30.Ā āI will never get enough of you.āĀ (ahem ahem beejhawk)
yes yes beejhawk i agree good thoughts remy. made this a little sappier than i expected but here you go!
beejhawk / explicit / 1.0k words
BJ was dreaming of home when a sound from the other bunk woke him up.
It was autopilot almost immediately, the way he rushed to the other cot and immediately started grabbing for Hawkeye, to tear him out of this dream he was trapped in.
"Hawk," he said, shaking Hawkeye's shoulder. He still thrashed around, small whimpers escaping him as a monster BJ couldn't see tormented his dreams. "Hawk, come on, wake up."
Hawkeye gasped and his eyes flew open, sitting up straight in his cot. BJ grabbed his shoulders tightly, waiting for Hawkeye to see him, realize where he was. Once he did, his mouth dropped open in a silent sob. His eyes watered but even in the foggiest moments of waking he refused to let himself cry. If only he knew that BJ would hold him close, if only he knew that BJ would do everything he could to make it okay.
"BJ," he said quietly, his breathing slowly leveling out as BJ rubbed his back. "I'm sorry."
BJ frowned. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he said. Hawkeye made a noncommittal noise. BJ knew not to push him now-- Hawkeye would tell him about the dream if he wanted to. Now, he just needed to be there, be a solid thing Hawkeye could lean against.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Hawkeye spoke beside him. "I had a dream that-- that you--" Hawkeye cut himself off, looking at the floor, then miserably meeting BJ's eyes. BJ would do anything to wipe that look away. He'd travel to the moon and conquer the stars just to have Hawkeye be happy, for his dreams not to be plagued by an invisible threat. He'd give anything for Hawkeye to sleep next to him, but that was something he could never ask of him. Not
"That I what?" He scooted a little closer, placing a hand on Hawkeye's knee.
"That you left," Hawkeye admittedly quietly. There wasn't more than a breath's space between them, BJ's gaze flicking down to Hawkeye's lips. It wasn't like they hadn't done this before, but something felt different this time. There was a weight to this unlike the other times Hawkeye had looked for solace in BJ's lips and in between his thighs. They were standing on the edge of everything, if BJ would just let them fall. "You left, you'd had enough, just left like he did..."
Hawkeye trailed off, eyes dropping to his knees, to where BJ had intertwined his fingers in between Hawkeye's. It was far more intimate than they usually got. This wasn't a midnight fumble in the supply tent, the lights off, keenly aware of the door and if anyone was on the other side of it. The camp was silent around them, as if holding its breath, waiting for BJ's response.
"I'm not leaving, Hawk," he said, brushing a little piece of hair out of Hawkeye's face with his free hand. "I'm right here."
"You won't always be," he said, saying it as if it were fact. "You'll get tired of me, just like everyone else."
"I will never get enough of you," BJ said, so sincerely it hurt. He could feel his chest tearing open, baring himself for Hawkeye, only for him. "I promise," he added with a small smile. "I will never, ever get enough of you."
Hawkeye looked at him for a moment, searching his eyes for a lie. When he found nothing he smiled, just a little, and BJ couldn't help but smile either. It was so easy then to lean in and kiss him, so simple to cup his cheek and draw him in impossibly close.
Hawkeye made a little noise in the back of his throat, taking his hands and running them through BJ's hair. BJ held back a moan and deepened the kiss, wanting more of Hawkeye, now, forever.
It wasn't long before BJ started fumbling with Hawkeye's belt blindly as he kissed him, practiced movements in this dance they performed. But this felt like something different, something more. A dance to a new rhythm perhaps, a new song. Something that BJ wanted to hold on to.
"BJ," Hawkeye gasped as BJ took a hold of him, stroking him. "BJ, you-- you have to mean this," he whispered. "I can't do this anymore, not like this, not were you don't care and I--"
"Who said I didn't care?" BJ answered, twisting his wrist and earning a gasp out of Hawkeye. His cheeks were flushed and eyes a bit unfocused but they were trained on BJ. "Who said this is just a one time thing?"
"I just-- I wanna," he said, bucking his hips up a little into BJ's grasp as he whispered against his lips. "I wanna make sure you mean it."
"Of course I mean it," he whispered. He stroked Hawkeye faster, a little bit rougher, working out those sounds he loved. The ones that he thought about at night when he couldn't sleep, everything Hawkeye keeping him awake. Hawkeye whimpered as he stroked him, hips working of their own accord.
"You promise?" he said a little breathily, a little desperately. BJ nodded-- how could he not? How could he look upon the beauty of Hawkeye Pierce and ever walk away from it?
"I promise," he said, and it wasn't much longer before Hawkeye was making a broken noise and spilling into his hand. BJ murmured sweet words as he held him close, working him through his orgasm until he shook. He knew soon enough Hawkeye would regain his confidence, his cockiness-- would reach out for BJ and tease him until he couldn't breathe. But for now, he looked at Hawkeye in all his beauty, spent and falling apart in his arms.
BJ was dreaming of home when Hawkeye had woken him up. But not the little house in Mill Valley. Home was a lanky surgeon with dark hair a wit as sharp as a knife. Home was here, with Hawkeye in his arms, the two of them together, no matter what.
The combat boots and dog tags that Alan Alda wore when he portrayed the wisecracking surgeon Hawkeye on the beloved television series āM-A-S
After receiving the dog tags, Alda realized that they didnāt carry his characterās name but the names of two men he thought had likely been real soldiers.
āI saw those names every day,ā he said. āIt was an interesting experience to put them on. I wasnāt dealing with props. I was dealing with something that put me in touch with real people.ā
The dog tags carried the names of Hersie Davenport and Morriss D. Levine. Research conducted by the auction house revealed that both men were discharged from the Army in 1945. According to Heritage Auctionsā research, Davenport died in 1970. Levine, whose first name was misspelled on the dog tag with an extra ās,ā died in 1973.
ā¦
Alda said that he kept both items on a shelf in his office, and then stowed in a closet. Auctioning them off after all of these decades made sense to him. āI saw this as a chance to put them to work again,ā he said.
The money raised from the auction will go to the Alan Alda Center for Communicating Science at Stony Brook University in New York, a center he helped start to help scientists and doctors communicate better by applying improvisational exercises and communication strategies.
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