Games

JMA

It seemed sometimes to Frank that Korea was a place of opposites. Us and them, rain and drought, light and dark, heat and cold. Sometimes it was so busy that he felt like he was going to die from exhaustion. At other times, like now, it seemed as if people were just as likely to die of boredom. To Frank, this was the worst. Worse even than the biting cold that was threatening the camp. And with Margaret in Tokyo he didn't even have anyone to complain to.

The boredom made people act funny, pull more pranks and drink too much. He almost whished the casualties would start coming in so people would stop fooling around.

But then, he was doing his own share of fooling around. Frank was starting to get used to this...thing he had with Trapper. It had only been a few days, but they had already moved beyond kiss to mild grope. He tried not to think about the anxious feeling he got whenever Trapper would want him around. He refused to analyse the relief-tinged disappointment he felt when Trapper preferred to go out drinking with Hawkeye instead.

Like tonight.

Frank settled down for a night alone. It didn't matter, he didn't need Trapper anyway. He had his Bible and…

"So Frank, fancy seeing you here," Trapper stood in the doorway of The Swamp and... leered... at him. Frank gaped as Trapper made his way to Frank's bunk and sat down beside him. "I ditched Hawk at the O.C. Told him I had something better to do."

"Really?"

Trapper knelt on Frank's cot and kissed him. The nervous anxiety hit him again, but he conceded that it was a good type of anxiousness.

"If I know Hawk, and I'd like to think I do," Trapper said, his hand resting on Frank's neck, "He'll meet up with some nurse and we..."

"...will have the whole night to ourselves," Frank finished. Trapper smiled benevolently.

"Why, Frank! Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

"Yo! Trapper? You in there?"

Trapper scrambled off Frank's cot as Hawkeye walked in to the tent.

Hawkeye cocked his head to one side and crumpled his brow. Frank swallowed nervously, sure that somehow Hawkeye knew what they were doing.

"Hey, Trapp, I thought you were coming to the Officer's Club?" Hawkeye swayed slightly and pointed out the door.

"You're drunk!" Frank shouted. Hawkeye seemed to register Frank's presence for the first time.

"Yes." Then he returned his attention to Trapper. "You coming?"

Trapper sighed, "Yeah. Later. I'll meet you there."

Hawkeye nodded, looking a little bemused. "Ok." Then he turned and walked out.

Trapper sat back on Frank's bed and began moving closer. "So much for all night," Frank said.

"Don't be sore, Frank. He's too drunk to remember me saying I'll meet him there." He began pawing at Frank again, only this time his hands edged around to the front of Frank's pants.

"Hey, Trapp, Ugly John wants to know..."

Trapper and Frank flung apart again as Hawkeye re-entered the tent.

"... if the poker game's still on for Saturday or if we were going to move it to Friday." Hawkeye stopped to look at Frank and Trapper who were now sitting next to each other. Trapper looked calm, if slightly annoyed. Frank looked like he was about to make a run for it.

"Hawkeye, I thought you were going to the Officer's Club?"

" I was. I am. I just had to ask, because I forgot today and I'd told Ugly John I'd give him an answer tonight." Somehow, through his drunken state, he'd picked up on some of the tension in the room. "What's going on?"

"What exactly are you insinuating?!"

Trapper elbowed Frank sharply in the ribs and glared at him. Hawkeye looked from one to the other, but neither could be certain just how much he was taking in.

"I was just talking to Frank."

"About what?"

"I'll tell you later, Hawk. Tell Ugly John that it's still Saturday." Trapper reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. "And go buy yourself another drink. And buy some lucky nurse one too."

Hawkeye took the money smiling. "You'll be in later? They're keeping the O.C. open all night tonight!"

"Yes, I will. Now go get yourself a nurse!"

"Yes sir!" Hawkeye mock saluted as he was leaving.

Trapper turned his grin on Frank. "I thought he'd never leave."

Frank manoeuvred out of his embrace. "What if he comes back?"

"He won't."

"But what if..."

"Shhh."

Frank kept one eye on the door as Trapper pushed him onto his back, effectively pinning him. Was it possible that, on a subconscious level, Hawkeye knew about them and was trying to keep them apart?

 When his hand slipped under Frank's shirt, Trapper found he had regained Frank's attention. He kept eye contact as he unbuttoned Frank's pants and slipped his hand inside the waistband. Frank flinched back. Trapper's hand began to fondle him firmly.

"McIntyre, I'm not sure..."

"Do you want me to stop? I will." He kept moving his hand. Frank said nothing. "Do you want me to stop?"

Frank shook his head.

Trapper was now stroking Frank's erect cock, rubbing himself on Frank's leg. He pushed Frank's pants down until they puddled around his boots.

 "Touch me."

Frank, shaking slightly, began unbuttoning Trapper's pants. Trapper moved his hands away, giving Frank greater access. Frank recoiled at first when he felt Trapper's cock . He had never touched another man like this before. Trapper was so like him yet so different that Frank was momentarily unsure of what to do. He looked to Trapper for guidance, but Trapper's eyes were closed.

 Frank tightened his hand around it and moved. It jerked in response. He had done this! He smiled and started to build up a rhythm, wondering if he should push Trapper's pants down as Trapper had done to him.

"Stop!" Frank froze; terrified he had done something wrong. Then, above the pounding of his heart in his ears he heard a voice outside.

Trapper was off him in an instant, flinging a random piece of clothing to cover Frank's waist and legs as he dove belly-down onto his own cot. Seconds later Hawkeye walked back into The Swamp.

"I thought you were going to the Officer's Club, Hawkeye!"

"I did!" he said, fixing himself a martini. "I had a drink and I found a nurse but she left. I just wanted to see what was holding you up?"

Trapper groaned and smacked his head into his pillow. Neither Hawkeye nor Frank saw him snake his hand down and do up his fly.

Hawkeye sat down in one of the chairs on his and Trapper's side of the room.

Frank looked down and realized with horror that the garment covering his waist, the one that stood between himself and a Blue Discharge, was Hawkeye's red robe.

"Well," Trapper said, standing up, "if you'll excuse me, I have to visit the little boy's room. You two play nice 'til I get back."

Frank's mouth dropped open. Hawkeye said, "Yes, Dad," and continued drinking.

They sat in silence for a while. Hawkeye ignored Frank while Frank reached under Hawkeye's red robe and began to pull up his pants.

"You know, Frank..."

Frank almost dropped his pants.

"... you really ought to get out more. I mean, there's a whole camp outside this tent!"

 Frank did up his fly.

"You're drunk, Pierce!"

"I thought we'd covered this already?" Hawkeye finished his drink. "There's no need to be catty, Frank. I'm just trying to have a nice friendly conversation and... Is that my robe?"

"What? This?" Frank picked up Hawkeye's robe off of his now clothed lap. "McIntyre threw it at me."

He chucked it across to Hawkeye, who held on to it like a child's dearest toy. "Don't touch my robe, Frank."

"I thought I told you two to play nice?" Frank didn't know whether to glare at Trapper or smile in relief. His face settled on an expression that made him look like an angry mouse.

"I was," Hawkeye protested, "but he touched my robe!"

"And what do you have to say to that, Frank?"

"You threw it at me!”

"Oh yeah." Trapper smiled, then shrugged. "Sorry, Hawkeye."

Frank's expression upgraded itself from angry mouse to furious ferret.

Trapper kept smiling. "How about we *all* go down to the Officer's Club for a drink?"

"You know, I was just telling Frank he ought to get out more. The most he ever gets to see of this camp is the inside of here and Hot-Lips' tent."

"Pierce!" 

Hawkeye ignored him. "Just think of all the scenery he's missing out on. There's the latrine, the Mess Tent and the Officer's Club..."

"C'mon Hawkeye, lets just go. You coming, Frank?" There was something about the way Trapper looked at him that made Frank think he had something planned.

 Frank went with them. 

They were there about an hour before Trapper motioned to the door. This was a ritual Frank was familiar with. He waited a few minutes outside before Trapper emerged from the O.C. As they walked back towards The Swamp, he felt Trapper's arms around his waist.

He leaned in an whispered, "So how about it, Frank, you up for round two?"

Frank's answer was assumed.

Inside he could taste the alcohol on Trapper's breath as they kissed. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was being quickly and efficiently undressed.

"Stop." 

Suddenly, where there were warm hands and a hungry mouth there was nothing but air. Trapper stood a few feet away, watching.

"You said stop, Frank. I stopped. I told you I would."

Frank had asked him to stop. Deep down he never really believed that if he asked Trapper would do it. But he did. Frank could stop this at any time. It was a mixed blessing; with the control came the accountability. If he didn't stop it, it would mean he wanted it.

Trapper turned away.

"No," Frank said weakly, "What I meant was that... was that we should stop and block the door. Just in case he decides to come back."

It sounded like feeble pleading, even to Frank. But feeble pleading was something he knew.

"Good idea," Trapper said softly. He nudged a crate full of Hawkeye's belongings in front of the door. Frank barely breathed. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop this again of his own volition.

Slower this time, Trapper resumed undressing Frank. Frank followed his lead, adding kisses on to the bare flesh that was exposed as Trapper's clothes were peeled away. They each took off their own shoes, sitting side be side and saying nothing.

Then Trapper ran his fingers over Frank's face, skimming his thumb over his Adam's apple, his hand brushing a trail that ended at Frank's cock. He stroked him into hardness.

"Turn around," Trapper said.

Frank's eyes widened, his heart jumped and his breath caught painfully in his throat. His mind shouted 'stop this' even as he turned over. He could stop this. He would not.

His breath was unsteady as he felt Trapper's hands on his back. Occasionally, perhaps by accident, Trapper's cock brushed against him. Frank had never been this frightened, this excited, in his life.

And then it was gone, all of it. Once again, Trapper was replaced by air.

"I didn't..." Frank began.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Frank felt something cool and liquid drip down the crevice of his arse. He flinched.

"Easy, Frank. It's important stuff, this." Frank felt Trapper's finger follow the trail left by what he hoped was some of the medical lubricant. "Relax. I'll show you how Doctors should be taught to do prostate exams."

Frank didn't laugh. He knew what it felt like for someone to put there fingers *there*, he was a doctor after all. He braced himself for the inevitable breach.

For the most part he couldn't tell what was going on. Instead of a painful intrusion, more lubricant was added, followed by a smaller digit.  It still hurt, but not as much as his monthly physical. He still couldn't figure out why someone would do this on purpose. He was stretched carefully, silently, until he was certain that there were multiple fingers inside him.

Frank had the slight suspicion that the stretching was for Trapper's comfort rather than his own. The whole thing seemed to him to be a little unpleasant.

Trapper brushed lazily past Frank's prostate, making his cock react slightly. This was ok, Frank decided as Trapper's fingers found a rhythm. It wasn't great, but he would do it if it would make Trapper happy.

But soon the finger's were gone, and Frank felt an unexpected *emptiness* that left him wanting them back.

Then it felt as if someone was trying to impale him on a large tree. It was happening slowly but it still knocked the wind out of him. His eyes watered. There couldn't possibly be *more*! But it kept coming and Frank's muscled tightened in protest. He heard a gasp of pain from Trapper.

"Christ, Frank! Relax, for both our sakes."

Frank let out a long breath and tried to relax, each exhalation enticing that*thing* inside him even further.

He felt the most unusual sensation as Trapper pulled out a little. It hurt less when he pushed forward again, somehow going even deeper. There was a small sting that Frank ignored as he *felt* the thrust and withdrawal pulling at his body.

One of Trapper's hands was guiding Frank's waist while the other was distractedly pulling at Frank's cock. After some time, Frank couldn't tell how long, Trapper pulled out of him. Frank collapsed onto his cot, glad and sorry it was over. He fell asleep soon after, and didn't feel Trapper leave.

The pounding on the door woke Frank up, and he watched as Trapper got up, in his shorts, from his own bed to answer it.

"Jeez Hawkeye! Some of us are trying to sleep here." Trapper nudged the crate that was blocking the door away with his foot.

"I couldn't get in," Hawkeye practically shouted when he got inside. Clearly he had only stopped drinking quite recently. "The stupid door was jammed or something."

"Keep it down Hawkeye, you don't want to interrupt No-Lips' beauty sleep."

Frank pretended to be asleep.

"Where'd you go?" Hawkeye asked.

"Found a nurse. Frank was asleep when I got in. You?"

Hawkeye, who was attempting to remove his boots without first untying them, said, "Nothing much. Had some strange conversation with Radar about listening to things you're not supposed to. Or knowing things you're not s'posed to listen to. Or..."

"Here, Hawkeye." Trapper knelt down and removed Hawkeye's shoes for him. Frank watched with half-closed eyes as a surge of jealousy washed through him. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but it stayed with him well into sleep.

Frank slipped out of his bunk early the next morning, waking neither Trapper nor Hawkeye as he left. He eyed the shower tent as he passed it, knowing he should shower after what had happened, knowing that he should want to.  But he didn't want to face his body just yet. Not yet.

He walked down to the rusty river as he often did when he just needed to think. With its dirt banks and unpleasant brown colour it wasn't a favourite spot for couples. Most people preferred the hills over past the minefield, which at least offered something in the way of scenery. The only people who ever came down to the river were the occasional native Korean and Frank.

Frank wasn't looking for scenery. The monotony of dirt banks and dirty water was enough for him to think by. He paced a 200 meter stretch, between two trees, considered sitting down, but didn't. Instead, he turned and started walking again in long, measured strides 

There was some discomfort in this, although less than if he decided to sit. But the ache of his muscles, the sharp tinge of the tear Trapper had left *just there* offered a perverse comfort. A physical memory of what he did, what they had done.  It had been real.

Frank chewed his fingernails as he walked. He went over every moment, every smallest detail he could remember. He couldn't quite get his head around it. They had actually done *it*, he was now a... a sodomite! A small whimper escaped him then. Frank faltered a little in his step, his mind reeling from what he internally called 'the awful truth'. He'd gone past the line that bounded what was good and clean and safe and he hated himself.

But not nearly as much as he thought he would.

Frank went back to the camp, towards the shower tent.