Work Text:
Buck had always known Eddie Diaz was a little stubborn. Okay, a lot stubborn. The man could dig in his heels like nobody’s business, even when it came to the tiniest, most ridiculous things — refusing to buy a new coffeemaker when the old one sputtered and groaned like a dying car, swearing up and down that he could carry all the groceries in one trip, or pretending he didn’t need help fixing a leaky sink when Buck was standing right there with a wrench in hand.
So yeah, Buck knew that Eddie was stubborn. But this? This was a new level entirely.
Because Eddie had come back from Texas a little different. Still Eddie — steady, solid, annoyingly handsome in that quiet, understated way that made Buck want to pull his own hair out sometimes — but lighter, too. Like he’d finally set down something heavy he’d been carrying alone for far too long. And then, one night after a few beers on Buck’s balcony, Eddie had said it.
I’m gay.
Just like that. Simple, matter-of-fact, like he was telling Buck the weather.
Buck had stared at him for a solid ten seconds before managing to say anything, not because he was shocked, but because he suddenly had to wrestle down the urge to grab Eddie by the collar and kiss the hell out of him. Because Eddie being gay didn’t change anything, not really. It just… put a name to the things Buck had been sure were there for years.
The problem was, Eddie had come out, yeah, but he hadn’t… done anything with it. No dating, no flirting, no testing the waters. Every time Buck teased him about it, Eddie got that half-smile, half-glare, muttered something about how he was “taking it slow,” and changed the subject.
Which would’ve been fine. Respectable, even. Except Buck knew that he wasn’t imagining the way Eddie looked at him — the glances that lingered too long, the flush that crept up Eddie’s neck when Buck leaned in too close, the way Eddie’s mouth parted like he was thinking about saying something and then clamped shut.
And Buck? Buck had been patient. He really had. But patience had never exactly been his strongest suit, and Eddie was walking around acting like Buck didn’t notice him practically undressing him with his eyes every other day.
So yeah. Enough was enough.
If Eddie wasn’t going to make a move, then Buck was going to do what Buck did best: kick down the damn door. Or, in this case, drag Eddie through one.
The kitchen at the firehouse smelled like garlic and butter, and Buck was in his element, sleeves rolled up, wooden spoon in hand as he hovered over the skillet. Cooking for the team had become his unofficial job — partly because he was good at it, partly because everyone else had long since accepted they couldn’t compete.
He could feel Eddie before he saw him. That subtle awareness, the weight of eyes on his back. Sure enough, when Buck glanced up, Eddie was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, pretending to look anywhere but at him. Classic.
“Smells good,” Eddie muttered.
Buck smirked. Of course it does.
The rest of the team was scattered — Hen at the table with paperwork, Chim making himself “busy” but really circling like a shark waiting for food, Bobby watching them all with that captain’s look that said he knew way more than anyone gave him credit for.
Buck gave the skillet one last stir, then glanced up at Eddie, casual as anything. “By the way, we’re going out Friday night.”
Eddie blinked. “We’re… what?”
“Out,” Buck said, like it was obvious. He set the spoon down, wiping his hands on his apron. “Friday. I’ve already got Chris covered — Hen’s having him for a sleepover.” He threw Hen a grateful grin across the table.
Hen raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “You owe me for pizza and ice cream.”
“Done.” Buck flicked his gaze back to Eddie, whose brow furrowed just enough to betray him.
“You made plans for me without asking?” Eddie’s voice was caught somewhere between defensive and curious.
Buck leaned one hip against the counter, grin tugging at his mouth. “Relax, Eddie. You’ll have fun. Promise.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “What kind of ‘out’ are we talking about?”
Buck shrugged, maddeningly nonchalant. “Just… out. You’ll see.”
Across the room, Chim made a hmm noise, eyes darting between the two of them like he was watching a live soap opera. Hen didn’t bother hiding her smirk anymore. Even Bobby, quietly sipping his coffee, shook his head with the air of a man resigned to whatever chaos Buck had just set in motion.
Eddie, meanwhile, was still staring at Buck like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for.
Buck didn’t look up this time. He didn’t have to. He could feel it, the weight of Eddie’s gaze, the way it made the back of his neck prickle and his pulse beat a little too fast. Eddie had been looking at him like that a lot lately, like Buck was something fragile he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.
And Buck was done pretending not to notice.
He let his mouth curve into a slow smile as he gave the skillet another stir, casual, like he wasn’t deliberately leaning into the way Eddie’s eyes tracked every movement. “You know, if you’re gonna keep staring at me, at least buy me dinner first.” he said it lightly, tossing the words out into the room like they didn’t matter.
It was worth it — so worth it — to glance up in time to catch Eddie freeze, the tips of his ears going red before the flush spread down his neck.
Buck bit back a laugh. God, he kinda missed this. The version of himself who flirted shamelessly, who pushed buttons just to see what happened. He hadn’t let that Buck out in years, not really. But now? With Eddie? It felt less like a risk and more like inevitability.
Eddie, of course, scrambled for composure, clearing his throat as he shoved off the counter. “I, uh— Ravi probably needs help with, uh— something.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “Ravi’s not even on shift tonight.”
“Right,” Eddie muttered, already halfway to the door, one hand rubbing the back of his neck like he could hide the blush creeping higher. “Well. Somebody needs help.”
Buck watched him go, grinning into the steam rising off the skillet. Yeah. Eddie Diaz was toast.
Hen glanced up from her paperwork, one eyebrow arched, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. Chim bit down on his grin and failed, letting out a muffled snort.
Buck just stirred the pot, perfectly casual, as if he hadn’t just short-circuited Eddie Diaz in the middle of the firehouse kitchen.
God, this was fun.
And come Friday night? Eddie didn’t stand a chance.
It hadn’t been supposed to happen like this.
When Eddie had gone to Texas, Buck had moved in, to take the stress off Eddie trying to find someone to live in the house, but if Buck was being completely honest, he hasn't liked the idea of anyone else living here. So, he moved in. And eventually, Buck had settled into the house like it was his own.
Not in a weird way — he told himself that often — but in a way that made sense. He kept the kitchen stocked, the laundry folded, the couch cushions dented just right from his weight. It felt natural, it was almost like he was holding the space open until they came home. Because he had always hoped that they would come home.
And when they did, Buck didn’t… leave.
He told himself it was temporary, just until he found his own place. He even started looking. He scrolled through listings at night, he set up a few viewings. Walked through empty apartments with clean white walls and polished floors that echoed too loud when he moved through them. Places that were fine, even nice.
But every time he stood in one, he felt it: the wrongness. The hollowness. Nothing ever felt right, not when he knew Eddie and Chris were waiting for him back at the house.
So Buck stayed. On the couch, at first. It wasn’t a big house — two bedrooms, one for Eddie, one for Chris. Buck had no claim to either. The couch was fine. Comfortable enough. But nights bled into mornings, and mornings bled into routines, and suddenly the couch wasn’t “Buck’s spot” anymore so much as just… where he slept until Eddie inevitably frowned at him and muttered, “You’re gonna ruin your back, man. Come on.”
And then somehow, somehow, Buck wasn’t on the couch anymore.
He was in Eddie’s bed. And at first it was supposed to be a one-time thing — Eddie had rolled his eyes and made space, and Buck had slipped in, all long limbs and awkward angles, telling himself it was just for tonight.
But one night became another night. And another. And another. Until Eddie’s bed was just… their bed.
Eddie never made it weird. That was the problem. Eddie acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Buck belonged there, next to him, in the warm half of the sheets.
And Buck? Buck had never been good at pretending things didn’t matter. Not when his whole chest clenched every time Eddie shifted closer in the dark, not when the brush of Eddie’s hand under the blankets made his pulse stutter, not when Eddie’s sleepy breathing anchored him in ways no apartment ever could.
Home wasn’t an address anymore. Home was here, in this messy, ridiculous arrangement that made perfect sense to nobody but them.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not when Eddie was out now, finally, finally free in a way Buck had always wanted for him. Not when Eddie’s eyes kept flicking to his mouth, not when he kept going pink every time Buck leaned in too close. Eddie might be out, but he wasn’t acting on it. Not yet. Not with Buck.
So if Eddie wasn’t going to move things forward, Buck was going to give him a shove.
And what better shove than a gay club on a Friday night?
Buck grinned to himself, already imagining Eddie’s deer-in-the-headlights look under neon lights and pounding bass.
The house was quiet without Chris… too quiet, if Buck let himself think about it. But tonight wasn’t about quiet. Tonight was about flashing lights, loud music, and maybe — finally — shaking Eddie out of whatever stubborn hold he had on himself.
Eddie was pacing in front of the closet like it was about to bite him. Shirts were tossed across the bed, jeans draped over a chair, and Eddie was standing there half-dressed, running a hand through his hair like a man on the edge.
“I don’t know what to wear,” he muttered for the fourth time, voice tight, frustrated. “I don’t even know where we’re going.”
Buck, leaning against the doorframe, was very deliberately trying not to stare. Which was impossible, because Eddie was shirtless. Bare chest, skin golden under the lamplight, muscles moving with every little shift. A scar cutting across his shoulder that Buck’s fingers ached to trace.
He swallowed hard. Focus. Casual. Do not let him know you’re ogling the hell out of him.
But his brain was a traitor. Cataloging. Noticing. Obsessing.
The curve of his collarbone.
The line of his chest hair disappearing under the waistband of his jeans.
The way his abs flexed when he bent to grab another shirt.
Buck had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral, but inside? A fucking full teenage meltdown.
“Doesn’t matter what you wear,” Buck said lightly, keeping his voice easy even while his pulse thundered. “You could walk in wearing a trash bag and still be the best-looking guy there.”
Eddie froze, shirt clutched in his hands, ears instantly going red. He muttered something under his breath — Buck caught the word Ravi, which made no sense since Ravi was not here — and turned his back quickly, pulling the shirt over his head like it was armor.
Buck grinned, letting himself enjoy the view for one last second before Eddie disappeared under the cotton. He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, plucking one of the discarded shirts off the bed.
“This one,” he said, handing it over, deliberately brushing his fingers against Eddie’s as he did. “Trust me. You’ll look great.”
Eddie gave him a look like Buck was speaking another language, but he took the shirt anyway, mumbling, “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
Buck just smirked, backing toward the door. Because you can’t say no to me, he thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
Buck leaned against the dresser, pretending to be casual while Eddie wrestled with buttons. It was a stupidly simple thing — shirt, jeans, boots — but Eddie was treating it like battle armor, brow furrowed in concentration.
And Buck… Buck couldn’t stop watching.
He told himself it wasn’t just about the way Eddie looked (though god, the way he looked). It was the moments in between. The little things Buck had started to collect without meaning to.
Like the way Eddie’s hand always brushed against his when they passed each other something — and how it lingered, just a second too long. Long enough that Buck’s brain lit up like a pinball machine, but never long enough for Eddie to notice what he was doing.
Or the way Eddie’s eyes found his across a room, steady and searching, like he was checking in, like Buck was the compass point he used to orient himself. Buck had lost count of how many times he’d looked up to find Eddie already staring. And every time, Eddie would blink, clear his throat, look away too late.
Then there were the smiles. God, the smiles. Small ones, private ones, hidden in the corners of Eddie’s mouth. Smiles he didn’t share with anyone else. Smiles that made Buck feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t imagining this whole thing.
Buck shifted his weight, arms crossed, heart thudding. He could feel it — the line they were toeing. Eddie was out now, had said the words, but he was still holding back, still cautious. And Buck… Buck had been patient. But nights in the same bed, lingering touches, prolonged eye contact, those quiet smiles Eddie thought Buck didn’t notice? They were all fuel to the fire, proof that Eddie wanted this too.
And now here they were, Eddie tugging at his shirt, asking if it looked okay, ears going pink when Buck said it did.
It was maddening. It was adorable. It was everything.
Buck straightened, clapping his hands together. “Perfect,” he said, grin tugging at his lips. “You’re perfect. Now let’s go.”
Eddie shot him a look — suspicious, flustered, fond all at once — and Buck’s chest ached. Because Eddie didn’t know it yet, but tonight was the night.
Tonight, Eddie Diaz wasn’t going to be able to hide behind small smiles and lingering touches anymore.
Downtown was alive in that way only L.A. could be on a Friday night. Neon signs lit up the sidewalks, bass pulsed from behind heavy doors, crowds spilled onto the street in a blur of laughter and glitter.
Eddie pulled the truck into a spot, muttering under his breath as he killed the engine. “Yeah… nope. Don’t miss this part.”
Buck glanced at him, amused. “What part?”
Eddie gestured at the chaos outside. “This. Driving strangers around at two a.m. in this circus. God, I do not miss driving Ubers.”
Buck smirked, leaning back in his seat, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drummed against the wheel. “I’d like it if you picked me up, though.”
The words slipped out smooth, easy — but the effect was immediate. Eddie froze, grip tightening, ears flushing in the glow of the dashboard lights.
Buck bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back a grin. Got him.
Eddie cleared his throat, studiously avoiding eye contact as he shoved the keys in his pocket. “Right. Okay. Let’s… uh, let’s just go.”
Buck opened his door, stretching as he stepped out into the cool night air, and grinned at the sight of Eddie trailing after him, shoulders squared like he was gearing up for battle.
Because inside, behind those doors, was neon, music, heat — and no way in hell Eddie Diaz was going to keep pretending.
Tonight was Buck’s game.
And Eddie? Eddie was about to lose spectacularly.
The second the bouncer waved them through, Buck felt it — the bass thrumming through his chest, the heat of bodies packed tight, the rainbow lights cutting through the dark. It was loud, alive, intoxicating.
He loved it.
And Eddie? Eddie froze just inside the doorway, blinking like he’d been dropped into another dimension.
Buck smirked. Oh, this is going to be fun.
He leaned in close, lips brushing Eddie’s ear so he could be heard over the music. “Relax. It’s just a club. Same rules as anywhere else — drinks, dancing, bad decisions.”
Eddie jolted at the closeness, his shoulders tightening, a flush creeping up his neck. “Buck…” He cleared his throat, eyes darting around at the couples pressed close on the dance floor, the guys laughing at the bar. “You didn’t say it was—”
“A gay club?” Buck grinned, deliberately brushing his hand against the small of Eddie’s back as he guided him toward the bar. “Yeah. Kinda the point, Eddie.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened, but Buck caught it — the flicker in Eddie's eyes, equal parts panic and something else. Something hungry.
God, he’d missed this part of himself — the Buck who knew how to tease, how to turn a look into a weapon. The Buck who thrived in a room like this, who laughed too loudly and smiled too easily and never seemed to run out of people who wanted his attention.
And in here? In a gay club in the middle of downtown L.A., Buck was in his element.
It started the moment they got to the bar. A couple of guys greeted him like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder, leaning in too close as they asked how he’d been. Buck slid into it without hesitation, easy grins and light touches, laughing at a joke, complimenting a jacket, tilting his head just so.
Every move was effortless — leaning one elbow against the bar, shoulders loose, voice pitched just low enough to make the guy across from him lean closer. He didn’t even have to try; the energy flowed out of him, magnetic, and people responded in kind.
Buck risked a glance, and the sight nearly made him laugh out loud. Eddie was frozen, clutching his drink like a lifeline, eyes wide and glued to him.
Eddie had seen him flirt before, sure — with women, with strangers, all those reckless, meaningless flings. But this was different. This was Buck in his element, surrounded by men who knew exactly what game he was playing, who wanted in on it. And Eddie didn’t know where to look. At Buck’s grin? At the hand brushing his arm? At the way Buck’s shirt clung under the neon lights?
Buck swore Eddie’s ears were turning pinker by the second.
He leaned in deliberately, brushing past Eddie’s shoulder as he grabbed the drinks from the bartender, his mouth close enough to Eddie’s ear that his breath stirred the short hairs at his nape. “So,” Buck said, grin curving, “First time in a gay club. Thoughts?”
Eddie blinked, throat working as he swallowed, like words had suddenly become a foreign language.
“Uh. Loud,” he managed.
Buck chuckled, sliding his drink into his hand, letting his fingers linger a beat too long against Eddie’s. “Yeah. But not as loud as the way you’re staring at me right now.”
Eddie damn near choked on his tequila.
Buck felt alive, high on the heat, the eyes, the game — but mostly on Eddie Diaz, looking at him like he had no idea how to survive this night.
Buck laughed, shaking his head. “You’re adorable.”
Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes wide, cheeks flaming in the glow of the the lights. And Buck didn’t miss it — the way Eddie’s throat bobbed when he swallowed, the way his grip on the glass tightened like it was the only thing tethering him.
Buck leaned closer, voice low, just for him. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Just… follow my lead.”
And then he smiled. Not the polite smile, not the family-friendly Buck smile. That smile. The one he hadn’t let out in years. The one that was all teeth and promise, the one that used to get him into trouble and out of it, too.
Eddie looked like he might actually combust on the spot.
Eddie was beside him, stiff, clearly overwhelmed but trying to mask it under that soldier calm. Buck ordered their drinks, sliding one toward Eddie with a wink.
And then someone slid up to Buck’s other side. A guy — tall, sharp smile, confidence in his step. He brushed Buck’s arm as he leaned in, said something about his shirt, about his eyes. Buck didn’t even have to think about it — the smile came easy, the laugh, the tilt of his head. Flirty Buck 1.0, reporting for duty.
The guy grinned wider. Buck leaned in, teased something back, let his fingers toy lazily with the rim of his glass. It was muscle memory, effortless, like breathing.
And out of the corner of his eye, Buck saw Eddie freeze.
He wasn’t subtle about it. Eddie’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the glass like he might crush it. His eyes flicked from Buck to the guy, back again, a storm brewing he didn’t know how to disguise.
Buck bit back a grin, focusing on the stranger just long enough to let Eddie stew. Every so often he tossed a glance Eddie’s way, catching the flush creeping up his neck, the way his shoulders had gone tense.
The guy touched Buck’s forearm, leaning in closer. Buck let him, let the electricity of it sit there for a beat — because he knew Eddie was watching. He could feel it, like a live wire stretched taut between them.
And then Buck laughed, easy and warm, deliberately turning so Eddie could see the smile aimed not at the guy but at Eddie.
Because the truth was, he didn’t care about the stranger. This whole thing wasn’t about anyone else. It was about Eddie Diaz, beautiful and completely undone by Buck letting himself be Buck.
Eddie shifted in his seat, muttering something low under his breath — and Buck nearly laughed out loud. Oh, he knew that look. Eddie was jealous.
And god, did Buck love it.
Buck let the stranger’s hand linger on his arm for another beat before he smiled — that disarming, too-bright smile that always got him out of trouble. “You’re sweet,” he said warmly, but already turning away. “But I’ve got my hands full tonight.”
He didn’t even have to look to know Eddie was watching. Buck felt it, like a current pulling tight between them.
He pivoted, leaning his elbow on the bar so he was facing Eddie fully now, grin softening just for him.
Eddie blinked at him, jaw tight, ears red, clearly trying to decide whether to be relieved or even more unsettled. He lifted his drink like a shield, taking a long swallow that didn’t hide the way his throat bobbed.
Buck chuckled under his breath, catching the bartender’s eye. “Six shots of tequila, please.”
Eddie frowned. “Six?”
Buck’s grin widened. “Yeah. One for fun. One for courage. And one just because…” He tapped the bar, eyes glinting. “Because I plan on dancing with you tonight, Eddie, and you’re gonna need them.”
Eddie’s mouth opened, closed, opened again — totally lost for words.
The bartender set down the tray, and Buck slid one glass toward Eddie, raising his own in salute. “Bottoms up.”
Eddie just stared at him, wide-eyed, like Buck had flipped the whole world upside down.
Buck knocked his shot back, slamming the glass down with a grin that said everything he wasn’t ready to put into words. He could practically see Eddie’s brain stalling, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay right there under Buck’s smile forever.
Buck? He was buzzing. This was it. The unraveling. Eddie Diaz wasn't going to make it through the night intact.
The bass was pounding through the floor, rattling Buck’s ribs, and he couldn’t tell if the buzz in his chest was tequila, adrenaline, or just Eddie.
“Okay cowboy, let's dance.” He dragged Eddie onto the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until they were swallowed by heat and bodies and light. Eddie was stiff at first, shoulders tight, movements awkward — Eddie in a situation he couldn’t control.
But Buck didn’t let go. He slid his hands to Eddie’s hips, grounding him, pulling him closer until their bodies fell into the rhythm. “Relax,” Buck murmured, leaning close, letting his breath ghost against Eddie’s ear. “Just feel it.”
And Eddie did. Slowly. Carefully. Until the tension bled out of him and he started to move — hesitant at first, then deeper, syncing with Buck like they’d been dancing together their whole lives.
And that’s when Buck was done for.
Because Eddie Diaz could move.
Buck’s eyes dropped — he couldn’t help it — to the way Eddie’s ass fit perfectly in his hands, the way he rolled his hips with the beat. It was unfair. Criminal, even. Buck’s fingers flexed against Eddie’s waist, dragging him back just enough to feel every shift, every sway.
Jesus Christ.
And then Eddie looked up at him. Those brown eyes — warm, intense, a little panicked but so alive — locked onto Buck’s, and the whole room disappeared.
Buck forgot the crowd, the music, the lights. All he could see were those eyes, wide and dark and shining like they were seeing him, really seeing him, in a way that made his chest ache.
He wanted to drown in them. In Eddie. In all of it.
Buck swallowed hard, pulse stuttering as Eddie’s gaze lingered a beat too long. And then Eddie blinked, breaking away, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it — but not before Buck caught the flush on his cheeks, the way his lips parted like he was on the edge of saying something he couldn’t.
Buck grinned, leaning in again, voice low and wicked in Eddie’s ear. “You don’t stand a chance, Eddie.”
And Eddie—oh, Eddie—he broke. Breath stuttered, body faltered, like Buck had short-circuited every line of code holding him together.
Buck felt it. He felt it in the way Eddie’s chest pressed against his, the sharp inhale, the stumble in his step before Buck’s hands on his hips steadied him, tugged him back into the beat.
God. God, it was intoxicating.
Because Buck had spent years tamping this down, smoothing the edges of himself, hiding Flirty Buck away where he couldn’t cause trouble. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to wield it—this grin, this voice, the way he could make someone shiver with a single look. And with Eddie? It wasn’t about ego. It wasn’t about the game. It was about watching the unflappable Eddie Diaz come undone in his arms.
It was about power, sure, but also… trust. Eddie let him be this close. Let him breathe against his skin. Let him see the cracks. And Buck knew—knew in his bones—that Eddie wouldn’t let just anyone see him like this.
He tugged Eddie closer, rolling their hips together in the rhythm of the song, and his own breath hitched because—fuck—Eddie was so solid, so warm, so his. And Buck couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop drinking in the way those brown eyes went wide and frantic and soft all at once, like Buck was both the danger and the safety net.
And that? That was going to ruin him. Because the truth was, Eddie Diaz wasn’t the one who didn’t stand a chance. It was Buck.
The music swallowed them whole, bodies pressed tight on the dance floor, neon spilling across Eddie’s face in flashes of pink and blue. Buck had him, both hands firm on his hips, guiding him into the beat, close enough that every shift, every roll of Eddie’s body pressed into him.
He dipped his head lower, lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear as he spoke. “You look so good like this, do you know that?”
Eddie jerked, just slightly, a sharp inhale that Buck felt more than heard. His shoulders went stiff for a heartbeat before melting again into the rhythm, like his body didn’t know whether to run or lean in.
Buck grinned, pressing closer, letting his breath trail down the line of Eddie’s neck. He felt Eddie swallow — the bob of his throat, the hitch in his breath — and it went straight to Buck’s chest, his gut, everywhere.
The music was thunder in his veins, neon and heat crashing around them, but Buck leaned in until all he could taste was Eddie’s breath and all he could feel was the wild drum of his heartbeat beneath his palms. His lips hovered at Eddie’s ear, so close he could see the shiver ripple down Eddie’s neck when he spoke.
“You hear that?” he whispered, voice low, rough, made for secrets and sin. “All that noise — the bass, the crowd, everything — and I can still hear your heartbeat. Right here. Drowning everything else out.”
Eddie made a sound then — soft, helpless, ripped out of him before he could stop it. The kind of sound Buck knew he’d lock away and keep forever, replaying it in the dark just to feel this moment again.
Buck smiled against his skin, not touching, almost kissing, savoring the way Eddie trembled between restraint and surrender. He let his breath ghost over Eddie’s jaw, slow and deliberate, until Eddie’s throat bobbed on a swallow that sent heat flooding straight through Buck.
It wasn’t the bass that had him dizzy. It wasn’t the tequila.
It was Eddie. It was always Eddie.
And right there, in the middle of the chaos, Buck knew he’d never wanted anything more than the sound of that heartbeat — fast and frantic — and the man who didn’t stand a chance against it.
“Relax,” Buck coaxed, hands tightening on Eddie’s hips, pulling him flush against him.
Eddie’s breath hitched again, head tilting back like he was fighting gravity itself. His eyes fluttered shut, his throat working as Buck’s breath ghosted across his skin. Buck was high on it. On the power, on the ache, on the way Eddie Diaz — steady, stubborn Eddie Diaz — was unraveling right there in his hands.
Buck let his lips hover at Eddie’s jaw, close enough to taste the salt of his skin in the air, close enough that Eddie could feel every word against him. His hands tightened on Eddie’s hips, anchoring him, guiding him into the rhythm until there was no space left between them.
“Your ass feels so good in those jeans,” Buck murmured, his voice low, sinful, the words pressed right into Eddie’s skin — not just a statement, but a promise. A challenge.
Eddie shuddered, the reaction tearing through him like a live wire. His whole body stilled for one heart-stopping second, then trembled against Buck’s, helpless, like Buck had ripped away every ounce of control he clung to so tightly.
Buck felt it — the sharp hitch in Eddie’s breath, the desperate way his hands clutched at him as if he couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. And god, the way Eddie melted back into him, letting Buck steer his hips with the music, was enough to make Buck’s pulse thunder.
And Buck knew it then — knew with absolute certainty — Eddie wasn’t going to last the night without breaking.
Buck slid his hands lower on Eddie’s hips, fingertips pressing against denim, pulling him back until their bodies moved as one. Eddie’s breath stuttered, his grip faltering on his drink before he set it aside like it was suddenly too much to hold onto.
Buck leaned in, lips at Eddie’s ear, his breath warm against sensitive skin. “God, you move good, Eddie. Bet you don’t even realize what you’re doing to me.”
Eddie froze for half a beat — shoulders tight, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard — before moving again, jerky at first, then smoother, as if he couldn’t help but obey the rhythm Buck set.
“Look at me,” Buck coaxed, pulling back just enough to catch Eddie’s gaze in the flashing lights. Those brown eyes, wide and frantic and dark with something he couldn’t hide, locked on Buck’s — and Buck swore he nearly lost his damn mind.
“Yeah,” Buck murmured, grin curving wicked. “That’s it. Eyes on me. Just me.”
Eddie blinked, lips parting, his whole body betraying him — tension coiled tight, then loosening all at once as if Buck had slipped past every wall.
Buck smirked, dipping his head again, letting his mouth hover at Eddie’s ear, close enough that his breath made Eddie shiver. “You’re mine out here tonight. All mine.”
And Eddie? He was done. Malfunctioning like an overheated computer trying to reboot while Buck danced him into oblivion.
Buck laughed under his breath, drunk on power, tequila, and Eddie Diaz in his arms. Because this — this was what he’d been waiting for.
Buck pressed closer, the heat of Eddie’s body melding with his own as the bass swallowed them whole. He dipped his head again, his mouth hovering right at Eddie’s ear, lips close enough for his teeth to just barely graze skin without touching.
Eddie shuddered, his breath catching audibly, and Buck smiled against the curve of his jaw. He slid his hands a little lower, thumbs brushing along the waistband of Eddie’s jeans, teasing, claiming, holding him steady.
Eddie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Buck felt it — the way his body stiffened, the way he tried to disguise the tremor in his chest.
“Relax,” Buck said, his voice silk and sin, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin. “Just let go. Nobody out here matters but me and you.”
Eddie’s eyes snapped to his then — brown, wide, frantic — and Buck swore the whole club tilted. The lights blurred, the music dimmed, and there was nothing in the world but Eddie Diaz looking at him like he was falling and didn’t know how to stop.
Buck smirked, tilting his head so their lips hovered a breath apart, enough for Eddie to feel the promise but not take it. “Do you want me to stop?” Buck asked, low, dangerous.
Eddie’s mouth opened, no words coming out, just another broken inhale, another flush of heat painting his skin.
“Didn’t think so,” Buck murmured, pulling him even closer, guiding his hips into the beat with his own.
Buck had always known Eddie was attractive. Painfully attractive. He’d had years of practice pretending not to notice, years of telling himself that friends didn’t look at each other like that, years of biting his tongue when Eddie bent over in his turnout pants or smiled that rare, private smile.
But here? On this dance floor, bathed in bright, flashing lights and sweat and bass that rattled the walls? Eddie Diaz was a goddamn vision.
Buck could feel eyes on them. Not just on him — on Eddie. He caught guys at the bar watching, heads tilting, conversations pausing. They saw what Buck saw: the broad shoulders, the taut line of his body, the way he moved when he finally gave into the rhythm. And it sent a thrill through Buck’s chest, sharp and possessive, because he knew what they were thinking.
Yeah. Eddie Diaz was hot.
Yeah. Every guy in this club would take a chance with him.
And yeah… Buck wanted to bare his teeth and say mine.
Because Eddie didn’t even know what he was giving away. Didn’t know how his body spoke when Buck’s hands guided him into the beat, how his lips parted when Buck leaned in close, how those brown eyes went dark and soft and hungry all at once. Eddie was unaware of his own power. But Buck wasn’t. Buck saw it. Buck felt it.
And god help him, he wanted to burn every other set of eyes out of the room just so Eddie’s gaze would never leave his again.
He leaned in, whispering something reckless against Eddie’s ear — didn’t matter what, not really, because all he wanted was that shiver, that catch of Eddie’s breath, that proof that Eddie was teetering on the edge. Buck was in control, fully in his element, Buck guiding them both to the inevitable.
Except—
Eddie snapped first.
One second Buck was grinning, smug, reveling in every crack in Eddie’s armor, drunk on the sight of him unraveling. The next, Eddie’s hand fisted in his shirt, sharp and certain, and yanked him forward.
And Buck’s world imploded.
The kiss crashed into him — desperate, hot, shocking. Eddie’s mouth on his, claiming him with a force that made Buck’s knees threaten to give out. For a heartbeat Buck forgot how to breathe. For a heartbeat he thought maybe he’d finally gone too far, pushed too hard, and his brain had just… conjured this.
But no. Eddie was kissing him.
Not cautious, not tentative — kissing him like a starving man finally breaking a fast. Like every wall he’d built had collapsed in an instant, leaving only this raw, consuming want.
Buck’s brain short-circuited. His hands twitched, grasping blindly until they found Eddie’s waist, clinging, anchoring, pulling him in like maybe that would prove this was real. His thoughts scattered — neon, music, tequila, Eddie, Eddie.
Holy shit. Eddie had kissed him.
And not just kissed him. Eddie had taken him. Grabbed him, wrecked him, set him on fire in the middle of the dance floor.
Buck had spent all night thinking Eddie didn’t stand a chance. But in this moment — lips swollen, chest heaving, head spinning — Buck knew the truth.
He was the one who didn’t.
The world dissolved — music, lights, crowd, everything — until there was nothing but Eddie Diaz, pressed chest-to-chest, lips on his, burning him alive.
The kiss broke, too soon for Buck's liking, leaving him breathless, lips tingling, the world roaring back around them — music, lights, heat, bodies pressing in. But none of it mattered, not with Eddie’s face inches from his, their breaths mixing, eyes locked.
Brown eyes, wide and wild, searching him. For a second Buck thought Eddie might run, might shut down, might pretend it hadn’t just happened.
But then something shifted.
It was subtle at first — a flicker in Eddie’s gaze, the uncertainty burning off, replaced by something sharper. Brighter. Hunger and heat and decision all wrapped into one. Buck’s chest clenched as he watched it happen, watched Eddie choose.
And then Eddie smirked. Just a little. Just enough to make Buck’s stomach flip.
“Yeah,” Eddie murmured, voice low, raw, wrecked in a way Buck had never heard before. “You’ve been asking for this.”
Buck didn’t even have time to process the words before Eddie grabbed him again — fist curling in Buck's curls, dragging him forward — and kissed him harder.
This kiss wasn’t shock. It wasn’t hesitation. It was deliberate, hungry, claiming. Eddie’s mouth was hot and sure, teeth scraping, lips pressing like he wanted to devour every inch of him.
Buck gasped against him, dizzy, undone, shocked in the best way possible. Because he’d spent the whole night teasing, pushing, coaxing Eddie to the edge… and now Eddie was pulling him right over with him.
Buck’s head spun, his hands fisting in Eddie’s shirt as he kissed back, losing himself in it, losing himself in Eddie. And all he could think, as the world blurred around them, was holy shit, he wants me too.
Buck’s lips were still tingling when Eddie broke the kiss again, both of them breathing hard, eyes locked like the rest of the club had stopped existing.
And then Eddie’s hand slid down, found Buck’s, and grabbed. Firm. Certain. No hesitation this time.
Buck’s heart stuttered, his brain short-circuiting. Eddie Diaz was holding his hand in the middle of a packed gay club — not hiding, not second-guessing, just taking.
“Come on,” Eddie said, voice rough, low, the kind of voice that made Buck’s knees want to buckle. His eyes burned in the neon light, something new sparking there — heat, hunger, want.
Before Buck could respond, Eddie tugged. Hard. And suddenly they were weaving through the crowd, past the crush of dancers, the thrum of bodies, the bass pounding in Buck’s chest. Buck followed without a thought, stumbling a little as Eddie bulldozed through like a man on a mission.
Out the side door, into the cool night air. The music still pulsed faintly behind them, but here it was quieter, shadows spilling across the alley, the city alive in the distance.
Eddie didn’t let go. He spun, pressing Buck hard against the brick wall, eyes dark, breathing heavy.
And then he was kissing him again. His mouth hot and desperate, his hand fisted in Buck’s curls like he wasn’t ever letting him go.
Buck gasped against him, shock and delight flooding his chest, his whole body lighting up like fireworks. Because this wasn’t the Eddie who hesitated, who pulled back, who second-guessed every feeling. This was Eddie Diaz, out, alive, and wanting him.
Buck kissed him back like he’d been waiting his whole damn life.
The wall was cool against Buck’s back, but Eddie’s mouth was hot, relentless, kissing him like he’d been holding this in for years. Buck was breathless, dizzy, grinning into it because god, this was happening. Eddie was kissing him.
When they finally broke apart for air, Buck’s head fell back against the wall, his chest heaving. “Jesus, Eddie,” he panted, eyes sparkling. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”
Eddie’s lips curved — not shy, not uncertain, but sharp and cocky. “You wanted me to let go,” he said, his voice low and wrecked. “So here I am.”
Buck blinked, stunned for a half-second, then laughed, the sound bubbling up helpless and wild. “Careful,” he teased, tugging Eddie closer by the belt loop. “I, uh, might start thinking you actually like me.”
He expected Eddie to flush, to stammer, to retreat into his usual stubborn silence. But Eddie leaned in instead, brown eyes burning, their mouths a whisper apart. “Maybe I do.”
Buck’s breath caught — actually caught, like Eddie had just sucker punched him. “You—”
Eddie’s thumb brushed Buck’s jaw, his eyes burning, unwavering. “You never stop talking,” he whispered, and there was no judgment in it — only heat, only awe. “And I love it. Every word. Every ridiculous fact, every story you can’t help but spill. I love how you fill a room.”
Buck’s chest seized, his lips parting, but Eddie didn’t let him answer. He leaned in, voice rough, reverent. “But right now…” His mouth ghosted Buck’s, his breath warm, devastating. “…right now, I need you quiet. So I can do this.”
The kiss came hard, stealing the air from Buck’s lungs, dragging him under. Eddie’s hand fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, while his other hand cupped his jaw, steady and sure.
His whole body lit up, every nerve screaming. Eddie kissed him like a man starved, like he was trying to devour every word Buck had ever spoken, every laugh, every grin.
And then Eddie pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, ragged and raw: “I love your laugh.” Another kiss, deeper, hungrier. “I love your smile.” Kiss. “I love the way you talk yourself in circles when you’re excited.” Another kiss, so fierce it made Buck gasp. “I love all of it. You.”
Buck made a broken sound — helpless, overwhelmed — because Eddie Diaz was unraveling him with words and lips and hands all at once.
Eddie kissed him again, long and consuming, before pulling back only to murmur, softer this time, “And I love shutting you up like this.”
Buck clutched at him, desperate, dizzy, undone. Because Eddie Diaz, the man he’d spent years wanting, wasn’t just kissing him — he was telling him, piece by piece, that he loved the very things Buck had always feared were too much.
Buck would let himself be kissed into silence forever if it meant hearing that voice, those words, between every breath.