I come bearing MASHSLASH
Sep. 25th, 2010 06:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
fear3loathing.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mash_slashCAUTION! I wrote this late last night after watching Season2 MASH episodes (Trial of Henry Blake and Dr. Pierce and Mr. Hyde) and it sorta just happened. I don't usually write in this kinda style and the result is incredibly weird, but I kinda like it in its own quirky way, and whoever said more Mash-slash was a bad thing. So here goes nothing.
Pairing is T/H, rating T, I guess.
EDIT: OKAY SO LJ CUTS HATE ME.
Oh, it's a cunning disguise he has assembled. The boy who cried wisecrack.
Wisecrack after wisecrack until he could walk up to anyone and say anything, meaning it with his head, heart and soul, and anything else he had to offer, and they'd just roll their eyes. Hawkeye, they think. He's just being Hawkeye.
And sometimes the 4077th isn't a war, it's a play. A whole little stage tucked away in some remote corner of the world, stocked with actors and no shortage of bloodied extras to give the drama that gritty realistic feel.
He's the star of course. Always has been. He plays it like a pro, delivers his lines perfectly and draws the plot out just so, and they all know it's just a play – so no one will see that actually he wears his heart right there on his sleeve. They all miss it somehow, because he's hidden it too well. Hawkeye just fools around, of course. Never means any of it.
Fooling around is what he does best, you know. Any new nurse finds that out soon enough. They've all had their hands and hearts burned by him at some point. They fall for him at first, just as he falls for them, then they find themselves not even worthy of a notch on a bedpost before long; he's onto the next one as fast as his shallow words can take him.
Because he's not a womanizer. If he was a womanizer he'd stay, but he plays it too wildly, he actually wants to hurt them, each and every, as quick as he can – teach them that hard lesson he'd teach them all if Trapper didn't get some first. He'll do it until there is no woman in camp who'd take him, because only then can he be himself without anyone realizing it's really the truth. Only then can it seem like he's got no other option.
He sits across from him in the Swamp, the still – delicate and crafted with true love – balanced between them. The advantage of drinking out of medical equipment is at least you know the exact measurements of what you're drinking.
“So,” he says with a sigh, a lopsided grin pulling on his features.
“What?” Trap replies, trying to resist the grin catching, but it's as contagious as casualties in Korea and he can't help it. He knows what Hawk is up to, yet again.
“Here we are, two star cross'd lovers,” he narrates, dotting his words with hand gestures that spill gin from his glass carelessly.
“You're only saying that because none of the nurses will take you,” he tells him.
“Au contraire,” he counters. “It is because no nurse will have me that I can say it.”
“That's what I said,” Trap retorts.
“No, no. You imply, mon ami,” Hawkeye explains, “that it is because I have spurned every available woman in camp that I turn to my last resort.” Trap does not agree or disagree, just watches him carefully over the rim of his glass.
“And you say?” he prompts eventually.
“Well, I say that it is only when I have spurned every woman that it can come to this.” He looks thoughtfully, in a drunken way, for a moment. “Otherwise it'd look suspicious,” he concludes.
“And it doesn't look suspicious now?” he questions, knowing that the forces holding Hawk to his own bunk wouldn't be enough to keep down a drink, let alone a man.
“Not as suspicious,” he points out thoughtfully, and takes another sip. Frank's bunk is the best way Frank's bunk could ever be – aside from on fire – and that's empty. He and Hot Lips must be playing Doctor on the Night Shift again, but no one's complaining.
“So,” Trap says wearily, echoing the conversation back on itself. “You going to throw yourself at me now or later, Hawk?” Hawk doesn't move, doesn't flicker, but his heart is beating hard and fast, and Trap knows it.
“I was thinking later, but since you put it so persuasively...” he replies, and in a single fluid movement he rises from his bunk, deposits his half-full glass on the table next to the still, takes Trap's own from his hand and does the same, then settles himself at the end of the bunk that doesn't collapse under two full-grown men's weight.
They're close enough to smell the alcohol on each other's breath, could they smell anything over the alcohol on their own breath in the first place.
“Gotta feel loved by someone, don't you?” Trap tells him as Hawk grips the collar of his shirt with one hand and the hair on his head with the other.
“I've got to be unloved by everyone else,” he contradicts, holding onto Trapper like he could be washed away from him at any moment.
“You're drunk,” he points out.
“If I didn't drink you wouldn't,” Hawkeye points out, “and you only let me get away with it when you're well over gin hill.” He moves his face a fraction closer and they almost touch, but don't quite. The tension in their bodies keeps them apart as powerfully as it holds them together; locked solid in that position, Trap's arms down like they weight a ton each, and Hawk's pushing him away and pulling him in all at the same time.
“Cause you'd throw yourself all over me sober?” he suggests farcically, but the answer is no more than a brush of skin against his as Hawk winches in another millimetre.
“Don't I?” he replies, and rolls himself around Trap's neck until his ear faces his mouth, opening it slightly as he drags his lower lip up Trap's ear lobe. Trapper John draws in a breath sharply.
“Yeah, but you don't mean it then,” he insists while he tries to convince his body that Hawkeye chewing on his ear doesn't get him hotter than peeking at Hot Lips in the shower.
“Don't I?” he repeats, between bites and digging his Hollywood smile teeth back into Trap before he's got time to beg for mercy.
“Come on,” Trapper challenges, bunching his fists into tight little balls by his legs. “You don't mean nothin' by it.”
“That's just what I want them to think,” Hawkeye claims, and when his tongue makes an appearance along with Mr. and Mrs. lips and all the pearly whites Trapper uncracks a fist only to grab a handful of Hawk's knee, crushing it tightly in his hand.
“You just know,” Trapper blurts, “that when we both luck out at night, you can crawl over here with that.. that.. 'it don't mean anything' act, like any action is better than no action, and I'll let you cause we both know you're a helluva lot easier to give in to than resist.”
His hand squeezes tighter when Hawk nips on a particular spot, or chews on him that way he knows he can't resist, and even though Trapper John's no queer Hawkeye still makes himself a neat little exception to the rule, like he makes himself an exception to everyone's rules. You can do that when you're the star, writer and director all at once.
“Stop resisting then,” Hawk persuades, and before what's what they're clashing lip on lip and mouth on mouth, and Hawkeye's mother must have been part octopus because he's got hands everywhere.
Because when everyone thinks he means nothing, then he can get away with meaning everything.
Hunting then hurting the women he likes at first, but soon finds thrilless and never what he really wanted; insubordinating against the war and people he hates; making a mockery of everything around him by being the fool that personifies it all, and – probably most notably – falling into the lap of the one person he wants to come back to again and again, loving him completely in the open as hard as his damaged heart will let him.
So no one holds him to it or questions anything he does or has done. Hawkeye will be Hawkeye, they reason, not noticing that big bloody lump that beats at the end of his sleeve.
EDIT: Oh thank god that's done it.
And that's it. The Octopus line is a shameful tribute to a chapter of Marigold Wine in which Hawkeye is called a tactical octopus man and I really liked the line/desription.
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Date: 2010-09-25 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-25 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 07:10 pm (UTC)*Ahem*
Sorry.
*Fancypants writer persona*
I am so glad you like it, as I've said above I don't usually write in this way, and I was really inspired by all the stuff you've written for this comm (and late night episode viewings), so it's good to know I didn't totally balls it up.
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Date: 2010-09-27 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-06 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 02:31 am (UTC)P.S. That's not Sherlock in your pic by any chance, is it?
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Date: 2010-11-08 02:09 pm (UTC)Haha, yeah, it is. My other favourite fandom is pretty much anything Sherlock Holmes, but my one true weakness is the 2010 telly series. :P
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Date: 2010-11-08 11:12 pm (UTC)I have read about 95% of the original Holmes stories now, seen plays, films, and am massively and fanatically in love with that series, especially because as a canon nerd for it I know all the little cases that the plots draw from.
I love Sherlock (And Sherlock Holmes by extension) POWERFULLY much. I can't wait for the next season which they ARE actually going to make! XDD
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Date: 2010-11-09 12:53 am (UTC)I know right! They're not going to be released until next year though, which is kind of a bummer :( I was really sad about where they ended it, too. I'm like, no! You can't leave me with a cliffhanger like that! :(