No flames please, this is just me being bored and experimenting with writing something slutty, which I need to practice so I can include in my other stories. If malexmale bothers you, then go away. Warning, Edward in drag, EdxMustang, and, idk, graphicness?
Edward figured it was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. But the thing was, bad ideas seemed to take a hold of him and never let go. And, once he had the bad idea stuck on him, it was there every moment he sat still, it came up and clawed him in the head. He had so many bad ideas, Edward was sure that they were all his mind could compose. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea, semi-good idea that is quickly crushed by a bad idea, bad idea, and another bad idea. Love your father so it hurts when he leaves, love your mother so it hurts when she leaves, bring your mother back to life, ruthlessly force your innocent little brother into a half-life existence, drink that glass without looking and accidentally drink milk, and go through puberty.
His body was an asshole to him; Edward knew, somehow, that it hated him. Not only was it short and partially missing, it also decided to go through puberty the wrong way. But that was life, at least for him. Constantly fucking up.
Dear god, Edward slumped against the bed frame. Fucking was not the proper word to think about right now.
The mid morning light shone through the yellow curtains on the small, government-issued apartment. The majority of the light hit onto the other bed, the empty one, dead on. The curtains were closed, the door locked, Al was off on an errand which, Ed had made sure, took him straight past a pet store. In fact, Ed perfectly planned this sort of thing.
His hand tightened on his slowly hardening cock. His breath was hot and warm, probably because his automail hand was holding a thick piece of fabric to his face. Edward closed his eyes, breathing in a strong scent of foreign musk. Ung, he thought, his mind too muddled to bring the groan to his lips. The male scent wrapped around his head, encompassing his entire body, forcing the blood in his body to split between his head and his groin. Damn it, Ed cursed, and he made his hand around his length tighter.
He kicked at the blanket nervously with his feet and it fell off the bed. He kept the towel close though, knowing he'd need it for when he finally came. They don't tell you how good it feels, Edward thought, and he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the musk-riddled air.
It had not been easy stealing the military jacket he now pressed against his skin. He had to make sure no one saw him entering or leaving the office, no one saw him carrying it back to his and Al's room, and that Colonel Mustang even left it unattended in the first place. It had taken quite a lot of watching, waiting, and sneaking around; none of which were things Edward was good at.
His tight fingers dragged down to the end of his cock, and then grasped the base, repeating the motion. Slowly, Edward reminded himself, I can do this just, slowly. It was a part of his mind that he'd never indulged before, a hidden place where pleasure had nothing to do with alchemy, kind words, or a perfectly placed punch. It was heaven and hell at the same time. It was like a sun, or a moon. Like stars exploding in his mind. It was good. It was a first.
He could feel something burning in the bad of his stomach and his hand instantly let go. Damn it. So soon? Edward let his hand drop from his cock and, nervously, wiped away some of the sweat on his forehead. He was really sweating by now, his limbs were shaking so hard he could hear the metal rattling, and his only hand was clammy. He pulled the hand through his hair and, when it caught on the ripples in his braid, let his hair loose. The blonde locks fell around his shoulders, releasing some odd, new, bad ideas.
I'm like a girl, aren't I? Edward thought miserably, and he couldn't let it go, even when his hand settled over his slightly placated, still hard cock and continued it's slow strokes. Pining after the
Colonel. His cheeks burned and his teeth clamped down on the jacket. His mouth touched the sleeves, and when his tongue fell onto the fabric Edward could taste ash. He closed his eyes and could see Mustang, the self-satisfied smirk on his face, snapping his fingers. Fire, Edward thought, fuck it. It felt like fire, a deep fire in the deep recesses of every secret place he knew. His groin, his head, his chest; they were all ignited.
He was there again, something stirring in his belly, and he forced his hand to stay still, to stay clamped down. Edward wanted to drag it on, he wanted it to last, because the second it was over he was getting rid of the military jacket so no one saw. Especially Alphonse.
Oh god, Edward could hardly breathe. It felt so good. He took continuous gulps, unable to stop inhaling the smell of Colonel Mustang. He wanted, and he needed, more. His closed eyes fell upon an old memory of Mustang's serious, smug face and Edward felt sincere, strong, lust. The Homunculus with her long, curled hair, smooth skin, breasts, and sensuous voice had nothing, Edward knew, nothing on Mustang's scent.
His stomach stirred, and something broke beautifully. There was blackness, and Edward fell asleep.
He woke in a panic when Alphonse knocked on the door.
.
Roy Mustang sighed, ran his long, thin fingers through his jet black hair, and trained his dark eyes at Edward. "This is really the best you can do," he asked, his voice ringing in the quiet office. His other hand was placed lazily over Edward's latest report. His new jacket fit him quite well, a bit snug on the broad shoulders, thinner around the middle, and was in a better style. He'd insisted to Hawkeye that it had been stolen, but she didn't believe him, and neither did anyone else. Publicly, Edward was also skeptical.
Of course, Ed knew that the old jacket was in the trash somewhere after being transmuted into an old set of dishrags.
Mustang's elbow rested on the table, his fingers spread on his face to rest. His small finger was pressed straight into the corner of his lips. Black hair fell over his intense eyes; his haircut was getting a bit long recently. "Well?"
"What's wrong with it?" Ed managed to get out, putting as much insubordination as he possibly could into those words.
"First off, the unfortunate nicknames you gave the members of the town; second, I'm convinced you did not single-handily face the bandit threat; third, the rant about the military could not only have you suspected of treason, it is also irrelevant and misspelled; fourth and finally, you included little about the missing train, which, if you recall, was the mission." Mustang looked at Edward, his expression severe.
Oh god, Edward felt a chill creep up his back, don't look at me like that.
"Rewrite this. Bring it to my office by noon tomorrow. If you don't, you'll be suspended, understood?" Mustang ordered crisply.
Ed, trying to reclaim some of his dignity although his mouth was dry, pulled his metal hand up to his forehead in a mock, and backwards, salute.
Colonel Mustang's eyes narrowed. He shook his head though, and said sternly, "You're dismissed, Fullmetal. Go home and get some sleep, then get up early and start working."
It was late, Edward could see it through the window, it was already dark. He turned to leave, his head already working through how he might be able to get Al to leave for an hour that evening so he could be alone, when he heard a scraping chair behind him. Ed turned quickly and saw Colonel Mustang standing.
The Colonel, in one swift motion, pulled his heavy overcoat over his uniform.
"What are you doing," Ed asked immediately. A sudden jolt of nervousness clenched in his chest, it could be heard in his voice, and a fleeting, improper, hope passed through his mind.
The Colonel placed his hand on Edward's shoulder. "Edward, you little," he muttered. The Colonel leaned down, his hot breath against the back of Edward's neck, his thin lips brushing against Edward's hair. "Don't you know what you do to me?" Shaking, Edward had no place to look except straight forward, until the hand on his shoulders descended-
"Going out for a drink with Havoc," Colonel Mustang said briskly, "And, though you can die for us, you're not legal for another year, Fullmetal, so you can't come." Blissfully unaware of the thoughts running through the fifteen-year old alchemist's head, he added calmly, "I'll get that man laid if it kills me. Maybe find one for me."
Edward's cheeks burned, his head reeled, and his eyes were suddenly hot.
Mustang noticed Edward staring, and he chuckled from a point deep in his throat and said, "That's something else you're not legal for. Maybe in a few years. When you're twenty."
"You," Edward pushed out of his sinking throat.
"Goodnight, Fullmetal." He waved with the back of his hand as he opened the door, his gloved fingers sliding slightly, and his calm, soft footsteps disappeared down the long hallway. There was another door, which soon shut, and Ed imagined he could hear Mustang telling Havoc to hurry with his work.
Ed's fists clenched. No, he whispered in his head. "Not some girl, not just some," he rambled. His metal hand clenched on his face, and tears suddenly fell from his eyes. Edward shook his head quickly to try and clear it. There was a jealous pit in his stomach filled with self-pity and disgust.
Mustang was going to sleep with someone else, not Edward, someone he didn't even know just for the sake of it.
"Fuck it!" Edward howled into his hand, and he kicked Mustang's couch with as much force as he could muster. "No way! No goddamn way!" Ed's hands shook, and he dropped to his knees. His breath became hard to take in.
His hands grasped his shirt as he struggled for air, and the tears felt like they burned in the back of his throat. He could taste them on his tongue, and they sunk into the depths of his stomach and sickened him.
AS IF Mustang would EVER look at HIM!
"GOD!" Ed shouted. "Fuck this shit, damned, fucking, shit, shit, shit, ass, shit!" His mind reeled, and his hands reached out dizzily to the floor as Ed sunk into his own head. His mouth streamed a list of all the repetitive profanities he knew, as something to block this, something to rail against.
His hands grasped his hair, practically pulling it out of his head, and the resulting loose hair fell on his shoulders. Too long, too feminine.
Ed stopped weeping.
No. It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea.
He had to act fast if he was ready by the time Colonel Mustang was drunk.
.
Havoc left the note with the bar's name on his desk. Ed sent Al home by starting an unimportant argument, yelling at him to look at the books on the Stone that they'd gathered, and shouting that he needed to be alone and clear his head.
The man at the adult store had been more than accommodating. He'd taken Ed's loan with a mere nod of his skull-shaped head, he'd looked Ed over carefully with his sunken green eyes; he'd found the right clothes after two tries and leering scrutiny, he'd helped Ed with all the ribbons and lace and sections of the lingerie as his calloused, preying, knobby fingers were the first to touch Ed in such intimate places, he'd brushed the makeup onto Ed's cheeks with prodding fingers and a lick of his crackled lips from his dry tongue, he'd applied the fake eyelashes, the lipstick, the pink eyeliner, and the light blue eyeshadow without a question and just a hushed, foul word, he straightened Ed's bangs and his wandering fingers ran an invisible conditioner through them, and he lovingly, quickly, curled all of Ed's remaining hair and sprayed it. By the end, Ed looked nothing like himself and felt violated. The man left the bag of makeup behind the counter, said, in his crackling, wavering old voice, for Ed to come back any time he ever had any needs.
It took two hours for all of that. Ed ran out of the store, pulling his coat around him. He'd left his normal clothes in the store with all the makeup he'd had to purchase, so he knew he'd be coming back. The skirt he wore was tight around his legs, and had lace instead of clothing at the thighs all the way up until it was interrupted by a silk shirt, white silk, that was much too large. The shirt was buttoned enough that the collar fell around Ed's shoulders, baggy enough so it looked like he had breasts and worn well enough to be sensuous.
Edward caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window, and the only part of him he recognized was his red jacket. He was even taller, but the high heels didn't make him as tall as he would have liked. The lace socks, which went all the way up to his thighs until they stopped, and which were held from falling by leather straps, were the only part of his costume he didn't fulling understand. But Ed had been assured by the shop owner, that they were the best part of it.
As Ed ran, his jacket slapped against his thighs, reminding him of the slick, unopened bottle he'd bought. He blushed as he ran, disgusted with himself.
What am I doing, he whispered in his mind, you idiot. What are you doing?
He had to go faster, he couldn't risk Mustang picking up someone else. Someone who didn't know him except that he was in the army, someone who only knew his face, but would know everything Ed had imagined for months.
Ed brought his finger to his teeth and bit hard, shouting to himself, You bastard, Colonel! How many times have you done this without me?
Baur on the East, Ed remembered, Baur on the East. It's called 'Baur on the East'.
He was sweating slightly by the time he got there, and Ed quickly transmuted his jacket, into a slightly more feminine looking black coat, and stood outside the rather noisy place, letting the cool air calm him. He stuck the bottle against the padded, lacy brassiere that was pressed tightly against his chest. It was a good thing his body was still like one of a boy, Ed thought, or he'd never be able to pull this off.
The streets were dark, not very busy, and a large, rough looking building hung over the bar like a shadow. Streetlamps let off a golden light. Edward shook his hair, his curls bouncing on his cheeks, and stepped down the steps into the smokey bar.
There was a man apparently taking reservations, talking to a waiter, but they were both smoking and saying nothing. They were looking at each other, but stopped to quickly look over Edward. Ed froze, staring at them, waiting for them to ask for his age.
"Well," the waiter said in a hoarse voice as he scratched an unshaven chin, "go on in, unless you need company. I'd be happy," he smiled and his teeth were yellow despite looking young, "to volunteer."
"I have someone in mind," Ed said, half-consciously making his voice higher despite hardly needing to, "but thanks." He doubted that was the correct way to turn down a... proposition like that.
"Go on then, honey eyes," the man taking reservations smirked.
Edward stepped behind them through the door-less passageway. The smoke seemed to hang onto the roof, illuminated by the faint lighting. Several tables were set up, men sitting on them, some alone, most in crowds, many with newspapers and all of them arguing. There was a girl, a waitress in clothing almost as revealing as Edward's, who was busing large mugs around, and another sitting in a man's lap, looking like she was drinking his face in. Other, more civil women, were sitting or standing around a record player, some casting eyes on the men around them, some drinking. There was a bartender at a long counter in the farthest point of the bar. Two men in military uniforms, their street jackets hung over the back of their chairs, were seated at the bar.
Havoc had two mugs in front of him, Ed noticed as he drew closer, one empty and the other almost gone. Mustang had three empty mugs, with a fourth hardly touched in his glove-less hand.
"Hey," someone grabbed Ed's leg.
Ed had to fight the immediate impulse to transmute his silk and glove covered armor and attack. The drunken man with a pepper and salt mustache and old hat, squeezed Ed's thighs. "Ain't wearin' much for winte'r," he slurred.
"Get off," Ed said, and he peeled the man's hands off him and stepped back against one of the women.
"You deserve it," the women muttered under her breath. She pushed Edward off of her. Ed turned around, slightly disoriented from the exchange, but found Mustang and Havoc again quickly. He took a deep breath.
"Act flirty," he ordered himself as he steeled his nerves, "act like a girl." He brushed his thumb against his lips, tasting the red lipstick, and calmly, surely, walked toward Mustang. No random girl, no quick fuck, no apathetic slut, just me. Edward's heart rattled against his ribcage, and he calmed his shaking hands. Being careful not to misstep in the heels, he sat up at the bar in the seat next to Mustang.
The Colonel's face was unnaturally red, his eyes slightly unfocused, his breathing rather labored, when he turned and met Edward's eyes.
"Hello, sir," Edward said graciously, femininely. He crossed his legs, angling himself to his ankles brushed against the pants of Mustang's military uniform.
"Hello, miss, have you met my friend Havoc?" Mustang asked, turning his face impassively away. Havoc peered around Mustang, saw Edward, and blinked repeatedly.
Ed's eyes narrowed. "What's your name?" He said quickly, exclusively to Mustang.
"Roy," Mustang said simply, "Jean, however, seems much more your type."
Ed's fists clenched but, as calmly as he could say it, he spoke, "Roy is a nice name. You work for the military."
"Hence the uniform," Mustang said shortly. "Now-"
"Would you like anything to drink," the bartender asked, coming up to Edward. He looked Ed up and down, and seemed mad.
"No thank you," Edward said softly and firmly, "I'll soon have everything I need."
Mustang turned, staring at Edward as if seeing him for the first time, which, he might have been doing. "That's very forward." His eyes trailed from Ed's shoulders, to his lace covered thighs, hesitated on the miniskirt and the leather straps, and then he looked up. "You're not in for a long term relationship, I see."
Edward, rather sick of the flirting, said simply, "Do you want to get laid or not?"
"What's your name?" Mustang asked.
Edward hesitated, and then stumbled through the first female name that came to mind, "Tricia." The guilt that clenched in his chest the moment he said that was unforgivable. Mom, he thought, Mom, my god, I hope you can't see me beyond the gate.
"How old are you?"
'Maybe when you're twenty', Mustang had said. So Edward lied and said, "Twenty."
"Well," Mustang smirked. He turned, looked at Havoc. Havoc seemed to have a dark cloud over him.
"Never this fast," Havoc muttered, "never like that. How the hell do you pick up girls like you do?"
"Mind if I leave?" Mustang asked Havoc solemnly. "I wouldn't want to keep this young lady waiting."
"Go fuck ahead," Havoc said into his mug.
Mustang stood up, took a few seconds to get steady, and then grabbed his coat and pushed it over Edward's shoulders. "Tricia, you are the most forward girl I've ever met. Or perhaps the most desperate."
Ed smirked. "Sure, Colonel," he said, "whatever suits you. He stepped off the chair, regained his balance in high heels, and then stood strongly. The Colonel began to walk off, he didn't even turn to see if Ed was following. Ed did, dogging after the Colonel's steps.
"Whore," a woman whispered.
Ed looked toward her, smirked, and made a profane hand gesture. Then he jumped up the bars steps. He pulled the coat close to him, letting Mustang's smell wash over his body. He could feel his want surging the blood through his body, elevating his senses, pushing away the cold. Ed's feet effortlessly flew behind the Colonel, the smile on his face not hidden. Yes, the word dogged every step, yes, yes, yes.
.
Mustang had an apartment outside of the military complex, although he did have one inside for emergencies, and that was where he brought Edward. He fumbled with his keys, eventually managing to open the door.
The apartment smelled like old wood, and was a very typical bachelor's apartment. There were three rooms, a main living room filled with outdated furniture that was attached to a kitchen with unwashed dishes piled high. There was a door, open, to the bathroom, and another to the bedroom, where Edward could see clothes on the floor, and an unmade bed with thick sheets. His heart began to race. That bed, his mind couldn't form the thoughts.
"Well," Mustang asked. He turned, a smirk on his flushed features. His pale skin seemed white against the red blotches from drink, his jet black hair as perfect as it was just two hours ago when Edward had handed in his report.
Forget I'm in drag and he thinks I'm a girl named Tricia because he's too drunk to know better, Edward lied to himself. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"
"No," Mustang said, "I'll wait for you in the bedroom."
"Undress," Edward let the word slip out of his mouth, "and I'll meet you there."
Mustang turned, and Ed ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and proceeded to hyperventilate. His chest heaved, and he almost threw water on his face to calm himself down when he remembered the makeup, and instead slapped himself.
If Alphonse knew.
"Damn it, no way." Ed shook his head, cleared his thoughts, poured the gel on his fingers, and, as quick as possible, stuck two fingers into his ass and started to stretch himself. Time wasn't on his side, and the pressure caused him to put in three fingers before he was ready. He gritted his teeth at the sting but, besides adding more lubricant, pushed through it. He'd done this part of masturbating before, and he knew how to open himself up. He pushed in four fingers, for just a little while, to open more, and then forced as much lubricant as he could down his ass.
When it was over, he transmuted it to a perfume, sprayed himself with the perfume, which oddly smelled like strawberries, and stumbled out of the bathroom.
Mustang sat on the bed, in only his boxers, and Edward stared. Supple, lithe and muscular body, pale skin against the dark bedclothes, strong arms, quiet features.
Mustang's dark eyes looked out at the window, watching the rain that had just begun to fall. They flickered to see Edward's reflection in the glass. "Let's do this," Mustang said like he was steeling himself.
"Yeah," Edward said, his voice shaking with nervousness.
Mustang leaned against his bed, and his eyes trained on Edward's form. He smirked, his gaze sensuous, handsome, and perfect. Ed's breath caught in his throat, and he inched forward. He took care to take off his shoes without showing anything he shouldn't have. And then he pressed his knees on the bed and eased himself up.
"I'm drunk, and not as young as I was, so I won't be much help," Mustang confessed.
"That's fine," Edward said, knowing it was better. He'd had fantasies about this, and sure, they didn't involve a skirt, but he could handle it. In a way, he was sacrificing his virginity to make sure Mustang didn't sleep with someone who didn't love him.
You can do this, Ed assured himself. And then he gave himself over to his fantasy.
"I'll take care of you," he whispered as he crawled up the bed to Mustang. A shiver ran down Mustang's back, and Ed grinned. "Just lie back," he said, "and leave the rest to me."
Mustang's body was hot to the touch, and as Ed pulled himself over him, he couldn't resist running his five fingers along Mustang's strong stomach. The muscles rippled and strained under his silk-covered fingertips, and when Ed looked up he saw the pained expression on Mustang's face. Ed positioned himself so his hole was over the tent in Mustang's shorts.
"Alright," Mustang breathed. He brought his hand up to his face and wiped non-existent sweat off his forehead. Ed dipped his finger's against Mustang's shorts, and pulled them down to the center of his thighs.
Fuck. Mustang's cock was half hard, large, darker than his skin until almost pale black at the head. Like the perfect frame to a sensuous painting; Ed couldn't take his eyes off the way Mustang squirmed beneath him. Ed had imagined this, he'd dreamed of this, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let it go to waste. He was still open, still ready, so he angled himself. And then, slowly, nervously, Ed pushed Mustang inside him.
His body spread aside, and Edward gasped out. Hot and pulsing, he groaned as it slid in deeper and deeper. "Ah," he let out the quiet cry through his open mouth. His hands clenched and grabbed at nothing, pushing against Mustang's stomach. Mustang groaned softly, his Adam's apple bobbing on his throat. It was so hard, but with gritted teeth Ed managed until Mustang was fully inside him.
Their naked skin touched, and Edward spread out his fingers so that the five remaining appendages felt every part of Mustang they could touch. Desperately, he used his automail hand to rip the glove off of his flesh, and pressed his loving nails against Mustang's body.
"No one else," Edward muttered to himself. His flesh arm was shaking too hard, but Edward had enough control over his automail to aid in lifting himself off of Mustang's cock, before slamming himself back down. "Shit," he cried out. Again, he pushed himself, up and then down, and the cock his straight on his prostrate at the perfect angle. Nothing he'd ever done himself hit quite so perfectly, and nothing he'd ever stolen was as much of Colonel Mustang as this night.
He was hard, and hoped Mustang didn't see, but as he rode himself on Mustang's cock, they were soon too far along to care. Edward's mind was filled with Mustang's every breath, every gasp, every quiver, and every request. He went faster, he brushed his nails against the sensitive points he could reach. It felt so good, he couldn't remember how it happened or what he wore. It was Mustang, and him, just like Ed had wanted and just like he needed.
There was a cry, and Mustang was gone. Ed felt Mustang fill him. "Colonel," he gasped. He rocked his hips, but the groan the Colonel gave out meant he was done.
Unsatisfied, Edward slowly pulled himself off and out. His legs and arms shook as he supported himself on the bed. "Oh," was the solitary word that passed his lips as he saw Mustang. He'd fallen asleep.
The drunk flush was still on the Colonel's face, but his black eyelashes grazed soft cheeks, and his face was composed. His body was laid out, firmly pressed into the mattress in all of its glory. The flame alchemist was asleep, and the rain beat out a pattern that matched Edward's mood.
Ed's fingers, flesh and metal, grasped his shirt. "Oh god," he sobbed into his collar. His teeth bit the silk shirt as hard as they could, grinding the fabric in his mouth. "What the fuck did I just do, what the fuck, fuck, fuck, shit," he muttered. His hand brushed away a new set of tears. "You idiot, you baby," hes said to himself, "twice in one day?" Edward choked back his tears. "No," he said. "No."
With a series of deep breaths, Edward calmed himself. He wiped the makeup running down his face, not caring how he looked. "Tsk," Edward said sternly, "look at you. You look like you couldn't lead a sheep, much less a brigade." His fingers soft, he pulled up Mustang's shorts so they covered him. Then Edward gathered the blanket in his hands and dropped it over Mustang's body. "Fuck you."
And he leaned forward, and placed his chaste lips over Mustang's. The Colonel's breath smelled like beer. Edward expected that. Mustang's lips were chapped too, and Edward ran his tongue over them to soften them. His chest hurt, his groin hurt, his ass hurt. Edward stumbled, painfully, horribly, to his feet, and left.
He got his clothes, and went home.
.
At a quarter to noon, Al finally broke his disappointed-in-you silence to remind Edward that he had to deliver the report. Ed, still in bed, reluctantly put clothes over his still painful body and, with Al, made his way to Colonel Mustang's office.
Everyone seemed to be doing normal, though Havoc was leaned over his desk in what appeared to be a black depression. As if I'd have slept with you, Ed growled. Then, feeling a blush rising, he stole those thoughts away.
Ed hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd finished the report. He was sure Colonel Mustang would still find something wrong with it, but it was passable. As Edward neared Mustang's office he clenched his red jacket closer around him.
"'Should just take a few minutes," Ed said to Al. "I'll be out in a bit." Feeling like he was walking into hell, Ed opened Mustang's door and stepped inside.
The Colonel had a pile of paperwork on his desk, and was flicking small strips of paper at a wastebasket. He looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes, dark eyes that stared, unfocused at the paper he was tossing, his uniform wasn't pressed, the curtains in the room were drawn to avoid light, and he didn't acknowledge Ed's presence.
Is it because I- Ed thought for a moment but his thoughts jumped in front of each other, It's just a hangover. "Sir!" Edward shouted obnoxiously loud.
Mustang jumped. His eyes, wide and angry, glared up at Edward. "Yes," he said, making a point to keep his volume down.
"I brought your report!" Ed told him. He walked closer to Mustang. Simply, he set the paper on the desk, then looked at the curtains. "You can't read in this light." And he transmuted the curtains into lamps.
"DAMN!" Mustang grabbed his eyes, covering his face with his hands. "FULLMETAL!"
"So, you manage to screw someone last night?" Ed asked spitefully, "After all, that's what you were planning on doing, wasn't it? Right, COLONEL!" He screamed the last word in Mustang's ear.
"Get. Out." Mustang growled. "Right now."
"Yes," Ed said, and despite the pain in his ass, he felt cheery enough to skip. Right before he left, he noticed the lights weren't on properly, and felt that it would just be unkind of him not to turn them up as high as they could go.