Fuery and Havoc are my favorite pairing ever. Except not. But, from the little we see of them in the series, they seem to work fairly well. My first FMA drabble.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, I would have more money. And it would have ended differently. But then, maybe that's why I don't own it.
Two hundred eighty-three words: Comfort
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"Dope."
The first thing Kain Fuery did was drop what he was holding, which was an empty pack of Jean Havoc's cigarettes and one of his soiled undershirts. The second thing he did was yelp and search frantically for a place to hide.
Havoc, the one to find the unfortunate Fuery, grinned and tongued his unlit cigarette to the other side of his mouth. They stared at each other for a moment.
"Should I…go?" Fuery asked, little more than a squeak.
"Nah, 's fine," Havoc said, taking long strides towards the sergeant. He bent down, picked up the empty pack, and tossed it to the trash bin in a corner. "Just don't litter, 'kay?" Ignoring his own undershirt, still dumped unceremoniously on the ground, Havoc turned smartly on his heel and exited.
Fuery stared after him. His cheeks were beet red, his eyes downcast, staring at the article of clothing and hoping he could regain control of himself before someone else came in. Then, inspiration struck.
He looked to the left, then to the right, and finally at the door that was only slightly ajar.
He picked up Havoc's undershirt and toyed with the buttons on his uniform, and then, before he could change his mind, stripped down to his pants. He worked quickly, letting his uniform pile on the ground, and slipped Havoc's shirt onto his slightly smaller frame. Another look at the door; no one was coming. Drawing on his uniform again, Fuery smiled. The scent of cigarette smoke and stale sweat, along with a bit of aftershave and something spicy, wafted into his nose.
He went back to work, and when Havoc caught his eye and grinned, Fuery grinned back.