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Everyone: I know I said that this fic is already written, so it seems like there's really no excuse for not posting a chap every few days… but this one is THE Ed/Al H chapter and I've been re-working it a bit, cause after not reading it for a few weeks and then reading it again, it seemed a little off to me. So then, I started working on the next chapter of my other post series fic, "Mirage," from which I had been suffering writer's block on for like a month now (which is why I began writing this one, which, ironically enough, I wrote in two days.) Also, I know I said this fic has 35 chapters, but I might have to add a 36th… not sure yet… lalala… enjoy.
The Subtleties of Wanting"Another," Alphonse Heiderich called out in his brother's voice.
Ed shook his head in a wordless protest, the room was already beginning to blur, but another tall mug had already appeared before him. "I'm drunk already, Al," he stated needlessly, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and excitement.
"Psh, you're such a lightweight," his friend said, laughing, downing half the beer he had just set down in front of him. "There, is that better?"
"We're not going to get any work done tomorrow," Ed concluded, and Al laughed again.
"And now that you've accepted that, drink up," he urged, nudging the now half-empty mug towards the blonde. "We're celebrating. Come on, Ed, I'm sure, deep down, you know how to have fun." Al's blue eyes glowed in the dim lighting of the bar, and Ed smiled at him, taking a gulp of the bitter liquid so many of these Germans favored. "See?" Alphonse teased. "I knew you could do it."
Edward stared at his friend, taking in the perfection of his body, the same perfection he hoped beyond hope he had given his brother. The two became blurred in his alcohol-tinged mind's eye: his ten year old brother and his twenty year old friend. Was this what Al would look like as a grown man?
The half beer in front of him was gone suddenly, although he couldn't remember doing more than sipping it, and another appeared, and he pushed it away, laughing. "Come on, Al, I'm gonna be sick if I drink any more."
"You wont be sick," Al promised him. "You've got to get used to celebrating like this. When we finally get our rocket built, we'll be famous, and we'll be celebrating with every well-known scientist in Europe!" Al spun around on his barstool, spilling some of his own drink.
"Sure," Ed agreed, banging his glass down harder than he meant to. "We'll be the first men ever to go up into space." But only one of us will return, he couldn't help but adding silently. Shaking the thought from his mind, he took another gulp of beer and continued to stare at his friend. "You have blue eyes," he said, not realizing at first that he spoke out loud.
Al just laughed. "So I do," he agreed.
"My brother's are grey."
They sat, locked in each other's gaze for a moment, and before Ed could look away Alphonse had leaned toward him and pressed his warm lips to his own, once, quickly, and a holler went up around the bar. "I'm not your brother," Al whispered, and even in the loud roar of the voices around them his voice was perfectly clear in Ed's ear. He licked his lips, pressed them together, and searched Ed's face for some sign of rejection but found none.
"I know," came the response.
Al was looking around, meeting the stares he had drawn by kissing his friend in public. The bartender smiled kindly at him from behind the counter. "Maybe you boys have had a bit to much to drink, eh?" he suggested helpfully, and Al smiled weakly.
He hopped down from the barstool, draining the last of the amber liquid in his mug. "Ed, lets go home," he said quietly, suddenly wanting to be away from all the staring eyes of the bar's patrons.
Ed slid off the stool and stumbled a bit after Al, stopping to catch his balance and then following him out into the Munich night. He faltered again a few steps out of the bar, and Al slowed his pace, concerned. "You all right?" he asked.
"'M fine," Ed mumbled, stumbling over an irregularity of the sidewalk and colliding hard with the ground.
Al knelt down and slipped an arm around his friend's waist, hauling him to his feet, trying to imagine what it must be like to try to walk drunk on a wooden leg.
"'S not my leg," Ed said defensively, as if he had read Al's mind. "It's the ground, it keeps moving."
Al laughed at that, the sound echoing through the brisk night air. He let Ed sling his arm around his shoulders, and they walked arm and arm like that the few blocks back to their apartment. Al's heart was racing. Ed had not pushed him away. Was it possible…?
Once inside Ed pressed him up against the closed door, kissing him fervently, breaking away only to catch his breath.
He began pulling at the buttons of Al's shirt and slid it off in one fluid motion, running his hand over his friend's smooth chest and across his stomach, marveling at the perfection of skin stretched over muscle, rubbing his thumb across a nipple and feeling Al shudder.
When he realized Alphonse was unbuttoning his own shirt he pulled away stiffly, clutching it closed over his chest but was completely unprepared for the hurt expression that settled in the other boy's eyes. "Sorry," he whispered.
"It's okay," Al said hesitantly. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." Ed had certainly seemed like he wanted this, but Al had made that mistake before. They had both had quite a bit to drink, and Al couldn't bear it if Ed woke up the next morning regretting anything that happened that night.
"No," came Ed's voice, soft and low. "I want to." His gold eyes burned with- something, Alphonse couldn't discern exactly what.
"Well?" Al queried, searching his friend's gold eyes for the source of his apparent discomfort. "You're not shy, are you?"
Ed ducked his head, his fringe of bangs momentarily obscuring his face. "No, I'm not shy," he said quietly, not raising his eyes. He was unable to pinpoint what it was, exactly, that he did not want Alphonse to see. He knew Al was aware of his false limbs, it was a difficult thing to hide, after all. He couldn't imagine anyone finding his body attractive, broken and damaged as he was, but that wasn't what made him hesitate.
He sighed and shrugged out of the shirt, letting it drop to the floor, revealing his body for what it really was: not whole, the body of a sinner. His pride was nearly unable to bear the sympathetic look in his not-brother's eyes as he brushed a gentle hand over the metal shoulder, whispering, "It's all right, Ed. Really, it is."
Alphonse Heiderich was not his brother, and in this moment, he felt the difference more than he ever had in the two years he had known him. His brother knew the pain he had gone through, losing part of himself, because he had gone through the same pain. His brother knew the shame he felt, not over his missing limbs but over what he had done to lose them in the first place, because he felt the same shame. This Alphonse might tell him it's all right, but Ed could never even explain to him why it wasn't. This Alphonse was blissfully ignorant of the extent of the sin one person could commit.
This Alphonse was everything his brother should have been. Perhaps this was part of his punishment, part of his hell, to see every day the life his brother should have had: unmarked, perfect. "Al, you're perfect, Al," he breathed, burying his face in his friend's neck, letting his breath slide over the smooth skin, because that was all he could say, really. This Alphonse would never know the truth.
"So are you," this Alphonse said, his voice genuine and sincere.
"Don't be stupid," he mumbled into Al's hair, letting his fingers slide over the top of his head, down the back of his neck, across his back, everywhere he could reach.
Al pulled away so he could look his friend in the eyes. "You're perfect for me," he whispered.