Disclaimer: Is this a trick question?
Author's Note: Another one inspired by a fic I recently read. Sorry, again, can't really remember which one. . . but essentially, someone spikes the punch at a military party and Ed and Al steel off and. . . uh. . . well, have sex in a hallway or something.
Oh, the effects of alcohol.
Anyway, I just thought it was a fun idea, so I wanted to play with it, too! XD
XXX
Equivalency XXX
It was supposed to be a joke. Nothing serious— after all, they always did dumb things like this. All it was meant to be was a bit of fun to tease the newbies, or whoever else was stupid enough to take a glass of punch from Havoc.
It was supposed to be a joke. Just a trivial trick; the State-hosted parties were SO BORING, after all. Absolutely nothing amusing to do or see, other than watch boorish men and snotty women— patrons of all shapes, colors, sizes, and dullness— talk of politics. Well, either that or observe hardened soldiers giggling over juvenile pranks like Havoc's. The mischief-makers would hide in the corners with smirks on their faces and bottles of vodka in their gloved hands, slopping liberal amounts of the alcoholic sludge into every random fluke of sparkling juice they could find. Sure, they were part of the military; they HAD to be in this stupid ballroom, whether they wanted to or not: but because of that, what was wrong with spicing things up?
It was supposed to be a joke. At its core, a little prank to get back at Fullmetal for being such a prick all of the time. One might even call it a ploy to make him to relax. That, and they so desperately wanted to trick the clap-happy runt into acting incredibly stupid in front of a whole bunch of people. Drunkenly stupid, to be precise: maybe trip over himself a couple dozen times, make a bit of a scene. Something small, insignificant, but all the same embarrassing—so that they could tease him about it until the following year. That was all they wanted.
. . . and privately, they prayed that he wasn't an angry drunk.
In any case, the men were excited. Unusually so. So enthralled they were by their evil and the weight of anticipation, that when Edward finally arrived—uncomfortably annoyed in his uniform of gold and navy, dragging his little brother in toe— his fellow officers saw no harm in nearly forcing a glass of the spiked liquid down his under-age throat.
All according to plan.
. . . But a thirsty Alphonse downing a couple shots of the drink hadn't been expected.
Similarly, no on had even considered that Edward might actually end up liking the horrible taste of vodka on his tongue.
And nobody had been prepared to see the brothers consume 5 wineglasses each before pausing.
Really, all the men could do was stand there, gaping— jaws dropped and mouths wide in a poor attempt to stop the boys before they really hurt themselves; hands weakly outstretched in imitation of decisive movement. . .
But before the soldiers could find their voices, the two blondes suddenly froze: looking at each other from over the rim of their tumblers. Their eyes were bright and oddly glazed, cheeks cherry red and pink lips slightly puckered. Ed's metal fingers twitched.
And then they fell to the ground.
Together.
Kissing.
. . . quite passionately.
A pause.
. . .well, at least he wasn't an angry drunk. . .
Still, the men gawked— unsure of what to do or say or think as random scraps of clothing began to fly up from the floor. In fact, their shot brains seemed incapable of processing anything other than the same startling revelation: apparently, Edward (and Alphonse) were rather horny when drunk.
(To which Hawkeye—after later being let in on this insight by a horrified Mustang, Havoc, Brenda, Fury, and the rest— responded (quite eloquently): "No shit.")
It was supposed to be a joke. Mainly, a little prank to get back at Fullmetal for being such a prick all of the time. One might even call it a ploy to make him to relax. And if that had truly been their motive (they had to admit, as they tried to pry the surprisingly well-suctioned siblings apart, that they weren't really sure anymore), they had succeeded extraordinarily well.
And hell—there was no way Ed would ever live this down.
. . . unfortunately, though, there would be no one left to tell the tale once Edward sobered up and had his way.
Equivalent exchange prevailed yet again.
