Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Full Metal Alchemist or Kimbley or Archer.
Never a Good Idea
Kimbley woke up and groaned at the sight of the alarm clock—12:30. Damn. He had gotten used to falling asleep late at the Devil's Nest, but he had still usually gotten up before now. Kimbley hated waking up past noon. It made him feel sluggish for the rest of the day.
It also didn't help that the bare, confining walls of the room reminded him of a cell.
Rubbing his eyes, the Crimson Alchemist threw the blankets back and swung himself out of bed. He didn't bother to put on a shirt or pants before leaving the bedroom, instead just walking out in what he had slept in—his boxers. Yawning and scratching at his chest, Kimbley made his way slowly into the living room where he was greeted by the sight of Frank Archer in the kitchen. The lt. colonel was leaning against the counter and humming, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. Military jacket thrown over the bar stool, blue-collared shirt still tucked into the common-issue military pants, Archer was looking down at a couple of papers laid out before him on the countertop, a few strands of dark hair falling into his eyes. Kimbley could tell by the sharp, heavy tap of Archer's foot that the man was still wearing his boots.
"What are those for?" Kimbley asked nonchalantly, making a vague gesture towards the papers. It was a wasted gesture for Archer didn't look up to see it.
"Insurance papers for the stunts you pulled last weekend."
"Now that wasn't completely my doing. Most of it was from that crazy bitch alchemist who was all pissed you stole her kid." Kimbley transferred Archer's jacket from the stool to the table. Not a bad smell, Kimbley thought with a grin as he did so, passing the jacket closer by his nose than he had too.
"He was a material witness to the Lab Five incident. I did what I had too." Archer sighed and pushed the papers aside. Then he made a noise of disgust as he finally looked up at Kimbley. "God, couldn't you wear something more decent?"
"Hey, it's my house, not the Fuhrer's office. Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be at work?" Kimbley stretched, thrusting his chest out as he raised his arms above his head, as if to goad Archer by reminding the man that he was shirtless and in boxers.
"Correction—it's my house. And I already went to headquarters, six to noon. You slept through it," Archer replied, eyeing Kimbley. The alchemist widened his grin. Maybe he'd get what he wanted after all. But Archer's next comment wiped that grin clean off his face.
"You're awfully thin, alchemist."
"And you're awfully pale," Kimbley shot back, a snarl creeping into his voice. "Next time I'm in prison, I'll ask for my three nourishing meals a day, just for you."
A sardonic smile twitched Archer's lips. There's one way to get under that cool façade. But is it the mention of his stay in prison or his lack of musculature…? The smile remained as Archer watched Kimbley stalk to the fridge with a dark, sulky look and a rebellious slouch.
The alchemist shifted through the refrigerator's contents. He wasn't all that hungry and nothing seemed appealing. Meanwhile, the lt. colonel behind him had gone back to humming that nonsensical song of his. The steady foot tap accompanied Kimbley's motions as he poured a glass of milk then gulped it down just as fast. He dropped the glass into the sink without bothering to rinse it out, which he knew would piss off his roommate, but at this point, he didn't really care.
Kimbley finally snapped. "Will you knock it off?" he shot over his shoulder as he rummaged through the cupboards.
"Hm?" Archer raised his head.
"The humming." The long-haired alchemist's hand closed over a package of saltine crackers. Better than nothing, he supposed. "It's annoying."
"Once again, my house." There was the click of a pen and a quick flourish as Archer signed his name to one of the papers. He then set it aside, underneath the others. "I do what I want and you get over it."
Kimbley brushed past the other man and fell backwards across the couch. "Well, damn." Tearing open the package, Kimbley popped a cracker into his mouth. Before, he had never really cared for saltine crackers. He found them to be very bland. After military-issue food in both the war and prison, anything tasted good.
"Crumbs." Archer frowned, his eyes downcast around Kimbley's chest, where most of the little cracker pieces were gathered. "You're getting them all over. Clean it up."
"Like you said, get over it."
"Like I also said, my house. If I tell you to get on your knees and lick the crumbs off my couch, you do it."
Slanting his eyes in a narrow glint, Kimbley sat up. A few dark strand of hair had escaped from his ponytail and fallen over his shoulder and onto his bare chest. There was an expression on his face that Archer couldn't place. A sarcastic look, but not completely joking.
"What if I get on my knees and lick something else?"
That made Archer stand up straight. One thought shot through his mind.
No one informed me that he was gay.
End of Chapter Four
When is the next chapter? When can you expect it? I…don't know. I have some ideas for the next chapter, but I don't know which one I want to go with. I also want to spend some time with my other fics…not to mention I'll be busy for awhile this week and the next…dang.