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I’ll just go sob myself to sleep.
He walked away into the cold; hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he made his way across camp to retire to his tent for the evening. Hawkeye watched him go, grimacing and with a pain in his heart for the chaplain down on his luck. Seeing him cry was something he never wanted to see him do again, and he definitely didn’t want him feeling like he was useless to this unit.
This wasn’t a first for the priest unfortunately. Every once in a while, he would start doubting his importance, withdraw into himself, and become such a bundle of nerves it was hard for anyone to ignore. He wasn’t the best at keeping his feelings to himself, probably because he was often the warmest presence, always with a smile on his face, advice to offer, and a shoulder to cry on. He listened to everyone, but who listened to him? Perhaps he rushed back to his tent because he figured no one would bother, maybe he felt it was best to be alone when he felt like this.
Hawkeye needed to go back inside, he had patients to look after, but the surgeries were over, they were all resting, and post-op was being looked after by some damn good nurses. They wouldn’t miss him for just a couple of minutes. He just didn’t feel right letting Mulcahy off the hook like that. He told him he would go cry himself to sleep, and as sensitive as the man was and the condition Hawkeye found him in out here, he was sure he wasn't exaggerating.
He kept his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, scrunching his shoulders as he shivered as another harsh cold breeze tried to blow him over. He shuffled his feet in the dirt and tried to warm himself up with a shake, then he put one foot in front of the other and started off towards the chaplain’s quarters.
It wasn’t far from the hospital, it needed to be close in case wounded came in and he needed to rush over and perform prayers and last rites for those unlucky enough to die. He made sure to rush, not wanting to be in this cold for too much longer, already feeling his toes starting to lose feeling.
Once outside the door, he braved pulling his fist out of his pocket and rapped against the rickety wooden door before shoving his hand right back into his warm jacket; it could be warmer. There was no reply for a few long seconds, and he debated on whether he should knock again or not; he had half the mind to just step inside, but it was late, and the chaplain was the last person he’d want to walk in on unwelcomed. He went to raise his fist to knock again, but finally a shaking voice called, “Come in.”
Hawkeye thanked a God if there was one, ready to get out of this weather, and despite the tent not offering too much warmth, it was at least out of the wind. He closed the door behind him once inside to protect them both from the elements of winter, and he looked across the small space to find Mulcahy sitting on the edge of his cot still completely bundled up but without his hat and with a tear-stained face.
Hawkeye frowned, shoulders slumping, “You weren’t kidding about the sobbing thing.”
Mulcahy sniffled and lifted a hand to wipe his nose on his jacket sleeve, forcing a chuckle as ingenuine as it was, “I’m not one to lie.”
Hawkeye stepped towards the center of the room, keeping his hands hidden in his pockets and staring down at the crying man before him, “Listen, I know you’re good at this boxing thing, but you really shouldn’t beat yourself up over this.”
Mulcahy shook his head, “I already told you, it’s not just that.”
The surgeon sighed, tilting his head somewhat before correcting it, not appreciating how the cold air felt against his neck, “You’re not useless, Father. Far from it.”
Mulcahy’s hands found the edge of his cot and pushed against it, getting to his feet and interlocking his fingers to stim nervously, something he often did when he was wound tight like this, “I’m surrounded by doctors who perform lifesaving surgery, in comparison to that I don’t make much of a difference. Praying is all I ever get to do, that and last rites, and that’s something I wish I never had to do.”
“But it’s important,” Hawkeye tried to get through to him, “These men, these kids count on you to give them comfort. When they’re scared, when they’re dying. I’ve seen peace enter their eyes after only talking to you for just a few minutes.”
Mulcahy sighed and shook his head, looking down at his shoes as if wishing for the floor to open up and swallow him up, and when he raised his head again his eyes were pleading, “I know the passage between life and death is just one of the things that I specialize in, but when I joined the priesthood I never thought it would became my specialty.”
Hawkeye’s frown deepened, eyebrows furrowing as he searched for the words to say to that, “You do much more than that, Francis.”
The chaplain’s breath caught in his throat at the surprise of being called by his name. Not Father, not Mulcahy, but Francis. Hawkeye took a couple of steps forward, closing the gap between them and Mulcahy made no attempt to step back at all, waiting with bated breath for the surgeon to continue what he was saying.
“You keep everyone here in line, you make sure all of us are doing well and if we’re not you look for solutions to make our lives easier,” He explained, determined to get this through his head, “You’re always down at the orphanage making sure those kids have warm clothes on their backs and fresh food to eat, you just organized a toy drive for them for God’s sake! And you’re always listening to us go on and on about our problems, but I think it’s about time someone listened to yours and told you you’re a better person than any one of us here!”
He rambled on, maybe too much, but he knew it needed to be said. Mulcahy looked shocked by his words, or maybe he was just surprised. His eyes still shone, glassy with unshed tears as he took in every single word Hawkeye just said to him.
But he wasn’t finished.
“And so what you punched a guy? He was being a complete jackass to both Margaret and you, and you were both only trying to help!” He finally pulled his hands from his pockets and threw his arms out, “As far as I'm concerned, you've been doing everything right!”
Mulcahy just stood there for a long few seconds, staring up at his good friend and processing every single word. Hawkeye waited for him to say something, but as the moment dragged on, he began to shift back and forth on his feet, feeling a bit awkward about raving on like that but he meant every word.
Mulcahy took a breath, deep and staggering, and Hawkeye recognized the emotion in it. At the same second the chaplain stumbled forward, Hawkeye was there to catch him in his arms. He held him close and let him cry against his chest, the priest’s hands finding solace tangled in Hawkeye's jacket. The surgeon moved his own hands, sliding them up Mulcahy's back and then slowly back down, rubbing soothingly along his spine.
“It's alright,” He said softly to him, his hands gentle and tender on his back as the chaplain just pushed closer to him.
One of Hawkeye's hands lifted from the shorter man's back, finding the back of his head with fingers stroking through his hair, the action soft, and it would've surprised Mulcahy hadn't he been indisposed.
Hawkeye felt like they stood there wrapped around each other forever, and really, he never wanted to part. It didn't seem that Mulcahy did either, his fists only tightening their hold on Hawkeye's jacket. The surgeon pulled his head back a bit to try and look at him, but Mulcahy kept his head pressed against his shoulder, very stubborn about moving. Hawkeye didn't care, this was about as close to the chaplain as he's been able to be in the past few weeks, they'd just been so busy.
The fighting was usually at an all-time high before a truce, both sides trying to take out as many as they opposed before the brief time of peace, so that brought them a lot more casualties. They'd barely had time to sleep, much less see each other outside of the OR. Mulcahy had been on his mind for quite some time, but he always repressed any feeling of attachment he got to the man. He's a priest, he's his friend. He didn't want to ruin what good they already had, but standing here with him now, bodies flush to each other, he was thinking about risking it.
His fingers continued to drag through his hair on the back of his head, and slowly he leaned his own head down and brushed his lips against Mulcahy’s temple. It could’ve been perceived as an innocent gesture, he was comforting his friend, that’s all, but it felt like much more than that. It was much more than that.
Mulcahy stiffened under his hands, shoulders and back going rigid, and for a moment Hawkeye thought he messed up, but after another moment and the chaplain didn’t pull away, he decided to be brave. His hands slid down his arms, smoothing his jacket sleeves and curling his fingers around his biceps. He was careful about his next move, his heart racing in his chest at the fear that he could ruin everything, but for reasons currently unknown to him he felt like taking that chance.
He pulled Mulcahy away from him gently, peering down and catching his blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of emotions. Confusion, curiosity, and want. At least, that’s what he thought he was seeing. There’s only one way to find out.
He tilted his head, slowly going in for what he had been craving for so long. He didn’t want to move too fast; he was afraid he’d scare the chaplain off, or shatter him or something. It almost felt wrong, no, it did feel wrong to do this with a priest, but Mulcahy was just as human as anyone else, and he hadn’t pulled away yet. The moment he did, Hawkeye would step back, but for now he tested the waters.
As soon as his lips were against Mulcahy’s, the blonde grunted with surprise. Hawkeye didn’t move too much at first, waiting to see what Mulcahy’s reaction would be, and when he didn’t push him away or try to run, he figured it would be okay to go a little further. He tilted his head more to deepen the kiss, and he was relieved to feel the chaplain relax under his hands and sigh, seemingly content. Mulcahy’s hands reaching up to grab the sides of Hawkeye’s coat and pull him further down only egged the surgeon on, and he grunted with surprise at how desperate the other man was.
He moved his hand from his shoulder, instead snaking his arm around Mulcahy’s midsection, pulling him somehow closer. He spun them around, gently pushing the blonde against the bookshelf, careful not to hurt him accidentally. Mulcahy still gasped, breaking their kiss for a brief moment but Hawkeye went right back in after a quick break for air. Mulcahy still wasn’t pulling away, eagerly returning the kiss and tugging at the surgeon’s jacket, but he couldn’t get him any closer if he tried.
Hawkeye had dreamed of this moment for a long time, since the moment he met the priest really. He’d never known such a kind individual, such a gentle soul. He was a man of God, sure, but he’d met his fair share of mean and cruel religious people, but Mulcahy really took what it meant to be a man of the cloth to heart. He really loved thy neighbor, and despite everything he had seen here in this hell, he still remained kind. That took a strength that Hawkeye had never seen before, and he admired the man for that.
He ran a hand up and down the chaplain’s back again, the other getting brave and starting to tug on his jacket and shirt. He tested the waters, seeing what Mulcahy could take, and when he pushed his hand beneath his jacket and carefully untucked his black turtleneck from his pants and Mulcahy didn’t pull away, he decided to go ahead with his next venture.
He pushed his fingers ever so carefully underneath Mulcahy’s shirt, grazing his delicate skin. The winter was a cruel month, not just because of how down to the bone-chilling cold it was, but because one Francis Mulcahy had to bundle up in all of these layers. Oftentimes he would wear that form-fitting turtleneck like he was now, but without the jacket covering it up, and in the summer months he would wear that black t-shirt, revealing his toned arms that Hawkeye so adored staring at when the chaplain wasn’t aware he was looking. He worked out to keep in shape, and how Hawkeye wishes he could see those efforts paid off right now.
So, he took what he could. He pushed the rest of his hand under his shirt, palm pressed flat against Mulcahy’s back and feeling every inch of skin that he could. Though, at the touch, the chaplain gasped and pulled back. Hawkeye was quick to remove his hand, catching the shorter man’s eyes and watching him pant as he tried to catch his breath.
He was short of breath himself, but still he asked, “Are you alright?”
Mulcahy was slow to answer, as if his thoughts were not all with him at that moment, but soon enough he caught Hawkeye’s eyes and he nodded, stammering out a reply, “Y-Yes, your hands are cold.”
He would’ve laughed at that because it wasn’t really the reply he was expecting, but all he could do was readjust Mulcahy’s jacket and say, “You’re right, it’s a little too cold for the clothes to come off.”
Mulcahy blushed, and that was something Hawkeye always thought was rather easy to get him to do. Despite how smooth the chaplain could be when met with Hawkeye’s insistent flirting, the red hue to his face whenever it happened was always present. Perhaps what the surgeon adored the most was how rosy his ears got when he was flustered as he was now, so he leaned forward and kissed along his jaw, trying to leave a mark where his jugular would be, and then took a nip at his earlobe.
“That’s okay, we can keep the clothes on,” Hawkeye pulled away for the briefest moment to whisper in his ear before returning to kiss the side of his neck.
He decided now was as good a time as ever to see what the man’s boundaries were and see if he really was enjoying this as much as Hawkeye thought he was. The surgeon kept one hand balled in Mulcahy’s jacket, and the other he dragged lower and lower until he found the crotch of his pants. He pressed down firmly, causing some friction and with a moan in his ear, Hawkeye had his answer. He could feel how hard he was through his pants, and he smiled against his neck.
“Do you got a deck of cards in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Hawkeye asked slyly, pressing a few more kisses alongside the chaplain’s neck.
Mulcahy’s hands didn’t loosen their hold on him, but he did press his forehead against Hawkeye’s shoulder at the sensation of his hand moving against him, “It-It’s been a long time…”
Hawkeye’s teasing smirk fell, and he tried to peer down at Mulcahy, but he was keeping his head firmly against him, hiding his face. Hawkeye leaned over to kiss the top of his head, “We can stop.”
Mulcahy answered that by shifting his hips and gasping, fingers tightening in the surgeon’s jacket, “No, please don’t.”
Hawkeye waited a moment, making sure he was serious before he exhaled and decided to readjust. He removed his hand, replacing it by wedging his leg between Mulcahy’s and making the man muffle a groan against his jacket. Every little noise he made was like music to Hawkeye’s ears, and he never wanted to hear the end of it.
With a free hand, he reached up and took Mulcahy’s chin in his palm, pulling his head from his shoulder to smile down at him, “Let me hear you.”
Mulcahy was making quite the effort to avoid his eyes, hands so tight in Hawkeye’s jacket his knuckles were white, “I don’t want the others to hear.”
“They’re all still in the hospital, you can be as loud as you want,” He teased, pushing his leg forward and the friction made the chaplain’s head fall against his shoulder again and a moan to fumble out of his mouth.
Hawkeye’s mischievous grin grew as he continued to move, “Perfect.”
He can’t even count the number of times he laid awake at night thinking about being here like this with Mulcahy. Sure, in those dreams there were less clothes, the chaplain was saying things that completely went against his faith, and Hawkeye was completely ravishing him, and by the end of it all Hawkeye had to get up and go take a cold shower, but this was more perfect than he’d ever imagined it would be. Here he had the man he’d been falling in love with completely willing before him, gasping as he drove his thigh against his clothed erection, and clinging to him like his life depended on it. Hawkeye’s slept around a lot since he’s been here, but he’s never felt this kind of tenderness with anyone that he feels here with Francis Mulcahy.
The chaplain continued rutting against him, his movements becoming more desperate and gasps becoming ragged. Hawkeye smiled against his neck, “You’re doing so good. Do you know how perfect you are?”
He moaned again, rather loudly that time and tried to muffle it against Hawkeye’s shoulder. The sound made the surgeon grin, and he pressed a few kisses to the side of Mulcahy’s head. So praise got him going? He should’ve known. He could have some fun with this. But first, he needed to get them somewhere more comfortable. Mulcahy’s back was harshly pressed against the bookshelf behind him, and Hawkeye didn’t want to hurt him.
He removed his leg from between Mulcahy’s, which left the chaplain chasing for that friction he was desperately craving now, and he whined at the loss. Hawkeye put a hand against the side of his face and got him to look up at him, “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s move somewhere more comfortable, okay?”
He was still looking for friction, but he exhaled and nodded, trusting him. Hawkeye kissed his temple, then his cheek, and then went back to marking up his neck. He figured he could leave as many hickeys as he wanted, the chaplain would be covered head to toe anyway the next day so nobody would be the wiser. He pulled Mulcahy from the bookshelf and clumsily guided him towards his cot, keeping his lips on his neck the entire time and relishing in the gasp that escaped him when he dragged his teeth against the column of his throat.
He was careful when he laid him down, crawling on top of him and pinning his hands on either side of Mulcahy, planting a kiss on his mouth this time around and taking the blonde by surprise. Perhaps he put more feeling into this kiss than he was planning on, and he was afraid it may have admitted more to the priest than he was currently willing to admit, but it was done, and he couldn’t stop now. He didn’t want this to be a one-night stand, and he didn’t want Mulcahy thinking that’s what it would be either. He wanted to do this over and over. He wanted to kiss him like nobody was watching, he wanted to hold his hand, and tell him how perfect he was, and kiss away every tear he ever cried, and he could only hope and pray that Francis felt the same way about him.
He pulled back finally, having to catch his own breath, and he smiled so softly at the man pinned underneath him, admitting his greatest truth, “Francis, you’re so beautiful.”
He was looking up at him with wide blue eyes, a gasp catching in his throat, those words catching him completely off guard. Hawkeye couldn’t help but grin at the reaction, thinking he looked incredible right now, and he was about to make this dream come true even more wonderful.
He adjusted his leg, bending it at the knee and positioning it between Francis’ legs, and with ease he wrapped an arm around the blonde’s waist and lifted his hips, pushing that friction and getting it started again. Francis bit back a moan, but he arched his back and immediately went back to gripping Hawkeye’s arms. He pushed himself against the surgeon’s leg, working himself up into a pant.
Hawkeye smirked, watching every little move the chaplain made and eating it up. What was it that he liked so much? Oh, right, “Just like that, Francis. You’re doing so good.”
“Hawkeye—” He choked out, squeezing his eyes shut and with a flushed face, his hips stuttering. It got to him, the praise, and it was music to Hawkeye’s ears.
“Yes, darling? Something you need?” He teased, hand pressed flat against Francis’ lower back near his waist, wanting so desperately to reach underneath his layers and feel his bare skin, already addicted just from the little touch he had earlier.
Francis’ fingers curled into Hawkeye’s biceps, rutting desperately against his thigh, “Pl-Please—”
Hawkeye chuckled, “I knew you’d be sensitive, but this is surprising me. It really has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Francis gasped and panted, tugging on Hawkeye’s jacket, urging him to move and help him out a little. The look in his eyes though threw the surgeon off though, because those beautiful blues he’s fallen in love with admitted something to him that he couldn’t believe.
“Wait,” He slid his hand from Francis’ back and to his hip, stilling his movement, “Have you never… Is this your first—”
“Hawkeye, please,” He almost sobbed the pleading word, trying to pull the surgeon back to him, but Hawkeye stood his ground for the time being.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, feeling as if he’s pushed past boundaries.
“Because it’s not important,” Francis replied quickly, rushing the words out as if he were out of breath, which he clearly was as he tried to move his hips that Hawkeye was keeping still with a hand.
“Of course, it’s important,” The surgeon told him, searching his face for any sign of discomfort, but all he could find was that same desperate longing Francis had been chasing the entire time, “This should be with someone special—”
“You are special!” He exclaimed, but the desperation changed to a look of hurt in an instant, “Am I… not special?”
Hawkeye’s eyes widened, and he tried desperately to backpedal and fix his words, “No, no, no! I mean yes! Yes, you are special!”
As tough as Francis was, as Hawkeye’s always known him to be, he also knew that the sensitivity that led to his stubborn bravery and sometimes random surges of anger in intense situations also made way for tears. He’d seen him cry several times since he’s known him, mostly due to his own tendency to beat himself up over any misfortune or failure that befalls him. This time though, it was his fault, and he’d never forgive himself for it.
“Francis, I-I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant–”
“Am I just another one-night stand for you?” He wasn’t even shouting, not like he did when he was really angry, no. He was just hurt, deeply hurt. His voice was shaking and he was trying to hold his emotions back, but Hawkeye could see them clear as day in his eyes, “Do you know how hard this has been for me to come to terms with? This temptation? And now here you are, and this is what I’m met with?”
“I promise that’s not what I—”
“I can’t even begin to explain the amount of time I’ve sat in here and wondered if what I was thinking was unfaithful, and then I wondered if every interaction we’ve ever had meant anything more or if I was just imagining it, and now I know—”
Hawkeye couldn’t listen to this any longer. He put a hand on the side of Francis’ face, gentle and soothing and loving and he admitted what he’s been feeling, a feeling he wasn’t even sure of until right now, “Francis, I think I’m in love with you.”
Francis stopped talking, his breath catching in his throat, and he snapped his mouth shut, staring up at Hawkeye with eyes still showing hurt, but that emotion was fading into the background and making way for surprise and shock, “What?”
He practically breathed the word, it was so quiet, but Hawkeye heard him. He stroked a thumb against Francis’ soft features, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin but holding back to spill his heart out as if he were a patient on the operating table, “No, I don’t think, I know. You asked if I knew how hard this was, but I do because I’ve been feeling the same. I can’t take my eyes off of you. I’ve spent so many evenings lately leaving my dates early to go take a cold shower because all I can think about is you. Do you know how guilty I’ve felt about that? You’re the one person whose off limits, so of course I had to fall for you!”
Francis just stared at him, mouth slightly agape as he searched for something to say in return, but he didn’t know what he even could say to that. He was so shocked, and Hawkeye felt the same. He can’t believe he just said all of that. But it was out in the open now, and it felt like a huge weight off of his shoulders.
Francis’s fingers curled into his jacket again, his eyes flicking towards his lips before meeting his eyes again, “I’m not off limits. Not to you.”
And wasn’t that just what he wanted to hear? Hawkeye stroked his cheekbone, taking in his features before he leaned down to finish what they started. He pressed his lips to his, relieved when Francis kissed him back. Somehow the kiss this time evoked more passionate emotions within him, all of that love he said he thinks he feels he now knew he felt. He’d never known a gentler, kinder, or braver man than Francis Mulcahy, and he was done running from his feelings about him. He’d make this night count, and he’d do that same thing for the rest of his nights for the rest of his life.
“C’mere,” He said when he broke the kiss, rolling off of Francis and scooting to the head of the cot, the chaplain sitting up and watching him curiously. Hawkeye motioned with his hands for him to come forward, taking his wrists in his hands to help guide him to where he wanted him. That place ended up being his lap which Francis straddled, face burning at the position and anxiously avoiding Hawkeye’s eyes. The surgeon was back to grinning slyly, teasing, “Should we continue?”
“Wha— Oh, God…” His question was cut off and replaced with a moan as Hawkeye’s hand found his clothed erection, squeezing and palming at it, bringing the toe-curling sensation back to the needy blonde in his lap.
“Invoking the Lord’s name? Oh Francis, I never would’ve thought I’d hear that from you,” Hawkeye doted with a shake of his head.
“It-It was a slip of the tongue,” He tried to choke out, his hands finding Hawkeye’s shoulders and holding on tight, trying to keep himself grounded as his breathing began to pick up again.
The doctor chuckled, “I’m sure He’ll forgive you.”
Francis squeezed Hawkeye’s shoulders, trying to dig his nails into his skin but was unable to do so due to the layers of clothes the man was wearing. Still, it got the message across: Hawkeye needed to shut his mouth.
“Alright, alright, relax. I got you,” He promised him, reaching up to brush a strand of blonde hair off of the chaplain’s forehead as his other hand continued to work at him, “You’re doing incredible, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
He was moving his hips again, meeting Hawkeye’s ministrations. His breath was hot against the surgeon’s neck, leaning his head forward to hide his face again but Hawkeye wasn’t having it this time. He slid his hand up the back of Francis’ neck, tangling his fingers in his hair and stroking through it a few times before his hand came around to his face and pulled him back so he could see his eyes, “Look at me, alright?”
Francis’ eyebrows were furrowed, his face red, and his breath coming in gasps and pants now, a moan or whine or whimper fumbling from his mouth every now and again, “Hawkeye—”
“It’s alright,” The surgeon soothed him, gyrating his wrist a little and making Francis hold on tighter to him and gasp quite loudly, “I want to see you.”
“I-I—”
Hawkeye pushed forward, kissing down his throat again and making him shiver, mumbling against his skin, “Don’t be embarrassed. I think you look beautiful.”
Francis twisted the fabric of Hawkeye’s jacket tight in his hands, “Please…”
Hawkeye’s little smirk never fell, and Francis was starting to see him as cruel; the surgeon just furthered his cruelty, “Please what? You’ll have to be more specific, I’m a bit slow, you’ll have to excuse me.”
The next sound that escaped Francis was a sob brought on by how overwhelming all of this was for him, “I-I can’t hold on for much longer, please!”
Hawkeye’s teasing smile finally fell away, and he brushed some blonde hair behind the man’s ear, “Okay, shh, it’s alright. Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”
“No, no!” He kept his grip on his shoulders tight, making sure he wouldn’t go anywhere, “K-Keep going… I’m almost… Hah!”
He wanted to bow his head again and hide, almost embarrassed to be seen like this, but the lovestruck look in Hawkeye’s eyes was making it more tolerable. He continued to chase the friction caused by the surgeon’s hand, all the while Hawkeye watched his face with such adoration. Francis could feel the knot in his stomach tightening and tightening, pushing him right to the edge.
He gasped, and Hawkeye wanted to hear that sound again, so he applied more pressure with him palm, and he was rewarded with Francis practically sobbing his name, “Hawkeye!”
A small smile danced across the doctor’s face, but it wasn’t snarky or teasing this time, it was full of complete and utter admiration, “It’s alright, Francis. You can let go for me.”
He twisted the fabric of Hawkeye’s jacket in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and releasing with a gasp. Hawkeye can’t ever remember seeing a sight so beautiful, and he held onto it for as long as he could. He kept his hand pressed firmly against him, guiding him through his orgasm and watching every little face he made. He’d been dreaming of this night since he’d ever met the man, and now here they were, and it was more perfect than he’d ever imagined it would be.
Francis continued to jerk his hips against the surgeon’s experienced hand, meeting his motions, but when it surpassed bliss and fell into overstimulation he sobbed again unintentionally. Hawkeye was quick to stop, pulling his hand back and replacing both of them on Francis’ hips to still him, “Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.”
He pulled him down against his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him and rubbing a hand up and down his spine like he had done when this all started, calming the overwhelmed man. Francis practically collapsed on top of him, his forehead meeting his shoulder and taking deep breaths to bring himself back down to Earth because for a while there he thought he’d finally seen Heaven for himself.
Hawkeye didn’t dare move until Francis was ready to, letting him take his time to calm down and offering him words of praise and encouragement, “You were incredible. You sure you’ve never done this before?”
He got his answer by Francis shaking his head against his shoulder, feeling his warm breath tickle his neck as he somehow wiggled closer, embarrassed by his inexperience. Hawkeye chuckled and pushed a hand through blonde hair again, leaning over and kissing his neck sweetly, “C’mon, don’t be like that. You’re amazing.”
Both of his hands found either side of Francis’ face, pulling his head back so he could look at him. His face was still red, and his glasses were crooked, the lenses slightly fogged up as the heat from his face mixed with the cold of the air. Cute. Hawkeye pulled his glasses off so he could clear them for him, but before he went about doing that, he wiped away his tears from his face, remnants of his ecstasy, and then he pressed forward and kissed him. Francis sighed with content, finally relaxing and returning the kiss with fervor, his fingertips dancing across Hawkeye’s neck and jaw. The slight touch was Heaven to the surgeon, any little thing Francis did excited him, and that’s how he knew this must be love.
With everything he did, he did it with a smile on his face, even if the job was difficult. He smiled through bad hands in poker, through his struggle to find any rhythm in his piano playing, and even after he would administer last rites or comfort a dying man in their final moments he would grin and bear it, making others around him feel comforted by his everlasting strength. But Hawkeye bore witness to how that side of him crumbled every now and again, how being the kind one wasn’t always so easy, and that even he needed to cry and break from the pressure sometimes.
He made sure though that Francis knew this wasn’t just because he felt pity for him, or he needed a one-night stand, but it was so much more than that. He truly loved this man, for all of his gentleness and kindness and faith in people despite all of the horrors they’ve been subjected to. He broke sometimes, but he always picked himself right back up and put his good nature back into the world. Hawkeye admired that, as it was a true testament to the man’s character. He’d never known a man like Francis Mulcahy.
Francis was the one to pull back from the kiss, catching his breath and Hawkeye just watched him with that same lovestruck smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off of his face. The chaplain swallowed, and finally he opened his eyes to ask, “Hawkeye?”
“Yes?” He tilted his head, grin brightening.
Francis fought at a smile tugging desperately at the corners of his mouth, “Can I have my glasses back? I can’t see.”
“Oh,” Hawkeye chuckled, remembering what he was doing before he had to resist the urge to explore Francis’ mouth with his tongue. He used his jacket to clean the lenses and then reached up to place them properly back across his face, smiling sweetly at him, “There. Now those pretty blue eyes can see.”
Francis smiled at him now, looking about as relaxed as Hawkeye’s seen him all week. He reached for his hands, flinching at how cold they were and rubbing his hands over them to create some warmth, “You’re so cold, why did you take your gloves off?”
“Why did you?” Francis shot back.
Hawkeye’s smirk turned teasing again, “Easier to work you up without them, darling.”
Francis’ face had almost returned to its normal shade but at Hawkeye’s words it heated right back up. He smacked at Hawkeye’s shoulder and tried to change the subject, “I need to change.”
Oh right, that probably wasn’t comfortable. Hawkeye let go of his hands, “Right. Here, let me help you up.”
Francis moved off of his lap, preparing to get off of the cot and Hawkeye followed him even as he protested, “I think I can get— Whoa.”
As soon as he was on his feet his knees buckled and he nearly tumbled to the ground if it hadn’t been for Hawkeye jumping to his feet behind him and catching him. With a hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his midsection and planted to his stomach, he held the chaplain up until the feeling came back to his lower extremities.
“You were saying?” Hawkeye said, sarcastic.
Francis almost rolled his eyes, but he was too focused on keeping himself upright, “I’m fine. I just… need a second.”
Hawkeye snickered, remaining pressed flush against his back, “Not to toot my own horn, but you’re seeing stars.”
This time Francis did roll his eyes, but he snarked back, “Maybe next time I can return the favor.”
Now it was Hawkeye’s turn to blush, eyes widening with surprise at how bold that was coming from the chaplain, but he shouldn’t have been surprised, “You got a date in mind?”
Francis peered over his shoulder at him, and he had to smile at the flustered look on the surgeon’s face, “When it’s warmer.”
Hawkeye groaned in defeat, “Oh, but that’s at least a few months away. How am I going to survive that long?”
Francis looked down at his feet, seeing how steady his legs were now and figuring he was fine to walk, “I suppose you can just think of me.”
He shouldn’t have said that, but Hawkeye had a reply for everything, so it probably didn’t matter what he said at all for the surgeon to grin and retort with, “Oh, I do, I swear.”
Every time his face cooled down it would heat right back up; Hawkeye needed to stop talking. Francis tried to squirm a bit to get the message across that he was good to keep walking, “I’m fine now, you can let me go.”
The surgeon dipped his head to lean it against Francis’ shoulder, “Do I have to? You’re so cozy.”
“If you let me go we can get more cozy,” He tried to make a deal, but all that got him was more sass.
“Oh? Tell me about that,” Hawkeye grinned, his unshaved stubble itchy against Francis’ face.
The chaplain smacked the back of his hand, causing Hawkeye to yank it back and shake it out, “Okay, okay. Go change, I’ll be here eagerly waiting.”
Francis shook his head and stepped forward a bit clumsily, finding some new clothes to change into, and Hawkeye watched him, sitting on the edge of the cot. Francis kicked his boots off and started undoing his belt, but he felt Hawkeye’s eyes on him, so he glanced over his shoulder and frowned, “Can you… turn away, please?”
Hawkeye would’ve laughed, but it was sort of cute how after what they had just done Francis was still self-conscious, “Francis, I’ve seen you naked before. I also just had my hand all in your personal business.”
He was blushing so intensely it was making his ears burn, “Hawkeye!”
The surgeon held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. I won’t peek, even though I know it’s quite the view.”
He heard the chaplain grumble, flustered, as he turned over to lay on his side and face the wall away from Francis. He crossed his arms to keep himself warm and listened as his lover undressed, using his imagination to take in that view. Like he said, he’d seen him naked before, so it didn’t take much thinking to get a clear picture. After a couple of short minutes, Francis was returning to the cot and sitting on the edge of it, as if unsure of what to do next.
Hawkeye turned over to look at him, curious, and his smile was sweet again, “Here, let me warm you up.”
He sat up and gently grabbed Francis’ shoulders, carefully pulling him down to lay down next to him. He turned over to face him, nose to nose, and he pulled the blanket over the top of both of them. He made sure Francis was covered to the shoulders, and then he brushed his hair back again, taking in the beauty of the man before him.
“Comfortable?” He asked.
Francis shifted before settling, Hawkeye’s arm snaking around his waist and pulling him as close as he could get him, making sure he was warm. The chaplain nodded, “Thank you, Hawkeye.”
The surgeon furrowed his eyebrows, confused, and he would’ve tilted his head to make sure his bewilderment was obvious if he could in this position, “For what?”
Francis closed his eyes, exhaustion from their activity as well as the emotional toll this week has taken on him finally dawning on him, “For always being here.”
Hawkeye smiled softly, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Francis’ forehead, “I think I should be thanking you for the exact same thing.”
But Francis didn’t reply again, only grumbled incoherently before he was drifting off to sleep, at peace for the first time in what felt like ages. Hawkeye couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face, and he watched him sleep for a while before he lifted his hands to take the glasses off of the chaplain’s face that he forgot to remove before lying down. He folded them and set them on the desk before wrapping his arms back around Francis and deciding some sleep would do him good as well.
He closed his eyes, drifting off alongside Francis, feeling more at home than he has since he stepped foot into this camp.