B.J. watched the sheet rise up and down against the softness of Hawkeye's skin and he wanted desperately to feel him, be with him, hell, even be him. It had been only mere hours since their first encounter and yet B.J. was desperate for more. For more of that slow and steady touch. For that fast avalanche of kisses that he'd been met with. For more of their bodies dancing underneath that sheet covering Hawkeye's naked chest at that very moment. He would do anything if he could just feel it all over again.
Whatever happened wasn't supposed to have happened to begin with. They had been drinking, nothing out of the ordinary there. Hawkeye had convinced B.J. to join him in a game of two –player spades, which was fine. Spades was his game. B.J. hadn't even minded terribly that Hawkeye was a lousy dealer and a lousy cheat, but he was just so much fun to watch. B.J. knew going into the game the deck was stacked and yet he found himself mesmerized by his partner's playing. If it was anyone else, there would never have been a game. But these little victories meant a lot to Hawkeye, and though he knew that this win was ill-gotten, it was worth it just to watch his friend become so excited. One day he would call his bluff, but it wasn't going to be tonight. Tonight was Hawk's and Hawk's alone- and B.J. felt amazingly at peace knowing that. He could have declared the game but he would have missed out on all the witticisms, all the trademark off-the cuff comments, some real gems. B.J. might have won the game but would have lost out in the big picture. Seeing Hawkeye in his card-cheating, scamming, dealing best and all its glory was, for tonight, worth about the fifty bucks he was about to lose. For Hawkeye had that fire in his eyes, that magic in his voice, and B.J. did not want to be the one to tempt fate.
Add some alcohol into the mix, and B.J. was slowly becoming something of a less than gracious loser. There was just something about the way Hawkeye was carrying himself that night. He was so open, so free with his feelings. When he won a round he touched B.J.'s hand and made some comment. Then there were the times he'd brush his leg against his. The man could not stop touching B.J. tonight, and this was curious. B.J. tried to play a game with himself. He tried to see if he could guess when it was that Hawkeye would touch him, just for kicks and giggles. Would it be his "tell"? Would it mean he was getting ready to lay down a winning card? Did it mean he was stretching the game out a bit longer? There had to be some rhyme and reason to Hawkeye's touches. There had to have been. God knows they were driving him mad beyond reason.
He watched this pattern and desperately tried to figure it out. But the more caught up in his calculations he became the more caught off guard he was when Hawkeye would approach him from another side, maybe touch his leg. Every time B.J. thought that he had Hawkeye figured out he went and did something like that and threw out all of B.J.'s theories. There was one time where Hawkeye touched his back and smiled at him, looking at him deeply in the eyes for a minute. And that's when he knew. Hawkeye wasn't playing a game anymore. This wasn't about cards. This was about Hawkeye and B.J. and who would fold first. After seeing those gorgeous baby blues pierce his eyes and feel that hand on his back, B.J. had a pretty good idea of who would fold first. He threw his cards on the table and looked up at Hawkeye.
"I'm yours."
Hawkeye raised his eyebrow but put the cards down on the table.
"I give. I'm yours." B.J. whispered in Hawkeye's ear right before he kissed it. He worked his way down Hawkeye's neck, leaving smooth, small kisses trailing along the way.
Hawkeye turned around. "Beej…are you sure?"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life." He earnestly looked at his friend.
And so the two men took to Hawkeye's cot, sharing the first of what would be many, many kisses.
And now B.J. watched from the safety of his own bed the man who had held him just hours before. Everything had changed, he knew that. He'd gotten back to his own cot for fear of being caught, but Frank Burns hadn't been back all night. B.J. could have spent the night in the arms of the man he loved. But tonight things had changed, and could never go back to where they were before the game had begun. He'd fallen in love with his best friend, and had now found a way to express that. This was so new, so sudden, but it was so right. He'd never in a million years dreamt of being with his best friend, but it had happened. There would be a next time, he would bet on it.