Chapter Text
BJ is enjoying a rare summer breeze that is taking the tiniest edge off of his body's attempt to drown him in his own sweat when his arm is smacked. "Hey!" He sends Hawkeye a look. "What the heck was that for?" he asks with a grin.
Hawk brandishes his flyswatter. "You're whistling. That's the fourth time you've started up in eight minutes."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did!" Hawkeye jerks his head. "Now turn around. You've earned a spanking."
With a grin, BJ drops his voice. "Oh, don't you wish?"
Hawkeye waggles his brows with mischievous intent that always makes BJ's heart flutter even after a couple of months by his side.
…well. By his side is maybe a little extreme. They're best friends who are casually sleeping together. They're a little more than best friends, really—Hawkeye is the source of his sanity and brings a kind of warmth that makes BJ feel human again when the worst OR sessions break his spirit. They do happen to stand side by side quite a bit, though. Like right now.
BJ nods at the flyswatter. "Y'know, I'm pretty sure that thing's going to your head."
"Oh, you do, don't you?" Hawkeye coos, swaying closer.
A firework bursts in his gut. There it is, that glorious heat surging through his veins, far more pleasant than the summer air. BJ risks a wink at him. The sky doesn't fall to punish him, fortunately, and for his part, Hawkeye seems to bloom. Once again they're toeing the line of acceptability. It's happening more and more outside of the Swamp's safe boundaries, like right here just beyond their tent's door. BJ waits, filled with anticipation, curious if Hawkeye will take another step further, but all Hawk does is smirk and look away.
Being in Korea equates to an unholy amount of waiting, and today is no different. There are only a few patients remaining in post-op, and according to Colonel Potter, they aren't due to receive any more for the rest of the week. Fortunately they've been handed a perfect distraction, at least for another half an hour, and it's all thanks to Radar. The kid had run into them while he had a young, strapping soldier by the name of Tony Baker in tow. Before BJ could tease Radar about his new boyfriend, it had been explained that he was the husband of their very own Nurse Baker. He was here to surprise her, and would they mind very much if he could wait in the Swamp while Radar ran to fetch her?
They'd agreed, of course, though BJ suspected for slightly different reasons. While Hawkeye had immediately bubbled up with a plan to make the reunion as theatrical as possible, BJ's motivation had been far more tender. He was inspired by the romance that they would be facilitating. How could he not be? He's a man madly in love with his wife, and he also has an incredible man to kiss, to hold, to whisper sweet nothings to…
…again, well. Maybe they do more joking around when they're cooling off from their orgasms instead of romantic pillow talk. But that's simply their nature. They don't get to take their time together in supply very often—they still haven't been safely unoccupied enough for BJ to be inside of his lover again. Hell, they can barely find moments to jerk each other off before someone needs them for one reason or another. Honestly, he's sure that the next night that they can spend alone, the sweet and sentimental will flow through them like water. It's exactly what they need.
That's a thought, actually. BJ perks up. "Hey, remind me when your next night off is."
"Tonight," Hawkeye replies.
BJ blinks. "You're joking."
"Joking?" Hawkeye chuckles, most of his attention on trying to spin the flyswatter between his fingers like a baton. "Beej, if I was joking, I'd say that one morning, I shot an elephant in my pajamas—"
"But I saw the duty chart," BJ interrupts before The Groucho Marx Show can begin in earnest. "I remember it. You're on the midnight shift."
Hawk flourishes the swatter, then points it at him. "Was on the midnight shift. Swapped it for tomorrow afternoon. Colonel Potter has a thing."
"But you didn't tell me." BJ isn't going to pout. He's not. "I'm off tonight too. We could've…met up."
Hawkeye furrows his brow. "Could've sworn I said something. You sure?"
"Yeah, I am. You didn't." BJ crosses his arms. No sulking either. This position is neither a pout nor a sulk. It is a powerful stance.
Hawk's smirk returns in earnest. His eyes sparkle. "Well, well, well." He slips in close so their shoulders are touching, then murmurs "Whaddya say we pour a couple of drinks, have a few laughs…and then we repeat our night in Seoul, minus the company?"
BJ takes a deep breath, trying to settle the flow of lava through his veins. He's not sure why he bothers. It's his constant companion these days. "Well then. I'd say I wanna know why the day is going by so slowly."
Like an excited child, Hawkeye wiggles in place. "Ooh, I can't wait!"
"Wait for what?"
They spin simultaneously, all smiles. "Why, if it isn't Mickey Baker! Waiting for you, of course." Hawkeye holds out a hand, which the clever redhead attempts to dodge, but there is no escape. BJ holds the door open and both Hawkeye and Radar urge her inside to her happy fate.
Their part in the spontaneous reunion of Tony and Mickey has BJ riding high for the rest of the day. He can't help it. The whole world seems to be painted a delicate pink. Suddenly he sees nothing but happy couples scattered around the camp, holding hands, snuggling close, exchanging kisses. He's all but overflowing with effervescence.
See, this is the thing about BJ: he's a hopeless romantic. Always has been, always will be. He prides himself on how easy it is for him to remember special anniversaries or to keep a close eye on how Peg's preferences change for perfect gift-giving purposes. Really, he's downright lucky that Peggy never gets sick of him—she's as giddy about celebrating the anniversary of their first date as he is.
He's never allowed anyone else into that section of his life. His casual sexual partners in college didn't want flowers. In fact, he's pretty damn sure that if he'd tried to recite poetry to Leo, he would've been laughed straight out of his bed.
It's just on his mind. That's all.
While Hawkeye dozes, BJ decides that the best way to put these bubbling feelings to good use is by writing Peg a letter. Given that he'll be spending the evening in Hawk's company, it seems only fair. And besides, though he's received three from Peg this week alone, he's been so distracted that he has yet to reply to any of them. It's the first time during this whole crummy war that he's fallen behind. But it's okay. He knows that she'll understand. She gets as buried in caring for Erin as he does in surgery.
BJ puts together his clipboard and a stack of stationary, then grabs a pen. There are a few shady areas that should give him relief from the baking hot sun while still allowing him to take advantage of the brisk breeze.
As he meanders about, he sees them again. The couples. How incredibly sweet is it that Mickey and Tony found something beautiful in a war zone? While torn away from their loved ones, they had the opportunity to dream of starting a family of their own. Soon they'll be setting up a home in the States, maybe working towards a baby.
BJ settles in an unoccupied lounge chair, then sits back and lets his clipboard rest on his chest. Clouds drift by. One resembles a giant fluffy sheep.
Margaret will be getting married soon. Bridesmaids, he bets, a cake, a reception, the whole nine yards. Maybe she'll need some help planning the festivities. BJ could assist with that. Sure, he's a man and he's heard every stereotype about gents and their own weddings, but he spent many a happy hour sitting in the Hayden living room, poring over ideas for venues, colors, string ensembles, bakeries, everything. There's got to be some way that he can help.
Peggy, fuck, right, his letter. BJ turns his focus to the blank page and begins to write. My darling Peggy.
His chair jostles. "Oh!" Father Mulcahy exclaims, and before he can break his nose from falling, BJ manages to catch him. "Oh. Oh my." Together they get him on his feet, the massive box he's carrying still intact. "Ah, thank you, BJ!" Father Mulcahy grins as he holds the box so BJ can peek inside at the pile of books. "While it's true that the Lord gladly takes away our burdens, the records of His teaching can still be quite a heavy load."
BJ smiles back. "I know I usually tell you to break a leg before your sermons, but maybe try to take it a little less literally, huh?"
"I'll do my best," Father Mulcahy promises as he goes on his merry way.
Has he married lovers in the midst of the war, their beloved chaplain? He'd be shocked if it hasn't happened already. The clipboard returns to its resting place. BJ's gaze wanders to the clouds.
One day Hawkeye will get married, won't he? BJ's chest goes tight at the thought, at BJ's doubt that anyone could ever be worthy of him. That's part of what's so vital to understanding Hawk, that he is utterly deserving of all possible happiness, but that very few recognize how important it is to cherish him. He's sure that Hawk will invite BJ to the ceremony. That'll be where BJ can take measure of the girl of Hawkeye's dreams, can pull Hawk aside if he sees anything untoward. He imagines her cheating on Hawkeye with the best man and the thought infuriates him.
Maybe BJ will be in the wedding. Hell, maybe he will be the best man, and after that harlot tries to seduce him, he'll tell Hawkeye. They'll walk out together, drive to some dive bar, and spend Hawk's wedding night getting hammered. He'll give him a shoulder to cry on for as long as he might need it.
God, he needs to cool off. It's this damn heat. It's boiled his brain, turning a brilliant man of science into a pile of mush. He's just… Lonely doesn't seem to be quite the right word, but he's certainly craving something.
Wait. Romance. That's it, isn't it?
It's not that he's disappointed with what he has with Hawkeye—on the contrary, he yearns for the frenetic lust that surrounds them—but there are domestic possibilities that they never touch. They can shower and shave together, but they never sit side by side cuddling. No playful pop kisses. They don't hold hands. That must be why BJ is so agitated today. After soaking up only three minutes with the Bakers, he came to realize exactly how starved he's been.
They could change that. Even if they can't always be domestic, it's something they could play with. Like tonight.
"There you are."
BJ jolts back to the present to find the very subject of his thoughts grinning at him. "Here I am."
Hawkeye shoves BJ's legs so he can sit on the end of the lounge chair. "You vanished. Thought you'd finally gone AWOL."
"I promise never to abandon you without giving fair warning," BJ drawls. As Hawkeye leans back, supporting himself with his hands behind him, BJ enjoys the simple pleasure of admiring his lover. He's been attracted to him from the first moment they met, but every day that they spend together only makes him more striking. His ardor has not cooled, not even a little bit.
Hawkeye would look gorgeous in a tuxedo. When BJ is at Hawk's wedding, he'll have to remember not to stare too hard.
Why wait? a voice chimes in his head. If you're gonna feel so sappy, you might as well get it out of your system. And once that thought concludes, BJ can think of nothing else. He and Hawkeye have never role-played together before, not officially, only their quick and zany bits. So what if they tried tonight? Had even more fun while they were messing around?
They could play house. Or perhaps the prelude to that. Yeah, that would be great, actually. He can't believe he hadn't thought about it sooner. Newlyweds. They could be a couple on their honeymoon. It's perfect. Finally he and Hawkeye could make love face to face, would have every excuse to nuzzle and kiss as much as they wanted. There would be no rushing. They'd scratch their itch for intimacy, vulnerability, and romance in one passionate night.
"There you go again," Hawkeye murmurs, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "You're taking a hell of a vacation in your brain today, fella."
"Plenty of room for you in it too," BJ quietly teases. When Hawk simply titters and makes a show of tossing his bangs out of his eyes, BJ figures that he might as well press onward. "I've been thinking about tonight, actually."
Hawkeye hums, his fingers brushing his shin. "Mmm, you're not the only one."
"Oh, yeah?" BJ is more pleased by that than he should be.
"Oh, yeah." Hawk bites his bottom lip as he nods slowly. Promisingly.
BJ shivers with mounting anticipation. Fuck, he's not going to be able to think about anything but tonight. "Well, uh, what do you…" He trails off as he tries to let his brain catch up with his mouth, but Hawkeye simply watches him smugly as though he is fully aware of what steamy mental images are distracting him. "Would you stop?" BJ whispers good-naturedly, which makes Hawkeye chuckle. "Listen, what do you think about us…playing a little tonight?"
Hawkeye blinks. "Are we talking poker or me almost passing out again?"
"Neither." He's pretty sure that Hawk won't go under with this the way that he did with their rough encounter in supply, when BJ had to cuddle him hard to clear up his mind. "No, I'm saying…" He glances around to make sure that no one else is nearby. "…I want to…act out a scene together, let's say."
"Like a play?"
"Sure. Like a play."
A familiar expression wanders across Hawkeye's face, mischief and curiosity abounding. "Go on, then, tell me more! Do I need a script? A costume? I could go steal some nylons, but I'm pretty sure I won't have time to shave."
"None of that. Just bring yourself. We'll improvise."
Hawk leans in. "Can you at least give me a hint so I can prepare for the performance of my life?"
Though BJ opens his mouth to nudge him in the right direction—to think bridegroom—he freezes mid-breath at the sight of Radar hurrying toward them. "Heads up, company clerk at three o' clock."
"It's too late," Hawk whispers. "His four eyes can see all of our secrets."
BJ chokes down his laugh right on time for Radar to reach them. "Hey, Hawkeye? Oh, hi, BJ. Hello to both you sirs."
"You're his favorite," BJ accuses. "I'm always the bridesmaid, never the bride."
"No, that's not true, I like both of youse!"
"He's lying," Hawkeye stage-whispers, so BJ turns away as though bereft.
Radar stomps. "C'mon, can you listen? You told me to tell you when Major Houlihan's out of her tent, and she just left, but I dunno for how long, so you gotta hurry, okay?"
"Ooh, goody!" Hawkeye rubs his hands together as he flies to his feet. "You coming, Beej?"
He considers. The quarantine scheme would be decidedly more obvious if the three of them were there. "Nah, you go ahead. Remember, give me the secret semaphore if there's any trouble and I'll bail you out."
With an expression that's as serious as a heart attack, Hawk jerks his stiff arms in every direction, then leans in a few moments later. "You'd better write this down."
BJ pushes Hawkeye away with a light kick, but he can't stop himself from laughing no matter how put out he's pretending to be. "Go, go!"
"Going!" And then Hawk and Radar are off to the races.
For a minute, BJ simply watches them leave with a fond smile. He does need to finish his letter tonight so he can give Hawkeye his full, undivided attention, but that means he has to start it first. And he tries. He really does. But maybe he'll…brainstorm about tonight for a little bit longer so his mind settles. Only for a few minutes. That's all. Easy as pie.
There are so many moving parts to their little charade that BJ barely has another moment to think about what's to come. There is, in fact, no time to begin his letter, but that's okay. Tomorrow while he is languid and satisfied after a beautiful night, then he will have more than enough time to dote on his darling wife. She'll understand. Hell, the letter could take two whole months to get there. It's completely out of his hands as it is.
But after the day flies by, finally, finally everything begins to unfold. The sun sets. After dinner, people split up into their various pursuits. There is no sudden arrival of wounded. Post-op is quiet.
They shower separately, though it isn't something they agreed to beforehand. BJ draws the short straw insomuch that Frank is not quite finished when he arrives, but Frank doesn't jab at him, so BJ keeps his mouth shut. The last thing they need tonight is any additional eyes on them, especially when they're already courting trouble. They're liable for whatever happens with the Bakers, and BJ knows for a fact that Frank would love nothing more than to ingratiate himself to Margaret and to get his bunkies in boiling hot water. After Frank leaves, Father Mulcahy takes his place, and BJ pulls out years of small talk training—his mother's strictness comes in handy yet again, almost making her millions of sharp but veiled jabs worth it.
When he makes it to the Swamp, Hawk hums a happy little sound as he hops up from his chair and swigs down the last of his booze. "Nice and squeaky clean?" he asks, eyes sparkling. "You get in every nook and cranny?"
It was a hell of a journey, scrubbing every drop of sweat off of his body while also trying to avoid touching sensitive areas any more than he had to. No need to court trouble when he's already so eager. "Clean as a whistle," he confirms. "Father Mulcahy's in there right now. He can vouch for me."
"A likely story," Frank snaps from his sad corner of the tent. "It's a wonder that he doesn't burst into flames every moment that he's around your filthy souls."
"Hey, now," BJ says. "You're looking at a fellow who was baptized at the tender age of four."
While Frank narrows his eyes in suspicion, Hawkeye whirls around with his shower kit in hand. "And I was baptized alongside Bethany Summers the spring that I turned fifteen."
"Were you really?" BJ can't help but laugh in disbelief.
"Sure! We both stripped naked, waded in the creek, gave each other a hand—"
"Disgusting," Frank sneers.
Hawkeye shrugs. "I don't know what he wants from me. We knew each other biblically and everything." With that quip out of his mouth, Hawkeye backs toward the door, grinning at BJ. "See you soon," he trills, then slips away.
"See you for what?" Frank demands.
"Nothing about you," BJ cheerfully replies without hesitation.
That makes Frank whip his head up. "You're lying, aren't you? Anytime you say that, you're either defacing my Bible, violating my letters—"
"Frank," BJ interrupts. "We're having drinks and playing slots at the O-Club." Frank never goes in there anymore now that he can't wine and dine Margaret.
Frank stares him down for two seconds more before returning to his book. "I don't know how you can stand being there. Those enlisted men crawling all over the place give me the creeps."
"We always carry cream in case they give us a rash."
This is the tricky part. BJ stands in front of his footlocker while he tugs his underwear on under his robe, then conducts business as usual while he dresses. As he puts his shower kit away, his heart pounds, and as smoothly as he can, he palms his tub of surgical lubricant and a condom. He doesn't yet have a ready excuse as to why he has a pack of rubbers. Maybe he took them from some local kids who were trying to use them as balloons. Either way, he slips them into his pocket without a sound. Easy as pie. As he heads out, he avoids sending Frank another glance. That would make him more suspicious than anything BJ could say.
The path BJ takes is circuitous. He goes toward the O-Club, but only until he's out of sight of the Swamp. Then he loops around, dodges the private on patrol duty, and comes around the back of supply. God, his kingdom for Frank to get some damn R and R. He can't risk so much as kissing Hawk in the Swamp most of the time—who knows when Frank might walk in? But for now, these clandestine nights against metal shelves or on dusty mattresses are all they have, so he enters the supply tent with purpose. Paces just inside the door while counting to 120. Only then does he slip the hanger over the handle outside with the hopes that anyone who has seen him enter has forgotten that he's inside.
Now he must play the waiting game.
After taking a long stroll around to verify that there are no hidden stragglers, he finds his way to the shockingly tidy mattress in the back corner. There's only a single blanket, and since he has no idea where it's been, he kicks it away. But he's not satisfied with a bare mattress. Not for the scene that he has in mind. Newlyweds deserve a little more.
He hums "Embraceable You" while pilfering a lantern—it'll have to do in lieu of candles—and then he gathers the plushest pillows and the softest blankets that he can find. He fusses with the setup a little longer than he should, but he needs it to read as something special. It's vital. He wants Hawkeye to feel as cherished and desired as humanly possible. The blankets, turned down just so. The pillows, fluffed.
Then the door opens and a shiver of excitement shoots straight down his spine. It's time to play.
He'd know those shuffling footsteps anywhere. BJ hurries around the shelf. "Whoa!" He catches Hawkeye by the shoulders when he bowls straight into him. "You all right?"
Hawkeye grins, tossing his wet bangs out of his eyes. "Mm, irreparably damaged, actually. I think I need a big, strong doctor to check me out, give me some tender loving care."
"Oh, you do, do you?" With a smirk of his own, BJ wraps his arms around his waist. "Y'know, if you wanna play doctor, you could just tell me."
"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I don't wanna ruin whatever evil plans you've got in store for tonight." He leans in, catching BJ's bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a tug.
The tiny pinpricks of pain go straight to BJ's cock. It would be so easy to give into temptation and roughly devour Hawkeye's body from head to toe. But no, he'd go too fast. He wouldn't savor him. So BJ hums as he steals a taste of Hawk's mouth with his own. While BJ tries to guide him into a deep but gentle kiss, Hawkeye plunges his tongue inside and wraps it around BJ's. Hawk even gets two handfuls of his ass, yanks him forward, grinds their—
BJ breaks the kiss with a gasp. His heart is pounding quickly enough to dizzy him. "Hey, hey, let me lead."
"You're taking your sweet time about it," Hawk murmurs.
"Well, maybe that's part of the game.
Though Hawkeye accuses him—"Tease."—he relents. So BJ catches him by the hand, laces their fingers, then brings him along step by step.
It takes a few seconds before BJ realizes that Hawk's grip is limp. They've only held hands truly and deliberately once, and it was in the shower in Seoul. BJ hadn't been able to stop himself, had been so caught up in hiding his eagerness to have him that a tiny act of tenderness had slipped through his defenses. When he glances over his shoulder, Hawkeye is wearing an expression that BJ isn't familiar with. Wide eyes. Brow lifted. Not fear, at least; he has certainly seen Hawkeye terrified. But he really doesn't like that he can't read him in this moment. "Everything all right?"
"Oh, sure, sure."
BJ is not convinced. "Hey. This is going to be fun. That's all it is. Okay?"
It takes longer than BJ expects before Hawkeye nods. "I, uh, I thought you were gonna be rough with me. Like when you had me up against the shelf."
"Wasn't that too much for you?"
"I mean, at the time, maybe, but, but I've thought about it a little bit. Gotta be ready for anything, right?"
"Then you already know you can trust me too." BJ stops beside the mattress.
Hawkeye takes in his careful setup. He doesn't seem to be breathing at first. "You've made it look nice," he finally says.
Though BJ's not sure if he should, he still replies, "Thank you." Then he lifts their hands and presses a kiss to Hawk's knuckles.
Hawkeye shivers, then flicks his gaze to BJ's. "W-What are we doing here, Beej?"
"Are you nervous?"
"What? No! No, no, no, of course not, I, ah, I was just, just making sure I know how to play my role, whatever that might be, so I can get into character, maybe nail us that Oscar—"
BJ presses his finger to Hawk's lips. "You wanna take a breath at some point?"
With a frown, Hawkeye pulls away. "I was fine. I have a lot of experience with being a windbag."
"Uh-huh." BJ tugs Hawkeye in, holds him, and cradles the back of his head. His lips brush the shell of his ear. "Think…gentle. Think sweet."
"If you wanted to fuck a gentleman, then you should have cloned yourself. I don't think there's one in, what, a twenty-mile radius? I'd say Klinger, but I wouldn't want to offend a lady's sensibilities."
He is nervous. That's cuter than it has any right to be. Honestly, it fits right in with their evening's theme, and Hawkeye doesn't even realize it yet. There is serendipity at work here. Beautiful tangles of fate. If BJ was always destined to be ripped away from Peggy and Erin, the universe was still kind enough to have Hawkeye here waiting for him. Maybe Hawk feels the same way. But this, he senses, is not the right time to ask.
Instead he rubs their noses together, grinning at the feel of Hawk's more pronounced, rounded tip. Call him sentimental, but right now it is yet another part of what makes Hawkeye perfect.
It's time to ease them in. "What do you think about marriage?"
When BJ takes some breathing room, he notices that Hawk's eyes are still wide as a doe's. "Marriage?" he asks incredulously.
"Yeah. Mankind's oldest institution."
"You know, I'm pretty sure that's taxes," Hawkeye drawls, then makes a move to pull away. BJ's arms tighten. "Or maybe they're tied. I mean, they go hand in hand, don't they? Marriage is nothing but a way to get some fancy tax benefits and save on your laundry bill."
BJ huffs a startled laugh. "There's a little more to it than that." Something curls up and clenches in his chest. Maybe he needs to come at it from a different angle. "You had to think about it sometime. Didn't you ever want to marry Carlye?"
"God, no," Hawkeye barks, tone twisting with a facsimile of mirth. It's not quite right, not quite him, and this time when Hawkeye strains, BJ releases him. Hawk strides away, finds an abandoned condom wrapper on a nearby shelf, and begins fiddling with it. "I'm sure it would've happened at some point. Maybe. Her parents weren't big fans of me, exactly—it was my fault that their little girl was living in sin. Never mind that she was the one who asked me to move in first."
BJ's taken aback for a long few seconds. "Wait, I don't get it. Didn't you…how did you put it? You proposed yourself into a corner."
With that, Hawkeye turns his back on BJ, and he studies the tense set of his shoulders. His scapula cut sharp shadows across his shirt, as violent as knives. He's really worked up about this. It's strange. BJ spent years of his life daydreaming about being a husband, beginning a family of his own, building a different life for his children than the one he'd been forced into. It was a lifeline during the coldest tense nights, trying to fall asleep with a punishment in the form of an empty belly.
"Yeah, I guess I did," Hawkeye finally murmurs, bringing BJ into the present. "Call that an act of temporary insanity. I-I mean, it was what she wanted, right? It…" He exhales sharply, then turns with a grim sort of smile, crooked teeth exposed. "It wasn't the first time."
BJ's brows shoot up. "But you—"
"It was another nurse. I'd known her for, for days, can you believe that? I can't even explain it without you thinking you oughta call Sidney or something. It made perfect sense at the time, but when I look back on it, it's like a totally different person took over me. Every day is a blur. M-My brain was overheating, melting out of my ears, and I was thinking so fast, and I wasn't sleeping, and I knew for a fact that it would fix everything that was wrong with me at once, everything. And you know what the best part of it was?" His eyes crinkle at the edges, teeth gleaming brighter than a shark's. "She turned me down."
BJ shakes his head slowly. He's been handed so much information that it would take a week to process. Hawkeye, almost married before BJ ever met him. Would he have been happy? Would he have wanted to slip into BJ's bed anyway? "Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" Only when the words have slipped out does BJ realize that there is the decaying feeling of betrayal buried beneath the confusion.
There's a beat of silence. "Why didn't I tell you about a stupid mistake I made when I was in the manic half of manic-depressive?"
His cheeks heat. "No, I mean—"
"It was our anniversary week. Mine and Carlye's. And there was this gorgeous blonde powerhouse of a nurse here—Erika, with a K, yeah? Unusual?—and all I know is that I can barely remember anything I did that entire week. Except that." Hawkeye flicks the wrapper away, not meeting BJ's gaze. "Freud's gotta be rolling in his grave." Then he crosses his arms. He's not nervous anymore. Ashamed? Before BJ can chase that thought further, Hawkeye takes such a deep breath that he waits in rapt silence, afraid to blink lest he miss anything more to come. "Marriage is for people who stick around. It's not for me."
BJ's heart shatters. How could Hawk think of himself in that way, as the man who'll always walk away and leave somebody behind? He's perfectly capable of creating a long, happy life with a partner. He'll meet his soulmate someday just like BJ did. God, it's as if BJ created this moment by mistake, unconsciously willing it into existence by imagining Hawkeye's future bride cheating on him. He doesn't want that. He doesn't. He wants Hawkeye happy and in love, incandescent, dancing in the street, even if…even if it means…
Okay. Enough of that. Back to business. So a sweet honeymoon isn't Hawkeye's beautiful, tender fantasy. Not right now. Not when he's got something painful hanging on, some misconceived notion of what kind of a man he is. But BJ could show him. Give him five minutes and he'll help Hawk see what's possible. Help him feel the potential of love.
BJ smiles as gently as he can while he approaches Hawkeye. He rests his hands featherlight on his shoulders. At first, Hawkeye flinches, but then he settles and BJ squeezes a little more tension out of them in response. "I'm…I'm sorry."
"For what?" Hawkeye asks a little too quickly, looking up at him with that same haunted stare. "You didn't do anything. You just asked a question, right? And I answered it, and, uh, and now I can suck your cock."
He's apologizing for dredging up painful memories, really. He was there for the second coming of Carlye. He knows what that did to him. Maybe he doesn't know if this Erika-With-A-K had as hard of an effect on him since he wasn't here—though he wants to grind his teeth, thinking about her having the audacity to turn Hawk down, illogical as he knows that is. But saying all of that would only set Hawkeye off again, and that's not what he wants tonight to be. So he tidies everything up and shoves it to the dusty recesses of his mind for a quiet night when he can't sleep, when he has the opportunity to chew on the mysteries of Hawkeye Pierce that he fights to hard to keep BJ from seeing.
For now, he brushes his lips over the hot skin of Hawkeye's throat, humming at its smoothness. Hawkeye shaved his five o' clock shadow for him. "I want to take you to bed," he whispers.
In a surge, Hawkeye attempts to slam their mouths together, but BJ catches him by the jaw and holds him at bay. "C'mon, Beej."
"Let me be gentle with you." He kisses his chin now, then thumbs over it. "Remember Seoul?"
"How could I not?" Hawk is trembling. "Nothing stopping me from getting it up this time, though, so what's with the hold-up, huh?"
BJ pulls him in so their bodies are flush, and at the warm, solid press of his lover, he rumbles. But there's one thing that gives him pause. "So why aren't you hard?" he ghosts across his cheekbone.
"Keep kissing me like that and it won't be a problem anymore."
Unable to hold back from tasting his lips for another moment, BJ wraps an arm around his slim waist, cups his cheek, and kisses him. Goosebumps skitter across his body as he suddenly heats from the inside out, his skin fighting to catch up, and all from the rich moan that Hawk feeds to him as he slips his tongue into his mouth. God, he's so fucking addictive. It's unfair. But if it's any indication, the way that Hawkeye's pulling BJ's shirt up so he can shove his hands under, then Hawk feels much the same way.
That hits BJ harder than he means for it to. The Hawkeye Pierce, the dazzling heart and soul of this camp, the only reason any of them are still going at all, needs BJ just as badly as BJ needs him. It's unfathomable. A god granting a mere mortal his favor.
BJ needs to worship him—a servant to his god, a groom to his bride—right fucking now.
"Shall we go to the bed?" he whispers against his lips.
"You read my fucking mind," Hawk emphatically agrees.
If BJ had his way, he'd scoop Hawkeye into his arms and carry him to the mattress exactly like he had whisked Peg over the threshold of their honeymoon suite. He'd laid her down with the utmost care, breathless at the sight of her golden hair spilling across the pillow, overwhelmed by the first chance to make love to his wife like he'd been fantasizing about. But Hawkeye, lean as he is, is still over six feet of long limbs, and while BJ is almost confident that he could carry him, even the faintest possibility of dropping him isn't worth the embarrassing risk. Besides, if he surprised Hawkeye by doing it, then his lover might flail and kick a few boxes off a shelf, sending them clattering and spilling their contents on the ground, and isn't that just what they need? The entire camp rushing to see what happened and finding BJ Hunnicutt and Hawkeye Pierce with swollen lips and matching erections.
No, tonight has to be absolutely perfect. No missteps. Not anymore.
As he guides Hawk toward the mattress, Hawkeye mouths at his throat, almost making them both stumble multiple times with his enthusiasm. What BJ wouldn't give for Hawkeye to mark him right there, high above the collar. Claiming him. Maybe one day, Hawk can bite and suck a bruise into his chest or drag his nails down his spine, something easier to hide under his thick pelt. But not yet. And that's fine.
God, he wants it bad.
For now, BJ settles for sliding one hand through his hair as he silently coaxes him mid-kiss to kneel with him. Hawk shoves his hands into BJ's back pockets and squeezes, shocking a moan out of him. He adores how tactile Hawkeye is, loves that BJ doesn't have to be afraid of the immensity of what he wants to give him. Maybe they can start lacing their fingers more in the dark of the Swamp, seated on BJ's bed, thighs pressed together, whispering so that Frank doesn't wake. He gets a sudden mental image of Hawkeye perhaps resting his cheek on BJ's shoulder, sweet cuddling, and soda pop bubbles begin to burst around his heart. "Hawkeye?"
"Mm?" Hawk drags his tongue along his neck.
"Fuck," BJ breathes. "Will… Will you let me do something for you tonight?"
"Mm-hmm." He doesn't seem swayed from his task.
"I-I want… Christ, your mouth. Feels so goddamn good."
"Mmm…" His grin is audible.
If BJ is going to be patient and gentle, then this is the moment when he needs to put his foot down, before he might crush Hawkeye into the mattress and fuck him like an animal. "Seoul, yeah?" Hawk's moan is answer enough. "What if we could do it over? What if we could change that first time?"
"What do you mean?" Now Hawkeye grinds against him with incredibly distracting intent.
BJ chokes down another groan. Not yet, not yet, he's almost there. "If we'd been face to face. If we, we kissed, if we… What if we could really drown in each other without being afraid?"
The explosion of need in his arms freezes, the heat of Hawkeye's mouth lifting away. After a moment, Hawk clears his throat. "Afraid of, uh, what?"
"Each other," BJ replies after slight hesitation.
Hawk pulls back to look him in the eye with a frown and a furrowed brow. "I'm not scared of you." He shakes his head.
Something in Hawk's tone seems guarded. "Well, sure, and I'm not scared of you either, but you've gotta admit that we were both wearing masks that night."
Hawk's head bobs away as though needing to bring him into focus. Blinks again. "What are you talking about? What are we doing tonight? What is this? Y'know, I was more honest with you in Seoul than I have been with anybody for a very long time. More honest than I ever was with Trapper, actually, and by a huge margin at that."
BJ doesn't realize at first that he flinched at the mention of that man's name, as though Hawkeye had struck him. Why the hell are they bringing Trapper John McIntyre into their bed? What does he have to do with anything? They can't go a week without Hawkeye mentioning him, can't— No, c'mon, deep breath. Let's fix this. Let's get him out of Hawkeye's head for good. "Okay. I'm sorry. Clearly I'm not…doing this right." BJ rubs the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Look, can I just start over before I put my foot any deeper in my mouth?" It's difficult, but he pulls on a smile before he opens his eyes. Hawkeye watches him far more like a cornered rabbit than his namesake. "I'm serious. This wasn't how this was supposed to go."
"Oh, well, by all means," Hawkeye murmurs, his tone distracted. "Who am I to ruin our first night together in ages?"
He takes the blow well, if he does say so himself. He can be a big enough man to admit that he probably deserves it right now. Unlike, he bets, some people who used to be in Hawkeye's life before they vanished in a puff of smoke.
Breathe.
BJ begins anew, intent to build on the foundation of where they started before it began to crumble. He catches one of Hawk's hands, then brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles while staring deeply into his eyes. "What I want…is to be with you tonight the way that I wish I had been the first time. I want to kiss you. To touch you everywhere without the excuse of a massage. I want to see your face when I make you come. When I'm inside you."
As he speaks, he can see Hawkeye finally begin to relax like he'd hoped. His beautiful Hawkeye, all for him. Finally realizing, maybe, how BJ is going to worship him. Hawk licks his lips, then nods. "I want that too, Beej. Shit. If it wasn't for this crummy war, we'd be doing that every night."
BJ's lips twitch in grim amusement at the reality of their circumstances. "If it wasn't for this crummy war, we wouldn't be doing this in the first place."
Hawk opens his mouth, closes it, then squeezes his eyes shut with another unsettling grin. "I'm gonna need you to fuck me before the North Koreans drop a bomb on us."
"I will. Don't worry." He rests a hand on Hawk's back to support him, then presses forward with his chest until Hawkeye yields and begins to lie down. In moments, BJ straddles him, watching the play of firelight across his cheek and the first strands of silver in his hair. "Christ, you're gorgeous."
Again, Hawkeye relaxes. His smile lines return, chasing away the unsteadiness of seconds before. "Look who's talking." With the utmost care, Hawk reaches up to drag his knuckles along BJ's cheek, leaving tingles in their wake. "Gotta be more careful, fella. I'm liable to start drowning in your eyes at every meal, if you keep on looking at me like that."
There it is. The blanket of tenderness begins to fall upon them like snowflakes, loosening their muscles a little at a time. Inviting deeper intimacy. The world is silent beyond the tent for now. It's just them. No one else. BJ turns his head and kisses the sensitive skin of Hawkeye's wrist. "You ready for your role?"
"Yes, yes, don't tease me anymore, huh? I wanna play with you." The lilt of excitement curls around his words. "Mom said I don't have to be home 'til midnight and everything."
"Mmm, I'll see what I can do. Gonna be pretty hard, not keeping you the whole night."
BJ settles beside him, fingers drawing patterns over the soft, well-worn material of his t-shirt, and whispers in between kisses along his jaw. "Let's go back, Hawk. Our first time. But we're thousands of miles away from Seoul, alone, ready to drown in one another. You with me?"
"I'm with you," Hawkeye breathes. He tips his head, inviting BJ to indulge further down his throat.
Who is BJ to deny him? He catches Hawk's flesh between his teeth and worries it gently, not quite enough to leave a mark. "We've had the most perfect day we could imagine. Everything went right. You looked beautiful, better than I ever dreamed. Otherworldly. Ethereal. And now we've run away from the world so we can finally have what we've wanted for years."
Hawk shivers. "What've we wanted, Beej?"
Slowly, slowly, BJ kisses his way up, making Hawkeye wait, building the anticipation until he hears him groan, feels his hips rock upward. Only then does he touch his lips to his ear and whisper, "Let's…pretend it's our wedding night."
Hawkeye stops breathing.
BJ hurries to murmur, "It'll be fun, right? You can be the blushing virgin. I'll make you mine in every way. We can really be intimate. Vulnerable. Kissing, touching, holding each other. That's all I want it to be. Okay?"
A long pause. "That's all?"
"I promise. It's not gonna be weird. When's the last time you got to be a nervous little thing, huh? Make it campy, if you want. I don't care. I'm gonna ravish you senseless no matter what." He can do that. He can. Be the groom who loses himself at the first sight of his bare bride, who makes love to her so fervently that she can't remember what the world was before she had him buried inside of her, their souls entwined. He'll get the intimacy he's craving and Hawkeye can be fucked until his legs won't hold him. He has a feeling that Hawk will relish that.
Hawkeye doesn't respond. Even as BJ runs the tip of his nose over Hawk's cheek, down his jawline, he can hear the uncertain sharp exhales coming out of his lover. He can't read them as well as he wishes he could. Is he nervous? Is he scared? What is he worried will happen if he lets himself play with this for a little while? Or is he already getting into character, wrapping himself in the trappings of an ingenue?
As BJ cradles Hawk's face and presses a soft kiss to his chin, Hawkeye finally speaks one wavering word. "Beej?"
"It's not like we could afford a nice hotel," BJ quietly begins to narrate. If anything, Hawk's breathing kicks up faster, and BJ pushes on to try and calm him through the development of the fantasy. This will be beautiful, if only Hawkeye will surrender to it. "But that's okay, we...we've never really been the fancy types. No, we simply wanted to get away from the world. So we packed up our car and drove as far as we could and pitched a tent on a beautiful mountain. By a lake. Clear view of the stars. And now it's just you and me. And we can do whatever we want because we don't have to be afraid anymore."
If there is anything that BJ and Hawkeye have always been good at, it's building off of each other's bits. One of them will throw out a few steps of a tap dance, then gesture to the other, and they'll pick up right away. Hell, they've done exactly this with sexual fantasies before. They've laid a foundation, listened closely to what the other responded to, then built on top of it until they reached orgasmic heights. Just like the idea of BJ fucking Hawkeye in the Jeep on the way back from Kimpo. All history suggests that this should be exactly like that.
Except Hawk isn't saying a word.
BJ gives him a long silence to formulate his thoughts so that he can contribute. He tries brushing his lips over his temple, as gentle as a raindrop, stirring up the tenderness of the scene. His thumbs shape circles on Hawk's belly. Little by little, coaxing, hoping. And yet the silence never breaks. Perhaps BJ should be frustrated by this—he isn't asking for much and the least that Hawkeye could do is try—but something sinister sneaks its way through his ribcage, weaving in and out between the bones, climbing into his chest. Something unsettled.
The air doesn't feel right. He isn't sure what it is, but there is a fog hanging over them, and wherever it came from, it's wrong. It has no place here. Not in the fantasy of really, truly making love to Hawkeye the way that BJ's craved practically since "Heart and Seoul."
"I know you're nervous, but it's all right because so am I. We took a big step, a-and now we get to move as slowly as we want for our first time, you know?" BJ dips to kiss him on the lips, but Hawk never quite loosens up beneath him, and it flares the spark of uncertainty into a full flame. Even the slow caresses of his hands over Hawkeye's waist don't seem to relax him. When BJ goes on, his voice is a little higher, tinnier in the back of his throat. "There's nothing to be worried about, darling, we'll make this..." As he lifts his head, he trails off.
Hawk is staring up at him with those unfathomably gorgeous eyes. And they are filled to the brim with tears.
BJ's heart skips a beat. He pulls a smile and cradles the crown of Hawkeye's head in his hand. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" One droplet slips free and courses down to the mattress, so BJ wipes the trail away with his thumb.
Hawkeye's brows lift. There is a sense of being lost radiating off of him. Or perhaps it is actually loss itself. BJ is familiar with this to some degree. It's the expression Hawk will wear when...when a patient slips out of his grasp.
No. The stars come crashing down out of their beautiful night sky that he's been painstakingly trying to build. No, no, no, no, no. BJ tries to soothe him with a tender rub over his chest, but he can feel the pounding right under his touch. "All right, we don't... I-I'm sorry, we don't have to play that way."
"I can't do this," Hawk murmurs from a great distance. He nudges BJ aside and sits up.
"I know. I know, and that's okay, really. Let's take a second."
"I can't." Hawkeye slips off the mattress.
"Hawkeye," BJ pleads.
Hawk waves wordlessly behind his back and drifts out of sight like a ghost. Soon the door to supply opens and shuts. And then there's nothing.
Okay. BJ tents his hands against his lips, clawing through a burgeoning panic, desperate to plant the seeds of logic in its place. He needs some air. He's not leaving. He can't. This is your one night together. You're going to do your first time all over again and make it something bright and new. You'll rewrite the past. Just give him a second to get his head on straight. He's coming back. He's coming back, goddammit.
He isn't sure how long he waits before he is forced to accept the first truth: Hawkeye has left the area of the tent entirely. Maybe he's getting some space so they can talk about what went wrong here and then try again another night. All they need to do is hold each other for a little while and it'll take the pain and confusion away and leave behind something better. He's in the Swamp. He's waiting for you. He's getting a little drunk, but that's okay because you can do it too, and that'll loosen up both your tongues so you can figure this out. Go find him.
It takes him a decade to get his legs under him with how sharply the world has tipped off its axis. He can't breathe anymore, can't think. His entire chest is on fire. He'd taken a gamble and he'd hoped and prayed he'd get a chance to not only make it right, but make it better, and that's not what happened, he was too much, he pushed too hard, he, he might've ruined everything.
BJ somehow manages to walk in a straight line. Carried by the same suffocating foreboding that pulled BJ up his front walk from the mailbox with the telltale letter from the draft board in his hands, he goes straight for the Swamp. And Hawkeye isn't there. In fact, Hawkeye's pillow and blanket are gone from his bed. Oh, God. BJ clutches at his chest, pressing nails painfully into his shirt, fighting to ground himself with the sting, but it doesn't work. He's floating an inch off the ground, a ghost haunting its home with unfinished business to attend to. He can't piece together the reality. Not even close.
So he sits on his cot. He faces the door. And he waits. And he waits. And he waits. And when the sky begins to turn a lighter gray and he knows deep in his soul the true situation that he has set in motion, he flies to his feet and shoves his way out into the dismal dawn and stumbles as far as he can before he doubles over and spills the contents of his stomach into a bush.
His legs won't hold him anymore. BJ drops to his knees and presses the back of his trembling hand to his mouth. It's okay. It's all right. It's just a misunderstanding. It's fine. You'll see, you'll find him and you'll talk about it, and it'll be good as new. It's okay. It's okay.
He squeezes his eyes shut and curls into an old, distant, familiar friend—a tight ball that blocks out the entire world—and stays there just long enough to really, truly convince himself.