Fic - "ABC Kink - Q for Quickie"

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Title: ABC Kink - "Q for Quickie"
Author/Artist: raja815
Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Anonymous Male Person. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2425
Warnings: Sexuality. Anonymous sex. Bathhouse/sex club.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.


for “Quickie"


Officially it was a health and fitness club, although Havoc was fairly sure most health and fitness clubs didn’t have wet bars next to their communal showers, lockable sleeping cubicles rentable by the half-hour, and full wings devoted to pitch-black steam rooms. He did know that this particular health club was strictly men only, that the owner was rumored to stay in business only because he bribed the policeman, and that being seen there was as good as an automatic black mark on any young soldier’s military record.

He went in anyway.

It was hard to say why. Partially because he’d been turned down by a record number of girls when he and Heymans had been bar hopping the night before. Partially because he remembered the concealed but appreciative stares he’d sometimes garnered in the showers during his military training, and it would be nice, he thought, if someone would look at him and not immediately turn to her girlfriend and whisper and giggle cruelly.

Mostly, he was just curious.

It was after midnight when he went in, and so dark that no one could see him on the street. Even so, he’d worn a hat and a rather unbecoming jacket he didn’t like and barely ever wore. The clerk who took his five hundred sens and handed him a threadbare towel gave the outfit a wan smile.

“Nice jacket,” he said, and then turned back to the novel open on his lap. “Have fun,” he added, like an afterthought, as Havoc was almost through the door behind him. Since he couldn’t think of an appropriate response, Havoc kept going as if he hadn’t heard.

He hit the small bar first, immediately feeling conspicuous when he noticed he was the only unattached person in the room. Men were clustered in little groups and couples, spread around the small, darkened room. As he scanned the room he caught two men in a tangle of arms engaged in a soul kiss. His stomach and face flashed hot-cold-hot and he went a bit dizzy. It was one thing to imagine it when you were at home alone in your bed and no one could possibly know you were thinking of the time your handsome older cousin taught you how to jerk off and not the tits on the cabaret girl poster on your wall, but it was quite another to actually see it.

He downed a few drinks too quickly, filled the ashtray closest to him in record time, and thought maybe he should just go home. He felt a few of the appreciative looks he’d wanted boring into the back of his head, but he was suddenly so sure he’d be discovered and wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of this that he didn’t dare return them.

“You’ll get drunk if you carry on like that.” The voice of the bartender startled him badly and he almost choked on his whiskey. “Have you got someone in mind to carry you home?”

“No,” Havoc murmured, “I don’t.” It was dim enough in the room to hide both the burning blush on his ears and the stare of the bartender, and he was very grateful.

“You’ll find someone. Might go have a shower if I were you. Try out the steam room. It’ll clear your head.”

The way he said it made if feel like a dare, and Havoc’s pride prickled. “Maybe I will.”

“You can put your clothes in one of the lockers, you’ll be too hot with all the steam.”

Havoc nodded, trying to look as though he knew this already, downed the rest of the glass, extinguished his cigarette, and headed off. He later thought he probably only looked away from the floor twice during the next twenty minutes of undressing, showering, and stumbling through the halls. He wished he hadn’t had so many drinks.

Naked, still wet from the shower, clutching the towel he’d wrapped around his waist like a lifeline, he finally found the sauna and slipped inside. The room was on the basement floor, and was completely dark save for a small, dim bulb that marked the exit door without illuminating the room. Steam curled around his body like languid arms, settled against his skin, mixed with his beading sweat until the drops swelled too large and ran down the center of his back and chest. Soon he felt as wet as he’d been when he’d come out of the shower. Despite this, he felt more comfortable than he had since he came in. The privacy of the darkness was soothing, and the warmth eased his swimming head.

At first, all he could hear was the faint hiss of the heater putting out all the steam. Once he was used to it, though, he began to hear heavy breathing and soft, wet smacking sounds. The feverish feeling that had enveloped him in the bar hit again, and he felt conflicting desires to bolt for the door and reach under his towel and begin masturbating. It was all very confusing; it was making him tired and he wished he’d never come.

I’m going home, he decided. It’s too much, and I can’t—

A hand closed around his shoulder.

It startled him badly, but he didn’t move. Normally it was impossible to sneak up on him; he’d been too well trained. But the hiss of the steam and the dark and the whiskey and most of all his own overloading mind had dulled his senses into stupidity.

The hand began to move, tracing the line of his collarbone, squeezing his shoulder, circling his arm and sliding downward, as though it were a horse’s leg being checked for swelling. Suddenly a second hand joined its twin, this one circling around him, pulling him backward, exploring the ridges of his abs with one finger and scraping at the sweat on his side with a short, smooth nail, moving lower, squeezing his ass with an appreciative hum.

Should I say something? Havoc wondered, could he think I’m someone else? Maybe I’m supposed to introduce—

“God, you feel beautiful,” the owner of the hands whispered, in a husky, measured growl that obliterated any identifying vocal pattern. Havoc felt another shivery flutter at the voice. It was so low, he marveled, and so masculine. "I like you."

“I… mean, I… I guess I should tell you…” Havoc started, but the hand that was currently circling his wrist squeezed hard and shut him up. Something for which he was profoundly grateful, because he had no idea what he’d been about to say.

“Shh,” the person whispered, “no need.”

Havoc was being pulled backwards by the arm around his side, until he was forced into taking a step backward and his sweaty back came flush against the person’s sweaty front. His towel was pulled away. As it nestled around Havoc’s feet, the stranger’s erection slid up against him, moving easily with all the moisture on their skin. Havoc’s knees went a bit weak. When the stranger whispered that he wanted to fuck him, they actually buckled a bit before he regained control of his muscles.

“There’s a wall to our left,” the voice said, even lower because he was closer and his whispers carried better. “You can lean against it. If you want to.”

Dreamlike, Havoc felt himself nod and whisper that he did. If you want to, the other man had said, and Havoc did want to. Just how much he wanted to alarmed him, and he was glad the stranger had pointed out the wall, because if he hadn’t had it to lean against he thought he might’ve slid down onto the floor.

The cedar boards were warm and wet against his palms, and their faint, sweet smell mixed with the accumulated sweat of years of patrons, and the flat, mineral smell of semen. Sharper over it was the fresh, pungent smell of his own sweat and that of the man whose hands were clutching Havoc’s thighs.

Sweat poured down his body, so thick he could almost hear it dripping, and made the man’s hands slick as he took Havoc’s cock in hand. He was only half aroused, his penis thick and heavy with blood but not quite enough to be hard, and the other man’s unquestionably erect cock pressed against the top of Havoc’s leg made him feel a bit self conscious about it. He had a moment of worry that he might be too nervous and too drunk for it to go any farther.

Fortunately, the worry was unfounded. The stranger purred in Havoc’s ear “you're big, aren’t you?” and had him fully hard with only a few pumps. Vaguely he noticed the other hand, the one that had been stroking the line of hair running down the center of Havoc’s stomach, moving away, first pressing him downward, bending his knees slightly, so he was lower to the ground, and then vanishing altogether. He heard the man spit.

It surprised him when the man slid into him, but later he was glad of that; the combination of steam, alcohol, and surprise kept him from tensing up too much. It felt slick, reveling what the spitting sound had meant, and huge, stretching him, filling him. It hurt, and he gasped from it, but he didn’t want it to stop. The man must have guessed what he was feeling because he slowed, resting with just the tip of his cock stretching Havoc’s asshole.

“Tight,” the stranger whispered, and bit down onto Havoc’s neck. He earned himself another gasp, and worked Havoc’s erection all the harder. When Havoc began to shudder and whimper, he pressed the rest of the way inside.

It wasn’t long before they found their stride, the stranger pumping Havoc’s cock and thrusting his hips. His balls made a wet, slapping sound against Havoc’s ass, and Havoc found he liked the rough, primal cadence of it. The sweat and spit lubricated the thrusts, making his cock slide in and out easily, but there was still a slight burning, stretching sensation that Havoc found wasn’t actually unpleasant. It accentuated the feeling of now, made him certain he was really here, with the man, in this moment, being fucked within an inch of his life. And the longer it went on, the better it felt. One thrust felt so wonderful that a long moan wrenched its way out of Havoc's throat with him hardly even aware of it.

“Oh, that’s good,” the man behind him whispered, reaching up to touch Havoc’s lips, feeling the breath from the sounds of his pleasure. “You moan for me…”

Havoc did, and reached forward with his questing mouth, finding the stranger’s wrist. He bit down on it hard, felt the man's pulse pulse drumming against his teeth, sucked it, felt him so close, tasted his sweat, marked his skin with his teeth while he thrust and pressed and whispered and jerked Havoc’s cock so hard his balls swung, even though they were pulled close to him with his much-too-rapidly approaching orgasm. Havoc sucked harder on the man’s wrist as he reached backward to touch whatever part of the other man his fingers could reach.

When he came he couldn’t take it anymore and slumped downward, onto the warm, wet cedar plank floor. He was still shuddering when he felt thicker liquid rain down on his back in long strings, and heard his partner moan his own climax.

There was a sudden mournful feeling of complete emptiness that made Havoc’s stomach feel cold, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He thought about crawling over to find his towel so he could leave and get his cigarettes when suddenly the boards beneath him creaked, and the stranger was kneeling beside him.

He put his arms around Havoc, squeezed him tight. He kissed his neck, licked his cheeks, and finally brought their mouths together. Faint stubble around their lips scratched their skin, and Havoc couldn’t remember a time when kisses had felt so sweet.

“I wish I could take you home with me,” the other man whispered a moment later. “Forgive me. I’d like to but… I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Havoc murmured, “I couldn’t go, anyway.”

There were a few more kisses and touches, and then the stranger left. Havoc saw his blank silhouette when he opened the door and left the sauna. For a few moments he stayed where he was, letting the warm heat of the cedar boards soothe him. Then he hunted out his towel and went to go collect his things.

***

Havoc was quite late getting to Headquarters the next morning. The alcohol and dehydration from being too long in the sauna had caught up with him, and he was a bit hungover. Not to mention exhausted; he’d barely grabbed an hour of sleep, and that was so full of dreams about the encounter it could hardly be called restful.

Fortunately, Colonel Mustang looked a bit tired himself, and didn’t give Havoc much of a reprimand.

“Don’t let it happen again, Lieutenant,” Mustang sighed, putting down his paperwork and reaching up to massage his temples. “You’ll make me look bad.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Havoc shot him a sheepish little grin. “I had a few drinks too many last night.” Inwardly he squirmed at this; it might’ve been the truth, but god, what would Mustang do if he’d had any idea of where and why Havoc had gotten his few drinks?

“Hmm. Get me a cup of coffee and all will be forgiven.” Mustang yawned. He reached up to smooth his hair away from his forehead.

Havoc nodded and started to turn toward the door when he saw something that made him stop cold. His stomach, already uneasy, seemed to roll completely over and drop down to his feet.

When Mustang reached up to his forehead, the cuff of his uniform pulled back enough to display a few centimeters of skin beneath the white alchemic glove. Staining the skin it reveled was a brilliant crimson suck mark, exactly the size as to have come from Havoc’s own mouth.





17/26
See you guys tomorrow for letter R. :)