Fic - "ABC Kink - R for Role Play"
Mar. 2nd, 2009 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajTitle: ABC Kink - "R for Roleplay"
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Character/Fandom: Roy Mustang/Jean Havoc. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1067
Warnings: Utter silliness.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
for “Role Play"
“I said,” said the incredibly handsome and shockingly intelligent detective, “that I’d do anything to procure your confession.” He loomed over his sworn enemy, the kingpin of the criminal underworld, and straightened his tie with one long, elegant finger.
“Is… er… is that so?” Replied the dashing criminal mastermind. He shrugged his shoulders a bit; the kitchen chair he was handcuffed to was a real pain in the lower back. Also, his pinstriped woolen jacket itched a lot.
“Oh yes.” The detective grinned down at him. “Anything. You know as well as I do that I don’t always play by the rules.”
“Um… no, I guess you don’t. I learned that in the Case of the…” The criminal mastermind, don of the Creatan mafia, screwed up his face and frowned. “Oh god, I dunno, the Case of the…” he briefly scanned the room, “Expired Tin of Anchovies.”
The suave detective gave the criminal mastermind a long, testy look. The criminal mastermind sighed and hung his head, looking resigned.
“I don’t mind doing things your way if it means I can have a full, signed confession on the DA’s desk by tomorrow morning. You might even find I can be a nice guy.” The detective took a peek through the drawn Venetian blinds over the window, which were the whole reason they were in this particular room in the first place, and grabbed a long-necked bottle from the countertop. “Whiskey?”
“Oh god, yes,” the criminal mastermind said. The detective poured him a sip in a small snifter and held it up so the criminal mastermind could drink it.
“There, now, you see. I’m not such a terrible guy. We’re not so different, you and me.”
“I dunno about that, R-, I mean, uh, Detective.”
The detective, that hardboiled gumshoe, that scourge of the dive bars and that fantasy of loose-lipped chorus girls everywhere, unbuttoned his long trench coat. Underneath was a handgun in a shoulder harness. “Yes… not so different at all. Now.” He removed the coat altogether and placed it and the fedora on the counter. He put a hand on the criminal mastermind’s cheek.
“Now… where were you on the night of April Seventeenth? And if you lie… I’ll know.”
“Home, probably.” The criminal mastermind shrugged, then grinned. “Banging that Aruegian chick that always plays the voice of the femme fatale. I’ve seen pictures of her in magazines. Damn, that girl is so—” he caught the look the detective was shooting him. “I was at the warehouse.”
“Oh, the warehouse, were you? Doing what?”
“Well… certainly not trafficking illegal drugs or anything like that, if that’s where you’re going.”
“Oh? I don’t believe you.”
“And why should you?” The criminal mastermind looked a bit sulky. “That’d make things far too easy.”
The detective grinned, and gripped the criminal mastermind’s collar, pulling him up slightly. “I do have ways of making you talk, you know.” He leered suggestively, and brushed his fingers down the criminal mastermind's exposed throat. With his other hand, the detective gave the criminal mastermind's balls a subtle grope.
“I bet you do.” The criminal mastermind coughed a bit; the detective’s finger was poking his Adam’s apple and it wasn’t pleasant.
“Oh yes. Foolproof ways.” The detective released the crook’s collar and crotch and put his hands behind his back. He began to pace the floor in front of the captive criminal. “For instance, take your charming wife. She sits on the city council, as you very well know, as does the Chief of Detectives. There may be a few… things… she might be happier not knowing.”
“Oh? And… ah… what kind of things might you…” the criminal mastermind sighed deeply. “Roy, this is so fucking stupid. I’m not doing this.”
The detective glared at him. “ Am I going to blackmail you, I think you meant.” The detective indicated a camera on the table and a wide smirk split his face. "With hard evidence of you doing certain illicit things with a certain master detective?"
“Roy, I’m serious. This is so stupid, I feel like an asshole. I can’t say the right shit, my wrists are getting chafed, and this suit smells like ass; where the hell did you even get the thing?”
The detective crossed his arms and peered down at the criminal mastermind. “We did your thing yesterday.”
Rolling his eyes, the criminal mastermind snorted. “I don’t think this is quite on the same level as me wanting you to put your dress uniform on while I fucked your mouth.”
“That’s irrelevant. We agreed, no matter how strange or appalling it seemed, we would each do one thing that we always—”
“Yeah, but when you said that I thought you were working up to ask me to… piss on your hand in the shower or some dumb thing like that. I didn’t even know you liked this kind of radio program!”
“One thing that we always wanted to do, and we weren’t allowed to refuse or pass judgment.” The detective finished, and glared at the criminal mastermind.
“Deal’s off. I’m not doing this." The criminal mastermind struggled against his handcuffs, and cast a longing look toward the cigarettes he'd left in the other room. "I don’t know why you want me to in the first place; I’m a terrible actor. I always used to have to be a tree when my cousins wanted to put on plays as kids, because I was no good at—”
“Fine, then!” Snapped the detective. “I’ll pick something else. And don’t expect to get off this easy again. Good night, Havoc.” He unbuckled his shoulder holster and threw it to the table. The criminal mastermind flinched.
“Be careful with that! I know it isn’t loaded, but goddamn—”
“Good night, Havoc,” the detective snarled, and walked toward the door. His immaculately polished leather shoes clacked so hard against the linoleum he left scuff marks.
“Wait a minute,” the criminal mastermind called out after him. “You forgot to unlock me.”
“Forgot nothing,” the detective growled from the living room. The criminal mastermind heard the radio switch on and fill the room with scratchy jazz. “Drug trafficking is three to six months minimum. Have a lovely night.”
18/26
See you guys tomorrow for letter S. :)
Author/Artist:
raja815Character/Fandom: Roy Mustang/Jean Havoc. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1067
Warnings: Utter silliness.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
for “Role Play"“I said,” said the incredibly handsome and shockingly intelligent detective, “that I’d do anything to procure your confession.” He loomed over his sworn enemy, the kingpin of the criminal underworld, and straightened his tie with one long, elegant finger.
“Is… er… is that so?” Replied the dashing criminal mastermind. He shrugged his shoulders a bit; the kitchen chair he was handcuffed to was a real pain in the lower back. Also, his pinstriped woolen jacket itched a lot.
“Oh yes.” The detective grinned down at him. “Anything. You know as well as I do that I don’t always play by the rules.”
“Um… no, I guess you don’t. I learned that in the Case of the…” The criminal mastermind, don of the Creatan mafia, screwed up his face and frowned. “Oh god, I dunno, the Case of the…” he briefly scanned the room, “Expired Tin of Anchovies.”
The suave detective gave the criminal mastermind a long, testy look. The criminal mastermind sighed and hung his head, looking resigned.
“I don’t mind doing things your way if it means I can have a full, signed confession on the DA’s desk by tomorrow morning. You might even find I can be a nice guy.” The detective took a peek through the drawn Venetian blinds over the window, which were the whole reason they were in this particular room in the first place, and grabbed a long-necked bottle from the countertop. “Whiskey?”
“Oh god, yes,” the criminal mastermind said. The detective poured him a sip in a small snifter and held it up so the criminal mastermind could drink it.
“There, now, you see. I’m not such a terrible guy. We’re not so different, you and me.”
“I dunno about that, R-, I mean, uh, Detective.”
The detective, that hardboiled gumshoe, that scourge of the dive bars and that fantasy of loose-lipped chorus girls everywhere, unbuttoned his long trench coat. Underneath was a handgun in a shoulder harness. “Yes… not so different at all. Now.” He removed the coat altogether and placed it and the fedora on the counter. He put a hand on the criminal mastermind’s cheek.
“Now… where were you on the night of April Seventeenth? And if you lie… I’ll know.”
“Home, probably.” The criminal mastermind shrugged, then grinned. “Banging that Aruegian chick that always plays the voice of the femme fatale. I’ve seen pictures of her in magazines. Damn, that girl is so—” he caught the look the detective was shooting him. “I was at the warehouse.”
“Oh, the warehouse, were you? Doing what?”
“Well… certainly not trafficking illegal drugs or anything like that, if that’s where you’re going.”
“Oh? I don’t believe you.”
“And why should you?” The criminal mastermind looked a bit sulky. “That’d make things far too easy.”
The detective grinned, and gripped the criminal mastermind’s collar, pulling him up slightly. “I do have ways of making you talk, you know.” He leered suggestively, and brushed his fingers down the criminal mastermind's exposed throat. With his other hand, the detective gave the criminal mastermind's balls a subtle grope.
“I bet you do.” The criminal mastermind coughed a bit; the detective’s finger was poking his Adam’s apple and it wasn’t pleasant.
“Oh yes. Foolproof ways.” The detective released the crook’s collar and crotch and put his hands behind his back. He began to pace the floor in front of the captive criminal. “For instance, take your charming wife. She sits on the city council, as you very well know, as does the Chief of Detectives. There may be a few… things… she might be happier not knowing.”
“Oh? And… ah… what kind of things might you…” the criminal mastermind sighed deeply. “Roy, this is so fucking stupid. I’m not doing this.”
The detective glared at him. “ Am I going to blackmail you, I think you meant.” The detective indicated a camera on the table and a wide smirk split his face. "With hard evidence of you doing certain illicit things with a certain master detective?"
“Roy, I’m serious. This is so stupid, I feel like an asshole. I can’t say the right shit, my wrists are getting chafed, and this suit smells like ass; where the hell did you even get the thing?”
The detective crossed his arms and peered down at the criminal mastermind. “We did your thing yesterday.”
Rolling his eyes, the criminal mastermind snorted. “I don’t think this is quite on the same level as me wanting you to put your dress uniform on while I fucked your mouth.”
“That’s irrelevant. We agreed, no matter how strange or appalling it seemed, we would each do one thing that we always—”
“Yeah, but when you said that I thought you were working up to ask me to… piss on your hand in the shower or some dumb thing like that. I didn’t even know you liked this kind of radio program!”
“One thing that we always wanted to do, and we weren’t allowed to refuse or pass judgment.” The detective finished, and glared at the criminal mastermind.
“Deal’s off. I’m not doing this." The criminal mastermind struggled against his handcuffs, and cast a longing look toward the cigarettes he'd left in the other room. "I don’t know why you want me to in the first place; I’m a terrible actor. I always used to have to be a tree when my cousins wanted to put on plays as kids, because I was no good at—”
“Fine, then!” Snapped the detective. “I’ll pick something else. And don’t expect to get off this easy again. Good night, Havoc.” He unbuckled his shoulder holster and threw it to the table. The criminal mastermind flinched.
“Be careful with that! I know it isn’t loaded, but goddamn—”
“Good night, Havoc,” the detective snarled, and walked toward the door. His immaculately polished leather shoes clacked so hard against the linoleum he left scuff marks.
“Wait a minute,” the criminal mastermind called out after him. “You forgot to unlock me.”
“Forgot nothing,” the detective growled from the living room. The criminal mastermind heard the radio switch on and fill the room with scratchy jazz. “Drug trafficking is three to six months minimum. Have a lovely night.”
18/26
See you guys tomorrow for letter S. :)
