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“I think I need to practice.”
It’s not out of the ordinary for Buck to start in the middle of a conversation believing Eddie had access to his inner thoughts the entire time. Pencil hovering over an empty square of the crossword clue, Eddie slowly lowers his puzzle book and cocks an eyebrow. “Practice what?”
“Kissing guys.” Buck flops backwards onto the couch but misses half the length; his long legs hang off the armrest. “I’ve only ever been with Tommy.”
That was—yeah, that’s not where Eddie thought Buck was going with this conversation. He shifts in his seat, suddenly not pleased with himself for engaging in what has now obviously become a trap. It's not that he is homophobic; he’s happy that Buck figured himself out and is having fun. He just… he just gets weird thinking about Buck kissing other men. Not that he thinks about Buck kissing other men often or what it must be like.
“Did Tommy” —Eddie’s face scrunches on instinct. He hates thinking about that dude kissing Buck specifically. It was easy to ghost him; didn’t take much effort at all— “Did Tommy say something to you?”
Buck quickly shakes his head. Good, because Eddie might have been a step away from breaking his oath of silence to the man just to tell him how he didn’t deserve someone like Buck.
Swinging his legs back to the ground, Buck finally sits up to give Eddie his proper attention. He rests his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward. “I have so much experience with women. I know what makes them feel good, what they like. Sometimes I feel lost with men.”
“Uh huh,” Eddie agrees absently before mustering something helpful to contribute to the situation at hand. “You only gained that experience by sleeping around.”
Buck snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly. But I don’t want to slide back into Buck 1.0 bisexual edition.”
“Thus your problem.”
“Yeah, how do I gain experience without sleeping around?”
“I guess you have to find a willing guy to practice with.”
Buck sighs; Eddie probably hasn’t helped much, has he? “My thought process too.”
Eddie bites his tongue from saying ‘that’s called finding another boyfriend’ which causes his gut to somersault. But only because Buck’s last, and first, choice for a boyfriend was Tommy. He does not have the best track record so far. Eddie doesn’t want him getting hurt again. “Any candidates?"
“Surprisingly no.” Buck laughs at his own sarcasm.
“No one lining up for you? Definitely losing your touch, Buckley.” He returns to his crossword, trying to find the clue he had left off on.
Eighteen across—Queer slang: Friend of ___
If only Eddie believed that the universe screams.
He jots down his answer, taking time to be neat about it so he doesn’t have to struggle reading his scribbled writing later. When the silence between them persists for far too long, he peers over the edge of his book to find Buck still sitting on the couch, a little lost in thought. A frown has slipped onto his face.
Perhaps he’s running through all the single queer men he knows for potential kissing partners.
Worse than Tommy would be Buck asking Josh. Eddie inwardly shudders.
Buck’s going to hurt himself if he thinks too hard for too long. The furrows in his brow are already carved deep.
Sighing, Eddie closes his crossword book for good and tosses it on the table before he stands. He never could leave Buck sad and pouting for long. “If you’re really serious about this, I’ll do it.”
Buck jerks his head up. “What?”
“I’ll be your practice partner” —Eddie gestures to him— “or whatever you want to call it.”
“But you're straight.” Buck says it as an unequivocal fact. His mouth presses into a firm line. The corners start to twitch into a full on frown again like he’s disappointed.
It almost has Eddie wanting to say, ‘Yeah, I’m disappointed in me too.’
Instead, he musters through the weird twisted knot persisting in his gut and plasters on a smile. “Which is perfect; you won’t have to worry about anyone catching feelings.”
He hasn’t dated, or felt like dating, since he broke up with Marisol before the summer. He doesn't miss being with her—the minute he found out she was an ex-nun, their relationship was doomed to fail like his two others—but some days lying alone in bed with nothing but the ceiling to talk to, he misses certain things that come with dating.
Physical connection possibly being one of them.
Some might consider this an insane way to go about it though.
But this is what best friends do for each other.
Buck’s probing gaze has not left his face. He searches for the crack in Eddie’s explanation but seems to return empty handed. “You’re sure?” he questions, quite tentative about the idea now that it has legs. “This won’t ruin the friendship?”
“It won’t change a thing,” Eddie promises, you know, like a liar.
Buck offers him a beer after a long twenty-four. Of which the calls ranged from a cliché case of a cat stuck in a tree—scared by the neighbor’s dog—to a harrowing tragedy of a car crash taking the lives of an entire family. That one had been difficult to walk away from.
If he didn’t know better, Eddie would attribute that specific call as the main reason why Buck has been so quiet. But Buck has been quiet for most of the week and Eddie is smart enough to realize it all started after he agreed to Buck’s little scheme. He could see the gears working overtime in Buck’s brain whenever they got a moment’s peace at the station and wasn’t surprised to be invited over after their shift ended.
So here they are now, leaning against the kitchen island, silent.
Buck swirls a finger through the condensation forming on the glass bottle. Eddie traces the line of his throat when he swallows whatever is causing his unusual silence; his Adam's apple bobs. “So are we doing this or no?”
Eddie was wondering when Buck would finally bring that up again, if at all. “I offered. You’re the one getting cold feet.”
“I’m not getting cold feet.”
“Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” Eddie tilts his head. “I heard stories about Buck 1.0; didn’t think he would be shy.”
Buck growls. He sets down his beer and saunters towards Eddie, not unlike that night after the whole lawsuit debacle was settled. He walks Eddie backwards until the wall presses against his shoulder blades and Buck’s hand rests on his chest.
Eddie smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
Buck shuts him up easily. His mouth is hot against Eddie’s, all consuming and aching. The rough scrape of Buck’s stubble against his chin pricks his nerve endings, overwhelming his senses, especially when Buck moves his hands slowly down his body, dragging across his stomach. He gnaws on Eddie’s lower lip and Eddie bites back in turn before a tongue slips into his mouth.
When Buck’s hands migrate under his thighs to hoist him up, Eddie wraps his legs around Buck without a cursory thought. Buck effortlessly plops him on the kitchen counter—which is far hotter than it ever has the right to be—and Eddie keeps his legs locked around Buck’s waist, trapping him tight against him. His hands make a mess of Buck’s hair. He scrapes his nails against the shaved portion at the back of his head.
“God, Eddie,” Buck groans straight into the back of Eddie’s throat.
Buck shifts against him and Eddie swallows a moan. He’s not dumb. The knowledge of Buck’s bed being no more than a quick jaunt up the stairs has not escaped him. The knowledge that he wants to suggest they take said quick jaunt does, however, surprise him. When that overflowing sticky heat starts to pool lower and lower, Eddie breaks the kiss, startled by himself more than anything. Because—Because—
He didn’t think it would be like this.
He didn’t think at all.
Buck peers at him from lidded eyes. He has yet to vacate the space between Eddie’s legs but his hands have fallen to the counter beside Eddie’s hips. He grows cold, with Buck no longer touching him. “Was that—?”
“Good?” Eddie offers. His voice cracks.
Silently, Buck nods, throat not working as it should either.
“Yeah,” Eddie answers after a moment. The heat has started to settle but not much else. He takes a deep steadying breath. “It was good.”
Now that the adrenaline has faded between them, all that self consciousness rushes forth like a tidal wave. Eddie slips away from Buck, landing back on solid ground. He pats Buck’s shoulder as he hops off the counter and swings around to finish his beer before he can allow himself to ponder the fact that kissing a man was really no different from a woman and that he didn’t… hate it.
The rim of the bottle cools his lips.
He doesn’t think Buck needs any practice at all but he’s not going to tell him that.
Buck slowly walks up to him. It’s a meandering sort of pace that has Eddie staring him down, waiting for him to get to the point. Usually they do chores together but Buck must have especially annoyed Bobby today because they got assigned to different ends of the station.
“You look very sexy restocking the ambulance,” Buck says once he’s closer. Then his face scrunches, cringing over his own delivery. “I’m usually better at this, I swear.”
After hearing a few Buck 1.0 stories from a very unsympathetic Chim and Hen, he highly doubts that’s true.
Eddie snorts out a huff, any thought of mercy vanishing. Buck wears one of his long sleeved LAFD shirts with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and Eddie tries not to stare at those forearms on display. They can support his weight far too easily. “Is this your terrible way of asking for another kiss?”
Buck’s expression turns cheeky, a touch on the shy side, as if his previous confidence all but evaporated. He shrugs. “Maybe.”
This whole thing is ridiculous.
Eddie regretted agreeing the minute he goaded Buck and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Buck kisses since then. The amount of cold showers taken to avoid jerking off to the memory of how his best friend made him feel—wild, ablaze—has to break some sort of world record.
A very embarrassing one.
He hates himself for the constant barrage of those thoughts. Buck didn't agree to be lusted after. He wanted practice kissing men, and like a true fool, Eddie volunteered and promptly lost the last shred of self control he had left.
He certainly has none today.
Confirming that the initial area is clear of nosy coworkers, Eddie grabs onto Buck’s wrists to drag him closer. Buck obediently follows, mouth popping in a silent question.
“I know we didn’t set any ground rules for this… thing,” Eddie says carefully as he plucks words from the mess of his brain, “But you can kiss me anytime you want, okay? I said I wanted to help.”
Buck raises both eyebrows. “Anytime?”
“Anytime within reason,” Eddie amends.
Buck hesitates a little as he starts to lean in. His gaze flicks to Eddie’s lips; his pale skin dusts a rosy pink, possibly remembering what happened the last time they were inches from each other. Eddie will never be able to forget. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he hopes Buck can’t either.
“You’re sure you’re still okay with this?”
“Buck.” Eddie rolls his eyes. Honestly, with all this feet-dragging, it’s almost as if it’s Buck who doesn’t actually want this to continue. Eddie’s stomach cramps at the thought. “I would’ve never agreed in the first place if I wasn’t going to follow through.” His tone is firm. “Kiss me.”
That’s enough, apparently.
Buck grins as he shares a heady kiss he doesn’t bother to try to tame. Eddie welcomes and craves the scratch of his stubble, the chappedness of his lips, and the knowledge of what this all means for him. It’s as all consuming as the first time.
More so, maybe.
Because he can have this all the time now.
Why did he ever think he was straight?
He can’t even ponder on the thought as his entire priorities shift to kissing Buck like he’s a man starving.
Insides itching for more, he forces himself not to drag his hands through Buck’s curls because if either of them walk away from this moment a mess, it will raise too many brows while ushering forth of a slew of inquiring questions about who did that to Buck in the station of all places and why Eddie looks on the verge of a panic attack.
It wouldn’t take someone like Hen long to match the cause and effect together.
He appeases himself by wrapping his arms around Buck’s neck, and Buck, having similar thoughts, palms Eddie’s waist, a relatively safe space even if his grabby hands hang a little low.
The kiss doesn’t last, not with them at work. But Buck’s eyes shine just as bright like Eddie granted his greatest wish. He turns his head slightly over his shoulder before whipping back to Eddie. Any second now, someone is bound to walk by. The ambulance door won’t conceal much.
“One more for good luck?”
Eddie chuckles and accepts the chaste peck and watches Buck practically skip and stumble back to his task of latrine duty.
If anyone asks Eddie why he’s smiling like an idiot, he might just tell them to fuck off. He doesn’t have time to explain himself. He wouldn’t even be able to if asked.
The warm sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows bathes everything in a soft golden glow. It shines against Buck’s hair, tugging at his messy curls.
He’s changed out of what he was wearing last night, having dug through Eddie’s drawers for something to sleep in that wasn’t jeans. He found his own sweatshirt that was left here last time he stayed the night and old shorts of Eddie’s that Buck would never be able to wear in a public setting—not that Eddie is looking. His usual apron is loosely tied around his waist, probably distracted halfway through tying it.
Eddie takes a breath. In and out. It allows him time to appreciate the calm of the early morning. The normalcy.
He had another bad PTSD attack last night. It wasn’t quite like the time when Chris had to call Buck. Instead, Eddie found himself contacting Buck this time, before he ended up scaring Chris again, and from the moment he ended the call to Buck barging through his door, it felt like only five minutes had passed.
Concentrating on the sizzling eggs, Buck lifts his head when the creaking floorboards under Eddie’s feet announce his presence.
“You’re up.” Buck’s expression immediately brightens.
“You’re making breakfast,” Eddie says, almost quizzically, before realizing, as he scans the kitchen, that they seem to be one member short, “And Chris—”
“Already dropped Chris off at school.”
Of course.
The stove clock ticks well past nine.
Buck never fails to step up.
He hopes Chris understands why he didn’t see him off to school—hopes Chris doesn’t see him for the failure he feels like he is too often. He trusts Buck to have explained it.
Eddie presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, taking the moment to breathe a harsh sigh through his nose. Recovery is not a straight line, he has to remind himself. He also needs to remember to call Frank later today and set up an appointment again. He’d gotten too lax with them, clearly.
When he lowers his hands, Buck is there continuing to cook them breakfast, waiting for Eddie’s next move and not pressuring him to make any sort of decision.
Eddie opens his mouth before he has something to say. He struggles to find an adequate response for everything Buck has done for him in the last twelve hours—for everything Buck has ever done for him.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Hey,” Buck quickly replies as if preemptively wanting to stop any possible tirade of Eddie’s about how he doesn’t deserve the help. He sets his unwavering attention on him. “I wanted to.”
A sharp breath whistles past his teeth. “Thank you. I mean it.”
Wiping his hands on the dish towel, Buck finally turns off the stove, stepping away from the meal prep, and invades Eddie’s space. Eddie’s gaze flicks up as Buck says, “Always. I’ll always have your back.”
Many times has Buck slept over. Many times has Eddie seen Buck first thing in the morning—especially during those initial months of Covid. Somehow it’s different now. The crust caught in his lashes, the memory of pillow creases on his cheek from the couch, curls sleep matted and tangled.
Unprompted, Eddie chuckles. Buck must have been rushed to drive Chris to school. He can only imagine how focused he was on Chris with nothing left for himself. He hopes Buck remembered to throw on some pants at least. He doesn’t need a call from the principal or PTA.
Seeing his amusement, Buck quirks a smile. “I’m glad you’re doing better this morning.”
Stroking his thumb across Eddie’s cheekbone, Buck cups his face and tips his head up slightly. He pauses, waiting for Eddie’s permission even though he gave an endless invitation months ago, and Eddie sends him a quiet smile, nodding his head. It’s a sweet kiss, a soothing rhythmic push and pull—by far the softest kiss they have ever shared since this whole kissing practice began.
When Eddie opens his eyes again, the pink of Buck’s lips matches his birthmark. It’s cute.
“I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” Eddie says in lieu of anything profound or stupider.
Buck laughs against him. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed. “I don’t care.”
Yeah, he’s starting to do better. He’s in love with Buck and he’s doing better.
He knows because that thought doesn’t scare him half as much as it would’ve a month ago.
The floor breaks underneath Buck. There’s no time for him to yell out. Eddie does it for him.
Bobby grabs his arm before he takes a step too far and tumbles over alongside Buck. Startled by Bobby’s touch, a latent gasp bubbles in his throat. He would launch himself into the gaping hole if it wouldn’t do more harm than good. Buck would have already if Eddie was the one who had fallen.
“Eddie. Eddie, listen to me,” Bobby’s voice pierces through the hot blood rushing into his ears like crashing waves. He turns to his captain, wide-eyed and feral. “We can’t have two firefighters down. We’ll get him out.”
He doesn’t hear himself respond.
Minutes turn into hours turn into days inside Eddie’s head as the world moves at a snail’s pace while his heart pounds against his rib cage, threatening to snap his bones in the process. Probably no more than ten minutes pass before Buck is hauled out of the hole, fully conscious.
Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, choking him.
He scrambles to get to Buck’s side. The rest of the team gives him a wide berth after Hen and Chimney’s initial medical assessment turns positive.
Buck smiles at him like he only went to the grocery store and didn’t almost die. “Hey, Eddie.”
Eddie scowls. “Don’t ‘hey’ me.”
Dust coats Buck from head to toe. Wood splinters and plaster chunks tangle with his hair. A cut slashes through his eyebrow. It’s not deep enough to scar but it had bled down his face. He’ll be bruised as hell tomorrow.
“I’m fine; I’m good,” Buck appeases him, cradling his face and touching the dried tear tracks on his cheeks that had been so silent even Eddie himself hadn’t realized he’d been crying.
For peace of mind, Eddie conducts his own health assessment. Buck’s pupils aren’t sluggish; his breathing is even, if a little heavy from adrenaline. With how aware he is of their current situation, fully alert and responsive to all questions, a concussion is thankfully unlikely. Possibly nothing is broken as well but time will tell once they start walking back to the engine.
Eddie doesn’t know when Buck got so lucky.
“You scared me,” he mutters. He dusts plaster from Buck’s hair as he checks for any hidden head injuries. “I thought I lost you.”
Buck’s eyes are wide, bright and blue as always. “I know; I’m sor—”
Eddie surges forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss. It tastes of dirt and salt and the warmth of Buck pressing into him without a second thought. He keeps a hand against Buck’s neck, thumb resting on his pulse.
“Um, guys, not to break this up but…”
Chim’s voice cuts through the frantic static buzzing inside Eddie’s head.
Right.
An audience just paid witness to the whole spectacle.
Eddie sits beside Buck on the ride back to the station. Buck’s leg bounces as he quietly taps his fingers against his knee. Eddie almost slides his hand onto Buck’s leg to calm him but he doubts that would help the situation. The air inside the engine steeps in a fog of awkwardness.
Hen and Chimney stare them down. Bobby hasn’t turned his head but Eddie can tell when he’s listening by pretending not to. Chimney clears his throat but it’s Hen who speaks first.
“When, uh, when did you two start dating?” She acts like she’s trying to avoid poking a bear half way through hibernation. By the way her lips start to twitch upwards that more they squirm, Eddie is pretty certain that is her ultimate goal.
Buck curls his hands into fists against his lap. “We aren’t… We aren’t dating.”
The fact sounds so despondent coming from Buck’s mouth that Eddie’s gaze drops to the floor to avoid masking his own reaction.
“That didn’t seem like a first kiss to me,” Chim adds to the interrogation, quite unhelpfully, Eddie thinks.
“Yeah,” Buck admits as he mirrors Eddie by ducking his head as well, “It wasn’t.”
Perhaps Eddie didn’t expect Buck to be so honest when confronted, but whatever decision he’s internally made since they left the scene of the emergency, Eddie will follow.
At Buck’s response, Hen raises an eyebrow. “But you’re not dating?”
“It’s practice.” Eddie’s voice weighs heavy against his tongue. Suddenly for the first time that whole reasoning feels stupid and flimsy at best. “For Buck.”
“Practice? How long have you been ‘practicing’?” Eddie doesn’t appreciate Chim’s implied air quotes. Chimney, unfortunately, isn't phased by his glare.
Eddie looks at Buck, catching his gaze quickly. One brief glance is all Eddie needs to read the same thought passing through both their brains. “Six months?” Eddie answers when Buck nods his permission to do so.
He thinks he hears Bobby make a choking noise but it’s drowned out by Hen throwing up her hands in surrender as she shakes her head.
“Nope, nope, I’m not getting into whatever this is,” Hen says as she quickly climbs out of the cab—luckily for everyone involved, they’ve arrived at the station—but not before throwing, “Good luck, you two; I hope you figure it out soon,” over her shoulder.
Eddie hates that he understands what she means by that. ‘Good luck to what?’ he could say to play the dumb, naïve role. But that would be an insult to everyone.
Instead, Eddie tries to vie for Buck’s attention again out of the corner of his eye, begging to hear his silent thoughts, but for the first time in maybe forever, Buck isn’t already looking his way.
A tentative knock raps against Eddie’s front door. He’s half been expecting this visit all day since their shift from hell yesterday but he still flips open the peephole latch. Buck awkwardly bounces on the balls of his feet, the line of his shoulders tight and his hands slipped into his pockets.
With Chris at a sleepover, Eddie had been left alone for most of the evening feeling sorry for himself with a beer and a basketball game he couldn’t muster the energy to care about. Somehow none of it was the same without Buck lounging on the opposite end of the couch, scrolling on his phone, and making unsolicited commentary about how boring basketball is.
When Eddie opens his front door, Buck breezes past him as usual, not a word coming out of his mouth. He swings around to face Eddie by the time he manages to close the door.
“Do we need to stop?” Buck asks in a rush. His face, for once, is emotionless. Whatever mental gymnastics he’s been performing inside his head since yesterday has clearly led him to one conclusion.
A conclusion that pulls Eddie’s entire face into a grimace, a hiss lingering at the back of his throat.
“Do you want to?” he questions instead. He crosses his arms and ignores his own nails digging into his skin. It’s less painful than anticipating what Buck might inflict on him, depending on his answer.
As if horrified by such a simple question, Buck snaps his gaze up. “I don’t want to, no. But do we need to?”
Buck’s trying to be courteous, he realizes, because he somehow hasn’t seen how much Eddie has been enjoying himself? How much Eddie wants this? How much he so desperately wants this that it’s all he’s been thinking about since the first time they kissed in Buck’s loft?
Something about the nervous obliviousness is stupidly noble. And endearing. And partially infuriating.
So for once in his life, Eddie chooses to be selfish. “I don’t want to stop either.”
Buck, thrown for a loop, takes a step back. His eyebrows knit together. “Eddie.”
Eddie sighs and covers the expanded gap by walking closer. Buck doesn’t move away. Quietly calling out Buck’s name to make sure he has his undivided attention, he says, “Hen kind of made me realize we’ve been dating for six months.”
Slapping a hand over his mouth too late, Buck laughs. It’s a little wet like he’s on the verge of crying but Eddie isn‘t sure if it’s happy tears or sad. “But I haven’t even taken you on a first date,” he says through the gaps in his fingers as he slowly lowers his hand in what appears to be slight guilt at the fact. Like not taking Eddie out on a date first is a great disservice to him.
“We don’t need a first date.” They’ve had more first dates than any actual romantic couple in existence. Eddie invited him to a not fully legal poker game and told him to dress up, for God’s sake. They both wore their date cologne. He cups Buck’s face. “We’ve known each other for years; you’re in my will.”
Pressing against his touch, Buck tilts his head against Eddie’s palm as he takes a few seconds to breathe while internalizing the previous crazy couple of minutes. His gaze roams Eddie’s face, resting not so subtly on his lips. “We’ve done this backwards, haven’t we?”
“Maybe a little.”
Keeping one eye concentrated on Eddie, Buck kisses his palm.
Eddie can’t help his smile. “Now it’s my turn.”
“For—”
Eddie shoves Buck against the wall. He releases a startled stuttered gasp, his eyes popping wide, intrigued. “Can’t let you be having all the fun,” Eddie mutters. He kisses Buck like he’s always wanted to. Like he should have done the second Buck asked him if he wanted to go for the title.
It’s rushed, needy. Everything.
“Go easy on me,” Buck mumbles into his mouth though he chuckles, “Still bruised, you know.”
Eddie might be slightly too giddy. He can’t even say it’s because he’s drunk. He barely touched his beer.
This is just how it is now. Just how he is.
“Whatever you want.” Eddie would give him the moon if possible. Their frantic energy slides into a more natural flow that starts to build the friction between them. He shifts his hips and Buck chokes on a groan.
He drags his nose across Eddie’s cheek. “You wanna take this somewhere else?” Buck’s voice is a hushed whisper, deep and breathy that bends Eddie at the knees.
He catches Buck’s earlobe between his teeth. “You read my mind.”
Humming, Buck slides his hands under Eddie's shirt. His fingers graze the waistband of Eddie’s underwear as he ducks his head to bite at the underside of Eddie’s jaw. “Lead the way.”
His breath shortens, stutters, and he’s glad Buck still retains the ability to speak because he sure doesn’t.
They race each other to the bedroom, stumbling into the wall in their haste like teenagers. When Eddie glances over his shoulder, Buck gazes at him with an unabashed awe that has Eddie’s cheeks coloring pink.
It’s the type of awe like he can’t believe this is happening.
That he’s not dreaming right now.
Eddie will show him how real this all is.
He can’t wait to tell Buck he loves him tonight and tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next and the next…