*bulletin board*

It's a shame that FMA ended, really, I used to be a huge fan ^.^. I guess after the end of it I felt the need to build my own canon, at least about the first animated series, while brotherhood, in my opinion, touched the perfection ^.^. Rejoice with me, oh fandom female audience, 'cause Arakawa-sama is a lovely lady and we should be proud of her brilliant contribution to the shonen world.

Enjoy.

06Purple Rain

A violent lightning pierces the grainy, nebulous purple swirls of the clouds, a thunder comes along, muttering menacingly through the air. In the gray distance, no line on the horizon can separate the earth from the sky.

The translucent glass of Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang office's windows reflects another thunderbolt, inside the dark curtains are closed in a silent anticipation.

Roy is at his desk, in his expensive black leather chair, inattentively sipping five ice cubes in a finger of caramel-colored whiskey .

His eyes seems lost, unfocused. He stares the dimmed ceiling, apparently interested in something invisible, maybe inexistent.

Every now and then he bites his lower lip, his plain expression twitching a little, as if he's bearing some itchy sensation.

It's about to rain and Roy Mustang instinctively hates rain, being the Flame Alchemist.

His skin becomes uncomfortable, his mood instantly prickly, and every time he knows he will be pissed off by something.

Rainy days always mean bad shit.

- Aaah ... - he moans slightly, his mind suddenly reconnected to his present self.

No other sound creeps his lips, but his toes involuntary keep contracting.

By now, he has indulged in this little, sinful pleasure of his countless times, and enduring it without letting his voice slip is always the same, blissful torture.

Subtly masochistic, he reckons, but, hey, de gustibus et coloris non est disputandum as Roy's old master used to say.

Meanwhile, pretty busied in a very sticky and wet situation, Maes Hughes in knelt down between the Alchemist's legs.

Roy tries hard not to react, persisting stoically in his renewed icy silence, despite the fact that in his head blurred and deviate images tie up in bundles.

- Aaaahh…-

Fuck, he hates the sound of his own enjoyment. It seems a weak and childish request for his pleasure to be blindly fulfilled.

But he doesn't want to be condescend: Roy Mustang owes nothing to anyone, except to himself.

Well, on seconds thoughts maybe he actually owes something to the officer bent between his thighs, his tongue hungrily tormenting his pulsing member and his eyes closed as if worshipping his own personal God.

- Mmmmmmh…- he forces himself to remain silent again.

His sex pokes out, shiny and thick, from Hughes' mouth; the man raises his face and looks into Roy's eyes, still touching him with burning caresses.

Roy rips away his eyes, because he likes being a neglecting bastard who appears detached and unimpressed.

Also, there's something lying in the back of Hughes' glance that scares his ass off.

This may be probably called love.

Roy doesn't know and perhaps it's something he really never experienced.

Apparently, it depends on what love is meant to be.

Yes, if love is the highest selective affinity between two souls, yes if it brings two spirits together and wipes off the torment of the mundane. There can be these two individuals, detached from any contexts, with no social obligations, free to follow their instincts and to build each other's caring expectations.

No, if love is a well-balanced, serene relationships, healthy and blessed by the others, following the trails of a planned future that aims to a family.

And that's the insatiable conundrum,

Love is destruction, annihilation, fusion, unstable corporeal and spiritual burning.

Love is generation, fulfillment , terse statement of intent, clear awareness of the mutual and the common.

Roy sees there's no solution to this.

Maes is overwhelmed by the force and the despair – especially the hopelessness, obviously - of his love for Roy .

Maes is satisfied with the quiet happiness of Glacier's love.

Roy knows that deep inside the man is ripped in two and he'll never stop feeling guilty for this.

But today, finally, all their sins will find them out.

Roy gives up.

He should have known better, back then, that sooner or later he'd have felt saturated.

That's it, the conditions can no longer be acceptable, there's really too much at stake, they should stop this wicked game. There are far greater scenarios waiting for their energy to be worn and eroded.

Roy will go forward, and Maes will always be his most faithful friend and supporter, after all they shared too much for too long.

Unfortunately, Roy fears his own resolution and the soon-to-come moment of the truth is so painfully carved in him that he has been avoiding the other's eyes from the beginning.

Roy contracts in silence for the last time, gasping for air, and he finally comes, for a seconds or two the bliss of the moment anesthetize his remorseful conscience.

Maes licks everywhere, smearing Roy's semen on his own face, and with one last final grunt he spurts in thick gushes in his own hand.

Minutes later, all the traces of their viscose sin erased, Roy finally drops his head and cries in grief and relief.

Here they are, at last. It's over.

Maes looks grieved.

They can't add anything more to what they've already decide.

Intentions, motives, reasons…that's ok, really.

Let the bygones be bygones, they have already discussed the topic, now it is time to move on.

Yet, when Roy feels Maes hugging him he can't manage to control himself and cries more loudly.

A strange nagging feeling of emptiness lingers on them and outside the storm explodes mercilessly.

Roy shivers, Maes moves away and opens the curtains, letting the sooty glow enter inside the room.

- Roy ... – he begins.

The Flame Alchemist raises his right hand, demanding immediate silence as his usual.

- Thanks for everything. This is a goodbye. We have no more time to waste.- he says, though Roy never considered it a waste. never considered wasted time their love.

- I did give you everything I could..- replies Maes, his head bowed .

- I do not doubt it.-

- Whatever happens, I'll be always by your side.-

Roy turns and smiles, bitterly.

- I know, I appreciated that. - No hard feelings , no regrets - I...We have a mission to accomplish.-

Maes nods in silence, then, hesitating:

- It's all so unreal. Roy ... -

- Things change . This is normal. Cruel but quite ordinary.-

A pause, Roy moves slightly toward his Maes, looking at him with sincerity.

- You'll get the leader you want, now, this is the promise of our friendship.-

They softly kiss for the very last time and their bodies languidly linger on each other.

Then they put themselves in a considerably safe distance, and Roy becomes progressively more formal .

- Let me have always news from you. About everything. I'll be happy . -

- See you soon then ... – nods Hughes and quietly leaves behind the door.

After minutes, Roy catches himself observing Maes' silhouette walking quickly towards his car down in the rain-soaked yard, his hands trying uselessly to shield from the water.

The figure turns a bit and raises knowingly his arm in salute.

Roy's eyes rip away from him and he sighs, because he may have a strong will but his heart now aches.

Riza Hawkeye enters silently leaving on the desk the day bulletin and Roy can tell her sharp glare knows everything, after all the air itself reeks of abandonment.

Roy dismisses her and sits at his desk, hating raining days and expecting to find all the letters very boring.

Until, amongst the others, one incongruously stands, showing the handwriting of a child.

Sender: Edward and Alphonse Elric.

After a quick research, he finds they're Hohenheim's sons and that they're practicing Alchemy.

A new situation. A new scenario. A new road, maybe?

Roy mentally pins the idea of paying them a visit as soon as he can.

Meanwhile, outside, the storm has suddenly faded into a thick misty rain and what has just happened already seems a thousand miles away from his memory.