FicWad

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As if the rain wasn't a bother enough in itself, it seemed determined to drip off a stray lock of Roy's hair in a manner guaranteed to irritate; dropping onto the bridge of his nose and then slipping down in a slightly ticklish way, leaving a trail that looked embarrassingly like a tear. Not that anyone would be so bold as to suggest he might be crying. He had too much of a reputation for being on the violent end of touchy these days.

Then again, so were a lot of people. War will do that. "War. Bullshit." Roy hissed, the breath of his ire managing to shift the offending lock of hair and redirecting the drip of cold water. Now it dripped into his ear.

The rain itself was almost fascinatingly unique after far too long in a desert, with its hot dry days and inexplicably cold nights. The nights had been the problem really. There wasn't a military issue blanket in existence that was long enough to tuck under the chin as well as cover feet. Roy had gotten bored of sleeping with his boots on early in the operation, which left him engaged in a furious campaign against shivers every night, shifting the blanket up and down his torso as different parts of his body started to freeze.

Cold of that elite caliber was an excellent excuse to recruit body heat in the form of ones compatriots. Everyone knew two bodies under a thin, short excuse for a blanket would be far more effective than one. And while sitting there really was enough to gain that extra heat buffer, Roy knew from rather explicit experience that some were rather creative in their search for comfort.

And giving it.

Warmth was a luxury. A shoulder to huddle against while the word genocide flitted about in ones conscience was a gift from some sort of divine being. The cold was a welcome excuse for the shivering and shuddering; was a wonderful reason to press as close as possible.

But what the hell has possessed him to enlist the help of a man who was as good as married? An easy smile, a friendly arm slung over a shoulder in greeting... It was safe to be attracted to a claimed man, since he would never have to deal with the feelings being returned.

Roy Mustang- hero of the Ishbal War and coward in all other human interaction.

Maes had been safe, had been easy. Had tactfully ignored the tears and rages that had filled Roy's nights...

Maes hadn't ignored the kiss.

In fact, Maes had seemed rather interested in the entire process, up to and including the point where he decided that the cold be damned, he was getting Roy out of his uniform. The man had an uncanny knack for undoing buttons, for chuckling at all the right moments (most of which involved stray socks or commanding officers patrolling by) and to be silent and deadly serious when that was what Roy needed. He kissed with a mouth that paid attention to every detail and caressed with the sensuous ease of someone who liked to be touched.

Roy had been skittish and demanding in an embarrassingly juvenile way, a mass of hormones and angst, and Maes hadn't cracked one joke; at least not until pants had been replaced and pillow talk attempted.

Wars had a habit of ending, even the underhanded ones, which found Roy hustled back to an apartment he had never bothered to decorate. He missed the clutter of knickknacks that had followed Maes like a whirlwind of socialization. Roy found things too sterile, came to the unfortunate conclusion that somewhere in the cold desert nights he had misplaced his stoic drive to be perfect.

He wanted clutter, wanted inane conversation. Hell, he could do with being tickled.

Instead he wandered in out of the rain and made a pot of coffee, taking great care to ignore the fact the grounds had an almost weak, stale tang to them, and waited for the sound of breakfast brewing to break the silence, to fill the musty air of his home with the smells of someone living.

And damn if he didn't toss a few books onto the couch, leave his jacket hanging off the side of the kitchen table, just to add some sort of a hint that someone lived there.

And the phone rang, chiming cheerfully into the last few gurgles of the brewing coffee.

"Mustang." Roy answered.

"Sulked long enough?"

"Maes!"

"Sober?"

"Damn it man!"

"I will take that as a yes. Fortunately I have the perfect solution."

Roy could hear the grin through the phone. "Don't you have some sort of girlfriend to be gloriously reunited with?"

"Taking her to dinner. Which leaves a lot of day to lure you out into the social world the rest of us humans dwell in."

"Thank you, but I am fine."

"Prove it."

It occurred to Roy he wasn't going to win this one. Not with the cheery determination he could hear oozing through the phone.

And, oddly, it didn't bother him half as much as he assumed it should.

"If you're sure Gracia..."

"Roy, she has threatened a distinct lack of fresh baked goods if I don't manage to get you out of that cave you live in."

Double-teamed. "I just made coffee..." One last attempt at a sensible protestation...

"Don't worry. I have whiskey. The two go together fantastically."

"Fine then."

It was as close as Roy got to a thank you, that graceless sort of capitulation, and Maes took it for what it was. "I'll be over soon."

Roy Mustang- Hero of the Ishbal War and tragically unprepared for a houseguest.

At least the place was clean.

At least he was a bit more confident he wasn't going to lose the shoulder he had come to depend on now that they were home.