The Next Best Thing

If someone had told Havoc he would ever be downright gleeful to get his ass back to work, he would have asked what the hell they had been drinking.



But, given the current situation…



Roy had wanted to go out for coffee, declaring the swill in the officer’s mess not fit for human consumption. Havoc had been powerless to argue, and was equally powerless to find a polite way out of his current predicament.

‘If I have to listen to one more comment about unseasonably warm weather…’



Apparently, when Roy Mustang was uncomfortable, his normal suavity skipped town. He was stuttering like some pimpled teen asking the popular girl to the prom, complete with a total lack of eye contact.



It would have been almost amusing, if Havoc didn’t have a rather vivid memory of how Mustang tasted like cheap brandy and tooth paste…how his lips were just a little chapped…



Mustang’s foot nudged up against his, and the other man jerked back, startled by the innocent, accidental contact.



Yeah…this wasn’t good.



‘Now would be a wonderful time for some sort of emergency…war, assassination, indigestion…’



Divine intervention occurred in the shape of a small, harried man informing Mustang that he had a phone call.



Havoc had never been so happy to see Mustang’s backside. ‘Time to put some of that covert ops crap to use…’ On one hand, he really hated fleeing while his superior officers back was turned. On the other hand…



…On the other hand he was pretty sure he didn’t give a flying fuck.



There was only so much a man could be expected to handle with good grace. Jean Havoc decided he had reached his quota. Thus, it was with a confidence born of emotional desperation that he dropped enough money to cover his untouched cup of coffee onto the table, pushed in his chair, and bolted for the office.



Later, his brain would remind him the two polar opposite banes of his existence were almost always in said office.







Havoc really should have seen it coming. Archer wasn’t one to give up, especially when he so obviously had a continued effect on his prey. But, damn, the man could have at least had the decency to wait to torment Havoc when he wasn’t trying to take a piss. Of all the ways to get caught with ones pants around the knees, dick exposed…



“Having a good day?”



Havoc jerked at the sound of that silky voice, almost zipping himself into the fly of his uniform pants, and rounded, horrified, on the man that seemed damn well determined to destroy his personal space, not to mention peace of mind.



“Careful there.” Archer slipped a slender hand over the one Havoc had moved to defensively cover his still exposed crotch. “You wouldn’t want anything…unfortunate to happen.”



‘Between you and the zipper…I’ll take the zipper.’ He wished he could say it out loud, snarl his defiance at the monster in front of him…unfortunately all that emerged from his mouth was a shrill sort of keening. It was embarrassing, it was demeaning, and it appeared to be turning on the predator smiling down at him. Archer’s hand moved a bit, caressing lightly, suggestively, and Havoc’s brain attempted to shut down.



This wasn’t happening…not again…



“Not again…”



“Shhh…” Archer whispered, leaning close. Havoc retreated the available two feet or so before coming into contact with the solid reality of the bathrooms back wall.



Nowhere to run…again.



Havoc’s brain decided that catatonic shock was a wonderful state of being. At least he wouldn’t have to relive the painful, terrifying indignity of the act again. His eyes glazed over a bit, head lolled to the side…and if Archer noticed, he didn’t seem to care.







It wasn’t as if he was stalking the man. He had a perfectly good reason to be concerned when Havoc went missing. There was a reason for the anxious twisting of his stomach…for the sweat that was beading the back of his neck.



Bathroom…Havoc had ambled off in the direction of the bathroom. That was innocent enough, but…well, he had been gone awhile…



It was perfectly acceptable to be concerned for the well being of his subordinates.



Mustang opened the bathroom door, mouth open to explain what he was doing to what would most likely be a rather indignant Havoc…



And froze, eyes wide as he took in a scene from his most unwelcome nightmares.



His Havoc…pants down around his ankles, bent over the sink…and Archer…touching…stroking… The world gained an odd red tint as Roy lunged forward, intent on killing the bastard in front of him, only to stop dead in his tracks as he ended up with an armful of Havoc.



“You might want to take him home. The Lieutenant doesn’t look well.” Archer nodded is head politely, rinsed his right hand in the sink, and proceeded to walk past Roy and out into the hall.



Roy could either attack the man, dropping a distressingly limp Havoc to the floor in the process, or he could hold tight to the other man and let Archer get away.



It really wasn’t much of a choice. He glared a thousand death wishes at the seemingly tranquil man as Archer exited, all the while clutching Havoc close, unwilling to lose contact with the silent lieutenant.



“Jean?” As the door slipped shut behind Archer, Roy peered down at Havoc, concerned. “Lieutenant? Havoc?”



Havoc stared through and past him from dispassionate eyes.



Shock. The man was in shock.



In a rare moment of indecision, Roy gnawed lightly at his lower lip, contemplating the wisdom of his first inclination, then nodded as he came to a decision.



“C’mon, Jean. I’m going to take you home.”







Havoc shuddered back to reality with a yelp, and then a howl of displeasure as he realized he was in a shower. In his uniform. “What the hell?”



“You back?”



Mustang. Havoc blinked sodden bangs out of his eyes, taking in the unfamiliar shower stall, the rather elaborate rack of towels…he was in Mustang’s apartment…in Mustang’s bathroom…



Bathroom…



“Oh…crap…” His pupils dilated with terror as he remembered the last bathroom he had been in, remembered the feel of Archer looming close.



Too close. Roy was too close. He shoved frantically at the other man, desperate to have space, to breathe.



As Roy moved back, thankfully understanding the problem, Havoc curled in on himself, embarrassed and upset, and hoping to any god that bothered to listen that he wasn’t about to start crying in front of his superior officer again…



No such luck. Such was his life, apparently.



A hand tentatively reached to touch his soaked shoulder, and Havoc twitched away. “Fuck off.”



“Jean…”



“Shit man, leave me alone.”



“No.”



Havoc glared up as Roy turned off the water and knelt beside him. “No?”



“No.”



He wanted to be angry. Really he did…instead a sense of overwhelming relief slammed him with all the elegance of an out of control truck, and he found himself rounding on Roy with a sob as opposed to the intended shout.



Safe. Safe. All of his previous trepidation collapsed and he crowded as close to Roy as he could, needing, no demanding, the contact. Roy smelled of shampoo and soap, a bit of cologne and coffee…it was familiar, comforting…



He didn’t even notice when he tilted his head upwards to claim a crushingly demanding kiss. He was in charge…he was looking for everything his mind told him he needed. And he needed this, needed to taste the bitter/sweet contradiction that was the interior of Roy’s mouth, needed to be the aggressor for once.



Roy held perfectly still, not at all sure how to react and unwilling to upset Havoc any further. When Havoc pulled away and rested his head on Roy’s shoulder, unwilling to meet Roy’s eyes, Roy decided to move. He shifted just a bit, letting a bit of circulation back into a leg that had been awkwardly bearing the bulk of his weight, and tried to peer down at the lanky man huddled against him.



“…my boots are still on.”



“Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I was trying…”



“My socks are wet.”



It was such a mundane, little thing, and Havoc sounded so sullen…Roy couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. “I am sorry.”



“Liar.”



Havoc was partially right. Roy dared reach an arm around the blond, and offered a tentative attempt at humor. “Feel like standing up before you start to mildew?”



“Bastard.” Havoc growled.



But he didn’t pull away from the awkward embrace.