InsaneJournal

Broken, Hughes/Roy NC-17
Broken
by Lily
Hughes/Roy
1136 words
NC-17
no spoilers that I know of
Notes: I am fairly certain that this has to exist in some little alternate universe, because (I don't remember but) I don't think Hughes and Roy held their current rank here at any point in the series when they were together, until much later. So I really screwed with the canon I think. lol.


You’re always smiling; it’s easy, really easy to hide whatever you feel, like when you look at Roy and he’s smirking, that pretty-nasty-know-everything expression that makes you want to slap him across the mouth.

But you don’t, and you know you never will, because it is partly his cleverness that you admire so much. You wonder sometimes if Roy finds you compelling, or clever, or what it is that draws him to you, the way you are never drawn to him.

But you lie to yourself, because if you are not drawn to him, then why do you wake up in his bed, always alone? He never catches you, never, but perhaps that is because he knows what you do and does not need to witness it. Maybe it’s the surprise of teeth on your lip or grape juice staining your freshly laundered uniform, maybe it’s the way the sun pours into the room over Roy’s desk, maybe you have no idea what it is but you have been sleeping in Roy’s bed for weeks. You don’t ask where Roy sleeps, and you don’t need to know.

He sleeps in your bed, of course, and it is a wonder that the military does not know what’s going on -- that the lieutenant colonel sleeps in the barracks, hidden in the one room to the left, with an outside door because you may be only a major but you are an important man -- and you both know it’s Roy’s influence -- and you warrant your own room.

Maybe it’s the way he sighs over a particularly stubborn stack of paperwork, or the way his eyes catch yours glancing at him, and you swear under your breath and tell yourself that you don’t care -- but you do, of course, and that is what makes it unbearable.

Maybe it’s the way Roy extends his right foot when he’s standing, as if he just is not comfortable unless he’s doing it, or the way he scolds Ed like he’s a child and not a brilliant alchemist. Perhaps it’s the way Roy rubs the back of his neck when particularly frustrated, or again that sexy little half-smirk that gets you, whatever it is, you don’t want to sleep in his bed anymore. You want to make your own magic, and so you keep smiling, and you keep your secrets, and if Roy knows what they are, well, you don’t care.

Do you?

Possibly it’s all of those reasons and more, or the last straw is when Roy licks an envelope in front of you, only to look up and smile, but finally you are disgusted. Roy is nothing but a man, you think, and you can certainly break him beneath your fingers, and rework him until he resembles something you can love.

So one night you go to your own bed and Roy is not there yet, and you fall asleep, and Roy doesn’t come. Or he does, and you don’t wake up, because you’ve never mastered the military habit of waking in an instant from the slightest noise, and it’s okay, because when you do wake, it’s still an hour before revelry and you sneak out and into Roy’s own chamber and when he wakes, you’re ready and you push him down onto the bed so hard you bruise his shoulders, and he doesn’t resist.

His first reaction is shock, and to go for his weapon -- simple for him because it’s just a gloved hand -- but then he recognises you, perhaps it’s the way you smell, or maybe it’s your smile, and he relaxes under your assault and lets you have your way.

There is no fore play, because this is one thing you can be totally serious about, and you feel your tongue against the corner of your mouth, and you are pushing away the blankets and the sheets and bloody hell you think to yourself, because Roy sleeps naked and he has probably been sleeping like this for months in your bed, and the thought is almost too much to bear, and you wrap suddenly slack fingers as tightly as you are able around his cock and jerk.

Roy makes some kind of noise and you are encouraged, so you push harder against his body and pull with stronger fingers and he gasps and arches and maybe it’s the way sweat slips down his cheek, or the way his toes arch, or the way his stomach quivers so close to your hands and your body, but you hate him suddenly and press so hard against his ribs that he whimpers, and maybe it’s that soft little pathetic sound, but you are weary of so much pain, so next you are kissing the corners of his eyes and leaving little wet circles there, moving to his cheek and sucking on the bone, then tugging with your fingers again and he is hard for you, and you love it. It tastes so sexy in your mouth, his uncertainty and his pain, buried deep within his soul where no one can touch it, but dammit you are going to rip it all out and bare it to the elements and put it all back out of order, and--

That is exactly what you do, with hands and teeth and tongue, and you whisper in his ears and you smile and lick his jaw line and he cries out but not in pain and you realise that maybe you’ve exorcised those demons once and for all and perhaps that was your intention and maybe you’re not as cruel as you would like to be.

When he comes he jerks in your grip and splatters over your hand, and you notice that you are still clothed and that you have done all the work, yet you don’t mind, because Roy looks so beautifully broken, and maybe it’s because he didn’t think anyone could touch him and make him come so thoroughly, but when you whisper that you love him he closes his eyes and remains silent.

But it becomes a nightly ritual for you to slip into his bed, and always he lets you, and allows you to touch him and break him and kiss him back together, making it more real than real and it’s those memories you dwell on when you suck your tongue into your mouth and pump yourself to completion, in Central, far away from Roy and the way that he taps his fingers against the pen as he holds it, or the way he closes his eyes halfway and smiles that secretive little smirk that means he’s planning something, or -- the way his eyes go wide and vague when he comes over your hand, and for once looks completely human and not invincible and not untouchable.