#todcl

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Update on That Ol' Devil Called Love

This fic has gotten so much longer and bigger than I ever thought. So, I have an update for you under the cut ❤

You're getting a double update!!

Bet you thought it was something bad, didn't you? 😁

Chapter 6 is racking in at 26K. But chapter 7 is much shorter, and it'll only take me a couple of days to finish. So instead of posting ch 6 today, I'm going to post chapters 6 and 7 next week.

Figured you've all waited enough for the Buckies to get their shit together. And I was tired of waiting too. Moron twins, I swear.

So be patient with me just a little longer, and hopefully it'll al be worth it.

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That Ol' Devil Called Love

First part now up on Ao3!

It's 1940s America, and street racing has passed from the gangs of the '30s to the youth of the '40s. John never started the Bloody 100th to make a name for himself in the criminal belly of racing; he just liked their money. It kept the shop open and his mechanics from the unemployment line. And his ma and sisters happy.

But when he meets Gale Cleven, son of the local pastor who hates John and his crew with near religious fervour, John finds himself stumbling into a new kind of trouble - one that might just bring down everything he's worked for.

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In a development that will surprise absolutely no one, I do not like writing broken-hearted Buckies. 💔

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Rebel!John x Pastor's son!Gale AU

“D’you think you’re a sinning man, John?”

That was the thing Gale Cleven was best at: taking any assumptions you had or expectations you made about him, tossing them in the dirt between your legs where you lay sprawled, and grinding them down into dust under his boot while you watched.

Metaphorically speaking. But it was a metaphor John had been thinking about a lot lately.

They sat parked up in his car, a town over from Daddy Cleven’s parish. John wasn’t sure what tale Gale had spun when he escaped the old man’s clutches. But he was sure that he didn’t care.

What he did care about, very much, was the way Gale looked in the fading light. Golden hair, golden skin - even the blue of his eyes absorbed the gold of the sun as it started to make its way to bed.

His shirt buttons still stood to attention, done right up to the top and his shirt was starched so it dug a little into his throat. Evidently he’d not had a chance to change into the soft cotton collars and cardigans he preferred when he didn’t have to be at attention for the Pastor.

But in a rare display of abandon, Gale had rolled up his cuffs and stretched out his arms as he lounged in the front seat of John’s beloved car, top down. One arm dangled over the end of the door, the other stretched over the back of the seat. John had never fully appreciated that particular design feature of his Buick Super Convertible Coupe; that the two front seats ran end to end, so it was a little like sitting on a couch. Not until the first time it allowed him to press his legs against the local pastor’s son in the name of ‘getting comfortable’.

The deep red leather was soft and supple and today Gale had felt some kind of way that had him knocking his knee against John’s and draping his arm across the divide so his fingertips nearly, nearly, tickled the very edges of John’s arms - right at the top, where it met the short cuff of his t-shirt.

His mom hated this shirt - said it showed more of him than was Godly. When he paired it like he did today, with tight blue denim jeans which hugged his strong waist and showed just how thick his thighs were, she tutted and swatted his behind with whatever she was holding before she ushered him outta her door until he “learned some damn sense! What kinda girl you gonna bring home to me looking like that?”

And the longer John spent with Gale, the clearer the answer was to him. Not a damn one.

Gale was staring at him and John realised he hadn’t answered the question. He’d just been staring at Gale like some love-sick dame.

John grinned, the one that revealed his teeth as it spread, and let him bite on his lip a little on the way.

Gale’s eyes flicked to it like they always did.

“Isn’t that a given?”

But Gale was good at recovering from John’s teasing, and levelled him with his own look, head cocked, like John was a child who was being deliberately obtuse.

“Is it?” he asked. “Because depsite your reputation around town, I ain’t seen you do anything immoral.”

Immoral. John latched onto the word like it was prey; a perfect opportunity to get Gale a little worked up.

“Well which are you asking? Immoral, or sinful?”

Gale’s brown furrowed, and he looked at John all suspicious like. “I don’t follow.”

John turned his body towards Gale, his own arm coming up to the back of the seat, draping over Gale’s who didn’t budget an inch.

“They’re not the same, Buck,” he said, using the nickname Gale pretended to hate.

There. He saw it. The intrigue; the temptation to bite the bait.

“Okay. How are they different?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Tell me what your seven sins are.”

Gale snorted. “You’re a Catholic, John. You know what they are.”

John didn’t laugh. “Say them.”

Noting the tone - the order - Gale sat up a little straighter. His arms dragged along the line of John’s as he did so. John felt it like static electricity.

“Pride.”

John nodded. “I got plenty of that. I’m proud of my car,” he gestured with his hand.

“You worked hard on it—”

“I’m proud of my looks. I like keeping my curls longer because I know what it looks like when someone wants to pull on ‘em. I like my legs,” he stretched them out a bit further and Gale’s first blush of the evening made its appearance. “They make me feel strong. And that makes me feel good. All those folks lookin’ at what I got.”

Gale was silent.

“What’s next?”

“Greed and gluttony.”

“Hm,” John made it a satisfied and contented sound. “Well, I’m not greedy for money, you know that. And if It was success and fame I was after, I’d have trotted to New York after my dad.”

Gale’s eyes softened at that, well aware of John’s tendency to self-sacrifice for the comfort of his mother and his sisters - something no one else knew apart from John’s best friend, Curt.

John was pleased to see it, that false sense of security, before he made his move. “At first, I told myself that everytime I saw you would be the last. I’d leave the pretty pastor’s son be, stop teasin’ and tormentin’ him and let him find some friends more like him.”

Blush number two.

“But each time we spoke, every time I got you to laugh, every time you caught me lookin’ - it just made me greedier, Gale. Just got me hungry.”

A soft breathe rushed from Gale’s lungs. His fists clenched where they rested. Perfect control.

“Sloth.”

John laughed, bright and happy. “The day you let me, I’ll spend the whole morning after showing you sloth, just you wait.”

Gale covered his mouth with the hand that had been resting on the door and snickered. John loved that he could make this boy, normally so solemn and serious with the weight of his father dragging him down, laugh so easily now. Gale shoved John back and inch and John let him, smiling like a fool.

“Alright, envy,” Gale said, finally getting into the game.

“Your buttons.”

Gale spluttered. “My what?”

John nodded at his buttoned up collar. “Your buttons. Your shirt.”

“You can’t be serious? You’re jealous of cloth?”

“Ah, ah,” John corrected him gleefully. “I’m envious.”

Gale rolled his eyes but John leaned over under the pretense of studying the button at the base of Gale’s throat, and the younger boy stilled like a deer. From here John could draw in the scent of him: soap something sweet, like chocolate.

A breath away from the lip of Gale’s shirt collar, John murmured,” They get to kiss ya in ways you ain’t let me, yet.”

Gale whipped his head round and John had to rear back lest he get smacked in the head, but he didn’t go far. He saw Gale walk that edge; the one between excitement and fear, both centred on what he really wanted.

The other thing John liked about Gale, was that he had a complete and utter inability to back down. In the fractional space between them now, Gale let the arm resting along the back of the seat drop in a ghost of an embrace as it curled around John where he sat. The other he slowly but deliberately brought to rest of John’s denim-clad knee, high though, and gripped like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control where it went.

“Lust?” Gale whispered against his face.

And it would have been easy, so easy for John to finally bridge that distance and claim a kiss. But just like all the other times, he couldn’t help but think it had to be perfect, not easy.

Instead, he tipped forward just enough to brush his nose against Gale’s; for their eyelashes to flutter against each other, and for their stubble to catch in a delicious scrape and burn as they breathed in each other’s air.

“You have no idea,” John’s voice rumbled in the coming dusk, “the fire I got inside me for you, Gale Cleven.”

Gale’s breathe was shaky and laboured and tumbled out of him in a stutter. And then, “Don’t I?”

John dropped his head to the curve of Gale’s neck with a thud and a pained groan, and Gale chuckled, deep and syrupy now that John wasn’t stealing his breath.

But never let it be said that John Egan did not give as good as he got.

“I am a sinful man, Gale,” he spoke, just below Gale’s ear. “I don’t look at you with piety or good, clean Christian love for mankind. If you judge me based on the Good Book, you make me wanna be a very bad man.”

Gale’s hand spasmed on his leg as John felt the weight of the other man’s head rest on the back of his, just for a second.

Then John asked, “But does that make me immoral? Does that make me evil?”

Gale pulled back and looked at John with horror. He could see the refusal in Gale’s eyes that the younger man wanted to speak into the air. Of course John wasn’t evil. How could he be?

Gently, John cupped Gale’s chin between a finger and a thumb. “Does my - do my feelings for you mean I gotta burn?”

Gale closed his eyes but not before John caught the flash of hurt. Gale tilted his head down so his mouth laid in the curve of John’s palm, and in that sacred hollow he said, “I won’t let you burn, Johnny. Least not alone.”

There. As close to an admission as Gale got that John wasn’t going crazy and he wasn’t in this alone. That Gale saw John the way John saw him, and he wasn’t getting himself off every night to a damned fantasy.

With more effort than he thought he had in him, John pulled back to the driver’s seat and shook it out: all the tension, his desire, his temptation. He shook his head, rolled his shoulders, smacked his hands on the steering wheel, and when he turned to Gale he looked near pristine, but for the raw, bare look in his eyes.

“I gotta get you home,” and John said it like a vow.

A few streets away from the Pastor’s house - because even Gale didn’t make John stupid enough to tempt fate like that and Gale wouldn’t let him even if he did - Gale paused before getting out the car.

“What about wrath?”

John, who hated dropping Gale off but always appreciated the momentary but completely unobstructed view of his ass as he left the car, took a second to catch up. “Huh?”

“Wrath. You never said how you were a wrathful man. You left it out.”

And John thought back to the busted lip that started this whole thing. To subsequent red cheeks and black eyes and that one time he walked into the garage to Curt pointing viciously at the back room and finding Gale curled up on the ratty couch there under his jacket, soaked to the bone and nose red, sleeping.

He couldn’t touch Gale, now. Not around so many houses full of curtain twitchers, night time or not. But he could hold his gaze, which so many people found hard to do with the pastor’s son, and he could promise:

“I will never hurt you, Gale.”

And if he expected some heartfelt look or words at the declaration, he would have been mightily disappointed. Gale looked affronted, like John had just treated him like he was stupid.

“I know that, idjit.”

John spluttered.

“But your boys say you’re awful good a fightin’”

When he was a little younger and a lot stupider, John used to fight for the hell of it; to feel something in the wake of his father walking out his life. But now he only fought for a good reason. And Gale and his boys were very good reasons.

“I look after mine, Gale.”

And Gale bit his lip at the meaning left unsaid and wished John a goodnight, before he exited the car and walked off into the night.

John watched Gale until he turned the corner, like he always did, before he collapsed against the back of the seat and rubbed his face hard with his hands.

Gale Cleven. John was fairly sure he was going to hell for that man.

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Last Line Tag

Thanks @c-goldthorn for the tag :)

"Jesus, Gale." John's breath caught in his throat on a gasp and his body jerked and twisted in the driver's seat as he fought off the cough and splutter that threatened to take his eyes off the road. The way Gale's head bobbed in his lap wasn't helping him get his breath back none, either.

It has begun...

Tagging people in the fandom I haven't interacted with much, but have seen posting some good stuff! @drylite and @sleepr-agent420. No pressure to play along!

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Me: Painstakingly researches 1940s car makes and models, colour schemes, mechanics, racing culture, nomenclature, socioeconomics of driving and car ownership, mechanic shop aesthetics, and labor laws.

Also me: Forgets that American steering wheels are on the left.

Guess what I'm rewriting tonight 🙄

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I'm hoping to have the first part of Rebel!John and Pastor's Son!Gale on AO3 this weekend.

So for my own motivation, here's a preview from when Gale meets John:

"What you doing down there, Cleven?"

But Curt wasn't his daddy and Gale couldn't have held his tongue if he wanted to.

"Minding my own damn business is what I'm doing. You should try it."

Curt spluttered indignant and the driver Gale couldn't see barked out a laugh he tried and failed to choke off, before two car doors opened and they stepped out.

It sparked an eager thrum through Gale. This he could defend himself against. This could get him fighting - expunge the anger from under his skin justly.

He got to standing and set his feet right: centered for strength and balance, light for movement.

But Curt only leaned against the car door and put one hand in his pocket. The driver rounded the hood, and the open face and imposing body of John Egan came into view.

John clocked what Gale's body was telling him, and disarmed him with a smile and palms raised in contented surrender.

"Easy there, buck."

But Gale was prepared to cling onto his anger. How else could he push it out of him? "My name is Gale."

John folded his arms and flicked his eyes over Gale before he nodded; he knew that already. "I've seen you around."

Curt gave John a dirty look and Gale firmly ignored the tingling that set goosebumps on his arms and up his neck. It had gotten cold, hadn't it?

"Name's John," said Egan.

Gale had 'seen him around' too. Had watched him smile and laugh more than he didn't. Had seen him touch his friends good and easy and welcome their touches back. He'd seen him strut down the street ahead of him on long, strong legs. He'd watched him leave the burger joint, his shirt stretching across his broad, muscled back, riding up to show a thick waist as he slipped his heavy leather on like silk -

Yeah, Gale had seen him around.

Most of the fight slumped out of Gale as Curt and John simply watched him. It left plenty of room for the embarrassment to re-emerge.

Curt gestured at his eye with his free hand. "That's a nice shiner you got, there. Get a little rough in Sunday School?"

John's hand rapped Curt's chest sharp, and Curt tapped John's wrist unthinking. A rebuke, but gentle. Mutually understood. Gale had never seen such a thing.

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Rebel!John and Pastor's Son!Gale AU finally has a name!

That Ol' Devil Called Love.

To celebrate, I'll share a few more snippets that I've developed for the story:

First - Mechanic Marge! She's very suspicious of John, given his reputation around town, so drops by the garage to see him. Gale is her best friend and she's very protective of him. John says if she wants to talk, she has to work, and she quickly becomes enthralled with cars, and wants to learn to drive. The boys of the 100th Garage teach her. One time, Gale drops by and sees Marge in overalls that are far too baggy, using an old piece of a handbrake cable as a belt to hold them up. She's covered in dirt and John looks delighted with himself. "Look at me, corrupting all the youth," he says.

Also, Gale meets Alex and Macon, who do not take to him because of his dad, but they warm up eventually. John takes Gale dancing to a secret club well known for being very accepting, and Alex stumbles across Gale and John getting heavy in the alley. Including the absolutely filthy mouth Gale has apparently. That pretty much banishes any reservations Alex has about Gale being like his father. He likes to tease Gale about what he saw and heard at every opportunity.

Although Alex is a great technical drawer, in this Macon is the artist. He designs cars like no one's business, but he can't get his own business set up. Also, Gale has to help Alex fix his car on the roadside one day, because his usual mechanic has racked up the prices and they can't afford it.

You see where this is going. Gale tells Alex about John's garage and it just so happens John is also looking for a new market to break into (or Crank will actually murder him. Crank is the manager and accountant and is the only thing that keeps the garage functioning).

So Macon starts working at the 100th, and with him, Marge, and even Gale doing the odd bit of work, Crank needs to tell John to stop bringing in strays if he wants them to stay afloat.

Much later on, we'll also meet Lawyer Rosie who specialises in helping victims of sexual abuse and LGBTQ+ discrimination. It is the 1940s and there are no discrimination laws, but assault is assault, and Rosie is damn good at his job.

And I just really love the idea of some of Benny's family being in the mob, and Benny, the sugar plum, not having a clue. None of the boys in the 100th do. But Gale does and he doesn't know how the fuck everyone thinks the boys of the 100th are 'rebels' when all they see is the good in everyone.

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Day 1 of a two-day research trip almost over. The highlight?

Two uninterrupted hours on the train to finally finish chapter 6 of TODCL.

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That Ol' Devil Called Love Chapter Four

Gale faces his father after the festival. Ken gets some unwanted visitors at the 100th Garage. Gale gets physical, experiences his first race, and takes a few chances to apply his learning. And Dottie Egan pays a visit to her sister.

I both love and am frustrated with this chapter, but figured a new chapter was a productive way to spend a hangover. Enjoy!

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I am half way through chapter 6 of That Ol' Devil Called Love, and my brain keeps jumping to scenes in chapter 7.

Just write one thing at a time you little shit.

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Last line tag

Thanks @swifty-fox for the tag 🙂

Something not about the Buckies for you today! Instead, how about some Charles Cruikshank?

He looked relaxed on the outside. His reddish coils looked springy and boyish. His expression, which rarely strayed far from the neighbourhood of stern and put upon, was placid; positively serene for Charles Cruikshank.

He sat with legs crossed, reading his paper as he looked over the pavement, quiet with late morning traffic. The sun lit up the brassy clips of his suspenders and the white of his shirt, pinstriped through with rusty lines.

The chair opposite him outside the cafe scraped on the ground as Buddy claimed it.

"Chucky."

Charles' attention didn't so much as flicker away from his paper.

Not sure who's done this, this round, but tagging @bcolfanfic @hogans-heroes @impalachick. No pressure to play along!

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If Gale kissed him now, John would have everything he wanted. Every damn wish.

If Gale kissed him now, how could he believe it was true? Not Gale's own distraction? Not a misplaced repayment?

Gale placed his other hand on John's hip, curled a finger through the belt loop, and ran his thumb over the well-padded jut of John's hip.

Or, the boys are at it again, but for the entirely wrong reasons.

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Last Line Tag

Thanks @donotnomi for the tag! I've been terrible at keeping up with the tag games, lately.

Here you go!

“Alright. I’m goin’ to give you my two cents, Buck. For free as well, because I’m a swell guy like that.” “Curt,” Gale tried to protest He knew what the two cents were about, and he didn't want to spoil what had been one of the most enjoyable evenings he’d had since…just. Since. “Since I’m a good friend, and Bucky’s as good as my blood, I’m not going to tell you how unbearable he’s been at the shop. I’m not going to tell you he’s been drinking, or that he’s been out so much he’s barely been home to sleep in a soft bed or eat a hot meal. And I’m certainly not going to tell you that this is the first time in a long time I’ve seen a glimmer of that angry fuckin’ kid taking it out on the whole world after some asshole got into a truck and fucked up his shoulder and sent his daddy away to New York, taking all of Bucky’s dreams with him. 'Cause you know all about that, don't you?”

Or, Curt and Buck finally have their confrontation...

No pressure to play along, but tagging @morriganravenclaw @moghraidhs and @ranger-elizabeth

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That Ol' Devil Called Love Chapter 5

Underground boxing, sex dreams, sneaking off campus and Marge taking charge. John finally finds a reason to go back to church, and Gale approaches his crossroads.

Word count: 27K

“I’ve got you,” John breathed, cinching his legs tighter around Gale. “You got me? Please?” Daddy always taught him good manners got you most places.

Edit: I posted this and ran at 3am this morning, so forgot to say my thank yous. Massive thanks to @avonne-writes and @caustinen who gave me inspiration for the dream sequence. And to @swifty-fox too, for helping me figure out how to make gale flirty af and frightened about it 😅

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On tonight's WIP writing schedule:

The 100th take turns trying to put Gale on his ass (and failing), including John, who manages to turn it into a semi-public homoerotic exercise.

Someone cover Ken's eyes.