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It is Buck’s deepest regret in life that he’s never done a couples’ Halloween costume.
“They’re fun!” he defends to Hen and Chimney, when both of them immediately dismiss the idea.
“They’re annoying,” Chimney says first. “Couples’ Halloween costumes, even the sexy ones, are like the horse costume. Someone gets to be the head and actually look good and talk to people, and someone gets to be the ass.”
“I promise you, it’s more work than it’s worth,” Hen agrees. “Karen and I went as Glinda and Elphaba one year, and she got to wear a tiara while I was washing green paint off my face for hours.”
At Buck’s confused look, Hen says, “From Wicked.” Another pause. “The Wizard of Oz?”
“Oh, Maddie loved that movie,” Buck says. He holds his hands up in a placating way, showing that he is definitely listening to their very good points and keeping them in mind. “But… I never got to! And I want to!”
It’s been a two-fold problem. Buck hasn’t really had a long-term relationship over Halloween—besides Taylor, and she shot down the idea as quickly as his coworkers have—and Buck never had any Halloween parties to go to. It’s embarrassing to admit that part. Buck has had friends, passing acquaintances, but the last time he had friends throwing a Halloween party, it was in his probie year when Connor and everyone threw a rager at the sharehouse. Buck had a 48 and came home to spilled beer and trash everywhere.
He has friends now. And not just his friends from work—the 118 is his family, friends is far too small of a word to use for them—but guys he met at a gay bar over in WeHo. Buck has learned that gay men really like throwing themed parties, especially if it means they get to dress up. His Instagram feed has been post after post of guys—and girls!—from the bars showing off their costumes. Most of them are thirst traps, barely matching, but Buck has been inspired, okay? And if he swiped up on one guy’s story asking if there’s a party happening this weekend, no one can blame him.
The kicker:
“Tommy doesn’t want to do it with me,” Buck says with a pout.
Hen and Chimney glance at each other, eyebrows raised. They do their freaky telepathic conversation. Buck is pretty sure it’s some combination of making fun of him (from Chimney) and trying to figure out how to console him (by Hen). He looks at his phone again. There’s a string of messages from Instagram; Grant is asking if Buck’s coming, and Buck still hasn’t gotten Tommy to agree. He should probably bow out gracefully, maybe just have a movie marathon at the loft. He could ask Chimney for help with that, at least.
“It doesn’t seem like his scene,” Hen says diplomatically. “What would you even go as?”
“I have a lot of ideas,” Buck says quickly. He opens to his notes app, scrolling through grocery lists and saved articles. “Okay, obviously slutty cowboys. Assless chaps and all.”
“Jesus Christ,” Chimney mutters.
“Angel and devil, serial killer and victim,” Buck lists off, “and then I said Top Gun and he immediately shot me down!”
“The horror,” Hen deadpans.
“They’re pilots!” Buck insists. “He had to have been fine with that one!”
The list goes on and on. Buck does not tell anyone that he already bought aviators, because he knows what the response would be. At least they’re versatile. He’s had his last pair for a couple of months already, and he’s due to lose them soon.
The issue isn’t the costumes. Or, well, it’s a big deal to Buck but it’s not a dealbreaker. It’s the fact that when Buck floated going to a Halloween party, Tommy had immediately dismissed the notion. I’m not that young, Evan, he had said, even though he’s still a few months shy of 40 and he’s gone pretty hard at the bar before. Buck isn’t that young either, because the demographic in WeHo is depressingly young and Buck can’t think too hard about it or he’ll start panicking.
If Tommy just didn’t want to wear matching costumes, that would’ve been fine. Buck just wanted to go to the Halloween party. He likes what the 118 does, dressing up and having a little event for the community—but Buck is newly bisexual and he thinks he can cut himself some slack on this whole “adulting” thing he’s trying to do.
“Sorry, Buck,” Chimney says with a tight smile. “I guess it just wasn’t mean to be.”
“I’m not breaking up with him!” Buck protests. It’s not that big of a deal… “I just wanted to go to this party.”
“Can’t you go alone?” Hen asks.
“Absolutely not,” Buck says quickly.
Okay, he could. Buck is friends with Grant, not Tommy, and he’s plenty personable. He could find people to talk to for the night. Buck is good at making fast friends. Fair weather friends, maybe, but it’s a Halloween party. He’s not trying to find a new best friend. But going alone is like—it’s a death knell. And Buck is trying, he really is, but it’s Halloween. You can’t break up with someone on Halloween.
He spies Eddie walking up the stairs, totally focused on his phone. Eddie, who is also planless for the weekend barring some natural disaster or miracle of the prodigal son returning home. Eddie, who had gleefully been the Tubbs to Buck’s Crockett—because Buck is totally Crockett, okay?—without complaint. Eddie, who likes dressing up for Halloween.
It’s perfect.
“Eddie!” Buck shouts. He does not get up from the couch, but instead scrambles up so he’s leaning over the back of it. He’s mostly at Eddie’s eye level when he finally gets to the couches, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Buck!” Eddie replies, quietly but with matching enthusiasm. It’s teasing—but it’s not mean.
“Do you want to go to a Halloween party with me this weekend?” Buck asks seriously.
“Uh, sure?” Eddie says. He glances around, at Hen and Chimney, Bobby over in the kitchen. “Is this like—”
“We’re not involved,” Hen says decisively from behind Buck.
“Will you wear a matching costume with me?” Buck asks, also deadly seriously.
Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, sure. What party is this?”
Buck pulls out his phone to show him Grant’s profile. Buck isn’t especially close with him, but Grant is pretty nice. Buck thinks he has a podcast—though get ten white guys in a room and you’ll find nine podcasts at the least—and he seems popular enough online. Though that might be because he’s stupidly hot. Buck is rather honored to be invited to his Halloween party.
“Why not Tommy?” Eddie asks after looking at the profile for a moment.
“He won’t do a matching costume,” Chimney says for Buck.
“He doesn’t want to go anyways,” Buck says quietly. “But you will? For me?”
Eddie hands him his phone back, an easy smile on his face. “Dude, I love Halloween. This is going to be great.”
Eddie likes Halloween so much that deciding on matching costumes is an absolute pain. He vetoes most of the ones Buck pitches, deeming them too unoriginal and boring. They can’t pull out their Miami Vice suits either, since those were probably burned in Eddie’s backyard with the amount of bodily fluids and alcohol soaked into the fabric. Buck has been following him around all shift, trying to figure out something they can pull together in the next four days. Eddie is doing actual work, coiling up the hoses after their last call out to a minor residential fire due to improper installation of Halloween decor.
Buck is reaching into the dregs of Pinterest. “Ooh, what about this one? Elton John and Freddie Mercury. You can have Freddie, since you have the ‘stache for it.” He flips the phone so Eddie can give it a passing glance.
“Your ass couldn’t fill out baseball pants,” Eddie says ruthlessly. He tosses one neatly coiled hose into the top compartment.
“That is quite possibly the meanest thing you have ever said to me,” Buck says, trying to make his voice wobble.
“I’m calling it like I see it,” Eddie says with a grin. Totally unfair. “Okay, look, you keep saying ideas that you want me to like. What do you want to go as?”
“I don’t know,” Buck says, which is a total lie. Eddie can tell. He pauses to give Buck a look, which has him spilling, “I mean, I already bought aviators because I thought Top Gun was a really good idea…”
Eddie hums. “That could work. You sure you wanna wear a flight jacket all night?”
“We could do the volleyball scene,” Buck says before his brain catches up with his mouth. Eddie barks out a laugh. “Well, you could be Goose, since you have the mustache.”
“Oh, and that means you get to be Tom Cruise?” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought he had a thing with the other one, anyways?”
Buck gives himself about three seconds to reconcile with the fact that Eddie is knowledgeable on Tom Cruise’s sexual tension with Val Kilmer in the movie. After three seconds, he says, “Well, Goose trusted Mav with his own kid, so like…”
He knows where the logical end of that sentence is: just like you and me.
Eddie takes a moment, carefully rolling the hose up. His voice doesn’t betray a single emotion as he says, “Okay, sure. Top Gun it is. I probably have a part of aviators at the house anyways.”
“Okay, so we just needs the jackets,” Buck says. “Easy.”
The thing is, Buck had been certain that Tommy would let him borrow his bomber jacket. It’s real leather, carefully worn in, really giving the touch of authenticity Buck needs. Except when Buck brings it up—a very subtle, very careful, mind if I borrow that jacket for the night?—he is once again gracelessly shot down like a quail during hunting season.
“That’s my favorite jacket,” Tommy says. “I barely even wear it, you know that.”
“I didn’t think that meant you’re keeping it safe!” Buck protests. “It’s fine, man, I can find something else.”
“Don’t call me man, Evan,” Tommy says quickly. “What do you even need the jacket for?”
Buck pauses. The movie they're watching must hit a climax, because then a teenage girl starts screaming. It echoes too loudly in the loft.
“I’m going to that Halloween party,” he says carefully.
“God, why?” Tommy asks. “It’s just going to be a bunch of kids getting drunk, Evan. That doesn’t sound like a good time. I thought we were staying in, you know?”
“I wanted to go,” Buck says, “and Eddie’s gonna come with me, too. I can’t cancel on him now.”
“Eddie?” There’s an undercurrent to Tommy’s voice that Buck can’t quite decipher. “Let me guess, he’s going to dress up with you?”
Buck’s shoulders are up to his ears, and he doesn’t even know why. Tommy didn’t want to go—why is he getting mad at Buck when he found someone willing to go! It’s totally unfair, is what it is.
“Yeah, he loves Halloween,” Buck says quietly. “We’re going as Top Gun pilots, it’s gonna be fun.”
Judging by the way Tommy hums judgmentally, he doesn’t think it’s going to be fun. “Why do you even want to go? I mean, you can just drink at home? You don’t even know this guy, too. It’s not like he’s going to be brokenhearted if you can’t come.”
“That’s not the point,” Buck says. “I don’t know, I just— I liked going out. I still do. And yeah, I’m not best friends with Grant but he could be, maybe. It’s nice being invited out to places.”
What Buck does not say, because he won’t tell this to anyone: He’s lonely. Buck is in a good place, compared to a decade ago. He has a career. He has a family, one that actually loves him, and Maddie is back in his life and they don’t go a week without seeing each other. But the Buck from a decade ago was also lonely, and he doesn’t think he’s ever really stopped. Yeah, he’s got his friends, his best friend, a boyfriend, but sometimes it feels too insular.
He read, or maybe heard it in a podcast, that when all your friends get married and start having kids, it’s a lot harder to hang out with them. And it’s true, even though Buck has never let Christopher get in the way of hanging out with Eddie. Most of Buck’s friends have kids to worry about. They’re not as free to go out to the bar or to a movie like Buck is. Which is why he wants to make friends with Grant, some other guys. He’s not trying to find a lineup of groomsmen.
“I don’t get it,” Tommy says again.
“You don’t have to,” Buck snaps back. “It’s a Halloween party, I want to go, so I’m going!”
When silence falls over the two of them, the TV keeps going. The murderer has finished viciously killing the teenaged girl. Buck’s stomach turns. He doesn’t get why Tommy likes these movies. Buck sees too much of this in real life—still dreams about Maddie in the woods sometimes—to find them enjoyable.
“Fine,” Tommy says with a gusty sigh. “Do what you want, Evan.”
There’s a hint of finality to it. Buck frowns in the darkness of the room, and is glad when Tommy doesn’t try to stay the night.
Buck has been rolling the thought around his head for the last twelve hours. It sticks with him when he gets to the firehouse, when he changes, as he walks up the stairs to the common area. Everyone but Eddie has arrived.
“Morning, Buck,” Bobby says with a smile.
“I think I have to break up with Tommy,” Buck announces, instead of returning the greeting or anything at all. There’s a crash as Bobby drops a steel pan and Chimney fumbles his deck of cards, spilling them all over the coffee table.
"Why?" Hen asks. "I thought things were going okay?"
“They were,” Buck says with a gusty sigh, “except this whole Halloween party thing made us have an actual fight and I don’t know if I can date a man who’s this mad about a Halloween party. Except I can’t break up with him now.”
“Why not, Buckley?” Chimney asks. He hasn’t even bothered trying to pick up the cards, staring at Buck with a dumbstruck look.
“It’s Halloween,” Buck says, like Chimney is an especially slow toddler. When there isn’t a look of realization in his eyes—in anyone else’s, for that matter—Buck adds, “You can’t break up with someone on Halloween. It’s bad luck. And Halloween sex is typically really fucking good.”
Caveat: that comes from prior experience. Bars on Halloween, or the night before, were a good place for Buck 1.0. When he was with Taylor, she spent most of Halloween chasing down leads about crimes and pranks. Still, Buck thinks Halloween sex is some of the best.
“Then break up with him after?” Hen says, like he’s the particularly slow child.
“No, no, that can’t work either.” Buck drops down onto the couch, kicking a couple of cards off the table as he props his legs up. The joker stares at him. Definitely not a sign. “After Halloween, there’s Thanksgiving. You can’t break up with someone before Thanksgiving because that messes up holiday plans. No one wants to be the one that told their family they were bringing someone to Thanksgiving and then show up empty handed.
“After Thanksgiving is Christmas,” Buck continues, getting more heated. He’s moving his arms now, riled up because this is a point he’s had to argue several times before. “Can’t break up with someone before Christmas for the same reasons. And then there’s New Year’s—that’s a party, that’s fun, you can’t set a bad tone for someone’s New Year’s. And after that it’s Valentine’s, so basically once the calendar hits October, you’re locked in until March.”
“Buck, you can break up with someone whenever,” Hen says. “The timing is always going to be bad. There’s no reason to drag out a relationship for five extra months if your heart isn’t in it.”
“Please break up with Tommy,” Chimney says.
“You’re breaking up with Tommy?” Eddie asks, having just stomped up the stairs. Even though Christopher is out of the state, his punctuality has been leaving something to be desired. He gives Bobby an apologizing look.
“I want to,” Buck says, “but I can’t. The timing’s all wrong.” He repeats what he just told the rest of them. Cuffing season is real and vicious. Buck does not say he was broken up with right before the Thanksgiving of his senior year, all excited to bring Julie Taylor over that weekend, except she broke up with him on the Wednesday before and Buck had to nurse his broken heart with his mom’s under-seasoned mashed potatoes.
“You don’t have to follow made-up rules,” Eddie says once Buck finishes. “Break up with him if you want, man.”
Buck turns his gaze on Bobby then. “Bobby?”
“Do what you feel is right,” he says, like the goddamn fortune cookie he is. “If you think it’s right to wait, then go right ahead.”
Okay, well that was more than a little passive aggressive. Buck does not bring this incredibly salient point up, though, because Bobby declares the omelets are done.
The new problem: Buck doesn’t have a bomber jacket. Grant’s party is in less than 24 hours, and Buck is furiously trying to find an in-stock bomber jacket that doesn't cost an arm and leg before expedited shipping. The internet is a wonderful place, except right before Halloween.
With the 118’s luck—Buck’s luck, specifically—he didn’t want to buy a jacket with the incredibly real chance he would get injured during the shift and not be able to make it. Except he manages to stay entirely scratch-free, which is a big accomplishments on shifts during the week leading up to Halloween, and now he’s sitting in the locker room scrolling through jacket listings.
“How are we doing this tomorrow?” Eddie asks, changing into his civvies. “You wanna come over to mine, we carpool?”
“Sounds good,” Buck says distractedly. He looks at the reviews for one listing: vinyl fabric that smelled that industrial cleaner. The zipper breaks easily. It’s way too hot.
The phone is yanked out of his hands.
“What have you been looking at?” Eddie says. “You still hadn’t bought a jacket? What happened to ‘I want to dress up’?”
“Eddie,” Buck whines, because he really doesn’t have a good defense.
“Buck,” Eddie says, mocking. “Seriously? Do you even have the aviators?”
“I do!” They came in yesterday, carefully sitting next to his door so he won’t forget them. Buck spent far too long trying them on, doing his best to look cool and suave. “I just need the jacket, so if you could give me my phone back…”
Eddie doesn’t. He keeps holding onto it, thumbing through the listings. “If you care that much about authenticity, I have my abuelo’s old bomber jacket if you just want to use that.”
“What.”
Buck knows what jacket Eddie is talking about. It’s been sitting in his closet the entire time Buck’s known him, although Eddie takes it out every fall like he’s actually going to consider wearing it. His abuelo had served, but he never talks about it. The jacket has been well-loved but kept in good condition. It’s probably one of Eddie’s most prized possessions. He never wears it. Buck would never think about wearing it.
“Yeah,” Eddie says simply. “It’d probably fit you more than it’d fit me. He was a pretty big guy.”
“Eddie, I can’t…” Buck says quietly. “I mean, you remember what we did to our suits during the bachelor party.”
Eddie just shrugs, smiles. It’s like an arrow right into Buck’s heart, holy shit. “I trust you.” Another arrow. “Besides, you’re the one that keeps saying we shouldn’t buy clothes we’ll only wear once. You’d throw one of these jackets away as soon as you get the chance.” Another arrow—he listens to Buck's rambles—and Buck is absolutely down for the count.
He hands Buck his phone back, still smiling. “So, you’ll come over tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Buck manages once he remembers how to say words. “Thanks, Eddie.”
Eddie pats Buck on the shoulder before slipping out of the locker room and out to the parking lot. Buck stays rooted in his spot for another three minutes, his mind spinning. And it’s just a jacket—it’s just a jacket.
But Buck is considering breaking up with Tommy over a jacket, and here comes Eddie, offering his own.
He absolutely cannot read into this.
Buck shows up to Eddie’s house the next afternoon in most of a costume, his aviators tucked into the neckband of a white t-shirt. He has been reading into the jacket for the entire day, to the point where Maddie ended their FaceTime early since Buck kept going: But what does it mean? (She had texted him a picture of Jee-yun five minutes later, so Buck forgives her.)
The party isn’t until later, but Buck had nothing to do and he’d much rather do nothing with Eddie, except he forgot about the jacket until he’s stepping into the house and sees it laid over the back of the couch.
It’s a nice jacket, is the thing. Buck is kinda in love with it, even though he’s only seen it hanging in Eddie’s closet. Real leather with a nice patina, the lining a silky black fabric. It’s the kind of jacket he would’ve killed for back in Pennsylvania. Buck would have stolen it from Eddie if he could, burrowed into it during cold winters.
“Hey!” Eddie says, wandering out of the bedroom. He’s wearing a white tank top, so Buck can see the very obscene swell of his upper arms. He hates Eddie’s bulking season. It’s driving him crazy. “Try it on, see if it fits.”
Buck feels like a little kid in a dressing room as he tries it on under Eddie’s watchful eyes. And of course, the jacket fits. It’s not tight on his shoulders, over his arms. Eddie’s abuelo was either Buck’s size, or he got the jacket oversized. He can imagine how it hangs loosely on Eddie’s frame.
“You look—great,” Eddie says, with a hitch in his breath that Buck notices if only because he’s so attuned to the sound of Eddie’s breathing.
“Yeah?” Buck asks, twisting. There’s a mirror in the hall Buck could check himself out in, but he just lets Eddie tell him. “What are you gonna wear? If I’m wearing this jacket.”
“You said I’m Goose,” Eddie says with a smile. “I figured I’d go for a hawaiian shirt, really play it up.”
Buck pouts. “People are going think you’re Tom Selleck,” he says with a whine. It had been a costume he considered—with Eddie’s mustache, it really would’ve been perfect—but Buck couldn’t find a couple’s costume and he didn’t want to ask Chimney if there’s any iconic outfits from the show.
“I can get some fake blood,” Eddie offers, uncaring.
“Please don’t,” Buck says weakly. He doesn’t want to see Eddie covered in blood, fake or not.
Eddie smiles at him, bright and beautiful, and Buck doesn’t think he’s going to last the night.
They Uber to Grant’s place, since Buck is planning on getting well and drunk, and also neither of them want to deal with parking. Grant lives in a house in Silver Lake—Buck quickly moves him to the top of the list titled “Richest People I Know”—and it’s filled with people by the time Buck and Eddie get there. It’s late enough the sun is setting, and the yard is lit by orange and purple lights, what smells like a fire happening in the backyard.
“Is there a burn ban?” Buck mutters to Eddie as they walk up to the front door.
“No, they’re good,” Eddie says. “Calm down, fire marshal.
The door swings open before they can even knock, and Grant grins at Buck. “Buck!” he says excitedly, hauling him in for a hug. This, Buck is prepared for, because after meeting Grant the once and exchanging Instagram handles, Grant had surprised him at another bar by hugging him from behind. “I’m so glad you made it!” He pauses, steps back, and gives the two of them a onceover. “Let me guess—Top Gun?”
Buck laughs, all his worry over the outfit sliding away. “Yes! God, I’m so glad you got it.”
“I’ve seen it an embarrassing amount of times,” Grant admits, “and you are too svelte to be pulling off Tom Selleck, so it’s gotta be Goose. Are you a new boyfriend?” To Buck, he adds, “I’m glad you got rid of the other one. Guy couldn’t fucking hang, let me tell you.”
“Um, no, this is my best friend,” Buck says, knocked off center by the whirlwind that is Grant. He pulls a guilty face like he’s about to apologize, when Buck says, “I probably am breaking up with the other one. Hey, what’s the best time to break up with someone during the fall?”
Grant laughs, dragging Buck into the house. Eddie follows after. “Whenever you want,” he promises. “Here, I want you to meet these guys.”
For the next twenty minutes, Buck is introduced to a variety of people, Grant vibrating by his side the entire time. Most of the people at the party are dressed—in a way Buck deeply appreciates—more than a little slutty. There are cowboys in assless chaps, some guy wearing a blue chef’s apron over a pair of boxers, a couple of sailors. One guy is wearing a see through raincoat splattered with blood (shirtless underneath, of course), which looks vaguely familiar. There are some other couples too: Barbie and Ken, Ken and Alan, an angel and devil. He doesn’t see any other aviators, which makes him a little smug. Points for uniqueness.
Eddie disappears for a couple of minutes, reappearing with drinks in hand. Grant disappears, but Buck barely seems to mind. He’s having fun, surrounded by all these people he’s never met. Most are intrigued when Buck explains they’re firefighters—”We spend way too long in those uniforms, it’s lost all the appeal to me,” Buck says when someone asks why they’re not sexy firefighters, which is a total lie—but are still interested in just talking. Buck meets artists and software programmers and people who work retail and gig workers, and gets more Instagram handles than he can keep track of.
They make it outside after while, on some number of beer. There’s a fire pit going and Buck does his best to ignore all the possible safety hazards he sees. One girl’s butterfly wings are in near danger of being singed.
“Relax,” Eddie says when he notices, his mouth against Buck’s ear. He’s been knocking into Buck all night. “Are you having a good time?”
“I am,” Buck says, which is the truth. “Thanks for coming with me, Eddie.”
He leans back so he can get a look at Eddie, see the way his face flushes. Eddie shrugs. “It’s literally not a hardship,” he says pointedly.
“I know,” Buck says, responding to the unasked question. Or statement. “Just—not tonight, yeah? I’m trying to have fun.”
Buck doesn’t want to think about breaking up with Tommy, except now he is, pink elephants and all that. And Buck is going to break up with him, because he didn’t want to go to this party and have fun with Buck, so it’s really his loss.
“Oh, my God, Buckley!” someone shouts over the din of the crowd. Buck turns, finds a semi-familiar face making their way towards him. “I barely recognized you, man, you got big.”
“Huh?” Buck says, but the guy just throws his arms around Buck in a hug, rocking them side to side. When he leans back, Buck feels a spark of recognition. “Andrew?”
“Lucky guess,” the guy says.
To Eddie, Buck says, “This is Andrew, he was at the Academy at the same time as me.”
“Washed out,” Andrew says blithely. “I was too focused on my fellow recruits to, y’know, do that job. But if this is what firefighting does to a man…” Andrew whistles sharply.
“Holy shit,” Buck says faintly.
“What?” Eddie says, frowning at him.
“I wasted my twink years thinking I was straight,” Buck says faintly. “I could’ve had so much gay sex.”
Eddie starts laughing, the kind deep from his chest that Buck is never not pleased about causing, even when it’s at his own expense.
“Oh, was this, like, a recent thing?” Andrew asks, gesturing between the two of them. It’s clear the assumption he’s made, and Buck opens his mouth to correct him, but the words never make it out. “The world will mourn the loss of another twink,” Andrew continues sagely, “but I like a man that can toss me around a lot more.” He adds in a wink that just makes Buck snort.
“Thanks, Andrew,” Buck says. His hand is on Eddie’s back for some reason, and Buck slides it down until it’s on Eddie’s hip, pulling him closer. “What have you been up to?”
Eddie doesn’t budge from his side, even once they decide it’s too warm for them with the fire pit and move back indoors. They refill their drinks, and Buck is already starting to feel that pleasant buzz at his fingertips. It’s been awhile since he got to drink like this; when the 118 meets at a bar, none of them really have the time to spend the next day nursing a hangover. Buck isn’t anywhere near hangover status, but the night is still young.
Buck loses Eddie at some point, moving from group to group. He takes so many photos with people, exchanging phones and numbers and social media. It feels like he’s Buck from a decade ago except—better. Except this Buck has a soft place to land, and someone hopefully looking around the room for him. This Buck isn’t looking to get laid—except now he is, fucking pink elephants—because he doesn’t need sex to get that connection he had been so desperate for.
It is a shame, though, that Buck didn’t realize he was into men until now. He would’ve taken so much advantage of his pre-firefighting weight class.
When Buck finds Eddie, it’s because he’s stumbled into the hawaiian shirt convention. “What is this, Margaritaville?” Buck asks when he finds Eddie with five other guys also in floral shirts, all of them posing for photos. All but one have a mustache.
“Buck!” Eddie says, so genuinely delighted to see him. There’s a flash from the impromptu photographer, and then Eddie is breaking out of the geriatric pack to attach himself to Buck’s size again. Eddie is probably two more drinks in than Buck. Unfair. He needs to catch up. “I missed you,” Eddie says, equally sincere.
“I wasn’t gone,” Buck says with a laugh. “You’re the one who left me.” He wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist again.
“I wanted another drink,” Eddie says petulantly. Eddie’s alcohol tolerance is impressive, but Buck’s pretty sure he just metabolizes it fast. As long as it’s beer, Eddie can drink a whole case before he gets like this: soft around the corners, a whine to his voice. It’s like he loses a couple of years, some wrinkles, weight falling off his shoulders. Buck wishes it didn’t take this, a couple of beers, for Eddie to finally relax.
“Let’s get you some water,” Buck says diplomatically, and leads the way to the kitchen.
They share a bottle of water because Eddie insists, pushing it over to Buck whenever he takes a sip from it. A couple people pass through, grabbing drinks, but it’s really just the two of them, Eddie on the kitchen counter while Buck somehow ended up between his legs. He doesn’t mind. He extra doesn’t mind when Eddie manages to lock a leg around his waist, keeping him in place.
“You’re breaking up with him, right?” Eddie says apropos of nothing. His eyes are wide, imploring, like he’s a second away from begging if Buck asked him to.
“I am,” Buck says. Fucking duh. With the way Eddie is looking at him—a way Tommy never, ever has—it’s not even a question.
Buck doesn’t say they’re not broken up with yet, because he really doesn’t care about semantics when Eddie is kissing him.
He hasn’t thought about it before, hasn’t let himself, but he’s certain none of his fantasies can live up to actually kissing Eddie Diaz. It’s heated from the first touch of their mouths, which is fine, because they can do all that sweet shit later; Buck melts into the kiss, bites at Eddie’s lower lip, sinks into the feeling of Eddie’s hands scratching through his hair. His thighs squeeze around Buck’s hips, and if this were high school, Buck would be looking for the nearest soft surface.
“You are so,” Eddie says, gasping for breath between the words, “so fucking hot, what the fuck.” He tugs at the collar of the jacket. “I let you wear this.”
“You did,” Buck agrees, so much light in his chest he thinks it’s going to break open, warmth spilling out from his ribs.
Eddie stares at him, his hands still around Buck’s neck, one in his hair. He says, “Let’s go home.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Buck replies, and has to kiss him again.
They have to walk a mile before they can get an Uber, and Buck spends the entire ride back to Eddie’s house playing with his hands. They’re bigger than Buck’s own, his fingers longer, and Buck has a rolodex of ideas he wants to involve Eddie’s hands in. By the time they stumble up to the front door, Buck’s dick is half-hard in his jeans and he’s overheating.
He unlocks the door with his own keys—Eddie’s house key nestled next to his the one for his loft, more worn down because Buck has simply used it more, and doesn’t that mean something—and they’re both pushing their way inside.
Without worrying about their Uber rating or the neighbors, Buck presses Eddie into the wall and kisses him the way he wanted to at the party: dirty, wet, tongues everywhere. It’s sloppy, is what it is, and Eddie tastes of his gross light beer and mint gum.
“Where the hell did you get gum?” Buck asks, leaning back for just a moment. “When did you have gum? Where did it go?”
“I swallowed it,” Eddie says proudly. “Now fucking kiss me.”
He takes the choice out of Buck’s hands, surging forward to kiss him, which is just as well because Buck has three interesting factoids about swallowing gum on the tip of his tongue. Eddie kisses him stupid, mouthing down his jawline and attacking Buck’s throat with his stupidly sharp teeth. Buck doesn’t worry about marks, the same way he does whenever it’s him and Tommy, because it’s a mark from Eddie, which is so totally different.
Buck could probably spend forever in the foyer of Eddie’s house, just doing this, maybe a pair of handjobs like horny teenagers, but he has plans for the night. Eddie has long fingers and a soft bed, and Buck has never been this horny before.
“Bedroom,” he insists, maneuvering the both of them down the hallway. Eddie huffs against his neck, but then decides to lead the way, dragging Buck down the hallway with one hand in his.
Buck takes a moment to carefully take off the jacket, grabbing the heavy wooden hanger Eddie left on his bed, and hanging it back up. It didn’t take long, half a minute at most, but Eddie’s staring at him like Buck hung the moon. “I didn’t want it to get messed up,” Buck says defensively.
“I don’t…” Eddie says, unable to find the words. He gives up, crossing the distance between them, and pulling Buck into another kiss.
This time, his hands find their way to the hem of Buck’s shirt, tugging it up until Buck gets the message. Eddie’s shirt is a different deal, more annoying, and Buck would break it open, let the buttons go everywhere, except he’s fairly certain Eddie actually likes the hawaiian shirt. What a fucking dad. Eddie’s hands are a distraction, running over Buck’s skin, dragging his blunt nails over the meat of Buck’s shoulders. He’s not any better once he pushes Eddie’s shirt off, his hands sliding up Eddie’s ribcage like he’s trying to commit it to memory.
And then their matching jeans, their boxers, Buck trying to pull his socks off while Eddie drags him onto the bed. He ends up keeping one on, all thoughts of the sock floating away when Eddie pins him onto his back and straddles him. He’s a fucking vision, his hard dick leaking already, standing proud as he hovers over Buck.
Buck’s own cock is hard, nudging up against Eddie’s, and he’s desperate for anything on it at all. He tries to roll his hips, get Eddie with the fucking program, chewing on his bottom lip.
“You want something?” Eddie asks, a curl to his mouth. He leans over Buck, managing to keep distance between their bodies, and kisses Buck. He whines into the kiss, one hand flying up to Eddie’s hair. This time, Buck gets his mouth on Eddie’s neck, biting down hard as he reaches between them. Eddie jolts underneath his hands when Buck gets a hand on his cock, jacking it roughly. He’s thick. Buck wants it in him.
“I want you to fuck me,” Buck says into Eddie’s neck. He presses a kiss to the bruise that’s probably going to form, tipping his head back to look at Eddie’s eyes.
“I can do that,” Eddie says, sounding amused. He runs his hands over Buck’s sides, up again. “I’ve never…” He trails off, not wanting to say it. He hasn’t fucked a man, he hasn’t fingered one. Buck doesn’t mind. He just knows he needs Eddie’s fingers in him right fucking now.
“It’s not that hard,” Buck says—and that’s a challenge. Eddie’s eyes darken. There’s red marks on his neck, his hair tousled, the definition of the debauched. Buck adds, “Please?” and Eddie groans, the noise dragged out of him.
“Christ,” Eddie mutters. He leans down over the length of Buck’s body to kiss him, their cocks rubbing together. Buck whines into the kiss, grinding up into air. “Settle down, cowboy,” Eddie mutters, running an absent hand over Buck’s side to comfort him.
It makes Buck huff out a laugh. “Well, if you wanted me to ride you,” he says, his bravado running out when Eddie’s gaze snaps to his, “you just had to ask.”
Eddie tilts his head, considering. It is deeply sexy. Buck tells him so, and it breaks—just because he’s laughing. This is also deeply sexy to Buck, for reasons he can’t quite make sense of.
“Is that what you want?” Eddie says after a moment. He drags his hand down Buck’s chest, nails leaving faint red marks. “You wanna ride me?”
And embarrassingly: Buck whines.
Okay, it’s not embarrassing when it’s Eddie. Buck doesn’t mind doing it in front of Eddie, because it just feels so much hotter, knowing how desperate Buck is for him. But with Tommy—Buck never got to be on top. He’s never thought about it but not that Eddie mentions it—yes, Buck wants to ride him so fucking bad.
“Please,” Buck says. “I want to, please, Eddie.”
It earns him another biting kiss, and then Eddie is grabbing a bottle of lube from the nightstand and easing off Buck’s thighs.
“How do I...?” he asks.
Buck rolls onto his stomach, shuffling until he has his knees beneath him, his ass up. “It’s easier like this.”
It’s not a lie, but Buck knows what he looks like. Contrary to Eddie the other day—he has something going on back there. Sure, it’s not on the level of Eddie, but it’s nothing to scoff at. And Eddie certainly isn't scoffing, judging by the way he’s palming Buck’s ass.
“Look at you,” Eddie mutters. He spreads Buck’s cheeks and—Jesus fucking Christ—spits on him. Buck jolts, a long moan escaping him. He didn’t really think he’d be into this, but it’s Eddie. Everything is different with Eddie. “You’re so beautiful.”
Another noise escapes Buck, the compliment going straight to his head and his dick. He buries his face in a pillow, the smell of Eddie’s shampoo on it. He can’t help but push his ass back, hear Eddie’s quiet chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a smile in his voice, “andale, andale.”
There’s the sound of the lube being uncapped, the wet sound of it, and then one slick finger is pressing against his entrance. Buck forces himself to relax, willing all his muscles into a puddle as Eddie presses his finger into him. Buck sighs, satisfied, as Eddie takes his time with it. He’s pent up, and one touch is probably all he needs, but Eddie’s never done this before. Buck is happy to take it slow.
“Is this okay?” Eddie asks, voice hesitant.
“Fucking perfect, Eddie,” Buck says. “You can add another.”
He does, the stretch so much nicer. He fucks his fingers in deeper, and Buck tilts his hips and—there. Buck groans as Eddie hits his prostate, realizes, and then keeps focusing on it. The pleasure sweeps over Buck like a tsunami, all at once, and he shudders under the feeling until Eddie pulls back.
“The sounds you make,” he says, a little wondrous.
“Sorry,” Buck says, because he’s been told he’s loud in bed by previous partners. Including the most recent previous partner.
“Don’t apologize,” Eddie says shortly. He presses back in, nailing Buck’s again. It punches a whine out him. “I want to hear you.”
Reluctantly, Buck drags his face out of the pillow. He doesn’t try to swallow the noises, letting Eddie hear every whine and gasp that’s forced out of him as Eddie stretches him open. He adds a third finger and really gets down to business, fucking Buck so steadily with his hand that he really thinks he’s going to come untouched for the first time in years.
“Eddie, please,” Buck gasps out, fucking back on Eddie’s hand. “I gotta, I’m gonna—please, let me cum.”
“I’m not gonna stop you,” Eddie says. He finally moves his other hand, wrapping it around Buck’s dick. “C’mon, Buck, you said you were gonna do it.”
Just a couple of strokes, Eddie’s fingers pressing on his prostate, and Buck is whining into his forearm as his orgasm washes over him. It’s been building, and it’s a long one; Buck’s hips jerk into nothing as he cums all over Eddie’s duvet. Distantly, he thinks about how annoying it’s going to be cleaning that up.
“Holy shit,” Eddie says.
Buck is oversensitive and aching, but he still desperately wants to ride Eddie. He twists to the side, Eddie’s hand falling out of him, and finally gets a look at Eddie. There’s a faint sheen on sweat on him, his face red with heat and alcohol, and his cock is bobbing hard against his thighs. God, Buck wants to get his mouth on it. Another time.
“Don’t you dare put me in the wet spot,” Eddie says. Buck laughs, reaching out for Eddie’s shoulders to maneuver him onto his back. “Buck, I swear to fucking God,” he continues.
“Maybe you should’ve gotten that king mattress,” Buck taunts, even though they both know Eddie’s bedroom is in no way big enough for a king sized mattress. They’ll have to figure something out when Buck moves in, because no way is he giving up that mattress.
Despite his words, he does his best to not plant Eddie in the wet spot, but it is pretty centrally located. Eddie makes a moue of displeasure when Buck finally succeeds at pinning him down, but doesn’t grumble about it. He just drags Buck down for another kiss, his free hand making sweeping motions up and down Buck’s thighs.
Buck reaches for the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount in his hand. It’s only then that he realizes: “Condom?”
Eddie stiffens underneath him, before forcing himself to relax. “I don’t,” he says, a full sentence in two words.
“Yeah,” Buck agrees, and reaches down to slick up Eddie’s cock.
He groans between his teeth, his abs clenching as Buck strokes him lightly. And then Buck guides his cock to his entrance and slowly—slowly—lowers down. It’s agonizing, an inch every few seconds, feeling like he’s getting stuffed full. Buck feels it all the way in his throat, he swears, the feeling of Eddie inside him. And then he bottoms out, his ass meeting Eddie’s thighs, and he has to take a moment to steady himself.
“God, you feel so good,” Eddie manages. He’s doing his best not to shift underneath Buck, but he keeps making these little movements with his hips and it’s driving Buck insane.
“Says you,” Buck mumbles out. He squeezes his eyes shut, his stomach quivering. “Is this—I’m not too heavy?”
“Buck,” Eddie says, something so unknowable in his tone that Buck has to open his eyes to look at him. Eddie gives him a soft smile. “You’re not heavy. I can take you, okay? Like this—I want you exactly like this.”
Buck mourns the decade-younger twink Buck, but vanishes him from his mind. Eddie wants him now; it’d be rude to ignore that.
“Okay, okay,” Buck manages. He takes another deep breath and then rises up.
It’s hard to set a steady pace, because Buck is focused on everything else. His eyes are trained on Eddie’s face, watching the way pleasure swims over his features. Sometimes Eddie holds his gaze, and it’s like time is suspended for those moments, just the two of them connected so intimately all that matters in the universe. But time always carries on, and Buck’s next movements makes Eddie’s face screw up in pleasure.
His thighs start burning. If Buck were a younger man, he’s probably be hard again, but he knows Eddie’s going to wring a second orgasm out of him anyways. Buck plants his hands on Eddie’s chest, his weight tilting forward and oh, that new angle is fucking amazing. Buck fucks himself on Eddie’s cock, little whines escaping him with every brush of Eddie’s cock against his prostate.
Eddie’s hands are everywhere: Buck’s hair, his back, cupping his ass as if to help him move. Eddie can’t stop touching him, like he can’t get enough of Buck, and Buck doesn’t want him to. He wants Eddie’s hands to stay on him forever, grounding him, scratching down his back and leaving angry red lines. There’s a sting, like maybe Eddie’s broken skin, and the thought is thrilling.
“Buck, I’m gonna,” Eddie says, his most coherent words since Buck started moving. “Please, can I?”
The phrasing pokes at Buck, but he can’t worry about it right now. He whines himself, dropping down and rolling his hips. “Not yet,” he says, because he doesn’t want this to end just yet. He wants to stay in this moment forever, pinning Eddie down with his weight and body, the both of them finding pleasure in it. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
Eddie seems to take that as a deal, because his hand is on Buck’s half-hard dick. It’s just this edge of overstimulation, just this side of painful. Eddie’s hand is still wet from lube, the slide easy and obscene, and Buck fucks himself into Eddie’s hand, back onto Eddie’s cock. It’s a feedback loop of pleasure clouding his mind, his muscles on the edge of overexertion, and his second orgasm sweeps over him.
He spurts onto Eddie’s stomach, not as much as the first time. Buck’s head tilts back as his orgasm sweeps up his central nervous system, his head clouded with pleasure, all his limbs turning lax. He’s distantly aware of the little movements he’s making with his hips, Eddie’s cock still inside of of him.
“Buck, Buck, Buck,” Eddie is chanting. His hands are on Buck’s hips, but not keeping him from moving. “Please, can I,” he begs, desperate with it.
Buck drops down, heavy on Eddie’s chest, and says, “Yes, yeah, you can cum, Eddie, please,” and then Eddie is groaning into his neck.
Warmth fills him, a weird fucking feeling, but Buck doesn’t shy away from it. They stay connected even after Eddie’s orgasm runs its course, and then he’s shifting, his soft dick slipping out of Buck’s entrance. With it comes cum, an obscene sensation that makes Buck think he could maybe handle a third round.
“We need to shower,” Eddie says after a long moment. “And change the sheets.”
“Morning,” Buck demands, digging his face into Eddie’s armpit. Probably gross but definitely not the grossest thing he has going on.
“You put me in the wet spot,” Eddie whines. Buck snorts. “Up, up, we’re taking that fucking shower.”
Eddie successfully bullies him into the shower, and they spend a good five minutes kissing filthily in the corner, Eddie’s hand playing with his loose entrance and the cum that’s still slipping out of him. He even washes Buck’s hair for him, sighing contentedly when Buck returns the favor. It’s not something Buck has really experienced before and there’s that feeling again: his chest cracking open, warmth spilling out of him.
Buck grabs them water while Eddie deals with the duvet, which really just means throwing it in the corner and just using the top sheet. It’s not that cold with the two of them curled together. Eddie emits warmth like a space heater, just as warm as the jacket, and Buck drifts off somewhere between glancing at his phone—early, 2 a.m.—and pressing a kiss against Eddie’s temple.
Buck is making scrambled eggs, a pot of coffee already on, when Eddie stumbles into the kitchen. Buck had woken up with the two of them still curled together, and he definitely didn’t want to get up, but his body had other plans. And once Buck is up, he’s up, so he decided to go ahead and make them breakfast. He feels stupidly pleased, like a housewife, when Eddie stumbles in with his sleep-rumbled hair and tired eyes.
“Morning,” he mutters.
Eddie looks like he’s heading straight for Buck, freezes, course corrects towards the coffee. Except Buck isn’t letting him get out of it so quickly, because he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist as he’s pouring a cup. Eddie’s free hand falls to one of his, squeezing lightly.
“Should we—?” Eddie starts, taking a sip of his too hot coffee to avoid finishing the sentence. He makes a face when it burns his tongue.
“I’m a drunk texter,” Buck starts conversationally, “but I really do not remember using my phone at all after a certain point last night.”
Still, he nods his head to where his phone is sitting on the countertop, quietly playing his daylist—nervous ocean morning, whatever that means, but is an accurate description of what Buck’s stomach is doing right now. Eddie knows Buck’s passcode, so he easily unlocks his phone. The text thread is still on the screen, so Buck gets to watch with delight as Eddie scrolls through the short exchange.
“‘Hate to be this guy but I’m breaking up with you,’” Eddie reads, the text Buck had apparently sent to Tommy at 2:18 a.m. “‘Negative ghostrider.’ Jesus Christ, Buck.”
Tommy’s responses had hit around 5 a.m., when Buck was well and truly asleep. Eddie reads those too, his tone flat: “‘Are you fucking serious, Evan? A Halloween party meant that much to you?’” A pause, because an hour later Tommy had sent, “‘Just checked Instagram. Hope you two are happy.’ Oh, what the hell does that mean?”
Buck shrugs. “Probably saw some of the pictures from last night.”
It’s not like any of them were incriminating. Buck had scrolled through his feed, looking up everyone he had followed in a blur last night. Any photos of Buck and Eddie were just—Buck and Eddie. They’re always like that.
“I broke up with him like you asked,” Buck says. He moves the pan off the burner, turns back to face Eddie. He’s wide-eyed, uncertain, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I don’t… You let me wear your abuelo’s jacket,” he decides on.
“I did,” Eddie agrees.
“You did a couples’ costume with me,” Buck continues. “You—You give me so much, Eddie.”
“I want to give you more,” Eddie breathes out. He takes a step closer, phone forgotten on the countertop. “God, I want to give you everything.”
Everything, Buck decides, pales in comparison to the thing he really wants: Eddie, underneath his hands; Eddie, the taste of coffee on his tongue; Eddie, his broad shoulders and trim waist; Eddie, the way he presses Buck against the countertop and kisses him like they’re the only two people in the world.
When they break apart, Buck presses his forehead against Eddie’s, breathing harshly. The morning sunlight glints across his eyes. It makes sense; Eddie is absolutely blinding.
“I’m probably in love with you,” Buck admits.
Eddie’s smile is bright; it rivals the sun. “Oh, good,” he says, smiling so wide it’s hard for him to get the words out. “I’m probably in love with you, too.”
Buck has to kiss him again, and again, and again, the both of them slightly hungover and sore, feeling the love cracking him open. Halloween is in two days, and then Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s. Buck’s never letting Eddie go—but certainly not any time soon.