Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Title: Patience
Author/Artist: kitomique
Theme(s): 3) Ice Cream (~seducing you)
Pairing/Characters: Kimbley/Archer
Rating: PG-13


Skritch, skritch.

Kimbley gritted his teeth as the pen continued to scratch its way across the paper. Above him, the clock ticked unceasingly, the moonlight that shone through the windows illuminating the somber time of half past two. Normally, more…enjoyable, yes, that was a good word, activities would have been commencing. However, it had been two days. Two goddamn days.

Skritch, skritch.

To the right of where he lay sprawled on the couch, Archer sat at his desk, leafing through mounds of files and papers. Kimbley rolled over, propping his head up on his elbows and narrowing his eyes at Archer. If the man felt his annoyed gaze, he made no sign. Fucking figured. The couch squeaked slightly as he lifted himself off of it, making his way over to the window, which was open to take advantage of the warm summer night. A faint wind breezed into the room, ruffling Kimbley’s hair and causing Archer to slap down a few wayward papers. Seating himself on the sill, Kimbley cleared his throat. Archer didn’t even look up.

“Nice night,” he drawled.

Skritch, skritch.

“Full moon.”

Papers rustled.

"The Fuhrer’s outside, dancing the samba.”

Not even a twitch of those elegantly arched eyebrows. Evidently, more drastic tactics would be needed to entice Archer away from his work. Damn it, if he didn’t know better, he’d swear that man had no sex drive. He leaned back, tracing a hand over his lean chest (he’d abandoned the shirt hours ago, in a previous attempt to distract Archer. The man had given him a cursory glance, no more.)

“Oh, Frank,” he practically purred. He tilted his head just so, feeling the end of his braid brush lightly against the small of his back.

“What is it now, Kimbley?” As usual, Archer’s voice betrayed neither weariness nor annoyance.

Kimbley reached down and curled his fingers around the sill, mentally preparing himself.

“Oh, nothing. Just doing exercises.” The scratching of the pen stopped abruptly, Archer finally looking up at him with a hint of wariness in his eyes at Kimbley’s strangely cheerful tone. “Hup, two – “

And with that, he flipped backwards out the window, catching himself on the outer edge of the window, disregarding the sharp intake of breath from somewhere inside the room. Wincing slightly as a splinter bit into his finger, he adjusted his grip to make sure he didn’t fall into the bushes below. One, he counted silently, listening to clipped footsteps coming closer. Two –

Archer’s head appeared above him, a distinctly displeased look on his face. Kimbley smirked at him as he dangled from the sill. “What’s the matter?”

“Kimbley.” Archer leaned down, lightly smacking Kimbley’s head with a folder in exasperated chastisement. “There are better ways to proposition me than throwing yourself out a window.”

Kimbley shrugged as best as he could. “It certainly got your attention.”

Archer’s reply was lost as Kimbley maneuvered himself back into the room, capturing the other’s lips with his own. He grinned against Archer’s lips in triumph, reaching out to encircle the other man in a firm grasp. However, instead of starched cloth and warm flesh underneath, his fingers met with only air. As soon as his brain registered that, it also informed him that he was no longer kissing Archer; rather, he was making amorous advances towards the highly polished wood floor.

“Damn it, Frank!” he howled, as he scrambled off the floor, wiping his lips furiously. Of course, there was no need, as Archer kept his apartment scrupulously clean. Said owner was again seated at his desk, back turned towards Kimbley.

“If you cannot keep yourself quiet, Kimbley, please remove yourself from the room. It is two in the morning, in case you hadn’t noticed. I am working.”

Kimbley glared at Archer for a moment, then stomped over to the couch, which gave a protesting whumph as he sat down hard.

“You’ve been working for the past nine hours. Why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m busy.”

He flopped back down on the pillow, pinching is face tight and frowning deeply. “I’m busy,” he mimicked.

Ice blue eyes flickered in his direction momentarily, before directing their gaze back to the paper. “Be patient, Kimbley, I’m almost done.”

Kimbley just groaned, for Archer had said that one goddamn hour ago. Maybe he should really throw himself out of the window this time.


Eh. Not my best, but I'm just happy I finally got something written for this pairing. Comments, critiques?