"Forgive the insubordination, Sir." With characteristically minimal movement Hawkeye thrust a pile of papers into Roy Mustang's waiting hands, turned on her heel and then walked back to her desk.

With a sigh, Roy hated paperwork like his blond lover hated milk, he flipped through the papers that needed his immediate attention.

Requisition, requisition, vacation leave request, letter to all departments regarding missing office supplies... He couldn't suppress an eye roll at this. Didn't Falman have anything better to do than maintain an inventory of all their staplers? They were the Amestrian Military. They could good and well buy new staplers if they ran out. Breda wanted another vacation when it could be argued that he was always on vacation, even at work. Havoc, well, apparently Havoc needed a car twice in the upcoming week. Apparently he was getting dates. Roy smirked to himself. If I see a winged pig on the way home it will all make sense...

A sharp voice cut into his private thoughts.

"Staring at it isn't going to make it go away, Colonel." He looked up, panicked.

"Forgive the insubordination, Sir."

Roy Mustang didn't bother responding.

_

"Hey what's with the pissy face? Long day?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes. That woman thinks she's a General, I swear. All 'fill out your paperwork Roy.' 'Study up for that meeting Roy.' 'Don't make Fuery do it for you, Roy.' Like it's any of her business! Telling me how to do my job, calling me by my first name..."

Finally he turned around to look at Edward, whose eyebrows had risen into his hairline. He held his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender.

"If she bothers you that much why not just fire her or something?"

"Because that damn woman can draw her sidearm before I can snap my fingers."

The blond made a face. "Ouch."

"Exactly. I just need... Oh, hell. I don't know what I need. A stiff drink and a long vacation, maybe?"

"I know what you need."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Just some intensive therapy. And you know what? I think I'm just the man for the job."

Rolling his eyes but willing to play along anyway, Roy walked over to the couch and laid down. He turned his head to the side to look at Edward, raising an eyebrow.

"Well Doctor? Shall we begin treatment?"

Instead of responding verbally, the blond walked into the kitchen and came back a moment later carrying a bar stool. He took a seat, straightened his back, and adopted a mock-professional air.

"Yes, and when did you first realize you hated your bitch subordinate?"

"Ten years ago."

"And if you had her in front of you, unarmed, what would you say to her?"

"I would say, 'your a fucking cunt. Go die somewhere and leave me the hell alone. And if you haunt me, I'll go to hell and kick your ass. Now fuck off, bitch."

"And if you could do whatever you wanted to to her, without fear of repercussion, what would you do?"

"I'm not sure, Doctor. What do you think I should do in that situation?"

The FullMetal Alchemist tapped his finger against his chin, pensively.

"Well, Mr. Mustang, my professional opinion is that you should grab that bitch by her hair and slam her fact into a wall repeatedly."

After he finished speaking, Edward slipped off of his stool to walk over to Roy. He looked down at him, something he didn't get to do often.

The older man looked up in anticipation. He never was quite sure what his lover was going to do in these situations. He just knew he would like it.

In one swift motion, the younger alchemist straddled his boyfriend.

"I did say it was going to be intensive, didn't I?"

"That you did, that you did. I'm really in for it tonight, aren't I?"

"Sweetheart, you're in for it every night."

Tanned hands drifted down began playing with buttons on Roy's pants. He stroked gently over the bulge in Roy's pants. Already hard? This was going to be a fun night.

Pale fingers stilled his movement. "Finish it."

"Well I was trying to, and then you..."
"Not that, what you would do to that bitch Hawkeye. Finish it, please? Make it good for me? I need it."

Contrary to what one might think, the Flame Alchemist and hero of the Amestrian military, was not above begging.

Edward's arms crossed and he pouted, adorably. "Alright, God, I'm such a pushover."

Roy grinned happily. He had no illusions about who wore the pants in this relationship.

"Yay! Then what, what would you do after smashing her face in?"

Edward considered. What would be an appropriate punishment for upsetting his Roy?

"Right, so I'd smash her face in, so she would be all bloody and gross. Then I'd jam a corkscrew up what was left of her nose, and I'd scramble her brains. Not enough to kill her, just enough to hurt really bad. Then, I'd cook bacon and throw the hot grease on her. Then, I'd through salt on her open wounds. I would look down at her and say, 'It's ok, it's all over. I just wanted to impress upon you the seriousness of upsetting my Roy.' And just when she'd sighed with relief, I'd shoot her with her own fucking gun."

Roy lifted up so Edward could slide his pants off.

"For the Grand Finale? I'd look down at her, gasping for breath and bleeding to death. I would look at her and say, 'forgive the insubordination.'"

"I fucking love this game."

-

A/N: Back by popular demand, and with a special request.
Having computer issues, new chapters for other stories will be sporadic. Thank you for reading and reviewing!