Under the watchful glare of his trusty lieutenant (who has her hand on a gleaming pistol), Roy dutifully attends to his paperwork. Never has a pen flowed so smoothly across a document. And he can’t rest either. No matter how much his fingers start to cramp.
Not with Riza watching him like her namesake.
When the phone rings, Roy only glances at it. He casts a pleading look at Riza, but she shakes her head and answers it herself. Roy sighs. Foiled.
He diligently returns to his paperwork, ignoring whomever might be on the phone, until Riza thrusts it at him, the receiver inches from his nose.
“You have five minutes,” she says curtly.
Warily, Roy accepts the phone. “Mustang here.”
“Roy!” Maes’ cheerful voice pours out at him, loud enough that Roy winces and Riza’s lips thin. “I see you’ve been chained to your desk again.”
Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Roy doesn’t let his pen stop moving. “Is this going to be important?” As much as he loves, adores, and tolerates his best friend (and occasional lover) now is not a good time.
“Depends on what you mean by important,” Maes says, his tone pitched low this time, a seductive sound that dances down Roy’s spine and makes him squirm in his seat. “It does, after all, regard our plans for the evening.”
“Our plans?” Roy asks, looking at Riza who mouths two minutes at him.
“Shall I spell it out?” Maes murmurs into the phone. “I recall mention of a paddle, a pair of handcuffs, and–”
“Maes!” Roy hisses into the receiver as heat floods through him, mind helpfully supplying graphic images. “Not over the phone!”
Laughter pours out from the other end and Roy can just imagine the mischievous look in Maes’ eyes. “If you insist, Colonel,” he replies with a purr that should be illegal. “Though if you ask me–”
“Time’s up, Colonel,” Riza says sharply, and Roy is ridiculously grateful.
“Sorry, Maes. I’ll talk to you later!” And he hangs up before Maes can flirt anymore, which consequently leaves Roy with paperwork and a nagging erection. Damn.