Title: Bored
Author: Lisa M
Pairing: BJ/Hawkeye
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Nope ,don't own anything. Don't sue ... no money.
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know.
Feedback: Would be appreciated - good or bad.
Summary: "This sounds amazingly similar to..."
A/N: This is sort of a follow-up to the episode "38 Across". It pure PWP smut, so if that's not your thing, you probably won't enjoy the fic. The stuff in italics is Hawkeye telling his story. Everything else is real-time. And that's all I'm gonna say )
A/N2: I'm not sure I like the ending ... it sort of felt rushed to me. I had four WIPs (including this one) on my plate and this is the one I decided to finish first. It may have suffered from my frustration to finish at least one of them today ... If it sucks, I apologize profusely. Here's something though ... no angst! NONE! )
"Bored. Bored. Bored."
"I don't get this war," Hawkeye fills two glasses with gin and hands one to me. "First, we stand on our feet in OR for 48 hours - then we go for a week with nothing but alergic reactions and poison oak? It's enough to make a sane person crazy."
"Short trip for you, Hawk."
"Thanks."
"Well, come to think of it, you do owe me a fantasy."
"Would you like me to finish the one I was telling you before?"
"Crackling fire? Lana Turner? Smoking jacket? Angora sweater? Zippers down the back?"
"That's the one."
"Nah. Tell me a new one. One where the other person involved doesn't leave." I glare at him. "And make it a good one. Frank's not going to be interupting this time. He's in post-op for the rest of the night."
"Well, there is one I've been thinking about," he pauses and looks over at me. There is a glint in his eyes that I recognize immediately. I smirk at him. "But I have to warn you, it's pretty racy."
"Just tell it already!"
"Your wish is my command."
It's a wintery day. You're sitting in front of a crackling fire; wearing a red smoking jacket with blue satin lapels.
He pauses to take a sip of his martini.
And a zipper down the back.
"This is sounding amazingily similar to ..."
Hawkeye stretches out his long, slender arm and places one of his fingertip to my lips.
"Shush, now. Don't you know that it's impolite to interupt an artist at work?"
"I'm sorry. Please, continue."
"Thank you. Now, where was I?" He snaps his fingers. "Right, zipper down the back."
You hear a 'tap tap tapping' at the door. 'Now, who can that be?' you wonder aloud. You adjust your ascot as you saunter over to the door. You throw back the bolt and the door swings open to reveal a tall, lithe, devastatingly handsome man. He has the body of a god and the face of an angel."
"Yeah, I bet," I snicker.
"Ahem," Hawkeye clears his throat. "You aren't following the script, Captain Hunnicutt."
"Sorry, again. Wearing?"
A blue smoking jacket with red satin lapels, and ...
"A zipper down the back?" I ask with a smirk.
"Exactly."
'Please come in' you say and step away from the door. The gorgeous stranger steps past you into the room. 'It looks like you were expecting me,' he says and gestures at two perfectly made martinis sitting on the table. You don't answer, but nod your head and hand one of the drinks to your companion.
I take his glass, refill it and hand it back to him. He grins.
"Life imitating art?"
"Only if this story has a happy ending," I reply mischieviously. "And if you're lucky."
You wander over to the sofa and lower yourself onto it. 'Join me?' you ask coyly, and the man does indeed join you. You sit in silence for a moment, sipping your martinis and looking each other over.
Your guest finishes his drink and stands. He holds out his hands to you, and when you reach for them, he pulls you to your feet. He turns you so your back is to him. You feel his fingers grasp the zipper located on the back of your coat. He begins to lower it, slowly - each tooth disengaging from the next - until finally the cloth parts in half. The air that brushes over your newly-exposed skin is warm from the fire, but goosebumps rise in waves along your back, nonetheless. Skilled hands slide the jacket down over your arms and away from your body. He folds the item carefully and places it over the back of the sofa. It is, after all, a very nice jacket - and this man, well, he appreciates the finer things in life.
Hawkeye holds up his lighter-fluid martini and toasts me.
"Please, continue," I insist.
Fingers slide over your stomach and into the waistband of your pants. They reach the button and slip it through its hole. A quick downward tug and the zipper opens. The man goes to his knees and helps you step out of your slacks and boxers. He also folds and discards these items with great care.
He steps in front of you. 'Would you, please?' he asks, indicating his own zipper. 'My pleasure,' you reply and pull it open. His clothes quickly join yours. 'Refill?' you ask, gesturing at his empty glass. 'No, thank you,' the man replies. 'I have something else in mind,' he says and reaches out to trace a finger over your shoulder and down your arm.
Leaning forward, he whispers 'That is, if you don't mind.' His lips are close enough to yours that you can feel his breath brush over them as he speaks. And when his tongue darts out to moisten those lips, it grazes yours as well. 'I don't mind', you say, a shiver passing through you. His mouth captures yours as his arms wrap around you. One of your hands slides into his lustrious, silky, impeccably coiffed salt-and-pepper hair. Your tongues twist and turn together - tasting, teasing.
"That's a lot of t's, Hawk," I say and shift uncomfortably on my cot.
"Totally," he replies with a chuckle.
His hands roam across the expanse of your back - massaging your muscled frame. The heat within you quickens when you feel his erection - large and throbbing - pressing against your own.
"Liar," I accuse.
"Like you know," he snaps back.
"Oh, but yes I do," I smirk. "I've seen you in the shower."
"Damn, that's right," he sighs. "Well, I'm entitled to a little bit of artistic license, aren't I?"
"Okay, just don't go crazy with the 'tall tales'," I say with a laugh.
The gorgeous stranger breaks your kiss. His lips travel over your cheek and up to your ear. 'I want you to take me.' 'Take you where,' you reply breathlessly. You were never very bright ...
"Hey!"
Instead of answering, the man presses his lips to yours again. He wraps his arms around you and pushes you slightly, causing you to take a few steps backward. He begins walking, not releasing your lips or your body, leading you toward the bedroom. He keeps moving until the backs of your knees make contact with the edge of the bed. He releases you and you tumble onto the soft blankets. You slide yourself into the middle of the mattress. Your guest climbs up onto the bed and straddles your hips.
'Wait,' you say and gesture toward the nightstand. 'In the drawer.' He leans over and opens it, retrieving a tube of some sort. Reading the label, he smirks at you. 'So, I guess you were expecting me,' he says and places it to the side. 'We don't need that just yet.' Lowering his body onto yours, he recaptures your mouth with his. Skin to skin, your bodies become slick with sweat. You place your hands on his back and run your fingers along his spine - touching every inch as if he is covered in Braile and you are a blind man.
I hear panting and realize that I'm the one doing it. My hand has also dropped into my lap. Part of me is slightly embarassed and is itching to pull the blankets up over myself, but I don't. Instead, I just lay back and listen to Hawkeye tell his story.
The stranger slides back up to his knees and breaks the kiss. He positions himself so that his hand can wrap around both of you ... uh ...
Hawkeye pauses and I watch as he does his own shift of discomfort. Amazingly enough, he seems to be struggling for words. I laugh softly.
"Don't try and come up with some flowery word for it, Hawk. Just say it."
He throws back his martini in one gulp and clears his throat.
His hand wraps around both cocks.
"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" His eyes snap to mine and they are filled with amusement. I realize what I've just said and grin sheepishly. "Maybe 'hard' was the wrong word to use in this case."
"I'd say so," he replies and shifts again.
The feel of his warm, smooth member pressed tightly against yours is almost too much to take. You begin to pump into his fist. His grip tightens and loosens in perfect synchronicity with the thrusting of your hips. The heat begins to boil inside of you - firey lava on the verge of erruption. As you are about to burst, he pulls his hand away.
You're about to cry out in disappointment, but he reaches to the side and grabs the previously discarded tube. You yank it out of his hand and squeeze a generous amount of it into your palm. Tossing the tube aside, you coat your erection with the clear, slippery substance. The man poises himself above you. His hand wraps around you and places your tip at his entrance. 'Slowly now' he says and lowers himself onto you. Inch by inch, you slide into his tight ring of flesh. He exhales from between clenched teeth. Once you are completely insde of him, you reach out and place your warm hand around his erection.
He begins to rock against you, matching the rhythm of your hand. Back and forth. In and out. You move together. The fire between you burns hotter and faster as sweat pours down his back. Breathless moans are whispered into the air. You both approach the edge. Your grip tightens on him, his muscles clutch around you. One last thrust and ...
The door to the Swamp swings open. Hawkeye and I both jump to our feet in shock. I glance down at my crotch, but thankfully the tent is dark enough to cloak the situation.
"Uh, sorry to bother you, sirs. We just got word from ICOR that there's going to be major casualties arriving in just over an hour. Colonel Potter wants everyone to get ready for the rush."
"Okay, Radar," Hawkeye's words are shaky. "We'll be right there."
Radar glances from me, to Hawkeye, and back to me again.
"Are you sirs feeling okay? You're all sweaty ... and red."
"We're fine, Radar," my tone is much harder than I'd intended. I clear my throat. "It's just a little hot in here."
Our small friend shrugs and leaves the Swamp. For a moment, Hawkeye and I stand and stare at each other. Our breathing slowly returns to normal and the tense parts of our anatomies, relax.
"That was close," I exhale loudly.
"Yeah," he agrees. "But, it's not like we were on top of each other or anything."
"Well, not in the real sense, anyway."
Hawkeye laughs and reaches for his robe. He turns and grabs his shower supplies and walks toward the door.
"Hey, Hawk?"
"What?" He glances over his shoulder at me.
"I hate you, you know that," I say with a smirk. "You're always leaving me hanging."
"No you don't, and that wasn't my fault."
"I know I don't," I say with a sigh. "And I know it wasn't."
"Come on, Beej." He tosses me my robe. "Let's hit the showers."
The End