Full Metal Alchemist, "More than Enough," Jean/Roy, hard R
I'M DONE WITH ALL MY FINALS! *squee*
To celebrate, I bring fic. Short fic. Long fic later. Short sentences now. *snicker*
Dedicated with love to seven_virtues who writes damn good stuff (you should all go to her journal and read it, srsly) and is just plainly awesome. Oh, and it was totally inspired by this gorgeous drawing which is so gorgeous it HURTS.
I'd call this fic hard R. And then I'd flop back and laugh like the over-caffeinated no-more-finals freak that I am. *falls back laughing*
More than Enough
by Mistr3ss Quickly
So many times, it had become more.
Like the times when the lunch served in the mess hall was honestly inedible, times when Roy had mentioned going to the deli by the station, instead, and had left with his hands in his pockets and his loyal subordinate in tow, fully intending to buy a nice sandwich and a cup of coffee, fully intending to eat and drink while talking with Jean, enjoying the easy conversation that made the man so very dear to him, so much more than just another subordinate.
They'd only made it to the deli once, on the numerous occasions when they'd left with the intention of getting something edible for lunch, and that was only because Riza had swallowed her pride and respect for decorum and had come into the men's room to inform them that the Fuhrer was on his way and probably wouldn't turn his patch-blinded eye to a famed Alchemist feeling up his male subordinate in one of the cramped stalls, even if said Alchemist was one of the most useful in the Military.
Other times, Roy had intended to slip out of the office and go for a walk-on the rare occasions that he'd caught up on his paperwork well enough that Riza would permit him to go for a stroll-and honestly, his intentions when he invited Jean to come along with him had been focused on the man's habit of smoking cigarettes, his heart set on some good company while Jean smoked, a bit of fresh air tinged with the familiar acrid stink of tobacco, the only burnt smell Roy could tolerate.
All the same, they'd never once taken more of a walk than what was necessary to reach one of the private meeting rooms where important decisions were often made, Roy locking the door while Jean undressed, pants and underwear pushed down only enough to free his cock to Roy's gulping throat, uniform tails pushed aside just enough to expose Roy's ass to Jean's gentle, steady hands. And when they returned, perhaps a bit flushed but otherwise completely recovered from their frantic groping and kissing and fucking and coming, if Riza noticed that neither of them smelled like smoke, she never let on.
Other times, still, when they drank with friends after their shift was over, it was always Roy's intention to sleep at Jean's apartment-which was far closer to his company's favorite bar than his own-only until the alcohol had worked its way through his system well enough that he could make it safely home and not have to worry about being tipsy alone (because really, save for his overindulgence in champagne at Maes' wedding, Roy never drank enough that he could consider himself drunk enough to be at risk of hurting himself).
But still, original intentions aside, he always woke the next morning with Jean's arm draped over his hip, Jean's whiffling snores tickling down his spine on warm breath, Jean's hairy legs pleasantly soft against the bottoms of his feet. And always, always, he shared the shower with the man after waking him gently from deep sleep, because it just seemed like a good thing to do, especially with someone like Jean.
~*~*~*~
On this day, however, this beautiful sunny day, something was different.
Jean's tongue was as warm as ever in his mouth, and the flavor of the mints he sucked on to cover up the smell of smoke on his breath flooded Roy's senses as thoroughly and intoxicatingly as ever, and the tip of Jean's nose-rounder than Roy's own nose and so tempting to tap with the tip of Roy's gloved finger-rubbed gently against Roy's cheek, just as it always did, but still ...
"Congratulations, Fuhrer," Jean whispered, pulling away and straightening his formal cap, offering Roy a toothy grin when Roy cocked his head in answer. "Sorry. Just wanted to be the first to say it."
"Then let it be the last time you say it, Colonel," said Roy, emphasizing his lover's title. "Just 'Roy' will do, you know."
Jean laughed. "Yeah, I know, Roy," he said. "Just Roy, nothing more."
Roy nodded and laced his fingers with Jean's, then he led the man-his lover, his friend-out into the sunlight, not releasing Jean's hand from his own until they were a block from Headquarters and in sight of their fellow soldiers, lined up to celebrate his own inauguration as leader of their nation.
So often, prior to that day, he'd wanted more.
But this day, standing alongside his people, accepting the power given to him by the people, Roy found that what he had was more than enough.
To celebrate, I bring fic. Short fic. Long fic later. Short sentences now. *snicker*
Dedicated with love to seven_virtues who writes damn good stuff (you should all go to her journal and read it, srsly) and is just plainly awesome. Oh, and it was totally inspired by this gorgeous drawing which is so gorgeous it HURTS.
I'd call this fic hard R. And then I'd flop back and laugh like the over-caffeinated no-more-finals freak that I am. *falls back laughing*
More than Enough
by Mistr3ss Quickly
So many times, it had become more.
Like the times when the lunch served in the mess hall was honestly inedible, times when Roy had mentioned going to the deli by the station, instead, and had left with his hands in his pockets and his loyal subordinate in tow, fully intending to buy a nice sandwich and a cup of coffee, fully intending to eat and drink while talking with Jean, enjoying the easy conversation that made the man so very dear to him, so much more than just another subordinate.
They'd only made it to the deli once, on the numerous occasions when they'd left with the intention of getting something edible for lunch, and that was only because Riza had swallowed her pride and respect for decorum and had come into the men's room to inform them that the Fuhrer was on his way and probably wouldn't turn his patch-blinded eye to a famed Alchemist feeling up his male subordinate in one of the cramped stalls, even if said Alchemist was one of the most useful in the Military.
Other times, Roy had intended to slip out of the office and go for a walk-on the rare occasions that he'd caught up on his paperwork well enough that Riza would permit him to go for a stroll-and honestly, his intentions when he invited Jean to come along with him had been focused on the man's habit of smoking cigarettes, his heart set on some good company while Jean smoked, a bit of fresh air tinged with the familiar acrid stink of tobacco, the only burnt smell Roy could tolerate.
All the same, they'd never once taken more of a walk than what was necessary to reach one of the private meeting rooms where important decisions were often made, Roy locking the door while Jean undressed, pants and underwear pushed down only enough to free his cock to Roy's gulping throat, uniform tails pushed aside just enough to expose Roy's ass to Jean's gentle, steady hands. And when they returned, perhaps a bit flushed but otherwise completely recovered from their frantic groping and kissing and fucking and coming, if Riza noticed that neither of them smelled like smoke, she never let on.
Other times, still, when they drank with friends after their shift was over, it was always Roy's intention to sleep at Jean's apartment-which was far closer to his company's favorite bar than his own-only until the alcohol had worked its way through his system well enough that he could make it safely home and not have to worry about being tipsy alone (because really, save for his overindulgence in champagne at Maes' wedding, Roy never drank enough that he could consider himself drunk enough to be at risk of hurting himself).
But still, original intentions aside, he always woke the next morning with Jean's arm draped over his hip, Jean's whiffling snores tickling down his spine on warm breath, Jean's hairy legs pleasantly soft against the bottoms of his feet. And always, always, he shared the shower with the man after waking him gently from deep sleep, because it just seemed like a good thing to do, especially with someone like Jean.
~*~*~*~
On this day, however, this beautiful sunny day, something was different.
Jean's tongue was as warm as ever in his mouth, and the flavor of the mints he sucked on to cover up the smell of smoke on his breath flooded Roy's senses as thoroughly and intoxicatingly as ever, and the tip of Jean's nose-rounder than Roy's own nose and so tempting to tap with the tip of Roy's gloved finger-rubbed gently against Roy's cheek, just as it always did, but still ...
"Congratulations, Fuhrer," Jean whispered, pulling away and straightening his formal cap, offering Roy a toothy grin when Roy cocked his head in answer. "Sorry. Just wanted to be the first to say it."
"Then let it be the last time you say it, Colonel," said Roy, emphasizing his lover's title. "Just 'Roy' will do, you know."
Jean laughed. "Yeah, I know, Roy," he said. "Just Roy, nothing more."
Roy nodded and laced his fingers with Jean's, then he led the man-his lover, his friend-out into the sunlight, not releasing Jean's hand from his own until they were a block from Headquarters and in sight of their fellow soldiers, lined up to celebrate his own inauguration as leader of their nation.
So often, prior to that day, he'd wanted more.
But this day, standing alongside his people, accepting the power given to him by the people, Roy found that what he had was more than enough.