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They're kissing the moment the door swings shut behind them. Buck fumbles behind himself to lock it, and Eddie barely waits for the deadbolt to slide home before he's pulling Buck in. His whole body has been singing with anticipation since the moment at the restaurant when Buck licked the last of the crème brûlée off of his spoon and smiled across the table at Eddie with a warm, wicked sort of promise that was no less affecting for how well-versed it clearly was, and asked if he wanted to get out of there.
There's something giddy about being on the receiving end of that look, Buck's practiced charm aimed at him, like he's worth the effort even though they've known each other for nine years and seen each other at their absolute worst.
"That was such a line," Eddie complained in the car on the way home, but he couldn't stop smiling, especially when Buck glanced over at him and grinned.
"Is it, uh, is it working on you?"
"Guess you'll have to find out."
"Guess so," Buck laughed, and here they are, in the dark front hallway of his house, kissing like their lives depend on it. It's not the first one; that happened a week ago, stuttered breath and so many nerves that Eddie could barely hold onto the sensation. Buck's warm mouth and startled, brilliant smile. But it's still new enough to be thrilling.
Buck's hands are on his shoulders, pushing him against the wall, and Eddie grabs a handful of his shirt and yanks him in. Buck's moan is muffled against his mouth, sending another bright spill of anticipation through him.
"We don't have to, um," Buck gasps against his mouth, before kissing him again. "We can take this as slow as you want."
"Appreciate that, Buck," Eddie says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt, because that seems like the most efficient way to get his point across.
"Oh," Buck says, comically. Then he bats Eddie's hands out of the way to do it himself, sliding the shirt off of Eddie's shoulders with a gentleness that feels nearly reverent. His own button-down is next; he's wearing a thin, soft tank top underneath, cut low enough to show the tops of his pecs, a tantalizing dusting of chest hair. Eddie slides his hands up underneath it, pulls it over Buck's head and lets that fall on the floor behind him as well.
It's nothing new, touching Buck. His body is so familiar, sturdy and strong, tattoos and old scars, pink nipples and soft stomach and the line of hair disappearing under his waistband. The context makes it new, though.
Buck dips his head to kiss him again, slowly and tenderly enough to make Eddie's toes curl. "Bedroom?" he asks.
"Lead the way," Eddie says, and Buck grins, hooks his fingers under Eddie's belt, and pulls him backward down the hallway, unerring in the dark. There's a night light in his bedroom, casting the room in a low, hazy glow, deep shadows and warmth. The bed is made, the sheets fresh-smelling when Buck presses him down onto them. Belatedly, Eddie kicks his shoes off, letting them land on the floor with a pair of muffled thumps. Buck tucks his face against Eddie's throat and laughs, then mouths a kiss at the corner of his jaw, the tendon in his throat, straddling him as he slides down.
Eddie arches against him, breathless and laughing, and feels the shape of Buck's smile against his skin. Buck's hands are on his belt, unhooking it deftly by feel and undoing his fly, but he doesn't do more than that right away; instead he goes back to kissing down Eddie's chest like he's determined to map out the shape of him with his mouth. Eddie's the one who gets impatient and kicks his pants off, and Buck smothers a laughing moan into his stomach. "It should be illegal how good you look in those."
"You love the tighty whities, don't lie," Eddie says, and Buck laughs, pressing another kiss to his hip, then slides lower, hot breath ghosting over the thin cotton.
"On you, I really do." He nuzzles at Eddie's cock, mouthing at it through the cloth. Eddie grips a handful of sheets to keep from grabbing at Buck's hair. "You're so fucking hot."
"You're too fucking dressed," Eddie retorts breathlessly.
"Oh, it's gonna be like that, huh," Buck asks. He straightens up and starts unbuckling his belt. It's not really a striptease—it's too matter of fact for that—but Eddie's eyes feel glued to every inch of newly bared skin as Buck strips out of his nice date pants, glances up, quirks an eyebrow at Eddie, and then peels his underwear off too, sitting back across Eddie's thighs completely, gloriously naked. He curls a hand around his cock and strokes it lazily, taking his time about it, clearly putting on a show. "Better?"
"Yeah," Eddie breathes.
"Cool," Buck says, leaning down to kiss him again. He braces himself against the mattress with one hand to tug Eddie's underwear down with the other. Then they're both naked, and it's a surreal moment, one of several surreal moments Eddie's had in the past week: something so familiar made new. Buck seems to sense it, or maybe he just feels Eddie still, because he pauses, bracing himself over Eddie so that they're not really touching anymore, and says, earnestly, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Eddie breathes. Maybe it's too soon to call the warm swell of emotion love, but on the other hand, maybe it's actually something like eight years overdue. He tilts his head up to kiss Buck's soft mouth, then pulls him down until they're pressed together, shoulder to hip to thigh, the thick heat of Buck's cock trapped between them, smearing wetness on his skin. Buck breathes shakily against his throat, and Eddie kisses him again: his mouth, his cheek, the familiar blots of color where his birthmark sits at the corner of his eye. "Yeah, everything's perfect."