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rajTitle: Strange Bedfellows (Part One 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
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4414
Warnings Smut. Very slight spoilers for Episode 27 of the anime, and Chapter 25 of the manga
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_lemons for challenge #4: "No, you must not!... Here, let me help you." Part one of a three part arc. Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's The Tempest. I started this to cure my boredom when I was stranded in an iced-in hotel with no electricity over Christmas break. Enjoy!
“You’re stealing all the blankets.”
“I’m bigger than you are, I’m not covered up—”
“Exactly. You generate more body heat, so I should get more covers.”
“I generate more heat?! How do you figure? Which one of us is the oh-so-revered high-and-mighty Flame Alchemist, huh, which one of us?”
“What do you want me to do, set fire to the bed?”
“Would it shut you up if you did?”
“Shut me up? You’re the one who—gah! Havoc, your feet are like ice!”
“Because you pulled the blankets off them!”
“Because you stole them all in the first place!”
“Maybe if you hadn’t used up all the hot water in the shower, I wouldn’t be so cold!”
“Maybe if you hadn’t spilled your damn ashtray over me on the train, I wouldn’t’ve needed such a long shower!”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t—”
A loud thump on the opposite side of the wall to their left caused both Havoc and Mustang to shut up and turn to glance at the sound’s source. Following the thud came the irritable voice of a sleep-deprived Breda from the room next door.
“Will the both of you shut your damn faces and sleep already? Goddamn it, some of us need some fucking rest!”
Mustang and Havoc glared at the wall for a moment, then turned inward to glare at each other. Finally, Mustang sighed and relinquished a fistful of the thin, wash-worn hotel duvet to Havoc, who snatched it over, shot his colonel an icy glare, and rolled away to the farthest edge of the bed he could manage without toppling to the floor.
“You know, I could demote you for this,” Mustang mumbled, just soft enough to keep Havoc from hearing. He pulled the remaining blanket around himself, and rolled away from the Lieutenant, shivering a bit.
It had only been out of a show of good faith that Colonel Mustang had included himself in the straw-draw for who would have to share the room at the hotel that night. With the military budget paying for his entire unit’s transfer to Central, he’d expected the third-class train tickets, the negligible food budget, and fleabag accommodations at the hotel where they were expected to overnight at the journey’s midway. So he hadn’t been altogether surprised when the reservation had turned up one room short for their six-person envoy. Flustered and inconvenienced maybe, but definitely not surprised.
It had been Falman’s idea that the men would draw for who’d have to share the room. Lieutenant Hawkeye had been exempt on the grounds that her sharing simply wasn’t appropriate. Falman had suggested the Colonel be exempt as well, but Mustang had refused. So, five straws, three long and two short (those were the unlucky ones), painstakingly shaped by Falman, were held in Hawkeye’s palm and plucked one by one by the men of the unit.
When he saw the short straw, Mustang reflected that he hadn’t figured that probability would be so adamantly against him. Or that fate would be as unaccommodating as the damn hotel and send the second of the short straws to Lieutenant Havoc, who was still holding a bit of a grudge toward him over the girlfriend he’d been forced to abandon in the transfer. Not a serious grudge, sure, and one he’d be over soon enough, but enough of one to make the prospect of a night trapped in a small room together all the more grim.
Glaring over at the Lieutenant’s back, Roy sighed and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to get warm enough to fall asleep and put an end to this miserable night.
He managed it sooner then he thought he would. At least there was one good thing about having a bedmate, even one as crabby and childlike as Havoc had decided to be that night. Once the two had settled down their combined body heat, even separated by the foot or so of empty space between them, made the lumpy, cramped little bed almost comfortable.
***
Havoc had planned to make a pallet for himself on the floor and leave the Colonel the bed, but the tiny, freezing cold room with its one sad blanket stretched across the ancient, sagging bed had put an end to that plan. And when he’d asked the woman behind the desk if they had any cots, she’d laughed in his face. Bitch.
Havoc shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but to no avail. He sighed.
Mustang, damn him, had drifted off almost an hour ago. The Colonel’s apparent resolution to stay on the opposite side of the bed had vanished with slumber, and he was close enough to Havoc now that he could feel the heat of the Colonel's body and hear his soft breathing.
For a moment he entertained the idea of going out into the hall and having a cigarette, but (dreading the night to follow) he’d already had six in the brief period between dinner and bed, and he was afraid of depleting his remaining supply. On a few past occasions he’d been forced to start the day without his nicotine fix, and it wasn’t an act he felt any inclination to repeat. Ever.
Besides, he knew well enough that particular fix wasn’t the one he was craving.
He flopped over onto his back for a bit and counted sheep until the thought of even one more fleecy mammal made suicide look inviting. He recited the Amestris Military oath, then again backwards, and then grumbled in agitation. If even that sixty-four-line snoozefest wasn’t going to get him to sleep, then nothing was. And tomorrow was going to be such a long day… he needed a full night of sleep, damnit… why was it that it was only on nights that it really counted that insomnia struck? Havoc rolled again, until he was facing away from the sleeping Colonel.
Almost unconsciously, Havoc's hand snaked past the band of elastic at his waist and encircled his cock. He’d fought it as long as he could.
That was the problem, he reflected, face flushed with embarrassment. He’d been masturbating himself to sleep every night since he’d moved out of the dorms and into his apartment in East City three years ago. The habit was as ingrained as brushing his teeth or his pre-bedtime cigarette; he simply couldn’t sleep without it. His penis didn’t seem to realize the situation; how the hell could it expect this of him with his boss not a foot away? And on an old and creaky mattress to boot?
He grit his teeth as his cock firmed under his touch. Nothing for it; it was either this or a long day of zombie-like coordination and irritability. He’d just have to be as still and as quiet and as quick as possible, so as not to wake Mustang. The man slept like the dead anyway, it’d be fine...
His eyes squeezed closed as he moved his wrist—not his whole arm, that was too much movement—back and forth in a rapid, fluid motion over his erection. Within seconds it was throbbing and heavy, and pleasant tendrils of long-awaited relaxation were coursing through his stomach.
His thoughts turned to his recent ex. Brunette. Cute. Good body; not great but certainly nice. No D-cups or anything, but her breasts had been sweet and soft under her buttoned silk top… he had to picture the top, because he’d never managed to get under it.
Damn Roy Mustang anyway, he thought irritably as his fingers ghosted over the soft skin of his balls. Finally get a girlfriend and he makes me abandon her before I can even get a hand on her breasts…
Havoc’s breath was coming in shorter and shorter pants as his wrist flicked back and forth. His stomach was hot with arousal, and his hips began to rock, ever so slightly, with shallow thrusts into his palm.
How dare he uproot me? Havoc whimpered a bit as a long shudder of sensation shot up and down his spine, tightening his scalp as his thumb lightly grazed the head of his cock. He could’ve given me time to get things together… His legs tensed and relaxed, shaking a bit. I meant it when I said I’d follow him anywhere… He squeezed himself harder, gasping at the change in pressure. But sometimes he asks so much…
It felt good, so damn good, as his body folded into the familiar rhythm of Havoc’s other addiction, as the warmth spread and his toes curled and it couldn’t hurt to move a little faster, breathe a little louder, because Mustang slept like the dead, you’d hardly even know he was breathing, so the whimper that escaped Jean’s lips wasn’t any real problem, and no one would notice that slight thrust of his hips, hell, he could barely feel it himself over the throb of his cock under his palm, or hear the mattress creak over the pound of his pulse, and close, so close, just a tiny moan at the bright spark of heat now spiraling up into his belly and—
“Havoc? What are you doing?”
Havoc froze, fingers flying away from his cock as quickly as a visitor to a museum who, in the process of touching an oil painting, had suddenly felt a guard’s billyclub graze his shoulder.
Eyes wide and heart pounding, he lay still, gripping the blanket and adamantly looking away from the tent his erection still made in it, hoping against hope that this was some kind of sleep talk or imagining or…
“Havoc?” Mustang’s voice was groggy but definitely cognitive.
Shit.
At least his erection was dissipating; all his blood now seemed to be rushing to his face. He felt as though his pillow had caught fire.
“Havoc?” Mustang repeated, an odd quality to his voice that Havoc missed when he felt a warmth to match that on his face on his shoulder as the Colonel’s fingers drummed against his back.
“S… Sir?” Havoc managed, face pulsating with humiliation. Just let it go, please, just let it go…
But Mustang didn’t. “Were you just…” His voice was bewildered; he had no idea what to do with this particular situation. A feeling with which Havoc suddenly found himself very familiar.
“Havoc,” Mustang repeated, though the pounding of blood in Havoc’s ears made it a bit hard to hear. “Were you—”
“I’m sorry,” Havoc mumbled before the Colonel could finish. “I… didn’t mean to.” Didn’t mean to? What the hell was that? He grit his teeth, wishing like hell he’d just opted for a sleepless night. Wishing he’d walked down the hall to the only bathroom on the floor and taken care of it there. Also wishing Mustang would take his hand off his back. It wasn’t doing anything to help the awkward.
“I couldn’t sleep, I just… it wasn’t… I mean…” Havoc faltered, trying desperately to shrug Roy’s hand away.
“Havoc.” Mustang's voice was peculiar, soft and unassailable at the same time, and Havoc stilled under his hand. He closed his eyes, expecting some kind of admonition, or ridicule, or the verbal equivalent of a military pink slip.
What he didn’t expect was for Colonel Mustang's hand to begin stroking slow, deliberate lines up and down his spine. He was so busy trying to warp his mind around the sudden unexpected turn of event that he barely heard the other man mumble, in that same strange voice, “…what they always say about soldiers without girlfriends...”
Havoc’s brow furrowed. “Wh… Sir?”
“You may as well finish what you started.”
And then Havoc felt Mustang’s other hand encircle his cock.
Talk about unexpected.
Havoc tensed and tried to jump up with a strangled yelp of “What the hell are y—” when Mustang's hand flew off his shoulder and over his mouth.
“Breda,” he whispered by way of warning, motioning to the wall. “Shh.” But his hand remained in its new position on Havoc’s still half-hard dick.
“Please, Sir, what are you—” Havoc murmured around Mustang’s palm, the words vanishing into a shocked mmmph! as Mustang's thumb began to stroke at the base of his cock.
“No need to be afraid, Lieutenant,” Mustang whispered. “It’s all right.”
Like hell it is! He was about to leap out of the bed (and possibly out of the door and down the hall as well) when the Colonel's voice stopped him cold, pinning him much more effectively than his hand could ever do.
“I’m sorry about your girlfriend, Lieutenant.”
That was almost as unexpected as the Colonel’s hand on his cock. Roy Mustang wasn’t one for apologies, he rarely made them if he could help it, and especially not when the apologies concerned a certain Second Lieutenant’s love life… or lack thereof. In fact, the Colonel often seemed to get some sort of sadistic ecstasy over depriving Havoc of female company. And damnit if he didn’t sound sincere. Havoc had never been the best at reading people, and his brain, already fuzzed out with a combination of lingering arousal, humiliation, and utter shock, couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the Colonel’s tactics.
And it didn’t stop there. “I had no idea it would affect you to such a degree.”
Oh, damnit. Havoc almost blurted out that it wasn’t that big a deal, really, but even in his current state he knew that actions always spoke louder than words, and that jerking off next to your boss in bed was a hell of a big action not to read. There was no way to shake this one off.
To make matters worse, all the while Havoc had been attempting to mull this out, Mustang’s hand had remained between his Lieutenant’s legs. He wasn’t exactly stroking, or petting, or caressing, or pumping, or any number of motions one normally would associate with the act, but he was doing something, some elegant, near-imperceptible motion with his fingers. Something that felt like a lot of things, but certainly didn’t feel bad. Despite himself, Havoc’s urge to run away was fading just as fast as his erection seemed to be returning. It had been… well, a long time. His cock was responding eagerly to the feel of skin that wasn’t his own.
“Let me make it up to you.” The Colonel’s voice was lower now, almost rumbling, like the purr of some immense and well-sated jungle cat. His fingers did that something again, and Havoc felt his eyelids flicker. He couldn’t be sure—his back was still to Mustang—but the mattress creaks behind him seemed to indicate that the Colonel was moving closer. A second whisper, close enough to make the hair on his neck tingle, confirmed it. “No one has to know…”
Had he been in a more rational state of mind, he never would have agreed. It was stupid, and weird, and could get them both demoted if not flat-out dishonorably discharged. Tomorrow was going to be so awkward, but…
Mustang did that something again, and harder this time. The sensation rushed up Havoc’s nerves like a spark to dry kindling, and his stomach hitched with the power of it. His eyes slid closed of their own accord, and he drew a long, shuddery breath. Tenseness had returned. He gripped the sheets and grit his teeth. It took him a moment to find the words.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Mustang made a strange noise, something between a sigh and a hum. Creaking noises issued from the aged mattress as he moved closer, until Havoc could feel the warmth of his skin against his back. The hand on his shoulder moved again, this time caressing long lines up and down Havoc’s arm. His other hand moved in a swift, fluid motion of the expanse of Havoc’s cock. Mustang’s fingers were strong and elegant, and rough from the grit of the Pyrotex gloves he wore, but his palms were strangely soft. The contrast made the sensation all the more vivid. Havoc heard himself gasp.
For a few moments, the Colonel seemed content with this motion. Havoc breathed slowly, in and out, trying to concentrate on the pleasure and forget about who was bestowing it. It was fast and hard, and would’ve brought Havoc off within a few minutes, but that didn’t appear to be Mustang’s aim. He stopped pumping with the same speed he’s started, instead flicking his thumb higher and higher up, tracing the sensitive line of a vein, until he reached the head.
“Uh!” The sound was jerked out of Havoc without his consent as the Colonel’s thumb grazed the very tip of his cock. From there his fingers explored, stroking the ridge of skin and the tip, now slick with the first drops of precum. He cradled the head of Havoc’s cock in his palm and massaged with the very tips of his fingers. Havoc’s hips jolted forward, as though trying to propel him into that delicious skin.
“God…” He whispered, clenching his fists tighter around the forgotten blanket they’d been arguing over not two hours ago. He’s… this is… this is so…
Good. Oh, God, it was good, better than he’d ever had. Now he was twisting his palm, just enough to send electric sparks up and down Havoc’s spine and make every nerve scream with delicious tension. His fingers were doing it again, that indescribable something, but harder, faster, in a desperate tattoo against his flesh. Where did he learn how to do that…
He’s had lots of lovers… and for some bizarre reason, that thought excited him more. He pictured his Colonel in bed with one of his many girlfriends, doing that thing with his fingers against her nipples…
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, thrusting again. “God…”
Behind him, Mustang whimpered and that changed Havoc’s mental picture from one of Mustang pleasuring some girl to one of Mustang pleasuring himself and that really did it. Mustang curling his fingers into that same lazy hook that he was now twisting around the ridge of skin at the base of his cockhead, and teasing himself, moaning and writhing and…
Havoc’s eyes, that he’d been so carefully keeping clenched shut, flew open. Looking down the line of his body he saw the familiar sights, the coarse blond hair trailing down from his navel to the slight upward curve of his erection. But along with these sights was that pale hand, curled around his cock and toying with the tightening skin of his balls… fuel to the fire if ever there was.
There was a sudden desperation at the sight of that hand to see more, and without pausing to think, Havoc rolled over, looking at Mustang’s face for the first time since the whole got-caught ordeal had begun.
Mustang’s eyes were wide in surprise at Havoc’s sudden movement. For a moment, his hand slowed and both men simply stared, breathing heavily, at each other’s faces. Sweat had beaded on Mustang’s forehead, as it had on Havoc’s, and his hair was mussed and damp. His lips were half-parted; he was panting. His chest hitched with his breath, and Havoc trailed the motion with his eyes, past his chest, to his stomach. For a moment his eyes flickered, and he almost lost his nerve, but only for a moment.
The front of Mustang’s cotton pajama pants was stretched tight with his erection, a small patch of moisture at the tip glistening a darker blue. Jean’s own cock throbbed in Mustang’s hand at the sight, and again when his eyes darted back to the Colonel’s and read the ache in them.
He’s enjoying this as much as I am. It seemed strange, yet intoxicating, to think of, and did nothing to cool his passion.
He brought his hand up from his side, a bit embarrassed at how it was shaking, and looked back at his Colonel.
“C… can I…?”
Mustang let out a shaky breath and nodded, closing his free had over Havoc’s and guiding it to his chest.
As gingerly as an explorer in some uncharted jungle, Havoc ran his hand first over the soft shirt, slightly clammy with perspiration, and then under it, relishing the feel of more skin and the throb of heartbeat. Mustang’s pleased gasp sent the same electricity up and down Havoc’s spine that the Colonel’s fingers had moments before. Bolder, he slid his fingers under the waistband on Mustang’s pants and slid them down over his hips.
His cock was like his fingers, long and strangely elegant, nestled in black hair far softer than his own. Without his knowing it, Havoc’s hips rocked, and his fingers closed around Mustang’s cock.
Both men whimpered, and suddenly the motion was back. Havoc stroked Mustang with swift, even pumps. Mustang’s fingers once again flicked and spun, driving Havoc to thrust in short, sweet bursts of friction into his palm.
The heat between them grew, the mattress squeaked their joint rhythm of arms and hips, and every once in a while, in their frenzy of motion, the tips of their cocks would brush each other, sending shocks of white heat through Havoc’s stomach and making Mustang growl and work his fingers all the faster.
Mustang was gasping with every breath, whimpering and moaning nonsensical syllables, until Havoc, sparked by another of those unexpected flicks, growled, and the syllables took shape.
“Oh, Havoc…” he whispered, his free hand tangling itself into Havoc’s bangs. “Oh, Jean…”
Havoc’s eyes snapped open from the half-lidded state of near orgasm. Jean? He could count the times his Colonel had addressed him by his first name on one hand. It was peculiar and unexpected, but somehow… all right. Better than all right.
He wanted to hear it again.
“…Roy,” he whispered. The name felt strange in his mouth, but on hearing it, a smile Havoc had never seen on the Colonel before spread across the man’s face.
“Jean.” Roy repeated, as though agreeing, and then it was a race to the finish.
If Mustang had been good before, in the last few seconds before Havoc came with a cry he tried to strangle in Mustang’s pillow, he was miraculous. The flicking seemed to converge with the pumping, sending deep tremors all through Havoc’s spine until every point in his body seemed to converge into one pulse of sensation and he came.
It lasted longer than normal, and the thick, hot liquid spilled out of him, spurt after spurt, coating Mustang’s cock across from him and making his final pulls at the other man's erection slippery. The sudden heat and wetness sent Mustang into his own orgasm, and for a second or so they rode it together, until Havoc’s hand dropped to the sticky sheet.
They lay there for a while, just breathing, until Mustang got up and pulled the shirt he’d worn the day before out of his suitcase. He crawled back into bed and wiped the semen away as best he could from their bodies, and then took a stab at the sheet.
“Here,” he said after he’d scrubbed for a few minutes. “Come to this side of the bed, so you don’t have to lie where...” He trailed off as Havoc nodded, and they bundled together in a corner, shoulder to shoulder, blanket pulled halfway up as their sweaty bodies cooled.
It was so quiet… Havoc felt a sudden flutter of panic when he could think of nothing to say. His mind was a blank, choked by the sense that he should say something, just for closure’s sake, if nothing else. You couldn’t jerk off with your boss and then just roll over and go to sleep.
Finally, grasping at straws, he mumbled, “D’ya want a cigarette?” and immediately felt choked by the stupidity of it.
Mustang smiled, eyes closed. “No, thank you. But feel free if you’d like to.”
Havoc started to get up to find his rapidly depleting pack, but then lay back down and, without knowing why, laid his head briefly on Mustang’s chest and hugged him—just a shallow hug, a tiny moment of contact. He muttered, “Sir… thank you,” before releasing him and lying back down. He closed his eyes around the sudden blush in his face. What a stupid fucking thing to do—
But the bedsprings beside him suddenly creaked, and Mustang was sitting up. Havoc opened his mouth to apologize, and Mustang leaned down and kissed him.
It was just for a instant, but it was long enough for Havoc to taste the Colonel’s mouth, hot and sweet and terrifying. Mustang’s lips were soft, moving lightly against Havoc’s until his tongue lightly grazed Havoc’s bottom lip.
He was pulling away by the time it occurred to Havoc that he wanted to kiss him back.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mustang whispered, before Havoc had a chance to act. He stroked Havoc’s shoulder for a moment and lay down once again. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Roy, his brain supplied, but his mouth lacked the courage to add.
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”
And as Mustang drifted off, Havoc lay awake, while the urge to put his arm around the sleeping Colonel and the fear to do the same dueled within him.
***
“Sleep all right, Havo?”
Havoc yawned so hard he almost swallowed his morning cigarette. “Pretty good.”
Breda looked nonplussed. “And yet you yawn?”
“You know how I am in the morning.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re annoyingly chipper and sunshiny as a six-year-old with a new kitten.”
“I am not.”
“Today you aren’t, no. What happened, did you keep fighting over the blankets with the Colonel all night?”
Havoc’s stomach somersaulted. “…No. No, we didn’t.”
“Really? I kept hearing these… noises, I just assumed—”
“Nope, everything was fine. Went right to sleep, I guess one of us must’ve snored, is all—” Havoc ground out the remaining three quarters of his cigarette and stretched exaggeratedly. “Well, better go grab my bags, don’t want to be late for the train…” and he vanished down the hotel corridor.
Breda watched him go, a look of intense disbelief on his face. For a moment he watched the empty hallway his friend had all but sprinted down, then directed his attentions to the cigarette still smoldering on the floor. Havo always smoked them all the way down. Half the time he burnt his fingers, he held them so long.
Yup. Something weird had happened, all right.
But some sixth sense made Breda wonder if he was better off not knowing exactly what it was.
***
Thanks for taking the time to read! I had a lot of fun with this one, so I'd love you dearly if you'd take the tiny bit of extra time to leave a comment letting me know what you thought.
Part Two is here!"
Author:
raja815Pairing/Fandom: Roy Mustang/ Jean Havoc
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4414
Warnings Smut. Very slight spoilers for Episode 27 of the anime, and Chapter 25 of the manga
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: Written for
30_lemons for challenge #4: "No, you must not!... Here, let me help you." Part one of a three part arc. Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's The Tempest. I started this to cure my boredom when I was stranded in an iced-in hotel with no electricity over Christmas break. Enjoy!“You’re stealing all the blankets.”
“I’m bigger than you are, I’m not covered up—”
“Exactly. You generate more body heat, so I should get more covers.”
“I generate more heat?! How do you figure? Which one of us is the oh-so-revered high-and-mighty Flame Alchemist, huh, which one of us?”
“What do you want me to do, set fire to the bed?”
“Would it shut you up if you did?”
“Shut me up? You’re the one who—gah! Havoc, your feet are like ice!”
“Because you pulled the blankets off them!”
“Because you stole them all in the first place!”
“Maybe if you hadn’t used up all the hot water in the shower, I wouldn’t be so cold!”
“Maybe if you hadn’t spilled your damn ashtray over me on the train, I wouldn’t’ve needed such a long shower!”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t—”
A loud thump on the opposite side of the wall to their left caused both Havoc and Mustang to shut up and turn to glance at the sound’s source. Following the thud came the irritable voice of a sleep-deprived Breda from the room next door.
“Will the both of you shut your damn faces and sleep already? Goddamn it, some of us need some fucking rest!”
Mustang and Havoc glared at the wall for a moment, then turned inward to glare at each other. Finally, Mustang sighed and relinquished a fistful of the thin, wash-worn hotel duvet to Havoc, who snatched it over, shot his colonel an icy glare, and rolled away to the farthest edge of the bed he could manage without toppling to the floor.
“You know, I could demote you for this,” Mustang mumbled, just soft enough to keep Havoc from hearing. He pulled the remaining blanket around himself, and rolled away from the Lieutenant, shivering a bit.
It had only been out of a show of good faith that Colonel Mustang had included himself in the straw-draw for who would have to share the room at the hotel that night. With the military budget paying for his entire unit’s transfer to Central, he’d expected the third-class train tickets, the negligible food budget, and fleabag accommodations at the hotel where they were expected to overnight at the journey’s midway. So he hadn’t been altogether surprised when the reservation had turned up one room short for their six-person envoy. Flustered and inconvenienced maybe, but definitely not surprised.
It had been Falman’s idea that the men would draw for who’d have to share the room. Lieutenant Hawkeye had been exempt on the grounds that her sharing simply wasn’t appropriate. Falman had suggested the Colonel be exempt as well, but Mustang had refused. So, five straws, three long and two short (those were the unlucky ones), painstakingly shaped by Falman, were held in Hawkeye’s palm and plucked one by one by the men of the unit.
When he saw the short straw, Mustang reflected that he hadn’t figured that probability would be so adamantly against him. Or that fate would be as unaccommodating as the damn hotel and send the second of the short straws to Lieutenant Havoc, who was still holding a bit of a grudge toward him over the girlfriend he’d been forced to abandon in the transfer. Not a serious grudge, sure, and one he’d be over soon enough, but enough of one to make the prospect of a night trapped in a small room together all the more grim.
Glaring over at the Lieutenant’s back, Roy sighed and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to get warm enough to fall asleep and put an end to this miserable night.
He managed it sooner then he thought he would. At least there was one good thing about having a bedmate, even one as crabby and childlike as Havoc had decided to be that night. Once the two had settled down their combined body heat, even separated by the foot or so of empty space between them, made the lumpy, cramped little bed almost comfortable.
Havoc had planned to make a pallet for himself on the floor and leave the Colonel the bed, but the tiny, freezing cold room with its one sad blanket stretched across the ancient, sagging bed had put an end to that plan. And when he’d asked the woman behind the desk if they had any cots, she’d laughed in his face. Bitch.
Havoc shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but to no avail. He sighed.
Mustang, damn him, had drifted off almost an hour ago. The Colonel’s apparent resolution to stay on the opposite side of the bed had vanished with slumber, and he was close enough to Havoc now that he could feel the heat of the Colonel's body and hear his soft breathing.
For a moment he entertained the idea of going out into the hall and having a cigarette, but (dreading the night to follow) he’d already had six in the brief period between dinner and bed, and he was afraid of depleting his remaining supply. On a few past occasions he’d been forced to start the day without his nicotine fix, and it wasn’t an act he felt any inclination to repeat. Ever.
Besides, he knew well enough that particular fix wasn’t the one he was craving.
He flopped over onto his back for a bit and counted sheep until the thought of even one more fleecy mammal made suicide look inviting. He recited the Amestris Military oath, then again backwards, and then grumbled in agitation. If even that sixty-four-line snoozefest wasn’t going to get him to sleep, then nothing was. And tomorrow was going to be such a long day… he needed a full night of sleep, damnit… why was it that it was only on nights that it really counted that insomnia struck? Havoc rolled again, until he was facing away from the sleeping Colonel.
Almost unconsciously, Havoc's hand snaked past the band of elastic at his waist and encircled his cock. He’d fought it as long as he could.
That was the problem, he reflected, face flushed with embarrassment. He’d been masturbating himself to sleep every night since he’d moved out of the dorms and into his apartment in East City three years ago. The habit was as ingrained as brushing his teeth or his pre-bedtime cigarette; he simply couldn’t sleep without it. His penis didn’t seem to realize the situation; how the hell could it expect this of him with his boss not a foot away? And on an old and creaky mattress to boot?
He grit his teeth as his cock firmed under his touch. Nothing for it; it was either this or a long day of zombie-like coordination and irritability. He’d just have to be as still and as quiet and as quick as possible, so as not to wake Mustang. The man slept like the dead anyway, it’d be fine...
His eyes squeezed closed as he moved his wrist—not his whole arm, that was too much movement—back and forth in a rapid, fluid motion over his erection. Within seconds it was throbbing and heavy, and pleasant tendrils of long-awaited relaxation were coursing through his stomach.
His thoughts turned to his recent ex. Brunette. Cute. Good body; not great but certainly nice. No D-cups or anything, but her breasts had been sweet and soft under her buttoned silk top… he had to picture the top, because he’d never managed to get under it.
Damn Roy Mustang anyway, he thought irritably as his fingers ghosted over the soft skin of his balls. Finally get a girlfriend and he makes me abandon her before I can even get a hand on her breasts…
Havoc’s breath was coming in shorter and shorter pants as his wrist flicked back and forth. His stomach was hot with arousal, and his hips began to rock, ever so slightly, with shallow thrusts into his palm.
How dare he uproot me? Havoc whimpered a bit as a long shudder of sensation shot up and down his spine, tightening his scalp as his thumb lightly grazed the head of his cock. He could’ve given me time to get things together… His legs tensed and relaxed, shaking a bit. I meant it when I said I’d follow him anywhere… He squeezed himself harder, gasping at the change in pressure. But sometimes he asks so much…
It felt good, so damn good, as his body folded into the familiar rhythm of Havoc’s other addiction, as the warmth spread and his toes curled and it couldn’t hurt to move a little faster, breathe a little louder, because Mustang slept like the dead, you’d hardly even know he was breathing, so the whimper that escaped Jean’s lips wasn’t any real problem, and no one would notice that slight thrust of his hips, hell, he could barely feel it himself over the throb of his cock under his palm, or hear the mattress creak over the pound of his pulse, and close, so close, just a tiny moan at the bright spark of heat now spiraling up into his belly and—
“Havoc? What are you doing?”
Havoc froze, fingers flying away from his cock as quickly as a visitor to a museum who, in the process of touching an oil painting, had suddenly felt a guard’s billyclub graze his shoulder.
Eyes wide and heart pounding, he lay still, gripping the blanket and adamantly looking away from the tent his erection still made in it, hoping against hope that this was some kind of sleep talk or imagining or…
“Havoc?” Mustang’s voice was groggy but definitely cognitive.
Shit.
At least his erection was dissipating; all his blood now seemed to be rushing to his face. He felt as though his pillow had caught fire.
“Havoc?” Mustang repeated, an odd quality to his voice that Havoc missed when he felt a warmth to match that on his face on his shoulder as the Colonel’s fingers drummed against his back.
“S… Sir?” Havoc managed, face pulsating with humiliation. Just let it go, please, just let it go…
But Mustang didn’t. “Were you just…” His voice was bewildered; he had no idea what to do with this particular situation. A feeling with which Havoc suddenly found himself very familiar.
“Havoc,” Mustang repeated, though the pounding of blood in Havoc’s ears made it a bit hard to hear. “Were you—”
“I’m sorry,” Havoc mumbled before the Colonel could finish. “I… didn’t mean to.” Didn’t mean to? What the hell was that? He grit his teeth, wishing like hell he’d just opted for a sleepless night. Wishing he’d walked down the hall to the only bathroom on the floor and taken care of it there. Also wishing Mustang would take his hand off his back. It wasn’t doing anything to help the awkward.
“I couldn’t sleep, I just… it wasn’t… I mean…” Havoc faltered, trying desperately to shrug Roy’s hand away.
“Havoc.” Mustang's voice was peculiar, soft and unassailable at the same time, and Havoc stilled under his hand. He closed his eyes, expecting some kind of admonition, or ridicule, or the verbal equivalent of a military pink slip.
What he didn’t expect was for Colonel Mustang's hand to begin stroking slow, deliberate lines up and down his spine. He was so busy trying to warp his mind around the sudden unexpected turn of event that he barely heard the other man mumble, in that same strange voice, “…what they always say about soldiers without girlfriends...”
Havoc’s brow furrowed. “Wh… Sir?”
“You may as well finish what you started.”
And then Havoc felt Mustang’s other hand encircle his cock.
Talk about unexpected.
Havoc tensed and tried to jump up with a strangled yelp of “What the hell are y—” when Mustang's hand flew off his shoulder and over his mouth.
“Breda,” he whispered by way of warning, motioning to the wall. “Shh.” But his hand remained in its new position on Havoc’s still half-hard dick.
“Please, Sir, what are you—” Havoc murmured around Mustang’s palm, the words vanishing into a shocked mmmph! as Mustang's thumb began to stroke at the base of his cock.
“No need to be afraid, Lieutenant,” Mustang whispered. “It’s all right.”
Like hell it is! He was about to leap out of the bed (and possibly out of the door and down the hall as well) when the Colonel's voice stopped him cold, pinning him much more effectively than his hand could ever do.
“I’m sorry about your girlfriend, Lieutenant.”
That was almost as unexpected as the Colonel’s hand on his cock. Roy Mustang wasn’t one for apologies, he rarely made them if he could help it, and especially not when the apologies concerned a certain Second Lieutenant’s love life… or lack thereof. In fact, the Colonel often seemed to get some sort of sadistic ecstasy over depriving Havoc of female company. And damnit if he didn’t sound sincere. Havoc had never been the best at reading people, and his brain, already fuzzed out with a combination of lingering arousal, humiliation, and utter shock, couldn’t seem to wrap itself around the Colonel’s tactics.
And it didn’t stop there. “I had no idea it would affect you to such a degree.”
Oh, damnit. Havoc almost blurted out that it wasn’t that big a deal, really, but even in his current state he knew that actions always spoke louder than words, and that jerking off next to your boss in bed was a hell of a big action not to read. There was no way to shake this one off.
To make matters worse, all the while Havoc had been attempting to mull this out, Mustang’s hand had remained between his Lieutenant’s legs. He wasn’t exactly stroking, or petting, or caressing, or pumping, or any number of motions one normally would associate with the act, but he was doing something, some elegant, near-imperceptible motion with his fingers. Something that felt like a lot of things, but certainly didn’t feel bad. Despite himself, Havoc’s urge to run away was fading just as fast as his erection seemed to be returning. It had been… well, a long time. His cock was responding eagerly to the feel of skin that wasn’t his own.
“Let me make it up to you.” The Colonel’s voice was lower now, almost rumbling, like the purr of some immense and well-sated jungle cat. His fingers did that something again, and Havoc felt his eyelids flicker. He couldn’t be sure—his back was still to Mustang—but the mattress creaks behind him seemed to indicate that the Colonel was moving closer. A second whisper, close enough to make the hair on his neck tingle, confirmed it. “No one has to know…”
Had he been in a more rational state of mind, he never would have agreed. It was stupid, and weird, and could get them both demoted if not flat-out dishonorably discharged. Tomorrow was going to be so awkward, but…
Mustang did that something again, and harder this time. The sensation rushed up Havoc’s nerves like a spark to dry kindling, and his stomach hitched with the power of it. His eyes slid closed of their own accord, and he drew a long, shuddery breath. Tenseness had returned. He gripped the sheets and grit his teeth. It took him a moment to find the words.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Mustang made a strange noise, something between a sigh and a hum. Creaking noises issued from the aged mattress as he moved closer, until Havoc could feel the warmth of his skin against his back. The hand on his shoulder moved again, this time caressing long lines up and down Havoc’s arm. His other hand moved in a swift, fluid motion of the expanse of Havoc’s cock. Mustang’s fingers were strong and elegant, and rough from the grit of the Pyrotex gloves he wore, but his palms were strangely soft. The contrast made the sensation all the more vivid. Havoc heard himself gasp.
For a few moments, the Colonel seemed content with this motion. Havoc breathed slowly, in and out, trying to concentrate on the pleasure and forget about who was bestowing it. It was fast and hard, and would’ve brought Havoc off within a few minutes, but that didn’t appear to be Mustang’s aim. He stopped pumping with the same speed he’s started, instead flicking his thumb higher and higher up, tracing the sensitive line of a vein, until he reached the head.
“Uh!” The sound was jerked out of Havoc without his consent as the Colonel’s thumb grazed the very tip of his cock. From there his fingers explored, stroking the ridge of skin and the tip, now slick with the first drops of precum. He cradled the head of Havoc’s cock in his palm and massaged with the very tips of his fingers. Havoc’s hips jolted forward, as though trying to propel him into that delicious skin.
“God…” He whispered, clenching his fists tighter around the forgotten blanket they’d been arguing over not two hours ago. He’s… this is… this is so…
Good. Oh, God, it was good, better than he’d ever had. Now he was twisting his palm, just enough to send electric sparks up and down Havoc’s spine and make every nerve scream with delicious tension. His fingers were doing it again, that indescribable something, but harder, faster, in a desperate tattoo against his flesh. Where did he learn how to do that…
He’s had lots of lovers… and for some bizarre reason, that thought excited him more. He pictured his Colonel in bed with one of his many girlfriends, doing that thing with his fingers against her nipples…
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, thrusting again. “God…”
Behind him, Mustang whimpered and that changed Havoc’s mental picture from one of Mustang pleasuring some girl to one of Mustang pleasuring himself and that really did it. Mustang curling his fingers into that same lazy hook that he was now twisting around the ridge of skin at the base of his cockhead, and teasing himself, moaning and writhing and…
Havoc’s eyes, that he’d been so carefully keeping clenched shut, flew open. Looking down the line of his body he saw the familiar sights, the coarse blond hair trailing down from his navel to the slight upward curve of his erection. But along with these sights was that pale hand, curled around his cock and toying with the tightening skin of his balls… fuel to the fire if ever there was.
There was a sudden desperation at the sight of that hand to see more, and without pausing to think, Havoc rolled over, looking at Mustang’s face for the first time since the whole got-caught ordeal had begun.
Mustang’s eyes were wide in surprise at Havoc’s sudden movement. For a moment, his hand slowed and both men simply stared, breathing heavily, at each other’s faces. Sweat had beaded on Mustang’s forehead, as it had on Havoc’s, and his hair was mussed and damp. His lips were half-parted; he was panting. His chest hitched with his breath, and Havoc trailed the motion with his eyes, past his chest, to his stomach. For a moment his eyes flickered, and he almost lost his nerve, but only for a moment.
The front of Mustang’s cotton pajama pants was stretched tight with his erection, a small patch of moisture at the tip glistening a darker blue. Jean’s own cock throbbed in Mustang’s hand at the sight, and again when his eyes darted back to the Colonel’s and read the ache in them.
He’s enjoying this as much as I am. It seemed strange, yet intoxicating, to think of, and did nothing to cool his passion.
He brought his hand up from his side, a bit embarrassed at how it was shaking, and looked back at his Colonel.
“C… can I…?”
Mustang let out a shaky breath and nodded, closing his free had over Havoc’s and guiding it to his chest.
As gingerly as an explorer in some uncharted jungle, Havoc ran his hand first over the soft shirt, slightly clammy with perspiration, and then under it, relishing the feel of more skin and the throb of heartbeat. Mustang’s pleased gasp sent the same electricity up and down Havoc’s spine that the Colonel’s fingers had moments before. Bolder, he slid his fingers under the waistband on Mustang’s pants and slid them down over his hips.
His cock was like his fingers, long and strangely elegant, nestled in black hair far softer than his own. Without his knowing it, Havoc’s hips rocked, and his fingers closed around Mustang’s cock.
Both men whimpered, and suddenly the motion was back. Havoc stroked Mustang with swift, even pumps. Mustang’s fingers once again flicked and spun, driving Havoc to thrust in short, sweet bursts of friction into his palm.
The heat between them grew, the mattress squeaked their joint rhythm of arms and hips, and every once in a while, in their frenzy of motion, the tips of their cocks would brush each other, sending shocks of white heat through Havoc’s stomach and making Mustang growl and work his fingers all the faster.
Mustang was gasping with every breath, whimpering and moaning nonsensical syllables, until Havoc, sparked by another of those unexpected flicks, growled, and the syllables took shape.
“Oh, Havoc…” he whispered, his free hand tangling itself into Havoc’s bangs. “Oh, Jean…”
Havoc’s eyes snapped open from the half-lidded state of near orgasm. Jean? He could count the times his Colonel had addressed him by his first name on one hand. It was peculiar and unexpected, but somehow… all right. Better than all right.
He wanted to hear it again.
“…Roy,” he whispered. The name felt strange in his mouth, but on hearing it, a smile Havoc had never seen on the Colonel before spread across the man’s face.
“Jean.” Roy repeated, as though agreeing, and then it was a race to the finish.
If Mustang had been good before, in the last few seconds before Havoc came with a cry he tried to strangle in Mustang’s pillow, he was miraculous. The flicking seemed to converge with the pumping, sending deep tremors all through Havoc’s spine until every point in his body seemed to converge into one pulse of sensation and he came.
It lasted longer than normal, and the thick, hot liquid spilled out of him, spurt after spurt, coating Mustang’s cock across from him and making his final pulls at the other man's erection slippery. The sudden heat and wetness sent Mustang into his own orgasm, and for a second or so they rode it together, until Havoc’s hand dropped to the sticky sheet.
They lay there for a while, just breathing, until Mustang got up and pulled the shirt he’d worn the day before out of his suitcase. He crawled back into bed and wiped the semen away as best he could from their bodies, and then took a stab at the sheet.
“Here,” he said after he’d scrubbed for a few minutes. “Come to this side of the bed, so you don’t have to lie where...” He trailed off as Havoc nodded, and they bundled together in a corner, shoulder to shoulder, blanket pulled halfway up as their sweaty bodies cooled.
It was so quiet… Havoc felt a sudden flutter of panic when he could think of nothing to say. His mind was a blank, choked by the sense that he should say something, just for closure’s sake, if nothing else. You couldn’t jerk off with your boss and then just roll over and go to sleep.
Finally, grasping at straws, he mumbled, “D’ya want a cigarette?” and immediately felt choked by the stupidity of it.
Mustang smiled, eyes closed. “No, thank you. But feel free if you’d like to.”
Havoc started to get up to find his rapidly depleting pack, but then lay back down and, without knowing why, laid his head briefly on Mustang’s chest and hugged him—just a shallow hug, a tiny moment of contact. He muttered, “Sir… thank you,” before releasing him and lying back down. He closed his eyes around the sudden blush in his face. What a stupid fucking thing to do—
But the bedsprings beside him suddenly creaked, and Mustang was sitting up. Havoc opened his mouth to apologize, and Mustang leaned down and kissed him.
It was just for a instant, but it was long enough for Havoc to taste the Colonel’s mouth, hot and sweet and terrifying. Mustang’s lips were soft, moving lightly against Havoc’s until his tongue lightly grazed Havoc’s bottom lip.
He was pulling away by the time it occurred to Havoc that he wanted to kiss him back.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mustang whispered, before Havoc had a chance to act. He stroked Havoc’s shoulder for a moment and lay down once again. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Roy, his brain supplied, but his mouth lacked the courage to add.
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”
And as Mustang drifted off, Havoc lay awake, while the urge to put his arm around the sleeping Colonel and the fear to do the same dueled within him.
“Sleep all right, Havo?”
Havoc yawned so hard he almost swallowed his morning cigarette. “Pretty good.”
Breda looked nonplussed. “And yet you yawn?”
“You know how I am in the morning.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re annoyingly chipper and sunshiny as a six-year-old with a new kitten.”
“I am not.”
“Today you aren’t, no. What happened, did you keep fighting over the blankets with the Colonel all night?”
Havoc’s stomach somersaulted. “…No. No, we didn’t.”
“Really? I kept hearing these… noises, I just assumed—”
“Nope, everything was fine. Went right to sleep, I guess one of us must’ve snored, is all—” Havoc ground out the remaining three quarters of his cigarette and stretched exaggeratedly. “Well, better go grab my bags, don’t want to be late for the train…” and he vanished down the hotel corridor.
Breda watched him go, a look of intense disbelief on his face. For a moment he watched the empty hallway his friend had all but sprinted down, then directed his attentions to the cigarette still smoldering on the floor. Havo always smoked them all the way down. Half the time he burnt his fingers, he held them so long.
Yup. Something weird had happened, all right.
But some sixth sense made Breda wonder if he was better off not knowing exactly what it was.
Thanks for taking the time to read! I had a lot of fun with this one, so I'd love you dearly if you'd take the tiny bit of extra time to leave a comment letting me know what you thought.
Part Two is here!"
