Work Text:
Okay, so I love how Bucky was born in Indiana right, and lived in Indiana for a bit (or still lives there?) and we know Clint grew up on a farm in Iowa, I have just been thinking about how they get out to the midwest occasionally to reminisce and watch the clear night sky, stargazing because the rural stars are so much more visible than the pollution stars in the city.
The air in the Midwest is just different it’s more relaxed less claustrophobic and sometimes they need to get away!! They take a road trip and of course, Bucky sings (horrifically) because he knows Clint secretly loves it but he also ADORES Clint’s laugh he wants to hear that sound forever.
I’m thinking they go to one small town every few months, so everyone there knows who they are and they have local friends and engage in small talk and !!! To me, Clint is sunshine incarnate in Bucky’s eyes and Bucky LOVES seeing Clint under the clear midwest skies!!
They take Alpine and Lucky out to the farm OF COURSE and let them run wild in the backyard, take them on grocery trips, and introduce them to the locals!!
They set up a few ranges for Clint to practice archery and Bucky to practice shooting and sit in comfortable silence. Clint thrives in the rhythmic notch, aim, release, thump of the arrow hitting the bullseye, repeat and Bucky loses himself in the load, aim, press of the trigger, then hum of the bullet hitting dead center.
The two of them flourish, accompanied by the grounding presence of their person beside them, it’s paradise!!
The poem is currently unfinished and will be updated hopefully soon, so it’s a rough draft but enjoy <33
Elysium
i ache for our journeys
out to your father’s farm
as you glisten above my adorative glances
in the confines of our car
you listen to me lament
about the pollution-painted city skies
how they betray the promise of mischief
forever coruscating in your crystal eyes
soft snorts of amusement
involuntarily escape your lips
becoming one with the raging wind
mussing your hair with howling whips
your mouth forms the familiar phrase
grumpy old man and as my nostrils huff
in their practiced response i catch
your satisfied smirk calling my bluff
i live for these furtive moments
in the absence of the scrutinizing gaze
of our peers and the strangers who walk the streets
i want remain in this idyllic haze
cherishing your enamored stares
sacred and inviolable suspended
between us untainted by the world
our intimacy thrives in the protected silence
i long for the sight
of our midwestern stars
even though their luminescence
pales in comparison to your heart
their bolide luster
illuminates your skin
capturing your ethereal presence
as you turn to me with a grin