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The jeep bounced over uneven ground, tires kicking up dirt as Hawkeye, BJ, and Trapper left the camp far behind. Frank’s empty bunk had made it easy to slip out undetected, and, with BJ taking his place, the three of them had simply climbed into the jeep’s front seat and drove off like they did almost every week.
Hawkeye sat wedged tight between them, shoulder pressed to BJ’s, thigh jammed against Trapper’s. There was plenty of room in the back seat, but they all insisted on cramming together, the heat of their bodies soaked through their fatigues and straight into their skin.
For days, Hawkeye had been worked raw. Maybe it was because he had lost one too many patients who looked every bit like child soldiers. Or maybe he was still frustrated by the fact that Frank got to go home before he did, and the way he cried and moaned and clung to Hot Lips as he left made Hawkeye want to tear out his throat.
Whatever the reason, the anger was ever-present, and it had nowhere to go except in pinches and jabs towards his two remaining roommates.
Trapper and BJ knew the signs, and, without a word, they had loaded up the jeep, drove to a secluded cluster of trees, and parked where no one from the 4077 would stumble across them.
Now the blanket, scratchy Army wool, was the only thing separating Hawkey from the ground. BJ knelt between his spread legs, fat cock buried deep inside him.
“Jesus,” BJ said. “You’re tight tonight. Breathe for me.”
His hands gripped Hawkeye’s hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp bones, and his face flushed under the faint moonlight filtering through the branches. The dog tags around his neck swung with each push, clinking softly against his chest.
Hawkeye head rested in Trapper’s lap, and Trapper’s fingers carded through his hair, more possessive than gentle. He took a deep breath and tried to relax the lower half of his body.
“That’s a good boy, Hawkeye,” he continued, pulling out slowly only to ram back in. “Just like that.”
“You’ve been wound up since Burns shipped out,” Trapper said, smirking. “Jealous he got to go and not you?”
Hawkeye tried to come up with some retort, but it devolved into a moan as BJ drove in, deeper this time.
“Look at you,” Trapper laughed. “All that smart mouth of yours and you can’t even talk right now.”
Hawkeye’s back arched as BJ began thrusting in earnest; heat spread through his belly, and his hard and leaking cock bounced up and down with the force of BJ’s cock ramming into him.
“Shut up, Trap,” Hawkeye managed, the words rough and broken. His voice cracked on the next thrust. “Just – shut up.”
Trapper’s fingers pinched one of Hawkeye’s nipples.
“Say that all you want, but you’re the one who begged us to take you out here. Again.”
BJ slowed his hips, grinding in a slow circle that made Hawkeye’s toes curl, and his head fell back against Trapper’s thigh. Self-loathing twisted with pleasure, but he could only find the strength to spread his legs wider.
Hawkeye wanted, needed, to drown in the pleasure, but he couldn’t focus. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought back to the 4077th, the meatball surgery, the mortar rounds, the –
“I think he wants your dick, too,” BJ said, interrupting Hawkeye’s train of thought. “You’d better give the man what he wants, or he’ll be pissy all month.”
Trapper nodded gravely, as if he was undertaking some great burden.
“Very true, BJ,” he said. “Well, if I must…”
Trapper worked his fly open, and his cock sprung free, slapping against Hawkeye’s cheek.
He rubbed the tip against Hawkeye’s lips like a tube of lipstick.
“Why, this shade suits him quite nicely,” Trapper said, looking down with a crooked grin. “What do you think, BJ?”
“Yes, it does,” BJ agreed, hitting a particularly deep spot inside of Hawkeye, making his whole body jolt. “What should we call it? Precum pink?”
Hawkeye tried to make a disapproving grunt, but it came out more like a whimper. His face was burning red, dark hair plastered to his forehead and temples with sweat, but every time he swept it out of his eyes, BJ’s ruthless thrusts shook his locks back over his face.
“Just – Just get on with it already,” Hawkeye rasped.
“You heard the man,” BJ said, picking up his already brutal pace, the slap of skin echoing through the trees. “No time like the present.”
With that, Trapper swung a leg over, positioning his thighs to bracket Hawkeye’s ears. They stared at each other upside down for a moment, and then Trapper’s hands wrapped around Hawkeye’s throat, thumbs pressing just enough to cut off that delicious rush of blood he needed to stay conscious.
In one smooth motion, Trapper pushed all the way to the back of Hawkeye’s throat and beyond.
Hawkeye didn’t even get a chance to taste him. It was just the sudden, choking fullness—the thick head forcing past his gag reflex, the heavy shaft sliding over his tongue, a prominent vein pulsing hot against the roof of his mouth. His throat spasmed around the invasion.
BJ thrust again, harder this time. The motion drove Hawkeye’s body forward onto Trapper’s cock, forcing it impossibly deeper. Hawkeye’s hands fisted in the scratchy Army blanket on either side of him, knuckles white as he tried to ground himself against the overwhelming onslaught from both ends.
“Fuck,” Trapper exclaimed, feeling the way Hawkeye’s throat bulged around his length. “That mouth of yours. Jesus.”
The stretch of his ass burned in a way that cleared his mind from the operating room, and the lack of oxygen going to his brain wiped the everything into a gray, mushy mess. All he could focus on was the heat surrounding him: BJ’s hands gripping his hips, Trapper’s thighs warm against his ears, and the steady rhythm of both men moving in time.
He thanked God Trapper had chosen this position, where no one could see his face, nor the tears that exploded from his sockets and traced hot rivers over his temples, slipping into his hair. Dry leaves would stick there soon, but right now the only thing that mattered was getting fucked out of goddamn mind.
“Always so tight for me,” BJ said as he lifted one of Hawkeye’s legs over his shoulder and planting a kiss against his inner thigh. “No matter how many times I fuck you, you’re always so tight. You’d think he’d be a virgin, the way his walls cling to me every time I pull out.”
Hawkeye tried to moan, but it came out as a choked, wet gasp as Trapper thrust in and out of his mouth, just enough to let him pull in air through his nose.
“Should change professions. Great surgeon, sure, but nothing beats how good he is as a whore.”
BJ laughed and shifted his hips just a fraction, changing the angle to hit Hawkeye’s prostate dead on.
Hawkeye couldn’t hold on anymore.
His throat worked uselessly, spit leaking from the corners of his stretched lips and running down his chin.
His cock, which had been hard and untouched, leaking a puddle onto the concave of his stomach, jumped to life with the force of a thousand sunders as his orgasm lit every one of his nerves on fire, leaving him a smoldering wreck.
Hot jets of cum shot across his chest and stomach, landing in sticky stripes that burned against his sweat-slick skin.
In the distance, he heard chuckling.
“Look at the mess you made,” Trapper cooed.
He eased his cock out of Hawkeye’s mouth with a wet pop, leaving a thin string of spit connecting Hawkeye’s lower lip to the swollen head, and settled Hawkeye’s head on one wool-covered thigh.
“Just lick the tip now,” Trapper said. “That’s it. Nice and slow.”
Hawkeye’s tongue worked, even as BJ’s pace never let up. Every thrust made his cheek scrape against the stiff fabric of Trapper’s pants, a reminder that he was completely naked while BJ and Trapper were both fully clothed
The contrast sent another sick pulse of arousal straight to his spent cock, which was already twitching at half-mast.
“Goddamn, Hawk,” BJ moaned, eyes fixed on where their bodies joined. “You take it so easy. Like you were built for this.”
Hawkeye’s eyes fluttered half-shut. The pleasure was sharp and immediate, but the shame sat right there beside it.
Here lay Benjamin Franklin Pierce, captain in the U.S. Army, chest-cutter who had spent twelve hours today pulling shrapnel out of some kid from Toledo, and, now he was naked, leaking, letting his two best friends use him like this in the middle of a war.
“You hear that, Hawkeye? BJ says you were built for it,” Trapper said.
His thumb stroked along Hawkeye’s jaw, tracing the stubble there.
“Maybe we should keep you like this every night after chow. No more poker, no more martinis. Just you on your back with your mouth open and your legs spread.”
Hawkeye tried and failed to suppress a moan as he laved broad strokes along the underside of Trapper’s cock, tongue pressing against the frenulum, then circled the red, swollen tip with his equally swollen lips.
When Trapper came, he pulled back just enough to coat Hawkeye’s face in thick ropes that landed across his cheek, lips, and the bridge of his nose.
BJ let out a sarcastic huff. “Look at the mess you two made.”
“Don’t worry. Hawkeye will clean it up just fine.”
Scooping up the droplets of cum from Hawkeye’s face, Trapper pushed his fingers between the man’s lips and swirled them around.
Under any other circumstance, Hawkeye would have shied away from eating another man’s spend; but here, with no one to judge him but two equally depraved men, Hawkeye suckled each digit, drawing every bit into his mouth, salty, bitter, and so, so familiar.
His eyes stayed half-lidded, dark lashes damp with sweat, as he swallowed it all down.
Trapper watched him closely, thumb brushing over Hawkeye’s lower lip as he pulled his fingers free with a soft, wet sound.
“That’s it, Hawk,” BJ encouraged. “Every drop. You’re getting real good at this.”
Hawkeye turned his face into Trapper’s wool-clad thigh, hiding the fresh flush that crept up his neck. He couldn’t bear to face them, and his words were muffled against the rough fabric.
“You’re both perverts,” he said between gasps. “What would your wives think if they saw you now?”
Hawkeye had intended to bring them down to his level, no matter how underhanded the tactic, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. BJ smiled and, as he conjured up images of his beloved Peggy, thrust even harder.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” BJ said. “Peggy and I play that game all the time. She hits the bars, lets fellas like you buy her drinks while I watch. We bring ’em home, tell ’em they don’t get her until I’ve had them first. Their faces—pure shock. But she reels ’em in, and next thing, they’re taking me just like you are.”
He ground in deep to prove it, drawing a choked groan from Hawkeye, whose thighs trembled, spread wide around BJ’s hips.
“Y’know, Peg’s got her own strap-on rig,” BJ went on, voice steady despite the rhythm. “Puts it on and goes to town. Nothing revs her up like it. When this war’s done—if it ever is—you oughta come stay with us. We’d keep you plenty satisfied.”
“Hey, lay off stealing my boy,” Trapper cut in, eyes narrowing playfully at BJ. “My wife ain’t as wild, Pierce, but her grip’s near as good as yours down there. She’d welcome a third no sweat. You plow her while I plow you, then we’d put the kids down for bed and work at our own practice come morning.”
“Enough, both of you,” Hawkeye groaned, pushing back against BJ. “No future talk. Just... that spot. Right there.”
BJ and Trapper traded a knowing look over Hawkeye’s straining form.
Sweat poured off him in droves, beads sliding down the narrow planes of his hips, slicking his thighs, tracing glistening paths through the sparse hair on his chest and running into the shadowed spaces between his ribs.
Every thrust from BJ punched the air out of him, ruthless and deep, dragging against that spot inside that made his vision spark white at the edges.
“You say that, but…you love this,” Trapper said, leaning down so his voice was low and rough against the shell of Hawkeye’s ear. “The whore that you are. BJ’s fucking you like a goddamn machine. He could keep this up for hours without coming. Bet you’re in heaven.”
BJ mock-tsked, never slowing his hips. “It’s time to focus on your little Hawkeye, Trap, instead of chasing your own pleasure.”
“Why, you’re right!” Trapper said, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “And here I was forgetting my manners. Allow me, Hawkeye.”
Trapper shifted them with surprising ease, repositioning Hawkeye until his back braced firmly against Trapper’s broad, damp chest. The new angle forced BJ’s cock even deeper, and Hawkeye let out a broken moan that bordered on a sob.
“How’s this?” Trapper asked as he snaked one hand around to gather the cum on Hawkeye’s chest and wrap his palm firmly around Hawkeye’s now fully erect cock.
Hawkeye would have screamed, if only he could find his voice. Instead, it got caught in his throat and clawed for release, little ragged breaths and half-formed pleas.
The overstimulation slammed into him like a mortar round. His nerves lit up, raw and screaming, every stroke of Trapper’s fist twisting pleasure so sharp it hurt.
Trapper smiled against his shoulder, teeth grazing skin. “Glad we came out to the woods for this. Otherwise, the whole unit’d know what a desperate slut you are, Pierce.”
Hawkeye’s hands flew up instinctively, trying to push Trapper’s arm away. It was too much - far, far too much – BJ’s cock and Trapper’s slick hand; he couldn’t take both, not like this, torn open and exposed like a gaping wound.
But Trapper batted his arms away with ease.
“None of that. Hold onto me. Both hands.”
Hawkeye shook his head but obeyed, even as he found himself really, truly shaking – not just the fine tremor of overstretched nerves, but something deeper, as if the entire soul of his being was being ripped out of him and stomped on in the most delicious way imaginable.
Here, he was no longer the knowledgeable, duty-bound surgeon only a stone’s throw away from the front lines; rather, he was reduced to nothing but a vessel, a shaking collection of atoms and molecules and electrons, all of them desperate to leap from this valence straight into the atmosphere where they could explode and dissipate into dust.
Then, suddenly, Trap used his other arm to press down on Hawkeye’s lower stomach.
The pressure shifted low in his belly, too low, and something urgent and unmistakable burst to the forefront of his mind.
He needed to pee.
Badly.
“Trap—stop,” Hawkeye gasped, voice wrecked and thready. “I’m gonna—I need to pee. Please, stop.”
Trap only pressed down harder. He glanced over Hawkeye’s shoulder at BJ, still driving into him with that merciless rhythm.
“He says he’s about to pee. Should I stop?”
BJ’s eyes met Trapper’s. His hips snapped forward once, twice, never breaking stride.
“Nah,” he said. “Keep going.”
Hawkeye’s breath hitched as the pressure in his bladder spiked unbearably with every brutal thrust from behind.
“No—guys, I really, seriously need to go.”
His hips jerked involuntarily, trying to twist away, but Trap’s weight and BJ’s iron grip on his waist pinned him in place.
“Please, I’m not kidding. It’s bad.”
Trapper’s mouth curved into a lazy, wicked smile, the same one he donned when they found a new way to torture Frank.
He pressed ever harder in the swollen lower curve of Hawkeye’s belly.
“You really wouldn’t want to interrupt BJ’s fun, would you?” he whispered in a tone so sweet and coaxing it was as if he were talking to a small child. “We know exactly how long it takes him to finish. You wouldn’t want to waste all this progress, right? All that hard work he’s putting in back there… just for you.”
Hawkeye shook his head frantically as another deep thrust from BJ forced a whimper out of him.
“Trap—please, let me up, just for a second—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”
He was begging now, raw and desperate, even as some distant part of his mind registered the safe word hovering there like a lifeline. All he had to do was shape his lips around the word.
But he couldn’t. Something lodged in his chest like a stone.
BJ tipped his head back as his rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, just long enough to signal that he was almost at the end of his rope.
As if on cue, Trapper shifted so both of his hands pressed firmly and deliberately into Hawkeye’s lower belly with the heels of his palms, massaging in slow, cruel circles.
Hawkeye’s vision blurred as he writhed and squirmed and babbled unintelligible pleas that dissolved into curses. His nails dug into Trapper’s biceps, clawing through the skin, but Trap only chuckled darkly and pressed harder.
The second orgasm slammed into Hawkeye without warning – violent, unwelcome, even, ripping through the core of his being like shrapnel. His untouched cock jerked and spurted weakly as every muscle in his body seized.
For one dizzying second, Hawkeye blacked out; the world narrowed to a pleasure so blinding that nothing else could seep through.
When awareness trickled back, he was trembling, oversensitive and gasping, and he felt it: a hot, clear gush of liquid spilling out of him, soaking Trap’s hands and the blanket beneath.
It wasn’t urine; it was something else entirely.
Trapper let out a delighted laugh, lifting one glistening hand to examine it in the dim light.
“Well, shit. Did you just squirt for us, Hawkeye? Look at that.” His voice dropped into something warm and filthy with praise. “Such a good girl. Squirting all over us like that. So pretty.”
BJ moaned low and guttural at the sight, his hips stuttering as he drove home against Hawkeye’s prostate again and again.
“Fuck—Hawk—”
He was close, so goddamn close, and Hawkeye could feel it in the way his thrusts turned erratic, savage. One final, balls-deep shove and BJ came with a broken groan, pulsing hot and thick inside him.
Even then he didn’t stop—kept grinding, kept thrusting shallowly through his own release, forcing every drop deeper, lodging it so far that Hawkeye was certain it would never come out.
He’d absorb it. Just like he’d absorb Trapper’s cum through his stomach, and every filthy inch of himself would transform into a leaking mess of all three of their most degenerate desires.
Finally, finally, BJ stilled, letting out a satisfied sigh.
It was over.
The world stopped spinning for a moment.
Hawkeye drifted, slipping far away from their little oasis in the woods and the heavy press of bodies that had just wrecked him so thoroughly. His attention sank inward, dipping below that quiet, reflective surface where sensation dulled to a distant thrum. All that remained was the great, bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down like wet wool, and the feather-light touches moving over his skin.
Someone carefully wiped away the mess from his stomach and between his thighs, the sticky evidence of his own release and the clear fluid he’d squirted so shamefully. A warm cloth stroked gently over his spent cock, then lower, cleaning the slick trail that had leaked from him. Another hand brushed damp hair back from his forehead, wiping away the sweat beading on his brow with surprising tenderness.
Soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck, far too gentle for what he truly deserved after begging and breaking and letting them use him like that.
A low voice whispered against his ear, warm breath ghosting over sweat-cooled skin. He couldn’t quite make out if it was BJ’s rough timbre or Trapper’s smoother drawl, but the words wrapped around him like a blanket anyway.
“So good, baby,” the voice said. “Such a sweet thing for us.”
Hawkeye let out a shaky, contented exhale. Peace settled over him, inordinate and deep, considering the circumstances—the way his body still ached and throbbed, the way he could still feel BJ’s cum lodged hot and heavy inside him, the faint sting where Trapper’s hands had pressed into his throat.
Yet here he was, floating in it, utterly at ease.
Only after all this could he relish the vast emptiness of his mind, the rare silence that followed putting his body through hell.
When they folded Hawkeye in between them in the jeep and drove back to camp, Hawkeye rested his head against one of their shoulders and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.