Chapter Text
One life is all we have to live
Our love is all we have to give
As soon as John steps off the Jeep, he’s searching for Gale. He'd just touched down after his first mission, and it’s a relief to find Buck, alive and breathing, back to him in one piece. To the others he’s calm as ever, the unshakable hero and leader of the group. John knows better. He’d been in his shoes just the week prior. He has the advantage of knowing Gale well enough to recognize that his thoughts are far, far away. Still back up in the clouds, navigating flak congested skies, fighting to stay alive and unable to turn it off. He gently tells him to get in the Jeep for interrogation. Best to move on and keep going.
“Why didn't you tell me it was like that?” Gale asks, voice small and fragile and not at all the ever calm but strong timber John is used to.
“..I didn't know what to say,” he admits. It's the best answer he can give him. John’s first mission wasn’t anything he ever expected, and it’s something that he will likely never be able to forget. He honestly and truly didn't know how to tell his best friend that the lies they were told in flight school were just that, lies. There’s no sense in what they're doing. The way they were gassed up for the war, they were prepared for medals and tales of heroism to bring back home. They were never told that you'll be up in the air watching fort after fort fall out of the sky, fiery deaths that felt like a part of you was dying right along with them.
Gale looks straight ahead when he mentions the thirty men they lost, and Bucky can't stand it.
“I should have been there with you,” he says, gripping the steering wheel. He won’t make it about himself, not right now when Gale needs him. Even so, he can't help but feel like he failed Gale. He remembers watching Gale go, the dread sitting in the pit of his stomach like lead, wishing and praying he would get to see him again. And after he disappeared from the sky, John stood in the control tower wondering if Gale would die with John’s deuce in his pocket.
Once he experienced it himself for the very first time, he got stinking drunk that night, made a fool of himself at the pub to not think about the men that would never make it back home. And while he waited for Gale to return, he kept thinking about how the chances of losing Gale were astronomical. How it was more likely they would both die than it was they would return home. The only difference between this moment and the morning when Gale flew out was that now they both knew it.
After Gale's interrogation, he catches him right outside, lights a cigarette as he turns to look at Gale’s solemn face. “Let’s go for a drive,” he says.
Gale nods numbly, “Sure thing, John.”
John drives them to a grassy field past the tarmacs, and they head off into the trees for privacy. John knows Gale doesn't want to be around anyone right now except for him, and he takes great pride in that. He’s not really sure what Gale needs at the moment, but figures he can start somewhere, even if he's sure Buck will say no. He will figure it out from there. He always does.
He passes his flask to Gale. “Take a sip.”
“You know I don’t drink.”
“Come on. It’ll ease your nerves a bit.”
Gale looks like he wants to argue and say his nerves are fine, but John fixes him with a look, tells him to just take a drink. Gale relents then, reaching out to take the flask from John's offered hand. He takes a drink, and John is surprised when it goes down smoothly. Sips, swallows, doesn't wince. Almost like he's done it before.
“My, my, my. That wasn't my little Buck's first drink, was it?” he asks slyly, slinging an arm over Buck's shoulders.
“I said I don't like to drink, didn't say I never had a drink before.” Gale states plainly.
“Aren't you full of surprises,” he says. It's one of the many things John loves about him.
“I don’t feel better.” Gale says quieter this time. His eyes still have that distant look. Bucky thinks of Gale sitting alone, holed up in a beaten up fort, thinking about his doomed mortality. Bucky hadn't been able to be there for him in the sky when he needed him, but John can be there for him now.
Decided, John takes another swig from his flask before tossing it aside, hearing it land in the soft dewy grass. He grins at Gale as he loosens his tie. “Come on then. Take a swing at me.”
Gale looks at him like he thinks he's being childish. “Cut it out, Bucky.”
“This will definitely make you feel better,” he says and playfully smacks Gale's chest with the back of his hand to try to get him going.
“Doubt it,” Gale sighs, and his eyes are beginning to go back to that isolated look, and John can’t have that.
“Don't tell me you've never thought about decking me.”
“John.”
In a moment of desperation, he shoves at Gale. “Come on, aren’t you mad at me for not telling you what it's like?”
In honesty, he doesn’t actually want to fight him, much less hurt him. But Gale needs to let it out. John is willing to take a hit, or two, just to get him to loosen up. Hell, a punch to his beak might even do him some good. Most men drink or fuck, some gamble, and some fight. John usually rotates between the four. The problem with Gale is that most of those options are off the table. He doesn't drink or smoke, and he hates gambling. And since Gale was a loyal man to Marge, it left John with very few options.
Gale's eyebrows furrow slightly, his first show of any real emotion since landing. “Quit it, Bucky.”
John doesn’t let up. He shoves him again, harder this time. Enough that Gale had to take a step back to steady himself. Gale’s jaw is tense, and his eyes are narrowed too now. Bucky knows it won’t take long now. He shoves him again, “Come on. Fight me, Buck.”
Gale does shove him back then, hands laid flat on his chest as he pushes John away from him. Finally irritated enough to react, to snap out of his cool exterior he keeps up in front of everyone else. But John’s always been able to see past all that.
He grins, wide enough to know he’s irritating Gale. “That’s it.”
They shove at each other, each jostle getting more aggressive. Then they’re gripping the lapels of their uniform, John trying to pull Gale closer, Gale trying to push John away. John uses the little difference in his height to pin Gale to a tree, Gale grunting as his back hits the trunk. The more Gale tries to fight his hold the more John presses him harder to the tree, trying to get Gale to lash out, to get him to fight him for real since all he’s done is try to push John away. Gale is like a caged animal, desperate and wild, blue eyes bright and alive with fury that makes John’s insides turn hot. They bodily grapple, a struggle up until they both freeze up at exactly the same time.
Gale's eyes go wide, and John’s breath stutters. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden.
They're both hard. He can feel it, knows Gale can too.
John tries to do the right thing, be a gentleman and give them a chance to play it off as adrenaline, ready to apologize and pretend it never happened. But when he prepares to step back, he only lets up off Gale's body a fraction before Gale's hips buck into him, chasing his touch. John's eyes immediately go to Gale's face. Gale looks embarrassed, he obviously hadn't meant to do that, it'd been an involuntary reaction. He looks seconds away from running away, or actually fighting John to save face.
And, well, no one's ever accused John of being the sensible one of the two. He closes the little distance between them and kisses that expression off Buck’s face.
Buck is still for only a moment before he's throwing himself into the kiss. Parting his pretty lips and licking his way into his mouth like he's trying to devour John. It's nothing like how he thought Gale would kiss. The times he'd imagined it, he'd pictured shy little kisses, something bashful, but infinitely sweet. Not this.
This is even better.
The kiss is all wet, tongues and crashing mouths like they're fighting for dominance. Eventually they break apart for air but don't move away from each other, just breathe into each other's open mouths. Bucky leans his head down, resting his forehead against Gale's temple.
“Buck, I've wanted to kiss you for so long.”
Buck pulls back even though he's still white knuckling the lapels of John's flight jacket. His eyes are blown wide from John's admission, his mouth pinkened and wet. His eyes are searching John's face and Bucky feels entirely exposed. Before John even has time to consider that he might have said too much, Gale's wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him breathless all over again.
John, no longer tentative, lifts one leg up so it's nestled between Gale's thighs, hikes it up high enough until he can feel Gale’s hardness right up against him, feels the heat rolling off him, can feel the way Buck shivers. He runs his fingers through Buck's hair, neither of them breaking the kiss, hips rolling, Gale still pinned to the tree. When he ruts particularly hard against Gale, Buck throws his head back, the long line of his throat exposed and beautiful as he makes a noise, low and guttural in his throat, as he pushes back against John.
“That’s it,” he says, tongue heavy, mouth watering at the sight. “Take what you need, Buck.”
“Bucky,” the other pants.
After that, John's body reacted on its own, only natural after hearing his name being called like that, especially from the one person he's been obsessed with the last few years. He lets go of Buck's hair, one hand squeezing the back of Gale's leg, his other hand moving to grab a handful of his ass, hauling Gale higher on his thigh. It made Gale gasp, kiss breaking as they both shuddered.
“You can let loose with me, Buck. I got you.” He whispered even though it was just them. Then he started hitching his leg a little higher before lowering it and thrusting back up again. He used his hold that he had on Buck to guide his movement so they rolled their bodies and met together in a delicious grind. He ducked his head to kiss at the spot under Gale’s ear. “I should have been there with you today. Let me be here for you now,” he says, holding Gale in a vice grip, kissing him harder, before Gale comes to his senses and ends it.
Only, Gale didn’t. He opened into the kiss, groaning low in his throat, the rumbling in his chest vibrating against John’s body. He was aware of how hard he was, painful and restricted in his pants, rolling his hips to meet the steady flow of Gale's own movements. Almost as if they were fucking. It makes John’s brain feel like it's frying at the ends, sizzling away from that thought alone.
They kept at it, his hand flexing on Buck’s lean thigh, giving his ass a squeeze, unable to stop himself from touching every bit of him. Gale rolled his hips down, starting to move faster until his movements became wild and frantic. They become uncoordinated quickly. Up until Gale places both his hands on John's shoulders, holds tight and uses his shoulders as leverage to start riding his thigh with the desired flow they had earlier. He rides him like he was made to do it, like he's done it dozens of times before. John allowed himself to greedily soak in the attention, for however long it lasted.
“Fuck. Look at you, doll.” He was in awe, watching Buck ride his thigh like he'd forgotten he had any other function other than finding his release, gasping all the while. It’s driving John insane. He wants to pull more noises like that out of Gale. He matches Gale's movements so they're grinding against each other fluidly, moving in tandem, bodies acting on their own and desperate for release. It was far too easy to imagine how amazing it would feel without the restriction of clothing between them.
Their combined breaths quicken, panting openly until Gale’s fingers dig themselves in the material of his sheep skin jacket, he winces at the strength behind the way Gale holds onto him as he climaxes, moaning loudly as his body breaks into shivers.
The sight alone makes John spill over the edge, coming hard, eyes squeezing shut, letting his forehead rest against Gale’s. When he came down, he pulled away from the other man, looking at him. They were both a sticky mess, the front of Gale’s pants wet with his ejaculation, panting and flushed.
John looked down at himself, at Gale.
“Shit.”
~
After their shared orgasm dies down, Gale books it out of the woods saying he has to go. John lets him go, doesn't call out the obvious lie. Isn't surprised when Gale doesn't come out with the fellas to celebrate their first mission that night.
He knows he fucked up, he doesn’t know what he had been thinking, doing something so stupid. So he deals with this particular problem the same way he handles the rest of his problems, by getting stupid drunk. They lost thirty men and he feels like shit because he feels the most remorse over losing his friendship with Gale. He should have put a stop between what was happening instead of giving in and touching what isn't his to touch.
It’s that thought, rattling inside his head all night, even when he finds himself on the wings of a fort, piss drunk and howling at the sky. He only takes a pause from drinking to pour one out for the boys. The bottle isn't doing much anyways, so he asks Curt to hit him. He annoys Curt enough to get him to do it. John grins as soon as his fist lands on his face. He packs a wallop for a little guy.
And he’s drunk, so very drunk, by the time he plops himself in the chair in front of the new Colonel, Chick Harding. It takes only a minute, even drunk, to realize that Harding’s nothing like Huglin. But Bucky’s not really paying attention to that. He can’t keep his eyes off the letter on Harding’s desk. It’s upside down, but he can recognize Buck’s neat handwriting, thinks he can recognize anything about Buck anywhere, drunk or sober, upside down or rightside up.
He finds Gale afterwards, eating his breakfast, greeting him like nothing is amiss. John doesn't know what to think. Gale praises him in that quiet way he does, saying he's a natural leader. Gale went ahead and got him demoted, but yet it’s the single nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.
He's letting John be there for him, up there in the sky. Like John had wished he could. He realizes it's the way Gale wants it too.
The demotion and change in positions makes Jack get up from the table, upset with John, but having Jack ticked off with him is nothing new. He's hungover and feels like horseshit, but none of it matters in the face of being alone with Gale, having him grin at him across the table as he places a toothpick in his mouth. The way he’s looking at Bucky, he can't help but remember the press of his lips, the sounds he made as he rode Bucky's thigh. The affectionate smile he throws Gale’s way comes as easy as breathing.
Maybe things will be alright.
~
Then they’re down at the pub, and he’s a few drinks deep when they gets into it with the Brits. It doesn't take long for all their hackles to rise, Bucky gets stopped by Buck, and Buck gets stopped by Curt. And then it’s settled that it's Curt who gets to fight. It gets the other men excited, cheering and shoving at each other, adrenaline pulsing in a way that's enjoyable, as they exit the pub to watch what John already knows will be a short fight.
John grins, putting an arm around Gale’s shoulders. Since Gale’s first mission, he hasn’t been able to stop touching him. He hasn’t touched him like that since, no, but Bucky will take anything Buck will allow. Touches to Buck’s face, holding his face in his hand, an arm around his shoulder, a palm on his thigh. He does it all, and Buck never protests.
They haven't talked about it either, so John isn’t sure where the line in the sand is drawn. Right now,
Gale’s jaw set in a firm line, toothpick poking out from between full lips, looking at Curt's fight with an intensity that honestly gets John a little hot under the collar. “A test of manhood," he had said, eyes never losing focus, trained on the upcoming fight.
The men cheer when Curt knocks out the cocky Brit. John knew he would win, had the pleasure of being on the other end of his fist before, and they all jostled each other, elated from a fight won, from the drinks they'd had. Gale looks composed to the others, but John knows that look. He’d seen it when he had backed him up against that tree, his thigh between his legs. John leans in close, feeling braver from all the whiskey. “What are you thinking about?”
When he turns his head, Gale's eyes land on his lips before flicking up to his eyes. “I’m thinking about the fight we had,” he says.
As far as fights go, it was likely one of the tamer fights John's ever been in. Yet he gets so excited thinking about it, especially what followed. The way Gale is looking at him now, that same intensity he has when he gets inside a fort, when he watched the fight just now, and it's directed at him. John feels reckless. “Oh yeah?” John asks lightly, unable to stop his smile, can't help what Gale does to him. “So am I,” he says with a pat to his cheek, slowly, with intent.
The men call after them, ready to leave. “You fellas go ahead,” Gale says, deep voice smooth as can be, eyes still locked on John even as he addresses the other men. “We'll catch up.”
Some of the men stand around watching them, looking confused, so John turns to them. “You fellas deaf? You heard the Major.”
His tone is all it takes for the rest of the lingering men to turn and leave without another protest. Once they’re alone, John grips his wrist leading him to another alley, more secluded, and Gale follows, his cheeks rounding, wearing a private grin.
Once he’s sure no one is going to find them, he pushes him against the brick wall, hearing him grunt. “Fights really do it for you then, huh, Buck?”
“Guess so,” Gale says blithely.
John grins at his airy tone. He wants to ruin him. John ducks his head to nip at his long slender neck, wishing he could leave a mark. Settles for kisses, one after the other, staring a slow grind against Gale, who groans like John is killing him. And maybe he is, destroying them both with all the longing he feels for him, more calamitous than having the earth swallowing them whole.
He practically shakes from how much he wants, from how long he’s waited for this. He noses along Gale's sharp jawline, inhaling the scent of him, his sweat and his aftershave, mouthing along his neck, tasting. Whispers in his ear. “Let me touch you, Buck. Really touch you. Please. Let me see you.”
Gale gasps into his mouth, giving a quick nod, and it's all the permission he needs. He goes for his belt, slides down his zipper, gets his underwear out the way until he's finally got a hand on Gale. His cock is pretty, just like the rest of him. He tells him so.
“Christ, Bucky,” Gale says, and the deep rumble of his voice is enough to get John leaking. He can make out the blush on his cheeks, even in the darkened alley. His hips jerk as John slides his hand up and down the length of him, more feeling him out than actually trying to jerk him off. “You too,” Buck pants out. “Let me see you, Bucky.”
It doesn't take long for John to get the memo, all too thrilled to comply with Gale's request. So he pulls himself out, and gets his hand wrapped around both of them. His hand is big enough. He can feel electric shocks up his spine when their cocks touch, and Gale feels it too, cursing under his breath at first contact. He's heard Gale curse before, but it excites him anyways to be able to get him like that. His prim and proper Gale, crumbling under his hand.
Gale makes a choked sound, breathes it right into John's mouth. He strokes him a little slower, wanting to feel Gale just a little longer. John hadn’t pushed to touch Gale again after last time, was content to still have his friendship, told himself that it was enough. But seeing him now, the need for more is almost maddening. The fear of getting caught is a far thing in his mind, outweighed by the feel of Gale trembling against him.
Gales hands clutch at his uniform jacket he can practically feel his fingernails in his biceps and he strokes them faster now, his toes curling inside his shoes. He can feel his thighs tensing in preparation for release. Buck is biting on his lips again, little sounds escaping his clamped lips, so John crashes their mouths together, forcing the parting of his mouth, drinking in his broken moans as he strokes them faster. They both come like that. Lips locked in a deep kiss, their combined cum painting the backs of John’s knuckles.
It's incredible.
It isn’t until they’re both cleaned up and zipped up, no evidence of what they’ve done minutes prior visible, when Gale speaks up. “...Do you like fighting too?”
John fights a grin at Gale's question, the way he phrases it, still too afraid to admit what they're doing. “Are you kidding me? I'd let you smack me around everyday if it meant I get to touch you after,” he says honestly, not caring at all what it sounds like.
“Jesus, John,” Gale says His usually perfect hair is a bit of a mess, rumpled and getting in his eyes as he shakes his head.
John steps up to him and combs his fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. Gale looks up at him through his lashes, unmoving as he lets John fix thick strands back into place. When he’s done, he fixes the knot of Gale’s tie, adjusts his jacket back into place. Gale’s lip part slightly, but no sound comes out.
“There,” John says softly. He cups Gale’s face in one hand, not wanting to stop touching him just yet. He can’t get enough of him. Even if there’s nothing sexual going on now, he wants to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of it. “As handsome as ever.”
Gale smacks his hand away playfully, a little grin on his face as he turns away from John. “Knock it off, Bucky,” he says. He starts walking off, slow enough that John can catch up in two quick strides. He pauses mid step to look over his shoulder. “Coming, Major?”
“‘Yeah,” he smiles, and follows after Gale.
~
John stands at attention, eyes trained on the sky, waiting with what feels like lead weighing down in the pit of his stomach. The bunched tension sitting on his shoulders doesn't loosen until he sees Gale’s fort land on Algerian soil. Missing the runway and fort busted to hell, but Gale’s alive. He eyes the shredded metal, the burned and charred bits of steel of the fort, and doesn't think any other pilot but Buck could have made it back, no one but no engine Cleven. The sight of him landing is the very fulfillment of a repeated prayer.
Buck made it back to him. Alive.
He doesn't think about Curt. Doesn’t linger on the thought that at some point, he will have to write to Curt’s mother. He especially doesn't put any type of focus on Gale’s hallowed expression at the mention of Curt, or at the sight of Smith and his charred bloody stumps for legs, the corpse that Buck had flown with for hours. He tries to be his usual cheery self around Buck, but it feels fruitless. He'd meant it when he told Gale it’ll be just them two left up in the sky, but could tell Buck wasn't as optimistic. The more men they lost, the less Buck believed it.
They wait for the men to fall asleep to sneak off, climbing into Bucky’s fort; neither of them wanting to even look at the state of Gale’s fort, what a close call it'd been. Once they’re alone, Gale says in a low voice, “We can't keep doing this, Bucky.”
John sees his face and knows he's thinking of Marge. He'd caught him staring at her picture earlier, the one he kept in his fort, thumbing over her profile, mouth a sullen line. He knows he promised her to return, and the pressures of a promise he might not be able to keep is weighing heavy on him. Knows he is thinking about how he almost didn't make it back, but was lucky enough to. How Curt didn't have the same fortune. But that's exactly the reason why they should. Tomorrow is not a guaranteed thing for anyone, much less for men in their position. Gale’s thinking of so many things, thinking, thinking, killing himself with all his thinking.
So he crowds Gale against the navigation desk, their bodies lined up. The greedy part of him relishes the small gasp Gale lets out once they're finally touching, bodies lined up from chest to thigh.
“Tell me to stop, and I'll stop,” he says, mouth just a fraction away from Gale's lips, sharing quivering breaths.
“You son of a bitch,” Gale sneers, fisting his sweaty undershirt and kisses him hard on the mouth, teeth clanking together. John grunts into the kiss and has to take a step back to steady himself from how hard Gale bodily pushed into him. He kisses him back just as hard, rising up to his challenge. He grasps at Gale and touches every bit of him he can. Buck’s here. He's alive. He's breathing.
They both are.
They kiss like it’s their last time, because it might very well be. He kisses him like he's trying to convey just how much Gale means to him, how he'd been waiting for Gale to land and couldn't breathe until he knew he was safe. Because life without Gale wouldn’t be much of a life at all.
Gale breaks the kiss and knocks their foreheads together, his eyes screwed shut. He's still clutching John's shirt, and he’s visibly shaking. It’s a different sort of shaking John looks forward to. Bucky too closes his eyes and knocks his forehead against Gale's temple gently. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll stop.”
Then Gale breathes against his lips. “Don't stop.”
So John doesn't.
He pushes his shirt up, palms the smooth skin of his torso, thumbing a peaked nipple, grasping his hip. It shouldn't be possible for Gale to look the way he does, pouty lips, his soft supple body, with a prettier than any dame he's ever seen. Still somehow so male, with his lean muscles and deep voice, the stubble on his chin that scrapes against John’s skin.
Gale kisses John’s neck and unbuckles their belts with fevered urgency, wrapping a hand around John's already leaking cock. “I need you,” he nips at John’s chin. “I keep- Christ, John. I keep thinking about today, I can’t–”
He’s shaking. He didn’t realize he was until John stills against him, can feel the way he's the only one vibrating. He hasn’t been able to get the last mission out of his head. Curt. Smith. Countless others. He needs to stop thinking about it or he'll lose his mind. John clamps a hand around Gale’s wrist, putting a stop to his unsteady strokes. “Wait.” Gale pauses, eyes flicking up to John's. He isn't sure what expression he's wearing, but John gives him a quick reassuring peck on his lips. “I want to try something different,” he explains, hand sliding from round his wrist to give his hand a squeeze. “I want to take care of you. Will you let me?”
Gale has no concept of what John could mean. He's already been taking care of him. But he nods all the same. He trusts John. And right now he wants to forget about losing Curt. How he almost had the same fate. His fort had barely made a safe return, hell, barely made a safe landing. He touches his fingers to the side of John's face. He almost didn't have this again. His chest feels tight at the thought, and he wants anything John will give him.
All thoughts leave him when John gets down on his knees, his brain short circuiting at the sight. “Bucky, what-”
He's unsure what to say next. He can guess what John is going to do, but he can't imagine that his guess is right. It seems too good to be true, like something out of his wildest dreams. Then in one second to the next, Gale's jaw drops and he's covering his mouth with his hand to keep from moaning audibly when John starts sucking him off.
John's hands run over his bare thighs and it raises the fine hair there to attention, goosebumps breaking out from the intense pleasure his body’s receiving from John's mouth. John pulls off to lap at the underside of his cock, sucks far too gently at the head, before swallowing him down until Gale’s down his throat. Gale’s other hand fists John’s hair in what admittedly might be too tight a grip, but it just makes John groan around him. It made Gale’s thighs tremble in turn. He feels far too big for skin as John sucks him harder, bobbing his head, making a mess of spit and precum on Gale’s cock, on his lips and chin. The mess of his moustache, dark hairs above his lips smudged out of place, glistening, is what sends Gale over the edge. He doesn't even get a chance to warn John, he just comes like a freight train.
Gale blinked dots out of his vision, panting and wholly aware of the way his heart beat in his chest, resounding and thundering. It was such a juxtaposed feeling compared to the lightness of the rest of his body, the weightlessness of his limbs. He looks down at John just in time to see him wiping at his mouth.
Shit. He swallowed.
His mustache was still wet, slick at the corners, lips shiny, even in the dark. John was breathing like he was the one that got blown, all uneven and juddery. Then he notices that John’s still hard. Before John can recover, he sinks to his knees in front of Bucky and wraps his fingers around him, stroking him with a single-minded determination to make John come. It doesn't take long. John moans when he comes, mouthing at Gale’s temple, and Gale wonders what his mouth would taste like, if Gale would recognize himself on John's lips. It's dizzying to think about. And even though it's too soon to get hard again, his cock gives a stir at the thought.
They're getting dressed when a certain realization won't leave Gale's mind. Gale turned his head to look at John. “You’ve done that before,” Gale states.
It's a fact, he's sure of it. As sure as he knows how to fly, he knows John has been with another man.
John finishes zipping up his pants before looking at him. “I have.”
Gale grunts out an acknowledgement and turns his back to him. John can see how upset it made Gale. Can read it in the tight flex of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders. “Are you jealous?” John broaches carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral and free of teasing.
Gale still wasn't looking at him, busy buckling his belt. “No. Why would I be?” he replies coolly.
Bucky chuckles and steps closer to brush his fingers through Gale’s hair. It makes Gale stop what he's doing to look at John's face. “No, why would you?” This time, he doesn't conceal the teasing in his voice.
Buck’s jaw flexes as he regards John, and something about the air feels charged, like just before a storm hits. It looks like Gale is considering saying something but unsure of what to say, so John spares him, leans in so their lips are brushing as he whispers to him, “Want to taste yourself?”
In an instant Buck slams into him, kissing him hard and unyielding. His hands a tight grip in Bucky’s hair as he holds him in place, tongue licking the insides of John’s mouth like he means to taste every last drop of himself out of John's mouth. It's a wet kiss, so much so a line of spit keeps their lips connected after the kiss has ended.
And just like he did the time before, he straightens Gale's undershirt and fixes his hair back into place, giving him a smile when he’s done. “Come on. We should get going,” he says, going through the hatch of the fort.
Gale doesn't immediately follow. He takes a moment to press his fingers to his lips, exhaling shakily, closing his eyes as he chases the feeling John gave him with his kiss.
~
They get back to base, never having been welcomed with cold beer back in Algeria, but getting back at all feels like reward enough. Gale makes sure to take a cold shower, swearing he can still feel the heavy sun beating down on him. Afterwards, he finds Bucky outside smoking a cigarette. He strides up to him, John’s eying him as he comes closer, taking a slow considering drag.
“Nice day out. What do you say to a bike ride, Major?” He asks, knowing Bucky will know exactly what he’s asking.
John takes a final drag before flicking his cigarette away. His grin would be answer enough, but he says, “sure thing, Buck.”
They walk to where their bikes are lined up, and John smacks the backs of his knuckles to Gale’s sternum as he swings his leg over the seat. “You ever going to thank me for getting you that bike?”
“Not likely,” Gale replies, taking off.
So they ride their bikes. And somehow their leisurely bike ride turns into a race. But a little friendly competition is nothing new between them. Gale takes the lead, can’t help but laugh as he reaches the same spot they went to the last time they did this on base. Gale leans his bike up against a tree, shakes his head when he sees John let his bike fall onto its side on the grass.
“That makes two bike races you've lost now, Major,” Gale smiles back at him, eyes playful.
“Maybe I was enjoying the view. You got a sweet ass on you, Buck.”
He can feel the blush blooming on his cheeks before he turns his head to look away in time, starting to walk briskly further into the thick of the woods. He can hear John’s footsteps behind him. Gale isn’t sure if it was his comment, or the knowledge of what they’re about to do, but he can feel how warm the tips of his ears are.
They make it to the same area where it all started, far enough from base where no one is bound to find them. As soon as they’re far enough away, John corners Gale against a tree once again. It’s not long before John has them both in hand, stroking them in a firm grip. Gale wiggles his hips, biting his lower lip to keep down his moans. He's working Gale in a way that leaves tingles down his spine. He's helplessly pushing into his palm, searching for even more friction. John is peppering kisses on his neck, throat, jaw, sucking on the lobe of his ear.
Meanwhile, Gale’s looking down at the leaky tip of John's cock while John licks a stripe on his throat. He's imagined licking the tip before, wondering what John would taste like when he's alone and can't help but think of all the ways John’s touched him so far. Thinks of all the other ways they could be touching too.
Gale's gnawing at his lips, leaving with half moon indentation on his full lips, biting back moans as he looks down at where John's hand is working them. He has their combined precum leaking on the backs of his knuckles, his hand gliding easily over them, palm slick from both of their excitement. Both of them so wet, just from this. Gale's never been more determined than the moment he blurts out his deepest desire to Bucky.
“I want to suck you off.”
John’s lips stop kissing his neck, he can see the stillness of his body before he lifts his gaze, catching Gale's eyes with a delighted glint in his eyes. “Ohh. Is my little Buck getting adventurous?”
He can feel the blush on his cheeks, desire and embarrassment all rolled into one. He refuses to let Bucky goad him into being so embarrassed he backs out entirely. “Can I or not?”
John's hand squeezed his ass as his grin grew, white teeth showing and mustache curling over his lips. “Like I’ll say no.”
Gale drops to his knees, thankful John’s dick is already out of his pants. He doesn't think he could keep a steady hand while taking him out of his trousers. He wraps his fingers around him lightly, getting used to the feel of him, staring at the leaking tip up close.
At least now he can finally satisfy his curiosity. Because this was about satisfying his curiosity, nothing else. He leaned forward to lick at the tip, darting his tongue out and bringing it back inside his mouth, tasting. He hadn't been able to get John's mouth out of his mind, how he’d brought Gale to orgasm with his tongue. Afterwards it was all Gale could think of. How good it had felt. How he wanted to make John feel good too. Wondered what John would taste like, if it would be something he would enjoy.
And he of course remembers the hot flash of jealousy he had felt, knowing John had been with other men. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. The way Bucky had touched him and worked him to orgasm like he'd touched Gale's body countless times should have been sign enough. So he strokes John, feels a familiar nervousness and excitement swelling inside him. He leans forward and takes the soft head of John's cock into his mouth.
Ooh, he thought.
Then he's taking more than just the head in his mouth, getting a mouthful and still not taking all of John in. Shit, shit, shit, he kept thinking, jaw going slack to accommodate the rest of him. He heard John groaning in pleasure above him. “Fuck, that's good. Keep going.”
When John hit the back of Gale's throat, he couldn't stop the moan from coming, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. The weight of him on his tongue, the taste of him, the stretch of his throat, Gale was loving it.
“Fuck, I knew you'd be good at this.” John panted, patting his hair gently, hands on him like Gale might shatter.
The compliment was exactly what Gale wanted to hear. It was what he had been aiming for, to bring John pleasure. Feeling emboldened, he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, then bobbing his head and working John with his tongue like John had done to him. The taste of precum hitting his tongue, combined with the noises John was making, was encouragement enough to keep going.
He breathes through his nose, can feel tears pooling at the corners eyes, wetting his lashes when he squeezes his eyes shut as he struggles to relax his throat and take more of John in. His mouth feels full already, and his head goes light at the thought. He's on his knees for Bucky, sucking him off like he's getting paid for it, and all he cares about is making it good for him, wants Bucky to remember this moment.
It doesn't make sense to Gale that John has been with men. He could have any woman he wanted. He'd seen him pick up women and charm his way into their bed easily enough. It doesn't make sense that he'd go for a man when he could easily have a woman in his bed. But then again..
Gale..Gale's always eyed men. But he also knew he could never allow himself to think too much about it. Men were off the table. It was unquestionable to have anything outside of fleeting attraction. But John was always an exception for him. He doesn't know how John keeps managing to rearrange what Gale knows or thinks. He's questioned himself since meeting him. His beliefs that once were so unshakeable now seem equivocal. Since the war, since his first mission, who he is as a man has come into question. Being with Bucky doesn’t help answer any questions, but Bucky certainly quiets those thoughts. It all seems distance and unimportant in the face of just being with John.
“Shit, I'm coming,” Bucky groans like he's hurt. “Fuck.”
Gale moans around him as he swallows, John’s cum flooding his mouth that it's almost too much to swallow, but he’s determined to get every drop. And to his shame, he finds out he likes that too, the taste of John on his tongue. Even if he somehow survives the war and by some miracle gets back home to Marge, now he will have to live with the knowledge that he enjoys sucking cock.
He barely has time to process what he’s just done when John's hooking his hands under his arms, lifting him to his feet and propping him against the same trunk John had just been leaning against, and then John gets on his knees in front of Gale, giving him a wink. “Let me return the favor, doll.”
John's mouth is like magic; enough to make his thighs tremble, sweat collecting on his nape, breath shortening. He's admittedly never had someone put their mouth on him, Marge and him never got further than fumbling in her car, using their hands as they kissed politely, but he can't imagine it gets any better than this. John eats cock like he's hungry for it, bobbing his head while his tongue does wonderful things, swirling around his cockhead and licking the underside of Gale's shaft, his fingers stroking him at the base, other hand petting along the side of Gale's thigh.
Gale felt his orgasm building embarrassingly quickly and curled over John's head and yanked on his hair. John made a noise, not quite a noise of complaint because his hands fly to Gale’s thighs, fingers digging into the material of his slacks and kept sucking him, now with renewed vigor.
“Bucky, I'm– I'm gonna–”
It's all the warning he lets out before he's coming, hand clamped over his mouth to keep in the noise.
Bucky sucks him still, though softly, like he's just tasting him, his hands moving up and down his thighs in a gentle caress, Gale unable to stop his trembling but feeling elated from the way John doesn't stop touching him, seeing him through his orgasm and caring for him as he comes down from it.
John stands and his mustache is wet at the tips and the sight is just too much to bear, Gale lunches forward, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him, both their mouths wet from spend. John's hands ran smoothing over his hips, his ribs. "You taste so good, doll,” he says between kisses.
It should be vulgar but Gale only blushes, kissing John to shut him up.
~
It's the dead of night when John leads Gale by the wrist into a storage room that serves as an oversized pantry. Crates upon crates line the walls of the room, all filled with powdered eggs and stale coffee beans, army rations and bags of rice. It's raining hard, the battering of rain echoing in the room, the occasional flash of lighting bathing the exposed skin of Gale's neck, his thighs, in pale light.
John has Gale pressed against the empty space between crates, Gale's chest against the cool wall, John's chest against Gale's back, both their pants pooled around their ankles. John hadn't wasted time unzipping Gale's pants and wrapping a hand around him, having waited impatiently all damn day so they could sneak away, so he can have this. He wishes he could see Buck's face but this is a position he's been dying to get Gale in.
“Fuck, you’re amazing,” John grabs him by his hips and pulls him back until he can feel Buck pressed right against him. He grinds his cock right on the steam of his ass, and Gale lets out a noise that shocks him, and only serves to add to Bucky's own eagerness. A point of pride for him to pull those noises out of Gale.
Even though he can't see him, he can feel how worked up Gale is when he presses his lips to the heated skin of his temple, the shell of his reddened ear. John works his cock with one hand, the other touching his side, tweaking his nipple, palming his narrow waist, anywhere and everywhere while rutting against Gale's ass.
“I want to be inside you,” John says, more of a grunt that gets buried in Gale's hair, overwhelmed by the smell of him, the sweet smell of his sweat. He hears Buck make a choked sound, and for a moment he thinks he might have gone too far, but then Gale pushes his ass back further and he quickly stops worrying.
“I bet you'd feel so good,” he says, going lightheaded at the thought of being buried inside the other man.
Gale looks at him from over his shoulder, blue eyes wet with want, his high cheeks flushed from arousal. John gets lost in his dazed look, wants to keep Gale like this. Feels an unexpected panic stir in him when Gale breaks eye contact, trying to bury his face in the crook of his arm like he's embarrassed.
“No. I want to see you," John pleads, letting go of Gale's hip to clasp his chin and turn his face to look at him again. Gale's eyes are swimming in desire, John wants that look staring up at him as he fits between his thighs, burying himself in his tight heat. Wants Gale more than words can describe. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me kiss you.”
Gale's mouth parts right away and lets John slide his tongue into his mouth, both groaning into the messy kiss as he continues to jerk Gale off, doesn't stop rutting against his bare ass like a wild animal. Eventually they both get so worked up it barely constitutes a kiss, just breathing into each other's mouths, but John cherishes it all the same. He no longer needs to keep Gale's face in place so he lets go of his chin to cover one of Gale’s hands that are pressed against the wall, palms flat to steady himself. He intertwines their fingers and Gale squeezes, hands warm and a little sweaty.
And he makes Gale come just like that, fisting his cock in one hand, holding his other hand. Gale lets out a whimper as John milks the last of him, shaking in his arms as John continues to rut against him until he's coming too, burying his face in the crook of Buck's neck.
John eventually pulls back and Gale slumps forward, and he can't take his eyes off the curve of Gale's ass, the streak of cum left over his cheeks. He feels himself going insane at the thought of taking it further. It scares himself how much he wants him. He's always wanting to push Gale for more, but he's also afraid of scaring him if he pushes too far.
Gale turns around and they both stand quietly, save for them trying to catch their breath. Gale gives him a little smile, a small upturn of his lips, cheeks rounding, flush still present on his cheeks.
He looks…beautiful.
John decides he's going to find a way to take it further than hand jobs and sucking each other off. He has to know Gale in every way possible.
~
“I want to try something,” John says, his thick thighs spread out, his pants stretched tight on his thighs, pants unbuttoned, his bulge enough to make mouth watering, the bulk of him enough to make Gale's pelvis ache. He wants, wants so badly it hurts sometimes. Thinks, no matter how many times they touch each other, Gale isn't sated. Craves his touch in a way a gambler might crave the next bet. At least that's what he imagines it feels like. It's the only time he thinks he might understand his father. “‐Something different tonight.”
“What?” Gale asks curiously. John's eyes are glassy already just from them kissing. His lips swollen and ruby red, his hair disheveled from Gale’s demanding fingers.
“Come here,” he says, fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him closer and Gale falls into his lap easily. Thinks he might be content to sit there forever.
They're both only half-dressed, Gale’s top half is still intact, but below he's only in his underwear. They usually don't undress like this when they're on base. It's incredibly dangerous. Neither of them thought to say anything as they undressed each other.
His breath hitches, and John's lips latch on his neck, kissing his jaw, below his ear as his hands grab his waist and settle him more securely on his lap. The way John handles him is enough to make his cock throb. He sits with his thighs on John's outer legs, breath coming in heavy when John lowers his underwear, when he gets his index and middle finger wet with spit, comes in faster still when John's fingers start to trail from his spine downwards into the cleft of his ass. They stop right above the swell of his cheeks.
Bucky kisses his temple. “Buck, tell me this is okay.”
“It's good, Bucky,” he says, more breath than voice. “Keep..keep going.”
One of John's hands squeezed the flesh of his thighs once, before the other trailed down until John's finger circled his hole, tracing small circles around it, gently pressing at his entrance. Then he stuck his finger inside, finger pushing past the tight ring of muscle of his hole, and Gale’s back bowed, choking on air as John touched him where no one else had before. For longer than Gale would like, John doesn’t move, letting him get accustomed to the intrusion before he finally starts sliding his finger in and out at a pace that has his skin tingling.
The burn gave way to something else entirely, the hint of something better, if only Gale chased it. Without his permission, his hips began to push back on John's fingers like he was helpless against it. John worked his finger deeper inside, picking up an easy pace even as it burned, John only pulling his finger out completed to add spit before delving back into Gale’s body again.
Gale gasped, then let out a deep groan. “John, that–that feels good.”
“You're so tight baby,” John says, kissing his temple while his finger plunges in and out of his hole.
Gale grabs onto his shoulders as John fucks his fingers into him. Fingers, he realized, it felt even better with two inside, he thought as he shook, lips bitten raw to keep his noises down. He can barely control himself, body reacting to the onslaught of pleasure by greedily taking, pushing back for more. When there's three fingers worked inside him, John grips him hard and pulls him tighter against him, and Gale can feel the hard drag of his cock against the seam of his ass. Hot, rigid, weighty.
I want to be inside you
It's easier to imagine than Gale can admit to. Doing this, without a single layer of clothes between them, sweat collecting between them as John rocks into Gale, just like they are now except with Gale sitting on his cock instead of riding his fingers. Then, other images come unbidden to Gale's mind before he can stop thinking about it. Like getting on all fours while John fucks into him.
“Fuck, darling. You're amazing,” John groaned, the sound too loud in the room.
Or Gale riding him until his legs give out.
“You're taking me so well.”
Or Bucky shoving at him and Gale letting himself get corned until hes fucked against the wall.
“Think you can come from my fingers, doll?”
On his back, Gale’s legs thrown over John’s shoulders.
“Shit, Bucky. I-. I'm-”
He comes with that in mind. John fucking him.
Buck comes so hard his vision whites out, spilling on the front of Bucky’s undershirt, and Bucky only grunts before one of his arms wrap around his waist tightly, his hand pulling out of his hole and squeezing it between their bodies to stroke himself as he comes, teeth grinding to trap his moans and holding Gale close. Gale’s eyes flutter, and oddly, his hole feels empty. He's shivering a little and John's hold on him is a little too tight, but he doesn’t mention it at all.
They sit there, catching their breaths, Gale thinking back to what just happened. Knowing, if John ever pushed for more, Gale wouldn’t say no to him.
~
As soon as the weekend arrives they don't waste any time using their passes to get into town. Gale had exchanged knowing smiles with John the entire time, John's smile growing wider with each passing gaze, both delighted by each other's excitement. Much to Buck's surprise, John suggests getting a drink first. The drink isn't so surprising as much as he thought John would want to do something else first. He agrees anyway.
They're making their way through drinks at the pub. Ginger beer for Gale, whiskey for John. The music is loud and people are trying to forget about everything going around them, pretending there's no bombs going down cities away from them.
When Gale's mother had died he wondered how was he supposed to move on. Was mad at his father for going on gambling and going to the tracks like the most important person in the world hadn't died. It hasn't mattered to Gale's father. Gale hadn't known what to do with the knowledge that death doesn't stop the world from turning, people just continue living. Through his grief, he collected his father from bars and apologized for his behavior. And now, people are dancing and drinking and laughing, all while bodies are rotting in fields miles away. One day, the son or husband or good friend of the people in the pub walked out the door for the last time. And yet, they're here. The war made Gale understand why his father didn’t stop drinking or gambling away, didn’t stop from having fun during the worst time of Gale’s life. Because Gale is here now, sipping on ginger beer and enjoying a live band, while forts went down and will continue to go down, regardless of where he is in the world. Time doesn't stop for anyone, so you best get to living.
They've all got one life to live, and people are living tonight. The music is lively. Gale enjoys it even if he doesn't dance. He sees John's knee is bouncing and he's brimming with energy, but he hasn't gotten up from his seat.
Gale eyes his energetic knee. “You should dance.”
John turns to him with a grin then clasps his chin in one hand. He's smiling with his whole face, eyes crinkling to crescent moons, the dim light of the bar making blue irises appear darker than they really are. “You’re a doll,” he says. “Wait here for me.”
John disappears into the crowd leaving Gale alone. He sips on his ginger beer for what seems too long. He drinks and looks solemnly at everyone dancing. He doesn't see John on the floor. It strikes him as odd. Bucky's always been easy to spot in a room, and even if Buck can't find him with his eyes he's always been able to hear him out, ever the loud mouth.
John doesn't come back until Buck's finished his drink, and they resume their talk and Gale forgets all about asking who he danced with, where he went. He gets distracted easily once John's hand falls on his thigh as he leans in to whisper something over the noise of the crowd. Gale feels flushed even though he doesn't have a sip of alcohol in him.
“You ready to go?” John asks, and Gale nods. Gale breathes in the cool night as they step out, the music muffled now that they’re outside. “Come on, this way,” John says, leading the way down the street.
“I didn't see you dancing,” he says absently as he walks side by side with him.
“That's because I wasn't dancing.”
When he feels a hand on his wrist and light touch that's gone as soon as he registers it. He turns around, and John’s standing in the middle of the street, watching him with hungry eyes. "I got a room for tonight.”
The meaning is clear, and he shouldn't be surprised by John being forward, out here in the open, yet he is. There's a grand hotel behind him, he hadn’t even paid attention to where John had been leading them, and the realization is enough to make him flush. People walk past them, no one is paying them any attention, they're just two men in uniform, blocking the street. But it still startles a small laugh out of Gale, light and airy as he pulls his silver case of toothpicks, shakes his head as he puts one between his lips just to have something to ease his nerves. “Got big plans tonight, Major?”
John leans in close, dropping his voice low enough so only Gale can hear. “I told you I want to take you to bed, be inside you.”
Gale blinks slowly. He's thought about it too- too much- if he's being honest. Now that the moments here he feels dumb with anticipation. “And you think you'll get lucky tonight?” he asks instead of letting his eagerness show.
John's eyes are on him, expression all of a sudden serious. “You tell me, Buck.”
His eyes flick to the hotel back to John's lips. Then up at his eyes, titling his chin up a fraction. John's only a little taller but sometimes he seems so much larger, grander than life in moments when John acts untouchable and confident like he does now.
Buck rolls his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, doesn't fail to notice the way John's eyes track the motion, eyeing the motion that way dogs at the tracks do, chasing after the mechanical rabbit. He wonders who's the dog and who's the rabbit in this moment. Not that it matters much when they're both a little wild just from imagining what's to come.
“Don't count on it,” Gale says, feeling the upturn of his toothpick as he breaks into a smile.