MOTA tumblr drabbles round-up

[looncalls]

1. Marge giggles over her "relationship" with Gale.
2. Clegan slightly nfsw mutual masturbation.
3. Bucky going crazy in the Stalag.
4. Buck and Curt tease Croz, their navigator.

Marge had kept her classmate's secret. They're older now, and she has learned that she has the same secret. Reconnecting, they slide in close to each other and giggle with pure excitement at the topic they can't talk about. They look at each other in wonder and they are each other's community. Together, they share smiles; smiles they can pass back and forth and polish with use until they are nice and supple. Smiles that look like romantic love but are, to them, so much more.
He has a friend, and it's not like that (yet). She has a friend, too, and she's going to find out if you think do you think Gale oh- she's too excited, because she has more than a "friend". She has a willing nation of women and he will always have a co-pilot.

“Come on,” Bucky cajoles, “we’ll look out for each other.”
“Like always?” Buck asks, unable to keep amusement from his tone and, honestly, Bucky doesn’t think he’s trying. “I don’t know, John. Not sure this is what’s meant by, uh, looking out for each other.”
Bucky is already undoing his pants. “Alright, just watch the door then. Jesus, Buck. Oh, changed your mind, did ya?” Because Buck had maybe just out of habit—but what habit—mirrored Bucky’s hands and graced his own palm over his crotch.
“Ah, just think we might be alone now.” And John usually thinks that Gale has a lot going on up there but, right at this moment, staring into each other’s eyes like this, John finds it hard to believe his best friend is much more else than a hot blonde. A hot blonde who ruts his hips against his own hand.
“Yeah? Me, too.” His pants shoved down, now, and his hand already fisting himself. “C’mon, Gale, I’m looking out for you—just whip it out already.”

 

He asks suddenly, like he always does these days, "what about my dad?"
I scan the cabins and toe some gravel, wondering to myself how long this is going to take. "What about your dad, John?"
"He was good to my mom, I think, but maybe he wasn't, you know?"
I consider what Bucky could be thinking with this. Sounds like a long conversation and with not much to go on. A real time waster. Bucky can't meet my eyes much, lately. I find myself sighing. I don't have much hope for anything lately, but maybe scrounging up some new tragedy will help pass the time. "I don't think he hit your mom, Bucky."
"Yeah I don't think so either. Let's bust out and ask him, Buck. He's a politician, you know. We gotta hold politicians accountable or they build shitty vacation spots like this one." He stops whisking himself around and looks directly into my eyes. "Hang on, you're not even supposed to be on vacation."
"I thought we were talking about your dad." I look away from him.
"Yeah, well," he hops around, "talk about your own dad."
The guys make vodka from the raisins the Red Cross sends to them. Bucky touches the stuff, sure, but never takes even close to what they would be willing to partition out to him. My hands are getting cold, and I can't work out just why John finds the chill of frozen ground easier to feel than bodyheat. "Okay." As I think of something, Bucky skitters in place. Fidgeting. I want to get him to hold still, but then he wouldn't be warming himself up, "My dad gave good hugs."
Bucky waits for more, but I don't give it. I can see him trying to figure how to get what he wants. He's instinctual like that. Follows his heart. His heart needs to know where it's going first, and I'm not the guy who is gonna make it easier for him. I don't sit back on my heels, I put my weight towards my haunches and wait. John can't work his mind against made-up daddy issues. Fine. I'll find something else to keep John's mind occupied.
Until then, under the pretense of coaxing him indoors, I wrap my arms a little more around his waist than usual and tell him, "come inside, John."
He nods, and I wait long enough I can feel the very start of warmth spread from his core to my arms. He burns hot, but sometimes forgets to keep the fire going.

The crew in Buck and Curt’s fort asks for a riddle and Croz obliges. “So, a tree falls in a forest when no one is around, did it make a sound?”
“Yeah,” Curt answers instantly.
“Ah!” Croz replies, “But no one was there, so-“
“I was there.”
“Um, no.” Croz needs a moment. “You see, no one was around.”
“I know. I was there, no one was around, a tree fell and it made a sound.”
“That’s- okay. I know you’re just messing with me.”
“What kind of tree was it, Curt?” Gale asks.
“Hah!” Croz interjects as he thinks he knows a way out of this. “Yes, Curt, what kind of tree?”
“A great big oak. I’ll you what, Croz. It made one hell of sound. Boom!” He refrains from taking his hands off the yoke to illustrate the boom, and Croz is profoundly grateful even though he knows Curt would never.
“Well, the forest I’m talking about it was a pine tree, so.” Croz smirks.
“Sounds like the forest I was in,” Gale says.
“Did it make a sound?” Croz asks helplessly and then tries to get them back to the riddle. “No, scratch that. You two are impossible. No one, on this plane or otherwise, was ever in this forest.”
“Sounds a little unlikely,” Gales states dubiously.
“Do you get out much, Croz? Buck and I can take you to a forest if you really wanna.”
“No, I don’t wanna… go to a forest.” Croz sighs and looks out his window at the woods they’re flying over. “Especially not those ones.”
“American forests, then.” Gale smiles.
“Or Ireland.”
“Or Ireland. Not many trees there,” Buck’s voice turns teasing, “but…”
Curt grins and finishes his joke for him, “Our navigator here could find us a tree. Might even fell it for us!”