Roy thanked Hawkeye for the ride and stepped out of the car. Tomorrow was New Years' Eve and he'd given the team a week off to spend with families and loved ones; the crew had managed to talk him into letting them have a party at the office, and Hawkeye had promised him that if he didn't show up, her New Years' resolution would be being twice as hard on him.

He walked up the path and paused with the key in the front door. He turned and looked out across his front yard. A single stone sidewalk splitting the rectangle of grass speckled with dandelions enclosed in a fence of hedges; he was no gardener, and he didn't spend a lot of time out there. The only foliage was a single large tree, its branches drooping and providing the only shade in the lawn. The yard was a lot like Tucker's, which wasn't surprising; State Alchemists who chose to make their home in Central were given the same type of housing. Edward, who had never settled anywhere, didn't have a house in Central; as the boys' used to say, if they had no home to go back to, they couldn't turn back.

Then again, the Voice said, that's all in the past. Maybe this could be his home now.

It probably should have worried him that he'd started to agree with the Voice. He turned and entered the house—it wasn't a home, not since Ed had left almost three weeks ago. The house seemed empty and cold, bleaker than before Ed had begun his stay. It was as if the heart and soul of the house had been sucked out; its sun had been taken. The house had always been a bit too big, a bit too dark, a bit too lonely, but now, after knowing what it was like to share his household with another person, it was overwhelming.

For the past three weeks, he'd tried to spend as much time away from the house as possible, but unless he wanted to spend another night in the records' room and another day with a serious crick in his neck, he had to go back and face a cold, hollow house. He hung his hat and jacket on the coatrack, kicked off his shoes, and headed into the kitchen. It was another lonely night.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter and headed upstairs to the library; he would spend a lonely night in a lonely house, but he refused to sleep in the cold, empty bed. He dropped into the leather chair and took of swig of the alcohol straight from the bottle—frack the glass. The moon shone through the window through the curtains, spilling silver light over the carpet and shelves. He could feel the warmth spreading through his veins; it was potent, fast-acting whiskey, the kind that could intoxicate a man in only a few drinks.

Roy sighed, tilting his head back. He used to spend so much time in the library, pouring over his books and cramming so much alchemy into his head he thought it might explode. How many nights had he spent in this chair, trying to get so drunk he couldn't remember his name, let alone the people he'd killed? He didn't even know. He took another long drink, welcoming the burn as it slid down his throat. If he could get drunk enough, then maybe he would forget how empty he felt.

How could he had been so stupid? He'd had the chance to bed Edward, to have the blond whirlwind for himself, and he'd blown it. He'd pushed him away and told Ed to get out until he'd thought it over. How bloody stupid! Edward had been more than willing, and he'd turned him down. Now, it was too late. Three weeks had gone by, and Roy knew that Ed was doing fine; he'd stopped and watched as the brothers sparred in the park near Winry's shop. Roy hadn't approached, though he'd been dying to; he'd respected Ed's wishes that he stay away during the rehabilitation.

He tossed back another mouthful, and scowled when it ran dry. No, he did not need this! All he wanted was to get drunk out of his mind and forget how much his life sucked. Growling, he chucked the bottle at the door. With a crash muffled like it came from underwater, it shattered as it hit the solid oak, sending pieces of glass flying everywhere. A particularly sharp sliver ricocheted off a bookshelf and sliced open his cheek. He winced, but didn't wipe away the warm blood as it welled up and slid down his cheek.

He was too busy gaping at the young man who'd seemingly materialized in the doorway from nowhere. Ed stared alternatively at the shards of glass littering the carpet, glittering in the moonlight, and at Roy, slumped in his chair and drunk, staring back. Roy opened his mouth to say something, but when he tried, he found that the words wouldn't come; his tongue was heavy, thick, and too big for his mouth. Ed didn't have the same problem. He crossed the room, careful to sidestep the mess, and approached Roy.

He stood in front of Roy and, bracing himself against the desk, leaned forward to look the general in the eye. "You're drunk." It wasn't a statement or a question, just two simple words. He shook his head, his lips upturning in a soft smile. "You let me down, Mustang. I thought you were strong."

He pecked Roy on the lips, pulling back before the drunken alchemist could kiss back. Instead, he slid an arm—an automail arm, Roy's muddled brain noted—around the general and hauled him to his feet. "C'mon, Mustang, let's get you to bed. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the hangover in the morning, let's not make it any worse."

As they walked—well, stumbled, in Roy's case—down the stairs and towards the bedroom, Ed muttered about stupid bastard generals, whiskey, and hangovers. Somewhere in his head, Roy knew that he should be annoyed with Ed for talking to him like that, but it was drowned out by the sheer relief and affection he was feeling towards the blond. Everything about the younger man was in stark clarity to Roy—the way he smelled, the warmth of his body pressed against his, the soft blond hair brushing against the side of his face, the strength of the automail.

Three words were circling round and round in his head.

He came back.

He came back.

He came back.

XXXXXX

Roy Mustang noticed three things when he woke up: the first thing was that he had the mother of all headaches; two, his whole body ached; three, there was a strange, comfortable weight lying across his stomach. His muscles ached, his throat felt like it was on fire, his tongue was thick and fuzzy in his mouth, and he really, really wanted to go back to sleep; he recognized this feeling, and he cursed himself for getting this drunk. He must have gotten into the hard liquor, probably that bottle of Xing whiskey infamous for knocking men silly with a few drinks.

Groaning, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, desperate to get back to sleep. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas, and he slowly found himself more and more aware of his surroundings. Which brought something very important to his attention: did his pillow always smell like oil and sulfur, and since when was it warm and solid like this? Mmmm. He silently purred, pushing up against the hand raking through his hair, and his memories from the previous night returned.

He cracked an eye and immediately regretted it; it felt like a thousand needles were being stabbed into his brain, and the hammer pounding behind his eyes multiplied. He yelped in a very un-Roy-like manner and closed his eyes, but it was too late and the damage was done; he could officially classify this as a hangover. The "pillow" shook as his bedmate chuckled.

"Mornin'," Ed said cheerfully—too damn cheerfully. "Learn your lesson?"

Roy groaned into the shaking chest, clutching the other man's shirt. For the love of Amestris, this was his least favorite part of his drinking binges.

"I can take that as a yes, then." Ed's voice was full of laughter and Roy could imagine the grin on the other's face.

He wrapped his arms around Ed's middle and nuzzled his sternum, grinning against the soft fabric and firm muscles. Ed's human fingers threaded themselves in Roy's black hair, and his metal hand found its way between his shoulder blades. They lay there together like that, relishing in the feeling of peace and being frozen in time together. Soon enough, they would have to face reality, but until then, they could enjoy the warmth and tranquility, the feeling of smooth fingers and soft breathing and having no worries.

Finally, Roy sighed and rolled over, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He groaned and stood up, stretching. "I hate hangovers," he said at last. Behind him, Ed chuckled as he lay on the bed, watching as Roy got dressed. "Yeah," Ed agreed, "they suck. Just be glad it was only whiskey, not Russian vodka."

Roy turned, eyebrow raised, as he buttoned up his shirt. "Russia?" Ed shrugged, and explained, "A huge country on the other side. I never visited there myself, but I knew someone who did. Man, I've never had a worse hangover, and I've been drunk plenty of times."

"Really?" asked Roy, "You as a drinker? I just can't see it."

Ed shrugged as he rolled out of bed, catching himself before he hit the ground. "Roy, I was trapped on a strange world, with dopplegangers of my friends and brother who weren't the same, with no way home. I spent more than a few nights drinking to remember."

The words themselves were heavy and serious, but he said them as if it didn't matter anymore. Roy didn't say a word as he watched Ed get dressed and run a hand through his hair instead of brushing it.

They headed downstairs together, neither speaking. Roy took care of breakfast while Ed made tea; that had become their routine, and it worked for them. Ed sang to himself softly in a language Roy didn't recognize.

Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten,
sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten.
Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger erschießen
mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket,
doch alles in der Still', und wie es sich schicket.
Mein Wunsch und Begehren kann niemand mir wehren,
es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Roy turned to watch him as he sang, caught between being stunned by how beautiful he was and wanting to molest the blond. Ed's hips swayed as he sang, and he looked absolutely delectable as he poured the hot water over the tea bags and carried the cups over to the table. Roy followed with the food—bacon, eggs, pancakes. He'd decided that since it was Saturday and New Years' Eve, the two of them would have a real, traditional breakfast

"What is that—German?" Roy asked, looking over his shoulder at the blond. Ed nodded. "Yeah, it's a folk song called Die Gedanken sind frei, meaning the thoughts are free. Heiderich taught it to me when I was learning German." He took a bite of eggs and downed it with a sip of tea.

Roy picked at his own food for a few seconds before he got up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind. "Do you love him?"

Ed stared at him, golden eyes unreadable, as he set down his fork. "What?" Roy noticed that it was what, not who. Edward knew exactly whom he was talking about.

Roy didn't flinch at the intense look in Ed's eyes; he wasn't about to back down from this one, and in all honesty, the fire in the tequila eyes kind of turned him on. Roy had to know the truth; before anything else happened, he had to know. He thought he knew the answer, he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the words come from Ed's mouth.

"Alfons Heiderich. You were involved with him back on the Other Side; he was more than just your friend and companion. Do you love him?" He kept Ed's gaze, didn't let him look away.

They stayed like that, eyes locked and food forgotten, for who knows how long. Roy wasn't going to give Ed this one; he would give the blond anything else in his power, but not this. This one he wasn't going to surrender. Finally, Ed sighed and looked away. The blond stood up and walked around to Roy, and dropped himself in the Fuhrer's lap. He wrapped an arm around Roy's next and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

"Mustang," he said softly but steadily, "listen to me. I didn't want to tell you about Alfons because it was in the past. I'm not going to say it didn't matter; I'm not going to say that we were fuck buddies. He helped me survive a tough time when I thought I was going to kill myself out of grief. Yes, we slept together, and yes, I loved him."

He kissed Roy's jaw again. "Yes, I still love him, but I am not in love with him, and I don't think I ever was. He was there when I needed someone, and he made me smile when all I could see was the bad stuff. He helped me remember the times when I wasn't fighting for my life and when I wasn't drowning in guilt and pain. He helped me move on and grow up, and he taught me how to cook, and how to hold my own in a drinking contest."

He cracked a smile, eyes never leaving Roy's. "If we'd had more time together, if I hadn't been taken by those soldiers and found my way back here, then maybe I would have fallen for him. And I know that I'll always remember him and I will never forget what he taught me. But I have to get over him and move on, and I have a chance to have something with you."

Ed pressed his hand against Roy's chest and pecked him on the lips just like he had the night before. He grinned, and Roy felt his breath leave his body. Ed looked so bright, so pure, it was easy to forget that he'd been lying on a hospital bed in critical condition less than two months ago. But Roy would never forget, and would never forgive the damage that had been done to his sun. If he ever had the chance to destroy the men who had hurt Ed, he would do it without a second thought.

"So," Roy said softly, slipping an arm around Ed's waist to pull him closer, "what do you plan on doing about it?"

Ed smiled impishly, and truly, with the short, spiky hair and his honey eyes, he did look like a creature straight from the pages of a children's book. Roy felt metal fingers playing cup the back of his head, and before he could think 'hallelujah,' Ed was kissing him. Screw breakfast. Roy considered himself a pretty good cook, but his flapjacks could never compare to this.

Roy had dated girls before who had been content to let him take the lead, but this was a whole new ballgame; Ed was anything but compliant. Kissing Edward Elric was all tongue and fighting for dominance; it was struggling and biting, drowning in pleasure and enthusiasm. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and he hoped to insert-deity-of-your-choice-here that this was the first of many.

He wasn't sure if this was a dream or a hallucination, but to hell with it either way. He cupped the back of Ed's head and threaded his fingers in the silky golden hair; his other hand found its way under the white dress shirt and splayed itself against his bare back. Ed moaned against Roy's mouth and Mustang took the opportunity to nip sharply Ed's bottom lip. Ed gasped and arched into him, and this time, Roy didn't push him away; this time, he pulled him closer. He growled against the blond's mouth, and it wasn't a human growl—it was animalistic and possessive, and needy.

"Baby." Kiss.

Moan.

"Baby." Lick.

Gasp.

"Baby." Bite.

Thrust.

Eventually, they had to come up for air. By the time they managed to stop acting like two hormonal teenagers, the food had gotten cold and the tea warm, and they were both painfully aroused. Ed scrambled backwards off Roy's lap, face burning with embarrassment; the general was a bit more composed, choosing to hide his own discomfort by cleaning up breakfast. He was putting the dishes in the sink when Roy broke the uneasy silence.

"Is this okay?" Ed whispered, as if speaking much louder would shatter the peace. Confused, Roy turned around and looked down at him. "Is what okay?"

Ed swallowed thickly, looking unsure and scared. He waved his hand between them. "This… Us," he clarified.

Roy kissed his forehead, hoping to assuage Ed's doubts. "Why wouldn't it be?" He looked into those beautiful, heart-rending golden eyes and took Ed's hands in his own.

Ed shrugged. "It's just…you're the Fuhrer, and I'm…me. Everyone watches what you do, and somehow, I doubt fooling around with me will win you any favors."

Roy's expression turned stormy, and he released Ed's hands only to grip his shoulders tightly; he was careful not to hurt Ed, and he almost backed off when Ed's eyes widened and his face paled, but he wanted—no, needed—Ed to hear this.

"I want to make this very clear, Edward," he growled, "however long this lasts or whatever happens, I am not 'fooling around' with you. You need to understand that. I am entirely serious about us—about you, Ed. I spent five years convincing myself that even though no one had seen or heard from you, not even your own brother, that you were still alive somewhere, somehow. It was like you took a piece of me when you left, and I couldn't get it back. It was like dying in a horribly slow way, losing a piece of myself every day. If that's not love, I don't know what is. Don't ever say that I'm not serious, alright?"

Ed nodded, his face softening, and kissed Roy chastely. "I'm sorry, okay. It's just…" He shook his head. "Never mind." Before Roy could press the issue further, Ed kissed him again, this time lingering as he pressed against him, arms tangling around Roy's neck.

Roy's hands were warm and splayed against his sides, simply resting there, and his lips against Ed's in a simple kiss. Ed froze at the first touch, but Roy lifted his hand and brushed back a chunk of hair in a comforting, familiar gesture. All the tension melted out of the shorter man, his body relaxing against the other as his hands went to grip his shoulders. They parted from the gentle kiss and rested their foreheads against each other, breathing quietly.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to hold back the natural progression of time through the use of mutual comfort. Little by little, Ed's arms unwound from their protective embrace around his middle, and he shifted to stand up straighter. Roy didn't move, just adjusted his arms. He allowed his eyes to close, his thoughts drifting somewhere safe and warm, his body unconsciously tightening around the man he held almost defensively against his chest. He rested his cheek against the other's soft hair, breathing in his scent. It was a quiet moment that was their own, and they drew in the silence as a cloak to shield them from reality as long as they could. A silent understanding passed between them, and they started for Roy's—no, their room, hands intertwined.

Tonight, they weren't the Fuhrer and the Fullmetal Alchemist. Tonight, they weren't a former colonel and his insubordinate subordinate. Tonight, they weren't Edward Elric, big brother and researcher, and Roy Mustang, heartbreaking playboy and leader of a nation. Tonight, they were Ed and Roy, and this moment belonged to them and them only. The rest of the world could suck it.

XXXXXX

WARNING! The next chapter will contain smut, so if you don't like it, you can skip over it. You asked for it, so I'll give it to you, but I will not change the rating of this story for one OPTIONAL chapter that is not crucial to the plot. Thank you.