Paradox
Warnings: Light R-ish, heavy PG-13-ish… Hughes/Roy angst… war angst… spoilers… I guess… Oo
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Hughes was too verbal.
Roy had never talked during sex; he only hissed and growled, occasionally a moan when Maes hit a particularly good spot but otherwise he was silent save for the panting and heavy breaths. This was already just an assured act without having to apply the use of vocal cords… usually.
Hughes seemed to think differently. He used to be like Roy, because at first sex wasn't for the love – it was for the play and it was used as something pleasurable enough to try and erase any particularly bad memories of a particularly bad day under the Ishbal sun. It never worked and both of them knew it but they would have sooner have killed each other than admit it. Things like that simply just weren't spoken of.
Then, somehow, it evolved. It began with small talk before foreplay, nothing significant, but those tiny conversations grew to intelligent debates and real discussion. Roy thought that would be as far as it ever stretched but he caught them both surreptitiously moaning out each other's names during climax, and even through the haze and heat and that damn good feeling it kind of scared him because that meant that he was starting to really love the man. He couldn't allow himself to get so attached: this was war, and there was no telling when the day could come that one of them would be burning in the burial fire directly outside the tent.
The reek of the burning flesh cleared his mind. Roy knew the sound was not a hallucination after all, as he had hoped. He refused to allow himself to love as deeply as he thought he did, knew he did, and swore himself to near-muteness. It was too bad, though, that Hughes didn't share his philosophy because this man wasn't afraid of losing someone dear to him: his fear was to not have anyone close to him. What he loved he held onto for life and that kind of loyalty scared Roy most of all.
Roy hated losing.
So did Maes.
Because of that, there was a change that happened in the course of a night – sex was now actually making love, and Maes accepted this. Roy refused to, or perhaps he didn't understand. It never mattered, though, because it was still the same ritual. There just so happened to be a certain uncertainty behind both their minds, hesitation in sparking the conversation. No argument, no debate, nothing could wipe this feeling because it just wasn't solid enough, not incarnated enough, to recognize as a terrifying fear of having to let each other go.
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Maes always tried breaking through the shield of ice surrounding the flame through teases, touches, and mind-blowing fucking, but though the fire inside flickered it never melted the barrier, keeping the heat and the emotion locked deep inside. Roy constantly kept this in check, icing his feelings. He could not love. He would not love. He should not love.
But he knew, despite the layers of permafrost encircling his heart, he did.
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Once, the shield broke and tails of fire escaped. That was when Roy used the faux amplifier for the first time. He should have known the extents of its power but it was unprecedented and chills shook him hard when half a city exploded at one snap in front of his eyes as his ears unwillingly processed the screams melting into dry, crackling fire. It shocked him to the ends of his nerves how he had just so easily killed thousands of people in so quick a gesture.
That night was the only one Roy allowed himself to sleep close to Maes, because it seemed that if he wasn't touching anything alive the vengeful bodies of those wrongfully killed would drag him down with them. He usually slept on the other edge; this time he was as close as he could get to his friend, desperately seeking living flesh to hold on to.
This was also the only time he allowed himself to be weak in front of someone else, the only time he entrusted tears to another human. This was the only time sex wasn't just sex, that it was something else. And this was the only time Roy called Maes his lover, called him his.
Last, but probably most important, this was the first time Maes really started becoming more vocal. Roy didn't know why that stood out so much in his mind but perhaps it was because starting then he finally knew how much he needed Hughes, how he'd rather let his lover's fire quench his own, how much he had to hear that voice through the guilty darkness of his mind.
It was unimaginable how much that scared him. Terrifying, searing, lashing horror ripped at his heart because he had allowed himself to become attached, damn it.
Damn it!
He returned to his usual stoicism the next day but Maes didn't. He was an almost constant reminder of how vital friends and lovers were in these times. It was infuriating but there was nothing that could have been done about it.
Or, was it the case that Roy didn't want anything to be done about it…?
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The war, eventually, was over.
No.
The massacre, finally, was finished.
By then Roy had made his career choice, to move as quickly as he could up the authority chain, eventuating in the ultimate position of Fuhrer. There were plenty of reasons why, but two really stuck out in his mind. He would change how the country was run, obviously, and this ambition would give him an excuse to let Hughes go. He would never stop loving the man but he hated being dependent on him for much needed emotional support. No, he would be independent, and they were just best friends again.
Well, best friends that occasionally fucked.
All that stopped when Maes met Gracia. Roy admitted he had a bit of a rough time accepting this but, upon meeting Hughes's fiancé it was much easier to understand why he loved her so much. Gracia was a sweet, understanding woman that would be a perfect wife for him. Roy had to give her credit: anyone who could really tame his friend deserved to spend the rest of her life with that man.
It was described as going their own ways, of course, and now Roy could talk to his best friend much easier, with water under the bridge and pasts behind them. He liked it this way, actually, because this way he could hear Hughes's voice more, that voice that seemed to have a certain tone that never changed, and Hughes liked it because this way he could speak more to Roy. He liked doing that.
Roy never appreciated the calls at three in the morning but now that he looked back on it, he really never learned to appreciate the things in life until he lost them.
End
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Author's Note: Inspired by much Hughes/Roy angst. So, of course, me being me, I had to write some of my own. Well, I thought you guys deserved a backstory for the utter randomness of this fic, so here we go.
Since it FINALLY started cooling down from the summertime, I started sleeping with my window open because the night air is a) refreshing and b) cooler than my room. So, at two A.M. I heard someone pretty close to scream. Alarmed, I leapt out of bed and rushed to the window to see who was getting killed (and if they needed help… of course…) when instead it turned out that our neighbors across from us weren't getting killed, they were just screwing each other. I wanted to scream at them for being inconsiderate jackasses but instead shut my window (;; it was a good night, too) and tried to go back to sleep.
I had read much angsty Hughes/Roy before going to sleep the first time so you can imagine what kind of dreams I had. Allow me to elaborate: Ishbal, fire, and a very vocal Hughes. X3 heh… Then, when I woke up, this idea spawned in my head and refused to leave. So, that was that!
…
What? Hughes/Roy is awesome! Better than (le gasp) Roy/Ed.
(Rai is mauled by Roy/Ed fans)
Press the pretty purple button… you know you want to…