He knows he shouldn't be doing this. Every rule in the book tells him that it's wrong, frat-er-nisation, number one cause of discharged officers in peace time situations. He's so close to his goal, why should he ruin it for the sake of his own lust?
But then again, he didn't expect Fullmetal to corner him, late at night when he's pulling overtime on the latest batch of paperwork. He didn't expect an automail hand fisting in his collar to push him back against his desk chair, Fullmetal straddling his thighs as he kisses him. The kiss is sloppy, messy and inexperienced, but determined, and the fire in Fullmetal's eyes warns him against arguing, or pushing him away and trying to pretend this never happened. Because Fullmetal is stubborn and obsessive about getting what he wants, and he doesn't care who knows it.
Fullmetal is clumsy and passionate, his touch demanding reciprocation, and he finds himself doing so. The lever on his chair is slammed with a metal hand and the back drops, Fullmetal still straddling his thighs and tearing at his uniform jacket and the shirt beneath, ripping medals and buttons and growling a furious warning when he tries to help. He marks Roy's shoulders and collarbone and chest with his teeth and his tongue, and Roy knows there will be hickeys in the morning.
"I wasn't aware you had returned from Dublith," he says lazily, because he has to give at least the illusion of being in control. Fullmetal grunts, then unbuckles the belt and drops it. "I heard you caused quite the ruckus at South headquarters."
"They had something I needed," Fullmetal replies, all sharp incisors and narrow eyes.
"Ah? Did you get it in the end?"
"'Course." Impatient with the delay, Fullmetal turns his attention back to Roy's zipper; suspicion blooms in the back of Roy's mind.
"How the hell should I know? Probably in the dorms."
"I see," Roy says, and Fullmetal stalls any more questions by dipping down and taking as much of Roy as he can in his mouth. Fullmetal's tongue writhes and dances over his cock; looking down he catches sight of golden hair against his groin, eyes closed languidly, almost seductively. Fullmetal bobs his head up and down at just the right speed, and Roy wonders vaguely how he got so good even as the pleasure rooted in his belly spears up through the rest of his body. "God—Fullmetal—" he manages, his thighs shaking and head hitting the back of the chair. Fullmetal slides up his body, grins.
"You like that, Colonel?"
Roy nods, too dazed to do any more.
"Good." Fullmetal kisses him; his mouth is cool, tastes of Roy's own come. This kiss is flat, and Roy pushes himself up onto his elbows as the other man breaks away. "So, I bet you're wondering what that was all about." Fullmetal straddles his thighs, hands on his shoulders, and his grin is feral and sharp. Roy blinks at him, and then remembers—his sources indicate that Fullmetal's not finished in Dublith, instead haring around on the trail of someone named Greed.
"Who the hell are you?" he demands, because this impersonator of Edward is perfect, even down to the automail. "What do you want with me? I will not be blackmailed."
"I know that," the Fullmetal-impostor sneers, rolling his eyes. "Who said I wanted anything? Maybe I'm just curious about something... don't you find me attractive, Colonel? I'd bet a lot of money that you do." His voice is a seductive purr, low and perfect, something Fullmetal would never do. It is profoundly sexy despite, or perhaps because of, this. "But if you don't, I guess I can always adapt."
And now he's Riza Hawkeye, naked. She leans forward to expose her breasts, smiles a secretive smile he's seen occasionally before, but tinged with something—cruelty? Roy's eyes widen, and he jerks his hands up. His gloves, what the hell did he do with his gloves? They were the first things the creature removed, he thought, and feels his heart sink. It is going to kill him. That's why it was here, it's going to kill him, but damnit, Roy didn't intend to go easily.
The creature caught his hand when he swung, laughing. It has Riza's laugh down perfectly, he notices distantly. "You don't like this face? But I could have sworn you were a ladies' man, Colonel... maybe you like this one?"
Roy freezes, then growls, and the creature laughs with Hughes' easy grace and, still gripping his wrist, it leans forward to secure the other. It crosses them over his chest, the stubble grazing his face as it attaches itself like a leech to his mouth. Its tongue invades, and he closes his teeth on it sharply, tastes blood. "Ow!" the creature complains as it sits back, then looks irate. It looks like it wants to hit him, but doesn't want to let go of his wrists; instead it sticks its tongue out and him and—oh God, Roy thinks weakly, it's regenerating right before his eyes. "What the fuck are you?" he demands, and the creature snorts.
"Does it really matter, Colonel? I'm not here to kill you, that person decided to listen to Pride rather than me and keep you alive—who knows why, the prick's younger than I am, but then look at Lust, she's younger too—" Roy listens incredulously as the creature deteriorates into jealous, bitter ranting, most of it directed at somebody it calls 'that person' and two other people, Pride and Lust. It sounds like a little boy, envious of its siblings receiving more praise from its parents. "—but I was told not to kill you. At least, not yet." It scowls down at him, and says, "You're really boring when you're not moving. Do something."
"Hah, the Fullmetal Shortarse would be so jealous. You're scared of me, aren't you?" When Roy doesn't reply, it thumps his chest with his own crossed arms. "Aren't you? He hates you, you know. He'd love to see you scared or weak, like now, but I got there before he did, the runty little fucking bastard."
He's never heard such hatred for anyone as this creature seems to bear for Edward. It continues at great length about how it wants to bugger the boy with his own automail, wants to shred him limb from limb, wants to disassemble Alphonse in front of him then rape him and blind him and castrate him then rip his tongue out, break his fingers and make him eat them, and Roy wonders why this creature hates Fullmetal so much.
"The ultra-tiny runt has this coming, you know," the creature purrs, attention back on Roy. Roy looks up into the eyes of his best friend, and sees only madness and spite in there. Some things not even the best impersonator can hide, he thinks, and it's almost like a dream as his fingernail tears a circle in the leather of his chair, as it fills in the blanks. A block of transmuted leather knocks the creature off him; he moves quickly, snatching up his gloves, and jams one on his hand. It pouts, and then shrugs.
"That bruised," it says reproachfully. "I don't like it when my prey fights back. I'm not in the mood for being burned alive either, y'know? I'll see you once the Fullmetal shrimp is dead, and Pride says to get you out of the way." It pauses on the windowsill, Roy staring at it with a mixture of incredulity, anger and worry. It turns back to him, now in the form of a youth wearing some extremely odd attire with wildly uncontrollable hair, and Roy notices distantly that there's a strange tattoo on its left thigh, beneath the black... shorts? Skirt? "If you see the mini-micro-bean before them, tell him Envy can't wait for their next encounter, 'k? And that he gives good head, hah!"
And with that, his mysterious assailant is gone, moving with inhuman grace and speed over the rooftops. Roy watches it go, lets out a deep breath, and decides it might be a good idea to start sleeping with his gloves on for the next few nights. He won't tell anyone about this, not Hawkeye or Havoc and certainly not Edward, though he will try and find out what the boy knows about a thing named Envy.