Roy Mustang could not have been more drunk if he'd been locked in a room with ten pounds of yeast, a jug of hops, a brandy snifter, and a piece of transmutation chalk. A good friend would give him a glass of water and an aspirin and then tuck him into bed.

Maes Hughes was not that friend.

"Hunh?" Roy peeled an eye open as Maes dropped into his lap, one knee pressed into the musty couch on either side of Roy's thighs. Roy blinked once, then let his head loll against the back of the couch. "Oh, s'you."

"It's me all right." The cheer in Maes voice rang hollow in the dark apartment Roy was inhabiting these days, but that had never stopped him before. He began unbuttoning Roy's uniform, the gold of his ring glinting against the deep blue wool. "You know I love a man in uniform."

"G'off me," Roy slurred, and he might have been trying to shove Maes off, but it barely manifested as a twitch underneath Maes.

"You should have come back with a scar or two, though," Maes continued, pushing the uniform aside to skim fingers down Roy's chest. "One you could tell a good story about, make delicate young girls swoon." Roy sucked in a deep breath when Maes pulled his white undershirt out of his pants and slid fingers underneath against the warm, pale skin. The oxygen seemed to clear his head a little.

"Speakin' of," he grunted, lifting his head just enough to narrow his eyes at Maes, "don' you have a little wifey t'run home to?"

Roy tasted like scotch against Maes' lips, warm and expensive. He pressed closer, sliding his tongue against Roy's and welcoming the slow burn down his throat when he swallowed.

"Don't suppose you have any more of that?" Maes pulled just far enough away to ask, running the tip of his tongue over Roy's bottom lip to collect more of the taste.

"Fraid not." Roy had sobered just enough to start scowling again. "You aren't the only one who's been busy."

"True." Maes smiled thinly. "But the person in my bed doesn't blow up civilians for a good time."

"Don't you…" Maes cut off Roy's growl with another fierce kiss, then slid a hand down to tug Roy's zipper down. He chuckled a little into Roy's mouth when he drew Roy's cock free, all the alcohol having done nothing to diminish the hot weight of it against his palm. He wrapped fingers around Roy and squeezed, making Roy gasp and thrust up.

"Mmmhm," Maes smirked, pressing Roy harder against the couch and stroking him firmly. What he really wanted was to slide down between Roy's thighs and suck him to within an inch of his life, but leaving Roy's mouth free to make any more clever remarks didn't seem like the brightest idea at the moment.

He'd have to settle for swallowing Roy's moans instead.

Roy's breath hitched against Maes' mouth, his hips following the motion of Maes' hand helplessly, and Maes used his free hand to begin unbuttoning his own shirt. Roy lifted his hands as if to help push the shirt out of the way, but ended up just fisting his hands in the fabric when Maes twisted his thumb over the head of Roy's cock.

He forgot all about the shirt anyway in the face of the whimpers that were leaking out in between Roy's gasps for air, and Maes finally broke the kiss to watch Roy's head tip back against the couch, his throat a quivering, pale line as he spilled hot and sweet over Maes' hand.

"Heh," Roy slumped bonelessly back against the couch, running suddenly sober eyes over Maes' figure, "stained your shirt. Gracia won't like that."

Sliding off Roy's lap, Maes wrapped a hand in Roy's undershirt and yanked him to his feet, and when he swayed and nearly toppled, Maes used the momentum to swing him over towards the bedroom, towards the bed that he could see through the doorway hadn't been made in weeks.

A good friend would keep Roy's mouth too busy to get him into any trouble, after all.