I swear my dog should work for the frickin' military. She kills hummingbirds by throwing things at them (yeah, you heard me), and the other day, she caught an owl!

Nana: Damn Margeaux. She hurt Hoot-Hoot!

Lina: Oh, by the way readers, this (points up) is Nana. She's my best friend and coauthor of BMF. Say hello, Nana.

Nana: (waves) Hey. I'm just stopping by to see what you were doing. I keep getting 'Automail' reviews in my email and it's driving me crazy!

Lina: How many are there now?

Nana: 64

Lina: (throws arms up in jubilation) Yes! I beat the 50 mark! Woo-hoo! (dances)

Nana: (sighs and looks at readers) You see what I have to put up with?

Lina: (stops dancing) Oh, yeah. Readers: because the last chapter was a shorter one, this one's gonna be longer. Much longer. And, you should be WARNED that this is my first attempt at a fruit as per request of mizukimarr910. Whether it's a lime, lemon, or . . . tangerine even I don't know. I do know that I upped the rating a bit as to not incur the wrath of the gods of fanfiction. net, so I hope you all enjoy my first attempt at smut.

Now, Nana, you wanna give the disclaimer?

Nana: K. (clears throat) If either of us owned FMA, Roy and Ed would spend the majority of their time screwing each other and the show wouldn't have progressed very far.

Lina: (rolls eyes) Good job, Nana.

Nana: Thanks.

Don't Get Sick

Edward Elric hated being sick. He hated it almost as much as that colonel bastard and being called short. He hated feeling like someone had transmuted his head into a giant cotton ball and then had made him swallow a chainsaw. He hated it.

No. Edward Elric did not like being sick. Not one smidgeon.

Coincidentally, Alphonse Elric didn't particularly care for it either; for when his brother came down with something, it was he who had to look after him and, consequently, had to deal with the blonde's bitching and moaning while being looked after. Ed would snarkily tell him how lucky he was that he couldn't get sick anymore and Al, tired from everything else, would say that he would gladly trade places with his brother if he could; the elder Elric would snap back how he wished that as well, they would fight a bit, and then usually, Alphonse would storm out of the room, leaving Ed to wallow feverishly in sweat-drenched sheets and his own self-pity.

No. Alphonse Elric did not like Ed being sick. Not one bit.

Now, Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist extraordinaire, did not get sick. He chalked it up to the excellent immune system that had been passed down the Mustang line for generations—dully noting every time he said this how much he reminded himself of Armstrong—and to being hygienically conscious.

Havoc often goaded him about being a germophobe because he washed his hands so often. Roy would just correct him, saying that it wasn't 'germophobe'—that it was actually 'bacteriophobe'—and the blonde man would simply shrug and say, "Well, you're that," then would walk off, trailing cigarette smoke.

Honestly, to Roy, washing his hands was more of a tic. At some points in the day, he would look down at the tanned skin and well-manicured nails and just have to scrub them.

Because, in his mind, the blood and sin were still there.

But that is neither here nor there. The fact was that, no matter what the cause, Roy Mustang was as healthy as . . . well, a horse.

No. Roy Mustang did not get sick. Not one cold. Ever.

So, it came as no surprise to anyone really that, because the colonel had never been sick and did not know that it felt like having Scar blow your brains apart inside your skull, he had little sympathy for any of his subordinates when they were ill and insisted that they still return their paperwork in a timely manner.

That included Fullmetal.

So, of course, when Alphonse came to the colonel, telling him that Edward couldn't possibly turn in his work because he had come down with a cold, Roy, expert physician that he was, had diagnosed it as contemptuous laziness, pure and simple.

Fullmetal was faking to get out of paperwork.

Now, it may be said that, at that moment, Riza Hawkeye walked in and, hearing the comment about the young major, had rolled her eyes and muttered, "Hypocrite." But, that can't be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. It may also be said that, had Alphonse been one of Mustang's subordinates, he might have done the same.

Might have.

However, seeing as how the younger Elric wasn't in the military, he somehow still held respect for his brother's commanding officer. So he simply insisted that, trust him, Ed was really, actually sick.

Sick as a dog.

A dog of the military, as it were.

Roy, grumpy and busy with his own paperwork, had dismissed Al with a message to Fullmetal, saying that—albeit, begrudgingly—he didn't have to come in to work, but the colonel still expected every single one of his mission statements to pass over his desk by the end of the week.

That had been on Wednesday.

It was now Monday of the following week and the colonel had seen neither hide nor bright blonde hair of the eldest Elric, not to mention any of his paperwork. To say the least, this made Roy a little . . . pissed. So, when he found himself outside Fullmetal's quarters, pounding on the door with the side of his fist, it wasn't surprising.

"Elric, I am giving you to the count of ten to get up!" he bellowed. Then he waited.

. . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .

"Fullmetal, wake up you lazy ass!"

After several rounds of violent knocking and yelling the boy's name—along with numerous insults and curses—through the door, gaining much attention from passersby in the process, Roy finally grumbled and slipped on his ignition gloves.

Snap!

Within seconds, the condensed flame had melted the internal workings of the lock, singeing the wood in the process, and Roy pushed the door open. Looking back on it, he probably should have just gone and retrieved the master key or found Alphonse—who was obviously not in the room at the time—and have him unlock the door. Now, he would have to find someone (alchemist or no) to fix the lock and that would mean incident and maintenance reports to fill out—paperwork—and then, depending on how long that took, Roy might have to temporarily move Fullmetal and co. into another room—even more paperwork—and . . . and . . .

Mustang sighed. The boy had just proven himself to be more trouble than he was worth . . . and to top it all off, he wasn't even a decent size.

Roy grinned at the thought and put it in a bin labeled 'Fullmetal Insults' in the recesses of his mind, storing it for later use. He then frowned down at his handiwork and sighed. Yes, there would have been far less politically messy ways to go about opening the door.

But, Roy reasoned as he stepped across the threshold, he liked messy.

Especially when it came to Fullmetal.

The raven-haired man halted mid-step. As innocent as he had intended the statement to be, the innuendo, however unintentional, flashed like a neon sign through his thoughts and he felt his pale cheeks grow hot.

I like things messy, especially when it involves Fullmetal? Roy thought to himself incredulously. What's the matter with me? I hadn't even meant that!

'Is that so?' a small, grinning part of his brain commented.

Yes. I just meant that . . . I like having him around the office . . . to pick on. He's entertainment. It's fun to get him riled up—to get a rise out of him.

'Oh? Is that the reason you wait with bated breath after he returns from his missions? Beg pardon. I thought it was something else.' Roy frowned. Despite the fact that he had grown used to the other voice—the one that sounded remarkably like his, except that it had teeth—it still annoyed the crap out of him. Especially when it had a point.

No . . . Roy told himself. I hadn't meant it like that. It was all just some brainless faux pas—a slip of the mind's tongue. A misunderstanding. That's all.

'Then why are you still thinking about it?' the leering part asked. 'If it truly was nothing, then get on with waking the boy up.'

The colonel sighed heavily and shook his head, trying to chase away the uncomfortable thoughts along with the blush that still stained his cheeks. Of course, that part of his conscious was correct. "Might as well get this over with," he muttered to no one in particular, then made his way through the small living room to bedroom door.

It was closed, though, when Roy tested the handle (afraid that he might have to melt another lock) he found that it opened easily. The door swung inwards, revealing the cramped, Spartan sleeping quarters of a military lifestyle—bare white walls, wooden floor, a single dresser, and one thinly-matrassed bed. As Roy's eyes fell on said bed, he caught sight of target of his rekindling hostility.

Fullmetal lay entangled in the white linen, flesh leg and automail arm flung haphazardly off the side of the mattress, toes and fingers grazing the floor. His golden eyes were hidden behind lids and his mouth lolled open as he snored quietly, his bare chest slowly rising and falling. As Roy moved closer, he noticed that there was a thin layer of sweat coating the boy's body; his messy, blonde hair had been taken out of its usual plait and put up in a tight bun, probably to keep it off of his neck and he now had some sort of headband keeping his bangs out of his face. Roy took in a breath and was almost overcome with the lingering scent of illness that hung over the room like a miasma.

Roy felt some of his aggravation ebb away. So Fullmetal really has been sick . . .

'So what?' came the voice. 'Illness is for the weak.'

But, Fullmetal isn't weak. He's a prodigy . . . a legend. Edward couldn't be those things and not be strong.

There was a pause and Roy could almost see the voice smirk. 'So it's 'Edward' now?' The colonel chose to answer this with silence, so the voice just shrugged and continued, 'How sweet. So, I guess that 'Fullmetal' is just a term of endearment, right?'

Oh, shut up. At this point, the Flame hardly cared that he was arguing with himself. It was pointless, he knew, to try to reason with that leering part of himself and he suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for his subordinates who had to deal with it on a daily basis. I'm just saying that the boy isn't weak. Fullmetal was strong enough at eleven to survive human transmutation.

'He was stupid for trying that in the first place,' the voice reasoned.

He survived Laboratory 5 and Scar.

'By the skin of his teeth.'

Roy smirked. He beat you in that competition. You hesitated and he could have cut your throat if Bradley hadn't intervened.

There was a pause, before the voice sighed and stated smugly, 'Who's this 'you'? We're one in the same or have you forgotten?'

The smirk faded as Roy realized that this was true and, though he hated to admit it to anyone—even if that particular 'anyone' was himself—he couldn't look back on that day without feeling a tad flustered that he had allowed his stoic mask to slip ever so slightly; a little miffed that it had been the Fullmetal to do it; and a hint of jealousy that the blonde teen had actually been able to beat him.

Roy finally sighed and gave up, choosing instead to focus his energy on getting Fullmetal up, instead of on an internal battle of wits and rhetoric that he really had no way of winning. The older man stopped at the bedside, taking note of Fullmetal's pale, clammy skin, before he removed a glove and place his bare hand on the Elric's forehead. Very few times had Roy taken other people's temperature—in fact, most of the times he had been forced to play doctor was on the battlefields of Ishbal, where, when a man had a bullet to the lung and was missing a leg, his temperature was furthest from anyone's mind—but the colonel could tell that Edward was holding a steady temperature.

If he had a fever, Roy mused, it's already broken. He isn't sick anymore.

'So wake him up,' the obnoxious voice chided.

Roy wanted to obey the command, but for the life of him . . . he couldn't take his hand away from Fullmetal's face. He let it slowly move down to cup the boy's tanned cheek and gently run his finger across his dry bottom lip.

His skin is soft. Not like I'd imagine . . . I mean, he always acts so tough, you'd expect his skin to be hard.

'What are you talking about?' came the voice. For some reason, it sounded slightly panicked. 'And what're you doing? Just wake him up!'

If, at this point, Roy had wanted to take his hand away, he would have resisted the urge, simply because it appeared to be making that part of him so uncomfortable. He smirked to himself and brought his hand back up to run through the blonde hair.

And his hair is so smooth. You know that he hasn't washed it in days, but it still feels like silk.

'So what? Your hair is like that, dumbass!'

Still grinning, Roy brought his hand down and gently traced Fullmetal's collarbone. He's really well-built. When I was his age I'd only started training to get into the military. Roy moved his hand down again to Fullmetal's chest and ran one finger along the junction where metal met flesh. Except for the automail, his body is . . . perfect.

'God, just turn him over and fuck him, why don't you! Doesn't that sound fun? Because I'm not sure if you know this, but pedophilia, molestation, sodomy and rape . . . no matter how you look at it, you do it to a State Alchemist—a prodigy no less—and you can kiss that little Fuhrer thing you're going after goodbye.'

At this comment Roy did take his hand away. Not really because of what the voice had said—though it be true—but because he realized that he was enjoying touching Edward a little more that he should have.

'You just need to get laid,' reasoned the voice with a sigh.

Damn straight, Roy seconded, agreeing with the voice for the first time in a long while.

'Now, wake the kid up.'

Roy huffed a sigh and put his hands on his hips. "Fullmetal," he said. "Fullmetal, it's time to get up." Edward just snored more loudly. The colonel's eye twitched in annoyance as he reached down and took ahold of the blonde's metal shoulder, giving him a shake. "Fullmetal, get up. I'm not joking."

The younger alchemist groaned in aggravation, then sleepily reached up and pushed away the offending hand, before falling back into stillness. Roy growled in frustration. The kid sure could sleep—if he hadn't just moved, Roy would swear that he was comatose. Sleep hard, eat hard, fight hard, live hard . . .

Roy sighed. Fullmetal never took the easy route on anything.

Well . . . if he wants to play that game . . .

The colonel smirked and the voice came back in a hurry. 'What're you thinking?'

I'm gonna wake him up.

'. . . How, pray tell?'

The raven-haired man's grin widened. I'm gonna scare him awake.

'. . .'

Happy and proud that he had finally managed to shut that part of his brain up, Roy then commenced with his plan to shock the elder Elric to consciousness. He climbed onto the bed, placing his knees on either side of the teen so that he was now straddling his stomach and put his hands on the thin pillow supported Edward's head. Bringing his face down to where it was mere inches away from Fullmetal's, Roy grinned and said loudly, "Edward, if you don't wake up right now, I'm going to start doing things to you."

The blonde's face contorted slightly at the noise, but quickly relaxed again as he shifted under the colonel, turning his head and revealing the taut muscles of his neck and shoulder. "Fullmetal!" he warned one final time.

Nothing.

Roy Mustang sighed. "All right, if you want to be like that." He then, with only a slight hesitation, brought his head down to the younger alchemist's neck and began to lightly nip and suckle the skin there, teasing his way down towards Fullmetal's clavicle.

Someone was touching him.

Though Edward was certain that he hadn't given this person permission to feel him up as they were doing, he also couldn't help but feel that the contact wasn't exactly unwelcome, and he shifted on the bed to allow the person better access to his neck. Whoever it was obliged, using their tongue and teeth to work their way down the thick chord of muscle and began gently abusing the flesh of his collarbone.

As they descended further and began to work on his nipple, Ed let a low moan escape his lips, earning an amused chuckle from his partner.

That laugh. It sounded . . . kinda . . . like . . .

Mustang.

Edward Elric's eyes flew open, he sat bolt upright, and was greeted with nothing but smugness and ebony eyes. "So you're finally awake?" Mustang cooed, said eyes dancing. "You feel better?"

What. The. Fuck?

The Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, squeaked like a cornered mouse and threw himself away from his commanding officer; he only managed to make it as far as the headboard, but as far as Edward was concerned, that was a good start. Mustang blinked, a look of concern on his handsome face.

"You all right?" he asked tentatively, then shifted his weight. Ed, numb and incapable of movement at this point, watched in a mix of horror, shock, and dull fascination as the colonel slowly reached up to caress his cheek. "Hm. You don't feel like you have a fever anymore," the man muttered. "Are you sure you feel okay?"

Temporarily ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming at him to lob Mustang's hand off, Ed tore his eyes away from the offending digit and brought them back to the older man's face. He looked apprehensive, but he was smiling. Not smirking, not grinning, not leering—smiling.

Ed felt the blush creep up into his face.

Now feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, the blonde swallowed hard and shifted his eyes down to the bed, away from Mustang's face. Of course, this particular action did nothing to alleviate Edward's embarrassment, owing to the fact that the colonel was sitting before him naked.

Naked.

Sure, the covers had wrapped around his thin hips, covering up a vital part of his anatomy, but the colonel was still blushingly, undeniably nude. Ed made a sound like air being let out of a wet balloon and quickly turned the colour of his infamous coat. Clamping his golden eyes shut, he bellowed, "What the hell, you asshole? Why are you in my bed and why don't you have any clothes on?"

There was a long silence—well, as silent as it could be for Edward, whose blood was pounding loudly in his ears—before he felt the other occupant of the bed shift around and move closer to him. He felt the hand that had pulled away slightly at his outburst reappear at his temple, brushing back his unruly bangs and he flinched at the contact.

"Ed, what's the matter? Are you all right?"

E-ed? H-he called me Ed . . . What the hell is going on?

The young alchemist let his eyes flutter open . . . and gasped. Mustang had moved uncomfortably

(dangerously)

close. So close, in fact, that Ed could now see flecks of brown and even deep green mixed in with the onyx of his eyes; so close that the smell of sweat and cologne and charcoal and musk and cinnamon was almost overpowering; so close that he could feel the heat and worry radiating off of his superior's skin; so close he could almost taste Mustang's warm breath on his lips.

Ed gulped down the lump of apprehension in his throat and averted his eyes off to his right . . .

And blinked.

White. There was nothing but a huge expanse of white as far as the eye could see. It seemed that his room, along with the rest of Central Headquarters, had vanished, leaving only him, his bed, and his unclothed commanding officer. Ed shook his head slightly and looked off to his left, where he discovered the same thing.

"Hey," the raven-haired man pressed. "You feel okay? You look kinda pale . . ."

"No fuckin' shit!" Ed yelled before he could stop himself. "How the hell would you feel if you fell asleep, then you woke up to find you're in some . . . giant white room . . . with your worst enemy butt-naked in your bed like they were invited there—which you're not! Now, get away from me!" Ed barely registered the hurt expression on Mustang's face, before he brought his hands up and shoved the man away by his shoulders, noticing, but at the same time trying not to notice, how utterly delicious the muscles felt beneath his fingers.

"Edward? What's wrong with you?" Mustang reached up and caught Ed by his upper arms, squeezing the flesh to try and get a reaction other than violence out of the shorter alchemist.

And he got it.

The elder Elric stopped dead, going stiff at his touch. Then, by almost painfully slow degrees, he turned his head to look over at his right arm. Flesh. From the tips of his fingers, running all the way up to his shoulder, was a smooth span of soft, peachy-coloured flesh.

The automail had disappeared.

Heart pounding painfully, Ed hastily brushed off Roy's hands and pulled the covers back to look down at his once-metal leg. That, too, had been replaced with bone, muscle, tendons, blood, and skin.

What the hell . . .?

He suddenly felt strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him up into a sitting position, his bare back flush against the cool wood of the headboard. Mustang stared at him, his eyes now alight with anxiety and frustration. "You need to take it easy, Ed," he commanded. "You might not be sick anymore, but you are still recovering."

Ed blinked. "S-sick?"

"Yes . . . you had a fever before you fell asleep a while ago. It only just broke, so you have to be careful not to overexert yourself."

The Elric fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he processed this bit of information. "I was asleep." It wasn't a question, but Mustang slowly nodded an affirmative. Ed stared into his face for several seconds, then looked down at his hand once more; he flexed his fingers, feeling and seeing the tight muscles move beneath the skin.

So . . . all this is just . . . just a dream.

As this realization hit him, Ed felt his body immediately relax, the anger and fear flowing out of him; he slumped heavily against the headboard, ignoring Mustang's questioning stare. All Edward could do was feel relieved that none of this was real.

Though . . . that didn't stop it from being awkward.

Dream-Mustang brought up one of his knees and rested his elbow on it, the white linen of Edward's bed draping casually between his legs. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked for what seemed like the billionth time.

Ed studied the man's face for a few seconds, then nodded his head with an almost apathetic grace, his eyelids drooping slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The pseudo-Roy smiled and chuckled. "I must say, you are acting strange today. Must be the fever you had."

"Must be . . ." Ed answered quietly. In his mind, he agreed, remembering that he had indeed come down with a nasty cold recently in the real world. Though he only vaguely recalled telling Al to leave him alone—who in response stormed out of their quarters in a metallic huff—Ed could hazard a guess that he fell asleep shortly after and thus ended up in this apparently drug-laced dream. The fever was probably the reason he now held the company he did.

Any other 'normal' wet dream and it would have been Winry or Psiren . . . or any other beautiful woman. Woman.

Not Mustang. Not that narcissistic bastard that sent him off on countless, crack missions, always looking so smug and self-satisfied whenever he got an explosive reaction out of the shorter alchemist; always holding the blackmail of taboo over his and Al's heads, making sure Ed knew just how long his leash was; Mustang, whose sexual escapades with those of the fairer sex were so legendary they threatened to dwarf the supposed grandeur of his involvement in the Eastern Rebellion.

No, not Mustang.

Though, Edward reasoned, I should count myself lucky that I'm not dreaming about Armstrong. A disturbing shudder ran through Ed at the thought and Mustang tilted his head quizzically.

"Cold?" he asked.

Edward, who had been gazing off into the vast whiteness, returned his golden orbs to the colonel's face when he heard his voice. "Huh?" he asked.

"I asked if you were cold." The fake Mustang nodded his head in Ed's direction. "You shivered."

"Did I?" Ed asked quietly. "Hm. I didn't notice. Maybe I am cold . . ." He didn't bother explaining to the dream-alchemist that the shudder had actually been sparkle-induced and that the temperature in the white space was actually quite to the Fullmetal's liking. This didn't surprise him really, owing to the fact that it was his dream, but he decided to play along nonetheless.

Mustang smirked and tilted his head back. "I can help you with that."

"Oh?" Ed replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow, deciding to call the colonel's bluff.

In most of the nightmares that he had, though he did not like them, he at least knew how and where they were going to end. However, this . . . well, this was new to him. All he really wanted to do was get this little fantasy over and done with.

And if playing a little mind game with Mustang was the way to do that . . . then he'd begrudgingly agree. It was just a dream after all.

Nevertheless, the lascivious way that the faux-Mustang had said his previous statement sent a warning rattle down Ed's spine, telling him that whatever the colonel was planning to do—virgin though Edward might be, he at least had some idea of what was going through his superior's mind—he was in no way bluffing.

As if merely to prove that thought correct, Mustang scooted closer to the blonde and leaned in to pick up where he had left off on Ed's neck. At the contact, the blonde gasped and jerked away, trying to put some distance between his skin and Roy's lips, but to no avail. Not only was he already pressed as flush against the headboard as he could possibly manage, but the ebony-eyed man just smiled and followed him, unwilling to so easily abandon his ministrations.

"Why are you so tense today?" he purred against Ed's clavicle, sensing the younger man's unease, though oblivious as to the reason.

"Nnh . . ." Edward muttered awkwardly, his face lighting up with the familiar red that he had somehow maintained through the whole dream. He wanted to say more, but that one garbled utterance was all he could manage at that point, his brain unable to form coherent words while Mustang persisted to chew on his neck.

The Flame slowly worked his way around, eventually finding a sensitive, unused muscle near Edward's right shoulder; he gently bit down on the ligament, earning a hiss and an appreciative shudder from the blonde.

Though a part of Ed's mind was yelling at his deceitful body to stop Mustang from molesting him—to shove him off and demand to know exactly why he thought that Ed would want that done to him, then maybe for good measure, pummel him black-and-blue—the majority of his brain had already commenced in shutting down, simply letting these new, numbing, explosive feelings run rampant through his body and then pool audaciously in his groin.

The third part of his prodigal mind, the smallest but most sensible of the three, merely reminded him in a tiny, shrill voice that he really should just go with the flow and enjoy himself. That it was only a dream after all.

But . . . but it's Mustang! screeched the abstemious section of his brain. There's no way that I could possibly—oh, right there, Roy . . . possibly hold any sort of respect or—ah, there . . . anything else for the man . . . Could I?

Dream-Roy soon grew tired of teasing the flesh of his neck and started working his way up. He paused momentarily at Edward's left ear, taking time to gently nibble on the supple lobe and run his tongue along the tough cartilage, receiving a satisfactory shiver for his efforts. The Flame smirked down at his partner for a moment, then Ed felt warm lips dot quick, soft kisses across his jaw, before descending eagerly upon his mouth.

Roy Mustang kissed him.

Kissed him.

He leaned down, his head slanted slightly to the right, onyx eyes half-opened as if to gauge Ed's reaction, and captured the blonde's mouth with his own. He kissed him . . .

And when Edward's dazed mind—at least the tiny part that was still objecting to this treatment—finally caught up with this fact, it did the only thing it could think of:

It shut down.

It blinked in stupefaction and said, Aw, fuck it.

It went horribly numb at the onslaught of new emotions and let the larger, passion-filled, hormone-driven part of Edward's mind take the driver's seat. And when Roy's warm tongue lightly grazed his bottom lip, politely asking for entrance, it just nodded its head dumbly in agreement, giving Ed permission to accept it.

Closing his eyes, the young alchemist clumsily followed the more experienced man's lead; Roy just smirked against Edward's mouth, apparently enjoying himself as the blonde enthusiastically ran his own tongue across his teeth and palate, desperately trying to taste every inch of the man's mouth before they were forced to part.

Never once breaking the kiss, Ed pulled himself up onto his knees to get a better angle on the kiss and draped his arms casually over Mustang's shoulders. The raven-haired man chuckled into his mouth and pulled back to look at his young lover, smirking to himself as Ed tried to follow his lips.

"You sure are enthusiastic tonight," he commented, staring up into the golden, lust-filled eyes.

Ed quickly reclaimed his pretty pink colour and reached up to run a hand through his loose hair. "Heh . . . well, y'know . . ."

Roy quirked an eyebrow in amusement, then frowned at him. "You know Ed, I'm not sure if we should do this. After all, you were just sick and I'd hate for you to over-exert yourself like this. It would definitely impede your recovery pro—"

"Less talking, more kissing," Ed growled in annoyance. Then, without waiting for the colonel to take the lead, he leaned down and forcefully returned to making out with the man. Mustang just sighed and grasped the younger alchemist by his hips as he returned the kiss.

At this point, there was no turning back for Ed. He hated feeling this way—needing the man who sat before him like this—but now it didn't seem to matter. He didn't want anything else—didn't need anyone else. It didn't matter if this man was the bane of his existence; he wanted to seal those lips to his forever. Nothing could be better than this kiss. At least, that's what Edward thought . . .

Until Roy stuck his hand down his shorts.

At the touch, Ed's contact-starved nerves—already frayed and stretched beyond their normal capacity—finally snapped and his over-taxed brain short-circuited. If it was possible for a human body to spark, Ed's certainly would have done so.

He collapsed heavily against Mustang's chest, turning into a trembling, near-gelatinous mass, and buried his face into the crook of the colonel's neck. He distantly felt the older man's chin shift as he looked down at his blonde bedmate's head, then chuckled.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?" he asked, tenderly running his hand up and down Ed's length, his calloused fingers tracing veins that Edward didn't know even existed. The blonde giggled stupidly against Mustang's throat as the ministrations turned him into nothing more than a pile of emotional goo.

He slowly slumped farther and farther down Mustang's bare chest, his body (well, most of his body, anyway) going more limp with every stroke; Ed was finally forced to reach up and wrap his arms around his superior's neck, hoisting himself back up. He gave a careful confirmatory nod into the space between Roy's chin and collarbone and spread his legs to give the man better access, no longer ashamed of his own wantonness.

Roy made an amused sound and then stated in a low, almost guttural voice, "I have to stop now."

Ed's response to this statement was an immediate and volatile negative. He shook his head with a fervent passion, his blonde braid whipping about wildly, and clung to Mustang as if his life depended on it. Right now, as far as Edward was concerned, it did. Yet, despite his objections, Roy sighed and, giving the hardening member one final, delicate squeeze, withdrew his hand from Ed's boxer shorts.

To say that the blonde alchemist was disappointed by this would be a vast understatement.

"Mm . . . R-roy, no . . ." he protested, panting pruriently against the man's collarbone. Drawing himself up to Mustang's face, Edward once more captured the man's lips in heated desperation, his fingers weaving themselves through the short black hair. Without fully realizing it, Ed wrapped his tanned legs around the colonel's waist, grinding his pelvis against Roy's toned stomach.

Of course, Mustang obviously wasn't prepared for this shift of weight, for he toppled forward, pinning a wriggling, flustered, though not entirely displeased Edward beneath him. After a brief struggle, the colonel was somehow able to push himself up, breaking the kiss that Ed had initiated; when said alchemist tried to lean forward and reclaim the fleeing lips, Mustang placed a strong hand on his shoulder and pressed him firmly back down onto the bed, bringing any and all of Edward's lecherous notions to a violent halt.

The blonde was distantly aware that Roy's lips were moving, though he was far too interested in actually watching said lips to hear what the ebony-haired man was saying. He loved how they were now pink and kiss-bruised, wet with saliva from both of their mouths, and Ed didn't stop the shudder of pleasure that ran through him at the thought of just what Roy's mouth could do to him besides yell.

"Fullmetal!"

The use of his second name brought Ed back to reality—well, reality as far as fantasy was concerned—in a snap. Remembering suddenly that Roy actually had been talking to him, he blinked a few times, his golden eyes moving up to focus on the black orbs before him. He muttered, "Huh?"

Mustang sighed at his lover's innocent inattention, then let the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly.

"You need to wake up now, Edward."

Roy pulled back as the mass of flesh and automail grunted and shifted sleepily beneath him. Ed stretched and yawned and a hand came up to scratch wearily at his blonde scalp, before gold orbs finally opened.

They shut quickly at the assault of light, opened once more, blinked several times, roamed around blearily for a few seconds, then focused on the colonel's face.

"Roy . . .?"

The colonel's eyes narrowed slightly at the use of his first name, watching as several different emotions flashed through Fullmetal's eyes: confusion, fear, irritation, and . . . an emotion that Roy couldn't name, though one that he'd seen several times before. Just never on Fullmetal.

He pushed the thoughts aside—not important. "Edward," he leered, smirking down at the boy, awaiting his reaction.

Though, the one that he got wasn't exactly the one that he had been expecting.

Ed first realized that something was wrong when Mustang didn't return the kiss he had given him. After failing to get the man to open up his mouth, the blonde pulled back and stared up into the pale face. The colonel's eyes were wide and his black pupils had contracted in shock.

Edward blinked, furrowing his blonde brows in confusion, then looked around. The vast space of his dream had been replaced with four stark white walls and the familiar items of his bedroom, along with the unpleasant smell of sickness. Oh, God . . .

The blonde alchemist felt his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest as moved to inspect his right arm. He didn't even have to lift it all the way up before he caught the glint of metal tendons and skin in his peripheral vision and the familiar whirl of gears met his ears. Automail.

So . . . all this . . . my room is here and Ro—er, I mean Mustang . . . he's acting weird . . . and he's got his clothes on! So, that means everything is . . . I mean, it has to be . . . it's all . . . real?

Real . . .

Real!

Ed screamed.

He threw himself up, his forehead crashing painfully against his superior's (an accident, of course), and then he twisted around so that his automail leg found its way between Roy's thighs and gave a giant lurch upwards, kneeing the man where it would count (also an accident). Edward then grabbed Mustang by the collar of his uniform and hurled him off of the bed; unfortunately for Ed, when he felt himself being flung, the colonel had enough sense to grab onto something—that something turned out to be the blonde beneath him, and both State Alchemists soon found themselves sprawled out on the hard floor of Ed's bedroom (okay, that really was an accident).

"What the hell was that, Fullmetal?" Mustang wheezed, already working to disentangle himself from the younger man. Ed took satisfaction in the fact that his voice sounded unnaturally high, obviously from the damage that his automail kneehad inflicted upon the older alchemist's manhood.

The blonde rolled to the side and sat up, yanking the covers away from the colonel and bundling them guiltily in his lap—he still hadn't fully recovered from his dream and Mustang was the last person he wanted seeing him like this. He snarled at the raven-haired man, "You don't get to ask the questions! I get to! Now, what the fuck were you doing in my bed, asshole?"

Roy slowly stood up and brushed himself off, reaching up to rub his brow where Fullmetal had head-butted him. "I was trying to wake you up," he growled, a light blush staining his fair skin, a small tic visible above his left eye.

"By molesting me?" Edward screeched, trying to ignore the way his stomach did giddy somersaults when he saw Mustang blushing. It was crucial that he stay mad at the man—but that was becoming difficult when he looked so undeniably cute. "There are easier ways to do it, you prick! What if someone had walked in! Did you even think about that?Both our reputations and your career, not that I care, down the toilet! Not to mention what Al would have done! How could you not think about those things you stupid—"

"Why did you kiss me?"

Ed had been about to yell another random obscenity at Mustang, but at this question he stopped dead. Not because of the actual inquiry—no, Ed had been expecting it. It was just the way that the man asked it: quiet and serene, his face composed in a gentle mask, much too calm for the situation.

Until then, Roy didn't know it was possible for someone to go pale and blush in the same instance, but somehow Fullmetal managed it. Leave it to the kid to do the impossible . . .

"I . . . I just—argh, I thought I was dreaming!" Edward spat out before he could really pull together a good lie.

Roy quirked an eyebrow. "So you kissed me?" he asked incredulously.

"Sh-shut up!" Ed grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at Mustang, catching him with a whap! in his face. "I was sick!" he shouted truthfully.

The colonel wretched the pillow away from his face and flung it back at the teen. "Well, from now on, Fullmetal . . . don't get sick! That's an order!" he shouted. Turning on his heel, he marched towards the door, ignoring the sputtering sounds that Edward was now making from his spot on the floor. "Oh," he said as he laid his hand on the bedroom doorknob. "And I expect all of your reports to be written, signed, and on my desk by tomorrow afternoon."

And with that, he slammed the door shut.

"Bastard!" Ed bellowed, determined to get the last word in.

Huffing out a sigh, he began to gather up the linen in his lap and stand. It was then that Mustang chose to stick his head back in and state with a knowing smirk, "Oh, by the way, Fullmetal. You have no idea how sexy you sound panting my name in your sleep."

This time, Ed only managed to hit the closing door with the pillow before he collapsed onto his bed in mortification.

(giggles hysterically) I know that it wasn't much, but I was still so embarrassed while I was writing that! Okay, I'd say that's it.

Nana: Thank Luci . . . I thought you'd never finish!

Lina: . . . You're still here?

Nana: (nods)

Lina: You wanna help me do reader worship then?

Nana: (shrugs) Sure, I guess.

Moerae: Ew. That sucks. My dad had that a few months back . . . I feel for you and hope you do better on your next exam. But, yes, FMA fanfics are better than exams.

Nana: Better than sex.

Lina: Like you'd know.

Nana: (huffs) By the way, Lina, how'd you manage that scene, little miss virgin?

Lina: (shrugs) Not sure. Did I do good?

Nana: (nods)

Lina: (back to Moerae) Anyhoo, thank you. I'm glad you approve! Thanks, too, for the cookies! (eats cookie)

Nana: (stares)

Lina: You . . . want one?

Nana: COOKIES! (tackles)

Qtip: (laughs) That's what I'm doing now silly!

In True Meanings: Us too!

Nana: Hey, she's a big reviewer for 'Hope', isn't she?

Lina: (nods) Mm-hmm. Same as Different Child. Treat them nice.

Nana: (pouts) I'm always nice . . .

Faded-Justice: Nana: I like your name!

Lina: Me too. Thanks and I will.

Prozacfairy: (laughs) That's okay, hon. As long as you liked it, then I'm doing my job!

inuyashabooklover5188: Nana: (laughing) Thata girl! I used to do that, too.

Lina: No, you would put off programming stuff in favour of playing games and reading. That's what you used to do.

Nana: And you didn't?

Lina: (blinks) That's not important . . .

Nana: (rolls eyes) Anyway, don't get caught squealing again, otherwise you won't be able to read anymore of Lina's drabbles.

Lina: Well put. (nods)

dragon shadows: Lina: Let's do all three reviews at once. Okay, first of all, no. The symbol for mercury is the Caduceus—a winged staff with two snakes encircling it.

Nana: It's better known as the symbol for medicine.

Lina: (nods) The symbol I'm referring to is the emblem of Nicolas Flamel.

Nana: Sound familiar? He's the guy from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Lina: Most people don't know that he was actually a real alchemist. Anyway, that's his symbol on the back of Ed's red jacket (which is what I was referring to) and on Al's left arm. Not the mercury symbol.

Nana: Next—(looks at Lina) You got Ed to drink milk? How?

Lina: . . . Didn't you read the story?

Nana: (shakes head)

Lina: (sighs; shows Nana story)

Nana: (reads) Lina! That was mean!

Lina: Oh, hush! Third review: That's okay if you don't like it very much. You're a good reviewer, so I'll forgive you! (chuckles)

Nana: (still looking at story) I still can't believe you cut Ed off . . .

Lina: Oh, get over it.

mizukimarr910: Lina: (looks at Nana) Sounds like you two would get along great.

Nana: (shrugs) I just like to eat food, thank you very much.

Lina: (looks at readers) Meaning she can't cook.

Nana: Hey!

Lina: (ignores Nana) A fruit chapter? (points up) Tada! You like? There was no food involved though . . . sorry. Neither Nana nor I have any experience to draw on, so this is probably as close to pure, unadulterated smut as either of us can get . . . though, if you want something better, I can certainly try.

Nana: (mutters) And fail miserably . . .

Anime Freak Girl: Thank you so much!

Pyro Falcon: Thanks! If you're stunned speechless by the brilliance of my drabbles, then I thank you immensely for the compliment.

Nana: You don't know if she meant that!

Lina: (shrugs) I'll take it with a lump of sugar.

Nana: That's 'grain of salt', you noob. A lump of sugar is what you put in your coffee.

Lina: Shut up! (huffs; turns attention back to Pyro) Oh, and if you wanna snake, you should get a snake. Just keep them in separate cages! (laughs)

Nana: That big snake of yours was scary!

Lina: Taltos?

Nana: Yeah. (looks at readers) She was a big-ass python.

Lina: I believe the scientific name is 'African Rock' python.

Nana: Whatever. She could eat lambs!

Lina: (shrugs) I only had to feed her twice a year . . .

Trespasser1307: Thank you! I shall!

Different Child: Lina: What day is it? (looks at calendar) Oh, Nov. 19. Happy belated birthday!

Nana: Felices cumpleaños atrasado!

Lina: (rolls eyes) Nana's half-Hispanic.

Nana: Cállese, ramera!

Lina: (blinks) Huh?

Nana: (grins) Nothing . . .

Lina: Anyhoo . . . (looks at D.C.) Thanks for the three reviews! And don't sweat it. You'll eventually find something that you're comfortable with . . . don't rush into a religion cause you feel that you have to. I mean, I'm heretic Catholic and Nana is non-denominational.

Nana: (huffs) Well, I was until I found out that they had a church. I mean, how can you be a Christian who doesn't believe in organized religion and have a church?

Lina: Now she's just agnostic.

Nana: I prefer to think of it as 'having equal respect for God and the devil'.

Lina: Nah. Agnostic fits you better. After all, it does mean 'without knowledge'.

Nana: Shut up!

Lina: (laughs) Anyhoo, we both hope you had a good birthday!

Faith Lee: Lina: (laughs) Thanks! (rolls around on ground laughing)

Nana: Don't mind her. She's just kinda freaked out cause she's never had a perfect stranger come up and tell her they love her before.

Lina: Actually, there was that one time in London . . .

Nana: (blinks) Huh? You never told me that! Who? Who was he? Did he hurt you? I'll kill him!

Lina: Calm down! (hands Nana towel cause she's foaming at the mouth; looks at readers) She's such a protective friend.

Nana: I'm like Hawkeye, except without the blonde hair and guns . . .

Lina: (laughs) The longest part of this story was the reader worship.

Nana: Only cause you have me here. They'll be shorter next time . . . that is, if you get any reviews.

Lina: Screw you, whore.

Nana: (sighs) Review please, for my friend's sanity. Tell her how she did on her first smut!