All the Difference

It was a fucking horrible hour to be awake, especially with images in his head and his cock achingly hard between his legs. He blamed it on that damned uniform. He'd never seen Havoc in anything other than his military blues, but the reconsniperwhateverthehell outfit the blond had come into the base wearing tonight, just as he'd been leaving after a late night of study... Fuck.

His hand slowly crept down into his shorts as the very vivid memory of the creature standing at the range lockers played back again. Solid black, with only the brown leather of gun holsters to add any different shade. Combat boots, bulletproof vest, marksman gloves. And, god, he'd never seen anyone go that armed in his life. It was the uniform of a hunter, a predator, and, added to the mussed hair, bare hints of blood, and the usual cigarette, it had made him harder than he could ever remember being. Something feral, primal even, had woken up at seeing a delicious hint of what other work Havoc's position entailed. He wanted to bring down the sniper.

His fingers came in contact with his erection and he hissed, fighting the automatic urge to thrust and biting his lip sharply.

Blue eyes blaze with combat fury. The hunter's become the hunted, the lion's been backed into a corner, and he turns to bare his fangs and claws. Metal flashes, one of many hidden knives, and he transmutes his own arm with a flash of blue light, moving in to meet the defensive attack. There aren't any guns left. He destroyed the lot of them in the fight that's brought them this far.

He groaned thickly and rocked his hips a little, sliding his fingers further down the shaft, the movement sending little pricks of heat through his already throbbing groin.

He's trying to use alchemy as little as possible, eager to bring down his prey through skill, not tricks. He twists, catching the larger man off guard with a kick to the knee, and knocks the knife away. They're both bleeding, he from a split lip, and the older blond from a gash over his eye. The sight of it only makes the lust pounding through his body stronger. He wants. And he will have.

His hand shifted again, cupping and lightly squeezing his balls, and he hunched over, burying his face against the mattress to muffle a full-throated moan.

Another knife appears to replace the one he's gotten rid of, and he fails to dodge a swipe that leaves a stinging gash across his cheek. He's smaller. Faster. But the older blond is more experienced. Stronger. Desperate. Like the knife swing a second before, he's caught by an elbow. He skids back, cradling his ribs, and growls as his prey uses the opening to attempt escape. Fuck skill. A clap, a press of hands, and the floor and wall come to life to capture the other man and hold him down.

Fingers wrapped around the base of the shaft and tightened, and again he forced himself not to thrust into the mattress, not yet.

His captive is gorgeous, all flushed and snarling and struggling. Grinning to himself, he pushes himself to his feet. Another clap, and the other man is moved and pulled by his bindings. Hands are dragged up over his head and together, legs are forced apart. He kneels, straddling the older blond's hips, and slides fingers under the part of his shirt that the vest doesn't cover, nearly purring when he feels the warm flesh of a taut stomach and the way it hitches under the touch.

Slow movement of his hand, up and down, purposely not giving enough pressure even as his body pleaded for it.

He smiles sweetly into still angered eyes that now spark in realization. "Mine, now," he breathes. He wants to go slow, wants to strip the man of each layer of defensive clothing, lay him open a little at a time. But their position, and his lust, won't allow for it. He shifts so that he can catch a hot, slightly bloody mouth in a possessive, hungry kiss, and claps before pressing his hands against the bulletproof vest to deconstruct clothing into useless ribbons and bits of metal.

He began to pant softly and shifted so that he was on spread knees, his forehead against the mattress and his shorts pushed down over his hips as he continued to stroke his cock.

The alchemy has a side effect he isn't expecting. His captive makes a noise into his mouth that's nearly a scream, bucking and thrashing and rubbing stomach against his cock in a way that's much appreciated. He breaks the kiss and finishes the transmutation, thinking that he has provoked a fight reaction. His cock throbs in anticipation when he discovers, instead, that the older blond is now panting and flushed for an entirely different reason. He licks his lips at the sight of glazed over eyes and a cock as hard as he's been since this began.

His fingers tightened a little around his erection, but still nowhere near enough, and purposely avoiding that one particular spot under the head and the head itself.

There's a broken water pipe and a shattered oil lamp from the fight that's nearly destroyed this room and most of the rest of the building. It's good enough, and another quick transmutation gives him more than enough lubricant. He briefly considers using another transmutation against the larger man's skin, just to have him writhe and scream so prettily again, but he can't wait any longer. He groans deep in his throat as he unfastens pants, shifts underwear, and slicks down his cock. Settling between his captive's thighs, the brief moment of probing to find the right spot is all the warning he gives before driving in as deep as he can.

He finally dropped his hips and spread his legs low enough to thrust against the thick mattress, moaning heavily between pants as he began to speed up his strokes.

The cry of mixed pleasure and pain sends a rush of heat down his spine that pools in his groin. As a last measure of consideration, he waits until he feels the muscles around him ease before he begins to move. It takes him a minute to find a pace, to set a rhythm, but once he does, he refuses to slow or back off. His captive is actually responding, rocking into his thrusts and making low, feral noises and moans as he is. They're both panting, both sweat-drenched, and it's perfect.

He could feel the pull beginning to build in his groin, knew the tension was so close to snapping, and squeezed his palm around the head of his cock as he moved.

Automail fingers are wrapped around a hip tight enough to bruise, and he's adding other marks of ownership as he pounds into the other man. Teeth flash and nip, leaving bites over every inch of bared flesh that he can get to. His tongue moves as well, sweeping at beads of sweat and blood and reveling in every drop of flavor he gets from heated skin. The older blond makes a strangled, pleading noise, and he moves flesh fingers to tug and stroke at the erection that rubs so nicely against his stomach. A sharp gasp, a thick moan that becomes a wail, and liquid heat spills over his hand and stomach as the tightness around him suddenly constricts...

He bit automail fingers to muffle a scream as the tension in his body suddenly snapped, and he came messily against the bedsheets. Panting and - oh, fuck, yes - sated, he collapsed, not caring at all about the sticky mess of sweat and semen that coated sheets and skin as he dropped into a near unconscious state of sleep.

***************

He had no fucking clue where the hell the fantasy from the night before had come from. He refused to believe it had been anything other than sleep deprivation and that goddamned uniform. Yes. The uniform. It had to be just that, not the combination of that and the man who'd been wearing it...

A thought that was effectively killed when he saw Havoc out of the corner of his eye, lighting a cigarette, and his brain immediately supplied him with the idea of something else he could put in that rather enticing mouth, and asked sweetly why he hadn't thought of it when he'd imagined fucking the man senseless while he got himself off.

He gritted his teeth, closed his book, and flatly informed Colonel Bastard that he was heading to the library. If he could just get away from a certain chainsmoking soldier, he wouldn't have to think about the figure that lurked under military blue or assassin black, wouldn't have to dwell on the fact that he would be devestating if he went around mussed and bloody more often...Shit!

He was inwardly grateful that the nasty weather forced him to wear his long coat closed. He didn't think he'd ever be able to explain away the humiliation if someone had caught him walking around half hard.

"Brother!"

Speaking of which...

"H-hey, Al. Everything go okay at the hotel last night?"

"Mm-hmm. It turned out Winry just picked up a bit of a cold from the weather, which you're going to do if you don't quit wandering around in the rain."

He snorted, and turned back on his path to the library, the suit of armor falling in step behind him. Sibling banter was good. Sibling banter was normal. And most of all, he and Al doing some friendly snarking would take his mind off-

"So, Brother, did you sleep well last night?"

Dammit!