Morning After: Morning After

The phone was ringing. Which was odd, because Ed could have sworn there wasn't a phone in their room, and the phone in the common area was too far away to be this loud. Not that he cared, at the moment; he just wished Al would take care of it because the shrill noise wasn't doing anything to improve his headache. Ed groaned and pulled a pillow over his head to try to block out the noise. Wait, since when did his bed have multiple pillows?

Someone shifted on the bed beside him, someone who was definitely not Al. Reality came crashing into Edward Elric's fogged brain when the incessant ringing stopped and a baritone voice mumbled "Mustang."

Ed slowly pulled the pillow off his head and turned over to stare at the (naked!) back of his commanding officer.

"Oh, yeah, he's here," Mustang was saying into the phone. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against his knees with his free hand scrubbing over his face. "Sure. One moment." Mustang turned and regarded the other man in his bed blearily. If he noticed Edward's deer-in-the-headlights stare, he didn't comment. "It's your brother." He held out the receiver, and when the cord didn't reach far enough and Ed made no move to take it, he simply dropped it on the pillows and stood.

Ed crawled over to the phone, then stopped and pulled the covers back over himself, cursing, when he realized he was just as naked as the Colonel. Of course, he supposed at this point it didn't really matter, but he'd be damned if he was going to act like this was all normal.

"H'lo?" he said once he got the phone to his ear.

"Nii-san?" his brother's tinny voice answered him. "I got worried when you didn't come back last night. Why are you at the Colonel's?"

"Sorry Al, party went later than I thought. Colonel's place was closer than the dorms." At least, he thought he remembered someone reasoning that last night.

"Why didn't you call?"

"Uh . . . slipped my mind. Sorry. Was tired." There had definitely been something preoccupying him last night, and judging by the dried, crusty mess on his stomach and chest, it hadn't exactly been sleep.

"Nii-san? Are you all right?"

"I think I'm hung over," he mumbled.

"You had alcohol? You know you're not old enough to drink," Al admonished.

"That didn't stop everyone from pushing drinks on me," Ed snapped back.

"That didn't mean you had to drink them!"

"Al!" He let out an exasperated sigh. "I'll leave just as soon as I've washed up and had something to eat."

"All right, I see you an hour or so, then. Be sure to thank the Colonel for letting you sleep there, that was really nice of him."

Ed grunted and hung up the phone. He dropped his face into the pillows and groaned, only to jump and squawk when something landed on his head. Scowling, he sat up and yanked the thing off. A robe. Scowl still in place, he looked up to see the Colonel tying on a similar one. The Colonel looked odd, sleep mussed and disheveled. Odd . . . but also quite attractive.

"I'm going to take a shower," the older man said, snapping Ed out of an embarrassing train of thought. "If you wish to do the same, there's towels in the hall bathroom, as well as soap and shampoo."

Edward nodded. He started to pull on the robe and paused, left hand brushing over the dried mess on his stomach. "Colonel?" he started, inwardly cursing himself for sounding so timid. "Did . . . we have sex last night?"

Mustang sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaving the dark strands standing upright. "Technically, no, although we came close."

He blinked. "Why not?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized it.

"Because you, I imagine, do not have the necessary experience to take it that far, especially while drunk, and I, though drunk, had thankfully not taken leave of all of my senses."

"Not taken leave of your senses?" The young man snarled and jumped off the bed, jerking the robe on and tying it with a sharp yank. "What, so I'm good enough to masturbate against, but I'm not good enough to have sex with?"

Mustang stopped at the door to the master bath and fixed him with an unreadable look. "I didn't say that." There was a brief pause, and then he continued with, "Leave the towel over the curtain rod when you're done," and calmly shut the door.

"Fucking asshole," Ed hissed at the now closed door. He loosened the tie of the robe and tried to adjust the front to keep it from slipping off his shoulders. Why was that bastard's robe so huge? He was going to be lucky if he didn't trip over the thing and break his neck.

Once in the shower he tried to remember the events of the night before. The party had been to celebrate someone's promotion; not anyone he knew well, he'd just been invited because he'd happened to be on base. Someone had brought out cases of beer. He really hadn't been intending to touch it, even with everyone around him pressing bottles of it on him and jibes about "being a man." That is, until Mustang made a crack about him being too small to hold his alcohol.

The young alchemist groaned and rested his forehead against the cold tile. Fuck, had that bastard planned this?

But if he had, why hadn't he taken full advantage?

He didn't remember much about the ride to the Colonel's house, but he remembered what happened after. He remembered kissing, a tongue in his mouth, his lips being nipped and sucked until they tingled. He couldn't remember who kissed whom first; he supposed it didn't matter. He remembered pulling on the older man's clothing, searching for skin, any piece of skin he hadn't touched yet, touching and tasting, kissing, his own clothes being pulled off and abandoned. Then they were lying on the bed, grinding against each other, claiming each other with lips and teeth and hands, and he remembered wanting more, wanting to be closer—

Edward shook his head sharply. If he kept up that train of thought, he'd have to turn this into a cold shower.

He rinsed off the last of the soap and turned off the water, stepping out carefully to keep his automail from slipping on the porcelain. He'd established one thing: he wouldn't have said no. So why hadn't the bastard taken advantage?

As he dried off he tried to remember where his clothes were. He was pretty sure his shoes were in the entryway; he seemed to remember kicking them off as soon as he got inside. His coat and jacket were probably in the living room. His undershirt . . . maybe the hallway. He was certain his pants and underwear made it to the bedroom. He had no idea where his socks were. He sighed and pulled on the robe. Clothes would have to wait.

It took him three tries to flip the towel over the (unnecessarily high) curtain rod. Grumbling and wondering why he had even bothered, he started to take a step, then frowned at the fabric pooling around his feet. With a snort, he clapped his hands and pressed them to the robe, folding the hem back on itself several times. If that bastard didn't like it—well, then he shouldn't have given him such a large robe.

He got to the living room, then stopped and stared without comprehension at his clothes, piled more or less neatly on the couch, except for his coat, which was hanging behind the front door. There was no way he's been that coherent last night.

"I can put your clothes in the wash after I've had some coffee." Ed started and looked over at Mustang, who was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. "Except for your pants," the older man continued, watching a percolator on the stove. "I'm not sure what to do about the leather."

"Um. Thanks." Edward scratched the back of his head and looked back down to his clothes. Mustang being this hospitable . . . it was just strange. But he found it comforting, and that was stranger still. "I'll worry about the pants later."

But he was mad at the bastard, dammit. Why the fuck was the man being nice? He had no business being so nice when Ed was rightfully mad at him.

The Colonel turned the heat off under the percolator and was pulling two mugs out of the cabinet as Ed walked passed him and claimed a seat at the table. "Fullmetal—Edward," he started, his attention on pouring the coffee. "If I . . . if we do have sex, I would want it to be when we're both sober, and in full command of our facilities." He looked over then, and set a mug of coffee on table, in front of the younger alchemist. "I wouldn't want to risk it being something either of us would regret the next morning."

"I . . . I see."

Edward ran a metal finger around the rim of the mug, contemplating the dark liquid in front of him, as Mustang filled his own mug and sat down across the table.

"I, um. . . ." He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but plowed on anyway. Some things just needed to be said. "I wouldn't regret it."

He risked a glance and saw the older man's eyebrows raised slightly, and then Mustang favored him with a smile—an actual smile, not one of his smirks. "Neither would I."

After breakfast, Ed called his brother to let him know he'd be somewhat later than expected.