the Skank of Silliness (aka Granate) (granate) wrote in fm_alchemist,
the Skank of Silliness (aka Granate)
granate
fm_alchemist

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Havoc/Hawkeye Fic

Hi, new here. FMA sub junky, if it matters. I bring you a story about how Havoc gets over the devastation of episode 37 and why Mustang’s Miniskirt Agenda might be a really bad idea…


Mr. Brightside (Not a songfic, I just like the title)
Vital stats: Havoc/Hawkeye, takes place just after episode 37, PG-13ish for sexual situations and naughtiness.
Spoilers: ep. 37
Length: 14 pages




That damned surveillance assignment had been the start of it all. That was the last time Havoc looked into the Colonel's life at all. Ugh. How much did he not need to see a girl he had practically begged to go out with him run up to Mustang on the street and shove an envelope of theater tickets at him. And who knows WHAT had been written in the letter to make Mustang smirk like that!

And how much did Havoc NOT need to know that the girl who had been so cold with him had attempted to give Colonel Mustang a handjob in the middle of act two, been rebuffed, and then proceeded to all but drag the man from the theater to her place fifteen minutes into act three. THANK YOU SO MUCH, Lt. Breda, for that valuable piece of information. He could have lived happily for the rest of his life without knowing that.

He really hadn't been able to face Mustang the next day. A two-hour morning smoke break hadn't sounded like a bad idea. The others made excuses for him, which was nice enough but didn’t make him feel any better. How embarrassing to be pitied by everyone. Was the Colonel really that great anyway? He wanted to know. Scratch that, he didn't want to know, not enough to ask the girl whose name he was trying to forget, or any other woman for that matter, because he wouldn't really feel any better whether the answer was yes or no. If it was yes, then he would feel second rate, and if it was no, he would just feel gypped.

Being mad at Colonel Mustang got him no where and wasn’t any good for his job either. He wasn’t one for big dreams himself, but he’d chosen the coattails he was going to ride to the top and he wasn’t about to change his mind now. Ok, and so maybe he’d come to like Roy Mustang after working for him for the last five years. He wasn’t about to confront him, so sitting outside and playing with Black Hayate for the morning hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at all. The lucky dog had not a worry in the world. He was so carefree, Havoc envied him except for the whole being neutered part.

By the end of the day, he would wish he was neutered too. The Katherine Armstrong thing had been a complete disaster. Looking back, he didn’t even remember how he got to work the next day or anything about what they had done. The things he did recall were too bizarre to be real. The next day was a blur too, until he found himself under the same tree playing with Black Hayate again.

"There you are."

He paid little attention to the distantly familiar female voice behind him. Women didn’t talk to him, they didn’t want anything to do with him.

"Disobeying again. Am I going to have to punish you?" The surprise knocked him right out of his stupor. Was she talking to him?

Black Hayate yipped and leapt away from Havoc. His eyes followed the pup right to Lt. Hawkeye.

"Oh, Lt. Havoc," she said as she knelt to catch the puppy, "I didn't recognize you there without the cigarette."

He couldn't tell if she was kidding, it was impossible with her.

"Oh, you were keeping him company, I see," she said to the little black mutt. "Good dog, then." He yipped and licked her face. She stood up, taking the dog with her. "Lt. Havoc, is there something the matter with you? You seem distracted lately."

He realized he still had not said anything. "Oh, ah, I'm sorry Lt. Hawkeye," he mumbled.

"And you do know it's 6:20," she prompted.

He blinked. Well past quitting time. Just how long had he been sitting out here?

"I’m on my way to the target range," she said as she snapped a leash onto Black Hayate's collar, "you’ll come with me, it will help get your focus back." She let the dog down and started walking.

Havoc stirred. Target range it was then. The idea of shooting something was very appealing right now, he should have thought of it before. He was a sharp-shooter, it was in his nature to want to shoot stuff. He got up and followed Hawkeye. She was a sharp-shooter too, though she preferred pistols and he a rifle. He had been one year behind her in Military Academy and while he hadn't broken her records, he'd been the only one to come damned close. She had made quite a reputation for herself and he'd recognized her name immediately when he'd been assigned to work for Roy Mustang five years ago.

Black Hayate was on point and Havoc brought up the rear, a couple steps behind Hawkeye. He located the matches and a pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. He pulled one out and lit it up, blowing the smoke high above his head. Hawkeye looked back at him for a second. Her expression was an unreadable blasé, as usual, but he could very well assume it was disapproval.

"Do you need to get your rifle?" she asked.

"The ones there should be fine," he answered around his cigarette.

"What kind do you use?" she asked and all of the sudden he was making small talk with First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye about guns. He began to think this might be a good time after all. Though they knew of each other's affinity for firearms, he couldn't recall them ever going to the target range together or being there at the same time on purpose.

She tied Black Hayate's leash to a lamppost outside the entry as he stubbed out his cigarette and then they went in. They both selected rifles and he picked up a semiautomatic pistol since she had hers with her. They found neighboring spots along the rail and readied their weapons. She removed her military jacket and adjusted her harness in a manner that seemed habitual, first a tug at the right shoulder and then a pull across the back. She reached for her handgun, which was loaded of course, and well-practiced fingers checked the safety before aiming at the targets on the far wall.

The sound of the shots made Havoc jump and he realized he’d been staring instead of loading his gun. He fumbled a little with the box of cartridges, but quickly loaded a clip. What the hell was he doing, ogling the first woman he saw after the disappointment of the last few days? That wasn’t smart. Besides, it was Hawkeye. She was… well, she was Hawkeye. He didn’t really consider Hawkeye a woman, no one did, which was maybe why such nice breasts came as almost a complete surprise.

He seriously considered shooting himself in the foot for thinking such a thing but it couldn’t be helped, the maroon undershirt was just so gloriously tight. He thought for a moment about whether he’d seen her without the jacket before. In five years, he’d seen her in everything from riot gear to civilian clothes, he must have seen her without her jacket. Maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention. He glanced over again and couldn’t imagine there was any way he wouldn’t have noticed that. He idly wondered how she would look in a miniskirt, and then reconsidered shooting himself in the foot.

Instead, he shot the entire magazine. His recent lack of practice showed, but he managed to focus himself and get back into it. He reloaded and continued to shoot, to the point where he was feeling rather confident. Perhaps over confident, but he was a notoriously bad judge of such things.

"Say, Lieutenant," he said casually as he reloaded the chamber of his pistol, “care to make this interesting?”

"I take it you like to lose, Lt. Havoc?" she asked as she turned to face him.

He almost snorted. "No, just used to it," he answered dryly. Her answer had immediately sparked his competitive streak.

"If I win," she announced as she snapped the pin back, "you don't smoke for a day. An entire 24 hours."

"If I win," he countered, "you wear the uniform skirt tomorrow."

She paused for just a second from her careful inspection of the weapon. He grinned in satisfaction. That was probably the most reaction he could expect out of the unflappable Lieutenant. He didn't worry about her running and complaining about sexual harassment or anything like that. She wasn't that kind of woman. She was the kind of woman who'd just punch your nose right through the back of your skull if she didn't think your conduct was appropriate. And since his face remained intact at this point, he could assume she wasn't too upset about the idea.

"Deal," she said firmly. He took her quick answer to mean that she probably wasn't too worried about losing to him. "Would you care to start, Lt. Havoc?"

He obliged her. He lifted his pistol and aimed carefully. He was going to shoot his best, he wasn't about to let her trounce him. He fired off the entire clip and they counted up his points. It was a score anyone could be proud of, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be enough to beat Riza Hawkeye. She fired next and he grimaced. He didn’t need to count the points to determine that she’d won. Maybe he needed to get to the range more often.

She turned to him, her usual stone-faced expression looking noticeably smug. “Looks like I win,” she said. She held out her hand and he just stared in confusion. “Hand them over, Lieutenant,” she ordered, “I’ll return them tomorrow at 18:45.”

His shoulders sagged as he dug into his coat pocket for his cigarettes and matches. After surrendering his smokes, he reached to the rifle for comfort. He loaded it up and rested the butt against his shoulder to aim. It felt so natural, he was good with a rifle. This was really the weapon he was better with and the target across the room clearly reflected that soon.

“Say, Lieutenant,” he said as he put the rifle down after a little while.

“You don’t learn your lesson, do you?” Hawkeye asked and fired her own rifle. He hadn’t noticed that she’d switched over too.

He chuckled a little. “That does seem to be a problem with me,” he replied agreeably.

“So you’re going to make me teach you the hard way, then,” she reasoned. She lowered her rifle and straightened up as she turned to look him in the eye. “If I win, I keep your cigarettes for another full week after your previously established one day.”

Havoc gritted his teeth. A week, no, eight days, was a long time, but he couldn’t back down now, it had been his idea after all, and not with her looking at him with that smug, challenging look on her face. He had to do this and he had to win. “My demand stays the same,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged and reloaded the chamber. “I’m going,” she announced before taking aim. Her shots were good. They were damned good, but this was her weaker area and Jean Havoc had the feeling he could beat it. He had the skill, all he had to do was concentrate.

Lt. Hawkeye’s jaw about hit the floor. She even blessed him with a little contemptuous noise of disbelief before snapping her mouth shut as she exhaled sharply. He had to taunt her a little, he just had to. He could not and would not waste such a beautiful opportunity, for he may never have one again. Especially if she killed him right here where he stood.

“Weren’t expecting that one, were you?” he mocked as he swung the rifle to rest on his shoulder.

She was… furious. He wondered if she’d ever been beaten before. He was truly relishing this. He gave her a self-satisfied grin that, in hindsight, might have been a little too toothy. Her maple-colored eyes threatened to burn right through him with their ferocity and he understood for the first time the old saying about how a woman could be beautiful when she was angry. She drew herself together and her eyes went from fire to pure ice.

“Looks like you win this time, Lt. Havoc,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Don’t think I’m going to agree to best out of three,” he drawled.

“I wasn’t” she replied stiffly, “I will uphold my end of the bargain tomorrow, and so will you.” She threw on her jacket and stalked to the desk to return the rifle. Havoc scrambled to gather his firearms and dashed after her, still grinning as he suggested, “We should do this again sometime!”



“Well, you’re in a good mood,” Lt. Breda commented disgustedly.

Havoc stopped whistling only long enough to answer, “Yep!” He’d beaten everyone to work this morning, which had to be a career first. Hell, he’d all but jumped out of bed, he didn’t want to miss a moment of Hawkeye in a skirt. Even if it didn’t look good on her, she would still be wearing it because he beat her at something and that was enough for him. Even the lack of smokes didn’t seem to bother him this morning.

He jovially shuffled his papers again and organized things at his work station until the knob on the office door turned with only the slightest click and the door opened ever so silently. The others didn’t even look up, but Havoc’s eyes were glued to the door. And then there she was.

Hawkeye turned immediately to shut the door and Havoc took the opportunity to get an eyeful. Her blond hair was up as usual, she wore the normal waist-length blue coat, but gone were the stiff pants with their double layers of thick fabric that hid every possible curve, instead she was wearing the knee-length blue uniform skirt. And the skirt… it hugged, perfectly outlining gently curving hips and slim thighs. Her knees were not too knobby, her calves were perfect, and she was even wearing pumps. Two inch? No, two and half inch. His day had just gone from good to terrific.

She glanced at him coolly as she passed to go and say good morning to Mustang. Her gaze was leveling as always, she wasn’t looking at him any differently, but he was looking at her in a whole new way. He couldn’t be 100% sure what kind of expression he’d had on his face when she’d looked at him briefly, but he was hardly concerned. Details like that weren’t exactly penetrating his thought process at the moment.

As she walked away, he realized that she was not wearing stockings. No stockings. It was so… it was so bold. Although he liked the idea of thigh-high stockings or a racy garter belt under there, the fact that she wore none at all was alluring in itself. It meant her legs were right there, bare, and tantalizingly within reach. So if he were to, perchance, reach out and touch them, there would be nothing between his hand and her skin.

While his day just kept improving, his untimely and ill-advised crush had gone from bad to dire. Was he daft? On second thought, he’d been pretty sure that he was daft before this little episode, but the fact remained that this was pretty stupid, even for him. They worked together; the guys who made the rules didn’t exactly smile upon that sort of thing. Not only that but she outranked him and if one wanted cut right to the quick, she was Hawkeye. Hawkeye was a soldier, a sniper, an officer, a colleague, an entity, a presence, a force, a name, an idea – anything but a woman. You weren’t supposed to look at Hawkeye the way he was, you weren’t supposed to think about Hawkeye the way he was, you just plain weren’t supposed to feel this way about Hawkeye. He was having trouble wrapping his head around this, though the rest of him appeared more than ready to embrace it.

“Yoo hoo, dumbass, anybody in there?” Breda whistled, waving a hand in front his face. “Shit, the look on your face,” his friend snorted. “You moron, you better quit it before she kicks you in the teeth.”

“You did notice the skirt, didn’t you?” Havoc asked incredulously.

“Sure I noticed the skirt,” Breda chortled, “but I ain’t got a death wish and I like my balls where they are, thank you very much.”

Havoc just looked thoughtful. She couldn’t really be as bad as all that, could she?

“Hey, and just in case you’re completely dense, I’ll spell this out for ya,” Breda said gruffly and scrawled on a piece of paper. He held it up for Havoc, and it read in all caps: ‘PROPERTY OF ROY MUSTANG.’

“It’s practically tattooed on her forehead, dimwit, so give up,” Breda said. His voice dropped to a whisper as she walked by. “Look, man,” he continued, “this is for your own good, ok? I know you’re getting over the flower shop girl, and the thing with the Armstrong chick was killer, but you can’t win this one, ok?”

Havoc had known both Mustang and Hawkeye longer than Breda had and so there was no denying that she was very devoted to him. Maybe that’s why men never talked about her, never seemed to notice her. Well this was a sordid little situation. Was he going to go up against Mustang? Shit, no. Did he really think he had a chance? Not in hell. Then what was he going to do? Enjoy it while he could. Get an eyeful and just keep his twice damned mouth shut until it passed and he was on to the next girl.

It wouldn’t last long anyway, right? She was nothing like the girls he usually dated. Did Riza Hawkeye even date? God, what a strange prospect. Would she insist on driving? Not that either of them owned a car, he was thinking metaphorically here. Would she wear a dress on a date? Would she put her hair up or leave it down? Would she do things like powder her nose and freshen her lipstick? Hawkeye in lipstick… It was mind-boggling. Would she small-talk over dinner? Well, they had chatted about guns yesterday, but that was hardly a date topic. Although he had to admit that a date with Hawkeye would probably be completely different from any other girl he’d taken out.

When asked what kind of girls he liked, Havoc always said girls who were cute, cheerful, and had good personality. Someone not too serious who laughed easily. Smarts didn’t always figure into the picture so much. As for Hawkeye, well “cute” was not exactly a good word to describe her, and “cheerful”… Maybe not at all on that one. Whether she had a good personality remained to be seen. Most of the time she seemed cold and stiff, but last night at the shooting range, she’d shown just how fiery she could be. Perhaps he could get her to loosen up. He sure as hell wouldn’t mind trying because something was telling him it’d be worth it. At that point, he couldn’t help wondering what she’d be like in bed.

The woman in question returned with a stack of papers their group had been assigned to review and set it in the middle of the table. She took the seat diagonal from Havoc and he watched her hips bend and twist a little as she sat down. He must have been staring again because Breda kicked him under the table, making him jolt and knock his pencil off the table with his elbow. He glared at Breda, who kept his eyes intently on his own work, and then bent down to get his pencil. He felt around and found it and happened to find Hawkeye’s crossed legs directly in his line of sight. It wasn’t his fault he ended up staring at the expanse of thigh exposed where the skirt rode up at the side. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she flexed her foot, popping her heel out of the shoe. She let the shoe dangle from her toe for a moment, thoughtlessly swinging it around a little before pointing her toe and somehow getting the shoe back on. He was completely transfixed.

Breda kicked him again and he hit his head on the table with a loud bang.

“Ow!” Havoc snarled and straightened up to give Breda another glare. Breda was not paying attention to him, but the other three were giving him quizzical looks. He barely noticed, too busy imagining such nice legs wrapped around his waist. Even Breda’s kicks could not keep him from accidentally dropping things several more times that morning.

Lunch found the four of them together in the officer’s mess, Farman and Fury lamenting that maybe they weren’t so excited about Mustang’s proposed uniform change for female officers after all. Breda was just smiling a weird little smile and Havoc wasn’t even listening. He rested his chin in his hand and pushed the food around on his plate. Hawkeye was still up in the office right now with Mustang. Alone. They did that occasionally, he’d never given it any thought before, but it bothered him now. Hawkeye in that skirt, alone with Mustang.

Havoc growled to himself and instinctually patted his chest, feeling for the cigarettes that weren’t there. He cursed under his breath. He needed one right now. He didn’t even need to smoke it, he was just gonna hold it between his lips. That wouldn’t have been cheating, would it? He needed that familiar feeling, something else to think about, something to play with and satisfy the damned oral fixation. He didn’t notice that he was twitching his foot and shaking the entire table until Breda kicked him.

They returned on time from lunch and got back to work. Hawkeye was absent and returned just a moment after they did. His eyes tracked her automatically as she came to the table, picked up a packet and took it to Mustang’s desk. She bent to speak to him in a hushed voice and Havoc forgot all about having been so irritated before. Her rear had such a lovely profile and leaning forward like that lifted the skirt up in the back just a bit. She pointed to something on the paper, pulling the jacket up to reveal some of the maroon undershirt he’d admired so much yesterday. Life was sweet. As soon as she sat back down he started accidentally dropping things again.

Five o’clock came and went. Mustang put on his coat and bid them goodnight, a signal that he did not need them to stay late tonight as he sometimes did when they had an important assignment. Fury and Farman both pretty much jumped at the chance and rose to leave. Havoc knew Hawkeye always stayed a bit late so remained where he was. He was going to get as much as he could out of this one day of Hawkeye in a skirt. Breda got up to go, giving him one more kick for good measure before he left.

They worked silently for about fifteen minutes before she asked, “Lt. Havoc, why are you still here?”

“Just finishing things up,” he answered.

“You’ve been glancing over the same WX-3 form for the last forty-five minutes,” she informed him.

“Oh, well these things are complicated,” he answered her, fighting a blush. Ok, so stealth wasn’t his strong suit, but he knew that much already.

Hawkeye got up and marched over to him, her heels thudding briskly over the carpet. She took hold of the back of his chair and yanked it around, nearly toppling him onto the floor. He sat bolt still, terrified of moving an inch as she leaned on the edge of the table behind him, arms on either side, effectively trapping him. Her blazing eyes locked on his.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded.

“Like what?” he swallowed.

“You know like what,” she snapped, “you’ve been doing it all day.”

All right, so subtlety wasn’t his forte either, no surprise there. He began to think this was the part where she punched his nose through the back of his skull. He was complete crap at playing innocent, always had been. Maybe it would help if he actually was innocent sometimes. “I don’t know what you’re – ”

“No one ever stares at me like that,” she said, almost defensively.

“Really?” he blurted out.

“No,” she growled, “so cut the shit.”

“Uh, I’m sorry?” he tried.

She looked him up and down and her right eyebrow arched smartly, changing her expression completely. “Are you?”

A grin spread across his lips, the one that women said made him look like an unrepentant little boy. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed. “Have you been smoking, Lt. Havoc?”

“No!” he claimed. “Not since you took them away! I swear!” Well, would you look at that? He was innocent for once.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she said, voice gone low. She leaned closer, her lips aiming for his, but seemed to hesitate just before they met. Oh hell no, he thought. He wasn’t hesitating, not now. Sure as hell not now. He stretched up and closed the short distance between them, daring to kiss her on the lips. He didn’t let her think second thoughts. He kept her there with his kiss, a noise rumbling from his throat when she opened her mouth for his tongue. She was not to be outdone and deftly returned the favor. Her mouth was hot and strong and aggressive, all the things he’d decided lately that he liked about her, all wrapped up and concentrated in the way she kissed. Breda had said she was Mustang’s property, but this didn’t feel like someone else’s property. It felt like she was no one’s damned property.

“Convinced?” he asked, raising auburn eyebrows when she pulled away.

Dilated pupils studied him for a moment. “No,” she said decisively. She straddled his legs and sat down as well as the modest slit in her skirt would allow, ending up perched on his knees and arching her back to be able to reach his mouth with hers. One of his hands settled on her lower back under the coat and the other cupped her jaw, holding her close even though it wasn’t as if she was trying to get away at all. She had both palms pressed flat to his chest and she was kissing him almost desperately. He didn’t think he’d ever been kissed like this before. She wasn’t sweet or hesitant or timid. It was making his mind reel. He wasn’t exactly in control here; he wasn’t consciously thinking of his next move or how far he thought he could get with her.

His hand skimmed down her neck and deftly undid the top button on her jacket before he pushed the collar back and caressed her throat, slipping his fingers under the high neck of her undershirt. He felt her shift on his knees and his hand tightened on the small of her back. Finally out of breath, she pulled away and looked at him almost in disbelief as her breath came in soft, short puffs through her slightly open mouth. Her eyes were half shut and her lips were swollen and pink, it was a sight he relished as much as beating her at the target range.

“So I’m going to infer from this that you’re not with Mustang,” he surmised. His hands moved to the curve of her hips, finally getting to feel what his eyes had had the pleasure of looking at all day.

Hawkeye’s eyes blinked opened all the way. “Mustang? I… We… No, not for a long time,” was her answer.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? That she had been with Mustang once? Did that make this situation more sordid, or less sordid? He wasn’t sure, but he quickly shelved the thought. She’d said what he needed to hear and now he was much more interested in feeling her thighs through the fabric of her skirt. Her body was firm and his hands slid effortlessly down to her bare knees.

“No stockings,” he said, mouth going dry.

“You didn’t say I had to wear stockings, just the skirt,” she retorted in an uncharacteristically husky voice.

He touched both knees with just his fingertips, almost hesitantly, and then allowed his entire hand the pleasure. One hand slid down to her calf and she straightened her leg out at his side, letting him trail his fingers down to her ankle. Her skin was smooth under his palm. He couldn’t believe how fine-boned she was, he could join his thumb and middle finger around her ankle. It just didn’t seem right, he’d seen her kick the legs out from under a grown man more than once. He squeezed her calf again, lifting it up next to his hip. A hand moved up his shoulder to take a firm grip on the back of his neck. She pulled him forward, drawing him into another kiss. Shit, kissing her was getting to be addictive.

“I can still smell the smoke,” she hissed against his lips and hastily unbuttoned his jacket so she could push it over his shoulders. He dropped his arms from her just long enough to let it fall to the floor. He was unhappy about it when she broke off the kiss and pushed him roughly away, but he very much liked the way she was now looking at his chest and hoped she wouldn’t mind if he were to look at hers the same way. He took the opportunity to unbutton the rest of her jacket and sneak his hands inside, though with her he didn’t feel like he had to sneak anything. She had yet to close herself off to him, he never got the impression that his actions were making her nervous.

Hawkeye was raking her fingers down the washboard of his stomach and leaning in to suck on his throat. He hummed, tilting his head back for her, and let his hand find her breast. It was firm, too firm, which made he suspect that her bra was probably very tight. Right then he wanted nothing more than to take her somewhere and get her out of it, completely unleash her. His cock leapt at the thought and he groaned as she nipped his throat. His fingers splayed over her narrow ribcage and dropped to encircle her waist before coaxing her shirt up.

Her skin was taught and her stomach was not soft or feminine, it was hard and the muscles clearly defined but it trembled delicately all the same when he ran his fingertips across it. She shifted on his knees again, trying to get closer and he dropped his hands back to her legs. He hooked his fingers in the hem of her blue skirt and pushed it up, running his palms up the outside of her thighs, allowing her to spread her legs a little better. She was able to sit closer and he was rewarded with the full force of her kiss.

Without asking, he unclipped her hair and let it spill down her back. Had he ever seen her with her hair down before? He really didn’t think so. When they’d first met she’d worn it short, almost like a boy. It had been growing out for the past few years and she’d been keeping it up out of the way, he’d hardly noticed it. He ran his hands through it, thinking how it was longer than he thought it would be and very soft. His attention was soon gravitated back to her legs, but he made a mental note to come back to the hair.

He hadn’t even had her yet and he was already trying to think of how to keep her. That was always his problem. Girls wanted… well, to be perfectly honest, girls wanted Roy Mustang. Jean Havoc was never going to be Roy Mustang. He didn’t have the manners, he wasn’t suave. Even smooth was a stretch. He lacked that mysterious charisma that drew them, not to mention he couldn’t make things suddenly burst into flames on a whim. Girls wanted a gentleman and he was just an average Joe. No diamond, just rough.

Hawkeye either hadn’t noticed yet or didn’t care. She kept her palms on his chest as they kissed, deeper and wetter than before. His hands stroked her thighs and one found the courage to slip under the hem of her skirt. He went slowly, giving half a mind to the fact that he’d like to give her the chance to tell him to stop before she belted him across the face, but he kept the caress firm, not wanting to tickle her or make her flinch. She did neither as his hand slid up her thigh. She bunched a fist in his shirt and moaned slightly into his mouth. Oh, what a delicious sound. Very much not a First Lieutenant Hawkeye kind of noise. All by its little self, that moan put to rest all his wondering about what she might be like in bed.

Her thigh was not soft. Well, her skin was soft, but it encased the kind of firm muscle built by use. Her body wasn’t soft or yielding like most of the girls he’d known, but he found it just as exciting. This body was strong and he was merely being allowed, and if he might add, encouraged, to touch it. He knew very well that he couldn’t take more than she was giving, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t push the envelope some. He idly wondered just how much she would let him get away with.

And then he felt lace. Lace? Lace underwear? He touched her more firmly to make sure and her thighs quivered. Oh, so she was the sensitive type, the kind who could come three times in a row and just be getting warmed up. That revelation could be saved for later because at the moment, the fact that Riza Hawkeye was wearing lace underwear was enough to blow his mind. He almost wasn’t even paying attention to what her hands where doing. Until he felt them on his stomach and moving lower, that is.

She broke the kiss with a gasp when she got a good feel of how hard he was. Looking down at her hand, she squeezed him through his clothes. Havoc supposed he should be offended on some level that women were always so surprised by his size, but the looks on their faces were worth it.

“You probably shouldn’t wear this skirt again,” he ground out, referring to the cause of his state.

“No, it’s not that comfortable either,” she replied in something of a pout as she wiggled on top of him, “I’d like to go home and get out of it now.”

“You could do that at my place, I could help you,” he offered as he fingered the hem of the skirt in question.

“I think you should,” she said firmly and kissed him again.

Havoc was not used to getting an affirmative answer when he said things like that. “You don’t want me to take you on a date first?” he asked against her lips.

“You’ll just have to owe me a date, in that case,” she said as she pulled away a little.

“I’ll remember that,” he promised. He still had one hand up her skirt and the other buried itself in her hair.

“Just don’t try to eat my dog,” she said, and he was pretty sure she was making a joke this time. He broke out in a wide, lopsided grin.

“I prefer pussy anyway,” he said and as if that wasn’t suggestive enough, he slipped his fingers under the elastic of her lace underwear and pressed them into her just a little, just enough to feel how wet she was. She didn’t disappoint him in the least. Regretfully, he withdrew his fingers so he could lick them and illustrate his point. The first thing he planned to do when he got her alone was make good on that statement.

Scarlet eyes stared at him and her mouth formed a little ‘o’ shape. For a second he thought he’d gone too far, but then she stood up, retrieved his coat from the floor, and wrenched him out of the chair. She threw the coat at him and he clumsily put it on as she went about locking file cabinets and desk drawers. Though it didn’t seem like he had much to worry about, he desperately hoped she was serious and wasn’t going to change her mind before he got her to his place. He’d had more than enough of prudish girls.

When the office was secure, she grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the hall. She locked the door behind them and roughly shoved him in the direction of the stairs. Oh god, she was serious. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Shit, if the sex was even the least bit good, he was gonna be so stuck on her. Scratch that, he already had it pretty bad.

+

Farman happily scribbled in the surveillance notebook, the one with Roy Mustang’s name crossed out and Jean Havoc written over it in heavy, bold printing. “They fool around in the office. Looks like I win again!” he announced as if the other three weren’t already aware.

“I thought for sure she’d punch his lights out,” Breda grumbled and he handed over a wad of cash.

“I’m so broke!” Fury moaned as he dug into his wallet. “Of all the days for the Colonel NOT to sneak a woman in after hours,” he complained, “I’m going to starve!”



Sequel-ish thing tomorrow!
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