it wouldn't be so crazy

“Eddie?” Eddie feels the question at the same time he hears it, the warm puff of air against his neck. Even as groggy as Buck is, there’s a tinge of something like surprise in his voice. Like a part of him thought he might wake up to an empty bed and cold sheets, the same way they’ve both been waking up for months now. Eddie has the sudden urge to turn around, to cup Buck’s face in his hands, to kiss him until he’s breathless. “Sorry, just trying to get comfortable,” he says instead, because even awake, Buck’s grip on him is tight as a vice. His voice comes out rough, sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. Buck is hard, too. Eddie can feel it against the small of his back. It makes something in his gut burn hot, the way Buck’s hips twitch toward him like he can’t help it, a lazy, sleepy grind. It goes on like that for another minute. Buck mouthing at the shell of his ear. Buck’s fingers toying at the waistband of his pajamas. Buck’s body a searing heat along his back. They’d argued over who got to be the big spoon. Eddie thinks he should have fought harder to preserve his own sanity. “Buck?” There’s no answer. Eddie’s pulse thuds loudly in his ears. He survived Afghanistan. He survived getting shot. He runs into burning buildings every day. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll survive it if Buck actually fell back asleep. He squirms again, and Buck huffs against his ear. “You keep moving,” Buck complains, nothing but bleary-eyed confusion, and Eddie takes a moment to be both frustrated and infuriatingly charmed. “You’re about to lose your big spoon privileges.” “Hm?” “I can feel you.”

They haven’t slept in the same bed, not since Eddie came home from Texas. They don’t want to confuse Christopher, not until they’re ready to explain how things have changed between them. So that means taking turns on the couch unless Chris is at sleepover. Which he is now. And Eddie had thought— They’re taking it slow, is the thing. Three dates, a handful of kisses, and some over-the-clothes groping. Not that Eddie is keeping track. He isn’t. It’s just that—it’s just that he might be going a little bit crazy. Crazy because he can feel the rise and fall of Buck’s clothed chest, feel the warm gust of Buck’s breath on the back of his neck as he exhales. It’s the closest they’ve been since this whole thing started between them. Since Eddie looked at Buck across the kitchen, grin on his face, curly hair flat on one side and pancake batter stuck to his cheek, and thought oh. They haven’t had a lot of time alone since then. Between work and Christopher. Eddie blames that for why he can’t get comfortable, for why he keeps squirming under the blanket. The bed creaks, and Buck makes a noise of complaint against his ear. One of his hands slips under the front of Eddie’s t-shirt, slides slowly up over his abdomen. He presses closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie lets out a shaky breath. It feels good. Buck’s hands are big and calloused, different from anything he’s felt before. They drag up over his ribcage and then back down again, catching on the elastic of his sleep pants. Buck grunts against his ear, dead asleep but somehow aware enough to be frustrated. Join the club, Eddie thinks.