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dustofbrokenheart · 28 days

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Time for my weekly re-read of this fic hehe😊

Author's Note: Can you tell I have yet another hyperfixation? I've been horribly inspired (and clearly very indecisive) by various mota fic writers, @precious-little-scoundrel especially (thank you for your encouragment, babe!) and I can't wait to see what this new fandom cranks out over the coming weeks. Also, is this something you guys want to see more of? Let me know and I might make this a multi-chapter. 😘

Warnings: NSFW, f receiving cunnilingus, fingering, implied threesome, m/m/m/f poly dynamics, angst in the very beginning but the rest is fluffy smut, not proofread and might be some inconsistencies with the show (oops!)

WC: 3,609

Pairing: Gale "Buck" Cleven/Reader, John "Bucky" Egan/Reader, and Curtis "Curt" Biddick/Reader

Summary: The boys have to tell you goodbye before they're shipped over to Europe but they make up for it. ;)

"It won't be forever." Gale murmurs as he trails the pads of his thumbs down your arm. You're standing at your window with him at your back, watching as Bucky and Curt horse around in your garden. Both of them are soaked from the hose, hair hanging in dripping ringlets as they chase each other in the mud, slipping and sliding bare-foot, each man-boy hoping to catch the other unawares so they could wrestle their energy out before dinner.

Gale had been the one chosen to tell you the news because of his inherent gentleness and perception, and while you would have made the same decision, you almost hated how well these three men knew you—hated how they could read you so easily and how they were treating you so softly, like you were a spooked mare needing a calm hand.

Your arms have been crossed since you came to peer out the window, from the moment he confessed what you all knew would come to pass. Your boys were leaving you.

"We'll be together," He tries again, strong jaw resting on your shoulder as he snakes one arm around your midsection, but you still don't move. He can see the reflection of your far-off eyes in the window, even though your face is directed down at the garden and the pair of hoodlums making a racket in it. "Bucky's gonna be Air Exec, so he'll be grounded until he stirs up some trouble. An' you know Curt and I'll have each other's six up there."

You swallow and look further out at the field behind the house. The corn was going to be good this year for your neighbors.

"Baby, please," He presses his mouth to your shoulder through your blouse. "Talk to me. I don't like it when you're so quiet."

Your inhale is deep like you can't get in enough air, but you finally respond when you let it go, placing your hand atop his on your belly.

There's no doubt that you're hurting right now and feeling incredibly helpless, but there’s no telling how they're feeling—knowing that they're flying into the unknown and might not make it back—to their country, their home, their you.

"I just don't want you to go," You say honestly, feeling your face heat up due to the oncoming tears. "I don't want any of you to go."

He tightens his arms around you, swaying you in his arms as he tries to comfort you as best he can. Your eyes well but you blink them away as you plaster on a smile, turning in his arms.

"I need to check on dinner," You pat his biceps and he seems at a loss at your change in demeanor.

"Baby—?" His confused eyes search your face as you shake your head.

"Just let me do this one thing." You interrupt, sniffling. "I'm fine, just let me enjoy having all three of you at the table."

Your unspoken words echo in the air as if you'd said them aloud.

One last time.

He clears his throat and nods reluctantly. "Okay. I'll tell the boys to wash up."

You know you've done a shit job at convincing him you're alright, but being in the familiar setting of the kitchen does wonders for your nerves. The act of cutting vegetables and baking the last of the meat you had in the ice box, then cleaning the counter and sweeping the mess from your earlier puttering out the side door makes you feel more in control.

Out in the garden, Gale leans on a fence post as Curt and Bucky push each other away, heavy breaths sending the water on their lips careening like tiny little spitting fountains. Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair to get it out of his face, grinning like a maniac.

But when they see Gale's solemn expression their own joyful faces fall and they wait for him to say what they already know.

His eyes pass over them. "Both of you are going to be on your best behavior tonight, understand?"

"Is she okay?" Curt asks, wiping his hands on his pants, which is useless because both are filthy from the dirt and the grass strains and the muck.

Gale's jaw ticks as he shakes his head. "She's putting on a brave face, like we all knew she would. I expect we'll still have lunch packed for us tomorrow before she sees us off."

John nods as he starts rolling up the garden hose. "And a letter in each of our bags to read on the way to Europe."

"Mm," Gale agrees softly. "I'm going upstairs to see if I forgot anything. I suggest you two clean up before we sit down for supper."

"Sir, yes, sir." Bucky retorts dutifully. Curt manages a crooked smile and he goes around to the back porch to strip from his wet clothes, hanging them over the railing. Bucky follows behind him and swats at him again when he pauses at the door to peek around the corner at your busy form.

"She's seen it before, you know," He whispers in his ear. "You don't have to be shy."

"Oh shut up, you." They race up the stairs, hoping to be the one to grab the shower first.

You snort as you hear the thundering of feet above you and the squeaking of pipes, both of those sounds soon to be absent.

Making it a point to not be so glum on their last night at home, you go about putting a new tablecloth on the dinner table. The lace around the edges flutters beautifully as you set it just so, replacing the flowers Curt brought you yesterday in the center.

"I'll set the table," Gale offers when you're done, eliciting a grateful smile from you as you take the meal out from the oven. He's quick as he works his way around you, grabbing silverware and steak knives as you slice the meat into neat little sections so they can be easily portioned out at the counter, the table being too small to sit three men, a woman, and house fifteen pounds of food. You set up the mashed potatoes next, still in the pan, with various vegetables from the garden heated up and in their own dishes to scoop out. Everything is piping hot as you wipe your hands on your little red apron, surveying your work proudly. You haven't always been the best at cooking and baking and some things were still touch-and-go, but you liked to think you were okay at making a decent meal.

"What do you want to drink—oh!" You huff good-naturedly as you walk smack into Bucky's chest, and he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, grinning like it had been his idea to trap you like this the whole time.

"You do all this work for little ol' us?" He says, smooching you on the cheek repeatedly to make you scrunch your face in delight.

"Oh my word—so dramatic!" You giggle as he buries his face in your neck, mustache tickling as he pretends to devour you. "It's just food, John!"

"It's your food."

"No fair, move it." Curt comes down the staircase and nudges Bucky out of the way, leans in to kiss you on the mouth, his hair still damp from his shower. Both of them smell like they used your soap and still faintly of the wet grass they rolled around in. The kiss is over entirely too soon and too chaste for your liking, but it makes your eyes light up when you part and it's a world of difference from how you were earlier. You hum as he settles his hands on your waist, touching foreheads. He's shorter than your other boys but you don't mind, actually you like it more than you should, it makes it easier to steal a kiss or to be at nearly the same height during the more provocative activities you like to get up to...not that he knows you think about those sorts of things.

"Best behavior, huh?" Gale quirks a brow at John as he dishes out food on his plate. He used to put up a fight with you about being the one to eat first until you always say something stern and motherly about them needing it more than you did, and then something about enjoying it while it lasted, oh well. He knew it made you happy to dote on them and so he let you have the little victories.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John feigns innocence as he follows, making sure to grab a warm biscuit to stuff in his mouth before he sits down. "It's you two hoodlums I have to worry about."

Gale rolls his eyes. "Sure, Bucky."

You like to sit facing the window and so you've never sat anywhere else, but there's always a little competition as to who gets to sit next to you—rather—who has to sit across from you. Gale frequently lets John and Curt hash it out unless they're taking too long, and then he'll settle on sitting to your left so he can hold your hand after dinner.

Tonight he takes one for the team and takes the chair opposite yours, though he waits until you've gotten your food to pull out your chair for you and smack a well-placed peck on the back of your knuckles. Bucky ends up on your right and Curt on your left with one hand on your thigh, almost down to your knee. It's an innocent action, one he's taken to these past few days that they've been allowed home. You like being touched as much as he likes touching, and that goes for all of them; they seem to know how much you crave their affection and they've certainly always been willing to indulge you.

Dinner goes by without a hitch, with Bucky and Curt regaling you with funny stories they'd heard from other soldiers during their time on base, one being of an infantryman spotting a German soldier about fifty yards away who proceeded to pull his pants down and "occupy French soil in more ways than one", and instead of shooting him, the infantryman shot a few feet away from his legs and scared the living bejeesus out of him, and he apparently ran away with his pants still down. Gale just shakes his head at you from across the table, pursing his lips as he tries not to laugh.

"I've heard this story a million times. A million." He says to you, eyes crinkling at the edges with mirth. You throw your head back with laughter at his indignation, giving him a full view of your neck and the three little rings you wear on a chain that dangles dangerously low between your breasts that he can barely get a peek at. If he leans forward just a little more, his face would be buried in the flowers on the table, a poor substitution for what he really wants to bury his nose into.

"All I know," Bucky says as he downs two fingers of whiskey, all he's allowed to drink tonight per Gale's 'request'. "Is that I'd be furious if someone caught me like that. Might as well shoot me, I'd be so embarrassed!"

"Nothing embarrasses you," You point out. "You'd probably go back to the same spot the next day."

Gale almost chokes on his bottle of Coke at that, Curt's shaking with laughter that he tries to hide in his elbow upon seeing Bucky's appalled face.

"So mean." He pouts for a moment before you see a spark of mischief behind his eyes. Never down for the count for long, this one.

"I think you should pay some kind of penance," He leans closer to you, and you tease him by leaning away, your own eyes flickering down to his lips and that damnable mustache. "What do you think?"

"I didn't know you were so sensitive," You tease, taking a sip of your own Coke, raising the bottle to get the last of it. The perspiration drips on your chest, making you shiver, and you miss the way Gale's eyes travel back down to the opening in your blouse. Bucky's just the same as he watches you swipe at the trail of water absently, his eyelids drooping.

"Hm?" He swallows, looking back at your eyes. You tilt your head at him knowingly.

"Am I distracting you?"

"Me? No, no, 'course not," He denies, shifting in his seat. Your disbelieving expression nearly makes his bravado falter. Curt and Gale share an amused look. You're the only one in the world that can make John Egan nervous, same as with the other two.

“I think he's lyin’,” Gale says in that low voice of his—the Wyoming drawl that could almost pass for something inherently southern that comes out when he's getting all worked up—chin resting in his hand. “All this talk about ‘penance’...I don't know baby, I think he should be the one payin’ up.”

John swallows at how quickly the tables have turned, and you take the opportunity while he's glaring at Gale to place your hand on his thigh. The muscle jolts something fierce and he almost nails your hand between his leg and the underside of the table.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Curt laughs. “You nearly scared the daylights out of the poor schmuck.”

“Why's everyone suddenly pickin’ on me?” John wonders out loud, trying to keep still under your hand when really he's dying for you to move it further up. If you did, you'd feel the evidence of everyone’s teasing made obvious by his steadily hardening cock.

“Don't pretend you don't love every minute of it.” Gale, in all his tenderness and noble disposition can be wicked when it comes to the private goings-on in your little house, and part of it's because he lets Bucky have his way outside of it.

But you were Gale's first in more ways than the obvious. You'd been his before you were ever Bucky's or Curt's, and that knowledge gives him more confidence and—dare he say—power over the other two.

They don't mind it, though, especially when the reward is so sweet. The reward being you, of course.

The beautiful flowers that had been on the table are suddenly relocated to a windowsill when Gale stands, the dishes having been deposited in the sink earlier. You quirk an eyebrow when he comes behind John and pulls him—still seated in his chair—further back from the table and out of your reach.

“Gonna tie me up?” He smirks, cocky.

“I should,” Gale unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves, eyes alluring and unwavering. “Don't think there's any rope in the shed, though.”

“‘Sides, I think Curt can handle you.”

Recognition flashes across your face as Curt stands behind John, hands pressed to his shoulders. You're sure that should the latter move, the former will have his hands fisted in his shirt in no time.

��Come ‘mere, baby,” Gale takes your hand to lift you up, touching his forehead to yours. You share in a devious smile before he kisses you, cupping the side of your face with care. His hand is so large his fingers touch your hair, delving in further like he wants to feel more of it.

“Sit down right here for me,” He directs gently, gathering your skirt up higher to expose your bare thighs once you've made yourself comfortable on the table. You'd foregone hosiery tonight and you're glad for it—you've had to replace many a pair because of your boys—they liked to put runs in ‘em by not being careful enough.

You notice how Gale's eyes light up every time you follow his direction like he's getting an instant dose of euphoria, and it makes you terribly demure and submissive in his adept hands, the desire to please him at the forefront of your mind.

“Atta girl.” He crouches down and your face heats up, the praise shooting straight to your core. His lips press a chaste kiss to the inside of your knee, inching further and further up your thigh. “You watchin’, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” He answers, swallowing hard. He clenches his fists and palms at his member before Curt manages to grab his elbows and pull them back. “Oh come on, I'm hard as a fucking rock—”

“Quiet,” Gale orders. “You're the one who couldn't behave, it's your own fault.”

Bucky groans, toes curling in his shoes as he watches Gale hum and inspect you like you're a project needing attending to. He's as perceptive with the prize between your legs as he is with Our Baby, only this time he's got the privilege of getting up close and personal—doesn't have a layer of leather between his fingers and doesn't have to worry when his hands come away slick—s'not blood or oil, it's you and your arousal .

He'd been so unsure—curious, though—when the two of you had your first fumblings, but he'd taken to it like a fish in water so it doesn't surprise you that he knows exactly how to please you now when he immediately starts eating you out and making you squirm. His warm tongue at your entrance makes you sigh and tense when he brings it back up to your clit, flicking it back and forth at a steady pace, his hands roaming under your dress to soothe and keep you in place. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, muffling your moans as you rock your pelvis against his face, his pretty blond locks becoming unruly with every tensing and loosening of your thighs.

“Want your fingers,” You sigh, trying your best to keep your dress out of the way but you can't focus when there's such a handsome thing between your legs wanting to please you so bad. “Please, can I?”

You lean back on your elbows and he hooks one calf over his shoulder, nudging even closer into your warm, wet cunny like he never wants to let up. He grants your wish, twinkling blue eyes softening in what you think might be awe as he wiggles one long, thick finger into your channel, coaxing more of your essence onto his tongue. Your head lolls on your shoulder as you give into the heady waves of pleasure that are stemming from your abdomen and suddenly you feel a slightly pudgier but no less warm hand cradling your neck.

You peek up through a hazy fog to see Curt smiling sweetly at you, his dimples prominent and making you want to reach out to pinch at his cheeks even though you can see a bit of mischief in his expression. He proves you right when he tugs the collar of your dress down to expose your shoulder, kneeling down like Gale but lavishing your neck with attention instead—the chain holding your rings dangling precariously every which way.

He tugs on the buttons, too—so impatient—nosing at your breast like a newborn, mouth suckling at any expanse of skin he can get until he manages to free you from the confines of your brassiere to latch onto a nipple, making you keen and arch in his hand that's still cradling your head.

Gale, having been preoccupied with the taste and feel of you and your fast-approaching orgasm, raises his eyes again when the noises escaping your mouth become breathier and more frequent, and a dark blond brow twitches in annoyance even though he keeps on with his task, curling his fingers that disappear inside you with intention. It's only when your slick coats his jaw and your legs are shaking that he stops to gingerly pull his digits out, already missing your sweet honey.

“Thought I told you to handle him?” He stands, going over to smack Bucky's hands away from the tent in his pants, holding his jaw in place. “What am I gonna do with you, Bucky? Hm?”

The man in question gives him a pleading look. “Don’ know,” He mumbles through pursed lips. “Whatever you wan’.”

“That's right,” Gale nods. “Whatever I want and don't you forget it. Right now, what I want is the same as what she wants.”

He glances over and sees Curt has lifted your thoroughly debauched figure into a sitting position again, now draped against his own body as he sits on the table and has you in his lap facing the others. Your head is leaned back on his shoulder with one set of his fingers in your mouth as he swirls his other hand around your clit, digits dipping in every turn or so to make you moan. Your dress is open from neckline to hem and dangles from your shoulders, your necklace back to being situated between your heaving breasts.

A light sheen of sweat is layered across your skin and it appears to make you glow in the rising moonlight coming through the window behind you. You look gorgeous when you're like this—pliant and almost loopy with desire.

“You're lucky tonight's supposed to be about her,” Gale states wryly squeezing John's jaw. “You wait your turn, though, you hear me?”

He goes to pull away but John takes him by surprise, nipping at the fingers that held his jaw and were previously inside your sweet little snatch. Gale swallows, feeling his own member twitch in his slacks.

“Dirty bastard.” He murmurs affectionately, making John grin as he gets up to follow him to where you're waiting.

“Nahhhh, you love it.”

MOTA Taglist: @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour

#fic picks #masters of the air #rated m for mature

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