There weren't many things that could rattle Major Margaret Houlihan's mental composure.
Well, there were the usual suspects such as lack of military discipline and basic manners, but as far as romantic flutterings of a heart and hippety-hops were concerned, she simply wasn't that kind of person. Of course there have been some unusually cheery and-or romantic moments in her life since she met Donald, but even in the midst of lovely smiles, humming and highly inappropriate thoughts about the Lieutenant Colonel's athletic body she had managed to keep the very centre of her being untouched.
This time she could feel it breaking into thousands little pieces.
There was no obvious reason for her mouth going dry, her hands shaking and her head floating.
This simply couldn't be a result of one temporarily blinded surgeon stating that he could recognize her perfume, could it?
Definitely not.
He did mean it as a joke, didn't he?
He must have!
Was it really so obvious, the fragrance? Margaret sniffed on the sleeve of her sweater, and suddenly felt a great urge to shower. Grabbing her robe, towel and a bar of grey soap, she stormed out of her tent and towards the showers.
She looked around the compound and noticed Bigelow talking to blindfolded Hawkeye near the mess tent; his hand was resting comfortably on her hip, and Margaret wondered whether his sense of touch improved the same way his hearing and smell had. What would it be like to be caressed by a man who can only rely on his touch to know the woman's body?, Margaret wondered briefly and kicked herself mentally for producing that kind of an image all the same. She was an engaged person! And besides, she didn't even like Pierce! What was there to like, honestly? A crooked smile? Jet-black hair, falling over his eyes in a untidy manner that made one want to reach out and push it away? Blue eyes, currently out of service, that could gaze in correspondence with the man's name? Skillful hands? Lean, yet muscular body?
Nothing to go crazy about whatsoever…
This was getting her nowhere, Margaret decided as she turned on the water and stepped under the relatively warm flow. She rubbed the soap vigorously against her skin, giving special attention to her neck and shoulders, not to leave any traces of perfume. Why couldn't she get over it? After all, he only said one stupid sentence, but it seemed to have triggered something in her brain, making her wind up more and more with every passing hour. The tension was almost impossible to bear. Again, the thoughts of her engagement crossed Margaret's mind, but they seemed pale and fragile compared to the storm raging through her heart right now.
Was it only a sheer sexual frustration? Nah, that couldn't be the reason, nor could the vulnerability of his present state. Something was pulling her towards this man, mesmerizing, making her forget about Donald, her engagement and any other obstacles.
Damn this man!
There must have been something that could be done about it, some kind of a pressure reliever. She only needed to find it.
Margaret was just starting to wash her hair when the doors to the tent opened to reveal Bigelow and Kellye, both dressed in robes, highly agitated by the conversation they were having.
"But you can't leave him there, all alone in the dark!" Kellye protested. "Don't you think it's cruel to cancel a date with a blinded man, and not tell him about it?"
Bigelow shook her head vigorously. "One, there'll be someone bringing him in, and when they've seen the lights are out in the supply tent, they'll probably take him right back. And two, he managed to talk me into it, but the only reason I agreed to meet him was to tell him it's all over between us."
"Why? What happened?"
"Remember that guy I've been meeting on my R&R's for the past five months? Well, he wrote to me today, saying that he loves me and would like to marry me when we return state side. I cannot say I'm passionately in love with him, but he's a good guy, and cares about me, which is a good enough reason for me to go steady with him. Hawkeye would never marry me, and as much as I like him, this is not what I hoped for …"
"I see," Kellye sighed, sitting down heavily. "But I still think it's unfair to let him wait for you in that tent."
"I told you, he won't! We have this secret code, you see; I always come first, say, half past eight, and turn the lights on, but only in the very last section of the tent. Then he comes in, and I turn the lights off, and… well, you get the picture."
"This sounds kind of romantic," Kellye mused happily, and stood up as Margaret walked out of her compartment with a thoughtful look on her face. Bigelow turned bright red when she realized that her supervisor must have heard all of their conversation—funny she didn't bite her tongue when she first noticed her—and braced mentally for a serious tongue-whipping, but the Major seemed oblivious to everything, except of her thoughts running wild.
0o0o0o0o0o
"Is the light on?" Hawkeye whispered to his partner in crime and faithful guide, BJ Hunnicutt. The said man looked shyly inside to the supply tent, and noticed a faint light flickering against the back wall, and a couple of mattresses laid down in front of him, a blanket folded nicely upon them.
"It is," he answered curtly, amazed how nicely Hawkeye and the whichever-nurse-it-was managed to arrange their rendezvous. "When should I pick you up?"
"Let's say around ten," Hawkeye smiled widely as his friend helped him to sit down in the middle of an improvised bed. "Thanks, Beej."
"Anytime," the other surgeon murmured under his breath and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet 'click'.
Hawkeye nestled against the wall, tapping his fingers against his leg, and waited. A click in the back told him the lights have been turned off, and shortly afterwards light steps could be heard as somebody tiptoed to the door and pulled the lock in place. Hawkeye held his breath in anticipation, and after a short while was rewarded with a wonderful feeling of female hands resting on his shoulders as a pair of slim thighs straddled him.
"Hi," he whispered huskily, and was about to make a joke of a 'Long time no see' kind, but one delicate finger pressed to his lips stopped him mid-word. He smiled as two female hands pushed the robe off his shoulders, and moved his arms to encircle her waist.
He knew immediately this wasn't Bigelow.
He had held her like that far too many times to forget how she felt. The woman who was currently occupied with taking his tee off was a bit shorter than the one he was supposed to meet, had a smaller waist and slightly wider hips, which only gave her the more pleasurable feeling against him. He noted all those discrepancies with the plan in a fracture of second, and for a moment was unsure how to react. Whoever his lovely companion was, she wanted to remain anonymous, hence her silent pleading not to have any words during their intercourse. Was he supposed to go with the flow, enjoying the unexpected surprise, or should he rather behave in a gentlemanly manner and stop it before things got too far?
In that exact moment the woman on his lap nibbled gently on the skin of his neck, and he knew he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted, which he most certainly didn't.
He wondered who she was as he returned the caress, fingers undoing the buttons of her shirt. He tried to smell her, but only detected the grey soap, a standard army issue. He moved his hands flat against her skin, listening to the small muffled sounds of pleasure she was making, but didn't recognize her by that mean either. Finally he freed her from her shirt and tee, and pulled her closer to his now naked chest, lips searching hers in the darkness.
Enlightenment.
There was no other word for what he felt when he tasted her.
Hawkeye Pierce was crazy about kisses. Sometimes he thought they turned him on more than the actual 'thing'. He remembered most of the women he enjoyed kissing in his life, of which the greater part consisted of three young ladies he'd dated back in the States. As for the ones he'd met in Korea, there was only one woman he added to his mental list, even though he only kissed her once. He remembered the sweet, vanilla-like taste of her lips, their softness, the eagerness in her kiss—and now he had it back, against his own mouth, and he was determined to get all he could from their time together.
For it would probably never happen again.
Pushing her gently against the mattress and leaning over her body, he promised himself he'd make it special for her. She wanted to remain an anonymous body in his arms, fine; but now that he knew it was her, he'd treat her in a way no other woman could hope for.
And from the way she bit his shoulder at one point to stop herself from screaming, he could say he succeeded.
He didn't know how much time had passed before she sighed and stood up, the rustling around telling him she was picking up her clothes and putting them back on. Before she left, she bent over and pecked him on the lips. He smiled and deepened the kiss, holding onto her before she pulled away somewhat reluctantly, caressed his cheek with her delicate fingers and left, closing the door behind her soundlessly.
Hawkeye sighed and laid down, covering his blindfolded eyes with one arm.
How exactly was he supposed to go on now?
0o0o0o0o0o
BJ opened the door hesitantly, afraid he might be interrupting something, but when he looked inside the only thing he saw was his best friend sitting calmly on the mattress, his clothes in slight disarray, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Hey," the part-time guide said, tapping Hawkeye's shoulder. "You're ready?"
"Yeah, sure," the other man said in an absentminded tone. BJ helped him up, and, of a sudden impulse, asked somewhat shyly:
"Was it any different?"
Hawkeye remained silent for a moment, before nodding firmly with a serious expression on his face.
"Unforgettable."
TBC?...