#serpercival writes

[serpercival]

Transfem Trapper traphawk PWP for y'all :3 Set in the TJMD era but literally nothing from TJMD comes up except for the fact they're in San Fran, that's just to give you an idea of how old they're meant to be.

“You wanna see somethin’ nifty?” Trapper asked as she sat up. There were only a few toys in the box. Her strap and harness, which she hadn’t gotten the chance to use in ages. A slim vibrator that she needed to replace because one of the prongs on the plug had bent. And the one she wanted to show off… “Is that what I think it is?” Hawkeye asked, picking up the dildo. “Sure is. Little bit’a medical grade silicone, little bit’a plaster, and Big John’s preserved for posterity.”

[serpercival]

Unsurprisingly, I definitely had one for this one (due to my Problems these are both foxtrap pieces)—from the whumptober piece,

“A linguist would have a field day with you,” Hawkeye said as they moved onto the superficial wounds on their second patient. “Yeah, well,” Trapper rasped, “they’d better have some’a Radar’s attunement, ‘cause an awful lotta words are the same noise with different magical field pressure.”

And one from well in the future for Mating Habits that is definitely going to need major reworks,

He took a single step forward, and something unfolded itself from the tree directly across the clearing from him. It peeled its way out of the bark, spindly fingers hooking into the soil like roots as it emerged, a cascade of ivy and moss clawing its way out of the grain of the wood. It towered over him when it straightened, twin pinpricks of fairy lights shining a dozen feet above his head. The something twisted, shifting into the moonlight. The bright, tempting scent of magic filled his nose, pressing out every thought of home as he stepped forward.

This week’s word is…

✨ MAGIC ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[remyfire]

nine people i want to get to know better

@msculper tagged me in this!! Thank you so much, my friend :)

LAST SONG? "Down To You" by Marianas Trench. I am eagerly awaiting their new album in, what, like four days? Really enjoying how the first four tracks flow together.

FAVOURITE COLOR? Powder blue or lavender. I really like soft, light pastels in general.

CURRENTLY WATCHING? The 1995 Pride and Prejudice miniseries. I've never seen it and it's one of my metamour's favorites ever, so I've been especially enjoying going through it with him.

LAST MOVIE? Mandy. Wowie.

SWEET/SPICY/SAVORY? Savory more often than not. But then I eat too much savory and need to eat something sweet to balance it out.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? Married, polyamorous, unfortunately absurdly picky thanks to the arospec of it all.

CURRENT OBSESSIONS? Oh man, this fic, Ease of Use, it's eating me alive in a positive way. Feels good to get back into flow with writing again. Besides that, MASH all around continues to be the loudest brain worm.

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? 'sunken living room forest green' for a visual reference for a client's writing commission. The aphantasia kicks my ass, y'all haha.

tagging: @voxmilia @serpercival @trappper-johnathan @cuddleswinchester @persianflaw @bbjkrss-blog @mylittleredgirl oh god R I forgot your Tumblr url if you see this I'm also tagging you aaaaaand the final one is anybody else who thinks it'd be fun to do or hasn't been tagged yet! :)

[marley-manson]

tagged by @gayvecchio, thank you 💖

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!

1. My faves having a bad time

2. Close third person with a distinctive character voice

3. Sex without preamble or handwringing - sex first, talking about it after if at all

4. Fun metaphors

5. Friends/partners/etc NOT giving the kind of emotional support/good advice/comfort/understanding/etc that someone needs or feels they need

tagging: @majorbaby @beansterpie @undecimber-of-joy @rescue-ram @bornforastorm

@hetakiba @hesgomorrah @pomegranate @hawkfawun @ofdemonsandangels

@acanofpeaches @actingcamplibrarian @serpercival

[impishtubist]

wednesday snippet

I was tagged by @strugglequill and @lynxindisguise in snippet games this week, but instead of a snippet, I bring you a lil ficlet (and I'm switching fandoms entirely, sorry not sorry).

@allcanonisrelative and I are fairly prolific coauthors, but our problem is that we cowrite a lot of things that go unfinished 😂 This is my portion of a fic that was supposed to be an AU for M*A*S*H after "Yessir, That's Our Baby". We never finished it, but we had a blast planning/writing it. And what the heck, the fandom can always use more Hawkeye + babies content.

CW for period-typical attitudes/thoughts/vocabulary re: queerness.

Tagging @allcanonisrelative @serpercival and any other MASHoles who see this and want to play along with the snippet game!

---

“She has your eyes.”

Hawkeye barely hears him, absorbed as he is in the tiny hand that’s wrapped around the tip of his finger. When the words sink in, he shoots BJ an unimpressed look.

“My eyes, huh?”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t have your nose.” 

“Ha, ha.”

They’re both sitting on Hawkeye’s cot, BJ pressed up against him so that he’s a single line of heat all along Hawkeye’s side. There’s no reason for him to be so close, but Hawkeye’s not about to question his good fortune. BJ leans over, crowding into Hawkeye’s space, and runs the tip of his finger down the baby’s tiny button nose. Hawkeye’s nostrils fill with the scent of clean soap and stale sweat, BJ’s sweat, and his mind stutters to a halt. BJ always does that, stops Hawk dead in his tracks with a touch or a glance or a smile, and then he carries on without pause, oblivious to the fact that Hawkeye’s entire world has been knocked off-kilter.  

The baby snuffles in her sleep, and suddenly she’s the only thing in Hawkeye’s world. He’s mesmerized by her round cheeks, by her tiny pink lips, by the dark wisps of hair on her head. He strokes a thumb over her silk-soft cheek and she doesn’t wake, merely snuggles closer to him. 

“She looks good on you,” BJ murmurs. His other hand is pressed against Hawkeye’s lower back, and for a moment, Hawkeye allows himself to indulge in the fantasy that this is real, that BJ’s touch is that of a lover instead of merely a friend, and that the baby--

It’s too outlandish. Too perverted. Men with his inclinations don’t have children, and the idea of having one with another man? Sidney Freedman would have him locked up faster than he could say please BJ I want to have your baby.

But because Hawkeye is, at his core, a selfish man, he whispers, “What should we name her?”

He keeps his voice pitched low, like it would break the spell if he said it any louder. He expects BJ to scoff, to move away, to laugh at his joke and tell him it’s time the baby went back to Margaret’s tent.

Instead, BJ murmurs, “Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth?” Hawkeye repeats, too startled for a witty rejoinder. He hadn’t expected an answer at all, much less for BJ to indulge him this fantasy.

“Mm. But we’ll call her Eliza for short.” 

We? Hawkeye can barely breathe, all the breath punched from his lungs by a single word. We. BJ says it so naturally, like it’s a foregone conclusion. We. Us. BJandHawkeye, HawkeyeandBJ.

“Beej,” Hawkeye whispers, the word cracked-open and aching and raw. 

BJ lifts his head, nose grazing Hawkeye’s cheek, and Hawkeye shivers. He turns--

The door to the Swamp opens, and Margaret breezes in. BJ pulls away from Hawkeye, swiftly putting several inches between them, and Hawkeye feels cold at the loss.

“It’s past her bedtime,” Margaret says sternly, holding out her arms for the baby. Hawkeye hands her over, too stunned to do anything else. What did BJ mean by we? Why had he played along? Had they been about to…

He won’t allow himself to think it. He can’t. 

And then suddenly Margaret and the baby are gone, and BJ crawling under his blanket on the other side of the tent, and Hawkeye is alone, his arms empty and aching.

[serpercival]

Okay so there is traphawk in here because I literally cannot help it but I hope you approve <3

~

The day Frank set up the suggestion box was one of the best days of Hawkeye’s life. At least, since he came to Korea. He filled half a dozen pages with suggestions of things he’d like to do to a select few people in camp, then another dozen of decidedly less select people. He even managed to come up with some material on Frank himself, difficult as that may have been.

Of course, it would be too obvious if he dumped a ream of paper into the suggestion box and nobody else participated. It didn’t take a lick of effort to loop Trapper and Henry in, and from there the idea spread from Ginger and Scorch to the rest of the nurses in a matter of days, then to Igor, then Klinger and Radar. Hawkeye barely held in the laugh that threatened to work its way out of him every time Frank came back to the Swamp with his head held high about the number of suggestions for improvements in the box from the weight of it.

He couldn’t wait for Frank to open it at the end of the two weeks he’d decided to wait.

The night before the grand reveal, during a gentle makeout session with Trapper that he desperately hoped was going to turn into something more, Trapper pulled back and smirked at him. “You think anybody wrote anything good about us?”

“C’mon, Trap,” Hawkeye said, trying to pull him back for another kiss. “Is the sky blue? Is Douglas MacArthur an authoritarian psychopath? Is the Easter bunny taxonomically confusing? Who wouldn’t have something good to write about us? We can only hope some of them signed it.”

Trapper kissed him again, chucking against his mouth, then shoved him down to the supply tent mattress by his shoulders. “You write anything good?”

“About every single person in this camp. Even Radar. A bit pedestrian, but you have to wax poetic about a guy’s charming personality when he’s practically a virgin.”

Trapper leaned in, nipped his earlobe, and ground against him exactly once. “Even Father Mulcahy?” he breathed.

“A goddamn novella. Now give me my reward for that, huh?”

Frank opened the box to a gathered crowd of everyone who didn’t need to be on shift somewhere, as well as a few who did. Hawkeye, Trapper, and Henry had found a spot near the front next to a gaggle of nurses who couldn’t stop giggling. Father Mulcahy stood on the other side of the nurses. Hawkeye purposefully avoided looking at him just so he didn’t look suspicious.

The box was so stuffed with paper that a few pieces fell out the moment Frank opened it. He pulled one from the top with great ceremony, uncrinkled it, and read aloud in what he seemed to think was his most impressive voice. “‘Just once, I’d like it if Lieutenant Scorch gave someone else a turn.’” He paused for a moment, squinting at the paper. Trapper clapped Henry on the back when he tried to disappear into his fishing hat. Frank looked out over the assembled crowd, frowning. “Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means a big hand for Henry Blake, ladies and gentlemen!” Hawkeye announced, holding his hands as high as he could to clap. Trapper wolf whistled and punched Henry in the shoulder again, hard enough that he jerked forward. “C’mon, Frank, let’s give it to the Colonel so he can do something about it!”

Frank squinted at him and tossed over the paper, letting it flutter to the ground where Henry blushed bright red and rushed over to grab it. “Well, if he understands what the he and/or she who wrote it wants. Now, let’s see here… ‘I’d like it to be known that anybody who hasn’t yet gotten a taste of McIntyre’s c–’”

Frank froze, eyes wide, as he read through the rest of the paper. Hawkeye pulled Trapper closer, pressed his mouth against his ear, and whispered, “That one was mine. I’ll tell you what it said later.”

Trapper swatted him. “Better be some from the nurses.”

Frank crumpled up the sheet and stuck it in his pocket. “Let me be very clear. This suggestion box was meant for things that would make this camp better, do you understand me? Not for– for indecent, unrepentant, smut!”

Of all people, Hawkeye didn’t expect Klinger to be the one to shout “Read the smut, Frank!”

“No! Let’s move on, shall we? ‘Sleepover in the nurses’ tent, girls only, at 2100 tonight.’ Well, that’s a nice idea, isn’t it?”

Trapper and Hawkeye exchanged a glance. “You write that one?” Hawkeye asked.

“I figured it was you.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Good for the nurses. Maybe Margaret’ll go.”

Frank carefully smoothed out that sheet, folded it, and tucked it into a different pocket. He tugged at the corner of another piece of paper and pulled out a sheets-long packet, dumping half of the suggestions onto the ground with it.

Well, here was his novella.

“‘Sunday services would be better if…’” Frank trailed off. He turned the page. He turned another page.

Father Mulcahy stepped forward. “Better if what, Major Burns?”

Frank stuffed the packet behind his back. “Oh, nothing to concern yourself about.”

Another step forward. “Given it’s about me, I’d say–”

“Oh, well, about you–”

“I’m always interested in more attendance, so if someone is having an issue–”

“Issue!? I’d say they have issues, alright!”

Mulcahy reached Frank, grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around, and snatched the packet out of his hands. “Thank you, Major Burns.” He cleared his throat and flicked the creases out of the packet, clearly skimming the first few lines already by the way his expression shifted. “Oh. Oh my. I should– I should, well– take this to my tent. For safekeeping. In case the person who wrote this would like to… repent.”

Mulcahy stalked away, ears burning, and Trapper elbowed Hawkeye in the ribs. “I think someone’s got an invitation.”

when i get horny comments in my tags about mash characters, i'm imagining some sort of actual anonymous suggestion box somewhere in camp. i would say it's a confessional but half of the comments are about mulcahy (because half of my posts are about him) and i think it would be funnier if he just accidentally stumbled upon a little tin ballot box in which there is a STACK of notecards where people are describing the most heinous fantasies about him. it's imperative we also keep the suggestion box as far away from hawkeye as possible because he would get the biggest ego from the things people are telling me about him

[hballegro]

chapter 8. the biggie. part 1.

it is now i reveal a terrible secret to you all;

you can ctrl+f this chapter and compare it to If-- by Rudyard Kipling. and you will find that every god damn word in that stupid poem appears at least once. there are also a few paraphrased lines in there that you might notice.

WHY???

[i am very bad when it comes to gaging ppl's knowledge of poems i think everyone already knows, so yeah, the poem they're sharing is If- by Rudyard Kipling. easy for me to recognize personally because my mom memorized it all in school and would say it to me sometimes]

this process included me writing the whole thing out by hand, ctrl + f for all of the words, highlighting the ones that i had yet to use, and then keeping the list next to me while editing the first draft

and if you didnt notice this fact at all. that means i did a GOOD JOB!! cause its SUPPOSED TO BLEND IN SEAMLESSLY!!

yknow. its the moment hawkeye fell head-over-heels. and bj too, maybe. so ofc i had to include it in the chapter where they finally Kiss. they havent worked it all out yet yeah but. cmon. i cant just not. my options were to either have one of them reference it directly [im bad at that, and would be ham-fisted], or do this insane strat. and i picked the worst option. fuckin Knaves i hate you rudyard kipling for this and other reasons

also; shouted out in the ao3 endnotes but ill do it here to all sneaky-like, shout out to serpercival for both motivating me to put trapper in this chapter via loving the guy a lot and for letting me use their marvelous brain to pick out some subtle nods to Trapper John MD. i dont wanna @ people but hehe i can still link their page >:]

anyway: the painting peg talks abt being erin's favourite is California Spring, as she says, and here it is

folks i can finally use this meme i made back before i even finished chapter 4

shoutout to this video for being great to have in the bg underneath my sad love music to really set the scene. Loon moment

if you liked how papa Daniel Pierce acted in this, good! hes based off my childhood best friend's mom! she was very intimidating and always had this serious look on her face but the very first time i went over to their house she went 'psst. [best friend]. hball. come over here my husband is gonna come up the stairs and you should jump out and scare him' within the first 20 minutes!!

so basically hes stern/serious/intimidating [formal letters, the kind of man to not want to worry his son, idk just feels right] but goofy as shit and its all a facade [had hawkeye so he gotta be a lil silly, dinner table talk in Sons and Bowlers]

if you liked how i described hawkeye's childhood home GOOD!! i was describing my grandmother's house the whole time and you didnt even know. that ugly sofa is a thing my grandpa did. get pranked. always draw on experience when possible folks

i plan to have the next chapter out two days from now. THREE at the LATEST. and tomorrow i plan to publish the next Operating in Limbo chapter ~sometime~ before midnight [my time. central time.], or like 1am at the latest since i can stay up late tomorrow. unless the Troubles.

reward for scrolling this far; my saga of proto-names being shit like 'ooga booga' continues in the form of this being the working title for the Big Conversation chapter;

[serpercival]

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol for traphawk perchance ? 👉👈

I tried to write this last night but was too high and it got really depressing, so here's an extremely purposefully light-hearted one to make up for how sad I made myself! <3 Ever so slightly suggestive but also only a little bit under the cut.

traphawk + a kiss influenced by alcohol

A long stretch of days with no casualties means getting bored. Getting bored means drinking. Getting bored for too many days in a row means too much drinking, and that had led Trapper and Hawkeye to stumbling back into the Swamp at three in the morning plastered out of their minds.

Hawkeye, ever-so-slightly more sober, dumps Trapper into his cot, giggling. “I can’t believe you! Flirting with Igor… you’re a madman, you. You’re– you’re going to get yourself food poisoning just kissing him.”

Across the tent, Frank snores loudly, affectedly, and unconvincingly.

“Aw, c’mon, Hawk,” Trapper says, fighting to get his blanket to cooperate. It’s like a goddamn circle. Or a sphere. Where the fuck are the edges? “Only ‘cause you aren’t paying enough attention to me.”

“I pay plenty of attention to you.” Hawkeye leans in, more than a bit jerky, still holding on to the last dregs of the bottle of whiskey they’d gone through at Rosie’s. “You… I woulda jerked you off in public, if you asked me.”

Frank scoffs, turns over, and puts his pillow over his head. Trapper hopes he smothers himself.

“What about in private?” Trapper leers.

“With Frank right there? He’ll have a crisis.”

Trapper pouts, finally finds the edge of his blanket, and snuggles as best as he can into his cot. “Gonna kiss me good night, at least?”

“No.”

“Hawk.”

“No!”

“Hawkeye.”

“You’re gonna taste gross.”

“Hawkeye, please?”

Frank shoots to a seat, a scowl burned into his face. “Pierce,” he snaps, “would you kiss him already so someone can get some rest around here?”

Then he’s turning over, facing the wall, and stuffing his pillow back over his head.

Trapper looks back up at Hawkeye. “Dad said it’s okay.”

Hawkeye stumbles in, nearly sloshing the whiskey onto Trapper’s bedsheets despite how little is left in the bottle. He takes a look at it, frowns, downs the last sip, and presses his lips against Trapper’s.

The whiskey’s already warm from Hawkeye’s mouth when Trapper parts his lips and lets Hawk pass it to him. The heat curls in his gut so tightly that he’s certain he’d be dragging Hawk to the supply shed if he wasn’t too drunk to move. When Hawk tries to pull away Trapper grabs him by the shoulder and swipes his tongue over his lips, pulling away the last dregs of whiskey so he can taste Hawkeye’s flesh beneath it.

When he does let Hawkeye go, Hawk looks down at him with pupils that are dilated with far more than just the dim light. “Night, Trap,” he says.

“Night, handsome,” Trapper slurs.

Frank sighs, as loudly as possible, so Hawkeye throws a pillow at him.

[serpercival]

NEW MATING HABITS!!! Chapters 33-35, Boston 12-Boston epilogue, are now up, approx. 11.5k new words. Thank you so much for your patience while I struggled with this. NEXT SECTION IS BEEJTRAP BAYBEEEEE

[serpercival]

Hey I wrote that fic

dont ask about the title dont ask about the title dont ask about--

society if they'd kissed here

[serpercival]

Tiny little pre-canon/pre-slash traphawk fic :3, ~1.2k words

John McIntyre's determined to sleep through the entire damn war, if circumstances let him. A fresh face changes that.

[serpercival]

New Mating Habits of the American Red Fox! Chapters 30-32, approximately 22k new words, are now uploaded. Heed the tags if you haven't been, we really lean into them in this chunk. feed me comments and I'll love you forever

[serpercival]

@almostpleasantrebel gave me two prompts from this prompt list, 5) flushed cheeks and 10) old playing cards, so you guys get a drabble :3 past traphawk, implied(?) beejhawk

When Hawkeye shuffled the deck of playing cards, he could feel the dregs of everyone who’d left them behind. Oliver, transferred to the Tokyo medical center, where they lost touch with him. Margie, transferred to another unit, where they lost touch with her. Ginger, the one who made it home. Henry Blake, resting on the bottom of the Sea of Japan. John McIntyre, rosy lips and alcohol-flush high on his cheeks as he stole a kiss in the dead of night. Hawkeye tossed the deck to BJ and imagined the flush on his cheeks wasn’t from the cold. “Your deal.”

[serpercival]

🫡 participating in solving the problem!

the lack of piercintyre fics featuring outdoor sex and also voyeurism/exhibitionism is tragic. truly tragic.

[serpercival]

Kiss meme prompts!

sidhawk + a kiss along the jawline for @mxmorel

When Radar came into the Swamp during poker night, it was less with the look of a kid who was going to scam them out of their paychecks and more the look of someone who didn’t want to let what was in his mouth out into the world.

Trapper was the first to bother acknowledging him. “Trouble?”

“Uh, not for any of youse guys,” Radar said, fiddling with the memo in his hands. “Major Freedman, sir?”

Sidney folded. He’d been bluffing, anyway, Hawkeye was sure of it. Ninety percent sure. Maybe seventy-five. The respectable pair of threes in Hawkeye’s hand would have beaten whatever he had, probably. “Emergency?”

“Yes, sir,” Radar said, handing over the note.

Sidney read it, sighed, and collected his cap as he stood. “Don’t wait up.”

Hawkeye, seeing an opportunity to get out of the miserable deal he’d been dealt, scrambled after him. “What kind of emergency?” he asked, bumping their shoulders together.

“A patient of mine in Tokyo,” Sidney said, folding the memo and tucking it in his breast pocket. “The one I came to poker night to get away from, actually.”

“Mmm, thinks you resemble his mother?”

“Close, but no cigar.”

“I hear those are phallic symbolism, these days.”

“Is that why McIntyre’s always playing with one?”

Hawkeye snorted. “You should see some of the things he does with his tongue.”

Sidney shot him a look, then waved him into the VIP tent when he opened the door. “I suppose you expect me not to read into that remark.”

“I’m hoping you do, actually.”

“Planning a new group activity?”

Hawkeye shrugged, put on his best innocent face, and fluttered his eyelashes. “Only if the boredom becomes unbearable.”

Sidney rolled his eyes, but a smile creased the corners of his mouth. He tapped Hawkeye on the arm with his peaked cap before he put it on, then grabbed the briefcase he hadn’t had the chance to unpack from the desk. “Poker again, next week?”

“Same time, same station.”

“I’ll be sure to read all about it in the papers.”

As Sidney turned to leave, Hawkeye caught his arm. He couldn’t let him leave without… “Good luck,” Hawkeye murmured. He leaned down to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, nuzzling into the soft flesh for a moment before he pulled away.

He never expected to see Sidney blush, but maybe it would have been nice, on occasion. He could make everyone else in camp blush with a few well-placed words. Sidney Freedman was practically unphasable.

“I’m going to Tokyo, not the front,” Sidney said lightly.

“Yeah, well, you’re going to Tokyo,” Hawkeye said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And I’m here, at the front.”

“The front, here? We’re… half a mile away, at least.”

Hawkeye snickered, but he didn’t think it made the mood any lighter.

Sidney cupped his cheek, kissed him just below his eye, and did his best to smile. “Good luck, Hawkeye.”

[serpercival]

🙈 can I request charhawk idk any number that inspires u if ‘against a wall’ isn’t it 💜

Waagh charhawk - I've never tried my hand at them before so hopefully this is to your tastes! <3

charhawk + a kiss against a wall

Charles is on his usual bullshit when Hawkeye walks into Radar’s office to check on the mail. Something about a record that Honoria was shipping to him that’s been delayed for five agonizing days, and he would simply like to ensure that it hasn’t been stolen by a sticky-fingered Midwestern bandit.

“What’s so important it can’t wait a few days?” Hawkeye asks, sifting through Radar’s outbox for something to do with his hands. “Chopin put out a new release?”

Charles grits his teeth and Radar snatches away his papers. “My dear sister Honoria is reviewing an opera, if you must know,” he says. “She has sent me a copy of several of the songs to request my opinions. And this little– thief! Has likely stolen a gift, one of few earthly pleasures from home, and I simply cannot–”

“Love songs?” Hawkeye asks, moving on to flipping through the papers in the inbox. “You ever been to The Love for Three Oranges?”

Charles manages to grit his teeth even harder. “The art should not be debased with comedy so low as that.”

Hawkeye shoots up, dropping the papers all over the floor. “Debased.”

“Yes,” Charles says. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, and won’t make eye contact.

“With comedy.”

“Indeed.”

Hawkeye takes a step forward.

Charles takes a step back.

They do it again.

“Now, Pierce, given your vaudvillian ways–”

Hawkeye takes one final step forward, and Charles lands flush with the wall. He puts a hand on Charles’ chest to keep him there.

“Charles,” he says, warmly. “I’m going to debase you with comedy right here, right now, right in front of Radar.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Hawkeye comes up on his tiptoes, just for a laugh, and kisses Charles right on the mouth.

He doesn’t expect him to melt. Or to part his lips. Or to groan like he’s been waiting for it for months. Hawkeye presses more firmly against his chest and deepens the kiss, testing Charles’ soft lips with his tongue for the briefest moment before pulling away.

Charles is flushed, wide-eyed, and slightly damp with spit. He raises a hand to his lips with an expression that Hawkeye has never seen on his face before and can’t readily identify.

Then he smooths it over, wipes the spit from his lips, and shoves Hawkeye away. “Find my record, O’Reilly,” he snaps.

Charles shoots one final, confused and frightened glance over his shoulder as he storms out of the office.

Hawkeye turns to Radar. “I should try that again.”

Radar shrugs. “Good luck with that, sir.”