He would have expected face paint. Or anything of a malicious nature for that matter. Granted, falling asleep in the study where that Tringham kid was nearby wasn't among the list of Edward's greatest ideas, but the room was stuffy, and he was so exhausted. Among the things he might have expected upon awakening were maybe a markered mustache, or his legs tied together with a hastily transmuted sofa cushion, but what he definitely did not expect was to awake being petted.
Before his brain began fully working, he actually smiled in his half-awake state, sighing contently like a purring kitten, until reality hit him like a brick wall as he realized there was actually someone there, stroking his hair fondly. The alarm bells really began to sound when he noted that the only two people who knew this weakness of his were Alphonse and his mother; One who was dead, and the other who had hands that... were definitely not this soft. His eyes followed the arm all the way up to it's owner and stared with absolute mortification at the younger alchemist, who stopped his scratching just long enough to grin michieviously.
Tringham! If his inner screams could have made him choke, he probably would, but by way of the wicked wiles he was restrained in, he couldn't drag himself out of the calm relaxation.
'Crap crap CRAP! This is so messed up! How did he know? Who told?' He was blushing a very distinct shade of vermillion as his body went limp, and he was asked,
"So, did you have a nice nap, shorty?"
Edward clenched his jaw. Russel was going to die for that one!
... in five more minutes...