Playing Doctor
Something's digging uncomfortably into B.J.'s back and he reaches behind to grab it, mumbling an "Ouch" into Hawkeye's mouth.
"Hmmm?" is Hawkeye's response as he stops kissing B.J. for the moment and looks to see what exactly is going on.
B.J. pulls out the vial of penicillin that he'd been lying on (one of the hazards of having romantic trysts in the supply room) and tosses it aside. "You're a little overly exuberant tonight, Hawk… knocking stuff off the shelves."
Hawkeye gives that devilish smirk of his. "Oh you aint seen nothing yet, Dr. Hunnicutt!"
"We'll have to put everything back where it belongs later. Or there'll be hell to pay when Margaret sees the mess."
Hawkeye's back for more kisses now that B.J. has resolved his discomfort. In between, he manages to murmur, "Wouldn't Margaret like to know what exactly went on here tonight?" He laughs softly against B.J.'s mouth, and it tickles.
B.J. laughs too, and now he's grabbing two fistfuls of Hawkeye's T-shirt, to yank it over his head. He loves the disheveled look that results, Hawk's black hair going in all kinds of directions. He loves the look of utter want written all over the man's face. "Wouldn't everyone like to know?" he teases. "Wouldn't everyone like to see pictures?" He doesn't know why he's trying to carry on a conversation right now, considering he'd much rather be licking his way down Hawkeye's chest.
Well actually, yeah he does. Probably because banter is every bit a part of foreplay for them as kissing and nuzzling are. They're simpatico when it comes to trading quips and cracks… to their verbal sparring. It comes so naturally to them it's as if they share a brain.
And that… that connection… is sexy.
Lovemaking with Peg was never like this. Somehow—and it almost shames B.J. to admit it—it was just never this fun.
Now Hawkeye's fumbling at B.J.'s fly while at the same time planting soft, tiny kisses around his bellybutton. B.J. feels the familiar rippling in his stomach, the anticipation, the growing desire. Banter is no longer a priority to him. Subconsciously he lets out a moan. "Hawk…"
Hawkeye has finally undone the button part of the fly and he stops, looking up at B.J., mischief and passion mingling in his expression. "So tell me," he says, lightly rubbing the closed zipper of B.J.'s fly, "is it true what they say about men with big feet?" His eyebrows bounce up and down as he falls into his Groucho shtick.
B.J. licks his lips and tries to be nonchalant. In truth, he's anything but… and his pants have suddenly gotten very, very uncomfortable. "Why don't you see for yourself?" he says. He realizes that's not anywhere close to a clever comeback when you're trading witty repartee with the master. But hell, it's the best he can do in his present state… which is to say, very wound up indeed.
Hawkeye chuckles, still running a finger up and down that infuriating zipper… teasing, stretching out the torture. "Big feet," he says, his voice low and sultry, "big…" Instead of continuing that thought, he casually leans over and takes B.J.'s zipper in his teeth… and finally pulls it down. Sloooowly.
B.J. squirms, but being freed from the confines of his pants is a sweet relief. "Hawk…" he says again, and it's getting ridiculous, this not being able to finish sentences. Talk about not carrying his half of the conversation.
"Yes? What do you want, little boy?" Hawkeye says, and now that the zipper's down, the pants are being pulled down and off. "Or should I say 'big boy?'" He's staring appreciatively at the bulge of B.J.'s boxers. "I guess it is true what they say about men with big feet." As if he hasn't seen B.J. naked hundreds of times.
Only semi-coherent by now, flushed with yearning and need, B.J. reaches out toward Hawkeye's pants, but Hawk stops him. "Not yet. Right now, we're taking care of you," he says with a sweet smile, placing B.J.'s arms above his head, holding them there with one hand. He leans in for a kiss, and while his mouth is keeping B.J.'s mouth busy, his other hand blindly reaches down and works its way into B.J.'s boxers.
As Hawkeye strokes him, B.J. purrs "Mmmm" in between kisses, long past being able to articulate anything. His heart pounds in his ears and his breath catches and his blood feels like hot lava, the way it's coursing through his veins. He loves the feeling of his arms being pinned above his head, leaving him vulnerable and at Hawkeye's mercy.
He just lets Hawkeye control everything now. He surrenders to the sensations, and as he tastes Hawkeye's mouth, he's aware of his boxers being pulled down, and that sweet hand going right back to work. The hand that heals, that skillfully cuts into wounded bodies, that touches a patient's face in comfort… that hand now works to bring B.J. pleasure. Hawkeye knows exactly how to touch, where to touch, when to ease off and, then… finally… when to take him to climax.
Later, as they lie there side by side, medicine vials still scattered around them where they'd fallen from shelves, B.J. says, "Wow. I gotta tell ya, it's a good thing you're a doctor. 'Cause I've got some pretty serious symptoms here. Heart palpitations… fingers and toes tingling… elevated temperature… mind blown."
"Hmm, that does sound serious," Hawkeye replies, the playfulness back in his voice. "Why don't you just tell me where it hurts, and I'll kiss it and make it better."
"I think that's what got me in this condition to begin with."
They both laugh softly, and then B.J. props himself on an elbow, hovering over Hawkeye, smiling down. "Want a taste of your own medicine?" he teases, his hand on Hawkeye's chest but already inching down.
And that's when the door of the supply room bangs open. They're hidden behind some shelves, out of view, but they both jump as if a gunshot went off. Hawkeye, who still has his pants on, shields a naked B.J. just in case, and calls out to the intruder, "Occupied! Didn't you see the hanger on the door?"
"Pierce, I'm sorry!" comes the reply. It's Margaret, and now B.J.'s very worried that he'll be seen, naked and with his best friend, by the camp's uncompromising head nurse. He sneaks a peek through some shelving, and he's relieved to see that Margaret has her back turned. She's being mature and discreet. Who would've thought?
Hawkeye gets up to meet her at the door. "What do you need? I'm entertaining in here, Margaret."
B.J. smirks from his hiding place; he can't help admiring how cool and calm Hawkeye's acting.
"I'll keep my back turned, I promise," Margaret says. "That way, whichever nurse you're molesting won't have to endure my judgmental glares in the OR."
"You?" Hawkeye mocks. "Judgmental? Pfff."
"Just please get me a box of morphine, all right? Then I'll go. We'll just pretend I never interrupted your little rendezvous with Nurse Low Standards."
B.J. hears Hawkeye gasp. "Margaret! You wound me. Could it be you're jealous?"
"Ha!" she retorts… but sometimes B.J. has to wonder.
"Here," Hawkeye's saying now, "box of morphine. Glad I could be of service. And you know, Margaret, since you're here… some things are more fun with three…"
B.J. somehow manages to suppress a bark of laughter. He can hear Margaret groaning with disgust. "No thank you," she says, and he peeks through the shelves again to see that she's heading back out the door. "Carry on with… whatever and whoever you're doing."
The door closes and Hawkeye comes back into view. He has one of those impish grins on his face and B.J. can't help it, he bursts out laughing.
"You and me and Margaret?" he asks as he gestures to Hawkeye to rejoin him on the mattress. "What, one person's not enough for you and your overactive libido? Do I perhaps leave something to be desired?"
Hawkeye stretches out next to B.J., then pulls him close. "Dr. Hunnicutt," he purrs, licking an earlobe, "you most definitely do not leave something to be desired. You are the one and only object of my desire. You are my very definition of desire. I do not now and never will again desire another. Have I made myself clear?"
B.J. giggles (which he reckons is his first giggle since elementary school), but his stomach does a little twirl at such smooth talk from Hawkeye Pierce. Banter or sweet nothings… doesn't matter… the man sure knows all the right words.
"Now how about we get back to what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted?" Hawkeye murmurs into his ear.
B.J. grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a long, passionate, tongue-dueling kiss. After he catches his breath, he says, "Lie back, young man, and relax." He settles Hawkeye onto his back and rubs a hand lightly over his stomach. "Now, tell the doctor what the problem is."
Hawkeye takes B.J.'s hand and moves it lower, placing it over his crotch. "Maybe you can help me with this?" he says, his eyes shining as he gazes up at B.J.
"Absolutely," B.J. says, and he begins to undo Hawkeye's fly. "Seems like a mighty difficult case, though… this could take some time."
Hawkeye sighs deeply and shuts his eyes. "That's quite all right, Doctor. I've got all night."
"And I've got just the thing for what ails you," B.J. promises… and then he gets down to work.