Obligation Chocolate
by Granate, 2005 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - For once, Jean Havoc had actually been looking forward to Valentine's Day. His odds of having a girlfriend on Valentine's were rarely good, and up until a week ago, it had looked the same for this year. This thing with Hawkeye had really come out of nowhere, but it was good so far and he wasn't going to question it. He couldn't say it was official because of the work situation, but this Valentine's Day, he had a girlfriend. When he'd imagined himself being showered by Valentine's chocolate as if it were the springtime of his life, this was not exactly what he'd had in mind. He turned the little gold box in his hands again, looking for some kind of explanation. Upon return from lunch break, he, Farman, Fury, and Breda had all found identical little boxes at their seats - about big enough for four truffles and tied with colorful ribbon. The simple explanation was that Hawkeye was giving them Valentine's chocolate. The problem was that all the boxes were the same. That alone deserved an explanation. As the boyfriend, wasn't he supposed to get the most? Havoc rubbed jaw and continued to stare at the meager box, willing it to grow right before his eyes. By his calculations, he should have gotten at least double what the others got. He glanced up again. Breda already had two truffles gone, purple ribbon lying uselessly on the table. Farman was untying the green ribbon from his box and offering Hawkeye a truffle, which she declined. Fury was just playing with the red ribbon on his box, probably just savoring the event of actually getting chocolate. Fury had gotten the red ribbon… did that mean anything? Wasn't red the color of love? The ribbon on his own box was blue. Blue. What did blue mean? And that's when he looked up and saw it. There was a box on Mustang's desk big enough to contain at least a dozen chocolates. Mustang had gotten three times the chocolate he had! Maybe it would have been fine if they were all equal, but ex-boyfriends did not get more chocolate than new boyfriends. That was the law around these parts and everyone knew it. She was looking at him from across the table, he could feel it, but he didn't want any flat-eyed looks from her right now. All's he wanted was a cigarette and a beer, which unfortunately, he couldn't have until he was home. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on filling out the report from his last training exercise. He only broke two pencils before Colonel Mustang gave him an assignment that took him over to Records for the rest of the afternoon, where he flirted with the administrative ladies to his heart's content and then went home to feel not better at all. He practically threw his uniform off before changing into an old pair of shorts and a worn tee shirt. The miserable box of chocolate was tossed on the kitchen table with a few others from female friends and the few exes he had somehow stayed friends with. Painfully, Hawkeye's chocolate, with its affronting blue ribbon, was the smallest one there. After a pit stop at the fridge, he established himself on the balcony chair with a few beers and a pack of cigarettes. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it up. Was it too much to ask of the women of the world to let him down easy? Why did he always have to be dumped in spectacular, and often public, displays? Obligation chocolate, was there anything worse? Come to think of it, she had given them all chocolate on Valentine's Day last year too, but he hadn't thought anything of it. It was just a nice gesture last year, but that was… that was Before. Before he had coaxed First Lieutenant Hawkeye to his apartment and miraculously managed to get her to go out with him, and quite possibly let her ruin him for other women for good. Only took her a week, too. He took a long chug of his beer until the bottle was empty. Damn it, he even missed her dog. This was usually what happened when he got his hopes up about something, he earned himself a sharp reminder that he was, and always would be, second best. Oh screw that, he'd be lucky if he could be second best. When was the last time he had made it into the top ten? He knew he was sulking. He knew it was pathetic, but wasn't he allowed? His girlfriend had given her ex-boyfriend more chocolate than him. Wasn't that illegal? If not, it should be. Now he was just moping. And he moped for another good hour before the buzzer interrupted him. It was probably her. Yes, it was about time for her to get out of work. He had not missed Mustang asking if she could cover for him so he could leave a little early. Invariably, Mustang had plans and Hawkeye had of course agreed. Havoc ignored the buzzer, let it buzz several more times. The impatient, demanding buzzing was definitely her, which meant he was definitely not getting up. He could tell her later that he had been out, had plans. Big plans. The buzzing finally stopped but that didn't really make him feel any better. He stubbed out the end of a cigarette and lit up another one. About ten minutes later, he was sure he heard his name. "Havoc," it came from the courtyard below in a very familiar female voice. He stood up and went to the rail to find that was indeed Hawkeye standing down in the garden. "H-how did you get in here?" he asked as he leaned his elbows on the railing. The courtyard fence was seven feet tall and the gate was always locked. "Going to let me up?" she asked calmly. She didn't have to raise her voice to reach his second floor apartment. "Did you jump the fence?" he asked incredulously, still stuck on just how the heck she had gotten in. Her mouth turned down at the corners. "Well, you weren't answering the buzzer," she said as if that cleared everything up. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "It's Valentine's Day," she answered. "Yes. I know," he replied drolly and took another drag on his cigarette. "I came to give you something. Let me up before I climb up. You don't want me to have to make a scene, here," she warned. Actually, he did want her to make a scene. No one had ever made a scene over him before. He wanted her to climb up the balcony below his and then onto his, her thick-soled boots scraping over the metal bars on her way up. She was nimble, light, and strong, it's not like that would be hard for her. Would probably only take her a few minutes. But then he remembered that she was still in uniform and even from across the courtyard and ten floors up, it would be pretty easy to pick out a uniformed military officer scaling the building. Tenants would talk about it for days - weeks, maybe, and they were supposed to be keeping this little liaison more or less a secret. "All right, I'm coming down," he grumbled. He set the cigarette in the ash tray and went downstairs to let her in. Not a word was exchanged as he held the door for her and led her upstairs, but he noticed that she did indeed carry a small package. He shut his door, and she set the package down on the kitchen table before calmly taking off her jacket and hanging it over a chair. The gun holster soon followed, making it look like she meant to stay a while and leaving her in just the skin tight maroon undershirt, which was really not fair. That was foul play in his book. He was a little dumbstruck when she began to shake out the pieces of his uniform and hang them up. He went back to the balcony for his cigarette. "Goodness," she exclaimed, appearing behind him. "All this over chocolate," she said as she collected beer bottles and stray cigarette butts, "didn't it occur to you that I would have something else for you?" "Do you?" he asked, not knowing what else to say. "Yes," she said and plucked the cigarette from his lips. She put it out and set her hands on her hips. "Would having a little faith in someone kill you?" she asked pointedly. He looked at the floor and ran a hand through his hair. Hawkeye bent over him and poked an index finger into his chest. "And how about having some faith in yourself, while you're at it?" she asked. "All right, Lieutenant, you can consider me thoroughly scolded now," he grumbled, barely managing to meet her eyes. She leaned her hands on the arms of his chair and kissed him. At once, his hands gravitated to cradle her cheek, holding her there as he kissed her back. Sometimes it seemed like there was just nothing to her, he could stroke his thumb over the delicate structure of her cheek and slide his fingers over her ears and into her hair. Finally she pulled away. "I gave all my co-workers their chocolate already, can I give my boyfriend his Valentine's Day gift now?" she asked. "Uh huh," he swallowed. There was something about how soft her eyes looked when they were barely open like that. He immediately followed when she straightened up and went inside. Her earlier slight didn't seem to matter anymore. Was it the tight shirt? Again, that was totally foul play. Hitting below the belt, so to speak. "I'll tell you a secret," she said, sitting down on the couch with paper bag she'd brought. She waited until Havoc sat down next to her to tell him, "Mustang's box of chocolates is empty." "Empty?" "Yes, empty. I've given him the same box every year for three years. He puts a pink ribbon on it and gives it back to me on White Day. It's a little act we worked out, it's just for show. He doesn't even like chocolate that much," she relayed. "Huh," Havoc murmured ponderously. So, already, he'd received more chocolate from her than Mustang had. This was good news. "I had to be fair at work today," she explained, though he understood, "I certainly couldn't give you this in front of everyone." She handed him a box wrapped with dark red paper, which he quickly tore away. He threw off the lid and tossed the tissue paper away. Out of the box he lifted a glass jar. The black label had shiny gold lettering that read, "Chocolate Body Paint." Chocolate body paint. Obviously, it was a paint made especially to be applied to skin, and the chocolate flavor clearly implied how it was supposed to be removed. Such a thing existed in this world, and he had lived his entire life up until now completely unaware. How could this be? It didn't take any calculations of mass or area, or net tallies to determine that this was the best gift. Regular boxed truffles couldn't be spread, brushed, painted, and otherwise smeared all over Hawkeye's naked body and then licked off again at a divinely slow pace. Nor could they be dabbed on his skin to show her exactly where he wanted her mouth. Not could they be used to write silly words on each other, like "Mine" across her collarbones, "Sweet" up her inner thigh, or "Ride" just under his navel. Nor could truffles - He felt a palm on his knee, fingers rubbing over the muscle of his thigh. He looked at her. She was smirking at him, clearly enjoying the look on his face and probably able to guess every thought flying through his mind right now. "You have nice knees," she said. It was the last thing he expected to hear as she slid one hand up his thigh and pushed him down onto the arm of the couch with the other. She crawled over him on the couch, boots still on and everything. "So do you," he replied. "You could stop daydreaming and lick chocolate off of them, if you wanted," she suggested airily before dragging his tee shirt up with her teeth. "I could, couldn't I?" he leered. "But that's not where I intend to use it," he said as he untucked her shirt. It was definitely time to get her out of this uniform, she had more than his hopes up now. |
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