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therealslimshakespeare · 10 months ago

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Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

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youaintnothinbuta · 7 months ago

Note

could u write something for austin where reader is obsessed with his hair especially when she goes with him on set and they get wet bc he’s sweating too much, and once it turns her on sm that it ends up with him eating her out with her hands buried in them and when it’s too much she pulls it a little harder and austin just loves it

“You're so good at this.” — austin butler x reader

Summary: see request^^

Pairing: austin butler x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, oral (f receiving), probably typos im sorryyyy

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stood nervously outside the set of Masters of the Air, clutching your pass, waiting to be let in. Your boyfriend, Austin, was in the middle of filming, and you didn't want be any cause of distraction. His manager, a familiar face to you, greeted you and whispered, “Just slip in quietly, Y/N. They should be done with these takes in about 20 minutes.”

You nodded, your heart racing with excitement, as you followed her onto the set. The lights were blindingly bright, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and costume fabric. You spotted Austin immediately, his chiseled features set in a determined expression as he delivered his lines. His voice too —deep, commanding, and authoritative— it sent shivers down your spine as he barked orders at his fellow actors.

You sat down quietly and out of view of him and any of the other actors. You couldn't help but notice how good he looked, his blonde hair mussed and his eyes gleaming with intensity. The layered costume added bulk to his already impressive physique, and the sweat dripping down his face only added to his sexiness. You felt that familiar fire ignite in your tummy as you watched your man at work. You pressed your thighs firmly together, trying to contain the desire that was building inside you.

After what felt like an eternity, the director called for a lunch break, and immediately the chatter in the room began.

“Austin!” You called. He perked up, a bright smile spreading across his face as he heard your voice, his eyes locking onto yours instantly.

“Baby, hi,” he said, striding towards you with long, purposeful strides.

You smiled, feeling a little shy but also incredibly turned on. You felt a flutter in your chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

“I didn't know you were coming today,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Sorry,” he apologised for being sweaty, tugging on his thick coat, “I feel like I’m melting in this thing.”

"I wanted to surprise you," you whispered back, your hands sliding up his chest to toy with the buttons on his costume, “and you look amazing.”

Austin chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do I?”

You nodded, responding to him. You found yourself getting more and more turned on by Austin's proximity. You could smell the sweat on his skin mixing with his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body, and see the way his eyes seemed to devour you, and the way his wet hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. You knew you had to get him alone, and fast.

“How long do you have?” You asked, your words came out heavy, thick with desire.

Austin's eyes narrowed, his pupils dilating with interest. “40 minutes ish, why?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. “I need you,” you whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body.

Austin's eyes flashed with desire, and he pulled back, his face set in a determined expression. “Let's find a quiet spot,” he growled, taking your hand, leading you to his trailer, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on his knees, his fingers deftly undoing your pants and pulling them down. His mouth closed over your pussy with a hungry growl.

"I've missed you," he said, his voice low and husky. You felt your body respond to his words, your nipples hardening beneath your shirt. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled your core even closer to his lips.

You moaned as his hot breath washed over your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. Your hands buried themselves in his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers as you pulled him closer.

“Fuck, Austin,” you breathed, your body trembling with pleasure. “You're so good at this.”

He chuckled against your flesh, “I know.”

He groaned, allowing you to feel the vibrations of his vocal cords, his mouth working magic on your clit. He slid his middle finger inside of you, curling upwards as his tongue lapped over your most sensitive spot. You gasped, your body tightening around his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. Your legs began to shake. You felt yourself building towards orgasm, your hands tightening in his hair as you tugged and pulled.

“Yes, baby, like that,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

Austin loved when you pulled at his hair, and he responded by increasing the pressure, his tongue lashing against you with reckless abandon. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter.

You were so close, your body trembling with anticipation. The pleasure was getting too much, you pulled his head back by his hair, when you finally let out a loud cry and came all over his face. Austin groaned, his eyes closed in ecstasy, as you pulsed against his mouth.

He gently pressed his tongue on your clit, allowing you to milk yourself of your orgasm using his face until you were empty.

For a moment, you just sat there, panting and trembling, as Austin slowly got to his feet, his face smeared with your juices. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and pulled you into a deep, wet kiss, his saliva and yours mixing with your slick.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice husky.

“I love you too,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face too. Austin's gaze never left yours as he reached for a towel that was draped over the back of a nearby chair. He gently wiped the remnants of your orgasm from his chin. Then, with a gentle touch, he brought the towel between your legs, softly wiping away your fluid. The intimate gesture sent a flutter through your chest, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this man.

As he helped you to your feet, Austin's hands lingered on your waist, his fingers brushing against the skin beneath your shirt. He zipped up the fly of your jeans, then fastened the button with a gentle tug. The simple act felt like a declaration of ownership, a reminder that you belonged to him, and he to you.

“Come on, let’s get food,” Austin said, his voice still thick, as he held your hand, leading you back to the catering area. He handed you a plate and took one for himself, both of you eyeing all the delicious looking food that was provided. Just then, the ten-minute call rang out across the room, a reminder that your break was drawing to a close. Austin's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his voice low and teasing.

“You’re terrible,” he kissed your temple, pulling your head to his chest, “making me miss out on half my lunch break like that.”

You laughed as you leaned into him, “I’ll return the favour tonight.”

His stomach flipped at your words, he shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Hush,” he teased, shoving a strawberry in your mouth. You bit down innocently, humming with delight at the sweetness.

a/n I know for a fact no one eats pussy like Austin Butler does end of conversation

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

Text

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler fandom #austin butler fluff #biker!austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler major gale buck cleven #austin butler smut #austinbutleredit #austin butler feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler x you #austin butler x reader #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic

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mrs-willow · 4 months ago

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Masterlist!!

"A Raven and a Falcon" benjicot blackwood x Arryn!OC

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

"Home" Gale Cleven x OC

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 *Coming soon*

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julietsbody · 9 months ago

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major gale ‘buck’ cleven and major john ‘bucky’ egan loved to share the pretty things they picked up at the bar. it always started the same, bucky scanning all the girls at the bar with their perfect dresses and rosy perfumes that reeked off them as he walked by, until one eventually caught his eye. you. and as soon as he saw you, he’s bumping his elbow to buck’s arm, who would roll his eyes and remind him of marge. well, at first he would care about her. poor marge, awaiting him at home, she had no idea how many girls he had picked up whilst away, how many lipstick stains coated his skin at the end of the night.

buck was more quiet, as opposed to bucky’s cocky, loud demeanor— so bucky always made the first move. “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here all alone?”

he always loved watching the sweet girls like you bat your lashes up at him, sweetly hitting him with a, “major?” which is soon followed by a shy, quiet, “‘m not sure.”

and that was bucky’s cue now, of course, to wave buck over, “y’know, we could give you some company.”

and of course, like all the others you would agree, nodding your head and following them back to the barracks. when you did eventually get there, it seemed like a ritual for bucky and buck with how quick they were to put you between them on one of the nearest beds. bucky sat to your left, and buck to your right. buck always took it slow, pressing soft kisses to your cheek where you melted into them, whereas bucky would move your jaw so you were looking at him, lips pressing to yours.

it wouldn’t take long for bucky and buck to assume their typical positions, bucky always called dibs on the mouth, whilst buck prefered to be balls deep inside of you, watching the way your lashes flutter as you slobber over bucky’s cock. something about it was so dirty, so sick, and yet they loved it so much— and of course, bucky loved to play with you as you’re being fucked dumb by buck, teasing his tip on your tongue and making you call him sir.

he always had a thing for that.

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sleepr-agent420 · 4 months ago

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clegan library bj hahaahha

say theyre in school. say theyre academic rivals. say john gets a higher score than gale for once in his life and corners him in a dark spot in the library

gale hugs his books tighter against his chest, huffing when he realizes he has to look up at john with the way hes crowding him into a bookshelf.

"you saw the test scores, didnt you?" gale mutters, licking his lips nervously. bucky grins down at him smugly.

"you know i did," john says, trapping gale with an arm leaning against the shelf by his head. his knee knocks agaisnt gales. "and im here to collect my reward."

they had made a bet. a stupid one, gale thinks now. whoever gets the highest score gets a blow job. or something like that.

"c'mon gale, i did good, please," john whispers, and it would seem like begging if it weren't for johns accomplished grin and smooth tone. "you promised i could have you."

gale almost drops his books when john nuzzles into his neck, pressing up closer. he tries to calm his breathing, not at all ready to let john know he wants this just as bad.

"i didnt mean here," he hisses, trying (not very hard) to push john away. john doesnt budge, instead grabbing gales waist and pulling him agaisnt john's hips. "what if we get caught?"

john groans, shoving gale agaisnt his crotch with more force. "but what if we dont," he argues back, pressing the lightest kiss to gales pulse. gale inhales sharply. johns breath against his neck, the feeling of something hard nudging at his hip bone, god he cant keep it together for much longer.

"you can be quiet, right?" john leans back to look gale in the eyes. they stare at each other for a few heated seconds before gale decides, fuck it whatever, and nods dumbly. john grins insufferably, grabbing gales books from his arms and placing them on the shelf behind them.

barely a minute later and john's on his knees, gales leaking cock between his lips. gales heart is beating out of his chest as he watches the boy at his feet. his hand grips johns hair like a lifeline. he doesnt think hes ever been turned on this much in his life.

#i cant actually write smut yet sorry #mota #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #buckbucky #buck x bucky

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goldenbiscuits · 4 months ago

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Concupiscence

John Bucky Egan / Gale Buck Cleven

Summary: A drunken night in London leads to an unexpected exchange of feelings.

Notes: This work is based on characters in the TV show Masters of the Air and is NOT based on the real people.

Tags: anal sex, smut, mentions of war, minors dni, explicit, breeding kink if you squint, bottom gale, top john, minimal plot, lots of feelings

Word Count: 6.35K

Cross-posted on Ao3 -

youdonthaveaclue

----------------------

The pub was loud, men cheered and swinging music vibrated throughout the small space. Drowning out the harsh storm that swirled outside. John and Gale were seated at a booth with a few other men. Most of the boys had happily left their tables and made their way to the floor with the local young ladies, dancing to the loud jazz rhythms.

They looked forward to their days in London, fewer and fewer as those days were. It almost made them forget why they were there. However, the crowds of military men that filled the city and its establishments were a constant reminder of their situation. Most of them held lewd intentions, to leave their drunken nights with a girl. It was a pleasant distraction and was almost expected of the men. Their tortured minds forgetting that dreadful grey sky for a couple of hours was heaven to them.

John and Gale were sitting next to each other, now alone. The impertinent British Air Force men had exhausted their teasing of the two and joined a game of cards a few tables over.

“That girl over there has been eyeing you Bucky.” Gale said with a smile, subtly pointing to a brunette woman at the bar. She was practically staring him down, it was almost comical.

John let out a reluctant laugh, glancing at her, “Yeah, I don’t think she wants to dance..” He said with a knowing look. His lips curved up to the side carving a dimple in his winsome features.

“Oh come on Bucky. Just go talk to her.” He playfully nudged the man’s arm. Gale wasn’t sure if he himself was joking or if he really thought John should approach the woman.

John shook his head, looking down at his drink before taking a small sip of it. Gale had noticed the man’s recent indifference to women. Anywhere they went they virtually threw themselves at him. Gale assumed they were attracted to his large stature and his admittedly.. irresistible smile. A year ago John would entertain nearly all of them, and bring the luckiest one—on the rare occasion, two—along to his hotel for the night. But now he almost seemed to be utterly disinterested in any girl no matter her persistence and allure.

It had not been overlooked by Gale the subtle glances and lingering touches he received from him. Truthfully those little moments were etched in his memory. A deliberate brush of their hands under the table in the mess hall, or John’s palm resting fleetingly against the small of his back when they walked together. Gale found himself revisiting them at night when he could not find sleep. Which was most nights. Those short-lived moments lasted ages in his mind, and he craved them whether he admitted it to himself or not. He felt wanted. But he didn’t allow himself to think that far. So when John shifted closer to Gale in the booth this night and accidentally brushed their legs together, his breath hitched in his throat.

John wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish with the touches he had been giving Gale. Was it just for himself? To feel the other man against his skin, to momentarily satiate his undying hunger? Buck never shied away from his touch but nearly never returned them. His lack of reciprocation only fed into John’s ache for him. Unlike in the sky, the fog and mist of Gale’s feelings excited him, it offered him a moment to decipher the mystery of what laid beyond it. He loved a challenge. Did he yearn for his touch too? Or was he too shy to tell John to stop? Maybe he didn’t even notice them.

John could not keep himself from stealing swift looks at him persistently. Buck’s blue eyes had darkened in the low warm light of the pub. His blonde hair looked a caramel brown. Long lashes casting a sharp shadow on his honeyed skin. Pillowy sialoid lips glistening after each sip of his drink. Without thought John found himself trying to catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave each time he moved. He knew his own physical attraction to Gale was not unrequited but he dreaded the idea of the man rejecting his affection.

But right there in the pub that night his suppressed desire drew too strong. Boldly unbridled.

A few minutes passed before he leaned toward the other man and spoke softly into his ear, “I think I need something a bit different tonight.” He really did not know what else to say, but hoped the man would not dismiss his advances as simple drunkenness. He pulled back and looked to Gale with a somewhat serious gaze.

Gale felt heat rising in his face. Did he mean.. him?

It had been months since the last time they spent a night together in London. The two men had wordlessly agreed to not speak of it again. They were drunk and alone and hadn’t been touched in god knows how long. Men have needs, they told themselves, but the boys could have easily extended an evening with a lonely girl at a pub, if that was truly all it was.

It had started simply. Only a mere brush of their hands as they sat on the sofa together, reminiscing on their days before the war. But just moments later, they found themselves in a heated kiss that lasted for what felt like hours. The boys didn’t make love that night, but they would be lying if they said they didn’t want it, desperately.

For months, words danced in the air between them, unspoken, afraid of the other’s unrequited love.

Seated in the buzzing pub, the men and women around them had disappeared from Gale’s awareness. He could think of nothing but John.

Gale looked at him and he swore he could see the want in John’s eyes. But it was more than that. He needed Gale. He looked away and down at his own hands. John’s gaze was too intense to hold for any longer.

John waited for Buck to speak. It felt like hours had passed. Fear churned his stomach, worrying the man didn’t reflect his own aching limerence, but that thought quickly dissipated when Gale spoke,

“Okay.”

Surprise was evident in John’s expression. He had expected the man to say more, but the only thing on his mind now was a yearning to feel Gale against his skin. He abruptly stood from the table, loudly knocking it in the process, and threw back the rest of his drink. Gale looked up at him. A growing need began to take hold of him. He got to his feet and quickly followed John out of the establishment.

The rain had stopped. Petrichor filled their senses as they walked quietly to their hotel. Both of the young men were practically shaking from nerves.

After entering their shared room, a tension in the air weighed heavy on them both. Neither of the boys knew what to do. They weren’t even sure what the other wanted. Gale remained by the door waiting for John to make any advance or even just to say something. But no words were spoken as John closed the distance between their bodies, inches away from him. Their hearts pounded in their chests. The men were sure the other could hear it, but the sound of John’s heavy breathing filled the air between them.

John looked down at Gale’s blue eyes, they were pleading, and almost black with need. He felt his own heart beat even harder in his chest. His gaze shifted to Gale’s plush lips. He dreamed about those lips of his. Just asking to be kissed, he thought to himself. Ever so slowly, John moved closer to Gale, his eyes darting between the man’s lust-filled ones and his pink pouty lips.

As Gale looked up at John, standing so close to him, his lips mere inches away from his own, the world faded away. All that existed was the two of them and their mutual desire. Their lips got closer ever so slowly before they finally met. The kiss began slowly until John decided he couldn’t hold back. He moved his lips against the other man's with fervor. Gale returned the passion, forgetting to breathe. John’s hand found its way into the man’s hair, his other hand finding purchase on Gale’s clothed bicep. There was a familiarity in their kiss. Perhaps because this was not the first time they had shared one, except, in truth, that one had felt this way too. It was reminiscent of a dance, rehearsed hundreds of times over. Each movement felt orchestrated yet new. It held the passion of a lover's first touch yet it also felt strangely intuitive.

Gale sighed into the kiss. The months of secretly wanting this again with John had been rendering him sleepless. His mind involuntarily reliving the memory of how John had kissed him so amorously. Any guilt he felt about feeling this way for another man had disappeared a long time ago. His father’s harsh words were now muffled in his mind and god help anyone who would try and take John away from him.

John’s hunger burned. He moved his tongue along Gale’s bottom lip. His mouth opened immediately, desperate for him. Their tongues danced as the two men groaned into the deep kiss. Gale’s hands were on the other quickly, holding onto him. Bucky carded his fingers into soft dirty blonde hair and pulled, separating their mouths.

Gale moaned at the sudden action. The other man murmured in his ear, low voice humming against him, “You have no idea how much I’ve been trying to resist you.” A burning heat ignited in Gale’s core and spread through his entire body at those words. John kissed down his jaw and to his lithe neck. Licking and mouthing along his skin. Gale moaned once more at John’s warm mouth as he sucked on a sweet spot between his jaw and his ear. In this moment, all reason melted away. He didn’t care if it left a mark. If anything, he wanted John to mark him.

Gale pulled him away from his neck and connected their lips. He felt like he was starving and Bucky’s body was his salvation. He tugged John closer, a warmth pooling in his stomach. His cock grew hard in his slacks. John’s member was already completely firm against his own. Gale groaned at the intimate feeling. Bucky pulled away, holding the man’s hands as he walked backward to the large bed in the room. Never taking his eyes off Gale as he led him. He yanked his jacket off, then Gale’s. Despite his hurried actions, Bucky wanted to take his time with the man. He gently pushed him onto the bed and climbed atop his svelte body, instantly reconnecting their mouths. As they basked in the heated kiss, John drug his hands down the other’s torso, untucking his shirt out from his pants. Making quick work of unbuttoning Gale’s and removing his tie, before he moved his hands to his own. Gale swatted his hands away.

“Let me.” Gale spoke softly, breathless. His honeyed voice was now laced with a rapturous hunger.

Upon the discarding of their tops and undershirts somewhere in the room, John leaned over him, kissing down his neck. He moaned against him. The taste of his warm sweet skin, it was paragon. John pulled a few small noises from him as he sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck. Gale’s fingers tangled in John’s brown hair as he felt him move lower.

John elicited a loud choked-off moan from Buck as he wrapped his lips around a perked left nipple, fingers toying with the other. He rolled the sensitive bud between his teeth, pulling another groan. He knew Gale was already enjoying this too much and he felt a shiver run up his spine at the thought of what was coming. John wanted to take his time ruining the other man, despite being painfully hard in his slacks. Gale wasn’t just some girl he seduced as a distraction for the night. He was his closest friend. He wasn’t doing this for his own pleasure. He wanted to see Gale come apart, look into his eyes at the very moment and watch as the coil snapped within him. He wanted to be the cause of the pleasure the man felt. At that moment, John felt a wave of possession course through him.

Gale was his, and only his.

“Gonna take care of you Buck.” John said between kisses to his chest.

“Please” Gale let out small quick breaths. His fingers tangled themselves through Bucky’s brunette hair. Desperate for more.

“Please what?” John whispered as he left open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen.

“Need you.. John.” He leaned up and looked down at the man kissing his skin.

“Be patient Buck.” John’s low voice reverberated through his body only adding to the burning desire Gale was already overwhelmed by.

John’s mouth had found its way to Gale’s waistline, kissing along the patch of blonde hair below his belly button. Deft fingers undid the man’s slacks, Gale lifted his hips allowing him to pull them down his legs along with his underwear, carelessly discarding them on the floor.

John sat back on his heels as he stared down at the sight before him. Gale laid there like a fucked out whore and he’d barely done anything to him yet. His eyes were heavy and their darkness burned with lust and need. His sandy hair was tousled. Bruises from John’s mouth had begun to form all over his tanned body. His slender legs had fallen open slightly, long pretty cock swollen and angry as it laid against his stomach, leaking drops of pre-come.

“Fuck, Gale… just look at you.” John’s calloused hands lightly teased along the plush skin of the man’s thighs, caressing every inch. He removed the rest of his own clothes, joining Gale’s on the floor. His hands grabbed the blonde's small waist. He’d always wanted to do this. The pads of his thumbs massaged the skin there as he held him. There was something nearly possessive creeping up the back of his neck as took in the scene.

Gale stared up at the man before him. He’d always wanted to see his best friend like this. John’s darkened eyes were swimming with acherontic desire. His soft brown hair was no longer perfectly styled atop his head. His naked toned body glistened with a sheen of sweat. Oh the scent of him. Gale wished he could kiss every inch of him in this moment.

John’s larger, herculean body deeply enraptured Gale. He knew the man could easily overpower him and manhandle him as he desired. The thought provoked his cock. More slick wetness pooled on his skin as it twitched. He looked to John’s cock after he had removed the rest of his clothes. It stood proudly against his abdomen. Holding an impressive girth, and Gale gasped as he pictured it nestling inside of him.

John leaned forward over the other man, propping himself on his forearm, groaning, as he kissed him so hungrily, Gale thought he might bite him.

He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and pulled him closer until their cocks touched. Gasps filled the quiet room at the sudden stimulation.

“Please John. Want you to touch me.” Gale was already so lost in the feeling of him, he wasn’t afraid to admit what he wanted. He was never one to be so forward, but right now, with Bucky, he had completely let go.

John pulled away from his lips and moved downwards. He placed his large hands on the man’s soft thighs and gently spread his legs further apart. His mouth watered at the beautiful sight. It was sinful. The rope of his fragile restraint had snapped before he laid down between Gale’s thighs. Wrapping his hand around the man’s swollen cock.

A loud, stifled noise escaped Buck at the sensation. John thumbed along the underside of the head of Gale’s cock, eliciting more sweet sounds from him. He ran his thumb along the slit, collecting the pre-come before spreading it around the head. Gale was already a moaning mess. John sighed at the sight and the feeling of the warm wet cock in his hand. Dying to taste him, he ran his tongue over the slick glistening atop the man’s swollen member. A deep groan fell from him at the taste, mouth enveloping the tip of Gale’s length.

Gale’s jaw hung open as wanton moans escaped his lips. The delicious stimulation filling his senses. John’s wet, hot mouth felt too good. He wanted more. He reached down, placing his hand in the other man’s hair. John licked along a vein from the base to the tip before enveloping the head with his mouth again. Hand remaining at the base as he began to take him fully.

“Oh”

“Mmm”

“.. shit”

“Bucky.” Gale said between moans.

He couldn’t contain himself, pulling the man’s hair and moaning at every touch John gave him. He started moving his hips, subconsciously trying to feel more of the man’s hot mouth. John sank down as far as he could on Gale’s aching length. The sounds the man was making were so filthy, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding his own needy cock into the sheets. He took him further, bobbing up and down. John let himself imagine the sounds Buck would make if he fucked him. Praying to God that he would be blessed with that opportunity tonight.

Gale was writhing on the bed, unable to hold still. He’d never felt anything like this before, it was nearly too much for him.

John’s hands grasped his hips, holding him down. Propping himself up on his elbows, Gale looked down at the man sucking his cock. He almost came at the sight of his lips wrapped around him, so focused on pleasing him.

John’s sapphire gaze was long washed away, only a black concupiscence remained. Gale could see just how much he was enjoying having him in his mouth.

Pulling away from the man’s length, John replaced his mouth with his large hand. He shifted himself to hover over the blonde. His own neglected cock was aching, prompting him to grasp both their members, tugging them together in his hand. Gale groaned into the man’s shoulder at the feeling of his cock against his own.

“Need to be inside you.” John’s voice was laced with desire as he spoke the words into the man’s ear before he could stop himself. He nearly froze, afraid his precipitous suggestion would scare him off. But this notion quickly washed away when a guttural moan escaped Gale.

“Please.”

John let out his own groan at Gale’s avid response. An even stronger heat ignited in his core as he imagined the look on the man’s face as he buried his cock deep inside him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”

That was all John needed to hear. Gale was completely lost in the pleasure, John pulled away, not wanting him to come before he fucked him. The man whined at the sudden loss of his hand. Bucky laid on his side next to the man beneath him, leaning on his arm next to Gale’s head. He brought two fingers up to the young man’s lips.

“Suck.”

Without hesitation, the blonde eagerly took the two digits into his mouth. Spreading his saliva around them with his tongue. Gale brought his hand up to the man’s wrist, holding him in place while he sucked on his fingers. A deep guttural sound escaped John as he watched. He imagined how good the man’s mouth would feel around his cock. He pulled his hand away from Gale, trailing it down his body. Nudging the man’s legs apart, he brought the slicked digits to his entrance. They held eye contact as Buck let out shallow breaths in anticipation.

John circled the wet fingers around his hole before slowly pushing one inside him. Gale gasped at the intrusion, brows furrowing. The feeling was foreign and a little uncomfortable. He reached up and cupped John’s jaw as he pulled him down, connecting their lips. The distraction allowed the man’s finger to slide into him completely. He slowly began to thrust his finger in and out of the heat, eliciting sweet sounds from him.

A minute or two had passed before John added a second digit. He had almost expected to see a hint of hesitation or even fear in the man’s eyes as Gale shifted his gaze away from between his legs. Instead, they were half-lidded, filled with an intense daze of hunger. Quiet moans fell from his open mouth.

John scissored his fingers inside of him, opening him up for his cock. He added a third finger into the tight heat, earning more whimpers. Just then, John rubbed against a sweet spot deep inside the man. Gale practically yelped at the sudden stimulation. He worked him open until the other man became too desperate.

“More… please… need you… inside.. please.” Gale spoke with a broken voice between breathless moans. “Wanna feel you.”

There were no doubts or notions of reluctance from the blonde. He was lost in the ecstasy John was gifting him. For the first time, he was able to let go of the heavyweight holding down his tortured mind. The burden of responsibility and never-ending dread had floated away the moment his lips touched his own.

The other man groaned at his eagerness. Unable to resist the pleading, he removed his fingers from him, and he was sure Gale had been stretched enough. John reached over the man’s body to the table near the bed, retrieving a small bottle of Vaseline he always brought with him to London. It was meant for the escorts he shared his bed with, but now it was only for the man beneath him.

Gale yearned to feel John inside him. The thought of becoming one with the person he loved most in the world, his best friend, his Bucky. The one who had experienced the same hardships, and held an understanding of how much they both needed this. It sent a chill up his spine. His gaze followed as the larger man reached over him. Muscles stretching and tense above him. Gale placed a hand on John’s chest. He felt the warmth of his skin under his palm. There was no one else he would rather do this with, no where else he rather be. He wanted to remain in this moment forever. This night he had forgotten about the war, forgotten they were in a foreign land, and forgotten that the next time they went up in the sky, could be their last.

John returned to Gale, looking down at him, he kissed his forehead gently. Stroking the side of his face as he admired the man below him. Buck was his best friend. He felt at home when he looked into those gleaming blue eyes. The warm lamp light cast a glow over Gale, he swore he looked like an angel, constellations of freckles dotted his beautiful tanned skin. He was the only person that could help him forget. He freed him from the mental torment of all the brothers they had lost, the mortal dangers of their duties, and that the cards were stacked against them all. In this war, John had lost interest in nearly everything. The only thing he felt he was good for was piloting his plane. But Buck made him feel alive. He was all he had.

He wanted to live for him.

John’s hand slowly made its way back down to Buck’s entrance and delicately lathered the substance around him. The blonde gasped at the cold sensation, and watched as Bucky then spread it over his thick member. He looked down at the other man, laying there, legs spread for him, and his eyes pleading. He wanted to take care of him, be gentle. He felt as if the man below him was a porcelain doll, handle with care written across his chest. But at the same time, he wanted to ruin him. Make him scream his name and beg him for more, tears streaming down his supple skin. John had an insatiable hunger boiling in his core, and he swore to himself he’d never been lavished a voracity quite this deep.

The other held the gaze of the strong man above him. He seemed lost in thought as he admired Gale. In that tender moment, he wanted to confess to Bucky all the thoughts and feelings he had been plagued by the past several months. He had to hold back so much, in fear the other didn’t feel the same. Despite that night they spent together the year prior, he still worried it was only a temporary fix for John. Gale wanted the man to desire him in the same way he did him. All those times he watched him walk out of a pub with a pretty girl, he had to pretend he was pleased for him, but somewhere deep he wished it was himself that would be held by John that night.

Now he found himself in his own errant fantasies. Bucky laying above him, admiring his delicate features, ready to make love to him. Desire swimming deep in his eyes. He brought a hand up to John’s face, tracing imaginary lines, bringing the man back to the present.

John leaned into the warmth of Buck’s touch, and pressed his lips to the man’s palm, slowly kissing down his wrist. He connected their lips in a sensual kiss as he lined his member with the smaller man’s entrance.

In a daze of desire, John was slowly losing himself. When his eyes met Gale’s a sweet dulcet warmth washed over him. “Gonna make you feel good Buck.” He kissed the other man hard as he pushed himself into him as gently as he could.

Gale’s mouth fell open as he felt Bucky’s cock slowly breach his entrance. John shushed him gently, “Shh, just relax Gale.” The other man placed his hand on John’s nape pulling him to connect their mouths. It was all teeth and tongue as the man slowly pushed his large member further into the blonde. When he bottomed out, Gale’s lips separated as his head fell back against the mattress. A few moments passed before the ringing pain of the stretch slowly fell into hints of pleasure. The larger man remained still, waiting for him to adjust to the foreign feeling.

Gale’s eyes opened as he gripped the man’s shoulders, a low whine falling from his lips.

“Tell me how it feels Buck.” John wanted to hear how he was making the man feel. His own reserve was straining against the sensation of Gale’s heat tightly wrapped around his cock.

“S’good.” Gale could hardly form words, he felt so full.

His hands reached down to John’s hips, grasping, aimlessly trying to get the man to fuck him.

Bucky understood what the man needed. Gale felt the drag of the cock inside him before he was jolted up the bed by John’s harsh thrust. His ability to hold himself back had fallen away.

The maneuver sent a burning wave of pleasure through Gale’s body. “Again.” He whined. John’s hand grasped the underside of one of the man’s plush thighs for leverage, easing his thrusts. The sound of skin against skin reverberated throughout the room, variations of sounds falling from both the men’s lips. They were equally desperate for the other. They had let go completely and allowed themselves to relish in this moment without restraint.

Gale’s eyes had fallen shut in the midst of the pleasure John was giving him. His arms wrapped around the man's neck.

“F-feel so full Bucky.”

Christ

Those sinful words went straight to John’s cock. Loudly groaning into the crook of the blonde's neck. The movements of his hips only grew in their intensity.

In need to go as deep inside Gale as he could, he gently pulled out and reached for a pillow. “Why-“ The blonde groaned at the sudden loss of his cock. Feeling cold and empty. “Lift your hips for me Buck.” Gale did as he was told, watching as the soft pillow was placed under his hips. Bucky resumed his former position over Gale. Tender kisses were shared as he felt the warm length breach his entrance once more.

The new angle allowed John’s cock to brush against the bundle of nerves in the man’s core. Gale moaned like he was paid for it. The sounds pouring out of him left John shuddering with an animalistic carnality as he left continuous thrusts to the sweet spot.

“You’re takin me so well Buck.” John grunted out. At those words, the man’s entrance fluttered around John’s cock as he whined. The tightness led Bucky to bite down on the junction between Gale’s neck and shoulder, sure to leave a mark. The blonde shuddered. The man’s teeth dug into his skin. In this moment, neither of them cared if it was visible. He wanted to be marked by him, to let everyone know that he belonged to Bucky. The sight of the deep red mark on the man’s neck fueled the fire of John’s possessive nature. His thrusts stuttered.

“All mine.” John whispered against Gale’s open mouth. More moans were spilt as his thrusts hit harder and became more erratic. The blonde’s hands had been tugging at Bucky’s hair before they traveled down to his back. Dragging along his muscles as they contracted. Nails pressing into the taut skin.

“I- fuck. Bucky oh my-.” The desperate tone of Gale’s moans only grew as he grasped hard at the man’s body.

“You’re close?” John questioned, as his lips brushed against the man’s open mouth. Gale nodded, his eyes fluttered open, clouded in darkness. The man above him reached down and tugged at the blonde’s neglected cock in time with his fervent thrusts. Gale was nearly overwhelmed by the amount of stimulation. Silent moans escaped his throat. Eyes barely remaining open.

“Gonna- Bucky I-.” The words were lost in his throat as the pleasure grew in his core. His body thrashed on the bed. Back arching, pressing himself into Bucky’s stomach.

“Shit. Okay.” John started to pull out from the tight heat, feeling his own release coming. “No! Please. No.” Gale whined as he grasped at the man’s body, aimlessly trying to hold him in place. Bucky froze, worried he had hurt him. A frightened look quickly struck his features.

He stroked the side of the blonde's face. “Are you alright Buck? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-.” The words spilled out from his mouth as his heart hammered in his chest. Gale’s retaliation had sent an abhorrent rush of fear to his gut, churning his stomach. All in a matter of seconds.

“No John. Want you to come inside.” Gale managed to let out. His deep voice completely breathless and debauched.

John’s groaned, his expression softened but his core burned hot. “Jesus Buck.” His cock twitched at the man’s forward words. “You scared me.” The weight of worry left his body as his thrusts resumed, along with his hand wrapped around Buck’s aching member. The resonance of the blonde’s lascivious whimpers coursed through John’s veins, a fresh fracture in thin ice. He’d never been this aroused. Gale’s eagerness for him to release inside of him only fueled the fire within himself as his reserve began to burn away.

Gale’s mind began to cloud. His legs tensed at the impending orgasm. The mere constant abuse to the sweet spot inside him, the large warm hand wrapped around his cock, the man above him—it was all too much. As his eyes struggled to remain open, he garnered the strength to look down at where their bodies joined. The sight of John’s member disappearing into his depths only sent him closer to the edge. His head fell back against the sheets, brows knitted, back arching further into Bucky’s body.

The sight of the blonde’s exposed neck and the bite mark he had left behind earlier—kindled a primal energy within John. He raised his body slightly to balance himself before wrapping his free hand around Gale’s neck. He didn’t tighten his grip. He waited for the man’s reaction. In a daze, it took a short moment for Buck to feel it. Once he did, a deep moan escaped his plush lips. His cock twitched in John’s hand. The enjoyment was evident in Gale’s reaction, so he squeezed lightly around the sides of his lithe neck. His thrusts only quickened at the sinful sounds pouring from the man beneath him.

The vision before him was one he wouldn’t ever forget. Buck looked like a painting. The warm lamp light cast over his sweat-slicked skin. He glistened. Eyes heavy and black with lust. His splayed out, supple yet sculpted body, resembled a michaelangelean god.

“Bucky I- oh my-“ The words were nearly lost in Gale’s throat as the coil within him strained against the pleasure. He felt like John’s woman. Legs spread wide and desperate for the man’s release inside of him. The tenderness with which he fucked him. The way his hand worked his cock. How could he go on living without this moment replaying in his head? The memory of this night need only show itself for a single second before the blood would rush to his cock.

The same thoughts ran in circles at the front of John’s mind. One glance at Buck and he’d be escorting him out of sight. Hungry kisses would be exchanged, but the enemy of time would cut their passions short.

John was nearing the edge. His thrusts stuttered. Thumb pressing into the slit of the blonde’s leaking cock, pulling a strangled moan. “How am I ever gonna take a woman again after tasting you, huh?” His words barely strung together between desperate grunts and moans. Those words hit Gale with such intensity he came suddenly without warning. Ropes of come landed on his stomach and Bucky’s hand as he tensed around the cock inside of him. Sweet whimpers falling from his lips. Hands grasping at the man’s body. John found his own release in that moment. The utterly debauched scene unfolding in front of him drowned him in pleasure. Releasing a moan as his vision blurred. Gale felt the warmth pooling in his core. Neither of them had ever experienced such preeminent ecstasy.

John collapsed on top of the blonde beneath him. They laid there for a moment. The intensity of their passions had weakened John, he was unable to move. Gale stroked his fingers through the brunette's sweaty curls. The weight atop his own body deprived him of the deep breaths his lungs ached to take. Yet he craved this closeness from the man, despite the discomforting heat radiating from their bodies, and the sticky mess between them.

The sound of rain began to fill the small room. Gale had switched off the lamp, bathing the space in blue moonlight. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked the blonde's warm skin. His touch anchored Gale’s heart. For too long, his love swam restlessly within him, and now it had a place to stay. He paid no heed to the sin. Unlike Francesca and Paolo, his ultimate infernal damnation wouldn’t incite regret of his lust, or resentment to his lover.

John’s gaze shifted to Buck’s face. Through the thin curtains, shadows of raindrops cascaded down the window, caressing his features. He didn’t want to let go of him. Afraid all of this wasn’t real and he would disappear. He didn’t know how he could live on if he was gone. Gale was all he had. He made him feel alive. He made him forget.

He traced imaginary lines along the valley of Gale’s chest. “If I was deaf and blind I would still recognize your scent and the touch of your calloused hands.” John mumbled softly against the man’s chest.

The blondes eyes softened, and landed on his own. A smile taunted the corners of his lips. “Don’t get all poetic on me now John.”

Gale was afraid. This feeling was new, and it was ripping him apart. He tried not to think of what lies ahead of them both. That cold unforgiving sky is creeping its way back to them. Every moment that passes it inches closer, and the day when it finally engulfs them again, one might not come back down, alive. Gale decided in that moment he couldn’t live without John. Especially in that base. The number of men decreasing each day, younger and unfamiliar faces filling the empty space. He couldn’t take it anymore, not alone. No one else could ground him the way John did. No one else understood him like he did. No one loved him the same. The thought of losing him stung from the inside. Tears welled in his eyes, but they didn’t fall.

He wrapped his arms tighter around John’s body. The man had the same horrors running through his own mind. He felt John grip him harder in return.

“I’m not going anywhere John.”

“I know.”

As sleep begged to take him, John spoke softly, looking up at Gale, softened cock still nestled inside him, “When this is all over, I wanna buy some land, have a little house, far away from everyone else. And I want you to come with me.”

Gale smiled at him, voice husky and tired. “I want that too John.”

The capacity to which his love consumed him was nearly too much to bear. Drowning him in a lake of unconditional devotion. John was pulling him deeper, to the abysmal plane of their shared ardency.

That night they slept better than they had in months. Bodies entangled, wrapped in a dreamless, comfortable slumber.

------------------

I hope you all enjoyed this one! This is my first ever fic! Well, I did write a shitty one years and years ago but we dont talk about that. For now, this is just a one-shot but I might make it a series. I will hopefully be posting more at some point. Let me know what you think and what you want next! No guarantees I will write what you ask but I might! ;)

#mota smut #mota fanfic #mota #buck x bucky #bucky egan #john egan #buck cleven #gale cleven #austin butler fandom #callum turner #top john #bottom gale #smut #mastersoftheair #austin butler

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pinksiames · 6 months ago

Text

You and me (Against the world)

3154 words of smut!

“Fuck just let me-” a heavy body thumping against their hotel door. John was too excited. Too excited to see Gale, to be able to love him and kiss him and touch him with no fear. Adrenaline rushing through his veins as he finally got the key into the doorknob, waiting for the soft clicking noise as he turned the handle. Gale nervously chewed on his toothpick as he made his way inside, setting his bag down next to the large king sized bed.

“You sure this wasn’t too much Bucky?” He asked. “It seems expensive.” His arms crossed as he took in the large windows that he’d need to cover later, how clean and nice the bed looked.

“You’ve just gotten too used to the shitty barracks. This is their standard. And besides, you deserve to get spoiled with something nice, Buck.” A smirk spread across his lips as Gale's cheeks turned pink.

“Could make a girl blush with that kind of talk.” Gale swallowed, his pulse rising in his throat.

“Well it seems to be making you blush, is that what you are? A girl Buck? My girl?” John’s voice dropped an octave on the last question. They hadn’t been able to really get around to talking about it, but he knew some of the things that turned Gale on. How he pulled his hair, when he grips Gales throat a little too tight, when he was overly rough. General things like that, but one thing that really stuck with him was when he slipped up and called him his good girl instead of his good boy. He had never seen Gale finish so quickly in his hand before.

Gale didn’t say anything, just gave him a soft nod, the heat in his cheeks growing down his neck, the color darkening. That wasn’t going to do.

“I need you to use your words.” A large hand came up and grabbed Gales chin, lifting it up just enough for their eyes to meet. Plump lips parted, as if trying to think what to say.

“Yes,” Gale whispered, his cock straining against his trousers. Have they always been this tight?

“Yes about what?”

“About being.. your girl,” He spoke, feeling a tear run down his cheek. Gale had never been open about something so taboo before. It was already a death sentence when he and Bucky expressed their feelings for each other, slinking around thorpe Abbotts like a bunch of horny teenagers. But this was something else. The feeling of being feminine felt nice. It felt comforting. He was comfortable being masculine, being the man that could be relied on for anything. It was also nice to day dream about not having those responsibilities. To have someone hold him and tell him how pretty he looked. Someone to sweep him off his feet.

“Hey hey don’t cry, doll, ain’t nothing to be ashamed of,” John said, bringing his thumb up to rest on the height of Gale’s cheekbone, wiping the tear away. Making sure to press soft kisses across tan skin before meeting plump pink lips.

“You will always be my girl, Buck. No words could describe how precious you are to me. But my actions can,” he purred, wrapping both his muscular arms around Gales infamous slim waist, hands trailing down to grab full asscheeks.

“Oh fuck...” Gale whined, his forehead resting in the crook of John’s neck. Bucky let his fingers wander, slipping down the back of Gales slacks and past his briefs. Making sure to keep the other man steady he delved between his cheeks, pressing the tip of his middle digit against the rim of Gales hole. Teasing it ever so gently before slowly pressing it in further, then two, then three.

Gale was already seeing stars, just having Bucky touch him like this with not a single care to the wind made him jump, how he could tell he had been wanting this just as long as Gale had. A soft moan vibrated at the back of his throat, teeth nibbling at the skin on John’s neck to keep himself quiet. In desperation, he pushed himself back on John’s fingers, his back arched as his own hand pressed itself against the bulge of John’s pants. He could never mentally prepare himself for how big John was each time they snuck around, how impatient he would get to get the large man in him. Soon after regretting his decision with the lack of prep. But that was then and this is now.

John sucked in a sharp breath, his cock twitching against Gale’s palm. He kept scissoring Gale open, only pulling back to shove his fingers inside of Gale's mouth, letting him run his tongue over each knuckle.

“You Make me wanna devour you princess,” Bucky groaned, ears perking up at the groan coming from the man in front of him. His eyes flickering between how perfect Gale’s lips wrapped around his fingers. How breathtaking he looked with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes. Unable to tear his gaze from his rows of fluffy lashes that brushed over his cheekbones.

He pulled his hand back, not letting the string of saliva connecting them slip from his brain. He slipped three fingers back in with better ease this time, smashing their lips together. He made no attempt at hiding his own sounds, groans and soft grumbles. But Gale was still holding back on him.

“It’s just the two of us darling, no one’s gonna walk in on us. I made sure of it. Just let yourself go,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Gale's lips. Right at the same time he found that special bundle of nerves, lightly pressing against it.

Gale let out a yelp, precum leaking against his underwear.

“Nmm fuck Bucky, right there please right there again,” he choked, his knees giving a slight buckle. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle a little, finding that spot again. Gale gripped onto John’s shoulders, trying to keep himself afloat.

“I’m not gonna be able to last if you keep this up Bucky,” he whimpered, his breathing unsteady.

“Well we can’t have that yet now can we. Haven’t even gotten out of our skivvies,” he smirked, pulling his fingers back, earning him a whine and a playful slap against his chest.

“You stay there,” John said, making his way to the chair conveniently placed in the corner of the room, facing the bed. Gale couldn’t help but feel awkward, like his body was frozen in place waiting for Bucky's next words. John took his time settling down in the chair, thick thighs spreading as he rested his arms on the sides.

Gale felt like he was being eyed by a predator sizing up its next meal. How John’s warm gaze still made him shiver. John held the contact while he unbuttoned his own shirt, but letting it hang open instead of taking it off.

“Strip for me baby. But go slow.” Gale could hear the rasp and want laced in Johns words, watching as he slowly palmed himself through layers. Gale swallowed, making quick work of his shoes and socks before bringing his hands up to work on the buttons of his shirt. Carefully he exposed more and more of his undershirt, soft hairs poking out at the dip in the neck. Setting aside the cloth he worked on the cotton covering his torso, slowly untucking it from his pants. He grabbed ahold of the hem, little by little his stomach was on full display. Soft lines of muscle decorating his middle with dips in the sides of his waist.

He let it gather with the other discarded piece of clothing before turning around. He unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops and laying it down before undoing his pants, the sound of his zipper audible. Grabbing waistband he pulled his undies and pants down at the same time, making a slight show of him bending over. His delicate legs stepped out of the garments, gently pushing them to the side before facing Bucky once more.

Hungry eyes worked their way up and down his body, lingering where his cock stood proud against his stomach.

“C’mere sweetheart.” Tapping the floor between his legs with his foot. “Let me get a good look at you...” a hand reached out for Gale to grasp. He slowly worked his legs over, strutting like a deer in the forest. Graceful but still on guard.

“I promise I ain’t gonna bite ya’ in any way that you don’t like.” He smirked, lowering his hands down onto Gale’s hips once he settled in his designated place. John let his hands hover over Gale’s front, ghosting over the sides of his thighs and up his waist, eyes fluttering closed as he gave Gale’s pecs a soft squeeze.

“Oh my pretty girl, got the nicest pair of tits I’ve ever seen. Soft and squishy...” he groaned, pulling Gale flush against his body as he mouthed at his stomach, leaving light teeth marks up into his sternum, before latching his mouth around a nipple. Gale let out a breathy gasp, throwing his head back as he gripped onto Bucky’s shoulders.

“You like that sweet thing? You like it when I suck on your tits? You like it when I play with them?” A hand raising to play with the other while he continued to suck. He could feel the nub hardening against his tongue, swirling around it and sucking hard like he would a woman. Because that’s what Gale was. His woman.

He could feel Gale rutting up against his own stomach, soft moans passing his swollen lips.

“Bucky, please, it feels so good,” he whined, arching his back trying to press his chest further into John’s mouth. He had never been so needy for something in his life, how John worked his body, knew exactly what to do to get certain reactions out of him.

Bucky kept going, switching between each pec and every so often letting his hand brush over Gale’s aching cock. By the time he pulled back Each tit was covered in hickies and teeth marks, kissing over each one like they were his prizes.

“Now get up on the bed,” he said, spinning Gale around and giving his ass a slap to get him moving.

“On your hands and knees,” he spoke, kicking off his shoes as he settled behind Gale, right between his legs.

“Fuck, Buck... God, baby you look so pretty splayed out like this for me…” John’s voice was laced heavily with lust. Eyes shamelessly wandering over the expanse of Gales back, down the arch of his spine until it melted into the swell of his ass. Large hands worked up and down soft edges and lines, still harsh and worn by the war, and by no means a woman’s softness but Gale's own kind of plush. Something that he could never get with the women he fucked.

Slim waist that was impossible to keep his hands off of, like it lured him in with silent promises of nights like these. Delicate, long legs that screamed to be marked. Asscheeks that begged to be eaten, to be abused. Requests that Bucky was more than happy to oblige.

Bucky could see Gale was already a mess, his legs trembling and arms struggling to keep his upper body up. The hairs on the back of Buck’s neck were sticking with a thin layer of sweat that was slowly moving down his skin. He knew Buck didn’t like feeling exposed like this, especially since John had hardly shredded a single piece of clothing besides his shirt and shoes. But it was a vulnerability he was willing to show with only John.

“Doing so good for me… such a good girl.” A hushed whine came from Gale's direction, his head hung low between his shoulder blades. This was new for him, to have Gale give up complete control. They’re not shy when it comes to intimacy, a few quickies in the showers, stolen touches. Plenty of kisses but they’ve never been able to explore each other like this. Never been able to peel back Gales walls like this.

“Put your arms down for me doll, lay on your chest,” he said, his hand coming up to rest between Gale’s shoulder blades and gently pushing, not moving his hand until Gale was settled. He bit his lip as he grabbed at himself at the sight, globes spread perfectly, cock hanging pretty between Gale’s legs. It made John’s mouth water. He reached over to his own bag and grabbed a bottle of lube he had stashed away, lathering his fingers up before working Gale back open. He started off with two, pressing them in with ease as he began working on Gale's forgotten cock.

Gale’s hips jerked forward at the pressure grabbing his shaft, lips falling open as breathy noises past them. It was too much, John’s thick fingers fucking him open with a calloused hand wrapped around his cock. John made slow strokes, keeping his grip firm around Gale’sbase. He added more lube to his hand, making the slide a bit easier. But the more John kept hitting his prostate, Gale kept getting louder, his sense of control loosening on him. But John kept going, milking Gale for all he had, playing with the same spot over and over until Gale was seeing white. His legs were trembling, trying to keep his lower body supported but to no avail.

“B-Bucky I’m close I can’t hold it-” a borderline scream punctured the room as Gale came, covering John’s hand and his stomach, dripping down onto the sheets beneath them.

“Did so good, Buck, so good for me. But we’re not done here.” John tugged off his undershirt, muscles flexing under his skin as he got off the bed. Gale looked over his shoulder, a confused look crossing his face. He couldn’t quite see John from this angle, making out an arm and a shoulder, but nothing coming clear until the man stepped off to the side. The sight of Bucky's naked body sent a rush of blood to his cock, how large he looked even without layers, how imposing he was. Gale could see the slight drops of sweat running down his stomach, trailing down into his nest of pubic hair sitting right at the top of his cock. The sheer size of him made him shutter, how thick each vein bulged out of the shaft.

“Need you Bucky, need you now,” Gale said, voice slightly rough. He shifted on his knees, hips moving side to side as he kept eye contact with the mountain of a man.

John didn’t say anything, feeling the bed dip below him as he once again settled back into place. He gave Gale’s cheeks a small slap, feeling the skin ripple under his palm.

“You ready for me love?” he asked, hunching himself over Gale’s back, lips pressed close to the shell of gales ear. His cock sitting heavy between Gale’s cheeks.

Gale gave him a quick nod, his left hand reaching back to grab at anything on John. The larger man gently smacked his hand away, lining himself up with Gale’s awaiting hole. He made sure to go slow, plastering himself against the smallest back as he sunk in. John shoved his nose into the crook of Gale’s neck, inhaling deeply and shoving himself in all the way.

Gale let out a cry, the stretch being so much more intense than what he was preparing for. He sucked in harsh, sharp breaths as John bottomed out. the weight on top of him added onto the growing pressure against his straining cock that was trapped between the mattress and his stomach.

“Feel so fucking good, Buck, so tight around me-” his hips pulling back and thrusting back in hard. “Like you were made for me, just me.. Your so fucking wet. Your pussy ate me up like it was nothing. My little cock warmer,” John growled, the words made gales brain foggy. His skin felt like it was on fire in the best way possible, like he was melting into bucky's grasp. His body jolted up the bed with each thrust John shoved into him, large hand intertwining their fingers as he managed to push Gale further into the sheets.

John used his other hand to wrap around Gale’s slender throat, squeezing slightly as he pulled them back up. He made sure they were still flush together, feeling Buck’s arch grow under him.

“Gonna get you knocked up princess, doesn’t that sound good? Have you swollen and round with my babies? Keep you pregnant and happy. I could suck on your tits when they hurt, let you fuck yourself on my fingers cause you can’t reach anymore. Fuck I just might have to do that. You’d be the prettiest mama anyone has ever seen. They’d want to touch you, keep you all to themselves, but your mine buck. All fucking mine.” Buckys thrusts became more and more erratic.

“Yours, all yours, Bucky, nobody has me but you,” Gale choked, precum glistening on the head of his cock. Tears streamed down his face as he reached back to grab onto Bucky’s neck, doing his best to try and meet his thrusts.

“I love you so much, Gale. I’d do anything for you. My sweet angel,” John panted, pressing kisses along gales cheeks and jaw, down to his neck. His hips jerked unevenly, his grip on gales throat growing tighter as his orgasm continued to build up.

Gale couldn’t say anything as more tears spewed down his cheeks, another scream passing his lips as he coated his stomach in another layer of cum. John finished not too far off, the constricting vice grip Gale’s hole had on him became too much, spilling inside of the smaller man.

Loosening his grip on Gale's throat, he laid them back down, keeping Gale close to his chest as he rolled them over onto their sides. Long fingers tracing ribs and hipbones before finally settling on laying to rest Gale’s waist.

They laid there for what seemed like ever without speaking, previous words hanging heavy in the air. They both knew how the other felt, but neither had been able to actually have the guts to speak it. Not to each other. The only way to describe how it felt was having one’s first love, the giddy and excitement of it.

Gale couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face, biting on his bottom lip as he rested his hand on top of John’s.

“I think you were right, John. If there were only two B-17’s left in the air, it would be you and me.” He gave John’s hand a squeeze. John didn’t say anything, but the smile pressing into his neck said everything he needed to hear.

#finally got some of my smut going in this fandom #gale needs to be feminized more #and John’s gonna do it for him #mota #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #buck x bucky #masters of the air #kay’s writing

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thegettingbyp2 · 4 months ago

Note

Begging for some more soft dom gale cleven

Be a Good Girl for Me

When you walked through the front door, you couldn’t stop the small frown from forming on your face out of confusion. You were usually greeted with the sound of the record player playing while Gale sat and read his book or got on with a couple of handy jobs around the house. Ever since he’d come back home, he liked to keep himself busy, liked to have noise around him to stop him from getting in his head.

‘Gale?’ you called softly, getting no reply. Quietly toeing off your shoes and leaving them by the door, you made your way through the house until you saw Gale sitting in his chair, a faraway look on his face that instantly let you know that he was thinking back to the war. ‘Honey?’ you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him, your hand coming out to gently rest on top of his.

The touch of your hand on his had Gale jolting out of his thoughts, his head lifting slightly to look at you, a warm smile appearing on his lips. ‘Hi, darling, how long have you been home?’ he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and letting his fingers trail gently down your cheek.

‘I’ve just got back, are you okay?’ you replied, bringing your hand to his cheek and gently tracing one of the scars on his face with your thumb.

‘I’m okay,’ he sighed, shooting you a sad smile, ‘just a bit stuck in my head today, I’ll be okay.’ Smiling softly at him, you slowly sank to your knees in-between his legs, your hands coming up to rest on his thighs. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, chuckling softly at you.

‘Wanna help you get out of your head,’ you said, letting your hands trail further up his legs until they reached the button of his trousers. Just as you were about to undo the button, Gale’s hands came out to circle your wrists, halting your movements and making you look up at him, confusion written all over your features.

‘Are you gonna be a good girl for me?’ he asked and you could hear the dominance creep into his voice, making you cave instantly.

‘Yes sir, I promise I’ll be good, just want to make you feel better,’ you replied immediately, making Gale let go of your wrists. The second your wrists were free, you undid the button and tugged his trousers and underwear down far enough to free his cock. As you wrapped your hand around him, Gale let out a groan as he let his head fall back to rest on the back of the chair.

‘Don’t tease, baby,’ Gale groaned as you slowly began to pump your hand up and down. Smiling at him, you leant down and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, suckling lightly and making him draw in a sharp breath, one of his hands already moving to land on top of your head.

You slowly moved your lips down his cock until you felt his tip nudge the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex. However, as you made to pull your head off of him, you felt his hand press down against the back of your head, keeping your firmly in place as you felt tears spring into your eyes. ‘Be a good girl for me,’ Gale reminded you. ‘Look at me.’

Bringing your tear-filled eyes up to meet his, Gale couldn’t stop his hips from bucking slightly at the sight of you; his cock fully down your throat, your eyes brimming with tears and your lips stretched perfectly around him. He brought his hand down to your mouth, running his thumb along your lips wrapped around him. ‘So fucking pretty,’ he murmured before pulling you off of his cock and you took the opportunity to fill your lungs with air once again.

As you went to wrap your lips back around him, you felt his hands tug you upwards until you were seated on his lap, straddling him as you felt his cock prod at your panty-clad pussy. ‘What are you doing?’ you asked as Gale ran his hands up your thighs, playing with the edges of your panties.

‘I can’t wait,’ he replied gruffly, hooking his finger in the crotch of your panties and pulling them to the side before running the tip of his cock through your slick folds and pressing himself against your entrance. ‘You ready?’ he asked, looking up at you.

‘Please,’ you whispered, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks, running your thumbs over both scars as you leaned in to press your lips against his. The moment your lips touched, Gale’s grip tightened on your hips as he began to pull you down onto him, making you moan into his mouth. Once you were fully seated in his lap, you moved your arms to drape over his shoulders as you began to move your hips against him.

‘You’re such a good girl for me,’ Gale cooed as he planted his feet on the floor and began to thrust up into you, causing your head to drop onto his shoulder as whimpers and moans spilled from your lips.

‘Only you,’ you whimpered as Gale ground his hips up into you, brushing against your g-spot. ‘Gale, I’m so close.’

‘You going to cum for me, sweet girl,’ he asked, panting slightly as he reached his end too. ‘Just hold on for me a little while longer, okay?’

‘I can’t,’ you whined as you felt your walls clamp around him.

‘Yes, you can, you’re my good girl, wait,’ he said, pressing his lips back to yours. It only took a couple more thrusts before Gale felt himself tip over the edge. ‘Cum for me,’ he murmured against your lips and that was all you needed to hear before you went falling over the edge with him, clinging to him as you both rode out your orgasms.

When you’d both come down, you moved your head to rest on his forehead as you gave him a shy smile. ‘Hi,’ you said coyly.

‘Hi,’ Gale replied, grinning at you, his expression happy, none of the worry or panic from before in his face. ‘Thank you,’ he sighed, lifting his hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm. ‘I don’t know what happened today, one minute I was fine and the next,’

‘It doesn’t matter, you don’t need to explain anything,’ you reassured him. ‘I’m just happy I could help you.’

‘I especially liked the way you decided to distract me,’ he murmured lowly as you felt his cock twitch inside you, getting ready for round two.

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

Text

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2961

warnings/notes: violence, murder, blood, death, mentions of abuse

Chapter 2: A Desperate Call

Bonnie Barlow. His Bonnie. After what felt like an eternity, she was finally on the other end of the call. Her voice, like a gentle melody, washed over him and brought back memories of happier times. But underlying that beauty was an unmistakable panic. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His heart hammered against his chest, threatening to burst out as he stumbled across the room, frantically reaching for his jacket once more. Through the phone, he could hear her soft sobs, tears evident in every quiver of her voice. He had to get to her, no matter what obstacles lay in his path.

“What’s wrong, Bon?” His voice quivered with emotion as he made his way back out the door.

“I need you, Austin…” Her words were muffled by her sobs, but each one pierced through him like a dagger. He knew he had to get to her quickly.

The sound of her heart-wrenching sobs cut through him like a knife. “Please, baby…tell me where you are.” He pleaded, his heart pounding in his chest. The thought of her being in danger made it difficult for him to catch his breath. Bonnie remained silent, and for a brief moment, he feared she had ended the call. With trembling hands, he pulled the phone away from his cheek and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the call was still connected. Bonnie leaned in close, her voice a low whisper as she recited the unfamiliar address. Austin's fingers flew over the keys of his GPS, determined to reach this mysterious destination. He didn't dare hang up the phone, afraid that he might lose contact with Bonnie forever.

Like a bullet fired from a gun, Austin tore down the road on his sleek motorcycle. He weaved between cars and disregarded any semblance of traffic laws. The roar of the engine echoed off the buildings. If a police car had spotted him, they hadn't bothered to give chase. And even if they had tried, he wouldn't have stopped anyway for them tonight.

As Austin rode, the cool breeze whipped past him, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. The dark expanse of night enveloped him like a shroud, making the world seem surreal and hazy. But his mind was focused on one thing - Bonnie. Her soft voice still echoed in his ear and the sound of her heartrending sobs reverberated through his mind. He gripped his bike's handlebars tightly, feeling the worn leather of his riding gloves beneath his fingers. As he picked up speed, the engine's growl grew louder and more urgent, matching the racing beat of his heart. His gut twisted with unease as he drew closer to the unfamiliar address, a nagging feeling gnawing at him that something was dreadfully wrong. Finally, the building came into view as he rounded a corner - an old house nestled in the middle of the dense woods. Its decrepit walls and windows gave off an eerie aura, adding to Austin's growing sense of unease.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he brought the bike to a stop and hopped off, feeling the weight of his body shift as he landed on the ground. Without hesitation, he flipped up the kickstand and grabbed his phone, grateful once again that the call was still connected. “I think I’m here.” As he jogged towards the front steps, his breath quickened with anticipation.

With a creak of protest, the old door to the house slowly opened, revealing Bonnie's haggard appearance. Her clothes were torn and blood stained, while her face was marred with deep bruises and dried blood. Her usually radiant features were now twisted in pain and fear as she stood in the doorway.

Austin's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, pounding with such force that he could feel it reverberating through every inch of his body. The blood in his veins turned to ice and a shiver ran down his spine as he saw the pure terror in Bonnie's once bright eyes.

His legs moved forward on their own accord, driven by an overwhelming need to protect her. But as he reached out for her, his hands trembled with fear and hesitation, afraid that she would break apart at his touch. The pain etched on her face tore at his soul, threatening to consume him with its intensity like a raging fire.

Bonnie managed a weak smile, her lips trembling with agony. "Austin," she whispered hoarsely, her voice strained from holding back tears. She looked up at him, determination shining through the fear in her eyes. With all her strength, she threw herself into his arms, clinging onto him as if her life depended on it. "I'm so glad you're here," she cried out.

Austin's powerful arms envelop Bonnie's broken body, cradling her with a fierce protectiveness. She is his everything, and the sight of her battered and bruised fills him with a boiling rage. The sweet scent of wildflowers and fresh rain that clings to her skin only intensifies his desperation to make things right for her.

"What the hell happened to you, Bonnie?" His voice trembles with emotion as he presses his lips against her hair, trying to absorb all of her pain and suffering. She shudders in response, seeking solace in his embrace as she buries her face against his chest, unable to put into words the horror she has endured.

"In...inside," Bonnie muttered, her voice barely audible. She pulls away, wincing at the pain that follows, and starts to lead him inside the decaying house.

His blue eyes scan the room, taking in the dimly lit interior. Every corner seemed steeped in shadows, shrouding the room in an ominous veil. An uncomfortable chill fills the air. He steps inside cautiously, his boots making soft thuds against the wooden floorboards.

And then, he sees it. In the middle of the room laid a body, cold and lifeless. The man’s face is stuck in a permanent grimace, eyes wide open in terror as if he were still trapped in the moment of his death. A knife protrudes from his chest, glinting menacingly under the faint light from the overhead lamp.

Bonnie's voice caught in her throat as she whispered, "His name is Liam. We started dating a year ago."

Austin's gaze remained cool and unmoved, despite the lifeless body lying on the floor between them. "Did he do that to you?" he asked, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

Bonnie nodded, tears streaming down her face as she recounted the horror of her recent encounter with Liam. "He was so angry...I could see it in his eyes. He was going to kill me this time, I just know it. I didn't have a choice," she sobbed, her body shaking with fear and regret. The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on them, carrying the weight of Bonnie's pain and trauma. She couldn't bear to look at the body on the floor any longer, but she knew she would carry its image with her for a long time to come.

“This time?” Austin growled, his anger bubbling up like a volcano ready to erupt. He longed for the satisfaction of killing the jackass all over again, cursing the fact that he was already dead. How dare he lay a hand on her, let alone think about hurting her? Every muscle in Austin's body tensed as he fought to contain his rage, but his grip on self-control was slipping fast. The mere thought of someone harming her sent a wave of fury through him.

Bonnie nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor as she began to recount the numerous times Liam's outbursts had gotten out of hand. He had always been quick to anger, but in that moment, he was a different person - a monster. And in her fight for survival, Bonnie too had become a monster.

Austin's grip on Bonnie tightened as he processed her words. The image of this petite woman having to defend herself against a man like Liam infuriated him beyond measure. "You did what you had to do," he said, attempting to offer some comfort, but his voice was lined with an undercurrent of beastly rage. Not only had this despicable individual caused her physical pain, but he had also manipulated her to do the one thing she had always feared: take a life. As a blood born werewolf, taking a life meant triggering the dreaded werewolf curse itself. No longer could she hide behind human form - on the next full moon, she would transform into her true beastly self for the first time.

The thought sent shivers of dread down her spine as she remembered the stories her father had told her about the uncontrollable rage and carnage that accompanied the first transformation. "Austin," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I'm scared." Her eyes were pleading, filled with terror at the thought of her impending transformation. Her heart pounded in her chest like a wild drum, echoing the dreadful rhythm of her fate.

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Bonnie's eyes. He was a leader, a protector, and seeing her in such torment was more than he could bear. "Listen to me," Austin said firmly, cupping her chin to make her look at him. His gaze bore into hers, the intensity making her breath hitch. "You're not going through this alone. I'm here. I'll help you."

The promise in his voice was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the storm that raged within Bonnie’s soul. But despite his reassurance, she couldn't shake off the fear that clenched around her heart like a cold fist.

Austin kept her gaze on him purposely using his body to shield her from the sight of

Liam’s dead body lying on the floor behind him. “Go pack your stuff.”

“But what about…?” She trailed off, trying to see Liam's lifeless body on the floor.

He firmly refused, determined to protect Bonnie from any further pain. “I’ll take care of it. Go, now.”

With no energy left to argue, Bonnie nodded and swiftly disappeared behind a nearby door to begin packing her belongings. Left alone with Liam and his blood-stained body on the floor, Austin looked down. He didn’t even feel sorry for him. With a deadly calm, Austin approached the body. His nostrils flared at the scent of fresh blood and death filling the room. His instincts were pulling him in two directions. The werewolf inside him was poised to revel in such carnage, yet the man in him recoiled at the sight of what Bonnie had been driven to do. The room was silent save for the faint rustling from the other room where Bonnie was packing. A shiver of disgust went down Austin's spine as he stood over Liam's lifeless body, his cold eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. The blood under his chest had already begun to coagulate, darkening the pale wooden floor beneath him. Austin's jaw clenched with fury, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the man who laid a hand on Bonnie.

Kneeling down, Austin pulled the knife free from Liam’s chest with an efficient tug. The metal looked cold and unforgiving in the dim light, a stark contrast against the spreading crimson stain on Liam’s shirt. He wrapped the knife carefully in a rag he found lying haphazardly on one of the chairs. Austin stepped away and made his way to the back room where they kept the cleaning supplies. He returned with a bucket of water, bleach and a brush. The sight of Liam's lifeless body greeted him again, but with grim determination he set to work, methodically scrubbing away the blood. When he was done, he made quick work of dragging the body outside and rolling it into a nearby river. It would be so destroyed by the elements that the police would never figure out what had actually killed him. The silent night held its breath as the lifeless body of Liam disappeared beneath the dark, churning waters. Bonnie’s haunting cries of despair seemed to echo in his ears as Austin stood there, watching the river claim its gruesome prize. A sudden rage roared through him, a savage desire to tear everything apart with his bare hands for what had been done to Bonnie. But he reined it in, focusing on the task ahead. He returned to the cabin, ignoring the lingering smell of fear and death, and grabbed a bag of lime from their utility shed. The sharp stench of bleach still hung heavy in the air while he went about covering the patch of the floor where Liam had lain with lime. It would speed up the decomposition process and help eliminate remaining traces of blood or odor that might lead anyone to them.

As he finished, a soft sound from behind made him stiffen. He turned around slowly, finding Bonnie standing at the entrance of the small living room, her wavy hair cascading over her shoulders like a protective curtain, dark eyes wide and shining in the pale light. Her small frame was covered in a loose cardigan despite the muggy summer heat outside, as if she was trying to shield herself from her own actions.

“It’s done,” Austin announced quietly.

Bonnie nodded, her gaze averted from the spot where moments before Liam's lifeless body had laid. She clung to the straps of her bag like a lifeline, her knuckles white from the strain. The comforting presence of Austin was the only thing that stopped her from collapsing under the weight of her guilt and fear.

Austin moved towards her, moving slowly as if not to startle a skittish deer. He reached out and took her bag from her trembling hands then wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. For a moment, Bonnie stiffened under his touch but slowly relaxed, allowing herself to lean into his warmth.

"We need to leave," Austin said quietly, his voice soothing in the otherwise silent cabin. “You can hide out at my place.”

“What about the gang?” Bonnie's mind was overwhelmed with all that was going on, but she couldn't push aside the thought of her pack. As the alpha, Austin was responsible for punishing deserters and loyalty meant everything to their kind. If they found out about Bonnie, they would expect Austin to execute her as punishment. She knew he would never harm her, let alone kill her. His position as alpha would be threatened, and his loyalty to the pack would be questioned.

His voice was firm, allowing no room for argument. “They don’t have to know that you’re staying there. For now, we just need to focus on getting you through the next few days. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Bonnie found solace in his resolve. His confidence was contagious, and despite her trembling heart, he made her feel safe. Austin had always been a rock in her life; looking at him now, she felt hope bloom within her."Alright," she whispered, nodding. Her trust in him was implicit, thought not without fear. But if there was anyone she could rely on in this treacherous journey, it was Austin. A tear slipped down her cheek as the reality of her situation began to sink in further. She felt Austin's grip tighten around her, as if he could sense her internal struggle.

Bonnie looked up at Austin, suddenly consumed by an inexplicable urge to memorize his face. The sharp contours of his jawline that made women weak, his intense blue eyes that reflected loyalty and a steadfastness she could always count on. His blonde hair that fell onto his forehead, stubbornly refusing to be tamed. Despite the harsh exterior, there was a kindness that lurked beneath the surface. A kindness that compelled him to risk everything for her.

Austin looked down at Bonnie's tear-streaked face and felt a familiar ache in his chest. Over the years, he had watched her grow into a beautiful woman who deserved so much more than the hand life had dealt her. He couldn't help but feel responsible for bringing this darkness into her life. It was the curse they both carried within them - their shared lineage as werewolves. But it was this same curse that drew them to each other. Bonnie, the girl who was afraid of her own strength, and Austin, the man who was too strong for his own good. Both were anomalies in their own world. He was a hardened gang leader with a heart that bled for Bonnie; she was a runaway who ran straight into Austin’s arms. It seemed like fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Austin led her towards his motorcycle, parked just beyond the cabin’s porch. The roar of its engine echoed through the silent woods as it rumbled to life. The sound seemed to pierce the eerily calm night and Bonnie wondered if it was a precursor to the storm that was about to break in her life.

“Austin,” Bonnie started as she hopped onto the seat behind him, wrapping her arms around his lean waist for support as he began to pull away from the cabin. Her voice couldn’t hide the tremble in it, yet she continued on bravely, “Thank you.”

Austin didn’t respond immediately - he didn’t need to. His hand came to rest over hers where it held onto him tightly from behind and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The message was clear: he would protect her, no matter what cost he had to pay.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

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