Lightning set the sky ablaze as Edward lay in bed. The cracking booms of thunder kept him from sleep. His arms were folded beneath his head as he stared at the ceiling. The small flame of a candle plumed at his bedside, shadows waltzing across the walls.
Edward never minded a storm. The unbridled chaos felt familiar. The chorus of pelting droplets, the anarchic display of light, the whip-crack of air colliding, it was as a song of battle, with notes of alchemy.
A light pattering of feet sounded against the wooden hall. The floorboards creaked and groaned with each step but silenced as they reached the other side of Edward's open door.
"Brother?" Alphonse called with a tremble in his voice. "Can I sleep with you?" He fiddled nervously at the sleeve of his long nightshirt.
"What's the matter, Al? You scared of a little storm?" Edward chuckled, but nevertheless billowed the blanket up as a welcome.
"N-no." But he knew Ed could see through the denial. Alphonse's history with thunderstorms was traumatic; one was raging when they tried to bring their mother back. So he subconsciously came to associate the two; the dark to fear, rain to tears, thunder as hearts breaking, and the culmination being death.
He took three long strides and hopped onto the bed, hastily shimmying his legs beneath the blanket and laying down on his side to face Edward.
"I don't like storms, Brother," Alphonse whispered the admission, his tone awash with shame. Edward said nothing, for he knew this already. Being his brother's keeper meant he knew nearly all of Alphonse, even the parts he didn't care to admit aloud.
Ed shifted to face him. "You don't have to be scared, Al," he offered with a small smile. But the thunder rumbled then, and a blaze lit the dark, and Alphonse shut his eyes tight.
When he opened them again, Edward was much nearer. He placed a palm atop the curve of his shoulder. "I'll always protect you," he whispered, the weight of such a promise heavy on his tongue.
The fear in Alphonse's eyes began to dissipate, and he scooted closer to Edward, narrowing the gap between them by another inch. He wholeheartedly believed his brother's promise and yet his heart fluttered still.
Ed slid his hand delicately down Al's arm and brought it to rest on his pillow between them. Al peered at it, and to his own hand beside it. Ed's hand looked worn, flesh much older than it had to have been, weathered by battles it ought not to have fought, marred by injuries it had no business receiving. In comparison, the skin of his own hand retained a youthful absence of blemishes and scars and how was that fair?
Al tentatively flexed his smallest finger, bidding it to give the smallest of touches to Ed's finger beside it. He peeked over to Ed's face, just inches away, who shifted his gaze from their hands to Al's eyes.
All at once, they shifted their bodies together, lips joining. Ed's palm pressed against Al's cheek, Al's fingers splayed against Ed's chest.
Their touches were clumsy but desperate. This unspoken hunger had been building for some time, imperceptibly, until no force could hold it any longer. And for the Elrics to explore it with each other felt organic, felt right, even sensical.
Ed sandwiched his leg between Al's, looping his foot around Al's ankle and pulling his body flush against him. Al's fingertips were blindly exploring Ed's taut neck, the hollow of the nape, the ridge of his clavicle.
Ed paused, separating their mouths but only just. Alphonse opened his eyes. With cheeks ruddy, hair mussed, chest heaving with short breaths, Edward thought he never saw anything so beautiful, so tempting, alluring, perfect, and considered it a gift to witness it.
Edward brushed his fingers through Alphonse's tousled fringe before returning to his mouth, joining their lips slowly. Legs still entwined, he carefully pressed his core against him. This heat, the rush of blood, a spasm of ecstacy, elicited a whimper from Al and a throaty groan from Ed, which commingled between their mouths.
Ed bucked his hips a bit more deliberately, increasing the pressure. Al gasped against his lips and squeezed a hand around Ed's bicep. Edward's entire body felt aflame, the ache of need that had gone unheeded was coursing hotly through his system. Alphonse could not decipher these sensations, assign them names, quantify them in any manner, for his head was swimming in them and he gave into them fully.
As Ed writhed, grinding himself against Al, a tingling signaled that he was on the precipice of something final, the heat mounting to a conclusive eruption. "Al," he moaned, and threw his head back.
Alphonse felt it, too. "Brother," he gasped, tilting his chin to his chest, eyes squeezed so tight, fingers vice-like around Ed's arm.
One last motion sent them both over the edge together, their bodies shuddering, a duet of pleasure cries filling the air between them.
Their faces fell back to their pillows. They looked to each other, breathlessly panting, droplets of perspiration trailing down their foreheads. Neither one said a word. Nothing needed to be said, for much of their bond had always been unspoken.
The stub of candle that remained spread a warm, fluttering glow over them. Edward reached over to brush a stray strand of hair off Al's damp temple. Alphonse caught his hand, entwining their fingers together. He hadn't noticed the storm had passed.