Playing House

BJ/Hawkeye
Chapter Rating: NC-17


Playing House
Chapter Six: Wanting


The kitchen table was littered with greasy napkins and a few empty soda cans, the remnants of the pleasant, if informal, dinner they had shared. They were laughing, not for the first time, at some antic that occurred in a place that no longer existed: the Swamp.

“Our own little collapsible piece of hell.”

“Maybe it wasn’t so…I mean, the war was awful, it was hideous, it was,” he fished for words to describe the horror, but, finding none to suffice, settled on what they had already decided. “It was hell. But the Swamp…”

BJ nodded in agreement to the unspoken reminder of time they had spent together there.

“Not that I’m willing to swap my full sized bed for an army green super slim single sleeper any time soon.”

“Speaking of bed,” BJ stood and leaned over to pluck a few of the crumpled napkins from the table, “I have no intention of sleeping in my clothes again. I’m going up and get changed.”

He deposited the paper in the trash as Hawkeye collected the cans and did the same. Glancing at his watch, the latter noted that it was just late enough to consider going to sleep and just early enough to think about not. The fact that BJ was waiting for him to go upstairs suggested the second option.

They parted at the top of the carpeted stairs, and Hawkeye went into the guestroom. The moon illuminated the room with its bluish glow, furniture casting gray shadows across the floor. His hand rested on the wooden edge of the door. It didn’t seem right to close it completely, yet it didn’t seem appropriate to leave it gaping while he changed. Selecting the middle road, he pushed it halfway to and went over to the bed. He turned the small knob on the bedside lamp, and it obediently spilled a diffuse circle of warm, yellow light. Kneeling, he drug his suitcase from beneath the bed.

The zipper made a quiet whoosh as he slid it open and flipped back the upper half to reveal his assortment of clothes, pressed into confinement like so many multi-colored sardines. He slipped his hand between two pieces, digging in the very bottom to pull out a soft pair of blue pants, a few white strips breaking up the solid color and marking them as distinct from scrubs. They looked new, unworn, and a tag flopped from the waist as he closed the suitcase, stood, and tossed the pants onto the bed.

He nudged the suitcase back under the bed with his foot before grasping the hem of his shirt and curling it off his body; it slipped over his head, leaving his hair ruffled, and was dropped to the floor and shifted under the bed with the same technique that had been applied to the suitcase. His pants faced similar treatment, and he stood momentarily in his plain cotton boxers and t-shirt, all white cloth and thin limbs, pondering face shadowed by the lamp light.

He noted with an almost surreal detachment the fluttering of his stomach, rarely acquainted as he was with this type of nervousness. Then he debated the pants. He had packed them in case he might be called upon to appear in front of Peg or Erin in his sleepwear, but BJ, well, he had seen him in less. But appearing half-dressed might make it seem as if he expected something. Not that he didn’t. But his expecting was not expectation and came with no obligation. BJ might not expect that same thing. But he might.

Hawkeye was in the midst of his waffling when he heard the soft close of a door elsewhere. The pants were tossed summarily beneath the bed before he grabbed his robe from its place on the slender bedpost and shrugged it on. He was just tying the belt when BJ sauntered into the room.

He was barefoot, and Hawkeye suddenly felt foolish in his socks. Apparently he was over thinking the situation, and as a result he was overdressed for the occasion. BJ made no pretense as he walked into the room in his t-shirt and boxers, making no attempt to hide the bottle of lotion he held in his hand. Hawkeye stood with his back to the bed, watching silently as BJ placed the bottle of the nightstand.

Then he smiled, and Hawkeye slipped easily back into himself as the nervousness fled. He reached to snag BJ around the neck, wrapping the other in his arms and drawing him into a gentle kiss, slowly and searchingly bringing them together. They touched: hips, chests, and tongues, entwining with one another.

BJ’s lips moved down his chin, making small, wet noises, tormenting him with soft brushes before latching on to the sensitive flesh at the crook of Hawkeye’s neck, forcing the other to drop his head backwards to allow access. His released a quick hiss as teeth met skin and BJ worked to leave a new mark, hands all the while descending, gripping Hawkeye’s bottom, and dragging their lower halves as close as possible. Hawkeye ducked his head and brought BJ’s lips back to his own as they ground against one another.

The knot of Hawkeye’s robe and more generally the entire artifice of clothing soon became a bothersome hindrance to their folding into one another. Both thought of extricating themselves to remedy the situation, but it was another long minute before BJ managed to physically accomplish the task by taking a step backwards, hands still keeping a tenuous hold on the other’s waist. They slid around to the robe’s slightly off center tie; slowly he pulled one thick thread then another, finally brushing his hand through the simple cross of the belt and letting it fall loosely. The panels of the red cloth followed, falling to the side to reveal a strip of white underclothes and, to BJ’s amusement, a fledgling arousal that laid heavily against the thin cloth of Hawkeye’s boxers. The fact that he was in a mirrored state only made it more enticing.

But for the moment, and with his desire for satisfaction fighting tooth and nail with his want to touch the other, BJ avoided the swelling nether regions. He slipped his hands beneath the folds of the robe, running flat palms around Hawkeye’s trim waist, feeling the pleasant heat under the t-shirt. He stepped closer to slide them up the other’s back, then down again, a slight caress over his bottom, then up his chest. Hawkeye watched silently, hesitant to break the soothing exploration the blond was conducting. The hands paused on his shoulders, then with a skilled flick, sent the robe down. It clung, momentarily, awkwardly around his elbows, and he shook his arms to deposit it on the floor, a red, puddled frame for the socks he hadn‘t managed to take off.

Unable to still himself for very long, and already having applied this skill in the preceding moments, Hawkeye returned to action. Skillfully he removed BJ’s shirt, struck, for just a second, then relieved, when there were no dog tags to jingle down once the cloth was pulled free. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of BJ’s boxers, peeked inside playfully, and raised his eyebrows suggestively at the owner of the prize. It was almost enough to make BJ blush, and if that didn’t call the flush into his cheeks, Hawkeye’s next action certainly did.

With fluid motion, the dark haired doctor slid to his knees, taking BJ’s underwear with him. He helped the other step out of them before settling back on his heels and taking BJ’s penis in hand. He stroked it upward, coaxing it to hardness. He leaned close, left hand resting on BJ’s thigh, and licked one of the balls near his face, sending a shiver through the other that made him smile.

There were many rewards for being a good lover, but Hawkeye favored hearing his own name spilled from trembling lips. Licking his own lips, he pressed them against the head of BJ’s cock, pausing, just a breath, before sliding them down around the organ.

“Yes,” BJ closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his hips still and Hawkeye moved in and out, probing with light brushes of his textured tongue. With his free hand he worked BJ’s sac, a finger slipping occasionally, but not quite by accident, back to brush the sensitive flesh behind it. He worked with enthusiasm, increasing his pace as one of BJ’s hands caught in his hair, tugging lightly at first then pushing him suggestively foreword. Taking the hint, Hawkeye swallowed once before taking in as much of BJ as he could manage, feeling the fullness invade the back of his throat and concentrating on not gagging.

“Hawkeye,” BJ released the name to the room between heavy breath. He felt the cool air brush his shaft as the other pulled back, then the wet heat as he came in again. There was the hot pleasure, but he also tried to catch the more subtle motions: the light hand on his thigh, the soft brush of lips against his skin as Hawkeye swallowed him, the sight of it all. He leaned foreword to watch and tried unsuccessfully to repress a shudder of delight.

Then he pulled away.

Hawkeye looked at him carefully, sparing only a glance for his now stiff erection before staring up at his face. BJ smiled again in reassurance. He knew the pattern Hawkeye was working off of; it was the Tokyo hotel room model. Getting BJ off one time before they began usually made for a longer session in the end. But it had been a long day, and though he would have been delighted to finish, he wasn’t sure he could get it back up quick enough for the other’s liking. Hawkeye’s libido was a thing of amazement, and more than once he had found himself if not struggling then trying very hard to keep pace with it.

Stooping, BJ took an easy hold of Hawkeye’s biceps and brought him to his feet, capturing his lips somewhere in the process. He pressed his lean, naked body against Hawkeye, the soft cotton cloth brushing his tingling skin and other even more responsive areas. He reveled in the feel, thrusting against Hawkeye’s hip as his tongue probed the other’s mouth, mimicking in parts the act soon to commence. It was only the need to breath that parted them, and then not very far. They stood close, chests touching as they rose and fell in synchronized rhythm. BJ found his hand tangled in the soft strands of Hawkeye hair and paused momentarily to brush it out of the other’s eyes.

“You’re going gray, you know.” He commented casually, though there was an underlying regret, not for the hair but rather the events he knew lay behind it. He touched the threads again, watching the white catch in the lamplight.

“Pierces are like wine, the older the better.” It was a set response; he really didn’t want to think about his premature sign of age, nor was he fond of his lover‘s concentration on it. He pulled BJ’s hands away, placing them on his waist instead then looking up at the other with a smirk, “And I happen to be a very fine vintage.”

BJ took that as an invitation to taste. He worked his way downward, first with a kiss to the temple, then the very tip of the nose, the lips, carefully as so to not get off track, then one on the chin that caused the other to laugh. Heavier, more open kisses were bestowed on Hawkeye’s neck, and BJ felt the hand resting on his arm clench with pleasure as he worked to darken the mark he had left the night before.

With a little shove, he put Hawkeye off balance enough to sit him on the edge of the bed. The mattress springs squeaked quietly as he laid back and BJ crawled up to settle on top of him.

“We’re sideways,” Hawkeye commented between kisses, adding emphasis by wiggling his feet as they hung over the edge. “Tricky things, beds, more room--” a kiss “--more room than a cot, but just enough to get you confused--” another “--I fell off a bed once, well, more of table than a--”

Deciding that Hawkeye was not to be silenced by merely occupying his lips, BJ hooked an arm under his ribcage and moved to shift them both so that they lay longways in the bed. Knees on either side of Hawkeye’s hips and elbows planted on either side of his head, BJ leant in for a deep kiss, brining, almost at the same moment, his groin down to meet the other’s. Feeling more than hearing the soft gasp against his lips, he changed his plan of action. Shifting his weight more to his left side, BJ reached his right hand between their bodies to stroke Hawkeye through his underwear. This evoked a moan and enticed him to work his hand beneath the waistband and fondle the heated organ directly. He rolled it beneath his palm, fingers reaching back to brush the soft underside of Hawkeye’s balls while his tongue worked in the other’s mouth.

BJ shifted his hand in an attempt to remove the other’s boxers, but the motion resulted in a tangle rather than bare skin. He thought momentarily their owner would laugh at him, but Hawkeye only lay panting as he drew back to remove the garment. He worked his way back up the lean body before him, settling between Hawkeye’s legs and gently brushing his lips on the man’s thigh, then his hip, just below the hem of his t-shirt, the stray arm that lay across his chest, then back to the lips. Shifting closer, he pressed their hips together, naked groins meeting with a spark that took their breath away. BJ rocked subtly against him, careful to keep their turgid lengths aligned.

Hawkeye’s legs parted further to give him room, and the motion, though subtle, brought the need to the fore. Again he retreated from their close embrace, pressing himself up to his knees and snagging the lotion from the nightstand. He paused there, kneeling with the pink pump bottle in his hand, looking.

After he caught his breath, Hawkeye offered him a smile, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under his head.

“Comfortable?” BJ asked.

“Yes, Jeeves. That will be all,” he waved his hand in a motion of dismissal, trying to look casual. He laced his fingers and rested his hands on his stomach; the erection resting on his thigh either refuted or enhanced the attempt, BJ wasn’t truly sure.

“Well then I’ll just be going.” He shifted slightly to one knee as if he would get up, but slender fingers caught his wrist before he could truly move.

“I’d prefer it if you were coming.”

There was a silent beat; they considered the phrase.

They both burst into laughter, BJ nearly doubled over.

“That was bad, Hawk.”

“I know,” the other managed between the light kisses now being applied to his lips.

The giggling died down as the kisses once again took precedence, the occasional bumping of their lower extremities goading them into more serious action. Sitting back on his heels, BJ depressed the pump of the pink bottle and the distinct smell of baby lotion permeated the room as he filled the palm of his left hand before laying the bottle on the comforter. Coating the first two fingers of his right hand, he reached between Hawkeye’s bent legs which lay, a bit awkwardly, spread around him.

Hawkeye watched the cream colored ceiling as a cool finger probed his entrance. It circled once before it slipped inside, simultaneously familiar but strange; his body gripped it by instinct, and he relaxed by taking deep breaths and filling his mind with images of BJ. The blond carefully added a second finger, stretching the ring of muscle by scissoring the two. Turning his wrist just slightly, he waited, then, with little warning, he folded his fingers upward to graze the textured spot of Hawkeye’s prostate. The other jerked beneath him.

“Okay?”

“Very okay,” he returned, somewhat breathless, eyes opening as he craned his neck to see what he already knew BJ was doing. Catching his eyes, BJ smiled, holding his stare as he added another finger and began to pump them gently in and out. His own desire pulsed in time inside him, and he swallowed as he tried to ignore his ever-tightening erection. Concentrating, he massaged his lover’s spot, hanging on the hums and exhalations that he from he drew him.

“Come on, Beej,” Hawkeye suggested, the slow motions pleasurable but building into frustration at the speed that teased but refused to give release.

“Hm?” BJ pretended not to understand. His free hand came up to lift Hawkeye’s erection and wrap around it. He pumped the organ in time with his slow, deliberate thrusting of fingers, drawing his hand from base to tip without looking. He watched Hawkeye’s eyes.

“BJ!”

“What?”

“Please?”

A smile broke out on the man’s face, and it struck Hawkeye as momentarily odd that it was not half-hidden under a cheesy mustache. The thought was cut off, however, as the bed squeaked and BJ inched closer. His hands retreated from Hawkeye, one finding purchase on the mattress just over the surgeon’s shoulder and the other fumbling again with the lotion bottle. Quickly now, he coated his own penis as it strained out between his legs, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

Drawing Hawkeye’s legs closer up around him, he left a slick trail of lotion on one thigh, but neither noticed. BJ looked down into the small triangular gap, the only space that existed between them, containing only white bed linen and his own flushed length. Taking hold of himself, he guided the head of his erection to Hawkeye’s opening.

“Easy,” he said, but who the comment addressed was not clear. Slowly he used his slick fingers to press himself inside, just an over an inch, then he felt Hawkeye’s muscles clamp down in resistance. Hesitant to release his cock and let it slide out completely, BJ shifted his other hand so that the back of it rested against Hawkeye’s cloth clad shoulder. “Relax.”

“Trying,” it sounded a little sarcastic, but the emotion was born of a need to hurry that BJ keenly felt.

He pushed forward again, still slow, another inch past the tight ring. Hawkeye hissed a little, just a quick intake of breath through his teeth.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” said through the same clenched teeth as his right hand came up to latch onto BJ’s wrist. BJ shifted the hold so that their fingers entwined, giving Hawkeye assurance and himself more balance.

“We don’t have to--”

“Oh yes, we do. You’re not getting out of this, mister,” he smiled, wriggling his hips just a little, pressing himself onto BJ.

Skeptical of the affected ease, BJ continued with caution, ultimately freeing his other hand and using slow thrusts of his hips to bury himself fully. He leaned over Hawkeye, breathing air that seemed too hot in his lungs as his body, primed by his entrance into the other, threatened to finale before the play was over. Summoning restraint and images of his third grade teacher, he moved in and out, testing with shallow thrusts. He looked down at Hawkeye and, upon making an observation, offered a bit of advice: “Breath.”

His chest heaved suddenly, and he laughed as he expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Oxygen had taken a backseat to the contemplation of the feeling of being filled, more than bodily, by BJ; a certain searching he had felt was satisfied. It was, he thought, like having the first glass of good gin after working a double shift.

His laugh seemed to have released them both, and BJ began to move in earnest, sliding slickly in and out in an increasing tempo until they both rocked with the motion. Feeling Hawkeye shift his hips upward to meet his forward movement, BJ took a moment to readjust their position, pulling the other’s legs over his shoulders. He offered a knowing smirk before plunging forward.

“Beej!” Hawkeye cried out as pleasure shot through him when BJ’s cock hit his prostate directly. He was given little time to descend from the pinnacle as BJ brushed it again, and again, picking up the beat of the blood that pumped in his ears. The antique bed squeaked in time.

The blonde’s restraint was waning. A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, his arms trembled with effort, and he pressed even closer with each increasingly desperate thrust.

“Oh god,” BJ breathed as he felt the release catch him, a spring wound tight and suddenly released as he thrust in and up, spurting into his lover with each contraction of his frame.

There were a few seconds of bright nothingness, but even the returned reality of sweating bodies pressed together increased his delight, and he lifted himself off Hawkeye’s chest to smile brightly as he freed the other’s legs from their folded position around his own shoulders and slipped his softening penis from the doctor’s body. As his wits lazily gathered themselves from their happy stupor, he noted that one of the other surgeon’s hands had crept down to wrap around his own cock, still stiff against his abdomen. Snatching it by the wrist, he fixed its owner with a grin.

“Impatient,” he accused, releasing the appendage to use both hands to push the fabric of the white t-shirt up, making it wrinkle around Hawkeye’s chest. There was no reply save for the reflexive spasm of the organ as he took it in his palm. Hawkeye was close, tight, pushing into his touch. It wasn’t the time for teasing, and BJ took to the task with all the grace of a surgeon. He was, after all, good with his hands. Even strokes, firm and quick, applied over hot skin created a friction that seemed to please. Hawkeye’s eyes closed, his teeth catching momentarily on his lip before he remembered that he didn’t have to be quiet this time.

“Good, Beej,” he exhaled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Not exactly witty banter, but reassuring. It struck some primitive masculinity in BJ to be told he was a good lover, and he applied himself to the task with fervor, keeping his hand in time as he leaned forward to take Hawkeye’s lips in a possessive kiss; he squeezed, just a second, and reveled in the gasp against his mouth before moving down to Hawkeye’s marked throat. He went straight for the nerve, hand picking up speed as he hovered, then, suddenly, bit down.

Hawkeye cried out, maybe his lover’s name, maybe some approximation, as his body tensed and he spilled himself over BJ’s hand and onto his own stomach. His fingers made indentions as he gripped BJ’s shoulders, trembling as the waves of shuddering satisfaction moved over him, while BJ stroked him through it and watched the white strands make sticky puddles on heated flesh.

When it was done, BJ pulled him close, regardless of the mess, and guided him back to thought with gentle kisses. He returned the gesture languidly, hand absently resting on BJ’s arm. Hesitant to move away, but knowing Hawkeye was probably uncomfortable under his hot weight, the blond rolled to his side as Hawkeye fished around to find something to clean up their mess. Less concerned, BJ went to wipe his hand on the comforter, finding it caught instead by the dark haired doctor. Hawkeye lifted his eyebrow before leaning forward to lick the back of BJ’s hand, watching carefully for the other’s reaction. Though it seemed to surprise, he couldn’t quite read in what direction the surprise tended so he sat up, pulled his t-shirt off, and used it instead. Releasing BJ, he folded the cloth to wipe himself down before tossing it from the bed.

He turned back to find the other staring at him.

“What?”

Instead of speaking, BJ drew him back down to bed, leaning over him to brush his disordered hair back into place with a few sweeps of his fingers. Hawkeye took a breath in anticipation of speech but was cut off by a finger across his lips. He smirked against it as BJ settled down beside him, resting his head on Hawkeye’s arm and letting his finger trail down to the other’s chest where it remained, tapping out a slowing, simple rhythm only they could hear.

-tbc-

AN: Whew. Well, I completely scrapped those chapters I had written and decided to take this as it, uh, comes…sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Hopefully the next update won’t take so long. Please let me know what you think; shall we have more plot? more sex? or perhaps just some rousing conversation?