Archer's pissed off and drunk; and I'm tired. Good night all and thanks for reading and reviewing!
Chapter 9
"Why are you here!?" Archer nearly screamed, but thankfully kept it down to a harsh, gravely whisper. After spotting the man in the hallway, Archer shoved Kimblee in through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Mustang thought he was washing up so Archer made sure to turn on the water. Kimblee had his hands in his slacks pockets and was sulking like a child who dropped their ice cream cone. "And how did you even get in?"
"I saw Hawkeye out front so I came in the back window." Kimblee shrugged and looked down at his feet. He was angry, of course, but if he didn't play it safe than Mustang would come and interrupt them.
"Couldn't you have just left and come back later?" The Lieutenant Colonel shoved his hands under the faucet to try and wipe off the excess liquor. Archer took in deep breaths and tried to keep them even. Calm was Archer. Archer was nothing if not calm. "As you can see, I have company."
"I noticed." Kimblee spoke through gritted teeth while he watched Archer start stripping his shirt for a clean one. His brain was against him. Instead of appreciating Archer's physique; Kimblee immediately thought of Mustang's hands touching that pale flesh. The Crimson Alchemist barely controlled the urge to push the man down and lock him up somewhere so no one else could have him. "Why is he here?"
"The same reason I spend any time with the man, the Führer."
"The Führer told Mustang to spend the night at your house?" Kimblee blinked and the anger was gone again. His emotions were like a roller coaster ride tonight going from anger to confusion and back again in the blink of an eye. But seriously, he knew the Führer was weird, but Kimblee wasn't aware that Bradley was also a pervert. And why was he pairing up Archer with Mustang?
Archer groaned and continued his harsh whispers. The images were practically visible in Kimblee's eyes and Archer was not up to dealing with this tonight. He had neither the patience nor enough liquor in his blood to put up with the other man. "Its not what you're thinking and I'll explain later. Now make yourself scarce before he sees you. I've been gone too long as it is."
"I'm staying."
"No, you're not."
"Either let me stay or I'm walking in there and killing him while he's drunk right now." Kimblee hissed. It was bad enough his Archer was alone with Mustang. Kimblee was not leaving them together all night. "It'd be easy. I bet he doesn't even have his gloves on."
"Are you alright back there?" Mustang called from the front room.
"Just a moment," Archer replied over his shoulder and shoved his arms into a new, pressed shirt. He lowered his voice to a whisper and stared right at Kimblee. Archer ended each sentence with a punctuated clip to make his point. "You are not to leave this room under any circumstances. If you so much as step foot past that door I'll shove the barrel of my gun down your throat and make you swallow the entire clip. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly. I won't leave the room." Kimblee held back the smile.
"And we're talking about this later."
"Good." Kimblee walked back to the bed and fell back on it as Archer left the room, slamming the door behind him. He pulled the dog tags he had taken from Gutter out of his pocket and held them up with his other hand behind his head. Now all he had to do was figure out just what he was going to say when Archer returned.
Assuming he didn't break his promise and go kill Mustang anyway, of course.
"I'm sorry about that, it took me a moment to find a clean shirt." Archer tried to smile politely as he sat down. Mustang's eyes were drooping and the brandy bottle was less than half full. Apparently the man had helped himself in the time Archer was away. What was it with his house guests drinking him out of house and home? Did they think that stuff was cheap? Well, that was alright. He didn't exactly need the man sober at the moment anyway. "Where were we?"
"Reviewing the salutes." Mustang picked up the piece of paper and held it out for Archer to see. The man had changed into a casual shirt and it looked weird with the regulation blue military pants. Mustang thought it funny to see Archer so disheveled but bit his lip before he could laugh. "We're almost done."
"Than by all means, let us finish." Archer sat down in the chair and snatched the paper from the clearly slowed down man. Archer wanted to concentrate, he really did. But just knowing Kimblee was sitting in his bedroom fuming in jealousy was enough to put the Lieutenant Colonel on edge. Colonel Mustang sitting with his back to the door was not helping the matter, either. "We have them saluting all of the officers, or just the Führer?"
"Just the Brigadier-Generals and up." Mustang poured himself another glass and after a moment's thought topped off Archer's glass. "Hakuro'll throw a fit if we don't recognize him."
"That's true." Archer shook his head. "I'm good, thank-you."
"Have another drink, you're still stiff and we've been drinking for hours." Mustang pushed the glass at Archer. He was not going to be the only drunk man tonight! "Drink soldier, that's an order."
"For the love of," Archer muttered into his hand, but took the glass anyway. He looked at it wearingly and drank it in a single gulp. "Happy?"
Mustang filled it up again and held up his glass with a dorky smile. A little voice in the back of his head was telling him how idiotic this was to get drunk with what was essentially the enemy. It was smothered by the voice that said his trusted 1st Lieutenant was just outside the door with a gun watching his back. It was good to be loved. "Cheers."
Archer shook his head and clunk the glass with Mustang's. Well, it's not like getting drunk could make this night any worse than it already was. "Cheers."
Kimblee, in the meantime, was chewing straight through his nails. He had paced Archer's room about twenty times already in the five minutes Archer had been missing. Kimblee needed to calm down and think. He said he'd stay in the back room, so that's what he'd have to do. Breaking his promise wouldn't help things with Archer. Kimblee was also no further in figuring out how he was going to confront Archer about all this.
What was he going to do? Say 'I'm sorry, I'm jealous of Mustang and I love you. Forgive me?' Not a chance; it not only sounded corny but it just wasn't Kimblee. The Crimson Alchemist smacked the wall with his fist and watched as the vase on a shelf started to wobble. All thoughts of talking were forgotten when the Crimson Alchemist started to get a good idea.
"Sir." Hawkeye pushed herself off from the car to greet her commander as he stumbled out of Archer's townhouse. Drunk. Hawkeye sighed and skipped forward a few paces to meet him. "How did it go?"
"How'd what go?" Mustang slurred and paused for a beat. The pretty lady's eyes started to narrow and he thought harder. "Oh. Oh! Yeah, somehow we finished the thing and we'll go over it with the troops later." Mustang swayed. "Though we might have to reread it considering how sloshed we got."
"At least you finished it." Hawkeye made a mental note to reread over their notes herself. Who knows what those drunken fools came up with. She wasn't surprised though; she knew Mustang was either going to come out of that house so enraged he couldn't walk or drunk. Either way, he needed a ride. "Let's head home, sir."
"Thanks, Hawkeye." Mustang smiled. "I'm glad I got out of there. It was starting to get creepy."
"Creepy, sir?" The sniper opened the door for Mustang and allowed him to get inside. "How so?"
"Kept hearing things breaking in the back. Archer said a shelf fell over or something cause of bad wood giving way." Mustang shrugged. He also distinctly remembered hearing voices when Archer checked on the shelf, but those could have been induced by the liquor. "I must have been hearing things."
"If you say so." Hawkeye looked back up at the house and noticed Archer was watching them from the window. He had a glass of brandy in his hand, still and his eyes were drooping. He must have been as smashed as Mustang. Hawkeye shook her head and started back for the steering wheel. "It's going to be a long day, tomorrow."
Kimblee jumped when the door slammed open and Archer stumbled in; he was leaning on the door frame to stay up. Archer's eyes were slit in an uninhibited drunken rage. He looked positively ready to murder the Crimson Alchemist with his own two hands. Kimblee had never felt so giddy in his life. "Have fun?"
"No." Archer had a headache. And it's name was Kimblee. "You just couldn't be quiet, could you? Had to go making noise and break not only my favorite vase but my book shelf as well! You should be damn thankful that Mustang was smashed and easily mislead!"
Kimblee licked his lips and let the smile stretch across his face slowly. "I said I'd stay in the back. Can't blame me for wanting him to come willingly to the slaughter."
Archer moved faster than Kimblee was expecting and the Crimson Alchemist found himself pinned to the bed with Archer's pale fingers wrapped around his throat. Kimblee squirmed, but Archer had a weight advantage sitting square on his stomach. Kimblee would have thought this was all terribly arousing had not Archer's thumbs been pressing into Kimblee's Adam's apple. Kimblee found himself more choking to breathe than able to appreciate the close body contact. However, Kimblee was able to choke out a few words. "I thought you were going to feed me your gun."
"Shut up for once in your damn life." Archer shifted the grip to put a stop to that foul mouth of the man under him. Archer leant down closer so that the man would hear every quiet word. He would not waste his voice on this annoyance. "And open up your ears."
Kimblee started to pull his arms up to grab at Archer's wrists. Usually he wouldn't be concerned about Archer doing anything past threats, but at the moment the man smelled of liquor. Sober Archer was all talk, but apparently the man was a violent drunk. Now Kimblee knew why Archer never had more than one or two drinks. Kimblee knew he was a lightweight, just not that it had such adverse effects. Though, in the right situation this violent streak could be sort of fun. Granted, Archer's ability to hold his liquor was probably not a thought Kimblee should be lingering on when his vision was blacking out.
"I do not appreciate you trying to ruin everything I've worked so hard for just because you're jealous." Archer hissed and smirked when Kimblee's eyes shot open and focused hard on him. Archer leant in closer so that his mouth was next to Kimblee's ear purposefully so that the hot breath caressed his skin. "That's right, I know all about your little school-boy crush."
"Than you won't mind, then?" Kimblee forced out as he slowly pulled Archer's fingers away from his throat. This time, the confusion was spreading over Archer's face and Kimblee used that small opening to turn the tables. It was only fair if Archer was going to tease like that with no intention of putting out. Kimblee was just taking what he had earned.
"Wha-" Archer was cut off by a mouth covering his and a thick tongue shoved into his open mouth. Lanky fingers suddenly left his wrists and buried themselves in his hair. Between the shock and Kimblee's weight, Archer fell on top of the alchemist briefly. Archer shoved himself back and away from the other man as soon as he was stable enough. Kimblee was leaning back on the bed with a satisfied smirk and licked his lips. Archer's hands were gripping the blanket and he could still taste Kimblee's spit in his mouth. "What the hell?"
"I was acting on my school-boy crush." Kimblee laughed as Archer rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Now that he was calmer, the Crimson Alchemist noticed the swaying. He had to laugh; Archer only had his wits when he was trying to kill something. Now that the moment had ended, Kimblee's friend was back to being a drunkard. "Can you blame me?"
"Don't ever do that again." Archer scooted back another inch to get further away from the pervert, or he tried to. The fact of the matter was, there wasn't anywhere for him to scoot and the man fell over the edge of his bed. "Shit!"
Kimblee blinked for a moment as the object of his affection disappeared from view, save for a standard issue military boot that was hanging in the air at the edge of the bed. Kimblee crawled forward to lay on his stomach and look over the edge at the man on his back groaning. Kimblee sat his head down on his hands. "You don't look so good."
"Go to hell."
