Work Text:
Porque aún oigo tu nombre en la oscuridad
Como un susurro encendiendo mi alma sin piedad
Cada respiro me lleva al mismo lugar
No importa cuánto intente escapar
Tu nombre sigue vivo en la oscuridad
Tu Nombre en la Oscuridad – JERRY'S SOUND ROOM
Buck is used to pain.
It’s no surprise how it builds along his tibia, how it creeps down his calf, how it drives rusted pins into his knee. Buck knows this pain. Most days, he just works through it.
But chronic pain is a sneaky thing. Buck knows that some days are worse, and sometimes there’s no good reason. No emergency that made him push too hard. No accident. Sometimes it’s just a prolonged consequence of muscle damage. Or the weather. Or built-up tension.
Today is one of the bad days.
The pain is right there, deep and throbbing along the length of his fibula. A sharp twinge in his shin when he puts too much weight on his heel. Buck’s left leg is a treacherous lodger he can’t evict.
So he ignores it.
It’s what he learned to do with most things.
Buck rubbed his eyelids, his clenched teeth putting pressure on his jaw. He was in the middle of the early morning hours of a 24-hour shift. Just a little longer until he could sit on his own couch, an ice pack on his leg and a painkiller under his tongue.
His eyes are still closed when he hears the faint creak of the loft wood. Light, velvety footsteps approaching the couch. Buck draws in a quiet breath and braces himself:
“Everyone else sleeping?”
“Yes,” Eddie answers. Then he pauses. “Not you,”
Buck lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, but the sound is tired and without humor.
It doesn’t take long for Eddie to move again. Buck can hear him shifting nearby in the empty loft, so he lifts his head to meet his gaze. Not good. Eddie is close now – close enough to see the tension in his jaw. Buck knows he noticed how he spent the entire day avoiding putting weight on his bad leg.
“When did the pain start?” Of course Eddie gets straight to the point.
Buck shifts, but the change in position makes him grit his teeth again.
“Actually, it’s been worse,”
“Wasn’t the question,”
Buck holds his gaze for three full seconds, but looks away first. He doesn’t have the energy to argue.
“It started this morning. It just got worse because I was on my feet too long,” Buck shrugs, downplaying it. “It happens sometimes.”
“Oh, really? How many times?” Eddie presses, his expression unchanged.
Buck doesn’t answer. Eddie seems to take that as enough information.
Things between them had been strange. Tense. Distant. Buck had doubts about this undefined thing that was developing between them. Their emotions seemed to be merging, blending into something more than just glances and touches. It felt too delicate to define, too dangerous to say out loud, too addictive to stop.
They needed to talk.
The delay wasn’t intentional. Not entirely. It seemed like there was always an interruption, some urgent problem pulling one of them in the opposite direction. Buck could talk to him now – while the night remained quiet and free of emergencies – but his mind was tired and anxious. He didn’t know how to start. Not with the worry in Eddie’s serious gaze laying the scars of his leg bare.
From a close distance, Eddie lets out an audible sigh. As if he had given up on something pointless. Then he takes a step forward and kneels in front of the couch.
Buck’s breath catches in his throat.
“Straighten your knee,” Eddie says.
Hesitant, Buck forces his leg to extend. The discomfort following the movement in inflamed waves. Eddie’s hand curves behind his knee, firm and careful, pressing the skin over the femur to test his reaction.
Buck draws in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body stiffening before he can stop it. The pain is quick, sharp. Shooting through his shin and locking his breath in the middle of his throat.
He doesn’t pull back.
Eddie’s hand travels, warm through the fabric. Buck stays quiet. His jaw tense and the rest of his body still beneath the touch. The pressure eases, but Eddie’s fingers don’t let go. Buck stares at him while Eddie is more focused on tracing his tendons.
“It’s swollen,” Eddie observes.
Buck lets out a short laugh.
“Always good at diagnosing the obvious,” he murmurs.
Eddie doesn’t take the bait. His fingers press a little lower, following the line of the calf. Buck’s nails dig into the edge of the couch, an involuntary spasm pulling a faint sound from his throat.
“Too warm…” Eddie frowns, shaking his head. “You let it get worse.”
Buck has no comeback for that.
He swallows, lips pressed together. He doesn’t trust his tongue not to let slip something that would expose him too much.
Being alone with Eddie lately is… a challenge.
Still with his eyes fixed on his leg, Eddie slows down. He relieves the pressure of his touch again, but never removes his hand. It just stays there. Still and resting against Buck’s shin. Professional on the surface, intimate in the subtext. Exactly how he always is with Buck.
Buck swallows hard again. There’s a word for it. For this thing that’s been happening between them. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but it wasn't a name. It was more as if it – the tip – could say something bigger.
Eddie presses his lips together, the nearly invisible scar on his lip shifting and paling. Buck has to blink to look away.
Eddie had made some kind of decision. He knows. He just knows.
The contact disappears for a second. Eddie’s fingers slide down to his ankle, the pause long enough to make the gesture deliberate. Then he pulls up the hem of his pants – pushing the fabric all the way to his knee before placing his burning hand against Buck’s leg. Right on the skin.
Buck stops breathing. Stops moving.
Eddie’s hands flex, warm palms and fingers around his calf.
And they’re close. Buck can feel the heat radiating from Eddie as if he’d just stepped outside on a midsummer afternoon. It feels risky. Buck fills his lungs and forces himself to relax as he exhales, the pressure on bone and muscle slowly rivaling the intimacy of Eddie’s hold over him.
“You never tell me when you’re in pain,” Eddie says, lit by the warm, dim light of the corner lamp.
Buck doesn’t reply at first.
But then Eddie adjusts his right hand, and his thumb presses into a sensitive spot. Buck pushes himself back into the couch and tries to keep his leg steady, but the pain ignites under his skin at the same time the heat from Eddie’s hand spreads, firm and persistent.
Buck’s eyes shut, his jaw twisting on its own. A sharp movement crosses his face before he can control it.
When he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t look at his own leg. He looks at Eddie.
But Eddie’s attention is already on his face. Watching every detail Buck couldn’t hide. The uneven breath, the fluttering lashes, the way he hasn’t pulled away. While Buck tries viciously – and fails – not to think about the size of Eddie’s hands on his leg.
It’s disorienting.
“Maybe it’s because… it happens more than I like to admit.” Buck says under his breath.
Eddie’s eyes gleam. He doesn’t seem to like the answer.
“And that’s exactly why you should say it.”
Neither of them reacts for a minute, but the room feels completely stifling under the weight of all the things Buck is biting his mouth about. Eddie’s hands keep moving. They massage his calf with just the right amount of pressure, the muscle tension beginning to ease under the heat.
Buck looks away.
“I don't want to be... the guy who weighs it down,” he admits.
Eddie’s expression becomes deliberately unreadable. He slowly tightens his grip on the taut muscles of Buck’s leg. His fingers slide along the shinbone while his thumb rests, curled over the back of the knee.
“Do you think I feel that way?” he asks. It’s direct. Almost daring him.
Almost angry.
Buck scoffs.
“I’m saying I don’t want to take the risk,” he replies firmly.
Eddie’s hands stop. Two points of heat over the place Buck’s bones were crushed by twenty tons of steel.
“When are you–” Eddie breaks off with a frustrated grunt. His gaze so intense it pierces his skin. “You matter, Buck.”
The words make him shrink into a smaller size.
“It’s not about that,” Buck defends himself. “This is not the kind of thing I like to… put on other people. Everyone’s already dealing with enough problems,”
He barely finishes and Eddie looks offended.
“Oh, so that’s what you think… that you’d be too much of a problem for me to handle?”
“Anyone can get overwhelmed, Eddie,” Buck’s eyes flash.
“Then overwhelm me,” Eddie fired back. “I want you to overwhelm me,”
Buck’s mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t know what to do. Everything feels too vulnerable. Too unsure. Even so, he doesn’t pull away from the touch, doesn’t try to argue. Eddie’s hand holds him more than any argument.
Fuck. They need to talk.
Buck’s gaze wavers, too much clarity gathering there.
“You really don’t know what you’re asking for,”
Eddie leans back just enough to face Buck head-on. His expression serious, with that dangerous calm Buck has seen before.
“I don’t?” he asks, searching his face for clues and daring him to look away.
He doesn’t.
“This…” Buck shakes his head, his heart racing. “This is exactly the kind of thing that usually goes wrong for me,”
Eddie’s jaw tightens.
"I'm not the others, Buck."
"I know that,"
“You do? Then what are we doing here?” Eddie asks. The slight sharpness piercing through Buck’s chest.
It’s a great question. The answer could easily be “because I’ve been circling around this for years and I can’t run away anymore.” Buck knows there’s nearly a decade of friendship tying his tongue. Years of self-sabotage competing with feelings that are just too big. Neither of them has any idea how this is going to end.
It reminds him of the argument in Eddie’s kitchen.
It’s like one is always pushing the other, picking a fight just to make him say what he really wants.
Buck draws in an unsteady breath, his hands trembling against the couch.
“I don’t think I’d have the guts to talk about this if I’d had a few more hours of sleep,” he starts out lower than he expected, his skin suddenly seeming too tight to contain all his flesh.
The brown depths of Eddie's eyes shift, analyzing him. He doesn’t say anything. He waits.
That only makes things worse for Buck. It turns the nervousness into an uncomfortable itch that he soothes by pressing his teeth against his own tongue.
“Come on, Eddie. You know what I'm talking about,” he pleads, his voice coming out lower. Softer.
Eddie’s expression changes – eases. He considers it for what feels like minutes. Serious minutes. But when he answers, his tone sounds reluctant.
“You don’t usually hesitate with this kind of thing,” Eddie says carefully.
Okay. So they’re definitely having this conversation.
Buck’s heart skips a beat, but it’s more than just anxiety. Mostly. The anxiety is still there.
“It’s different with you,”
Eddie’s pupils deepen, swallowing the remaining light between them.
“Then stop running from me,” Eddie says more slowly, more firmly. His hand pressing into the back of Buck’s leg as he demands to be included. “Tell me what you need,”
Buck takes a ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs and echoing in his throat.
“I...” he falters, swallowing hard. “I’m afraid to say what I want... and it be too much,”
Buck’s irises flicker. He wets his lips, trying to think beyond this senseless longing. Beyond the heavy air in his lungs. Beyond Eddie’s worried gaze locked on him.
It’s in Buck’s nature to keep going. He keeps going through pain. Through nerves. Even when it feels like the world might end.
So, even now, he keeps going too.
“I’m afraid of being too much,” Buck admits. “And pushing you away,”
Automatically, Eddie’s fist tightens around his knee.
Buck cracks a tired, genuine smile.
“I’m not talking about my leg,”
“I know,” Eddie says with a quick, intense nod. “Me neither,”
They hold each other’s gaze for a few silent, tense seconds. Eddie’s right hand comes up to rest on Buck’s other leg, burning hot through the fabric of his pants. His fingers tighten slightly before Eddie intentionally relaxes them, as if forcing himself not to hold on too hard.
“You don’t push anyone in this family away by feeling,” he says, firm. “Not me,”
Buck lets out a faint laugh. Almost flirting.
“I’m not afraid of losing the family,”
He can see when Eddie swallows. The muscles beneath the skin of his throat moving in a click. They both know El Paso is left unspoken between the lines.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie assures him. “Every time you try to push me away… I will stay.”
A bolt of heat spreads through Buck’s chest. It showed no mercy. The bolt coursed through every inch of his body, every bone under his skin, every thought in his head.
The air between him and Eddie seemed to thicken, dense and sluggish, as if every molecule of oxygen had turned into liquid.
“Even if I want something else from you?” Buck asks, slow and suggestive.
They’ve never spoken like this before.
Eddie’s gaze seemed to heat up. He scanned Buck’s face, calm and silent.
It seemed like his pulse liked that. Every part.
“If you want more…” Eddie slides his thumb under the hem, reaching a strip of untouched skin on Buck’s thigh. The touch charged with electricity.
Buck’s mouth parts open.
“Then we can be more than this,” Eddie whispered.
Before Buck can react, footsteps echo on the loft stairs.
They both startle. Eddie’s hand withdrew from Buck’s pants but didn't leave his leg. It just settles into a safer position.
A coworker from the opposite shift appears at the top of the stairs, face heavy with sleep. He doesn’t look toward the couch. Just drags himself silently across the room, heading straight into the kitchen. There’s the click of the coffee machine, the sound of cabinets opening – small noises spread through the loft and suspend whatever was about to happen.
Buck looks at Eddie, anxiously.
He sees him glance over his shoulder, alert and assessing, before lowering his face. Like he’s organizing a quick decision.
Then Eddie lifts his chin. His eyes are heavier now, firm with intent and sending a jolt down Buck’s spine. He looked like this when he jumped off the bridge. Throwing himself into the sea before Buck could.
“Come with me to the roof,” Eddie says.
A rush of ice drops into Buck’s stomach, spreading through his chest and raising goosebumps along his skin.
He nods.
He and Eddie stood up close together and headed toward the side door that leads to the building’s rooftop. They crossed the station in silence. There’s a completely ignorable twinge in his leg as they climb the stairs to the roof, opening the door to the night air. The dry Los Angeles wind hit Buck’s arms in a light, restless gust.
Buck took a few steps into the empty space, turning to see Eddie close the metal door behind them. Their eyes met for two seconds. Maybe not even that.
Then there’s a hurried approach and Eddie’s mouth meeting him halfway. Buck lets out a groan on an exhale, pushing Eddie’s back against the concrete wall with his hands on his shirt collar. They kiss with a ravenous need, with despair, as if crushed noses and teeth weren’t enough to bring them close enough. It doesn’t take long before they’re out of breath, but it marks a shift in everything.
“Your leg…” Eddie pants.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Buck dismissed, kissing the scar on Eddie’s lips as his mouth parted, blowing hot air onto Buck’s skin just as his tongue slipped inside.
It’s like a bruise. Eddie’s taste burns slowly through his body, cascading down his nerve endings like an avalanche. He drags his hands lower, palms spreading across that tight curve of Eddie’s waist like it doesn’t matter if his thumbs meet over his abdomen.
Eddie’s hips twitch, and, after all, this is what Buck can’t believe he causes. This movement. He has to take a deep breath to keep from shuddering, his open mouth pressed against Eddie’s. He wants more. He needs more, but…
“Shit,” Buck swears under his breath. “We’re at work,”
“Who cares? Who cares? Let me kiss you,” Eddie grits out, his hands rising to grab the back of Buck’s neck. Kisses him with a suffocating intensity that makes his lungs burn.
Buck lets out a broken sound – his shoulders giving in as he puts his hands on Eddie’s ass and rolls his hips inward. Eddie groans at that, low and rough, his fingers tracing the texture of Buck’s abs through his shirt. Then, suddenly, he moves, shifting them to press Buck against the wall. Eddie’s belly presses and breathes against his as if he needs to fuse them together.
Buck could die. Screw the throbbing in his leg.
“You’re getting that leg checked,” Eddie says against his mouth as if he’s reading his thoughts. Fair enough. Buck wouldn’t even be surprised if he was. “And take a painkiller as soon as we step back into the station,”
Buck smiles in the dark, feeling Eddie’s nose against his cheek and his lower lip brushing his chin.
“Yes, sir. Eddie, sir,” he teased.
Eddie drew a breath that faltered halfway, his whole body going rigid for half a second. Then his hand shot up too quickly, pulling Buck’s face forward as he kissed him with urgency.
Forget could, Buck is really going to die.
He can barely keep up, a smile slipping through the kiss and interrupting him from continuing, even though they never really pull apart. Eddie doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it feels like they fit better like this.
“This is going to complicate things,” Eddie vents, “One kiss and I’m already breaking workplace conduct rules,”
Buck actually laughs at that.
“You’ve always been terrible at following rules when it comes to me,” he says lightly, leaning his head against the wall to look at Eddie’s face.
Damn, he’s a mess. Dilated pupils, tousled hair, a soft red mark on his neck.
I caused this. Buck thinks.
“I never tried,” Eddie replies distantly, his thumb sliding across Buck’s lower lip. It looks like an unconscious movement. Buck licks his mouth.
“Why?”
Eddie’s gaze turns warm, open, and exposed with something that wasn’t there before. He gives Buck an intimate smile.
“Because it’s you.”