Oh, look! More stress relief! This is one is pretty much just a moment-in-time type thing rather than a complete story, so… Unbeta'd, you know the drill. This one is a post-manga au, so Ed is without his alchemy and in possession of both of his arms.

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Ed woke up on the floor, one wrist handcuffed to the back left leg of the bed frame and a piece of paper stuck to his chest. He was all out of sorts, so it took him a few minutes to grab the sheet and read, in Roy's curvy script, guards check room at 11. don't get caught. Ed sat up gingerly, ass too sore to leave sitting flat on the ground for long, and caught sight of the clock next to the bed. It was a quarter before eleven.

"That fucking prick," Ed swore.

Fifteen minutes, he had fifteen fucking minutes to be out of the room before the guards showed up and shot him dead just for daring to be in the Fuhrer's bedroom. He was naked, he was on the floor, and he was handcuffed to a bed.

Ed had a vague thought about what the newspapers would have to say about it and wondered if Al ever got around to cancelling his subscription to the Eastern Quarterly.

With only one arm stuck to the bed frame, Ed could sit up, could get on his feet in a crouch, could move just about any which way—except upright and away from the bed. The minutes were slipping by too quickly. Ten minutes to the hour, Ed noted after another glance at the clock. Ten more minutes before Roy got him inadvertently killed.

He did wonder, though, about the 'inadvertently' part.

"I can do this," he muttered. He couldn't break the handcuffs themselves, oddly enough. Ed had to wonder if Roy hadn't alchemized them. So if he couldn't break the handcuffs…

Ed looked at the bed frame: brass. Flimsy brass. "Looks like the bastard'll have to get himself a new bed frame," he cackled.

At five minutes before eleven, Ed smashed the frame to pieces with his automail leg and jumped out the window.

Ed had been in his house ten minutes maybe, fifteen tops, before scores of military police officers began swarming the city in search of the culprit of the recent break in at the Fuhrer's mansion. He stood on his balcony, leaning against the railing with a cup of coffee in hand, and watched the uniformed men scurry.

He lived next door to an older woman, just barely touching her sixties, and their balconies seemed to have been built nearly on top of each other, When she walked out and lit up a cigarette, Ed didn't even have to look to see who it was.

"I was just out," she said, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. "Someone's tried to kill poor Fuhrer Mustang."

Ed drank his coffee and stared at the streets. "Can't imagine why."

"Mr. Elric," she said, "why, that sounded a bit treasonous!"

Ed laughed.

The panic still hadn't subsided by nightfall. It wasn't actually as funny as Ed probably thought it was, but he could see Roy sitting in his office, framed by an impressive high-backed chair and the insignia of Amestris, listening to some shit-ranked officer telling him his bed got done in. The bastard had that stoic thing down, though. He'd wait until he was alone and then he would smirk and leer and be intolerably smug to all of his poor office supplies.

It was, if nothing else, an amusing fantasy.

As the night went on, Ed saw the flood of officers slow into a trickle, only catching sight of one every half an hour or so. Bastard probably got sick of hearing about it and declared it a non-issue, he decided, shutting the door to the balcony and preparing to settle in for the night.

He'd expected to stay in all night, probably all the next day, as well. But at three in the morning, Ed woke up to the phone's shrill ring. Cursing, he tripped out of bed and stumbled through the dark hall to the kitchen.

"Hullo," he said flatly. "What."

"You owe me a new bed."

Ed laughed a single harsh bark. "I don't think so! Fix it. You're an alchemist, aren't you?" It was funny, but Ed almost imagined he could hear Roy sulking on the other end of the line.

"That's not even the point."

Shifting the receiver to his other ear, Ed dropped down into one of the kitchen chairs, head falling back, eyes closed. "What do you want?"

"It's late," Roy said. "What are you doing?"

Oh, Ed thought. "Nothing. Sleeping."

"You're busy?"

"No."

"Come here, then."

"Where's here?" Ed asked. "I ain't coming to your god damn house again. Almost got me killed!"

"You exaggerate," Roy responded smoothly. "I'm downtown, anyway. Not home."

Ed frowned. "Downtown?"

"I'm visiting my mother."

"Are you allowed to be doing that?"

"I'm the Fuhrer. I can do whatever I like."

"I don't really think it works that way."

"Please, come," Roy said, and Ed knew he was cornered.

"You're a pain. I'll drive down, you duck in the car. Got it?"

"It would be my pleasure," Roy purred, "to duck in. By all means—"

Ed hung up, cursing loudly.

True to his word, the moment Ed rounded the curb in front of Madame Christmas' bar, he slowed the car to barely a crawl and reached across the cab to swing the passenger side door open. Within seconds, a man dressed in all black, right up to the hood obscuring his face, barrel-rolled into the car and slammed the door behind him.

"Nice timing," Ed said, kicking the car into gear and leaving the seedy street behind.

"I had the strangest feeling that you would have left me standing in the alley if I hadn't been quick," Roy said, pushing the hood back. His face was flushed and his hair was matted down with sweat, the heavy coat much too hot for Central's summer months. "Any chance I was right?"

"Probably a good chance," Ed admitted. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"I told Lieutenant Colonel Havoc to keep my guard busy. He doesn't know exactly where I am, though."

Ed gave Roy a look. "Careful," he muttered. "Someone should know where you are."

"I have you, don't I? And what's this, anyway? Worried?" Roy smirked. Despite looking like someone had tried to smother him with wool, the bastard could pull off being smug.

"You're the Fuhrer."

"A lot of people think I'm invincible," Roy said, stretching his arm. It fell behind Ed's shoulders over the back of the seat.

"That's because they don't know you." Ed kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the warm hand curling over his shoulder. Fuck, but of course Roy wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself.

"Then it's a good thing you know me so well, isn't it?"

Was it just Ed's imagination, or was Roy suddenly a lot closer? Yes, he decided, feeling the man scoot so far that their sides were plastered together. That was definitely closer.

In fact, they were sitting close enough that Ed could smell the liquor on Roy's breath with every exhalation, the smell bitter and pungent.

"She was letting you drink?" Ed asked, incredulous.

"It's a bar, Ed," Roy's buried his face in the dip where Ed's neck met his shoulder. "Drinking is what one does in a bar."

Driving was difficult with a man Roy's size attached to Ed like a leech. Feeling distinctly disgruntled, Ed rolled his shoulders, wiggled in the seat, tried to move in a way that would clue Roy in to the fact that he'd sort of, kind of love for the asshole to let go now, thanks.

Roy didn't get the hint. Until the car pulled up in Ed's drive way, he remained firmly attached, sweaty hair and flushed face and grabbing hands, all.

The interesting thing was that Roy managed not to bring up the bed again until the next afternoon, when Ed was still exhausted from a night of—well, a night of Roy, and Roy was exhausted from a night of drinking with his mother and playing 'harass the PA'.

"You will replace my bed, of course."

Ed unpacked his lunch on his desk and pointedly ignored him.

"Security is up in arms," Roy continued, as though picking up a conversation they'd had recently, drumming his fingers on his desk. "There was obviously an intruder." His gaze slid to Ed, watching the younger man cram half a sandwich in his mouth at once. "Possibly an assassination attempt."

"You think I give a fuck?" Ed said through a full mouth, spraying crumbs across the report he was supposed to be reading. Cursing, he wiped the paper clean with his sleeve. "You did it to yourself. Fix it with alchemy."

"As my personal assistant—"

"Fuck you, you just like saying that!"

"It's your job," Roy continued, louder, "to make certain my needs are met and my schedule is manageable."

"Die," Ed responded, and turned back to his lunch and slightly soggy report. He managed to get through international trade with Creta is at an all time low before the paper went up in flames. "Okay, okay." Ed slammed his hands on his desk and snarled at Roy. "If you don't leave me the fuck alone, I'm going to rip your dick off and feed it to you, how's that sound?"

"Painful?" Roy hazarded. "But as I was saying, Edward. My bed was originally a custom design by—"

Ed propped his chin on the palm of his hand, eyes losing focus and mind drifting. Really, after four months, he figured he would have gotten used to it.