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joeyalohadream · 13 days

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Clegan Modern Neighbors! AU

This will be a multi-chapter buck x bucky modern AU and they're neighbors! I'm excited and also nervous for this one, but eager to share. I have it all mapped out, but figured I'd get the introduction out there to see if there is any interest.

Title: The Boy Next Door

Introduction –

The unit next to Bucky’s own in the quaint lakeside apartment building near the marina in Manitowoc has been vacant since the red eviction notice was hung on the door back in May. Now, only days away from August beginning Bucky notices a change for the first time in weeks.

He exits the elevator upon his return from the marina, sweat soaked and sunburnt from working in the hot summer sun all morning. As he walks past the vacant 6B, he notices that the door is ajar. His footsteps halt out of curiosity, but as he’s about to give a gentle knock, the door swings open and he smiles as he’s greeted by Robert Rosenthal exiting the unit.

“Rosie, my favorite landlord!” Bucky moves to close the space between them to go in for his typical enthusiastic full body handshake but is swatted with the clipboard in his friend’s hand before he can make contact.

“Keep your sweaty paws to yourself Egan,” Rosie grumbles, but still smiles and nods in lieu of Bucky’s preferred physical greeting.

Bucky throws him an exaggerated pout but backs off with his hands raised placatingly. Rosie and he have known each other since their days playing high school baseball and while Bucky loves to push his buttons, he can acknowledge that he’s a little more than ripe at the moment.

“So, what brings you up to my floor? I haven’t seen you around much since that yahoo finally moved outta here.”

Bucky had been more than happy to see his last neighbor go. Bucky had lived in this building, in 6A, since he returned from college six years ago and he was proud of the work and care he’d put into it to make it a home. Other than his ma’s house, no place was more comfortable to him than the little nook he’d carved out for himself in this building.

He'd gone through many neighbors over the years. It’s a small place, typically attracting young couples on their way to saving to buy their first home. Most of his experiences had been positive. He’s a friendly guy and he always wants to make new friends, so the forced proximity of sharing this corner of the hallway with 6B inevitably leads to some meetups.

The first neighbor Bucky had had was a man, a couple years his junior, by the name of Curt Biddick. He’d moved in to get a break away from his parents, who he had since learned came from old money, and a lot of it. He and Bucky had become fast friends, a shared love of food, alcohol and sports had led to many an evening in each other’s spaces.

Once Curt had finished his culinary classes at the technical school downtown, he’d reconnected with his family and eventually moved out to a large house right on the water. Bucky spends almost every weekend over there lazing about the beach and the pool and utilizing all of Curt’s waterfront toys.

When Curt isn’t helping his father run the two restaurants he owns, he’s collaborating with Bucky on his podcast, and Bucky couldn’t be more grateful to Rosie that he’d leased 6B to someone who grew to be one of his closest friends.

While his first ever neighbor turned out to be a blessing, his last one was a curse. A man in his mid-thirties had moved in at the beginning of the year and at first, he’d seemed decent. He had no interest in small talk, but he wasn’t rude about it. The most Bucky got from him was a head nod and an occasional, “hello.” Which was fine. Bucky was aware that despite his roguish good looks and his undeniable charm, not everyone wanted to be his best friend.

But after a month had gone by, he noticed that the guy from 6B was no longer a loner. The door opened at all hours of the day and night and Bucky noticed an endless string of visitors. Some around his age, some significantly older, some men and some women. The loud music started soon after the visitors, followed by constant shouting and what sounded like a not insignificant amount of potential property damage. The smell of cigarette smoke creeped into the hallway constantly, and despite indulging in the habit himself on occasion, it bothered Bucky endlessly that Rosie’s pride and joy was being treated like a bar.

He’d tried to speak with his neighbor about the disturbance one time, but when he’d answered the door, it was clear that something chemical had taken 6Bs ability to even stand up straight. He’d been angry the moment he’d opened the door and noticed it was Bucky and not one of his usual visitors. Bucky had made it back into his apartment with a crumpled shirt and a clenched fist, proud of himself that his famous temper was still controllable when he really wanted it to be.

His little slice of comfort he’d created for himself in this building was slowly becoming a burden and he spent more nights sleeping in one of the many spare bedrooms at Curt’s place than in his own apartment.

Only after Curt offered him a permanent relocation, “You know I got plenty a’ space to spare Bucky,” did he finally gather his wits and speak to Rosie.

While Bucky had been away at college studying Sports Broadcasting, Rosie had apprenticed with his father who owned several residential properties in Manitowoc, including this one. He completed some maintenance and management courses at the same technical school Curt ended up attending and eventually was given ownership of this property. Bucky had rented from him during his first month of ownership and the improvements that Rosie made hadn’t stopped since. He put his trust in his landlord and friend, shared his concerns about his neighbor and after a couple weeks of police reports and confrontations that improved Rosie’s already impeccable reputation in Bucky’s eyes, an eviction notice was slapped on 6B.

Thankfully Bucky never saw him again after that, and other than the very occasional disheveled visitor that somehow makes it passed the digital locks into the building to knock on the door to the empty apartment, Bucky has had his little slice of paradise back.

Taking in the clipboard in Rosie’s hand and only just now noticing the smell of fresh paint permeating through the door, Bucky hopes that still stays true.

Rosie heaves a sigh, “I had some contractors come in early this morning to put a fresh coat of paint in the unit. The cigarette smell really lingers and it’s made it tough to rent.”

“I’ll bet,” Bucky grimaces. “Think the paint will do the trick for ya?”

Rosie shrugs with a smile, “Doesn’t much matter actually seeing as I rented it two days ago, even with that stench.”

Bucky blinks in surprise and scoffs, “Let me guess, they wanted lower rent and a fresh paint job to sweeten the deal?”

Rosie laughs and shakes his head, “That’s honestly what I expected, and I probably would’ve gone for it at this point. But no, not at all. This guy just looked around and said it was fine. He even asked if he was allowed to paint the walls or if it was against the lease agreement.”

“That right?” Bucky was skeptical, but he had already decided to be very picky about who got to be his neighbor from now on.

“Yeah, man,” Rosie continued. “I was standing right next to him, and the smell was bothering me so it had to bother him too. But he just asked if he could paint. I’m sure he figured it would help with the smell and didn’t want to push.”

“But why wouldn’t he want to push?” Bucky questioned the odd behavior. “I wouldn’t want to pay my hard-earned money for a place that smelled like a bar, no offense, and I definitely wouldn’t spend my hard earned money to also offer to fix it.”

Rosie laughed but nodded too. “Yeah, Bucky I know. But that’s honestly one of the reasons I rented it to him so quick. I think he’s just a genuinely good dude. He’d already passed the rental background check with flying colors, and he seemed a little desperate to get into somewhere near here. I didn’t want to lose the business.”

Bucky nodded along but still had his doubts. “You say he seems like a ‘genuinely good dude’? Well, I say he sounds gullible as hell and a little naive.”

Rosie puts one hand on his hip and waves his clipboard at him with the other. “Alright Bucky, that’s enough of that.” He scolds. “I know your last experience with a new neighbor was worse than bad and I sympathize with that, especially considering I rented the unit to the guy.”

Bucky immediately moves to defend Rosie. Despite the truth of his words, Bucky doesn’t have any ill will towards the other man, only gratitude for how quickly he righted the situation.

“I’m not done yet,” Rosie cuts him off with another swing of his clipboard. “But this new guy is not like that. I’m willing to bet my reputation that this one is going to work out for both of us. I’ve only met him in person once, but I can already tell you’re going to like him.”

Bucky trusts Rosie, he really does but he’s going to go into this new situation with both eyes wide open. The last occupant of 6B seemed perfectly normal at first too, so Bucky is not just going to take Rosie’s word for it.

“Alright, I’ll keep an open mind,” Bucky relents a little, letting Rosie lower his clipboard. “But then why’d you have the apartment painted if the guy agreed to take it as is?”

Rosie rubs the back of his neck and shrugs, “I felt bad renting it to someone like him without at least trying to improve it a bit. Plus, I take pride in this place, and it’ll help me sleep at night.”

“Someone like him?”

Rosie looks a little flustered, “He’s like, really nice Bucky. Kind, you know?”

Bucky narrows his eyes, “Would you have painted it for someone like me Rosie?”

Rosie laughs and pats him on the shoulder, pulling his hand away with a grimace when it comes away wet and Bucky laughs in return. “Course I would Bucky.”

“You’re good people Rosie,” Bucky answers. “Well, when’s my future neighbor move in, huh?”

Rosie looks at his watch and does some mental math. “He’s coming by for the paperwork and the keys in an hour, but he said it’ll take him a couple of days to actually move in.”

Bucky sighs and nods, “Alright well, I’m going out with Curt and Kenny for drinks tonight so I’ll probably miss him. I’ll roll out the welcome wagon when I see him around.”

“Thanks Bucky,” Rosie says with a small smile. “I know you got used to the solitude, but you can trust me on this. You’re gonna like 6B.”

“Only time will tell Rosie,” Bucky backs away towards his own door. “Catch ya later!”

He watches as Rosie waves his clipboard at him and then makes his way down the hall towards the elevator. Bucky enters his apartment and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it into his hamper once he reaches his bedroom. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoots a quick text to Curt.

Getting a new neighbor in the next couple days. Still up for drinks?

He undresses and turns the shower on and waits for the water to warm. His phone buzzes and he laughs as reads the message.

Aw, no neighbor will ever compare to your first 6B 😉 But if they turn out to be like the last one, I’m ready to kick some ass.

Noted, tough guy. Drinks?

Satisfied with the water temperature, Bucky goes to put the phone down when it buzzes in his hand.

As long as you don’t mind being a third wheel!

Bucky grins and replies immediately.

You gotta actually ask him out before I can be considered a third wheel Curtie.

I’m playing the long game Bucky, you know that.

Eager to wash off the mornings grime, Bucky sends another text.

Where and when?

He waits a moment and grins at his phone as he reads Curt’s response.

The Wharf at 5! Second shift starts at 4 and Benny hired a new server we gotta check out. Well youuuuu gotta check out. I’m telling you, Bucky… you’re gonna swoon.

Only time will tell, see you at 5!

He shoots the text back and drops the phone onto the counter, finally hoping into the hot stream of water. Two new people to meet apparently in his very near future. He’s as skeptical of Curt’s matchmaking skill as he is of having a new neighbor so he’s not feeling overly confident on either front.

Only time will time.

#buck x bucky #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #buck x bucky au #mota fanfic #mota fic #mota modern au

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joeyalohadream · 13 days

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Down the rabbit hole once again...

I just spent WAY too long looking up colleges near Manitowoc, WI and the scrolling through pages of pages of degrees to decide what Gale would be studying in my modern Clegan "they're neighbors in an apartment building" AU.

My attention to detail is practically non existent in real life, but my google search history for these silly pilot fics I'm cooking is getting ridiculous.

#buck x bucky #clegan #mota fanfic #mota fic

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

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New MOTA Fic idea:

I fell into a rabbit hole researching the Army Air Forces flight training program last night and now I'm some how 7,000 words into a story about John and Gale first meeting at basic, becoming flight cadets, learning to fly, eager to become officers and *surprise* falling in love.

I have so many ideas and headcannons that this may turn into a 30K+ word fic. What am I doing?!

#clegan #buck x bucky #mota fic #mota fanfic #i can't stop writing about these silly pilots #gale cleven #john egan

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

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This one's for @pirateaangel, who requested a feelings realisation fic based in Stalag Luft III, with Gale in denial, Bucky acting out, and a chase into the night.

I hope you like it! Read under the cut.

I do accept fic recs if you have them, though feeling a bit of the midweek blues so would particularly welcome something upbeat this week!

After the men were seen to, and Gale had personally checked they had all the meagre offerings a desperate place like Stalag Luft III could possibly offer - blankets, one pillow, and a bunk to put ‘em on, medical attention (if not intervention), and some barely passable food and water - perhaps John Egan should not have been the first thing on his mind.

But there he was, as large and demanding and present in Gale’s head as he ever was in person. That had been the way of it ever since Bucky had wormed his way into Gale’s affections, into his friendship: whenever the responsibilities of leadership waned, and Gale was left with a few moments of quiet, his thoughts invariably turned to John, at least for a moment.

What trouble is he gettin’ into? He better not have forgotten to eat again. He’s gotta stop pissin’ off the Colonel. For a guy so affable, he sure did have a problem with Colonels.

Gale wasn’t some obsessive dame or nothin’. Just, someone had to look out for John whilst he looked out for everyone else, and Gale got the job.

Gale liked the job. Whenever anyone jokingly offered to take the other Major off his hands for a while, Gale would smile with the rest of them, but managed to keep John as his, well, as his somethin’.

And here in Poland, now that the quiet had descended and the men were all privately coming to terms with their new lot in this war, Gale wondered who’s job it was now.

Who told him that Gale went down? It was chaos, and he wasn’t convinced anyone would have observed any chutes. John would have sat there, fresh faced and relaxed after enjoying his leave in London, and have to hear 'No record', about where his buddy went down.

Gale wondered if it was vanity that made his assume John would be at least a little cut up about it. Lord, he hoped John didn’t drink over him.

If there was a way for him to write John, let him know he was okay, he would have done it. He woulda done anything, to spare his friend the grief.

Because if it were the other way around? If he’d had to find out that John had gone down, with no record, whilst he’d been yucking it up in London? Gale woulda drowned in that kind of guilt. Only the responsbility towards the other men in the plane with him the next time he took to the air would stop him from doing something reckless and final in the name of John Egan, KIA.

And in the relative privacy of his bunk, in the dark, Gale let himself wonder if that was normal? If it was something other men felt about bonds forged and severed by war.

And like always, he pushed the thought away. Course it was normal. It was known. There was no Buck without Bucky. And vice versa. Which gave him hope of a future out of this POW camp. So long as John was out there fighting the good fight, Buck could still exist.

It was also why he was equal amounts elated and devastated to see Brady two days after their internment at Stalag Luft III.

After Gale had secured them a bunk, and the fellas left to give Brady and Murph their space to settle, Brady had grabbed Gale’s wrist as he went to walk away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you alive, Major,” Brady said, though there was no trace of joy on his face. Only something grim and sad.

“What is it, Brady?”

It took the pilot a few moments to gather his courage but he tugged on Gale’s wrist and he sat on the edge of Brady's bunk and listened.

“John was the commanding pilot on the mission.”

And Brady, for his part, got the front hand seat to both Egan and Cleven's grief at hearing the other went down. He watched the breath leave Major Cleven, watched something shutter behind his eyes, watched him swallow convulsively around words he didn’t want to ask but desperately wanted to know.

“Is he—do you know if—?”

“He bailed. I made sure of it, Major,” and Brady grabbed him with a mad sort of desperation, trying to make Gale understand in a way he couldn’t with John. “We were right behind each other, but we got seperated on the way down and the German’s were shooting at us as we fell…”

No record. More or less.

So that’s what it felt like. Cold, icy panic stabbing at his belly. Roiling nausea sparking up his throat. A floaty, buzzing sense that blinded him to Brady, and the fellas, and the bunk house, and landed him in a flak-ridden freefall with John Egan.

Had it been a hard landing? The kind that killed you on impact? Had it been soft and now he was all alone in enemy territory? Had he died before he hit the ground, or had German guns put one through his head and he fell to earth limp and gone, like a doll?

“..jor? Major!”

Brady looked at him concerned. The other fellas had returned and were shooting looks their way. Gale wasn’t sure how much they heard. Digging down to find that steel core John liked to tease him about, he stood from Brady’s bunk.

“Brady’s just informed me he’s missing one from his crew. Major Egan might still be out there.”

An excited chatter erupted amongst the boys. Benny grinned and slung his arm around Crank. The effect John had on people was astounding. In the middle of this miserable goddamned place, he still brought cheer and hope.

He let them have it, even if Gale wouldn’t allow it for himself.

Then, after a few more days, when the men were getting more and more despondent at the lack of familiar faces staggering into the camp, he heard it.

“Bucky! John!”

“Murph? Crank?!”

“Do any of you know if Buck made it? Do any—”

And of all the things swirling in his head as he stumbled towards the barbed wire fence, he found himself shouting, raspy and loud, “John Egan! Your two o’clock!”

He’d seen the back of John, grubby and dirty and greasy like the rest of ‘em when they'd came here. But when John whirled round on hearing his voice, and Gale saw the blood and the bruises and the sticky, rotten evidence of everything that had tried to keep John from stumbling into their camp - from coming back to him - and he saw John lighting up with relief and joy aimed at the sight of Gale, that fierce feeling he kept in his chest for John flared and caught and burned, and damn near choked him with the horror of it.

Because when John all but collapsed into his arms, and Gale couldn’t stop himself from clutching him right back until the tips of his fingers were white, he knew. He knew he loved him in ways he didn’t love the rest of their men, and he loved their men from the 100th. But Gale loved John in ways that kept him up at night. He loved him in ways that had him knowing just how many freckles John got in the sun, especially over his eyes. He loved him in ways that hurt with worry when John wasn’t there, and with a fury whenever John put himself in danger.

Gale loved John in a way that was dangerous here. And as he led John back to their hut, and got him squared up with a bunk next to his and called for a medic and got him clothes and bedding and water and food, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let his love endanger John.

Not here, not now, not ever.

And he tried, but he struggled.

It was ingrained into him, taking care of John. John was the mama hen of the 100th, don’t be fooled. He’d joked once about making a nest for the dodos when he was shipped off to England ahead of them all, but it wasn’t really a joke. He got the boys little things to make them more comfortable, made sure they got the chance to blow off steam to keep them sane, went toe-to-toe with the higher ups to defend the boys as best he could, and was the hand at their back when they stumbled.

Gale wasn’t like that. John liked to rib him and tell him he was the 100th’s poster boy, but in one of his more serious moments, he'd expanded:

“I’m serious, Buck. I don’t just mean all this,” he’d gestured all over Gale with a lopsided grin. “The boys look up to you. They copy you, try to emulate you. When they see you calm and steady, that’s what they do. When they see you thinking all careful, they give a little more thought, too. Ain’t no bad thing.”

But with John, caretakin’ came natural to Gale. And in the camp, it was no different. And that was the problem.

Whenever John winced, Gale was at his side propping him up, hands soothing over his back. But as soon as he righted himself, Gale abandoned him again for space and distance.

When John started coughing Gale gave him his own ration of hot water and helped him drink it down through the spluttering, but when John tried to touch his hands, in thanks or comfort, Gale snatched them away.

One night when Gale let his guard down and was telling John about how they got there, his eyes were far away and he didn’t see John’s hand reach out. But he felt the shock of John’s finger tips tracing the scar on his cheek.

Gale had frozen, words stuck in his throat and muscles locked as John rubbed his thumb back and forward.

And God, did it burn. It burned and tingled so good and Gale wanted to sob and drop his head into John’s hand but he couldn’t. He’d get them killed. He had to get them out of here in one piece and get back to Marge and marry her to keep both him and John safe from Gale’s love.

So when John opened his mouth to speak, Gale snatched up John’s wrist in a tight grip, and said firm and fierce, “Don’t.”

Things changed after that.

The distance that suddenly sprang up between the Majors became painfully clear to the rest of the 100th stuck with them in Stalag Luft III. Hell, it became clear to folks outside of the 100th, who had listened to heroic, humanising stories about the Buckies - the famed leaders of the Bloody Hundredth.

Gale avoided John at all costs. He still tried to do little things for him, he couldn’t help that compulsion, but when he left a biscuit from his Red Cross package on John’s pillow just before lights out, he felt it hit the back of his head as soon as dark hit. When he tried to give John easier jobs as he and the rest of the boys built up their strength, John would glare at him and take himself off to the tree stumps or the races the boys set up out of spite.

And if John hated him, that would have been easier. But when Gale overheard someone bitching about his orders, he also overheard a smack and a curse and caught sight of John stalking away from a young man clutching the back of his head. When Gale tried to give his food away just to cheer someone up, he felt John’s glare on the back of his head and more than one fellow had refused Gale’s offer, stammering and glancing between Gale and wherever John glowered behind him.

Gale just couldn’t stop loving him.

It came to a head when they tried to rebuild the radio.

Something in Gale had crumbled when the goons found the first one, and he threw himself into building a new one. And John, temporarily forgetting his righteous fury with Gale, constantly dropped bits and pieces he remembered they needed from the last one in front of Buck.

And one night, after everyone had gone to sleep and by the barely-there light of one dull candle, Gale thought he finally finished it. He let out a stunned breath, the cold billowing it in front of him, and fell against the back of his seat.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered from his bunk before scrambling from under the thin and ratty blanket. “You okay? What is it?”

Gale eyed the radio warily before flicking his eyes to Bucky. “I think - I think it’s finished.”

John’s eyes lit up with delight and pride and Gale flushed but couldn’t look away.

“Alright then,” he smiled. “Never doubted you. You wanna give it a try?”

The notion filled Gale with terror, but also with a desperate sort of eagerness and he couldn’t have said no if he tried. So he didn’t say anything, and only nodded.

With trembling fingers, and John by his side hurrying into the chair next to him and dragging himself as close as he could get, Gale tried to bring the radio to life.

Nothing.

But it was alright. The last one took a couple of tries, too.

But again, nothing.

And nothing.

Gale’s eyes burned and his throat tightened and the disappointment felt like lead shot right in his belly.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed softly in his ear. One of those large, heavy hands came up to Gale’s neck and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

And it was too much. It was too much because that hand was the only thing grounding him and Gale wanted to grab on to it and never let go. He wanted to bring it to his mouth and press his lips against the callouses and the veins and the heartbeat underneath. He wanted to trust it to muffle the cries of frustration he was choking on.

He slapped John’s hand away and the sound cracked in the silence. The hurt cutting through the softness Bucky somehow still retained for him hit him louder though, and Gale dragged in a breath so ragged, he hoped it sounded like anger.

Anger he could nurture right now. Not love.

But so could John. Oh, so could John.

Those dark blue eyes sparked angry in the dull light and he muttered low and spiteful, “The fuck is wrong with you, Buck, huh? What’s your problem?”

He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell him despite the words thumping against his chest, beat after beat after beat.

“I ain’t got no problem,” Gale hissed, jaw tense and somehow, miraculously, managing to hold John’s angry gaze with his own. “If you hadn’t been such a child lately, I’d have been able to focus on this properly instead of keeping an eye on you—”

John’s eyebrows met his hairline. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

And before Gale could snipe back John barrelled over him. “Whose the one that’s scrounged up most of your materials for both radios, huh? Do you have any idea what I head to do to get all that? Twice? No. Because youv’e had your head up your ass about something, avoiding me. Keeping an eye on me? Gale? You can barely stand to fuckin’ look at me.”

Gale bit the inside of his cheek bloody trying to ignore the crack of John’s voice, which the older man coughed away with a sneer and a grit of his teeth.

Through the blood and saliva, Gale said, “You’ve been impossible to be around, John.”

Impossible. Because every moment Gale spent near him, it was harder and harder to control himself and remind himself why he couldn’t just have what we wanted, who he wanted, the love he wanted, just this once.

“Like you would know?! What - what did I do, Buck? Huh? What did I do? ‘Cause I’ve been spiralling here, barely holding it together, and the one goddamn thing that has me holding it together is you, and now it feels like I don’t even have that.”

“John-” Gale pleaded. He pleaded, to John, to whatever force, heavenly or otherwise that might listen and bless him this repreieve.

And John reared back in his seat and Gale saw the worst thing he might have seen in this war: defeat settle in the eyes of Major John Egan.

John who whispered thick and sorrowful, like loved ones at a bedside vigil, “That’s it, huh? I did go and lose you to this war after all?” And in the protection darkness offered, Gale saw that John let his eyes fill with grief he wouldn’t quite let spill.

“Why did you go, Buck? What did I do?”

In violent contrast to the softness of John’s grief, Gale sprang from his chair, the wood screeching against the floorboards and grabbed him a tangled, gnarled fistful of John’s shirt. John didn’t fight back; he only reared back in shock and his legs sprawled open to try and keep his balance as Gale stepped into the space between and bent Bucky back at a painful angle over the back of his chair and snarled in his face,

“You made me love you, you goddamn sunnuva bitch.”

And Gale took a full, harsh, selfish kiss all his own. He breathed in sharp at the drag of dry lips which told him that they might be down but they were fightin’ and alive, and he pushed into the heat of Bucky’s mouth and let himself claim one hungry taste of John Egan, before he made his hands, which had somehow come to clutch Bucky by the throat, push him away.

“That’s why.”

And Gale stalked out into the night. Curfew be damned.

He got maybe, half way down the side of their hut, heading for the shadows that would hide him from the goons, before he heard footsteps he would know blind come running after him.

Well. If Bucky was going to retaliate, may as well be now in the dark, in one of the few hidden spaces they had, instead of in front of their men in broad daylight.

John had never been a violent man, but maybe if he decided to smack some sense into Gale, he could knock this feeling out of him.

So when a hand grabbed Gale’s bicep so hard it pinched the skin and he knew there’s be bruises like fingerpaints there tomorrow, he didn’t fight it. He let John drag him further down the gaps between the huts and shove him against the cold and damp wood. He let John grab his neck and the back of his hair, and he didn’t say anything even as the man faltered when he got a look of Gale’s face. What did he see? Defeat? Desperation? The grief that in a few short moments, Buck and Bucky, the most important, defining, greatest relationship of his life would be over, all because he let his control slip just once-

“Then we’re even, you stupid, stupid bastard.”

John slid his hand around the back of Gale’s neck, tightened his hold on the back of his head and hauled Gale up until he was damn near on his toes, and he wasn’t even that much shorter than Bucky, and swept Gale up in his scent, his presence, and his taste.

John kissed him. Out there in the dark, on the precipice where Gale thought he would be expelled from John’s orbit altogether, John kissed him. It weren’t sweet like he imagined John kissed the dames, and it weren’t rough like Gale had kissed him.

John kissed like he was hungry. He pressed full and heavy and kiss after kiss onto Gale’s lips; sucking on his bottom lip, nipping at its plumpness, and when Gale sobbed when John angled his head just so and pulled Gale in even further, John slid his tongue against Gale’s and the shock, the vibrancy, the life it sent thrumming through him had him weak. And John continued to devour. The hand at Gale’s head came under his chin and tilted his head up so John could lick all the way down Gale’s tongue, caress him on the way back up, only to do it all again. Gale’s breaths were short and panting. Was this what is was like to come back to life? When they restarted your heart? He felt his heartbeat, their pulse, in his mouth and it guided him to yank John down and give as good as he got. He swallowed John’s groan down his throat. He finally, oh finally, got a handful of those curls and pulled, and John whined high and pretty and got his hands under Gale’s thighs and hauled him up, just off the ground, so the only thing keeping him upright was John’s body pressing him against the back of the hut and one of John’s thighs which slid between Gale’s own legs-

And Gale had no choice but to break off the kiss with a curse and another tug on John’s hair. “Fuck, Bucky.”

Pressed chest to chest, their heartbeats felt like rapid fire.

And Bucky’s hands, holding onto his waist, and the breaths Bucky huffed into Gale’s ear, and the solidity of his presence slowly lowered Gale back down to earth until his feet touched the ground.

Bucky dropped his head to Buck’s.

Gently, sweetly, he kissed Buck’s crown. “Next time, Buck, save a girl some heartache and just buy me some flowers.”

A little hysterical, Gale snickered into Bucky’s neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbled against the skin. “I just don’t know how—”

John hummed and pulled Gale back by the scruff and dropped his head so they were forehead to forehead. “Me either. But you’re the smartest person I know - when I’m there to get’cha outta your head, at least.”

Gale kicked his shin half-heartedly.

“You and me, Buck,” John said. “Just like I told you.”

And for now, Gale let himself believe.

#well this fic just so perfectly them #clegan #mota fic

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

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Salt Water

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: The boys take a trip to the beach, where Bucky learns that Gale is a little afraid of the ocean.

Word Count: 3020

Author's Note: This idea came to me out of nowhere, and I decided I don't care if it feels accurate or not because I wanted to write fluff about it. I've also never posted a fic on tumblr before, but I'm waiting until I have a larger collection of Clegan one-shots before posting them under a single work on AO3 and wanted to put this out there somehow before that happens. My AO3 is also RambleOnWaywardSon.

Gale is perfectly comfortable reclining lazily on a beach towel, book in one hand while he props himself up with the other, when a towering shadow blocks his sun and causes him to glance up through his sunglasses. Bucky, even through the glaringly bright light of a cloudless July day, may be the most beautiful human Gale has ever seen on this planet. Water droplets like glittering crystals cling to the pale skin of his chest and abdomen and drip from salt-water damp curls. Even today, his smile gives the sun a run for its money.

But he is, in fact, blocking Gale’s actual sun. And Gale had been perfectly happy in the sun, thanks very much.

“You’re blocking the sun,” he says matter of factly. Even so, he earmarks the corner of his paperback and sets it beside him on his towel, full well knowing that Bucky, giving him this facial expression that somehow manages to mix ‘hurt but hopeful puppy’ with ‘giddy, plotting boyfriend,’ will not be easily deterred.

He would be correct.

“You’ve barely gotten in the water all afternoon. Why the hell did we come to the beach if we’re not gonna swim?” Bucky’s puppy dog smile turns to a pout, and Gale rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses as he glances Bucky up and down.

“You’ve been swimming.”

“But you haven’t!” Bucky steps closer to Gale and grabs one of his hands, tugging insistently. “Come into the water with me,” Bucky says.

Gale lets Bucky work for it for a second, but eventually, reluctantly, allows himself to be tugged to his feet. It beats the inevitable alternative where Bucky uses his – extremely slight though not insignificant – size advantage to drag Gale into the sand before throwing him over his shoulder. “Bucky,” he sighs, running a hand through his own dry hair. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?” Bucky whines. He tugs Gale’s hand again, and Gale indulges him until they reach the shallow tide of the ocean, water lapping peacefully at their feet. Gale feels the cool water splash his ankles, the soft and gritty sand nestling between and over his toes. He stops ankle-deep in the clear water, staring at the tiny fish that dart around him as the tide pulls them forward and back.

“See?” Bucky says. “You’re not gonna melt if you get a little water on you.”

Gale looks over at him. Bucky ignores the fact that he knows Gale is rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses. Buck is sassy today. “I walked around in the water with you earlier,” Gale reminds him. “And no, I’m not the wicked witch of the west, thanks so much.”

Bucky ignores the last comment, practically having to physically force himself not to make some poorly executed joke about Gale, apparently, being a witch. A sassy witch. “You’ve been laying in the sun long enough,” he says instead, patting Gale’s cheek. This earns him another eye roll. Bucky doesn’t care. “You’re gonna burn your pretty face like that.”

“I will in the water, too.” Deadpan. Unamused.

“Gale,” Bucky pleads. “I wanna swim in the ocean with you. We don’t get to come to the beach every day, so can we please just make the most of it? For me?”

Gale sighs and looks down at his feet, shifts and presses into them until the sand is almost completely covering them, an anchor. Only when he feels Bucky drop his hand does he look up again, just in time to watch him walk away, without a word, into deeper water. Gale bites his lip and runs his hand through his hair again, trying to tamp down the feeling of abandonment rising between his ribs. This should not be such a big deal. This should not be so hard.

Once Bucky is a good few yards away, the water up to his thighs, he turns around, fully intent on calling Gale out on his bullshit. But he stops short. He doesn’t know what he really expected to see. Gale had been a little off -- difficult, sassy, John doesn’t really know — all day. But he did not expect to see Gale biting at his lip and staring down at the water around his ankles, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Bucky tilts his head and squints.

When Gale hears splashing and glances up to see Bucky walking back towards him, wading through the waves, he feels the tight feeling in his chest begin to ebb. He drops his arms to his sides and straightens up, trying to seem nonchalant. Bucky doesn’t buy it. “Hey,” he says. He reaches out and grabs Gale’s hand in his again, this time insistence replaced with a gentleness that wasn’t there before. “It’s okay.” Gale just blinks at him, opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his feet. “Gale,” Bucky says quietly. With his free hand, he tilts Gale’s chin up again, so he has to look at him. “You’re scared of the ocean?”

Gale shrugs uncomfortably. “Not a whole lot of ocean in Wyoming.” He’d always been a good swimmer, it’s just that he’d never had very positive experiences with the ocean itself – the unknown of it, the unknown in it, the tides, the salt water that tastes awful on his tongue.

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he agrees. He lets go of Gale’s chin and brushes his fingers down his check just briefly, a thoughtless touch that's barely there. “Why did we come to the beach if you don’t like the ocean?”

Gale shrugs again. “You like it. Wanted to make you happy.”

Bucky about melts, and he’s not a melting type. At least, he wasn’t before he met Gale Cleven. He squeezes Gale’s hand tight and gently tugs again. Gale takes a step forward, then another. Bucky leads him a few yards out, where he’d been just a moment ago, where the water hits about mid thigh and the waves swell up to just below the waist. It’s here that he feels resistance pulling at his hand. When he turns to look at Gale, the other man is tugging back, his feet firmly planted in the rocky sand. He’s shaking his head.

“Come on, Buck,” Bucky urges. “Just a little further.”

Gale shakes his head again. “This- This is good.”

Bucky turns a little more so he’s face to face with Gale and steps towards him, so close their noses almost touch. He takes Gale’s free hand in his, so he’s firmly holding both. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He starts slowly stepping backwards, pulling Gale along with him, and is relieved when the other man follows, unsure. Bucky glances behind him at the waves. The water is fairly calm today — Bucky is thankful for that now — but earlier in the day, here and there a wave would catch him by surprise. He doesn’t need any surprises with Gale. They just go slow, so very slow, one step at a time.

By the time the water is at Gale’s midriff, splashing up towards his chest, he stops and shakes his head definitively. He will not, under any circumstances, go further than this. Bucky decides to take it. He decides that they don’t have to swim today. They can stand, float, whatever. His new task is simply to get Gale comfortable in the ocean that he loves.

“Look at me, angel,” he says. He holds his breath for a second, worried the nickname will throw Gale off. He never really could figure out what to call Gale other than, well, Gale or Buck. Sometimes the nicknames he came up with were hit or miss — baby depended on the day; princess had earned him radio silence for about an hour, but he’d convinced himself that Gale just didn’t want to admit that he kinda liked it (he is most likely wrong but will not be deterred); darling was acceptable but how fucking boring; and sweetie was a very hard no. Angel just kind of popped out now because, seriously, Gale looks so goddamn ethereal in the ocean sunlight, the highlights in his blond hair bright and glittering from the sea-spray.

But Gale does look at him. He looks amused, but John can’t tell if his cheeks are tinged pink from the sun or because he’s blushing. Reaching a hand up to Gale’s face, he pushes the sunglasses up away from his eyes so they’re sitting on top of his head. “There you are,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me.” He tugs Gale closer, so they’re nearly chest to chest, nose to nose. Bucky can feel Gale’s hair, which has grown just a little too long in the front, tickling his forehead as Gale looks back down at the water rising and falling around them. It’s not so clear anymore; he can no longer see what’s under the surface. “Gale, look at me.”

Gale obeys, meeting Bucky’s eyes. He’s suddenly very aware of how close they are. “People are gonna look,” he mumbles.

“No one cares what anyone else is doing at the beach.”

“They might…”

“No,” Bucky reaffirms. “And to hell with them if they do. Just keep looking at me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Bucky wouldn’t admit it – it would just scare Gale off – but he secretly loves these little moments where he can be Gale’s safety. He can protect him, reassure him, let him know everything would be alright. Buck Cleven was always so in control, seemingly fearless. Bucky loves that he gets to see this side of him, the one that can be unsure, the one that needs some guidance. He likes that he’s the one Gale looks to for that.

Bucky guides Gale’s hands up so they’re wrapped around his neck and shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he repeats. “We’re just gonna stand here, okay? You and me.” Then he reaches down behind Gale's legs and picks him up, convinces him to wrap his legs around his waist so now Bucky is fully holding him, lifting him higher out of the water so he doesn’t have to contend with the waves alone.

“Bucky,” Gale starts to protest, immediately moving to disentangle his legs. He feels silly, a little too dependent. It goes against everything he tries to let the world see of himself, and everything he’s careful to ensure they don’t see.

Bucky holds tight to his waist though, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around Gale’s middle. “Just breathe, Gale. Just stay here with me.”

Gale hesitates, but nods and re-secures his legs around Bucky, leaning back in his firm embrace. The water makes him feel like he’s floating while the arms around his waist anchor him. He tries to focus on the sounds of seagulls soaring overhead, waves breaking over the sand, the distant buzz of a plane engine somewhere up above. The water is cool against his skin, leaving him almost cold where it splashes up and recedes again. Bucky’s body is warm and solid against his. He focuses on Bucky’s face, all warm eyes and a soft, encouraging smile. Gale lets that ground him, almost smiles back.

But then a larger wave comes and smacks him in the bicep, knocking him off balance and causing his breath to hitch as he tightens his grip on Bucky and shuts his eyes tight. “Bucky!” He’s a little ashamed of how nervous his own voice sounds.

Bucky just grins at him, though, totally unfazed. “I won’t let you go,” he promises.

When Gale opens his eyes again and stares straight at Bucky, Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like a teenager with a crush, the way his stomach flips at having the undivided attention of someone who may very well be the most beautiful man in the world – definitely the most beautiful in Bucky’s world. When they had first allowed their friendship to turn into more, Bucky was terrified that he wasn’t cut out for commitment. He never had been before. He was a low stakes, one night, paint the town red kind of guy. And Gale, well, Gale was not. He deserved so much better than Bucky. Even now, Bucky still beats himself up too much about whether or not he’s good enough, but slowly, slowly, slowly his anxiety over it had started to fade. Now, staring into Gale’s eyes, taking in his beautiful face, his hair, running his hands up and down his slim waist, Bucky is awestruck. Not for the first time, he can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else again. It physically pains him how much he wants to spend his entire life with Gale.

“What?” Gale asks, smiling a little shyly as he quirks an eyebrow at Bucky.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky blurts out.

Gale’s smile grows. He opens his mouth to speak just as another wave comes and catches them off guard, spraying salt water into his face. He splutters and gags, trying to get the unwelcome taste off his tongue. Bucky can’t help but laugh.

“‘S not funny,” Gale mumbles.

Bucky surprises him by pressing their lips together for the briefest of moments, relishing in the taste of salt and sand mixed with Gale. “It’s a little funny.”

Gale rolls his eyes and unwraps one arm from around Bucky’s neck so he can check that his sunglasses are still safe atop his head before clinging on again. Bucky shifts him up an inch or two higher, a silent apology and an attempt to spare him from the bigger waves.

“Are we done now?” Gale asks impatiently. “Can I go sit on the beach again?”

“No.”

Gale huffs and looks away from Bucky, out to the great ocean and the horizon beyond, even as his fingers play mindlessly with the wet hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. “It is pretty, I’ll give you that.” When Bucky hums in agreement, Gale frowns. “Of course, I’d rather think that from where I was on the beach.”

Bucky lifts one hand to the side of Gale’s face, runs his fingers down his cheek and then presses his thumb to Gale’s bottom lip, which he’s still been worrying between his teeth. “You’re still nervous.”

“Yes John, I’m fucking nervous,” Gale snaps, and he immediately regrets it. Then he sighs, closes his eyes. The words rattle around in his brain like gunfire. “Sorry.”

Bucky barely reacts, though. He knows Gale doesn’t do well with nerves, or with being looked after, or really anything that shows him to be less in control than he wants everyone to think he is. “You’re doing great,” Bucky says. “Now what was that you were telling me earlier about how stars die? Fusion or something. All those smart things you know so much about.”

Gale glares at him, but there’s no more malice behind it. He looks more like a petulant child who doesn’t want to be coddled anymore. “I know what you’re doing,” he says.

“And what am I doing?”

“Trying to distract me.”

“So what?” Bucky grins at him, and Gale can’t deny how much he loves that smile. How much he loves feeling their upper bodies pressed against each other as they just float. Or the way Bucky’s hand reassuringly strokes up and down his side as a silent I’m here, I’m with you, I won’t let you go. “Buck?” Bucky bumps their noses together, making Gale scoff. “Tell me about all your nerdy physics facts.”

So Gale does. He tells Bucky all about the life cycle of a star: the fact that the sun is made up of hydrogen and helium, and how hydrogen nuclei collide in a process called nuclear fusion to create helium and release energy, and how eventually the helium will start creating carbon and the star will become unstable, ejecting its outer layers into the cosmos like a fireball. Gale tells Bucky about all the types of stars and how they die in different ways to become different things — No Bucky, the sun will not become a black hole, sorry — and the fact that even the biggest stars eventually stop fusing when they inevitably create iron because they no longer have enough fuel to evade collapse. These are the stars that explode outward in a spectacular encore of literally stellar proportions, a supernova.

All of this really is over Bucky’s head, but he’ll listen for hours if it means he gets a front row seat to Gale’s unfiltered excitement. The thing that catches his attention though is when Gale smiles at him, brushes his wet hair away from his face. “That’s where everything in the universe comes from, Bucky,” he says. “The Earth, moon, planets, the sun itself. You and me. We’re all made of star stuff.”

Bucky can’t look away from this amazing, beautiful man that he’s holding in his arms. He wants to make some comment about when did you become such a poet, but all that comes out is “That must be why you’re my entire universe.”

Gale’s expression somehow manages to be long-suffering and unamused but somehow so loving. A look that says you’re an idiot but you’re mine and I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

“You doin' okay?” Bucky asks.

Gale blinks at him, then looks down at the water again. One arm still around Bucky’s neck, he lets his other hand rest on the water’s surface, bobbing up and down with the waves. He finds the motion somehow satisfying, the physics of it as well as the repetitive rocking, the cooling feeling of water adhering to his skin. He has no idea how long they’ve been out here. “I’m fine,” he concedes.

“Maybe next time we can go out a little further,” Bucky says. “Ride the waves in.” Gale looks skeptical if not a little terrified, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Alright, that’s a no for now.”

“I think,” Gale starts softly. He pulls his sunglasses back over his eyes and bows his head, so his forehead is resting on Bucky’s as he tightens his grip on him once again. “I think I’m okay right here.” He feels safe, secure. And he finds he doesn’t mind admitting that.

Bucky decides he’ll take it. He doesn’t need more right now. After all, he has his entire universe right here in his arms.

#love this!#protective Bucky and reluctantly vulnerable Buck is just the best #buck x bucky #clegan #mota

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

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clegan baseball AU | part 9 | EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU MARGE!

special note from bri: apologies for how out of control this part got on me; it pains me to say that the Met Gala itself is not actually in this part, but Gale's outfit IS, so that's gotta count for something, right? It may be after the fact, but I swear we'll get to the Met in part 10 (WOW! who'd have thunk we'd get this far???)

Sunday | April 30, 2023 | South Central Park, NY

By the time Sunday rolls around, Gale's so done with looking at his own face that he actually stops and wonders if this how the rest of the world feels.

John -- ever since landing in Minnesota and then in Texas a couple of days later for even more games -- had apparently decided at some point to make it his personal mission to take a selfie with each and every piece of Gale Cleven he could find when not out on the field.

And of course -- of course -- he felt the need to send each and every one of them straight to Gale without any sort of context at all:

John, posing beside too many bus stop adverts with Gale's face on them to count, grinning goofily at the camera in all of them.

John, excitedly waving at blurred buses going by, Gale's face morphed and out of focus with a set of smoldering eyes still distinguishable enough to be his.

John, in an array of different department stores in what Gale thinks could be malls or airports, holding up a various bottles of cologne or accessories next to banners of Gale in various states of undress, some of them sepia toned, some of them black and white.

John, in even more stores, ridiculously modeling jackets, shirts, or pants from some of the more affordable collections Gale's been brand ambassador for, oversized posters of him in similar suit pieces looming behind John like an all seeing backdrop as he poses for the camera.

Even hastily taken pictures of TV screens, still images from the multitude of commercials he's done, a different piece of John's face awkwardly in a corner or caught on an edge in every single one of them in what Gale can only assume were attempts to get them both in the same frame.

As exasperating as the other man may be with all his shenanigans, Gale's never had so much fun -- or taken himself less seriously -- than he has since meeting John Egan.

It's a refreshing change of pace.

***

Marge is operating at a solid DEFCON 2 when the landline phone next to the front door rings.

She squints at it from the living room, confused, because everyone who should be here, is.

It keeps ringing as she glances at the open bedroom door where she can hear Gale, Alex, and two other stylists still hashing out the finer details of Gale's Met Gala look, none of them even remotely aware of the phone.

Marge slowly puts down the laundry list length agenda for tomorrow -- still a work in progress even after weeks of preparation -- and cautiously extricates herself from the war zone of exploded paperwork and planning that has become Gale's living room.

She warned him she still had a lot to do.

Still without any acknowledgement from anyone in the bedroom she crosses over to the phone, answering it with a polite yet wary, "Cleven residence."

"Heya, Marge," Charles Bailey -- the doorman for Gale's building -- greets, "got a guy down here by the name of John Egan asking for Mr. Cleven, he okay to send up?" He inquires, Marge staring stupidly at nothing for a long couple of seconds, processing. "Hey, don't you play for the Yankees?" She hears distantly and holy shit, this is actually happening.

Gale's actually invited a boy over for -- she glances down at her smartwatch, checking the time -- for dinner?

He's actually invited a boy over for dinner.

At the worst possible time and without telling her.

She's gonna kill him.

"Charles?" She clears her throat, trying to reel back his attention. "We've been expecting Mr. Egan, please send him up and also add him to the approved visitors list for Mr. Cleven."

"Sure thing, Marge, thanks!" Charles hangs up before she can say anything else and she's left staring stupidly at the receiver in her hand.

"Gale?" She calls, hanging up the phone and catching sight of herself in the entryway mirror above the tiny sideboard table where all of Gale's little bits and bobs live.

Her reflection isn't the greatest, but she's admittedly looked worse going into Met Gala season.

"Gale?" She tries again, reaching up to redo the bird nest that's become her hair as she hears the sharp click of dress shoes announcing a man on the move.

"Marge?" Gale hollers back, rounding the corner from the bedroom and looking for her in the living room, pivoting confusedly when he realizes she's not there. "Oh," he frowns, finally spotting her by the front door, hair just as wrecked as hers and looking equally as tired, "what're you doing? You goin' out for something?"

"No," she blurts out incredulously, "but John Egan's apparently coming here? Right now?" She gestures wildly between the door and the phone, Gale's mouth dropping open into a perfect little O of surprise.

"Wait, what?" he goes to glance down at his watch before realizing it's not there, his wrist bare. "Shit, what time even is it?" He backtracks through the entryway to peer into the kitchen at the stove clock. "How's it already after six thirty, how'd we get so far behind?"

"Probably because you and Alex gossip worse than old retired women in Florida," Marge sasses, sidling up to him and resisting the urge to grab at him for fear of wrinkling his suit even though she wants to throttle him, "also -- hi, hello -- it would have been nice to know John Egan's coming over for what -- dinner? Do you even have any food in this place that isn't a juice cleanse? The man needs bread, Gale, he's normal!" She hisses out quietly, aware of other ears in the house and trying not to freak out. "Why the hell didn't you tell me, I could have ordered something in--"

"Alright, alright." Gale tries calms her down even though he's looking decidedly flustered as well, face flushed like a tomato. "It's not a big deal -- it isn't." He tries to convince them both when Marge just quirks an eyebrow. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I am, I just...I know you're super stressed right now and I didn't want you trying to rearrange things to make this happen and I knew after the fitting you didn't have me down for anything so I just figured--"

"Gale." She claps her hands onto either side of his face to make him look at her, his cheeks squished into her palms. "Stop it." She commands, holding his gaze. "I'm mad you didn't tell me, but we'll worry about that later. Honestly, I'm more upset that this place is such a mess right now and that you more than likely don't have anything here to feed this guy. When did you even plan this?" She squeezes at his cheeks, trying her level best not to just shake the shit out of him where he stands.

"Last Saturday." He whines out between puckered lips and Marge really does want to wring his neck.

"You've had this on the books since last Saturday and didn't even think to tell me --what if Alex would have needed to reschedule?" She hisses out incredulously as Gale reaches up to smack away her hands in an attempt to free himself as a tentative knock sounds at the door.

They both freeze, staring at each other in panic.

"I bought stuff to make spaghetti," Gale explains in a rush, "can you preheat the oven for the garlic toast? I got the frozen stuff." He backs away towards the bedroom, abandoning Marge in the entryway. "Just distract him until we're done -- I'll hurry it up, I swear."

"You are a goddamn idiot -- and a hopeless one to boot -- I want you to know that." Marge tells him heatedly as he disappears around the corner and another quiet knock sounds at the door.

Steeling herself, Marge straightens up her sweatpants, tugs at her sweatshirt, and checks her hair one more time in the mirror.

The things she does for Gale, honestly.

"John!" She trills as she whips opens the door, the other man wide eyed and standing there awkwardly in the hallway with a jacket dangling from one hand a white to-go bag from the other -- staring at her like he wasn't expecting her just as much as she wasn't expecting him. "How nice to finally meet you, I'm Marjorie Spencer, Gale's manager?" She offers out a hand. "Call me Marge, please." She smiles, waiting for him to take it before realizing he doesn't a way to do so. "Oops, sorry--"

"No, no, it's alright!" John laughs, throwing down his jacket right there in the hall and grabbing onto her hand with an almost manic sort of enthusiasm. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person, Buck -- sorry, Gale, I know his name's Gale, I swear -- he's said so many great things about you!" He rattles both their arms with a good couple of shakes that leave Marge feeling like she's just experienced a minor earthquake.

"Oh trust me, he's done the same for you!" She promises, opening the door wider. "Come on in and make yourself at home." She bites back a laugh as John hurries to step over the threshold but remembers his jacket last second, twirling on the spot to scoop it up before turning back around to almost faceplant into the door frame. "Oh my god, careful!" She throws out a hand in front of him, grabbing at what she thinks might be a very well defined pec before he can completely brain himself.

"Holy shit, wow!" He laughs out nervously as he stumbles the rest of the way in, his jacket and bag swinging wildly as Marge guides him in with an outstretched hand until he's fully through doorway -- just in case. "Nice save, there, Marge -- maybe you should be the one on the Yankees, eh?" He jokes, face an alarming shade of red.

"I think I'll leave that to the professionals." She winks, finally able to close the door behind them and briefly wondering if she should lock it just in case he tries to bolt. "Can I hang your jacket up for you?" She offers, John hurrying to hold it out before she's even done asking.

Gale's told her he can get kind of nervy, but goddamn.

"Wow." She marvels, taking it from him to hang in the closet while he glances around at everything, shifting nervously in the middle of the entryway.

He really is adorable.

"Feel free to kick your shoes off over there." Marge nods at the little shoe rack currently filled up with hers, Alex's, and their two stylists' in addition to a couple pairs of Gale's. "Oh, and let me just take your bag for you too!" She grabs for it, not really giving him the option as he starts to toe off his shoes.

The poor thing's already been beaten against a door.

"Oh, thanks -- it's not much, but even I know better than to show up at someone's house empty handed." John explains sheepishly as she peeks down into the bag, pausing at the familiar Thorpe & Abbotts logo.

"Gale's gonna love this," she grins up at him, moving towards the kitchen in a way she hopes John will pick up the cue to follow, "he's been so busy lately he hasn't been able to stop by for anything, he was actually complaining just the other day that Helen's probably forgotten who he is by now." She rolls her eyes.

"Nah, she hasn't." John chuckles, seemingly more at ease now that they've gotten the pleasantries and the initial shock of seeing one another out of the way. "She even said to tell him hi when she guessed who I was orderin' those for -- apparently Buck's the only one who ever gets the huckleberry bars." He grins, combing a hand back through his hair and trying not to look around at everything too obviously as Marge feels herself still.

"Huckleberry bars?" She double checks, half in the kitchen and half in the weird limbo space that leads off in any number other directions instead.

She's never been a fan of open concept floorplans.

"Uh...yeah?" John squints at her unsurely. "Buck said they remind him of his mom back in Wyoming, he got us a plate when we met up after the whole ESPN thing." He fidgets where he stands, fingertips drumming against his thighs. "Does he not...actually...like them...?" He guesses slowly when Marge just stares at him.

"No!" She makes them both jump with the force of it. "No, no, he loves these things." She steps further into the kitchen to set them down on the counter with more care than she's ever given anything in her whole life.

It's one thing for Gale to tell someone he wanted to a math nerd when he grew up, it's another for him to even mention his mother.

Letting John in on this tiny little fact about him is just so calculatedly Gale that it's almost infuriating.

"Actually, John, could you do me a favor?" She motions him closer, stepping around him as he does so, swapping them so he's the one standing in the kitchen between the counter and the refrigerator.

"Uh, sure." He blinks at her in confusion.

"Thanks!" She feels overwhelmed with how much Gale's apparently left out when telling her about what he and John Egan talk about. "There's a box of garlic toast in the freezer -- can you just preheat the oven while I go and see what's taking Gale so long?" She backs away into the ether of the limbo space. "It's really not as fancy as it looks -- and just help yourself to anything in fridge or have a look around or, or -- I'll be right back!" She darts away from John's wide eyed stare, disappearing around the corner into the living room and making a beeline for the bedroom.

"Hey, guys!" She laughs nervously, barging right in on four bewildered faces. "We almost done in here? Gale, honey, you're running late for your dinner meeting." She glares daggers at him, and he glares right back, a silent I'm fully aware.

"I think we're about as ready as we usually are when it comes to the Met." Alex glances between her and Gale warily, more than familiar with their antics by now. "Lena, Annika, just leave what you have with me so we don't lose it and I'll pack it all up before I go -- I've got just a couple more adjustments to do before calling it a night?" He looks at Marge unsurely.

She nods to give him the go ahead -- he's not the one she's worried about talking to press.

"Excellent!" She trills as Gale doles out brief side hugs of thanks and farewell to both Lena and Annika as they gather up their respective make up and styling bags, Marge trying not to rush them along too obviously.

They're great girls, young and upcoming -- Gale liked their work enough from last year's Met Gala to bring them on again -- but he's also naively of the mindset that they don't need to sign any NDAs for just this one gig.

He'd probably have his identity stolen five times over by now if it weren't for Marge keeping all his personal shit on lockdown.

She leaves Gale with Alex as she escorts both girls to the front door, holding her breath as they pass by the kitchen and--

no John, she breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you both so much for all your hard work this evening." She makes small talk as they slip on their shoes. "I've got press releases ready and waiting with both your names and contact information for tomorrow -- I'll send you each a copy in the morning just so you can double check me." She accepts the cheek kisses they both lean in to give her.

"I don't know how you do it, Miss Spencer," Lena marvels at her as Marge lowkey herds them towards the door, "you just make it all seem so easy!"

"That's why she's a professional, duh." Annika snorts, and Marge likes her a little bit more. "We'll see you in the morning, Miss Spencer." She opens the front door to let them both out, Marge right on their heels behind them.

"You girls rest up, big day tomorrow!" She waves them off, hovering just inside the doorway to make sure they both actually get on the elevator to leave.

She doesn't slam door behind her, but it's a near thing.

She heads first for the kitchen -- still no John -- before swiveling to check the combined living room and casual dining area -- no John there, either.

Where the fuck does a six foot tall man in an open concept penthouse go?

"John?" She cuts through the length of the galley kitchen to get to the more formal dining room, the space separated from the rest of the living area by a partial wall.

She finds him standing at one of the bay windows overlooking south Central Park, sipping from a glass of water.

Marge really hopes he was smart enough to get it from the Brita pitcher in the fridge and not the tap.

"There you are." She sighs, smiling in relief. "Thanks for preheating the oven, sorry for just dumping that on you."

"Nah, wasn't hard to do." He shrugs, stepping away from the wall of windows to slowly pace around the room. "Although I do have to wonder if all we're eatin' is garlic toast." He makes a face, and Marge rubs tiredly at her forehead with a laugh.

"You and me both."

"Should I be worried about the main course?" He whispers conspiratorially and Marge can't help the snort that bursts out of her.

"Gale's great with snacks, but cooking a whole meal..." She trails off with a wince, "hope you had big lunch."

John looks downright gleeful. "So the man's got some flaws after all." He muses, pointing accusatorily at the framed MBA from Harvard Business School hanging on the wall that seems to state otherwise. "Was beginning to think this guy wasn't real -- bet you're real proud of him for that." He softens, looking at the degree with an amount of fondness Marge usually sees directed at kittens or old people doing something cute in public.

"Yeah, I am." She moves to stand beside him, the two of them staring at it together. "It took him a while to get around to it, but he finally did."

"He said you two have known each other since you were kids," John glances down at her, their height difference more noticeable now than in the entryway earlier when John had been so slumped in on himself as a bundle of nerves, "how long have you guys been p-partners?" He stumbles on the word and Marge looks at him oddly.

"Like...business partners?" She guesses.

"...sure?" John seems to guess right back.

"Well..." Marge starts, thinking back on her life so far -- a failed beauty queen and model turned manager for her celebrity best friend, "it really wasn't planned, it just kind of went that way. We've been through a lot together." She shrugs, turning to look at John to find him already looking back at her with an unreadable expression. "My mama raised me in the beauty pageant circuit since the day I was born, mostly for the prize money, because why try to find a job when you just can make money off your kid, right?" She shrugs, looking away, back at the MBA.

"Wow...bet you won a lot of crowns, though, didn't ya?" John whistles, teasing lightly and elbowing gently at her arm. "Bet you just swept the stage with them other girls."

"Hardly," she snorts, "but I did win a fair few." She admits, briefly wondering whatever happened to them, where they are now. "I ended up being runner up for some pageant out in California when I was about sixteen....we didn't think anything would come of it until they called and said the other girl got sick, so I could come compete instead."

"But...?" John quirks a knowing brow and Marge can see why Gale likes him.

"But," she rolls her eyes, "they said they'd only pay for me to come out there, and mama didn't like that too much -- not because I'd be traveling alone, but because she was worried she'd miss out on a cut of the prize if I won -- so after some pretty nasty fights I just packed up what I could, told Gale I was running off to California, and he...he told me to hold my horses," she falters at the memory, "he told me to wait just one damn second so he could pack a bag too because he was comin' along with me." She feels misty eyed, John the first person she's told this story to in a good long while.

Gale's made them play everything so close to the chest for so long that she sometimes forgets where -- and what -- they came from.

"Lemme guess what happens next." John muses, pretending not to notice as she wipes at her eyes. "You two stole a car and did some crazy Bonnie and Clyde shtick all the way to California."

"Close." She laughs, swatting at him. "We did take his daddy's car, but we had enough cash saved up between us we were able to get out there without committing too many felonies." John sputters next to her and she grins. "I tried modeling for a while but it never worked out for me like it did for Gale -- he worked odd jobs once we got to LA until some talent scout spotted him on a construction site and said he could make him famous just because of his face."

"Well, I'll be damned!" John barks out a laugh.

"That's what I said too." Marge grins up at him. "We've been joined at the hip ever since...we tried dating for a while, but it just never set right between us -- I think we're just too close for it, too much like brother and sister, you know?" She muses, John suddenly suspiciously quiet beside her.

"So you're not...you two aren't...you're not like partner partners?" He asks like it's being strangled out of him and all Marge can do is blink owlishly at him.

"God no, what on Earth gave you that idea?" She demands as politely as she can, the thought of her and Gale still together hysterically laughable at this stage in their lives. "I know a lot of media outlets and fans think we're a thing, that people ship us, but honestly--" She stops at the pained look on John's face, startled.

"Oh." She realizes slowly, an awful feeling of something curling in her gut. "Oh."

"Yeah?" John wheezes out a laugh nervously, face so red Marge's worried he's going pass out right where he stands. "Maybe I should just go--"

"No!" He jumps at her sharp bark, something she'd normally feel bad about. "No, please--just stay there--stay right there." She backs away slowly with a nervous little laugh. "Lemme go see if they're done yet--they damn near ought to be." She backs into the kitchen, scared to let John out of her sight. "Just stay there, trust me." She urges, despite how completely mortified he must feel as he just stares helplessly after her.

***

Gale knows to expect hell when Marge enters a room all cagey-like with fire in her eyes and a polite little smile so sharp it could flay a person wide open.

He's seen her make grown men cry.

He's very concerned as to why it's currently directed at him, though, today of all days.

"Gale." She steps up to him, comically short given the stool Alex has him pedestaled on, voice trembling with barely restrained rage. "Can you please -- for the love of all things holy -- tell me why the fuck John Egan thinks we're dating?"

"What?" He stares at her, completely dumbfounded. "John thinks--"

"We're dating, Gale, yes." She snatches at his tie, viciously pulling him down to her level. "Start talkin' -- what the hell did you do?! How did this even happen?!"

"Marge--" He pulls against her hold, choking himself as his back twinges from the awkward stoop. "Would you quit it?" He coughs out, trying to slap her hand away. "I can't--"

"That man has been out there waiting for you this whole fucking time, he even preheated the oven for your stupid ass -- for frozen garlic toast of all things!" She yanks him in closer.

"Goddamn, man, that's bad -- even for you!" Alex interjects incredulously, clearly enjoying this. "The frozen food and the making him wait."

"That's not the point." Marge snaps down at him. "Why the hell does he even think we're dating, what even--"

"I don't know!" Gale reaches up to loosen his tie, Alex snickering below where he's still crouched at his feet working on his pants hem. "It's never really come up except for--" He stops struggling, wide eyed and staring blankly ahead as the memory pieces itself together in his mind with startling clarity.

Hi, honey.

Yeah, yeah -- love you, too, bye.

We've known each other since we were kids, we're more than just friends at this point, we're...I don't know...we're partners.

"Oh, shit." It punches out of him as he grips loosely at Marge's wrist, staring at her helplessly. "I didn't--he misunderstood--that day in the park, when you called--"

"And you answered the phone with hi, honey because you're the world's biggest smartass--"

"And he was weird the rest of the afternoon -- fuck." He curses, Marge finally letting him pull free to wobble back upright on the stool. "How was I supposed to know he'd interpret partners as partners?" He argues, trying to step down from the stool.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Alex grabs at his leg, holding him in place as Marge swats at his head.

"It's 2023, Gale, partners is just as common as boyfriend or girlfriend now!" She argues, Alex pointing up at her in agreement. "If you want any chance with this guy -- any chance at all -- you need to go out there and fix this!"

"I know!" He hisses out. "He's hasn't left, has he?" He twitches to get down as Alex just grabs at him again.

"Lemme just--" The other man fumbles down around Gale's ankles, doing some kind of intricate tuck-fold thing that he pins into place, "there, done -- now you can go get your man." He smiles up at him winningly and Gale's never been more appreciative of the fact they decided to stay friends after a couple of failed attempts at dating. "Lemme get you a new tie first -- damn, Marge, did you really have to go all out on it?"

Both he and Marge gape down at him incredulously. "You're actually gonna let someone outside of this room see all this before the show?" He asks dubiously.

"Gale, please." Alex looks up at him from where's gathering up thread and needles from the floor. "Based on everything I just heard, you're gonna need all the help you can get," he pats at his leg in sympathy, "just remember that you still got about seven needles in your waistband, though, that'll literally poke you in the ass, so no touching."

***

"John?" Gale's voice sounds from somewhere in the apartment and John wonders if this what an echo chamber feels like.

"Buck?" He calls back, unsure and still standing right where Marge left him in front of the framed MBA.

"John?" Sharp, staccato footsteps sound like they're coming through the kitchen.

"Marco?" He tries childishly, turning to meet Gale head on as he steps out into the late evening golden hour glow that's turned the room fuzzy around the edges, dreamlike and ethereal.

"Polo." Gale grins, flustered and looking so goddamn gorgeous it hurts to even look at him.

"Wow." John clears his throat, mesmerized by the way the amber rays catch on the lighter shades of blonde in his hair -- completely wrecked and positively obscene looking. "I, uh...I didn't...you didn't say dinner was black tie only." He jokes lamely, trying not to stare too obviously but failing spectacularly.

"It's not." Gale promises, approaching slowly with his hands tucked away in his pockets. "This is for tomorrow." He stops a mere arm length away, his cornflower blue eyes practically electric as they dart over his face, taking him in, looking for something. "Sorry for makin' you wait so long, the fitting ran over longer than expected."

"This is for the Met Gala?" John breathes out heavily, taking him in, one small fine detail at a time.

He gapes down at the overly polished pointy toed boots that jut out from the inky black fabric of the delicately draped pants that hang just so from the narrow set of hips -- wide legged and rippling like water at the slightest movement.

It takes every kernel of strength still left in him to bite back a moan as he takes in the black corset-like waistcoat -- cinched and fitted to him like a second skin -- that stops just under his arms to emphasize the broad expanse of his chest hidden away under the pulled taut fabric of an off a stark white dress shirt.

John doesn't know a whole hell of a lot about fashion, but even he can tell these are some quality pieces -- their richness understated, their shape and silhouette androgynous but still provocative.

As a whole, it's definitely a look.

"Your tie's kinda crooked." He observes stupidly, swallowing hard as Gale takes another slow step closer.

"Fix it for me?" He tilts his chin up expectantly.

"Uh..." John starts, fumbling the glass he somehow forgot he was still even holding. "Yeah, yeah, sure." He clears his throat, clenching the glass with one hand and reaching up shakily with the other to poke at the shiny black fabric -- too scared to actually touch it with his calloused fingers -- until it sits straight, the bulk of it tucked down behind the top of the waistcoat.

"Better?" Gale quirks a brow at him, lips not quite a smirk.

"Yeah?" John repeats dumbly as his hand drops away, twitching with want to touch at the sturdy looking material of the waistcoat.

Gale steps in even closer like he knows. "May I?" He bites his lip, freeing a hand from his pocket to slowly reach out for John's free one.

"Uh..." He offers it out weakly, confused, until Gale gently takes it, pulling it closer and closer to himself until he's placing it flat against his side, just at the overly defined dip of his waist. "Oh." John shudders out a breath, wide eyed and still so very fucking confused as his fingers twitch against the fabric -- sturdy, just like he thought.

"My good friend Alexander Jefferson designed this." Gale tells him quietly, his hand a warm weight overlaying his own. "He's my go-to guy when it comes to custom designs for the big stuff." Gale gives him another searching look. "He's very particular about who can see his work before it's debuted, but for you he was willing to make an exception."

"O-oh?" John stutters out in a breath.

"Yeah." Gale glances away sheepishly, cheeks flushing cherub pink in the golden glow. "He thought it might help me make it up to you."

"What?" John rears back, breaking himself out of whatever spell he'd fallen under. "Make what up to me?"

"John..." Gale starts, licking at his lips, "I think you misunderstood me last week -- the week before -- when we were at the park." He presses John's hand harder against his side, like he's scared he's going to pull away. "When I said Marge and I were partners I meant business partners -- just business." He stares at him, willing him to understand. "I haven't..." He shifts uncomfortably, biting at his lip and looking down between them, John's own beat to hell sneakers looking even more shitty compared to the shiny newness of his boots. "It's been a while since I've wanted to get know someone like...like I wanna get to know you." He peeks up at him from beneath his lashes.

John drops the glass, both them jumping as it shatters across the floor. "Jesus Christ." He stumbles to the side, forcing Gale to give him back his hand. "Buck, I don't--"

"I'm serious." Gale rambles, frantic but clearly trying to contain it. "I'm such an idiot -- I thought I was being kind of obvious about it but it's since been pointed out to me that I really haven't--"

"Gale." John shuts him up, both of them startled by the use of his real name. "What...what even are you?" He doesn't even know how to ask it, head a jumbled mess. "Are you...do you even like men or is it like...like a gay for me kinda thing?" He starts to panic. "Because I've been in something like that before and lemme tell you--"

"Bi." Gale's quick to answer him. "I'm bisexual, have been for a while, it's not new -- trust me." He chuckles nervously and John sags in relief.

"Oh, thank god." He rubs tiredly at his face, glass crunching underfoot as Gale makes his way back over to him.

"Hey." He grasps gently at his elbow, making John look at him. "I've starved you long enough." He grins hesitantly. "What do you say we eat and hash this out as we go?" He offers. "Rumor has it there's even some garlic toast in the freezer." He jokes awkwardly and John is helpless against the hysterical laughter that rips out of him, Gale side eyeing him worriedly as he leads them through the minefield of broken glass that glitters across the floor like diamonds.

Marge wordlessly passes them in the kitchen, broom and dustpan in hand, winking when John dazedly meets her eye and looking so very pleased with herself.

She's clearly got all the braincells between them, and John's more than okay with that.

#i live for these modern Clegan AUs #this one is SO good #these boys are too cute #buck x bucky au #mota #buck x bucky #clegan

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

Text

So I done goofed, and my brain wasn't happy until I wrote a sequel to my little Barbed Wire Hearts snippet/ask/prompt thing from yesterday. So here ya go!

@swifty-fox @moghraidhs this is very much for you because we all needed this to happen

I recommend listening to this while reading, it had me all up in my feels while writing this:

Walking into the hospital parking lot and seeing his old beat up red F150 still sitting there, like a silent vigil awaiting his return was almost a surreal experience for John. As much as he would have found the thought ridiculous in any other situation, he'd almost forgotten it existed in the time he had spent cooped up in the sterile environment of the hospital, mind awash with more pressing matters. Coupled with the stress and worry that had oozed from every single one of his pores like a sickness, the outside world other than room number 13 and its occupant was the only thing he had been mentally able to put any real energy into.

Curt and a few of the other boys had stopped by every few days to slink their way into the wing, jeans and boots and cowboy hats sticking out like a sore thumb amongst scrubs and white coats and had brought him a duffle bag of spare clothes and toiletries so he could use the visitor's showers. He'd made it pretty clear in the first days that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon, not even to pick himself up anything to eat (when he could remember to).

Curt had been an angel in that sense, too. He'd brought Bucky dinner a few nights in a row in the fortnight he was there, some cheap takeaway from one of the diners in the middle of town, burgers and such. And those nights he couldn't make it in to check up on things John had very helpfully been informed by one of the nurses on shift that she was to remind him to eat, even if it was from one of the crappy vending machines dotting the hospital corridors at the behest of a very worried friend that had called the front desk. The soft amused smile the woman had flashed his way alerted him to the fact that none of the nurses were bothered by Curt's mother-hen phonecalls. Especially when Bucky hadn't turned his phone off of silent since he'd been there and one too many calls had gone to voicemail. He knew he'd be getting an earful off Curt and the other boys once he had made it back to the grounds, but he also knew he'd be quickly forgiven his neglect, given the current circumstances.

As he got closer to the truck, pulling his keys out of his coat pocket and twirling them around his index finger, Bucky took a quick glance back over his shoulder at the figure not too far behind him, making sure they were still following him.

Buck still looked like he'd been hit by a semi truck, blue eyes cast down to the pavement as he diligently followed Bucky on auto-pilot, bruises still stark over his face, albeit slightly faded now, but still evident. Still sore looking. His left arm was cast from the hand all the way up to his elbow, held up gently in a sling over his good shoulder. Bucky had no doubt the other man could still feel the telltale ache in his left shoulder-socket where it had been popped completely out in the accident, features wincing every now and then if he stepped too heavily and jostled himself.

His blond hair was in a messed up disarray, bed-hair born of two weeks of laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed for hours at a time, sticking up in some places and falling softly across his forehead in others. The nurses had helped him up and into the room's private bathroom the night before and had helped him finally have a shower before he got discharged the next morning, an awkward affair that Bucky knew the blond didn't necessarily want to talk about if the blush that had painted his pale cheeks when prodded was anything to go by. Better than having to be given a spongebath though, by a long shot, and Bucky couldn't have agreed more.

He also couldn't help the small smile that pulled up at the corner of his lips as he raked his gaze over the smaller man's body, taking in the soft grey over-sized sweatpants (Bucky's) tightened as much as the drawstrings would allow around thinner hips, tucked loosely into worn Twisted X square toe boots. A good idea in hindsight when there was no way Buck would have been able to get himself into a pair of his usual jeans with the soreness of the bruising up his thigh and over the jut of his hip bone, matching his face in colour albeit a bit more angrier looking.

The nights were a bit cooler than they were a week or so before, so at Bucky's insistence Gale was also draped in one of John's massive Ariat puffer jackets, only one arm able to fill the sleeves while the other hung uselessly at Gale's side. With the collar pulled up around his ears, John felt a sense of pride and slight satisfaction knowing he was wearing his clothes. Everything but the plain white tshirt underneath the draped layers.

Walking over to the passenger side quickly after shoving the key in the driver's side door and unlocking it, Bucky opened the passenger door and swept his other arm out in a low gesture, a smirk on his face.

"After you, princess," he drawled, delighting in the unimpressed lift of an unbruised brow shot in his direction, but no real heat or disdain behind it.

He patiently waited with the door held open, allowing Buck to gingerly hoist himself up into the truck's cab knowing if he tried to assist in any way he'd get sworn at for his trouble, ever the independent hard-headed idiot Buck often was. Once the other man was seated comfortably, only a few winces and sharp intake of breath painfully hissed through clenched teeth, Bucky carefully shut the door and trotted around the front of the truck to climb into the driver's seat. He gave a double glance into the truck bed at his and Buck's bags he had tossed in a little while earlier before he'd gone back in to help with the discharge papers.

The old truck roared to life without much protest, and he couldn't help the self-satisfied little chuckle that escaped him, patting the dash like the vehicle was a loyal old dog at his heels. As much as he'd nearly forgotten about her amongst the chaos, he was happy to be back behind her wheel, even if the leather was peeling just a tiny bit from sun damage. It added more character, he thought.

He looked over at Gale, noticing the younger man sitting still and almost stiff, eyes zeroed in on the dash but glazed over in thought and what was probably left over sedation from the heavy painkillers he was given. His expression was blank, nothing giving away even the slightest hint at what was running through that pretty head of his, and Bucky felt that telltale tightening in his throat creep up again. But before he let it get a permanent grip, he reached forward, grabbing the black felt hat that had been sitting on the dash since the previous day (thanks, Curt) and picking it up before turning and dropping it perfectly over Buck's head.

The other man flinched in surprise, ripped out of his thoughts and his bright blue eyes coming back into focus as he turned to look at Bucky, a confused frown creasing his brow as he brought up his working hand and felt the hat underneath his fingers. He straightened it a few centimetres, eyes looking between Bucky's in a numb sort of questioning expression.

"My hat," he said dumbly, voice quieter and still that hint of lost that had Bucky swallowing back emotions that he didn't want to put a name to, instead letting a bright smile grow from his smirk in the blond's direction, teeth bright.

"Well, can't be much of a cowboy without your hat now, can you?" Bucky smiled, watching every minute change in Buck's expression like a hawk. He was rewarded with a swooping sensation in his chest when he noticed the smallest grin colour Buck's face, eyes flickering away from Bucky's with a small huff of a laugh to focus out the windshield.

"Don't think I'll be much of a cowboy for the next couple weeks, Bucky," Gale muttered. As if in stark reminder, he winced as he shifted slightly in the worn leather seat, obviously jostling one of the many painful areas littering his body.

"Ahhh come on," Bucky joked, leaning forward slightly to grip the ancient clutch and put the truck into gear. "You're still one of the best cowboys around, even if you are bruised and battered to high heaven."

Gale huffed out another light breath of a laugh, lifting his good elbow up to rest it against the open window, hand and fingers dangling on the outside and tapping a gentle beat against the metal of the door as Bucky pulled the vehicle out and towards the end of the parking lot onto the main road.

The next half hour of the drive back to the rodeo grounds was silent, just the monotone hum of the local radio turned down to barely audible from the truck's old speakers and the quick whoosh of another vehicle every now and then, passing them on the highway on the way back to where they'd just came from. The sun had dipped low enough on the horizon now that the reaching expanse of the county they were in painted a picture through the slightly dirty windshield, sky lit up in oranges and reds streaked through by a few stray clouds.

Bucky would hazard glances from the corner of his eyes every now and then at Gale, who sat still and stoic beside him, chin now rested in the palm of his hand against the window, eyes cast out to the scenery that rolled by. Bucky could tell that under the surface there was something much more sinister and harsh squeezing at Buck's heart and thoughts, spiraling down deep into a void that he worried he wouldn't be able to pull the younger man out of, even if he lassoed him like a runaway steer.

At some point, with a nervous swallow, Bucky reached his free hand out, covering Buck's thigh with the expanse of it, feeling the tension in the muscles and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, gentle and barely there, but a reminder he was right there with him all the same. He counted it as a win when he noticed Buck's face turn to him slightly with a soft smile, eyes very obviously still avoiding John's own before turning back to the view from the window. It had Bucky releasing a long breath he hadn't realised he had been holding hostage in his chest. He didn't attempt to remove his hand, and Buck didn't make any effort to shift out from under it. If anything, he leaned into the touch, knee swinging softly towards the gear stick in Bucky's general direction after a few moments. A silent thank you.

Bucky couldn't help the gentle self-satisfied smile that graced itself onto his face.

By the time Bucky turned the truck off the highway and through the big open gates of the grounds, the sun had dipped that much further underneath the distant mountains that everything was washed in a barely perceivable darkness. What was left of the sunset was slowly turning itself to the deep blue of the night, stars beginning to reveal themselves against the quickly fading orange glow.

As the beam of the truck's headlights lit up the dirt road further into the grounds and towards the still set up camps close by the back of the arena, the familiar sight of gooseneck trailers and camper trailers, awnings folded out and a pit fire settled in the middle amongst them came more into view.

They could see the silhouettes of a dozen people, Curt and Dougie and Brady and the rest all chatting away circled around the fire, beers in a few hands as Bucky slowly pulled the truck to a stop up beside Crosby's trailer. It wasn't until he had turned off the engine, hopping out of the cab with stiff knees and moved around to Buck's side that Curt's voice cut through the night and reached them through the other voices.

"Ayyyy, the great Champion returns!" Bucky couldn't help the grin from painting his face as he looked up, mid opening Buck's door and seeing Curt walking in their direction, back lit up in orange from the fire's warmth and arms lifted above his head, beer bottle in one hand.

Buck had only just planted his boots on the ground with a slightly pained grunt before he was swept up in a happy but very careful embrace by Curt, the other shorter man being incredibly cautious as to which parts he touched, but none the less enthusiastic in his greeting. The curve of Buck's own smile, teeth glinting in the half darkness caught Bucky's eye and he couldn't help the weight that lifted from the centre of his chest.

"It's good to see you, Buck. They finally release you from that hellhole, huh? Thought our good ol' Bucky here was gonna rot himself to that chair by your bed if you didn't get outta there soon."

Bucky couldn't help the bashful way he rubbed at the back of his neck at Curt's words, hoping the slight colour that rose to his cheeks wasn't too obvious in the lowlight when Buck shot him a soft glance from his peripheral.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away, Curt," Buck joked back. It was light-hearted and jovial, appeasing Curt's attention on him, but Bucky could see that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a blank faraway look behind those baby blues, and it made Bucky's chest restrict uncomfortably as he watched as more of the boys made their way over. They all stepped forward to squeeze the blond cowboy's good shoulder or shake his good hand, some like Brady and Jack and Crosby mirroring Curt and pulling Buck into a gentle embrace, ever careful of his injuries.

Once they had all made their way over to the fire's warmth, Curt all but forcing Buck into one of the fold out camper chairs in his usual mother hen ways, everyone took their turn updating him and Bucky on everything they had missed while they had been in the hospital. Buck more-so, considering the first almost week the man had been unconscious for most of the time and had missed more than Bucky had.

Curt took a few moments to admonish Bucky like he had expected at having had his phone on silent for nearly the entire time, but Bucky just waved him off with a cocky smirk. He kept glancing at Buck every few minutes, taking note of every small change in the blond's expression, the way he joked with the others, the small smiles and tilt of his chin when he laughed as much as his broken ribs would allow him to in their process of healing. To any of the others, everything was normal, Buck's gentle quiet nature and injuries the reasoning as to why he wasn't quite himself yet, why there wasn't that normal spark in the shine of his eyes. But Bucky could feel the tension, the exhaustion that was more than just from pain and injury radiating from Buck like he was melded with the man's very mind himself. Could see the way he tucked himself further underneath Bucky's jacket every now and then with a faraway look on his face before he made himself more alert to the conversations around him.

Bucky just sat and boded his time, happy to not have to make too much small talk amongst the other boys as the night further darkened and the numbers on his watch got later and later.

When most of the conversations had died down and a few of the boys had retired to their trailers for the night, a few still milling about with the happiness that both Buckies return had caused and talking amongst themselves, voices slightly slurred from alcohol, Bucky stood from his seat against the wheel of one of the goosnecks and shoved his slightly chilled hands deep into his pocket. Making his way over to where Buck was still seated in the camper chair, staring blankly into the fire which wasn't as fierce as earlier in the evening now.

Leaning down, his lips close to Buck's ear from behind he whispered a low "Come on, Sunshine, follow me for a sec. Got something I wanna show ya."

He smirked when Buck jumped slightly in surprise at the sound of his voice so close, obviously so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Bucky make his way over. Craning his neck backwards so he could look up at Bucky's face, blue eyes trying hard to focus on him upside down, he frowned in question.

"Come on," Bucky repeated, smile soft and obvious as he stepped to the side a little and held his hand out to Buck in an offer to help hoist him to his feet. The blond almost looked like he wasn't going to move, body language hesitant and lips pursing into a tight line, before he sighed and reached out with his good hand, gripping Bucky's offered firmly and allowing himself to be lifted into standing, a small grimace of pain fluttering across his features at his ribs obviously screaming in protest.

Once Bucky was sure he had recovered, he tugged at their joined hands gently, tilting his chin in the direction of the arena with a small smile. Buck looked at him, still questioning in his gaze before he allowed himself to be lead through the cluster of trailers. He didn't drop Bucky's hand, but instead almost hesitantly thread their fingers together. Bucky couldn't help his heart from soaring as he gave Gale's hand a gentle squeeze in silent comfort.

Like second nature he guided Gale out of the gathered maze of trailers, the sounds of the other boy's voices growing further and further behind them until the arena was not far in front of them, only just visible by some of the smaller flood-lights that were still on around the barriers. When they got closer, and Bucky turned towards the holding yards, he felt Gale falter slightly, his hand pulling back subconsciously but he didn't drop their hold.

Bucky looked back at Gale's face, seeing the blond's eyes focused out onto the sands, expression blank but taut like a frayed guitar string on the verge of snapping, and he slowed his stride.

"Hey," Bucky spoke gently, like he was approaching a ready-to-spook horse. When Buck still didn't look at him, he gave their still joined hands a squeeze and a shake, until Gale finally snapped his eyes back to Bucky's. They were wide and had a look of slight fear buried deep behind, flickering over Bucky's face trying to look for some semblance of comfort. Bucky held their gaze for a few moments, both men having stopped in their journey, and waited until he knew Buck was partially back in the present. "Hey it's okay, I promise. Trust me."

Gale's expression was still one of veiled panic and grief for a few more seconds, before he found whatever he was looking for in Bucky's own face and let his shoulders slouch and relax, breath exhaling slowly with a small nod.

With a comforting smile, Bucky tugged at their hands gently until Gale fell back into step behind him, eyes still glancing over to the middle of the arena every now and then like he was seeing invisible monsters advancing towards them.

Bucky could only imagine what was going through the smaller man's head, still often privvy to his own torturous memories and images from the day of Buck's accident no matter how hard he tried to forget and push them back. Every now and then the picture of Gale's face, bright red blood flowing down one side of it and slack in unconsciousness, pale and looking for all intent and purposes dead kept haunting him. But he stamped those thoughts down, focusing instead on the feeling of Buck's thankfully now warm fingers between his own, the slight sensation of his fluttering pulse.

Making it to the holding yards out behind the bull chutes, Bucky carefully made his way through the maze of yards, keeping a firm grip on Buck's hand as the two men threaded their way in and out between metal gates and runs in the dark.

Gale's voice, hushed and urgent, reached him from behind, and the smile only grew on his face. "Bucky I can't fucking see. We're both gonna fall head over tit if you don't slow-"

"Shhh!" Bucky answered back, only pulling Gale further into the pens.

Gale made an affronted noise, mouth parted. "Did you just fucking shush me?!"

"Sure did, now if you'd just shut your pretty mouth and look."

Gale gave his hand a harsh squeeze in retaliation. "Did you forget the part where I just said I can't see? What the hell am I even supposed to be looking a-"

Buck froze in his following of Bucky, the taller man allowing himself to be pulled to a complete stop when Buck's hand pulled against his as the whuffled knicker of a familiar horse finally reached the blond's ears in the darkness.

Bucky turned, facing Buck so he could catch sight of the smaller man's face in the dim light, and he couldn't help the genuine warm smile that split his face, noticing Gale's eyes focused somewhere off behind him, shock evident and an obvious glint of wetness beginning to form against dark blond bottom lashes.

His lips moved silently, stuck on actually producing any noise, until he glanced up at Bucky, brow furrowing into a look of pain. "John.."

"She's been waitin' for you," John said simply in response, still smiling brightly and allowing Buck's hand to drop from his as the blond stepped past him towards the last square pen at the end of the lane.

Almost as if he was seeing a ghost, Buck walked up carefully, eyes flickering over every inch of the palomino mare's body, taking in every inch of her as she walked up to the rails and shoved her head through and pushed her nose into Gale's chest, still murmuring at him. He couldn't help the way his breath rushed out of him at the contact, good hand lifting up shakily until he rested it on the white of her blaze. She nudged at him again, a questioning sort of move and lipped at the cast around his other arm. A silent question of 'what the hell is this thing? Why do you have this?'

Bucky slowly walked up to stand beside Buck, reaching up and resting his arms onto the higher rails in a casual air of relaxtion, and watched, transfixed as Gale just stared at the horse, hand still on her face, the younger's breathing jagged and coming in short bursts. Shock, relief.

After a few more moments, Buck seemed to come back to himself, a disbelieving breath escaping parted lips and turned his gaze back to Bucky. John could see the tears still evident in the other man's lower lashes, glittering and growing and threatening to fall to the dust underneath them.

"H-how..?"

Bucky smiled at him, resting his forehead against his folded arms and looked at the mare in question. "Curt's been looking after her while you were gone. Made sure she was real pampered, 'til you got back and did the pampering yourself."

"But she.. Bucky, I thought she was.."

Bucky chuckled, low and easy, and nudged his shoulder against Gale's. "What, dead? Nahhh, barely got a scrape on her. Tiny little cut just above the front hoof. Vet didn't even have to wrap it."

At John's words it was like a dam broke from within Buck, and he could only watch helpless as the tears gathered in the blond's eyes finally fell down his cheeks in silvery lines as he squeezed them shut, body bowing over at the waist with his good hand braced against his knee before straightening again. Buck tilted his face to the sky for a few seconds, breathing ragged, a barely audible sob hitching from his lungs painfully.

"I thought she broke her neck. God, Bucky I thought she was fucking dead, I thought she'd broke a leg, and she had to be shot. Fuck I- As soon as I woke up, that's all I could... that's all I could fucking-"

John stepped up to Gale, reaching up and pulling the smaller man against his broad chest and held him there, feeling the small tremors that wracked Gale's broken body. He put a hand against the back of Gale's head, fingers threading through golden strands, hat getting knocked off kilter and falling onto the ground.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. Everything's okay. Baby's okay. She's as tough as her goddamn rider," Bucky shushed him gently, resting his cheek against the top of Buck's head and just allowing the other to cry all but silently into his neck. He could feel the air chill the wetness there and looked up to the stars himself and thanked whatever was watching over them that Buck was still here, that he was still alive and able to be held in his arms like this. He felt his own eyes begin to gather tears at the fragility of the man in his arms, and swallowed harshly against them.

Bucky inhaled deeply, Gale's good hand clutched desperately in the side of his jacket, a warm weight sitting there as he pressed his lips into the crown of Buck's hair.

"Think she came out of it a bit better than you did, though," he whispered as an afterthought, lips curving into a smirk when he felt Gale clench his hand into a fist and thump it into his ribs in reply. He couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled in his chest, only slightly moving back so that he could look down at Buck, his smirk melting into a soft smile at the sight of Gale now looking up at him. Tear stained cheeks and lashes clumped together, a defiant glare but with no real malice directed at him, eyes bright and blue and more reminiscent of the Buck that John knew and adored.

Gale's eyes flickered from his down to his lips and back, frown easing into something much softer and more vulnerable, and Bucky thought his heart would explode at the pure emotion he could see mirrored in Buck's irises. His breath stuttered, smile slipping off of his lips and heart thundering like a freight train behind his ribs.

Everything fell into a syrupy slow motion as they stared at eachother, Bucky's hand that had been gently cupping the back of Buck's head slowly slipping around to cup the other man's cheek, slow and careful, thumb sweeping over the sharp line of his jaw in a barely there caress.

He swallowed thickly, noticing Buck nudge into that hold, eyes lowering back to his lips. He felt like his entire world was tilting on its axis, narrowing down to just the two of them standing out in the middle of the stock pens behind the arena where he nearly lost the one thing he had ever truly cared for more than the feeling of being perched up on a raging bull's back. Even riding a bull made his heart thunder less than it was right now.

Carefully, giving Gale the chance to pull away, he sighed, breath ghosting over the other man's lips. "Buck, I-"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me John before we both die of old age," Gale whispered harshly, good hand that was gripping into Bucky's jacket tugging now and John couldn't help the surprised smile from lifting his lips.

"Sure thing, cowboy," John laughed silently, revelling in the familiar exasperated roll of Buck's eyes towards him before he surged forward and ever so gently pressed his lips against Gale's, eyes closing against the absolutely overwhelming sparks that ignited in his chest like someone had just lit fireworks behind his sternum.

Gale's lips were soft, just like he'd imagined a million times, pliant and warm and so gentle it stole his breath away, and it wasn't until Buck's good hand reached up and threaded through his dark curls that he allowed himself to deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly. His lips parted, allowing Buck the access to slip his tongue carefully along his own, insistent and starved but always gentle. He could feel the taut guitar string tension like a mockery of earlier in the night behind Gale's kiss, a long awaited hunger like a man starved and then unleashed among all the sustenance he could have ever wished for.

It wasn't until Buck made a small sound in the back of his throat, a small needy gasp that Bucky allowed himself to pull back slightly, letting his lips linger as he allowed Buck a few more soft kisses before he gasped himself, pulling air into his starved lungs and it was only then he realised that at some point he had stopped breathing all together.

Buck didn't chase, happy and content with what had just happened, but still comfortable to stay wrapped up in John's arms, no sign of regret or fear in any way, and Bucky let his eyes open slowly and wander over the ruined and wrecked expression on the other man's face. Kiss swollen lips were still parted, breath huffing sharply, body still trembling but for entirely different reasons than before now, and Bucky didn't think he had ever seen anything more perfect, more beautiful in his life. Nothing, not even winning the PBR in Vegas could make him feel as elated or wonder-struck as this moment right here, having just kissed Gale fucking Cleven in some random rodeo grounds.

Trying for a few moments to catch his breath, Bucky let his thumb graze over Gale's jaw again in a gentle gesture, watching half lidded blue eyes peer up at him in wonder. He couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped him, forehead bumping against Buck's, tips of their noses touching shortly after.

Baby knickered from behind them, shocking them back slightly into the present and John laughed again, the mare reminding him of something.

"By the way," Bucky panted, grin curving even further "Curt may wanna demand some compensation looking after your girl. He's down one half of an ass-cheek as of two days ago. She's got a nice pair of chompers on 'er."

Buck realed back, shock evident in his eyes and the gape of his mouth. "She fuckin' what?"

#ahh I absolutely love this #everyone should read this au immediately #i want endless stories of cowboy Bucks from this author #buck x bucky #buck x bucky au #clegan

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joeyalohadream · 15 days

Text

Established Relationship Clegan Stalag/Flight School Flashback Drabble (sick!Gale+fluff)

Bucky blew warm air into his hands as he took another shuffling step forward in line for their meager dinner ration. He looked at the back of Brady’s head for a moment longer before letting his gaze drift back to the crumbling hut he had to begrudgingly call ‘home’ these days.

Buck was sat on the top step with his legs stretched out in front of him, both arms behind, resting his weight on his palms. From this distance, Bucky couldn’t tell what Buck was looking at but if he had to guess, he’d say he wasn’t seeing anything at the moment.

This was the first time in three days the other man had left their hut, and Bucky felt a weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of Buck finally not huddled in on himself on his bug infested bunk.

The runny nose and congestion that had plagued Buck for the week had turned into a nasty chest cold three days ago that had had all their men on edge for days. Each of them sending up silent prayers that pneumonia or fever wouldn’t take their fearless leader from them in the night.

Bucky had chosen a more proactive approach to praying in the last three days. He had spent every moment awake taking care of Buck. The lack of medicine and supplies inside this prison had proved frustrating, but he had managed to keep Buck hydrated and as warm as his coat, blankets and his own body heat could allow. The fact that Buck had slept curled against his chest each night had Bucky acknowledging that he’d technically spent every waking and sleeping moment taking care of Buck.

This morning Buck had been more coherent than he’d been in days. He hadn’t been up for a trip through the chow line, but he had informed Bucky that he felt like he could stomach something more than water again which was music to everyone’s ears. Bucky had practically leapt out the door when it was time for them to collect there daily helping of potatoes and turnips.

He sighed as he made a little more progress in line. His thoughts drifted back to the last time he’d seen Buck knocked down by sickness. It had been a sweltering week in Texas during flight school and a nasty case of the stomach flu had plagued the future flight crews.

Bucky sat on the edge of Buck’s cot, combing his fingers through the sweaty locks of blonde hair. The usually flawlessly styled strands were in disarray, plastered to his head in unkempt sections.

Blue eyes fluttered open and Bucky couldn’t contain the smile his mouth pulled into at the sight of them.

“Hey pukey,” Bucky greeted. It earned him his favorite exasperated eye roll and his favorite shy smile in one go, so his own grin grew.

“Hi,” Buck breathed out softly, smiling up at Bucky and leaning his head slightly into the hand still lightly scratching fingers against his scalp.

The fondness that Bucky felt for this man was beginning to catch him off guard less and less ever since they’d moved from friends to something more, but it still floored him every now and then how much the affection he felt was a physical thing in his chest.

“How’re you feeling,” Bucky pushed an errant lock of hair away from Buck’s eyes and let his palm rest against the other’s forehead, pleased that he was back to his normal temperature.

Buck’s eyes blinked closed and back open as he seemed to consider the question. Bucky smoothed out the furrow between his brows with his thumb.

“Better,” he cleared his throat, voice rougher than usual. “I think I’m empty now.” His lips pulled up at one corner as he met Bucky’s eyes again.

“Well, I would think so,” Bucky laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone hurl so much and I spend a lot of time around the boys at the bar.” He watched, unsurprised as Buck’s cheeks took on a pink tinge and his eyes flitted away for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” Buck grimaced. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

Bucky scoffed and resumed his scalp scratches, “Buck, you’re my fella now. It’ll take more than you blowing chunks a half dozen times for me to get cold feet. My feet are nice and toasty.”

To Bucky’s delight, the blush returned and deepened across his favorite cheeks. Buck cleared his throat once again and looked up at him through his lashes. “Your fella, huh?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and smiled down at the man.

“Absolutely. My fella. Emphasis on the ‘mine’.” His grin grew when the little tilt of Buck’s lips grew into a full smile.

“I like that,” Buck replied as he kept gazing at John.

“Good, cause it ain’t changing long as I get a say in it,” Bucky gave Buck his best roguish look and accepted the eye roll with a wink. “Now, do you want to get up and move around a bit, or go try to put something back into your stomach?”

Buck shook his head slightly and seemed to sink back into the pillows. “I don’t think I’m ready to be vertical yet,” he yawned through the final word as if trying to prove his point and Bucky snorted in response.

“Alright, sleepyhead,” Bucky let his hand pass through the others lock one more time before bending slightly to the bag he’d placed on the floor when he’d first entered the barracks. “You know Crosby got so dehydrated from this shit that they had to take him to the hospital in town for an I.V. so be glad you could at least keep some water down. I just came back from seeing him and he’s doing better too.”

Buck smiled again at that news, “That’s real good. Glad to hear.” His gaze softened a bit as he placed his hand on Bucky’s forearm. “And I’m real glad you managed to dodge this thing.”

Bucky felt a blush of his own creeping up his neck at the relief in Buck’s voice. “Would you take care of me if it did try to take me down?” He couldn’t help but prod.

“Course I would,” Buck replied with an easy smile. “You’re my fella.”

The blush found it’s way to his cheeks and Bucky couldn’t contain his grin.

“I got you a gift,” Bucky held the contents of the bag behind his back now. He was pleased to note the barely concealed excitement behind Buck’s gaze. He doesn’t know a lot about Gale’s childhood, just some morsels of information dropped at his feet at random that paint a less than idyllic view of little Gale Cleven, but he knows that he hasn’t had anyone in his life that just gives him things because they care about him. Until he met Bucky that is.

Now Bucky takes every opportunity to give him something as often as possible.

“What’d you get me?”

Bucky smiles and reveals his gift with a flourish, watching Buck’s expression go from shock, to exasperation and landing on endlessly fond.

Buck reaches forward and curls his fingers around the white teddy bear holding a heart with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ embroidered on it. He looks from the bear to Bucky and for a moment it looks like his eyes are brighter than before. But then he blinks and he’s back to just looking fond.

“I changed my mind,” Buck says. “I want to get up and move around a bit.”

Confused at the change in topic, but not about to deny Buck anything he ever wants, Bucky stands and holds out a hand to assist. He watches, that familiar affection welling in his chest, as Buck gently tucks the teddy bear under his sheets before he grabs his hand and hoists himself up. He wavers a bit but seems to gather himself quick enough that Bucky decides to shove the worry down.

“Well, what’s got this pep in your step? Where we going?” Bucky questions the other man.

Buck’s smile turns shy, but he holds Bucky’s gaze as he clears his throat. “To the washroom. I really need to brush my teeth before I thank you for that gift.”

Bucky’s eyebrows climb and he grins before snapping his fingers rapidly. “Well get a move on then, let’s go, what’re you just standing around for!”

Buck laughs and shakes his head, but starts a slow shuffle to the washroom, Bucky at his side, a steady guiding hand on the small of his back. Bucky is endlessly thankful for the fact that the bar in town has half off drinks until closing tonight. They’ll have the barracks to themselves for hours.

Bucky is jolted from the memory as two bowls of potato water are shoved into his hands. He gives Brady a grateful nod, for he clearly took the initiative to ask for enough for Buck while Bucky was zoning out. He knows he’s been doing that more and more since he got here and knows that Buck and the men are worried, but the task of taking care of Buck has put a fire back in him. Snapped his focus back to life in some ways.

Before he knows it, they’re back to the porch and Buck gives him a soft smile when Bucky places the bowl in his lap and ruffles his hair. He sets his own on the wood pile outside the door, just in case Buck’s appetite has increased enough to eat more than his share.

“Thanks Bucky,” Bucks’s cough-wrecked voice breaks the silence and Bucky grimaces, mind immediately flying back to that hot Texas day in the barracks that had started with illness and misery and ended with peppermint tasting kisses and Buck falling asleep with Bucky’s hand tangled in his mess of hair and a soft smile on his face.

Bucky knows he’s not getting kisses in here. There is no privacy without asking for it, and that don’t dare do that, but he craves the ability to make Gale feel better in any way he can, in the old ways he could. He looks around and fiddles with a freshly stacked piece of wood the men had shredded from the stump they pulled that morning.

He spends a few minutes picking and pull at a section of the wood before placing the fruits of his labor in his palm. He moves to sit beside Buck, presses against him knee to hip to shoulder.

He’s pleased to see that the bowl Buck has set aside is now empty. He smiles at the improvement and nudges his shoulder with his own.

“I got you a gift Buck,” he says with a smirk. He watches Buck’s face carefully, ready for the expressions to cycle through. He sees the surprise at his words and then confusion and then something that looks like realization, and Bucky has to wonder if Gale’s mind went to the same memory his jumped to earlier.

“You find a gift shop between the bunk house and the potato shack Bucky?” He teases and Bucky grins, happy to see the fire back in Buck’s expression after days of listless misery.

“Nope,” he pops the words out with a smile. “Made this one myself, just to show you how much I care. Makes it more special that way.” He winks at the other man and smiles wider at the fond eyeroll it earns him.

“What’d you get me?” He questions, and Bucky can see that still despite the atrocious circumstances and the horrific situation they’re living in, he’s still pleased about the prospect of receiving a gift. Bucky loves him so much it hurts.

He opens his palm and holds it in front of Buck and has to fight the laugh that threatens to make its way out at the utter confusion on his face as he stares at the small splinters of wood in his hand.

“Uh, thanks Bucky,” Gale says as he takes a splinter from Bucky’s palm.

Bucky laughs out load, unable to stop it as the confusion stays in place on Buck’s face, but as always, he’s nothing but polite and kind.

“It’s a toothpick Buck!” He reveals.

Buck looks down at the wooden splinter again and huffs a laugh before placing the piece in between his lips and shifts it around. He smiles at Bucky around the wood and Bucky smiles back.

He watches as Buck’s eyes drift down and he knows he’s looking at his lips before he sighs. “What I wouldn’t give for the chance to brush my teeth right now.” He gives him a shy smile.

And Bucky knows now that Buck has in fact stumbled into the same memory he found himself in earlier and he smiles back at him.

A cool breeze ruffles their hair, and he throws an arm over Buck’s shoulder under the guise of warming his sick friend. He knows today can’t end with peppermint kisses, but he decides as Buck’s head falls to his shoulder that Buck is going to fall asleep tonight with his hand in his hair and hopefully a soft smile on his face.

#mota drabble #mota fanfic #mota fic #buck x bucky #clegan #i'm trying to get back into writing #i think this it too long to be considered a drabble oops #gale cleven #john egan #second attempt at writing these two beautiful men

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joeyalohadream · 16 days

Text

Chasing Cars

ao3 link

summary: bucky can't find a reason to get out of bed anymore. gale comes to him one night, and he's reminded of why he's fighting.

word count: 6451

warnings: bucky's crumbling mental health, gale's crumbling mental health, curt's death, slight eating disorders, depressive episodes, smut towards the end

notes: wow this was supposed to be pure smut but i accidentally plotted on my porn because i felt like being sad. oh well have this kinda character study thing i wrote purely on a whim

bucky hadn't left the bed.

he couldn't find a reason to. the rest of the men were outside, gathering wood. training, doing god knows what else to prepare for a plan that would never play out. after some brits had made their escape attempt, the amount of german pricks on duty almost doubled. that, and morale had pretty much gone down after they had said the captured escapees were executed. no one even wanted to make an attempt anymore.

they could talk about escape all they wanted to– it would never happen. they would try, fail, get shot, and get buried somewhere on enemy territory. hell, odds were good that if they waited it out the same thing would happen. so why bother?

he had been staring at the wooden slats of the bunk above him for about an hour, now. this felt familiar, at least. as he lay here, he could pretend he was back in base between missions, talking to curt about whatever was going on in their muddled brains.

“it was a close one today. don't want anymore missions like that for a while.”

“that's just how it is, bucky. they’ll only get tougher, y’know. but i think we got it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. i’ll be tellin’ my grandkids about this one day, y’know. don't seem like it now, but i promise it’ll be a distant memory soon.”

always so optimistic. that was one of the last late-night conversations he had ever had with curt before he went down. he never even got to say goodbye to him. he’ll never forget the pure dread he felt when he asked buck about him, and he didn't have an answer.

sure, bucky could have believed he was alive with every fiber of his being, but that didn't change the fact that curt was dead, crashed somewhere over unknown territory, most likely to never be found.

so much pain, so much death. and for what, he would wonder. what was he really fighting for anymore?

“hey,”

a soft, low voice, like honey. all too familiar.

he looked up, faced with gale, who was just about the only friend he had left at this point. even then, he felt as if buck was slipping from his grasp at times. tensions were high, and he had yelled at him more than he would like to admit.

just yesterday, they got into it outside. john was at fault, he absolutely deserved the punch to the face gale gave him, but neither of them had spoken to one another afterwards. john was never good witth apologies.

“hey,” he said back, the bruise on his cheek left by the blonde throbbing dully as he made eye contact with him for the first time since their scuffle.

“you just gonna lay here all day?” gale asked, his tone not angry or accusatory– just soft and genuinely curious, laced with just a tinge of worry.

“that's the plan,” he replied, shrugging. “nothin’ else to do. unless you wanna punch me again.”

gale stiffened a bit, his lips twitching as if he were trying to find the right thing to say, before he just sighed heavily.

“i’m worried about you.”

bucky shut his eyes, a sigh of his own escaping his chest.

“i know.”

it fell quiet between them. john had closed his eyes so that he couldn't see gale’s sad baby blue’s boring into him, urging him to roll over and show him his most vulnerable parts like a dog begging for attention. for pity.

he knew gale was worried. he knew it before their fight, and he knew it now. gale wasn't an idiot. far from it, actually. he was intelligent and observant, which was why he was such a damn good pilot. he saw john’s pain before john felt it. he saw it in how john would lash out at anyone that looked at him wrong, and how he would toss and turn in his sleep at night.

“you haven't eaten in a few days.”

“i know,” bucky said again. he couldn't bear to imagine gale’s expression. “i’m tired of the same shit. if i see another potato i’ll puke.”

“bucky.” gale hissed, voice urgent. “i’m being serious.”

“so am i.”

he hadn't eaten in about three days. ever since his last serving of the same bland bullshit, he decided he would rather starve than touch it again. so what, if he lost a little weight? that seemed to be the least of his problems right now.

he didn't care anymore. he just didn't care if he withered away inside this stalag surrounded by his men. that seemed to be the most honorable thing to do at this point- because at least then he'd be around people that knew him, and celebrated him. he'd rather die here and now, miserable, than drag it out and die alone in enemy territory with no one around.

“okay, bucky.” gale mumbled, clearly on edge already and not in the mood to argue. “just…i’ll be outside with everyone else. you should eat some dinner tonight.”

the blonde stalked off, expression and gaze steely and distant as bucky rolled back onto his side, facing the wall and sighing tiredly.

night rolled around and he didn't drag himself out of bed for dinner. he couldn't. the urge to eat, to get up and walk and be active wasn't there. his will to survive had vanished.

gale wasn't the only one worried about him. he heard everyone muttering to one another behind his back as they ate the slop that was served to them half-heartedly.

‘he doesn't look good at all.’

‘i know. when’s the last time he left his bunk?’

‘hush and eat. he can probably hear you.’

bucky didn't care what they were saying. whatever it was, it was probably true. maybe word around the stalag was that major john egan was a spineless, worthless, gutless piece of shit that gave up on everyone around him when they needed him most. harsh, yes, but not necessarily wrong. john was acutely aware of how him laying in this bed, rotting for days on end was selfish to his men. he knew that they were looking to him for guidance, and all he was giving them was a depressing display of self pity.

his mind drifted back to curt. he would always tell bucky that he was one of the strongest and most resilient people he had ever met, and how he would give anything to be as half as stubborn as him.

bucky always shot back that stubborn didn't necessarily mean good, but curt refused to see him in a bad light under any circumstances.

“i got you a bowl.”

gale’s voice. he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at the metal dish that gale was holding in his direction. same meal they'd been served for the last few months. the rumbling in his stomach wasn't even a bother to him anymore.

“thanks buck,” he hummed, turning to face the wall once more. “but i’m not hungry.”

silence fell over the room, tense at bucky’s blatant refusal of the food gale offered. he heard a short sigh from his friend, as well as a scuffing of his shoe against the floor as he turned on his heel and walked away.

he felt his stomach sink with guilt, but he really wasn't hungry. what was the point of eating, prolonging his survival when he would most likely die in the very bunk he was laying in? the thought made his appetite disappear.

he pulled the thin, scratchy blankets they were given over himself, clutching it in his hands tightly as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this reality.

honestly, it might have been.

𓆩✧𓆪

days and days passed him by. he wasn't able to shake the dread that had begun eating at him days ago. in fact, it seemed to have consumed him whole by this point. he only left the bed when he was instructed to by those goddamn guards, or when he had to use the bathroom. he didn't get up for food, water, to exercise, to speak to friends, nothing. he was not interested but a shell of the outgoing, confident man he used to be.

gale had kept trying to get him to leave his bunk, or to at least put some food in his system. he would bring a plate of food for him every night, and bucky would refuse it all the same. he would tell him that the others were asking for him, but bucky just brushed it off. if they were really worried, they knew where to find him.

only a few other men besides gale came to check on him during the day, hambone being one of them. he started talking about how different things were without him around. it was quiet, and no one really liked it all that much. they missed his snarky comments about the german guards and how he would shit talk them all day. that got a little smile lut of him, he had to admit that. what got him feeling serious again was when hambone started talking about how gale was taking his absence.

“he’s been quiet. way quieter than normal.” he said, voice dropping low. “only says one or two words to everyone before…he just shuts down. goes into autopilot. it's not really like him.”

and he was right. after he had said that he kept think about gale, how he was probably out there with god knows how much on his mind, and for bucky to only be adding to that…

what was he doing?

was he really causing buck that much distress? the thought made his stomach sink with guilt. gale already had so much on his mind, and for bucky to act like a petulant child and add onto all of that stress and anxiety and pain he’s been bearing for the entirety of the men trapped here was so unbelievably shitty.

what kind of friend– what kind of man did something like this to his other half– his rock, his one source of sanity in this camp, in this war?

he curled in on himself further, self loathing and dread curling their ugly black tendrils around him, engulfing him in a pitch black abyss.

he felt so, so sick all of a sudden.

𓆩✧𓆪

“word is there's gonna be another march in a few days,” hambone dutifully informed him, leaning against the creaky wooden wall and staring out the window, into the yard.

bucky was actually sitting up in his bunk today, idly fidgeting with the little radio gale had crafted a few days earlier in his hands. he hadn't actually spoken to buck, finding himself unable to think of anything of value to utter to him.

“again?”

“mhm,” he mumbled, fiddling with the dirty sleeve of his sheepskin. “apparently allies are real close. gale caught word of that last night on that radio. not sure when the germans caught wind. might happen tonight.”

bucky grimaced, setting the tiny radio on the cluttered table, sighing and squeezing his eyes shut at the prospect of walking for days on end just to get to another shitty camp, and rot there for god knows how long. he hasn't eaten in a good week, and he knows his odds of surviving the march on an empty stomach are little to none.

“thanks for tellin’ me,” buck said softly, standing from his bunk and making his way towards the door, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he stepped outside for the first time in weeks. immediately, he felt eyes on him from all angles.

‘major egan?’

‘he’s okay!’

‘christ, i thought he died…’

he smiled humorlessly, making his way over to the water pump and grabbing one of the metal jugs, placing it under the tap and filling it up with slightly murky water and sighing to himself. he hadn't seen gale yet. a small part of him was hoping that buck would be the first person waiting for him, but he also wasn't in a good headspace to talk to him right now. he didn't know what to say to him, after knowing all the torment he had put him through with his little episode.

he turned the tap off, exhaling deeply and picking up the jug– flushing when he struggled a bit due to the weakness that came with staying in bed and not eating in about a week. he lifted it on the second attempt, huffing and hauling the jug back to his bunk.

out of the corner of his eye, he saw gale, encouraging some men to push a little harder to break the ground using that damned contraption- whatever it was called. he tensed at the sight of him, speeding up his steps until he was safe back in his bunk.

he set the jug down heavily, not even thirsty anymore. that night march could kill him, for all he cared. maybe then gale’s problem’s would be solved.

he laid in his bunk miserably, jug discarded as he thought of gale. he deserved the world, he deserved to be happy, to live a life without having to worry about him being a sad sack of shit, wallowing in his self pity. he did his best to try and keep his spirits up, but he couldn't help it. he didn't have anything to look forward to anymore. life just seemed like a whirlwind of misery and he didn't know how much more he could take. so many friends lost, so many people dead.

maybe when he died, gale would finally move on, lose that stress that came with knowing him. he could only hope.

𓆩✧𓆪

john had lost track of time long ago. he only knew day and night, and occasionally he was told what month it was.

he knew it was late, evidenced by the snores of all the men around him, and how the room was pitch black. the moonlight didn't reach his bunk, leaving him alone in the darkness to stare up at the wooden slats of the bunk above him.

he heard shuffling from somewhere in the room, then the creaking of floorboards as someone moved towards his bed.

“bucky?”

gale’s voice rang in his ears, making him go completely still as if he were a scared cat. maybe he was dreaming, and the gale beside him was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, spurred on by hunger. but when gale didn't leave, he turned to look at the blonde with tired eyes.

“yeah?”

“can’t sleep,” he said softly, and the bags under his eyes seemed to prove it. “mind if i bunk with you tonight?”

bucky wanted to say so many things. ‘of course you can.’ ‘no, i don't want you to get too attached to me if i’m bound to die soon.’ ‘i love you.’ but all that came from him was a little “uh huh,” as he scoot over to make room for the blonde.

he felt his mattress dip, and a familiar warmth crowding at his side. he almost jumped up at the almost desperateness of it all, half expecting gale to just lay by him and turn the other way. the blonde wrapped his arms around his waist, a surprising amount of muscle on them from the training they had been doing in preparation for an escape, and buried his face into the nape of his neck.

it was dangerous to be doing this here, with everyone in the room. anyone could wake up and they'd probably kill them on the spot before the nazis could. no one would accept it– two respected majors, cuddled up together like shy newlyweds in the middle of a shitty stalag, when they should be leading their men, training them, helping out in some way. but, as gale tightened his arms around john, holding onto him as if he'd disappear if he let go, he found that he could care less about what everyone would think of them.

“buck,” he started, voice soft, as soft as it's been in a long while. “what–”

“i’m scared, john,” he whispered, trembling ever so slightly as he pressed closer, like he was trying to become one with the other man. “i’m trying so hard to keep up appearances, to lead and be strong, but i’m scared.” he admitted, fingers digging into john’s side.

john was shocked into silence for a minute. gale was always so well put together. he never cracked under pressure, he just didn't. up in the air, when his engines were out and his crew was panicking, he would land that b-17 like it was nothing. ‘no engine cleven’, they called him, and he just smiled in that shy little way of his, heading to the barracks to sleep off the shock and do it all over again.

he'd seen gale shaken up a few times. when they landed in africa, he was quiet. quieter than usual, anyway. he was staring off into the distance, eyebrows drawn together slightly as he worried that damned toothpick in his mouth until it snapped in two.

but for gale to admit that he was scared was…unheard of. he wasn't the type to show or admit his emotions too openly, none of them were. but being here and eating the same bland shit, not knowing if you're ever gonna get to go home, and watching the last of your friends die during nighttime marches to a new camp did something to you. it broke whatever spirit you thought you had left.

“gale, hey-” he whispered, turning on his side and gently cupping the blonde’s face, watching as tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his flushed cheeks. “hey, look at me. none of that,”

he used his thumb to wipe away his tears, tilting his chin up so that the blonde’s glassy eyes met his. he hated seeing gale cry. he hated knowing that all this time, he's been in pain, the weight of all of these men in camp on his shoulders, counting on him, and all john has been doing is making it worse.

“i’m sorry,” gale sniffs, hiccuping softly, breath picking up as john pulls him close, allowing the blonde to hide in his chest and inhale his scent. “fuck, i’m sorry. i just don't know how much longer i– if i can do this anymore.”

those words put fear into john’s heart. if gale, the brains, the brawn, the heart and soul of the very operation to get them out of here was losing hope– what did that mean for them? were they truly doomed to die in enemy hands, holding onto the hope that allies would somehow manage to sneak close enough to the shitty camps they were held hostage in and launch an attack on the germans?

he knew most of their thinking was extremely wishful, but it was something. a little glimmer of hope in a dark, gray times. for buck, gale was that glimmer of hope– that thing he held onto when all else seemed to fail him. even when he felt he’d die here, at least it would be with buck.

he couldn't let gale give up like this. not for his sake– hell, not for everyone’s sake. if gale gave up, he gave up. and if he gave up, everyone else would give up. a hell of a burden to carry on top of everything.

“gale,” he said softly, taking both of his slender hands into his large ones, caressing the backs of his knuckles with his calloused thumb. “gale, you've gotta keep going. without you, this whole thing would fall apart.” he said, nuzzling closer to him.

“i can't save everyone, bucky.” he hiccuped, trembling in little fits and starts, shattering john’s heart as he watched. “i can't even save the person that matters most to me. if i can't do that then–”

“you don't need to save me.” john said harshly, much more harshly than he intended to. he saw gale wince, and he immediately regretted being so harsh. “i mean– you don’t– i’m just like this. nothing you can do about it, buck. it’s not your job to fix me, okay?”

“i want to. i want you to be okay, bucky. i want–”

he sniffled, nuzzling his hot, tear-stained cheeks into bucky’s large hands. “i want you to be okay. i want you to be there with me, no matter what. i just– we've lost so many men, john. so many. but i still have you. i can save you, i can help you. i just….i need to make you feel better than this. i need you to know how much you mean to me.”

bucky was stunned into silence. he spent all this time thinking gale loathed him for his behavior, wishing he was dead and gone so that he had one less thing to worry about– but gale just spilled his guts to him about how john was the most precious thing in his life right now. not marge– him. him. it made his heart swell with something ugly.

“i’ll always be with you, buck.” john said softly, stroking his blonde locks, once soft but now slightly gritty with dirt and grime from their time in the stalag. even with limited supplies to take care of his hygiene, gale managed to outshine every single one of them in terms of beauty. “what’d i say? if i’m gonna bet on anything, i’m gonna bet on us. y’hear me?”

a shaky little exhale left gale’s mouth, pressing his face into john’s chest like a boy seeking comfort from his mom after a scary dream. john didn't say anything else, just held gale close as he sniffled and sobbed into his chest until he cried himself to sleep, soft snores leaving his pretty pink lips in soft little puffs.

he felt a surge of overprotectiveness wash over him as he watched the blonde sleep, curled into his body and clutching one of john’s hands close to his chest. he didn't need to feel sorry for himself anymore. he needed to be there for gale, so that he stopped carrying these burdens on his shoulders. they were a team, always have been. always will be. nothing in this godforsaken place could change that.

𓆩✧𓆪

john got up the next morning, careful not to disturb gale, who was still sound asleep next to him. he was on his side, almost completely curled up on himself with his thumb pressed against his lips, biting at it idly.

john smiled softly, eyes filled with a fondness for the blonde as he shuffled into his shoes, heading out into the daylight to grab some rations for the both of them.

last night was extremely sobering for him. he had spent so much time wallowing in his self hatred that he hadn't realized that his neglectful actions towards himself had been affecting gale in a negative way. when his friend came to him, crying and sobbing, worried for his wellbeing, insisting that he was the only thing that was worth fighting for anymore, he knew he had to get it together.

he went to the service counter and asked for two servings of food, saying that his friend was still asleep and that he would wake him up when he got back. who would lie for extra slop anyways?

he was given two plates, and he hurried back to his bunk, where a few of the other men began to stir awake, including gale.

“mornin, boys,” he said, setting down his two plates on the lightly cluttered table. “food’s gettin’ served up. go grab some.”

they all let out a noncommittal groan as he sat down at his bunk, digging into his mean of bland potatoes. it didn't taste any better than the last time he ate it, but he’ll be damned if he wasn't hungry.

gale sat up beside him, blinking the sleep from his eyes, which were slightly puffy from crying. his baby blue’s landed on john and widened as he saw him scarfing down the bland mush.

john smiled at him. “mornin’,”

“you're eating.” he said, voice quivering slightly.

he shrugged slightly, stirring the mush around absentmindedly. “got hungry. craved potatoes. you’ll never guess what the canteen was servin’.”

gale was on him in a matter of seconds, hugging him tightly and pressing his face into his shoulder. he was trembling, a shaky exhale leaving him as john set his plate down, returning the hug and smiling against his shoulder.

“thank you.” he whispered, voice so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable.

“don't count on it.”

𓆩✧𓆪

gale bunked with him for the next few nights, out of pure need for comfort and reassurance. he was obviously happy that bucky was eating again, but he was still stressed with all of the ongoings in the camp.

bucky had stepped in and gave a hand in training, instructing the men in what to do and how to do it, but there were just so many of them. on top of that, those german bastards were always waving their guns around, yelling at them whenever they felt like it. john had almost gotten into it with a few of them, but gale har talked him down.

what would he do without him?

“you need to be more careful when you talk to the guards.” gale said, idly smoothing down the fabric of john’s thin sleep shirt, which made john’s chest fill with warmth.

“to hell with those guards.” he muttered angrily, looking into gale’s eyes with a steely determination. “i just got my spirit back. i ain’t gonna let these nazi bastards destroy it again.”

“they'll shoot you, bucky.” gale said softly, looking up at him with a hard gaze. “zero hesitation. they've done it to other men before, and they’ll do it to you.”

“and then they’ll have a hell of a riot on their hands.” he laughs softly, which made gale sigh and press his forehead to his chest.

“why can't you just be good?”

the words caught john off guard, making his cheeks flush and his heartbeat kick up a notch. he felt his heartbeat pick up whenever gale was close to him like this, but it was a pace he had gotten used to, honestly. but hearing gale tell him to be good in a soft voice– as if he were speaking to a dog made his heartbeat kick up in another way entirely.

“uhm,” he started, face flushed a soft pink, hands finding gale’s waist and fidgeting with the hem of the blonde’s shirt. “i can– i can be good, i jus’...”

he was stumbling over his words painfully obviously. he was hoping that gale couldn't see the flush on his face in the darkness of the room, but knowing his luck he probably could.

“what's wrong?” gale asked softly, eyes lidded as his hands halted on john’s broad chest, thumb idly brushing across the fabric of his shirt in soothing little circles. “your heart is beating really hard.”

“nothin’.” he said, way too quickly for it to be true. “just. hot. i ‘unno.”

silence fell, save for the sounds of breathing from the men around them, and their own soft breathing. john really took in gale in this moment, how soft and vulnerable he looked.

his sleep shirt was loose on him, thanks to him losing weight in the camp over the months they’ve been here. his eyes were soft with sleep, lips pink and plump and parted with each little breath he took. god, he was gorgeous. he wanted nothing more than to take him on the bed right now, make him cry out his name so that everyone in the room knew who he belonged to.

he’d had these thoughts of gale since they met in basic training, but they had only gotten worse the longer they stayed in camp. back on base, he was able to keep his mind off of gale, or at least quell his desire by picking up some desperate broad in a bar and sleeping with her. but now, he looked at gale and could hardly keep his mind out of the gutter. he hated it.

“hot, huh?” gale chuckled softly, hands running up john’s chest and resting on his shoulders. “you're a bad liar when it comes to me, y’know that?”

john flushed darker, hands tightening on gale’s waist and pulling him closer, careful to keep their lower halves apart so that the blonde didn’t feel his erection through his shorts. “i’m not lying.”

“mhm?” the blonde chuckles, leaning closer to him, invading his space so that their noses touched, breath mingling together as they stared at one another tenderly, something more carnal and desirous underneath. “why're you hard then?”

bucky choked on a gasp, his face completely red to the point where he was sure gale could see it, even in the dark. their lower halves weren't touching, and yet, gale had known. read him like a book.

“how’d you–?”

“you have a thing you do,” he says, thumb rubbing at his collarbone gently. “you stumble over your words. start touchin’ things with your hands. fidgeting. sometimes it's more noticeable. its a lot less noticeable when you hit on girls at a bar, but i picked up on it.”

john huffed, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and averting his eyes. he wasn't expecting gale to call him out so straightforwardly. it made him embarrassed. he also didn't expect gale to trail a hand down to the hem of his shorts, dipping his cool fingers inside and making john gasp sharply.

“want me to take care of it?”

“gale,” john hissed, eyes wide as the blonde’s nimble fingers trailed lower and lower, scratching at the wiry hair just above his hard cock. “our men are all around us. they might hear us.”

“then you'll have to be quiet, won’t you?”

a strangled noise left john’s throat as gale wrapped his thin fingers around his hot, hard length, giving a tentative squeeze. a shuddery breath left deep from bucky’s chest, his hands squeezing gale’s waist so hard he was bound to leave bruises.

“that good?” gale whispered, shuffling his boxers down and letting john’s cock free completely, swiping his thumb across the head and gathering the precum there so the friction of his hand was less harsh. bucky didn't have it in him to answer coherently, so he just nodded and bucked his hips upwards into gale’s touch.

it was intoxicating, the way his fingers occasionally caught under the sensitive head of his cock and made his cock jerk and leak even more, all over gale’s pretty hand.

“see? look at you.” the blonde cooed, eyes lidded and practically glowing as he gave a twist of his wrist on the upstroke, relishing in the little groans and gasps bucky let out. “you can be good for me, why can't you be good out there? i know you're a good boy, bucky. such a good dog.”

“jesus christ,” bucky swore, stomach tensing up and cock leaking into gale’s palm thickly, precum making the glide of his palm slicker. “i’m gunna cum- oh, god, buck–”

“shh,”

the blonde scolded him lightly, free hand moving to cover his mouth firmly as he jerked him off faster, the wet, slick noises coming from between them downright obscene. he felt like a girl getting laid in her bedroom, her parents right next door as her boyfriend fingered her so good she couldn't help but whine and whimper.

he didn't have time to warn gale as he shot off, thick ropes of his spend painting buck’s chest and stomach a pretty pearlescent white. when he pulled his shirt up, he didn't know.

he came down from his high, and found gale’s lips on his. he kissed back, gentle and hungry at the same time, like he wanted to devour gale whole. he pulled him close, choking out a gasp into the kiss as he felt gale’s erection press into his hip.

“buck,” he panted, letting the blonde thrust against him minutely, the little pleased noises he let out going straight to john’s spent cock, bringing it back to life. “lemme– lemme make you feel good.”

gale exhaled sharply, rolling his hips against him more desperately, now. “please.”

john flipped them over so fast that it gave them both whiplash for a moment. it was short lived, though as he was faced with the sight of gale’s hard cock straining at his boxers. john’s large hands spread the blonde’s thighs apart, tugging his boxers down his hips and letting his pretty pink cock spring free from its confines.

john was on him in an instant, licking at the clear bead of precum that gathered at the pretty pink head. gale gasped softly, his breath shaky and deep as john laved his dick in attention, running his hot tongue along the vein that adorned the underside, sucking at the tip, doing anything but taking it in his mouth yet– to enamored by the sweet little noises gale was making.

“john, please.” buck whimpered, voice soft and needy as he thrust upwards, cockhead sliding against bucky’s wet lips. “please,”

he begged so prettily. who was he to resist?

he finally took gale into his mouth in one go, nose nestled into a small thatch of blonde pubic hair just above his dick. gale bit back a moan, hands flying into john’s pretty curls, gripping them so hard that he was sure he ripped a few strands out. the sting made bucky moan around gale’s length, bobbing his head slowly.

he loved every little noise that left gale– the little gasps and quiet keens as he drooled around his cock, eyelashes fluttering as the tip of his cock nudged at the back of his throat. he wishes that he could hear gale at full volume, whining and begging for more– but they couldn't. not here.

“such a good mouth,” gale moaned, voice breathy and deep and so smooth to his ears, melting his brain as he pulled off his cock completely, licking at his dripping slit and collecting his precum with his tongue. “fuck, wish i could keep your mouth on me all day. keep you quiet. fuck–”

hearing gale cleven, straight edge, no gambling, hates sports gale cleven talking dirty to him like this sent shockwaves directly to his cock. he took him all the way back into his mouth, groaning deep in his throat as he ground against the rough sheets of the mattress, brows furrowed in concentration and pleasure as he took hold of gale’s slender hips. he felt so filthy, so needy and desperate for anything gale would give him, like a stray dog begging for food.

he wanted anything gale would give him. affection, hatred, love, loathing– he was hungry for all of it, for him. his cock was amazing on his tongue, hot and heavy and velvety, leaking in copious amounts down his throat as he swallowed every last drop of him. he could feel gale spasm in his throat, close to orgasm, and he found himself feeling greedier by the second.

“jesus christ,” buck gasped, hips lifting from the mattress, hand tightening in john’s curls, pulling him down onto his length frantically as his stomach began to spasm and tense up. “i’m– i’m gonna– john–”

his throat was flooded with gale’s spend, and he worked his throat around his sensitive cock dutifully as he swallowed it all. it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, it made him hot, it made his brain melt, it made him needy for more–

he felt his cock spill against the sheets, a small whimper caught in his throat as he rode out his orgasm.

when he came to, he was aware of gale whimpering from overstimulation as he absentmindedly suckled at his cock.

“john, please,” he whined, trying to pull free. “enough.”

bucky pulled off, cheek resting on his thigh stickily. they were both panting, faces flushed and eyes glossy with aroused tears. they locked eyes, and john couldn't help the surge of emotion that overcame him as he shot up, capturing gale’s lips in a soft kiss. at this moment, everything felt like it would be okay.

“we should clean up,” gale mumbled against his lips, panting softly. “made a mess.”

“yeah,” john agreed, kissing him again, quicker this time. “think we can score new sheets?”

“we can jus’ move to my bunk for now. toss these sheets aside for morning laundry.” gale hummed, yawning softly and rubbing at his eyes like a sleepy little kid. how he could be so goddamn cute after doing something so filthy was beyond him.

“alright,” john hummed, watching as gale tucked himself into his boxers. “lemme wipe ya down first.”

john untucked a corner of the bedsheets, using them to wipe at gale’s cum stained torso gently, gale squirmed under the attention slightly, blushing at the way john was looking at him, full of love and reverence, like he hung the sun and the stars himself.

once he'd finished, he let gale stand and move back to his bunk, allowing john to rid his bed of the stained sheets and toss them aside for laundry. he'd find an excuse later.

he made his way to gale’s bunk, reversing the roles and cuddling up to gale, nuzzling into his neck and sighing deeply. gale smiled softly, hand carding through his hair gently.

“next time, we’ll try to make less of a mess,” he mumbled, voice deep with sleep as he pulled john closer.

“next time, huh? you fantasizing about it already?”

buck rolled his eyes, and bucky didn't miss the faint flush on his cheeks.

“i’m just saying. it’ll be nicer. maybe it’ll be in a proper bed, without all these people around. just the two of us, in our own bed,” he mumbled, eyes drifting shut. “just us, bucky.”

“buck–”

he didn't get to ask what he meant. he had already fallen asleep, snoring softly into the darkness of the room. buck went silent, pressing his ear to buck’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat as he mulled over his words. his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.

maybe they would get out of here. if it meant he and buck would have a promising life together, he would be damned if he died in one of these godforsaken camps.

he would make it. for them.

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove

#this is SO good!#mota #buck x bucky #masters of the air fanfic #gale cleven #john egan #this fic made me feel things!

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