I actually have something to post haha woops bc I was too high and posted my drawing early but whatever am I high right now? Absolutely
Here is chapter two of He Horus'd on my Heresy Until I Luna Wolf'd, a sugar daddy/camgirl very silly AU hahaha teaser below
BigWolfDaddy69: I wanted you to know I’ve been thinking of you.
Fulgrim rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight back a smile. N’kari joined him at his side, and she stood on her toes to peek over Fulgrim’s shoulder before he noticed. “Is this the big bad wolf?” she teased, and Fulgrim jumped, furrowing his brows at her with a playful mock scowl.
“Yes,” he quipped, turning the dataslate away from her. “I don’t know about wolf… But he certainly is big.”
BigWolfDaddy69: Where are you right now?
N’Kari continued to peek at him, particularly after she heard another ding notification. “Show me his picture,” she demanded, and Fulgrim turned the dataslate away again. “I didn’t ask if I could,” Fulgrim quipped. N’kari rolled her eyes.
“So ask him,” she answered, poking Fulgrim in the side. He frowned, turning to face her so the data slate would be completely out of view.
SnekBby: I’m at the gym with my friend.
The answer was immediate.
BigWolfDaddy69: What are you wearing?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I've been holed up in my room for approximately 24 hours (literally, haven't left it except for a snack last night) to get this done but here it is! The last day of @mota-collab's A.U.gust and I have both yesterday's overdue chapter (this post) and an epilogue for you (next post)
WYOMING
“Got your mail for ya whenever you want it, Mr Cleven,” the girl behind the lobby counter chirps. Gale pauses with his laundry bag balanced awkwardly on one shoulder. It’s only about half full, but he’s finished every other errand he could possibly do for the day and he could use something to do for the evening that isn’t just staring at the wall.
“Alright. Lemme get this washing in and I’ll come grab it,” he tells her, and on his way past he pretends he doesn’t see the way she wilts a little. Gale’s not used to being the subject of anyone’s puppy love crush as a grown man, but considering the girl’s all of 16 and just on the counter at the motel for a little while to cover for her mother who’s off having a baby, he’s mostly just amused. It’s at least a damn sight better than the way it feels like everyone around town his own age and older just talks about how sad it is he couldn’t work things out with Marge, and did you notice she’s already stepping out with another fella even though the divorce only finally went through a few months ago, and did you see Gale’s staying right there at the edge of town in an extended stay roadside inn on the rough side of town where no one in their right mind oughta go, and why hasn’t he found himself an apartment yet, is something wrong with him-?
Gale much prefers dealing with the silly teenage crush, thank you.
“Alright Kitty, I’ll take that mail,” he tells her when his washing’s in the less temperamental of the two machines on-site, just out the back of the lobby. He pretends he doesn’t see her blushing as she hands him the same little stack he gets each week — paycheck, though those are getting smaller and smaller, and a letter from the bank that he’s overdrawn again, a little note from Marge letting him know how she’s doing because despite it all they’ve actually managed to stay friends, the bill for his room at the motel-
And there at the bottom, something new: an envelope with nothing more than an untidy scrawl of his name across the front, below a hastily scratched out first attempt at another four-letter name that definitely isn’t ‘Gale’.
“Some guy brought that by for ya, dropped it off this afternoon right after I got in,” Kitty shrugs, leaning over the countertop to read the envelope, chomping on a wad of bubblegum. (She plows through Big League like they’re going to quit making it any day now just like John does, and Gale’s watched her fish huge pinches of it out of the pouch far too often for it to be an accident.)
Gale settles his weight back on one heel, subtly tilts the envelope away from her nosiness.
“‘S’it another bill or somethin’? Want me to tell him to get lost if he comes lookin’ for ya? You know daddy’s got a shotgun back here we can use for anyone comes poking around where they shouldn’t-“
“That’s alright Kitty, don’t need to call your daddy about it. Dunno what it is but I don’t reckon it’s a bill, you just leave the man in peace.”
Kitty hardly looks convinced but she doesn’t argue, she just pouts and chomps and plonks herself back down on her stool behind the counter. “Well alright then. You gonna come back through for your washing?”
“I’ll go around the back for it, don’t need me stomping through here with wet laundry,” he tells her and then he ducks out before she can come up with some other excuse to get him back in the lobby before she has to go home for a late supper.
Gale walks back to his room in a daze, fingers making a crinkled mess of the hand-addressed envelope as he feels out the shape of what’s inside, unmistakable. He waits until the door falls shut behind him to open it and he’s unsurprised when a key slides into his palm, though he is surprised to find that it’s a key for here, for the room all the way at the opposite corner of the long, low building. Gale breathes, forces himself to sit down on the end of his bed and wait, counting his breathing against the ticking of the clock for precisely thirty minutes.
He’s on his feet again the moment the second hand ticks over to the twelve, two keys tucked in his pocket. Gale forces himself to get his laundry out of the wash, to take it back to his room and hang it to dry on the line across the bathroom, hands shaking with a mixture of impatience and anticipation. He heads back out, loops around the back of the motel to bypass the lobby and forces himself not to run to do it; he just needs to get to the other side of the motel, and if he’d had any doubts at all as to who the envelope was from they’d be put to rest the second he walks around the side to find he’s no longer the only bobtail parked up wherever it can sit out of the way of the scattering of station wagons and pickups. He’d know that olive drab anywhere no matter how impossible it seems to see it here, and he’s so close, he just needs to dig out the right key, the new key, from his pocket, he just needs to see-
“Well, look what the wind blew in,” John drawls, grinning so wide it looks like it should ache. Gale snaps the door shut behind him and wastes no time; John throws his book aside and lurches off the bed to match him stride for stride so they can crash at full speed somewhere between the bed and the door, mouths bruising and hands already tangled in whatever’s loose enough on them to grip. “You miss me, baby?”
“Like a damn stone in my shoe,” Gale lies because it makes John laugh, because he can say it with one hand in John’s hair and the other fisted in his shirt, because he can bookend it with selfish deep kisses that John returns easy as breathing. “What’re you doing here? How’d you find me? Jesus-“
“Nah, nothin’ to do with him,” John grins, nuzzling their noses together and bussing another kiss against Gale’s mouth, a second, a third. “Hauled a fuel tanker up to Jackson yesterday, return load got canned and I was already taking the week off after it anyway. I was headed towards home, but I thought I’d take a gamble, stop and see what Casper has to offer first — spotted your rig out back from a mile away. Knew I couldn’t lose.”
Gale kisses John’s jaw, his throat, his ear without stopping, and he does actually care about the answer John gives, he does, but the second he’s done giving it Gale’s back to trying to see if maybe this time he can taste his tonsils, though John breaks away almost instantly to laugh again.
“Christ Buck, I missed you too but are ya tryin’ to taste what I had for dinner or what?”
“Loaded burger down at Daly’s,” Gale mutters, eyes fixed on John’s mouth, “extra fries, chocolate malt ‘stead of a Coke, no dessert.”
Gale watches John’s mouth drop open and considers shoving his tongue back in it, but he delays in favor of appreciating the full effect of John’s shock with a roving look before he goes back to staring at his mouth.
“No fucking way you actually tasted that.”
He didn’t of course, but taking the time to explain that he just knows what John likes as well as the only place in town close enough to the motel to walk to get it, especially in the cold, is just not very high on his list of priorities at the moment. He does force himself to slow down, though, to kiss John hello — politely — and lick the little pleased noise John makes off the familiar shape of his smile.
“Well. Seem’s like Casper’s got plenty to offer,” John hums as his hands wander down the slope of Gale’s back. Gale replies with an answering hum, a low rumble in the back of his throat, in his chest, and he tucks one hand in John’s back pocket, slides the other up into his hair.
John pulls back just enough to give him a few quick pecks he doesn’t let Gale chase before he coaxes Gale into laying his head down on his shoulder, nose and mouth tucked into the crook of his neck. He breathes in deep, fills himself to the brim with the aching familiarity of John’s skin. Smoke, sweat, incense. John rubs his cheek against Gale’s, five o’clock shadow rasping against his close shave until Gale is shivering with it all, with fighting the need to pull away rattling around in his chest before John has to do it.
He needs to get ahold of himself, needs to demand less.
It’s going on eight months since he last saw John.
John’s hands slide up from his ass to brush up under the hem of his undershirt and Gale jolts for the touch of bare skin on his, for the rasp of dry palms against the dip of his spine.
“Need it bad again, huh?” John lips hot over his ear, and Gale shivers again, hitches closer. “Yeah ‘s been too long. I know, baby.”
He can’t possibly know, not really, but it’s fine that way. Better. Gale stays silent and John can read whatever he wants into that silence so long as he doesn’t learn the truth. He can bear all the rest of it so long as John doesn’t ever learn what Gale’s finally figured out he really wants from him, what he now spends so many empty, useless hours dreaming of.
Gale lets John kiss him hard enough that it hurts, lets John tumble him down onto the lumpy motel mattress, lets John set up camp in the crook of his neck to cover him in sweet little love bites, spreads his thighs around John’s hips just to pull him in as close as they can get. Anything is fine, whatever he wants is fine, and Gale can even be allowed to want it too, just like this, so long as John never guesses that what Gale wants more than anything is to get to have this in a familiar bed, in a house he owns, with a nice view out the window and the open road far away, far enough that it can’t separate them like this again.
“Missed you so bad,” John tells him, husky and so painfully earnest that Gale’s gotta blink a few times quickly to clear his vision enough to see John pulling back to look at him. He’s just looking to look, like he’s done plenty before, but this time it seems like it hurts him to do it. He’s propped on his elbows to run his palm over Gale’s hair starting to grow out a little longer than he usually keeps it, and he’s sniffling a little too aggressively to blame his runny nose only on the winter weather, but Gale won’t do him the disservice of drawing attention to how choked up he’s getting.
“Where ya been, John? What took you so long?” he teases softly instead with his hands on John’s jaw. John comes to him with just the slightest hint of pressure so Gale kisses him and tries to ignore how right and easy it feels even after so long apart.
John breathes, “Sorry,” even though Gale knows it’s his own fault more than it could ever be John’s. (Or, more realistically, it’s neither of their faults, just the way things go.) “Sorry baby. I’m here now though – the whole week.”
“Don’t wanna go home?”
John shakes his head so quickly Gale doesn’t even have time to get jealous, or to worry.
“Not goin’ anywhere without you that I don’t have to.”
“Oh. Good.” Gale nods but can think of nothing else to add to that, overwhelmed but happy to be it if only because it’s John who’s responsible. He turns his head when meeting John’s eyes becomes too much, presses slow kisses to the inside of his wrist and closes his eyes to breathe him in, like if he does it deeply enough for long enough he’ll forget what it’s been like to miss him.
John kisses his jaw, follows it up with a sharp little nip that Gale already knows is going to turn pink and stay that way for at least a day or two. He nips again, hard pinch to soft earlobe; Gale tries to bite back but only manages to scrape his teeth against John’s wrist and make him snicker before John bites the tip of his ear hard enough that Gale hisses between his teeth. He kicks at him for it, heel bouncing off the back of John’s thigh.
“Ow, hey- what’s gotten into you?” he huffs, trying his damndest not to smile when John grins against the side of his head.
“A whole week, just me and my baby?” John hums; Gale flinches at another hard bite to the crook of his neck, ends it with a shiver. “A real bed, four walls, door we can lock, curtains to draw? I need some other reason to be happy?”
Gale huffs and shoves a hand into John’s hair to push him down to his chest where he easily sets up camp instead. He yanks Gale’s shirt up and his thin long-sleeved thermal underneath it as well to bunch up under his armpits just to sink his teeth into Gale’s chest and he gasps, neck straining to arch a little closer.
“Sure, be happy about it y’loony, but why’d’ya gotta show it like this?”
John’s pulls off him with a noisy wet kiss and Gale glances down to find the slight swell of his pec, previously unblemished, suddenly interrupted by a big round bruise in the shape of John’s mouth ringed by the vivid imprint of his teeth and-
“Oh,” he pants and drops his head to the mattress again. “Okay. Gimme another one.”
“Knew you’d see it my way. Pretty soon I figure you’ll come around and say, ‘thank you, Bucky’.” John grins so wide Gale doesn’t even have to be looking at him to know, he can see it perfectly fine in his periphery, and then he’s ducking back down to do as he’s told. He switches sides and settles a little higher this time; Gale finds himself slipping both hands into his curls to hold him still, to keep him right there as long as possible.
Still, John needs to work a little harder than that to break him completely, so Gale finds the will to tease, “Don’t count on it,” even though it ends in a little groan for the clamp of John’s teeth dangerously close to a nipple.
John pulls back eventually, just enough to lave his tongue over the fresh ache of a third bruise right over his ribs with broad, hot passes and to slide his hands up Gale’s waist and ribs to shove at his shirt again. He’s rough about getting it and the thermal off over his head and stripped down his arms, patience clearly wearing thin. Gale helps only as much as absolutely necessary when John’s yanking reaches his wrists and he doesn’t protest when John throws the tangled little bundle somewhere off the side of the bed. He immediately takes the opportunity to get at the particularly sensitive skin stretched over Gale’s collarbones for more hard bruises and Gale’s hips rut up against John’s entirely without his permission.
John’s t-shirt is thin and soft and slides easily over his back when Gale pulls at it and he watches John reach up over his head to yank it off in one sharp tug, watches him fling it in the same direction he’d thrown Gale’s. Skin to skin, warm and already a little tacky with sweat. Gale gets his hands between their bellies and strokes everything he can reach, greedily seeks out the thick hair on John’s chest to stroke his fingers through, runs reverent palms over every miraculous inch of him until John’s panting in between bites and kissing his way up to Gale’s ear again to bite it and lick it and suck on him where Gale can’t do anything but lay there and listen to the noisy evidence of John’s desire to eat him alive.
It’s disgusting and animal and Gale’s so hard it hurts, cock leaking a little wet patch in his boxers that’s definitely going to soak through to his jeans at any moment.
John rolls down against him once, hard and slow with his whole body, not just his hips; the bed creaks a bit but stays put solidly enough, and the ground, of course, is perfectly solid beneath that. No worn out shocks, no metal that betrays every hard thrust and hand flung out for a bit of leverage, nothing but them and rustling sheets and the radio in the corner turned down real low on some soul station that Gale can only hear snatches of in the blank spaces between their ragged panting and the raunchy, wet obscenity of John’s mouth.
He does it again, another deep, slow roll that grinds his entire body down into Gale’s that’s so fucking hungry for it, and again, and when it finally forces him to whimper, control slipping fast, John rewards him with a kiss that’s all tongue square on his mouth and a hand worked down between them to grope him through his jeans.
“You wanna gimme that for a bit?” John asks; Gale chokes on another groan and pants up at the ceiling as his neck arches again, neatly trimmed nails digging into John’s shoulders. John squeezes him just shy of too hard and then slides further down, down, underneath him to do what he can to shove a couple fingertips up against the back seam of his jeans stretched taut over his ass, unerringly aimed dead center over his hole. “Or you want me right here?”
Gale swallows hard, licks his dry lips and huffs an almost-laugh when John licks them for him, too.
“I gotta choose?”
“Wanna do what you want me to,” John tells him, but Gale shakes his head — not what he meant.
“We got time, why do I have to pick one or th’other?”
It still takes a second for the penny to drop, but when it does Gale has to get away from the near-manic intensity of that grin by shoving John off him, cackling, so he can stumble to his feet and get out of his jeans.
John gets control of himself relatively quickly at least, drawls a lascivious, “Gale Cleven, as I live and breathe,” from flat on his back. He’s elected to take off his jeans like that, hands slow on his belt and his fly, thumbs tucked lazily under his waistband and his back arching so he can shove them down to his knees. “Actually scratch that, reckon you’re gonna be the death of me, baby. Hey, while you’re up go take a look on the bathroom counter, wouldja? Got somethin’ for ya.”
Gale shucks his jeans and only thinks to stumble his way out of his boots, thankfully only loosely tied, when the denim gets caught on them around his ankles. “You got legs.”
“Yeah, but I wanna look at yours.”
Gale rolls his eyes but with a quick yank on his socks he finally succeeds in getting naked so he does as he’s asked, John’s gaze on him like a physical weight, like a hand running down the length of his back to grope his ass until he breaks the sightline by stepping around a little jut of a half wall into the en-suite.
John sure came prepared. Gale rolls his eyes but nudges aside John’s half-used tube of Close Up toothpaste to snatch up the brand new tube of KY behind it, and when he steps back into the room John’s finished kicking off the rest of his clothes and gotten settled right in the middle of the bed, one arm crooked up behind his head and the other crossed lazily over his stomach, fingertips petting circles around his own navel. He’s got one foot flat on the bed and the other leg up, ankle crossed over his knee, which is definitely quite the view – and clearly a calculated one.
“Jesus, John,” Gale huffs, flushed and trying desperately to pretend like he’s not. He knows John will indulge him. “Quite the production you’re puttin’ on. What kinda movies you been goin’ to see, huh?”
“The kind nice boys don’t know about,” he shrugs, easy as anything, “or if they know about ‘em they definitely don’t take nice girls to see ‘em.”
He owns it so easily, same as every other kind of wanting he’s got. Gale doesn’t waste any time envying him, for now, he just climbs into bed on his knees, follows where John’s hand on his hip guides him until he’s straddling John’s hips and giving him a generous dollop of thick clear gel on his tightly cupped fingertips when he holds his hand up between them for it. He’s still got the other arm tucked comfortably behind his head, thick bicep flexed and his hand curled loosely into the pillowcase that probably used to be closer to white a few years ago as he spreads the lube generously across all four fingers with his thumb.
“You ever been to one? A nudie flick,” John asks. He tucks his slicked hand up into the inch or two between Gale’s hips and his own and sinks a finger up into him in one smooth glide, all the way down to the last knuckle without pause. Gale swallows and pretends like he doesn’t see John raising an eyebrow at him — he can tell on his own that Gale’s looser than he should reasonably be, he doesn’t need to admit that he’s taken to fingering himself open pretty much every time he’s laying in bed thinking about John.
“No,” Gale half-lies. Has he gone and paid to get into one, sat there unashamed and watched porn together with a bunch of strangers? No. Has he seen most of one, leaned up against the outside of a fence at a drive-in, the night almost silent around him save for a few muffled moans and giggles from fogged up cars and the occasional snatch of dialogue or music from a speaker draped in someone’s open window? Yes.
John crooks his finger in him, lifts his chin in a clear request for a kiss which Gale leans down to give him, going still when John bites down around his bottom lip and holds him there with it for a long moment.
“Then how do you know I’m copyin’ one?”
Gale scoffs as best as he can with a finger in his ass and John’s mouth on his and when he knows he’s caught, when John knows he’s caught, but Gale is still determined not to admit it just yet. He likes to make John work for it at least a little. “Everybody knows what they’re like, don’t have to see one to know.”
John quits nipping at him to smile, slick and a little mean. “Oh, uh-huh.” John bites his own bottom lip as he thrusts hard just once, now with two fingers stretching Gale a hell of a lot less than they should otherwise. “Everyone knows, even goody-two-shoes all-American golden boys from Casper-ow!”
Gale sits up straight again, thumbs at John’s mouth already swelling from Gale’s little warning nip. He’d feel a little guilty about it if he couldn’t feel John’s cock under him, blood hot and definitely not getting any softer for the pain.
“Ain’t a good boy, Bucky. You know that.” It’s your fault he doesn’t say, because it’s not really, he’s never actually been good like he was supposed to be. John’s eyes narrow like he can hear the childish accusation anyway; he smirks like he’d like it if Gale actually said it.
“And yet no one would ever believe me,” he sighs instead of pushing. He pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch and holds his hand up for more lube. Gale gives him another too-generous dollop; he’s already plenty slippery everywhere John’s fingers have been but far be it from him to argue if John wants to get him good and wet. He comes back with three fingers this time and Gale can’t quite get a good enough angle for more than two when he’s on his own so it stretches enough to really feel it this time, inescapable pressure. He exhales slowly, steadily, rocks his hips to get used to it faster.
“Hey, get back down here,” John murmurs. “Miss you.” Gale goes, elbows on the mattress and back arched to keep himself open. He feels John uncross his legs, plant both feet on the bed and shift his hips a bit with a pop of a joint somewhere. Gale kisses him sweetly, silent apology for the bite that nearly broke skin, while John fingers him slow and easy.
Gale’s nearly forgotten what they were even talking about or what he has to be embarrassed about when John whispers against his mouth, “You can tell me, Buck. Wanna know what you watched, what you liked about it. C’mon baby, ‘s just me. You know I’m not gonna judge.”
Gale has to clear his throat before he can answer; he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how John can still be so talkative while they’re actively having sex, but he can’t say he minds.
“I’ll tell ya if y’just get on with it, been eight months Bucky, I’m good for it. Come on.” He doesn’t mean to whine at the end, but he thinks he can reasonably blame it on John suddenly pulling two of his fingers out to better feel around for his prostate, which he finds perfectly fine on the first try.
Gale breathes slowly in, holds it, lets it out again through his teeth as John works him through a full-body shiver before he pulls out to slick himself up with what’s left on his hand and what he can swipe up off Gale’s thighs.
“Eight long months, huh? You been counting? I was.”
Gale nods, buries his mouth in John’s shoulder to muffle himself as he slides home – so much better than Gale’s own fingers.
“Sit up on it, baby, get it in deep,” John presses to his cheek, mustache a little rough where he’s flushed pink. Gale pushes up onto his hands and then slides them up from the bed to brace himself on John’s chest instead. He palms his pecs, watches his own fingers slide through dark whorls of hair around his nipples, through the thatch of more tight curls that crawl up his sternum. He slides them down to John’s belly, plenty of soft give cushioning his abs where his hair tapers down to a thin trail around his navel. From there he sits up fully, takes himself in one hand and puts the other over John’s broad hand stroking his thigh, leaving tacky trails of lube everywhere he touches.
“Feel good?” John checks; Gale swallows thickly again and nods, shifts his hips in a slow grind forward, and back, and then a little circle to make sure he’s as far down on him as he can get. John’s not small but Gale’s still definitely good for it, likes the ache of it just as much as the pleasure. “Good enough for you to reward me with a story?”
Gale rolls his eyes, hopes it at least hides a little of his pleasure as his mouth falls open with a quiet exhale he refuses to let become a moan yet, much more keen on teasing John for as long as he can get away with than giving in so soon. Still, he did say he would confess, and giving a bit of ground now doesn’t mean he can’t still put John through the wringer when he’s done.
“Dunno what it was called, or who was in it,” Gale tells him. He raises up slowly on his knees, thighs already feeling weak, and slides back down just as slowly. “Was playin’ at a drive-in but I watched it through the fence. Didn’t have a car and like hell was I borrowing Marge’s for that, or walkin’ right in on my own two feet.”
“When was this?” John’s already sounding a little tight around the edges, brow furrowed and his gaze fixed on where he’s sinking into Gale’s body. Gale spreads his thighs a little wider to give him a better view, strokes himself just once and goes back to squeezing around the base, mostly as a precaution. Given the circumstances he thinks he’d be excused for not remembering the specifics, but they are, unfortunately, still crystal clear.
“Woulda’ been ‘72.”
“You married then?”
“Not very happily.”
John grunts, acknowledgement and pleasure at once as Gale starts pulling off him again, nice and slow and tight.
“Jesus baby,” John huffs, the hand behind his head fisting tighter in his pillow. “Did you like it? Watchin’ it?”
The answer to that is far more complicated than Gale’s capable of articulating properly even at the best of times, let alone when he’s finally riding John Egan for the first time in three quarters of a year and doing his level best to make it good for him.
“I dunno John, Jesus,” he huffs and starts another slow slide down, his body making way for John inside him as easily as if they’ve been doing this every night for a week. John’s clearly waiting for a better answer, so Gale tries to give him one. “It didn’t help me have better sex with my wife, which was the whole idea for goin’. Got hard for a guy in dirty jeans and a leather vest fuckin’ some woman over the hood of a car so hard she cried, and I knew it had nothin’ to do with the woman even if I never admitted it. Got sick in the bushes on my way home.”
That answer seems to do, at least; John’s looking up at his face again, finally, and Gale doesn’t know what he sees exactly but he’s sure it’s too much, he’s starting to lose his focus and John’s already proven himself eerily adept at reading him anyway. Gale dreads what he’s going to ask next, if he’s going to make Gale dissect his own humiliation sitting right there on his dick, but John just sucks in a deep breath that makes his chest and belly fill out as far as they can, and when he exhales again he brings his hand down from behind his head to get a good grip on Gale’s hips, to help guide him into the rhythm he wants.
“Never seen one at a drive-in,” John tells him. Gale moves how John wants him to, sinks down to meet his shallow thrusts off the bed, watches sweat bead up on his forehead and start to wet his mustache. “Only been to see ‘em in video stores, couple coins and a private screen. Mostly like makin’ fun of ‘em, but not always. Sometimes ‘m just lonely. Haven’t gone to see one in about a year and a half though. Give or take.”
There’s a significance to the look he gives Gale then, vulnerable and full of a meaning it takes Gale a long moment to understand.
“Sap,” Gale puffs, lets himself smile when John laughs and fucks up into him a little harder in retaliation.
“Only for you, baby. You gonna let me come before you fuck me?”
“‘S the idea. You gonna be good for me?”
“Only ‘cause you’re pretty when you ask nicely.”
Gale smacks him for that, open palm on his chest that he quickly turns to groping as they start working in earnest to get the rhythm right, the depth, the pressure. Gale’s hand on his own cock is no longer a precaution but a necessity, but it’s been just as long for John as it has for him so it doesn’t take long before John’s going still, hips lifted a few inches up off the bed and his head thrown back as he comes. Gale follows the tilt of his hips to lean down and kiss John through it, tries to help him drag it out as long as possible before he collapses again, trembling, and his feet slide out from under him. His hands fall off Gale’s hips in the next moment and then he’s laid out flat, spread-eagled under Gale’s weight to catch his breath and grin up at him all dopey and fucked out.
“Y’still got it, baby. Feel so good,” John tells him. Gale slides off him carefully, both of them wincing a little when they separate.
“Turn over.”
John’s uncoordinated in his afterglow but between the two of them they get him on his belly without incident, and Gale’s found the tube of KY half-buried under one of John’s thick thighs. He uses about as much lube for John as they’d used for him, smears it around his hole with careless passes of his fingers up and down the hot cleft between his cheeks, and when he sinks in without bothering to finger him first John’s groan sounds like it’s being dragged out by the ankles from somewhere deep in his chest.
Face smushed into the bed, head turned aside just enough to let him breathe, he mumbles a heartfelt, “Fuck, that’s it Buck, right there-“ that Gale gives him a sweet kiss for right behind his ear. He spreads his hands on John’s back, kneads and rubs at warm skin, massages knotted up muscles he know are likely just as sore and tired as his own, and he fucks John only a little faster than he’d done that hazy night in Kansas last spring, wanting to take his time for entirely different reasons this time than needing to keep them from being caught fucking like that.
John’s got a hand thrown back at an awkward angle just so he can keep it splayed on Gale’s thigh with the other fisted hard in the sheets when Gale comes. He talks Gale all the way through it, because of course he does, and doesn’t complain one bit when Gale pulls out and decides he doesn’t want to move, he wants to collapse right on top of him and feel him, so he does just that. They lay there together for long minutes just breathing, heartbeats slowing. Gale slides a hand along the entire length of John’s outstretched arm to link their fingers together with only the slightest hesitation. John lets go of the sheet, brings their joined hands in, elbows knocking, just to kiss his knuckles before he stretches their arms out to get comfortable again. His fingertips are stroking mindless circles on the back of Gale’s thigh still trembling a little, weak with exertion.
“Can’t believe we got a whole week of this comin’,” John breathes eventually, still mumbling, still smushed flat against the bed. Gale hums, kisses his shoulder. “Might just be worth gettin’ less work if it means we got this.”
Gale hums again but he frowns too, presses another kiss to John’s spine as he thinks. Chick’s been sending him out on shorter hauls lately, and for a while they were regular enough that it didn’t make too much of a difference to his pay, but even that's slowing down too, now. He’d thought it was just him, something he’d done wrong, like maybe all that time he’s stolen with John. They’d sacrificed a whole shift’s worth of driving just to have one extra night together in New Orleans after the all-hands job in Tampa, and though they hadn’t gotten told off for it Chick Harding is no fool. He’d thought it was retaliation for wasting his money, for being a queer and blurring the lines between personal and professional by indulging in it with another man on Chick’s roster, but maybe it’s more than that.
“Everybody gettin’ less work like us?” he asks, just a hunch. John’s back rises and falls under him as he sighs, lips smushed together close enough that he blows a raspberry on the exhale.
“Seems like it, last I heard. Ev and Dougie been stuck up in Seattle all summer, ‘parently. Rosie said he and Croz are only gettin’ about half the runs they’re used to, like they’re splittin’ one driver’s work between them. Curt reckons that job in Tampa didn’t pay out like they were s’posed to and now the finances are all fucked, can’t afford to pay us and our gas prices anymore, what with the shortage and all.”
Gale grunts and finally rolls off John to lay beside him, luxuriating in the fact that he can, that they’re in a Queen sized bed together for the first time and there’s nothing stopping him from laying on his own side of it just to reach over and run a palm up and down John’s back with lazy familiarity. John meets his eyes, smiles at him all crooked and soft and smooshed against the sheets.
“Hey.”
Gale smiles back, can’t help it, and stays still when John suddenly stirs himself to lean up on an elbow far enough to kiss him like another casual hello, short and sweet.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, kisses Gale’s forehead like he can’t resist the temptation. “I got some plans, if things go south with Chick. If I go somewhere, you wanna come with me?”
Gale blinks, knows his face has gone completely blank but he can’t help it. John just watches him, too shrewd, too knowing, same as always. He might be the only person in Gale’s life who would know not to take that reaction as a rejection.
“Go with you to do what?”
“Whatever we want,” John shrugs, like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing, but everything, too. Casual, it’s only (maybe) the rest of their lives. “Find someone else to drive for, do somethin’ else, do nothin’ — who cares? But you’ll come with me, won’t you?”
It’d be me, and it’d be you, Buck. I’m putting everything I got on you.
“Ask me again at the end of the week,” Gale tells him, and he knows John can tell that’s not a rejection either. He grins, kisses him big and wet and smacking right in the middle of his forehead, and while Gale’s still grimacing and doing his best to wipe off a horrendous amount of spit for a single kiss John’s up and tugging him upright as well, big hands and boundless enthusiasm working harder than Gale’s afterglow and thereby winning the battle of getting him upright and shuffling back into the bathroom, this time for a much-needed shower.
Later, after John’s had a few drinks and Gale’s gamely lost to him at a couple rounds of cards that aren’t any of the games his dad used to play; when they’re settled in bed again, comfortably tangled under a single sheet with room to spare on either side of them; when Gale’s got his head on John’s chest listening to his lungs expand with each deep drag he takes off a cigarette pinched between his first two fingers and which he’s ashing into a shot glass he’d clearly brought in himself, Gale finds the courage to say what he really wants. Not his most shameful fantasy necessarily, but certainly the one that’s most tender around the edges, the easiest one to break his heart with.
“Wanna have a life with someone who wants things the same way I do.”
A deep breath, the feather-soft crackle of burning tobacco and paper. John’s other arm is around his shoulders, big hand stroking the top of his bicep. He stills it but keeps his thumb going, tiny back-and-forths that tell Gale he’s listening.
“I loved Marge, still do, and she’s still my friend even after… But she thought I’d change more as we grew up, want more outta life like she did. She didn't know what to do with me, and…it’s better this way, I know that.”
John ashes his cigarette, pinches the filter between his fingertips for the last little puff on it, snubs it out on the side of the glass and drops the filter inside, sets the glass aside on the nightstand.
He’s attentive enough to blow the last short stream of smoke away from Gale, just like the rest of it, before he looks down at him to ask, “What more did she want?”
“Wanted me home more, to start. And kids, someday. Wanted to move away from her folks, outta town maybe. Maybe even outta Wyoming. I told her there wasn’t anywhere out there all that different from here, but she didn’t believe me.”
“Gonna have to agree with her there, Buck,” John mutters around a kiss to the top of his head. “Plenty of places where things are completely different. If I wanna take you to one of ‘em, if that’s my plan and that’s where I want you to come with me to… that gonna be a dealbreaker?”
Gale thinks about it seriously, he does, and he knows he’ll feel guilty for a while that it wasn’t anything he was willing to do for Marge when she asked, but for John he shakes his head — not a dealbreaker. Not at all.
John’s relieved little huff blows a strand of hair over Gale’s forehead, tickling softly.
“Well then that’ll be plenty enough for me, baby, don’t need to change anything about you. Just you comin’ with me and that’s all. That’s just fine.”
“Haven’t said yes yet,” Gale reminds him, just to tease. John smiles and reaches back to the nightstand for another cigarette and his Zippo, lights it with a smooth flick of his wrist – opens the lid, spins the wheel, inhales to let it catch, flips it shut again.
“Yeah but you gave me all week to convince you why you should, so I already know what the answer’s gonna be.” John exhales over his shoulder, away from Gale. “‘M not worried about it.”
Gale drawls his second, “Don’t count on it,” of the evening just to hear John laugh.
-im best known for being friends with the girl who skateboard-ed downstairs and my tiktok
-im gay and i use he/him
-im the biggest The Cure and Robert Smith fan to exist actually. My favorite songs are Lullaby, Hot Hot Hot!!! and The Figurehead :D
-I probably wont reply to messages unless i know you but asks r great
-my main interests are i am not okay with this, the cure, vampires SMP and Starwars. I also have an annual rewatch of UK / BBC ghosts, to make myself cry over capvers
-inspo for my artstyle includes 80s comics, my brothers photography and whatever Madoka Magica fans are doing :)
(OUT OF RP: i am actually a 15 year old boy running this for my byler SMAU. will would absolutely be a tumblr guy and i wanted to make this for it lol. Pls be aware im a minor before interacting!)
