Title: Phone Sex
Author: AkizukiSakura
Pairing(s): Roy/Ed
Spoilers/Warnings: As far as I know, the spoilers are minimal. Also, this is explicit YAOI. Don't like it, don't read it. Period. Also, PWP. It's not meant to be anything more than shameless office sex. Un-beta'd.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I make no monetary profit from the writing and posting of this, or any, fanfiction.
Notes: Because Roy is a bad, bad man. Also, Edward is about twenty-three here, which makes Roy around thirty-seven or so.

Phone Sex

He was going to kill Al for this later, Edward thought viciously as he stalked through the hallways of Central Headquarters. He knew he was garnering stares and open-mouthed expressions of utter shock and it was all his little brother's fault!

He ignored the salutes of the junior officers as he turned a corner, feeling only slightly vindicated for the rotten start to his day when soldiers caught sight of his expression and hurriedly got out of his way. Even the generals he passed were reticent to scold him for failing to salute – but that could just be because of his attire. Hakuro in particular seemed to want to say something until he was faced with an open glower from golden eyes - he was quick to shut his mouth.

Ed had never conformed to military standards of his own free will. Ever since he was twelve years old he'd openly flaunted the uniform rules as his nonverbal statement that the military was only borrowing him for an as-yet-undetermined period of time. At that time he'd been young, reckless, and utterly focused on his younger brother. Everything else had become secondary to his drive to restore Alphonse to his proper body.

Once he'd fixed Al, though, he was left with time on his contract to serve out before he was free of the military. Al had gone home to Risembool (and to Winry. Al thought Ed didn't know and Ed saw no reason to mention it just yet) to recuperate, and Ed was left at the beck and call of Mustang. It should have irritated him to no end to still be a dog on a leash, particularly when Mustang was holding the other end of that leash. Instead he'd been forced to deal with the man without the goal of fixing Al.

Things were a hell of a lot different when he allowed himself to notice other people for the first time in his life – and goddammit if he hadn't gone and noticed Mustang. The fucker just had to be a handsome, manipulative son of a bitch. And Ed just had to go and fall in love with his arrogant ass. And then, for the icing on the cake, Mustang just had to go and fall in love right back. What kind of world was it when he loved the man who'd given him this kind of grief over the years?

Ed snorted irritably, fists clenching as he stopped in front of the double doors to the Fuhrer's office. At least there was no one else around. Soldiers might linger in other hallways to chit-chat or laze, but none were stupid enough to do it here. For all that Mustang had shirked when he was a Colonel he was a hard-ass of a Fuhrer when it came to laziness in his men. Ed raised a hand to knock, fighting down the urge to scowl as he tugged on his new jacket. Al had done a superb job on it, he admitted reluctantly to himself, but it didn't change the fact that Al was a terrible, terrible person.

Al knew very well that Edward was incapable of turning down a bet. The younger Elric also knew that Ed would never renege on a wager, even if he lost. The bet had been something stupid, something that Ed didn't even remember, and the wager had been this: If Ed lost, Al got to make him a new jacket and Ed had to wear it to work from now on. Ed had never known his little brother could be so clever. Too bad he had to find out like this.

In the eleven years Ed had been in the army he'd never once worn a uniform, though he had lost the red coat over time. This was obviously Al's way of nostalgia, along with a hint of his wicked humor. Ed wore platform boots (woefully battered over the years), leather trousers, and his black tank top. He kept his hair in a ponytail that brushed his shoulder blades and usually he wore his black jacket – the same thing he'd worn to work since he joined when he was twelve.

Today, however, he wore the jacket Al had made. It was a standard military jacket made from red cloth, rather than blue, with Teacher's Flamel mark stitched onto the back of it. Al had even dug through all of Ed's old commendation letters and purchased the ribbons for the damn thing. Ed hated the fussy little things. He had been utterly mortified when Al presented it to him – along with two spares, since he had to wear the jacket every day – but a bet was a bet.

Still, that didn't mean Ed had to like it. God, Roy was going to laugh himself sick when he saw this.

That thought didn't make Ed feel any better, but he still had a job to do. He glanced at the paperwork clutched in his hand and made a face. Hawkeye wanted him to deliver it to the Fuhrer for her. She'd managed to maintain a smooth expression when Ed had shown up to work, unlike the open gawking he'd endured from Havoc and Breda (Fuery and Falman had been kind enough to keep their expressions neutral), but he'd still seen the crinkle of amusement in Hawkeye's claret eyes.

"Damn it, Al," he groaned, and knocked on the door.

Fuhrer Roy Mustang had such a nice ring to it, he thought with a smile as he glanced out the humongous windows of his office. He'd been Fuhrer for well over six months and he still had a hard time believing that this was it. He'd finally done it. And this office, while not as opulent as Bradley's had been, was still better than all of his previous offices combined.

Originally the Fuhrer's office had been on the fourth floor, well out of the hustle and bustle of the other soldiers but Grumman, the previous Fuhrer, had moved it down to the same floor as the administration offices.

"Being the Fuhrer doesn't make you royalty," the old man had explained tartly when people questioned the move. "Being the Fuhrer means that you care for your country and your men. The Fuhrer should be accessible to any who need him."

Roy tended to agree – but, then again, he was seen as Grumman's protégée. Of course he agreed with the retired Fuhrer.

He turned back to the paperwork scattered on his desk and his smile took on a pained note. He'd been striving for this position for almost two decades, and he was definitely enjoying it, but if he'd thought the paper pushing was bad as a Colonel or General it was nothing compared to this.

Sometimes he thought Lieutenant General Hawkeye made up things just to get him back for all the times he'd skipped out of work – which, of course, just made him more determined to skip out of it. He did the important things, at least. Wasn't that enough?

Roy grumbled under his breath and sat down, reveling in the comfort of the leather chair. He glanced around his office – devoid, for once, of any other personnel. Aside from his desk, there was a large rectangular table for meetings with his generals, an enormous fireplace that was currently lit (Fuhrer or not, he was still the Flame Alchemist – he needed his fire fix, damn it!), and a number of bookcases crammed full of books and notes passed down from Fuhrer to Fuhrer.

The ringing of the phone broke through his musings. He stared at it in surprise. Few people ever called him directly – that was what his generals were for, after all. He lifted the handset.

"Mustang," he answered, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Roy!" chimed the voice at the other end.

Immediately recognizing Major General Hughes' voice Roy began to scowl. In all the years he'd known Hughes the man had never stopped bothering him with pictures of his wife, teenage daughter, and now his young son as well. "What is it this time, Hughes?" he snapped shortly. Encouraging the man only made it worse.

"Now, Fuhrer, sir, would I be calling to waste your time?" Hughes even had the gall to sound hurt. Before Roy could point out that blathering about his family during work hours was very much a waste of time, Hughes continued. "I saw something extremely interesting a few minutes ago. Your favorite Colonel looked like he wanted to murder puppies this morning."

Roy had known Hughes for a long time now, ever since they were both enrolled at the Academy. He knew when his friend was fishing for information. "Not that it's any of your business, particularly when you're supposed to be working, but I have no idea what's wrong with him," Roy said tiredly. It had taken him years to realize that what he felt for a certain golden-eyed blonde was not paternal, and it had taken both Hawkeye and Hughes to get him to risk a relationship with Ed.

He and Ed had been together for four years now and, while their relationship wasn't exactly a secret, it certainly wasn't a good reason to be tying up his phone line right now. Roy was tempted to hang up on his friend – it wouldn't be the first or last time if he did – but Hughes was talking again.

"Oh, but that isn't why I was calling!" Hughes assured him and Roy could almost hear the other man's smirk. It wasn't like Roy's I'm-a-smug-bastard-and-you-can't-do-anything-about-it. It was more of an I-know-something-you-don't smirk – Roy was well acquainted with it. "I have a good idea of why he's angry. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive. Anyway, I guess I'll be going now!"

"Wait a second, Hughes!" Roy began but the man had already hung up. He stared at the phone. What the hell? He contemplated calling Maes back and demanded answers. Two things stopped him. The first was that, even if he called, Maes would probably just tease him and lead him around without actually answering him. The other was a knock at his door. Scowling at the phone in his hand he slammed it down, ran a hand through his hair, and sat down, trying to reclaim his serene dignity. "Enter!" he called, expecting it to be Hawkeye with more work.

One of the double doors was pushed open with entirely more force than was necessary, though luckily it was too heavy to slam into the walls. Even so, the dramatic entry let him know who it was. He was a little surprised. Edward very rarely visited him in his office. About to ask why the younger man was here, Roy got a good look at the blonde and stared, speechless, mouth agape.

Ed looked much the same as he usually did but, for some reason, he was wearing a military jacket. A red military jacket, complete with ribbons, gold braid at the shoulder, and the four quarter inch stripes and three gold stars on his shoulders that marked him as a Colonel. It took long enough for Roy to find his voice that Ed had already closed the door, walked up to his desk, and dropped several reports on the well-polished surface.

"From Hawkeye," Ed mumbled, adamantly not looking at his lover. "And close your mouth, bastard. You look like an idiot," he added testily.

Roy snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, made a visible effort to retrieve the shards of his thoughts, and smoothed a gloved hand over his lips in an effort to hide his smirk. If Ed thought he was being laughed at the blonde would go ballistic. Roy cleared his throat. "Fullmetal…"

Ed scowled at him. "Don't even start," he threatened, folding his arms and staring resolutely at a painting. "I lost a bet with Al," he added, as though it explained everything and then some.

To Roy's surprise, it actually did answer his questions. He sat back in his chair to fully observe the blonde Colonel. Ed might be embarrassed, Roy mused, but the jacket suited him well. Roy had always wondered what Ed would look like in uniform, though no amount of cajoling, pleading, or even blackmail had ever worked in his favor. It had never occurred to him to use it as a wager for a bet, even though he knew well that Ed never could resist showing off his intellect.

"Quit fucking staring at me. Hawkeye needs those back, so I have to wait on you," Ed growled, glaring harder at the painting and crossing his arms almost defensively over the jacket. "I've got my own shit to deal with today as it is. Those idiots in Xenotime are still screwing around with Red Water."

A long, slow smile crossed Roy's features. Hawkeye needed them before Ed could go back, eh? Sometimes the foresight of the woman astounded him. He got to his feet, his movement startling Ed into looking at him.

"What the hell are you grinning about?" Ed snapped, his cheeks reddening further.

Roy knew well that the shade was part anger now, too. "Am I no longer allowed to be in a good mood when you're around?" Roy asked idly, walking out from behind his desk and striding calmly over to the doors. He knew without looking that Edward would be giving him that patented Are you an idiot? stare that the blonde was so fond of. Quietly he locked the door and glanced over his shoulder, noting the incredulous expression on his young lover's face as he prowled across the room. Incredulousness morphed into understanding and then to denial.

"Oh, no. Oh, hell no! We are not doing that in your office!" Ed began backing away, Roy was still approaching, and his statement ended almost a full octave higher than it had begun. He scrambled away, nearly tripped in his own haste, and hit Roy's desk. Before he could move the Fuhrer had his shoulders pinned to the dark piece of furniture (made of real oak, it was – not of this plywood and veneer crap like the new desks) and was looming over him with a grin.

"Why, Fullmetal, I had no idea you were into this sort of thing," Roy purred, watching the blush explode over the blonde's cheeks.

Ed began to sputter. "You-! You bastard, what the hell? Why are you being so…so… I don't even know, but it's fucking weird!" He made a noise that was a cross between a yelp and a whimper when Roy leaned down to nuzzle his neck, trailing his lips up to brush his subordinate's ear suggestively.

"I always knew you'd look good in uniform, Fullmetal, even if it's the wrong color." Roy grinned against Ed's neck as the blonde cursed, struggling beneath him. "Or perhaps the right color?" he mused, knowing his lips tickled Ed's sensitive neck. He rested his forehead against Ed's. "Does it really bother you so much to wear this jacket, Edward?" he asked curiously.

Ed scowled up at Roy, though the older man's lips were close enough to his to derail his thoughts. He licked his lips to try and call some moisture into them, noting that Roy's eyes darkened considerably when Ed's tongue brushed his lips. "I hate the reminder," he said quietly, knowing that Roy would understand what he meant without any explanation. Ed had discarded the red coat when he'd restored Al. Though this jacket wasn't the same thing, it still brought back memories of a time when he didn't know if Al would ever get his body back.

Roy nodded, smiling faintly in understanding. He glanced down at the young man pinned beneath him and his smile turned wicked.

Ed must have seen it because he scowled up at him again. "I already told you, we're not doing this here, you ba–" Ed started to protest. Roy's lips on his effectively cut off Ed's argument. Despite the blonde's vehement refusal he still moaned helplessly and melted like ice cream in the sun when Roy's tongue curled around his. Roy knew very well what turned Ed on after all this time; he nibbled Ed's lower lip and swept his tongue powerfully through the Colonel's mouth when the young man parted his lips. Roy pulled back to observe his handiwork. Ed looked decidedly flushed, his lips were swollen and pink, and he seemed to have forgotten his objections. Roy used the distraction to work the buttons of Ed's new jacket loose.

Ed clamped his hand – the automail one, Roy noted mournfully – around Roy's wrist. "Someone could walk in on us!" he hissed, trying and failing to sound like he was utterly indifferent to Roy's presence. It might have been more convincing if his hips weren't pressed flush against the Fuhrer's. Roy knew well that Ed was aroused despite his protesting.

Roy grinned lecherously down at his subordinate. "I locked the door," he informed Ed judiciously, tugging the red jacket away from Ed's chest. "Besides, you can't tell me you aren't enjoying this." He glanced pointedly down at the bulge that Ed's leather pants were failing rather spectacularly to hide. His gaze lingered. "Have I mentioned recently how much I love your fascination for leather?" he remarked casually.

Ed flushed darkly again and scowled up at his lover. "I can't believe Grumman gave you his endorsement for Fuhrer, you pervert," Ed grumbled, looking away when Roy gave him a mildly affronted look.

"I'll have you know that I'm a very good Fuhrer," Roy protested, jerking his arm out of Ed's grip at the younger man's lapse. Quick as a snake he pinned Ed's wrists to the desk in turn and leaned down, brushing his lips once more over Ed's. He took heart when, rather than turn away, the blonde's lips parted a little in invitation, though Roy pulled away before Ed could coax him into deepening the kiss, smiling benignly when Ed growled at him.

"Either do it or don't, but do not tease me, goddammit," Ed warned, flexing his wrists against Roy's grip. His eyes had gone a pure, molten gold, the pupils expanding with the desire he was trying so hard to ignore. To be fair, though, Roy was pretty hard to ignore.

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Changed your mind, have you?" He released Ed's flesh wrist, trailing his hand down his subordinate's chest to linger at the waistband of his trousers. To his immense surprise Ed scowled up at him, looped his free hand around his neck, and yanked him down for a more satisfying kiss.

There was something about being kissed by Edward Elric that made Roy feel like he was burning, if burning made one want to dance madly in the flames. Ed was sunshine, and light, and fiery determination, and damn if the way he kissed wasn't all that and more. Sometimes when they kissed it was softer, gentler, but this was a kiss with teeth and tongue and lips and it was pure Edward in a way that Roy knew he would never get tired of. It was perfect to the point of distraction, something that he didn't realize until he noticed Ed had managed to unfasten his jacket and shove it off his shoulders. Then Ed had buried the fingers of his free hand in the hair at the nape of Roy's neck and tugged with just the right amount of force to be pleasurable.

Roy pulled away, panting like he'd been drowning, and was delighted to note that Ed looked about the same – kiss-swollen lips, tousled hair, glazed eyes. He felt a smile drift over his lips at the endearing sight and used Ed's brief moment of passiveness to tug the blonde's new jacket off, dropping it carelessly to the floor to join his own.

Ed drew in a deep, steadying breath and raised an eyebrow at Roy. "Thought you liked the new jacket?" he snipped – which would have been intimidating and all except he was flushed and painfully aroused and goddammit it Roy's appreciative stare wasn't making it fucking worse.

"Oh, I do, but I think I prefer you wearing nothing at all," Roy replied, his tone at least an octave lower – dark and rich, like chocolate with just a hint of caramel.

"Why the fuck are you still cohere – aah!" Ed began, only for his words to cut off when Roy chose that very moment, the fucking sadist, to press his lips to his belly button, and who knew the stupid thing could be such an erogenous zone? And then Roy's lips trailed upward and he pushed the black vest out of his way, looping it easily over Ed's neck and then leaving it tangled around the shorter man's wrists. And Roy was teasing him again, nipping at the exposed skin, hands flowing like water down his chest. "Fucking just…!" Ed couldn't even decide what he just wanted, and it was always like this, goddammit, where Roy just had to go and blitz every trace of lucid thought from his head.

Roy drew back, observing his handiwork with a trace of smugness is his coal-black gaze as he stripped off his gloves and began the methodical work of unbuttoning his shirt. He reveled in the poor attempt at a glare that Edward directed at him from under his bangs as the younger alchemist disentangled his wrists from the vest. Ed was trying, and failing, to regulate his breathing and the sight was oddly endearing. "Just…?" Roy questioned serenely, resting a hand solicitously on the large belt adorning his younger lover's hips.

The glower Ed graced him with could have peeled paint, but Roy accepted it quite benignly. "Either fuck me already or let me leave so I can take care of it myself," Ed snapped, eyes flashing up at the Fuhrer. Who was smirking, damn him, and leaning down to casually pin his wrists again. Ed arched with a gasp as Roy trailed his lips over the blonde's neck and then dropped to the meeting of automail and flesh. Ed realized giddily that he was extremely glad Roy had wondered about the sensitivity of old automail scars. He moaned, unable to suppress the sound, and then jumped and swore vividly when the phone rang loudly – the phone sitting right next to his ear.

Roy paused and blinked irritably at the phone. Twice in one morning? Someone needed to be lectured on the merits of the chain of command. He would have ignored it had Ed not yanked his automail arm free, fumbled for the handset, and shoved it at him. His expression said, very clearly, Answer your goddamn phone! With a very put-upon sigh, Roy accepted the phone and straightened, though he kept one hand leisurely on Ed's hip, thumb absently stroking the warm flesh.

"Yes?" he asked, pleased by how polite he sounded despite his almost painful arousal and he really would have preferred to just burn the thing to ashes. "Ah… Colonel Armstrong, to what do I owe the pleasure? Hmm… Of course. Yes, continue," he said, rolling his eyes skyward. Of all the times for Armstrong to call about the upcoming military ball. It was a natural decision to put Armstrong in charge, given his connections with the old nobility and his artistic eye, but he also was a little…extravagant at times.

As Roy conversed with Armstrong, Ed resigned himself to a very long morning of dissatisfaction and it was all Mustang's fault, damn it! Forget the damn paperwork. Hawkeye could come get it herself later! Ed had his own shit to take care of. Fucking Xenotime morons. He started to get up, as it seemed this conversation was going to take a while, and was utterly shocked when Roy tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, reached down, and began to unfasten his belt. Ed gaped at the man. "What the hell?" he hissed as quietly as possible while still being audible. The wicked smile that crawled over Mustang's lips was all the answer he needed.

Ed blanched, the color draining from his face. Ed was an extremely vocal person when it came to sex. This is not a good idea, he thought, sanctimoniously concerned with Roy's reputation should Armstrong overhear – never mind that all of Central (hell, probably all of Amestris) knew that their Fuhrer was a promiscuous man. He tried to squirm away from Roy but the hand on his hip pinned him rather insistently and, while he'd been thinking of ways to save the bastard's image (because Ed was a nice fucking guy, goddamn it), Roy had already slid his other hand under the waistband of his trousers and boxers and curled his hand around the aching flesh within. The blonde slumped back on the desk gracelessly, groaning.

A blush promptly mangled his cheeks and he slapped his flesh hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds he made as Roy's hand began to stroke, firmly but languidly, because the bastard knew how he liked it and was using it to his advantage. Wrapped up in trying to stay quiet, he didn't even notice right away when Roy let go of his hip to finish unfastening his belt and pants, shoving the garments down to his ankles where they caught on his boots.

"Of course, Colonel," Roy said calmly into the phone as though he wasn't giving his lover a hand job in the middle of the day in his fucking office. Somehow, though, Ed couldn't stay angry at the bastard when his hand moved like that. "Oh? Is that right? Did you need to speak to him?" It took a moment for those words to permeate the pleasured haze that Ed was surrounded by but, when he did, he shook his head frantically at Roy. The man only gave him a blasé look. "Yes, he's here waiting on some paperwork. Here," Roy said again and then, to Ed's dismay, handed him the phone.

Glaring daggers at his superior, his scowl promising revenge, Ed brought the cursed phone to his ear. "Hello, Colonel," he said, trying to force the persistent snarl out of his voice with only mild success. At least Roy had – no, no, he hadn't stopped, damn him. How the fuck was he supposed to concentrate when sparks kept crawling up his spine with every stroke of Roy's hand?

"Edward Elric, it is an honor to speak to you as always! I have questions about your participation in the upcoming ball!"

Armstrong's voice was so not a turn-on and if the Fuhrer hadn't been stroking him with those sure movements Ed might have been able to overcome his arousal and actually listen to the Colonel on the other line. As it was, Roy had introduced his tongue to the tip of a very interested part of Ed's anatomy and the blonde had to fight the moans hovering on his lips. Mustang was going to fucking pay for this shit later.

Roy knew that Ed was probably planning all the terrible things he'd do to him soon and the blonde was notoriously creative when it came to revenge. Likely it would be something grand and elaborate, but it would be completely worth seeing Ed trying his hardest to focus on a conversation with Roy stroked him.

And then a terrible idea came to him. A terrible, evil, wonderful idea sprang to the forefront of his mind. Ed would probably kill him for it, but it would be so completely worth it. The trick was to keep the Colonel clueless until it was too late. Roy glanced at Ed's face, noted how hard he was trying to actually listen to Armstrong, and grinned as he slipped a hand into his pocket, searching for and finding the tiny bottle of gel he kept on his person. He popped the cap one-handed, making sure to keep stroking Ed's straining cock. If he stopped, Ed would be curious. Best not to risk it.

It was difficult to squeeze the lubricant out with one hand and slick the fingers of the same hand. He resorted to letting it pool on his desk, instead, and dipping his fingers in it. He chanced a glance at Edward, noting the enticing flush on the Colonel's cheeks and the deep breaths he was taking to keep his voice calm. Roy smirked, knowing Ed was about to have a much harder time. He leaned forward, closed his lips over the tip of Ed's cock, and sucked. At the same time he slid his index finger past the tight ring of muscle, burying it to the knuckle.

Ed arched almost completely off the desk in surprise (only Roy's free hand, still pinning his hip, kept him from jerking away too much), slamming a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone as he made a keening sound of shocked pleasure. Roy withdrew his mouth before the blonde could come, smiling slowly at Ed when the younger alchemist attempted to glare at him. The blonde seemed to catch the tail end of a question.

"Uh, sure, Armstrong," he choked out and, from his tone, Roy knew Fullmetal had no idea what he was agreeing to. On the plus side, for Roy at least, Ed didn't seem to have noticed the intrusion of his finger. Then again, after four years, that wasn't really surprising. He removed his finger to drop that hand to his pants, batting aside the end of his shirt, and skillfully manhandled his belt, button, and zipper. He very nearly sighed his relief as the constrictive cloth fell away, allowing his erection to jut proudly. He slicked himself with the extra gel, shivering in delight as he finally got a little relief, and leaned over Ed, who blinked up at him in hazy surprise when he released Ed's erection as well.

"What are you…?" Ed mouthed silently up at him as he caught Ed's bare thighs. Without answering, Roy unceremoniously tossed the blonde's legs over his shoulders, the movement made difficult by the leather pants still tangled around his thighs. Ed was doing a very good impression of a fish, mouth opening and closing soundlessly – and then he began to shake his head, vigorously, trying to get Roy to change his mind. Roy only smiled at him, pinned Ed with one hand on the younger man's shoulder, and used the other to guide himself to the squirming blonde's entrance.

He took pity on Ed at the look on his face, leaned down, and captured his lips at the same time he thrust in, swallowing the cry of pained pleasure from his lover. Roy sank into the welcoming heat and waited (admittedly impatient, though he'd never admit it, least of all to Ed) for him to adjust, drawing him into a heated kiss that made Ed drop the phone. Roy pulled away, grinned down at Ed, and handed him the phone again.

"Sorry, Armstrong. Dropped the phone," Ed forced out tightly with his eyes clamped shut, clenching his teeth as Roy moved to keep the hiss from leaving his lips. He made the mistake of opening his eyes and glaring up at Mustang, intent on giving him a blistering stare, and instead got an eyeful of those deep blue-black eyes, half covered by Roy's dark eyelashes. His hair fell in sweat-slicked strands to stick to his forehead and the overall effect was the appearance of his lover that Ed had only ever associated with their bedroom. Then the bastard moved again, outward, and angled himself differently, hands reaching down to cup Ed's ass, and Ed knew what was coming. His eyes widened and he hastily covered the mouthpiece of the phone again as Roy slammed in once more, striking that spot in Edward with all the force of a goddamn mallet.

Ed's head dropped to the desk with a thump, his groan loud and unchecked as his vision blanked out in a flurry of exploding silver stars. Armstrong was still chattering in his ear but he honestly had no idea what the man was saying anymore, his thoughts having shifted to the feel of Roy filling him completely and god he would never get tired of this feeling! Dimly he heard the mouthpiece of the phone crack a little from his tight grip on it and found that he didn't care about it at all.

Then Roy curled his hand around Ed's neglected erection again and stroked from base to tip. Ed bit his lip in an effort to keep quiet. "Fuck it," he choked out, reaching over and slamming the phone down onto its cradle so that his hands were free to clutch at Roy's arms and he could concentrate on his dark-haired, soon-to-be-fucking-dead lover. And Roy, that utter bastard, was smirking again, damn him. Roy leaned down to catch his lips in yet another bruising kiss once more – not that Ed was complaining – and Ed suddenly didn't care about that smirk anymore. The feeling of Roy's lips, and Roy's hand, and Roy's cock inside of him was just too perfect, and too much, and then Roy licked Ed's lips, bit down on his lower lip teasingly, and Ed came with a yell that didn't shake the building's foundations only because Roy was still kissing him.

For several blissful moments that could have been an eternity for all he knew Ed rode through the cosmos on silver wings, surrounded by stars and feeling light and sated and complete. When he opened his eyes again Roy was running his fingers through his hair – when had it come undone? – and pressing kisses to his brow, his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

"All right?" the man had the audacity to ask as he cupped Ed's cheek. And despite everything Ed could only grin foolishly up at his lover in response.

"You're a bastard," Ed snipped waspishly an hour later as he hung up the phone and began searching for his hair tie. Armstrong had not been happy when Ed hung up on him and it had taken the better part of the hour to soothe the overly-emotional Colonel, and yes he was very sorry, and of course he was still going to do as Armstrong asked (whatever that was. Ed honestly didn't remember what he'd promised and hoped it wasn't anything too bad), and of course he'd let Alphonse know that he and Winry were invited to the annual military ball.

Roy only gave him his slow, cat-in-the-cream smile, coupling it with lowered eyelashes and that sexy bedroom stare of his. "Why, Edward, whatever do you mean?" he purred in his sultriest tone, smile only widening when the blonde began to blush and pull up his hair.

"You just had sex with your subordinate in you goddamn office," said blonde replied hotly, snatching the folders that the Fuhrer had just finished for Hawkeye off the man's desk and goddammit he was never going to be able to look at that desk without blushing again.

"And enjoyed in immensely," Roy noted with a dreamy caste to his honey-rich tone, propping his head on his palm and giving Ed a lazy once-over. "Please remember to extend my heartfelt thanks to Alphonse for his creativity," Roy added as Ed clasped the folders to his chest and turned away to hide his blush. His comment was prompted by the familiar snake-and-cross symbol embroidered on the back of the jacket.

Ed's growled "not your fucking slave, bastard!" was far more satisfying than it should have been, Roy thought contentedly as Ed hastened over to the doors, unlocked them, and left, slamming them shut behind him. His gaze strayed to the phone and he picked up the handheld, dialing. He tapped his fingers lightly on the smooth oak as he waited.

"Hello, Colonel. Yes, I wanted to make sure Fullmetal's apology was sufficient. …really? For the ball? And he agreed to…?" Roy's smile took on a distinctive smirk-like quality. "Really…" he said again, drawing out the word with interest. "Yes, I would get the measurements from Alphonse. Of course, Colonel. Have a nice day."

He hung up and, yes, that smile was definitely a smirk now.

Word Count: 6,100

A/N: One of those smut bunnies that wouldn't leave me alone. It's about as long as a normal story chapter because I can't seem to do much better. This really was nothing more than PWP, but I hope it was at least an enjoyable read. If there's enough interest (yes, I AM shamelessly playing for reviews) there's a sequel to this. Please look forward to it!

~AkizukiSakura