Disclaimer: Anything you recognize probably doesn't belong to me. Besides, if Ed and Roy ever really ended up together, do you think I'd feel the desire to write this?

Title: Inferno

Author: fuery (Marissa)

Pairing: Roy/Ed

Rating: PG-13 for Edward's filthy tongue, some spoilers along the way, and yaoi. If you didn't already get the hint, there it is.

Sidenotes: This is just a collection of drabbles and one-shots that I've been working on lately. Expect around 100 but as of right now I've written somewhere around 22 or 23. Constructive criticism is always welcome and so are generally kind reviews. If you love 'em let me know. If you flame me on the pairing, you'll probably just be ignored, as you had fair warning of what you were going to be reading. But otherwise, flames in general, are…well I guess as welcome as rude words can be. Often, these pieces will feature Restored!Al, if only because I didn't even really like him until I saw the movie :-[ whoops?

21. Second

Edward is just finishing his report when a crumpled scrap piece of paper flutters onto the table in front of him. More confused than surprised, he smoothes it out with a patience that is strange even to him, barely glancing up at the man accidentally scorching his dinner on the stove.

The note reads: Why the silent treatment, Edward?

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he scribbles: Al is asleep and I have to finish this. Otherwise, I would definitely be screaming and wringing your neck for turning our dinner to ashes. Bastard. He shoves his chair out and stalks to the counter, slapping the paper down next to Roy.

Commence Notes War the Second:

It's not ashes. It is perfectly edible and you'll eat it even if I have to force it down your throat.

No, I absolutely refuse. Is it really necessary to char things in every aspect of your life?

Relax or you could be next.

Will you just go away?

That depends. Would you like to eat?

I don't need food.

How unlike you. In any case, your stomach is disagreeing rather loudly, don't you think?

My stomach is a traitor anyway.

Maybe you should just cook tonight. This isn't working.

Told you so. And no. I'm busy. I'll make sandwiches.

That's lunch food. Look, just cook dinner. I'll…make it up to you…later.

Edward decides he is a complete sucker when he trashes the paper and rises from the table with an annoyed glare. Roy offers a knowing leer.

"It won't always work, you know," Edward insists in a grumble.

"Oh, I'm sure it won't. When you finally grow up, those pesky teenage hormones will become more bearable for the both of us, though more troublesome for my bribes," Roy murmurs in response, a hopeless sigh falling from his lips.

Edward freezes, unsure which part of the comment he should be offended by the most, choking indignantly. Finally, he simply lets out a scream of rage, taking a swing at his lover.

In the living room, Alphonse sighs and cracks an eyelid at the commotion. He should have known he'd never be able to take a nap. And from the smell and sound of it, he should have known he'd be the one cooking dinner too.