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you crush my heart and say it"s nothing
you broke me down, i kept on cutting
i bleed for you and now i"m gushing
spit in my face my love, it won"t faze me
- spit in my face by thxsomuxh
It"s hurtful.
It"s beautiful in all the ways that shouldn"t, heartbreaking in all the ways that are inevitable to be.
Its hurtful, yet it"s all he"s ever wanted to see.
Gale is pretty in his suit. Prettier than John ever thought someone could be.
It takes him by surprise that Gale chooses to wear a navy blue suit, instead of the tradicional black. Nothing in Gale screams untraditional, yet he can"t deny the color suits him best.
Of course it does. Nothing could ever look bad on Buck, much less something that compliments his eyes.
Marge looks just as pretty – some would say even more so.
John"d have to agree to disagree on that one.
Her white dress is full silk, from the way it sits at her shoulders to the point it stops below her knees. It flatters the curve of her waist, the broad of her chest.
She"s naturally gorgeous, of couse, but she looks even more dashing.
But that"s to be expected. One normally does at their wedding.
John feels unfit – his suit abandoned in a chair somewhere, his white shirt surely serving him no favors, for how stained it is at the cuffs.
Twenty-seven years old and John has yet to learn how to eat without dirting his clothes.
Gale looks good and proper – but he always does, even when it"s not his wedding. He"s still wearing the entirety of his three piece suit, even with the summer heat surrounding them.
He doesn"t even have the decency to look sweaty at that, either. All slick hair and easy smiles and unstained navy blue suit.
John could die.
Croz is watching him from where he"s seated with his girl on his lap – John can feel the intensity of it burning the side of his face. He doesn"t look back, doesn"t want the pitying stare he"d find.
It"s common knowledge amongst the few surviving members of the 100th bomb group that John Egan is in love with Gale. Thats much was obvious somewhere between the scene he pulled when people wanted to ship Buck"s trunk back home (as if there was any chance he was dead and John wouldn"t just feel it) and the time he"d sacrificed his life so Buck could escape and live (as if there was ever a choice in his mind on whether he"d risk his entire life, his existence rather, for him).
Croz is one of the few that actually had the guts to talk to Bucky about it – so unlike the puking man that he"d met at England in the beginning of the war so long ago.
He went right up to Bucky, in the dead of midday, sat all over his personal space and pointed a finger to his face. You need to tell him, Major. We"re shipping home in a week, he said.
John cried as soon as he managed to rid himself of Croz"s presence. He was expecting to be met with a blue ticket before midnight – having fought the whole war just to be sent home for being a fag not even a full week before he"d be sent home anyway.
It never came – not that day or the next.
Neither did it came the confession.
A week later, Buck was being shipped out to Casper, Wyoming, and John to Manitowoc, Wisconsin – maybe to never meet again.
John found Buck, the original one, almost as soon as his feet touched his homeland.
His name wasn"t actually Buck, and he looked nothing like Gale. Bucky couldn"t even fathom how he made the connection in the first place, how or why he"d come up with such and elaborate lie just to be able to call Gale by his name.
In retrospect, he knows.
Not-Buck was the first to ever call him Bucky, ages ago. Something about his deer-caugh-in-headlights looks – that when John was old enough to understand he"d learn was actually due to the way John looked at him.
A queer kid all the way in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, carrying the nickname he was given at his young age for the rest of his life.
Not-Buck had named him Bucky because Bucky was in love with him.
Bucky had named Gale Buck because he wished Gale would be be, too. Even if subconsciously, before he ever knew how far the depths of his love for Gale would go. Before loving Gale was so intrinsic to him it came as easy as breathing.
Seeing him now, at his older age and no longer naive eyes, Not-Buck doesn"t hold a candle to his Buck.
But he serves, for a good lay.
John had been itching, scratching his skin raw to feel a man"s body under his. For how careless he is, he never took any chances during the war.
Not when Buck could"ve seen him. No, not ever.
If not for the fear of being frowned upon by his lover, then for the fear of Gale thinking he"d ever want a man that wasn"t him.
He didn"t, really. Still doesn"t.
But he needs it, nonetheless. Needs to feel the rise and fall of a chest much like his, short hairs on the back of necks he can scratch and pull and an adam"s apple he can lick and bite at.
Not-Buck serves its purpose. Puts him in a sex haze that almost manages to make him momentarily forget about his suffocating love for his best friend.
And then he doesn"t, does the contrary in fact – because he isn"t Buck, not the right one. Not the one he wants, needs.
Last time they fuck, John goes soft and Not-Buck hits him across the face.
It makes him feel more than any of the lays did.
Reminds him of Curt, too.
He suspects Curt was a queer as well, although he never got confirmation for it. Still, he held a look Bucky was very much acquainted with - was met with every time he looked at a mirror, in fact.
He died before John could ask, even though he probably wouldn"t anyway – too scared to be found out, too scared for anyone to see his raw insides.
He doesn"t fuck anyone else, barely grants himself the pleasure of self-satisfaction in the months between Not-Buck and Buck"s wedding.
He starts mulling it over months before he has to, longer than he knows he can deal with.
He thinks of Marge.
Marge, the gorgeous girl that she is. The faithful girl that patiently waited for years for Buck"s return; that probably welcomed him home with open arms, with a kiss. With more.
John can"t help but hate her.
Hate that she can have him, that she gets to know Gale in the only way he never could. That she gets to smell him and kiss him and convince him to dance all in public for anyone to see.
That he can"t be her.
No mattter.
The wedding comes, Bucky makes the drive to Wyoming with music blasting his ears the entire way – to shield his thoughts from consuming his mind entirely if not for anything else.
When he gets there, Gale looks as handsome as the last time he saw him.
He hugs John, full-on, and John has to try very hard not to pass out. Gale was never much of a physical affection kind of guy, and it takes him so much by surprise he feels his breath catch – as easy to forget how to breathe as it is to love him.
He gets there first, before everyone else – he"s the bestman, afterall.
He and Buck talk deep into the night the first day, so much to catch up on they refuse to retrieve themselves to bed just yet.
Buck offers him whiskey, and is so incredibly shocked when John refuses he can"t even mask it on his face.
John tells him he"s slowed on the drinking, doesn"t tell him it"s because his yearning for his best friend"s love is thrice as hard when he"s drunk. Gale is pleased with the news nonetheless, serves him coffee instead and drinks alongside him.
They talk and talk and talk about anything and everything.
Buck tells him Marge"s been doing well, that she"s proper excited about the marriage. He glosses over his relationships with the in-laws, which tells John everything he needs to hear to know not to like them. Gives a clipped one sentence update about his dad – still a drunk, still an asshole, he says. Talks in depth about the time Rosie made the drive down and he met his girl, and how much of a chaos it was.
He also listens very intently to every word John provides him. Asks him about Manitowoc, about home. About his flings and what he"s been up to since the war. He laughs at every single one of Bucky"s jokes, maybe harder than he really deserves.
He tells John he missed him.
He breaks John"s heart – not because he"s mean, but because he isn"t. Because he"s the best person he"s ever met and he"s as excited to be in love with him as he"s hurt by it.
He wishes he didn"t love Gale, knows it"s inevitable not to.
He talks to Gale all night, and then into the beginnings of the day, and goes to bed feeling like he hasn"t had enough. Like he can never get enough.
He masturbates before he sleeps, louder than he intends to, longer than he predicted. He drags it out, thinking of his best friend"s one room over. Whishes he was in this room with him.
The next day is different.
Gale wakes far too early for how late they"ve slept, and Marge is there when John does. There"s a lot of wedding talk, far too much of it, and John almost regrets making the drive over for how much his heart is broken at every new sentence that leaves the lovebirds" mouths.
He excuses himself at some point, cries in the bathroom for a good five minutes and then stops before anyone goes looking for him. Feels stupid for crying in the first place, for crying more now that he did during the war.
He feels Buck"s eyes on him as he rejoins them at the kitchen, knows he"s going to ask about it once Marge leaves.
And when she does, despite it being hours later, he does ask. Because Buck never forgets.
John makes a bullshit story, lies through his teeth, gives grins too bright that he knows Gale doesn"t buy.
Buck looks him, a once over that breaks John"s heart all over again, and then he lets the blatant lie pass. Talks with him into the night again, and John feels alive all over.
His heart is whole and beating and he"s so in love he might puke his entire heart out if he puts a drop of alcohol in his mouth.
So he doesn"t, and they drink coffee until it"s well past three in the morning and Gale can barely keep his eyes open.
Gale has to excuse himself to sleep at some point, and John hangs longer in the living room after he leaves – has to physically restrain himself not to go to Gale"s room and wake him up to kiss him square in the mouth and just about ruin the only good thing he"s got going in his life.
He can"t fathom loosing Gale, doesn"t think he can survive it – so he doesn"t. Doesn"t kiss him. Doesn"t say anything.
Not in any moment in the week that preceds the wedding, not when they"re at the altar, not when Gale is about to say yes and not when Croz told him to do so before they were shipped back home.
Which is why he avoids Harry"s stare like the plage, pretends he doesn"t feel it burning the side of his face as he watches Gale twirl Marge on the other side of the venue they put up at Marge"s family"s backyard.
He goes to the bar, asks for a drink to drown the pain and then another to make sure, and then the pain grows so big he has to excuse himself from a conversation he"s gotten in to go out in the open and breathe some freash air.
Croz follows him, because of couse he does.
He"s barely gotten a minute to try to regulate his breathing, mask the fact that he is almost crying, when Croz is already at his side.
"You"ve been avoiding me," Croz says, matter of factly, at least pretending not to see the tear streaks across his face.
"Really?" John sniffs, "I hadn"t noticed."
Croz laughs, and he would laugh too if he wasn"t in such pain. He tries to anyway, for the sake of his friend.
"How is the wife?" John asks, before Croz can say anything else. Before they start to talk about him instead.
"She"s great, happy to have me home."
"And the kids?"
"Great too. I think there"s another on the way, but she won"t tell me," Croz laughs fondly, lost in the transe of his family, "she likes surprising me, you know. As if she can hide a pregnancy for long."
John smiles fondly at him, sincere – because even through his hurt, he can appriacte a friend"s happiness.
They stay in silence for a beat longer, John almost doesn"t feel like crying anymore, and then Croz goes blabbering his mouth.
"So I figure you haven"t told him," he says in the same matter-of-fact way he did when he approached him just now.
John sighs, doesn"t answer. There"s nothing to say, really.
He feels like crying again.
"He deserves to know, Bucky," Croz says in such a fond manner Bucky would"ve assumed that tone was saved for his family alone. He does start crying now. "He isn"t going to be mad, Egan, you know him."
"I can"t, Croz," he sniffs again, doesn"t bother cleaning his face his time.
"Yes, you can"
"No, I can"t."
"C"mon Bucky, you know how Buck he is. He"d neve-"
"I can"t, Harry!" he doesn"t mean to scream, but he does anyway. He feels ashamed for it in the same force he feels ignited by it. "I can"t fucking loose him, okay? I can"t."
"You won"t loose hi-"
"He"s married now, Croz. It wouldn"t make a difference. Even if there was a world where he"d not hate me, where he"d feel the same, it"s too late. What"s the point of me going and ruining it now?" he says, louder than he needs to – than he should, really. He hopes the music inside is loud enough for no one to hear.
"Because it is killing you!" Croz raises his voice back, full of worry, full of annoyence at being interrupted.
No longer the scared-of-his-own-shadow guy, that"s for sure.
"It"d kill me anyway!" Buck screams back, pushes Harry back in misplaced anger.
Buck is beside them before Harry can think to do anything, pulling Bucky away by the shoulders before he has the chance to do anything else.
"What the fuck is going on here, boys?" Gale inquires, using his Major voice.
There"s a crowd watching them from the opening of the tent.
"Nothing, Buck," Harry says, and he doesn"t even sound mad. He looks at John from behind Gale"s shoulders with nothing but worry and friendly-love.
John feels guilty already.
He"s going to open his mouth to say something, to apologize perhaps, but Buck is dragging him away before he gets to; saying something to the crowd that gathered that John"s too dazed to hear.
The crowd disparses as Gale drags Bucky inside the house – his in-laws" house, he painfully recalls.
He"s shoved towards a chair before he can say anything, can"t meet Buck in the eye for how ashamed he feels.
Of course he"d had to go on and do a scene at his best friend"s wedding. Of course.
"Bucky," he calls, standing in front of him, "Bucky," he repeats with more force, and then: "John!"
John looks at him.
Buck doesn"t even look mad.
"Please, please tell me what"s going on," Gale pleads, and he really isn"t the pleading type. He has so much worry in his eyes it breaks John heart all over for all diferent reasons than it had throughout the day. "Please."
Bucky realises he hasn"t said anything, just stared.
Harry"s voice rings in his head. He deserves to know.
Is there a point? Would it make a difference if he told?
It"s far too late now – has to be.
Buck"s married. He has watched him far too intently during the day to know that he and his three piece navy blue suit and bright blue eyes and dashing smile and perfectly mused hair had said yes at the altar. He"s married.
He"s Marge"s.
Bucky thinks he has never loved anyone this much.
"John, talk to me," Gale holds him by the shoulders, a soothing motion that does nothing to soothe the rapid beating of his heart.
"You don"t wanna know, Buck," he forces out, tries not to cry right then and there.
"What, is it the family? Are you addicted to something? Are you in withdrawl?"
Yes, John wants to say. To you. I"m addicted to every piece of you. To the way your hair falls on your face, to the way you open your mouth when you"re thinking, to the way you walk and the curve of your ass, to how stupidly smart you are, to the way you"re the best person I"ve ever met, to your smell, your aftershave, your presence. To you.
I"m in withdrawl everytime I can"t look at you, even more so when I do. I itch to have you break my heart like a drunk itches for a hungover. I need it. I need it so much it consumes me completely, takes me out. I can"t think of anything else. I"m addicted, I"m a junkie.
It"s worse then it ever was with alcohol, with cigarettes, with women. It"s worse than every addiction I"ve ever had. And it"s so much better all the same.
It"s the best feeling I"ve ever felt, so much so it gnaws at me until there"s nothing left but blood and muscle and heart. It"s leaves me raw and open and so incredibly high that I feel like I"m overdosing evey time I look at you. It"s all I can think about, it consumes my every thought. Keeps me awake, crawls to my dreams.
It"s the best thing that has ever happened to me, and it"s also the worse.
It"s loving you so much I feel like I"m going to die. Like it"s going to kill me.
You"re killing me, Buck.
"John, please," Gale shakes his shoulders, sounds about as worried as John"s ever saw him. Even considering the war.
"I love you," John almost chokes on his breath, feels a tear ripping his face in half as it makes it"s way down.
"I love you too," Gale says, obviously, completely missing the point, the undertone of worry still very much present.
"No, Gale. I love you," he repeats, with more force. Looks at him in the eye as he does. "I"m in love with you, have been for years."
It"s not nearly as much as he has to say, but he feels his throat knot and knows he won"t be able to get another word out if the doesn"t want to be a crying mess – a bigger one than he already is.
Buck looks at him. Up and down. Up and down, again. To his eyes, to the wall behing him, then back to his eyes. To the tears on his face.
"Gale, yo-"
"How dare you say that now, John?" Gale interrupts him, doesn"t let him say anything else. Sounds as angry as John"s ever heard him, as angry as he the day he punched him in the face. "How dare you say that on my wedding day?"
And that"s the thing, how dare he. How could he have waited so long just to go on and say it on the worst possible day.
It"s Croz"s words ringing in his head, yes, but it"s also so much more.
It"s the fact that it"s eating him whole, down to the bone.
He"s got nothing left but his love, now.
"Well, you know me. I"m nothing if not a fuck up," John says, self-deprecating at is best.
Probably feels as angry at himself as Gale must be.
"You"re not-" Gale starts,then stops himself. Gasps for air, messes the hair on top of his head, "Why do you always have to go on and do shit like that, hm?" he groans, far too loud for his usual composure.
John shrugs, doesn"t turn his eyes away from him – he might as well enjoy the last he"ll see of Gale, before he never wants to see him again.
"For God"s sake, John. When?" he asks, and now he"s pacing around the kitchen. When John doesn"t understand, he repeats, "When did you know?"
"It"s been a while," John says, eyes trained on him, tear streaks on his cheeks.
"How long?"
"Before the Stalag, probably before England, too."
"And you just never- you just never said anything?"
"What was there to say?"
"I don"t know, John. Something. Anything."
"Would it change anything?"
"I don"t know, I don"t-" he runs his hands through his hair again, stops pacing to look at John, "You should"ve said something."
"I did say something," John says, matter of factly.
"Not now!" Gale almost screams, looks like he wants to rip his hair out. "Before, John. You should"ve said something before."
"It wouldn"t have changed anything, Buck," John states, rather than wonders. He feels another tear burn its way down his face, "We"d just be right here, only in another day."
"It"s my wedding day, John. Yes it would"ve been different," Gale laughs with the irony of everything, with anger in his tone.
"How so?"
"I don"t know, Bucky. You didn"t give me a fucking choice to figure out, did you?" He says, and he"s angry again.
"Everyone already knew, Buck. You didn"t connect the dots because you didn"t want to," John says, and he can feel himself growing angry too.
"So I was just supposed to assume that my best friend was in love with me?"
"C"mon, like it wasn"t obvious!"
"You"re like that to everyone!" Now they"re both screaming.
"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" John is no longer crying. He"s furious, as furious as he"s ever gotten. As furious as he was when he made Gale punch him in the face.
He wants Gale to do it again.
"How dare you act like that now? Like you haven"t gone and ruined my wedding!" Gale is fuming, and his words sting in John"s skin almost as much as a punch would.
It"s not enough.
"As if you didn"t know what you were getting yourself into by befriending me. Not my fault you"ve got a shit taste, Buck," he screams at his face, even gets up from his seat to do so.
"Fuck you, John," he pushes John"s shoulders back, the same way John had Harry"s not even an hour ago.
"I"d like you to, but I figure that"d be too repulsive for you," John pushes back.
He braces himself for the punch, has done all of this to get it in the first place.
He knows he"s loosing Gale as they speak and needs to feel him – knows a punch is all he can get.
And it won"t be enough, can never be, but it will be as close as he can get.
So he closes his eyes, prepares for the punch that"s sure to come, braces himself for the pain, for the pleasure of it all.
It doesn"t come.
He opens his eyes to find Gale crying, full on sobbing in front of him.
He"s never felt so guilty in his life.
He closes the space between them, holds Gale between his arms, puts his head on his chest.
Gale lets him.
His already stained shirt absorbs the force of Gale"s cries, whom are shaking them both whole. Gale tries to take deep breaths in between them, seems to find it difficult to breathe all the same.
He hugs John back, cries harder on his chest.
John has never seen him like this, can"t remember a single time he saw Gale cry, much less sob.
He"s almost as tall as John, but feels small as he cries on his chest. Feels younger, even though he is.
Feels like a boy.
John can feel the pieces of his shattered heart beneath his damp shirt, under Gale"s head. Feels every single piece rattle inside him, like a hungover a drunk can"t help but to crave.
He cries too.
"I"m so sorry," he says to the crook of his neck, after what must"ve been at least twenty minutes.
Gale hugs him harder, slows his cries, steadies his breathing the best he can.
John is now crying harder than him.
"Gale, I"m so sorry," he repeats, sounding desparate.
Gale pulls away from the hug, cleans his face the best he can with his hands, looks him in the eyes through the fog clouding his vision.
John breathes once, twice. He"s trembling, he notices, but he"s also wet and heartbroken, so of course he is.
He looks back at Gale like he"s the prettiest thing he"s ever seen, which he is.
"I love you too, John," Gale says, a whisper in the silence that had taken up the space. It sounds different now than when he said it half an hour ago.
It is different now.
"Gale-"
"Shh," he urges him, breathing steadly as not to cry again, "I love you."
He holds John"s face between his hands, pulls him close, and pecks his lips square on the center.
It"s fast, not even three seconds, and its an eternity all the same.
He pulls back, hands at his sides, breathing steady and face half clean.
"C"mon, let"s go back. People are going to be looking for us soon, if they aren"t already," he smiles, and it"s forced and painful and shatters the little that was left of John"s heart.
Buck begins to turn, headed for the door, and John pulls him back by the arm and pecks his lips again.
Just once more.
Gale allows him, and then pulls back.
He smiles, even more sad now, and walks outside back to his wedding – but not before stopping at the door to smile back at John, a true thing.
A secret.
Love.
Gale loves him back.