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rajTitle: A Nipping and an Eager Air (Part Three of the "Strange Bedfellows" arc)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Pairing/Fandom: Roy Mustang/Jean Havoc, Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9030
Warnings Sex and sex and sex in various positions and locations.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes:The third and final installment of the three-part Strange Bedfellows arc, following A Union in Partition. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_lemons, for theme #20. First Timers, or, "Yes! I'm Finally Getting Some!" Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Enjoy!
Ah, this one was tricksy... A big thanks goes out to my porning buddygaluxkitty, who helped me every step of the way and kept me from leaping out the window in despair when I got stuck. So I thank her not only for the fic help but for the fact that I am not a splat on the pavement 12 stories below. XD
*** *** ***
Despite the increasingly slow pace he’d set, Havoc’s feet hadn’t failed him, and he stood at the top of the concrete stairwell, staring at the simple wooden door as though it intended him harm. After a few moments, he took a small slip of paper out of pocket, its four lines of black ink smeared from the sweat of his palms, looked at it, then looked back at the gold ‘301’ on the wooden door. He nodded, put the paper back in his pocket, and raised a hand to knock. Then he abruptly dropped his hand, pulled the paper back out, and re-confirmed. Number three-oh-one, good, yes, right. But he kept looking, back and forth, from the smeary numbers on the paper to the door’s bold, confident-looking metal ones, the same way he’d done at first the street sign (Third avenue? Yes, right. Third Avenue…) and then the building (Number seventeen? Yes, right… positive? Yes. Number seventeen…) and now at the door once again. But it wasn’t because he wasn’t sure of where he was.
It was because, once he’d absolutely confirmed that this was in fact the correct location, there was nothing left to do but knock on Roy Mustang’s door and go inside. And he was having a bit of trouble making that particular leap.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be too busy tomorrow evening to come help me situate my furniture? I could use a hand.”
When his Colonel had said that Havoc’s exhaustion had vaporized like an ice cube in a frying pan. He’d taken the address Mustang had quickly scrawled and placed it protectively in his pocket, trying to discern the peculiar little smirk that had accompanied the gesture and nodding a bit too hard when Mustang had asked if he’d come by around six-thirty or so next evening. Then Mustang had vanished into the waiting car (he’d felt the smallest prickle of jealousy; wasn’t he Mustang’s driver?) and Havoc had been left to load the rest of the boxes and dodge Breda’s increasingly inquisitive glances.
He hadn’t slept for the second night in a row; he’d bought three cartons of cigarettes (earning a strange look from the night clerk at the train station’s little newspaper shop) and sat on his cot in the ten-by-ten cell of a private room at the military dorms and smoked until he actually began to feel sick from excessive nicotine, which hadn’t happened since he was fourteen. Then he lay back against the flat little pillow with closed eyes and there’d been nothing but Roy. His face, smell, the sound of him, the way he felt, bright and vivid as a movie playing on the inside of Havoc’s eyelids, and he’d taken himself in his hand and come within a matter of seconds. Then he lit up again and the process repeated itself.
Over the course of the night, he finished five packs of cigs and came three times.
He met Breda at the housing office at Headquarters the next morning, the other man looking annoyingly well-rested. Breda had taken in the dark circles around Havoc’s eyes, his drawn, exhausted face, and the reeking cloud of smoke that seemed to cling to him, and sarcastically clapped his friend on the back and told him he’d never looked lovelier.
“I hate you,” Havoc mumbled.
“I know.” Breda handed him a stack of forms and a pen. “I don’t suppose there’s any point to my asking what happened?”
“Nothing happened. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Becoming a nice little habit with you lately.”
“Stress… moving…” Havoc muttered vaguely, and leaned down to attend to the forms.
“Ever since that night at the hotel, really.”
Havoc’s ears went red. He hoped his downward angle was enough to cover them.
“You sure there’s nothing going on?”
“Everything’s fine.” But he knew that Breda knew he was lying. The man was incredibly perceptive; it was what made him so good at games. He could read tiny changes in people, with enough accuracy to anticipate an opponent’s strategy, so the idea of Havoc hiding the glaring abnormalities in his behavior was quite frankly laughable.
Breda looked at his old friend for a while longer, before apparently deciding to let it go… for the time being.
The exchange hadn’t helped Havoc’s anxiety. It had done nothing but grow throughout the day, until he left the tiny, grungy studio apartment that had been all he could afford on his current salary to walk to Mustang’s. By then the anxiety had all but overshadowed the desire, and he was a sweaty, shaky mess fighting the urge to smoke three cigarettes at once as he stood in front of Mustang’s door, trying desperately to postpone the moment.
The problem was, despite Mustang’s words on the train the previous day, he still had no idea what to expect. Would Mustang jump him the second he walked through the door? Or tell him that it had been good fun while it lasted and send him off? Or make condescending jokes about how his luck with women had gotten so bad, he’d obviously had to turn to men? Would he touch him, like in the hotel, with those quick strokes of finger and soft palm, or suck him, like on the train, all hot mouth and tongue and… probably better not to think about that, or Havoc wouldn’t be the only thing standing to greet Mustang at his door…
Havoc mulled back and forth over every conceivable possibility, crinkling the paper in his hands and chewing furiously on the inside of his cheek (a habit he indulged in whenever he couldn’t smoke—the inside of his mouth was ridged with scar tissue), reaching for and pulling away from the door so often that the tendons in his wrist began to ache.
Suddenly, the door flew open and there was Colonel Mustang, wearing civilian clothes and a look of barely constrained amusement. Havoc started, and then grinned sheepishly. He started to salute, then thought better of it and tried to transform the gesture into a wave. Unsuccessfully, judging by the way Mustang’s eyebrows rose. Havoc’s ears burned; he hadn’t felt this awkward since… well, yesterday. But still…
“You know, Lieutenant, I’ve been standing behind the door for ten minutes waiting for you to knock,” Mustang said, and clapped his subordinate companionably on the shoulder. “We really must do something about your self-confidence.”
“If you knew I was there, why didn’t you open the door?”
“Come in, Lieutenant, mind you don’t trip on the boxes…”
Havoc sighed and followed Mustang in, the fluttery feeling in his stomach intensifying the second he stepped over the doorsill. No more delays or postponements, he was there, in Mustang’s apartment, large and expensive-looking despite the clutter of boxes and half-unpacked rubbish. He watched Mustang walk, dodging the cartons, over to a burgundy leather couch. When he patted the arm, Havoc’s stomach flipped. He didn’t quite manage a grin.
“Will you just grab the other end, Lieutenant? We can carry it over to the window over there…”
Havoc’s eyes opened wide. What in the name of…?
In all the scenarios he’d imagined taking place when Mustang had asked him to come over and help move furniture, the possibility that he actually just wanted help moving furniture simply hadn’t occurred to him.
Mustang grunted under the weight of the couch. “Something wrong, Havoc?”
Why aren’t you trying to do anything?
“No, Sir.” He crossed the room, lifted the end of the couch, and walked so quickly with it that Mustang stumbled and made a crack about Havoc’s overenthusiasm for menial tasks. That sounded promising, and this time Havoc did grin, only to frown again when Mustang moved on to large bookcase. And again a bit later with a massive wooden chest full of alchemic research…
This carried on for a good hour, until Havoc was dusty, sweaty, and mentally numb from confusion. If Roy had been difficult to fathom before, Havoc now felt as though he needed some kind of cryptogram to dissect the man’s tactics. How did you go from the hottest round of sex he’d ever had in his life one day to re-assembling a drop-leaf dining table the next? A damn difficult to re-assemble drop-leaf dining table at that, stupid thing with its splintery seams and worn bolts and not-quite-big-enough pegs, that just wouldn’t reattach, no matter how hard he—
“Son of a bitch!” The peg finally slammed home, taking the Lieutenant’s finger along with it. He winced, holding it up for inspection.
“All right, Havoc?”
“Yeah…” He sighed, watching the white mark on his finger turn red. It throbbed dully, but nothing compared to the way his heart suddenly did when Mustang, out of nowhere, seized his hand and brought it up to his face.
“Hmm…” Mustang said softly, stroking the wounded appendage gently. “I’m sorry about that…”
“It’s okay, no problem…” Here it comes, he thought, heart pounding and cock tingling slightly with its pre-erection heaviness, about fucking time…
“Maybe time for a break?”
Oh, God…
“Yeah…”
And Mustang dropped his hand, stood up, and disappeared into his kitchen. He was gone long enough for Havoc to wonder if this was what a brain aneurism felt like before he returned with a couple of snifters and a bottle of some dark liquor. He sat on the recently-moved sofa, poured a small amount and held it out.
“Do you drink brandy?”
“Oh. Sure.” Actually he preferred beer. Cheap beer and lots of it. But no matter, it wasn’t like Mustang needed to get him wasted. The man had to know he was willing… didn’t he?
Mustang smiled, filled his own glass, and clinked it against Havoc’s in a parody of a toast. Then he frowned.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Havoc sipped the drink, which tasted disquietingly expensive.
Why isn’t he doing anything? Just sitting there with his drink and looking sweaty but relaxed and damned hot in his civilian clothes. Damn him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Yeah, fine.” The sudden strength of his attraction to his Colonel was alarming him. He’d spent most of his adult life so desperate to find a girlfriend that he’d never paid much attention to whatever feelings he did or didn’t have for other men. But this thing with Mustang had already gone way beyond any friend-helping-friend type of thing and making him suspect there might’ve been something there in himself all along.
“Havoc?” Mustang was staring at him quizzically. Havoc downed the rest of his drink just to occupy his mouth—the craving for a cigarette had escalated to a new high even for him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sure.”
“Nothing’s on your mind?”
WHY THE HELL AREN’T YOU DOING ANYTHING!? “Nope.”
“Are you su—” Havoc lunged forward so fast that his kiss actually missed Mustang’s mouth, and the salty taste of sweat on his skin washed over his tongue, only to meet the burn of the liquor a few seconds later as his mouth finally found its target.
For his part, Mustang didn’t even seem surprised. There was a small clink of glass as he set his glass down on a pile of packing crates to the side of the couch, then the gentle pressure of his arms around Havoc and the warmth of his mouth as he kissed back.
For a moment he matched Havoc’s frantic pace, but he soon took over, changing Havoc’s desperate outburst of all the evening’s pent up sexual tension into something softer, slower, and somehow far more passionate.
We’ve done fast and desperate, his kiss seemed to say, now, why don’t you try me for real? And Havoc was certainly willing. Every gentle swipe of tongue and graze of lips washed over him in long, sweet waves. Every inch of his skin prickled with warmth. He knew he was making soft noises, because he could feel the vibrations on Mustang’s lips, but he couldn’t hear them because every ounce of his body’s capacity for perception seemed to have culminated into taking in the feeling of Mustang’s mouth against his own.
Within the haze of relief and pleasure, he felt a growing warmth and pressure against his body, and it wasn’t until Mustang pulled back that he realized it was because the man was lying on top of him, pressing him into the couch as he kissed a trail over Havoc’s cheekbones.
“Thank God you finally did it,” Mustang murmured, and licked Havoc’s earlobe. “I’d almost given up on you…”
He felt a momentary twinge that cut through the haze and reminded him that he could, in fact, speak. “What?”
“Been waiting for you to do something since you walked in the door…” He nipped at Havoc’s earlobe, then pulled it into his mouth and sucked.
“But… wha…I was waiting for…” From somewhere came a feeling of slight annoyance that might have been full-blown rage if Mustang’s lips hadn’t left him feeling so damned amiable. “Why didn’t you—”
“I’d hate for you to think I was pulling rank on you,” he said, the words tinted with an edge of laughter. “Or anything along that line… sense of obligation, and the like…” He leaned in and began to trace the line of Havoc’s mouth with his tongue, smiling when his action elicited a pleasured whimper. “I hope I’m not wrong in assuming that isn’t the case?”
Of course it wasn’t the case. That particular case hadn’t even entered his mind. For which he was grateful; he was enough of a wreck as it was. The fact was, even as confused by the past two days as Havoc had been, he’d always known Colonel Roy Mustang wasn’t the type to use his friends in that way.
“Not at all,” Havoc whispered, and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back down against his chest. His weight on top of him was pleasurable, and he could feel Mustang’s erection, a hard knot against his hip, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
“I didn’t want to scare you off,” he murmured, and the kisses to Havoc’s neck didn’t quite mask the feeling behind the words.
Havoc laughed gently. “You can’t, Sir.”
“Roy,” he corrected, and slid Havoc’s shirt upwards, running his palms over the ridges of his abs. “Roy when we’re like this…”
“Roy…” And the name was more like a moan.
The kisses deepened, Havoc running a hand through Roy’s hair as Roy continued stroking his stomach. He breathed deeply, caching the mingling smells of sweat and liquor and Roy, and licked his lips to find the tastes, all salty and sweet and—
“Mmm,” he breathed, and felt Roy’s grin with his tongue.
“Like that?”
“Sweat… salt…but nice…” he babbled, and Roy laughed and kissed his lips, quick and soft, and then his cheeks, and forehead.
“You too…” The peppering kisses continued, teasing and soft.
“Well, you worked me pretty hard…”
“Indeed I did,” and he laughed and ground his hips against Havoc’s, the sarcastic bastard. But Havoc forgave him for it. “Mmm…” More kisses. Oh, God, yes, more… then the tickle of a whisper against his neck: “Would you like to have a shower, Jean?”
That threw him for a moment; he’d been so comfortably melted into the couch that he’d assumed they’d keep on there. He’d never been one to interrupt a good thing, after all… or maybe it was his sense of opportunism when it came to sexual matters. When you’d been foiled as often as he had, you tended to hold fast to the opportunities you got… But he nodded. In all honesty, it was a relief to hand over the reins. He was far from stupid, but not the best at thinking things through, and for that reason Jean had always been more of a follower than a leader. If Roy wanted him to shower, then shower he would. So he released his grip on Roy’s waist and let him up, the sudden absence of the other man’s warmth and weight on top of him leaving him feeling oddly lonesome, and followed him to the small tiled bathroom at the end of the hall.
When they got there, Roy pressed him against the door, smiled in a way that made Jean’s already aching cock throb, and kissed him, grinding their bodies together and ‘mmm’ing into his mouth, running his hands under his shirt and the waistband of his pants, making Havoc thrust and whimper… until he pulled back and grinned.
“Haven’t unpacked towels yet… go on and start the water, I’ll be back in a bit…” He reached forward and stroked the bulge of Jean’s erection through his pants. His grin was a positively infuriating tease. “Don’t start without me…”
Jean was searching his brain for some other reply than a near-orgasmic whine when his Colonel vanished, closing the door behind him and leaving him alone.
He spent the first few minutes breathing deeply, willing the fucking railspike in his pants to dissipate, at least to a degree, and looked around the room. It was a good deal less mildewy than the bathroom at his apartment, and the mirror was free of cracks and actually reflective. Currently, it was reflecting Havoc, looking hornier than he ever remembered being before in his life. Even the failed attempt to lose his virginity in the hayloft of his uncle’s barn with a visiting friend’s daughter at age sixteen was pie compared to this…
In the end he got enough control back to cross the room and turn on the tap (the shower was also smugly devoid of mold and broken tiles; how the hell much did state alchemists get paid?) and watched the steam slowly fill the small room, blurring his reflection in the mirror. He breathed in, letting the steam relax him, and slid his shirt over his head. He draped it over the counter, slid out of his shoes and socks, and went to work unfastening his belt.
Then Roy bit his shoulder and he yelped in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Thought I told you not to start without me,” Roy said, the words vibrating against Jean’s skin. “I’d hate to miss the show…” His arms had gone around Jean’s waist, despite the articles he held in his hands; a few bottles of what was probably shampoo, a bar of soap, two towels…
Wait, two?
“You meant a shower with you?” Jean blurted, and immediately felt his ears go red. Of course he meant with him, his thoughts deprecated, oh, God, Havoc, how stupid can you be? This might even top the time you tested he was breathing by gagging him…
Of course, in his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. Basic training had pretty much desexualized showers for him… desexualized a lot of things, really… oh, and that was the thing to focus on right now, for God’s sake, he admonished himself, get a grip…
There was a momentary pause, and then Roy laughed, in a disbelieving but still good-natured sort of way. “What on earth did you think I meant?” And he dropped his armload of bathing products to the floor and spun Jean around to kiss him. “You think I’d let you be naked and wet in my home and not want to be a part of it?”
Basic training aside, the idea of being naked and wet with Roy held a sudden appeal, so Jean kissed him back. Steam rose around them, and when Roy’s fingers slid under the waistband of his pants a moment later, it had beaded into tiny drops of moisture on his stomach. Amidst slow, deliberate kisses, he slid Jean’s zipper down, and cupped his ass through his boxer shorts. Jean whimpered. Roy pulled him closer, stroking his ass and lower back, rested his chin on Jean’s shoulder and kissed his neck.
Suddenly very aware of the fact that Roy was still clothed, Havoc snaked his fingers in between their bodies and undid the row of buttons down the front of Roy’s shirt. A moment later Roy released his grip and shook it off. It fell to the floor with a soft thump, and then there was the warmth of his skin on Jean’s.
The steam made his vision swimmy, and the act of undressing each other took on an almost surreal quality, until they stood completely naked before each other and Roy brushed a teasing hand over Jean’s erection before he bent over to retrieve the bottles and soap. He tapped Jean’s arm with a small bottle of some kind of liquid, slid the shower curtain back, and smiled. Droplets of water splashed onto his fingers and ran down his arm, over his chest and down his stomach, tracing the dark hair below his navel before dipping down along his inner thigh. Warmth flared in Jeans stomach, and he followed Roy in, wanting to copy the water’s path with his tongue.
He watched Roy under the spray of water, how his skin gleamed and his hair seemed to get darker. He’d never served in the field with Roy, and Roy had never been one to use the military showers at Eastern Headquarters, so they’d never had occasion to shower together before. And even with what had happened with them in the hotel and on the train, he’d yet to see Roy completely naked. Now he found himself almost hypnotized, watching water drip from his erection and down his balls.
Roy seemed similarly engaged, characteristic smirk wider than normal as his gaze rolled slowly over Jean, resting for a moment at his cock, then again at his chest, before his head finally titled upward to meet Jean’s eyes. Water ran down his cheekbones and into the lines at the corner of his mouth.
“God, you look good,” he whispered, voice almost indiscernible amidst the splashing. Havoc felt his ears go red and he tried to grin. The sudden realization that he was full-on buck naked with Roy and being scrutinized just so left him feeling a bit self conscious. Plus, his sexual encounters with previous partners had run more toward the lights-off-no-talking side of things, and this was an altogether different playing field. He was very, very aware of his erection (shades of memory from group showers in basic training, damnit) and of the fact that humidity always made his hair go funny… And it didn’t help matters that Roy looked even better when he was wet and dripping, skin all flushed with the heat and nipples hard, erection huge and slick, balls loose with the heat of the water and… mmm, damnit…
Roy startled him from his trance when he gently nudged Jean’s foot with his own. Their eyes met, and Roy grinned. He took the bar of soap and began to lather it, filling the air with a scent Jean immediately recognized as Roy’s; it was musky and harshly sweet, just this side of exotic… He remembered it, not only faintly on his skin in the hotel, and on the train, but other places… in the office it had clung to his chair, to his coat, to paperwork he handed over… it had been on the leather of the car Jean had driven him in, on the skin of women Jean had approached a few minutes too late, and just maybe, once or twice, it had been in Jean’s dreams, the ones he’d made himself forget or put aside as weird flukes brought on by some semblance of hero worship or jealousy, when deep down he knew the cause was neither. And last night it had been in Jean’s mind as he moaned his Colonel’s name under his breath in the military dorms, smelling it instead of the thick reek of cigarette smoke.
Then the smell was everywhere, as Roy rubbed the lather over Jean’s skin, coating his pecs and stomach and cock and ahh… His head swam, his cock throbbed, and he was either going to come or faint or sob and fly apart, because it was too much to feel and realize all at once.
It must’ve showed on his face, or else Roy was just perceptive, because he stopped rubbing, pulled his hands away and simply watched Jean breathe for a moment. After a bit he tilted his head back, and Jean watched his sodden hair fly backwards, rivulets of water pouring from the dark tendrils. Soon he leaned back forward, face dripping, and leaned in close, eyes intense.
Then the bastard spit a mouthful of water directly into his face.
“Sex is fun and exciting, Jean,” Roy said. “Lighten up.” Then he laughed, and the panicked feeling seizing Jean’s chest vaporized. He laughed too, and wrapped his arms around Roy, pushing him against the wall.
They writhed and wrestled, laughing and growling and shouting playful threats, soapy skin sliding easily against each other’s, cocks brushing and sending warm spirals of heat through Jean’s stomach. Soon the soap washed away, and Jean found himself lapping trails of water from Roy’s skin, licking the juncture of his thighs and testing the texture of his balls first with his tongue and then his whole mouth when Roy gasped, “suck them” and ran his fingers eagerly through Jean’s wet hair.
Somehow, though, they ended up standing again, embracing under the steady pound of water. Jean’s arms were firmly encircled around Roy’s waist, and Roy was stroking Jean’s lower back, running his hands over his ass, occasionally grazing lower to brush his upper thighs. It was pleasant and relaxing, despite the growing pain in his balls from his long-neglected erection. But just then the soft, wet kisses along his neck were too engrossing to push away.
“You know, I could barely get to sleep last night,” Roy murmured, and sucked a bit on Jean’s collarbone. His hands continued their journey up and down Havoc’s ass.
“Mmm… me either,” Jean mumbled, turning a bit to lick Roy’s cheek. He liked the way the water tasted on his skin. Roy hummed.
“Thinking of me?” His hands stilled a bit, squeezed, made Jean gasp.
“Ah… yes…” At Jean’s breathy response, Roy hummed again and slid one finger downward, tracing the cleft of his ass. Jean squirmed a bit; he’d never realized how sensitive the skin there was… “Couldn’t help but.”
“Did you touch yourself?” The whispery moan of a question embarrassed him, but not in a bad way. In fact it made him rock against Roy, who responded by squeezing his ass harder.
“Ah!…Yeah.” Did you? He wanted to ask, but the pleasant pressure of Roy’s hands was making speech difficult.
Roy moaned a bit. “Mmm… how many times?” There was a hint of mischief in his voice, all sexy and playful. One hand left its position and retrieved something from the built-in shelf in the shower wall. Jean felt the momentary chill of the small bottle he’d seen Roy place there earlier when his fingers returned, but he paid it little mind.
“Three times,” he whispered, ears burning, but knowing his answer would delight Roy.
It did; the other man moaned louder, and bit into Jean’s shoulder.
“And what was I doing, Jean?” The hand left Jean’s ass and seized his cock, pumping it slowly. He gasped, rocking forward, as Roy’s other hand slid back, feeling slightly cooler and… slicker. His lips grazed Jean’s ear. “Fucking you?” He purred, and slid the tip of a finger into Jean’s body.
To say Jean was shocked would be a very amusing understatement.
The pleasant, relaxed feeling vanished. He leaped forwards, away from the intrusion, and made the same yelping noise he’d made once when Hayate had accidentally bitten his foot. He also experienced an epiphany as quite a number of derogatory hand gestures and phrases he’d encountered since enlisting suddenly made a good deal more sense.
For his part, Roy backed off, resuming his gentle stroking, and though his eyebrows were raised, he didn’t really look all that surprised.
“Shh, Jean,” he whispered, and kissed his neck. “Don’t worry…”
Don’t worry! What was it with the man and his out-of-the-blue sliding of his hands into inappropriate locations on his Second Lieutenant’s body lately? Really, it was getting ridiculous…
“Sir, please, what are you—”
“Shh,” Roy repeated, and wrapped his arms back around Jean, continuing the massage from earlier. “No ‘Sir,’ remember?” He kissed Jean’s neck again, slow and soothing. “It’s all right. We don’t have to if you don’t want too…”
Jean’s eyebrows knit. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to as he wasn’t sure what exactly “to” was. Oh sure, the derogatory gestures and phrases plus the simple biological mechanics he’d already begun to work out provided some clue, but still… it wasn’t like this was the kind of thing that got discussed. Well, it didn’t get discussed in places where Havoc could hear it, at any rate.
“Well… I mean… do you want to?” His voice surprised even him in its calmness. Damn Roy Mustang’s lips and their ability to soothe…
Jean felt Roy smile against his neck. The stroking resumed, as did the kisses. “Mmm, yes…” He squeezed Jean’s ass again, and it felt just as pleasant as it had before.
“…Will it hurt?” He relaxed a bit further, folding himself closer to Roy, edging back into their comfortable embrace.
“A bit at first,” Roy said, and stroked Jean’s skin a bit harder and ‘shh’ed him some more when he tensed again. “But I can make it good for both of us…”
His fingers had settled back into the cleft of Havoc’s ass, and he was stroking, back and forth, very slowly, teasing the puckered skin at the opening with gentle caresses and very slight pressure. The warmth of the water trickling down his back was nice as well, warming the slick, oily substance he now felt clearly on Roy’s fingers. Despite himself he was relaxing into it; his skin, relatively unexplored in this region, was incredibly sensitive, and Roy’s fingers were just as skilled at this as they had been at everything else in the past two days…
“That feels good,” he whispered, without meaning to, and Roy purred.
“I’ll keep it feeling good,” he promised, and pressed their lips together.
“Okay, then…” Jean whispered when they parted. Roy smiled, a smile that seemed more about trust than sexual gratification, and licked Jean’s earlobe. He positioned him slightly; spreading his legs and bending his waist, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. Jean distracted himself from the awkwardness by kissing Roy’s neck and shoulder, and Roy hummed in approval. Fingers reslicked with the substance in the plastic bottle, he traced Jean’s ass again, teasing at the opening until Jean sighed and relaxed against him.
Roy slid his finger slowly in and out, working it a bit deeper each time and with each stroke, Jean winced. Not really from pain—it burned a bit, but nothing too bad—but more from the general weirdness of the sensation.
“Relax,” Roy whispered, turning his head a bit to kiss Jean’s wrinkled forehead. “Don’t tense up, it’s okay…”
“I’m not tensing up…” Jean muttered, voice as calmly indignant as one could possibly manage in his current situation.
“Yes, you are,” Roy whispered. His finger slid further, and Jean felt the ridge of his second knuckle, and realized with a sudden sense of impending doom that the damn thing was only halfway in. And that’s just a damn finger…!
“Well, I mean, really, can you blame me?” He groaned, head dropping forward to crash against Roy’s shoulder.
“No, I don’t suppose I can…” His cheek pressed against Jean’s, turning his head until their mouths met again. The kisses were sweet and slow, Roy working his mouth against Jean’s in a steady, almost hypnotizing rhythm, until he moaned a bit a few minutes later and thrust his hips against Jean’s. “Mmm…”
The kisses had been enough to make him relax again; he’d barely have noticed Roy’s second finger if the other man’s reactions hadn’t betrayed him. The burn had all but vanished, which was a relief, but what remained was an awkward stretching feeling. It didn’t really hurt, but it sure as hell didn’t feel good.
“Oh, Jean,” Roy whispered, sliding his fingers out and in again, kissing his neck, rubbing the tip of his erection against Jean’s thigh and sounding awfully damned pleased.
Glad he’s enjoying himself at least… Jean sighed a bit, resting his head a little more comfortably on Roy’s shoulder. Liked his idea of fun on the train better myself…
At the sound of his sigh, Mustang chuckled a bit, interrupting his hums and purrs with a short pat to Jean’s back. “Don’t like that?”
Not in the least, thanks.
Jean made a so-so noise that made Mustang chuckle again.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured into Jean’s ear, “we’ll find it…”
Roy’s eyes were closed, so he missed the look of utter terrified bewilderment on Jean’s face.
Find it? Find it?! What the hell is he looking fo— oh, god, what the fuck, screw it, just… damnit, I don’t even…
While Jean’s thoughts scrambled for something, anything, in that befuddling sentence to make sense of, Roy pulled him closer, maneuvering him slightly sideways, just enough for him to realize the stream of water now cascading down his shoulders had gone from hot to lukewarm. Glad for an excuse to stop the so-called “pleasure,” he stood slightly upward, just as Roy’s fingers curled forward inside him.
“Roy, water’s getting co… oh… oh…oh, god …” His words degenerated into a desperate, whimpery whisper-growl as Roy’s fingers brushed something and a wave of pleasure rocketed through him with all the force a fired bullet… or of one of Mustang’s flame attacks. His legs actually went a bit woozy.
“Found it…” Roy was smirking, he knew he was, but he was also whimpering and clutching and grinding... That triggered something, and in yet another of the night’s many sudden epiphanies he remembered yesterday, and that rush of pleasure that had sent him over the edge on the train.
That sly bastard… But Roy growled and took Jean’s suddenly throbbing cock in his free hand, pumping him in time with the thrusts of his fingers, so Jean forgave him.
“Ah—ah… mmm…” Muscles shaking, he reached for Roy’s cock, and mirrored his pace. The other man gasped. A third finger slid into Jean, and he found himself rocking against them, forward and back, trying to drive them harder against whatever that thing was that was making him writhe like this…
“Ah… Jean… uh, stop, stop…” Roy gasped, withdrawing his hands all at once and stepping backward. Jean made a desperate noise, reaching to pull him forward again. He’d been teased all night, he couldn’t stop now, he fucking couldn’t…
“Water’s—” Roy stopped, wincing a bit and breathing deeply. He was obviously in as much of a state as Jean himself. “Water’s gone all cold… ”
Jean had forgotten all about that. “Oh… yeah…” In the past few moments, the water had gone well on its way from lukewarm to freezing. Strange how a moment before he’d been jumping at any excuse to stop Roy’s fingering and now even near-icy water wasn’t enough to cool his passion. And to think he’d lived twenty-five years on and never even known whatever the hell that thing was existed…
Probably a good thing I didn’t, he reflected as Roy began toweling him off, kissing Jean’s reddened skin as he did so, I spent enough of my life masturbating as it was…
“Come with me,” Roy said, interrupting Jean’s musings with a soft squeeze of his shoulder. Now and not a second later, his eyes added. He opened the door and nodded down the hall, still toweling his own hair with one hand while the other slid around Jean’s waist. Finally he draped the towel over one shoulder, though small streams of water still dripped down his back and chest, and pulled Jean forward, kissing and touching him all the way down the short hallway.
Jean knew the second he knelt on the large, freshly-made bed that it was Roy’s from East City. It wasn’t a new mattress, or new linen; the smell of him clung to the fabric, even under the harsh detergent smell that revealed they’d been washed and only recently unpacked. He found himself lying on his stomach, breathing deeply, erection throbbing against the mattress as he pictured his Colonel naked in this very bed, moaning like he’d been moaning and writhing like he’d been writhing…
Trying to calm himself, he turned to watch Roy, who was digging through a small paper sack atop a stack of crates. Water still ran from his hair—he’d put much more care into drying Jean than himself—so Jean crawled forward on the pleasantly firm mattress (just built for fucking, and oh, goddamnit, he was so hard…) took the towel from Roy’s shoulder and began to rub it over his hair and neck.
“You’re still all wet,” he whispered, voice coy, in response to Roy’s long, low hum.
“I was in a hurry,” he replied, reaching around with one hand to stoke Jean’s thigh. His other hand kept up its rummaging, until he seemed to find what he was looking for and leaned backwards, the sudden motion pinning him against the mattress. A small gasp wrenched itself from Jean’s mouth as Roy turned over, knees between Jean’s legs and straddling his shoulders with his arms. For a moment he kissed him, a final drop of water falling from his hair and onto Jean’s cheek.
When he sat up, Jean raised himself to his elbows, watching him and bringing his legs closer in to squeeze Roy’s thighs. Roy moaned.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, and Jean’s stomach flipped, his cock throbbed, and he grinned, unbelieving yet pleased, up at his Colonel. Hand shaking slightly, Roy raked his nails up and down his inner thighs, and then reached for the foil packet and plastic bottle he’d pulled from the bag. He put the bottle (identical to the one he’d used to lube Jean in the shower) on Jean’s stomach, gave his cock a slow, teasing stroke, and ripped the foil open with his teeth.
“Makes it more comfortable for you afterwards, is all,” Roy laughed in response to Jean’s puzzled look at the condom in his hands. “No need to worry…” He opened the bottle on Jean’s stomach and squeezed a tiny amount of the slick substance inside into the tip.
“I wasn’t worried,” Jean said, watching the wrapper flutter to the ground. “I just…” Roy had taken his cock in hand, and was stroking it slowly. “I…” He smiled at Jean, smug and suggestive, and positioned the condom over his cockhead. Hypnotized, Jean trailed off, rested his weight on one elbow, and sat up. “Let me…”
It was difficult to do when it wasn’t your own cock, he reflected. His fingers kept slipping off the thin rubber, slick with the lube, and his hand was shaking so much he could barely make it unroll. Roy didn’t seem to mind; he kept moaning, stroking at Jean’s stomach, and occasionally hitched his breath and thrust lightly forward.
“Hold still,” Jean mumbled the second time that happened. It came out a bit sharper than he’d intended; rolling the condom on was making him nervous again. Roy’s cock was a lot bigger than his fingers…
“Mmm,” Roy moaned, “I’m sorry…” He stilled, retrieving the bottle as Jean continued to struggle and recoating his fingers. “Feels good… you touching me…” He reached under Jean’s arm and slid a finger into him just as Jean’s fingers met Roy’s pubic hair and he pulled his hand away. “Mmm… thank you, Jean…” Roy whispered, grinning. He moved his finger in slow circles, making Jean squirm, and tested the slickness of his cock with the other hand. He grinned, seemingly satisfied, and pet Jean’s thigh, leaving a slippery smear.
“Roy…” Jean whispered, as the other man positioned his hips and guided his legs upwards to rest on his shoulders. He knew his voice betrayed some of his nervousness, but… he suddenly looked huge… “How much is this going to—”
Roy stroked his leg, smiling down at him. “It’s okay, you’re stretched and lubed… we’ll go slow until you’re used to it…” He kissed Jean’s calf and rubbed his forehead over the dark blond hair on Jean’s leg. “Just relax…” He moved forward, and Jean felt the pressure of Roy’s cock against his hole. He winced, closing his eyes, and grit his teeth.
Roy stopped, and Jean felt his lips, even gentler this time, against his leg.
“Listen, Jean, we don’t have to…”
As he trailed off, Jean opened his eyes again. For a moment, Jean looked up into his Colonel’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with his arousal, looking concerned and sexy and honest and even somehow tender… and despite the nerves tingling in his stomach, Jean smiled.
“Well… I always did say I’d follow you anywhere…” He leaned back, resting his head against one of Roy’s pillows and placing his hands on Roy’s hips.
At the sound of those words, Roy purred, and moved forward, pressing inward.
It did hurt, he felt the slight burn of being stretched too far, but it was nothing as bad as he’d feared, and Mustang, true to his word, stopped almost immediately. He stroked Jean’s legs with his cheek, licking and kissing them, and stroked at his cock with the same flicking motion he’d used in their hotel bed two nights before.
“All right?” Roy asked after a few moments, and Jean could hear how hot he was in the way his voice was pitched, all husky and shaking. That sound, and knowing that he was the reason Roy sounded like that, that he was the reason Roy was so hard and so passionate, that for once someone wanted him and not just anyone but his own Colonel Roy Mustang… he found himself not only relaxed but once again desperate in his own arousal.
“I’m fine,” Jean whispered, squeezing Roy’s hips with his hands. “Keep going... please…”
Roy purred and slid forward, slow and deliberate, folding Jean’s legs downward as he bent to kiss him. As soon as the ridge of Roy’s foreskin slid in it went easier; Roy had been generous with the lube, and he knew what he was doing. The slighter pressure of his tongue pressed into Jean’s mouth, countercurrent to that of his cock as he moved, and Jean could feel the rhythm of Roy’s heartbeat throbbing in his cock, deeper and deeper inside himself. He moaned into Roy’s mouth, was answered with a similar sound from Roy, kissed him harder, and felt the soft skin of Roy’s balls against him as the man suddenly stopped moving, buried to the hilt.
The kiss ended abruptly, Roy pulling back to look at Jean, hand stilling on his cock. Roy’s mouth was slightly open, lips wet from Jean’s enthusiastic kissing, and Jean could see the tip of his tongue as he panted. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, reminiscent of his earlier exertion and his brow was furrowed with an overpowering need. Jean’s expression, reflected back at him in Roy’s eyes, was one in the same.
“Jean,” Roy whispered, running his free hand through Jean’s still damp hair, “are you all—”
“Move,” Jean panted, nails digging into his sides as he pulled him even closer, and instead of wincing the extra pressure made him gasp in pleasure. “Move, please, move…”
Moaning—“Oh, Jean…”—Roy nodded, and he slid back, still slow but faster than before, and forward once again. His mouth tightened, his eyes closed, his whole face went tense, and Jean saw him shudder at the same time he felt it with his legs and inside himself.
There’d never been anything like that before in Jean’s life. It was a new level of arousal: all his previous encounters couldn’t even begin to compare. His fucking head was spinning, and he’d never have the words to express what it made him feel, not if he read every book in Amestris… all he could do was gasp Roy’s name over and over and hope that was enough.
It must’ve been, since Roy growled and thrust, harder, faster, building speed. As his thrusts went deeper, Jean’s gasps continued, “Roy… Roy… Roy… oh, Roy…” until Roy’s cock bushed over that spot and Jean all but screamed it. Almost without his knowing it, his legs encircled Roy’s back, drawing him all the closer. His voice shocked him when he heard himself moan:
“Harder…”
Roy moaned and thrust again, hard and deep, hitting the spot and sending bright sparks of color into Jean’s vision. Jean moaned again, head swimming, and found himself rocking forward as he pulled Roy inward with his legs, as though to drive him deeper inside. Roy growled his name and ground his hips foreward, his balls making soft slaping sounds against Jean’s ass.
“Harder,” he moaned again, voice high, breathy, begging, “oh, Roy, harder, please oh harder harder…”
“Oh, Jean,” Roy gasped in a short whisper. “Jean… ah, Jean…”
“Harder…” He was shaking all over, and his breath came in strange, primal growling sounds that he hadn’t know he could make. “Harder…”
“Want it hard? Mmm… ah… then take it hard—”
Suddenly Roy’s face tensed again, and he felt Roy pull backwards and out, and he cried out, trying to pull him back with his legs. Roy shook his head, moving backwards as Jean’s face knit in confusion. No, damnit, no, don’t stop, please, no, not now…
“Flip over… hands and knees…” Roy gasped, sounding frantic, and put his hands to Jean’s side, as though attempting to turn him. Jean was too far gone in orgasm to argue, so he did, bewildered as he was. Once on his belly, though, it became clear. Roy pulled him upwards, positioned him, and once Jean felt the slick heat of his erection pressing against him again, he molded his body against Roy’s.
Jean rocked backward just as Roy slid in, and his entire cock slid in one smooth motion that made Jean throw back his head and gasp- no, scream Roy’s name- in an intermingled flash of pain and resumed pleasure.
Roy’s knuckles popped as he squeezed Jean’s hips, rocking him backward as he thrust, hard and deep and brushing that spot with every stroke. One hand left his hip and seized Jean’s cock, pumping it just as fast as he thrust.
“Roy… Mmm, Roy, please… please…”
He could hear Roy behind him, screaming, moaning, and knew he was close, and everything in Jean had combined into this sensation, into this moment, and it had to be over soon or the pleasure was going to kill him.
“Jean… Jean, I… fuck, fuck, oh Jean—” and suddenly Roy was shaking, growling and sobbing and moaning Jean’s name as he tensed and stilled. Through his haze of pleasure Jean felt Roy’s muscles twitch and heard his screams crescendo before they fell away to whispers and he collapsed forward onto Jean’s sweaty back.
He only rested for a moment before his hand sped on Jean’s cock, pulling, flicking pumping, cupping his balls, making Jean shout, and then he was coming, hard, screaming Roy’s name and shaking, arms collapsing under him, his cum streaking his chest.
When it was over his legs went out from under him and he collapsed to the bed, Roy’s now soft cock sliding out of him, leaving him feeling strangely empty despite sated post-orgasmic feeling.
Roy kissed his neck, whispered his name softly and affectionately, and Jean smiled, despite his eyelids drooping. All the sleepless nights and long days of travel and furniture moving (not to mention three rounds of sex, and that was usually more like his six-to-ten months allotment) seemed to have caught up with him at once.
Dimly he felt the mattress move, heard Roy drop his condom into an empty bag in the corner, and then felt the rough fabric of a towel on his ass and legs as Roy cleaned him off.
“Thanks,” Jean said, trying desperately to fight away the fog of sleep. “I… I mean, it was… I really…”
“Shh…” Roy whispered, kissing his thigh and reaching up to stroke his hair. He rolled him slightly, untucking the duvet. “Let’s get you under the covers, hmm?” Roy’s voice was tired, slightly hoarse, but somehow gentle all the same.
Jean rolled, his body achy from sex and clumsy with exhaustion, barely managing to move enough for Roy to slide the covers over him. He smiled as the bed creaked and he felt Roy, warm and still beautifully naked, against his side.
It felt wrong to sleep now, he thought, he shouldn’t do that, he needed to… say something witty and clever… or kiss Roy or… or… he needed to… talk…
“Shh,” he heard Roy whisper, and felt the warmth of a kiss against his lips. “Go to sleep, Jean. It’s all right…”
“But…”
“Shh…” More warmth… arms around… being held… kiss… and then Jean was asleep.
*** *** ***
When Roy woke later that night, it was to the sound of a thud and some soft swearing. He yawned, shivering a bit when he realized the warmth of Jean sleeping beside him had vanished. Most likely because Jean was now standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall and clutching his shin, wincing.
He stretched as he sat upright, his joints creaking, body aching in all the right places.
“What the hell are you doing, Jean?” He asked. “I did warn you not to trip on the boxes.”
Across the room, Jean smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair while the other stayed carefully positioned over his crotch.
“I… sorry, I didn’t meant to wake you up, I was just finding my clothes…”
“They’re still in the bathroom, but why? I can’t imagine any use for them at this particular hour…”
The look of embarrassment deepened, and Jean shuffled a bit. “It’s almost midnight… there’s a bus that runs from the corner to my apartment block, so I figured I’d better go if I want to catch it… I… I’m a little sore to walk.” His ears were absolutely scarlet; Roy could see it even in the dark.
“And why would you need to walk?” Roy asked, and Jean looked down.
“Figured… it was time for me to go, is all…” His voice was almost indiscernible.
For a long moment, Roy looked at him, then crawled out of bed and across the room, skillfully avoiding the boxes of course, and wrapped his arms around him. Jean made a small noise, and returned the embrace.
For the four years Jean had worked for him, Roy had put his attraction to the younger man aside, strong as it had been at first. He’d never expected anything could come of it, and he couldn’t risk losing him, so he’d ignored his feelings to the point he’d almost fooled himself into forgetting them completely… although, he reflected, he had not-entirely-subconsciously ensured, in his own way, that Jean remained available.
But when he’d woken two nights ago to Jean touching himself, not two feet from Roy, and moaning just so, it had all flooded in, stronger than ever before, and he hadn’t been able to push the opportunity that had been dropped into his lap (literally!) aside. He’d felt guilty afterwards, worried he’d done wrong, taken advantage, but Jean’s actions on the train had assured him otherwise. Jean felt as he did.
He’d confirmed that revelation that very evening on his sofa, and finally, oh, finally, four goddamn years of finally, here he was, his chain-smoking country boy turned military sniper Second Lieutenant, with his fluffy hair and his pessimism and his loyalty and his good heart… Tonight Jean trusted him, really him, not just his Colonel but trusted Roy, had been naked with him and showered with him, let himself be vulnerable and taken and fallen asleep in his bed… Roy himself had drifted off smiling.
Apparently, though, his confidence had been premature.
“Why do you want to leave, Jean?” Roy whispered, fingers playing over the muscles of his back. He got no answer but a strange, constrained sigh. “Do you want to leave?”
The pause stretched on to infinity and back, and suddenly Roy was terrified that he’d wrecked it.
“…No,” Jean whispered finally, and he pulled Roy tighter against himself. “No, I don’t want to leave…”
Roy smiled, kissed Jean’s neck, and ran a hand through his hair. “Then why on earth would you think you had to?”
Another long pause, but this one was lighter. Jean laughed. “I… I don’t know, I guess I thought… before I always had to… well, never mind.”
“Don’t get scared,” Roy murmured against Jean’s skin. “This isn’t that kind of thing, I promise…”
“Okay.” Jean lifted his head and looked down a bit to meet Roy’s eyes. He grinned. “Good.”
“Come back to bed,” Roy whispered, and Jean nodded against his cheek, the slight prickle of early stubble scratching.
“But then…” Jean said a moment later, as the two of them were climbing back under the blankets, now thick with the smell of their passion.
“Yes?” Roy patted a pillow roughly before moving it a bit closer to Jean’s.
“Then… what is this thing?” His eyes were genuine, bright and just the smallest bit frightened. “What is it… between us?”
Roy smiled, leaning down to press a kiss, sweet and soft, to Jean’s lips.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he murmured, accompanying his words with a second kiss. When he pulled back to cover them both with the duvet, Jean was positively beaming. Roy kissed him again and folded his body against Jean’s.
“Mmm…,” Roy whispered, taking one of Jean’s hands and stroking it. “You’re so warm…”
Jean laughed mischievously. “Dunno why, boss. You’re the one with all the blankets…”
*** *** ***
Hooray! That's the end... OR IS IT? Wait, you might be thinking, what about Breda! Isn't he supposed to figure all this out? Well, as it turned out, Breda is so special to me that he will star in his very own EPILOGUE to the "epic" Strange Bedfellows arc, to be posted sometime tomorrow after I've had some sleep. See you then!
**Epilogue is up!
And comments are love. <3 I worked for a month on this...
Author:
raja815Pairing/Fandom: Roy Mustang/Jean Havoc, Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9030
Warnings Sex and sex and sex in various positions and locations.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes:The third and final installment of the three-part Strange Bedfellows arc, following A Union in Partition. Written for
30_lemons, for theme #20. First Timers, or, "Yes! I'm Finally Getting Some!" Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Enjoy!Ah, this one was tricksy... A big thanks goes out to my porning buddy
galuxkitty, who helped me every step of the way and kept me from leaping out the window in despair when I got stuck. So I thank her not only for the fic help but for the fact that I am not a splat on the pavement 12 stories below. XDDespite the increasingly slow pace he’d set, Havoc’s feet hadn’t failed him, and he stood at the top of the concrete stairwell, staring at the simple wooden door as though it intended him harm. After a few moments, he took a small slip of paper out of pocket, its four lines of black ink smeared from the sweat of his palms, looked at it, then looked back at the gold ‘301’ on the wooden door. He nodded, put the paper back in his pocket, and raised a hand to knock. Then he abruptly dropped his hand, pulled the paper back out, and re-confirmed. Number three-oh-one, good, yes, right. But he kept looking, back and forth, from the smeary numbers on the paper to the door’s bold, confident-looking metal ones, the same way he’d done at first the street sign (Third avenue? Yes, right. Third Avenue…) and then the building (Number seventeen? Yes, right… positive? Yes. Number seventeen…) and now at the door once again. But it wasn’t because he wasn’t sure of where he was.
It was because, once he’d absolutely confirmed that this was in fact the correct location, there was nothing left to do but knock on Roy Mustang’s door and go inside. And he was having a bit of trouble making that particular leap.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be too busy tomorrow evening to come help me situate my furniture? I could use a hand.”
When his Colonel had said that Havoc’s exhaustion had vaporized like an ice cube in a frying pan. He’d taken the address Mustang had quickly scrawled and placed it protectively in his pocket, trying to discern the peculiar little smirk that had accompanied the gesture and nodding a bit too hard when Mustang had asked if he’d come by around six-thirty or so next evening. Then Mustang had vanished into the waiting car (he’d felt the smallest prickle of jealousy; wasn’t he Mustang’s driver?) and Havoc had been left to load the rest of the boxes and dodge Breda’s increasingly inquisitive glances.
He hadn’t slept for the second night in a row; he’d bought three cartons of cigarettes (earning a strange look from the night clerk at the train station’s little newspaper shop) and sat on his cot in the ten-by-ten cell of a private room at the military dorms and smoked until he actually began to feel sick from excessive nicotine, which hadn’t happened since he was fourteen. Then he lay back against the flat little pillow with closed eyes and there’d been nothing but Roy. His face, smell, the sound of him, the way he felt, bright and vivid as a movie playing on the inside of Havoc’s eyelids, and he’d taken himself in his hand and come within a matter of seconds. Then he lit up again and the process repeated itself.
Over the course of the night, he finished five packs of cigs and came three times.
He met Breda at the housing office at Headquarters the next morning, the other man looking annoyingly well-rested. Breda had taken in the dark circles around Havoc’s eyes, his drawn, exhausted face, and the reeking cloud of smoke that seemed to cling to him, and sarcastically clapped his friend on the back and told him he’d never looked lovelier.
“I hate you,” Havoc mumbled.
“I know.” Breda handed him a stack of forms and a pen. “I don’t suppose there’s any point to my asking what happened?”
“Nothing happened. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Becoming a nice little habit with you lately.”
“Stress… moving…” Havoc muttered vaguely, and leaned down to attend to the forms.
“Ever since that night at the hotel, really.”
Havoc’s ears went red. He hoped his downward angle was enough to cover them.
“You sure there’s nothing going on?”
“Everything’s fine.” But he knew that Breda knew he was lying. The man was incredibly perceptive; it was what made him so good at games. He could read tiny changes in people, with enough accuracy to anticipate an opponent’s strategy, so the idea of Havoc hiding the glaring abnormalities in his behavior was quite frankly laughable.
Breda looked at his old friend for a while longer, before apparently deciding to let it go… for the time being.
The exchange hadn’t helped Havoc’s anxiety. It had done nothing but grow throughout the day, until he left the tiny, grungy studio apartment that had been all he could afford on his current salary to walk to Mustang’s. By then the anxiety had all but overshadowed the desire, and he was a sweaty, shaky mess fighting the urge to smoke three cigarettes at once as he stood in front of Mustang’s door, trying desperately to postpone the moment.
The problem was, despite Mustang’s words on the train the previous day, he still had no idea what to expect. Would Mustang jump him the second he walked through the door? Or tell him that it had been good fun while it lasted and send him off? Or make condescending jokes about how his luck with women had gotten so bad, he’d obviously had to turn to men? Would he touch him, like in the hotel, with those quick strokes of finger and soft palm, or suck him, like on the train, all hot mouth and tongue and… probably better not to think about that, or Havoc wouldn’t be the only thing standing to greet Mustang at his door…
Havoc mulled back and forth over every conceivable possibility, crinkling the paper in his hands and chewing furiously on the inside of his cheek (a habit he indulged in whenever he couldn’t smoke—the inside of his mouth was ridged with scar tissue), reaching for and pulling away from the door so often that the tendons in his wrist began to ache.
Suddenly, the door flew open and there was Colonel Mustang, wearing civilian clothes and a look of barely constrained amusement. Havoc started, and then grinned sheepishly. He started to salute, then thought better of it and tried to transform the gesture into a wave. Unsuccessfully, judging by the way Mustang’s eyebrows rose. Havoc’s ears burned; he hadn’t felt this awkward since… well, yesterday. But still…
“You know, Lieutenant, I’ve been standing behind the door for ten minutes waiting for you to knock,” Mustang said, and clapped his subordinate companionably on the shoulder. “We really must do something about your self-confidence.”
“If you knew I was there, why didn’t you open the door?”
“Come in, Lieutenant, mind you don’t trip on the boxes…”
Havoc sighed and followed Mustang in, the fluttery feeling in his stomach intensifying the second he stepped over the doorsill. No more delays or postponements, he was there, in Mustang’s apartment, large and expensive-looking despite the clutter of boxes and half-unpacked rubbish. He watched Mustang walk, dodging the cartons, over to a burgundy leather couch. When he patted the arm, Havoc’s stomach flipped. He didn’t quite manage a grin.
“Will you just grab the other end, Lieutenant? We can carry it over to the window over there…”
Havoc’s eyes opened wide. What in the name of…?
In all the scenarios he’d imagined taking place when Mustang had asked him to come over and help move furniture, the possibility that he actually just wanted help moving furniture simply hadn’t occurred to him.
Mustang grunted under the weight of the couch. “Something wrong, Havoc?”
Why aren’t you trying to do anything?
“No, Sir.” He crossed the room, lifted the end of the couch, and walked so quickly with it that Mustang stumbled and made a crack about Havoc’s overenthusiasm for menial tasks. That sounded promising, and this time Havoc did grin, only to frown again when Mustang moved on to large bookcase. And again a bit later with a massive wooden chest full of alchemic research…
This carried on for a good hour, until Havoc was dusty, sweaty, and mentally numb from confusion. If Roy had been difficult to fathom before, Havoc now felt as though he needed some kind of cryptogram to dissect the man’s tactics. How did you go from the hottest round of sex he’d ever had in his life one day to re-assembling a drop-leaf dining table the next? A damn difficult to re-assemble drop-leaf dining table at that, stupid thing with its splintery seams and worn bolts and not-quite-big-enough pegs, that just wouldn’t reattach, no matter how hard he—
“Son of a bitch!” The peg finally slammed home, taking the Lieutenant’s finger along with it. He winced, holding it up for inspection.
“All right, Havoc?”
“Yeah…” He sighed, watching the white mark on his finger turn red. It throbbed dully, but nothing compared to the way his heart suddenly did when Mustang, out of nowhere, seized his hand and brought it up to his face.
“Hmm…” Mustang said softly, stroking the wounded appendage gently. “I’m sorry about that…”
“It’s okay, no problem…” Here it comes, he thought, heart pounding and cock tingling slightly with its pre-erection heaviness, about fucking time…
“Maybe time for a break?”
Oh, God…
“Yeah…”
And Mustang dropped his hand, stood up, and disappeared into his kitchen. He was gone long enough for Havoc to wonder if this was what a brain aneurism felt like before he returned with a couple of snifters and a bottle of some dark liquor. He sat on the recently-moved sofa, poured a small amount and held it out.
“Do you drink brandy?”
“Oh. Sure.” Actually he preferred beer. Cheap beer and lots of it. But no matter, it wasn’t like Mustang needed to get him wasted. The man had to know he was willing… didn’t he?
Mustang smiled, filled his own glass, and clinked it against Havoc’s in a parody of a toast. Then he frowned.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Havoc sipped the drink, which tasted disquietingly expensive.
Why isn’t he doing anything? Just sitting there with his drink and looking sweaty but relaxed and damned hot in his civilian clothes. Damn him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Yeah, fine.” The sudden strength of his attraction to his Colonel was alarming him. He’d spent most of his adult life so desperate to find a girlfriend that he’d never paid much attention to whatever feelings he did or didn’t have for other men. But this thing with Mustang had already gone way beyond any friend-helping-friend type of thing and making him suspect there might’ve been something there in himself all along.
“Havoc?” Mustang was staring at him quizzically. Havoc downed the rest of his drink just to occupy his mouth—the craving for a cigarette had escalated to a new high even for him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sure.”
“Nothing’s on your mind?”
WHY THE HELL AREN’T YOU DOING ANYTHING!? “Nope.”
“Are you su—” Havoc lunged forward so fast that his kiss actually missed Mustang’s mouth, and the salty taste of sweat on his skin washed over his tongue, only to meet the burn of the liquor a few seconds later as his mouth finally found its target.
For his part, Mustang didn’t even seem surprised. There was a small clink of glass as he set his glass down on a pile of packing crates to the side of the couch, then the gentle pressure of his arms around Havoc and the warmth of his mouth as he kissed back.
For a moment he matched Havoc’s frantic pace, but he soon took over, changing Havoc’s desperate outburst of all the evening’s pent up sexual tension into something softer, slower, and somehow far more passionate.
We’ve done fast and desperate, his kiss seemed to say, now, why don’t you try me for real? And Havoc was certainly willing. Every gentle swipe of tongue and graze of lips washed over him in long, sweet waves. Every inch of his skin prickled with warmth. He knew he was making soft noises, because he could feel the vibrations on Mustang’s lips, but he couldn’t hear them because every ounce of his body’s capacity for perception seemed to have culminated into taking in the feeling of Mustang’s mouth against his own.
Within the haze of relief and pleasure, he felt a growing warmth and pressure against his body, and it wasn’t until Mustang pulled back that he realized it was because the man was lying on top of him, pressing him into the couch as he kissed a trail over Havoc’s cheekbones.
“Thank God you finally did it,” Mustang murmured, and licked Havoc’s earlobe. “I’d almost given up on you…”
He felt a momentary twinge that cut through the haze and reminded him that he could, in fact, speak. “What?”
“Been waiting for you to do something since you walked in the door…” He nipped at Havoc’s earlobe, then pulled it into his mouth and sucked.
“But… wha…I was waiting for…” From somewhere came a feeling of slight annoyance that might have been full-blown rage if Mustang’s lips hadn’t left him feeling so damned amiable. “Why didn’t you—”
“I’d hate for you to think I was pulling rank on you,” he said, the words tinted with an edge of laughter. “Or anything along that line… sense of obligation, and the like…” He leaned in and began to trace the line of Havoc’s mouth with his tongue, smiling when his action elicited a pleasured whimper. “I hope I’m not wrong in assuming that isn’t the case?”
Of course it wasn’t the case. That particular case hadn’t even entered his mind. For which he was grateful; he was enough of a wreck as it was. The fact was, even as confused by the past two days as Havoc had been, he’d always known Colonel Roy Mustang wasn’t the type to use his friends in that way.
“Not at all,” Havoc whispered, and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back down against his chest. His weight on top of him was pleasurable, and he could feel Mustang’s erection, a hard knot against his hip, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
“I didn’t want to scare you off,” he murmured, and the kisses to Havoc’s neck didn’t quite mask the feeling behind the words.
Havoc laughed gently. “You can’t, Sir.”
“Roy,” he corrected, and slid Havoc’s shirt upwards, running his palms over the ridges of his abs. “Roy when we’re like this…”
“Roy…” And the name was more like a moan.
The kisses deepened, Havoc running a hand through Roy’s hair as Roy continued stroking his stomach. He breathed deeply, caching the mingling smells of sweat and liquor and Roy, and licked his lips to find the tastes, all salty and sweet and—
“Mmm,” he breathed, and felt Roy’s grin with his tongue.
“Like that?”
“Sweat… salt…but nice…” he babbled, and Roy laughed and kissed his lips, quick and soft, and then his cheeks, and forehead.
“You too…” The peppering kisses continued, teasing and soft.
“Well, you worked me pretty hard…”
“Indeed I did,” and he laughed and ground his hips against Havoc’s, the sarcastic bastard. But Havoc forgave him for it. “Mmm…” More kisses. Oh, God, yes, more… then the tickle of a whisper against his neck: “Would you like to have a shower, Jean?”
That threw him for a moment; he’d been so comfortably melted into the couch that he’d assumed they’d keep on there. He’d never been one to interrupt a good thing, after all… or maybe it was his sense of opportunism when it came to sexual matters. When you’d been foiled as often as he had, you tended to hold fast to the opportunities you got… But he nodded. In all honesty, it was a relief to hand over the reins. He was far from stupid, but not the best at thinking things through, and for that reason Jean had always been more of a follower than a leader. If Roy wanted him to shower, then shower he would. So he released his grip on Roy’s waist and let him up, the sudden absence of the other man’s warmth and weight on top of him leaving him feeling oddly lonesome, and followed him to the small tiled bathroom at the end of the hall.
When they got there, Roy pressed him against the door, smiled in a way that made Jean’s already aching cock throb, and kissed him, grinding their bodies together and ‘mmm’ing into his mouth, running his hands under his shirt and the waistband of his pants, making Havoc thrust and whimper… until he pulled back and grinned.
“Haven’t unpacked towels yet… go on and start the water, I’ll be back in a bit…” He reached forward and stroked the bulge of Jean’s erection through his pants. His grin was a positively infuriating tease. “Don’t start without me…”
Jean was searching his brain for some other reply than a near-orgasmic whine when his Colonel vanished, closing the door behind him and leaving him alone.
He spent the first few minutes breathing deeply, willing the fucking railspike in his pants to dissipate, at least to a degree, and looked around the room. It was a good deal less mildewy than the bathroom at his apartment, and the mirror was free of cracks and actually reflective. Currently, it was reflecting Havoc, looking hornier than he ever remembered being before in his life. Even the failed attempt to lose his virginity in the hayloft of his uncle’s barn with a visiting friend’s daughter at age sixteen was pie compared to this…
In the end he got enough control back to cross the room and turn on the tap (the shower was also smugly devoid of mold and broken tiles; how the hell much did state alchemists get paid?) and watched the steam slowly fill the small room, blurring his reflection in the mirror. He breathed in, letting the steam relax him, and slid his shirt over his head. He draped it over the counter, slid out of his shoes and socks, and went to work unfastening his belt.
Then Roy bit his shoulder and he yelped in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Thought I told you not to start without me,” Roy said, the words vibrating against Jean’s skin. “I’d hate to miss the show…” His arms had gone around Jean’s waist, despite the articles he held in his hands; a few bottles of what was probably shampoo, a bar of soap, two towels…
Wait, two?
“You meant a shower with you?” Jean blurted, and immediately felt his ears go red. Of course he meant with him, his thoughts deprecated, oh, God, Havoc, how stupid can you be? This might even top the time you tested he was breathing by gagging him…
Of course, in his defense, it wasn’t really his fault. Basic training had pretty much desexualized showers for him… desexualized a lot of things, really… oh, and that was the thing to focus on right now, for God’s sake, he admonished himself, get a grip…
There was a momentary pause, and then Roy laughed, in a disbelieving but still good-natured sort of way. “What on earth did you think I meant?” And he dropped his armload of bathing products to the floor and spun Jean around to kiss him. “You think I’d let you be naked and wet in my home and not want to be a part of it?”
Basic training aside, the idea of being naked and wet with Roy held a sudden appeal, so Jean kissed him back. Steam rose around them, and when Roy’s fingers slid under the waistband of his pants a moment later, it had beaded into tiny drops of moisture on his stomach. Amidst slow, deliberate kisses, he slid Jean’s zipper down, and cupped his ass through his boxer shorts. Jean whimpered. Roy pulled him closer, stroking his ass and lower back, rested his chin on Jean’s shoulder and kissed his neck.
Suddenly very aware of the fact that Roy was still clothed, Havoc snaked his fingers in between their bodies and undid the row of buttons down the front of Roy’s shirt. A moment later Roy released his grip and shook it off. It fell to the floor with a soft thump, and then there was the warmth of his skin on Jean’s.
The steam made his vision swimmy, and the act of undressing each other took on an almost surreal quality, until they stood completely naked before each other and Roy brushed a teasing hand over Jean’s erection before he bent over to retrieve the bottles and soap. He tapped Jean’s arm with a small bottle of some kind of liquid, slid the shower curtain back, and smiled. Droplets of water splashed onto his fingers and ran down his arm, over his chest and down his stomach, tracing the dark hair below his navel before dipping down along his inner thigh. Warmth flared in Jeans stomach, and he followed Roy in, wanting to copy the water’s path with his tongue.
He watched Roy under the spray of water, how his skin gleamed and his hair seemed to get darker. He’d never served in the field with Roy, and Roy had never been one to use the military showers at Eastern Headquarters, so they’d never had occasion to shower together before. And even with what had happened with them in the hotel and on the train, he’d yet to see Roy completely naked. Now he found himself almost hypnotized, watching water drip from his erection and down his balls.
Roy seemed similarly engaged, characteristic smirk wider than normal as his gaze rolled slowly over Jean, resting for a moment at his cock, then again at his chest, before his head finally titled upward to meet Jean’s eyes. Water ran down his cheekbones and into the lines at the corner of his mouth.
“God, you look good,” he whispered, voice almost indiscernible amidst the splashing. Havoc felt his ears go red and he tried to grin. The sudden realization that he was full-on buck naked with Roy and being scrutinized just so left him feeling a bit self conscious. Plus, his sexual encounters with previous partners had run more toward the lights-off-no-talking side of things, and this was an altogether different playing field. He was very, very aware of his erection (shades of memory from group showers in basic training, damnit) and of the fact that humidity always made his hair go funny… And it didn’t help matters that Roy looked even better when he was wet and dripping, skin all flushed with the heat and nipples hard, erection huge and slick, balls loose with the heat of the water and… mmm, damnit…
Roy startled him from his trance when he gently nudged Jean’s foot with his own. Their eyes met, and Roy grinned. He took the bar of soap and began to lather it, filling the air with a scent Jean immediately recognized as Roy’s; it was musky and harshly sweet, just this side of exotic… He remembered it, not only faintly on his skin in the hotel, and on the train, but other places… in the office it had clung to his chair, to his coat, to paperwork he handed over… it had been on the leather of the car Jean had driven him in, on the skin of women Jean had approached a few minutes too late, and just maybe, once or twice, it had been in Jean’s dreams, the ones he’d made himself forget or put aside as weird flukes brought on by some semblance of hero worship or jealousy, when deep down he knew the cause was neither. And last night it had been in Jean’s mind as he moaned his Colonel’s name under his breath in the military dorms, smelling it instead of the thick reek of cigarette smoke.
Then the smell was everywhere, as Roy rubbed the lather over Jean’s skin, coating his pecs and stomach and cock and ahh… His head swam, his cock throbbed, and he was either going to come or faint or sob and fly apart, because it was too much to feel and realize all at once.
It must’ve showed on his face, or else Roy was just perceptive, because he stopped rubbing, pulled his hands away and simply watched Jean breathe for a moment. After a bit he tilted his head back, and Jean watched his sodden hair fly backwards, rivulets of water pouring from the dark tendrils. Soon he leaned back forward, face dripping, and leaned in close, eyes intense.
Then the bastard spit a mouthful of water directly into his face.
“Sex is fun and exciting, Jean,” Roy said. “Lighten up.” Then he laughed, and the panicked feeling seizing Jean’s chest vaporized. He laughed too, and wrapped his arms around Roy, pushing him against the wall.
They writhed and wrestled, laughing and growling and shouting playful threats, soapy skin sliding easily against each other’s, cocks brushing and sending warm spirals of heat through Jean’s stomach. Soon the soap washed away, and Jean found himself lapping trails of water from Roy’s skin, licking the juncture of his thighs and testing the texture of his balls first with his tongue and then his whole mouth when Roy gasped, “suck them” and ran his fingers eagerly through Jean’s wet hair.
Somehow, though, they ended up standing again, embracing under the steady pound of water. Jean’s arms were firmly encircled around Roy’s waist, and Roy was stroking Jean’s lower back, running his hands over his ass, occasionally grazing lower to brush his upper thighs. It was pleasant and relaxing, despite the growing pain in his balls from his long-neglected erection. But just then the soft, wet kisses along his neck were too engrossing to push away.
“You know, I could barely get to sleep last night,” Roy murmured, and sucked a bit on Jean’s collarbone. His hands continued their journey up and down Havoc’s ass.
“Mmm… me either,” Jean mumbled, turning a bit to lick Roy’s cheek. He liked the way the water tasted on his skin. Roy hummed.
“Thinking of me?” His hands stilled a bit, squeezed, made Jean gasp.
“Ah… yes…” At Jean’s breathy response, Roy hummed again and slid one finger downward, tracing the cleft of his ass. Jean squirmed a bit; he’d never realized how sensitive the skin there was… “Couldn’t help but.”
“Did you touch yourself?” The whispery moan of a question embarrassed him, but not in a bad way. In fact it made him rock against Roy, who responded by squeezing his ass harder.
“Ah!…Yeah.” Did you? He wanted to ask, but the pleasant pressure of Roy’s hands was making speech difficult.
Roy moaned a bit. “Mmm… how many times?” There was a hint of mischief in his voice, all sexy and playful. One hand left its position and retrieved something from the built-in shelf in the shower wall. Jean felt the momentary chill of the small bottle he’d seen Roy place there earlier when his fingers returned, but he paid it little mind.
“Three times,” he whispered, ears burning, but knowing his answer would delight Roy.
It did; the other man moaned louder, and bit into Jean’s shoulder.
“And what was I doing, Jean?” The hand left Jean’s ass and seized his cock, pumping it slowly. He gasped, rocking forward, as Roy’s other hand slid back, feeling slightly cooler and… slicker. His lips grazed Jean’s ear. “Fucking you?” He purred, and slid the tip of a finger into Jean’s body.
To say Jean was shocked would be a very amusing understatement.
The pleasant, relaxed feeling vanished. He leaped forwards, away from the intrusion, and made the same yelping noise he’d made once when Hayate had accidentally bitten his foot. He also experienced an epiphany as quite a number of derogatory hand gestures and phrases he’d encountered since enlisting suddenly made a good deal more sense.
For his part, Roy backed off, resuming his gentle stroking, and though his eyebrows were raised, he didn’t really look all that surprised.
“Shh, Jean,” he whispered, and kissed his neck. “Don’t worry…”
Don’t worry! What was it with the man and his out-of-the-blue sliding of his hands into inappropriate locations on his Second Lieutenant’s body lately? Really, it was getting ridiculous…
“Sir, please, what are you—”
“Shh,” Roy repeated, and wrapped his arms back around Jean, continuing the massage from earlier. “No ‘Sir,’ remember?” He kissed Jean’s neck again, slow and soothing. “It’s all right. We don’t have to if you don’t want too…”
Jean’s eyebrows knit. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to as he wasn’t sure what exactly “to” was. Oh sure, the derogatory gestures and phrases plus the simple biological mechanics he’d already begun to work out provided some clue, but still… it wasn’t like this was the kind of thing that got discussed. Well, it didn’t get discussed in places where Havoc could hear it, at any rate.
“Well… I mean… do you want to?” His voice surprised even him in its calmness. Damn Roy Mustang’s lips and their ability to soothe…
Jean felt Roy smile against his neck. The stroking resumed, as did the kisses. “Mmm, yes…” He squeezed Jean’s ass again, and it felt just as pleasant as it had before.
“…Will it hurt?” He relaxed a bit further, folding himself closer to Roy, edging back into their comfortable embrace.
“A bit at first,” Roy said, and stroked Jean’s skin a bit harder and ‘shh’ed him some more when he tensed again. “But I can make it good for both of us…”
His fingers had settled back into the cleft of Havoc’s ass, and he was stroking, back and forth, very slowly, teasing the puckered skin at the opening with gentle caresses and very slight pressure. The warmth of the water trickling down his back was nice as well, warming the slick, oily substance he now felt clearly on Roy’s fingers. Despite himself he was relaxing into it; his skin, relatively unexplored in this region, was incredibly sensitive, and Roy’s fingers were just as skilled at this as they had been at everything else in the past two days…
“That feels good,” he whispered, without meaning to, and Roy purred.
“I’ll keep it feeling good,” he promised, and pressed their lips together.
“Okay, then…” Jean whispered when they parted. Roy smiled, a smile that seemed more about trust than sexual gratification, and licked Jean’s earlobe. He positioned him slightly; spreading his legs and bending his waist, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. Jean distracted himself from the awkwardness by kissing Roy’s neck and shoulder, and Roy hummed in approval. Fingers reslicked with the substance in the plastic bottle, he traced Jean’s ass again, teasing at the opening until Jean sighed and relaxed against him.
Roy slid his finger slowly in and out, working it a bit deeper each time and with each stroke, Jean winced. Not really from pain—it burned a bit, but nothing too bad—but more from the general weirdness of the sensation.
“Relax,” Roy whispered, turning his head a bit to kiss Jean’s wrinkled forehead. “Don’t tense up, it’s okay…”
“I’m not tensing up…” Jean muttered, voice as calmly indignant as one could possibly manage in his current situation.
“Yes, you are,” Roy whispered. His finger slid further, and Jean felt the ridge of his second knuckle, and realized with a sudden sense of impending doom that the damn thing was only halfway in. And that’s just a damn finger…!
“Well, I mean, really, can you blame me?” He groaned, head dropping forward to crash against Roy’s shoulder.
“No, I don’t suppose I can…” His cheek pressed against Jean’s, turning his head until their mouths met again. The kisses were sweet and slow, Roy working his mouth against Jean’s in a steady, almost hypnotizing rhythm, until he moaned a bit a few minutes later and thrust his hips against Jean’s. “Mmm…”
The kisses had been enough to make him relax again; he’d barely have noticed Roy’s second finger if the other man’s reactions hadn’t betrayed him. The burn had all but vanished, which was a relief, but what remained was an awkward stretching feeling. It didn’t really hurt, but it sure as hell didn’t feel good.
“Oh, Jean,” Roy whispered, sliding his fingers out and in again, kissing his neck, rubbing the tip of his erection against Jean’s thigh and sounding awfully damned pleased.
Glad he’s enjoying himself at least… Jean sighed a bit, resting his head a little more comfortably on Roy’s shoulder. Liked his idea of fun on the train better myself…
At the sound of his sigh, Mustang chuckled a bit, interrupting his hums and purrs with a short pat to Jean’s back. “Don’t like that?”
Not in the least, thanks.
Jean made a so-so noise that made Mustang chuckle again.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured into Jean’s ear, “we’ll find it…”
Roy’s eyes were closed, so he missed the look of utter terrified bewilderment on Jean’s face.
Find it? Find it?! What the hell is he looking fo— oh, god, what the fuck, screw it, just… damnit, I don’t even…
While Jean’s thoughts scrambled for something, anything, in that befuddling sentence to make sense of, Roy pulled him closer, maneuvering him slightly sideways, just enough for him to realize the stream of water now cascading down his shoulders had gone from hot to lukewarm. Glad for an excuse to stop the so-called “pleasure,” he stood slightly upward, just as Roy’s fingers curled forward inside him.
“Roy, water’s getting co… oh… oh…oh, god …” His words degenerated into a desperate, whimpery whisper-growl as Roy’s fingers brushed something and a wave of pleasure rocketed through him with all the force a fired bullet… or of one of Mustang’s flame attacks. His legs actually went a bit woozy.
“Found it…” Roy was smirking, he knew he was, but he was also whimpering and clutching and grinding... That triggered something, and in yet another of the night’s many sudden epiphanies he remembered yesterday, and that rush of pleasure that had sent him over the edge on the train.
That sly bastard… But Roy growled and took Jean’s suddenly throbbing cock in his free hand, pumping him in time with the thrusts of his fingers, so Jean forgave him.
“Ah—ah… mmm…” Muscles shaking, he reached for Roy’s cock, and mirrored his pace. The other man gasped. A third finger slid into Jean, and he found himself rocking against them, forward and back, trying to drive them harder against whatever that thing was that was making him writhe like this…
“Ah… Jean… uh, stop, stop…” Roy gasped, withdrawing his hands all at once and stepping backward. Jean made a desperate noise, reaching to pull him forward again. He’d been teased all night, he couldn’t stop now, he fucking couldn’t…
“Water’s—” Roy stopped, wincing a bit and breathing deeply. He was obviously in as much of a state as Jean himself. “Water’s gone all cold… ”
Jean had forgotten all about that. “Oh… yeah…” In the past few moments, the water had gone well on its way from lukewarm to freezing. Strange how a moment before he’d been jumping at any excuse to stop Roy’s fingering and now even near-icy water wasn’t enough to cool his passion. And to think he’d lived twenty-five years on and never even known whatever the hell that thing was existed…
Probably a good thing I didn’t, he reflected as Roy began toweling him off, kissing Jean’s reddened skin as he did so, I spent enough of my life masturbating as it was…
“Come with me,” Roy said, interrupting Jean’s musings with a soft squeeze of his shoulder. Now and not a second later, his eyes added. He opened the door and nodded down the hall, still toweling his own hair with one hand while the other slid around Jean’s waist. Finally he draped the towel over one shoulder, though small streams of water still dripped down his back and chest, and pulled Jean forward, kissing and touching him all the way down the short hallway.
Jean knew the second he knelt on the large, freshly-made bed that it was Roy’s from East City. It wasn’t a new mattress, or new linen; the smell of him clung to the fabric, even under the harsh detergent smell that revealed they’d been washed and only recently unpacked. He found himself lying on his stomach, breathing deeply, erection throbbing against the mattress as he pictured his Colonel naked in this very bed, moaning like he’d been moaning and writhing like he’d been writhing…
Trying to calm himself, he turned to watch Roy, who was digging through a small paper sack atop a stack of crates. Water still ran from his hair—he’d put much more care into drying Jean than himself—so Jean crawled forward on the pleasantly firm mattress (just built for fucking, and oh, goddamnit, he was so hard…) took the towel from Roy’s shoulder and began to rub it over his hair and neck.
“You’re still all wet,” he whispered, voice coy, in response to Roy’s long, low hum.
“I was in a hurry,” he replied, reaching around with one hand to stoke Jean’s thigh. His other hand kept up its rummaging, until he seemed to find what he was looking for and leaned backwards, the sudden motion pinning him against the mattress. A small gasp wrenched itself from Jean’s mouth as Roy turned over, knees between Jean’s legs and straddling his shoulders with his arms. For a moment he kissed him, a final drop of water falling from his hair and onto Jean’s cheek.
When he sat up, Jean raised himself to his elbows, watching him and bringing his legs closer in to squeeze Roy’s thighs. Roy moaned.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, and Jean’s stomach flipped, his cock throbbed, and he grinned, unbelieving yet pleased, up at his Colonel. Hand shaking slightly, Roy raked his nails up and down his inner thighs, and then reached for the foil packet and plastic bottle he’d pulled from the bag. He put the bottle (identical to the one he’d used to lube Jean in the shower) on Jean’s stomach, gave his cock a slow, teasing stroke, and ripped the foil open with his teeth.
“Makes it more comfortable for you afterwards, is all,” Roy laughed in response to Jean’s puzzled look at the condom in his hands. “No need to worry…” He opened the bottle on Jean’s stomach and squeezed a tiny amount of the slick substance inside into the tip.
“I wasn’t worried,” Jean said, watching the wrapper flutter to the ground. “I just…” Roy had taken his cock in hand, and was stroking it slowly. “I…” He smiled at Jean, smug and suggestive, and positioned the condom over his cockhead. Hypnotized, Jean trailed off, rested his weight on one elbow, and sat up. “Let me…”
It was difficult to do when it wasn’t your own cock, he reflected. His fingers kept slipping off the thin rubber, slick with the lube, and his hand was shaking so much he could barely make it unroll. Roy didn’t seem to mind; he kept moaning, stroking at Jean’s stomach, and occasionally hitched his breath and thrust lightly forward.
“Hold still,” Jean mumbled the second time that happened. It came out a bit sharper than he’d intended; rolling the condom on was making him nervous again. Roy’s cock was a lot bigger than his fingers…
“Mmm,” Roy moaned, “I’m sorry…” He stilled, retrieving the bottle as Jean continued to struggle and recoating his fingers. “Feels good… you touching me…” He reached under Jean’s arm and slid a finger into him just as Jean’s fingers met Roy’s pubic hair and he pulled his hand away. “Mmm… thank you, Jean…” Roy whispered, grinning. He moved his finger in slow circles, making Jean squirm, and tested the slickness of his cock with the other hand. He grinned, seemingly satisfied, and pet Jean’s thigh, leaving a slippery smear.
“Roy…” Jean whispered, as the other man positioned his hips and guided his legs upwards to rest on his shoulders. He knew his voice betrayed some of his nervousness, but… he suddenly looked huge… “How much is this going to—”
Roy stroked his leg, smiling down at him. “It’s okay, you’re stretched and lubed… we’ll go slow until you’re used to it…” He kissed Jean’s calf and rubbed his forehead over the dark blond hair on Jean’s leg. “Just relax…” He moved forward, and Jean felt the pressure of Roy’s cock against his hole. He winced, closing his eyes, and grit his teeth.
Roy stopped, and Jean felt his lips, even gentler this time, against his leg.
“Listen, Jean, we don’t have to…”
As he trailed off, Jean opened his eyes again. For a moment, Jean looked up into his Colonel’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with his arousal, looking concerned and sexy and honest and even somehow tender… and despite the nerves tingling in his stomach, Jean smiled.
“Well… I always did say I’d follow you anywhere…” He leaned back, resting his head against one of Roy’s pillows and placing his hands on Roy’s hips.
At the sound of those words, Roy purred, and moved forward, pressing inward.
It did hurt, he felt the slight burn of being stretched too far, but it was nothing as bad as he’d feared, and Mustang, true to his word, stopped almost immediately. He stroked Jean’s legs with his cheek, licking and kissing them, and stroked at his cock with the same flicking motion he’d used in their hotel bed two nights before.
“All right?” Roy asked after a few moments, and Jean could hear how hot he was in the way his voice was pitched, all husky and shaking. That sound, and knowing that he was the reason Roy sounded like that, that he was the reason Roy was so hard and so passionate, that for once someone wanted him and not just anyone but his own Colonel Roy Mustang… he found himself not only relaxed but once again desperate in his own arousal.
“I’m fine,” Jean whispered, squeezing Roy’s hips with his hands. “Keep going... please…”
Roy purred and slid forward, slow and deliberate, folding Jean’s legs downward as he bent to kiss him. As soon as the ridge of Roy’s foreskin slid in it went easier; Roy had been generous with the lube, and he knew what he was doing. The slighter pressure of his tongue pressed into Jean’s mouth, countercurrent to that of his cock as he moved, and Jean could feel the rhythm of Roy’s heartbeat throbbing in his cock, deeper and deeper inside himself. He moaned into Roy’s mouth, was answered with a similar sound from Roy, kissed him harder, and felt the soft skin of Roy’s balls against him as the man suddenly stopped moving, buried to the hilt.
The kiss ended abruptly, Roy pulling back to look at Jean, hand stilling on his cock. Roy’s mouth was slightly open, lips wet from Jean’s enthusiastic kissing, and Jean could see the tip of his tongue as he panted. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, reminiscent of his earlier exertion and his brow was furrowed with an overpowering need. Jean’s expression, reflected back at him in Roy’s eyes, was one in the same.
“Jean,” Roy whispered, running his free hand through Jean’s still damp hair, “are you all—”
“Move,” Jean panted, nails digging into his sides as he pulled him even closer, and instead of wincing the extra pressure made him gasp in pleasure. “Move, please, move…”
Moaning—“Oh, Jean…”—Roy nodded, and he slid back, still slow but faster than before, and forward once again. His mouth tightened, his eyes closed, his whole face went tense, and Jean saw him shudder at the same time he felt it with his legs and inside himself.
There’d never been anything like that before in Jean’s life. It was a new level of arousal: all his previous encounters couldn’t even begin to compare. His fucking head was spinning, and he’d never have the words to express what it made him feel, not if he read every book in Amestris… all he could do was gasp Roy’s name over and over and hope that was enough.
It must’ve been, since Roy growled and thrust, harder, faster, building speed. As his thrusts went deeper, Jean’s gasps continued, “Roy… Roy… Roy… oh, Roy…” until Roy’s cock bushed over that spot and Jean all but screamed it. Almost without his knowing it, his legs encircled Roy’s back, drawing him all the closer. His voice shocked him when he heard himself moan:
“Harder…”
Roy moaned and thrust again, hard and deep, hitting the spot and sending bright sparks of color into Jean’s vision. Jean moaned again, head swimming, and found himself rocking forward as he pulled Roy inward with his legs, as though to drive him deeper inside. Roy growled his name and ground his hips foreward, his balls making soft slaping sounds against Jean’s ass.
“Harder,” he moaned again, voice high, breathy, begging, “oh, Roy, harder, please oh harder harder…”
“Oh, Jean,” Roy gasped in a short whisper. “Jean… ah, Jean…”
“Harder…” He was shaking all over, and his breath came in strange, primal growling sounds that he hadn’t know he could make. “Harder…”
“Want it hard? Mmm… ah… then take it hard—”
Suddenly Roy’s face tensed again, and he felt Roy pull backwards and out, and he cried out, trying to pull him back with his legs. Roy shook his head, moving backwards as Jean’s face knit in confusion. No, damnit, no, don’t stop, please, no, not now…
“Flip over… hands and knees…” Roy gasped, sounding frantic, and put his hands to Jean’s side, as though attempting to turn him. Jean was too far gone in orgasm to argue, so he did, bewildered as he was. Once on his belly, though, it became clear. Roy pulled him upwards, positioned him, and once Jean felt the slick heat of his erection pressing against him again, he molded his body against Roy’s.
Jean rocked backward just as Roy slid in, and his entire cock slid in one smooth motion that made Jean throw back his head and gasp- no, scream Roy’s name- in an intermingled flash of pain and resumed pleasure.
Roy’s knuckles popped as he squeezed Jean’s hips, rocking him backward as he thrust, hard and deep and brushing that spot with every stroke. One hand left his hip and seized Jean’s cock, pumping it just as fast as he thrust.
“Roy… Mmm, Roy, please… please…”
He could hear Roy behind him, screaming, moaning, and knew he was close, and everything in Jean had combined into this sensation, into this moment, and it had to be over soon or the pleasure was going to kill him.
“Jean… Jean, I… fuck, fuck, oh Jean—” and suddenly Roy was shaking, growling and sobbing and moaning Jean’s name as he tensed and stilled. Through his haze of pleasure Jean felt Roy’s muscles twitch and heard his screams crescendo before they fell away to whispers and he collapsed forward onto Jean’s sweaty back.
He only rested for a moment before his hand sped on Jean’s cock, pulling, flicking pumping, cupping his balls, making Jean shout, and then he was coming, hard, screaming Roy’s name and shaking, arms collapsing under him, his cum streaking his chest.
When it was over his legs went out from under him and he collapsed to the bed, Roy’s now soft cock sliding out of him, leaving him feeling strangely empty despite sated post-orgasmic feeling.
Roy kissed his neck, whispered his name softly and affectionately, and Jean smiled, despite his eyelids drooping. All the sleepless nights and long days of travel and furniture moving (not to mention three rounds of sex, and that was usually more like his six-to-ten months allotment) seemed to have caught up with him at once.
Dimly he felt the mattress move, heard Roy drop his condom into an empty bag in the corner, and then felt the rough fabric of a towel on his ass and legs as Roy cleaned him off.
“Thanks,” Jean said, trying desperately to fight away the fog of sleep. “I… I mean, it was… I really…”
“Shh…” Roy whispered, kissing his thigh and reaching up to stroke his hair. He rolled him slightly, untucking the duvet. “Let’s get you under the covers, hmm?” Roy’s voice was tired, slightly hoarse, but somehow gentle all the same.
Jean rolled, his body achy from sex and clumsy with exhaustion, barely managing to move enough for Roy to slide the covers over him. He smiled as the bed creaked and he felt Roy, warm and still beautifully naked, against his side.
It felt wrong to sleep now, he thought, he shouldn’t do that, he needed to… say something witty and clever… or kiss Roy or… or… he needed to… talk…
“Shh,” he heard Roy whisper, and felt the warmth of a kiss against his lips. “Go to sleep, Jean. It’s all right…”
“But…”
“Shh…” More warmth… arms around… being held… kiss… and then Jean was asleep.
When Roy woke later that night, it was to the sound of a thud and some soft swearing. He yawned, shivering a bit when he realized the warmth of Jean sleeping beside him had vanished. Most likely because Jean was now standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall and clutching his shin, wincing.
He stretched as he sat upright, his joints creaking, body aching in all the right places.
“What the hell are you doing, Jean?” He asked. “I did warn you not to trip on the boxes.”
Across the room, Jean smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair while the other stayed carefully positioned over his crotch.
“I… sorry, I didn’t meant to wake you up, I was just finding my clothes…”
“They’re still in the bathroom, but why? I can’t imagine any use for them at this particular hour…”
The look of embarrassment deepened, and Jean shuffled a bit. “It’s almost midnight… there’s a bus that runs from the corner to my apartment block, so I figured I’d better go if I want to catch it… I… I’m a little sore to walk.” His ears were absolutely scarlet; Roy could see it even in the dark.
“And why would you need to walk?” Roy asked, and Jean looked down.
“Figured… it was time for me to go, is all…” His voice was almost indiscernible.
For a long moment, Roy looked at him, then crawled out of bed and across the room, skillfully avoiding the boxes of course, and wrapped his arms around him. Jean made a small noise, and returned the embrace.
For the four years Jean had worked for him, Roy had put his attraction to the younger man aside, strong as it had been at first. He’d never expected anything could come of it, and he couldn’t risk losing him, so he’d ignored his feelings to the point he’d almost fooled himself into forgetting them completely… although, he reflected, he had not-entirely-subconsciously ensured, in his own way, that Jean remained available.
But when he’d woken two nights ago to Jean touching himself, not two feet from Roy, and moaning just so, it had all flooded in, stronger than ever before, and he hadn’t been able to push the opportunity that had been dropped into his lap (literally!) aside. He’d felt guilty afterwards, worried he’d done wrong, taken advantage, but Jean’s actions on the train had assured him otherwise. Jean felt as he did.
He’d confirmed that revelation that very evening on his sofa, and finally, oh, finally, four goddamn years of finally, here he was, his chain-smoking country boy turned military sniper Second Lieutenant, with his fluffy hair and his pessimism and his loyalty and his good heart… Tonight Jean trusted him, really him, not just his Colonel but trusted Roy, had been naked with him and showered with him, let himself be vulnerable and taken and fallen asleep in his bed… Roy himself had drifted off smiling.
Apparently, though, his confidence had been premature.
“Why do you want to leave, Jean?” Roy whispered, fingers playing over the muscles of his back. He got no answer but a strange, constrained sigh. “Do you want to leave?”
The pause stretched on to infinity and back, and suddenly Roy was terrified that he’d wrecked it.
“…No,” Jean whispered finally, and he pulled Roy tighter against himself. “No, I don’t want to leave…”
Roy smiled, kissed Jean’s neck, and ran a hand through his hair. “Then why on earth would you think you had to?”
Another long pause, but this one was lighter. Jean laughed. “I… I don’t know, I guess I thought… before I always had to… well, never mind.”
“Don’t get scared,” Roy murmured against Jean’s skin. “This isn’t that kind of thing, I promise…”
“Okay.” Jean lifted his head and looked down a bit to meet Roy’s eyes. He grinned. “Good.”
“Come back to bed,” Roy whispered, and Jean nodded against his cheek, the slight prickle of early stubble scratching.
“But then…” Jean said a moment later, as the two of them were climbing back under the blankets, now thick with the smell of their passion.
“Yes?” Roy patted a pillow roughly before moving it a bit closer to Jean’s.
“Then… what is this thing?” His eyes were genuine, bright and just the smallest bit frightened. “What is it… between us?”
Roy smiled, leaning down to press a kiss, sweet and soft, to Jean’s lips.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he murmured, accompanying his words with a second kiss. When he pulled back to cover them both with the duvet, Jean was positively beaming. Roy kissed him again and folded his body against Jean’s.
“Mmm…,” Roy whispered, taking one of Jean’s hands and stroking it. “You’re so warm…”
Jean laughed mischievously. “Dunno why, boss. You’re the one with all the blankets…”
Hooray! That's the end... OR IS IT? Wait, you might be thinking, what about Breda! Isn't he supposed to figure all this out? Well, as it turned out, Breda is so special to me that he will star in his very own EPILOGUE to the "epic" Strange Bedfellows arc, to be posted sometime tomorrow after I've had some sleep. See you then!
**Epilogue is up!
And comments are love. <3 I worked for a month on this...
