It started because Riza was out for for her Sniper’s Evaluations for the month. And from there all work had gone downhill, and the five remaining men sat in mutual misery as the air conditioner strained to cool the hot room. Roy had removed his uniform’s jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and unbuttoned the top of his white collar shirt as he slumped over the desk at the head of the room.
Fuery’s fingers moved slower than usual over his crossed wires, and Falman was nose deep in a paper he wasn’t really reading. Breda had sighed a few times restlessly, and Havoc had clamped down on an unlit cigarette, chewing it thoughtfully as he struck up a conversation with Breda.
Roy tuned it out, until it seemed that out of nowhere, Fuery had turned a remarkably revealing shade of tomato, and Falman had sputtered in a manner that was laughably undignified. He looked up from the work he wasn’t doing.
“I’m telling you, that makes it gay.” Breda said. “Count the number of dicks, Havoc.”
Roy raised a brow.
“-No, it’s masturbation. There’s a difference.” The Lieutenant shot back, taking his cigarette from his mouth.
“Two dicks, Havoc. Two.” Breda retorted, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat.
Roy coughed, and all four of the other men jumped in their seats. He waited a moment as Jean glared fiercely at his best friend, and then looked back at his commanding officer. Roy nodded, waiting for the explanation.
“Fuck or fight.” Havoc said lamely.
”-If,” Breda said, “You come across a clone of yourself, and you have all the same memories, know all the same things, and you’re locked in a room for an hour together - no one will know what you do in there, and after the hour’s up, there’s only one of you again - d’you fuck or fight yourself?”
Havoc waved his cigarette. “Fuck, obviously. I mean look at me. But Breda says it’s gay.”
“Count the—”
“—Shut up, Breda. It’s masturbation.”
Fuery studied his radio receiver with intensified fascination.
Breda cleared his throat. “Fight, obviously. So you know you were the superior version.”
“…What do you think, Boss?” Havoc pressed, leaning forwards in his desk. “Fuck or fight?”
Roy sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“Only two options?”
“That’s the rule.”
His brow furrowed, and he brought his hands to rest at his mouth, palms pressed together as he considered the question. It was stupid, he knew entertaining their wild notions would be ridiculous, and yet — it was 110 degrees out, and the work before him seemed like a waste of time, and there was still another two hours before Hawkeye got back…
_______________________________________________
Given the circumstances, he wasn’t quite sure how it had worked out that he’d pressed his counterpart up against the wall of the high-security State Alchemist’s library, but his hands were marked at an even width’s distance on either side of his chest. Roy supposed that one of them had to be up against the wall, and that he probably had the same tricks up his sleeve Roy did. The face that stared back at him was the same face that met him every morning when he shaved - the exact same jawline, narrow black eyes, and tousled pitch hair that brushed lightly over his brows. It was a handsome face - Roy wouldn’t say he was enamored with himself completely, but he thought he was an attractive man, and he knew exactly what he was in for, for the most part.
Taut muscles shifted between his arms, and he felt the other Roy’s chest rise and fall slightly with his breathing as he was studied in return. If they fought, it would end in a perfect stalemate. They knew each other’s tells, knew their weak points. If any man could try to take down the Flame Alchemist, it would have to be the Flame Alchemist.
But suppose the second option was entertained. An hour. A private room. Someone who understood that the large scar that riddled his side wasn’t painful to touch, but deliciously sensitive in the parts were scarring met soft flesh. Someone who knew what he liked, exactly.
A knowing smirk lit Roy’s face - the answer was obvious - nudging his knee between the other man’s legs. “You know, I’ve always wondered if I was as good a kisser as they say…” He’d once been told by one of the Madame’s girls that he kissed much in the same way as someone might make love, and ever since, he’d been curious about being on the receiving end of that.
Time to find out, lips brushing against the other man’s as he tested out the willingness of himself, of all people.
