One Abnormal Girl

x-posted:
[LJ] fma_yaoi
[LJ] hughesxroy

Discretion.
by arcanewinter. R 4569 Hughes*Roy. Fullmetal Alchemist. Cadet!fic.
For crazyloststar, who encouraged this. Hughes ends up eavesdropping on Roy and can’t forget about it, for one reason or another.

These characters do not belong to me. I do not profit from this. You, and not I, are responsible for your offense if you choose to read what follows.

Cadet Hughes found himself checking his watch far more often than he usually did, especially on a Friday night. He was easy-going, liked people, people liked him, but tonight the game room of their hall seemed more boring than usual, and paradoxically so. It didn’t make much sense that the absence of the most droll member of their class would dampen the evening, but it seemed to be the case–at least for Hughes. They’d both be graduating soon. He’d had plenty of time to get used to Roy’s stuffiness, and he was apparently so used to it that nothing was as fun without him.

He gave it another five minutes before folding his full house and passing the remainder of his cigarettes to the cadet next to him. Gambling was not permitted, and the ration of cigarettes was an easy substitution. Hughes only played for the company, though, and since Roy had retired to their room to study, Hughes hadn’t felt like he was getting that here.

It was still relatively early. The dormitory halls were virtually empty, as only quiet, awkward cadets like Roy actually spent time in them on weekends. But it had been at least an hour, and Hughes hoped he wouldn’t have to dodge a book when he showed up. Maybe he’d actually do some studying himself if Roy wasn’t done yet.

But as Hughes rounded the corner, he was disappointed to see no light under the door of their room. He wondered how Roy could possibly sleep with the ruckus filtering up through the floorboards from the game room below, but he supposed it might have been easier to sleep than to study. That’s how it always was for Hughes, anyway.

The cadet stopped in the hall with a small sigh, pushing his glasses up as he half-turned towards the stairs again. If Roy was asleep, he should just go back downstairs until he was ready for bed, himself. The guys would probably let him jump in the game again, and even if they didn’t, there were other things to do: play chess, wrestle, listen to the radio . . .

Then again, Hughes had been awake since 0500, and maybe Roy had the right idea. It was only a staunch dedication to having a good time that kept any of them awake on the weekend. Bed didn’t sound like a huge loss after all.

Resuming his trek to their room, Hughes gripped the doorknob and turned it quietly, slowly pushing the door open. For as reserved as Roy usually was, he could be an absolute bear if woken too soon, and over the years Hughes had learned not to trifle with Roy’s bedtime. He regretted that the light from the hall would spill onto Roy’s bed, but Hughes himself could block most of it if he were careful, and the laughter, ping pong, and radio downstairs were enough to swallow up any culpable disturbance from Hughes.

But Roy wasn’t in his bed; Hughes could see that, at least, from what light leapt over him and into the room. What could he be doing in the dark, then? Roy couldn’t possibly have gone out–not Roy Mustang, budding genius, only child of prestigious parents.

Hughes was about to give up his stealth and enter when he realized that the room wasn’t entirely silent, and instinctively he froze. Within a few seconds he could make out a silhouette at the desk by the window, and what he heard was not the breathing of someone at quiet contemplation of the night sky.

Had Hughes opened the wrong door? Could he have mistaken another hallway for theirs after all this time?

No–that stifled groan that briefly eclipsed the quick and quiet metronome was of an unmistakably deep pitch. That could be no other than Roy, and he was–

Hughes’ hand tightened on the knob, but the slow coiling in his gut kept him from pulling the door closed. In the sudden tenseness, his vision had sharpened, and the light from the high window afforded him more detail. As much as he didn’t want to look, he couldn’t budge an inch.

Roy was seated with his back to the door, but he’d turned enough to spread his knees, slouched as Hughes never saw him. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeve, and the quick flexing of the muscle in his forearm was hypnotizing more than just Hughes’ mind.

He flinched, holding his breath as he tried to tear his gaze away and withdraw, but his resolve faltered, then dissolved completely as he caught sight of Roy’s face.

The usual paleness of his skin featured all too clearly the furrow in his brow and the eyelashes of his tightly closed eyes. And the mouth that was so often set in a hard line of judgment was now open, revealing the clean line of his teeth.

A brief clamor downstairs recalled Hughes from the temporary vacuum he’d imagined only they occupied. His heart thudded while the rest of him remained painfully still, listening for anything further. Roy had paused, too, but seemed less concerned: he never turned his head enough to catch sight of the thin line of light from the doorway, and Hughes let out his breath as slowly and as quietly as he could.

He should have closed the door the moment he realized Roy wasn’t asleep. Even if Roy had heard him then, it wouldn’t be as shameful as this. Eventually Roy was going to see him. Eventually Hughes would have to make up some reason for watching him, his best friend, with whom he’d have contact every day afterwards. But “eventually” had no meaning once Roy relaxed in the chair again, and when he resumed the slow piston of his hand, he may as well have been doing the same to Hughes.

The cadet swallowed, closing his eyes only a second or two to question this reaction, but it didn’t keep him from renewing his attention. Whatever came of this, it was worth it. He’d never felt like this while his own hands were idle, one still clutching the doorknob while the other clenched and all but trembled at his side.

It was the same needful grasping of Roy’s other hand, which, as soon as Hughes noticed it, seemed to take even greater hold of him. It flexed and unflexed against the wood of the desk, transmitting in tiny spasms every peak and valley of what Roy was feeling. He was taking his time. Hughes could tell that Roy was bringing himself closer and closer to the edge, backing down after each approach to train himself towards a more satisfying finish.

Hughes hardly had the patience for it. He swallowed, straining to keep still, aching for just the slightest touch, but knowing that would be the end of it for him. Roy’s self control, in such sharp contrast to Hughes’, was on full display, as was his discipline and dedication to the ultimate goal. Hughes shouldn’t have been surprised that it would manifest even now, but it enthralled him that Roy was still Roy at a time like this.

Perhaps that was what kept him rooted there at the door, sharing Roy’s moment in all but action.

When Roy groaned again, it was for both of them. The slow pulse of his bodily responses was quickening, each rolling wave now lifting his knees and arching his back against the chair. It seemed Roy had tortured himself enough; he was deliberately leading himself headlong towards the precipice. The breathing he’d kept quiet now huffed through his parted lips, and his free hand, finding nothing at the desk to grasp, clawed its way up his torso to pull at his shirt.

Hughes could see the near-pained expression on Roy’s face, the excruciating silence he had to keep. Hughes himself was close to voicing his own anticipation, but he kept his lips tightly closed, eyes on Roy with a burning focus.

Roy’s other hand swept gropingly up his neck, exposed with the arch of his spine, and Hughes bit back another vocal impulse as Roy’s fingers teased over his lips. But the toying seemed cut short–his hand, then the rest of him, jerked, the arch now reversing so that he nearly balled up where he sat, his free hand slamming to the desk in a fist, the loudest noise he’d made. A series of tremors shuddered visibly through him, each forcing the smallest hum through his tightly pursed lips.

A phantom echo of Roy’s display nearly caused Hughes’ sweating palm to slip from the knob, but he gripped it tight again and rode it out, trembling faintly in his efforts to stay quiet, to stay still.

But he did, in the end, and he could see that Roy had relaxed in the chair again, his posture careless while his chest rose and fell, slow but rough. His face was tipped towards the door, eyes closed, hair held loosely back from his forehead by his free hand, resting atop his head.

He was so unintentionally alluring in his recovery that Hughes almost forgot to get the hell out before he was seen. He pulled the door closed until the latch met the frame, then crept back. That was the best he could do for now. If Roy didn’t look closely, he wouldn’t notice it wasn’t quite closed.

A few seconds passed before he heard Roy push the chair in. Hughes held his breath, but at least from this distance he could act as though he were just coming in. Still, Hughes was a terrible liar, and he was relieved to hear the mattress creaking in the top bunk. He was safe; it was his secret.

Hughes glanced down the hall to the lavatory. He could use a shower, but even as he considered it, a cold, creeping guilt proved sufficient in calming him.

How was he going to face him, now? How could he have stolen Roy’s privacy? Roy was an unusually sharp character. It would be humiliating for him to find out that he’d been spied on at his most vulnerable. And even if he never found out, Hughes would always be aware of that.

Hughes sighed, pulling his glasses off to rub his face. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so terrible in the morning. It wasn’t like Roy was the only one who did that. In fact, until tonight, Hughes rather suspected Roy was the only one who didn’t. It was commonplace. No shame in it.

With that conclusion in mind, Hughes pushed open the door to their room again, letting his eyes adjust to the dark (again) as he pulled off his clothes and set his glasses aside. Reaching for the bottom bunk, he crawled onto it, unable to help the creaking springs.

Tired as he was, though, he found himself staring at the bottom of Roy’s mattress.

No shame in it.

No different than the rest of us.

I wouldn’t care if he watched me, would I?

But that was the wrong question to ask himself.

Closing his eyes in a vehement attempt to fall asleep immediately, Hughes rolled into his side and tried to shake the feeling that he’d want Roy to watch.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Hughes found himself relieved that the two friends saw little of each other. In fact, he’d never been so glad to be bowled over by a series of exams and drills he hadn’t quite prepared for.

Roy seemed entirely preoccupied by the academic strain. He didn’t notice Hughes’ few but seldom glances or his disinclination toward conversation–in fact, Hughes supposed Roy was too glad of it to question it.

He’d had almost five days to forget what had happened, almost entirely free of contact with him, but it was getting worse, not better. His optimism just before falling asleep that night had been far off the mark.

The next morning had been almost unendurable on account of the way Hughes’ dreams had gone, and whether he spent time with or without him, it made no difference: Hughes couldn’t get Roy–that Roy in particular–out of his head.

Even when he forced himself to be rational rather than fantastical, he couldn’t explain this sudden infatuation of someone he already knew well, and already knew to be made just like him. It didn’t make any sense. There was nothing about Roy’s body that should interest him more than his own.

But despite what he knew, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t stop replaying the whole thing in his mind, eventually adding his own embellishments to the memory until, much to his concern, he’d begun to include himself.

He sighed at himself as he set his lunch tray on the desk of their empty room. It was usually against the rules to take meals outside of the cafeteria, but on account of the exams, their teachers and sergeants preferred food in the dormitory over food in the library. Hughes was just grateful to have the opportunity to avoid his boisterous classmates. More than that, he was glad to avoid confrontation with Roy, whom he’d spotted in the cafeteria just in time to escape in the other direction.

But the flawed wisdom of seeking refuge in a room they both shared became apparent just a moment after Hughes sat down. He couldn’t see who it was when the door opened, then closed a few seconds later, but he knew.

“I thought you’d be in the cafeteria,” Roy said.

Hughes nervously rubbed the wood of the desk, just where Roy’s hand had strained almost a week ago. “I thought I could use the quiet.” He turned slightly in the chair Roy had slouched in, throwing a glance over his shoulder with a shaky smile.

“I suppose it’s a bit late now,” Roy answered with some doubt, “but my textbooks are on the shelf if you want them.”

Hughes listened as Roy tread further into the room. The mattress creaked as he sat down on the bed.

Hughes’ bed.

Face toward the window again, Hughes winced, suddenly blurting: “Maybe we shouldn’t be roommates anymore, Roy.”

He heard himself say it almost before the thought even entered his head, and his cheeks burned in the silence as Roy didn’t answer. Hughes pulled off his glasses to toy with them, needing something to focus on. He’d lost his appetite for the unfinished food.

“I mean–” Hughes continued falteringly, “I’m always bothering you. I’m too loud, right?” He tried to add a short laugh, but it stalled in his throat, and he merely coughed nervously. He could have just waved it off, taken it back, but he didn’t see any other solution. He just couldn’t act normally around him, and it wasn’t going away. Had he ruined their friendship? Would he ever feel right with him again?

“If that were a concern of mine, I’d have corrected it a long time ago.”

Hughes frowned further. Roy’s voice was steady, almost cold, and Hughes knew Roy wasn’t taking this lightly.

“I’m fairly certain it’s not a concern of yours, either,” Roy continued after a pause Hughes couldn’t fill. “What’s this about, really?”

Great, Hughes cursed inwardly. He just hadn’t prepared an excuse strong enough to stand up to someone like Roy. He really had nothing but the truth.

And under the pressure, the truth didn’t seem like such a bad investment, especially if it sufficed to excuse him from having to face Roy again.

Hughes drummed his fingers on the desk’s edge for a few seconds before he cleared his throat. “The thing is, Roy–” he hadn’t thought about how to phrase this, “–the thing is, I came back earlier than expected last Friday, and I–”

Frowning, Hughes steeled himself, but his voice had lost its volume. “I watched you.”

The room sounded even quieter in the wake of the confession, but as shamed as he was, as afraid as he was, it felt better than the secret, and he waited for Roy’s reaction, if he would even acknowledge it. Hughes would understand if Roy just got up and left, and as he listened to Roy’s slow pacing on the wooden floor, he began to expect he would.

But the sound of his footsteps stopped much closer than the door. He was still by the bed.

Hughes turned with careful curiosity. Roy stood, leaning against the top bunk, back mostly to Hughes. It made his words difficult to hear, but they were unmistakable.

“I know, Hughes.”

Hughes was halfway through asking him what he knew before he stopped, his own closing words returning to him. He turned further in the chair, pushing his glasses back onto his face to stare with better focus at the back of Roy’s head. If Roy had figured it out, somehow, why hadn’t he said anything? Hughes could have been relieved of the whole thing days ago. “You know already? Since when?”

Roy paused, his fingers nervously pulling at the carefully tucked blanket, though he’d gone still again before his answer.

“Since you opened the door.”

Hughes blinked at him, then averted his eyes involuntarily, hand pushing his hair back to help him think. Since I opened the door. I only opened it once, and that was–

“But you didn’t stop!”

“Neither did you!” Roy countered, for the first time meeting Hughes’ eyes. His voice matched his stern expression.

Hughes backed down, searching the grain of the floor for a suitable response. So he’d be held accountable for what he couldn’t explain. But Roy was addressing him directly, and he didn’t have the stamina to lie to him, not his best friend, even if his reason didn’t make any sense.

“I tried. But I couldn’t.”

He lifted his eyes almost timidly to see Roy’s reaction. Hughes had just admitted, albeit vaguely, that he’d been aroused by the sight of Roy engaged in a private act, and Roy was a very keen interpreter of vague language. There was no avoiding the repercussions of this.

But Roy didn’t look angry. Roy didn’t seem surprised. He had looked away, his elbow against the bed while he rubbed his chin. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, a few seconds passing before he finally answered.

“I tried, too.”

Something pleasant clenched in Hughes’ gut before he even consciously interpreted Roy’s meaning. The tension persisted as both of Roy’s hands covered his face as he leaned against the bunk.

“So . . .” Hughes swallowed, looking away from him just to calm his racing thoughts. So Roy wanted him to watch? He had liked it, even? “So it’s okay, then? As long as we both–”

“Especially if we both–” Roy interrupted, but he got no further, and merely sighed, folding his arms against the mattress and setting his forehead on them.

Hughes supposed he was right, in a way he tried to ignore. They couldn’t act on it, couldn’t do it again, so what was good about sharing the sentiment? Didn’t that make it worse? Didn’t that make it more difficult?

That seemed to be the case for Roy, anyway. Maybe he hadn’t fully accepted his guilt the same way Hughes had. Hughes frowned, and with a half-hearted glance to his unfinished plate, he got up and sat down on the bed next to where Roy stood, back still turned.

“Sit down a minute. There’s an innocent explanation for both sides, and if we don’t talk about it, it’s going to feel bigger than it is.”

There, that was rational. Hughes was feeling very responsible and level-headed. Now that their embarrassment was equal, he was confident they could move on if they were just honest and reasonable.

He just needed for Roy, who hadn’t moved, to meet him halfway.

“Roy?”

“I’d rather stand,” Roy answered. His voice sounded strained.

“Roy, I really think we should be on the same level, here. Please–.”

“I said I’d rather stand,” Roy repeated, and it was the purposefulness with which he kept his back turned, despite the force in his voice, that finally tipped Hughes off.

His eyes dropped down below Roy’s waist before he steered his gaze to the floor. Well. It wasn’t as though this hadn’t happened to Hughes before, in other situations. “Who cares? It happens.” He tried to feel as casual as he sounded, but the truth was, knowing that Roy’s pants had become too tight to sit down in was freezing up his thought process. “We’re both guys here,” he offered.

“That’s the problem, don’t you think?” Roy hissed lightly.

Hughes looked up again to answer him, but he soon forgot whatever weak response he’d had in mind.

Did it have to be a problem?

After five days thinking of nothing else . . .

He’d risen to his feet before he really knew what he was doing, and knowing in the back of his mind how essential that timing was, he reached forward, made one step closer, and rested his hand on Roy’s hip.

Roy turned only far enough to glare at him. But once Hughes had recovered from the initial impact, he could read something else in the expression: a fierce yet fearful demand to know what Hughes meant to do.

Hughes might have made the same demand of himself. But he knew what he wanted to do; what he couldn’t predict was Roy, if Roy would let him.

His dark, widened eyes kept Hughes pinned to the spot, but they’d both have their answers soon. Hughes’ hand was already moving while he held his breath, groping along the material of Roy’s trousers until his fingers brushed the tautness in the material and the warmth straining against it.

Roy’s eyes closed. His brow furrowed, and his hand gripped’ Hughes wrist, but there was no protest, no sound louder than the rush of air past his teeth.

This was what Hughes had wanted since that night, though he couldn’t explain or define it. He wanted to put that expression on Roy’s face again. He wanted to set his breathing on edge. He wanted to be the reason for it.

He hardly knew what he was doing. He struggled inwardly; he was shocked to be feeling what pressed against his palm, straining against his fingertips, but at no point did he want it to end, not yet. Roy was still motionless, hand tight around Hughes’ wrist, seemingly incapable of encouragement, but equally unable to tell him to stop.

Hughes moved closer. If he paused, the whole thing might crash to a halt. His other hand slipped around Roy’s other side and took hold of the button in his trousers, still rubbing with his palm what he wanted so inexplicably to get at. And the distraction worked–at least, for a few seconds. He’d just tugged the trousers open when Roy grabbed his other wrist as well.

“You shouldn’t,” he gasped, finally. He was leaning into him. Hughes could feel the unevenness of his breathing.

Hughes closed his eyes, biting his lower lip. He knew. He knew he shouldn’t. Roy knew he shouldn’t. But–

“Do you want me to?”

That was all that mattered. Hughes wanted it. And if Roy–

“Yes.”

Hughes swallowed down the flutter in his chest, which seemed to continue down, down, rocking his hips into Roy. He hadn’t realized until now that they were pressed so close, front to back, but now he couldn’t forget it. His fingers tugged and pushed and twisted at clothing until they finally met the smooth warmth of Roy’s skin, and before he could wonder again at his motivation, he willed his hand downward.

Roy started just as Hughes found him, the stiffness straining into his palm as he gripped it, then slowly began to stroke. He felt Roy tremble faintly, perhaps fighting for the control Hughes knew he practiced so diligently by himself, but it seemed to fail him here. He thrust his hips forward once, twice, groaning unhappily before he silenced himself. His hands had retreated to Hughes’ sides for stability, but suddenly it seemed he was pushing himself away, and Hughes almost uttered some nonsensical protest.

But here was Roy still, only he had turned around, laden eyes almost pleading as one hand kept Hughes’ where it was, the other tugging impatiently at Hughes’ trousers.

“You–you don’t have to do that,” Hughes stammered, but he’d never spoken a statement so contrary to what he was feeling, and Roy seemed to know it. His hand continued its searching and pulling until Hughes’ muscles jumped under the contact of fingertips on skin. He could have collapsed as Roy’s touch slipped further down, gripping as he gripped.

He was beyond all rational thought. They were pressed together so closely that their hands barely had the freedom they needed. Their mouths, both huffing and biting back further sounds, had tipped close enough to touch, but they didn’t, not quite, as they used each other for support, their breath falling at each other’s cheek.

They were accustomed to the rhythm if not the method, and it seemed all too quick for Hughes–watching Roy had seemed an eternity longer, but that may have been his own fault. His free hand clenched and pulled at the shirt at Roy’s back as he clung to him, thrusting into his hand as he accepted the same from Roy, mirroring his pace, matching his frenzied desperation until he felt the warm trickle pooling where hand met flesh, the rest of his senses blind and throbbing.

The descent was far more abrupt, but as he panted against him, Roy made no move to withdraw, or even remove his hand. Hughes realized he hadn’t either, but right now, all he could think about was not falling over, and that meant staying just as close to Roy as he was now.

The silence afterwards should have been uneasy, but it wasn’t, not with Roy’s breath still falling on his neck. He hadn’t quite caught it before he spoke.

“Hughes, what did we just do?”

It had a note of gruffness, of seriousness about it, and while Hughes had a very obvious answer to that question, he knew that wasn’t what Roy meant. They’d just overstepped some very important boundaries, of more than one kind. They’d just used each other for an unintended purpose, and it would not be easily forgotten, not for decades.

“I don’t know,” Hughes conceded with a small, lazy sigh. Roy was the more educated of the two, not Hughes. “But it was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

Roy snorted quietly, but his lack of answer told Hughes plenty.

Eventually, they stepped away from each other, each reaching for a towel by the door and avoiding each other’s eyes as they did what they could before the inevitable shower. But there was something in Roy’s expression that troubled Hughes, when he could catch sight of it. Something was unresolved.

But Hughes didn’t have to wonder long. Roy turned to him after hanging the towel, his usual careful frown returning as before.

“We’re still roommates, then?”

Hughes laughed. “You’re really stuck with me, now.”

Roy observed him a moment before nodding, and Hughes could have sworn he smiled an instance too soon as he turned to find his tray again.

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