Archive of Our Own

The beach trip was always going to be Buck's undoing, and that's starkly clear in retrospect. He thinks Hen and Karen can be credited here, too. 

So, Eddie's mustache is back. There's also a permanently etched tramp stamp taking up residence on his tailbone to accompany it. Buck is… processing. 

Well, processing might be generous. It's more like he's flailing through the five stages of realizing you're irrevocably attracted to the guy you've seen almost every day for about a decade. The same guy who Buck once saw cram so much homemade lasagna into his mouth that he thought Eddie's cheeks might burst. The same dude who ugly cries to soap operas and telenovelas about evil twins and amnesia.

Buck's always known Eddie's hot. Yes, this unfortunately still applies during moments where anyone else on planet Earth would look unappealing.

Up until a few weeks ago, Buck was handling it. His prefrontal cortex was capable of shoving that information into the file cabinet labeled Do Not Engage. The expansive control panel rooted in his brain has a big red button for Eddie-related symptoms, and Buck likes to use it, but sparingly—only for the most dire of restraint-related obstacles. Take Eddie's Fight Club era, for example. Very hard on Buck. Very confusingly tempting. Extremely humbling and vaguely arousing. 

Buck swears he’s happy for Eddie. Overjoyed. Delighted. He thinks it's great that Eddie's prioritizing his physical appearance and honing in on what feels good for him. Sure, it might be easier for Buck's peace of mind if Eddie were to, say, walk around in a trash bag and call it a day, but that was never in the cards. He doesn't want Eddie banned from the grocery store or, worse, their favorite café for public indecency. Buck needs his iced lattes with a side of flakey pastry and Eddie becomes downright scary if he doesn't consume caffeine before work. 

The trash bag would still look great, and that's the kicker. Anything looks great on Eddie; it's a fact of life. Buck's life, specifically. The sky is blue, Eddie has a perpetual sweet tooth, and he is an objectively attractive human being. Has been, for all the years they've existed in each other's orbit. There's no room for argument. 

The mustache isn't the root of the issue. 

Well, okay. Yeah, it makes Buck feel slightly faint when Eddie runs a finger over the finely trimmed hairs or when there's sweat collecting on his upper lip after competently handling a five-car pileup, but that isn't the point.

Buck's had to deal with the mustache before, is the thing. He’s sort of an expert in shoving away inappropriate trails of thought when it comes to Eddie's facial hair. He had to watch the mustache come to be. He'd seen it grow, take shape, and settle on Eddie's cupid's bow for an entire summer not even two years ago. 

But two years ago there were enough complications in their lives that acted as sufficient distractions. Buck's attention was more so on the state of Eddie's being and less on what was attractively happening on his face. The mustache took a distinct backseat to everything transpiring with Christopher and Texas, back then. 

For Buck, it was easier to reconcile the longing he held onto once the mustache was gone after learning the why behind its disappearance. Was there a pang in his chest when Eddie opened the door to him and stood clean-faced and practically hairless all that time ago? Absolutely, but it was short-lived. 

Buck knew Eddie's decision to get rid of the mustache was rooted in what he thought it represented. He was happy to keep his mouth shut if shearing it off made Eddie feel freer. 

He understood letting a physical appearance depict inward emotions perfectly well. After all, Buck was covered chest to toe in tattoos. Objecting to Eddie shaving it off would've made Buck a hypocrite. He wasn't about to stand in the way of anything that could take even a modicum of gloom out of Eddie's day-to-day aura, either. Seeing him so hurt made Buck ache everywhere. 

Present day Buck wishes he had trained harder, though, like he would for a 10K. Or for being chased by a cheetah in the middle of the Sahara. His foresight is shit. The mustache is back and it's back with a vengeance. Seriously, Buck thinks if it had sentience it would be wagging a finger and shaking its head disapprovingly for all the times Buck's stared at it like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, just waiting for Eddie to catch him in the act. 

He doesn't know what induced the regrowth; that's what's nagging at him. Buck likes to think he understands Eddie better than most, yet he can't put a finger on why he'd want the extra weight on his face when they've been dealing with mind-numbing intermittent waves of heat since June. 

Buck's not sure how it's possible, but there is a larger looming dilemma that's taking precedence: The antlers inked into the small of Eddie's back. They are the enemy. 

Buck wants to team up with Sentient Mustache and cuss out the tattoo together. Or kiss it, he's not picky. Maybe Sentient Mustache can be his coach and dole out sharp slaps to the wrist when Buck makes goo-goo eyes for too long. 

The alliance would probably be short-lived for all parties involved. Number one reason being mustaches, last time Buck checked, don't have human appendages. The second reason being that the mustache is also a victim of Buck's infectious mind. So, scratch that. Etch A Sketch it. 

He was lying before. Buck's not a trained professional when it comes to handling any part of Eddie's anatomical structure. A prime and distressing example is the tramp stamp that is actively keeping him up at night in ways that are definitely unhealthy. 

He's started tossing and turning thinking about the tattooist's line work—the skilled areas of saturation. Dreams about its elegance and the way the angles of the drawn-on bone move and contort with Eddie's skin whenever he reaches on tiptoes for the Ring Pops hidden in Buck's highest cupboard. 

At first, Buck had mistaken the dreams for envy, had figured he just wanted a tattoo that matched. It’d been six months since his last addition and he was antsy for a new brand. 

Once he traversed into REM sleep and had begun jolting awake, rock hard, after dreams of tracing the boundaries of Eddie's tattoo with the tip of his tongue, he knew he was a goner. No sane, rational person counts down the seconds until their best friend drops something on the off chance that they'll bend over to retrieve it. An impartial fella wouldn't be hoping for a shirt to ride up in the process just to have a covetous glance of dark ink and impeccable shading. 

It's summer in LA yet again, which means it's been almost a month—three weeks and four days, but who's counting?—of watching Eddie lift his shirts up to wipe sweat off his brow with his back to Buck, twin antlers on display. A month of Buck's eyes snagging on the ink while Eddie changes at the station, trying and failing to avert his gaze anywhere else, trying not to bash his head into his locker just to retrieve the focus that packs a bag and says adiós when Eddie's in his vicinity. 

A month since that fateful night they stumbled, tipsy and high on each other's company after separating from chaotic trivia with the 118, into a dingy hole in the wall parlor and begged the bored woman at the front desk to allow a walk-in at one a.m. In Buck and Eddie's defense, it was a twenty-four hour joint that honestly looked like it hadn't seen a client since the pandemic. 

It took much negotiating, that's what Buck remembers. The rest of the details are foggy, which is completely annoying, since Buck would love to be able to recall at which point in the night he thought Eddie getting another tattoo was a remotely good idea to bring to the table. He was obsessed enough with the script occupying Eddie's forearm. The last thing he needed was to self-sabotage by nailing another wooden board into his coffin—the coffin that will be snug in the dirt soon if he keeps this up. Here lies Evan Buckley, deranged and deluded. 

Buck has bigger fish to fry, anyhow. Eddie's currently stripping off his black tank in a packed public parking lot that's admission cost an alarming forty dollars, but Buck can't even take the time to bitch about it. He's too busy being teleported back to nineteenth century England. This is how suitors felt when they saw a slip of lacy stocking, surely. 

Matter of fact, why did men ever stop wearing standard everyday clothes to the beach? Eddie could add a bowler hat to really sell the authenticity of the look, and Buck would be all set. Heat exhaustion is only a bit risky today, anyways. It's a comfortable eighty-one degrees. He'd pull up an article about the internal threshold for a heatstroke if he weren't feeling about as useless as a speck of dirt. 

Buck's losing it. 

How Buck didn't put two and two together while planning this outing with Hen is beyond him. Obviously, lounging at the beach would automatically warrant a shirtless Eddie. Looking back, he thinks he rushed through the agreement of where, exactly, they'd take an excursion. Buck was in search of any excuse to get out of his stifling house. 

The house that Eddie frequents far more regularly to help with Theo's care. The house that Eddie showers in when he's too tired to go back to his own place. The house that contains the couch Eddie crashes on when Chris is busy at sleepovers. The house that Buck's had to watch him flounce about in with a goddamn tramp stamp clinging to his downright suggestive tailbone. 

Eddie’s being rude, on the whole. 

Buck doesn't know whether or not he regrets ever giving the guy a key. The byproduct is an Eddie who doesn't knock anymore, not like he did when Buck first moved in and they were both weirdly hesitant with each other for an unnerving period of time. Now, Eddie lets himself in when it's convenient, usually when Buck's too busy chasing Theo around to meet him at the door. He just barges in with his rude mustache and his rude tramp stamp with his rude face; no call, no note, no heads up whatsoever. 

He's all over the place, and Buck needs to get a grip. What he wants to happen with Eddie and what will happen with Eddie are two entirely different avenues of thought. Buck might as well choose the one of least resistance: hiding it better. Burying the cloying desire, like he's used to doing. 

Buck diverts his attention to the bed of his truck and away from inviting, earthy green swim trunks that are already clinging dangerously to Eddie's thighs. He's not even wet yet, and he looks like he stepped out of a page of GQ Swimwear. For fuck’s sake. 

Chris clambers out of the backseat and leans heavily into the truck's door to close it. His crutches crunch over gravel as he makes his way to Buck's side. 

Buck can't quite see his face from his vantage point. Chris is somewhat hidden underneath a Lakers' basketball cap, but he can still guess the expression on the kid’s face: resigned. 

"This is a crazy amount of stuff, Buck. Is there an army with Hen and Karen that I don't know about?"

Buck grins wildly, already grabbing for the beach chairs. "I had to go all out. It's Theo's first time seeing the ocean!” 

Buck takes in the mess that's going to be a huge pain in the ass to haul to the sand: boogie boards, Theo's T-Rex floaties, buckets and shovels galore for constructing sand castles and catching hermit crabs. A wet brush that he brought for Theo is dangling precariously from the opening of a bag. 

Buck sends a silent thank you to the universe when he remembers he asked Hen and Karen to bring an umbrella, sunscreen, and Denny's old Crocs for Theo. He then remembers there's a full-to-the-brim cooler under the driver's seat and promptly groans. 

"This'll be fun for you and Dad to carry," Chris snickers, waving one crutch in the air like a taunt, smiling at Buck with his prescription sunglasses slipping below the slope of his nose. 

Eddie rounds the corner of the truck bed, yellow cooler in one hand and Theo propped on a hip. He takes stock of inventory while Theo pulls on the lobe of his ear, yammering about the episode of Max & Ruby that he watched on the way here. 

"Where do you want me, Buck?" Eddie intones, and Buck's going to die. 

What a cruel and loaded question. Does he understand the innuendo or is he truly that tragically oblivious? He can't just stand there, holding Buck's toddler, while making a comment that he believes is wholeheartedly innocent when all Buck can do is juggle beach equipment and try not to scream, or worse, pounce. 

"Um– I–" he stammers, "Can you just carry Theo the rest of the way and maybe snag the pail of toys? I don't want his feet touching the sand until we get to the Crocs."

Eddie nods slowly, brows scrunching as he looks at Buck softly. "Of course, no problem." His mustache twitches as he grins brightly. "Theo and I will manage."

Buck lets his own smile unfurl for a moment, helpless. Caught up in the adrenaline of finally getting to his destination after an hour and a half behind the wheel. Seeing Eddie happy certainly adds fuel to the fire raging in his rib cage. He has the urge to rub his knuckles over his sternum to quell the molten pressure. 

Buck doesn't register the weight of all the items in his hands or the backpack stuffed with towels that's already making his shoulders twinge with the beginnings of cramping pain. 

Just Eddie, under vast sunlight with windswept hair. 

Chris nudges Buck pointedly, clearing his throat. "Aren't we late?" 

"Oh," Buck starts, sheepish. "Right." He shakes himself out of a daze that he doesn't particularly want to leave behind. "Let's hustle. Chris, grab the keys and lock my truck, please?" 

"Roger that."

Buck waits for him while he fumbles with the buttons on the fob, then turns to find Eddie and Theo a few steps ahead, chattering animatedly. Two peas in a pod. He sees Eddie look both ways even as the crosswalk signals that they're good to go, and Buck feels affection crawling up his throat and settling on the back of his tongue. He was about to shout a warning to be careful. Completely unnecessary—Theo's always safe with Eddie. 

That trust is reflected back at Buck, too. Eddie doesn't peek over his shoulder once to check on Christopher. It's like they share an implicit understanding: my kid's in the hands of the person I trust most, so everything's gonna be fine. 

Eddie steers towards the east stretch of beach, where Hen and Karen had texted the group chat they'd be. It's noticeably quieter at this end, which Buck's grateful for. He doesn't want Theo to be overwhelmed by uproarious crowds. 

As Buck's flip flop-clad feet touch the sand, the sound of Chris' crutches goes quiet behind him as they meet the shifting powder. They've been walking side by side in peaceful silence. Buck appreciates the lagging pace. He's come close to dropping stuff no less than ten times, and Chris has been a relatively good sport about Buck impersonating The Leaning Tower of Pisa; endeavoring to keep his balance. 

Buck knows the second Theo finds Hen, Karen, and Mara in the sparse clusters of visitors. His shriek echoes across the beach. A few people turn their heads towards the noise, jolted out of their tranquility. Buck only spots amusement on sun-kissed faces instead of the blatant disdain that he's encountered on packed airplanes. There's an air of aggravation typically reserved for small children in that setting, but it's nowhere to be found here. Everyone's occupied with tanning contentedly or wrangling their own small children. 

He still mumbles a sheepish sorry or two when he passes by a group of college kids sprawled on towels with headphones in. They bat his concern away and offer blissful smiles in return, going right back to bopping their heads along to whatever new pop song is playing from their speaker. 

Buck ducks under Hen and Karen's frankly gigantic umbrella with Chris in tow, and is just in time to hear Theo babble, "Hi, Auntie Karen," before he shimmies down Eddie's side and launches himself at her reclined form. “I like your hat!” Theo tugs on the brim of it. 

"Oof.” Karen recovers quickly, hugging his little body close to her chest. "Hi, baby." She's wearing a stylish navy onesie that Buck thinks must've cost an arm and a leg. “We’re gonna have an awesome day!”  

Hen looks up from her book, startled. She dogears a page, then brings a hand to her own chest, mock-offended. "Nothing for me?" she pouts at Theo. “And all this time I thought I was your favorite.” 

Eddie snorts from where he's sidled up to Buck. He knocks their shoulders together as he gently deposits the cooler and bucket of toys onto the waterproof striped beach mat that is blessedly spacious. Buck unconsciously pushes further into him.

Theo giggles and proceeds to throw himself over the arm of Karen's chair, jostling her bejeweled Stanley. Hen's arms are already extended to meet him. 

"Hi, Auntie Hen!" Theo nuzzles into her beige crochet cover up. "I missed you. I saw you on Facetime yesterday!" 

Hen smacks a kiss to his cheek, bouncing him on her thigh. "I missed you more, honey." She glances up at Buck, eyes sparkling. "All my guys in one place, finally. Don’t tell Chimney I said that. Hope you didn't run into traffic?" 

Buck opens his mouth to answer, but Karen interrupts. "Let a load off, Buck. Why do you still have a bazillion things in your arms?" she asks, genuinely anxious on his behalf. 

Like she's granting him permission, Buck lets the IKEA bags tumble to the ground unceremoniously. "Oh, thank God." 

Chris bends to capture a beach chair from the pile, dragging it close to Hen and Mara’s matching pink ones. He drops his crutches at his feet and plops down, immediately readjusting the collar of his swim shirt and getting comfortable. 

"You gotta apply sunscreen, mijo," Eddie warns chidingly. He pecks Mara’s cheek in greeting as he approaches Hen and Karen’s beach tote. "Mind if I rifle through this?" 

"Be our guest," Karen replies. "Oh! And don't forget Theo's Crocs. Denny wants to know if he gets a kick out of his old charms. I'm positive there's a firetruck still attached. Mara added a tiara." 

Mara holds out a hand when Buck approaches her for a fist bump. “You rock, kid,” he tells her. 

Karen twists to address Chris, and her wrist bangles clack together as she reaches over Hen to lovingly pinch his cheek. "Sorry Denny couldn't make it, hun. He had a theater commitment at the high school. Can you believe it? I feel like he just got done with The Wizard of Oz."

Chris chuckles. "They're having me come back for Robotics prep next week so believe me, I get it." 

Eddie bristles, still crouching and searching for the SPF 50, Buck assumes. "They're running today's teens ragg– Oh! Found it!" He grins triumphantly, brandishing the tube like a sword. 

"Hooray," Chris deadpans. 

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully. "You'll thank me when you don't have a clown nose at school on Tuesday." 

Mara snorts at Chris’ expense, turning her face into Karen’s arm to smother it. 

"Dad," Chris hisses, embarrassed. "I will not." 

Buck watches Hen bring a manicured finger up to tuck some hair behind Theo's ear while Karen coughs to hide a laugh. 

Buck pops two more beach chairs—arranges them into a makeshift semicircle. Eddie pulls his black aviators down from where they've been perched atop his head, and Buck almost misses the chair entirely on his way to sitting. 

Eddie plows over the slip up, thankfully. Hen, however, does not. An eyebrow rockets to her hairline, the universal sign for what the hell was that. 

Eddie takes Theo from her arms and sits in the chair on the end, next to Buck's. He props the toddler up in his own lap and pops the lid on the tube of facial sunscreen. Eddie tries to get Chris' attention by wagging the bigger can of Banana Boat, but he ignores Eddie in favor of burying his nose into his paperback copy of 1984. 

"Isn't that kinda depressing, Chris?" Hen asks, reopening her own book. "I read it years back. Someone from med school recommended it." 

"Yeah, but it's informational," Chris responds, conceding to Eddie's wordless demand and gesturing for his Dad to pass the sunscreen over. "My English teacher said that everyone should read it at least once. Y'know, cause it's banned in a ton of places." Chris twists the nozzle and sprays the sunscreen over his left arm carelessly. The smell of the mist carries over to Buck on a harsh gust of wind, and he inhales the distinctively tropical fragrance. “Mara, do you have summer reading?” 

“Hatchet, but I forgot to bring it.” She shrugs self-depractatingly. 

"Huh," Hen says, fidgeting with the corner of her previously dogeared page. "Well, personally, I'll stick with the author of this." She closes her book and flips it so that the light blue cover's on full display. "Malibu Rising. Karen and I are halfway through. It's our club's choice of the month."

She shifts her gaze to Eddie, who's applying bountiful dollops of cream to both of Theo's cheeks while Theo pokes the lenses of his sunglasses to keep himself entertained. She smiles at the scene they make. "Eddie, I think you should get in on the fun. The group's been asking about when you'll finally bite the bullet and join." 

Buck's jolted out of the Sudoku puzzle he's just opened when Eddie pulls on the leg of his chair to bring them closer together. His stomach flips at the show of easy strength. 

"I'll sign up when Buck does," Eddie counters. "Otherwise we have a very riveting picture book routine with Theo. I'm already ten books over my reading goal." 

Buck blushes violently, trying to recenter himself by fanning his activities book way too close to his face. He sees Karen smirk slyly out of the corner of his eye. 

Theo giggles at nothing and climbs barely a foot before he's rearranging himself in Buck's lap, smearing his sunscreen on his t-shirt that is suddenly suffocating. Buck pulls on the back of the neckline with the hand not keeping Theo upright to rip it up and off. He heaves a sigh of relief when the sea breeze makes contact with his torso, but the breath is cut short when he realizes Eddie's tilted his chin to openly gawk at Buck's chest, practically ogling him in front of God and everybody at this beach. 

His shades dangle from one hand as he considers Buck's collarbone first. He then drags his eyes over Buck's… pecs? Nope, no way. That can't be right. Buck instinctively snaps his head down, double chin likely appearing as he scans his own body to see if anything's spilled. 

Actually, he hasn't taken a sip of anything yet. None of them have made a dent in the drinks or snacks from the cooler, which is the perfect excuse to escape Eddie's scrutiny. 

"Who’s hungry? We should have lunch," he rattles out, face definitely matching the shade of his crimson swim shorts. 

"Chips!" Theo chirps, copying Buck's too-pitchy tone as he wiggles around excitedly. “Can I have Goldfish?” 

"You gotta have at least a few bites of sandwich first, munchkin." Buck kisses his temple and smooths a palm over his Finding Nemo rash guard. 

Theo sticks his bottom lip out and settles more heavily into Buck's lap, crossing one arm over the other. "Okay, Mista Poop," he says diplomatically. 

Karen reaches for the tub of ice. "What does everyone want to drink? I see lemonade, Coke," her cheek dimples, "and… Oh my gosh, juice boxes," she gasps theatrically for Theo's sake. 

“Can I have one, too?” Mara asks Buck shyly, like she doesn’t want to be a bother.

“Of course, honey. There are plenty to go around. Help yourself.” 

"I'll take a soda,” Chris requests. “Thanks, Aunt Karen.” There's a satisfying fizzy sound when he pops the aluminum and gulps a few sips.

"Slow down, Christopher," Eddie admonishes. Buck still feels his eyes boring into his side profile. 

Karen passes the cooler down the line. Hen digs around for a minute and grabs a plastic bottle of water and one of the ham and cheese sandwiches Buck constructed this morning. She hands another sandwich to Chris before swaying forward to give what's left of the contents to Buck. 

"Here, monster." Buck holds an avocado and turkey concoction in front of Theo. "Take five big bites and I'll have the rest." He mindlessly hands the cooler to Eddie while counting each of Theo's chomps out loud. "Oh, wait, can I actually have the–"

"Pretzels? Already got them.” Eddie brushes their bare shins together and pats Buck's knee as he offers the bag. Buck's been struck by lighting before, so he's familiar with the current that shoots up his entire leg at the contact. 

"Um. Thank you." If Buck quells the desire to kick his feet, that’s his business. 

Eddie winks at him, the jerk. "Sure." He goes back to digging into his sandwich like he's not dismantling Buck's resolve. 

"How much were groceries, Buck? We can reimburse you," Karen says, unwrapping the foil on her PB&J. 

"Oh, don't worry about it." There's a glob of mustard already clinging determinedly to the bristles of Eddie's mustache. "There were some deals going on for snack packs," Buck reassures her, wetting his thumb and reaching out automatically to pinch Eddie's chin, swiping the mess of condiment away with a slow arc of his finger. He draws back and pops the digit into his mouth, licking it clean before he's processed the enormity of what he's just done. 

There's an interminable stretch of painful quiet. Chewing ceases. Chris' hand pauses midair on its way to flip the page of his novel. Eddie gulps audibly in Buck's periphery, red high on his cheekbones. His gaze drops to Buck's mouth like there's something alluring clinging to the chapped texture of his lips. 

Buck balks at the casual intimacy that just transpired between them, the gesture that he initiated like it was second nature. 

Theo, Buck's savior apparently, shatters the loaded stillness. 

"I ate so much. Can I swim with Mara now?" He yanks on Buck's wrist imploringly, fruit punch Capri-Sun crumpled in his other fist.

Buck's still blue screening. Chris picks up the slack.

"I'll come play, Theo. How bout' you, me, and Mara go build a castle with a super sick moat. Anything to escape whatever's happening, right now," he tacks on under his breath. 

“I’ll be the queen!” Mara contributes, clapping her hands together. 

"Yeah!” Theo chirps. “Can there be fire dragons? I love dragons. Teddy read me a story about a magic one." Theo hops down from his seat on Buck's thighs, not needing any further permission. 

Eddie rises on unsteady feet and dusts invisible lint off of his swim trunks. "Let's put on your floaties, sweetie. Then you're all set." He bends at the waist to pick up the safety gear and oh, yup. That's Eddie's ass inches from grazing Buck's face. 

Buck has to resist the urge to smack two hands blindly over his eyes to physically black out the sight. He settles for looking up at the blue cloudless sky and whistling tunelessly like he wouldn't rather bury his head in—

Eddie falls further to crouch at level-height with Theo, effectively shutting down that train of thought. He's glad Eddie's turned away from Buck's sweaty temples and wandering perusal—both are evidently implicating to anyone with 20/20 vision. 

Theo goes in for an immediate embrace, bypassing the floaties for one of Eddie's bear hugs. 

Theo’s gone on and on about them since Eddie first comforted him after a harsh fall during a playground trip. He’d taken a corner too hard while playing tag, going splat on the rubber mulch. Buck remembers something fundamental igniting behind his sternum when Theo found them waiting on a park bench and sprinted right into Eddie’s arms with his puffy tear-soaked cheeks. They’d fit together so effortlessly—Eddie cooing assurances into his hair while Theo wrapped his wrists around his neck, clinging like he couldn’t fathom Eddie releasing him. 

Now, Eddie laughs, scooping him right up and placing an indulgent mwah on his sunscreen-caked forehead. His lips come away with a pale tint, and Buck's back on the chopping block. Seriously, he's never seen anyone better with kids. Namely, Buck's toddler. 

"Can I just slip your floaties on, buddy?" Eddie asks, rubbing Theo's back in circular patterns. "Your super cool shoes have to go on, too. That way you won't have to worry about any piranhas nipping you when you're building." He tickles Theo's belly exaggeratedly. 

Theo screeches, “you’re a shark!” for the duration of the assault, then rubs his cheek into Eddie's shoulder while Eddie wraps a floatie securely around one arm. 

"There we go. Does that feel okay?"

Theo bobs his head in the affirmative.  

"I'll be right behind you guys. I promised I'd teach you how to boogie board, remember? Stay out of the water until I come meet you.”

Eddie locks his and Theo's pinkies together, sealing their agreement with a kiss. He then redistributes the toddler's hands to grip onto his elbows for support while Theo cheers and slides one foot after another into his water shoes. 

Buck melts, lids fluttering as he attempts to blink away the reoccurring stinging that builds behind them whenever he gets to witness them interacting like this. Eddie loves Theo so much. The knowledge still threatens to bowl Buck over every now and then. 

Buck meets Hen's eyes, and she mouths, 'he's so great with him.' Buck's not usually a lip-reader, but the sentiment isn't hard to parse. He dips his chin in acknowledgment—basks in the onslaught of fondness so close to bleeding out of him. 

Chris stumbles, off-kilter on the uneven mounds of sand, towards Theo. He steadies himself as soon as Theo grips onto three of his fingers. Mara shuffles up to them, neon goggles dangling from her pinky. 

"You're helping with fortifying the walls once you join, Dad." Chris throws the request over his shoulder, tromping over a slope to get to damper ground. Theo's palm is held snug in his the whole way down. Mara skips gleefully to catch up, grabbing onto Theo’s free palm and swinging their arms once they’re close to the lapping waves. 

"They've really taken to each other so well," Karen swoons. She removes her floppy sun hat to re-braid her hair. "I thought maybe Chris would be bored without Denny. You two must be thrilled that Theo and him get along like…" she trails off, hesitant. 

Brothers. Buck finishes the thought for her in the privacy of his own mind. They're like brothers.

"Anyways," she continues, mildly inhibited. "Theo’s latched on the way Chris did with Buck all those years ago. Makes me happy, that's all.” 

"Yeah. Us, too," Eddie says serenely, going for the tube of sunscreen once again. He surveys Buck over his shoulder intently, like the proverbial cat whose moments from preying on the canary. "Hey, can you do my back? It burns easily."

Bastard. 

Buck's eyes bug out, still actively trying to recover from Karen's comment that basically alluded to the four of them being a family. He's grossly underprepared for this. The sand should swallow him whole. 

Hen's lips are pursed tight, suppressing the guffaw that Buck can see attempting to escape. Someone might as well pass her buttered popcorn. 

Buck can't deny Eddie anything, another fact of his sorry existence. 

For the record, there is a perfectly half-full spray can hidden behind a tote that Buck could technically remind Eddie is there and ready for usage. It would get the job done more efficiently. Buck doesn't have to subject himself to the agonizing ordeal of running his hands all over Eddie's muscles. No one is making him do this. No one is holding him hostage in a cornfield and demanding that he touch Eddie or die. Buck's just a masochist, ultimately. Eddie's also doing the signature doe-like expression that Buck hates to love. How are a human’s eyes so soulfully brown? Christ. 

"Yeah. Uh. Yup," he swallows dryly. "Just stay still and face the water for me, yeah?"

Buck tries to make his movements strictly professional, but as soon as he brushes the topmost knob of Eddie's spine, he leans all of his weight back into Buck like someone taking care of him and preventing a potential first-degree burn is the single best thing to ever happen. 

Eddie keeps letting loose these pleased little sounds when Buck kneads roughly into his lats and he wishes, not for the first time, that they were anywhere else. His mind's already halfway to bed with Eddie, and the fact that their closest friends are being kind enough to gloss over—at least for now—Eddie being sat between Buck's thighs like they do this every day is a swift punch to the stomach. 

Eddie tips the crown of his head back and shudders when Buck hits a sensitive spot. This is rapidly devolving into back massage territory. He's gotta end this, stat.  

Buck pats the back of Eddie's neck. "All set, man." His voice is alarmingly hoarse—affected. 

Eddie squeezes his bicep in thanks as he gets up, fingers lingering for a second longer than what Buck would classify as appropriate. 

Eddie squints at him, assessing. "Your birthmark is getting too red. Here, bud." He takes the facial sunscreen out of Buck's hanging palm and presses a fat glob of the cream onto his pointer finger. He spreads it over the splotch above the arch of Buck's eyebrow before tracing a linear path to the bigger circle of pink nestled on the outer corner of his right eye. 

"There," Eddie whispers, seemingly satisfied. Buck feels his hot puffs of air caressing the edge of his jaw. 

Eddie twists away instantly, groping for Theo's snorkel mask and a stray bodyboard. He points with a thumb to where the kids are playing in the distance. "I'm gonna go hang with them for a bit."

He performs an endearing salute, walking backwards and gracefully turning tail a few paces down the beach. Anyone else would've tripped. God, he's insufferable. 

Buck seizes the opportunity, while his back is turned, to soak up one last glimpse of antler. It's stupid, but he already misses Eddie's proximity. 

"See something you like, Buckaroo?" Hen questions smugly. 

Buck's snapped back into his functioning faculties by Karen's chortle. "You might wanna pick your jaw up off the ground, Buck. You could swallow a horsefly."

"Is that drool on his chin?" Hen ribs, like steam’s not coming out of Buck's ears right in front of her. 

"Okay, okay. Funny, Henrietta. Real cute. I’ll volunteer your services if I see any pamphlets for comedy shows that need a headliner.” 

Hen's doubled over now, Karen's hand clutched in hers as she slaps her knee over and over. "You should see your face. That, my friend, was priceless." 

"Alright, what's that supposed to mean?" Buck bites, perhaps too harshly. 

The pair sobers up at his clear irritation, their giggles diminishing. 

Hen thinks her answer over for a second, cautious. "It means something that I can't unpack with you on a weekday without at least two drinks in my system, first. Just talk to the man, Buck," she says, crossing her ankles and fidgeting with Karen's wedding band. 

"So, you admit there's something to talk about," Buck probes. "I'm inclined to think you two know something based on all the business-minding that you're not doing." 

"Oh, don't gimme that," Hen argues. "This was your idea. Karen and I are collateral damage."

“So, you didn’t wanna spend the day with us?” Buck goads childishly. “Alright, I see how it is.” 

“Buck, of course we did,” Karen pacifies. “It’s just–” 

Her and Hen share a guilty look, communicating with eyebrow twitches and head tilts. Buck would be jealous, but he and Eddie do the same thing, according to Ravi, who scoffs petulantly when the three of them are working out and Buck implicitly knows when to add more weight to Eddie’s rack. Chimney’s complained about it on the regular for far longer. He still points a finger between them accusatorily and shouts about voodoo black magic on calls where Buck and Eddie pass tools seamlessly without uttering a single syllable. 

“Oh, crap. You do know something.” Buck tips forward in his seat like he’ll be able to pry the secret out of them through sheer force of will. “You’re like Bonnie and Clyde. But gay! Actually, I’m losing the comparison here.” 

Hen maintains her silence. Karen just shrugs and mimes zipping her lips, bowing out. 

Buck latches onto Hen like a bloodhound picking up on a scent. He tracks every microexpression flying across her features. 

“Spill it, Henrietta. Or I’m convincing Eddie not to come to wine night next week.” He pulls out the big guns, internally pumping a fist. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Oh, really? Try me. You’ll devastate Maddie, Hen. Is that really what you want? My weepy and wine drunk sister in the middle of your living room floor?” Buck intimidates. “She’ll be far too crushed to watch Big Little Lies. No one will survive the wreckage.”

“You and Eddie just need to have an honest conversation, Buck!” she bursts out. “Preferably somewhere private. I don’t think anyone wants to be present for the aftermath, either. Not after that display earlier.” 

Karen smacks Hen’s arm, scolding. 

“Hey, ow! What? The mustache suits Eddie and we all saw Buck noticing.” Hen rubs the spot Karen jabbed tenderly. 

“I think Buck was looking a little further down, babe. Like, pretty exclusively at Eddie’s a–”

“Okay!” Buck splutters, flushing the color of the fire hydrants he secures on the clock. “That’s enough. I get the damn picture.”

“Listen, Buckaroo.” Hen’s eyes are inadvertently piercing his soul. “I love you both to death, but you were right before. It’s not my place to relay anything Eddie’s hypothetically told me. I’m a lot of things, but a telephone ain’t one of 'em.” 

She is, to put it delicately, all-too knowing. Buck would go so far as to call her terrifying if not for the gentleness and concern that belies her suspicion. Hen has a very unique scrutinizing quality that invites a person to spill their guts. Buck sees complete strangers pour their hearts out to her all the time. He really is tempted to throw caution to the wind and surrender his defenses. Karen’s presence only makes the inclination more powerful. 

They’re forces to be reckoned with. Buck would think their telepathy is cute if their team ups didn’t mean his total inability to deny whatever conclusion they reach. Hen and Karen’s involvement always means getting to the core of whatever problem Buck’s combating with just a few loaded sentences. Nine times out of ten, Buck isn’t ready to dissect their proffered advice under a microscope, isn’t ready to accept that he might be getting the context of an issue all wrong. 

They aren’t on Buck’s Timeline of Realizations. They don’t know the ins and outs of his treacherous mindscape. 

Buck thinks of Maddie again, of a certain conversation that occurred in her and Chim’s kitchen months and months ago. 

All three of the most important women in Buck’s life—bar Athena, though Buck’s certain she harbors her own opinions—have brought attention to the glaring Eddie-shaped affection proudly worn like a badge of honor melded to his breast over time. An immovable warmth that never dwindles. It only grows and flourishes—fluctuating to match the various stages of his and Eddie’s relationship. 

It’s high time Buck accepted what he’s been terrified of: he’s in love with Eddie. Has been, presumably since his last break up. Maybe even prior to that. Maybe always. 

It feels… startlingly good letting go. Shaking it loose from the endless cavern of fondness Buck’s always harbored for Eddie. The love loomed like a spectre, but now the spectre transforms into sunshine. 

How Buck reacted to Eddie getting a new tramp stamp probably should’ve clued him in.

It comes back to him in flashes. The ambience of the parlor. The concentrated middle-aged woman with countless piercings whose tongue poked out of her mouth for the duration of inking the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie, flat on his stomach, asking Buck to hold his hand. Buck had lent his palm before the request was fully formed, tangling his fingers with Eddie’s as he winced and wrinkled his nose through the pain. Eddie had visibly calmed, limbs lax when Buck ran a soothing finger over the backs of his knuckles. 

The tattooist had mumbled something about ‘looking good together’ that Buck stupidly interpreted as a physique compliment. He’d flexed the arm that wasn’t busy making sure Eddie was relaxed—was rewarded with Eddie’s indulgently exasperated chuckle. 

She meant the pair of them together. It’s obvious in hindsight. They’d looked like a couple to another complete stranger. 

“Did Buck just speedrun an epiphany?” Karen asks her wife, jolting Buck out of his reverie. 

“That, or he just saw Jesus,” Hen says. “But Jesus and Eddie seem like they’re on equal footing, here.” 

Buck stays quiet. Hen’s right—shocker. Not about the Jesus of it all, no, but loving your best friend is a spiritual awakening of sorts. There's a nuance that Buck doesn’t have the brain cells to process right this second.

Instead, he looks to the horizon where Eddie’s being attacked by waves and rambunctious kids. He belly flops to make Chris and Mara giggle, lurking under the surface of the water like a hippo before pouncing and hoisting Theo up onto his shoulders. He can hear Theo’s melodic peals of laughter from yards away.

Saccharine humidity presses down on Buck’s shoulders as he watches the scene unfold, wrapping intangible tethers around his upper body. 

Eventually, the kids start making their way out of the water. Buck watches Chris beckon Theo over to collect sea shells in the shallows. They hang off of each other—Theo yanking on Chris’ hand and pointing when he spots something worth a second glance. Mara stoops to pocket every single one that his toddler takes an interest in. 

When they’re near enough to Buck, Theo runs to close the remaining distance between them. 

He crashes into Buck’s legs, flailing until Buck steadies his frame. 

“Look, Buck!” He unclenches a small fist to reveal four pieces of sea glass, all different hues of green. His finger darts around each smoothed shard, like he’s tracing a constellation. “It’s me, you, Teddy, and Chris.” He kicks a foot into the sand bashfully. “Do you like them?”

Chris is close behind. “He better. They took, like, an hour to collect.” 

Buck dimly registers his bottom lip wobbling. He already wants to frame the fragments of broken bottles and hang them above his fireplace for all to see. 

“I love them, sweetheart.” He bends over the arm of his chair to grab a baggie and Theo’s Bluey towel. “Let’s put them somewhere safe and get you dry.”

“I feel sticky,” Theo complains when Buck wraps him up in the towel and starts drying him off. Buck pays special attention to his movements, not wanting the cotton to scratch against his sensitive skin the wrong way. It’s caused many a tantrum in the past. 

“You’ll be clean in no time, buddy. We’re all heading out super soon. I’m just gonna–” his gaze drifts back to Eddie again, still in the ocean. “I just gotta go do something with Teddy first. Can you be good for a few minutes with your aunts?”

Buck hands Theo off to Hen after he responds with a confirming yep. She blows a raspberry into his cheek, triggering another flurry of cackles. Mara smiles from beneath the brim of her bucket hat. 

“We’re fine, Buck. Go take a dip,” Hen says. “Theo and I are due for a soccer match. Chris, wanna be the ref?” 

“Theo’s on my team, Mama!” Mara shouts, searching for the inflatable ball. 

Chris slouches into his chair. “I’m wiped. I think I’ll stay with Aunt Karen and try to finish this.” He holds up his abandoned book. “Winston’s in The Ministry of Love. He’s totally doomed.” 

Buck looks between them, rooted to his spot, full to bursting with sentimentality.

“Seriously, Buck.” Karen jokingly shoos him away, stretching her arms above her head to presumably fend off the specific kind of exhaustion that seeps into your pores after hours spent in the sun. “Don’t keep the man waiting.” 

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Buck turns to leave, tripping over a stray rubber duck that came out of nowhere. The universe is screaming at him—Eddie would’ve sensed the toy’s presence and stepped over it cautiously, somehow. 

Hen and Karen’s eyes burn like lasers into his back as he trudges to the sandbar. Gulls caw from overhead, one swooping lower inches to his left and burying its beak into the moist seashore. The cold water sobers Buck up right away. It laps rhythmically at his torso the deeper he submerges. 

Buck wades out further to Eddie. His head is tipped back to absorb the daylight, haloed in gold. As he approaches, Buck suppresses the urge to sidle up behind him and press his front all along Eddie’s back, just to be able to breathe him in. 

Buck settles for placing a hand on his elbow.

“Hey, you,” Eddie greets, forearms crossed above his glistening abs. 

The words, laced with the regular enthusiasm Buck’s met with whenever he walks into a room that Eddie’s already in, make him want to be recklessly honest. 

“Hi.” 

He struggles to form another sentence when Eddie meets his eyes. Light bounces off of the surface of the waves and makes them sparkle at this angle. 

“Hen and Karen didn’t wanna join?” He hipchecks Buck. 

“Someone needed to watch our kids.” There Buck goes with another Freudian slip, one that he means with every fiber of his being. 

Eddie looks up at Buck through his lashes, waiting patiently for more elaboration. He doesn’t seem put out by Buck’s word choice. If anything, his grin grows brighter and more secretive. 

“Besides, they’re wimps,” Buck grants. “Hen put the tip of her toe in earlier and I think she jumped half a foot in the air. She said ‘frigid,’ then backed away very slowly.” 

Eddie’s eyes crinkle mirthfully at the information, and Buck longs for a camera. There’s something so beautiful about him under glaring daylight, out in the open for anyone to bear witness to. He’s endlessly alluring, right here. Everywhere, really. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Buck admits cryptically, opting for bravery. He’s scarcely been able to lie to the guy, and when he's tried, it's never worked out in his favor.  

Buck isn’t stupid. Well, maybe a bit, but he’s not a lost cause. Hen and Karen weren’t exactly subtle about Eddie coming to them to discuss something or other before today. 

It’s probably dangerous for Buck to blatantly expect that the conversation was about him. But expecting gives him the confidence to stop hiding from Eddie. If Hen and Karen think there’s stuff brewing, odds are, Buck would be missing an opportunity if he didn’t bring up what’s been gnawing on his insides for the better part of an hour. 

He trusts Eddie enough to catch him, no matter his response. 

Buck would wait forever for him, but he doesn’t want to have to. The love is already hard enough to keep contained after only thirty minutes of conscious acknowledgment. He couldn’t imagine waiting endlessly just because he was afraid to surrender to it. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” Eddie assures, alleviating some of the fear festering within his chest cavity. “What’s on your mind, Buck? Talk to me.” 

“I… well, I–” 

Eddie chooses that exact moment to point out a sailboat on the horizon, putting his back on full display as he spins to get a better glimpse. 

Buck doesn’t know what comes over him. All that matters is getting that godforsaken tramp stamp out of his sight for three seconds of reprieve. He can’t look at it again without causing a scene. 

He effectively panics, shoving Eddie into the water about it. He scans his own hands in horror when Eddie squawks in surprise and topples over, gracefully. Who the fuck falls over gracefully? 

Buck did what needed to be done. He would've thrown himself at Eddie if he hadn’t, like an overeager fan trying to climb onstage at a concert. Eddie is the stage personified, in this context. That is, Buck wants to climb him. Like a tree. 

They would’ve written about Buck’s lustful attack in the local paper. The headline? Exhibitionist Scene at Beloved Family Beach Still Under Investigation; Authorities Withholding Comment. 

Eddie splutters when he breaches the surface. Buck thinks he looks like a cat in the aftermath of its owner trying to force it into a bath. He’s diligently snarling. 

“EddieI’msorry.” One long, pointless plea for mercy. “That was uncalled for, I realize that now–” 

Eddie rises from the depths, comparable to The Loch Ness Monster. Buck is six foot two and objectively larger under any other circumstance, but Eddie’s defying reality. He towers over Buck threateningly, milking his fear-mongering. 

“Oh, it is so on,” is all the warning Buck gets before he is bodily tackled. Buck kicks out uselessly, arms flailing and snapping like bands around Eddie’s waist because if they’re going down, Buck’s taking Eddie with him. They tumble into the nippy waves, limbs tangled sloppily. 

They rotate once; twice underwater before coming up for lungfuls of air. The salt mixed with the leftover sunscreen is a killer combination—sending concentrated and prickling pain through Buck’s eyes. He lifts his hands to dig at his eye sockets; a horrible lapse in judgment. 

Eddie splashes Buck in vengeful retaliation. Buck can’t quite see him properly through the foggy sheen glazing his irises, but he knows Eddie looks wild. Uninhibited. 

They play a game of cat and mouse, straining for the upper hand like they’re in high school. 

Buck holds his arms out like he’s a basketball pro defending the net, anticipating Eddie’s next method of attack. He wishes irrationally that a Nerf Super Soaker could spawn out of nowhere. 

You’re my best friend, Buck thinks as he fields Eddie’s frenzied smile in the middle of a dying afternoon, and I can’t believe I didn’t dream you up. You’re real, somehow. All mine. 

These days, with their busy schedules, it can be difficult to find the gaps for recreation outside of Chris and Theo. Eddie prioritizes Buck’s fun in a way that no one else ever really has, and that feels a lot like love reciprocated. 

He brings out a side of Buck that’s happy to participate in juvenile tomfoolery as an adult in his midthirties. After growing up reprimanded for having a good time, Eddie is the person who makes Buck okay with the shenanigans he never embraced under Margaret and Phillip’s roof for fear of their disgust and ever-impending disappointment.  

During childhood, Buck always hoped that someone like Eddie would come along eventually. He’d wished upon a few stars for the type of friend that could handle the twists and turns of life without losing their youthful spirit or their capacity for having unplanned adventures. 

Eddie has been exceeding Buck’s expectations for nine years. Knowing him is a gift, and loving him? It’s the easiest thing Buck’s ever done. 

Droplets of condensation cling to Eddie’s mustache. Wet hair flops over his forehead, strands sticking out every which way. He looks like he’s deciding whether or not he can channel the effort to lunge at Buck again. 

“You win,” Buck mutters. He tracks an errant bead of wetness down Eddie’s back when he twists to cup one more handful of water to toss at Buck’s face. 

“Oh, shit.” There’s a band of red across Eddie’s tattoo: a burn. “Eddie, I didn’t get your lower back earlier. Fuck, does it hurt?” Buck moves to run a tentative finger over the borders of the left antler, guilt flooding in from all sides. 

A shiver wracks Eddie’s frame, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m fine, Buck.” Like he can sense Buck blaming himself, he adds, “It’s not your fault. I was the one who…” Eddie trails off, gaze intent on where Buck is still touching him carefully. “I wanted you to–” 

“We should leave,” Buck says, detaching himself regretfully. “The UV’s too high and the kids are beat.” 

He turns to go, but Eddie catches his wrist in a vice. His eyes are probing, suddenly—holding onto something that he’s scared will derail if he doesn’t keep them on track. “You wanted to tell me something, Buck.” 

“It can wait until you’re in the shade, Eddie. C’mon, I’m not taking any more risks with you.” 

Eddie nods stoically, reigning in whatever was about to slip through the cracks.

Eddie had once drunkenly admitted that he’d sooner sky dive than scuba dive. He’d said it was because humans have only explored five percent of the ocean. Ya never know what’s beneath your feet, Buck. 

Buck thinks about those statistics now as he guides them back through murky depths, Eddie’s big hand wrapped securely around his wrist. For comfort, maybe. 

They reach the foamy sandbar, which disappears fractionally as the tides change. Eddie’s finger taps sporadically against Buck’s radial pulse. 

Buck didn’t realize how long they’d been goofing off in the surf. Chris is yawning as Buck and Eddie approach. Theo’s snug as a bug in Karen’s arms to his left, eyes struggling to remain open. Mara and Hen whisper in muted tones, like they don’t want to disrupt the three p.m. lull that feels like a blip in reality. 

“Hey, you two.” Karen turns her nose into Theo’s temple. “Look who’s back, love,” she says into his ear. 

Theo toothily beams. “Daddy,” he lisps tiredly, making grabby hands. 

“Hi, monster.” Buck hoists him up onto his hip. “Are you ready to go?” 

“I want ice cream!” 

“Actually…” Hen ventures, “Karen and I were thinking Theo and Chris could sleep over at ours tonight. That way you and Eddie can–”

Karen elbows her for the second time today. She does the throat slash, which effectively translates to: shut up, affectionately. “That way Chris can catch up with Denny later,” Karen amends. “We could do sundaes, too. I’ve got rainbow sprinkles leftover from Mara’s bake sale.”

“Sundaes!” Theo yells, but then deflates like a balloon, peering up at Buck sadly. “What about you and Teddy? Are you coming?” He rolls his forehead into Buck’s chest. 

“We wouldn’t wanna drop them on you,” Eddie says, looking meaningfully between Hen and Karen. They’re all doing the telepathy thing, and Buck’s freaked out—overtly out of the loop. 

Hen ignores whatever subliminal message Eddie’s relaying. “Theo, sweetie, Dad and Eddie would get you early tomorrow morning, scout’s honor.” 

“He has a pretty extensive nighttime routine, Hen,” Buck tries valiantly. “And what about clothes? I dunno if–” 

“We’ve still got some old onesies in storage that we didn’t have the heart to donate,” says Karen. “Chris can borrow something from Denny's closet. Ooh, let’s do movie night, too. Star Wars?” 

“I’m in,” Chris supplies. “Denny and I have to catch up on Red Dead. I know Theo’s routine, Buck. I’ll help if he needs me. You and Dad deserve a break.” 

“I have a night light in my room that Theo can borrow if he’s afraid of the dark,” Mara says, fidgeting with her pink-painted nails. 

God, they’ve raised the best kids in the world. Hen and Karen smile at her proudly, and Buck can already see Eddie softening to the idea—genuinely considering it because of his teenager’s thoughtfulness. 

Theo nods sleepily into Buck’s throat. “I wanna go, Dad. I have to see Yoda.” 

Buck looks to Eddie for confirmation. He provides it with a dip of his chin. 

“Okay, buddy,” Buck replies. “But you gotta tell one of your aunts or Chris if you need me. I’m just a phone call away. Deal?” 

“Deal!” 

As everybody breaks off to pack up and start bidding each other goodnight, Buck makes a beeline for Hen, hitching Theo higher on his right side. “I know what you’re doing. Very classy diversion, Wilson.”

She goes in for a side hug. “Listen, I get you two have a lot on your plate,” she speaks into his ear. “But you’re Buck-and-Eddie.” Their names come out as one loaded word, like they’re a packaged Do Not Separate set. Bobby used to call for them in the same exact way—he’s why they became partners in the first place. 

“You’ll be fine no matter what,” Hen continues. “A little truth goes a helluva long way.” 

Buck’s eyes burn, but he can’t hold the salt water responsible, this time. “Thanks, Hen.” He kisses her cheek. “I owe you one.” 

“Don’t mention it, Buckaroo.” 

A few feet away, Eddie and Karen are separating from their own embrace. She says something that causes the tips of his ears to flush. He rolls his eyes at her good-naturedly, moving on to say bye to Chris. 

Karen advances on Buck next, throwing an arm over her wife’s shoulders when she gets close enough. Hen loops an arm around her waist immediately. Buck throbs with envy. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to take them?” Buck questions for the umpteenth time. 

“Are you kidding?” Karen exclaims. “Do you understand how much you’re helping me tame my baby fever? I haven’t brushed a kid’s teeth in literal years. I never thought I’d miss it.” 

Buck chuckles ominously. “Careful, this one might chomp on your fingers. My little lion.” 

Theo roars to punctuate Buck’s point. 

Eddie’s beside them in seconds, Chris and Mara in tow. 

“Bye, munchkin.” Eddie gobbles at the side of Theo’s face and ruffles his hair. “Have a blast.” 

Buck peppers smooches onto Theo's freckled face as he hands him over to Hen. This is like those videos of parents dropping their kids off for their first day of Kindergarten—a monumental occasion that Buck kind of wants to scrapbook about. 

“Have an awesome first sleepover,” Buck blubbers. “I moved your special rubber duck to Chris’ backpack, okay? And not too much sugar.” 

Theo clings to Hen’s neck. “Okay, Mista Poop. Bye Teddy!” 

Mara flicks her fingers up and down in a parting wave, and Chris shoots forward to steal a quick hug from Buck, too. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Karen croons as Buck and Eddie turn to leave. 

“No promises,” Eddie mumbles, only for Buck to hear. 

They avoid direct eye contact the whole way to the car.

Eddie’s hand rests on the center console of the truck as LA highways wind them back home, like a question. 

Buck doesn’t answer. Yet. 

“I’m gonna change,” Eddie informs as soon as they cross over the threshold of his front door. “You can start a movie, or something. Don’t wait up.” 

He seems dejected—cloudy. His shoulders slump on his way to the hall, each of his footsteps sounding heavy. 

Eddie was quiet for the duration of the drive back, not opting to break the spell of the tension-filled atmosphere of Buck’s truck cab. 

Buck had kept trying to steal glances at him, eyes dangerously lingering on his side profile and perfect bone structure instead of on the road. Eddie remained resolutely turned towards the window, chin propped on his knuckles defiantly. 

Buck comes back to himself, shocked by a boom of cracking thunder. Rain had started trickling against the windshield fifteen minutes into their journey, proof that they left the beach at the perfect time. They’d slid a cargo cover over Buck’s trunk to protect the items still there from the torrential downpour until morning.

He dawdles aimlessly in the entryway before wandering to the kitchen, opening Eddie’s fridge to scan its sparse contents. Next to a six-pack of IPAs, he finds the bottle of green-tinted aloe he was in search of. 

Buck’s keen to put Eddie out of his misery, both metaphorically and physically speaking. 

He should’ve taken Eddie’s hand in the car, but he was craving the safety of the house, craving the place he feels most at ease in. Eddie's house is where the pair of them laugh the hardest. It's where many last-minute takeout meals are spread out on his coffee table while they half-listen to nature documentaries—talking about everything and nothing together with chopsticks wielded like improvised microphones for recounting stories. 

Buck knows he left the conversation earlier in a weird limbo-adjacent place. He was just eager to be completely alone, out of the scorching heat and away from prying eyes.

Vehicles have never felt like a good setting for longevity, anyway. Buck spent years on the road in his twenties, using his jeep to escape and shuffle through different variations of his personality. Maybe it’s superstitious, but he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot; say the wrong thing and doom them before they even reached their intended destination. 

For worse or for better, Buck knew the aftermath of whatever was brewing was better suited for the walls of Eddie’s house—where the results of a confession could be contained accordingly. 

He scoops up the aloe and is halfway to Eddie’s room before he can think better of it. 

Eddie left the door cracked open minimally, and he spies a slivered glimpse of tanned skin; Eddie slipping soft grey sweatshorts on over his boxer briefs. 

Buck knocks lightly on the frame, clearing his throat and letting himself into the room discreetly.

“Came to drop this off.” Buck extends the aloe in invitation, eyes averting and darting around the space. Eddie’s bed is tucked neatly against one wall. The ceiling fan whirs from above, emitting a slight squeaking noise that would typically annoy Buck to no end. Fixing the loose screw isn’t exactly his number one priority, currently. Eddie invariably takes precedence. 

There’s an old picture of Buck and Chris on Eddie’s nightstand that must’ve been moved from the mantel in his living room—a new addition to an otherwise sparse sleeping area. Buck doesn’t like to think too hard about why Eddie leaves his room so substantially scarce. It makes him sad that Eddie doesn’t have an affinity for decorating a place he spends more than a few hours a day in. Buck hopes to rectify the situation in the future; has tirelessly tried to in the past by offering to wingman any of Eddie’s trips to HomeGoods. 

Eddie would sooner brave Costco on a Saturday, but the thought counts. 

A crack of lightning fills the space with sparking illumination through the sheer curtain by the singular window, and Eddie comes alive with it, looking between the proffered bottle and Buck deliberately. “You could help me out.” His gaze dips to Buck’s still-bare chest. “I’m not gonna be able to reach.”

Buck gulps a grand total of five separate times before responding. “Uh, sure. Definitely. You wanna lie down?” 

Eddie nods slowly, already making for the mattress. He kneels on the bedding, then spreads out flat on his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. Buck climbs up after him, swinging one leg over Eddie to straddle the backs of his thighs. 

This all feels inevitable, somehow. Like they're gaining on a precipice and are about to bungee jump off of a cliff harnessed together. Buck thinks the only person he’d consider leaping into an abyss of this magnitude tethered to is Eddie. 

"Scoot up more," Buck encourages. 

Eddie does so, peeking at Buck coyly from the crook of his elbow. 

Buck's stomach is in knots that only Eddie can unravel. He doesn't seat himself fully atop Eddie, instead choosing to hover over him. Buck busies himself with uncapping the aloe, warming it as he scrubs two hands together methodically. 

Eddie waits patiently, sagging further into the sheets when the still-cool gel meets his flushed skin. He makes a surprised groaning sound, and Buck’s cheeks heat—always so incriminating. 

Buck’s careful with his touches, rubbing the aloe into Eddie’s tattoo reverently. Twin dimples reside on the small of his back, and Buck wants to press his thumbs into them. Eddie spasms when Buck’s fingers wander too far south and graze the elastic of his waistband accidentally. 

“Sorry,” Buck murmurs. 

He doesn’t really mean the apology. Eddie probably sees right through it. He has a way of stripping Buck down to nothing but raw truth and bare bones, clawing at his surface until suddenly Eddie’s at the very core of his being, like it’s nothing. 

“It’s alright,” Eddie slurs. His words are mildly unintelligible. He keeps shoving his face into his bicep, like he’s trying to fend something off but failing. “Keep going, Buck.” 

Buck won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Eddie’s express permission feels like its own medicine. 

His tattoo looks lighter where the skin surrounding the antlers is mottled with scarlet. Buck smooths a finger over a particularly reddened patch. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more generous with the sun screen.”

Eddie grunts something indecipherable, suspiciously tense. 

Buck runs his nails back and forth across Eddie’s tailbone, and he watches goosebumps scatter treacherously up his spine. Incentivized, Buck risks following the raised bumps to the band of Eddie’s boxers where it peaks above his shorts. 

And… yup. Buck’s getting hard, cock sitting heavy in his own underwear as his eyes flit all over Eddie’s muscled back. There are moles dotted sporadically at the top of his beautifully arched spine, all the way to the jut of his ass—the ass that was undoubtedly sculpted by an ancient artist. 

Eddie has a butt that must’ve been reincarnated over the span of a millenia. His ass is an old soul, ripe for the taking. People must’ve gone off to war for Eddie’s transmigrated rear end in past lives. Buck would’ve volunteered as tribute any day of the week. He’d have been on the front lines yelling ‘charge!’ if Eddie’s ass was the land to be conquered and won. 

Distracted by the obscene way he’s tenting his swim trunks, Buck digs roughly into Eddie’s sacrum, entranced. 

It must be some kind of a trigger. Eddie groans like Buck just electrocuted him with a taser. 

“Am I reading this wrong?” Buck gives in—palms the left cheek of Eddie’s clothed ass, heedless. “Eddie what am I– what are we doing? You gotta give me something,” Buck begs, voice wavering damningly. "I think I'm hallucinating." 

“Fuck.” Eddie raises his head just enough to say, “I’ve wanted you to look at me all day, Buck. Did you think I bent over in your face at the beach just for kicks? I’m getting way too old for that.” 

Buck finally drops his weight completely onto Eddie’s thighs, wanting him to feel pinned like Buck does by his admission. He tugs at the hem of Eddie’s shorts; starts to pull greedily. “Can I take these off? Please, can I–” 

“You can do whatever you want, bud.” 

Having Eddie close to him like this is the stuff of fairytales; of legends and myths. Paradoxically, nothing’s ever felt more real to Buck. It’s scary, how much is riding on this. It’s terrifyingly sacred, how natural holding Eddie’s body is. 

He tells Eddie as much. 

“Hey, you know everything there is to know about me,” Eddie says, lifting his hips so that Buck can shuck his boxers and shorts off in one fell swoop. “You knew I wanted you to take what I was offering, earlier. I can read you like a damn book, Buck.” 

Eddie’s naked below him, and all the lingering anxiety vanishes. There’s no room for Buck’s typical insecurities here. The doubt that Buck could let invade his senses is eclipsed by Eddie’s casual reassurance—the way he looks spread out underneath Buck, waiting for him to get with the damn program.

A flip switches internally. Buck’s confidence is a bull in the distance and he lassos it expertly, for Eddie’s sake. He leans forward until his chest is pressed to Eddie’s sticky back, and puts it on. “God, you and this tattoo.” Buck nips his earlobe and grinds his trapped cock all over Eddie’s bare ass as he speaks. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

Eddie turns his face completely into the pillow to escape Buck’s onslaught, shoving his face into the fabric and moaning so deeply Buck thinks it rattles the bed frame.

Buck yanks on the hairs at his nape, pulls his face right out of its hiding place. “No, you don’t get to do that,” he whispers into the corner of Eddie’s lips. “You run your mouth about wanting me to look at you, so you’re returning the favor.” 

“Jesus. Kiss me,” Eddie pants, straining his neck and raising it in offering for Buck to capture completely. 

Buck sits back on his haunches, instead. He bends to smear his lips over the tramp stamp he’s fantasized about for weeks. He runs the tip of his nose along the jagged branches of the left antler, pillowing his mouth against its intricate boundaries. 

“Not there,” Eddie laments, his rueful tone contradicted by the way he pushes his ass into Buck’s face yet again.  

“How’s the burn feeling?” Buck asks, dying to give Eddie everything he wants. He pecks the bottom of the right antler adorning Eddie’s skin. 

“It’s fine, Buck. Stop fussing,” he responds, exasperation sounding more and more like total urgency. “I’m fine. Please, could you just kiss m–” 

Buck flips Eddie deftly and dives down before they’re properly settled. He licks a wet line across Eddie’s prickly mustache, bracketing his face in both of his hands. He bites at Eddie’s upper lip to feel the sensation of the bristles tickling his mouth. Eddie’s legs come up on either side of his hips, and Buck descends the final centimeter to end their torture swiftly. 

He captures Eddie’s lips, committing to the kiss in ways that he’s never let himself with past partners. Their teeth clack sloppily. Buck can’t recall ever feeling better than he does right now. 

Drool accumulates on his chin as they make out haphazardly. He feeds what he can of his remaining saliva into Eddie’s gaping mouth. “You drive me insane,” he says into Eddie’s wide open maw, dragging their stubbled cheeks together deliciously before reconnecting their lips. Buck pulls back again, because he plainly can’t help himself. “You walk around my house like it’s yours. Like I’m the guest.” Another searing kiss; Eddie whining into it. “Do you know how much I lo–” 

Eddie’s nails are leaving crescents in Buck’s shoulders, scrabbling for purchase as Buck cuts himself off to mouth at his jawline decadently. “Fuck, I’m obsessed with you, Eddie.” 

He can’t shut up—doesn’t want to. He’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t mind the rant. He throws the crown of his head back into the pillow when Buck sucks kisses up to the shell of his ear and proceeds to dump more filth into its canal. 

Buck moves a hand down his own body, aching for relief. He reclines back to sit on his heels, tucking the band of his swim trunks under his balls. Eddie splays his hands over Buck’s pecs and cups them in both of his massive palms, groping him like he would a girl.  

Buck’s tip catches against his. 

“You’re so wet. God,” Eddie grunts brokenly.  

Buck wraps a fist around both of their shafts, loving how he struggles to fit his fingers around their combined girth. “What do you like?” Buck asks, kissing Eddie's swollen lips once more.

“Tighter,” Eddie pleads. “Shit, you’re like a leaky faucet, man.”

Buck balances on one elbow as he reaches for Eddie’s nightstand. He fumbles open the wooden drawer when Eddie takes over for him, his calloused hand pumping their lengths hedonistically. 

“You know where my lube is?” Eddie says, sounding flummoxed. 

“‘Course. Everyone’s lube is in the same place, Eddie.” Buck buries a thumbnail into the cap. It opens with a snick. “And this bottle is way too full. Why’s it so full? You’ve barely made a dent in it.”

Eddie laughs, slowing the pace of his hand. Buck tries to fuck loosely into his fist in protest. 

“Sorry I don’t jerk off enough for you, Buck. I’ll be sure to fix that.”

“I mean…” Buck smirks, “We’re making excellent progress in the here and now.” He stoops to breathe hotly into Eddie’s mouth. “I’m planning on breaking all of your previously sad records, anyway.” 

“Jesus, Buck.”

Buck coats his fingers liberally. He hitches Eddie’s legs up to wrap around his waist so that he can rest more comfortably between them. Buck resumes jerking them off, batting Eddie’s hand away to skirt his damp pointer finger further down to its rightful target. He draws a tight circle over Eddie’s hole. 

The reaction is immediate. Eddie keens into the pillow cradling his head, unconsciously tensing his ankles around Buck’s hips. 

“Yeah. Yeah, baby,” Buck goads, observing the sweat beading at Eddie’s hairline temptingly. “Have you ever touched this?” He strokes over the spot—taps at it with his cuticle. “I’m thinking the answer is no.”

Eddie convulses—a reply in and of itself. 

Saliva pools in Buck’s mouth headily. He desperately needs somewhere to put it. 

“Open your mouth and look at me,” he orders, inserting the tip of his middle finger into Eddie’s opening. He curses at the way it sucks him in; the warmth of it. 

It seems like an undertaking, but Eddie tears his face out of the cotton to obey. Buck breaches him all the way to the second knuckle, the lube and Buck’s pre-come blending to make the slide blissfully easy. 

“Please open your mouth for me,” Buck implores again. 

Eddie’s irises are lecherous. The bedside lamp gives them an amber and debauched hue. He’s sex on a stick—the most gorgeous person Buck has ever and will ever lay his eyes on. 

Eddie’s jaw drops in acquiescence, hair wavy where it falls over his forehead in messy tendrils. 

Buck swishes the fluid gathering in his cheeks, bends, and spits right onto the center of Eddie’s pink tongue. Eddie jolts violently, eyebrows crumpling as he swallows intuitively and clenches around the intrusion of Buck’s finger. 

Buck’s cock kicks. “Yeah, you like that? Lemme add another finger. Please, Eddie.”

Eddie bobs his head up and down, hand coming up to slither around Buck’s throat. His thumb caresses Buck’s Adam’s apple tenderly, then pushes on his carotid possessively. 

The digit that’s been playing with Eddie’s rim stutters frantically. “Harder,” Buck whimpers. “You can go tighter, baby. I want it.” 

Eddie complies, squeezing Buck’s neck, moderately cutting off his air supply. At the same time his grip tightens, Buck inserts a second finger alongside the first and starts to scissor them carefully. They make a wet squelching noise when Buck massages his inner walls steadily. 

Eddie’s hold releases fractionally when Buck’s eyelids flutter drunkenly. He hitches his knees higher, close to his chest, to give Buck unlimited access.

Buck bumps his fingers in and out, crooking them upon every reentry. "You sound so good."

“I need more, Buck.” His heels slip on Buck’s waist as his thighs tremble. “I need to feel– I'm not–"

“What, full?” Buck doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, brain staticky with lust. 

Eddie’s into it. That’s what matters. “Can you put it in? You should put it in.” 

Buck’s regulatory system crashes. “You’re not prepped enough. I’m kinda–” 

“Big?” Eddie supplies, hand dropping from Buck’s throat to skate over his nipples and past his stomach to tangle in the thatch of wet hair at the base of Buck’s dick. Eddie cups the head, which blurts more pre-come. “Just the tip, then. I can take it.” 

Buck’s head sinks to hang between his shoulders, overcome by Eddie’s impatience. Shivers cascade over his extremities. Buck extracts his fingers from Eddie’s hole mournfully, raising his hand and cupping it beneath Eddie’s chin—a silent command for extra drool. 

Eddie lets the spittle dangle from his bottom lip for a few seconds before the forces of nature snap the saliva strand clean in two. It lands in Buck’s palm, forming a tiny puddle. 

“Condoms,” Buck remembers dutifully. “Do you want me to wear–” 

He can’t even get the sentence out, his caveman mind selfishly caught up in the thought of being inside Eddie without barriers. 

Eddie wags his head back and forth, rejecting the idea, too. He probes a nail into Buck’s sopping tip, and Buck’s hand falls to slick himself up further, hand overlapping with Eddie’s. He forgoes more lube. 

“Go ahead, Buck. We don’t need them, just. C’mon.” 

He cages Eddie in between his forearms and smooths loose hair back from his brow, then drops his face into the juncture of Eddie’s neck and shoulder. Buck inhales the scent of brine, musk, and sulfur—a potent combination. A thrill zips up his spine when he realizes how dirty they both still are from the beach. He sucks a hickey into the corded column of Eddie’s throat, tasting salt and intoxicating perspiration, while Eddie seizes Buck’s throbbing cock and nestles it against his entrance. 

Buck is ablaze with delirium. His breath catches high in his wind pipe when the head of his dick slips inside Eddie’s hole. He kisses Eddie’s cheek in about six different places, leaves another soaking line with his tongue across the scar on Eddie’s lips that he got when he was a teenager—one of his daredevil sisters threw a fishing hook during a camping trip gone wrong. 

“Tell me this feels okay,” Buck says into Eddie’s cupid’s bow, physically restraining himself from snapping his hips when Eddie contracts around the inch that Buck’s fed him. “Tell me you need me.” 

“I need you all the time. Always,” Eddie gasps. “You have no idea how good you are.” He wraps one arm around Buck’s heaving shoulders and thumbs at his ruddy birthmark with the other. Eddie humps his hips up, like he’s trying to taketaketake. “What did you think about, Buck?” 

“Whaddayoumean?” Buck rambles, tugging at Eddie’s lower lip with his canines. He lets it go with a pop. 

“You said I’ve been driving you crazy since I got the tat. I wanna know what that means.” He clings to Buck, patting his back with a broad palm when Buck’s knees slip on the mattress in his efforts to hold back. 

Buck trails the point of his nose along the lobe of Eddie’s ear. “I thought about how jealous I was of your hands, how you got to peel the second skin off by yourself after the healing period.” 

Buck clutches the headboard for leverage, hovering over Eddie like a phantom. He strips Eddie’s neglected cock with his free hand. 

“I thought about what the antlers would look like if I ever got you on all fours in my bed, about how you belong with me.”

“Buck, holy shit,” Eddie moans lewdly, strangling his dick. 

Buck can feel his orgasm whirling and cresting in his gut. He’s riling himself up by divulging what he’s wanted Eddie to hear for a long time. 

“I saw you with your shirt riding up or a towel wrapped too low, and it felt like there was this nagging voice begging me to tell you something.” 

Eddie’s fingers grapple and twist with Buck’s in the bars of the headboard. Buck needs, more than anything, to get him over the edge—to give him what he deserves. 

“Now I know the voice was just trying to tell me how much I love you. Christ, I love you so much, Eddie.” 

That does the trick. Buck wishes he could sink to the root, but he submits and pours encouragement forth instead; watches Eddie’s eyes roll back. He comes soundlessly, cock spurting thick ropes onto Buck’s hand and belly. Buck works him through it to the best of his ability, getting lost in the way Eddie looks up at him through his lashes when the last remaining dregs of the release are siphoned out of his body. 

“Fuck, Eddie. I’m gonna– can I come? Please, please, let me–”

Eddie summons enough energy to hug Buck close to him, holding on for dear life. “Give it to me,” he says, and Buck’s a hair’s breadth from utter implosion. “You can come, Buck. Show me.” 

He does with a guttural groan, blood singing with pleasure never before witnessed by man. Buck buries his face into Eddie’s temple, indulging himself with another half inch of Eddie’s addictive heat when he murmurs there you go. 

Eddie's thighs shake on either side of Buck, taking every drop of his spend like a champ. Buck collapses on top of him, wraps his arms around Eddie and gathers him up in them. He rubs their noses together; places an affectionate kiss to the crow’s feet that wrinkle beautifully whenever Eddie smiles hard enough. 

“I should’ve held your hand in the car,” Buck apologizes. “I got scared, I think.” 

“All’s forgiven,” Eddie responds easily, mouth twisting dreamily. “Besides, if I knew you could move your hips like that, I woulda saved us a lot of time by jumping your bones sooner, so. We’re both to blame.” 

Buck hides his glowing blush in Eddie’s throat. “Alright, menace. You’re asking for it in the future, just you wait. I have plans.” 

Eddie titters and winds one of Buck’s curls around his ring finger. He makes an unhappy noise when Buck begins pulling out. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m gonna run to the bathroom and get you a washcloth. Be right back.” 

Buck noses into one of Eddie’s damp sideburns, then stands on awkward, newborn foal legs precariously before steadying himself. He looks back at Eddie sheepishly, then waddles to the door, kicking off the swim trunks that are still tangled around his ankles. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him or flicking on a light. He knows Eddie’s halls like the back of his hand: where the floorboards creak and where Chris’ old penciled height chart is on the plaster. 

Buck navigates to the linen closet blind, snags a towel from a pile and ducks into the bathroom to wet it under the sink without sparing his reflection a glance—too excited to get back to Eddie. 

The sight that greets him when he steps into the shadowed bedroom is one he’ll see until the day he kicks the bucket.

Eddie’s bathed in refracted moonlight, covers untucked and sheets bunched around his hips. He sits slouched against the headboard expectantly, waiting for Buck to rejoin him. He pats the comforter to beckon Buck over, and he practically sprints to the mattress. The box springs squeak in protest when Buck hops up. 

Once Buck is sitting straight enough, Eddie climbs into his lap. Buck’s hands slide over his sun-kissed quads, reveling in the coarse hair coating them.

Buck brings the washcloth to Eddie’s softened cock gingerly; loops an arm around his torso to Eddie’s hole. He sighs wistfully as Buck works, eventually taking the moist towel from him when Buck ceases his cleanup—sweeping it over Buck’s taut stomach. 

Eddie tosses the fabric to the floor when he’s finished, eyes glazed when they refocus on Buck’s. 

“Y’know,” Buck drones, tracing the curves of Eddie’s love handles, tickling his tailbone. He lies a palm flat over the twin antlers. “I’ve been dying to know. Why’d you go with these?” He pets the tramp stamp for emphasis. “Pure spontaneity? That isn’t like you.” 

“Ah, not quite,” Eddie mutters, apples of his cheeks sweetly rosy. “They’re for you, actually.” 

Buck reels back, stunned silent before cracking his skull on the headboard. “Motherfucker,” he wheezes. 

Eddie’s pupils flare brilliantly as he cups the side of Buck’s face. His smirk is unbearably adoring. 

“W-what? Buck flounders. “It’s for– what? I don’t under–” 

“Male deer are called bucks, Buck. Hence, the antlers,” Eddie says in place of duh.

Buck lungs constrict, heart galloping and simultaneously stuttering every other beat. “You… you got a tattoo. For me?” He points to himself disbelievingly. 

“Of course,” Eddie says, like it’s an absolute given. “You’re the love of my life. Maybe I didn’t fully grasp that at the time, but I wanted something that represented how special you are to me. I was telling Hen and Karen about different design ideas while you were busy answering a trivia question about what year Titanic hit theaters.” 

Buck’s eyes swim with unshed tears. “Love of your life?” he breathes. 

“Mhm. Don’t get a big head about it.” Eddie thumbs at Buck’s waterline—collects the moisture that swells there. “Just wanted a permanent piece of you.”

“You’ve already got every piece. God, I’m gonna get tattoos with you for the rest of my life.” Buck yanks him down to slot their lips in a bruising kiss for an endless minute. 

“I could get your birth flower,” Buck whispers into the scruff on Eddie’s chin. “Or our zodiac sign.”

Eddie plants a sloppy kiss on his jaw in retaliation. “Yeah, if you wanna be basic.”

Buck snorts. “What sorts of tributes exist for the name ‘Eddie?’ Enlighten me, princess.” 

“Just have the tattoo artist calligraphy every letter of my name on your forehead and we’ll call it a day, Buck.” 

“Is that supposed to be a joke? Because I take my title as your biggest fan very seriously,” Buck taunts, shifting forward and tackling Eddie into the sheets at the foot of the mattress. “How bout’ I get it on both of my ass cheeks, instead. Then we’re even.”