Author Note: This chapter has been edited as of 4:00pm EST (6/17/2014) to correct a chain of command error I made, pointed out by Linda. Thanks Linda! I thought that because a Major outranked a Lieutenant, that a Major General would out rank a Lieutenant General. Oops!
On the Road
Travel by rail was the chief method of transportation in the modern age, and one of the perks that the Führer of Amestris enjoyed was the luxury of a private coach. While less prestigious travellers were forced to suffer the dubious comforts available in regular passenger cars, Roy and his retinue could instead enjoy their journey to Creta aboard the President's personal railcar.
This particular finely appointed private varnish had been custom built for the Führer during the Bradley administration, and boasted all the modern conveniences necessary for business and pleasure away from home. To the casual observer, the car appeared to be a sixty-foot wood panel coach of standard construction. In actuality, it was a streamlined fortress of riveted, reinforced steel. The opulent Crystal Peak interior was a veritable work of art, innovatively sectioned to include a parlor, dining room, kitchen, and private sleeping quarters for the Führer that included every conceivable amenity, all handsomely decorated with furnishings imported from Aurego, Creta, and Xing. Richly upholstered furniture offered comfort for road weary travelers. Polished mahogany paneling enclosed each room and framed the parlor's solid marble gas fireplace, a tasteful 18th century landscape dominating the space above the mantle. A single, intricately wrought crystal chandelier lit the sitting room. Gold silk draperies accented brass framed windows. Every possible allowance for comfort had been anticipated and made, with a state-of-the-art communications system completing this rolling testament to the trappings of power and influence.
And of course, Roy hated it with a passion. Yes, he understood that in the high stakes political environment he inhabited, a display of wealth could be just as important as a show of force. Perception was often a critical concern, the perceptions of political opponents in particular. When it came right down to it, politics was all about seduction, and nothing could teach the mechanics of seduction like spending your formative years in a brothel, watching and learning. Roy was a master at this game. He knew there was very little difference between a smile and a veil, or a luxurious private railcar and a suit of social armor. Distraction and deception were viable defensive strategies in vulnerable situations, and he made good use of them. He appreciated luxury as much as the next man, for what it was worth, so he gritted his teeth and endured. It still galled him to imagine the inhuman monster that had previously ruled this nation so ruthlessly, flaunting such extravagance while the country burned at its master's whim. This private coach was filled with the restless specters of Amestris' betrayed brothers in arms, standing side by side with their victims.
At the moment, however, the Führer's private car was also teeming with living personnel, and anything but private. Guards stood at both the front and rear doors, and Roy wouldn't have been at all surprised to discover a few on the roof. The Führer's four chief mediators lounged in the parlor, hammering out the details of their planned negotiations, wondering who their leader might name as Ambassador when this historic treaty was ratified. Hawkeye, Havoc, and Breda had commandeered the radio room, occupied with the business of running a country in absentia. Miles had been left behind to hold the fort but kept in close contact with his commander's staff, relaying news both local and international. As for Edward, Roy knew he had reboarded from their last stop with the rest of the Führer's retinue, but to where he had since disappeared was anyone's guess, and Roy envied the younger man's freedom.
When the train was once again well underway and his staff was fully engaged with their various duties, Roy had unobtrusively slipped down the coach's long, narrow hallway to the dining room, then through the bustling little kitchen to the back door - his ultimate goal. Stepping outside, he took a much needed breath of fresh, midsummer air, then lingered to watch the countryside recede beyond the rear observation platform's ornate railing.
Their early morning halt in the small logging town of Ehring, three days out of West City, had mainly been for fuel and provisions, but had included the incidental massaging of local governmental egos as well. Despite the early hour, there had been a fair sized crowd on hand to greet the Führer, but that had been no real surprise. Country folk were used to rising before the sun, and it wasn't every day that the leader of their country dropped by for a quick visit. The townsfolk had raised a hearty cheer, frantically waving small Amestrian flags when Roy had stepped out onto the tiny station's platform. They appeared genuinely pleased to see him, and he savored the memory. It was times like those, buffeted by the approving cheers of honest, hard working people outside the precincts of political gamesmanship, when Roy tentatively felt that he must be doing something right.
The quaint logging town on the Muskwa River was now hours behind them and had been the last stop before Creta's border, scheduled for later that afternoon. The locomotive was winding its steady way through the mountains that defined the two countries' borderlands, and the view was spectacular: lush green valleys skirting craggy peaks crowned by wispy clouds in a dazzling blue sky. The rhythmic clack of steel wheels over rail joints changed subtly as the train moved onto a high trestle, and Roy leaned forearms on the fantail's polished banister to peer down between the wooden ties at the gleam of sparkling water in the gorge far below.
The train's sombre whistle sounded, and Roy leaned out to glance up the track toward the engine as the short line of coaches wound a long turn around the edge of a low ridge. For this leg of the journey the four car section that carried the military was tacked on behind five regular passenger cars with a single dining car tucked in between. Though the enlisted men of Roy's honor guard could enjoy their meals in the dining car if they so chose, most tended to stay in the troop carrier or sleeper car. As well, the numerous civilian passengers also sensibly chose not to intrude in military territory.
A quiet click of the door latch alerted Roy that his hiding place was discovered, but before he could turn, Edward was beside him. The younger man settled his palms on the banister and inhaled a deep, satisfying breath of clean mountain air. His tail of flaxen hair gleamed in the bright summer sunlight as it slipped over his shoulder, teased by the light breeze that eddied past the coach. As usual, he was casually dressed in dark denim slacks and a white button up, tan jacket left open. It set him apart from the rest of Roy's staff in their perfectly tailored dress blues, but that was par for the course where Edward was concerned, and always had been.
Neither man spoke, comfortable with the silence.
Hawkeye had been the one to suggest that Edward be invited along on this diplomatic mission to Creta. The former alchemist had casually mentioned that he'd spent over a year in the west, 'checking shit out', and she had argued that his fluency with the Aerugoan language and familiarity with the culture would be invaluable. Roy had known full well, however, that she also counted Ed's unique talents and experience as a body guard among his chief qualifications for the job. Roy had not objected for his own reasons. There was no telling how long it would take to successfully conclude this endeavour, and having Ed along in a professional capacity was definitely a better option than being without him indefinitely, though that wasn't working out quite the way Roy had hoped. Edward's reasons for agreeing to attach himself to this mission remained a mystery, particularly given that he was technically under Roy's direct command - a position that Ed had previously, and most strenuously, refused to entertain.
Roy glanced towards his companion, noting the slight frown creasing his brow. Before he could ask about it, Edward spoke up.
"This train is full of pompous assholes, and most of them work for you," he said, eyes still on the landscape.
"Most? Not all?"
"You heard me." Edward squinted up at the sky.
"Have you been relaxing up front with the regular passengers again, Edward?" Roy asked, though he already knew that was the case, as it had been for most of their week-long journey.
"The regular passengers are more interesting company," the blond returned. "Don't pretend you're not wishing you could too."
Roy couldn't actually deny it, but did anyway. "I'm perfectly comfortable in the company of my staff," he stated confidently. "Did you have a run in with someone in particular?"
"Some dumbass General. I forget his name." Ed waved a hand dismissively. "One of the negotiators. You'd think a guy in that line of work would be more diplomatic."
"Which reminds me," Roy said, schooling his expression to neutrality. "Heymans has asked me to request on his behalf that you stop referring to Major General Olverson as 'that fucktard', particularly to his face, if you don't mind."
"Hey, I calls 'em as I sees 'em," Ed said. "I have trouble remembering names sometimes, okay? So I catalogue people by intellectual characteristics. It's a mnemonic technique."
Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow, holding Ed's gaze unflinchingly. The younger man kept his air of indifference, but finally shrugged.
"Okay," he relented, though unapologetically. "I'll keep that nickname to myself if it makes Breda happy."
"I'm sure it will," Roy told him. "Despite having to smooth a lot of ruffled feathers around headquarters, he's still very pleased to have you on his team. Your contribution to the investigation has been invaluable."
It was a fact. Although the investigation was currently at a standstill, Edward had thrown himself into the process with his typical, single-minded determination. From the minute he had accepted the assignment, he had been engaged in every conceivable aspect of the case, including the international connection. Thanks to his nomadic lifestyle, the former alchemist appeared to have amassed a considerable network of friends in neighboring countries, of which he'd made efficient use. Within hours, the blond had confirmed that there was indeed an Alya Vetryak living in the small, north Drachma town of Rородке. She was an eighty-seven year old babushka, half blind and missing all but three teeth, and had laughingly assured her questioner that she was not in the habit of penning racy letters to young men she didn't know.
The team's examination of the deceased assassins' hotel room had uncovered even more conflicting particulars. Much like the Drachmann letter, the personal effects in the room were rife with cultural miscues. The clothing was a mix of styles common to Creta and Aerugo, but a few of the Aerugoan shirts were actually styled for women. Both suitcases were battered from rough use but yielded no useful clues when they and their jumbled contents proved to have been purchased from a local thrift shop just hours before the two assassins checked in to the hotel. The passports discovered in the otherwise empty dresser were legitimate, but had originally been issued to Drachmann nationals who had been deceased for over a decade. The two gunmen were definitely not locals, but they had covered their tracks very well. How they had arrived in Central and where they had come from remained a mystery. There was no way to trace exactly who these men were, or who sent them. The investigation had run straight into a wall.
"'Invaluable.' Yeah, right." Edward was rolling his eyes. "Say that after we figure out who was actually behind the shooting," he said, frustration evident.
Roy took the opening he had been looking for. "Do you have any personal thoughts on that?" he asked.
"Not really," Ed told him.
"Oh?" Roy examined his fingernails. "Alphonse seems to believe otherwise."
"Little brothers should learn to keep their mouths shut," Ed muttered. "I do have a theory, but it's pretty vague."
"Care to share it?"
"When I firm up the details." Ed looked at Mustang, resolute. "I promise; you'll be the first to know."
"I will hold you to that," Roy warned. "In the mean time, have lunch with me."
"You're having lunch with that staff you're so comfortable with," Ed said, casting Roy a disdainful sideward glance. "Besides, I think I make your stewards nervous. I'm heading for the dining car with the rest of the grunts."
"Dinner then."
Ed shook his head. "No thanks," he said, tone sour. "Hawkeye wants to go over security protocols for our arrival in the capital."
"Again?" Roy came as close to pouting as a senior dignitary can manage without sacrificing his dignity. "The woman is relentless! Come on, Ed. We haven't spent more than handful of moments alone together since we boarded this train in Central a week ago. You always have something else to do. How can you be busier than everyone else on the train, including me? And why do you insist on kitting out in the troop sleeper when you could be sharing my bed?" Roy reached out a hand and ran gentle fingers over the blond's smooth cheek, then cupped it in his palm. "Why do I miss you, when you're right here?"
Edward's scowl softened as his face nestled into his lover's touch, just for a moment, before easing away. "I . . . don't know," he murmured. "It's . . . complicated. I don't want to make you . . . make things . . . difficult for you."
Before Roy could question that confusing statement, a steward appeared in the doorway behind them to announce that lunch was served, and the pimply faced young private did indeed cast a nervous glance Edward's way. With a wry smile Ed disappeared into the depths of the coach, out of sight and away. Roy had no choice but to follow the steward to the dining room.
Führer Mustang's lunch guests, the four senior members of his negotiating team, were already assembled around the elegantly appointed dining table, leaving the seat at its head for him. They snapped sharp salutes in unison, and he lifted his hand smartly in return, setting them at their ease.
Colonel Fay Rudland, as the only woman present, took her seat first, to the left of her Führer. The youngest of the team, she had earned her place as one of its leaders through sheer determination. Her track record included successful negotiations with the Ishballan legation under conditions of extreme duress. She had kept her head in intense situations when tempers ran hot, never wavering in her commitment to a peaceful conclusion to her mission of conciliation, and had proved herself to be a fair and honorable individual. The petite redhead had earned the respect of the Ishballans and her Amestrian colleagues alike. Her only fault, as far as Roy was concerned, was her all too obvious infatuation with her Führer.
Taking his seat to Rudland's left, Major General Alton Dearth settled his substantial girth comfortably into the well upholstered dining chair and waved the steward over to refill his wine glass, running a hand through thinning grey hair. Although he was the oldest member of the negotiating team, he was not the ranking officer. The older man had earned his place at the table by virtue of his many years of experience in situations requiring tact and diplomacy of the highest caliber. Dearth had been an exemplary officer under Führer Bradley, but Roy didn't hold that against him. Indeed, the man had proven his loyalty to Amestris when he ordered the unit under his command to join the rebel forces under General Grumann on the Promised Day.
Colonel Phillip Overholt was not quite as old as Alton Dearth, but it was difficult to estimate his age. The man's boyish good looks and affable nature made him a very popular officer – something that Roy Mustang certainly identified with. Overholt had worked his way up the ranks at a much more casual pace than the current Führer however, the advancement of his career taking a back seat to his familial obligations. Given half a chance, the man could wax eloquent about his wife and adult children endlessly, though he had nothing on Maes Hughes. Roy knew the man would much rather have been seated across the table from Mrs. Overholt instead of Lieutenant General Dearth, but his sense of duty had compelled him to volunteer for this mission, and Roy could not refuse him. Overholt had a talent for thinking on his feet, often coming up with unique solutions to complex problems, and Roy knew that talent would certainly be called upon many times over the course of these negotiations.
The man seated to his Führer's immediate right held the honor of being this mission's ranking officer, and was therefore the delegation's chief commander. Lieutenant General Jerald Ethan's steely grey eyes swept over his assembled team with pride, then turned a pleasant smile to Roy. A few years Roy's senior, the man's confident manner and noble bearing expose his aristocratic lineage, but much like Mustang himself, he had risen through the ranks on merit alone. Ethan was an old acquaintance of the current Führer. The two men had worked together quite often while stationed at East Headquarters under General Grumman, though Ethan had outranked Mustang at the time. He was a level headed commander, an astute negotiator, and an exceptional soldier. Roy had appointed him as lead negotiator for the diplomatic mission in Aerugo, and hadn't regretted it for a moment. The man knew when to take the reins, and when to give his trusted staff their heads – the mark of a good leader. It was largely due to Ethan's efforts that the Aerugoan negotiations had gone so smoothly. Roy had awarded him a promotion to Major General when the delegation had returned triumphant to Central, and could think of no one more qualified to take command of the current mission to Creta.
The stewards promptly served a light salad, and the party quietly sampled the fresh romaine lettuce, artichoke hearts, tomatoes, golden Aerugoan peppers, and red onions drizzled with a sweet vinaigrette, their appetites initially taking priority over their need to make conversation, aside from voicing approval for the appetizer. That changed as the attentive servers cleared empty plates.
"I understand we will be arriving in the Cretian capital two days from now, sometime in the evening." Rudland leaned back, wine glass in hand.
"Yes," Roy confirmed. "I trust you have your strategies in place? All reasonable contingencies anticipated?"
"Of course," Ethan stated with a confident grin. "The fine tuning will naturally follow when the battle is joined," he joked.
Roy returned the smile easily. "I suggest that you take the opportunity to relax on this last leg of our journey," he said, addressing the team. "You likely won't see much down time once we meet with Constantine lV and his staff."
Dearth waved his empty wine glass at a passing steward – his second refill Roy observed. "It would be much easier to relax without having to deal with insubordinate brats who waltz in and out of the coach like they own the place," the older man grumbled.
Uh oh. "To whom might you be referring?" Roy asked, though it was becoming clear to which General Ed had been alluding with his 'pompous asshole' remark.
"Edward Elric," Overholt stated with a grimace. "The young man can be terribly rude."
"Hmm." Roy remained noncommittal.
"He barged right through a private conference we were having in the parlor this morning," Dearth stated, lip curled. "He should know better than to interrupt the discussion of serious matters of state. And if he doesn't, he should be instructed." The man was clearly outraged.
Rudland's eyes were wide at the contempt in her colleague's tone. "Well, to be fair, the parlor is the only way into and out of the coach," she reasoned. "We can't expect everyone to defer to our needs. Other personnel have a right to come and go as necessary."
"He's a civilian," Dearth said dismissively. "He has no business in here in the first place. The other civilians on staff know better than to intrude. Elric should keep to himself until summoned to his duties, whatever they might be." The man glanced at Roy with a studiously bland expression. His wine glass was empty again.
The stewards had arrived with the main course, a broiled chicken cutlet on a bed of curried rice, and began to serve. Dearth signalled with his glass for another refill.
"Edward Elric is here on General Hawkeye's recommendation, in an official capacity as cultural advisor, and as my personal interpreter," Roy stated to the group at large. "His native fluency in a number of Creta's dialects and his extensive knowledge of the many and various Cretian ethnic customs ensure that he will be a valuable asset to our team."
Dearth snorted his opinion of that claim.
"Your personal interpreter? Are you sure that's wise, Excellency?" Overholt asked. "There's a very good chance that he could prove to be an embarrassment to you. If you had heard how he spoke to Lieutenant General Dearth . . ."
Roy wondered how Dearth had first spoken to Edward. "Mr. Elric came highly recommended by the Emperor of Xing." Roy sipped his wine. "He served under Ling Yao as an interpreter in the Imperial court for two years before returning to Amestris. I am satisfied with his credentials, and trust he will conduct himself in a completely professional manner."
Roy's officers did not look convinced.
"You do realize that we are speaking about the former Fullmetal Alchemist," Roy tried again. "He was known as the Alchemist for the People for very good reasons. He proved himself countless times not only in battle, but as an envoy of good will to the people of Amestris, Ishbal, and beyond. And it is no exaggeration to say that he was instrumental in the ultimate defeat of the monster that nearly succeeded in absorbing the life essence of every man, woman, and child in this country."
"And lost his ability to do alchemy in the process, I understand. Pity," Dearth said as he sliced into his cutlet. "Without it, his state certification was gone, his glory days done. It must have been quite a blow. A shame that the boy should crash and burn so completely in his prime, to become nothing more than a worthless has-been of no consequence at such a young age. All he can do now is cling desperately to the coattails of men with real power."
Roy heard Rudland's dismayed gasp, noted Ethan's incredulous stare, saw Overholt's slack jawed shock, as cold rage overtook him in reaction to Dearth's brutal and completely inaccurate assessment of Edward's character. It was fortunate that the Führer was rendered momentarily speechless, as it gave General Ethan the opportunity to cut in and save his high commander from saying something he, or more likely Dearth, would regret.
"And tell me, Alton, where were you on the Promised Day when Elric was fighting that abomination with his bare hands, hm?" The Lieutenant General asked, steel in his tone. "I don't recall seeing you out there, rallying the troops with the rest of us."
"I took charge of communications that day!" the older man sputtered. "We all had a hand in that victory, regardless of what duty demanded of us!"
"Indeed," Ethan mused, "though some hands were busier than others. Still, it's a pity you weren't there to witness that battle. If you had, you wouldn't be so quick to scorn young Edward's worth so carelessly. The Fullmetal Alchemist is still a hero in the eyes of many, and rightly so. They will not be so quick to forget him, despite your callous disregard."
His anger under control, Roy was finally able to speak. "Well said, Jerald," he stated quietly, leveling a cold gaze at Dearth. "This nation has come through terrible times. The healing process has really only begun, and the people who saw us through that final conflict will be a crucial part of that healing. There were many heroes who made victory possible that day. It would be inexcusable to dismiss their value now, simply because you believe that they are no longer of use to us."
Dearth had the good grace to look abashed. "My apologies, Excellency," he said, head bowed. "You're right of course. Please excuse this old man's folly."
"Apology accepted, Dearth," Roy said with an easy smile, keeping his lingering anger well hidden. He would henceforth be keeping a close eye on the old Major General. Such blatantly insensitive attitudes in responsible positions were political incidents waiting to happen.
The diners settled into their luncheon once again with polite small talk, and soon coffee and pastry were before them, the meal at an end. Roy excused himself as soon as graciously possible to go in search of Edward. He was beginning to understand the younger man's standoffish behaviour of late. Moving through the narrow hallway toward the parlor, the Führer was pleased to hear Edward's voice.
"Just eat it, Brosh," he was saying, rather exasperated.
Roy peeked into the parlor to see Ed pressing an orange into the hands of Second Lieutenant Denny Brosh, on guard at the door leading to the train proper. The nervous older blond handled the fruit gingerly, as if it might explode.
"I'm not supposed to eat in here," he said. "General Hawkeye's orders. And I'm on duty. She'll kill me dead if she finds out."
"She'll kill you deader if you pass out from low blood sugar and leave the Führer unprotected because you were too nervous about this duty to eat lunch or breakfast," Ed pointed out. He took the orange from the anxious Lieutenant's hand, quickly peeled it, and broke it into sections. "Open up," he commanded.
Brosh reluctantly complied and Ed popped a section into his mouth. The orange disappeared in a few short moments. And none too soon. The door at Brosh's back suddenly opened to a frowning Jean Havoc. The orange peel vanished into Edward's pants pocket.
"What the hell, Ed," Havoc said. "Don't go distracting the guard. He's supposed to be watching the door, and he never even saw me coming. What were you doing?" The Lieutenant General scowled at his blanching subordinate.
"Sorry about that, Havoc," Edward said. "He told me to stop bugging him, but you know how stubborn I can be." The blond grinned.
Havoc was about to reply, but stopped to sniff the air. "What's that smell?"
Edward eyed him speculatively and said, "That was me. Sorry, I farted."
Jean frowned. "No, it smells like oranges."
"Yeah, like I said, I farted," Ed told him, straight faced. "My ass is a miracle. What flavor would you like next?"
Roy chose that moment to step into the parlor and put Brosh and Havoc out of Ed's misery. This was far more entertaining than dining with Generals. Both soldiers snapped to attention and saluted their smirking leader.
"At ease, gentlemen," Roy said as he returned the salute. "Is there a problem?"
"No Sir," Havoc said. "I have a message from General Hawkeye. She sends word that we will be at the Cretian frontier in approximately fifteen minutes."
"Thank you, Lieutenant General," Roy responded. It appeared that his talk with Edward would have to be delayed. Again. Damn. "Inform the officers in the dining room as well, if you please."
By the time Roy finished issuing that order, Edward was once again out of sight.
~0~
They had cleared the border without incident and were an hour closer to their destination when Roy finally found the time to go looking for Edward again. The late afternoon sun tracked his search through the various coaches, startling soldiers to attention and civilians to wide-eyed staring.
Roy had hoped that having Edward along on this mission might be a turning point of sorts; the prospect of spending an extended period together had been very appealing. He had greatly anticipated working with Edward, getting to know him from this new perspective, learning what it was like to work with him now. The young man was an intriguing mix of the familiar, brash adolescence Roy had had under his command, and a vibrant, complex adulthood. The time he had been spending with the young man up until now, an evening here and there, the odd weekend afternoon, just wasn't enough. Roy wanted more, but still hadn't worked up the courage to find out what Ed's expectations were. The idea that the younger man might be content to continue as they were sent a small shiver through Roy's soul. How much he wanted this odd and evolving friendship to become something deeper continued to astonish him. Had he felt this way in all his romantic affairs?
It had been so long since he had risked intimacy with another that Roy had forgotten what it was like to be in a new relationship. The almost obsessive longing, the warmth from a simple touch, the day dreams; he was rediscovering a peculiar and oddly pleasant sort of madness. It was a good thing the Führer hadn't managed to hire Edward to his personal staff; nothing would ever get done. As it was, the past few months had been a dizzying series of highs and lows: highs when Edward was with him and lows when Edward was away, ranging around the country.
Since Breda had hired him, Ed had been occupied with the investigation in Central almost constantly, and even though the press of duty had kept them from spending much time together of late, Roy found a strange comfort in knowing he was close at hand. As the Führer had expected, Edward was an excellent addition to his inner circle, fitting almost seamlessly into established routines. He worked well with Roy's close staff, renewing old ties and forging new ones, and aside from abrading military egos from time to time, had impressed many with his quick wit and razor sharp insights.
Edward had even managed to work his way under the skin of Roy's house staff. The naturally impassive Winston was always genuinely pleased to see the young man whenever Roy brought him home. Shy Isa, the manor's chef, had taken to whipping up delectable treats that she knew would catch Edward's fancy. Everyone in the house had a warm greeting for Ed. The manor felt like home when Edward was there. Roy hadn't had felt that anywhere in many long years, and he found that he had missed it.
He wanted to keep it. Build on it. Which meant that he had to get to the bottom of Edward's distance and put an end to it.
Roy found him in the dining car, playing cards with Riza and Heymans.
He stepped up to the table. "We need to talk," Roy said without preamble.
The two senior officers knew exactly who their friend was speaking to. They immediately folded their cards and stood, Riza giving Roy's shoulder a pat as she moved to the door. Edward watched as Roy slid into the seat across from him, face unreadable, and folded his cards as well. Roy studied the younger man for a moment, his guarded expression, his hands folded tensely on the table, his completely captivating golden eyes locked to Roy's.
"My bed is too lonely to sleep in," Roy said, his own figurative cards now on the table.
"So? What do I look like, a teddy bear?"
"No, you look like my lover. Or at least you did last week."
Edward looked uncomfortable. "Last week we weren't under a fucking microscope."
Ah. "Welcome to my world. Funny, you never struck me as the shy type."
"I'm not! It's just . . ." Edward bit his lower lip hard, and Roy wanted to drag him across the table and run his tongue over it.
He didn't. "Tell me."
Edward squared his shoulders. "People talk," he said. "And I couldn't care less what they say about me, but when it comes to you, that's different." The blond held up a hand when Roy tried to interrupt. "No, let me finish. Rumor has it that I'm just here to warm your bed, and that makes you look . . . I don't know. Bad. Like a pervert. People should look up to you. Respect you. In your position that's important. I don't want to screw that up for you, just because I . . . just by being here."
Roy was silent for a moment. "Do you believe that I only brought you along for sex?" he asked.
"No." Flatly, with no hesitation. That was a relief.
"Good, because nothing could be farther from the truth."
"Sometimes the truth doesn't matter."
"Edward." Roy reached across the table and placed his hands over the young man's. Ed did not pull away. "This is what it means to be in the public eye. People watch. They speculate. Sometimes they get it right. More often they get it wrong, sometimes on purpose. That isn't going to change. If we are going to continue to see each other, you will have to accept it. It won't be easy. The question is, do you think it's worth the effort and aggravation?"
"That's . . . kind of a stupid question." Ed looked around the coach, taking in the covert glances other diners cast their way. "It is for me. But you have more to lose."
"I'm the Führer of Amestris. I belong to the people." Roy did not lower his voice. "But if I have to suffer travelling the countryside in this miserable gilded cage, I'll damn well do it with my friend and lover by my side, thank you very much. I can at least have that for myself, can't I?"
Edward shrugged, but his eyes were sparkling. "That's kind of a stupid question, too. You want an early start on dinner? The corned beef hash is pretty good."
"I am hungry. Just not for food." Roy leaned in, letting the slow smolder reach his eyes, touch his voice. "Would you care to join me?" he purred, voice low, rough. "There are so many ways I want to show you how much I've missed you. So many ways I'd like to satisfy my appetite. And yours." His smile was silk.
Edward was still, pinned by the intensity of the older man's smoky gaze, branded by his lover's searing regard. "Holy fuck," he breathed, quietly, a slight tremor in his voice.
"Exactly," Roy murmured. Some animal part of him sparked to life, wanting to pull the younger man across the table and take his lips, his tongue, wanting to feel Edward respond, but there were other things he wanted more.
The only memories Roy had of getting from the dining car to his private sleeping quarters were of Edward's eyes, gleaming honey, pupils blown wide; of his hair, shining like liquid gold in the late afternoon sun slanting into each carriage they passed through; of how Roy had never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.
Sliding the sleeping compartment's door shut behind him, Roy paused to look at the younger man, really look at him, eyes following the curve of a smooth youthful cheek, the strong line of his jaw, the bow of parted lips, returning to probe the amber depths searching his in return. Reaching out, he touched the tips of his fingers to Edward's cheek, skimming flushed skin to comb thick blond hair away from the man's temple, rounding back to cradle the curve of his skull. Ed's breath stuttered as Roy pulled him close to lightly brush their lips together, and the blond's patience finally ran out. Ed closed that last bit of distance between them and claimed Roy's lips in a deep, almost desperate kiss.
There was nothing quite like kissing Edward Elric. Roy loved the intensity of Edward's single minded purpose, how he devoted all of his considerable focus to kissing Roy. He loved the warmth of Ed's hands when they came up to gently cup his face. He loved how Ed carded his fingers through Roy's hair and carefully closed to tug him in tight. He loved how gentle fingers tracing the hollow of his throat made Ed's lips part and his eyes close. He loved how kissing Edward blurred their edges until they seemed to blend together, as if they were one person instead of two.
Ed's sigh was soft as they parted, warm breath against his lips making Roy shiver. The double bed dominated the small compartment, and a single short step brought Roy to its side, holding Ed close. Roy eased down to sit on the plush surface and Ed shifted to straddled Roy's lap, grinning as hands gravitated to his hips as he settled. With one hand resting on Roy's shoulder, the blond played absently with the collar of the man's uniform jacket, just looking, a familiar darkness in the young man's gaze, there and quickly smoothed away. One of Roy's brows quirked.
"Are you just going to stare?" Roy asked with a touch of challenge.
"Why not?" Ed shot back, surprising the older man. Ed slid his hands to cup his lover's face, leaning until their foreheads just touched. "You're well worth staring at."
One corner of Roy's mouth twitched up, and it was too much for Edward to resist. Tilting the older man's head back, he brushed his lips across Roy's. Edward's lips parted; a tongue-tip flicked out to tease Roy closer. Roy hummed appreciatively as Ed traced his lower lip, nipping gently, and purred, content, when Ed pressed for entry.
Edward followed as Roy leaned back on his elbows, finally breaking away, and Roy moaned when he licked his lips and tasted Edward. How could he have known when this started that he'd end up so completely captivated? Could he ever get enough? Probably not, but Roy was determined to find out, one way or the other.
~0~
Tangled bonelessly together, sweat cooling, Roy almost didn't have the energy to move as he gradually caught his breath. There was nothing like this feeling, lying here completely relaxed, with Edward beside him. He had an odd, overwhelming urge to see Ed's face however, so he levered himself up on one elbow. Edward's eyes were closed. Roy kissed them, and when they opened they glowed with the same contentment that Roy felt.
"Are you alright?" Roy asked.
"You're just full of stupid questions today," Ed murmured.
Roy grinned as he settled, relaxing once again. He supposed they ought to get something to eat, but he just couldn't bring himself to move. It was comfortable to lie here like this, wrapped up in each other and boneless with contentment, the gentle rocking of the train soothing. In all honesty, he wouldn't mind staying right where he was until morning, except that Edward smelled amazing, and Roy was far too aware of the body he was pressed against. It wasn't long before he nuzzled his face deeper into the hollow between Ed's shoulder and neck, licking sweat-salted skin.
"Edward?"
"Hm?"
Roy smiled. "I'm still hungry."
Ed was smiling as well when Roy rolled over him and pinned him with a kiss.
It looked like Lieutenant General Dearth was going to have to get used to seeing Edward in the Presidential coach more often. If the old man thought that the former Fullmetal Alchemist was nothing more than a bed warmer, he was a fool.
Because while Edward might not own the Führer's private coach, he was well on his way to owning the Führer.