#i think i'm always in marge's pov because she's got such a view of the whole thing

[sweaterkittensahoy]

prompt: cleganmarge

buck is a pretty reserved person, but the longer he knows bucky and marge, he becomes more comfortable with himself and expressing his feelings

[Okay, this isn't a full look at this idea, which is lovely. But please consider this the first time Gale opened up and how well it all went in the long run; one smutty scene]

A few months into dating Gale, Marge can tell something is bothering him, but when she asks, he assures her he's fine. The thing is, he's not. Marge is certain. But he won't talk about it. So, one night when they're out to dinner with John, Marge waits for Gale to excuse himself to the restroom, then leans across the table and says, "John, does Gale talk to you when he's feeling off?"

John squints at her. "Is he off?" He asks. 

"No, not right now," Marge says. "But when we're alone sometimes, I can tell something is bothering him, but he won't say what it is."

"Oh," John says. He straightens up and leans forward so they're nearly nose-to-nose. "Okay, so you have to tell him he has to talk to you about it."

"What?"

"I know it seems rude, but he'll say he's fine if he's got two broken legs and a head wound." 

Marge giggles. "Yes, that feels very true."

John beams at her, and Marge thinks for a moment how much she likes him. He's so welcoming and sweet, A little wild, but nothing to fear. She's set him up twice since she and Gale started dating, and both of her friends reported he's a real true gentleman even when he's well into the evening. 

"But if you tell him he has to tell you, he can't pretend like he's covering his feelings because you've admitted really clearly that you've seen them."

"How did you figure that out?" Marge asks. She's surprised when John suddenly looks away from her and leans back a little. Like he's embarrassed. She is certain she has never seen him embarrassed.

"Just got lucky," he says. He clears his throat. "Here he comes," he says. 

Marge straightens up and takes a sip of her water as Gale sits back down. 

"Where were you two up to?" he asks. 

"Nothing," John says. He throws his arm over the empty chair next to him. Marge mentally lists her single friends, trying to pair any of them with John. 

"Uh-huh," Gale says, and his arm settles warm and comfortable on the back of Marge's chair. "Whatever scheme he's brewing, don't trust him, Marge."

She grins at Gale and touches his knee. "Oh, come on, let a girl have a little fun."

"Felonies are fun?" Gale replies, which makes John chuckle. 

Marge shrugs. "It's only a felony if you get caught, Gale."

"Smart," John says, pointing at Marge. And it's her turn to laugh. 

*

Two nights later, Gale shows up to take Marge to a movie. He's off again, though as sweet and considering as always. Marge doesn't say anything about it until after the movie. They're parked outside of town, tucked down an access road Marge led Gale to. 

"And how would a sweet girl like you know a place like this?" Gale teases as he slides across the seat. 

Marge meets him halfway and presses her hand to his chest. "You know sweet and naive aren't the same thing," she replies. She touches her thumb to his mouth before he can kiss her and get her distracted. "You're not okay tonight," she says. "You're off like you get sometimes, Gale. I need you to talk to me about it." 

He goes very still, then he turns his head, Marge's thumb slipping off his mouth. "You sound like John," he says like it's hard to say. 

"I asked for help on how to talk to you," Marge says. "I figured if anyone knew, it'd be him."

Gale grips his own knee. "Marge. It's–"

"I love you, Gale," Marge says. "You've said it back to me, and I know you wouldn't do that lightly–"

"No, no I wouldn't."

"So, let me love you," Marge says. "Talk to me about what's bothering you."

Gale stares out of the windshield for another minute. Marge waits, her hand back on his chest so he hopefully won't fall completely into his own head. "I love John," he says finally. It's a whisper, but it's clear and sure. "I thought I loved him like you love a friend, but…" He glances at Marge, eyes taking in her face. Marge keeps herself still, determined to give him room to speak. "I love you, Marge. I do. But, you…" He glances out the back window, and he lifts his hand from his knee and places it over Marge's on his chest. His heart is hammering, and Marge wants to soothe him, but he's clearly not done talking. 

"I get confused sometimes, looking at you and being with you. Because you feel like John, and he feels like you, and I don't…I don't know what that means. I don't know how to explain it more than that, so I haven't wanted to explain it."

"Okay," Marge says. She turns her hand to take Gale's. "You're sure you feel the same for us?" she asks. "That you're…romantically interested in both of us?"

Gale nods. He's still staring out the back window. "I've worked it over and over," he says. "I think about how I feel about the other fellas. I love them, but like brothers. Friends. Not. Not like this." He looks at her finally, and his eyes are bright and scared, and oh, her heart breaks for him, carrying this in silence for so long. "Not like you." He says.

Marge reaches up and pulls Gale towards her. She kisses his cheek and makes him rest his head on her shoulder. "Have you told John?" she asks. 

"No," Gale says. "But. Um." He breathes out shakily. "We've kissed a few times," he says. "Not since you and I started seeing each other, but we used to sometimes." 

Marge lets that idea settle. Gale and John have kissed. Gale is in love with John like he is with her. "Were you hoping I'd make it go away? Your feelings for John?"

"I didn't know what they were until I met you. I really thought it was just…I don't know. Extra friendly?"

A giggle escapes Marge. She doesn't mean it to, but she's as tense as Gale. And, what a way to say it. "Extra friendly?" she asks. "Did you want to kiss the other boys you're friendly with?"

"None of the ones on base," Gale says. 

"Oh," Marge breathes out. She lifts Gale's head from her shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart," she says. He doesn't meet her eyes. "There were other ones? Before John?"

"Just a couple. I didn't…we moved a lot when I was growing up, so I didn't have any long-time friends. But there were a couple…" 

"Did you kiss them, too?"

"No," Gale says, and Marge thinks about her own crushes when she was younger. Boys she wanted to kiss but didn't for some reason. She touches Gale's chin, and turns his head until he can't help but look at her. "You wanted to, though, didn't you?"

"Looking back, yeah," he says. He closes his eyes. He doesn't try to turn his head away. 

Marge isn't entirely sure what to do with everything he's said. But she can feel that her feelings for Gale haven't changed even a little. She slides her fingers from his chin to his cheek, presses her thumb to his lips again. "Do you kiss John like you kiss me?" she asks. 

Gale's eyes snap open, and Marge is struck by the realization that she and Gale and John all have blue eyes. She learned in high school science that blue eyes are pretty rare. She doesn't believe in signs or anything like that. But it's interesting to realize. She has blue eyes. Gale has blue eyes. John has blue eyes. 

"Kiss me like you kiss John," she says. "I'll tell you if you do."

Gale stares, mouth falling open as his breath quickens. "Marge. I don't need–You're–"

"I need it," she says because she does. She needs to know. Gale says he loves them the same way, but do they kiss the same way? Or is it different somehow? "Please, Gale, I won't ask ever again after this."

He nods slowly. "Do you want…um. Usually I sat in his lap." 

"Usually?" Marge asks as she shifts. She sits up straight against the seat back and lays her arms along the top like she can picture John doing. 

"There wasn't always a place to sit," Gale replies. He stares at her. He licks his lips. "Um. That's. You look really pretty, Marge."

She smiles and tilts her head in the way she knows flatters her. "Come here, Gale," she says. "Kiss me." 

Gale throws a leg over her lap and settles in, head tipped down towards her, and his arms going over the back of the seat. "John likes my waist," he says. 

Marge can't help her smirk. She likes Gale's waist, too. It's so narrow, so grabbable. She puts her hands on his waist like he does her, holding him with what she hopes is an easy firmness and care. "Like that?" 

"Yeah," Gale says. He takes a deep breath, and he shakes from head to toe, and Marge can't help but press her mouth against his collarbone in a reassuring touch. "Marge," Gale breathes out. 

She tips her chin up and squeezes his hips. "Kiss me," she says.

He cups the back of her head in both hands and kisses her, mouth firm against her for a moment, before he breathes in through his nose and opens his lips just a little. He presses the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip, then slides his mouth so he's kissing just the corner on the right side. 

Marge slides her hands up his back and digs her fingertips into his skin through his shirt. She sucks lightly on his bottom lip and tips her head when he slips his tongue into her mouth. She slides her own tongue against him, then sucks lightly. It makes him shiver like it always does, and she grabs his belt and tugs him close enough that her breasts are pressed against his chest.

"Gale," she sighs. It feels exactly as good as it always does, making her entire body tingle in reaction. And Gale is kissing her the same as ever. Sweet and teasing and warm and heavy. Single-focused and devoted. The only difference is the angle. That Gale is on her lap other than the other way around. 

This is how he kisses John.

Marge can picture it as Gale ducks his head to kiss her neck and drags his hands down her front to knead her breasts. "Do you touch John like this?" she asks, her fingers slipping behind his belt and waistband. Gale shakes at the question and bites on her shoulder through her dress. Marge turns her head and nips the top of his ear. Something she's done with other boys but not Gale. Not until now. 

Gale chokes, and his thumbs rub Marge's nipples through her dress and her slip and her bra. A heavier caress than he usually uses. Like he knows it takes a little extra effort to be felt through a few layers. 

He's touched John exactly like this. Marge is certain. She presses a hard kiss to his temple, then lets go of his belt to touch him through his slacks. 

"Marge–" he says, strangled and breathy. 

She keeps touching him, tracing the shape of his hard cock with two fingers over and over. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck as he pants in her ear. "Has he ever touched you like this?" she asks as Gale pushes against her fingers and shakes from head to toe. 

"No. No. We haven't. We never–"

"I wonder how his hands feel," Marge says, words tumbling out before she can stop them. Gale chokes and goes still. His hands go slack against her breasts. Marge keeps rubbing him. "His hands are so large," she continues. "Do you ever think about that?"

Gale whines and gasps, and then there's wetness on the front of his slacks. Marge looks up to meet his shocked, wide-open eyes and shifts her hand so she can press her entire palm against the dampness she can feel. 

"What–"

Marge is wet herself, and the realization makes her throw her head back and stare at the ceiling of the car. She flexes her thighs a few times, feeling the zip of arousal spark through her.

"Marge," Gale says after a few moments. 

Marge meets his gaze. "Gale," she replies. 

"I…What was that?"

Marge doesn't know, but her instinct tells her she better find out. "I don't know," she admits. "But I still love you, Gale. I don't see you any differently."

"Really?"

"You said you love us the same. You kiss us the same, it seems. I think…" She thinks of John's smile. His warmth. That bit of wildness in him that is fun but not dangerous. Or maybe it's dangerous in a very specific way. A type of dangerous worth learning to work with. "I think I should talk to John," she says. 

Gale stares at her. He takes a slow, deep breath, and he seems to forcibly release the tension he's holding. "If that's what you want to do," he says. "I trust you."

"I trust you," she replies because she thinks he needs to hear it. The way he smiles, she knows she was right. 

*

It's easy enough to see John alone. Marge's roommate is going out of town to see her husband on his base four hours away, so Marge has the apartment to herself for several days. She has Gale tell John to show up at four on Tuesday, and John does. 

"Okay, if this is a surprise party, you're way off on my birthday," John says when Marge answers the door. He's in his uniform and looks as handsome as ever, but Marge swears he's even better looking now that she knows he's kissed Gale. 

"Come in, John," she says and steps aside so he can. 

He walks over the threshold and takes a hand from behind his back. There's a single tulip in a bud vase. "I always like to bring something the first time I'm invited over," he says. 

"You've been here before," Marge says as she takes the vase. She smells the tulip and smiles. It's bright yellow and still mostly closed. It'll open up over the next several days and look lovely on the kitchen table. 

"That was always at the end of the evening with Buck," John says. "This is the first time I got a personal invitation."

He's so sweet, Marge thinks. Realizing something so small and wanting to mark it. "Thank you," she says. "That's very sweet."

John looks around the room. "Nothing to it," he says, but she catches the way he rubs his thumb against his other fingers. A little nervous movement, she thinks. 

"John, are you nervous?" she asks because John had been the one to tell her to be direct with Gale. No reason not to treat him the way he'd treat Gale. 

He looks at her, bites his bottom lip, then shrugs and chuckles. "A little, yeah," he says. "We've never been alone. I'm hoping I'm not about to hear you need help breaking things off with Buck."

"Has someone done that to you before?" Marge asks, shocked. 

"Not for Buck. You're the first one I've ever seen turn his head, but a couple of times with other fellas, yeah." 

Marge can't help the warm surge of pride of being the only one to have turned Gale's head. Except for John. But of course John won't tell her that. It wouldn't be polite. It wouldn't be kind. "I don't like that people only invited you over to help you cut ties with someone. What a mean thing to do." For a moment, John looks shocked, but then it's off his face like a blink. 

"I'm very charming," he says, and gives a sweeping bow.

Marge laughs because it's clearly what John is looking for. "Well, you're here because I like you and just wanted to talk a little," she says. "And not about getting rid of Gale. I plan to keep him for a very long time." She gestures for John to follow her as she walks to the kitchen. 

"Good. That's good. He needs someone like you, Marge."

"Like me how?" Marge asks as she sets the bud vase on the table. "Sit, please. Coffee?"

"Coffee would be great," John says and sits. It's a little two-person table, and he looks so large sitting there. Marge feels her heart speed up at the sight of him lit up by the windows. He's so handsome. Different than Gale, but in similar ways. Tall and blue-eyed and loose-limbed. "I mean someone like you," he says as Marge pours them both coffee. "You're smart and you're sweet and you're kind. He needs that."

"So do you," Marge replies as she sets down their coffees then takes her own seat. She waits for John to take a sip and then put down his cup. "And you're not listing anything you're not, so I don't know that Gale even needs me."

John stares at her. "Huh?" he says. 

Marge takes her own sip of coffee, then sets the cup out of the way so she can lay her hands on the table. "You're smart and sweet and kind, John. You're allowed to want that back."

John blinks and taps a finger on the table. "I mean, sure. Who doesn't? But we're talking about Buck. Not me."

"I'm talking about you," Marge says. She folds her hands one over the other. She takes a deep breath. "Gale loves me," she says. 

"Of course he does," John replies. "You're not thinking he doesn't aren't you? Because let me tell you–"

"And I love him," Marge adds, and John goes silent. His finger presses so hard against the table the tip turns white. "And he told me you and he used to kiss sometimes."

John swallows hard. "Marge, I can–"

"I asked him to kiss me like he kissed you," Marge says. "Do you want me to show you?"

John goes very quiet and very still. 

"He told me he loves me the way he loves you. But he didn't even know how he loved you until he realized he loved me," Marge says. John's cheeks are pinking. He's still not moving. But he's also not leaving or interrupting. "I asked him to kiss me like he kissed you, and he did." She smiles, hoping John will relax a little. 

He doesn't. Tense as a bowstring. But he takes a few deep breaths through his nose, then says, "What'd you think?" he asks, trying for humor, but it's strangled.

Marge's smile widens. "It felt the same as when he kisses me. Well, except he was on my lap, and it's usually the other way around."

"He was…on your lap?"

"You know our Gale," Marge says, glad she's worked the 'our' into the conversation. She'd tried a few ways in her head to slip it in. "He's detail-oriented."

John barks a laugh, and then his whole body relaxes, and he droops forward and puts his head in his hands. "You don't strike me as a bohemian, Marge."

"Is that what it is to be glad we can both love him?" Marge asks. "Because that's what I'd like to do."

John looks at her between his fingers. "You'd be okay with–" He presses his mouth closed. 

Marge stands and walks around the table, trailing her fingers on the wood, the shadow of the bud vase draping over her hand for a moment. She stops at the edge of John's boots. She looks at him. He looks at her. "I like you a lot, John. I like the way you're a little wild, but you're sweet. You're kind. You care. I've been trying to figure out which of my friends to set you up with next, and no one quite fits."

"I'm too handsome?"

Marge chuckles and reaches out, touches his chin the way she touches Gale's. John turns his face into it, and Marge isn't in love with him, but the chances of it happening get brighter in her chest. "You helped me talk to Gale," she says. "You kissed him first and still gave him a real chance with me. You make him laugh and help him relax and make him feel good about himself."

"It's easy," John says. "You know."

"I know," Marge agrees. She presses her thumb to his lips. He kisses it like it's not even a thought. "I want to try to love him together, and to love each other," she says. "I don't know what that looks like or what it'll feel like, or even if it's truly doable, but I think maybe I can't find someone to set you up with because I want you with me. With us."

John reaches out. His hand is shaking. But he curls his fingers around Marge's waist with surety. "Gotta say, Marge. Never would have guessed you'd pitch such a crazy plan."

Marge smiles and shifts a little closer. Dips down and presses her nose to John's forehead. "I'm a little wild," she says. "But not in a bad way." 

John brings his other hand up to her waist and gives a small tug. Marge lets him lead her into his lap. "What does he kiss you like?" John asks. 

And Marge is certain, as she bends her head to show him, that they'll all get to love each other and feel good about it.