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An entire week of having Trapper back somehow comes and goes absurdly fast.
It feels ludicrous in its normalcy; it feels equally so in its miraculousness; and all of it, above all, feels strangely befuddling. No matter how much of that time is spent with Hawkeye being both wondrously awed and yet lamenting, his thoughts inevitably swirl around and around. Around until they all come back to the center of how dearly Hawkeye wants to keep him as so much as he wishes that Trapper to be home instead of here. A circular mess is this gin vortex stirred by fizzle sticks - forgotten in each ecstasy of the olive, each raised clink of the toast, but brought forth once more when it lingers on the palette of his mind all the same.
Nothing and everything changes, because Trapper's here.
Really, just as nothing and everything had changed when he'd left.
Of course, there is rampant curiosity as to why Trapper isn't in America - and where all this time he's been instead.
"At different MASH outfits," Trapper explains casually. He doesn't get annoyed, not like how Hawkeye imagines he'd feel if he were the one having to do it over and over even though most of them have already heard by now and just want to talk to Trapper about it.
"Then why not say that?" People ask. Some angry, some hurt, all confused. "Why say you were going home? Why the subterfuge?"
"Because most of those outfits? They were aid stations." Trapper answers each time even though he doesn't like to talk about it.
Hawkeye too shies away from thinking about the implications he unwillingly obsesses over during lengthy silences that allow him too much space to do so. Even though Trapper jolts awake sometimes from nightmares (which Hawkeye more than understands) while Hawkeye watches him sleep in the privacy of the VIP tent. And they never talk about this in the light of day but sometimes, in the cover of twilight, they talk about these shared horrors in hushed tones that are too delicate to be acknowledged as real come daylight. Other times they don't and they pretend in the fictitious fantasy that the sweat's been built up from a dream built of arousal rather than terror. It sure would be nicer if that were true; there isn't any harm in pretending that it is.
And so even though - even so - no even though it is not something to be said lest it make it real, Trapper says out loud this terrible beast of a truth. And none of the recipients hearing it can truly value for how harrowing it is to give it voice - especially in the light of day when they pretend none of those terrors exist.
They don't understand it to the full extent - how could they? - but everyone still knows what an aid station means. Knows about the looming overhang of gambling with death at each moment and forced to never fold and keep playing at the table, even when the cards run out but the bodies never, never do. Some things don't need to be said to be real, but here at a MASH unit that is in relatively peaceful conditions in comparison, no one really wants to think about an aid station and what that entails. Let alone live it. Or, rather, more likely die it.
As such a grimness deserves, it draws a horrified silence every time no matter who's doing the asking - except for Father Mulcahy's dismayed "Oh my!" and Frank's jealous mumbling because Trapper's gone and gotten a medal. Hawkeye almost throttles Frank on the spot.
BJ doesn't ask. Not once. At least, not that Hawkeye's heard. Hawkeye doesn't know yet what that means - but he's sure it means something. Could be that it means something as simple as he's already heard it from the four oh seven seven rumor mill; could mean he asked Trap when he hadn't been around to overhear; could mean something else, something Hawkeye can't parse out. But Hawkeye thinks enough about Trapper's return on his own that he doesn't need to inquire about Beej's potential lack of interest.
Thinks about it a lot. More than is healthy. Thinks about it in an unhealthy way to top it off.
Because sometimes he feels guilty. Like he somehow willed Trapper into existence - into being here - and that, like some terrible jinx, it's all Hawkeye's fault he's not in America. Something Hawkeye had said or thought, back when he had believed Trapper to be going home. The first time, the ulcer, or the second time, the real deal. Except that it hadn't been real. But, boy, it had sure felt real.
In any case, it makes him cautious of celebrating too indulgently. He often feels like the lush he's been accused of being whenever he gets carried away in enjoying Trapper being here and later wonders: why did he do that, did he just doom his best friend? He doesn't want to jinx anyone - doesn't want to be responsible for them being here - even though he tells himself that he isn't, that he can't be, that it's illogical and hedonistic to even think it - and yet, knowing that and convincing himself of it are two separate things. He knows it cannot be true. Knowing it as fact doesn't convince him to accept it as fact, unfortunately.
Sometimes, to spite himself and to try and drown out that shrieking anxiety in his head with bravado, he throws himself even more into enjoying the opulence of having both of his best friends here. It should be something that - if it isn't Hawkeye's fault - that he should be allowed to enjoy, damn it. So he does. Enjoy it and then some. And then some, and oh how circular it is until finally Hawkeye manages to get a fucking grip somehow and starts to actually enjoy it.
Though it is something glorious, to have Trapper and BJ both in his life. Something glorious when he's not too busy bursting with his ungratefulness stemmed from how grateful he is. Even if it isn't his fault, he shouldn't be grateful they're here. It's almost obscene that he is and most certainly ghastly. But he is grateful, oh so grateful -
Because if they had to be involved in this godforsaken war, at least they are here with him where he can be there for them and selfishly claim them all for his own comfort. It is not, he convinces himself every time he makes them smile or laugh, heinous to be grateful for them.
Though, he admits, he still is a bit of a lush.
In those first couple weeks, Trapper stays in the VIP tent. Though Trapper is often found in the Swamp at their still, Hawkeye often visits him instead. Often enough that Radar's begun to come knocking on the locked door of the VIP tent specifically when looking for Hawkeye.
The first time that it happens, Trapper laughs at him and under his breath compares them to Frank and Hot Lips and how they always do this song and dance. It's a little funny but so wildly insulting to be the Frank in this scenario that Hawkeye would protest it, had it not come with the benefits of Trapper being the Hot Lips of the scenario as well. And thus Hawkeye can, begrudgingly, live with the similarities of absconding away to the privacy of a lover's tent.
Really though Hawkeye wishes that Trapper would come home to the Swamp again.
The VIP tent is a point of contention not only between the two of them - no matter the perk of having somewhere to get away to, even so it's almost unbearable to be reunited and yet not; because the Swamp is still Hawkeye's home and so he can't live in the VIP tent, doesn't want to, and he misses BJ if he spends too much time away; but, boy, the privacy afforded when it's just the two of them makes Hawkeye only extend the invitation to Beej to come round the VIP tent sometimes - but it is also a point of contention between the two majors.
"What happens when a real VIP guest needs the tent?" Margaret demands of Potter. "What are we to do then?"
The colonel removes his cigar. "McIntyre," He says because he prefers it to Trapper's nickname, "Is not formally part of this outfit."
Radar coughs pointedly. He's already submitted the appropriate forms, signed by Potter himself. Knowing that isn't much of a comfort however. "What's it gonna take?" Hawkeye asks, upset. The possibility of Trapper being taken away screams for attention like a ruptured appendix.
Potter considers him for a long moment. "Major Burns," He says finally. Hawkeye slumps further against the side of the desk; he knows the colonel isn't ignoring him but it's hard not to feel irritated when he's currently so impatient. Beside him Trapper lays a quick hand of comfort up on Hawkeye's hip that is appreciated and steadying.
Behind Margaret's seat, Frank straightens. "Yes, sir?"
"Either pack your things and move to the Visitor's tent or file for requisitioning a fourth cot."
Frank's face falls. "Why me? Why do I have to do it?"
"But what will we do if we have non-VIP visitors?" Margaret questions at nearly the same time.
Potter lifts his eyebrows and takes a drag of his cigar. "I thought you and the Major wanted the Captain out of the VIP tent? No?" It is unclear, due to the both of them being majors, whom exactly it is he is speaking to. Nevertheless both of them close their outraged mouths.
Well at least for a moment. "No," Frank hastens to agree and then frowns. "Or yes, rather. Or see I mean no that yes we mean no we do indeed, yes." When Margaret clears her throat and pointedly looks at him, he pauses, trying to ascertain whether he hasn't or has puzzled out the correct answer yet. "Hm. Which one would you prefer, sir?"
"Gee, Frank," BJ says amiably, "With all the options you've provided, how's the colonel ever supposed to choose?" When Frank scowls, Hawkeye smiles at Beej, who is already smiling his way.
"Any other complaints?" Potter asks the room at large and ignoring them.
"Besides the food?" Hawkeye quips. Potter rolls his eyes but it garners a quietly amused huff from where Beej is sitting and from behind the colonel's desk.
While Frank hems out a long winded reply, just in case his earlier one was unsatisfactory - which it had been, so that's understandable to think so, but this one certainly won't help that any - Trapper shrugs and leans in towards and on Hawkeye. Whispers, "I'm gonna miss having a door that's got a lock."
Hawkeye leans back and whispers, "We'll make do." They always have.
Trapper grins. "We did before," He agrees merrily. In tune with the very thought Hawkeye is having. And then he straightens up off of Hawkeye's side, full of wide-eyed innocence, as Potter turns his gaze on their whispering.
"No? Good. Now scram." As they move to do exactly that, Potter calls out, "Oh and McIntyre?" Both Hawkeye and Trapper swivel their head to look back at him. "Once you're settled in to the Swamp, come pay me a visit so I can welcome you aboard. Officially."
Technically, thanks to Radar's wiles, Trapper is officially aboard. But what Potter really is suggesting is a toast - one, in fact, of the alcohol varieties that is older than a couple hours old. Trapper inclines his head and then, almost perfectly synchronized, the two of them turn once more to leave. Beej and the two majors following close behind.
The Swamp without Frank is glorious. Though admittedly Hawkeye does miss having the easy access to tormenting him. Win some, lose some - and besides, it's not like Hawkeye can't get Frank easily from anywhere in the camp because he certainly does get him. He's not one to let Frank going around thinking Hawkeye will forget about him after all, now that he's left the Swamp.
But the Swamp with Beej and Trapper? Fantastic! In theory. Now if only reality would cooperate.
Hawkeye finds himself sans a roommate more often than not. He can't somehow manage to get them both in the same place for more than an hour; not even at night because sometimes one or the other will be on the night roster.
When he can manage to have both of his friends in, it soothes something in his skin. There's a weariness that releases.
Admittedly the gin goes faster when divided among three people rather than two. It makes him think back to when at one point the Swamp held four people before Spearchucker had been given orders elsewhere. Oliver's cot remains empty in the corner, never since used; except by Ho Jon until he and his family left for America; or except in emergencies because. Well because. Because Spearchucker and Ho Jon have been missed - that and because Henry and Potter both decided that after that three in the Swamp is more than plenty enough.
Still, even with the gin flowing faster than a leak, Hawkeye wouldn't trade it for anything - well, outright peace talks notwithstanding of course. He'd trade himself for that, even.
"To the Swamp," Trapper toasts on his first official evening of being here again. And the three of them clink their glasses together.
"Forever may it be filthy!" Hawkeye adds on as they do. They happily drink to it.
"To our filth!" Beej toasts immediately after with the toothy grin he always wears that doesn't ever give much away about what he's thinking about beyond that he's in an amiable enough mood. Beej is an easy-going person who likes to laugh; Hawkeye can't wait until he and Trapper hit it off. They'll all be a riot together, laughing madder than hatters.
They all clink their glasses again. Drink merrily.
"It may be filth," Hawkeye agrees, "But it's ours!" He knocks back the rest of the gin.
And it is. It is, gloriously, is theirs.
When Hawkeye feeds Trapper his olive, BJ plucks one from the jar and drops it in Hawkeye's empty martini glass as replacement, and Hawkeye breaks eye contact with Trapper to smile at him in gratitude.
A thrill shoots through Hawkeye. It's all so easy. They're already running like a well-oiled machine. Admittedly it'd been a little clanky around here - but now that Trapper's returned to the Swamp, maybe that's all the oiling it had needed to get going. That or time. It has been a few weeks. The 'Trapper Welcome Back' party streamers all have finally been taken down and everything, returned to the latrines for toilet paper.
"Hawk?"
He turns. "Hm?"
Trapper opens his mouth, leans forward with neck outstretched like an expectant lover awaiting a kiss. Maybe if Beej wasn't here, Hawkeye would indulge in exactly that, even though he knows what it is Trap's really asking for; ah but maybe not since the window's rolled up, as it usually is and he can see Igor in the barber chair getting a haircut across the road. He meets Trapper's hazel eyes and doesn't not kiss him. Obligingly Hawkeye picks up his newly given olive and places it between Trapper's teeth. More faithful than clockwork, Beej silently places another olive in Hawkeye's empty glass - and then reaches for the decanter and fills it with gin.
It's like something out of a movie, how well the three of them get on.
Hawkeye lifts his newly made martini to BJ's mouth, offering the first sip or two to express his gratitude. Beej glances at Trapper, who's watching them as he swallows Hawkeye's olive, and then he wraps a hand around where Hawkeye is holding the stem of the glass, overlaying glass and Hawkeye both. BJ drinks, gaze focused on Hawkeye, while Trapper and Hawkeye watch the gin go down - and then the olive.
"You two are going to eat me out of house and olive!" Hawkeye comments as his third olive of the evening is stolen from his own martini glass and BJ lowers the drink from his mouth but doesn't release it - or Hawkeye - from his warm grip.
"Don't worry about it," Trapper says like it's a joke but the words themselves aren't comical. Just the tone. "Beej?" BJ tilts his head and looks over at Trapper. "Give him another?"
There's a very brief pause as Beej stares at him. Then he says, "Sure" while glancing at Hawkeye and heeds Trap's request. Once Hawkeye's drink is re-olived, BJ hands the glass to him. Hawkeye takes it and wraps his other hand around the stem and it overlaps with his own similar in how Beej's had done.
Hawkeye takes a large sip of his martini and for a moment both of his friends watch the motion. Hawkeye would contribute it to being like a well-oiled machine... except machines, in his experience, are not nearly so heady. Well, the germ incubator notwithstanding of course.
It's been too long since he's spoken, and the words fall out of his mouth easily once sees that the two of them have, at last, lifted their glasses and drank from them. He deepens his voice and quotes, "Well done stranger!" Both Beej and Trap wait for him to finish the bit, but both of them have enough faith that they've already gotten an amused glimmer in the eye. "I like a man who can drink like that!" Trapper chuckles, grin stretching wide and slow, and Hawkeye grins in responsive echo upon seeing it. He turns toward BJ, since he's smiling toothily - but politely - and so he still needs some wooing to be genuinely entertained by this. "And now, you are going to drink with me!" Hawkeye throws back his drink and then throws out his arm, gestures so wildly that he almost loses his fourth olive of the night - this time not due to theft but from his own hand, which is admittedly somewhat more embarrassing, especially as this is what makes Beej laugh and it makes Trapper guffaw - as he gestures for an imaginary barrel to be brought to him. "Hugo, bring it over here! "
"Yes, sir," Trapper plays along and hands him the decanter.
"Wrong film," Hawkeye corrects but it's no matter, now that he's earned grins and laughter from the both of them.
"Oh which one was that supposed to be?" Beej teases, with the heavy implication that Hawkeye perhaps has done a less than stellar go of it. Which is quite frankly rude of him. Sure it wasn't his best imitation, but it'd been decent! Honestly!
He gives him a look to let him know how unimpressed he is by such insults; Beej grins remorselessly back, and Trapper props his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm as he watches them with great amusement. "The Princess and the Pirate," Hawkeye answers at last.
"Yeah?" Trapper inquires. Sounding as if he's asking not out of interest but more as to further tug at Hawkeye's strings. He even straightens out his expression to affix something less comical than whatever he's about to say. "Which one's that again?"
"It's a Bob Hope movie!" Hawkeye protests in feign exasperation because really now it had been popular! Even if that quote perhaps is not what first springs to mind. He's obligated to point out that movie itself is well known. Even as he knows Trapper's only joking. This is what they do. They keep the bit going until the next bit starts and so on and so forth, and ion the meanwhile the war hardly is able to seep through the cracks.
"Bob Hope?" Beej muses with a thoughtful frown and then shakes his head. "Nope, sorry, doesn't ring any bells."
Trapper bursts into rambunctious laughter with enough force that he dislodges his chin from resting on his hand.
"You're not trying to tell me you don't know who Bob Hope is!" Hawkeye gleefully rebuts, almost beside himself with how deliciously fun this bit has turned out to be.
Beej shrugs. He glances between Trapper and Hawkeye and his mouth opens into a toothy grin as he affects an unimpressed air as they struggle to even breathe through the delight of it all. "I don't know who Bob Hope is," He lies with only minimal effort put into maintaining the charade that this is even remotely true.
Hawkeye howls with laughter. Half falls over himself in sheer jubilee.
The best bit about bits is how outrageous they are, how free they allow Hawkeye to act; but the second best bit about bits is that bits take more than one person, so there's always someone else to share the punchline with.
They don't usually take risks like this. But without the VIP tent and with BJ as a roommate - who is far more intelligent than Frank - they need to be a little more conniving. They needed to go away to get more handsy than mere tentmates would entail - and even that is something Hawkeye already pushes. He's very tactile, and both Trapper and BK indulge him endlessly when he craves touch. And so he touches and touches. Grabs on to Beej's and Trapper's arms; uses BJ's hands for yarn holders; turns Beej's and Trapper's knees into a pillow; holds his friends close and sways to music that he hums as they dance for entertainment and to remember what it's like to hold someone with their hands who isn't on an operation table as they lay bleeding out and dying.
But there's touching and then there's touching. The difference being in how only one of those involves kissing.
Thus: the supply shed.
When from outside the supply shed Klinger caws like a particularly unsubtle bird, Trapper and Hawkeye spring apart. Klinger caws again and as Hawkeye buttons up his shirt Hawkeye can't resist asking Trap, "You think he ate a little crow?"
Quicker in redressing, Trapper actually pauses in yanking on his jacket to roll his eyes at the wordplay in the idiom. "I think you could stand to eat a little crow," Trapper shoots back easily. It's true that Hawkeye can be an arrogant little creature that thinks it's the best - but that's only because he is the best.
Hawkeye tilts his head in mock pondering. "Was that not last night's dinner?" Trapper snorts, and Hawkeye grins victoriously as he tugs his collar into place.
That's all the time they have before Radar's entered the supply shed, looking awfully wary of what is inside it because although Klinger had been a good guard, boy, he sure hadn't been a subtle one.
Hawkeye places his hands on his hips, then decides to fold them across his chest instead. More natural looking that way. Hopefully.
"Yes?" He asks, vying to appear unaffected. Succeeding he hopes. Trapper certainly isn't. Though at least he has the decency to hide his amusement towards the situation underneath his palm so Radar can't see. "Did you need something?"
The kid blinks at them and says nothing. His silence makes Trap's muffled chuckle seem louder.
"Radar?" Hawkeye prompts.
Radar shakes his beanie-clad head. "Um," He frowns and the stare he gives the two of them is really confused as he cranes his neck as if lesser physical distance between them will make his understanding clearer. "No, actually. I was just - " He points to the clipboard in his hands. "Requisitions. I was, uh, going over the... the list." His eyes narrow and then widen. His hand touches a button on his shirt to fiddle with it and then, as if scorched, drops off of it.
Very deliberately, Hawkeye feels at his own shirt in the same vicinity. Ah. The button hadn't made it in time.
Trapper very conspicuously chuckles and then feigns a cough which is, at this point, even more conspicuous than the chuckle.
"Uhh..." Radar says slowly, eyes darting between them. "...Sir?"
"Which sir, Radar?" Trapper asks, finally pulling it together enough to tease the kid and leans against the wall.
"You, sir," Radar clarifies, and gestures to Hawkeye.
Hawkeye also gestures toward himself. But with his left hand because his right hand is occupied hiding away an open button that the kid has already seen. "Why - that's ma'am to you!"
"Yes, sir, ma'am," Radar answer instinctively and then scowls. "Honestly, you guys. Between all the sirs and Major Houlihan and now this! I got enough confusion about the ma'am sirs without the sir sirs being ma'am sirs too!"
"It's amazing," Hawkeye remarks to Trapper over Radar's head, "That he can say so much and yet make so little sense."
"What's amazing about that?" Trapper asks, pulling a confused expression and then dropping the punchline and a smile, "So can you!"
It's a good one, Hawkeye will give him that. He points to him and waggles his finger.
Trapper shoves off the wall he'd leaned on. "Well, if you're not needing us," He says casually with the aplomb of someone announcing they truly must depart.
"I'm not," Radar confirms.
"Good," Hawkeye agrees and gives him a little wave of his fingers as he follows Trapper out the door in a pace too slow to be called fleeing but very much feels like fleeing.
Hawkeye fixes the undone button.
Outside, Klinger waits with wide eyes. "Did you get what you needed?" He asks, under the mistaken notion that they'd been in there to acquire supplies to make Frank's day a little bumpy.
"Oh, definitely," Hawkeye agrees with a hearty nod. They're walking away empty handed after almost an hour in the supply tent; obviously, this is a great alibi, nothing to worry about. But, hey, Hawkeye's gotten away with worse ones. So, he knows, has Trapper.
Trapper claps a hand on Klinger's red cardigan. "Couldn't have done it without you." Retracts his hand and shoves both in the pockets of his jacket.
"Well," Klinger smiles, very pleased with himself in the revelation that he has indeed helped his friends out. "I owed you one. For the earrings."
"I told you! The earrings were a gift." Trapper explains for the umpteenth time.
Klinger waves a dismissive hand. It's not about the earrings. Not really. Not between them.
"Thanks," Trapper says to the corporal, more sentimental now, as if he's in tune with the direction Hawkeye's thoughts have taken.
Klinger shrugs. "Anytime," He replies. Means it.
He's a good man. And a hell of a good woman too.
"Hey," Trapper says lowly as they take the long way back from the supply shed. "Don't suppose you could use this to come up with something, could ya?" He discretely pulls out a small bottle from his jacket pocket. Hawkeye stares at the colonic in Trapper's hand and then slowly smiles.
"You swiped that?" Hawkeye asks but already knows the answer. "When we were in there for an hour pretending to swipe something to use against Frank?"
Trapper shrugs and stuffs the bottle back into his pocket. "Figured why not?"
Content, Hawkeye throws back his head to look at the sky. "Yeah," He echoes, "Why not?" The sky is as blue as it ever was. He looks back to Trapper. He too is as beautiful as he ever was.
"Besides," Trapper adds and shuffles closer to him as a Jeep passes on the road. Their shoulders brush. "Klinger's looking forward to something happening. Be a shame to disappoint him."
It's a shame, Hawkeye thinks, that he can't kiss Trapper right where his lips quirk up in their self-satisfied deviousness. "An hour for colonic though?" He says, voice heavy with skepticism, instead of putting voice to that desire.
With a merry twinkle in his eye as he does so, Trapper turns to look at him. Pauses walking and so Hawkeye too stops. He leans in closer. Hawkeye hunches forward to better hear the incoming whisper. "Well, not with just the colonic. Wait til you see what I've got in my other pocket." He bursts into laughter. Looking as pleased as punch, Trapper resumes walking, doesn't wait for him as he stands there and laughs, and they part their separate ways.
Hawkeye hopes his laughter follows him all the way to the Swamp, even when the sound of it stops.
Hawkeye places his palms against his back and it pushes himself back into an upright posture before he'd even realized he was slouching so much. Across the road, he spots the sight of a tall blond man and smiles.
"BJ!" He calls, waving, and Beej snaps his head up. At the sight of Hawkeye, BJ smiles. The two of them walk briskly until they stand before each other.
"Wanna grab a cup of coffee?" Hawkeye asks.
BJ pauses as he stares at him long enough that Hawkeye thinks maybe BJ had something to say. "Sure," He agrees finally with a shrug. "And I could eat."
"Here?" Hawkeye asked in feigned incredulity. "Don't hold your breath. Or - maybe try doing that. Maybe it'll make the food taste edible."
"Hm," BJ says nonchalantly, "Asphyxiation might do the trick, sure." Delighted by the joke, Hawkeye laughs and grabs a hold of Beej's elbow. With a self-satisfied grin, BJ turns his head toward him and adds, "Be less painful than actually tasting the food, that's for certain." At that. Hawkeye honks out another laugh.
As they walk, Hawekeye holds on to Beej's elbow all the way to the mess and right up until the reach the food line and need their hands to hold their trays and coffee mugs.
"Don't look now," Trapper murmurs against Hawkeye's jaw, "But we've got ourselves a little peeping Tom."
Hawkeye's eyes fly open. "What?" He makes to sit up but Trapper keeps him pressed down by refusing to budge so much as any of his weight.
His hand also keeps Hawkeye from successfully turning his head. "I thought I said not to look?" Despite the circumstances, his tone is languid and not at all rushed. And he's got that soft grin to match. It's almost enough to make Hawkeye choose to forget the need to be responsible - almost but not quite. Though it is tempting, when Trapper looks at him like that.
Still. "Trap, in case it escaped your notice, someone peeping on us is sort of a big deal."
With the continuing air of nonchalance, Trapper seems to be quite unconcerned about such facts or how Hawkeye squirms. "Trust me: it's not."
He does trust Trapper. That's the problem; because he knows the situation's risk and yet can't help but to become ever so slightly soothed by Trapper's promise despite the very reasonable anxiety coursing through him.
"Trap," Hawkeye protests, "We're not exactly GI regulations here." And while he doesn't convince Trapper, he does get a kiss on his lips for the effort so it's only half a loss really. Another kiss and Hawkeye's willing to outright mark it as a fairly ridiculous success even. The next verbal complaint gets lost somewhere between their hot air and soft mouths as Hawkeye leans up into it, but both of them know that it doesn't get forgotten. Just delayed. Detoured, one might describe it as. "Trapper," Hawkeye says lowly once he's deigned to indulge long enough. "We're not exactly Clark Gable and Sylvia Ashley."
"Hm?"
Understanding that Hawkeye's going to continue pressing the matter, Trapper moves to lay kisses under his ear rather than his mouth so as to better listen to those complaints; his nose brushing aside dark hair as he does so in an unwittingly distracting maneuver. Which is... rather unfair, if Hawkeye might make a note of such. Especially seeing as Hawkeye is trying to make conversation and he himself is attempting to kiss upwards on Trapper's jaw. Multitasking and failing at both of them. Trapper wins and Hawkeye gives up on the attempt of being the kisser and succumbs to being the one kissed.
Between such, he replies to Hawkeye's comment in a low, distracted voice even as his eyes remain quite vividly clear. "Can I be Clark Gable - or do you want to?" Generous of him to offer, Hawkeye supposes. That Clark Gable is a real charmer, or so he's heard.
His warm hand still cups Hawkeye's jaw, warm and loving but also limiting mobility so that when he glances around the room, from this angle he can't see whatever it is - whomever it is - that Trap saw. The Swamp looks secure enough to him, with its curtains all drawn and the door makeshiftedingly barred with Hawkeye's trunk, and he wouldn't even question their privacy had Trapper not alluded to otherwise.
"I'll be Sylvia - but only if you answer my question."
"What question was that, Mrs. Gable?" Now really! Trapper isn't at all playing fair with something like that; he knows that Hawkeye loves to play house. It's one of his favorite bits, being the aunt to Trapper's uncle, the wife to Trapper's husband, the Mrs. Gable to Trapper's Mr. Gable.
Instead of falling into the easy route Trapper's laid out of playing the role of Mrs. Gable for a minute or so, Hawkeye remains firm. "You know what."
Trapper sighs, and the breath of it tickles in his ear to almost an uncomfortable point due to the proximity. "Sweetheart, I already said to trust me, but I should've known that you can't turn that gorgeous brain of yours - " He stops and smacks a kiss to Hawkeye's skull as if it can penetrate the cerebrum and reach his brain. Which is quite impossible but even more so endearing. " - off long enough to forget about it, even with proper distraction before you."
"Maybe I'm one of those shy girls," Hawkeye glibs as he looks up at Trapper through an emphasized fluttering of his eyelashes. "And don't want anyone peeking at us."
"You, shy?" Trapper asks. He pulls away from Hawkeye. Who despite his protestations to try to get him to back off enough to talk misses him there already; and he leans back to situate himself above firmly out of reach - and Hawkeye does make the effort of straining upward before falling down again with a huff - and grins down at him.
"Maybe I'm not shy," Hawkeye agrees while Trapper's hands rest on his hips. Steadying, not instigating. "Maybe I'm possessive. Maybe I don't want anyone else to take a look at you." He pauses, and Trapper recognizes the air about him because he waits with a little smile. "After all, I am your wife."
"Mrs. Gable," Trapper flirts back.
He replies in as prim and feminine of a voice as he can muster, which makes Trap press his lips together then form a caricature of a thoughtful frown as he nods, clearly conveying he's impressed by the effort. "Mr. Gable."
After, in a moment of seriousness, Trapper's mouth presses into a line; his lips are far different than the way they'd just been pressed together. But then he tilts his head and with it relaxes his jaw and his mouth slides into a lazy grin as if pulled by a far greater force than Hawkeye, like gravity itself. "Well, if someone did..." He says, grin getting increasingly suggestive, "Who would you pick?"
"To catch us?" Hawkeye demands incredulously. He'd only just managed to relax a tad involving that worry! But even so, with a look like that... Hawkeye reaches an arm up to Trapper and cups his neck.
"Nuh uh." Trapper retaliates by letting the grip of one hand turn firm on the hip, a touch too much to be merely steadying and is moving more along the lines of playful, and moving the other to rub his thumb across the skin of Hawkeye's cheekbone. "To watch us."
"Oh. Oh!" Hawkeye laughs. A vast difference! Assuming now he's caught on to the situation happening here, the fantasy Trapper is trying to unfold. He thinks back to almost getting caught in the supply shed by Radar a few days ago and wonders if Trapper's been fantasizing about someone other than the kid doing the catching. Hawkeye doesn't know if that's what gets him going; but he does know that he can spin a yarn until he figures out a more specific direction to pull this toward. "I see! You want to know who would I choose, hm? Oh, well, one of the nurses I suppose." He leers comically. "Why - she could even join us, if you want."
His leering is returned. "A nameless nurse?" Trapper scoffs doubtfully, flirtation seeping out every pore. Hawkeye doesn't yet know the punchline for this - if there even is one - but he's very, very good at improvisation and is more than willing to go along with this act.
Then Trapper leans down to kiss him, and Hawkeye eagerly attempts to stretch upwards to meet him there, doing his best to pull Trapper down quicker as he tries to rise to that middle ground, but Trapper seems content enough to keep him where he is and so it ends up being Trapper who bends as Hawkeye lays there like putty too ridiculous to do anything other than impatiently be molded by warm hands that shape him into something that's a little more pliant and a heck of a lot more patient. "You can do better than that," Trapper says, all slow and heavy with the weight of implication.
Rude! And a mood killer at that! Assuming he's meant the kissing and now offended, Hawkeye glares. "Darling, you have the sweetest pillow talk."
Trapper blinks, understands the cause of his dry as gin voice, and then chagrined clarifies in a significantly less suggestive tone, "I meant about the nurse."
Oh. Well then. That's alright, he supposes.
"C'mon. There's no one that comes to mind? Here, I'll go first and then you pick someone else." His face goes overly mock-serious, eyes distant in supposed far away thought for two seconds at most before his gaze locks on to Hawkeye once more. "Hot Lips."
Damn, that would be the obvious choice. Why hadn't Hawkeye thought to name Hot Lips?
"She's got a whip now, you know," Hawkeye informs him.
Eyebrows rising, Trapper leans so far back that he's basically just sitting rather than pressing his body weight down to keep Hawkeye in place. "Does she? ...Huh." Trapper shakes his head as if clearing away the rather blue book thoughts of it. "Come on, Hawk... Why don't you tell me who'd get you a little hot under the collar."
There's a lot of people, surely. He's come up at a bit of a loss however; it's been a while since he's... well he only dallies occasionally now, not like back in his earlier days with Trapper when he'd had date schedule after date after date. So he's not exactly routine with any of the staff, and certainly not enough to trust anyone to watch him and Trapper - even in a fantasy.
That beside, Hawkeye can't voice a single potential one. It feels a bit... Well a bit wrong. It's not like he's stepping out with someone else while Trapper's on a date - and not that Trapper would even mind that - but it's just that Trapper's here. In bed with him. No one else matters, not really. And certainly no one, not really, who can't wait until Trapper isn't in bed with him. Very little could pull his attention away from Trapper in these paramour moments. Especially seeing as they'll be far fewer in between, now that Trapper's moved out of the VIP tent and back into the Swamp. And even if there is someone... does Trapper really want to hear that? Right now? Instead of else-wise occupying their valuable private time?
"Why, Mister Gable," Hawkeye gasps coyly, ignoring his concerns by chocolate-coating them in humor, "There are some things a wife ought not to say to her husband."
"We'll be one of those modern couples," Trapper shoots back with a twinkle in his eye. And how dare he look so good and distracting when Hawkeye is trying to be vaguely half serious.
"How modern?" Hawkeye asks, half a joke and half very much not at all a joke. Not if Trapper keeps trying to pry him open like this. There's an honest secret that dances at the tip of his tongue.
As usual, Trapper understands. His expression remains serious even as his tone makes light. "As modern as you want, sweetheart."
"And I suppose you wouldn't mind then?" It's both easy and difficult to decide on honesty. But, yes, Hawkeye plays along very obviously in the facilitating of a joke that's only thinly covering that tender truth, "If I were to answer very modernly?"
"Mm, that's right."
He's never been good at holding his tongue. "If that answer were to be BJ?"
Trapper doesn't mind - looks satisfied like he's expected it even - but, in a twist of extraordinarily unfortunate luck, it's not Trapper that Hawkeye should have been worried about minding.
The sharp inhale that sounds - it comes from across the damned room.
Hawkeye sits up so fast that Trapper almost gets a concussive blow. Frantically, Hawkeye scans the room -
"Hawk," Trapper says gently, and places a hand upon his upper arm. Then, with none of the panic rushing through Hawkeye, nods his chin towards their right. When Hawkeye follows, he almost doesn't see it.
"Shit," BJ breathes, startled, exactly as Hawkeye finds him hidden away underneath the bed. They then make eye contact, both of them equally as shocked to do so.
"What the hell are you doing?" Hawkeye asks, alarmed and alarmingly high pitched.
"What the hell am I doing?" BJ asks incredulously. He licks his lips. Says nothing as he tries to come up with an answer to explain. Pauses. "Yeah, that's a good question. What the hell am I doing?" He glances to Hawkeye as if awaiting some absolving explanation to come from Hawkeye.
"Get out of there!" Hawkeye demands because he doesn't know what else there is to say, and he refuses to have this conversation while BJ's scrunched up under his bed like he's supposed to be shoved under there, like he's the world's most ridiculous nudie magazine. And, actually, Hawkeye is regretting that simile, very much regretting it.
"Oh, God," Hawkeye realizes. "Oh my God."
"Hawk," Trapper says, attempting to calm him down.
Hawkeye jerks away from his touch and falls off the damn bed. His elbows and head will recover; his friendship with Beej potentially not so. "You knew he was there! I thought you were - you let me think it was, was a - a fantasy thing! But no! It was real! I thought you were just getting roused up from imagining someone." A thought strikes Hawkeye, and as he stands he swivels wide to examine the room with a fresh wave of horror. "Tell me that Hot Lips isn't in here."
"She's not in here," BJ assures him, earnest and rueful all at once but with the audacity to have an amused twinkle in his eyes despite it all and his wan pallor.
"That one was a fantasy," Trapper explains with a shrug. A shrug! As if a shrug can be a summation of this - this - this catastrophic situation!
Hawkeye holds his face in his hands and groans.
"Come on," Trapper cajoles. "Hawk, come on."
"No," He stubbornly insists in the delusion that he'll never have to face reality if he remains in his hands. "No, this is - "
"What?" BJ asks, sounding too vulnerable like he's been the one caught giving a tonsillectomy to his best friend, "It's what?"
And so what else can he do when hearing him like that? Hawkeye raises his head.
But doesn't know what to say to fix this. Has to begin somewhere though. "You saw."
It isn't a question. BJ still confirms. "I saw."
There's a pause filled fraught with the things Hawkeye fears. "And?" He demands, hands curling into anxious fists.
"And - " BJ says, running a hair through his hair. "And I saw, okay? I saw."
Hawkeye sits himself back on the bed, and Trapper takes one of his fists and hold its. "Well now what?" Because it isn't as unimportant as BJ is making it sound to be. The lack of addressing its significance - well, Hawkeye would rather not beat around the bush, not for this. Especially with the way BJ is staring at where Trapper's hand is holding Hawkeye's.
BJ sighs. "What do you want me to say?"
That should be Hawkeye's line! "Now I go back to sneaking around and pretending like you don't know - and you pretend like you don't know. I don't know, BJ! I don't know."
Trapper squeezes Hawkeye's hand and then goes about gently forcing the fist unto unclenching - or at least enough that Hawkeye's knuckles feel the reprieve almost immediately, even before Trapper then begins to massage them. The physical release of the stress helps somehow release his emotional stress, even though it's probably not connected.
Hawkeye too sighs.
The sound causes BJ to frown.
"Hawk," Trapper says before BJ can, "He already knew."
Hawkeye yanks his hand away from Trapper. "What?!" Recoils slightly as he glances between Trapper and BJ.
"I didn't know," BJ protests like it's a matter of semantics. Trapper snorts. "...But I was fairly sure," He admits.
"What? How?" Hawkeye asks."Why - no when? When did you become 'fairly sure' - when did you even begin to think - "
"Well," BJ interrupts his spiraling fragments of sentences, "Between the welcome back party and Radar being worried that you broke my heart, it became a little evident."
Exactly none of that makes sense. Hawkeye makes sure to tell him so. "Exactly none of that," He informs him, "Makes any sense. At all. None. Whatsoever." A thought occurs to him - two actually. "Wait do you mean, about -about the party? And Radar? Radar? What - "
Trapper raises a finger in the air. "You did kiss me."
"Yeah," He agrees, even though it feels strange to admit it in front of anyone, even if that person is BJ. "Loads of times. And?"
BJ explains for him. "The night of the party. You kissed McIntyre."
...What the hell?
"At the party?" Hawkeye can't believe it. How is he just finding out about this? "In front of - what - everyone?"
But BJ shakes his head. "At the Swamp."
Huh.
"Was Frank there?"
"Yeah," Trapper answers, "But don't worry: BJ and I took care of it." He and BJ then share a secretive look of understanding.
Huh.
"So..." Hawkeye realizes, counting off the weeks that BJ has suspected and attempting to time them up with Radar somehow - probably, he realizes, the instance at the supply shed. Which was only a few days ago. So - however it is that BJ used Radar to officially piece it together - he hasn't known for that long. Except... it's been a few days. And he hadn't said anything or treated Hawkeye any differently.
Hawkeye lowers his head and clasps his heads together upon his lap.
"So you know. And you're not... you're not upset." It had intended to come out as a question; but Hawkeye can parse out the answer.
BJ's voice goes very soft and very, very kind. "You're my friend, Hawk." As if that's supposed to be that.
"Thanks," Hawkeye quietly replies.
"Besides, I thought I made my stance clear," BJ adds, in a more normal volume but still so very kind, "Back when you told me about your uncle."
"The one who never married?" Trapper verifies. He's heard the story too of how Hawkeye's uncle isn't married but certainly doesn't live alone either - and who's there to rat 'em out besides the sheep the pair of them farm? No one.
BJ nods. "That's the one."
Still. It's one thing to hear of someone's faraway uncle distant in land and emotion than it is for your best friend to be one. It's a relief, that BJ doesn't mind, which feels a bit disrespectful like Hawkeye hadn't trusted him enough to maintain faith in him.
"Radar?" Hawkeye asks because the way BJ's phrased it has been rolling around in his mind. "He thinks I - what? Broke your heart?"
A little helplessly BJ shrugs. "The kid's got an imagination."
"Doesn't mean he's wrong," Trapper points out. And BJ frowns.
"No," He agrees slowly, "I suppose it doesn't."
There's something unspoken that hangs in the air - and it certainly isn't the socks on the line. "Well," Hawkeye says just to knock that unspoken thing down to Earth. "Radar's not a problem. He's very discreet - "
BJ shakes his head. "Hawk, I'm not - I'm not worried about Radar." He gestures with his hand to the length of the tent between them. "It's us."
"Nothing has to change," Hawkeye promises quickly. "Nothing will change," He amends.
"What if I want something to change?" BJ asks, and Hawkeye is offended for one abrupt moment before BJ continues, "What if I want... And I shouldn't."
Serious, Trapper asks, "Who says you shouldn't?"
Hawkeye glances between them. The well-oiled machine of the three of them - well there's a gear that clicks into place then.
"Oh," He realizes. Licks his lips. That unspoken thing that had been hanging in the air? Well now it's been spoken, and the magnanimity of it is almost more palpable than when it hadn't yet been spoken.
"Oh," BJ repeats with a wry chuckle.
"Trapper's right," Hawkeye decides swiftly - in pace with his pulse, really. "Who says you can't have - " Me, he almost says. But doesn't. He recovers from his verbal near-blunder. "I certainly didn't say that. Nor did I hear anyone. Trap, did you?"
"No," Trapper agrees easily and faithfully. "Not a word."
Hawkeye snaps his fingers together. "Well there we go then! It's been settled!"
BJ grins as he again shakes his head. "Has it now?"
"Well I don't see why not," Hawkeye bluffs even though there's probably hundreds upon thousands of reasons otherwise. It doesn't matter, anyhow, if they're willing to disregard those reasons in the pursuit of -
BJ tilts his head. His grin slips into something sadder, and Hawkeye's heart slips with it. "But," BJ says, "I've loved something that doesn't really exist. Somehow, I don't care. Somehow, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter one bit."
In the face of this stubborn commitment and confessional admittance of something akimbo to yearning that Hawkeye doesn't know how to handle, he doesn't know what to say. He wants to deny it all that BJ ever need to feel this way, that Hawkeye as he is between them doesn't exist - he does! - and this is ph so very desperately real.
At the same time, those last bits of it ring in his head like a concussive blow, that's how much it aches oh so sweetly. BJ knows - knows and doesn't care. And loves - he'd said it, actually said it -
The beautifully tragic air slips off of BJ as he furrows his brows. "Boy," He says glibly, sounding utterly fine and frankly rather unmelancholy. Hawkeye blinks slowly through his confusion. "Tough crowd. And here I thought my Scarlett o'Hara impression was a pretty good one." He cocks his head. "Don't tell me neither of you have seen Gone with the Wind?"
...What? Again Hawkeye blinks, then squints. No. No, surely not -
His disappointment is apparent. Near palpable and utterly absurd in the situation. Especially seeing as he's clearly riffing off of Hawkeye's joke about Bob Hope from the other week with the expectancy that this patient setup of a punchline deserves all the more applause despite the wildly ill appropriate time of delivery.
"Gee, Hawk," Trapper says in amusement, without any other Hawkeye's incredulous outrage, and clearly appreciating the levity in the midst of this seriousness. "Where did you even find this guy? He's just like you!"
That stops Hawkeye and BJ both. "What?"
Trapper shakes his head fondly. "Going off on little monologues. Quoting some novel or film and then waiting for the rest of us less scholarly folks to catch up with your little joke. It's kinda cute, really. Definitely reminds me of you."
"Less scholarly?!" Hawkeye protests because Trapper is an incredibly intelligent man, and Hawkeye won't stand for this slander against Trap even when such gossip is perpetuated by Trapper himself.
"Monologue?" BJ protests instead, looking faux offended at the lack of appreciation toward his impromptu performance.
"Well, sure," Trapper answers to them both, unconcerned.
"You hold him down," Hawkeye directs to BJ in an obvious sotto voce. "And I'll get 'im right in the mouth."
Wickedly Trapper grins. "With a punch or with a kiss?"
"I'm still deciding," Hawkeye playfully goes along with him.
Loudly BJ clears his throat. When Hawkeye glances his way, his Adam's apple is still bobbing. He's backing off. Shying away even though Hawkeye had thought Beej was gonna - Maybe BJ had. But is not rethinking it in the face of reality, is hesitating. He's retreating - and now that Hawkeye knows that they all want this, knows that they're so close - he doesn't want to let BJ do this even as he politely tries, "I'm sorry for - " He breaks off. "I interrupted you two - "
"Imagine if you didn't," Trapper points out, sounding too much like a suggestion.
BJ flushes. Tries again. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry and I'll be outta your hair now."
"What for?" Trapper asks. Hawkeye turns to him. He recognizes that tone. Is glad for it and lets him take the lead on coaxing Beej because Trapper knows how to push without being so pushy, not like how hamfisted Hawkeye gets when he's trying to convince someone. "I kinda have a feeling you're exactly where you ought to be. Don't you?"
"No!" BJ is aghast. "Why - "
Hawkeye pipes up in support, "Trap, c'mon - "
Both of them cut off simultaneously. A very talented maneuver on Trapper's part, really as his kiss somehow shuts two people up.
Quickly Hawkeye pulls back, very conscious that BJ is watching. Even though -
Even though... The thought finishes occurring to him.
Hawkeye glances at BJ, whose mouth is open in what Hawkeye maybe would've misread as surprise except... Except BJ has been watching. This entire time. And perhaps it's something less surprise. Especially since even from the beginning, BJ hadn't really looked as surprised as he ought to have, did he? Almost like...
Almost like he'd already figured it out or knew.
Suddenly Hawkeye is reminded that he never got a straight answer for why BJ had been under the bed. Almost as if hiding.
So maybe t isn't surprise that widens those blue eyes. Maybe it's something more in the nature of want. Or - and here's a possibly that makes Hawkeye swallow hard - he's simply, selfishly projecting his own desires onto his best friend.
Lightly, as though touching one of Radar's guinea pigs with the potential to spook any minute, Trapper's hands run up and down his biceps in soft waves that come to him like a coastal tide. Though, of course, Hawkeye has far fewer lobsters than that cold spot of Atlantic Ocean he calls home, so he's not quite the sea - or Trapper's not the sea either. None of them are. Though Hawkeye does feel somewhat adjacent to how a soft shelled crab must.
"Hm?" Trapper prompts. Hawkeye can't help but to notice the intensity of BJ's gaze as it follows Trapper's hands going up and down on him.
"Beej?" Hawkeye says because he has to say something. "You think you might be at the right place after all?"
BJ inhales deeply. He tracks Trapper's hands for a few more seconds and then goes up, up, from those to look at Hawkeye - no, he realizes, not to look at him but to look at his well-kissed mouth. It's Hawkeye who then inhales. They're on a cliff's edge but, funnily enough, it doesn't feel so bad. Maybe because he knows what's at the bottom.
"Hm," He says. Then slowly walks over. He glances at Trapper, as if awaiting him to protest, but nothing happens. And so he continues on. He sits on the cramped edge of the bed, more leaning his weight on his own legs due to the crowdedness. "Hawk, you good?" BJ checks carefully.
In lieu of answer, Hawkeye tugs at the material of Beej's pants as he lifts his own legs to a fold, trying to guide him to place his legs where Hawkeye's had been so he can place his on top of them. It works, insomuch as that BJ moves further on the bed, but it also causes Hawkeye to almost knee himself in the chin while trying to avoid kneeing Trapper or BJ while maneuvering.
"Careful," BJ warns as grabs onto Hawkeye's ankles to help him along, but he's definitely amused as he does so more than truly concerned.
"I am, I am," Hawkeye replies, ignoring his near incident. Bj's hands gripping his ankles and Trapper's hands gripping his arms - both of them assisting in better arranging them so they can all fit. The manhandling is kind - it is also, Hawkeye is stunned to discover, very delicious. "Huh," Hawkeye mutters.
"What's that?" Trapper asks, his chin hooked over Hawkeye's shoulder now as Hawkeye leans on him.
This isn't about Hawkeye, this is about BJ. If this isn't a once off occurrence, then he'll tell them some other time. "Oh, nothing."
"That's a first," BJ points out. Less of an actual tease and more of a way to regain familiar ground in the midst of a situation unfamiliar to him.
"Go on," Trapper instructs lowly. Hawkeye's not quite sure whether he's talking to him or Beej.
But Hawkeye is the one who listens to Trap's advice. He stretches his neck to close the distance between them without dislodging Trapper's chin upon his shoulder; the effect of it is that it leans him into an angle so slant that it forces him to lean up for BJ's mouth. BJ watches him do this. Eyes intense but never making a move to meet him in the middle; if Hawkeye were someone of less nerve, it'd be unnerving perhaps.
"Go on," Trapper says again - this time in surety to Hawkeye - and then lifts his chin from Hawkeye's shoulder, either as a courtesy or simply to witness it better.
All the while, BJ watches and says nothing. He, too, seems to be witnessing.
But this isn't a one man circus here. Hawkeye doesn't want witnessing; he wants a little participation here. A little help from the crowd. A willing volunteer.
"You never stop talking, huh?" BJ finally speaks, his quiet voice making Hawkeye realize that he's been speaking somewhat nonsensical conveyings of his thoughts.
"Never," He agrees. And then he goes for it. And he's rewarded. When his mouth reaches up to Beej's, Beej finally leans down into it. Hawkeye lowers his eyes to that soft point of contact, eyelids low as he keeps his gaze on Beej's mouth as he kisses and kisses and plans on never stopping.
"Hawk," Beej murmurs, and Hawkeye doesn't want to hear that he read this wrong, or that he didn't but that BJ can't or - "Hawkeye," BJ continues as he tips Hawkeye away and presses kisses along the path of one cheekbone. It's entirely endearing even as much as Hawkeye doesn't want BJ to have his mouth off of Hawkeye's mouth enough to attempt conversation. "God, you look so - " BJ ducks to kiss Hawkeye's jaw.
"Yeah," Trapper agrees, even though no adjective had been provided. BJ glances at him for a moment before resuming laying kisses upon Hawkeye's skin.
"Let me - " He reaches his arms around BJ's neck and pulls him down. "Let me..." BJ does. Hawkeye closes his eyes and kisses up, up, up to that very willing mouth.
"Pretty," BJ says in between kisses. Almost nonsensically. Until he turns to lavish affection by way of peppering kisses into Hawkeye's hair and between those kisses says, "Hawkeye, you look so pretty."
"Steady," Trapper warns. And Hawkeye shakes his head to call him off. Because he knows that he's looking out for him. Trapper knows how Hawkeye doesn't mind being called - well - feminine names. Calls himself feminine names. Enjoys it, more than doesn't mind it. But it's different; he knows what Trapper's thinking - that BJ is seeing him as some sort of - some sort of proxy for a woman. But it's BJ. BJ wouldn't. Trapper doesn't know BJ like Hawkeye knows BJ - not yet at least.
"No, I'm good." Hawkeye assures him. But BJ listens to Trapper and pulls back. "Hey, come on, c'mon, please - " He doesn't want to talk about this. Not yet. What he wants is to kiss and be kissed. And then to keep on kissing even after that.
BJ takes his uptilted face in both hands. "Hey. I - " He looks to Trapper and frowns. "I meant it. Hawkeye, you look... You look pretty."
Hawkeye grins. "How pretty?"
Seeing that Hawkeye and BJ are fine, Trapper too settles back into being at ease.
BJ smiles. "You want me to tell you?" He asks, sounding like he's leading up to reciting some great poem. Hawkeye will ask him to do it later; for now...
"I'd rather you showed me," Hawkeye cheeks.
Trapper's chuckle is soft and low. This time, it doesn't make BJ pause.
"Yeah?" Beej asks, amused. "Alright, Hawkeye. Come here then."
Happily, Hawkeye does. And it's nice - so nice he decides to stay there.