You don't do these things with your brother.
You don't do these things with other boys.
Alphonse knows that, but there is something about the way Edward looks at him, the toothy, warm smile that crosses his face when Al says 'Brother' in just the right tone of voice, the way his brother's body curves so nicely around his when they lie beside each other.
He loves his brother, more than anyone else in the world. His brother loves him, more than anyone else in the world.
Alphonse is sure of that.
And that is why he finds it so hard to stop Edward when his hands (one naturally warm, the other one hot and uncomfortably wet from moisture) are running up under his shirt, fingers tracing the slight curve of his stomach and then pressing lightly against his hipbones as his pants are unbuttoned.
It is because he loves his brother that he does not stop him.
Ed had seemed so reluctant the first time–nearly sobbing when he came, apologizing and insisting that 'I've ruined you, Al, fucking ruined you, defiled you . . . ' and Al had pretended that he didn't mind that he had just had sex with his brother, that it was okay, that he loved his brother as much as he loved him.
It was a lie then, and still is now, but Al has become a good actor, and he can live with it without feeling much guilt.
Anything for Brother. Brother has sacrificed so much for me. I can sacrifice something for Brother.
That is what he tells himself every time Ed touches him, as he tries desperately not to flinch or recoil or protest. Just like he did the first time (so long ago, it seems like so long ago), he crawls forward, lips clumsily pressing against his brother's, burrowing his fingers into the thick braid of long blonde hair that hangs down between Ed's shoulder blades.
Edward still seems scared at times, but always softens as the younger Elric becomes more aggressive and needy. Of course, Al does not actually feel that way; it's just an ease born of several months of pretending and practice, a facade of consent that he can slip behind at any given time.
Brother wants this. It's . . . ungrateful of me to neglect what Brother wants.
He wonders, sometimes, why he does this. Why he gives in to soft touches and suggestive looks when, merely a year and a half before, the brothers were convinced that giving in was the worst thing possible (not giving into the same desires, of course, but losing hope nonetheless). Perhaps it is that he feels indebted to his brother, or maybe it is some sort strange version of the Stockholm syndrome–this treatment has brought about the feeling that Edward is depending on Al for this, and Al feels it is his duty to do what his brother wants.
But it makes no sense, if it is the latter; neither are abusing each other (Al won't let himself believe that Ed could be abusing him, for it makes no sense and he has to do this, for Ed's sake), and neither are in any real danger if they do not continue to submit to the other's desires (except Al knows he will break his brother's heart if he does not). Though there is something about it, about the wrongness of it all that makes Alphonse feel as if he shouldn't remain loyal to his brother after what he's put him through.
Alphonse knows he shouldn't remain loyal to him, but loyalty seems to be hardwired into his brain–he cannot imagine an existence without serving his brother.
And that is why he finds himself lying under Edward's sweaty body night after night, faking smiles and moans and pleasure-tinted winces as he feels his body tensing and shaking as he reaches orgasm, and then lying there on that same bed in his brother's arms, feeling sticky and dirty as warm, slow breaths tickle the hairs on the back of his neck.
He just cannot refuse his brother, though he knows this is wrong.
Brothers do not love each other in that way.
Alphonse knows that, though he's sure of so much but he won't use that knowledge to make himself happy. It is the constant, disturbing mantra that goes through his head, day after day, that keeps him from pushing Ed away or flinching or letting the nervous tic of a facial muscle become too obvious when they kiss: This is for Brother, this is for Brother, this is for Brother.
Brother gave me my body. Why shouldn't he be able to use it to his behest?
It's when he thinks thoughts like that that he is worried, that he is afraid that he is believing his own lies. Somehow, though, Al thinks that it may be better if he just goes and gives in to his imagination, as well; it'll make everything easier.
XXX
Edward cries Al's name as he comes, and squeezes his brother's hips so hard that Al winces and knows that he's going to have bruises there when he wakes up in the morning. Ed's panting as he pulls out of Al and nuzzles the hollow of his throat, tongue moving across smooth skin red with bite marks. He rests his head on his younger brother's shoulder and closes his eyes, and Al knows it's exactly like every other time, every other night, every other moment of shame and indecision he has ever faced.
It does not change, because he does not allow it to.
He grimaces as he feels the bile rising in his throat, and quickly, he swallows it.
I want to do this. This is for Brother.
Brothers are not to do this to each other. They are not supposed to live lies. They are not supposed to give in to sickening, carnal desires.
But they do, and this Alphonse knows.