Back Together Again: Roy/Maes fic, Chapter 9
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 fanart by the lovely greenfire_mantl . Her deviantart site is: http://solusauroraborealis.deviantart.com/
Chapter Nine: If Only Tonight We Could Sleep
If only tonight we could sleep in a bed made of flowers
If only tonight we could fall in a deathless spell
If only tonight we could slide into deep black water
And breathe… and breathe…
Then an angel would come, with burning eyes like stars
And bury us deep in his velvet arms
And the rain would cry, as our faces slipped away
And the rain would cry, Don’t let it end
Don’t let it end
- “If Only Tonight We Could Sleep”, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me (the Cure)
Mustang shivered and groaned, backing into Maes’ fingers as far as he could. Maes was lying on his back underneath Mustang, his upper body between Roy’s knees. His warm mouth was busy exploring Roy’s most sensitive areas, trying to see how many different kinds of sounds he could get out of the smaller man. Roy was amazingly vocal once he forgot himself, once he let go…
Roy was on his hands and knees, legs spread wide enough to accommodate Maes. His head hung down between his hands; therefore, he could watch what his friend was doing to him, but because so much of his weight was resting on his hands, he was helpless to do anything in return. The sense of being powerless, being bound, but without the chains, was delicious. Even more delicious, though, was the sight of his best friend making love to him with his hands and mouth: the tenderness of Maes’ expression, the delicacy in his movements, all displayed his obvious desire to get everything just right to please his lover.
Roy had held out as long as he could against the gentle torture of Maes’ tongue and the sweet graze of teeth, and the expertly timed thrusts of his fingers, and oh - gods - hearing Maes’ growl of appreciation when yet another shudder wracked Roy’s slender frame -
“Maes - Maes, I’m - I’m gonna - ”
Maes’ head pulled back. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “I’m ready.” His mouth swiftly engulfed Roy again, pulling him deeper - deeper -
“Oh - Maes, I love you, I love y - ah-AAAH!” Roy’s voice broke off in a strangled gasp. He writhed helplessly and ground his pelvis into his best friend’s face. Maes made a satisfied sound; his throat contracted around Roy and his fingers moved gently in time with Roy’s pulsations, drawing it out, making every second count.
It felt like an eternity before Roy was done. He didn’t move; Maes didn’t move. We can’t stay this way forever, Roy thought somewhat incoherently; his arms trembled and threatened to give out. At just that moment, Maes drew his head back enough to nuzzle the soft nest of black hair. “I love you, too, Roy,” he whispered. “Come on, roll over … easy does it.”
Roy shifted his weight onto his side and then his back, sighing in relief. Maes carefully removed his fingers and used one of the cleaning-rags they conveniently kept nearby.
Roy’s eye was closing; he wanted to please Maes in return, but he was so tired. So tired … he reached out for Maes, whining softly, and like magic, Maes was there. The larger man lay on his back, and Roy threw an arm over him, hiding his face in the join of Maes’ neck and shoulder. He was just barely aware of the cry of the rain, the rain on his roof which threatened to drown out the sound of his lover’s breathing. Effortlessly, he slipped away.
Lust stroked Roy’s soft black hair, noticing the strands of silver. He’s changed, he thought. I haven’t. He felt a slight surge of pride: he would be as he was first made, forever.
Or would he? His green-gold eyes drifted closed as well. It was hard to tell, when he was with the General, the difference between Mustang’s memories and his own … no, not his own. Maes Hughes’ memories. He knew Roy’s memories were usually tinged with pain unless he, Lust, was there to take the pain away. He enjoyed that part, the euphoric numbing effect his presence had on those he targeted. For although he was not - technically - human, he took no particular pleasure in Roy’s suffering … most of the time. Whether his emotions were “inherited” or not, he knew that he loved this man just as he knew the sky was up and the ground was down; he knew it in his bones … as though he were created to love Roy - but not only Roy. He loved Gracia and Elicia too, although he refused to visit the little girl; it would only complicate things, and she was not instrumental to his goal.
His master had tried to warn him about the memories. No one knows quite why, Sensei had said. Not even I. But you will retain … echoes of the person the alchemist was trying to create.
Echoes? he’d asked. He was playing dumb, though. He already knew what Sensei meant.
Hohenheim thought it was attached memories, Sensei had continued coolly. That the alchemist gives them to the Gate without meaning to, and they … are included in the homunculus by default. I’m not so sure.
Could it be the person’s soul? he’d queried. Maybe the alchemist succeeds in part, and part of the soul gets transferred…
Don’t be ridiculous, Sensei spat. You aren’t human. You don’t have a soul. Don’t be fooled … the memories are there, but it doesn’t mean you’re that person. Never forget who you are … who I made you. Sensei gestured at the Ouroboros ring. You are not him. You belong to me.
Equivalence, he’d smiled. Yes, I am your creation, and yes, I will act in your service … but if I succeed, you will give me what I want.
Of course. Sensei had bowed to him. Now go forth and conquer.
“If only tonight we could sleep,” he murmured. At this, Roy stirred. He shivered and tried to press himself even closer; the larger man smiled and pulled the covers over them both.
“We can sleep,” Roy muttered. “Go to sleep, Maes.”
“I love you, Roy,” he said, and the surge of emotion that accompanied those words brought tears to his eyes. He knew this was the first time he’d said those words to Roy without having them said to him first. He also knew that showing feelings, being free and open, declaring his love whether the other person ever did - those were the actions Maes Hughes would take. He knew he wasn’t Maes. He also knew that when he told Roy he loved him, he was telling the truth.
“Love you, Maes,” Roy said sleepily. “Don’t let it end.”
Lust stroked Roy’s hair and allowed himself the tears that were threatening. Don’t let it end. He didn’t intend to … but he knew that his goal and Roy’s were not the same.
Don’t let it end.
Roy stumbled into his home after yet another day of sleepwalking at HQ. They had slept last night - he remembered it. But then they’d woken back up and … oh. Just the thought of what he’d done to Maes and how the larger man had groaned beneath him … ah …
He paused to take off his coat and boots as usual, his movements swift but clumsy. The pressure between his legs was already at prime distraction level again. It was amazing how the more he and Maes did, the more he wanted to do … even though he was exhausted almost all the time now and his groin hurt even throughout the day. He wondered whether this amount of regular stimulation was normal for a man his age. He decided he didn’t care.
“Maes?” He already knew he was about to be bitterly disappointed; no lights were on tonight. But he couldn’t help himself. “Maaaeeeeees,” he called in a sing-song voice. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” As if that was going to work, he scoffed.
Trying to ignore his desire and disappointment, he headed for the kitchen, intending to find himself something to eat (when had a trip to the kitchen become less about planning a satisfying meal, and more about wondering whether he’d be able to hold down the food this time?). He was startled to see a large white envelope on one of his end-tables.
He didn’t touch it. He even backed away, as though it were a snake that might bite him. He just stood there and stared, remembering the last unexpected pieces of correspondence that had showed up at his house, and at Gracia’s. But, his mind babbled incoherently, but this can’t be the same because that was in the study, this isn’t the study so it’s safe to look at it because the study door is closed and it’s not the study, go on pick it up.
He did.
Four words were written, bold and black, across the thick white of the envelope.
Roy Mustang and Guest
His hands did not tremble. He felt no fear. In truth, he felt nothing at all.
He opened the envelope. Inside was a ticket to the opera.
For that night.
“Hey, lookin’ good, handsome prince,” Maes laughed from the bathroom doorway. “Maybe all those rumors about you being a lady-killer are true!”
Roy fixed him with a black glare. “You know,” he said conversationally, “I’ve killed men, too.” He held up his fingers as though to snap them. In spite of Roy’s ire, Maes smiled hugely to see Roy joking about the terror that was Ishbal. There was a time when he never thought he’d hear his best friend laugh again.
“Hmm.” Maes pretended to be thoughtful. “Do you kill those men with your alchemy, or just smile at them and make their hearts stop?” He grinned so crazily at Roy’s reflection in the mirror that the younger man couldn’t help grinning back, and then they were both laughing like fools.
“C’mon, Princey, I’m serious this time,” Maes said, although the smile was still in his voice and on his face. “Your hair looks fine. Now let’s get out the door.”
“Stop calling me that.” Maes always had some kind of crazy nickname for Roy that he would use when they were alone … well, mostly when they were alone. At that moment, Roy was severely regretting telling Maes that the name “Roy” meant “king”. At the time, Maes had been pleased to learn it - “See, even your foster mom knew you were going to be Fuhrer one day!” - but he had quickly turned it into a joke, just like he did everything else. Was there anything Maes didn’t joke about? Roy sighed. He combed his coal-black locks down one more time, paying careful attention to his part. Normally he didn’t have one, and this time he would make one, damn it…
“Roy, we’re going to have to wear our hats on the street, anyway. It’s gonna get messed up. Can we just go?”
Roy gestured to his pocketwatch, open and ticking on the bathroom counter. “We have thirty-nine minutes until we have to leave.”
“Oh, for the gods’ own sake! We could be early for once! For something besides morning training!”
Roy’s onyx eyes turned on his lover’s green-gold ones. “Maes, shut the fuck up,” he said matter-of-factly. “We are going to the opera, not the goddamned corner bar. We need to look like gentlemen.”
“We are gentlemen … well, you are anyway,” Maes said, gruff but not unkind. “What we look like doesn’t matter.”
Roy acted as if Hughes hadn’t spoken. “I’m almost done. Now comb that unruly mop of yours and fasten your damned shirt-button.”
“I hate that top button,” Maes groused.
Roy shrugged. “Buy bigger shirts.”
They continued like this all the way out the door, to the train station, on the streets, and into the queue out the front door of Central opera house. “You’d think having tickets already would mean we didn’t have to wait in this line,” Maes muttered.
“Haven’t you ever been to the opera before? We don’t have to wait in this line - this is for people buying tickets. Come on…”
Truth be told, Roy enjoyed operas and plays, but couldn’t afford to go often, either in terms of time or money. So he was not much more experienced in this than his best friend. But he was getting tired of Maes’ griping, as much as Maes was probably getting tired of his condescension, he thought wickedly.
Once they were seated and the lights went down, both of them were still and quiet. Roy took stock of the situation. They were in very nearly the highest row - it was all Roy could acquire on short notice and on his budget at the time - but they still had a reasonably good view of the stage; Central’s opera house was not too large. Even so, Roy stared enviously down at the private boxes on either side of the stage. Someday, he thought. Someday … I won’t even have to reserve my seats or even buy tickets. I’ll have a season pass, and one of those boxes will be mine.
“I’m bored out of my tits,” Maes whispered in his ear. “Is the whole thing gonna be in Drachman?”
“Yes, dumbass,” Roy hissed back. “A Drachman wrote it. It’s one of the classics.”
“But I can’t tell what they’re saying. Er, singing.”
“The language isn’t the point. Just enjoy the story.”
“How do I know the story without the goddamned words?”
“Look at what’s going on on the stage.” Roy’s famously short temper was reaching the end of its fuse. “It can’t be that hard to figure out, even for you!”
“I’m trying. I don’t get it. Who’s the dark-haired lady in the grey pants?”
“That’s not - well, it is a lady, but she’s playing a boy, whose voice has not changed. And he’s the son of the emperor, that guy, and he’s trying to run away from home. Which is why he isn’t in his royal robes.”
“Oh.”
For a while, there was no more conversation, which was a relief. Roy had never been one to talk in the theatre; he considered it rude (although as far as Roy could tell, they were alone up there, and he was sure the actors couldn’t hear them, so there was technically no one to disturb).
Finally though, Maes squirmed again and sighed. Putting a hand casually on Roy’s knee, he leaned back over and said in his ear, “How much longer does this thing last?”
“This is close to the end of the first act, I think,” Roy said. “So maybe another hour or two? But part of that is an intermission.”
“Ah. Okay.” Maes returned to his former position, except that he left his gloved hand on Roy’s leg. When Roy did not try to dislodge him, he began to stroke gently, along the muscular top part of the thigh, where he knew Roy was most sensitive. Automatically, reflexively, Roy shifted, pressing his leg closer to Maes. Maes, of course, took that as an invitation. He leaned over to Roy again and breathed gently in his ear, gracing the outer edge with a light, teasing lick. Roy stifled his moan just in time. Maes’ right hand caressed its way to the crotch of Roy’s pants, massaging the growing hardness within; his left hand buried itself in Roy’s silky hair and pulled him in for a kiss that was just as tender as it was urgent. Roy wrapped his right arm tightly around Maes and kissed back hungrily, feeling his body respond to the ministrations of Maes’ hand…
He drew back suddenly. “Maes,” he hissed. “We’re in public.” He was appalled that he had forgotten himself so. Part of him also regretted missing the opera, but that part was very weak compared to the howling need Maes had awakened with his touch.
Maes merely kissed him again and whispered in his ear, “Public, huh? Do you see anyone around us?”
Roy shivered involuntarily and pulled back. “That’s not the point.”
“Oh, come on! Live a little, won’t you? I promise this won’t take long.” He grinned. “Besides, it’s dark…”
“If I can see you, other people could see us,” Roy protested. He knew he had already lost this one. His erection was almost painful, trapped as it was by his clothing. Maes’ hand was currently working to remedy that situation.
“They’re too far away,” Maes whispered back. He kissed the side of Roy’s neck. “You worry way too much.” Roy felt his buttons being released, his underpants being manipulated, and then suddenly he was exposed to the cool of the air and the warmth of his lover’s hand. Maes grinned at him again, knowing he’d won. With his left hand he took off his glasses and shoved them at Roy. “Hold these for me, would you?” Startled, Roy folded the glasses and put them in his jacket pocket. Maes slid out of his seat and onto the floor, kneeling before Roy. Roy’s hands found and caressed his lover’s thick, unruly hair. He clenched his teeth, determined to make no sound; he very nearly succeeded, but couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath when Maes’ warm, wet mouth engulfed him.
Whether it was the danger of discovery or all the teasing beforehand, or a combination of both, Roy didn’t know. But either way, Maes was proven right: it didn’t take long.
Onward to Chapter Ten
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