this… stripped down and fucking powerless.”

Eddie’s brain goes completely offline, just stops working.

Yes.

God, yes.

His breath stutters as he watches Buck move, the way he’s open for him, trust him,  give himself over, like it’s easy. 

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been like that for someone, what word did Buck use, powerless, he’s never given himself to another person like that, but he wants it, needs it. 

“I want that,” Eddie mutters, almost to himself, eyes glued on Buck’s open, beautiful face. “I want you to do that to me.”

Buck’s mouth parts like he wasn’t expecting that, like Eddie just handed him something fragile and sacred.

Maybe he did.

Because this isn’t just sex. This is trust, real, vulnerable, terrifying trust.

And Eddie wants to give it all back to Buck.

Every last piece.

“We will,” Buck says, stoking his faces, “promise.” 

“Okay.”

After a few more strokes, Buck reaches down, hand closing gently around Eddie’s wrist. “That’s good,” he whispers, eyes glassy and dark. “I’m ready, I want you.”

Eddie pulls his fingers free with a last, soft drag, and Buck makes another desperate sound.

Eddie swears it echoes in his bones.

“You sure?” he asks, because he has to. Because this is Buck, and he can’t do this without knowing it’s exactly what he wants.

Buck meets his gaze, full of something vast and vulnerable and infinite. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Eddie makes his way up Buck’s body and leans down, presses their foreheads together, breath shuddering. “Okay.”

Buck reaches for a condom and lube, and Eddie heart begins to pound, hands shaking again, but not with nerves now, with need, anticipation, want. 

Buck cups his cheek, thumb brushing along Eddie’s jaw. “Hey,” he whispers. “Deep breath. We’ve got all night.”

Eddie kisses him, slow, sweet, full of everything that’s built between them, years and years of love and memories. 

When Eddie finally lines himself up and begins to push in, the world drops away.

It’s not surprising, being with Buck has always felt like this. Like the rest of existence dims around the edges, and softens into background noise.

How he ever convinced himself this was just friendship? 

Hilarious. Delusional. Bordering embarrassing. 

Because Buck beneath him, flushed and open and whispering Eddie’s name like a prayer, is the most real thing Eddie’s ever known.

Buck’s breath catches, a sharp intake as Eddie sinks in deeper. His hands clamp around Eddie’s biceps, grounding them both, keeping them tethered as everything shifts.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, voice shaking. “You feel, Jesus, Buck—”

Buck grins through the flush, head tipping back into the pillow as he exhales, wrecked and gorgeous. “Good?”

“Better than good,” he murmurs. “Like I’m supposed to live here.”

Buck arches up, wrapping one arm around Eddie’s back, lips brushing his temple as he whispers, “Then don’t leave.”

Eddie groans, overwhelmed, and buries his face in Buck’s neck, breathing him in like he needs it to stay tethered. Skin, sweat, and—

“Wait,” he mumbles, voice muffled against Buck’s throat and he takes a deeper whiff. “Is that… cinnamon?”

Buck lets out a breathless laugh that turns into a moan as Eddie shifts deeper. “Seriously?”

“Were you baking before I got here?”

“Eddie,” Buck groans, digging his heels into the mattress. “Really not the time.”

“No, it’s…” he licks at Buck’s neck, “you smell like snickerdoodles.”

“Because I made snickerdoodles,” Buck practically shouts, laughing and gasping all at once. “Now fuck me.”

Eddie snorts, breathless with laughter and love, and lifts his head just enough to look at him, Buck is flushed and wide eyed, grinning despite the hazy look on his face.

“You made cookies for me,” Eddie says, like it’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done.

Buck rolls his eyes. “I didn’t even know you were coming, asshole”

“Ouch. I prefer, babe.” He giggles. “Are they the ones with the drizzle?” 

“Yes, and if you shut up and do this right, I might even share them with you.”

“Oh, now it’s a reward system?” Eddie smirks and starts to roll his hips slowly, deeply and spark shoots up his spine. 

Buck’s moan cuts off into a gasp. “Fuck—okay, yeah, that’s—god, Eddie—”

Eddie leans down, brushing their noses together and kissing him. “You’re not getting out of this without me bringing up the cinnamon again.” He mumbles and grunts as he starts to find a slow rhythm. 

“Ah, yes.” Buck laughs brightly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “Whatever. Just don’t stop, don’t stop,” He begs.

“I’m not stopping,” Eddie says, his voice low and thick. “Not until I’ve made you forget what cookies are.”

Buck whines, his legs moving to tighten around his waist. “That better be a promise.”

“It’s a threat,” Eddie breathes, thrusting again, a little rougher now, a little deeper.

And the way Buck shatters beneath him, head thrown back, mouth falling open, yeah, Eddie’s definitely earning that cookie, he thinks smugly.  

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck gasps. “You’re—Jesus, you’re so deep—”

Eddie groans. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you were made for me.”

Buck’s grip tightens. “I was.”

Eddie loses it a little after that.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping harder now, the rhythm building fast, desperate, years of pining and not knowing compressed into every thrust. His fingers find Buck’s thigh and squeeze, holding him steady as he fucks into him, deep and steady and claiming.

“Mine,” Eddie mutters, lips brushing over Buck’s jaw. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Buck moans, voice breaking. “Yours, yours, yours, Eddie—ah, fuck, please—don’t stop.”

Eddie doesn’t want to stop. He never wants to stop. Not when Buck sounds like that, not when he’s beneath him, spread open and flushed and perfect. He leans down, mouth at Buck’s neck, licking and biting over his pulse point as his hips keep pounding into him, the bed frame creaking in rhythm.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” Eddie breathes against his skin. “For years and I didn’t even realise it. Going about our lives like we didn’t belong to each other. Oh fuck,” he stutters, pleasure building, “Letting other people have us, when we’re perfect for each other, god, Buck, never again.”

Buck whines, eyes glassy, sweat dripping down his temple. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know—but I do now—I do, Eddie, I swear—”

Eddie lifts his head just enough to kiss him, and it’s a disaster in the best way, messy and desperate, their teeth knocking together, mouths hungry and wild. He sucks on Buck’s tongue, drinks down the broken moans spilling out of him, swears he can taste his own name on Buck’s breath. Every thrust has Buck groaning into his mouth like he’s being split open by love and want at the same time.

Eddie’s pace turns brutal, sharp and perfect, every movement angled to make Buck feel it, to make him remember this for the rest of his life.

“I’m gonna fuck you so full of me,” Eddie growls, his mouth trialing up Buck’s cheek to his his temple, lips pressed to splash of pink there, “you won’t remember what it’s like to be empty, baby.”

Buck shouts, hands flying to Eddie’s hair, gripping tight and Eddie groans. “I’m so close… Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” Eddie pants, voice shaking. “Come on, Buck. Let me see it.”

He reaches down, wraps a slick hand around Buck’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and Buck falls apart so fast it’s like his body’s was hanging by a thread. His whole body arches off the bed, muscles going taut, neck straining, mouth falling open in a silent, desperate cry before he gasps out, “Ah, ah, Eddie—” like he’s pleading, like he’s grateful, like it’s the only name he knows anymore.

And fuck, he’s magnificently beautiful.

His chest heaves, flushed and shining, eyes fluttering open like he’s not sure what dimension he’s in anymore, and Eddie watches every second like he’s witnessing something sacred.

That feeling begins to climb, electric travelling up his spine, licking at the base of his skull. One more thrust, two, and he’s gone.

He groans Buck’s name like it’s a confession he needs to admit to, spilling into him with a full body shudder, hips grinding in a stuttered, helpless rhythm as he comes deep, filling Buck up like he could root himself there, plant his soul inside him and never leave.

His hand is braced hard against the mattress, the other gripping Buck’s hip, as his whole body trembles through it, overwhelmed and unraveling, until he collapses against Buck’s chest, panting, sweat slicked, absolutely ruined.

Buck wraps his arms around him instantly, still catching his own breath, still riding the aftershocks with little involuntary twitches and soft, wrecked whimpers against Eddie’s hair.

“Jesus,” Eddie mumbles into Buck’s neck. “Pretty sure I just blacked out.”

Buck huffs a soft laugh, arms tightening around him and Eddie melts into him. “You earned it,” he murmurs. “You’ve officially passed your probationary period, by the way. Can’t wait to see your continued growth.”

Eddie lifts his head just enough to give him a look, a grinning glare. “An honor to serve.”

He eases out of him slowly, both of them groaning at the loss, and then he flops to the side, pulling Buck in close until they’re tangled up again. 

There is nowhere else in the world either of them should ever be.

There’s a long, blissed out silence before Buck breaks it, grinning at the ceiling. “So… still think I smell like snickerdoodles?”

Eddie laughs, presses a kiss to Buck’s shoulder, and leans in to sniff exaggeratedly. “No. You smell like sex.” Another sniff, “And maybe a little like cinnamon.” He pauses. “Still kinda want a cookie actually.”

Buck smirks, running his fingers through Eddie’s sweat damp hair, brushing it off his forehead, the moment tender and gentle. “Good, because you’re eating at least three of those cookies before round two.”

Eddie looks up at him, eyes hazy and soft, and somehow still so tender, and fuck, he’s so in love with him it almost hurts.

“Round two?” he echoes. 

Buck’s grin turns positively sinful. “Oh, babe. I’m not letting you sleep until we both physically can’t walk.”

Eddie leans up and kisses him slow, like he’s sealing the promise with his mouth. “Good,” he whispers. “I’m not done proving myself, Sir.”

Buck leans in, nudging their noses together. “Mine.”

Eddie’s hand curls around the back of his neck, pulling him even closer. “All yours.”

Cap: (1:30pm)
Good afternoon Eddie, Hope your drive is okay, don’t forget to let Buck run around every couple of hours or you’ll regret it. Everything is sorted and you’re ready to return to work on Monday. 👍

Eddie: (1:32pm)
Thanks Bobby!
It’s currently Buck’s turn in the drivers seat and he’s already restless, so we will be taking more stops lol
See you soon 😊