#2. super great for my (sad) constrained writing time to get little prompt fills out that were really satisfying and comforting to write!!!

[amrv-5]

so many good prompts, very difficult to choose…8 or 9? if u are so moved!

HELLO AL! Thank you so much for this prompt--such a delight to write, and a really nice warm soft note to end this little prompt series on!! You asked for 8 or 9, but I combined them 'cause they worked so nice together! Thanks again for the prompt :)

(8. lifting the other while hugging + 9. slow-dancing turning into a tight embrace from this prompt list)

Hawkeye laughed into BJ’s neck. His face was warm with wine. The record player crackled—you leave me breathless, Ella Fitzgerald sang softly—as BJ held him closer, a hand at his lower back, the other cupping Hawkeye’s right hand to his chest. They stepped together in time, moving in a slow circle. 

The lights were low. The lamp in the corner cast a muted gold glow over the living room, their shared bookstacks, the coffee table pushed against the wall, the worn couch and rolled-up rug. 

“What’s funny?” BJ asked quietly, lips moving against the crown of his head. 

Hawkeye shook his head. He draped an arm around BJ’s shoulders. He was warm all over. BJ felt good against him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hand rubbing gentle circles into his lower back. 

BJ slowed until their dance was reduced to a barely-perceptible shifting of weight. He tightened his hold on Hawkeye, and exhaled, breath tickling Hawkeye’s ear. 

Hawkeye hummed, relaxed, drunk on a solitary glass of wine and BJ. Everywhere they touched radiated warmth. The abundance of contact—BJ slipping his hand under the hem of his sweater to cup his hip—melted through him. He felt pliable, pleasantly liquid, and very loved. He always felt loved. BJ was good at that. But there were moments where it rose from a comfortable certainty to keen awareness.

He closed his eyes and tucked his face more firmly into BJ’s neck. The pretense of dancing had disappeared. They were just holding each other, unmoving, as the record played. BJ’s hand wandered warmly under the hem of his shirt. Hawkeye cupped the back of BJ’s head, and focused on breathing in time, so his chest pressed into BJ’s as BJ’s pressed into him. Liquid heat moved through him. He sighed shakily, trusting BJ to support his weight. 

“I’ve got you,” BJ whispered, fond, and lifted him bodily, leaning back. Hawkeye let it happen, laughing again, rubbing the back of BJ’s head to communicate his happiness, and to muss his hair. He was feeling possessive. 

BJ grinned at him up close. It was one of his shaky, emotional ones, closed mouth upturned under his mustache, a damp shine to his eyes. “Love you,” he said, earnest, eyebrows coming together like he wanted to make sure Hawkeye knew he really meant it. 

“I know,” Hawkeye reassured him, and kissed him, holding him in place by the jaw. BJ kept him off the ground, elevated a few inches, arms tight around his back. “I love you, too,” he added, and went in for another kiss. 

BJ slipped a hand down Hawkeye’s body, and tilted Hawkeye abruptly into a bridal carry. It was a very deft maneuver. Impressive. Seductive, too. 

“You’re a real gentleman,” Hawkeye said, settling comfortably into his arms. 

BJ kissed him—hard, and a little messy. “I’ll try my best to change your mind,” he said, already laughing at the line. 

Hawkeye laughed, too. “That’s bad,” he observed, glad, and let himself be carried to bed.