Chapter 1: Booze
There's something to be said for the easy cameradie that one finds in bars, a space reserved for loosened inhibitions and friendly banter so unlike every other situation people live with in their day to day lives. A quiet bar filled with the lingering smell of smoke, spirits and sweat brings out something in people that transforms colleagues and associates into friends and confidants. This is, perhaps, the main draw of the regular evening outings with subordinates that brings Roy Mustang back every night. People that he's known for years transform before his eyes, letting loose in a way that is impossible in the corridors of military buildings; they bloom in the dim lights of street lamps and the hazy smoke-filled urban air, nourished by jokes and biting sarcasm.
At least, most of them do.
Roy's steely blue eyes glanced over the young major sitting on the bench across from him, feet propped up on the low table between them as he leaned very slightly against Havoc, gold eyes focused intently on Hughes as he spoke. An uncomfortable weight settled in the General's stomach, heavy and foreign as he drank in the image of his youngest subordinate. Times like this, out of the office and away from the harshly judging eyes around him, Roy let his gazes linger longer than he probably should.
When he developed this unnatural, electrifying draw toward Fullmetal, Roy could not say—one thing was sure, though, and it was the unquestionable need to ignore it. He railed against the sparks blazing along his skin, rejecting them hard and fast lest they overwhelm him and he lost even a modicum of his control.
Not that Ed was making it any easier. The beautiful sonofabitch had an innate poise; despite the clunky auto mail he moved with an almost predatory grace. Even with his shoulders hunched as they were, sprawled lazily between colleagues, his human hand held the empty tumbler of tequila loosely between long, calloused fingers, rolling it in his palm as he lost himself in the hum of conversation.
Roy blinked, tearing his eyes away from the hypnotising young man before him and down to his empty glass.
"Fullmetal?"
Ed glanced up as Roy nodded toward the glass in his hand, shaking his own in a silent one more? Ed appeared to consider his options before shrugging and handing the tumbler over to Roy's outstretched hand—he was only two deep to the General's three, but he was no lightweight. Roy nodded, then turned to head inside the bar, intent on drowning out the voice in his head that begged to touch the young alchemist, that pleaded with his better sense to throw caution to the wind and brush that infuriatingly beautiful golden hair out of his face and lean in just barely to—shut the fuck up.
"Tequila, top shelf and whisky, neat. Put them on my tab," Roy shook himself free of those damnable intrusive thoughts as he watched the bartender pour amber liquid into crystalline glasses. This had to stop. It wasn't healthy, much less possible. If Ed found himself amenable to attentions from a man (doubtful, in and of itself) his absolute apathy to Roy was tangible, and those were the good days. More often than not their professional relationship was strained, drawn tight between two stubborn, warring personalities.
Dark eyes lowered to the tumblers waiting on the bar in front of him. Roy nodded in thanks as he grabbed them and made his way back to the lion's den. For what was probably the millionth time he contemplated these amicable nights, seriously considering taking the path of least resistance and just going home, never returning to that damn bar and putting an end to social time with his subordinates. It wasn't the most professional behavior, and it would most likely be better for Roy's sanity.
And yet, at heart, the Flame Alchemist was a raging masochist. He couldn't bring himself to give up these little stolen moments, basking in the presence of a man that was so far out of his reach.
Come on Mustang, get yourself together.
Roy schooled his face into a smirk, the picture of cool charisma as he approached Ed, hand outstretched offering up the icy glass.
"Thanks, Mustang—" Ed's low, rumbling voice hitched on the simple platitude as their hands brushed and the blonde's auto mail fingers twitched just barely, letting the glass slip between cold steel. Roy's brow furrowed, had he felt the same jolt?
"Hey boss, you alright? You're drenched," Havoc scooted away from the wetness on the bench. The tangy, slightly bitter scent of tequila floated up to Roy's nose as he considered the young man who looked just as shocked as he felt.
"I'm fine. Automail's acting up, it's alright," Roy sidestepped the low table between them and grabbed Ed's human shoulder, nudging him up gently. "Come on Fullmetal, let's get you cleaned up. We can't have you walking home reeking of booze."
"I'm fine," the snarl was punctuated by Ed wrenching his arm away. Roy ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Be that as it may, how would it look on me if I let a man under my command stumble home smelling like he'd just crawled out of a bottle?" Roy glanced over the table as if to say, Yes, look at me, the ever suffering General. Ed shot a dark glare, but said nothing else as he stalked back to the door.
Roy rolled his eyes, following not far behind the retreating alchemist. I'm just concerned. If it's his automail it could be an injury. Yes... just concerned.
The musty air of the bar was bitter on his tongue and Roy's eyes watered from the lingering tobacco smoke. He pushed open the door to the bathroom to find Fullmetal, divested of his jacket as he scrubbed at it in the sink. The room was small at worn with age, Roy squeezed in beside the wall and took in the lithe form before him with hungry, appreciative eyes.
"Do you need help?" Ed shrugged, wincing visibly at the effort. The flame of lust extinguished as Roy picked up on the slight tremor of slim shoulders and lips drawn into a tight line. Circling to Ed's right side, Roy glanced at the scarred tissue where the steel port hugged golden flesh, tight, unforgiving, and wet with blood.
"What the fuck is that, Fullmetal?" Roy grit out uncharacteristic expletive from between clenched teeth, watching as Ed turned to get a better look in the mirror. "It's nothing. Probably just a screw loose, I'll call Winry tomorrow to come down and see to it," blood seeped out, slow and steady, quickly saturating the back of Ed's sleeveless shirt. It was a blessing he always wore black, anything else and he'd look positively gruesome.
"You should get someone to look at it tonight," Roy approached, gently moving the sticky cloth out of the way to get a better look at the wound. Ed braced his hands on the edge of the sink and abruptly straightened up, nearly colliding with the broad chest of his commanding officer. For a brief moment all was still and Roy took in a shuttering breath, revelling in Ed. He smelled of tequila and sweat and a summer day, and it took every inch of Roy's hard-won self restraint to pull away. Ed was still as he levelled a steely gaze at the man towering over him, gold eyes met blue ones in a stare that was almost intimant in its heat, and for a split second Roy saw something off, something he had never seen in Ed before.
Blonde hair rustled from the movement of a minuscule, tight nod. "Al will do it," a small reassurance. Ed was so patently bad at taking care of himself that hearing his quiet concession eased the hard edge of concern biting at the back of Roy's mind.
"Come on, I'm walking you home," with a small grumble of weak protest Ed grabbed the sopping wet red cloth from the dingy sink and followed Roy out the door. Roy struggled to not glance back as he squared his shoulders and kicked open the back door.
"I'm walking Fullmetal home, Breda, take care of my tab," Roy slipped some bills to the more than slightly buzzed Breda before grabbing his briefcase and nodding a polite goodbye to the rest.
The mismatched pair walked side by side, cooled by the sweet summer breeze that swept up the empty street. Roy's eyes cut to his left taking measure of his companion, he was behaving oddly. Ed was never this cooperative, and it bothered the Flame Alchemist. Ed would normally rail at being told what to do, and yet now he was following mutely, almost docile. Whether it was the injury—which was admittedly not all that bad by Roy's estimates—the alcohol, or both, the answer was elusive, floating just out of grasp.
Silence hung between Ed and Roy as they ambled toward the Elric's apartment, and Roy found himself thinking back to that tiny, dirty bar bathroom. A shiver ran down his spine as his mind recalled the closeness of their warm bodies and the gentle prickling of Ed's distinctive smell, marred only by the acrid stench of tequila. To have something so close that one had been denying for so long wasn't just painful, it was the most delicious kind of torture imaginable, and goddamn did Roy want more.
A quiet sigh brought the reverie to an end as Roy realised they were in front of the small apartment.
"Fucking brilliant," Ed's voice was tired, lacking any real anger. "I forgot, Al's visiting Winry. Won't be back till tomorrow night," keys jangled as they were removed from the pocket of the jacket that still hung limply over a human arm.
"I'll come up and get you sorted out then. Al won't be happy to see you've bled all over the place," Ed made no move to respond, but the distinct lack of a door slamming had Roy stepping over the threshold after only a moment to puzzle over it.
Roy hadn't spent much time in the Elric's apartment, and he'd never gone beyond the front hallway. Stepping in to the living room he looked around curiously as Ed flicked on the lights, Roy found himself amused at the striking dichotomy of the Elric brothers—it was very clear which desk belonged to whom, and Roy shook his head at the mess of papers, files and book strewn across what was evidently Ed's side.
"Bandages in the bathroom?" Roy shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeves, a mute nod confirmed the assumption and Roy set out to the hallway, poking his head into each closed door as he searched for ceramic. He paused at one that was still slightly ajar, a gentle hand nudged it open and the smell of sunshine assaulted his senses.
Roy knew immediately that he'd made a mistake and that he should retreat, but Ed's roomed almost called out to him, warm and inviting as Roy shut his eyes against the images ghosting across his imagination. Perhaps that last whisky was a bad idea.
"Last door on the right," Ed's quiet voice came from the end of the hall and Roy glanced back, fiercely tamping down the hot blush that threatened to spill across his cheeks, marking his guilt. He nodded and motioned Ed back toward the living room before toeing the right door open with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Roy made quick work of collecting bandages and antiseptic, but found himself lingering at the threshold; assuring himself that he would be completely professional and that despite the sizzling hum of attraction that lay just below his mask he would leave promptly and never go back to bar nights with his coworkers.
One deep sigh escaped Roy's lips as he straitened his back and stepped in to the hall, intent on ignoring those particular demons.
