Title: "The Big Bang Theory" 2/4
Genre: PG13, romance, coming out, 50s, postwar, bad/real?sex
Timeline: March 1956
Part of the Gentleman Doctors series
Hawkeye felt it gentlemanly of him to feel appropriately chagrined. "Yeah, well. . . . Are you sure?"
"Yeah." He didn't sound like 'yeah.' He sounded like 'oh God.'
"We don't have to," Hawkeye said.
B.J. held him at arm's length. "I'm a little nervous, Hawk. I guess that's normal. I mean, this is it. Not just what we're about to do, but I told you I don't just go to bed with anyone -- I mean, not that there's anything wrong with -- not that you just -- Can we go back to the kissing?"
Hawkeye kissed him. "You're adorable and I love you."
B.J. sighed. "I love you too."
They walked up to the bedroom holding hands, carrying the hurricane lantern to light their way. Hawkeye felt unsure what to say now that he'd gotten his victory. At the door to B.J.'s room -- the bigger room, the one Hawkeye had been subtly trying to move into these months -- they kissed. And kissed. B.J. had him up against the door before he could get it open.
They stumbled into the room, barely setting down the lantern without burning the house down, kissing, hands sliding under clothes, shuffling to the bed, stumbling over trousers around ankles. They landed together on top of the covers. Hawkeye was reminded of that hot night in Maine, the heavy press of an enthusiastic, newly queer B.J. making love to him while the curtain hung still in the humid air. Now, Hawkeye walked his fingertips down B.J.'s muscled back, taking in this oh so masculine body limned in flickering light.
B.J.'s tongue explored the expanse of his naked torso, giving Hawkeye a chance to really look at the golden-skinned man before him. God, he was lovely -- long legs, gentle hands. Hawkeye loved hands -- amazing things, the hand, able to grasp, cup, soothe, massage. Or do all those things at once, as B.J. worked his way down down down to . . . oh yeah. He was headed to that thing Hawk had been fantasizing about for almost a month . . . several months . . . well a guy thought all sorts of things when he was alone with his thoughts. Hawkeye swallowed hard as he watched B.J. Hunnicutt lick his lips, part them wide, and take his cock in his mouth. Hawkeye hissed. It was B.J. and the thought that B.J. doing that to him at last, and the thought that it was real, and that B.J. probably hadn't done this before.
Snap of pain. Hawkeye twitched.
"Sorry," B.J. said.
"Careful the teeth," Hawkeye said.
"Sorry, a little nervous." B.J. said again. He licked a line over the underside, where his incisor caught. That was better, felt good. He probably wasn't introducing germs to an open wound, Hawkeye told his overactive doctor brain.
B.J. was sucking now. Head bobbing. Oh. Okay. This was . . . okay. Hawkeye reclined on the pillows and closed his eyes. It was nice. Sweet. . . . The lurid noises were one part hilarious one part intensely erotic given what was causing them. After several minutes, Hawkeye couldn't deny it: this just wasn't going to take him there. B.J. was losing suction every time he went down and he wasn't grasping the idea of either getting the whole thing in his mouth, or using his hand. Hawkeye felt badly, he didn't want to put off his lover from the gloriousness of the blow job. But on the other hand, he couldn't fake an orgasm like women could (and Trapper, somehow). Hawkeye reached down and caressed B.J.'s arm.
B.J. stopped. He didn't look up -- he was embarrassed, Hawkeye realized with a twist of sympathy. He hid his face and hugged Hawkeye's hips.
"It's okay." Hawkeye smoothed his hair.
"I thought I was prepared," B.J. said. "I read about this -- hell, I've done this, you know? From the other side? How do women learn to do it so well?"
Hawkeye didn't need that mental image of Peg, thanks. "I guess the same way we all do. We're all clumsy elephants at the beginning."
"I read a book . . . thing," B.J. said. He reached one long arm under the bed, fished out an underground looking mimeographed thing and passed it up to Hawkeye, still not coming out from his hiding spot.
Hawkeye flipped through it in the dim light while he absently played with the ends of B.J.'s hair. B.J. crept up to the head of the bed and curled around him, against the pillows and headboard, pointing out pages and diagrams. Hawkeye could see the pamphlet meant a lot to Beej, so he was tactful when he responded.
"Well . . . it's good this thing is out there," Hawkeye said. "But it's so short, it covers things in awfully broad strokes. I mean, it only brushes over the whole part about getting to anal sex."
"What do you mean?" B.J. said. "I thought you just . . . lubed up and . . . " He made a gesture with his arm, which set Hawkeye giggling. B.J. blushed. "Nevermind. However you want to do it is fine."
"Oh, Beej," Hawkeye kissed the worry lines on his forehead. "You should have a say."
"Not if I'm clearly an idiot about all this! Dear lord, I'm a doctor, why did I think . . ."
"Have you done it like this before?" Hawkeye tapped a diagram. B.J. followed his finger and looked away.
"It hurt?" Hawkeye said.
"It didn't work out," B.J. said. "It lasted a whole five seconds, I think, and then he drove me home. It wasn't bad."
"Couldn't have been good," Hawkeye said.
"I was bigger than he was, Hawk, I could've knocked him down if he pulled anything I didn't want. Look, can we get this over with?" B.J. said.
Hawkeye laughed. "And you win the contest of least romantic come-on over a sex-crazed bonobo chimp."
B.J. was quiet, running his hand over Hawkeye's thigh, lost in thought. Hawkeye smoothed his hair back, rubbed his shoulder, wishing he could stop the jittering thoughts in B.J.'s mind. He accepted B.J.'s post-war nervous condition as fact, he certainly understood the veteran's struggle to return to normalcy. He just never thought it would hit B.J., and not in a way that would affect his personal life. Hawkeye had been astounded to discover that Beej was a homosexual, even moreso that he planned to do anything about it.
Sometimes Hawkeye almost forgot they were in love -- he was always the first to flirt, the one to suggest some thinly veiled date-like thing to do for fun together; sometimes his own demons whispered that B.J. wasn't really queer and this was just playing house. But here he was, in bed, talking about having had homo sex before and professing interesting in doing some more of it. Hawkeye was trying to be patient, he knew this was all bizarro world stuff to a nice boys from the suburbs. And, okay, what he got out of it? It was a bit of a turn-on, getting to do things to B.J.'s body he'd never have done with his pretty little wife in Mill Valley -- and watching B.J. do those things to his.
"What is it?" Hawkeye said.
"I . . . all of this, that we've done so far? It's been good. I don't want to screw it up."
"I.e., with screwing."
B.J. shrugged. He looked so unhappy.
"What's upsetting you? Are you nervous?" Hawkeye said.
"No," B.J. said. "It just seems so -- "
"Wait." Hawkeye put up his hand. "The first step to admitting you're having sex with men is saying the words. From now on, we should talk like the grown up doctor types we are."
B.J. sagged into the pillows. "Oh, that’s romantic. Okay, here goes: I just don't think anal sex is all that sexy -- or fun, even. But . . . I have to admit, I'm sort of interested, if only curious. I guess because everyone else seems so interested and I know you want to --"
"Hey, I didn't say --"
"Hawk, you're subtle as a croquet mallet. I know what you like."
So they were at an impasse. Hawkeye couldn't try a little white lie like, 'it's okay if you don't want to' that worked with Corpsman Goldman. He tugged B.J. into his lap, or at least most of the long-legged body that fit.
He twined B.J.'s hand in his. "Look. I don't think everyone does it -- anal sex -- all the time -- I mean, there'd be serious chafing issues. Yeah, I like it, but if you don't want to, it doesn't mean we can't be together. But -- and I only say this because you started it -- if I can show you that it's lovely and fun, will you cheer up?"
B.J. rested his forehead against Hawkeye's. "Will you accept 'I'll be open-minded'?" he said.
Hawkeye kissed him. The goal was to turn B.J. back into the wobbly noodle he was dancing with downstairs. He laid him out like something good to eat and kissed him down his stomach, his thighs, massaging and tickling, reminding him that this was supposed to be a celebration of naked sexy fun. Soon B.J. was back in the game, pulling Hawkeye down to him, kissing and teasing in kind. When Hawkeye just couldn't wait any longer, he reached under B.J.'s bed, correctly aiming for the same spot the pamphlet had been hidden. His fingers detected a cool bottle -- Johnson's Baby Oil. He straddled B.J.'s thighs while the man watched him drizzle oil on his lower belly like a chicken cutlet.
"I thought . . ." B.J. said.
"I said I was going to show you," Hawkeye said. "By the way, this isn't the same stuff --"
"There's a separate thing of it in Erin's old changing table. That one's just for grownups. I just like how it feels for . . . you know."
Hawkeye grinned: B.J. used baby oil to polish his knob, possibly years ago, for nights when his wife wasn't man enough for him. He tucked that fantasy away for another day. The heady baby powder smell hit his nose. Hawkeye suppressed his wrinkled nose disaffection; they used this stuff in the hospital. He'd introduce B.J. to lube that didn't remind him of diapered bottoms and white cotton cradle cap another time.
Hawkeye slicked his hands over B.J.'s really, honestly completely fabulous abdominals, massaging his hips and thighs with the oil everywhere but where he really, really wanted those lubed hands to be. Soon, he was growling threats and Hawkeye shocked him to silence as he dripped the cool oil down the length of his cock. Hawkeye used his fingertips to disperse the oil well, concentrating on the tip, driving B.J. utterly mad, really drawing out the pre-game show.
"Will you get on with it," B.J. hissed.
Hawkeye could feel B.J.'s eyes on him as he reached behind and lubed himself up. If he could get B.J. to appreciate that this was part of the process, he might see the point of the anal sex thing as more than just point and shoot. Hawkeye crawled up B.J.'s body and got into position. Naturally, he was utterly unconcerned about the greasy handprints he left on the sheets that he'd be scrubbing with baking soda tomorrow.
"My knees aren't what they used to be," Hawkeye said as he braced himself on the pillow on either side of B.J.'s head.
B.J. held onto his hips as Hawkeye slid his body down onto his cock, watching B.J.'s expression.
Bliss. Perfection. He hadn't done this in a while but it was like fucking a bicyclist. B.J.'s eyes fluttered open and they watched each other as Hawkeye rocked down onto his hips.
"Mm, good," Hawkeye breathed.
"Yeah. . . ."
Hawkeye didn't break eye contact as he lifted up and started to thrust, slowly. This was too perfect a moment to rush. B.J.'s hand ran over Hawkeye's body, feeling his stomach and chest as his muscles supported his thrusts, feeling his climb to ecstasy. The other hand felt back to where they were joined; Hawkeye opened his eyes, watching B.J. watch the action in fascination.
"You're big," Hawkeye said.
"That okay?" B.J. sounded worried.
"It's fantastic." It was okay. He was getting used to it with each thrust. It felt good.
Hawkeye braced his weight on B.J.'s shoulders so he could experiment with short, quick, deep thrusts. Stars burst behind his eyes. Oh, he could come very, very nicely like that. B.J. thrust up to meet him as Hawkeye closed his eyes and did some more quick lunges.
B.J. was saying his name. He stopped. Dammit, he was getting close.
"Sorry," B.J. said.
"Nothing. Can we flip over?"
Hawkeye nodded, catching his breath. When he was on his back, B.J. hovering above him, he realized what B.J. was asking. He wanted to take the reins, to fuck him. He was enjoying this. Hawkeye reapplied the oil, made a cradle of his legs for B.J., and drew the man in. And it clicked. B.J. suddenly became a natural lover, the man Hawkeye had briefly met in his guest room in Maine, and had very much wanted to make love with again. B.J. thrust inside him so naturally, just right, just deep enough. He intuited how to find the prostate, grinned when Hawkeye gasped and arched his back. B.J. was watching Hawkeye as he thrust, getting off on Hawkeye getting off on him. They came within moments of one another. B.J. gasped and cried out into Hawkeye's shoulder.
The room was too hot, the storm lantern must have been giving off a hundred degrees. B.J. flopped back onto the pillow. Hawkeye lumbered from the bed and tripped off to the bathroom. B.J. followed a moment later, both pretended the cleanup wasn't embarrassing, and they met again in bed.
B.J. jumped and wriggled away as Hawkeye stuck his cold hands all over him. He giggled, wrestling B.J. back for the stolen warmth. He covered B.J.'s body with his own and kissed him sleepily. To his delight, B.J. spoon up behind him and Hawkeye felt warm and loved and all that romantic rot.
"Was it everything you imagined?" Hawkeye said.
B.J. was quiet for so long, Hawkeye started to grow worried. His babble threatened to come out and risk the mood.
"I'm glad it was with you." B.J. nuzzled his hair, sleep tincturing his voice with a deep slur. "It was perfect . . . because there was you."