#beejtrap

Kiss Roulette Yay hello thank you!! :D I hope you enjoy! AO3 Crosspost

When he hears the doorbell distantly ring through the open patio door, BJ doesn't think much of it. It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning; it could be anybody. He considers being annoyed by the interruption, but honestly he could use a break from the relentless heat of the summer sun high overhead without a single cloud to be seen, and this seems to be a ready-made excuse to grab a glass of lemonade and wipe the sweat from his brow with a cool rag. He takes a long moment to study the wood that he's been priming for painting—he is sick and tired of the tiny bookshelves that he and Hawk have in the office, is damn well going to build some that touch the ceiling, if he has to—before there's a more relentless assault on the doorbell as though the person's trying to break it. "All right, all right, Christ," BJ mutters as he sets the brush down, then heads through the kitchen, pulling up the hem of his tank top to scrub his face clean. There's not really time to put on something more presentable, so he's rather hoping it isn't Mrs. Brewer from across the street, because God knows all he needs is to scandalize her. He'll be the talk of the neighborhood for the rest of the week and Hawkeye will never let him live it down, how he violated her delicate sensibilities by having his bare arms and chest hair out on flagrant display.

When he opens the door, however, his mind goes completely blank. Because this isn't right. Those tight brown curls, sparkling eyes, and broad smile, they're, he's, but— "Your flight doesn't get in until tomorrow," BJ finally manages to breathe.

Trapper shrugs, cocking his head. "So I got an earlier flight. You gonna make me sit on the front porch 'til my taxi woulda got here?" he drawls, his gaze skimming slowly, slowly down BJ's body. He flicks his tongue out, moistening his lips, and BJ's pulse begins thudding hard enough for him to hear it.

"Hawkeye's not even here." BJ goes to check his watch, then remembers he took it off before getting started so he wouldn't risk getting primer on it. He rakes his fingers through his hair instead. It's grown out some since the last time he and Hawkeye were up in Boston. Trapper had tugged at it one night, craning BJ's head back and making him gasp, and had murmured right against his ear how much fun they would have, if Trap could really get a nice handful of it. He hadn't thought it was possible, but the memory makes his blood heats to the boiling point all at once, somehow topping the thermometer in a way that the hours of work have yet to do. "He… He's at the hospital until 7:00, I think."

"You think, huh?" Trap's grin widens. He moves around his suitcase and into BJ's space, propping a hand on the doorframe so he can lean in close. "Well, it's not all bad. You're Mr. Hospitality, aincha? I bet you can figure out a way to entertain me."

He really needs to paint that wood today so he can start putting it together as soon as possible. He's not even finished priming, and the planks will have to sit for several hours to seal up right. He'd meant to change the sheets on their bed, meant to give the bathroom one last clean so that it was gleaming.

Then a tendril of addictive scent—Trapper's aftershave—tickles his nose, and BJ grabs him by the shirt and drags him inside.

Trap's laughing before BJ even gets the door shut and jacks Trapper up against it. "Somebody's gonna steal my fuckin' luggage—"

BJ shuts him up with his mouth, slamming their lips together hard enough to bruise. He sucks in ragged, uneven breaths through his nose as he grabs Trapper's wrists in each hand and pins them to the wood, then rocks forward and crushes Trap with his own body. God, it's been almost nine months since he tasted him. The phone calls and the letters aren't enough. The world's always a little off-kilter until he can taste the thin copper flavor on his tongue, the warning that blood might be soon to follow. With a growl, BJ sucks Trapper's bottom lip into his mouth and worries it with his teeth, and the shuddering moan he gets in response flares his wildfire of hunger to the painful point.

BJ pulls back just enough to suck in some air. "It's been too goddamn long," he whispers.

Trapper takes advantage of the distance to twist his neck, then drags his tongue up BJ's pounding jugular. "Fuck, that's good. Mmnh…" He nips, an incredibly welcome pinprick of pain.

"Trap…" He barely gets his name out before he's letting him go, making to grab his waist.

He never makes it there because Trapper immediately whips them around with a grunt. BJ's head bangs against the door, but he could give less of a shit. He loves this. Craves it. Gets so hungry for their give-and-take, the power play that neither of them can ever quite get a leg up on. Trapper interlaces their fingers while he holds BJ's hands against the door as high over his head as he can reach, and the moan that slips out of Trapper is more of a whimper than anything else. "You know how fuckin' good you smell? Sexy son of a bitch." He tongues and slurps his way down BJ's throat, never quite leaving a mark, wanders over his shoulder, then breathes him in right at the armpit. BJ would think he'd be used to this by now with a musk-lover like Hawkeye in his bed every night, but heat still bleeds into his cheeks as he cranes his head away, willing the flush to disappear before Trap might see it and tease him.

Fortunately for him, Trapper seems otherwise engaged. He releases him, then yanks up his shirt and licks his way through his chest hair, down his stomach, dipping for just a moment into his belly button as he gets to his knees.

"You're disgusting," BJ gasps out, but he can't stop the corners of his lips from curving upward.

Trapper smirks up at him as he deftly opens BJ's belt. "If you don't wanna be appreciated, then you shoulda had a shower already."

BJ breathes a chuckle. He slides his fingers through Trapper's curls and scratches affectionately at his scalp. "Mm, my loss, I guess."

"S'that what this is?" Trapper asks with a laugh of his own. "Well, then, your loss is my gain." He yanks BJ's jeans and boxers down, then buries his nose in the crease between his rapidly hardening cock and his balls and takes a loud whiff. "Fuuuck…" He laves his tongue along the perineal raphe, sending shocks of pleasure through him until BJ's toes are curling in his shoes and his cock begins to bounce with every beat of his heart. "You gonna listen real close, right?" Trap pulls back to leave a kiss right on his tip. "Make sure nobody's liftin' my stuff?"

BJ can barely form an intelligent thought, but he could banter with Trapper in his sleep by now. "That all depends on how good you can make it. How long's it been since you sucked somebody off, Mr. Ladykiller? Bet you can't even take half of me anymore."

please forgive my amateur league beejtrap, I'm new to this game. 😅

beejtrap, a kiss while crying

The nightmares never got better, only less frequent. BJ still woke once or twice a month when he started screaming in his sleep, watching a helicopter sail away as he lay in a field bleeding from a torn leg. Hawkeye dreamt of a dozen different things, every aid station and lost friend and Fourth of July all woven around each other until he couldn’t separate them.

HI REMY!! I had tons of fun with this one :3

beejtrap, a tentative kiss

The realization that wanting to be in Hawkeye’s life necessarily meant having Trapper John McIntyre around hadn’t been a particularly welcome one, but BJ was learning to adjust. Yes, he frequently felt like the odd man out, competing with a history he’d missed years of, but that was fine. It had to be fine. He didn’t have any choice in whether it was fine or not if he wanted to have the opportunity to watch the sunset with Hawkeye out the window that faced the ocean.