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remyfire · 1 year

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"I'll raise."

"Getting too rich for my blood," BJ murmurs, tossing a couple of chips into the pot. "I'll call. Sweetheart?"

"Sorry, what does raise mean again?" She winces, teeth toying at her lower lip sheepishly. Perfectly playing her part as BJ plays his. They had done this before, one night with Hawk and the brunette at Peggy's other side had requested an encore.

"You gotta put in another fifty cents like Trap did, or bump it up another quarter or more," Hawkeye supplies, managing a decent poker face himself.

Peg pretends to think for a moment, tongue running along the outside of her teeth behind her lips before she tosses her bet in. "Alright! I'll raise you another dollar!"

"You sure about that, Peg?" Hawkeye questions, eyes flashing with concern even as she nods.

"I'm not a fan out takin' money outta kiss's mouths but if you're sure," Trapper smirks, calling her bet.

"I fold," Beej remakes easily, sitting his cards down and propping an arm on the table to rest his cheek in his palm.

"It's all yours, Peggy," Hawk concedes, his amusement starting to shine through. Hopefully able to be masked as eagerness for Trap to show off.

"Flush!" Trapper announces, spreading his cards on the table.

Peg, for her part deflates a little, shoulders sagging in seeming defeat. "Dammit," she swears. "I think you win, Trap. All I have is a full house." Only when cards on the table, literally and metaphorically, does Peg let the poker face fall away into a cheeky, mischievous smirk of her own.

(this is just 2,500 words of self-indulgent complicated polyam configurations, thanks @lattehearted)

It's not a bad gig, what Hawk's got set up here. Yeah, sure, maybe he hadn't exactly caught Trap up on the specifics of why the hell he was even in California in the first place, but given how they last parted, that's all but expected at this point—the unspoken threat that if Trap is gonna pull the shit he did when he walked off on Hawk again, then that's it, and no two-years-late letter's gonna save him again.

The hosts were, ah...notably chilly as fuck when Trap first arrived, but...well, it's been a month now, and at least one of them has thawed significantly. Peg's sweet, practically an angel. There's more bravery in her pinkie than half the guys he's been shoulder to shoulder with in wars. He doesn't know what kind of saint's got a heart that'll let her husband come home with a man when she's been raising a kid solo for two years nor who'd let a perfect stranger waltz into her home to try and fix the mistake he made years ago.

She's cute. She's sweet. She makes it safe for Trap to let his guard down as he sinks back under Hawk's skin more and more. And by spending time with him over tea or scotch or ice cream—the last one shared by Erin, of course—she makes it way fucking less frustrating for him to learn how to share. After all, Hawk was already reacclimating to civilian life with his pretty boy toy before Trap even bit back his pride and sent his letter to Maine in the first place. And said boy toy's shown no particular desire to let Trapper be alone with Hawkeye any longer than he has to. Compassion for a guy finally shoving down all that old fear of his own desires? Nah, no, get in line, pal, he might as well say, like he doesn't have a perfect wife to attend to as well.

At this rate, he's pretty sure the big guy's never gonna give him more than an inch. But that's fine. They can be civil. And if BJ happens to be so busy with Hawk every night, then...

Well, Trap's certainly no stranger to chasing a wife, even if her husband's grumbling about it.

It's been a long hour of poker so far. Trap's up a little, Hawk's up a lot, BJ's middling, and Peg's only got her last chips. It almost makes him feel bad to take her down to next to nothing. One more hand, she's gonna have to go all in, and once the chips are gone, if she wants to keep playing, then...

Down, boy. Trapper knows a shy girl when he sees one. She's got it written all over her face. It's been there this whole game while she's been struggling to learn. Last thing he wants to do is scare her off with his filthy mouth when the chase is half the fun.

He's actually feeling pretty damn cocky when he spreads out his flush. He's ready to gently remind Peg that the best way to learn to play the game is to lose the hardest—and then he sees the delicate way she skims those cards onto the table, as though she's all too intimately familiar with the feel of them in her hands, and something...sinks in, way, way down deep.

The sparkle in her eyes. The curl of her adorable nose. The way her teeth gleam in the light like a predator. She leans forward ever so slightly, elbows on the table, as though she's trying to drink in his reaction for a very specific reason.

It's been a long, long time since he's been hustled quite so elegantly. And he forgot exactly how quickly it can start an bonfire inside him.

Trap slowly lifts his brows as he stares her back down. "Y'know, Hawk, I think we might've just been hustled."

"I think you might be right, Trap," he drawls right back, fast as a bullet, his timbre as dark and rich as Trapper's ever heard it. "Look at her. She thought she could get away with it."

"Thought there wouldn't be consequences." Trap sets his chin on his fists as his lips start to quirk.

"Thought that just because she was cute, she could rob you down to nothing and just waltz away, unscathed."

Trapper takes a second to flick his gaze to Hawkeye. "That only works for you."

Hawk bats his lashes, those sleepy blue eyes more than a little inviting. He doesn't take his gaze off Trapper, not even when Trap looks back at the little blonde pixie across from him.

"Dunno if you know this, sweetheart, but most people don't take too good to being hustled." Every muscle in Trap's body is coiled, holding him down in his chair. This ain't no nurse he can just pull across the table and kiss the life out of. If he takes a step forward, he's gotta make sure she's not taking one further back. "You've gotta pay your dues. Make it up to me."

Peg pushes her lips out into a frankly impressive pout, dipping her head so her hair falls more in her face. "Well...I'd certainly hate to let you go home empty-handed after I just cleaned you out of so much." It's only the breathy edge of her tone that tickles across Trapper's skin, whispers that she didn't just take one step forward, but two. "Tell me, John. How do I make it up to you?"

It's like missiles go off in his legs, filling them with explosive energy. He shoves back from the table with a grin and starts to stand. "How 'bout I show you?"

A house-slipper-covered foot shoots out, propping loudly on the edge of the chair between Trap's thighs, and he drops back down in surprise and locks eyes with BJ Hunnicutt himself. The man's almost languidly leaned back in his own seat, but Trapper's gotten into enough trouble on the streets of Boston as a kid to know what it looks like when someone's looking for a reason to fight. Not even the smooth smile that plays across BJ's face can make him look any less lethal.

"Please, she's my wife." BJ's voice is deceptively bright. "Whatever she's totaled up, just put it on my tab."

Trap's eyebrows lift. It's not enough for BJ to keep the boyfriend all to himself. No, he's gonna step in and block off his wife too when she's all but giving Trapper the bedroom eyes? He can't help but let out a little huff of a laugh. "Hey, now, don't put other people's things on credit if you're not gonna pay it back, pal."

BJ's lips spread just a bit further—"Oh, not the smirk, Beej," Hawk murmurs from the other side of the table—and he chuckles as well. "You came here for one thing, McIntyre. I don't believe running up a credit line on everybody else was part of that."

"For the record," Peg perks up, "I'm perfectly happy helping to balance the ledgers, Beej. You never minded how I handled the finances before."

BJ doesn't take his eyes off Trapper, but he does flare his nostrils, and a hint of color travels down his long throat as he takes a deep breath. Interesting. Very, very interesting.

"Why the fuck are we all talking in metaphors? What is this, Intro to Lit?" Hawk whispers to Peg. She pats his hand.

It's a tough choice. Hunnicutt here's throwing down a wall around his pretty little wife, brick by brick, but he's going slow. He's not snarling, not running Trapper off. He's clearly hearing every damn word his wife says. But when Trap shifts in the chair, he also sees those hackles go up just slightly, the goading temptation for Trap to see what happens if he chooses Peg's invitation over BJ's claim.

Something tells him he's got a lot more to figure out about how this couple prefers to operate.

"Oy," Hawk mumbles, then stands. He wanders around behind Trapper, fingers trailing little sparks of fire right across his back, and that same hand drifts down Trap's shoulder, his bicep, all the way to where he can snag BJ by the knee. He tugs, bringing the leg back down to the floor, the slipper trailing down the inside of Trapper's thigh as it does.

As BJ's foot hits the ground, Hawk throws a slim leg around his waist and straddles him. "You're trapped now. Oops."

"Am I?" Beej drawls.

"Mm-hmm." Hawk brushes their noses together with a smirk as he wraps his arms around BJ's neck. "It's really a shame."

"I should've known you'd be in cahoots."

"Who, me and your wife? Yeah." Hawk nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, sounds about right."

This time when Trapper gets up, BJ only follows him with his gaze rather than a physical barrier.

He circles the table and leans down until he's on a level with Peg. This close, her wide eyes are pools, so fucking dangerous to toe the edge of. He knows what he could fuck up right here in the name of fun. He knows his body, his mind, his heart. The pale skin on his left ring finger still hasn't started to tan to match the rest of him. If he's not careful, if he actually lets himself fall for her...

Trapper lightly taps her chin with his index finger, tipping her head back so they're closer still. "Feeling brave, soldier?"

He can hear the nervous anticipation in the shivery breath she takes. But to her credit, she doesn't so much as flinch. "Are you?"

His grin widens. Yeah, no, he's fucked. Completely and utterly.

He scoops her up without another hesitation and starts carrying her into the living room. "C'mon. If I'm gonna kiss you, I'll keep your modesty intact by taking you away from the audience."

Peg giggles as she tightens her thighs around his waist. She's got fucking strong legs. It makes a man's mind wander. "You know, from all the stories I've heard about you, I never would've pinned you as someone who gave a damn about a woman's modesty."

"You calling me a cad?" he teases, lifting his brow.

Fun as the banter's been, the unfamiliarity between them rises up. Peg's jaw drops. "Oh, o-oh, no, I wouldn't do that—"

"No, you can, it's true." Trap tumbles back on the couch with her on top of him, then knits a hand around the back of her neck to coax her down. "Call me whatever you want, sweetheart. Just kiss me first."

As Peg sinks her fingers into his curls and his lips meet hers, a wave rushes through him. It's funny. He's fantasized about exactly this for at least two weeks, ever since their first little walk to the park together with Erin in her stroller while the boys took some time to themselves. He just hadn't anticipated that only the taste of her sweet mouth was going to be enough to satisfy him. He could do this—just this—for hours and not get sick of it.

She lifts away just an inch, watching him with a silent question in her eyes, and he answers it by pulling her down to drown with him.

In the other room, BJ leans his chair as far backward as he can, trying to catch a peek at what might be happening, and Hawk chuckles as he tugs him by the shirt collar to look at him again. "You're so jealous, you're about to paint the whole kitchen green."

"I'm not jealous," Beej corrects him with smooth confidence in his own lie. "I am simply making sure that your boyfriend knows how to be a gentleman."

"And what if Peggy doesn't want a gentleman right now, huh?"

It really doesn't take much to call up an image of someone as strong and self-assured as McIntyre pinning down Beej's petite wife, hands around her wrists, making her plead for whatever she wants. Hickeys on her neck. Fingerprints on her forearms. He takes what must be his hundredth huge breath for the evening, but it does nothing to cool the lava storm in his chest. He doesn't yet have appropriate words for the possessive need to reclaim her like he wants. If she begs McIntyre to cover her with his marks, then BJ will have a lovely time plastering over all of them with his own.

Hawk rocks back in his lap and Beej holds him still with his hands on his hips. But it's too late. Hawk's felt the lift of interest in Beej's pants and he's damn well smug about it. "Ohoho," he breathes right against Beej's lips. "You're gonna absolutely ruin her tonight, aren't you?"

"If she'd like." He manages to keep his tone perfectly measured.

"Oh, yeah, Miss Flutters-Her-Eyelashes, friend of every bartender, waiter, handyman, and pool boy in the state, no, yeah, this is the one night she's gonna throw you in the cold shower." But barely before Hawk's even done talking, BJ leans to look again, and Hawk catches him by the cheek and presses their foreheads together. "C'mon. Let her have a little fun." He wiggles. "And let me have mine too."

Beej snorts, but as he slides his arms around Hawk's slim waist, he seems to be relenting. "You're just distracting me so your boyfriend and your girlfriend can neck for a while."

"I'm distracting you because it means I get to have the matinee performance all to myself so I can be in the audience for the grand finale tonight." He sinks his teeth into BJ's bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth, fueled by the rough groan that Beej feeds him. "Whaddya say, huh?"

Beej gives him one long, dangerous stare before he stands and pushes Hawk down on the poker table, scattering cards and chips everywhere. "I say let's raise the curtain."

Hawk throws his head back with an indulgent, self-satisfied smirk as Beej slots their hips together and starts sucking a bite of his own into Hawkeye's neck. He gets the distinct feeling that he's being reclaimed too—and he's really not mad about it. His boyfriends will figure their shit out one day. Until then, he's more than happy to be the spoils of their war.

#HOW THE FUCK DO I TAG THIS #THEY ALL LOOK SILLY #okay let's go girls #trappeg #piercintyre #hunnihawk #punnihawk #my writing #mcpunnihawk #I'M GOING WITH THAT ONE UNTIL ONE OF YOU PEOPLE GIVES ME A BETTER ONE #some things are evergreen

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