This wasn't on the list of fics we'd planned to do, admittedly. It just came to Ember one day as she put on a pair of tie-dyed gloves.
Be warned, this contains yaoi, kinky humor, and the steamiest make-out scene Ember has ever written. If that kind of thing turns you off, then don't read past this point. Please. We don't need flames for it being yaoi. That's just stupid, because most people warn you if you're reading it. If you don't like it, then just… don't read it. It's that simple.
In any case, enjoy! …Maybe.
Of Dye and Superiors
It all started out as a normal day.
"Big brother, wake up!" was the first thing that Edward Elric heard that particular morning. "We have to report to Headquarters! Come on! Wake up!"
"I'm up, I'm up," Edward muttered in Al's general direction, not opening his eyes.
"No, you're not," Al retorted. "Come on, we're late!"
Stumbling out of bed, Edward yanked his pants and jackets on haphazardly. Quickly braiding his hair and pulling on his gloves, he opened the door of the dorm they were staying in.
Of course it had to be raining. He hated rain. And he was already late.
Well, there was nothing for it. And so the young man and the suit of armor ran through the torrential downpour in the general direction of their superior's office.
All of a sudden Ed stopped running. Only to have Al crash into him.
"Sorry, big brother! But why'd you stop?! We're LATE!" Al said hurriedly.
Ed barely heard him. He was staring at his gloves in horror. "What the—? Come on, Al, I have something I need to yell at the stupid Colonel about!" And Ed was off like a flash.
It looked like it had once been a peaceful day in East City Headquarters until a certain sopping wet blond tornado came rushing through it. Only Colonel Mustang's team was unsurprised by said tornado's state of fury, having seen it directed at the man many times over.
Performing his usual routine of stomping up, kicking the door open, and screaming "MUSTANG!!", Ed entered the Colonel's office, letting the door slam shut behind him.
The Colonel was also totally unsurprised by the alchemist's fury. "What is it this time, Fullmetal?" he sighed.
"Don't act like you don't know!" Ed demanded.
"Don't know what?"
"What you did to my GLOVES, you sick (beep)!" Ed snarled.
"And what, pray tell, did I supposedly do to your gloves?"
"You—you—" Ed couldn't speak, he was so furious. Wordlessly he held out his gloved hands.
The gloves were a colorful tie-dye mixture of pink and yellow.
Colonel Mustang looked vaguely surprised and somewhat resigned. "Explain to me something, Fullmetal."
Indignant, Ed shouted, "Explain what?! You're the one who should be doing the explaining!"
"Fullmetal. Shut up."
For once in his life Ed actually obeyed an order from his superior officer.
"Much better. Now explain this: What on earth could I possibly gain from… from tie-dying your gloves?" the Colonel snickered.
At this Ed faltered. What could the power-hungry Colonel gain from the act? Then it hit him. Hard. Like an automail fist.
Oh, wait. That had been an automail fist. Why was he hitting himself? What on earth was wrong?
The Colonel evidently shared this sentiment. "Fullmetal? Why are you beating yourself up?"
Ed couldn't respond, as he didn't know. Then it hit him. Again. But not the automail fist this time.
It was all the idiot Colonel's fault.
It had to be. He wasn't prone to self-injury, and Mustang was the only other person around.
Mustang was going down. There was no other way this could work.
Well, that wasn't awkward at all, thinking perverted things about his commanding officer in said officer's presence. Channeling that awkwardness into a more standard and useful outlet, he screamed at Mustang for so long that Mustang looked amazed he hadn't fainted yet. Hadn't he learned? Ed didn't need to breathe when he was ranting.
When Ed finally shut up to collect his thoughts, Mustang interjected, "But I didn't even call you short, much less half of what you said."
"Shut UP! I'm ranting!"
Evidently it was time for sarcasm in the Colonel's book (he was writing one? If so, it was news to Ed.). "Oh, so you need total silence to convince everyone that you're not short? Are you sure it isn't because you have a small voice?"
After five minutes of generic short ranting, Hawkeye opened the door. "Oh, you two aren't done yet? I'll just send Havoc in in another couple of minutes, then." Then she backed away and closed the door behind her, muttering something about getting feelings out in the open. Whatever the hell that meant.
Not done yet, Ed taunted, "Well, even if I AM the only average person in a freakishly tall world, at least I'm not old!"
"What?!"
"You heard me! Or is your hearing faulty, old man?!" Ed was gleeful, having finally found a counterattack to the whole short issue.
"Old, am I?" Mustang asked dangerously.
Completely missing the man's tone in his delight that Mustang was catching on, Ed replied, "Yeah, you are!" like it was the funniest thing he had ever said. (Sadly enough, it probably was, outside his short rants.)
However, Ed caught the warning signs in Mustang's tone when he said, "You really think so."
"Yeah…" Ed replied nervously.
The Colonel stood up.
That was a bad sign. That was a VERY bad sign. The Colonel NEVER stood up. Normally he just bombarded any idiot foolish enough to insult him with sarcasm and worse insults from a distance, never needing to stand up. Occasionally he fried the worst offenders. But he NEVER stood up.
Ed froze as the Colonel stepped slowly in his direction.
He'd had a good life, he thought. He had been to a lot of places, did a lot of things, met a lot of people. It was a shame, though, that he would die so soon, unloved and with only a suit of armor for a brother.
Wait… unloved?! What the hell?! Plenty of people cared about him! He knew that!
But there was one that he was fairly certain did not, even though he wished that one person did. One who was currently intent on seeing how big a burn mark he would leave on the office floor.
It truly was amazing what near-death situations did for getting a guy to can his act of self-denial and admit several things he hadn't wished to.
He wanted to be closer to Mustang. Not in a professional manner. No, he wanted it in a can't-get-enough-of-you, hot-nights-at-your-house kind of way. And he didn't even try denying it. Not anymore. When death was imminent denial didn't really seem as important as realizing what you really wanted from your life. Or what was left of it, anyway. Which was about thirty seconds if he was lucky.
Well, if he was going to die anyway then he really had nothing left to lose. And so without further ado he launched himself into a very surprised Mustang's arms and proceeded to kiss him like there was no tomorrow (well, in all likelihood there wouldn't be one for him), pressing himself up against the older man as much as possible.
Two hands found his face and gently pulled him away. "And what are you doing now, Fullmetal?"
And he'd thought he was nervous before. Understatement of his lifetime. Now he really knew what nervous was. "Well, if you're going to kill me anyway, I kind of wanted to do that before I died."
Mustang—Roy—smirked. "You've got a lot to learn."
And they were kissing again. It was the most wonderful feeling Ed had ever experienced, being held tightly around the waist and—that had to be illegal somewhere, the things Roy was doing with his lips and tongue. They felt far too good to be legal.
Suddenly, they broke apart, startled by a dull thud.
Havoc had followed his orders from Hawkeye and come to check on them. And, judging from his lack of consciousness, he had seen far more than he'd really wanted to. Then again, Ed supposed, no one could really have expected to see him and Roy passionately kissing in Roy's office. He hadn't really expected it himself.
"I guess we'd better haul him out of the doorway," Roy commented.
"Yeah," Ed agreed breathlessly, his mind still on other things.
Together, the two managed to lie Havoc down on the couch in Roy's office.
Walking in, Hawkeye asked, "What happened to him?"
There was absolutely no way to answer that without making both he and Roy uncomfortable. "Um… well…" Ed muttered, reddening.
Suddenly Hawkeye grinned. "Oh, I get it."
"Get what?!" Ed asked defensively.
"That's not important," she replied, walking away. "By the way, Ed, aren't you glad I dyed your gloves?"
"You WHAT?!"
A lovely death was looming on the horizon, of that everyone was certain.
FIN
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Ember and Rags to Riches (but especially Ember, as she wrote this)—the mutant penguins