Abandon all hope, ye who enter here
-Canto III, line 9
Roy wants him.
The want grew from an almost…he can't think of it as fatherly, not now. It was some impulse, unnamed and foreign to him, to see the boy grow well. It made his hopes for his other subordinates look weak and fragile, and eclipsed his vague, guilty hopes for the other children of Amestris. And after the…mess with Barry the Chopper, so shortly after the Tucker calamity, Roy's resolve to protect the boys had crystallized into something slightly harder than diamond. As time wore on, his admiration for Fullmetal's skill and strength deepened, as did his determination to leave his and his brother's innocence as unsullied as possible.
Roy grew to savor every reaction and glare he could wrest from Fullmetal, the boy's shouting and ranting enlivened an otherwise dull day. Edward continued to reject his methods and manipulations with vigor, and Roy took it as proof positive that Fullmetal's innocence had barely waned. He knew some wouldn't see it that way, since Fullmetal's cursing had grown more colorful as the years passed and his cynicism towards both Roy and military grew greater with each meeting. The lack of naiveté kept Fullmetal from falling into the same traps Roy had, and the increases in vulgarity ensured that Roy would never get bored.
When an aesthetic admiration both for both Fullmetal's current physical beauty and what it promised blossomed, Roy was not unduly concerned. He was something like Fullmetal's patron, after all, and shouldn't he wish the best for him in all areas? Edward was growing up, and isn't it satisfying to watch a boy grow into manhood? But the damnable admiration was not content to stay comfortingly (if vaguely) paternal. Suddenly, contemplating Edward, even without the promise of adulthood's mature beauty, became a little too satisfying, a little too absorbing. Roy had suppressed those thoughts ruthlessly, until they dared to leave the slightest trace of their presence only when sleep fogged his mind. He would stoop to using desperate children (adolescents, now) as tools, but he had his limits.
Sadly, his limits revealed themselves to be somewhat more limited than he previously thought. Edward had come to deliver a report, as usual, and Roy had teased him, as usual. Sadly, Edward's patience was thinner than usual, and he had finally been pushed far enough to let out a short scream (it was far too impressive to be called a screech) of rage. And Roy's mind, which had previously supplied him with a few, easily ignored musings on Edward's hair texture and degree of lip-chapping, supplied him with the image of Edward, naked and screaming under him. His recollections of rest of that debriefing, and indeed the rest of that day, became rather disjointed.
He'd felt sick for weeks, and guilty for the two months that passed. He couldn't bring himself to admit it, to think it. This wasn't…and he couldn't finish that sentence. Because it wasn't, and that was all. The dreams, the urges, and everything else did not indicate anything in particular. They were inexplicable, random and irrelevant. They were shallower than a single sheet of paper, and would doubtless fade, baseless things that they were.
Two weeks ago, the denial broke. He'd been tired, haunted by dreams of Edward until the numbness of sleep deprivation was something to be sought and cherished. It was a nice Saturday, and all Roy could thing about was the fact that he was too miserable from lusting after his teenaged subordinate to do anything worth doing. Using the forbidden word felt liberating somehow, and admitting his lust seemed to bind and gag his subconscious for the night. He slept, free from disturbingly arousing dreams or the fear of them, for the first time in months.
Sunday brought with it the determination to never touch Edw-Fullmetal. He had no right to the young man's, to his subordinate's, given name at any time. Editing his thoughts, replacing every Edward with Fullmetal, was distraction enough to stop most of the fantasies. He dreamed that night, but it was a vague and wispy thing when compared to the previous dreams. He didn't let the dreams worry him. Instead, it only strengthened his determination to keep his hands firmly away from his young subordinate.
It was fortunate that Monday morning fortified him so, because Monday afternoon left him battered and yearning. His meeting with Fullmetal went only slightly more calmly than usual, owing to Roy's restraint. He didn't bait Fullmetal, but Fullmetal didn't seem to need baiting. He took offense at nearly everything that passed Roy's lips, or if not offense, then displayed that paranoia Roy had previously sought to cultivate. But in the end, Fullmetal left, clutching the paperwork for his new assignment in one hand, while trying to flip Roy the bird without Hawkeye or his brother seeing him, and closing the door with the other. And Roy remained, elated, aroused, dejected, and trying desperately to hide it.
And a week later, Roy sits in his chair, pinned by golden eyes that hold nothing but hate, and wants. Fullmetal is back from his assignment to the dairy factory and is as spectacularly angry as his staff had feared. Roy, however, enjoys the sight of the enraged Edward Elric, and takes comfort in the fact that every shouted curse, every waving fist, is one more barrier between him and his most desired damnation.