Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roy received the invitation in the train from East to Central. A moving train. Riza had kept it hidden between papers and papers, in a place he'd only reach after an hour trapped in his first class cabin, no cellphone, just paperwork to work on. 

It was inside a brown envelope, the color close to soil after rain but lighter. It was fitting, if anybody were to ask Roy. The invitation per se was very simple. Bone-coloured paper that held all the information, written in cursive letters and curled consonants. 

“You have been cordially invited to the wedding of

Winry Rockbell 

&

Edward H. Elric.”

Mustang didn’t react for a second. It didn’t make any sense. Just four weeks ago they had been together, under the same roof and between the same sheets. Four weeks ago Edward, his Edward, had kissed him goodbye to visit his brother and Winry. 

Nausea hit him like a truck, then anger. 

The wedding invitation had been personally signed by the grooms, at the end. Winry’s sign was as he had imagined it: cursive and complex and occupying plenty of space. On the other hand, Ed’s sign was small and only his initials. 

His hands were shaking, holding the paper as if it had all the answers he needed. The words started to move, cursive and punctuation moving so hard he couldn’t decipher the shape anymore. He closed his eyes tightly and opened them, hoping it wasn’t real. The invite was still there, between his two hands. 

Roy wanted to tear the paper apart. Destroy it. Kill the evidence he had that everything had—

Shame creeped up from his stomach to his throat, choking him. It burned his lungs and esophagus, drowning him in flames from the inside out. There was no way out from his feelings, no way to hide or even pretend he wasn’t falling apart. A primal instinct he thought he had buried after Ishval told him to move, to run, to look for answers hidden behind the truth. 

Roy put away the invitation inside the envelope, and then between the reports he had already read. He was going to find the truth, even if that meant finding out something that would leave him heartbroken. 

[x]

It started with Havoc asking about the “little boss”, which in Havoc-talk meant he was asking about Edward Elric. Riza had answered something along the lines of “he had been moved to a new laboratory in Central”. Then Breda had complained that it had been such a long time since everyone had seen either of the Elric brothers. After an entire evening lost talking about the whereabouts of the kid that made his personal mission to be the biggest pain in the ass Roy Mustang ever had the pleasure of working with and reminiscing the good old days, nostalgia had gotten the best of everyone. Roy was in a certain mood to indulge his team, considering all the lazing around he usually didn’t like putting up with in the office.

The logical conclusion was to organize a reunion with Edward (and maybe Alphonse, if they were feeling adventurous). Riza, brilliant woman she was, proposed to organize a meet-up commemorating the ten years since Edward had first gotten into the military. 

Although Elric’s military career had extended only the six obligatory years, he had been important enough to keep being talked about long after his discharge. Edward had been the smartest boy Roy had ever come across, taking the entry exam at sixteen and achieving the highest grade since Roy’s own shot at the exam. His reasons were clear from the beginning: to access the means to become a scientist and participate as closely as he could in the process of developing a treatment for his brother, or at least to pay for every medical trial he could for Alphonse, who at the time had a complex combination of rare illnesses. 

Two months shy after joining the forces, Elric had come straight to his office. He’d tapped his mouth twice and given him a report that had a paper hidden between the pages, written in the almost broken handwrite Roy had ever read. Although he was right-handed, everything had been written with his left hand, a childhood accident that left Edward with a metal plaque on his right shoulder and limited movement. Roy was working on approving a new surgery for him.

“Reports had gone missing, and all of them had your name on it.”

A vow of trust.

That note had activated a series of actions, from Roy investigating his superiors to a failed assassination attempt and ending up dismantling a system of corruption. It all had started because Ed was attentive, and obsessive, and caring. He despised the military, but it offered him what he needed — so he gave back all that he had to take care of his job and the people on his team. It quickly earned him the respect of not only the Colonel, but everyone on the team he had been assigned to.

Mustang had offered him a promotion, and Ed had promptly rejected it: he didn’t want any more responsibilities, he just wanted to keep studying. Roy offered to contact him with higher ups, investigators, doctorates and universities too once he left the force, but he also declined the offer then. In his own words: “I don’t want to owe anything to the military. It helped me achieve my objective, nothing else.”

Funnily enough, Edward only ever acted modest when it was something related to the military, even the investigations and essays he published while he was at it. 

The Edward Elric Roy had in front of him in the corner of Madame Christmas's bar wasn’t modest at all. He had greeted everyone with a shakehand and a hug, acting warmly surprised to see Roy. As if it hadn’t ever been there before, drinking hot chocolate at seventeen on the rare occasions he joined for a night after a mission, while everyone on the team got blindingly intoxicated. 

Leaving the military had suited Edward. Long gone were the dark circles under his eyes, the ever so imperceptible vacant stare always thinking of a new theory to write down in his notebooks, and the hunch of his back from long days running around following orders. He looked younger than he should have, clean shaven and bright eyed — at twenty-six, Roy already looked like a man (but perhaps he could attribute that to the years he’d spent in Ishval). 

He wore a leather jacket over a black tank top, and black jeans with more chains Roy had even seen attached to a belt. His hair was golden as ever and shiny, tucked in the messy bun he'd pulled it on. He had earrings now, two little loops on the top of the cartilage; matching the assortment of metal rings on his left hand, thick and silvery lines that caught the light and reflected it as he moved around. 

Edward was handsome. And talkative , after two glasses of whiskey. 

“They invited me to open my own department for investigation, can you believe it?” He said, sounding proud, and everyone on the team laughed. “I’m about to become doctor Edward Elric, investigating how to create stem cells and change them to become neurons.”

Roy couldn’t stop staring at his lips. How they moved and changed with every consonant, how they opened to show his slightly crooked teeth when he laughed and how he tightened them when he was thinking. 

“Do you guys remember when the boss gave us codenames?,” Havoc asked, an almost-consumed cigarette hanging on his lips. Clever way to change the subject, knowing no one but maybe Roy actually understood what Ed was talking about. 

Breda laughed, drinking a mouthful of beer. “I was the rook, wasn’t I?” He said, staring at Ed, going up and down with his eyes. Mocking him. 

“Are you trying to call me short?” Ed answered back, preparing himself to get up. 

“Hey, hey, don’t make fun of the boss,” Havoc said, erasing the ‘little’ out of his title. “We’re here to celebrate him, not make fun of him.” 

Roy clapped twice, getting everyone’s attention. “Fuery was the pawn,” he pointed out to the man, at the moment cleaning his glasses, “Falman was the bishop,” he moved his hand, “Breda, you were the rook and Havoc was the knight.”

“I was a knight in shining armor,” Havoc claimed, moving his glass full of cold beer. “You’re forgetting someone.”

Riza smiled softly, “I was the queen, and the General was the king.”

“What about me?” Ed asked, “I think I was important enough to be part of this chess play or something.” 

“Dear Fullmetal,” Roy said, using the only codename Edward had ever received under his command, a nudge to his metal leg. “at the time I didn’t assign you a chess piece for reasons beyond my control —”

“I wasn’t in the military at the time?”

“Oh, no, you were,” Roy drank a sip of whiskey. Savoring it. “But you had a scholarship, so you weren’t part of special operation groups.” And I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if you had; you were a child, Roy thought. “If I’d had given you a piece, it’d have probably been something like a magician. Although it doesn’t exist in chess, I think it fits. They could create the piece just for you. Make a little Merlin figurine and all.”

Edward wheezed, throwing his head back. “You bastard,” his words sounded warm, sweet like honey. “I should have been a fucking alchemist, with everything I had to rewrite and change in your reports at the last minute. You’d think I'd figure out how to make gold out of thin air by now.”

Everyone laughed.

It was only a matter of time until the team started to leave. First Breda and Fuery, excusing themselves with having an early morning. Then Falman, picking his jacket saying something on the lines of “being too old to keep on drinking.” Havoc smoked three cigarettes, drank another beer and called it a night. Riza didn’t move an inch until Roy looked at her side, and saw a question on her eyes. A silent question on whether Roy wanted her to stay or go. 

Roy tapped the table twice, he wanted to stay alone (or in this case, in company).

After she had left, hugging Ed tightly and insisting on him not to become a stranger; they ended up alone. Vanessa got to their table a minute after that, bringing the bottle of whiskey she had opened just for them. 

Mustang poured himself a glass and offered one to Ed. He accepted. Roy didn’t have time to brace himself before the kid opened his mouth and ruined the first moment of comfortable silence he had in hours. He could barely enjoy the feeling of his brain swimming in the warmth of the ambar spirit.

“Holy shit…” Ed had said, rings knocking on the table as he slammed his hand down. Eloquent as always and surprisingly so, taking into consideration the three whiskeys he had drank in the last twenty minutes. It sounded like he was about to share a discovery he’d been holding back for hours.The kind of conclusion that brought a glint to his eye and pulled a smartass smirk to his face.“You find me hot,“ and he had the gall to chuckle. 

Roy wasn’t so eloquent when he answered: “Me and half of the squadron, probably. What’s your, eh,” he drank a mouthful of something that looked and smelled like whiskey but tasted like shit, “point?”

Ed’s little smartass quips had always, to some degree, pissed him off. At least they could drop the pretense of having to be respectful, Roy wasn't his superior anymore. 

Ed blushed. The pink went all the way to his earrings, it was fucking adorable. Then he kept pushing. All bark, all charm in one breath: “Let’s have sex.”

Roy choked on his drink. Coughed two times. Breathed in. Breathed out. Finally processed the words spoken to him. The words that came out of his own mouth. The kid sitting in front of him sipping on his own whiskey with a smile from ear to ear like the cat that got cream.

“What?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, you’re not that old yet, Mustang.” Ed looked at him, curling his eyebrows and smirking. What. the. heck. was happening? Since when was Edward charming enough to sound inviting? “I think you’re hot, you think I’m hot. Why not?”

If Roy hadn’t had almost a full bottle of whiskey, he would have had arguments against it. Plenty of them. He should have written an extensive report about the fact that this interaction had taken place to take note of it, file it in his personal notes and go back to it the morning after with a fresh head, after decidedly saying no. To even consider it for a second was shameful. It was a bad idea, wasn’t it? Go to bed with someone fourteen years younger than him, not only that but his former subordinate. Fullmetal. Naive and enthusiastic, the golden boy Edward Elric. 

If Roy had found it in himself to be a better man that night, one less influenced by the spirits and the blond’s pretty eyes, he would have said no. He should have been the stronger one, the smartest. He should have said something like “you flatter me Edward, but I’m not interested”, or maybe let him down less gently with “this is a bad idea kid, and you know it”, as if he was still under his command; and either way the thing he should’ve definitely said was: “aren’t you dating that lovely girl from Resemboll, miss Winry Rockbell?”

Instead, Roy Mustang sighed and nodded, looking for a way out of this situation and finding nothing inside his alcohol-filled brain. He had no reason to doubt that if Ed was propositioning him, it was because he wanted to fuck him and he absolutely could . If Roy thought about it for longer than a second, and didn’t catch himself with the fantasy of Ed's lips wrapped around his dick, there wasn’t really anything stopping them beyond… what, really?

Edward Elric had not been under his command for four years. He’d come of age under his command and came out of his experience in the military a better man than Roy ever dreamt to be. The fourteen years between them weren’t going anywhere, but the man looking at him was nothing short of that: a man, not a kid anymore. To top it all off the bastard was fucking pretty.

“Is that a yes?” Edward asked, still smiling through his words. 

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll send you the time and place then, Mustang,” he said, faster than Roy’s brain could think and then move his mouth. “Right now, Coronel, you should take a taxi.”

Damn this man and his words. If he hadn’t drunk half of his weight in alcohol, he was certain -as one could be certain about light, darkness and sound- that he would have gotten hard just by hearing his former title in Edward’s raspy voice. Ed hadn’t been there when he got promoted. 

And wasn’t that convenient? For Ed, not for him. Roy was going to have nightmares just by thinking about this moment, drunk and awfully horny. “I can handle my alcohol just fine, Fullmetal,” and his words sounded slurred. 

“Of course, Mustang,” Ed was still smiling. “Let me call you a cab, and then we’ll see.”

The car took him home in less than ten minutes, and Edward helped him open his front door and get on the couch. 

“Hey,” Edward said, shaking his shoulder a little. ”Don’t fall asleep yet. Drink this.” 

There was a glass of water with ice, and he drank it all. Either because he was very thirsty or he wanted to follow Ed’s orders. 

He was, actually, very drunk.

Roy finished the glass and offered it back to Elric, who made an affirmative sound before leaving it on the table. 

“Okay. I’m going to leave my phone number here,” he was moving his hands and pointing to the table. “Call me when you don’t feel like dying anymore.”

Just like that, Roy knew he was doomed. 

Chapter Text

Not even twenty four hours later, Edward Elric was knocking on his door. He was wearing dangerously low leather pants, and the shortest tank top Roy had ever seen on any man. It didn’t leave anything up for the imagination, from the defined muscles to the scars on his arms and the automail. Edward had changed his braid for something easier to pull: a high ponytail, from where his hair fell over his shoulders and back. 

It shouldn’t have looked so tempting. The pants were low enough for the hem to show skin, the line of his underwear and a little bit of his happy trail. It was maddening just to see. 

“Heya,” Ed said. All of the bravado from the night before was entirely gone under averted eyes and a shy smile. 

“Get in,” Roy answered, opening the door widely and waiting until Ed was inside to close it. 

They walked two, three, four steps inside until Mustang walked to the couch he had in the living room. He sat. Edward followed. 

Barely a minute passed since the doorbell rang, and Ed was already spread out on his coach, legs open with his left hand over his own thigh. Like he was asking for Roy to do something. Anything. 

Tempting. 

“Damn, this is awkward,” Ed announced. 

Roy breathed deeply three times, and moved his hand to the blond’s thigh. Next to his hand. He waited for Edward to move, to push him away or even run. It was still a possibility, after all. 

Instead, Edward surged forward to grab Roy by the neck and kiss him. 

Kissing Edward Elric was an experience by itself. It was soft, chapped lips over his, teeth and tongue trying to destroy everything in their wake. It was single-minded, searching intently inside his mouth and sucking Roy’s tongue. Edward kissed like everything he did, wholeheartedly and with energy. Soon Ed’s free hand grabbed Roy by the hair and pulled hard. 

It had been years since Roy had whined like that, with his mouth abused and having the sound muffled by other lips. Ed wasn’t unaffected either - he was breathing heavily over his skin, moving slowly to his neck. 

Edward would be the reason for his death, he was sure. 

“How would you like to do this?” Ed asked, moving down his right hand through the buttons of Roy’s shirt to his inner thigh, close to his crotch. He seemed to be asking something, but Roy couldn’t wrap his fingers around it yet. 

“How would you prefer this, Fullmetal?” Roy asked back, trying to act as a gentleman even in a situation like this. He could catch the way Ed exhaled after hearing his former title, cheeks pink and warm in proximity; moving his own hand up and down  squeezing Edward’s thigh. 

Roy had to fight the impulse to lift him up and take him straight to bed to ruin him. Tie him to his bed frame and sit on him, and get the best close-up of how Ed lost his control and inhibitions and —

Oh, for God’s sake. 

Mustang took a moment to analyze the blonde from head to toe, staring intently at the bulge showing through the fabric. He was starting to drool. 

“If you keep calling me that, Colonel,” Ed inched closer and whispered with a deep voice, right in his ear “I might even let you fuck me.”

The suggestion ignited a million fantasies at the forefront of Roy’s mind. 

Roy pictured laying Ed down on his own bed, hair loose over his pillow and taking everything Roy had to give to him. To put Fullmetal on all fours, with his legs open and his hair in a ponytail, easy to tug and make him scream too. Roy knew he’d even look charming in the position he liked the most — a shameful fantasy with Ed sitting over his dick and bouncing over it, muscles tensing with effort and so easy and open to receive anything. Unable to hide. With his neck so close to Roy’s mouth, the opportunity to paint his neck with love bites and hickeys. 

Huh. Roy knew right there and then that his stamina wouldn’t let him follow any of those fantasies in real life, at least if he didn’t want to look like a precocious old man. 

(It was a matter of pride: he wasn’t that old yet, barely forty, but it had been a while since he had gotten busy. It took two to tango, and Roy’s dancing shoes were dusting up in his closet.)

Next time, he thought and his body reacted accordingly. What little blood he had on his brain went straight to his groin, erasing in a second all the images he had. 

“What about next time, Ed?” Playing coy was the only option he had, if he wanted to be a gentleman and the best lover Ed had ever had. 

“Yeah, sure,” Ed nodded, sounding unsure. “How about we move this to your room, then?

“That sounds wonderful,” Roy said, words sweet like honey. He took Ed by his waist and kissed his neck; breathed in and then lifted Ed right as he stood, trying to get the younger man over his shoulder while carrying him up the stairs. Ed fought him for a second, trying to either punch him off or to get himself down, but Mustang’s hold on him was stronger and kept Edward up and close to his body. 

Ed sighed and wrapped his knees around Roy’s hip, better distributing his weight around Roy’s frame. The sudden display of strength made him blush. “Shut up.”

Mustang’s room was on the first floor, right by the stairs. It was clean and tidy, with the bed  perfectly made. Roy quickly lay him down over the sheets, only for Ed to pull him down with his legs into a kiss. 

“Keep calling me Fullmetal,” Edward begged as he bit Roy’s lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. He ran his hands up and down the other’s chest from neck to waist, not a moment wasted in finding the buttons to pry them open one by one with a surprising speed. The frantic pace made Roy’s head spin.

“If you call me Colonel, Ed,” Roy started, but Edward interrupted him by filling his neck with kisses and biting down and hard behind his ear, making him whimper. “If you-” 

“You struggling up there, Colonel?” Ed mocked him, laughing and pushing back just a little. 

Roy counted to ten. Edward mapped a trail of love bites from his neck to his chest, pointedly laughing between each of Mustang’s deep breaths. Roy counted to ten once again and with the little patience he was blessed to have still in him, he pushed Ed down off his legs, pinning him down fully on his back only to thrust his hips over Ed’s groin, hard. 

Ed moaned like he’d been hurt. 

“If you’re going to keep calling me Colonel,” he started again, voice commanding and low, almost a growl. “Don’t you think you should follow orders?”

Ed had the nerve to laugh  and try to tug his face closer. “As if I’ve ever followed one of your orders, Mustang.”

Roy rolled his hips, and got a little scream as an answer. Mustang grabbed Edward’s hands and held them down over his head. “However you prefer this, Ed,” Roy said, putting pressure over his wrists. Edward struggled. “Do you want me to be in control,” Roy moved again, focusing on rubbing himself over the blond’s groin. “Or not?”

“Yes,” Ed said, making an active effort to not moan. 

“Yes what, Fullmetal?”

“Yes, sir.”

Roy loosened his grip, feeling his chest tightening. Was he overreading this situation, or…?

“Do you know what we’re doing here?”

Ed gifted him with a smile that looked like a threat, all teeth and no lips. 

“Of course I do,” he sounded serious, determined and calm. “For the record, my safeword is red.” Typical, but not unheard of, Roy thought. It was pretty usual to start on a traffic light system, and then create a personal system — Ed didn’t seem to be the exception. 

Roy smiled warmly. “Anything you don’t like?”

“I'm not a child, don’t treat me like one,” Ed said, and then realized how his words sounded. He breathed in and out in a second, just to try again. “I don't need to be treated like I'm fragile. I could kick your ass, Mustang. Anytime."

“You could, indeed.”

“Who says indeed in the middle of a scene? You weirdo.”

Roy’s smile widened. This was starting to switch from the weirdest may-be-may-be-not mistake of his career to possibly great experience. He stretched out his arm to tug Edward by his hair. The motion was enough to leave him fully horizontal over the bed, getting a sigh as an answer.

“Stay still,” Roy ordered, caressing his face softly. “How many times can you come?

Ed laughed, awfully shy and turning pink at the gentle treatment. “A couple of times. Probably three.”

That was a lot of stamina. Roy might have been resistance but he was never blessed with such a refractory period, not even in his teenage years. He could easily go twice if given time to rest, but Mustang was sure Ed wouldn’t give him time to laze around. Not even a minute. Ed could definitely cum two or three times non-stopping, and wasn’t that a sign of his wonderful youth? Roy felt his blood moving south, his groin hard and tight. 

“Want to find out?”

Ed giggled, a one of a kind laugh. Taking advantage of his hands being freed, he reached for the back of Roy’s neck to pull Roy down for a kiss. “Let's do it, sir.”

Roy felt his dick throbbing in his pants. It was exhilarating to be granted so much control over Edward just as easily — like he deserved it. 

Mustang did his best to undress him without making Ed get up. He struggled, the leather pants got stuck at least twice on the crevices of Ed’s automail leg, and his crop top messed the ponytail he had, leaving his hair loose over the pillows. He was a vision, all golden eyes and tan skin over white sheets. His underwear was easy to slip off  — one swift movement and it was on the floor. 

Edward Elric was beautiful. Handsome in the best way, stretched out on the bed fully on display, close enough for Roy to finally notice the little details he’d never given himself permission to admire. The way the muscles on his right arm flexed differently than the left one under the remains of careful stitches of his surgery, slightly leaner than the other around the bicep. The metal on his left leg clicking with each subtle shift and movement, shining under the light. More scars than Roy had even known about at the time marred his skin, old and faded from his thighs to his hips, across his chest and down his shoulders. He was a sight to pray to, an image to record on his memory for later. The forbidden fruit. And it was on Roy’s bed, waiting to be devoured.

Roy didn’t make him wait long — one moment he was staring at him, the next one was moving his naughty hand next to the other. Roy kissed him slowly, taking the time to taste his mouth and suck his tongue, and to analyze each and every movement that made Edward sigh or whimper. Ed liked to be kissed fiercely, all tongue and teeth. He wondered if Edward liked to be bitten beyond his lips, if he liked getting love bites and getting pressure around his neck. 

Did he like violence, or just a taste of roughhousing? Did Roy have enough time to classify and create lists of things Ed liked, disliked, loved and made him go crazy? 

Roy started a way down his body, peppering kisses from his cheeks to his neck, biting softly and getting whimpers as a response. He moved his mouth further south to his left nipple, the side where he never had any metal, kissed and licked it once. He circled the nipple with the tip of his tongue, and then sucked it with gusto. 

Ed left out a whine.

Roy felt lightheaded, drunk with the idea becoming a possibility to explore and get to know intimately how Edward’s muscles would feel under his touch, his hair and skin and bone under his fingertips. He’d always kept his passions deep inside his heart, his romanticism turned into a tool for the military and all the threads he always needed to be pulling. But right now, a shadow over Ed’s body, he gave himself a moment to feel something that wasn’t lust, a desire so deep to indulge in said fantasies that almost consumed him. 

Roy was aware he shouldn't be thinking about this as more than it was: sex. How could he read this more than skin looking for contact and a way to wind down pent-up energy? Who did he think he was, besides a means to an end? 

(This coming from a man that used to pretend to be a whore for information. While he wasn’t that man anymore, he was aware that should have known better.) 

Mustang took Ed’s dick in his hand, scorching hot and throbbing and leaking precum. Ed seemed to be about to say something, like a plea or an insult when Roy moved his hand again to stroke him firmly and he received a quiet cry. Roy looked up and the image he got was delightful: Edward was thrashing, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and ragged breaths. 

“Don’t cover your mouth, Fullmetal,” Roy commanded. “I want to hear you.”

The erection in his hand throbbed again, and Ed trembled under his touch, pushing forward involuntarily. Roy moved his hands, starting a slow rhythm to read and learn what he preferred. The faster he went, the sharper the gasp; more pressure made him whimper and the slower he went, the more desperate his moans became. 

For god 's sake. Roy could ruin this man through teasing alone. 

“Don't you dare stop,” Ed said, voice broken and shaky. Roy applied more pressure, but his movements became slower and Ed mewled. 

“Are you close?”

“Yes.”

“Beg.”

Edward wasn’t in the right mindset to beg; Roy could still see his eyes fixed at him, focused and open. Like he was down a fight before begging. Although his legs were shaking, he seemed to still be in control. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Edward panted, pushing his hips upward to get more friction out of Roy’s hand. “I don’t have all the time in the world.”

“I think you do,“ Roy answered, taking a second to spit on his hand and take his shaft again. “You wanted this,” after all, Edward had been the one to offer, “didn’t you?”

“Don’t change the subject, you—” He moaned again. “You wanted this first.”

That would have been the logical thing to think, considering Roy’s own stupidity after hearing the offer. But he didn’t let any of his shameful thoughts and looks go too far. Ed had drawn that conclusion himself. Mustang’s other hand curled into his hair and tugged hard; while Edward’s dick was left suddenly untouched. Roy pinched the inner skin of his thigh. Edward sounded about to plea for mercy — not in control anymore. 

“Shut up,” Roy ordered, voice deep and low. He moved his hand from his hair to his lips, filling his mouth with his fingers. Three of them. Lips wrapped around them and sucking instantly. Roy touched his cock again, fingertips circling torturously slow on the head. Ed relaxed his mouth, jaw going lax around his fingers. 

“Beg, Fullmetal.”

Edward opened his eyes, amber shining so much it looked like liquid gold. They were almost all pupils and no color, dilated and unfocused. 

A string of saliva hung between his teeth and Mustang’s fingers when he finally pulled away. “Please, Colonel,” Edward implored, words slurring. He had this look on him, big puppy eyes staring and begging. If Roy had been a better man, more committed to the bit he was playing, he would have left him high and wanting, eager to hear the golden boy beg and cry. Roy wasn’t a better man, he never truly had been; he smeared the precum that had been leaking down Edward’s shaft in a swift motion and he took in the wail that wracked through his chest.  Mustang took a second to touch him while he was thinking, absentmindedly moving his thumb over sensitive skin. 

Roy closed his eyes to think: to focus on his next step. Edward’s dick could feel amazing deep on his throat, hot and suffocating. He would probably moan, and try to move but Roy wouldn’t let him take what he so desperately wanted; only to receive what Roy was offering. The idea was tempting and had been following him since the previous night at the bar, and he could almost taste it, but…  

He couldn’t find it in him to make Edward wait. Roy wasn’t a sadist, at least not in bed. He could pretend and play the role all he wanted; but he deep down adored being taken care of, and he liked doing the same for his lovers. Although he did like commanding, he didn’t like it like this: all forceful and nearly too rough. 

He didn't have the energy or enough control over his own pleasure to keep denying this to Ed. He twisted his finger over his erection just so, and made him cum with a non-astonishing handjob. Ed reacted anyway — his body tensing and going lax, moaning with his voice small and almost shy from the high. 

It wasn’t one of Roy’s best works (and honestly, he could have given Ed a breathtaking orgasm on a better occasion), but he was too turned on to care. Ed cum ended up dirtying his own happy trail and chest, his dick and Roy's hand. 

Roy calculated his next move: how much more he’d need to choose his words to give exactly what Ed wanted; but all lines of thought got lost in a moment when Mustang noticed Ed’s eyes were teary. Roy touched his cheek, evaluating if he was alright or if he had to call it a night; when Edward looked at him and sighed.

Roy shifted uncomfortably on the bed, not knowing what to do. He touched his cheeks, his neck, his chest. Was he having a drop? It took Roy less than a second to panic: although he knew that it could always happen, navigating a drop was tricky, moreso considering it was their first encounter. He had some candy hidden on his bedside table, and he could definitely look for Edward's cellphone if he didn't know what to do – Alphonse was a call away, even if it meant Roy would get skinned alive by a 25 year old. He’d deal with the embarrassment of explaining to his brother what the fuck they were up to to leave him in that state later.

Thankfully he didn't have to do that, because Ed talked to him. 

“Tell me what to do, please,” Edward said, moving his hand to touch Roy’s, grabbing him by the wrist. Begging. “Tell me what you want, please,” he took a deep breath and kept going. “I’ll let you fuck me, but please don’t stop. I always let guys fuck me and I hate it but I know you’ll make it good for me, just please —” Ed whined, and Roy was stumped for a moment. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to top, although it checked out with the things Ed had said to him earlier that evening. It was certain, then. 

Not a subdrop. Edward was just asking what he really wanted. 

Roy allowed himself to feel angry about it; how could Edward have let other people make him a bottom even if he didn’t like it? He made a note to order Riza to ask around his last lovers, and kill them. Make them suffer. Or something. 

He didn’t let it show. 

“Well, aren’t you adorable?”

Edward turned red and melted over the sheets, looking at him with bright golden eyes. 

“Tell me what to do, please ” Edward started again, imploring. “Make fun of me. Just do something.”

He looked so pretty like this, spread out on the sheets with his hair loose over the pillows, legs shaking a little and blush creeping down his chest. He was struggling to breathe, and his lips were swollen. 

“Why don’t you take my clothes off?” The question sounded way more like an order, but Ed nodded anyway. 

Ed followed his orders fast: pushing himself forward to unbuckle his belt and pants, taking everything off in one swift movement and throwing on the floor. He pulled back and waited then, expecting new orders. He seemed to be restraining himself, doing his best to stay still but failing, touching his neck nervously. 

“Open me up,” Roy muttered, not used to asking for this. Back when he used to be in the game, he would prepare himself beforehand — it was easier that way, faster. It was also a matter of trust; and Mustang could count with one hand the people he actually trusted, moreso the ones he’d have sex. Hughes was in that list before he married Gracia. 

None of his past relationships (sexual or romantic) had been with anyone like Edward Elric, who seemed to thrive following orders to pleasure his partner and not himself. And wasn’t that endearing? Edward, who could make anyone drop to his knees with just one word, was asking for directions from Roy. Had begged for it. 

Edward reacted accordingly, high on endorphins, changing their positions to have Roy on his back and perch himself over Mustang. Then he opened his legs, looking at Roy like he was trying to memorize every piece of skin he had. Mustang blushed lightly, cheeks warm. 

Edward was hard again, Roy could feel it pressing down on him. Despite the change in position he felt nothing short of power under Ed’s attentive glance, amber and golden following him around wolfishly. 

It was intoxicating in how badly it made Roy feel desired. 

“There's lubricant in the nightstand,” Roy said pointing at it. Ed moved fast, reaching for the tub and leaving it next to them. 

Ed caressed his hips, going down from his pelvis and reaching his dick to sense it, feel it under his touch; and kept his way. He reached his perineum, doing little circles around the zone. Roy sighed. 

“Like that?”

“You can be rougher than that.”

Ed chuckled, opening the tub and rubbing his fingers to warm up the lube. He started opening Roy slowly, finger pushing inside and lowering himself just so to give Roy’s dick a long lick, making him whimper. 

Roy knew his own body, he knew well enough what to do to relax faster if needed be (and the image of one Edward Elric between his legs was more than enough encouragement). Mustang moved his hips, and Ed got the message clearly: adding another finger. And that was a stretch. It hurt a little, burning on the edges. Edward didn’t move until Roy stopped tensing his back. 

“Is it good?” Ed babbled, suddenly self conscious soothing his free hand over Mustang’s hip to make him relax. 

Edward resumed opening him once the older one gave him a nod, scissoring and curling his fingers inside to make room for a third, quick finger. He searched for Roy’s prostate, eyes focused and single-minded — applying pressure and feeling inside. 

“A little to the right,” Roy said, and Ed followed suit. A thought crossed Roy’s mind that the position they were in couldn’t be comfortable for Edward, using his right hand and having to move it unnaturally. Roy wondered if it hurt — if that arm was still sensitive from the time he couldn’t use it properly after the surgery. It had been almost two years since, but one could never be sure about the aftermath on someone else’s body. 

Roy shot him a glance, looking for any kind of sign of pain, when his train of thought was interrupted by a jolt of pleasure shooting through his veins. Edward had successfully found his spot. 

“Fuck me.” 

Edward’s cheeks went from pink to scarlet, if he was embarrassed or turned on by his cursing, Mustang couldn’t care less. The blond’s hands shook, and the movement made Roy moan as he pulled out. “Sorry,” Edward apologized, as if he had done something wrong. 

Roy tapped the bed twice for Edward to sit down higher up on the bed beside him. Edward rushed to the exact spot without protest, wide eyed and eager to please, and the sight made Roy’s mouth water. It was only logical then, to climb on top of him, perching on the younger man’s thighs without holding back his own delight about it. 

“Do you want this?” Roy asked, lifting his hips just so, showing himself off. No touching yet, he hadn’t instructed to the other that he could. Edward shivered. He bucked his hips up, stopping his own movement mid thrust with a discipline Roy had never possessed under such temptation, especially in his youth. 

“Yes.”

“Oww,” Roy mocked him, drinking in how Edward was looking at him, hungrily. The blond reached out for him but Roy stopped him in his tracks, shushing him.  “Aren’t you desperate?” Edward nodded shyly, hands fisting the sheets after the reprimand. “Stay still. Don’t touch me until I say so.”

Ed nodded again, staring up at the colonel with big doe eyes as his knuckles turned white. Roy didn’t need him to say anything — he looked beautiful like this, sitting on the bed with his hair loose and muscles clenched tightly, clearly struggling not to move even an inch. 

Roy lowered himself, slowly. Ed’s dick was hard and hot inside him. He bottomed out, and he felt how a deep whimper left Edwards lips. The younger man’s body trembled under his weight, still fighting the urge to move. Roy left a similar sigh, high-pitched. He felt big like this, authoritative in a way he’d never quite been, pining Ed down to not move. He’d been under his command once, but the thrill of having the golden boy at his mercy, indulging on his every whim without protest and wanting more was what got him.  

He looks adorable, Roy thought. He lowered his face, and saw how Ed looked at him, knowingly and starry eyed. Ed kissed him — soft and lovely, lips moving over his like a caress, tongue barely licking his mouth.

“You’re lovely,” Roy couldn’t stop himself from saying it. His body was begging him to move, and he could see just how much effort Ed was doing to stay still. “You feel so good inside me, love,” Roy rolled his hips forward, a tease for the both of them. Ed made a sound like he had been punched in the gut and his legs shaked. 

“Can I touch you?”

Roy hummed and moved again. Ed moaned under him. 

“Please?”

Roy smirked, moved his mouth to Edward’s neck and bit the skin between the carotid artery and the ear. Ed pushed his hips, involuntarily. He looked every bit heavenly: blushed to his ears, eyes unfocused and golden, trying his best not to move. The moment passed by. 

“Good boy.” Roy said, finally. 

It was like a flip of a switch, and Edward thrashed under him, thrusting hard before stopping himself on his tracks in a panic. 

“I’m sorry, sorry—”

Roy shifted over to him, changing the angle just a bit and moaning. His legs almost failed him. “It's okay, Edward,” His name tasted like pure honey, like nicotine and too much whiskey, like all of his favorite vices in one. Like something Roy could get used to. “You can touch me now.”

Ed took him by the waist with his non-dominant hand, the strongest, and lifted him, taking Roy's own weight with his muscles. The other touched him from his neck to his thighs, soft as a feather in a single long caress. He waited a second, then two. Looking for some kind of permission. 

Roy fixated his eyes on Ed, on his tan skin and how it shined when the lights hit him just so. Roy rolled his hips, and something must have clicked inside Edward. The non-verbal cue must have sent a lightning down his spine, because he grabbed Mustang by the hips and fucked up into him, tossing him around like a ragdoll. Roy was sure he must have never lost the physical state he used to have when he was in the military — the force he was using to move him and thrust into him and make him bounce was enough to tire him just by feeling it. 

Roy knew he couldn’t keep postponing the inevitable. The tidal wave that was being fucked by Edward Elric. 

Roy thought it wasn’t fair to know as the back of his hand that this was not how being fucked by the golden boy Edward felt - that they were making love. He would kill himself before saying out loud what he’d been trying to name, something that should have never crossed his mind, a feeling that should not have existed in the first place. It was scolding hot like the flames of a wildfire, dangerous and warm and suffocating.

It felt like a riptide about to reach shore. The ocean could never be stopped, and no one could stop Edward from taking what he so desperately wanted. 

Edward didn’t even look tired, only reinvigorated. He thrusted and pulled and bit and scratched every inch of skin near him. He fucked Roy with intention, changing the angle when he got anything less than a whimper from him. He was moaning — freely and shamelessly between arduous breaths, his hips moving so fast Roy couldn’t rest, just scream and babble everytime he hit his prostate. 

Roy knew he was saying things in the lines of “harder, faster, deeper, touch me", somewhere between pleas and prayers. Like he was imploring Ed to let go, to get wild and lose himself in pleasure. 

Roy would take all the pieces and build him up again. He ruined Edward before— he would for sure put him back together again.

Ed said, “I'm going to come, Colonel,” and the slip of the title was strong enough a stimuli that Roy felt his body giving up, the voice and warm body and movement enough to burst out a high-pitched mewl out of his throat. His back arched up, tense and lax at the same time, and he was certain this would ache tomorrow morning, and he came all over Ed's hand, his chest and his own one. 

Ed followed easily — one thrust and he was twitching inside, whimpering his name like a madman over and over again as he came. A quiet moment hung between them, ragged breaths mingling across their faces as they came down from the high.

Edward breathed deeply, softened his grip and lifted Roy by his thighs, leaving him next to him over the sheets in one fluid motion. 

That was hot, Roy thought with the last neuron he could muster. 

He definitely needed to move, go to the bathroom and clean himself and bring a towel for Ed too; he hated waking up feeling sticky. He tried to move from where he was laying down — on his side,  looking up at Edward’s back. He wanted to be a gentleman, clean everything and offer his date some water (date? lover? What should Roy call this? Havoc would probably call it a booty-call, but Ed and Roy had known each other for so many years that it sounded undermining. Dirty).

Instead, Roy heard as Edward sighed contently, and then opened his mouth. “Be right back,” he said and went straight down the hallway, and then to the bathroom. He came back after a minute, with a warm towel and the glass where Roy usually kept his toothbrush full of water. He was humming when he reached the useless body Roy had become after the quantity of one orgasm. 

“Can I clean you up?” he asked, and Roy indulged him by saying yes. Roy could move, he thought, although his arms felt weak and heavy—and his legs were a lost cause altogether. Ed cleaned his neck first, going down to his back in small circles. The towel felt warm and nice over his skin, and before he could say anything Edward was lifting him by his waist and turning him around. He kept the circling movement on his forehead and cheeks, neck and chest. He jumped from his hip to his thighs, going front to back. Circling motion. After he seemed satisfied, he cleaned his dick and ass. Cum was already drying and uncomfortable over his skin and the towel felt rough, but Ed cleaned him despite his complaining sighs. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Ed apologized. “Thought you wouldn’t want to have cum all over your body.”

He wasn’t wrong. Edward had seen through Roy — he had seen what Roy had intended to do, what Roy was expected to do as a gentleman and Edward had just done it. Without being asked to. Roy wondered if they had always been so compatible, or if this mind-reading-thing had developed when they were making love. 

(Having sex, Roy scolded himself).

“Thank you,” Roy said sheepishly, and he found his voice hoarse and soft. His throat ached, and he wondered how much he had screamed and moaned to be feeling it — if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really want to know. 

“Don’t thank me for having some fucking manners,” Ed answered, sounding almost annoyed. “You let me fuck you, I cleaned you up. It's just logical at this point.”

Roy hummed. It had been a while on his side, but he remembered that it didn’t used to be ‘logical’ and ‘having manners’ wasn’t the norm back when he was in the game. Roy used to clean himself after everything, and he didn’t usually have the right or power to call the shots. 

“I can hear your thoughts. Shut it and cuddle me, old man,” Ed chewed him up, and threw the towel he still had on his hands somewhere across the room. 

“I’m not old, Edward,” Roy said, his words slurring at the end: Ed’s name sounding purely vocals and no consonants. 

“Shut up, Roy,” he shot back, “hug me right now or else.”

Roy thought he wanted to know what else entailed, but his limbs were entirely unresponsive now and Ed had to roll him on his side and lift his right arm just to get Mustang to hug him. He curled on Roy’s chest and under his neck, shifting around until he was comfortable. He took the sheets and pulled them both under. 

Roy sneezed. Ed sighed, mumbling something along the lines of this is why I never take down my hair, took a scrunchie from his wrist and tied his hair.  Ed shifted around again, moving Roy’s arm again to throw it over his shoulders. Roy tried to say something, to remember the words he wanted to say but his brain was too full of endorphins and sleep to come up with anything. He failed to even say a word before he was out like a light.

Chapter Text

First thing General Roy Mustang should have done when he got back to Central was go straight back to his office and deliver the paperwork he should have been working on his travel back. The planes of the new building the military wanted to have were resting on his binder, inside the briefcase; as the approved time off for Havoc and Edward Elric’s —

Riza knew him better though. She was on the train station as soon as he lay a foot over the walkway, all militar blue and with a look that Roy could only define as complicated. As she had something stuck on her throat that couldn’t get out. 

Roy couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same. His perspective had turned inside out, as his guts also felt. His head was reeling with the heaviest headache he had had in a long time, his hands were gloved but he could still feel the first-degree-burn he got for tracing the letters on the wedding invitation. He knew he looked like a well composed hurricane — some details were unfitting, but for the normal eye he looked alright, if a little tired. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Riza started, opening the door for a conversation the General didn’t want to have. Ever, if possible. She offered a hand to take the briefcase, and after taking it from his hand (and how affected must Mustang be that he didn’t realize something got taken away from his arm), Riza walked out of the station, looking at him for just a second. Waiting. 

“Not here, Lieutenant,” that was all he had to say to close that door. “Why don’t you come with me?” 

“Yes, sir.” Hawkeye didn’t hesitate. 

That’s how they both ended up laying on Mustang’s couch, the warmest fireplace burning in front of them, both uniform jackets forgotten. The image was lighting up memories on Roy’s mind — bittersweet on his tongue, sweet when he was with Edward. Liquid gold spread over these same pillows, hands tainted with charcoal and ashes after cleaning the fireplace. 

The memory was strong enough to make Roy want to disappear in it — dig a hole in his own brain and stay there. If possible, forever. If not, enough to erase the coldness that his bones felt after an hour, after reading that letter. That wedding invitation. 

“How are you feeling, sir?” 

“We are friends, Riza.” 

Riza smiled, the feeling not reaching her eyes. 

“How are you feeling, Roy? ” 

The one and only Roy Mustang trembled under her focused eyes. “Is it real?” he asked, words curling up just so that it sounded like he was laughing and drowning at the same time. 

“Yes, Roy. As far as I know, that same invitation has been sent to all the squadron,” her answer sounded truthful. Riza had definitely investigated a little bit. 

“It’s… conclusive, then,” he laughed again, whole body moving. “He’s not the type to do half-assed* things.” At least not the young man Edward had grown to be. 

The quietness absorbed them. 

“Am I allowed to speak freely, Roy?” Riza asked, after at least five minutes still and quiet. 

Roy wheezed out a half-done laugh, nodding. “Yes.”

“Something about this seems fishy to me,” Riza announced, taking her own invitation from the coffee table. “You are an observant man,” she kept going, not waiting for Roy to answer, “and you’ve known Elric for quite a while.” 

That was an understatement. Almost a decade working with the kid under his command, and then following his new career from afar — essays on academic journals, his words printed in books talking about neurons and new biotechnology. A degree, and then a postgraduate degree and a doctorate. Those years couldn’t even compare to the last six months. Edward from afar was shiny, but the closer Roy looked and shared time and space with him, he had come to the realization Edward was radiant. 

Edward was like the sun — warm and wonderful, almost-too-bright and jovial. He was filled with ideas and perspectives and a brain Mustang would have killed to have. He was the type of person to make his mind and run with it all his life: his career, his love for his brother. 

Apparently, Winry Rockbell had never left that list. 

Roy sighed. 

“Roy,” she spoke, eyes going between his stare and the invitation. “If something seems amiss, do not underestimate yourself.” She held the paper to the lamp they had over their heads, shining artificial light through it. “Or him.”

Roy took the paper from her hands and looked through it with the light; he didn’t have the heart to deny that declaration. The invitation per se looked aloof — between the colors (“why would you choose a color when it doesn’t shine at natural light?” Edward had complained once about Roy’s greyish and greenish suit jackets. Colors and tones Ed seemed to hate, ditching every jacket the General had that looked “muted or dull”); the typography (“cursive is a bastard,” Ed had said after spending half an hour watching Roy write reports. “I was unable to learn it again by myself when I could only use my left hand, and I’d smear all the paper with ink, block letters were easier.”) and even Edward’s own signature on the invitation. 

Mustang had seen enough of his former subordinate’s signature to realize it looked strange. Edward used to sign with his full name (except his middle name, Roy had learned: Van Hohenheim II was the worst name anyone had the displeasure to have, and Edward hated his father enough to erase his existence out of his life). The first capital letter of each name looked like a three number backwards, curled and big; and then the other letters were always written small and in the poorest manuscript anyone could have. 

His signature on the invitation looked small, as if he had hesitated to sign it. The closer he looked, the clearer it got: either the pen had been running out of ink, or Edward had been shaking while signing it. 

After spending at least ten minutes analyzing the invitation and paper, Roy gave back Riza’s invitation. She was right, as always. 

“Do you think this invitation is a statement on its own?” Riza asked again, hammering down all Roy’s suspicions in words and sentences. 

“Riza, I don’t think—”

She tapped the table, looking mocking and annoyed at the same time. “You’re right, Roy,” and it was made Roy feel ashamed to hear her say that he didn’t think. Moral compass and best friend, his ass. She was evil. “You’ve known that kid for a long time,” she got up, walking to the hall and taking his uniform jacket from the coat rack. 

Mustang wanted to follow her, to get up and say goodbye at the door, but his feet were stuck on the floor and he couldn’t stop thinking.

“I wouldn’t take that for granted,” Riza lastly said, opening the door and waving him goodbye. “See you at the office, sir.”

[x]

Edward looked wonderful in the mornings, Roy had decided, laying on his stomach with hair all loose and tangled between both of his pillows, mouth opened just so and face relaxed. The sun illuminating his back, tan skin and scars and fucking freckles that Mustang had to resist to touch and bite and kiss. 

He looked like hope. Like the reason Roy would get out of bed and keep climbing the military charges: to come back to this. And wasn’t too early to think something like that? Edward hadn’t been back into his life for less than forty-eight hours. But Mustang knew, as he washed his face in front of his bathroom mirror, that he would hold onto this with all his might, with nails and teeth and every bone he had. 

It was only natural from then on. 

It started that same morning, after Roy had brewed coffee and made breakfast for a small arm and took it all to bed to wake Edward up. After eating Edward looked sleepy and satisfied, lax over the pillows and Roy’s chest. 

“Can I blow you off?” Ed had asked, as someone would ask about the weather, lips wearing a shit-eating grin. 

Roy nodded, crawling to the bed frame lazily. He heard a laugh, and then —

“I don't need to be laying down, old man,” Edward mocked him. He got up and took Roy by his legs, pushing him effectively to one of the edges of the bed. Then he received a handful of lips and tongue, a hand on his hair and feather-like touches over his pajama shirt. 

Roy was just human, if a little easy. He started to get hard, blood running south so fast he felt dizzy. His lungs ached a little but he couldn't breathe properly — Ed had decided to kiss him. 

Edward’s hands started to pick his shirt, trying to get it off and deciding it wasn't necessary anymore when Roy could feel Ed fingers under the cloth and directly on his skin. Touching. 

Roy was about to say something, probably complain or make a snarky comment, when a rather harsh kiss allowed him to feel Ed's hard-on. 

“You seem to be enjoying this, don't you Fullmetal?” The question was supposed to be rhetoric, a way for Roy to feel like he was in control (and not the other way around). 

“Shut up bastard,” he didn’t sound mad at all, if a little playful. Edward proceeded to take off his shirt, kissing and biting his chest after. Bites that would probably leave an angry red mark on Roy’s pale skin. 

Well. He couldn’t care less. Nothing that makeup and his own uniform couldn’t hide. 

Edward got on his knees then, mouth still touching his skin - chest, stomach and pelvic bone until he went down to his clothed legs. Roy’s pajama pants and underwear went out in just a second, straight to the floor. 

Roy's skin felt cold under Edward’s warm hands, touching his thighs with desire and squeezing the skin possessively. 

Edward stared at him for a moment; dilated pupils looking straight to his dick. Then he touched him softly, feather-like sensations (and if Roy wasn’t rock hard before, well, he was now.) Then he licked the shaft. Roy looked down and oh. 

Edward looked gorgeous on his knees, hair tied in a bun. His neck and chest were full of tiny red spots, and he had scratches on his shoulders. He had his mouth opened and he was teasing Roy’s head with his lips, pinkish and swollen.

His mouth was open and humid, almost velvet feeling surrounding the tip of his cock, and then some more. The length he didn't have inside that cocky mouth was between his fingers. Then Edward relaxed his throat in a movement Roy would call impossible and hot.

The boy was skilled, Roy could feel it. He was bobbing his head up and down, slowly. Licking the sides and so sensitive head. 

Roy grabbed him by the hair, and Ed hummed, sensation going straight down. He moaned, and Edward hummed again, looking up. Eyes laughing with cockiness. 

“You look beautiful like this, mouth full of my cock. Have you ever been called beautiful?”

Ed twitched under him, something between a complaint and a groan escaping his lips until he released his cock with a clear ‘pop’ sound. “'m not a girl, Mustang.”

Roy took him by his hairline, pushing his neck up to see his eyes. “I know, Fullmetal,” he touched his cheeks, his neck, his ears. “You are gorgeous.”

Edward looked like he was about to mock him, to call him every insult he had saved all his life. Instead he picked up right where he had left it: closing his lips and sucking. 

“And you’re doing so good,” his voice was tremulous, deep and soft. “So, so good.” Roy wanted to control the words he was babbling but Ed was doing something with his tongue and he didn’t have more thoughts than hot and warm. 

“Shut it,” Ed complained, affected by his words. He was blushed to his ears, and he was trying not to look at Roy. It was the same look Roy had seen before Ed had confessed to preferring to be a top. And he also looked just about to get into subspace. Marvelous. “I’m just blowing you, nothing else.”

“You are lovely, baby,” and the pet name was inevitable at this point: Roy was too far gone and high with pleasure to realize he wasn’t respecting Ed’s wishes to only be called Fullmetal. It had not only felt natural to switch to a stupid loving pet name, but it also seemed to be doing something to Edward, who was staring at him half-wolfishly half-adoringly. It’s hormones, Roy thought. 

Edward moved his hand to his thighs, pinning him in place to swallow him whole and Roy saw stars behind his eyes. 

“You’re amazing, Edward,” the name was a mistake. Roy knew it. But he felt how Ed melted under it, bucking his hips to nothing and closing his eyes for a second. “You’re going to -” make me come. 

Edward nodded, humming with his throat full and eyes big and nice. He was embarrassed, but Roy couldn’t understand why exactly. His legs were shaking and it was a matter of a slight movement to get cum in Edward’s mouth. After, with his dick sensitive still inside his mouth, he heard a whimper that morphed into a moan. Edward’s legs were pressed on his, and he was shaking and when Roy looked down he could see a whitish stain on his underwear. 

“Don’t you dare say a word, Mustang,” Edward said, voice hoarse and ruined. “I will bite your dick off.” 

Edward found him downstairs after his nap. 

“I thought you had quit it,” he said, surprising Roy in his own kitchen, who’s bending his body out in one of the only windows the first floor has. He wasn’t smoking the usual kind, but a rollie; the leaves burning slowly. 

“I thought that too, Ed,” Roy answered, with some kind of mischievousness in his eyes Ed couldn’t explain. Like he was hiding something from Edward — if it was either a raging addiction or the need to have something in his mouth, well, he didn’t really want to know. 

How could Roy ever explain this feeling to Edward? How his chest sometimes hurt for wanting to have something that was only his? The feeling of burning was a substitution, some kind of way to let out this yearning he had been feeling since, well, at least five years. And it wasn’t about Edward, even if sometimes was about him — Edward Elric, genius and so loving, had chosen in the past to share his time with one lovely girl from Ed’s origin little town, Winry Rockbell. 

How could he say something so ridiculous like “I want to give you all my secrets”? How could Roy be so selfish to want to monopolize Edward’s time? How could he keep saying truths instead of lies? And what Roy should’ve done with his feelings?

Smoking was a quick fix. Lips hot and throat sore, but he could swallow his feelings in smoke. His lungs were fucked anyway after Ishval.

Chapter Text

“Brigadier, Alphonse Elric is on the line. Do I let him through?” Havoc asked. 

“Yes, thank you.”

A second of silence, too short to even panic. (What if something had happened to Edward? He had his brother on the other line. It was probably the only way he could get the news of an accident or anything bad. Then: “Good morning, Brigadier Mustang. I hope I'm not interrupting something important,” Alphonse sounded as cheeky and warm as always, smiling through his words. 

“Not at all, Alphonse,” Roy answered, masking his emotions perfectly. “What pleasure do I owe you?”

Alphonse laughed softly. “My brother didn't tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?”

The younger Elric sighed. Bad sign. “Ed chose us both as best men.”

Mustang had two seconds to think what to say. He could feel how his office was going in circles, dizzy to the point of feeling sick. His vision blurred, and his legs went weak. His lungs did something right then, closing and aching at the same time in his chest, ribs and muscles tight. How much heartbreak could a man endure, before he turned useless? 

“I understand,” he answered instead, voice low and controlled. 

“I was thinking about sending you the things you could organize from Central —that way you don't have to come here every other day. Or send you the checks to sign.”

“I could lend you one of my subordinates.” It was impersonal that way. Roy could pretend it was something else, something related to the military. 

“That won't be necessary, Brigadier,” he chuckled. “I can definitely organize my brother's wedding in record time. I knew it would be this way.” Alphonse sounded playful, with a tone Roy linked directly to Edward. 

“Send me the checks, then.” Mustang took his right glove from his hand and squeezed his fingers to his palm, scratching himself, looking for the perfect mask –the perfect line to say. “Thank you, Alphonse.”

He sounded almost genuine. 

“Thank you , sir. I apologize if this might be an inconvenience for you.”

“None taken. I know how Edward is.” It tasted like a lie. ”Now, if you excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

Riza let him get out of the office way earlier than he was supposed to. Maybe the way he wasn't able to hold a pen was telling of his mental state —maybe it was the little red lines he had now in the palm of his right hand. Riza took one compassionate look at him and obligated him to go. 

Roy took one step into his house, and the whiskey bottle found his lips in an instant. A practiced movement, a remnant of his former addiction. Day drinking was a staple when his hands couldn’t stop shaking and pain sounded like a great option. Whiskey went easy on his tongue, bitter and warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, which was a blessing considering all the alcohol he wanted to have in his body. 

It was easier to numb this pain. Enclose it in a bubble with whiskey until he could keep living. Keep moving forward. It wasn’t supposed to be like this — but again, that was his own damn fault. Roy had known since the beginning that a love affair with Edward Elric was going to leave him heartbroken. One couldn’t simply trap the sun in a bottle, hold it inside a flask, as if light couldn’t stop from getting away, slip through Roy’s fingers. A taunt for what he could never have. A game that had been rigged since the start, and it felt like Edward had taken something out of him — which was ironic because he had never been his. 

His house phone rang, and Roy still had one functional neuron in his brain, because he picked it up despite his awful drunken state. 

“Mustang speaking.”

“Roy! Damn, it’s been a while since I heard your voice,” Maes Hughes was on the other line, sounding as cheeky and energetic as always. “I’m back in town, fancy a date with an old friend?”

Maes had been involved in the conspiracy Edward had helped disassemble, but he had gotten fatally hurt and on the run under threat of death for months. It was his own idea to fake his death and go on a secret mission for a few years. 

Despite his bitter mood, Roy smiled. He had awfully missed Maes in his life, furthermore when he was trying to kill himself in whiskey. He was both his moral compass and the evilest person he had even met; which was a compliment coming from him. 

“I’m too trapped in a chess game to get out.” In their code that meant he was too fucked to get out of his house. 

“I’ll be there in five then, grandmaster.”

Hughes found Roy half-sit half-laid on his couch, half empty bottle of whiskey held on his right hand with strength, knuckles white. He hadn’t even taken off his uniform completely —his blue jacket was next to him wrinkled and folded in half, he was still wearing pants but he had ditched the boots. 

He looked like a mess, if Hughes had ever seen one. The worst part was that he didn’t even look sad or haunted by demons. He looked defeated. 

“What happened while I was away, Roy?” he asked, straightforward as always. They knew each other too much to pretend something wasn’t going on. 

“Edward’s getting married,” he said, voice almost shy. 

Hughes realized something in that moment; normally he would have said something like ‘congratulations are due’ but he stopped himself because Roy looked miserable. Eyes sad and hazed, shaking hands and a raspy voice. As if he had been trying not to cry. 

He didn’t even have to ask for more information, because Roy opened his mouth and spit the truth in little words. “I’ve been meeting Edward Elric for the last six months,” he admitted. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but the kid was almost living with me by the end of those months.” 

Maes nodded. “And what does this mean?” To you, that was implicit. “I suspect you haven't even asked the right question, have you?” Damn this man and his uncanny ability to read right through his facade. Roy hadn't even gotten the time to actually think how to ask Edward what the hell they were. Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? A flame burning so hot they would get burned eventually? “Do you really think his silence is the answer?”

Roy laughed sickly, taking a sip out of the bottle. “Silence is an answer, Maes. I wanted to believe that it wasn’t an answer in itself, but he hasn’t even tried contacting me. Today I got a call from Alphonse telling me I'm meant to be one of Ed's best men. There's nothing to ask, Maes.”

Hughes opened his mouth to say something — probably a counterargument.

Roy felt suddenly very, very tired. “He doesn’t want to talk with me.”

[x]

“I think I really like your house,” Ed said, walking out of Roy's bathroom and into the bedroom with a tiny towel over his hips and a bigger one over his shoulders. “Even an old man like you can have good taste.”

“You wound me. My taste is immaculate, Edward.”

Edward laughed at him. He had his hair loose, and it looked almost ash blonde when wet. The scar he had from his shoulder blade across all his upper arm was violently pink, as was his cheeks. 

“Why do you own so many towels? It's unnecessary.”

“Why are you using two, if you think it's unnecessary?”

Edward looked at him in that mix of cockiness and anger Roy had associated with sex. “It’s easier to dry my hair like that.” He walked to the bed, taking the clothes he had left and putting them on. “And you hate sleeping with wet pillows.”

“Excuse me if I'm too exigent with my bed partner. Excuse me if not wanting to wake up with first degree burns for the chaffing makes me pretentious.”

“Don't put words in my mouth,” Ed discarded the towels over the door. “Unless you want to put other things in my mouth.”

Smooth motherfucker. Roy blushed, just barely. Edward talked about sex acts as one would talk about the weather, and he had received straightforward propositions more than once. Like “would you like to get a blowjob or I steal a book from your library?” Or “want me to bend over the table and you fuck me?”. The most dangerous ones were in the lines of “I want to open you up with my mouth, I'm bored. Can I?”

That would lead to long lazy makeout sessions and at least twenty minutes of Ed's mouth in Roy's asshole, eating him up like desert and making moans so pornographic that could have been an act. But Edward wasn't acting — Roy was sure Ed was having the time of his life down there. Then he would add fingers to his clever tongue, taking his sweet time until Roy either commanded him to fuck him or begged to get dicked. (The latter was an exception to their overall bed dynamics. Roy liked commanding. Ed thrived in following or ignoring orders.)

“Not tonight, Ed. I need to be up by six.”

Roy was back in the desert, sand under his naked feet. Hot wind in his face. His uniform felt heavy over his limbs, like dead weight on his legs. He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t hide. He was standing in the middle of nowhere, the sun reflecting over the sand and creating illusions. Was the shadow over his left real, or just one trick of his mind?

It was real, the shadow. It was a person walking to his side, gun pointing at his head. He had to do something, anything — there was no way he could save himself from death. His legs were stuck to the ground, and sand was starting to move around, swirling and shifting as only quicksand could. 

He was going to die. It was a fact — as someone could know their own name. 

The bullet was never shot. Instead, Roy felt how his lungs got filled with sand, suffocating him with pressure and dryness and something he couldn’t quite name but that felt and tasted like blood in his throat. 

He woke up. Roy could feel his heart beating fast and strong, pulsating on his head like a drum. There was no air in his lungs. He instinctively took both of his hands to his throat to take away the pressure he still felt over it. As always, there was nothing putting pressure on his carotid vein – only panic and nausea.

It was still dark. He got up fast and ran to the bathroom he had next to his room, legs barely moving as fast as he needed them to. One, two, three steps and he was in front of the toilet vomiting all he had eaten by dinner. There was no point resisting it so Roy didn’t. His body would find a way to force everything out whenever he wanted it or not. 

His throat was burning by the time he was done. His mouth tasted like vomit, acidic and bitter. At least he was more awake now, and he could feel his ragged breaths. There was sweat on the back of his neck and forehead, his knees ached over the bathroom tiles and he was clenching his hands and his jaw. 

Roy stood up and struggled to open the knob for the cold water. He cupped his hands under the tap and bent his face to wet his face. The temperature was violent on his feverish skin, like a punch, pins and needles feeling on his cheeks – but it was good. There wasn’t enough water in the Ishvalian desert, and it was always warm. Cold water was grounding. 

He could still taste vomit on the back of his mouth, so he took a little bit of toothpaste and spread it over his incisors in a circling motion. Then he placed some water to move it around, toothpaste bubbling inside his mouth. He swallowed the saliva-toothpaste-water-substance mixture and spit whatever was still inside. 

His body walked back to his room, and it was then that he realized he wasn’t alone. There was someone sitting inside the sheets. Someone to explain his nightmares. Damn, he had ruined someone’s night of sleep again. 

His tired eyesight didn’t allow him to see who was inside his bed until he was about to get inside it again. Ash blonde and golden eyes were looking at him. Edward. 

“Hey, Roy,” he said, and his voice was grounding enough for Roy to realize he was also touching his right shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

The bed was still warm, but the sweat was making him feel cold and it created a crawling sensation from the inside out, like his muscles were trying to tear the skin apart and get out of his body. 

“You’re not there,” Ed reassured, still touching his shoulder. That spot felt like it was on fire —Roy wasn’t sure if he wanted to feel more or less. It was maddening. “You’re in Central.”

“I know,” Roy whispered, shaking like a leaf. Ed tentatively touched his other shoulder and when Mustang nodded, he hugged him. 

Edward felt warm and solid by his side, arms strong, holding him with such care. Roy didn’t think he deserved that softness, but he would accept it either way — he nuzzled his neck, hair tickling his face. 

Roy was still shaking a little when they separated. 

His hands feel cold and sweaty under his own —and Ed tried his best to warm him up with soft caresses and touches. He was trying so hard to follow his breath, moving his eyes from one side to the other as if he was counting second by second. Four to breathe, four to exhale. Four to breathe, six to exhale. Four to breathe, eight to exhale.

By the time Roy wanted to open his mouth, his heartbeat was barely in the normal beat per minute. "Edward," his voice sounded hoarse. "Make me forget." It was a plea. It was a declaration. 

Edward frowned his eyebrows, and shot him a glance that said exactly what he was thinking. Don't you dare ask me this right now. How could he even ask? He was still shaking. He looked older and so hurt, eyes still trying to look for possible dangers in the room. He wasn’t one hundred percent present. 

"Please."

"No, Roy."

Mustang looked at him again, and there was a subtle change in his expression. "You're right,” he sighed. “I apologize."

He was doing that thing he did when he felt self-deprecating —luckily for Ed, Roy wasn’t even trying to fake a smile. He just looked small and weak. Vulnerable. Rejected. And Ed had his share of nightmares in his life, and brains would act particularly weird after a fast high and low of adrenaline and dopamine. It could feel like a subdrop. It could feel like crap. 

Who was Edward to deny Roy of what he needed? "I'm sorry, okay? Come here," Ed cupped his face and kissed him and Roy melted under his lips. "What can I do for you?" 

Dynamics. That was easy enough. That's something he could use as a reference point to think and act.  

"Please."

Roy must’ve been out of his mind. He had said please twice in less than two minutes, and he was already relaxed and malleable under Ed’s hands, head lolling on the conjunction between neck and shoulders. 

“Let’s get under the covers, yes?” He said, directing both his movement and Roy’s to be lying down. Dark eyes were staring back at him in the sweetest expression, soft and small and so sensitive. Tender. 

Edward kissed him again then, both lying side to side, and he cupped his face and touched his cheeks lovingly. Roy whimpered under his touch, eyes closed and breathing slowly. 

He moved his face diagonally to show his neck, and Ed kissed his skin, pampering kisses and nuzzling him with his own cheeks. Roy sighed again.

“Lemme take this off,” Ed said, raising his pajama shirt until Mustang raised his arms and he took it off. He kissed him again, both arms working on his naked skin now - the left one was putting a little bit of pressure under the muscles of his shoulders and back, and the right one was going down his chest, pale soft skin under his fingers. 

His mouth went south to one of his nipples, and the moment he licked one of them, Roy rolled his eyes and Ed was hit with the realization he had never seen him like that. He hadn’t been allowed to touch freely, not like this —lazy and indulgently, hands languidly analysing every patch of skin and scar. Roy reacted like his nerves were wired and on fire, sighing and whining with every caress, every movement. 

When he reached his underwear, Roy’s breath was already fast and superficial. The fabric was wet, and he was hard. Ed touched him under his underwear, and Mustang curled up, moaning lowly. 

“This okay?” Edward asked, looking for any kind of discomfort in his face, and finding his cheeks pinkish. It was almost endearing to see him so lost and relaxed, pleasure printed so openly on his face. 

“Yes,” Roy nodded, “please, keep going.”

Ed smirked. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Edward closed his hand over his dick, moving his wrist and trying different movements and pressures until Roy’s hips were moving forward and he was glassy-eyed. 

By the next kiss Ed gave him, he could feel how Roy’s eyelashes were wet, shining every time he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by every point of contact of Ed’s hands. He sounded desperate, almost helpless. 

“You can come, Roy. I’ve got you,” he whispered. That must’ve been what he needed to hear, because when Edward moved his wrist and put a little bit more pressure over his head, Roy grunted and came over his hand, agitated and with hazed eyes. 

Edward looked at him once more, and was beautiful laying on a pillow, cheeks still warm and hair disheveled. He licked clean his hand and hugged him tight, one hand on his hair and the other one making circles on his lower back. 

It was at that moment, warm and soft between Edward’s arms, when Roy had an epiphany. Like connecting the invisible dots to draw a bigger picture he couldn’t see before. Like being able to breathe after staying underwater for hours and days. 

He was infatuated with Edward Elric. Somehow, even if he didn’t know when or how, Ed was holding his heart between his gentle, young, and soft hands. It was the only explanation he had, considering that it had been the first time he had felt comfortable enough to ask to forget his demons. His chest ached, heart heavy and beating fast even when his muscles were relaxed. 

The moment he had asked to be taken care of was when he had signed himself to who-knew-what-kind-of-bond they had. Control had slipped off his hands, and there was no way he could build a new mask, a new character to wear around Edward that wasn’t pathetically in love with him. 

Chapter Text

It had been six weeks since Roy lit a cigarette. Days into weeks into a month time morphed, moving forward. Moving him forward, further from that last day he spent with Edward. 

Roy missed the smoke in his lungs, the almost burning sensation that was left on his throat, fingers hot and stained. Six weeks feeling empty. There was nothing inside his heart worth taking out — nothing that wasn’t a beautifully built lie. How could he put in words the way he felt something was lacking in his life now? Roy suspected Edward probably felt like this before getting his automail, a limb gone forever. Oh . There it was again, his chest aching. 

He had to keep breathing. There was a reason he was chosen to be a best man (besides the obvious: he had almost unlimited funds to send for this event); he couldn’t disappoint Edward. 

Roy looked for the pack of cigarettes he had hidden in the internal pockets of his tuxedo. It was greyish and the jacket had buttons on the right side. It was regal. Formal. Winry wanted to have an unifying color palette. Best men and women wore either grey or bone white — dulled colors to create balance with her shiny white dress, and with Ed’s black tuxedo. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Edward said after Roy moved to his side, reflection in the mirror showing them next to each other. He opened his mouth to say something else, either an excuse or an explanation, but instead he closed his mouth.

“Alphonse asked me to be here,” Roy answered. Justifying himself. It never used to be like that — not since Edward had left the military. He couldn’t even rationalize his own feelings; it was meaningless. 

Ed sighed. “Sure.”

He disappeared from Roy’s sight then, entering the little changing space that was only partitioned by a curtain. The General could hear him struggle with the stiff fabric, whispering insults and complaints he couldn’t quite hear. 

“Do you need help?” Roy asked. Despite the way this situation made him feel, he still had to act up like a best man. It was a compromise he had made. 

He couldn't stop thinking about Edward in that changing room, half-naked in front of a mirror, fighting with the one-hundred buttons he had between shirt, vest and jacket. Was his right arm acting up? The muscle would get stiff with colder weather, and it had been a harsh winter. Winter that Ed hadn’t spent by his side. A season Roy had planned to spend by his side. 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It wasn’t the time to get upset. 

Instead of answering, Edward opened the curtain and walked right to where Roy was standing. The mirror didn’t do justice to how handsome Edward Elric looked in a tuxedo. Black really suited him. The jacket was darker than the vest, drawing attention to his arms and waist. The vest tightened his figure, golden buttons shining under artificial light. Hair high in a ponytail, locks shining amber and gold with every movement he made. 

He looked beautiful. 

It felt like being stabbed. Blinding pain in his chest, lungs compressed, and ribs collapsing inside. There was no way anyone could keep light inside a flask, and there was no way Roy could have been anything else than an acquaintance for Edward. It was as simple as that. 

“Edward,” Roy said, getting a glance of liquid gold staring back. For a second, they looked at each other - there was a pending conversation between them. But nothing came out of their mouths.  

The silence was heavy. Almost violent. 

Edward opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Alphonse appeared by his side, running until he was able to jump-hug his brother. “The suit looks great, brother!”

Roy ran away, like the coward he was. This thing he used to have with Edward had been, undoubtedly, a mistake. It was time for him to realize that Ed hadn’t felt anything but attraction. Mustang had probably been his experiment to see if he liked men. 

He took one cigarette and lit it. It tasted like glory, like ash, and all the regrets he couldn’t name. 

[x]

Edward woke up screaming — the kind of shout that Roy had associated with his own nightmares. Roy panicked, looking for a gun or a knife or any kind of weapon to defend himself. It was still dark so he had the upper hand. Before he could do anything, something lit up a light. Someone. Edward. 

His hands were shaking a little when Ed looked at him.

“Hey. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Roy tried to smile – tried because he was still very much fighting to keep his eyes open, and his mind wasn't thinking clearly yet. The nightstand light helped. It was also a little bit blinding, between gold shiny hair and artificial light.

“It's ok,” he said after a second. Edward looked distressed, eyes closed tight to not cry. It was heartbreaking just to see. They had fallen asleep back to back, and Roy turned around to take this fragile and beautiful creature in his arms. Holding him. 

He relaxed a little, loosening his expression. “It's been a while,” he whispered. 

Roy wasn't a damn stranger to nightmares and terrors, after all he had been haunted by them since he was seventeen. They had started back when he was still at the Academy, his brain getting used to his reality. Then he was sent to fight in Ishval as a chemical engineer. His demons stopped looking like enemies and were more related to guilt, fire, and sand burning his skin until he was just a pile of bones. 

No stranger to night terrors. Probably for Edward, who had run away from the military when he could, having a nightmare next to anyone made him feel ashamed. Embarrassed. 

“Nightmares are a common occurrence of the mind, dear ,” Roy said, hands slowly finding Edward's hair and brushing it with his fingers. “You don't have to apologize for it.”

“That wasn't a nightmare, idiot,” he answered, more bark than bite. He sounded tired and fragile, his voice raspy and wobbly. 

“You were screaming,” Roy said matter-of-factly. 

“I had a realization.” Oh, yes, that was enough of an explanation. Obviously. 

“While you were dreaming? Inside your dream?”

“Yeah,” he nodded slightly. Roy took a long glance at him and concluded he didn't look as shocked as he thought he was. 

Roy hummed. 

“I've realized I've forgotten how my mum’s voice used to sound,” he said, shying away from Roy's attentive eyes. 

He hummed again and took one of his hands to nuzzle and touch his shoulders and neck. “You can tell me more about that,” he said, and then added, “About her.”

“She was… soft. She smelled like butter and sugar, like vanilla and flowers. You've probably seen pictures of her back when I took the exam to get into the military.”

“I have,” he said. Roy had seen plenty of pictures of Edward's biological family, deceased mum and estranged dad, and sick Alphonse. He had spent more time with that folder than he'd like to admit, reading every little detail about his disabilities. He had a strong and new kind of prosthetic (automail, Ed called it in his first interview) on his left leg after a car accident had smashed half of his; and a right arm with limited mobility for all the metal plates they had to put inside the muscles for him to not lose it completely. 

Mustang knew everything he could have, but it was from printed pages of interviews from a sixteen years old Edward. The Ed he had on his bed right now looked sad, instead of composed and filled with contained rage. 

“I have a lot of videos of her talking, back when my father was still around. Pinako would record short videos about her, Al and me.”

Roy nodded. 

“They knew she was sick. Both of them. Hohenheim and Pinako,” somehow he didn’t seem to be hurt by that fact. “My mum had the same type of cancer Al ended up having.” His eyes looked tired, but his expression was cold — he was talking with almost medical precision. Without moving a muscle, he said: “They did that for us. To have something left of her.”

“You don’t have to tell me all of this, dear.”

“But I want to,” he said, fast. “I know about Ishval. It’s only fair that I-”

“It’s not supposed to be fair,” Roy said frankly. Edward had learned about Ishval because he used to work for the military, and Riza had told him once. “It is what it is.”

Edward stayed quiet then, taking Roy’s hand and nuzzling his cheeks against it. 

“I’m still angry at my dad,” Edward said after some time. It felt like a confession. “That’s ironic, isn’t it? He saved Al. Without his bone marrow donation, my brother would be dead.” It was the truth, Roy knew. He had read Edward’s file more times than he should’ve after he left the military. “But he disappeared when Mum needed him the most. When leukemia was making her weak and skinny, when she couldn’t keep food down, and she still had to take care of us . When Pinako and Win had to take us out of the house because Mum was vomiting blood.” 

Roy caressed his cheeks, feeling how the skin was warming up. 

“Where the fuck was he? What was more important than taking care of his wife? What would you leave without a trace to follow, no fucking cellphone and no address to look for you?” 

Edward was crying now, tears wetting his cheeks and Roy’s hands. Roy cleaned them, one by one. His eyes were darker, almost amber-like. He was biting his lips, probably trying not to sob. 

“You can let go, Ed, dear,” Roy muttered, giving him permission. “I’ve got you.”

There was no sound. Roy moved his hand to Ed’s neck, and that was it. Edward left out a wrenched sob, so broken and small, and started to cry harder, melting under the older man’s hands. 

“I’ve got you.”

Roy hugged him, pulling him so close to his chest that Ed could probably hear his heartbeat. Ed clung to his back, arms shaking and head lolling over Roy’s shoulder. He looked younger like that — eyes irritated and wet, cheeks pink with red stripes that followed the path of his tears. Some locks of his hair had loosened when Ed was sleeping, and they were sticking on his cheeks and jawbone. 

Roy was struck with the realization that he had never seen him cry before. In six military career years as his commander officer, he had seen him being upset, angry and even sometimes joyous. Mustang had seen him scream and shout, complain and kick books out of his way — anger and rage were common back in the day. He’d shared time with a determined Edward Elric, laser-focus only in his goal to help his brother. 

Somehow, even surrounded by tragedies, including the death of his father, Ed hadn’t cried. He had shed one lonely tear when Al was discharged from the hospital, cancer free with some blond hair already growing back. He kept his feelings tight, so locked inside that Roy had thought Ed was unable to intensely feel something else besides anger and determination. 

Of course, spending time with him had proved him wrong. Edward was capable of showing a wide variety of emotions with various levels of intensity. Affection and passion were the ones Mustang associated him with the most. 

And now he was letting himself go in Roy’s arms. He kept crying for twenty minutes, going quieter and smaller by every passing minute. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Ed said after a while. He had stopped crying. “Riza will kill you and then she’ll kill me if you’re late tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, dearest,” Roy said, still caressing his hair and shoulders. Every time he touched his back, Ed grew softer. He was falling asleep from exhaustion. “It won’t be the first time I take three or four cups of coffee to survive a workday.”

“But-”

“It’s alright, love .”

Fucking was common ground for them. It was easy — almost like breathing. Roy had given Edward a key to his house, and so he’d wait for the General with home-cooked food and a smirk on his lips that could only be translated as danger. Nine times out of ten, the night would find Roy on his knees or over Ed’s thighs, riding him until he couldn’t say more commands, and Edward would worship his body until he’d come inside. On an usual night, when Roy wasn’t tired, they would fuck again. 

Edward was still young and had stamina enough for the both of them. And Mustang liked being coddled for once in his life; touched as his skin was blessed, handled with such care he didn’t think he deserved but accepted anyway. Attention was nice. And his lover was thoughtful, always looking for ways to make the sex better , positions to manhandle him to feel more and moan Edward’s name until his throat ached. 

Once, after sharing bodily fluids, Edward found Roy smoking and asked to try it. 

“I always thought this might taste good, considering all the people I’ve seen smoke in my life,” Ed said after taking the smoke out of his mouth. “I was fucking wrong. This tastes like shit.”

“I warned you, dear.”

“And you also lit this cigarette for me. Don’t be a hypocrite.” Nevertheless, Edward took another drag. There was no way Edward could say what he was thinking back then; it was something between the lines of I did this because I want to understand why you do what you do, and I’m falling in love with you. It was ridiculous. Tobacco tasted like ashes in his mouth, bitter and almost-barely sweet. 

He still couldn’t understand why people would smoke. But he was willing to understand how Roy’s mind worked, how this and drinking and various vices represented all the things he couldn’t say. 

They went to bed then, hands still smelling like ash and muscles relaxed. Roy was about to cuddle Edward when a cell phone started ringing. 

It was Ed's. He sat down to pick up his phone. 

“Al?” he asked after picking up, his voice showing how worried he already was. 

“Brother! You have to come to Rush Valley as soon as possible,” his voice was far away, and there was a lot of static on his side of the line. “I need to tell you something.”

Edward’s breathing grew shallow, eyes stuck to the floor. “Is something wrong?” He was already panicking. 

“Yes. No. Just — please take the first train,” he said, words slurring a little bit. He sounded tired . “As soon as possible. I can’t tell you what’s going on over the phone.”

That made Edward start shaking. There were a number of things Alphonse couldn’t say over the phone, and fewer considering their parents were both dead and Granny Pinako was still alive. Winry would have told him that, right?

Or maybe. Maybe they found out he had cancer again. It was the kind of news Al wouldn’t say over the phone. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, brother,” he answered. 

He sighed, relieved. 

“Is Granny Pinako alright? And what about Winry? Is she alright?”

His breathing was ragged, and if it wasn’t for Roy’s hand on his back, he’d probably have a full-blown panic attack. Roy’s hand was warm and comforting, and he was drawing circles on his lower back. 

“Yes. But please come here.” He hung up. 

How much time did Edward have until the next train to Rush Valley? Some hours at least, if the schedule was the same as it had been six months ago. There was a direct train at six, which left him with seven hours to pack, buy the tickets, and get to the train station. 

“I could drive you,” Roy said, hugging him by the waist, arms warm and soft, embracing him. 

“Don’t you dare,” he answered. “Riza would kill me if you lose a workday. And I can go by train.” It was personal . And if it was as serious as he suspected, Ed wanted to protect Roy from the mess. That’s what it sounded like. 

“Let me drive you tomorrow morning, then,” Roy sighed, peppering kisses inside his neck and shoulders. Touching his right ear with his nose to then leave him a kiss there. 

When Ed stopped shaking, the older man got up and got the suitcase he had over the wardrobe. Then he moved from there to the laundry room to fold and pack each piece of clothing Edward had been leaving in his house. A toothbrush. Toothpaste. Clean underwear. One of Roy’s sweaters - deep blue and knitted. Warm. (Edward had confessed to him once that he ran cold on trains, and how he usually forgot to pack adequate clothes.)

When he was back to his room, Edward had gotten up and was walking like a zombie to the bathroom. 

“You’re going to shower?”

“Yeah,” he sounded lost. Afraid.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Edward’s ears were ringing by the time he was out of the bathroom, wet hair dampening his clothes. 

“Hey, darling,” Roy said, “Let’s get you another towel for your hair, alright?”

Edward just nodded. 

After wrapping his hair in a towel, Roy whispered, “I love you.”

Chapter Text

The church Winry and Edward had chosen for the event was in the East. An imposing building with sharp pinnacles, with stained glass windows that shone gorgeous shades of blues, yellows, and reds when the eastern sun hit them just right. Right now, with the sun just behind Roy, the aisles looked almost ethereal — yellow and red mixing to show an unnatural orange. 

There was a room where Edward and his best men were told to wait. Wait til it was time for the wedding to start. Roy had been trying to be cordial, if not nice. Every step he took inside the church felt like walking on thorns, stabbing him through the black moccasins. He wanted to run away. His ears had started ringing the moment he walked in, sound reverberating with every movement he made.

It was torture. 

Edward was already there in the room, perfectly dressed from head to toe, not even a hair out of place. He looked miserable if Roy had ever seen him. Eyes so dark they looked bronze, biting his lips in a nervous tic, and moving his legs unceasingly. 

Alphonse was nowhere to be found, which wasn't a surprise — he had spent every waking moment for the last two weeks fixing every little detail like a madman. 

Roy closed the door and only then Edward acknowledged his presence, looking at him for a moment and then staring at the floor.

“We should talk,” Mustang said, walking to stay by his side. 

“Not in the mood,” Ed barked back, emotionless. 

“I will talk, if you allow me,” he said, and Ed just stared at him blankly. “You can pretend all you want, Edward, but we both know this isn’t what you want to do,” Roy declared, voice clear and neutral. A perfect mask of seriousness. “And if you’re at least half of the man you think you are, and I know you are, you will leave this place immediately.”

Ed flinched violently, stopping the repeating motion he was making with his legs. “You don't understand.”

Roy walked to where he was, invading his personal space without touching him, only some inches separating their bodies. “But I do, because I know you, Edward — I know you take your coffee with two tablespoons of sugar, and you smile at little children when you’re walking down the street. I know how much you wish you could fix your own mistakes, even if there was nothing you could have done to avoid making them.” He stopped for a second to take a deep breath, and then kept going. It felt almost like a practiced speech. “How much your past follows you around when you see a single mom with two kids. How much you care for people, how intense your love burns in your chest — I even know what you’re feeling right now, at this exact moment.” Edward left out a bitter laugh at that. “Let me tell you what I see. I see a scared man about to make the most stupid mistake of his life.”

Edward was blushing bright red by the time the General stopped talking, hands shaking slightly and eyes shining with rage. He looked like he wanted to bolt or punch him in the face. “You really don’t, Roy fucking Mustang. You, you keep your heart in a see-through glass flask and hope everyone will understand what you mean. And you want to understand and have everything and everyone, but you don’t even know what responsibility means.”

Roy flinched, the movement making him back off some inches. There was color in his cheeks now, looking between outraged and scandalized — like he had actually been punched in the face. It was barely noticeable how much Edward’s words had affected him, but it was somehow obvious to the future groom. 

“I fear you’re mistaken —”

Edward took two steps to be violently inside Mustang’s personal space, “I’m not making a mistake! You think— fucking shit, you think everyone is so fucking inferiour and you have to make everything about you and how you fucking feel and how much power you hold over people. Including me.” The curse words weren’t uncommon in Ed’s vocabulary, but he had never used them this way, with all the venom and ugliness, as he was now: to stab Roy with them.

And he was actively trying to hurt Mustang now, chest all puffed up and eyes sharp and looking fiercely into Roy's own". Edward took one more step forward, and Roy could smell his cologne, vanilla and wood, and something warmly spicy. His hair smelled different, like lavender and jasmine: floral. A woman’s fragrance. 

Roy tried touching him, moving his hand to caress his cheek, but Ed has awfully good reflexes and he moved his hand. It was enough to break the mask he was so painfully holding up — Edward stopped frowning, eyes going from staring at him to looking at the floor. He took a deep breath, and then he opened his mouth again.

“You, you, it’s fucking always about you,” He moved his hand to point with his index finger to him and then to literally stab his chest with it. “This time you can’t fix anything, so you can take all your shit and pack it up and just leave.” He sighed, hopelessly so. 

Mustang tried touching him again, getting his hand to his shoulder this time, trying to offer him the kind of comfort he so obviously and painfully needed. It was upsetting just to see him like this: still and full of rage, calm and calculating his next movement. As if he was still on the battlefield.  

Edward not only winced back when he got his shoulder touched, but he recoiled as if it had been fire burning his skin. Instead of going backwards, the movement made him get even closer to Roy, only some inches close to his face. 

And for a moment, he thought it was the perfect opportunity to ditch the wedding. One peck on the lips and everything would be over. One more step and Edward could be swept away from the stupid suit he was wearing, the flowers Alphonse had so delicately chosen, and — and Winry…

“I have a son,” Edward confessed. “He was born when I had just reached Central. Winry — she didn’t want to tell me because she wanted to be sure it was mine. Even when she didn’t need to. Last time we had sex,” those words seemed to physically hurt him, “was a year ago. I think you’re clever enough to do the math.”

The General stayed still, staring him right in the eyes. His words hadn’t even sunk in when he opened his mouth to state something that was right in front of them. “You won’t be like your father,” he said, voice calm and pronouncing each word slowly. “Married to Winry or not. You’re aware of that, or am I mistaken?”

Edward jumped back then, taking some distance away and leaving a high-pitched gruff. His right arm was tensed up (and screwed his life, now he was in pain), and his body was shaking. “Winry didn’t ask for this, she didn’t want to get goddamned pregnant and she couldn’t even take that decision herself because when she realized she was expecting it was too fucking late. This was imposed by me. And I have to own my mistakes.” He left out a sniff that was only the preamble to silent tears falling down his face. “I won’t let that child have a fatherless life.”

Roy looked at him. Really looked at him. And damn, the man looked lost. Doomed. Crying silent tears that were falling down his cheeks, and getting lost in his tuxedo. And despite the pain in his eyes, despite the way he seemed to be ill-fated and done for it, he was still holding himself straight. 

Mustang realized two things at the same time: he knew this wedding would go down to the last minute, and he knew something was so violently wrong with Edward that he couldn’t even bear ever staying in his presence anymore. Because he was about to break his own heart in front of all the people that knew him, and damn Roy and his stupid crush, this was more than that: it was Edward being a self-sacrificing ass and letting everyone stare at him while he signed himself to misery. 

And the worst part about it was that Roy Mustang couldn’t do anything to stop him. He could only watch as the ceremony moved on, Edward looking like an empty vessel around everyone else. 

Listening to Edward Elric say I do to Winry felt like having his chest ripped apart into a hundred pieces. It hurt more than having been shot. 

It was heartbreaking to realize Ed only looked at him once: right after the ceremony, with his eyes filled with tears while Roy had a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

Roy knew exactly what message he wanted to get across: I will prove you wrong. Just wait. 

Art by kimochiiwaruii (Twitter, Instagram)

Chapter Text

Edward Elric showed up at Roy's door after a year, holding a sleeping baby with one arm and dragging a half-assed suitcase. He was smiling, but his eyes looked sad. 

“Hey. Long time, no see. Can I come in?”

Even after all the time apart, that smile could make him move mountains. And Mustang didn't have it in him to close the door and let Ed adrift, alone. 

“Yes, of course.”

He got in, leaving the suitcase in the living room and still holding close to his chest the baby. “I signed the divorce papers last Monday,” Ed said even before Roy could ask or say anything. “Know I should've called you, sorry,” he sighed. “I erased all my contacts but Al, and when I was on the train I realized I didn't have a way to contact you.” 

Edward looked tired, and the bags under his eyes were darker and deeper. He looked like so many things overlapping into each other, a kaleidoscope of emotions and contradictions. 

“By the way,” the older Elric said after putting his son to sleep in a very much improvised crib made out of a single bed with a corner against the wall, sheets and a patchwork quilt covering his tiny body. “You were right.” He had never seen that quilt before in Roy's house, but it somehow fit the aesthetic. It was something he could have bought for his child, and the thought shot him a pang of sadness straight to his chest. 

There were two identical cups of tea over the counter, and as he walked to sit down, Roy hummed in acknowledgment. 

“It was a mistake. Marrying Winry.” 

The owner of the house didn't answer right away; instead he sipped his tea, as if he was tasting the words in his mouth before saying them. His eyes were cold and he had a lopsided smile, an arduous attempt to hold a mask over his emotions. Ed hadn't seen him making such an effort to hold everything inside since… well, since he was still in the military. 

“How much time are you going to stay in Central?”

“As long as you could have us,” Ed answered, pointing upstairs. “We’re a package now.” 

Roy chuckled. “You were always a package with your brother,” he played with his fingers over the side of the cup. “This isn't different.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Roy laughed again, almost emotionless. 

“If you need employment, I could ask around,” he said, eyes stuck in the hot liquid inside his cup. “Hughes might be able to take you in his area,” he hummed again, trying to decide something. Then he took a deep breath and said, “You can stay in the guest room until you get a place to live. That is, if you want to stay here. There might be other opportunities in the East.”

And Maes could have you in your house, Roy thought bitterly. It would be the wisest thing to do, have some distance from Edward and his child, meet them on weekends and holidays. At least it would hurt less like that. But Mustang wanted to have him by his side. He had never been a good man, and he was awfully selfish and self-absorbed. How much damage could this one last selfish thing do?

“Wait, no. I'm here,” he said, putting emphasis on the last word, “to stay for good. If you'll have us.” He blushed then, in the spring of his late youth. “In Central, it doesn't necessarily have to be over here in your house.”

Roy had never been struck with the realization that Edward could clean up so nicely. Even with dark circles under his eyes and the overall tired parent aesthetic, he had never looked quite this beautiful before. Not even in his buried memories did Ed look as radiant as in that moment.

He was wearing his hair in a low ponytail, grey shirt under a dark jacket, dark (still leather) pants. He wasn't wearing the wedding ring, and instead he was rocking some silver rings in his index and ring finger. 

Fatherhood suited him nicely. 

“I see. There are great opportunities in the city for a family like yours,” Roy said, pretending to act unimpressed after Ed's declaration. Because it couldn't be true. “Taking into consideration you're planning on settling down.” He took one more sip of his tea and wrinkled his nose in disgust. It had gotten cold.

“Would you like a glass of whiskey?”

“Sure.”

Mustang got up, fetched the short glasses first and then the quite expensive whiskey bottle. Then he prepared a metal recipient* with some ice cubes, because he still remembered how Edward took his alcohol (“always on the rocks, I hate when it's room temperature”). 

Whiskey was poured. 

Roy took one sip. “What are your plans this time, Elric?” 

“You,” Ed chugged his drink. “I want you.” Then he brushed his bangs out of his forehead. “How many more times do I have to embarrass myself and repeat it? Do you think I'd be here, away from my brother, if I didn't want you?” He sounded offended. “Do you think I'm stup—”

“Prove it, then.” The general didn't even raise his voice. “Because if my memory is not hazy — and we both know it's not—, last time you even had the audacity to insinuate you wanted me, then you ran off and got hitched to your childhood sweetheart.” He took a deep breath and asked, “Or did I miss something?”

Edward opened his mouth, probably to defend himself or to offer a counterargument, but Roy kept going. 

“And don't you dare say you had your reasons, because that is just a bullshit excuse.” Ed flinched when he heard the curse word. Roy chugged his glass, served himself another one, chugged it, and sighed. “I wouldn't have minded you running away to marry any person in the world if I knew for a fact they were the love of your life.” Something I wasn’t, Roy thought. 

Ed tried to interrupt him again, but Mustang made a movement with his hand to stop him. “If that had been the case; if — why couldn't you say that to my face instead of sending that goddamned invitation?”

“Roy—”

“Edward. I was at your wedding. You looked like you wanted to die.” 

Edward took a deep breath, so exaggerated that Roy could see how his stomach expanded and then contracted. 

“I was scared,” he confessed, voice low and shallow. “I tried making the best decision that I could, and back then it felt like the right thing to do.” He took the short glass, empty of liquid, and started moving it around his fingers, a clinking sound each time the glass made contact with his rings. “I knew— fuck, I wanted to come back running back to you, okay? And that wasn’t a viable option.”

Roy lifted the bottle, a silent question if he wanted more. Edward nodded and left the glass on the table. Amber liquid was poured and went straight to his mouth, down his throat. 

“It wasn’t only about me. It wasn’t even about Winry. It was about Francis,” he glanced to the stairs, to the room his son was sleeping in. “The hardest thing for me was to realize I had made a mistake. And I’ve hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Roy looked over to the stairs. He thought about the tiny baby with light hair sleeping in the guest room, wrapped around the quilt he had bought for him as a gift. And all the gifts he had been buying despite the distance Edward had put between them, baby clothes and books about parenthood, and even a crib he didn’t have the heart to send away or build. The leather diary he had started writing with Maes, filled with advice only a veteran father could give — Hughes had called it the book about the wonderful adventure of parenthood. 

Some kind of comfort, the kind Edward would have gotten raising a child with his childhood sweetheart. 

There was a lump inside Roy’s throat, something painful he tried swallowing down with more whiskey, but it didn’t go away. He sighed and lowered his stare to his own hands. Choosing what mask to wear. One more degree of separation from his feelings. 

“Has parenthood made you sentimental? I never thought I’d see the day you would grow soft.”

Edward laughed, sounding jovial and relieved. The mask Roy was wearing was paper thin, and he could easily see how affected he truly was, behind his words and the smugness he was pretending. “I don’t know if I’m growing soft, Roy,” he said his name, the r sound rolling in his tongue with a recovered country accent. “I just realized I can’t be a good dad if I’m miserable. And I can’t live my life pretending I’m in love with someone I am definitely not.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. Half mocking him, half not even believing what he just implied with his words. 

“I’m in love with you,” Edward stated, looking him dead in the eye. Eyes shining golden and amber and something Roy couldn’t even begin to describe.

Roy left out a chuckle that was more a bitter sigh. His mask was breaking and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. “There is no way you are saying this now,” he said, smiling to not show any other emotion, “you don’t know me.”

One more test. The last one. The last opportunity he was willing to give Ed to recoil and hide away, to say ‘I didn’t mean it’ and leave him alone again. Geez, Roy had never been so permissive with anyone else but Edward.

“But I do,” the words were easy on his lips. “Mean it. I'm in love with you.” It sounded real, truthful. “And if you're a totally different person than you used to be a year ago, I want to fall in love with you again.”

That was the exact moment Roy stopped acting. Something clearly broke inside his chest because he let out a pitiful and low whine and got up the table to be next to Edward — and the man received him with warm, open arms to be chest to chest and hug him. Face to face. So close Roy could see little brown freckles inside the iris of his eyes. 

He was shaking. 

Ed cupped his face then, warm hands touching his skin. Holding him. Feeling him again. “Don’t make me buy a ring, Roy.”

Roy let out a soft laugh, nuzzling his hands. “Someone would assume one failed marriage would teach you not to propose in the heat of the moment.” 

Ed was smiling so hard his lips hurt. “Cut me some slack. I couldn’t stop thinking about you in that grey suit since we were trying on tuxedos.” And how he wanted him to be waiting at the altar on his wedding day instead of Winry. 

Mustang giggled, the sound high-pitched, nasal, and airy — but it was like a homecoming gift for Ed. The last step he had to get the gall to lean his face and kiss him. 

The first kiss felt like coming home, all warm lips and Roy’s hands tugging his ponytail and correcting the angle. The second was like drinking whiskey, warm and amber, and it left them both breathless and with color in their cheeks. By the third one, Edward was biting Roy's lips and sucking the air out of his lungs in something that could only be interpreted as possessiveness. 

The fifth kiss found them both drinking all the sighs and whimpers, Edward having him pushed onto a wall to get his hands inside his clothes and touch his lower back. 

The seventh found them walking upstairs, Edward fighting with one hundred buttons in your shirt, honestly Mustang why do you keep wearing clothes so fucking hard to take off, while Roy just laughed and dragged him through each step. 

By the eleventh kiss, Roy was cupping his face softly, eyes shining in the darkness of his (maybe, in the future, their) bedroom, walking step by step to lie in bed together. 

It felt like finally coming home.

And with every touch and movement of their hands and lips, bruised, they were literally going places until Francis started crying in the guest room. Ed began mentally insulting each fucking God that had ever existed (and the next batch of goddesses created), but after taking his son in his arms to rock him to sleep, he found himself smiling like a little kid. 

There was something changing inside his chest, something Alphonse would probably call his heart, but Edward would call his ribs doing something stupid. A warmth that had never been before in the last year he had spent in Rush Valley, waking up in the middle of the night or in the middle of awkward silences; and Winry staring at him with blue eyes so sad asking silently: “you don’t really want to be here, do you?”

Something that had begun that first night he had shared with Roy, clumsy kisses and longing stares. Feelings he was too blind to name. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, hide behind a see-through flask, and pretend he wasn’t in love with the man who was possibly still awake waiting for him in his room. 

And things were going to be okay. Edward was sure of it.