Addicted

Addiction
A sweet little tooth ache brought to you by Queen Creepy

Summary: Kain Fuery ponders cigarettes, addiction, alcohol, and dog eaters.

Pairing: Jean Havok/Kain Fuery

Rating: R, for sweetness, implied sex, weird Fuery, smoking, language, and Queen Creepy.

Dedication: To Word, for being a bitch and a half and refusing to save, so by forcing me to write this. And also, to Fake. As usually.

Extra?: THE BITCH IS BACK, BABY! It’s about time I got back into writing, mhm?

Hughes: Indeed…and yet, you leave your fanbase in Hellsing salivating and begging for another chapter.

Queen Creepy: Shut up. At least I’m writing. I need to figure out where to go with that series, anyways…so, hello Fullmetal Alchemist friends. –waves.- I am here to write things! HOO HA!

Hughes: Indeed…make her go away!

Queen Creepy: Shut it, creepy peeping Tom picture man. Anyways, this sweetness is one of…three, so far as I see it. There were be sex eventually…I was trying in this one, but it just didn’t want to come out. So now, I defile the virginity of AFF.net with the first (if not one of the) first Havok/Fuery’s! Fear me!

Hughes: LEAVE US ALONE!

Queen Creepy: I’ve got plans for this series…Greed/Kimblee plans, Hughes/Roy plans…all sorts of evil things. So yeah. Shutting up and letting you read. Warning, I only fixed this fic up a bit (as I was reading to my beta, Fake, over the phone), and am too lazy to correct it all right now. And no, my tenses don’t match for a reason. So yeah.

Important Number Things: Total Words: 1,911.
Time Written From: Didn’t Keep Track
In a Series/Series Number?: Yes/One.

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Kain Fuery loved the taste of nicotine, but he abhorred the thought of smoking. He hated the unpleasant smell of the fumes that leaked from the small white sticks, and he loathed the thought of the outcomes that partaking in the overly addictive product usually brought. Fuery was never one with the greatest of luck, and he would rather not give Fate another reason to shoot him in the ass in her rather backwards game of Russian Roulette; where instead of firing at herself with a one in six chance of blowing her brains out, all the but one of the chambers were loaded and she pointed the revolver directly at Fuery. And he wasn\'t feeling his luckiest this lifetime.

The quiet black haired man disliked the thought of dependency on a product, and wasn\'t that fond of the high prices the industry set just so that their sheep could get their nicotine fix. He nearly shivered in revulsion, thoughts of his lungs as two shriveled black, miserable spots of something disgusting, his teeth yellowing and clothes constantly smelling with the stench of over powering nicotine refuse. It wasn\'t a pleasant sight, or sound in his mind as he imagined having his decrepit and reject vocal cords ripped out and replaced with a monotone box, the conversations held with others no longer easy; but rather harsh and impersonal, metallic hell. His nose wrinkled, and he frowned, as small shudders finished their runs down his spine. \"What\'s wrong baby?\" A scratchy question, bleary, sleep clogged.

Fuery peered out through his blurry world, focusing on the other member of the bed, the squishy, fluffy white thing that he sprawled on, drawing a thick coverlet over his small frame, curling in the warmth, most things happy in his little world. His eyes were drawn to the other Comfortable Bed Club member, scanning the blond scruff and the red dot near the mouth, a thin trail of gray clawing it\'s way up the air to disperse in the heavens, hopefully polluting them. He sat up, begrudge pulling himself out of his warm and comfortable covers to sit up just slightly, scooting closer to the other figure, bigger than himself, propped on an arm and watching him silently, small exhalation of white smoke puffing out from quietly parted lips. \"Nothing\'s wrong, why?\"

\"You look like you just smelled something bad.\" The figure rolled its\' shoulders as Fuery scooted closer, blue-gray eyes locked onto his own as a warm arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, close enough for Fuery to be able to fixate on the man\'s face. A small smile was quirked on his lips, perhaps from Fuery\'s peculiarity, perhaps from his cute face when he wrinkled his nose, perhaps because he was bloody well insane. Mr. Fix-it was drawn to the face, usually harsh and frowning except for when listening to Colonel Mustang\'s self proclaimed Eden of mini-skirted women and Havok’s own thoughts of cigarettes and a date for once...Fuery blinked. Jean Havok? What was he...oh yeah. Fuery had to commend himself for not breaking into a tomato red blush as Havok\'s calf brushed over his, intertwining their legs, and pulling...much more sensitive parts into contact. The dark haired man suppressed a small squeak, nestling his face in Havok\'s neck, curling his fingers with the blond\'s under the covers, Havok\'s spare arm curling around him again and pulling him closer, keeping Fuery to the slightly larger frame.

\"Well, you are smoking in bed.\" Bed. They were in bed together. Fuery had a little too much to drink last night, Havok had been a little too friendly, so now they were just a tiny, itsy-bitsy bit naked together, slightly sticky, and strangely comfortable. This was what? The fourth time they had met like this? Fuery felt ashamed, and yet, he really didn\'t care, nestling closer to the alchemist\'s body, arm slipping under his torso and curling over Havok\'s waist. Fuery mused over the blond man quietly, breathing in slowly. Havok smelled of smoke; usually a thick and over powering scent that he utterly hated, but for some reason it mingled well with the cologne the man wore, making the usually glasses clad man want to nuzzle his face against the smooth column of his bedmate\'s neck, but in hopes of keeping his dignity, his mind was continuing to make his body refuse.

\"Hey, a good tumble deserves a good cigarette.\" Fuery\'s head snapped up as he glared death at the blond, who merely let a smirk peel onto his face. \"Hey, hey, I\'m just joking, Kain.\" Fuery curled his fingers into a fist, letting his knuckles impact into Havok\'s hipbones and dragging a gasp from the blond. Bastard deserved it. Kain Fuery, just a tumble? Even Roy Mustang got a cuddle from Maes Hughes, or Edward Elric, or the rest of the masses he got laid...then again, some small part of Fuery\'s mind reasoned that he got drunk, went home with Havok, had hot and wild sex with the alchemist, and yet he expected to be treated civilly? Idiot. He was just a fuck. Damn it.

\"Not very funny, Cigarette Bandit. Don\'t torch the sheets, eh?\" He murmured, burying his face into Havok\'s neck again, hiding his gaze from the blond, not wanting to see him or his reaction to the slight dejection in Fuery\'s voice. Just a whore. Damn it, Fuery, damn it! He had never meant things to be this way, but sometimes, taking the coward\'s route was so much easier than just fessing up and saying he loved Havok. Well. Saying wasn\'t a strong enough way of expressing his attraction to his coworker. Perhaps running naked to the streets with every inch of his body painted with four words (I love Jean Havok, for your information), constantly repeating, in different colors, in the rain (although Fuery wondered where he could find waterproof paint) whilst screaming at the top of his lungs like a complete lunatic might get the message home a fraction of the way.

\"I\'ll try, Mr. Fix-It.\" Havok\'s fingers ruffled his hair, stroking through the soft strands, almost as if he admired the kitten softness, the other hand lightly squeezing Fuery\'s, reassuring him. Tenderness was in his tone, perhaps making up for his remarks and trying to bring Fuery back to his perky self, but Fuery wanted to stay dejected and angry for a little while longer. Because he wanted to. So there. He snorted, closing his blurry vision off, resting his aching head.

\"I have a hangover.\" He mumbled, blank mind making the decision to give Havok the very obvious in order to fill the silence, deciding to match the man\'s calm breathing patterns with words. Havok chuckled, heat and air brushing over Fuery\'s ear, sending small shivers up Fuery\'s spine now, instead of down. Seemingly, the lower half of his spine no longer wanted the stored shivers. Wait. What the hell was he thinking about?

\"Maybe you shouldn\'t drink enough alcohol to give half of the personnel at our office liver cancer, Kain.\" Fuery mumbled something derogatory, and probably stupid, too tired to think anymore, and no longer trusting his very traitorous brain. The bastard was misleading him right now. It was rebelling for the cruel treatment it received last night, more alcohol than oxygen being pumped into it. Fuery was grateful, though, now that he was not just woken up. When he had first peeled his eyes open, he thought that his brain was slowly melting and leaking out of his ears, and that his liver was crawling up his throat to escape the Alcatraz of his body. Havok gave another soft snigger; still petting Fuery\'s hair, removing his fingers from the hung-over man\'s to rub at his temples lightly, trying to alleviate some pressure.

\"You know, I could claim that you raped me under the influence.\" Havok had taken in, perhaps one beer, whilst Fuery was drinking enough to buzz the entire army. Why, one may ask? Well, maybe it was because he was seated next to the most perfectly flawed man in existence, completely and utterly in love with him, and he couldn\'t wet his tongue enough to croak out his feelings or ask the man on a date or even ask him for the weather outside of the bar. Was that a good answer, Mr. Interrogator? Havok chuckled, a hand stroking over his thigh, slipping behind him to give a fond squeeze, eliciting a little yip from Fuery, who batted at the spot he earlier knuckle punched.

\"Now, why would you do that? It was good for you, right?\" Havok sounded bemused, and yet curious. Fuery peered up, squinting to make his world focus. Havok\'s beautiful eyes were focused on him, a sort of smirk on his lips, perhaps instinctive, and yet his gaze was filled with questions, hand petting Fuery\'s thigh, thumb running along the front of his leg. Fuery broke the staring contest first, trying to read the clock, which Havok very calmly shifted up to block. Bastard.

\"It was fine. You could learn to aim, though.\" Havok laughed, kissing Fuery\'s temple lightly, making the smaller man want to glow, and possibly stand up and dance. Oh no, his brain warned him, if he did that, the remaining cells would revolt! Fuery laughed a bit, scooting back just slightly to stare at Havok\'s blurred face, smirking slightly. \"You know you are extremely fat, right?\" Fuery made a grand show of trying to tug his arm out from under Havok, acting like the limb was about to go tumbling off, when in reality, it was just going unpleasantly numb. Havok let out another puff of smoke, lifting up and freeing Fuery\'s arm, watching him intensely.

\"Now, that\'s a low blow, Kain Fuery.\" Havok rolled onto his back, flicking the burnt up ash into a tray next to the bed, setting the nearly dead cigarette down to live out the remainder of its\' life smoldering alone. There was silence for a moment, and Fuery watched Havok, wondering if he had truly offended the man. One part of him argued payback for the tumble comment, but another part argued that from now on, there would be no more tumbles. He worked himself into a worry, almost missing the shift of movement as Havok went back to his side, sliding close to Fuery again, their noses almost touching this time around. \"Hey Fuery...I-\" Havok cut off, chewing his lip, wondering what to say next.

Fuery gave a smug little grin, about to make a comment about Havok\'s oh so astounding command of the English language, when the blond sealed their lips together, thrusting the squirming pink muscle deep into Fuery\'s unprotected mouth. Fuery gave a soft little moan, dipping his own tongue into Havok\'s mouth, pondering the man\'s taste. He tasted like liquor, sex, and of course, nicotine. Fuery was a hypocrite. He loved the taste of nicotine, or really, he loved the taste of one Jean Havok. He felt himself being pushed against the mattress, legs spread apart as the blond slid on top of him, pulling away from the heated kiss to whisper in his ear.

\"Want to go again?\" And hopelessly, Fuery began whimpering a soft yes as Havok started stroking the hardening organ between his legs. What could he say? He was addicted to one Jean Havok. Even if he was a cigarette smoking, dog eating, blond haired cigarette bandit bastard.

end

Queen Creepy: awww…ain’t it weird and sweet?

Hughes: And vaguely creepy?

Queen Creepy: Whelp, I’m going to leave it to you all now…REVIEW OR DIE!

Hughes: …just die, people. It’s not worth it.

Queen Creepy: Shut. Up.