Fullmetal Alchemist Standalone

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Branch

Standalone FMA stories featuring angst, fluff, history, friendship, and a whole lot of Roy.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Air Feeds Fire" published on 2004-01-05 13:35:50.

"Under Cover" published on 2004-01-13 10:47:03.

"Gone the Sun" published on 2004-01-19 13:35:16.

"Two to be Steady - Part One" published on 2004-01-22 15:34:39.

"Two to be Steady - Part Two" published on 2004-01-22 15:42:06.

"Two to be Steady - Part Three" published on 2004-01-22 15:49:07.

"Two to be Steady - Part Four" published on 2004-01-22 15:56:00.

"Two to be Steady - Part Five" published on 2004-01-22 16:02:19.

"Two to be Steady - Part Six" published on 2004-01-22 16:08:04.

"The Seconds' Club" published on 2004-01-29 16:12:12.

"Snapshots" published on 2004-03-02 16:38:55.

"Chiaroscuro" published on 2004-04-13 17:50:06.

"Excuse" published on 2004-05-25 20:58:10.

"Hageshii" published on 2004-12-13 17:53:47.

"Directional Transformation" published on 2008-02-08 18:00:09.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is "La Plaine de Gennevilliers" by Gustave Caillebotte, public domain (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:G._Caillebotte_-_La_Plaine_de_Gennevilliers.jpg).

Cover design by Branch.

Air Feeds Fire

After Ed has to kill he has to deal with having killed. Divergent Future, Drama With Porn, I-4, faint spoiler ep 25

I

Edward Elric was not crying.

He had not cried standing in the bright winter afternoon with blood freezing on the metal of his hand. He had not cried when Hawkeye drew him back so the soldiers could take away the body. He had not cried when they came back to the headquarters complex, merely asked Al to go up to their rooms without him.

Roy had seen the aftermath of enough days like the one just past to know precisely how much trouble that meant.

That was why he had kept a quiet eye on Ed all day and finally ended up standing on the roof at nearly midnight, watching his protÃ©gÃ© kneel motionless by the rail, still not crying but pressing his clasped hands hard against his mouth.

"Hagane."

There was no response. Roy had not really expected one.

He came softly, and just a bit cautiously, to kneel behind Ed and draw the boy back against him. Ed was shivering, but Roy had little hope that it was from the cold of the night.

"Let go."

That, finally, provoked a reaction, a violent head-shake. Roy tightened his grip.

"Ed, you must."

The shiver was harder, now. Ed's breath was coming uneven, as if he had run a race to the end of his endurance and a bit beyond. When he looked up Roy had to conceal a wince.

Earlier the normally expressive eyes and mouth had been utterly blank. Now the eyes were dull, the gold frosted, and bitter lines caged his mouth.

"I... I'll..."

"It will be all right."

"No! Leave it...!" Ed broke off with a wrench in his voice.

Roy blew out his breath in a white cloud.

"You know," he murmured, "many would say that I only helped you go where you wished to go, and that's true. But it's also true that I knew the path you chose would bring you here some day, and you did not know it. I've been your commander these five years, knowing that someday you would kill. So here you are, and here I am. Let it go, Ed. For this night, I'm here. I promise to catch you."

The shiver had become a wracking shudder, and Ed finally turned into Roy's arms and the golden head pressed into his shoulder. The harsh breathing ran over into sobs.

Roy said nothing more, only held Ed and stroked his hair and waited.

At last Ed quieted. Roy took it as a measure of the boy's exhaustion and pain that he made no protest when Roy gathered him up and carried him inside. After a moment's thought Roy turned toward the rooms he kept here for the, frequent, occasions when he couldn't be bothered to walk home. Al didn't need to be worried by seeing his brother like this, and Ed didn't need the pressure to be the collected big brother. Reaching his room Roy only bothered with a single candle, by whose light he set Ed down on the bed and briskly stripped off his coat, belt, boots and shirt before pulling up the blankets.

Ed looked up at him, neither blank nor frozen but his eyes were hazy and his mouth at a loss. When he spoke his voice was barely there.

"Taisa..."

"Sleep."

Ed's eyes widened and his jaw set, hard.

Roy wadded two of his many pillows up against the headboard, kicked off his own boots, and settled down beside Ed. As an afterthought, Roy drew the tie out of Ed's hair.

"Sleep," he repeated, firmly. "I'll stay with you.

He carded his fingers lightly through Ed's hair, unraveling his braid, until the wide, alarmed eyes began to drift closed.

After perhaps an hour Roy allowed himself to hope that this would be enough. It took people differently. For some, the simple presence of another human being who understood was comfort enough, and Ed was, after all, still quite young. If that failed, alcohol was a common alternative. Roy had seen a few scholarly sorts who got through the night by reading favorite books. It was as good a way to avoid reality for a little as any other, he supposed. His mouth quirked up, recalling how Hughes had gotten him though a night like this, years ago.

Roy rested his head back, starting to doze.

Perhaps it would be enough.

II

The gun was swinging around...

"Ed."

Ten more centimeters and it would level with Ed's chest...

"Ed, wake up."

Not yet! He lunged forward...

"Haaaa!"

Hands were on his shoulders, it was too warm to be outside, his throat hurt. Ed blinked, and the chiaroscuro of the room resolved into Roy Mustang.

He's not wearing his uniform. He always wears his uniform. Ed shook his head sharply at the total irrelevance of that observation. What...?

He remembered the Colonel promising to stay, the roof, the street in the afternoon sun... A shudder ran through him, and he fell back on the bed. The Colonel propped himself beside Ed on one elbow, apparently the better to examine him. He actually seemed... worried.

Ed turned his face away.

Mustang reached out and turned it back.

"You were dreaming about it?" he asked, before Ed could snap at him.

Ed flinched, and turned over to put his back to his commander. A familiar sigh, though less extravagant than usual, brushed past his ear.

"That won't work, Ed."

Mustang leaned over and pulled Ed back around, and looked down at him very seriously.

"Have you ever been drunk?"

Ed blinked at the non sequitur, startled into answering.

"Once. I remember being very upset about absolutely everything. Can't think why people enjoy it."

"Mm. That won't do then."

The Colonel's look had turned thoughtful, as if he were carefully turning over words for some question he wanted to ask. Ed waited, feeling suspended in a bubble of unreality between the horror he was trying not to think about and the normal, daily routines of life that he couldn't quite manage to recall right now. He wanted to do something to drive the horror further away, but couldn't think what would do it. And the tangible warmth of the Colonel's body beside him was comforting when so much else familiar seemed so far away. Under that warmth a little of the tension seeped out of Ed's shoulders.

Mustang nodded, as if Ed had answered whatever question he hadn't yet asked, leaned down and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, but it continued for a while. Long enough for Ed's mind to stop being blank. Long enough to notice how pleasant the blankness had been, and to register that the experience was not actually displeasing. Just... startling. When Mustang drew back Ed couldn't quite find anything to say.

"Perhaps, yes," Mustang mused, and added more quietly, "what a memorial for him."

The feeling of unreality clashed with the extreme presence of the moment as Mustang's mouth found Ed's again. Moments of time flashed through Ed's mind. The Colonel smirking at some successful manipulation; the Colonel coldly ordering him to pull himself together; the Colonel smiling evilly at Ed's fury; the soft look that sometimes passed over Mustang's face when he found some new lead or hope for his star subordinate. And a new moment, now, Mustang's fingers threaded into Ed's hair and his lips warm against Ed's ear, and Ed didn't care, now, about the strangeness, because Mustang was making him solid and here and that was enough.

He started to lift his hands, hesitated, and only closed the left on Mustang's arm. Mustang lifted his head.

"Use both hands. I don't want you stopping to think about anything just now."

Ed let those words echo in his head, understanding that Mustang meant to distract him with this, probably quite extensively, and that if he consented he would have to trust Mustang to see him though something he had no experience of.

He hated not knowing what he was doing.

Mustang was waiting for his answer.

Slowly, Ed reached up and wrapped both arms around Mustang's back.

Something flashed in the dark eyes looking down at him, like that sometime softness but hotter. Ed let out his breath and shivered as Mustang scattered a line of butterfly kisses down his chest.

Mustang's gloves were of such rough cloth Ed hadn't expected his hands to be so soft. Soft and cool, in contrast to the warmth of his body, as they mapped paths down Ed's arms, circling his wrists and fingers, across his stomach. And finally, slowly, between his legs.

"Aaaaaahhh..."

Ed's body arched up against Mustang's hand, his lips parting under Mustang's mouth as his legs, half reflexively, opened under Mustang's touch. His own hands closed hard over Mustang's shoulders, trying to brace himself in the tide of sensation. As Mustang paused to unfasten Ed's pants, Ed gathered the wits to note that he seemed quite adept at it; a lot of practice, perhaps. The thought made him laugh, and Mustang drew back a bit.

"I'm sorry; did that tickle?"

"Only in my head." Ed's own reply made him laugh again.

Mustang's brows twitched up, and then he smiled.

"You're much too coherent."

He tipped Ed's head to the side and began to trace the tendons of his neck. Ed's wits departed again. When he felt Mustang's tongue and then teeth on his throat such heat rushed down Ed's spine that he barely noticed the departure of his remaining clothes, too.

The feeling of other cloth against his skin recalled him.

"You're wearing too much," he managed, though his voice was husky.

Mustang didn't joke this time. His mouth lost its usual curl and became grave as he brushed back Ed's loose hair. "I don't want to push you to anything tonight."

Ed shook his head and ran a finger down Mustang's shirt, looking studiously at it to avoid his eyes.

"I..." I want to feel your skin. He couldn't possibly say that! Ed felt himself blushing and damned his fair coloring for the umpteenth time, because Mustang was sure to notice it, even in the low light.

"Hmm."

Mustang's faint smile had returned, Ed could hear it. He saw it, too, when Mustang stood up from the bed and Ed looked up.

Mustang gracefully stripped his clothes off, wholly unembarrassed, and his eyes never left Ed's.

This was not helping the blush to go away.

And it was different, when Mustang returned to the bed. The light slid over his skin and down long, sleek muscles. The heat of his body was shocking, and his weight somehow more solid now. It left Ed gasping as Mustang sank down over him, and he froze at the silk-shivery feeling.

Again, Mustang waited for him. Waited with a question in his eyes. Waited until Ed breathed out an answer.

"Roy..."

Then he moved, and Ed lost track of time and thought, because the world consisted of Roy's skin against his own; of Roy's palms sliding down his ribs, urging his legs apart. Roy's teeth nibbled the inside of Ed's thigh, stealing his voice; Roy's hair brushed, feathery, against him; the burning wet heat of Roy's mouth closed on him, stealing even his breath.

Fire unfurled through Ed's veins, tossed him up like a spark. He felt the curl of Roy's tongue but couldn't feel the bed under him. Everything in him rushed down, down to one point, and then swept out like a shock front, leaving him shaken, trying to remember how to breathe.

Gradually his attention to normal details returned, and he noticed Roy lying against his side tracing random patterns over his collarbones.

"What about you?" Ed asked, as his wits recovered enough to determine what the localized pressure against his leg probably was.

Roy lifted his head. "Aren't you falling asleep?"

Ed, pleased to be contrary, gave him a smug smile. "Nope. What about you?" he repeated.

"I hadn't thought to go quite that far to distract you."

"Whatever works," Ed shrugged, insouciant as he could manage while naked.

Like the flame he commanded, Roy had created a small sphere of light and warmth, but Ed could feel what was outside that sphere waiting for him. He didn't want to leave yet. On the other hand, there were certain stories that he had overheard both among the soldiers and on his travels... He looked up at Roy. "Would it hurt?"

It took Roy a second to follow Ed's train of thought, and then surprise flickered across his face, followed by speculation. At last, he drew himself up with cool dignity. Quite unfairly, Ed thought, he managed it very well despite being naked. "It certainly would not. I have considerably more skill that than, Edward-kun."

The tone was classic Mustang-taisa, but he was grinning. Ed, already on edge, broke down laughing again, but buried his head against Roy's shoulder, shy of the sudden intimacy brought by that look. How much more intimate can we get? he wondered, exasperated with his own silliness. As Roy's arms closed around him, though, Ed knew that somehow this moment was far more intimate than what Roy had just done for him. And compared to this, even that might be lesser.

"Do it, then," he whispered.

Roy put a hand under his chin and tipped Ed's face up to see his eyes. "Ed..."

The question was back, and this time Ed scraped together words to answer it. The man who had stayed by him tonight, who had known and cared what he would be feeling, who had used him and driven him and protected him, who had let him fly free to chase a dream all these years, deserved words now. "If you say you won't hurt me, you won't. I trust you."

Roy's eyes widened with more surprise than Ed had ever seen him show. And then his mouth quirked and he leaned over to rummage in his nightstand, emerging with a small bottle whose cap he removed and set handy. He looked back at Ed, one brow tilting up. Ed, remembering some more of the stories he's heard, blushed again, but didn't look away.

"Do it."

Roy's hand passed down the length of Ed's spine, drawing Ed to him. "I will."

His hand worked its way up again, digging into the muscles, gradually unwinding them. Ed, pressed full length against Roy's body, was hard put to stop himself from purring.

"Sure you're not trying to make me sleep?" he sighed, eyes half closed.

"Not asleep, but I do need you to be relaxed."

"Couldn' get much more r'laxed than that," Ed mumbled against Roy's chest.

The grin edged back into Roy's voice. "We'll see."

Having reduced Ed to suitable pliability, Roy arranged him, spread out, on the bed and set out to discover every particularly sensitive spot on his body. Ed himself hadn't been aware of any of them. The sole of his foot; just behind his ankle; the back of his knee. Roy spent some time on the hollow of Ed's hip, making him squirm. When Roy sucked, hard, on Ed's nipple the sudden spike of sensation brought Ed up off the bed. Roy gave him a smug look through his eyelashes before moving on to Ed's shoulder.

The odyssey ended with Roy lying over Ed, teeth and tongue playing with his ear.

"Thought you... haaaa ah... said... relaxed..."

"Much too coherent," Roy chuckled. His voice, so close and soft, so resonant and deeper than Ed remembered hearing before, swept a shudder through him every time Roy spoke.

"It won't hurt, regardless, but for you to enjoy it I also need your proper... attention."

He moved his hips against Ed's.

"Ah!"

"Mm. Impressive, as always, Hagane."

Ed couldn't manage a proper glare, but the glint in Roy's eyes said he appreciated the effort.

In a rush Roy sat back on his knees and pulled Ed up to straddle him. The irrepressible corner of Ed's mind noted that he was now taller than Roy, but only had a moment to appreciate it before Roy slid a hand up into Ed's hair and drew him down to a kiss. This kiss was deep, demanding that Ed not only receive but return. Ed thought, a bit fuzzily, that Roy seemed to be pursuing Ed's voice with his tongue. Roy's tongue tasted faintly of salt, and something else Ed couldn't place.

Then Roy's other hand returned, slick now, sliding between Ed's cheeks, moving, circling, slowly pressing... in.

Ed made a sharp sound in his throat. Neither his body nor his mind could quite decide how to react. Roy's fingers were still moving, as if seeking something... something... oh...

Tremors raced through Ed. His hips jerked against Roy. His moan was swallowed in the kiss. And Roy's fingers were still moving, pressing, there... there...

Ed broke away from the kiss and tossed his head back, and Roy laughed.

"Now. This wasn't it?"

His teeth closed once again on Ed's throat and Ed lost all control of his movement and thrust hard against Roy.

"Now."

Roy let Ed back down on the bed, and Ed's senses narrowed down to snapshots. Roy's hands spreading him open. That sliding pressure again, but larger this time. Slowly, slowly, moving. Ed's own hands clenched on the sheets; the thought flashed by that his right hand was probably putting holes in it. And something... shifted. The slow movement was smoother. He's... inside me. Ed let out breath he hadn't know he was holding, and for the first time heard an answering sigh from Roy.

Roy was leaning over him on one hand. Sweat gleamed on his skin, his breath came fast through parted lips, his eyes were half-lidded but burning. Because of me... Ed's presence, his body, had broken the reserve of this famously reserved man. The thought curled, hot, in his stomach.

And then Roy shifted, moving inside Ed again, sliding, pressing there, and his other hand came up to surround Ed and stroke him, and the heat surged up, wringing Ed's every nerve. He could hear his voice and Roy's, but both were distant. The fire closed on him, tighter, tighter, and Ed strained with it, spreading his legs and stretching his arms wide into it, seeking the hard movement of Roy's body, until the world shattered into sparks and brilliance.

"Ed!"

When his senses returned to normal order Roy was leaning on both hands and they were both panting.

"Roy... I..." Ed couldn't, for the life of him, think how to finish his sentence.

Roy gave him a faint, gentle smile and stroked back his hair before hauling himself off the bed with a slight groan. "Wait here a moment, Ed."

Roy returned with a damp towel and a glass of water. He handed the glass to Ed and dropped two small pills into his hand. "Take those," he directed, "or you'll feel it in the morning."

Lassitude was too pleasant for Ed to emerge just to ask what Roy was talking about.

"I trust" Roy remarked, as he settled back down, "that you'll be going to sleep now?"

Ed mumbled an affirmative, just aware enough to hear Roy's Good and feel a cool hand rest on his shoulder before he was asleep.

III

Roy woke slowly, slowly enough to remember who was in bed beside him before he started and woke Ed.

He propped his head on his hand and regarded the boy for some minutes. In the approaching dawn, with the sheet cast down around his hips and his hair fanned out over the pillow, Ed looked like an artist's sculpture. Roy was reasonably sure that Ed had, as yet, not the faintest idea how striking he was, but Roy had watched his protÃ©gÃ©'s gold eyes and powerful body attracting admiration and desire for several years now.

That Ed had actually let Roy do this was... unexpected. Roy had been careful not to step beyond the line of teasing, with him. Of course, these were extraordinary circumstances. He didn't regret using something that had drawn Ed back from the edge so well, but he hoped that this night would not disturb the working relationship he had spent so much time fostering...

Ed stirred, stretched, opened his eyes. He blinked, visibly putting his memory in order, and finally reached up a hand to touch, briefly, the center of Roy's chest.

"Thank you. Taisa."

End

Under Cover

For the Put Ed In A Dress challenge. Secret missions, entertaining disguises, pissed off Alchemists. Humor, I-2, no spoilers.

- Associated Fanart: Ed and Roy dancing by Moumusu.

"The problem is that they expect you. And I would prefer you didn't destroy half the city getting in."

Ed paced down the hall next to the Colonel, Hawkeye bringing up the rear.

"If they have proscribed alchemical equipment in there, why can't you just search?" Ed grumbled. "Why do I have to go?"

"Ah? You would prefer not to be involved? Giving up your search, then, Hagane?"

Ed fumed at the reminder that he did have an interest in the slightest hint of equipment that could produce an alchemical reaction without equivalent exchange.

"And the point is that we're not sure yet just what Dalzet does have," Mustang continued. "We need someone to check. Quietly. I've secured the services of... a professional... to help with that." He unlocked a door and opened it to reveal a woman seated at a table inside.

Wheat blond hair. Sea blue eyes. A soft, warm smile when she looked up.

Ed's jaw was hanging open and he couldn't quite manage to shut it.

"Psiren...?!"

"Clara, please. I'm glad to meet you again. Edward-kun, I believe?" The rich, throaty voice was certainly hers. Ed returned her friendly nod, a bit stunned.

"We captured her some time ago, actually," Mustang told him, leaning in the doorway.

"How did you keep her?" Ed wanted to know.

"I sent Hawkeye."

Ed had to admit, that would probably do it.

The two women responded, each in her own way, Hawkeye with a sharp smile, Clara with a philosophical shrug.

"This is parole for her," Mustang continued. "She knows a good deal about disguise and concealment, and has agreed to help us."

"Well," Clara rose from the table, "it's difficult for me to refuse anything when a man such as yourself asks it. Mustang-taisa."

Mustang's eyes lit.

"It would have been a great shame for a woman such as yourself to remain confined," he returned, coming away from the door.

Clara laughed and leaned against the table, shoulders back, chin up.

Ed's mouth was hanging open again. He pulled in a deep, incensed breath.

Hawkeye stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When Ed looked around she put a finger over her lips. He took a second look at Mustang and Clara, and his mouth twisted sardonically. He leaned against the wall next to Hawkeye and watched while Clara cooed and posed in a manner almost guaranteed to shut down any male brain.

If any two people really deserved each other, Ed thought it was probably these two. Clara was in fine form, directing a smoldering look up through her lashes.

"But of course I would keep my parole... for you," she whispered, running a finger down Mustang's chest.

Mustang caught her hand up, kissed it...

...and stepped back.

"Entertaining as it would be to continue," he smiled coolly, "work calls."

Clara stilled, arrested in mid-reach. Her eyes widened. Hawkeye's smile also widened a notch.

"Hawkeye-chuui will stay to keep an eye on things, Hagane," Mustang said, closing the door behind him. Silence reigned in the room for a moment.

"A formidable man, your commander," Clara observed, tone suddenly clinical.

"Yes," Hawkeye agreed.

"Nah. He just likes being evil that way. It's his idea of fun." Ed pushed away from the wall. Clara looked at him sideways.

"Indeed?" and then more briskly, "well, let's get down to business."

Ed took the seat farthest from her.

"I understand the problem is to get you past people who know who you are and that you may well be coming?"

Ed nodded, glumly.

"Well, to be honest, the most effective thing would be..."

From the room behind him Mustang heard an outraged screech echo.

An evil smile curved his lips, as he sauntered on down the hall.

"You want me," pregnant pause, "to dress up," smoking pause, "as a WOMAN?!"

Ed stood at bay, breathing heavily.

"Don't be childish Edward-kun," Clara admonished, sternly. "You've traveled too widely, too many people know what you look like, and the one thing you cannot effectively conceal is your eyes. If a man with gold eyes, no matter who he's supposed to be and what kind of supporting evidence he has, shows up to this open house Dalzet's guards will not hesitate. If he's truly concealing proscribed equipment, they'll shoot to kill." She gave Ed a measuring look. "And while I can believe that you would survive that, it would not get you inside."

After a few extremely uncomplimentary comments directed at the Colonel, Ed gave in.

"Good. Take off your shirt, then."

Ed goggled at her.

"I need to see what your figure looks like to decide how best to disguise it, Edward-kun," Clara chivvied.

Ed cast a look at Hawkeye, but she had her gaze fixed steadfastly out the window. And a hand over her mouth, but Ed did his best to ignore that. He pulled off his jacket and shirt, and attempted not to blush as Clara walked around him.

"Hmm," she mused, tapping a fingertip against her lips, "your shoulders are too broad for something fully fitted. Perhaps on overdrape of some sort." She advanced with a tape measure. "Hold still, now."

In point of fact, Ed froze. For a while, at least.

"Hold still, Edward-kun, I need the hip measurements too."

Hawkeye coughed a few times, not very convincingly.

"There. You can get dressed again."

Ed had never dressed so fast in his life. He glared at Hawkeye, whose shoulders were shaking, and she lost it.

Admittedly, it was the first time Ed had ever heard her giggle.

Clara ignored them both, returning to the table and sketching quickly on a pad of paper, pausing every now and then to chew the end of the pencil. By the time she finished both Ed and Hawkeye had regained some measure of composure.

"How about something like this?" Clara held out the pad.

Ed looked. It was a high necked, fitted dress with a flared skirt. Fabric draped over the body from shoulder to waist. Loose sleeves were swagged to just past the elbow, over long gloves. There were no ruffles, lace or frills anywhere.

"All right. I guess. For a dress," he muttered. "You're absolutely sure this will work?"

"No question of it," Clara declared with confidence. "If you manage to stop scowling that evening you'll make a stunning woman. And if you don't," she paused, smiled, "you'll make a stunning bad-tempered woman."

Ed growled.

"Now, the last thing. How precisely can you re-configure your automail?"

Ed cocked his head. "Fairly. What are you thinking of?"

"Can you smooth the outlines?"

Ed narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe. I'll work on it and let you know."

Two Weeks Later

Ed paused, pulling the bodice up, and poked at it suspiciously. "This," he remarked very flatly, "is padded."

"Drape or not, you need the proper silhouette," Clara told him.

Ed grumbled, but finished pulling the dress on. The zipper was the next challenge, and after several gyrations trying to tug it up he had to let Hawkeye zip him.

"Good, it fits," Clara said, satisfied. "Now, let's do something about the hair."

Ed suffered having his hair unbraided, brushed and drawn up in a twist at the back of his head.

"I feel like a complete idiot," he informed Clara dourly.

"Nonsense, you look charming. Even with the scowl, just like I said you would. With a touch of makeup everything will be perfect."

Ed paled. "...what?"

Clara set out an array of arcane boxes, tubes and cases, unassisted by Hawkeye who was leaning on the wall again trying to stifle her laughter.

"Makeup," she told him without a hint of sympathy, "only a bit, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Ed's voice spiraled up.

"A little color for your lips to start with." Clara advanced, remorseless.

After a brief scuffle with his personal fashion Nemesis, which reduced Hawkeye to tears, Ed was trapped against the door and color duly applied.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Ed sputtered.

And then his attention was caught by a sound from the other side of the wall. A sound that greatly resembled someone laughing into their sleeve. Someone with a low voice.

Ed flung open the door to find Mustang leaning on the wall, eyes sparkling. He straightened and smiled winningly. "Why, Edward-chan, you look most charming."

Mustang had to dodge smartly after that, and Ed's fist made a hole in the wall.

"Edward-kun, do not tear that dress!"

He gave Clara a fulminating look.

"On the other hand," she allowed, "with your color that high you hardly need any other cosmetics. It's really quite striking." She eyed the grinning Mustang thoughtfully. "You know. It would be no bad thing if Edward-kun were to have an escort. A pretty woman alone at these affairs is the center of attention. A pretty woman with an escort is the object of more distant appreciation, and could slip away more easily." She ignored the choking noises coming from Ed. "Are you free this evening, Mustang-taisa?"

Mustang raised his eyebrows at her. "I follow your reasoning, but perhaps Hughes-chuusa would be a better choice? He is more accustomed to covert work of this sort."

Clara shook her head slowly.

"Very few people actually know what you look like. You're remarkably elusive for such a well-known figure. In addition, you value Edward a great deal and will care for his safety in a place where maintaining his disguise may leave him at a disadvantage. Besides," she added, offhand, to Ed, "he thinks you're attractive in that. It can only add veracity."

Ed turned six shades of red in as many seconds, and his head snapped around to look at the expressionless Mustang. Mustang touched two fingers to his chest and bowed to Clara.

"It's nothing to worry about Edward," she finished, "I'm quite sure your trust in him is not misplaced."

Ed retreated precipitately and slammed the door.

Mustang and Clara locked gazes.

"You are a dangerous woman," Mustang said at last, softly, "to steal such truths. Not only from me but from him as well."

Clara smiled a sad smile and shook her head. "No. Not him. Or, at least, I could never really use it to harm him. His heart is too pure for that." Her smile turned sharp as she looked up. "So have a care, Mustang-taisa. I have no doubt that you are an accomplished hunter. But Edward captures people without ever trying to."

Hawkeye stuck her head out the door.

"Clara, I could use some help here. Edward-kun is being difficult about the high heels."

"Evening wear and less obtrusive gloves should do for you," Clara told Mustang, moving back toward the dressing room. "Come back in about two hours."

"Confident, isn't she?" Mustang noted.

Hawkeye shrugged. "It's worked so far. She even taught him to dance earlier this week."

"Very dangerous."

Mustang handed Ed out of the rented car. Ed kicked at the wretched skirt to make it fall straight and tried not to think of how conspicuous he was. Clara had chosen beautiful material, brilliant cobalt figured with white and gold, but, while he could appreciate it in the abstract, it made Ed twitchy to be wearing something so eye catching.

Mustang's hand on his waist wasn't helping the twitchiness any.

"Is that really necessary," he gritted out.

"I'm supposed to be your protective escort, preserving you from unwanted attentions," Mustang murmured.

Part of Clara's intention was working perfectly, as the high color in the cheeks of what appeared to be an elegant young woman drew admiring stares all down the entry hall.

Since Dalzet was throwing an open house to show off for his well-to-do friends and clients there were visitors wandering just about every hallway, but the general movement was toward the ballroom. Ed stiffened as Mustang guided them in that direction, though.

"It will be more reasonable for you to wander off after we establish our presence," Mustang pointed out.

Ed fumed, but went along.

Mustang cast a measuring eye over the roomful of brilliant lights and equally brilliant clothing. Ed relaxed a bit, deciding that he would blend in reasonably after all.

He was almost right, nor was he really to blame that it escaped him that his dramatic coloring and confident bearing eclipsed nearly every woman in the room.

"Hm," Mustang mused, "two dances, a drink, and another dance, and I think you'll be able to slip away without anyone remarking on it. Adele."

Mustang caught him adroitly as Ed tripped and nearly fell.

Ed knew that he was blushing, which only infuriated him more. "What?!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"You don't like the name? I can hardly call you Edward-kun here." Mustang looked down with his most infuriating half-smile, eyes mocking.

"Fine. Fine, it's fine! Now let go!"

"Of course."

Ed collected himself, grateful that, for whatever reason, most of the stares directed at him seemed to have been withdrawn.

Mustang's smile became satisfied.

A new dance was starting. "Come on, let's get this over with," Ed growled.

Ed's twitchiness grew as Mustang held him closer to dance. It was just possible that the Colonel finally decided to have some uncharacteristic mercy, because the next thing he said was actually reasonably neutral.

"How did you manage to change the line of you right arm so much?"

Ed calmed a bit, focused on professional questions. "Some reconfiguration, some transmutation. It took a little experimenting."

"I'm impressed with your dedication to this assignment." Mustang spun them lightly.

"Try to dip me and I will find some way to make you regret it," Ed promised with something that a person who couldn't see his eyes might mistake for a smile.

"I wouldn't dream of offering such an indignity to a lady."

Ed reminded himself that he did not want to attract attention by, say, screaming with rage.

By the end of two dances he needed a drink very badly. It might, however, have been a mistake to finish it so quickly. For one, that just meant that Mustang drew him back onto the dance floor that much sooner. For another, it went to his head rather fast.

"For someone so capable of forethought and clever plans, you are very given to impulse, aren't you?" Mustang seemed amused.

Ed, having to lean a bit more heavily into Mustang's arms than he would have preferred, didn't answer.

At last Mustang extracted them from the dancing at one of the stairways.

"Will you be all right, climbing stairs in those shoes, and in your current condition?" he wanted to know.

"I'll be fine," Ed declared, tight lipped, and set off with a stiff back. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs he kicked off the shoes.

"Not here. Nothing there. Can't these people put this stuff in a reasonable place?" Ed tip-toed from room to room, muttering.

Finally, in one of the first floor sitting rooms, he found it.

"Arrays, materials, a ton of chalk..." He flipped through the notebooks sitting on the worktable. "Hm. Um-hm. Hm?" He paged more slowly. For a while he simply sat and looked at the notebook in his lap. Then he rose, crawled with some difficulty under the worktable and started tapping on the floor.

Something clicked.

"Got it!" Ed whispered, and pushed back a recessed opening in the floor. After taking a long look at what was underneath he closed it again, dusted himself off and strolled back to the ballroom.

It was of a piece with the whole night that he ran into a very drunk guest halfway there.

"Ah, the beautiful lady! And you've gotten rid of that possessive bastard, too, I see!"

Ed didn't waste time wondering about the "possessive" part. "Bastard" was enough to tell him who the drunk meant. "Yyyyees, actually I was just going back to catch up with him..." Ed tried to sidle around the man, who leaned against the wall to block him. Or, possibly, to keep from falling down. The fumes on him were enough to make Ed a bit dizzy. He back-pedaled quickly as the man reached for his shoulder.

"No, no, you don't want a cold bastard like him..."

A sharp shnick came from beyond the man, and he was wrapped in blue-edged flames. He collapsed with a hoarse cry, smoking.

Mustang was standing behind him.

"Cold?" he repeated, very soft.

"Thanks," Ed managed, after a moment.

There was an odd glint in Mustang's eye, but his voice was perfectly calm. "Trouble with your shoes?" he nodded toward the footgear in Ed's hand.

"It was quieter with them off," Ed mumbled, wedging the wretched things back on his feet. He accepted the arm Mustang offered him without thinking. Then he paused. "Wait a minute." Ed turned over Mustang's hand. There was no circle on the glove.

"It's on the inside."

Ed snorted. "And you said Hughes-san would be better at this undercover stuff."

"He would not, at least, have left such a distinct calling card," Mustang returned. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Ed was silent a moment. "I suppose."

"Ah. Then let us go."

Back in the moderate security of the car, Ed flopped over the seat wearily.

"So?"

"It's a scam," Ed told the Colonel dully. "The notebooks are all nonsense. There's all sorts of stuff stored in the basement under the room where he does business, ready to be raised though the trap and slipped onto the table; probably makes some kind of flash to cover it. Lots of gold down there."

Mustang looked out the window. "I thought that might be the case."

"Then why did you get me to do this?" Ed snapped.

Mustang gave him a long look. "Can you really see Havoc in a dress?" he asked, seriously.

Ed blinked once. Twice. Pictured it.

Collapsed laughing.

He was still snickering when they got back to headquarters.

Mustang hauled him back to his office, where he, the rat, could get rid of his gloves and coat and tie, to draw out the location of what Ed had found before letting him go. About to make his escape, Ed considered logistics and paused.

On the one hand, he could head back to his rooms and get Al's help getting out of the damn dress. But then Al would see him in the dress, something Ed had managed to avoid so far. On the other hand, he could ask Mustang for help now and simply have Al hand him his bathrobe through the door when he got back to their rooms. Mustang had, after all, already seen the worst.

"Taisa."

"Hm?" Mustang looked up from the drawings.

"Can you unzip this thing for me?" Ed felt the tiniest bit revenged for the evening by the utterly blank look on Mustang's face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can't do the zipper by myself. And, frankly, women are nuts to put up with this kind of thing all the time."

The Colonel's smile was a slight bit unnerving, though Ed couldn't pin down why. "Of course, Edward-kun."

Ed turned his back and let Mustang work the zipper down. Finally, he was almost free!

Mustang's hands slid over his bare shoulders. Ed froze.

"Truly, you were very beautiful tonight, Edward-kun."

One hand started to brush the dress off his left shoulder and Edward Elric saw red. Every frustration of the past two weeks and this crazed night came roaring up. He seized Mustang's wrist, turned, heaved and threw the Colonel over his shoulder and into the floor with a deeply satisfying thump.

Head high, dress falling half off him, wobbling on high heels, Ed stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Mustang lay on his office floor, laughing breathlessly.

End

Gone the Sun

Roy's memories of his friend. Drama with Angst, I-4, spoiler ep 25.

Colonel Roy Mustang stood in the night.

Stood while the chill settled into his bones.

Stood and remembered.

"Roy! About time you got here! Serve you right if I finished your drink."

Roy suppressed the urge to grin. "Oh, well, I was a bit delayed," he said, elaborately casual. "Notice anything different?"

He posed so as to show his new First Lieutenant's insignia to best advantage. He was sure Maas saw it immediately, but he made a great show of squinting at Roy from all angles.

"Hmmm. You got your haircut? No? I know, you put on this month's new shirt! No? Hmm. New perfume?"

Roy swung at him, laughing, and Maas ducked and slapped a drink into his hand. As Roy sat he thumped him on the shoulder.

"So how did you get promoted before me, you rat, and why didn't I know?"

"It just happened now," Roy protested. "As for how, I imagine our worthy superiors judged I better fit their image of a command-track officer." He looked down his nose.

Maas nodded, wisely. "Ah, of course. Ineffectual, easily-manipulated, effete clothes-horse..."

"Effete!?"

"Did I mention the easily-manipulated bit?" Maas forestalled another swing by holding up his glass. "Cheers," he grinned.

Roy growled. "You'll get yours, Hughes. Especially if you, a mere Second Lieutenant keep mouthing off to superior officers."

"As long as the officer is you, there's no problem," Maas pointed out, mildly.

Roy had to admit the justice of this observation. They clinked and drank with enthusiasm.

"Did I mention the congratulations bit yet?"

Roy's mouth quirked. "Not in so many words, but I got the idea."

"Well, congratulations, my worthy superior." Another clink. "If you can just manage to control that temper of yours, you'll go far."

"And what's wrong with my temper?" Roy inquired.

Maas lifted a sardonic brow at him. "What, should we go another couple rounds of hand-to-hand to demonstrate? After the last time?"

Roy's eyes narrowed at the reminder. He's not getting me this time, he swore to himself. "Yes, I think we should do that," he drawled.

Half an hour later Maas swept his legs out from under him for the third time and Roy stayed down when he landed. At least Maas was breathing as hard as he was.

"The point I was making," Maas panted, "is that when something pisses you off you just put your head down and charge. You don't pay attention to anything else."

"Whereas you do?"

"I pay attention to everything, Roy. That's my gift. Yours is to barbecue things that annoy you. Apparently this makes you command-track material."

Roy hauled himself upright and eyed his friend. "Are you really upset about that?" he asked, quietly.

Maas looked at him thoughtfully. "No. You're good with people, you like playing politics, command will suit you. So, no." A slow smile spread over his face. "I'm going to jab you about it until you try to fry me, of course. But I'm not really upset."

Roy fell back with a groan.

The Colonel's hands held the rail in front of him so tightly it would have hurt if he had noticed.

Roy signed off yet another report and threw it onto the stack for his new aide to take away. He was becoming convinced that the only thing higher rank was really good for was making you read more reports.

And it wasn't as if most of them actually came from, say, the field agents in Intelligence, which might have some significant information in them somewhere. No, these were the reports about how many uniform code infractions had taken place in the last month.

Of course, there were other ways to find out what Intelligence was up to...

Right on cue, his aide opened the door to their offices.

"Sir. There's a Hughes-taii here to see you."

"About time," Roy muttered, slapping down the most recent useless report. "Show him in, Shoui."

Maas threw himself into the chair of one of the spare desks and tossed a folder carelessly onto it.

"So?" Roy asked.

"Another new aide?" Maas shook his finger at Roy. "If you keep going through them like this the higher ups won't let you have any more shiny new ones, you know."

"Never mind my staff, Maas, are they sending us or not?" Roy snapped.

Maas eyed him. "Your staff will matter rather a lot, to your command, if they call you up alone in your capacity as the Flame Alchemist, won't it?"

Roy inhaled very deeply and restrained his urge to throttle Maas. "If they're not planning to call me, then the point is moot, isn't it? Do I have an answer to my question already?"

Maas grinned. "There. You are getting better at this."

Roy gave him a sour look. "I'm so glad you approve, sensei. Now will you give me a straight answer?"

A new voice spoke. "Based on this correspondence, Sir, Dai-Soutou Bradley has agreed to start choosing State Alchemists for deployment in the North at some time in the next few years."

Two head snapped around to see the Lieutenant, who had apparently taken Maas' folder and been reading through it the whole time.

"My file!" yelped Maas.

The blond woman looked at him coolly before continuing, to Roy. "No one is named specifically, yet, but as you are one of the most combat effective State Alchemists it seems reasonable to assume that you will be one of those chosen." She handed him the folder, open to the pertinent page.

"Thank you, Shoui," Roy said, a bit bemused.

"Sir." She saluted and strode out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Who is she?" Maas murmured.

"Lisa Hawkeye," Roy told him, flipping through the pages. "Hers was the best of the personnel files I got to choose from this time. She's very efficient. Expert shot, too. Snipers would have snapped her up for certain if she hadn't chosen officer's training. I admit," he added, thoughtfully, "I hesitate to ask her for tea."

He expected some crack from Maas about having a sense of self-preservation after all, but what he got was an extremely serious look.

"Roy. Keep this one."

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"I mean it. You need her. You need someone who's brass tacks and no nonsense to back you up. You can get so flighty sometimes."

"...flighty?"

"What, you prefer flaky?"

Roy actually paused to think about that, and Maas clapped a hand over his face. Until he saw Roy's sly grin.

"You bastard! You did that on purpose!"

Roy smirked. "You did say I was getting better at this." He tossed the folder back to Maas. "There won't be any trouble over that being gone, will there?"

Maas sniffed. "Of course not. As long as I get it back before they notice."

Roy had the grace to look concerned.

"Don't worry, Roy. This is my field." He smiled lazily. "And the things you want me to do are loads more fun than my actual orders. Mustang-shousa, sir."

Roy came around the desk and closed a hand on Maas' shoulder. "Thanks, Maas."

"Any time."

The air burned in the Colonel's lungs.

If he could stop his breath heaving so much, it might be better.

Champagne had been flowing pretty freely, and Roy figured he could get away with it.

He made sure Maas was in ear-shot before sidling up to Gracia and lifting a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. "So, may the Best Man claim a kiss from the bride? For good luck?"

"Hey," Maas squawked, gratifyingly, "hands off, Mustang! Find your own!"

"Surely there are no other ladies in the world so enchanting," Roy declared. "Besides, she should have at least one kiss from a good looking man before she spends the rest of her life putting up with your scruffy face."

Gracia's efforts to restrain her new husband were hampered by her own giggles. Finally she resorted to kissing him into submission, though she blushed a bit at the whistles from the guests.

Roy offered Maas a fresh glass in compensation, as Gracia left for another round of mingling with the crowd. "Happy?"

Maas looked at him as if Roy had asked whether it was nice to be able to breathe. "Aside from a few troublemakers who seem to have crashed in by impersonating a member of the wedding party, I've never been happier in my life."

Roy showed his teeth. "I did warn you what would happen if you kept making fun of your superior officers."

Maas grinned back. "You're a bastard." He slung an arm around Roy's shoulders. "So," he continued, "since you can't have Gracia," this backed up with a dire glare, "what about that Hawkeye-shoui of yours?" He gestured with his glass across the room to where Gracia and Hawkeye had their heads together and were laughing.

Roy looked at him as if Maas had asked whether he would like to gargle ground glass. "...Hawkeye? You are joking, right?"

Maas now looked smug. "Thought so."

"You thought what so?" Roy eyed him narrowly.

"She is the one you need. And you know it. I can't imagine any other reason you, of all people, would refrain from making a pass at a woman that impressive."

"The regulations forbidding fraternization within a command?" Roy suggested. "The fact that I really don't want her to shoot me anywhere important?"

Maas laughed uproariously, which Roy thought rather unfeeling of him. After all, Hawkeye clearly liked Gracia and probably wouldn't shoot her friend's husband. A mere commanding officer had no such assurances.

"Just remember what I said, Roy," Maas told him, recovering himself, "keep this one."

"Right, right. You too."

Maas raised his brows. "Hm? How's that?"

A corner of Roy's mouth curled up. "Well, you never know when a wonderful lady like Gracia will wake up and realize how many other, much better looking, men would be happy to..."

Maas chased him around the table, brandishing the champagne bottle.

The Colonel could feel tears starting to freeze on his cheeks. He could feel himself shuddering.

He supposed it was the cold.He sank to the ground and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the shivering.

It must be shivering. It was cold out.

Roy knelt, shaking, in the broken stones of Ishvar.

The muscles of his stomach hurt from being wrung out so hard. Bitterness filled his throat and mouth. He was contemplating whether he had the strength to stand when hands closed over his shoulders. He started, violently.

"Roy! Roy, calm down. It's me."

"Maas?" Roy coughed. He didn't question how Maas had found him. Couldn't think past the noise and the smell and the memory of fire, the words that wouldn't leave his head... your orders... just following orders...

Maas caught him as he doubled over again. "Here. Drink this."

The water washed away a little of the bitterness. Roy hadn't thought it would leave.

"Now drink this."

The burn made him cough again.

"Finish it. You need it."

Roy didn't argue. He emptied the bottle and slumped back against a shattered wall beside Maas. Whatever had been in it seemed to unlock his voice. It was the first time Roy had spoken in what felt like days. "...can't go on. Like this. Have to stop..."

"You could turn in your license," Maas said, quietly.

Roy shook his head, suddenly wild to make Maas understand what he meant. "Not that! We have to stop. This has to stop!" His voice was harsh, and Maas silently handed him the water again. Roy laughed.

It took a while to stop.

"We can't stop it now," Maas told him softly.

"Maybe." Roy looked over the rubble around them. "But we can stop it again. This can't happen again, Maas."

Maas' voice was impatient, pained. "Do you really think you can stop it?"

Roy didn't know what was in his face, but when he looked at Maas whatever it was made his best friend edge back.

"Roy..."

"If I'm the one making the decisions I can."

It looked as though Maas would protest that statement, but he bit his lip and looked away. "Are you serious?" he asked at last.

Roy clenched his fist, feeling the roughness of his glove against his skin. Not again. "Yes."

Maas looked back at him, grave and measuring. "All right. Whatever I can do to support you, I will."

Roy blinked. "Are you serious?" he found himself echoing.

Maas looked at him more normally, with affectionate derision. "Of course I'm serious."

"Maas... This isn't a joke. This is..."

"Treason. I did get that part, yes." Maas took Roy's shoulders again and shook him a little. "But if anyone can actually pull off an idiotic, suicidal stunt like this, it's you. And you're right that this can't go on and leave anything spared of us. And I will always support you. Always, Roy. Understand?"

Maas' bare statement had the force of anyone else's oath, and Roy bowed his head, bringing his hands up to grip Maas' on his shoulders.

"Understood," he whispered.

"How long is always, Maas?" he whispered now.

Dimly, he felt something warm settle around his shoulders. Looking up he found Hawkeye beside him. She had brought his coat.

He had kept her. Or, perhaps, she had kept him. And she had picked up his plans as easily as she'd picked up the folder that day, given herself to his cause as easily as she'd given her opinion, grounded him and guarded him as efficiently as she did everything else. Maas' advice was almost always good.

Always.

How long?

"Hawkeye."

Her eyes widened. The Colonel very rarely called her by anything but her rank. "Sir?"

His hand closed tight on hers. "Promise me you'll do your best to live through this."

He could see her weighing it, weighing, most likely, his life against her own. That was why he had not asked for more. But finally she nodded.

"I promise." Her grip suddenly rivaled his. "Promise you will too."

That was the exchange, he knew. That was his duty to them. To live. To succeed in what they gave their own lives for. The weight of it bent his head down. "My best," he agreed. "I promise."

She accepted that with a nod of her own and climbed back to her feet. "Are you coming in yet?"

"In a little while." He looked up at her. "Thank you, Chuui."

Her eyes were serene as she saluted him. "Sir."

Roy looked up at the clearing sky, wishing he could think of something to pray to for the peace of his friend's spirit. But, in the end, the only thing he could offer was what he had promised his second.

"My best, Maas. Everything I am. I swear it."

Tears could not even this exchange. But perhaps time would. Roy closed his fist.

Everything.

End

Two to be Steady - Part One

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes moseyed into the refectory the first sight to meet his eyes was the unpleasant one of First Lieutenant George Cutter and his cronies bullying another new officer.

He could see right away what had drawn them. This one looked pretty young, slightly built, and was huddled just a bit into his overcoat as if trying to keep the whole world from looking at him. Of course it had the opposite effect on all the lowlife.

I can't eat a decent lunch with this going on, Maas decided, and started through the lunch-time crowd toward the scene.

He got there just in time to hear Cutter sneer, "...heard Gran transferred you right off, too. Maybe you aren't as good as he thought you'd be."

The young man finally stirred, unfolding his arms. The coat slipped off as his shoulders straightened and he laid his right hand, palm down, on the table.

There was a circle on the back of his glove.

Silence spread out like ripples in water after a dropped stone. Maas pursed his lips, seeing the blank chill in those dark eyes now focused on Cutter. This man had not just come to the end of his rope, he'd deliberately dropped it. This could just get bad.

And then he looked at Cutter and couldn't help but burst out laughing. Cutter looked like a melting ice cube he was sweating so hard, and white showed all the way around his eyes. Heads turned at the unexpected sound, and Maas strolled the rest of the way to the table, slapping Cutter on the shoulder in passing.

"Looks like you have a real talent for picking the wrong target, there, George." Maas plonked himself down in the chair opposite the young Alchemist. "Why don't you just run along, before I spare our new friend here the bother?" Just to drive the point home, Maas flicked out one of his knives for a moment. Cutter broke and scurried off, his tiny gang of sycophants on his heels. Maas shook his head, still chuckling.

"What a loser." He squinted at the exposed circle. "The Flame Alchemist, hm? Well, no wonder you look like death warmed over."

The Alchemist blinked at him. Maas glanced at the insignia. "And it'll probably be days before it catches up with him that, in addition to frying him, you could have him up for threatening a superior officer. Too bad I won't be there to see his expression." Maas sighed, wistfully.

"Why wouldn't you?"

Maas smiled to have finally gotten some words out of the man, even if they were a bit flat. "He tried that stunt on me when I was first assigned at Central. Like I said, he has a talent for the wrong target. He stays as clear of me as he can these days."

The Alchemist accepted this with a nod. After another moment of silence Maas tried a new approach.

"I know the food isn't the best, but you should probably try to eat a little more than that," he nodded at the untouched tray.

A head shake met this suggestion. "I was actually just about to leave. I have some practice scheduled for myself."

If Maas had ever seen someone who really didn't need to be alone with himself, it was this person. "Practice, huh? Do you mind an audience?" he asked casually.

Finally, the Alchemist actually focused on him. Maas smiled at the question in his look, letting just a hint of challenge slip into the expression. It seemed to do the trick, because the Alchemist's chin came up just a bit.

"No, I don't particularly mind," he answered.

Maas grinned and offered his hand. "Well then, Maas Hughes, pleased to meet you."

The Alchemist reached out his right hand automatically, pulled up sharply like a stumble, but completed the gesture after all and clasped Maas hand. "Roy Mustang. Likewise."

And you really sound it, Maas reflected wryly. But, what the hell, it was about time for his monthly act of charity.

Practice, in this case, took place outside. A reasonable precaution, considering that Mustang seemed bound and determined to see how many different ways he could blow things up. And, indeed, it seemed an audience didn't matter to him. He focused on his targets as if he were completing the last step in creating the Philosopher's Stone. Maas might as well not have been there, except that Mustang never actually aimed through him.

Twelve hay bales later, Maas was moved to a question. "Wouldn't a wider range of materials be more useful?"

"If I was working on my range it would," Mustang replied, a bit distracted. "But this is for precision."

Maas surveyed the blizzard of charred straw around them. "Precision. Of course." As he'd half hoped, that pricked Mustang into a more detailed response.

"How much of the straw has actually been burned?" the Alchemist asked, dark eyes snapping but tone cool.

Maas took a longer look, estimating the scattered straw against the intact bales Mustang hadn't gotten to yet. "Between half and a third," he guessed.

"Precisely," a tight smile, "and straw is considerably more flammable than... other things."

People or buildings, Maas filled in that sudden catch. "Huh. So how can you burn something lightly? Fire is there or not, isn't it?" he probed, hoping that his subject wasn't about to clam up again.

Apparently technical details were safe, because Mustang's mouth relaxed from its hard line and he actually smiled a bit. "What I transmute is actually air, increasing certain elements to make a path for the fire to move along from the initial spark." He waggled his fingers indicatively. "Oxygen is easiest, but different elements react differently. By adjusting them one way or another, at one remove from the target or another, I can change the properties of the fire also. I'm pretty sure that I can evacuate the air from around a target, too, without ever burning it, but that's taking longer to do in practice." Mustang actually grinned. "If I want to do something like simply incinerating..." he looked at one of the remaining bales and snapped his fingers.

The explosion that rocked the yard left only a smear of ash in its wake.

"...then that's a lot easier."

Maas grinned, too. Ah, if he can still show off he'll be fine, he decided. He was a bit relieved, because he had been seriously considering whether he should bundle Mustang off to a doctor before he lost it. He'd seen a couple people returning from Ishvar who were broken, and the idea of an Alchemist in that situation was not a comfortable one. But Mustang was probably just a little torn around the edges.

"Impressive," he admitted cheerfully. "With your dedication I can see why Colonel Gran promoted you straight up to Captain."

Maas started back at the look the flashed over Mustang's face. Rage, disgust, contempt, horror, all tangled together and were gone. He sucked in a breath. "Or not. You really don't like Gran, I take it?"

Mustang pursed his lips.

"I mean, you looked like you wanted him standing where that hay bale used to be," Maas continued before shutting up in recognition that the shock was about to start him babbling. That look had been worlds beyond the one Mustang had given Cutter, and that one had been bad enough.

Come to think of it...

"That's why you finally lost it with Cutter, isn't it?" Maas hazarded. "When he mentioned Gran."

Mustang gave him a long look, eyed the Intelligence tabs on Maas uniform, and raised a sardonic brow.

"Oh, come on, you don't really think I'm investigating you?" Maas was indignant. "I'm a lot smoother than that, thanks so much! Besides, from what I hear Gran can be enough of a bastard to excuse anyone hating him."

The brow stayed up.

"And on top of that," Maas huffed, "if you really want to keep a lid on it just being quiet isn't enough. You should have immediately come out with some harmless reason to be pissed off, like he took the last helping of spinach or something."

Mustang tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. "Really?"

Maas put a hand over his face and started laughing. "Yes, really," he managed. "Good grief, is that what it takes to open you up? I show you how to be successfully insubordinate and you're fine being friendly?" He lowered his hand just in time to catch the next interesting expression. Irony, this one, shuttered quickly. Mustang said nothing.

"Well," Maas sighed, "if that's the case, I should probably mention at this point that you're doing it again."

Mustang's head came up, eyes a little wide. Way too expressive for his own good, this one. Maas was familiar with the problem, since he had the same one, but he'd learned how to keep his expression from matching his thoughts too closely. Mustang obviously hadn't. Maas tried for a casual tone.

"So, what insubordination did you already successfully get away with?"

Mustang pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Look, I swear I'm not investigating!" Maas protested.

"I believe you."

The quiet statement shut Maas up, even while the inward look that went with it made him wild to find out what was going on.

"It isn't my secret. That's all." Mustang smiled, a much more fragile look than the grin. "Thanks for the tip, though."

I was right the first time! Maas groused to himself as Mustang turned back to his hay. He really needs to talk to someone before whatever he won't talk about sends him 'round the bend. Maas knew perfectly well, though, that his silent complaints were merely a last ditch effort to keep "someone" from being him.

Because now he was curious.

II

Roy had no idea just what had caused First Lieutenant Maas Hughes to decide that he, Roy, needed a friend. Or, possibly, an overseer, because Roy swore that Hughes had his schedule clocked and mapped.

Maybe it was just reflex. Hughes was in Intelligence, after all, and practically drooling for field assignments. Anyone with eyes could see that Headquarters life bored Hughes to tears. Roy couldn't imagine what the man's superiors thought they were about, keeping him cooped up here.

So maybe it was just boredom.

Whatever the cause, Hughes popped up in the damndest places, dragging Roy out of his rooms, out of the library, out of his office and off to get food in the city, or a drink, or just a walk. The only place he left Roy alone was when he was practicing, and that only after Roy had threatened to make Hughes a target.

It had been the first time in months he'd even been able to think something like that as a joke.

Today, it was the library.

"Yo, Mustang!"

Hughes cringed, theatrically, in the cross-fire of the librarian's glare and Roy's. He tiptoed over to Roy's table. "What's on your menu today, O Great Scholar?" he whispered.

Roy favored him with a resigned look. "I was reading history," he murmured.

"Darts will be much more fun," Hughes declared, hauling Roy unceremoniously out of his chair. "Think of it as target practice."

Roy couldn't help a smile as he was towed out of the library. The more he got his head back in some kind of order, the clearer it was to him that Hughes and his interruptions had done a lot to keep him from crawling into a hole and brooding himself into useless oblivion.

Even if it was a little unnerving that Hughes always seemed to know where he was.

"So, what's so interesting about reading history, which is all about the stupid mistakes of dead people, when there are live people all around you making brand new stupid mistakes right where you can watch?" Hughes wanted to know.

"Are they new?" Roy asked back.

Hughes eyed him and clearly decided to skip straight to the end of this debate. "If people really could avoid mistakes by learning from history, would we be where we are now?"

A grin stretched Roy's mouth. This was one of the things he liked about talking with Hughes; the man could think and argue. "Yes, we would, because everyone learns not to make some mistakes, and then doesn't listen to other people explaining about the other mistakes that they learned not to make."

"What, you want a steering committee for the world? Or are you just bucking for the General Staff, personally?"

Roy smoothed his expression and, following Hughes' advice from the day they met, said lightly, "Something like that."

From the gleam in Hughes' eye Roy didn't think he'd escaped all notice, but Hughes didn't push it.

And that was the other thing hanging around with Hughes was good for. Practice.

It was a good evening, though, and Roy didn't mind too badly that Hughes beat him at darts; Roy was, slowly, getting better. The act of aiming didn't make his hand shake any longer.

It was closing on midnight when one of the other patrons challenged Hughes to a match.

Roy was used to seeing the long lines of Hughes' face relaxed in a lazy grin. Sardonic, at the most. He'd never seen the cold, focused look that flickered there now, before Hughes turned a wide smile on the challenger.

"Sure thing! My frien' here just isn' a challenge, you know?"

Hughes speech hadn't been slurred like that five seconds ago, either. Roy sat back, making sure his own face was blank and watched.

Hughes lost two rounds, narrowly, with what looked a great deal like drunken distress. By that time Roy was expecting the offer of a "friendly wager" to make the last round "interesting". He had to keep his beer in front of his face to conceal his amused disgust at the stock dialogue. Hughes agreed. The challenger threw carefully, making a very good score, and turned to Hughes with a triumphant smirk.

Hughes smiled back, narrow eyed, and his speech was clear as glass. "For the end of this, you know, I think I want to use my own." One of his small, evil looking knives appeared between his fingers. He barely looked at the dartboard as he threw it, to land dead center.

After a moment of frozen silence, the challenger slid the money they had bet toward Hughes and left without a word.

"That wasn't very nice," Roy chuckled as Hughes sat back down.

Hughes sniffed. "When someone's planning to cheat you, nice doesn't come into it."

"Point," Roy admitted. "But how did you know so fast?"

A bit of the hardness returned. "Are you kidding? They've been watching us almost since we got here. And anyone who doesn't know me would expect me to be pretty drunk by now."

Roy considered his friend for a moment. He hadn't really thought Hughes had that twisty of a mind, but taking into account tonight's performance... "Were you playing under your game this whole time?" he asked evenly.

Hughes gave him a pained look. "Give me some credit, Mustang. You'd be ticked off if I did, and you're a lot more dangerous than them."

Roy looked away. "No, I'm not. You know I wouldn't do something like that."

Hughes was silent for a few moments, looking like he was weighing something. Then the cold expression returned full force and he leaned forward. "Yes, you are. Not to me, no, but I've seen it a few times. That look you get. And let me tell you, Mustang, if you don't do something with that much rage you will lose it some day."

Roy let his own cold come to the surface, the cold that had begun to grow the day he closed his mouth on the news of Dr. Marco's desertion. Truth for truth. "What makes you think I'm not doing something with it?" he asked softly.

Hughes' eyes narrowed, and his mouth tilted. "I did wonder about that," he admitted.

"I thought you might have," Roy agreed.

Hughes sat back, laughing. "You're a stubborn one, all right. All this time just to confirm what I knew the day we met."

"I should give everything away without seeing a return?" Mustang asked. "Not what you should expect of any alchemist."

"Fair enough. Oh, and about the whole keeping up a cover thing?"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Just cultivate the face you've got on now," Hughes recommended.

"Hughes..."

"Maas, already," Hughes cut in.

Roy was too intent to argue, which, when he thought about it later, was probably the idea. "Maas, then, this is exactly what I don't want known."

Hughes... Maas squinted at him. "You've never looked in the mirror when you're like this, have you?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't think so. Look, it doesn't make you look harmless, but you aren't harmless and very few people will think you are no matter how sweet you look."

Roy glared.

"That one's good, too," Maas grinned. "The point is, when you look like that you're a lot less readable."

Roy rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Maas. Why are you coaching me in how to be unreadable and as good as telling me that you'll help me do whatever I'm doing?"

Maas propped his chin on his fist. "You want the truth?"

"Always." Roy's voice was sharp.

Maas teeth gleamed briefly. "I'm curious. And you're doing something covert, which is my specialty. And having known you for a few months I think whatever you're doing will be something I would appreciate."

Roy thought about that. Maas was, in his own phrase, laid back and, in Roy's estimate, cynical. On the one hand, that would probably keep him from being horrified by what Roy wanted to see done. On the other, it would also probably make him skeptical about the scope of Roy's plans.

And then he thought of that cold, hard focus he'd seen on Maas' face tonight. It seemed he wasn't the only one at the table who cultivated a mask, because that look had overwhelming drive and power behind it.

"I suppose you might appreciate it at that," Roy said slowly.

"Of course! Now, don't feel you have to tell me anything, Roy," Maas assured him expansively, "after all, it'll be much more fun to figure it out myself."

"Indeed?" Roy couldn't stop a wicked smile at the thought. If Maas thought he had all the upper hand... "Well, then, perhaps I'll see if I can make it more... interesting for you."

Everyone else in the bar probably thought that the two laughing young officers were just drunk.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Two

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Maas was having the time of his life.

Figuring out Roy Mustang was providing more fun than any two field assignments put together. Tracking Roy's movements was easy enough; figuring out why he went certain places and did certain things was the challenge.

Some things were already clear. Promotion seemed to be step one of whatever Roy's project was. He was efficient with his paperwork; he was meticulously respectful of senior officers; he was courteous to those who worked under him, and they said good things about him to the grapevine; he took initiative, but carefully.

Maas favorite instance of that last, the one he would have pressed in a scrapbook if he could have, was when Hakuro's aide arrived one rainy afternoon, muddy from head to toe, with the news that his superior was stranded outside the city in a broken down car and would be late for a rather important meeting. By the time Hakuro's own superior made it to the front doors, still arguing viciously with the Colonel in charge of the motorpool over whose fault this was, Roy had arranged for another car, a mechanic and a change of uniform just in case, and handed them off with a salute.

The looks on the faces of the arguing officers had been treasures, and Maas was very glad he'd been in a position to see them.

What Maas didn't know yet was what Roy wanted to do with more rank. Part of Roy's obscurity, he had to admit, was really his own fault. Roy had taken to heart his advice on how to conceal his thoughts. Day by day, nearly, Maas could see him honing that terrifying coldness that Maas had seen in him the day they met. It was like watching ice crystalize, and an unguarded smile was coming to be a rare thing from Roy.

In his own contrary fashion, Roy was also rapidly acquiring a reputation as a bit of a playboy, which Maas had found odd considering how reticent Roy seemed to be most of the time. Then he'd made up a list of all the women and the few men Roy flirted with most, and another list of who else those people associated with regularly. He'd laughed until his neighbor pounded on the wall for him to shut up. It was such a Roy way to do things—straightforward and roundabout at the same time.

Maas was still unsure what to make of Roy's relentless drive to refine his alchemical skills. Of course, any State Alchemist was expected to show results for the resources they took up, but the ones who were serving officers had a bit of latitude. Roy's dedication went far beyond what was expected of him on that score, and Maas was fairly sure that Roy was concealing the extent of his ability from everyone but Maas.

It helped, of course, that Maas was the only one who would come anywhere near Roy while he was practicing.

Maas was sure he was getting somewhere, though. Given Roy's reading material during his retreats to the library, what he wanted clearly had something to do with politics. Maas stopped short of trying to get Roy drunk enough to talk freely about his political views, because this was, after all, a friend he was trying to unravel.

But he was still getting somewhere, and thus he was first annoyed and then amused at himself for being annoyed when he got an assignment to go South looking for some Alchemist who had disappeared.

Still, he'd only be gone a few weeks.

II

It's only a few weeks, Roy told himself sternly. Stop moping.

Contrary to all his expectations, Roy had found himself enjoying the dodging about with Maas. The man was unendingly tenacious, and kept Roy on his toes; he was even good company while they sparred back and forth. Roy was sure he knew the location of every bar and theatre in Central City by now, dragged there in the name of "relaxing for once, Mustang!" So when Maas departed on an assignment Roy was left with a feeling of let-down.

He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself from finding excuses to stroll past the Intelligence offices with increasing frequency, hoping to hear that Maas was back.

This is silly. It isn't like I don't have other things to pay attention to. There's no reason to wander around looking like...

"Well, don't you look like a wet week," observed an amused voice behind him.

Roy spun around with what he was sure was a foolishly wide smile before he managed to compress it into a grin. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten yourself transmuted into a frog down there, Hughes."

"Ha!" Maas' expression changed to one of disgust. "Didn't see hide nor hair of any alchemist. Well, at least it was a chance to get out of uniform, since no one would give me the time of day if I was wearing it."

Indeed, Maas looked scruffier than usual, which, Roy considered, took a little doing.

And then he actually heard what Maas had said.

"Sounds rough," he said casually. "Come have a drink and I'll let you bend my ear about it."

They swung by Roy's room to pick up the bottle, but wound up in Maas' so he could unpack.

"So, boring couple weeks?" Roy probed, pouring for them both.

Maas snorted. "Waste of time, as far as my actual assignment went. Now, if I'd been sent to investigate civilian attitudes toward the military I could have written a report as long as my arm."

"Not good?" Roy took a mouth-concealing sip.

"Only what anyone with a brain might expect, really." Maas sprawled over his bed and took a long swallow. "They recruited pretty heavily from that area for that mess out East. A lot of people didn't come back. A lot of families are wondering what all those lives went to accomplish."

"Did anyone... take it out on you?" This time, Roy had no qualms with letting his investment in the question show.

Maas' mouth tilted up at one corner. If he meant it as a smile it didn't reach his eyes. "Not beyond a little shouting."

"Mmm."

Maas' look was suddenly sharp as it raked over Roy's face. After a few rather unnerving minutes his mouth twisted into a more genuine smirk. "So," he said softly, "do you want to staunch a rebellion single-handedly to impress Bradley, or do you want to see them all succeed in breaking away?"

Roy laughed, relief and alcohol combining to make him just a bit light-headed. "Neither."

"Interesting." Maas leaned back on one arm, hazel eyes hooded. "Well, I'll keep an ear out for you in any case. If you like."

Roy had to pause to admire the artistry of that offer.

Maas offered his, not insignificant, help in ferreting out information Roy wanted. But by knowing what Roy wanted and seeing what interested him, Maas would come that much closer to identifying Roy's final goals. So now Roy had to ask himself again, did he want Maas Hughes to find that out?

"That would be helpful," he said, at last, "Thank you."

It wasn't until Maas' shoulders relaxed a fraction that Roy understood his friend had also been asking how much Roy trusted him.

They both covered the moment by pouring new glasses.

When did it come to trust? Roy wondered. When did that start?

III

It was two days after his return that Maas discovered how a certain portion of the headquarters personnel had seen his little welcome-home bash with Roy. It was First Lieutenant Harding who sniggered loud enough for Maas to hear.

"...should have seen it. And they went straight back to Hughes' room, locked the door and didn't come out until nearly dawn. Guy next door said they were laughing an awful lot."

"I'm amazed Mustang could walk that morning," another of the small group chipped in.

"Well, maybe Hughes went easy on him..."

The group dissolved into snickers and crude suggestions.

Maas reacted without thinking, and two knives buried themselves in the wall a centimeter from Harding's nose. The little group cowered back as Maas stalked toward them, but he merely retrieved his knives. In the silence, the noise they made coming clear was quite audible.

"Excuse me."

thu

"My hand slipped."

thu

Harding lifted both hands, cautiously. "No offense, Hughes, he's all yours, I mean..."

Maas gave him the kind of look reserved for the terminally stupid, right after their stupidity has terminated them.

"Are you really brainless enough to believe that the Flame Alchemist, one of the most dangerous men in this city, belongs to anyone? This is a friendly warning, right?" Maas tapped the point of one knife against Harding's chin. "If he ever hears you say something like that I'm going to stand back and laugh while he fries your balls for breakfast."

He strode away, leaving a couple very pale men behind.

Complete idiots... He highly doubted that Roy Mustang would let himself sleep with an actual friend. Roy was downright allergic to vulnerability of any kind. Maas was positive his trust had been betrayed at some point. Besides which, he was pretty sure they had it the wrong way around. There was an intensity in Roy that overwhelmed whatever it was focused on and would not give way to anything. It was what fueled his remarkable efficiency and drove his unremitting practice of alchemy as a combat skill. Maas would bet money that that intensity would show up in bed. It was actually a good part of what made Roy so attractive.

Maas stopped dead in the hall and ran that last thought through his mind again.

Oh, I'm not... Well, yes, obviously Roy was a good looking man, and could be charming when he wanted to, as his string of bedazzled secretaries demonstrated. But...

Maas took himself off to his office and proceeded to get no work done at all.

All right, all right, Maas admitted at last, refraining valiantly from beating his head against his desk, I do think he's attractive, as well as an interesting puzzle, and amusingly muzzy when he's drunk, and a darn good drama critic, and... oh, hell.

He sighed. Not as though it was really news that he liked to play with fire.

If Maas could now just keep from adding to the gossip by, oh, say, overreacting, it wouldn't likely be any problem. He spent a few moments hoping fervently that, best case, Roy would never hear of the grapevine's latest sexual estimation of him or that, next best case, he wouldn't take it out on Maas.

Ah well. Life had been too boring before.

IV

The last hay bale ripped apart with a concussive shock. Roy sighed. Maas jumped down from his perch behind Roy and strolled over to examine it.

"Don't think you'd better count on that one to just disable," he remarked, judiciously.

"Do you know, I had that thought myself?"

Maas grinned over his shoulder. "And still sarcastic. Your endurance must be increasing."

Roy lidded his eyes and smirked. "We could test it out," he suggested, rasing his hand.

Maas' eye glinted, and his own hand flickered. Roy melted the knife half way.

"Thanks," Roy said as they made their way back inside.

Maas lifted a brow. "What for?"

"Ah." Roy shook himself. "Nothing. Never mind."

The thing was, he thought as they parted ways, Maas was the only person he knew who looked at Roy's alchemy as perfectly normal. Some people wanted to use its power, some were afraid of it, but only Maas treated it as a handy tool that Roy happened to be good with. Something a lot like his own knives.

Roy had known, intellectually, that as his skill increased and as he displayed more of it, the fear of those around him would likely increase also. But to actually see that fear, to have people step out of his way in the hall...

He didn't like it.

Yet... wasn't that the point? Wasn't that what he had set out to accomplish by condensing his rage and disgust into ice and focus?

Even the ones he charmed had that distance at the back of their eyes, that wariness.

Roy closed the door of his room behind himself, curled up on his bed and finally looked at the thought that had been creeping around the edges of his mind for weeks.

That was how people looked at Basque Gran.

Roy shuddered and curled up tighter.

But Maas didn't look at him like that.

He held onto that thought very, very hard.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Three

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Captain Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, had been stalking around Central City headquarters all day like a panther with a thorn in its paw.

A young panther, to be sure, but that didn't make the people around him feel significantly more secure.

After the sixth time Maas was accosted in the hall with a more or less subtle inquiry of whether he could please do something about his friend, he decided it might actually be serious and not just Roy practicing his intimidation techniques.

A few questions revealed that Roy had met with Colonel Gran that morning to discuss his promotion prospects.

Definitely serious. Wonder why he didn't mention it? Unless, of course, the meeting had come as a surprise to Roy himself. In which case, the question was whether it would be better to get Roy out of headquarters to somewhere he could blow things up until he calmed down, or to distract him somehow.

A quick look out the window showed clouds piling up as evening drew on. Not outside, then.

Maas tracked Roy down to his room. His knock on the door was greeted by a groan.

"Maas, since I know that's you, you are not dragging me out tonight, not anywhere, I don't care how good the beer is at the latest bar you found!"

Maas breezed in anyway. "Nor even how beautiful the girls are?" he inquired.

Roy removed the arm he had thrown over his eyes so that he could glare. "Nor that either. I'm surprised you haven't figured that one out for yourself..." he trailed off in a grumble.

"What," Maas asked, pulling up a chair across from Roy's bedside table, "that you only flirt with the ladies who are girlfriends or secretaries or whatnot to the officers with their fingers in politics?"

Roy didn't even bother to sigh. "Yes, that."

"Weeks and weeks ago. Not to worry, Maas is here with the perfect thing to help you unwind after a long day," Maas declared.

The look of some trepidation on Roy's face changed to blankness as Maas pulled out a deck of cards and bridged them between his hands.

"Cards?"

"Poker, to be specific," Maas corrected, starting to shuffle.

Roy's lips twitched a few times before he broke down laughing. "Poker? Us?" He curled up on his side, holding his stomach. "I could have sworn you said relax," he managed at last.

Maas eyed his friend tolerantly. "Oh, come on Roy, how many secrets do you think you're still actually keeping from me? Surely it won't make that much difference whether you work at fooling me or not."

Roy gave him an opaque look. "I'm pretty sure there's at least one," he replied.

Maas was pretty sure there were more than that, but he certainly wasn't going to say so. "Well then you could still use the practice on something that doesn't matter, right?"

Roy hauled himself upright. "Since I doubt I'm getting out of this, you might as well just deal."

Once they were playing Roy's lackluster attitude disappeared like snow in the spring, as Maas had rather expected it would. Roy really was insanely competitive about anything he paid attention to.

And he was getting a lot better at controlling his expression, too.

"Raise."

"Call." He can't really have...

An evil smirk appeared. "Royal flush," Roy declared, laying the cards out with a flourish.

"All right, all right, you got me this time," Maas laughed. "I still carry the night."

"Well," Roy allowed, "since I am more relaxed than I was three hours ago, I suppose you do."

Maas leaned back in his chair, smiling. Roy always remembered all the stakes. "I certainly do. And you're just lucky we weren't playing strip poker, my friend."

Roy gave him a Look, and then leaned back himself. Maas realized that he had just managed to hit another competitive trigger.

"Why Maas," Roy purred, "I had no idea you walked that side."

After a moment of fast calculation on the odds, Maas decided he'd better alter his ground. An innuendo war was just as likely to wind Roy up again. He shrugged. "Once or twice. You?"

It was his personal discovery, and one he was rather proud of, that Roy would almost always respond to a direct revelation and then a request for one in return. It seemed to be a reflex. It worked this time, too.

"On occasion." And then the ground changed again. "Is there a reason you ask?"

Maas scrunched up his mouth. Roy was looking at him narrowly. Maas knew his friend was perceptive when he was paying attention. To hedge or not to hedge? Maas' common sense was telling him to stop and think about this. His love of challenges and puzzles, backed up by the hormones that had lately been taking notice of Roy, were telling him to go for it. Ah, screw it.

"Could be," he allowed, letting his eyes travel down Roy in a very clear once-over.

"Hm." Roy's posture shifted subtly, more open, more sinuous. "Well, then," he said softly.

It was becoming increasingly hard to tell, with Roy, whether this kind of invitation was shyness or a trap. Maas decided that it would be interesting either way. He moved across to the bed and brushed his hand along Roy's jaw.

Roy tipped his head back, his eyes half closed.

Maas leaned down over him and brushed his lips across Roy's. He felt them curve under his, and then Roy twisted, quick as a cat, and Maas hit the bed hard, on his back, with Roy's weight over him.

A trap, he decided, as Roy's mouth closed on his for a hard, searching kiss.

Maas laughed up at his friend as Roy drew back. "Well, aren't we feeling dominant?" he teased.

"Yes," Roy agreed, very quietly, "we are."

"Why does that not surprise me in the least?" That wildness that Maas occasionally saw in Roy was clear and present, burning in his eyes, and Maas found that he had, in fact, more than half expected it—the other side of Roy's coldness, most likely springing from the same source, the intensity Roy brought to all areas of his project, but uncontained here and now.

"Does it bother you?" Roy asked

Maas also found that the idea of being touched by that intensity was very attractive indeed. "I don't mind one way or the other, as long as you're considerate about it."

Roy's teeth gleamed. "Always," he breathed before leaning down again. One of Roy's hands curled around the back of Maas' neck and Maas let Roy's mouth open his own. He was curious to see how far that wildness would go. Curiosity really will be the death of me one of these days, he decided, a bit hazily as Roy slid a leg between his thighs.

Roy's body, moving against his, was demanding, but his hands were gentle, fingers tracing light paths down Maas' arms, chest, over his ribs.

He was not particularly gentle with their clothing, and Maas was fairly sure he'd have a few buttons missing after this.

On the other hand, the heat of skin against skin was worth it, and Roy's skin felt almost fever-hot under Maas' hands. He missed it when Roy whispered to wait and rose to make a whirlwind rummage through his dresser. When he returned, he lay down beside Maas.

"Here, bend you leg."

Maas thought that Roy must be watching his face very carefully, because he was not slow and his fingers never stopped, but he never quite went faster than Maas could handle. When Maas released a low sigh Roy leaned down and kissed him long and deep.

"Now?"

Roy's dark eyes were hot, but his mouth was calm and still. Maas could see that if he wanted longer Roy would hold the wildness back, and he smiled. It was good to know.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Roy moved down the bed and ran his hands up the backs of Maas' legs. Maas arched against the bed, gasping, as Roy pressed into him, hard inside him. It was a controlled movement, but still not a slow one. Roy pushed him to the edge, overwhelmed with raw sensation.

From the sound of Roy's voice, Maas wasn't the only one.

In fact, Roy was the first to fall over the edge, which Maas felt quite smug about in the corner of his brain that still functioned.

And then Roy's hands were on his knees, pushing his legs down and apart, and Roy's mouth closed over him, hot and wet, and Maas' hips tried to flex up into it. He shuddered as Roy's hands held him down and open, and groaned as Roy's tongue pulled him hard into brilliance.

They lay, sprawled next to each other, catching their breaths, and when he had, Maas couldn't stop laughing. "That was so very you, Roy."

"Mmmm," Roy mumbled before opening his eyes. "How so?"

"I can't imagine anyone else who could be that forceful without ever actually being rough about it." Maas smiled affectionately at his friend.

Roy propped himself up on his elbows. "You don't mind that I was... forceful?"

Maas grinned. "Nah. It was fun."

Roy returned it. "Good."

Maas stretched, paused, stretched more carefully. "Of course, if you've got a few aspirin hanging around I wouldn't say no to them."

Roy scrambled out of bed with a penitent expression and returned with aspirin, water and a towel. Having applied each appropriately, Maas pulled Roy down and kissed away the concerned line of his mouth.

"I wouldn't mind doing that again some time," he murmured.

Roy ran a hand through Maas' hair. "You're sure?"

Maas decided it was time for desperate measures, before Roy managed to make himself feel guilty. "You make love like a windstorm, never stopping, taking everyone's breath away, lifting everything off the ground, wild enough to scare people."

Roy was a bit wide-eyed.

"Like I said," Maas continued, with less poetry and more pragmatism, "it's you. And I know you. I knew it would be a wild ride. And I enjoyed it."

Now Roy was actually blushing. Maas' mouth quirked. "Besides, now I bet you're really relaxed," he finished. "I carry the night."

Roy's mouth twitched once. Twice.

And then he snatched a pillow to pummel Maas with.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Four

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes was promoted from First Lieutenant to Captain he bragged about it rather a lot to his best friend, Captain Roy Mustang.

Roy bore with him fairly patiently, only an occasional twitch of his fingers giving him away.

Exactly one week later, Roy was promoted to Major.

Maas found out from the bulletin board.

He stalked down the halls to Roy's office and slammed back the door.

"Mustang!"

Roy leaned his chin on his fist and gave Maas a glittering smile. "Yes? Hughes-taii?"

Maas opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and glared.

Roy smiled wider.

"You're an evil bastard," Maas told him, almost calmly. "I thought you should know."

"Thank you for your input," Roy murmured.

Maas slammed the door again on his way out.

He hauled Roy out to the bar that night to celebrate.

"You do remember we have a dress review tomorrow morning, don't you?" Roy asked, not as though he thought it would alter Maas' plans.

Maas waved this off. "I'm not the one who gets hung over, now spill! How long have you known it was coming?"

"For sure? Only a few days."

Maas was faintly appeased. "I suppose that's all right then."

Roy laughed at him, and they toasted both their new ranks.

Maas felt somewhat revenged the next morning, when he noticed that Roy was squinting a bit in the sunlight as the staff of Central City headquarters all turned out for review.

He didn't have a great deal of time to appreciate it, though.

Intelligence had been scrambling for almost two months over death threats to Dai-Soutou Bradley, so it was not actually a shock to Maas when gunfire came from the roofs around the parade ground. He didn't even waste time cursing today's security for their failure.

He had time to fire twice, time to be sure that at least two of the bodies hurtling toward Bradley would get through, and then the air exploded. Fire whipped out, coiled around the attackers, snapped and burst. It left collapsed bodies smoking in its wake.

The crowd, frozen in the midst of panic, drew back slowly, leaving Roy Mustang standing alone, hand raised.

Of course, Maas had mentioned his office's upset to Roy.

Bradley picked himself up and nodded to Roy. "Thank you, Major."

Roy saluted him, crisply. "Excellency."

Bradley returned it, and waved to his security detail to take care of the bodies.

"Excellency," one of them exclaimed, "they're not dead!"

Bradley turned back to favor Roy with a long look. Roy's expression was cold and still, and Maas thought he might be the only person there who understood how much pain was compressed behind it, how many hours of practice to refine his skills until he could injure without killing.

He'd pried the story of Ishvar out of Roy a while back. Was this what it all came down to, after all? The determination to be something more than a gun in someone else's hands?

"Excellent forethought," Bradley remarked at last.

Maas watched Roy's eyes, focused on Bradley as he turned away, and decided that there was still more he hadn't found. He made his way to Roy and laid an unobtrusive hand on his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" he asked, having seen Roy occasionally collapse in a heap after a particularly impressive effort.

"Yes," Roy returned quietly. "I'll be fine."

Looking up, Maas found Gran staring at them. Measuring his erstwhile subordinate's power? Or perhaps his ambition? The latter, it seemed, since he paused on his way past them.

"Going straight to the top, Flame Alchemist?" he grated.

Roy didn't look at him. "I merely acted as my duty demands. Sir."

Whether Gran liked it or not, it seemed that Roy had indeed caught Bradley's eye, because he was reassigned to the command of one of the Headquarters General Staff. It was because of this that Maas finally realized just how great a secret he'd been chasing for over a year.

He'd been called in to give a report in person. A waste of time, in his estimation, since he couldn't exactly add more facts than he'd put in his written version. Still, it afforded him some mild entertainment to watch Roy not paying any attention at all because he'd heard it already.

But, no, Maas realized slowly, Roy was paying attention to something else. His eyes stayed on his notes or on Maas, but his attention was focused on Bradley like sunlight concentrated in a magnifying glass, brilliant and burning. After a while Maas started to be amazed that everyone in the room didn't notice it.He's focused on Bradley like he looks at those hay bales of his...

Maas stiffened.

It was all he could do to keep answering questions coherently while that thought reverberated in his head.

He can't... really...

Politics. Ambition. Reports of unrest. Power.

Fury.

He gratefully accepted his dismissal at last, and collapsed against the wall outside to try and catch his breath.

Roy...

II

When Maas showed up at Roy's door looking grim and just a bit wild around the eyes, Roy was sure that something momentous had happened in his office that day some time after his rather bored report-in-person. "Maas, what happened?"

Maas scrubbed his hands over his face and gave Roy a long look. "Roy. Are you really planning to kill Bradley?"

Roy thought his heart might have stopped, but no, it was just his breath. The question he had been hoping, fearing, anticipating took him completely unawares. After a frozen second he nodded.

"And what? Replace him?"

"Not... exactly," Roy whispered. He collapsed to the edge of his bed.

Maas, not looking in much better shape, just slid down the wall to the floor. He rested his head on his knees and laughed helplessly. "And I spent all this time wondering what the big deal could be."

Roy really didn't want to ask, but he had to know, and he had to know now. "What will you do about it?"

"I'm not going to turn you in," Maas said without lifting his head.

Now it was Roy's turn to have to put his head down on his knees, as the room went dark for a moment. He could feel his heart again.

"And I'm not going to ask something stupid like why, because I really do remember all the conversations we've had this year," Maas continued conversationally. "Or at least I did while I was wandering around after that damn meeting."

Roy was recovering enough to be curious. "How did you know?"

Maas finally looked up, frowning a little. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted at Roy. "You know, I think it might just be that I know you. I could see the way you were focused on him, and the thing it said to me was target. After that... it was just adding the bits up. But no one else seems to see it."

Roy could feel his attempt at a smile wavering a bit. "No one else knows me like that."

"I guess not." Maas let his head fall back against the wall. "You're crazy, you realize that."

"No, Maas, I'm not." Roy's voice was suddenly clear and cold.

Maas blinked up at him.

"The ones who are crazy are the ones who throw thousands of lives away like a handful of sand in the desert. The ones who exalt destruction and the means of it. The ones who can think that the destruction of a city full of people only trying to keep their lives and homes can be justified in the name of defense. To stop them? That's sanity."

Maas looked at him silently for a dozen heartbeats, and then closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You're right."

It was Roy's turn to blink.

Maas fetched up a sigh that sounded like it started at his toes and looked up again. "What do you need?"

"What...?"

Maas came to Roy and took his shoulders. "What do you need to make this work, Roy?"

Thoughts flickered through Roy's head. People I can trust... To know what's going on... To stir things up... But in the end it was none of those he voiced to Maas' steady gaze.

"I need to not become one of them."

Maas nodded firmly. "Then you won't."

A shudder ripped through Roy, and he reached out to Maas to keep his balance. They ended up on the floor by the bed, leaning into each other's arms.

"Thank you," Roy whispered, trying to still himself.

Maas held him tighter.

Eventually Roy calmed enough to start thinking again. Maas had just decided to help him with something that could end in a very unpleasant death. However much comfort his help would give Roy, Roy felt impelled to double check. "Are you sure?"

Maas chuckled. "Do you remember what I said the last time you asked me that?"

It took Roy a minute, but when he recalled he laughed too. "If I'm not mistaken you said that you enjoy wild rides."

"A long time ago you agreed that I might appreciate what you want to do," Maas said, more seriously. "You were right."

"Not," he added, "that you should get a swelled head about being right so often, mind you."

Roy suppressed the urge to ask why not? He would save it up for later.

"Thank you," he repeated instead.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Five

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Today it was Maas' turn to wander aimlessly around the offices while he waited for Roy to get back. He supposed it was only fair for the boredom to be shared both ways, and he had to admit that his fidgeting was less volatile than Roy's was these days, but that didn't make the wait any less annoying.

Of course, it was probably just as well for the rest of the world that he and Roy had only ever been sent on the same assignment once. It had been great fun; Roy loosened up considerably once away from Central, and Maas had the pictures to prove it. But the incident with the case of beer, the General's boots, the mess tent and the two cans of red paint had apparently convinced their superiors that Hughes and Mustang should be assigned separately in the future.

At least he could be reasonably well assured that his friend had good back up while he was away. Roy had been given command of a unit for his assignment, and accordingly had also attached an aide. A quick chat with her last Sergeant had assured Maas that Second Lieutenant Lisa Hawkeye was as competent as they came. Sergeant Morrow, whose kindest term for Second Lieutenants was usually "baggage", had nearly gushed over her.

Fortunately, before Maas' fidgeting devolved into writing graffiti on the bulletin boards, his ear detected the return of Roy and his new aide both.

"...see that the liaison gets a copy of the report, too."

"Yes, Sir."

Maas narrowed his eyes when he actually saw Roy's face. It was absolutely expressionless. Roy passed him and continued into his office with a nod and a brief, "Hughes."

What the hell happened out there? Maas shot a glance at Hawkeye, who was frowning faintly.

"I'll copy it and pass it along to you, then," Roy said to the air, his back to them.

"I can take care of that, Sir."

Roy shook his head. "No, I'll do it."

This seemed to be some kind of last straw for Hawkeye and she turned to Maas. "Hughes-taii, Mustang-junsa needs to stop and get some rest. Do something about this, if you please," she told him crisply.

Now Roy had an expression. Astonished. Maas had a feeling his wasn't far behind.

Hawkeye gestured sharply, as if to brush the surprise away. "You're the only one in this city he actually listens to. Now."

Maas shook off his amazement and grinned at Roy. "You heard the lady."

Hawkeye held out a hand for the folders Roy still carried. "I'll take care of it, sir," she repeated more softly.

A tiny, wry smile crossed Roy's face. "Of course, Shoui." He passed over the paperwork and turned for the door.

Maas, following him out, offered Hawkeye a casual salute behind his back. "Observant, that one," he remarked to Roy as they made their way to the officers' dormitory.

"Very."

Maas was frowning himself, now, but didn't press yet. Instead he kept up a one-sided stream of the latest headquarters gossip until they reached Roy's room.

"All right, Roy, what happened?" he demanded as soon as the door was shut.

"Nothing."

Roy stood in the middle of his room, staring at empty air. Maas' mouth tightened. Something had struck one of Roy's fault lines, and he didn't have many that would cause a reaction like this. Killing the unarmed was one. Dealing with Gran was the other. To the best of Maas' knowledge Gran had been completely uninvolved with this assignment, but maybe...

And then he took Roy's arm to turn him around and revised his opinion.

Tremors were running through the whole of Roy's body, sharp, uneven. His expression was edgy, brittle. He looked as if one blow would shatter him. Maas hadn't seen him like this since the night they'd finally had all the secrets out. This was stress, not guilt.

"When they looked at me... they were so afraid... I could taste it..." Roy's voice was thin, and Maas wasn't sure his eyes saw what was in front of him.

"You can't avoid it," Maas told him as gently as he could. "When civilians see..."

"My own men!"

Oh, damn. Maas had actually been tracking the increasing alarm among the soldiers regarding Roy and his power, but it was holding fairly steady for now at the "cross him and you're toast" level. He hadn't expected that to have such a severe effect on Roy, but looking back on it he realized he should have. Roy took a certain savage enjoyment in making the senior officers scared of him, but this, Maas finally understood, must be included in Roy's motto and first law.

I need to not become one of them.

And he'd been away from headquarters, with no one to say this to or get reassurance from. The first sting had obviously festered for his brooding on it. Fortunately, it didn't take all that much to bring Roy out of these moments; logic was usually enough.

"Roy, it will be all right," he soothed. "You can change this if you need to."

Well, at least that had gotten Roy to focus on him. Maas tugged him down to sit on the edge of the bed, a little afraid that his friend was going to fall if that shaking kept up. "Listen," he said reasonably, "You've spent well over a year cultivating the appearance of a really dangerous bastard. So it had some side effects you didn't expect. But not everywhere. That second of yours sure isn't afraid of you, is she?"

That actually got a short laugh. "No," Roy agreed.

"So there's your starting point. She's your aide. The longer she's with you, the more the men under your command will take their cue from her. You worry too much."

That got a longer laugh, albeit faintly tinged with what Maas pegged as slightly hysterical relief. At least the shaking had stopped, though it seemed to have left Roy a bit wrung out by the way he flopped back across the bed.

Yet another crisis averted, Maas congratulated himself. Really, Roy was way too high strung to be allowed to run around without a keeper. Nice that Maas seemed to have been gifted with an ally who thought the same thing; he'd really have to have a chat over coffee with that Hawkeye-shoui sometime soon. Roy was taking so much on himself that the only real surprise was that he hadn't completely snapped long since. At least he had unwound for now, even if he did do it more abruptly than seemed advisable.

"Maas, can I ask you for a favor?"

Maas snorted. "That depends entirely on the favor."

Roy's smile was languid, his eyes just a touch hazy.

"Make love to me?"

Maas felt a smile curve his own lips. He very much enjoyed Roy in this mood. When he truly relaxed, all of Roy's incredible focus spread out into a tangible appreciation of his senses and surroundings. It didn't happen often, which was a shame because Roy was clearly a born sensualist.

Maas leaned over Roy on one arm, trailing his fingers along Roy's jaw. Roy sighed, tilted his head back, and Maas kissed down his throat before searching out his mouth.

Roy stretched and shivered under his hands as they slid over Roy's increasingly bared skin, arching into each touch. His complete responsiveness when he was like this, his total abandon, affected Maas strangely. The soft, breathless sounds Roy made when Maas kissed the hollow of his shoulder or lightly bit the inside of his thigh called up in Maas protectiveness to match his desire.

When he finally settled between Roy's legs Roy was panting, trembling again though with a very different tension now. Roy's body opened for him, and the heat of it cut Maas' breath into quick gasps. They moved against each other hard, wild, moans and soft pleas twining around each other as tightly as their bodies until the tightness broke and exploded outward.

Even as they lay and recovered Maas found himself still tracing his fingers over Roy's shoulders and cheekbones, kissing him slowly. Roy turned into him, answering with equal leisure, flushed and undone, all but purring.

"You know, don't you," Maas murmured to him, "that you're going to addict whatever poor lovers you let see you like this."

Roy's eyes darkened just a bit. "There isn't anyone but you I trust like this," he pointed out.

Maas kissed him again. "There will be." And again when it looked like Roy would protest. "They won't be me, no. But they will be themselves."

Roy's eyes were unreadable now, but he seemed to accept that and settled against Maas' shoulder.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Six

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Normally Maas liked to visit Roy's office. Since his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel he had started to collect a permanent staff of his own and they were entertaining people.

Today, though, he couldn't quite settle down to provoking Hawkeye, who Maas thought was much too serious, or sparring with Roy, or even gossiping with Havoc, who Maas swore inhaled the latest juicy fruits of the grapevine through his cigarettes without bothering to do anything as energy intensive as listen.

At last Roy dragged him off, allegedly to have company with his coffee but more probably to prevent Hawkeye from expressing her frustration with Maas' restlessness too directly. He'd already collected three, increasingly irritated "Junsa"s.

"So what's up today?" Roy asked as they sat down. "Gracia break a date?"

Maas fiddled with his cup. "No. Kind of... the opposite."

Roy was looking more amused by the moment. "Gracia demanded a date?"

"She wants..." Maas took a deep breath. "She wants to get married."

"I'm not surprised at all. Congratulations." Roy sipped his coffee with, Maas felt, completely insupportable calm.

"Married, Roy! She wants to get married! To me!"

"Well, I didn't assume she wanted to marry me," Roy murmured. "No accounting for taste I suppose."

Maas growled, and Roy finally broke down laughing. "Maas, stop jittering for a minute."

He glared, but did settle a bit if only because Roy so rarely addressed him that informally in public.

"You've been courting Gracia for months. You love her, I know you do because you mention it several times a week. She loves you, or at least Hawkeye says she does. Surely you've been thinking about this?"

"Well, yes, but not seriously," Maas protested. "I mean, not this fast."

Roy shrugged callously. "Gracia is a determined woman. When she decides what she wants it's a reasonably foregone conclusion that she'll get it."

If anyone should know, Maas had to admit, it was Roy. Kindred spirits. "All right, all right, I'm resigned, I'm resigned. In a very good and happy way!"

"Probably just as well," Roy noted.

It wasn't until they were leaving that Maas collected himself to ask about the other thing that had been making him a bit nervous.

"Roy. When Gracia and I are married... will you stand up with me?"

Roy stunned him with the open smile that almost no one ever saw on him anymore. "Of course I will, Maas. Thank you for asking me."

"Who else would I ask?" Maas wanted to know, relaxing.

"Armstrong?"

Maas attempted to chase Roy down the hall but was laughing too hard to catch him.

II

"Hey, Roy, you're still trying to find that Elric guy, aren't you?"

Roy looked up from his interminable stack of paperwork. Maas was leaning in the door. "Not that it seems to be doing much good, but yes."

"Well, this letter came for Herbert, with his name on in. Herbert happens to be in the field, so I thought you might like to see."

Roy found that the envelope had already been opened, seal carefully left intact. Maas was nothing if not good at his job. When he'd read the letter he simply sat for a while, gazing out the window, until Maas finally prodded him.

"So? What's it say? And why would a man who took that much trouble to disappear write openly like this?"

"It isn't from Hohenheim. It's from his sons. They also seem to be looking for him."

Maas made a face. Roy's mouth quirked, he having already heard extensively from his friend on the subject of the responsibilities entailed by having children. He rather thought Gracia had decided to have one soon.

"I think," Roy said slowly, "that I'll pay a visit to the Elric family. There might be... possibilities."

End

The Seconds' Club

Une and Hawkeye unwind after long days at work. Porn With Insights, I-4, spoilers ep 16 FMA. Timeframe: ep 16 FMA, post ep 23 indeterminate GW.

Lisa Hawkeye, having in one gruelling afternoon re-filed files, re-written schedules, ordered furniture moved and rooms cleaned, and thrown all the left-over knickknacks in a box to ship to Central, made one last stop and tapped on her commander's door.

"Is there anything else you need before I go?"

The Colonel looked up from his work and smiled. "No, I think we've straightened out all the mess that our visitors from Central left behind." He patted his repossessed desk fondly. "You can go."

"Yes, Sir."

She saluted, and the Colonel returned it as casually as he always returned military courtesies to her, as if her adherence to them amused him.

"You're meeting that friend of yours at the Club tonight?" he asked as she turned to go.

Lisa looked back over her shoulder a bit warily. She and Une had to be careful what they said about each other at home. Continuity contamination could get both of them banned from the Club. "Yes."

"I would be interested to meet her commander one of these days," the Colonel mused.

Lisa felt her eyes widen. "That... could be... problematic, Sir," she choked.

The Colonel's mouth quirked.

"For whom?" he wondered softly.

Let me count the ways... Lisa boggled, slightly dizzy at the very thought of what might happen. Fortunately the Colonel didn't seem serious about carrying out his terrifying notion, at least tonight, and he waved her out with a good-natured, if wry, grin.

The Seconds' Club was dark tonight, only a few soft overhead lights supplementing the candles on each table. A single spotlight did gleam off brass in one corner as Lisa threaded her way toward Une's waving hand. She nodded toward the instruments as she sat.

"Live entertainment tonight?"

Une made a face. "William is having musical pretentions again, I think." She slid a drink across to Lisa. "Here. You look like you could use this."

Lisa took a long swallow, and sagged back in her chair with a sigh. "I did. Thanks, Une."

"Long day?" her friend asked sympathetically.

Lisa groaned.

"First there was all the upset with Scar trying to kill all the State Alchemists single-handed, pardon the pun, then Mustang-taisa just has to go and scare the life out of me and then he has to bait Edward-kun while we're trying to get the boy packed off to his mechanic, and the contingent from Central left East headquarters a complete mess, and guess who gets to straighten everything out?"

It all came out in a single breath, and Une patted her arm while she took another slug of her drink.

This, after all, was what the Seconds' Club was for—so that the people who actually kept affairs running could vent before they want completely around the bend and left their frequently megalomaniac commanders to their own devices. It was the most off-duty public location in existence.

Lisa smiled as she took a more moderate sip. Une looked exceedingly off-duty tonight, in soft knits and a loose pony-tail, an impression only slightly modified by the gun at her hip.

Then Lisa grimaced as she remembered the other thing. "And to top it all off, Mustang-taisa wants to meet Treize-san."

Une coughed on her drink.

"He what?" she gasped, eyes watering.

The two women shared a long look, and Lisa was sure they were both envisioning the same Machiavellian wildfire running gleefully through two continuums. Probably more.

"No," they stated in firm unison.

Lisa frowned as she watched Une blot her eyes, and squint just a bit. "Did you have a lot of paperwork to read today?" she wanted to know.

Une smiled ruefully. "Is it that obvious?"

"Your eyes always bother you in low light after you've been reading for a long time. Tell you what," Lisa finished her drink, "let's go back to my place. And put on some real music."

Une stood with her. "And let you get changed, too," her friend returned with a touch of sternness. "You came straight here from work, didn't you?"

"You bet I did," Lisa said fervently, "before another crisis came up to stop me."

"So, do we need more to drink, or should I put on tea?" Lisa asked as they hung up their coats and guns.

"Tea would be lovely," Une decided.

"You pick out music, then."

By the time Lisa had changed into her favorite old tee-shirt and drawstring pants the kettle was whistling and she brought it, with mugs and the tea basket, out to the living room.

Une had put on her favorite string quartet from Lisa's collection and was lounging on the couch with her eyes closed.

Lisa set her peppermint and Une's favorite blackberry to steep and pulled up a few of her floor cushions to the other side of the table.

"So, what did he do to scare you so badly today?" Une asked, opening one eye.

Lisa shivered.

"Gran found one of the deserters. It was a huge mess, but in the end Bradley's people took the man into custody. Roy... he decided to go to Bradley and admit that he'd known all along where Marco was and hadn't said. I think he did it to convince Bradley that he really is loyal, just didn't trust Gran. Or maybe it was for one-upsmanship, to say he could get information Bradley couldn't. Maybe it was just to force some resolution so he wouldn't have to keep watching over his shoulder for what Bradley would do if he found out." She laughed, pressing a hand over her eyes. "Knowing him it was probably all of those and a few I haven't thought of. But, Une, he invited, he nearly provoked, Bradley to punish him for what could be seen as treason! He said it was the coin he had to use, but... If Bradley had finally decided he was too dangerous, decided he really was disloyal..."

Une got up and came around to sit behind Lisa, arms around her waist. "Ssh, now. It's all right, Lisa, it didn't happen."

Lisa leaned back against her friend with a shuddering sigh. "I just hate it when there's nothing I can do to protect him."

"I know," Une whispered against her hair, rocking her gently.

"I would give my life for him, Une, but he takes so much on himself trying to protect us. Trying to make things better." Lisa was silent a moment before bursting out, "And I love Gracia, but sometimes I wish Hughes were still... what he used to be to Roy. Because God knows he won't take that kind of comfort from anyone else."

"Would you offer it, if he would?" Une asked.

It wasn't a new question between them, and the answer hadn't changed in the years they'd known each other, but Une asked it again every so often. Lisa turned in her arms, curling up against her.

"Not me. I'm not sure I could take his attitude in bed. And I am sure it would affect how we worked together; it would be incredibly unprofessional."

"You can say that again," Une muttered. "Treize-san is such a horrible tease when the mood takes him. If I never have to look another bottle of bath oil in the face again it will be too soon."

Lisa chuckled, remember that story very well. Une's fingers combed her hair, lingering over her hair clip, a silent question in their personal body language.

Speaking of that kind of comfort. And I so need some after today. Lisa reached up and undid the clip, laying it on the table. Une made a pleased sound and threaded one hand through the loose strands. The other set her own hair-tie on the table next to Lisa's clip.

Lisa stretched against Une, pushing her back onto the pillows. Une rolled them over until her weight settled, comfortably, over Lisa, and Lisa could see her smile. She raised a hand to trace the strong, soft lips with her fingertips. Une captured one between her teeth, and Lisa laughed. When they made love Une reminded her of a great cat. A leopard or jaguar perhaps. Playful, powerful, sleek, grace given form and made soft to the touch.

She stretched again, sighing, as Une ran her hands up under Lisa's shirt, over her stomach, pausing as they touched her breasts.

"You changed out of more than I thought," Une observed.

Lisa gave her a slow smile through lowered lashes. "Not objecting, are you?"

"I've been called crazy, but never that crazy," Une murmured against Lisa's mouth.

Their lips barely brushed, tongues seeking a way past each other, dueling playfully until Lisa laughed again and Une kissed her hard. Une's fingers stroked the curve of her breast so lightly it almost tickled, and Lisa moved into her touch, paused to pull her shirt off, pressed against Une again.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love the fact that you're not shy?" Une asked, running her tongue along Lisa's collarbone.

"Mmmm. How lately?" Lisa sighed.

And then she forgot the question as Une closed her mouth over Lisa's nipple and sucked slowly. A complex shiver of heat wound down Lisa's body.

Une drew back and an odd clunking noise made Lisa open her eyes in time to see Une take a sip of tea from the still-waiting mugs. She set it down beside them, swallowed, and gave Lisa a tiny grin.

Lisa blinked.

And then Une's mouth found her breast again, shockingly hot from the steaming tea. Lisa arched up, hands closing sharply on Une's shoulders.

"Une..." she breathed, "oh..."

Une's hand stroked down her spine, as Une's tongue started to outline her ribs, one by one. Lisa hardly noticed when Une tugged her pants loose and slid them off, but did notice that Une's own clothing was getting in the way. She wanted to feel Une's skin.

All clothing dispensed with, Lisa had to pause a moment for appreciation. The movement of Une's sleek muscles never failed to entrance her. As Une settled over her again she let her hands catalogue the smooth planes of Une's back, the strong curve of her rear, let them sweep back up her sides, thumbs just brushing the heavy softness of her breasts.

Une's teeth closed delicately on Lisa's ear before she whispered, "May I?" Her hand stroked Lisa's hip.

Lisa closed her arms tight around Une for a moment.

"Yes."

Une slid down her body, moving her legs apart. She nibbled down the inside of Lisa's thigh as her fingers brushed lightly between Lisa's legs, sliding against her. Lisa sighed, muscles tightening low in her stomach. She moaned as Une's tongue replaced her fingers.

Drew back.

Returned steaming hot again, and Lisa lost her voice for a moment as Une's tongue stroked long and slow and hot against her. The overwhelming, sliding heat spread out to meet Une's palm massaging her stomach, undoing the tightness even as the soft, wet stroking wound pleasure through her until she thought she would snap from it.

Heat again.

Lisa moaned low in her throat, feeling her body open out, straining outward against the stroke of Une's tongue until everything recoiled and Lisa was caught up in long waves of burning, drowning sensation.

Her breath returned to her slowly.

"That was... pretty incredible," she whispered against Une's shoulder.

"I had hoped it might be," Une purred back. "Though it's a shame to dilute the taste of you. You taste like the open ocean."

Lisa smiled and kissed Une deeply, pressing her back against the cushions. She traced Une's lips with the tip of her tongue as she slid a hand down Une's body, pressing between her legs which Une parted readily. She rubbed a fingertip lightly against the slick wetness there, and Une tossed her head back.

"Lisa..." she sighed, reaching up.

Lisa kissed her again, winding her tongue around Une's, as she slid her fingers slowly into the heat of Une's body, swallowing Une's long moan into their kiss. Une rocked up to meet the thrust of Lisa's fingers, faster, asking for more, and Lisa twisted her hand gently, spreading her fingers against the grip of Une's body, plunging down faster, harder, until Une arched, clenched, over and over.

Lisa held Une as she settled, shivering slightly from her release, and waited until her bittersweet brown eyes opened.

Une smiled and pulled Lisa down so they could lie nestled against each other.

"Your peppermint is probably undrinkable by now," she remarked, drowsily.

"I can make more. Later." Lisa rubbed her cheek against Une's shoulder. Une stroked the back of her neck.

"You know," Lisa added after a moment, voice thoughtful, "maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for Roy and Treize to meet. They might just be so taken up with trying to get the better of each other that they wouldn't bother with the rest of the world. And if they get along half as well as we do, well, maybe Treize could actually get Roy to unwind a little."

"If anyone could..." Une agreed.

A tiny smile curved Lisa's lips. "He'd probably get a bit of a surprise if he did of course..."

A wicked light gleamed in both women's eyes as they looked at each other for a long moment before they broke down giggling in each other's arms.

Epilogue

Treize Kushurenada took a sip of his drink and shook his head at his companion. "That really wasn't a very nice thing to do, Roy."

Roy slanted a sideways look at him. "As if you're one to talk. Besides," he added, "she needed something light to distract her after she had to stand and watch me put my head in the lion's mouth. You know what they're like about that kind of thing."

Roy watched the blue eyes go slightly distant.

"Yes," Treize admitted softly, "I know. What are you going to do when she finds out, though?"

Roy examined his glass.

"Duck quickly, I suppose. Or offer another distraction. I'm sure something will come to me."

He caught Treize's eye and they shared a nearly identical smirk across the table.

End

Branch: *perfectly calm* That was not a suggestion for a sequel. You are not suggesting that I let the two of you try to out-sultry each other on paper. It would be a fire hazard.

Treize: To be sure not, Madam! You've already heaped such unlooked for treasure upon me, I would never so presume.

Roy: Indeed.

Branch: *eyes characters mistrustfully*

Roy: *slow grin* Whether or not your write down what we're doing is entirely up to you, Madam.

Branch: *hand over eyes*

Snapshots

A handful of moments: Roy and Hughes at Ishvar. Drama With Occasional Porn and Angst, I-4, spoilers ep 15.

Second Lieutenant Roy Mustang poked at his dinner roll. He should be eating it, but he wasn't sure he had the energy.

It had been a very unpleasant day.

As Roy counted it, the day had started last night, when he had been assigned his least favorite duty, counter-assassin bodyguard. When he was looking out for one or more of the high ranking officers he had two possible distasteful outcomes. He could spend the entire time wound tighter than his own watch spring for absolutely nothing. Or he could actually counter a threat, which meant using fire on another human being, and while he could do it in the heat of the moment he was always sick afterwards.

It was the smell, he reflected morbidly, kind of like the smell of dinner here in the mess tent.

The comparison was not making him any more eager to eat his roll.

Last night had been a watch spring night. Which meant he hadn't been able to sleep after, and was now stumbling around the camp in a state of advanced blear, fervently praying he wouldn't draw night duty again tonight.

It was almost enough to make him want to be assigned to a Demolitions team for a few days. Annoying as it sometimes was to be looked at as a walking fuse, he wasn't usually bringing buildings down on living people.

His musing was interrupted by a hand snatching his roll from under his eyes. Spinal reflex grabbed it back before he consciously recognized the hand as Maas Hughes'. Roy glared up at his friend, who was standing across the table and grinning at him.

In doing so he forgot to keep a good grip on his bread.

"Ah, come on Roy," Hughes cajoled, examining the roll that was somehow back in his own grasp, "it's not like you were eating it. Toasting it maybe. Are you experimenting on whether you can start a fire by giving something the evil eye?"

"Give me back my bread, Hughes," Roy growled, in no mood for horseplay.

Hughes' slow grin told Roy that his wishes had no bearing on the situation.

"Make me."

Roy did not normally rise to that kind of bait in public. He had a certain dignity to maintain, and being an Alchemist who had become an officer by default rather than through training didn't make things any easier. But today he was tired and short on temper, and decided that the shortest distance between two points was to vault the table and tackle Hughes.

It was unfortunate that Hughes anticipated him, and took off sprinting, but Roy wasn't about to let that stop him now.

The two of them ducked and wove around tables and soldiers, Hughes cackling and Roy snarling. He didn't even consider the fact that he had his gloves in his pocket. He was going to strangle his best friend with his bare hands, by God.

Right after he got his damn bread back.

Hughes ducked out of the mess tent altogether, which turned out to be a tactical error. They both skidded to a halt directly in the path of Brigadier General Hakuro. What was even worse, Master Sergeant Mitchell was with him, and Hakuro's pursed lips and narrowed eyes were nothing to Mitchell's expression of abysmal expectations wholly fulfilled.

It was the second expression that snapped both Second Lieutenants to attention.

Hakuro passed on without deigning to speak, but Mitchell paused long enough to rake them both up and down.

"It's nice to see someone in high spirits. Sirs." His tone could have put ice on the sand at noon.

Roy winced.

When Mitchell was safely out of sight and ear-shot he rounded on Hughes, mouth open to berate his friend for getting them both into trouble.

Hughes lobbed the roll back to him.

Roy regarded the rather battered hunk of bread for a long moment. "If you tell me that this was all for the sake of getting me to loosen up, as you like to put it," he enunciated precisely, "I am going to remember that I have my gloves with me."

"All right," Hughes replied, airily, "I won't tell you that, then."

He started to stroll back into the tent. Roy's lip curled back. Dignity, he reminded himself strenuously, an officer has a certain dignity to maintain.

Ah, screw it.

The roll bounced off the back of Hughes' head. Roy was unsurprised that Hughes reacted fast enough to catch it, though it would have made things more... piquant if he hadn't.

Roy made his way very calmly past his startled friend.

"Decided you don't want it after all?" Hughes asked.

"Of course I still want a roll. That's why I'm going to have yours. You get that one."

"Excuse me?" Hughes blinked at him.

"In the words of your illustrious mother," Roy said in his best laying-down-the-law tone, which he had, in fact, learned from Maas' mother, "you touched it, you take it."

Maas choked at the imitation, and Roy smiled with great satisfaction.

Then he sprinted back toward the table to lay hold of Maas' roll before his friend recovered.

"Affinities have nothing to do with personalities, Maas, there have been plenty of studies on it."

Roy sprawled on the floor or Maas' tent and took another drink of his beer.

"Oh yeah? Point out to me one person who's more of a cast iron bastard than Gran. And he binds that stuff to his skin." Maas shuddered, delicately. "There's got to be a connection."

"Maas..."

"Not to mention Armstrong," Maas continued. "He can call it art all he likes, there's a man whose answer to everything is brute force." He paused for a contemplative pull on his own beer. "Sometimes it's the force of pure bull-headed chivalry, but still."

"You're reaching, Maas," Roy informed his friend.

"So what about you? You and your flash fire temper, even if you don't usually show it to the poor suckers around here. Boy are they in for a surprise some time," Maas added.

"I control my temper, Maas, and what does that do to your little theory?" Roy arched a brow. The gesture didn't seem to have the same effect it did when Major Gloster used it. Roy would have to work on that.

"Doesn't mean it's gone," Maas pointed out with some justice. "Besides, that isn't the only thing your personality has in common with your affinity."

"What else is there?" Roy challenged.

"Your brilliance."

Roy blinked. Maas gave him a sidelong look.

"It's just like fire, really. It flickers. There's no better word for it."

"Flickers?" Roy repeated. "Do I want to know?"

A corner of Maas' mouth curled. "You're brilliant," he stated. "I don't think anyone doubts that, except possibly Mitchell, and that's his job. But you have the most uneven application I've ever seen. When something grabs your attention, you give it everything you've got, but if it doesn't you couldn't care less."

"What's wrong with focusing on the important things?" Roy asked, a bit defensively.

"It's the not focusing on a few important things that stands out," Maas replied dryly. "Like eating."

Roy was indignant. "I was only fifteen, Maas, and it was only once," he protested.

"A very memorable once," his friend noted. "Your mother nearly had hysterics when you fainted."

Roy sniffed. "The whole argument is false logic," he declared. "You already know my affinity is fire, so you map my personality onto that. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be able to guess based on my personality."

"Maybe," Maas allowed easily. Then he grinned. "It's still a favorite pastime for both the officers and the troops."

"What is?"

"Guessing what someone's affinity would be if they were an advanced alchemist."

Roy rolled his eyes. A smile twitched at his lips, though. "So? What is yours supposed to be?" he asked.

Maas chuckled.

"The general consensus is that I would have an affinity for lightning. Supposing that's possible, of course, most of the guys are pretty sketchy on their science. Is it?"

"Mmm. Could be," Roy allowed, squinting at the canvas above him. Trying to translate from technical terms, he essayed, "If you break air, the bits left over can have an electrical charge. If you could recombine them correctly, you could get lightning. You'd have to clear a path for it, though. It would be very delicate work."

He smirked.

"If you were," he drawled, "I bet what you'd really have an affinity for is air itself. You'd have all the raw material you could ever need coming out of your mouth. Of course, the temperature might be a bit high..."

A small knife zinged past Roy's nose and clattered off Maas' footlocker. Roy laughed. "That's the last of my beer you're getting, Mustang," Maas told him darkly.

Roy grinned and propped a foot on his knee. "Seriously, though," he said, thoughtfully, "if it did work that way, which it doesn't, but if it did... I'd expect you to have an affinity for plants."

"Plants?" Maas blinked.

"Growing things," Roy explained. "An affinity for, well, life. The quiet parts that most people don't pay attention to."

Maas was silent, and, looking over, Roy thought he detected a faint blush. He decided to take pity on his friend.

"So, can I have another beer?" he asked lightly.

Maas growled, though Roy could see the gleam of appreciation in his eyes. "Oh, so that's what this was all about, hm?" Maas languished dramatically. "My best friend, and he only likes me for my beer!"

He tossed over another can.

"I hate these boots," Maas grumbled over the footgear he was polishing. "They might at least have chosen rough leather for the field, but no, it had to be shiny!"

"They aren't that bad," Roy said, fitting the last piece of his gun back into place.

Maas gave him a dour look from where he sat on the bed. "You, of course, wouldn't think so, Mister Perfectly Groomed. Gran probably keeps you hanging around the command to be a sartorial example."

"Ah. Would that also be why he keeps assigning me bodyguard duties like I was some kind of self-mobile gun?" Roy inquired rather acidly. He glanced up at Maas and couldn't stop a smirk. His friend was looking at him seriously, and had apparently forgotten the rag full of boot polish dangling from his hand.

"You're going to get polish all over your bed, you know," Roy pointed out helpfully.

Maas contemplated the boot in his hand, set it down carefully, neatly folded his polish rag beside it, and pounced on Roy, wrestling him to the floor.

Roy tried not to laugh too hard; he needed all his breath. He hadn't won a wrestling match with Maas in about ten years, but some were closer than others. For one thing, Roy had a stronger grip.

It was hard to use it effectively, though, when Maas started cheating and tickled him.

Roy wasn't sure when wrestling gave way to something else, but he was sure it happened sometime before the salt taste of Maas' skin was on his tongue. He traced the line of Maas' throat, and his friend arched back with a rough, low sound of pleasure.

They drew apart of get rid of interfering clothes, and Maas tugged Roy toward the bed. Roy's bare back touched Maas' sheets and he pulled Maas down against him. Yes, that was what he wanted.

"Maas, do you have...?"

Maas chuckled in his ear. "Since being your lover? I stashed some away every place I could think of." He reached an arm under the bed and Roy laughed low in his throat.

"Does that mean I should try to find all those places?" he purred.

Maas shivered against him. "God, Roy, sometimes I think you could bring a person off with nothing but your voice," he whispered against Roy's shoulder.

Roy leaned in to close his teeth on Maas' ear. "Want to find out?"

Maas laughed, breathless. "I thought we had something else in mind for now?"

His fingers returned, cool and slick, and Roy leaned back with a sigh. Maas stroked him, soothing and seducing Roy's body until he was rocking up into the slow thrust of Maas' fingers.

"It happens every time, and it still surprises me," Maas murmured.

Roy made a questioning noise, about all he could manage.

"The way you relax so fast for me."

Roy knew there were a lot of reasons for that, some old and some recent, most having to do with the core of gentleness in Maas. It was what his steel and danger were wrapped around. But Roy didn't have the breath or coherence to explain that at the moment. "You're my friend. I trust you," he managed. He drew Maas down to a kiss. The long fingers inside him curled, beckoning, and Roy gasped sharply. "And I want you," he added against Maas' mouth. "Now, Maas."

He could feel Maas' lips curve into his crooked smile. "Now that doesn't surprise me in the least," Maas told him.

Maas withdrew his fingers slowly, stroking them across that electric place inside Roy, leaving him trembling. When Maas started to move between his legs, though, Roy put a hand on his chest to make him wait and turned over. He released a sigh as he felt Maas' chest against his back, and Maas curled them both up.

Roy liked this feeling, of Maas' long, lean strength folded around him. He couldn't stop a sensuous wriggle as Maas' arms wrapped around his ribs.

Though Roy would never have admitted it out loud, he felt very safe like this.

"Is this all right?" Maas asked against the nape of Roy's neck, and it was Roy's turn to shiver.

"It's good," he said softly.

And then it was better than good, because Maas was pressing into him, and there was something about Maas' care that always undid Roy. And maybe he'd been under too much stress lately, because suddenly he was on the edge of tears for no reason he could find. Gentleness shouldn't cause tears, should it?

Maas was as slow now as he had been earlier, and for once Roy gave himself up to it, letting Maas set the pace, long, leisurely thrusts, until he lay shuddering under his friend, completely abandoned to Maas' touch. Heat built gradually in Roy until he almost felt he was floating, only Maas' weight anchoring him. It wasn't until Maas' hand slid between Roy's legs that the heat tipped over into explosion, and Roy jerked against Maas' body behind him, as Maas drove into him faster, harder now. Fire drowned Roy's senses.

He drifted, pleased that Maas was still curled around him.

"Feel better now?" Maas asked quietly.

Roy sighed a bit. "I can never keep anything from you, can I?"

"Nope. Besides," Maas' arms tightened, "you never want me to make love to you like this unless you're feeling shaken up."

"Thanks, Maas," Roy said, past a small catch in his throat.

He felt Maas smile against his shoulder.

"My pleasure," Maas whispered.

Roy knelt on the cliffs in the darkness, wondering why he wasn't in shock.

Shouldn't he be? Shouldn't he have difficulty believing that he had set half a city on fire? Fire so hot it exploded stone.

But he had never doubted for an instant that it was his hand, his will, his doing that caused the destruction he now looked down on.

His power.

Even if the amplifier was no part of him, it had been his power.

He had always known his own power.

Shock would have made things vague, perhaps a bit more bearable. Not so hideously solid and exact in his sight and memory. Every flash of light, every hurtling shard of stone precise and brilliant.

Maybe he didn't deserve that mercy.

The fist that held his gloves and that glowing ring clenched tighter.

"Roy."

Roy bowed his head. It didn't really surprise him that Maas had found him here. Maas always knew how to find him. He waited for whatever words his friend might find for this occasion.

Maybe they would even help.

But Maas said nothing, only set his hands on Roy's shoulders, kneeling behind him on the sand.

Roy didn't know how long they sat like that in silence, but eventually he leaned back just a little and Maas folded his arms around him. Roy breathed in for what felt like the first time all night, breathed out, felt himself shaking. Had he been shaking before? Or had it just started?

"Don't let go?" he asked, voice faint and thready.

"I won't," Maas assured him.

And he didn't, as Roy listened to the sobs that tore loose from his own chest, distantly amazed at their violence. They subsided slowly, and after a time Roy lay back in Maas' arms, exhausted and wrung.

Maas still said nothing, only stroking Roy's hair back from his forehead. They sat together there until the sun rose and called them back down to the camp.

End

Chiaroscuro

Ed reflects on the similarities between Izumi and Roy. Drama, I-2, spoilers ep 27.

It had been a bit of a shock the first time he had actually seen Roy Mustang, Ed remembered. The first time Mustang had seen him didn't count. Ed had been playing possum, despite a feeling that the owner of that deep, smooth voice he listened to wasn't taken in. But a year later, in Central Station, it hadn't been the casual display of Mustang's power that had frozen Ed in place until the man was on his way out.

His feet had stuck for want of directions from his brain, which was busy tallying Mustang's features. Black hair; dark eyes narrowed consideringly at the world; pale skin; long, thin lips; long, winged brows; round face and pointed chin and high cheekbones. And the name echoing through his mind hadn't been Roy Mustang, but Sensei. The timbre of their voices was even similar. Only months of familiarity had blunted the shock of how much Mustang resembled Ed's teacher.

Ed was deeply thankful that they didn't speak in the same manner at all.

Well... not unless the Colonel was really angry. Then they spoke in very much the same manner—all bark and however much bite they thought he deserved.

And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn. It was faintly weary, and slightly annoyed, and something else that Ed categorically refused to name. If he named it, then the knowledge that he had betrayed his teacher's trust would crush him, and the the idea that his commander gave a damn what happened to him would betray him.

All told, Ed found the Colonel easier to deal with than Sensei. Mustang demanded less of him. Admittedly, Sensei was straightforward, while no one in their right mind would call Mustang any such thing. But what the Colonel wanted from Ed was far simpler. Go here, meddle there, whack this person over the head with a heavy hammer. Whether the hammer was metaphorical or real was generally left to Ed's discretion.

Whereas, with Sensei, the hammer was always real. It was the action that became a metaphor, a meditation, always leading Ed's thoughts up an inward spiral until he was dizzy with the spinning is and might be and can and should.

The really, truly unfair part was that his twisty Colonel had that quirk of eyebrows that made him look, for just a moment, like Ed's agonizingly straightforward Sensei. And when that happened it made Ed think about what metaphor, what meaning, what pattern the actions he took under Mustang's command made. And that gave him a headache.

"Ed."

Ed opened his eyes and looked up out of the grass into the dark eyes above him.

"It's dinner time. Come in."

"Yes, ma'am," Ed murmured, looking aside as he rose.

He'd never thought he'd want to have that headache, but it would have been much better than the brutal twisting in his chest and throat every time he met his teacher's eyes.

Really, he should have stayed in Central.

End

Excuse

This was a gift-fic for moumusu, and a bribe to get her to draw a large, clean... er, uncluttered version of this picture. Note that the picture is decidedly NC-17 (Ed/Roy, light bondage). All those "mustang" and "ride 'em cowboy" jokes finally came to this: Ed ties Roy up to have sex in Roy's office. Porn, porn, nothing but porn. Porn with Insights, Bondage, I-4

Roy didn't tense until he felt Edward fingering the cuff of his glove.

Well, all right, perhaps he had started when the first loop of rope dropped around him and tightened. Edward really was getting very good at moving quietly, and he'd managed to genuinely surprise Roy this time. Enough that he'd caught Roy's wrists behind his back as well as his arms against his sides. But none of that actually made Roy nervous.

When Ed stroked a finger down the inside of Roy's wrist, catching the edge of his glove, that was when a twist of anxiety coiled through him.

Behind him, Edward laughed.

"Relax," he said against Roy's neck, "I know better than that."

Reassured that Edward was not going to test the limits today, Roy did relax, only balking when Edward nudged him toward the couch.

"I just had the couch cleaned," he protested.

"When it was the floor you complained about rug burned knees," Ed pointed out. "Deal with it."

Roy heaved a slightly dramatic sigh, but didn't object when Ed overbalanced him onto the couch. In fact, he managed to roll with the fall and make a fairly graceful landing, considering. Mild attempts at discomfiting each other were all part of the dance between he and Edward on these occasions. It amused Roy to no end that they both worked so hard to maintain dignity as long as possible when going about something as basically undignified as Ed tying him up so they could have wild sex in his office.

In keeping with that part of the agenda, Ed assumed a judicious expression as he arranged Roy on his knees on the couch. Not that he wasn't actually quite considerate, supplying Roy's lost balance as he pressed Roy's shoulders down, and tucking a pillow under Roy's cheek. Edward's hands were light and careful as they unfastened Roy's pants and slid them down.

Ed's hand slipped up the inside of Roy's thigh, and now Roy felt the loosening inside him, the deep shudder of relaxation that was the reason he did this. The reason he didn't snap his fingers and burn through the rope.

And then Edward got off the couch.

Roy's eyes snapped open to see Edward grinning down at him. Roy growled, and shifted, seeking some not totally undignified way to get off the couch again and pounce on his smirking lover. There really didn't seem to be any.

"No, no, don't bother yourself," Ed told him, lightly, "I'll be back before you know it." Roy growled again, and then gasped as Ed ran his cool metal fingers over Roy's bared skin, circling, pressing in hard, once, before retreating.

"Tease," Roy accused, breathless, as Ed stepped back.

"I learned from the best," Edward noted. As if to emphasize that fact he proceeded to strip off every last bit of his own clothing. Slowly. On another day Roy would have taken an act like this as an invitation, and it would have most likely ended rather abruptly, with Edward bent over the desk. Today it was Roy bent over, wanting to feel Ed inside him, but a coherent corner of Roy's mind appreciated the irony that their relative states of undress were unchanged.

Now completely naked, Edward sauntered around Roy's desk to fetch the oil Roy kept there before he finally came back to the couch. Anticipation heightened Roy's senses, now that he couldn't see Ed, the constriction of his thoroughly bound arms sending a tingling drench of adrenaline down his nerves. The heat of Ed's body against the backs of his thighs made Roy shiver, and he spread his knees a little further, coaxing Ed with his openness. He muffled a groan in the pillow when Ed rubbed a slick thumb, teasingly, against his entrance.

"Ed," he whispered, body melting under the touch he was unable to rock back against.

Roy wasn't sure Edward knew it, but he enjoyed it a great deal when Ed set the pace. Edward had a fine sense of how long to tease, how to touch and sooth, to get Roy to willingly abandon his reserve. Ed enjoyed it too, of course, and hence the whole song and dance with the rope, which Edward said kept Roy from distracting him.

Even without it Roy wasn't sure he'd be able to distract Ed now, not with Ed's hand between his legs and Ed's tongue drawing designs over the base of his spine. But, since it was there, Roy let himself twist against it, let his wrists tug against it, and added that touch to Edward's. As Ed's teeth nipped gently, Roy moaned.

"Ed..."

"Hmm?" Ed murmured against his skin.

"...ride me," Roy breathed. He heard the intake of Ed's breath, and felt Ed shift behind him, leaning over him, and then, finally, Ed was pressing into him.

Roy panted against the pillow, not bothering with either dignity or quiet any longer as Ed fucked him. This was what he had wanted from the moment he identified that first loop of rope and declined to burn it, preferring the heat of Ed's fast thrusts into his raised ass. Roy treasured Ed's rhythm, his enthusiasm, his willingness to ignore Roy's rank and reputation, to bend him over on his own couch and ride him hard.

Roy moaned as Ed's hand closed around his length, fingers sliding down him, demanding, and Roy couldn't have kept from answering that demand if he'd wanted to. Fire raced through his veins and wrung a rough sound out of him, flung him outward and left him floating as Ed's movement inside him peaked and slowed. Ed's weight rested over his back for a minute before Ed sighed and tugged the rope loose.

Roy slid into a boneless sprawl, content enough to only make a small face at the wet spot.

"I should take the upholstery cleaners' fee out of your stipend," he told the young man now stretched out on top of him. Ed snorted. "And I've been meaning to ask, who taught you to make knots like that?" Roy added after a moment, observing that the rope had fallen away from him completely with that one tug.

Ed snickered.

"I'll never tell. It couldn't help but affect one of your valuable working relationships."

Roy considered how Edward had phrased himself, and looked at him sternly. Well, as sternly as it was possible to look at his lover who had just finished fucking him senseless. Which, to judge by Edward's smirk, wasn't very. Edward really was picking up some very bad habits.

"And just what bribe do you want," he asked dryly, "to spare me having to guess about everyone I work with?"

"Let me think about that for a while," Ed replied, with a downright feline smile.

Some very bad habits, Roy reflected. If only he could blame this on Hughes. Unfortunately, he'd seen that smile in the mirror before. Ah, well. There were certainly compensations.

He leaned up to steal a kiss.

Hageshii

Lust comes looking for Greed before things heat up. They get to know each other a little. Porn With Characterization, I-4, spoilers ep 30 on.

She found him on a rooftop at sunset, looking down at the streets as the nighttime life of the small city began to swirl into the open, more fluid and frenetic than daytime life. She had a few moments to examine him before he turned to face her, and took advantage of them with some curiosity. He was tall and built more powerfully than most of them. And he held himself differently. He draped himself against the air, with none of the tension she was used to seeing in her own kind. Insouciance wrapped around him, from the pointed toes of his boots to the furred collar of his vest. He could really have been human.

The thought lasted until he turned, and she caught his eyes.

His eyes blazed with the insane desire they all shared, one way or another. They matched his smile perfectly.

"Well, hello there," he drawled. Her mouth crooked at the light in his eyes as they stroked down her body. She could tell the moment he focused on her orouborous; his glance sharpened and flicked back up to her face. "Who are you?" he asked, a good deal more coolly.

"I am called Lust."

"Suits you," he observed, eyes wandering again, though his bared teeth were not precisely inviting. "Do I need to ask why you're here?"

Lust shrugged. "Tonight I'm merely here to see you. I haven't received specific instructions yet."

His brows flicked up. "Just sightseeing?"

"I suppose."

He looked at her narrowly for a long moment, and then chuckled. "Old bat's messed up again, I see. That's nice to know. Well, I'm Greed, so pleased to meet you." He ambled across the roof to her, grinning lazily. "How old are you?"

Lust glanced up at him from under her lashes. He couldn't possibly be as careless as he looked. "I'm told that's not the sort of thing you should ask a woman."

He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "You don't have to worry about wrinkles, though, so what's to worry you about it?"

He did have a point. "About ten years, I think." Lust shrugged, laying a hand casually on his chest, fingertips tapping against him.

Greed's grin turned fierce. "She really is losing it, if one as young as that's already curious instead of just obsessed."

She studied him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You will," he predicted, low voiced, hand slipping under her hair and down her back. It was warm.

"What are you doing?" Lust asked, still unsure whether to be cautious or amused at his maneuvering.

The grin tipped sideways into an unabashed leer. "Taking advantage of the opportunity, what else?"

Lust was startled to a laugh. Was he really that simple, this one she had heard stories about? Of course, the sketchiness of those stories was what had drawn her here tonight. Gluttony wasn't good at noticing details, and Envy's comments about Greed tended to be brief. "Idiot," "Impractical," and "More balls than a herd of bulls" came to mind.

Previous to this evening, she had thought Envy meant that last metaphorically.

Well, and he probably had, she decided as Greed pulled her a little closer against him. But perhaps not just metaphorically.

"So? Are you going to try to carve my heart out or not?" Greed asked.

A good question. She was a little inclined to, just to avoid entanglements. On the other hand, she rather liked the urgency of his body against hers. And it had been a very long time since she did something just because it felt good. She was getting the impression that Greed lived for things that just felt good. There was something to be said for that, provided it didn't leave you sealed for a century and a half.

The gleam in Greed's eyes said that he might not care, even if it did. And that piqued her interest.

"Not tonight," she answered.

"Good enough."

Greed's mouth moved on hers with no hesitation or uncertainty. There was none in his hands, either, sliding over the lines of her back, her hips. One warm palm moved up her ribs to cup her breast and his thumb stroked the bare skin just above the line of her dress, drawing a shiver over her flesh. Lust sighed. There was a roughness in the confidence of his hands on her that she found herself enjoying. It heated something inside her. She slid a leg along the side of his and buried both hands in the spikes of his hair, laughing at the low growl in his throat. He had good legs, under that leather, she could feel.

A brief thought flickered through her mind, wondering where her standards of good legs had come from, but she brushed it away. It didn't matter. What mattered was that the leather was in the way.

"It wouldn't be a good idea for your humans to see me here," she said, elliptically.

"Really?" Greed murmured against her neck, and shrugged. "All right." He lifted her up, easily, into his arms.

Lust raised her brows, slightly nonplused, and then had to stifle an actual grin as Greed sprang down off the side of the building to land on a ledge below and swing both of them through the open window. He did like to show off, this one.

"Very nice," she told him, quellingly, and twisted out of his arms. She lifted her own to run her hands back through her hair and inhaled deeply. While his attention was riveted she let her clothing absorb back into her body and stood in the dim room naked, smiling, challenging.

"Very nice," Greed purred back to her. He shrugged off his vest and skimmed the pants off his hips, and black retreated to show pale skin. It was warm against hers when he wound his arms back around her, walking them both back towards the bed.

She let him lower her to the cool, smooth sheets and stretched against them, reaching up to pull him down as well. His solid weight on her was almost soothing, anchoring her to the moment. She drew him tighter against her, pressing her mouth to his shoulder, breathing in the rich, flat-sharp scent of him. It was the scent of immediacy. And after years of chill manipulation the weight, the scent, the strength of him covering her leached the tension from her shoulders, made her breath come a little deeper.

Greed's hands gentled, stroking her side, her leg, petting back her hair until she let him kiss her. "You're fragile," he said softly, in her ear. "You should be careful."

She pulled back far enough to look down her nose at him. "Excuse me?"

Greed gave her a long look before shaking his head a little, mouth wry. "Not what you think. Never mind."

He lowered his head and she felt his mouth, serious and hot and wet, on her breast. His teeth scraped faintly against her skin, and she arched her back, sighing. Her breath caught in a light gasp as Greed slid a hand under her, caressing the skin over her spine, and licked further down her stomach. She flexed her hands on his upper arms, liking the density of his muscles. He worked a hand down the inside of her thigh and glanced back up the line of her body, the wicked glint in his eye wanting to know what she would do. Lust felt her lips curling up in answer. As if she would be here if there were any doubt; besides, his hand kneading her thigh was turning her own muscles lax and liquid. She parted her legs so he could settle between them. He arched a bit, himself, when she trailed her foot up the back of his leg, and laughed.

And then he bent his head again, and his tongue moved against her, velvety and rough, hot and insistent. His fingers stroked against her, gliding across her wetness, coaxing her to spread her legs further open. Lust tossed her head back and moaned low in her throat.

"Ah, so you are enjoying yourself," Greed murmured, lips brushing against her. "Good to know."

"Mmmm," Lust agreed, eyes dropping shut with the bright heavy heat swelling through her. She was impatient, though. Normally she would savor the pleasure—and she did. But the wildness in Greed teased her, and she shifted, holding out her arms when he looked up. "More."

"A woman after my own heart," he remarked, baring his teeth as he moved up to lean over her.

Lust traced her nails over his chest, pleased at the shiver that ran through him. "Not at the moment. Not precisely," she whispered, and wrapped a leg around his hips and pulled.

A low sound, half a groan and half a growl, wrung out of Greed as he slid into her. Lust laughed again, breathless. He felt so good, smooth and hard inside her, just like the tension of his arms and back under her hands. His eyes were heavier on her, now, intense, and she gave him an encouraging smile from under her lashes as he drew back and drove in again. She pressed up to meet him, and it was almost enough. Almost as wanton and powerful and wild as she wanted. She leaned up and nipped at his ear. "Harder."

The sound he made was harsh and pleased and understanding. Strong arms wrapped around her and Greed rolled over, pulling her on top of him. This time, Lust's smile showed her teeth. She planted her hands on his chest and arched up, pushing herself back onto him, feeling him sink deeper inside her. Greed's large hands moved, sure and easy, over her shoulders and breasts, down her ribs to settle on her hips, and lifted her a little higher.

When he thrust into her it stole Lust's breath. "Yes," she gasped. "Greed..." The long lines of his face were intent now, mouth open on quick breaths. Lust realized that she was panting, too. The thick slide of him inside her, hard and fast, drove silky pleasure over and through her. She flexed against his grip, pushing down to meet his thrusts, and surprise flickered over his face for a second. As if he had forgotten she wasn't a human woman, forgotten that the same power ran through her body as through his.

His grin flashed again, and Greed trailed a thumb down her stomach. Lower. Until Lust cried out, losing her rhythm for a moment, and he stopped there, thumb circling, rubbing sparks to dance down her nerves. She drove down against him, demanding, and Greed met her with a gasp.

"Lust... oh, yes..." His voice was hoarse, breaking over the want and pleasure that blazed in his eyes. He thrust into her just that tiny bit harder that Lust needed, and fire surged through her, tightened down, surged out again. Over and over, spreading wider each time, and Lust moved with it, reveling in the heat and tingle of power and slow, sharp thrill and... oh, yes. A choked off cry from Greed answered her, and she savored the hardness of him inside her, still moving against the clench of her body. She sagged into his hands' grip as the tide of pleasure retreated again, fingers stroking his chest, coaxing him to follow her.

He wasn't long behind.

When his hold eased, Lust slumped down onto him, bonelessly, resting her head on his shoulder. His hands still stroked over her, soothing, encouraging her to stay there.

"Delightful," he sighed.

Lust made an amused sound. "And you," she murmured, sliding a hand down his arm to feel the texture of him, "are... satisfying. I don't say that often."

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "I can imagine."

"You realize," she added, conversationally, "that the next time we meet I'll be pretending it's for the first time? Just to be on the safe side."

The hands moving over her never flinched. "Doesn't surprise me. The old bat's a real bitch if you cross her. And you haven't even figured out what you want, yet."

Lust sniffed. "I want to be human," she informed him.

Greed snorted with what sounded like exasperation. "NaÃ¯ve."

Lust stilled. "Are you saying it isn't possible?" she asked without lifting her head. He was the second oldest of them; he might know.

"I'm saying you're shopping in the wrong store." Greed turned them over, settling his weight on her again, and Lust made a small, agreeable sound even as she eyed him, narrowly. Was he trying to turn her away from that person and toward himself?

A second later she almost rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he was; he was Greed. The question was whether he was telling the truth in the process.

Greed wove his fingers through her hair, gently, his expression weary. "You're more human now than the old bitch has been for centuries, Lust."

Her mouth twisted. A lot of good that did her.

Greed chuckled, and buried his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like the sun at noon, you know." Lust made an annoyed noise. "All right. I don't think you'll understand yet, but listen up." He raised his head and looked down at her, sharp, wild light back in his eyes and smile. "A long time ago, I talked to an alchemist who worked with plants. She said that sometimes you don't need a seed or even a root; sometimes just a piece of plant will start to grow into a new one, especially if you feed it with power. Sometimes just a scrap." Greed's fingers closed on her chin. "Just a scrap, Lust. Remember that." He kissed her, slow and wet and tempting.

Once they untangled their tongues again, Lust gave him a cool look. "You're satisfying and entertaining, both, Greed, but I think Envy might be right; a hundred and forty years in that array did something to your mind."

Greed threw back his head and laughed. "Probably. Not that Envy's got room to talk, the little psychotic. Just remember, all right?"

"All right," Lust agreed. "And I'll be waiting for you the next time you break out of your seal; perhaps we can do this again."

"Gee, thanks," Greed muttered. Then he lifted her fingers to his lips, shooting her a look from under heavy lids. "Be nice if I could get a little help with that project, of course."

"I have no intention of ending up inside one of those myself," Lust said, firmly, sliding out from under him with a bit of regret. But it was getting late.

"That would be a waste," Greed allowed, gaze passing over her body like another hand. "In that case, do you have to leave so soon?"

Lust shook back her hair and reformed her clothing. "Gluttony will be wondering where I am."

Greed blinked, lounging on the tangled sheets. "Not like he'll say anything to her."

"Of course not," Lust waved a dismissive hand. "He'll just worry. And then he'll start eating the furnishings."

Greed, for the first time all night, looked startled. And then his smile returned, too wide and bright and saw-edged to be human. "I'll be damned. I was more right about you than I thought." He came up off the bed in a loose-jointed surge, as cocky and casual as he'd been when she first spotted him, and swept her up against his body, laughing. Lust sighed, and speared a fingertip out to skree off the sudden shield across his throat. Greed barely seemed to notice. "You do whatever you need to," he told her, "and I will, too. And we'll see, hm? Now," he let go and his own clothes raced over his skin, "get on back to your friend."

Lust shook her head, giving up on trying to figure out what he was on about. She did hope he would return to be sealed instead of resisting enough that they had to kill him, though.

Greed flung himself back across the bed, propped up on his elbows, and grinned at her. "And if we both make it, maybe I can keep you next time."

Lust raised a skeptical brow over her shoulder as she left, but she was smiling when she reached the street.

Maybe.

End

A/N: "Hageshii" is the word Lust uses when she's describing Greed after his death. It has connotations of both violence and intensity. The best parallels in English might be "furious" or "tempestuous"—violent because it is the nature of the thing to be extreme and intense.

Directional Transformation

Roy really likes Ed's metal hand. Shameless Porn, I-4, continuity free

"You know," Ed said, thoughtfully, "I bet I could blackmail you with this."

Roy shifted against the bed as Ed's metal fingers pressed deep into him. "But then we'd have to stop." He laughed, husky. "And you don't want that any more than I do, right?" He moaned low in his throat as steel opened him up again, hard and cool, and he pushed his hips up and back.

"Oh, so you don't enjoy it enough to keep doing it anyway?" Ed asked, elaborately innocent, and twisted his fingers deep in Roy's ass.

"Ahh!" Roy pressed his forehead against the smooth sheets, panting with the rush of heat. "I would regret stopping a very great deal," he murmured, spreading his legs wider.

It was the truth. There was nothing quite as electrifying as the feeling of Ed's steel fingers pushing into him, fucking him, sleek and hard and nothing like any other touch he'd ever felt.

"Hmmm. Well, that's nice to hear anyway." Ed's tone was edging back toward the thoughtful again and his other hand was wandering over the curve of Roy's ass, stroking behind his balls. Roy grinned, wryly. He'd probably taught Ed how to tease and provoke a little too well for his own good. He answered silkily, breath hitching as Ed's fingers shifted inside him.

"I should—nnnn—hope so..."

There was a small pat of sound and Roy's eyes widened as a ferocious tingle rushed down Ed's fingers and into him, and those fingers shifted.

"Ed!" Roy clutched the bed, panting, as the touch inside him turned smoother, longer, bigger.

Much bigger.

"Ed..." Roy groaned, sprawled limply over the sheets, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of Ed's hand in his ass—only not quite a hand anymore.

"So?" There was a wicked laugh in Ed's voice. "What do you think about stopping now?" He drew back the slick, hard shaft and thrust it back into Roy and Roy moaned helplessly. It felt incredible.

"Please don't stop," he managed, rather hoarse.

"Mm, I won't then." Ed's weight shifted on the bed as he settled behind Roy, and Roy breathed a faint sigh of relief that Ed wasn't going to tease him with this.

Instead Ed fucked him, slow and hard and steady, and Roy lost his breath on a moan with every stroke. The hardness of steel inside him, absolutely unyielding, had always been a strange kind of touchstone—a sort of integrity in bed if nowhere else. Now what he could only think of as a steel cock was filling him, stretching him, working his ass until he was gasping.

And then Ed leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Maybe we should do this in your office sometime. Over your desk. Would you still not want me to stop?"

Roy's imagination filled in the picture handily—his staff turning to look at the door as his moans echoed through it. Maybe even coming to check what was going on and seeing him lying over his desk with his uniform disarrayed and Ed's steel pumping deep into his ass. A rough, breathless sound tore out of his throat as pleasure spiked through him and his body wrung itself out around the hard metal inside him.

It took him a while to catch his breath, especially since Ed left his hand inside Roy. When he did, he turned his head to trade a dry look for Ed's triumphant smirk. "You've gotten much too observant."

Ed snorted. "Not like that was a hard one." He leaned into Roy, pressing his mouth to the curve of Roy's shoulder. "You spend so much time in control. Making sure things work out." He released the transmutation and the jolt of receding energy made Roy gasp. "I know I get tired of doing that, anyway."

Roy smiled lazily and turned, gather Ed closer. "Once I'm recovered from your experiment we'll have to see what I can do about that, then."

Ed suffered himself to be held. "Still think you're weird."

"No weirder than someone with a taste for, say, being tied down until he can't move," Roy murmured.

Ed turned very red.

Roy buried a grin in Ed's hair, fingers stroking through it. "As soon as I'm recovered a bit," he promised.

End