NEW FIC: "Marigold Wine" 10/? by Aura218

[aura218.livejournal.com]

Title: "Marigold Wine"

Author: aura218

Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper, Hawkeye/others

Genre: Drama, romance, longfic, postseries, 60s

Summary: In the 60s, Trapper visits his old army buddy at a hippie commune, where Hawkeye has retreated to find peace.

Rating: R/M

FWIW: This is the chap that earned this fic it's "mature" rating. If you know what I mean (and I think you do).

Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9

Part 10

They didn't go straight to the showers like Hawkeye promised. They knocked on the door of the longhouse and politely asked to see what all the fun was they were missing. They smiled while they said it. The white Indian with a too-sober expression told them "we don't trust anyone over thirty." 

Trapper didn't take it well.

Storm clouds were brewing in the north as they walked up to Hawkeye's cabin. Shadows were growing long and a cool breeze was picking up. As Trapper and Hawkeye up the hill, depressed and pensive, they passed the Robinsons riding down on bicycles. They both wore camper's backpacks that each looked heavier than their frail frames.

"Toodooledoo, boys!" Mrs. Robinson called. "We're getting while the getting's good."

"We're too old for this," Mr. Robinson said. "Sergeant Robinson is disembarking, sir!'"

Hawkeye tossed off perhaps the closest thing to a real salute Trapper had ever seen him give.

"We owe them for the early warning," Trapper said.

"Now who'll make the marigold wine?" Hawkeye was genuinely distressed.

Trapper patted his shoulder.

When they got to Hawkeye's cabin, the clouds obscuring the sun had turned the place dark inside. Fresh air blew in, whipping up the curtains. The cabin smelled fresh as spring, all the smoky fire smell cleared out.

In the dim light, they kept their backs to each other as they stripped down and collected their shower things, as if they were keeping themselves apart for some bridal meeting -- in a camp shower, of all places. Trapper was feeling the anticipation, and knew Hawkeye was too.

He pondered, as he followed Hawkeye's towel-wrapped rear end up the hill, wasn't this a bit of a fantasy fulfiller? How many times had he showered with Hawkeye in that cruddy army tent? How many times could he have just walked through that swinging dividing door, pinned Hawkeye up against the opposite stall and -- well. How much could you do in a cement-bottomed stall in rubber thong sandals?

Guess I'll find out, he thought.

The showers was a tall, wood lean-to that drained into a creek. The water was collected into a tower and fed into a hot water heater contained inside the lean-to, powered by a gas generator. The gas was paid for communally, on the honor system. A jar and a strongly-worded note was bracketed to the inside wall. Trapper shrugged and contributed a dollar fifty for the whole gas tank. It seemed like a fair trade for bliss.

While Hawkeye fiddled with the switches, Trapper stacked their shampoo bottles and things on the shelf inside the shower. It was a good six foot square in there, with a nice sized bench. He could work with this. The generator burbled to life.

"It'll take a few minutes to get going," Hawkeye said behind him.

Trapper jumped.

"Nervous?" Hawkeye's warm hand smoothed over his back.

"Naw. Well. We're new together." He looked down, twisting the lid on the last bottle from Hawk's bag. Massage oil, Dr. Pierce? Trapper thought, reading the label. Aren't we hopeful.

Hawkeye linked his arms over the chest-high shower wall, catching Trapper reading the bottle. He smiled, looking devilishly intent and not a bit ashamed. Trapper set the bottle down.

"Get in here," Trapper said.

Hawkeye balled up his towel and tossed it onto a metal chair in the corner. Trapper grinned, doing the same with his own. Hawkeye slipped his slender self through the door and pulled Trapper against him. They came together, kissing with the force of a whole day of abstinence.

"We can't take too long --" Hawkeye whispered.

"I know. Getting dark . . ." Trapper lost his breath as Hawkeye kissed a line down his throat.

Hands were everywhere. Last night, it was too quick, he couldn't see Hawkeye in the dark and there were blankets and clothing in the way. But now Hawkeye was limned in late afternoon sunlight through the vented high window and Trapper could take in all of him, standing before him, just waiting to be explored. Trapper held on to the shower wall on either side of Hawkeye and kissed his way from one nipple to the other, dipping down low over his belly. He discovered that three centimeters south-east of Hawkeye's second floating rib was very good for nibbling.

Meanwhile, Trapper heard a groan of pipes and water, and a spray of icy water hit him. He gasped and jumped into Hawkeye's arms for the body heat. Hawkeye laughed.

"Do excuse me, Miss, I believe you're standing in my skin."

"Yeah, you'll find me in your skin," Trapper muttered against his lips. He couldn't resist digging his finger's in Hawkeye's hair. The man had the most delicious nape of neck ever.

Hawkeye ran his hands down Trapper's wet back. "Really?

"Hm?"

Hawkeye reached around Trapper's hip to twist with the taps. "Back up," he said.

Trapper stepped into the stream and let Hawkeye tilt his head back, warm water running from the top of his weary scalp to his tense back muscles, to the muscles in his legs that ached from all the hiking he'd done in the past two days. He knew Hawkeye was watching him and liked that he was being watched. It felt good to know someone thought he was still pornographic at his age.



Hawkeye ran the soap over him, starting at the top and working his way down, running his hands over all the muscles and divots. He spent quite a bit of time on his lowers, until Trapper was keening low in his throat. When Hawkeye stopped, Trapper protested.

"I have bigger plans for that," Hawkeye said, bobbing Trapper's cock with his fingertip. 

"Tease," Trapper said.

Very much wanting more of this soap-groping, Trapper turned around. Hawkeye did him all over again, stem to stern. Trapper gave pause when Hawkeye's hands went more aft than anyone's hands had before, at least in a recreational way.

"This okay?" Hawkeye lips whispered hot air over Trapper's ear.

"Yeah." Nerves quivered down Trapper's back. It wasn't entirely a bad feeling.

Hawkeye didn't stop, his soapy hands now slowly working their way between Trapper's ass cheeks.

"I don't want you to feel scared or in pain," Hawkeye said.

Trapper couldn’t look at him. "Do you like it? That done to you?"

Hawkeye's laugh was breathy on the side of Trapper's neck. "Yeah. I do."

That hand was now massaging in slow circles down there, not penetrating. Trapper couldn't get over the idea that someone was touching him in a place he'd never thought he'd let anyone touch him like that. It was shocking. It wasn't what nice boys did. It was really hot. Hawkeye's other hand was around his waist, holding him steady against his shoulder.

"Maybe . . ." Trapper swallowed. He glanced at Hawkeye's jutting cock, at the utter impossibility of that in him. "Maybe just what you're doing. Except, you know. More."

Hawkeye made noises like he was trying hard not to come laughing. "Never let it be said that you aren't up for new experiences."

Trapper folded his arms on the shower wall and dropped his forehead against them. What had he agreed to? Hawkeye was rinsing the soap off his hands and going for the massage oil. Oh, lord. Trapper thought he knew what to expect, he'd had the requisite prostate exams in the service, but this would be different, turned on like this with another guy. He realized he was losing his virginity again at the fresh age of 4*.

Hawkeye's left hand ran down Trapper's stomach, stopping low on his belly. Trapper turned to catch his eye and was met with a surprisingly concerned expression. He'd expected debauched glee.

"Are you sure?" Hawkeye said.

Trapper nodded.

Hawkeye kissed Trapper's shoulder. "Tell me if you want to stop."

The only weirdness was when Hawkeye first touched him. Trapper felt his skin jump a little; the oil was colder than Hawkeye's hand. Hawkeye's free hand roamed over his chest again. Trapper took a deep breath and willed himself to relax, to banish every snide backroom joke he'd ever heard about this, because the guys who told fag jokes? Had never been here with Hawkeye, never been touched like this, never loved their best friend and trusted him so much. He wanted this. Hawkeye's finger swirled around back there again, relaxing him and getting him ready for more. Trapper's breath caught in his throat. What --

"Still good?" Hawkeye said.

"Yes please."

Pleasant little tendrils radiated out from his pelvis, down his legs and up his spine. It felt good. Hawkeye slowly easing his finger in, making deeper circles that seemed to send express messages directly to Trapper's brain, and from there, every little cell in his body. Trapper had never thought a prostate exam was the worst thing in the world, but it had never felt this sexual.

Hawkeye's finger was now knuckles-deep inside him, and Trapper was hanging on to the shower wall for fear he'd pass out. The blood was actually running out of his head. Then Hawkeye moved his hand and Trapper saw stars.

"What. Was that?" Trapper said when he came back down from space.

Hawkeye hugged him around the belly. "Welcome to the proper use of your prostate, Captain McIntyre."

"I think you just proved the existence of the G-spot in men."

Hawkeye snickered. "I would have accosted you in the supply tent ten years ago if I knew I'd be doing such a mitzvah."

"Wait," Trapper said. He pivoted oh his heels and bent over the bench, taking Hawkeye and his hand with him. Hawkeye snuffled a giggle. Trapper's inhibitions were depleting rapidly, anything to keep that feeling going. Whatever 'hangups' (Hawkeye's new favorite word) he had had about anal sex, he was seeing them revealed as so much macho posturing. Hell, when he was thirteen, his father had tacked on to the sex talk, "and don't ever let me hear you played the girl." This felt good, he trusted Hawkeye, and people like his old man just didn't have any idea.

With his legs spread, Hawkeye had more access. Another finger was pressed inside him and Hawkeye began slowly thrusting. Trapper couldn't really feel the specific motions Hawkeye's fingers were making, just that it was a lot of pressure and it all hit the right notes. Every time, Hawk hit that spot deep inside him, which was like a button that brought his orgasm closer and closer. Meanwhile, the fabulous little sensations he'd first felt continued, egging him on.

He was close. Hawkeye's hand came around his hips, but Trapper grabbed it.

"Wait," Trapper said, at the same time Hawkeye said, "What?"

"I want --" Trapper took a breath. Did he? He leaned on the wall and twisted around to look at Hawkeye. He couldn't say it, but Hawkeye understood.

Hawkeye's fingers pulled out of his body. "Are you sure? I wanted a little more for your first time than a piddly camp shower. I planned romantic candlelight and some poetic begging."

Trapper stood up straight. He hugged Hawkeye close to him. "You make me feel so good," he said.

They stood there kissing in the pissing down warm water while the first thunder claps rumbled in the distance. This little shower stall was shelter on a stormy island, just the two of them. Tomorrow, Trapper would have to go out and face the world. He wanted Hawkeye, completely, just in case life happened out there.

Trapper picked up the bottle of massage oil. He poured a generous amount into his palm while Hawkeye watched, licking his lips. Hawkeye's damp eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks as Trapper smoothed the thick liquid over Hawkeye's cock. Those too-bright blue eyes opened, a goofy smile coming across Hawkeye's lips. Trapper caught Hawkeye's earlobe between his teeth and whispered in his ear.

"I want you to fuck me."

Trapper turned around slowly. All his joints felt loose, his arms floppy. He remembered a point in his life when he felt like this all the time -- confident, sexy, electrified in his skin. He flipped his hair out of his eyes, remembered it blonde.

Trapper took his spot over the bench again. He felt Hawkeye come up behind him and hold him by the hips. Trapper felt skin brush his backside, and a little thread of panic wove in his stomach. He pushed it away. He was ready. He felt the stretch. It hurt a little -- not as much as he expected. It felt strange, a lot of pressure, not exactly like sex. He shifted, spread his legs a little more. He discovered he could adjust how things fit by how he moved his body. It felt better if he arched his back as Hawkeye thrust in slowly.

Trapper was concentrating on how good he could make it feel when Hawkeye stopped.

"Are you okay?" Hawkeye said.

"Don't stop," Trapper said.

"You can tell me if you want to stop."

"I know," Trapper said, exasperated. "I'm waiting for you to get on with it."

Hawkeye thrust again, and Trapper realized they were totally joined when he felt his ass pressed against the curve of Hawkeye's hipbones. He moaned, closing his eyes and letting it all wash over him. He was getting used to the sensation. It was mostly good, probably thanks to all that foreplay, and what wasn't good was quickly getting washed away by the very, very good parts. He wanted Hawkeye to move and maybe hit that spot, could he do that?

Hawkeye took Trapper's hips in both hands and rocked. Trapper gasped. The spot. The wonderful, delicious spot. Hawkeye hit it again.

"Ohhh, God, keep doing that," Trapper hissed into his own shoulder.

Hawkeye got into a rhythm, back and forth, hitting the spot almost every time. Trapper moaned. Tendrils of heat were working up through his stomach. He was actually hard, shocking given what was causing it. Trapper could hear Hawkeye getting worked up, could feel his fingers digging into his hips. He was gaining speed but holding back, which Trapper thanked him very much for, because he sensed that it wouldn't take much change in movement to turn this from pleasure to pain.

Hawkeye was getting closer. He wrapped his arms around Trapper and one hand came down to Trapper's cock. He supposed he could come like this -- ohhh. Yes. If Hawkeye touched him there and did that inside him with every thrust . . .

Trapper came first, hips twitching and spurting on the bench. Hawkeye followed seconds later, thrusting deeper inside him. I caused that, Trapper thought. Me, my body, he wants me. Hawkeye thrusting and swearing and holding onto him for dear life. Hawkeye, thinking something rather similar, congratulated himself on a successful deflowering of a Trapper John. Trapper gasped his breath back, holding onto the bench, belatedly felt several muscle groups protest the position.

Hawkeye thumped down on the bench beside Trapper, who was still collecting himself. Trapper, catching his breath, almost dropped down onto the bench, winced, and sat on Hawkeye instead. A softer cushion. He dropped his head on Hawkeye's shoulder, willing the blood to come back to his uppers. Hawkeye kissed his temple, head tilted back, bony chest heaving. Trapper dangled his arms around Hawkeye's shoulders.

"I didn't think it would be like that," Trapper said.

Hawkeye smiled. "Then I'm glad it was."

"Think maybe we could take a shower now?"

*

"This is ridiculous." Lena flung her calligraphy pen at the wall. It splattered a pattern one of the art girls would probably expand into a mural later. Even your accidents in this place could grow into something pretty.

The Exa-bums had been here overnight and into the morning and she was still cowering in the attic like Mr. Rochester's broken wife, too scared to take on the world with the whole of her person. So these idiots didn't listen to women? Was she going to let them reduce her to the parts of her sum? Well, she would make them listen. She was a mother. She would call on the power of Sacajawea, Calamity Jane, and Betty Friedan.

Somehow. Picking her way through the house to the front porch, Lena's resolve fluctuated. How could she break into their in-group if they wouldn't even speak with her?

What would Hawkeye do?

Break in, cause a disaster, and leave someone else to clean up the pieces. She couldn't be Hawkeye. She couldn't be a man. She had to do this like a woman.

Bethany, Alera, and the other college girls were lounging on the front porch. Kids and their artist moms weren't to be seen.

"We made oatmeal yogurt for breakfast," Bethany said. She'd braided her long, long hair and looped it up, indicating she'd done an honest piece of work today.

"We brought it up to the field by the berry bushes for the kids," Alera said, poofing her Natural with her fingers. "All the kids know where it is, but the new people don't."

"Clever girl," Lena said.

"The guys haven't slept," Alera said. "They've been up all night talking and playing records and doing mushrooms. We took turns at watch."

"Are you sure?" Lena said. "Siva too?"

Alera nodded. Lena folded her arms.  

"So what now, boss?" Bethany said.

Lena blinked. They were staring at her. "Me?"

"We need them out, right?" Alera said.

"This place is for everyone," said a girl in shorts and a floppy sun hat -- Skylark. One of the art girls, friends with Pandora.

"It's for everyone who upholds our ideals," Alera said.

"What are those, exactly?" Bethany said.

"Love," Skylark said.

"Is it love to separate a mother from her child?" Lena said.

"Of course not," Skylark said, "but if that's their culture, who are we --"

"Do you think the mothers chose that culture?" Alera said sharply. "Hell no. It's that crazy old voodoo guy who's calling the shots."

"So what can we do about it?" Bethany said. "Those guys won't listen to a bunch of girls."

"So who says we have to listen to them?" Lena said. "I believe the American expression you tell your children is, 'ignore him and he will go away.'"

"What's the plan, sam?" Alera said.

"Have his women had breakfast this morning? Are their children fed?"

Bethany and Alera surveyed their troops. "I don't think anyone asked. I mean, we're not supposed to talk to them."

"Says who?" Lena said.

"Bear -- ohhh." Bethany said.

"Let's go," Alera said.

"Where?" Skylark said.

"To the kitchen!" Bethany crowed their battle cry.

 

*

"This is so degrading," Alera said.

Behind her, Lena could hear the girl huffing as she tromped up the path with the heavy coffee urn. A long line of some ten women followed them, carrying baskets, platters, casserole dishes, and net bags.

"We're helping," Bethany said, two women behind Lena.

"We're doing what needs to get done," Lena said. "During the war, this was how the women made a difference. In America, they went into the factories to do the men's jobs. Don't you think your Rosie the Riveter was a feminist?"

Alera grunted.

"Feminism isn't about only about shouting at the men," Lena said. "It's about hard work. You do the job that's needed and you can see your influence at the end, that’s how you get respect from men and respect for yourself. During the war, we proved we could do their jobs. Then they tried to send us back into the kitchens."

"And we said, 'hell no, we won't go,'" Bethany said.

"Please, child," Alera said.

Lena laughed.

The trees opened up to the clearing at the rocky beach. The sounds of children shouting and splashing rang up. The group of women and children were some hundred yards up the beach. Tents had been set up.

"Do we just walk into their camp?" Alera said.

The women had set up camp. It was their home, at least for now.

"No," Lena said. "You two, have everyone set up the food here. I'm going to find someone to talk to over there."

Lena could feel eyes on her as she approached the half hazard camp. Women washing clothes at the shore watched her approach. The rocky bank that made a natural dock was waist-high off the water closer to their encampment. It could seem more natural to walk up to them in the water. Self-conscious, Lena casually walked to the water's edge and lowered her feet to the rocky bottom of the cool lake. See? she thought. I'm just like you. . . . Seafaring.

This is idiotic. 

Lena kicked herself up onto the rock. But somehow, her arms' strength failed her. Her hips didn't clear the rock. Her legs flailed as her body hovered in the space between rock and sea. She glanced about for help, but her own girls were too far away, watching on in horror. With utter dread and embarrassment, Lena felt rock crumble under the palms and --

Lena fell into the lake.

She came up gasping. The water was cold! She was drenched, scalp to underpants. Tendrils of icy water were seeping into her bra. And her girls were laughing at her. Lena was aware she carried a sort of European, blonde dignity. Now it was dripping off her into the brackish lake.

"Take my hand," said a voice behind her.

Lena turned. Two of the women from the encampment were kneeling on the rock, holding their hands out to her. Trying not to make a big deal out of it, Lena let them help her onto shore.

"Are you okay?" one of them asked. She had long, strawberry hair that fell in waves down her back. A pendant around her neck glittered in the sun.

"Everything but my pride," Lena said.

"And your leg," the other said, a petite, rounded girl with pigtails.

"Hm?" Lena looked, and then she felt the pain. A ribbon of blood ran from a hole in the back of her thigh. "Oh!" she cried. She kicked off her shoes so the blood didn't run into them.

"I'll go get Naomi." The petite girl dashed off to the woods.

"That girl," the redhead said with a sigh. "Can you walk?"

Lena tested her weight. "Yes, I think so. Are you allowed to talk to me?"

The girl peered at her. Lena guessed her age around twenty. "Of course we can. Are you coming?"

The cult had medical supplies. Clean gauze in paper wrappers and bottles of peroxide. Aspirin tablets and filtered water in hiker's canteens.

"What's all that?" the long-haired girl indicated Lena's troupe, watching her awkwardly from the beach and listening to Bethany with Alera bicker over putting the colds in the lake to chill.

"We, ah." Lena stood and gave the small group who had bothered to notice her existence a broad smile. "We brought you breakfast."

The girl smiled. She had that look of freckle-faced competence to her, like a teacher or a nurse. She announced to the women around her, "Isn't that nice, ladies? Breakfast for those who are hungry!"

Most of the kids and a few of their mothers left their work to explore the spread. To Lena's approval, Bethany and Alera welcomed the women warmly, if overly so. Maybe they were actually making a connection.

"You already ate?" Lena said.

"A little after dawn," the girl said. "But the kids get snacky around now. I'm Becca, by the way."

Lena took her hand. "Becca . . . McIntyre?"

"Yeah?" she said.

Lena blinked in the sunlight. "Can we talk?"

~*~

Read more of my M*A*S*H fic at my fic journal, ficbyaura218

Comments

[fear3loathing.livejournal.com]

I can't believe I've been so cheeky to have read this far and not said anything yet. I LOVE this story! Probably the only H/T of its kind and one of, if not the, best H/T I've read in general. You deal with so many complex things at once, but keep it all flowing as if it's not HARD to do (which it is).

Keep up the good work, I've been checking in here regularly waiting for Marigold Wine updates for some time now =D

[aura218.livejournal.com]

Thanks for commenting! I have no idea how many people are reading this, so it's good to know SOME people are. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

I'm def keeping a lot of balls in the air, and sometimes i get overwealmed not knowing how I'm going to get them all in line to finish the story. But some idea always comes up for the next chapter, so I'm taking it one step at a time.

[allylti.livejournal.com]

This is just to let you know that someone else is also reading this story( hopefully novel) I just whipped through the entire thing and even if I'm sleeping in class tomorrow, I mean today, I won't regret it. This is great!

[aura218.livejournal.com]

Lol, thank you. :D I've been there, reading all night, it's soo cool to know someone did that with my stuff.

I am still writing this, i've got the next part in like, second draft, and the part after that started. It's just slower going b/c I don't have chapters banked like I did at the beginning.

Thanks for reading!