Moments Out of the Ordinary; Havoc/Winry; PG-13
(This totally could never have been written without nijawial sparking the idea.)
Title: Moments Out of the Ordinary
Author/Artist: theladyfeylene
Pairing: Jean Havoc/Winry Rockbell
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme: Number 9, dash
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money.
Word Count: 1,501
Author's Note: Written for 30_kisses
Summary: Men never cleaned, and never threw anything out. But what Winry found in Jean's closet when she finally got around to spring cleaning shocked and offended her....
Why didn’t men ever clean? It had to be something hardwired into their brains. They never picked up dirty laundry from the floor, they always left towels in a heap, and they never threw out old junk. Oh, they tried to make a dash job of it, but they never actually made any progress. They just pushed things under beds or in closets, or threw everything haphazardly into boxes.
Jean havoc had clearly been taking that approach to cleaning his entire life. Winry sighed, a handkerchief holding back her hair and a pair of gloves shielding her hands from dust, ash, gunpowder and various other residue that built up in the apartment she shared with Jean. It was all so cluttered and grimy in the closet.
Winry grumbled to herself as she pulled out a moldy cardboard box full of old war story magazines. It was the fourth box she’d come across so far. Jean’s collection extended back to the 1800s! Why did he keep those things laying around? Winry shoved the box out into the center of the room with the others - he could go through them later and get rid of some of them. Or organize them, if he was that attached.
And there was another box, a smaller one, way in the back of the closet. Winry stretched forward and pulled it into the open, expecting to be greeted with more black and white images of soldiers with cigarettes and guns bigger then her torso.
She was rather surprised.
What she did see on the cover of the first magazine was a young woman wearing nothing but a skimpy nightgown and thigh high stockings. Her legs were crossed. The brilliant red letters at the top proclaimed ‘Spicy Stag’. It was a girly magazine.
Curious, Winry pulled out the top magazine and flipped through it. It was much the same as the cover, pretty girls in short skirts or no skirts and very skimpy tops, bent over or reclining in positions that were probably supposed to be erotic. Stockings and garters seemed to be the focal point. What woman wore garters these days? Winry had tried one once and found it ridiculously uncomfortable. It itched and it was such an awkward place to wear anything!
She wasn’t too fond of stockings, either. Or high heeled shoes. Or much of anything any of the girls in the magazine were wearing. It all looked impractical to her.
The rest of the magazines were much the same. Though the more recent dates seemed to offer more in the realm of actual nudity. The most recent was from just a couple of months earlier, and legs didn’t seem to be in fashion anymore. Breasts, however, did. Corsets and plunging necklines and girls posing with nothing but their hands decorated the more recent covers, and the spreads inside offered girls in nothing but panties or short skirts, or in some cases a scarf draped artfully around her thighs.
“Men,” Winry muttered, shaking her head. If Jean ever expected her to doll herself up in stockings and garters and a corset, he was sorely mistaking. He was lucky if she washed her hands and brushed her hair. Not that he’d ever complained.
Leaving the magazines spread out on the floor behind her - it wasn’t like Jean hadn’t seen them before! - she retreated back into the closet. She didn’t care much that her boyfriend had a box of dirty magazines - fresh dirty magazines, even. Why would she? They were just pictures, and she knew full well he was perfectly happy with their sex life. Men just liked to look at naked women. She was just as pretty as any of those pin up girls, anyway.
The closet had her attention at the moment. How had he managed to cram so much junk into it? She was going to have to have a chat with him. There was no way she’d go through this every year. This was their apartment now, and he’d have to work to keep it at least organized!
Shoving aside piles of outdated clothes - those would be thrown away later - Winry paused. Was that a tool box? It was! Grinning, she pulled out the old, rusted box. And immediately frowned. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened in years. Prying the lid off, a look of anger crossed her features.
“JEAN!”
She was already out of the closet and turned around, her face scrunched up in anger by the time Jean came sheepishly into the bedroom. She didn’t think twice about how she looked - smudged with dust, sitting splay-legged in the middle of a pile of girly magazines, glaring hell at her boyfriend.
“How could you have these…these insults in your closet! Did you think I wouldn’t find them? You knew I was cleaning in here! And you just left them for me to find! How could you?”
“Uh, look, Winry…” Jean was beat red, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head and shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. “It doesn’t mean anything, I just….”
“Doesn’t mean anything?” Winry was practically yelling now. “You’re…. you’re horrible!”
“Oh, sweetheart, no! You know I love you….”
“How can you say that when I found these?”
She thrust the box of old, warped, neglected tools out, as though they were evidence of some unspeakable crime. Which, as far as she was concerned, they were. Those were good tools, and there they were, left to rot and rust in some closet!
“Um. What?”
“Did you keep them outside? Look at them, there’s rust everywhere! This screwdriver is bent! And look at those pliers! I saw that same pair in a catalogue ten years ago and they cost more than what we spent on food in a month! I would have given anything for a pair! And they’re ruined!”
“So you’re not mad about the…uh….” Jean flushed and waved vaguely at the magazines strewn across the floor.
“What? No! I don’t care about those. But…. Jean Havoc, you’re forbidden to ever touch any of my tools, do you understand? Now clean this mess up, I’m taking these poor things to my workshop to see if I can save any of them.” Harrumphing, Winry stood, still gripping the tool box. Jean just stood and stared for a moment, as though stunned.
“Uh, Winry?” He grabbed her wrist as she walked by, a slow smile creeping over his face.
“What?”
“I don’t think I tell you enough what a great girl you are. I‘m a real lucky guy.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose, and she blushed, her anger deflating as quickly as it had sprung up. She made another small, irritated noise and stalked - though not nearly as stiffly as she’d intended - out of the room.
Men!
Title: Moments Out of the Ordinary
Author/Artist: theladyfeylene
Pairing: Jean Havoc/Winry Rockbell
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Theme: Number 9, dash
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money.
Word Count: 1,501
Author's Note: Written for 30_kisses
Summary: Men never cleaned, and never threw anything out. But what Winry found in Jean's closet when she finally got around to spring cleaning shocked and offended her....
Why didn’t men ever clean? It had to be something hardwired into their brains. They never picked up dirty laundry from the floor, they always left towels in a heap, and they never threw out old junk. Oh, they tried to make a dash job of it, but they never actually made any progress. They just pushed things under beds or in closets, or threw everything haphazardly into boxes.
Jean havoc had clearly been taking that approach to cleaning his entire life. Winry sighed, a handkerchief holding back her hair and a pair of gloves shielding her hands from dust, ash, gunpowder and various other residue that built up in the apartment she shared with Jean. It was all so cluttered and grimy in the closet.
Winry grumbled to herself as she pulled out a moldy cardboard box full of old war story magazines. It was the fourth box she’d come across so far. Jean’s collection extended back to the 1800s! Why did he keep those things laying around? Winry shoved the box out into the center of the room with the others - he could go through them later and get rid of some of them. Or organize them, if he was that attached.
And there was another box, a smaller one, way in the back of the closet. Winry stretched forward and pulled it into the open, expecting to be greeted with more black and white images of soldiers with cigarettes and guns bigger then her torso.
She was rather surprised.
What she did see on the cover of the first magazine was a young woman wearing nothing but a skimpy nightgown and thigh high stockings. Her legs were crossed. The brilliant red letters at the top proclaimed ‘Spicy Stag’. It was a girly magazine.
Curious, Winry pulled out the top magazine and flipped through it. It was much the same as the cover, pretty girls in short skirts or no skirts and very skimpy tops, bent over or reclining in positions that were probably supposed to be erotic. Stockings and garters seemed to be the focal point. What woman wore garters these days? Winry had tried one once and found it ridiculously uncomfortable. It itched and it was such an awkward place to wear anything!
She wasn’t too fond of stockings, either. Or high heeled shoes. Or much of anything any of the girls in the magazine were wearing. It all looked impractical to her.
The rest of the magazines were much the same. Though the more recent dates seemed to offer more in the realm of actual nudity. The most recent was from just a couple of months earlier, and legs didn’t seem to be in fashion anymore. Breasts, however, did. Corsets and plunging necklines and girls posing with nothing but their hands decorated the more recent covers, and the spreads inside offered girls in nothing but panties or short skirts, or in some cases a scarf draped artfully around her thighs.
“Men,” Winry muttered, shaking her head. If Jean ever expected her to doll herself up in stockings and garters and a corset, he was sorely mistaking. He was lucky if she washed her hands and brushed her hair. Not that he’d ever complained.
Leaving the magazines spread out on the floor behind her - it wasn’t like Jean hadn’t seen them before! - she retreated back into the closet. She didn’t care much that her boyfriend had a box of dirty magazines - fresh dirty magazines, even. Why would she? They were just pictures, and she knew full well he was perfectly happy with their sex life. Men just liked to look at naked women. She was just as pretty as any of those pin up girls, anyway.
The closet had her attention at the moment. How had he managed to cram so much junk into it? She was going to have to have a chat with him. There was no way she’d go through this every year. This was their apartment now, and he’d have to work to keep it at least organized!
Shoving aside piles of outdated clothes - those would be thrown away later - Winry paused. Was that a tool box? It was! Grinning, she pulled out the old, rusted box. And immediately frowned. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened in years. Prying the lid off, a look of anger crossed her features.
“JEAN!”
She was already out of the closet and turned around, her face scrunched up in anger by the time Jean came sheepishly into the bedroom. She didn’t think twice about how she looked - smudged with dust, sitting splay-legged in the middle of a pile of girly magazines, glaring hell at her boyfriend.
“How could you have these…these insults in your closet! Did you think I wouldn’t find them? You knew I was cleaning in here! And you just left them for me to find! How could you?”
“Uh, look, Winry…” Jean was beat red, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head and shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. “It doesn’t mean anything, I just….”
“Doesn’t mean anything?” Winry was practically yelling now. “You’re…. you’re horrible!”
“Oh, sweetheart, no! You know I love you….”
“How can you say that when I found these?”
She thrust the box of old, warped, neglected tools out, as though they were evidence of some unspeakable crime. Which, as far as she was concerned, they were. Those were good tools, and there they were, left to rot and rust in some closet!
“Um. What?”
“Did you keep them outside? Look at them, there’s rust everywhere! This screwdriver is bent! And look at those pliers! I saw that same pair in a catalogue ten years ago and they cost more than what we spent on food in a month! I would have given anything for a pair! And they’re ruined!”
“So you’re not mad about the…uh….” Jean flushed and waved vaguely at the magazines strewn across the floor.
“What? No! I don’t care about those. But…. Jean Havoc, you’re forbidden to ever touch any of my tools, do you understand? Now clean this mess up, I’m taking these poor things to my workshop to see if I can save any of them.” Harrumphing, Winry stood, still gripping the tool box. Jean just stood and stared for a moment, as though stunned.
“Uh, Winry?” He grabbed her wrist as she walked by, a slow smile creeping over his face.
“What?”
“I don’t think I tell you enough what a great girl you are. I‘m a real lucky guy.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose, and she blushed, her anger deflating as quickly as it had sprung up. She made another small, irritated noise and stalked - though not nearly as stiffly as she’d intended - out of the room.
Men!