Title: It Was Just a Fling
Genre: Romance, I guess.
Warnings: None.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang
Rating: PG-13. Ha ha, I cheat and don't write porn for a one night stand. I fail at porn.

Jean wants to explain. It's on the tip of his tongue but the humidity in the room bogs it down. If the breeze from the window doesn't whisk it away Jean will be surprised. He could scoot out, pretend he doesn't hear, or worse, that he doesn't care, but he did, and he does. He doesn't usually skip out while his bedmate is still asleep. It's a cruel trick that he gets caught this time. Roy Mustang is a light sleeper.

"It was just a fling," he wants to say. The words are a mantra burned into his system. He doesn't sleep around all the time, he's not that lucky, but this is how it happens when he is. Granted, he usually says goodbye. The exit is just the pattern he follows. He thinks Mustang should already understand this as his commanding officer. He probably knows Havoc better than anyone and it's rather simple to see that Jean's whole life is a fling.

He examines the windowsill as he stalls. The light, airy curtains brush over his sleeves and he spots a scuff mark on the wall, evidence of another fling. They don't say anything. Maybe Mustang goes back to sleep. Maybe he dreamed the whole thing, the drink, the great sex, the blonde bombshell—ha ha—halfway out his window. Whoever this previous window jumper was before Jean (a pretty brunette, or perhaps a redhead, he thinks), she was not as adept at it as Jean. He never leaves scuff marks.

"Are you going or staying?"

Mustang sounds more annoyed. Jean rubs at the scuff with his heel for a second. He could explain, but he's never explained himself to anyone before. It would give away too much of Jean Havoc. No one else should know about him. It's a secret.

It slips out anyway.

"It was just a fling," he mumbles, and if Mustang hears it, let alone understands it, Jean will be surprised. It makes him feel strangely better and he moves to swing his other leg out when he feels a hand on his thigh. He decides the heartbeat in his ears must have drowned out the squeak of the bed. Havoc knows the frame squeals like a stuck pig.

Flings do not look back. That is rule number one. Jean doesn't look back but he almost says it again. Roy is too close for a fling. If Jean dared to hope he might say it to fish for the denial, but that breaks another rule. Flings do not hope. He'll never get out the window at this rate.

"I didn't quite catch that," Mustang says. "And it's safer to use the door."

Jean breaks rule number one. "Flings don't use the door."

Mustang's features tighten, his fingers twitching slightly in the fabric of Jean's pants. He didn't expect that, though Jean thinks he should have. Look at the scuff under the window. Someone was here first. The thought gives Jean the initiative he needs to catch Mustang's hand and pull it off his leg. Roy surprises him. He twists his hand around and grabs Jean's wrist. Havoc jumps and hits his head on the window, hard enough to lose his balance and tumble out.

He doesn't hit the ground as hard as he expects and thinks it's because Mustang almost caught his arm and he almost caught his leg on something, but it still hurts. He wrenched both of them in the socket. He doesn't break any bones, maybe just his pride and maybe just his resolve. The scuff mark is invisible from the ground but Jean can definitely see Mustang leaning out the window. Jean's head hurts. He hit it twice.

This is rich. Jean Havoc perfects the window routine only to fall out of one. Now he's stuck because he can't get up and Mustang is definitely coming down so don't move. Good idea, much better than climbing out a window. Jean is beginning to wonder what he was thinking. This is different.

Mustang is not happy, Jean can tell, but at least he's more worried than, say, furious. He hops around the building, tugging at his boots. Perhaps this is the most disheveled anyone has ever seen him—he was even suave and smooth in bed—and since Jean isn't going anywhere he decides to enjoy it. Colonel Mustang takes control to assess the situation and ask stupid questions like "Where are you hurt?" and "What the hell were you doing?" and props Jean up. He even paws through Jean's hair until Havoc complains. In the end he sits back to calm himself and watches Jean with a blank expression.

"I don't understand what just happened," Mustang says quietly. It's that tone that tells Jean he doesn't know how to deal with him. It's kind of like the time his mother found cigarettes in his room when he was thirteen, except this is completely different. "You're going to have quite a lump on your head soon but you're damn lucky you didn't kill yourself."

Jean shrugs because he knows it will annoy the other man. "It was just the second story."

"You were climbing out my bedroom window, Havoc," Mustang says.

"I always use the window," he replies.

Why?"

"I'm just a fling, right?" Jean asks without meaning to. He realizes that he is really bad at not saying things, but he can't stop now that he's started. "I'm a scuff under the window."

"No," Mustang lies. Even though his tone is firm, Jean knows that he lies.

"Flings don't use the door," he continues. "I've been climbing out windows since I was fifteen. Relationships use the door, you know, people who come back again, but people like me go out the window." He snorts. "Usually with more grace. It was just tonight."

"I never gave you any indication that this was just a fling, Jean," Mustang replies. He's offended, almost hurt. This is different too. Jean feels guilty.

"It's all I'm good for," he says. "I'm a fling."

"I don't care," Mustang says, inching closer. He has a bit of a confused look now to replace the hurt one. Jean wants to explain, but Roy is pawing through his hair again and maybe he doesn't have to. "I don't know why you insist that you're a fling, unless that's really what you want."

Oh he's a sneaky bastard.

"I don't know, but I'm just working up the dignity to go home, won't take a minute," Jean says. He chews on the inside of his cheek and wishes for Roy to go away because he's beginning to doubt that he has the ability to walk on his left ankle. He's already embarrassed himself enough for one night to ask for help.

"Let me say this again," Mustang says. "I don't care what you're working up. You don't want this to be a fling."

Havoc doesn't bluff very well, it would appear. He digs deeper. "My life is a fling. It's short and unimportant. It's noncommittal. If anyone ever was a fling, it's good old me."

"Well, it would certainly be a whole lot longer if you didn't smoke," Roy replies. He is even calling this second bluff. This is why he is Havoc's commanding officer. "And stop falling out of windows."

Havoc gives in. "I was pushed."

Roy chuckles. "Come on, let's go back upstairs."

Havoc thinks about just how stupid it was to climb out the window as he admits that he can't quite handle the stairs right now. Mustang really fakes concern well, Havoc decides. It's almost real. He might believe it someday.