Happy Havoc Gets Lucky Day!
Apr. 29th, 2009 03:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajHappy Havoc Gets Lucky Day!
Late today, because the fic I was wroking on for you guys was getting too long, so I changed and wrote some PWP instead. YAY!
Also, you get TWO pics today!
Art:
Title: Havoc Gets Lucky - Worksafe Version
Characters: Roy and Havoc
Rated: PG
(Also at deviantArt, if you want.)
WARNING: NSFW IMAGE BELOW
Title: Havoc Gets Lucky - Not Safe for Work Version
Characters: Havoc/Roy
Rated: NC-17
Fic:
Title: You Can Call me Roy
Characters: Havoc and Mustang
Rated: NC-17
Word Count: 1628
Notes: Porn. Without plot.
By the time Havoc had gotten his keys out of his pocket and thrust his apartment door open, Mustang already had the lieutenant’s jacket unbuttoned and was working on removing this black undershirt. They tumbled in, mouths together, their lips slick from spit and already red from the force of their desperate kissing.
The mingling taste of cheap beer and expensive whiskey, the beer from Havoc’s mouth and the liquor from Mustang’s, which had marked their first kiss had all but vanished. The false heat of alcohol in their mouths in the darkest corner of the bar just outside Headquarters had been replaced with the genuine heat of sexual desperation.
“Oh, fuck—” Havoc gasped, pulling himself away for a few precious seconds to untangle himself from the mess of half-removed clothing as it caught against their chins. “Oh, Sir…”
“Call me Roy,” Mustang moaned, lurching forward again to lick Havoc’s chest, scraping his teeth against the firm pectoral muscle.
“Roy, then,” Havoc said, ripping Mustang’s own jacket open. There was a faint pinging sound as a button popped off and hit the floor, but neither of them paid it any heed. “Oh, Roy…”
They had interrupted their kiss, the first of many as it turned out, that one as slow and hesitant as those that followed were frenetic and bold, long enough to call a cab, and as they’d waited for it outside, they’d kissed more, leaving no time to talk themselves out of what they were about to do. The were hot and ready against each other by the time the cab arrived, and they’d just barely managed to pull apart in time to keep the driver from seeing what they were up to in the shadows beside the entryway.
“Where’s your bed?” Mustang managed to whisper around kisses to Havoc’s neck. Havoc had gotten the Colonel’s chest bare and was raking his nails up the lean muscle on Mustang’s back.
“By the back wall,” Havoc said. He pulled Mustang close, hugging him hard, breathing the scent of his hair and neck.
“Come on… Jean, now…” He worked his hands between their bodies, cupping Havoc’s erection through his uniform trousers before yanking the buttoned fly open. “I want you now.”
“Yes, Sir.” Havoc whimpered, thrusting unconsciously against Mustang’s palm. Sweat trickled down through the ridges of muscle on his stomach.
“Roy,” Mustang corrected, “Roy, remember?”
“Yes,” Havoc gasped, and they stumbled backwards to flop onto his little bed, the blankets so immaculately made up and straightened—boot camp conditioning died hard—that they didn’t even rumple. Pressing together, they kissed harder, biting lips, pulling hair, scratching skin.
In the cab they hadn’t kissed, except for once, desperately and so hard that Havoc’s chapped lips had split in a few places and tinted the kiss with the coppery essence of blood, when the driver had leaned out of the cab to yell at another driver. They had to be discrete, of course, and even a cab driver seeing the wrong thing could spell trouble with the military brass. But they hadn’t been able to contain themselves entirely; they’d been kneading each other through their uniform pants, biting back their moans. When they’d been a few blocks from Havoc’s apartment, Mustang had slipped his hand under Havoc’s waistband and began to stroke his pubic hair, squeezing his cock as best the confining fabric would allow.
Mustang ripped Havoc’s pants away, throwing them aside, and began to spit into his palm as Havoc pulled his off. They caught on his boots halfway down and he kicked his feet furiously to free them, as Havoc lay down atop him, pressing their naked bodies together. It was a hot night, and their skin, already slick and wet with sweat, slapped together with a noise like clapping hands.
Havoc bit hard into Mustang’s neck, wrenching a moan from the Colonel’s mouth as his eyes squeezed closed against the pain. His cock throbbed against Havoc’s stomach. He reached down around their bodies with his spit-slick hand and began to finger his own asshole.
“What are we gonna do?” Havoc asked, rocking against Mustang, sliding his erection over the Colonel’s sweaty stomach, leaving his thigh to press against Mustang’s cock and fuel his own urgency.
“You’re going to fuck me ‘til you scream,” Mustang said.
Once they’d tossed the cabbie the fare (along with a generous tip, since neither of them could bear to wait for him to count back their change) they’d stumbled up the front stoop the front door of Havoc’s building, a dingy old walkup with three different mismatched keyholes on the front door. It took Havoc much longer than normal to dig out his keys and open the different locks because their arms were intermingled and seeking, trying to work to press their owners even tighter together. By the time he had gotten the door open, they were both panting.
Echoing Mustang, Havoc pulled away from his pawing at Mustang’s neck and shoulders to spit into his hand, and began to slick his erection with the saliva, gasping uncontrollably at the sensation, all the while watching as Mustang fingered himself, lying on his back, legs in the air, squeezing Havoc with his knees.
“Sir, you ready?” Havoc whimpered, when his whole body was trembling with the effort to wait even a second longer.
“Only if you promise to call me Roy,” Mustang reminded, smirking up at him, his usually immaculate hair sweaty and tangled. “I’m going to stop right now and go home if you can’t even get that right.”
“Smartass,” Havoc said, and pressed forward into him.
Havoc lived on the top floor of the building, which was usually a boon since it was quieter and more private, but tonight the ten flights of stairs had taken a particularly long time to scale. Not only were they already short of breath, but they had to pause at each landing to squeeze, lick, and hold each other. Mustang had pressed Havoc against the cinderblock walls in the dank little stairwell, tugging open one button here, one button there, whispering the whole while how much he wanted him, how long he’d waited for this, and increasingly obscene promises of what he was going to do to him when they finally got upstairs. Havoc hadn’t been able to do much more than moan in desperation; it had been almost a year since he’d last had sex, and he was having difficulty containing himself. Mustang hadn’t minded.
They both moaned as Havoc slid in, the slickness of spit and sweat making the first thrusts almost effortless. Havoc stood on the floor, bent over Mustang and bracing him with one arm, while Mustang rocked himself forward and back, countercurrent to Havoc’s thrusts, making them feel even deeper. He held his neck up high so hey could kiss, twining their tongues together and licking the salty sweat from each other’s lips, until the pace grew too fast and he could only throw back his head and cry out.
“God, you feel good,” Mustang sighed, closing his eyes as his mouth stretched into a wide, pleased grin. Havoc’s hot breath tingled over his neck. “Fuck me harder, I want to feel all of you.”
Havoc could do nothing but moan and follow his Colonel’s command.
Finally reaching Havoc’s front door, they’d been almost ready to forgo the apartment altogether. Havoc had pressed Mustang against his door, grinding his hips into him, both of them whimpering when their erections, constrained by their uniforms into hard knots of flesh, brushed together. Finally he managed to work his hand into his pocket, but even then he’d barely been able to break the union of their mouths long enough to find the keyhole. Mustang had used the few seconds of downtime to begin ripping his jacket open.
“Harder,” Mustang growled, lurching forward to wrap his arms around Havoc’s back. “Oh, harder, please, Jean, fuck me…”
Havoc shuddered and grunted, pressing Mustang down into the mattress and thrusting so hard the blankets came free and tangled around his shoulders. Mustang gasped as shocks of pleasure ripped through his body. His head knocked against the wall but he barely noticed, the sharp spreading pain only mixing with the dizzy cloud of pleasure around his head. His legs were shaking and he pressed them inward, digging into Havoc’s sides.
“Shit,” Havoc panted, his grunts rising in pitch into sharp whines, “oh, shit, I’m coming, shit, fuck, I can’t, oh—”
“Good,” Mustang gasped, “you come for me, that’s good… oh, Jean… Jean…” He freed one hand and thrust it between them, pulling his cock hard and fast, catching himself up. “Mmm, Jean, yes…”
Havoc made a high, sharp cry, and Mustang felt him shudder and tremble. Spit flecked from his lips as his breathing grew harsh and ragged.
They came together, trembling, screaming, shaking, clawing and kissing at each other and finally collapsing in a tangle of sweat and musk and semen, all shaky limbs and steaming skin.
Gradually they came down, their breathing evening out, their muscles relaxing, their cocks going soft. It was stiflingly hot in the room, as high up in the building as it was, but Havoc curled his arms around Mustang anyway, wanting to keep the closeness between them alive as long as possible. Mustang didn’t push him away, despite the discomfort of another body’s warmth. Rather, he pressed a soft kiss to Havoc’s cheek and began to smooth the tangled mop of blond bangs on the other man’s forehead.
“Sir,” Havoc whispered, pressing his mouth to Mustang’s ear. “That was so—”
Mustang cut him off by giving his hair a gentle tug.
“How many times must I tell you, Jean? You can call me Roy.”
Late today, because the fic I was wroking on for you guys was getting too long, so I changed and wrote some PWP instead. YAY!
Also, you get TWO pics today!
Art:
Title: Havoc Gets Lucky - Worksafe Version
Characters: Roy and Havoc
Rated: PG
(Also at deviantArt, if you want.)
WARNING: NSFW IMAGE BELOW
Title: Havoc Gets Lucky - Not Safe for Work Version
Characters: Havoc/Roy
Rated: NC-17
Fic:
Title: You Can Call me Roy
Characters: Havoc and Mustang
Rated: NC-17
Word Count: 1628
Notes: Porn. Without plot.
By the time Havoc had gotten his keys out of his pocket and thrust his apartment door open, Mustang already had the lieutenant’s jacket unbuttoned and was working on removing this black undershirt. They tumbled in, mouths together, their lips slick from spit and already red from the force of their desperate kissing.
The mingling taste of cheap beer and expensive whiskey, the beer from Havoc’s mouth and the liquor from Mustang’s, which had marked their first kiss had all but vanished. The false heat of alcohol in their mouths in the darkest corner of the bar just outside Headquarters had been replaced with the genuine heat of sexual desperation.
“Oh, fuck—” Havoc gasped, pulling himself away for a few precious seconds to untangle himself from the mess of half-removed clothing as it caught against their chins. “Oh, Sir…”
“Call me Roy,” Mustang moaned, lurching forward again to lick Havoc’s chest, scraping his teeth against the firm pectoral muscle.
“Roy, then,” Havoc said, ripping Mustang’s own jacket open. There was a faint pinging sound as a button popped off and hit the floor, but neither of them paid it any heed. “Oh, Roy…”
They had interrupted their kiss, the first of many as it turned out, that one as slow and hesitant as those that followed were frenetic and bold, long enough to call a cab, and as they’d waited for it outside, they’d kissed more, leaving no time to talk themselves out of what they were about to do. The were hot and ready against each other by the time the cab arrived, and they’d just barely managed to pull apart in time to keep the driver from seeing what they were up to in the shadows beside the entryway.
“Where’s your bed?” Mustang managed to whisper around kisses to Havoc’s neck. Havoc had gotten the Colonel’s chest bare and was raking his nails up the lean muscle on Mustang’s back.
“By the back wall,” Havoc said. He pulled Mustang close, hugging him hard, breathing the scent of his hair and neck.
“Come on… Jean, now…” He worked his hands between their bodies, cupping Havoc’s erection through his uniform trousers before yanking the buttoned fly open. “I want you now.”
“Yes, Sir.” Havoc whimpered, thrusting unconsciously against Mustang’s palm. Sweat trickled down through the ridges of muscle on his stomach.
“Roy,” Mustang corrected, “Roy, remember?”
“Yes,” Havoc gasped, and they stumbled backwards to flop onto his little bed, the blankets so immaculately made up and straightened—boot camp conditioning died hard—that they didn’t even rumple. Pressing together, they kissed harder, biting lips, pulling hair, scratching skin.
In the cab they hadn’t kissed, except for once, desperately and so hard that Havoc’s chapped lips had split in a few places and tinted the kiss with the coppery essence of blood, when the driver had leaned out of the cab to yell at another driver. They had to be discrete, of course, and even a cab driver seeing the wrong thing could spell trouble with the military brass. But they hadn’t been able to contain themselves entirely; they’d been kneading each other through their uniform pants, biting back their moans. When they’d been a few blocks from Havoc’s apartment, Mustang had slipped his hand under Havoc’s waistband and began to stroke his pubic hair, squeezing his cock as best the confining fabric would allow.
Mustang ripped Havoc’s pants away, throwing them aside, and began to spit into his palm as Havoc pulled his off. They caught on his boots halfway down and he kicked his feet furiously to free them, as Havoc lay down atop him, pressing their naked bodies together. It was a hot night, and their skin, already slick and wet with sweat, slapped together with a noise like clapping hands.
Havoc bit hard into Mustang’s neck, wrenching a moan from the Colonel’s mouth as his eyes squeezed closed against the pain. His cock throbbed against Havoc’s stomach. He reached down around their bodies with his spit-slick hand and began to finger his own asshole.
“What are we gonna do?” Havoc asked, rocking against Mustang, sliding his erection over the Colonel’s sweaty stomach, leaving his thigh to press against Mustang’s cock and fuel his own urgency.
“You’re going to fuck me ‘til you scream,” Mustang said.
Once they’d tossed the cabbie the fare (along with a generous tip, since neither of them could bear to wait for him to count back their change) they’d stumbled up the front stoop the front door of Havoc’s building, a dingy old walkup with three different mismatched keyholes on the front door. It took Havoc much longer than normal to dig out his keys and open the different locks because their arms were intermingled and seeking, trying to work to press their owners even tighter together. By the time he had gotten the door open, they were both panting.
Echoing Mustang, Havoc pulled away from his pawing at Mustang’s neck and shoulders to spit into his hand, and began to slick his erection with the saliva, gasping uncontrollably at the sensation, all the while watching as Mustang fingered himself, lying on his back, legs in the air, squeezing Havoc with his knees.
“Sir, you ready?” Havoc whimpered, when his whole body was trembling with the effort to wait even a second longer.
“Only if you promise to call me Roy,” Mustang reminded, smirking up at him, his usually immaculate hair sweaty and tangled. “I’m going to stop right now and go home if you can’t even get that right.”
“Smartass,” Havoc said, and pressed forward into him.
Havoc lived on the top floor of the building, which was usually a boon since it was quieter and more private, but tonight the ten flights of stairs had taken a particularly long time to scale. Not only were they already short of breath, but they had to pause at each landing to squeeze, lick, and hold each other. Mustang had pressed Havoc against the cinderblock walls in the dank little stairwell, tugging open one button here, one button there, whispering the whole while how much he wanted him, how long he’d waited for this, and increasingly obscene promises of what he was going to do to him when they finally got upstairs. Havoc hadn’t been able to do much more than moan in desperation; it had been almost a year since he’d last had sex, and he was having difficulty containing himself. Mustang hadn’t minded.
They both moaned as Havoc slid in, the slickness of spit and sweat making the first thrusts almost effortless. Havoc stood on the floor, bent over Mustang and bracing him with one arm, while Mustang rocked himself forward and back, countercurrent to Havoc’s thrusts, making them feel even deeper. He held his neck up high so hey could kiss, twining their tongues together and licking the salty sweat from each other’s lips, until the pace grew too fast and he could only throw back his head and cry out.
“God, you feel good,” Mustang sighed, closing his eyes as his mouth stretched into a wide, pleased grin. Havoc’s hot breath tingled over his neck. “Fuck me harder, I want to feel all of you.”
Havoc could do nothing but moan and follow his Colonel’s command.
Finally reaching Havoc’s front door, they’d been almost ready to forgo the apartment altogether. Havoc had pressed Mustang against his door, grinding his hips into him, both of them whimpering when their erections, constrained by their uniforms into hard knots of flesh, brushed together. Finally he managed to work his hand into his pocket, but even then he’d barely been able to break the union of their mouths long enough to find the keyhole. Mustang had used the few seconds of downtime to begin ripping his jacket open.
“Harder,” Mustang growled, lurching forward to wrap his arms around Havoc’s back. “Oh, harder, please, Jean, fuck me…”
Havoc shuddered and grunted, pressing Mustang down into the mattress and thrusting so hard the blankets came free and tangled around his shoulders. Mustang gasped as shocks of pleasure ripped through his body. His head knocked against the wall but he barely noticed, the sharp spreading pain only mixing with the dizzy cloud of pleasure around his head. His legs were shaking and he pressed them inward, digging into Havoc’s sides.
“Shit,” Havoc panted, his grunts rising in pitch into sharp whines, “oh, shit, I’m coming, shit, fuck, I can’t, oh—”
“Good,” Mustang gasped, “you come for me, that’s good… oh, Jean… Jean…” He freed one hand and thrust it between them, pulling his cock hard and fast, catching himself up. “Mmm, Jean, yes…”
Havoc made a high, sharp cry, and Mustang felt him shudder and tremble. Spit flecked from his lips as his breathing grew harsh and ragged.
They came together, trembling, screaming, shaking, clawing and kissing at each other and finally collapsing in a tangle of sweat and musk and semen, all shaky limbs and steaming skin.
Gradually they came down, their breathing evening out, their muscles relaxing, their cocks going soft. It was stiflingly hot in the room, as high up in the building as it was, but Havoc curled his arms around Mustang anyway, wanting to keep the closeness between them alive as long as possible. Mustang didn’t push him away, despite the discomfort of another body’s warmth. Rather, he pressed a soft kiss to Havoc’s cheek and began to smooth the tangled mop of blond bangs on the other man’s forehead.
“Sir,” Havoc whispered, pressing his mouth to Mustang’s ear. “That was so—”
Mustang cut him off by giving his hair a gentle tug.
“How many times must I tell you, Jean? You can call me Roy.”
