(EDIT [7/9/2015]: I edited this so it's a little smoother reading and added a few small things. I would suggest re-reading if you haven't before the aforementioned date! Thank you so much for your lovely comments, or else I wouldn't have uploaded a second chapter. You are the absolute best.)

"Ling, what do you got for me today?"

"It's pretty slow, even for you. I only have you booked for one appointment, but he wants a large piece so it will probably take at least a few hours. The guy seemed pretty nervous about it on the phone, so make sure you don't give him too much hell."

"What kind of guy do you think I am? I have a heart, you know."

Ed goes to prepare his workstation, making sure all of his inks are tidy and his equipment is clean. Then, he takes a good look in the mirror. He's gotten into the habit recently of throwing his hair into a bun rather than a ponytail; he strongly denied that it was because it gave an illusion of height, however. Out of habit, he flicked his tongue over his lip ring. Today's outfit consisted of a black, tight-fitted tank and grey skinny jeans that he had cut into knee-length shorts. Ed often wore slightly revealing clothing to show off his various tattoos; after all, one should proudly promote their own craft.

The full pieces on his right arm and left leg were his favorites. They were the longest, most brutal tattoos he has ever had, with all the detail and shading work. They were completely inked to look like bio-mechanical armor, the three-dimensional style giving the illusion of ports and wires underneath. It was an idea that his friend Winry had given him, and he just ran with it. After growing up on the streets with his little brother, he had to fight arm and leg for survival. He was made of armor, and no matter what the world threw at him, he could endure it.

"Stop checking yourself out, Ed, your customer is here," Ling calls out.

Ed immediately stands at attention, looking towards the front desk. Who he sees is incredible, a walking cliche of "tall, dark, and handsome." He's wearing a long-sleeved, dark navy t-shirt, the neckline revealing some of his collar bone, and a pair of black jeans. His charcoal black hair gives a slight hint at a passing angsty phase in his youth, but pulled off in a more sophisticated and adult way. Once he catches Ed's eye, he waves. "Hi there, are you Edward?"

Those eyes could cut through me if I'm not careful. What are they made of, onyx? "Please, just Ed. And I'm sorry, Ling didn't mention your name?"

"Roy Mustang. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiles. "Here, come sit down. Let's discuss what you want me to do for you today." Or do to you, either one is honestly fine with me.

They sit at Ed's workstation, Roy in the tattoo chair and Ed on a stool next to him with his sketch pad. "I brought a couple pictures for reference," he starts, handing them over. "I'm a veteran, and I'm getting this tattoo in honor of my best friend Maes. He unfortunately did not make it safely home."

"I'm so sorry to hear about that. Tattoos really are a great way to honor someone who has passed, to make sure they're with you forever," Ed smiles solemnly, looking at the photos. "Ah, throwing knives?"

Roy nods. "That was his favorite hobby and he was never without them. Maes's intelligence was sharper than anyone I've ever known, so I figured it would be a fitting symbol for him. I wanted to also incorporate wings, to both symbolize his passing, but also my ability to overcome."

Well isn't this guy a fucking poet. "That's a beautiful idea, seriously. And where would you want this?"

"I was thinking right across my chest."

"Have you ever gotten a tattoo before? I assume you want this to be pretty big, so I'm not going to lie to you and say it won't hurt."

Roy laughs. "This will be my first tattoo, but the pain won't bother me, I can assure you."

"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you! Now before I get a sketch going, I need to see the canvas so I can measure how big it will be. If you would be so kind, please remove your shirt."

"That's the most polite way I've been asked to strip, I'll tell you that," Roy laughs as he removes his shirt.

Oh no, he's hot. He's really hot.

"I apologize for the appearance of my scars, some of them are a bit gnarly."

"I've seen many different kinds of bodies, covered in everything imaginable. I've got some scars myself. Scar tissue is hard to tattoo, so long as there aren't any huge ones in the way of the design, we'll be just fine."

As Roy lays down, Ed puts his knees on his stool to get a better look. No, Ed, it is not professional to lick your clients pectoral muscles. He takes a large piece of transparent paper and spreads it across Roy's bare chest, fingers splaying outwards to smooth the paper as close as he can to get accurate measurements. "I was thinking we could go to about…" he drags his fingers to two points just below his collar bone, "…here? Is that what you had in mind?"

Roy shudders under his touch. "Yeah, that seems good."

Ed uncaps his marker with his teeth, making two marks at the designated places. "So the knife would be right between the wings, kind of like a badass butterfly. For proportions sake, I'd say…" he traces his fingers down Roy's chest, and no he isn't biting his lip on purpose, "… right here, around a hand's length long."

"I trust your opinion," Roy smirks. "I did quite a bit of searching to find this place, and everyone I asked said you were the man to see."

"Good, that means my bribes are doing some good around here," he jokes. After making a couple more marks, he lifts the paper, checks it, replaces it to make sure, and then stands up with it in hand. "It will take me about an hour to sketch an outline for you. I say given the size of this, I might suggest two sessions: one for the outline, and one for the shading. It would cost more, but I'll be able to get more detail in it with more time."

"Money isn't a concern, take as long as you need," he shrugs. Plus, that means I get to see you again, Roy thinks. God, you're cute. He moves to put his shirt back on. "I'm going to grab some lunch and I'll be back."

"Get me a sandwich while you're at it," Ed calls as he walks out the door.

"Ed…" Roy gasps. It's beautiful. It's more than anything I could have dreamed of.

"I know, right? I think it's pretty bad ass. I added a few flames coming up behind the knife, I hope you don't mind. I can remove it if you don't like it, but you struck me as a 'flames' kind of guy."

"No, keep it. It's amazing." He takes the paper bag in his hands and holds it up. "And I know you were mostly kidding when you said 'get me a sandwich', but I figured I'd get you one anyways."

Ed's eyes go wide. "You're fucking kidding me."

"Why would I be? I hope you like turkey club."

Ed takes the bag and opens it. Sure enough, a nicely wrapped turkey club sandwich sits inside. "You know, you don't have to butter me up to get me to do a better job. I already charge an arm and a leg for this shit."

"Just take the sandwich, call it an act of random kindness."

"You must be some kind of politician, I swear," Ed says, putting the bag in his mini fridge. "I'll eat it after we're done here, it will be my dinner. Enough chatter. Strip, Mustang."

"Oh, so I'm Mustang now, huh?" Roy chuckles, taking his shirt off and sitting back on the tattoo chair.

"Well 'Strip, Roy' sounds weird. I need more consonants to make it sound intimidating. I'm a tattoo artist, I'm supposed to be tough," Ed says, flexing his arms.

"Right, my apologies."

Ed fetches his gloves and tattoo equipment. "First thing's first: I need to shave where the tattoo will be. If you would feel emasculated with me doing it, than you can do that yourself in the bathroom."

"Masculinity is so fragile, sometimes. Do people really object to you doing that? Isn't is a part of your job?"

"You would be surprised," Ed laughs. It takes no time at all to get the job done, seeing as Roy's not necessarily wooly. He'd be lying, however, if he said he didn't draw it out to keep rubbing his hands along his skin. It's a simple matter of admiring human anatomy, that's all.

Ed stands to Roy's side with the stencil, pressing it down and adhering the design to Roy's skin. After pealing away the paper, Ed gives Roy a mirror to inspect that everything is all set before they get started. Roy takes a deep breath, imagining the ink in its permanent place upon his chest. He nods, handing the mirror back to Ed. "Let's do it."

"If at any time you want me to take a break, just tell me when. Especially if you aren't used to it, the pain can be a bitch."

Pointing to a scar on his lower abdomen, Roy replies, "Again, I don't think the pain will be an issue for me. But I appreciate the concern."

Ed shakes his head. "Just letting you know that I won't judge you. But that is a pretty nasty scar. You'll have to tell me about it, if you feel comfortable with it, that is." Ed places his hands gently over Roy's chest positioning the gun over the stencil. He starts it without warning, and Roy can't help but curl his fists at the surprise.

"Yeah, sure. It happened overseas. There was an explosion. We were lucky to avoid the direct impact, but long pole, a piece of shrapnel, came jutting out and impaled me."

Ed grimaces. "Holy shit, and you lived?"

"Well I'm here now, aren't I?"

"Guess so," he replies. A few minutes go by as he starts to outline the throwing knife. "Would you believe me if I said that I've been impaled, too?"

"I'd either call you a liar or call our meeting fate. There's no way."

"I shit you not, take a look," he says, getting up and putting his gun down. He lifts his shirt, revealing a few more tattoos, but more visibly a large scar on his lower left abdomen.

"I'm scar twins with my tattoo artist, what a stroke of luck. May I ask how?"

Ed picks up his machine again, continuing his work. "My brother and I grew up on the streets. As a result, we didn't exactly follow the letter of the law and got ourselves in pretty precarious situations. One time, we were staying in this abandoned warehouse and I was fucking around in the rafters, being an idiot. I ended up falling and landing on a pipe. I was like an Ed-kabob, it was pretty metal. Fortunately, it was around that time that I met Ling, and he helped me with all the hospital bills. He saw my drawings and apprenticed me here. Now I'm basically serving an indentured servitude to pay off my debts."

"Christ, how old were you when this happened? You can't be more than, what, eighteen now?"

Ed stops his machine, looking at Roy. "I'm twenty-two, thank you very much."

"But you're so-"

"I would advise against calling the man that's stabbing permanent ink into your skin short. I will draw a penis on your chest."

"I was going to say 'youthful' but advice taken."

"I'm not much younger than you, asshole. What are you, thirty-something?"

"Twenty-seven," Roy grumbles. He shouldn't be offended that someone over-calculated his age, considering he works so hard on looking 'distinguished', but Ed really has dealt a blow to his ego.

Ed continues inking. "I was fifteen at the time. I've been working here now for a few years. He's really a great guy, though. He really takes care of me, I couldn't ask for a better boss."

Roy looks around, seeing if the man in question is in the vicinity. "Do you just say that for the security cameras?"

Ed smiles fondly. "I really don't. I mean it. He's probably the reason I'm alive and have a place to sleep."

For a while both of them are silent. Ed's working hard on getting his outline done as soon as possible, and Roy is working hard on not watching Ed's 'I'm concentrating' face. He furrows his brow and keeps licking at his lip ring. It's taking everything in Roy's power to hold himself in control, between the nagging pain of the tattoo, Ed's face, and Ed's fingers constantly exploring his chest. He decides that he needs to keep the conversation if he's to get out of this appointment alive. "So, what's the craziest tattoo you've ever done?"

He looks up for a second, considering. "Oh! One time, this guy came in hammered wanting me to tattoo a smiley face on the head of his dick."

Roy's eyes went wide. "And you did it?"

"Hell yeah I did. Everyone is responsible for their own decisions. If some guy named Havoc wants to come in and wreak his namesake on his body while he's intoxicated, then he is certainly entitled to do so. Especially if I get paid, it's-"

"Wait, his name was Havoc?"

"It might have been his last name, but that's what his friend kept calling him."

"Was his friend short and stout with red hair?"

"That would be him, why?"

Roy starts gut laughing so hard that Ed has to take his hand away to avoid messing up the design. "Oh my god, he would totally do something like that. Ed, you just gave me dirt for a lifetime."

"Glad I could be of service, now sit still you bastard."

"Sorry, sorry," Roy exhales, calming down. "Both of them were under my command overseas. Some of my best men. They work for me now that we're stateside."

"Wait, come again? 'Command'?"

"I'm a Colonel in the United States Military. Well, at least I was. Because of the attack that lead to that nasty scar down there, I was honorably discharged. Not that I want to go back anyways, I learned the hard way that war brings out the worst in humans."

Ed all of a sudden feels very small. This guy is important. Really important. "I almost joined the military myself, just for the benefits so I could help Al with school and all. But he ended up being so smart that he got into school all on scholarships, so he didn't need my help anyways. I'm a fighter, but I don't really think I'm that kind of fighter."

"I imagine you would have to be a fighter, growing up the way you did."

"It wasn't easy," Ed confesses. "Some days I would go hungry so Al wouldn't. We have fought for everything we've had in life, but thank god it's finally paying off. Al is in school pursuing his dreams, and I have an amazing job that I'm good at and enjoy. Can't ask for more in life than that."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. Now that I'm out of the military, though, I find myself feeling unsettled."

"You got a girlfriend?"

Roy smirks. "Why Ed, I think that's a little forward, don't you think?"

Ed's face goes red. "Penis. On your chest, Mustang."

"Even more forward. Jeez, are you like this with all of your customers?"

"What I MEANT to say, before you so rudely jumped to conclusions, is that you need to find yourself somebody to keep you company. Someone to keep you grounded now that your everyday decisions are no longer life-or-death. Someone to remind you that you're only human."

"Y-Yeah," he breathes. Fuck, is it getting a little harder to breathe? Just stick to not talking, apparently he's cuter when he speaks.

In just under two hours, Ed has finished the main outline of Roy's tattoo. He pours solution on his chest to get away all the excess ink. I am so glad I get another day of this, Jesus. "So that's it for today! I would suggest maybe waiting a few days until your skin is less sensitive to do the shading. So whenever you're free later this week, give us a call and I'll finish it up for you."

"I'm free tomorrow night. How does Chinese food sound?"

Ed blanches. "Wait, wha-"

"I'm asking you out on a date, Ed, " he breathes. "I can't believe I'm doing it, but I am. I kind of just put myself out there without thinking, but now that I've said it, I stand by my decision. So, I ask again, do you like Chinese food?"

Ed's jaw hangs open. "I mean, I like food in general, so-"

"Then it's a date. When do you get off your shift?"

"Yeah! Uh-"

"Ah, Ed, glad I caught you in time." Ling appears over the wall of the adjacent work station, smiling. "I have an unexpected meeting to attend tomorrow and I'm closing the shop. So you have the day off."

"What the- what kind of meeting do you have to go to!? The annual meeting of 'Creeps Meddling into Other Peoples' Business'!?" Ed's hands are firmly at his side.

"Precisely," he nods, looking to Roy. "Pick him up here at six. He lives in the apartment above the parlor. When you're done discussing details with Ed, come to the desk so I can show you proper tattoo care while he cleans his station."

As Ling disappears behind the wall again, Roy stares amusedly at Ed's stuttering, red-faced expression. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"You know, you don't get free service for this, right?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Ed."

"Then fine," he smirks. "It's a date."