Title: Horrors Of War.

Author: arizonaicerose

Rated: PG-13

Warnings: Kissing, one swear, slightly angst at the end

Word count: ~2050

Summary: They both know they lie together tonight for the wrong reasons, yet neither can find the strength to pull away and separate. Roy knows he should pull away from the hurting man, instead of unbuttoning his uniform to expose more skin.

A/N: So I hope prompter likes. This was…interesting to write…Especially with my cat, Luka, being so determined to try to add his own sections (despite how much my swattin hand tried to keep it away)…SO yes…Interesting is the correct word for this.

Prompt was: - Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy/Maes: kissing - in war, they make allowances

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"To WhomAre you throwing love to
With your fruit-like lips?
Does it make you sad?"
~ 'Still Doll' by: Kanon Wakeshima

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The dirt stings at parched throats as the sun slowly descends into the horizon. Harsh rays eat at the remaining moisture that the destroyed earth desperately tries to hold onto as the sun finally completes its decent into the horizon. Dried tongues lick at equally dry lips as they try to scream out their curses into the stale air above them. Carnage holds their minds down, forcing them to fall to bowed knees, as they try to shake off the weight of the sins they commit daily.

'Ishbala is weeping over the loss of so much.'

At first, when the war was still as young as a newborn babe Roy could barely understand the statement that all of the captured Ishbalans whispered to each other before their death. Instead his ignorance had him laughing it off with his friends as they sat in the safety of their camps at night. He had never been a believer; to believe that there was some Supreme Being (let alone several) sitting and treating them as pawns left shivering alone on a chessboard was more then what Roy could handle.

But now, he finds himself wondering if maybe he was wrong. Though he still finds it nearly impossible to believe in a higher being.

Dusty boots stomp at the tent's makeshift doorway, in a desperately useless attempt to remove the lingering dust, before continuing in. Tired eyes look over, drag ever so slowly towards the door, and make contact with the darkened boots. He remembers when each boot had been shined to perfection. Now he finds himself wondering if anyone knew of what was going to happen when they had first entered this brutal war.

"Maaan," the man sighs as he slinks into the small tent and towards his cot. Fatigue captures the man as his legs give out and he crashes right into the center of the small cot. He cannot even find the energy to tug off his dusty boots. "Whoever said nights was when the heat would go down has never been here. It's just as hot at night as in the afternoon." A hand wipes at his sweaty brow, leaving a dust streak along the man's face.

"Hughes," the black haired man whispers, barely able to find the energy to scold his roommate, and friend, correctly. "The more you talk of the heat, the worse it will be. Think of cool springs. Glaciers." The voice travels off; really that barely helped the heat either.

"Stop Roy, you're going to make me thirsty again." Hughes licks at his dry lips, his tongue barely able to keep them moistened, as he buries his face into the thin, dusty pillow. "Hm, I rather be sitting next to my lovely Gracia."

Roy rolls his eyes, knowing where this will go next.

Gasping Hughes rolls onto his side, leaning heavily on his left elbow, as he props himself up. The same stupid grin crosses his face, the grin that Roy just knows he will always learn to hate no matter how long they are together.

"Right now, if I could be wrapped in her arms. Oh, she is just the perfect size. Did you know that? When I wrap my arms around her, she fits perfectly, like we were made for each other." Hughes deflates as he falls back onto the bed. "I miss her more then anything. Even the girls here don't measure up to her."

"I'm sure you'll be home soon," is the same monotone answer he gives while trying to ignore the other man. Eyes slide shut as Roy tries to block out life for a little bit so he can catch a couple hours of restless sleep.

"Hey Roy. Seriously. I need you to do something for me."

"I'm not going to fuck you, so go relieve yourself. Your fault for talking about her." He huffs while rolling onto his side. Eyes clenched tightly while burring himself deeper into the thin sheets.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Hughes laughs, and again Roy feels a part of the wall he has built around himself crumble. "Nothing like that. But hey, I just need you to promise me. If anything ever happens to me," Roy hates talks like this, everyone has been having them lately (do this for me when I die, if I never come back tell everyone how I felt) and it just jolts him to the core to hear such statement, "tell Gracia that I love her."

"You're going to survive. There's no way any god would want you with him." People like you can only be handled in small doses, he wants to add but remains silent.

"Roy really I need you to promise me. Just so I know she will be in good hands. I trust you with my life." Booted feet crash on the hard ground as Hughes sits up, his body still too stiff to be quiet and graceful.

"Sure, ok. Whatever, just shut up. I want to get some sleep before the next shift comes."

"Thank you. Hey what about you? Who do you want me to send a message to if anything bad should happen? Come to think of it you never talk about your family or even your girlfriend. I mean even if you don't have one you must at least have someone."

"Nope, no one. I haven't had a family for a while and I'm currently single. My friends are here with me, and I have a feeling you all will know when something happens to me. Now go to sleep Hughes before I decide to kick you out. I want to sleep."

Hughes pauses only for a second as his thoughts race. "Hey Roy, I wanted to ask you something. But promise me that fire will not be your answer."

Somehow, Roy knew that sleep and threats were going to be futile. Even if he did kick the other man out of the tent, he knew Hughes would just scream from the doorway. They had gone through that ritual three times already. And if fire was the first recourse that Roy would possibly take, he is almost certain that he does not want the others to hear any of the conversation.

"Fine," he huffs, much like a five year old who was asked to clean his room, rolling to his other side so he can face his friend (it must be his masochist side that keeps annoying friends so close). "What?"

Hughes sits up again, feet again stomping onto the hard ground, as he leans forward. His eyes take a serious look to them, all of the normal playfulness gone; Roy gulps at the look, the only time he has ever seen his friend look this way was when he was forced to kill a young teenaged Ishbalan girl. The look scares him, makes him worry about what is going to come next. But he remains still, waiting to hear.

"You can hate me later. And after this war, kill me if you want to but I still need to say this."

Roy is lost now, he barely understands where this is coming from. Slowly he sits up, stocking feet brushing against the dirt floor as he sits on the edge of his uncomfortable cot.

"But," Hughes continues as if he barely notices his friend's change in demeanor. "I can't stand this anymore. All of this death, blood, violence. I need something to look forward to, to help weigh out the horrors. Something that is instant. Now. Not something that is a maybe when we get home. If we ever make it home." Hysteria starts to take over Hughes voice as he wrings his fingers. Knuckles slowly turn white as he glances at the door quickly before looking back at his friend. His thoughts scatter, until only two remain- blood and death.

Quickly Roy slips onto his friend's cot, this is not the first time that he's seen a strong man fall and all thoughts are erased as he touches the man's arm. Muscles quiver as Hughes keeps himself under control, a tightly reined control that is about to snap any second. And Roy finds it amazing that this man has not snapped earlier; everyone (including himself) has already broke down once; for a second Roy had truly believed that Hughes was going to be the exception to everyone, the only one that had remained calm and collected during the entire battle.

"So," he breathes deeply, trying to find the strength to continue, "I just…Heh, no. Just promise you won't hate me or try to roast me after this."

Confused, and worried still over what is going on in the man's mind, Roy opens his mouth to ask a question. A question that dissolves into thin air as he feels a pair of chapped lips press against his.

The kiss is quick and chaste, and nothing like Roy has ever felt in all of the girls he has kissed. Where theirs are soft and plump, Hughes' are chapped and rough. Even through the differences, though the chasteness and the awkwardness of it. He still finds his heart speeding for a second.

"Sorry, I…I should leave." Hughes starts to get up, embarrassment taking over him as he mentally scolds himself for the slip. Only a hand on his arm pauses him for a second, leaving the man to look behind him at his friend.

Roy carefully stands, socks gathering dust as he walks around his friend, and despite the fact that he is uncertain of why he is doing this. He knows he is not into men, found that out a long time ago. He still finds himself burying his fingers into the short locks of the other man before pulling him down into another kiss.

All he can figure is that in war nothing is sacred. That everyone is open to anything.

The second kiss is just as unremarkable as the first as dry and chapped lips move and brush against each other. They both know they have kissed better people, yet their bodies move on their own as fingers start exploring the solid bodies before them.

Carefully Roy maneuvers his friend back to a cot (he finds it unnecessary to find out who's right now). Metal pushes against the back of Hughes knees and the man crumples onto the bed with Roy following not too far behind. Fingers continue their pursuit as tongues shyly meet.

Emotions pour from the kisses and touches, emotions that neither have ever allowed to show to their past partners though their lives. All of the fear and anguish that the war leaves in them, comes out loud and clear as the two kiss and intertwine their bodies together.

They both know they lie together tonight for the wrong reasons, yet neither can find the strength to pull away and separate. Roy knows he should pull away from the hurting man, instead of unbuttoning his uniform to expose more skin. Hughes arches as he whimpers into his hand; each touch of Roy's lips leaves a scalding mark on his soul. Fingers grab at Roy's hair harshly, as they bring him up for another deep kiss. A kiss that neither can find the energy to break as they lie side by side

Sleep is slowly pushed away from the two, all fatigued forgotten as the two lie side by side in a small cot, bare chests pressed against each other. Fingers explore all they can touch as they try to wipe away all of the pains that are brought on by the war.

Lying side by side they kiss. Some of the kisses shy and lazy, each other moving just for the mere act; while others are more intense, feelings pouring into the mere contact, as they cling to each other for safety.

They know when the war ends, if it ever does, they will part and this moment of their lives will never be brought up again- except for drunken retellings at the local bar. When they leave to head home, Roy knows that he will go back to working his way up through the ranks while Hughes will run back for his precious Gracia.

Yet while they are stuck in this hellacious environment, it helps them survive to know that at night they can lie together, bodies intertwined while they lazily kiss and caress each other.