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“Roy!”
The man in question gave him a flat, irritable stare, which only caused Maes’s grin to widen. He’d learned a lot about Roy Mustang in the last couple months, since they’d gone from fierce rivals to tentative friends, and one of his favorites was that he seemed uniquely adept at driving Roy absolutely crazy.
“How goes it?” He sat down next to Roy at the cafeteria table. Roy shifted uncomfortably, probably because Maes was sitting a bit closer than would fit the standard modes of behavior. But he also noticed that Roy, despite his apparent discomfort, didn’t bother to move.
“Go away, Hughes, I need to finish this.” He was hunched over some dusty old tome, pages of notes spread out around him. Ah, alchemy. That explained the irritation. The man was completely obsessed. Maes glanced around the mostly deserted cafeteria. This weekend was one of the few the cadets were allowed to go home and see their families, and those that had stayed were mostly the ones who lived too far, or didn’t particularly like their families. But from what he’d gotten out of Roy, he was from nearby East City, and Roy had mentioned his mother fondly when he mentioned her at all. Being Roy, he’d been rather reticent with his explanation until finally, after days of prodding, Maes had gotten a muttered response of “girls,” “distracting” and “alchemy” out of him. The bit about the girls was rather fascinating, and Maes definitely needed to dig more into that one, but it did give him a base explanation: Roy wanted to spend their rare free weekend studying.
Now Maes, despite outward appearances, was actually very serious about his own studies. You didn’t get to the top of the class by goofing off, especially not with Roy fighting hard against you. But right now, there were more important things to take care of, and Roy looked like he couldn’t take much more studying anyway.
So Maes leaned a little closer, letting his leg press against Roy’s, and reached over to close his book. Roy looked up at that, blinking at Maes suspiciously as Maes stood, taking Roy’s book with him.
“C’mon, I want to try something,” he said. Roy continued to stare, then sighed, packing up his notes and standing. He held his hand out for the book, which Maes graciously returned, and put it into his bag.
“What is it?” Roy asked, as he followed Maes out of the cafeteria. He didn’t need to sound so suspicious. Maes glanced back at Roy, took in his expression, a combination of exasperation, irritation and maybe a little affection, and decided not to respond. Better to keep the air of mystery, it helped keep Roy on his toes. And Roy, to his credit, didn’t ask again, just followed Maes through the winding halls of the academy until they reached the door, and with some hesitation, followed Maes outside.
When they reached their destination, Roy frowned at it in confusion. “The sparring ring?”
Maes nodded. “I want to fight you.” He stepped into the ring, looking at Roy expectantly.
Roy sighed, but he didn’t refuse, or walk away. Instead, he set his bags down and joined Maes in the ring.
“Is this about those assholes from a few weeks ago? Look, I know I should’ve just—“
“No.” Roy gave him an incredulous look. Maes shrugged. “Well, a little. But it’s those assholes, and the ones before them, and the ones before that—“
“You were in that fight too,” Roy said, laughing. He was backlit by the setting sun, outlined in gold. It was rare, for Roy to laugh like that. But Maes thought it was becoming more common, these days. Or he hoped, at least. Roy was too serious, it couldn’t be healthy.
“Yeah, well, you needed the help,” Maes said, dropping into a fighting stance. “I couldn’t just leave you there to get your ass kicked.”
Roy mirrored his stance, giving him that cocky little smirk that was also, unfortunately, increasingly common. “So what? You’re going to give me more ‘help’ now?”
“Practice,” Maes said, grinning at Roy. Not the goofy grin of before, but that smile that always tended to make his fellow cadets edge away warily. All of them except Roy, that is. He grinned back, and then Maes struck.
For someone who always seemed to have his nose in an alchemy book, Roy was actually pretty good at hand to hand combat. Better than he was at shooting, to be honest. When Maes had asked why, Roy said that hand to hand was more likely to be useful. Which Maes guessed made sense. State alchemists didn’t tend to use guns very often, but even alchemists could get caught off guard at close range. Which is why this was all the more important.
Roy had dodged the initial blow, and Maes had gone for the other side, trying to keep Roy on his feet. Roy wasn’t a big guy, but he was fast, faster than Maes, and it was his speed that was his strength against Maes’s larger size. Roy continued to dodge, and Maes narrowed his eyes. The best way to win would be to get Roy into close quarters, where Maes could use his superior size and strength against him.
So when Roy backed away from a particularly fast strike, Maes kicked up some dirt. While Roy was cursing, trying to get the dust out of his eyes, Maes swung his leg out, knocking Roy to the ground. Before Roy could collect himself, Maes pinned him, body over Roy’s, too heavy for Roy to throw off at this angle.
“What the hell, Maes, that was a dirty trick,” Roy said, struggling against him. Maes shifted to match his struggles, keeping him firmly pinned.
“It’s winning,” Maes said. “And to win, you have to survive, in whatever way you can.”
Roy frowned; Maes knew that this wasn’t something Roy liked to hear. He wasn’t naïve, exactly, but he was—idealistic. He wanted to believe that people were good, and that in the end, there was justice. That if you fought the good fight, it would all be worth it, even if you died trying.
Maes admired that. Roy Mustang was a good man, better than Maes. But to win, he needed to survive. So before Roy could twist enough to throw him off, Maes flicked his wrist, and Roy froze.
The knife rested lightly against the skin just under Roy’s jaw. Not his throat, like Maes would have done in a real fight; he didn’t want to actually hurt Roy. But the threat was apparent, and Roy swallowed.
“What are you doing?” Roy said. He was breathing hard, but Maes didn’t think it was only from the fight. No, you didn’t join the army with noble goals like Roy’s if noble goals were all you had. There were a lot of ways to help people. Roy was smart. He could’ve become a doctor. He could’ve used his alchemy in construction, in any number of ways that wouldn’t help the military. He could have gone into civil service, into business. But here Roy Mustang, idealist extraordinaire, was.
“Maes?” Roy said. His lips were parted. He licked them, winced at the taste of the dust, then licked them again.
The thing about Roy Mustang was that underneath the beautiful dreams of a better future, he liked this. He liked the violence. He was an idealist, oh yes, but underlying that, there was an uncomfortable desire for this, winning and fighting, a love of the adrenaline rush and a love of his own skill. Roy’s inner nobility lead him to channel that urge into noble goals. But the urge was still there.
And it was dangerous. Roy sought out fights, sought out danger. He didn’t back down when he should, and worse, he had that damn idealism backing him up, making him worse than ever, because he had the inner conviction of his righteousness. Now it was play fighting, and learning alchemy to prove his skill, and beating up assholes and bullies and then picking himself up to fight another day.
But someday it would be war, and Roy was going to get himself killed.
So Maes pressed the knife harder against Roy’s skin, drawing it back into his sleeve and leaving a shallow cut in its wake. Roy drew in a sharp breath at the pain, eyes wide, watching the knife’s progress. When it was safely back in the sheath on Maes’s wrist, he got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes. He looked down at Roy, sitting up and touching the cut. His fingers came away red. Roy looked up at Maes, his face unreadable, and Maes held out his hand.
Roy took it, and Maes pulled him to his feet. He half expected Roy to take the advantage, to pull Maes himself to the ground. But he didn’t use the advantage, just held onto his hand and gave him an unreadable look. Roy’s face was painted red by the setting sun; his throat was painted red by the slowly dripping blood. Maes didn’t let go of his hand either, and tugged him back towards the academy.
Once they were closer to the building, Maes let Roy’s hand drop. It wouldn’t do for someone to see them, to arouse suspicion. He walked swiftly down the halls until he reached a rarely used classroom at the far end of the academy. He jiggled the handle. Locked, just like he’d expected.
“Maes, what are you doing?” Roy said, voice low. They really shouldn’t be doing this, but well. Maes found he’d gone a little far in proving his point, and he didn’t want to stop. So he reached into his pocket and fished out a set of lockpicks, making short work of the door. He opened it, gesturing for Roy to enter, which he did with only a raised eyebrow.
“Of course you have lockpicks,” he muttered as Maes closed and locked the door behind him, before turning to Roy.
The shades in the classroom were down, letting only thin strips of sun through, painting Roy in light and shadow. The cut at his throat was still bleeding sluggishly, but nothing like before. And Roy was still here, looking at Maes with perhaps a bit of confusion, but no anger, no fear. And that, more than anything, told Maes he had Roy Mustang pinned right.
Maes walked over to where Roy was standing, near the front of the classroom. He’d started idly toying with some chalk, and Maes half worried he was about to draw a transmutation circle. Maes rested his hand on Roy’s and gently pried the chalk from his grasp. Then he walked forward, and Roy let himself be pushed until his back hit the wall. He was staring at Maes now, face blank. Maes looked at the blood on his throat, met his eyes again, then leaned in and ran his tongue along the cut.
He heard Roy draw in a sharp breath, but he didn’t push Maes away. Quite the opposite, in fact, one of his hands coming to rest on Maes’s waist, and the other tugging at his hair, gripping it tight. Maes continued to lick at the cut, the tang of iron on his tongue, then kissed it lightly. He let his teeth scrape along the edge of it, and felt Roy’s fingers tighten in his hair. He dragged his tongue down Roy’s windpipe, and felt him swallow hard. When he reached the end of his skin, and the beginning of the skirt, he pulled back, meeting Roy’s eyes.
Roy didn’t say anything. But after a few drawn out seconds, as the room darkened around them, a slow, reckless grin spread across his face. He fisted his hands in Maes’s shirt, grabbing him and reversing their positions, slamming Maes against the wall. Roy kissed him, biting at his lower lip. Maes let him take control, and really, he should’ve expected this. Roy never gave up, even when he should. But it wasn’t over yet. Maes put his hands firmly on Roy’s waist, tugging their bodies together.
“Fuck,” Roy said against his mouth. Roy was as hard as Maes, just liked he’d expected, and now that Maes had tugged their bodies together, Roy couldn’t seem to stop grinding against him, eyes closed, panting like he had been during their fight. Maes wasn’t unaffected either, and if they didn’t stop, this was all going to be over far too soon. And it couldn’t be. Maes still hadn’t made his point.
He shoved Roy away from him, and Roy stumbled back. He looked hurt, and confused. Right, made sense, he thought it was rejection. Maes ran a shaky hand through his hair. He wasn’t really thinking straight anymore, aching hard and staring at Roy, who was leaning against the desk, disheveled and breathless, all black and white and red. He couldn’t have Roy thinking this was a no, that he didn’t want this. So he quickly walked over to where Roy was leaning against the desk and dropped to his knees, and rested his hands on Roy’s waist. He looked up once to meet Roy’s wide eyes, then focused on his belt, making quick work of it, followed by the fastening of his pants. He tugged at the waist band, and Roy lifted his hips off the desk, letting Maes pull his them down.
Maes had to admit, he hadn’t quite been prepared for the reality of staring down another man’s cock. He had limited experience, and all of it with woman. But one glance up confirmed his decision. Roy was staring down at him, wonder and desire in his face. He wanted to see what Roy looked like when he came with Maes kneeling at his feet. He put a tentative hand on the base of Roy’s cock to position it, ignoring the small noise Roy made, and then licked a stripe down the side. Roy’s hands came to clutch at his hair, pulling too hard at his head, but that was okay. Maes had to admit, he kind of liked it, the physical proof of how he was affecting Roy. He put his mouth around the head, carefully covering his teeth with his lips, and sucked. He was pretty sure he wasn’t doing this right, but Roy didn’t seem to mind, even letting out a small groan as Maes took him deeper into his mouth, swiping along his cock with his tongue.
He flicked his eyes up, and groaned at the look on Roy’s face. His eyes were lidded, face flushed, and his mouth was open slightly, panting. Maes wondered, looking at him then, what it would feel like to have that mouth wrapped around his own cock, what it would be like to have Roy doing this to him. He felt himself get harder at the thought, cock twitching in his pants. But he tucked that thought away for a future date. Right now, this was about Roy.
“Maes,” Roy said. Maes ignored him, pulling off slightly as he moved back to the head of Roy’s cock, then taking him in as far as he could, sucking with enthusiasm, if not a whole lot of skill. “Maes,” Roy said again, this time more desperately, fingers pulling at Maes’s hair. Maes began to pull off entirely, to ask Roy what was wrong, and then his face was abruptly spattered with a hot sticky substance. He blinked in surprise, and ran a finger through the mess on his face. Roy has leaning back against the desk arm cover his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, God, Maes, I tried to warn you—“
Maes cut him off by surging to his feet and kissing Roy hard on the mouth. Roy made a sound of muffled protest, but let Maes kiss him anyway. He must be able to taste himself on Maes’s lips, and Maes practically came from that thought alone. He pushed his body hard against Roy’s, grinding his own cock against Roy while Roy gasped into his mouth. Then Maes groaned as Roy’s hand snaked between them, rubbing along Maes’s cock through the fabric of his pants. He unfastened Maes’s belt and made quick work of his fly, shoving his hand into Maes’d pants and wrapping it around his cock. Fucking hell, Roy didn’t mess around. He was clumsy, grip too tight, then too loose, but Maes was already far enough gone that it didn’t matter. A few strokes from Roy’s hand, and Maes came, slumped against Roy and breathing hard against his lips.
They stayed like that for a minute, Maes leaning on Roy who was in turn leaning on the desk. Finally, Maes sighed, shifting away from Roy and grabbing his hand, pulling him to the floor to sit next to Maes, their backs to the desk.
Maes closed his eyes, then after a moment’s hesitation, let his head rest against Roy’s shoulder. He felt fingers move along his cheek, wiping away the mess with the edge of a sleeve.
“What was that?” Roy’s voice still sounded shaky, and Maes couldn’t help a smile, that he’d caused that.
“I wanted to teach you a lesson,” Maes said.
“What kind of lesson was that?” Even though his eyes were closed, Maes could practically feel Roy’s incredulous stare, the one he always gave Maes when Maes was doing something he thought was particularly weird. Not that Roy should really be the one judging on that front.
“Hmm,” Maes said. “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t learn it anyway.”
“So you’re not going to tell me,” Roy said, the perpetual irritation he seemed to feel around Maes back in his voice.
“Nope. No point.”
Roy sighed in exasperation, but he clearly wasn’t that mad, because his clean hand was now idly stroking at Maes’s hair.
“We’re really a mess, aren’t we?” Roy laughed.
Yes, they really were. Because Maes was wrong. Roy wasn’t a fool who loved danger and didn’t understand death. Maes had thought his statements were bravado, about being willing to die by the side of the road if necessary. But Roy wasn’t afraid to die; he knew the risks he was taking, and he took them anyway.
Roy Mustang was a fool. A dangerous, beautiful, brilliant fool. And if Maes couldn’t teach him to survive, he’d damn well protect him until his last breath. He wasn’t willing to die for his country, but he rather thought he might die for Roy Mustang. He snorted.
“What?” Roy said.
Maes opened his eyes and smiled at Roy. “We’re both fools, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” Roy said. He was staring out the window into the ever increasing darkness. “We are.”