The world is icy; cruel, harsh, painful beneath him, chill shooting up through the floor and into his skin. It is cold, desperate and unavoidable; seeping into his lungs in the form of oxygen. The air burns as it floods his chest and releases in a cloud of vapor when he exhales. And it hurts! Oh, it hurts, searing through him, catching in his throat. Frightening and overwhelming to the point that his mind can comprehend nothing beyond the sensory overload and he can do nothing more than cry out, not even daring to touch his own skin.
And then, the world is a soft red coat, worn and frayed and dirty, draped over his shoulders, two mismatched arms pulling him close. The fabric is painful against his sense deprived skin, but it is also a comfort, feeling the warmth and strength of the body pressing against his.
"Al." It is his brother's voice, whispered with the utmost reverence into his ear. Al marvels, because he can feel, (feel!) it when warm breath tickles over his ear. He shudders, pressing in closer to Edward, not daring to open his eyes. If only…he can pretend, for a moment more, that this is real, it will make the cold wait inside the armor worth it. It will make the numbness and the fear and the isolation so much easier to bear because he knows that this is what will be waiting for him when they finally succeed. This is what his brother promised; and he trusts his brother. Implicitly.
Give me your soul.
…It's all I have left…
"Al." The voice comes again, trembling and wavering, and Al realizes that his brother is on the verge of tears. …But that cannot be. Edward does not cry. Edward cannot afford to cry, Edward has to be strong, for both of them; in the times when Al cannot. For the times when Al realizes that he's gone one too many days without thinking about it and suddenly cannot recall what it's like to feel, smell, taste. Edward is his big brother, the immortal, invincible, self-appointed martyr, and he does not cry.
But he is. And when Al dares to open his eyes, despite the terror that this mirage will slip further away into the desert to tease him with an unreachable oasis, he gazes up at copper irises, murky past the liquid gathered in them. With shaky fingers that he still cannot quite believe are real, Alphonse reaches up and thumbs the moisture from the corners of his brother's eyes.
You did it, Brother. You did it. He wants to say. He wants to tell him over and over and thank him until his voice is hoarse. But when he opens his mouth, he cannot find his voice. There is nothing there.
He tries…again and again. Oh lord, does he try, to no effect. Nothing, not even a whisper of air will aid his voice. He can say nothing. Nothing.
It breaks his heart, because his brother is waiting. There is a look in his eyes that clearly displays a desperate need to know if it is really him that is inhibiting this body that is his, and yet, not his. Because this body is older, bigger than he remembers, if not frighteningly skinny. His skin is stretched tightly over his ribcage and his collarbone jutts out far more than it ever should. But it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter because Ed needs him for once, - though he will never ask aloud – and Al can't do it.
The words will not come.
"Al?" The pleading look grows desperate and Ed clutches at him tighter.
Stop it Niisan! That hurts! He wants to tell his brother that his skin is still sensitive; that he is being too rough. But that is, apparently, an inherent problem, and there is nothing Al can do, short of physically pushing Ed away. And that would only serve to send Ed reeling into the clutches of doubt and self-hatred.
It's not so bad. We can overcome.
"Say something, Al…Please" Ed is shaking him. Not hard, but enough for Al to realize that the terror gripping his brother is reaching the breaking point. But what to do! How can he tell Edward that it is him and that everything will be okay, no matter what, it will turn out okay. Without words? Can he?
In the end, he does the only thing he can. A hand on his brother's flesh arm stops the shaking and Al breaks his grip with a bit of difficulty. When he does, he painstakingly hauls himself into a sitting position, clutching at Edward's shoulder for balance with one hand. The other he presses against Edward's trembling lips.
Quiet Brother. It's okay.
When Ed stills, with some reluctance, Alphonse allows his finger to trail away from the flesh of his older brother's mouth, ghosting down over his chin and up along his jaw line. Alphonse smiles as Ed's panic fades into a confused sort of awe, and the younger boy leans forward.
It's me. I'm okay. You're here. You're all I need.
He tastes like heat and wonder and everything he could ever have imagined. And more. It is a taste that is unlike anything he remembers from 'before' and unlike any that he is likely to encounter ever again. It is a flavor that can be described as nothing more than 'Edward' and Alphonse is overcome with pleasure that it is the first thing that he tastes upon regaining his long lost senses.
Ed's eyes widen and Al can feel his breath escalate as his nostrils flare. He does not respond, for a moment, and then he is is kissing back, arms twisting like tendrils around Al's back, crushing him impossibly close. It hurts, a bit, but Al is growing used to it, and at the moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. Because here, amongst the ruin of their success, there is Al, and there is his brother, and there is nothing at all that stands between them.
The steel barrier that has forced them apart for four excruciatingly lonely years is gone, and nothing can stand in their way anymore.
The world is on fire, blankets stifling, heat and pleasure coursing like acid through his veins. He groans, fingers tangling in soft hair. Every breath is an effort; like inhaling hot coals. No time for words, all coherent speech swept away and in its wake, shallow pants are all that remain.
It is right. As right as life ever could possibly be, air hissing laboriously through his teeth, hips arched, head thrown back into the mess of pillows, his brother lapping at his flesh with practiced expertise. There is only one thing that could improve this moment, and that would be if he could hear Al's mewled cries of pleasure as well. Confirming to Edward that yes, Alphonse is enjoying this as much as he is, because sometimes he can not help but worry that he was taking shameless advantage of his mistake. That Alphonse only consents because he can not physically say no.
But that cannot be true, not when his younger sibling sighs like that, as much of an expression of contentment as he can manage after an orgasm that leaves him immobile and susceptible to his brother's touch. There is nothing that keeps them apart anymore, not even the lack of speech on Al's part. Edward says enough for the both of them.
The older boy's toes curl in ecstasy, flesh fingers stringing through long bronze hair that he's never had the heart to do more than trim, metal digits fisting the sheetss. His tongue, blissful torture as it winds its way aross searing skin. It withdraws, momentarily and Ed can only feel cold air rushing from all sides.
Ed barely has time to yelp before the heat returns, more intense than ever, suction and heat teasing him to the edge. He can feel his stomach coiling in preparation for release, and it is at that moment that Al chooses to use his teeth, gently.
Edward squeals, digging his foot deep into the mattress and reaches completion with a jerk. He falls back, panting and exhausted and wonderfully, wonderfully sleepy. Alphonse licks his lips, clearing them of any residue and moves upwards, claiming a kiss from his spent prince.
"Al." Edward says, between breaths that are gradually slowing. "I love you."
Al knows. Has always known, but he knows Edward says it because he cannot. He falls against the older boy's heaving chest, nodding his acknowledgement to the statement.
I love you too, Brother.
He wants to say it, like he has for every night since his restoration, but the fated twisting tentacles of the gate have robbed him of that ability. He finds, however, that it doesn't matter, because his brother knows too. His brother understands.
The unspoken words linger in the air between them for a moment, until they are replaced of Edwards's soft snores when he drifts off to sleep, still clutching Alphonse to his chest.