Let's turn the usual pattern around...

Hope you enjoy!

In Which Alcohol Isn't (Wholly) To Blame

The Armstrong Estate. A ginormous building where everything inside it was ginormous too. The bar tables were stupidly high, the ceilings seemingly reaching over two stories – as did the windows and curtains. A shot glass was really just the size of a regular glass. Even the bathroom stalls could each host a party, Havoc thought as he went down the isle of the men's restroom.

It was ten past two in the morning. Everyone had left the Major's – now Lieutenant Colonel's – summer party a while ago. The staff would not be back until later that day to tidy up, the host himself had gone to bed somewhere in this new mansion of his, and here Havoc was, still searching for his superior.

Both of them, but he knew Hawkeye could take care of herself.

She might have already left, he pondered. She was quite responsible and not a night owl if she could help it, but of course, it had been obligatory to share a first toast of champagne. That, and Havoc hadn't missed that cocktail she had been ordered by a certain someone – he couldn't have missed it, because she had somewhat hurried past Havoc later with how sick it must have made her.

He hadn't seen her since, nor their self-sacrificing commanding officer who had followed and most likely been kicked out of the ladies' restroom right away.

Or so Havoc had thought.

He had hesitated in front of the ladies', knowing that if someone like Armstrong's eldest sister had been around, he would have been beheaded for even forming such ideas. Now he almost wished he hadn't entered, hadn't snuck past each empty stall to find the only occupied one. His breath got stuck in his throat but he was too frozen to breathe anyway.

They had locked the door, they had, yet failed to close said door while doing so. Ajar, it gave Havoc an almost too detailed image of why they failed to notice the departure of everyone else as well as his arrival.

Roy had popped open every single button going up the side of the skirt of Riza's dress. Now free to roam, his hands had made the fabric crumple at her lower back. They heartly grabbed her ass, fingers disappearing beneath lacy knickers. At the same time, his knee shoved between her legs. Havoc's shock doubled at how it was her grinding her pelvis against her superior's thigh, not the stroking of his index finger coaxing her.

Riza had meanwhile undone the first buttons of Roy's shirt. She hadn't come much further – her hand was shaking, jerkily exploring his chest, grasping for purchase. Her other hand locked his head into place above hers. Their lips moved relentlessly. She would suck his lips into her mouth, flick them with her tongue, entangle with his tongue, a guttural moan dragging up her throat when he took over ravishing her lips. It was a battle with no sides, only lusty sighs and tiny bruises.

Havoc had to do something before things escalated even more. She would regret it – if not sleeping with her commanding officer, then doing so under Alex Louis Armstrong's roof. She clearly couldn't hold her liquor and anyway, if they kept going, there was no way to stop them. At least no way Havoc would be setting foot into the ladies' bathroom again any time soon.

He went back to the hall, Hawkeye's most unusual sounds tingling in his ears. Running a hand through his hair, ignoring the heat having crept into his cheeks, Havoc knocked on the jamb. Nothing. Well, not nothing, only more moans. He pulled a face.

Fuery waited in the car. He had missed the opening speech, therefore also champagne, being the sole sober and still present member of their unit. He must have been wondering what was taking Havoc so long. Time was of the essence. The poor boy would never recover; never be able to look at either of his superiors again without exploding a wild crimson.

Havoc knocked again, louder this time. He cleared his throat meaningfully. A brief silence. Groaning had turned into panting. He knocked again. "Chief, you still there?" Havoc carefully announced himself. "We're here to pick you up." Nothing. Havoc scowled. If that idiot kept quiet now, pretending he wasn't there, Havoc would have to openly catch them red-handed. And he had frankly seen enough of hands roaming to places that he had fiercely banned from his mind so that he wouldn't get shot by Hawkeye.

The latter was suspiciously quiet too, making Havoc wonder for just a second how consensual the whole thing was. At the very least, whether she would have consented without being inebriated.

"All the cabs are gone. Fuery can drive us, but he wants to leave now," Havoc stressed.

Finally, the General gave himself away with a cough. "Right," he brought out. Wow, he sounded dumb. Love-drunken to the very tips of his hair; intoxicated but not with alcohol. "Just a moment."

"Hurry it up." Havoc couldn't risk them stealing a goodnight kiss and accidentally getting right back to it. He stepped down the hall, but not as far as not hearing the soft clacking of heels. She had been pinned to the wall of the stall so far, her shoes were touching the ground for the first time again. Roy murmured something lowly, seductively. Her breath rasped, drowned out by the susurration of fabric.

"Sir," Riza whimpered.

Havoc's ears glowed with hot blush, a vein angrily pulsing on his forehead. He was surprised when after another minute of running water, the two actually emerged. Riza's lipstick was gone; smeared off. The way Roy's slightly swollen lips glistened with water painted a decent picture of where it had gone. His neck had been wiped too, droplets dappling his shirt that he had haphazardly closed. At least her dress was in order.

"Thank you, First Lieutenant," Roy slurred in Havoc's general direction. Havoc gave him a look. He had to restrain himself from carrying either of them, if not both, when they counterproductively leant on each other for support. It was no wonder anymore when Fuery met them halfway across the ballroom, having worried.

"Oh, uh, are you okay?" he asked with big eyes.

"Fine," Roy waved off. It threw him off balance and he rammed into one of the bar tables. Havoc pulled a face, then his superior to his feet. Roy hadn't even cursed, perhaps numb to the pain.

Once the stumbling pair was deposited in the car, new concerns clouded Havoc's mind. They were in the outskirts of Central – Armstrong had wanted his estate away from the city noise and 'where the flowers bloomed with dignity', as he called it. In other words, they weren't dropping anyone off at their flat, but the hotel where they were all staying.

What if this… wasn't something she would want to be doing when sober? If they continued. What if she would regret it? What if she wasn't on the pill? In his current state, Roy was definitely not cognitively equipped to remember protection.

Havoc's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Fuery hit the brakes, taking a sharp right.

"What the—" Havoc choked out. Fuery hadn't turned, he had avoided crashing into a lamppost.

"S-s-sorry," he stuttered. His face was aflame. It made Havoc turn around to the backseat.

"For goodness' sake," he grumbled. Roy had latched on to Riza's earlobe, trailing fervent kisses down her neck. Luckily, Fuery could only see until their shoulders through the mirror, because if he had caught sight of the General's hand shoving up and past Riza's skirt with eager fingers, he would have driven them into a building. Havoc bit his lip, eyes flashing down without his consent. No wonder Roy was a thigh-guy. "Alcohol," he lamely excused to Fuery. The latter only squeaked, drilling his eyes to the road.

He waited outside the car until Havoc had heaved Roy out. Havoc went on to help Riza, ending up carrying her while Fuery did the same with Roy.

"What do you mean, one room?" Havoc hissed when Fuery produced but a wallet from the General's pocket. "You've got to be kidding me…" Havoc cursed. "Okay, here," he fumbled for the key to his own room, "take the Chief to my room; just drop him on the bed, he'll live. I'll pick up my key at your room, but first, I'm taking Hawkeye up to hers." Theirs was apparently more like it, but he didn't want to emphasise it any more than already. How could they be so obvious? Surely, Roy had only gone and lost his key while entangled in his adjutant in a bathroom stall. The nerve of him.

Havoc heaved a sigh when arriving upstairs. Riza was showing no sign of resistance, dangling from his back while he dug out the key to her room from her handbag. Her breath was warm against his neck, her entire body radiating like an electric blanket.

Gently, he slid her down his back and onto the bed. And he adamantly ignored the fact that it was a double bed. The hotel must not have had single rooms anymore.

"You alright by yourself? Want me to unzip or…" his lips formed a thin line, "hold your hair out of the way…?" he awkwardly suggested what he knew she would need in a few hours. Not to mention her hair, previously in an elegant updo, was a mess down her shoulders.

Riza sat up, holding her head.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jean," she muttered. At least she was coherent and had listened. A good sign, he found, hammering it into his head as a fact as he left. She was fine; she would be terribly hungover, but she was fine.

Sneaking down the hall, noticing too late to still be carrying Hawkeye's shoes, Havoc found Fuery's room. He knocked softly.

"Lieutenant," Fuery saluted. They had dropped the formalities after the Promised Day in private, but this must have felt more like a mission to Fuery than a favour to their drunken superiors.

"Let me bet, he went out like a light." Havoc managed a lopsided grin despite his own tiredness. It was nearly three in the morning and he would have to share a room with the infamous blanket-hogger and currently of liquor smelling Roy Mustang. Saturday, Havoc tried to console himself, it was only Saturday. There would still be time to catch up on sleep.

"I think he was under the impression that I'd brought him to the office," Fuery mused. "He kept calling for the Captain."

"Gureat…" Havoc rolled his eyes. A love-sick, horny blanket-hogger. Perhaps this was Havoc's punishment for having quit work early the other week to go on a date. "Anyway, thanks for driving."

"Sure." Fuery's blush flared up again at the memory. Havoc tsked.

Patting Fuery's head once with amusement, he received his key and sauntered away, down a small flight of stairs and to his room. He contemplated leaving Hawkeye's shoes in front of her door, ultimately opting against it. She must have had a second, more comfortable pair. Not to mention she would sleep for longer than him for once; he could bring them back in the morning.

Havoc inserted the key in the lock to his room, confused when the door gave way. It hadn't been fully shut. He froze halfway on the threshold.

Son of a— Havoc wanted to cuss, biting his tongue. On the bright side, this erased all doubts of lacking consent. This had nothing to do with drunkenness anymore.

It had clearly not been Roy initiating this time. She had come to his room – the room where he had spontaneously been dumped. So then she must have been having her wits together enough to not only make it down the stairs unharmed, but also remember Havoc's room number and find it in the half dark.

Now there were soaring moans and throaty groans coming out of that darkness, the sheets a moving muddle. Havoc considered for the split of a second whether to take another step and grab his bag. It was right there, next to the bathroom. Two strides. One if he took a long step.

"Ahh, General!" Hawkeye mewled.

Havoc snatched the keys to her room from the floor and dashed back out the door. Nope, nope, no bag. He could sleep in his underwear, no problem. Heck, had her key not conveniently lied there, he would have rather slept in the hall than stay another moment.

He could take Roy's playboy innuendos any day, and even a thigh as soft and beautiful as he had caught a glimpse of in the car was tolerable, but he had his limits. And Riza Hawkeye crying out her superior's rank in pleasure was not something he could delete from his mind. He still had to be around them in the office, didn't they realise that?! Fraternisation aside, those two had reputations, especially her amongst the team.

It was exactly why Havoc would never peep on her if given the chance – not only would he risk a bullet between the eyes, but Hawkeye was well stacked. If ever he caught a glimpse of her bare chest, he would have to quit. There was no going back to work, serious work, after having seen the beauty of a woman's breasts, if those breasts belonged to a superior officer.

This was surely more tolerable, he tried to convince himself. Her voice never sounded this feeble, high or lewd in the office; it would be normal and boring and earnest as always.

On a different note, how in the hell had they gotten this far with Havoc away for five minutes? Perhaps he still had more to learn from his superiors than originally assumed. Although subtlety was not one of those things…