Alrighty then
May. 14th, 2010 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mymetalphantomIn reply to my request for prompts ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nemo_everbeing asked for M*A*S*H fic. Specifically for Hawkeye/Mulcahy. Nemo is clearly made of win!
If I haven't written for a fandom I like to start off small, practice a bit. I have something larger planned, but this is just a little, itty bitty ficlet. An appetiser, if I'm allowed to be pretentious for a moment.
Title: And I Can Hear God Laugh
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Pairing: Hawkeye/Mulcahy
Rating: I dunno...nothing graphic here.
Summary: Hawkeye gets the feeling that somebody up there is having a bit of fun at his expense.
Author's Note: Yeah, one of these guys is a Roman Catholic Priest. If you're going to be offended by it, please don't read it. Thank you.
I’ve often had the feeling that my life is just a tragi-comedy. Nothing of epic, Shakespearean proportions you understand, just a cheeky little melodrama, part farce, part Greek-style tragedy.
After all, nothing could be more tragically farcical than a neurotic, hard-drinking doctor who finds himself in love with a Priest.
Whoa, I hear you say, back that Jeep up there, Pierce. What are you talking about man?
And I know what else you’re thinking. Hawkeye Pierce? But he’s a legendary lothario, lover of women, debaucher of nurses.
Well, yes, I modestly accept the truth of that statement. I certainly try my best, but everyone has their secrets; secrets that are sometimes distracting. Secrets that sometimes keep you up nights.
I have many such secrets and they all add the aforementioned general neurosis. Sometimes when I talk to Sidney Freedman I see dollar signs in his eyes. I try to see as much of him as I can while we’re still stuck in Korea, where he can’t bill me. Mind you, I think I’ll be lost without him when we finally all get to go home.
I’ve thought about confiding in Sidney. He’d understand; he knows his Freud that man, and I’m sure he would be able to explain.
I imagine myself telling Sidney my big secrets. I often find myself attracted to other men. Plus I’m in love with Mulcahy and probably have been since the first time I met him; when I saw that our Chaplain wasn’t a middle-aged, beardy, overweight whiskey drinker, but a young, fit, fresh faced man who is at once both gentle and determined. There’s innocence in his eyes and I love that this hell-hole hasn’t yet robbed him of that. He laughs with me and confides in me and looks at me with such depth of understanding that it stops my breath.
I’m not worthy of his attention.
No, really. I truly believe that. My description of him there might lead you to deduce that my feelings are ones born of pure, wholesome admiration. They are just the tip of the proverbial.
I am awash with impure thoughts, a sea of lustful feelings; something that should come as no surprise to anyone who’s been paying attention.
It was simple at first. Wide, innocent blue eyes are a killer, and the occasional twinkle of mischief I see there just makes it worse. And he’s symmetrical, proportionate. Handsome.
The final straw came when I realised how good he looks in his tight black t-shirt. I find myself looking forward to the hot weather because at least when the heat renders me sleepless I have that image to occupy myself with.
Priests aren’t meant to have biceps like that.
I need help.
And yet when Sidney arrives for our ‘conference’ I find myself staying quiet on the matter. And we play poker and often I find myself spilling my guts about my childhood or some minor trauma while I’m collecting my winnings afterwards.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he asks, sensing it but never pressing me.
I make a flippant remark that he sees right through and we move on. This happens every week.
I know what’s stopping me. I don’t want him to look at me the way I look at myself in the mirror. I’m not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination and I don’t believe in all that ‘being punished for your thoughts’ stuff, but still...sometimes I feel like I’m violating something beautiful when I catch myself staring at him across the mess table, when I imagine holding him and kissing him. And more...
Shit. I’m in so much trouble.
*****
I snag a seat next to Mulcahy at dinner. He smells good. I don’t know how he does it, but he actually manages to smell good in this sewer. And he thanks God for his food and I swear I can hear God laugh.
I don’t thank God. Even if I was religious I would be reluctant to show gratitude for this crap.
The mashed potatoes look vaguely edible. I eat, automatically sniffing at it before every mouthful.
“What do you miss most about home?” I ask. I want to catch some glimpse of his ordinary life.
He thinks for a minute. “You mean aside from heating, modern plumbing, clean sheets, edible food and the complete absence of bombs and gunfire?”
“Yeah.”
Mulcahy shrugs.
That’s funny. I laugh softly. I used to be surprised when he made wise-ass comments like that. Now I look forward to them.
“What about you?” he asks in return. “What do you miss?”
He really does walk into these things.
“Carol Robinson, a nurse I loved once...no twice.” Mulcahy rolls his eyes, but blushes delightfully.
I could kiss him when he does that.
“Aww, you’re cute when you blush,” I dare to say.
“Hawkeye!” he protests, scandalized and blushing redder.
He looks down at his plate, embarrassed but he’s smiling and I wish I could stay there all day; talking like that and watching him blush and smile. Making him blush and smile.
I think for a moment that I can hear God laugh again. Just before I hear the whipping sound of chopper blades.
nemo_everbeing asked for M*A*S*H fic. Specifically for Hawkeye/Mulcahy. Nemo is clearly made of win!If I haven't written for a fandom I like to start off small, practice a bit. I have something larger planned, but this is just a little, itty bitty ficlet. An appetiser, if I'm allowed to be pretentious for a moment.
Title: And I Can Hear God Laugh
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Pairing: Hawkeye/Mulcahy
Rating: I dunno...nothing graphic here.
Summary: Hawkeye gets the feeling that somebody up there is having a bit of fun at his expense.
Author's Note: Yeah, one of these guys is a Roman Catholic Priest. If you're going to be offended by it, please don't read it. Thank you.
I’ve often had the feeling that my life is just a tragi-comedy. Nothing of epic, Shakespearean proportions you understand, just a cheeky little melodrama, part farce, part Greek-style tragedy.
After all, nothing could be more tragically farcical than a neurotic, hard-drinking doctor who finds himself in love with a Priest.
Whoa, I hear you say, back that Jeep up there, Pierce. What are you talking about man?
And I know what else you’re thinking. Hawkeye Pierce? But he’s a legendary lothario, lover of women, debaucher of nurses.
Well, yes, I modestly accept the truth of that statement. I certainly try my best, but everyone has their secrets; secrets that are sometimes distracting. Secrets that sometimes keep you up nights.
I have many such secrets and they all add the aforementioned general neurosis. Sometimes when I talk to Sidney Freedman I see dollar signs in his eyes. I try to see as much of him as I can while we’re still stuck in Korea, where he can’t bill me. Mind you, I think I’ll be lost without him when we finally all get to go home.
I’ve thought about confiding in Sidney. He’d understand; he knows his Freud that man, and I’m sure he would be able to explain.
I imagine myself telling Sidney my big secrets. I often find myself attracted to other men. Plus I’m in love with Mulcahy and probably have been since the first time I met him; when I saw that our Chaplain wasn’t a middle-aged, beardy, overweight whiskey drinker, but a young, fit, fresh faced man who is at once both gentle and determined. There’s innocence in his eyes and I love that this hell-hole hasn’t yet robbed him of that. He laughs with me and confides in me and looks at me with such depth of understanding that it stops my breath.
I’m not worthy of his attention.
No, really. I truly believe that. My description of him there might lead you to deduce that my feelings are ones born of pure, wholesome admiration. They are just the tip of the proverbial.
I am awash with impure thoughts, a sea of lustful feelings; something that should come as no surprise to anyone who’s been paying attention.
It was simple at first. Wide, innocent blue eyes are a killer, and the occasional twinkle of mischief I see there just makes it worse. And he’s symmetrical, proportionate. Handsome.
The final straw came when I realised how good he looks in his tight black t-shirt. I find myself looking forward to the hot weather because at least when the heat renders me sleepless I have that image to occupy myself with.
Priests aren’t meant to have biceps like that.
I need help.
And yet when Sidney arrives for our ‘conference’ I find myself staying quiet on the matter. And we play poker and often I find myself spilling my guts about my childhood or some minor trauma while I’m collecting my winnings afterwards.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he asks, sensing it but never pressing me.
I make a flippant remark that he sees right through and we move on. This happens every week.
I know what’s stopping me. I don’t want him to look at me the way I look at myself in the mirror. I’m not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination and I don’t believe in all that ‘being punished for your thoughts’ stuff, but still...sometimes I feel like I’m violating something beautiful when I catch myself staring at him across the mess table, when I imagine holding him and kissing him. And more...
Shit. I’m in so much trouble.
*****
I snag a seat next to Mulcahy at dinner. He smells good. I don’t know how he does it, but he actually manages to smell good in this sewer. And he thanks God for his food and I swear I can hear God laugh.
I don’t thank God. Even if I was religious I would be reluctant to show gratitude for this crap.
The mashed potatoes look vaguely edible. I eat, automatically sniffing at it before every mouthful.
“What do you miss most about home?” I ask. I want to catch some glimpse of his ordinary life.
He thinks for a minute. “You mean aside from heating, modern plumbing, clean sheets, edible food and the complete absence of bombs and gunfire?”
“Yeah.”
Mulcahy shrugs.
That’s funny. I laugh softly. I used to be surprised when he made wise-ass comments like that. Now I look forward to them.
“What about you?” he asks in return. “What do you miss?”
He really does walk into these things.
“Carol Robinson, a nurse I loved once...no twice.” Mulcahy rolls his eyes, but blushes delightfully.
I could kiss him when he does that.
“Aww, you’re cute when you blush,” I dare to say.
“Hawkeye!” he protests, scandalized and blushing redder.
He looks down at his plate, embarrassed but he’s smiling and I wish I could stay there all day; talking like that and watching him blush and smile. Making him blush and smile.
I think for a moment that I can hear God laugh again. Just before I hear the whipping sound of chopper blades.
gad!
Date: 2010-05-14 05:55 pm (UTC)You never fail to disappoint. Sounds like rambling, high-strung and mental multi-tasking Pierce!!!
Re: gad!
Date: 2010-05-15 09:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-14 11:11 pm (UTC)So glad you wrote this. You make me want to get back on my own MASH fic and get the silly thing finished.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-05-15 09:24 am (UTC)Yeah, I need to write something that does justice to massive amounts of guilt that has to come with this ship. Then I have balance that out with some funny because...well, it’s M*A*S*H!
You make me want to get back on my own MASH fic and get the silly thing finished.
Do it! Doooo eeeet! Or y’know, whatever. :D