(no subject)
Title: Habit
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Hughes
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: No spoilers other than Ishbal
Word Count: 580
Notes: I haven't written these boys for a couple of months and missed them! I know that the anime says that Hughes wasn't in Ishbal, but I think that the manga mentions it? Maybe? Am I hallucinating? If I'm wrong, call this an AU. Enjoy!
Roy felt the tension swell between his thumb and middle finger, harder, harder, until it snapped.
The flame swayed to life, a ribbon of orange and heat in the darkened room. Its reflection flickered in the other's glasses and Roy could see himself. His hair was mussed, his eyes were pulled down with dark
circles, stubbled was spreading over his jawline. He looked away, ashamed. It had been an all-nighter and
he didn't mind in the least.
Maes smiled and leaned forward, cigarette between his lips, and puffed once, watching in silence as smoke
rose from the end of the stick in his mouth. It swirled between them, heavy and fragrant, before dissipating into the dark.
"When is she expecting you back," Roy asked, reaching for the ashtray beside the bed and resting it on his
chest.
Maes shrugged beside him, the mattress sinking a bit with the motion. "Tomorrow afternoon," he said, flicking ash into the tray.
Roy closed his eyes and took in the scent of them, thick and musky in the humid room and pretended that
it didn't matter that his clothes would smell like sex and cigarettes in the morning. He was used to it.
This wasn't new for them; it was as old as a habit. Back in the academy, when they were jittery bundles of
nerves and hormones and questions, their bodies had soothed each other, filling them with calm like a long
drag on a cigarette. Neither remembered the first time, though they'd sometimes get sentimental and
pretend that they did. It didn't matter much.
Roy watched as a car drove past the house and lights slipped languid and slow around walls, over their bed, sliding over Maes' face. His eyes were closed and looked strange without glasses. This sleeping thing
was a new addition to their routine. They were old now.
They used to do it a couple of times each day, usually after third period and before bed. They'd tried it
once in a shower stall. It had been uncomfortable, dangerous, stupid, and wonderful. Now, they were old
men clambering into bed with irregularity to get a quick fix. To send something through their veins as though their hearts might stop without it. Sometimes, Roy could feel his hands shake in the middle of the day.
He was used to that, too. He was used to needing Maes like a drug. When they were in Ishbal, he'd find himself at Maes' tent, shaking and wordless - not needing words - looking for some sort of absolution, something to just get him through the night, to help him close his eyes. Those were the first times he'd notice the wisp of smoke curling out of the tent flap, the first time he'd seen the spark reflected in Maes' glasses. They all had to cope somehow. Maes smelled the same now as he had all those years ago in that sandy tent.
"Maes," he said to the man in the dark beside him, "put that out."
Maes laughed.
"You don't want to smell like smoke around your daughter, do you," he asked and handed him the ashtray. The soft glow disappeared and the resiny smell of extinguished flame flared up in his nose.
"Fine," Maes muttered and tugged with his teeth at the flesh where Roy's shoulder curved up to meet neck.
Roy frowned, but leaned into Maes' teeth. "Such a bad habit," he said in the dark, to no one in particular.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Hughes
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: No spoilers other than Ishbal
Word Count: 580
Notes: I haven't written these boys for a couple of months and missed them! I know that the anime says that Hughes wasn't in Ishbal, but I think that the manga mentions it? Maybe? Am I hallucinating? If I'm wrong, call this an AU. Enjoy!
Roy felt the tension swell between his thumb and middle finger, harder, harder, until it snapped.
The flame swayed to life, a ribbon of orange and heat in the darkened room. Its reflection flickered in the other's glasses and Roy could see himself. His hair was mussed, his eyes were pulled down with dark
circles, stubbled was spreading over his jawline. He looked away, ashamed. It had been an all-nighter and
he didn't mind in the least.
Maes smiled and leaned forward, cigarette between his lips, and puffed once, watching in silence as smoke
rose from the end of the stick in his mouth. It swirled between them, heavy and fragrant, before dissipating into the dark.
"When is she expecting you back," Roy asked, reaching for the ashtray beside the bed and resting it on his
chest.
Maes shrugged beside him, the mattress sinking a bit with the motion. "Tomorrow afternoon," he said, flicking ash into the tray.
Roy closed his eyes and took in the scent of them, thick and musky in the humid room and pretended that
it didn't matter that his clothes would smell like sex and cigarettes in the morning. He was used to it.
This wasn't new for them; it was as old as a habit. Back in the academy, when they were jittery bundles of
nerves and hormones and questions, their bodies had soothed each other, filling them with calm like a long
drag on a cigarette. Neither remembered the first time, though they'd sometimes get sentimental and
pretend that they did. It didn't matter much.
Roy watched as a car drove past the house and lights slipped languid and slow around walls, over their bed, sliding over Maes' face. His eyes were closed and looked strange without glasses. This sleeping thing
was a new addition to their routine. They were old now.
They used to do it a couple of times each day, usually after third period and before bed. They'd tried it
once in a shower stall. It had been uncomfortable, dangerous, stupid, and wonderful. Now, they were old
men clambering into bed with irregularity to get a quick fix. To send something through their veins as though their hearts might stop without it. Sometimes, Roy could feel his hands shake in the middle of the day.
He was used to that, too. He was used to needing Maes like a drug. When they were in Ishbal, he'd find himself at Maes' tent, shaking and wordless - not needing words - looking for some sort of absolution, something to just get him through the night, to help him close his eyes. Those were the first times he'd notice the wisp of smoke curling out of the tent flap, the first time he'd seen the spark reflected in Maes' glasses. They all had to cope somehow. Maes smelled the same now as he had all those years ago in that sandy tent.
"Maes," he said to the man in the dark beside him, "put that out."
Maes laughed.
"You don't want to smell like smoke around your daughter, do you," he asked and handed him the ashtray. The soft glow disappeared and the resiny smell of extinguished flame flared up in his nose.
"Fine," Maes muttered and tugged with his teeth at the flesh where Roy's shoulder curved up to meet neck.
Roy frowned, but leaned into Maes' teeth. "Such a bad habit," he said in the dark, to no one in particular.