Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist
Relationship Counseling
3 reviewsHavoc confesses his troubles to a stranger in a bar. He gets...er...comforted. Verging on PWP.
5Original
Relationship Counseling
"And I don't think he even /notices/," Havoc finishes, gesturing with his cigarette at the cosmic injustice of it.
The man he's been talking to -- ranting to -- makes a sort of meaningless, commiserating noise, and waves to the bartender for another round. "He doesn't notice?" the man repeats, oddly sympathetic despite the weird sharpness of his smile.
"Nope." Havoc sucks on his cigarette morosely. "Not like he has to, either. Not like they ever say, oh, sorry, Colonel, I'm already with someone else." He picks up his glass and polishes off the shot in one demonstrative swallow. "They fall all over themselves for a chance to date him." He stares into the empty glass, as if it might have a solution for him, instead of just a few stray dregs of whiskey. Havoc's usually more of a beer man, but a free drink is a free drink, and he hasn't bought a round himself since the stranger sat down on the next bar stool and asked what was troubling him. And that was...Havoc stares at the evidence, lined up on the bar. That was quite a few glasses of whiskey ago.
"I can't help you with woman trouble," the man says, and then there's a large, warm hand on Havoc's thigh, "but you know, you have other options."
Havoc looks up at him sharply. "I'm not a --"
"I know." His eyes are weird, too, almost purple, and surely it's a trick of the light in here that makes it look like the pupils are /slitted/. "But if you want somebody to take your mind off your troubles for a little while...."
How many glasses of whiskey has it been, anway? Enough that not all of him is sure this is a bad idea, enough that part of him is flattered that somebody would put the moves on him for once. The rest of him says, "I'm not going to...." And then he's not sure where exactly to draw the line.
The man leans over, a little too close, and his hand slides a little further up Havoc's thigh as he murmurs, "What if I just wanted to suck you off?"
Havoc's spine stiffens, and unfortunately for his sense of reason, that's not all. "Then," he tries, "then...I...."
"Let's find out," the man suggests, and then he's snaking one long, pale arm around Havoc's waist and steering him away from the bar, toward the men's room.
This is a terribly bad idea, and he should be leaving right now, and probably he would if his legs were working properly but they're not and how is his companion, who matched him shot for shot all evening, still sober enough to push him up against the door of the third stall and unbutton his pants without fumbling once? Something isn't right about all this. Beyond the obvious something, that is.
Not that his anatomy has noticed; his traitorous body is responding to the man's hands with no compunctions whatsoever, and the man sinks to his knees on the floor -- without a care for the state of his good leather pants, some distant part of Havoc's brain notes -- and grins up at him with teeth that look entirely too sharp.
"You," he says hungrily, "do me a favor and make some noise."
And then he leans in and opens his mouth and gives Havoc every reason to do so loudly and fervently for the next ten minutes, one hand clenched in spiky black hair and the other braced on the door.
"Fuck," Havoc says when it's over. He feels dizzy and boneless and --
The stranger swallows, savoring it visibly, and grins, "Is that an offer?"
Havoc panics, his whole body tensing up, and the man laughs, rich and throaty.
"It's okay, friend. I meant it when I said this was all I was asking for." He stands up, so graceful he must be sober, and tucks Havoc back into his pants. "Feeling better?"
Why does he feel like he came out the worse in this deal, Havoc wonders? "I...I think so." Except that he's remembering, now, what he was drinking to forget, and how completely hopeless his love life is.
The man kisses his mouth, just a quick brush of lips, not asking for any kind of response. "You'll be fine," he says. "You know, it's always possible that he's doing it to get your attention, and not because of the girls at all."
"What?" Havoc asks. He's starting to wonder how many more disturbing ideas this man can throw at him in one night.
"My brother's like that," the stranger continues, and that's another one. "Maybe your Colonel is, too -- taking things away from you so that you'll notice him." He grins. "Try him out sometime, see what happens."
And...he has no answer for that. He just stands there, stunned, as the man slips a pair of sunglasses on and walks away.
"And I don't think he even /notices/," Havoc finishes, gesturing with his cigarette at the cosmic injustice of it.
The man he's been talking to -- ranting to -- makes a sort of meaningless, commiserating noise, and waves to the bartender for another round. "He doesn't notice?" the man repeats, oddly sympathetic despite the weird sharpness of his smile.
"Nope." Havoc sucks on his cigarette morosely. "Not like he has to, either. Not like they ever say, oh, sorry, Colonel, I'm already with someone else." He picks up his glass and polishes off the shot in one demonstrative swallow. "They fall all over themselves for a chance to date him." He stares into the empty glass, as if it might have a solution for him, instead of just a few stray dregs of whiskey. Havoc's usually more of a beer man, but a free drink is a free drink, and he hasn't bought a round himself since the stranger sat down on the next bar stool and asked what was troubling him. And that was...Havoc stares at the evidence, lined up on the bar. That was quite a few glasses of whiskey ago.
"I can't help you with woman trouble," the man says, and then there's a large, warm hand on Havoc's thigh, "but you know, you have other options."
Havoc looks up at him sharply. "I'm not a --"
"I know." His eyes are weird, too, almost purple, and surely it's a trick of the light in here that makes it look like the pupils are /slitted/. "But if you want somebody to take your mind off your troubles for a little while...."
How many glasses of whiskey has it been, anway? Enough that not all of him is sure this is a bad idea, enough that part of him is flattered that somebody would put the moves on him for once. The rest of him says, "I'm not going to...." And then he's not sure where exactly to draw the line.
The man leans over, a little too close, and his hand slides a little further up Havoc's thigh as he murmurs, "What if I just wanted to suck you off?"
Havoc's spine stiffens, and unfortunately for his sense of reason, that's not all. "Then," he tries, "then...I...."
"Let's find out," the man suggests, and then he's snaking one long, pale arm around Havoc's waist and steering him away from the bar, toward the men's room.
This is a terribly bad idea, and he should be leaving right now, and probably he would if his legs were working properly but they're not and how is his companion, who matched him shot for shot all evening, still sober enough to push him up against the door of the third stall and unbutton his pants without fumbling once? Something isn't right about all this. Beyond the obvious something, that is.
Not that his anatomy has noticed; his traitorous body is responding to the man's hands with no compunctions whatsoever, and the man sinks to his knees on the floor -- without a care for the state of his good leather pants, some distant part of Havoc's brain notes -- and grins up at him with teeth that look entirely too sharp.
"You," he says hungrily, "do me a favor and make some noise."
And then he leans in and opens his mouth and gives Havoc every reason to do so loudly and fervently for the next ten minutes, one hand clenched in spiky black hair and the other braced on the door.
"Fuck," Havoc says when it's over. He feels dizzy and boneless and --
The stranger swallows, savoring it visibly, and grins, "Is that an offer?"
Havoc panics, his whole body tensing up, and the man laughs, rich and throaty.
"It's okay, friend. I meant it when I said this was all I was asking for." He stands up, so graceful he must be sober, and tucks Havoc back into his pants. "Feeling better?"
Why does he feel like he came out the worse in this deal, Havoc wonders? "I...I think so." Except that he's remembering, now, what he was drinking to forget, and how completely hopeless his love life is.
The man kisses his mouth, just a quick brush of lips, not asking for any kind of response. "You'll be fine," he says. "You know, it's always possible that he's doing it to get your attention, and not because of the girls at all."
"What?" Havoc asks. He's starting to wonder how many more disturbing ideas this man can throw at him in one night.
"My brother's like that," the stranger continues, and that's another one. "Maybe your Colonel is, too -- taking things away from you so that you'll notice him." He grins. "Try him out sometime, see what happens."
And...he has no answer for that. He just stands there, stunned, as the man slips a pair of sunglasses on and walks away.
Sign up to rate and review this story