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Feb. 26th, 2007 07:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
usedusername.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mash_slashHawkeye POV
rating: 7+ish, I think.
Pairing: Hawkeye/Mulcahy unrequited.
Notes: Start of a story, most probably described as a prologue. As I'm sorely below proficient at writing Hawkeye's POV, I probably won't continue this in any case. Ends strangely for that reason, but is suitable for reading as a one-piece. :) Flame on!
I was in Korea before Dwight ever said he'd go.
In fact, I was one of the first in Korea, not at all out of choice.
I was one of the last to leave, also not at all out of choice.
Going to war, or police action, according to Truman, I'd expected a lot of things: bad food, no food, canned food, powdered food, fetishism, voyeurism, sado-masochism, diarreah, pyorreah, gonorrhea; Korea.
I had expected war to be hell because even by June, 1950 it was a cliche. I'd seen the war comics, though I'd never read them, as from a young age I was thoroughly against the pain of others, even in the illustrations of a comic book. I'd seen the casualty figures of both world wars and all significant fights previous to them--although I admit none of the numbers stayed with me, I knew in theory what to expect as a doctor in an army unit during wartime. Of course, expectations, good or bad, pale in the face of the real thing. War was worse than hell, the wounded were more scared than men on the front of the war comics, the latrines were filthier and so were the people.
Expectations are better than no-expectations, though, because you have a comparison. So while I was disappointed, my sanity was almost still in tact; with a few pieces falling out of the puzzle, maybe. I was what I never was as a boyscout (possibly because I never was a boyscout). I was prepared.
Or so I thought.
Maybe, my lack of boyscouting in the past led to me being unprepared in the area I was most expierienced: Love. Making love was my more expert form of this, but I had been in love before, so it would have been a rather natural thing to expect when stuck in a potentially life-and-death situation with a group of people you'd have to trust whether you wanted to or not. This would probably have seemed a bit like a storybook-- the fairy tale type where no one has a choice but to live happily ever after-- except, it's hard for any story to be happily ever after when you're a man who's in love with a man. Or, more accurately, a man who's in love with a clergyman.
'My God, Hawkeye!' screams the crowd, waving their pitchforks and torches, 'A priest!?'.
In all fairness, priests were on my short list of people not to molest. The top of the list, in fact: Priests, monks, most of the male half of the population, anyone that could pass for a species other than homosapien, and Frank. But, also in all fairness, I'd never met a priest I would have cared to molest before I met Mulcahy.
For that matter, I shouldn't have cared to molest Mulcahy. He was clean, with straight hair, ironed shirt, and presumably--How I would have liked to do more than presume!--pressed shorts. He was a man who lived in the breastpocket of God, which I suppose is fair enough residence; cheap rent and a damn good neighbor. He was quiet, soft-spoken, sweet, dear, loving, caring; he was an all around good person-- he was everything I was against.
We were complete opposites, really: me as a gin-guzzling, ladies' man with considerably fewer morals than would be considered fit by the priesthood, and Mulcahy had far too many morals to be considered fit by Perverts' Anonymous.
But just the same, I was completely ready to corrupt our priest.
'So', you say now suitably aroused, waggling your eyebrows , 'Did you corrupt the priest?'
And the answer to that, Dear readers, is no. As a man with a previously stated few morals, I had enough not to have sex with either married-to-women men or married-to-God men. While I was raised by a family bordering on sacrilegious, I knew to leave well enough alone if someone had previous committments, girlfriends, boyfriends, and fiancees not withstanding.
If I were to make an excuse for it-- loving Mulcahy, that is, I do believe it was the orphans who did me in. The orphanage had been shelled sometime late in '50, sending Mulcahy and myself to the 'frontish' part of the front to load them into the back of a truck. Mulcahy had spoken of them often in the past, but I'd never seen them hanging from his every limb, nearly weighing the dear man down, before. If you ever want to expierience your heart being heated to melting point, find a priest and load him with orphans. Preferrably without the added noise of bombs.
rating: 7+ish, I think.
Pairing: Hawkeye/Mulcahy unrequited.
Notes: Start of a story, most probably described as a prologue. As I'm sorely below proficient at writing Hawkeye's POV, I probably won't continue this in any case. Ends strangely for that reason, but is suitable for reading as a one-piece. :) Flame on!
I was in Korea before Dwight ever said he'd go.
In fact, I was one of the first in Korea, not at all out of choice.
I was one of the last to leave, also not at all out of choice.
Going to war, or police action, according to Truman, I'd expected a lot of things: bad food, no food, canned food, powdered food, fetishism, voyeurism, sado-masochism, diarreah, pyorreah, gonorrhea; Korea.
I had expected war to be hell because even by June, 1950 it was a cliche. I'd seen the war comics, though I'd never read them, as from a young age I was thoroughly against the pain of others, even in the illustrations of a comic book. I'd seen the casualty figures of both world wars and all significant fights previous to them--although I admit none of the numbers stayed with me, I knew in theory what to expect as a doctor in an army unit during wartime. Of course, expectations, good or bad, pale in the face of the real thing. War was worse than hell, the wounded were more scared than men on the front of the war comics, the latrines were filthier and so were the people.
Expectations are better than no-expectations, though, because you have a comparison. So while I was disappointed, my sanity was almost still in tact; with a few pieces falling out of the puzzle, maybe. I was what I never was as a boyscout (possibly because I never was a boyscout). I was prepared.
Or so I thought.
Maybe, my lack of boyscouting in the past led to me being unprepared in the area I was most expierienced: Love. Making love was my more expert form of this, but I had been in love before, so it would have been a rather natural thing to expect when stuck in a potentially life-and-death situation with a group of people you'd have to trust whether you wanted to or not. This would probably have seemed a bit like a storybook-- the fairy tale type where no one has a choice but to live happily ever after-- except, it's hard for any story to be happily ever after when you're a man who's in love with a man. Or, more accurately, a man who's in love with a clergyman.
'My God, Hawkeye!' screams the crowd, waving their pitchforks and torches, 'A priest!?'.
In all fairness, priests were on my short list of people not to molest. The top of the list, in fact: Priests, monks, most of the male half of the population, anyone that could pass for a species other than homosapien, and Frank. But, also in all fairness, I'd never met a priest I would have cared to molest before I met Mulcahy.
For that matter, I shouldn't have cared to molest Mulcahy. He was clean, with straight hair, ironed shirt, and presumably--How I would have liked to do more than presume!--pressed shorts. He was a man who lived in the breastpocket of God, which I suppose is fair enough residence; cheap rent and a damn good neighbor. He was quiet, soft-spoken, sweet, dear, loving, caring; he was an all around good person-- he was everything I was against.
We were complete opposites, really: me as a gin-guzzling, ladies' man with considerably fewer morals than would be considered fit by the priesthood, and Mulcahy had far too many morals to be considered fit by Perverts' Anonymous.
But just the same, I was completely ready to corrupt our priest.
'So', you say now suitably aroused, waggling your eyebrows , 'Did you corrupt the priest?'
And the answer to that, Dear readers, is no. As a man with a previously stated few morals, I had enough not to have sex with either married-to-women men or married-to-God men. While I was raised by a family bordering on sacrilegious, I knew to leave well enough alone if someone had previous committments, girlfriends, boyfriends, and fiancees not withstanding.
If I were to make an excuse for it-- loving Mulcahy, that is, I do believe it was the orphans who did me in. The orphanage had been shelled sometime late in '50, sending Mulcahy and myself to the 'frontish' part of the front to load them into the back of a truck. Mulcahy had spoken of them often in the past, but I'd never seen them hanging from his every limb, nearly weighing the dear man down, before. If you ever want to expierience your heart being heated to melting point, find a priest and load him with orphans. Preferrably without the added noise of bombs.
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Date: 2007-02-27 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-27 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-27 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-27 03:55 am (UTC)Also, cute kitty in the icon. I mean, there's some insane cute goin' on there.
Squee for one of my favorite pairings!!!
Date: 2007-02-27 07:24 pm (UTC)Seriously, though, this is VERY good. Hawkeye's sarcasm is very in-character, and I love the way you pair his defensiveness with his unabashed aknowledgement that he'll jump almost anyone's bones. You really should continue this thread, I thikn it has a lot more to say. Bravo!
Re: Squee for one of my favorite pairings!!!
Date: 2007-02-28 05:03 am (UTC)Thank you again for the comment!! Really appreciate it.