[Fic] i'm in love with the stars tonight (9-1-1)
- Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
- Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
- Tags: Different First Meeting, Eddie Diaz Is Not A Firefighter, Sexual Tension
- Word-Count: 1400
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2023-11-16
- Disclaimer: I do not own 9-1-1 (TV) and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Summary:
"Definitely, you should go for it," Chimney pats Buck's shoulder, turning him a little toward the direction the hottest man Buckley has ever seen is standing, leaning over the bar in conversation with the bartender. Buck has been staring far too much all evening, to the point that even he thinks it's getting a little ridiculous. But just—the man is so hot. And cool! And his smile—ahfhdjhjsd.
Work Text:
"Yeah? You think so?"
"Definitely, you should go for it," Chimney pats Buck's shoulder, turning him a little toward the direction the hottest man Buckley has ever seen is standing, leaning over the bar in conversation with the bartender. Buck has been staring far too much all evening, to the point that even he thinks it's getting a little ridiculous. But just—the man is so hot. And cool! And his smile—ahfhdjhjsd.
But Buck's been trying new things lately. A whole new level of game, really, and it doesn't include walking up to random strangers in bars just because they're hot, and the brief flashes of eye contact during the course of the evening makes him weak in the knees. He's—grown, or whatever. A whole new person! One who doesn't just judge people on their looks and strives to consider the—
"Man, just go for it," Hen says, settling beside them in the booth, her new drink in hand. She sucks at the straw and holds the glass away from Chimney when the dude tries to steal it, making gimme motions, and Buck sighs.
"But he's so hot," he groans, preening a little when the guy looks over again. "And I'm like, not doing that anymore?"
Chimney laughs. "What, talk with hot people?"
"Yeah," Buck agrees, gaze stuck on the guy's thighs when he widens his stance, leaning a bit more over the bar, pushing out his but just a bit more. Like temptation. Like a promise. Buck licks his lips, and he only realizes the mistake when Hen giggles and snaps a photo of him.
"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with this at your wedding," she drawls, eyebrows raised as she snaps one more. Buck waves her away, but his heart's not in it; it's rather caught up in running a mile a minute when he almost thinks that—well—it sort of—kind of looks like the guy is smiling at him. Like the bartender is nodding in his way, and they guy's muscles flex, visibly, shaking his head. It looks a bit like they're paying him attention, too, and that is. Well.
Though there's not that much distance between them, and it's not a very busy day at hardly eight in the evening on a Wednesday, the music in combination with the low timber of voices throughout the room greatly inconveniences him. He can't hear what they're saying, forced to make wild guesses that aren't particularly in favor of him because, also well, Buck is trying to be more self-aware these days. To, like, sympathize with the effect he has on people. (Which personally he thinks is code for "annoying" but nobody's actually
"Oh, come on, you can't sit here staring all evening. Sooner or later he's going to go, and you'll lose your chance," Hen reasonably points out. "It's been a while since Abby, and you should—"
"Move on?" Buck mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. He's heard that all too much, and it sours his stomach to hear it now, as well. He doesn't need to move on, he thinks. He's moved on just fine. He moved out, didn't he? What's that if not moving onwards?
And anyway, Abby's not—this isn't about her, and he doesn't like how everything lately feels like it has been.
(Isn't he like, more than just Abby's ghosted boyfriend?)
Chimney knocks their shoulders together, stealing Buck's have drinken beer—jokes on him, it's gone lukewarm already—and says, "Dude, you know you want to."
Buck licks his lips. Hot guy looks at him over his shoulder, gaze lingering just a beat too long, and yeah. Buck does want to. And they are right, as annoying as it is—eventually hot guy will leave. It's a miracle he's stayed around as long as he has already, even, considering he's just been making conversation with the bartender, barely even drinking anything. Just, like, snacking on a few pretzels which—Buck did not know that could be hot. So hot.
Clearing his throat, Buck stands. Chimney gives a hoot and scoots out of the way so Buck can muscle his way out of the booth, pulling on his clothing a little when he's free. Straightening his back, he drags a hand through his hair, and approaches.
Manages to smile when he pats Hot Guy's shoulder. Hot Guy shivers, gaze flicking his way, and Buck can't help letting his hand linger. The guy doesn't move away, after all, eyelids only seeming to grow heavier over oh so pretty eyes, and Buck's thoughts momentarily leaves his mind, scattering to the winds and abandoning him with an echoing emptiness. The bartender leaves them too, but Buck pays decidedly less attention to that, squeezing out a "Hey," and dropping onto the barstool beside him.
"Hey, yourself," Hot Guy says, turning to face him, sitting down for the first time in what must be hours. Resting an elbow on the counter, Buck's eyes fall to his throat, watching his Adam's apple move, and the space between his collarbones.
Yeah. Mind empty.
"Hello," Buck repeats when he manages to drag his eyes away from the bared skin, getting his thoughts together enough to form words again. Hot Guy is smiling at him and wow—Buck already knew it was pretty from just glimpses across the room but directed right at him? This close a range? It is lethal, and Buck is only a man. Only human.
Hot Guy's smiles widen. "I'm Eddie," he says, holding out his hand. Buck grabs it on instinct, muscle memory, and Eddi'e hand is warm, grip strong, they hold on for entirely too long. But Buck can't quite convince himself to let go, not when Eddie's still smiling at him like that, eyes still heated and intense, and Buck has maybe had a drink or two and his sotmach clenches when Eddie's thumb sweeps over the back of his hand, scorching a path on his skin that nearly convinces him it'll scar.
"Buck," he strangles out eventually, letting go of Eddie's hand and having no idea what to do with his hands now. He settles them on his legs, and Eddie's gaze dips down, lingering, Buck's stomach swooping, and he forces out "Nice to meet you," before he does something unwise.
Like kiss him.
Eddie laughs. He waves at the bartender "Another drink for me and my new friend, please," and Buck smiles, ducking his head a little at the knowing look this gets him. Still. New friend sounds—good, too. And then Eddie puts his hand on Buck's knee, head tilted a little, looking at him from below dark eyelashes, and Buck's mouth goes dry at record speed, fingers itching for something to hold, to touch, to hand onto when the swooping sensation only gets worse, and Eddie says "Tell me about yourself," and it's all Buck can do to not spill every secret he's ever had, the urgent need to—he doesn't even know—overwhelming him.
Eddie glows, Buck thinks, and his presence is warm. Buck is drawn in with every word, every wayward touch, seduced by the promise still lurking in those eyes, by the breath when Eddie speaks, by the movement beneath his skin when he moves, by the grazing of a fingertip over his wrist turning to a hand holding his.
"And what about you?" Buck asks, no idea what he's said. Eddie grins, and Buck buries himself in his voice.
He doesn't quite notice when Chim and Hen leave, and he doesn't quite notice when more and more people trickle into the bar as the hour gets later and later. Doesn't quite notice when the way more people entering means Eddie and Buck are pressed closer and closer together, their sides touching, their hands clasped, their heads tipped toward each other. Doesn't quite notice, either, when the drinks run out and the snacks are gone and it's just them, talking, gravitating, caught in each other's orbit.
And when the night draws to a close, when they're shuffled outside by a bemused bartender and a less bemused bouncer, when the night is dark and the streetlights dot the road, Buck looks at Eddie and Eddie looks at Buck and Buck's heart squeezing so tight he can barely breathe. And they cross under the light, and—yeah.
Buck is pretty much gone already.
Honestly, no regrets.
Notes:
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