Humour and a little bit of naughtiness for you this time! I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist... surprised?
When there was any news of Havoc actually scoring with anyone, he got so many congratulatory comments he was sure everyone was just teasing him again. Really, was it really that unbelievable that he'd walked into the office with love bites all over his neck? And jaw line? And other places that were covered by his uniform thank goodness for small mercies?
Breda sure seemed to think so. Farman seemed to think Breda was too nosy.
"So, let me get this straight..." his friend mused, staring him down with mock seriousness, 'Last night, you actually got lai-"
"Is it really that hard to believe?" Havoc grumbled, subconsciously chewing on the filter of his cigarette.
"You want the honest answer?" Breda smirked. Farman sighed and returned to his work.
"What I would enjoy, Second Lieutenant Breda," First Lieutenant Hawkeye intervened from across the room, "Is for you to finish that report on the latest Fire Station safety standards."
Breda fell quiet and grabbed his pen from the top of the desk, scribbled something on a piece of scrap paper, folded it and tossed it across the desk to Havoc. The blond took it between his fingers, much the same as he would a cigarette, and moved to unfold it under the desk to avoid Hawkeye's watchful gaze.
Who was she?
Havoc grunted, scrunched the paper up in his fist and stubbed out his spent cigarette on in. He saw no need to respond; it would only increase Breda's probing for details, and he saw no reason why he should gratify the man's nosiness.
He had the uncanny ability to keep his personal and professional lives separate, after all.
It was amazing, how one rumour could spread around the entirety of East HQ so quickly. Especially when it was supposedly something that didn't happen too often (but still happened thank you very much) like the event of he, Jean Havoc, actually coming to work with love bites. This, of course, spoke of intimacy and frankly, Havoc was surprised when he didn't see a goddamned banner hanging up in the Mess Hall in celebration of him getting laid.
After settling down on one of the uncomfortable wooden benches with his usual meal (whatever muck the Mess staff classified as 'food' that day and a fresh cigarette) he tried his best to ignore the tittering giggles of the Secretarial women at the seats behind him. Did they not have better things to do with their lives than gossip?
Apparently not. Jean took a deep, soothing drag from his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before letting the tobacco smoke drift lazily into the air through his nostrils. Somewhere behind him, one of the giggles turned into a cough. Jean snorted again; that was divine justice if he ever saw it.
He'd have to get back to work soon; Mustang would be showing up a good two hours late for work once again, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of Hawkeye's wrath at being a few minutes late himself. That woman was amazingly tolerant and damn scary at the same time.
"Errr... Lieutenant Havoc?" a small, nervous voice whispered behind him.
Havoc looked over his shoulder and was met with the sight of a small (well, not all small, he noted as his line of sight came into direct contact with the woman's bosom), red-headed woman who worked in the offices just across the hall from the Colonel's.
"I was just wondering... would you like to go out sometime?"
Havoc considered this for a moment (while most of his 'consideration' centred around the cleavage that was right in front of his nose) before shaking his head.
"Sorry... I have a... friend."
Friend? What the Hell?
"Oh, I understand... I'm sorry to interrupt you."
Havoc shook it off and stood to leave, ignoring the hurried whisper of "I told you so!" that followed him out of Mess. He would have declined, even if he'd thought that she was interested in anything other that grilling him for information. He had the uncanny ability to keep his personal and professional lives separate, after all.
He got back to the office a few minutes late due to the date request (but he was fashionably late, thank you very much) and found Hawkeye sorting files with an overzealous amount of coolness, and Mustang sulking at his desk.
"Lieutenant Havoc..." Hawkeye started, but Havoc swiftly apologized for his lateness.
"Got held up by some secretaries, see," he explained.
"I'm sure you'd like that," Breda smirked, earning a horrified look from Fuery, who had just returned from the Radio Department, "Come on, just tell us who she is!"
"Who is it that we're speaking of?" Mustang's slow purr cut across the protest on the tip of Havoc's tongue. Havoc blinked at the dark-haired man, and Roy smirked in reply.
"Lieutenant Havoc's new girlfriend," Hawkeye explained, scrutinizing Mustang out of the corner of her eye.
"He's got all these love bites up his neck!" Breda grinned at Fuery, who gave him a look that clearly said he wanted to be left out of this.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant. How long will you hold onto this one?" Mustang reclined in his chair, lazily, challenging.
Havoc swallowed.
"A long time. At least that's what I hope, Chief."
"Good luck on that, then," Mustang purred, a dangerous fire lighting his eyes, "While I have your attention, Lieutenant, would you care to help me retrieve some files from the storage cupboards in the South Wing?"
"Of course, Chief," Havoc once again swallowed, got to his feet and mimicked Mustang's calm stride as he followed him out the door.
"Funny... thought the South Wing was closed for cleaning?" Breda questioned, then shrugged, "Probably going to flirt with the cleaning girls."
"I should like to think that they'd know better than to mix their personal and professional lives," Hawkeye grinned to herself, "They're smart men, after all."
Havoc was pressed against the back wall of the storage cupboard by Mustang, military jacket discarded to the floor, hands firmly around his lover's waist (and a little lower, thank you very much) and head tilted back as Roy kissed and licked and sucked and nipped at Havoc's jaw, leaving a perfect, flushed scarlet mark in his wake.
Having your lover also being the boss that dictated which sections of HQ got cleaned at what time (and even if they were really being cleaned at all) certainly had its advantages.
"Boss..." Havoc's face turned red enough to match the bites on his jaw and neck as Roy ran his tongue along the shell of the taller man's ear, then sunk to his knees and lifted Havoc's shirt just enough to press soft, heated kisses to Jean's stomach.
"I have no problem..." Roy breathed as he ran the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of his Lieutenant's uniform pants, "I have no problem with you calling me Roy."
Havoc smirked, grabbed Mustang's wandering hands and tugged him back to his feet, pulling his commander against his body and kissing the dark-haired man forcefully, with tooth and tongue and lip and with smooth hands running under the crisp blue jacket Roy still wore.
"Don't want to, Boss."
Roy responded by giving Jean a sharp nibble on the bottom lip. Jean laughed and unbuttoned Roy's jacket, letting it slide off and to the floor on its own.
"I want to see you," Mustang murmured against Havoc's neck with a light jerk of his hips, and Havoc could do nothing else but comply.
Neither of them really saw the need for the wearing of uniforms at times like these. Removing each other's uniforms totally and leaving them discarded until duty called them back to the office was their way of keeping their personal and professional lives separate, after all.
"Colonel Mustang?" Farman asked when his superior officer returned with an armful of files, "Do you know where Lieutenant Havoc has gone? He needs to sign these papers."
"I'm afraid not, Warrant Officer," Mustang sighed, "He took off after we found the files. Said he had things to do."
When Havoc returned ten minutes later, now with a fresh set of bites on his neck and a spent expression on his face (but with uniform utterly immaculate, thank you very much), Breda smirked.
"So, the girlfriend must work here!" he grinned, "Come on, Havoc! Spill the beans!"
Roy smirked as he signed his name on the bottom of the form in front of him. Havoc could attempt to explain (orlie about) the link between his professional and personal lives by himself, after all.
END