Work Text:
Clark Kent was not late.
In fact, he had left his apartment a full 15 minutes earlier than usual, determined to catch the subway on time- and maybe even have a moment to enjoy a cup of caffeine.
Or so he thought.
30 minutes later, Clark was still waiting for his coffee at the roaster near 5th Ave.
How long does it really take to brew something so simple? Clark really didn't need coffee to function, but he does enjoy the flavor. Too bad the coffee at the Daily Planet tasted like burnt rubber. This cup, at least, would be worth it.
Finally, the barista called his name. Clark offered a polite, almost grateful smile as she handed over the drink. He turned in a rush, adjusting his glasses and already planning how fast he needed to walk to avoid being late—
—and walked straight into what felt like a brick wall.
The impact jolted him, the hot coffee slipping from his hand and spilling across the chest of the man in front of him. A dark stain bloomed across the white fabric, and Clark’s eyes went wide with horror.
“I- I am so sorry…” Clark’s voice faltered as his gaze finally landed on the man he’d collided with. His words dried up. “Um.”
God.
This man was gorgeous.
The first thing Clark noticed was his eyes, startlingly blue, framed by thick amber lashes that were far too long to belong to someone this rugged. His lips were pink and full, parted in mild surprise, and- was that a birthmark along his forehead? Clark swallowed, suddenly aware that he was staring.
The man laughed softly, brushing at his shirt with one hand. “It’s alright,” he said, a small smile covering his face as he looked down at his own shirt.
Clark snapped out of his daze and grabbed a stack of napkins from the counter, practically shoving them toward the stranger. “It’s not alright- I should have been more careful. Wasn’t that hot?” He frowned, his gaze darting over the damp fabric, fingers lingering over the patch to instinctively check for a burn. The man shook his head, grinning.
“Nah. Not really. I’m a firefighter, I can handle a little heat.”
Clark’s heart gave a traitorous, heavy thump.
“Firefighter, huh?” Clark repeated, a small smile blooming across his face, almost forgetting the misfortune of a spill that lay beneath him.
“Evan Buckley,” the man said, extending a hand and a small smile that made Clark almost fall to his knees right there. “But everyone calls me Buck.”
Clark hesitated for a second, his palm tingling before he even made contact. “Clark Kent,” he replied, shaking Buck’s hand. “But everyone calls me Clark.” He paused. “Uh. But that’s obvious isn’t it? Sorry…” Clark muttered, shaking his head, trying to ground himself as he heard the other man chuckle. He hoped Evan- no, Buck couldn’t feel how warm his skin had suddenly gotten, or how his face probably had a pink tinge across it. He cleared his throat, still mortified about the mess on Buck’s shirt.
“I should- uh- at least pay for your coffee. I mean, I ruined your morning, and your shirt, and-” He gestured vaguely at Buck’s chest, which was still damp and brown despite the napkins. “Well, I’m just… really sorry.”
Buck tilted his head adorably, laughing in response as Clark continued to pull the paper towels to hold against his chest. “You don’t have to do that. It’s just coffee. Plus… this shirt is pretty old.”
“No, I- really, I insist.” Clark fumbled for his wallet, almost dropping the cup that holds whatever coffee remained.
“I was distracted, and you…” Clark sighed frustratedly, unable to pull the dollar bill from his hand. “...your shirt… and I basically ruined your morning.” He continued mumbling as he kept the coffee on a nearby table, finally prying out a 50 dollar bill.
“I am truly sorry.” Clark said again, extending out the money as he eyes Buck’s amused look. “I hope that’s enough to replace the shirt.” Buck looks down at the $50.
“Well… if we’re really counting… this shirt was closer to $200,” Buck said, a small smirk across his face. Clark’s mouth opens slightly at the number, frowning instantly.
“B-But you… I thought you said it was old,” he stuttered, looking at the white now-stained fabric. There’s no way he bought that on a firefighter’s salary… right? What was the current salary for a firefighter in Metropolis? This guy looked pretty young, only a few years older than him.
“It is old. But it still cost $200 dollars when I bought it.” Buck’s smile was intoxicating to Clark, almost so much so that he had to look away.
$200. Insanity. Either the guy was rich or really bad with his money.
Or perhaps both.
Buck noticed Clark spiraling, clearing his throat. “...which is why you don’t have to pay me back..” Buck repeated, softer this time, and the warmth in his tone made Clark’s brain stall for a moment.
“Oh. Right. Uh…” Clark blinked, adjusting his glasses. Thank god. He wasn’t really sure if he could handle a $200 charge the day before payday. City rent was getting so ridiculously expensive. Wait… the stain. Buck would need somewhere to change, maybe even a spare shirt. His apartment was close, the least he could do is-
“Do you live nearby?” Clark asked suddenly, blurting out the thought before his mind could catch up. His cheeks flushed red almost immediately. “I-I’m not a creep, sorry. I just want to make sure you can change before you need to go to work-“
Buck shook his head, smiling brightly.
“It’s all good man. I’m off today.”
“Well, still,” Clark said, pushing his glasses up again, “you deserve a fresh coffee at least. Maybe… let me buy you one? Consider it, uh, a peace offering. For almost scalding you.”
Buck smirked. “Are you always this stubborn?”
It was Clark’s turn to smile now. “Not always… no.”
Buck just laughed again, and Clark could feel his heart skip a beat. This wasn’t normal, right? When was the last time someone had made him feel like this?
“Alright, as much as I’d love to cash in the favor, I'm not really feeling a coffee anymore,” Buck glanced down at the coffee he was now wearing as Clark winced sympathetically. “...But there’s a new bar downtown that’s right up my alley and I have yet to check it out.” Buck smiled, gesturing to the other side of the street.
“What do you say to grabbing a drink with me tonight? Seems fair, don’t you think? To repay me, of course.” Buck winked.
Clark’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again to speak, smiling as he processed the words. Holy shit. Was… was he getting asked out right now?
“Uh… sure. Yeah. I can do that. I’m buying! Obviously. Uh. You know... to pay you back for this mess.” Clark gestures to the stain again.
“Sure,” Buck said, his voice teering the verge of teasing. “Then it’s a date?”
Clark choked on air. “-date?”
Clark swore he saw a glint of sadness cover Buck's face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird." Buck said, pausing briefly, his smile fading. "It's kinda hard to meet new people here, so I thought I'd shoot my shot.” Buck’s tone remained lighthearted, but Clark could tell something had shifted. Fuck. No. Clark didn’t mean to sound dismissive- he’s just so out of the dating game right now that it just slipped out.
“I’m not straight!” Clark blurted, gaining the attention of a few people passing by as they murmured in dissatisfaction at the noise. He ducked his head, heat rushing to his face quickly as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“That’s… nice.” Buck responded, smiling again. Clark winced inwardly. Great. Smooth, Kent. Real smooth.
“So… I guess it can be a date-date then? Between two… totally not straight people.” Buck reasoned, and Clark could really do nothing else but nod.
“Yes... uh- a date…” he repeated again dumbly, immediately wanting to smack himself. Was that all he had to offer to this conversation? He fought the urge to bury his face in his hands.
Buck laughs, and Clark can only hope that the other man found his inexperience endearing.
“You’re not used to this, huh?”
Clark’s ears burned, but a crooked smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “Guess I’m a little out of practice.”
Buck leaned closer, grabbing the phone out of Clark’s pocket, his eyes bright. “Well, lucky for you, Clark, I’ve got enough practice for the both of us.” He winks, adding his number with ease and slipping the phone back. He pats Clark’s chest.
“See ya at 7pm then Clark.” Buck said singsongingly, turning to walk off and waving goodbye as he did. “Oh! And bring more bills! Bar’s cash only!” he added, still moving farther down the block, leaving Clark standing in the center of the street with his half cup of cold coffee and a stupid smile across his face.
He was going to be so late to work.
And yes, it was definitely worth it.