"I'm telling Hawkeye that she should reconsider her military career," Madame Christmas said, eyeing her adoptive son as she wiped the inside of a glass with a dishrag. "She's become quite the attraction for my patrons."
Roy schooled his expression, feeling Madame Christmas's scrutiny, but couldn't help the slightly bitter tone that invaded his voice. "No need to tell her. I think she knows."
He stole another glance at his Lieutenant, who threw her head back in convincing laughter at something one of the several men surrounding her must have said. Her chestnut wig framed her face in the same alluring way that her natural blonde did on the rare (and so very appreciated) occasions that Hawkeye wore her hair down around Roy. Although Hawkeye's emerald dress didn't show off much of her smooth, pale skin with its high neckline and long skirt, the tight fabric clung to her curves and muscled thighs in a way that affirmed Roy's resolve to eliminate the bulky blue wool uniforms once he became Führer.
Madame Christmas cleared her throat, and Roy unwillingly tore his gaze away from Hawkeye after realizing that he'd been staring. His aunt pursed her lips, likely holding back advice Roy didn't want to hear. Instead, she murmured, "If you keep coming here every night, you'll defeat the purpose of Hawkeye going undercover to entice some information out of Ackerman and his men. You come here often, but not this often. Someone will put two and two together."
Roy held back a sigh. He knew Madame Christmas was right. Hawkeye had said so herself the day before.
"Colonel, I can handle this mission without you hovering around me," Hawkeye had admonished him, crossing her arms as she stood in front of his desk. "In fact, I must. Ackerman runs the largest drug ring in Central—he's smart. He's going to get suspicious if you show up at Madame Christmas's for a third night in a row."
So he'd listened to Hawkeye and hadn't gone to the bar for a third night in a row. Instead, he showed up the fourth night with the rest of Team Mustang, claiming that they all needed a drink anyway and who would think twice about a group of rowdy civilian men drowning their post-work woes?
Roy had seen a flicker of agitation pass across Hawkeye's face when the men of Team Mustang strolled into the bar earlier that evening, but she quickly re-entered her Elizabeth persona once she turned back to Ackerman, smiling demurely as the man tucked the hair of her wig behind her ear. The sight made him itch for his ignition gloves in his pocket. How dare that man think that he can touch Riza Hawkeye, his Lieutenant, so casually?
But she wasn't his Lieutenant right now, he reminded himself as Havoc give Hawkeye a once-over with a lewd grin on his face. "You never know what those military uniforms hide, huh," Roy overheard Havoc mutter to Fuery as he elbowed the kid on his side. Fuery, who had been consciously averting his gaze from Hawkeye, turned red.
"Havoc," Fuery hissed, glancing at Roy to see if he'd heard. "You can't talk about Hawkeye like that!"
Roy feigned indifference, shrugging his shoulders. "You know my vision for a mini-skirt uniform policy. I can't say I disagree." He knew his men had their suspicions about his relationship with his adjutant—hell, everyone did—but if Roy couldn't admit to himself the real reason that he wanted to watch Hawkeye during every second of this mission, he sure wasn't going to admit it to anyone else. "Regardless, keep it down. Hawkeye still has her gun on her," Roy warned, settling down in a booth across the room from Hawkeye and her admirers.
He heard Havoc swallow audibly in his seat next to Roy. "Where, exactly?" Havoc questioned as he scanned Hawkeye's sensuous curves in the skintight dress once again, but this time with more apprehension and less lust. Roy didn't know either, but his curiosity and imagination were working in tandem to destroy his need to maintain platonic thoughts about his subordinate.
Breda laughed at Havoc's expression, a strange mix of lust and curiosity and fear, mercifully breaking Roy from his own treacherous thoughts. "Quit staring, Havoc," Breda said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Or else you'll soon find out where she's hiding that gun, and not in the way you want."
Havoc huffed, turning back to the men in the booth around him and eyeing the other, gun-less women who milled about the room. "So, who's buying drinks first?"
That's how Roy ended up standing in front of Madame Christmas, avoiding questions as to the wisdom of his repeated presence at the bar. Roy grabbed the drinks he'd ordered for his men off the counter and responded to his aunt. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just here to enjoy the company of my friends and the beautiful women of your establishment." He hid from his aunt's searching gaze as he walked back to his men.
As the night wore on and the men drank more, Roy couldn't help his eyes from returning to Hawkeye's figure as she lounged enticingly in her own booth. He witnessed Ackerman inch himself closer and closer to Hawkeye with each coquettish giggle. Roy grit his teeth as Ackerman leaned into Hawkeye, placing a hand slightly above her knee while moving closer to her face.
"She's close," Falman observed, watching Hawkeye's amber eyes widen momentarily as Ackerman began whispering in her ear. "I bet we'll know the source of his supplies within the hour." But Roy had enough. He cleared his throat and slid out from the booth.
"I'm headed to the bathroom," he said. The rest of Team Mustang barely acknowledged Roy as they continued in their frivolities, at this point more than just acting the part of drunken bystanders.
He walked over to his sister Vanessa, who was sitting at the bar in a glittering silver dress. He grinned at her charmingly, hoping both to look the part of an interested patron and to hide the fact that he was four glasses of whiskey deep. "Could you please tell Elizabeth that she has a customer in Room A?"
Vanessa rolled her eyes at Roy. "You know Elizabeth is busy," Vanessa said pointedly. When Roy only responded with barely-veiled pleading in his eyes, she sighed. "Oh Roy boy. Go," she commanded, tilting her head toward the back rooms. Roy smiled gratefully at his sister and ambled to the back hallway, sensing Madame Christmas's eyes on him. He opened the first door on the right, marked with a bright red "A," and repeated to himself he was doing this to protect Hawkeye from Ackerman's lecherous advances. Nothing more.
Roy closed the door behind him and sat on the bed in the dimly lit room, waiting to receive his adjutant's thanks for his assistance. He smiled hazily to himself, wondering how Hawkeye could ever get along without him.
His smile broadened as Hawkeye slipped into the room. But instead of gratefulness, he was met with a baleful glare. "Colonel," she hissed lowly. "What are you doing?" She crossed her arms, which would have looked menacing in any other clothing. Instead, it drew Roy's attention to her breasts, straining against the tight fabric of her dress. He looked away quickly, but the damage was done.
"I— I was—" he began as Hawkeye's face began to color. "I'm trying to protect you from Ackerman! He was practically feeling you up in the middle of the bar," Roy argued, hearing himself whine at the end.
His Lieutenant's eyes narrowed, red dusting her cheeks. At that moment, Roy wanted nothing more than to kiss them. "Sir, are you drunk?"
Roy opened his mouth to protest, or maybe concede, but stopped when he heard Ackerman's voice from outside the door. "Where did Elizabeth go?" Roy and Hawkeye froze, and for once Roy was thankful for Ackerman's presence.
One of Roy's sisters giggled sweetly. "She's with a customer at the moment. She'll be back soon enough."
"Really? I thought I heard arguing back here," Ackerman replied. Hawkeye cast an angry glance at Roy, who shrugged his shoulders. Oops. She then gave Roy another look, one that begged for no judgment as she opened her mouth.
"Ahh, oh God, right there," Hawkeye moaned, her eyes rolling back. Roy stared at his Lieutenant, his eyes widening in comprehension at her brilliant plan. "That's it," she continued breathily, as she crossed the room and flung her body onto the bed next to him. The mattress springs groaned underneath their weight.
Roy watched his Lieutenant in shock as she laid on the bed and let out another loud whimper, feeling delicious heat pool in his groin with each wanton noise that left her mouth. Hawkeye's dress pulled taut across her legs as she writhed on the bed, and Roy gulped as it further stretched across her sculpted thighs. Through the fabric, he caught sight of a thin strap that wrapped around her upper right thigh and knew he'd found the answer to his and Havoc's musings.
Ackerman chuckled somewhere in the hallway outside of their room. "Oh, please let her know to come find me when she's finished," he instructed Roy's sister, desire dripping from his voice. As the sound of his footsteps faded, so did Hawkeye's movement and moans.
From her prone position on the bed, Hawkeye turned her head from the ceiling to glare at Roy, angry and seeming to expect mockery for the show she'd just put on in front of her superior. Instead, her amber eyes were met with a scorching heat in his own. Roy struggled to find words as he used all of his willpower to keep himself from pulling Hawkeye close and making her elicit those noises again and again. Hawkeye's lips parted tantalizingly as her eyes flitted to his lips, hips canting slightly. Roy let out a soft, nearly inaudible groan at the sight.
Hawkeye sat up quickly, red invading her face once again as she averted her eyes from Roy. "Sorry, Sir. How shameful of me. I should go find Ackerman." She stood up and Roy joined her, somewhat uncomfortable as he willed the blood that pooled in his groin to go anywhere else. He was thankful for the slack of his pants that hid his sordid indiscretion.
Still four drinks deep and unable to help himself, Roy reached up and fixed Hawkeye's wig. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. "No need for apologies, Lieutenant. I'm the one who nearly ruined all of your hard work." He grinned at her, trying to lighten the situation. "Besides, I'm the one who should feel sorry for you. Where did you learn how to portray such pleasure so convincingly?"
Hawkeye opened her eyes, looking all at once regretful and grateful for the change in tone, and grinned mischievously. "When working under a man who causes you a lot of grief, you learn to fake pleasure pretty quickly."
At that, she turned and strode out of the room, hips swaying and leaving Roy more frustrated than before. He groaned and sat back down on the bed, looking forward to the hot shower he would take when he got home.
As Falman predicted and to no one's surprise, Ackerman confided everything to Hawkeye within the next hour.