"Could I buy you a drink later?" T'Challa asked, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his thick blue pants. This was the fourth time this week they'd met. Four incidents across the city and every single time they just happened to meet? No, that was fate, or divine intervention. Whatever you wanted to call it, it seemed Bast was on his side and for that he was grateful.
With the scene cleared of danger, the fire put out, and the victims on their way to the hospital, M'Baku could go back to the station and get some more sleep. Unfortunately he was on call for the rest of the night, much to his dismay, but perhaps if they traded numbers, they'd be able to meet for a fifth time. "T'Challa, right?"
Tall, Bulky, and Heroic remembered! For the past two days, he'd been wondering if he'd ever see M'Baku again. It seemed Bast had an ironic sense of humour because this was exactly what he'd been praying would happen, or perhaps They were taking it easy on him for once. "Yes. I work out of the station on Asira St."
No. This had to be a joke, or a set-up. Of all places, T'Challa worked there? M'Baku was being transferred there tomorrow and this — this man with his charming smile, his playful personality, and the goofy smile he wore every time they met, was presently working there? Oh thank you, Hanuman. "How about tomorrow morning, say nine o'clock? I'll meet you at the station."
The second M'Baku said 'tomorrow', T'Challa's face lit up with that goofy smile and every butterfly in the city was suddenly raving away in his stomach. "Tomorrow's good for me too. I mean—" and now his ability to speak coherent sentences was going out the window. Oh how could one man possibly have such an effect on him? "—I can use my early morning break and meet you for that drink. Tomorrow."
"M'Baku! We're going back," Mandla shouted from the truck, leaning halfway out the driver's side door. "Are you coming, brother?"
"Two seconds." He signalled Mandla to wait and quickly searched his pockets for the bright fluoro pink marker they used when checking buildings for structural issues. Upon finding it, M'Baku seized T'Challa's forearm and started writing his number along the length of it. "I finish my shift at midnight. Call me then?"
"Sure, but how will you—"
M'Baku lifted T'Challa's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. "I'll know it's you because no one else has the guts to ring me in the middle of the night," he said before stepping back and turning on his heels. His thick leather boots thumped against the ground as he walked, and although no one could see it, his left big toe was now crossed over his index toe. If he calls, it means he's interested, M'Baku told himself, shoving his marker back in his pocket. And if he doesn't, maybe he's just run out of minutes. "Midnight, T'Challa, don't forget!"
"I won't." He'd never forget. This 'chance' meeting was going to be seared into his memory for the rest of his life. Not only had M'Baku written his number on T'Challa's arm, he'd kissed his hand and left him feeling flustered. "How do you take your coffee?"
He liked it hot and bitter so it mirrored how he imagined some of his ex-boyfriends felt, but he couldn't tell T'Challa that, could he? Some of his relationships had ended amicably, others not so much, leaving a bad taste in his mouth when it came to dating. "Black with no sugar."
T'Challa recited the letters 'BNS' over and over his mind, making sure they were committed to memory. Now he had the advantage of knowing how the man liked his coffee, he wondered what else he'd discover. Bast, T'Challa prayed as he watched M'Baku climb up into the fire truck, biceps and calf muscles flexing with each step, please let him be the one. "I'll have a cup waiting for you tomorrow!"
A/N: Written for Trope Bingo Round 10: AU - Romance Novel.