Havoc can't give up what he knows is bad for him. (GreedxHavoc)
Author: Zalia Chimera
Warnings: Mention of rough sex, BDSM
Disclaimer: Don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. Alas.
It's sick, Havoc reflects, the way he keeps doing this, the way he keeps coming back for more. Sick and pathetic. Each time he swears that it will be the last, that he'll stay away and each time he ends up in the same position. He smirks wryly, usually face down on the bed, arms cuffed behind him as Greed fucks him roughly.
He stands, winces as feeling returns to his legs and staggers over to the bathroom. He stares at the mirror, taking in the sight of himself. Bruises and cuts from diamond hard claws litter his torso and lines of blood ring his wrists and ankles and throat from where cuffs and collar cut too deep into his skin.
He looks like what the hotel staff probably thought he was last night. A fucking whore in a military uniform, following Greed like an obedient dog.
He stays in the shower until the pink tint disappears and the water runs clear again then towels himself dry and drops it to the floor carelessly. Any other time he'd have wrapped it around his waist but what need is there for modesty in an anonymous hotel room?
There's gauze and antiseptic laid out by the bed. There always is. Havoc has never quite been able to decide whether that's because Greed actually gives a damn or because he just wants to make sure his toy doesn't get broken too badly. He'd like to believe the first but suspects that the second is true.
He wraps his chest with gauze, thanks his stars for basic military medical training. The wrists and throat are a bit more of a problem but he's had practice.
There's a note on the door; textured cream hotel paper pinned to the wood with Havoc's own switchblade. A place and a time in a barely legible scrawl. Havoc sighs, rests his head against the flaking paint and curses under his breath, wishing he had a cigarette to calm his nerves. He tears the paper down and tugs his knife out of the door, tucking it back into his belt. Just like every time he intends to throw the note into the waste basket and just like every time he crumples it in his fist and shoves it into his pocket instead.
He almost manages to put the thought of what he's doing out of his head, almost manages to ignore the desire and desperate 'want' ' that coils in his belly whenever he remembers Greed's touch.
He truly intends to refuse, to walk away and not look back when they next meet. But Greed buries his hands in spiky blond hair, drags his head back and kisses him viciously, all sharp teeth and tongue and lips, claws running across his scalp in delicious threat and Havoc is an addict again.