Untitled - In Progress
Aug. 21st, 2012 10:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
twilight_lament"You're like splinters in my cup."
A gentle, feminine laugh twining with a deeper male one captures Hughes' attention, but he does not look away from the drink he shares with other soldiers. Those sounds mean one thing and Hughes is well (far too well) acquainted with what would come next: the scuffle of chair legs against the wooden floor, a 'here let me get your coat', followed by the sound of the door opening and closing a minute or two later.
"How does that bastard do it?" Havok's jealousy rings loud and clear. However it's the kind of exasperated greed-eyed monster instead of the angry one.
"He's got charm, Jean. The rest of us can only watch in amazement." The words roll easy off Hughes' tongue. His position as Best Friend allows him to deflect the brewing storm in the men surrounding the table. Three of them had tried with the same girl tonight and all had failed. No wonder they look a little testy when Mustang scores a walk home before she even finished the drink.
Maes smiles and switches the topic. He hadn't been interested in the woman in question. Over the years he'd developed a fine sense for Mustang's taste in companions and had learned exactly who to cross of his own list whenever he's out with the man as a result.
***
"So was she worth pissing off Havok and the others?" Maes leans against Roy's counter the next morning and envies the fact that even in a pair sleep pants, disheveled, and still smelling faintly of sex, Roy looks utterly at ease.
"You sound jealous." Cup in hand, Roy sips the coffee - black no sugar - while a cigarette dangles between his fingers.
"Come on Roy, this is me you're talking to. I learned my lessons years ago." Well most of them anyway. There's one lesson that Hughes hasn't quite mastered yet when it came to Roy. "Looks like she did quite the number on your back."
And it's true. Parallel red welts line Roy's back on the horizontal and vertical. They stand out starkly even against the slight tan. Maes draws his eyes back to Roy's face, meeting a lopsided grin with one of his own. Although Roy's expression is infinitely more pleased than Maes'.
"Are you sure she wasn't a cat? Maybe one of those chimera we keep hearing about?"
"She was energetic." For all that everyone knows Roy has his pick of men and women to date and bed, Roy never spills details. The Flame Alchemist is an arrogant asshole, but he's not a crass one. Two laughs, comfortable and easy, fill the space only to give way to silence not long after.
"How many more days?" The jealousy Hughes quietly nurses evaporates at the question.
"Ten." Ten days until Hughes ships off to Ishval, twenty for Roy. The State had decided to send in the Alchemists en masse to join up with their assigned units later.
Lost in thought, Maes doesn't hear Roy's approach, just registers the touch of warm hand and a voice that always sends a little shiver up his spine.
"We'll be all right."
"You will be." Hughes counters, smile back in place as he tries to not think about the heat seeping into his skin and how Roy looks at him - and how he doesn't want to go to war. "You've got all the luck the rest of us wish for."
"Fortune favors the bold, Hughes." A sly grin and Roy slips away, the heat of his hand lingers long after.
***
"Another round!" Hands slap against the worn bar top in the same rhythm as their morning runs. It's crowded and smokey and far too hot in the bar. Sweat trickles from Hughes' hair line down to the collar of the shirt not quite hidden by his uniform coat. It's also loud with the boisterous calls of all the poor son of a bitches about to get shipped off on a train. They're not stupid enough to get smashed the night before, just two nights before.
With his ears ringing and even a touch dizzy from the heat and one too many, there's no other place he'd rather be. Glasses hit the bar top and hands reach out, snagging them in succession.
"To Amestris! and the finest military on the planet!" People cheer and Hughes lifts his glass with a laugh. The liquor burns fast down his throat, warming him up from the inside all over again.
Someone leans against him and golden hair gives away the who before he really takes a full look. With a smile, Hughes leans back against her, resting his head on the back of hers. She's as comfortable as Roy, Riza Hawkeye.
"S'way too hot in here." Her words slur together just enough to hit that she's buzzed but not falling down drunk. Hughes can't imagine she'd ever let that happen anyway.
"Mhmm. Should open the windows." They keep each other propped up. Even with Riza's solid weight against him, Hughes' eyes seek Roy again. It's unconscious and immutable - lodestone drawn to a magnet.
"If someone opens them, someone will fall out of them."
"Fuery." They both say at the same time and share a laugh that almost compromises their shared and now precarious balance. Another round hits the bar and Hughes snags one for Riza first, passing it over his shoulder and hers into her waiting hand.
Hughes watches two cadets who should know better, vie for Roy's attention. What they don't realize is that there are some wells in which The Flame Alchemist does not dip his pen. Hughes smirks and resists the urge to roll his eyes as the man charms them anyway.
"So, are you ever going to tell him."
"Nope."
"Fair enough." He feels her tilt her head back and down the shot with more grace than half the men here. Riza Hawkeye is a woman through and through, but no one could ever call her dainty or unsure. She's known about the torch Hughes' carries for a long time. He also knows that she'll never utter a word.
"You never told me why."
"Have you ever seen him go out with the same person for more than a month?" Riza snorts.
"Fair enough. I guess we've got bigger things to worry about now anyway." He doesn't answer because she doesn't really need one. Hughes closes his eyes and lets the din of the bar sink into him for awhile, lets Riza be the thing that grounds him to the here and now.
One by one soldiers get deposited at their barracks by a group of well meaning buddies once the party is over. At the end of line is Hughes and Roy who now lean against each other as a means to keep from meeting the ground. He's disoriented as all get out, but Roy's arm around him still fills with a sort of giddiness that he has to watch carefully. In that distracted and thoroughly drunk way, Hughes knows his judgement is compromised and it'd be all too easy to slip up - say or do something he shouldn't.
"Did you see the look on Havok's face though?" A fresh round of laughter distracts Maes from the weight of that arm and how his hand curls into the fabric of Roy's coat.
"I can't believe you told him that she was a he. Are you trying to single handedly make sure the guy never gets laid again?" The smarmy look on Roy's face tells Maes the answer just might be yes.
"It's not my fault he believed me." Hughes can't stop laughing which results in him half tripping up the sidewalk and into the wall. He hadn't meant to take Roy along for the ride. He's laughing, almost loud and fighting valiantly to keep the volume down. That only makes him laugh more, stagger to the side.
Roy's chest impacts his and they're both still laughing, gasping for breath when they collide again. Hughes's face buries against Roy's shoulder with only the wall to keep them both up. Roy's hand clutches desperately at his coat, tangles in as he tries not to fall.
One thing is for sure; they cannot pass out on the sidewalk. They'll never hear the end of it. Eventually though the near hysterical laughter dies down and they're no longer in immediate danger of spilling onto the ground. With aching sides, Maes sucks in several long, deep breaths and feels Roy do the same.
The problem is that when the amusement dies, Maes becomes all too aware of the wall at his back and Roy at his chest. Somehow one of the alchemist's legs had worked between Hughes' and it's all he can do to not let out a pleading little noise. His fingers won't budge and the thick scent of bourbon on Roy keeps him from lifting his head.
Suddenly the air between them changes, charges, and Hughes feels the small tremble in Roy's hands, notes the way the other man isn't moving anymore than he. With his mind swimming and thoughts scattered, Hughes lifts his head and tries to pull away only to have the wall bring him up short. He can't ignore the heavy look in Roy's eyes either or the slight part of his lips. Mere inches separate them and he wants to close that distance, kiss the man until he gets to Roy's taste underneath the alcohol.
The moment doesn't last more than a second or two but it's a hammer shot to Hughes gut - heat coils tight - and enough time for more alarmed thoughts to plow mercilessly through his brain. He's hidden his attraction for Roy long enough that the deflection in a smile and a gentle push is enough to bring a confused look to the alchemist's face. Hughes takes the advantage, opens the door and pushes Roy through.
"Let's get some sleep."
***
"This is crazy." Leaning against Riza's side and she leaning right back against him, Hughes closes his eyes. This war makes no sense at all.
"The alchemists are in the field." He knows they're both thinking about Roy. Honestly Hughes and Riza both hoped for a long time that the Flame Alchemist had broken a leg and maybe, just maybe didn't get shipped out with the rest. They've seen no signs of his presence.
Before Hughes can say another word, a column of fire shoots up in the distance, bright and brilliant against the night sky. They're silent, solemn. It's a sight that Hughes has seen before and what was once beautiful to his eyes now breaks his heart.
"Are you moving out tomorrow?" Riza nods and neither one of them speak of the twisted glory in the distance.
***
Roy looks like death warmed over when he staggers into the tent he and Hughes now share. After the opening volley from the alchemists, they'd all be assigned to different units - self propelled artillery. Some days Hughes can't decide if he's glad Roy's with his unit or not.
Wordlessly, Maes passes the canteen to Roy and slides out the small basin of water. There are no showers and in truth they shouldn't be wasting water on keeping clean, but sometimes it's the only way to feel remotely human again. Roy doesn't say anything. The only reason that Hughes knows the man is still there in breathing are the sounds of him swallowing and the creak of the cot when Roy sits down.
Blank, heavy eyes stare at the cloth of the tent that makes the floor. It's not enough to enough to keep the chill out, but at least it keeps the sand down on the interior. Hughes imagines he can see the world in the bow of Roy's shoulders. Wind beats against the walls of the tent, providing the only noise within the small space. Maes' fingers twitch and he isn't sure if he wants to shake Roy or run his hand through the alchemist's hair and tell him everything will be all right. (He tells himself that white lie often enough that it no longer feels like terrible self delusion.)
"Hey." He touches Roy's shoulder instead only to have it shrugged off violently a moment later.
"I'm fine." Short. Distant. Devoid of Emotion. As flat as the tone is, as hollow as the words are, Hughes knows the lie. He feels like shit for even considering the out Roy gave him. It would be easy to retreat back to silence, but it's the brittle look deep in Roy's eyes that keeps him pressing forward.
"None of us are fine, Roy." Except maybe that jackal Kimbley. The Crimson Alchemist is in his element here and the thought of the man makes Maes' stomach turn. Roy snorts, jerking Hughes' attention back to where it should be.
"Right so we what? Talk about our feelings?" Derisive at best and downright cruel at worst. Even if it's just Roy's way of deflecting, it still hurts, still rubs Hughes' over strained nerves raw.
"Roy - fuck never mind." He turns, maybe silence is better after all.
He doesn't hear Roy move, just knows that suddenly hands turn him around, knot up in the cotton of his shirt. There isn't anything sane in the way Roy looks at him and nothing short of frightening at the amount of pain in the alchemist's eyes. He's breaking - hell they're all breaking - but he imagines it's worse for Roy. Guns and knives are known weapons, snapping your fingers shouldn't be able to obliterate entire blocks and everyone in it.
"What does it matter? How I feel won't change a damned thing! I still have orders. I'll still be a good little dog. Roll over, play fetch, sit." Though his tone isn't loud, it breaks over the strain of all the things eating Mustang alive. For a good minute Hughes can't respond because underneath the pain and the crushing guilt is a man slowly losing himself and trying to stop.
A man he loves and doesn't think he can help.
But then there's Roy's lips crushing against his with a pained, angry noise; his tongue prying at Hughes lips and teeth nipping when he still can't muster a reply of any kind. Frustrated and angry, Roy jerks him harder and presses forward at the same time. They end up spilling over the floor in a confused tangle.
This isn't right.
Even as he thinks it, Maes opens up under Roy's continued assault, greedily welcomes that tongue into his mouth. He's wanted this for too long and with death and chaos all around them he can't not respond to the raw need in Roy's kiss because he needs this too. Desperate sounds collide against each other as his hands scramble over Roy - one lodging in his hair and the other around his back. Closer, he needs closer.
Common sense rattles in his head and Maes tears his mouth away from Roy's. Panting, even as he arches under the attention Roy suddenly metes out to his neck, Hughes shifts his hands to Roy's shoulders.
"Roy - this.." He gets no further when feverish lips cut off the protests and the rough texture of the ignition gloves grates over his wrists. One motion and Roy pins his hands over Maes' head. He dislodges that kiss again with swallowed moan. His thoughts gather and he opens his eyes only to have the words die in his throat with the roll of Roy's groin against his. The sensation starts at the base of spine then shoots electric and hot through him. Maes groans - body strung tight and testing Roy's grip on his wrists.
Trapped somewhere between the need hammering through him, and a keen sense of this being not right, he can't move to Roy or away. With his wrists pinned now under one hand, Hughes' skin shivers when Roy's gloved hand shoves up his shirt. Noise sticks in his throat and he thrashes under Roy in an attempt to deny how hot that touch is even with the glove still separating skin from skin, how much it drives him, heats him up. Reservations vanish under the weight of raw lust and way he's been strung out and up too damn long in Ishval. He needs to feel human again, thinks Roy does too.
"Take that damn glove off." How manages to say it is nothing short of a miracle. The dark little chuckle slinking past Roy's lips and right up against Maes' neck is just one more point of contact preventing any other line of thinking. Those fingers rake across his lips and he bites down on the tips, holding the fabric between his teeth.
"Hold that, will you?" Hot kisses trail over his jaw and finally that hand touches him - skin to skin. The glove in his teeth dampens some of his moan and Roy's body absorbs the way his arches upwards. He's lost and he doesn't care anymore.
Pinned under the man, Maes doesn't fight anymore when that hand pushes his shirt up, unfastens his pants, and grips his cock. It's wild, even a little scary, but there's not much room for fear with so much pleasure running through him. Bucking into the grip, Hughes strains up and tries to catch Mustang's mouth with his. He needs it, needs something else on to which he can anchor himself.
Roy doesn't relent and garbled sound that leaves Maes' lips is just one giant tangle of frustrated want. He pulls his wrists again, determined to get what he's after.
"Let go." Roy's eyes meet his and Maes' breath catches hard in his lungs. He's never seen Roy look so damned pleased, torn up, and demanding. Those eyes pin him place, halt his near frantic shifting.
"I like you like this." Words that pour over and between his lips. A long tug on his cock has him shuddering all over again. "I think you like it to." The truth of it curls hard and mixes with that tight knot already wound up in his belly. This might not be what has lurked Hughes racier dreams, but the reality is still ten times better.
When Roy kisses him again, Hughes thinks he's been wrapped up in the alchemist's flames. Burning up inside and out, nothing is less frantic but they're moving together now. The bite and scrap of Roy's teeth obliterates ever other thought in his head and before he knows it, Hughes legs spread around Roy.
The first push of Roy's wet fingers hurts - a moan and a gasp tripping together when he tries to adjust. The pressure is intense, doubling every sensation in him. Every motion he makes is a plea for more and more. Being worked open isn't as pleasurable as he'd like, but it's the anticipation jolting through him that has him moving and bearing down on the fingers probing him.
Roy's moan is sweet against his ear. The alchemist's body tightens over his when teeth scrap along Maes' neck.
"Fuck, Maes." It's a thrill to reduce Mustang to obscenities. He thinks he hears something else in those words, but chalks it up to imagination and a moment that is as fucked up as it is thrilling.
When the real pressure comes, it hurts and as twisted up as he is, Maes' tenses, arches when he knows he should relax. He gasps, fighting and welcoming at the same time, he can't get a hold of anything. Chest too tight to breath and the pain coupled with the burn of Roy's intrusion has him clenching down.
Then Roy stills not pressing deeper, but not retreating. The kiss he forces next demands Hughes' attention; it's long and thorough, comforting and commanding. A long shudder runs the length of Maes' body and then tension in him finally relents some - enough. Roy still has to fuck the rest of the way in; short hard strokes that keep Hughes riding that knife edge of pleasure/pain.
Roy tries to give him time Maes doesn't want.
"Damnit, move!" That might have sounded imperious if he weren't out of breath and downright pleading instead. "Shit, Roy, please!" Hips straining when he meets that first full thrust and the world fucking splinters around him. Then it's nothing but sweet friction and the tang of sweat on his tongue when he manages to get at some skin. There's nothing gentle in the way Roy fucks him on the tent floor, but it shouldn't be. He needs and wants and now. So he meets each thrust and bears down on the cock pumping inside of him. Shocks and the sound of skin on skin, harsh moans from Roy's mouth - honey sweet in his ear.
Roy never lets go of his wrists and hangs onto Maes' hip with bruising force. It's all just one more sensation in the pleasure tightening in a net over him and he's close, so close. Hughes arches and shifts until each thrust has his cock dragging against Roy's stomach. With his cock leaking cum, Hughes chases after that high, urging Roy on with legs clasped around the alchemist's waist.
It hits him with hurricane force; every muscle stands taunt and strained and his legs grip Roy, force him to stay deep in Hughes. Distantly he feels Roy cover Hughes mouth with his own, hears their moans twine and tangle, stifled between them. And feeling Roy's release adds a level of satisfaction he couldn't have anticipated. It's heaven, hell, and everything in between until it's gone, leaving him panting and disoriented on the floor. Drained of every bit of energy and every scrap of will, the last thing Hughes registers is Roy slumping heavy against him before exhaustion drags him under too.
***
Maes doesn't know what's worse: the nights when the sex is rough and hard, or the nights when Roy curls up against him and tries to lose what little sanity he has left. At least after fucking they both feel less like killing machines.
***
"What's the mission?" Hughes shakes his head. This is one of those covert operations and he can't say a word.
"I'll be gone four days." At least. Of course that's always assuming he'll make it back alive. There's no guarantees on life and it's the moments when he thinks that's a good thing that scare him the most. Maes looks at the man sitting on the piece of rock next to him. Somewhere under the grime and sand and despair, Roy lurks, or so he hopes.
"Four days, you better not get yourself killed old man." Because I won't be able to handle it. Hughes hears the unspoken and swallows hard. It's how he feels every time Roy gets sent out and all he can see are the fires in distance and smell the smoke carried on scorching winds.
"Keep in Riza's sights. She'll keep you out of trouble while I'm gone." Roy laughs and even though they're close, Maes and Roy do not touch. Outside of moments when they're breathless and moaning the other's name, they don't know quite what to do around each other, can't figure out what any of it means.
"Be careful." A look shifts between them and Hughes stands up.
"You too."
***
Maes doesn't have much faith left when the war finally ends. Looking up at the Furher and listening to grandiose speeches about the end of the Civil War do nothing to lift his weary heart. He and Roy stand shoulder to shoulder amid the other soldiers in attendance. Hard to believe words of hope and prosperity when you've held your friend's guts in with your bare hands, screaming for help that won't make it in time. Impossible to feel all that relieved when they've turned your best friend into a walking flame thrower. He'll never forgive any of them for the haunted look that won't ever leave Riza's eyes.
"You know I'll help."
"Could be dangerous, Hughes." Roy flashes him glance and Hughes sees far too many things in the man's eyes. There's also determination there and that alone overrides nearly everything else that he sees. They both know that something is wrong and they won't let another Ishval happen. Hughes isn't sure they can accomplish what they want. It's a big task even with the right people.
He looks at Roy again. The alchemist's eyes remain trained on the Furher and all of those standing at 'the top'. In the Academy they used to talk a lot about what they would do and how they would do it - ideal dreams of stupid kids. However, looking at Roy right now, Maes can't help but believe. Maes smiles and closes his eyes. Maybe it's not a bad thing to keep dreaming.
"Then we know what we need to do. Think you can manage to not piss off everyone you come into contact with?" Roy does have a tendency to rub people the wrong way. Although that is not entirely what Hughes means. There are already whispers through the ranks about the 'Hero of Ishval'. The Flame Alchemist is no longer just a name for one of the state's dogs, he's a symbol. One that might invite a fair amount of jealousy his way. Roy grins nice and easy, flicking his too long hair out of his face.
"I can't help it if people envy me, Hughes. Everyone should have something to aspire to." Maybe Roy isn't buried out in the sands of Ishval after all. Hughes slaps a hand on his shoulder and Roy finally turns to look at him. The connection between them remains for now and, in a single look, they share a thousand things and know each other better than perhaps two people should. Wind kicking up a fair share of dust breaks the moment up.
What they both realize is that the smell of death, of burning bodies, still lingers in the rubble. It's an acrid smell that lodges in the back of Hughes' throat and he wonders if the day will ever come that he doesn't wake up and think that he still smells it.
"One month and then the tours begin. So much for an extended leave time, huh?" Roy's voice is quiet and carefully guarded when he answers Hughes.
"When are you coming back from your parents?"
"I'm only going for a week. You won't get rid of me that's easily." He doesn't see the small smile on Roy's lips.
***
When they reach East City, everything gets delayed. However the military puts the overflow of soldiers up in hotels when the barracks simply can't hold them all. Hughes can't remember his last real shower. With hot water spilling over his head and down his back, it doesn't even matter. If he scorches off three layers of skin and then some, maybe he'll stop feeling sand in every little crook of his body.
A shower, several strong drinks, and then sleep. If he's lucky he'll be too tired and too drunk to dream much at all. At least that's the plan.
The water runs clear at his feet, but he knows there's blood in it.
The door to the room opens and his first inclination is to grab his side arm. All that stops him is the fact that door wasn't kicked in and he knows that he'd up having a roommate until the trains could get sorted out. What he doesn't expect is Roy standing in the doorway with his duffel over one shoulder and a critical eye assessing half healed wounds and scars.
It's been two months since the last time they've seen each other bare, physically at least. Two months that were not kind to either one of them. It's the touch of the ignition glove next to a set of stitches on his ribs that jerks him out of his thoughts, but into something that just might be worse. His breath shakes in his chest and it's a blessing when the words come out sounding right.
"It's not as bad as it looks." He says and Roy makes a distracted sound. Does the alchemist even realize just how lightly his fingers move over Maes skin? The cloth is rough, drawing goosebumps to the surface of his skin that's still flushed and warm from the water. His cock twitches and his throat dries out.
Thank God it's not his turn his to speak.
Roy's hand drops and the alchemist finally looks him in the eyes.
"I'm sure it isn't." Calm and cool, so typically Roy right before the same man turns and walk back into the shared room. Hughes takes the time to cool off and get dressed, or at least get his pants on before walking out.
"Bathroom's all yours. And yep the hot water is just as good as you think it will be." Hughes smiles and roots around in his bag for a shirt, anything clean.
"I can get another room." Roy's voice cracks over the words and Maes feels the weight of his gaze and hears exactly what Roy doesn't say.
"What if I don't want you to?" Maybe he should though.
"Why not?"
"Because your my best friend?" A smirk and Maes tries to play off everything that happened in Ishval. Apparently for Roy the need was all about the war. Maes already expects as much. Roy's smile breaks his heart when he looks just as lost as Maes feels.
The tension isn't so prominent after Roy showers and they steal away downstairs to grab a bite to eat and another bottle; both of which they tote back to their shared quarters. Stories and liquor flow freely, but they don't talk about Ishval. Those memories still rub far too raw and Maes doesn't really want to think about how many times he came too close to losing the man in front of him and everyone else.
It's Roy lifting his eyes to Maes' after a long silence that brings back a lot of other things Maes keeps trying to not think about. There's so many things in Roy's look that Maes, pleasantly buzzed and tire, can't properly sort out. Without even thinking about it, he stands, toppling over his chair in his bid to get to Roy.
Hands on the alchemist's face, Maes lets out a relieved sigh when finally he tastes his friend's lips again. One kiss to turns into another; his hands pull Roy from the chair and tug him close. Amazing that after two months, they way they fit together comes automatically for them both. So what if the kisses come sloppily or they almost trip on the way back to the bed? What matters is Roy's skin warm and getting hot under his hands and the alchemist pressed against his chest.
Roy's presence is always a palpable force and right now Maes only wants to get lost in it.
The backs of his thighs bump against one of the beds in the room and the thought that they won't need the other one almost makes him laugh under the press of too many emotions. Instead he concentrates on getting Roy's shirt off and pants undone so he can slip his hand beneath them. They don't part, but the kiss between them comes to a halt and shifts into nothing more than parted lips trembling against each other when they move in tandem; his hand on Roy's cock over his underwear and vice versa. That almost-skin-contact lights through his body making him need. Hips moving in time, Maes' gets closer to coming faster than he wants.
One shift and he drops to his knees, jerking Roy's close down past his hips with far more coordination than one who's had that much to drink should possess. Roy's protest dies on a keening moan when Hughes wraps his lips around Roy's cock and sucks him in deep. Two hands thread into his hair and he can feel the tension in Roy's fingers as he tries to not to fuck Hughes' mouth.
Then he's only one step away - gripping the base of his erection hard - when Roy's moans crack in that familiar way, come shooting down his mouth that's already too full. He adjusts fast, swallowing down and grinning unabashedly at Roy's muttered and awestruck 'fuck'. Maes pets his best friend's hips and sucks slow and easy on his softening length before sliding back.
A turn and a lazy push has Roy sprawled out over the rough comforter on the bed. Hughes takes his time in sliding off the rest of the Roy's clothes while doling out easy kisses against his thighs. Each one coaxes Roy's legs a little wider until he's splayed out and panting. When Hughes rights himself to get his own pants off, he spends those heavy moments looking over Roy. For once there's no tension in the man or exhausted satiation, just the easy glow that happens when one comes hard, but isn't quite ready to call it quits.
What causes Hughes' smile to falter is the knowledge that tonight will probably be the last time. Tomorrow the world intrudes again and there's no excuse of a war and the need to keep sane to bring them together again. Lowering himself down to the bed, knees in between Roy's spread legs, hands planted to either side of the alchemists head, Maes decides if it's the last, then he'll just have to make it count.
A gentle, feminine laugh twining with a deeper male one captures Hughes' attention, but he does not look away from the drink he shares with other soldiers. Those sounds mean one thing and Hughes is well (far too well) acquainted with what would come next: the scuffle of chair legs against the wooden floor, a 'here let me get your coat', followed by the sound of the door opening and closing a minute or two later.
"How does that bastard do it?" Havok's jealousy rings loud and clear. However it's the kind of exasperated greed-eyed monster instead of the angry one.
"He's got charm, Jean. The rest of us can only watch in amazement." The words roll easy off Hughes' tongue. His position as Best Friend allows him to deflect the brewing storm in the men surrounding the table. Three of them had tried with the same girl tonight and all had failed. No wonder they look a little testy when Mustang scores a walk home before she even finished the drink.
Maes smiles and switches the topic. He hadn't been interested in the woman in question. Over the years he'd developed a fine sense for Mustang's taste in companions and had learned exactly who to cross of his own list whenever he's out with the man as a result.
"So was she worth pissing off Havok and the others?" Maes leans against Roy's counter the next morning and envies the fact that even in a pair sleep pants, disheveled, and still smelling faintly of sex, Roy looks utterly at ease.
"You sound jealous." Cup in hand, Roy sips the coffee - black no sugar - while a cigarette dangles between his fingers.
"Come on Roy, this is me you're talking to. I learned my lessons years ago." Well most of them anyway. There's one lesson that Hughes hasn't quite mastered yet when it came to Roy. "Looks like she did quite the number on your back."
And it's true. Parallel red welts line Roy's back on the horizontal and vertical. They stand out starkly even against the slight tan. Maes draws his eyes back to Roy's face, meeting a lopsided grin with one of his own. Although Roy's expression is infinitely more pleased than Maes'.
"Are you sure she wasn't a cat? Maybe one of those chimera we keep hearing about?"
"She was energetic." For all that everyone knows Roy has his pick of men and women to date and bed, Roy never spills details. The Flame Alchemist is an arrogant asshole, but he's not a crass one. Two laughs, comfortable and easy, fill the space only to give way to silence not long after.
"How many more days?" The jealousy Hughes quietly nurses evaporates at the question.
"Ten." Ten days until Hughes ships off to Ishval, twenty for Roy. The State had decided to send in the Alchemists en masse to join up with their assigned units later.
Lost in thought, Maes doesn't hear Roy's approach, just registers the touch of warm hand and a voice that always sends a little shiver up his spine.
"We'll be all right."
"You will be." Hughes counters, smile back in place as he tries to not think about the heat seeping into his skin and how Roy looks at him - and how he doesn't want to go to war. "You've got all the luck the rest of us wish for."
"Fortune favors the bold, Hughes." A sly grin and Roy slips away, the heat of his hand lingers long after.
"Another round!" Hands slap against the worn bar top in the same rhythm as their morning runs. It's crowded and smokey and far too hot in the bar. Sweat trickles from Hughes' hair line down to the collar of the shirt not quite hidden by his uniform coat. It's also loud with the boisterous calls of all the poor son of a bitches about to get shipped off on a train. They're not stupid enough to get smashed the night before, just two nights before.
With his ears ringing and even a touch dizzy from the heat and one too many, there's no other place he'd rather be. Glasses hit the bar top and hands reach out, snagging them in succession.
"To Amestris! and the finest military on the planet!" People cheer and Hughes lifts his glass with a laugh. The liquor burns fast down his throat, warming him up from the inside all over again.
Someone leans against him and golden hair gives away the who before he really takes a full look. With a smile, Hughes leans back against her, resting his head on the back of hers. She's as comfortable as Roy, Riza Hawkeye.
"S'way too hot in here." Her words slur together just enough to hit that she's buzzed but not falling down drunk. Hughes can't imagine she'd ever let that happen anyway.
"Mhmm. Should open the windows." They keep each other propped up. Even with Riza's solid weight against him, Hughes' eyes seek Roy again. It's unconscious and immutable - lodestone drawn to a magnet.
"If someone opens them, someone will fall out of them."
"Fuery." They both say at the same time and share a laugh that almost compromises their shared and now precarious balance. Another round hits the bar and Hughes snags one for Riza first, passing it over his shoulder and hers into her waiting hand.
Hughes watches two cadets who should know better, vie for Roy's attention. What they don't realize is that there are some wells in which The Flame Alchemist does not dip his pen. Hughes smirks and resists the urge to roll his eyes as the man charms them anyway.
"So, are you ever going to tell him."
"Nope."
"Fair enough." He feels her tilt her head back and down the shot with more grace than half the men here. Riza Hawkeye is a woman through and through, but no one could ever call her dainty or unsure. She's known about the torch Hughes' carries for a long time. He also knows that she'll never utter a word.
"You never told me why."
"Have you ever seen him go out with the same person for more than a month?" Riza snorts.
"Fair enough. I guess we've got bigger things to worry about now anyway." He doesn't answer because she doesn't really need one. Hughes closes his eyes and lets the din of the bar sink into him for awhile, lets Riza be the thing that grounds him to the here and now.
One by one soldiers get deposited at their barracks by a group of well meaning buddies once the party is over. At the end of line is Hughes and Roy who now lean against each other as a means to keep from meeting the ground. He's disoriented as all get out, but Roy's arm around him still fills with a sort of giddiness that he has to watch carefully. In that distracted and thoroughly drunk way, Hughes knows his judgement is compromised and it'd be all too easy to slip up - say or do something he shouldn't.
"Did you see the look on Havok's face though?" A fresh round of laughter distracts Maes from the weight of that arm and how his hand curls into the fabric of Roy's coat.
"I can't believe you told him that she was a he. Are you trying to single handedly make sure the guy never gets laid again?" The smarmy look on Roy's face tells Maes the answer just might be yes.
"It's not my fault he believed me." Hughes can't stop laughing which results in him half tripping up the sidewalk and into the wall. He hadn't meant to take Roy along for the ride. He's laughing, almost loud and fighting valiantly to keep the volume down. That only makes him laugh more, stagger to the side.
Roy's chest impacts his and they're both still laughing, gasping for breath when they collide again. Hughes's face buries against Roy's shoulder with only the wall to keep them both up. Roy's hand clutches desperately at his coat, tangles in as he tries not to fall.
One thing is for sure; they cannot pass out on the sidewalk. They'll never hear the end of it. Eventually though the near hysterical laughter dies down and they're no longer in immediate danger of spilling onto the ground. With aching sides, Maes sucks in several long, deep breaths and feels Roy do the same.
The problem is that when the amusement dies, Maes becomes all too aware of the wall at his back and Roy at his chest. Somehow one of the alchemist's legs had worked between Hughes' and it's all he can do to not let out a pleading little noise. His fingers won't budge and the thick scent of bourbon on Roy keeps him from lifting his head.
Suddenly the air between them changes, charges, and Hughes feels the small tremble in Roy's hands, notes the way the other man isn't moving anymore than he. With his mind swimming and thoughts scattered, Hughes lifts his head and tries to pull away only to have the wall bring him up short. He can't ignore the heavy look in Roy's eyes either or the slight part of his lips. Mere inches separate them and he wants to close that distance, kiss the man until he gets to Roy's taste underneath the alcohol.
The moment doesn't last more than a second or two but it's a hammer shot to Hughes gut - heat coils tight - and enough time for more alarmed thoughts to plow mercilessly through his brain. He's hidden his attraction for Roy long enough that the deflection in a smile and a gentle push is enough to bring a confused look to the alchemist's face. Hughes takes the advantage, opens the door and pushes Roy through.
"Let's get some sleep."
"This is crazy." Leaning against Riza's side and she leaning right back against him, Hughes closes his eyes. This war makes no sense at all.
"The alchemists are in the field." He knows they're both thinking about Roy. Honestly Hughes and Riza both hoped for a long time that the Flame Alchemist had broken a leg and maybe, just maybe didn't get shipped out with the rest. They've seen no signs of his presence.
Before Hughes can say another word, a column of fire shoots up in the distance, bright and brilliant against the night sky. They're silent, solemn. It's a sight that Hughes has seen before and what was once beautiful to his eyes now breaks his heart.
"Are you moving out tomorrow?" Riza nods and neither one of them speak of the twisted glory in the distance.
Roy looks like death warmed over when he staggers into the tent he and Hughes now share. After the opening volley from the alchemists, they'd all be assigned to different units - self propelled artillery. Some days Hughes can't decide if he's glad Roy's with his unit or not.
Wordlessly, Maes passes the canteen to Roy and slides out the small basin of water. There are no showers and in truth they shouldn't be wasting water on keeping clean, but sometimes it's the only way to feel remotely human again. Roy doesn't say anything. The only reason that Hughes knows the man is still there in breathing are the sounds of him swallowing and the creak of the cot when Roy sits down.
Blank, heavy eyes stare at the cloth of the tent that makes the floor. It's not enough to enough to keep the chill out, but at least it keeps the sand down on the interior. Hughes imagines he can see the world in the bow of Roy's shoulders. Wind beats against the walls of the tent, providing the only noise within the small space. Maes' fingers twitch and he isn't sure if he wants to shake Roy or run his hand through the alchemist's hair and tell him everything will be all right. (He tells himself that white lie often enough that it no longer feels like terrible self delusion.)
"Hey." He touches Roy's shoulder instead only to have it shrugged off violently a moment later.
"I'm fine." Short. Distant. Devoid of Emotion. As flat as the tone is, as hollow as the words are, Hughes knows the lie. He feels like shit for even considering the out Roy gave him. It would be easy to retreat back to silence, but it's the brittle look deep in Roy's eyes that keeps him pressing forward.
"None of us are fine, Roy." Except maybe that jackal Kimbley. The Crimson Alchemist is in his element here and the thought of the man makes Maes' stomach turn. Roy snorts, jerking Hughes' attention back to where it should be.
"Right so we what? Talk about our feelings?" Derisive at best and downright cruel at worst. Even if it's just Roy's way of deflecting, it still hurts, still rubs Hughes' over strained nerves raw.
"Roy - fuck never mind." He turns, maybe silence is better after all.
He doesn't hear Roy move, just knows that suddenly hands turn him around, knot up in the cotton of his shirt. There isn't anything sane in the way Roy looks at him and nothing short of frightening at the amount of pain in the alchemist's eyes. He's breaking - hell they're all breaking - but he imagines it's worse for Roy. Guns and knives are known weapons, snapping your fingers shouldn't be able to obliterate entire blocks and everyone in it.
"What does it matter? How I feel won't change a damned thing! I still have orders. I'll still be a good little dog. Roll over, play fetch, sit." Though his tone isn't loud, it breaks over the strain of all the things eating Mustang alive. For a good minute Hughes can't respond because underneath the pain and the crushing guilt is a man slowly losing himself and trying to stop.
A man he loves and doesn't think he can help.
But then there's Roy's lips crushing against his with a pained, angry noise; his tongue prying at Hughes lips and teeth nipping when he still can't muster a reply of any kind. Frustrated and angry, Roy jerks him harder and presses forward at the same time. They end up spilling over the floor in a confused tangle.
This isn't right.
Even as he thinks it, Maes opens up under Roy's continued assault, greedily welcomes that tongue into his mouth. He's wanted this for too long and with death and chaos all around them he can't not respond to the raw need in Roy's kiss because he needs this too. Desperate sounds collide against each other as his hands scramble over Roy - one lodging in his hair and the other around his back. Closer, he needs closer.
Common sense rattles in his head and Maes tears his mouth away from Roy's. Panting, even as he arches under the attention Roy suddenly metes out to his neck, Hughes shifts his hands to Roy's shoulders.
"Roy - this.." He gets no further when feverish lips cut off the protests and the rough texture of the ignition gloves grates over his wrists. One motion and Roy pins his hands over Maes' head. He dislodges that kiss again with swallowed moan. His thoughts gather and he opens his eyes only to have the words die in his throat with the roll of Roy's groin against his. The sensation starts at the base of spine then shoots electric and hot through him. Maes groans - body strung tight and testing Roy's grip on his wrists.
Trapped somewhere between the need hammering through him, and a keen sense of this being not right, he can't move to Roy or away. With his wrists pinned now under one hand, Hughes' skin shivers when Roy's gloved hand shoves up his shirt. Noise sticks in his throat and he thrashes under Roy in an attempt to deny how hot that touch is even with the glove still separating skin from skin, how much it drives him, heats him up. Reservations vanish under the weight of raw lust and way he's been strung out and up too damn long in Ishval. He needs to feel human again, thinks Roy does too.
"Take that damn glove off." How manages to say it is nothing short of a miracle. The dark little chuckle slinking past Roy's lips and right up against Maes' neck is just one more point of contact preventing any other line of thinking. Those fingers rake across his lips and he bites down on the tips, holding the fabric between his teeth.
"Hold that, will you?" Hot kisses trail over his jaw and finally that hand touches him - skin to skin. The glove in his teeth dampens some of his moan and Roy's body absorbs the way his arches upwards. He's lost and he doesn't care anymore.
Pinned under the man, Maes doesn't fight anymore when that hand pushes his shirt up, unfastens his pants, and grips his cock. It's wild, even a little scary, but there's not much room for fear with so much pleasure running through him. Bucking into the grip, Hughes strains up and tries to catch Mustang's mouth with his. He needs it, needs something else on to which he can anchor himself.
Roy doesn't relent and garbled sound that leaves Maes' lips is just one giant tangle of frustrated want. He pulls his wrists again, determined to get what he's after.
"Let go." Roy's eyes meet his and Maes' breath catches hard in his lungs. He's never seen Roy look so damned pleased, torn up, and demanding. Those eyes pin him place, halt his near frantic shifting.
"I like you like this." Words that pour over and between his lips. A long tug on his cock has him shuddering all over again. "I think you like it to." The truth of it curls hard and mixes with that tight knot already wound up in his belly. This might not be what has lurked Hughes racier dreams, but the reality is still ten times better.
When Roy kisses him again, Hughes thinks he's been wrapped up in the alchemist's flames. Burning up inside and out, nothing is less frantic but they're moving together now. The bite and scrap of Roy's teeth obliterates ever other thought in his head and before he knows it, Hughes legs spread around Roy.
The first push of Roy's wet fingers hurts - a moan and a gasp tripping together when he tries to adjust. The pressure is intense, doubling every sensation in him. Every motion he makes is a plea for more and more. Being worked open isn't as pleasurable as he'd like, but it's the anticipation jolting through him that has him moving and bearing down on the fingers probing him.
Roy's moan is sweet against his ear. The alchemist's body tightens over his when teeth scrap along Maes' neck.
"Fuck, Maes." It's a thrill to reduce Mustang to obscenities. He thinks he hears something else in those words, but chalks it up to imagination and a moment that is as fucked up as it is thrilling.
When the real pressure comes, it hurts and as twisted up as he is, Maes' tenses, arches when he knows he should relax. He gasps, fighting and welcoming at the same time, he can't get a hold of anything. Chest too tight to breath and the pain coupled with the burn of Roy's intrusion has him clenching down.
Then Roy stills not pressing deeper, but not retreating. The kiss he forces next demands Hughes' attention; it's long and thorough, comforting and commanding. A long shudder runs the length of Maes' body and then tension in him finally relents some - enough. Roy still has to fuck the rest of the way in; short hard strokes that keep Hughes riding that knife edge of pleasure/pain.
Roy tries to give him time Maes doesn't want.
"Damnit, move!" That might have sounded imperious if he weren't out of breath and downright pleading instead. "Shit, Roy, please!" Hips straining when he meets that first full thrust and the world fucking splinters around him. Then it's nothing but sweet friction and the tang of sweat on his tongue when he manages to get at some skin. There's nothing gentle in the way Roy fucks him on the tent floor, but it shouldn't be. He needs and wants and now. So he meets each thrust and bears down on the cock pumping inside of him. Shocks and the sound of skin on skin, harsh moans from Roy's mouth - honey sweet in his ear.
Roy never lets go of his wrists and hangs onto Maes' hip with bruising force. It's all just one more sensation in the pleasure tightening in a net over him and he's close, so close. Hughes arches and shifts until each thrust has his cock dragging against Roy's stomach. With his cock leaking cum, Hughes chases after that high, urging Roy on with legs clasped around the alchemist's waist.
It hits him with hurricane force; every muscle stands taunt and strained and his legs grip Roy, force him to stay deep in Hughes. Distantly he feels Roy cover Hughes mouth with his own, hears their moans twine and tangle, stifled between them. And feeling Roy's release adds a level of satisfaction he couldn't have anticipated. It's heaven, hell, and everything in between until it's gone, leaving him panting and disoriented on the floor. Drained of every bit of energy and every scrap of will, the last thing Hughes registers is Roy slumping heavy against him before exhaustion drags him under too.
Maes doesn't know what's worse: the nights when the sex is rough and hard, or the nights when Roy curls up against him and tries to lose what little sanity he has left. At least after fucking they both feel less like killing machines.
"What's the mission?" Hughes shakes his head. This is one of those covert operations and he can't say a word.
"I'll be gone four days." At least. Of course that's always assuming he'll make it back alive. There's no guarantees on life and it's the moments when he thinks that's a good thing that scare him the most. Maes looks at the man sitting on the piece of rock next to him. Somewhere under the grime and sand and despair, Roy lurks, or so he hopes.
"Four days, you better not get yourself killed old man." Because I won't be able to handle it. Hughes hears the unspoken and swallows hard. It's how he feels every time Roy gets sent out and all he can see are the fires in distance and smell the smoke carried on scorching winds.
"Keep in Riza's sights. She'll keep you out of trouble while I'm gone." Roy laughs and even though they're close, Maes and Roy do not touch. Outside of moments when they're breathless and moaning the other's name, they don't know quite what to do around each other, can't figure out what any of it means.
"Be careful." A look shifts between them and Hughes stands up.
"You too."
Maes doesn't have much faith left when the war finally ends. Looking up at the Furher and listening to grandiose speeches about the end of the Civil War do nothing to lift his weary heart. He and Roy stand shoulder to shoulder amid the other soldiers in attendance. Hard to believe words of hope and prosperity when you've held your friend's guts in with your bare hands, screaming for help that won't make it in time. Impossible to feel all that relieved when they've turned your best friend into a walking flame thrower. He'll never forgive any of them for the haunted look that won't ever leave Riza's eyes.
"You know I'll help."
"Could be dangerous, Hughes." Roy flashes him glance and Hughes sees far too many things in the man's eyes. There's also determination there and that alone overrides nearly everything else that he sees. They both know that something is wrong and they won't let another Ishval happen. Hughes isn't sure they can accomplish what they want. It's a big task even with the right people.
He looks at Roy again. The alchemist's eyes remain trained on the Furher and all of those standing at 'the top'. In the Academy they used to talk a lot about what they would do and how they would do it - ideal dreams of stupid kids. However, looking at Roy right now, Maes can't help but believe. Maes smiles and closes his eyes. Maybe it's not a bad thing to keep dreaming.
"Then we know what we need to do. Think you can manage to not piss off everyone you come into contact with?" Roy does have a tendency to rub people the wrong way. Although that is not entirely what Hughes means. There are already whispers through the ranks about the 'Hero of Ishval'. The Flame Alchemist is no longer just a name for one of the state's dogs, he's a symbol. One that might invite a fair amount of jealousy his way. Roy grins nice and easy, flicking his too long hair out of his face.
"I can't help it if people envy me, Hughes. Everyone should have something to aspire to." Maybe Roy isn't buried out in the sands of Ishval after all. Hughes slaps a hand on his shoulder and Roy finally turns to look at him. The connection between them remains for now and, in a single look, they share a thousand things and know each other better than perhaps two people should. Wind kicking up a fair share of dust breaks the moment up.
What they both realize is that the smell of death, of burning bodies, still lingers in the rubble. It's an acrid smell that lodges in the back of Hughes' throat and he wonders if the day will ever come that he doesn't wake up and think that he still smells it.
"One month and then the tours begin. So much for an extended leave time, huh?" Roy's voice is quiet and carefully guarded when he answers Hughes.
"When are you coming back from your parents?"
"I'm only going for a week. You won't get rid of me that's easily." He doesn't see the small smile on Roy's lips.
When they reach East City, everything gets delayed. However the military puts the overflow of soldiers up in hotels when the barracks simply can't hold them all. Hughes can't remember his last real shower. With hot water spilling over his head and down his back, it doesn't even matter. If he scorches off three layers of skin and then some, maybe he'll stop feeling sand in every little crook of his body.
A shower, several strong drinks, and then sleep. If he's lucky he'll be too tired and too drunk to dream much at all. At least that's the plan.
The water runs clear at his feet, but he knows there's blood in it.
The door to the room opens and his first inclination is to grab his side arm. All that stops him is the fact that door wasn't kicked in and he knows that he'd up having a roommate until the trains could get sorted out. What he doesn't expect is Roy standing in the doorway with his duffel over one shoulder and a critical eye assessing half healed wounds and scars.
It's been two months since the last time they've seen each other bare, physically at least. Two months that were not kind to either one of them. It's the touch of the ignition glove next to a set of stitches on his ribs that jerks him out of his thoughts, but into something that just might be worse. His breath shakes in his chest and it's a blessing when the words come out sounding right.
"It's not as bad as it looks." He says and Roy makes a distracted sound. Does the alchemist even realize just how lightly his fingers move over Maes skin? The cloth is rough, drawing goosebumps to the surface of his skin that's still flushed and warm from the water. His cock twitches and his throat dries out.
Thank God it's not his turn his to speak.
Roy's hand drops and the alchemist finally looks him in the eyes.
"I'm sure it isn't." Calm and cool, so typically Roy right before the same man turns and walk back into the shared room. Hughes takes the time to cool off and get dressed, or at least get his pants on before walking out.
"Bathroom's all yours. And yep the hot water is just as good as you think it will be." Hughes smiles and roots around in his bag for a shirt, anything clean.
"I can get another room." Roy's voice cracks over the words and Maes feels the weight of his gaze and hears exactly what Roy doesn't say.
"What if I don't want you to?" Maybe he should though.
"Why not?"
"Because your my best friend?" A smirk and Maes tries to play off everything that happened in Ishval. Apparently for Roy the need was all about the war. Maes already expects as much. Roy's smile breaks his heart when he looks just as lost as Maes feels.
The tension isn't so prominent after Roy showers and they steal away downstairs to grab a bite to eat and another bottle; both of which they tote back to their shared quarters. Stories and liquor flow freely, but they don't talk about Ishval. Those memories still rub far too raw and Maes doesn't really want to think about how many times he came too close to losing the man in front of him and everyone else.
It's Roy lifting his eyes to Maes' after a long silence that brings back a lot of other things Maes keeps trying to not think about. There's so many things in Roy's look that Maes, pleasantly buzzed and tire, can't properly sort out. Without even thinking about it, he stands, toppling over his chair in his bid to get to Roy.
Hands on the alchemist's face, Maes lets out a relieved sigh when finally he tastes his friend's lips again. One kiss to turns into another; his hands pull Roy from the chair and tug him close. Amazing that after two months, they way they fit together comes automatically for them both. So what if the kisses come sloppily or they almost trip on the way back to the bed? What matters is Roy's skin warm and getting hot under his hands and the alchemist pressed against his chest.
Roy's presence is always a palpable force and right now Maes only wants to get lost in it.
The backs of his thighs bump against one of the beds in the room and the thought that they won't need the other one almost makes him laugh under the press of too many emotions. Instead he concentrates on getting Roy's shirt off and pants undone so he can slip his hand beneath them. They don't part, but the kiss between them comes to a halt and shifts into nothing more than parted lips trembling against each other when they move in tandem; his hand on Roy's cock over his underwear and vice versa. That almost-skin-contact lights through his body making him need. Hips moving in time, Maes' gets closer to coming faster than he wants.
One shift and he drops to his knees, jerking Roy's close down past his hips with far more coordination than one who's had that much to drink should possess. Roy's protest dies on a keening moan when Hughes wraps his lips around Roy's cock and sucks him in deep. Two hands thread into his hair and he can feel the tension in Roy's fingers as he tries to not to fuck Hughes' mouth.
Then he's only one step away - gripping the base of his erection hard - when Roy's moans crack in that familiar way, come shooting down his mouth that's already too full. He adjusts fast, swallowing down and grinning unabashedly at Roy's muttered and awestruck 'fuck'. Maes pets his best friend's hips and sucks slow and easy on his softening length before sliding back.
A turn and a lazy push has Roy sprawled out over the rough comforter on the bed. Hughes takes his time in sliding off the rest of the Roy's clothes while doling out easy kisses against his thighs. Each one coaxes Roy's legs a little wider until he's splayed out and panting. When Hughes rights himself to get his own pants off, he spends those heavy moments looking over Roy. For once there's no tension in the man or exhausted satiation, just the easy glow that happens when one comes hard, but isn't quite ready to call it quits.
What causes Hughes' smile to falter is the knowledge that tonight will probably be the last time. Tomorrow the world intrudes again and there's no excuse of a war and the need to keep sane to bring them together again. Lowering himself down to the bed, knees in between Roy's spread legs, hands planted to either side of the alchemists head, Maes decides if it's the last, then he'll just have to make it count.