A/N: I do suppose this story is rather angst-y but I do hate that word it's more like…well a surreal dream^^
Fullmetal is acting strangely tonight, his small naked body limpid on his side across Roy's bed. His voice is melancholy and he keeps giving that tiny smile that isn't happy or sad. In the pale moonlight of early night he seems very soft, feminine almost, but he's strong and Roy knows it. "You look lost tonight," he says in an almost childishly simple tone, his pink tongue darting out to wet lips that still smile blandly.
"I'm not lost," Roy replies, kneeling on the bed before him, his eyes laugh but Roy reaches out to finger a strand of his damp hair anyway. As annoyed as he looks he doesn't pull away and Roy won't back down either.
"Lonely then, Fuhrer Mustang?" He appreciates the title as much as Roy does even if he abuses it with shallow sarcasm. Roy's mouth forms a familiar smirk.
"Why would I be lonely? I have everything in the world." His hair slithers from pale fingers like a snake through grass, leaving a residue that dries and is forgotten quickly.
"Someone to love?" Shimmering gold rolls up at the ceiling, avoiding Mustang's gaze. That's alright; he avoids the question with a harsh bark of laughter that holds no real meaning. Fullmetal flops unceremoniously onto his back; his hair covers the pillow like a gold fiery halo, beautiful and dangerous. In the white glow he reminds Roy of a fallen angel, broken without wings. The dreamlike smile returns and he reaches his hands towards the sky, grasping for something just beyond reach. Well oiled machinery glints as a sword in the face of an enemy. It snakes over Roy's shoulder, tender in an off-color way. "Tonight you could love me." Cold fingers rub gently against the back of the Fuhrer's neck. Love him? Roy doesn't think he would know how to love anyone. "I wonder what it feels like, sometimes, to be in love, to make love. Is it really so different from regular sex? Or do people just kid themselves, blinded with the thought of love?" To him everything's a question with an answer, Roy admires that. His smile does look sad now, where it didn't before. "I'd never know if it was the same thing, because no matter how well we pretend, you don't love me." He retrieves his arm, drawing back inward, his previous position was much less open, he returns to it. "So why is it me? There are hundreds of people, men or women that would gladly spend nights with you. So why are you screwing me?" He watches alertly but his flesh hand fiddles with a loose string on the comforter anxiously. "Is it because I'm convenient? I'm right there is you want an office quickie, right? Make's things easy for you." Undeniably strange.
"You make me sound like some sort of monster," Roy says, stretching to touch him but snatching the offer away when he flinches. "Would you like to stop? The door's open." He purses his lips before shaking his head.
"No, I like it when you fuck me."
"Good, I enjoy fucking you too." The sentence feels foreign on his tongue, even unpleasant because vulgarity shouldn't fit this conversation the way it seems to. Almost like trying to repair tenderness they never had, Roy tells him, "You are beautiful." He glances at his automail; quickly enough that it's almost lost and grunts disbelievingly. The words aren't like him, or them, to begin with so he drops it where it lay.
"Do you think making love is like a mug of hot chocolate?" He starts again. "Warm and sweet, the kind of thing you pine for on cold lonesome days." Roy doesn't answer again; he doesn't think Fullmetal's looking for an answer. "Well, I suppose I'll never know." The way he says that is rather heartbreaking, someone who's missed out on so much else in life should have the chance to be in love. "And tonight, you can just fuck me like usual. Or we can get drunk like last night." Roy shakes his head, without meaning and thinks that maybe he's already had something to drink. With a heavy sigh he falls onto his stomach, lifting the bottom halves of his legs and wiggling his toes like a child. His chin rests in his palms, a smooth pinkie playing thoughtfully with his pouting bottom lip. "I wonder how Al's doing tonight." His legs scissor back and forth, he just can't stay still. "I wonder a lot," he chuckles, tipping his head back to look at Roy and he wonders if Fullmetal's eating right. "You're talkative tonight." His cheeks look a little hollow, but maybe it's just the moon.
"You're doing all the talking." Roy touches his soft face, stroking an empurpled bag beneath a large golden, cat-like eye.
"Yeah, I am," he sighs again, returning his gaze to the window. The whole situation has a sort of surreal dreamlike feel to it and for a brief second Roy thinks he just might be dreaming. But, no, the curve of Fullmetal's back is too concise and the chip in the port of his automail arm is too much a minute detail. "It's just so quiet tonight, it's almost like I have to fill up the silence with all of this meaningless stuff." He shrugs; his eyes look much farther than what can be seen through Roy's bedroom window. "You said you have everything you need, so, are you happy?" Again Roy's not answering his question and this time he notices it's evasion but says nothing of it; he really is talking for the sake of sound. Fuhrer Mustang lifts a hand to his hip, rubbing a thumb against the smooth skin there before tracing a fine, white scar upwards.
"It's getting late," he points out no really sure what the point is but Fullmetal nods and he shifts again, once more on his back.
"I thought you'd start getting twitchy soon." Slowly, he reaches out a hand to draw Roy closer and somewhere deep down the older man wants to stop him, to tell him it's not necessary tonight. But that changes too much, would carry the awkwardness of this evening too far and instead he allows himself to be tugged into a kiss. Not derived of feeling entirely simply distant and uncomplicated.
Roy takes a second to pull back slightly. Edward, yes, a very strange fallen angel indeed.
As always thanks for reading, and if you chose to, writing.
SeeInBlackAndWhite