Their first time was clumsy, and not due to lack of experience by either party. Their difference in sheer body size was an obstacle to them both one overcome with time and lots and lots of practice, but an obstacle nonetheless and there was urgency between them that might have been mistaken for passion.
Hands grasped for something, anything to fulfill their need for contact, and their mouths only searched for each other, like their hunger could only be satisfied by the other man's tongue against their's in the little dance that only lovers know. They were lovers, and that first night in the hallway leading to the younger man's room they quite simply needed each other, right then and there.
Their throats moaned, and their hands wandered, and for a moment it seemed they wouldn't make it to the apartment door, as the significantly shorter man pinned the other against the wall, reached up to kiss him long and hard, too hard, fisted his hands into that uniform jacket, and pulled away to say, low and raspy and breathless, "Fuck me, Jean."
There was nothing romantic about it when Havoc fumbled with his keys as the other man fumbled with Havoc's pants, when Jean opened the door and finally FINALLY took Roy Mustang and pushed him flat on to the bed. There were no I love yous, no babys or honeys or dears as they undressed and learned each other's bodies.
But there was urgency – intensity, need, and maybe inevitability – like they'd been waiting their whole lives for this, and now they just wanted to get through it. Maybe they had been waiting, but if time could have stopped and let them have that moment, this moment forever…neither man would have minded.
Yet they worked against something, moving fast and hard together in the darkness. When Jean rubbed the palm of his hand up Roy's hard torso and followed that path with his tongue, Mustang arched his back, moaned lazily, and wrapped his fingers into Jean's messy hair. He pulled on the blonde mop, warranting a whimper that screamed of need, and pulled the younger man's face up to meet him. Their lips met hard, and Mustang turned the seemingly average kiss into a fierce show of want and desire and control. He drove his tongue deep into Jean's mouth, savored the mixed flavor of nicotine and obsession, and grinded into the larger man's body. Roy wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders above him, and Jean took that cue, slipped his arms underneath Roy's slighter frame, and rolled the two of them over.
Clumsily they shifted, and Havoc pulled the smaller, darker man into his lap. He reached up to Roy's face with his right hand, put two fingers against the thin lips and parted them, letting the older man suck deeply, coating his fingers in wetness. Throwing his head back against the headboard he moaned, "Please, Roy, please," but the dark eyes met him with a knowing, devious glare. A smirk wrapped around his fingers.
All Roy's teasing didn't last long and it was started and going before either of them really realized what happened. Jean followed commands well, but didn't honestly know what he was doing, though he would never admit it and he didn't even acknowledge it at the time. This impatient, frenzied act wasn't how he loved, and this wasn't how he acted. He'd had his share of lovers, but none of them were Mustang, nor did any of them have the sexual reputation of the acclaimed alchemist. And he never had the emotions, trust, and companionship riding on it that he did now.
From anyone else, he could just walk away the next morning. From Roy Mustang…he never would.
And in all that was going on, in all that was at stake in this night, he thought it was odd that things were progressing as they were. Maybe he should be being more careful, more caring; maybe he should be asking more questions, aiming to please more. To be truthful, Havoc didn't exactly think through his decision to let a simple kiss evolve into all that it was now.
But here he was, and his fingers were digging into Mustang's muscled hips that rocked in patterns Jean could have never imagined. Under normal circumstances he might have worried that his touch was too rough for his lover's liking…but having the luxury of being inside the beautiful, firm body of his superior wasn't exactly what Jean would call a normal circumstance.
And so they went. And they fumbled through positions and the bed sheets and each other until their haste caught up to them and it was over all too soon. And when they had laid there together, their bodies wet and sticky, they said nothing.
Havoc had reached instinctively to his nightstand for a cigarette and his lighter, clicked it three times quickly, and breathed in the delicious nicotine. The relaxed silence surrounded the two men, and Havoc unintentionally found his eyes tracing along the smooth, defined muscles of Roy's torso and somehow landing on the thought of, I can't believe this is happening.
It was Mustang who spoke first, one leg hanging off the bed, the other lazily draped across Havoc's thigh, and his shadowy gaze out the third story window at the light whisps of clouds gliding across an otherwise clear night sky. He simply stated, "Hot in here," while still catching his breath.
There was no response, and though it was a new beginning for both of them, their silence felt like they'd had this comfort for years. And maybe they had.