Whole Lives, Chapter 9: "Calling Down The Moon"

By the Binary Alchemist, 2011

Alphonse couldn't get up with the alarm went off. There was a thigh wrapped around his neck.

Exactly whose he wasn't sure. It was firm and smooth and when he licked it in inquiry it tasted of pastry cream and the savory uniqueness that marks one woman from another. "Lottie?"

"Down here." Something wet and silky pulled him in with a slurp that might have been construed as sloppy table manners elsewhere. Something else slim and firm strummed lightly against his prostate, coaxing him back to full salute.

"Kate?"

The questing finger crooked in greeting. So, by process of elimination the soft tickle of auburn curls that were now brushing urgently across his lips could have only belonged to….but no. Didn't taste like Sophie, whipped cream notwithstanding. Alphonse had an excellent memory where women were concerned. Like the finest of wines and cheeses, Al had observed since regaining his body, every blossom had its own unique bouquet and nectar and like a true scientist he delighted in recording his discoveries, fascinated by the subtle beauty and sweetness of each flower.

"Sophie's gone to set out the sweet rolls and get the doors open. Soon as the counter staff comes in she'll bring us some breakfast. Ahhhh! Yess!"

Al wasn't sure whose charms were presenting themselves to his tongue at this hour, but it scarcely mattered. All women were beautiful. All women deserved this kind of loving, playful accolade. His tongue fluttered up until it located what the Xingese referred to as the Pearl Beyond Price and he sucked gently on it in The Manner Of The Hummingbird That Greets The Dew, setting off a chain reaction of squeals.

There was a long, long list of Things That Wanted Doing this morning. Final safety checks of the Xerxes. Letters to write. Family to call. Maps. Suitcases and telescopes and he was pretty sure he'd have to jump on Ed again about not packing so many books. It wasn't as if Ed hadn't made great progress learning to read Drachman Cyrillic. Oh, and paperwork for crossing over Briggs airspace and…ohhhh…

But life has its priorities. There were three—no, four now—women climbing on his body. There was a zzzzzzztttt! of a cream nozzle somewhere and the lovely moist sound of someone having cream licked out of somewhere or off of something and his nipples stung pleasantly from the bites of a very pretty bakery girl. There was a lively tongue and a finger that was playfully rude and…

…and there were enough hours in the morning to get things done without leaping out of bed. Ed didn't need him quite yet. Brother was probably enjoying a playfully rude finger of his own or perhaps something a good bit larger and more headstrong. And while Al's interest was targeted on the fairer sex, he'd experimented enough with his playmates to acknowledge that whatever the Fuhrer was currently doing to Ed undoubtedly felt wonderful…to Ed, at any rate.

Besides, cinnamon rolls weren't out of the oven yet. Il Gattina's cinnamon rolls were the best anywhere, perfect with tall glass of creamy milk fresh from the dairy. And four beaming faces, four lovely butterflies to share the sweetness with him, to laugh with him and enchant him and send him off to work with a cheerful heart Might as well have a good breakfast to start out the day. Oh, and it might be a good idea to wash up a bit before heading out and saying goodbye to the four—no-five—girls squirming sweetly under the frosting stained sheets. Food coloring, blue in particular, had a tendency to stain both his boxers and his pubic hair.

There was a pause as a rubbery sheath was positioned and rolled down Al's shaft by a pair of very skillful lips. A thrust…a treble moan and a tantalizing squeeze…and paradise.

Life was good indeed….

"Life SUCKS!"

"Stop being a pussy and hold out your arm, Edward." Knox was fed up. In view of Ed's exposure to the bacteria that had laid the Fuhrer low it was only prudent to make sure the high altitudes and travel stress didn't catch up with the young scientist and knock him out of commission. "Shit! Not the new shoulder! I told you not to do that, asshole! The scars make it sensitive!"

"Coming from a man who probably spent the night with a part of the Fuhrer shoved into a body part where biology and nature never intended it to be I can't believe you're such a whiner. Now get the hell out of my sight."

Edward stalked down the hall, rubbing his bicep and muttering under his breath. Colonel Hawkeye stared at him unsympathetically. Havoc dug into his pocket and offered Ed a lollipop. Ed snatched it out of the Major's hand, jammed the sucker into his mouth and took off without them towards his office. Havoc grinned. "I am so going to hold this over his head in front of his kids."

"They're coming."

"Huh?"

The Colonel nodded. "I heard from Izumi last night. Seems she wants a demonstration of how well the Fuhrer can handle being a single parent while Ed's away."

Havoc whistled. "Cripes almighty…and I'm guessing that Mustang won't know what hit him until the little buggers show up, right?"

"Precisely."

Havoc examined her expression carefully. "You find this amusing."

"I find this necessary." Her expression was sober. "Edward would expect the same from a life partner of Winry's. "

"Spent her whole life hung up on Ed.' Havoc shook his head. "Think she really will move on to someone new?"

Cognac eyes warmed for him for a split second before icing over with military correctness. "I did."

"Don't talk to me."

"Not without a court order." Ruby poked her finger into an oozing pastry from the breakfast cart. A critical lick told her it was raspberry jam. She wrinkled her nose and stuck it back in the pile. Ed promptly dumped the whole plate load in the trash can, and before Ruby could protest he emptied his pencil sharpener over the whole mess for good measure. "Prick."

"You grossed me out, Ruby. Far as I know that finger was probably jammed up your right nostril digging for boogers a minute before you stuck it in that donut. You touch it, you eat it or throw it out. I don't want anybody catching anything off you." Snagging the coffeepot, Ed filled his mug, shoveling in several spoonfuls of sugar before slugging it down and selecting a pastry for himself, thickly glazed and dripping strawberry jelly. "Awright, enough with the scintillating conversation. You got our travel docs? And the passports?"

"Check. And Dr. Chen's travel visa as a Xingese national."

"Schematics of my glider?"

"Check."

"Itinerary from the Drachman embassy?"

"Check."

"Is my suit back from the cleaners?"

"Nope. The cleaner took one look at the stains all over your trousers and said she wouldn't touch 'em. There's enough spunk there to populate a small city with little Mustangs. Had 'em cleaned by an alchemist. He needed the money for a bottle of wine since he says he got laid off as a combat alchemist since—oh yeah, our Esteemed Fuhrer doesn't want alchemist training for war anymore since there's not supposed to BE anymore war—"

Ed's voice was even. If she'd known him better she'd have been alarmed. "You can shut up now. In fact," he lifted a hand in caution, "you can shut up forever, if you like. Let's get this done and then you can go back to picking your nose or whatever the government pays you to do around here. Now, there are going to be some encrypted messages between me and the Fuhrer. This is really goddamned important, Ruby: I want those letters. We got the Trans-Amestris underground pathways cleared out now, so bike messengers can get to Briggs in record time. Any message from the Fuhrer, especially encrypted data, needs to reach me or Alphonse immediately. You let anything pile up on your desk and your ass goes right back to Wisteria Valley, got it?"

"Yeah…I got it…loud and clear." Because she had already spent half an hour this morning with the Fuhrer while Edward was with Dr. Knox-and Alphonse was nibbling on his 'honey buns' at the bakery—being briefed on exactly how much time she's be spending riding a motor bike up and down those tunnels. I'm depending on you to watch his back, Ruby. Will you do this for me? And Mustang made his warm voice drop in to that shivery register that made women want to claw each other's eyes out over him…and of course, she'd sworn on her life that Ed would never miss a single missive.

"Okay…all that's left are the copies of the minutes of the Aerugoan summit, those alkahestry lecture notes from Mei….and the contact file from our trip to Aerugo."

Ruby's grin was triumphant. "You want it? You get it from the Fuhrer. Not even Hawkeye's got those files—probably because you're dumb enough to raise hell and start a war and fuck up everything Fuhrer Mustang is trying to accomplish. So three words, little man: No. Can. Do."

"Excuse me, Boss-you've got a visitor outside. Might want to tune things down to a dull roar." Havoc peeked around the corner and saluted. "Guy stopped off to drop by a resume for the Collegium but when he heard you were in the office he said I needed to tell you he's still taller—and you can't catch grasshoppers worth a crap."

Ed's demeanor changed from sour to excited in a flash. "No…you're kidding. Can't be-"

"Guy about…oh…tall as you. Brown hair—curls. Biggest shit-eating grin on his face—"

"PITT!" Ed yelled around the door. "PITT RENBACK! Get your sorry ass in here now!"

A pair of wicked brown eyes popped up behind Havoc. "That's Doctor Renback to you, Ed. How the hell are you?"

"…hell yes, I'll get you in to the Institute—"

"—you'd better. I saved your sorry life back when you got so sick on the road—"

"—aw, bullshit, Pitt. I wasn't that sick." It was a lie. Ed might have become seriously ill if he and Al hadn't had the good fortune to stop over in the small village where Pitt had gone at 13 to apprentice to the local doctor. Like Ed, Pitt had been born in Resembool, had been Ed's close friend and partner in crime right up until the night the Elric brothers mysteriously went to Dublith following some sort of accident that cost Ed two limbs and allegedly scarred poor Alphonse so badly he hid himself inside Hohenheim's old armor. "Anyway, It's a damn shame you showed up today when I'm getting ready to leave for Drachma—but Ruby—this is my assistant, Ruby, by the way, and since she's not married you're welcome to get her to fall in love with you so she'll quit and get out of my hair—Ruby will get all your paperwork set up and the housing stuff and then when Al and I get back we can start going over your course syllabus. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds good, Ed. And…thanks. I didn't want you to think that I was trying to get in because you and me and Al and Winry go way back—"

"Fuck that shit! You're damned good. Got that from Dr. Knox. You were on the short list and that's why we contacted you."

"Good. All right, I won't hold you up. If I don't see Al, give him my best, will you?"

"Damn straight. It'll be like old times." Ed was grinning hugely, happy to give a chance to a childhood friend who was as dedicated to medicine now as he'd once been to terrorizing the girls in class by dumping handfuls of pill bugs down their backs and making them shriek.

Pitt paused at the door. "Ed….I was sorry to hear about…you know…"
Ed made a dismissive gesture. "Hey, it happened. We're both adults. She's happy, the kids are doing well over with Teacher and Sig….and Roy and I get along. It's all good."

"Is she…seeing anybody?"

Ed looked surprised. "Yeah, but I don't know how long the waiting list is. Why? You got a patient who needs automail? She's the best there is. Ruby, get Pitt the number for Godz of Rush Valley. Give her a call, man. She'll be glad to hear from you—but don't expect any discounts. She probably never forgave you for putting tadpoles in her milk the day of the school picnic—aw, shit!" The noon chimes rang across the square and Ed confirmed it by his pocket watch. "Gotta see Chen about preflight and find out where the hell Al is." He slapped Pitt's palm. "See ya, buddy!"

"Later, Ed!"

Ruby stared at Dr, Renback. She liked what she saw. Flipping through Ed's address book she scribbled down the number for Godz Studio. Then she wrote down another number and underlined it three times. "Call this one first. She's usually home after eight."

Pitt blushed. It made him look even more attractive. "Thanks."

"Slow on the uptake for a bright boy, isn't he?" It was a shot in the dark, and once again Ruby had hit the target dead on.

It was a slim volume and Roy kept it away from prying eyes, even loving ones.

It was bound in camel hide, stained and yellowed and parts of it were recopied in an inexpert hand.

He had been blind. Now that his vision had been miraculously restored through the use of Marcoh's Philosopher's Stone, he drank in the written word as if it was the very water of life. He prowled the souks for booksellers—those dusty men with the peculiar wooden carts with shelves that unbuckled and unhooked and swung down from their caravan saddles and one always ran the risk of stepping in fresh dung while carefully thumbing through the scanty assortment of books that were carried from camp to camp, village to village.

It was the scarred man who told him about the booksellers in the souks. It had been there that Scar's brother had found the rare books on forbidden alchemy. "Perhaps," Scar suggested, "there are more to be found. It might be worth your time to befriend the souk sellers to see what other lost knowledge can be recovered."

He never wore his uniform in the souk, preferring simple loose trousers, boots and a shirt that was open enough to let the breeze through and thick enough for his sweat to keep him cool as the day wore on. White skin needed to be covered up, and his almond-shaped eyes marked him as a foreigner, but his clothing carried no threat or promise. One soul, hungry for knowledge who carried coin enough to trade fairly. He would arrive early on market day, just before dawn as the spice merchants scurried about, setting up shady canopies made of dyed cloth that carried the perfume of quassia and santalum and the cleansing white sage. He learned to bring his own cup to the souk and to drink mint tea when offered and give alms to the hungry because that is what one does among the desert people.

A sheet of tin over a brushfire sizzled with hot bread stuffed with goat cheese and herbs. That was his simple breakfast, that and spiced coffee boiled with the grounds. He said little more than thanks, rinsed his hands as common courtesy before touching the books and made sure not to offer too much or too little. A pile of tomes and scrolls would be carried under the cool awning and the pale man from Amestris would sit with the old booksellers, drinking tea, eating sweets made from candied rose petals and aniseed, playing at mahbusa, remembering not to call it backgammon.

In time he attracted attention. The man was epicene, fingers plump as sausages and he licked his lips far more than needed to keep them moist. He knew not to touch the stranger—or any Amestrian for that matter—but read his eyes and body and saw what he needed to see as he took the man's measure. "There are books—special ones, the Desert Songs, rarest of the rare—that will teach you of what you will not find in your stale alchemy texts, my young friend."

"I have no interest in poetry."

"Ah," the bookseller stroked his beard, "these words are a wellspring for the parched spirit, and hidden in them is much that is instructive, wise and of most ancient lore—for those whose eyes are discerning enough to perceive the deeper truths woven into the whole cloth of the songs. Should you find such among my wares—take it with you as a friend and bring him back in the morning. Take him with you under the stars with your wine and your solitude and drink the wisdom like a quenching draught to a dusty throat. Surely it will be of merit for you."

"As you will," said Roy Mustang.

"As Ishballah wills," came the gentle correction.

It was a slim volume, hidden among others. A collection of Desert Songs written during the days when Xerxes throve as the jewel of the Eastern Desert. At first glance they might have been interpreted as purely symbolic in their depiction of the passion of the soul for its Creator. Read with reflection and a knowledge of the ancient idioms, their true power shone beyond the simple words:

I kissed your open mouth and it made me drunker than wine

When the strong glance of my Beloved caught my eyes

Like alchemy it transformed the base metal of my soul

It is said that Love is the window from one heart to another

Since we embraced, friend of my heart

How can there be any windows, for all the walls have come crashing down?

He read it slowly through the night and in the morning he returned to the souk, money in hand. "It seems I have made a friend, as you say," he told the bookseller. It cost him every cen in his pocket, more that he would have spent on anything that was not essential…but the old man in the souk had been right; it had been wine to his spirit.

If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face
and say, Like this. When lovers moan, they're telling our story.
don't try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips.

Words of a man to a man. A lover to the beloved. A love he had lost became as clear and sharp as the biting wind that whipped through the rocks at night. A love he needed, so much that the words made his chest ache. A love he would discover when Edward stumbled into the palace sick and injured months ago. A love that could not deny itself as he touched the younger man's body that night in the hospital. A love that Edward could not comfortably phrase out loud but offered clearly to Roy with his eyes and his actions.

I intend to do all I can for my country. End of story. Once he would have been disgusted with himself for wanting—for needing—more. In the desert after his sight returned he recognized for the first time that he had been blind all along. It took the loss of his vision to bring it to his attention. And when he recognized his feeling for Edward, he became determined not to close his eyes again.

There was no point sharing the words. Ed, as much as Roy loved him, had all the artistic vision of a fence painter. Music he liked well enough but if Roy had given the precious book of Desert Songs to Ed upon parting it would have been mislaid or neglected and Roy regretted that.

But tonight would be their last night together, and as Roy flipped gently through the well-worn pages he knew that, at least for Edward, actions would speak louder than words.

"Sebastian will lay out your riding gear, since we are going off trail tonight. Meet me after the moon comes up—and don't tell anyone where we're going."

"Oh yeah…like you take a shit around here, Your Excellency, andtwo dozen people know before you wipe your ass if you ate carrots or peas for dinner."

He'd worn something like it when crossing the desert to Xerxes years ago. Loose light trousers and tunic, and a duster to go with it. And boots, sturdy riding boots, , cut generously on the left to fit over his prosthesis. Hell, he grinned at his rakish reflection, be nice to get out of this madhouse and away from having the whole damn palace with their noses up my butt crack all the time. And what was it Roy had said—a double saddle? Must be some weird tribal thing, he decided, but the thought that they would ride off on their own in the dark—damn…I'm getting hard. Well, let's see what that crazy bastard's got on his mind tonight…

He was late, as Roy expected he would be. "Had to ditch the Hawk," he grumbled. "Y'know how she gets. Finally I told her we were going to have kinky sex in the barn and unless she really wanted to hear a lot of ball slapping and slurping and you cussing because you dropped the lube in a pile of horse shit or something—"

"Come here." Something in that gently whispered request caught Ed's attention and he stepped into Roy's embrace. The older man was drenched with sweat and shaking. "You okay?" Ed asked hesitantly. In response, Roy sank down to his knees and slid the soft, loose trousers down. "Nothing underneath. Good." Leaning in, he captured the swelling head between his lips and sucked at it with the same savor and attention that he would have given a choice bit of sweet baby lobster tail, as if the taste of the heated flesh had been craved for a long, long time. Two fingers gently tugged at the velvety foreskin and Roy snaked the tip of his tongue between the tip and hood, circling and strumming lightly against that heavenly spot where they joined—a place that made Edward's toes—metal and flesh—curl up and his sac tighten as his body shivered. Satisfied, Roy drew back his head. "Now…hold still….don't…move." A small dagger flashed so fast that Ed didn't have time to yelp in terror—but it was cloth that was slashed, not skin. The back seam of his trousers was neatly split and when Roy told him to pull them back up again Ed was modestly covered again.

Roy gestured towards Cirrocco. The saddle was of soft tooled camel hide with two sets of stirrups but not so deep as any he'd seen before. There was a rise to the cantle and the seat itself was lower than the pommel and nearly twice as long. "This is not supposed to exist," Roy told him in a hushed voice. "These were banned as immoral in the Ishballan tribes, for it encourages two riders to embrace in an 'unseemly fashion'. But there are tribes and cultures in the desert where the love between two men is a thing of poetry and song. I…I discovered those writings when I returned to the desert and…"

Edward had never seen Roy struggle for words like this. He seemed…damn it, he was fighting so hard to put so much emotion into a language Ed would understand.

Strangely, he did. Ed nodded. "You'll have to show me what to do."

Roy's mouth went dry. He nodded. He used a mounting block to climb up and Ed noticed that the hands that unfastened his trousers were shaking so hard Roy could barely untie the knots. Once he'd freed himself, he reached into his pocket. He held up a tiny vial for Ed's inspection. "Oil of the Moon, they call it. They say it makes it…better…for you."

"I'm game, long as it doesn't give me a rash," Ed chuckled.

"It's the butter extracted from coconuts, melted and blended with certain herbs that make things…that make it warm. I tried it. It's an ancient recipe." Two fingers slicked the aromatic mess over the darkly swollen flesh. "Now…come up slowly, and once you're up, rest your weight on the stirrups, lean down on Cirrocco's neck and then…I'll get you ready."

Ed bit down hard on his lip as Roy fell to licking tenderly at the tight muscle that eased swiftly now, welcoming this loving intrusion. He began to sweat heavily, making soft cries of pleasure at being stretched and oiled and sucked at. The warm leather was so smooth against his cock. "I…ahhh…don't think..I…"

"Sit back. I'll guide you. Slow and steady." Warm hands held his cheeks, held them wide apart. The heat of the horse, the ragged breathing of his lover, the fear of discovery and the thrill of knowing that this was so, so wrong to so many in the world—it was almost more than Ed could bear. It didn't hurt now. He loved this. God, he loved it. Impaled and filled up and stretched almost too full to bear and the inner throbbing of Roy's pulse deep inside….so good….so good.

The minute I heard my first love story I began looking for you

Not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere

They were in each other all along…

Under the cloak that concealed them both, chest to back, skin to skin, they leaned together, Roy's arm tight around his lover's waist, steadying him as they rocked gently, carried on the waves of motion of Cirrocco's gait.

For once Edward ran out of words. His body would no longer do his bidding. There was only a cool blue moon overhead, a mouth that made him whimper, a hard shaft that anchored him and rubbed against the secret sweet spot with each breath, a hand that gave him mindless bliss and the sense that time had stopped for the first time since he'd emerged from the Gateway. Roy was humming softly under his breath, soothing him, breathing poetry and fire against his cheek, surging hard, rising again, surging again. The smells of sweat and semen and horse and leather and the musky tang of magnolia on the night air.

Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy—absentminded

Somebody sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be…

He could not dismount without Roy to hold him steady. The clean straw beneath their blanket felt finer than embroidered Presidential linen and goose down coverlets. He had come and come and come undone and the man who held him loved him. That was all he knew and all that mattered.

You have no idea how hard it was to find a gift for your journey

It is no good giving my heart and soul because you have these already.

So I bring you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me….

TO BE CONTINUED…. (13th century Sufi love songs freely adapted for the story)