On The Front
It was in here, in the dark, that they found an odd sort of limbo, a little pocket of air where neither of them were alchemists and tied to the military.
Author's NoteI don't know what kind of mood I was in that prompted me to write this, but it was late, I was tired from studying for exams and this is the product. Ed's older – about eighteen here.
FMA belongs to Arakawa Hiromu.
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As one of the highest ranking officers and senior state alchemist on the filed, Roy Mustang was privileged with the one thing most personnel in the military lacked – the gift of privacy. And as he had so many years previous, he bent the rules just slightly in regards to one blonde haired young man – Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist.
They didn't do much that night – could not, when they were surrounded by an army of wary soldiers, separated only by the thin grey canvas and the virtue of power and authority that kept others hungry for a bit of shelter – any scant comfort in this desolate scene – from walking in on them. The narrow low cot and coarse blanket were further impediments, but it wasn't physical restrictions that kept their kisses light and their touches chaste, sliding slow and warm across smooth skin in languid gestures.
The night air was cool, and the darkness a balm against his eyes, sore and sensitive from the heat of the day and the gritty sandy smoke his fire threw out when combusted. He shut his eyes briefly, relishing the black on black behind his eyes and felt lips caress against his eyelids with butterfly flutters.
It was in here, in the dark, that they found an odd sort of limbo, a little pocket of air where he wasn't the Colonel, the young man within his arms wasn't on a lifetime's hunt for the elusive Philosopher's Stone and neither of them were alchemists and tied to the military. It was a fact that was hard to forget, with the azure blue military coat and the twin pocket watches staring at him from their position atop a small trunk across the tent, but he kept his attention pointedly away from such reminders, focusing instead on the slender frame nestled against him.
Edward was silent, and that silence rang true and pure, no banter or insults exchanged, no orders from a superior to his subordinate coming between them. There were no angry accusations, playful teases, no seductive purrs or moans – nothing of the sort – just soft silence and tender touches, because the two of them spoke best through their actions, untainted and untouched by the razor-tinted edge of mystery and deceit all words spoken by a man planning a coup against the top and another hiding a forbidden act invariably contained.
Their exchanged touches were slow, unhurried and performed with utmost attention, as if they had the rest of forever to enjoy and knew they were in no hurry. They usually came together in a burst of fiery explosion, like the alchemy Roy so loved, clashing over some issue, kissing in heat and wet passion. Slow and silent were not adjectives associated with either the Flame or Fullmetal, and because of that, it made this night all the more sweeter.
Edward was like a banked ember, his spirit contained but still wild, still untamed, tendrils of that heat evident even in his most relaxed moments. They kept skin contact, never fully separating from each other, clinging to that shared touch like it was their last breath of fresh air. Edward embodied so much of what he loved of life – the passion, sharp features and face that promised lifelong loyalty and determination, the slender frame that was able to give as good as it got. The quick cunning mind, the same dark taints in his past that enabled them to empathize with each other the way none of Roy's previous liaisons ever could, even that overreactive anger Roy enjoyed coaxing with a jab or two about the subject of height. And last but definitely not least, was Edward himself, his hair a gleam of gold on the rough sheets, molten amber eyes trailing Roy's every movement, the heavy automail merely enhancing the young man's indomitable spirit.
Flames fed on air, thrived in the harshest areas, and this was one fire that would never die.
And only as the lone bird outside crooned in anticipation of the coming morning did either of them sit up, Roy plucking a small comb from the recesses of his coat and drawing the other against him, carefully brushing the unruly mane into a sleek waterfall of gold. The slouch in Edward's spine conveyed his mild exasperation, but he allowed Roy to toy with his hair. The way he held himself still, however, his head tilted at a slight angle to give Roy full contact betrayed his silent enjoyment. It was like weaving liquid gold, Roy mused, as he split the thick tail into three and began braiding. If luck was solid and palpable, this was what it would feel like. This was one activity that Roy partook as often as the younger man would let him, all his attention focused into a narrow band, giving him the chance to just be.
On the one hand, it was just hair, the chore of drawing it up and tucking it sensibly out of the way, but on the other hand, it was incredibly intimate, the act of brushing, of allowing another into one's personal space, with sure access to those vulnerable critical points – the temples, the bared throat.
In someone as intensely private and paranoid as Edward, it was an amazing act of trust.
They dressed quietly, the soft whisper of cloth on cloth the only noise, reconstructing their respective masks the same way they bundled up in so many layers of fabric. Roy was just slipping his watch into his pocket when Edward stepped up to him, eyes hooded and solemn, pressing soft lips against his for a moment. Something small and metallic slipped into his open palm, Edward nipping down against his lower lip at the same time before stalking out, gold braid flicking in his wake.
It was a lighter, which a silver exterior and a cap that promised to keep the small spark flint within securely dry and contained. Roy's alchemic symbol and the array that usually adorned his spark gloves were emblazoned on its side.
Curious, he followed the other out, ducking under the flap and coming out beside the younger man, remembering that out here appearances mattered and kept an obvious distance between them.
He glanced up at the clear, ghostly predawn sky – not a cloud in sight.
Turning back, he met the deep golden eyes that had never left his, the gleaming silver of the lighter a cold contrast on his skin.
Solemnly, a hint of a smile on his lips, Roy pocketed the gift, long slender fingers brushing gently against the shielding bangs, barely grazing one cheek in silent thanks.
"Watch the left front; the enemy is desperate and might take any means to bring our sentries down," he said. A smirk – "I'm sure they'll stare right over your head; you won't even register, but you never know. If you're lucky they'll just trip on you."
Edward replied with a low growl and stare that said watch yourself, old man and snapped a mock salute in his direction.
And as the sun dawned with the glory of golden red alchemic fire, they separated in opposite directions, scarlet coat and blue jacket flapping briefly in the stiff wind, the Fullmetal and Flame Alchemists on the war front once more.
end
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