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"How do you want me?" Hawk says, a smirk playing across his lips. "Up, down, back, front, sideways, over the falls in a barrel? Or just fallen over a barrel?"
BJ casts an eye around. There isn't much for furniture in this room.
Trapper whistles softly, to get his attention, and BJ looks up, follows his gaze, then nods. He grabs the back of Hawkeye's neck and muscles him toward the window.
"Palms flat on the glass, wouldn't you say, Hunnicutt?" John drawls from the corner. "And feet just a little bit apart, and back far enough so we don't strain ourselves reaching?"
Hawkeye shivers with the realization that anyone with the inclination to look up could see his hands pressed to the window, and maybe part of his face. The fact that they wouldn't see anything more scandalous than his expression, let alone John and BJ whaling on him, wouldn't help.
"That's it," BJ says, giving his cheek a warmup slap. "Come on, John. You take the right and I'll take the left."
John moves over and runs a hand over Hawkeye's back, at once rough and comforting. "You drop your hands, and it's over," he murmurs. Hawk nods.
"Count," John says quietly, his tone taking on the edge that makes Hawkeye melt into an obedient mess of begging.
The first five go fairly quick - nothing too hard, testing the weight and speed, and - John admits - enjoying watching the ripple effect of his hand leaving Hawk's flesh. (How does a man this scrawny end up with such a luscious derriere?) But as Hawkeye says counts, "five," in a voice with just the slightest tinge of boredom in it, John stops. Holds his hand up to BJ, pauses. Lets the tension build.
Hawkeye wags his ass at them. "Tired already?" he teases into the windowpane. John says nothing. "Guys?" Hawkeye says, a note of concern dropping into his voice.
John leans into it and gives him a full-force hit. Hawk turns his head to the side just in time to avoid breaking his nose. "Fuck!"
John lands another slap. "Start over." He nods to BJ, who gives himself a bit of a windup and comes back in as hard as John did.
Hawk gasps. "One," he says. It comes out a whimper.
Hawk's barely holding himself up as he counts the blows, legs shaking with adrenaline. BJ and Trapper have started musing aloud about the passerby below, what they'll see if they decide to look up.
"Bit of a surprise, they'll get," BJ says as John leaves a momentarily white handprint before it fades back to red. "Probably don't expect to see some guy shoved against the window, looking like he's having the time of his life."
"Nah," Trapper says as BJ takes the next swing. ("Eighteen!" squeaks Hawkeye, voice cracking.) "They'll wonder to themselves what sick bastard likes taking it in public."
"Where anyone can see," BJ agrees. "What do you think, John? Do you think he likes that idea?" ("Twenty two," Hawkeye groans.)
BJ reaches a solid arm around Hawk's belly, pulling his ass against his hips. Hawkeye moans at the contact, hissing at the sting of reddened skin against his fatigues.
"Rest your arms, Hawk, we've gotcha," BJ murmurs, jerking his head at John, who comes around to hold Hawkeye from the front. Hawk sags against them.
"Oh no you don't," John says sternly as Hawk starts to grind against him, whimpering, the word please already halfway out of his mouth. "We're not done with you."
"What do you think, Trap? We could lay him between us, use him to take care of ourselves and then see if he's earned himself the right to finish?" BJ forces his voice into its most casual range, knowing the easy, almost callous nature of it will set Hawkeye squirming.
"You want his mouth, or..." John doesn't finish the sentence before BJ gets a hand on his fly, fumbles through the layers to free his cock, grinding his hips against Hawkeye's ass. The skin is so warm and so soft and Hawk can't help pushing his hips back, looking for more.
"I think this'll do," he says, sliding his cock between Hawk's cheeks, knowing he's expecting to get fucked. Knowing he's not going to fuck him. He rocks back and forth, humming his satisfaction. "Yes, that will do, Hawk."
"You want to tease him to death, that's fine with me, but I need something snug, hear?"
"Oh fine," BJ sighs, grabbing Hawk by the back of his neck and walking him over to the bed. "Go sit up by the wall, McIntyre. I guess you can have his mouth."
Hawkeye chokes on an interrupted swallow.
"Esophagus, not trachea; you know better, Hawk," BJ scolds. He shakes his head at McIntyre. "Can't take him anywhere."
John settles himself against the wall, legs spread as BJ pushes Hawk facedown onto the mattress. Hawk scrambles up, mouth open, still coughing, reaching, reaching. McIntyre reaches out and blocks him by sticking two fingers in his mouth as BJ climbs on top of him, pinning him to the bed and grinding against his ass again.
Hawk closes his eyes and relishes it.
*
BJ gives him a choice: 20 more slaps, and then then they'll turn him over and finish him off, or no more, period. Hawkeye's in multiple kinds of agony, not the least of which is the chapped, raw skin of his ass. Another slap sounds like torture.
But worth it.
BJ administers the spanking while Trapper curls up on his side and strokes Hawk's head, murmuring encouragement as Hawk counts into the pillow, screaming in between. Ten more. BJ speeds through the next three, and lands a hard one.
Hawk breaks into a sob. He struggles and gargles through the last few strokes, shaking and trying to jump out of the way. BJ and John flip him over and he's so hard. Dripping and incoherent and struggling to get a hold of himself. BJ slides an arm under his neck and kisses his cheeks, shushing and praising while John makes use of his clever hands.
He's so worked up he can hardly let go, the disbelief locking his muscles, but BJ keeps muttering, "so good for us, Hawk. You did so well," and John tells him it's okay, so he finally lets go, shaking, a few tears still coming, soaking into BJ's shirt as he jerks and thrusts.
John holds up his hand for Hawkeye to lick, and he does, tugging at BJ's shirt with his other hand. BJ gets the message and strips, pulling Hawk close and motioning to John, who brings more blankets and pillows. They create a nest between then with Hawk in the middle, streaked with both their come. Marked, trembling and babbling, they hold him as his heart rate finally starts to slow.