#fixation fic

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Eddie smiles. “Hey, bud. How was your big date last night?”

This, he knows how to talk about. Buck likes knitting now. “Did you know knitting is older than recorded history?” he asks.

“Tell me about it.” Eddie steps aside so Buck can step in. Friendly of him. But then he tries to take Buck’s tote bag.

Buck yanks it away and presses it to his chest.

“Okay there, Fort Knox?” Eddie asks.

“I have cookies,” Buck says. Still clutching his tote bag tightly.

“Pretty sure you only have crumbs now.”

That… might be true. Buck peeks in the bag. He’s good. Mildly squished cookies atop three tank tops, none the worse for wear.

“Bathroom,” he tells Eddie. He doesn’t have the time to be polite. He needs to dispose of the shirts before Eddie looks in the bag. Buck let himself down here. He should’ve been prepared for the way Eddie always goes right for the food.

“You know where it is.” Eddie reaches for the bag again. “Let me put that in the kitchen for you.” 

Buck dodges, spinning away so Eddie’s hand glances off his shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

“You’re taking cookies to the bathroom.”

“It’s none of your business where I take my cookies.”

“It is when it’s my bathroom.”

“I’ll keep them in the bag.”

Eddie doesn’t try to stop Buck again, so he scurries down the hallway. This is not going to plan. He should’ve put one of his own sweatshirts in the bag between the cookies and the tank tops, but he wasn’t thinking. None of this was planned. He saw the sale while he was out buying a new pair of shorts to jog in, since his last pair had an unfortunate run in with a fence that left him clutching them up to protect his modesty the whole two and a half miles home, and then he blacked out and owned three tank tops in his best friend’s size and zero new pairs of shorts. He’d already planned to bake the cookies, trying out a new recipe with even more protein, so he tossed them together while the shirts were in the wash. And now here he is, bypassing Eddie’s bathroom to stroll into his bedroom.

Tagged by @eddiesgayladder & @eddiesstabwound (lots of eddie love today). Here's a snippet from my fixation fic, which unfortunately won't be posted today because it's now over 10k and grew a plot from somewhere.

“Got you a shirt.”

“Thanks.” Eddie stands, then reaches up to drape his soaked shirt over the rod, pushing the shower curtain aside to make space. Reaching up shows off his shoulders, but Buck's eyes don't linger, because he can't look at the twin bullet holes without remembering how it felt to watch him get shot. It's lucky Eddie keeps talking, or Buck might get lost in his memories forever. “Hold on to it for a moment, would you? There's no point in getting another one wet.”

Buck nods. Then he remembers Eddie can't see him. His voice is raspy when he says, “Okay.”

This isn't about getting Eddie out of his clothes, whatever it is. Buck isn't violating Eddie. He likes his arms. That isn't a crime. 

But now that he's had the thought, the idea lingers. Is he hurting Eddie somehow by doing this? He'd never trick a woman into taking off her shirt or wearing clothes he picked out. That's the behavior of some kind of freak. 

Buck shuts his eyes. He doesn't deserve to look at Eddie like this, when he's manipulated him into getting half-naked. 

Eddie's hands land on his. They're still damp, a little cold from the water. He takes the shirt away from Buck. 

“I'll get you a different one,” Buck offers, suddenly horrified by his own plan. 

There's a soft swish of fabric, then Eddie's voice again. “This one's comfortable. You can open your eyes, I'm decent.”

Buck does, only to find Eddie smiling at him. He very nearly slams them shut again. Eddie doesn't know the power his smiles hold. Buck's not sure he knew before this moment, but now that he's had the thought, it seems obvious. There's nothing better in Buck's whole world than Eddie's smile. 

Except for his arms. If it weren't for Eddie's biceps, Buck wouldn't be in this predicament. 

“You've never been decent,” Buck shoots back. It's weak, but he has to say something. If he doesn't start talking, redirect them, he doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't trust himself. “Passable, maybe.”

Eddie's laugh comes out as a bark. He claps his hand on Buck's shoulder, but doesn't hold on. Lets go in an instant. Loss floods in to fill the hole of his touch. “Between you and Christopher, I don't need any help staying humble.”

“You don't even know what humble means.”

Eddie laughs again, shakes his head, and if stopped there, it would be fine. But he doesn't. He holds one arm up and flexes, the muscle rippling right there in front of Buck's eyes like Eddie doesn't even care about his blood pressure. “Some guys would say I don't have anything to be humble about.”

“Not you, though.”

Eddie brushes past Buck to leave the bathroom. The bare skin of his arm is hot even through the fabric of Buck's shirt. “Nah,” he says. “Not me.”