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Negotiations	By : RiekaDeVolka Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1601 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Negotiations
- 1
Title: Negotiations.

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist.

Characters:
Scar, Havoc.

Rating: NC-17.

Genre: Humor (Sort of).

Notes: I was going through Velvet Mace's work and stumbled upon this (http://velvet-mace.livejournal.com/132136.html?view=5349928)
and as I was reading the comments. She mentioned it would never happen. I, most
certainly, beg to differ. Done in about twenty minutes, minus power cuts.

Negotiations.

He was a lazy man. And man enough to admit
it. Just, not stupid enough to say it while a certain blond Lt. was around. He
didn't particularly enjoy being shot, really. But if there was one thing Havoc
hated beyond anything else, was paperwork. Sure, it wasn't shoved on his face
at every chance, like it frequently happened to Mustang, but really, he didn't
like paperwork.

In fact, he had come to the conclusion that
smoking wouldn't kill him. The war wouldn't kill him. No, paperwork would.

So when the chance appeared to go in a
mission over to Ishbal. And actually, it was a peacemaking mission, he couldn't but graciously accept.

Graciously accept meaning, of course, that
he went almost as far as to jump up and down, waving his arms and wailing 'pick me, me damnit' when Mustang had
asked for volunteers.

He was starting to think paperwork wasn't
so much of an evil though. After all, paperwork was, well, sort of inanimate.
The worst it could do was pile over itself when he ignore it. And really, it
wasn't paperwork that scared the
living daylights out of him. Hawkeye was. He figured, though, that it could be
worse. He wasn't a State Alchemist, just a Dog of the Military doing
conciliatory peace talks.

It was just that he had landed with him that was disturbing.

Really, really disturbing.

Because sitting across the table from him,
was a tall Ishbalan. Tall, muscled, broad. White hair, red eyes. Sure, typical
Ishbalan. Except, of course, that he had a rather interesting pattern of
tattoos on his arm... and a very distinctive 'x' scar across his face.

He was a coward. And man enough to admit
it. He was scared out of his pants and had almost peed himself when he realized
who he was going to be doing the
negotiation talks with. But of course, he couldn't really show it. It would
look bad for the Military if he ran away screaming like a girl or something.

Plus, Mustang would never let him live it
down.

Then, there was the fact the talking part
of the negotiation talks had yet to happen.

Scar just... sat there, frowning ever so
slightly and measuring him up. Havoc would have killed for a smoke right then and there. Havoc didn't fidget,
because that wasn't what one did in the middle of a conciliatory mission in a
country that had been devastated by a stupid and pretty much pointless war, but
really. He had to admit that Scar was impressive. He didn't really look like a
holy man, but he didn't look like a serial killer either. More... more like a
soldier. Yeah.

Risking a glance around, Havoc was fairly
embarrassed to notice his table was the only one not doing much talking. Damnit.

"I need a drink," He muttered
under his breath as he turned back to find, surprise, surprise, Scar still
looking at him. Except now he had an eyebrow arched curiously. Havoc felt
himself color slightly as he blinked. "Did I really say that out
loud?"

"Your personal interpretation of
negotiation has me... thrilled," And, lo and behold, the scarred man
actually spoke. He had a nice voice, Havoc mused, really... rumbling. Sort of.

"Hey," The blonde rubbed the back
of his neck, "Cut me some slack, I just spent a few merry days in a train
with my boss," The other eyebrow arched, in which Havoc decided, was too
much an amused expression to be healthy, "Not like that."

"Like how?" Scar asked with a
neutral tone of voice, though he felt the corner of his lip twitch slightly.

"Like that," Havoc waved his hands vaguely, blushing faintly,
"I mean. Oh bugger, I do need a
drink."

"Is this the usual procedure in your
country, when dealing with diplomatic issues?" The Ishbalan's voice was
definitely ringing with amusement.

"No! I mean, yes... er," Havoc
rubbed his neck again, "Better yet, why don't you tell me how your people do it."

Now it was Scar's turn to blink. He had been
extracting amusement out of the blonde for a while, but he hadn't expected him
to turn the tables like that. He shrugged almost casually.

"Traditionally, new allies are
celebrated with a party. Food and drink," He arched an eyebrow again,
watching true curiosity, "Perhaps, er... a wedding or two."

"What do you mean wed-"

But Havoc's question was interrupted by a
bell, and the announcement of lunch break. He glanced around in time to catch
Mustang nodding politely at his Ishbalan counterpart and others that were in
equally friendly terms. The metaphorical light bulb went on above him.

"Um, Scar?" The Ishbalan, who was
already two steps from the door, paused. Red eyes met Havoc, and he forced
himself not to flinch. Steady, you can do
this, "What do you say we do this your way?"

"Pardon?" The white haired man
looked slightly taken aback.

"Yeah. I buy you lunch, you buy the
drink." Havoc grinned. He dearly hoped it looked like a grin, and not the
grimace he felt in the pit of his stomach, but it seemed to have succeed
because the taller man nodded after a moment.

"Alright."

How had things degenerated from there, he
wasn't sure. It had been a fairly innocent thing. Their lunch was very
traditional, and Havoc found he liked
it, which had amused Scar to no end when he had told him so. It was probably
the drinking, he figured. In retrospect, it had been really a bad idea to let
the Ishbalan choose. He just had the build of someone who could stomach almost
everything and though Havoc prided himself in his ability to stay sober when
most wouldn't, he was also willing to admit that hadn't been alcohol, that had
been poison.

"Wedding, eh?" He groaned as
teeth graced his skin.

Scar kept silent though. Hands and lips and
tongue and teeth spoke enough for him though. Clothes were discarded and
forgotten about, and fingers trailed over skin that was so different from their
own. Havoc didn't mind the humping, or the touching, even the kissing he was ok
with. Slightly disturbing and completely different from anything he had ever
had before, but good nonetheless. But when he felt something oily touching him
where it had no business, he tensed. He was forced to relax when the attentions
continued with renewed effort, touching and stretching and then touching him
just where it made him arch off the bed, that he couldn't stop himself from
keening in complaint when those teasing fingers retreated. He looked up and
found Scar oiling himself, and it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

It was also the most frightening thing he
had ever seen, too.

"Aw hell," He muttered as the
Ishbalan crawled back over him, grinning like the cat that ate the pet canary,
"Do we have to?"

The way Scar smirked, positively wicked,
was answer enough.

Well, that, and the sudden feeling of being
full, so full it hurt. And then he was moving, and Havoc's legs had somehow ended up
around Scar's waist, pulling him closer.

Jean Havoc had an epiphany. Smoking
wouldn't kill him. War wouldn't kill him. Mustang, Hawkeye, not even paperwork would kill him. Scar would.

And then, when he felt he was really going to kill him, Havoc came
and the world become unimportant.

"I like
the way you people think," He muttered sleepily, curling around a nice
source of warmth that breathed, but
he didn't really care.

He didn't even care about the fact they
were going to be late and explaining this
was going to be a fun ride with Mustang. Scar didn't seem to care, either.
- 1
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Negotiations