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Clark fiddled nervously with his glasses as he stood outside fire station one-eighteen. Even though his hand trembled, shaking the drink holder and sloshing liquid around, he was determined to go inside. Admittedly, it took him more than a few tries to find the right place. He’d prefer to skip over the more embarrassing moments, but at least he made it.
A few weeks ago, as Superman, Clark flew to a structure fire. He talked to the incident commander on scene, only to learn that there was one firefighter still inside and they had no way of getting him out. Clark used his freeze breath to make the flames die down, then flew inside and listened for the sound of a beating heart.
Clark found the firefighter crouched in a room, using his own body to shield a small girl. He was in full firefighter gear, and the back of his turnouts read ‘Buckley.’
“Fire’s taken care of,” Clark said. “Let me fly you out.”
“Her first,” Buckley said. His voice was slightly muffled under his mask, and Clark was tempted to roll his eyes. He was strong enough to lift both of them with no issues, but it seemed that the firefighter was unwilling to budge.
“Fine,” he conceded.
Clark picked up the little girl as gently as he could and flew her outside. The surrounding bystanders cheered, the sound following him as he flew back into the charred building. It didn't look like there was much left to be saved, and it was a miracle that there were no casualties.
Firefighter Buckley was standing up with a groan, bracing himself against the ruined wall.
“Are you hurt?” Clark did a quick scan under his turnouts with x-ray vision, checking for injuries.
“Just an old leg injury, nothing I can’t handle,” Buckley said, though his strained voice betrayed the pain he was in.
“So you don't need me to carry you out of the building?" Clark said, raising an eyebrow.
“You gonna do it bridal style?” Firefighter Buckley teased despite his discomfort. “Usually, people buy me dinner first.”
Clark felt his cheeks heat. He’d been flirted with before many times, people often attracted solely to his status and power. Even after people assumed Superman was dating Lois Lane, the advances kept coming, so he’s gotten used to the attention. Still, he felt like there was something different about Firefighter Buckley, something eager, a ray of sunshine in a sea of people unwilling to help others.
“Hold on tight,” Clark said, lifting Firefighter Buckley up with ease. He flew out of the building and the two of them landed safely on the ground. His red cape fluttered around them both, caught by a breeze. Once again, more cheers came from the surrounding people, though Clark ignored them in favor of keeping an eye on his firefighter.
“My hero,” Buckley said, taking off his mask and helmet for the first time. Clark’s voice caught in his throat, the rest of his words failing to come out. Firefighter Buckley was absolutely beautiful, with striking blue eyes, curly hair, and a smile on his face. Even covered in soot and wearing full firefighter gear, something about him absolutely glowed. He was just a few inches shorter than Clark, but his stance was relaxed, like he wanted to talk instead of show off.
Clark felt tongue-tied, just staring like a creep (as Lois would later tell him).
“Listen, are you—“
“I have to go,” Clark said quickly, before blasting away like a coward. Getting into a relationship with someone was not a good idea, especially considering how many of his enemies would use the people he loved against him. He didn't want to have Buck's light taken away from him, ruined by the spotlight on Superman. Clark decided he would do everything in his power to keep himself away from the captivating firefighter.
And then he met Firefighter Buckley again. And again and again.
Each time, Clark felt himself grow more enamored with Firefighter Buckley, feeling admiration at how willing he was to risk his own life to save people, even without superpowers. It was the third time they met that Clark learned that everyone called Firefighter Buckley ‘Buck' (though he only knew this due to his super-hearing). He himself was still tongue-tied, unable to form proper words lest he say what he was really thinking. It was both a blessing and a curse, keeping Buck safe while also denying himself what he truly wanted.
Clark enjoyed his job at the Daily Planet, being able to work side-by-side with his best friends, but being Superman was fulfilling in a way that he never expected it to be. It wasn't realistic of him to give either part of himself up, and he didn't want to.
At the latest structure fire, Clark was particularly worried when he learned that Buck ran back inside the animal shelter, only to come running out with a dog in his arms. The relief Clark felt was palpable as he rushed past the other first responders to check on Buck himself.
“Are you alright?” He demanded, scanning for injuries. Clark forced his hands to hover mere inches from Buck's arms, holding himself back. He could hear whispers around them, but he brushed them off, focusing only on Buck.
“Yep, and so is this little guy,” Buck said, scratching the dog behind his ears. It yipped in response and squirmed around to lick his face. “I don’t have a dog, but I think I want to adopt this little guy.”
Yes, Clark thought. Adopt the dog. Adopt ten if you want. You deserve everything and all the dogs you want.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Clark said, voice softening. “I was worried about you.”
“Superman’s worried about me?” Buck asked, voice sounding positively wondrous. “Careful, you might make me think I’m special.”
“You are,” Clark muttered, glancing up to see Buck’s face tinge pink. “I, uh, I should go, though—“
“Oh, right, of course,” Buck said, deflating. “See you around, I guess.”
Clark hated to leave Buck behind, hated to see the disappointment on his face, and decided it was time to make a move. Danger be damned, he couldn’t help how he felt about Buck, heart swelling at the thought of getting to be near him.
He couldn’t ask Buck out as Superman, but he hoped that bumbling Clark Kent would be what Buck was looking for.
And that’s how he’d gotten to firehouse one-eighteen, with iced coffee that no longer had ice, after listening to Buck’s coffee order, practically shaking in his boots. If Lois knew about all the trouble Clark went to, he’d never hear the end of it. But if she asked, his answer would be that Buck was special. He was worth it.
The firehouse didn’t have a door, so Clark walked in, awkwardly craning his neck to see if he could find Buck.
He almost didn’t notice a firefighter approaching him, a black woman with a shaved head and black-rimmed glasses. “Sir, are you looking for someone?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” Clark said, fumbling his words. “I’m, uh, looking for Buck?”
“Oh, I see,” the woman said, face splitting into a wide grin as she took in the coffees and Clark’s anxious demeanor. Clark felt his face flush. “My name's Hen. Buck's helping our captain out with lunch right now, if you want to come upstairs?”
“Oh, that’s—“
“Come on. Cap’s cooking is awesome. Buck’s isn’t too bad, either," Hen persisted.
Clark relented and followed her up the stairs to the firehouse’s loft, listening to the sounds of laughter. He didn't know what he expected, but he was grateful that he hadn't been sent on his way. Far too many firehouses had turned him away today, simply because he never thought to check Buck's station number the many times they'd run into each other.
“Chim, so help me god—“ Buck started.
“May I remind you, I’m married to your sister. No threats unless you want to make your niece an orphan!” ‘Chim,’ presumably, responded.
“Hey guys,” Hen interrupted. “I’ve got someone here for Buck.”
There were five firefighters in the loft area, excluding the one Clark just walked up with. Buck and an older man were standing shoulder-to-shoulder over the stove, a Korean man with bleach-blonde hair and a Latino man with dark hair were sitting at the dining table, and an Indian man with black curls was just off to Clark’s right, fully immersed in his Mario Kart game.
“Bringing more strays in, Hen?” The eldest man asked, shaking his head.
Hen shrugged. “Like I said, this one’s for Buck.”
At the sound of his name, Buck looked up, face morphing into confusion as he took Clark in.
The older man muttered something in Buck’s ear before clapping him on the shoulder and sending him Clark’s way. Clark held on tight to his drink holder. He was sure if he used any more force, the drinks would spill everywhere. It didn’t take long for Buck to cross the loft to get to Clark. He looked like he was all leg, even more impressive when he was out of his turnouts. Hen took her leave, joining another firefighter on the couch.
“Hen said you’re for me, but I don’t remember you, sorry,” Buck said, wrinkling his nose. “And I haven’t done the one-night stand stuff in a while, so—“
“No!” Clark burst out, garnering the attention of the other firefighters. “Sorry. Um, we met at a fire. And I brought coffee,” he said, holding up the tray. Buck’s coffee was dripping condensation while his own was likely lukewarm by now. By some miracle, nothing spilled over the edge.
“Oh, thanks. I’m glad I could help you, but it's all part of the job," Buck said, reaching for the coffee at the same time that Clark handed it over.
Clark didn’t correct him, too caught in his nervousness as Buck turned away. “Uh, wait. I was wondering—“
Buck caught him in a stare with his blue eyes, and Clark took a moment to appreciate how handsome he looked, especially when he wasn’t covered in soot. His light brown curls were perfect and he had a birthmark near his brow, face looking absolutely adorable. And really kissable./p>
“I wanted to ask you out on a date?” Clark tried. “Sorry, I’m really bad at this. I haven't asked anyone out in...a while.”
Buck laughed. Not a mean laugh, but a genuine one. “No worries, man. I’d love to go out with you sometime. Wanna give me your number?”
He pulled out his phone and offered it to Clark, who punched in his digits and entered his name in the contact. Buck sent a text, which pinged on Clark’s phone. Just a simple, hi.
“I’ll text you and set something up?” Clark asked.
Buck grinned. “Sounds good. By the way, Clark Kent? You’re the guy who writes about Superman, right?”
“Sometimes,” Clark muttered quietly. “I really should be—“
“You should eat with us,” Buck suggested. “My team’s great, and Bobby kind of already said it was okay. I promise I won’t poison you with my cooking.”
“Okay,” Clark agreed, a smile overtaking his face without permission. Buck led him over to the kitchen area, his touch lighting up Clark's skin.
He was really looking forward to going on a date with Buck, and spending his lunch break at the one-eighteen didn’t seem like such a bad idea.