drylite

[drylite]

also to the anon that asked abt thick bucky bottoming—i prommy i’m rotating it and also bottom bucky is gospel to me and we are communing tysm

[drylite]

buckyyyy bucky breasting boobilyyyy

it’s thick bucky your friend thick bucky

“Now why do you have that.”

Bucky turned and leveled a grin at Gale amid the wreckage that one might generously call cleaning. He held up a jump rope in one victorious fist. “Found it.”

“Anybody send you looking for it?”

“No, sir,” Bucky said blithely, pushing past piles of junk, maybe organized but probably not, on his way out of the rickety storage shed.

Gale felt it was his own fault, for buying the property as-is and inheriting the previous owner’s cast-offs along with it. Bucky’d been so taken with the place that just for a moment Gale had forgotten his own scruples. And what was a little elbow grease, Bucky had said, like Gale wasn’t up for the challenge.

But Gale had tackled the front yard that morning, overgrown with hubcaps rusting among the weeds, only to find John sowing chaos and distracted by a children’s toy.

“Used to be I could do this dead drunk,” Bucky said. Gale watched him take up a stance with the rope on the dirt path between the shed and the house. “Guys’d take bets on whether I’d bust my ass.”

“And?”

“And? Sweetheart, I never did.”

Gale tossed a suffering glance to the sky. Deep blue with lines of barely-there clouds, nothing to keep the sun off Bucky’s sweaty forehead and disheveled curls. He’d stripped down to his singlet, and his arms were bare and appreciably thickened from a long winter and brisk spring spent chopping cords of woods for the hearth. He hadn’t lost the curve to his stomach, though—that same winter found them testing recipes on each other and against their own palettes. Bucky in particular cooked like he expected the whole town on his doorstep come supper time.

“You watching?” Bucky called out. “Keep count for me.”

Gale shook his head to no effect. One thing was immediately clear: Bucky hadn’t been lying. He took up the rhythm easily, fluid and practiced and near graceful. He even made it seem fun, which was typical of him.

A beat longer and Gale realized something else, with a wash of heat down the back of his neck. It was the result of Bucky—today’s Bucky, the one Gale had woken up beside, comfortable and padded out with fat—moving in a way he didn’t often have cause to.

Bucky skipped rope and tossed his heavy body against gravity and his chest bounced as he did it. His stomach, too, and the whole picture of it made Gale cast a glance around the yard, double-fenced as it was by boards and the tree line. When they’d bought the property its seclusion was a selling point. This still felt unbearably, obscenely public.

“Bucky,” Gale rasped out. His mouth had gone dry.

Bucky didn’t stop jumping, just turned his earnest pink face to Gale. “What?”

“You gotta— John.”

Now John frowned, and his chest wobbled to a stop a second or so after he quit the motion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gale said.

“Well don’t go and lie to me,” Bucky said. “What’s gotten into you?”

Gale fixed his gaze on a point past Bucky’s shoulder, lest it catch on the way sweat clung to the curve of Bucky’s pecs and turned his singlet translucent in patches. The moment drew itself out with the lazy drawl of insects and birdcalls to measure the quiet by.

“Buck Cleven,” Bucky said suddenly, too sharp for his own good. “Are you hot for me?”

Gale set his jaw. “Bouncing around like that,” he began, but didn’t manage anything else.

Bucky glanced down at himself, then plucked at the neck of his singlet like he was trying to fan himself off. He laughed. “Oh I see,” he said, winking. “It’s my bust.”

A noise escaped Gale’s throat. “It’s the whole damn thing.”

Bucky sauntered over, grinning in the face of Gale’s exasperation. “You know, I think you’re sweet on me,” he said, sliding his arms around Gale’s neck, headless of the sweat.

“I think you’re trying to get out of work, you layabout.”

But the heat of Bucky up close, and the heat of the day, and the miles of solitude they’d bought themselves made a slacker of him, too. The work would keep, he decided, and he took Bucky up to the house.

[drylite]

[drylite]

i started out wanting to be a fighter pilot... i ended up fallin' in love with the big birds

gale cleven | cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other

[drylite]

Two hour Leyendecker Study while I was without power tonight but make it Gale Cleven

[drylite]

homosexuality would be a lot easier for gale to accept if john would stop going AWOOOGA like a cartoon character when he climaxes

[drylite]

gale cleven + micro-expressions

[drylite]

“There’s nothing heroic about suffering” okay but what if I suffered and I was kinda sexy with it. Like my shorts were a little too short and you could see my ass when I bent over. What then.

[drylite]

additionally have any of us considered that the fundamental hurdle for overcoming in the clegan rel can be metaphorically summarized by bucky being the type of guy who would flop down onto one of those set mattresses at a mattress store while gale would watch him with his hands on his hips too afraid of his own whimsy to join

[drylite]

prompting you more of gale being bucky's boy, in whatever way you see fit to write it, my liege

hiii ♥️ this fits into thick bucky verse i think

It’s not till Gale’s in the middle of it that he lets himself wonder how the hell he got here. He lines up a shot, sink two balls and waits for the man opposite the table from him take his turn.

That one’s looking at you, Bucky had said the hour before. They’d just gotten there, hadn’t even been seated at the bar for more than 10 minutes. In a low voice, Bucky bet him that within two drinks, if Gale lingered around the pool tables, the man would ask if he was looking for a game.

Gale eyed the man discreetly. He fit the bill. A little shorter than Bucky, but broader, too, his thick arms and thighs heavy with muscle and the curve of his gut kissing his belt buckle. He was older than Gale and John both. He could’ve walked out of one of Gale’s memories of wanting and never having. He could’ve come from the barstools of Gale’s hometown.

And then what? Gale had asked, barely moving his lips.

Bucky flicked a glance at him. Then you play, he said. Maybe you don’t know how special your attention makes a man feel. But I do.

Gale fit a toothpick between his lips and didn’t answer. He counted two drinks, then made his way to the pool tables. He wasn’t alone long.

Now the man watched him when he thought Gale wouldn’t notice; while Gale chalked his cue, when he bent over the table and took his shots. There’d been another dimension to the world all along, Gale found himself thinking. Even men with rough hands and mouths took their looking where they could get it.

It felt dangerous, even if Gale wasn’t behaving any differently, wasn’t giving the man anything to go on. They’d barely even said anything to each other; that felt like part of it, somehow. Maybe it would’ve been like this. If Gale had found someone like himself, back when he was fresh out of high school and indoctrinated into the world of men. Maybe they wouldn’t have spoken, and Gale could’ve gotten what he didn’t know to ask for.

Gale lined up his last shot. The man stood a plausible distance behind him. Gale didn’t really care about winning, but there was satisfaction in knowing he could.

Afterward, he extricated himself with a nod and a handshake. The man’s hands were wide and calloused, notched with old scars and dark crescents of dirt or maybe oil beneath his nails. He looked surprised when Gale extended his hand. His face shifted to a proposition Gale hadn’t before known he could read.

His own face gave nothing back, and he wended between bodies back to where Bucky waited. He was long legs and an open, almost arrogant posture where he lounged at the bar. From his expression Gale knew he’d seen the whole thing.

“There’s my boy,” he said quietly, when Gale slid onto the barstool beside him. Then, at a normal volume: “Get what you needed?”

Gale nudged a fresh toothpick between his lips. If other men’s bodies and intentions were a language he was only newly versed in, John was something he knew before he had words for any of it.

Gale shrugged one shoulder, raised his eyes to Bucky’s and watched himself be understood.

[drylite]

calling him jobless is frying me. and they’re right

[drylite]

your prompt is ROLEPLAY

🫶

Behind him, Bucky heard Gale make a small sound in his throat, and it sounded like a caution.

Bucky put his pencil down. “Oh?”

“It’s not right.” Gale nodded at the paper. “Go back and refigure that last equation.”

It wasn’t right because ultimately Bucky didn’t give a damn. He batted his eyes at Gale. “Isn’t there any way you could help me out?”

Gale’s brow pinched. “If I help you now, you’ll never be able to do it on your own.”

“That’s just the thing.” Bucky pushed his chair back from their kitchen table, and spread his legs suggestively—or it would be a suggestion, if Buck cared to take it. He sighed as if put-upon, playacting the woebegone student. “I’m tired of doing it on my own.”

“Self-sufficiency is important.”

Bucky dropped a hand to his own thigh. He spread his fingers wide, just skirting where his dick lay against his thigh beneath the fabric of his pants. “Oh? You wanna see how self-sufficient I can be, Professor Cleven?”

He watched Gale exhale carefully through his nose. “I wanna see you finish your trig.”

Bucky’d been half-hard when Gale agreed to the charade, but being made to do actual math threatened to wilt his boner, and he was getting antsy.

“You’re gonna make me pass a quiz before I can come, aren’t you?” His sigh had real feeling behind it this time. He closed the textbook Gale loaned him. “Look, Gale, I don’t think—“

“If you need extra help,” Gale interrupted woodenly, “you can come to my office hours later tonight.”

Taking in the whole of him, Bucky saw that Gale’s posture was stiff, almost tense. His hands twitched at his sides. Bucky suppressed a grin. It was nice, in a way, to know that Gale wasn’t good at everything.

“Oh, Professor Cleven,” he said, widening his eyes. “It’s already so late… But I’m sure you know exactly what I need.”

Gale looked like he fought his own jaw to open his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “You’re a good student. You just need incentive.”

“Or punishment?” Bucky suggested breathily. It wasn’t the fun he expected, but watching Gale work so hard, and so badly, to give Bucky what he asked for was unexpectedly sweet. Bucky reached out a foot to rub at Gale’s ankle while dropping a bawdy wink.

“Yeah,” Gale said flatly, sounding exactly like himself for a moment. “Probably some punishment, too.”

[drylite]

i can’t believe bucky goes through all that only for gale’s fuckass friend to show up outta nowhere and get introduced as knowing more about baseball than him like ummm i’ve been hallucinating games as a pastime so i don’t get myself killed and make buck sad. actually when i was shot out of the sky enemy soldiers combined my two fav topics—baseball and my boy best friend—into an incentive to get me to betray my fellow soldiers. also team sports is a private metaphor i use to bait gale into talking about his history and worldview while touching his lips very gently with my knuckles in a show of acceptable male bonding. anywayyyy nice to meet you, the cubs suck btw

[drylite]

[drylite]

I think the 'Fruit Sniffer' will be big on here

[drylite]

[drylite]

bucky cursed by a very specific vision from the future such that he’s left trying to explain party rock anthem to gale who keeps going whose house? whose house are these fellas in? bucky, what are you talking about?