Dorsalgia

-- --

It felt like his back was on fire.

Colonel Mustang reached behind to tentatively stroke his stiff and aching back. Pain trembled up his spine from the rhythmic motion, evoking him to wince and utter a quiet hiss of pain.

He leaned carefully, pressing his back against the soft cushion of his office chair and allowing the muscles to relax, albeit painfully. He exhaled; an oneiric desire to leave his uncomfortable chair and lay down in his soft, warm bed arose in his mind.

He knew attempts to leave would be futile. Hawkeye would indubitably catch him, scold him, and coercively force him to return to his office. He had been procrastinating for several days, and the pile of paperwork on his desk seemed to ascend every time he looked at it.

Mustang sighed again, reaching out to languidly grasp the handle of his mug. He pulled it towards him, surveying the lukewarm contents of this morning's breakfast inside. Hesitantly, he brought the mug to his lips, took a small sip, and set it back down. The taste was bitter in his mouth.

He shoved a hand into the pocket of his uniform, fumbled around and then produced a bottle of aspirin. Flicking off the lid, he shook two pills into his palm, then returned the bottle. He popped the pills into his mouth, took another sip of his coffee, and downed the aspirin.

Mustang had been popping aspirin for the past few days. It did little to dull his pain. But at this point, even taking the slightest bit of edge off of his agony was worth something. Or, he liked to think it was.

Mustang's dorsalgia had conceived three days ago, when he'd awakened one morning to find himself in an awkward and uncomfortable position on his bed; his top half on the floor and his legs on the mattress, tangled in the sheets. When he'd obtusely attempted to jerk himself free, he'd thrown out his back.

The Colonel threaded his fingers through his hair, wanting direly for the acid burning in his back to miraculously fade. Hell, he'd even hope for his brain to be permanently severed from his spine if it meant he could be free of this agony.

He reached behind to prod at his back again, flinching each time his fingertips came in contact with the skin. The aspirin had proven to be impotent yet again. Mustang contemplated sending one of his subordinates out to fetch him a bottle of extra-strength painkillers.

He decided against it. Painkillers would not be potent enough to deal with this type of agony. He needed something stronger— better. A heating pad would not suffice. The water always became cold only moments after he was comfortable with the temperature.

And then Mustang concluded that he would need pressure— strong, unyielding, hardcore pressure— enough to ease out his tense and knotted muscles to satisfyingly relieve his back pain.

As Mustang was contemplating where to obtain such pressure, a sharp knock on his door drew him out of his thoughts. He had barely acknowledged the intrusion before the door was thrust open and a familiar short, blond-haired boy tromped into the room.

"Here's your freaking report! It's not my fault the damn place blew up, okay? I tell you, it was an accident! How was I supposed to know that performing alchemy would trigger the explosives!" Edward Elric hollered cacophonously as he thrust a crumpled sheet of paper at the Colonel.

Despite his pain, Mustang could not help but smirk amusedly at the raving twelve-year-old. "Blew up another building, huh?" he said, feigning exasperation as she shook his head. "How many times have I told you, Fullmetal, that I can't keep coughing up money to pay for—"

Mustang paused brusquely as an idea manifested in his mind. His dark eyes flickered over the young blond, roaming over his diminutive body. His small stature, slight, yet sinewy frame, his auto-mail leg, straight and smooth compared to the curves of his flesh one, and, oh God, his platform boots.

The Colonel swallowed hard. He stood from his chair, trying to conceal the pained expression that twisted his face as burning thrummed up his back. "Ed, I have a proposition for you," he said with as much impassivity as one with agonizing dorsalgia could. "You do a little favor for me, and as far as you and I are concerned, you never went on that last mission."

Edward quirked a brow, mentally considering the Colonel's suggestion. "Well… what's the favor?" he hesitantly inquired.

Mustang stepped towards him, a contorted expression of lust on his face. He reached up to unbutton his jacket, slipping it off and discarding it on his desk. Edward backed away in slight apprehension as the dark-haired man walked up to him.

"Edward…" the Colonel uttered, pausing in front of the young boy and staring at him intensely. "I want you to walk across my back. Please. Just for a few minutes."

He tentatively sprawled out across the floor, his belly to the ground and his head resting in his folded arms. Edward stared at him, blinking for a long moment, slowly processing what he'd just said.

"Wait… what? You want me… to walk across you?"

"Yes," Mustang replied, voice muffled by the sleeves of his shirt. "Please. My back is killing me."

"…What?" Edward found he could not process the Colonel's request. He shook his head, rubbing a gloved hand through his fringe, and blinked several times. "You want me to…"

"Yes. Just for a few minutes. Please." The Colonel turned to look at the boy, his expression firm, yet imploring. "My back feels like it's on fire."

Edward crinkled his nose, finding the request to be anomalous and slightly awkward. "Why don't you try aspirin, or a hot-water bottle?"

"I did. Believe me, they didn't help."

"Then go see a doctor. Geez, if it's that bad…"

"Edward," the Colonel interrupted, fixing the boy with dark eyes. "Do you want to keep up this search for the Philosopher's stone, or not? Because I'm perfectly capable of prohibiting your state license and expelling your privileges."

Edward made a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Okay, fine. Geezus… the things I do…" he grumbled. He eyed the Colonel's back apprehensively, before tentatively stepping forward and placing his boot on Mustang's back.

"Don't worry about hurting me," Mustang mumbled, barely feeling the pressure the boy applied to his back. "I've had much bigger things on my back."

Edward's eye briefly twitched at the blatant affront. He brought his other foot up and pressed it against Mustang's spine, and was surprised when the man let out a low, content moan, urging him on.

Edward proceeded to carefully walk across the Colonel's back, absently enjoying the feeling of stepping on him— which, on more than one occasion, he had felt an incessant urge to do.

"Ohh…" Mustang moaned as he felt the tension in his back dissipate and aching muscles relaxing under the blond's weight. He was surprised by how light Edward was; he had been anticipating auto-mail to be heavier.

Edward's foot fell upon a particularly tight area on Mustang's lower back, evoking the man to jolt as he felt the strained muscles ease under the pressure. A small grin played on the Colonel's lips. He knew that there had to be some reason why they had allowed a child to be in the military.

Now, if only he could persuade Edward into doing this once every month.

-- --

Later that day, Mustang was perambulating through Headquarters, looking calm and relieved. His dorsalgia had dissipated completely; the previous pain and knotted muscles had diminished. His back had never felt better.

A light tap on his shoulder drew his attention. He turned around to meet the languid blue eyes of Jean Havoc, who wore a strange expression on his face. The cigarette protruding from his mouth flickered.

"Colonel, I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but your whole back is covered in little boot prints."

-- --

Just a quick oneshot I jotted down some time between late at night and early in the morning last week.

I got the inspiration for this oneshot after pulling a muscle in my back last month. The pain was so horrible that I asked my young cousin to walk across my back for me. I was really surprised by the relief I felt.

Edward would be the ideal size for back-walking, eh? The first thought that entered my mind when I began watching FMA was something along the lines of, 'Oh, God, look at those boots. Those would feel great on someone's back.'