So this fic was inspired by We Haunt Ourselves, an AU in which Ed bound Al's soul to himself, and throughout canon they share Ed's body. The only way they can see and touch one another is in their shared dreams.

Enjoy!

The boy is alone on the train.

He reclines on the seat, arms thrown back to cushion his head. His eyes are closed.

The other passengers whisper that's the Fullmetal Alchemist and he's so young, why doesn't he have someone with him?

Edward Elric is famous throughout the country, known for his acts of generosity as well as his brilliant alchemy.

There are other claims to fame as well, including his two automail limbs, his indignant protests at being called young or small, and his cold fury toward anyone who mentions his brother.

He has a younger brother. Or, well, he did. Rumor is he was killed in a freak alchemy accident. Poor boy.

It's true that Alphonse Elric hasn't been seen in years. However, that's not a concern of Edward's at the moment.

Right now, he's simply trying to fall asleep.

Here we go, muses a soft voice in the back of Ed's mind. We're dropping off.

Shut up, Ed admonishes. If we acknowledge that we're falling asleep, our stupid brain will wake back…wake…

As he trails off, the thought spiraling away from him, a tiny sound echoes inside him. A soft giggle. Oh, brother.

Ed falls asleep, and they dream.

Ed wakes in a void.

Not the void, he knows that. It isn't that thing's domain, that being who claimed to be all, one, truth, the world, and also him.

No, this place is empty. He knows this before he opens his eyes—he's been here many times. No towering gate, no blank reflection of himself. The light is white, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, but it is dimmed by a soft, intangible haze.

A hand rests on his cheek. Warm. Real. Separate from him. A thumb gently strokes his eyelid. "Wake up."

The voice is achingly familiar. Ed's heart sings to hear it outside of himself, his mind.

"M'not awake," he grumbles sleepily. "Neither of us are. We're asleep. I sleep, you sleep."

"Fine," says his brother. "Then open your eyes."

Ed does, and he nearly faints from happiness. Lying beside him, alive and whole and inches from him, is Al.

His little brother is taller than Ed remembers, the last time he truly saw him. Four long years ago, he tries not to think.

His hair is still trimmed, short and neat like he likes it. Eyes sparkle golden and round, regarding Ed with a hint of amusement, but mostly the same burning love that is consuming Ed.

His lips, so beautifully pink, turn upward in a teasing smile. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Ed murmurs. He grabs his brother's hand, which still rests on his cheek, and guides the palm to his mouth for a kiss.

He lets his eyes roam down Al's naked body. Neither of them is wearing anything. It's a dream, after all.

"You are…so beautiful."

Al's cheeks flush delicately with a color Ed desperately wants to taste. "You're just saying that because we're here. Because I'm not real."

True, it isn't Al's body. It isn't the one given to him—or taken away—by whatever deity it is that guards the gate.

It's the body he dreams of. Chest solid and flatter. Voice that teases the deep timbre of their deadbeat father. Below his waist, his sex rests between his legs, its length rivaling Ed's. (He resists the urge to conjure up a ruler and measure.)

The body of his dreams.

Ed sits up, resting his weight on one elbow. He looms over Al, golden hair trailing over his shoulders and hovering on Al's cheek. He hopes it tickles.

"You, my brother," he says firmly, holding Al's golden gaze, "are beautiful. You have always been, and you always will be."

He rests his hand on Al's chest, breathing a sigh of relief as the pulse quickens under his fingers. It doesn't matter that the body isn't real, the heartbeat just part of the dream. Edward lives for the moments when he can feel his brother's body with his—their—hands.

One day this won't be a dream.

He leans down as Al tilts up, and their lips meet. The groan of relief that is passed between them could have come from either of their throats, but now it belongs to both of them.

They're used to sharing everything.

Al's pulse quickens further. He moans into the kiss, and Ed savors the taste.

"Touch me," Al begs, his breath verging on a whimper. "Need to feel you."

Ed's hand moves from Al's chest, up the side of his neck, and tangles in his hair, which is just long enough to ruffle. Ed remembers the first time Al asked their mother to cut it short, and the joy he radiated after she did.

From there, his hand wanders down again, fingers caressing Al's ribs one by one. His mouth follows, trailing kisses down Al's throat and across his chest. His tongue toys with each nipple before continuing over Al's stomach, down to his sex, where he ravishes attention on the already-erect, weeping length.

"Mmm. Brother."

That word, among Al's other noises of pleasure, are almost enough to send Ed over the edge himself.

Every day, his brother's voice is inside him, like a conscience. Some days he's convinced it's all his imagination—that there is no bloodseal, or it faded, and he merely imagines what his sensible little brother would say.

Not now.

This isn't real, but Ed's imagination couldn't conjure up the sweet, sweet cries his brother makes, with Ed's fingers and lips on his cock.

"Let me—Ed—" Al is panting now, his words nearly incoherent. Ed can be proud of that later.

I got you, he reassures Al silently. His mouth is busy. Just lie back and let me make you feel good.

"I—I lie—ahhh—" Al's groan sends a throb through Ed before he gives up speaking aloud and reverts to their mental bond, active even now in their separate, dream bodies. I lie back and let you do the work all day, brother. I'm not going to do nothing while you—y—

Even his mental protests stutter to a halt as his whole body shudders its release. Ed braces and swallows as much as he can. The taste will be gone when he wakes, so he savors it.

He strokes Al's sweat-slick skin until the throes of ecstasy have calmed, and Al breathes in, deep and shaky.

Ed presses soft kisses along Al's inner thigh and waist before scooting back up so his head is level with Al's again.

His brother's face shines with a rosy glow.

Al's fingers trace the circle carved on Ed's chest, still and always crusted with blood. Pairs of parallel lines crisscross within the circle, surrounding a curved, hooklike symbol in the center.

Ed brings it with him into every dream. He'll never let it fade. This seal is a part of him—the reason he is still here. The reason Al is still here.

Al caresses the sigil, to anyone else a mere scar, origin and importance unknown.

"Someday this will be real," he breathes softly, resting his forehead against Ed's. "Someday I'll touch you. The real you. And I'll walk on my own two feet beside you for the rest of my life."

Woven deep into these declarations, these promises for the future, is the plaintive questioning voice of a little boy who wants reassurance from his big brother that everything will be all right.

Ed's insides twinge. He kisses Al once more and hopes that's all the reassurance he needs.

"Now, what were you saying about lying around doing nothing? It's your turn. Time to put that thing of yours to good use."

"Brother." Al giggles, gasping in mock scandal.

"I'm just saying, since we're getting your body back, that dick is a limited time offer. Let's take advantage."

Thank you for reading! As always, let me know what you think - comments feed my SOUL. I'm on tumblr too, hop over and say hi!