The stars have wheeled across the sky; the moon has turned the world silver and now the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon begins to paint it gold. Silver and gold. Ed's breaths against the pillow, warm cold body turned inwards towards Roy like he was trying to burrow under him during the night. Roy shifts himself onto one elbow so he can better regard his lover. Edward Elric is… beautiful when he sleeps. Awake, he is a tempest, spitting fire and blazing eyes that far outshine the sun that filters through the slits in the curtains and outlines Ed in candlelight. Asleep, there are no words. Roy gazes at him with something beyond awe; how, how did he get so lucky? He does not deserve this creature in his bed and all he can do is pray that Ed never realises it.
The heavy splash of gold- so much gold, Roy can't breathe for all the precious metals next to him- across the pillow, a perfect contrast against the soft white sheets. The dark, dark eyelashes, fanned out and brushing his cheekbones; the barest hint of blush on those cheeks and the faint scars tracing over his forehead, lush red lips (and Ed would never forgive him if he said it out loud but there is something girlish about those lips, something sensual and- Roy swallows hard, seeing those lips wrapped around him, deep throating like only Ed could)… if Roy keeps his eyes only on the surface, Ed looks…fragile.
But Roy knows better than that.
The strong curve of his left shoulder- oh god his shoulder, those muscles that could tear Roy apart with one smooth movement, that defined forearm that looks as though it has been sculpted out of marble and Roy knows that Ed could very easily choke the life out of him if he wanted to without breaking a sweat. Ed's arm is a testament to the rest of his unassailable strength; that arm has seen battle, and fought, and won and has lived a thousand years in only sixteen. Roy knows that if Ed's eyes were open he could stare into those endless amber depths and lose himself in the ageless, nameless expression that is simply Ed. Roy knows that if Ed's eyes were open they'd be sleepy and bleary and unbearable sexy and still so, so dangerous, all at once and just the thought of Edward Elric set Roy on fire in a way that flames never, ever could.
Roy swallows.
Ed has pillowed his automail arm underneath him and Roy can't see how that can possibly be comfortable, but maybe Ed was just used to it after all this time? Used to the weight of it, the feel of it, the pain of it and he was infinitely, infinitely stronger than anyone Roy had ever known; this boy-man-Ed was a steel pillar of strength to the core; his soul unbreakable and his determination knowing absolutely no bounds.
Roy breathes out, slowly, and that breath belongs to Ed. For as long as Ed would have him. Roy would get down on his knees, dammit, he'd beg before Ed walked away from him but deep, deep down he knew that it was inevitable- while Ed possessed many scars, Ed rarely distributed them, and if he did then there was always a good reason for it. Ed's idea of morality was unshakable, a fixed point. He was a scientist, after all, and morality was a mark that would never move, would never alter. But Roy…after all the things he'd done, all the scars he'd made and given and inflicted…surely Ed could see that when Roy's morality was brought into the balance, the scales would tip far from his favour? And yet Ed was still here. Roy marvels at that.
Roy lifts his hand, hesitant, and lays it on the curve of Ed's hip. The sheets are bunched beneath them both, tangled around their waists and the sun has risen halfway now; the clouds are streaked with orange and peach and Roy feels like writing a poem. Ed usually makes him feel like this, when he isn't making him feel like setting things on fire. Light sparks off the automail; it's steel and silver and Ed is mercury- quicksilver, fast and liquid and beautiful and so, so dangerous.
He's utterly lethal; if he were an animal he'd be a wolf: achingly magnificent, loyalty that sang a chord and stayed there, helpless, hopeless love like the sea, wild and fierce and true. And sharp all over with teeth and fangs and claws and growling snarling ferocity that would rip anything, everything apart and he was silent and loud and he held universes in his eyes and he broke them and brought them together all at once because he was Ed. An enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a red coat and right now he was wrapped in Roy's bed sheets in Roy's bed and Roy would do anything, everything to keep it that way.
Roy skims his hand, lightly over Ed's hip, lifts his hand to- gently, gently- trace the planes of his face, the curve of his jawline and the lines of his throat, barely even touching. When Ed sleeps, his outline softens, as if someone has blurred the edges with a paintbrush. The colours run into each other, when he sleeps, and the canvas of Roy's bed is heavy with Ed, with his scent and the gold and the silver and marble and steel, all just that bit softer because it's watercolours and they make things subtle where they're loud, they hint at things rather than declaring them for the whole world to see and they're just a little more gentle than bright.
Ed is multifaceted, Roy knows this but it still amazes him- how Ed can be brash and stubborn one minute, then determined, hard eyed and cold with a set face and those eyes like sharp flints; utterly focused and when Edward Elric puts his mind to something like that, the whole world trembles
….and before you know it he's angry, not just annoyed or frustrated but really, truly angry; anger that could turn armies around, that could send the stoniest mercenary cowering in fear; when he's angry, he's not Ed, he's the Fullmetal Alchemist: striking and blazing and clapping hands and flashing alchemy like blue flames- and blue flames are the hottest flames, the most dangerous, Roy should know, he's burnt enough times before…
And then. You see Ed with his brother, with Alphonse…and suddenly he softens, just like watercolours. When the harsh lines have been replaced by soft, sweeping lines, Ed can smile, Ed can laugh. He has more scars than any soldier Roy can name, has lost more than anyone should ever, ever lose and still he can laugh.
And, apparently, it's not just with Alphonse, although it used to be. Roy gazes down at his sleeping lover, all careless limbs and a small, small smile as he shifts and snuffles sleepily, blinking blearily with the sun in his eyes and stars in his sleep-rumpled hair and Roy falls in love with him all over again.
"What're you staring at, you pervert?" mumbles Ed through a yawn, his voice husky and low and Roy feels himself stir as a slow smile draws itself over his face.
"Nothing, my love," he murmurs, drawing Ed up to meet him, "nothing at all."
They kiss, and the tiny muffled gasp that escapes Ed's lips tells Roy that it's going to be a while until they can get downstairs to have breakfast.