The Next Best Thing

There wasn’t enough mouthwash in his apartment to cover the taste of Havoc lingering in Roy’s mouth. He had wanted it, and now he couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t ease the seething panic and guilt that had his stomach roiling in anguished agony.

“Damn it…damn it…DAMN YOU!” Roy spat bile and mouthwash into the bathroom sink, his face a study in enraged aversion. Archer. This had all started with Archer. The bastard had harassed his man, had harassed him…Archer. Yes. It was Archer’s fault, his fault for provoking Roy, for putting those insidious, vile thoughts in his head…

He had failed to act then, when he had first discovered what had happened. He had failed to force Archer face the consequences of touching what was his. Roy wiped the last bit of spit and mint from his lips and reached for his gloves. It was almost time to go to the office anyway. Getting in early wouldn’t hurt…

It was a sad day indeed when all that Havoc could convince his stomach to accept was toast. Burnt toast at that. Grand breakfast plans including gloriously greasy sausage links and delectable scrambled eggs with a bit of cheese foiled by his traitorous digestive system, Havoc munched half-heartedly and slouched his way into his coat. It was early, but there was no damn way he was getting back to bed. Might as well head into work early. Hell, if he had any sort of luck going in early meant getting his ass home early. It seemed to be a winning sort of proposition. He could crawl home, curl on the couch, revel in languid relaxation and pretend he hadn’t had such a fucking horrific night.

His body on autopilot, Havoc ambled his way the short distance from his apartment to place of work. Which is most likely why he missed the fact he wasn’t the only one in early that morning. Which is how he managed to avoid seeing quiet smile his presence generated. Which is why he emitted a strangled shout as hands slipped around his waist in a very unwelcome fashion.

“Good morning.”

That deceptively pleasant croon filled the depths of his most unwelcome nightmares, ghosted down hallways when he walked alone at night…Havoc shuddered and pried himself free, backed away…

…And backed himself directly into a wall. “Fuck.” He hissed, eyes wild.

“Something the matter, Lieutenant?” Archer crooned, a beatific smile gracing his pale features.

“Fuck.” Havoc repeated, his brain too engaged in a desperate search for some manner of escape to carry on conversation.

“Hmm…you don’t seem at all well, Jean.” Archers voice caressed Havoc’s name with decidedly improper sensuality as he stepped forward, face a study of polite concern. “Maybe I can…help.”

Havoc had never wanted to feel that body touch his again, had never wanted those hips pressed against his, that face so close to his…

“Perhaps you need a smoke. Your nerves seem a bit frayed.”

“Frank Archer.”

The venom in that voice did nothing to remove the smile from Archer’s face. If anything, it intensified. “Good morning, Mustang. A pleasure to see you so early. You show such dedication to…”

“Get away from my Lieutenant.” Roy growled.

“Yours?” Archer drew away, eyes narrowing. “I believe we both have rather…individual claims to dear Jean.”

Havoc flinched as Archer shifted his stance just so, just enough so that his hips were tilted in Havoc’s direction. ‘I swear I’ll never come to work early again. nevernevernever…’

When Roy didn’t offer a retort, Archer’s expression became thoughtful. “Oh? Did you take our little conversation to heart then, my dear Mustang?”

“Havoc. Leave.” Roy barked, just barely controlling his temper enough to pull his attention from the hated face of the man in front of him, the tormentor of his friend, his own tormentor…

Havoc didn’t need to be told twice. With the dexterity he was infamous for he ducked to the side and made a swift bid for freedom, vanishing down a hallway.

The smile finally slipped from Archer’s face. “Well then, Mustang. What are you going to do now? Attack me in the hall? However will you talk your way out of that one?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love to see me lose everything over an adolescent brawl.”

“But its what you want, isn’t it? You want nothing more than to hit me, don’t you?” Archer advanced a step, his eyes never leaving Roy’s. “Go ahead. One hit. I won’t say anything.”

“No. That’s what you want. I hit you and you bring me up on charges, make sure I lose…”

“Go on. Hit me.”

“No.”

“No?” Archer frowned. “Coward.”

Roy’s fist launched a hit before he had the chance to think the action through. The feel of his hand hitting Archer’s cheekbone was sublimely satisfying, got his blood boiling in a viciously pleased sort of way.

As Archer leaned into the hit, as his arms reached around to pull Roy close, Roy was left with the sickening impression the hit had gotten Archers blood boiling as well, albeit in a completely different way.

“I want everything that is yours, Mustang.” Archer whispered, pressing against Roy.

With a disgusted shout Roy yanked himself free. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I will have everything that is yours, Roy Mustang. Have a good day.” Archer straightened his shirt, brushed a hand across the red mark Roy’s fist had left on his face, turned, and left.