Kimberly and Archer were laughing when they heard a loud authoritative knock. Kimberly pulled his lanky body off of the couch and opened the door to Archer's grand office. "Well, speak of the devil," he said. "We were just talking about you."
Mustang barely afforded Kimberly a glance before striding in, his face set in its stiffest, most angry continence. "Leave us," he said to Kimberly, dismissing him with his voice as easily as he had with his eyes.
"No, don't go," Archer countermanded. He met Kimberly's eyes. They were alight with mischief. For a moment they did nothing but stare into each other's eyes, and Archer felt a wave of almost telepathic rapport. Their earlier speculation replayed in their minds and suddenly what had seemed like an absurd but pleasant fantasy seemed temptingly possible.
Kimberly's eyes darted to Mustang, who was stomping his way over to desk, then to the door. Then one brow quirked up inquiringly.
Archer's smile broadened and he gave the barest of nods. Kimberly locked the door very quietly.
Mustang was unaware of anything but whatever pressing need had brought him to Archer's office in the first place. Archer's smile faded into a mildly curious smirk. "Now what is this visit about, Colonel?"
Mustang slapped a sheaf of papers onto the desk. "Why has Fullmetal been permanently transferred to your command?"
"Because he asked me, and I said yes, and the Fuhrer approved of it." There was rather more to it than that, of course. It had been almost funny how eager Fullmetal was to get out from under the Colonel. The lengths to which that boy would go to achieve whatever goal it was he was trying to achieve... "I imagine he'd still be yours if you'd have just allowed him to go to Lior like he asked."
Mustang's brows knit. "You saw the picture of the city, it's a huge transmutation circle! Until we know why it's there and what it will do, it would be crazy to set foot in there. Fullmetal is far too valuable to risk..."
Archer rolled his eyes. "Really, dear Colonel. You seem to have gone faint of heart. Wars demand sacrifice and risk. Fullmetal is a clever, clever boy. He'll be fine, I'm sure." Archer looked at the transfer papers. "Are those papers not in order?"
Kimberly snickered. Roy gave him a brief glare then turned his focus back to Archer.
"No, the papers are proper. I recognize his signature." admitted Roy. "But I don't agree with it. I can't stop this mission, but after it is over, if he... when he returns, I want him back."
Archer sighed lazily. "And why should you have him?" he said. "You can't control him. He's a loose canon under your command. Wandering around, running off, freeing prisoners, interfering with official military business. Do you even know what he is up to right now? I didn't think so. You don't deserve him."
"And you just sent him to into a dangerous trap without escort...without even his BROTHER to back him up. He's only 16, Archer. He's too young to make these sorts of decisions for himself. Do you even know what you are doing with him?"
"I know what I am doing," said Archer, coolly. "The question is, do you?"
"What ARE you doing?" Mustang asked. "What is happening here?"
"What is happening with Fullmetal and Lior? Or, perhaps you are wondering what is happening between you and me."
Mustang jerked his head back. "What do you mean?"
"Take your gloves off, Mustang," said Archer.
"Take off your gloves. Do I have a gun in my hand right now? Take off your gloves and I will let you in on some information I think you will find very interesting. But I'm not going to talk to an agitated man with a deadly weapon in his hands."
Mustang grabbed first one glove and then the other, snatching them off and moving to put them in his pant's pocket.
"No. On the desk, where we both can see them."
'I take it that I will find this information upsetting."
"Very, I imagine." He couldn't keep his smile from broadening.
Mustang hesitated but put them on the desk.
"Excellent," said Archer, smoothly.
A hand shot out past Mustang, and the Colonel pulled away with surprise. Kimberly grabbed the gloves off the desk. "I'll hold these." He walked away.
Mustang turned his head from Kimberly to Archer and back. "What is going on here? What information? And give me those gloves back."
Archer smiled, enjoying the look of surprise on Mustang's face. The man still didn't have a clue did he? Not even the faintest.
"The information I need to tell you..." said Archer, slowly, distracting Mustang again while Kimberly dropped the gloves in the trash can at the far corner of the room. "Is that I am a bastard. And you are na´ve. That's what's happening here."
"As for losing Fullmetal to me ... that is your own fault." Archer sighed. "You stupid man, you were supposed to have SLAUGHTERED those Ishballans, not rounded them up like meek sheep. You've disappointed the Fuhrer terribly. Elric is mine because I will use him the way he needs to be used. He is a tool, and you treat him the way a lax parent might."
Mustang gasped, furious but off balance. He can't even conceive of the trouble he is in, the smug bastard, thought Archer.
"A very lax parent. Do you even know what your prodigy has been up to? What he's willing to do? Do you know how he asked to be transferred?"
"I don't understand."
"He used his mouth... this time." Archer let the words sink in.
For a moment Mustang looked completely bewildered, not following at all. Then he caught on. His customary poker face completely shattered. It was priceless. Archer could read horror and disbelief, anger and disgust. And denial. "You have a very lewd imagination," said Mustang at last. "Fullmetal would never—"
"Ah, then, I take it he hasn't given YOU that favor. How funny. He seemed quite experienced the two times I had him."
"I imagine it will be three when he gets back." Archer noticed Kimberly standing right behind Mustang, a look of impatience on his face that practically telegraphed: Are you done fucking his mind yet?
Archer gave him a nod. Mustang's focus had gone inward. He was as vulnerable as Archer had ever seen the man. Full of emotions clamoring for control and all of his attention aimed at something that at this PARTICULAR moment was the last of his concerns.
Had he even guessed what the point of the exercise was? From the way he jerked when Kimberly grabbed his waist, Archer guessed not. "Hey!" Mustang reached down to pry the alchemists hands off his belt. "What are you doing? STOP that!"
Archer smiled. "You are no longer the darling of the Military, Mustang. I am."
He grabbed the Colonel's wrists. "And do you know what THAT means?"
Mustang was a bit too busy squirming and attempting to kick to answer.
"It means I can do pretty much whatever I like, even to someone like you."
Mustang stopped and stared Archer right in the eye. "Is this some sort of joke? I'm a high ranking officer, not some private you can intimidate. And not some 16-year-old boy who doesn't know any better. Get your hands off me, NOW, and you may be lucky and escape a firing line."
But Mustang's attempts to recapture his dignity were cut rather short when his pants fell to floor. Archer grinned. "I think I have you at a disadvantage, Mustang. However, if you beg nicely, perhaps we will show you a bit of mercy and let you use your mouth."
The look the man gave him was WONDERFUL: half horror and half incoherent rage. He was still for only a second and then he threw himself into the fight.
Archer was a bit surprised by the vigor of the man's resistance. Mustang pulled his wrists free before Archer could stop him, and a moment later was turning to throw his fist into Kimberly's face. He might have done some damage, too, if he hadn't been undone by his own pants. He tried to step forward but found himself tripping and swinging his arms out to steady himself.
Archer grabbed him from behind, lifting him up at the waist, and bringing his feet off the floor. Kimberly grabbed his legs and tucked them under one arm, using his free hand to pull off first the shoes then the pants.
Mustang reached back and tried to claw Archer's face with his hands. Archer abruptly let go and the Colonel fell with a solid thump to the floor. "Oomph," he gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. Kimberly let his legs drop then sat down on them to hold them down.
Archer planted his foot in Mustang's chest. "It's two against one." He pulled out his pistol and pointed. "And we are both armed, while you are not. Would you care to rethink your strategy?"
"I'm not going to let you rape me," said Mustang. "Kill me and you will go down. I don't care if you fuck my corpse."
"I don't have to kill you, you know," said Archer. "I can shoot your leg."
Mustang merely squirmed out from under Archer's boot, throwing him momentarily off balance. The gun went off into the floor.
For a moment all three of them simply froze. Mustang turned his head expectantly towards the door. But then nothing happened and it soon became achingly obvious that no one was going to check out a stray bullet. Gunfire was simply too common an occurrence.
Archer cocked his gun again; trying to pretend that it was a warning shot and not a mistake. "The Fuhrer isn't interested in your diplomacy. He wants blood. He wants a show that will make all our enemies everywhere think twice before challenging us. I have carte blanche to do anything I like, so long as I get the job done. Carte blanche, Mustang."
He straddled Mustang's chest and sat down. "That means I can do ANYTHING to you if I like. It won't be investigated. If you piss me off too much, I'll kill you... after." He rubbed the muzzle of the gun against Mustang's lips, but the man kept his jaw clenched shut.
"So the question really is... how much do you want this to hurt? Hmmm?"
"I'd like to blow him up," said Kimberly, wistfully.
"I'll consider it," said Archer.
"I could do a piece at a time. Small pieces."
Mustang's face drained of blood. "No." It wasn't much, but Archer knew surrender when he heard it.
"That's better," said Archer, stroking the side of Mustang's face, drawing his long fingers through the man's bristly black hair. "Are you going to cooperate?"
"I don't trust him not to bite," said Kimberly.
"No," said Archer, still stroking the Colonel's face. "Neither do I. Very well, one at a time. I'll go first. Get him up on the desk."
Mustang apparently had made his decision, because he didn't fight when the hauled him up onto his feet, or when they bent him forward. Kimberly held Mustang's arms down, but with little force. Mustang simply held the position he was put into, like some doll.
Archer noticed the man had shut his eyes. Was he going off some place in his head? Some safe place where he thought that Archer and Kimberly couldn't reach him?
"You are being quite good now," admitted Archer. "I suppose that deserves something of a reward. Kimberly, would you mind transmuting that bottle of ink into something more appropriate for the occasion?"
Mustang didn't change positions when Kimberly removed his hands to press the arrays on his palms to the glass container. The contents turned from black to an off yellow. He passed the bottle over and then resumed holding Mustang's arms.
Archer unzipped his pants and reached inside. He was already hard. He poured the liquid onto his fingers and enjoyed the slippery feel of it as he rubbed it onto his cock. He then leaned forward and pressed himself into Mustang.
Mustang winced, but then his brows knit and his eyes opened in wonder. He lifted his head up and looked back as if surprised. Then he lowered his head, seemingly satisfied, with of all things a small smirk on his lips.
Archer felt anger brew up in him. He knew he was not the largest proportioned man out there, but he was a man and he was committing RAPE here. How dare the man belittle him with a smile. Archer made no effort to be gentle, slamming into Mustang with as much force as he could. He was pleased to see the wince return. But the situation and stimulation conspired against him, and though he wanted to draw it out longer, he found himself giving in to his orgasm rather before he wished.
It didn't matter. It was satisfying. And even if he wasn't much to cope with, Kimberly would be a different matter.
"My turn." They switched positions. Mustang had gone blank and quiet again, resigned to whatever was coming. Kimberly lubed himself up with quick efficiency and then grabbed their victim's hips and pressed in.
This time Mustang let out a cry and began to fight a bit. Archer held his wrists to the desk, but the man arched up and tried to wrest his hands away.
"Now, now," reminded Archer. "You don't want him to take you apart, do you?"
Mustang abruptly relaxed. His teeth were gritted and his eyes screwed shut, but other than a grunting noise, he was silent. For a while there was nothing but the sound of breath and moist smacking.
Kimberly looked like he was in paradise. Beautiful. It was nice to be able to offer such a reward to him.
"Do you know what we were talking about before you walked in, Mustang?" said Archer, in a casual tone of voice.
Mustang didn't reply, but Archer didn't expect him to either. "My friend Kimberly was telling me of the war. Of the times you two spent together back then. And how in all that time you never once put out for him. He didn't think that he'd ever have a chance to screw you."
Kimberly smiled evilly. "I was wrong."
"You see, Kimberly," said Archer, feeling oddly proud of himself. "You stick with me and you are rewarded."
"Nice." He drove in harder and Mustang bit back a scream again. "Almost as good as blowing him up."
"Perhaps some other time," promised Archer.
Kimberly finished up, patting Mustang on the small of his back as he pulled out. "That was fun. We'll have to do this again sometime."
Archer let go of Mustang's wrists. "There now that wasn't too hard was it? I suggest you go back to your room now, maybe get a shower. And let's forget about Fullmetal. He's mine now. Maybe if you do what I tell you to, you can earn your way back into the Fuhrer's good graces."
Mustang gave him a look that could kill, but he gathered his clothes together and straightened himself out. Within minutes he had rebuilt his composure. One would think nothing at all had happened in the room.
"You aren't as untouchable as you think," said Mustang.
Archer yawned. "Is that the best threat you can come up with? Lay a hand or a spark on me, and the Fuhrer will obliterate you. He had no trouble doing that with your friend Hughes. Don't think you are immune."
Mustang's eyes sharpened on him, but the revelation seemed flat, as if Archer were merely telling him something he already suspected. Then he turned on his heel and left the room, the only thing belying his condition was the slightly stiff way he walked.
The door slammed shut.
Archer and Kimberly began laughing again.