Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist or any of its characters. I have been assured that Ed x Roy would never happen and I don't care.
Edward groaned as The Alchemical Compendium of Soil Mineralogy slipped out of his white-gloved hands and fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The basement reading room was silent and dusty and he was up far too late. Even though he usually kept night owl hours, frequently staying up several hours after Al went to bed, 3 am was late even for him.
Dusting off his black trousers, he ratcheted up to standing, spine protesting at each increment. How long had he been curled in the chair, trying to unlock the relationship between trace elements in soil and alchemical reactions. He suspected that it was one of the keys to Ishbalan alchemy, but he had searched all of the geological survey and water board reports strewn across the metal research table and had yet to find a relevant difference.
The soil had more silica, that was for sure, but there had to be something else, something in the minutest concentration, or some combination of elements, that could explain the reactional differences. He had read logs of military interviews with alchemists serving in the Ishbalan conflict and, while there were anomalies, bodies brought soil elements with them from their previous surroundings, so the effect of trace minerals might not show for awhile.
Edward shook his blonde braid and wiped a yawn off of his face, then scrunched his face to wipe away the furrows that had settled there. He would definitely have to do more in the morning. Just not now. A mist of weariness settled over him as he straightened up the books into piles and closed the report binders.
In the hallway, Fuery and Havoc were slumped almost to sitting, but still awake. They straightened up as Edward came out of the small chamber. Turning the handle and closing the gray-green metal door, he said, "I'm sorry for keeping you up so late."
They were too tired to muster a dissembling remark. They grunted and shrugged, which all three knew meant, "It's part of the job." Their faces were pale in the dim underground light.
Edward led them upstairs, red coat across his black-clothed left arm. Their steps echoed in the cavernous main room of the provisional library. Thanks to Sciezska's memory and the gathering of smaller collections, it was beginning to look like a reference collection again. But now there were stiffer security measures and a state-of-the-art fire extinguishing system. A small smile tickled Ed's lips as he imagined dueling with Colonel Mustang here. See what the Fire Alchemist could do against tons of anti-incendiary powder.
One of the night guards unlocked the heavy side security door and the rumpled party of three exited into the cool early morning air, one by one, with Edward in front, deep in mineralogical thought. Havoc and Fuery perked up when the air washed their tired faces and Edward breathed deeply after so many hours of inhaling dust, old books, and basement air. He stretched his left arm out across his body and pinned his elbow with his right hand to unlock his shoulder. His automail hand had picked up the night's chill. Then he rolled his neck as Havoc and Fuery looked impressed at the popping, but said nothing of loud noises coming from small packages.
Edward slung his red coat over his shoulder and set out toward home, past the military buildings and guard stations. As they neared the main building, his eyes strayed to the window on the fourth floor left. With surprise he registered that it was lit. Someone was still working and Lt. Hawkeye would never leave Black Hayate alone at night. Mustang. It could only be.
Edward stopped just before the gate. Havoc and Fuery were several steps ahead of him before they realized that he wasn't with them. "You go ahead," he called to them. "I'm going to go in to check on something." He gestured with his thumb to HQ. "I'll get an escort here when I'm done."
Havoc and Fuery looked at each other and then back at the young alchemist. They nodded and Havoc said, "Okay. But remember that it's our heads that roll if anything happens."
Edward nodded and turned ninety degrees to walk into the darkened stone building.
As he made his way past the night guards and into the main foyer, his stomach prickled and his heartbeat skipped up. Why was he here and why was he so nervous? He took a calming breath and ascended the staircase slowly, right, left, balance. In breath, out breath, exchange. Order and chaos, order out of chaos.
Edward turned his overfull mind off and listened to the slightly different footfalls of his two different feet. At the fourth floor, he turned right, down the tiled hallway, his steps a muffled announcement in the stillness.
To his surprise, there was noone guarding the office door. He paused for a moment, facing the smooth dark wood. When he opened the door, Mustang's dark eyes were already locked on his and he faltered as he stepped into the room. Recovering his balance, Edward smiled briefly and received the merest of upward tilts at the corner of Colonel Mustang's mouth in return.
Edward hung his red coat from the large brass hook on the wall, resentful of the need to stand on tiptoes. He walked past the subordinates' desks to stand in front of the broad, heavy desk at the end. His carriage stiffened as he approached Mustang, who was ignoring him.
Arms crossed, Edward surveyed the sea of papers on Mustang's desk. "Up late?" he asked.
"Is there something specific that you wanted to see me about, " Colonel Mustang said distractedly, glancing up at Edward and then looking down at the piles of papers.
Edward took a moment to compose a question of his own, "And if there were?"
Mustang didn't answer. As he rubbed his temples, Edward saw how haggard his face was. He'd been working at a breakneck pace for the past week, keeping inhuman hours and driving his subordinates to the point of rebellion.
Edward changed tack. "With all due respect," he said, "it's far too late and everyone is exhausted, even you. It's unhealthy."
Colonel Mustang seared him with a dark glare. Fire Alchemist, indeed! Edward thought.
"So, you came here, to my office, at..." the older man flipped open his heavy silver watch, "three in the morning, because you're worried about my health?"
Edward's amber eyes widened and then traced the molding on the wall. "No," he said, pursing his lips and shifting his weight, "It's just hard to get you alone."
He felt the warmth of a blush spreading across his cheeks and he willed it to go away. How childish.
Colonel Mustang said nothing. Edward moved his attention to the floor. "A-about the party..." he ventured, cursing inwardly at the audible stutter.
The dark-haired alchemist cut him off with a short hand gesture. The hairs on the back of Edward's neck stood up at the implicit power of the gesture, the wordless half-surprise that he hadn't burst into flame. He squared his stance. At some level, all alchemists had to be ready to fight each other. Edward was just more ready to fight Mustang than anyone else.
Then Mustang's dark eyes looked up at him. "I apologize for that evening. We had both had enough to drink. I should never have been so familiar."
It had been at the Fuhrer's birthday party a few weeks before. After the vintage champagne at the reception, wine upon wine during dinner, and cognac in the library, Edward staggered outside to get some air. He didn't ordinarily drink, disliked alcohol in fact, but it seemed rude to not to pretend at a formal dinner. His sips had been small, but enough to make him woozy.
He met Colonel Mustang outside in the garden of the Fuhrer's estate, leaning against a marble balustrade that separated one tier from another. Mustang had been drinking in earnest, which perhaps explained why he had teased Edward that he would be cute if he weren't so short.
When Edward had gotten mad and tried to punch him, inaccurate on wobbly legs, Mustang blocked the punch effortlessly and pinned his arms to his sides. Mustang didn't let go and Edward didn't struggle. He remembered the unexpected rightness, the being in the right time and in the right place, of that embrace, although he still didn't understand why. He was wrapped in a haze of alcohol, the pressure of Mustang's arms, the smell of the nighttime garden, and faint noise of revelry from the house.
Then Alphonse had called out from the terrace and Edward had groped his way out of the Colonel's slackening grasp and bolted. When he returned to work the next day, Mustang was business-like as usual, if murderous with a hangover. The exaggerated correctness had stayed and even intensified somewhat in the weeks thereafter.
And now here Edward was, at Mustang's desk, a few paces and several worlds away from the question of that night.
"I should never have let my guard down," the dark alchemist said.
"But... I attacked and you pinned me." Edward looked at him in confusion.
And then they both looked away. Edward said in a soft voice, "I never should have left without saying goodnight. I apologize."
Mustang watched him with narrowed eyes, shifting in his heavy wooden chair. "That's why you've come, to say goodnight?"
When Edward didn't answer, Colonel Mustang stood up and stretched. He shifted the piles of papers on his desk into the semblance of order. "Why don't we both go home?" he asked, looking up at Edward. "You can say goodnight on the way."
Edward nodded, hands in his pockets. "Okay."
Edward retraced his steps, past the neat desks with their photos of families and pets and landscapes, and gathered his coat from the wall hook. He blocked out his awareness of where Mustang was in the room and any thoughts of what they would or wouldn't talk about on the walk home.
As he put on his red coat, Edward wondered if there was anything to say. He knew there had been something in that embrace and he hadn't stopped thinking about it since, but what did you say, especially to someone as infuriating as Colonel Mustang.
Mustang came up beside him and took his greatcoat from the hook. After he put it on, he motioned Edward through the door first. Edward shivered ahead of him, aware of those dark eyes on his back.
As they walked out of HQ, Mustang firmly refused an escort from the main guard. They walked to the town in silence. Edward slouched and wondered sourly if this was going to be a lot of fuss for nothing. He gone to the trouble of seeking him out alone and now they were just walking. Maybe the Colonel had just been drunk and teasing him and he was supposed to forget about it.
He chewed on that thought until they reached a narrow alley, a few blocks before the house he shared with Al. Mustang stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and led him inside. All of Edward's nerves woke up with a start.
"Why don't you tell me again why you came to talk to me tonight." Mustang said, raven hair falling into his face.
Edward met the appraising look and words dried up in his mouth. He couldn't speak. He berated himself inwardly. As a Nationally Certified Alchemist, he should be able to talk scientifically about phenomena, even those he did not yet fully understand.
"That... was a boring party," he said,after a long pause, "but..."
He looked full into Mustang's guarded face, "I enjoyed being in the garden, with you."
Surprise ghosted over Mustang's face for a moment and then he regained composure.
"I didn't run away because I didn't like it, " Edward continued, "I was just worried about Al and... Well, he is my little brother."
Mustang turned to lead the way out.
"Hey!" Edward cried and Colonel Mustang's head snapped back to look at him. "Why are you walking away?"
"Do you have any idea what would happen if I stayed," Mustang shot back.
"No," Edward answered truthfully. "Not yet."
Mustang pivoted slowly and walked back to Edward with measured steps, backing him up against the brick wall.
"It would be beside the point," he smirked, bending so that his nose was inches from Ed, "to warn you not to play with fire. Instead, I shall warn you not to get in over your head."
As Mustang straightened up, Edward felt the familiar black and red at the back of his vision from his blood boiling. "Don't joke!" he said, nearly frothing with outrage.
Mustang held out his hand to stop him, "Spare me the predictable hot-tempered outburst."
The hand dropped as Edward stepped forward until his eyes were less than a foot from the older man's chest and he could smell the traces of cologne and a late night drink. Edward's gloved fists were balled at his sides. And then he just looked up.
Mustang watched him warily, prepared to block and yet letting him closer to him than he should. Anger and confusion blazed in the wide amber eyes. Ignoring a dull warning bell ringing at the back of his mind, Mustang lifted his hand slowly, as if approaching a lion or other dangerous cat, and stroked the shortest and youngest National Alchemist's jaw with his gloved finger, his thumb tracing the downy blond cheek.
Edward yielded to the touch, but stared at the Colonel in challenge. "Why won't you take me seriously?"
"I take you very seriously," Mustang replied with unusual candor. "But you can't bluster you way through every situation. Sometimes you have to use finesse."
Edward relaxed under the light stroke of his hand, the warmth, the vetiver-laced smell of the Colonel. His fists unclenched. Mustang took his hand away and rolled his shoulders back. "Well," he said with his usual ironic smile, "morning begins at the same time tomorrow, too. Let's go home."
As Mustang withdrew, Edward growled, "You call that a goodnight?"
Mustang transferred his energy in one fluid motion to Edward's chest, pushing him back against the brick wall with both hands. Edward's golden eyes were wide as he felt the crush of Mustang's hands on his shoulders.
"You have no idea what you're playing with," Mustang hissed, anger licking his face with pale flames, "Come back to me when you're older and you understand what's at stake."
Edward grappled with Mustang's hands, furious at the patronizing tone. "I'm old enough to kill for you but I'm not old enough for this?"
And then the stiffness left the older man's body, as if something inside him had broken. He released Edward's shoulders but did not draw away. Edward waited, waited without breathing, until Mustang put his arm out to support his weight and bent over him.
"I fail to see the correlation," he murmured and his lips brushed against Edward's hair.
Edward stood in electric disbelief as Mustang's hand traveled over and then under his jacket, tracing the contours of his collarbone, his chest, his stomach tied into aching knots. Mustang's dark eyes followed the route of his hand; he did not look into Edward's questioning face.
Edward's golden lashes finally descended when Mustang tugged his black shirt out of the waistband of his pants. Mustang's bare hand shuddered the warm skin of his stomach. A glance through cat-slit eyes revealed the Colonel's left hand, braced on the wall, holding the second glove.
Mustang drew his attention, his hand spidered across the skin over Edward's ribs. "Is this why you came to me tonight?" he asked, burning the air between them with his eyes.
Edward tipped his chin up with a defiant look and exhaled, "Yes."
And then Mustang put aside the questions, although he knew he'd be judged for them later. He stroked the finely haired chest and wiry torso, banishing all language save the syntax of Edward's skin; the goosebumps from the tender skin of his sides; the shivers from his stomach; the choaked gasps when his nipples were touched.
The Fire Alchemist's hand was smooth and strong. Edward trembled as it opened and explored his trousers, parting layers of cotton with consummate skill. His vision contracted into the tunnel of that hand around him, wet with saliva, and the warmth of Mustang's body weighting him to the cold wall. He smelled musk and citrus as the braid of the officer's coat scratched against his cheek.
Distant thoughts surfaced in Edward's mind that this was something one could get in trouble for, that he was probably supposed to be doing this with a girl, and that he didn't care. Mustang's breath grazed his scalp; Edward's body followed his every move. They formed a perfect circle of intent, action and reaction.
Edward almost fell as every star in the heavens shot into his skull. Mustang wrapped an arm around his waist to anchor him while he twisted and shook, then held him until he could stand, the folds of his greatcoat falling to cover them both.
When his breathing had slowed, Mustang stood up and smoothed his clothing. He brushed the imprint of Edward's cheek from his blue jacket, tucked his handkerchief away, and returned the white glove with its array to his right hand. Edward leaned against the wall and regained his footing, his breath little puffs of astonishment in the chill air.
"What about you," Edward asked at last, while his hands buckled his belt. He didn't dare look into Mustang's eyes yet, but stared at the black folds of his pants.
"What about me?" Mustang asked in a flat tone, more statement than question. When Edward turned his amber eyes on him, he looked away.
"Wasn't there some law of alchemy," Edward mocked lightly, "something about, oh, a principle of exchange? I seem to remember it from my studies."
Mustang shook his head. But when Ed stepped forward and rested his cheek against his chest, he did not push him away.
Edward reached for Mustang's waistband and felt him grab his flesh and metal wrists.
"I think that's a more advanced lesson," Mustang glowered.
Edward pressed his lips together and scowled back. "For whom?" he asked.
Mustang allowed Edward to twist his hands free. "Are you sure this isn't what you want?" Edward asked him, hands on his hips and a flash in his eyes.
"I think it's time to say goodnight," Mustang said crisply and pivoted, leaving the alleyway and returning to the deserted street.
Edward followed with sullen slowness, making Mustang turn around to make sure he was behind him.
Exhaustion overlayed Edward's anger as he and Mustang parted in front of his house in the lightening predawn. His body felt heavy and unfamiliar. He would need to think about this. A lot. Later.
With his hand on the gate latch, Edward turned and addressed the Colonel's slim blue back. "Goodnight, then."
When Mustang waved without turning, Edward said in an undertone, "Idiot."
Edward didn't see Mustang's tart smile as he walked off to home and two hours of sleep.
Neither of them saw the two blue-garbed figures who guarded them, who guaranteed that the alchemists were safe so their heads wouldn't roll, who surreptitiously blocked any possibility of discovery in the alleyway and then disappeared before they returned to the street.
Havoc and Fuery were surprised but circumspect. Men could do anything under pressure, and god knows Colonel Mustang had been acting like a time bomb. Still, with the youngest enlisted alchemist? Was that really wise? Not for them to answer, but they worried nonetheless.