Fic: Boozefest
Jan. 11th, 2003 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenWell, I did it. I actually wrote a fic for the Boozefest. Unfortunately it's the same pairing as Flick's, and as well as that, it's very very short.
Anyway. Feedback much appreciated, as always.
Kite
by Raven
In the morning, someone had evidently remembered to put the fixings in the still. It was long dark now, and happy hour had come and gone.
Hawkeye lay in a pleasant, golden-scented alcoholic haze. He was drifting, flying, high as a kite and still higher...
Ben Franklin’s kite. The self-reference pleased him; in his current state of mind, free association reigned. Thoughts ran slowly through his head, loosely connected...
He wondered vaguely if considering a Martini glass and olive an old friend was veering off the general curve of things considered “normal.” After a moment, he recalled where he was and who he was and decided being normal wasn’t really that high on his list of priorities any more, if it ever had been.
During a long and illustrious career of being Hawkeye, he had, on various occasions, experimented with a few life-and-lifestyle altering substances. But he’d never really got over his early close attachment to alcohol. It was just something that happened to people who regularly dowsed themselves with medical ethanol. Even when reduced to a lowly antiseptic, it had a kick.
Talking of lifestyle altering...
Hawkeye had seen too many bloodstained, damaged, ruined versions of the human body to be unaffected by it as a beautiful, abstract concept.
With Trapper, it was always an abstract concept. The other Swamprat lay with one arm flung over his eyes, sleeping easily. His breathing was the only sound in the tent. Hawkeye had never thought of himself as a particularly inhibited person, not even when he was sober, and he clearly wasn’t.
Wasn’t sober, that is.
Or inhibited, either.
The free associations were kicking in again.
He wasn’t sober, and he wasn’t inhibited, and his hands were already on Trapper’s sleeping form, light, gentle hands. Trapper moaned in his sleep at the featherlight touch. He rolled over and opened his eyes. There were no words as they sank into each other. Neither was fully conscious, which was perhaps just as well. The emphasis was on touch, always touch, holding on and never letting go, escaping into each other like they had escaped into the alcohol, falling in love and lust and into each other...
The increased body heat soothed Hawkeye; it compounded the soporific effect of the alcohol and lulled him away into a place where he was drifting again, higher than high and falling...
Outside in the compound, crickets chirped in the dead of night. Hawkeye was dreaming of the kite with the key attached, hanging where he couldn’t catch it. Lightning struck.
Trapper caught him before he rolled and fell, settling him back into sleep. He kissed him and watched him sleep, listened to his shallow breathing, the only sound in the tent.
I love you, Hawkeye...
Trapper reached for the pitcher with hands that had abruptly stopped trembling. With precision, he poured himself a drink.
Why do you only love me back when you’re drunk?
Anyway. Feedback much appreciated, as always.
Kite
by Raven
In the morning, someone had evidently remembered to put the fixings in the still. It was long dark now, and happy hour had come and gone.
Hawkeye lay in a pleasant, golden-scented alcoholic haze. He was drifting, flying, high as a kite and still higher...
Ben Franklin’s kite. The self-reference pleased him; in his current state of mind, free association reigned. Thoughts ran slowly through his head, loosely connected...
He wondered vaguely if considering a Martini glass and olive an old friend was veering off the general curve of things considered “normal.” After a moment, he recalled where he was and who he was and decided being normal wasn’t really that high on his list of priorities any more, if it ever had been.
During a long and illustrious career of being Hawkeye, he had, on various occasions, experimented with a few life-and-lifestyle altering substances. But he’d never really got over his early close attachment to alcohol. It was just something that happened to people who regularly dowsed themselves with medical ethanol. Even when reduced to a lowly antiseptic, it had a kick.
Talking of lifestyle altering...
Hawkeye had seen too many bloodstained, damaged, ruined versions of the human body to be unaffected by it as a beautiful, abstract concept.
With Trapper, it was always an abstract concept. The other Swamprat lay with one arm flung over his eyes, sleeping easily. His breathing was the only sound in the tent. Hawkeye had never thought of himself as a particularly inhibited person, not even when he was sober, and he clearly wasn’t.
Wasn’t sober, that is.
Or inhibited, either.
The free associations were kicking in again.
He wasn’t sober, and he wasn’t inhibited, and his hands were already on Trapper’s sleeping form, light, gentle hands. Trapper moaned in his sleep at the featherlight touch. He rolled over and opened his eyes. There were no words as they sank into each other. Neither was fully conscious, which was perhaps just as well. The emphasis was on touch, always touch, holding on and never letting go, escaping into each other like they had escaped into the alcohol, falling in love and lust and into each other...
The increased body heat soothed Hawkeye; it compounded the soporific effect of the alcohol and lulled him away into a place where he was drifting again, higher than high and falling...
Outside in the compound, crickets chirped in the dead of night. Hawkeye was dreaming of the kite with the key attached, hanging where he couldn’t catch it. Lightning struck.
Trapper caught him before he rolled and fell, settling him back into sleep. He kissed him and watched him sleep, listened to his shallow breathing, the only sound in the tent.
I love you, Hawkeye...
Trapper reached for the pitcher with hands that had abruptly stopped trembling. With precision, he poured himself a drink.
Why do you only love me back when you’re drunk?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Siiiighhhh...
on 2003-01-11 02:52 pm (UTC)Why, oh why can't they ever be *happy* together? Just kidding -- though I'm a sucker for a happy ending, angst cuts much deeper. :)
I hope you find some way to submit it to the Fest...
Re: Siiiighhhh...
on 2003-01-11 03:02 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it... and as for why they can never be happy together, I don't know. That's not the way my mind works(!)
*sigh*
You know, maybe I might give them a happy ending next. When the muses come back...
Good one.
on 2003-01-11 03:02 pm (UTC)I wish I could write at the moment.
I'll rest on my laurels (http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=minttown1&itemid=250693#t251717) for a while.
Re: Good one.
on 2003-01-11 03:04 pm (UTC)I wish you could write too...
no subject
on 2003-01-11 03:08 pm (UTC)Added you to my friends list 'cos you're a fellow MashSlasher (oh, but the yahoo list is a wonderful thing...), and I hope you don't mind.
(You and I are in the same boat about the age thing. Damn faking birthdays!)
--TC
Re:
on 2003-01-11 03:23 pm (UTC)Glad you liked the fic... and nice to have a new friend, too.
Particularly one who's in the same boat... *grin*
Re:
on 2003-01-11 04:16 pm (UTC)Breaking laws is fun.
Re:
on 2003-01-11 04:20 pm (UTC)Yes, breaking laws is fun...
I can get a job and sign on the dole, as far as I know. I won't be able to have sex for... another week and a half.
Won't be able to write about it for another two years plus a week and half, so something's not right here.
Re:
on 2003-01-11 04:23 pm (UTC)Eh, at least you have a week and a half. I've got another year and a half. Plus two years before I'm allowed to do pretty much everything but drink.
Man, the age system is really screwed up. My opinion? Go by maturity, not by the years you've lived.
no subject
on 2003-01-12 05:34 am (UTC)Mind if I add you?
Re:
on 2003-01-12 05:13 pm (UTC)Fire away. I added you already. :)
no subject
on 2003-01-11 04:47 pm (UTC)Re:
on 2003-01-12 04:01 am (UTC)(Don't you have an LJ, now?)
no subject
on 2003-01-12 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-01-12 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-01-12 06:58 am (UTC)no subject
on 2003-01-12 05:37 am (UTC)Anyway, yours is the other way around, ne? I have angsty!Hawkeye and drunkenshag!Trapper, you have drunkenshag!Hawkeye and angsty!Trapper. This is a Good Thing!
Also: Swamprats? SwampRats? Swamp Rats? Not sure.
Lovely: we like.
no subject
on 2003-01-12 06:40 am (UTC)This whole drunkenness thing is fun.
[I'm going to try and submit to the Fest today}
no subject
on 2003-01-12 05:45 am (UTC)Insightful, and thoughtful, and deep, and lots of other lovely long words.
I'm beginning to think the non-cannon 'ships are more fun than the cannon ones, because you can play with them so much more...
Re:
on 2003-01-12 06:17 am (UTC)Those are such lovely long words. And you know, I think playing with characters is the most fun thing in the world you can do on your own...
no subject
on 2003-01-12 03:11 pm (UTC)i like your style of writing. it's really good.
Re:
on 2003-01-13 04:07 am (UTC)I'm so glad you appreciate slash. If there wasn't another slash-type person around in school I might consider myself odd...
Re:
on 2003-01-13 08:06 am (UTC)I like slash. You know that. After the conversation we had confusing Sarah Mahoney.
Oh and I wasn't in school at lunch. I'd gone into town. It was funfun.
no subject
on 2003-01-20 11:39 am (UTC)Re:
on 2003-01-20 12:39 pm (UTC)It's so nice to have you back!