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Re: A Year of Endless Bombings and Love

Hawkeye let out a slow, unsteady breath against her skin when she whispered for him to slow down. The sound of her voice—low, warm, laced with affection—did more to undo him than anything else she'd done.

"All day, huh?" he murmured softly against her neck, brushing one last lingering kiss there before lifting his head just enough to look at her.

His fingers, which had been resting at her waist, slid up her sides in an unhurried glide, memorizing the shape of her like he hadn't already done so a hundred times before. But this felt different. Slower. Intentional. Reverent.

"I can do slow," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "For you? I can do anything."

He leaned in again, but this time the kiss was softer—no hunger, no rush. Just warmth. His lips moved against hers with patience, savoring the way she responded, the way her fingers threaded through his hair. One of his hands traveled up her back, fingers spreading wide, holding her close but not demanding. Just there. Present.

"You have no idea," he breathed between kisses, his nose brushing gently along hers, "what you do to me when you look at me like that."

His thumb traced slow circles at the small of her back, grounding both of them. When she shifted her hips slightly against his, he didn't rush to meet it. Instead, he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then back to her lips—deliberate, tender, unhurried.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured. "We've got time."

He kissed her again—deep but controlled—one hand cradling the back of her head now, thumb stroking gently through her hair. When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to look into her eyes, his own darker now but steady.

"Stay right here with me," he whispered. "Let's take our time and make every second count."

Re: A Year of Endless Bombings and Love

Hawkeye's breath hitched the moment Sam straddled him—his hands instinctively sliding up the small of her back, fingers splaying across her hips like he was claiming the right to hold her there forever. His eyes darkened, chest rising and falling faster as her lips traced fire across his skin.

"Oh, sweetheart..." he murmured in that velvet-low voice he only ever used when the world outside the canvas walls stopped mattering. "That's not a threat. That's a guarantee."

She kissed him again, and Hawkeye let out a soft, involuntary groan—one he tried to swallow down and failed miserably at. He cupped her face and pulled her back down into another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier, like he'd been waiting years for her even though they'd only met days ago.

When she said she wasn't leaving until he made her scream, Hawkeye's grin turned wicked—pure mischief, pure desire, pure Hawkeye.

"Well," he whispered, brushing a slow teasing kiss along her jaw, "the good news is... I'm an overachiever."

His hands slid down her sides, over her thighs, squeezing gently before rolling his hips up against hers just enough to make her gasp. He swallowed that sound like a man starved.

"And the great news?" he added, voice brushing hot against her ear as his hands roamed boldly now. "I have every intention of making the entire camp wonder what kind of cardio routine we're doing in here."

Her lips met his again, and Hawkeye kissed her back with a rawness that surprised even him—slow but consuming, like he was memorizing every taste, every breath, every little sound she made.

When she finally pulled back for air, Hawkeye looked up at her with a mixture of heat and awe, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Sam..." he breathed, voice rough, honest for once. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

His hands slid under her shirt, fingertips trailing lightly up her spine just to feel her shiver.

"Now," he said, flipping her gently so she was beneath him, lips hovering just above hers, "let me return the favor... and keep every promise I just made."

Re: A Year of Endless Bombings and Love

Hawkeye let out a low, sleepy groan — the kind that was half-complaint, half-pure-pleasure — as Sam slid back into the cot beside him. His arm immediately wrapped around her waist on instinct, pulling her flush to his side like he'd been waiting all morning for her to settle there.

His voice came out rough, warm, and gravel-soft with affection.

"Rough night? Sweetheart, rough doesn't even begin to cover it."
He nuzzled into her hair, inhaling the scent he swore kept him sane in a madhouse like the 4077th. "But waking up to you...? Suddenly I feel ten years younger."

Then she blew into his ear.

Hawkeye jumped — actually jumped — and then laughed, low and breathlessly, the sound rumbling through his chest under her lips as she kissed her way down it.

"Sam..." he growled playfully, fingers tightening on her hip, "you're gonna make me forget I'm supposed to act like a responsible doctor in about five seconds."

Her teasing about him and Benjamin blowing up half the compound only made him laugh harder. He tugged her gently upward so he could look directly into her eyes, mischief already sparking there.

"Half the compound? Darling, that's me and Ben being restrained."
He brushed a thumb along her cheek, eyes softening. "But you have my word — we'll try to only traumatize Frank. Maybe make Hot Lips yell once or twice. A quiet morning, really."

She told him to behave, and Hawkeye's smile turned warm, bright, and absolutely wicked.

"For you? I'll be on my best behavior," he assured, voice dipping low as he intertwined his fingers with hers. "But I can't promise Ben won't instigate something. You know my boy — the man was born with trouble in his bloodstream."

And then she kissed his fingers.

One by one.

Slow.

Tender.

Seductive.

When she sucked one into her mouth, Hawkeye's breath caught mid-sentence — completely lost.

For a second, he genuinely forgot what language was.

His free hand slid instinctively into her hair, gentle but possessive, his voice dropping to a rough, intimate whisper only she ever got to hear.

"Sam..."

His eyes darkened, hungry and soft all at once.

"Sweetheart, at this rate you're gonna have to perform mouth-to-mouth just to revive me."

A beat. His grin widened, boyish and sinful.

"Not that I'm complaining — I can think of worse ways to go."

He tugged her closer, lips brushing her ear now, giving her back exactly what she'd given him:

"But before you leave... I'm not letting you out of this tent until you kiss me like you mean it."

Re: A Year of Endless Bombings and Love

Hawkeye let out a low, sleepy groan, the kind that always came after a night of winning at poker but losing at moderation. He didn't open his eyes right away—he didn't need to. He knew that touch, that warmth, that soft whisper that always cut straight through the hangover haze like sunshine breaking through clouds.

"Mmnn... Sam..." he mumbled, his voice gravelly and half-asleep. One eye cracked open, unfocused at first, then finding her. And just like every morning he woke up beside her, that crooked, lopsided smile appeared—even if it hurt a little to try moving his face.

He reached up, clumsy and warm, and brushed his fingers across her wrist.

"You know," he rasped, "if you keep talking to me like that, I'm gonna start waking up on purpose."

He blinked again, gaze sharpening as it fully landed on her. The tenderness in her eyes, the sunlight catching her hair—Hawkeye felt his chest tighten in that way he'd never admit outside this tent.

"You're gonna miss me, huh?" he teased weakly, then softened almost immediately. "Good. Because I'm gonna miss every single inch of you."

He shifted, pulling her hand into his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"And don't worry about me and Ben," he added with a smirk. "We'll only blow up... maybe half the compound while you're gone. Three-quarters if Burns tries anything."

Then his voice dipped, quiet and real—rare morning honesty.

"Just come back in one piece, Sammy. Seoul's got nothing on you."
A beat. His fingers tightened gently around hers.
"And for the record? You leaving for a few days is the only thing in camp scarier than the latrine after Taco Night."

He tugged her closer, eyes half-closed again, forehead brushing hers.

"I love you, too. Even if it kills me. And with you around, it probably will."

He smirked, then kissed her hand, slow and soft.

"Now come back to bed for ten more minutes. Doctor's orders."