Easter egg 

The Original Ending.

JMA

Below is the original version of the last chapter. It was written before the rest of Game 22 to prove to me then beta's that I had every intention of finishing the piece. It was changed because, through the writing of the story, the characters developed a little more than I had expected and this version seemed a little, well, wrong. Hawkeye was far too flippant, I didn't like his interaction with Frank at all, especially as they were supposed to have just escaped  a Blue Discharge. I did like Frank, though, and it was his actions in this piece that set my tone for him through the rest of the story.

Frank was humming as he waltzed into the shower room, his good mood only slightly dampened by Hawkeye’s presence in the other stall.

“ Pierce, you do know that you’re supposed to salute your commanding officer?”

“I am Frank, you just can’t see it over the stall walls.”

“Degenerate.”

Hawkeye smirked. Frank didn’t know whether he should hit him or kiss that smirk right off his face. He was in a good mood, so he did neither.

“You know, Frank,” Hawkeye commented while washing his armpits, “you are the only person actually happy Henry’s gone.”

Frank snorted, “Blake was a disgrace to this man’s army! He wouldn’t have known a regulation if it bit him in the behind. I’m just glad I’m now in the position to get this outfit into shape. From now on I intend to have everything done by the book”

“Then I assume certain non-regulation activities are out.”

That made Frank stop for a moment. Did he still need them, need to be *that * now that he was in charge? He was their C.O. so they’d have to start respecting him. He was important now, in ways that had nothing to do with them. Frank glared at Hawkeye and ducked his head under the shower spray. The problem was that he still didn’t expect it to be enough. Not for them and maybe even not for himself. The idea that he might actually be getting addicted to this shocked him more than the cold water that pelted his body.

“Hello kids!” Trapper said, walking inside and de-robing as if there were nobody else in the room. He was grinning like a maniac. Like usual.

“Hold on,” Hawkeye said, “I’ll be out in a second.”

“No need,” Trapper winked and Frank could feel the air changed as Trapper walked into his stall. Moments later there were hands on his waist and lips on his neck.

“Good evening, Mr Commanding Officer,” He purred into Frank’s ear, still making the words sound like a joke, a taunt, an insult.

Hawkeye laughed. “I guess I’d better leave you crazy kids alone,” he said as he flung his towel across one shoulder and headed for his robe, “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure to lock the door and put out a Do Not Disturb sign. We don’t want anyone gate crashing this little celebration.”

Frank’s eyes followed Hawkeye as he made his way out of the shower room. He should have been relieved, but instead his body tensed with dread. Because Trapper had stopped too.

“Hawkeye.”

/No, no no no no,/ Frank thought, praying that Hawkeye would just leave. The door become a shoreline that a drowning Frank knew he would never reach.

Hawkeye stopped.

So Frank reached out for him first.

He walked over and placed his hand an the still-bare chest and slowly ran ti up to the side of Hawkeye’s face. Hawkeye felt terrified and Frank jumped on it, feebly holding on to it in an attempt to control something, anything, before once again he was swept away by them both.

Hawkeye was taller than him, even while he stooped, so Frank stood on tiptoes to kiss him. Hawkeye followed him when he returned to the stall, to Trapper.

Frank stood between them. That had been his place until now and he wasn’t giving it up without a fight. Always between them. If he wasn’t, they’d have each other.  

Trapper was already hard, against his back, hungrily groping Frank’s bare flesh. Frank pulled Hawkeye close for another kiss, carefully arranging his hands as a barrier between Hawkeye and Trapper. As much as he could Frank intercepted touches that almost were, redirecting them over his own body. He still couldn’t stop them looking at each other. He thought of a way to place more distance between them.

“McIntyre,” he whispered, distracting Trapper as one of his hands left their guard and reached for a bar of soap. He pressed it into Trapper’s hands hoping he would get the message. Moments later he felt a soapy slick along his  backside and the slick intrusion of one of trapper’s fingers.

With his mouth still focused on Hawkeye, he made his way down to his knees, bringing Trapper with him. Then he took the head of Hawkeye’s cock onto his mouth. Frank used to the tip of his tongue to trace ‘I Hate You’ over the sensitive skin there, making Hawkeye moan.

He felt his skin stretching and cracking, soap stinging the reopened scar as Trapper entered him. Frank concentrated on Hawkeye’s cock and Trapper’s cock and the pain and the sensation of it all instead of the * knowledge* that they were looking at each other. At least they were too far apart to touch. At least Frank was in between them, where he belonged.

Frank wrapped his hand around Hawkeye’s cock and took more of him in his mouth. Now wasn’t the time for playful tricks, but a studious attempt tom get it over with as quickly as possible. Behind him Trapper was as silent as usual, with only the guiding hand and invasive cock and it’s repeated assault, letting Frank know the other man was still there. Unlike Trapper, Hawkeye never had any trouble letting Frank know what he liked and, aside from the sounds of their bodies, he was the only noise to be heard.

Trapper sped up and Frank’s hand was moving so fast over Hawkeye’s shaft he was occasionally hitting himself in the lips.

Then Trapper came. Frank felt it, he felt it as though Trapper had grown another inch inside him and left part of himself there. It was nothing special, nothing unlike the times Hawkeye had done the same. Nothing special, but Frank’s lips curved a little over Hawkeye’s cock. He, him, his body had finally made Trapper come. Feeling powerful he returned his attention back to Hawkeye, whose own orgasm felt like an afterthought. A bitter tasting afterthought that Frank swallowed anyway.

He never came, but his erection drooped and flagged, as he lay puddled on the stall floor. Hawkeye and Trapper sat propped against the adjoining walls.

Frank was too weak to move and too ineffectual to protest when they crept closer and kissed for the first time. It was soft and sweet, loving and tender and all the things that shredded Frank’s gut as he pressed against the cold floor.

It was the last time he slept with either of them.

It was the last time they kissed each other.

Later that night there was wounded.

In the OR they were told that Henry Blake had died.

Within days Hawkeye was in Tokyo and Trapper was on his way home.

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