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Buck’s never liked country bars. Not really. They’re too loud, too themed, too... performative. Everything's dressed up in denim and nostalgia, as if rhinestones and whiskey shots can smooth over whatever ache made people want to line dance in the first place. It isn’t that it’s the worst bar experience in the world, but it’s not authentic. He’s been a ranch hand, his best friend is from Texas. He knows that the south isn't all flannel and spurred boots. A country bar in LA is just a mix of country pop, bad whiskey cocktails, and too drunk people who can’t actually dance in a straight line.
Still, he finds himself leaning against the polished wood bar, sipping a beer and watching Eddie Diaz laugh so hard he nearly drops his drink. He looks beautiful in the dim lighting, dark wash jeans with an obnoxiously large belt buckle hugging him just right and a cowboy hat perched on the top of his head. It’s everything that Buck loves about Eddie in one snapshot. The relaxed, perfectly comfortable, easy confidence. It’s the best version of Eddie and Buck is obsessed with it.
They’ve only been here an hour. Eddie himself only back in LA for six days. He hasn’t even been back to work full time yet. He’s just been moving boxes slowly back into the Diaz house and trying to put his life back together. And Buck has been quietly and privately, absolutely losing his mind over it all.
Not that anyone would know it. Buck’s good at the grin, at the easy laugh, the shoulder claps and back slaps. He even helped Chim pick this ridiculous bar that he hates, but knows that the others think is perfect. They’d all agreed to the cowboy theme with a kind of chaotic glee. Hen because she wanted an excuse to wear leather boots, Chim because he loves a good theme, and Bobby because it gave him a distraction. Even Ravi had said yes because he can’t say no to any of them to save his life. Buck said yes because he wanted to pretend this was normal. As if Eddie coming back and bringing Chris with him wasn’t the world righting itself again.
Buck feels like he’s maybe always knows that he was a little bit in love with Eddie. It’s just that it was easy to ignore when he wasn't even sure of what the feelings were himself. But, when Tommy had blown his life apart in the best way possible it made it all harder and harder to ignore. The feelings kept growing, pushing against his ribcage in a way that was more painful than the way the embolism had exploded out of him, dripping blood in its wake. In many ways, Buck wonders if it would be easier if his heart leapt from his chest, leaving him with a gaping hole instead of the confusion and pain he has whenever he looks at Eddie. He thought it would be fine, especially with the other man staying in Texas. Until it wasn’t. Until he was standing right in front of Buck again. He’d just decided that he’d stay back during the party, stick to the bar with a beer and try to avoid Eddie. It shouldn’t be that difficult, not when everyone was wanting to talk to him and catch up.
He’d lasted maybe ten minutes before Eddie had found his hiding spot, sliding up next to him “Hey,” he said, voice low and warm against the shell of Buck’s ear. “Miss me?”
Buck had just laughed, trying to keep it light. “You know it, cowboy, ” he joked, hoping it would land without being too obvious.
And then Eddie had actually blushed. A real one, visible even under the dim lighting and beneath the brim of the hat on his head. It’s not even a good hat. It’s clearly store bought, not one of his several stetsons that sit on the top shelf of the closet, the ones his Abuelo had made sure he was gifted when he’d “become a real Texas man.” Still. Buck couldn’t stop looking at it, couldn’t stop thinking about what Eddie would look like passing it over to someone, pressing it down on some beautiful woman’s head and giving her that little, shy smile that indicates his interest. His fingers grip the bottle in his hands tightly. He needs to cool off. Needs space. Needs–
“Buck.”
He turns, and there Eddie is again, hip cocked against the bar, cheeks still flushed. His eyes scan Buck slowly–too slowly, like he’s doing some type of inventory. Buck feels suddenly transparent under his gaze.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Eddie says.
Buck gives him the same grin he always does, though it feels shakier now, less confident than it usually is. “You found me.”
Eddie tips his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Dance with me?”
Buck snorts. “You even know how to do this two-step?” He glances around at the crowd of drunk strangers, who definitely aren’t dancing to the song correctly, but at least they all look like they’re having fun.
“Not a clue.”
But he still holds out his hand.
Buck looks at it. At the curve of Eddie’s fingers, the calluses on his palm, the little woven bracelet Chris made for him still looped around his wrist.
He reaches out and lets their fingers link together as Eddie drags him to the dance floor.
—
They don’t dance well.
That’s the first thing Buck notices. They’re both too tall and clumsy, too wrapped into each other’s gravitational pull to fall into any real rhythm. But neither of them seem to care and everyone is too drunk to notice the way they awkwardly shuffle in slow circles near the edge of the dance floor while other couples spin in patterns around them. It’s a little weird, and Buck feels like their bodies are pressed just a little too close on some moves. But, it’s nice, and Buck tries to savor the feeling of it all. It might be the alcohol but he’s letting his guard down just a bit, and he wants to commit it all to memory before he shoves it back into the locked box in his mind tomorrow.
“I missed this,” Eddie says softly, breath brushing Buck’s ear as they pass too close again.
“What, dancing like idiots in a bar full of fake cowboys?”
Eddie chuckles. “No. You.”
Buck doesn’t respond. Really, he can’t. He doesn’t trust his own voice. His heart is a drumline in his ribs, fast and panicked and loud enough to drown out the music. He wants to say I missed you too, but the words get stuck in his throat. If he says something now, loosened by the booze and dim lighting, he’ll say something he regrets. Instead, he just lets himself lean in a little closer.
They’ve always touched like this—casual, constant. But, it feels a little different now, more loaded. Eddie holds him at the hips like an anchoring point and Buck lets him as he lets his head fall to Eddie’s shoulder, hot breath dancing on his collar bone. It’s a gravitational pull, one that Buck’s never been able to resist. And maybe Eddie can’t either,he realizes. Maybe… just maybe… they both know.
“You ever gonna tell me what you were doing in Texas all that time?” Buck asks softly after a beat. Sure, they’d talked a lot while Eddie was away but never about anything other than Christopher and house repairs. He knows there was more than that going on, that there’s something he’s hiding from everyone. But, he never hides anything from Buck, the questions just have to be asked.
Eddie’s face softens. “Trying to figure some stuff out.”
“I’d you uh– figure it out?”
“Some of it,” Eddie murmurs. Then, quieter: “Still working on the rest.”
And that, right there, is when Buck feels it. The shift. The electricity that sparks between them. He often thought it was just him, but now, in this bar, pressed together. He knows it isn’t just him anymore. It’s Eddie too.
Eddie’s eyes are locked on his, and there’s a question hanging in the air between them, unspoken but loud it the way it thrums in the silence.
Buck doesn't say anything. He just sways closer, his forehead nearly brushing Eddie’s, and Eddie doesn’t move away.
—
They don’t talk much after that.
They keep dancing as one song melts into another. A line dance here, a rap remix there. Eddie spins them around to “Country Girl,” until they’re both laughing so hard they have to lean up against the exposed brick wall to catch their breath. A slow cover of “You’re Still the One” starts playing and someone whoops from the bar. Chim, probably. Buck ignores him.
He doesn’t want this to end. The world feels smaller here, narrowed down to Eddie’s hand in his and the quiet way their shoulders press together. It’s not exactly romantic, but it’s real and a little bit intimate. The kind of thing Buck’s been craving for months, through ill-time phone calls and awkward FaceTime. It’s the connection he was craving when he’d let Tommy back into his bed, only to have to face it all in the cold light of day and be forced to pinpoint those feelings for what they really were. Who they were for. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been craving this since the first time he and Eddie met, and it’s only grown. It builds with every touch of their fingers and each long, lingering look. Neither of them have truly faced it, he thinks. But, in this room, Eddie cradled in his arms as they laugh, he realizes how far gone he truly is.
“You look good in black,” Eddie says, voice muffled against the music. He’s staring at Buck’s chest where a patch of sweat has started to soak through the thin fabric, his flannel overshirt chucked into a random booth hours ago.
Buck’s eyes snap to his. “What?”
“The shirt. It’s... good.”
Buck laughs, too loud and too quick. “Jesus, Diaz, are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.” Eddie’s voice is light, but his eyes stay intense. “Is it working?”
Buck’s heart skips.
He wants to say yes. Wants to pull him closer. Wants to press him up against the brick at their backs and kiss him until he forgets all about Texas and distance and time.
Instead, he says, “You’re drunk.”
Eddie lifts a brow. “Only had two beers.”
“That’s enough to make you bold.”
Eddie smirks. “Guess I’m just done waiting.”
And then—casually, almost like a joke—he reaches up and plucks the cowboy hat from his own head, and drops it onto Buck’s. He gives a bit of a smile as he leans back and pats the hat twice so it sits solidly against the mess of curls.
Buck freezes.
He knows the cowboy hat rule. Everyone does. You don’t just give your hat to someone unless you’re choosing them. Unless you’re making a move. Unless you’re claiming them . Eddie grew up in Texas, he knows the rule. They’ve talked about it before, he’s pretty sure. Back when Chris was just starting to think about dating, and he and Eddie had talked about their early years, Eddie had laughed out loud about those times at the lake where his friends would bring those stupid tourist trap hats to give to the girls they’d surely see. It was stupid and fun, the type of youthful thing that Eddie didn’t get to enjoy often. But, Buck remembers him telling the story. Remembers him talking about the time he carefully, with clumsy fingers, had dropped his hat on Shannon’s head, her bangs falling into her eyes with a shy smile. So, Eddie knows what he’s doing. What he's just done. What it means.
Buck’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
Eddie grins, wicked and confident in a way Buck hasn’t seen since the early days of them meeting. Eddie isn’t the smoothest man in the world sometimes. But, when he wants something… it’s a sight to behold. Or, at least Buck thinks so.
“C’mon,” he says, curling a finger in Buck’s belt loop with a soft tug. “Help me find somewhere quiet.”
Buck goes without a word.
Because of course he does.
—
They make it as far as the utility closet behind the bathrooms. It’s barely wide enough for both of them, and the light overhead flickers like it’s protesting the idea of having to illuminate the space. It smells faintly of bleach and moldy wood, but Buck’s senses are already too overwhelmed to care.
The second the door clicks shut, Eddie’s on him, pressing him up against the shelving unit, kissing him like he’s starving, paper products and cleaning products falling to the floor around them.
Buck kisses back with an equal amount of intensity.
It’s all hands and heat. Tongue and teeth. Eddie’s thigh easily slots between his legs like it belongs there, like they’re pieces of a puzzle fitting together for the first time.. Buck gasps when it connects, grinding down instinctively as the friction sends jolts of electricity through his body.
“You okay?” Eddie murmurs against his mouth, thumb stroking under Buck’s jaw.
Buck nods frantically, then stops himself. “Wait–no, I mean–uh–yes, but... are you ?” In all his dreams and fantasies, that’s all this has ever been. A fantasy. Eddie is straight, is what he’s been telling himself for months. He’s held back, not wanting to be predatory, a cliche in the form of a man who discovers his sexuality only to fall for his straight best friend. Except… except Eddie initiated this and so Buck has to know. Because if Eddie isn't all in, if he isn't sure. It would break Buck a part.
Eddie doesn’t hesitate, words falling from his spit slick lips. “I’ve never been more sure.”
And then he kisses Buck again, slower this time, but deeper. Messier. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of Buck’s mouth. His fingers fumble with the buttons of Buck’s shirt, pushing it open to reveal bare skin underneath.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Eddie breathes, dragging his mouth down Buck’s throat. He licks a stripe across Buck’s collarbone and sucks hard enough to leave a mark. Buck moans and tilts his head back, letting it happen even though he knows it’s going to be visible to everyone tomorrow. He has hand tangled in Eddie’s hair, the other gripping the shelf behind him so hard it creaks under their combined weight.
“Eddie,” Buck pants into the limited space between them. “You– fuck –where did this come from?”
Eddie bites down, not hard, just enough to make Buck shiver under the touch. “Texas is really boring when you’re trying not to jerk off to your best friend.”
“ Jesus Christ .”
Eddie’s hand slips down, palming Buck through his jeans. “That still okay?”
“More than,” Buck groans, hips stuttering against the touch. There’s too many layers and now that Buck knows that Eddie wants, well, he can’t help the way that makes him like putty in those large, capable hands.
They fumble with each other’s belts, the clink of metal buckles and zipper teeth feels deafening in the small space. Buck’s jeans slide down to his thighs and Eddie’s follow, the air cool against their skin.
And then Eddie’s hand wraps around both of them–one firm grip, the heat of his palm dizzying–and Buck nearly comes from that alone.
“Fuck,” he gasps, forehead pressed to Eddie’s, eyes squeezed shut.
Eddie kisses him again, slower now, like he’s trying to ground them both. His hand moves in steady strokes, not rushed, not frantic. Just intentional . He’s a man on a mission and Buck has to bite his own lip until it bleeds to try and stop himself from being heard over the music playing loudly outside of the closet.
Buck’s own hand slips down, curling around the base of Eddie’s cock, and Eddie curses into his mouth. They rut together in the tight space, thighs brushing, breath mingling, the occasional thud of Buck’s back hitting the shelf behind him.
“Been thinking about this,” Eddie whispers, lips against Buck’s ear, “for so fucking long.”
Buck whimpers. “Yeah?”
“You have no idea,” Eddie pants. “You–wearing my hat and–I–looking at me like that— fuck .”
Buck tightens his grip. “Like what?”
“Like you’re already mine.”
Buck moans, his hips jerking helplessly. “I am .”
That breaks something open between them. It’s like Buck has whispered the secrets of the universe and unearthed something between them that they’ve never named, never spoken aloud. Because Buck is Eddie’s and Eddie is Buck’s. It’s BuckandEddie. Always has been. Maybe it’s just… more now.
They come a few seconds apart, Eddie first with a strangled groan and his hand clenched in the front of Buck’s shirt, and then Buck, undone by the sound and the heat and the way Eddie’s looking at him, wrecked and wicked.
He comes with his face buried in Eddie’s neck, trembling and gasping for air.
For a long moment, they just lean against each other, catching their breath. Buck’s still half-hard and dazed, the cowboy hat somehow still balanced on his head, tilted low.
Eddie reaches up and nudges it further down over Buck’s eyes.
“That’s definitely yours now,” he says, voice rough with fondness.
Buck groans weakly, muffled under the brim. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yours,” Eddie says, and kisses him again, all soft and sweet.
They don’t make it far after that, just leaning against each other in the darkness. Their pants are half undone, Buck backed against a shelf, Eddie’s hands on his hips and purpling bruises starting to form at the junction where his jaw meets his neck. He knows that he must look like a sight; all messy hair and sweat slick skin. Eddie isn’t faring much better with kiss swollen lips and still sticky fingers neither of them are sure how to clean off. Buck leans into Eddie a little more, like he’s trying to make them one person. There’s nowhere he’d rather be and he feels perfect right here, against this wall and he never wants to leave the little bubble of intimacy they’ve created.
The door swings open.
“Hey, is this where they keep–holy shit !”
Ravi.
They freeze.
Eddie pulls back slowly. Buck’s flannel button up is completely open. Eddie’s belt is undone. The hat is still perched on Buck’s head.
“ Omigod ,” Ravi mutters. “I—I’ll just—” He slams the door shut again.
Silence.
Then Eddie bursts out laughing.
Buck glares at him. “This is your fault.”
“Worth it,” Eddie says, panting. “So fucking worth it.”
Buck just groans and covers his face with the brim of the hat.