Chapter Text
A quiet tap at the door calls BJ’s attention back from the window and the view of Tokyo spread out below. “It’s open.”
“Buy me a drink, Sailor?” Hawkeye croons, all lean and languid and lounging against the doorframe with a smile like mortal sin.
“Are you the one they warned us about in those training films?”
Hawkeye laughs as he locks the door and saunters into the room, Hawaiian shirt billowing over a clean white t-shirt. On him, it’s practically formalwear, and he preens when BJ tells him so. “Oh, this old thing?”
BJ’s got a rejoinder on the tip of his tongue but just then Hawkeye winks at him, sending coherent thought scattering every which way and it’s all he can do just to manage a grin as Hawkeye starts poking through the suitcase BJ had left open on the bed. Back in the swamp they’d packed their clothes half and half between their two bags so it wouldn’t matter whose room they ended up in at the hotel. “What’s this?” Hawkeye asks, pulling out the paper-wrapped bottle from where BJ had nestled it carefully between his jacket and Hawkeye’s.
“This,” he says, lifting it out of Hawkeye’s hands and starting to unwrap it, “was a parting gift from Charles.”
“No kidding,” Hawk chuckles, then gets an eyefull of the label and snatches it right back, cradling it in his arms like a baby. “Twelve year old scotch? From Charles? What — why — what did he say?”
“He said,” BJ pries it from his grasp once more, removing the foil very deliberately and ignoring the way Hawkeye is all but vibrating at his side, “to enjoy ourselves.”
Hawk throws back his head and laughs, coming to roost with one elbow propped up on BJ’s shoulder, watching as he pours them each a glass. “Would you get a load of that, Charles the matchmaker. Hey I still can’t believe it, what do you think, is he loading up on blackmail material or what’s his game?”
BJ shakes his head and hands Hawkeye a glass. “I don’t know, and I promised myself I wasn’t going to think about him or anyone else back in Korea for the next three days. Cheers.”
“Mm, cheers.” Hawkeye taps his glass against BJ’s and takes a sip, rolling it around his mouth as his eyes roll back in his head and it feels outright voyeuristic, watching him from so close. “God, that’s good.”
BJ feels parched, can’t take his eyes off Hawkeye even as he throws back his own swallow of scotch, watching as Hawk licks his lips and blinks his eyes open, giving BJ a dopey grin.
Hawkeye is a long line of supple warmth against his side. He has to tip his head back to meet BJ’s eyes and it gives him a thrill, seeing him like that, Hawkeye looking up at him like that, long pale column of his throat, he looks vulnerable and exposed and perfectly at ease. Not a hint of tension in his face, in his body, in his hands where they’re at rest, for once, the one curled around his glass and the other, now, curled into the collar of BJ’s shirt.
“Hey,” Hawkeye says, eyes crinkling up with his grin ‘til the blue is almost lost.
“Hey, yourself.”
“What do you say we get you out of these clothes,” he purrs, moving somehow closer, impossibly closer given that he’s already taking up all of BJ’s space.
“You are the guy they warned us about in those films,” he hears himself say, anything to make him laugh, and Hawkeye’s still chuckling as he takes his empty glass, turns to set them both down on the tacky little pressboard bureau that’s the only piece of furniture in this stuffy hotel room besides the bed itself. His eyes are fixed on Hawkeye’s hands as they reach for him, as they ease his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his trousers.
“Say, Beej,” Hawkeye says, his fingertips like ten hot brands pressing into BJ’s ribs. “You won’t hate me if I ask a dumb question, will you?”
“You? A dumb question? Come on.”
“Hey, I’m serious,” he says, and almost looks like he means it before his lips quirk into a lopsided grin. “Nah, it’s just — You’ve done this before, yeah?”
“What, snuck off to Tokyo with my bunkmate? That fink, Charles promised he wouldn’t tell!”
Hawkeye groans, tipping his head back to roll his eyes at the ceiling and, consequently, pressing his groin right up against BJ’s. He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him and without thinking about it wraps an arm around Hawkeye to hold him right where he is, left hand cradling his cheek as he ducks his head to capture his mouth.
“Mm,” Hawkeye mumbles between kisses. “So that’s a yes?”
“Yes,” BJ says, intoxicated with the feel of him under his hands at last. At last. “This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy.” He bites his lip, a belated sense of fairness creeping in. “Though it’s been awhile. You?”
“Let’s just say I won’t be wearing white at my court martial.”
BJ laughs in spite of himself, and then groans a minute later when Hawkeye pulls back again, a hand on BJ’s chest this time to put some distance between them. His lips are kiss-swollen, obscenely red. BJ wants to eat him alive.
“—Beej, are you listening to me? Be serious for a minute.”
“Serious. You want to be serious right now?”
“Yes!” Hawkeye catches his wrist and, progress thwarted, BJ can only curl his fingers around his waistband, knuckles brushing bare skin and making Hawkeye’s stomach jump under his touch. “Yes, BJ, I want to be serious just — just for a second, I just want to know…what you like, what you don’t like.”
BJ lifts his head, looks down into Hawkeye’s face, wide open and painfully honest. “Okay,” BJ says, quiet. “Okay. You start, anything you don’t want me to do?”
“Me, are you kidding? I’ll try anything once.” Hawkeye’s grin is wicked and immediate; the sober moment vanishing in a puff of smoke. “I’m pretty sure I have tried everything once. And then a couple more times for fun. I’m good, Beej, I’ll take anything you want to give me.”
BJ feels a slow grin of his own spreading across his face, sees Hawkeye react to it, eyes going dark and then drooping, languid as he tilts his chin to the side, the prettiest flush creeping over his cheeks. BJ leans in, puts his lips right next to Hawkeye’s ear and whispers, “Good.” Then, with his hands on Hawkeye’s hips BJ walks him back a step ‘til his knees hit the bed and sends them both sprawling down. The suitcase goes tumbling with the first bounce of mattress springs and crashes to the floor but there was nothing valuable in there besides the hooch, anyway.
Hawkeye lands beneath him with an ‘oof’ and an ‘ow’ and a ‘what are you, a caveman? Why don’t you just club me over the head next time,’ but by the time he’s finished griping BJ’s got his flies open and his thumbs hooked under the elastic of his boxer shorts and without missing a beat Hawkeye is lifting his hips off the bed so BJ can tug them down and off, sitting back on his heels to look down at Hawkeye, finally, spread out on the bed wearing his Hawaiian shirt and his bedroom eyes and very little else. Gaze roving hungrily over his body BJ lets himself linger, finally, after so many months of brutal self-restraint. His belly seems to tremble under BJ’s gaze, hip bones jutting out beneath translucent skin and a fading bruise. His cock is no surprise, really, long and lean like the rest of him, circumcised, already flushed and curving up towards his belly.
God almighty, he is gorgeous. BJ’s face heats as though he’d said the words out loud and he ducks his head in the vain hope that he can hide anything from those keen eyes of his. Hawkeye is pale and skinny with more gray hair than years alone can vouch for and god help him, BJ has never seen anything he wanted more.
“Fuck me,” BJ swears under his breath as he reaches down to start pulling off Hawkeye’s shirt.
“Oh, uh,” Hawk says, muffled behind the floral print, emerging a second later and throwing it over the side of the bed. “That’s actually the one thing I don’t usually do.”
“You like it the other way around?” BJ asks, and holds his breath. Lets it out slow after Hawkeye nods. “Are you clean?”
“Last time I checked,” Hawk answers readily, without surprise or offence.
“When was that?”
“Hm, let me try to remember, oh yeah that’s right, the day you finally kissed me.”
BJ snorts a laugh, hanging his head between his shoulders and shaking it slowly, then looking up to meet his eyes. “You are something else, Hawkeye Pierce.”
“I know,” Hawkeye shrugs demurely, then reaches for him, fingers tangling in the chain of his dog tags, tugging lightly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Hunnicutt.”
“Here,” BJ pushes himself upright suddenly, tugging the tags out of Hawkeye’s grasp and pulling them off over his head, tossing them onto the bureau and reaching for Hawk’s.
“Now I really feel naked,” Hawk mutters, looking down his bare chest and then up at BJ, starting to frown as he plucks at his shirt. “Hey, come on now, you gotta catch up, this is starting to feel a little imbalanced. You know there’s nothing under there I haven’t already seen.”
BJ sits up, pulls off his shirt and starts to work on his belt. He looks up to see Hawkeye propped up on his elbows and watching him with an intensity that lives up to his name. He doesn’t reach for him but neither does he blink and BJ returns to the act of stripping down feeling extremely self-conscious in the silent room.
When BJ drops his second sock over the side of the bed and turns back around, skin feeling too tight for his body, he sways forward and lands on his hands and knees above Hawkeye, the force of his too long pent-up desire warring with his sudden shyness. They’re both naked but he feels like he’s completely exposed while Hawkeye… Hawk just looks like himself, like more of himself, gazing up at him like there’s nowhere else on earth he’d rather be.
“You know you’re real cute when you blush,” Hawkeye murmurs, smiling.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” Hawkeye tips his head back, lips parted, an invitation impossible to refuse.
Hawkeye kisses like no one else. His lips are supple but firm as he lingers at the corner of BJ’s mouth, teasing, parting BJ’s lips with his own before his tongue joins the party, delicate little licks at his bottom lip before sweeping inside. The slick slide against BJ’s own tongue hits him like an electric shock, thrilling to the soles of his feet. His stomach swoops like he’s on a roller coaster and then again as Hawkeye brushes his thumb along the crease between his hip and his groin, grinning against BJ’s mouth at his reaction, at the way BJ shudders against him, eyes falling shut as he drops his head to Hawk’s shoulder, blindly seeking out his skin and pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck before sucking lightly at a spot low on his neck that makes Hawkeye shiver and moan.
“I want to taste every inch of you,” BJ hears himself say, voice humming against skin, and Hawkeye shivers again, throwing an arm over BJ’s shoulders and lifting his hips ‘til his cock finds the groove where his thumb had been a moment before and that’s a whole different kind of charge right there, to feel the hot press and slide along the sensitive skin of his groin, knowing it’s Hawkeye he’s feeling, knowing that what Hawkeye’s feeling has got to be about a hundred times better, wanting to make it a thousand, a million times better, wanting to be the best and only reason for those sweet little sounds coming out of his mouth.
Pressing up onto his hands again he gives Hawkeye a swift kiss on the lips, thrilling to the way Hawk chases the contact, the muscles in his neck cording out as he lifts his head, but BJ is already moving down his body, peppering his chest with little kisses and licks until he comes to Hawkeye’s left nipple, tight and pink and perfect with his heartbeat racing beneath as he laves the flat of his tongue over it. Above his head Hawkeye’s breath whistles out of him, BJ feels his abdominal muscles contract as he ruts helplessly against empty air and BJ doesn’t stop, just spreads one hand out on Hawk’s stomach to hold him still while he carries on licking and sucking until Hawkeye is whining and writhing with one hand fisted in BJ’s hair, just shy of pulling as his fingers clench and release.
“God, god, Beej, you’re killing me, come on, let me, come on, Beej!”
BJ smiles against his skin and lets his teeth graze Hawk’s nipple before nuzzling against his sternum, kissing down each individual rib until he reaches his belly, feels it go concave under his touch as Hawkeye whines again, begging.
“You, my friend, just need to learn how to be patient.”
“How can I be patient,” Hawkeye squirms in his hold, then lifts up his head to glare down at him, “when you’re tickling me with that godawful mustache? Maybe you should learn to shave, friend.”
“Oh, I guess that means I should stop, then,” BJ says, looking up at Hawkeye, barely taking in his flushed, heaving chest and bitten lips before he’s already shaking his head. “I take it back, stopping is the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
“Oh Jesus Christ.”
BJ almost chokes when Hawkeye’s hips come up off the mattress. He holds him down, tries to swallow around his cock, tries to get his hand and his mouth working together but it’s been almost three years since he’s done this and on top of relearning the mechanics there’s the fact that he’s never been so desperate to impress.
Judging by the litany of pleas and profanity falling from Hawkeye’s mouth, though, he might already be hitting the mark. He’s so sensitive, BJ has just enough brainpower left over to marvel. When he brushes the backs of his fingers over Hawkeye’s inner thigh Hawk shudders and moans low in his chest, grip tightening in BJ’s hair. When he rolls Hawkeye’s balls in the palm of his hand these little breathy sounds get punched out of him, Ah, ah, ah, as BJ flicks his tongue over the head of his cock and then sinks down, hollowing his cheeks as his fingers dip lower, seeking out that tight ring of muscle, where…
BJ blinks his eyes open, lets Hawkeye slip out of his mouth and lifts his head, trying to focus through the haze of his own arousal. He rubs his middle finger in a circle and then slides in, with little resistance, to the first knuckle.
“Did you…?” he asks, when Hawkeye meets his eyes.
Hawk has to lick his lips and take another couple of breaths before he can say, “Didn’t want to presume, but…didn’t want to waste time, either.”
BJ slowly draws his finger almost all the way out and then presses back in and he can smell it now, the Vaseline, very faint beneath the smell of commingled sweat and arousal, but it’s there and he can’t believe Hawkeye, can’t believe the way his own body is reacting to it, knowing what Hawkeye must have done before walking down the hallway to BJ’s room.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, watching a second finger disappear inside of Hawkeye’s body.
“Who told you? Oh, god, BJ, do that again. Yes, god, yes.”
x*x*x*x
BJ wakes slowly, his whole body aching beautifully. He feels like he’s one long line of sensation, teetering on that knife edge of pain and pleasure, like the last delicious moment of a dream. His face is half-buried in the pillow and he shifts around until he can blink one eye open. Hawk is lying on his side next to him, chin propped up on one hand and the other grazing feather-light along BJ’s scapula. Their eyes meet, and then Hawk’s gaze flickers away, back to the patterns he’s tracing on BJ’s skin.
“Picture, if you will,” Hawkeye murmurs, “a warm summer’s night. You, on a picnic blanket by a babbling brook, wearing…a tight Stanford Medical t-shirt…with a zipper down the back.”
BJ chokes on a laugh and hides his face in the pillow again, shoulders shaking, then he rolls onto his side and reaches for Hawkeye, palm settling over his hip. “All this time and it still kills me that I don’t know what that zipper was for.”
“I told you, they didn’t catch on.”
BJ rolls his eyes and runs his palm along Hawkeye’s side and back down to his hip, pausing there to brush his thumb along the sensitive spot he’d discovered earlier, enjoying the way it makes Hawkeye shiver even now. “And what are you wearing in this fantasy, Hawk?”
“Me?” Hawkeye’s chin comes up and his eyes flick between both of BJ’s. He looks genuinely surprised for a moment, doing that thing he does when he’s caught off guard, babbling the start of a couple of words before landing on: “I’m wearing my army greens, you know, as camouflage, because I’m up a tree, yeah, the tree growing right next to the babbling brook, where I can get a good view of you and Lana Turner.”
“Lana Turner?” BJ gapes at him, then throws back his head and laughs. “Uh-uh, buddy, Lana Turner is not invited in this fantasy.” He pulls Hawkeye roughly close with an arm around the waist, laughing louder as his pale limbs flail in every direction. When BJ’s got him half pinned beneath his body, looking down into his wide, bright eyes, he says quietly, “How about…you’re wearing my Stanford t-shirt and…hm, a pair of tight little swim trunks, Hawaiian print.”
Hawk is quiet and still beneath him, only his fingers moving slightly, flexing against BJ’s side. After a long moment he licks his lips and says softly, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
BJ blinks and rolls a little to one side, shifting his weight off of Hawkeye’s body. “Okay, no swim trunks. Just thought maybe that babbling brook of yours would be good for swimming, later.”
Hawkeye is holding on to him now, one hand at his waist and one wrapped around his wrist. “Where are we, in this fantasy? Where’s that babbling brook?”
BJ shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know. It’s a fantasy, it’s…everywhere. Nowhere.”
“Yeah,” Hawk sighs. “That’s the problem with fantasies.”
“But we aren’t nowhere,” BJ says, hears his voice come out sounding deeply insistent, like he’s making an important point but he has no idea what he’s saying.
“No, I know that.” Hawkeye squeezes his wrist, conciliatory like he’s also invested in this conversation that BJ is somehow a part of without understanding. “Not nowhere, just…not really anywhere.”
“We’re in Tokyo,” BJ says, and leans in to press a hard kiss to Hawkeye’s mouth before rolling out of bed, walking naked over to the window and pulling the curtain aside a couple of inches to peer out. It’s got to be close to midnight but the city is a map of bright lights laid out thirty feet below. He suddenly realizes that this is the first time in a year that he’s been in a building with more than one story, and a sudden, aching homesickness washes through him as he closes his eyes, picturing the San Francisco skyline.
“Do you want to go out?” Hawkeye asks from behind him, the bed rustling.
“Sure, if you do.” BJ doesn’t open his eyes.
There’s quiet, then more rustling, and then the sound of Hawkeye’s bare feet approaching across the floor. BJ doesn’t turn. He feels the tentative brush of a finger down his spine, and then Hawkeye’s warm, slender palm pressing against the small of his back. BJ tips his overheated forehead to rest against the cool window pane as Hawkeye starts to slowly, slowly press tender little kisses along the slope of his neck, light and lingering until BJ is shivering under his touch, each brush of his lips so delicate it’s not nearly enough and yet each one feels like it just might be enough to crack him open.
Hawkeye’s hand moves around to BJ’s hip, pulling BJ to him until his back is flush against Hawkeye’s chest while he keeps on kissing him, and then BJ is sucking in a gasping breath when his hand slides further on, wrapping around his softened length and just holding him, just as tender and careful as the kisses he’s pressing to BJ’s cheek, now, and now the corner of his closed eye, and now his lips.
“Hawk,” BJ tries to say, but Hawkeye shushes him with a long, slow kiss, squeezing his cock at the same time and making BJ shudder in his arms. He keeps on touching him, stroking his belly, kissing his neck, wrapping BJ up in himself and BJ surrenders to it as he’s never surrendered to another person before, letting Hawkeye hold him, letting Hawkeye touch him, letting Hawkeye have him without asking what he can give Hawkeye in return.
“You surprise me, BJ Hunnicutt,” Hawkeye murmurs in his ear. “And you astound me. Sometimes you even confound me.” He feels more than hears the low rumble of a laugh in Hawkeye’s chest and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, listening with all of himself. “To be honest, you…you awe me, BJ. I never really thought that we’d…anyway. Anywhere, nowhere, I don’t really care, I’m just glad we’re here, now. For whatever that means.” Hawkeye is quiet for a long time, the only sound in the room the quiet slide of skin on skin and BJ’s own shuddery breath. He’s floating in the clouds when he hears Hawkeye say, very quietly, “I could never regret this, Beej. I’ll never forget it.”
BJ blinks his eyes open, slow, with great effort. Turns his head to the side, tries to focus on Hawkeye’s face. His chin is propped on BJ’s shoulder and his eyes are closed, lips parted and slick and BJ shivers to feel Hawkeye’s breath over his own damp skin. He watches Hawkeye, head feeling as light and useless as a helmet made out of cotton wool, watches himself turning in Hawkeye’s arms, watches his hands come up to either side of Hawkeye’s face.
“Hey, Hawkeye,” he whispers, an echo of where this all started, back in the swamp: “Give me a kiss.”
He does, and BJ draws him back to the bed, back down into the chaotic nest of blankets and pillows. He kisses Hawk until his eyes droop shut and then watches him drift off, that restless mind and body of his finally falling still and peaceful beneath BJ’s watchful gaze. As deeply tired as he is, BJ is slow to follow him into slumber. He stays awake to keep watch over Hawkeye’s peace, his own disordered by Hawkeye’s whispered confession, by the end of this that Hawkeye seems to have already in his sights.