I'm trying very, very hard to deviate from my usual pairing. Half-succeeded. GAH, but it's so stupid! Anyway. Enjoy, if it's possible.
Disclaimer: So help me if I even claim Havoc's left pinky toe.
Four hundred forty words: Rain
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It was raining again.
Havoc hated the rain, especially in the summer. Rain in the summer meant delaying harvest time, and harvest time was a good time for him as a kid. He would watch the older boys and their fathers in the fields, joking and reaping, calling out greetings to passersby on the nearby dirt road. And Jean Havoc would sit on the fence and watch until he was old enough to help them bring in the harvest.
Then he was the one sweating and joking with a scythe in his hands, yelling good-naturedly about the heat.
But too much rain in the summer meant a late harvest more often than not, and a late or incomplete harvest meant hungry people.
Havoc was surprised at the sentiments expressed by his friends. Fuery liked the rain unless in meant cold, wet animals. Farman, oddly enough, thought rain was romantic, something that made that 'special woman' (the one they all talked about but didn't have) want to curl up with you in front of a warm fire. Roy was closed-mouthed on the subject – not that it wasn't obvious – and Havoc had yet to get Hawkeye's opinion on the matter.
Rain.
It wasn't too complex, just some water bunching up in clouds that got too full. So it rained.
He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and held it between two fingers as he blew out the smoke.
Rain was shit for smoking cigarettes. Especially when it was pouring – the thing would be soaked down to the filter, and you'd be drawing in half a mouthful of water with every puff. It was disgusting.
Havoc heard a noise behind him and turned to look over his shoulder. "Havoc," the Colonel muttered. "Put that out."
Oh shit. That's right. He wasn't supposed to smoke in the Colonel's house.
Sighing, Havoc crushed the cigarette in the ashtray that Roy put there just because of him. "There, satisfied?"
"A little bit." Smirk. "Come back to bed."
Havoc sighed again. This was just another reason he hated the rain. Going to bed with a superior just to feel wanted for a few hours – to forget that he was almost always dateless, to put the thoughts of rain in the back of his head again. It was only when it rained that Roy thought past his legions of female fans and brought Havoc home.
But it, like rain in the summer, was pretty much unavoidable. Havoc slid between the sheets, and Roy drew him close for a kiss. At least in Roy's bed, complete with languid, silky kisses, it wasn't always so cloudy as when it rained.