Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist.
A/N: Another fic for the FMA section! -sigh-
Summary: His eyes were as wide as saucers as he glanced down. Right in front of some of his… important assets was a smoking hole in the chair.
…And Mini-Skirts!
Roy Mustang was a decent man - A bit perverted, but weren't most men? He sighed and swept all the paperwork (that Hawkeye had so kindly given to him) aside and rested his head on the desk. His eyes fluttered, and he scolded himself for drinking so much with Hughes. They had an interesting conversation at the bar last night.... mainly about mini-skirts, with Hughes grumbling how 'his precious baby would never even touch one.'
Mini-skirts. Mmmm. He smiled dreamily, imagining and wishing - oh, was he wishing! - that someday mini-skirts would be the only clothing for women approved of. He had just begin to fall asleep when a loud smack of papers landed near his head.
"... and Mini-skirts!" He yelled out, then blinked rapidly. Feeling an intense gaze on him, he slowly raised his eyes to meet Hawkeye's.
"…mini-skirts." He gulped. Hawkeye wasn't exactly looking like the nicest person in the world at that moment.
"I was…" He coughed nervously, "… just thinking of a… a… new dress code!" Her brow rose and she gave him a dry stare.
...That definitely wasn't the best thing to say.
"Colonel…" He sank into his seat and slid back as if it could save him.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
Bang.
His eyes were as wide as saucers as he glanced down. Right in front of some of his… important assets was a smoking hole in the chair.
She gave a slightly haughty sniff. "I would very much appreciate it if you would stop daydreaming and get back to work." She threw over her shoulder, "Those papers won't get done by themselves."
As she strode out of the room, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted.
A/N: Hm... poor Roy! Can't resist a little Roy torture, though! .;