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With martini number three in his grasp, Hawkeye glowers at BJ, as he has many times before. It's a real martini, thank Christ, the kind that allows him to savor the taste of juniper berries on the back of his tongue. There's no still, no Swamp, no war. Just the two of them in a huge swath of people, dressed to the nines, mingling the night away. It's the second time that Hawkeye and BJ have been a part of San Francisco General Hospital's annual fundraiser, and while last year Hawk entertained himself by teasing and flirting and joking around with wealthy older women who were looking for ways to burn through their cash, that seems to be BJ's job this go around.
Hawk takes a long sip. He watches BJ—bordering on too gorgeous in his white suit—as he laughs and rests a hand on an octogenarian's shoulder, then leans close to say something under his breath. She giggles in turn, covering her mouth politely, but she can't hide the way she flushes.
Hawkeye gets it. Really, he does. BJ Hunnicutt happens to be one of the most perfect men on the planet—handsome, brilliant, funny, mischievous, determined, focused, with one of the finest medical brains to boot. Hawk's tittered and blushed over him any number of times. But ultimately it doesn't matter that Hawkeye can get his hands all over Beej any time he wants when they're at home. Not when these desperate, horny vultures are the only ones allowed to touch him tonight.
There are dozens of ways that Hawk could occupy himself right now. There's a string quartet providing an elegant soundtrack to their evening. There are a couple of doctors too who would happily pass around a cigar with Hawkeye while they complained about their wives and kids and Hawk acted as though he didn't want to put the burning end out on their forehead. He's sure there's a deck of cards around somewhere too. He wouldn't have to look very hard for it. Hell, he could strut over and steal BJ's little matron, then stick his tongue out over his shoulder as he ushered her to the dance floor. But for whatever reason, he can't get himself to do anything but glare. Ruminate. It's unfair that Hawk can't ask BJ to dance instead. That they both might lose their jobs on the spot if he even jokingly did so. They don't have the safety of a Henry Blake or a Colonel Potter here. Their employment is voluntary and it can be snatched away whenever one least expects it.
So he'll stare daggers through his sexy lover and make his way through one or two or seven hors d'oeuvres. Like a normal man.
It only takes another minute or two for Beej to see him. And he knows. Immediately Hawkeye can tell that BJ is peering right into all of his secret thoughts, the bastard. That's the problem with having practically lived in the same skin for a few years: there's no hiding anything.
That doesn't mean that Hawk can't try to divert him anyway, especially because BJ is wearing one of those smug smirks, the kind that Hawkeye always wants to wipe away by making him crumple and moan. Unfortunately that technique is unavailable right now. Hawk simply puts on the biggest, brightest smile that he's got and wiggles his fingers in a wave.
BJ quirks a brow, but when Hawk doesn't do anything more, he chuckles and touches his current partner's arm, then leans in to say something. Intimately. In front of everyone. She gives him a playful smack on the arm with her clutch while laughing, and BJ elegantly bows. He leaves her behind, coming straight toward Hawkeye. He could have no other possible destination.
"You," BJ opens by saying, "are turning a bit green."
"Oh, am I?" Hawkeye considers his glass. "You know, I was just thinking about what they've gotta be putting in these olives. They pack too much of a punch. They're super-olives. Superior. Superb. Supreme. Superstars."
BJ's eyes sparkle. "Interesting."
Hawkeye spins toward the bar. "Here, lemme grab a bowl of them. We'll draw up some distance lines on the floor. I'll throw 'em, you catch 'em in your mouth, and everybody bets on how far we'll get."
BJ cups his bicep loosely, just the faintest bit of pressure, but it's enough to make Hawkeye's heart flutter anyway. "Maybe I don't want olive breath tonight."
"Is that so?" He keeps staring across the room as though BJ isn't there at all. "Thinking about sticking your tongue down some woman's throat?" Then he gulps down the last of his martini.
There is a certain way that BJ laughs that reverberates so beautifully in his chest, deep and husky. Hawk can almost feel it vibrating through the floor like an earthquake. As BJ leans closer, his chest presses flush against Hawkeye's arm, and he drops his voice to a decadent murmur. "I knew it. You're jealous."
"Me? Jealous?" Hawkeye huffs and rolls his eyes, still grinning. "I'm not jealous."
"You've spent the entire night glaring at me like you're gonna storm over and slap whoever I'm talking to." It's flagrant and entirely unadvised, but BJ lets his hand slowly skim down Hawk's arm, building trembling anticipation in his veins until finally, finally his fingers graze along his hand, there and gone again in a flash. His touch leaves a lasting burn behind, just like it has ever since the first night BJ shoved Hawkeye into his cot and kissed the life out of him.
It takes Hawk a moment to catch his breath. "You're out of your mind," he drawls, like a liar.
BJ hums. He steps back, and though they need that breathing room for the sake of their own reputations, Hawkeye's cells still strain to reach him. "All right. Whatever you say."
The words prickle inside his brain, tiny daggers like kitten claws. It's not even that he's angry. He's been angry at BJ Hunnicutt before. He knows exactly what it feels like. No, this is that rippling exasperation, the kind that makes his tongue loose—even looser than usual, if that could be believed. "Fine." That's all he responds with. At first.
BJ stands by him and watches the dancers with a sweet smile. Hawkeye squeezes his empty glass hard enough that it should shatter. When a waiter comes by with a tray, Hawk sets his glass on it without a word, and it takes another moment for him to realize that the gentleman is still waiting there with both red and white wine on offer. BJ politely turns down a drink of his own—has been keeping completely dry for the past year, which Hawkeye is both relieved and intimidated by—so Hawk waves the waiter off as well. Then it's just the two of them. For now. At any moment, someone could whisk BJ away and Hawkeye wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. Hell, maybe they'll spend the whole rest of the evening separated. Maybe BJ will be so worn out by his delightful company that he'll fall asleep in the taxi home, then go straight to bed, snoring lightly while Hawk twists himself miserably in the sheets, wanting him, fighting every fiber of his being to let him get the rest he so badly needs instead, inevitably failing and rolling over to devour him whole.
That's what gets his mind running far too hot again. That's why his mouth falls open. "Having a good time tonight?"
"Sure." BJ nods, his voice open and bright.
"Holding court with all your little paramours?"
BJ snorts, then reaches to rub right beside his nose, fighting to keep from smiling. It's so intimately familiar, the exact thing that BJ has employed since the first day he met him to keep from laughing at Hawk's ridiculousness. "Mm. Have you ever met Cybil, by the way? She and her husband have been supporting this hospital since their son was born premature. And then there's Ethel. Her husband is out of town right now at a class reunion, but they'll be heading off to see their grandkids at the end of the month."
"How adorable," Hawkeye drawls. "Have they dropped the hint that they're in the market for a pool boy?"
"No, not yet." Patient. Unbothered.
Hawkeye turns to face him. He can't stand it anymore. "Oh, and just wait until they take their dentures out tonight for the pudding. That's your moment. You've gotta help them hobble out back so they can get on their knees and gum you."
BJ whips around as well, cheeks flushed, but his gaze is clear and amused. "You know, Hawkeye, you've got a filthy mouth."
"So why don't you wash it out with soap, if it's bothering you that much?" Hawkeye fires back.
BJ cocks his head. Considers. Then he loosely grabs Hawk around the elbow and tugs. "You know, that's not such a bad idea." Then he heads out of the hall, leaving Hawkeye shivering and blinking behind him. And though he tries to get himself to be nervous about what BJ's got in mind, he's flooded with anticipation instead. He's so eager to be near him that he can't keep himself still for long. Seconds after BJ disappears out of sight, Hawkeye moves as calmly as he can to go find him.
Hawk keeps catching fleeting glances, mostly of his white suit, just around the corner here, then there. He crosses paths with a few other couples—no way in hell are he and Beej the only ones hooking up with their coworkers. He even hears a sharp, high moan from a supply closet as he passes it, a stunning noise that hits the switch to slowly convert his frustration into pure arousal.
Finally Hawkeye finds BJ and watches him disappear into a single stall bathroom. The lock does not click into place. Without hesitation, Hawk follows him in. The bathroom is sparse and clinical, to be expected, nothing decorative, only the simple things. That is why it's surprising that Hawk doesn't see BJ once he's halfway inside. It's not like there's anywhere to hide. But when he begins to shut the door, there's a flash of white from behind it, and then Hawkeye's being pulled and shoved until the door is shut and BJ is pressing him against it with every ounce of strength in his powerful, gorgeous body.
"All right, Mister Jellybean," BJ drawls as he reaches to lock the door behind them. But he never takes his gleaming eyes off of Hawk's, not for a second. "You ready to use your words yet?"
Fuck, Hawkeye loves this, loves being trapped in such a non-claustrophobic way, loves knowing that it's BJ exercising this agency over his body and no one else, loves recognizing that even at his bitchiest BJ still wants him. Hawkeye can be a brat all he wants. BJ's going to have him all the same. "Words? You want words? What kind of words? I can use quick ones. Could meander along through multi-syllabic sentences. If you're looking for fancy medical jargon, I could tell you about the open heart surgery I did yesterday—"
"Well, that answers my question."
"There was an answer in there?"
"No, but the absence of one provided enough context for me to draw from my own conclusions." As BJ grins, toothy and dangerous, a fiery desire plumes inside of Hawkeye's chest, but when he tries to reach for him, BJ grabs him by both wrists and keeps them pinned to the wood too. "Look at you. You've teased me about my jealousy, what, five dozen times, at least? And now here you are, pretending you're so much better than it."
Hawkeye lifts his chin. "Uh, no, if I was actually jealous, I'd be worried that those grandmothers were gonna sweep you off your feet faster than a wet floor."
"Not quite." BJ kisses his chin incorrigibly, sending tingles through his veins. "You're not jealous that they could have a chance with me. You're just upset that you're not getting any attention. Like an annoying cat."
"Annoying?" Hawk asks with true offense, brows shooting up.
"Mm-hmm." Unbothered by Hawk's tone, BJ begins kissing a line slowly up his jawbone. "You're cute. You walk on all the furniture. You steal my stuff. You demand all the spotlight that you can get. You always trot ahead of me and expect me to follow you. You're warm, cuddly. And I never want to let you out of my sight. You're mine." His last word comes out on a growl as he rocks against Hawk, sending heat flooding straight into his cock.
"Yours, huh?" Though Hawkeye attempts to give the words a bored, unconcerned tone, they smolder with barely contained arousal. "What, you gonna put a collar on me next?"
Like a viper striking, BJ's hand snaps up and cups Hawk's throat. No pressure. No constriction. But it's claiming all the same. "You look pretty and spoiled enough as it is," BJ teases. "I don't think there's any doubt who you belong to."
A soft whimper slips out of Hawkeye. So much for his brattiness. Now that he's basking in the full force of BJ's attention, he's forced to acknowledge that this is absolutely what he needs, to have this spell woven through his neural pathways until he knows it deeper than his own name. "How badly do you want me?" He stares into BJ's brilliantly blue eyes. Doesn't so much as blink.
It pays off. He gets to watch BJ's switch flip too, turning all of that cocky amusement into frenetic heat. "You know how much."
"C'mon, I haven't heard it once in the past eight hours," he drawls.
Though he expects Beej to roll his eyes, he doesn't. Instead he grabs him by the belt loops and yanks him flush against him so that he can feel BJ's hard length. It's barely contained down his right pant leg. It presses insistently against Hawkeye's thigh, and when BJ rolls his hips forward, Hawk can't help but groan. BJ slaps his hand over Hawkeye's mouth. "I wanna eat you alive," he whispers. "I've wanted you since 'Heart and Seoul.' Do you know how hard it was not to bend you over the fucking jeep hood? You're addictive, worse than pistachios. I swear to God, Hawk, there's this chunk of my brain that's got a record playing of your greatest hits over and over again, and I never want it to stop."
Hawkeye whines under his palm. Is it so bad that he needs this sometimes? To remember that he wasn't the second choice? That if he belongs to BJ, then BJ belongs to nobody but him and Erin? He scrabbles at BJ's strong, hairy forearm—the man's a goddamn sasquatch and Hawkeye wishes he could just bury his face in his hairy tits every second of every day, it's not fair—and when BJ lifts his hand tentatively, Hawkeye begs, "Show me, Beej, show me, make me feel it—"
"I've got you, darling," BJ coos. That alone is enough to turn him into a babbling puddle. "How're your knees?"
He makes a weak, affirmative sound. It's barely left his throat when BJ takes a step back, then pushes Hawkeye down by the shoulders, and Hawk takes the command so quickly that he makes himself dizzy. It's like he's having an out of body experience, here under the beaming lights in the sterile bathroom where on any other day, he'd smell nothing but the antiseptic soap. But right now his senses are interweaving BJ's presence throughout, and when BJ palms his cheek, he catches a whiff of his cologne. Fuck this, no more hesitating, no waiting. He all but rips BJ's belt open, then grits his teeth while working down the row of buttons on his fly.
"Eager," BJ purrs.
"I haven't seen your cock in three entire hours, Beej, you really can't blame me," he replies breathlessly. Then he yanks BJ's trousers and boxers down in one. He bobs free, thick and heavy, and Hawkeye moans as he cups his cock and begins pressing a line of kisses down his silky shaft. BJ shakily exhales, planting both hands on the door to hold himself up, giving him free rein. And he's going to take advantage of it.
Hawkeye knows so many ways to make BJ shiver now. It's always come so naturally to them together. Maybe it's because Hawkeye spent so many months watching him, aching, fantasizing, burning up into cinders from just a brush of their bare arms together. He had more than enough time to figure out every last thing that he wanted to do to Beej. He knows that BJ likes to have his balls played with—Hawk reaches the base of his shaft and tips his head so he can suck on one of them and lave his tongue over the sensitive skin, then hums happily when Beej's length bobs in response. He knows how to leave suckling kisses slowly up his length, little bursts of pleasure. And he especially knows to look BJ right in the eye as he breathes teasingly over his head. When a bead of arousal swells on his tip, Hawkeye grins, then slides BJ into his mouth and straight down his throat in one smooth motion.
"Christ—!" BJ pounds his fist on the sturdy door frame with a grunt. "Shit, sweetheart, that's good..."
"Mmm?" Hawk fights to keep the stare steady as he bobs his head.
BJ's brows draw up. His lips part. "Look at you. Gorgeous."
Hawkeye bats his lashes, then winks. He succumbs finally to the temptation to close his eyes so that he can better focus on his task, cradling BJ's shaft on his hot tongue, hollowing his cheeks with a powerful suck here and there. He has a moment when his nose bumps BJ's soft, trimmed thatch of hair and he inhales the rich scent of BJ's musk, and right away he needs to huff it as hard as he can. It's not easy. He wants BJ buried in his throat for the rest of the fucking night. But he can take a moment, he thinks, for the good of his olfactory glands.
The moment Hawkeye pulls off, he presses his nose against his pelvis and breathes in until his lungs burn. "Oh, fuck," he whispers. "Smell so goddamn good..."
"Hawk," BJ murmurs with a little laugh, cheeks flushing pink.
"Don't you start." He's salivating, Jesus Christ. "You can't just walk around smelling like some earthy Greek god and not expect me to get off to it."
"I don't have any Greek in my lineage. Earthy?" he asks incredulously.
BJ doesn't get it—maybe never will—but it doesn't stop Hawkeye from getting so hard that he knows for a fact that he's ruining his boxers with how much he's leaking. Thank fuck for black trousers. Maybe he'll be lucky enough to get away with it. But not if he comes in them. Hawkeye sucks BJ back down, savoring every inch, while fumbling with his own belt and button fly.
"Fuck," BJ whispers. "Can't keep your hand out of your pants, huh?"
"Mm-mm." It's miraculous enough that Hawkeye can concentrate on both of his tasks equally. Being asked to reply intelligently is not a possibility.
"One day, I'll make you. You'll be so hard, you'll think you're about to combust. Begging for me. Tearing up, you need it so badly. And I'll tell you no. And you'll have to wait right there until I've decided that you've been good enough to deserve to come for me."
He can't say shit like that. Hawkeye whines, fingers losing their surgeon's grace for a few seconds before he can finally shove his pants down and whip out his cock. Not today, he wants to plead. Anytime but today. And fortunately for him, BJ seems to have no desire to withhold an orgasm from him—yet. But that doesn't mean he won't change his mind.
Not unless Hawkeye distracts him, at least.
Hawk redoubles his efforts, the occasional whimper escaping his throat. BJ's teased him before about how not even a cock buried as deep in his mouth as it can go is capable of shutting him up for long, but honestly, what's the point of being silent when you're losing yourself in the person you love deeper than you have felt for anyone before? The person you went through hell with and came home alongside, not totally intact, but as safe as you could be, given the circumstances? He takes a risk every morning just waking up and kissing BJ good morning, but there isn't a universe in existence where he wouldn't take chance after chance as long as he got to stay right beside the man he loves, the man he'd do anything to call husband.
"Fuck..." BJ's trying to stay quiet, he can tell, fighting back any semblance of a moan, ever conscious of where they are. But it's a battle he's going to lose, if Hawk has anything to say about it. "Oh, fuck, Hawkeye, I-I'm..."
He knows. And so he takes BJ straight down his throat and swallows around him over and over again until BJ gasps, grabs Hawkeye's head in both hands, and holds him right fucking there as he grunts and comes so far back that Hawk can't taste a single drop of his release. Hawkeye shudders in ecstasy as he follows him straight over the edge, still unable to breathe, still kept captive in BJ's grip. As though BJ has sensors inside of Hawk, he seems to know the exact moment that it's all too much, and BJ pulls Hawk off of him with trembling hands.
BJ tries to coax Hawkeye to his feet, but huffs when Hawk's legs are still as shaky as jelly, incapable of holding himself up quite yet. "You came?" he asks with what Hawk recognizes is a faint edge of disappointment. "I was going to— Hawkeye, you came on my fucking shoes."
"So? It'll wipe off," Hawk murmurs, the words slurring.
BJ bursts out laughing. "You're incredible."
Hawkeye wiggles a little with a smug smirk. "Mmm, thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week." He nuzzles BJ's pubic hair and sighs, content.
"C'mon. C'mon. I'm not leaving you on the floor of the damn bathroom. You're gonna get the floor dirty. Who knows where you've been?"
"In your bed," Hawk drawls. "You filthy bastard. You made me this way."
With a shake of his head and a beaming grin, BJ finally helps him up. "Something tells me you're not winning that case in court."
"I am a delicate, innocent, beautiful little bramble blossom, I'll have you know, and any jury would see that." But his banter cuts off as BJ grabs a paper towel and gently dries both of them, making sure there isn't a drop of cum on their clothes. It's always so cute, seeing him like this, the caretaker jumping out even when they just had sex on the goddamn bathroom floor at a fundraiser where they are no doubt being looked for. It doesn't matter. Beej isn't going to miss a moment to make Hawkeye feel so deeply loved.
When they've both put their clothes to rights, Hawkeye grins and laces their fingers, touching their foreheads together. "Love you," he whispers.
"I love you to the moon and back," BJ replies just as softly. "I can't wait to go home with you. I haven't held you in at least six hours. I'm starting to get the bends."
So they're both addicted. So they're a little codependent. Sidney will no doubt have a field day with them when he's able to visit in a few months. And Hawkeye could care less. They've earned the right to be insane about each other, he thinks, after all the carnage and bloodshed they were forced to witness against their wills. Let them steal their secret kisses here. Let them remember what it feels like to be so vitally alive and passionately in love, shining brighter than the sun.
"You wanna sneak out first or I?" BJ murmurs, ever practical.
"Five more minutes," Hawk whines.
BJ chuckles, then kisses his forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before leaving another, then another, marking his brow with the warmth of his adoration. "All right, darling. Yeah. Yeah, we can do that."