Assignation

The man who wanted everything and the man no one seemed to want. It appeared to be a perfect arrangement. The fates having a moment of smug amusement, probability deciding to neglect its own usual configuration; there was no other way to explain it apart from some manner of cosmic pun.

However one wanted to justify it, there was a feral sexuality expressed in the scratches down Havoc’s back, a visceral possessiveness in the dark bruises hidden under the collar of his uniform. There was an offhand eroticism to the way he sucked on a cigarette when no one was looking, a smirking evocation of confident sensuality that would send his compatriots scrambling for some manner of familiar ground.

Jean Havoc just wasn’t…sexual. A good friend, a good man to have at your back, but not someone who usually was associated with bedroom conquests of any kind. Especially not the sort the way he was moving his lips around his cigarette was suggesting.

Havoc eyed the clock, smirked, and flicked his cigarette into a coffee mug with practiced ease. Quitting time- his second most favorite time of the day. He sketched what appeared to be the lazy cousin of a proper salute to the other occupants of the office, and ambled off on his way.

The time to be a productive and useful member of society had passed for the day. Now was the time to meet with shady people in seedy bars where no one cared to get interested in anyone else’s comings or goings. It was time to stop home just long enough to shed his uniform and slip into something more relaxed, tossing a liberal dose of cologne on to cover up the slight musk of disuse that clung to non-uniform dress shirts. Then to wander down a street that somehow managed to appear less reputable than the assortment of harlots, drunks, and dealers going about their evening routine. It was the underbelly that hid in every city, that everyone was aware of even if they didn’t deign to acknowledge the fact. There was something for everyone, with enough left over for pleasant excess to keep the persistent happy.

It was not a place one generally thought to see a member of the military, thus it was not as one of the military that Havoc went. There was a slight sway to his walk, a glint in his eyes that were not a part of his work repertoire, a knowing grin that was alien to his daily office face. He ignored the greetings, invitations, and insults that followed him down the street. He had a goal.

And that goal was a bar whose sign had long since lost its lettering to weather, but possessed such a regular roster of patrons that it didn’t matter. If you didn’t know what it was called you probably shouldn’t be there. Havoc nodded his way past the massive man engaged in intimidating off the bulk of the passerby and ducked into the velvety, smoke laced dark of the bar. The lights were low, partially to keep attention away from the stains on the floor and the marks on the tables, and partly to keep faces that didn’t really want to be seen in a pleasant sort of anonymity.

Havoc slid into the usual booth, settling next to the feet propped up on the bench, smiling at the man reclining in the seat across from him.

“The idea was to notice my feet were in your spot and come sit next to me.” Greed eyed Havoc, and raised an eyebrow. “But, of course you knew that. Difficult as ever, I see.”

“You’d get bored if I wasn’t.”

“Of you? Naw.” Greed polished off his drink and stretched as far as the tall booth would allow. “So, we staying and drinking, or heading out?”

Havoc pulled out a cigarette, lit, and appeared to be deep in thought.

“If you are going to smoke it, smoke it. Stop trying to suck the damn thing off.”

“I could use a drink or two.”

“Damn tease.” Greed groused, watching Havoc’s lips work at the cigarette in a way very much intended to get Greed’s blood pumping- pumping more or less directly to the homunculus’ groin.

“You buying?”

“Don’t I always?”

Havoc knew just what his oral display was doing to the man across from him, knew just how much he could tease and taunt before the creature would lose his patience. And that was his first favorite part of the day- when Greed would stand abruptly, toss far too much money down onto the table, and haul Havoc up and out.

It was intoxicating, knowing he was wanted so much. It was addictive. It hauled him out of his respectable daily persona and into the arms of the enemy for a dizzying rush of sensation.

Greed never brought him to the same place, but the outcome was always a singularly fierce coupling. Clothing would be removed, Greed’s last concession to patience, before he fell onto Havoc with tooth and claw, marking Havoc’s body with a possessive zeal, a brand of foreplay too old for words. Never harder than Havoc wanted, never in places too visible- Greed was a consummately considerate lover. He had figured out what Havoc had wanted, had needed, the first time he had come across the Lieutenant drinking alone in a corner. He made sure Havoc was made aware of his arousal, made sure Havoc knew without a doubt that he wanted, demanded, desired…

Havoc gasped as claws bit into his ass, pulling him closer, as deadly sharp teeth toyed with first one nipple, then another. He recognized the instant Greed lost that last precarious hold on self-control as he was pushed away, then down, as he was urged by aroused growling to take Greed’s cock into his mouth and make good on the promises he had made back in the bar with a cigarette.

It was a guilty pleasure, the satisfaction Havoc felt at being the source of such amazing sounds of pleasure as he sucked, licked and bit Greed into a frenzy. No less dangerous than being on a battlefield, fucking the powerful homunculus.

Or being fucked, as the case may be.

Greed was never gentle, but then again, that wasn’t what Havoc wanted. He wanted raw lust, violent arousal, and he wanted to be the source of it. He wanted Greed’s teeth in the back of his neck, Greed’s claws in him, wanted that base evidence that he was worth something.

And after a pleasant round of sated caressing and nipping Havoc would reluctantly force his way out of a strong embrace and start hunting for socks. Greed’s glittering purple eyes would follow his movements, appreciating the play of powerful muscle under bare skin before Havoc managed to recover all of his clothing.

“See you tomorrow?" Greed would all but purr, decadently naked and content wherever he rested.

“Yeah. Sure.” Havoc would respond, digging about in his pants for a rumpled pack of cigarettes, attempting a nonchalant neither of them believed.

Then it was time to head home, to shower in a respectable apartment in a family sort of corner of town. Havoc would scrub away the musky smell of sex, the animal tang of Greed, pull on rather plain cotton pants while forgoing a shirt, and curl up to work on cleaning his favorite gun before bed. After all, he had to be back in the office in just a few hours.