Author: Jabbertalky PM
HavocRoy: Threepart minisaga full of doubt, hesitation, and secrets! Oh la la! Roy and Havoc will never have the perfect relationship, but when will Roy take an active role in it?Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Jean H. & Roy M. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 3,112 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Published: 10-01-06 - Status: Complete - id: 3179447
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Warnings/Disclaimers: Um…no spoilers, just angst. FMA does not belong to me, no profit was made in the creation of this story.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang
Summary: Havoc's fear of the telephone roused him at the first ring, muffled through the walls as it was. It didn't come every night, but the midnight phone call came frequently enough to rattle Havoc's nerves.
The phone rang as they drifted to sleep, but Roy Mustang knew full well who would call him at such a late hour and slipped out of bed to answer it in his study. He tried very hard not to wake the sleeping Lieutenant, as always, but Havoc's fear of the telephone roused him at the first ring, muffled through the walls as it was. The call didn't come every night, and often they did spend the whole night curled around each other in Roy's bed, but the midnight phone call came frequently enough to rattle Havoc's nerves. He had actually relaxed, thinking the call wouldn't come that night, safe at half-past the hour. Obviously that had been premature.
Havoc shifted, pawing around the bed sheets in search of some comfort but he found none with Roy in the other room, on the phone with another man. The familiar craving began to crawl through his fingers. How many hours had passed since he last lit up? Havoc rarely smoked after sex, despite the cliché that smoking followed sex like a ritual. In fact, Havoc found that he had less need for a cigarette when he was wrapped around Roy for the night. But the bed was large and empty and Havoc needed a cigarette.
At least Roy hadn't thrown his clothes around the room. Havoc found his cigarettes and lighter and sat back down on the bed. Sometimes, when the craving crept up on him, and he was alone with Roy, Mustang would slip on a rough glove and Havoc had no need for his lighter. He knew it was somehow intimate for Roy, and could see that he took some kind of pleasure from it. Even if Havoc didn't quite grasp what that was, he savored those precious moments. He cared for Roy.
From the bedroom, Havoc couldn't understand the conversation but he could hear Roy's voice, his tone. He knew that tone. He hating hearing it showered upon another person. It made him burn with jealousy. He hoped it would end soon. The phone calls never lasted for any certain length of time. There was no telling when Roy would climb back into bed. In that, Havoc suddenly decided, lay the challenge. Could he wait out his craving? Or was he a slave to both of his addictions?
He wondered if Roy really doubted his intelligence, for even if he wasn't brilliant, he took notice of the world around him. Roy had seduced him. Havoc knew what games Roy played to win someone's affections. He enjoyed the subtle tactics when they focused on him. Did Roy think that Havoc wouldn't notice on those phone calls late at night?
Havoc gripped the sheets to keep his hands from shaking, mostly because he was denying himself a precious nicotine fix, but also because he didn't want to hurt so fucking much. From the sound of Roy's voice, the conversation was going to last for a while that night. From the slight tilt of the room, Havoc wasn't. He felt so tired of dealing with Roy's flirtations. No one knew, and Roy kept up the pretense.
The more Havoc thought about it, the more he needed to simply give in. He began to pull on his uniform, forcing himself to take his time. If Roy finished with his phone call, Havoc could climb back into bed, but if not, he could step out for a smoke. Roy wouldn't take that long, would he?
He took a long time you seduce you, dummy, Havoc reminded himself. He accidentally knocked his lighter off the bed somewhere between buttoning his shirt and pulling on a boot. Roy had been talking but the clatter made him pause. Havoc leaned down to pick it up, listening carefully for the goodbye tone and the faint click of the phone meeting the receiver. They didn't come. Roy continued. So did Havoc.
His boots were tied and laced when he heard Roy's voice fill with annoyance. Hughes had probably brought up his angelic daughter. Havoc hoped that it was over. His hands had trembled through each button and each shoelace.
Make another sound, he told himself. Do something.
Roy picked up again. Havoc felt his last shred of composure break. He couldn't stay and listen to Roy's unrequited affection for Hughes. He damned well wasn't going to fall apart over a phone call. All his belongings were on his person, his rumpled military uniform, his wallet, his keys, his gun, his lighter, his cigarettes. His legs were stiff, almost refusing to carry him down the hallway to the door. Havoc made them do it. He knew Roy had to have heard, but the blood rushing in his ears shut everything out.
The night air brushed across his cheeks, whispering, lonely…lonely…stupid. And maybe he was both of those things as he lit his cigarette and started for home.