Author: Red Flamel Fanfiction Contest
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Humor
Pairing: Havoc x Hidden x Roy
Status: Complete
Summary: It had been so long since Lt. Jean Havoc had gotten a piece, he had all but forgotten what it was like.
Notes: Author: Enigmaroolz on lj

It had been so long since Lt. Jean Havoc had gotten a piece, he had all but forgotten what it was like. Being stationed at Eastern Command under Col. Roy Mustang, the ultimate womanizer, had proven a far bigger burden than he had originally anticipated. It seemed that every woman who showed the least bit of interest in him ended up in Col. Mustang’s bed.

Then, of course, there was that disastrous encounter with Maj. Louis Alex Armstrong’s sister. The debris was still smouldering from that crash and burn.

So it was that most Saturday nights found Havoc jerking off to one of Lt. Breda’s girly magazines, wishing he had something more substantial than his hand for a companion. Leaving the bar alone once again, it seemed that tonight was going to be no different. Little did he know that fate had other plans.

If only he had realized (but, really, how could he have known?), he would have walked a few blocks before he shook his cigarette from its pack and flipped it into his mouth. Instead, stepping into the crisp evening air, he reached for his familiar friend, consoling himself with the assurance that he at least had something to wrap his lips around.

As he withdrew the lighter to fire it up, a young woman emerged from the shadows: a gorgeous brunette with exceptionally large breasts, accentuated by the tight bodice of her pale blue dress. She was apparently in a hurry and, distracted, ran right into him, knocking the ignited lighter from his hand and into her lacquered hair, which immediately burst into glorious flame.

She began screaming as Jean strove to beat out the flames with his hands, apologizing between a repeated mantra of “Oh shit!” The screams drew the attention of the soldiers and other patrons of the bar, who came running to the damsel’s aid.

“Whadaya think yer doin’?” “Gerroff her, ya brute!” “How disgraceful! Leave it to the military to beat up an unarmed woman!” Jean soon found himself forcibly dragged off her and into the alley by the bar. Before he could explain, the largest of the would-be rescuers punched him hard, right in the solar plexus, bending him double and rendering him far too breathless to speak (even if anyone had cared to listen). A few more punches, and he went down for the count.

*****

When Jean came to, his first thought was that there didn’t seem to be an inch of his body that didn’t hurt. He blinked his eyes and tried to remember exactly where he was. Wherever he was, it certainly smelled heavenly. As his gaze came into focus, he found that he was lying in a bedroom that looked like it was decorated with a Pepto-Bismol bomb and a dusting of lace. “Well, this certainly isn’t the barracks,” he murmured, then winced as his hand went to the cracked ribs under his bare chest. It was then that he realized that he was lying totally naked beneath a thin cotton sheet.

“Oooo! Pooky Bear! You’re awake!” a woman’s voice answered.

His eyes sought the source of the voice. His head had tried to follow, as well, but the swollen neck and jaw kept him from turning it very far. I’ve died and gone to heaven! was his first thought. The large-breasted brunette bent over him with a cold wet rag, daubing his chin. Her hair was freshly washed and still wet, drops from the little tendrils hitting his face and chest. “Um . . . .” He wanted to ask, “Who are you?” Instead, he asked, “Where am I?”

“Oh, Pooky Bear, I had those sweet young soldiers bring you to my house after I explained to them that you hadn’t really been trying to assault me. Fortunately, someone threw his jacket over my hair, so it didn’t get burned too badly. Besides, I needed a haircut. But I couldn’t very well leave you in the alley, and it was closer to my house than it was for them to take you back to the military headquarters. You’re a second lieutenant, aren’t you? I could tell by the insignia on your jacket. My father used to be in the military, but he was killed in the war. We still have all his medals and everything.”

She continued to twitter non-stop as she re-wet the rag and tenderly pressed it to the bruises under his eye. Jean couldn’t help but notice how her dressing gown gaped open as she bent over him. It seemed that she had nothing on beneath it since her cleavage was revealed from top to navel, those gorgeously firm orbs tantalizingly half-exposed. As she droned on, he dropped his eyes lower, wondering if he could detect some sort of waistband, tilting his head just slightly to gain a different perspective of the matter.

“ . . . don’t you think, Pooky Bear?” She stopped abruptly, and he jerked his eyes up to meet hers. It was obvious that she was waiting for his answer.

“Uh . . . yeah. Yeah . . . sure, I do.” He had no idea what he was agreeing to, but it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Her face immediately brightened and she jumped up excitedly. “Oh good! That’s wonderful! I’ll be right back, Pooky Bear! You won’t be disappointed!” She turned on her heel and bounced out of the room.

Again, he rubbed at his sore ribs and scanned the room. Only vaguely did he wonder how he had gotten undressed. He was certain that, if he didn’t hurt so badly, the mere circumstances of lying naked in a beautiful woman’s bed would have caused the sheet to tent in an embarrassingly obvious manner.

However, things didn’t start getting truly strange until his angel returned. “Here he is!” she sang. To Jean’s disbelief, she was leading none other than his blindfolded commanding officer by the hand. Col. Roy Mustang was not only in a similar state of undress, but as he had no bruises or cracked ribs to deter his arousal, it stood obediently at military attention. “Now Boo-Boo, you promised me. I want to see you fuck him, okay? And then you have to let him fuck you.”

Lt. Jean Havoc blinked again. “Uh . . . ,” but he was unwilling to say anything more, lest his voice give away his identity.

“Francesca! You wicked girl!” Roy crooned. “Don’t tell me that you’ve actually found someone who has agreed to this!”

“Well, I did. And he says he’s dying to be fucked by you! 4; Her voice took on a pout, as did her lips as she turned to Jean. “Didn’t you, Pooky Bear?”

“Uh . . . .” Again, though the sight of Roy’s erection made Jean’s heart feel as though it would leap out of his chest in dread, he simply didn’t have the presence of mind to reveal his identity to the man whose orders he obeyed day in and day out.

Before he could focus his mind upon anything that resembled a plan of action, Francesca’s full, pouty lips were on his, her tongue pressing past them to tease at his front teeth. When her hand reached down to stroke the growing lump under the sheet, it was as if she had performed some sort of alchemy of her own. Of course he was dying to be fucked by Roy Mustang. Of course he would turn around and fuck him in turn. What better way to spend an evening? Pain? What pain? Oh well, what’s a little pain between friends? Besides, he was her Pooky Bear, right? By the time Francesca withdrew from her kiss and her petting, he would have submitted to being fucked by a tank if she had suggested it.

“Now turn over so I can see how Bood;Boo fucks his friend.” She nudged Jean to his stomach and pulled Roy over to the bed, putting his hand on Jean’s sheeted butt. “Com’on, Boo-Boo. I wanna see!”

Roy chuckled as he climbed on the bed, positioning himself on his knees between Jean’s thighs. “All right, Francesca. Just for you.” Jean shivered as Roy tugged at the sheet to expose his backside. “I’ll need some lubricant, darlin’, if you want to see how I treat my friend . . . as opposed to how I would treat my enemy.” Havoc let out a gasp and a stifled groan as he felt Roy’s finger enter him and deftly pull him up to his knees. He buried his face in the pillow so that his voice would be muffled, and he clutched at his bruised ribs again.

Now it wasn’t as though he’d never been fingered there before. After all, being violated like this was pretty much routine in the military’s annual physicals. However, he’d never had anything bigger than a finger shoved up his ass, and when Roy pressed two lubed fingers past his tight muscle, he began to have second thoughts about the whole matter.

When the third lubed finger began to stretch him painfully, and he raised up to protest, Francesca crawled up on the bed in front of him, her legs spread on either side of his face. Okay . . . so . . . maybe this won’t be so bad after all, he thought, as her fingers laced through his hair to gently guide his mouth to her own private honey hole. Maybe if I just concentrate on this . . . mmmmm . . . yessssss . . . .

But when Roy’s cock found its mark, Jean jerked up with such force and speed, one would never have guessed that he had just suffered a severe beating. His scream was muffled in Francesca’s ample bosom, her hands holding his head in a vice-like grip. As he bucked and writhed, Roy’s low chuckle rumbled to his ears, “Well, here’s a wild one! Francesca, you naughty girl! You didn’t tell me he was a virgin! I would have been a little gentler in my approach.”

“I didn’t know things like that mattered, Boo-Boo,” the girl replied innocently, but breathlessly, pressing Jean’s head back down to her nether region. The scent of her musky sex wet in his nostrils again seemed to make everything perfectly normal and acceptable.

His tongue began to lap at her with the same rhythm Roy’s cock pistoned into him, and she likewise met the rhythm with her own rocking hips. Just like one well-oiled sex machine, Jean thought, his head growing a bit dizzy.

Francesca climaxed at least four times in this interlude. Her throbbing pussy enthralled Jean almost as much as her cum intoxicated him. However, he couldn’t help but wish that his commanding officer didn’t have such sexual stamina and prowess. His ass was becoming sore to the point of numbness. He felt an urgent need to use the bathroom, but he figured it was just part of having something that large shoved up him repeatedly. At last, he felt Roy’s grip tighten around his hips before he slammed him hard and he felt the same pulsing throb in his backside that his tongue had been experiencing.

“All right,” Roy breathed as he withdrew from Jean’s used backside, his fingers loosening their sweaty hold. “There you are . . . Francesca, my love. . . .”

“Now Boo-Boo . . . ,” she panted in reply, “now I want to see . . . how you get fucked. . . . Show me!” Her breathy, sensual voice still held the quality of a petulant child. “Do him, Pooky Bear!” she commanded Jean. “I wanna see what Boo-Boo looks like when he takes it us the ass!”

Still not wanting his identity revealed, especially now, Jean bit his lip to stifle the groan as he clambered off the bed, holding his side. His knees were incredibly weak, and he found it extremely difficult to straighten his frame as he stood by the bed and Mustang crawled forward to take his place in the heaven between those celestial thighs.

The junior officer located the lubricant and squeezed a fair amount into his palm. He looked from the gelatinous mass to the exposed rosebud before him and had to swallow down a lump in his throat. He knew that if he proceeded from here, he would never be able to look his commanding officer in the eye again. And yet, he also knew that he’d probably already passed that point anyway. “Well? . . . What are you waiting for?” Roy called back to him. “Let’s get on with it. I have duty in four hours.”

Jean almost replied with the customary, “Yes, sir!” but managed to stop himself with the first sound. Instead, he proceeded to coat three of his fingers with the slick substance in his palm before pressing them one by one into the waiting and willing Col. Roy Mustang, the famous Flame Alchemist. Jean marveled at how Roy pressed back to his touch, even with the soupy noises he was making against the already-writhing Francesca.

At last, wiping his hand first on his own cock, then on the discarded sheet, Jean climbed upon the bed again, placing his knees between Roy’s. Without another sound, he shrugged and shoved his ready cock enthusiastically past his boss’s slick muscle. “Son of a bitch!” Roy yelped. “Take it . . . just a bit easier, will ya?”

“S . . . .” He wanted to say, “Sorry!” but then remembered that he had to protect his identity. Instead, he bent forward and kissed the sweaty back by way of apology. Somehow, though, kissing his commanding officer in this tender way seemed far more bizarre than sodomizing him. So Jean straightened with a stifled groan, gripped the muscular hips, and began thrusting with a bit more care than his initial penetration.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since he’d gotten a piece. Or maybe it was the titillation of butt-fucking his commanding officer. Or perhaps it was because Roy Mustang’s ass was every bit as sweet as any pussy he’d known. For whatever reason, it didn’t take nearly as long for Jean to come as it had for Roy. In fact, Roy lifted his head and laughed aloud. “You need more practice!”

Jean colored with embarrassment as he gingerly extricated himself first from Roy, then from the bed, where Roy was continuing to munch on his past-midnight snack. Still holding his cracked ribs, Jean carefully dressed himself as quickly as he could manage it. When he left, Francesca’s moans were ringing in his ears.

*****

“Yo! Havoc!” Breda nudged him, causing Jean to moan loudly. He only thought he had hurt last night. “Yo! Duty, bud! Get up! . . . Jesus! What happened to you?”

Havoc opened one eye, the other eye almost swollen shut. “I was . . . in a fight . . . a misunderstanding,” he slurred, closing his eye again. Wonder if I could get away with calling in sick? he thought, then sighed and groaned as he forced himself to rise. “Holy shit!” He didn’t know he could hurt in so many places at once, not the least of which was his tender asshole.

“Well . . . if you didn’t get the worst of it, I’d hate to see the other guy,” Breda commented. “That’s some shiner you got there. Mustang isn’t going to be too happy with you, you know.”

Jean colored immediately at the mention of the name. “Uh . . . no, I guess not,” he mumbled as he shuffled off to the bathroom.

Breda cajoled one of the nurses into giving him a roll of bandaging tape. Jean was grateful for his help in taping up his sore ribs and then helping him into his uniform. As Breda pushed on the last boot, he shook his head. “You still look like your face met up with a brick wall last night, buddy. Even if Hawkeye doesn’t ask questions, you know Mustang will want to know what happened . . . especially if it’s anything he might have to do paperwork on.”

He allowed Breda to pull him to his feet. “Um, well . . . I don’t think so,” he mumbled and reached for his cigarettes. To his dismay, they weren’t there. He felt in the pockets of the uniform he had discarded just a few hours before: no cigarettes. He glanced around for them, then frowned. “Hey, Breda . . . would you look under my bunk and see if you can find my smokes?” But to no avail. Neither his cigarettes nor his lighter were anywhere to be found. Grumbling, he finally followed his friend out the door to report for duty.

*****

Lt. Riza Hawkeye merely looked at him as he gingerly took his seat at the desk facing hers. When he said nothing by way of explanation, she murmured, “Is there any point in asking what happened to your face?”

He smiled with the part of his face not swollen and replied, “I’m out of cigarettes.”

She cocked an eyebrow, but asked nothing further, regarding him a moment or two longer before returning her attention to the paperwork in her hands.

Fifteen minutes later, Col. Mustang strode through the door; and the two lieutenants rose to salute him, according to protocol. Hawkeye snapped to attention in good military form, whereas Havoc assumed a straight posture with difficulty. “As you were,” the colonel murmured, not even bothering to look at them as he sat at his desk.

“Uh . . . I think I’ll . . . get a cup of coffee,” Jean murmured, turning away from the senior officer and taking careful strides to the door.

Lt. Hawkeye glanced up at him, then cut her gaze to the colonel before returning to her paperwork. “Havoc . . . bring me one, too, if you don’t mind.

Although he hardly felt up to walking down the hall for coffee, Hawkeye had just obligated him. Jean Havoc had no idea how he was going to face his superior, how he was going to explain his condition to the man he had anonymously fucked just hours ago. As much as he would have loved to tease the man about allowing a woman to call him “Boo-Boo,” the thought of admitting his participation in the encounter as “Pooky Bear” was nothing less than mortifying to him.

He took his time as he made his way to the coffee machine and back, carrying the two cups. When he entered and set Riza’s cup, down, Mustang finally glanced up to see Jean’s condition. The colonel arched his eyebrows and rumbled, “Care to explain, Lt. Havoc?”

“Um . . . well . . . .”

Just then, Maj. Armstrong strode through the door. “Col. Mustang, your presence is requested at Investigations.” The burly major looked from Roy to Riza, then Jean. “Lt. Hawkeye and Lt. Havoc, you two will accompany him with sidearms.” He stopped short at the sight of Jean’s swollen, discolored eye and jaw. “Lt. Havoc, are you well?”

But Jean had welcomed the excuse to postpone his explanation to his commanding officer, having turned back to his desk to retrieve his gun. “I’m fine. Just . . . uh . . . out of cigarettes.”

“What’s all this about?” Roy demanded, though he rose and came around his desk.

Maj. Armstrong opened the door for him. “I’m sorry, colonel, but it seems that some civilian is reporting that one of our men set fire to a woman last night outside a bar. They are requesting that you appear in the line-up for a positive I.D.” Neither of the men were looking at Jean, whose one good eye had widened considerably.

“Since when have I been known to set fire to women outside of bars?” Roy demanded as he brushed past the massive major and strode purposefully down the hall, his irritation clicking with every step. Maj. Armstrong, Lt. Hawkeye, and Lt. Havoc followed in his wake, Havoc having a bit of difficulty keeping up.

*****

“No, no! That’s not him!” the man from the bar said impatiently. “I told you! He had brown hair, not black!”

“See?” Roy folded his arms and stared defiantly at Lt. Col. Maes Hughes, who gave a lop-sided smile and shrugged. “I told you this was ridiculous!”

“Well, we had to . . . .”

“That’s him! That’s him! Right there!” the man pointed excitedly, having just caught sight of the side of Jean’s face that still resembled him.

Roy started, and he and every other officer and soldier present turned their gaze upon Havoc who had raised his hands in protest. “No! You don’t understand! I . . . .”

“Yes, it was! It was you! I’m glad somebody gave you what you deserve! But I still wanted to report you! You military dogs think you can just walk all over us civilians. You think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it scot-free, don’t you? You . . . ,” but at that point, Maj. Armstrong stepped in front of the irate gentleman, blocking Havoc from his view.

“I think you should calm down sir. Take a deep breath,” Maj. Armstrong commanded in his rumbling voice. “It is a calming technique handed down the Armstrong line for generations. Here, let me help you,” he murmured, reaching out for the man, who immediately squealed in fright and literally ran out the door.

All other eyes were on Lt. Jean Havoc, who had begun to sweat. Jean pulled at his collar and glanced up to Lt. Col. Hughes while studiously avoiding Roy Mustang’s hard eyes. “Uh, I can . . . uh . . . I can explain, sir.”

“Well? We’re waiting. I’m dying to know what this is all about,” Hughes replied.

“That makes two of us,” Roy murmured ominously.

Jean related his story about being bumped and dropping the lighter, how the whole thing had been a silly misunderstanding and an accident.

“Can the young lady confirm this?” Hughes asked when he ended his tale.

“Uh . . . .” Jean gave Roy just the merest glance and immediately reddened before quickly returning his gaze to the head of Investigations. “I suppose so.”

“Well, let’s go,” Hughes replied with his characteristic enthusiasm. “By the way, have you seen the latest photo of my Elysia? She’s just dripping with cuteness!” Jean’s heart dropped to his knees. This was it. As soon as Roy laid eyes on Francesca, he would know exactly who the mystery man in their bed was last night. With a deep sigh, Havoc hung his head and led the way.

Standing at the door, flanked by Lt. Col. Hughes and Maj. Armstrong, Jean hardly noticed that Col. Mustang was hanging back and had actually donned his uniform cap. The rap on the door was answered by a man every bit as large as Maj. Armstrong. “Whuddaya want?” he growled.

So this is what Papa Bear looks like, Jean thought as he took an involuntary gulp.

“Is . . . ?”

Lt. Col. Hughes looked questioningly at Havoc, who stole a glance back at Mustang before he mumbled “Francesca.”

“ . . . Francesca home?” Hughes finished the query, meeting the mammoth’s fierce gaze innocently.

The brute actually growled before yelling, “Francesca . . . you have visitors.”

“What is it, Pumpkin?” the woman’s lyrical voice called as she appeared beside him. She took one look at Havoc and pointed, “I never saw that man before in my life! I swear!”

The man growled again, looking from the woman back to Havoc before he suddenly swung back and jabbed his massive fist into Havoc’s nose. “So you’re the one who’s been messing with my wife! So help me god, I’m gonna pulverize you! Your own mother won’t recognize you when I get through with you!” He would probably have made good on his threat right then and there, had Maj. Armstrong not intervened.

Meanwhile, Havoc was once again bent double, blood dripping from his face. “He . . . he broke my nose! Son of a . . . !” Lt. Col. Hughes had pulled out a handkerchief to hand him while Maj. Armstrong continued to argue with the irate husband.

Out of the blue, Col. Mustang spoke up. “This man could not possibly have been with your wife last night. Indeed, there is nothing whatsoever about that woman that would remotely have attracted him or caught his interest.”

At once, the commotion stopped. All eyes turned to Roy. Francesca’s expression was suddenly quite rabid. “What makes you say that?!?” the affronted husband demanded. Even Jean in his misery tuned his ears to hear the colonel’s explanation.

“I know for a fact that Lt. Havoc is gay.”

“What!?!?” Havoc’s, Armstrong’s, and Hughes’ voices chorused. Havoc straightened up to look at Mustang, his eyes as wide as his condition permitted.

Roy narrowed his eyes shrewdly, locking them with Jean’s. “I’m sorry, Lt. Havoc. I know you’ve wanted this kept secret, and understandably so. However, I think the fallout from finally coming out of the closet will be far less harmful to you than leaving this poor gentleman under the impression that you made lascivious advances toward his wife.”

“How do you know he’s gay?” the irate giant demanded, still snorting like a bull with his fists still clenched.

“I suggest that Lt. Havoc be examined by a doctor, who would be able to confirm or deny the fact that his most recent sexual encounter was with a male,” Roy replied. “If you truly don’t trust your wife, perhaps she would consent to an exam herself.”

“W-what?!?” Havoc sputtered again. “But . . . I . . . .”

“Is there a problem with submitting to a physical, Lt. Havoc?” Hughes queried, cutting narrow eyes to Roy before returning his gaze to Jean. “To tell you the truth, you probably need to get that nose looked at while you’re there.” “Uh . . . well . . . uh . . . ,” Havoc stammered, then sighed, closing his eyes, still holding the handkerchief to his bloody nose. “No . . . I’ll go.” Jean sighed heavily. I could really use a cigarette right now, he thought.

As the entourage began to leave, Jean heard a sharp slap and glanced up just in time to see a furious Francesca turning her back on Roy, whose fingers had risen to the red hand-print on his cheek. However, he missed the withering glare that Lt. Col. Hughes was giving his friend.

*****

“Ach! Look at you! Where did you get all these bruises?” the doctor exclaimed as Jean removed his uniform, piece by piece. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, but it was already twice its normal size. In addition to his already swollen eye, now both eyes had dark bruising beneath them.

“Long story, doc,” Havoc murmured, groaning as he attempted to pull his t-shirt over his head.

“Doctor, we need you to examine this man and verify any sexual activity he may have had in the last 24 hours,” Hughes explained, still surreptitiously eyeing Roy from time to time. “Also, would you take a look at his injuries? This man may need medical attention.”

“Sure, sure. Lt. Havoc, I’ll need you to strip down completely. Here is a gown you may put on when you are ready,” the doctor explained, handing him the thinnest and shortest hospital gown Jean had ever remembered seeing.

As Jean continued to strip with slow self-consciousness, Hughes and the doctor chatted while Mustang signed a clipboard Hawkeye had presented him before she disappeared again. Armstrong was silent, though Jean could have sworn his impassive expression had something of a glower about it. He slipped his arms into the gown’s sleeves. Then, with another gulp, he dropped his trousers and boxers, having already pulled off everything else. At that point, he just stood there awkwardly, waiting what would happen next, wishing like hell that he had a cigarette.

The doctor finally looked up from his conversation and instructed the lieutenant to climb up on the examination table. Havoc did so with some difficulty, holding his still-taped ribs. “What is this?” the doctor asked as he pulled back the gown and tapped at the bandages.

“Uh . . . I think I might have broken something,” Havoc replied.

“Hmmmmm.” The doctor took a pair of scissors and carefully cut the tape down his left side. “Well, then, let’s take a look, shall we?” Without further warning, he ripped off the tape, jerking out every chest hair beneath it.

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!” Havoc bent forward, his bruised flesh suddenly on fire, his hand reaching up to rub at the stinging. “Damn! You could have warned me or something!”

But the doctor wasn’t listening. Instead, he was making notes of the contusions, glancing from Havoc’s chest to his chart as he wrote. When he put the chart aside, he stepped up to palpate the discolored blotch. “Hmmmmm. . . . Yes . . . yes . . . it seems that you have broken three of your ribs, lieutenant. . . . Hmmmmm.” The doctor turned to make more notes on the chart. Again returning his attention to the patient, he murmured, “What other bruises do you have?” lifting the gown to reveal the rest of his body so completely, Havoc wondered why he’d even bothered with giving him a gown.

Soon the doctor was pushing and prodding this place and that on his torso, making humming noises and tongue-clicks alternately. He shown a penlight in each of the blue eyes, opening the lids manually to see them fully. Finally, his hands grasped the swollen face, thumbs pulling down the lower eyelids to evaluate the damage. Without warning, the doctor’s thumbs caught his tender nose like a vice and twisted it roughly, eliciting a scream of pain from the wounded patient and causing his eyes to water. Havoc brought his hands up to his face with loud curses as the doctor turned back to mark the chart.

“Well, you had quite the evening last night, lieutenant. Though it appears that the only breaks are your ribs and your nose. You’re lucky.” The doctor glanced back at Havoc with a stern look. “You need to be more careful.” But Jean was still in too much pain from having his nose reset to protest that his condition hadn’t been a matter of his lack of care.

“All right, now let’s see just how much fun you had last night, lieutenant. Was it worth it, son?” Before Havoc could register the words, the doctor had grabbed his cock, which was thankfully flaccid.

“What . . . what are you doing?” Still holding his sore nose, Jean sat there, mortified. Everyone in the room suddenly seemed to be watching him as the doctor fondled him.

“Just taking a microscopic sample,” the doctor replied before he rubbed what felt very much like sandpaper right across the sensitive head of his manhood, as well as beneath the foreskin.

“Son of a bitch!” Havoc yelped, his hands now clutching protectively at his groin. But again, the doctor ignored his outburst, merely instructing him to lie now on his stomach. He gulped yet again, shooting one glance at Roy before obeying reluctantly. Roy, however, was apparently distracted by his fingernails. As the underling rolled gingerly to his stomach, he mentally noted that Lt. Col. Hughes was uncharacteristically glaring at Roy like an angry hawk.

Burying his face in his arms, dreading what was bound to happen next, Jean tried valiantly to imagine himself anywhere but here, doing anything but what he was doing, preferably with a lit cigarette in his mouth. He felt his cheeks being parted and heard the doctor clicking his tongue again. Jean swallowed hard, certain that his face was now so brilliantly red that even the bruises would scarcely be noticeable. He yelped as some cold instrument was inserted past his raw, tender muscle, but he didn’t dare look up.

When the doctor had finally finished with the thorough humiliation, the patient was told he could sit up now. Jean, however, much preferred the idea of crawling beneath the worn flooring and oozing away. As such, he didn’t immediately move.

“Well, doctor?” Hughes queried.

“This officer has engaged in sexual activity with at least one man and possibly several. He obviously likes to play rough.” Havoc heard the doctor sigh in the midst of the explanation. “However, I can definitively say that there was no woman involved.” The doctor dropped his voice a bit. “A woman could not have made those injuries.”

Without warning, Havoc was lifted from the table by the scruff of the neck. “How dare you!” Maj. Armstrong started shaking him like a rag doll. “How dare you presume to date my sister when your tastes lie elsewhere!” All Jean could do was whimper, as he hurt far too much to make intelligible speech, being shaken so violently.

“Major!” Col. Mustang shouted and rushed forward to rescue his unfortunate underling. “Major! I believe you have it wrong! It was your sister’s rejection of the poor lieutenant that caused him to seek the companionship of his own gender! She was the one who pushed him into the arms of another man! Why do you think he has not had a date in all these months?”

At that, the hulking but sensitive major burst into tears and, worse, scooped Jean into his bear-like embrace. “Oh lieutenant! I didn’t know! I’m so very sorry! Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive my sister for rejecting you? You’ve been wronged by the Armstrong line, and . . . and I fully intend to make it up to you!” As Armstrong continued to sob, Havoc felt another couple of cracks around his rib cage. At this point, he was in too much pain even to attempt a response.

When the major finally released Jean, he laid him tenderly back onto the examining table and smoothed back the spiky sandy hair. “I shall take you out to dinner next Saturday,” he rumbled, then bent low to murmur in his ear, “I promise to make up to you the rejection you suffered at my sister’s hand,” then flicked his tongue over Jean’s ear. “Besides . . . I like to play rough, as well,” he added before straightening quickly and dismissing himself from the room.

Jean lay there in a somewhat of a horrified stupor, induced by having just been both crushed and propositioned by the enormous officer. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another resounding slap, this time delivered to Roy Mustang by Lt. Col. Hughes. “How did you know he was gay? And how did you know what he’d been doing last night?”

Rubbing his face, Roy just stared as the chief investigator strode out of the room. There was an awkward silence before the doctor cleared his throat.

“Well, I’d really like to keep Lt. Havoc overnight for observation, if you don’t mind, colonel. I’ll tape his ribs properly, as well as treat his other contusions.”

“Fine, fine,” Roy murmured, then gestured dismissively as the doctor excused himself, leaving Roy and Jean alone together. Roy was still rubbing his face, staring at the door through which Maes had exited. Jean folded his arms over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Roy’s gaze.

At length, he heard his commanding officer approach. “Want a smoke, Pooky Bear?” Jean peeked out from under his arms to see Roy offering him the pack of cigarettes he had lost the previous night, as well as his lighter. Roy smirked characteristically, though the red hand print across his cheek gave the whole picture a surreal feel. “You left these at Francesca’s last night.”

Jean smiled feebly as he took a cigarette and flipped it into his mouth, then cupped his hand as Roy flicked the lighter for him. Drawing as deeply as his wounded rib cage allowed, Jean closed his eyes and lay back again. “Thanks, Boo-Boo.” He took another long drag and let it out slowly before murmuring, “What I want to know is why I get punched while you get slapped.”

“I outrank you,” Roy offered enigmatically. Jean said nothing as he took another deep, satisfying drag from his long lost cigarette. “Well, look on the bright side, Havoc. At least you have a date Saturday night.”