Chapter 18: The Drive Home
The truck’s engine settled into a deep, contented idle. Buck’s hand was still on Kenny’s thigh, a warm, heavy weight through the denim. His thumb had stopped its circling and now just rested there, a point of absolute focus.
Kenny looked out at his building. His apartment was dark behind the big front window on the second floor. It looked like a set waiting for actors. He swallowed.
“What time’s your shift start tomorrow?” he asked, his voice sounding strange in the quiet cab.
“Eleven,” Buck said, watching him. “Yours is nine, right?”
“Nine, yeah.”
A clock on the dash read 7:34 p.m. The numbers glowed a soft green. Kenny did the math. It was a sprawling, empty plain of hours. He felt all of them, pressing in.
He opened his mouth. The question was there, fully formed, but the words tangled on the way out. “Do you… I mean, if you’re not… I have coffee. For the morning. And, um. The couch is… it’s actually pretty decent. For sleeping. Or. Not sleeping. I just meant…” He trailed off, heat flooding his neck. He stared intently at a crack in the dash vinyl.
Buck was silent for three long heartbeats. Then his hand shifted, squeezing lightly. “Kenny.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
Kenny forced his head to turn. Buck’s face was half in shadow, but his eyes caught the light from a distant streetlamp, blue and unreadable.
He leaned across the center console. The movement was slow, deliberate. He didn’t close his eyes until the last second, his gaze holding Kenny’s until their lips met.
This kiss was nothing like the first one in the bookstore. That had been a collision. This was a decision. It was soft, a question and an answer at once. Buck’s lips were warm, slightly chapped. He tasted faintly of lime and salt from the tacos, and something else that was just him. Kenny’s hands came up, one gripping Buck’s shoulder, the other curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie at the collar.
Buck pulled back just enough to speak, his breath a warm brush against Kenny’s mouth. “I’ll stay the night,” he murmured, the words vibrating between them. “If you want me to.”
The smile broke over Kenny’s face before he could stop it, helpless and bright. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I really do.”
Buck’s answering smile was a flash of white in the dim cab. “Okay then.” He gave Kenny’s thigh one last pat and straightened up.
He gave Kenny’s thigh one last pat and straightened up. The walk from the truck to the building’s front door felt both endless and over in a blink. Kenny fumbled his keys, the metal jangling loudly in the quiet of the vestibule.
Buck’s presence behind him was a solid, patient warmth. The stairs to the second floor creaked their familiar protests under their combined weight. Kenny pushed the door open to his apartment, the air inside still and slightly stuffy from the closed-up day.
“Home sweet home,” Kenny said, flicking on a lamp. Its glow pooled over the well-worn sofa and the towering, messy bookshelves. Buck stepped in, his eyes doing a slow sweep like he was cataloging changes since his last visit.
The memory of that first frantic night here, among these same books, vibrated in the air between them. It was in the way Buck’s gaze lingered on the hallway that led to the bedroom.
“You want a towel or something?” Kenny asked, heading toward the linen closet. “You can shower first. If you want.” He pulled out a clean, faded blue towel, holding it out.
Buck took it, his fingers brushing Kenny’s. He didn’t move toward the bathroom. He just stood there, the towel draped over his shoulder, watching Kenny with that focused blue stare.
“Do you wanna shower together?” Kenny asked, the question leaving him in a rushed, quiet exhale.
A slow grin spread across Buck’s face. “It’s not like it’s our first time,” he said, his voice low and edged with amusement. He reached out and took Kenny’s hand, his grip firm and sure. He didn’t ask again; he just pulled him gently, decisively, down the hall.
The bathroom was small, steam quickly fogging the mirror and clinging to their skin as the water beat down. It was less frantic than before, more explorative. Buck’s hands, slick with soap, mapped the curve of Kenny’s spine with a lingering pressure that made his knees weak.
Kenny traced the defined lines of Buck’s shoulders, the ridge of an old scar near his ribs, learning the topography of him without the rush. The water sluiced between them, a constant, warm murmur.
After, dripping on the bathmat, Kenny reached for his own towel. He watched Buck roughly dry his hair, the muscles in his arms and back moving under skin flushed pink from the heat. A practical, domestic thought surfaced through the haze.
“I don’t think any of my clothes will fit you,” Kenny said, a soft laugh in his voice. He pictured his own sweaters straining over Buck’s shoulders, the sleeves ending midway up his forearms.
Buck stopped, the towel draped around his neck. He looked down at his own frame, then at Kenny’s leaner one, as if genuinely considering the physics for the first time. A slow, rueful realization dawned on his face.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, a low chuckle escaping him. He made no move to get dressed.
They stood just outside the bathroom in the dim hallway, droplets of water still tracing paths down their skin. Buck had only the towel wrapped loosely around his waist, the damp fabric sitting low on his hips. Kenny was in his own towel, clenched at his chest.
The reality of the night stretched before them, simple and unconcerned with things like borrowed sweatpants. Buck’s work clothes were a heap in the truck downstairs; Kenny’s closet held no solutions. They were just here, in the quiet aftermath, with nowhere else to be.
They stood in the hallway, skin cooling, the only sound their breathing and the drip of water from the showerhead behind them. The air felt heavy with possibility, soft at the edges. Kenny glanced at Buck, at the towel clinging to his hips, and a sudden, giddy clarity cut through the haze.
He padded into the bedroom, the hardwood floor cool under his feet. He pulled on a pair of soft gray sweatpants and an old, faded t-shirt that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and his own skin. The familiar fabric was a comforting anchor.
Turning back, he saw Buck still leaning against the doorframe, a statue of patient amusement. The towel was the only thing separating him from the quiet apartment. Kenny’s grin spread, wide and uncontrollable.
In two quick steps, he was in front of Buck. He didn’t hesitate. He snatched the towel from Buck’s waist, the damp cotton coming away in his hand. “I need to wash this,” Kenny announced, his voice bubbling with giggles.
Buck just stood there, stunned. The air hit his skin, and for a second, he was perfectly, utterly still. Then his eyes widened, a mock-offended look flashing across his face. “Hey! Come back here!”
He lunged, laughing now, a deep, rich sound that filled the hallway. Kenny yelped, clutching the towel to his chest as he scrambled back toward the living room, his bare feet slapping against the floor.