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Roy/Ed drabbles; each "chapter" is a different theme list
Chapter 1, 45 Roy/Ed themes
1) Good Morning
Roy sipped his coffee, savoring the taste, then headed for the study.
Edward was sitting at his desk, books and notebooks spread out in front of him. Roy leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Good morning."
"Roy? What are you doing up?"
"It's seven in the morning, Love. Now go to bed."
"In a bit. I've almost got this cracked. See, he used the cards to mean—no, that was something else. Hold on, I've got it written down."
Roy put his hand over the notebook. "Edward? Go to bed."
Ed stared at the hand blearily. ". . . Okay."
2) I'm Leaving Now (I'm Off)
"Fine, I'm going."
"Try to leave everything standing this time." Take care.
"It's not like I set out to destroy things." Shit happens that I can't control.
"Every time you level a building it creates paperwork for me, so keep it to a minimum." Don't take unnecessary risks.
"Yeah, whatever. I'll try not to bury your desk in paperwork." I'll do what I can.
"And try to remember to report in once in a while." I worry about you.
"As if you don't have people spying on me." Thank you for worrying.
"Whatever. I'm going now."
I'll miss you.
3) After One Year / 13) Flower
Roy had no idea what he should do. He had long ago lost track of the number of dates he's had, and the number of women he's wooed. But all of that was useless, because Roy Mustang has never, ever had an anniversary. What's more, his current, and hopefully permanent, significant other is not a woman, and would be insulted to be treated as such. The usual trappings of a one-year anniversary would not work.
Even so, Roy doesn't want the day to go unmarked. Perhaps a simple dinner out at a nice restaurant would be appropriate. He should have come to that conclusion earlier and made reservations, but he'll manage; in that, at least, he can draw on experience.
But when he got to work he found, in the center of his desk, a single, perfect rose, and a note. The rose, upon examination, was too perfect, unnaturally so, although it did, appropriately enough, have thorns (perfect, evenly spaced, and sharp). The note had the name of a restaurant and a time. At the bottom, it said, "Get mushy on me and I'll punch your face in."
Roy smiled. It turned out he didn't have to worry after all.
Roy finished brushing his teeth and put his toothbrush away, noticing that Ed's was missing. He sighed and headed for the library.
There he was, toothbrush hanging out of this mouth and his nose in a book. Roy snatched the book away.
"Mmm!" Edward leapt up and grabbed for the book, but Roy held it out of his reach.
Ed growled and stomped off to the bathroom, sucking wetly on the toothbrush before pulling it out of his mouth.
How he could stand to sit and read with a mouth full of toothpaste foam Roy would never understand.
"Come with me."
"You're invited! Winry and Granny, they want you to come." When Roy doesn't respond, he continues. "I want to show you my hometown. You've been there, but you've never seen it. I want to show you the river where we used to play on the rocks. I want to show you the general store. I bet you've never seen one, they don't have them in the city. I want—"
"Edward. . . ." Roy sighs, looking pained. "I'll consider it."
Edward is silent for a moment. "You know . . . the only one who still blames you . . . is you."
Ed fingers his lover's hair. The bangs are almost to the bottom of the eye patch. "You should cut your hair."
"I probably should."
"Why'd you let it go? You always used to keep it so neat."
Roy shrugs, not looking up from his book. "Not many barbers up there."
"There's plenty down here."
He turns a page. "I guess I didn't think about it."
Edward frowns, but doesn't press what he suspects is the real reason: Roy Mustang, the great womanizer, who shamelessly used his looks as both a tool and a shield, has stopped caring about his appearance.
7) State Alchemist
"It's your fault I'm even here."
"The decision was yours; I never forced your hand."
"You gave me the idea—and the means."
"I smoothed your way, yes, but I find it hard to believe you wouldn't have had the idea on your own."
"You're still a manipulative fucking bastard who's always getting me to do your dirty work—and keeping things from me."
"That's how the military works. If you don't like it, you shouldn't have taken the state alchemy exam. Is there a point to this?"
"Yeah." Ed suddenly kissed him, rough and demanding. "I want equivalent exchange."
Sometimes, he feels guilty about recruiting a child into the hard, cold world of the military. He feels guilty that he is using a child for his own gain. But then he looks into the boy's unnervingly golden eyes.
I'm using you, the boy's eyes say. You gave me this opportunity and I'm using it, but I don't give a shit about anything else. You're nothing but a means to an end.
Roy laments that a twelve-year-old's eyes should be so cynical, but he is reminded that this is not a child. And, perhaps, he feels a little less guilty.
9) Fire Wound/Scars
Edward wraps his arms around his lover, running his hands over his chest, his left hand seeking out and tracing familiar scars. Some bullet wounds. The long scars from Bradley's sword. Several from inconsequential events, such as childhood accidents. But there's one type of mark his fingers never find. "It's funny," he comments as he noses short black hair, "I always thought you'd have burn scars."
"I do." Roy sighs and wraps his own arms around Ed's. "They're just not visible."
Edward sighs in return and tightens his embrace, pressing his face to the back of his lover's neck. "Yeah."
Ed has found that trains give him a lot of time to think. Which is fine when he can keep his mind on important subjects, such as the mission he's supposed to be on, or the rumors he's chasing down. But the sound and motion of the train tend to lull him into a semi-meditative state, and this unfortunately makes his mind wander. At such times he finds himself thinking about other things, such as whether a certain bastard Colonel's eyes are truly black or if they're actually a really deep brown.
Such times make him wonder about his sanity.
Al is telling him that they need to hurry or they'll miss their train, but Edward tells him to wait. He runs back to his room and digs out a battered pocket-sized notebook. The notebook is full of his thoughts, his hopes and, most importantly, his doubts, written when he thought he might never make it home. Some of what he wrote surprised him, and he's been too embarrassed to share it, even with the person to whom it's addressed.
He sets the notebook on the kitchen table, where his lover will find it, and runs to join his brother.
12) A Real Summer Night
It was hot, humid, sticky, and late, and Roy could think of a dozen things he would rather be doing than be dragged around a crowded carnival by a pair of over-exuberant adolescents. (To be fair, Edward was nearing twenty, but one wouldn't know it by the way he was acting.) He wasn't interested in the rides, the midway games were all rigged, the food was over priced, and the vendors were selling nothing worthwhile.
But then Edward would turn to him with silly grin, and Roy would think that maybe it was worth putting up with it after all.
14) Last Kiss
Roy doesn't remember his first kiss. He supposes he was around twelve, an awkward boy just figuring out the opposite sex and wondering why he felt drawn to his own. He knows the kiss was with a girl. He doesn't remember or care who.
Roy remembers his last kiss. A golden-eyed boy had pulled him down as they stood outside talking in the boy's hometown. The kiss had been quick, innocent, nothing more than lips pressed together, and the boy would have fled if Roy hadn't caught him and pulled him into an embrace.
This is the kiss he treasures.
His pillow was warm, and just the right height, and not hard, exactly, but not soft, a sort of just-right firmness, and Roy sighed and nuzzled into it. He'd been so tired lately. . . .
His pillow shifted, and a paper rustled, and Roy woke a fraction more. He smiled and snuggled into his "pillow" again.
"All right, bastard, I know you're awake."
Roy shifted onto his back and smirked. "Bored, are you?"
Ed snorted and stretched over for another book, still carefully not disturbing his now-awake lover. "You could at least have fallen asleep a little closer to the book shelf."
"Edward . . . a relationship just isn't possible. You understand that, right?"
"Yeah, I get that, I'm a guy, you don't date guys—"
"I'm not bothered by that. But you are my subordinate."
"I get that, too. I just needed to tell you . . . wait, you mean you do date guys?"
"I've been known to in the past, yes."
Golden eyes stared at him, long and hard.
"You know, I never did plan to make a career of this. . . ."
He leaned forward, smirking. "Is that a promise, Fullmetal?"
"Yeah." A quick, shark-like grin. "And a warning. You better be ready for me."
Roy notices that he and Edward express themselves very differently, sometimes radically differently. There are some points, however, where they are very much alike. For example, neither of them cries. Tears are a useless, pointless waste, and don't solve anything. Both of them prefer action to tears. Neither man has cried since childhood.
It does, however, sometimes rain. And if it rains inside the house, well, then that's just a leak that needs to be tended. And if their usual way of tending to such leaks is hold one another, well, that's their own business.
But neither of them cries.
Edward stared at the payphone. Al was buying food, so he was on his own. When they'd decided to go to Central and become state alchemists they knew they'd be facing the unknown, but this . . . this Ed hadn't prepared for. It wasn't as if he didn't know how—he'd seen the Rockbells use theirs, and this one even had instructions (lift receiver, insert coins, dial number)—but he'd never used one before and the concept of talking to someone he couldn't see was strange.
And Edward really wanted to get a look at the man connected to that deep voice.
19) Automail / 38) Control
Roy shivers as cold metal fingers trace down his chest, pausing to tease his nipples, then continuing down his stomach. His lover's other hand, warm in comparison, holds his own pinned above his head. The automail scratches through the coarse hair between his thighs, then cups his aching flesh, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp, before tracing up his length and pinching, very gently.
Even if he hadn't been pinned he wouldn't have been able to move, kept in place by the threat of that metal hand. The threat isn't just the strength, which is incredible. The artificial joints can easily snag hair and pinch skin, and it's only Edward's control that keeps the prosthetic safe. Ironically, he's much more careful with Roy then with himself; but then again, that's the way Edward is.
Secretly, Roy hopes Edward keeps his automail. It's such a part of the fiery young man, that Roy fears he just wouldn't be "Edward" without it. Gold and steel; precious and dangerous. His Fullmetal.
He always feels selfish and low when he thinks this, and he knows he would do anything he could to help his lover accomplish his goal.
But he would mourn.
20) Overtime Work
"How long is this going to take?"
"Another hour; maybe two."
Edward threw himself down on one of the couches. "Fuck. Couldn't you have finished your work during the day?"
Roy frowned. "I can't always control when work comes in nor when it's due."
"It'll take longer if you keep distracting me."
"Lazy fucking bastard." Ed pulled his legs up and glared at him over his knees.
Roy sighed, then gave his lover a small smile. "If you wait patiently, I'll let you top tonight."
Edward's expression brightened, then he stretched out on the couch to wait. "Okay."
21) Difference / 40) First Lieutenant Hawkeye
"Alphonse-kun? Why are you out here alone?"
"Lieutenant Hawkeye! Well, Nii-san needed to report to the colonel, and since we've been gone for a while . . . um . . . I mean. . . ."
"You thought you would give them privacy." Hawkeye nodded and sat down on the steps next to the suit of armor. "That's considerate of you."
"Then you . . . um . . . know?"
She gave the boy a small smile.
"Right. Um, Lieutenant? Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Alphonse-kun."
"It's about the colonel. He's dated a lot of women. A lot. He . . . never seems to go out with them more than a few times. And . . . well. . . ."
"You're worried he might do the same to Edward-kun."
". . . Yeah."
"I cannot predict what will happen between them, but I can say this: there's a difference."
"What do you mean?"
"Women are safe; he doesn't have to worry about his reputation. The same cannot be said about a relationship with Edward-kun."
". . . He's taking a risk."
"A large one. And Colonel Mustang does not take risks lightly."
". . . So unlike with women, he wouldn't be in such a relationship. . . ."
"If he wasn't serious. Yes."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
She smiled, thinking that armor shouldn't be able to beam like that.
Roy dismissed it the first few times, but it'd become a definite pattern. Whenever they walked anywhere, Edward inevitably positioned himself on Roy's left.
"Why do you do that?" he finally snapped. "I can't see you when you're on that side."
Edward blinked at him. "That's your vulnerable side," he answered finally. Roy stared at the young man. "I'm sorry. I didn't really think about it. I'll stop, if. . . ."
"No . . . no." Roy kissed his lover's forehead and took his right hand in his own. "Thank you for guarding my back."
"Well . . . someone has to," Edward said with a small smile.
23) Wait a Minute
Roy picked up his keys, not bothering to call out "goodbye" like he usually did; Edward was probably still off sulking somewhere after their last fight.
"Wait a minute." A rough tug on his arm. "Pick up something on your way home, would you? I'm working late."
A pause, and then they had their arms around each other, and Edward's head was against his chest and his face was in Ed's hair. Not an apology or forgiveness, they were both still mad, just an affirmation that such trifles wouldn't change things between them.
"I'll see you tonight, then."
24) Alone/One Person / 37) Distance
It's when I can't sleep like this that I really start to doubt myself. I had thought I knew what it was like to be on my own, but now I'm well and truly alone. Before, no matter how far I traveled, I knew I could come back. But this time, the distance can't be traveled by train. What if I never make it home? I can't let Al know I have these doubts, even in these stupid fucking letters that will probably never reach either of you. Just like I couldn't let him know when I had doubts that we'd get his body back.
I used to find any excuse not to return to East City, just so I didn't have to face you. But you probably already knew that; your fucking spy network must have stretched across the entire fucking country. But it can't reach me here, can it? And I find that I wish it could. It would be comforting to know someone's keeping track of me. I want to report to you and have you smirk at me and call me short (which I'm not) and tell me where to go next.
Ironic, isn't it?
"You can't go in the water at all?"
Ed hunched his shoulders. "Salt water's bad for steel. Winry'd kill me."
"I suppose walking on the beach is out."
He shrugged. "Nah—the sand in the joints is annoying, but I can deal with it."
Roy sighed. "I'm sorry, Love. If I'd thought this through, I would have suggested vacationing somewhere else. Why didn't you say something?"
Edward shrugged again. "The town is nice. And the view from the deck is great, especially at sunset. And besides," he said with a mischievous grin, "I get to see you in a swimsuit."
"It's not for your automail, you know. Not really."
"What do you mean?"
Roy snaked an arm around his lover's waist as they lounged in bed. "On the day of your test, you ran forward."
"To save that other applicant. You put yourself in danger."
Ed snorted. "No one else was doing anything. Including you, useless bastard."
Roy pinched his side. "Point is, the Fuhrer commented later, 'that kid must have balls of steel. In fact, I think that's a good name for him.'"
Edward threw his head back and laughed. "Well, shit. That changes the meaning, doesn't it?"
27) Sleeping Face
Roy likes to stay awake until after Edward falls asleep. For one thing, the only time Edward will snuggle is when he's falling asleep. When he's awake he merely puts up with Roy cuddling him. But mostly, Roy likes to watch his face. Sometimes, it's the only way to gauge how stressed he's been. He's too good at hiding it during the day, but the tension will follow him into sleep, keeping his face from relaxing completely. On those nights, Roy will rub his back and shoulders until he sees the frown lines fade, always careful not to wake him.
28) It's Begun
"So how did you know you were in love?"
"Ah, love." Maes raised his glass in a mock toast. "I couldn't stop thinking about her, her voice made me swoon, I wanted to stare at her for hours—"
Purposely working him up, just to see him rant, thinking about those rants for days to come—
"—That was just infatuation. Love was when I wanted to simply be in her presence, to see her happy. That's when it began—"
—Risking everything to give him leads, waiting impatiently for him to return—
Roy dropped his head to the bar.
Roy hates what he's doing, hates himself for doing it. But even more he hates the hollow, anguished look in the boy's eyes. Roy knows that look, knows better than anyone how paralyzing it can be.
Neither of them can afford that.
Cold, cruel, and bitingly true words come out of his mouth. They taste bitter, sharp. Anger fights its way into the boy's eyes, edges out anguish.
That's it. Hate me.
More cold, cutting truths. The boy cringes, but then glares, and runs away in disgust and anger.
Yes. Hate me. It's all I can give you.
They lie awake sometimes and talk quietly in the dark. These conversations are different than any of the ones they have during the day. During the day, they're each bound. To the military, to their obligations, to their goals. By their pasts and by what they hope—need—to achieve for their futures. Daylight doesn't allow dreams, only goals and the hard, cold reality of reason.
In the dark, reality ceases to exist, and all that's important is the bed, and each other. This is the only time they allow themselves to dream.
This is why they cherish their nights.
31) Body Temperature
Edward shifts closer to the warm body at this back, and the arms around him tighten. He's still getting used to sleeping with Mustang. He and Al used to sleep next to each other for warmth, or to calm childhood fears, but this is different. This is the feel of bare skin touching another person's. This is soft kisses and sleepy caresses. This is feeling at once vulnerable and protected. This is someone taking comfort in the closeness of his own scarred, maimed and third-metal body.
And this is guilt, because a warm body is something his brother cannot enjoy.
32) Is It Love?
"Winry? I should probably tell you . . . me and Mustang, we. . . . I know you don't like him, but he and I, we—"
Winry finally smacked the back of his head. "Will you just say it? You and Mustang are getting intimate. Right?"
Ed sputtered. "B-but—that's—um . . . yeah. I know you're probably not too happy about this. . . ."
"Do you love him?"
"Ah??" His reflexive response was to deny—but Winry needed honesty. And didn't Roy deserve it as well? "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"If you love him, then . . . that's enough for me." She smiled. Somewhat bittersweet, but genuine.
"Winry . . . thank you."
His fighter's instinct, the one that's kept him alive for the last three years, is telling him that he's putting himself in danger, making himself vulnerable, that he shouldn't show his back, shouldn't let those arms restrict him, shouldn't let himself be pinned—
But another part of him is pulling the other man down on top of him, throwing his head back and delighting in the teeth on his neck, closing his eyes and letting himself be controlled, dominated, restrained, and the fear makes it all the more delicious, because deep down, he knows he's safe in this man's arms.
34) Scratching with Nails
Ed has found that Roy likes the feel of fingernails, whether it's scratching along his back or through his hair, or lightly digging into sensitive skin. Ed can make him moan in pleasure or sigh in contentment, and he always arches into the touch, and more than once Ed has accused him of being more cat than military dog. But it always reminds Ed that he only has one hand to offer, and the other is a facsimile, a poor imitation. Despite his lover's reassurances that he doesn't mind the automail, even likes it, he can't help but feel inadequate.
Rizenbool didn't have addresses; mail came to the post office, and houses were found by landmarks. Then he'd been in the military, with no permanent home and no desire for one. After that he'd been in that other world, with absolutely no desire to stay.
Perhaps that was why. He felt like a fool and he dreaded having to explain if his lover saw him, but he couldn't help staring at the neat row of numbers on the front of the house and grinning. An address. Almost twenty, and for the first time in his life he had an address.
36) Wound, Blood
It's become a ritual. Whenever his lover comes back from a mission, as soon as they're both in bed, he wordlessly runs his hands over his lover's body, checking for bandages, any sign of blood or bruising, assessing each flinch and gasp to see if anything needs tending, which he will then wordlessly tend to. His lover is too stubborn and proud to admit to wounds, but he cares too much to let it go, so they've come to this compromise. His lover is cared for, and they both keep their pride. It's an arrangement they both take comfort in.
"I believe I'm due some money."
Havoc stared at his superior officer's smirk and tried to remember if he'd made any bets lately. Mustang snapped open a piece of paper and handed it to him.
"Tomorrow is my anniversary. That means you owe me ten thousand cenz—plus ten years interest."
Dammit, he'd forgotten about this—but there was his signature, all right, and the terms of the bet, all spelled out. He sighed. "I'm, um, gonna have to get back to you after payday." Under his breath, he added, "Really thought you would have killed each other by now."
41) Don't Touch Me
"You've gotten the wrong idea—"
"So now I'm too stupid to understand?"
"Stop seeing insults in everything!"
"Then stop insulting me!"
"I'm not—" Roy stopped. "Ed. Nothing happened, nothing was going to happen. Do . . . do you really think I would do that to you?"
Edward opened his mouth, then closed it, turning his back and folding his arms.
"Edward—" Roy stepped forward and put his hands on his lover's shoulders, but Ed shrugged them off.
"Don't touch me. You can't expect to just hold me and make everything better."
"That . . . wasn't my intent."
"Just . . . leave me alone right now, okay?"
He didn't know how he had let this happen, when he had let his guard down—he never let his guard down, never, and yet somehow this boy had managed to worm his way through cracks Roy hadn't even known were there, to get under not only his mask but his very skin, settling in and filling up the empty spaces so well they might have been made for him—and it was the cruelest thing he could have done, because once he was gone—and he would be gone, someday, Roy could feel it—the structure would simply collapse.
Some mornings Roy would go out onto the porch with his coffee and lean against the railing. The air was crisp and quiet and hazy, and he would think that maybe this was worth the insomnia, because the world seemed almost perfect like this.
This morning there were uneven footsteps behind him and a forehead thumped against his back. "Hey. Bastard. What the fuck're you doing up so early?"
Roy reached back and patted his arm as Ed sighed and settled heavily against him, as if planning to doze off again, and he thought that now the world was perfect.
"What's the point of this again?"
"There is no point."
"So we're wasting time."
"That's the point. I can't believe you never did this as a kid."
"You said there was no point."
"Shut up, bastard."
"If you tell me there's no point and then say there is one, you're contradicting yourself."
"Cloud watching is supposed to be relaxing, you know."
"I am relaxed."
"No you're not, you're argumentative."
"You talk as if they're mutually exclusive."
"You—fuck, never mind."
Roy kissed the blond head resting against his shoulder and pulled his lover close, enjoying more than just the clouds.
45) Welcome Home
"He acts like he doesn't care," she'd told him, "but you'll see."
She was one of the people who knew Ed best, and Roy wasn't inclined to ignore her. So he made a point of it, especially if Ed had been away for a while. The young man would roll his eyes at times, or grumble, or call him sentimental. But Roy hadn't missed the way his face would brighten, or relax just a little after a rough day, or the little smile he sometimes couldn't quite hide. It was amazing how much impact two words could have.
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