'Booze Buddies'

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TITLE: Booze Buddies
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: M*A*S*H
PAIRING: Hawpper
WORDS: 428
AUTHOR: la_gatta_nera
SUMMARY: Or, how to get rid of your annoying tent 'buddy' in ten seconds
DISCLAIMER: Though I don’t own them, I am using these characters for my own wicked writings

The door opened slowly and a pair of smudged army boots entered, followed by the rest of Trapper’s body. Hawkeye turned around and smirked.

‘So, you decided to succumb to the joys of Happy Hour, eh?’

‘Oh shuddup you. I got bored, that’s all.’ Trapper nodded towards the barkeeper and a few minutes later a dry martini was put in front of him, the olive sinking to the bottom of the glass.

‘Bottoms up!’ Hawkeye shouted and he threw back his head, guzzling down his sixth martini. Trapper did the same and soon thereafter the two surgeons left the Officer’s Club, giggling and swaying their way back to the Swamp.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Hawkeye shouted as he opened the door. Frank Burns lay on his cot, groaning and muttering. He grabbed his pillow and covered his head with it.

‘What’s up, Frank? Bad dream? Head ache? Anything we can do to help?’

Frank sat up and pulled a face that seemed to hover between a pathetic pout and a nasty glare.

‘Can’t you two tone it down? Some people in here are actually trying to get some sleep!’

Hawkeye and Trapper looked around, pretending to see who those others could possibly be. Then they turned back to Frank and blinked. Frank sighed loudly and gave up. He carelessly tied his laces and left the tent, grumbling beneath his breath. Even now, Hawkeye couldn’t help shouting after him.

‘Say hello to Margaret from me!’

Frank twisted around and wanted to reply but before he could open his mouth, he ran into a signpost. Hawkeye’s insane laugh travelled across the compound, causing Frank to run away without looking back.

Hawkeye closed the door and nodded at Trapper, who saluted his friend and then continued to undress.

‘Hey Hawk, what do you say if we have one more drink before we hit the sack?’

‘Brilliant idea, Watson’ Hawkeye said as he carefully peeled off his shirt. Trapper couldn’t help glancing at his friend’s back. He loved the way the muscles flexed, moving beneath the smooth flesh. He felt his blood surge through his body when Hawkeye distractedly scratched the hair on his belly.

Trapper handed him a glass of crystal clear gin.

‘To us. Booze buddies forever!’ Hawkeye declared.

‘Amen’ Trapper said, lowering his gaze. Hawkeye and Trapper sat next to each other. As soon as they had finished their drinks, they crawled into Trapper’s cot. The lights went out, and Trapper’s hand travelled the lonely road down Hawkeye’s chest and into his boxers where something hot and hard was waiting.

Toodles