raj

Title: ABC Kink - "X for XXX Film"
Author/Artist:

raja815
Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Random man/Random woman. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2502
Warnings: Sex. Porn.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.

for “XXX Film"

“Lieutenant Havoc,” said the Colonel, “am I right in assuming your evening is as free as always?”

Havoc bristled at that. The sarcastic fucker, always assuming.

“Why?” He asked. In truth, his evening was free, but he didn’t want to mention that unless he absolutely had to.

The Colonel held up two large, circular reels of tape. “I wondered if you’d stay after and help me go over these training films. The brass is considering showing them to new recruits to help them increase their performance capabilities, but they want a report from me first.”

“I dunno, Sir. Would I get overtime pay?”

“Of course not. This is a favor I’m asking, not an order. I don’t care much for film, and I’ve heard you mention you see the movies occasionally. Entirely up to you.”

Havoc considered. His first instinct was to refuse; he already spent twelve hours a day in Headquarters, and he wasn’t even adequately compensated for that. So the idea of staying even longer, without pay for incentive, stuck watching a bunch of poorly made, incredibly boring training films. On the other hand, if he did this favor for Mustang now, there was a much better chance that next time a really unpleasant piece of work came along, like digging a criminal’s dead body out of a sewer for instance, it might get passed down the line to someone else. And he really was totally and embarrassingly available for the evening.

“Yeah, okay,” Havoc finally said. “But you owe me.”

“There’s a good man,” the Colonel said, giving Havoc a patronizing smile and heading back to his desk. “In the screening room in the East wing at nineteen hundred. Don’t keep me waiting. I have a date planned for as soon as we’re finished.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep you from that,” Havoc grumbled, rolling his eyes and wishing he had the balls to tell the Colonel exactly where he could stick his couple of training films.

***

Exactly on time, Havoc arrived in the screening room. It was rather small, with room for only ten or so seats, what with all the space the projector took up, and the large sailcloth screen stretched over a wire frame against the far wall. Everything in it smelled new; the military still wasn’t sure what it thought of film, and the room was seldom used.

He found Colonel Mustang threading the projector and gave him a quick salute. Mustang returned it with a nod.

“Admirably prompt, Lieutenant. Thank you.” He slid the final tabs into place and began to spin the reel, getting it into starting position.

“No problem, Sir. Where should I sit?”

“Anywhere you like. Before you do, though, one of the young women working at the café on the corner felt awfully sorry for me having to stay so late. She sent a box up; it’s in the corner. Help yourself.”

Havoc’s annoyance at the Colonel’s braggadocio vanished when he saw the contents of the box; a large box of popcorn, two thick corned beef sandwiches, and most of all, four large bottles of his favorite beer, their cold glass sweating in the warm room.

“Shit, Sir, you’ll get reprimanded if anyone finds out you have this here.” Which didn’t stop him from taking a bottle and popping the cap off with a practiced twist of his teeth.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Mustang said. “The door locks when you close it, and I have the key. Don’t worry, Havoc, I’m always on top of things.”

“Guess you are.” The beer tasted amazing, and when he unwrapped one of the sandwiches, he was delighted to find it was made exactly as he liked it. “Which girl is this, Sir? Whenever I go in, I can never get them to leave off the mustard.”

“No matter, Lieutenant.”

Havoc bristled again. “She one of yours?”

“Something like that.” He sat down in he chair beside Havoc and unwrapped the second sandwich. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy yourself.”

Much to his surprise, Havoc found he was. Once the subject of the café girl died out, he and the Colonel even managed to have a rather pleasant conversation over their sandwiches and beer. Havoc was amazed when he was actually a bit disappointed when Mustang stood up and walked toward the projector.

“Well, I suppose we should get on with the work,” Mustang said, leaving Havoc nibbling the popcorn and finishing up his second beer. “You can have the last bottle if you like, Lieutenant, I’ve got to keep a clear head.”

“That projector’s pretty hard to work, huh?”

“Oh, a bit.”

He turned off the lights and started the projector. There were a few minutes of flickery white blankness, then some disjointed static and numbering, and the movie began.

Havoc’s mouth dropped open.

“What the hell,” he stuttered, dropping the popcorn box and craning his head around, trying to see his superior in the dark behind the projector. “They… they must’ve sent the wrong reel.”

There was a woman onscreen, a very beautiful, very exotic dark-haired woman, and she was completely naked. Her breasts, huge and heavy, glimmered pale white surrounded by the fall of her long, black hair. She was walking, naked, smiling, across a small garden, toward a spread blanket. Her hands slid upward, stroking her thighs, her stomach, gently squeezing the globes of her breasts. Despite his shock, Havoc felt a tingle of arousal.

“Sir?” He said, moving to stand. His face was hot with blush; he couldn’t believe he was seeing this while in the same room as his superior officer. “Turn it back off, we can go find—”

“Hush, Lieutenant.” Mustang’s voice, directly behind him, startled Havoc into remaining in his seat. “You’re meant to be reviewing the film, remember?”

Havoc was speechless. The girl onscreen bent over to crawl onto the blanket, displaying the glistening wetness between her thighs. Havoc managed to sputter out something along the lines of “training films, not porn,” and then was shocked into silence again.

Mustang’s hands were resting on Havoc’s shoulders.

“Shh,” he whispered, and his hands squeezed at Havoc’s tense muscles. “You need to pay attention. That’s all I asked you to do.”

Too shocked to do anything else, Havoc did.

The woman lay on her blanket, legs spread. She reached behind her and plucked a daisy from a flower bed, and bedan running in slowly down her body. When it reached her pubic hair she stretched, long and languid, and slid a finger between the lips of her pussy. She flicked her nipples lazily, making her breast tremble. Her silent laughter, edged with a silent moan of pleasure, filled the screen.

“Oh, fuck,” Havoc said. Despite himself, he was beginning to react, and his penis was twitching with the beginnings of an erection.

“Interesting, hmm?” The Colonel asked, and Havoc almost choked when he began to slide his hands down.

Onscreen, the woman trembled, pinching one nipple. In the screening room, Roy Mustang undid the top few buttons of Jean Havoc’s uniform jacket, and slid his hands inside. He’d removed his Pyrotex gloves, and his palms were surprisingly warm against his chest.

“Ah…” Havoc said, holding his gaze on the screen, where the woman appeared to be nearing a climax as she masturbated. He knew he should push Mustang away and leave. This was going much too far.

But. Oh, but…

But it had been months since he’d been touched like this. It was no secret his luck with women wasn’t the best, but he was in a real dry spell at the moment. He hadn’t even had a date since November, let alone anything more intimate. His skin cried out for touch, and here it was, all unexpected.

“Sir,” he whispered, voice small and uncertain, and was surprised again when Mustang whispered.

“Shh, Havoc,” he said, this time directly into Havoc’s ear. His breath was warm and smelled like beer and corned beef, and it tickled Havoc’s skin. “Keep watching.” Mustang kissed his neck, sending warm, hot shivers all though Havoc’s body. He bit lightly over his pulse points, and Havoc’s blood burned. Havoc's fingers clutched at the chair beside him, squeezing until his knuckles went white.

Onscreen, the woman stopped abruptly, looking behind her. A man, blond and tall like Havoc himself, had approached, and was smiling down at her. He was hard.

So was Havoc.

The man lowered himself to the blanket beside the woman, stroking her breasts, kissing her deeply. She knelt, taking his hands and placing them, one high on one breast, one low between her legs. She threw her head back and moaned as he touched her.

“I’m going to come around in front of you,” the Colonel said. His hands were so warm against Havoc’s skin, his mouth so wet and soft. “If that’s all right.”

Havoc shuddered. He felt as if he were in a dream, caught in the flickering light of the projector, in the intermingling images of film and touches of real, solid hands and lips.

“Y…yeah,” he whispered, feeling his face color again. “Yeah, okay.”

The image of the man gently laying the woman down on the blanket was momentarily blocked out by Mustang’s silhouette. Then they were back, lying together in an embrace, and Mustang was kneeling beside him. Cold air chilled the sweat on his arms as his jacket was unbuttoned the rest of the way down and pulled off, flung aside over the spilled popcorn on the floor. Mustang leaned closer in and began to kiss his stomach, lick his abs.

"Just keep watching," Mustang said, but Havoc couldn't. He looked down at the Colonel’s head in disbelief, watching the flickering light reflect off his shiny black hair, and suddenly wanted to put his fingers in it. He did before he could overthink it, raking his fingers over Mustang’s scalp. The hair was smooth and thick, coarse against his calloused fingers.

He suddenly found his belt had been removed and his fly unbuttoned while he’d been focusing on Mustang’s hair, and now the man knealing before him was tugging them down. Havoc wriggled upward off the seat long enough for him to pull them down, tangling them with his boxers against Havoc’s boots. When he turned his gaze to Havoc’s huge and dripping erection, the ragged sound of his panting briefly covered the soft click of the projector.

“I want to have you in my mouth,” he whispered. Havoc’s head reeled. Wide-eyed, he looked up and forward, trying to calm himself.

The woman in the film was lying back against the blanket, the man hovering over her. Her hair spread out around her like a cloud, black and thin and soft-looking. The Colonel’s hair is nicer, Havoc though suddenly, and then he couldn’t think anything anymore, because Mustang had slid his mouth around Havoc’s cock, taking him so deep his nose pressed against Havoc’s blond pubic hair.

Havoc made a series of disjointed syllables that might’ve been words of encouragement if he hadn’t been so distracted. Writhing up out of the chair with the thrust of his hips, he was dimly aware of the smacking sound his buttocks made when he fell back downward against the chair’s leather, even more dimly aware that the man in the film was about to slide into the woman. Despite her erotic writhing and breasts glistening with sweat, he was completely oblivious. All he wanted to feel and see and acknowledge at the moment was his superior’s mouth, sealed so tight and hot around his cock. The flickering light as he began to bob his head made him look like it Mustang who was the one in the movie.

A few moments later, when Havoc felt the warm, white oblivion of orgasm hovering bare seconds into the future, Mustang suddenly pulled away.

“No,” Havoc moaned, “oh please, oh please, Sir, I’m so close…”

“Just a minute,” the Colonel panted, struggling to his feet. His voice was every bit as desperate as Havoc’s had been. He was fumbling with his belt, kicking his boots away, sliding his pants, coattails, and underwear off in one quick motion, and standing half-naked before Havoc, his cock red and throbbing. Slick liquid squeezed from a tube he’d pulled from his pocket gleamed on his fingers, and he was reaching back around himself, moaning. Havoc felt dazed, lost in the fog of near orgasm, unable to connect the images he was seeing into anything logical. Onscreen, the man was mounting the woman. She was moaning beneath him.

“Fuck me,” Mustang breathed, clambering onto Havoc’s lap, taking his spit-slick erection in hand and holding it upright. Havoc’s heart and stomach took a deep, fast dive.

“I…I don’t know what I’m supposed—”

“Just sit still,” Mustang groaned, “let me do everything. Oh, Havoc, oh…”

He lowered himself onto Havoc’s erection, his thighs tensing and flexing as he moved up and down. Soon Mustang was shaking with effort, but it didn’t last much longer. Bare minutes after the first thrust he was coming across Havoc’s stomach with harsh barks of pleasure, and Havoc followed him, clutching Mustang’s hips, his hot, sweaty face cradled against the uniform jacket his Colonel still wore, staining it with his sweat and saliva.

They sat slumped together in the row of chairs, panting, cooling, Mustang cradling Havoc’s head in his arms and stroking his damp hair. They watched the man and woman in the movie finish their coupling. The man picked the woman up at the end and carried her away, like a bride over the threshold, leaving the reel to reach its end and begin to click insistently to be removed. They ignored it.

“Thank you, Havoc,” Mustang said after a long moment, and brought his mouth down to Havoc’s. The kiss was long and lazy. When he pulled back, he moved Havoc aside, stood and stretched. “Better get dressed. Busy night ahead.”

The sated, happy feeling Havoc was enjoying deflated, and a thick spike of anger clouded his mind. “Oh. That’s right. You have a date tonight, right?”

Mustang caught his glance, and much to Havoc’s surprise he laughed, bent down, and kissed his lips.

“So I do,” he said. He brushed his hands through Havoc’s bangs and gave him the warmest smile he’d seen in recent memory. “I left a bottle of wine out to breathe for you and me in my bedroom. If we leave now, it should be just the right temperature to drink.”