Chapter Text
They part after the war, it happens with little fanfare, Buck goes back to Wyoming and Bucky Wisconsin.He had known this day was coming, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. He'd let himself believe they could be together in the Stalag, but Buck had set him straight after their escape. He might be okay one day, without Buck, but that day was far away. That much he did know.
He's only home a week before he can't stand being in the house with his Ma- he loves her to death but he's met drill sergeants less annoying. So he finds a rental house not too far away from the lake and moves into it alone. It's odd being the only person in a building, he hadn't been truly alone anywhere since he enlisted in 1941. The house creaks when the wind blows and he takes to keeping the radio on so he doesn't jump at every noise.
As much as he'd longed for space and privacy he finds he just feels lonely.
The days pass, he gets a stupid job and goes back to his stupid rental house. Gets a drink at a stupid bar. Falls asleep alone in his stupid bed. Everything is stupid and he counts the days since he last saw Buck. It's pathetic, he knows it is, but it's something to do. Maybe if he can make it to fifty it'll hurt less. If he can make it fifty days without Buck, he can make it fifty more. That's what he tells himself anyway.
They say time heals all wounds and he hopes it's true. But now, everything feels empty and stupid and meaningless.
On day Forty-six, his Ma comes to visit and brings his mail. There are a few letters from the Veterans Administration, a letter from Alex, a reply from Tommy, and a letter from Buck. He has to try with everything in him to not tear it open as soon as she hands it to him. He's proud of himself that he manages to wait until she leaves.
John,
I meant to write sooner, but I wasn't sure what to say, still don't, but here it goes-
Saw my Ma, she's happy to have me home and I guess I'm happy to be home, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do now that the war's over. Do I stay in the military? Go back to school? Teach? For all the things they trained us for in the war, they never trained us for coming home. Hope you are doing well.
Buck
It's nothing. It's barely even a letter. Buck had always been a man of few words but John still wished it had been more. He allows himself to lean forward and press his nose against the paper, as he'd seen Buck do so many times before to Marge's letters, but there's no aftershave, just the crisp smell of paper. He won't let himself be disappointed.
He does note the absence of any mention of a wedding, or Marge, but he won't let him read too much into it. Part of surviving is not allowing himself to apply meanings to things that don't have any. Like Buck not mentioning Marge, or Buck saying, what felt like a lifetime ago, that he felt the same way Bucky did.
Buck was probably just trying to spare his feelings. It's been more than a month since they arrived home and no doubt, Buck and Marge had gotten married straight away and Buck just didn't mention it to avoid having to walk back asking him to be his best man.
He sits down at his writing desk and starts a letter back.
Buck,
It's good to hear from you. I'm in the same boat you are. I don't know what to do with myself. I'm not smart like you, and I've got no head for school. Only things I'm good at are drinking and flying, and I think they'll only pay me for one of those. But I figure I can get a job doing, well, something. Not sure what yet.
Only spent a week at home. My Ma wouldn't give me an inch of space, and I thought the Stalags were bad. So I moved into town, I'm renting a house, you can even see the lake if you stand in the right window. Including my new address and phone.
YoBucky
He could start again, write another copy without his mistakes, but for some reason he wants Buck to know, he wants Buck to see his name in Bucky's chicken scratch handwriting and the beginning of Yours, and know that what had happened between them had meant something, still meant something to him.
Once it's sealed up and sent off, John counts the days until he hears from Buck again. He second-guesses himself, maybe it's been stupid and obvious to send the letter like he did, or maybe Buck would just ignore him again. He doesn't really know what he wants to happen.
On day Sixty-two, there is another letter from Buck in his mailbox. Its appearance loosens the knot that had been sitting inside his chest since he'd posted the last letter.
Dear John,
Don't sell yourself short, you're plenty smart and don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise! Not only are you smart, but you're a leader. You're someone men follow because they want to, not just because they're told to. After what the world's just been through we could use more people like you to put us back right.
I've applied to some schools looking to get my MBA. Might even live on campus, or near it. You think those young college kids will wanna hang out with an old man like me? I was never as charming as you, I doubt they will.
I never thought it would be this damn hard to come home. After years of being surrounded by people, basically piled on top of one another, it feels weird to have all this space to myself. All this quiet.
Buck.
Buck's belief in him always leaves him in awe, what did he ever do to deserve a friend like Buck Cleven? The letter brings a smile. He's so happy to hear that Buck has decided on something, Buck is too smart to sit in Wyoming doing nothing. But it must be a joke, Gale thinking he was less charming than him.
It's nice to know that he's not alone in having troubles coming home, it's nice to have Buck be able to share the struggles with him. He feels more relaxed when he writes back,
Buck, Buck, Buck!
Dear John? Really? You trying to break my heart? Don't scare a guy like that!
I know what you mean though, I miss the men, too. We're all so far apart now. Living alone in this house, it's both too quiet and too loud.
I heard from Crosby, he's got a little guy now, from the letter the little man seems to be keeping him on his toes, he's exhausted but he swears that it still isn't as bad as D-day. He told me that Rosie went back to Germany and he's lawyering the trials of those Nazi assholes, good for him.
I write Alex too! He's doing good, married his sweetheart, and thinking about becoming a school teacher. He asked if I wanted to come out to Detroit! I was thinking of going in the late summer, the Tigers aren't my team, but I'd still go and watch 'em if there's a game going on. Haven't heard much from anyone else, but that's how it goes right? You separate you lose touch.
Don't you worry, you'll have your pick of the litter when those schools finally get back to you. And what's this about people not liking you? There ain't no one in this whole goddamn world who could ever dislike Buck Cleven. I know that for a fact.You've got a certain charm about you, I mean, we're friends, right? And you don't even like baseball! You gotta have a hell of a personality for me to overlook a flaw like that!
John.
P.S. What's Marge gonna think of living on campus?
He doesn't get a response after that.
The months pass, and he counts the days, and he wonders if he'll get a letter or call from Buck asking him to come out to Wyoming for his wedding. Or even just a response to his last letter. He waits for a call he knows probably won't come, he doesn't even know if Buck has a house phone, he was lucky to get one in his rental.
All he knows is if Buck does ask him to be his best man, he'll go, he can't say no. He'll pack up his dress uniform and put on his best and brightest smile. That's if he hasn't already gotten married. (Bucky doesn't dwell too much on that thought)
To his math, the day count goes well into triple digits with no response. After a few whiskeys, he wonders if maybe Buck has forgotten all about him. If, after a few letters, Buck decided he didn't want someone like him in his life at all. A drinker, a gambler, a queer. If having someone like him in his life was too much of a liability.
The haze of alcohol is making the edges of his brain fuzzy, but he can't stop thinking about Buck's lack of response. He can't think of a damn thing he's put in his last letter that would have made Buck mad enough to ignore him. So he weighs his options, wonders if he should send another letter- letters get lost, right? They disappear all the time. He decides to try again.
Dear Buck,
Did you forget about your old pal, Bucky? I haven't heard-
He tears it up and tries again.
Buck,
I know you're busy getting ready for school, and with Marge, and-
He tears that on up too. He tries again after another shot of whiskey.
Buck, I'm sorry.
Nope. Again. He pours a double this time.
I miss you, Buck pleas-
Another try. Another shot.
Gale,
There are times when I try to remember who I was before the war, but all I can remember is you saying that this would be the version of me worth knowing. Do you still believe that?
Yours,
Bucky
He stumbles down to the post box and sends the letter before he has a chance to second-guess himself.
Each day that passes makes him feel a little emptier. Eventually, he stops hoping Buck will contact him. It's late spring now and the days are creeping towards the three-hundreds. He's always been a betting man, always believing in the most minute chances, but even he knows the odds aren't in his favor in this.
But there had been so many things he had been right about- being the last B-17s in the sky, they were the last to take off at Thorpe Abbotts and the last to land. He was right about making it through the war. He'd bet on him and Buck more times than he could count, but his luck had finally run out. There was no more him and Buck. There was just him and then there was just Buck.
It's mid-April and it's somehow warm enough to have the windows open, bright sunlight and warm breezes blowing the smell of damp warm earth through the house. Wisconsin springs are usually cold, but this spring has been kind. At least something is. The warmth is a small comfort in his isolation, he doesn't have the energy or capacity to try to be the old him, the one who went out dancing and drinking, he doesn't have it in him to force a smile a flirt with someone. There's no one he really cares to flirt with anyway.
He's sitting at the table pushing around what some might call dinner- alone, why wouldn't he be?-Then the phone rings.
It's probably the lady from down the street, she's been trying to get him to date her daughter after he mowed her lawn one time last summer. The old John would've jumped at the chance, but this new version of him, can't seem to find it in himself.
The phone keeps ringing and he almost just lets it, but he gets up from the table with a sigh and snatches the handle from the hook, "Hello, John Egan speaking."
Even just by the intake of air on the other end, he knows it's Buck. Feels it in his very core.
"John Egan? I must have the wrong house, I'm looking for Bucky."
The warmth of Buck's voice makes his throat clench up, "Buck."
"Hey, Bucky."
John's at a loss for words, he sputters for a moment before, "How- how've you been, Buck?"
He can hear the smile in Buck's voice and closes his eyes to try to picture it.
"Restless. Been thinking maybe I should take a trip to Manitowoc, then I remembered I had a friend there."
"Jeez Buck," He laughs into the phone, "took you long enough to decide to come visit."
Bucky doesn't want to ask why Buck finally decided to call. Why he hadn't called or written in those months. He didn't want to mess it up. He didn't want to take the chance Buck might go away again.
They can't talk long, the phone call is probably costing Buck a fortune, so they decide on the date and time. And even knowing they should make it quick they're trying to wrap up the call without really wanting to.
"Tell Marge I said 'hi'." The other end is silent and Buck wonders if they got disconnected. "Buck?"
"I-" another pause, "Sure, John. I'll see you in a few weeks."
Bucky smiles, "See you in a few weeks."
He's about to hang up when, "Bucky?"
This moment feels heavy, "Yeah," he breathes.
"I mis-" Another pause, "I'm looking forward to seeing you."
"Yeah. Buck, me too."
The weeks fly by, he keeps himself busy so that they do. Bucky tries to take the week off from work for when Buck is in town, and when they tell him no he just quits. He still has money from his time in the Military and he didn't like that job anyway.
He cleans his house within an inch of its life. Gathers up the whiskey bottles and puts them to the curb. He goes to the grocery store and picks up some food to fill his woefully empty fridge, and even grabs the brand of ginger beer he knows Buck likes.
When the morning comes for him to get Buck from the train station he tries to make himself look extra good, he combs his hair just so. Makes sure his slacks are neat and ironed, the pleat running perfectly down the front of his leg. It's dumb, he knows it is, but even now he wants Buck to think he looks good. He fiddles around the house, wiping down counters and straightening up already tidy shelves, and when he can't stand it anymore he gets in his truck and heads to the train station. He shows up an hour too early and paces on the train platform.
The train crawls up the tracks as it comes to a stop and Bucky smooths down his shirt and brushes his hair back from where the sun had warmed the pomade and made his curls fall over his forehead. And when Buck finally steps off the train, duffle in hand, Bucky loses his breath. Buck's hair is slightly longer, skin more tanned than it had been, and the tension of his face that had been ever-present during the war has been smoothed away. He looks good. He looks breathtaking. He looks like the only thing in the world that matters.
Bucky shakes his head and raises his arm in a wave, he walks toward Buck and takes his duffle, wrapping an arm around Buck's shoulders as they walk towards his truck.
"God damn Buck, sure took you long enough!" He can smell Buck's aftershave and, God, how he had missed it. In some of his darker moments, he'd smelled the bottle in the store, but it was never the same. It had a different smell when Buck wore it.
Bucky can feel Buck's laugh through the arm across Buck's shoulders as they walk to the parking lot.
This is enough, he tells himself. This is enough.
Buck shows up and it's like nothing's changed, they fall into the same old rhythm they always had, ribbing each other and laughing like they'd never been parted. Bucky had expected some awkwardness after the months that hadn't spoken or written to one another, but there wasn't. It just feels like the missing part of his life has returned.
They grab lunch at a diner and Buck tells him about the train ride and Wyoming, Bucky talks about the job he quit and what he thinks he might do next. It's comfortable and John starts to feel himself perk up, life is less stupid with Buck around. The thought worries him.
They drive to John's house and walk in through the garage. He carries Buck's bag, despite Buck's protests, and immediately shows Buck the spare bedroom and throws his bag onto the floor, "It ain't much, but it's better than the barracks."
They're standing in the doorway when Buck turns to him still laughing, "Better than a suite at the Stalag."
Buck's smile is wide and bright, and Bucky forgot how blue his eyes are, and he has to shake himself to stop staring at Buck. Bucky coughs, "Yeah, much better."
Buck steps into the room and does a slow turn, "Mind if I get cleaned up? It was a long train ride."
Backing up into the hall, Buck grabs a towel out of the linen closet behind him and tosses it to Buck, "Sure, Last door on the left. Even got hot water." He jokes.
Buck brushes past him on his way to the bathroom, "You sure do know how to treat a boy."
He won't read into that, it's just their normal banter. So he goes into the living room turns on the radio, and relaxes in his favorite chair watching the waves on the lake through the front window.
At some point, Buck must have come out of the shower and changed but Bucky doesn't hear him, he just feels a hand gently rest on his shoulder. When he turns, he sees Buck staring out the window with wide eyes, "You weren't kidding about standing in the right window, that's one hell of a lake."
Bucky wants to reach up and place his hand over Buck's, instead, he just grips the arm of the chair, "Sure is, You wanna take a walk by it?"
Buck looks down at him, a smirk playing across his features, "You won't let it swallow me up will you?"
Bucky smiles, "Don't count on it."
The walk down to the water is short, just at the end of his street then down some sun-bleached wooden steps to the beach. The wind whipping off Lake Michigan is chilly, but the waves are small and the blazing sun keeps it from being too cold. They walk along the beach in companionable silence. The waters lap on the sandy shores, and since it's the middle of the day and the water is still too frigid for swimming, no one is out on the beach except for them.
"I still feel like you're pulling my leg, telling me this is a Lake. I can't even see the other side."
Bucky laughs at Buck's awe, "It's a lake, or so they tell me. Just as dangerous as the ocean, though, ships go down in it all the time."
They keep bumping into each other as they walk, Bucky blames it on the uneven and shifting sand below their feet, he won't read anything into it.
"You never told me about this," Buck says quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard over the surf.
Bucky co*cks his head, "What do you mean? Never told you about what?"
"This," Buck motions to the lake beside them, "Manitowoc. Your life here."
"Buck, there isn't much to tell," He keeps walking, but he can't help but feel this is about something else.
"I just," Buck sighs, "Feel like I should have known, is all."
Bucky stops, Buck makes it a few steps before he realizes Bucky isn't with him and turns around.
"When did you want me to tell you, Buck?" He sees Bucks jaw tighten but he keeps on, "Any time in the last ten months? When we kept writing all those letters to each other?"
Buck looks down, ashamed, "John, I..."
John starts walking again brushing past Buck, "Forget I said anything, don't even worry about it." But now Buck isn't following him, "C'mon Buck, I-"
"You're right," Buck says, holding his gaze.
And John closes his mouth with a snap, and Buck takes another few steps forward to shorten the distance between them.
"I just," Buck sighs again, he was never much of a talker so John gives him time to sort out his words, "I fell off the face of the earth and I just expected you to be there when I came back. That wasn't fair of me."
"No, it wasn't," he brings his eyes to meet Buck's, they're the color of the bright blue skies behind them, and Buck doesn't look away, "Why did you fall off the face of the earth?"
Buck works his jaw, "When I got home, I felt, different. I thought it was just coming home, that I'd settle in a few months but I didn't. I had to figure some things out, on my own."
"And did you?"
"I did."
Bucky waits for him to elaborate, but Buck keeps silent. He wasn't going to pry it out of him, if Buck wanted to tell him he would.
They walk in silence for a time longer and the sun starts to lower in the sky. Finally, after what feels like forever they turn around and head back the way they came.
They're almost back to the stairs when Buck says, "I called it off with Marge."
Bucky stops dead in his tracks and Buck stops with him, of all the things he expected to hear that sure wasn't it.
Buck catches his gaze and holds it.
"Buck...I-" John can't find the words, he settles on, "I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Buck says as he walks up the rickety stairs back to the house.
Buck doesn't bring up Marge again. And neither does Bucky.
He offers to cook up some dinner on the grill in his back yard, it's unseasonably warm in Wisconsin for spring and Bucky doesn't want to waste a second of it being inside. Especially after being cooped up in his house for a long cold winter.
Buck and him chat as he cleans the potatoes and wraps them in tin foil. He reaches behind inside his fridge grabbing a beer for himself and a ginger beer for Buck.
The small, pleased smile on Buck's face makes Bucky's chest squeeze. He distracts himself by unwrapping the steaks from the fridge.
"You remembered my brand."
Bucky pretends he doesn't hear Buck, and seasons the steaks with salt and pepper.
Buck leans next to him on the counter taking a long drink from the bottle in his hand, John watches his throat move. There are a million thoughts he pushes down as he flips the steaks and seasons the other side.
Buck sighs in satisfaction, "Didn't know you were such a chef, John."
Bucky laughs and piles the food onto a platter and heads outside, "Well, I'm not. Seein' as this is really the one of the few things I can make."
They sit and talk while John cooks, they talk about everything, the ranch Buck worked at when he got back, flight school, their time at Thorpe Abbotts, how the rest of the guys are doing, and what they're all up to. It's nice to talk to someone who understands, who knows what to avoid, and what's safe to talk about.
"Got into Harvard," Buck says, offhandedly, like it isn't something wildly impressive.
Bucky takes a swallow of his beer to try to stifle his laugh, some things never change, "That's great, Buck! I knew you'd be a shoo-in, what ya going for?"
"Just my MBA, but I was thinking I might take some classes about space," Buck almost sounds a little bashful when he says it, like it's something he might get chastised for- Bucky can't let that stand.
"That's great, Gale, really. If anyone's gonna get us up there it's gunna be you." And he means it, Buck is the smartest person he knows, and if he sets his mind to something he'll make it happen.
Buck looks up at him, "You really think so?"
And for a moment he can't believe that Buck really seems this unsure of himself, "Of course I do."
Buck smiles, it's a small thing, fragile, but it warms his features, "You still coming with me when I go?"
Bucky laughs, "Only if you're flying'."
They take their food into the kitchen and eat at the table. He can't help but think of all the nights he sat alone eating whatever he managed to scrounge up. He likes this much better, eating a good meal with someone he loves.
And there it is.
No matter how long it's been, Bucky can't help but love Buck. Maybe that means he'll die a lonely old man but for now, at least for now, he can be with Buck. Even if it's just as a friend.
Buck breaks Bucky's train of thought by pushing his empty plate away, "I know you said it's the only thing you can cook, but it was pretty damn delicious."
John leans back in his chair, "Well good. Can't have you going around saying I'm a bad host. Then no one will come visit me."
Buck looks at John for a long time, eyes looking over his face. Bucky starts to grow uncomfortable and tries to make a joke, "I got something on my face, Buck?"
Buck looks down, bashful, "Naw, I uh," He rubs the back of his neck as he stands, "Where's your record player, Bucky?"
Now Bucky is even more confused, he points through the doorway into the living room at the record player on the table in front of the bay window.
Buck leaves, there's a rustling down the hall, and then he walks into the living room, pulls the curtains, and puts a record on.
The first notes start to play and Bucky stands up so fast his chair screeches against the linoleum floor.
It's Benny Goodman, it's 'Taking a Chance on Love'. It was the song he sang to Buck all those years ago when they ended up spending the night together.
It's hard not to read into this.
"Buck?" It's more an exhalation of breath than a word, but Buck hears him anyway.
Buck turns around, a small unsure smile on his face, "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna dance with me, John?"
♪Here I go again, I hear the trumpets blow again♪
He's rightly not sure, Bucky is too dumbstruck to do much of anything, even so, he dumbly shuffles his way into the living room. He stops just short of Buck and finds his voice, just barely, "What're you doing, Buck?"
Buck smirks, taking John's hand and pulling it around his waist, holding his other hand in his, "Takin' a chance."
♪Starry-eyed again, takin' a chance on love♪
"Thought you didn't dance," Bucky says dumbly, pressing closer to Buck as they sway.
"I don't. Only exception is you," Buck looks up at him from under his eyelashes and the smile gets bigger on his face, "And Meatball."
This startles a laugh out of John, and he presses closer into Buck, and Buck lets him.
♪Things are mending now, I see a rainbow blending now.
We'll have a happy ending now, takin' a chance on love♪
John's not sure what to think, he feels like a teenager at his first dance, trying to talk to the girl he likes, "Buck, what is this?"
Buck looks down taking a deep breath, then looking into Bucky's eyes, "Part of what I figured out when I fell off."
The song starts to fade out, and the next starts.
Bucky barely breathes, "Which was?"
"That for some reason, of all the people in the world, you're the one I can't do without."
Bucky clenches his jaw but he can't look away from Buck's gaze.
"Jesus, Buck. You sure know to put a guy through the wringer." He steps away, letting Buck's hands fall away, dragging his hand down his face, "You serious?"
"Never been more serious in my life," Buck clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides, "Back in the Stalag, I meant it when I said I wanted to try."
He's apprehensive to believe it, he can't take another heartbreak, "I know you did, Buck."
"Then why don't you sound like you believe me?" It's not accusatory, just hurt.
"Because you left me," It's not often John lashes out, but there are a thousand and one emotions swirling in him and he can't keep them in check. Hurt being the largest and toughest to push down.
Buck chews on his bottom lip, "I know, I'm sorry."
"I want to believe you, Gale, I do. But it's been months. I can't believe you just cause you say you meant it, you've left me high and dry too many times for me to just believe you. I all but expected you to come here and tell me you set the wedding date for you and Marge."
Buck's jaw clenches as he nods, there is annoyance in Buck's voice that Bucky can tell he's trying to cover up, "I told you, me and her are through, I broke it off."
"And why did you break it off with Marge? Huh? What happened there?" His response is whip-sharp and he promised himself he wasn't going to bring up Marge unless Buck did, but everything was unraveling and all bets were off.
Buck takes a deep breath, then another, "Felt different when I got home. I love Marge. Part of me always will," stops and meets Bucky's eyes, they're sure like he's finally come to a decision, " I took some time on my own, needed to look at what I was doing. What I really wanted." He takes another deep breath and squares his shoulders like he's bracing for a hit, "I don't love her like I love you, Bucky. Not even close."
John stops breathing, stunned. The moment stops or drags, Bucky doesn't know, but finally, he says, "Say it again."
"I love you, John Egan. I love you." It's clear and it's true and as scared as Buck looks right now, there's no lie behind his eyes.
John stands hand over his mouth and his other hand on his hip. Part of him wants to punch Buck in the face, another wants to kiss the life out of him, and another still wants to scream at him until his face is blue, he doesn't know what to do.
"John," Buck's voice is desperate, "Bucky, say something, please."
"No." And John realizes how stupid it is to refuse to say something by saying something, but he finally meets Buck's eyes and he knows what part of him wins out.
Taking two strides towards Buck, he grabs Buck's face in his hands bringing their lips together in a fervent kiss. It's been so long since he got to do this, he doesn't know who moaning into the kiss, maybe it's both of them, but God, it's better than he remembered.
Bucky pulls back, leaving his hands on Buck's cheeks, panting into his mouth.
Buck smiles as he exhales against John's lips, "Talk about putting a guy through the wringer."
They play more records and keep dancing long into the night. Each of them only pulling away long enough to pick something new and come back to one another. They keep it slow, pressed close to one another. Bucky doesn't know who's leading and he doesn't care, Buck has his face pressed into Bucky's neck as they sway and twirl, holding each other like they're afraid the other will disappear.
At some point, the record is skipping and they're barely moving, "We should get some sleep, Buck."
Buck doesn't lift his head, so when he speaks Bucky can feel his warm breath against his neck, "You gonna make me sleep alone?"
A laugh escapes him, Bucky could never deny Gale anything, that should be clear by now, "Not unless that's what you want. But we are just sleeping, Buck."
They shuck their clothes until they're left in just their undershirts and boxers and Buck sleeps in Bucky's bed. It's been so long since he's had Buck next to him; Listening to his heartbeat, curling up close as the cool breeze came in the open window. He falls asleep deeper and faster than he has since before the war. He didn't realize he was so tired, he doesn't think either of them did. They're asleep in minutes wrapped in each other, legs tangled, just how John's been missing.
Bucky wakes before Buck in the morning, Buck has always been a heavy sleeper and a late one at that. The morning is gray and damp, and he pulls the covers over Buck's shoulders before he gets up to make some coffee. He throws the grinds into the percolator and walks around the house closing the windows they had left open, trying to block out some of the chill.
Everything feels the same and different. He had come to the realization of his feelings for Buck years ago, but he had been convinced that those feelings would go with him to the grave. Then in the Stalag, he thought that, maybe, just maybe, Buck felt the same. But then after they'd returned to England, Buck pushed him away, and he was back to shoving those feelings down into a place where they couldn't hurt him anymore.
But then last night, Jesus.
John pours himself a cup of coffee off the stove and leans against the kitchen counter to stare out the window, watching the birds as they chase each other through the trees in the early morning. Coffee's too hot to drink, but he wanted something to do with his hands. The warmth seeps through the mug and into his fingers, the house is chilly, the sky is gray and he doesn't have the heart to wake Buck just yet.
And part of him wants to rush into the bedroom and wake Buck with a kiss, let himself play out all the dreams he'd discounted as impossible years before. But yet still another part can't believe it's real. This isn't the first time something has happened between them, hell, it's not even the second, and each time John's had his heart broken. He wouldn't survive it again, he'd fall so deep into that dark abyss that he'd never claw his way back out.
So the longer he lets Buck sleep the longer so he can put off the conversation he doesn't want to have. It's part of why he didn't let it go any farther than kissing last night, he needs to keep Buck at arm's length until he knows. Really knows.
Sure, he knows Buck loves him, and goddamn if just that much didn't make his resolve crumble entirely, but what does that mean? It didn't fix anything, it didn't even change all that much, they could love each other and still not be together.
He's postponed long enough, he takes a sip of his coffee and grabs another mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee and then grabbing the milk out of the fridge. This was not a day that could be faced without coffee and the least he could do was wake Buck up with a cup, a dollop of milk, no sugar, just how he liked.
He brings the mugs into the bedroom, sets them on the nightstand, and climbs back into bed. Buck was always a furnace and now is no different, the heat envelopes him and he settles under the covers, the chill from the house melting away. Buck still hasn't woken up, it was always amusing to John how much of a sound sleeper Buck was, still is.
He brushes the hair off his forehead and looks at his face, how relaxed he is in sleep, "Hey Buck." Buck's face scrunches and it almost makes Bucky giggle, "Comon' sleeping beauty, your coffee's getting cold."
Buck's face scrunches again, but this time his eyes crack open, "Bucky?"
"Yeah, Buck," He brushes Buck's hair back again, it's soft under his fingers, he's never really had the opportunity to take a slow morning with Buck, it was nice.
A slow, sleepy smile spreads over Buck's face, "For a second I thought I dreamed it all."
Bucky turns away grabbing Buck's coffee from the nightstand, "You might still be dreaming."
Buck laughs, coffee in hand, and scoots up to rest against the headboard. He hums as he takes a sip of his coffee, "You still remember how I like it."
If it were any other day Bucky might be embarrassed, but not today, "You're really surprised?"
"Guess not," Buck smiles into his mug, and takes another sip.
Bucky leans back against the headboard, and puts his head on Buck's shoulder, after a moment, Buck rests his head on his.
"How long you stayin', Buck?" Now seemed as good a time as any.
"Depends," Buck traces the rim of his mug with his fingertips, "I'll have to go to Boston before the school year starts."
"That's not really an answer."
Bucky can feel the deep intake of breath that Buck takes before he speaks, "No, but I heard there are some good spots for dancing in Boston, some that are for people like us." He clears his throat and his next words sound afraid, "Thought you might wanna tag along. Paint the town red."
Bucky lifts his head, and looks him in the eye, "People like us?"
"Yeah," Buck swallows hard, "Men who love other men."
"Is that what we are?"
Buck sits up, puts his cup on the opposite nightstand, and turns back, bringing their eyes back together, "It's what I feel for you." He sighs," I can't- I can't say where this will end, but I want to be with you, whatever it takes." Buck drops his hands onto the bed, looking worse than men he'd seen come off their first mission. "So when you ask how long I'm stayin', it's however long you'll have me."
"I can't handle another heartbreak, Buck. I won't survive it," the words feel like they're ripped from his chest, but there can't be any confusion.
Buck's chin quivers as he nods, "I was such an idiot, still am, but I'll do everything in my power to do better. I can't promise I won't ever hurt you, but I won't ever leave you again, not by my choice."
It's a weighty promise, but it's one that rings true, "What happened? At Thorpe Abbotts, you just- just pushed me away."
"I know" Bucky fiddles with the seam of the bedspread for a few moments, "I got scared. I got out, and you didn't-" Buck grabs Bucky's hand and kisses his knuckles like the thought of what he just said made seek proof of John's existence "-I didn't know what happened to you, you could've died and I wouldn't have known. No one could tell me what happened to you. I was so scared."
Bucky squeezes their hands, it's more open than Bucky can ever remember Buck being, so he stays silent.
"I couldn't put you in a spot like that again. Living like this, it won't be easy, it won't be safe," Buck takes another deep and steady breath, "I thought if I pushed you away you'd find someone else. A lady. Thought I could keep you safe that way."
"That isn't a decision you get to just make, Buck," It's an admonishment, but a gentle one. Bucky understands why, he would do anything to keep Buck safe.
"I know," Buck's mouth twists into a sad smile, "Another thing I figured out while I was on my own."
"Jeez, Buck, didn't know you were such a goddamn martyr!" He wraps his hand around his neck and pulls him in to kiss him on the forehead, "When on earth have we ever played anything safe?"
Buck exhales what might be a laugh through his nose, but his face turns solemn again, "This isn't war, Bucky, where one day it'll end and the hardships will be over. This will be the rest of our lives if I have any say in it, and it could be the best thing to ever happen to us, but it'll be hard and it could be dangerous. So this has to be your choice too."
"Then that's easy," There's a healthy amount of fear in Buck's eyes, and in that moment Bucky realizes it's not just him who wouldn't survive being pushed away. "When should we start packing for Boston?"
Buck lets out a shuddering laugh as a smile splits his face, leaning forward to press their mouths together, "Yeah?"
Bucky kisses him lazily, there's no need to rush now, they have as much time as they need, "Yeah, Buck. You're stuck with me."
"Good," He hums into Bucky's mouth as he pulls away and climbs up to straddle Bucky's hips, "Right now, though, there's something else I'd rather be doing."
There isn't much between them, just the thin fabric of their boxers and Bucky takes the opportunity to run his hands under Gale's shirt, "Yeah, we can definitely talk later."
He can feel the trembling breath Buck takes under his fingers, the way his breath speeds up at his touch. It's a wonder he was ever able to keep his hands off Buck. Maybe he'd known that if he let himself touch again he'd never be able to stop.
"You gonna kiss me John, or just keep drivin' me crazy." Buck's voice is a little breathless and Bucky's warm in the knowledge that Buck is just as gone for him as he's ever been for Buck.
Bucky slides his hands down under the back of Buck's boxers and pulls them close together, John's almost drunk on the gasp that comes from Buck's mouth.
"Is that what you want, Buck?" John noses Buck's jaw, letting his breath ghost along Buck's jaw and neck.
Buck squirms, "Jesus. Yes, John."
He looks up at Buck, and it's a new perspective for him, he likes looking up at Buck, especially when he's in John's lap. He gives Buck a quick, playful kiss before he pulls back, but Buck growls and pulls them together and John laughs at Buck's eagerness.
It's short-lived, it's not long before he loses himself licking into Buck's mouth, gripping Buck's ass, and grinding them together. His other hand roams under Buck's shirt, running his hand over Buck's taught skin. It's not enough just to touch, Bucky wants to see, and he pulls the undershirt over Buck's head.
When he looks though, he sees four round, evenly spaced scars across Buck's chest. They'd all been scared up during the war, but this wasn't just a cut or a scrape. He lets his finger trial over them, "What the hell are these, Buck?"
Buck laughs, looking down, "Lost consciousness on the way out of the plane when I got shot down, when I woke up, a farmer had his pitchfork dug in my chest. Poor guy was more scared than I was."
Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh, "'Course you'd think something like that is funny."
They've never had time before, Bucky has never been able to look and kiss and worship Buck like he's always wanted to. All he ever got were frenzied trysts, and now he wants to take his time, so Bucky slowly kisses the four scars along his chest, letting his tongue caress the soft skin there, Buck slides his hands into Bucky's hair and holds him there.
It's not long before Buck's hands run down his back pulling the hem of his shirt. And Bucky laughs, he's tried for so long not to think about their first time, but now he can't help but remember how insistent Buck had been about getting him naked.
He pulls back just long enough for Buck to get his shirt over his head, then leans forward again to capture Buck's nipple in his mouth. That was another thing he didn't let himself think about for a long time. What Buck liked. But now, it felt dumb not to remember, especially when Buck was letting out contented sighs and soft moans as his hands roamed Bucky's back.
As much as he'd tried to block himself from thinking about that night in the hotel, one thing he couldn't block from his mind was how Buck had felt in his mouth, the sounds he'd made as Bucky licked and sucked him. It had always been a regret that he'd stopped so soon after he started, and that was a regret he was looking to remedy.
John pushes them forward so Buck is on his back and John is in between his legs, which come to wrap around him and pull him closer, John rocks into him, and Buck gasps his name underneath him. Even if it's just their boxers they are wearing too many clothes.
Bucky tries to roll them to the side, but Buck's thighs hold him firm, he laughs into Buck's mouth again, "Buck, let's at least get our boxers off."
Buck's legs uncurl from around him as they bother trying to pull off their own and each other's boxers, laughing and fumbling, and kissing until both pairs land somewhere on the floor.
But Bucky is a man on a mission and now that they've dispensed with the rest of their clothing, he focuses on his next objective. He pushes Buck back onto his back and kisses down his chest. Buck's dick is still beautiful, and god if he hasn't thought about this more times than he was willing to admit.
"Bucky-"
Bucky stops him by licking a long strip up the underside of his co*ck. He uses one hand to hold Buck's hip down, while the other comes to wrap around the base, he still doesn't know what he's doing, but hell if he wasn't enthusiastic about trying. He takes in as much as he can, hollowing out his cheeks and working his tongue, he loves the weight of Buck in his mouth the taste that leaks out of him as he sucks and licks. He's determined this time, he wants to make Buck come in his mouth.
He licks Buck's head, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking him back in as far as he can, Buck's hand finds its way into his hair and pulls which just makes him moan around Buck's dick, which makes Buck moan and pull his hair more. It's a vicious cycle he'd like to ride out. Buck's moans keep growing in volume as does the rutting of his hips.
"Bucky, I'm gonna, John I'm-"
He knows Buck is trying to warn him off but he just takes him deeper into his mouth, he can feel Buck's co*ck twitching and Buck's warning just adds to his anticipation. Buck pulls his hair hard as he pulses into John's mouth, and he's not surprised when it happens, but he's still not prepared.
He's able to swallow some of it, the bitter salt of Buck's come washing over his tongue, but some spills out of his mouth, down his chin, and Buck's co*ck. He pulls off, panting but satisfied.
Bucks releases the hold in his hair and uses his thumb to wipe the mess from John's mouth, panting, "Jesus, Bucky, warn a guy."
Bucky crawls up kissing him deeply, and Buck seems more into the kiss than he would have thought, in fact, Buck licks into his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip eager to taste himself on Bucky's lips. Reaching down to take Bucky's co*ck in his hand, still wet with his come and Bucky's spit. It's f*cking filthy and Bucky loves it.
He's not experienced when it comes to this, sex with other men, sex with Buck, but he won't say that he's not willing to use his imagination. He rolls off Buck, dislodging the hand around him, and rolls Buck away from him onto his side.
Buck turns his head to look at Bucky, confused, "Bucky, what are you doing?
Bucky just kisses him, "Trying something out, just tell me if you want me to stop."
He spits in his hand, reaching down between Buck's legs, the soft space between his thighs, it's already wet from earlier and Bucky spreads the mess around, slicking up Buck's thighs, palming his balls. Buck's pushing back against him, pressing his ass against Bucky's erection. Bucky moans into his shoulder, he'd love to f*ck Buck, but he has no clue how to do it without hurting him, so he guides his co*ck down between Buck's thighs, f*cking into the slick, warm wetness there.
Buck squeezes his thighs together, turning his head back to kiss John again, it's less a kiss than both of them panting into each other's mouth but John doesn't care. The tip of his dick is sliding between Buck's thighs and hitting his balls as he thrusts, and John reaches around to Buck's co*ck to find it half-hard again.
It's difficult for him to keep his pace, for him to keep time touching Buck, the pressure is building in him and he's not sure how much longer he can hold out. He's so close.
Then Buck tangles his hand in John's hair and says, "Comon' darlin', I wanna hear you."
And John comes with a long groan, spilling in between Buck's legs.
He wraps his arms around Buck holding him tightly to him, panting and mouthing his shoulder as he tries to regain his faculties.
Buck starts to pull away but John's arms tighten, "Not yet, Buck, please."
Buck's small laugh startles John, "Just wanted to turn and look at you is all."
Slightly embarrassed, Bucky loosens his grip and allows Buck to turn in his arms. Buck is disheveled in a way Bucky's never seen, a way that he knows he'll want to see as many times as possible. There's never been a more beautiful person John's seen in his entire life.
Buck's hand comes up to brush the sweat-damp curls from Bucky's forehead, placing a small kiss on the tip of his nose, "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm not leaving you unless you make me."
"Then you won't ever have to," Bucky closes his eyes and basks in Gale's touch, "I love you, Gale. I've loved you for so long."
When he opens his eyes, there is a deep sadness in Gale's face, he rests his forehead against Bucky's, "I love you too, John. I'm just so sorry it took me so long to figure it out."
They fall asleep like that, lying upside down in the bed, curled against each other.
John's not sure how long he sleeps, but when he wakes, Buck has cleaned them up, and thrown a blanket over him. Buck is leaning against the headboard, legs tangled with his, under the same blanket, drinking what is now a stone-cold cup of coffee. With no small amount of satisfaction, he does note that Buck hasn't put on any clothes.
Buck holds a piece of paper in his hands, and Bucky knows immediately what it is; the picture of him and Buck Alex had drawn back in the Stalag. Since he'd come home it'd been at his bedside, it not only reminded him of Buck, but of Alex. The man who knew exactly what he was and still befriended him, even supported him. He'd kept in touch with Alex since the war ended, even spent a few days in Detroit with him.
Buck flips the paper around and his and Buck's faces are staring back at him, "Alex draw this?"
Coming up on his elbows, "Yeah," He laughs, "told me he'd drawn everyone's sweetheart, thought I might like mine."
Buck looks at the drawing again, a fond smile coming to rest on his face, "He sure doesn't miss a thing."
"He sure doesn't," Buck laughs and sits the rest of the way up, crossing his long legs beneath the blanket, "I told him for it to be a sweetheart they have to feel the same way about you," Buck's gaze shoots to him, "At the time, I didn't think you did, and the bastard, without missing a beat goes 'I only draw what I see'. That sure sent me for a hell of a loop."
He'd meant it to be a funny story, something that would make Buck smile, but Buck was still looking at him in that same intense way.
"I did feel the same. I do."
Bucky feels a little devious, "Sure took you long enough to figure it out and let me know."
Buck shakes his head, "I won't argue that. But I do love you. And I did then too. I was just too messed up to know what to do with it."
And it's so earnest that he can't help but make a joke, if he doesn't, he'll start kissing Buck and they will never leave this bed. So he laughs, "Whatever you say, pretty boy."
Buck does smile now, "Pretty boy, eh? That might just mean something coming from you."
"Oh, it does," Bucky crawls up the bed, over Gale, and gives him a quick kiss, "But right now, I'm starving. I'm gonna cook us some breakfast."
"You gonna do it just like that?" Buck watches him walk around the room naked, with no small amount of appreciation.
Bucky laughs as he pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt, "While I can guarantee you it would be a worthwhile show, I gotta protect the goods."
Buck covers his face with his hands, and laughs, "Jesus, John."
He picks up Buck's boxers and shirt and throws them at him, hitting his hands and falling into his lap, "Oh, you love me."
Buck smiles, wide and brilliant, "Like a stone in my shoe."
John heads into the kitchen, remakes the coffee, and decides on eggs and toast. One of the three meals he can actually make.
He hears Buck rustling around in the bedrooms before he comes out and hugs him from behind as he fries up some eggs for them.
"This is better than I thought it could be," Buck mutters into his shoulder.
Bucky turns his head placing a kiss on the top of his head, "Never knew you were such a sap, Buck."
Buck rolls his head and places a kiss on the back of John's neck, "Only with you, Bucky, only with you."
They eat breakfast and laze around the living room, listening to the radio and reading. They don't bother to change out of their t-shirts and boxers, just relaxing on the couch, legs tangled in one another's, relishing the comfortable silence the other provides. The day stays gray and cool, the sun never managing to burn through the clouds, it almost reminds him of their days in England. And for the first time he can remember, he feels content, and happy, and relaxed.
Buck wasn't wrong when he said this was better than he thought it could be, he had never felt so at home with another person. It's only when Buck's smiling eyes meet his eyes over his coffee mug that he realizes that Buck is his home.
He's finally home.
It's the heat of summer, and Boston is hotter than any summer he's ever had in Manitowoc. The windows of their top-floor apartment are open, fans blowing hot air across them, and here is music from down the street drifting in the window.
It's too hot for either of them to wear a shirt but Buck is still under his arm, lying on his chest. He remembers all those years ago when he thought he'd want Buck pressed against him in the dead heat of summer, and he hadn't been wrong. It was hot and it was sticky, but it was still better than anything.
It's not perfect. Not even close to it. They both still wake up from nightmares. The Fourth of July is hell. They had to be careful, outside this room, they were just two best friends who decided to live together after the war. But when all is said and done. He comes home to Buck. And on Friday nights they walk down to Punch Bowl and dance the night away. Turns out Buck does like to dance.
There are other people like them here. Buck hadn't been lying when he'd said that there were places in Boston for them. There was a community here, small and discreet, but still a thriving community where he and Buck could live and find support.
Buck rolls his head around on Bucky's chest, "Ugh, what I wouldn't give for one cool breeze."
He just kisses the top of Buck's head, "I wouldn't change a single thing. Not a goddamn thing."
