“…After that she feels peaceful and wants to sleep. He kisses her closed eyelids. It’s not like this with other people, she says. Yeah, he says. I know. She senses there are things he isn’t saying to her. She can’t tell whether he’s holding back a desire to pull away from her, or a desire to make himself more vulnerable somehow. He kisses her neck. Her eyes are getting heavy. I think we’ll be fine, he says. She doesn’t know or can’t remember what he’s talking about. She falls asleep.”
Daisy Edgar-Jones and Paul Mescal as Marianne and Connell in Normal People (2020) dir. Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie MacDonald.
This. The love, the tenderness. I’m never letting this one go.
yeah…another one lol this time inspired by bin bon’s new music video. tried something new for this one by putting fics in categories but i will say they’re pretty loose categories since there’s quite a bit of overlap (i’d say 90% of modern darklina fics have plenty of smut 👀 and mal bashing) and i got lazy by the end. here are some of my recs for darklina modern AUs & as always thank you to all the lovely writers in the fandom for feeding us during the off season 💛💛 p.s you can find all my fic rec lists here.
come for the smut stay for the plot
ABSOLUTE by twilighttomidnight
“Good.” Genya hummed, unrepentant. “I hope I’m ruining all your virginal fantasies. They never live up to your expectations so why not have a skilled older man induct you into the world of sin and be paid handsomely for your time while you’re at it?”
GAMES by persephoneselene
Alina gets more than she bargained for with Wall Street tsar Aleksander Morozova. (or: Astrology GF Alina, Stockmarket BF Sasha)
GUDENE SKRATTET by madismen
You don’t need love to get married. Alina marries Mal as part of the peace deal between their families. After a year of misery and a stubbornly flat stomach, Uncle Sasha steps in to rectify the situation.
ROYALS OF NEW YORK by starwarringavengers
Alina Starkova is leverage in Aleksander Morozov’s war against the Starkov Family. She is leverage, and nothing more. They both get emotionally attached.
workplace romance
SUITS!AU series by secretsarenotforfree
An authoritative voice, lightly accented and full of power even when kept low for secrets sake, his back to her. A briefcase so neatly made it had to be bespoke. The tall bob of the top of just criminally beautiful hair. Puzzle pieces. Alina’s favorite. Especially when she was given the chance to assemble them into a whole.
MOROZOV PUBLISHERS!AU series by lrcee
Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for rewritingediting the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It’s the position she’s always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. That crush on her boss though, that’s gotta go.
INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS by lrcee
“So then what are you accomplishing?” Alina snaps. “What, tangibly, is the UN? An umbrella that comes down when it rains?” Alina has cut her teeth on war zones and crises. She can decipher multiple languages; she can get people to divulge precious information with ease. So why, then, can she not handle Ambassador Morozov?
these crack me up
A VAMPIRE’S GUIDE TO THE 21ST CENTURY by bedpostsongs + clowsan
In which Aleksander is a literal millennial and Alina might have bitten off more than she can chew taking him home for the night.
THE FIGHT WE NEVER HAD by poethrotsvitha
For the first time in her life, Mal has gone somewhere that Alina can’t follow. She has no one left in the world- or so she thinks, until Aleksander Morozova shows up on her doorstep with an offer she would be a fool to refuse. (In which Aleksander oh-so-helpfully steps in to assist newly widowed Alina with anything that she might need, even if she doesn’t know she needs it yet)
srynotsry mal
GOOD WIFE by sugarshakes
Alina tries to be a good wife, she really does.
DON’T KEEP LOVE AROUND by larry_hystereks
She wishes it was his fault, but really she only has herself to blame. (or: Alina cheats on her boyfriend with the hot bartender she can’t seem to stay away from)
NEEDY by macdav
It starts out small, simply wanting to save what’s left of her marriage, and with Dr. Morozova, she feels as though she’s making progress. Until he suggests she leaves her husband. Suddenly the hand he so graciously extends to her starts finding its way into places it doesn’t belong.
NO REST AT THE KINGDOM by kneeinjury
This is Mal’s fault. This is his fucking fault, and she’s just trying to be a decent wife, but ever since she got laid off he only seems to think of her as his personal errand girl and if he insists on treating her that way then he should at least be where he says he’s going to be and why won’t he answer his phone goddammit?
MILLION DOLLAR MAN by amplifierverse
“Yes, but not from my best friend. He’s my—” Alina stops, bites her tongue. Genya snorts, and says oh so innocently, batting her unfairly long eyelashes at Alina, “Your new daddy?” (Alina’s foster mother brings home her new boyfriend. Things get a little complicated for Alina, after that)
romance movie vibes
THAT’S WISHES ONE, TWO, AND THREE by starlessmistake
Aleksander is a famous musician. He’s also hopelessly in love with his personal assistant, Alina.
A CONSTELLATION TO STIR MY HEART by littleloststar
“Alina, listen,” he sighs, “the fact is, I’ve got way too much money and I’d like to spend some of it on you. If you want.” (or: A super indulgent good-times-only Darklina sugar daddy AU)
SUGARFULL by silberias
He’d heard her curse, the little gasp she gave as the wind nearly took her off her feet, and hesitated for only a moment before dashing back into the rain with his umbrella already halfway open again. “Keep it,” he’d said with a warm smile, taking her old ratty umbrella from nerveless fingers and wrapping her hand around the handle of his.
CEREBRAL by lord_janley
“Mama fell down,” says his son’s voice, small on the phone. Had put it on speaker initially, thinking it would be his usual babbling about dinosaurs. Or planes. Or space. Anything but this.
AS WE KNOW IT by larry_hystereks
A horrible accident leaves Alina and Aleksander to raise their friend’s baby as their own. The only problem? They’re not even together.
THE PRAYER OF GOING NOWHERE by kneeinjury
“Just friends. I promise. There’ll be an open bar.” It’s been almost six months since they started sleeping together and she hasn’t fallen hopelessly in love yet; she supposes one outing together won’t undo her completely (or: The FWB au)
1-800-MISS-UR-GUTS by kneeinjury
It’s been over two years since Aleksander moved to Seattle, which means it’s been over two years since he dumped her in her apartment and broke her heart (or: The breakup makeup fic)
PLAY by inky_pens
When Alina’s preschool is forced to shut down at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, Aleksander propositions Alina, in more ways than one, to stay with him and his son during lockdown.
IT’S A DANGEROUS GAME by ohwastelandbaby
Left as the only witness to a heist, Alina Starkov is in need of protection from a band of criminals out to get her. What Agent Kirigan offers her, is far more complicated. bodyguard!AU
PAST LIVES (SHADOWS & PROMISES) by stargurl28
She hasn’t seen him for years. This number probably isn’t even in service anymore. She’s not even certain why she calls. She sobs when he says her name, that way, the way only he can. Between her sobs, she manages to whisper, “I should have waited for you, Sasha.”
THE BREADTH OF HIS DOMAIN by sexypicard
Alina tapped her foot impatiently as she waited in line. As her own boss, she set her own hours, but it was the principle of the thing. She demanded no less of herself because she happened to be self-employed — and that was perhaps why she was so annoyed with the man in front of her.
fic: can't fake what you can't break up with
Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman/Phoenix)
"If you meet someone who wants to bequeath a castle to you, I promise to walk you down the aisle myself."
(Or: the one where Jake and Natasha drunkenly get married in Vegas and then try to stay married for career advancement without killing each other.)
I. spring
"Of course! Why would Cyclone care that the guy he's thinking about promoting has so little impulse control that he couldn't spend less than twenty-four hours in Vegas without marrying his coworker at an Elvis chapel?"
After a long beat, Jake says, "Guy and gal he's thinking about promoting. If I'm screwed, so are you, honey. Last I checked, we both said I do."
II. summer
"I'd let you put a bow on me, Trace."
It takes everything in Natasha to roll her eyes instead of letting herself sway a few inches closer.
"That's because you think you're God's gift to mankind while the rest of us are just praying for a return receipt."
III. fall
"How did not being an asshole work out for you?"
"Not great, admittedly," he says. "Now you know why I don't believe in personal growth."
"It figures that the one time you'd consider someone else for a change, it would nearly kill you."
IV. winter (i)
"When did you become an honorary member of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood?"
And exactly how many divine secrets have her sisters told him?
"They said that I need to get better at reading between the lines." With a chuckle, Jake adds, "You Traces are kind of obsessed with context clues, by the way."
V. winter (ii)
"God, you'll be such a hot black widow," Jake groans as he pulls her closer.
"Obviously," she says, closing her eyes as he presses a kiss against her neck. Natasha would look great wearing one of those fascinators with a mesh veil attached to it. "I don't even know why I've kept you around for this long. I could have been the star of a film noir by now."
VI. winter (iii)
Despite her best efforts, Natasha couldn't go back to sleep now even if she wanted to because she can't stop wondering what he wants to ask her.
With a sigh, she flops over to her other side so that they're facing each other and Jake can feel her glare before she replies mockingly, "It better not be, 'Wanna do it again before you have to leave, babe?'"
"One: why do I sound like Butthead in your head?" he asks. Before she can answer, he powers on. "Two: that was not what I was going to ask you, but thank you for providing me with a follow up question."
heaven's in your eyes (i'm your national anthem) – chapter 4
top gun: maverick | phoenix/hangman | e | previously: 1 – 2 – 3
“I don’t think anyone deserves to be president, Natasha,” he is insisting, toast halfway to his mouth, looking over at her with such an intensity that it sends a shiver down her spine. “You have to earn it.”
“I agree.” She taps her spoon against an empty sugar packet to emphasize her point.
“So why is it a problem that I’m running against Penny?”
“Because you’ve done nothing to earn it!”
“I’m running an entire campaign to earn it!”
AO3 is exiting open beta! Learn more about how far we've come since launching open beta, our future plans for improvement, and what you can do to contribute at https://otw-news.org/4w2dn3tc
i dont want to be in a fandom that critisizes the choices of fictional characters like they are human beings. i want to see THEORY and ANALYSIS and STORY STRUCTURE and CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!! I WANT PARALLELS AND MOTIFS AND VISUAL CUES!!! They're not REAL they are TOOLS so stop acting like they are people who made bad choices and should be punished. of course they made bad choices!!! that shit is funny and cool to watch!!
something something grace asking can i think about it and eva saying yes you have three hours. and then on erid grace asking can i think about it and rocky saying yes think about it long time. stay with me forever. earth kicking grace out with a syringe to the neck and rocky bringing him home to erid. i just........
grace's whole planet, everyone he has ever known, wanting him to die for them and not caring at all how he feels about it. versus the alien from outer space who he met by some crazy fluke of fate risking his own life and the lives of everyone on his own planet just to save grace. can anyone hear me!!!!!
i really love that project hail mary made it so clear how much grace loves earth. describing it to rocky, showing him bits of the culture and nature. the water and the cities. the birds. he sincerely and deeply loves earth.
you don't even have a dog. he had a whole planet. he loved being alive on earth and they took that from him.
COL. NEIL HARDING THORPE ABBOTTS AIR BASE ENGLAND
TO LT. HARRY CROSBY OXFORD UNIVERSITY C/ O ALLIED CONFERENCE COMMS.
TELL THAT HELLION YOURE BABYSITTING HIS FAVORITE CHEW TOY ON LATEST LIST OF ALIVE P.O.W.S. IN STALAG LUFT THREE ALONG WITH TWENTY-TWO MORE OF OUR BOYS. WAITING FOR CONFIRMATION FROM RED CROSS MEANTIME SEE IF YOU CANT KEEP HIM THE HELL AWAY FROM ME FOR A WHILE LONGER I WILL GET YOU A DAMN MEDAL MUCH APPRECIATED CHICK.
####
(Or: Bucky's injured when Gale gets shot down. He doesn't get to go after him.)
(so i read bonk by mary roach and uhhh. technically it IS possible to have your wires crossed like this. and if anyone can gale cleven would)
####
“This guy’s first ever landing was a wheels up, if you can believe it,” Bucky’s telling some fresh meat from a base in Ohio, voice raised over the noise of the O-club and flushed pink from three glasses of scotch. “Hand to God, he was smiling like a loon when he got out of the fort—fucking madman—” and his arm’s already around Gale’s shoulder but now there’s a hand on his face, squeezing his cheeks like Bucky always does—and Gale would glare at him and wait for him to smile wider and squeeze harder for one last second before he stops, like he always does, except Bucky goes to pat the side of his face and when he does his thumb lands on Gale’s eyebrow, not as clumsy as the rest of him, giving it a firm hard press—and Gale’s caught off guard so he can’t stop it. He tenses, and then shudders, the air heating up in his chest.
He's suddenly so hard that it hurts.
The new pilots from Ohio have moved on, talking about some impressive water landing one of them pulled on a duck pond—a tall tale if ever Gale’s heard one, but he’s not paying attention. Because Bucky’s eyes are locked on him, his hand still on the side of Gale’s face—and there’s no way he missed it. Not with that look in his eyes, not sitting so close. Gale tries to shift away, but Bucky holds him fast—and he looks intent now, his blue eyes dark, all pupil.
He pets Gale’s eyebrow again, firm, with his thumb.
Gale turns his face down, into Bucky's palm, trying to hide from him, but he can’t hide how he trembles under Bucky’s arm, and can’t help the strangled sound he makes—quiet enough that the Ohio boys can’t hear it, not with the music and all the chatter, but not so quiet there’s any way Bucky, so close to him in the booth, could ever miss it.
“Holy shit,” Bucky says, softly.
Gale grinds his teeth. “Let go of me.”
“Holy shit,” Bucky says again, not listening to him.
“Let go,” Gale snaps, loud enough that heads turn to them from the other side of the table, and shoves Bucky’s arm off so he can get out of the booth and march off.
Bucky follows him, because the man’s never known when to leave well enough alone a day in his damn life. “Buck!” he calls after him, while Gale keeps his head down and marches over the dark asphalt between Q-huts, avoiding the few streetlamps even though there’s no way with all the shadows Bucky would be able to see he’s still hard, tenting the front of his pants. “Buck, would you just—Jesus, hold on a minute,” and Gale’s unwillingness to break into a run and sacrifice what’s left of his dignity means Bucky catches up to him in no time, huffing and puffing from a brief sprint, grabbing Gale’s arm.
Gale jerks the arm out of his grip, but he doesn’t take off again. Bucky’s moved them into the alley between two buildings, cold grass wetting the cuffs of their pants, the noise of the O-club far off now. The shame is still thick and nauseating, even alone here with John. Gale is sure his face is bright red. He wants to—to deck Bucky in the face, to yell at him until he promises to forget, to somehow rewind time so that he never knows, never finds out. He’s made it his whole life without anyone finding this out about him; he can’t stand it, that Bucky knows, now.
Bucky knows too damn much already.
“Hey,” his friend says, placating, not touching him—not willing to get smacked away again, maybe—but arms out at his sides, crowding him away from the road, away from the light like he’s trying to calm him down, get him somewhere alone. “You want to tell me what the hell happened in there? Did I—do something?” he sounds concerned, of all things. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Gale says tightly. He just wants him to shut up. “Just leave it, Bucky, alright?”
“Sure,” says John, but he’s got that pinched look that means he’s going to keep pushing, that he won’t be able to help himself. He got the same damn look the first time Gale let slip he knew how to lasso a cow, spent half a week hounding him around the base in Idaho until Gale let him rustle up a rope and demonstrated—after Bucky lobbied unsuccessfully to play the part of the cow—on a chair. The boys shouted Hi ho, Silver every time they saw him for a goddamn month. “Sure,” Bucky says again, sucking his upper lip, starting to back off—but as soon as Gale moves to step past him, he turns again, blocking him in, and muses, pretending like he just had the thought: “Except—what if I accidentally do it again? I wouldn’t want to make that mistake. So maybe you really ought to tell me. For safety.”
Gale glares. “It’s nothing, Bucky, leave it.”
He moves to step around him, but Bucky catches him by the shoulders and grabs his face, and before Gale can react, fight back, Bucky’s got him shoved against the Q-hut, pinning him with his body, his thumb rubbing over his eyebrow again.
Gale literally, physically can’t help it—he clutches the front of Bucky’s jacket and makes a noise like a baby cat, high and sweet and so girlish that he feels himself flush all over, that he closes his eyes to escape whatever look must be on Bucky’s face.
“Christ alive, Buck,” he hears, low and breathless, reverent, and then: “Look at me, will you? Let me see those baby blues.”
Gale opens his eyes again just to glare at him. He’s expecting Bucky to look smug, teasing, like the cat that got the canary—he’s found another one of Gale’s weak spots, uncovered another one of his secrets, and maybe the most embarrassing one he’s got—but Bucky’s not smiling. His eyes are locked on Gale’s, dark and very intent, deadly serious as he pets his thumb over Gale’s eyebrow again, pressing hard on the bone, his warm, flat hand cradling the shape of Gale’s skull like a bowling ball.
The touch goes straight to Gale’s cock, just like it always has, every time since he rolled over on the floor of his childhood bedroom, hand down his pants—hidden behind the bed because he needed the extra cover from the door, was too ashamed to touch himself even under the blankets—and jammed his face into the wood floor and caught that spot right on the ridge of his temple, that fucked up nerve that feels like touching an electrical socket, like a live wire running straight through his center to his hips, his pelvis, the sensitive root of his cock. Bucky must be able to feel him get hard, tucked up against the soft paunch of his stomach over his belt, trapped between Bucky’s body and the wall of the Q-hut, but he doesn’t jerk away in disgust—only makes a ragged noise to answer Gale’s moan, and presses closer, scrubbing his thumb in the messed-up hairs of Gale’s eyebrow again.
“Jesus,” he says, still breathless. “Jesus, Buck—what the hell is happening?” but he sounds awed instead of put-off, like he’s just been allowed behind the controls of his first fort.
Gale shakes his head as best he can in Bucky's grip, his jaw clenched tight. “I don’t—I don’t know why,” he manages to grit out, fighting hard to keep his words from turning into wordless moaning again. It’s a struggle; it just feels so damn good, makes him want to come and cry all at once. “It’s always been like that.”
“Can you come from just this?” Bucky’s eyes are still glued to his face, like he’s watching the read-outs on a control panel, alert and watchful, not missing a thing. “Can I make you come just like this?”
No, Gale should say, get off me, stop, it’s wrong—but it’s Bucky, his best damn friend in the world, and he’s never been able to stand pushing him away, so he only shakes his head and says, “I don’t know, I’ve never—I’ve never tried,” then shuts his eyes against a wave of pleasure as Bucky groans and leans in to replace his thumb with his mouth, moist heat and the wet shock of his tongue, the hard edge of teeth against his temple as Bucky bites down carefully and then sucks.
Gale feels like the earth is flying out from under him; he clutches Bucky’s broad shoulders and goes boneless against the wall of the hut, shaking like he’s in the throes of a fever, his fingers locked up and digging into Bucky’s back. “John,” he hears himself say, ragged—and Bucky hums against his orbital bone, the vibration traveling down to the seat of Gale’s pants just as Bucky shifts and shoves a wide thigh between his legs. It’s like sitting in the saddle, broad and hard as leather, and Gale grinds down before he can stop himself, Bucky’s teeth dragging over the thin skin of his forehead to pinch his eyebrow again. Gale’s mouth is hanging open; his lower lip brushes the wool of Bucky’s uniform and he bites down before he can stop himself, takes a big mouthful of dry, scratchy fabric.
Bucky backs off just long enough to say, brokenly, “Gale,” and then Gale turns and kisses his mouth, blind and desperate, fuzz from Bucky’s uniform trapped between their tongues until the scotch-flavored spit in Bucky’s mouth takes it up and one of them swallows it away.
Beyond the warm bubble of their bodies, the night is cool and silent, dark trees just past the fence drinking the noise. If anyone were to walk past, they’d be unidentifiable—maybe just the rough shadow of two men in the dark, wrapped together against the wall. Gale can hear an insect or a frog somewhere, chirping, and the ragged shock of Bucky’s breathing, every time they break apart to gulp air. Bucky’s hand is back on his face, his thumb on his eyebrow, grinding the skin against that sensitive nerve while Gale sucks on his lower lip, and he urges, “Come on, baby,” close and hot against Gale’s cheek in the brief respite between kisses, “come on, I know you can do it,” mustache damp from both their mouths, tickling—and it’s too much, everything below Gale’s belt gone molten, all he can feel and all he can smell and all he can taste is Bucky, Bucky gentling him and cradling his head and grinding down relentlessly with his nail dug in over Gale’s eyebrow—Gale makes a noise like air getting let out of a tire and comes all over himself, eyes screwed shut, shuddering in Bucky’s arms.
“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Bucky’s murmuring, fevered, almost to himself, kissing the side of Gale’s face and his chin and his gasping mouth again—humming and quiet for a moment while his leg presses up against the sticky mess in Gale’s pants, moving his body against the wall. Gale grabs his lapels like grabbing the reins and jerks him to a hard stop, trying to frown sternly while Bucky grins against his mouth, but Bucky only skims his lips over the spit-wet mess of Gale’s eyebrow and tells him, “That was the prettiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen, Gale.”
“Shut up,” Gale mumbles. He's so embarrassed he wants to keep his eyes shut forever, but he makes himself open them.
Now Bucky looks like the cat who’s got the canary—smug as hell, grin only getting wider the more Gale glowers at him. “Make me,” he says, leaning in.
And Gale does.
####
“Hell of a shiner you got there,” Bucky says the next morning, giving Gale a shit-eating look over the breakfast table. “Walk into a cabinet, did you?”
He leans across to pinch Gale’s jaw, tilting his head so he can look at him. There are other men at the table, other people watching—but Gale doesn’t look away from Bucky while he presses his thumb to the edge of the bruise he sucked over Gale’s eyebrow, merciless.
Under the table, Gale can feel himself getting hard. Bucky’s eyes never leave his face, crinkled at the corners, smiling. He knows, the bastard.
“A door,” Gale manages to say.
“Did the door have teeth?” Jack Kidd fires from Bucky’s other side, sounding exhausted, but then the boys from Ohio are there, chattering up a storm, and Bucky lets go and eases back into his own chair, and the blood simmering under Gale’s skin cools a little—but not really. He can still feel Bucky’s touch on him like a brand—like his crossed wires go outside his body now, over the table to Bucky’s hand.
(so i read bonk by mary roach and uhhh. technically it IS possible to have your wires crossed like this. and if anyone can gale cleven would)
####
“This guy’s first ever landing was a wheels up, if you can believe it,” Bucky’s telling some fresh meat from a base in Ohio, voice raised over the noise of the O-club and flushed pink from three glasses of scotch. “Hand to God, he was smiling like a loon when he got out of the fort—fucking madman—” and his arm’s already around Gale’s shoulder but now there’s a hand on his face, squeezing his cheeks like Bucky always does—and Gale would glare at him and wait for him to smile wider and squeeze harder for one last second before he stops, like he always does, except Bucky goes to pat the side of his face and when he does his thumb lands on Gale’s eyebrow, not as clumsy as the rest of him, giving it a firm hard press—and Gale’s caught off guard so he can’t stop it. He tenses, and then shudders, the air heating up in his chest.
He's suddenly so hard that it hurts.
The new pilots from Ohio have moved on, talking about some impressive water landing one of them pulled on a duck pond—a tall tale if ever Gale’s heard one, but he’s not paying attention. Because Bucky’s eyes are locked on him, his hand still on the side of Gale’s face—and there’s no way he missed it. Not with that look in his eyes, not sitting so close. Gale tries to shift away, but Bucky holds him fast—and he looks intent now, his blue eyes dark, all pupil.
He pets Gale’s eyebrow again, firm, with his thumb.
Gale turns his face down, into Bucky's palm, trying to hide from him, but he can’t hide how he trembles under Bucky’s arm, and can’t help the strangled sound he makes—quiet enough that the Ohio boys can’t hear it, not with the music and all the chatter, but not so quiet there’s any way Bucky, so close to him in the booth, could ever miss it.
“Holy shit,” Bucky says, softly.
Gale grinds his teeth. “Let go of me.”
“Holy shit,” Bucky says again, not listening to him.
“Let go,” Gale snaps, loud enough that heads turn to them from the other side of the table, and shoves Bucky’s arm off so he can get out of the booth and march off.
Bucky follows him, because the man’s never known when to leave well enough alone a day in his damn life. “Buck!” he calls after him, while Gale keeps his head down and marches over the dark asphalt between Q-huts, avoiding the few streetlamps even though there’s no way with all the shadows Bucky would be able to see he’s still hard, tenting the front of his pants. “Buck, would you just—Jesus, hold on a minute,” and Gale’s unwillingness to break into a run and sacrifice what’s left of his dignity means Bucky catches up to him in no time, huffing and puffing from a brief sprint, grabbing Gale’s arm.
Gale jerks the arm out of his grip, but he doesn’t take off again. Bucky’s moved them into the alley between two buildings, cold grass wetting the cuffs of their pants, the noise of the O-club far off now. The shame is still thick and nauseating, even alone here with John. Gale is sure his face is bright red. He wants to—to deck Bucky in the face, to yell at him until he promises to forget, to somehow rewind time so that he never knows, never finds out. He’s made it his whole life without anyone finding this out about him; he can’t stand it, that Bucky knows, now.
Bucky knows too damn much already.
“Hey,” his friend says, placating, not touching him—not willing to get smacked away again, maybe—but arms out at his sides, crowding him away from the road, away from the light like he’s trying to calm him down, get him somewhere alone. “You want to tell me what the hell happened in there? Did I—do something?” he sounds concerned, of all things. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Gale says tightly. He just wants him to shut up. “Just leave it, Bucky, alright?”
“Sure,” says John, but he’s got that pinched look that means he’s going to keep pushing, that he won’t be able to help himself. He got the same damn look the first time Gale let slip he knew how to lasso a cow, spent half a week hounding him around the base in Idaho until Gale let him rustle up a rope and demonstrated—after Bucky lobbied unsuccessfully to play the part of the cow—on a chair. The boys shouted Hi ho, Silver every time they saw him for a goddamn month. “Sure,” Bucky says again, sucking his upper lip, starting to back off—but as soon as Gale moves to step past him, he turns again, blocking him in, and muses, pretending like he just had the thought: “Except—what if I accidentally do it again? I wouldn’t want to make that mistake. So maybe you really ought to tell me. For safety.”
Gale glares. “It’s nothing, Bucky, leave it.”
He moves to step around him, but Bucky catches him by the shoulders and grabs his face, and before Gale can react, fight back, Bucky’s got him shoved against the Q-hut, pinning him with his body, his thumb rubbing over his eyebrow again.
Gale literally, physically can’t help it—he clutches the front of Bucky’s jacket and makes a noise like a baby cat, high and sweet and so girlish that he feels himself flush all over, that he closes his eyes to escape whatever look must be on Bucky’s face.
“Christ alive, Buck,” he hears, low and breathless, reverent, and then: “Look at me, will you? Let me see those baby blues.”
Gale opens his eyes again just to glare at him. He’s expecting Bucky to look smug, teasing, like the cat that got the canary—he’s found another one of Gale’s weak spots, uncovered another one of his secrets, and maybe the most embarrassing one he’s got—but Bucky’s not smiling. His eyes are locked on Gale’s, dark and very intent, deadly serious as he pets his thumb over Gale’s eyebrow again, pressing hard on the bone, his warm, flat hand cradling the shape of Gale’s skull like a bowling ball.
The touch goes straight to Gale’s cock, just like it always has, every time since he rolled over on the floor of his childhood bedroom, hand down his pants—hidden behind the bed because he needed the extra cover from the door, was too ashamed to touch himself even under the blankets—and jammed his face into the wood floor and caught that spot right on the ridge of his temple, that fucked up nerve that feels like touching an electrical socket, like a live wire running straight through his center to his hips, his pelvis, the sensitive root of his cock. Bucky must be able to feel him get hard, tucked up against the soft paunch of his stomach over his belt, trapped between Bucky’s body and the wall of the Q-hut, but he doesn’t jerk away in disgust—only makes a ragged noise to answer Gale’s moan, and presses closer, scrubbing his thumb in the messed-up hairs of Gale’s eyebrow again.
“Jesus,” he says, still breathless. “Jesus, Buck—what the hell is happening?” but he sounds awed instead of put-off, like he’s just been allowed behind the controls of his first fort.
Gale shakes his head as best he can in Bucky's grip, his jaw clenched tight. “I don’t—I don’t know why,” he manages to grit out, fighting hard to keep his words from turning into wordless moaning again. It’s a struggle; it just feels so damn good, makes him want to come and cry all at once. “It’s always been like that.”
“Can you come from just this?” Bucky’s eyes are still glued to his face, like he’s watching the read-outs on a control panel, alert and watchful, not missing a thing. “Can I make you come just like this?”
No, Gale should say, get off me, stop, it’s wrong—but it’s Bucky, his best damn friend in the world, and he’s never been able to stand pushing him away, so he only shakes his head and says, “I don’t know, I’ve never—I’ve never tried,” then shuts his eyes against a wave of pleasure as Bucky groans and leans in to replace his thumb with his mouth, moist heat and the wet shock of his tongue, the hard edge of teeth against his temple as Bucky bites down carefully and then sucks.
Gale feels like the earth is flying out from under him; he clutches Bucky’s broad shoulders and goes boneless against the wall of the hut, shaking like he’s in the throes of a fever, his fingers locked up and digging into Bucky’s back. “John,” he hears himself say, ragged—and Bucky hums against his orbital bone, the vibration traveling down to the seat of Gale’s pants just as Bucky shifts and shoves a wide thigh between his legs. It’s like sitting in the saddle, broad and hard as leather, and Gale grinds down before he can stop himself, Bucky’s teeth dragging over the thin skin of his forehead to pinch his eyebrow again. Gale’s mouth is hanging open; his lower lip brushes the wool of Bucky’s uniform and he bites down before he can stop himself, takes a big mouthful of dry, scratchy fabric.
Bucky backs off just long enough to say, brokenly, “Gale,” and then Gale turns and kisses his mouth, blind and desperate, fuzz from Bucky’s uniform trapped between their tongues until the scotch-flavored spit in Bucky’s mouth takes it up and one of them swallows it away.
Beyond the warm bubble of their bodies, the night is cool and silent, dark trees just past the fence drinking the noise. If anyone were to walk past, they’d be unidentifiable—maybe just the rough shadow of two men in the dark, wrapped together against the wall. Gale can hear an insect or a frog somewhere, chirping, and the ragged shock of Bucky’s breathing, every time they break apart to gulp air. Bucky’s hand is back on his face, his thumb on his eyebrow, grinding the skin against that sensitive nerve while Gale sucks on his lower lip, and he urges, “Come on, baby,” close and hot against Gale’s cheek in the brief respite between kisses, “come on, I know you can do it,” mustache damp from both their mouths, tickling—and it’s too much, everything below Gale’s belt gone molten, all he can feel and all he can smell and all he can taste is Bucky, Bucky gentling him and cradling his head and grinding down relentlessly with his nail dug in over Gale’s eyebrow—Gale makes a noise like air getting let out of a tire and comes all over himself, eyes screwed shut, shuddering in Bucky’s arms.
“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Bucky’s murmuring, fevered, almost to himself, kissing the side of Gale’s face and his chin and his gasping mouth again—humming and quiet for a moment while his leg presses up against the sticky mess in Gale’s pants, moving his body against the wall. Gale grabs his lapels like grabbing the reins and jerks him to a hard stop, trying to frown sternly while Bucky grins against his mouth, but Bucky only skims his lips over the spit-wet mess of Gale’s eyebrow and tells him, “That was the prettiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen, Gale.”
“Shut up,” Gale mumbles. He's so embarrassed he wants to keep his eyes shut forever, but he makes himself open them.
Now Bucky looks like the cat who’s got the canary—smug as hell, grin only getting wider the more Gale glowers at him. “Make me,” he says, leaning in.
And Gale does.
####
“Hell of a shiner you got there,” Bucky says the next morning, giving Gale a shit-eating look over the breakfast table. “Walk into a cabinet, did you?”
He leans across to pinch Gale’s jaw, tilting his head so he can look at him. There are other men at the table, other people watching—but Gale doesn’t look away from Bucky while he presses his thumb to the edge of the bruise he sucked over Gale’s eyebrow, merciless.
Under the table, Gale can feel himself getting hard. Bucky’s eyes never leave his face, crinkled at the corners, smiling. He knows, the bastard.
“A door,” Gale manages to say.
“Did the door have teeth?” Jack Kidd fires from Bucky’s other side, sounding exhausted, but then the boys from Ohio are there, chattering up a storm, and Bucky lets go and eases back into his own chair, and the blood simmering under Gale’s skin cools a little—but not really. He can still feel Bucky’s touch on him like a brand—like his crossed wires go outside his body now, over the table to Bucky’s hand.
