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“Hawk?” BJ's voice rings out clear behind him, and Hawkeye doesn't turn to greet him, there's no point, it's not like he'd be able to see him anyway, with the bandages wound tight around his eyes.
“What is it?” Hawkeye asks, lifting his head to listen. It's nighttime, even without his sight he can smell the subtle scent of dew in the air, and feel the tiny droplets clinging to his skin and hear the sounds of tiny insects chirping away. “Choppers can't fly at night. Ambulances?”
It wouldn't matter anyway. It's not like anyone would let him operate without his sight, but there's something about being in the operating room, about the tang of blood and antiseptic in the air that both haunts his nightmares and soothes him at the same time.
“Nothing like that,” BJ says, and there's an edge to his voice, worry, that makes Hawkeye's stomach flutter and his chest ache. “You never came back to the Swamp.”
There's the slightest edge of accusation there, but it's fleeting as BJ's hand comes to find his back. His rough fingertips brush the back of Hawkeye's neck, trailing goosebumps in their wake before they settle on his clothed shoulder and squeeze gently.
Hawkeye suppresses the shudder of pleasure that ripples down his spine at the touch.
He can hear the rustle of cloth, then suddenly BJ is beside him, the smell of sweat and musty aftershave surrounding him as his body radiates a subtle heat at his side. Hawkeye takes a deep breath through his mouth, the cold air burning his lungs, but it works to calm him, because BJ is too close and Hawkeye can feel familiar desire go through him and it's too dangerous.
He bites his lip and concentrates on the pain the teeth inflict on the soft tissue. It's not enough to break the skin, but he worries it between sharp teeth until he can feel the steady thrum of his own heartbeat.
There's a hitch in BJ’s breath and the soft scrape of boots in dirt before he feels BJ shift closer, his shoulder brushing Hawkeye’s.
“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”
There's a rustle and the sound of a zipper being pulled up and Hawkeye can feel BJ’s warm breath against his bare neck -- it crackles like electricity across his flesh and he leans away, just a little, in an attempt to escape the moist heat of his breath.
“I could hear anything dangerous before you would see it,” Hawkeye responds.
He had come out here to be alone, but BJ’s presence isn't an unwelcome one. The warmth on his right reminds him of how cold the air has grown with the night and he shivers, although he isn't sure it's the cold that does it.
“Come on, Hawk,” BJ says, his voice strained as he rises to his feet, his boots sliding over the slick grass. “You should try to get some sleep.”
Sleep. He feels like he spent his whole life asleep before this week, before losing his sight opened his eyes, so to speak.
It isn't sleep he needs, it's to feel, to bask in this world of scents and sounds and touch that he didn't know existed before now.
BJ’s hand, warm and large, curls on his shoulder and Hawkeye figures that he no longer has a choice. He puts his hand to the dewy ground, ready to find his feet when BJ reaches down and grips his arm in a steady, strong grip, and for the briefest moment, with BJ's fingertips biting into his skin even through his coat and hauling him to his feet, he wonders what it would take to make BJ stay with him. He could pull him down and feel his weight, his heat on top of him, he could bury his nose in the crook of BJ’s neck, smell the tang of sweat and dirt that clings to him, taste the salt on his skin. He could let the misty heat of his breath touch his skin, let it fall across his face like he's thought about so many times when he's been alone.
But, his feet are beneath him and the moment's gone.
He's not unaffected, though, his cheeks warm, his breath unsteady in his lungs, and blood rushing to his cock, suddenly hard and uncomfortable in his pants. The cotton feels rough against his sensitive skin and even when he shifts, trying to find some relief, the coarse metal zipper on the fly of his pants rubs against the head and feels hard and unyielding even through the thin material of his shorts.
BJ's hand leaves his arm, and Hawkeye stands stock still for a moment, willing his body back under his control, but he knows it's too late already.
BJ makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Hawkeye can feel the air shift between them, because BJ must notice his erection.
The heat of BJ’s body leaves his side and not since he first lost his vision has he felt so scared and alone in his dark world.
“Are you coming with me?” BJ asks, sounding impatient from just ahead, but he doesn't sound disgusted or angry and Hawkeye forces his feet to move forward, the steady swish, swish of his boots in the wet grass a tiny symphony in his ears as he follows the sound of BJ's smooth breaths.
“Always.”