There’s something calling to him, over the smoke and flames, the people and pavement—a hint of the most delectable smell Eddie’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling.
He rises to his feet, faintly aware of Hen calling to him, but it’s a distant concern. Inconsequential.
He follows his nose, stumbling a little over the uneven sections of pavement as he goes, and he’s there’s some primal, instinctive part of him that’s utterly surprised to find Buck at the other end of that mouthwatering scent.
Buck. Of course it’s Buck.
As if feeling Eddie’s eyes on him, Buck glances up from where he’s talking quietly with Bobby, helmet tucked under one arm. His expression brightens, a smile stretching across that gorgeous face.
“Eds!” he says, lifting a hand like he needs to catch Eddie’s attention. Like every molecule of his being isn’t singularly focused on that which is Evan Buckley. “Looks like we’re good to— Whoa!”
Buck smells so fucking good, Eddie notes with a happy sigh, craning to tuck his nose into the space behind Buck’s ear. It’s fucking unfair, is what it is, that he’s been keeping it to himself all this time, hoarding it away when he should know better.
Should know that it’s Eddie’s.
He shifts closer, lifting up on his tiptoes so he can press his mouth to Buck’s jaw, can drag his lips down his neck and shove his face against the hollow of his throat.
Buck makes a noise—low and rough and ragged—and a muscular arm wraps around his waist.
“Eddie,” he says, and god his voice. “What—?”
He wants to shove himself into Buck’s turnout coat right alongside him and live there for the next forever, wants to wear that toasted-cinnamon-sunshine scent like a second skin.
Wants to lap up the taste of it off of Buck’s throat.
“Chim!” Buck yells. “Chim, something’s wrong with Eddie!”
…..
And Eddie knows he’s a possessive, jealous son of a bitch even when he’s not high on inducers, so it’s no surprise to any of them that his hackles are up immediately, his fists tightening around the lapels of Buck’s coat.
But it’s Buck—Buck who’s one of the kindest, gentlest Alphas Eddie’s ever met, Buck, who he’s never seen so much as flash his eyes at anyone, let alone pop a claw or drop his fangs—that bares his teeth snarls, rumbling and furious, cradling Eddie tight to his chest.
And it’s so impossibly hot that Eddie can feel himself getting slick in his pants.
“Buck,” Bobby says firmly. “Keep your head, kid. You don’t want to do anything either of you will regret.”
The next sound that Buck makes is high and wounded. His hands spasm against Eddie’s back, and then he’s taking two huge steps away, his heat—his presence—leaving all at once. Eddie whimpers at the loss.
“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Buck stammers. His entire face is flushed pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing under his collar. “You gotta get him outta here, Bobby, you gotta— I can’t—“
Eddie shakes off Hen’s hand and surges forward, plastering himself back against Buck’s front.
“No,” Eddie pleads, and Buck makes another one of those soft, throaty noises, like the air’s been punched out of him. “No, Buck, don’t leave, don’t—“
“Eds,” Buck says. “It’s— Bobby’s right, you’re not in control right now and—“ He lets out a loud exhale; Eddie feels his breath whisper over his hair. “—and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Eddie insists. “You’d never.”
“Never,” Buck agrees. “Which is why you gotta let me go, let Chim and Hen help you.”
“I don’t want them,” Eddie says. “I want you.”
Buck’s smile is more of a grimace, something horribly sad glinting behind his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“Eddie,” Hen tries, carefully shuffling forward. “You’re medically compromised, you’re not thinking straight—“
“The only way Buck could hurt me right now is by leaving,” Eddie insists.
He doesn’t understand why none of them are listening. Eddie needs Buck: it’s the simplest fact there is.
“Don’t go,” Eddie continues, nuzzling at Buck’s neck, then leaning in to press a fluttering kiss to his pulse point. “Buck, please—“
Buck groans, a deep, guttural noise, and his hands land ever so gently on either side of Eddie’s rib cage.
“Eddie,” he says, voice tight. “You don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“I’m asking you to come home with me,” Eddie says. “I’m asking you to have my back.”
“Eds—“
“Buck,” Eddie says. “Evan. Come home.”
Buck’s eyes search his face and Eddie knows he’s looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. Eddie meets his gaze squarely, begging him to understand, to see.
“Are you even capable of consenting to anything right now?” Buck asks, to Eddie and to the world at large.
“Well, technically,” Chim starts.
“I’m still in my right mind,” Eddie says, and it’s true but he’s not sure if it will be for much longer. He’s hot all over, desire blistering up his spine, over his thighs, searing his skin, but for all that it's suddenly become as imperative as breathing, wanting Buck is nothing new.
If anything it’s become clearer, the feeling distilled down into its purest essence. He wants Buck now because he always wants Buck.
“I’m still me.”
Buck chews on his lip, resolve weakening.
“Please,” Eddie breathes.
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