Work Text:
From the moment he opens his eyes, Radar knows what kind of night Hawkeye had. It's true that Radar's always been a little too aware of Hawk—heck, maybe that's what drove him to linger close by in the first place, tasting that churning agitation that didn't belong to him but was on the back of his tongue all the same when Hawkeye's jeep was half a mile out from dropping him off for the first time. But though he still hasn't figured out exactly why Hawk, of all the people he's met, is a constantly open book with ruffling pages that beg for Radar's attention, he sure can't say it doesn't make it easier to know what he needs.
It's a long morning of paperwork, going through the physical motions but mentally tracking Hawkeye in the center of camp. It's not so much that he's angry or sad or anything. No, it's that familiar simmering inside, kind of like when Ma's making her stew broth from one of the chicken carcasses. Once when he was little, she'd held him on her hip and showed him what it looked like deep in the big pot, the steaming surface that just barely wobbled from the heat, and he'd been caught then by how peaceful it appeared to be even while all the bones and vegetables were getting the good stuff inside of them sucked out.
That's what he can feel right now. Hawk's simmering. He hasn't stopped simmering. Not last night. Maybe not even the night before.
As Radar flits to the filing cabinet with his stack of documents, he's already making up a plan.
Days like this are sometimes grueling for him, the one or two they have every month where he and Colonel Blake have gotta make sure they know what's what about supply, about repairs, about upcoming expected visits to camp or meetings in Seoul, but it's arguably worse when Radar is so darn conscious that for his part, Hawkeye's starting to bubble up a little more. They haven't had any casualties in a few days, and since Major Houlihan bursts into the office to complain about Captains Pierce and McIntyre and something about them using her bra for a slingshot, that tells Radar that Hawk doesn't have something to occupy him. His brain's running too hot. If nothing gets done about it, there's gonna be a heck of a crash later.
Honestly, it irritates the tar out of him that nobody ever puts two and two together about Hawkeye and his moods. He's out there doing the best he can, okay, he's the smartest guy Radar's met and he's probably the closest thing to a superhero that exists, but with those ups come the real bad downs. He's gonna hit the ground and make a crater just in time for a chopper to show up.
Radar really does have to do everything himself around here. But he takes a secret pleasure in this part all the same. He knows things about Hawk that nobody here ever will. Maybe Hawk'll never know them either.
Radar gets through a lunch surrounded by his enlisted pals, horsing around while Majors Burns and Houlihan aren't there yet to tell them to knock it off. There's no room for Hawkeye at his table, but they don't often sit together anyways, not unless the mess tent is quiet or there's a meeting Radar needs to take notes for. It's a game, trying not to look too needy or stare at him too much. But when Radar does finally peek at the table of officers, Hawkeye's staring right at him, lips curved up in a sweet smile, twisting his fork more and more through his noodles so that there's no more room for them to twirl. It's a brief peaceful moment. And then Captain McIntyre elbows him, cuts the contact with a joke and a nod toward a nurse who just walked in, and Radar feels the surface begin to boil once more.
Yeah, no, something's gotta be done.
Zale nudges him and slides the remnants of his tray over.
And he's gonna do it right after this, on account of the food waste and all.
"Okay, okay, you've got me." Hawkeye laughs as Radar stands just inside the supply tent, tapping his foot with his arms crossed. "If I'd've known that doing inventory was so urgent, I would've come faster."
"Will you just get in here?" Radar huffs. He's not pouting. He's not. "You've got post-op in less than an hour."
"Only 'cuz you're the one making up the duty roster." Once he's got the hanger situated, Hawkeye shuts the door, and now that they're out of sight Radar feels much better about grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him along. "Whoa! Easy, tiger." When Radar comes to a stop to survey the landscape, Hawk drapes himself over his shoulders and nuzzles his hair, his hands running up and down Radar's chest. "Mmm... God, you're always so warm, you know that?"
It'd be real nice if he could just take Hawkeye around to the mattress and snuggle up with him for the next forty-one minutes, but unfortunately that's not an option. Not when he can feel the bees buzzing around inside Hawk's head. "Hawkeye, c'mere." It'd also be nice if his voice wasn't all shaky and hungry like this, but that's not really his fault. He's not the one strutting around with the prettiest eyes in the world, flashing them all over the place, lithe and tall and handsome and just begging to be stared at.
He's really not doing a great job at staying on target.
"I wanna do something," Radar finally says.
"I think I've got some ideas." Hawkeye's grin is audible when he brushes his lips over Radar's cheek, his jawline.
Gosh, the fella could thaw a whole spring frost without even straining himself. Radar lets himself have a single moment of leaning back into him, swishing his hips so he can feel how Hawk's slowly hardening and charm a quivering groan out of him. When he's got Hawkeye starting to loosen up, he turns his head and comes up unsteadily on his tiptoes to kiss his chin.
"C'mere," he murmurs, bringing him toward the other back corner of storage, where they often end up unpacking a lot of the boxes when they get a big shipment. There's a long, sturdy table that Radar knows from sheer bad timing gets used just as much for the tiny nurses they've got here and the giant surgeons to...well. It's probably a good thing that Major Houlihan always gets somebody to scrub it down before they cover it in supplies.
It's quieter over here too, out of sight, shadowy. It's kind of like they're hiding, but he really doesn't wanna think of it that way. Hiding like in a pillow fort or a treehouse. Playing hooky for fun, not trembling or scared.
As Radar turns to face him, there's a jolt—a beat of hesitation—before Hawkeye licks his lips and sighs. This happens sometimes. When they're back to front, Hawk's plenty playful. He'll tease and joke, thumb over Radar's nipples, leave little bites on his neck and shoulder. When they're face to face, it's like Hawkeye sees them both for exactly who they are, where they are, what they want, and there'll be a pulse of guilt. Radar keeps trying to find a way to tell him that he doesn't have to be afraid of this, but it's not exactly easy when he shouldn't know it's there in the first place.
"I wanted to see you," Radar murmurs as he pulls Hawkeye in and drapes his arms around his waist. "I missed you. Thought about you a lot all day."
That makes him chuckle. "Little minx. When you were supposed to be focusing on your work?" Hawk drawls as he thumbs along Radar's cheek.
Radar rolls his eyes and grins. "It was filing. I can file with my hands tied behind my back. More fun to think about you. In here. With me." With each pause, he sways a little in place like they're slow dancing in the O-Club.
Hawkeye's eyelashes flutter. Sometimes Radar thinks he might not know exactly how gorgeous he is from head to toe, especially when he relaxes, when he lets somebody else take the lead for a change. He's distracted now. Happy. "What exactly were we doing? In here? Together?" he asks in a husky tone, fingers drawing patterns over Radar's back.
"You want me to tell you or show you?" It's a genuine question but the rushing wave of Hawkeye's desire practically bowls him over.
Hawkeye cranes down to kiss him, one gentle moment of contact. "Show me. Make me feel it. Lemme give you what you want, Radar."
His own need pours down on him like a thunderstorm, almost instantly getting him hard. So annoying when it happens. He's trying to stay focused here and instead he has to fight through the lightheadedness of the rush, white-knuckling his way to clarity. Hawkeye ruins him. Absolutely levels him like a tornado. It's overwhelming every time.
But it's not what he wants right now. And it's not what Hawkeye needs, no matter what he thinks.
Radar slides his leg in between Hawkeye's, his thick thigh pressing flush against Hawk's hardness, and such a sweet, high sound needs to be illegal because he thinks if somebody could bottle that up, it'd stop traffic, crash airplanes, ruin the stock market all over again from everyone's need to slow down and let it shiver through them.
He's anticipating how Hawk's holding on too tight as well. One of them needs to let go for this to work, and it's not gonna be Radar. "Feels good, Hawkeye," he whispers. "Want... Wanna do this for you. That okay?"
That tenuous grip starts to loosen. "Wh-What do you want?" Hawkeye practically pleads.
It's crystal clear what he's asking, but Radar's already made up his mind. He was never all that good at sports or anything, but all the poker he's played over here have taught him exactly when to push his luck. "Tell you later. C'mere."
Finally Hawkeye gives in, moving into Radar like a wave. It's instinctive for Radar to throw a hand behind him just in time to keep from bruising his back on the edge of the table. All at once he's pinned between it and Hawkeye, but Hawk's tucking an arm behind him so he has something to lean into, and as Hawk rests his forehead on top of Radar's head, tiny, shocky breaths tickle his hair while he rocks against his thigh.
He knows Hawk likes it like this still, both of them in their clothes. He always says he's just taking it slow for both of their sakes—which is a laugh, really, since Hawkeye's never taken anything slow outside of OR, and meanwhile Radar's never actually had real sex before, the kind with going inside somebody and all that, but he has fumbled around with a couple of the guys back home and knows where everything is and how it should probably be touched, at least, so it's not like he's scared—but Radar's pretty sure he knows the truth. He's tried before to point out to Hawk that his mom and dad had a whole twelve years between them, that he doesn't have anything to worry about, but then an ache had rippled out of Hawkeye and bruised Radar with the kind of force that almost brought tears to his eyes. Just this long stare. Sure, Hawk had thrown an arm around his shoulder after that and kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair, but he'd made sure they weren't alone together for a good week or two, no matter how something inside him kept calling for Radar across camp like a turtledove.
Sometimes Hawkeye gets too caught up in his head when they're doing something like this. It still makes Radar flush to speak up, but he tries all the same to draw him out. "Is it good, Hawk?"
"So good," he breathes back. "Can, can you, uh..."
Hawkeye's body sings for him when they're together, but if Radar focuses past the stammering and the embarrassment, he can feel the itching in Hawk's waist, and as he tentatively touches his hips, the punched-out moan and sudden buck forward tells him everything he needs to know. Radar holds on tight, coaxes him into a specific rhythm, thinks he could pass out just from the tiny grunts that slip out of Hawk's mouth every time he crushes Radar against the table.
It's perfect. It's exactly right, one of those beautiful moments of Colonel Blake's desk being organized just so or Radar being right on time to take the mail bag before the driver even puts the jeep into park. Radar can't help but grin as he nuzzles Hawkeye's throat and leaves another few wet kisses there.
That alone seems to stir something in Hawk, an alertness that cuts through like a knife. "No, hold on, I wanna..." He fights Radar's grip long enough to slip his own leg forward and press it against Radar's bulge, suffocatingly trapped in too-tight fatigues.
"Hey, quit," Radar murmurs in good humor but firmly all the same. "Uh-uh, c'mon, lemme do you first and then we'll see." He moves his body so Hawk has room to rub but so he can't make Radar grind on him in turn. It's just that his head gets foggy when he and Hawkeye are getting each other off at the same time. He stops being able to tap into that flow that lets him know if Hawk's really okay or if he's just blunting something, burying it so it doesn't have to see the light of day.
He used to sense that part a lot before Radar made his first quiet, nervous, shy move. Sometimes he'd be curled up and trying to fall asleep and he'd feel it bubbling up like a volcano, these silent screams that kept getting gagged more and more violently every time, and he'd know in a guilty mix of grief and arousal that Hawkeye was losing himself in a nurse so he didn't lose his mind instead.
He doesn't...really like it when Hawk tries to pull that one with him. It's not often—it's probably more force of habit when he flirts with the edges of it—but it does make Radar feel a little like a faceless object rather than himself. It can suck him in too if he's not careful, this blissful void that he and Hawkeye float in together with rippling waves of pleasure coursing through. Anytime Radar shakes him out of it, the sharp edge of self-directed anger will pulse inside of Hawk, and it's a lot like soothing one of his goats on the farm, bringing Hawkeye back down, reminding him that there's nothing to worry about or be mad over, just this, just them.
If Hawkeye gets to keep them both fully clothed, then Radar gets to keep them both fully in their own bodies. That's what relationships are about, right? Compromise.
But right now, it's good. It's everything he wants. It's the stuff he dreams about or thinks on when he gets to shower alone, just him and Hawk being together with nothing else in the way, giving each other everything they need and a whole lot more besides, drowning in—
BANG-BANG-BANG.
Hawkeye throws himself into the nearest shelf as Radar bites down the nauseating lurch of panic. Hold on, hold on, listen, focus... But there's no danger around, no casualties, no shells, nothing. Just somebody who pounded on the supply tent door as they walked by, then kept going. Radar's seen them do it before, some of the other enlisted, knows how they'll take note of the hanger and decide they're gonna spook whoever's inside and see if they can ruin their good time, but it's never happened to him and Hawk, and especially never when they're getting together in broad daylight, doing things that'll...
Radar grabs at his chest, taking his breathing down as quickly as he can. He expects Hawk to be comforting him, really, given the kind of guy he is, but...but when Radar looks up, Hawkeye's white as a sheet, a hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, and bent over like he's been kicked in the gut. He's screaming inside so loudly that when Radar tunes in, it almost deafens him.
"Hawk, it's okay." He hurries forward and grabs for his hand. He wishes it wasn't so relieving that Hawkeye lets him have it instead of pulling away completely and cutting this thing off like Radar bets he imagines doing at least once a day. "Hey, hey, it's just a prank, you know how the guys are." Radar thumbs through the waves of panic while making circles on his skin. "They do that all the time."
"Yeah." Hawkeye shudders from head to toe. "Yeah, no, they're, they're fucking hilarious." It's like he can't even look at Radar. Now's when he pulls at his grip and tries to walk away, but Radar refuses to let him go.
"It's not funny, really, I-I..." The words aren't what he's good at. They don't come as pretty like they do to Hawkeye or Father Mulcahy or even Colonel Blake. "But it's okay, all right? Nobody came in."
"But one day, Radar, they're not gonna stop at a knock, do you understand that?" Hawkeye whips around with gritted teeth and glares at him, finally snatching his hand away. "Th-This isn't smart, what we're doing. At some point, something's gonna blow up, and I don't need you getting caught in the crossfire."
One moment, Radar is careful and concerned. The next, he's got anger that's flaring up into the canvas ceiling and threatening to burn the whole camp down. "Hey, I'm not some dumb kid whose back you've gotta watch, you know. If some guy in the White House thinks I'm old enough to be drafted, then I'm sure as heck old enough to get mixed up with you and know what's on the line."
Hawk stabs his pointer finger behind him. "They're not gonna know that, Radar! All they're gonna see is you getting taken advantage of, and no matter how it shakes out, that's gonna follow you for the rest of your goddamn life!"
"Well, how do you see me, huh?" Radar stomps up until they're chest to chest, his neck aching with how far back he has to tip his head to keep the blistering eye contact. "Do you think I'm a kid?"
"Of course I don't!" A reverberation of confusion, disgust, fury, an awful-tasting cocktail but fervent enough that Radar knows he's sincere.
"So what's it matter what anybody else thinks? You and me know the truth, don't we? God, Hawk, I... Sometimes I feel like I'm a million years old, like we've been here all our lives or something. I haven't been a kid in ages, just like you."
But he's not hearing him. Hawkeye looks away, scoffs, shaking his head. "I'm the one who's supposed to know better. I'm the one who lets it happen. God, what's the fucking matter with—"
Radar grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and yanks him down so they're at eye level, seething. "I'm the one who came after you first. I'm the one who kissed you. I'm not gonna stand here and listen to you try and convince yourself that you're the guy taking advantage of me when I-I've been, I've been chasing you like a damn bull without a lick of sense! And it's 'cuz I like you and I want you, and, and..." Oh, it's not smart of him, not a darn bit, but Hawkeye is seeing him right now, listening, not trying to get away, brow furrowed, lips parted, like something's changing, and Radar'll sooner run straight into the minefield than give him room to justify his fear again. So when Radar cups Hawkeye's cock in his hand—still half hard—he fights like hell not to let his hand shake like a fella who has no idea what he's doing.
Hawk sucks in a sharp gasp and tries to lurch back, but Radar tightens his grip on the jacket and yanks him back in. Another jolt pulses through, and it takes a few seconds to realize that Radar's practically soaring above them both right now. The heat of Hawk's terrified fury tangled up with his own irritation and fired him off like a catapult.
This is what he's gotta watch out for. He'll never understand how he sank into Hawkeye like this before he ever saw him, but it's in him all the same, and it can make him do some really stupid stuff if he's not careful. Radar lets out a trembling breath as he slides his hand up from the lapel and wraps it around the back of Hawkeye's neck. It's more intimate-like here. "Please, please don't be scared, Hawkeye," Radar whispers. "Please."
Even when Hawk tries one last time to pull away, Radar sinks his fingers in deeper, holding firm, touching their foreheads together. His other hand feels a little clumsy, trying to find a good rhythm and pressure through two layers of clothes, but Hawk's still whimpering through his bitten-together lips. He's back to almost bursting out of his fatigues, so whatever's going on, it has to mean Radar's not messing up or making it bad, right?
"You're gonna come for me, okay, Hawkeye?" Radar prompts quietly.
After a moment of hesitation, Hawk nods and lets out a strangled sob.
"Wish I could feel it," Radar admits. Hawk's practically burning a hole through his trousers, he's so hot and hard, but it's not the same as it could be. He wonders sometimes if he'll ever know how silky or wet he might be in Radar's palm. "I-I think about it all the time, you know. Your cock." When Hawkeye chokes on a gasp, Radar's emboldened enough to keep going. "I bet it's real pretty, Hawk, when it's all hard for me. I kinda want to..." He knows it's not stupid to fantasize about—he's heard the other fellas bragging when they come back from their time with a business girl or five, the things those women are so good at doing that maybe a wife never would—but he's still beet red as the confession slips free. "I think about sucking on it a lot, Hawkeye. You probably make the best sounds when you're in somebody's mouth, don't you?"
"Fuck..." Hawkeye suddenly cradles Radar's head in both hands, their brows pressing hard enough to bruise. His fingertips hurt too, honestly, but they're such a visceral sign of how Hawk doesn't want to let him go that Radar thinks he'd probably let him cling on as long as he wanted no matter what.
The idea of clinging brings another image to mind, similarly bashful—there's absolutely no way Hawk would let him do it, not a chance, not when he's so much older and taller and all that—but Hawkeye's starting to tremble and there's nothing but a steaming ocean leaking out of his ears, so Radar figures maybe he can offer it anyway, see if it helps his inexperienced touch get Hawk where he needs to go. "Hawk, d-d'you ever let a guy be inside you? Does it feel good when they fuck you?"
The dam bursts and Radar's instantly thrown by the deluge as Hawkeye comes with a shout. Hawk's legs give out and he leans his full weight into Radar, makes him need to plant his legs as firmly as he can just so they don't collapse straight to the floor. It's more of a slow, controlled stumbling, guiding Hawkeye back with him until Radar can lean into the table again and hold him as tight as can be.
This is one of the first times he can really feel a sense of true equality between them. Radar's not fumbling. Hawk's not being so tentative that it almost poisons the mood. They're just two men clinging to each other in the middle of a war zone, refusing to let each other go no matter what.
It takes some time for Hawkeye to come back from that fuzzy state of mind that Radar loves feeling him drift through. There's not a care in the world when Hawk's there. He can finally let things go and stop trying to take all God's responsibilities away for once. "Radar, I-I..." Hawkeye breathes a chuckle as he nuzzles at his throat and plays with his hair, drawing pleasant shivers over his scalp. "Why're you so good to me, huh?"
Radar blinks, almost irritated at a question with such an obvious answer. "Because I like you, Hawkeye. Why does anybody do any of this stuff? I mean, you're something real special. A guy'd have to be an idiot if he didn't wanna take care of you."
There it is, that familiar ache, the one that will so often make Hawkeye pull back from him. But beneath it, the foundation is a different shade, it seems. A softer color. As Hawkeye bumps their noses together, he studies Radar's face with an intensity that he usually only sees if Hawk's practically elbow deep in a body. "Radar, you're worth more to me than all the stars in the goddamn sky. All the nudie mags in the world. Every drop of actually decent scotch."
He's still recovering from that first one, honestly. It's not fair for Hawk to start off with something like that and then go into the jokey ones afterward. But that's the way about him. Says what he means then hides it in plain sight. And as much as Radar really wants to hold his hand and ask him to go home with him one day, he also knows with an unfortunate certainty that there's a heck of a lot more war to go before any of them are getting out of it. Things change. So it's okay. He'll hedge too. "Because you like me back?"
"Because I like you back," Hawk drawls. He hesitates, then presses their lips together, the slow and sweet gliding that Radar knows that he knows that Radar likes. Because that's what it's about, compromise. Radar'll hold back his dreams of a future and Hawkeye will be brave enough to love on Radar exactly as he likes without apologizing for the bone-deep desire to love on him at all.
It's tempting to pull Hawkeye so close that neither of them can breathe. Radar's throbbing in his fatigues hard enough that his whole body feels like it's pulsating. But he drinks this kiss up instead and stores it deep inside for a lonely night when he's feeling Hawk calling him, when he knows Hawk doesn't even realize he's doing it, when Radar can't sneak into the Swamp and answer him with a coo of his own. Radar's the one to break the kiss before Hawkeye can start making good on the wordless notions he's trying to warm Radar up for. "You've gotta go shower."
"Au contraire," Hawk purrs with a smirk as he rubs a dizzying circle on Radar's abdomen with his thumb. "I've gotta return the favor."
"It's not a favor." Radar flicks him on the chest, then tries not to laugh when Hawkeye jolts away with a sharp yowl. "And your post-op shift's coming up, so you've gotta get to getting, or else."
Hawk growls, then steals another kiss, then another, a chain of quick pecks that tickle and fill Radar's chest with brightly-colored bubbles. "Meet me here tonight. I want you feeling so good, you don't remember your Form A from Z."
Boy, he sure makes it hard for a fella not to go straight to the latrine and get himself off, doesn't he? Radar whines as he takes one last kiss of his own, then pushes him. "Just go already, will ya?"
Hawk backs up toward the door, eyes sparkling, a wide grin on his face. "I haven't even told you what time to meet me."
"I'll know you're here, doncha understand that? I always hear it when you call."
Something flickers across Hawkeye's face, and though Radar can't parse through expressions as well as he wants to learn how to one day, the tenderness that wells up is a magnet that he has to fight tooth and nail against. He's said too much, probably. He's not ready for Hawkeye to know how Radar can feel the magnitude of desire he has for him without moving a muscle. Hawk takes a deep breath. "Radar, I—"
"You're gonna lose that open stall in about forty-five seconds, Hawkeye, just tell me tonight, okay?" Radar shoos him off like he's a flock of hungry chickens.
Hawkeye chuckles with a shake of his head. "All right, cutie, it's a date." He winks at Radar, leaves him smitten and breathless as Hawk sweeps out of the storage tent and casts a sparkling trail behind him.