Unexpected

Disclaimer: Hagaren belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Squeenix, and a whole lot of other people who probably are going D: right about now XD

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an accident, he told himself, completely an accident – nothing he had intended to walk in on, nothing he could have possibly anticipated. He had just been in the supply closet for an emergency ream of tracing paper, not because he had intended on spying on anyone. Nobody was ever IN the supply closet during office hours, because that was the janitor’s domain. He had no reason to suspect that anyone was in there, and certainly not the Colonel.

With the First Lieutenant.

Up against the wall in the nook behind the implement racks.

Fear. Rush of adrenaline. He had thought the bastard was killing her. He wasn’t used to seeing someone with their head thrown back, gasping to the ceiling, of entirely their own volition. He had damn near run his automail through the shelving between them and ripped the bastard’s face off, until-

-until she’d made that noise, and he realized that this wasn’t murder, or anything close to it, at all.

He had watched then, as the Colonel’s mouth nipped at her face. Watched as she got him back, wrapped her hands around his--dear sweet heavens--‘better half’ and pulled. He’d slid to the floor, cradling his face, and tried to believe he was folding up into a tiny, inconspicuous acorn, so that they would never never never NEVER be able to look over and find him. His breathing was impossibly loud in his nutshell, and his heart was hammering so fast that it was a wonder that neither of them could hear it. He would remember that feeling later, in his dreams; he would even wake up, thinking he was exploding out of his skin. And he would curse that feeling soundly, because inevitably, inevitably the sheets beneath him would be wet.

It was an accident, he told himself. He was not responsible.

The problem was, his mind answered back, it was only an accident the first time it happened, and every instance after that was a giant, gaping hole in his argument.

~~~

He didn’t watch very much of it, at first.

He didn’t even intend to watch, to begin with. After the initial embarrassment (how long had he waited, shivering and mortified, in that dank little corner?) he had sworn he would never go back. But even the most swarthy of men need replacement staples once in a while (or pens, or ink, or toilet paper), and so it wasn’t his fault at all that he found circumstances taking him down to room 219 more and more often. An inauspicious number, that. Solidly between 218 and 220, far away from the important round numbers like 200 and 300; nestled cunningly back in Archives where nobody with a chance of a real career would be caught dead. And caught he was, it was the sort of thing you couldn’t just ignore when it was happening – there were soft, mumbling noises that sounded almost like actual words when you listened hard, louder, scraping noises where fingernails scrabbled against the wall. Sometimes even wet, urgent noises, and he could just imagine what was causing THAT.

Actually, he didn’t have to. Sometimes (no longer completely by accident), he happened to peek through the gap in the shelving unit, and see all the things that would come back to him in dreams: ecstatic, hard nightmares, made all the worse because sometimes he was awake when he had them.

~~~

He had long given up on any pretense at accidental when he finally resorted to touching himself; it had finished that step in processing and turned straight into GUILT. Waves upon waves of it, actually, rising with every thrust into his tight, merciless fist. Normal people did not take advantage of their benefactors like this. Normal people understood privacy.

But then, Edward Elric had never been very good at being normal.

Fuck, and she was humming today, and he felt guilty because he knew exactly what would be making her do that – the Colonel’s hand to her thigh, sliding along the hems of her dress uniform and threatening to slip in to tease what lay beneath. Guilty, because he had built himself a kind of perverted rotten-bastard radar; he knew exactly why Mustang was groaning in short, panting breaths. He always did that when he was pressing up against those smooth curves of hers, that had to be wonderful.

Guiltiest of all, because he was struggling to his knees to look through the gap and watch them. She had her own hands down the Colonel’s pants and was stroking him, and motherfucker but if it wasn’t someone else gripping his own cock for the moment. He gasped at his own audacity and nearly wilted, feeling even more like an asshole every second. It was one thing to play along, a little. There was a definite LINE that was crossed when he started putting himself in Roy’s place.

Or hers. He bit back an appreciative groan at the way Roy’s eyebrows nearly rose off his head as she hummed a little lower, imagined what it would be like to make that bastard writhe in merciless torment. Damn, that would be rich, pinning him up against the wall, listening to him beg for attention… it was wrong, he knew it had to be wrong, but he was long past the point where the guilt could make him stop. Even that hair-thin line (and what good was one line, when so many others had been broken to get to it?) wasn’t enough to bother him. He was flying now, he was soaring, it was only his hand but his mind made it more, and in his mind he could see them the way they were meant to be seen, beautiful and unadultered, pagan white gods more palatable than religious ones.

It took him so long to note the absence of sound that he wasn’t even disappointed to note they were gone. He was so close, he just wanted to finish, and he could already picture how they would look anyways; the First Lieutenant spread wide and shaking, and Mustang writhing in what looked like hell but had to be heaven-

A hand closed around his mouth, and Edward knew terror.

He would have slammed his arms together if they hadn’t first closed around a lithe, slippery form; the Lieutenant wrapped herself around him so suddenly he didn’t even have time to scream. He bit the Colonel’s hand anyways (and it was the Colonel, from all the cursing that resulted), and his face and mind went suddenly, instantly, blank.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. They had him between the two of them, they knew everything, and he didn’t think he could ever look at either of them ever again. He was shaking so hard he was damn near crying (and crying in front of the Colonel, oh fuck, holy hell).

He was such a lowlife bastard, he didn’t deserve to live.

“It’s okay…” Someone was saying, and that someone turned out to be the Colonel, stroking a hand down his hip (hip! His pants were down, his bottom was naked!). Naked beneath the First Lieutenant, who was heavy and hot and pressing right over the fading branch of his erection, which was maybe not so fading after all.

He was going to crawl into a hole and die.

“It’s okay.” Mustang said again, pulling his hand tentatively away from Edward’s mouth. “We knew you were watching.”

He was now going to transmute a small mountain range to cover himself when he died. How could this possibly be okay?! He wished he could make his tongue work just so he could give the bastard a good lashing with it. He didn’t want it to be “okay”, not when it was Colonel-fucking-Mustang was sitting there petting him like a goddamn lap dog.

The Lieutenant was looking at him with concern now, pushed his bangs out of his eyes in a way that was entirely too motherly. It made him vaguely nauseous, and he tried to pull himself up.

“Sir…” She said, and her eyes were steely. Disapproving.

Run. His mind screamed at him. Get the FUCK out of there.

He tensed every muscle he had and threw himself to the side, trying to squirm away from the Lieutenant as non-violently as possible (the Colonel he didn’t mind slugging, but the Lieutenant was another matter entirely!).

“Oh, bloody hell…” The Colonel rumbled, and shifted behind him, wrapped an iron hand around his chin. Edward snarled in frustration as his head tilted back despite his best efforts to avoid it. Muscular though he was, his neck was not exactly his strongest point.

And then, there were lips covering his. It took him a moment to work out exactly what that meant.

The Colonel was kissing him.

“-the fuck?!” He gasped the moment he was released, and the Colonel sighed and gave him the most exasperated Colonel-look ever.

“I will clarify.” His superior ground out, under watchful eye from the First Lieutenant. “We knew you were watching, and we were enjoying that. Honestly, Fullmetal, you think we would have kept coming here if we MINDED you watching?”

Edward boggled.

“You…fuck, you knew? This whole time, and—YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!”

Roy sighed and ran his other hand through dark hair, flashed a large and angry bruise on the palm of his hand.

Did I do that? Edward thought weakly.

“Anyways, I apologize. I thought you might enjoy it. Apparently, I thought wrong.”

Another hand – smaller, cooler – stroked his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Edward.” Hawkeye’s beautiful voice, still husky from sex. “We shouldn’t have.”

“Damn right, you shouldn’t have!” He panted out, despite the heat returning to his groin. He squirmed a bit beneath her, still painfully aware of the closeness of her slick mons. FUCK, that felt good. A bit prickly, but good. And if it felt that nice on the outside, he could only begin to imagine what it felt like on the INside…

The Lieutenant met the Colonel’s eyes again, and slowly, that warmth began sliding away from him. Shattered his fantasy resolutely. It’s real now. Edward thought crazily. It’s really happening, isn’t it.

Really ending. She was standing up, and would be putting her clothes on, and the Colonel would set him down, and then they’d all walk out the door together. Maybe laugh, or be awkward about it, whatever it was you were supposed to do.

Room 219 would never happen again.

No.

He pooled all his nerve into raising his arms, surged forward with the automail, and brought the Colonel’s face crashing back onto his.

Foreheads bumped together briefly – “Ow, fuck-“ - and then their lips were locked again and this time he was ready for how hot, slippery, wet it felt. Roy made a confused noise into his lips, and Edward realized belatedly that it was rather awkward upside down – nose not supposed to be in chin - but oh holy hell, that was nice, it made his lips all tingly. The shivers raced straight down his spine and into his groin, and his cock surged upward and started to twitch.

There was warmth there again too, suddenly, and he couldn’t help but cry out as a slim hand wrapped around it.

“Shh, we have to be quiet.” The Colonel whispered fiercely, turned his head to the side and devoured Edward’s mouth again. Quiet. Yes. He shivered and swallowed, felt his belly roil as the Colonel’s tongue wrapped itself around his and twisted, punctuated by hot stabs from his groin as firm fingers surrounded. He was unraveling from both ends at once, and he was helpless to do anything more than shudder.

The Colonel’s hands slid down and hooked the edge of his shirt, started pulling it up. Nails skittered across the flat of his stomach, and he almost lost it right then and there.

“MmmmMMMPH!” He protested as the Lieutenant slid her hand down and just clamped, thrust wildly upward to try and compensate.

“Easy, easy!” The Colonel panted at him. “Hold STILL!”

The First Lieutenant’s thighs were over his hips, pinning them, and something warm and rubbery teased the head of his cock. All his muscles tightened instantly as she began tugging it up, back, IN -

-oh FUCK-

It was so warm and wet and tight and brilliant and it felt so much like cumming that he could only gape at the fact that he wasn’t. It was so utterly different from anything he’d ever felt around his cock before - how could he have ever thought his own stupid hand could compare to THIS? - that he just couldn’t. And he desperately, desperately needed to. He wailed and thrust forward so hard he ended up sliding right back out again; was caught by the First Lieutenant. Reinserted.

His eyes rolled back in his head. It was hot and tight and warm and wonderful and fuck, he was seriously going to explode.

The Colonel’s hands ran down his flank again (Colonel? What Colonel? Oh yes, that Colonel, the one he was only LYING against…) and began scratching at his belly, making the quivering muscles jump. His whole body was trembling, tensed and incredibly awkward - halfway sitting up, pinned beneath impossible softness, his back was going to be sore as a motherfucker tomorrow but oh hell - and they both just made noises of encouragement and let him writhe. Bastards. Beautiful, beautiful, bastards.

The First Lieutenant began to move, and it wasn’t going to take very long at all.

Trim nails, running all over his chest and dragging over his nipples – slim fingers clamped down firmly on his shoulders – wet noises from below and that velvety HEAT, sliding, slipping up and down over his cock. He could barely breathe but the air rushed out of his lungs anyways as he felt himself finally, finally begin to let go.

“!!!”

The Colonel pressed their mouths together one last time, and damned if he didn’t swallow a scream. The world lurched hard, burned away for a moment, and Edward saw nothing, felt only the blaze.

It really did feel like exploding.

~~~~

When his vision picked up again, a few seconds later, a concerned Lieutenant had a handkerchief out and was mopping his brow.

“Are you alright?” She whispered, over and over. “Edward?”

“Nngh?” Edward drifted, boneless and limp, and wondered why on earth she was asking.

The Colonel, beneath his back, shifted and suddenly LOOMED, with a smirk Edward wasn’t sure he really should be tolerating.

“No, he’s good.” The bastard gloated. “In fact, I suspect he’s extremely good.”

Want…to kill…but arms…so heavy…

“Oh, fuck you.” He finally managed, shaky. The Lieutenant gave him a sharp, concerned look, but the Colonel just laughed.

“Well, that would certainly be appreciated.” He husked, flexing something warm and stiff against Edward’s lower back. “We’re both alchemists here, I think you know what that means…”

Edward closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t because, of course, the Colonel was going to say “equivalent exchange” anyways. His legs didn’t want to work right, but that was okay.

He’d kick the bastard later. When he didn’t feel like sleeping.


It became something of a legend there in Central Command, the mysterious vanishing supply room – one moment the door would be there, and the next thing you knew, it just wouldn’t. It gained something of a following, for a while (courtesy one Cain Fuery), then gained something of a smackdown (courtesy of Roy Mustang, who lead an expedition into disproving the myth). It was just a normal supply closet, and there really was no way it could suddenly disappear. That was something for ghost stories and fairy tales.

Or alchemy.