raj

Title: ABC Kink - "Y for Yuri"
Author/Artist:

raja815
Character/Fandom: female!Mustang/female!Havoc. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1985
Warnings: Genderswitch. Yuri.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Notes: For this fic, pronounce Jean's first name as in "Jean Harlow" instead of as in "Jean Claude van Damme." What a convenient name for genderswitch!

for “Yuri"

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc brushed her bangs out of her face and reached into her breast pocket for her lighter. It had been a gift from an ex-boyfriend. Her most recent ex-boyfriend, in fact, even though they’d broken it off more than a year ago. She just didn’t have very good luck with men.

Not that it was any wonder, of course. Her superior officer, Colonel Rae Mustang, had every man in the city’s heart the second they laid eyes on her, with her beautiful, elegant face, her striking crop of jet black hair, her slim, strong body and huge, perky breasts. Not to mention she was ungodly charming. Any man she spoke to pretty much fell over himself to ask her out… well, except for Rick Hawkeye, her second in command, a strong, capable-looking man who was never out of reach of his twin handguns. But even his unquestioning, asexual loyalty was enough to get under Jean’s skin. You didn’t see any man making a career of being constantly at Jean’s side, now did you?

Not that she minded that much, of course. Jean liked her superior; she was strong, smart, and infinitely capable (if a bit lazy on occasion) and Jean never doubted for a second one day Rae Mustang would achieve her goal of becoming Amestris’ first female Fuhrer. It just grated on her sometimes, that Rae was so popular, while Jean often felt so overlooked.

She brushed her bangs away again and lit up. Honestly, her hair didn’t help matters either. Much as she tried to keep it under control, her bangs grew at least three times as fast as the rest of her hair, and it took so long to force them into lying flat in the morning that she had to wake up an hour earlier than her roommate, Second Lieutenant Hattie Breda, did. She wished she had the kind of easy beauty her Colonel did; Mustang didn’t even have to work to be as shockingly beautiful as she was. The world was indeed a cruel, cruel place.

Reaching the end of her smoke, Jean ground the butt out under her boot. Hattie had suggested Jean might have better luck with men if she smoked less, but Jean didn’t think it seemed worth it to give up the only constant pleasure her life offered her for the uncertain hope of attracting a man. Besides, Mustang herself had once said the cigarettes were becoming to Jean, and if anyone knew anything about smoke it was the Flame Alchemist.

Jean stretched, flicked her hair out of her face again, and started toward the officer’s quarters in the basement of Headquarters. It was singles night at a nearby bar, and it didn’t seem worth it to go all the way home just to come straight back when all she needed was a quick shower and a change of clothes to put her right again.

The women’s locker rooms were as deserted as they always were this time of day. Female officers were far fewer than male ones anyway (Mustang’s unit, all female but for Hawkeye, was a bit of a curiosity in the military, and there were a few rather tasteless jokes about it that circulated after hours) and in the mid-evening when Jean left the office most people favored going straight home instead of hanging around to use Headquarters’ facilities. It was fine with Jean; she was a little self-conscious, what with her unusually tall stature, strong arms, and small breasts, and she liked a bit of privacy.

She had already undressed completely and wrapped herself in a towel when she realized she wasn’t alone after all; there were faint sounds coming from one of the private cubicles. No matter, she thought, what’s one person, and continued taking her ponytail down, brushing her fingers through her hair to relax her scalp. She was looking into the mirror and trying to decide if she could get away without washing her hair—it took so long to dry—when the changing cubical opened behind her.

It was Mustang. And she was completely naked, with only a towel flung absently over one shoulder.

Jean was surprised; she’d never seen the Colonel in the locker rooms. Communal dressing rooms were a bit low-class for Mustang, or so Jean had always thought. But apparently she had been wrong.

“Don’t look so shocked, Lieutenant,” Mustang said, and Jean realized to her chagrin she had been staring and Mustang could see it, despite her turned back. Reflections went both ways, after all.

“I… I’m sorry. Sir.” It always felt funny calling Mustang “sir,” but she preferred it to “ma’am” which she said made her feel like an old lady, but it felt even stranger now, when she was standing there with her breasts and mound exposed. Definitely not a “sir,” not by any stretch of the imagination.

“No need,” Mustang said, and walked up to stand beside Jean at the mirror. Jean watched her breasts quiver with her movement; they were even larger than they appeared under the uniform jacket. Abruptly, she realized what she was doing and pulled her eyes away.

“I’ve just… well, I’ve never seen you in here before.” Jean felt her cheeks wanting to go pink, and she willed them to stay cool. “I’m usually here by myself.”

“Hmm. Well, we must be on different schedules then, mustn’t we?” Mustang reached up, sliding her hair into a small clip. The result was a loose, messy bun that would’ve looked silly on anyone else. Set against Mustang’s high, broad cheekbones, though, it looked great. Jean felt a surge of jealousy; she couldn’t have gotten her hair to behave so benevolently with a whole day’s styling. No wonder all the men overlooked her. She felt like a pigeon next to a bird of paradise.

“I guess we are.”

“Busy night ahead?” Mustang had turned on the tap, and was splashing water over her face. Water trickled down her neck and ran between her breasts. “You usually go out on Fridays, don’t you?”

“To the little bar on Fifth Street,” Jean said, wrenching her eyes back forward. She’d been watching Mustang’s nipples go hard in mirror’s reflection. Honestly, she thought, what’s wrong with me? Jealousy, to be sure, that was a familiar feeling when she was around the Colonel, but jealousy didn’t explain the fevered feeling of her skin, or the much more worrisome heat beginning in the lowest part of her stomach. "Singles night."

“Oh, yes. I’ve been there myself; it’s quite enjoyable. Try one of their specialty drinks while you’re there. There’s a crème de menthe and cacao mix that I’m very partial to.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jean watched Mustang blow water from her lips and press her face into her towel. The movement of her arms was very controlled and elegant, like a stretching cat. Jean, who usually felt ungainly with her long, strong limbs unless she was on the battlefield or working at her uncle’s farm when they were an asset, was fascinated.

Why can’t I be like you? She thought, and turned to stare full on. When Mustang lowered the towel, she turned back with a jolt, heart beginning to pound.

“In fact,” Mustang said, flashing her most coquettish smirk, “I might walk down with you. If you don’t mind, of course. I have a few hours to kill before I meet Hughes for dinner.”

“I thought he was getting married?” Jean blurted, then felt foolish. She hadn’t meant to imply what Mustang probably assumed she was implying, and she braced herself for a scolding.

“He is. Can’t a married man still have dinner with an old friend? Never worry, Lieutenant, he knows he’s safe from me.” Mustang turned and smiled again, obviously not offended. Nevertheless Jean couldn’t suppress a squirm. Her gaze was very, very powerful, and seemed to be communicating something Jean couldn't quite decipher.

“Yeah, you can walk down with me,” Jean said, hoping her words would cover the hot feeling seeping from her cheeks down to her neck. She laughed, and even to her own ears it sounded forced. “Who knows. Maybe since you’ve got dinner plans already you can turn some of your men my way.”

“My men?” The Colonel actually laughed a bit. “You can have the lot, if you like.”

Puzzled, Jean frowned. She didn’t know what to make of that; if Mustang didn’t want dates, then why did she seem so keen to lure every man in East City away from Jean?

“They don’t even notice me, anyway,” Jean said, grasping at hairs to cover her sudden discomfort and confusion. “Not next to you.”

“You should try wearing your hair up,” Mustang said, and to Jean’s astonishment, lay her towel aside and came to stand behind Jean. She pressed Jean’s shoulders, making Jean stoop down so their heads were roughly the same height, and grinned over her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “You have such a beautiful, long neck. It’s a shame to keep it covered up with that low ponytail you wear. Braid it, and wrap it over.”

To Jean’s amazement, as she spoke, she took Jean’s hair and began doing just that, working it into a high, thick braid and coiling it back, her fingers brushing long lines of goosebumps up and down Jean’s skin wherever they happened to graze. Jean’s knees, already straining a bit from slumping, felt so rubbery she thought she might fall. A bright, splotchy blush was starting at Jean’s chest and she grabbed for the front of her towel, hoping to hide it.

“Colonel,” Jean whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

Mustang didn’t reply, only finished her braided bun, held it in place at the back of Jean’s head, and smiled. The nails on her other hand made faint half-moons in the pale skin at Jean’s shoulder as she offered a companionable little squeeze.

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Uh… I…” Jean couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Hmm,” Mustang said. It came out sounding like a purr, and it was only when Jean felt the buzz of the syllable against the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck that she realized how close Mustang was. “It really is beautiful like this, Havoc.”

She leaned forward. Kissed.

Her lips were soft, still damp from the water. Her naked breasts pressed against Jean’s back, so much softer and fuller than Jean’s own. A lock of her hair tumbled forward as she left go of Jean’s braid, and the thin tickle of her hair against Jean’s right shoulder mixed with the heavier pressure of the plait falling against her left. Heat flared between Jean’s legs.

Abruptly, Mustang pulled up and rested her chin against Jean’s neck. She turned just enough to brush light kisses against Jean’s cheek, then spoke into her ear in a low whisper.

“But look at me; keeping you from your shower. How rude of me. I’d better let you have it.” She turned Jean’s head with one hand and kissed her full on the mouth. “In fact, shall we go in together? No time like the present.”

Jean had no breath left for words, but she did manage a nod, staring into Mustang’s smirking, dark eyes with her own wide blue ones. She let herself be lead into one of the tiny, enclosed private shower cubicles, and wrapped her arms around Mustang’s body as the Colonel leaned over her to lock them in together.