Fandom: M*A*S*H.
Author: Epigone.
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: None. This is really, really innocuous, unless you're in the habit of reading into things as far as I do. Also really, really pointless.
Archivists: Ask first.
Summary: BJ finds Hawkeye's martini-mixing pretty darn fascinating.
Date Written: March 21, 2003.
Author's Notes: Written on a prompt: "Take an ordinary action and describe it in minute detail."
Feedback: Can be sent to kmaru1701 [AT] hotmail [DOT] com, and is much appreciated.
Intoxication
Sometimes, in the morning grayness that seems to have saturated their lives, BJ lies lissomely on his bunk and watches the way Hawkeye prepares a martini. He has this appealing awkwardness to him, skin stretched tight as if over a drum, shoulders always half-raised, a shambling walk that just barely holds together.
He hardly seems to move from his bed; the still is like an extension of himself, and sometimes he's simply there, next to it in the gloom. His long fingers deftly manipulate the warm coils, twitching them fondly here and there, and he reaches down -- a glass suddently in the curve of his hand -- and lets the gin slosh down. Some night, he doesn't stop until it leaks out over his fingers, and then he curses, without fervor or inflection, and dries them, stops the flow. After R&R in Tokyo, he often has a jar of olives, and he takes one tenderly between thumb and forefinger, like a marble, and flicks it into the glass. While it bobs restlessly, he paces the few short feet back to his bed and sits, legs crumbling thoughtlessly against the blankets. He tosses the drink back with abandon, an exaggerated, violent motion that frightens BJ, even as he soon finds himself doing it as well, defiantly.
Hawkeye gulps down his drink, his hands steady as ever, but when he sets it down, his eyes on BJ's face tremble like water.
~Fin~
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