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whiskeycoffeeTitle: Under Calico Skies
Author: m.jules
Rating: T+ - sexual stuff
Fandom/Pairing: Fullmetal Alchemist; Maes/Roy/Riza
Wordcount: 884, give or take.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this kind of stuff would be IN the manga. Which is why it’s a good thing they belong to Hiromu Arakawa instead, because I wanna tell stories like that when I grow up.
Summary: “He knew he wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them; knew that he’d have fallen apart long ago if they hadn’t held him together between their own bodies.”
Author’s Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cornerofmadness’s Under 400 Drabble (*SNORT* I barely held it under 1,000). Her prompts were: The Limits of Friendship (or No Limits), Flowers, and Weather. Title and opening quote are from Paul McCartney’s “Calico Skies,” which is my default Maes/Roy/Riza song.
It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies.
I will hold you for as long as you like...
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life.
Roy collapsed onto the body beneath him, chest heaving for air, and didn’t bother trying to keep his eyes open. Slick, sticky flesh fell against his sweat-soaked back, hot breaths puffing over his skin, and he managed to bring one hand up, clumsily, to brush Riza’s damp, tangled hair away from her face. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was that of gasping lungs, the thrum of his own pulse in his ears, and the steady patter of the rain against the window of the hotel room.
Then Maes groaned and pulled away, allowing Roy to roll off Riza to the mattress, still breathing hard enough that he sounded like he’d run a marathon.
Then he felt Riza’s hand on his chest, going up his neck into his hair, felt her lips warm and gentle on his and kissed her back softly. Another hand, this one larger and rougher, curled over his hip and he trembled under Maes’ touch, aftershocks still running through his overtaxed body.
The three of them, forged together in the fires of Ishbal (fires that leapt from his hands, hands of a murderer, hands of a desperate boy following orders, hands that found the steel in his own pocket, hands that ached sometimes even still for a trigger to pull underneath his chin), tested the limits of everything. They’d pushed past the limits of their bodies, in war and in love; pushed past reason and logic and sometimes even patience; but they had yet to find a limit to their friendship.
He knew he wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them; knew that he’d have fallen apart long ago if they hadn’t held him together between their own bodies.
“If I ever can’t go on,” he’d whispered in Riza’s ear one night as Maes lay sleeping soundly behind him, arm heavy across his abdomen, “Promise me you’ll pull the trigger on me.”
“No,” she’d said, and even in the dimness of moonlight her eyes had been hard, unyielding.
“Hawkeye,” he’d started, and she’d kissed him so fiercely that his arms had reflexively tightened around her, rolled them so that she was on top, loved her hard and completely, surrendered everything, because death in her arms was the only one she’d let him have. As he’d come back to his own mind, he had caught a brief reflected shimmer of moonlight, looked to see Maes watching them, a smile on his face.
If there’d been an apology about to trip from Roy’s mouth, it was stopped by Hughes’ mouth on his and he’d forgotten about it completely. But he never forgot the way they distracted him from death, pushed him on to something more, stood behind and underneath him and shoved him on towards a goal that meant so much more because they believed in him.
He still remembered, as clearly as though it were still happening, the day Maes and Riza had taken away his weapons. Maes had stolen his gun with the quick-fingered slyness of the thief no one knew he could be, and Riza had pocketed his gloves before he had a chance to reach for them. The whiskey bottle had been knocked over, spilling alcohol (accelerator, what I could do with that, I’m soaked with it, I reek of it, it would consume me... fire and water and nothing left of me...) and Maes had grabbed him by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall of his barracks.
“You idiot,” Hughes had growled at his ear. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Think we’ll bring flowers to your grave? Think again.” Then the kiss, and he still remembered opening heavy-lidded eyes to lock gazes with Riza over Maes’ shoulder as Maes had licked his neck, bitten his skin, left a mark to remind him.
The next day, he’d woken in a tangle of warmth with something soft tickling his nose. He’d opened his eyes to find Maes sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing Roy’s upper lip with a lily-like flower. He’d jerked back only to have Hawkeye protest when he pressed too firmly into her nose. She’d adjusted her arms around him and snuggled into his shoulder, finding sleep again as easily as if she’d never been awakened.
“What the hell is that?” he’d whispered to Maes, his voice thick and rough with sleep.
“Lotus,” Maes had smiled. “The only flower you’re ever going to get from me.” Roy’s eyebrows had drawn together in confusion and he’d made a questioning grunt. “Figure it out,” Maes had said, leaning over and kissing his cheek.
And so Roy had. (Lotus: Ancient symbol of resurrection, renewal, and the promise of eternal life.)
Now, securely bracketed by two pairs of arms, two still-thrumming bodies, he listened as the rain worsened and the wind kicked up a notch or two, howling around the corners of the building, and thought about how many times he’d been brought back from the brink of the precipice, how many times they’d thrust him back into feeling, into living. He closed his eyes and just breathed as sleep crept over him, knowing what ropes bound him to the mast of life when death’s siren call echoed in his ears, and loving them for it.
"Calico Skies"
Paul McCartney
It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies
I will hold you
For as long as you like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
Always looking for ways to love you
Never failing to fight at your side
While the angels of love protect us
From the innermost secrets we hide
I'll hold you
For as long as you'd like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
Long live all of us crazy soldiers
Who were born under calico skies
May we never be called to handle
All the weapons of war we despise
I'll hold you
For as long as you like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
I'll hold you
For as long as you like
I'll love you
For the rest of my, for the rest of my life
Author: m.jules
Rating: T+ - sexual stuff
Fandom/Pairing: Fullmetal Alchemist; Maes/Roy/Riza
Wordcount: 884, give or take.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this kind of stuff would be IN the manga. Which is why it’s a good thing they belong to Hiromu Arakawa instead, because I wanna tell stories like that when I grow up.
Summary: “He knew he wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them; knew that he’d have fallen apart long ago if they hadn’t held him together between their own bodies.”
Author’s Notes: For
cornerofmadness’s Under 400 Drabble (*SNORT* I barely held it under 1,000). Her prompts were: The Limits of Friendship (or No Limits), Flowers, and Weather. Title and opening quote are from Paul McCartney’s “Calico Skies,” which is my default Maes/Roy/Riza song.It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies.
I will hold you for as long as you like...
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life.
Roy collapsed onto the body beneath him, chest heaving for air, and didn’t bother trying to keep his eyes open. Slick, sticky flesh fell against his sweat-soaked back, hot breaths puffing over his skin, and he managed to bring one hand up, clumsily, to brush Riza’s damp, tangled hair away from her face. For a few moments, the only sound in the room was that of gasping lungs, the thrum of his own pulse in his ears, and the steady patter of the rain against the window of the hotel room.
Then Maes groaned and pulled away, allowing Roy to roll off Riza to the mattress, still breathing hard enough that he sounded like he’d run a marathon.
Then he felt Riza’s hand on his chest, going up his neck into his hair, felt her lips warm and gentle on his and kissed her back softly. Another hand, this one larger and rougher, curled over his hip and he trembled under Maes’ touch, aftershocks still running through his overtaxed body.
The three of them, forged together in the fires of Ishbal (fires that leapt from his hands, hands of a murderer, hands of a desperate boy following orders, hands that found the steel in his own pocket, hands that ached sometimes even still for a trigger to pull underneath his chin), tested the limits of everything. They’d pushed past the limits of their bodies, in war and in love; pushed past reason and logic and sometimes even patience; but they had yet to find a limit to their friendship.
He knew he wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them; knew that he’d have fallen apart long ago if they hadn’t held him together between their own bodies.
“If I ever can’t go on,” he’d whispered in Riza’s ear one night as Maes lay sleeping soundly behind him, arm heavy across his abdomen, “Promise me you’ll pull the trigger on me.”
“No,” she’d said, and even in the dimness of moonlight her eyes had been hard, unyielding.
“Hawkeye,” he’d started, and she’d kissed him so fiercely that his arms had reflexively tightened around her, rolled them so that she was on top, loved her hard and completely, surrendered everything, because death in her arms was the only one she’d let him have. As he’d come back to his own mind, he had caught a brief reflected shimmer of moonlight, looked to see Maes watching them, a smile on his face.
If there’d been an apology about to trip from Roy’s mouth, it was stopped by Hughes’ mouth on his and he’d forgotten about it completely. But he never forgot the way they distracted him from death, pushed him on to something more, stood behind and underneath him and shoved him on towards a goal that meant so much more because they believed in him.
He still remembered, as clearly as though it were still happening, the day Maes and Riza had taken away his weapons. Maes had stolen his gun with the quick-fingered slyness of the thief no one knew he could be, and Riza had pocketed his gloves before he had a chance to reach for them. The whiskey bottle had been knocked over, spilling alcohol (accelerator, what I could do with that, I’m soaked with it, I reek of it, it would consume me... fire and water and nothing left of me...) and Maes had grabbed him by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall of his barracks.
“You idiot,” Hughes had growled at his ear. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Think we’ll bring flowers to your grave? Think again.” Then the kiss, and he still remembered opening heavy-lidded eyes to lock gazes with Riza over Maes’ shoulder as Maes had licked his neck, bitten his skin, left a mark to remind him.
The next day, he’d woken in a tangle of warmth with something soft tickling his nose. He’d opened his eyes to find Maes sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing Roy’s upper lip with a lily-like flower. He’d jerked back only to have Hawkeye protest when he pressed too firmly into her nose. She’d adjusted her arms around him and snuggled into his shoulder, finding sleep again as easily as if she’d never been awakened.
“What the hell is that?” he’d whispered to Maes, his voice thick and rough with sleep.
“Lotus,” Maes had smiled. “The only flower you’re ever going to get from me.” Roy’s eyebrows had drawn together in confusion and he’d made a questioning grunt. “Figure it out,” Maes had said, leaning over and kissing his cheek.
And so Roy had. (Lotus: Ancient symbol of resurrection, renewal, and the promise of eternal life.)
Now, securely bracketed by two pairs of arms, two still-thrumming bodies, he listened as the rain worsened and the wind kicked up a notch or two, howling around the corners of the building, and thought about how many times he’d been brought back from the brink of the precipice, how many times they’d thrust him back into feeling, into living. He closed his eyes and just breathed as sleep crept over him, knowing what ropes bound him to the mast of life when death’s siren call echoed in his ears, and loving them for it.
"Calico Skies"
Paul McCartney
It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies
I will hold you
For as long as you like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
Always looking for ways to love you
Never failing to fight at your side
While the angels of love protect us
From the innermost secrets we hide
I'll hold you
For as long as you'd like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
Long live all of us crazy soldiers
Who were born under calico skies
May we never be called to handle
All the weapons of war we despise
I'll hold you
For as long as you like
I'll hold you
For the rest of my life
I'll hold you
For as long as you like
I'll love you
For the rest of my, for the rest of my life
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