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rajTitle: Something's Gotta Give
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Pairing/Fandom: Jean Havoc/ Roy Mustang, Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1442
Warnings None, unless you're incredibly squeamish about kissing.
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)
ficalbum, for my claim of Aerosmith's Nine Lives album, for the song "Something's Gotta Give." See lyrics here. Whenever I'm on a long walk/subway ride/etc, I usually entertain myself by telling myself a story. This was today's. ^_^ I thought it might be nice to share.
It started about six months or so after Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was transferred in from active duty to serve directly under Colonel Roy Mustang. Or at least, that’s when the Colonel actually noticed it.
The entire unit was there a good twelve hours a day, six days a week, so when quitting time rolled around, the usual thing to do was sprint for the nearest exit before anyone could grab you by the aiguillette and pull you back in for unpaid overtime. Even so, Roy was often the last one there; in addition to being responsible for locking the office, he had a propensity to procrastination. Often his last signature hit the page at 7:59:59. As a means of teaching Roy a lesson about this habit (and rubbing it in) Hawkeye tended to make sure everyone else got out the door a few minutes before he did. He’d spend that last six to ten minutes or so straightening up the office (or making it worse, as the case was) and scowling. Then he’d lock the office. And usually go on a date.
But about six months after Lieutenant Havoc signed on, that changed a bit. Hawkeye would leave as always, as would the rest of the unit. But Havoc would stay behind. He’d help straighten the desks, file the remaining papers, and stand next to Roy as he locked the office.
It was a few days before Roy really noticed; he’d mostly assumed Havoc had been finishing up extra work. It happened from time to time; they all pulled late nights. Sometimes they went so late that it hardly seemed worth it to go home and Roy would fall asleep on the couch thinking about all the sex he could be having if he’d picked a different career route. But when he realized it’d been over a week that Havoc had been waiting for him, it finally struck him as odd.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” He asked, after everyone else had been gone ten minutes. Havoc had been shuffling around the office, an unlit cigarette that he obviously wanted to smoke very badly dangling from his lips, straightening and re-straightening the already straightened furniture. He hadn’t assigned Havoc any extra work, nor had he requested a driver… his continued presence didn’t make a lot of sense.
Havoc stopped moving the chair he was holding and for a second he didn’t move. Then he looked up at Roy and grinned that dopey lop-sided grin of his.
“Not a thing, boss. Just postponing the freezing cold walk to my equally frozen apartment.”
Roy smiled and nodded. “I see.” He didn’t, really, but he had plans to meet a very attractive redhead in thirty-seven minutes and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation. When Roy locked the door, Havoc stood next to him, fiddling with his cigarette, and he followed him to the front door. As Roy was pushing it open, he stopped, stepped back, and looked quizzically at Havoc.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want, Havoc?”
Havoc smiled again and shook his head.
“Then stop following me. What are you, a puppy?” And he walked through the door.
But it was the same the next day. And the day after. In fact, it soon became the expected norm. As did their little exchange—Roy would ask him: “Did you want something, Lieutenant?” and Havoc would reply with a small pause, then a goofy grin, and some semblance of a joke.
“Nah. Just trying to catch one of my stolen girlfriends on the rebound, Sir.”
“No. Just performing a little late-night office inventory.”
“Not a thing, Sir. This is what I do for fun, apparently.”
Until one of the infamous all-nighters, when both Roy and Havoc had spent the night in various degrees of misery on the couch and pillowed on the floor, respectively—after that, it got worse.
Havoc stayed, as he’d been doing, shuffling around the office, lingering that extra few moments for no good reason. But when Roy asked him, “Did you want something, Lieutenant?”, Havoc looked at him for a long moment, then smiled shortly, mumbled “No, Sir” and left.
Roy watched him go, puzzled. But Havoc met him with a smile at the front door and offered to drive him home, even though Roy hadn’t requested it.
It carried on like that for a bit. Then the men of the unit spent a night boozing and Roy ended up letting a very drunk Havoc sleep it off on his couch. Next day they went out for breakfast (after Roy managed to burn an entire carton of eggs and ruin his only pan), and walked to work together.
That evening, Havoc didn’t even shuffle the furniture. He just sat there, chewing on his cigarette, looking troubled.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?”
Havoc looked at him. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then just shook his head and left. As the breeze his hasty retreat had generated ruffled Roy’s coattails, he frowned, feeling oddly slighted. He left the office alone, canceled a date without knowing why, and sat at home and drank twice as much as usual.
Next day, they barely spoke, and Roy got angrier and angrier with every word that wasn’t said. By the end of the day, he was fuming, and the kicker was he didn’t even know why he was fuming. All he knew was that whenever he saw that fluffy mop of golden hair, he felt like waking into the master file room and snapping over and over until the entire thing incinerated.
The thing was, Colonel Roy Mustang didn’t take lightly to being snubbed.
He hoped that Havoc would just leave that night, but he didn’t. He sat there, sitting at his desk, staring at an unsigned document, and chewing on a cigarette. The remnants of three others that he’d bitten through were scattered on the table next to him.
For half an hour Roy sat in the otherwise empty and silent office staring at Havoc, getting angrier and angrier. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and stomped across the office. When Havoc’s head snapped up to look at him, he grabbed the cigarette and threw it to the ground.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” He practically growled, staring into the shocked-looking blue eyes before him.
Havoc blanched. His mouth opened. He raised a hand, as though to gesture. Then he clammed up, and looked down. That did nothing to help Roy’s rage.
“What is it?” Roy snarled. “What? What could you possibly want from me?”
Havoc stared at him.
“I don’t want anything.” He got up, crossed the floor at a rapid pace, and vanished out the door at precisely the moment Roy’s anger dissipated and it hit that he’d just done an incredibly prickish thing and was therefore probably a bastard.
“Havoc—!” But the slam of the door beat the words by a good half second. Sighing, Roy sank down into the chair Havoc had just vacated and massaged his temples.
So engrossed was Roy that he missed the soft creak of the door hinges. It was only the soft click of Havoc’s boot heels on the tile directly behind him that alerted him to the other man’s return.
He whirled around, eyes wide, and for a moment they stared at one other. The space between them seemed huge and almost solid, as though Roy could reach out and touch whatever this strange feeling between the two of them was.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” His voice was soft and even.
“Yeah,” Havoc whispered. “I do.”
He leaned down and kissed him.
There was a half second of shock, a half second of recognition, and a quarter second of realization, and then Roy was kissing him back, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. Havoc crushed Roy’s mouth with his, lapping at his lips and stroking his tongue. There was a muffled thump as Havoc’s jacket hit the floor, and an identical one a few minutes later as Roy’s followed, and then there were five lines tracing down Roy’s bare back, cold and unbelievably hot at the same time, as Havoc’s fingers found their way under his shirt.
Somehow, in the ten or so minutes that followed, they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, panting and wide-eyed, lips swollen and flushed.
“Well,” Roy gasped, “was…” he cleared his throat, “ was there anything else you wanted, Havoc?”
Havoc’s arms tightened around him, pulling him back down. Roy bit his lip to keep from moaning as Havoc’s erection bumped against his.
“Well, Sir, I think there might just be.”
* * * * * *
That's all she wrote, folks. ^_^ Now, I gotta get back to writing the sequel to Strange Bedfellows. XD
Author:
raja815Pairing/Fandom: Jean Havoc/ Roy Mustang, Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1442
Warnings None, unless you're incredibly squeamish about kissing.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: Written for
ficalbum, for my claim of Aerosmith's Nine Lives album, for the song "Something's Gotta Give." See lyrics here. Whenever I'm on a long walk/subway ride/etc, I usually entertain myself by telling myself a story. This was today's. ^_^ I thought it might be nice to share.It started about six months or so after Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was transferred in from active duty to serve directly under Colonel Roy Mustang. Or at least, that’s when the Colonel actually noticed it.
The entire unit was there a good twelve hours a day, six days a week, so when quitting time rolled around, the usual thing to do was sprint for the nearest exit before anyone could grab you by the aiguillette and pull you back in for unpaid overtime. Even so, Roy was often the last one there; in addition to being responsible for locking the office, he had a propensity to procrastination. Often his last signature hit the page at 7:59:59. As a means of teaching Roy a lesson about this habit (and rubbing it in) Hawkeye tended to make sure everyone else got out the door a few minutes before he did. He’d spend that last six to ten minutes or so straightening up the office (or making it worse, as the case was) and scowling. Then he’d lock the office. And usually go on a date.
But about six months after Lieutenant Havoc signed on, that changed a bit. Hawkeye would leave as always, as would the rest of the unit. But Havoc would stay behind. He’d help straighten the desks, file the remaining papers, and stand next to Roy as he locked the office.
It was a few days before Roy really noticed; he’d mostly assumed Havoc had been finishing up extra work. It happened from time to time; they all pulled late nights. Sometimes they went so late that it hardly seemed worth it to go home and Roy would fall asleep on the couch thinking about all the sex he could be having if he’d picked a different career route. But when he realized it’d been over a week that Havoc had been waiting for him, it finally struck him as odd.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” He asked, after everyone else had been gone ten minutes. Havoc had been shuffling around the office, an unlit cigarette that he obviously wanted to smoke very badly dangling from his lips, straightening and re-straightening the already straightened furniture. He hadn’t assigned Havoc any extra work, nor had he requested a driver… his continued presence didn’t make a lot of sense.
Havoc stopped moving the chair he was holding and for a second he didn’t move. Then he looked up at Roy and grinned that dopey lop-sided grin of his.
“Not a thing, boss. Just postponing the freezing cold walk to my equally frozen apartment.”
Roy smiled and nodded. “I see.” He didn’t, really, but he had plans to meet a very attractive redhead in thirty-seven minutes and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation. When Roy locked the door, Havoc stood next to him, fiddling with his cigarette, and he followed him to the front door. As Roy was pushing it open, he stopped, stepped back, and looked quizzically at Havoc.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want, Havoc?”
Havoc smiled again and shook his head.
“Then stop following me. What are you, a puppy?” And he walked through the door.
But it was the same the next day. And the day after. In fact, it soon became the expected norm. As did their little exchange—Roy would ask him: “Did you want something, Lieutenant?” and Havoc would reply with a small pause, then a goofy grin, and some semblance of a joke.
“Nah. Just trying to catch one of my stolen girlfriends on the rebound, Sir.”
“No. Just performing a little late-night office inventory.”
“Not a thing, Sir. This is what I do for fun, apparently.”
Until one of the infamous all-nighters, when both Roy and Havoc had spent the night in various degrees of misery on the couch and pillowed on the floor, respectively—after that, it got worse.
Havoc stayed, as he’d been doing, shuffling around the office, lingering that extra few moments for no good reason. But when Roy asked him, “Did you want something, Lieutenant?”, Havoc looked at him for a long moment, then smiled shortly, mumbled “No, Sir” and left.
Roy watched him go, puzzled. But Havoc met him with a smile at the front door and offered to drive him home, even though Roy hadn’t requested it.
It carried on like that for a bit. Then the men of the unit spent a night boozing and Roy ended up letting a very drunk Havoc sleep it off on his couch. Next day they went out for breakfast (after Roy managed to burn an entire carton of eggs and ruin his only pan), and walked to work together.
That evening, Havoc didn’t even shuffle the furniture. He just sat there, chewing on his cigarette, looking troubled.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?”
Havoc looked at him. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then just shook his head and left. As the breeze his hasty retreat had generated ruffled Roy’s coattails, he frowned, feeling oddly slighted. He left the office alone, canceled a date without knowing why, and sat at home and drank twice as much as usual.
Next day, they barely spoke, and Roy got angrier and angrier with every word that wasn’t said. By the end of the day, he was fuming, and the kicker was he didn’t even know why he was fuming. All he knew was that whenever he saw that fluffy mop of golden hair, he felt like waking into the master file room and snapping over and over until the entire thing incinerated.
The thing was, Colonel Roy Mustang didn’t take lightly to being snubbed.
He hoped that Havoc would just leave that night, but he didn’t. He sat there, sitting at his desk, staring at an unsigned document, and chewing on a cigarette. The remnants of three others that he’d bitten through were scattered on the table next to him.
For half an hour Roy sat in the otherwise empty and silent office staring at Havoc, getting angrier and angrier. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore and stomped across the office. When Havoc’s head snapped up to look at him, he grabbed the cigarette and threw it to the ground.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” He practically growled, staring into the shocked-looking blue eyes before him.
Havoc blanched. His mouth opened. He raised a hand, as though to gesture. Then he clammed up, and looked down. That did nothing to help Roy’s rage.
“What is it?” Roy snarled. “What? What could you possibly want from me?”
Havoc stared at him.
“I don’t want anything.” He got up, crossed the floor at a rapid pace, and vanished out the door at precisely the moment Roy’s anger dissipated and it hit that he’d just done an incredibly prickish thing and was therefore probably a bastard.
“Havoc—!” But the slam of the door beat the words by a good half second. Sighing, Roy sank down into the chair Havoc had just vacated and massaged his temples.
So engrossed was Roy that he missed the soft creak of the door hinges. It was only the soft click of Havoc’s boot heels on the tile directly behind him that alerted him to the other man’s return.
He whirled around, eyes wide, and for a moment they stared at one other. The space between them seemed huge and almost solid, as though Roy could reach out and touch whatever this strange feeling between the two of them was.
“Did you want something, Lieutenant?” His voice was soft and even.
“Yeah,” Havoc whispered. “I do.”
He leaned down and kissed him.
There was a half second of shock, a half second of recognition, and a quarter second of realization, and then Roy was kissing him back, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. Havoc crushed Roy’s mouth with his, lapping at his lips and stroking his tongue. There was a muffled thump as Havoc’s jacket hit the floor, and an identical one a few minutes later as Roy’s followed, and then there were five lines tracing down Roy’s bare back, cold and unbelievably hot at the same time, as Havoc’s fingers found their way under his shirt.
Somehow, in the ten or so minutes that followed, they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, panting and wide-eyed, lips swollen and flushed.
“Well,” Roy gasped, “was…” he cleared his throat, “ was there anything else you wanted, Havoc?”
Havoc’s arms tightened around him, pulling him back down. Roy bit his lip to keep from moaning as Havoc’s erection bumped against his.
“Well, Sir, I think there might just be.”
That's all she wrote, folks. ^_^ Now, I gotta get back to writing the sequel to Strange Bedfellows. XD
