Back Together Again: Roy/Maes fic, Chapter 10
TITLE: “Back Together Again”
GENRE: Yaoi/Drama
RATING: Overall Hard-R to light NC-17 (or just M, if you prefer) for violence, language, sexuality and adult concepts
WARNINGS: Violence. Grief/PTSD. Sexuality (including some borderline non-con). Angst/Darkfic. Hughesmunculus. And finally: THIS FIC MAY CONTAIN HETEROSEXUAL SEX. <-- consider yourself warned!
PAIRING(S): HUGHES/ROY!!!!! (with a dab of Hughes/Gracia and a pinch of Roy/Gracia - sorta)
SUMMARY: A still-grieving Roy Mustang is visited by a ghost made flesh - a ghost in the form of Maes Hughes! Did Roy actually succeed in bringing back his dead best friend using alchemy … or is he being haunted by a homunculus?
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Ms. Arakawa, I just take them out to play.
Thanks to the lovely greenfire_mantl for the art for this chapter! Check her out at http://solusauroraborealis.deviantart.com/.
Chapter Ten: Ready
I’ll run around in circles till I run out of breath
Eat you all up, or just hug you to death
You’re so wonderful, too good to be true
You make me, make me, make me, make me hungry for you
- “Why Can’t I Be You?”, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me (the Cure)
He realized he’d been staring at the ticket without seeing it. He put it down shakily. It didn’t have a seating section listed on it. He knew why. His private box … he had one, after all these years. It helped a good deal when he needed to entertain some dignitary or impress his colleagues. Or just have some privacy when attending the opera - and there were other perks as well: a curtained area where they could chill a bottle of champagne or reserve some pre-arranged intermission hors d'oeuvres; a restroom near the box-holders’ section that wasn’t available to the general public. But, for some reason, he didn’t really get to the opera these days, so he hadn’t renewed his season pass.
Thus … one ticket.
But the envelope said, and guest.
He pulled out his pocket-watch. He had just under two hours to make himself presentable.
The thought crossed his mind, even as he removed his military jacket while walking to his bedroom, that he didn’t have to go. He could stay home … go somewhere else …
But in reality, it wasn’t even an option. Maes would be there; he had to go where Maes was. Simple as that.
He had the presence of mind to hang up the uniform jacket, pants and overchaps; he stripped off his shirt and undergarments in a fevered rush and threw them to the floor. From the front part of his closet, he drew one of his finest dress shirts; from the back of the closet, he pulled a suit which had not been worn in some time.
When it was a military function, he would wear a dress uniform to the opera. When it was purely social, he would wear a suit. This time counted as social … he would dress as a gentleman, not an officer.
A gentleman, he thought while he pulled new underpants out of his top drawer and looked through his second drawer for an undershirt. Maes always said of the two of us, I was much more the gentleman. Is that what I am? … a beast would be closer to the truth.
The days when he could call himself a gentleman were long gone, he decided. But he could still look like one. Still play the part.
He donned his finest clothing with the aid of the full-length mirror mounted in the corner next to his closet (how much ingenuous use he and Maes had made of that mirror!). He tried to ignore how loose the once-tailored suit had become on his spare frame. Belatedly, he realized that he’d forgotten about dinner.
I’ll grab a rice ball before I go out the door, he thought. Or … I think I have a few apples… he knew he wouldn’t have the patience to cook anything.
The backdrop of this scene was much the same as the one years ago - his bathroom now was not too much bigger or more elaborate than the one they’d used to get ready all those years ago. The props were the same - his comb, his razor and strop, the tin of shaving cream and its brush. But the actors had changed, he thought wryly. It was eerily and emptily silent, getting ready by himself. He’d done it how many hundreds of times? But this time, he was holding up the tiny, pale candle of the present in comparison to the bright roaring fire of his memory. It was so quiet without Maes there. The mirror was wider, the vanity more spacious, but there was no one to share it with now.
His reflection had changed, too; he removed the eye patch and the dress-jacket in order to do a quick shave, and he couldn’t help noticing the grey in his stubble, in his hair. The patch of scar tissue that had been his eye barely registered with him anymore. He was so used to it…
A thought struck him with such force that he nearly dropped the razor. Here I am, looking at this scar … getting ready to go see the REASON for this scar … and he’s not here to see it. What I gave for him … All the times they’d been together, made love, held one another, even taken showers, Roy had kept his eye patch on. It was just part of his body to him, and it was made of a strong material designed for constant wear.
Maes had never asked about it. Nor about the lack of ignition-cloth gloves in his uniform pockets.
Another question it never occurred to me to ask. It never occurred to me to wonder. Why doesn’t he want to know these things? Does he even care for me at all?
It was at that moment he realized again - though very, very dimly - that he was in love with a ghost. With someone who no longer existed.
And yet, he was unable to believe it. Maes did exist … warm and solid, flesh and bone … He rapidly killed the discomfort he’d been feeling. It was replaced by a rush of guilt for thinking of his friend like that. He DOES exist, he thought firmly. He remembers the same things I do. Maes … I’m getting ready to go to the opera with Maes … just like old times.
He continued with his shaving, one slow stroke at a time, focusing on the bright blade like a candle lighting his way.
“Almost there, dear,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to forget these, would we?” He smiled indulgently and held out the double-strand of pearls he’d gifted her with on her last birthday.
She smiled back. “Would you help me with the clasp?” She turned and bowed her head, presenting the back of her neck.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on her nape before carefully drawing back to fasten the beautiful necklace in place. Just as he finished, Elicia toddled in.
“Mommy!” she said imperiously. “Miss Tracy has a spot on her green dress!”
“Mommy’s getting ready right now, Leese,” said Maes indulgently. He strode over to the baby and picked her up, swung her around and set her on his shoulder, heedless of the fact that he was wearing one of his best suits. “Come on, I’ll help you find another dress for her that’s just as pretty.”
“But Miss Tracy likes the green one,” Elicia protested.
Gracia’s cousin Emily, who was their babysitter that night, popped her head in the door. “Maes, I tried to keep her distracted, but she just ran …”
He paid no attention, but continued his dialogue with the little girl as he carried her back into the sitting-room.
Gracia and Emily exchanged a look. “You know, I always wonder how he manages to leave her at all,” Gracia said, trying for exasperation but instead letting her adoration for her husband show through her voice.
Emily smiled. “He’s a devoted father, that’s for sure.” She paused. “Should I put her to bed at the usual time? She seems pretty lively, and it’s already after seven.”
“She can stay up a little later if you like,” Gracia replied. “Just don’t let her wear you out, okay?”
Emily snickered. “Her? Wear me out? It’ll never happen.” She rolled her eyes and left the room, calling after Maes.
Alone in front of her mirror, Gracia pulled the clasp on the strand of pearls around to the front. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the tiny golden mechanism she was trying to focus on; impatient, she brushed at her eyes and tried again. She’d never been good at fastening things without being able to see them. And there was no one to help her this time. Her cousin was there, yes, but … it was different now. Emily was in the other room with Elicia, and Gracia wasn’t about to bother them for something as silly as helping her with her necklace.
The house was so quiet without him.
Roy politely declined the ticket-taker’s offer to have an usher show him to his box. Luckily the man knew him, even without his uniform, and was familiar with his habits. “Will you require refreshments this evening, sir?” he asked blandly. Roy knew he would always ask, even if the General was alone or only entertaining one or two people.
“No, thank you,” he said. “In fact … pass the word that I am not to be disturbed. This opera is a favorite of mine, and I wish to have my full concentration on the stage tonight.”
“Yes sir; thank you, sir,” the ticket-taker replied, and beckoned to one of the nearby ushers. He spoke briefly in the man’s ear before turning to the next patron with a smile.
Roy slowly made his way up the stairs. He passed no one, and wouldn’t have noticed them if he had.
He had no idea what he would find when he drew aside the velvet curtain; he knew only what his heart hoped was true.
She wasn’t certain this was the right one; the careful instructions on Maes’ letter had said Box Five, but how was she to tell … Oh. A gilded number was emblazoned above the entrance to each box. Box Five was at the end of the row, the farthest from the stairs.
She felt suddenly ridiculous in her pale peach gown, her finest shoes, her shining pearls, her satin gloves, her hair done up in a twist and fastened with a mother-of-pearl comb. How was she to know she hadn’t been tricked? What if this was all for nothing? It had to be some sort of setup. Maes was dead, wasn’t he? At least to everyone else…
Her husband greeted her with a smile when she hesitantly pushed through the curtain. “Darling,” he said, folding her into his arms. “So glad you could make it.”
“It’s early,” she replied once he released her; she tried to ignore the response from between her legs at just the feel of that one short embrace, at the sight of him in his beautiful suit - how long had it been since she’d seen it on him? “Like you said … in your letter.”
“And it’s just as well,” he said, favoring her with another heart-melting smile. He slowly drew off her right glove and dangled it from his long fingers before dropping it on the arm of the nearest seat. Then he bent at the knee, and kissed her bare hand. Again, this smallest of gestures made her quiver inside. “You are going to get a very special treat tonight,” he continued.
“Oh?” she responded demurely, trying to stave off the urge to shove him down into one of the seats, kiss him madly while she tore that fancy jacket right off him -
“Yes,” he said. His grin widened, as though he knew what she was thinking. “You may not see much of the opera … but nevertheless, you’re going to get a very good show.”
“I - aaaah…” Whatever she’d been about to say vanished like smoke at the touch of his burning fingers on her bare shoulders. His hands slid down to the crooks of her elbows lightly, almost teasingly; he transferred both hands to her left arm and pulled off her other glove, inch by inch. He caressed her newly-bare forearm even as he bent to retrieve the other glove, tucking both into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Beautiful gloves … but you won’t be needing them.”
She could only nod. Where was her voice? Her power? Why couldn’t she ask what the hell was going on?
She realized it was because she didn’t care. He was here, he wanted her to be here to see something special … that was enough for her.
He guided her over to another curtained area at the side of the box. There were heavy curtains everywhere, but this one concealed the little area for storing food and drink until intermission, so that the box-owner had a choice of whether to mingle with the general public during intermission - to see and be seen - or to entertain his or her guests somewhat privately.
“Get comfortable,” he purred, his arm around her shoulders. He gestured to a small, cushioned stool waiting for her behind the curtain. “I don’t want you to have to be on your feet,” he explained. “You may be back here for quite a while.”
She acquiesced, disappearing behind the curtain without another word. As she settled in, she noticed that she was concealed not only by the curtain, but by shadow; from where she was situated, she could see almost the entire box through a gap in the curtains, but she was certain no one would see her, even if they stared right at her. It was somewhat thrilling. She wondered what was to come. Far from annoying her, the prospect of spending her night at the opera crouched behind a curtain seemed incredibly appealing right now. Whatever he had planned must be quite a surprise, she thought. Her body tingled with anticipation as she thought of the other times he’d … surprised her in the past few months. Hmmmm.
She didn’t have to wait long. She was not at all taken aback to see General Mustang step into her view and greet Maes. It was Mustang’s box, after all.
When he entered the box, Roy’s gratification was immediate. His heart leapt up in his chest. “Maes!” He rushed forward and took his best friend’s hand, as if to shake it; then thought, To hell with it, and embraced him fully. For some reason it was a shock to see him like this … in public.
(“Public, huh? Do you see anyone around us?”)
As if reading his thought, Maes said softly, “Brings back old memories, doesn’t it?” Roy could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yes … it surely does.” Roy released him and looked him up and down. “Looking good.”
“You, too.”
There was a pause, the closest thing to an awkward pause that had come between them in quite a while. Roy broke it. “So … ah, are we going to actually watch the show this time?”
“You tell me,” Maes purred, stepping closer to him, invading his personal space. Roy could feel his warmth, could smell him, clean and musky and … was there a hint of sweetness about his scent tonight? Sweet, but familiar … he abandoned that train of thought when Maes’ hand slid up the back of his neck. His nipples hardened immediately, sensitive against the fabric covering them, and he felt a stirring in his groin.
Maes chuckled at his reaction. “Hmm. The opera’s chances aren’t looking good so far.” He removed his hand and stepped back from the smaller man. “But I suppose we should sit down for now … at least until the lights go down.”
Roy blinked. “You weren’t always so restrained, Maes.”
Maes grinned, obviously amused by his consternation. “What can I say … things change.” He gestured at a seat next to where they stood, in the back row. “Join me?”
Roy had no thought but to comply.
Onward to Chapter Eleven
Back to Master Entry