April 30 is SEXY OUTFIT HAVOC DAY!
Apr. 30th, 2007 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajHappy Sexy Outfit Havoc Day!
AND WHAT OUTFIT IS SEXIER THAT A KILT? :D:D:D:D:D:D:D
Art:
Title: "Highland Lieutenant"
Characters/Pairing: Havoc
Rated: G
Fic:
Title: An Explorative Mission
Characters/Pairing: Roy/Havoc
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 822
CRACKY CRACK OF DOOM. But cute. XD
Havoc had been quite amused with the kilts until he found out he was going to wear one.
The prospect of being Mustang’s sole escort on the other man’s trip to the small island nation far, far to the Northwest of Amestris had certainly sounded appealing. It was a simple enough mission: Mustang and a few other higher-ups acting as representatives for the purpose of signing some kind of treaty. It hadn’t really made a lot of sense to Havoc at the time, but it did mean a month-long trip to a faraway place with his lover, so he’d jumped at it. Somehow, Mustang had even gotten them a private sleeping car for the duration of the long train trip, and they’d put it to good use. (He’d gotten another for the short sea voyage, but that one they didn’t make much use of; Roy spent the entire voyage alternating between seasickness and just general foul mood at being completely surrounded by water, but by then Havoc was in too good of spirits to let it get him down.)
The train trip had already spelled the trip as a success for Havoc, what with the time spent nestled up in the little bed with Roy, alternating watching the increasingly fascinating scenery with round after round of mind-blowing sex, but once he’d stepped off the boat, he’d been pleased to find the destination just as palatable as the journey.
Immediately he’d loved the cool air and blinding green grass. The shortbread he’d had for his first tea there was even better than his ma made (though he’d never tell her that in a million years.) Even Roy had been in amazing spirits for a place where it rained as much as it did, as he’d demonstrated numerous times in their little hotel room.
They flopped onto their bed, already kissing, when Havoc had brought up the costume of their entourage’s military escorts.
“A whole army in miniskirts, Boss!” Havoc laughed as he was ridding Roy of his belt. “We should import a couple hundred for when you’re Fuhrer.”
“The tartan wouldn’t match the Military jackets,” Roy grinned, and pressed his lips to Jean’s. “But the concept is one I’ll be sure to relay…”
They made love twice that night before curling up together under the wool blanket, each’s arms around the other to fight the chill of the evening.
Jean had been hoping for a repeat performance the next morning (and more shortbread for breakfast) but instead found his Colonel contemplating two large hangers, on which hung two full Army dress kilts.
“Apparently we’re supposed to wear them to the negotiations… some kind of traditional thing…” Roy mumbled, reading from a carefully folded letter. He tossed one of the hangers to Havoc. “Consider it a test run for my Fuhrership.”
* * *
Seeing Mustang in the getup was almost worth how uncomfortable he felt wearing the thing himself.
“Your legs are pale as hell, Sir,” Jean laughed, nudging the few inches of visible skin between the top of Mustang’s socks and the hem of his kilt. The action ruffled Jean’s kilt, and he felt a slight breeze move upwards through the legs of his boxer shorts. He shivered. “We should get you out in the sunshine more…”
Roy smirked a bit, and reached back to stroke Jean’s ass through the pleats of the tartan. Jean squirmed.
“Sir, they’re going to call for us any minute—” It wasn’t that Jean really minded, but they were standing in a small alcove of the military headquarters, and anyone could come by at any second. Besides, his cock had gotten used to pretty instant gratification over the past few weeks, and he wasn’t sure how well the kilt was going to conceal a massive erection…
“You know the traditional thing to wear underneath these, Jean?” Roy murmured, leaning in to kiss Jean’s neck.
“No…” Whispered Jean, as his head fell back of its own accord.
“Nothing at all.” And before Jean had time to respond, Roy had dropped to the floor, yanked Jean’s boxers down and off, and stuffed them into his sporran. He grinned. Jean gawked.
“Sir, what the hell is wrong with—!”
“Colonel Mustang, they’re ready for you now,” came the piping voice of a young officer, appearing around the bend in the hallway is a swish of tartan.
“Of course,” Roy replied, and turned to his red faced Lieutenant as their summoner turned to leave with a smart salute. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’m sure it’s not very breezy…”
“I hate you,” Jean mumble irritably. Roy smirked.
“Oh, don’t say that, Jean. You know I’d never let you have all the fun all by yourself…”
He turned briefly and pulled the front of his own kilt open. Apparently, he too had gone the traditional route.
Jean’s sporran knocked into his sudden erection with every step he took down the long, cobbled corridor.
And that's the end of Havoc Week. :( It was good for me: was it good for you? ^_^
AND WHAT OUTFIT IS SEXIER THAT A KILT? :D:D:D:D:D:D:D
Art:
Title: "Highland Lieutenant"
Characters/Pairing: Havoc
Rated: G
Fic:
Title: An Explorative Mission
Characters/Pairing: Roy/Havoc
Rated: PG-13
Word Count: 822
CRACKY CRACK OF DOOM. But cute. XD
Havoc had been quite amused with the kilts until he found out he was going to wear one.
The prospect of being Mustang’s sole escort on the other man’s trip to the small island nation far, far to the Northwest of Amestris had certainly sounded appealing. It was a simple enough mission: Mustang and a few other higher-ups acting as representatives for the purpose of signing some kind of treaty. It hadn’t really made a lot of sense to Havoc at the time, but it did mean a month-long trip to a faraway place with his lover, so he’d jumped at it. Somehow, Mustang had even gotten them a private sleeping car for the duration of the long train trip, and they’d put it to good use. (He’d gotten another for the short sea voyage, but that one they didn’t make much use of; Roy spent the entire voyage alternating between seasickness and just general foul mood at being completely surrounded by water, but by then Havoc was in too good of spirits to let it get him down.)
The train trip had already spelled the trip as a success for Havoc, what with the time spent nestled up in the little bed with Roy, alternating watching the increasingly fascinating scenery with round after round of mind-blowing sex, but once he’d stepped off the boat, he’d been pleased to find the destination just as palatable as the journey.
Immediately he’d loved the cool air and blinding green grass. The shortbread he’d had for his first tea there was even better than his ma made (though he’d never tell her that in a million years.) Even Roy had been in amazing spirits for a place where it rained as much as it did, as he’d demonstrated numerous times in their little hotel room.
They flopped onto their bed, already kissing, when Havoc had brought up the costume of their entourage’s military escorts.
“A whole army in miniskirts, Boss!” Havoc laughed as he was ridding Roy of his belt. “We should import a couple hundred for when you’re Fuhrer.”
“The tartan wouldn’t match the Military jackets,” Roy grinned, and pressed his lips to Jean’s. “But the concept is one I’ll be sure to relay…”
They made love twice that night before curling up together under the wool blanket, each’s arms around the other to fight the chill of the evening.
Jean had been hoping for a repeat performance the next morning (and more shortbread for breakfast) but instead found his Colonel contemplating two large hangers, on which hung two full Army dress kilts.
“Apparently we’re supposed to wear them to the negotiations… some kind of traditional thing…” Roy mumbled, reading from a carefully folded letter. He tossed one of the hangers to Havoc. “Consider it a test run for my Fuhrership.”
Seeing Mustang in the getup was almost worth how uncomfortable he felt wearing the thing himself.
“Your legs are pale as hell, Sir,” Jean laughed, nudging the few inches of visible skin between the top of Mustang’s socks and the hem of his kilt. The action ruffled Jean’s kilt, and he felt a slight breeze move upwards through the legs of his boxer shorts. He shivered. “We should get you out in the sunshine more…”
Roy smirked a bit, and reached back to stroke Jean’s ass through the pleats of the tartan. Jean squirmed.
“Sir, they’re going to call for us any minute—” It wasn’t that Jean really minded, but they were standing in a small alcove of the military headquarters, and anyone could come by at any second. Besides, his cock had gotten used to pretty instant gratification over the past few weeks, and he wasn’t sure how well the kilt was going to conceal a massive erection…
“You know the traditional thing to wear underneath these, Jean?” Roy murmured, leaning in to kiss Jean’s neck.
“No…” Whispered Jean, as his head fell back of its own accord.
“Nothing at all.” And before Jean had time to respond, Roy had dropped to the floor, yanked Jean’s boxers down and off, and stuffed them into his sporran. He grinned. Jean gawked.
“Sir, what the hell is wrong with—!”
“Colonel Mustang, they’re ready for you now,” came the piping voice of a young officer, appearing around the bend in the hallway is a swish of tartan.
“Of course,” Roy replied, and turned to his red faced Lieutenant as their summoner turned to leave with a smart salute. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’m sure it’s not very breezy…”
“I hate you,” Jean mumble irritably. Roy smirked.
“Oh, don’t say that, Jean. You know I’d never let you have all the fun all by yourself…”
He turned briefly and pulled the front of his own kilt open. Apparently, he too had gone the traditional route.
Jean’s sporran knocked into his sudden erection with every step he took down the long, cobbled corridor.
And that's the end of Havoc Week. :( It was good for me: was it good for you? ^_^
