Back Together Again: Roy/Maes fic - Chapter Six
TITLE: “Back Together Again”
GENRE: Yaoi/Drama
RATING: Overall Hard-R to light NC-17 (or just M, if you prefer) for violence, language, sexuality and adult concepts
WARNINGS: Violence. Grief/PTSD. Sexuality (including some borderline non-con). Angst/Darkfic. Hughesmunculus. And finally: THIS FIC MAY CONTAIN HETEROSEXUAL SEX. <-- consider yourself warned!
PAIRING(S): HUGHES/ROY!!!!! (with a dab of Hughes/Gracia and a pinch of Roy/Gracia - sorta)
SUMMARY: A still-grieving Roy Mustang is visited by a ghost made flesh - a ghost in the form of Maes Hughes! Did Roy actually succeed in bringing back his dead best friend using alchemy … or is he being haunted by a homunculus?
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Ms. Arakawa, I just take them out to play.
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ART by the lovely greenfire_mantl . Her deviantart site: http://solusauroraborealis.deviantart.com/
Chapter Six: Nails
C’mon kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!
Your tongue is like poison, so swollen it fills up my mouth
Just, just love me love me love me
You nail me to the floor and push my guts all inside out
Just get it out, get it out, get your fucking voice out of my head
I never wanted this, I never wanted any of this
I wish you were dead
I wish you were dead
- “The Kiss”, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me by the Cure
That night, the dream continued.
He walked into the house and he knew someone was there. It was obvious; the lights were out, except one coming from his bedroom. He did not feel fear or even overt caution. What he felt instead was weariness, resignation. What will be, will be, he thought.
And anyway, his heart whispered, you already know who’s here…
He took off his boots and hung up his greatcoat, then opened his uniform jacket, as though nothing were amiss. He knew that if the intruder (the friend, the welcome guest) approached him, he would hear it. Living in a house with creaky wooden floors was not without its advantages.
He advanced boldly toward the bedroom, knowing and dreading and trembling in anticipation of what he would find there. At the last moment before he stepped over the threshold, he wondered if instead of his best friend (who might or might not really be a homunculus) it was some assassin waiting for him, someone hired to take out this General, and to his surprise, instead of fearing the possibility he welcomed it. An end to the suffering and confusion.
He heard the jingle of dog tags - the dog tags they buried you in? Or did they give one to your wife? - a bare instant before he was assaulted from his blind side.
For an assault the man was, on his senses, his mind, his powers of reason and reckoning. The instant Maes touched him, he was home. And the taller, heavier-boned man gave no quarter. He was naked from the waist up, filling Roy’s nostrils with his clean masculine scent, filling Roy’s embrace with the hard strength of muscle and bone and the raw silk of his still-hairless flesh. Maes somehow managed to be everywhere at once, all hot mouth in Roy’s ear and on his neck, and skillful teeth nipping their way down his shirt buttons, and dexterous hands that knew exactly where to reach, where to pull and push and unbutton, for Roy’s uniform to slide to the floor piece by piece.
And Roy could only cling to him, overwhelmed, all his questions unasked and all his doubts unsatisfied because while this man’s body was close to his, those doubts and questions ceased to exist.
Be here now, Roy had prayed when he’d woken up before. Please be. Be here now. He wasn’t aware he’d spoken those words again, or of the tears streaming down his cheek, until Maes said,
“I am here.” Simply that, and then fell to kissing Roy’s face, tear by tear, until he had forgotten how to cry.
Maes tucked Roy’s head under his chin and held him, as he’d done so many times before, rocking the two of them back and forth on Roy’s bed. Roy did not succumb to the lull, however, but pulled his head back and focused his eye on Hughes’ face. His gaze was fierce and ravenous.
“What?” Hughes’ voice was gentle and indulgent.
“C’mon.” Roy was having none of it. “Kiss me, kiss me. Kiss me,” he nearly hissed when Maes hesitated. He grabbed the back of his lover’s neck - since there was barely any hair to give him purchase - and crushed their mouths together.
Hughes’ tongue was a delicate poison, a magic potion that swelled and filled up Roy’s mouth and slipped down his throat and bloomed hot fire in his belly. The poison spread to his limbs, to his - oh, oh, he was so ready. He couldn’t wait.
He tore into Maes’ remaining garments, almost literally ripping the pants open in his frenzy to get them off. He shoved Maes - Maes, Maes, not the homunculus - down onto his bed, kissing him so hard he felt his lips bruise, then bleed. He continued to kiss him as he reached between the other man’s legs, stroking him once, twice, then starting a tantalizingly slow rhythm with his hand. He felt the strange ring through his best friend’s penis, but was expecting it this time. He had the satisfaction of hearing the larger man groan out loud when he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked relentlessly. He fastened his teeth gently around the base and flicked the very tip with his tongue, which had always driven Maes into orbit before. This time, it seemed, was the same. The other man dug his fingers into Roy’s hair and bucked his hips helplessly in a vain attempt to get Roy to go faster with his hand. Roy merely smiled and switched his attention to the other nipple for a few minutes before continuing down Maes’ body. The lack of hair on his chest and lower belly still took Roy by surprise; he had the errant thought that without the hair, Maes’ body should be more feminine, somehow, and yet was not. Instead, what was missing only highlighted his masculinity.
When his mouth approached Maes’ erection, Roy paused. He looked deliberately up into Maes’ eyes while he sucked on two of his own fingers, coating them with saliva. That was all the warning he gave the larger man. He ran his tongue slowly up Maes’ length from base to tip, then engulfed him with his mouth while he slid one finger inside.
Hughes was so warm, and so tight, that Roy felt himself grow painfully hard in anticipation of what was to come. He slowly, slowly stimulated his friend with his mouth while he thrust into him with his hand, gently at first, then harder and faster, adding another finger as Maes’ cries and moans became increasingly more urgent. By the time he added more saliva and a third finger, Maes was literally panting, rocking his hips to receive each thrust. Roy managed to grin even with his mouth full; he well and truly had Maes right where he wanted him - his friend’s eager motions took him either down onto Roy’s hand or up into his mouth, and it was so obvious that Maes was going out of his mind with pleasure.
When he felt he’d tormented Maes long enough, he withdrew his fingers and mouth, ignoring Maes’ involuntary whine. He was already somewhat slick with pre-ejaculate but he took the time to add some more saliva. He hoped dearly that it would be enough, but thought privately that he probably wasn’t going to last long enough to hurt his friend anyway. He ruthlessly suppressed the more savage thought that he ought to hurt Maes for leaving him alone and confused … this was not the time or place to bring up his resentments and grudges; this was the time and the place, here and now, to give.
And give he did. Pulling Maes to the edge of the bed, he slid inside him as slowly as he could, gasping at the sensation. He had all but forgotten. How could anything feel this good? His knees went weak and he kept his legs from buckling under him just in time. He moved his hips experimentally. Maes moaned in obvious pleasure and arched his back slightly, digging his heels into the mattress to give Roy better access. Roy wrapped his fingers around Maes’ erection and went to work in earnest, giving two strokes with his hand for every one he gave with his hips. Again, he tried to be gentle, but that didn’t last long. The sight of Maes’ beautiful green eyes, half-closed in his passion, his open mouth, his hands fisting in Roy’s bedspread, goaded Roy into greater effort.
In spite of his best efforts, he climaxed first. However, even while he was in the grip of his own ecstasy, he managed to keep stimulating Hughes with his hand, and the larger man half-sat up and threw his arms around Roy. “Gods, yes, oh yes,” he rasped, “please, please don’t stop, I’m so - close - Roy - ”
And then he threw back his head and came spectacularly with a low growl, marking his own chest and stomach as well as Roy’s. In his throes, Maes dug his fingers painfully into Roy’s back, but for Roy, seeing and hearing his best friend’s pleasure was well worth the discomfort.
He did not notice until they were cleaning up (using Roy’s undershirt; it had to be laundered anyway) that there was a slow trickle of blood from the scrapes on his back. Maes apologized profusely, but Roy shrugged it off. “Just wash my back in the shower,” he said, turning his head to try to look at the scratches directly, without success.
Then he turned back to Maes and fixed him with a one-eyed gaze of fire. “And anyway,” he growled, “that’s the least of my cares. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
As it happened, no explanations took place that night.
Roy had never been more than a twice-a-day man since his twenties - and usually he was satisfied with once, although he wasn’t too lazy to comply if his partner wanted more.
Therefore, he was a bit surprised to find himself in the shower with his best friend, not scrubbing one another’s backs, as he had intended, but instead with himself propped against the wall, grasping the towel-rack looking down at Maes. At Maes on his knees, looking back up at Roy, drops of water clinging to his hair and eyelashes, so beautiful it hurt, rinsing the soap off of Roy, then licking and sucking him into a veritable frenzy before turning him around and eagerly giving Roy the same treatment Roy had dished out himself not fifteen minutes before. Maes was not gentle, and they had only soap to use as lubrication, but to his great surprise, the pain only heightened Roy’s pleasure. He was still feeling fierce, wild, almost savage, and Maes’ rough treatment of his body amplified it all. Before he knew it, he was there again, head thrown back, no more able to stop the almost-girlish shriek that came out of his mouth than the warm drops of semen spilling over Maes’ hand.
The larger man supported Roy’s full weight for a few seconds until he was once again the master of his own body. Then Roy turned back around and threw his arms around his best friend.
“Maes, Maes,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you’re back.” He meant it in more than one sense.
The other man said nothing, but bent his head to kiss Roy at the base of his neck, and simply held him.
All of Roy’s questions, all of his anguish, all of his pondering and philosophizing and endless worry - like a snake chasing its own tail - suddenly seemed completely pointless. None of it mattered now. Maes was here.
Here, with him, tenderly washing the wounds on his back while plying the nape of his neck with still more kisses; here, with him, kneeling at his feet again and having him pick up first one foot, then the other so he could wash between Roy’s toes - their old custom. Here, solid and warm and strong under Roy’s hands as Roy slathered his familiar-yet-strange body in fragrant soap, marveling at the slippery texture of completely hairless flesh; here, leaning his head into Roy’s touch and growling in contentment while Roy massaged shampoo into his scalp. Here, turning off the water, climbing out first (another custom of theirs; Maes had always claimed he didn’t get cold) and drying himself, then getting a separate towel for Roy and handing it through the curtain so Roy could stay warm while he dried off. Here, falling back into the bed with Roy and holding him, lightly stroking his hair, while Roy’s eyelid grew unbearably heavy.
When Roy woke - alone again, although this time under the covers - he knew already that Hughes was not in the house. It was harder to bear this time, not easier.
He couldn’t resist calling after him and looking anyway. Nor could he resist visiting his study to see if Maes had written him anything.
He opened the study door - and that was odd; why was it closed? He normally left it open - and looked around the room. Nothing had changed. The pile of letters was still on the writing desk; the new letters from himself and Hughes were both where he had hastily lain them before getting up to answer the phone.
He abandoned his search - barely noticing the tears slowly dripping from his eye - and began to assemble himself, piece by piece, as he donned his uniform, piece by piece.
Havoc was already waiting for him with the car. They exchanged greetings, but no more; Havoc hummed cheerily and Mustang brooded. In the cold light of day, with his logical military mind once more in charge, he couldn’t believe what had taken place last night. What he had welcomed, what he had never questioned. Where had his powers of reason been? Why had he not asked what had been on his mind since the night … since that first night? How could he have allowed this person to remain in his home without some serious answers? Let alone … done those things with him? This person wore the likeness of Maes Hughes, for the gods’ sake. Maes Hughes, one of the military’s celebrated dead … dead being the key word. Dead for over five years. Either this wasn’t Maes, or Maes had faked his own death.
The death-faking theory made no sense at all to Roy. Why the hell would Hughes do that? And yet, he had to admit that at the time Hughes was killed, there had seemed to be no reason for that, either…
But … if this wasn’t Maes … his heart stuttered over the thought. Because it was Maes. It was. He was a little different … his hairless body, the strange piercing. But it was him. It wasn’t some impostor; it couldn’t be. Even if someone tortured Hughes for a thousand years, they wouldn’t have been able to draw out and memorize all those little details. No one could send a spy, like the shapeshifting Envy, who would know how the two of them had once done things, who would know Roy like Hughes knew him, body and mind … and soul.
Soul. That word again. He snorted. He wasn’t even convinced that the Homunculi who had been destroyed before the Liore Incident didn’t have souls. How could you walk and talk, and act of your own free will, and not have a soul? No amount of red water or philosopher’s stone should be able to manufacture the spark of life … because when it came down to it, wasn’t that all a soul was? Once a soul left a body, it ceased to move, and it would never move again. So how could a thing be alive, yet have no soul?
He thought again of Alphonse’s empty armor and shivered.
“Here we are, boss,” said Havoc cheerfully. “Up and at ‘em.”
Onward to Chapter Seven
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