Damn. Vrenille is making him wait so long that Roy wonders whether the man is even coming. Anticipation unsettles Roy, scraping along his nerves, making him grit his teeth together. He inhales, deep, though his nose, exhaling between his lips, and continuing the breathing pattern, he thinks desperately of boobs and the stench of wet dog.

Anything.

The longer he’s kept waiting, the harder his cock seems to grow, and the jockstrap is uncomfortable enough for Mustang to unconsciously shift his weight from one foot to the other without actually lifting them. He’s losing his concentration when Vrenille enters.

...and doesn’t close the curtain.

Mustang is adrift, swallowed by his need and pride (or is that shame?), but his cock doesn’t care, especially when the other man touches him. The muscles of his back shudder and spasm, following the line of Vrenille’s fingers. He can’t believe how incredibly sensitized he is and just swims in the contact, surprised and enjoying the experience.

A moan Roy never meant to voice rolls from his throat when Vrenille mentions the state of his arousal, and he leans back a bit, wanting more contact.

Anything.

Should he ask? Well, it’s not as though Vrenille told him not to speak. Mustang arches his back, clenching the bottom of his ass and making it protrude just a touch. “Move closer to me,” Roy whispers.