Archive of Our Own

It’s not that Major Cleven doesn’t speak to him. He is, in fact, the picture of professionalism. But he’s like stone. Harry’s the only person who can get him to crack a smile every so often.

“He’s…frustrated,” Harry explains over a couple of pints of mediocre beer, after Reims, after Robert’s back from the hospital in Oxford, and after he so spectacularly puts his foot in his mouth about Egan.

“He’s frustrated you got shot down same as him, and then actually got your command back,” Harry tells him, big basset hound eyes apologetic.

It’s not Robert’s fault his injuries were minor enough that they didn’t permanently ground him, he thinks with a peevish edge. Nor is it his fault that their losses are so staggering they need all the experienced pilots they can get behind the stick, flying crews made up of replacements.

He tempers his response, though, saying mildly, “Seems like he’s doing okay for himself over in operations.” Cleven is air exec for the entire 100^th, and not half bad at the job. He’s at least less obviously resentful of the position than Jack Kidd was.

Harry shrugs. “You pilots. Not happy unless you’re at bombing altitude, actively risking death. God forbid you go on a milk run.”

Robert snorts into his beer.

He doesn’t seem to make any progress winning Cleven over, though, and it’s even more tense the next month, in November, when they give Robert command of the 418^th. Cleven’s mouth is pressed so tight his lips are white, and his glare could shatter glass, before he quickly pivots on a heel and leaves the ops center.

Harry winces a little when Robert relays the major’s reaction over breakfast the next morning. “Well, you know,” he says, making a vague motion with his fork. “That was Bucky’s squadron. Rumor has it Buck went to some effort to get him command of it, last year.”

Robert is confused by every part of that statement. “What does that even mean?”

“Major Egan was air exec, before Harding got here.” Harry sighs, long-suffering but, as always, well-informed. “It was a whole thing – his demotion, Kidd getting the job. But I heard Buck personally petitioned Harding for it as soon as he arrived. Like, literally met with him at the crack of dawn before anybody else had the chance.”

Robert stares at him, nonplussed. “But that’s insane.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugs, “they’re insane about each other, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Rosie only really knew Bucky Egan for a few days, is the thing.

He recollects Bremen in snippets – Buck Cleven going down, the absolute chaotic blur of interrogation, and the utterly bereft tone – which he only understood in retrospect – with which Crank asked no one in particular, “Who’s going to tell Egan?”

Rosie’s primary memory of Egan, after the man reappeared on base like an apparition, was of a man shattered. Deathly silent, ferociously angry in a way that poorly masked the way his chest was cracked open.

Münster was Rosie’s third ever mission, three in three days, and he had landed with the deep, cavernous dread of knowing his fort was the only one to return.

None of them could have foreseen getting Cleven back, and for months Rosie watched him haunt the edges of their bomber group, transparently devastated. They don’t discuss the men they lost, as a matter of course, and even at the time, Robert knew how foolish it had been to try and reach out to a man holding the splinters of himself together through sheer force of will.

He doesn’t remember exactly what he said, drunk and grasping for the right words, if there were even any to be found. But he does vividly recall Cleven’s dry, red-rimmed gaze, and the way his quiet words had sliced right through him. I’d trade your life for his in a heartbeat. A hundred times over. Cleven’s eyes hollowed out by grief, with an inextinguishable coal of fury burning behind them.

Robert doesn’t even notice the eventual thaw, too stuck in his own head, limited by his healing shoulder and the fact that he can’t sleep at night. His second experience getting shot down by the Germans was considerably different than the first.

It takes him a moment to notice when Major Cleven sits down across from him at breakfast, the officers’ mess having cleared out while Robert’s been poking listlessly at his eggs.

“Mornin’,” Cleven says mildly, with a relatively open expression on his face that Robert’s never had directed his way before. “You’re with me today.”

Robert hopes he doesn’t look as baffled as he feels, fork hovering in mid-air.

“No rush, though. Take your time,” the major offers, easing back in his chair to cross one knee over the other and slide his ubiquitous toothpick between his lips. He oughtta be on the silver screen, laconic and handsome like that.

Robert brushes away the thought.

Cleven is patient, waits for Robert to give up on his eggs as a bad job, his jaw working placidly the whole time.

He herds Robert outside into the cold morning, doing up that hideous two-tone sheepskin Robert now knows actually belongs to Major Egan, and leads him over to two bicycles. A little bemused, but mostly just too tired to make a fuss, Robert follows instructions.

It only takes him calling Cleven by his last name one more time for him to huff out a breath and cut Robert off.

“Call me Buck, for Pete’s sake,” he says with just a hint of impatience.

It feels overfamiliar, but Robert won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Buck does take him to see actual horses, though.

It’s clearly an olive branch, one Robert is happy to grasp.

Buck has decided that they’re friends now, Robert discerns.

He feels a little like a teacher’s pet, Buck turning up and waiting expectantly for Robert to tag along for whatever it is he’s doing that day, sedately chewing his gum like a dairy cow with her cud.

They spend a lot of time in the ops center, Jack Kidd a looming specter, Harry always a touch anxious seeing them walking in shoulder to shoulder, probably recalling the way Buck was a mean bastard to him for so long.

But Buck’s good company, now that he’s thawed out; he’s reserved but funny as hell, humor dry as a bone that Robert can blink and miss if he’s not listening.

He can understand, now, the way the men of the 100^th orient themselves to him like plants to the sun, like whatever Major Cleven says in that low, soft drawl, goes – easy as that. That what Buck wants to happen is a foregone conclusion.

Robert feels the same impulse in himself, is helpless to it; he feels like they somehow managed to tune themselves to the same frequency, a private channel no one else has access to.

He tries not to think too hard about how good it feels, to be calmly seen and heard like that.

They go back to the Davies farm, just the two of them, whenever they can escape the base. Robert gets more comfortable on the back of Bert, earning the rare curve of a smile from Buck, who seems satisfied with his progress.

“I want horses of my own again,” he admits quietly to Robert, one early spring day. They’re riding up along the top of the far pasture, the weak sun teasing them from behind patchy clouds.

“John doesn’t ride, but animals love him,” Buck muses. “I think he’d let me teach him. He’s a fast learner.”

Robert privately thinks that John Egan would let Gale Cleven carve his heart right out of his chest and eat it raw, if only he asked. He might even wield the knife himself.

Robert feels his jaw clench. “I haven’t thought about it much, what comes after. I don’t think I can, just yet.”

Buck just nods, understanding, stroking Lady’s neck with a gentle hand.

Robert can feel it, though, the way Buck winds tighter and tighter behind his calm demeanor, as V-E Day comes and goes, and they still don’t have any word of their prisoners being liberated.

Robert cuts Harry off with a shake of his head one night, down at the pub, when he starts to broach the subject.

He doesn’t want anyone to speak out of turn; they all know the score. Nothing’s guaranteed.

Selfishly, he doesn’t want to hurt Buck’s feelings any more than he’s already hurt by the sucking chest wound he’s carrying around. Anyone can see it, if they’re looking closely enough, and that worries Robert, too, makes him feel protective, like he wants to stand between Buck and anybody who might have something to say about it.

Granted, most of the men who knew the Buckies as two halves of one whole are dead and gone, which is a somewhat hollow comfort. So, they talk around John, his ghost always in the room with them, until they finally, finally, get word.

Buck is understandably a nervous wreck the morning they expect to get their POWs back, skirting the edges of the group of them who have gathered to wait, mostly talking to the dog. The weather is miserable, a fine mist coating everything in a layer of damp.

Robert keeps one eye on him until the trucks finally arrive and things descend into chaos, a hoard of thin, exhausted looking men emerging and spotting people they know, shouts ringing out over the hubbub. He sees a few familiar faces in the rabble, all of them considerably more gaunt than the men in his memories.

It catches his eye, though, and Harry’s, too, when the tall frame of John Egan appears, pushing himself free of the crowd.

It’s only a moment before Buck sees him, too, and they watch the two men launch themselves at one another, colliding with a nearly audible smack. Harry winces, but Robert can hear Egan’s laugher, high and just a little manic, as Buck grabs him so tight his knuckles go white.

He looks away, though, when Buck pulls back so he’s nose to nose with Egan, speaking to him quietly. It feels like he’s intruding on something private, seeing Buck’s long fingers cradle the vulnerable curve of Egan’s skull, shaved almost bald.

Robert squints into the rain, falling heavier now, and herds Harry along with the rest of the group to sort themselves out. He glances over his shoulder once to check; the Buckies trail behind the rest of them, Egan back in that hideous sheepskin that Buck’s been holding onto for him, one hand wrapped tight around Buck’s wrist.

Buck’s eyes are glued to the man for the rest of the day, and Robert sees him sitting on the edge of Egan’s bed later that evening, Egan bundled in a blanket, their voices low. He pulls the door of their q-hut – practically empty these days – closed behind him. He can find someplace else to be for a little while.

Robert meets Bucky Egan again properly after the man’s been back for a few days. He thinks he knows what they are to one another, the two Bucks, but he also knows better than to mention it. Robert doesn’t actually see them touch one another that often, for all that they’re glued at the hip.

“Rosenthal. I hear you’re the one who’s been looking after Buck for me,” Egan quips, reaching out a hand to shake as Robert approaches them in the officers’ club, Buck watching neutrally from his right shoulder.

Egan’s mouth is smiling underneath his mustache, but his eyes are hard. He’s skinny, with only the suggestion of dark hair, but he’s folded neatly back into his pinks and greens. Robert can see the outline of the handsome bastard he’s heard all about. It’s petty to think it, but Egan’s mustache has never been as good as his.

“More like he’s been looking out for me,” Robert counters mildly, taking Egan’s hand in a reasonably firm grip and trying not to feel like Egan’s pissing on Buck’s leg. “Please, call me Rosie.”

“Mother hen,” Egan scoffs at Buck, who just tucks up the corner of his mouth back at him. Egan thaws enough to give Robert a warmer smile. “Call me Bucky.”

It’s nice to see the life breathed back into Buck, obvious enough that even Croz mentions it. “It’s good to have him back,” Harry says quietly, obliquely, over his drink; he could be talking about either of them.

They’re all at loose ends, now that the war in Europe is over. Egan has started to tell him things out of the blue, revealing, vulnerable things, as if by earning Buck’s trust, he automatically has Bucky’s, too. It’s an odd feeling, and it startles Robert each time.

They’re leaning against the bar, another night in the officers’ club, watching Buck talk to John Brady and Benny DeMarco across the room. Robert hasn’t asked any of them about the camp, or after. He feels like he knows enough, and he has enough trouble sleeping as it is.

“This war has taught us all sorts of things, don’t you think,” Bucky remarks into their little bubble of quiet, a finger of scotch sitting idle in the rocks glass he’s been holding all night. Robert looks at him sideways, seeing his gaze fixed on Buck. “For instance, I learned I can live without him.” Bucky turns and looks Robert dead in the eye. “But I won’t if I don’t have to.”

Robert’s tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he can’t do anything but nod in return.

He’s not sure what his face is doing, but it must be sufficiently odd to cause some alarm. Buck excuses himself from his conversation with the other pilots and makes a graceful beeline for them by the bar. He flanks Robert’s other side and looks across his body at Bucky.

“Everything okay over here?” Buck asks, tone mild.

“Peachy keen, Buck.” Bucky’s face splits into a wide grin, and he throws an arm around Robert’s shoulders, tucking him into his armpit, practically. He’s radiating heat like a furnace.

The weather is beautiful, the day they separate, sunshine breaking through the clouds and heating the tarmac under their boots. Robert shakes hands, exchanges back-slapping hugs, and tries not to despair over the fact that he’s about to get on a train and he may never see some of these men again.

How is he supposed to leave? What is he meant to do without them?

Bucky deftly corners him away from the others, like a sheepdog.

He takes Robert’s proffered hand, shakes it, and keeps a hold of it, tucking his calloused left hand around it, too.

“Look us up, will you?” Bucky says quietly, his eyes piercing. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Robert nods after a second, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Bucky talks all kind of shit, says all sorts of things he doesn’t mean, but he clearly means this. “Yeah.” Robert has to clear his throat, his voice rough. “Yes. I will, John.”

Bucky holds his gaze for a long moment, intense like a searchlight, before his mouth cracks into a wide grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He squeezes Robert’s hand before letting go, briskly clapping him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

Later on, Robert finds the scrap of paper Bucky tucked in his jacket pocket, and folds it carefully into his wallet for safe keeping.

After his first visit to the farm, Buck insists repeatedly that it’s a standing invitation, and so Robert takes him at his word. Buck gets him to agree to spend a full week with them the next autumn; Robert makes sure to arrive over the weekend, so he can see John before he has to head back up to Arlington.

“Buck would ask you to move in if it was at all feasible,” John jokes over dinner on Sunday, and Buck rolls his eyes, but there’s a kernel of truth to it. Robert can tell Buck gets lonely here, without his other half.

It’s Wednesday night, the sky completely clear. The moon is full, silver light pouring through his window when Robert is woken from a deep sleep. He rolls over, groggy, to look at his watch; it’s two in the morning.

He realizes when he hears Buck on the stairs that it’s the telephone that woke him, ringing in the front hall – he has a habit of sleeping with his door cracked open, so Winnie can come and go as she pleases. Sure enough, it’s only a moment before she pads in, disgruntled at being disturbed, and hops up on Robert’s bed with an irritated huff.

He rolls over onto his back and pets Winnie while he tries – and fails – to not listen. It’s not a very big house, so Robert can hear Buck hurry to pick up the call, and snippets of Buck’s end of the telephone conversation float up the stairs, even though he’s clearly trying to speak quietly.

– you’re alright –

– god knows how much sick leave you have that you never use –

– Rosie’s here, remember –

It must be John calling – Robert hears Buck quietly tell him he loves him, before he hangs up and starts back up the stairs.

Robert pats Winnie apologetically as he swings his own legs out of bed. He waits in the doorway for Buck to reappear.

“Everything alright?” he asks softly, concerned. It’s the dead of night; he doesn’t know how often this happens.

Buck just grimaces slightly. “John’s going to come down a few days earlier than planned, so he’ll be here in the morning.”

Robert nods slowly. Buck seems to stall out a little, knuckling at one eye, before he leaves it at that, turning to go back to bed.

Robert follows suit, feeling like he lays awake for ages, but he must drift off, because he wakes again when Winnie abandons him to follow Buck downstairs, the light filtering through the window the lavender-gray of early morning.

Buck’s putting on a pot of coffee when Robert reaches the kitchen, already back from the barn, dressed in khaki work pants and a heavy flannel. His bare feet look oddly vulnerable poking out from his cuffs. Buck’s weird about wearing socks without also wearing shoes, which Robert finds endearing.

John can’t have managed more than a few hours of sleep, because it’s hardly any time at all before they hear the sound of tires on the gravel.

Robert stays where he is and gives Buck the privacy to retrieve him.

They both come back in the house a few minutes later, Winnie bringing up the rear. John still has a warm smile for him even though the circles under his eyes almost look bruised. He squeezes Robert’s shoulder in greeting before sitting down across from him.

Buck comes back over with another mug for John, who takes it and catches his hand before he can step away, kissing his knuckles. “Thanks, doll,” Robert hears him murmur.

Buck looks sideways at Robert, reflexively wary, but Robert just smiles at him gently.

He and John make quiet small talk for a few minutes, but Buck doesn’t sit down with them, keeps moving around, restless, until finally he braces his hands on the edge of the sink and sighs a heavy breath out of his nose. “I’m going outside,” he announces tersely, not looking at either of them.

John and Robert sit together sipping their coffee and watching out the window as Buck goes out to the paddock to join their little herd.

“It upsets him,” John offers after a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek fretfully, “that he can’t help, with…” he motions towards his head with the hand not holding his coffee. “Buck’s good at fixing most things, but I don’t think there’s any fixing that.”

And when Buck gets upset, he removes himself, goes to walk the dog or talk to the horses. Robert’s aware.

“I woke up and I just,” John pauses. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that fucking apartment - don’t tell Gale I said that. But I just woke up from some…fucking awful bullshit nightmare and I was alone, and all I wanted was to be sleeping in our actual bed and it felt like I was gonna die if I didn’t at least talk to him.” He mutters it all in a one breath, practically. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

Robert waves the apology away.

“Do you get them, too?” John ventures after a moment, very quiet, looking down into his mug.

Robert rubs his thumb along the warm ceramic of his own mug for a moment, shrugs slightly.

He thinks about getting shot down the second time, about everything he saw when he was with the Russians.

Robert leans his tired eyes into his hand, covering them for a moment. “Sometimes I don’t want to fall asleep because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” It feels like cutting himself cleanly with a sharp knife to say it. He slides his hand away and rests it between them on the table.

John takes his hand for just a moment, squeezing it firmly. His grip is warm and callused, comforting, Robert thinks, before he lets go and lets the subject drop. He stands to refill Gale’s abandoned mug and steps outside.

Robert watches through the window as John walks down the path, calling out for Buck’s attention. Winnie hasn’t forsaken him for the crisp morning air yet, and Robert strokes her head softly when she lays it in his lap.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, getting a beseeching little whine. Buck steps out of the paddock and carefully dodges the mug in John’s hand to wrap his arms around his waist. Robert watches them hug for a moment. It reminds him of the day the liberated airmen got back to base, how they embraced with such force that they nearly knocked each other over, like little kids. Harry had laughed at them, fond.

In the here and now, John cups the back of Buck’s head in his free hand and kisses him, on the cheek and on the mouth, before handing him the coffee and herding him back up towards the house.

It wasn’t all for nothing, Robert thinks, even as pointless as it all felt sometimes.

John appears out of thin air the next time Robert has business at the Pentagon, friendly smile on his face as he gladhands everyone, and wrangles himself an invite to Robert’s dinner with the brass.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Robert asks, quizzical, when they have a moment alone.

John just cocks his head, funny look on his face while he waits for Robert to put it together.

“Oh!” Robert says as it dawns on him. “Right, of course.” He’d spoken to Buck on the phone not even a week ago, and mentioned his plans to come down to Washington. That stands to reason – if Buck knows something, Robert can take it on faith that John likely knows it, too.

The old Bucky Egan Robert has heard so much about makes an appearance over dinner, but Robert watches closely out of the corner of his eye, sees the way John drinks far less than it might appear. He tells just the right war stories, grin stretched wide, takes it right to the edge but no further, giving senior command at the table the chance to guffaw around their cigars, to feel like one of the boys again within the golden bubble of their dinner table.

Unsurprisingly, John is incredibly good at managing the whole affair, and extricates Robert with no difficulty when he sees that Robert is starting to flag a little.

John blows out a relieved breath as they step outside, putting their covers back on. He’s himself again, brash grin sliding off his face in favor of a smaller smile, genuine, as he herds Robert into his sedan.

Anticipation fizzes in his stomach the rest of the way to John’s apartment. It’s the easiest thing in the world to follow John’s lead, to get out of the car and let John herd him upstairs and let John pour him a modest nightcap.

“So, what’s next?” Robert finally asks, trying to ignore the butterflies in his gut.

He’s really, really been trying not to get the wrong idea, here, with John’s warm hands all over him. He feels John’s knee come up against his under the table.

“I thought we’d go to bed together, if you’re amenable.” John says it outright, tone mild, fingers toying with the rim of his glass. 

“You’re married,” Robert says after a long beat, the bottom of his stomach dropping out. They’re the first words that come to mind. John doesn’t move his leg.

“Sure am,” John nods, putting down his drink. “And it was his idea. Is that your only objection?”

That sends a whole different kind of swoop through Robert’s stomach, like he’s missed a stair, or the fort he’s flying hit an air pocket and dropped.

“You’ll forgive me for being a little…dubious,” he says slowly.

John’s eyes crinkle up at him, stupidly handsome. It’s infuriating. “What, you want me to call him up on the telephone and have him tell you himself?”

Robert feels his jaw go mulish. “Yeah, actually, why don’t you do that,” he snaps, calling John’s bluff. He’s not doing this to Gale, no matter how handsy John has been, and he would’ve expected better from him, in fact.

John just raises both hands, conciliatory, before standing and stepping over to the phone to pick up the receiver. Robert listens to him give the operator the right name and number to get through to the farm, dark eyes holding Robert’s gaze the entire time.

He feels fucking insane, confused, and maybe a little turned on despite himself. He’s definitely sweating under his jacket.

“Hey, baby,” John croons when the line connects, as sweet to his man as ever, even if he is angling to step out on him. “Yeah, we had a good time, we’re back here now at my place.” He pauses, listening to whatever Buck’s telling him.

A slow, smug smile spreads across John’s face. “Oh, well, he called my bluff, you see. He didn’t believe me when I told him it was your idea.” His turn to listen again; he kisses his teeth a little.

Robert feels like a puppet with its strings being yanked when John jerks his chin, beckoning him over. He hands Robert the phone, but doesn’t step out of his space, a long line of heat against Robert’s front as he clears his throat and lifts the handset to his ear.

“Rosie, that you?” The telephone line makes Gale’s voice even coarser than usual.

“Yeah,” he manages, clearing his throat again. “Yeah, it’s me.” John’s leaning one hand against the sideboard, louche, looking down at him in a way that should be illegal. Well, probably is illegal, technically speaking.

“So, what’s the matter?” Buck asks, a thread of amusement running through his voice.

“Your man is trying to seduce me,” Robert says baldly, narrowing his eyes at John, who just sticks his tongue between his teeth back at him.

“Is that so,” Buck says, mild. “And you have an issue with that?”

Robert feels his mouth gape open, the dread curdling in his stomach beginning to dissipate. “Buck, I thought you’d have an issue with that.”

“Well, I don’t,” Buck says, definitive – Robert can hear the ‘full stop’ at the end. “So, what’s all the fuss about? You’re both big boys, you can figure it out. Now give me back to John, it’s late and I gotta get to bed.”

Robert obeys and hands the receiver back with slightly numb fingers, John taking it so he can say goodnight and placing it back in its cradle.

“So,” he claps his hands lightly in front of him. “You believe me now?”

Robert nods slowly, and lets himself be gently steered backwards until his calves hit the bed and he sits down with a huff. His eyes feel wide as dinner plates as John reaches out to start with the top buttons of Robert’s jacket.

“You gotta tell me to stop,” John says quietly, all the teasing dropping out of his voice as he crouches so they’re at eye level. His big hands are warm on Robert’s thighs, even through the wool of his trousers. “If you don’t want this –.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Robert quickly interrupts whatever John was going to say next, his voice thin. He swallows, hard, looks at the sweat in the hollow of John’s throat where he’s already loosened his tie and unfastened his top button, all the more handsome for being a little rumpled.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Robert repeats himself, firmer.

John takes him at his word, plants a knee on the floor and leans into Robert’s space in one smooth move, catching the back of his head in his hand to kiss him on the mouth, lush and firm and a little bit wet.

Robert hears himself make a noise he’s never made before, high in his throat.

“There he is,” John murmurs into his mouth, grin devilish again, pressing back in for another kiss. This one’s wetter, as he teases Robert’s mouth open a little and their tongues touch.

John must have also shaved again before dinner, because when their cheeks and chins rub together, all he can feel is smooth skin. The gentle scratch of their mustaches brushing against each other is so novel and strange that it makes the hair on the back of Robert’s neck stand up.

It’s a long moment before John pulls back a little, and Robert realizes he has a death grip on John’s lapels, holding him close.

John manages to slightly temper his smugness about that as he quickly undoes all his own buttons, shrugging out of both his jacket and his blouse, setting them aside. The breadth of his bare shoulders is revelatory, and Robert ghosts his fingers along John’s skin, freckled from the sun, warm and a little sweaty from being wrapped up in wool all day. John just smiles and skims off his a-frame, too, tags jingling.

“I think you’re a little overdressed, Major,” John comments from between his legs.

Robert just nods, and they work together to get him out of the rest of his kit.

John’s big – not just tall, but broad and heavy, a whole lot of man, and once he pushes Robert back onto the bed, Robert feels completely overwhelmed. But not in a bad way.

The sheets smell like John, like his aftershave and the scent of his skin – but just like him, and nobody else.

“You ever bring anybody else here?” Robert can’t resist asking, morbidly curious.

John perches his chin on Robert’s chest where he’d been nosing around, softly says, “No. Just you.”

“You’ve never fucked Gale in this bed?” Robert pushes, hardly believing the words coming out of his own mouth.

That gets him an absolutely filthy smirk. John pushes up on his hands and knees and crawls up Robert’s body so they’re face to face, John’s tags clinking when they come into contact with Robert’s.

“You’ve seen the bed where I fuck Gale,” he says, low, nasty and hot. Robert draws in a sharp breath. “I’ve fucked Gale in that bed with you just down the hall.”

Robert had a feeling that was true, but hearing it confirmed…he wets his bottom lip slowly.

“No, this isn’t my bed,” John continues, lowering himself down onto his elbows, kneeing Robert’s legs open wider so he can settle in the cradle of his hips, skin hot. Robert feels the ache of the stretch in his groin. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a nice time in it together.”

Robert fists his hands in John’s curls as he kisses him again, John’s hands wandering, smoothing along bare skin, warming him up. His awareness narrows to the feeling of John’s mouth on his, the way they’re full-on necking for long enough that Robert loses track of time, mouths wide, messy with spit.

He doesn’t say anything, just tries to keep breathing as John nudges his head up so he can kiss along his jaw, down his throat, lips soft so he doesn’t leave marks.

“What – oh,” Robert opens his eyes that slipped closed at some point, his hand still heavy on the back of John’s neck. John’s hands are on his waistband.

“This alright?” John asks into the skin of Robert’s hip, eyes dark and intent, heavy like a physical touch.

“Yeah,” Robert swallows. “Yes. It’s good.”

John nods, and wastes no time pulling Robert’s shorts down and off, tossing them over the side of the bed. He gets a shoulder under one of Robert’s thighs and gets his cock in his mouth, long fingers curling around the base of it.

Robert gasps, clapping a hand over his own mouth to try and keep the wild groan from escaping. He genuinely has no idea what time it is, nor how thin these walls might be.

John hums contentedly around his mouthful, letting Robert take his hand when he reaches down to grasp it, sucking him off slowly, wet and deep.

“Oh, god.” Robert laughs on an exhale, his other fingers still lax over his mouth. He’s putting some pieces together here, as heat rapidly pools in his gut; the way John’s been heavy-handed with him since the moment he got back to England, Buck always quietly observing from his flank. “Is this some fucked up way of thanking me for looking after your man while you were gone?”

John laughs, too, pulling off and swallowing some of the spit in his mouth. It’s nice, laughter in bed. Robert can’t remember the last time that happened for him.

“Well, sure,” he allows, jacking Robert off. “Better than a fruit basket, I’d like to think, although if you want one of those, too, you just let me know.”

Robert chokes around his next laugh as John ducks back down to swallow his cock again, and it doesn’t take very long at all before Robert is grasping at his hair, trying to warn him. John doesn’t budge, though, just stays with him while he gasps and shudders through it, the pleasure washing through and over him like a wave.

Robert feels like he’s been flattened, panting as John stands up just long enough to kick his own shorts off.

“Holy shit,” Robert nearly slurs when he sees John’s cock.

John's smile is as sharp as a jackal's as he crawls back on top of him.

Robert puts his hands on John’s flanks, his skin so warm it’s almost hot. "Fuck, John," he jokes, "where are you keeping that thing when you’re not using it, strapped to your leg?”

John laughs at that, loud, mouth wide open and teeth bared. He gets Robert’s legs up around his waist, rolling his hips down so his cock rubs along Robert’s stomach, wet against the hair there.

“Do you want – ?” Robert’s not actually quite sure what he’s asking, not familiar with the mechanics of it outside of lewd jokes muttered in asides.

John just smiles, holds Robert’s jaw so he can kiss him again, open and a little sloppy. Robert’s body flashes hot again – he can taste himself in John’s mouth.

“You ever been with another man before?” John asks, his voice a rumble in his chest. Robert shakes his head no. “Didn’t think so. This is good, this is perfect, don’t worry.”

He keeps kissing Robert, deep and lingering, until they’re both breathing heavy again, John continuing to rub off on him.

Robert can’t resist, though, wants to take advantage of the opportunity in case he never gets another chance.

John grunts heavily when Robert reaches down between them to grasp his cock. “You can…harder,” John tells him, and Robert tightens his grip, the slip of John’s foreskin unfamiliar in his hand.

“Yeah,” John pants, head hanging heavily over Robert’s chest as he works his hips up into his hand. “Just like that, that’s good.”

John’s completely surrounding him, nearly smothering him – what a way to go, Robert thinks. Then he thinks about how Gale gets this all the time, this big, beautiful man in his bed, and can barely swallow a whimper.

He catches John’s mouth when he raises his head again, and tightens his grip even further, exploratory. John moans outright, voice gritty as he warns, “I’m gonna –.”

“Alright,” Robert breathes, grasping at John’s ass with his free hand, his hips aching in a way he’s never felt before, stretched around the breadth of the man. “Go on, then.”

Robert drinks in every moment of it, John falling apart on top of him, keeps his grip tight and steady until he twitches, hard, and reaches down to ease Robert’s hand off of him.

“Stay right here, yeah?” John murmurs after catching his breath, kissing Robert softly once more, before stumbling out of the bed and over to the bathroom, naked but for the chain around his neck.

Robert is only half-conscious by the time John comes back with a damp towel, wiping him down carefully, gentle as he gets Robert into bed. The last thing Robert remembers before he passes the fuck out is John getting under the sheets with him, and his warm body pressing up against his back, snug.

Robert wakes with a jolt, sitting straight up before he blinks several times and realizes where he is.

The sun has come up, although it’s still early, based on the light, and Robert can see the various pieces of their respective uniforms draped over a chair. John must have picked everything up off the floor.

Speaking of John, Robert startles when he hears his voice, turning his head.

“Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” John jokes. He’s on the phone, receiver cradled to his ear, naked as the day he was born. Robert takes in the obscenely wide splay of his knees, cock and balls on full, shameless display.

Robert feels like he’s been hit by a truck. He rubs the heel of his hand into one eye, hearing John laugh, low, into the phone.

“Rosie, c’mere,” John calls quietly. Robert looks around to find his shorts, before John motions to where they’re folded on the nightstand. He manages to get them back on and staggers upright before going over to John.

“C’mere,” John murmurs, tugging at his wrist a few times, until Robert gets the memo, and gingerly eases down to sit on one of John’s broad thighs.

John promptly puts an arm around his waist, like a teddy bear, Robert thinks, and hands him the phone.

“Hello?” Robert says cautiously.

“Good morning,” Gale’s voice comes back warm and amused over the line.

“Oh! Hi, Buck,” Robert looks at John, who has his head tipped back against the wall, content. He motions his free hand at Robert as if to say, go on, then.

“Uh. How are you,” Robert tries. Gale audibly snorts.

“Still not a morning person?” he ribs gently, and Robert laughs weakly. John just rubs his hand along Robert’s flank, shamelessly wrapping the other one around his thigh. Robert wrinkles his nose at him, but just gets a waggle of John’s eyebrows in return.

“Well, I have no idea what time it was when we fell asleep,” Robert admits, candid.

“Hmm.” Gale asks, “Did you have a nice night?” The question is loaded, for all that it’s so banal.

Robert swallows, looking at John, Gale’s voice warm in his ear. “Yes, we did. Or, at least, I know I did.”

“Oh, John did, too,” Gale assures him. “He told me all about it.”

Fucking hell. Okay.

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it,” Robert says, stilted. What the fuck is he even talking about. He needs several cups of coffee and a cigarette before he can be expected to face this day.

“Say, what are you doing this weekend?” Buck asks. If Robert is tracking correctly, today is Friday, so he’s got a few morning meetings and then nothing in the afternoon, to account for his return trip north.

John’s grin spreads wider as he overhears Buck’s question.

“I think I’m probably coming down to yours with John,” Robert says slowly after a moment, getting a friendly pinch to his ribs for it. He slaps at John’s hand, tsking at him.

“Well, good,” Buck says, parroting his words back to him. “Glad to hear it. Give me back to John now,” he directs, and Robert is not firing on sufficient cylinders right now to do anything other than obey.

John keeps his eyes on Robert as he talks to Buck. “He told me yesterday he had nothing after lunch, so we should be able to make an early break for it.”

Robert chews on his lip, listening, John’s hand warm and firm on his stomach.

“Alright,” John says. “I love you, baby, we’ll see you a little bit later.”

He hangs up the phone, and smacks Robert lightly on the bare skin of his thigh.

“You want a cup of coffee?” he asks, urging Robert to his feet.

Robert can’t do anything but laugh helplessly.

John’s waiting for him at lunchtime, tucked neatly back into his uniform. He could be on a recruiting poster, free hand tucked in his pocket against regs and Robert’s reflection flashing back at him in his aviators.

He straightens from his lean against a stone pillar, slowly exhaling the last drag of a cigarette before flicking the butt away.

It’s a miracle Robert was able to focus on anything else this morning, he thinks as John gives him a grin and a friendly smack on the shoulder.

“Ready to go?” John pivots, leading the way.

Robert has his briefcase-cum-weekender in hand, so he follows dutifully, nodding at various service personnel who recognize either one or both of them.

“Figured I’d call Buck on our way out of town,” John says casually, once they reach his sedan. Robert’s car can probably survive a weekend in the secure parking lot.

He’s as good as his word, too; Robert waits in the front seat, windows down, as John pulls into a service station in Alexandria and hops out to use the pay phone.

John was bigger than most of them when Robert first met him, broad and objectively too tall for a pilot, but he’d leaned out something awful during his time as a prisoner.

Buck has managed to get a fair amount of weight back on him, but Robert knows the effort is ongoing. John doesn’t complain about the way Buck babies him a little anywhere Robert can hear it.

Robert’s eyes trace up the long line of John’s legs to the curve of his ass and the way his jacket hugs his waist. John’s got an elbow braced on the phone booth, hip cocked while he talks to Buck, mouth tucked close to the receiver.

He shifts in his seat, feeling the faint soreness in his hips. He had that man between his legs last night, and he feels his cheeks go warm, remembering.

John must have a sixth sense for when he’s being ogled, because he turns to look over his shoulder, grinning at Robert through the windshield. His service cover and shades throw half his face into shadow as he wraps up his end of the conversation.

“I know it’s lunchtime,” John says as he slides back behind the wheel, taking his cover off and immediately loosening his tie, throwing both into the back seat. “But I figure we can make pretty good time if we head south now, and Buck can feed us when we get there.”

Robert nods, shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “You’re in the left seat here.”

He keeps expecting it to turn awkward, their night together hanging in the air between them, unspoken, but John just smiles. He pushes his sunglasses back up his nose and puts the car in reverse, hand on the back of Robert’s seat. His thumb brushes Robert’s neck in the process, and he forces down a shiver.

They don’t talk much, but it’s comfortable, easy. They have similar taste in music; John turns on the radio, and it’s already tuned to the jazz station.

Robert mostly watches the green of the Virginia countryside roll by out the window, John humming along under his breath, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

It doesn’t seem like much time at all before they’re off the highway and John is navigating his way up the long dirt driveway to the Cleven farm, up and over the little hill that shields the house and barn from view.

The tires must be kicking up an unholy cloud of dust on a clear day like this, so he’s not surprised to see Gale out on the porch, hands braced on his belt as they pull up. Robert can see Winnie with her snout pressed into the screen door behind him.

He lets John get out first, waiting a moment before opening his own door.

Robert would feel like a voyeur, watching Buck come down the stairs to meet them, intercepting John, but Buck all but seduced him by proxy last night. He probably doesn’t mind Robert seeing the way his arms go around his man’s waist, eyes falling shut as John gets both hands on that pretty face to kiss him hello.

Buck pulls away when Robert’s boots hit the dirt to come around the front of the car, but one hand stays curled around John’s waist as he shades his eyes with the other.

Buck always had a way of making a man feel special. Robert himself was no exception; he had felt the thrill of it once Buck decided he liked him after all, singling him out again and again. He feels it now.

Robert can feel the edge of his smile go a little shy, and he’s definitely blushing, but Buck just reaches out a hand to squeeze his shoulder.

“Rosie,” he says, voice husky and warm like whiskey. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

God help him. They make quite the pair, light and dark, John’s arm draped heavy around Gale’s shoulder.

It’s Buck’s show, just like it usually is, so Robert decides to follow his lead and try not to worry about it.

“C’mon,” Buck jerks his chin towards the house. “Let’s have something to eat.”

Robert feels a little antsy the longer Buck goes without saying anything substantive, feels like it’s written across his forehead – your man had my cock in his mouth last night.

He tries not to feel like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It isn’t until they’re all sat down at the kitchen table, Buck leaning on his folded arms, that the tension breaks. His gaze is weighty, bouncing between them, for all that it’s so mild.

“You’re not having anything, doll?” John’s brow creases as he talks around a mouthful of chicken sandwich.

Buck tsks at him lightly for it, but just shrugs. “I ate earlier.”

It seems like no time at all before their plates are clean and Buck is swooping in to clear, throwing them both a meaningful look as he leaves the kitchen.

It only takes a moment, John waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Robert, before they both scramble out of their seats to follow.

There’s something decadent, hedonistic, even, about following Gale up the stairs to their bedroom while the sun is still high in the sky.

John shoulders both past them on the landing, skimming his blouse and a-frame off, barefoot in just his trousers when he deposits himself in the middle of the bed, propped up against the pillows and the headboard.

“C’mere, Rosie,” John says, warm. “Buck’s gonna give us a show.”

“Oh, I am, am I?” Gale says, dry, but there’s something playful about the smile flirting with the edges of his mouth.

John pats his thighs again, and Robert takes him at his word, pulling his own shirt over his head before easing in between John’s legs. He scoots back when John immediately loops his arms around Robert’s waist, giving him a tug.

Gale is standing at the foot of the bed, observing them both. Robert looks back, seeing the way the sun slants in through the window, sending dust motes dancing and catching at the blond stubble grown out around Gale’s generous mouth, turning the edges of him golden.

John hooks his chin over Robert’s shoulder, croons, “Pretty thing,” at Gale, getting a slow, confident smirk in return.

They watch, rapt, as Gale’s long fingers start at the top button of his chambray shirt, creamy skin appearing inch by inch, until he finally shrugs it off one shoulder, then the other, arms flexing as he pulls the tail free of his blue jeans.

“Damn,” Robert breathes, John humming in agreement. So many years of knowing he wasn’t supposed to look, and now, here, this visual feast. Robert wants to eat him.

Gale’s eyes are heavy on them both as his hands go for his belt, the clink of the buckle sending a wash of heat through Robert. He feels more than he hears John’s hard swallow, where his back is pressed flush to John’s chest. He slides the pads of his fingers along the back of John’s hand, threading their fingers together where it rests against his stomach, squeezing gently. John squeezes back.

The light catches on the freckles dotting the tops of Gale’s shoulders as he pulls his leather belt free of its loops with a smooth sound, dropping it to the floor.

His fly is next, the denim easing its snug hold on Gale’s trim waist as he undoes the top button.

“You are so beautiful,” Robert blurts, can’t help himself, as Gale makes deliberate work of kicking free of his jeans. Gale’s head ducks, dusky eyelashes sweeping along his cheeks.

“Don’t go bashful on us now, gorgeous,” John says, beseeching, voice entirely sincere.

Gale does look up at that, nose crinkling up a little, like a bunny. Robert’s pulse is thudding through his veins, cock well past half hard. He can feel John’s cock firming up against his ass, too.

“Unbutton his pants for me, John,” Gale orders, spine straightening back up. He puts a knee up on the bed.

John releases Robert’s hand with a soft kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder, making quick work of his belt and front placket. They tag team him, Robert planting his hands on the bed so Gale can tug his pants down off his hips, pulling them off and tossing them on the floor.

Robert feels his eyes go wide as – there’s no other word for it – Gale prowls up the bed towards him. He plants a knee on either side of Robert’s hips, shorts riding up his milky thighs. Robert’s hands hover in the air, useless.

“Go ahead,” John encourages him, breath hot on Robert’s neck, goosebumps prickling in its wake. “Touch him.”

Robert takes a deep breath. Gale’s skin is warm when he lays his hands on his ribs, squeezing gently before smoothing his palms around to the small of his back.

Gale looks down at him, indulgent, like a big, lazy cat. “That’s good,” he says, his voice a rasp. He curls his fingers around Robert’s jaw, stroking a thumb along his mustache.

“Gonna kiss you now,” Gale informs him, matter of fact. Robert inhales, nodding. John’s a wall of heat at his back, big hands kneading at Gale’s thighs, Gale a not insignificant weight on top of them.

Robert’s eyes slip shut as Gale leans down, starting off gentle, closed-mouthed, until Robert groans just a little through his nose.

They kiss just the same, Robert thinks, as Gale moves his head exactly where he wants it, bossy. He eases Robert’s mouth open to slip him some tongue.

It heats up quickly, Gale breathing heavy as he pushes his way further into their space, Robert’s arms instinctually curling around his waist to pull him closer. The sound of their mouths meeting is obscene, Gale’s fingers carding back through his hair to get a good grip.

Gale’s whiskers are scratching at his face, just a little bit painful, making him feel shivery and hot.

Robert has to pull away after a minute just to suck in a full breath. Gale finger combs his sweaty hair back off his face for him, softly kissing Robert’s cheek, his chin, the side of his nose. It’s so startlingly tender that Robert has to take another deep breath.

“Too much?” John murmurs, nosing at him behind his ear.

“No,” Robert breathes, stroking his palm up the dip of Gale’s back. “No, it’s good. Just a lot.”

The curve of Gale’s mouth is fond. He leans just past Robert to kiss John over his shoulder, their mouths comfortable and familiar with one another, John raising a hand to grasp Gale’s chin.

“Hi, angel,” Robert hears him murmur, almost subvocal, Gale nudging their noses together affectionately.

Robert could die a happy a man, right here between them, but Gale pulls back just far enough to look at them properly.

“What’s the plan, Major?” John asks, smiling, squeezing Robert’s hip.

Gale reaches down to get a hand on Robert’s cock, searing even through his shorts.

“Well,” he says mildly. “Has Rosie ever been inside a man?”

Robert nearly chokes on his own spit, but only most of his brain has melted out of his ears. “Dunno, does Bucky’s throat count?”

Gale laughs outright at that, all his teeth showing in a way Robert’s seen maybe two or three other times. He really is unbelievably gorgeous.

John presses his own grin into the back of Robert’s shoulder, sucking a hard kiss into his skin.

“You want him to ride your cock, or what, Rosenthal?” John demands.

“Yes, please,” Robert answers, earnest, getting another little laugh out of Gale, his hand flexing around Robert’s dick. There’s a visible damp spot forming on the front of his shorts.

“Just like this,” Gale asserts, kneeling up to get his shorts off, one leg at a time. His cock is as pretty as the rest of him, flushed and glistening at the tip.

Robert leans more of his weight back against John. “I’m not going to have much leverage,” he warns Gale, who just shakes his head, the long, lean line of him stretching out as he reaches over to the nightstand, naked as a jaybird.

“You wanna open him up, or you want my help?” John asks, pressing soft little kisses into Robert’s throat.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Robert reminds them both, apologetic.

Gale drops the tin in the sheets, pulling Robert’s shorts down, gaze intent and assessing. Robert fights the urge to cover himself, slightly defensive. He knows exactly what John’s working with, after all.

“That don’t matter none,” Gale licks his lips slow, getting back in Robert’s lap. “We’ll go slow.”

John snorts.

Robert thinks he might combust, John feeding him quiet instructions, getting his fingers greased up, guiding him into the warm skin behind Gale’s balls. Gale’s a little sweaty, and Robert feels the coarse hair under his fingers before easing the tip of one inside him.

It’s the furthest thing from being in bed with a girl, the heavy, masculine smell of both of them, the hard flex of Gale’s hands on Robert’s shoulders as he works him open carefully.

It’s almost unbelievably sensual, though, a flush working its way down Gale’s chest. They’re all sweating, bathed in sunlight, Robert easing little whines out of Gale’s throat when he presses a thumb up against Gale’s taint.

“Quick study,” John says, voice rich with amusement.

“I’m ready,” Gale says impatiently, after what doesn’t seem like near long enough.

Robert’s skepticism must be obvious, because John kisses his teeth.

“He likes the stretch,” he says, a touch reproachful. “You sure, baby?”

Gale nods, retrieving the Vaseline to get Robert’s cock greased up.

John’s a solid foundation for Robert to brace himself against when Gale gets himself situated, shoving all the air out of Robert’s lungs as he carefully takes the head of his cock inside him.

“Shit,” Robert curses, fisting both his hands into the sheets. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, the pleasure of it almost too intense. He thinks about flight checklists, about engine components, anything to distract himself a little.

“Different than a cunt, huh?” John says right into Robert’s ear, Gale’s eyes going a little hazy as he slowly works himself all the way down. “Tighter, hotter. Bet he feels like a fucking dream.”

Robert takes several deep, grounding breaths, Gale waiting patiently with his hands braced on Robert’s belly.

“He always talk this much?” Robert grits out, finally.

“Yep,” Gale says, and starts moving his hips in a smooth roll.

Robert’s seen Gale on horseback, seen how he can control his seat like breathing. He’s never seen it from this vantage point, though, Gale’s head tipping back in pleasure, sweat gleaming along the long stretch of his throat, wet mouth hanging open, tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip before he bites it between his teeth.

Robert smooths his palms up Gale’s thighs, catching the blond hair against the grain, watching a shiver run through him. He holds Robert’s hands to his hips, riding him harder.

“Jesus Christ,” Robert hears John mutter helplessly.

“Feels good,” Gale breathes out heavily, holding Robert’s gaze. He leans forward, pulling Robert up to sit, arms around his shoulders.

“I think you’re doing most of the work, here,” Robert counters, but he has more leverage this way, plants a hand and heel, moving his hips in counterpoint to Gale’s rhythm the best he can, his other arm tight around his waist.

Gale tucks their faces close, kisses the corner of Robert’s mouth, messy. The angle is working for him, clearly, Robert fucking little grunts out of him.

John’s hand appears from out of nowhere, snaking between them to get a grip on Gale’s cock.

“Cheater,” Gale scolds, breathless.

“Deck was stacked to start with, babydoll,” John counters, not getting in Robert’s way, just helping Gale along.

It doesn’t take long at all, loud uh uh uhs pushing their way out of Gale’s throat, obscene, John’s grip going visibly tighter as Gale starts to come on Robert’s cock, clenching up around him. Robert just tries to keep his rhythm consistent, his hand slipping a little on Gale’s skin.

Gale’s hips slow, his callused hands stroking the back of Robert’s neck, down his shoulders.

“He wants you to keep going,” John says into Robert’s ear, lips wet. “He likes it, after.”

Robert’s a little too warm, a little overwhelmed, his throat dry, the thread of his pleasure slipping out of his grasp. His hips slow to a stop. “Sorry, I can’t –,” he cuts himself off, panting.

Gale stills, cups his face. “You alright?”

John’s hand is big and warm on his back.

Robert shakes his head, grimacing a little. “I don’t think I can get there, like this. Can we…?”

Gale reaches out to both of them to support him as he eases himself up and off, sitting down on one hip. His gaze is shrewd, incisive. Robert fights the urge to look away.

John hops up, somehow still in his trousers, to open the window and draw the drapes, just a little. A cool breeze immediately washes across Robert’s skin, and he breathes out. “Sorry,” he says again.

“No need,” Gale says, lightly chucking under Robert’s chin with a gentle knuckle.

John sits back down, hip to hip, rubbing his hand down Robert’s back. “How about,” he says, low, leaning in, “we put Gale on his belly, and I help you?”

Robert’s cock has gone just a little soft, but Gale sees the way that makes him twitch and smirks.

Robert nods, watching Gale shift to lay down on this front, resting his head on his arms and drawing a knee up. He reaches out to stroke a hand along the downy hair on the back of his thigh, Gale tucking his chin to watch from over his shoulder.

“Up we get,” John smacks his thigh lightly.

“Mount up,” Gale jokes, and Robert can’t help but snort, kicking his shorts off the rest of the way and getting a knee over Gale’s thighs.

John finally gets naked, and bellies right up to Robert’s back. “Too much?” he double checks, but Robert shakes his head.

He watches John’s big hands grasp Gale’s cheeks, spread him open. “He wants you to come inside him,” John tells him, mouth hot and wet against his ear.

“Is that right?” Robert says, strained. His cock is fully hard again, flushed against Gale’s ass.  

John’s right up in his business as Robert gets himself back inside Gale, and Gale stretches his arms above his head to push back into it, groaning softly. The sharp wings of his shoulder blades flex underneath his fair skin.

It doesn’t take him long at all, like this, John’s breath on his neck and big hands bracing Robert’s waist. “I’m close,” Robert pants, everything slow and sweaty and overwhelming, in a good way this time.

“I want it,” Gale tells him, voice rough, hips tipped up into Robert’s thrusts.

It might be the hardest Robert’s ever come in his life, Gale clenching up around him as he pants his way through it, John getting an ugly little whine out of him when he latches his teeth onto Robert’s shoulder, sucking a deep, stinging bruise with his mouth.

Robert strokes a hand up Gale’s spine, where he’s warm and sweaty, and tries to get his breath back. Gale finally pushes up on one elbow so he can look at them over his shoulder.

“It’s John’s turn,” he tells Robert, eyes heavy.

Robert carefully eases his cock out, and tries not to gape at the way his come is just starting to drip out of Gale. He’s never fucked anyone bare before, and he takes a second before carefully flopping down on his side next to Gale, John sliding up to take his place.

Gale settles back down on his stomach, smiling smugly at Robert, the cat that got the proverbial – or not so proverbial – cream.

Robert has a front row seat to how big John’s cock looks up against Gale’s pert little ass, and his own throbs with an aftershock of pleasure as he watches John stroke a thumb up Gale’s taint, gathering up all of Robert’s come and pushing it back inside him.

Gale grunts impatiently, and John just shushes him.

“Don’t rush me,” John chides, fisting his cock and teasing Gale with it just a little, sliding the head of it between his ass cheeks, holding them open with one big hand.

Gale almost looks furious, cheeks stained pink as he gasps into the sheets. Robert can’t take his eyes off him, watches the way the tendons in his neck visibly strain as John eases the head of his cock inside him.

Gale fumbles a hand back, grasping for John, and gets a grip on his thigh, fingers tucked into the crook of John’s knee. “Please,” he grits out, as John slowly rocks his hips, pushing deeper inside him.

“I know, baby,” John croons, gripping Gale hard enough that his skin dimples and blanches white. He knees Gale’s thighs further apart and pulls his hips up higher, hitting him deeper. John seems impossibly strong, holding Gale exactly where he wants him, and he gets another noise out of both of them when he says, fully earnest, “I’m gonna give this pretty cunt exactly what it needs.”

Robert can feel the spit pooling in his mouth, his whole body heavy with satisfaction but still running hot at the sight of them together, Gale reaching his other arm up to grab the bedframe in a white knuckled grip, so he has leverage to push back against John, who seems to take that as his cue to pick up the pace.

It feels beyond intimate, like he’s seeing something no one else should have the right to.

John must have him dead to rights, because Gale makes a sound Robert’s never heard before. “Fuck,” he groans out, long and almost pained, and tips his head to the side so he can look at Robert, blue eyes completely swallowed by pupil. Robert startles a little; he was so absorbed in watching them, he nearly forgot he’s an active participant here.

Gale reaches out and grabs Robert’s hand, threading their fingers together as John fucks him.

Robert kisses the back of Gale’s hand and holds it against his cheek, and Gale’s eyes slip shut, beautiful mouth hanging open. He looks like a saint, in the agonizing throes of ecstasy, John reading the play perfectly; all Robert can hear is their breathing and the sound of their bodies moving together.

John finally leans down to blanket Gale’s body with his broad chest, and Gale’s grip tightens to the point of crushing Robert’s fingers when John gets a hand on his cock, hard again.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” John presses his mouth into Gale’s throat, not kissing him, just getting him between his teeth like he had Robert earlier.

“John,” Gale gasps wetly, voice completely shot, nearly choking on it. He has to be hurting at this point, Robert thinks, fucked twice like this.

Robert thinks he might see this every time he closes his eyes from now on, John’s thick thighs flexing as he moves, the way he holds Gale obscene in its tenderness.

Gale nearly sobs his way through it as John urges him on, his voice rough, “That’s it, baby, let it go for me.”

John waits for Gale to shake all the way through it before he deliberately gives him one last hard thrust, and then a second, and finishes, jaw clenching with a grunt. Gale shifts underneath him, and John lets out a long, slow breath, helping him settle on his belly before he eases his cock out.

Robert swallows hard; he’s not all the way hard again, but he thinks he could get there as he watches John stroke his hands down Gale’s flanks, slowly working his mouth down his spine, making sure to kiss both dimples above Gale’s ass.

He pauses and asks softly, “Can I – ?”

Gale hums in the affirmative before he even finishes the question, squirming just enough to hitch a knee back up, settling his cheek on the bed and opening his eyes again to meet Robert’s.

Robert frowns a little as John gently uses his thumbs to spread Gale’s ass cheeks back open, and then John opens his mouth and slowly licks up Gale’s taint, using his tongue to clean up where their come is trickling out of Gale.

“Oh my god,” Robert hears himself say faintly, and John winks at him from between Gale’s legs, before reapplying himself to the task, mouth moving soft and wet.

Robert feels his breathing pick back up, watching in disbelief as John works. He’s had his own mouth between a girl’s legs, felt the way a cunt goes hot and wet as a woman takes her pleasure, and the way Gale is humming softly, shifting his hips as much as John’s firm grip allows, tells him how good it must feel.

John finally pulls away, and Gale rolls back over, stretching out like a cat, reaching up to thumb at John’s mustache and chin, where he’s wet with spit and come.

John smiles, slow and smug, satisfaction practically dripping off of him, and Robert sucks in a sharp breath when the weight of John’s attention turns to him.

Gale still has hold of his hand as John pushes Robert’s hip so he’s flat on his back, and it’s Robert’s turn to squeeze the life out of Gale’s fingers when John crawls back on top of him, leaning down to spit, sudden and filthy, directly onto Robert’s cock.

“You already gave Buck one, you have another one for me?” John asks, low and dirty, a mean smirk pulling at his mouth as he gets a hand back on Robert to jack him off, tight and slow.

Gale shifts onto his side, getting his free hand around Robert’s neck so he can kiss him, whiskers scraping at his cheeks. The two of them on top of him, surrounding him and completely filling his senses has Robert moaning into Gale’s mouth.

It was a rhetorical question, but Robert still obediently whimpers out a faint yeah. John rewards him with a squeeze of his hip, before he leans down to spit on his dick again, a disgusting mix of saliva and their come making everything hot and slick.

He’s going to make the top of Robert’s head blow off at this rate, and Robert just hangs on for dear life while John pulls another orgasm out of him, his cock kicking in John’s tight grip.

At the last second, he leans down to suck the head of Robert’s cock into his mouth, tongue working him all the way through it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Robert groans, his head tipping back with the pleasure of it, Gale breathing hot against his cheek. He thinks his legs might be shaking. “Oh, fuck, John.”

Gale makes a hungry sound when John finally pulls off, and Robert watches in abject disbelief as John presses his thumb to Gale’s plush bottom lip so he can spit the whole mess of Robert’s come directly into Gale’s open mouth, before leaning down to kiss him, generous with his tongue.

“What the fuck,” Robert says, very faintly, his balls aching with one last aftershock of pleasure.

John pulls back with a wet sound. “What’s mine is his,” he nearly purrs, horribly smug, getting down on his elbow so he can kiss Robert senseless, salty and kind of disgusting and all the hotter for it. It’s a hell of a line, and it’s a little infuriating that John can deliver it in all apparent sincerity.

They’re going to fucking kill him, Robert thinks, as Gale hooks a knee over his thigh and leans in to steal Robert’s mouth back from John. But what a way to go.

“How did you know,” Robert asks softly, back on his side, feeling like a wrung-out wash rag. “About me, I mean.”

He doesn’t know if he knew it about himself, not really, not before the two of them opened that door and invited him through it.

They’ve settled back on the bed, John getting everyone a drink of water and cleaning Gale up a little, before promptly depositing himself in Gale’s lap, the way Robert was in his, earlier.

Robert lets his gaze wander along both of them, the long line of John’s legs sprawled across the sheets, Gale twining his arms around his shoulders. John is shameless and comfortable in his nudity, in what Robert flushes a little bit to think of as their marital bed.

Gale hums thoughtfully at Robert’s question, fiddling with John’s crucifix. “People see what they want to see,” he says finally. “Or vice versa – they don’t see what they don’t have any interest in seeing. Plenty of guys got close, plenty will always be friends, but you could see that it was more than that, for us.”

John strokes a slow hand along Gale’s forearm, tender.

“So, I was a little less careful, let you see more of the truth of it, and you just. I dunno. Kept not flinching.” Gale shrugs a little. “You weren’t exactly dropping hairpins, but. Thought you’d either be interested, or if you weren’t, you’d be a good sport about the offer and we’d stay friends, anyhow.”

Robert lets out a slow, heavy breath. It’s true; he’d noticed what he’d thought might be two men in love, and it had seemed as obvious as anything else. “I still like girls, though,” he counters.

John snorts. “Hell, so do I, even if he doesn’t, really. Doesn’t have to be all of one and none of the other.”

“You don’t sleep with women, though,” Robert says carefully, half a question.

John shrugs. “I sleep with whoever Buck thinks I ought to,” he says, matter of fact and happy as a clam.

Gale tucks a smug little smile up behind John’s ear, kissing him there softly.

No wonder Robert could feel the ghost of him in bed with them last night, if he’s orchestrated the whole scheme.

“How did you know, about one another?” Robert asks after a quiet moment.

He saw how it nearly killed Gale, losing John like he did, but he doesn’t know whether that was a moment of revelation, or whether they’d already been an item. There had been rumors of a beautiful blonde waiting back in the states for Major Cleven, but Buck has never mentioned anybody else.

“I think I’ve known it since the moment I met him,” Gale says, after considering the question thoughtfully, “that God made him just for me.”

“Coup de foudre,” John murmurs. Louder, he says, “Thought it might work like when you find a stray – if I named him, that meant I got to keep him.”

Gale pinches John’s side for that, just hard enough to tickle, and John squawks, grabbing his hand. Gale just snorts a laugh.

Robert watches them settle back into one another, comfortable.

“I’d been panting after him since flight school,” John admits. “Couldn’t help myself, I just wanted all his time and his attention and was a jealous son of a bitch when he gave it to anybody else. I’m lucky he waited for me.”

“I realized pretty quick after I didn’t have him anymore that I wasn’t much interested in living a life without him,” Gale says, more sober. “That cleared things up pretty quick for me; I’m just glad John felt the same way.”

John brings Gale’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “I left him once. I’m never gonna leave him again, not if I can help it.”

Gale squeezes him from behind, tucking a bittersweet smile into John’s sweaty hair.

“I love him something awful,” John continues, grinning. “And I know how much you care about him – god, Buck, you should’a seen his face when he thought I was trying to step out on you. Thought Rosie was gonna murder me.”

Robert laughs, covering his face with his hands, slides them down to cover his mouth for a second. “Buck’s the best man I know,” Robert tells John, scolding just a little. “You can’t blame me. He deserves better than a man who would do something like that.”

John nods. “You’re right, he does. You're a good man, Rosie,” he says, just a little wry.

Robert wakes out of a light sleep, his face pressed into the sheets, his whole body heavy and warm.

The last thing he remembers is sleepily watching John and Gale trade lazy kisses. John is flat on his back beside him, snoring lightly, but when Robert lifts his head, Gale is nowhere to be seen.

He sees Winnie through the open doorway, laying on the hallway rug. She shifts her head to look at him balefully; she doesn’t like it when her people aren’t all in the same room.

Robert carefully gets up, trying not to disturb John, and finds a pair of shorts that may or may not be his in the messy pile of clothes on the floor. He follows the quiet sound of water moving to the bathroom, and pushes the door open far enough to stick his head in.

Gale is in the tub, his hair damp and pushed back out of his face. He ashes the cigarette he’s slowly smoking into an empty coffee mug he has balanced on the sill of the open window.

“Hey,” Robert says softly, stepping in. There’s a small stool tucked up against the bathtub, so he parks himself there, propping an elbow up so he can lean his chin into his hand.

There’s a light drizzle falling outside. Clouds have gathered as the afternoon has progressed, and the rain is creating a soft white noise as it lands on the roof.

“You okay?” Robert asks quietly. Gale nods, taking one last drag and stamping out his cigarette.

“Yeah,” Gale says, just as quiet, pulling his knees to his chest so he can wrap his arms around his legs, sending the water sloshing just a little. He might have managed to get a fair amount of weight back on John, but he’s still looking a little scrawny himself.

Robert can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. He looks around, sees that the bar of soap and the washrag it’s sitting on are both dry. There are no suds floating in the bath, either; Gale has just been sitting here silently, alone, for who knows how long.

He’s not someone Robert can force words out of, and likely never will be, so Robert just hums and grabs the soap. “Scoot forward,” he orders Gale, who looks bemused, but obeys.

Robert lathers up the cloth, all business, and shifts to his knees so he can wash Gale’s back, scrubbing his neck and gently washing behind his ears. He holds out a hand for each of Gale’s arms, which are provided in turn. Gale’s skin is golden where the sun hits him below his shirtsleeves, his arm hair bleached blond, and pale and soft where he stays covered, moles dotting him here and there.

Gale watches him the whole time, thoughtful. Robert is determined not to blush when he reaches Gale’s stomach, and Gale helpfully lifts his hips so Robert can wash between his legs. Robert was just inside this man; the least he can do is clean up after himself.

Gale leans back against the edge of the tub as Robert continues down his legs, twitching a little as Robert cleans between his toes; Robert tries to scrub firmly enough that it won’t tickle.

“Thorough,” Gale comments, dry, as Robert finishes his second leg, arms draped over the sides of the tub as he reclines, heel pressed to Robert’s stomach.

“No point in leaving a job half done,” Robert smiles at him.

Gale dunks his body under the water to rinse himself off, shaking his hair like a dog when he surfaces, finger combing it back out of his face.

“You wanna wash it?” Robert asks, wringing out the washcloth and draping it over the side of the tub.

“Probably not a bad idea,” Gale allows, and Robert kneels behind him to lather up his hair, rubbing firmly against his scalp with both hands. He watches Gale’s shoulders start to actually relax.

“I don’t feel I have a right to it,” Gale finally says, quiet, now that Robert isn’t looking at him.

Robert hums, massaging his thumbs up behind Gale’s ears. “A right to what?”

“Feeling fucked up about any of it,” Gale explains quietly. “I didn’t go through what you did, and it was certainly nothing in comparison to what John lived through. I’m laying there with you both and all I can think is that it’s too good to be true, how scared I am that I’m going to wake up any minute now. What right do I have to that?”

Robert sighs. He thought John was the catholic in this relationship.

He works the soap all the way through the ends of Gale’s hair where it’s gotten a little long, tugging just a little in a gentle admonishment. “I don’t think it works that way, Buck.”

Gale grumbles a little, before ducking back down at Robert’s direction to rinse his hair out.

Robert sits back down on the stool and crosses his arms on the lip of the bathtub. “I don’t know if it’s helpful to compare like that, either,” he says, watching Gale pull the plug with his long toes, the bath water gurgling as it drains. “You’re gonna feel how you feel.” Gale frowns a little, running the hot water a little bit to rinse any lingering suds away.

Robert stands up to grab him a towel, and Gale clambers out of the tub. “Those are John’s shorts,” he comments idly, giving his wet hair a rough towel-dry.

“I’m only borrowing them,” Robert quirks a smile.

Gale waves a hand at the bathtub. “Take ‘em off. It’s your turn.”

He isn’t joking, so Robert does as he’s told, shivering just a little in the damp air from the window as he gets in the tub, Gale sitting on the stool in just his towel and turning the water back on.

Gale doesn’t help him, just retrieves a clean washrag for Robert and lights another cigarette, leaning back against the wall and watching closely as the tub fills enough for Robert to wash up. He tries not to feel self-conscious at having such a rapt audience.

John joins them a few minutes later, knuckling sleep out of one eye. He hasn’t bothered to put any clothes back on.

“You making your own blue movie here, or what, Buck?” he quips, coming over and stealing Gale’s cigarette to take a drag off it.

Gale just rests his head against John’s hip, eyes still on Robert. John combs Gale’s damp hair back out of his face gently, both of them watching him now.

“Something like that,” Gale murmurs, accepting the cigarette back from John, the two of them slowly trading it back and forth until John stamps it out in Gale’s makeshift mug-ashtray.

It drizzles miserably into the evening, keeping them indoors, not that any of them are complaining. The smell of rain on the fields drifts in through the cracked windows.

Robert feels like a hedonist, slouched in one of their comfortable wingback armchairs and nursing two fingers of criminally good bourbon.

John has pulled out a new Bechet record he insists Robert needs to hear, and the vinyl crackles just a little as he drops the needle and slow, buttery saxophone starts to play.

Buck comes in from the kitchen, barefoot in loose trousers, and John snags him around the waist, pulling them into a close hold. Buck obliges John for a moment, letting himself be turned in a slow circle, before he purses his lips and switches their hold, neatly taking the lead.

John’s eyes just crinkle up in that way they do when he’s happy, smiling at Robert over Buck’s shoulder as he follows, humming along. Robert toasts him and tips back the rest of his drink, the booze sitting warm in his belly.

Buck says something sly in John’s ear, getting a brash laugh for it, John’s chin tipping back and showing off the long line of his throat. They could be a Leyendecker painting, Robert thinks, fingers tapping idly against his glass, tall and handsome and one another’s.

Buck pulls John in close by the waist and gives him a kiss not suitable whatsoever for mixed company. It’s startlingly lewd, the way he can see their tongues as John gives as good as he gets, big hand tight around the back of Buck’s neck, and Robert thinks he could stay right here forever.

He loses some of his nerve after dinner, though.

Robert heads up to bed after they’ve cleaned up – cold sandwiches again, a random smattering of fruit, Buck dismissing the idea of cooking – and the sun has set. He sees John already asleep through the open doorway, and in a moment of insecurity, turns to head for the guest bedroom instead.

He lays there for all of five minutes before he hears Buck come up the stairs with the dog. Buck audibly pauses in the hallway before appearing in Robert’s doorway.

He just cocks his head at Robert, before motioning behind himself with a jerk of his chin.

“C’mon,” he says, soft but immovable.

It could be mistaken for a dream, Robert thinks, as he swings his legs out of bed and walks barefoot over to Buck. He steps back to let Robert by, dogging his footsteps back to the master bedroom.

John wakes out of his doze when Buck shuts the door behind them, reaching a long arm out across the bed.

“There he is.” John’s voice is a drowsy rumble, and he looks big and warm and inviting, his curls clean and a little fluffy from his own bath earlier.

“Go on,” Buck prods Robert’s hip and goes over to the armoire to hang up his shirt.

John makes a happy sort of grunt as Robert eases himself between the sheets – clean, dotted with little blue cornflowers – and gathers him up, spooning Robert aggressively and nosing behind his ear. Robert tries to repress the shiver that sends through him, not very successfully.

Buck huffs a soft laugh as he gets in bed after them, clicking the lamp off.

There’s enough moonlight for Robert to see Gale scoot right up, just enough room for the three of them.

He leans over Robert’s shoulder to kiss John softly, and pulls back to look at Robert, close in the dark.

“Isn’t this better?” Gale asks in a low rasp, tips of his fingers pressing lightly into Robert’s cheek.

John’s arm is a warm band around Robert’s middle, and he can feel where Gale is rubbing their feet together, toes a little chilly.

Robert can only nod, overwhelmed by how good it feels, John solid at his back and Gale curled into him, chilly feet tucked around Robert’s calves.

Gale nods back, satisfied, and rewards him with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, before settling back onto his own pillow.

Winnie hops up on the bed once they’re settled, turning around twice before curling herself up behind John’s knees.

It’s easy to find sleep between them. Robert doesn’t know if he’s ever slept so soundly in his life. He doesn’t dream.

Buck wakes Robert when he slides out from under the quilt in the gray light of early dawn, Winnie jumping down to the floor with a quiet thump.

Robert takes a beat, John’s hand wide and warm where it rests on his side. Buck is pulling on his barn clothes, idly tucking the tails of his shirt into his pants as he wanders into the hall to use the bathroom.

John lets out a sleepy grunt when Robert slips out of his loose grasp, but rolls onto his back and settles.

Buck is waiting for him at the top landing, socks in hand.

“We’ll let him sleep,” Buck says, low, and Robert follows him quietly downstairs.

There are still wisps of fog clinging to the fields, mist in the air as the sun peeks over the horizon. The dampness from yesterday’s rain has lingered.

Their boots crunch on the gravel as they make their way down the path, Winnie in the lead.

Robert breathes in the familiar animal smell of the barn, something in him settling as Buck goes down the line, saying good morning and checking everyone’s water.

They’re up to five of their own, now, with a small handful of boarders. Robert knows the drill by now, and loads up a wheelbarrow with a few flakes of hay to fill up everyone’s nets.

Miss Kitty, John’s ornery red mare, flattens her ears at Robert when he reaches her end stall, but deigns to accept a brief neck scratch.

He and Buck work from opposite ends, crossing in the middle.

It’s peaceful, the only sounds coming from the horses munching, rock doves cooing at each other in the rafters, and Buck murmuring something to Mack, the big-chested bay placid and content with a sure pair of hands on him.

Ranger is new to Robert since the last time he was down at the farm, a lanky palomino who looks a little like Buck in horse form. There’s a joke somewhere in there about a man starting to resemble his dog, but Robert keeps the thought to himself, smiling as he works his way down the line.

They might ride today, they might not, but this is one of the best things Buck ever shared with Robert – the way being around these animals makes everything go quiet for a little while. Even John, big and brash as he can be, is as good with his mares as he ever was with his junior airmen.

Winnie knows the rules, knows Buck won’t have her under foot, so she waits patiently for them on the gravel just outside, and pants a smile up at Robert when he reaches the last stall, saying good morning to Hoss – Buck’s big chestnut cutter, amiable but off limits to anyone but Buck.

If you looked up “horse” in the dictionary, Robert thinks, Hoss is who you’d get, with his white blaze and matched stockings.

You can take a man out of cowboy country, but you can’t take the cowboy out of the man. Buck’s entirely at ease as he starts letting the boarder horses into their turnout, sending Dolly out with them.

He keeps the groups mixed; he explained to Robert once that is was to keep any of them from getting overly attached.

They’re herd animals, Robert remembers. They like to be in groups, and two horses that spend too much time together will bond, and you won’t be able to separate them.

A horse can wither away from loneliness.

Sounds familiar, is all Robert would say, if asked.

They have to drive back up Sunday afternoon, so Robert can collect his car and drive the rest of the way home. Robert is already thinking about calling in to take Monday off, so he doesn’t have to drive through the night or leave at some ungodly hour in the morning.

Buck is doing a fairly good job hiding his disappointment at their premature departure, but when he hugs Robert goodbye, he holds on for a beat longer than Robert expects him to, chin tucked over Robert’s shoulder.

Buck gives him a funny little frown as they part, braces his hands on his belt and tells him, “Don’t be a stranger.”

Robert just nods, throat a little tight as he gets in the car. He watches through the window as John cradles Buck’s grumpy face in his hands, saying something sickly sweet judging by the way Buck presses his lips together to stubbornly refuse him a smile.

John just laughs, strokes a thumb along his cheek, and kisses him. Buck sends him on his way with an affectionate smack to the ass, and John’s still chuckling lightly when he gets in and starts the car.

Robert waves goodbye to Buck, and John blows him a kiss before putting the gearshift in reverse.

Buck pantomimes catching it, and presses his fist to his chest, a small smile finally curving the edges of his mouth as they pull out.

Robert spends the next hour feeling more and more self-conscious. John is acting entirely normal, singing along to the radio under his breath.

They lived in close quarters in the war, men shoulder to shoulder in racks and the mess and the showers and constantly in each other’s business.

Robert’s never been close to another man the way he has been the past few days, feels like the back of his head was taken off, his brains scrambled, and then screwed back together wrong. He can still feel their hands on him.

He thinks he might love them, a little; differently, more so than the way he loves all his men.

He winces slightly out the window, but he finally can’t stop himself from asking. “How often do you guys do that?”

“Hmm?” John glances at him briefly, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Robert clears his throat and tries again. “How often do you two – you know. Take a fella home.”

John takes a beat, tapping a thumb against the steering wheel.

“Well, you’re the only one we’ve ever done that with,” John says quietly, eyes on the road.

Robert swallows. “Oh.” He somehow wasn’t expecting that.

John huffs out a soft laugh. “You think Gale lets just anyone in his bed?” he says lightly.

Robert closes his eyes. “No, I guess not.”

John holds a hand out, palm up. Robert’s eyes burn for just a moment before he blinks it away, and takes John’s hand, lacing their fingers together. John squeezes gently, the closest thing to a hug he can give at highway speed.

The rest of the week drags, the beautiful weather almost taunting him.

On Thursday, Robert collects his mail and climbs up the four flights to his apartment, keying inside and tugging his tie loose with his spare hand.

He’s been preoccupied since getting back to New York, thinking about John and Buck and the farm. He’d briefly spoken to Harry on the phone on Tuesday and got teased about being distracted; Robert didn’t fess up as to why.

He sighs, flipping through the short stack of mail. The golden light slanting in through the kitchen window catches the edges of a postcard – Greetings from Virginia, it cheerfully exclaims.

Robert flips it over, and he’d know that elegant, slanting penmanship anywhere, with the way it always put his own handwriting to shame.

The message is brief and unsigned. Robert runs a thumb over the Gordonsville postmark, and swallows at the realization that Gale would have had to mail it first thing Monday morning.

It simply reads –

Wish you were here.