janecarnall (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} janecarnall) wrote,@ 2004-11-30 09:17:00 |
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Mirror M*A*S*H, part 7
Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6.
After a moment, the man slipped off the examination table, using his right hand as a pivot, and went down on to his knees – so quickly that for a moment it looked like he had been tripped. He put his right hand out to grip at Hawkeye’s trousers, and it seemed like he was going to do nothing but cling to the fabric, but then his hand began travelling up Hawkeye’s leg. His head was bowed, but he looked up when his hand reached the fly of Hawkeye’s trousers. There wasn’t a lot of expression in his face.
The man’s fumbling hand undid the button and tugged at the zip. He was looking up at Hawkeye, as if he would rather not look at the cock he was about to suck. Hawkeye was trying to remember the blowjob the man had delivered the night before: the problem was, he couldn’t remember a lot about it. He’d been tired. He’d fucked the man’s face. He’d come. He’d gone to sleep.
“Do you come here often?” Hawkeye asked.
The man’s hand stilled. He swallowed, visibly, and this should have been more erotic than it was. “Hawkeye?”
“You can still talk,” Hawkeye said.
The man’s voice sounded cracked and distant. “It would be much – much easier for me if you just let me – do this and didn’t talk to me. I can’t – that is, I can – ” He swallowed again. “I don’t want to have to think about it being you, Hawkeye.”
Hawkeye sighed. This wasn’t doing his libido any good at all. “Hey.”
The man said nothing. His hand continued to fumble inexpertly at Hawkeye’s groin. He seemed not quite to know how to deal with undershorts.
“If you were this slow in the brothel, I’m surprised I didn’t get a discount.” Hawkeye crouched down. “Francis, what’s the problem?”
The man stared at him. “Please,” he said after a moment. “Just let me – if you talk to me it makes it worse.”
“It’s not meant to be this bad,” Hawkeye said. He grinned, trying to project reassurance. “Especially not with me. Calm down. Let’s go back to the Swamp and do it where we’ve got padding for your knees.” He caught hold of the man’s right arm and pulled him up with him. The man’s shivering didn’t stop. Hawkeye wrapped his arm round the man’s shoulders: he pressed up against Hawkeye as if he wanted to be closer to him, though he was still trembling.
“You are a very damn peculiar kind of whore, Francis,” Hawkeye said, doing up his flies one-handed and expertly. He was startled when the man laughed – almost as invisible a laugh as his smile, but tangible through his shoulders. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” the man said. His voice was shaky again.
“No, really. What’s so funny?” Hawkeye steered them towards the door. He waved at the lieutenant as they went past her. He didn’t get an answer.
Trapper was sitting on his chair in the Swamp. There was a tray of food on Hawkeye’s bunk. Hawkeye looked at it without enthusiasm and handed it to the man. “Get outside that.” He pressed the man down to sit on the end of his cot.
“I didn’t fetch it for him,” Trapper observed.
“Sorry,” Hawkeye said. He lay down on his bunk. “Just watch him eating it and pretend it’s me.”
“Pretend he’s eating you?” Trapper raised his eyebrows.
“He nearly did.” Hawkeye folded his hands behind his head and stared at the man, who was slowly – unbelievably slowly – eating the cold food on the tray. The food wasn’t that appetising when it was hot. “But apparently I talk too much.”
“I could’ve told you that.” Trapper grinned. “Francis, you like him quiet?”
The man looked up from the tray of food, and then hunched down over it. He went on eating slowly.
“Do you like me quiet?” Trapper was laughing.
This time the man didn’t even look up. He was shaking.
“Look, let him finish his meal.”
There was a pause. Hawkeye looked sideways. Trapper was eyeing him.
“Why don’t we have a chat outside?” Trapper said.
“Sure,” Hawkeye said. He levered himself up. “Keep eating, Francis,” he said.
There was nowhere in camp that was entirely private. They walked towards the perimeter fence. There was a stretch of bare ground between the tents and the inner fence. They could be seen but not overheard.
“What’s the problem?” Hawkeye asked.
“The Colonel’s gone too far.” Trapper barely voiced the words.
“Why, what’s he done now?”
“This is going to tear you apart.”
“Look, all I have to do is keep from mouthing off to senior officers when they come sniffing round the OR.”
“You think you’ll be able to do that?”
“Just because I never have before.”
“Even if you do – ” Trapper stared straight ahead. “You like the guy, don’t you? You’re fond of him.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Colonel’s going to use him to keep you in order. And you’re naturally mouthy, insubordinate, rebellious, and used to getting away with it.”
“That’s why you love me.”
Trapper grinned suddenly. “Yeah, but no one else in camp does.”
“No one?”
“Maybe Radar. And maybe Winchester.”
“Chuckles?”
“He likes watching other people get taken down.”
“Right.” They were half way round the perimeter. “No, you’re right. But what the hell can I do? The Colonel’s got me over a barrel.”
“Your ass in a sling.”
“Let’s not get too realistic. I might get excited.”
“What would you do about it?” Trapper asked.
“Right now?” Hawkeye thought about it. “At this rate, I might manage to get to second base with the guy before he stares at me like I was his worst nightmare and it puts me off. Again.”
“What’s his problem?”
“I don’t know,” Hawkeye said.
“I mean, it’s not that I’ve ever thought of you as attractive – ”
Hawkeye grinned, genuinely amused. “Of course not.”
“ – but I wouldn’t say you were that bad. Besides, he’s even more scared of me.”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea what to do about that.”
“Like what?” Trapper shot a look at him. “Why do anything?”
“Because I don’t like fucking a guy who looks that terrified. I mean I really don’t like it. I mean it physically puts me off. Doesn’t it put you off?”
Trapper shrugged. “He’s cute. I’m not going to hurt him. Sooner or later he’s going to figure this out. Meantime, so long as he doesn’t kick, or scratch, or bite, why should I care what he thinks? And you know what – you shouldn’t either. You’ve got enough problems. Just screw him already.”
“Told you. I can’t.”
They walked on. Trapper glanced sideways and down at Hawkeye. “You mean you – can’t?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s rough.” They were passing the half-and-half tent where Winchester and Burns lived. “You know what? Maybe you should hand him over to Winchester.”
“What?”
“He may act too dignified to hang round the Swamp begging for a taste, but he’d love to have a houseboy. And the further the man’s out of your sight, the better.”
“The Colonel wouldn’t let me get away with it.”
“Don’t tell him. Once Winchester’s got his paws on him, it’ll be a tough fight for anyone to get him out.”
Hawkeye dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
“You’re going to do it?”
“I’m going to think about it.”
“What did you plan on doing about him?”
“How do you feel about a sandwich?”
Trapper grinned. “Sounds better than lunch.”
Radar was waiting for them in the Swamp. The man was sitting where they’d left him, on the end of the bunk, with his emptied tray at his feet. He was leaning forward, with a smile on his face, his hands folded in front of him, listening to something Radar was telling him.
Radar looked up. “Hawkeye?” He got to his feet.
The man looked down. He seemed to fold into himself. The smile died on his face. His hands ducked out of sight.
“What can we do for you?” Hawkeye asked.
“Mail call.” Radar stood up. “Two for Doctor McIntyre, one for Doctor Pierce.”
“Thanks,” Hawkeye said. The letter was from his dad: he hated reading them. He dropped it on his cot unopened and sat down beside the man.
Trapper sat down on his chair. He was looking at his mail. “Thanks, Radar.” He looked up. “Did you want something?”
“If you two sirs are busy this afternoon, I’d be happy to keep an eye on Francis for you,” Radar said.
“Do you mean keep an eye on him, or do you mean keep an eye on him?” Trapper had an astonishing capacity for innuendo.
“It would never work out, Radar. He’s the wrong height for you.”
Radar gave him an odd, almost wounded look.
“Unless you want to join in, Radar, get out,” Trapper said.
“And you’re way too young to join in, even if you wanted to,” Hawkeye said. “Out.”
Radar still hovered. The man lifted his head and looked at him. “It’ll be all right – ” they both said, simultaneously. Radar was red in the face: the man was white.
“Get out of here,” Trapper said.
Radar got. The man had dropped his head again.
Hawkeye reached out and put his arm round the man’s shoulders. “So, what’s Radar got that we haven’t?” he asked.
The man shivered. “Can you make it quick?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we’ve just been insulted.” Trapper got up and went over to the gin flask. He poured a glass and took it to Hawkeye. “Why don’t you get this down him?”
“Hawkeye, do I have to – ”
“It’ll relax you,” Hawkeye said. “And God knows, you need it. Drink up.”
The man looked back at Hawkeye. “Please,” he said. “Hawkeye. Don’t do this.”
“Come on,” Hawkeye said. “This isn’t going to hurt. You’re going to enjoy it, if you just relax a bit.”
The man shook his head. He closed his mouth and stared pleadingly at Hawkeye.
“Come on,” Hawkeye said.
“Hold his nose and pour it down his throat.”
“The point is to relax him, not drown him,” Hawkeye said.
Trapper laughed. “Point.”
Hawkeye leaned over and kissed him. The man’s mouth was soft and tense. Hawkeye licked at the corner of his mouth, nibbling around his lips. “Easy,” he whispered. He rubbed at the man’s shoulder. “Easy.”
The man leaned in against him. His muscles were still tense, but he was close to surrender. Hawkeye lifted the glass to his mouth. “Drink up. It’ll help.”
The man closed his eyes. His lips parted: he shuddered when the booze hit the back of his throat, but he swallowed. He put his right arm around Hawkeye’s shoulders and held on.
“You’re good,” Trapper said, with genuine admiration in his voice.
“Please, Hawkeye,” the man whispered.
Trapper was spreading blankets on the floor, stolen from his cot and the spare cot.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to do this,” the man said. “I don’t want you to do this.”
“It’ll be fine,” Hawkeye said. “What’s the problem?”
The man shook his head. He was leaning on Hawkeye’s shoulder, shivering. “We were friends,” he said, in a small voice. “Maybe it wasn’t you, Hawkeye, but I used to think we’d always be friends, even if we’d met somewhere else. Please don’t – ” He stopped. There was a pause. Hawkeye saw him swallow, and, as in the infirmary, it was the reverse of erotic. “You’re going to,” he said finally. There was nothing but despair in his voice.
Trapper crouched down in front of the man. “I think he could use another drink.”
“No,” the man said.
“I don’t think he’s relaxed enough yet.” Trapper looked serious.
“No,” the man repeated. “Please, no.” Hawkeye could feel him shaking, but his voice was quiet and steady. “I don’t want to be any drunker.” He shifted away from Hawkeye. Where his arm had been felt cold. “Please,” he said again.
to part 8
Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6.
After a moment, the man slipped off the examination table, using his right hand as a pivot, and went down on to his knees – so quickly that for a moment it looked like he had been tripped. He put his right hand out to grip at Hawkeye’s trousers, and it seemed like he was going to do nothing but cling to the fabric, but then his hand began travelling up Hawkeye’s leg. His head was bowed, but he looked up when his hand reached the fly of Hawkeye’s trousers. There wasn’t a lot of expression in his face.
The man’s fumbling hand undid the button and tugged at the zip. He was looking up at Hawkeye, as if he would rather not look at the cock he was about to suck. Hawkeye was trying to remember the blowjob the man had delivered the night before: the problem was, he couldn’t remember a lot about it. He’d been tired. He’d fucked the man’s face. He’d come. He’d gone to sleep.
“Do you come here often?” Hawkeye asked.
The man’s hand stilled. He swallowed, visibly, and this should have been more erotic than it was. “Hawkeye?”
“You can still talk,” Hawkeye said.
The man’s voice sounded cracked and distant. “It would be much – much easier for me if you just let me – do this and didn’t talk to me. I can’t – that is, I can – ” He swallowed again. “I don’t want to have to think about it being you, Hawkeye.”
Hawkeye sighed. This wasn’t doing his libido any good at all. “Hey.”
The man said nothing. His hand continued to fumble inexpertly at Hawkeye’s groin. He seemed not quite to know how to deal with undershorts.
“If you were this slow in the brothel, I’m surprised I didn’t get a discount.” Hawkeye crouched down. “Francis, what’s the problem?”
The man stared at him. “Please,” he said after a moment. “Just let me – if you talk to me it makes it worse.”
“It’s not meant to be this bad,” Hawkeye said. He grinned, trying to project reassurance. “Especially not with me. Calm down. Let’s go back to the Swamp and do it where we’ve got padding for your knees.” He caught hold of the man’s right arm and pulled him up with him. The man’s shivering didn’t stop. Hawkeye wrapped his arm round the man’s shoulders: he pressed up against Hawkeye as if he wanted to be closer to him, though he was still trembling.
“You are a very damn peculiar kind of whore, Francis,” Hawkeye said, doing up his flies one-handed and expertly. He was startled when the man laughed – almost as invisible a laugh as his smile, but tangible through his shoulders. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” the man said. His voice was shaky again.
“No, really. What’s so funny?” Hawkeye steered them towards the door. He waved at the lieutenant as they went past her. He didn’t get an answer.
Trapper was sitting on his chair in the Swamp. There was a tray of food on Hawkeye’s bunk. Hawkeye looked at it without enthusiasm and handed it to the man. “Get outside that.” He pressed the man down to sit on the end of his cot.
“I didn’t fetch it for him,” Trapper observed.
“Sorry,” Hawkeye said. He lay down on his bunk. “Just watch him eating it and pretend it’s me.”
“Pretend he’s eating you?” Trapper raised his eyebrows.
“He nearly did.” Hawkeye folded his hands behind his head and stared at the man, who was slowly – unbelievably slowly – eating the cold food on the tray. The food wasn’t that appetising when it was hot. “But apparently I talk too much.”
“I could’ve told you that.” Trapper grinned. “Francis, you like him quiet?”
The man looked up from the tray of food, and then hunched down over it. He went on eating slowly.
“Do you like me quiet?” Trapper was laughing.
This time the man didn’t even look up. He was shaking.
“Look, let him finish his meal.”
There was a pause. Hawkeye looked sideways. Trapper was eyeing him.
“Why don’t we have a chat outside?” Trapper said.
“Sure,” Hawkeye said. He levered himself up. “Keep eating, Francis,” he said.
There was nowhere in camp that was entirely private. They walked towards the perimeter fence. There was a stretch of bare ground between the tents and the inner fence. They could be seen but not overheard.
“What’s the problem?” Hawkeye asked.
“The Colonel’s gone too far.” Trapper barely voiced the words.
“Why, what’s he done now?”
“This is going to tear you apart.”
“Look, all I have to do is keep from mouthing off to senior officers when they come sniffing round the OR.”
“You think you’ll be able to do that?”
“Just because I never have before.”
“Even if you do – ” Trapper stared straight ahead. “You like the guy, don’t you? You’re fond of him.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Colonel’s going to use him to keep you in order. And you’re naturally mouthy, insubordinate, rebellious, and used to getting away with it.”
“That’s why you love me.”
Trapper grinned suddenly. “Yeah, but no one else in camp does.”
“No one?”
“Maybe Radar. And maybe Winchester.”
“Chuckles?”
“He likes watching other people get taken down.”
“Right.” They were half way round the perimeter. “No, you’re right. But what the hell can I do? The Colonel’s got me over a barrel.”
“Your ass in a sling.”
“Let’s not get too realistic. I might get excited.”
“What would you do about it?” Trapper asked.
“Right now?” Hawkeye thought about it. “At this rate, I might manage to get to second base with the guy before he stares at me like I was his worst nightmare and it puts me off. Again.”
“What’s his problem?”
“I don’t know,” Hawkeye said.
“I mean, it’s not that I’ve ever thought of you as attractive – ”
Hawkeye grinned, genuinely amused. “Of course not.”
“ – but I wouldn’t say you were that bad. Besides, he’s even more scared of me.”
“Yeah, I’ve got an idea what to do about that.”
“Like what?” Trapper shot a look at him. “Why do anything?”
“Because I don’t like fucking a guy who looks that terrified. I mean I really don’t like it. I mean it physically puts me off. Doesn’t it put you off?”
Trapper shrugged. “He’s cute. I’m not going to hurt him. Sooner or later he’s going to figure this out. Meantime, so long as he doesn’t kick, or scratch, or bite, why should I care what he thinks? And you know what – you shouldn’t either. You’ve got enough problems. Just screw him already.”
“Told you. I can’t.”
They walked on. Trapper glanced sideways and down at Hawkeye. “You mean you – can’t?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s rough.” They were passing the half-and-half tent where Winchester and Burns lived. “You know what? Maybe you should hand him over to Winchester.”
“What?”
“He may act too dignified to hang round the Swamp begging for a taste, but he’d love to have a houseboy. And the further the man’s out of your sight, the better.”
“The Colonel wouldn’t let me get away with it.”
“Don’t tell him. Once Winchester’s got his paws on him, it’ll be a tough fight for anyone to get him out.”
Hawkeye dug his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
“You’re going to do it?”
“I’m going to think about it.”
“What did you plan on doing about him?”
“How do you feel about a sandwich?”
Trapper grinned. “Sounds better than lunch.”
Radar was waiting for them in the Swamp. The man was sitting where they’d left him, on the end of the bunk, with his emptied tray at his feet. He was leaning forward, with a smile on his face, his hands folded in front of him, listening to something Radar was telling him.
Radar looked up. “Hawkeye?” He got to his feet.
The man looked down. He seemed to fold into himself. The smile died on his face. His hands ducked out of sight.
“What can we do for you?” Hawkeye asked.
“Mail call.” Radar stood up. “Two for Doctor McIntyre, one for Doctor Pierce.”
“Thanks,” Hawkeye said. The letter was from his dad: he hated reading them. He dropped it on his cot unopened and sat down beside the man.
Trapper sat down on his chair. He was looking at his mail. “Thanks, Radar.” He looked up. “Did you want something?”
“If you two sirs are busy this afternoon, I’d be happy to keep an eye on Francis for you,” Radar said.
“Do you mean keep an eye on him, or do you mean keep an eye on him?” Trapper had an astonishing capacity for innuendo.
“It would never work out, Radar. He’s the wrong height for you.”
Radar gave him an odd, almost wounded look.
“Unless you want to join in, Radar, get out,” Trapper said.
“And you’re way too young to join in, even if you wanted to,” Hawkeye said. “Out.”
Radar still hovered. The man lifted his head and looked at him. “It’ll be all right – ” they both said, simultaneously. Radar was red in the face: the man was white.
“Get out of here,” Trapper said.
Radar got. The man had dropped his head again.
Hawkeye reached out and put his arm round the man’s shoulders. “So, what’s Radar got that we haven’t?” he asked.
The man shivered. “Can you make it quick?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we’ve just been insulted.” Trapper got up and went over to the gin flask. He poured a glass and took it to Hawkeye. “Why don’t you get this down him?”
“Hawkeye, do I have to – ”
“It’ll relax you,” Hawkeye said. “And God knows, you need it. Drink up.”
The man looked back at Hawkeye. “Please,” he said. “Hawkeye. Don’t do this.”
“Come on,” Hawkeye said. “This isn’t going to hurt. You’re going to enjoy it, if you just relax a bit.”
The man shook his head. He closed his mouth and stared pleadingly at Hawkeye.
“Come on,” Hawkeye said.
“Hold his nose and pour it down his throat.”
“The point is to relax him, not drown him,” Hawkeye said.
Trapper laughed. “Point.”
Hawkeye leaned over and kissed him. The man’s mouth was soft and tense. Hawkeye licked at the corner of his mouth, nibbling around his lips. “Easy,” he whispered. He rubbed at the man’s shoulder. “Easy.”
The man leaned in against him. His muscles were still tense, but he was close to surrender. Hawkeye lifted the glass to his mouth. “Drink up. It’ll help.”
The man closed his eyes. His lips parted: he shuddered when the booze hit the back of his throat, but he swallowed. He put his right arm around Hawkeye’s shoulders and held on.
“You’re good,” Trapper said, with genuine admiration in his voice.
“Please, Hawkeye,” the man whispered.
Trapper was spreading blankets on the floor, stolen from his cot and the spare cot.
“What is it?”
“I don’t want to do this,” the man said. “I don’t want you to do this.”
“It’ll be fine,” Hawkeye said. “What’s the problem?”
The man shook his head. He was leaning on Hawkeye’s shoulder, shivering. “We were friends,” he said, in a small voice. “Maybe it wasn’t you, Hawkeye, but I used to think we’d always be friends, even if we’d met somewhere else. Please don’t – ” He stopped. There was a pause. Hawkeye saw him swallow, and, as in the infirmary, it was the reverse of erotic. “You’re going to,” he said finally. There was nothing but despair in his voice.
Trapper crouched down in front of the man. “I think he could use another drink.”
“No,” the man said.
“I don’t think he’s relaxed enough yet.” Trapper looked serious.
“No,” the man repeated. “Please, no.” Hawkeye could feel him shaking, but his voice was quiet and steady. “I don’t want to be any drunker.” He shifted away from Hawkeye. Where his arm had been felt cold. “Please,” he said again.
to part 8