#7 x 05 spec fic

[tenisperfection]

Saturday

A pre-7 x 05 drabble

Buck waits for the knock on the door all day.

Buck waits for the knock on the door all day, even when he knows Tommy will be there at 8 pm. Tommy, who Buck knows is not too early or too late, at least from his experience meeting him for the station tour. Tommy will probably arrive at 7:58 or 8:02, but Buck feels like he's been waiting for him his whole life.

I have dinner plans, Buck texts Maddie when she invites him home. Buck is trying on his fifth outfit, it is 3 pm and the sun shines into every corner of his apartment, dust beams falling on his couch and his bed and his skin. My Sunday morning is a little busy too, but maybe Monday after your shift?

Buck hopes he has Sunday plans. Buck wants, with a yearning so deep and so unspoken, to have plans Sunday morning. He wants to wake up with the Sun, surrounded by warmth and skin and the crinkles that take over Tommy's face so easily. He wants to kiss those crinkles until they stay pressed in to Tommy's skin, a permanent fixture, a side effect of his time with Buck.

Buck wants to make Tommy happy.

Have fun! Pick me up at 3 on Monday, we'll get some food before your shift starts.

Buck thinks of Maddie as he changes the sheets, taking care to choose the turquoise 600-thread count set that he loves, with cherry blossoms cutting delicate patterns into the blue-green. Eddie, when he stayed with Buck during lockdown, offhandedly mentioned that the cherry blossoms remind him of Buck's birth mark. Buck has been trying not to think about it for the past three years.

Buck tries to smooth out the creases as he thinks of telling Maddie on Monday. He wonders if she already knows or if she would be surprised.

When it's 6 pm and Buck cannot figure out what else to vacuum in his apartment, he slips in to the shower. His hands are a live wire, and Buck tries to be perfunctory as he soaps his skin down. He tries not to think about the curve of Tommy's mouth or the conviction in his eyes. He certainly tries to not get too giddy at the thought of the next time he'll feel those lips against his, which could be in a matter of hours. Buck tries not to think about it, because as many people as he's kissed, he's had far fewer second kisses. Buck tries to not get his hopes up.

Buck is unsuccessful.

I'm happy, Buck thinks, slipping into his jeans. I feel good. I can't wait. Buck finishes brushing his hair at 7:29 pm and slips his wallet and chapstick into his jacket at 7:35 pm. It is a minute later that the knock sounds through the apartment.

The butterflies resting just under Buck's skin explode with anticipation.

"Tommy, hey," Buck breathes, and Tommy rushes in, crinkles and all, his beautiful face as sunny as Buck feels.

"Evan," Tommy says, and Buck loves that Tommy takes up space, that he has no qualms about moving closer to Buck. "You look so good."

Buck wants to reciprocate, but it's hard to get the words out of his mouth in the right order. He opens his mouth and his throat promptly goes a little dry when he takes note of Tommy's black shirt, unbuttoned enough to give Buck the smallest tease of chest hair.

"You're early," is what comes out of his mouth instead.

Tommy laughs, those damn crinkles taking over his face again. Buck wants to lick them.

"I know," Tommy says, and Buck appreciates the sheepishness that colors his voice, likes the way it seems to make a different set of crinkles brighten Tommy's face. Buck wants to catalogue them all, wonders if any one has ever studied Tommy's face enough to memorize them. Buck thinks he'd like to try.

"I just couldn't wait till eight to see you again," Tommy says, a small smile on his face. "I hope it's okay. I'm surprised I managed to last till seven thirty."

Buck has had a hundred first kisses and a handful of seconds. This one that he leans in for, Tommy's arms coming around his waist, Tommy's face in his hands, is the one where he begins to hope.

"Let's go?" Tommy asks after a minute, a month, an eon. He somehow has a hand cupping Buck's cheek, and when Buck nods, unwilling to break the sanctity of the moment, Tommy presses a kiss to his forehead.

Buck's never had a first date like this.

Wildly, he thinks he would be fine if this was the last first date he experiences.

Too soon, some unseen part of him whispers, and Buck brushes aside the straying thought of cherry blossoms.

"Let's go," Buck echoes.

Tommy grins and leads the way.