Title: Used
Author: Lisa M
Pairing: Hawkeye/Frank
Disclaimer: Yeah … right.
Prompt: #84 He
Rating: 16+ for semi non-consensual sex.
Word Count: 550
Summary: I suppose I could put up a fight …

A/N: This type of Hawkeye/Frank storyline isn't new, but this is my take on it. Written for varietypack100.


He's using me. I know that he is. No matter what I tell myself, it will always be this way. No matter how hard I try and convince myself that he wants me, it's never going to be true.

Tonight, in the supply room, he reminds me of that fact yet again.

The hanger is already on the knob when I arrive. Without hesitation, I pull the door open and as soon as my feet cross the threshold, he's on me; grabbing my shirt tightly within his fists and jerking me into the dimly lit room. Then, he quickly spins me around so he can't see my face. He doesn't want to see my face. That's part of the rules, you see, because he doesn't want it to be me. In his mind, I'm someone else.

I suppose I could put up a fight. Say no. But, as sick as it may be, I want this. I want him to make me his in any way that he chooses. It makes me feel needed and I haven't felt that way in a very long time.

He shoves me forward until my chest is pressed against the door. My cap is pulled from my head and tossed thoughtlessly to the side, the major's leaf clinking softly as it hits one of the shelving units on its way down to the floor. I shiver as my shirt is removed next and discarded. His fingers work quickly to open the front of my pants, then they are pushed roughly down to my knees. He bends me in half and I hear him spit into his hand once. A moment later, he's inside of me.

There's no warning. No real preparation. He just takes me. All thrusts and gasps and sweat. There are no feelings expressed. No emotions shared.

As if in an afterthought, his hand wraps around my erection and he massages it tightly within his grasp. My body writhes in pain, but I don't stop him. I never do.

He slides his clenched fist along my length and I feel my release approaching. Faster and faster he pumps - he doesn't want to waste much time on me. My testicles tighten and I want to call out to him when I come, but that's not allowed. He doesn't want to hear my voice. I clench my teeth, biting back his name as my seed sprays from me, coating the wall in a warm, sticky mess.

His hand drops away from my spent erection and returns to my hip. The tips of his fingers dig into my pelvis as he pounds against me, fast and hard, until finally his body tenses. Muscles taut, joints locked as he teeters on the verge of release. And when he comes, his fingernails carving half moons into my skin and his teeth sinking into my shoulder, it's not my name that he screams.

In the beginning, it was Trapper, but that was a long time ago. For the past few months, it's BJ or Beej that I've heard as he empties into me. He couldn't have Trapper then and he can't have BJ now … so he takes me instead. And I will let him.

But just once, I wish he would forget and call me Frank.