Title - Shall We Play A Game?

Disclaimer - Arakawa owns them, not me.

Timeline/Spoilers - Set during the Ishbalan War

Warning - It's Kimbley, but really not much in the way of warnings needed.

Summary - Kimbley suggests some games to entertain them.

Author's Note - written for fma_slashfest for the prompt "Do you like games, Mustang?" "...What kinds of games?" Thanks to evil_little_dog for the beta.


The question was innocuous enough. "Do you like games, Mustang?" but he was just a little too tired and even slightly more drunk to remember nothing was innocuous about the Crimson Lotus Alchemist.

"I love games," Roy replied, still innocent enough, but the look on Kimbley's face changed, subtle as shifting sands in the desert.

"What kind of games?"

Roy shrugged, wary now without knowing why. "All kinds. Card games, mostly."

"Ever play one that teases and tricks the senses?"

Roy thought back to his childhood, his nose wrinkling up. "My sisters used to make me close my eyes and put gross stuff in my hand. Is that what you mean?"

"Something like that, only less gross, I should hope." Kimbley got up, turning away from the camp fire. "I got a care package today. It could make things interesting." He nodded his head toward his tent. Kimbley, like most alchemists, had small private accommodations. Roy assumed it was because no one wanted to be sleeping next to monsters.

He didn't really want to go anywhere with Kimbley, but sitting and staring into a fire had long since lost any comfort or appeal. Besides, Roy was wondering what someone would send Kimbley as a care package and, more importantly, who the hell would send him anything? He didn't seem to be the type to have a lot of friends or a lover waiting behind for him. Roy's aunt never told him curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity is what drove their family. It paid the bills.

Roy got a hint of his sisters' usual danger the moment the tent flap closed. There was something in Kimbley's eyes that made him worry. He knew what this man was like and yet, he came with him. Turning back now would just make Roy seem weak, and that was the last thing anyone wanted to be with Kimbley.

"Have a seat." Kimbley jerked his head to a canvas camp chair like they all had crammed into their tents. They weren't particularly comfortable, but Roy got the idea that fraternizing of any kind was discouraged. Friendship and talking might remind them they were human.

Kimbley unlocked his footlocker, taking out a large wooden box, wrapped in towels. He opened it, pulling out a bottle of brandy. "We don't have proper snifters for it, but this is the finest Aerugo has to offer."

"Yes, I recognize the label." Roy nodded. Kimbley twisted a bit to give Roy a look, obviously surprised by that. Roy's aunt ordered shipments of the stuff. It was barely legal, and it was fine.

Kimbley found two tin cups, pouring the fragrant amber liquid into them. "I do love exquisite dining. I have a whole host of things in here. Have you ever tried salted fish eggs from the waters of Drachma?"

Roy shook his head. His aunt hadn't cared for them, but did keep them on hand for the fussy customer. "No, but I do like fine food, too." Or at least he liked to pretend he did. After living poor and hard at the Hawkeyes', he was out of practice. "Though the swill at the Academy probably killed my palate."

A smile blossomed across Kimbley's face. "Let's see if we can reawaken it."

Roy sipped the brandy. "What do you have in mind?"

"Shut your eyes and see if you can identify some of the treats I was sent."

He was just drunk enough that this sounded like a winning proposition. The food here was worse than the Academy, and if Kimbley was willing to part with some of it, Roy would be all the happier for it. "And if I can?"

"You'll get a bigger taste. I'm lucky, they give me ice to keep this on." Kimbley said and Roy knew the higher ups usually did whatever it took to keep the alchemists semi-happy.

"I'm game." He shut his eyes, something he knew was not his smartest move with Kimbley in the room, but the other alchemist seemed to be in a good mood. Something very salty and fishy passed his lips. The little globes burst in his mouth as he rolled them around. "You started easy. That was the salted fish eggs."

"True. Do you like them?"

"I don't know. On first taste, not so much. And if you have pate in there, you can keep it. I don't like it." Roy wrinkled his nose.

"Your loss." Kimbley sounded disappointed in him. "Try this."

Smoky, soft and just a bit ammoniated, Roy's tongue smeared the substance over his palate. "Smoked goat's cheese."

"Very good."

Roy guessed a salty blue cheese, a hard, hole-ridden cheese from Aerugo, and potted crab, but the sweet thing Kimbley put in his mouth was a mystery. It was too firm to be jelly, but it didn't feel like cake. "I give up."

"It's fruit cheese. Plum and quince," Kimbley replied. "You had a good run, though."

Roy shrugged. "Never had a fruit cheese before."

"Too bad. Ready?"


Roy opened his mouth, waiting for the next treat. Kimbley's lips pressed over his, his tongue thrusting deep into Roy's mouth. Kimbley's hand, that deadly instrument, cupped the back of Roy's head, holding him tight. He hadn't thought Kimbley would be a kisser. He had always seemed so distant. Roy squirmed, trying to get free.

Kimbley broke the kiss, whispering just one word. "Behave." But that one word held enough danger in it that Roy knew he had to be very careful with what he did next. The other tattooed hand caressed Roy low and intimate.

His reptile brain might be nervous as all hell, but the other head had no working brain at all. It liked attention, any attention. Roy pushed Kimbley back, not roughly but firmly enough. The other alchemist let him go with that enigmatic smile of his riding his lips.

"It's late. You have early watch tomorrow, Flame. Maybe you should get some sleep."

Roy got to his feet, nodding his head. "Good idea. Thanks for sharing the food," he said lamely. He didn't know what else to say. He undid the tent flap.

"Just remember, Flame, I could have done anything with you if I wanted," Kimbley's tone was as pleasant as if he were giving flowers to a lover. "We'll have to play games again."

Roy grunted and headed out into the dark. No more mixing booze and Kimbley. He would not come out on top with that combination. Unsettled, Roy returned to his own tent, knowing he would greet the dawn unrested and still unnerved, but needing to be at the top of his game to keep the men under his command safe.