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bucking-mustangs-with-wings · 7 months

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It's finally here, people. It will be posted on ao3 too which I'll make a seperate post with the link when I publish, but for now, Happy Reading! 💖☺

The air of the grounds was colder than the last few, a bite to the air that left the tip of John's nose stinging a little with the prick of it. Not enough to be a bother, but enough that him and the other boys had noticed it, a few more layers draped over their shoulders or a blanket haphazardly thrown over jeans as most sat around the fire pits outside their campers. A few sat with a beer or whiskey in their hands, taking a sip every now and then to warm their insides as well.

John cast a glance back over his shoulder at the others, reaching into his sheepskin jacket to fish out the pack of Malboros he'd managed to aquire from one of the boys before his run today. He pulled out a single cigarette and slipped it between his lips before meandering his way further from the camp grounds and the sounds of fire crackling and laughter and towards the arena and the chutes, which only hours earlier in the heat of the sun he had managed to score the highest once again, this time on a big brown and white bull they called Hitchcock. Mean son of a gun with monster horns filed off at the tips and sounded like a Greek beast of mythology when he bellowed.

Lighting the tip of his cigarette with one quick flick of his hand, John blew the first inhale out in flimsy swirls in front of his face, barely illuminated by the last few arena lights still on at this time of the evening, while a few straggling competitors worked their horses before calling it a night. It was the quietest part of the day, other than when everyone was fast asleep, and other than a few people scattered here and there, packing up equipment or officials gossiping leaned up against the fences, the whole place had turned into a ghost town. The yards situated out behind the chutes where they kept the cattle and bulls in waiting before each run or event was a wash of darkness, the floodlights only just managing to cast enough illumination to see where you were going without running into the panels.

Luckily, they were empty now, no monster bulls or crammed cattle, all of them either trailered off to the next event or back home to whatever close by ranch or farm they came from. John supposed not unlike himself and the other competitors, who would have a day or two to drive all the way up to Washington to do it all over again.

The taste of tobacco was acrid on his tongue, coupled with the burning cool inhale of the evening air, but he delighted in it all the same. It was hard to figure out where the tobacco smoke and his own breath ended, swirling once again out into the night like a poison promise.

As John looked down at his dust-mottled boots kicking through the dirt, he found himself rounding the edge of the main chutes and further into the holding yards, further into the quiet. Though amongst the silence, the low hum of a voice reached him through the dark, a low drawl only just distinguishable but not clear enough the make out any words. He thought it just one of the other boys that had hung back, maybe gotten lost on the way back to the camp grounds behind him, but as he squinted against the deepening black, the sun finally dipping behind the mountain tops in the distance, he could vaguely make out the dimmed line of a horse's back in one of the pens, the spotlights over in the arena giving that small light source reflected off the animals coat.

It made him pause momentarily, listening to the continued sliver of a voice in the horse's direction. The animal was standing contently, rustling its nose into what sounded like a hay net in front of it every now and then. The silhouetted outline of a hat peeked up over it's whither, then disappeared as whoever was on the horse's other side leaned back down before appearing again. The telltale sound of a hard-brush raking over it's coat cut through the air rhythmically.

Taking another draw of his cigarette while also taking another few steps forward, he was able to finally make out the shining golden coat of the horse barely distinguishable in the low light, the palomino a familiar image. Now that he could also see what horse it was, he could also recognise the hummed deep drawl of Gale Cleven, talking softly to her as he cleaned her off for the night. John leaned his shoulder against the corner of one of the metal panels, resting his left foot against the curve of his right and took another long but quiet inhale of smoke and just observed the exchange, not wanting to alert Gale to the fact that he was there just yet.

Gale ducked underneath the curve of the mare's neck to change the side he was working on, the long white mane brushing over the brim of his black hat. He laid his hand against her shoulder as he started sweeping the brush down the line of her throat.

"Yeah, you're a good girl." His voice was calm and low, almost gravelled in it's tone. It made something unknown and foreign crawl it's way up John's back, a cold shiver not unlike the product of the chilled air sitting still around them. He swallowed it down with another draw. His eyes followed the long line of Gale's back, up to his shoulders that flexed with every pass of the brush, then down to the intricate leather work pattern of his belt, still only just visible. His gaze then tipped just a little further to the shape of his legs enveloped in dusty blue Wranglers, maybe a single size too big needed for the movement he was expected to need when in the saddle. He still looked amazing in them.

John shook his head of the thought and straightened, shoving his hands in the deep pockets of his sheepskin coat as he took a step forward.

"Hey, Buck. Little late out for you and your unicorn, ain't it?" He smirked, a hint of teasing in his tone. "Woulda thought you'd already be on your way up to Washington with the rest of 'em."

He could see Gale freeze in his movements, the brush halting it's path on Baby's coat. The mare snorted as if in protest, and Gale heaved a slight sigh, the line of his shoulders lilting slightly.

"Yeah, well. Guess I just needed a little more time to get myself sorted," the blond retorted coolly, his hand resuming the monotonous motions. "Could say the same about you, though I thought you'd be back at the campgrounds celebrating your victory for today."

Bucky felt the side of his mouth tilt at that as he came up close to Baby's head, watching the palomino mare side eye him as she buried her nose amongst the hay. In a fluid motion he lifted the sole of his boot and stamped out the remaining butt of his cigarette so as not to get any in either her's or Buck's face. He knew the blond hated the smell and the act in general. Especially if it was around horses or stock of any kind. John may have been as arse, but he wasn't a total one when he could help it.

Gale noticed the movement and hummed to himself in realisation, flicking a look in Bucky's direction before focusing back on the horse. An almost inaudible thanks floating on the air between them.

"Victory," Bucky said with a smile "I can celebrate any time. Plus I think Rosie hid most of the bourbon from me, the bastard. Or drank the rest of it on me, hard to say."

He couldn't one hundred percent trust his eyes, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile light up Gale's face, only momentarily, before the other man tilted his head just enough so that it was out of John's eye line. It made something flicker in John's chest, but he swallowed it down before it fully formed itself.

Silence enveloped the two men for several minutes, Gale continuing with his grooming and John rotating his concentration between looking at Baby lazily chomping her hay and the way Gale's hands were so gentle and tentative over her.

Buck really loved his horses, John could see it every time he managed to catch a glimpse of him cinching them up before his runs, the way he handled the reins with the faintest touch, his seat in the saddle. The man was a legend among the rodeo circuit, whether it be the ropers or the barrel racers or any of the others. Even the bull riders. As much as John liked to tease him about it, crack jokes, he was in reality impressed with the man's skills and horsemanship. He knew it took a bit more of a different finesse than bull riding in it's own way. A soft-mouthed horse was a lot different than a hulking 1800 pound bull trying with every ounce of its power to unseat you by any means necessary. He had a lot of respect for any of the riders and their discipline, as much as he would blatantly deny it. Gale especially..

His mind flickered back to what he had witnessed, unbeknown to Gale, earlier in the day when the rodeo was full swing and the roping had just finished up. The officials were taking a hiatus between events to rake the arena and make sure it was set up with the barrels for the barrel racers.

He'd been present to Gale's run, seen the swiftness that he'd taken off, the mere seconds it took for him to throw the lasso around the quickly fleeing steer and the erupting cheers and hollers and whistles from the crowd as the announcer called out his praises. There were another few more competitors after Gale, but by the end it had been another flawless run, knocking the rest back on their haunches and adding another bright and shiny victory for Buck.

John couldn't help but smile seeing Buck do what he loved best, and be damned good at it. For all the jesting he'd spit forward in Buck's direction in digs at his manliness and the sport he ran, it really was just that, in jest.

He'd pushed off the fence and ran his hand through his sweat soaked hair before sitting his hat back atop and making his way behind the bleachers. Flashed Bubbles and Crosby a smile while they were bantering between themselves over something mundane.

His path was that of heading back to the campers, get his mind and head together before the drudging task of packing up his gear fell to him, just a part of the preparation to move on with the other guys to the next grounds and the next competition.

"Can't believe the shit you pull sometimes, Gale, I tell ya."

The cutting and frustrated voice of someone Bucky didn't recognise cut through the air a short ways ahead of him. It made John's brow crease, his eyes zeroing in on the distinct white and blue of Gale Cleven's own trailer slotted in amongst about five others parked in a loose circle.

John's footfalls became a little lighter as he moved silently in between a beat up off-white caravan and Crosby's gooseneck. One of the horses tied to the side of it gave him a flustered snort as he slipped up beside her, enough so that she hid him away from the eye line of the two figures Bucky managed to get in view.

Gale had his back turned to him, still all rigged up in his protective vest adorned with the countless patches of sponsors and brands he had supporting him, brown and blue chaps a little dirtier than when the day began. The tilt of the blond's black cattleman hat directed towards the dirt at his feet. The ridge of his shoulders looked tense but worn, a spring coiled, a pistol cocked. But worn (and almost defeated) in his stance nonetheless.

John turned his gaze to the older man in front of Buck, heavy set in his body build and a few inches shorter than Gale, greying hair peaking out from under the brim of his own hat. Silver-grey stubble lined his jaw, which was set hard. Almost as hard as his eyes, familiar ice blue but burning with this unfathomable disappointment and low intimidating anger.

John almost had to look away so as not feel that anger like it was directed at him. The air was absolutely thick with it. But that anger wasn't directed at him. It was directed at Gale.

"You expect to make it to the big leagues, make it to Vegas with a fucking dumpster fire of a performance like that? You'd last five seconds in that arena and not in the way we want it to count."

Gale's head raised slightly, maybe a vague attempt at making eye-contact with the older man in front of him, but quickly lowered it again, gloved hands coming up to rest on his hips. "I had a good run today, Dad. Another half a second off the clock than last season, and the others-"

"It don't much MATTER about the others than what you're putting out there, Gale! You're making it out here at the fairs and these simple half-time rodeos, but those buckles you got sitting at home ain't NOTHING compared to what you should be doing and bringing home."

The man took a step forward, digging his finger pointedly into the centre of Gale's chest, making the younger man have to rock back on his heels so as not to tip from the force of it.

"You're a Cleven, for fuck sake, act like one! Not like these nobody's and ranch hands you insist on hanging around with." the man spat cruelly.

There was a moment of silence, tension hanging in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife, before Gale's father moved even more into the blond cowboy's space, finger still firm against his sternum. Furious blue eyes only a whisper away from Buck's own, noses almost bumping as the scowl on Mr. Cleven's face deepened.

"You pick up your fucking slack, or don't bother coming home or using our family name. I won't have you tarnishing the Cleven's legacy I set out for you."

Another moment passed before the older man finally pulled his finger away from Gale's chest with a snap of his wrist. Bucky thought he'd see a hole left there in it's wake with the force he'd exuded behind it. Blood leaking out just as quickly as Gale's confidence must have been.

Without another word, Mr. Cleven turned with a low exclamation, wandering off back towards the main arena with the sound of spurs following behind him. John though, could only keep his eyes on the stone still figure that was Buck, the younger man not having moved a single inch as his father had stormed away from him.

As if it even possible, John swore he could see the fight leave Buck, ripped out from that invisible hole left behind by his father's finger. His shoulders slouched just that tiny bit, no longer standing tall like the Gale he knew. One of Gale's hands came up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, brim of his hat tipping down once again so that his eyes were directed at the dirt.

John held his breath and felt something pull harshly inside of himself when Gale brought his hand away, and the distinct patch of wetness staining the soft tan leather of Gale's glove caught his eye.

With a heaved breath and a rolling of his shoulders, Buck finally moved from his position and disappeared in between the other trailers, leaving John with a stone-hard sensation in the base of his throat and a frown that ended up making itself at home on his brow for most of the remainder of the day. Even Curt had commented on it when he'd passed him earlier that night, over near the bull rider's camp as they had all been sitting by the flames of the fire pit.

Back in the present now, John was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Gale's voice cutting through them. He blinked, focusing back on Buck's face, which uncharacteristically actually had a touch of worry surfaced there.

"Sorry, what?" John managed, sounding dazed, distracted.

The ghost of a smirk lifted one corner of Buck's lips, his baby blues almost baring a hole through John's own. "I said did you have a stroke? Haven't heard you this quiet since you got here. All those falls in the arena finally catching up to you?"

A huff escaped Bucky's lips, his own smirk mirroring Gale's, just a bit more obvious.

"Oh, har har, the pretty cowboy's got jokes, huh?"

If he didn't know better, he would have sworn he saw a hint of blush colour Buck's cheeks before his face went blank and he turned his attention back to the brush in his hand, which had once again gone stoically still in their exchange. Baby tossed her head in their direction in obvious protest before pulling at the hay again.

"You got no idea," Gale said lightly, clearing his throat with the same gentleness. His face had once again dropped into the emotionless mask that John was often witness and accustomed to, like the blond had internally put up some sort of barbed wire fence, intent on keeping any vague emotions sheltered and hidden away.

It was a fence John wanted to take a pair of wire-cutters to.

Without thinking, Buck let the words he so desperately knew Gale needed to hear slip past his lips and into the settled quiet of the night.

"You did good today. Just wanted to let you know that."

Once again, Buck's hand stilled in the movement of brushing, and Baby actually let out a grunt this time in obvious annoyance that her grooming kept being interrupted. Though the two men weren't faced, John could still see Buck watching him out of the corner of his eye. A startled deer ready at a moments notice to bound off at the first sign of danger.

It twisted John's gut, made him feel a rising disdain towards the man he knew was now the cause of Gale's weariness, if not partially or fully, he wasn't one hundred percent certain.

All the boys there had been through their fair share of rough upbringings, absent fathers, dead fathers, non-existent, you name it. And he should have know Gale was no exception. Having a father and mother himself who didn't exactly show their support when he told them he wanted to pursue bull riding as a career, John had a bit of a more gracious understanding of most situations. It was a far stone to throw though, when you had an asshole of a father like Buck's obviously was, and a famous asshole of a father at that, that expected you to fill his boots even bigger than he could until you were bursting from the stitchings in the side.

It was no small talk that Gale Buck Cleven was, well, a Cleven. One of the most famous roping names in the rodeo world as far back as what Bucky could remember reading about in one of the Western Horseman magazines he had flicked through one day off of the coffee table in Curt's trailer. Generation after generation of skilled horseman, Champions and legends, articles and newspapers and long-winded news stories on the internet. Most of them featured Gale's name as the precipice now, but always circling back to the great Cleven cowboys that came before him. And God, were they some big boots to be expected to fill.

But as far as Buck could tell, Gale was continuously climbing the ranks in anything he set himself to. It was always his name being praised over the speakers, and his hands that those buckles and trophies were passed into at the end of the day.

" 'preciate it," Buck mumbled carefully, so low John almost didn't catch it. "But it coulda been better. Alot better."

Bucky scoffed in reply, his mouth slightly agape in a grin that this time hinted on something a little more intent than playfulness. "Are you kiddin' me? Buck you kicked their sorry asses out there today. I ain't ever seen you get the timer buzzed that fast, and I can say now that the amount of times I've seen you compete, wouldn't surprise me if you broke some sort of record."

As the words sunk into Gale, he sat the brush on Baby's back, her hide twitching at the feeling, and turned to face John fully but slowly, a look almost akin to surprise knitting his features underneath a confused frown.

John almost thought Buck was going to say something in contempt in his direction, but as he saw Gale's gaze soften ever so slightly, his eyebrows flickering for a millisecond into something that almost resembled confusion, his heart squeezed with that unknown feeling once again.

"You've watched my runs?" Buck said softly. "All of 'em?"

John's mouth once again dropped open as an unexpected warmth flushed the top of his own cheeks. He lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck, through his own slightly damp dark curls there.

"Uh, well, yeah. The ones I've seen since I got here to this circus anyway." he said with a smile. He wasn't going to tell Gale that he may have also looked up a few of his runs in Buck's slightly younger days, all bright eyed and just as determined, but not as much tension permanantly etched on his features.

John couldn't believe his eyes when he witnessed Gale's entire stance soften, even if it was only by a hair, something unspoken opening up there as an actual chuckle slipped past Gale's lips with a small shake of his head and a genuine grin breaking through.

He dropped his eyes from John's for a second or two, looking lost in a thought. "Circus is about the right way to put it, I reckon." Gale huffed.

His eyes flickered back up to look squarely at John's own, before casting off over towards the arena that was still lit with a few spotlights. Most of the riders that had been walking their horses around in circles had retired for the night. The sands were empty and still.

Something still troubled and haunted Gale's eyes though, and John couldn't help but swallow down an uncomfortable thickness that had settled itself in his sternum.

"I mean it, though. I'm not bullshitting you." Buck said gently, following Gale's eyeline to the arena. "I may not be much of a horse type cowboy, you know I can't really ride for shit," Gale chuffed at that, "but even I can recognize a real cowboy when I see one, especially one that's a rank above the rest."

Gale actually looked back and held his eyes for more than a mere few seconds this time, something so soft but still that hint of disbelieving pooled there, but it was a damned start. It felt like an entire lifetime that John held that gaze, letting himself be swallowed by it.

Buck's long pale fingers rested once again on the jut of his hips, which cocked slightly to the side in the movement. "Never thought I'd hear a genuine compliment from John Bucky Egan himself," Gale managed.

Once again that coltish smile shaped the blond's lips, wider, more confident this time. Still a tad sheepish, still guarded, but Buck found himself wanting that smile to stay, for a lot longer than mere seconds. He wanted to see that smile every second. Wanted to relish in the fact that he had caused that, had cut down that first strand of metaphorical barbed wire that had obviously wrapped itself around Gale's heart.

His own grin mirrored Gale's then, he couldn't keep it at bay. Couldn't wrangle it back.

"Don't get used to it, pretty boy. I gotta keep up appearances you know." Bucky leaned forward slightly, hand coming up beside his mouth and giving a quick glance in either direction before slipping Gale a wink. "The boys might think I've gone soft."

Gale rolled his eyes with what Bucky could have sworn was fondness.

"Can't have that now can we." he chuckled.

The warmth of it gave John's heart it's own flame. It cast itself there like a stray needle from a cactus catching in the hem at the bottom of his jeans. There to stay, not easily shaken this time.

Still with that smile, John regarded Buck carefully, letting himself fully take in the man standing in front of him. The slightly dusty blond hairs straying out from underneath his hat, falling in a haphazard curl on his forehead. The soft baby blue eyes, framed by dark blond lashes that fanned his cheeks in an almost elegant way every time he blinked or lowered his gaze. The strong line of his nose that lead down to the cupid's bow of his top lip then down to the fullness of them, that put the prettiest buckle-bunnies to complete and utter shame.

"You know, uh," John began softly, his smile dropping the tiniest bit, only in concentration at the serious tone he now felt rise in him. Buck cocked his head to the side at the sound, "when this whole circuit ends at the NFR is Vegas, and there were only two cowboy's left in that arena, it'd be me, and it'd be you, Buck."

Something sparked in Buck's eyes, his smile towards John softening even further as a deep but gentle laugh escaped him. "Don't count on it."

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