Fic: In Deed
Title: In Deed
Author: bob_fish
Word Count: 2323
Rating: NC-17 for awkward sex in a tent, aka the only kind I ever seem to write.
Characters: Maes/Roy
Summary: Shut up, Hughes.
Notes: Written for cornerofmadness's prompt "Maes/Roy - in Ishbal, seeking solace" at fma_slashfest. Thanks to enemytosleep for the hivemind discussions of headcanon that inspired some of this.
"You're hilarious." Roy says it mirthlessly; he's really not in the mood for this.
When he's under pressure, Maes Hughes has two settings: deadly serious and hyperactively goofy. Roy wants to let his bad humour be, rather than have someone attempt to jolly him out of it. So he was hoping, when Hughes walked into his tent this evening, that he was dealing with the former. Then Maes had pinged a rubber band at his nose.
This, however, this thing that he's just come out with, isn't Maes' usual brand of bouncy, irritating joshing. This is … well. About two minutes after he arrived, Maes had looked at Roy sidelong and said, hey, want to fool around? Just like that. Idiot.
"Get your hand off my knee," Roy says, narrowing his eyes. Maes responds by running his hand up to Roy's thigh. Roy picks Maes' hand off and dumps it back in his own lap. "You're drunk."
"Two beers," says Maes.
"Sure, whatever - hey, wait, there was beer? There was beer in camp and you didn't save me any?"
Maes shrugs. "Sorry, buddy. It all went really quick. But, uh, you know, can I make it up to you?"
Roy feels a hot rush of irritation. He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."
Maes leans in and jiggles his eyebrows. "Why don't you find out?"
Roy tuts. "Stop messing with me, I'm not in the mood." Maes is Maes - he does most things by messing with people, but -
They've never talked about it. Roy never said anything about it, but Maes knows, and Roy knows he knows, about that solid, painful crush. It took Roy years to shake it off. Maes had just quietly let him. There was never any whisper of a chance of any situation like this. Which is why this can't possibly be what it looks like.
"I'm not." Maes stays in his space. "Seriously. Why not?"
Roy squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"One: you're straight. Two: we're friends. Three: remember your girlfriend back home?"
"Oh," says Maes, "yeah." And then he does that thing of his: in a moment, all the jocularity drops from his expression and he's suddenly grim.
Now they're getting to it. Roy gets up from next to Maes on the floor of the tent, reaches behind his cot and pulls out a bottle of brandy. He throws it to Maes, then sits back down next to him as Maes takes a swig of it.
Maes shudders and pulls the corners of his mouth down. "Bouquet of paint stripper, with a finish of burning rubber. You're lavishing the good stuff on me."
Roy grins and shrugs. "The good stuff tastes like paint stripper too." They sit there a moment. Then he says, "You know, you're going about this the wrong way. You're supposed to turn up here shit-faced, throw an arm around me and then try to start a wrestling match or something. You're not supposed to talk about it." But he's Maes: of course he has to talk about it.
"Huh," says Maes. He takes a breath. "Well. I was trying not to be one of those jackasses from academy."
Oh yes. Those jackasses: fellow cadets who'd heard about Roy's reputation, who'd corner him in the bar, tell him apropos of nothing how they weren't remotely interested in men, strafe Roy with irritating questions, then return later with five pints of beer in them and want to fool around in a dark corner.
Roy takes a pull on the brandy. He says, "Hughes, I would never mistake you for a jackass. You're just being an idiot, that's all."
"Blame Gracia," says Maes.
"What?"
"She said it. The night before my train left. She said, do whatever you need to do and don't worry about it, just so long as you come home safe to me."
Roy raises an eyebrow. "Generous. She did know there aren't that many women soldiers serving out here? And I'm presuming she also knows you're not interested in men?"
"I'm presuming from the action in and out of your tent that you've noticed how a lot of guys here are expanding their horizons?" There's something weird, something brittle, about Maes' voice.
Roy looks at him. He gets it. Of course he does. Shitty day, want something to take the edge off it. He scrapes at the edge of the brandy bottle with his thumbnail, but he doesn't drink again.
Maes scrubs a hand through his hair. "Fine, it's no. I get it, it's no, it's fine, I'm a fucking idiot." He looks jittery, mortified. "Sorry. Let's just have a drink and then I'll head back, okay?"
Roy eyeballs him. Maes' green cat-eyes are still lovely. It's so annoying. He puts one hand on the back of Maes' head. He murmurs, "If you don't like this, it's completely your own fault." Then he tilts his head up and Maes' head down, and kisses him.
Maes lets him, eyes closed and mouth softly open, but - of course - he doesn't reciprocate. Roy exhales through his nose and pulls his tongue back, his point made - and suddenly Roy is overpowered. Maes is kissing him hard, one hand fisted in his hair and the other at his back. The pressure and strength of Maes' body is bending him backwards like a bow. Where has this even come from? Roy seems to have accidentally found himself in a scene from a porn novel: specifically, from the porn novel written by Roy's own brain during the first year of military academy. The desperation of men at war! Lonely, curious straight officer misses girlfriend, asks sexually flexible best pal to help him out. Hilarity ensues when he finds he likes it much more than he expected!
Maes detaches himself. His broad hands land on Roy's shoulders. "That really wasn't bad," he says quietly.
"Uh," says Roy - and then he gets kissed again. Being kissed by Maes is every little bit as good as he'd imagined at eighteen. His hands circle uselessly in the air again for a moment, and then they find Maes' waist. Under the thin shirt, he feels firm, warm skin, and suddenly it strikes him, oddly, that he has to do this - if for no other reason, to do right by his eighteen year old self - who would just kill him for passing up a chance like this.
Foreplay and teasing are only going to give them both more time to get nervous. So Roy skips the preamble; he just slips out of the kiss, scootches down on the floor in front of Maes, and pushes his knees apart. "Okay?" he says quietly, as he starts negotiating the waistband of Maes' uniform trousers.
"'Kay," replies Maes. He's staring. His lower lip pouts out, very slightly.
Back in academy, Roy spent enough time trying not to stare at Maes getting changed that he knows pretty much what he's going to find. Maes is warm, and uncut, and nicely shaped, and Roy's slightly surprised to find that he has the beginnings of a hard on. Roy gives him a firm stroke, and hears a soft noise. Encouraged, he spits on his hand, and starts working Maes up. And after a little more time, when Maes' cock is hard in Roy's hand and Maes has his eyes scrunched shut, then Roy leans in and puts the tip in his mouth.
Maes tenses for a moment, and then he makes another of those sounds. Roy lips his teeth, bobs forward and sucks on him. Another little throaty noise. And then -
"Holy shit, okay, shit, I mean, that feels really good, fuck, that's actually really good." Maes' eyes aren't shut now. He's staring. Staring and babbling. "Oh. Yes. Fuck that's good. Hey, I guess this comes in handy for you, I mean when you're dating a girl you can give her tips on technique, right?"
Roy snorts and pops off him. "Of course you can never stop talking."
Maes scrunches a hand into his hair. "Oh, come on," he whines. "Don't stop."
Roy smirks at him. "Stop breaking my concentration, then." Maes' hand tightens hard in his hair, and it feels damn good. Roy grunts, and grins, and gets back to work.
He works hard. He might only get to do this to Maes once in his life, so he wants to make an impression. Roy's gotten pretty good at this. He can take a lot, and he might be showing off just a bit. Maes' fingers flex in his hair, and he's given up talking in favour of grunting and making good, throaty sounds.
It belatedly occurs to Roy to worry about whether this is going to make things weird between the two of them, later. Oh well. When you already have your best friend's dick in your mouth, that ship has pretty much sailed. Besides, this place makes you adjust your scale of fucked-ness. Casual hook-ups barely seem to figure.
Maes' hips roll up and Roy compensates, he tenses and Roy steps up the pace. He babbles something that Roy suspects is supposed to be a warning, and Roy keeps moving on him. A moment later he's throbbing and spilling in Roy's mouth.
Afterwards, Roy swallows and waits a few moments, listening to Maes' harsh breathing, before letting him go and sitting up. He sits up and swipes his thumb across his mouth, feeling just a little undignified.
Maes is still staring. His cheeks are pink, and his eyes are wide behind his glasses. He twitches a smile at Roy, and says, "Wow. You're pretty good at that. Thanks."
"You're welcome," says Roy.
There's a short pause.
Maes looks at Roy's crotch. "Okay," he says, giving it a determined stare. "Right."
Roy considers: even an incompetent first-try blow job is going to involve Maes' mouth on his dick, and it'd be worth it for that alone. But Maes looks, honestly, a bit intimidated; and besides, from a purely selfish perspective, does Roy really want to ruin that fantasy where Maes suddenly blows him in the weapons storage room and it's the best sex he ever had in his life?
"You know," he says. "If you're not sure - well, you don't have to do anything. I'm fine."
Maes shakes his head, still staring at Roy's crotch. "No, no. I've got manners. It's okay, okay?" He nods at Roy's crotch, looking slightly mad, then shuffles his butt sideways and attempts to bend down.
Roy laughs and shakes his head. He puts his hands on Maes' shoulders and pushes him up again. And then, as Maes opens his mouth, doubtless to politely protest, then he takes Maes' hand and puts it between his legs.
Maes nods. Then he gives Roy an experimental, slightly fumbly grope, the tips of his fingers brushing over the outline of Roy's erection. He tries again, squeezes a little, frowns with concentration. You have got one of these, it's not that difficult, Roy wants to say, but then he remembers his own early fumbling, and remembers his manners. He smiles at Maes, then says, "hang on."
Roy turns in his arms, so that his back is to Maes, and then he puts Maes' hand back where it was. "Oh, yeah," says Maes. He makes a jerk-off motion with his right hand in the air over Roy's crotch. Roy represses a snort. "That seems easier. Thanks."
He brings his other hand around and opens up Roy's uniform pants, fumbles him out, then spits on his hand. At the first brush of Maes' hand on his dick, Roy abruptly realises how far gone he is. He'd been concentrating so much that he somehow hadn't realised what this was doing for him, how damn hot the whole thing was.
Maes starts jerking him steadily, competently and without ceremony. His chin is hooked over Roy's shoulder. Roy leans into him and breathes hard. The sight of his own dick in Maes' hand is almost enough in itself. He's so worked up that every touch feels delicious but nothing is enough.
"You've got a really nice dick," Maes says in his ear. His voice sounds tense and self-conscious. Roy snorts and rolls his eyes. "What?" Maes is irritated, then something in his voice shifts. "Wait, do guys not do that? Is that a girl thing, saying stuff like that?"
Roy laughs breathlessly. "Of course it's not a girl thing."
"What, then? You do, it's a good shape, you know, you've got nothing to be ashamed of in the little boys' room."
"Hughes? Just stop talking."
Maes - of course - goes to open his mouth again, so Roy just slaps a hand over it. Maes' teeth scrape over the soft flesh on the underside of Roy's middle finger - and then he finds himself groaning and thrusting into Maes' hands, very suddenly right on the edge. Maes' grip tightens on his dick and moves faster, and he bends forwards and pushes Roy with him, and in only a couple of moments more Roy is right there, scrunching his face and choking off a cry as he comes.
When he catches his breath afterwards and looks up, he sees there's a little glob of semen on Maes' glasses. Roy blinks at it. Is that his? Yes, it must be. Maes tries to look where he's looking, nearly crosses his eyes, pulls off the spectacles and takes a look. He gives Roy a goofy and embarrassed grin. Roy wants to make a joke, but he still feels a little uncertain of the ground rules. He decides against it. Instead, he reaches out to mess up Maes' hair.
"Got any more of that brandy?" Maes says.
"I wouldn't if I were you," says Roy. "That stuff will liquify your stomach lining." But he hands it over anyway.
Author: bob_fish
Word Count: 2323
Rating: NC-17 for awkward sex in a tent, aka the only kind I ever seem to write.
Characters: Maes/Roy
Summary: Shut up, Hughes.
Notes: Written for cornerofmadness's prompt "Maes/Roy - in Ishbal, seeking solace" at fma_slashfest. Thanks to enemytosleep for the hivemind discussions of headcanon that inspired some of this.
"You're hilarious." Roy says it mirthlessly; he's really not in the mood for this.
When he's under pressure, Maes Hughes has two settings: deadly serious and hyperactively goofy. Roy wants to let his bad humour be, rather than have someone attempt to jolly him out of it. So he was hoping, when Hughes walked into his tent this evening, that he was dealing with the former. Then Maes had pinged a rubber band at his nose.
This, however, this thing that he's just come out with, isn't Maes' usual brand of bouncy, irritating joshing. This is … well. About two minutes after he arrived, Maes had looked at Roy sidelong and said, hey, want to fool around? Just like that. Idiot.
"Get your hand off my knee," Roy says, narrowing his eyes. Maes responds by running his hand up to Roy's thigh. Roy picks Maes' hand off and dumps it back in his own lap. "You're drunk."
"Two beers," says Maes.
"Sure, whatever - hey, wait, there was beer? There was beer in camp and you didn't save me any?"
Maes shrugs. "Sorry, buddy. It all went really quick. But, uh, you know, can I make it up to you?"
Roy feels a hot rush of irritation. He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."
Maes leans in and jiggles his eyebrows. "Why don't you find out?"
Roy tuts. "Stop messing with me, I'm not in the mood." Maes is Maes - he does most things by messing with people, but -
They've never talked about it. Roy never said anything about it, but Maes knows, and Roy knows he knows, about that solid, painful crush. It took Roy years to shake it off. Maes had just quietly let him. There was never any whisper of a chance of any situation like this. Which is why this can't possibly be what it looks like.
"I'm not." Maes stays in his space. "Seriously. Why not?"
Roy squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"One: you're straight. Two: we're friends. Three: remember your girlfriend back home?"
"Oh," says Maes, "yeah." And then he does that thing of his: in a moment, all the jocularity drops from his expression and he's suddenly grim.
Now they're getting to it. Roy gets up from next to Maes on the floor of the tent, reaches behind his cot and pulls out a bottle of brandy. He throws it to Maes, then sits back down next to him as Maes takes a swig of it.
Maes shudders and pulls the corners of his mouth down. "Bouquet of paint stripper, with a finish of burning rubber. You're lavishing the good stuff on me."
Roy grins and shrugs. "The good stuff tastes like paint stripper too." They sit there a moment. Then he says, "You know, you're going about this the wrong way. You're supposed to turn up here shit-faced, throw an arm around me and then try to start a wrestling match or something. You're not supposed to talk about it." But he's Maes: of course he has to talk about it.
"Huh," says Maes. He takes a breath. "Well. I was trying not to be one of those jackasses from academy."
Oh yes. Those jackasses: fellow cadets who'd heard about Roy's reputation, who'd corner him in the bar, tell him apropos of nothing how they weren't remotely interested in men, strafe Roy with irritating questions, then return later with five pints of beer in them and want to fool around in a dark corner.
Roy takes a pull on the brandy. He says, "Hughes, I would never mistake you for a jackass. You're just being an idiot, that's all."
"Blame Gracia," says Maes.
"What?"
"She said it. The night before my train left. She said, do whatever you need to do and don't worry about it, just so long as you come home safe to me."
Roy raises an eyebrow. "Generous. She did know there aren't that many women soldiers serving out here? And I'm presuming she also knows you're not interested in men?"
"I'm presuming from the action in and out of your tent that you've noticed how a lot of guys here are expanding their horizons?" There's something weird, something brittle, about Maes' voice.
Roy looks at him. He gets it. Of course he does. Shitty day, want something to take the edge off it. He scrapes at the edge of the brandy bottle with his thumbnail, but he doesn't drink again.
Maes scrubs a hand through his hair. "Fine, it's no. I get it, it's no, it's fine, I'm a fucking idiot." He looks jittery, mortified. "Sorry. Let's just have a drink and then I'll head back, okay?"
Roy eyeballs him. Maes' green cat-eyes are still lovely. It's so annoying. He puts one hand on the back of Maes' head. He murmurs, "If you don't like this, it's completely your own fault." Then he tilts his head up and Maes' head down, and kisses him.
Maes lets him, eyes closed and mouth softly open, but - of course - he doesn't reciprocate. Roy exhales through his nose and pulls his tongue back, his point made - and suddenly Roy is overpowered. Maes is kissing him hard, one hand fisted in his hair and the other at his back. The pressure and strength of Maes' body is bending him backwards like a bow. Where has this even come from? Roy seems to have accidentally found himself in a scene from a porn novel: specifically, from the porn novel written by Roy's own brain during the first year of military academy. The desperation of men at war! Lonely, curious straight officer misses girlfriend, asks sexually flexible best pal to help him out. Hilarity ensues when he finds he likes it much more than he expected!
Maes detaches himself. His broad hands land on Roy's shoulders. "That really wasn't bad," he says quietly.
"Uh," says Roy - and then he gets kissed again. Being kissed by Maes is every little bit as good as he'd imagined at eighteen. His hands circle uselessly in the air again for a moment, and then they find Maes' waist. Under the thin shirt, he feels firm, warm skin, and suddenly it strikes him, oddly, that he has to do this - if for no other reason, to do right by his eighteen year old self - who would just kill him for passing up a chance like this.
Foreplay and teasing are only going to give them both more time to get nervous. So Roy skips the preamble; he just slips out of the kiss, scootches down on the floor in front of Maes, and pushes his knees apart. "Okay?" he says quietly, as he starts negotiating the waistband of Maes' uniform trousers.
"'Kay," replies Maes. He's staring. His lower lip pouts out, very slightly.
Back in academy, Roy spent enough time trying not to stare at Maes getting changed that he knows pretty much what he's going to find. Maes is warm, and uncut, and nicely shaped, and Roy's slightly surprised to find that he has the beginnings of a hard on. Roy gives him a firm stroke, and hears a soft noise. Encouraged, he spits on his hand, and starts working Maes up. And after a little more time, when Maes' cock is hard in Roy's hand and Maes has his eyes scrunched shut, then Roy leans in and puts the tip in his mouth.
Maes tenses for a moment, and then he makes another of those sounds. Roy lips his teeth, bobs forward and sucks on him. Another little throaty noise. And then -
"Holy shit, okay, shit, I mean, that feels really good, fuck, that's actually really good." Maes' eyes aren't shut now. He's staring. Staring and babbling. "Oh. Yes. Fuck that's good. Hey, I guess this comes in handy for you, I mean when you're dating a girl you can give her tips on technique, right?"
Roy snorts and pops off him. "Of course you can never stop talking."
Maes scrunches a hand into his hair. "Oh, come on," he whines. "Don't stop."
Roy smirks at him. "Stop breaking my concentration, then." Maes' hand tightens hard in his hair, and it feels damn good. Roy grunts, and grins, and gets back to work.
He works hard. He might only get to do this to Maes once in his life, so he wants to make an impression. Roy's gotten pretty good at this. He can take a lot, and he might be showing off just a bit. Maes' fingers flex in his hair, and he's given up talking in favour of grunting and making good, throaty sounds.
It belatedly occurs to Roy to worry about whether this is going to make things weird between the two of them, later. Oh well. When you already have your best friend's dick in your mouth, that ship has pretty much sailed. Besides, this place makes you adjust your scale of fucked-ness. Casual hook-ups barely seem to figure.
Maes' hips roll up and Roy compensates, he tenses and Roy steps up the pace. He babbles something that Roy suspects is supposed to be a warning, and Roy keeps moving on him. A moment later he's throbbing and spilling in Roy's mouth.
Afterwards, Roy swallows and waits a few moments, listening to Maes' harsh breathing, before letting him go and sitting up. He sits up and swipes his thumb across his mouth, feeling just a little undignified.
Maes is still staring. His cheeks are pink, and his eyes are wide behind his glasses. He twitches a smile at Roy, and says, "Wow. You're pretty good at that. Thanks."
"You're welcome," says Roy.
There's a short pause.
Maes looks at Roy's crotch. "Okay," he says, giving it a determined stare. "Right."
Roy considers: even an incompetent first-try blow job is going to involve Maes' mouth on his dick, and it'd be worth it for that alone. But Maes looks, honestly, a bit intimidated; and besides, from a purely selfish perspective, does Roy really want to ruin that fantasy where Maes suddenly blows him in the weapons storage room and it's the best sex he ever had in his life?
"You know," he says. "If you're not sure - well, you don't have to do anything. I'm fine."
Maes shakes his head, still staring at Roy's crotch. "No, no. I've got manners. It's okay, okay?" He nods at Roy's crotch, looking slightly mad, then shuffles his butt sideways and attempts to bend down.
Roy laughs and shakes his head. He puts his hands on Maes' shoulders and pushes him up again. And then, as Maes opens his mouth, doubtless to politely protest, then he takes Maes' hand and puts it between his legs.
Maes nods. Then he gives Roy an experimental, slightly fumbly grope, the tips of his fingers brushing over the outline of Roy's erection. He tries again, squeezes a little, frowns with concentration. You have got one of these, it's not that difficult, Roy wants to say, but then he remembers his own early fumbling, and remembers his manners. He smiles at Maes, then says, "hang on."
Roy turns in his arms, so that his back is to Maes, and then he puts Maes' hand back where it was. "Oh, yeah," says Maes. He makes a jerk-off motion with his right hand in the air over Roy's crotch. Roy represses a snort. "That seems easier. Thanks."
He brings his other hand around and opens up Roy's uniform pants, fumbles him out, then spits on his hand. At the first brush of Maes' hand on his dick, Roy abruptly realises how far gone he is. He'd been concentrating so much that he somehow hadn't realised what this was doing for him, how damn hot the whole thing was.
Maes starts jerking him steadily, competently and without ceremony. His chin is hooked over Roy's shoulder. Roy leans into him and breathes hard. The sight of his own dick in Maes' hand is almost enough in itself. He's so worked up that every touch feels delicious but nothing is enough.
"You've got a really nice dick," Maes says in his ear. His voice sounds tense and self-conscious. Roy snorts and rolls his eyes. "What?" Maes is irritated, then something in his voice shifts. "Wait, do guys not do that? Is that a girl thing, saying stuff like that?"
Roy laughs breathlessly. "Of course it's not a girl thing."
"What, then? You do, it's a good shape, you know, you've got nothing to be ashamed of in the little boys' room."
"Hughes? Just stop talking."
Maes - of course - goes to open his mouth again, so Roy just slaps a hand over it. Maes' teeth scrape over the soft flesh on the underside of Roy's middle finger - and then he finds himself groaning and thrusting into Maes' hands, very suddenly right on the edge. Maes' grip tightens on his dick and moves faster, and he bends forwards and pushes Roy with him, and in only a couple of moments more Roy is right there, scrunching his face and choking off a cry as he comes.
When he catches his breath afterwards and looks up, he sees there's a little glob of semen on Maes' glasses. Roy blinks at it. Is that his? Yes, it must be. Maes tries to look where he's looking, nearly crosses his eyes, pulls off the spectacles and takes a look. He gives Roy a goofy and embarrassed grin. Roy wants to make a joke, but he still feels a little uncertain of the ground rules. He decides against it. Instead, he reaches out to mess up Maes' hair.
"Got any more of that brandy?" Maes says.
"I wouldn't if I were you," says Roy. "That stuff will liquify your stomach lining." But he hands it over anyway.