Title: Warmer
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Al
Rating: PG-13-ish (or T, I guess), mostly for language.
Warnings: The only ones that really pop up are Yaoi/Shonen-ai implications, and a bit of language. Maybe some minor spoilers, if you look really hard. I should probably mention that it's rough and un-beta'd (and, to be honest, is the first FMA fic I've written). One-shot.
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, sadly. I'm also not making any money off of this, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Written for rainy elysian at LJ, and her lovely artwork. (The picture can be found here, sans spaces, of course: www. livejournal. com/ community/ fmayaoi/ 711599.html#cutid1). Includes the blurb posted with the picture (worked in, so it's not really direct), because, well, how could I leave that lovely bit out? Sorry for the lack of real plot or anything. I was going to add more to the beginning, but then I decided to leave it and see how it worked out.

It was cold, and Roy's chest was visible underneath his uniform, the shirt he usually wore beneath it conspicuously absent under his open collar. Roy was sure he could see his breath in the chill air in front of his face if he tried. He was sure he could have amused himself trying to imitate the smoke rings Havoc sometimes blew when he took a puff of his cigarette. Only at that particular moment, Roy Mustang didn't, because suddenly there were arms, and he felt the weight of his coat, which he could have sworn was around someone else's shoulders not a moment ago, but there it was against his back, and then there was that face, that damn face right there, in front of him.

"Roy, you're freezing," Roy heard, but he wasn't quite sure if Al had actually murmured those words, or even if the boy had said anything at all, because he was rather busy with those eyes of his. Damn that boy and his eyes. Roy could hardly help but to gape at the bronze eyes that were filled with heartfelt concern. They were eyes that held a deep sort of rapture and warmth that Roy wished he could touch, but knew he would never come close.

Roy gazed at Al as if he was everything good left on this earth that he didn't deserve. The boy's whispery soft voice held the yearning of a lost wanderer whose wearied feet, after an eternity of trudging with unshakable burden on his shoulders, finally touched something called home.

"Not anymore," Roy breathed, and he wasn't.

He was red hot, but warm with that fuzzy feeling, and he was shivering because of something, but not the cold, all at the same time. Maybe he was sweating a bit, and, although he wasn't quite sure, he might have been flushed. The fleeting thought that he was having a feverish hallucination passed his mind as he heard his teeth, which he was sure hadn't quite caught up with the rest of him, chatter.

His hands, absent of his gloves, had somehow found their way around Al's neck. His left hand was buried in the long hair that Roy sometimes wished he'd cut, and sometimes wished he never would, if only so he could twine his fingers through it, just like this. His right had taken up the warm spot near the back of Al's head, just above the collar of that black shirt, and nearly resting on the hood of that damnable red cloak. More things he sometimes wished could just... go, because they were Ed, and not Al. But then, they weren't even Ed anymore, and so they'd somehow become Al, and then sometimes Roy would desperately want them to be Al, the real Al that he wished he could have but was sure he'd always be denied. His head nearly spun, because each time he thought about it, it got so utterly confusing that he was sure it just might.

At that moment, though, right there, Roy decided that it didn't matter, because this was Al. It was Al's skin he could feel under his fingertips, it was Al he was nearly nose-to-nose with, and it was Al's fucking breath that he could feel on his face. It was Al that shivered this time, even though he wasn't cold either, and it was all so wonderfully... wonderful, that Roy fervently hoped it was Al that got the message he sure as hell was trying to send back at him.

"Are... you sure?" Al asked a bit shakily, glancing away quickly, and shifting the dark coat in his hands to get a better grip. The white gloves he wore felt awkward against his suddenly sweaty palms. "You're still shaking," he continued, "you must be..." Al trailed off as Roy caught his eyes, and flexed the hand threaded in his hair just a bit.

"Not anymore," Roy said with a bit of finality in his voice, and he was damn sure that this time, this time... Al understood. "Not anymore," he repeated softly.

Roy's heavy black coat fell to the floor, unnoticed.