A/N: Hey ho, I'm back! Thanks go to everyone who reviewed, I appreciate it a lot! :) Your thoughts are valuable! The story is going more slowly than I expected, but we should be well on our way by next chapter. I feel like chapters should be longer- that way I could fit everything in that I want to include!

Someone asked how old Ed is in this fic. It isn't readily obvious, but he is eighteen and, as you'll find out, his contract with the military is close to expiry.

Now, on to Chapter 2! Enjoy!

Dreams on Fire

-Chapter 2-

Colonel Roy Mustang was having a great day so far. He had slept for eight hours, had drunk a marvellously bitter coffee that had been waiting for him on his desk and in culmination of his truly wonderful morning, he had successfully enraged Fullmetal by calling him short.

As he turned the corner to the next corridor, he pondered whether it counted as a win, seeing as he had gone for Fullmetal's obvious weakness, while he usually prided himself in finding a different button to push in order to release the blonde alchemist's legendary temper.

He decided it was a win.

He allowed himself a small smile. Roy wasn't even sure why he enjoyed angering Fullmetal so much. It was... entertaining to watch him react. To see previously dull yellow eyes spark into golden life and witness that wave of passion surfacing, to stand there as it crashed and to enjoy the surf. It was mesmerizing. Or not. No, really, it wasn't all that mesmerizing. It was just fun, a bright spot in his usual, dreary routine.

"Sir, where do you think you're going?" The voice was steely and unyielding. He could practically hear the gun pointed at him.

He froze. "Lieutenant Hawkeye."

He slowly turned to face her, hands half in the air in a gesture of surrender. "I am merely picking up a book."

Riza's eyes remained hard. "What about your paperwork?"

He nearly choked, but managed to keep a straight face. "I finished it."

"All of it?", she demanded, with suspicion gleaming in her eyes like the corridor's light gleamed on the barrel of her gun.

He fought back a swallow and nodded. "Why don't you go check? It's all on my desk."

Her suspicion didn't lessen, but she lowered the gun and nodded grudgingly before turning to walk back to the office.

Roy let out a shaky breath. She would give him hell when he came back, because of course he had been too busy prodding at Fullmetal to make a dent in that humongous pile of paperwork stacked on his desk.

Roy finally arrived in the corridor of his destination. He hoped Sciezska had the book he was looking for or that she had at least read it. If she had, she would be able to copy it down for him in no time.

The door to Sciezska's office, or rather the small room where she worked, was not fully closed, so he carefully knocked against the door frame.

"Yes! Come in!" Her voice sounded muffled and he stepped in, searching the room with his gaze for a sign of her.

There were books. And books. And many, many more books. They were arranged in stacks, in piles, on shelves, or simply strewn throughout the available space. Roy felt a smile tugging at his lips. Fullmetal would like it here. He'd feel right at home.

Sciezska stepped out from behind a huge stack of books to his left that nearly reached the ceiling. Roy wondered how it remained upright and how Sciezska could navigate a room as cluttered as this. It certainly took talent.

"Hello Colonel!", she said, attempting a salute, but not really managing one. It didn't matter. She was no soldier and therefore wasn't to blame; apart from that he didn't take it as a personal affront when people did not salute him, unlike some of his colleagues of rank.

Her bright voice continued. "How can I help you?"

"Sciezska, have you read Degardieu's Treatise on the Immutable State?"

"Yes, sir", she smiled from behind her glasses, seemingly excited to be able to help. "Do you need it written? I could have it done in two days."

Perfect. That would leave him the weekend for reading. "That would be very helpful. Thank you, Sciezska."

He gave her a smile. She was a good person and a valuable ally to have. The way up was, after all, a stony and treacherous one.

oO0Oo

"It's all DONE?"

Roy ducked his head. He had known this would happen. Still, it always managed to scare him.

Hawkeye was standing, no, towering over him (he had no idea how she did that, because he was taller, damn it!), eyes seeming to glow with evil intent and Roy just felt like sinking into the floor and surrendering.

And the worst thing was that all of this was happening in the main office. Yes, Fullmetal was having the time of his life, watching his personal misery unfolding its ugly wings. Roy could see him grinning, enjoying the show. That infuriating little—

BANG!

The bullet embedded itself about 3 centimetres next to his left foot and he instinctively jumped aside to avoid the one that whizzed past his right ear. Of course Riza would never shoot him, but it was always so damn close!

He'd better start apologizing.

oO0Oo

Ed was feeling wonderfully vindictive. Earlier, it had been him who had been defeated by Mustang, but now, the tables were turned and it was the bastard Colonel who was bearing the brunt of Hawkeye's anger. Ed would simply sit back and enjoy the fireworks.

Mustang met his eyes briefly and Ed made sure to grin at him brightly. The bastard deserved it, honestly, if not for earlier, then for messing up his dreams.

Ed had already established that the dream had not been his fault at all and that Mustang was fully to blame, because well, most of that dream had been based in reality—Mustang did have a deep voice (that was apologizing profusely and sounded pathetic right now), and he did have very dark eyes, which made him entirely to blame, Ed found. Yes, his eyes were always so unfathomable; it was hard to tell what he was thinking, what moved him; those eyes made it hard to tell what he valued, what he needed.

Not that Ed cared or anything. Well, and what did it even matter if he wanted to know these things? He had simply begun wondering what it was that kept Mustang going, what motivated his actions, because, even if he would never admit it out loud, he was questioning his own motivation now that he had achieved all that he wanted. What was left to strive for?

The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to get out of his contract and out of the military. For too long the military had controlled his life and now, it was time for something new. The only problem was that he didn't know what that "new" something was.

There was an empty space where his future was supposed to be. He sometimes envied Al, who had his Earth Alchemy, who didn't need to do the State's bidding and would be doing what he loved most—helping others. And he, the supposed prodigy, the genius Fullmetal Alchemist, had no path into the future to follow.

He supposed he could do more research... but into what? And what for? What was he trying to achieve? He had once sworn to his brother that he'd always walk forward, but how could he when the way before him was dark as the space between the stars and just as empty? He'd take a step and in the darkness would never know if he had placed his feet on the right path.

There were only weeks left on his contract, and what should have excited him, scared him. The idea of walking down the stone stairs of Central Command, free, caused a rushing sense of vertigo. When he thought about it, it felt as though someone had punched him in the gut and then torn the ground away from beneath his feet.

He told himself that he couldn't wait for that day.

It was true, and oh so wrong.

Right here, right now, he had a purpose, he was useful, and he had people to look out for him. And what would be left when he was released from this prison of a contract? What would be left of the Fullmetal Alchemist?

He lifted his head and started.

Mustang was standing where Hawkeye had left him and was watching him. What? Ed wished he knew what the man was thinking, but Mustang was already meeting his eyes and walking over to Ed's desk purposefully.

It struck him how Mustang's hair shimmered in the light and fought to keep his eyes on his face.

Mustang stopped in front of his desk and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "What's the matter? I thought you enjoy me getting lectured by Riza. You'd usually never pass up a chance to rub it in my face, but you've kept quiet. Come on, Edward, you aren't fooling anyone. Least of all me."

Ed swore in his head and only let his helpless anger manifest in an aggravated glare that was supposed to mean 'leave me alone' and instead seemed to yell 'help me'. How did the man do it? How could he tell what he had been thinking about?

Those damn black eyes seemed to see straight through him.

Still, he needed to try. He didn't need anyone's help. "I'm fine."

He felt a rush of air across his face as Mustang leaned in. There was weight to his presence and his scent held an edge of fire.

A whisper, concealed from the others in the office, and yet spoken with strength that belied the quiet tone. "You said that yesterday, too. I don't believe you, Ed. I don't believe you at all."

He leaned away again, and Ed glared up at him.

"And what do you care?", he ground out, daggers in his voice.

Unreadable black eyes were watching him and fire flickered beneath his skin, making it tingle. He ignored it.

Silence grew between them as Mustang's eyes remained unfathomable and Ed's challenging front slowly fell apart. It was clear that Mustang really didn't care— he had no words to back up his pathetic attempt at pretending that he did. Ed wouldn't admit that he felt as though someone had reached into him, grabbed hold of something and twisted. He violently clamped down on the raw disappointment and steeled his gaze.

"I see how it is."

Mustang looked taken aback and seemed to be about to say something, but Ed didn't give him time to. He pointed at the papers on his table, keeping his voice short and flat.

"My report is right there." Ed nodded to him stiffly. "Good day, Colonel."

He rose and fled the office walking at a moderate pace, with as much dignity as he could muster, telling himself it was no escape at all. Not an escape at all.

oO0Oo

Roy was worried. And it wasn't a nice feeling.

Fullmetal had just walked out on him and he couldn't really blame him for it. It had been his fault for not replying, after all. He knew rationalising it in his head wouldn't change the situation, but he had been so... stunned by the question he had been asked that he had been momentarily left without words.

What do you care?

Yes, that was a good question. What did he care? He was just Fullmetal's commanding officer. It wasn't as though he was everyone's agony aunt, or that he got involved with the problems each of his subordinates had to deal with. It wasn't his nature. It wasn't his job.

Of course he was known to look out for his own, to protect those loyal to him, but he didn't usually go as far as trying to goad them to come out of their shell and finally tell him what was bothering them so that he could fix it.

But that was just it. He wanted to fix Fullmetal.

He rubbed his temples and sighed. It was just so hard to ignore that look in Ed's eyes when he thought no one was watching him, that look of someone who had had their world tilted upside down and was told to keep walking.

Something was wrong, and Roy had a good idea of what it was.

But damn Ed for being so stubborn! He always reacted to Roy's questions with his "I'm fine", which was an obvious lie. And whenever he pointed it out, Ed's mood turned volatile and there was no way of getting answers from him then.

What do you care?

The question resonated in his mind, teasing little strands of thought and memory. Ed screaming in pain as a deep, bloody gash formed on his chest during a fight, Ed's dead eyes in Resembool all those years ago, Ed's agonized scream when he thought he lost Al and then, that bright, golden smile that filled an entire room when he returned with Al's body.

He wanted to protect Ed. He couldn't stand to see him in more pain after all the suffering he had gone through. Because even through all adversity, Ed had fought with fierce strength and boundless passion, never breaking, and never giving up.

Roy had sometimes stood in his office in silent amazement when Ed returned from an assignment that had dulled his eyes and weighed down his shoulders with the invisible burden of guilt and grief, and then had pushed through the layers of pain with pure stubbornness and power of will that was incomprehensible to Roy. These encounters with Ed's astonishing resilience had burned themselves into his memories, enveloping him in borrowed passion.

And before he knew it, he found himself motivating himself with these same memories.

Once, on a mission, Roy had been forced to kill the man they were chasing, because he was becoming a threat to civilians, and when he returned to Central, he had locked himself in his office in quiet self-hatred and despair. He hadn't ever wanted to use his alchemy for killing again after Ishbal, and yet, he had done it. The self-loathing had gnawed at him and had made him shiver in suppressed, helpless rage. And out of the dreary darkness, the bright memory of Ed had surfaced, with his golden eyes set and a glitter of future in them that promised that everything would be set right and that the pain would fade with time.

And because Ed protected Roy without knowing it, Roy in turn needed to protect Ed.

And most important of all, Roy needed to see Ed's dazzling smile again, that smile that brightened a whole room, cried triumph and yelled happiness and had made his heart jump.

Roy felt his fists unclenching, the unconscious tension draining from him.

Ed would smile again, and Roy would be the cause. And then he would make him smile again, and again after that, until he forgot it had ever been different.

oO0Oo

The world was burning.

Where am I?

Ed evaded the smouldering snowflakes and danced around the fires feeding off the snow on the ground. The cold world was bathed in flames and their ceaseless roar deafened his ears.

He squinted into the distance, seeing the burning plains lick at the distant horizon.

He sunk his hands into the pockets of his red coat, tugging it closer around him in attempt to keep both the heat and the cold out.

Wherever he looked, the plains looked the same. Ducking his head, he walked forward.

Through the shadows of the dancing flames, he could see a dark figure, whose coat was blowing and flapping in the unnatural wind created by the fire.

"Hello!", he called out, but he couldn't hear his voice and the figure didn't turn. Damn this. What the hell was this world anyways? Burning snow? And who was that person standing with their back to him?

"Hey! Answer me!" Again, his voice was ripped away and swallowed by the roar of the flames before the sound could travel far enough.

The figure remained motionless, and Ed fought his way forward, around blue-yellow columns of fire and red, ember-like stones gleaming in his path.

If he hadn't been so annoyed, Ed thought, he'd probably find this world beautiful, in an odd, surreal sort of way.

The figure suddenly turned toward him, as if it had finally sensed his presence. Ed stopped in his tracks.

It was Mustang. A lick of flame curled around one of his legs playfully without seeming to burn him and when Roy lowered his hand to it, it twirled around his hand, like a tame kitten curving its head into its owner's loving hands.

He didn't look out of place at all; it was as if he was at home in this world of fire and plains. Suddenly, Roy's eyes widened and he started running toward Ed.

In the same moment, white-hot heat surged from his right leg and Ed realised in horror that he had accidentally stepped into one of the small fires on the snow, or maybe it had formed all on its own around him.

He frantically shook his leg in a futile attempt at shaking the flames. "Mustang!", he yelled roughly with panic tugging at his vocal cords.

His red coat was catching fire, it smoked at the seams, and Ed stomped his feet on the burning ground to put out the fire and batted against the smouldering fabric with his gloved hands.

And then, Roy was at his side in a flash, hands moving like a rider reining in his horse with effortless force. The flames dancing around Ed reluctantly flickered out of existence and the ground became a smoking expanse of blackened earth.

Ed panted, drawing in the cleaner air, his heart beating against his ribs at a frantic pace. For a moment, he just kept staring at the burnt ground around his feet, before lifting his head slowly to Roy's face.

The Flame Alchemist was no longer surrounded by playful fire, and instead looked quite worried.

"Are you hurt?", he asked with a voice that was also roughened, like Ed's was.

Ed shook his head slowly, mentally checking his leg and foot.

Roy reached out a hand, presumably to gently motion Ed to come along, but as soon as his fingers brushed Ed's shoulder, it was as if the fire had never been extinguished and had flared back to life on his inside.

Ed yanked his shoulder away from that burning touch and Roy retracted his hand in hesitant confusion, looking at Ed in askance.

"—the hell, Mustang!?"

Ed rubbed his shoulder where, beneath his skin, the fire and the burn of lightning pleasure slowly receded.

"Don't look at me like that, I did nothing." Roy was holding out his hands in front of him, palms up.

"Yeah right, bastard! As if I'd believe you now!"

The beginnings of aggravation leaked into his voice. "Damn, Ed, I don't even know what I did!"

He sounded so honestly bewildered that Ed frowned, wondering if this was perhaps a different Mustang than the one in his dream the night before.

"...you don't remember?", Ed quietly asked.

"Remember what?"

"My other... dream. You were there. You did the same thing as you did just now."

Roy frowned at his words. "I don't remember any dream. Just come with me for now." And again, he reached out his hand without thinking, placing it on the small of Ed's back.

"Don't—!"

White fire flashed across Ed's vision as an uncontrolled flood of bliss roared through him and he managed one final gasp of breathless, damned pleasure before the fire-filled air and the burning plains were swallowed in the darkness of oblivion.

Ed came up for air, gasping, and disorientation took hold of him for a moment before he realised that he was lying on the couch in his and Al's apartment and that he was beginning to have... a problem.

"Arrgh, no way!", he groaned in embarrassed disbelief.

His tight leather trousers might hide it, but there was no fooling himself that a certain... part of him was starting to strain against the confines of the leather.

Ed searched the surrounding area with his eyes and then, with surreptitious glances around him, dashed into the bathroom before Al could see him.

He locked the door and sat at the edge of the bathtub, dismally staring down at the traitorous tent in his trousers.

"Damn you, Mustang."

He opened his belt buckle and the button of his trousers and paused when an uncontrolled hand brushed lightly against his erection. Delicious pleasure laced with fire chased through his blood.

He snatched his wayward hand away, glaring at the mirror and thought of a certain black-haired Flame Alchemist who would never let him live it down if he knew about Ed's current situation. Mustang would probably smirk and say some hugely inappropriate and smug comment about his own attractiveness and how it was such a burden to be so wanted.

Ed could feel his face growing red with embarrassment and anger. "There's absolutely no way I'll accept any pleasure from you!"

He stripped down resolutely with sharp movements, turned on the spray of the shower in the bathtub and stepped under the ice-cold water.

oO0Oo

Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will bring danger for Roy (the real one ;))—how will Ed react?

Tell me what you think about the chapter length I mentioned. Would 5,000-6,000 words be too long or would you enjoy longer chapters?

Thanks for reading!