#brewrosemilk

The night is silent. Peacefully so, after the day they have had, but it also feels slightly eerie for the same reason. Everything has been complete chaos. And now they're just... here.

"...you've been spiraling ever since..." he trails off, which isn't really like him—but it's clear why he does it. Of course it is. "...and it makes sense, and I'm sure seeing me get shot, vest or not, didn't bring up a lot of good memories for you, either—but whatever you're thinking right now, you need to stop," he says, with a soft shake of his head. There are those eyes again. Gentle, and warm, and kind, and about two sizes too large. Buck's karma, perhaps.

"...just keep thinking..." Buck starts with a sigh, subconsciously tucking his hands into his pockets to match Eddie's as he lifts his shoulders into a tight shrug. "...maybe... maybe kids aren't for me, maybe I'm not meant to..." he tries, pausing before opening his mouth again—only Eddie beats him to it.

"You're a great father, Buck," he says. Buck frowns.

"I'm not a f—I haven't even seen Theo since it happened, and even if—"

"—who's talking about Theo?" Eddie asks, a frown carving its way onto his face, but it's not without a hint of lightness. As if he knows he's confusing Buck. And enjoying it, just to lighten the mood—just for a moment. "You've been Chris' other dad for almost ten years, that... that's not something that would suddenly snap into effect if, God forbid, I ever..." Eddie briefly breaks their eye-contact, sucking his teeth, before relaxing again, their eyes meeting. "We're a team. We've always been a team. How do you not see that?"

And Eddie, oh... the look on Eddie's face is softer than Buck has ever seen it. Perhaps, if he were more willing to be delusional about things, and give himself false hope, he might even call it... in love.

T || 4.6k

“The whole, uh…” Buck has to take a beat to swallow; he’s not smiling anymore—Eddie isn’t either. They’re just breathing. Stalling—not because they’re nervous, but because it feels good—stalling; soaking this in. This very moment, right here; the second they do this, everything is going to change. Buck can’t wait for everything to change, but this is good, too—sitting at the very top of a rollercoaster, just waiting for the drop. The rush. “…whole confessing your, uh…” Buck continues—eyes falling closed; they’re too close to see anything now, anyway. Eddie’s hand has stopped combing through his curls, instead supporting the back of his head above where his forearm is doing the same. Holding him. “…confessing your mutual, undying love thing. ‘S usually sealed with a kiss.” If his chin twitches a fraction of an inch up, and his bottom lip drops just a little bit, he thinks he’s allowed. “Eddie…” he breathes, when an entire second passes and he doesn’t move. Or speak.

“You’re letting me take the jump off the bridge?” Eddie jokes through a whisper—almost as if they’re two teenagers, giggling under the covers at a sleepover way past their bedtime.

T || 1.6k || 9.13 coda

"I don't think you're supposed to drop life-changing information on a guy with a concussion," Buck hums, voice suddenly deeper—raspier, his eyebrow arching again, with more confidence this time, his gaze briefly dropping to Eddie's lips, just a fraction of a second, but enough for a bolt of heat to make its way down Eddie's spine.

"You don't have a concussion, I was with you at the hospital, dumbass," Eddie shoots back, but he feels his voice do the same shift, further down his throat, raspier, a little bit breathless, volume fading back to a near-whisper. Private.

"You're not supposed to be mean to a kidnapping victim, either," Buck bickers back, their words growing further and further away from their tone as their faces drift closer, Buck's hand leaving Eddie's wrist with a squeeze, settling on his hip instead, warm like a branding iron even through several layers of clothing.

"I just told you I'm in love with you, that's what you call being mean?"

E || 5.9k

It’s him. On the shirt.

Not a jersey, not something from a commercial he did, it’s… several pictures of him, put together into a collage—it’s… not ugly, he supposes, but it’s abundantly clear it’s not a shirt Ilya got from any professional event or campaign. It’s just Shane’s face, five, six times over—one is his official headshot for the NHL, some other photos he remembers, some he has no idea where they came from. Above is his name and jersey number.

➤ read on ao3

➤ i’ve been on a redbubble kick lately so you can check out the shirts fr:

[x] [x] [x]

T || 1.3k

“I loved you then.”

“So I win?”

“Isn’t the winner the one who made the other one fall in love first? That’s me.”

“No, the winner is the one who fell in love first,” Ilya argues.

“If I fell in love first, you would be arguing the other way.”

“Of course. So would you. Is what we do. Compete,” Ilya says—and then, smoothly and quickly, not giving Shane a chance to react, he uses his weight to roll them over, carding a second hand through his hair, combing it back towards the pillow as Shane looks up at him with a gaze so tender it nearly—nearly—makes Ilya want to shy away from it. “But I always win.”

“Not always.”

“Mostly.”

“Not mostly.”

“Sometimes win.”

T || 2.2k

“Maddie thinks you’re in love with me,” Eddie states, and Buck nods once. “Are you?” he repeats—slower now, not as if Buck is stupid—never, not once, has he ever made Buck feel stupid—but as if he’s… encouraging him to… slow down. To process.

“I-I love you,” is all Buck can stutter, along with as much of a shrug as he can manage in this position.

“And I love you,” Eddie confirms—still slow. “But that’s not what I asked you, either.”

M || 4.7k

It’s not that Eddie is against it—he fully intends on joining in… at some point. It’s just fun seeing how many ridiculous ones Buck can come up with before he finally gives in.

That being said, he resonates that if he doesn’t actually say anything, he’s not actually giving in.

Which is how he finds himself in the engine at the end of a shift, tuning out the rest of the team’s conversation, instead deliberately knocking his foot against Buck’s. Once. Buck knocks back, of course—he doesn’t even think he realizes he does it, it’s just… how they work, how they move—what they do. Then he does it again, and again, and finally Buck’s eyes settle on his, an amused crease of confusion between his eyebrows as he keeps tapping him back.

“Knocking boots!” Buck announces the second they climb back into his Jeep after the shift—so loudly he nearly startles Eddie with it, finger wagging up in the air and everything—like he just figured out the meaning of life. “You…” he leans across the gearshift to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips—both of them humming into it. “…were saying knocking boots,” he repeats, a broad grin of self-satisfaction on his face as he leans back into his own seat and starts the car up. “I’m breaking you.”

“Hm, I didn’t actually say anything,” Eddie points out, arching an eyebrow.

“Ah, but I’m getting closer!”

M || 1k

“Just saying, boss—appreciate you letting me live out the full mortal tragedy—but you can’t tell me you didn’t have more fun getting your mouth all over me in the seventies,” he huffs—and he does it with a twitch of a smile, doing his best to make it humorous—to hide the very real twinge of insecurity within it.

“You’re insecure,” Armand notes, with a tilt of his head—like that thought would never once have occurred to him.

“Not insecure,” Daniel huffs. “Merely stating a fact.”

“And if I told you I am far more attracted to the body you inhabit now than the one you bore back in San Francisco?”