Full Metal Alchemist, "Accomplishment," Jean/Roy, NC-17
HAPPY BIRTHDAY galuxkitty!!! This is a present for her, because she is just the most awesomest person ever and I loooooooove her! She said that the whiskey and cigarettes on Roy's breath were just second-hand from the bar after work, and the resulting plotbunny hit me so hard it nearly broke my nose.
NC-17 because you can't celebrate a birthday properly without SOMEBODY getting naked, and since this is Roy and Jean, they're not being nice and proper, once they're naked.
This story is my response to the wealth of fiction out there that deals with Roy seeking Jean as a replacement for Hughes. If you don't know what happens in episode 25 I just spoiled it for you you probably don't want to read any further.
Accomplishment
by Mistress Quickly
Don't let him be alone, Riza had murmured, leaning closer to Jean than anyone had been in longer than Jean preferred to admit. Take him home, let him talk, let him drink, whatever he wants, just make sure he's at work intact and on time, tomorrow. And if you can't manage both, at least manage to get keep him intact.
And it made sense, to Jean, to do as Riza said, not only because she was ranked above him, not only because she was Roy's subordinate and a woman, a combination that would look very bad, were she the one to take their commanding officer back to his apartment. Riza was Roy's friend, was Jean's friend, and she was smart and caring, enough so that she knew, even before Jean had considered it, that Roy needed someone by his side, that night, and that she would only make things worse, were she the one to take on such a task.
No-one would think anything of a soldier accompanying his superior home. Which, for a man who planned to be Fuhrer someday, was a good thing.
Jean hadn't thought anything of it, either. Loyal as ever, he opened the back door of the car for his Colonel, drove them to Roy's apartment. Followed a respectful two steps behind the man, up to his front door, then waited until Roy invited him in before entering the man's home, bending just inside the door to unfasten his boots. He thanked his commanding officer when the man handed him a glass of whiskey, sipped it slowly and savored the flavor, while Roy stared at his own, glassy-eyed and pale. When Jean's glass was empty, Roy touched his hand, and then things began to happen very quickly.
Roy, as it turned out, didn't want to talk.
Didn't want to drink, either, past the bite of whiskey still sharp on Jean's tongue, the dull flavor of old second-hand smoke that clung to Jean's lips like a shadow. He clung to Jean like a child clings to its mother when Jean stood, moaned softly when Jean held him close and kissed him back, pulling away only enough to ask where the bedroom was, to ask if Roy was certain, if he really wanted what the rock of his hips, the grind of his erection against Jean's thigh suggested he wanted.
The sight of his commanding officer, stripped nude and perched on the edge of his impeccably made bed, watching Jean fumble with the buttons and zips and snaps of his uniform, answered Jean well enough. He left his dress uniform in a heap on the rug, kissed and caressed and prepared his commander with all the gentleness of a lover, the urgency of a man, shuddering when Roy gripped him by the cock and slicked him, pulling him close with a whimper and a look that was too close to begging for Jean's taste.
He obeyed, whether his own body's demands or the unspoken request of his friend, he didn't know.
Roy's hands were soft, holding Jean's arms in a firm grip, but his heels were like sandpaper, calloused and dry and rough against Jean's lower back, scrubbing into his skin each time he tightened his legs, something Jean would have minded, he was sure, if other parts of Roy hadn't tightened simultaneously, something that tended to drag all rational thought from Jean's mind, replacing it with the urge to thrust, to claim the tight heat of the man in his arms, to dominate and mark and own him.
"Jean," Roy was moaning, feet digging harder into the younger man's back. "Jean, please. Please do it, do it hard, do it fast ... Jean, just do it, please."
No-one had ever begged him during sex, before, male or female. No-one had ever watched him with such utter abandon, such dark lust and deep wanting. Jean groaned and did as he'd been told, thighs bumping the side of the mattress as he thrust harder into Roy's body, fingers digging into the comforter as Roy clung to him, back sliding with each thrust. It wouldn't take long, not like this, not with Roy's body hot and slick and unbelievably tight around him, not with Roy moaning and begging him, panting like Jean was the best thing he'd ever felt during sex, not with the months of inadvertent celibacy piling up, making his balls throb and heart pound, his blood singing.
Roy shuddered and tightened, cried out dug his heels into Jean's back, arching his back so that Jean's chest brushed his belly, stuttering in their sweat, good contact that made Jean answer him with a moan of his own, nipping the tight muscles of Roy's shoulder.
"Good, Roy, it's good," he whispered, thrusting in time to the tightening of his lover's legs, his feet burning as they rubbed against the carpet, barely withstanding the force of Jean's motions. "So very good ..."
"Ngh," said Roy. "Jean ... oh Jean ... oh please ..."
Jean shuddered and dropped his head, his thrusts shallow and hard. "If you ... don't stop ... with the begging," he growled, "I'm not ... gonna be able ... to last, Roy ..."
Roy wailed, a vulnerable, submissive sound that made Jean's cock throb and twitch, made his hips move faster, his blood sing. "Then don't last," said Roy, all deep voice and determination, the same powerful command that had won him such unwavering support in the Military. "Come for me, Jean. Come on, please, fuck me, come in me, let me feel you ... please."
"Oh Roy," whispered Jean, eyes slipping closed as he gave up, pounding the man under him as hard as he could. "Roy ... oh fuck, oh Roy ... Roy ... aah, aah, aah ..."
His body snapped up tight, back arching and hips thrusting as he came, pushing into Roy's body over and over even as he flooded the man with semen, balls clenching so hard they hurt. Blearily, he was aware of Roy watching him, whispering encouragement to him, hands stroking him soothingly as he shuddered and gasped and tried to remember how to breathe, cock still hard in Roy's amazing body, even after the last shocks of orgasm faded, leaving him sticky and panting and terribly exhausted, every muscle in his body protesting as he pulled out and slumped forward, kissing Roy with everything he knew he'd not be able to put into words.
He felt Roy's erection, trapped beneath him, twitching as he moved to kiss him. "Mmm, Roy," he breathed, pulling back, watching Roy's tongue dart out, licking swollen lips. "How do you want it? Mouth? Hand?"
Roy shuddered under him, calloused heels slipping down Jean's hips, precome-slick erection rubbing desperately against Jean's hip. "Mouth," he whispered. "Please, Jean ..."
Jean growled and slid down his commanding officer's body, cock sticking wetly to his thigh as he knelt on the floor, Roy's pale, muscular legs hanging over his shoulders, open shamelessly for Jean to look at him, hair-dusted balls tight with wanting, cock dark and slippery, tempting and beautiful. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, then sucked Roy's cock into his mouth, as deep as it would go, bobbing his head in a hard, steady rhythm. No teasing, not after he'd gotten to come, leaving Roy hard and unsatisfied. Breathing hard through his nose, Jean felt his way across Roy's firm, round ass, pushed his fingers into the man's body, his own semen trailing down the back of his hand as he thrust in and out, feeling about for Roy's prostate, rubbing it hard when Roy arched and cursed, cock twitching in Jean's mouth.
"Oh ... oh Jean ... Jean I’m ... I'm ... oh, oh yes ... Jean yes ..."
For one excruciating, beautiful moment, his entire body tensed, his entrance spasming around Jean's fingers, tight and hot and beautiful. And then he was coming, the first shot nearly gagging Jean. With a low growl, Jean pulled back and took his lover's cock in his free hand, pumping it hard and closing his eyes as Roy's semen striped his face, warm and messy and sticky, the last bits dribbling down his fingers and hand and forearm, cooling in the chill of the air coming in through the open window. When it was over, when Roy's cock was softening in his grip, semen cooling as it dripped from his chin, Jean withdrew his fingers and sat back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Be still, Jean, I'll get you a towel," said Roy, the bed squeaking as he slid off of it, footsteps padding quietly towards what Jean assumed was the bathroom. He returned a moment later, touching the terrycloth gently to Jean's face, wiping away with calm precision the mess he'd made, brows furrowed in concentration.
Once he was clean, Jean opened his eyes and blinked, watching Roy with unabashed uncertainty. "Um ... thanks," he said. "Not just for ... for the towel, but for ... you know, for everything."
Roy chuckled and folded the towel, smoothing it meticulously with the palm of his hand. "You're quite a romantic in the afterglow, Jean, has anyone ever told you that?"
Jean felt his face heat. "I'm not-"
"I was teasing, Jean," said Roy, softly, brushing his fingertips over Jean's cheek. "If you started spouting poetry or singing my praises to the heavens, I might have to fry you." He raked his hand through his hair and sighed, dropped the folded towel to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, as comfortable with himself nude as he was in uniform, even under Jean's blushing, curious gaze. "You the type who smokes after sex?"
Jean shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "I won't if the smell's going to bother you."
Roy arched an eyebrow. "I didn't know you could go without your fix," he said, and Jean couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. He waved his hand, shook his head. "Anyway, I'm going to have a shower, you're welcome to join me if you're not in dire need of your fix."
Jean stood and resisted the urge to salute, Riza's order to keep an eye on their superior and his own desire to be near the man giving him a strangely powerful sense of duty. "Lead the way, Chief," he said. "I'm right behind you."
~♥~♥~♥~
Later that night, lying in Roy's bed, properly tucked in under the covers, heads resting on the soft pillows, Jean ran his fingertips down the bumps of his commanding officer's spine and sighed, breathing the scent of shampoo and fabric softener, the combination oddly clean, oddly personal, the warm weight of Roy's body pressed to his own oddly comforting.
Roy was talking, finally. Had been, for hours.
"And then there was his bachelor party," he was saying, toying with the edge of the sheet, the movement of the muscles in his hand brushing Jean's nipple enough that it had hardened. "I had a stripper lined up, a really beautiful woman, very highly recommended, but Maes wouldn't hear of it. He invited her to party with us, instead, and it turned out beautifully. She relaxed, after a bit, once she realized he wasn't going to try anything, that none of us were going to either. Got me and Maes down to our undershorts, when we played strip poker, then offered to pay us what I'd promised to pay her for stripping, since she said she was the one getting the striptease that evening."
Jean laughed and kissed the top of Roy's head, mouthed some of the man's hair to sate his mouth's crying need for a smoke. He'd not had a cigarette after their shower, distracted as he'd been with Roy's mouth against his own, Roy's hand on his cock, stroking it gently through the towel he'd wrapped around his waist. After that, he'd not had a cigarette because he'd been busy, lying down on Roy's bed and taking Roy's cock into his mouth, bucking and moaning as Roy did the same for him, bringing him off almost as quickly as the tight squeeze of Roy's body had finished him, before. Roy came in Jean's mouth only a few thrusts later, whispering the younger man's name as he rode Jean's gulping throat, his body slumping against against Jean's, limp and uncooperative as Jean shifted him under the blankets, holding him close.
And even then, warm and sated, Jean hadn't had a cigarette, too happy cuddling Roy in the haze of the afterglow, then listening to the man's stories, each more personal and beautiful than the next, to make it worth his while to get up for something so simple as an addiction. The warm weight of the beautiful man draped over his body satisfied far more cravings than a cigarette would have, anyway, he told himself, feeling Roy's chest rise and fall in a deep sigh, breath washing warm over one of Jean's nipples.
"He was such a good man, Maes Hughes," said Roy, head dipping forward to rest just over Jean's heart. "I miss him, Jean. I miss him so much."
Jean gave him an awkward, one-armed squeeze. "I know, Roy," he said, gently. "I'm so sorry."
Roy sighed. "Riza thought there was something between us, you know, me and Maes," he said, "back when she first started serving under me. I don't ... I’m not usually like this with anyone, I'm sure you’ve noticed that, not much one for being physical or cuddly or ... whatever it's called. But with Maes, it was inescapable, the man thought every friend he ever had was his own personal teddy-bear, so Riza thought ..." He shook his head, scrubbing his hair against Jean's shoulder. "Anyway, we weren't. Never were, never would have been, regardless of Gracia. Maes was the straightest man I've ever come across. Save for maybe Vato, I don't think he's ever had even the slightest interest in a man." He thought about it for a moment, then added, "Of course, I've never seen him have any interest in anyone, period, but still."
"Nah, Vato's liked girls before," said Jean. "He mentioned a girl from that bookstore downtown, once, said she had nice hands. We teased him about it, then found out later that she'd asked him out and they were dating, so it wasn't funny anymore."
"I didn't know about that," said Roy. "How come I didn't know about that?"
Jean shrugged. "They didn't last very long. She didn't like him being enlisted and all that, so they just ended it before it got too serious," he said. "Remember taking him out for drinks, that night Heymans and I sang karaoke for an hour? We did that to cheer him up."
"Oh," said Roy, chuckling. "Yes, I remember that. Heymans can't carry a tune to save his life."
"No, no he can't," said Jean. "That's why I like singing with him, he makes me look good."
Roy hmm'd softly. "That's why I always drank with Maes," he said. "One glass and he was tipsy, two and he was out cold. He made me look tough, made me feel manly. Didn't take much, I suppose, but it was enough."
"He was a good man, Roy," said Jean, quietly. "A good man and a good friend. He was lucky to have someone like you to support, luckier than most men get to be in their entire lives."
Roy shuddered in his arms. "It's not right, him dying so young. Not right for him to not get to see his daughter grow up, not right for him to not grow old with his wife."
"No," said Jean. "No, it's not."
They lay together in silence for a bit, Jean stroking Roy's back, listening to him breathe, cheek resting against Roy's soft hair. He jumped when Roy laughed softly, nipping gently at his chest.
"I told you not to go poetic on me, Jean," said Roy, softly. "Won't do either of us any good."
Jean sighed and tilted Roy's chin up with a soft press of his fingertips, kissing him gently on the lips. "Sorry," he said. "No secret why I never get more than one date, I suppose."
"Mmm, I wondered," said Roy. "The sex is certainly worth a repeat performance."
Jean felt his face heat and snorted, fidgeting under the blankets. Roy yawned.
"I don't think I've ever seen you go this long without a cigarette, before," he said. "I'm impressed."
"My mother," said Jean, sighing and doing his best to ignore the powerful resurgence of his body's cravings, inspired by Roy's words, "always taught me to have good manners. I don't think she'd approve of me taking away a man's comfort in his own bed just so I can have a smoke."
Roy laughed softly. "You can go for a smoke, Jean," he said, pulling away. "I won't tell your mother, I promise."
But Jean tightened his arm around Roy's warm, hard body and shook his head, pressing a kiss to the man's hair, nibbling it just a little when Roy melted back against him, nuzzling his chest. "Relax, Chief," he said. "I can smoke any time, you know? This is nice, like this."
He felt Roy's deep laugh, rumbling through the man's back, warm and rich. "Go have your smoke, Jean," said Roy. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
"Mmm," said Jean. "Neither am I."
~♥~♥~♥~
It wasn't until midmorning the following day, after driving Roy to Headquarters and parking the car, that Jean finally had his cigarette, making his way towards the main building from the motor pool. He had another at lunchtime, blowing smoke out the big window behind Roy's desk, and if anyone noticed Roy's breath smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, they didn't say anything.
After work, he had another, and then another late that night, lying in Roy's bed, warm and sated and happy, and so on, until weeks later, he lay in his own bed for the first time since Hughes' funeral.
But even then, he wasn't alone. And, curled up beside him, murmuring in his sleep, Roy wasn't either.
Jean had done his job well.
NC-17 because you can't celebrate a birthday properly without SOMEBODY getting naked, and since this is Roy and Jean, they're not being nice and proper, once they're naked.
This story is my response to the wealth of fiction out there that deals with Roy seeking Jean as a replacement for Hughes. If you don't know what happens in episode 25 I just spoiled it for you you probably don't want to read any further.
Accomplishment
by Mistress Quickly
Don't let him be alone, Riza had murmured, leaning closer to Jean than anyone had been in longer than Jean preferred to admit. Take him home, let him talk, let him drink, whatever he wants, just make sure he's at work intact and on time, tomorrow. And if you can't manage both, at least manage to get keep him intact.
And it made sense, to Jean, to do as Riza said, not only because she was ranked above him, not only because she was Roy's subordinate and a woman, a combination that would look very bad, were she the one to take their commanding officer back to his apartment. Riza was Roy's friend, was Jean's friend, and she was smart and caring, enough so that she knew, even before Jean had considered it, that Roy needed someone by his side, that night, and that she would only make things worse, were she the one to take on such a task.
No-one would think anything of a soldier accompanying his superior home. Which, for a man who planned to be Fuhrer someday, was a good thing.
Jean hadn't thought anything of it, either. Loyal as ever, he opened the back door of the car for his Colonel, drove them to Roy's apartment. Followed a respectful two steps behind the man, up to his front door, then waited until Roy invited him in before entering the man's home, bending just inside the door to unfasten his boots. He thanked his commanding officer when the man handed him a glass of whiskey, sipped it slowly and savored the flavor, while Roy stared at his own, glassy-eyed and pale. When Jean's glass was empty, Roy touched his hand, and then things began to happen very quickly.
Roy, as it turned out, didn't want to talk.
Didn't want to drink, either, past the bite of whiskey still sharp on Jean's tongue, the dull flavor of old second-hand smoke that clung to Jean's lips like a shadow. He clung to Jean like a child clings to its mother when Jean stood, moaned softly when Jean held him close and kissed him back, pulling away only enough to ask where the bedroom was, to ask if Roy was certain, if he really wanted what the rock of his hips, the grind of his erection against Jean's thigh suggested he wanted.
The sight of his commanding officer, stripped nude and perched on the edge of his impeccably made bed, watching Jean fumble with the buttons and zips and snaps of his uniform, answered Jean well enough. He left his dress uniform in a heap on the rug, kissed and caressed and prepared his commander with all the gentleness of a lover, the urgency of a man, shuddering when Roy gripped him by the cock and slicked him, pulling him close with a whimper and a look that was too close to begging for Jean's taste.
He obeyed, whether his own body's demands or the unspoken request of his friend, he didn't know.
Roy's hands were soft, holding Jean's arms in a firm grip, but his heels were like sandpaper, calloused and dry and rough against Jean's lower back, scrubbing into his skin each time he tightened his legs, something Jean would have minded, he was sure, if other parts of Roy hadn't tightened simultaneously, something that tended to drag all rational thought from Jean's mind, replacing it with the urge to thrust, to claim the tight heat of the man in his arms, to dominate and mark and own him.
"Jean," Roy was moaning, feet digging harder into the younger man's back. "Jean, please. Please do it, do it hard, do it fast ... Jean, just do it, please."
No-one had ever begged him during sex, before, male or female. No-one had ever watched him with such utter abandon, such dark lust and deep wanting. Jean groaned and did as he'd been told, thighs bumping the side of the mattress as he thrust harder into Roy's body, fingers digging into the comforter as Roy clung to him, back sliding with each thrust. It wouldn't take long, not like this, not with Roy's body hot and slick and unbelievably tight around him, not with Roy moaning and begging him, panting like Jean was the best thing he'd ever felt during sex, not with the months of inadvertent celibacy piling up, making his balls throb and heart pound, his blood singing.
Roy shuddered and tightened, cried out dug his heels into Jean's back, arching his back so that Jean's chest brushed his belly, stuttering in their sweat, good contact that made Jean answer him with a moan of his own, nipping the tight muscles of Roy's shoulder.
"Good, Roy, it's good," he whispered, thrusting in time to the tightening of his lover's legs, his feet burning as they rubbed against the carpet, barely withstanding the force of Jean's motions. "So very good ..."
"Ngh," said Roy. "Jean ... oh Jean ... oh please ..."
Jean shuddered and dropped his head, his thrusts shallow and hard. "If you ... don't stop ... with the begging," he growled, "I'm not ... gonna be able ... to last, Roy ..."
Roy wailed, a vulnerable, submissive sound that made Jean's cock throb and twitch, made his hips move faster, his blood sing. "Then don't last," said Roy, all deep voice and determination, the same powerful command that had won him such unwavering support in the Military. "Come for me, Jean. Come on, please, fuck me, come in me, let me feel you ... please."
"Oh Roy," whispered Jean, eyes slipping closed as he gave up, pounding the man under him as hard as he could. "Roy ... oh fuck, oh Roy ... Roy ... aah, aah, aah ..."
His body snapped up tight, back arching and hips thrusting as he came, pushing into Roy's body over and over even as he flooded the man with semen, balls clenching so hard they hurt. Blearily, he was aware of Roy watching him, whispering encouragement to him, hands stroking him soothingly as he shuddered and gasped and tried to remember how to breathe, cock still hard in Roy's amazing body, even after the last shocks of orgasm faded, leaving him sticky and panting and terribly exhausted, every muscle in his body protesting as he pulled out and slumped forward, kissing Roy with everything he knew he'd not be able to put into words.
He felt Roy's erection, trapped beneath him, twitching as he moved to kiss him. "Mmm, Roy," he breathed, pulling back, watching Roy's tongue dart out, licking swollen lips. "How do you want it? Mouth? Hand?"
Roy shuddered under him, calloused heels slipping down Jean's hips, precome-slick erection rubbing desperately against Jean's hip. "Mouth," he whispered. "Please, Jean ..."
Jean growled and slid down his commanding officer's body, cock sticking wetly to his thigh as he knelt on the floor, Roy's pale, muscular legs hanging over his shoulders, open shamelessly for Jean to look at him, hair-dusted balls tight with wanting, cock dark and slippery, tempting and beautiful. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, then sucked Roy's cock into his mouth, as deep as it would go, bobbing his head in a hard, steady rhythm. No teasing, not after he'd gotten to come, leaving Roy hard and unsatisfied. Breathing hard through his nose, Jean felt his way across Roy's firm, round ass, pushed his fingers into the man's body, his own semen trailing down the back of his hand as he thrust in and out, feeling about for Roy's prostate, rubbing it hard when Roy arched and cursed, cock twitching in Jean's mouth.
"Oh ... oh Jean ... Jean I’m ... I'm ... oh, oh yes ... Jean yes ..."
For one excruciating, beautiful moment, his entire body tensed, his entrance spasming around Jean's fingers, tight and hot and beautiful. And then he was coming, the first shot nearly gagging Jean. With a low growl, Jean pulled back and took his lover's cock in his free hand, pumping it hard and closing his eyes as Roy's semen striped his face, warm and messy and sticky, the last bits dribbling down his fingers and hand and forearm, cooling in the chill of the air coming in through the open window. When it was over, when Roy's cock was softening in his grip, semen cooling as it dripped from his chin, Jean withdrew his fingers and sat back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Be still, Jean, I'll get you a towel," said Roy, the bed squeaking as he slid off of it, footsteps padding quietly towards what Jean assumed was the bathroom. He returned a moment later, touching the terrycloth gently to Jean's face, wiping away with calm precision the mess he'd made, brows furrowed in concentration.
Once he was clean, Jean opened his eyes and blinked, watching Roy with unabashed uncertainty. "Um ... thanks," he said. "Not just for ... for the towel, but for ... you know, for everything."
Roy chuckled and folded the towel, smoothing it meticulously with the palm of his hand. "You're quite a romantic in the afterglow, Jean, has anyone ever told you that?"
Jean felt his face heat. "I'm not-"
"I was teasing, Jean," said Roy, softly, brushing his fingertips over Jean's cheek. "If you started spouting poetry or singing my praises to the heavens, I might have to fry you." He raked his hand through his hair and sighed, dropped the folded towel to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, as comfortable with himself nude as he was in uniform, even under Jean's blushing, curious gaze. "You the type who smokes after sex?"
Jean shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "I won't if the smell's going to bother you."
Roy arched an eyebrow. "I didn't know you could go without your fix," he said, and Jean couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. He waved his hand, shook his head. "Anyway, I'm going to have a shower, you're welcome to join me if you're not in dire need of your fix."
Jean stood and resisted the urge to salute, Riza's order to keep an eye on their superior and his own desire to be near the man giving him a strangely powerful sense of duty. "Lead the way, Chief," he said. "I'm right behind you."
~♥~♥~♥~
Later that night, lying in Roy's bed, properly tucked in under the covers, heads resting on the soft pillows, Jean ran his fingertips down the bumps of his commanding officer's spine and sighed, breathing the scent of shampoo and fabric softener, the combination oddly clean, oddly personal, the warm weight of Roy's body pressed to his own oddly comforting.
Roy was talking, finally. Had been, for hours.
"And then there was his bachelor party," he was saying, toying with the edge of the sheet, the movement of the muscles in his hand brushing Jean's nipple enough that it had hardened. "I had a stripper lined up, a really beautiful woman, very highly recommended, but Maes wouldn't hear of it. He invited her to party with us, instead, and it turned out beautifully. She relaxed, after a bit, once she realized he wasn't going to try anything, that none of us were going to either. Got me and Maes down to our undershorts, when we played strip poker, then offered to pay us what I'd promised to pay her for stripping, since she said she was the one getting the striptease that evening."
Jean laughed and kissed the top of Roy's head, mouthed some of the man's hair to sate his mouth's crying need for a smoke. He'd not had a cigarette after their shower, distracted as he'd been with Roy's mouth against his own, Roy's hand on his cock, stroking it gently through the towel he'd wrapped around his waist. After that, he'd not had a cigarette because he'd been busy, lying down on Roy's bed and taking Roy's cock into his mouth, bucking and moaning as Roy did the same for him, bringing him off almost as quickly as the tight squeeze of Roy's body had finished him, before. Roy came in Jean's mouth only a few thrusts later, whispering the younger man's name as he rode Jean's gulping throat, his body slumping against against Jean's, limp and uncooperative as Jean shifted him under the blankets, holding him close.
And even then, warm and sated, Jean hadn't had a cigarette, too happy cuddling Roy in the haze of the afterglow, then listening to the man's stories, each more personal and beautiful than the next, to make it worth his while to get up for something so simple as an addiction. The warm weight of the beautiful man draped over his body satisfied far more cravings than a cigarette would have, anyway, he told himself, feeling Roy's chest rise and fall in a deep sigh, breath washing warm over one of Jean's nipples.
"He was such a good man, Maes Hughes," said Roy, head dipping forward to rest just over Jean's heart. "I miss him, Jean. I miss him so much."
Jean gave him an awkward, one-armed squeeze. "I know, Roy," he said, gently. "I'm so sorry."
Roy sighed. "Riza thought there was something between us, you know, me and Maes," he said, "back when she first started serving under me. I don't ... I’m not usually like this with anyone, I'm sure you’ve noticed that, not much one for being physical or cuddly or ... whatever it's called. But with Maes, it was inescapable, the man thought every friend he ever had was his own personal teddy-bear, so Riza thought ..." He shook his head, scrubbing his hair against Jean's shoulder. "Anyway, we weren't. Never were, never would have been, regardless of Gracia. Maes was the straightest man I've ever come across. Save for maybe Vato, I don't think he's ever had even the slightest interest in a man." He thought about it for a moment, then added, "Of course, I've never seen him have any interest in anyone, period, but still."
"Nah, Vato's liked girls before," said Jean. "He mentioned a girl from that bookstore downtown, once, said she had nice hands. We teased him about it, then found out later that she'd asked him out and they were dating, so it wasn't funny anymore."
"I didn't know about that," said Roy. "How come I didn't know about that?"
Jean shrugged. "They didn't last very long. She didn't like him being enlisted and all that, so they just ended it before it got too serious," he said. "Remember taking him out for drinks, that night Heymans and I sang karaoke for an hour? We did that to cheer him up."
"Oh," said Roy, chuckling. "Yes, I remember that. Heymans can't carry a tune to save his life."
"No, no he can't," said Jean. "That's why I like singing with him, he makes me look good."
Roy hmm'd softly. "That's why I always drank with Maes," he said. "One glass and he was tipsy, two and he was out cold. He made me look tough, made me feel manly. Didn't take much, I suppose, but it was enough."
"He was a good man, Roy," said Jean, quietly. "A good man and a good friend. He was lucky to have someone like you to support, luckier than most men get to be in their entire lives."
Roy shuddered in his arms. "It's not right, him dying so young. Not right for him to not get to see his daughter grow up, not right for him to not grow old with his wife."
"No," said Jean. "No, it's not."
They lay together in silence for a bit, Jean stroking Roy's back, listening to him breathe, cheek resting against Roy's soft hair. He jumped when Roy laughed softly, nipping gently at his chest.
"I told you not to go poetic on me, Jean," said Roy, softly. "Won't do either of us any good."
Jean sighed and tilted Roy's chin up with a soft press of his fingertips, kissing him gently on the lips. "Sorry," he said. "No secret why I never get more than one date, I suppose."
"Mmm, I wondered," said Roy. "The sex is certainly worth a repeat performance."
Jean felt his face heat and snorted, fidgeting under the blankets. Roy yawned.
"I don't think I've ever seen you go this long without a cigarette, before," he said. "I'm impressed."
"My mother," said Jean, sighing and doing his best to ignore the powerful resurgence of his body's cravings, inspired by Roy's words, "always taught me to have good manners. I don't think she'd approve of me taking away a man's comfort in his own bed just so I can have a smoke."
Roy laughed softly. "You can go for a smoke, Jean," he said, pulling away. "I won't tell your mother, I promise."
But Jean tightened his arm around Roy's warm, hard body and shook his head, pressing a kiss to the man's hair, nibbling it just a little when Roy melted back against him, nuzzling his chest. "Relax, Chief," he said. "I can smoke any time, you know? This is nice, like this."
He felt Roy's deep laugh, rumbling through the man's back, warm and rich. "Go have your smoke, Jean," said Roy. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
"Mmm," said Jean. "Neither am I."
~♥~♥~♥~
It wasn't until midmorning the following day, after driving Roy to Headquarters and parking the car, that Jean finally had his cigarette, making his way towards the main building from the motor pool. He had another at lunchtime, blowing smoke out the big window behind Roy's desk, and if anyone noticed Roy's breath smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, they didn't say anything.
After work, he had another, and then another late that night, lying in Roy's bed, warm and sated and happy, and so on, until weeks later, he lay in his own bed for the first time since Hughes' funeral.
But even then, he wasn't alone. And, curled up beside him, murmuring in his sleep, Roy wasn't either.
Jean had done his job well.