The Next Best Thing
folder
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,344
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,344
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
3
Havoc had never in his laziest musings thought he would come to hate the idea of an erotic dream. Generally, they were a welcome distraction from his rather reliable bachelorhood, pleasantly fraught with appealing curves and winsome looks…
When the hell did the blood and terror kick in?
All right, maybe that was a rather dumb question. Havoc dragged his hands down his sweat-slick face, trying to calm the embarrassingly erratic thumping of his heart, his loud gasping breathing. Floored by a damn nightmare. Havoc flicked on the light, eyes dark with defeat. “Fuck. Thought I could make it in the dark.” Funny how comforting a little light was, though it was a sentiment he had assumed set aside somewhere back when he gave up suckling his mothers tit.
Embarrassing. An embarrassed Havoc was not a happy Havoc. His fingers twitched in response to a chemical need for a cigarette, and were told to damn well stop that by a psychological need to stay the fuck away from the damn things. The burn mark on his neck still hurt. As well as the pattern of burns on his ass…his chest…
No, a cig was not going to do the trick, and that in itself was an absolutely terrifying epiphany. Cigarettes were the solve all, the end all…maybe it was time for a new habit, a new vice. Coffee seemed a good choice, substituting one stimulant for another, an office approved and supported stimulant at that.
And hell, if he drank enough coffee he wouldn’t want to sleep as much, wouldn’t have to see that damn face in his dreams, here that deceptively calm, soothing voice…
Wouldn’t have to be afraid to be alone in his own damn room at night.
“…What are you doing?”
Havoc attempted to look dignified. “Having a cup of coffee.” And I am damn well going to enjoy it, even though it smells like an evil cross between a stale cig and the swill Ed cooked that once…It was a small victory, that utterly baffled look on Fury’s face, but there really was little sport in messing with the guy. He took everything so seriously. “I didn’t sleep well last night. So coffee. Breakfast of overworked champions.”
“I…see.” Clearly, Fury did not, but somewhere in the bags under Havoc’s blood streaked eyes and the lines in his forehead a hefty dose of desperation was visible, which discouraged further inquiry.
That was about when Mustang entered, a decidedly venomous look on his face. The office paused, waiting for him to start in on whoever was unfortunate enough to have attracted or earned his wrath, and breathed a collective sigh of relief as he stalked into his office and slammed the door.
Their relief was a tad preemptive.
“HAVOC.”
All eyes turned towards Havoc, who was trying his best to look nonchalant. He gave a slight shrug, chugged the overly warm, un-sugared coffee, instantly regretted it, and stumbled his way to Mustangs office, trying to ignore the burnt feeling in his mouth, the bitter taste.
Mustang wasn’t seated this time, wasn’t even trying to appear calm and collected. “There something you want to tell me, Lieutenant?”
I am guessing he doesn’t want to know he looks smashing today…crap crap crap. “The coffee is burnt?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Havoc realized something. Mustang wasn’t mad at him, well, all right, hadn’t been mad at him until he had managed to say something so utterly idiotic as to deserve a bit of ire. Mustang was actually upset.
He knows…ah hell, he knows…
Havoc wanted desperately to beat a hasty retreat before Mustang made him say it out loud, before the man made him talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it; he was trying his damnedest not to think about it. Mustang’s black eyes regarded him with a steady knowledge, and that was enough. Havoc decided that he could deal with the insubordination charges. He turned heel and left.
That was the cincher for Roy, the last bit of supporting evidence required. That bastard had dared…the rumors had been bad, the chuckles hastily suppressed as Mustang walked too close had been a tad too vicious, too suggestive, for commonplace military pranking and mild harassment. The look of utter terror, of abject shame that had flashed across Havoc’s face had been the last straw.
Roy gritted his teeth in a feral sort of grin. Now he could deal with Archer. The bastard would wish he had never so much as looked at one of Mustang’s men…
When the hell did the blood and terror kick in?
All right, maybe that was a rather dumb question. Havoc dragged his hands down his sweat-slick face, trying to calm the embarrassingly erratic thumping of his heart, his loud gasping breathing. Floored by a damn nightmare. Havoc flicked on the light, eyes dark with defeat. “Fuck. Thought I could make it in the dark.” Funny how comforting a little light was, though it was a sentiment he had assumed set aside somewhere back when he gave up suckling his mothers tit.
Embarrassing. An embarrassed Havoc was not a happy Havoc. His fingers twitched in response to a chemical need for a cigarette, and were told to damn well stop that by a psychological need to stay the fuck away from the damn things. The burn mark on his neck still hurt. As well as the pattern of burns on his ass…his chest…
No, a cig was not going to do the trick, and that in itself was an absolutely terrifying epiphany. Cigarettes were the solve all, the end all…maybe it was time for a new habit, a new vice. Coffee seemed a good choice, substituting one stimulant for another, an office approved and supported stimulant at that.
And hell, if he drank enough coffee he wouldn’t want to sleep as much, wouldn’t have to see that damn face in his dreams, here that deceptively calm, soothing voice…
Wouldn’t have to be afraid to be alone in his own damn room at night.
“…What are you doing?”
Havoc attempted to look dignified. “Having a cup of coffee.” And I am damn well going to enjoy it, even though it smells like an evil cross between a stale cig and the swill Ed cooked that once…It was a small victory, that utterly baffled look on Fury’s face, but there really was little sport in messing with the guy. He took everything so seriously. “I didn’t sleep well last night. So coffee. Breakfast of overworked champions.”
“I…see.” Clearly, Fury did not, but somewhere in the bags under Havoc’s blood streaked eyes and the lines in his forehead a hefty dose of desperation was visible, which discouraged further inquiry.
That was about when Mustang entered, a decidedly venomous look on his face. The office paused, waiting for him to start in on whoever was unfortunate enough to have attracted or earned his wrath, and breathed a collective sigh of relief as he stalked into his office and slammed the door.
Their relief was a tad preemptive.
“HAVOC.”
All eyes turned towards Havoc, who was trying his best to look nonchalant. He gave a slight shrug, chugged the overly warm, un-sugared coffee, instantly regretted it, and stumbled his way to Mustangs office, trying to ignore the burnt feeling in his mouth, the bitter taste.
Mustang wasn’t seated this time, wasn’t even trying to appear calm and collected. “There something you want to tell me, Lieutenant?”
I am guessing he doesn’t want to know he looks smashing today…crap crap crap. “The coffee is burnt?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Havoc realized something. Mustang wasn’t mad at him, well, all right, hadn’t been mad at him until he had managed to say something so utterly idiotic as to deserve a bit of ire. Mustang was actually upset.
He knows…ah hell, he knows…
Havoc wanted desperately to beat a hasty retreat before Mustang made him say it out loud, before the man made him talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it; he was trying his damnedest not to think about it. Mustang’s black eyes regarded him with a steady knowledge, and that was enough. Havoc decided that he could deal with the insubordination charges. He turned heel and left.
That was the cincher for Roy, the last bit of supporting evidence required. That bastard had dared…the rumors had been bad, the chuckles hastily suppressed as Mustang walked too close had been a tad too vicious, too suggestive, for commonplace military pranking and mild harassment. The look of utter terror, of abject shame that had flashed across Havoc’s face had been the last straw.
Roy gritted his teeth in a feral sort of grin. Now he could deal with Archer. The bastard would wish he had never so much as looked at one of Mustang’s men…