Disclaimer: These characters belong to Arakawa-sensei, and I wouldn't dream of claiming them as my own or making any money off of them.
Notes: Unbetaed, sorry! I've always thought Ling was one of the most complicated characters in the Hagaren-verse, but I did my best not to slaughter him. Heh…
Sing Me To Sleep
The bed is never big enough. Ling wakes to find himself tangled in blond and sinew, a mess that takes ten minutes to straighten out. Edward reasons that the process would be much quicker were he not feigning slumber. He coaxes his lips away from a smile while Ling grumbles and settles back into the mattress.
Ed lies sprawled on his stomach as the press of cotton sheets forms creases on his cheek. Ling is turned away from him now and Ed stares at the man through slitted eyes, listening as his breathing grows deep. He traces the flesh fingers of his right hand gently across Ling's back, playing connect the dots. The spasm of his lover's muscles triggers a grin. It's Ling's turn to pretend to be asleep.
Dust drifts in and out of sunbeams that slip through the curtains. Ed wrinkles his nose and pulls a pillow over his head while Ling snakes an arm to the floor to grab his pants. He slips them on beneath the sheets.
Thirteen minutes later, Ling's side of the bed is cold and Edward needs something more interesting to look at than the ceiling. Besides, there's a song stuck in his head that he can't remember. Ed pulls on a shirt, and braids his hair on the way to the kitchen. When walks in, he's humming loud enough to make his lips vibrate.
Ling is beaming at him over a table covered with sugar, salt, butter, flour, eggs, milk – Ed adds the ingredients in his head and sighs. "Make your own damn breakfast," he grouses, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He's already pulling out a bowl, though, because Ed has learned that Ling is only a good cook when he wants to be.
Ed leans back against the stove as he swirls a wooden spoon through the thickening batter. Ling's attention is focused on their wall calendar. After flipping through the months, he plucks up one of the pens that, like Ed's notes, are strewn all over the house. He doesn't notice Ed's lifted eyebrow until he's ringed one number in red.
My birthday, Ling proclaims, flourishing the pen. Ed snorts and returns to pounding the batter, more vigorously than before. Ling almost feels sorry for the spoon.
After Edward has the first batch of pancakes on the griddle, Ling starts to sing. The tune matches the one Ed had been humming when he entered, but this time it joins with lyrics that he can't understand. But he does recognize a phrase once in a while, for this is the language whose words Ling will shout in the throes of passion, or whisper when he can tell that Ed's not really sleeping.
Ling is not a talented singer, but he's passable. Ed doesn't tell him how comforting that voice has become, and Ling never says that he already knows.
The song ends with the slap of a pancake hitting the floor, accompanied by a hearty swear from Ed. Ling grabs a knife and slices it open. The flapjack is slightly raw in the center, but otherwise edible. Edward performs a double take when he sees Ling reaching for a fork as well. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Ling slices off a large piece and lifts it to his mouth. Just cleaned the floor a week ago, he says while chewing.
"And you fucked me there on Wednesday!" Ed objects, grimacing in disgust.
With a shrug, Ling shovels up what remains of the pancake and dumps it onto his plate, drowning it in a swamp of maple syrup. Ed shudders and vows to take greater care the next time he uses a spatula.
It isn't until Ed has started on the fourth batch that Ling rises from the table to join him. The brunette sweeps a finger around the edge of the mixing bowl while his other hand slips behind Ed's back to sneakily remove his hair tie. "What?" Ed asks sharply. He hasn't eaten yet and if Ling thinks he's some kind of slave, or worse, a housewife, Ed is going to…
But Ling only grins and pops a batter-coated finger between his lips.
By the time breakfast draws to a close, Ling has managed to swipe another pancake despite Edward's best efforts to guard his plate. The prince has been watching strands of gold slowly unravel over the last half hour, Sunday morning's idle entertainment.
Ed lets out a shout when his hair slips over his shoulder and onto his plate. He glares at the sticky strands for a moment, fuming. Ling whistles softly and leans his chair back on two legs, repressing a laugh. Edward's sudden devious expression is unexpected, however; Ling barely has time to prepare himself before the blonde dives across the table to knock him off his chair.
Ed's legs are snugger than any belt around Ling's waist, and it's more than syrup that cements their mouths together. Slow down, Ling tries to say, but Edward Elric is a force of nature, wild and unstoppable. It's barely started before Ling is tipping over the edge, and his lover follows soon after.
Edward stalks off to take a shower without a word. He leaves Ling on the floor, back bruised and beginning to ache, wondering what hit him. It isn't until he gets into the shower himself that Ling finally understands.
When Alphonse comes to visit that evening, Ling drags him to the bathroom and persuades him to transmute the shampoo back into something more recognizable. Ed listens to the water running with his head in his brother's lap and pouts over the ruination of his plot, muttering about learning not to indulge stupid princes. Al just smiles as he drags his human fingers soothingly through Edward's hair.
They allow Ling to carry the conversation after he returns. He perches on the arm of the couch and talks about When I'm Emperor while Ed secretly wonders how much it matters anymore, wonders if he can find a way to make it not matter.
"I'm selfish," Ed tells Al before he leaves.
Alphonse just laughs a little. "Impossible," he says warmly.
Ed knows that his brother is wrong, but that doesn't stop him from pulling Ling into the bedroom once the door closes. Their pace is languid now. Ling draws his tongue along the line of Edward's neck, and this time the blonde is the one letting down his lover's hair. Ling's teeth nip lightly at Ed's collarbone, while the other man worships his chest with a warm and willing pair of hands.
Ed's not entirely sure what happens next, but he can imagine. All he can hope to do now is imagine. Because outside of his fantasies, Edward Elric is not unstoppable. Because the rush of longing that tingled out from his chest and swept into the metal finger of his shaking hand as he steeled himself to shoot was overthrown by a single shout.
Don't butt in, don't butt in, don't butt in…
The images come to him in dreams, and in dreams alone he can live. It's only in the waking world that every time he speaks Ling's name, an unfamiliar voice answers coolly, "It's Greed."