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Buck is having a breakdown.
Okay, calling it a breakdown might be a little on the extreme side, but Buck’s not sure what else to call it. He’s losing his damn mind, and it’s all Eddie’s fault. Or, well, it’s his own fault for being unable to control his own thoughts because Eddie—he’s looking like that.
He’s objectively always known Eddie is beautiful. Not just hot, or sexy, but breathtakingly, can’t-look-at-for-too-long-or-you-get-dizzy beautiful. That’s just an objective fact.
Though, when one afternoon, he’d asked Ravi about the objective fact—Ravi had just kind of stared at him in disbelief for forty-five seconds before shaking his head.
Buck thinks that answer is inconclusive. Whatever. That’s not the point.
The point is, Eddie’s always been beautiful.
But somehow, evilly, he’s gotten even more beautiful. To a distracting degree.
Eddie Diaz has changed since returning to LA—not in a noticeable way, to people who don’t know him, but monumentally to those who pay close attention. And no one pays closer attention to Eddie than Buck does. Eddie looks lighter and brighter, especially now that Bobby is back, but it’s something else. Buck knows it’s something else. He just hasn’t figured out what yet.
His hair is less slicked-back than it used to be, the way he carries himself is like an elephant has been removed from his chest, and his clothes are different, his—his clothes are very different.
That’s actually Buck’s problem right now. His problem is Eddie is working out in the station gym in the shortest pair of shorts Buck has seen on a man—honestly, maybe even on anyone at all. They have barely an inch or two of inseam, and are squeezing tight to Eddie’s strong, wide, hairy, tanned thighs. They’re black, with breathable fabric, and are stretching obscenely across Eddie’s body. It’s—obscene. Truly, truly obscene.
Buck is supposed to be running on the treadmill, but he’s stuck just—walking. Watching. Eddie’s lifting weights, his shirt has ridden up and revealed a couple of inches of his muscular, sweat-covered stomach, and his shorts are—they’re hugging his bulge.
He’s soft, surely, but it’s the implication. The implication of a thick, heavy cock hidden behind two measly layers of fabric. If he’s even wearing underwear at all (Buck cannot think about the reality where Eddie is not wearing underwear, and is only wearing these shorts. He wouldn’t survive that universe). It’s insane. The sight is—bewildering. It’s ruining Buck’s life. Which is reasonable, he thinks. Anyone witnessing this would feel the same. He’s sure of it.
Well. He’s mostly sure of that.
Fuck.
Is Buck going crazy?
Eddie is his best friend. Eddie is his platonic, heterosexual best friend, and Buck is freaking out and perving on him like some kind of freak. He has to figure himself out before Eddie notices, or even worse, someone else does, and he has to add another name to the list of people slinging pining allegations his way. His sister and ex have the list long enough as it is, and he’s been catching more and more knowing glances from Hen lately, so he can’t take any chances.
He’s not into Eddie. He’s not. He just—he knows a very hot man when he sees one. And Eddie is a very, very hot man. A very sweaty, scantily clad, panting hot man. Buck isn’t into him. He’s not.
Even if he were into Eddie, which he’s not, it wouldn’t matter at all, because Eddie is straight. Eddie’s the straightest guy he knows. So, it doesn’t matter. His feelings, which don’t exist, don’t and can’t matter.
Because if they did, it could ruin everything. Eddie is understanding, he is, but he shouldn’t have to deal with Buck being into him. It’s not fair. It–it wouldn’t be fair,
He finally, finally drags his eyes away and turns up the incline and speed. He begins jogging, eyes closed, music blaring in his AirPods. He jogs with his eyes squeezed shut for a few minutes before he hears a voice over the melodic voice of Carly Rae Jepsen in his ears—
He opens his eyes. Eddie is there. Eddie, in his stupid grey-ish purple tank and tiny, tiny shorts. He’s grinning, sweat beading across his brow and glistening down his cheeks. He lifts a hand, tapping his ear, and mouths, ‘take it out.’
That’s fine. Eddie wants to talk to him. Buck loves it when Eddie talks to him. He just has to not look down at Eddie’s completely exposed thighs. He can hold eye-contact. He’s great at eye contact. Eddie’s got great eyes, too. Buck could look at them for hours.
He presses pause on the machine, and it slows to a stop, fingers plucking the headphone out of his ear. “What’s up?”
“Why were your eyes closed?” Eddie asks, amusement dancing around his words.
Okay. He doesn’t have a good answer for that. “Uh—I was focusing.”
“Uh-huh, you looked very focused. Also kind of constipated.”
“Thank you, Eddie,” he huffs, grabbing his small towel from the handle and wiping his face off. “Did you need something? Or are you just here to heckle my workout?”
Eddie laughs, shaking his head fondly before jerking his head to gesture to where he’d just been lifting weights. “You mind spotting me? I can do you after.”
I can do you after.
Jesus Christ. Buck swallows thickly—Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. He thinks he watches Eddie watching the motion of it, but he surely must be imagining that.
“D-Do me?” Buck asks.
“Spot you, Buck,” Eddie says, brow lifting toward his hairline. “Unless you’re done?”
Buck only just started working out twenty minutes ago. It only took twenty minutes for Eddie Diaz to walk out in the tiniest shorts in the entire universe and ruin Buck’s entire life. If he took the out and left, Eddie would definitely be suspicious. Buck never works out for less than an hour unless a call comes through.
Fuck his stupid, bisexual idiot life.
“Nope,” he says, popping the p. He steps off the treadmill, grabbing his phone and tucking it into his pocket. “How much you lifting?”
“Enough that I need you making sure I don’t die,” Eddie says, already striding over to the machine. Unfortunately, Buck is once again confronted with Eddie’s legs. Just—so much leg. He hasn’t seen this much of Eddie’s legs since the day Tommy dumped him, and he’d walked in on Eddie in nothing but a pair of tighty-whities and a soft pink button-up. That day, Buck had his misery to distract him from the mind-blowing, alluring sight of Eddie’s thighs. Unfortunately, he’s far too over Tommy for that to be helpful now.
He can’t even look at Eddie’s ass. He just literally can’t. He’s not sure he could be normal about it—no, scratch that, he knows he couldn’t be normal about it. Evan Buckley is a certified ass-man, but Eddie is—he’s his friend. There’s a line between aesthetic appreciation and perving, and Buck is—he’s leaning too far to the second one for comfort already, okay?
It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s so normal.
He just can’t even acknowledge that Eddie has an ass at all, or he might do something stupid, like say something about it.
Dutifully, he follows behind Eddie, keeping his eyes firmly planted on his own sneaker-covered feet as they take the half-dozen required steps to get to the weight-lifting machine. Eddie adjusts the weights on both sides, clearly having just added some extra weight.
Buck realises as he gets into position that he’s going to be crouching right above Eddie’s head, watching intently as Eddie’s biceps flex and work to lift the bar, his thighs just in view behind them.
Great.
He’s going to die.
He glances down at Eddie, who is lying flat on the bench, his legs splayed open and his face pink with exertion. “Good to go, bud?”
Buck wonders—briefly, of course—how Eddie would look underneath him, sweaty in a different way, exerted and fucked-out, covered in come, a mixture of his own and Buck’s—
Buck coughs. “Yep. Good to go.”
Jesus. This is not normal. He is not being normal. He takes a steadying breath.
Eddie begins his workout, and honestly, Buck’s not sure Eddie even needs backup, but safety is important. Eddie’s strong, even stronger than he looks. He could probably pick Buck up easily if he wanted to. Eddie handles the weight well, but then, after his twelfth rep, his breathing stutters a little. Buck finds his face and Eddie’s eyes are screwed shut, mouth parted on a shaky little exhale and then, a soft grunt as he pushes, up, up, up—
Jesus.
He wishes he could put his headphones in. Why does Eddie have to sound hot working out? It should be illegal. Someone needs to– to hold him accountable. Or something. Buck swears he doesn’t sound like that when he works out. He mostly just huffs and puffs like a big bad wolf about to blow down a building, working till his entire body has that pleasant, burning ache that he loves.
Eddie grits out another noise, this one far too close to a whimper for comfort and unfortunately for Buck, it goes straight to his dick. His dick, which is twitching with interest, is half-chubbed already. Fuck. He has got to get out of here.
He looks down at Eddie’s face—hoping it’s a safe haven from the terrifying zone that is Eddie Diaz’s thighs, bulge, arms (What the fuck. His arms. They’re glowing with dampness, shining under the lights and begging to be witnessed) and stomach. It’s not.
Eddie’s mouth is scrunched up, for a mere second, before the wet muscle of his tongue peeks out in focus and licks away a stray droplet of sweat that had been edging on his cupid's bow. It tucks back in, and his mouth parts, eyes still closed and cheeks so, so warm and pink. Buck wants to kiss them.
Oh.
That’s not—that’s not horny. That’s not something that can be brushed off, even as perving. He wants to grab Eddie by the jaw and pepper little kisses across the apples of his cheeks till Eddie huffs and shoves him away, telling him to fuck off in the annoyed/fond voice that he reserves almost exclusively for Buck. He wants Eddie to get all flustered and shy, but let him do it anyway when Buck pouts and rolls on top of him.
Oh.
That’s—
“Buck?” Eddie says, breathless. “You okay? You look—dizzy.”
Buck tries to come up with some sort of excuse, but his brain is spinning, it’s rotating so fast that he can’t find his footing enough to know what’s coming out of his mouth before it exits. “I—I think I’m gonna pass out.”
The world is spinning off its axis. Eddie is not just objectively hot. Maybe, just maybe, he’s just beautiful. Maybe Buck thinks he’s beautiful. And cute. And perfect. And that’s—that is a major problem. That is such a major freaking problem.
“Whoa, whoa—” Eddie sits up, throwing his leg over the bench and standing. He’s at Buck’s side before Buck can really blink. A sweaty palm cradles his jaw, turning Buck’s head so he’s facing him. His head drops into the blood-warm hand curving around the side of his face. It’s nice.
“What’s going on?”
Buck cannot answer that. He absolutely cannot answer that.
Instead, because he’s normal and nauseous, he says, “I’m gonna throw up.”
“Okay, okay—come on. You need to sit down.” Eddie, because he’s the best friend a guy could ask for, leads Buck over to a bench and sits him down on it, frowning in focus as he glances over Buck’s appearance. “Dizziness, nausea, anything else?”
Well. Obviously. There’s the other symptom. The aggressively affectionate one. Buck blinks, staring straight through Eddie rather than at him, before he just nods, murmuring, “Kisses.”
What?
“What?” Eddie says, eyes widening.
Oh god. Okay. Buck should just pass out. It would be better for everyone at this point.
“No, sorry, forget I-I said that. I should go. Lay down. I should—” Buck tries to stand, but a warm, firm hand presses down on his shoulder, pinning him back down.
“Nope. Sit.”
“Eddie—” Buck tries.
Eddie levels him with an unimpressed look. “Sit. Talk to me. Have you eaten enough?”
He nods.
“Drank enough water?”
Another nod.
“Been—kissing?”
Buck shakes his head, then pauses, frowning. “I don’t think that’s a medical question.”
Eddie makes a vague, exasperated gesture with his hand. “You’re the one that brought it up like a symptom, man. I’m rolling with the punches here.”
Buck’s hands rub nervously over his thighs. “Fine. N-No. I’m not kissing anyone.”
“Okay, then why did you—”
“I’m just dizzy,” Buck says, voice turning very serious, eyes pleading that Eddie will just let the other thing go. For the love of God.
Probably because all his blood has rushed south. Thankfully, his dick hasn’t made it past the half-chub stage. As long as Eddie doesn’t make direct eye contact with his crotch, he surely won’t notice. Buck can notice, though, because his dick is wet. Wet, leaking and aching before he’s even reached full hardness.
“Okay,” Eddie says, patient and placating. “When did the dizziness start?”
When you walked into the gym, Buck’s traitorous brain offered.
“Around when I started my workout,” Buck says instead, like a very average, normal person. “Can I go to bed, please?”
“No.” Eddie presses the back of his fingers against Buck’s forehead. “You’re really sweaty.”
“It’s a gym, Eddie. That’s kind of part of it.”
Eddie flicks him gently on the forehead. “Can you not be a smartass? You—you were fine, and then you said you were gonna pass out and throw up all of a sudden. I’m allowed to worry about you.”
Buck sighs, grabbing the front of his shirt and using it to firstly, wipe some of the excess sweat from his face, and secondly, to give him a single second to hide away from Eddie’s big, brown, concerned eyes.
“I’m bisexual, Eddie,” he says, half-mumbled, into the fabric of his shirt. Okay. Maybe he’s hiding in his shirt. Eddie’s thighs, eyes, and his everything can’t get him in here. Sue him.
“Y—Yeah? I’m aware,” Eddie says, slowly. “Did you hit your head, man?”
“No.” He wishes. Then he’d at least be unconscious. “I’m bisexual. And your shorts are obscene. And I’m trying to be respectful, I-I really am. But it’s really hard, because I’m stupid, and horny, and bisexual. And I got—” He winces, nose scrunching. “I had a moment. I got dizzy. I’m an idiot, and a weirdo, wh-which we already knew.”
He feels sicker than he did before. The confession sits thick in the air of the gym. Buck sighs, eyes closed despite the fact that he’s in the dark of his shirt. “Can I go lay down now, please?”
Eddie doesn’t even try to hide the amusement in his voice. Asshole. This is so serious. Buck’s in love with him. “Can you look at me?”
“No.”
“Buck.”
“Eddie.”
“Buck.”
Buck sighs, dramatic and dejected. “I don’t want to look at you because your face is hot, too.”
“My face is the same as it’s always been."
Another sigh, this one halfway between wistful and dejected. “I know.”
Eddie’s silent for a second. Then another. Fuck. He’s fucked everything. He’s ruined everything. His almost decade-longg friendship with Eddie Diaz is ruined because Buck can’t get his dick under control. This is so stupid. He’s so stupid. He wants to headbutt a wall.
Buck lowers his shirt, a single bright blue eye peeking out. Eddie looks a little taken aback, looking like he’s stuck in a thought that’s repeating over and over in his head. Jesus. Buck really wishes he’d just fainted when his head started spinning. “Sorry.”
“Sorry that you find me hot?” Eddie asks, voice pitching a little higher.
Buck half-winces. “...Kind of, yeah.”
Eddie’s mouth is ajar, like he’s trying to get a sentence out, but for a beat, nothing comes. More apologies lay in wait on the tip of Buck’s tongue. Eddie’s chewing the inside of his cheek like he does when he’s thinking. Eddie catches his eye, though, after a beat and stares at him for a long second, eyes searching, before nodding—like he’s decided on something that Buck is not at all privy to. Buck is kind of terrified. But it’s Eddie. He trusts Eddie.
“You should hit the showers,” Eddie tells him, eyes flicking to gesture toward the bathrooms.
“O-Okay?” Buck says, tentative. He lowers the shirt even more, a second eye peeking out from behind cover. His nose and mouth are still covered—for some reason. “Sure?”
“I will, too.” Eddie is looking at him like he’s waiting for something to click in Buck’s head. It remains unclicked.
“Do you wanna—you can go first.” Buck gulps. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I can wait. I haven’t even finished working out.”
Eddie glances around, observing their surroundings and the closed door to the gym. Buck is so, so confused. Ravi is in the corner with his eyes closed, doing yoga. Dude is crazy flexible. Eddie’s gaze finds him again, and he leans down to where Buck is perched on the bench, tugging the shirt down even further to reveal more of Buck’s flushed face. Buck’s sure his cheeks are all blotchy and ruddy with embarrassment, his birthmark a similar shade just to emphasise his humiliation.
“You should go take a shower.” Eddie really sounds like he’s trying to convey a secret message here, and Buck tends to be able to read Eddie’s mind, but this one is flying right over his stupid head. Well—it kind of sounds like Eddie’s making a move on him, but that can’t be it, so really, he’s absolutely clueless as to what Eddie is trying to convey. “I will also be there. It’s—It’s private. We could talk. Have a little privacy,” Eddie clarifies, staring intently.
“Eddie—” Buck says, sighing. “We don’t have to talk about this. It’s my problem. I’ll get over it.”
Eddie looks a little like he wants to headbutt him. Which is harsh, but fair. “Buck. I wanna make out with you in the showers. Like stupid high-school jocks. I want you to pull these shorts off me that I only wore so you’d look at me. Preferably with–with your teeth or something. I don’t know. I don’t care about the logistics.”
Maybe Buck did pass out. Maybe this is a concussion dream, like a coma dream. This is a lot gayer than his coma dream. Maybe that’s the difference. That’s—okay. No. Eddie is looking at him expectantly. He needs to do something other than gape like a fish.
Something clicks. Finally, finally, something clicks.
So you’d look at me.
Oh.
“You wanted me to look at you,” Buck clarifies. He means to phrase it as a question, but even to his own ears it doesn’t sound like one.
“Jesus, Buck. Yes. Yeah, alright? I tried the—” Eddie lifts his shirt by the hem, wiping his face with it, and Buck is suddenly confronted with an eyeful of toned abdomen and a glimpse of strong chest. Between navel and waistband is a thick, tantalising patch of hair; between his pectorals, the familiar trail Buck has seen dozens of times before—yet the sight still, still, still leaves him breathless and flushed. “The face wipe. I tried working out shirtless. I tried doing yoga, and all you said was that I was doing it wrong and offered to go to a class with me. You just—you don’t look. And I thought, if you were into me, if you had feelings for me, you would look. You would’ve done something by now.”
Buck doesn’t even know what to say. A few inches of Eddie’s abs are visible now that his shirt is askew, and his breathtaking thighs are right there, and his beautiful, perfect, blushing face is right there.
He would’ve looked, he would’ve done something, if he thought he was allowed. He didn’t know he was allowed. He didn’t know Eddie was an option. He really wishes Eddie had told him he was an option. That would’ve caused a lot less internal turmoil.
He glances between Eddie’s eyes and mouth, settling on his lips, entranced by the plush pink of them and the curve of his cupid's bow. “Can I kiss you?”
Ravi, from the corner, responds for Eddie: “No.”
Eddie looks deeply exasperated. “Ravi, we literally talked about this—” Eddie grinds out. “You said to get him to make a move. He’s making a move. Can you just—”
Okay. No. What?
“You talked to Ravi about this?” Buck chokes out.
Eddie’s flushed pink face suddenly pales. “Oh. Not—not in detail. He noticed the — uh —”
“The show he was putting on. Everyone did,” Ravi supplies, eyes still closed as he lifts one leg into the air, completely unbothered. “The peacocking was getting a little much. He was running out of ideas, apparently. The shorts were Karen’s suggestion.”
“Okay, Rav,” Eddie says, his voice tight. “That’s enough from the peanut gallery. Thank you.”
Buck can’t help the pleased smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You were talking about me.”
“I was—strategising,” Eddie corrects.
Buck bites his bottom lip, the teasing smile turning into a full grin as he says, “You had a crush on me. And you—”
“No.” Eddie grabs Buck’s wrist, lifting his hand and guiding Buck’s palm over his jaw before settling his own hand on top. Buck’s brain doesn’t even have time to catch up with the denial because Eddie is smiling at him, looking at Buck like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky just for him. “No. It wasn’t a crush. I love you, Buck.”
Oh.
“Hey, Ravi?” Buck calls out.
“Yeah?”
“Close your eyes.”
And with that—uncaring of professionalism, or social acceptability, or any of it, he kisses Eddie.
He kisses Eddie Diaz for the first time in his life, and the second their lips make contact, he realises it’s the last first kiss he’ll ever have. He’ll never have to have that nervous moment before a first kiss ever again, will never have to have another get-to-know-you date, and he’ll never have his heart broken again. Kissing Eddie feels like his entire life is all at once laid out for him, so simple and joyous that he can’t help but slip his tongue into Eddie’s mouth as he pulls him closer, the kiss deepening. He tilts his head just a little to the left to help their mouths slot together better. Eddie melts into it, letting out a soft, pleased noise into Buck’s mouth.
When the kiss breaks, Eddie doesn’t go far, his forehead tilting to lean against Buck’s, nose dragging a short line along his cheek. “Holy shit,” Eddie pants out. “Is it— Jesus. Is that how that’s supposed to feel?”
Buck’s pretty sure fireworks are exploding inside his chest. “Yeah,” he says, grinning so wide his cheeks ache. “I—I think so.”
This time, Eddie’s the one who closes the distance, like he just can't help himself—and not only that, he tries to climb into Buck’s lap at the same time. Unfortunately, the bench is very much not built for that, and Eddie nearly slips, quickly caught by Buck’s hands wrapping around the bare skin of the back of Eddie’s upper thighs. Jesus. He is so feeling normal about that.
Buck laughs, steadying him and helping Eddie back to his feet. As he does, Buck stands too. “Maybe we should—”
He means to say take a shower. He really does. He means to say cool off. But then Eddie bites his bottom lip and blinks up at Buck like he might actually eat him alive.
All he manages to get out is a shaky, quiet and private: “Fuck.”
Eddie blinks. “Now?”
“I–”
“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, already grabbing Buck’s hand. “C’mon.”
And fuck—how is Buck gonna say no to that? Especially when being tugged behind Eddie means he gets to watch the shift of the flesh of Eddie’s thighs move, and the motion of his ass with every step, and the—
“Buck, I can feel you staring at me,” Eddie laughs.
Buck grins. “Yeah, I know.”