Chapter Text
Colonel Mustang felt on the verge of going over into the deep end. Dangerous waters awaited if he wasn’t careful. He was, he knew, risking everything he had worked for, dreamed of. His plans for the future, his chances of ever becoming furher all stood on the brink, blocked and held captive by one small obstacle.
If he gave into what was constantly plaguing his mind, it would all fall down. The thing was to be strong, ignore this ever nagging thought. He was, after all, a soldier trained and honed in battle. He was a human weapon, cool, calculating, disciplined.
Discipline.
The ability to behave in a controlled and calm way even in difficult or stressful situations.
Mustang was creating his own difficulties, his own stress. He knew what he was thinking was wrong on so many levels. He knew also that attempting to find a substitute would only result in a deeper pain.
God knows he tried though. Strong drink did nothing but leave him with a splitting head and his expensive cologne over powered by the odor of vomit. He took lovers of both sexes, one, a woman, a model, beautiful, a perfect lady who was a sexual wildcat. Another had been a man his own age who looked much younger, he thought that would help. It didn’t.
None of it helped.
On the contrary, it made the pain worse. Instead of the killing fields of Isvall, his dreams became filled with blonde hair and an open, panting, mouth. A young, willing, body opened to him, and tight, wet, heat. He had to wash his sheets way to often for a man of his years.
“Sir? Are you all right?” Hawkeye’s voice was near, concerned.
The Colonel turned and looked at her, “I’m fine.”
She stared at him, reading him like a well worn book and said, “Yes, Sir.”
She could do it, stop him from falling over into the abyss of certain damnation and bliss. At the very least she could shoot him in the heart and put a stop to this.
“Sir. Fullmetal has arrived.” Hawkeye said, setting a pile of papers on Mustang’s desk with military precision.
“Tell him to come in, Lieutenant.” Mustang said, hoping his secret wasn’t discernible in his tone of voice.
He came in like a hurricane in red and gold, threw his report on Mustang’s desk and himself onto the leather sofa, feet on the polished coffee table, “Hey, Bastard.”
“Welcome back, Fullmetal.” Mustang said pretending to look at the report, “I see your report is a little short…."