Author Notes: I'm posting this in between my usual updates, as it's not really long enough to count as a full update, and can be read as separate from the main plot arc if you wish. Just something short and sweet to fill a gap in the narrative. Takes place shortly after my previous fic, 'Five Times Hawkeye and Trapper Didn't Have Sex', which can be found here: s/11648619/1/Five-Times-Hawkeye-and-Trapper-Didn-t-Have-Sex (rated M for sexual content.)

Tokyo – Summer, 1951

Sunlight poured in through the open balcony door, a breeze gently wafting the curtains. Hawkeye had been awake for almost an hour, but hadn't left the bed. Instead, he lay naked on top of crisp, white sheets, relishing the feel of the cotton against his skin.

That wasn't the only thing he was relishing.

Trapper was curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully. Unlike Hawkeye, who was shameless in his nudity, Trapper had pulled a sheet over himself, only to wind up kicking it off his legs during the night. He now had a portion of it slung across his lap, preserving his dignity almost artistic precision.

Hawkeye smiled. This was just too perfect.

Another day and they would be back in Korea, living in a cramped, fetid tent with Frank Burns for company. Hawkeye wanted this moment to last forever.

As Trapper stirred at last, he leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek. His stubble grazed his lips, and his skin tasted of that unique essence Hawkeye had come to associate with his kisses.

Trapper's left eye flickered open. A smile spread across his face and made his eyes crinkle.

"Morning."

Hawkeye's belly did an excited little backflip. "Morning."

Trapper stretched a little, still half asleep, and his eyes closed again. "If you're anglin' for some more action, you better give me another twenty minutes. You wore me out, kiddo."

"I wasn't. I just…" Hawkeye's hand was already stroking up and down Trapper's arm, irresistibly tactile as always. He stopped himself, and pressed another kiss to Trapper's face, this time at his temple. "Don't move."

Trapper didn't have much trouble complying with that – he was beat. The mattress moved beneath him as Hawkeye rolled away from him, and Trapper dozed peacefully. There was a rustle and a brief period of silence from the other side of the bed. And then, a moment later, there was a mechanical whirring sound, a loud click, and a bright flash that penetrated his eyelids.

Trapper's eyes snapped open. "Hawk!"

Hawkeye, still naked save for the camera around his neck, cackled raucously.

"You little fink!"

But Trapper was too amused to be angry. Wide awake now, he caught Hawkeye nimbly with one arm, pulling him down onto the bed. Hawkeye protested, but his heart wasn't in it, and he allowed Trapper to wrestle him onto the mattress. Trapper's nimble surgeon's fingers sought out all his most ticklish spots, and soon he was wriggling and squealing and begging for mercy.

A moment later, when Trapper's need for revenge was sated, Hawkeye curled into him and kissed him. "I'm sorry. I just wanted something to remember this by."

The unspoken words 'when it's all over' hung with ominous inevitability in the silence that followed. Trapper glanced at him, sensing the melancholy, but he had no words to offer that might ease him. Instead, he grinned broadly, pulled him close, and purred into his ear: "I'll give you somethin' to remember alright!"

And so he did.