![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
9-1-1 FIC: I'll be His and He'll be Mine
Title: I'll be His and He'll be Mine
Pairing: Buck/Eddie
Rating: NC17
Words: ~5,900
Summary: Christopher sighs under his breath. "You're both crying."
Notes: Doing my part to fill that 8x06 couch scene fanfic gap.
[AO3]
I'll be His and He'll be Mine
Buck's phone buzzes ten minutes into his trip to Sprouts.
Eddie: hey what are you doing right now?
Right now, he's squinting at a truly lackluster display of tomatoes. He grabs the most promising one, but once he touches it, he finds that it's wrinkled around the stem and too squishy to be the T in the BLT he's craving. Sighing, he puts it back and types out a reply.
Buck: grocery shopping
The next two tomatoes are sadder and soggier than the first. The whole bunch looks bad enough that he flirts with the idea of going to Trader Joe's. On the one hand, it's just a two-minute trip down Culver. On the other hand, he's already here. He already has oat milk and avocados in his cart. And that two minutes doesn't include finding a spot in the fifth-worst parking structure in Los Angeles.
Eddie: without me? 😦
Buck snorts and pushes his cart toward the watermelons, which are priced so low that he's a little suspicious of them. Today's the first of their three days off. Usually, they both try to get errands done at the start of a stretch, and more often than not, they do their errands together. But Eddie had given Buck a vague, distracted answer when he brought it up at the end of their shift last night. When mid-morning rolled around and Eddie still hadn't texted, he'd headed out by himself. He'd figured Eddie was either sleeping in or getting some one-on-one time with Chris before school starts next week.
Buck: sorry
Buck: you left me hanging
Buck: and my cupboards are bare
Eddie: could be because everything you buy ends up at my place
Buck: not *everything*
Buck: don't hear you complaining when I'm feeding you
The typing bubble winks in and out, in and out, in and out. Buck watches it for a few seconds, then snorts again and pushes his cart past the sketchy watermelons. 99¢-a-pound really is a steal, but this far out of season, they'd probably taste like wet cardboard.
By the time Eddie replies, Buck's shuffled over to the zucchinis. He's thinking about a one-pot version of Pasta Primavera that recently went viral on TikTok. It had looked pretty good, and it had seemed easy enough to put together. It might be worth giving a try. Now that Chris is home, they need to get back to eating something with vegetables in it once in a while instead of just ordering pizza every other night.
Eddie: can you do something for me?
Buck: yeah ofc
Buck: you need something from the store?
Eddie: i need you to come down to the courthouse
Buck's moving before he even thinks about it. He ditches the cart beside a spinner rack of dried fruit and makes beeline for the door. He jogs over to the Jeep, digging for his keys with one hand and texting Eddie with the other.
Buck: on my way
Buck: is everything ok?
Eddie: i'm fine
Buck: you're not hurt? Or in some kind of trouble?
Eddie: i'm good
Eddie: i'll explain when you get here
Eddie: beverly hills, not downtown
Eddie: 9355 burton way, 4th floor
Buck prefers the Sprouts by Eddie's place—it's bigger and usually has a better produce selection—so he'd driven over there to shop even though he was flying solo today. That means he's already on the West Side, making Beverly Hills a straight shot north instead of a forty-minute trek across town. Not that it matters all that much: he swings out of the parking lot and immediately gets stuck in noontime traffic. Google realizes that Robertson's a shitshow a moment later and redirects him up a series of side streets—first Bagley, then Sawyer, then Beverly, then Rexford. Buck California rolls though a solid third of the stop signs, chewing at his lower lip and trying not to worry. Eddie saying he's fine doesn't mean he is; he's notoriously bad at admitting it when he isn't.
Buck's first thought is that Eddie got arrested, but he dismisses it almost as soon as he has it. If that was the case, Eddie wouldn't have been texting him because the cops would've confiscated his phone. He would've called Buck from lock-up—collect, like Connor did when Buck bailed him out for a drunk and disorderly a few years back. His second thought is that he's in some other kind of legal trouble, like a lawsuit, but he can't imagine who would be suing him or why. He would know if Eddie had hit someone with his truck or if he owed anyone a serious amount of money. And if it was work-related—like a patient claiming Eddie injured them on a call—the department lawyers would be handling it.
His phone buzzes as he's speeding through the intersection at Rexford and Olympic. He doesn't pick it up—he's worked more than enough distracted driving calls to know better—but he does glance at it where it's sitting in the passenger seat. Just before the screen goes back to sleep, he sees that the message is from Christopher.
That leads him to a third, horrible thought: that Eddie's parents have filed a custody petition. Eddie showing up in El Paso unannounced had infuriated them on its own, but then he'd insisted, in no uncertain terms, that Christopher was coming home. As it turns out, that's exactly what Christopher had been wanting—for Eddie to chase after him, for Eddie to bring him back—but Helena and Ramón had accused Eddie of using a dramatic stunt to guilt Christopher into leaving. From there, things had erupted into a screaming match. Buck had missed the worst of it—he'd taken Christopher outside before it got too heated—but he'd heard enough. Some of it, like Helena declaring that Eddie would live to regret disrupting Chris' life again, had felt less like a prediction and more like a threat.
It's an awful idea. And completely insane. Buck wants to believe Eddie's parents aren't that stupid. Then again, they absolutely refuse to see how incredible Eddie is, so maybe they are. Either way, it gnaws at him hard enough that he sneaks a look at his phone when he misses the light at Rexford and Wilshire.
Chris: where r u
Chris: ??? ?? ?????
That helps him settle a little, because it seems normal enough. Still, he opens Eddie's thread.
Buck: you promise you're ok?
Buck: i'm kinda worried ngl
Eddie: ofc you are
Buck: can't help it i'm a worrier
Buck: you know this
Buck: and you didn't tell me what's going on
Eddie: it's a surprise
Eddie: a good one
Buck: you should've led with that!
Eddie: probably
Eddie: you almost here?
Before Buck can reply, the light turns green. He discovers this because the chick behind him lays on her horn and—when he blinks at her in his rearview mirror—gives him the finger. He drops his phone back on the passenger seat and hits the gas. He turns right on Foothill and only speeds a little as Google informs him that he's approaching his destination.
The courthouse is a huge, hulking building, all retro concrete and dark glass, uglier than he expects for a snooty neighborhood like Beverly Hills. He finds street parking on Burton, which would normally feel like a Jesus-in-a-grilled-cheese type of miracle, but he's too focused on whatever Eddie's good surprise is to really appreciate it. Inside, the place is packed with people. Flashing his first responder ID gets him waved past the metal detectors, but since the building's stairs aren't clearly marked, there's nothing he can do about the crowd at the elevators but wait.
He misses the first one. And the second. Predictably, the third one stops at every floor.
At the fourth, the doors open to another crowd. As it parts around the people exiting the elevator, Buck sees Christopher. He's sitting on a bench near the directory, his Switch in his hands and his crutches propped up against the wall.
Buck calls, "Chris," and hurries over. "Hey."
"Finally," Chris teases. His voice is deeper than it was when he left for El Paso, and Buck still isn't used to it yet. "It took you long enough."
"We live in Los Angeles," Buck points out. "You're lucky it only took me twenty minutes."
Chris huffs and gestures with his Switch. "Dad's waiting for you over there."
Buck spots Eddie about a hundred feet away, standing slightly apart from the line at one of the service windows. He's wearing black jeans and a dark green button-down that's pulling a little across his chest. He looks good. Like really, really good. After close to eight years, Buck's mostly immune to how beautiful Eddie is, but every so often—like right now—there's just no ignoring it. So he does what he always does when one of those thoughts escapes while Eddie's around: he lets himself feel it for about two seconds, then crams it into the box at the bottom of his brain labeled later.
Or he tries to. For some reason, right now it's refusing to go quietly. It doesn't help that Eddie smiles when he sees Buck approaching, or that there's so much warmth in his voice when he greets, "Hey, you made it."
"Barely, according to your son."
"Yeah," Eddie says, laughing. "He was getting impatient."
Buck starts to ask what they're doing here, but he gets distracted by the couple walking past them. They're hand in hand and grinning at each other, the man in a sharp black suit with blue accents and the woman in a white, knee-length dress with lace at the neck and sleeves. A large rosebud corsage is blooming on one of her wrists. And they're not the only ones dressed for a wedding; Buck glances around and notices several more couples all decked out. That makes him look at the window behind them, which is apparently for marriage licenses, and that makes him look at Eddie. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright.
"You—" Buck's voice catches. A good surprise, Eddie had said. "What are you doing here?"
Eddie's cheeks flush even pinker. "Getting married."
Buck mumbles, "I," then stops. He tries again with, "Oh," but that doesn't go anywhere either.
The thing is—the thing is—Buck's known that this was inevitable. He's known that one day, Eddie would meet someone, and that one day, things would get serious, and that one day, he'd ask Buck to stand for him at his wedding. Buck's also known that when it finally happened, he'd do it despite his own feelings, because if anyone deserves to be happy it's Eddie fucking Diaz. He just wasn't expecting one day to be today. He didn't even know Eddie was seeing anybody. He doesn't know when Eddie was seeing anybody. Between Chris leaving and Buck getting dumped, they've been haunting each other's houses for nearly six months.
A cold, sharp-toothed feeling starts chewing a hole in Buck's chest. But Eddie's smiling again, so he lets out another, "Oh," and breathes through it. "Who…uh." He takes another breath and gives it one more shot. "Who are you marrying?"
"You, hopefully."
Buck freezes. All the noise around him fades away, drowned out by a high-pitched ringing in his ears, so sudden and consuming that it seems like every part of him is humming with it. He thinks, somewhat hysterically, about a YouTube video on astral projection he watched the other night. One guy had said he'd felt like he was inside his body and outside of it at the same time. Another had said he'd felt like he was underwater. Somehow, both of these things are happening to Buck all at once.
He whispers, "Eddie," in a voice like sandpaper. He's not sure he's even breathing. "Eddie. You want to get married?"
"Yes."
"To me?"
"Yes."
"Right now?"
"Yes. I know that's—"
"Crazy?"
"No." Eddie shakes his head. "Us? If you think about it, it isn't crazy at all."
Buck has thought about it—the clothes in Eddie's closet, the toothbrush in Eddie's bathroom, the Dutch oven he brought over because Chris was craving Bobby's chili, how he never took back to the loft. He's thought about Eddie being the first person he looks for when he walks into a room, and he bone-deep anguish he carried around for the thirteen days he thought Eddie was moving back to Texas. He's thought about Eddie's knee nudging his when they're sitting in the engine. Eddie's thigh pressed against his when they're drinking beers on Eddie's couch. Eddie's voice burring in his ear when they FaceTiming after a long shift.
"Eddie."
Eddie takes Buck's hands then, tugging them away from where Buck's been gripping the hem of his shirt. Carefully, he cradles them in his own. They've touched hundreds of times, but it's always been shoulder slaps and back pats. It's been putting bandages on wounds and helping each other out of hospital beds and dragging each other to safety. It's never been like this—Eddie holding Buck so gently, Eddie tracing his thumb over the bumps and dips of Buck's knuckles, Eddie standing so close his breath is fanning against Buck's cheek.
Buck's addicted to it already. But he's afraid of pushing. He's fucking terrified. What they have now is so good that it almost feels greedy to ask for more. And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he screwed it up and lost the best, closest friend he's ever had.
"If we do this," Buck starts, but he can't finish. He can't say it out loud.
But Eddie's Eddie, so he hears it anyway. "I know, Buck. I know."
There's a faint tremor in his voice. He pulls one hand away from Buck's to rub at the back of his neck. Buck blurts, "You're nervous," as soon as he realizes it. Something awful squirms around in his gut, because Eddie should never feel worried or uncertain around him. Never. "Hey. It's just me."
"Yeah." Eddie closes his eyes for a second. "It's you."
Oh. Oh.
Buck says, "Eddie," and reaches up to cup Eddie's jaw. "Eddie." If Eddie can brave it out while he's scared, so can Buck. They've always worked better together. "Let's get married."
Eddie's smile sure is something. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
+++
"And now, in as much as you, Evan Buckley and Edmundo Diaz, have given and pledged your love and faithfulness, each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of California as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you spouses for life."
"You're crying."
"You're crying."
Christopher sighs under his breath. "You're both crying."
+++
"I need a ride to Denny's house," Christopher announces. He has his backpack on his back and the strap for his Switch case looped around one of his crutches. "I'm okay with an Uber if you don't want to drive me."
Eddie looks at Buck and mouths I'm okay with an Uber? before noting, "You're supposed to ask us, bud, not tell us."
"It's your wedding night," Chris says pointedly. "You should be happy I'm getting out of your hair."
Eddie makes a startled, wheezing sound and goes so bug-eyed that Buck can't help but laugh.
He tells Eddie, "He's got us there."
"Yeah, I guess he does," Eddie admits. "You're driving."
"Of course I am."
"Hey, don't start that passenger princess stuff again. I don't drive us anywhere because you always park behind my truck."
"I park behind your truck because I know I'm going to end up driving."
"Fine. Move the Jeep and I'll drive."
"If I'm going to bother moving the Jeep—"
Chris sighs loudly and swipes Buck's phone off the coffee table. "I'm calling an Uber. Denny said Karen's making chili mac for dinner. I don't want to miss it because you two are being"—he waves a judgmental hand at them—"married."
+++
Buck's hands are shaking.
The thing is—the thing is—he's thought about this a lot. He's thought about holding Eddie, touching him. About spreading him out and kissing every inch of him. About biting aching marks into the inside of his thighs, about dragging his mouth over the lines of his abs, about sucking his nipples until they're stiff and tight. He's thought about what Eddie would look and sound like, stripped down and loose-limbed, eyes dark and head tipped back, making soft noises high in this throat.
Now that he has it, he's awkward, fumbling. His hands are shaking. His knee keeps slipping on the sheet.
Eddie notices, because of course he does. He cups the side of Buck's neck, palm warm and a little sweaty, and echoes what Buck told him at the courthouse: "Hey. It's just me."
"Yeah." Buck huffs out a laugh. "It's you."
"Buck," Eddie murmurs. He slides his other hand down the slope of Buck's back. "How do you think I feel? I've never been with a man."
Buck runs his thumb across Eddie's kiss-swollen lower lip. "The curve's not that steep."
"Not sure I'm going to learn much right now. I'm going to go off as soon as you touch me."
That—Eddie being so worked up when Buck hasn't done much but paw at him and stare—does wonders for Buck's nerves. Mainly because they get zapped away in a bolt of shockingly possessive heat. Eddie wants him. He's gripping Buck's waist so tightly that his nails are digging into Buck's skin. His cock is rock hard against Buck's hip. Buck cups the tent he's making in his boxer-briefs, smiling when he hisses and jerks up into it. He rubs him like that, easy and slow, until a damp spot blooms under his fingers.
"Is that good?" he asks, his mouth against Eddie's throat.
"Buck." Eddie jerks up again and grabs at Buck's wrist. "Stop teasing."
With a pleased hum, Buck tugs Eddie's boxer-briefs down and off. Eddie's cock springs free, straining up toward the line of dark hair arrowing away from his navel. It's big and flushed, so perfect that just looking at it has Buck's mouth filling with spit. He rubs two fingers over the sticky-wet head and makes a sloppy, tongue-curling show of licking up the mess. Eddie's mouth falls open; he lets out a noise so filthy Buck feels it at the base of his spine.
He leans back and pushes at Eddie's thighs. "Come on, open up for me."
"Buck."
It's flustered, almost a warning, but Buck is undeterred. He says, "I want to taste you," and shifts down the bed.
"I wasn't kidding about going off."
"I don't mind." Buck presses a kiss to Eddie's knee, then pushes his thighs apart even more. "We can just go again. We literally have the rest of our lives."
Eddie makes another obscene noise—maybe because Buck's being a sap, maybe he's touching Eddie's dick again, rubbing his thumb in tight circles right at the base. Either way, it's fucking hot. He loves that Eddie's being so vocal, that he seems so desperate for whatever Buck is willing to give him. He loves it so much that he needs to get closer. He buries his face in the crease of Eddie's hip just so he can breathe him in. He smells like Eddie—shower gel and fabric softener and clean sweat. Familiar, but heavier. Stronger. More.
Buck lingers there long enough that Eddie shifts under him—needy, restless. He mumbles Buck's name again, so Buck moves, but only to worry a mark into the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. When that one's a satisfying purple-red, he makes another. And then another. As he starts a fourth, Eddie reaches down and snags a hand in his hair. He doesn't quite pull, but he doesn't not. The tension tips Buck's chin up, and Eddie's cock smears against his jaw and cheek, leaking and fever-hot. They both moan; Eddie's hand tightens in Buck's hair. His eyes are dark, and a warm flush is spreading from his cheeks to his collarbones. He's so beautiful. Buck wants to give him everything.
He strokes his hand up the length of Eddie's dick, then follows it with his lips, dragging a wet, open-mouth kiss from base to tip. Pre-come is beading at the slit; he licks it away before sucking Eddie in. And—oh. Oh. Eddie really is close. He twists his fingers in Buck's hair and slurs out a string of curses—fuck, fuck, Jesus, fuck. His cock, still leaking, twitches against Buck's tongue. Even though it's been a couple months since he's done this, it doesn't take long for Buck to find a rhythm. Eddie's other hand trips up Buck's arm and shoulder. Buck catches it and brings it to his face so Eddie can feel himself pushing against Buck's cheek.
"Buck. Buck."
Buck sinks down and pulls up, sinks down and pulls up. Eddie's big enough that he shouldn't go too deep without letting his gag reflex get used to the idea, but he wants all of Eddie so badly that he does it anyway. He chokes and takes a little more and chokes and takes a little more and chokes and takes a little more. It's worth it; Eddie's whole body locks up every time Buck's throat flutters around the head of his cock. Buck keeps at it and keeps at it and keeps at it until Eddie finally pulls him off. When he sits up, he's wet-eyed and coughing, has spit streaking his jaw and chin.
Eddie says, "Come here," his voice soft, but when Buck starts to shift up the bed, Eddie stops him by grabbing his hip. He hooks his fingers in the waist of Buck's boxer-briefs and tugs. "No, this way. I want to suck you off too."
"Holy shit," Buck breathes. Another bolt of pure heat jags through him. He's been so focused on Eddie that he'd almost forgotten about himself, but just thinking about being in Eddie's mouth has him aching. "Eddie."
"Yeah. Come on."
Eddie slides his hand down to the back of Buck's thigh and uses it to turn Buck around and haul him up the bed. Buck grits his teeth though another flare of heat; Eddie throwing him around is something they'll absolutely be exploring later. But right now, Eddie is tugging at his boxer-briefs again. With a little bit of fumbling, they manage to get them off. Eddie barely hesitates before shoving Buck's legs apart and wrapping his hand around Buck's cock. He moves down the bed and lets it bump his chin and Buck nearly swallows his tongue.
He rolls them, figuring he's less likely to accidentally choke Eddie if he's the one on the bottom, and sucks Eddie back in. He revels in the feel of it—the ache in his jaw, the weight against his tongue, the fullness in his throat—but then Eddie's mouth is on him, and he's reveling in that. It's all slick heat and soft suction, just impossibly, impossibly good. It's obvious Eddie hasn't done this before, but it's also obvious that he wants it—wants Buck—and that alone has Buck squirming and making desperate noises around Eddie's cock. Eddie's hands are everywhere: smoothing over the small of his Buck's back, running up and down Buck's thighs, cupping Buck's ass. He skims a finger over Buck's hole and Buck's abruptly teetering on the edge.
He wants Eddie to come first, so he gets both hands on Eddie's perfect ass and rocks Eddie in and in and in and in. When his throat starts to protest, he sucks air in through his nose and swallows around Eddie's cock as best he can. He swallows. Chokes. Swallows. Chokes.
That's also worth it: Eddie's hips stutter. He gasps, "Buck," with Buck's dick smearing against his lips. "Buck, I—fuck. I'm—"
Buck draws back a little, working the length with his hand and the head with his mouth. A few strokes and his tongue teasing the slit is all it takes. Eddie comes with his thighs shaking and his fingernails scratching at Buck's hips and a noise so dirty it's going to haunt Buck's dreams. Buck sucks him through it and a little beyond, only pulling back when Eddie whines and rolls away.
He lies there for a moment, holding his cock in a loose fist, content to tease himself while Eddie comes back down to earth. But almost immediately, Eddie heaves himself to his knees. He grabs Buck's arm and guides him to sit back against the headboard, then crawls between his legs.
He tells Buck, "I want to watch you come," and presses a wet kiss to the head of Buck's cock.
Buck's breath hitches. He's pretty sure this will be over the second he sees his cock in Eddie's mouth. And he's right. Eddie sucks Buck in and flicks his tongue over that one spot under the head and looks up at him with his big, brown eyes. A shiver runs up Buck's spine and the tension in his gut coils tighter and tighter. He tries to warn Eddie, but the words break around a moan. But Eddie's Eddie, so he knows. He pins Buck to the bed by the hips and takes Buck deeper. Probably too deep, given the way this throat suddenly flexes and pulls, but that extra bit of pressure is what does Buck in. He comes so hard he nearly forgets how to breathe.
Eddie only manages to swallow about half of it; he crawls up Buck's body with the rest smeared on his lips and chin. Buck drags his tongue through it before grabbing Eddie by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a filthy kiss. It tastes like them, and Buck can't get enough of it. He would've been happy to chase it until it was gone, but Eddie pulls back too soon and slumps against his shoulder.
"Did I wear you out?" Buck teases.
Eddie bites him for that, right where his neck curves into his shoulder. "I've got another round in me if you do."
"I don't know," Buck says, just to be a shit. "Tell me you love me first."
"I married you."
"I know. I was there."
Eddie huffs and brushes his thumb over Buck's birthmark. "I love you."
"I love you too."
+++
"As your friend, I'm glad to hear you're finally an item," Bobby says.
Buck and Eddie look at each other. One mouths finally? and the other mouths an item?
"But as your captain," Bobby continues. He's using his Serious Voice, but his mouth is twitching too much to really sell it. "I'm required to tell you that you need to keep it professional at work at all times. That means no PDA. No sharing a bunk."
Eddie makes a scoffing noise. "Come on, Cap. We wouldn't share a bunk."
"You have shared a bunk."
"That was one time!"
"And," Buck cuts in, "there were extenuating circumstances."
"Like?"
"The weather," Buck replies. "It was extremely cold that night." When Bobby just raises his eyebrows, he adds, "Alright, Camp Widjiwagan. It was extremely cold for California."
"The next time our famous Mediterranean climate gets too chilly for you, get a shock blanket from the supply closet. Now that you're together, sharing under any circumstances could give someone the wrong idea."
Buck has fallen asleep next to Eddie for three nights running—three nights of Eddie's hands tucked under his shirt and Eddie's legs tangled with his and Eddie's open mouth pressed against his throat. In his opinion, the evidence suggests that sharing a bunk with Eddie would be the best idea.
But Bobby's still talking, saying, "There are two forms you need to fill out," as he shuffles the papers on his desk. He selects a few sheets from one of the piles and passes them over. "The first one is a declaration of consent. You're acknowledging that you entered this relationship of your own free will, without harassment or coercion. You're also acknowledging that the department will only allow you to keep working together if you maintain the same rank. If one of you gets promoted, the other has to transfer.
"The second one is a conflict-of-interest statement. You're agreeing not to let your relationship interfere with your job performance. You can't prioritize each other over the patients. You can't complain if you're separated on a call. I know you two prefer partnering together, but you'll have to accept it when you're not." After a pause, Bobby looks directly at Buck. "And no defying direct orders because Eddie's in danger."
"Come on, Bobby. I defy direct orders just fine on my own."
"Buck," Bobby warns.
"I'm kidding. I'm kidding." Buck grabs a pen from the cup on Bobby's desk and fills out the date on the first form. As he's starting on his name, he asks, "Does the type of relationship matter? I mean, are the forms the same if we're married? Or do we need different forms for that?"
Bobby stares at them. "Are you're… thinking about getting married?"
"Oh."
"Um."
"You—" Bobby stares at them some more. "You already got married, didn't you?"
Eddie looks over at Buck and says, "Yeah," with a smile tugging at his mouth. "We got married."
Bobby mutters, "You two," then, "I'm," then sighs like he's seven hundred years-old and feels it in every one of his bones. "These forms are the same. You'll also need to inform the department of any address changes."
"How long do I have?" Buck asks. "I'm at Eddie's place for now, but we're discussing getting something bigger."
"Eight weeks, max. What about your names? Are you changing them?"
"We're discussing that too," Eddie replies.
Bobby makes a noise like he's trying not to laugh. "You're not going to believe this, but there's a reason people usually date for a while before they get married."
Buck dismisses that with a pffffft sound and a wiggle of his fingers. "We are doers, Bobby. Men of action. You know—" He holds up one fist and shakes it. "Taking the bull by the horns, or whatever."
"Buck," Eddie hisses. "Stop."
"Hey, you married me."
"Alright, guys," Bobby complains. "Take your forms and get out of my office."
+++
Hen says, "Okay, let me get this straight," with her eyebrow locked and loaded. "You woke up one morning, decided you wanted to marry Buck, and just… did it? Just like that?"
"I'd been wanting to marry him," Eddie clarifies, shifting closer to Buck. They're on the loft couch, pressed against each other from shoulder to hip to thigh, which—in Buck's unbiased opinion—is simply a seating arrangement and not PDA. "That morning, I just finally decided to do something about it."
"By ambushing him?" Chimney asks.
"I didn't ambush him."
Buck nudges Eddie's side. "You kind of did."
"Are you complaining?"
"Of course not." Buck wants to kiss the mock-exasperated twist to Eddie's mouth, but Bobby's lurking in the kitchen and he's already threatened them with a wooden spoon twice. "I'm just saying, you did ambush me a little bit."
It wasn't—"
"Okay," Chimney cuts in. "Agree to disagree for now, because I need to ask an important question. Perhaps the question. Are you having a reception?"
"A reception?" Buck echoes.
"Yeah. You know, a party. A shindig. A festivity. A bash." Chimney pauses before adding, "A cel-e-bra-tion," dragging out the individual syllables and hitting a dorky dance move with each one.
"You're lame," Hen informs him.
"Quiet. I'm trying to get us drunk on their dime."
Eddie says, "I knew it," and leans into Buck a little more. "Can you believe this guy?"
"I never have," Buck deadpans. That gets a rebuttal out of Chimney—Hey! Not nice!—but Buck looks at Eddie. He's curious, now that the question is out there. "Do you want to have a reception?"
"If you do, sure."
"What if I turn the tables?" Buck teases, wrapping his hand around Eddie's wrist. That's definitely not PDA; he's just checking Eddie's pulse in case of a medical emergency. "What if I planned it and didn't tell you and then just invited you to it?"
"So… like an ambush?" Chimney jokes.
Eddie groans. "It wasn't an ambush."
"It was a grand gesture," Hen says, smiling. "Buck really likes those. He's usually the one doing them, though."
"Yeah." Eddie sneakily hooks two of his fingers around Buck's. "I… uh. I figured he deserved to get one."
Buck's face goes hot. "Eddie."
"Oh no," Hen complains. "They're cute."
Chimney snaps his gum. "Try revolting."
+++
Buck's unlocking the Jeep when Eddie reels him in for a kiss. He nips at Buck's lower lip, then slides his tongue into Buck's mouth. He tastes like the hot chocolate Bobby made after their last call—a slip and fall at a refrigerated warehouse—and Buck can't get enough of it. He crowds Eddie back against the Jeep and presses in, wanting to be as close as possible. He tucks his hands under Eddie's shirt and—
"Revolting!" Chimney shouts across the parking lot.
Buck flips Chimney the finger without pulling out of the kiss, but then a throat clears beside them—Bobby.
"Gentlemen."
"Hey, we're off the clock," Buck points out.
"Exactly. Go do that somewhere that isn't department property."
"You're no fun," Buck complains, but Bobby just snorts and heads over to his car. Once he's gone, Buck gives Eddie a nudge. "You want to get out of here, Mr. Buckley-Diaz?"
"Is that what we're going with? Buckley-Diaz?"
"I could get used to it."
Eddie smiles. "Alright, Mr. Buckley-Diaz. Let's go home."
(Bonus Track:
Maddie says, "I'm sorry," and squints at her phone. On the FaceTime screen, Buck seems fidgety and nervous. "Can you repeat that? It sounded like you said you got married."
She thinks she heard him right. She just wasn't expecting this on a random Wednesday afternoon.
"Um." Buck rubs the back of his neck. "I did say that."
"You… got married. You're a married man. Right now."
"Yeah."
Maddie isn't sure what to do with this. Underneath the nervousness, he looks happy. But she knows that deep down, her baby brother desperately wants a family of his own. Enough that he might settle for someone who isn't right for him just so he doesn't have to wait any more. She hates to even think it.
Finally, she asks, "Who's the lucky person?" and then has an unpleasant thought. "It's not Tommy, is it?"
Buck makes a noise. "Tommy? I haven't talked to him since he dumped me."
"Well, he's the last person you dated. Wasn't he? You haven't mentioned seeing anyone else."
"We… uh." Buck rubs the back of his neck again. Maddie diplomatically doesn't mention the hickey below his ear. "We weren't seeing each other. We just… you know."
"Randomly got married?"
"Yeah, that."
Maddie starts to ask how that even happens, but then she thinks about it for about three seconds, and she suddenly knows exactly how it happened.
Sighing, she says, "You should've just told me it was Eddie from the beginning."
"You—" Buck blinks at her. "How did you know?"
"Evan, please."
"Maddie," he says, his voice soft. He's blushing. She wishes he was at her house so she could hug him. "I'm really, really happy."
"Of course you are," Maddie teases. "It's Eddie.")
Pairing: Buck/Eddie
Rating: NC17
Words: ~5,900
Summary: Christopher sighs under his breath. "You're both crying."
Notes: Doing my part to fill that 8x06 couch scene fanfic gap.
[AO3]
Buck's phone buzzes ten minutes into his trip to Sprouts.
Eddie: hey what are you doing right now?
Right now, he's squinting at a truly lackluster display of tomatoes. He grabs the most promising one, but once he touches it, he finds that it's wrinkled around the stem and too squishy to be the T in the BLT he's craving. Sighing, he puts it back and types out a reply.
Buck: grocery shopping
The next two tomatoes are sadder and soggier than the first. The whole bunch looks bad enough that he flirts with the idea of going to Trader Joe's. On the one hand, it's just a two-minute trip down Culver. On the other hand, he's already here. He already has oat milk and avocados in his cart. And that two minutes doesn't include finding a spot in the fifth-worst parking structure in Los Angeles.
Eddie: without me? 😦
Buck snorts and pushes his cart toward the watermelons, which are priced so low that he's a little suspicious of them. Today's the first of their three days off. Usually, they both try to get errands done at the start of a stretch, and more often than not, they do their errands together. But Eddie had given Buck a vague, distracted answer when he brought it up at the end of their shift last night. When mid-morning rolled around and Eddie still hadn't texted, he'd headed out by himself. He'd figured Eddie was either sleeping in or getting some one-on-one time with Chris before school starts next week.
Buck: sorry
Buck: you left me hanging
Buck: and my cupboards are bare
Eddie: could be because everything you buy ends up at my place
Buck: not *everything*
Buck: don't hear you complaining when I'm feeding you
The typing bubble winks in and out, in and out, in and out. Buck watches it for a few seconds, then snorts again and pushes his cart past the sketchy watermelons. 99¢-a-pound really is a steal, but this far out of season, they'd probably taste like wet cardboard.
By the time Eddie replies, Buck's shuffled over to the zucchinis. He's thinking about a one-pot version of Pasta Primavera that recently went viral on TikTok. It had looked pretty good, and it had seemed easy enough to put together. It might be worth giving a try. Now that Chris is home, they need to get back to eating something with vegetables in it once in a while instead of just ordering pizza every other night.
Eddie: can you do something for me?
Buck: yeah ofc
Buck: you need something from the store?
Eddie: i need you to come down to the courthouse
Buck's moving before he even thinks about it. He ditches the cart beside a spinner rack of dried fruit and makes beeline for the door. He jogs over to the Jeep, digging for his keys with one hand and texting Eddie with the other.
Buck: on my way
Buck: is everything ok?
Eddie: i'm fine
Buck: you're not hurt? Or in some kind of trouble?
Eddie: i'm good
Eddie: i'll explain when you get here
Eddie: beverly hills, not downtown
Eddie: 9355 burton way, 4th floor
Buck prefers the Sprouts by Eddie's place—it's bigger and usually has a better produce selection—so he'd driven over there to shop even though he was flying solo today. That means he's already on the West Side, making Beverly Hills a straight shot north instead of a forty-minute trek across town. Not that it matters all that much: he swings out of the parking lot and immediately gets stuck in noontime traffic. Google realizes that Robertson's a shitshow a moment later and redirects him up a series of side streets—first Bagley, then Sawyer, then Beverly, then Rexford. Buck California rolls though a solid third of the stop signs, chewing at his lower lip and trying not to worry. Eddie saying he's fine doesn't mean he is; he's notoriously bad at admitting it when he isn't.
Buck's first thought is that Eddie got arrested, but he dismisses it almost as soon as he has it. If that was the case, Eddie wouldn't have been texting him because the cops would've confiscated his phone. He would've called Buck from lock-up—collect, like Connor did when Buck bailed him out for a drunk and disorderly a few years back. His second thought is that he's in some other kind of legal trouble, like a lawsuit, but he can't imagine who would be suing him or why. He would know if Eddie had hit someone with his truck or if he owed anyone a serious amount of money. And if it was work-related—like a patient claiming Eddie injured them on a call—the department lawyers would be handling it.
His phone buzzes as he's speeding through the intersection at Rexford and Olympic. He doesn't pick it up—he's worked more than enough distracted driving calls to know better—but he does glance at it where it's sitting in the passenger seat. Just before the screen goes back to sleep, he sees that the message is from Christopher.
That leads him to a third, horrible thought: that Eddie's parents have filed a custody petition. Eddie showing up in El Paso unannounced had infuriated them on its own, but then he'd insisted, in no uncertain terms, that Christopher was coming home. As it turns out, that's exactly what Christopher had been wanting—for Eddie to chase after him, for Eddie to bring him back—but Helena and Ramón had accused Eddie of using a dramatic stunt to guilt Christopher into leaving. From there, things had erupted into a screaming match. Buck had missed the worst of it—he'd taken Christopher outside before it got too heated—but he'd heard enough. Some of it, like Helena declaring that Eddie would live to regret disrupting Chris' life again, had felt less like a prediction and more like a threat.
It's an awful idea. And completely insane. Buck wants to believe Eddie's parents aren't that stupid. Then again, they absolutely refuse to see how incredible Eddie is, so maybe they are. Either way, it gnaws at him hard enough that he sneaks a look at his phone when he misses the light at Rexford and Wilshire.
Chris: where r u
Chris: ??? ?? ?????
That helps him settle a little, because it seems normal enough. Still, he opens Eddie's thread.
Buck: you promise you're ok?
Buck: i'm kinda worried ngl
Eddie: ofc you are
Buck: can't help it i'm a worrier
Buck: you know this
Buck: and you didn't tell me what's going on
Eddie: it's a surprise
Eddie: a good one
Buck: you should've led with that!
Eddie: probably
Eddie: you almost here?
Before Buck can reply, the light turns green. He discovers this because the chick behind him lays on her horn and—when he blinks at her in his rearview mirror—gives him the finger. He drops his phone back on the passenger seat and hits the gas. He turns right on Foothill and only speeds a little as Google informs him that he's approaching his destination.
The courthouse is a huge, hulking building, all retro concrete and dark glass, uglier than he expects for a snooty neighborhood like Beverly Hills. He finds street parking on Burton, which would normally feel like a Jesus-in-a-grilled-cheese type of miracle, but he's too focused on whatever Eddie's good surprise is to really appreciate it. Inside, the place is packed with people. Flashing his first responder ID gets him waved past the metal detectors, but since the building's stairs aren't clearly marked, there's nothing he can do about the crowd at the elevators but wait.
He misses the first one. And the second. Predictably, the third one stops at every floor.
At the fourth, the doors open to another crowd. As it parts around the people exiting the elevator, Buck sees Christopher. He's sitting on a bench near the directory, his Switch in his hands and his crutches propped up against the wall.
Buck calls, "Chris," and hurries over. "Hey."
"Finally," Chris teases. His voice is deeper than it was when he left for El Paso, and Buck still isn't used to it yet. "It took you long enough."
"We live in Los Angeles," Buck points out. "You're lucky it only took me twenty minutes."
Chris huffs and gestures with his Switch. "Dad's waiting for you over there."
Buck spots Eddie about a hundred feet away, standing slightly apart from the line at one of the service windows. He's wearing black jeans and a dark green button-down that's pulling a little across his chest. He looks good. Like really, really good. After close to eight years, Buck's mostly immune to how beautiful Eddie is, but every so often—like right now—there's just no ignoring it. So he does what he always does when one of those thoughts escapes while Eddie's around: he lets himself feel it for about two seconds, then crams it into the box at the bottom of his brain labeled later.
Or he tries to. For some reason, right now it's refusing to go quietly. It doesn't help that Eddie smiles when he sees Buck approaching, or that there's so much warmth in his voice when he greets, "Hey, you made it."
"Barely, according to your son."
"Yeah," Eddie says, laughing. "He was getting impatient."
Buck starts to ask what they're doing here, but he gets distracted by the couple walking past them. They're hand in hand and grinning at each other, the man in a sharp black suit with blue accents and the woman in a white, knee-length dress with lace at the neck and sleeves. A large rosebud corsage is blooming on one of her wrists. And they're not the only ones dressed for a wedding; Buck glances around and notices several more couples all decked out. That makes him look at the window behind them, which is apparently for marriage licenses, and that makes him look at Eddie. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright.
"You—" Buck's voice catches. A good surprise, Eddie had said. "What are you doing here?"
Eddie's cheeks flush even pinker. "Getting married."
Buck mumbles, "I," then stops. He tries again with, "Oh," but that doesn't go anywhere either.
The thing is—the thing is—Buck's known that this was inevitable. He's known that one day, Eddie would meet someone, and that one day, things would get serious, and that one day, he'd ask Buck to stand for him at his wedding. Buck's also known that when it finally happened, he'd do it despite his own feelings, because if anyone deserves to be happy it's Eddie fucking Diaz. He just wasn't expecting one day to be today. He didn't even know Eddie was seeing anybody. He doesn't know when Eddie was seeing anybody. Between Chris leaving and Buck getting dumped, they've been haunting each other's houses for nearly six months.
A cold, sharp-toothed feeling starts chewing a hole in Buck's chest. But Eddie's smiling again, so he lets out another, "Oh," and breathes through it. "Who…uh." He takes another breath and gives it one more shot. "Who are you marrying?"
"You, hopefully."
Buck freezes. All the noise around him fades away, drowned out by a high-pitched ringing in his ears, so sudden and consuming that it seems like every part of him is humming with it. He thinks, somewhat hysterically, about a YouTube video on astral projection he watched the other night. One guy had said he'd felt like he was inside his body and outside of it at the same time. Another had said he'd felt like he was underwater. Somehow, both of these things are happening to Buck all at once.
He whispers, "Eddie," in a voice like sandpaper. He's not sure he's even breathing. "Eddie. You want to get married?"
"Yes."
"To me?"
"Yes."
"Right now?"
"Yes. I know that's—"
"Crazy?"
"No." Eddie shakes his head. "Us? If you think about it, it isn't crazy at all."
Buck has thought about it—the clothes in Eddie's closet, the toothbrush in Eddie's bathroom, the Dutch oven he brought over because Chris was craving Bobby's chili, how he never took back to the loft. He's thought about Eddie being the first person he looks for when he walks into a room, and he bone-deep anguish he carried around for the thirteen days he thought Eddie was moving back to Texas. He's thought about Eddie's knee nudging his when they're sitting in the engine. Eddie's thigh pressed against his when they're drinking beers on Eddie's couch. Eddie's voice burring in his ear when they FaceTiming after a long shift.
"Eddie."
Eddie takes Buck's hands then, tugging them away from where Buck's been gripping the hem of his shirt. Carefully, he cradles them in his own. They've touched hundreds of times, but it's always been shoulder slaps and back pats. It's been putting bandages on wounds and helping each other out of hospital beds and dragging each other to safety. It's never been like this—Eddie holding Buck so gently, Eddie tracing his thumb over the bumps and dips of Buck's knuckles, Eddie standing so close his breath is fanning against Buck's cheek.
Buck's addicted to it already. But he's afraid of pushing. He's fucking terrified. What they have now is so good that it almost feels greedy to ask for more. And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he screwed it up and lost the best, closest friend he's ever had.
"If we do this," Buck starts, but he can't finish. He can't say it out loud.
But Eddie's Eddie, so he hears it anyway. "I know, Buck. I know."
There's a faint tremor in his voice. He pulls one hand away from Buck's to rub at the back of his neck. Buck blurts, "You're nervous," as soon as he realizes it. Something awful squirms around in his gut, because Eddie should never feel worried or uncertain around him. Never. "Hey. It's just me."
"Yeah." Eddie closes his eyes for a second. "It's you."
Oh. Oh.
Buck says, "Eddie," and reaches up to cup Eddie's jaw. "Eddie." If Eddie can brave it out while he's scared, so can Buck. They've always worked better together. "Let's get married."
Eddie's smile sure is something. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
+++
"And now, in as much as you, Evan Buckley and Edmundo Diaz, have given and pledged your love and faithfulness, each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of California as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you spouses for life."
"You're crying."
"You're crying."
Christopher sighs under his breath. "You're both crying."
+++
"I need a ride to Denny's house," Christopher announces. He has his backpack on his back and the strap for his Switch case looped around one of his crutches. "I'm okay with an Uber if you don't want to drive me."
Eddie looks at Buck and mouths I'm okay with an Uber? before noting, "You're supposed to ask us, bud, not tell us."
"It's your wedding night," Chris says pointedly. "You should be happy I'm getting out of your hair."
Eddie makes a startled, wheezing sound and goes so bug-eyed that Buck can't help but laugh.
He tells Eddie, "He's got us there."
"Yeah, I guess he does," Eddie admits. "You're driving."
"Of course I am."
"Hey, don't start that passenger princess stuff again. I don't drive us anywhere because you always park behind my truck."
"I park behind your truck because I know I'm going to end up driving."
"Fine. Move the Jeep and I'll drive."
"If I'm going to bother moving the Jeep—"
Chris sighs loudly and swipes Buck's phone off the coffee table. "I'm calling an Uber. Denny said Karen's making chili mac for dinner. I don't want to miss it because you two are being"—he waves a judgmental hand at them—"married."
+++
Buck's hands are shaking.
The thing is—the thing is—he's thought about this a lot. He's thought about holding Eddie, touching him. About spreading him out and kissing every inch of him. About biting aching marks into the inside of his thighs, about dragging his mouth over the lines of his abs, about sucking his nipples until they're stiff and tight. He's thought about what Eddie would look and sound like, stripped down and loose-limbed, eyes dark and head tipped back, making soft noises high in this throat.
Now that he has it, he's awkward, fumbling. His hands are shaking. His knee keeps slipping on the sheet.
Eddie notices, because of course he does. He cups the side of Buck's neck, palm warm and a little sweaty, and echoes what Buck told him at the courthouse: "Hey. It's just me."
"Yeah." Buck huffs out a laugh. "It's you."
"Buck," Eddie murmurs. He slides his other hand down the slope of Buck's back. "How do you think I feel? I've never been with a man."
Buck runs his thumb across Eddie's kiss-swollen lower lip. "The curve's not that steep."
"Not sure I'm going to learn much right now. I'm going to go off as soon as you touch me."
That—Eddie being so worked up when Buck hasn't done much but paw at him and stare—does wonders for Buck's nerves. Mainly because they get zapped away in a bolt of shockingly possessive heat. Eddie wants him. He's gripping Buck's waist so tightly that his nails are digging into Buck's skin. His cock is rock hard against Buck's hip. Buck cups the tent he's making in his boxer-briefs, smiling when he hisses and jerks up into it. He rubs him like that, easy and slow, until a damp spot blooms under his fingers.
"Is that good?" he asks, his mouth against Eddie's throat.
"Buck." Eddie jerks up again and grabs at Buck's wrist. "Stop teasing."
With a pleased hum, Buck tugs Eddie's boxer-briefs down and off. Eddie's cock springs free, straining up toward the line of dark hair arrowing away from his navel. It's big and flushed, so perfect that just looking at it has Buck's mouth filling with spit. He rubs two fingers over the sticky-wet head and makes a sloppy, tongue-curling show of licking up the mess. Eddie's mouth falls open; he lets out a noise so filthy Buck feels it at the base of his spine.
He leans back and pushes at Eddie's thighs. "Come on, open up for me."
"Buck."
It's flustered, almost a warning, but Buck is undeterred. He says, "I want to taste you," and shifts down the bed.
"I wasn't kidding about going off."
"I don't mind." Buck presses a kiss to Eddie's knee, then pushes his thighs apart even more. "We can just go again. We literally have the rest of our lives."
Eddie makes another obscene noise—maybe because Buck's being a sap, maybe he's touching Eddie's dick again, rubbing his thumb in tight circles right at the base. Either way, it's fucking hot. He loves that Eddie's being so vocal, that he seems so desperate for whatever Buck is willing to give him. He loves it so much that he needs to get closer. He buries his face in the crease of Eddie's hip just so he can breathe him in. He smells like Eddie—shower gel and fabric softener and clean sweat. Familiar, but heavier. Stronger. More.
Buck lingers there long enough that Eddie shifts under him—needy, restless. He mumbles Buck's name again, so Buck moves, but only to worry a mark into the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. When that one's a satisfying purple-red, he makes another. And then another. As he starts a fourth, Eddie reaches down and snags a hand in his hair. He doesn't quite pull, but he doesn't not. The tension tips Buck's chin up, and Eddie's cock smears against his jaw and cheek, leaking and fever-hot. They both moan; Eddie's hand tightens in Buck's hair. His eyes are dark, and a warm flush is spreading from his cheeks to his collarbones. He's so beautiful. Buck wants to give him everything.
He strokes his hand up the length of Eddie's dick, then follows it with his lips, dragging a wet, open-mouth kiss from base to tip. Pre-come is beading at the slit; he licks it away before sucking Eddie in. And—oh. Oh. Eddie really is close. He twists his fingers in Buck's hair and slurs out a string of curses—fuck, fuck, Jesus, fuck. His cock, still leaking, twitches against Buck's tongue. Even though it's been a couple months since he's done this, it doesn't take long for Buck to find a rhythm. Eddie's other hand trips up Buck's arm and shoulder. Buck catches it and brings it to his face so Eddie can feel himself pushing against Buck's cheek.
"Buck. Buck."
Buck sinks down and pulls up, sinks down and pulls up. Eddie's big enough that he shouldn't go too deep without letting his gag reflex get used to the idea, but he wants all of Eddie so badly that he does it anyway. He chokes and takes a little more and chokes and takes a little more and chokes and takes a little more. It's worth it; Eddie's whole body locks up every time Buck's throat flutters around the head of his cock. Buck keeps at it and keeps at it and keeps at it until Eddie finally pulls him off. When he sits up, he's wet-eyed and coughing, has spit streaking his jaw and chin.
Eddie says, "Come here," his voice soft, but when Buck starts to shift up the bed, Eddie stops him by grabbing his hip. He hooks his fingers in the waist of Buck's boxer-briefs and tugs. "No, this way. I want to suck you off too."
"Holy shit," Buck breathes. Another bolt of pure heat jags through him. He's been so focused on Eddie that he'd almost forgotten about himself, but just thinking about being in Eddie's mouth has him aching. "Eddie."
"Yeah. Come on."
Eddie slides his hand down to the back of Buck's thigh and uses it to turn Buck around and haul him up the bed. Buck grits his teeth though another flare of heat; Eddie throwing him around is something they'll absolutely be exploring later. But right now, Eddie is tugging at his boxer-briefs again. With a little bit of fumbling, they manage to get them off. Eddie barely hesitates before shoving Buck's legs apart and wrapping his hand around Buck's cock. He moves down the bed and lets it bump his chin and Buck nearly swallows his tongue.
He rolls them, figuring he's less likely to accidentally choke Eddie if he's the one on the bottom, and sucks Eddie back in. He revels in the feel of it—the ache in his jaw, the weight against his tongue, the fullness in his throat—but then Eddie's mouth is on him, and he's reveling in that. It's all slick heat and soft suction, just impossibly, impossibly good. It's obvious Eddie hasn't done this before, but it's also obvious that he wants it—wants Buck—and that alone has Buck squirming and making desperate noises around Eddie's cock. Eddie's hands are everywhere: smoothing over the small of his Buck's back, running up and down Buck's thighs, cupping Buck's ass. He skims a finger over Buck's hole and Buck's abruptly teetering on the edge.
He wants Eddie to come first, so he gets both hands on Eddie's perfect ass and rocks Eddie in and in and in and in. When his throat starts to protest, he sucks air in through his nose and swallows around Eddie's cock as best he can. He swallows. Chokes. Swallows. Chokes.
That's also worth it: Eddie's hips stutter. He gasps, "Buck," with Buck's dick smearing against his lips. "Buck, I—fuck. I'm—"
Buck draws back a little, working the length with his hand and the head with his mouth. A few strokes and his tongue teasing the slit is all it takes. Eddie comes with his thighs shaking and his fingernails scratching at Buck's hips and a noise so dirty it's going to haunt Buck's dreams. Buck sucks him through it and a little beyond, only pulling back when Eddie whines and rolls away.
He lies there for a moment, holding his cock in a loose fist, content to tease himself while Eddie comes back down to earth. But almost immediately, Eddie heaves himself to his knees. He grabs Buck's arm and guides him to sit back against the headboard, then crawls between his legs.
He tells Buck, "I want to watch you come," and presses a wet kiss to the head of Buck's cock.
Buck's breath hitches. He's pretty sure this will be over the second he sees his cock in Eddie's mouth. And he's right. Eddie sucks Buck in and flicks his tongue over that one spot under the head and looks up at him with his big, brown eyes. A shiver runs up Buck's spine and the tension in his gut coils tighter and tighter. He tries to warn Eddie, but the words break around a moan. But Eddie's Eddie, so he knows. He pins Buck to the bed by the hips and takes Buck deeper. Probably too deep, given the way this throat suddenly flexes and pulls, but that extra bit of pressure is what does Buck in. He comes so hard he nearly forgets how to breathe.
Eddie only manages to swallow about half of it; he crawls up Buck's body with the rest smeared on his lips and chin. Buck drags his tongue through it before grabbing Eddie by the back of the neck and pulling him in for a filthy kiss. It tastes like them, and Buck can't get enough of it. He would've been happy to chase it until it was gone, but Eddie pulls back too soon and slumps against his shoulder.
"Did I wear you out?" Buck teases.
Eddie bites him for that, right where his neck curves into his shoulder. "I've got another round in me if you do."
"I don't know," Buck says, just to be a shit. "Tell me you love me first."
"I married you."
"I know. I was there."
Eddie huffs and brushes his thumb over Buck's birthmark. "I love you."
"I love you too."
+++
"As your friend, I'm glad to hear you're finally an item," Bobby says.
Buck and Eddie look at each other. One mouths finally? and the other mouths an item?
"But as your captain," Bobby continues. He's using his Serious Voice, but his mouth is twitching too much to really sell it. "I'm required to tell you that you need to keep it professional at work at all times. That means no PDA. No sharing a bunk."
Eddie makes a scoffing noise. "Come on, Cap. We wouldn't share a bunk."
"You have shared a bunk."
"That was one time!"
"And," Buck cuts in, "there were extenuating circumstances."
"Like?"
"The weather," Buck replies. "It was extremely cold that night." When Bobby just raises his eyebrows, he adds, "Alright, Camp Widjiwagan. It was extremely cold for California."
"The next time our famous Mediterranean climate gets too chilly for you, get a shock blanket from the supply closet. Now that you're together, sharing under any circumstances could give someone the wrong idea."
Buck has fallen asleep next to Eddie for three nights running—three nights of Eddie's hands tucked under his shirt and Eddie's legs tangled with his and Eddie's open mouth pressed against his throat. In his opinion, the evidence suggests that sharing a bunk with Eddie would be the best idea.
But Bobby's still talking, saying, "There are two forms you need to fill out," as he shuffles the papers on his desk. He selects a few sheets from one of the piles and passes them over. "The first one is a declaration of consent. You're acknowledging that you entered this relationship of your own free will, without harassment or coercion. You're also acknowledging that the department will only allow you to keep working together if you maintain the same rank. If one of you gets promoted, the other has to transfer.
"The second one is a conflict-of-interest statement. You're agreeing not to let your relationship interfere with your job performance. You can't prioritize each other over the patients. You can't complain if you're separated on a call. I know you two prefer partnering together, but you'll have to accept it when you're not." After a pause, Bobby looks directly at Buck. "And no defying direct orders because Eddie's in danger."
"Come on, Bobby. I defy direct orders just fine on my own."
"Buck," Bobby warns.
"I'm kidding. I'm kidding." Buck grabs a pen from the cup on Bobby's desk and fills out the date on the first form. As he's starting on his name, he asks, "Does the type of relationship matter? I mean, are the forms the same if we're married? Or do we need different forms for that?"
Bobby stares at them. "Are you're… thinking about getting married?"
"Oh."
"Um."
"You—" Bobby stares at them some more. "You already got married, didn't you?"
Eddie looks over at Buck and says, "Yeah," with a smile tugging at his mouth. "We got married."
Bobby mutters, "You two," then, "I'm," then sighs like he's seven hundred years-old and feels it in every one of his bones. "These forms are the same. You'll also need to inform the department of any address changes."
"How long do I have?" Buck asks. "I'm at Eddie's place for now, but we're discussing getting something bigger."
"Eight weeks, max. What about your names? Are you changing them?"
"We're discussing that too," Eddie replies.
Bobby makes a noise like he's trying not to laugh. "You're not going to believe this, but there's a reason people usually date for a while before they get married."
Buck dismisses that with a pffffft sound and a wiggle of his fingers. "We are doers, Bobby. Men of action. You know—" He holds up one fist and shakes it. "Taking the bull by the horns, or whatever."
"Buck," Eddie hisses. "Stop."
"Hey, you married me."
"Alright, guys," Bobby complains. "Take your forms and get out of my office."
+++
Hen says, "Okay, let me get this straight," with her eyebrow locked and loaded. "You woke up one morning, decided you wanted to marry Buck, and just… did it? Just like that?"
"I'd been wanting to marry him," Eddie clarifies, shifting closer to Buck. They're on the loft couch, pressed against each other from shoulder to hip to thigh, which—in Buck's unbiased opinion—is simply a seating arrangement and not PDA. "That morning, I just finally decided to do something about it."
"By ambushing him?" Chimney asks.
"I didn't ambush him."
Buck nudges Eddie's side. "You kind of did."
"Are you complaining?"
"Of course not." Buck wants to kiss the mock-exasperated twist to Eddie's mouth, but Bobby's lurking in the kitchen and he's already threatened them with a wooden spoon twice. "I'm just saying, you did ambush me a little bit."
It wasn't—"
"Okay," Chimney cuts in. "Agree to disagree for now, because I need to ask an important question. Perhaps the question. Are you having a reception?"
"A reception?" Buck echoes.
"Yeah. You know, a party. A shindig. A festivity. A bash." Chimney pauses before adding, "A cel-e-bra-tion," dragging out the individual syllables and hitting a dorky dance move with each one.
"You're lame," Hen informs him.
"Quiet. I'm trying to get us drunk on their dime."
Eddie says, "I knew it," and leans into Buck a little more. "Can you believe this guy?"
"I never have," Buck deadpans. That gets a rebuttal out of Chimney—Hey! Not nice!—but Buck looks at Eddie. He's curious, now that the question is out there. "Do you want to have a reception?"
"If you do, sure."
"What if I turn the tables?" Buck teases, wrapping his hand around Eddie's wrist. That's definitely not PDA; he's just checking Eddie's pulse in case of a medical emergency. "What if I planned it and didn't tell you and then just invited you to it?"
"So… like an ambush?" Chimney jokes.
Eddie groans. "It wasn't an ambush."
"It was a grand gesture," Hen says, smiling. "Buck really likes those. He's usually the one doing them, though."
"Yeah." Eddie sneakily hooks two of his fingers around Buck's. "I… uh. I figured he deserved to get one."
Buck's face goes hot. "Eddie."
"Oh no," Hen complains. "They're cute."
Chimney snaps his gum. "Try revolting."
+++
Buck's unlocking the Jeep when Eddie reels him in for a kiss. He nips at Buck's lower lip, then slides his tongue into Buck's mouth. He tastes like the hot chocolate Bobby made after their last call—a slip and fall at a refrigerated warehouse—and Buck can't get enough of it. He crowds Eddie back against the Jeep and presses in, wanting to be as close as possible. He tucks his hands under Eddie's shirt and—
"Revolting!" Chimney shouts across the parking lot.
Buck flips Chimney the finger without pulling out of the kiss, but then a throat clears beside them—Bobby.
"Gentlemen."
"Hey, we're off the clock," Buck points out.
"Exactly. Go do that somewhere that isn't department property."
"You're no fun," Buck complains, but Bobby just snorts and heads over to his car. Once he's gone, Buck gives Eddie a nudge. "You want to get out of here, Mr. Buckley-Diaz?"
"Is that what we're going with? Buckley-Diaz?"
"I could get used to it."
Eddie smiles. "Alright, Mr. Buckley-Diaz. Let's go home."
(Bonus Track:
Maddie says, "I'm sorry," and squints at her phone. On the FaceTime screen, Buck seems fidgety and nervous. "Can you repeat that? It sounded like you said you got married."
She thinks she heard him right. She just wasn't expecting this on a random Wednesday afternoon.
"Um." Buck rubs the back of his neck. "I did say that."
"You… got married. You're a married man. Right now."
"Yeah."
Maddie isn't sure what to do with this. Underneath the nervousness, he looks happy. But she knows that deep down, her baby brother desperately wants a family of his own. Enough that he might settle for someone who isn't right for him just so he doesn't have to wait any more. She hates to even think it.
Finally, she asks, "Who's the lucky person?" and then has an unpleasant thought. "It's not Tommy, is it?"
Buck makes a noise. "Tommy? I haven't talked to him since he dumped me."
"Well, he's the last person you dated. Wasn't he? You haven't mentioned seeing anyone else."
"We… uh." Buck rubs the back of his neck again. Maddie diplomatically doesn't mention the hickey below his ear. "We weren't seeing each other. We just… you know."
"Randomly got married?"
"Yeah, that."
Maddie starts to ask how that even happens, but then she thinks about it for about three seconds, and she suddenly knows exactly how it happened.
Sighing, she says, "You should've just told me it was Eddie from the beginning."
"You—" Buck blinks at her. "How did you know?"
"Evan, please."
"Maddie," he says, his voice soft. He's blushing. She wishes he was at her house so she could hug him. "I'm really, really happy."
"Of course you are," Maddie teases. "It's Eddie.")