Better Luck Next Time

Fullmetal Alchemist. Hughes/Roy. PG-13. ~550 words. Pastfic.

Hughes was saying something in that low, conspiratorial tone of his…

Better Luck Next Time

Hughes was saying something in that low, conspiratorial tone of his. The one that unfailingly meant trouble. Roy heard him — had no choice really, as Hughes’s arm was draped around his shoulders and the guy’s mouth was all of two inches from his ear — but he refused to listen, and funneled all his attention on the formulas in his book.

He needed to study, damnit. Entrance exams were only a week away. There was no time for drinking games, or panty raids, or whatever it was that Hughes was trying to talk him into going out and doing. No time at all.

Roy’s laudable attempt at remaining resolute in the face of temptation lasted all of two minutes and twenty-three seconds. He flipped his book shut and turned his head to look over at Hughes and ask what was on the menu for the night. A Bad Idea, but he realised it too late.

It happened like a trainwreck; everything went into slow motion, Roy’s brain exploded with blind, screaming terror, and there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable crush of his lips against Hughes’s.

Roy had known Hughes could use a fresh shave, but now he could feel it, a sharp, prickling scratch just beneath the soft curve of a lip. It was surprising; men always seemed harder than women, being all angles and planes instead of sweet, fleshy curves, but aside from that insignificant little prickling, Hughes’s lips were every bit as velvet soft as some girl’s. A hot stain of embarassment crept across the back of Roy’s neck, but he couldn’t move, his muscles rebelling against him. Unable to do anything else, Roy stared at Hughes, certain that the highly attractive struck-upside-the-head look on his friend’s face was plastered all over his own.

Time came slamming back without warning, and Roy’s heart tripled its speed to make up for the delay.

Roy was saved from trying to get his mutinous motor skills under control when Hughes drew back first, his eyes blinking in startlement behind the thin lenses of his glasses. He didn’t pull away far enough to slide his arm off Roy’s shoulders, but it no longer felt like it quite belonged there.

An apology stumbled out of Roy’s mouth and it fell to the floor between them, landing in a quivering heap right beside his ego. If he’d ever felt more embarassed than he did right then, he’d long-since blocked the memory.

Hughes started to laugh. Hard. And it wasn’t long before there were tears spilling down his cheeks. If it had been anyone else, laughter would have made things worse, but although Roy only cracked a small smile, he felt the tension of the moment bleed away.

Pushing up his glasses, Hughes wiped his eyes with a knuckle, his breath coming sharp and fast as he fought to hold back another burst of laughter. “I always thought our first kiss would be more romantic,” he wheezed.

“Thought a lot about it, did you, Maes?” Roy teased, glad that the weight around his shoulders felt comfortable again.

“I must confess, Roy, it has been my every waking thought since the moment we met,” Hughes said, dropping his voice into something that was probably supposed to pass as sexy.

It might have actually managed to sound suave if a little hiccuping giggle hadn’t snuck in.



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