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Fic- "A Union in Partition" (Roy/Jean, FMA) (Strange Bedfellows part 2/3)
Title: A Union in Partition (Part Two 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: 4730
Warnings Smutty smut. On a train.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: The sequel to my fic Strange Bedfellows. Part two of a three-part arc. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_lemons, for theme #3: "Help! I'm out of Control, Thank God!" Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Enjoy!
Dedicated with love togaluxkitty, who helped me out of tight spots on this fic about once every ten seconds or so. <3333
“Havo?”
Havoc kept looking out the window. The train was passing a sheep farm, and the thousands of fleecy animals seemed to have hypnotized him. As they rushed past, the motion blurred them into a single fluffy white splash on the landscape.
Breda sighed. “Havo?”
His eyes drooped and the disheveled blond mop of his bangs bobbed, an unlit cigarette dangled from his limp jaw, and his breathing had developed a thick, throaty quality. If anyone ever needed an illustrated demonstration for the concept of “exhaustion,” here it was. The man obviously hadn’t slept a wink the night before.
Havoc’s head plummeted downward, coming to rest on Breda’s shoulder. He exhaled loudly and the by-now-soggy cigarette dropped from his lips and into Breda’s collar. Breda winced. Havoc snored.
What the hell happened to him last night?
“HAVOC!” Breda elbowed him sharply. Havoc snorted, arms twitching, and sat upright.
“Err, wha—?” He blinked a bit, trying to focus his eyes. “Huh?”
“You’re falling asleep on me, man.”
Havoc’s eyebrows knit with confused indignation. “No. No’m not…”
“Hey. Lean on the window if you’re going to sleep, eh?” He shoved Havoc aside and fished into his collar for the other man’s cigarette. “Here,” he stuffed it back into Havoc’s mouth, “nighty-night.”
Havoc grimaced at the damp paper and spit the thing out onto his lap. “Errchh…”
“Now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see…” Falman’s grin was faint, which for him was practically raucous laughter. Havoc turned away from Breda to face Falman, who was sitting directly across from him, and glared.
“Shut up.”
“Why? What happened?” Havoc couldn’t see Fuery, as he was seated beside Breda, so he continued to glare at Falman.
“Why don’t you all leave me alone?”
“You should spit them out more often, Havoc.” Hawkeye hadn’t even looked up from the book on her lap.
“A very good plan indeed, Lieutenant.”
Breda’s eyebrows rose. At the sound of the Colonel’s voice, he’d detected the smallest change in his old friend. Havo kept glaring at Falman, kept fiddling with the spent cigarette now clenched in his fist; in fact, his outer demeanor didn’t change one iota. But suddenly, the air of sleepy befuddlement was gone from him. His eyes seemed focused, his motion controlled and… wait, wait, no… were the tops of his ears going red? The way they always did whenever he got bothered about something?
Breda kept staring as Havoc settled himself against the window with a mumbled, “why don’t you all leave me alone?”, knowing full well that Havoc was no longer feeling groggy.
Seriously, what the hell had happened?
***
Havoc had positioned very himself carefully that morning when the six of them had boarded the train. It had been such an early train that it was less than half-full, so they’d secured a private seating compartment with two benches facing each other. When Colonel Mustang had seated himself at the end of one of the benches, the seat closest the aisle, Havoc dove across the opposite bench, where Breda had snagged the seat by the window (and consequently, farthest from Mustang) and told him to move over.
“Why? I like this spot—”
“I… I get sick, see, if I can’t see out.” Oh, excellent, he mentally admonished himself. First-class lying there, Havoc.
“You do not.”
“I do.”
“You were fine yesterday.”
“I… I don’t feel good, after today’s breakfast.”
“You didn’t eat. After ten minutes you went outside and chain smoked.” That was true; it had been a round table, and every time Havoc felt the Colonel looking at him, his ability to chew became seriously impaired. “But fine. Take the damn seat if it means so much to you.”
He didn’t feel good about annoying Breda; he’d known the man since Basic, they were good friends. Furthermore, he knew that for every little thing he did that was out of his usual norm, Breda knew more and more that something was up. Havoc wanted very badly for the conversation about what had happened the previous night never to occur, and he knew he wasn’t doing anything to help that eventuality.
But he really didn’t have a choice, because if he hadn’t switched and sat by the window, he would’ve had to spend the further twelve hours on the train with Colonel Roy Mustang in his direct line of vision. And as he’d discovered that morning, whenever Colonel Roy Mustang got into his direct line of vision, three things happened. One, the tops of his ears went red, and his hair had recently been clipped too short to cover them. Two, the urge to smoke became overpowering, and, as that bastard of a conductor had pointed out when he’d noticed the unlit cigarette clenched between Havoc’s lips, smoking was only permitted in designated cars (and was this one designated? Of course not...) And three, he got a massive erection, which the high-waisted uniform pants were notoriously bad at concealing.
All in all, it would’ve made for a devastating trip.
Of course, the worry over how he was going to manage to work alongside Mustang now was nagging at the back of his mind, but honestly, he was more concerned with getting through this train ride at the moment. He could worry about his life at Central once he got there. What he’d mostly been stewing over in the hour or so before exhaustion set in was how little Mustang seemed to be reacting.
The rest of the night had been miserable; after wondering for a full hour if it was okay for him to embrace his Colonel, he’d finally decided it wasn’t and curled up in a ball as far away from him as he could manage. He’d spent the rest of the night playing what had happened over and over in his mind, alternating between arousal, shock, and terror as he relived it. When the sun had begun to come up he’d more grayed out than fallen asleep, and when he woke from the doze a half hour later, Mustang was up, dressed, and shaking Havoc’s arm and telling him to get up. He vanished out the door in a wave of blue coattail before Havoc had a chance to say a word.
Mustang had eaten breakfast, walked to the station, boarded the train, and ridden this far all without a break in stride. If anything, he seemed even more relaxed and at ease than he’d been at the start of the journey. Whatever the implications of that were, they were too much for Havoc’s exhausted brain to process, so he’d let them go for the time being. What he needed to do was work out where he stood.
Unfortunately, his body hadn’t made that particularly easy, either. Try as he might to keep it from his mind, he couldn’t block out the physical memory of the night. He’d start off trying to dissect the fact that his Colonel seemed so breezy about the entire affair, and then he’d remember how warm his palms had been, and how his fingers had curled and flicked over his cock… and when he’d clenched his teeth in an effort to get a grip on himself, he’d remembered how Mustang’s face had crumpled and contorted when he’d come. And all that lead, like some kind of phosphorescent mental trail, to the soft kiss Mustang had pressed against his lips.
That was what was really fucking with him; that damn kiss. Everything else he could maybe have written off as just one of those desperate actions brought about by the difficulty of finding a woman when you were in the military… but whoever heard of kissing the soldier who’d been helping you out?
And what did it say about him, that he couldn’t get away from that moment?
So here he was, curled up against the cold glass of the window, faking sleep now that Breda (and Mustang’s voice) had robbed him of the real thing.
Unfortunately, closed eyes just aided his recollection.
“C…can I..?” Mustang’s breathless nod, and then the sweaty heat of his skin, his gasp as Havoc touched him—
“Oh, Jean…”— Used his name, his given name, and that never happened…
…Rush of orgasm, then the warmth of Mustang’s cum, the way he smelled afterward when Havoc had tried hugging him as a means to say all the things he didn’t have words for, and then Mustang’s lips against his… “Thank you Lieutenant…” and too shocked to kiss him back—
“Isn’t it about time you were waking up, Lieutenant?”
The sound of Mustang’s real voice cut through the imaginings and Havoc’s eyes snapped open.
“I… well,” his brain floundered for some kind of witty line to toss back at him, but he was too exhausted. Instead he concentrated on looking out the window (the sheep were long gone; there was nothing but empty pasture as far as the eye could see), as he knew full well what was going to happen the second his eyes met the Colonel’s.
“I’d thought of going to the dining car for some coffee, but I think you could make far better use of a cup that I could.” There was a rustle of cloth as Mustang stood up. “Perhaps you should come with me.”
Oh, damnit. Not only would it be impolite and out of character for him to refuse Mustang, he was supposed to be accompanied by one of them… Especially now, after what had happened to Hughes…
Just try not to look at him. You’ll be fine…
“All right,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. The slight motion of the train in conjunction with his weariness made that easier said then done. He kept his eyes low, watching only as high as the tops of Mustang’s boots, as his Colonel slid the compartment door open. He followed out into the aisle, slid the door closed behind them (and damnit if Breda wasn’t still giving him that dissecting look, damn him), and kept just behind Mustang, eyes low, as they passed down the aisle, through the connecting door to the next car, this one completely empty, moving steadily toward the dining car, five cars down from them.
It’s hard to say what might’ve happened next if the train hadn’t hit an unexpectedly sharp turn: maybe Mustang really had only wanted a cup of coffee. Or maybe he’d had what followed planned all along; afterward, it never occurred to Havoc to ask.
The train lurched, and Havoc, with his eyes downcast as they were, was completely unprepared for it. One second he was standing a few steps behind his superior, the next he was colliding with his back. Mustang made a short sound of surprise, and the two collapsed to the floor.
Mustang managed to save himself a broken nose by turning at the last second, so he landed on his back rather than his face. While undeniably lucky for him, it was considerably less so for Havoc, who found himself on top of his Colonel in a heap of limbs on the floor, looking into his eyes for the first time that day.
He knew the second he saw Mustang’s expression change that the other man had read everything he was feeling in his eyes.
“Havoc…” he said softly, but Havoc was already scrambling up, clenching his teeth in humiliation and hoping like hell his cock would wait ten seconds or so to react to suddenly being pressed against Mustang’s stomach. The tops of his ears felt like they could ignite at any second.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I wasn’t expecting that bump…” He grabbed the edge of a seat to keep himself upright and pulled the Colonel to his feet and babbled words as fast as the came to his head to try to mask. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I should’ve been holding on, you didn’t hit your head, did you—?”
Mustang stopped him with a look.
Havoc wanted to look away, wanted it desperately, but he couldn’t. There was something in Mustang’s eyes that held his; they were serious and soft, probing but gentle.
And oh, God, he was hard.
“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t we be getting your coffee now, Sir?” He said, finally breaking Mustang’s gaze and looking down at his boots.
He felt Mustang’s hand close over his shoulder, then a light pressure as he was steered backwards, toward one of the enclosed seating compartments, identical to the one they’d occupied a few minutes before. Only this one was empty.
“Come in here for a minute first.”
He went in without a word and seated himself in a corner, struggling to get his coattails to cover his lap to a degree as Mustang closed and locked the door behind them.
He sat down opposite him and placed one gloved hand on Havoc’s knee to get the man to look at him. Reluctantly, Havoc did. He had the same expression as before, the same gentle eyes, and between that look and the hand on his knee, Havoc found himself in worse shape than ever.
“Lieutenant,” Mustang said, “you’re overthinking this. There’s no need to beat yourself up, all right?”
“Sure.” He would’ve said more, but he was having trouble thinking; his blood was pounding too loudly for that.
“Just feel what you feel. You don’t need to try to hide it from me,” God, why, why, why was he stroking his knee now? Havoc knew Mustang could see how this was affecting him. “Or to pretend like it never happened.”
“Sure,” Havoc said again.
“Because it did. It happened between us, and it can stay that way. No one else needs to know.” And now he couldn’t stop staring at Mustang’s lips. They were thin and soft-looking, and the way they folded over his teeth as he formed his words was fascinating. So was the occasional glimpse of his tongue and gah his erection was starting to hurt…
“Yeah…”
“Don’t be so nervous, Havoc. You know the more nervous you get, the more you give away, right? That’s a quality you have, I know, you have a difficult time easing up on yourself once something gets under your skin, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but in this case, you’re just digging your own grave—”
Almost unconsciously Havoc felt himself leaning toward the Colonel. He couldn’t help himself.
“—And in the end it won’t do you any favors. Do you understand what I’m—”
“Sir,” Havoc gasped, “please… can I kiss you again?”
Mustang’s speech abruptly stopped and once again his eyes met Havoc’s. Then his eyes closed and he rushed forward, bringing their mouths together all at once.
It was such a relief to feel his lips that Havoc moaned, wrapping his arms around the other man as Mustang did the same. As the distance between their bodies closed, he strove to do the same with his mouth, jaw working furious and rough against Mustang’s, grinding their lips together. When their tongues met he stroked at the Colonel’s with his own, tracing it roughly, making him gasp, then ran it along Mustang’s teeth. He caressed first the inside of his cheek, marveling at how soft it felt, then licked his lips, pulling his lower one into his mouth and sucking.
It was desperate, frenzied, with none of the softness of Mustang’s kiss from the night before, marked with an intense desire on both sides to get closer, feel more.
Havoc felt movement at his waist, then a slight relief of pressure as Mustang removed the pistol Havoc was wearing holstered at his hip and lowered it gingerly to the seat beside him. That accomplished, pressure returned as Mustang straddled his lap and pressed his body against Havoc’s and into the seat back. Havoc rode the wave of his motions, tilting his head back as Mustang licked his tongue and lips and ran his hands up and down his chest. When his fingers ran lower, tracing the seam of his jacket down to the fastening of his pants, and his hand cupped Havoc’s erection through the confining cloth, his gasp sucked the air from Mustang’s mouth.
He pulled back with a soft grunt and began peppering Havoc’s face with kisses, licking the lines of his cheekbones.
“Hard for me?” He purred, stroking the bulge with his fingertips, teasing him by flicking his zipper pull back and forth.
“I have been all day,” Havoc gasped, arching up into Mustang’s hand.
The moan that wrenched itself out of Mustang’s throat at those words was accompanied by the fiercest kiss yet, and with it he seized Havoc’s arm and pulled his hand forward to stroke his own hard-on.
“Do you… have… any idea,” Mustang murmured around his kisses, “how hot you are?”
Havoc would’ve replied, but was distracted when Mustang finally undid the final button of his fly and yanked his pants open. And with Havoc distracted by the sudden relief of pain at his crotch, Mustang lowered his head and through some combination of free hand and teeth, wrenched the buttons and clips on his jacket open. One hand, still clad in Pyrotex, slipped under his shirt, while the other, from which he quickly shook the glove free, took Havoc’s cock out and began stroking in that strange, quick way he’d done the night before.
The paradox of Mustang’s soft palm on his cock and the roughness of the Pyrotex brushing back and forth over first his stomach and then his chest made Havoc gasp. Mustang purred, jerking Havoc's soft black undershirt up for access to his chest. His head bobbed forward and he bit into Havoc’s pectoral muscle, sucking as he did so. Havoc knew the mark would remain there, and the idea of being marked by Mustang’s mouth combined with the sensation of the bite made him growl. He seized his Colonel’s aiguillette to pull him upward again, kissing him deep and breathlessly, thrusting into Mustang’s palm.
Mustang returned the kiss, but only for a moment, as he began working his way downward, kissing down his chin, biting his neck just low enough that he knew Havoc’s uniform collar would still cover the marks, down over his chest to his nipples, now bright red from the grit of the Pyrotex, and bathed them with his tongue. His hand had slowed on Havoc’s cock, for which Havoc was grateful; he’d been wound so tight all day, if his Colonel had kept on, he would’ve found himself finished in an embarrassingly short period of time.
As Mustang soothed his nipples, Havoc opened Mustang’s jacket and undershirt, pulling them both open and biting down hard on his shoulder muscles.
“Oh, Jean,” He growled in response, making Havoc whimper.
“Roy,” He whispered, liking the way the name felt in his mouth and biting again. Hearing his name seemed to incite something in the alchemist that hadn’t previously been there. He growled, deep and lustful, bit Havoc’s nipple hard enough to make him throw back his head and moan, then pulled out of his arms and knelt on the floor in front of him. He licked a long, sloppy trail of kisses further and further down the man’s stomach, following first the dips of his abs and finally the coarse trail of hair past his navel.
Havoc’s eyes widened. Surely he wasn’t going to… no, no, even his girlfriends hadn’t done that for him, there was no way he would—
Mustang’s lips closed over the head of Havoc’s cock.
The warm wetness combined with the vibrations from both the train and Mustang’s sudden moan sent a wave of pleasure so powerful through him that his vision swam.
“Ahh, Roy!” He gasped, panting hard, his Colonel's first name coming for the first time naturally to his lips. He looked down and into the other man’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, at the hollows in his cheeks as he began to suck in slightly, and Havoc found he had to lace his fingers in Roy’s hair, in some attempt to keep himself from flying apart with the overwhelming sensation of it all.
He’d never felt anything like this; the softness of his mouth, the tight seal of his lips moving slowly back and forth, and the suction… his hips thrust shallowly upward, out of his control. Roy shook his remaining glove off and encircled the base of Havoc's cock, pumping him as he moved his mouth. For a moment his other hand stroked at Jean’s balls, testing the texture of them with the rough pad of his thumb. He tugged lightly at Havoc's pubic hair, and moaned around his cock again when he gasped.
After that the second hand slipped downward to his own body, and Havoc watched, wide-eyed, as his hand closed over his own cock, stroking it in time with his motions on Havoc's.
Havoc’s muscled tensed and he whimpered in a series of desperate pantings. His eyes darted wildly back and forth from Roy's hand on himself and back to Roy's mouth on his own cock, honestly unsure which was turning him on more. His hips thrust upward faster and faster, Roy mirroring his motions, head bobbing furiously up and down. A trickle of sweat dropped from his forehead and onto Havoc’s thigh.
The drop of sweat made him realize just how close he was, and he felt a rush of panic as he stilled Roy’s head with his hands. “Stop…” he whispered, and tried not to whine with regret when he slid Roy’s mouth backwards and away, “or you’ll make me—”
“No, it’s okay,” Roy whispered, kissing Havoc's thigh. “You can come. I want you to—” he moved to take Jean back into his mouth, but Jean stilled him once again.
“What about you?” He mumbled. He ran his fingers down Roy’s chest, under the open flap of his jacket. He found a nipple and rolled his thumb over the hard nub, making the Colonel’s eyelids flutter. “I haven’t done anything for you—”
“Believe me,” Roy said, lowering his head to run his cheek along the dampened shaft of Havoc’s erection, “you’re doing plenty for me, Jean.” He kissed his erection, up and down the shaft and then the head, positioning his last kiss directly over the slit and sucking just enough to make Jean thrust again.
“But I want to touch you—”
“Then touch me.” A long, hard lick made Havoc’s head spin, and he reached down to Roy just as the other man’s lips caressed the tip of his cock. “I want you to…”
The kisses continued, interspersed with sucks and licks and hot breath, and Havoc maneuvered himself, spreading his legs wider, leaning far sideway, reaching under Roy’s arm, across the bunched and wrinkled fabric of the uniform pants he still had halfway on and finally closed his fist around Roy’s erection.
“Aah, Jean…” Roy gasped, the exhale tingling against Jean’s sensitized skin. “Mmm…” And with that he closed his lips back over the head of Havoc’s cock.
The angle was awkward; Roy's motion was limited and Havoc could reach only half of Roy’s dick. But they were together, finally, and any logistical limitation was far surpassed by sensation. Roy’s head bobbed the short distance of Havoc's cockhead over and over, bathing it with rapid licks as he sucked. His fingers rubbed circles over Havoc’s balls and inner thigh.
The momentary pause hadn’t delayed his oncoming orgasm by much, and Havoc raced to catch Roy up, twisting his palm over Roy’s cock and thumbing roughly at his nipple. It’s strange, he thought as Roy’s mouth tightened, making him groan, thrust, and pump Roy harder, that this doesn’t feel more… strange. Because for some reason, Roy’s cock in his hand felt like the most natural thing in the world, just as it had last night, and—
Roy’s fingers were suddenly at Havoc's lips, stroking them, caressing them, wordlessly begging, and he opened his mouth and sucked them, imitating Roy’s mouth with his own, licking and sucking and moaning around them, relishing the way it made Roy’s cock twitch in his hand until he felt moisture on his lips and Roy slid his fingers out. Havoc bit down, wanting them to stay, liking the reactions, and when he did that Roy moaned and shuddered so hard that for a moment his mouth stilled.
After a moment he picked back up, withdrawing his fingers from Havoc's stubborn lips and walking them down his chest. As though to make up for his momentary lapse, he sucked harder, lips squeezing and pulling…
Spurred by this, as well as the near-orgasm he’d pulled from Roy when he bit his fingers, Havoc pulled faster at Roy’s cock. The few drops of precum leaking from the tip made his motions smoother as Roy’s thrusts countered him in fast and sharp and sudden bursts against his palm…
He was so distracted by Roy’s approaching orgasm and so far gone with his own that he missed whatever Roy suddenly did with one spit-slicked finger, only registering a slight burn, barely noticeable amidst the waves of pleasure clouding him brain, then a slow movement and a sudden wave of pleasure so intense his muscles seized and he gasped.
Havoc thrust, hard, and again, even harder, gasping and barely managing to sputter, “Roy, Roy, Roy, I’m gonna—” before he did, gasping and growling through his clenched teeth until the final wave passed through him and he slumped forward, panting, onto Roy’s shoulder.
“Roy. I… oh, Roy—”
The warmth retreated as Roy’s mouth pulled back. The other man smiled up at him, giving his softening cock one last playful lick and petting his thigh.
That made Havoc remember Roy’s own orgasm, and he pulled him upward with shaky hands until the man stood before him. Havoc closed his fist around Roy’s cock again, picking up his rhythm to match the pace he’d just left behind, and as the Colonel’s eyebrows knit with the need for release, Havoc leaned forward and kissed the tip of Roy’s cock.
The result was instantaneous. The noises he made were softer than Jean’s but no less desperate, and he turned quickly away to avoid splattering Havoc's face and uniform, cupping his palm to catch his own cum.
He sank breathless to the seat beside Havoc when it was over, and rested his head against his Lieutenant’s shoulder.
“Oh… Jean…” he whispered, and Havoc took that as his cue to kiss the man again.
***
It was late by he time the train pulled in to the station at Central, so Havoc’s first view of the nation’s most prominent city came by streetlight as their luggage was being loaded into the three large cars from Headquarters. Even with the time he’d spent asleep after he and Roy had returned “from the dining car,” he was exhausted, and wanted to curl up and go to sleep. Preferably somewhere with Roy nearby, but that wouldn’t happen; Mustang’s apartment had already been secured for him, and he’d soon be taken there while the rest of the unit camped out in the military dorms for the night. As they were expected to do until they managed to secure their own lodging. They had the day off tomorrow to do so, which he supposed he should be grateful for.
A peculiar feeling had descended on him, though he tried his best to ignore it as he lifted the heavy packing crates from the pavement. Everything seemed out of sorts, scattered and nonsensical, like—
“Havo, you know your pistol holster’s on backwards?”
Shit.
Eventually he supposed he’d have to tell Breda something. Whether or not it would be the truth remained to be seen. Because that all depended on what happened next. If Mustang wanted it to be nothing more than a stress-relieving incident while traveling, or some ill-conceived apology over the loss of his girlfriend, then it would have to be that way, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about it, no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise—
“Lieutenant Havoc!”
He snapped a salute, and turned to face his Colonel, who still managed to look completely at ease and put-together, even after thirteen hours and a round of illicit sex on a train. How the hell did he manage it?
“I don’t suppose you’ll be too busy tomorrow evening to come help me situate my furniture? I could use a hand.”
***
Part Three will come soon. ^_^ Comments are, as always, appreciated.
**Part 3 is up!
Author:
raja815Pairing/Fandom: Roy Mustang/Jean Havoc Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4730
Warnings Smutty smut. On a train.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: The sequel to my fic Strange Bedfellows. Part two of a three-part arc. Written for
30_lemons, for theme #3: "Help! I'm out of Control, Thank God!" Title is derived from a quote from William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Enjoy!Dedicated with love to
galuxkitty, who helped me out of tight spots on this fic about once every ten seconds or so. <3333“Havo?”
Havoc kept looking out the window. The train was passing a sheep farm, and the thousands of fleecy animals seemed to have hypnotized him. As they rushed past, the motion blurred them into a single fluffy white splash on the landscape.
Breda sighed. “Havo?”
His eyes drooped and the disheveled blond mop of his bangs bobbed, an unlit cigarette dangled from his limp jaw, and his breathing had developed a thick, throaty quality. If anyone ever needed an illustrated demonstration for the concept of “exhaustion,” here it was. The man obviously hadn’t slept a wink the night before.
Havoc’s head plummeted downward, coming to rest on Breda’s shoulder. He exhaled loudly and the by-now-soggy cigarette dropped from his lips and into Breda’s collar. Breda winced. Havoc snored.
What the hell happened to him last night?
“HAVOC!” Breda elbowed him sharply. Havoc snorted, arms twitching, and sat upright.
“Err, wha—?” He blinked a bit, trying to focus his eyes. “Huh?”
“You’re falling asleep on me, man.”
Havoc’s eyebrows knit with confused indignation. “No. No’m not…”
“Hey. Lean on the window if you’re going to sleep, eh?” He shoved Havoc aside and fished into his collar for the other man’s cigarette. “Here,” he stuffed it back into Havoc’s mouth, “nighty-night.”
Havoc grimaced at the damp paper and spit the thing out onto his lap. “Errchh…”
“Now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see…” Falman’s grin was faint, which for him was practically raucous laughter. Havoc turned away from Breda to face Falman, who was sitting directly across from him, and glared.
“Shut up.”
“Why? What happened?” Havoc couldn’t see Fuery, as he was seated beside Breda, so he continued to glare at Falman.
“Why don’t you all leave me alone?”
“You should spit them out more often, Havoc.” Hawkeye hadn’t even looked up from the book on her lap.
“A very good plan indeed, Lieutenant.”
Breda’s eyebrows rose. At the sound of the Colonel’s voice, he’d detected the smallest change in his old friend. Havo kept glaring at Falman, kept fiddling with the spent cigarette now clenched in his fist; in fact, his outer demeanor didn’t change one iota. But suddenly, the air of sleepy befuddlement was gone from him. His eyes seemed focused, his motion controlled and… wait, wait, no… were the tops of his ears going red? The way they always did whenever he got bothered about something?
Breda kept staring as Havoc settled himself against the window with a mumbled, “why don’t you all leave me alone?”, knowing full well that Havoc was no longer feeling groggy.
Seriously, what the hell had happened?
Havoc had positioned very himself carefully that morning when the six of them had boarded the train. It had been such an early train that it was less than half-full, so they’d secured a private seating compartment with two benches facing each other. When Colonel Mustang had seated himself at the end of one of the benches, the seat closest the aisle, Havoc dove across the opposite bench, where Breda had snagged the seat by the window (and consequently, farthest from Mustang) and told him to move over.
“Why? I like this spot—”
“I… I get sick, see, if I can’t see out.” Oh, excellent, he mentally admonished himself. First-class lying there, Havoc.
“You do not.”
“I do.”
“You were fine yesterday.”
“I… I don’t feel good, after today’s breakfast.”
“You didn’t eat. After ten minutes you went outside and chain smoked.” That was true; it had been a round table, and every time Havoc felt the Colonel looking at him, his ability to chew became seriously impaired. “But fine. Take the damn seat if it means so much to you.”
He didn’t feel good about annoying Breda; he’d known the man since Basic, they were good friends. Furthermore, he knew that for every little thing he did that was out of his usual norm, Breda knew more and more that something was up. Havoc wanted very badly for the conversation about what had happened the previous night never to occur, and he knew he wasn’t doing anything to help that eventuality.
But he really didn’t have a choice, because if he hadn’t switched and sat by the window, he would’ve had to spend the further twelve hours on the train with Colonel Roy Mustang in his direct line of vision. And as he’d discovered that morning, whenever Colonel Roy Mustang got into his direct line of vision, three things happened. One, the tops of his ears went red, and his hair had recently been clipped too short to cover them. Two, the urge to smoke became overpowering, and, as that bastard of a conductor had pointed out when he’d noticed the unlit cigarette clenched between Havoc’s lips, smoking was only permitted in designated cars (and was this one designated? Of course not...) And three, he got a massive erection, which the high-waisted uniform pants were notoriously bad at concealing.
All in all, it would’ve made for a devastating trip.
Of course, the worry over how he was going to manage to work alongside Mustang now was nagging at the back of his mind, but honestly, he was more concerned with getting through this train ride at the moment. He could worry about his life at Central once he got there. What he’d mostly been stewing over in the hour or so before exhaustion set in was how little Mustang seemed to be reacting.
The rest of the night had been miserable; after wondering for a full hour if it was okay for him to embrace his Colonel, he’d finally decided it wasn’t and curled up in a ball as far away from him as he could manage. He’d spent the rest of the night playing what had happened over and over in his mind, alternating between arousal, shock, and terror as he relived it. When the sun had begun to come up he’d more grayed out than fallen asleep, and when he woke from the doze a half hour later, Mustang was up, dressed, and shaking Havoc’s arm and telling him to get up. He vanished out the door in a wave of blue coattail before Havoc had a chance to say a word.
Mustang had eaten breakfast, walked to the station, boarded the train, and ridden this far all without a break in stride. If anything, he seemed even more relaxed and at ease than he’d been at the start of the journey. Whatever the implications of that were, they were too much for Havoc’s exhausted brain to process, so he’d let them go for the time being. What he needed to do was work out where he stood.
Unfortunately, his body hadn’t made that particularly easy, either. Try as he might to keep it from his mind, he couldn’t block out the physical memory of the night. He’d start off trying to dissect the fact that his Colonel seemed so breezy about the entire affair, and then he’d remember how warm his palms had been, and how his fingers had curled and flicked over his cock… and when he’d clenched his teeth in an effort to get a grip on himself, he’d remembered how Mustang’s face had crumpled and contorted when he’d come. And all that lead, like some kind of phosphorescent mental trail, to the soft kiss Mustang had pressed against his lips.
That was what was really fucking with him; that damn kiss. Everything else he could maybe have written off as just one of those desperate actions brought about by the difficulty of finding a woman when you were in the military… but whoever heard of kissing the soldier who’d been helping you out?
And what did it say about him, that he couldn’t get away from that moment?
So here he was, curled up against the cold glass of the window, faking sleep now that Breda (and Mustang’s voice) had robbed him of the real thing.
Unfortunately, closed eyes just aided his recollection.
“C…can I..?” Mustang’s breathless nod, and then the sweaty heat of his skin, his gasp as Havoc touched him—
“Oh, Jean…”— Used his name, his given name, and that never happened…
…Rush of orgasm, then the warmth of Mustang’s cum, the way he smelled afterward when Havoc had tried hugging him as a means to say all the things he didn’t have words for, and then Mustang’s lips against his… “Thank you Lieutenant…” and too shocked to kiss him back—
“Isn’t it about time you were waking up, Lieutenant?”
The sound of Mustang’s real voice cut through the imaginings and Havoc’s eyes snapped open.
“I… well,” his brain floundered for some kind of witty line to toss back at him, but he was too exhausted. Instead he concentrated on looking out the window (the sheep were long gone; there was nothing but empty pasture as far as the eye could see), as he knew full well what was going to happen the second his eyes met the Colonel’s.
“I’d thought of going to the dining car for some coffee, but I think you could make far better use of a cup that I could.” There was a rustle of cloth as Mustang stood up. “Perhaps you should come with me.”
Oh, damnit. Not only would it be impolite and out of character for him to refuse Mustang, he was supposed to be accompanied by one of them… Especially now, after what had happened to Hughes…
Just try not to look at him. You’ll be fine…
“All right,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. The slight motion of the train in conjunction with his weariness made that easier said then done. He kept his eyes low, watching only as high as the tops of Mustang’s boots, as his Colonel slid the compartment door open. He followed out into the aisle, slid the door closed behind them (and damnit if Breda wasn’t still giving him that dissecting look, damn him), and kept just behind Mustang, eyes low, as they passed down the aisle, through the connecting door to the next car, this one completely empty, moving steadily toward the dining car, five cars down from them.
It’s hard to say what might’ve happened next if the train hadn’t hit an unexpectedly sharp turn: maybe Mustang really had only wanted a cup of coffee. Or maybe he’d had what followed planned all along; afterward, it never occurred to Havoc to ask.
The train lurched, and Havoc, with his eyes downcast as they were, was completely unprepared for it. One second he was standing a few steps behind his superior, the next he was colliding with his back. Mustang made a short sound of surprise, and the two collapsed to the floor.
Mustang managed to save himself a broken nose by turning at the last second, so he landed on his back rather than his face. While undeniably lucky for him, it was considerably less so for Havoc, who found himself on top of his Colonel in a heap of limbs on the floor, looking into his eyes for the first time that day.
He knew the second he saw Mustang’s expression change that the other man had read everything he was feeling in his eyes.
“Havoc…” he said softly, but Havoc was already scrambling up, clenching his teeth in humiliation and hoping like hell his cock would wait ten seconds or so to react to suddenly being pressed against Mustang’s stomach. The tops of his ears felt like they could ignite at any second.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I wasn’t expecting that bump…” He grabbed the edge of a seat to keep himself upright and pulled the Colonel to his feet and babbled words as fast as the came to his head to try to mask. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I should’ve been holding on, you didn’t hit your head, did you—?”
Mustang stopped him with a look.
Havoc wanted to look away, wanted it desperately, but he couldn’t. There was something in Mustang’s eyes that held his; they were serious and soft, probing but gentle.
And oh, God, he was hard.
“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t we be getting your coffee now, Sir?” He said, finally breaking Mustang’s gaze and looking down at his boots.
He felt Mustang’s hand close over his shoulder, then a light pressure as he was steered backwards, toward one of the enclosed seating compartments, identical to the one they’d occupied a few minutes before. Only this one was empty.
“Come in here for a minute first.”
He went in without a word and seated himself in a corner, struggling to get his coattails to cover his lap to a degree as Mustang closed and locked the door behind them.
He sat down opposite him and placed one gloved hand on Havoc’s knee to get the man to look at him. Reluctantly, Havoc did. He had the same expression as before, the same gentle eyes, and between that look and the hand on his knee, Havoc found himself in worse shape than ever.
“Lieutenant,” Mustang said, “you’re overthinking this. There’s no need to beat yourself up, all right?”
“Sure.” He would’ve said more, but he was having trouble thinking; his blood was pounding too loudly for that.
“Just feel what you feel. You don’t need to try to hide it from me,” God, why, why, why was he stroking his knee now? Havoc knew Mustang could see how this was affecting him. “Or to pretend like it never happened.”
“Sure,” Havoc said again.
“Because it did. It happened between us, and it can stay that way. No one else needs to know.” And now he couldn’t stop staring at Mustang’s lips. They were thin and soft-looking, and the way they folded over his teeth as he formed his words was fascinating. So was the occasional glimpse of his tongue and gah his erection was starting to hurt…
“Yeah…”
“Don’t be so nervous, Havoc. You know the more nervous you get, the more you give away, right? That’s a quality you have, I know, you have a difficult time easing up on yourself once something gets under your skin, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but in this case, you’re just digging your own grave—”
Almost unconsciously Havoc felt himself leaning toward the Colonel. He couldn’t help himself.
“—And in the end it won’t do you any favors. Do you understand what I’m—”
“Sir,” Havoc gasped, “please… can I kiss you again?”
Mustang’s speech abruptly stopped and once again his eyes met Havoc’s. Then his eyes closed and he rushed forward, bringing their mouths together all at once.
It was such a relief to feel his lips that Havoc moaned, wrapping his arms around the other man as Mustang did the same. As the distance between their bodies closed, he strove to do the same with his mouth, jaw working furious and rough against Mustang’s, grinding their lips together. When their tongues met he stroked at the Colonel’s with his own, tracing it roughly, making him gasp, then ran it along Mustang’s teeth. He caressed first the inside of his cheek, marveling at how soft it felt, then licked his lips, pulling his lower one into his mouth and sucking.
It was desperate, frenzied, with none of the softness of Mustang’s kiss from the night before, marked with an intense desire on both sides to get closer, feel more.
Havoc felt movement at his waist, then a slight relief of pressure as Mustang removed the pistol Havoc was wearing holstered at his hip and lowered it gingerly to the seat beside him. That accomplished, pressure returned as Mustang straddled his lap and pressed his body against Havoc’s and into the seat back. Havoc rode the wave of his motions, tilting his head back as Mustang licked his tongue and lips and ran his hands up and down his chest. When his fingers ran lower, tracing the seam of his jacket down to the fastening of his pants, and his hand cupped Havoc’s erection through the confining cloth, his gasp sucked the air from Mustang’s mouth.
He pulled back with a soft grunt and began peppering Havoc’s face with kisses, licking the lines of his cheekbones.
“Hard for me?” He purred, stroking the bulge with his fingertips, teasing him by flicking his zipper pull back and forth.
“I have been all day,” Havoc gasped, arching up into Mustang’s hand.
The moan that wrenched itself out of Mustang’s throat at those words was accompanied by the fiercest kiss yet, and with it he seized Havoc’s arm and pulled his hand forward to stroke his own hard-on.
“Do you… have… any idea,” Mustang murmured around his kisses, “how hot you are?”
Havoc would’ve replied, but was distracted when Mustang finally undid the final button of his fly and yanked his pants open. And with Havoc distracted by the sudden relief of pain at his crotch, Mustang lowered his head and through some combination of free hand and teeth, wrenched the buttons and clips on his jacket open. One hand, still clad in Pyrotex, slipped under his shirt, while the other, from which he quickly shook the glove free, took Havoc’s cock out and began stroking in that strange, quick way he’d done the night before.
The paradox of Mustang’s soft palm on his cock and the roughness of the Pyrotex brushing back and forth over first his stomach and then his chest made Havoc gasp. Mustang purred, jerking Havoc's soft black undershirt up for access to his chest. His head bobbed forward and he bit into Havoc’s pectoral muscle, sucking as he did so. Havoc knew the mark would remain there, and the idea of being marked by Mustang’s mouth combined with the sensation of the bite made him growl. He seized his Colonel’s aiguillette to pull him upward again, kissing him deep and breathlessly, thrusting into Mustang’s palm.
Mustang returned the kiss, but only for a moment, as he began working his way downward, kissing down his chin, biting his neck just low enough that he knew Havoc’s uniform collar would still cover the marks, down over his chest to his nipples, now bright red from the grit of the Pyrotex, and bathed them with his tongue. His hand had slowed on Havoc’s cock, for which Havoc was grateful; he’d been wound so tight all day, if his Colonel had kept on, he would’ve found himself finished in an embarrassingly short period of time.
As Mustang soothed his nipples, Havoc opened Mustang’s jacket and undershirt, pulling them both open and biting down hard on his shoulder muscles.
“Oh, Jean,” He growled in response, making Havoc whimper.
“Roy,” He whispered, liking the way the name felt in his mouth and biting again. Hearing his name seemed to incite something in the alchemist that hadn’t previously been there. He growled, deep and lustful, bit Havoc’s nipple hard enough to make him throw back his head and moan, then pulled out of his arms and knelt on the floor in front of him. He licked a long, sloppy trail of kisses further and further down the man’s stomach, following first the dips of his abs and finally the coarse trail of hair past his navel.
Havoc’s eyes widened. Surely he wasn’t going to… no, no, even his girlfriends hadn’t done that for him, there was no way he would—
Mustang’s lips closed over the head of Havoc’s cock.
The warm wetness combined with the vibrations from both the train and Mustang’s sudden moan sent a wave of pleasure so powerful through him that his vision swam.
“Ahh, Roy!” He gasped, panting hard, his Colonel's first name coming for the first time naturally to his lips. He looked down and into the other man’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, at the hollows in his cheeks as he began to suck in slightly, and Havoc found he had to lace his fingers in Roy’s hair, in some attempt to keep himself from flying apart with the overwhelming sensation of it all.
He’d never felt anything like this; the softness of his mouth, the tight seal of his lips moving slowly back and forth, and the suction… his hips thrust shallowly upward, out of his control. Roy shook his remaining glove off and encircled the base of Havoc's cock, pumping him as he moved his mouth. For a moment his other hand stroked at Jean’s balls, testing the texture of them with the rough pad of his thumb. He tugged lightly at Havoc's pubic hair, and moaned around his cock again when he gasped.
After that the second hand slipped downward to his own body, and Havoc watched, wide-eyed, as his hand closed over his own cock, stroking it in time with his motions on Havoc's.
Havoc’s muscled tensed and he whimpered in a series of desperate pantings. His eyes darted wildly back and forth from Roy's hand on himself and back to Roy's mouth on his own cock, honestly unsure which was turning him on more. His hips thrust upward faster and faster, Roy mirroring his motions, head bobbing furiously up and down. A trickle of sweat dropped from his forehead and onto Havoc’s thigh.
The drop of sweat made him realize just how close he was, and he felt a rush of panic as he stilled Roy’s head with his hands. “Stop…” he whispered, and tried not to whine with regret when he slid Roy’s mouth backwards and away, “or you’ll make me—”
“No, it’s okay,” Roy whispered, kissing Havoc's thigh. “You can come. I want you to—” he moved to take Jean back into his mouth, but Jean stilled him once again.
“What about you?” He mumbled. He ran his fingers down Roy’s chest, under the open flap of his jacket. He found a nipple and rolled his thumb over the hard nub, making the Colonel’s eyelids flutter. “I haven’t done anything for you—”
“Believe me,” Roy said, lowering his head to run his cheek along the dampened shaft of Havoc’s erection, “you’re doing plenty for me, Jean.” He kissed his erection, up and down the shaft and then the head, positioning his last kiss directly over the slit and sucking just enough to make Jean thrust again.
“But I want to touch you—”
“Then touch me.” A long, hard lick made Havoc’s head spin, and he reached down to Roy just as the other man’s lips caressed the tip of his cock. “I want you to…”
The kisses continued, interspersed with sucks and licks and hot breath, and Havoc maneuvered himself, spreading his legs wider, leaning far sideway, reaching under Roy’s arm, across the bunched and wrinkled fabric of the uniform pants he still had halfway on and finally closed his fist around Roy’s erection.
“Aah, Jean…” Roy gasped, the exhale tingling against Jean’s sensitized skin. “Mmm…” And with that he closed his lips back over the head of Havoc’s cock.
The angle was awkward; Roy's motion was limited and Havoc could reach only half of Roy’s dick. But they were together, finally, and any logistical limitation was far surpassed by sensation. Roy’s head bobbed the short distance of Havoc's cockhead over and over, bathing it with rapid licks as he sucked. His fingers rubbed circles over Havoc’s balls and inner thigh.
The momentary pause hadn’t delayed his oncoming orgasm by much, and Havoc raced to catch Roy up, twisting his palm over Roy’s cock and thumbing roughly at his nipple. It’s strange, he thought as Roy’s mouth tightened, making him groan, thrust, and pump Roy harder, that this doesn’t feel more… strange. Because for some reason, Roy’s cock in his hand felt like the most natural thing in the world, just as it had last night, and—
Roy’s fingers were suddenly at Havoc's lips, stroking them, caressing them, wordlessly begging, and he opened his mouth and sucked them, imitating Roy’s mouth with his own, licking and sucking and moaning around them, relishing the way it made Roy’s cock twitch in his hand until he felt moisture on his lips and Roy slid his fingers out. Havoc bit down, wanting them to stay, liking the reactions, and when he did that Roy moaned and shuddered so hard that for a moment his mouth stilled.
After a moment he picked back up, withdrawing his fingers from Havoc's stubborn lips and walking them down his chest. As though to make up for his momentary lapse, he sucked harder, lips squeezing and pulling…
Spurred by this, as well as the near-orgasm he’d pulled from Roy when he bit his fingers, Havoc pulled faster at Roy’s cock. The few drops of precum leaking from the tip made his motions smoother as Roy’s thrusts countered him in fast and sharp and sudden bursts against his palm…
He was so distracted by Roy’s approaching orgasm and so far gone with his own that he missed whatever Roy suddenly did with one spit-slicked finger, only registering a slight burn, barely noticeable amidst the waves of pleasure clouding him brain, then a slow movement and a sudden wave of pleasure so intense his muscles seized and he gasped.
Havoc thrust, hard, and again, even harder, gasping and barely managing to sputter, “Roy, Roy, Roy, I’m gonna—” before he did, gasping and growling through his clenched teeth until the final wave passed through him and he slumped forward, panting, onto Roy’s shoulder.
“Roy. I… oh, Roy—”
The warmth retreated as Roy’s mouth pulled back. The other man smiled up at him, giving his softening cock one last playful lick and petting his thigh.
That made Havoc remember Roy’s own orgasm, and he pulled him upward with shaky hands until the man stood before him. Havoc closed his fist around Roy’s cock again, picking up his rhythm to match the pace he’d just left behind, and as the Colonel’s eyebrows knit with the need for release, Havoc leaned forward and kissed the tip of Roy’s cock.
The result was instantaneous. The noises he made were softer than Jean’s but no less desperate, and he turned quickly away to avoid splattering Havoc's face and uniform, cupping his palm to catch his own cum.
He sank breathless to the seat beside Havoc when it was over, and rested his head against his Lieutenant’s shoulder.
“Oh… Jean…” he whispered, and Havoc took that as his cue to kiss the man again.
It was late by he time the train pulled in to the station at Central, so Havoc’s first view of the nation’s most prominent city came by streetlight as their luggage was being loaded into the three large cars from Headquarters. Even with the time he’d spent asleep after he and Roy had returned “from the dining car,” he was exhausted, and wanted to curl up and go to sleep. Preferably somewhere with Roy nearby, but that wouldn’t happen; Mustang’s apartment had already been secured for him, and he’d soon be taken there while the rest of the unit camped out in the military dorms for the night. As they were expected to do until they managed to secure their own lodging. They had the day off tomorrow to do so, which he supposed he should be grateful for.
A peculiar feeling had descended on him, though he tried his best to ignore it as he lifted the heavy packing crates from the pavement. Everything seemed out of sorts, scattered and nonsensical, like—
“Havo, you know your pistol holster’s on backwards?”
Shit.
Eventually he supposed he’d have to tell Breda something. Whether or not it would be the truth remained to be seen. Because that all depended on what happened next. If Mustang wanted it to be nothing more than a stress-relieving incident while traveling, or some ill-conceived apology over the loss of his girlfriend, then it would have to be that way, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about it, no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise—
“Lieutenant Havoc!”
He snapped a salute, and turned to face his Colonel, who still managed to look completely at ease and put-together, even after thirteen hours and a round of illicit sex on a train. How the hell did he manage it?
“I don’t suppose you’ll be too busy tomorrow evening to come help me situate my furniture? I could use a hand.”
Part Three will come soon. ^_^ Comments are, as always, appreciated.
**Part 3 is up!