Blunt

30 Kisses Theme: 26. 'if only I could make you mine'

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Ramblings: Dude, I'm actually almost done. I have no idea what I should do when I finish these; maybe try my Bizenghast again? Or try my luck at The Labyrinth or something; maybe BONES, Supernatural…?

Summary: Roy has a declaration he wants to make—and it's the least likely thing Maes ever expected.

Warnings: Done last-minute, wording weird, plot kind of…obscure. But it's done.

"I want to fuck you."

Maes' fork paused halfway to his mouth, small crumbles of broccoli falling away. His eyes were frozen, wide, mouth stuck in a constant 'o' shape. Roy sniffed, stabbed a carrot with his spindly fork, and chewed thoughtfully, as if he hadn't just said out loud, in public, that he wanted to have sex with his best, married, male friend.

Somehow, Maes found it in him to stop gaping like a damned pufferfish, his teeth clashing with an audible 'clack!' He cleared his throat, swallowing nervously, and hissed over to the handsome bachelor in anger. "What the fuck are you thinking, Roy? I've know you for eight goddamn years—"

"Nine and a half." But who's counting?

Maes stared again. Slowly, he lowered his fork to the plate, his dinner outing suddenly not looking so appealing—less like dinner with a friend, and more like dinner with a date. He shifts uncomfortably, suddenly feeling as if his suit and his skin just don't feel right. He tugs at his tie, loosening it to the point of being sloppy, not-so-subtlely eyeing his best friend tensely.

Roy eyes him right back.

Maes can feel the hackles on the back of his neck raise up. Flustered, he mumbles an excuse of some sort about the restroom, hurriedly pushing away from the dinner table in the fancy restaurant that doesn't make sense now—why bring a friend to such a classy place?

He sighs as he rests his forehead against the cool mirror. He 'hmms' to himself, knowing exactly what had brought about this freakish change in Roy: himself. Just weeks ago, he had been overtly peeved by Roy's constant evasiveness, and told him (screamed is more like it): either tell me the truth, or don't tell me at all!

Basically, the first thing that comes into your mind.

And unfortunately, today it was about himself and—he shuddered at the thought—Roy.

Freakish pervert.

He sighs again, turns the faucet on and splashes cool water on his face. Besides, what's to be so flustered about if he didn't reciprocate the…attention? Why care? Maybe Roy was going through a dating slump and Maes was his curious rebound.

That thought left a disgusted taste in his mouth; he coughed somewhat to rid himself of the sensation lingering in his throat. Shaking his head, he firmly told himself as he stared into his reflection's moss-green eyes: I do not care. It means nothing (even as he quelled an even more intense surge of revulsion). He groaning softly, preparing to open the door of the restroom and return to his not-very-appealing dinner, when who else but Roy stepped in.

Again, the hairs on his neck rose in fear. Blindly searching behind him, he hunted for the nearest available weapon, which was…

"A wet towel?" Roy rose an eyebrow, "Honestly, Maes; you can do better than that." Roy grinned brightly, with just a tinge of evil lurking in the background, even as he skillfully jammed the bathroom door shut, so as to prevent intruders.

"I meant what I said."

Maes flushed brightly.

"And you're not a rebound."

And his stomach jumped into his throat.

Stuttering, he asked his question. "W-why?"

Roy's eyes narrowed, almost glaring. "Well why not? You're large, muscular, handsome, gorgeous in a dorky kind of way," (Maes momentarily felt his heart clench at that comment), "and I believe would be an absolute monster in bed."

"…uh." He's not shaking in surprise any more, or afraid of Roy's advances; instead, he is merely curious and questioning. "But…I'm married." Roy's expression doesn't change in the slightest.

"I know."

"But…that's adultery."

"Maes," Roy sighs and approaches him, placing a gentle hand on Maes' shoulder softly, "it's actually not adultery if you're separated. If you and Gracia ever have a fight of some kind, something unwholly huge and you need to get away," he lowered Maes, chin to his height, staring deadest into mossy eyes and growls, "I will make you mine." He kisses Maes, tenderly, never pushing forward; he draws back slowly, sighing, smiling sadly. His hand drops from the other's cheek, and he shrugs his jacket back on. "I already put down my half for the bill, and my address," so far they'd only been communicating at work and through telephone, "so come by if you ever need some…release." And his eyes are so haunting and devilish, Maes' knees nearly buckle right there.

Roy chuckles once again, kissing Maes' cheek lightly, before turning sharply, his lapels bouncing against thighs that suddenly Maes wants to grip tightly in his palms.

Separated…right.

A slow smirk crosses Maes' face.

Maybe tonight he'd try and start something.

Just for fun.