contain multitudes

“You can go back to bed, if you want.”

Eddie finally opens his eyes. Buck is at the stove, scrambling up enough eggs for a small army. He’s wearing his own hoodie but borrowed sweatpants, fabric stretched tight around his thighs. He glances up at Eddie through the corner of his eye, offering an apologetic smile. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

It’s true, he could just go back to bed. They’re in the middle of their 48 off, no plans for the day but chores and a grocery run. But Eddie shakes his head to get the last clinging cobwebs of sleep out. “Nah, I’m up now,” he says as he takes a step closer to his waiting mug.

But first, he steps into Buck’s space, mindful of the stove. He brushes his fingertips against Buck’s cheek, catching slightly on the scratch of his stubble, until Buck turns to look at him with curiosity in the furl of his brow.

Eddie kisses him.

Soft and light, it’s done almost as soon as it’s started.

“Good morning,” Eddie murmurs against his lips before he steps away and finally,finally, gets his hands onhis coffee.

He takes a long swallow. As expected, there’s been a little extra sugar stirred in. It’s delightfully warm.

He dips his hand into the sink for the damp washcloth that’s now perpetually on hand, setting his mug down as he swoops around to the other side of the island. “Morning, Chris,” he says as he presses a kiss to the top of his son’s head, stealing a piece of extra-crisp bacon from his plate, ignoring the protests both actions cause. “And good morning, Master Theodore,” he says with the best Michael Caine impression he can muster this early, this pre-caffeine, as he snags a spit-wet hand and starts to scrub.

“That’s not my name!” Theo giggles and squirms in his seat, but allows Eddie to clean him up, turning his face into it as the pink on his cheeks stops being a juice stain and becomes a pleased flush.

“Wait, is Theo your full name, or…?” Chris has finished tearing pancakes into toddler-sized pieces and is now carefully adding a drizzle of syrup to the mix. Eddie sighs, grabbing his mug again, resigned to staying right where he is with the washcloth at the ready.

He looks up at Buck once he’s had another sip. Buck, who’s standing there, staring at him.

He’s looking a little wall-eyed. Might need some medical attention for the stroke.

Eddie nods his chin back towards the stove. “Your eggs.”

And then he winks.

He’s immediately rewarded with Buck’s eyes growing huge, his posture straightening, lips parting like he’s about to actually say something. Then his limbs are flailing as he turns back towards the stove, lifting the pan and scraping at the contents with a muffled, “Shhhhhoot.”

Eddie smiles to himself as he raises his mug back to his lips, watching the tense line of Buck’s shoulders, down the ramrod of his back. Huh, his sweatpants are tight back there, too, who’d have thought?

Buck turns, pan in hand, and starts to dole out eggs, piling Chris’s plate high with all the crispy edges. He comes around to Eddie’s side, arms brushing as he puts a more modest scoop onto Theo’s plate, leaning close as he breaks it up into more bite-sized chunks with the wooden spoon.

There’s a brush of lips against Eddie’s cheek, the soft noise of a tentative peck.

Eddie smiles and leans into Buck, pushes their hips together, side by side for a moment before Buck moves on to make their own plates.

“Finally,” Chris says, mouth full to bursting with a bit of everything from his plate. “Buck? Ketchup?”

“Sure thing, bud,” says Buck.

“Manners,” sighs Eddie.

“Catch up!” shrieks Theo. Eddie catches his arm as he throws them into the air and starts to wipe down a syrupy hand before it gets tangled in his hair. Again.

Then Eddie goes and makes two more cups of coffee.