WOW GUYS. Um, so I feel pretty lousy that this one is so short... I mean I should probably tell you some sort of thing like: I was meaning to write something longer and awesomer...but this time, I really had no ideas. None! Geez, I'm a horrible person :P
Haha but anyways...Lust will be much much better, and definitely longer and will be uploaded by tomorrow(not promising) because it's already half written. Be warned, it is M rated, however it's not as"dirty" as it could be -evil smirk-
Welp, enjoy this short and pathetic piece...hopefully you guys'll(wow is that even a word?) like it better than I do!
Also, special thanks to Violet Abilene for the support and ideas!
Wrath
"Damn it!"His fists slammed against the rich mahogany desk, the once fresh coffee on the corner spilling its insides on some stray papers delivered that morning. This office had been his for God knows how long. This office had been filled with bumbling men, complaining about the workload and accusing their Colonel of being lazy. They had been his for God knows how long. Falman, Breda, Fury, Havoc. Although, he would admit, Havoc wasn't quite his soldier anymore. No, he had lost that title months ago.
Hawkeye. She was a different story, he had been hers for God knows how long, and now without the help of anyone, not even Hughes, Roy didn't have the slightest clue where to go from there. He flung the contents of the desk over the side, raking a hand through his hair. Bradley had taken everything from him. Had taken even his last thread of hope. She was by the enemies side, her life constantly in danger, and Roy's brain couldn't comprehend- wouldn't comprehend- what that could mean for him if she were to die. His hands were shoulder length apart, pressing his whole weight against the tabletop as he tried to breath. In. Out. In. Out- but it wasn't working. His head was light, his breath heavy. This was wrong. All wrong.
"Colonel," He could remember the way she would clear her throat before she spoke, and he almost shuddered thinking he wouldn't hear it ever again.
"The paperwork, Sir." She would breathe before she threatened him coolly, her hand traveling to her belt. Roy collapsed into his large black chair, leaning back before closing his eyes. Never again would he feel her warmth beside him, or the feel of her breath upon his ear. This was personal. Taking Riza from him was an act of pure and unscathed hate he knew the Fuhrer had for him. Pushing himself up with new determination, Roy decided now was the time to strike. He could feel his blood boiling, heated with anger. He had to try for his men; for Riza.
