middlingmay

[middlingmay]

Clegan during summer headcanons

I have four AU posts drafted and awaiting an edit, but it's a gorgeous day where I live and it got me thinking of summer Clegan sweetness. Feel free to add your own!

Gale can while away hours, and I mean hours just lying in the grass staring at the sky. He was worried the war would have ruined the sky for him, whether by making it difficult to look at or missing it too much, but that's not the case.

John panics the first time he doesn't come home until near sunset, but it all evaporates when he sees Gale walk in sun-kissed and loose and more relaxed than he's been in months.

On the other hand, summer fills John with energy and enthusiasm. He wants to go everywhere and do every little thing that tickles his fancy.

Whenever he goes to the park, local kids know Mr Egan is good for a game and can always be roped in to boost numbers. He doesn't hit the ball to far when they want to play baseball either, like other grown ups.

Gale always brings a book whenever they so much as veer near the park because of this. Because one time that kid bolted across the street to tug John into a game of soccer, of all things.

They both love the heat, of course. An aversion to the cold is something neither of them have gotten over. They drink their coffee scalding under the summer sun, and don't crowd the ice cream parlours like everyone else.

John and Gale find an activity they both equally love in swimming. They spend whole days down by a quiet lake, racing like children to make-believe finish lines that move depending on who wins and who loses.

Gale is the best diver and likes to pull John under the water when he least expects it.

John retaliates by picking Gale up and flinging him across the water like he's a skipping stone.

They always end the day panting and happy, drying off in the sun, running gentle fingers down arms or legs or through hair, whichever is closer.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #headcanon

[middlingmay]

unicorns, and other extinct animals [clegan fic]

The first letter Gale gets from Bucky is about a unicorn. He thought Bucky wasn’t the type to write letters. It seems he is, at least if they’re to Gale.

while it's not epistolary, this fic does contain a good deal of letters. (some are goofy. some are sweet. some are both, and more.) beginning in episode 1, it follows the Buckies through the postwar era where they find a cabin and a little community of queers

read it here on ao3!

#i barely stopped smiling my whole time reading this #fucking beautiful #clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air

[middlingmay]

“So, what’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?”

Your firehouse buckies? 😍 or anything else with buck x bucky 💓

omg hi! and please yes give me all the excuses to write my firehouse!au buckies!! (for those who may not be familiar - this is firefighter!bucky and bartender/PhD student!buck) here's a little thing set significantly further along than where we're currently at in the actual fic lol. + shout out to @avonne-writes and their 'who's taking who's surname?' poll and the discourse for inspiring a little part of this lol. currently taking prompts from this list: [ x ]

"So, what's the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?"

His voice hoarse and barely there, trust John to tease him even around the tail end of a thermometer, just as Gale went to pull it from his mouth.

'Suppose he can't be too sick if he still has jokes,' was the first thought that came to Gale's mind. The second thought though, sneaking up hot on the first's heels, was 'John would be cracking jokes on his damn deathbed so that really isn't as much of a reassurance as it should be.'

Gale squinted as he examined the numbers. The light was low in the early winter morning, the sun not having quite fully risen yet. He'd usually have switched even just his own bedside lamp on as he got himself ready to leave for the day, but with John's groan of protest that particular morning, he’d quickly switched off again.

It'd been a restless night, and even though they were both feeling the impact of John's tossing and turning, and the seemingly inability for him to breathe at all through his nose anymore, the man himself just looked downright exhausted with it. He'd eventually managed to fall asleep with his hot, clammy forehead pressed into the back of Gale’s neck, plastered to his back, and Gale hadn’t the heart to try and move him despite how he had then been overheating.

"You know there's another, arguably much more enjoyable way to do that..." John leered, even if half-heartedly, and if only to fill the silence as Gale's eyebrows pinched at whatever he saw on the little digital screen.

See, this is why they'd more or less permanently shacked up at Buck's place rather than his. He had stuff like thermometers lying around. Stuff an actual home has.

Gale looked up at him then, incredulous. "You're really trying to flirt with me, sitting there with a 101 degree fever?" he said, turning the thermometer as if to prove his point. Incredulous, but not surprised; not really.

"Baby, if I'm ever sick enough that I don't want to flirt with you, make you blush all pretty like you do, that's when you should be worried."

Gale had almost been tempted to smile at that, until John had to cut himself off, a sudden bout of congested coughing rattling from his throat.

Capturing the inner corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, Gale sighed, his long legs unfolding from beneath him and as he got up from where he'd been perching on his side of the bed. He crossed to John's bedside, pulling the covers further up around the other man’s chest.

Gale clicked his tongue slightly, though his expression and voice betrayed him in their co-ordinating softness. "All of this because you just had to be the hero and go jump in the damn lake."

Off to the side of them, Maverick jumped up onto the bed, sleepily curling in at Bucky's side in the warm spot Gale had just vacated. She bumped her head against John's hand, eager and impatient as the day Gale met her. John responded without even having to look away from the conversation, his fingers scritching at the especially soft little spot of fur behind each of her ears.

“Hey, I saved someone's life."

Gale wordlessly took his phone from his pocket, showing him the text he'd already gotten from Benny, "Just FYI - let the record show that the guy knew how to swim and your boy did not have to jump in after him."

Uh, since when did his team all acquire his boyfriend's number just for the purposes of ratting him out?

"Well how was I supposed to know that?! It’s called due diligence."

Either way, he'd ended up with what seemed to either be a wicked cold or the beginnings of the flu for his trouble.

"You make up for your lack of sympathy with your excellent bedside manner, Doctor" John said, talking half to himself as Gale strode out to the kitchen at the sound of the kettle whistling.

He continued as the other man reappeared a minute later, a steaming Fire Department-branded mug in one hand, his own filled travel mug in the other. "Huh, that's kind of funny, seeing as you will be and everything. Dr Cleven."

“Not that kind of doctor,” Gale muttered, and John breathed out a faint laugh. He knew the difference, duh, but it was cute when Gale interpreted things so literally sometimes before he could think about it.

Gale quirked a brow as he set the mug down on John’s bedside table, batting aside lozenge wrappers and tissues with the rim of it to make room.

"Y'know what has an even better ring to it, though? Dr Gale Egan..."

When the idea of marriage came up between them, it was always in an abstract, vague kind of sense, underpinned by off-hand comments and passing jokes relaying the image of some version of their life that lay a safe distance away on the horizon. It wasn't right in front of them yet, but it felt comfortably inevitable, which made talking about it casually not really a big deal. One of the more common jokes being what they do in terms of surnames.

Gale could tell John was sentimental about his father's name in a way he himself wasn't about his own. It was never said so outright, but he got the sense that it was either a matter of hyphenating (even with John's arguments that neither Cleven-Egan or Egan-Cleven 'sounded right'), or Gale taking John's.

When Gale thought about the idea of shedding his father's name, he felt so much nothing it almost pissed him off because shouldn't it evoke something? Is that not the most normal reaction to losing such a defining part of your identity, feeling some sense of sadness? Of loss? It felt more to him like shrugging off a grimy, weather-beaten old coat turned threadbare in the elements, not particularly pleasant but reliably familiar. It was simply what he had.

Looking now, he took in the pallid, rheumy face and contrastingly long, firm lines of a man who loved him like John loved him. Who loved him so shakeably, proved to him over and over seemingly without even really having to try; who made it look easy. Who loved him in a way he didn't think he ever could be loved, or be prompted himself to love like he loved John back.

"Well, then I guess you have until I finish my PhD to marry me."

There was a weird beat of silence and neither seem to be sure whether they were still joking or not.

“You saying you want to marry me? Is that a proposal? A deathbed proposal?” The look that bloomed on John’s face was as adorable as it was utterly insufferable. It was, however, quickly dispelled however by a sudden sneeze. He reached for more tissues, the groan that followed evidently vexed.

It cut through whatever tension had inadvertently bled into the moment, though, and Gale smiled. “Bless you. Tempting proposition that it is…” Gale finally said, as he checked his watch. When he continued, there was an edge of regret in his voice. “If I want to be Dr Anything I’d better get going.”

A noise echoed from John's throat, half displeased, half mournful.

Gale sighed and leant forward, bringing a gentle hand to John's fever-flushed cheek, his thumb stroking lightly on the sharp angle of his cheekbone. "Now, you get some sleep and drink plenty of water, you hear me? You can have more of these here pills in like a couple more hours. I should be home around 3ish, but text me if you need anything or your temperature gets any higher."

His voice was as even and steady as ever, only John tell he was fretting slightly by how unsettled his hands were, and how they kept touching him, fiddling with the blankets, smoothing things down that were already smoothed down as he spoke.

John reached out and grab Gale's wrist, stilled it, in a odd reversal of their usual roles. "Okay, okay..." he acquiesced lightly, easily, and was immediately rewarded when Gale's fingers laced into the sweat-damp curls that had fallen down into his face, moving them aside so he could press a kiss to his forehead. His lips lingered for an achingly welcome half-beat, before moving to press another to his cheek.

Gale tore himself away then, grabbing his wallet, keys, and the steaming travel mug where he'd abandoned them on the dresser, and tossed his bag over his shoulder. A few second later, he was gone.

“Dr Gale Egan” is all John thinks about for the rest of the day.

In between naps, that is.

#this is the type of fluff i live for #clegan #bucky x buck #john egan #gale cleven #mota

[middlingmay]

Arya: That scowl makes you look so unapproachable

Gendry, secretly thrilled: and yet here you are

[middlingmay]

Clegan Astronaut AU

Had some ideas about the boys as modern day NASA astronauts (and Air Force pilots). Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM on the ground at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Here is a part 1. See end notes for some term definitions.

---

September 8, 2025 Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX

Despite the crew’s best efforts, the alarm sounds. In another universe, the spacecraft is most likely meeting a violent but silent death as they fail to dock with the Starship lunar lander. Much of the outer hull may be destroyed, maybe a fuel tank or two, making the crew sitting ducks at the mercy of the vacuum of space with nothing but their OCS suits to keep them alive. They’d have 6 days of life support to somehow find a way home.

In this universe, Bucky mutters an angry “dammit” as he smacks the console in front of his face with the palm of his hand. No need to don the survival suit today. All four crew members are instead in everyday blue NASA flight suits, oxygen and pressure down here on Earth perfectly nominal. They’ve been working through this mission simulation for far too long.

Artemis 3 is going to leave human footprints on the moon for the first time in decades, and launch is in just over two months. This crew needs to be perfect, and they only have a handful of weeks to get themselves there. Major John Egan will not accept sub-par performance in this simulator from any member of his crew, including himself. The stakes may be low down here where they can breathe easy and try again, but up there, if this kind of thing happens, the stakes will be higher than ever. No second tries. No mercy.

“Hey, ya gotta be kind to her,” Curt admonishes from the next seat over. “Ya own bloody fault anyway. Tryin’ to dock with a busted thruster.”

Bucky looks over at him, though it’s not a particularly easy feat, laying flat on their backs in the Orion crew capsule mock-up. Bucky and Curt are next to each other, staring up at the consoles, the crew capsule’s control center. Alex and Rosie are in the seats in front of them, or rather, in their reclined orientation, more like below them. “Rather I just let us drift into space for all eternity?” Bucky asks.

Curt puts up his hands defensively. “Just sayin’. If we gotta die this ain’t a bad way to go.”

“Starvation or suffocation, you pick, Curt.” Bucky says crossly. “Or why don’t I just open the hatch door and see what happens.”

“It ain’t Egan’s fault,” Rosie chips in. “Blame the guys runnin’ the sim for givin’ us an impossible situation.”

“Not impossible,” Gale pipes in over coms from the control center outside the Orion mock-up, where he, as back-up commander and CAPCOM, had been observing their training simulation. “And you wouldn’t be saying that if this were a real mission.”

“If this were a real mission we’d be dead,” Curt responds unhelpfully. Bucky can’t say he disagrees. But he’s not willing to accept that right now. Failure Is Not An Option – that was the poster he’d hung over his bed in college. It may not be the healthiest motto if you truly value your mental health and sense of self worth, but when had Bucky ever? He’d worked damn hard to get to NASA, to fly on the ISS, to be assigned this groundbreaking mission. Those words from Gene Kranz had guided him his whole life and he is not about to let go of them now.

He is not about to let Artemis 3 become the new Apollo 13, not if he can help it.

“Let’s run it again boys,” Bucky says. He doesn’t, in truth, know what time it is or how long they’ve been strapped into this thing. He also doesn’t care.

“Bucky,” Alex groans. “We’ve been at it for hours. Maybe we should call it a day.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh yeah? Well we’ll stay at it for hours until we stop lookin’ like a bunch of little boys playin’ astronauts.” He lifts a hand and spins a finger around in the air. “Let’s go, set it up.” The flight controllers outside collectively groan but ready the sim to go again. This close to a mission, they know not to fight with the astronauts about when it’s time to stop. If the mission commander says go again, they go again.

The next attempt doesn’t end any better. No matter how hard Bucky and Curt try, they can’t beat out this scenario. They’re Air Force test pilots and experienced astronauts; they should be able to handle this with little issue. Two of the best pilots NASA has ever seen, my ass, Bucky thinks. And usually he’s quite a cocky son of a bitch, so he knows it’s been a long day. He groans, banging his head back on his seat over and over.

“Bucky,” Rosie tries. “We’ve managed every other curve ball they’ve thrown at us. We’ve logged hundreds of hours in this thing. We can revisit tomorrow if you want but we’re not gettin’ anywhere tonight.” Crew physician, always trying to keep the peace.

Gale’s voice pipes in from the outside. “It’s your birthday, John. Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

Bucky grins as he stares up at his console. “You gonna drink with me tonight, Buck?”

“Not a chance.”

“Come on, baby. Just one to celebrate the fact that I’m not dead yet.” He can practically hear Gale rolling his eyes.

“No wonder you’re crashing your ship, you don’t have your head on straight.”

“I’ll drink with ya Bucky,” Curt butts in.

Bucky raises his fist for Curt to fist bump. “Curt loves me more than you,” he tells Gale. “Maybe I oughta marry him instead.”

Curt shakes his head, making a face. “You ain’t my type, Egan.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him and presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. You’re uninvited to my birthday.”

“You’ll be down a drinking buddy.”

Suddenly, just about every alarm inside the Orion simulator – pressure low, oxygen low, carbon dioxide high, hull breach, smoke detected, and the list goes on – is flashing bright red and blaring at the astronauts inside, making them all look around in confusion. Good thing they aren’t actually in space; that kind of half-assed reaction to a catastrophic emergency would likely get them killed faster than their inability to work through this sim.

“Oh noooo,” Gale says mockingly from where he’s taken over control of the simulator. The other present flight controllers can be heard laughing in the background, all too happy to let Major Cleven fuck around with the console if it means getting these astronauts out of their hair for the night. It’s nearly 7:30. Personal life is, naturally, often sacrificed in the space program, but people do still have families to get home to. “All your alarms are going off,” Gale states with a mixture of sass and monotone that only he can manage – the voice of someone who is unequivocally done with this. “You’re all gonna die. Again. Cause you can’t get your fucking shit together.”

“Uh oh, Saint Cleven’s losing it.” Bucky smirks, working to turn off the various alarms flashing in his face. “Good job boys, we’ve pushed Gale over the edge. He’s finally up and killed us.”

“You’ve got a big mouth, John,” Gale says.

“You gonna come in here and shut me up?”

Alex gags from his seat in front of him. “Gross guys, get a room.”

“Just be glad they’re not on the same mission,” Rosie teases. Yes, everyone is glad of that, even the men in question. Well, Gale is at least.

A year ago, when Buck and Bucky first got engaged, Marge – the Artemis program’s public affairs officer and Gale’s long time best friend – informed them of some jokes going around the NASA offices that the two astronauts should be put on the same Artemis mission so they could be married on the moon. Make a big media affair out of it. None of the higher ups took it seriously, of course, but Marge thought the boys would get a kick out of it.

Bucky had enthusiastically yelled “YES!” at the same time Gale, mortified, cried “NO!” Marge hadn’t been able to stop laughing, having to sit down for a minute and catch her breath while Bucky tried to convince Gale why this was a fantastic idea. Gale wasn’t having it, wouldn’t even look at his fiancé for entertaining such absurdity. When Bucky wouldn’t relent, Gale finally spun around and declared, “John I DO NOT want to be worried about using up too much fucking oxygen on my wedding day!” And Bucky dropped it.

Instead, they’ll be getting married in just about four weeks, a nice, classy October wedding – on Earth – a month before Bucky flies to the moon, with about a few hundred of their closest friends in attendance. Gale was worried it would be too big, too much, but he’d been outvoted. A bit of a media spectacle after all. Astronauts are not subtle, and they do not miss a chance to have a good party.

Speaking of parties. They’ve really gotta get going.

The hatch of the Orion simulator swings open and Gale pokes his head in. This late in the day, he’d loosened his black tie and popped open the top button of his neat white dress shirt. His hair gel has started to give up due to running his hands through it too many times — this crew has always been and always will be the death of him — leaving his hair messier than is generally befitting of a NASA employee, indispensable astronaut or no. Bucky fans himself dramatically with one hand as he ogles Gale. “Goddamn boys, there’s life on the moon and it’s hot.”

Gale rolls his eyes, as does the whole crew. “Alright fellas. Let’s get this show on the road.” He nods to them, but before stepping out of the way, he adds, “Marge asked me to keep y’all from getting too out of hand for the public image and all, but just don’t burn any buildings down and we’ll call it good.”

The crew makes various noises of assent as they maneuver themselves out of their seats. With a groan, working out the stiffness in his lower body, Rosie pulls himself towards and through the hatch, giving Gale a fist bump on the way out. He’s followed by Alex, who pats the outside of the simulator and claps Gale on the shoulder. When Bucky pops his head through, he beams at Gale. Exiting the capsule and straightening himself to his full towering height, he swiftly grabs Gale by the tie and pulls him close, planting a kiss right on his mouth in front of the hatch. Behind him, Curt gags as he exits the capsule.

“You taste like coffee,” Bucky tells Gale as they stand in front of each other, faces just inches apart.

“Well, I had to stay functional somehow.” Gale tilts his head and looks pointedly at Bucky. “Some stubborn commander kept us working for hours after we were scheduled to be done for the day.”

“Well who could that be?” Bucky asks sweetly.

“You, you ass,” Curt says. He shoves in between them, pushing them apart with his arms like some kind of divine ruler. “Now save room for Jesus and let’s get outta here. I wanna get DRUNK!”

Gale laughs as Curt walks away, joining Alex and Rosie as they head off to change out of their flight suits and get ready for the night’s festivities. “You better go shower and change,” he tells Bucky. “I’ll meet you at the bar.”

As Bucky jogs away to catch up with the others, he glances back at Gale, who is still standing by the capsule going over some of the notes from their training exercise with one of the other flight controllers. “Buck!” He calls. Gale looks up, the end of his pencil resting thoughtfully on his lower lip and damn Bucky loves that. “Wear something cute, will ya?”

Gale blushes and shakes his head, looking back down at his clipboard.

---

---

Terms: Orion = the crew capsule for Artemis missions

OCS = Orion Crew Survival suits; worn in the Orion spacecraft in emergency situations and during critical mission phases such as launch and reentry; connects to Orion to provide life support for up to 6 days

CAPCOM = Capsule Communicator; the person in Mission Control, typically another astronaut, who handles all direct communication with the crew during a mission

ISS = International Space Station

Gene Kranz = NASA chief flight director during the Apollo missions

#yeeeeeeessss!!! #the au I didn't know I needed #clegan #mota

[middlingmay]

john risks an eye (and then some) winning gale his bike... but gale refuses to ride it anywhere. it confuses john to no end when he catches him walking to the mess hall the day after he gifts him the bike; he slows his own down to keep pace with gale and says, "did you forget i risked my life getting you your own set of wheels?"

gale gives him some excuse about wanting to explore the base at a leisurely pace on his first proper morning there, and john just shrugs, maybe teases a bit more, but ultimately lets it go (though he does keep pace with him the whole way to the mess.)

except this isn't a one–time thing. sometimes it takes gale triple the time walking as it takes john to bike somewhere, but no matter what, he insists quite adamantly that he prefers to walk. it stings a bit, because john loves to show his affection through gift–giving, and seeing gale's bike locked in the same spot day after day feels a little like rejection, but he brushes it off, turning it into a challenge to get gale to ride the damn bike.

a bit of extra pressure via teasing one morning, and, weird– john thinks his ever–stoic friend might actually be blushing when he makes a joke about, "you scared of crashing? can fly a plane but can't ride a bike?" and gale gives him a stiff "course not" in return. that piques john's interest, and he does love flustering gale, especially when it's so rare to get a reaction out of him like that.

so when they make it to the mess hall, john riding his bike at a slow crawl and wondering why he even bothers taking it anymore when he takes just as long as gale in his refusal to leave his side, he presses again as they sit down across from each other.

"if you're not scared, just ride a loop with me around base when we get back, and i'll drop it," he proposes. gale doesn't meet his eyes when he gives him a firm "no thanks, john," but he might as well have just waved a red flag in front of a bull. "why not?" john kicks at his ankle under the table, and gale does look up then, if only to glare.

john waits patiently for whatever increasingly ridiculous excuse gale might give him this time, only to see gale's shoulders slump a bit, studying john's face for a beat longer before he lowers his eyes once again and mumbles, "don't know how to ride." john huffs out a breath of laughter, then stops when he realizes gale isn't laughing too.

"you're serious?" he asks, and gale nods, leaning back in his chair, cheeks a lovely shade of pink. "my dad never taught me to ride, and he never wanted to spend the money to get me a bike growing up, so." john immediately feels terrible for all of his jokes and pressuring, and for being unable to tear his eyes away from his blush.

"well, that's alright," he says easily, not wanting to embarrass gale any more than he already has. "i'll teach you."

that's how they end up in a secluded field after breakfast, and it's john's turn to feel a little flushed as he keeps a firm hand on the small of gale's back to help him stay upright, promising he won't let go until gale tells him to. gale picks up on the skill almost instantly, unsurprisingly, and john beams at the boyish excitement on gale's face when he finally gets going on his own.

mornings are much more exciting when john has someone to race to the mess hall, though he lets gale win sometimes just to see his favourite smile.

'you sound like my dad, john.' well, john hopes he's outdone him now.

#sweet gorgeous fluff #mmm my favourite #mota #clegan

[middlingmay]

This fic is for @johncleven who requested a fic based in Stalag Luft III with music, dancing, and a confession from Bucky about Gale's name.

If anyone's interested, the song that appears in this fic is 'I'm Making Believe' by Ella Fitzgerald and The Ink Spots. I have not stopped listening to it.

Note: if you're here looking for technical accuracy on the mechanics and operation of illicit crystal radios, my friend you are in the wrong place. Suspend your disbelief and just go with it.

Enjoy under the cut!

The boys thought him the steady calm to Bucky’s frenetic energy. Probably even more so now, stuck in this camp. Whilst Buck had doubled down on his reserve and control, not letting a thing slip by the veneer, Bucky was losing himself to the need to be doing something but being rendered completely and utterly unable to do so. Like a dog on a chain.

But. What the boys didn’t notice, had never noticed, was that Bucky wasn’t the only one that needed to be doing. Buck had always felt the same, it just looked different. It could be reading a textbook or a manual, learning something useful, or playing chess to hone is strategic thinking. In Stalag Luft III, it was organising the boys, gathering and analysing reconnaissance, and most recently building a crystal radio.

He was fiddling with it now. The boys were asleep, and rather than lay in his bunk doing nothing, Buck sat at the rickety table, holding the earpiece in place, touching the clip to the coil.

Static.

Static.

Static.

Bucky shuffled in his bunk.

Buck hoped he wouldn’t wake. Like everything else about him lately, Bucky’s sleep had become erratic. He’d slept like the dead, before, but now even that relief had been stripped from him.

And Buck so desperately wanted to provide him with whatever reprieve he could. John Egan - their beloved Bucky - had been the rock of the 100th. He’d given all of them a willing ear, a supportive hand, a laugh when all they wanted to do was cry. And now, when Bucky desperately needed them to step up and do for him, they had nothing to give, nothing to provide that critical, momentary, grounding humanity he’d given to them so easily. Given away so much in fact, that he didn’t have any left for himself.

And losing Bucky, even to himself, was unfathomable. They were inexorable.

-aking believe… in m- … so far away.

Gale’s hand stilled.

It couldn’t be.

-wish you…could hear w…say.

He dropped the earpiece. Quiet and quick as he could, Buck dove to where Bucky slept.

This. This was worth waking him for. A fragment of humanity - and one of Bucky’s favourite fragments - dropped right into their laps.

Music.

“Bucky,” he whispered urgent in his ear, well aware even in his excitement that grabbing him would be a bad idea.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open. They flickered with fear for a split second before he clocked Buck’s apple cheeks and the delight in the eyes staring back at him.

“What? What is it?” He asked groggy but awake. “You hear something on the radio?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. C’mere.”

Bucky untangled himself from the ratty blanket and trotted after Buck. Gale quickly plucked up the earpiece, worked the clip, and was relieved to hear the faint sounds still crackling.

He offered it to Bucky.

Oh and Gale didn’t think he’d ever forget the look that came over Bucky’s face.

It was like watching a man come back to life. Light flooded back into his eyes. A pleased flush gave health to his cheeks, and a smile Buck hadn’t seen since he called out to John at that barbed wire fence crept across his lips.

God, Bucky had laugh lines again.

In the quiet hush of their hut, Bucky whispered into the dark:

“And here, in the gloom of my lonely room, we’re dancing like we used to.”

Like the word was all he needed to be reminded that something like dancing still existed in the world, Bucky slowly, so slowly released the clip to stand and hold his hand out to Buck. Though he stooped so he could still hold the earpiece to his ear, as if he could hear the echo of the music he'd just let go of to ask Gale for a dance.

“They’re playing our song, Buck.” Bucky waggled his fingers and his eyebrows and in that moment he looked so much like the Bucky Gale had become part of, who had become part of him, that he could have wept. He was utterly powerless to refuse Bucky anything. It didn’t even occur.

Placing his hand into Bucky’s, and feeling a little smug at the pleased shock on his face, Gale let Bucky pull him close, though he didn’t miss the regretful look on his face when he had to put the earpiece down to do so.

Buck could do this. For Bucky. The boys were asleep and the night was as peaceful as it was going to get.

So, when Bucky tucked Gale’s hand safe between their chests; when he wrapped his other arm in a solid weight around Gale’s waist and Gale pressed his other hand in the space between Bucky’s shoulder blades, behind his heart; when Bucky began to lead them in his first dance in months -

Well, then Gale began to sing.

“I'm making believe that you're in my arms,

though I know you're so far away.

Making believe I'm talking to you,

wish you could hear what I say.

And here in the gloom of my lonely room,

we're dancing like we used to do.

Making believe is just another way of dreaming,

so till my dreams come true…”

Bucky watched him with wonder. Gale couldn’t watch him back, couldn’t bear the raw tenderness of it, and tucked his cheek against Bucky’s. Bucky pressed into it, and breathed Gale in.

“I'll whisper good night,

turn out the light and kiss my pillow,

making believe it's you.”

Buck’s voice vanished into the night and Bucky turned his head just enough to look Buck in the eye, forehead to forehead.

“Gale,” he breathed, reverent.

A prickle of nervous pleasure had Buck huffing a breath through a tiny smile. “Gale? What happened to Buck? He in trouble?”

Bucky shook his head and his skin rubbed softly against Gale’s. “Thought you hated ‘Buck’?”

Gale hummed. “There’s no Buck without Bucky, and I don’t hate that.”

Bucky pulled back a little. “No?”

And Gale closed the gap again. “No. I thought you hated ‘Gale’?”

John laughed gently through his nose. “As if I could.”

Gale made a little noise in his throat and lifted his eyes to Bucky’s. The space between Gale's brows was a little creased, confused, and Bucky knocked his head gently against it.

“How could I? Hmm? Gale. Know what it makes me think of?”

“What?” Gale near whispered.

“The wind. The skies. Flyin'. They’re beautiful, vast. Make me feel powerful, and freer than I ever felt in Wisconsin, before all this. How could I hate a name like that?”

Bucky brought their dance to its end and Gale just stared, raw and open.

He watched as the clinging vestige of John’s charm lifted Gale’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there, with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Thanks for the dance. Gale.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, Bucky headed back to his bunk and burrowed back under his blanket, and Buck didn’t want to deceive himself, but he thought the other Major might have stood straighter and settled more peacefully than he had since he got here.

Buck felt a rush of pride at that.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic #fic request #Youtube

[middlingmay]

In our bedroom after the war...

#this is holy shit beautiful #the contentment #the peace #i love looking at it #clegan #mota

[middlingmay]

Clegan AU Fic and Headcanon List

Figured it was time to get a hold of all my AUs in the works, so other MOTA and Clegan followers know what to look for here! I will eventually add links to make it all much easier to find.

Ongoing AUs with multiple instalments:

Soldier!Bucky AU

German!Gale / Spy!Gale AU (these may be separate - TBC!)

Rebel!John and Pastor's Son!Gale AU (so excited for this!)

Single dad!Gale and Baseball Coach!Bucky AU

Photographer!Gale and Model!John

Horse Trainer!Gale and Veteran!Bucky

Runaway!Gale

And possibly some of a Criminal Minds AU @trashbag-baby666 and I are losing our minds over, a little bit.

One-off AUs:

Marge is Gale's beard and John catches her with another man

Recruiter!Gale and College Student!Bucky

Modern AU where Gale meets Drunk!Bucky and is utterly charmed

I love AUs and exploring characters I love in new settings. If anyone has ideas for an AU they'd like to see, let me know!

Or don't, or I may never tackle all the things on my docket...

#clegan #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #mota #masters of the air #headcanon #alternative universe #fic

[middlingmay]

I am developing all kinds of background for my Rebel!John x Pastor's Son!Gale Clegan AU.

Like Benny is from a huge Italian American family that has a strong Catholic faith, but he refused to go to church ever again after they said Meatball couldn't go to heaven.

Like Ham and Crank being brothers and their mother being an absolute boss who broke the wrist of some street racer who flicked a knife on her boys. They still have the knife and the boys made her her own honorary jacket. Because they're all in a "gang" (apart from Gale) and obviously have their own jackets. Hand sewn patches and everything. Nerds.

Like Crosby's mum doesn't keep too well and his dad works all the hours under the sun and then some to provide for them, so all his friends help Crosby at home so he and his dad don't have to do it all. But John's not ever allowed near the kitchen.

Like John has an aunt who was sent away for being gay and his mum is petrified she going to see the same thing happen to her son.

Like Gale's mum has tried to send him away time and time again to protect him from his father, but he refuses to leave her.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic #alternative universe #headcanon

[middlingmay]

Marge is Gale's Beard AU

I don't know what happened, but this was supposed to be a funny cute little scene of Bucky stumbling across Marge getting a little frisky with another guy, not knowing she's not actually Gale's girlfriend, and promptly losing his shit. Like 1K words, max

BUT OVER 6000 WORDS LATER AND HERE WE ARE.

I need to be stopped, jesus fucking christ.

Anyway, enjoy!

Warnings: violence, blood. Also period-typical attitudes towards monogamy.

Also, John doesn't look to good for part of this fic, but he is genuinely apologetic, and comes out the other side the John we all know and love. He's just going through some things!

Read under the cut!

Ostensibly, this little get together was a send off for Bucky who was being shipped off to Thorpe Abbotts in England thanks to his new and entirely unwanted position as Air Executive. But it was also a chance for the rest of the fellas to enjoy one more night of fun and frivolity with their loved ones before they left the States in a few weeks, some of them for the very first time. Maybe some of them for the last.

And for Buck, that meant none other than Marge.

They had been friends since they were kids. She was the first and remained the only girl he had ever brought home to his mother, and even father was on his best behaviour whenever she was around. Such was the power of Marjorie Spencer.

She was also the first and only girl he had ever kissed. They were teenagers, and even if Gale wasn’t as half-wild as his classmates about all the pretty girls, he was still a hormonal boy and one night, when he walked her home, he took her little face in his big hands and kissed her.

She’d pulled back frowning. “Gale. I don’t have brothers, but if I did I reckon that’s what it’d feel like to kiss ‘em.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d heard the nasty locker room talk about boys sporting half a woody just at kissin’ a girl, and Gale hadn’t felt so much as a flicker.

Then, some while later, he’d felt the full fury of those teenage hormones when James ‘Jett’ Granger, school football star, had bowled him over and landed on top of him on the floor with a thud.

Jett had laughed and apologised and hauled Gale, who was not dainty by any stretch of the imagination, up like he was nothing with an apology on his lips. Like he hadn’t just upended Gale’s entire world.

When he told Marge, she’d cackled and leered like a locker room boy and said, “Did you…” and stuck her tongue between her teeth.

Gale spluttered and coughed on his spit and his blood pounded in his ears. But he couldn’t deny it, even as he scolded, “Marjorie Spencer!”

But once she got over her glee and teasing, she saw Gale work his lip like a well done steak and softened. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.”

Gale scoffed. “We both know you’re the only one round here who thinks like that.”

Even Marge couldn’t stubborn her way out of that cold hard fact.

“Alright then,” she said with a set to her jaw. “Then you’ll be my fella, far as anyone knows. Least until you find one of your own.”

Gale’s heart flooded his body with warmth and he must have looked at Marge like she was a saint. “I can’t do that, Marge. What if you find a guy you really want to be your fella?”

But Marge looked highly sceptical. “Round here? You’re all I got.”

He smiled at the sentiment but he still wore worry on his brow and Marge darted forward to kiss at least a bit of it away. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

And they never had. Right up until Gale enlisted and was due to be shipped off to basic training, Marge kept assuring him every boy that came around was a knucklehead, and as little as Gale even let himself do so much as look, he couldn’t say he disagreed with her.

The night before he left, after an awkward near silent dinner with his folks that his mother had insisted on, he and Marge had laid a blanket out on an empty field and looked at the starts.

“I still can’t believe you’re going,” she said, voice thick.

Gale couldn’t say ‘sorry’, couldn’t say he wished he wasn’t going, because he wasn’t no liar. He’d wanted to be a pilot since he was a boy and he couldn’t wait to get started.

“I’m going to miss you like crazy.” But that there, that was the truth.

Marge snorted, true and ugly. “Yeah, right. You’re going to be surrounded by all the cute boys and I’m stuck here with the cream of the Caspar crop.”

Gale kicked her shoe. “Oh, yeah. No lookin’. No touchin’. Not unless I wanna come home with a crack in my skull and a blue ticket in my first. At the least.”

Because Gale wasn’t scared of the military. He wasn’t scared of leaving home or being surrounded by strangers. He wasn’t scared at the possibility of having to head into a fight. But being found out? That petrified him.

Marge clutched his hand with all the strength she possessed. “I’ll write you,” she vowed. “Every day if I have to. I’ll spritz the letters with perfume and kiss them and everything. No one will know, I promise.”

Marge’s promises were better than the word of God.

Until he met John Egan.

The long-limbed, freckled, moustached, larger and louder than life man had thrown himself into Gale’s life with very little input from the man himself. He given him his name and kept by his side, like he’d adopted a dog.

Despite himself, Gale had actively tried to dislike John, or Bucky, at first. He put up a cold front to his overt friendliness; threw off his wandering hands possessed with so much affection that he just couldn’t keep them still. Gale refused every single invitation for as long as he could. And yet.

Gale found himself looking for Bucky in whenever he entered a room. He listened carefully whenever he spoke during briefings, and chiming in until they were bouncing ideas of off each other, unaware of the secret smiles of their superior officers. When Gale struggled to sleep, he found himself asking Bucky any question he could think of just to hear him rattle on until he was finally lulled to rest.

He stopped rejecting and started anticipating John’s touch, even positioning himself so as to welcome it, necessitate it; an arm over the back of a chair set close to his; a tiny gap in a doorway or corridor that required a gentle touch to a guy’s waist or his back. And soon Bucky became one of the only men Gale ever touched comfortably beyond a squeeze of the shoulder or a pat on the arm.

One of the other boys had tried once, to swing an arm over Gale’s shoulder. Whether it was because he saw Bucky do it and wanted to emulate the two men so respected by the others, he wasn’t sure, but he hadn’t done it again. The less said about it, the better.

Marge noticed, of course.

He hadn’t been aware of how much Bucky had filtered into his letters, and Marge’s questions had seemed innocent at first. And Gale had been all to happy for the outlet. Then in one letter she had scribbled:

He sounds like a scream, Gale. I’m glad you’ve made such a fast friend. I can't wait to meet him, and make sure he’s good enough for my fella. Can’t have you taking up with a no good kinda man who’s just going to lead you into trouble.

He knew Marge better than he knew himself. He could read between the lines: make sure he’s no bigot before you go getting attached.

Which brought them to that night at the bar. The first thing John had done on being introduced to Marge was to sweep her off for a dance.

Springing away with Gale’s girl in tow, Bucky hollered over his shoulder, “I gotta make sure poor Marge gets to dance with someone, tonight, Buck!”

The boys had all jeered and Marge swatted John’s chest playfully, but soon she was just as swept up in the force of him as they all were, and laughed with flushed cheeks the whole time.

It warmed something healing in his heart to see the two people closest to him in the world get on like a house on fire.

At one point, when Bucky went to the bar, Marge slumped into his side.

“Oh, Gale. You never stood a chance against him, did you?”

Not a snowflake’s in hell.

But before Gale could get too despondent about that, she continued. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good man. I think he- I think you’re safe with him. Yeah?”

Gale nodded. Of course he was. It was Bucky.

Then she got that impish look on her face. “So I say, look your fill.”

Gale shushed her and looked around to see if anyone was paying closer attention than they should’ve. No one was, thankfully, and when his heart rate returned to normal, he remembered he could tease right back.

“Well," he said coyly into her ear, “speaking of looking your fill, that black-haired fella at the corner table at the back has been throwing you looks all night.”

Marge pretended to look unaffected and Gale leaned in even closer. “Don’t think I didn’t see you lookin’ back.”

Marge’s vicious little elbow checked his ribs just as Bucky came back with their drinks.

“Thank you, John,” she said primly. “But I have to visit the powder room.”

John toasted her off and looked at Buck, bemused. “Something I said?”

Gale nearly laughed. “Naw. She just likes to keep me in line.”

John shook his head. “And ain’t that a crying shame. I’m surprised she hasn’t upbraided me for trying to undo all her hard work.”

Later, Gale would blame the giddiness that came from John’s proximity for what he said next. “I only gotta behave with her. You can get me as riled up as you like.”

John inhaled too much of his drink and coughed until there were tears in his eyes. Gale flushed to his ears and kicked him under the table.

Giggling and breathless, John kicked him right back even harder. “Noted.”

“Ask Major Cleven! He’s great at calculations.”

“Sir? Sir!”

A few boys in the ground crew called Buck over, and John waved him off good naturedly. “Go awe the masses, Buck. I need a smoke anyway.”

It look less than five minutes for Marge to come barrelling towards him, a wild and furious and worried look him her eye.

“Gale, It’s John! You gotta get John!”

*

There was a door at the back of the bar that led to the dead end of an alley outside. When he just wanted a quiet smoke in the peace of the evening, John liked to head out there instead of the front with everyone else, where he could easily while away the better part of an hour talking to all and sundry.

And he was enjoying spending his evening Buck. And Marge.

She was a sweet little spitfire. She had the looks of spun glass and high class, but even after spending nothing more than a handful of hours with her, Bucky could tell she was no wall flower, no meek dame. And John didn’t think about it too closely, but he liked that the girl who Gale loved so much wasn’t so different from himself.

Where John liked the think of him and Buck as sides of the same coin - dark and light; steady and gregarious; push and pull - Marge and Buck were one of a kind, like the couples on the movie posters. Their love felt inevitable.

And, as John was learning about himself, he was apparently a possessive man, because between him and the cigarette in his mouth, he could acknowledge the bitter flash of jealousy he got when he looked at them too long.

He pushed open the back door, a box of matches in hand, and looked up on hearing two frightened gasps.

Marge. Her eyes were so wide, there was more white than blue. Her hair was a mess, clutched in the meaty hand of another man. A man who’s face was too close to the crook of her neck.

And both of them wore such fear in their eyes.

John’s cigarette finally gave up its precarious balance on John’s gaping lips and tumbled to the floor. The box of matches dove after it.

“John.” It was a tiny, panicked sound.

And it snapped John back to attention. With two strides of his long legs he had Marge tucked behind him and slammed the man into the brick wall of the alley hard, and smiled ugly with all teeth when he heard the meaty thunk of his head hit the wall.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” John snarled in the man’s face, low and incandescent with rage he didn’t even know how to begin to unleash.

“John-” Marge tugged at his back, urgent.

“Taking advantage of a girl after a few drinks-”

“No, John-!”

He grabbed two fistfuls of the guy’s shirt and rattled him until he heard teeth clack. “A girl who’s taken. By your superior officer!”

“It’s not like that!” Marge yanked at John’s ear and he was forced to turn away from the man, but he didn’t relinquish him.

He calmed himself as much as he could. “Marge. Are you alright?”

But Marge looked painfully, worryingly exacerbated. “For God’s sake, John! It’s not what it looks like!”

“It looked like he was forcing himself on ya!”

But the Marge clutching at his lapels didn’t look scared, not of the man behind him, anyway. She had a little bit of fear when she looked at him though, and John didn’t like that at all.

It’s not what it looks like.

And if it looked like she was forced…

John’s heart broke for Gale, before the red pricks of anger started to twitch at his muscles.

“Oh. It’s like that, huh?”

“No!”

“Are you with Gale or aren’t you?!”

Marge swallowed something down and almost reluctantly said, “Yes.”

The boy chose the wrong moment to pluck at the reserves of his bravado.

“There’s no harm, Major,” he panted. “It was just some harmless fun. It didn’t mean nothing. We all know Cleven’s too much of a gentleman-”

John snapped his fist into the man’s jaw and followed through. The wall was the only thing that kept him standing. So John pulled him upright and slammed a punch into the side of his face and he went tumbling down.

John followed him, straddling him as he grabbed a handful of the guy’s jacket. Blood was already smeared over his mouth and John rained down hell and hit his nose with a crack and blood came pouring outta that too.

He switched his grip to the guy’s hair to keep the lolling head upright as he leaned down and growled into his ear. “You think you’re going to make a fool out of either one of them, you got another thing coming.”

He pulled back to land one last hit, a good one to drive his point home, when a solid weight barrelled into him from behind, wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him into the air. John spun around swinging, but another arm got a stranglehold around the back of his neck and he was wrapped up painfully tight and too close to do anything.

And the scent of Buck’s cologne penetrated his senses and the fight left him.

Because fuck. How was he going to explain this? How was he going to tell Buck he’d caught his woman in the arms of another man? Should he even tell him? If it was Bucky, he’d wanna know, but maybe if he spoke to Marge and she promised it was a drunken mistake (God knows he’d had plenty of those), and it would never happen again, he wouldn’t have to tank Buck’s perfect love story.

“John!” Buck shook him hard enough that Bucky knew he tried to get his attention more than once. “The heck were you thinking?! You outta your goddamn mind?!”

Bucky heard shuffling behind him and he managed to turn just enough in Buck’s unforgiving grip to see the man being led inside by some of their boys, who shot furtive, concerned glances at their Majors.

Then there was Marge, hanging back and looking at Buck with something awfully sorry. He felt Buck nod at her and she went to head back inside, but not before sending Bucky a scathing look and a roll of her eyes.

Now there was nothing to spare him from Buck.

Only now did Buck loosen his grip and let Bucky back a step, and only a step.

“You have done some damn foolish things since I met you, Bucky. But fightin’ with a subordinate?!”

“You don’t understand-” and Buck really wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

“I understand plenty. Marge told me everything.”

Buck couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh? And what did Marge say?”

“That you caught her neckin’ with some guy and went off the damn rails!”

Buck was shocked stupid. Not just that Marge had told the truth, but that Buck seemed more pissed at him that he was at her.

“Then why are you riding me for?! I was defending you - you should be thanking me!”

Buck tensed his jaw so hard, Bucky expected to hear a crack. “Thanking you? For nearly bringing down my whole house of cards?!”

By now Bucky felt he was missing some vital information, and he couldn’t think straight with Buck so close to him, radiating fury. He shrugged off Buck’s hands and shook his head.

“Hold on, hold on,” he held up his palms. “You’re pissed at me for socking the guy making it with your girl behind your back?”

Buck sighed harsh and annoyed like Bucky was the most exasperating thing in the world and Bucky was getting more offended by the second.

“No, y’dummy!”

“Dummy?”

“I’m mad because if Marge hadn’t kept her head and got me before anyone else saw you fighting, everyone might have found out she ain’t actually my girl!”

“I - what?!”

Buck gave a frustrated groan that didn’t quite get out of his throat and prayed for patience. And maybe a little bravery. He trusted John, vexing as he could me. But sometimes fear was instinctual. But he couldn’t let Bucky go on thinking he saw what he thought he saw. But Christ if the other man didn’t make it difficult.

“But - you and Marge - since high school. You said-”

“Well, I lied. Kind of.”

“Kind of? You kind of lied?”

Bucky huffed. “We’ve been tellin’ people we’ve been together since high school. So no one would know…about me…” he trailed off meaningfully.

For all but Bucky, apparently. “Know what?”

“That I…that…” God, why couldn’t he just say it? Bucky may be as straight as they come, but he wasn’t that kind of guy, and he was Buck's best friend to boot. He choked down his frustrations and finally managed to spit out, “That…Marge ain’t the only one who likes looking at cute boys.”

Buck blushed as he said it. He sounded like a stupid teenager. But Bucky just stuttered to a stop and gawped at him. Buck watched his mouth flap, trying and failing to utter a sound, like it too couldn’t believe John Egan had finally been rendered silent.

“I - you’re-?”

“Gay? Queer? A big ol’ blue ticket? Yeah.”

What he certainly hadn’t been expecting was for Bucky to near drop to his knees in a mix of relief and panic.

“Haah-fuck, Gale," John grimaced, breathing heavy over his knees, which looked to be the only thing supporting his weight. "They're gonna court martial me in the morning. Don’t get me wrong - I’m glad I didn’t have to break your heart, tellin’ you Marge was stepping out on you, but fuck. I punched out a subordinate. Fuck.”

Side-stepping the unintentional lie in what John said, Buck, mightily and heroically refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don't get hysterical, Bucky. It don't become you. Relax, I'll fix it.”

And really, the sheer force of the scepticism on Bucky's face was down right insulting.

“Yeah? And how you gonna do that?”

Buck's brain worked furiously for an excuse - the reason’s why men hit other men over women that weren’t jealousy. Protection being the main one, but he didn’t want to put Marge in the frame at all if possible. Then he remembered a story Bucky told him once about a boy that had taken a shine to Bucky’s much younger sister, and Bucky had followed him home one day after his sister had come home cryin' with red bruises round her wrists.

“You ain't gonna like it.”

“Solid start.”

Buck nearly cuffed him round the ear like an insolent, child. “Hush. Now, you uh, ever planning on introducing your sisters to the boys?”

Bucky balked. “Absolutely not. What does that-”

“Listen. That man inside, bleeding - he looked a lot like a fella who left your sister a little worse for wear. Let the boys take that however they see fit.”

“The hell you tryna say about my sister?!”

“Nothing, idjit! Listen!”

Bucky shut his trap with visible effort.

“He looked almost exactly like that man, and when you saw him near Marge - near her and nothing else, you understand? You lost it. Alright? You’d had too much to drink, you weren’t thinking clear, and you were seeing you baby sister, not Marge. Right?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and the gesture was so typically Gale’s that it stole his breath to see it on the other man.

But he had to press on. “Right?”

Bucky capitulated. “Alright, alright. But Jeannie ever finds out about this, we’re both dead.”

Buck eyed Bucky then, waiting for the other show to fall. “Is that all you gotta say to me?”

Bucky's face fell and cleared in realisation and Buck's stomach bubbled with a flare of anxiety about what he might say.

“Ah, fuck. Sorry, yeah. I’ve got to apologise to Marge, don’t I?”

Buck’s eye twitched, because Bucky had to be playing so damn dumb on purpose.

But, he wasn’t wrong.

“Well, yeah. She liked that boy. And you gon’ scared him off.”

Bucky scoffed though, waving a dismissive hand. “If you’re her fake fella, Buck. Marge has got to raise her standards for her real one. Don’t worry, I’ll find her a nice guy; a real prince to your pauper, so to speak.”

“That is not how the story goes.”

But then something occurred to Buck. He’d seen Bucky charm plenty of women, a lot of them blondes. Now that Bucky knew Marge was technically single…

“You mean someone like you?”

Bucky smirked and stepped toe to toe with Buck. He let his large hands smooth out the wrinkles Buck had worked into his own uniform wrangling Bucky earlier. His fingers slipped to his crooked tie and slowly knotted it back into place.

“You callin’ me a prince, Buck Cleven?”

Buck wanted to brush it off, to turn it into a joke, say anything to break the tension. But his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. All his brain could process was the proximity of Bucky, the smell of Bucky, and heat of his fingers at Buck’s collar.

Bucky leaned closer, like a he had a secret to share. “That make you my princess?”

And that should not have crackled a hot, thrilling tremor to life that sent him rocking infinitesimally closer to Bucky, a gasp somehow escaping the clutch his teeth had on his lips.

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but before he could say or do anything, the backdoor to the pub opened again and Marge’s golden head popped out.

“If you two are quite done?” she sounded like a teacher scolding the class clowns. “I am fending off almost an entire bomb group in there by myself and they’re like a pack of wild dogs. Some help, if you’d be so kind.”

Buck coughed and stepped back and trotted dutifully to Marge’s side. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

Bucky was left with Marjorie Spencer staring at him, hands on her hips.

“Well?” she said expectantly.

Sheepishly, Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “In my defence, you could do better?”

He saw murder in her eyes and quickly backtracked. Now was not the time for jokes. Evidently Marge did not appreciate them the way Buck did.

Bucky dropped his arms by his sides and looked her in the eye. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that, no matter what I thought. I’m not - God, Marge, I’m not a violent man. Bit of a motor mouth sure, and I’ll stand up for any of my boys, but I don’t usually…”

Marge let him stew in the silence for a bit. But eventually, “No you shouldn’t have. I might be thankful that Gale has you looking out for him, but you can’t be such a hot head, John Egan. I don’t appreciate it and Gale don’t like it.”

Gently, Bucky took one of Marge’s hands, tiny in one of his, and raised it to his lips to place a sorry kiss there with a rueful smile “I will never lay hands on someone like that again, unless it's for a very good reason. I promise. But Buck’s pretty good at keeping me in check.”

Marge blessed him with a knowing smile. “I’m sure he is.”

And then Bucky was back in full force. “But seriously, Marge, you’ve got to at least date sideways. You can’t date down. Anyone less than Buck ain’t good enough for you.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed him back inside, letting him offer his arm. “Well when you find him, you let me know. Because I’m shit outta luck.”

They re-entered the pub laughing and any remaining tension in the room seemed to release. As Bucky took Marge for another spin round the dancefloor, he felt Buck’s eyes on them and risked a glance. And what a risk. Gale stared, blue eyes pinned on him over the smooth rim of his glass, tracking Bucky’s every move and licking the moisture off his lips.

Bucky threw him a wink and mouthed, Later, princess.

*

Colonel Huglin did not appreciate having to consider disciplinary action at six am. Yet having a man like Major John Egan under his command meant Huglin’s dreams didn’t count for much.

He watched this respected, no, revered man stand before him, clasp and unclasp his hands, purse his lips, and shift his legs like he was fighting the urge to rock on his heels. Like a misbehaving school boy. If Huglin had never met him, and someone had asked him to pick out the best pilot (on par with Major Cleven), the quickest thinker, an excellent strategist and the man almost single-handedly responsible for morale on base, Huglin wouldn't even have spared John a glance.

And yet.

“I haven’t seen him yet, but I’d bet my commission that the young fella you thrashed good and sound yesterday looks real pretty this morning.”

John grimaced. And, surprisingly enough it was not the wince of one awaiting an unwanted scolding, but one that actually looked like regret. John, who never ever failed to look a man in the eye, looked down at his shoes, lips twisting, and just nodded.

Major Cleven had come to him even earlier, at 5.20am, before Huglin had even had his coffee, and filled him in on what happened last night.

“You know Major Egan, Sir. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but he’s not a violent man, not like that. But,” and Gale and leaned forward in his chair, concern creasing his brow and wringing his hands together, “his sister, before he left, she had some…awful kind of trouble. With a fella. That looked just like the man from last night, John said. You know how much he looks after the men, and he loves his sisters. It drives him crazy he’s not there to look after ‘em with their dad not being around anymore… Sorry Sir, I’m rambling.” He was, and it was unlike Cleven who was a man of few words. Surely, a testament to his worry over his friend and brother-in-arms. “I just mean to say, John thought - John saw -"

And Huglin had cut Cleven off with a wave of his hand. He understood. He’d seen countless men wide eyed, crying or screaming at something or someone who wasn’t really there. It didn’t mean Egan could get entirely off the hook, but he understood.

“You have anything to say for yourself?”

“Can I see him?”

Huglin hadn't been expecting that. “What?”

“The…guy. God I don’t even know his name. But I’d like to apologise, if he’ll let me. He deserves that at least, and I’d like to settle it before I go.”

He wasn’t due to fly to Thorpe Abbots until mid-morning. There was plenty of time. “Evans. Airman First Class Evans. And I’ll ask his superior officer and let you know.”

Bucky released a breath and nodded, more to himself, Huglin thought, before he squared his shoulders at the Colonel.

“I just want to apologise, Sir. What I did yesterday was not becoming of a Major of the US Airforce. I know that. It’s not the kind of man I am or how I want my men to see me. I’m…” John swallowed. “I embarrassed the uniform. And I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Huglin needed a moment to collect himself. He wasn’t stupid. He knew part of the reason the men admired Egan so was because he never backed down from the higher ups, always spoke his mind and said his piece - but Huglin couldn’t think of one time it wasn’t on their behalf. To get them what they needed or give them the best odds, or even distract them on days the base just became too heavy. But this was a side of John that Huglin had never seen: the human man underneath the military man.

And Huglin had sisters, too. He could empathise.

“I’m glad to hear that, Major. Normally, there’d be a disciplinary hearing, and we’d decide what was to be done with you.”

John bit his cheek but nodded, accepting.

“But, I think in this case, I can smooth things over. If, you apologise to Evans and his CO, and goddamn cool it on the liquor, John. I mean it. There might even be a mandatory anger management session with the doc in your future, and if so I won't hear a damn single word of complaint from you, understood?”

John reared back looking stunned, and Huglin let himself enjoy it. “Don’t look so surprised. Your buddy Cleven was by here and told me everything. And be glad he did. Otherwise I’d be tempted to ground you the rest of this damn war.”

John said nothing.

“Alright, get out of here. You’ve got a trip to prepare for. And an apology, too.”

“Yes, sir,. John turned smartly on his heels and headed for the door.

When he reached the jam, Huglin called out,. "And John? Give my best wishes to your sister, will you? If they need anything, you let me know.”

John made a funny noise in his throat and nodded before he all but fled the room.

Buck was waiting for him outside. He leapt to his feet when he saw Bucky emerge looking frazzled.

“Well? How’d it go?”

Bucky fell into step next to him, and out of the corner of his mouth said, “What on earth did you tell Huglin? Because whatever it was, I almost got out of there scot-free.”

And Buck didn't fail to notice that Bucky didn’t sound happy about it. He new in the sober light of day, and with the clarity sleep brings, John would be beating himself up something fierce for attacking that boy. Which he should, by rights, but John did take self-flagellation to extremes sometimes. Gale wondered if it was the Catholic in him, lapsed or not.

“You’re still Air Exec?”

“Yeah?”

Buck nudged him. “Sounds like a punishment to me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and came to a halt at the mouth of the building, staring out onto the tarmac.

“I want to apologise to the boys,” he said, hands on his hips and head hanging low. “I just, can’t stop thinking about them seeing me like that. I don’t…”

Standing where they were, Buck couldn't do much but clasp his shoulder and lean down to look Bucky in the eye. “Then let’s go find ‘em.”

The boys, as it turned out, were just finishing getting dressed. They didn’t notice the Majors enter the bunk house at first.

“-wonder what happened?”

“None of your business, that’s what happened,” said DeMarco.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Brady. Bucky flinched.

“Ay,” Curtis dove into the conversation. “You don’t know shit. If he got a bit banged up, then he deserved it. Don’t go thinking anything else.”

And despite himself, Bucky let himself crack a smile at Curt’s friendship and loyalty.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Brady insisted, stubborn and louder. “John’s our leader. He’s a Major. I’m his co-pilot for crying out loud. He should be setting an example, and starting bar fights isn’t it. I don’t know about you, but I want to head into war with the John Egan who has your back, and keeps his head in the air so good he solves problems before half the crew even notice they’re there. Not the John who’ll flip at a switch. I don’t like that John.”

Several of the boys protested and booed Brady and started yelling and cursing, and they knew a more serious argument was about the break out with Brady bearing the brunt of it if they didn’t step in.

Buck let Bucky go when he stepped further into the room.

“Brady’s right,” he called, and the men snapped to attention and Brady dropped the shoe he’d been polishing and stumbled to his feet.

Buck walked up steady behind Bucky, a solid presence at his shoulder. “At ease, gentlemen.”

Bucky stood tall and true. “Last night, I acted in a way that was unfit for a man of the US Airforce, rank be damned. It should never have happened, and it will never happen again. I just wanted you to know that.” He surveyed the boys and they looked on silent. “We all make mistakes, and things get heated sometimes. This one is my mistake, and I’ll own that. So don’t you boys go thinking that starting fights with your fellow airmen to blow of some steam is acceptable. It’s not. You can all learn that lesson from me. That’s part of my job - teaching you how to avoid making the same mistakes I have.”

And in true Bucky fashion he flipped the solemn mood of the room with a switch and a turn of his lips and he gave them a sincere Bucky grin.

“Like that time I wandered into the Colonel’s quarters by mistake and got stuck on latrine duty for a week.” The boys relaxed into their laughter. “Remember that?” He pointed at Curt. “You made me sleep out in that abandoned storage hut until I was done.”

“You stank!”

“Or that time I yanked Ham back from the shaky step heading into the mess hall?”

Ham howled from his bunk. “Because you’d tripped a week or so before it, and sent your scrambled eggs all down a Red Cross dame. That handprint on your cheek didn’t disappear for a whole day!”

Buck just stood back and marvelled at Bucky's ability to work a room.

“So if me or Buck here ain’t around to give you the benefit of our experience,” he reached out and clasped the back of Brady’s head and scrubbed it playfully, “be damn sure you listen to Brady. Best co-pilot there is.”

The men all hollered and scrambled to rib at Brady, rubbing his head like Bucky did or punching him playfully in the arm or chucking his chin.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. “Because we’re the 100th. The best damn bomb squad there is. And we’ll damn well act like it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir!”

Bucky shouted louder. “I said do you hear me?!”

“SIR, YES SIR!”

“Because who are we?!”

“The 100th!”

“Who are we?!!”

“THE 100TH!”

“Then get your gear on, get out there, and show ‘em how it’s done!”

Making a thunderous racket, the boys gathered the last of their things and rushed out the door, Brady the last of the group, shooting Bucky a small, pleased, and proud smile before he disappeared.

The silence they left behind was a stark contrast. Until Buck couldn’t take it anymore.

He snorted and cackled and John threw his hands in the air. “Really, Buck?”

Buck cleared his throat and got himself under control. Adopting the highest voice he could, in something that could barely pass as Bucky's odd not-quite Wisconsin accent, he teased him, “My name’s John Egan, and I’m a terrible leader on the ground!”

Bucky shoved him hard, but yanked him back with a firm arm around his bicep and pulled him in close, so the buckles of their belts gave a soft clack in greeting.

They were alone.

“I’ll be flying at at 10.30 sharp,” Bucky mumbled up close.

Buck nodded. “I know. I’ll see you off, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Mm, with a handshake in front of the boys.”

Buck gave him a firm look. “Of course. Don’t you go thinking otherwise.”

Bucky smiled and leaned in closer, and Buck was surprised that he even could. “But the boys aren’t here, now.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re lookin’ for, huh? A little send of?”

Bucky's hands bravely slipped down to his waist and squeezed, and Buck resolutely did not think about how his waist fit all nice in John’s stupidly large hands. He was not a small man - he was tall; he worked hard all his life, and despite a less than stellar childhood, always had enough to eat. But John was just so damn big.

“Just a kiss, Buck. For luck. To tide me over till you get over the pond.”

Buck grinned, a rare one showing his teeth and leaned in until he felt the softness of Bucky's lips skim the edges of his own. He kept it there, just not quite touching until he heard Bucky's breath hitch and his hands tried their hardest not to wander some more.

And against that mouth he’d dreamed about in his sleep, he’d fantasised about in his waking hours, he murmured, playful and sweet, “No.”

He turned sharp in his heels and escaped Bucky's grasp and threw a pleased grin over his shoulder at Bucky gaping in his wake.

“Buck!”

“You’ll just have to wait for me, Johnny!” And Gale ducked out of the bunk house and left Bucky behind, to attend his duties.

And John stood there wondering what on earth he was in for, taking up with a tease like Buck Cleven. But he couldn’t wait to find out.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic

[middlingmay]

Incorrect Witcher Quotes

Yen: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything? Geralt: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital Yen: That wasn’t an ambulance, I drove you. Geralt: but I heard a siren. Yen: That was Jaskier screaming.

#the witcher #incorrect quotes #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennifer

[middlingmay]

John: Alright, I'll be back by six

Curt: Wait! Colonel Harding said I could come!

John: Wha-? You're not coming to my fucking date!

Curt: ....

*Gale, John and Curt sitting together having dinner together*

#omg i love it #curtis what are your intentions with my best friend biddick #gale am i in a thrupple cleven #john this is why i don't get second dates egan #clegan #john egan #gale cleven #curtis biddick

[middlingmay]

I've been thinking about my Clegan AU headcanons I'm going to turn into actual full fics.

The two I can't get out my head are:

Single Dad!Gale and Baseball Coach! John

And Rebel!John and Pastor's Son!Gale.

For now, I think the Soldier!Bucky AU and the Model!John and Photographer!Gale AU will stay the odd headcanon post, and the German!Gale AU will pretty soon become the Spy!Gale AU which again will most be headcanon for now.

Wish me luck! Even though I promised myself I wouldn't post a thing on AO3 until I'd finished my Witcher fic...

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic

[middlingmay]

I'm intrigued. Would anyone, anyone, be willing to take my soul in exchange for a Clegan Criminal Minds AU?

In my head John Egan and Spencer Reid are the same. No I can’t explain. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota

[middlingmay]

HOME IS YOUR HEART - Clegan (Barbed Wire Hearts AU Series) Fic

@swifty-fox @moghraidhs @trashbag-baby666

I couldn't help myself, my cowboys were begging to be written again despite me having a raging ear infection and a high temp but FUCK IT, NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER (pun intended). Enjoy!!

When Gale steps down from the fold out step of his trailer, breathing in the distinct smell of the pitfire curling through the air, taking in the sound of his little band of ragtag cowboys chatting and laughing together from their various positions seated around it, he can't stop the warm and comforting feeling of home that settles deep in the recesses of his chest.

He can't stop that feeling from curling its way into every little nook and empty space of his body, filling in the cracks like honey, warming spaces that he never knew were sitting dormant and cold behind everything else. An unmistakable sense of belonging whispering into his soul, something that he hadn't felt since he was a boy, young and green roping practice dummys in his father's arena back home in Wyoming, his mother leaned up against the fence with the smile she had passed on to him in a carbon copy beaming wide and blinding white.

It was a feeling that slowly melted away the older he got. When his mother's presence disappeared from the inside of the Cleven family ranch home, her usual perch on the arena fence left empty and tainted with a grieving loss. Her boots that sat by the front door amongst the others leaving a space that he could never fill, allowing the empty cracks to start reaching further and further as time went on. Pulled apart with every harsh word from his father's mouth, every disappointed shake of his head, every hit that left an ugly burning fire both on his skin from a cruel open palm and burrowing deeper and deeper into his soul in the wake of it all.

But looking at where he was now, situated amongst some of the best men he had ever had the pleasure of calling friends, partners, a team, that warmth was slowly starting to trickle back in. It was in the way that Crosby was smiling sat over on the wheel-arch of his trailer, Bubbles close next to him, an arm draped over his shoulder and smiling up drunkenly at Douglas and Everett as they recalled some story with exuberant smiles and arm gestures.

It was in the way Brady was kneeling down on one knee near the open tack box, showing Hambone how to properly strap his boots tight around his calf with flat leathers for the next bull-ride. The other man's scarred face intent and interested and asking questions like a schoolboy in the presence of a scholar, beer bottle balanced precariously between loose fingers.

Jack sat in one of the camper chairs closer to the fire, pointing out somewhere in the distance with a concentrated frown and trying to explain something to Benny while the other man frowned out in the same direction with his left hand hanging down from his own chair to absentmindedly scruff his fingers through his husky, Meatball's, fur, the dog laying sleepily at his side enjoying the ministrations.

It was in the giddy love-struck smile of Curt, holding the new paramedic, Kenny, on his knee, a sweet boy who had only recently been brought into the fold. One of Curt's arms draped loosely around his waist and murmuring hushed words close to the other boy's neck, the younger's face turned slightly to him with a mirroring grin soft and fond on his lips. A hearty laugh only a moment later, head thrown back and Curt's smile growing that much more that you could spot it from miles away, even without binoculars.

Gale felt his own lips curve into a fond smile at the two, eyes leaving them to scan over the top of the fire's flickering warmth. Feeling his own chest compliment the reaching warmth as it crescendoed into its own fire-like sensation when he spotted John, sat comfortably and lazily in his own camping chair, doing what Gale was and observing the men around him with his own soft grin. His hat was tipped down low against his brow, half hiding the bright blue of his eyes, knees spread in content, sinking lower into the cushioned seat as he took a sip of the beer bottle in his hand.

Like he could feel Gale's eyes on him, those stormy blue irises lifted and zeroed in on him with laser focus over the sparks of the fire, softening with affection, grin turning into a wide smile, teeth glinting at him in the glow.

Gale couldn't help the way his heart thundered like a wild horse being corralled at being the cause of that smile, neither could he stop the flush he felt colour his cheeks into what he knew was a faint red that he hoped could be explained away by the fire's heat. Could feel his own teeth bare helplessly into his own giddy smile as he tilted his head down in a shy gesture as he stepped away from the door of his trailer and make his way around the pit in John's direction.

When he made it over to him, standing in front of him and situated slightly in between those open knees, fire at his back, John's smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. Directed solely at him, because of him. Eyes staring up at him and taking in every inch of him with a casual ease.

Those open knees turned in to knock lightly against his own, expression full of mirth and adoration. Gale couldn't help the way his heart skipped at the fact that it was directed at him. Had never had anyone look at him in that way during his entire life. Not even his first and only girlfriend way back when he was a still an awkward and lanky 16 year old boy, being the affection of some pretty blond barrel racer from Tennessee that had pursued him for months and delighted in the fact she was eventually dating the son of the great team roping champion Joseph Cleven.

It didn't last long. It was short and sweet and Gale never really could understand why even when she broke up with him during the middle of a rodeo and he saw her not even an hour later making out with some amateur steer wrestler behind the stables, that he didn't really feel all that broken up about it. Couldn't find it in himself to care that someone who he had shared his first kiss and first fumbled handjob with in the back of the Cleven family trailer, had dumped him without so much as a glance backwards. Her perfect blond hair underneath a jewelled white hat bouncing as she sauntered away.

Wasn't until he started noticing the strong shoulders of some of the other ropers, the cocky stubbled smiles of the bullriders and the curve of the asses of the steer wrestlers in perfect fitting Wrangler jeans that he kind of started to understand.

Growing up in the rodeo world, though, where 95% of the families and competitors were heavily influenced by the bigoted views of Christianity and religion, he couldn't afford to let his eyes or his heart linger on his new-found preferences in any way. Not if he didn't want to have his face caved in in some shadowed corner of one of the many rodeo grounds or arenas and left like a bag of trash with a slur branded onto his skin with a hot iron.

So he'd put his head down and focused solely on his craft, solely on the feel of his name being broadcast over the speakers in triumph and the feel of wrapping the rope of his lasso tight over the horn of his saddle and carrying on the merit of the Cleven family name. He'd never let his eyes wander again, never wondered what it would be like to just give in and let himself toy with the idea of being someone's whole world, of being someone's object of affection and heart and the recipient of a gentle and adoring or lustful touch.

His father's words of a relationship being nothing but a worthless distraction in the face of what he could (and should) be accomplishing. Bringing home another buckle to add to the display case in the living room was more important than bringing home a girl on his elbow, all saccharine smiles and promises of a late spring wedding and 2.5 kids running around the ranch in a few years time.

Didn't have the heart to even retort to his father's words that it wasn't girls that he had to worry about Gale bringing home or looking at.

Until John Egan. That damn cocky louder-than-life and brash down to the bone bullrider that all but sauntered his way into the chutes and Gale's life quicker than if he were to sit on Baby's back and have her galloping full pelt through the flats of the wide open fields back home.

Said bullrider knocked one of his knees back against Gale's once again, pulling him back to the present and back to that blinding smile that had softened into something a little more concerned but no less adoring at Gale's silence. Had no doubt his eyes had gone glazed and unfocused amongst the tirade of his mind for a few moments.

"You doing okay there, cowboy?" John said gently, the hand not holding a beer bottle reaching forward and taking hold of his thigh over his jeans, squeezing tenderly in a comforting caress.

Gale swallowed thickly, collecting what little composure he had let slip back firmly against his chest. Tilted an easy smile down at John, eyes flickering over the brunette's face, the warm orange glow of the fire at his back only highlighting the other's sparse barely-there freckles trailing across his nose and over his cheeks. Felt that tidal wave of emotion and affection melt back into him, right where it should be.

"Sure am," Gale murmured lowly, reaching a hand down to cover Bucky's where it was still sat grounding over his thigh. "Was just thinkin', is all."

John hummed in question, hand starting to run absentmindedly up and down as he watched Gale's face with curious eyes. "What about?"

Gale watched him right back, a gentle sigh slipping past his lips against his control, and couldn't stop that wave from breaking over the borders and spilling over into a heedy molasses-slow overload that had his heart lighting up into more than just a fire, into something that more resembled the sun.

He watched John for a few more moments, those questioning blue eyes still searching and waiting on Buck's every word like a dog sitting at his feet and awaiting a command in the hopes of a reward.

"How much you mean to me," Gale finally murmured, watching as something hopeful and bright and absolutely smitten crossed over John's face and came to life in his eyes, smile turning lazy and so self satisfied again that Gale wanted to hide away from the barrage of feelings it illicited inside him.

Went easily when that large hand on his thigh tugged gently until he had to twist himself slightly in his descent downwards, pulled onto John's lap and into the other's warmth. Felt strong thighs tense underneath him before he moved into a more natural and comfortable position, ass fitting into the curve of Bucky's hips and back resting against a broad shoulder. He felt the distinct sharp curve of a large Champion buckle in the denim near his tailbone, but pushed back the small discomfort in the face of feeling like he was falling through the clouds at a million miles an hour.

Bucky rested his hand against Gale's hip, fingers a welcome press near the tooled leather of his belt and rested his chin against Gale's shoulder. His grin was still as prominent as ever, but his eyes were soft and half lidded, too close to focus on Gale's face so instead focused on the skin of his neck, the curl of his blond hair slightly longer at the back.

"That's a lotta thinkin, for little ol' me," Bucky whispered, slightly rocking the both of them side to side. Buck could feel the gaze still focused on his neck like a burn, but one he would gladly walk into covered in gasoline.

He turned his head to the side slightly, side eyeing Bucky as much as their position would allow at this angle. "Way I see it, you're worth a lot more than just thinking about, John Egan."

He heard the click of Bucky's throat as the other swallowed thickly at his words, something vulnerable permeating the air between them, but no less sweet.

Bucky hesitates slightly, seemingly lost for words, repeating Gale's over and over in his head. Buck can see it like a billboard sign lit up above him.

Finally, a shaky exhale, breath ghosting over his neck in a whisper, just as ragged. "Yeah?"

Buck hums in reply, turning his head a little more so he can look at Bucky a bit easier. Still not completely, but enough so that John's face, the tirade of emotions flowing over his features is more in focus. More open to Gale's attention and words. Sees blue eyes flicker up to his in an almost timid display.

"Yeah," Gale repeats, feels his face heat up from more than just the fire as the words that have built inside his chest, pushing and prodding and ready to burst through and out into the air like the sun itself had rooted itself there and made a home. Home. "You've made your home in me John, and for the first time in my life, I wanna build those foundations with my damn bare hands. Wanna be there building it with you."

He sees the moment his words truly sink in to John, make the other man finally hold his gaze, vulnerability and awe in every inch of his expression, brows pulled together in a questioning ache.

"Gale.." Bucky chokes on his words, throat constricting on another harsh swallow, mouth parted like every single moment leading up to this has lodged against his windpipe.

"Won't be building it without you, Bucky."

John stares, transfixed, gaze trailing between Buck's eyes like he's trying to convince himself that everything he's experiencing is real. That he can reach out and touch it as easily as his hands are holding Buck now, beer bottle long forgotten in the grass. His fingers flex against Buck's hips, pressing in without thought.

"You sure?" he whispers, broken and trembling like a kid trying to talk to his first teenage crush, fumbled and nervous and not sure if any of it is real. A broken man, stranded in the desert, being offered his first glimpse of salvation.

Buck can't help the soft smile that makes its way onto his face, turning that bit more, leaning forward slowly until the tip of his nose brushes Bucky's, soft and gentle. Feels the shaky exhale from Bucky's lips straight against his own.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away," Buck murmurs, low and strong, leaving not even an inch of doubt anywhere. Mirrors the words he said to Curt all those weeks ago when he'd returned from the hospital, weak and shaky like a newborn colt.

Within a single blink, he feels the way Bucky's fingers tighten even further against him, a quick surge of mere millimetres to press his lips insistently to Gale's like that broken stranded man, salvation coming to him in the physical golden form that was Gale Cleven and every prayer he'd ever uttered being answered all at once.

Gale's hand flies up to cup his jaw, sinking further into John's body and the comfort that envelopes him in one big wave as that sunshine in his chest finally bursts from the dam it had self constructed, all those years of being hidden away like a shameful, evil thing. Cast away and never to be brought to light.

Bucky kisses him and pulls him into the light, now. He's frantic, and wild, and untamed, and Gale grips his jacket with the other hand that's not against John's jaw, feeling the sparks that spring forth from the feeling of Bucky's lips sliding against his. Tongue gentle and asking permission despite the wild energy, and Gale grants him it without hesitation, opening up to him like he's now become the starved one.

Buck's thoughts are molasses, slow and thick but still galloping at a million miles an hour and sweet like the taste of John, the careful slip of their tongues fighting a damned war, teeth occasionally knocking and lips becoming the victim amongst it, tenderly bitten against panting breath.

It isn't until that breath starts burning, screaming for air, a familiar sensation akin to their first kiss, that both have to pull away, but only my mere increments. Foreheads still pressed together, Bucky's hat long since pushed off and tumbled to the grass to join the beer bottle at their feet, noses bumping.

Gale can feel Bucky's lips touch his with every harsh panting inhale with how close they still are, and Buck thinks that he could stay here forever. Meld himself to every part of John so he never had to let him go, never had to feel the warmth of his body leave him.

His fingers twitch against Bucky's jaw at the onslaught of emotion still coursing through him, and its not until he manages to peel his eyes back open, the lids feeling heavy and weighted, that he locks eyes with Bucky's own. Everything is unfocused and slightly difficult to see being this close, and he has no doubt he's nearly going cross-eyed with the proximity, but Bucky's eyes are like staring into blue fire. Flames hotter than the one only mere metres from them.

Bucky huffs out a breathless laugh against his lips, and Gale can't stop the blinding smile that threatens to split his face in two if it got any wider.

"You've done it now," John pants, smile mirroring Gale's in a perfect sycnronization. "You're stuck with me, cowboy."

Neither men barely move when Bucky's words cause a chain reaction, Curt's enthused whistle cutting through the silence like a bullet that in turn caused a cacophony of whoops and hollers and whistles to erupt from everyone around them. They had almost forgotten that they weren't alone, were subject to an audience of people that they had all but become family with.

Buck's heart once again burst, the last of those empty cracks that had sat so empty and agonised finally filling in and setting like cement so that he felt completely and utterly whole. Everything slotted into place and it felt like the world had finally righted itself to make way for him.

He leaned forward, pressing his face in against Bucky's neck, cheeks flushed and warm and entire body rooted in place against the shining pillar that was John Egan.

The foundation finally set underneath him. Home.

He pretended not to hear Curt's over enthusiastic "All right, bitches, pay up! Money, in this hand, right here!"

Also pretended not to peer through half lidded eyes where he still had his face pressed to Bucky over to see half of the boys grumble and slap notes into Curt's outstretched palm as they walked past him, before handing the money to Ken, who took it with a smug face and started counting.

Bucky's laugh rumbling against Buck's body and jostling him had him turning his face back and grinning against his throat, pressing a soft kiss to the tender skin.

#i would consume VOLUMES of this #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #mota #fic

[middlingmay]

Recruiter!Gale x College Student!Bucky AU

Keep reading under the cut.

There were many things Gale was proud to do in the name of the US Airforce He would work with charities and could talk to vets all day long. He lent new recruits an ear when they struggle to settle in. He had flown headfirst and steady into warzones time and time again.

But he would not force anybody into the service.

He could never keep the distaste from curling his lip whenever someone at the base mentioned recruitment drives. And Gale didn't pull his rank for much; pulling teeth from him was easier. But he wielded it with zealous fervour whenever the PR and Recruitment Teams looked for someone to go to this high school or that college to boost numbers.

But then he'd become friends with young Ken Lemmons and before that he'd been born with a soft heart that betrayed him something fierce when Ken had come running to him in a desperate panic.

"She's leaving him, Gale. My mom's finally leaving him!"

Ken's mom had him young, and they were incredibly close in a way that made a highly unwanted jealousy curdle awful inside of him. But unfortunately, her judgement of character could be way off, according to Ken. The second he'd signed up and shipped out, some guy had come along and planted himself into Mama Lemmons' life and her house and refused to leave. Ken, Crosby and Rosie had been coming up with a plan to help her, but nothing had been working and Miss Lemmons had become more and more withdrawn.

One day, Gale had interrupted their solemn silence as they contemplated what to do, and said low and calm, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand and his hip cocked lazily against the counter, said, "I'll go get him, if you want."

Him. Not 'her'. Because of the four of them Gale knew best how removing the problem often meant removing the man.

Rosie had blinked. Crosby had paled. And Ken had looked wondrously fond and said, "Not quite yet, Sir."

But it seemed she had finally come to her senses.

"But she wants to go tonight. And it'll take me four hours to just get there, and her sister stays like another three hours away in Rockford, but I've got the start of the recruitment circuit tomorrow-"

By this point Ken was turning purple and Gale cut him off out of fear of him passing out.

"Calm down, Master Sergeant," he squeezed Ken's shoulder with a firm grip. "Now don't you worry. I'll get your leave approved."

"No Major," Ken flushed. "Colonel Huglin said it was fine so long as I found someone to step in."

"To step in for what?"

"The recruitment drive! We start the Wisconsin circuit tomorrow."

Gale suddenly felt like he'd been endeared into a trap.

"I thought it was going to be a bust but then Major Rosenthal suggested you!"

That ballsy son of a bitch.

"And I know it's a lot to ask, but it wouldn't be for the whole thing - just a couple of days while I get her settled and get the guy out of there."

Under the full force of Ken's baby face and the absolute trust he had that his Major and his friend would come through for him, Gale hadn't been able to do anything but hang his head, sigh, and curse this child to high heaven.

"Alright, Lemmons. I got you."

So there Gale stood, decked to the nines in his uniform, scowling at some pamphlets, and ignoring the smuggest Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal he had ever had the displeasure to be around.

"You're going to have to talk to me at some point, Cleven."

And damn you could tell Rosie had been a lawyer in a past life, the way he could goad you into talking.

"Why?" Gale snarked. "You've already been recruited."

Rosie rolled his eyes with such force he threw back his head. Put his whole body into it, in fact. "You're not hog-tying anyone and throwing them into a van, Gale."

Gale gave him a flat look he'd been told could level buildings and felt the 'yet' sitting on his tongue could go unsaid.

Rosie pointed a stack of pamphlets at him. "Stop it."

Gale just shook his head. "It's not like people don't know who the Airforce is, Rosie. Tryin' to get folks to enlist by sellin' them only the positives? It's dishonest."

Rosie got that glint in his eye Gale recognised from when the younger recruits pushed that inch too far and he'd started to consider violence.

"Or, it's a few days off base, and I know you need that."

Gale's face twisted.

"Ah-ah!" Rosie scolded him. "Don't you dare. You're becoming a workaholic hermit, Major Cleven. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't resort to subterfuge to derail those kinds of plans, huh?"

Gale just rolled his eyes and let the matter rest. He let Rosie do most of the talking anyway, but answered any question put to him fully and honestly.

By the time the afternoon had settled over them good and proper, it was getting hot. Gale took his hat off and swept his hair back where it fell over his eyes.

"-sus fucking Christ, Curt. Is he real?"

Gale swivelled at the voice behind him. Standing there, like a deer caught in the headlights, was a tall, athletic, freckled man. He wore a baseball tee, white with red sleeves, that showed off the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms. Gale idly wondered if that baseball tee was actually functional with a frame like that. His head was a tumble full of brown curls, with glints of auburn in the sun.

Next to him, where Gale barely managed to spare a glance, was a shorter, stocky fella with a gleeful grin and a little crook to his nose - Curt the other one had called him.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Gale asked and the curly-haired fella cursed under his breath, "Really?!" as Curt elbowed him in the ribs and said, "Yeah, I'd say he's real, Bucky."

Rosie wandered over. "You fellas interested in a career in the US Airforce?"

Bucky's demeanour changed as he shifted his attention from Gale to Rosie. It got shaper like his friend as he smirked.

"What'dya think, Curt? You want a career to repress the queer? The military's still unofficially Don't Ask Don't Tell, right?"

Gale didn't like that at all. Not about the boys under his command. He strapped on his Major-voice fit for public, the one that reminded people he knew what he was about quick sharp.

"It most certainly is not."

Bucky eyed him, head to toe, and narrowed his eyes considering. "And you'd know, huh?"

"Yes sir, I would."

And any troublemaking Bucky had been planning was woefully undermined by the fierce blush that blossomed across his freckled face when he heard Gale say yes sir.

Bucky took a few brave steps forward, urged on by a boot to the back of his knee by Curt. Standing before Gale, he noticed Bucky's eyes were dark blue, not brown like he'd though. Bucky put both his hands in his back pockets, stretching the thin material of his shirt across the wide expanse of his chest.

But Gale was military. Gale had iron clad self control. He'd trained for this. He would not look down.

"So, uh," Bucky bit his lip and looked down and rocked on his heels and it was not cute. "If I signed up, would that make you my superior officer?"

Gale heard a thud from Rosie's direction.

"It would."

"And I'd have to report to ya and call you sir and what not?"

"This is not happening."

"Shh!"

"You-you don't shush a Major in the US Airforce!"

Gale ignored the bickering going on behind him, and fought the smile Bucky was nearly bringing out in him. "You would."

And he should shut this down. He should. He was workin' for God's sake. But.

"And as, uh, tempting as that is," he said to Bucky, dropping his voice lower that it already was, "I think you'd look much better in a baseballer's uniform than a military one."

Bucky's eyes sparked up in delight and Rosie took that moment to thwack Gale with his own hat.

"Major Cleven," he said, thrusting the hat into Gale's hands. "These young ladies from the Engineering School have some questions about the Ground Crew. Care to enlighten them?"

Gale dutifully donned his hat. "Sure thing, Major Rosenthal." He turned to Bucky and touched his cap. "Y'all have a nice day, now." And if he put some extra drawl in there to see if it would fluster Bucky, that was his business.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly after that, and by six pm they were loading up the jeep and preparing to head out to their digs for the evening.

When the last box was secure and the rear door shut, Gale turned around to check they hadn't left anything behind, when he saw a familiar face a few feet away.

Lord don't ask him how, but he managed to keep his smile small and in no way indicative of the hot, thrilling jolt the sight sent down his belly.

"You change your mind after all?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky laughed and sauntered over to Gale and Christ did that man have dimples.

"Nah," he grinned. "I just, uh, saw you packing up and thought I'd say hey."

Then Rosie began his muttering. "Seriously? The guys I've tried to set you up with and this?"

"Well, hey," Gale murmured.

Bucky stepped right on up, his confidence incongruous with the damn near bashfulness on his face. "Hey."

"One was a partner in a lawfirm-"

And a conservative jackass.

"Then there was the chef-"

Who thought the secret to good cuisine was goddamn eggplant. In everything.

"And the teacher! But this? This is what gets you going?!"

"Alright, you got me," Bucky said. "I, uh, came to see if you were doing anything tonight?"

Gale's tongue flicked out to wet his lips and Bucky's eyes locked on it like a target. "Am I?"

"Are you flirting?!"

And Bucky got mischief in his eyes and his hands got brave and came to curl over the lapels of Gale's coat. Strong and dextrous fingers skimmed down the sharp lines of his uniform, down to the catch of his button, and playfully toyed and traced the smooth metal stud.

When Bucky spoke, Gale fancied he could nearly feel the vibration against his mouth. "I have spent a frankly pathetic portion of the afternoon coming up with a lot of...creative ideas of what you could be doing. If you're open to 'em."

Gale slowly and deliberately plucked the keys of the jeep from his pocket and watched Bucky perk up as they jangled. Like a dog knowin' a treat was coming.

"Major Rosenthal-"

"Don't you dare, Cleven."

Gale didn't take his eyes off Bucky. "You better call a cab, Rosie."

Bucky's smile was satisfied and wolfish, and when Gale jerked his head towards the jeep, John bounded over to the passenger door, leaving Rosie stunned and gaping in his wake.

"There are no civilians in military vehicles, Gale!"

Gale shrugged and turned towards the driver's door. "Gonna report me, Rosie?"

Rosie swore up a storm and called after Gale as he got in the jeep and started the engine.

"I damn would!" he yelled as the jeep peeled away. "If I knew the write up for abandoning your fellow officer for some dick!"

#clegan #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #rosie rosenthal #mota #masters of the air #fic #alternative universe