
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13840371.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fullmetal_Alchemist_(Anime_2003)
  Relationship:
      Edward_Elric/Roy_Mustang
  Character:
      Edward_Elric, Roy_Mustang, Alphonse_Elric, Riza_Hawkeye, Jean_Havoc,
      Alternate_Roy_Mustang, just_mentions_of_alt_roy_tho, and_some_bad_dudes
  Additional Tags:
      Soulmate-Identifying_Marks, Soulmates, Post-Canon_Fix-It, Post-Fullmetal
      Alchemist:_Conqueror_of_Shamballa, Restored_Alphonse_Elric, Angst, Angst
      with_a_Happy_Ending, So_much_angst, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex, No_Underage
      Sex, the_archive_tag_is_just_for_like_one_scene, where_roy_appreciates_an
      underage_ed_getting_prettier_by_the_day, Not_Beta_Read, like_at_all,
      because_i_don't_have_friends, is_this_enough_tags_i_never_know_what_to
      put_here, I'm_Sorry, Spoilers, for_all_the_things, CoS_spoilers, if_ao3
      adds_the_freeform_tag_for_all_this_i_swear_im_gonna_murder_something, Roy
      POV, Ed_Swears, Alcohol, Drunk_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-01 Completed: 2018-03-05 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 18309
****** Whenever You Go (I'll Wait for You) ******
by Temporaryism
Summary
     Roy Mustang does not have a soulmate.
     Roughly forty-seven percent of the population is born without the
     words of their soulmate tattooed on their skin. Ninety-two percent
     receive their soulmark by the age of five. At age eighteen, if you
     still do not have your soulmate's words, you are part of a sliver of
     the world so small that some people do not realize your existence is
     even possible, and the likelihood you will ever receive a soulmark is
     almost nonexistent.
     Roy had given up on the promise of a soulmate by the age of sixteen,
     and he had never looked back.
Notes
     So I'm like, what, 15 years late to this game? Ha. Anyway, watch out
     for breakneck posting speeds; this fic is already complete. I just
     have to code and post it. So.
     Anyway, this pairing really doesn't need another soulmate AU, but
     this is what I've got. Enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Facts *****
Roy does not have a soulmate.
Water is wet, the sky is blue, flames are hot, and Roy Mustang does not have a
soulmate.
But are you sure? the black ink shaped into the elegant loops of Roy's own
handwriting taunts. The contrast of it against sand-colored skin is both
mesmerizing and slightly sickening. Roy wants to remove his gloves and reach
out, trace his longest fingers over the words to see whether he could feel the
difference between them and the patch of skin they dance over, but he can't.
He's frozen. Distantly—and quite hysterically—he thinks, if I snapped my
fingers now, I would produce nothing. It's too cold.
Roy doesn't even notice the silence rushing over his ears and drowning out
everything else until it ends abruptly, noise filtering in quickly and far too
loudly.
"Sir." A hand brushes Roy's shoulder, and he barely suppresses a flinch. "Sir,"
Riza repeats, voice harsher and more urgent than before.
And yet Roy cannot look away. The sight is too terrifying. If he blinks, he
doesn't know what might happen. He tries not to think the worst possibility is
that the words might disappear.
===============================================================================
Roughly forty-seven percent of the population is born without the words of
their soulmate tattooed on their skin. Ninety-two percent receive their
soulmark by the age of five. At age eighteen, if you still do not have your
soulmate's words, you are part of a sliver of the world so small that some
people do not realize your existence is even possible, and the likelihood you
will ever receive a soulmark is almost nonexistent.
Roy had given up on the promise of a soulmate by the age of sixteen, and he had
never looked back.
===============================================================================
"Sir." Riza salutes stiffly, her eyes respectably averted to a spot on the wall
somewhere over Roy's left shoulder.
"Close the door, Colonel."
Riza breaks her stance and does as Roy commands. She takes only as many steps
as necessary to turn and grasp the door handle, and Roy reads her worry for him
in the lines of her precise movements. Maes had always been the opposite; when
Roy needed it, Maes became more ridiculous, took up more space, spoke louder.
Riza instead fits herself into the neatest lines and never breaks form. Roy is
never sure what these kinds of gestures are supposed to mean, but he is
comforted by their familiarity all the same.
And yet, as he thinks about what he has to ask for, his stomach churns
unpleasantly. He can't seem to breathe just the right way. There's never quite
enough air in his lungs. He wonders if this is what dying feels like.
After the door is closed and they are left alone, shut off from the outside
world, Roy looks at Riza's straight back and flinty eyes and wilts a little. As
much as he has always needed Riza's strength, right now he needs something
else. And he isn't quite sure how to ask.
"What is it, sir?"
Roy looks down at his desk. There's a report in front center, and it's open to
one of the middle pages, but Roy doesn't recognize it.
His hands clench, and the unfinished edges of the wood on the underside of
Roy's desk bite into the skin of his palms. "Is there an update on the Elrics'
conditions?"
Thankfully, his voice doesn't shake. Or at least he thinks it doesn't.
"Well, Al is fine," Riza starts. It's a weak opening, but Roy lets it slide.
Riza only hedges for his sake anyway. When she speaks again, her voice takes on
a softer quality. "Ed is awake."
Roy swallows, but his throat sticks, and he has to cough to clear it. "Has he—"
His throat constricts, betraying him. He swallows again. "Does he know?"
"Sir?"
Riza's question stokes the flames in Roy's chest, and he has to grit his teeth
to keep the fire from shooting out of his mouth. How can she not understand?
"Does he know that I—" Roy meets Riza's gaze briefly, but he cannot hold it.
Not because it is too harsh or critical, but because they reflect his sadness
mixed together with her pity. "—saw," he finishes. He dares not repeat himself.
There's a rustle of fabric that belies some small movement. "I'm not sure,
sir."
Roy tips his head down slightly. "I have to ask you something," Roy dares. "I
wouldn't—"
"It's no trouble, sir," Riza says—quite brazenly, given she can hardly guess
what Roy is about to say. But then there probably isn't much Riza wouldn't do
for Roy. That is just the kind of person she is.
"I need you to—to," Roy takes in a shaky breath and exhales slowly through his
nose, "check me," he finishes vaguely.
"Now, sir?" This is the only part of the request Riza seems to find
objectionable. Given that the time and setting is Roy's office at Central
Headquarters in the early afternoon, it wasn't entirely an unreasonable
objection, but all the same, he expected more pushback than this.
"I—no. Tonight. Please."
"Yes, sir."
===============================================================================
When Roy had helped Alphonse stow aboard the ship headed back through the gate,
he did it because he knew he would never see Edward Elric again and because he
wanted to give Edward something that Edward would truly need. Roy had viewed
the whole thing as something of a sacrifice. He wouldn't have Ed, and he
wouldn't have anyone that reminded him of Ed, either. In exchange, he would
fully pull himself out of exile and continue his upward push through the ranks
of the military. He had thought Edward would have appreciated the equivalency.
Edward wasn't supposed to come back. Roy couldn't help but think that the words
scrawled over Edwards ribs were his punishment for getting what he really
wanted.
===============================================================================
Seeing Edward fight is like watching a dance where only one partner knows what
is going to happen next but is skilled enough to make the whole piece look
exquisite. The only exception is Alphonse, who flits around his brother with
ease as they fight side-by-side. Alphonse ducks and kicks out his leg just as
Edward jumps and flings himself at his opponent. His ponytail flicks through
the space where Alphonse's head had been only a moment ago. Roy tries not to be
arrested by the sight, though he immediately forgives himself for getting
distracted, even when he has to stumble out of the way of a rather ridiculous-
looking mace; it truly has been too long since he last saw Edward move like
this.
Roy recovers and snaps quickly, efficiently. He can't forgive himself a second
time, especially if he dies like this, too engrossed in watching Edward to
fight for his own life. The man who rushed Roy screams as his clothes catch
fire. Roy trips the man, which serves to both further incapacitate and help
douse the flames before they do too much damage.
"Heads up!" is all the warning Roy gets before two hands—one forgiving and one
not—plant themselves on Roy's shoulders while he is still crouched on a bent
knee. Roy locks himself into place and feels, just for a fleeting moment, all
of Edward's weight being supported by his shoulders as Edward launches himself
up and over Roy's head.
The thud of a body hitting the cobblestones signals to Roy that he is safe to
move, and he pulls himself up and around to see Edward already moving onto his
next target. The attacker Roy had failed to notice is on the ground groaning
and holding his stomach. Roy shakes his head, dazed, and pushes himself back
into the foray. Edward and Alphonse are once more dancing around each other,
holding off far more enemies than should be possible. Roy hesitates for a
moment, hand raised. He could snap his fingers and take down an entire swath of
these men, except that Edward, despite his alchemic prowess, has a rather
hands-on approach to combat, and one wrong move could singe the ends of
Edward's snapping, yellow hair or burn the skin where Edward had rolled up the
sleeves of his shirt.
Roy snarls quietly to himself and watches every twist of Edward's body, waiting
for an opening. But before Roy can find an opportunity, a threat descends in
the form of a hulking, bitter-looking man whose eyes are set on Edward.
Alphonse is preoccupied with his own opponents, and Edward is similarly
distracted. If Roy could just be precise enough, he could—
The crack of Roy's snapping fingers is a deafening sound followed by a rush of
heat that barely licks his fingers. The flames go exactly where he wants them
to, but Edward, having at last sensed the oncoming threat, twists at the last
moment and unknowingly places himself between the fire and Roy's target.
"No," Roy begs. His voice is hoarse.
Edward screams in agony, and immediately Roy activates the array he wears to
suck the oxygen out of the air around them. He can't do it right, not in the
open like this, but it's enough. The flames die quickly, but Edward is already
sprawled on the ground. He looks to be unconscious.
Roy wants to rush in and get his hands on Edward, but he doesn't hesitate. He
snaps his fingers again, the path to his target finally clear.
===============================================================================
"Perhaps—" Riza starts. She doesn't finish. Her cheeks turn tellingly red.
Roy shakes his head. "It isn't there, I'm sure."
"But, sir—" Riza cuts herself off when Roy raises a hand to stop her, but her
silence doesn't last long. "Sir, you wanted me to check everywhere. I've looked
everywhere else. It's the last place we haven't looked."
"I have mirrors, Riza." Roy isn't quite willing to take his shame that far.
"And if it isn't anywhere else, I highly doubt it is hiding beneath my
underclothes."
Riza purses her lips. "This is Edward Elric we're talking about."
Roy reaches for his slacks and stuffs one leg in hurriedly before he remembers
that he's trying to maintain his dignity through all of this. "I don't know
what you mean by that," he says, though he's afraid he might be lying.
"I wouldn't put it past the boy to mark his soulmate somewhere completely
inappropriate.”
Roy clears his throat and continues to button himself into his uniform.
"I—soulmate dysfunction is not unheard of," Roy says. The words sound hollow
even to his own ears.
"It's rare, sir," Riza says. Her voice is plain and flat. It's the tone she
takes when she thinks Roy is being ridiculous, but he isn't. He's not wrong
about this. He was just foolish enough to let himself hope for a few hours, and
now he is facing the facts. The things he has known for his entire adult life
are still true.
Roy pulls on his undershirt and tucks it into his trousers. The silence in the
room is awkward, largely because Riza is pushing for a response and Roy is
refusing her. When Roy is more or less entirely dressed again, he finally faces
her. His face is schooled, and he even finds it within himself to smile a
little.
"Do you know," Roy begins lightly, "I don't even remember the first words he
said to me. I have no idea what my mark would say if I had one."
The corners of Riza's mouth turn down. Roy sees the sorrow for him in her eyes.
It doesn't strike like a lance through his heart. There are far more hurtful
things than being pitied by an officer he commands.
"You recognized your words on him, though," she defends.
Roy smiles more widely. "So did you."
===============================================================================
"General! I was wondering when I would see you here."
Roy's hand rests on the door handle. Through the small window, he can see the
back of Ed's head. Ed's hair is down, spilling softly over his shoulders. His
shoulders are shaking. Roy fears for a second that Ed is crying, but no, those
are Al's hands flailing around on the other side of the bed. He's laughing.
With a deep breath, Roy releases his hold on the handle. He finds himself face
to face with a man who must be Edward's physician. Roy has no other explanation
for this person he's never seen or met before. "Is that so?"
"Well, yes. I imagine most everyone wants to catch sight of the famous
Fullmetal alchemist now that he has returned, not least of all his former
commanding officer. The rest of your team has already been by, in fact."
"I see." Roy risks one more glance through the window. Ed and Al remain where
they were the last time he looked.
"I have to say, General, I am impressed with your precision."
"Oh?" Roy feels his brow furrowing, an outward reflection of his confusion at
this turn in the conversation. The doctor looks all too delighted to elaborate.
"Yes, sir. I don't feel it is inappropriate to tell you that we found not a
single burn mark on young Mr. Elric's skin. And as the reports tell it, the
flame you had let loose was quite impressive. But not a hair was singed! It's
amazing!"
Roy tries to receive the compliment gracefully, but he feels that his smile is
likely more of a grimace. Edward's scream still echoes in Roy's ears; it
doesn't matter that Roy didn't leave another mark.
"Is he taking visitors?"
"I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you," the doctor answers unhelpfully. This
man clearly is not well acquainted with Edward Elric. Roy smiles all the same
and says goodbye with a polite tip of his head.
With one last steadying breath, Roy reaches for the handle again and pushes the
door open.
The sound of Edward's laughter is the first thing Roy registers, but the sound
is quickly cut off as Edward realizes someone has entered the room. Their eyes
meet, and Roy stops in his tracks. Edward blinks. His face is blank.
"General!" Alphonse leaps from his seat at Edward's bedside, and Roy soon finds
his hand being pumped in a startlingly firm handshake. "So good to see you.
We'll have to catch up sometime!" And then Alphonse is gone, like leaving his
brother's sick room was something he had been planning to do before Roy entered
it.
When Roy recovers from Alphonse's abrupt departure, he chances a look at
Edward. Roy takes note of so many things at once—Edward's tipped head, the hair
falling in front of his face like a curtain, nervous fingers picking at the
bedclothes. The sight tugs on something in Roy's chest painfully hard. He tries
not to think about it. Instead he wonders whether Edward has ever been bashful
in his presence before, and if so, how had he ever missed it?
Since Edward clearly isn't going to make the first move here, Roy pushes
himself to move forward. He stops just shy of the bed and quickly dismisses the
idea of circumventing the contraption in order to take the seat that Alphonse
left vacant. That would be too . . . intimate. Despite what Roy knows now,
things aren't like that between him and Edward.
"Fullmetal," Roy greets.
"General." Edward's hand is still picking at the blanket. He's going to wear it
away at this rate.
"How—how are you?"
Edward's shoulders stiffen and rise up slightly, and Roy winces, instantly
regretting not just his apparent inability to maintain his facade of
indifference but also coming here and most of his life in general. Before Roy
can attempt to backpedal and waive off the question, Edward's shoulders relax,
and his entire body takes on that loose sprawl that Roy is much more used to
seeing. Edward looks up, finally, and smiles, his eyes closing with the force
of it. "Great! The doc says I just knocked myself out, which I know is really
your fault, so all things considered, I think it all turned out pretty well!"
"My fault," Roy splutters.
Eyelashes flutter, just slightly, and then Edward is meeting Roy's gaze for the
first time. His eyes are sparkling mischievously. It makes Roy's guts tremble a
little. "Yeah, if you'd just let me handle that guy I wouldn't even be here. I
mean, I know you're eager to solve everything with a snap of your fingers, but
I'm more than capable of defending myself. Honestly, if you hadn't even been
there, Al and I would probably be on the train to Resembool by now."
Roy grinds his teeth together. He wants to refute every word, though he knows
it's true. It's hard to face, though, that he is the reason Edward is injured
at all.
"So that's your plan is it, now that you're back?" Roy congratulates himself on
his steady voice.
"Yeah," Edward says breezily, relaxing into the pillows. "Winry isn't here to
supply me with new automail this time, and Al says I'm crazy, but I swear this
prosthetic arm isn't quite as friendly to alchemic changes as automail is.
Besides that it's far less durable."
"I see," Roy says. He feels a bit lame not quite knowing what to say. He can't
say don't leave. He can't say I missed you. Edward would punch him if he tried
it, especially given the words on his skin and the emptiness of Roy's own. "I
am curious," Roy continues, "how you managed to get back here. I destroyed the
gate on this side, and Alphonse assured me that the two of you would destroy
the gate on the other side."
"Oh," Edward says. He seems to wilt a little, his arms and chin drooping.
"Yeah, I suppose you would worry about that; wouldn't want anymore threats to
come through from the other side."
"Perhaps you should stop by Central Command," Roy suggests, trying not to think
about the way his chest expands with hopefulness at the thought, "before you
head out to Resembool. We should debrief you on how you managed to get through
and what sort of actions we might need to take."
Edward shrugs. "Yeah, all right."
Roy will take it. He nods once and offers a salute before he can suggest
anything else, like an offer for Edward and Alphonse to stay with him if they
need it. Gods knew how that would go.
Edward perks up a bit again and salutes in return, though the way he does it
gives the distinct impression he's mocking Roy just a little bit. Roy bites
back a retort. They're both adults now; there's no reason they can't end a
conversation amicably. With all the confidence he can muster, Roy turns on his
heel and heads for the door. Not even halfway to the door he's already thinking
about how well this has gone, how it's clear Edward doesn't even know what—
"Hey, Mustang," Edward calls.
Roy stops but doesn't turn. He's so close to the door. Just a few more steps—
"Do you—" Edward pauses for a moment, but Roy knows there is more coming.
Edward isn't one to back down from anything. "Everyone's acting . . . strange.
You wouldn't happen to be able to tell me why?"
Roy turns his head slightly, straining against the urge to look back at
Edward's likely open and vulnerable face. Not for the first time, Roy selfishly
wishes Ed was a little better at masking his feelings. "I'm afraid I don't know
what you're referring to."
Edward huffs. He sounds frustrated. "That sounds like a lie."
Roy doesn't remember Edward ever being so perceptive before. "I assure you—"
"It's like everyone else is in on some big secret and doesn't want to tell me."
Roy swallows; his hand right hand clinches into a fist. It shouldn't hurt, he
tells himself, but Edward knew. He knew this whole time and not once did he
tell Roy. He never mentioned a thing. They met over a decade ago now, and
Edward has known this whole time, and he's never once breathed a word about it
to Roy. And maybe that was fine when he was still a child. Roy could forgive
Edward for protecting himself when he was young. Roy isn't even sure he would
have really wanted to know then. But there had been chances when Edward was
older. He could have—he could have said something. He could have stayed here,
but he left instead.
"Does that bother you?"
"What?" Edward's voice is bewildered but soft. The quality is not one of
indignity but . . . hurt?
"That people are keeping secrets," Roy clarifies. "Does it bother you?"
Roy can hear Edward breathing heavily, like he has to draw in bigger breaths of
air to keep himself from exploding his anger and his feelings all over Roy the
way he used to when he was younger. Edward doesn't say a thing, though. Roy
knows what Edward's answer is, and he is fairly certain Edward knows that he
knows. But Roy wonders whether Edward is thinking about the words that mark
Edward as his and whether Edward worries that by saying too much he will give
away his own secret now. Either way, Edward never answers the question, and Roy
leaves.
===============================================================================
Alphonse is the one who gets to Edward first. He is the closest, of course,
both physically and metaphorically. Roy busies himself with securing the area
and directing soldiers to start processing the attackers who are still alive.
Roy doesn't even know where these men came from or what Edward and Alphonse are
doing here, in Central, when they should be a world away. All of the light,
bubbly feelings that came from seeing Edward again have escaped his chest, and
with the fight over, reality sets in. He has to take charge here.
"Sir," Riza calls out. Roy is tempted to ignore her, though it never works. He
just doesn't want to face what he's done. He doesn't want to see much he's hurt
Edward. He's already gathered that Edward is still alive, but how much damage
there is, Roy doesn't want to see. "Sir," Riza calls again.
Roy growls quietly to himself, just once, and then goes where he is summoned.
"You need to look at this," Riza says seriously. Her tone of voice is hushed
now that Roy is closer, and Roy doesn't want to contemplate the solemnity. He
wants to yell that he doesn't want to look at what he's done. But Roy has faced
things far less pleasant than a bit of friendly fire, and Roy already knows
that Ed will live—not just because he has to but because Alphonse isn't crying
and begging Edward to pull through and because no one is pulling Edward up and
hauling him away to be treated immediately. So Roy steps up to face his sins
and follows Riza's gesturing with his eye. He expects to see scorch marks or
blood, and at first Roy thinks that is exactly what he sees; the black covering
Ed's skin looks like a wound from this far away, but then Roy notices it looks
more uniform than charred skin from an uncontrolled flame would look.
Roy looks up at Riza, who looks grim, and then over at Alphonse, who looks
resigned and perhaps a little guilty. Subconsciously Roy chews on his tongue a
little, intrigued. He bends down and rests one arm on his knee and holds
himself steady with his other hand on the ground so that he can lean forward
without falling over. Closer now, Roy can see that the black markings are
actually words, and he realizes what he is looking at.
"Why are you showing me this," Roy asks Riza. He's aware his voice sounds
flinty; he hopes it is interpreted as anger on behalf of Edward and the privacy
he should be afforded in this matter rather than, well, his more personal
feelings on the matter.
"Read it," is all Riza says, and her tone brooks no argument. Roy furrows his
brow but does as she says.
We went to your house; we saw the floor. What was that? What did you do?
Roy recoils. He doesn't remember these words, not exactly, but he remembers the
day. He remembers the small boy in the wheelchair. He remembers ignoring the
full suit of armor hiding behind the small child and descending on the boy
instead. He remembers the feeling of Edward's shirt in his hand as he held
Edward up and the anger that had engulfed every corner of his body at the
thought of the hell this boy had seen so young. He remembers Edward's tears and
the way Alphonse pushed him away.
===============================================================================
"Alphonse Elric is here to see you, sir."
Roy stops in the middle of shuffling papers around on his desk. It takes him a
second to realize his hand is shaking, and once he does, he drops the folder
he's holding onto the desk. He hopes the surprise he's feeling doesn't show on
his face. With anyone else, Roy wouldn't worry about his face being an
impenetrable mask, but Riza is better at reading him than most.
"Send him in," Roy says. He doesn't bother to wonder why it's Alphonse who is
here rather than Edward. He thinks he knows what's coming.
That doesn't stop Roy from jumping a little when Alphonse strides right up to
Roy's desk and slams his palms down. Roy swallows down all of his nervousness
and the mess in his head and faces Alphonse's gaze head on.
"You have," Alphonse says emphatically, "to tell him."
Roy doesn't let a single muscle in his face twitch. "Tell him what?" It's no
use asking who the he is that they are referring to. Who else would it be?
"You know what," Alphonse says. He's not backing down. Roy wonders how long
it's been since Alphonse lost all of his fear of Brigadier General Mustang. Roy
thinks it's probably about the same time Alphonse figured out Roy is in love
with his brother. In love. That, of all things, makes Roy's throat go dry,
forcing him to swallow.
"I'm not the one keeping secrets," Roy says, the last word coming out with a
little more of a hiss than he intends.
"Like hell you aren't," Alphonse counters. "This is your responsibility. You
have to fix it."
Roy bites his cheek. Again he thinks, I'm not the one, but it's no use. Edward
may be the one keeping secrets, but Roy is older, higher ranking. And Edward
might be the one who has the mark, but Roy is the one who has been yearning to
reach out and touch and claim. People think not having a soulmark means you're
free from being attached to one person; people think soulmate dysfunction means
the person who wears the mark is eternally in love and the one without a mark
can't return those feelings, but Roy is the one who branded Edward with his
devotion and his want. To Edward, those words are a reminder of his worst
mistake; to Roy, they are a reminder of the day he met the only person he would
ever love this deeply.
"He doesn't want me to know," Roy says. It is the real crux of the matter. It
doesn't matter that Roy doesn't have a matching soulmark for Edward. If it were
just that, Roy could overcome it. He could give Edward proof enough of his
heart that Roy wouldn't need a soulmark. But the fact is that Edward doesn't
want Roy, period. If he did, Roy would have found his words years ago.
"You're both idiots," Alphonse spits.
***** The Burning *****
Chapter Summary
     "Al said I should come talk to you," Edward says.
     Roy swallows. He should have guessed.
     "Are you drunk?"
     Roy isn't dumb enough to hope Edward missed the opened bottle of
     cognac. "Perhaps a little."
     Edward's hands are on his hips. It's an unusual place for them;
     usually they hang at his sides or are raised in preparation for a
     fight. Roy doesn't think he likes Edward's hands being there. They
     look . . . nice.
Chapter Notes
     Okay, look. When I sat down to write this chapter, it wasn't meant to
     go the way it did—aka full-on porn. BUT that's what happened. If
     you're into it, this chapter is for you! If not, I will say that
     while nothing of significance is said, per se, this chapter is kind
     of crucial to the development of the plot, so feel free to skip it,
     but be warned you may or may not be a little lost in the last couple
     of chapters. I did try to insert a little exposition into chapter
     three that might be helpful, and you can gain some context by reading
     a little of the beginning of this chapter as well as the very small
     chunk at the end of this chapter, which are not smutty at all, if
     that helps. If you're still confused after or in the midst of chapter
     three, come to my_tumblr_ask_box off anon for non-porny details of
     what goes down.
     ANYWAYYYYY~~happy chapter, lovelies :)
Roy isn't prone to drink. He'll join his men or his superiors at a bar when
it's fitting and let loose just enough to keep up or give his counterparts the
idea that they have the upper hand. When Roy finds a woman willing to forget
the promise of forever for a night or two with him, he'll pull out deep red
wine and finish the bottle with her—given she's not in his bed before then.
But drinking alone and feeling maudlin about his life is not an activity Roy
often or even rarely partakes in. He prefers to throw himself bodily into his
work and pushing to the top. It worked after Ishval, and it worked when Edward
left for that strange other world beyond the gate. But now Edward is here, and
being in Roy's office only prompts daydreams of Edward bursting through the
door and dropping on Roy's couch like he used to do. It doesn't matter that
Edward has never been in Roy's new office. It's a fantasy he's had several
times, over many years, and in nearly every office he's occupied. The sad part
is that in his daydreams, it rarely ever leads to anything. He just wants
Edward to be there and have the pleasure of listening to Edward's voice. And
now that this very possibility is almost within his grasp, Roy can't face it.
So he buys a bottle of cognac on his way home, and when he gets inside and
kicks off his boots, he doesn't bother to grab a glass from his kitchen. He
sets the bottle down on the dark wood surface of the coffee table and sheds
first his coat, and then his uniform jacket. As he lowers himself into his
favorite chair, he unbuttons the top three of his white shirt and releases a
sigh. After holding himself up straight and tight all day, it's a relief to
melt into the cool leather of the chair and sprawl his limbs in every
direction.
Roy thinks of what Edward might say if he saw Roy like this. It would be
something snarky, no doubt, but his eyes would have a glimmer of the laugh he
wouldn't voice. Edward's voice would take on that attractive lower timber and
lighter quality it had whenever he was teasing. Roy grabs the bottle of alcohol
and cracks it open. Sinking into the chair once again, Roy takes a long pull
and tips his head back.
===============================================================================
Roy has had a couple of glasses' worth of cognac and is feeling pleasantly
droopy when there's a knock at his door. He considers, at first, ignoring it.
He's quite sure it's Riza, coming by to impart more cutting words of wisdom on
the matter of his soulmate. Or his lack of one, rather. And really Roy is quite
tired of the whole subject and would much rather let it go at this point.
Better had he never seen those words at all and thought he was entirely
soulmateless than to know Edward was almost his but not really. Not in any way
that mattered.
But the second, more insistent knock, when it inevitably comes, pulls Roy even
further out of his pleasant, alcohol-induced, humming stupor, and all he can
think is that if Riza doesn't break down his door tonight, he is sure to face
even worse tomorrow.
With a grimace and a bit of a grunt that Roy would never acknowledge, Roy
pushes himself up and takes few stumbling steps forward. He pauses for a moment
to close his eye and press his hand over it. The deprivation of all his sight
grounds him a little bit and allows him to collect himself so that he doesn't
look like a total wretch as he opens the door.
Roy blinks and then blinks again. He considers rubbing his eye to see whether
that replaces the image in front of him with one that makes sense, but then Roy
decides against that because Roy is drunk but not that drunk.
Somehow, Roy expected that when he saw Edward again, Edward would be wearing
clothes more like he used to and not . . . this. This makes Roy think of Edward
coming down out of the sky like he was heaven sent to save them from the
monsters that came through the gate. This makes him think of snapping hair and
hands on his shoulders, of a scream that cut to the bone. This makes Edward
look touchable and yet still off-limits all at once. This makes him think of
harsh words that were once spoken to a child too young to understand what they
really meant being branded on skin forever.
"Fullmetal," Roy says when he finally finds his voice. It's not smooth, by any
means. The title comes out roughly and a bit broken.
"General," Edward returns. For a man who essentially ran away from the military
by moving to another world and is now facing his former CO who also happens to
be his soulmate, Edward looks rather at ease. Roy wonders if maybe Edward
doesn't remember Roy saying those words on his body, but no, Alphonse knows,
and if Alphonse knows, then Edward knows. And besides that, who forgets a
moment like that? Roy certainly hasn't, even if he hadn't known what it really
was at the time.
"Are you going to invite me in, or do we have to have this conversation on your
porch so that all your nosy neighbors can snoop in?"
Roy grimaces and then steps to the side, allowing passage. Really he should
have walked into the house and left the entryway open, but he doesn't realize
his mistake until Edward is angling his body to brush through the gap and
grazing the fingers of his left hand against Roy's hip in some sort of silent
thanks or torture—Roy isn't sure which. Maybe both.
Recovering, Roy closes the door and turns to watch Edward take in the room.
He's not sure how Edward found out where he lives, but he's not going to insult
Edward's intelligence by asking about it.
Helplessly, Roy follows the line of Edward's long ponytail down to Edward's
back, and his eye traces the outline of the waistcoat that frames Edward's
torso. He doesn't allow himself to look further down.
Edward twists his upper body around, soon followed by the rest of him. They are
facing each other and seemingly doing nothing other than cataloging details.
Roy is afraid of what Edward is noticing; his expression is far too
calculating.
"Al said I should come talk to you," Edward says.
Roy swallows. He should have guessed.
"Are you drunk?"
Roy isn't dumb enough to hope Edward missed the opened bottle of cognac.
"Perhaps a little."
Edward's hands are on his hips. It's an unusual place for them; usually they
hang at his sides or are raised in preparation for a fight. Roy doesn't think
he likes Edward's hands being there. They look . . . nice. His waist looks nice
bracketed by them, exposed as they are—both the prosthetic and the real
one—with his white button-up rolled up at the sleeves. Roy isn't sober enough
for this.
"Al says you have to tell me what everyone's problem is," Edward pushes. He
sounds angry, but in a simmering sort of way. He isn't yelling; he's biding his
time.
Roy doesn't say what he really thinks, which is that Alphonse should keep his
mouth shut, but it's a near thing. He congratulates himself for still having a
filter. Surely tact will be useful here.
Edward takes a step forward. Roy tries to focus on the feeling of trepidation
in the pit of his stomach, but mostly he's entranced by the way Edward's hips
sway the tiniest bit as he walks slowly like that. "I honestly," Roy tries, "am
not sure what either you or Alphonse expect me to say."
"No?" Edward takes another step forward. Roy should retreat, but there's not
much space behind him anyway, and who cares if he keeps his distance anymore?
Hasn't he done that enough already?
"Haven't the faintest clue," Roy says. He pulls his gaze away from Edward's
hands and waist long enough to take stock of the look in Edward's eyes—it's
triumphant. Where has all of that anger from a moment ago gone? Shouldn't
Edward's blood be boiling? Shouldn't Roy's refusal to play along just rile him
up?
But Edward isn't looking like he's about to start yelling and frantically
waving any limbs. He looks like a lion that's singled out its prey and is
getting ready to pounce. Edward takes another step forward, and starting to
feel like a target, Roy takes a half step back.
"Hmm," Edward says, considering.
"What?"
Edward's eyes flick downward quickly and up again before Roy can hazard a guess
about what Edward was looking at. "interesting," is all Edward says.
"What?" Is that Roy's voice? It sounds so unsteady.
"Tell me," Ed says, "what changed while I was gone."
Roy backs up again, and already he feels the front door against his back. He's
not pushed right up against it, but he's very close. "Nothing changed while you
were gone," Roy answers. It's not a lie.
"Absolutely nothing at all, huh?"
Roy shakes his head. Edward doesn't look like he believes it. But Edward
doesn't ask any more questions. His arms drop from their perch on his hips, and
one hand, the right one, reaches out and fists itself in Roy's shirt. Roy gasps
quietly, too out of sorts to stop it. Similarly he is too weak to stop himself
from being pulled downward until his gaze is even with Edward's. "That's a
shame," Edward says. It makes no sense, really, but Roy doesn't get time to
question it. Edward's lips push into his fast and hard, and it ignites Roy from
inside like a spark.
Roy reaches out and wraps one hand around Edward's neck where it meets the base
of his skull. His fingers slip into the fine hairs there while his other arm
slips around Edward's teasing waist so that Roy can pull Edward in until their
chests are flush against each other. Edward follows Roy's guidance easily and
even pushes forward a half step more so that Roy's back is slammed into the
door. The impact barely breaks them apart, and Edward uses the opportunity to
readjust the kiss and attack from another angle. Roy barely even has time to
breathe in a gasp of air before their lips are sealed together again.
Every point of friction between them builds up a heat that warms Roy in places
he didn't even know were cold. He's pulling Edward in tighter and pushing his
knee between Edward's legs. Edward parts for him easily. Roy's fingers itch to
move further down and lift Edward up into his arms, but Roy would much rather
continue doing this than get kneed in the groin for pushing too far, so he
holds back.
Edward breaks the kiss, and Roy chases after his lips. He doesn't get what he
wants; Edward laughs quietly, and the puffs of his breath tingle against Roy's
own mouth. "C'mon, bastard. I know you want to pick me up and haul me to your
room. What're you waiting for?"
Groaning, Roy gives in. He slides his hands down along Edwards sides—which
seems to tickle, if Edward's little twitch and quick exhale are anything to go
by—and then pushes his fingers into the meat of Edward's ass and pulls up. Ed
obliges by wrapping his free arm around Roy's neck and slinging his legs around
Roy's hips. The contact between their groins is devastating, and Roy has to
strain himself not to drop Edward's weight.
Meanly, Edward leverages his hold on Roy and grinds his crotch up and then down
just once. Roy's arms shake. "We won't make it to the bed if you keep that up,"
Roy warns.
"We wouldn't want that, would we?" Edward's voice is husky in a way Roy has
never heard before, and it does something both pleasant and not to his already
abused insides. Roy hitches Edward up to get a better grip. He expects
complaints, but Edward lets out a low, breathy "unh," and attaches his lips to
the juncture of Roy's jaw and neck.
Getting all the way to the bed seems to be an almost insurmountable task with
Edward lavishing his mouth and hands on Roy the way he is, but Roy would kick
himself later if their first time was anywhere but in his room, where he could
give Edward everything.
They stagger up the stairs, Edward seemingly oblivious to Roy's struggles.
Once, Roy has to stop and push Edward against the wall just to give his arms a
break. This does nothing to deter Edward from his crusade to be as distracting
and destructive to Roy as possible. He leans his head back against the wall,
creating a mess out of his hair, and moans as he pushes his hips into Roy's. He
releases Roy's shirtfront in order to pull his hair out of its ponytail, which
only makes things worse.
It's like Edward knows everything Roy wants and is eager to offer it up on a
silver platter. Renewed by his desire to bury his fingers in Edward's mane, Roy
shifts Edward again and treks the rest of the way up the stairs. Roy forges the
way into the bedroom with less grace than he would like, but when he is
able—finally—to toss Edward gently onto the bed, he feels pretty proud of
himself.
Edward is already reaching out, though, and tugging Roy in by the excess
material of his uniform pants. Edward is on his knees and supporting himself
with his prosthetic hand, and he looks more inviting than he has any right to
look.
"C'mere," Edward says, practically whines. It shouldn't make Roy feel the way
it does, but it's like he can't help himself. Roy allows Edward to reel him in,
but rather than pull Roy all the way to the bed, Edward gets Roy just close
enough so that he can attack the clasps of Roy's uniform.
"Uh," Roy stutters. Edward doesn't pause, and Roy has a moment of panic while
he tries to figure out where to put his hands. He settles, of course, for
running one through Edward's bangs. Edward looks up when he feels the touch.
His expression is, to put it lightly, determined, but he smirks and closes his
eyes like he's enjoying the feel of Roy's fingers in his hair. And then he tips
forward again and finally gets to the zipper of Roy's trousers.
Bracing himself on Roy's hips, Edward bends his head down and mouths at the
zipper. Roy can't really feel much through the layers of clothes, but his hips
stutter anyway. "Edward," Roy says, surprised by how weak he sounds. Ed's goal
becomes clear a moment later when, hands still gripping Roy's hips, Ed manages
to pull down the zipper. With his teeth, apparently. "How—"
"Call me Ed," he cuts in, "and shut up." His voice is muffled a little bit, no
doubt by the article of clothing still captured between his teeth. But then Ed
is pushing himself upward and pulling Roy the rest of the way to the bed so
that he can latch his mouth to the inner corner of Roy's collar bone. Roy sucks
in a breath and then another when he feels Ed's fingers fumbling with the
buttons on Roy's shirt.
"When exactly," Roy grunts, "did you get so good at undressing other people?"
Ed detaches his lips from Roy's chest with a light smacking sound and says,
quite bitchily, "you talk too much, you know?"
And then he kisses Roy on the mouth, presumably to shut Roy up. It works, of
course, but Roy is happy to preoccupy himself elsewhere. He reaches out and
drags his fingers along the rough material of Ed's own trousers until he finds
the buttons at the front. With Ed's tongue exploring his mouth and Ed's fingers
making quick work of removing his shirt, Roy works hastily to get some access
to Ed's skin.
He finds, delightedly, that Ed is already hard. His cock is straining upwards
and is warm and smooth as Roy takes it in hand. Ed hums pleasantly as Roy
slides his hand experimentally down the shaft, and the sound reverberates in
Roy's own mouth.
Once Roy's shirt has been tossed to a random corner of the room, Ed slides his
hands roughly down Roy's bare chest before bunching up the material of Roy's
trousers and underpants and using the gathered material to push the clothes
downward. Obligingly, Roy steps out of the last of his clothes. Ed watches him
with apparent hunger darkening his eyes.
Roy, pretending he has some control over this situation, uses the palm of his
hand to gently push Ed back onto the bed and then removes, first, Ed's shoes,
and then quickly follows with the trousers and undergarments that are tangled
around his thighs. Roy drops the clothes unceremoniously on the floor and
quickly climbs onto the bed so that he can capture Ed's lips with his own
again. Ed kisses back eagerly and pushes his hips up against Roy's.
The slide of skin against skin, with Ed's cock nearly aligned with Roy's own,
is enough to make Roy's muscles clench and make his breathing labored. He very
nearly gives into the temptation to push Ed into the bed and continue rutting,
but he wants to see more of Ed's skin, wants to see the mark again.
He separates Ed's torso from his with firm but gentle hands and then makes
quick work of the waistcoat buttons. He reaches for the shirt buttons next, but
he only manages to undo the top two before Ed grabs his hands and stills them.
"Wait," Ed says. He's breathless but urgent. "Wait."
"Ed, it's all right. I just want—"
But Ed shakes his head and grips Roy's hand tighter, almost enough to hurt.
"Next time," he promises. "Please."
Roy hesitates, assurances on the tip of his tongue. But then he thinks, maybe
he isn't ready yet. And as much as Roy would like to think he's the type of man
who would wait until they really talked about this, about them, to continue,
he's far too drunk—on cognac, on Ed—to stop.
"Okay," Roy agrees. "Okay." He settles for pushing the waistcoat off of Ed's
shoulders, and once Ed is free of it, Roy allows Ed to push him over and climb
on top. Ed kisses Roy on the mouth once, twice, and then quickly moves on to
other patches of skin. His lips trail over Roy's jaw and his tongue laves at
the spot where Roy's neck meets his shoulder. Ed pulls back and traces his
hands down Roy's chest, and Ed's eyes dart from here to there, like he's taking
in every detail—every divot, scar, and patch of hair.
Ed skims right over the most aching part of Roy, and Roy has to suppress a
plea. This torture is far too good to cut short. Ed laces the fingers of his
left hand into Roy's and then uses that to pin Roy's hand into place. Ed then
uses his prosthetic hand to push Roy's legs apart before diving in to trace
kisses from his inner thigh down to his knee. Roy's cock twitches every time
Ed's warmed lips touch somewhere new.
Roy doesn't expect Ed to trace his way all the way down to Roy's feet, but he
definitely feels a light skim of fingers along the side of one foot, and Roy
twitches a little involuntarily. Ed smirks and then sets back on his legs. He's
teasing his lower lip with his teeth, and his cock is still standing straight
up. Roy thinks about hauling Ed in and putting his hands all over it, but he
waits. Eventually, Ed says, "flip over."
Surprised, Roy lifts his brow, but Ed lifts his own in what can only be
interpreted as a challenge for Roy to refuse. Curious to see where this leads,
however, Roy does as he's told. Ed wastes no time; he wraps his hands around
Roy's ankles and then slowly smooths his palms upward along the skin there. He
pauses to leave a surprising kiss on the back of each knee before continuing
his journey higher. Roy contorts his neck so that he can turn and watch, but Ed
doesn't look up. His body is stretched over Roy and supported on all fours, and
when he can stretch no further, he climbs up and settles himself on Roy's lower
back, a knee planted on either side of Roy's hips.
Nearly every inch of Roy has been kissed, touched, or licked, and it is leaving
Roy shaking with anticipation. He still isn't sure where this is going, but
he's too enraptured with watching Ed's exploration of his body to ask. Ed
trails his fingers over the backs of Roy's arms before wrapping them around
Roy's wrists and gently guiding his hands until they meet up above his head. Ed
readjusts and pins Roy there with one hand.
Like this, Roy can't hardly see a thing, and he relies on feeling alone. A cool
hand touches the base of Roy's neck, and then fingers push up into his hair.
There's a slight tug at the roots as Ed gently works his fingers through the
strands. The feeling is both relaxing and stimulating; Roy feels himself
sinking into the bed even as goosebumps erupt all over his skin. His cock gives
yet another twitch of interest, and Roy can't help but grind his hips into the
bed in hopes of some friction.
He expects Ed to make a comment about Roy's impatience, but it seems Ed's
attention is otherwise engaged. Roy feels it when Ed leans over him and brushes
his chest and groin along Roy's backside. It's not as stimulating for him this
way, with Ed's clothed chest pushing against his back rather than his
front—though the brush of Ed's cock against his ass gives him a rather pleasant
jolt—but Ed hums again, pleased, and takes up kissing the back of Roy's neck,
which seems to be far more sensitive than he remembers it being.
Ed noses at the shell of Roy's left ear for a moment, and Roy knows that Ed is
entirely aware of the effect each of his little touches are having. It's
driving Roy mad, and Ed is enjoying it thoroughly. Teeth scrape gently at his
ear once, and then Ed says, "you're going to fuck me, General. Is that
understood?"
"Y-yes," Roy answers unsteadily.
"Good."
And then Ed lets go of his hands and clambers off of Roy. Confusion reigns over
Roy for a moment as Ed drops down onto the bed, but then Ed is spreading his
legs, his knee digging into Roy's hip without any semblance of subtlety. Roy
pushes himself up; his arms and legs feel weak but are stable enough to support
his weight.
Roy has no choice but to dig around in the drawer of his bedside table for
supplies he hasn't used as recently as he would like to say he has. He manages
to find a half-used bottle of slick lubricant but has to expend some energy
getting the bottle to open. When he does, he spreads the lubricant over his
fingers and then promptly notes the heat in his face as he starts to imagine
what he is about to do.
Using his clean hand, Roy grabs a pillow from the top of the bed and drags it
over with him. "Here," he says, placing it at the center of the bed, "for your
hips."
Ed contemplates the pillow with a faint expression of bemusement, but soon
enough he readjusts and lays himself over it exactly the way he's supposed to.
"You're so kind," Ed quips, but his smirk is much softer than usual. Roy bends
over him to kiss it. Ed eagerly slips his fingers into Roy's hair again, and
Roy wonders whether Ed enjoys touching Roy's hair as much as Roy has wanted to
toy with Ed's.
Roy doesn't break the kiss to ask. He reaches down with his slicked fingers
past Ed's hardness. Ed helpfully lifts and spreads legs out of the way so that
Roy can feel for the hole he's seeking and push his way inside.
Ed's lips part from Roy's with a gasp, but he doesn't let go of his hold. Roy
would love to see the expressions Ed flits through, but instead he hears every
hitching breath and feels the heaving of Ed's chest as he works his fingers in
one at a time. It isn't long before Ed is wriggling and pushing himself down
onto Roy's hand, seeking for that one spot that will make him moan the loudest,
but Roy pulls back and doesn't give him what he wants, not yet.
Roy pulls out his fingers and wipes off the excess surreptitiously somewhere on
the bed before reaching again for the bottle of slick. He strokes himself a
little, the liquid smoothing the way. He doesn't need to do much—he's been hard
and leaking for ages already—and Ed is already making noises of impatience.
"Fuck, Roy," Ed gasps. Ed is watching him again. The intensity of the gaze
would be unsettling if Roy wasn't enjoying it so much. He's not sure whether Ed
has ever just called him Roy before, but he likes the sound of it in Ed's voice
already. "C'mon," Ed begs.
"Patience," Roy admonishes, but he gives in and crawls over Ed so that he can
position himself. He kisses Ed again, unable to satisfy the need to push their
mouths together and taste. He can't aim where he wants to go without looking,
but he teases Ed's entrance with his tip. Ed shudders, and Roy feels it all the
way down, and Ed keens, high and needy.
Mercifully, Roy likes to think, he breaks the kiss and settles in to do what it
is Ed wants. He lines up and then pushes in, gentle and slow. Ed, always
talented at whatever it is he tries to do, relaxes and opens up for him.
The heat itself is alluring, but the way Roy is able to slide smoothly into the
tightness of Ed's body is transcendent. Ed, apparently, agrees. He hums again
and says, "fucking—more, fuck."
Roy pulls out equally as slow. He's shaking with the strain, but then, he
notices, so is Ed. It's harder to hold back now, but it makes the whole thing
better in the end. Ed wraps his legs around Roy's hips. The coolness of the
prosthetic leg is a little shocking against his heated skin at first, but Roy
is over it quickly as he pushes his way in again. "Fuck," Ed says again.
"So eloquent," Roy teases.
"Yeah," Ed says, breathless, "well—" Roy snaps his hips forward, and Ed cuts
himself off with a moan. "Yeah," he says again, lower this time. "More."
Roy can't help but laugh a little. "If I'd known," he grunts as he pulls out
again, "that this was the way," snap in, pull out, "to shut you up—"
Roy fucks in again, and Ed lets out another low moan from the back of his
throat. One of his arms is wrapped around Roy's shoulders, and the other is
laying across his eyes, unfortunately hiding them from Roy's view.
"—I'd have done this a long time ago."
Roy picks up the pace a little more with each thrust, and he's liking more and
more the way Ed's whole body recoils with the force of Roy fucking in and out
of him. "How," Ed says, sounding like the word was punched out of him, "long?"
"Hmm?" Roy lowers himself enough to nose his way underneath the collar of Ed's
shirt and lick the salty sweat from where it gathers at the juncture of his
neck and shoulder.
"How long ago?" Ed says, sounding like he can't get many more words out than
that.
"You mean," Roy says, lifting himself up again and leveraging the angle to
quicken his pace yet again, "how long ago—would I have fucked you?
"Unh—yeah," Ed breathes. It sounds like both a moan and and answer.
Roy takes a moment to admire the flush adorning the part of Ed's chest that
isn't covered by the shirt, and then he answers, "I don't know."
He can tell Ed doesn't like the answer from the way his features scrunch up
momentarily, but Roy quickly corrects that by rolling his hips and making Ed
gasp. Ed removes the arm covering his eyes. His lids remain closed for a
moment, but Roy keeps watching and is rewarded when Ed finally opens them. Ed's
eyes are bright, even more so than usual, and a little glassy. A little
moisture has gathered at the corner of one, and without breaking stride, Roy
reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb. Ed's breath hitches.
"I'm afraid to say," Roy admits. "You're still young as it is."
That answer seems to be satisfactory to Ed; he nods once and then shifts his
hips. "Oh," he says, and his eyes close again. Roy fucks in right there, and
soon he's also left gasping. He steadies himself on one hand and then reaches
for Ed's cock.
Ed whines in the back of his throat at the contact, and Roy takes that as
encouragement. Ed's hips jackknife once or twice as he settles into getting
fucked and rubbed off at the same time, and the way he clenches around Roy's
own cock urges Roy to slam in hard. Ed just takes it, his fingers scrabbling
for Roy's arms and shoulders. "Come for me, Ed. It's okay."
And just like that, Ed is coming. Warm wetness spreads over Roy's hand as he
continues to stroke Edward through it, and Roy struggles to maintain his even
pace in the face of his own impending orgasm.
Ed sucks in a breath through his teeth and says, "ah, ah," so Roy lets go, but
Ed continues to clench and release his muscles around Roy's cock as Roy drives
in and out. Roy takes a second to readjust, sits back on his legs and pulls Ed
in closer so that he can throw Ed's legs over his arms. Ed allows himself to be
manhandled with the looseness of a rag doll. A few more thrusts and the
pressure inside of Roy builds to heights he doesn't think he can maintain. His
hips snap once, twice, more, and he erupts. He pushes in just a little deeper,
eliciting a weak grunt from Ed, who clenches once more around him. All of Roy's
muscles tense as he empties himself into Ed, and they only relax once he is
spent.
Roy realizes, once it's over, that he's shaking so much the whole bed trembles.
He gives in and drops down onto the bed—next to Ed because he can't imagine the
bitching he'd get for dropping on top.
They lay in comfortable, satiated silence for several minutes. A foot reaches
out and brushes against the almost too-sensitive skin of Roy's calf, but he
doesn't push it away. Ed takes this as an invitation, and rolls over until he's
flush with Roy's side.
There's a stickiness all over Ed that should be uncomfortable but isn't all
that terrible, really. It's not so bad that Roy feels the need to move away
immediately. He gives the peace another minute or two to just exist.
When his breathing slows and evens out and starts to match with Ed's, he says,
softly, "we need to clean up."
"Don't wanna move," Ed protests tiredly.
Roy laughs. "You don't have to."
Ed hums his approval of that and snuggles more into Roy's chest. "C'n I stay?"
Unexpectedly, Roy is brought up short. He'd never thought—but of course he
wants. "Yes," he says. He wants to see Edward here, in his bed, in the morning.
He wants that every morning. "Of course."
===============================================================================
When the sunlight filters into Roy's window, he rolls away from it. Just a
little while longer, he thinks, but then his hand drifts out to the other side
of the bed, and it's not cold, but it's empty. There's no one there.
***** The Mistake *****
Chapter Summary
     "Ed came home this morning and started packing for Resembool,"
     Alphonse says.
     It hits Roy like a slap to the face, and he can't stop his shoulders
     from bunching up with tension.
     Lowering his voice, Alphonse says, "I know he spent the night at your
     place. What did you do?"
     Roy wishes he had a cup of tea, just so he had something to do with
     his hands. They feel useless; flashes of them smoothing over tan skin
     leave them clenching and releasing in impotence.
     "It's more like," Roy says hoarsely, "what I didn't do."
     The judgement emanating from the other side of the table is tangible.
     "You didn't even talk about the soulmark, did you?"
     Roy shakes his head and gazes at the table top. It's a clean white
     that shimmers the slightest bit in the sunlight. A lump of burning
     shame falls into the pit of his stomach when he realizes he's
     imagining Ed spread out over the surface. What is wrong with him?
     Just one night together and he can't think of anything else.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter has a lot of talking and not a lot of Ed. And it's
     probably got more angst than necessary. Sorry! It ends on a
     lighthearted note, though.
     Happy reading!
Roy didn't bother to hold out hope that Edward was just gone to the bathroom or
futzing around the kitchen in search of food that morning, but the
disappointment is still stinging hours later as he sits at his desk—with still
no word from Ed—and tries not to think about the night before. Every time Roy
closes his eyes, he sees a flash of Ed, panting or squeezing his eyes shut, and
every casual touch from Riza or another member of his team reminds him of Ed's
ghosting fingers—because there isn't a part of Roy that Ed hasn't touched now.
In short, Roy is going mad. The third time Roy flinches as Riza reaches around
him to grab a report, she stops, glares at him, and smacks the report back down
on his desk. "Permission to speak freely, General Mustang," she barks.
Roy sighs, closes his eyes, but Riza doesn't go away. "Permission granted," he
says but not without instant regret.
"What the—pardon my language—fuck is your problem, sir?"
It's a near thing, but Roy doesn't flinch again. Riza never swears at the
office, and she rarely does so to his face even in private. But then, it's
probably unsettling for her to witness Roy like this, a wreck. He had spared,
what, a single tear for Maes's death in her presence? Compared to then, Roy
probably looks as if he's on the verge of a mental breakdown. And he is. It's
his own fault, too. He should have told Ed no. He should have just talked about
the damn soul mark. He should have made sure Ed knew that Roy had seen it.
Because in the sobering light of day, Roy realizes that that is the worst part.
That Roy allowed Ed to sleep with him when Ed thought that Roy still had no
idea. Ed had stripped Roy down and sought out every inch of Roy's body. He is
well aware of the absence of a single mark. The likelihood of Roy getting Ed to
talk about the subject now is nearly nonexistent. As it is, the chances of Roy
ever seeing Ed again are starting to seem very slim.
"I fucked up," Roy announces, albeit quietly.
"I'm sorry?" In her surprise, Riza forgets to tack on the sir.
Roy drops his head into his hands and pulls at his hair. Of course, this makes
him think of Ed's fingers slipping through the strands last night. He tugs
harder. "I fucked up," he says again, a bit louder.
A sigh, then, "would you like to talk about it, sir?"
Roy is still looking down at his desk, hiding behind his hands. "No." With a
small smirk just for himself he says, "but if you could yell at me for a while
for being such a moron, Colonel, I'd appreciate it."
"It's a bit hard to yell at you," Riza replies softly, "when I don't know
exactly what it is you've done." Roy drops his hands to peek at Riza and
catches her watching him with sad eyes. She quickly corrects herself, though,
and snaps her eyes forward. Straight-backed, she adds, "Sir!"
Roy chuckles. He usually tries to maintain some semblance of seriousness with
Riza, as she has a tendency to be a bit punishing when she thinks Roy is being
too cavalier for a man who aspires to be Führer. But today he's clearly at the
end of his rope, and Riza being Riza is probably one of the best antidotes for
his dour mood.
But the reprieve doesn't last long. The dull blanket that's been shrouding Roy
all day descends yet again, and the corners of his lips slip downward as he
remembers the night before and the empty bed this morning. "Ed came to see me
last night," Roy admits.
Riza glances at the door, which is shut, and then the chair on the other side
of Roy's desk, which she sits in. She doesn't say anything; she just waits him
out.
"I was already . . . not in the best of sorts, and well, we somehow never got
around to talking about it."
"About the mark, you mean?"
Roy smiles bitterly. "Always straight to the point with you, Hawkeye. Yes, the
mark."
"How long was he there?"
Shaking his head, Roy says, "I'm not sure. Most of the night, though, I think."
Riza's eyebrows migrate halfway up her forehead, it seems like. "He was there
for hours and you didn't manage to speak about the soulmark?"
Roy sighs. He knows what judgment he is about to face. He might as well get it
over with, like ripping out stitches. "We were otherwise engaged."
"You—" Riza stops, and her brow furrows, and then understanding lights her eyes
for the briefest of moments. And then what Roy was afraid to face comes. "You
slept with him without discussing the soulmark!"
Her accusation is right on the money, and Roy doesn't bother refuting the
claim.
"How is that even possible, sir?" Riza's tone is harsh, as expected. It lets
Roy know exactly what she thinks of what he's done. Honestly he would have
preferred outright yelling to this—this disappointment.
"He wouldn't let me remove his shirt," Roy says.
Riza huffs. "So he thinks you still don't know."
"I don't know," Roy admits, "not for sure. He could suspect I know, but I'm
operating under the assumption he still thinks I don't know that I—well. That I
don't know."
Riza's fury is palpable. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't really have to.
It's oddly relieving, though, to have someone make their disappointment in him
clear. It makes him feel completely miserable, to be sure, but he thinks he
deserves it.
"You have to fix this, sir."
The words ring familiar; it takes Roy a moment to place them, but when he does,
he smiles. "You sound like Alphonse."
Riza startles. "You've talked to Alphonse about this?"
"No. When he came by yesterday, he told me I needed to tell Ed I knew. And then
because he doesn't trust me to own up to something like that, he told Ed to
come by and see me, which he did. Obviously."
"I'm sure Alphonse trusts you; otherwise he wouldn't have sent his brother to
you. The problem is he trusted you too much."
Roy hangs his head at that, knowing he should feel ashamed. And he does, truly.
"And now his plan has backfired spectacularly all because you can't keep it in
your pants when it comes to Edward Elric!"
Sputtering, Roy balks at the claim. "How dare—I have never—this is the first
time I ever—"
"I know this was the first time," Riza says, not giving an inch, "but you've
been slowly giving out more and more of yourself to Ed since the day you met
him. Now you've given him nearly everything you have to give, and it's all come
back to slap you in the face."
Roy sighs. She is at least partially right. He doesn't doubt that there is more
he has to give Ed, or he hopes it anyway, but saying that now will likely earn
a slap to the wrist, or worse. The fact is that Roy hasn't been careful, and
now, whether he has more to give or not is irrelevant because Ed isn't going to
give him the chance.
"You're right."
Riza nods, and then she says, "but it's not too late, sir. You can make this
right." She says it with all the quiet confidence she's always given Roy. Not
for the first time, it strikes him that he doesn't deserve this. For all his
blustering about becoming Führer, he still hasn't achieved that goal, and now
he's not even sure he can own up to something to his own soulmate. Or his
soulmate-adjacent love interest, rather.
"I suppose I'll have to try, at least."
That seems to be enough of a promise for Riza. She nods once more and stands,
offering a salute.
Properly chastened, Roy dismisses his Colonel with a salute of his own.
===============================================================================
Roy leaves headquarters feeling not quite as desolate as he entered them,
though his mind runs over the same worries over and over again like a tongue
seeking a sore spot in a mouth. He knows he can always try; that doesn't mean
Edward will bend. Likely, even if Roy manages to catch the little shit, Ed will
not listen. At the outer gate of headquarters, Roy sighs and rubs a hand over
his face. He feels like he's breaking. Since when is Roy anything but stone
faced while in proximity of the office he one day hopes to hold?
"Hello, General.”
Swallowing, Roy freezes, hand still covering his face. There's no mistaking
that voice; it freezes his blood a little bit faster each time. "Hello,
Alphonse," Roy says, attempting for nonchalance.
Alphonse doesn't speak right away, and Roy knows, even with his blind eye and
his other eye covered, that he is being studied. Roy doesn't think Edward would
have . . . divulged what they got up to the night before to Alphonse, but there
is no doubt Alphonse would have caught on that something is wrong. Roy tries
not to feel too relieved that he still stands; the blessing might not last much
longer.
"When I said to fix it," Alphonse says, getting to the point, "I meant you
should use your words. Not your—"
Scrambling, Roy shoots out his hand and prays he doesn't miss. When he finally
gets his bearings, he finds he was able to, in fact, slap his hand over
Alphonse's mouth in time. Alphonse glares at Roy over the top of Roy's hand.
The expression is far more menacing than Alphonse ever looked as a seven-foot
tall suit of armor adorned with spikes.
"Not here," Roy hisses.
Alphonse grabs Roy at the wrist and wrenches Roy's hand away, but thankfully he
doesn't finish his earlier thought. He simply turns on his heel and stalks
away. Roy blinks after him for a second and then realizes he is meant to
follow. Wary of being led into any dark and narrow dead-end alleys, Roy keeps
pace with Alphonse. He doesn't catch up to walk alongside, lest the young man
get any ideas about continuing this conversation within earshot of anyone who
might just feel enterprising enough to take Roy out at the knees.
After what feels like an age of walking to his own slaughter, Roy follows
Alphonse into a small coffee shop. It's just far away and frilly enough that
most soldiers don't bother with the place, and Roy both praises Alphonse for
his thoughtfulness and swallows down the fear that Alphonse just might be
clever enough to rule the world one day if he chooses to.
Alphonse takes a seat, and Roy moves to join him, though he has to pause in the
face of Alphonse's palpable anger and wonder whether sitting down is likely to
end with him blown to pieces.
"Sit," Alphonse orders. Roy drops onto the chair opposite. "Explain."
Roy takes a deep breath and looks around the cafe. They don't seem to be in
danger of being interrupted by a waiter, which is relieving but not promising
for the shop's future.
Even establishing that no one around is listening or even cares that Brigadier
General Roy Mustang is sitting here in a whimsical cafe with a young man, Roy
is hesitant to begin. He doesn't have any excuses, not any good ones anyway.
"I—," Roy starts, but he swallows down any half-formed thoughts that might have
come after. He doesn't know what to say.
"Ed came home this morning and started packing for Resembool," Alphonse says.
It hits Roy like a slap to the face, and he can't stop his shoulders from
bunching up with tension.
Lowering his voice, Alphonse says, "I know he spent the night at your place.
What did you do?"
Roy wishes he had a cup of tea, just so he had something to do with his hands.
They feel useless; flashes of them smoothing over tan skin leave them clenching
and releasing in impotence.
"It's more like," Roy says hoarsely, "what I didn't do."
The judgement emanating from the other side of the table is tangible. "You
didn't even talk about the soulmark, did you?"
Roy shakes his head and gazes at the table top. It's a clean white that
shimmers the slightest bit in the sunlight. A lump of burning shame falls into
the pit of his stomach when he realizes he's imagining Ed spread out over the
surface. What is wrong with him? Just one night together and he can't think of
anything else. He's sure his face is red; hopefully Alphonse just reads it as
shame over not doing what he should have. That is certainly part of it, anyway.
Alphonse sighs. "I told Ed I wasn't ready to go to Resembool yet. He was angry,
of course. He says he wants new automail; the prosthesis are hardly suitable
substitutes, but he's lived without automail for years on the other side. What
he really wants is to get away from Central."
"From me," Roy surmises.
Alphonse doesn't nod or agree, but Roy doesn't need him to. "There are things .
. . we lived entire lives on that other world while we were there, but I know
that coming home is the one thing my brother has dreamed of since we destroyed
that gate. You and Ed seem to think you have each other entirely figured out,
but you don't know what Ed has been through since you saw him last, and Ed has
no idea that you're hopelessly in love with him."
Roy closes his eye. He doesn't ask how Alphonse knows.
"I was confused, you know, when I met you the first time after my memories were
all taken away. I couldn't figure out what it was that lingered in your eyes
when I talked to you about how I knew my brother was still alive. Everyone in
Central said you were punishing yourself, taking up a post in the North, for
not managing to save the Führer in time. The team knew it was something else,
but they never told me what it was. I never figured it out, not until the day
Ed came back, and you just showed up like that to help him. You were a
completely different person, and my brother was the reason."
Alphonse pauses, but Roy doesn't have anything to say. All he can do is listen
to his sins being laid out to him.
"I got my memories back." The statement seems out of place, a non sequitur.
"After we went back through the gate. I didn't think about it right away, but
eventually it all made sense."
"You knew I was—before," Roy says brokenly.
"I knew you were brother's soulmate. I remembered the mark."
Clearing his throat, Roy asks, "did you know I don't match?"
Alphonse doesn't answer the question. He says, "you need to talk to him again.
There's only so long I can hold him off before he tries to drag me to
Resembool. There are things Ed needs to tell you."
"Okay," Roy says.
"He's at the inn on Rosemary street. Room 317.”
Alphonse stands up and gathers his coat, pushes his chair in. Roy remains in
his seat, unsure exactly what to do now. "Where are you going?"
"On a walk," Alphonse says brightly, like they had just been chatting about
what a lovely day it is. It isn't. The clouds are looming menacingly,
threatening rain. Roy would be lucky to make it home without getting soaked.
But he isn't going home, it sounds like. "I'll see you around, General."
The tone implies bodily harm if Roy doesn't do what Al expects of him. Roy
knows his answering smile is frail, but he's too preoccupied with thoughts of
failure to drudge up a real one.
===============================================================================
Roy waits for sixteen years before he gives up on having a soulmate. He spends
the next thirteen chasing skirts, getting into trouble, and throwing himself
into the military. And then he wakes up one day, puts on his uniform, trudges
into Central, and finds himself on the receiving end of a brilliant smile. He
is faced with dark gold eyelashes, a hint of white teeth, and a thick braid
being tossed over a slender shoulder.
For three years, Roy has looked at Edward Elric and seen nothing but a child
with a horrific past and a bright mind. But today he sees something else.
Today, he feels his stomach swoop and his heart drop with dread. Edward is only
fifteen years old.
"Well if it isn't Colonel Bastard," Ed says, practically sings. He's got one
hip cocked against a desk—Lieutenant Havoc's desk, to be precise. Roy tries not
to cut his eyes over to said Lieutenant and finds himself instead fixating on
that hip, covered in leather, of all the ridiculous things. Ed's ostentatious
red coat is tossed somewhere out of sight, and a quick glance upward lets Roy
know that the metal clasp that normally keeps Ed's jacket secured has been
popped open. Roy intends to burn a hole in the desk where it meets Ed's hip,
but his eyes are caught by a smudge of something on Ed's collarbone. It's a
light-swallowing black—soot, or grease maybe. Ensnared, Roy follows the trail
upward, like one would follow the composition of a painting, and catches on red
lips, matched by the deep red of a scratch on Ed's cheek.
The burnished yellow braid isn't quite as orderly as usual; though it's never
too neat, today there are strands dripping from it everywhere. Ed blinks at
Roy, his sneer frozen, and a loose tangle of hair catches in his eyelashes.
Roy's breath catches in his throat. He knows everyone is staring at him. He
imagines Havoc's cigarette falling from his mouth in shock as he undoubtedly
realizes what's going through Roy's mind.
"Something wrong, sir?"
Thank gods for Riza. Roy closes his eyes and swallows. "I'm simply shocked," he
grinds out when he opens his eyes again. They settle on Ed's gold ones, the
epicenter of the masterpiece. Ed looks just as knocked back as Roy feels. "I
haven't heard any reports of cities laid to waste by a midget, and yet here we
are, graced by the presence of the Fullmetal alchemist."
There's a snort followed by some hasty, suspicious coughs. Riza sighs and
starts working again, muttering something that sounds like it's your funeral.
Ed no longer looks resplendently breathless. His brows are scrunching together
and his lips are slipping into a snarl.
"Who are you calling so short he couldn't climb out of a self-made crater with
a ladder."
Edward’s tone is deceptively calm. There's steam practically rising from the
top of his head. Roy thinks it's unfair—Ed looks pissed, like Roy intended, but
no less beautiful, which only makes this harder.
Roy smirks anyway. His mind is flashing—abort, abort!—but on the outside, his
face is as smooth as glass. "I don't know, Fullmetal. I heard Alphonse had to
toss someone over a ledge on your last mission. You wouldn't happen to remember
who that was, would you?"
"Oh, you're asking for it," Ed threatens, and Roy thinks, oh gods, I am. Ed
pushes himself away from Havoc's desk—Roy's heart doesn't stutter; it
doesn't—and raises his hands, prepared to clap them together.
"That's enough," Riza interrupts, voice hard as diamonds. "May I remind you,
Colonel, that you already have enough paperwork due today. And Fullmetal, you
need to turn in your report so that you can get started on your next
assignment. Take this into the Colonel's office. And for gods’ sake, no
destruction of any kind, please."
"Yes, Lieutenant," Roy replies brusquely. He won't get a break from Riza for at
least a week after this, but he can't take his eyes off of Edward. "Shall we?"
Roy gestures with his hand toward his personal office. Edward lowers his own
hands, finally, and stomps his way into the room. Roy doesn't even notice at
first the way his eyes track Edward from top to bottom and up again, but then
he shakes himself out of his stupor and follows. He tries not to think about
what's going to happen when he goes into that room and closes the door because
he knows that whatever does happen won't be anywhere near what he's
fantasizing. Because Edward is far too young, and Roy isn't quite stupid enough
to touch. He isn't about to stick his hands in that fire, despite how much he
suddenly wants to.
***** The Truth *****
Chapter Summary
     The door swings open.
     "I swear to god, Al—"
     Ed stops. He stares. But Roy is staring, too. Ed looks immaculate.
     There's not a single sign of their night together, and Roy instantly
     regrets not leaving a mark. He wants to claim that skin. He already
     put his words on it; he wants more of it covered with signs of him.
     "General."
     "Ed," Roy says, voice rough. Ed looks away like he can't face
     whatever emotion Roy is dumping at his feet.
     "What a surprise," Ed says coldly.
     Despite himself, Roy reaches out, slowly, and traces a finger down
     Ed's cheek. "Is it?"
Chapter Notes
     Here it is! We've come to the end of this fic. I'll be awaiting all
     of your guys' final judgments.
     I will not be surprised if many of you reach the end and (assuming
     you actually enjoyed reading this) ask yourself, but? More? Because
     although this chapter definitely ties up all the little plot lines
     and explains everything, there's so much more I could write for this
     'verse. I just liked where I stopped so much that I couldn't bring
     myself to add another word.
     HOWEVER--that doesn't mean I won't be writing a sequel or separate
     epilogue sometime in the near future. I really enjoyed writing this
     fic and have aspirations to write more of it. Right now I've got some
     ideas bumping around for an AU for these two fools, but when the mood
     strikes me, you may find there is more to come in this story. So
     don't despair!
     Now for a little warning. I just feel I have to say it. Alternate Roy
     gets dealt a really shitty hand in this fic. The inspiration for this
     ending hit me only a few paragraphs into this story and I couldn't
     let it go. I've read quite a few (excellent and beautifully written)
     fics where Ed ends up together with alternate Roy, and as much as I
     enjoyed those fics, I often found myself getting sad just thinking
     about original Roy being all alone without Ed on the other side of
     the gate. So I guess you could say this is my revenge for original
     Roy. But I do love alternate Roy and feel obligated to apologize in
     advance. So. I'm sorry.
     Anyway I should stop rambling here like this is my journal. Happy
     reading!
Roy is standing outside of room 317. He tries not to feel like an idiot who has
no idea what he's doing here, but it's impossible. There's no telling exactly
how long he's just been standing here listening. Not long enough for anyone to
come by and shoot him looks but more than long enough just the same.
Ed isn't banging around in the room, but there's enough faint shuffling for Roy
to know the room isn't empty. All he has to do is knock. Roy shifts his weight
from one foot to the other, raises his hand, hesitates, and then lowers it
again. He sighs at himself and all of his failings. "You're pathetic, Mustang,"
he tells himself.
The room is silent at the moment. Roy listens intently for another shuffle.
After a moment, he hears uneven steps. There's a voice, distinctly Ed's, and
it's distinctly displeased, but Roy can't hear exactly what he's saying. The
steps are getting closer, Roy realizes far too late. He panics and looks around
himself for a moment as if an answer will pop up out of the wall. Nothing does,
and when the steps stop right on the other side of the door, Roy faces front
again, heart hammering away in his chest.
The door swings open.
"I swear to god, Al—"
Ed stops. He stares. But Roy is staring, too. Ed looks immaculate. There's not
a single sign of their night together, and Roy instantly regrets not leaving a
mark. He wants to claim that skin. He already put his words on it; he wants
more of it covered with signs of him.
"General."
"Ed," Roy says, voice rough. Ed looks away like he can't face whatever emotion
Roy is dumping at his feet.
"What a surprise," Ed says coldly.
Despite himself, Roy reaches out, slowly, and traces a finger down Ed's cheek.
"Is it?"
Ed turns, his expression clearly startled. He doesn't say anything. He's
fluctuating, unsure what to do. Good, Roy thinks. Let him feel as unsettled as
he makes me feel every time I see him.
"Maybe you should come inside," Ed says finally. He turns away from Roy and
leaves the door open in invitation. Roy follows him inside but doesn't make it
far. Ed is standing in the middle of the room, seemingly reluctant to sit on
the bed or the chair in the corner. No doubt he doesn't want to open himself up
to that level of familiarity. It's strategic, and it hurts. But Roy pushes that
aside. He's not here for himself.
Roy closes the door firmly. Ed doesn't flinch at the sound or turn around. He's
standing near a suitcase that is packed nearly full. Roy ignores that as
well—he would never stop Ed from returning to Resembool whenever he wanted. All
he is here for is to make sure Ed knows, to tell the truth. All of it.
However near Roy comes, Ed doesn't move a muscle. He's coiled up tightly, but
he isn't about to pounce or jump out of the way. He's forcing himself to wait.
He wants Roy to make the first move this time. Roy moves in closer than he
tells himself he should. There's not an inch between them now. He's facing down
the point on top of Ed's head where Ed has gathered his hair up into a tail,
and the stray strands nearly tickle Roy's chin.
Roy lifts his hands and hovers them over Ed's arms. He wants to touch but not
scare Ed away, so he moves slowly, telegraphing his movements. When Roy's
fingers finally brush the white fabric covering Ed's arms, there's no
explosion. Ed doesn't expand and expel his anger.
Ed sighs. His shoulders drop. Roy presses his fingers into the muscle, and Ed
gives way, tilting his head back and to the side, exposing his neck. He leans
into Roy's chest and settles all of his weight there. The back of his head
rests on Roy's shoulder.
Roy tilts his head forward and tries to get a look at Ed's face. He can't see
much, but he can follow the delicate line of Ed's nose up to his fluttering,
closing eyelids. He looks peaceful in a way Roy has rarely seen. The sight
squeezes Roy's heart. Closing his one good eye, Roy turns his head down the
rest of the way and nuzzles it into the corner of Ed's jaw. A deep breath,
drawn in by both of them. Roy breathes out onto Ed's skin, but Ed still holds
his. Roy wants to press his lips in and kiss, follow the line of Ed's jaw with
his tongue, but he holds himself back. He just has to remember; he's not here
for this.
"Edward," Roy says. Ed shivers a little, and the motion pushes their bodies
together more tightly. Goosebumps start to dot the back of Ed's neck.
"I can't—not again," Ed says, voice breaking on the last word.
Roy pushes his hands upward and then smooths them back down again before giving
Ed's arms a gentle squeeze. Ed won't feel it on one side, but Roy likes the way
the prosthetic arm doesn't give. It reminds him that this is real.
"Talk to me," Roy orders. He speaks gently, but he doesn't leave room for
argument.
Ed bites his lip and holds everything in. Everything except for a quiet whine
that escapes from the back of his throat.
"Ed—" turns his head and drags his lips against Roy's jaw, the only patch of
skin he can reach. Steeling himself, Roy pulls away from Ed's questing mouth.
"It's alright, Ed. Just tell me what you want to say."
Ed looks broken in that second. His eyes are squeezed shut and his jaw ticks
with the force he uses to grind his teeth. Ed spins around and shoves his
forehead into Roy's chest. Roy absorbs the blunt trauma and wraps his arms
around Ed's shoulders. The feeling of Ed's nose pushing into his chest and
rubbing lightly is distracting, to say the least, but Roy keeps holding on.
"It's all right," he repeats.
"I just—" Ed cuts himself off with a small growl and knocks his forehead
against Roy's chest again. "I want you to love me like him," Ed finishes
quietly.
Roy wonders if he misheard. The statement makes no sense to him. "Like who?"
Instead of an answer, Roy gets lips on his and greedy hands fisting into his
jacket. The onslaught is too much to fight off. Ed is dragging Roy to the bed
and fumbling for the buttons on Roy's jacket. Every time Roy pulls a hand away,
it moves somewhere else, and every time he turns his head, lips skim his jaw,
his cheek, his ear.
Roy trips over the suitcase and falls into Ed's open legs before he manages to
just barely catch himself with a hand on the edge of the bed. Ed uses Roy's
vulnerability to launch another attack on his lips. Ed gets one button of Roy's
shirt undone and then another before Roy thinks to use his free hand to push
Ed's hands away. He pulls back, though his balance is unsteady, and gasps,
"Ed."
He catches sight of Ed's pained expression and feels himself softening. If Ed
pressed his advantage, Roy would surely lose, but Ed crumples. His face seems
to cave in on itself before he manages to cover the destruction with his hands.
He falls onto the bed with a whump and just lays there for a moment, utterly
still. Roy doesn't move a muscle, unsure where to go from here, but then he
hears a sob, followed by a large, desperate gasp for air.
Roy kicks the damn suitcase out of the way, his blood turning cold as he
watches yet another sob wrack Ed's body. It would be an understatement to say
that Roy has no idea what is happening; he's lost and confused and afraid. All
he knows is that he wants the crying to stop. He climbs up onto the bed,
careful not to jostle Ed, and when he is situated as best he can be, he slides
his arms underneath Ed's and pulls Ed into his lap. Ed curls up into himself
and uses one hand to dig into the rough material of Roy's jacket and haul
himself closer, deeper into Roy's arms. Roy holds on, but Ed is still crying.
"Talk to me," Roy pleads. "I don't know—" he growls a little, frustrated, "I
don't know what's wrong. How—"
Ed takes a deep breath and manages to break off the sobs, but then he can't do
anything but breathe in and out, the whole effort of it making his frame
stutter and shake.
"I'm sorry," Ed says. "I'm sorry."
Roy shakes his head and lifts one hand to brush the bangs away from Ed's face.
Ed is still covering himself with one hand, and gently, Roy nudges it away.
There are tear tracks running down Ed's red cheeks, and his eyes are still
screwed shut. Roy starts at the bottom of Ed's cheek and wipes away the tears
that remain. Ed trembles a little as Roy does it, but the taught muscles in his
face and neck relax just the smallest amount. Roy continues upward and smooths
his thumb across the one eyebrow that isn't hidden by Roy's chest.
"I need you to talk to me, Edward. Please."
Ed takes one more deep breath and nods. "Okay," he says.
He doesn't speak for a long time. Roy rubs his hands over Ed's arms and back,
smooths the hair that's tickling Roy's face. Ed is just breathing and ever so
slowly relaxing into Roy's arms. Roy can't help but think that this is far more
intimate than even their one night together in his bed, and as much as it pains
him to see Ed this way, he can't say he isn't enjoying the sensation of having
Ed in his arms. He feels like a fool about it, but he's been a fool about
Edward for far longer than he should have.
Ed sniffs a little, catching Roy's attention. Roy watches Ed as he nuzzles into
Roy's chest, like before only with more innocence. The sensation is mirrored in
the way he feels his heart press against his rib cage at the sight.
"They have soulmates," Ed says. His voice is a little stuffed up from all the
crying, but he says this with the conviction that it explains everything.
"Who's they?"
Ed releases a big breath and relaxes even further into Roy's hold. "On the
other side of the gate. That world. They don't have alchemy, but they still
have soulmates."
"Oh." Roy doesn't press for more information. He's gotten Ed to start talking;
all he needs to do now is listen.
"When I first came to Central," Ed continues, jumping from one subject to
another without explanation, "for the state alchemist exam, I was excited to
meet you again. Al and I had talked about my mark with granny, and she
explained to me what it meant that the words you said to me were carved into my
skin."
Carved, Roy thinks despondently.
"She told me that they were the first words my soulmate ever said to me, and
that whatever my first words to you were would be on your skin." Ed laughs. He
doesn't even mention or take note of the lack of shock on Roy's face, like he
already knew that Roy knows about the mark. "I thought it was crazy that you
already knew what I was going to say to you when we saw each other again. I
thought that no one else really gets to decide what their first words to their
soulmate are going to be because they don't know who their soulmate is. But I
had already met you, and I spent just as long preparing to take the state
alchemist exam as I spent thinking about what I was going to say to you when we
met again."
Roy closes his eyes against the pain of what's coming.
"And then," Ed says, "I saw you, and I opened my dumb mouth, and when you
didn't say anything or look like you cared at all, I thought I'd ruined it. I
thought I'd messed up and said the wrong thing, so you didn't know that we were
soulmates because I fucked up."
For a second, Roy thinks he isn't going to say it, but he knows he has to. "I
don't even remember what you said to me when we met again."
Ed just laughs again. It isn't a particularly happy laugh, but it's a far cry
from despairing. "I said oh." Ed laughs a little more, and says, "and then I
said hello because all I could think about was how fucking tall you were."
Burying his head deeper, Ed hides his face. Roy can't see it at all, but he
thinks it might be flushed with embarrassment. He has to bite his lip to keep
from smiling. This shouldn't be a happy story, and it isn't really, and yet—
"I was so sad at first," Ed continues, more quietly. "And then I was pissed at
you. I realized a lot later that I probably wasn't your soulmate even though
you were mine, but that just made me angrier."
"Is that the reason you were always so difficult?" Roy teases.
Ed pulls away and looks up quickly, very nearly knocking his head into Roy's
chin. His face is still a bit ruddy but clear of all tears. His eyes are
bright, even if his eyebrows are hunched down angrily. "Like you weren't also
difficult. You got under my skin all the time," Ed complains. "I just gave back
what I got."
"Sure," Roy gives magnanimously.
Ed turns his nose up in the air. "It probably didn't help, though, that I was
infatuated with you," he admits. He looks a little bit scared of what he's
saying, but he doesn't stop. "I still held out hope that I was really your
soulmate. Al used to say that you probably just didn't want to tell me because
I was still a kid, or that maybe you didn't realize we were soulmates because
what I had said to you was so goddamn generic you must have heard it a thousand
times before. I never considered—" Ed cuts himself off and looks at Roy. His
expression is just shy of pitying. Roy would balk at it, except that there's a
touch of self-deprecation in the look, like Ed blames himself.
"You never thought that I wouldn't even have a soulmark?"
Ed shook his head. "I hoped it was me, but really I just thought you must have
had someone else's words."
"I don't," Roy says, just in case it's not clear.
Ed smiles ruefully. "I know that now. Suspected it, even, when I was on the
other side."
"Oh?" There's a sense of foreboding lodged in the base of Roy's throat, but he
doesn't know what for. "What made you think so?"
Ed scrapes his top lip with his teeth nervously. He looks at Roy and then away
again. "I don't want you to hate me," Ed says quietly.
The fear in Roy drops through his chest and into his stomach, but he says, "I
could never hate you."
Ed searches his eyes. He's looking for something. Roy doesn't know what exactly
it is, but Ed must find it. He says, "on the other side, it's not like the
people are different. I mean, the way the world works is different, but the
people there, they're the same as the people here. Literally the same. They
might have . . . different names or jobs or just different circumstances, but
they are the same exact people. They look the same, and their soulmates are
often the same there too."
Roy's heart sinks. Is he really alone in every world?
"Like Gracia," Ed says, "and Hughes. They were still soulmates. Hughes was kind
of an idiot about things there, I think maybe because he didn't have you, so he
and Gracia weren't together yet, but they were still soulmates."
Roy tries to imagine a world where Maes and he were never friends, and he
can't. What's more, he can't imagine a world where not being friends with Roy
made Maes a worse person instead of a better one.
Ed doesn't seem to notice Roy's confusion. He's staring a bit dazedly at Roy's
chest, and his fingers are reaching up to pluck at the military jacket. His
mind is elsewhere.
"So you met me?" Roy guesses. "The other me, I mean."
Ed nods. He's still picking absently at the stripes and medals on Roy's jacket.
"And," Roy ventures further, "I—he told you he didn't have a soulmate?"
Ed swallows. He doesn't say anything for a moment, and Roy has to reach out and
still Ed's fingers just to get his attention.
"Ed?"
Ed shakes his head. "No, that's not what happened."
"I—" Roy starts, but Ed breaks his hand free from Roy's grasp and places his
fingers over Roy's mouth, effectively shushing him.
Once Ed is satisfied that Roy isn't going to start talking again, Ed lightly
traces his fingers across the outline of Roy's lips. His eyes are focused on
where his fingers are teasing Roy, and it's a bit maddening and upsetting all
at once. Ed lifts his gaze into Roy's for a moment, and then they slide over,
for the first time that Roy can think of, to the patch covering Roy's right
eye. Before Roy can stop him, Ed is reaching up and brushing his fingers across
that as well.
"You never told me how you got this," he whispers.
Roy reaches up and pulls Ed's hand away. "Maybe another time."
Ed huffs but lets it go. His eyes search for something else to focus on and
touch, but he doesn't settle on anything, and he continues his story.
"When I met him, I was a little bit drunk and feeling a lot sorry for myself. I
looked at his face," Ed's eyes flick to Roy's patch again, "looked him in his
two dumb eyes and said, you have the face of a bastard."
Ed tips forward and rests his forehead on Roy's shoulder. He's shaking with
laughter. Roy doesn't know what to say.
When Ed pulls back again, there are tears wetting the corners of his eyes, but
he's still smiling, even if it's a little weaker than his normal, blinding
grin.
"What did he say?"
Ed's smile falters then, but he doesn't cry. He says, "He said oh and it's
you."
It takes longer than it should for understanding to settle in, and once it
does, Roy is frozen, and he feels like he can't breathe.
"I slept with him," Ed continues mercilessly. "I was drunk, and I missed you,
and I didn't even fucking care if I hurt him. Because he had your fucking face,
and he looked at me like—like—" Ed swallows, and then he says, "I told him
first. I told him straight away that he's not my soulmate, but I told him I
wanted him, so he took me home."
It feels like the world is shaking and coming apart, but when Ed reaches out
and brushes his hand against Roy's cheek, thumb brushing against Roy's patch,
Roy realizes that he is the one that's shaking. He thinks he should be crying,
but his cheeks are dry. His heart feels like it's being ripped right down the
middle, but Ed's touches make him feel like maybe Ed could put it all back
together again.
"I pretended for a while. I think he thought my soulmate was dead, and I never
corrected him. He was happy as long as I was happy with him. It was . . .
almost enough."
"Then why did you leave?" Roy knows he sounds like he's falling apart, but
thankfully Ed doesn't mention it.
"Al and I started tracking these men. I overheard them talking about Shamballa,
which was what that woman called our world when she was hunting for it."
"The woman who came through the gate?"
Ed nodded. "I knew whatever they were planning wasn't good, and I knew it was
potentially a plan to come here and wreak more havoc. Al and I never considered
that there might be more than one way through the gate, and we almost didn't
catch these men in time. It was hard, too, because I never told him—the other
Roy—about where I came from. People never believed me anyway, so he had no idea
what I was worried about. I came back after a fight once. I was bloody all
over. Of course he freaked out."
Roy winces at the thought.
"That's when I realized I couldn't keep pretending. He and I fought because he
didn't really know me or what I was doing and because I knew I couldn't sit
around and pretend to have the life I always wanted when there was someone
threatening my home. So I made up my mind to leave. I left him a letter
explaining . . . everything. I don't know if he believed it. I didn't stick
around to find out. I gave him instructions on how to destroy the gate even. I
contacted Hughes too, though, because I knew I couldn't rely on the other Roy
when he didn't really know anything. Hughes said he would close it, and that he
would check up on the other Roy."
"Did Alphonse have any objections to this?" Roy is surprised by his own
question, but he knows it's the right one. He can't imagine Alphonse not
attempting to offer to go through the gate alone so that Ed could stay and be
happy with him.
"To the plan?"
Roy nods.
To his surprise, Ed says, "No, he didn't. He was happy about it."
"But—"
"You think," Ed says, cutting Roy off, "that Al would have sacrificed himself
so I could stay with my soulmate."
Ed sounds a little unhappy as he says it, though Roy can't figure out why. He
knows, of course, that Ed would always sacrifice his own happiness for Al, but
he can't imagine Al not attempting to make Ed happy first. And he doesn't know
why Ed would be upset by that.
"You're forgetting," Ed says, a little angry and burning around the edges,
"that the man on the other side is not my soulmate; you are."
"But I—"
"But you don't have my words; he does? Is that what you were going to say?"
Ed's gold eyes are fierce, and Roy swallows what he was going to say. Ed is
right, after all. Terrifying, but right.
Ed laughs bitterly and shakes his head. "I would have traded the entire time I
had with him for the one night I've had with you," Ed says. He doesn't back
down at all, and his gaze holds Roy's captive. "If there is anything I've
learned from the other side, it's that equivalent exchange isn't real. It
doesn't exist. There is nothing he could have given me that would have made me
stay once I found a way to get back to you."
"Even if I never wanted you?" Roy asks. "Because there's no way you could have
known that I would."
"Even then," Ed swears. Roy doesn't want to believe it, that Ed would allow Roy
to hurt him that much, but there is no wavering in Ed's expression.
Roy's heart thumps once, so hard that he thinks Ed must feel it too. His mind
is wiped clean, and he could swear there's a ringing in his ears. One second,
he is staring into Ed's burning eyes, and the next all he can see is darkness,
and the only thing that's grounding him is the feel of Ed's lips pushing
against his own.
Ed is coming alive in Roy's arms. His lips move counterpoint to Roy's, and his
hips shift so that he can get a better seat in Roy's lap. Arms circle Roy's
neck and fingers brush through his hair. The memory of the feeling layers
underneath the sensation now, and Roy moans helplessly.
Shifting, Roy lays down onto the mattress, and Ed follows him down. Roy has to
remind himself to breathe through his nose because Ed won't give him a second
to catch his breath otherwise. Their lips are sealed together; Ed swipes a
tongue against Roy's mouth, and Roy parts for it.
Ed's hips grind down against Roy's. He pushes back with a groan, and
immediately he feels like a younger soldier who's too eager to even get
properly undressed before he comes. Roy drops his hands and yanks Ed's shirt
out of where it is tucked into his slacks. As soon as his fingers touch skin,
though, he gives up on the clothing and uses his hands to pull Ed in closer. Ed
doesn't seem any more interested than Roy is in stopping anyway. He shifts one
leg over Roy's and uses his leverage to grind their hips together harder. With
every heady brush of their groins there is a bite of pain from the zipper of
Roy's uniform, but it's not enough to make them stop. For a moment, Roy thinks
nothing could. They're chasing completion too quickly already.
But then Ed stops, stilling suddenly and going tense. Roy hears the noise a
second after—a key in the lock, a handle turning.
"Shit," Ed says, scrambling away. It's useless. Ed looks like a wreck; his
shirt is untucked and wrinkled, and the band that was securing his hair has
slipped down to the ends. It barely contains anything. And that says nothing
about the hardness outlined by Ed's tight pants or the redness where Roy's
stubble scraped the skin of his neck and jaw.
When the door swings open, Ed is on the opposite side of the bed, frozen, and
Roy is just laying where he was before, waiting for lightning to break through
the window and strike him where he lays. Or for Alphonse to stab him to death;
whichever comes first.
"Oh."
"Al," Ed starts. He sounds panicky. "We were just—"
"I'm sorry," Alphonse says, talking over his brother. His voice is cold. Roy
covers his face with his hands. "Have I interrupted something?"
"Al!" Ed sounds strangled.
"Are you alright there, General?" Alphonse ignores Ed completely.
"Fine. Thank you, Alphonse."
"Roy!" Ed punches Roy in the leg swiftly.
"I think I should be going," Roy says from behind his hands.
"I'll give you a minute to say goodbye," Alphonse offers generously. He doesn't
sound pleased though, and he shuts the door to the room rather forcefully. Roy
fully expects him to be waiting outside the room with a gun.
Roy removes his hands and sits up once Alphonse is gone. He finds Ed sitting at
the end of the bed still, head in his own hands. "Oh, fuck," he says.
Roy pushes himself the rest of the way up and climbs over to Ed. Pulling Ed's
hands away he says, "This may very well be the last time you ever get to kiss
me. I suggest you make the most of it."
Ed looks confused for a moment, hurt creeping in, but then his eyes zero in on
Roy's lips, which are turned up into a smirk. "He won't kill you," Ed assures.
"You don't know that." Unable to stop himself, Roy tucks a loose strand of
yellow hair behind Ed's ear. "You may yet regret coming back for me. I could be
dead within the week."
Ed grabs Roy's retreating hand and pulls it in, and then, timidly, he kisses a
few of Roy's fingertips. "I'll never regret it," he says. He nuzzles Roy's
hand, and Roy loses himself in watching. He's never found a lover so pleasing
to simply observe. He should have known that Ed would supersede every other
person in every way.
A loud knocking on the door breaks the silence and—though he would never admit
it—makes Roy jump a little. "Hurry up in there! I'm not giving you time to
finish," Alphonse yells, his meaning clear.
Roy laughs, but Ed just groans in embarrassment and dives in to bury his face
in Roy's shoulder. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"That depends," Roy says lightly. "Are you leaving for Resembool?"
Ed shakes his head. "Not tomorrow, I don't think. But—well, I'll have to go
back sometime soon."
"I understand," Roy says. He kisses the top of Ed's head. "I'll wait for you,
whenever you go. I always do."
End Notes
     Here's my_tumblr if you want to come yell at me about how awful this
     is.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
