"Here I am (right here with you)" by StevieWicks45
Johnny Brady watches “Our Baby” piloted by Cleven and Demarco take off ahead of them. For some reason, there’s a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach he can’t place.
On Oct 8th 1943 Benny Demarco bails from his airplane over enemy German territory leaving omega John Brady behind. 2 days later Brady follows suit, not knowing he didn't go up alone.
The Finale Chapter and Epilogue of Here I Am on Ao3 :)
Link: Chapter 45 & Epilogue
Thank you to every who has beta'd this pic for me @stars-remain2 @soft-mama-main, @roseszirnheld & @winter _ girl for all the late nights, tears and hours upon hours of yapping and personal time dedicating to helping me complete this monster of a project. Especially @stars-remain2 I love you so much, thank you for being there with me since the early days.
Gif by @buckpregnant I still love it so much and it makes me smile on the worst days!
"A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (and accidentally falling in love) Ch. 6: by @stars-remain2 and StevieWicks45.
Summary:
Earth is dead. The Atlantis Space Station is dying. It’s the year 2443 and Majors Bucky Egan and Gale Cleven, pilots of the USS Odyssey, are tasked with transporting 5,000 civilians to safety before setting off on humanity’s last hope mission to find a new home.
They share a cockpit, a mission and a rank — but that’s where the similarities end. Bucky thinks that Gale’s a stiff golden boy. Gale thinks Bucky’s a reckless pain in the ass. Sparks fly and it’s not from a supernova explosion. The two pilots must find a way to work together to save mankind and ultimately, each other.
Chapter 6 AO3 link: Kaine's Sirius
***
Gale can’t help the choked off sound that tries to bubble up out of his throat at the thought of home. Up until two weeks ago, Gale’s definition of home had been cut and dry. Home wasn’t a place, it was a person. Two people, in fact. His omega father Teddy, and his twin sister Marge.
When John Egan risked it all - including his own life - to save him, Gale’s definition of home became murky. For the first time in his life, Gale Cleven saw something as gray and not black and white. John Egan, as frustrating and nauseatingly arrogant as he is, started bringing a hint of color into Gale’s world. And a hell of a lot of confusion.
Gale supposes that the stars are like that too. They are the oxymorons of the heavens after all, contradictions in every sense of the word.
Why? Because we only see stars when it’s dark outside. The light is only visible because of the dark. Because of the yawning void of blackness that is space, we have light.
The heavens too, are little more than organized chaos. Gale has studied the constellations enough to know that we humans have crafted shapes and stories out of stars to make sense of things that do not make any sense at all. We have grouped them together to form constellations that are in all actuality, light years apart.
He knows it’s kind of like he and John. They too are light years apart. He thinks that John is the Big Dipper and he is the Little Dipper, the same…and yet so very different. Worlds apart.
Despite the way Gale may have acted, or despite the things he may have said, Gale finds John’s size to be, well, attractive. He is a giant hulk of a man and he doesn’t just walk, he lumbers. Though the two of them are similar in height, their builds are completely different. Benny has called John a “brick shit house” on more than one occasion. It makes Gale smile to think of the memory.
If John were to stand in front of Gale right now, Gale would simply disappear. It’s something he always used to find strangely comforting. Still standing with his hand braced against the wall, Gale jerks it back as though he’s been burned, continuing his way to a stateroom he hopes is empty. The last thing he needs right now is Johnny Brady on his ass about leaving.
Though it isn’t until Gale is laying in his top bunk, staring at the steel ceiling and the taped photo of himself, Marge and Teddy does he finally realize why John’s rejection at the viewing window affected him so badly.
John had made Gale feel small.
Hello! This chapter has been a long time coming but we worked so diligently hard on it even if that meant about 100 words or less when life felt a little easier for a few minutes. Gale is having a little bit of a mental crisis and John is falling utterly and deeply in love. Enjoy :)
Hey i hope you're doing great. I was wondering if you're planning on continuing A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I really love it
Yes! We are about 80% done with chapter 6 and it's a long one I've started to work on again this week actually. So sorry about the delay. @stars-remain2 and I both live pretty busy/chaotic lives right now and writing has been set aside in order to prioritize our and mental health and navigate solo parenting :)
I can't speak for my dear friend and co-writer but personally my spouse is currently deployed to the Middle East in the ongoing war with Iran so it's hard to find time for fandom as well as being a mom and a full-time working Nurse. Regardless, I hope to update both my WIPS's here soon and I hope you enjoy it!!
@buckpregnant’s post about baby boom really has me thinking about clegan mpreg…but in a spiraling way
Like I can see Gale being absolutely dreading the idea of posterity before he and John finally agree to their first. Having grown up the way he did, he’s convinced he is destined to fail at parenthood. He only takes the leap because of his love for John, like it’s a pure act of faith.
And then the babies keep coming, but only because Gale realizes he is actually good at it. He’s fit and healthy (John makes sure he has a balanced diet after they live together); he has the physical strength and the mental fortitude to carry multiple pregnancies to term without breaking. He finds a deep, quiet satisfaction in the utility of his own body—the abundance of food he can provide, even the labor of keeping his kids clean and well dressed, the sheer physical capability of it all. He’s just…good at keeping doing things that he’s good at.
One day John watches their brood and tells Gale how happy he is that Gale likes children enough to build such a big family with him. And Gale just looks at him and goes like yeah he loves their children, but he doesn’t actually like children. He isn’t emotionally bonded to them in the way John imagines. He values the work and the strength it proves, but the sentimental part is not really there. He’s so honest and I think it breaks John's heart a little bit.
Neither of them say anything for a few minutes, they know if anyone else comes they’ll have to quickly separate and Benny will have to stay turned towards the wall more. It’s why he put himself in the corner shower spot, he could face the wall with no risk of anyone seeing him before he could edge himself out of the bathroom. He had gotten the routine of other men down though, at least for this shower block, even with the new additions to their hallway. Additions like Everett Blakely and Roy Claytor, both pilots and rooming together.
~~~
ao3 link
thank you to @steviewicks45 & @stars-remain2 for betaing this chapter for me :)
"The Ballad of Gale Cleven" Ch. 7 by: Steviewicks45
Following the events of Stalag Luft III and the loss of their first child, omega Gale Cleven and alpha John Egan begin life anew and try to find a way forward.
"The dark of the night finds them shoulder to shoulder on the balcony of the handstand, watching as the enlisted men shoot off red flares around a bonfire right into the midnight sky. A color that once meant blood spilled on the deck of a B-17. A man screaming for morphine, for their mother, for God. Now, it’s fired not in a signal of death but in celebration. Deliverance from evil."
Or, The Clegan Spin-off to "Here I Am (Right here with you)".
Chapter 7: The Bookshelf
***
Gale feels like he’s going to die. It’s not exactly a sensation that's entirely foreign to him. This impending sense of doom as the world blurs through his eyes and softens at the edges. As his heart beats rapidly and his head begins to loll weakly to one side.
“…Gale!”
The voice feels very far away.
“John?” Gale mumbles, though his lips barely move at all.
“Gale, I’m right here! You’re gonna be okay!”
“John…” Gale whispers again, forcing his eyes to roll open. “I can’t see you…Bucky…”
There’s a ringing sensation in Gale’s ears, one that makes him blink and groan at the lights passing over his face one by one. They hang from the arched ceiling, covered by milkglass shades. Light. Dark. Light again.
He realizes dimly that he is moving, wheeling down a hallway of some kind, flat on his back with hands touching all over him and shining a light in his eyes and tapping his cheeks. The farther they go, the more the ceiling blurs at the edges, sliding past in a nauseating glide as the gurney wheels clatter over the tiled floor.
“Stay with us.”
“Gale — can you hear me?”
A penlight flashes across his eyes.
It makes him want to vomit.
It smells like blood and rotting flowers and feels like it’s coating the inside of his nose. It’s an overpowering, metallic stench that reminds him of the stalag, layered over antiseptic and latex instead of mud and sickness. He can barely smell the sweet milk scent of vanilla that came from sticky black curls anymore at all. Though he knows the source follows right behind him wrapped warmly in her alpha father’s coat. A sudden flood of burning firewood greets Gale’s nose and he finally becomes so overwhelmed that he gags, beginning to choke on his own vomit only for a hand to turn his face to the side and he does it right on the sheet.
Gale can feel the blood too… the wet warmth of it pooling beneath his hips and thighs, spreading and soaking through the white sheets and the pain that realistically should have ended by now. There’s pressure against his abdomen, a pair of hands pressing hard, then harder and a fresh rush of heat between his legs that makes someone curse to his right.
“I can’t stop it from here, we have to take him to the operating theatre!"
“What?” John’s panicked voice says behind his head. “What do you mean! What does that mean!? Hey! Someone fucking tell me what's happening!”
Thank you to my beta readers @stars-remain2 @soft-mama-main!
Taken from the stalag to a facility where a Nazi doctor is conducting experiments, John and Gale are drawn into a new type of horror. Amid the struggle to comprehend what is happening to them, they are left with only their bond and what little hope they can cling to...or to decide if the struggle for survival is too much to bear.
****
Bucky woke up with stiff limbs, an aching neck, and shivering from the cold air blowing through the cracks in the floor.
Gale was still asleep, pressed close, and the small furrow of distress in his brow even when unconscious made pain fill Bucky’s little chest again. He untangled their limbs carefully so as not to wake Buck, pressing a clumsy kiss to his forehead before scooting back, wincing at the fresh aching from his bruises.
Benny’s hand still hung over the edge of the bunk and Bucky tugged at it, making Benny jolt and stick his groggy face down, messy hair going in every direction.
“You guys awake?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Buck’s still sleeping,” Bucky mumbled. His voice was hoarse and it hurt a little to speak.
Benny’s face softened, and he reached out to swipe a knuckle over Bucky’s cheek. His jaw clenched when he brushed over a bruise, and he gently swiped Bucky’s loose curls back.
“Come on out. You should eat.”
It felt wrong to leave Buck alone under the bed, but his stomach twinged painfully and he shifted, looking at Buck’s still face once more before wiggling along the floor to get out. Surely a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
(full chapter on ao3)
Tagging some of my biggest supporters on this one XD @janefoxytale @peageetibbs-ab @stars-remain2 @heretoobsessstuff I know there’s more but y’all have been vocal lol ❤️
It makes something bubble up in Benny’s chest, before he’s suddenly launching himself across the table and hitting his superior officer square in the nose. The table shakes with Benny on top of it, and his chair flies backwards onto the ground as he grabs at the lapels of Bucky’s uniform jacket. Bucky’s chair topples back onto the hard floor with both of them in it.
Benny’s fist raises up for a second hit before he’s suddenly being hauled up and off by two hands grabbing under his arms to pull him back. A soft, barely there scent of caramel graces his nose while two arms lock around his chest tightly and the body behind him goes ramrod straight. Gale holds him back in an iron grip, one that feels practiced, like he’s done it a dozen times before.
“Easy Benny, easy…woah, calm down now. C’mon before I have to put you down again,” Gale drawls out as he keeps his grip on the front of his jacket.
~~~
ao3 link
thank you to @steviewicks45 for betaing and for making a beautiful moodboard. I love it so much
His usual light blue eyes are darker around the edges, like this is a thrill for him, like his adrenaline is pumping a thousand miles a minute. Benny takes a chance and lunges, just to receive a quick jab to his collar bone that makes him stumble back. Gale grunts slightly when Benny hits him in the jaw, and suddenly before Benny can even blink he’s being hit so hard in the stomach that it sends him down onto the grass gasping for air. When he blinks his eyes open, it's Gale staring down at him.
“Hit me like you goddamn mean it next time DeMarco, don’t pull your goddamn punches. I’m not a dame, and I’m not some dainty omega you’ve gotta go easy on. Do you understand me?”
3k words of John being the most oblivious man in the world
(cw: mpreg, vomiting and reference of potential abortion)
It starts small, easy to ignore. An evening spent nodding off over a book at 4 PM, the gravity in the room doubling as a leaden sediment settles into his bones—immovable and immune to the caffeine that only leaves his heart racing against a persistent fog. Exhaustion grows like a quiet, cellular invasion, changing him from within.
The sex is what he initially blames. It’s the only variable that no longer balances his life. They can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, since they acknowledged the desire is mutual. Most days, it's John who initiates, but all he needs is to crowd into Gale's personal space or settle a pair of proprietary hands on Gale's hips. It doesn't always end with the whole production—sometimes it's just Gale jerking John off while rutting against his tree-trunk thigh; sometimes it's John stroking Gale senseless with his tongue before Gale's even fully awake, like he's been thinking about it all night. The sheer magnitude of his own responsiveness astounds Gale, to the point he wonders how they could live side by side for years without climbing each other all the time.
But it’s addictive, to be left wrung-dry and blank-minded in the aftermath, the need for control vanishing. With nothing to think or worry about, he can just be, floating, held together by John’s weight.
And then comes an ordinary morning, Gale's pouring coffee, mentally ticking off the grocery list when a sudden vertigo nearly sends him into the kitchen counter. He grips the sink, vision swimming, as his stomach lurches in rebellion.
“You okay there?” John asks, looking up from the newspaper.
“Fine,” Gale says at once, breathing through his nausea. “—Just the air in here. ‘S all dust and old grease.”
It isn’t a total lie. The exhaust fan had died a while ago, leaving the kitchen smelling faintly of yesterday’s lard.
“Yeah?” John accepts the excuse with a frown. “Want me to get someone to look at the fan?”
They had examined it themselves and reached the conclusion that it was beyond repair. No need to fuss over a total loss.
“Don’t bother,” Gale says. “It’s winter soon. Some cool air would be enough.”
John gives him a look like he always does when he sees that Gale wants to tough out something.
“I dunno how you guys did it in Wyoming, but out here? You don’t cook with the windows open in the winter. Don’t want you catching a cold just to get a meal on the table, sweetheart.”
He’s half-joking, but he’s also serious. This whole conversation makes Gale queasy for a different reason. He offers a tight, perfunctory nod and sits down. But when he cuts open a piece of bacon in his plate, the smell hits him—oily, salt-heavy, and suddenly rancid. His stomach turns so violently he has to shove the plate away, the metal screeching against the table.
John goes still. “Gale?”
“Not hungry,” Gale says, and adds at John’s confused look, “Gonna keep ‘em for lunch.”
He leaves the room before the other can ask anything else.
It gets harder to ignore a few days later, when Gale finds himself scrubbing the kitchen floor until his hair is damp and his hands are raw, trying to eliminate the smell of John’s favorite tobacco that seems to have leached into the linoleum. It had once been a familiar comfort, until now its cloying sweetness makes Gale’s throat itch.
This inexplicable sensitivity to scent becomes a liability, forcing him to abandon his chores for the cold air just to clear his lungs several times a day. At night, pinned by the unconscious weight of John’s arm, it feels most impossible to look away from the mounting evidence. Gale performs a thorough mental audit: counting the gaps in his suppressants from when he’d tried to taper off, and calculating those rare, reckless moments in between when desperation had made them both forget precautions. Again and again, he kills the thought as soon as it forms. Years of toxic, wartime suppressants should’ve eaten him from the inside out; a doctor had once clinically informed the damage was likely permanent. Gale had felt relieved, like he’d dodged a bullet or a trap. He refuses to believe his body could be compromised now. Not to even entertain it.
Gale barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s retching, his stomach heaving over nothing but coffee and bile. He grips the porcelain, gasping, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
It feels like each time it takes longer for the sickness to die down. When it does, Gale stands, totters, washes his mouth, and strips off his sweat-slicked clothes and stares at his reflection.
The changes are subtle, hardly noticeable if he wasn’t a man who’d spent every day since the prison camp trying to put weight back onto his shallow frame. Now, the goal he’d struggled to reach seems to be almost there. A slight, soft rounding is settling over his body, indiscernible to a stranger, but enough that his trousers pinch differently. With a clinical detachment, Gale prods at his chest, feeling the muscle yielding under his touch. The flesh underneath is plumper, his nipples a deep, dark red; things he’d only noticed because John would speak of them as if they were a project John was proud to claim. But Gale never felt this tender to the touch, like there were bruises. He looks into the mirror as he clutches his chest and feels the stinging soreness; a vessel of a face looks back at him, fuller, the sharp, haunted angles of the cheekbones beginning to soften.
He wants to throw up again.
When he finally emerges, John is standing in the hallway, a tinge of worry etched into the lines around his mouth.
“Something I ate,” Gale says reflexively. “Must be disagreeing with me.”
“We’ve eaten the exact same things,” John says, his brows knitted. “You sure you’re alright?”
It’s been over a week now, Gale having tacitly been seasoning his portions bland in order to keep them down. Sometimes he still can’t, but this is the first time he gets caught. John’s eyes are bleary, having an earlier morning than usual for test flights with some new birds on his schedule. With all of his strength drained, Gale finds nothing left to navigate this conversation.
“Said I’m fine.”
He brushes past, fighting a traitorous urge to bury his face in the hollow of John’s neck—that earthy, crisp petrichor is one of the only scents that doesn’t turn his stomach lately. He goes directly to the sink. There’s not much left to clean up, John having already washed the breakfast dishes, leaving them to drip in small pools on the counter, and Gale's uneaten meal sits nearby, covered by a mismatched plate. The flare of annoyance resurges, Gale turns on the tap to quench it. Picking up a scorched pan, he dips a steel wool pad into a jar of soap and starts to scrub it.
“You're overdoin’ it,” John says, trailing behind with a hand hovering at Gale’s lower back like a damn chaperon. “Buck, come on. Take a break.”
It makes Gale snap. “Take a break from what?”
The sharpness of his voice is a whip-crack in the small kitchen. John blinks, startled. They’ve lived in each other’s pockets long enough for John to sense a wrongness he can't name, but he doesn't back off. He simply raises his hands and his eyebrows, trying to gauge the situation.
“Was just saying,” John states, unwavering. “You've been at it for a week straight, you're gonna wear yourself out. What's going on?”
His tone is calm in a way that feels condescending, of someone managing a volatile thing. Gale grips the pad until the metal strands sting his palm. Feels like his mother, cornered against the counter by his father demanding to know why she was doing too much, or too little, or simply doing it wrong. Unlike Gale, his mother had never snapped until the day she disappeared. Gale once thought love outweighed her fear, even distaste; but he knows now that no love survives the eclipse of a man like his father. He wonders if it was ever love at all, or just the biological gravity of an Omega—a weight that had kept his mother rooted to this same floor.
“Can use some fresh air, is all.” The same excuse she’d use tumbles out of his mouth, internalized and recycled. “I’ll take a walk after I get it clean.”
With a stiff, uneasy nod, John finally retreats. Gale is left alone with the burnt-on grease and the steel wool, standing behind the crumbling walls of his own concealment.
Late in the evening, John comes home with a new exhaust fan loaded in the bed of his truck.
“Got it on discount,” he says, looking pleased with himself as he gestures to the boxy unit strapped down with rope. “Figured it’d help.” And Gale feels too much at once, more than he knows how to deal with but let them spill out.
The feelings sour and grate on him in the next moment, when he tries to offer a hand bringing it in and John waves him off.
“Nah, I got it. Why don't you get dinner started? I'm starving.”
It’s not an order, just a suggestion. But Gale’s brain rewires it into dismissal anyway, an implication that he should be inside cooking while John handles the heavy lifting, the real work. It would've bothered him more if he wasn’t tired, bone-deep and constant.
After a quick dinner—leftover stew that Gale can barely stomach—John sheds his thick work sweater and gets to installing the fan. He's positioned the ladder in the doorway, working to mount the unit in the ceiling near the stove. From the hallway, Gale watches John stuff half of his bulk into the narrow ceiling cavity to connect the ductwork, his undershirt riding up to expose the small of his back, pale and indented by the waistband. Watches the flex of muscle in his arms, his face contorted in concentration. A weary defeat crowds Gale's ribs, swept along by every other thing he feels when he’s in a room with John. He's lost the battle with himself—the one where he tries to pretend he doesn't want John with a ferocity that scares him, doesn't need him in ways that make Gale weak and codependent. He’s going to keep John at all cost, even if all the fight in him is left frayed and implosive.
The moment the fan hums to life and John is back on the ground, Gale crosses the small space between them and tackles him. Walks him backward into the counter and kisses him there, open mouthed and all tongue. His hand slips beneath John’s undershirt and kneads the solid muscle of John’s pec.
“Jesus, Buck,” John laughs, breathless and fond, even as his hands come up to grip Gale's waist. “Lemme wash up first. I’m all sweaty and covered in dust.”
Gale nips at John’s lips as a protest to his suggestion. “Don't care. You smell like you.”
John groans, winded. He lifts Gale up and Gale’s legs wrap around his waist automatically like muscle memory. “Bed,” Gale says. “Take me to bed.”
John carries him there, shouldering open the bedroom door without breaking the kiss. Once they are inside, John puts Gale down in the middle of their bed and climbs in between Gale’s thighs, clearly intending to take control. But Gale cinches his legs around John's torso to flip them, switching their positions. He yanks off John’s work pants, stripping him efficiently, and puts his mouth on John’s cock without missing a beat. John jerks in startlement, then stills beneath him, muscle locked with the effort of control so he’s not bucking up into Gale’s mouth. He’s not all the way hard yet, just beginning to thicken with blood, filling out against Gale's tongue. His cock is chubby and warm, tasting salty and musky and heady. Gale moans around him, can’t help the most primitive response from his core. He rubs the flat of his tongue over the slit until John twitches, then takes John down to the root before pulling back to suck on the broad head, like he can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck,” John grunts. “Come up here, doll. Let me—”
Gale ignores him and takes him to the base again. Relaxes through his gag reflex and lets John slide in deeper. John’s fully hard now, and Gale's eyes are watering; his eyelashes clump together with moisture, his face a slick, salt-tasting mess with precum and saliva. He shoves a desperate hand into his pants. The friction is harsh and mean when he grips himself, nothing compared to John’s skilled touch. But there's something to relish in the knowing that he's in control of both their pleasure, with the proof of John's fist tightening almost painfully in Gale's hair, his abdomen muscles jumping and clenching as he fights not to thrust up into the tight ring of Gale's throat.
“Buck, c’mon,” John says, practically begging, totally at Gale’s mercy. “You don’t want me to come like this—please. Wanna make you feel good—”
Gale pulls away with a wet pop, giving the spit-slick cock a few more strokes. John watches him with something between raw desire and near-religious reverence. Keeps watching as Gale fishes out a prophylactic from the bedside drawer. He says nothing, probably thinking it’s because Gale’s off his meds, which Gale is, but not for the reason John assumes. What John is also in the dark about is that Gale had spent an hour in the afternoon staring at the bottle of suppressants and calculating how many of the white pills he could wash down his throat before his body rejected them. John wouldn’t know, as he looks into Gale’s eyes now, that Gale had gotten as far as shaking a dozen pills into his palm, before the alarm he set for the washing machine went off and he lost his nerve. Gale pushes his pants off and straddles John’s lap. Holds John upright and arches himself, legs spread wide, until his slick folds are exposed to the fat head of John’s cock. John’s mouth falls open, his eyes going dark and hungry as Gale sinks down, slow, until their pubic bones meet. The look he gives Gale is tender but piercing, like he’s always managed to. And yet he still wouldn’t know.
Gale hoists himself up before his thighs give in. They both gasp at the sudden thrust when he drops back down.
“Whoa.” John’s hands come up to steady him, his breath coming in huffs. “Easy there, cowboy.”
Gale laughs, a breathless bravado. He presses his hands against John's chest for leverage, grinds down, rolls his hips experimentally, watching for John's reaction. There’s power in it—in the depth he can take and the animal pleasure he begins to harness. In the small noises spilling out of John, in sync with when Gale’s fucking down onto his cock, so arousing and vulnerable Gale wants to dig a hand into there and touch his heart. Instead it’s his fingers digging into the fleshy parts of John’s chest as he picks up the pace, and he feels John bend his legs up behind him, his thick thighs flush against Gale’s ass. He’d meant to make it good for John. To give it to John how he likes it. But it’s so satisfying beyond belief to ride on all the sensations crashing over him like turbulence that he throws away all restraints in favor of just bouncing on the cock that spears him, his head lolling.
“Buck, babydoll,” John warns, whining. “Fuck. Look at you. I’m not gonna last much longer.”
He gives a wince like he’s embarrassed about how quickly Gale can disarm him. Gale leans down to kiss it away.
“Knot me,” is all he says.
The familiar pressure takes place as soon as he demands it. John’s knot swells at the base of his cock, and his whole body goes taut as ejaculation begins. Gale writhes with the warmth of John’s seed even though it's trapped in the prophylactic, his hands restless all over John’s pecs and the softer flesh around his belly. John pulls him down and shushes him, murmuring I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re so good, so perfect. He wraps his fingers around Gale’s leaking cock, a few tugs and strokes is all it takes for Gale to shake apart, coming in thick pulses that coat his stomach.
At length, John’s knot subsides, and Gale is so exhausted he can’t move a finger, can’t feel his legs. John rearranges them so Gale can sit with his back against the headboard, and goes to fetch supplies from the bathroom. Gale lets him wipe him down with a warm towel while sipping the water John brings him, can barely keep his eyes open.
Later, when the lights are out and they're settled under the covers, John clings to him more closely than usual, his face pressed into Gale's neck.
“Why do you smell so good, baby?” he mumbles, inhaling deeply. “Mm. Can't get enough of you.”
He leaves a damp kiss against Gale's pulse point, then gropes over Gale’s body sleepily, as if trying to find the intriguing origin of whatever's changed in Gale's scent. In the end, he presses his face against Gale's belly, nuzzling there. Gale's heart grips and stops for a beat—dreadful anticipation of John hearing the secret Gale is holding, of John somehow picking up on signals Gale is terrified he's broadcasting.
But John doesn't put the pieces together. He just holds Gale tighter and breathes him in, and eventually falls asleep with his hand splayed possessively across Gale's stomach.
Gale lies awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, suspended between relief and a bitter, groundless resentment at John’s oblivion.
"A Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (And accidentally falling in love)" Ch. 5 by: @stars-remain2 & StevieWicks45
Earth is dead. The Atlantis Space Station is dying. It’s the year 2443 and Majors Bucky Egan and Gale Cleven, pilots of the USS Odyssey, are tasked with transporting 5,000 civilians to safety before setting off on humanity’s last hope mission to find a new home.
They share a cockpit, a mission and a rank — but that’s where the similarities end. Bucky thinks that Gale’s a stiff golden boy. Gale thinks Bucky’s a reckless pain in the ass. Sparks fly and it’s not from a supernova explosion. The two pilots must find a way to work together to save mankind and ultimately, each other.
Ao3 Link: Venus
***
“Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean we have to be friends,” Gale says softly, sounding almost resigned.
“No,” Bucky answers, quieter. “I guess we don’t…”
They are close enough. Close enough he can scent the soft vanilla wisp of air that bleeds from Gale’s pores, inviting him in as Gale’s gold-speckled eyes flick to his lips. A soft looking, wavy lock of golden blonde hair falls loosely onto his forehead as he tilts his head upward and Bucky feels his hand twitch upward, as if instinctively wanting to brush it away. To thread his fingers through Gale’s hair and press their lips together so softly he can barely feel it. But then he stops himself, clearing his throat and letting it drop back down to his side.
Gale notices because of course he fuckin’ does, the omega is fine tuned to every detail of his existence even more so than Johnny is, frowning as he turns away. His scent molts into a sour hue that can only be rejection.
“Gale, wait—”
“Goodnight, Egan.”
Major Cleven walks away and around the curve of the viewing deck just as Baby comes to sit politely at John’s side, leaving him alone and confused under a black and endless sky of stars.
***
Thank you to @soft-mama-main for being our dedicated beta reader and cheerleader through every last key!!!!
