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Buck’s never thought particularly much about someone’s scent and definitely never about his own. He’s always been aware of how sweet and nice his previous girlfriends have smelled, but he’s just always chalked it up to perfumes and body wash. There was never a scent that had Buck going crazy. Until he met Tommy and his whole world got turned upside down and was made all the more right side up.
It wasn’t until Buck breathed in that strawberry and sandalwood scent intermingled with just the barest hint of smoke (an occupation hazard) that he finally understood why his exes always loved to steal his clothes. Because once he smelled it, he was addicted.
If Buck could live out the rest of his life with his nose attached to some part of Tommy at all times, just breathing the older man in constantly, he’d be the happiest man alive. But sadly, he can’t. So Buck settles for stealing Tommy’s hoodies and sweatshirts whenever possible. Like right now, as he wanders around their house doing some minimal cleaning while he waits for the last load of laundry to finish drying. Every so often, he finds himself ducking his head to sniff at the collar of the hoodie he has stolen from Tommy’s side of the closet; it was thin from overwashing, but so infused with the older man’s scent, Buck wants nothing more than to curl up in it and sleep the day away.
But he has stuff to do, chores around the house to finish up, and errands to run outside the house.
He’s already most of the way done with the work inside, folding the laundry being the last task and Buck soon finds himself sitting in the middle of their bed surrounded by various pieces of clothing in a variety of colors. For two people who aren’t really home all that much and practically live in their uniforms, they’ve got way more laundry that isn’t just navy blue LAFD gear than possible. Though Buck doesn’t mind the task of slowly folding each and every piece of clothing. In fact, it’s one of the few chores he genuinely enjoys (unlike Tommy who absolutely abhors laundry day), not because he finds it fun—it’s tedious and boring—but because Buck gets to surround himself in nothing but Tommy, Tommy, Tommy as he folds and tucks and smoothes out wrinkles.
Even after a cycle in the washer everything was still the same scent Buck loved. Even just the act of sitting on their shared bed permeates Buck’s sense with that familiar tangy, woodsy scent that spells out nothing but peace and comfort for him. So he just sits there for a few minutes, soaking in the fragrant warmth of the freshly dried laundry before he starts separating everything into different categories. Tops on the left and bottoms on the right; shorts, pants, shirts, jackets, hoodies, and sweatshirts each get their own pile and underwear and socks get grouped together directly in front of Buck’s crossed legs.
He starts there first and makes quick work of everything, Tommy gets his pile and Buck’s stuff a separate mound. His own stuff gets done first and then Buck gets to savor and enjoy folding Tommy’s clothes.
Shaking out the wrinkles and smoothing down each hem and seam drowns Buck even deeper in the scent of strawberries and sandalwood, and he smiles softly as he folds one sleeve over then another before folding the bottom hem up. Every so often, a particularly well worn shirt would catch Buck’s attention and he’d lift it to his nose, breathing in a lungful of that mesmerizing scent. Sighing dreamily as he proceeds to fold each piece.
It’s always a solemn moment for Buck when he finishes folding and putting everything away. Silly, to feel sad about finishing a task most people prefer to avoid, but putting everything in their respective drawers and hangers means Buck doesn’t get to bury his face in the soft materials and let Tommy’s smell flood his senses.
Sighing, he moves out of the bedroom and gets ready to run the errands they’ve been having to put off for a little too long, overlapping shifts and busier than usual schedules made it hard to make sure all the essentials are stocked properly given they had barely even been home for longer than a night’s sleep in the last three weeks. And since Buck somehow managed to finally get a nice 48 hours off, he’s been tasked with taking care of their house until the older man gets home, also starting his own two days’ reprieve.
He gets groceries (fresh vegetables, a couple of steaks, , picks up long overdue dry cleaning, and even has time to stop by the local mom-and-pop bookstore to get the latest copy of Chris’ current favorite book series.
By the time he’s made it home, Buck is tired, but the sight of a familiar black truck in the driveway perks him right back up and he’s rushing into the house, the gains of his errands forgotten in his rush to lay eyes on Tommy again. And what a sight for sore eyes to find the man sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest rising and falling with each deep breath as he sleeps on, completely unaware of Buck’s presence at the front door. But that doesn’t bother Buck and he’s grinning mischievously as he toes off his shoes and slowly makes his way over to the other man. Once he’s close enough, he bends at the waist and hovers over Tommy’s prone body, breathing in the older man’s scent, eyes falling closed.
The next thing he knows, there’s a hand tugging on Buck’s wrist and he’s being pulled to lay down on top of Tommy, every inch of their bodies flush against each other from head to toe. Fingers snake between his and squeezes as another hand starts playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck.
“Hi, baby,” is whispered into his ears.
“Mmm…hi.” Buck says back, words muffled against the skin of Tommy’s neck, a prime spot to intake the most concentrated fragrance of strawberries and sandalwood. He sighs and snuggles further into the older man’s embrace. The intoxicating scent and the heat radiating off of Tommy starts to lull Buck to sleep as well, and his last thoughts are that Tommy…
Tommy smells like home.