The first time Buck notices it, he's standing in the kitchen, making his usual morning coffee. He hears Eddie's footsteps padding down the hallway, the familiar sound making him smile before Eddie even walks into the room.
Buck glances over his shoulder, expecting to see Eddie's usual sleepy, bed-headed self. But instead, he sees something different—something that makes him pause, blinking at the man standing in front of him.
"Eddie," Buck says slowly, setting his coffee mug down on the counter. "Is that...?"
Eddie's grin is lopsided, a little self-conscious as he rubs a hand over his chin.
"Yeah. What do you think?"
Buck takes a step closer, his eyes glued to Eddie's face. There, right above his lips, is a mustache. It's not thick or overly styled—just a simple line of dark hair that somehow changes everything. Buck feels his breath hitch in his throat, a sudden heat flooding his cheeks.
"I—uh," Buck stammers, trying to find the right words. He clears his throat, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "I think it looks... good. Really good."
Eddie's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah? You sure? I was just messing around with the razor, and..."
"No, seriously," Buck interrupts, his voice a little too eager. He takes another step closer, his eyes flicking from Eddie's mustache to his eyes and back again.
"It suits you. Makes you look... mature. Distinguished. Hot."
Eddie raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "Hot, huh?"
Buck's heart is pounding, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He can't help it—Eddie's new look is doing things to him, stirring up a heat in his belly that definitely has nothing to do with the morning sun.
He takes another step closer, his hand reaching up and thumb brushing over Eddie's upper lip, feeling the coarse bristles of the mustache under his fingertips.
"Yeah," Buck's voice is low and rough. "I think you look really fucking hot."
Eddie's eyes darken, his gaze dropping to Buck's lips.
"I wasn't sure about it at first. Thought maybe it was a bit too much. But if you like it..."
"I do," Buck murmurs, his hand sliding down to cup Eddie's cheek.
He leans in, his lips brushing against Eddie's, feeling the roughness of the mustache against his skin. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, his body pressing closer to Eddie's, heat pooling low in his belly.
Eddie's hands come up to rest on Buck's hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of Buck's shirt.
"You know," he murmurs against Buck's lips, "we've got some time before Chris wakes up."
Eddie's grip tightens on Buck's hips, pulling him flush against his body. Buck's breath stutters, the feel of Eddie's hard muscles against him making his knees weak.
"Yeah," Buck swallows, his voice husky. "We do."
He wraps his arms around Eddie's neck, pulling him into a deep kiss, their lips moving together in a heated, desperate rhythm. The friction of Eddie's mustache against Buck's smooth skin is intoxicating and sending him into a spiral of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
And it's not just the physical sensation—it's the way it makes everything feel more intense, more raw. The scrape of hair against sensitive skin amplifies every kiss, every brush of lips, turning something as simple as a kiss into a full-body experience that leaves Buck gasping for more.
