"Dog," Master Hawkeye spat, his voice holding a type of venom Roy had never heard from him before. Not towards him. Master Hawkeye had never been considered a kind man, but the hate in his expression took him aback.
"I want to do good," Roy said, staring into the furious brown eyes of his alchemy master. He was standing his ground. Master Hawkeye hated the military, but Roy hadn't joined for the power. It wasn't like Hawkeye was assuming. "I can do so much more from the military ranks."
The Ishvalan conflict, the terrifying prospect of a civil war; he wanted to help ease the tension. He wanted to help people. Why didn't he get it? Roy had thought his master knew his character, but he was doubting that now.
Coming here after he'd joined the military ranks—he'd expected some shock, some anger, but Roy had thought he'd understand. That he could convince him that he would be one of the good ones.
The laugh that escaped his master was scathing, dripping in cynicism and hate. "Do good? Using my power? You are naive."
Roy clenched his jaw. "Teacher, I will use your power for good. I—"
"Fire can't be used for good," Hawkeye said, deceptively calm. His skin was pale, clammy, and Roy felt the worry despite himself. He was ill, very ill. "Burning things; that is your power. The power you came to me to learn." He stalked closer, grabbing Roy by the collar of his brand new military uniform and spat the next words in his face. "Destruction. That is what you are. What you came to me to become."
Roy's eyes widened as Master Hawkeye released him, and Roy stumbled back a step.
"And now you've sold my power to the dogs," Hawkeye yelled, before a cough took over and he hacked harshly into his hand.
Roy rushed to his teacher's side without a second thought, steadying him. He heard a rustling from his left and turned to look. Riza Hawkeye was standing by the door, watching with an eerily blank expression. She shouldn't be here, watching her father in this state.
Hawkeye slapped his hand away. "I will never give you my last discovery," he spat, blood on his lips. "I have managed to fulfil my life's goal. I have managed to apply flame alchemy at its most efficient, most powerful. But you are too naive, too stupid, to hold a power like this."
Roy's heart was pounding in his chest, a layer of cold sweat covering his skin. His teacher coughed harshly again, and shakily sat on the bed.
Roy sat at his side; he didn't have much time left. He looked back over at Riza, who was still staring at them, almost indifferently. Roy had always known their relationship was strained, but he hadn't expected the cold apathy in her eyes when she looked at her father.
Hawkeye's breathing was laboured, and Roy lowered his back to the bed as he tried to catch his breath. "You will never have it," he wheezed, glaring at Roy. "You will never find it."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Riza walk out the room.
"Take care of my daughter. It's the least you can do for selling out my power to them."
Roy held his master's hand as he drew his last breath, trying to accept the fact that the man he'd admired and looked up to so much died hating him.
Roy shivered as he woke up, his stomach squeezing, a cold sweat on his brow.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, tried to shake off the dream, which had felt too real. It had felt like he was there again, in the Hawkeye house, watching as his teacher slowly passed. He heard his voice in his head even now, spitting the words as though they were poison.
He thought about that moment more than he'd ever admit. He'd always regret that it had been their last interaction, that his teacher had died with feelings so hateful about him. But he had been right. Everything he had told Roy that night had been right.
The self hatred squeezed in his chest, shame and regret a familiar company. Roy had been naive. He'd been stupid. He'd made himself into a weapon with the intention to protect, and he hadn't realised, then, that a weapon like fire could only leave destruction in its wake.
He resorted to counting his breaths once again, closing his eyes as he focused.
It was still pitch black outside. He probably hadn't been sleeping long.
He heard his bedroom door opening but he didn't stir. He knew it was Ed, and then embarrassment joined the cocktail of emotions rolling in his stomach. Ed had seen. He had seen how pathetic Roy had been, how he had foolishly tried to convince the creator of fire alchemy that it could be used for good.
The mattress dipped behind him, the covers moving, and then Ed's warm chest was pressed against his back, and his muscular arm draped over him.
He didn't say anything, and Roy wondered if he was waiting for him to speak, but the lump in his throat was unrelenting. He was clenching his teeth so hard they were starting to ache.
Ed shuffled closer, and Roy felt his soft hair against his neck, his cheek pressing against the back of his shoulder. Every exhale was warm on his skin.
"He was right," he found himself saying. His voice was croaky and low. Had Ed even understood what he just said?
Ed's arm tightened around him, but he still didn't say anything. Was it because he agreed? Was he thinking how pathetic and stupid Roy was to ever think otherwise? Had Master Hawkeye's words convinced him Roy was a walking destructive weapon and nothing else? His silence made Roy feel worse.
He felt a flare of anger—not at Ed, but at himself. At how he used to be, how he still was, really. "I'm a fucking—"
"Don't." Ed cut him off, the muscles of the arm draped around him tensing. "Don't drag yourself down that hole."
Roy clenched his teeth again. It was easy to say, it was easy in theory to just switch his emotions off, to try to think of something else. But that moment all those years ago, that interaction, had shaped who Roy was today. Everything Master Hawkeye had said was true. He was pure destruction, and he'd proved it. He had never been one of the good ones; he was just trying, desperately, to overcompensate for who he was.
"He was right," he said again. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he hoped that Ed would offer silly reassurance, but he wouldn't; there was nothing Ed could say that would change the truth.
Maybe he was hoping Ed would punish him further by confirming it.
"No, he wasn't."
Roy frowned then, a spark of anger igniting in his chest. Was Ed being serious? How couldn't he see—
He felt a flare of anger through the bond, as though Ed was responding to Roy's. Before Roy could say anything, he said, "That bastard reduced you to nothing but the alchemy he taught you. As if all you were was a place to store his knowledge." His exhale was harsh against Roy's skin. "He taught you that was all you were, and wanted to control you. As if you weren't a person. He might have been a great alchemist, but he was a shit teacher."
Roy blinked into the darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the dim lighting of the moon.
As if all you were was a place to store his knowledge.
He'd never thought of it like that before. Master Hawkeye had been extremely possessive over his discoveries on fire alchemy. He never took physical notes, for fear of them ending up in the wrong hands. He hadn't wanted a pupil, not really, but he'd known he was ill. He hadn't wanted for his alchemy to die with him, so he tried to at least control who it was passed down to. Roy had been the chosen one, up until the end, when Roy's life path didn't align with what Hawkeye had wanted for his power. He'd used Roy as a place for his knowledge to rest, and had done the same to Riza as well.
The lump in his throat eased, and he felt a weird numbness where his previous emotions had been violently thrashing inside him. Ed's arm around him was warming his cold, clammy skin.
With the duvet around them, and Ed's body so protectively over his, Roy felt safe.
It was an odd, unusual feeling. He'd never thought someone would make him feel like that. He'd always thought he'd be the one making someone feel safe. He, the General. He, the powerful Flame Alchemist. He could defeat any enemy. He'd thought that, when he eventually met someone, he would hold them like Ed was now holding him, making sure they were safe.
He had never thought someone would do it for him in return.
A fondness spread inside of him, all for Ed lying behind him. He was grateful, for Ed's presence, for Ed's kindness, for Ed's patience—for Ed.
Roy had never thought of Ed as patient, which, in hindsight, had been a gross misinterpretation on Roy's part, because Ed was also the most patient person Roy had ever known. He'd been patient for six years while he tried to recover Alphonse's body, but that patience had always been accompanied by an undercurrent of impatience.
Bastard Colonel, give us a lead. Bastard Colonel, when's the next mission. Why are you so goddamn lazy, give us something!
Patience, Roy had always told him, tried to teach him, really. As though he didn't already know. And now, all these years later, Roy had finally truly realised that Ed was patient. Impatiently patient.
And it was, weirdly, exactly what Roy needed. Someone who knew when to be patient and when to push him, who demanded healthy change but wasn't unreasonably dismissive of Roy's inner process of getting there.
Ed's lips on his shoulder made his breath stutter in surprise. It was a small, gentle kiss, and Roy wondered if it was a response to his emotions. He reached into the bond, focusing on Ed's emotions and feeling the same fondness. It wasn't like he could ignore them anymore anyway; they were right there, as loud as his own.
A soft, slow bite on the join between his shoulder and neck had Roy tensing, and despite himself he felt a spark of arousal. Ed's lips pulled into a smile against his skin when he felt it through the bond.
Another bite, on his neck this time. Ed did it slowly, gathering the skin between his teeth and pulling back as he let go. Roy was aware his breathing had picked up, his body responding to Ed's touch, but when Ed's hand rested on his chest, as though checking, he became aware his heart was also pounding.
Ed's breaths felt cold on the places his mouth had been on his skin. Roy stirred in his arms, turning around to face him. His golden eyes glinted in the dim lighting of the moon, his pupils dilated. Their faces were so close, Roy could feel his exhale on his lips.
He was so temptingly close.
His erection throbbed in his boxers, and the smallest movement made him aware of Ed's.
He was so tired of resisting. He was so tired of pushing against his emotions, of constantly fighting what was screaming at him. He needed this as much as breathing. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. With an urgency so strong, it would be torture to resist once again.
He could feel Ed's arousal through the bond, but his own was so intense he had trouble distinguishing them. Did Ed feel just like this too? Did he feel the desire pounding through his veins? Was his body throbbing with the need to touch him, like Roy's was?
"Ed," he breathed, so easily aroused by him, so desperate for his touch.
"I know," Ed whispered back. He felt it too.
Roy touched him. His hand rested on his side, over the smooth, alchemically warped skin of his scar, just as Ed's arm wrapped around him again, pulling him closer. Their lips were so close, his body was so close…"I don't think I can resist you anymore."
Ed's eyes met his in the moonlit room, his gaze piercing. "Then don't."
When their lips touched, Roy gasped against his mouth. Pure electricity sparked through him, racing through every fibre of his being. His body cried out at the contact with Ed as though it had been parched, deprived—finally.
He adored the way Ed tasted, how his scent filled Roy's entire body, the way Ed's fingers fisted in his hair, pushing his mouth firmer against his. There was a sense of possessiveness in the way Ed so demandingly grabbed him, and while Roy knew Ed had no reason to feel possessive over him, he liked to indulge in the fantasy. The fantasy that Ed wanted him for himself.
Ed groaned against his mouth, his tongue clashing against Roy's and the fist in his hair pushing their mouths closer, as close as they could be.
Roy slid over Ed's hard body, until they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip under the duvet. Roy felt every single point of contact, every part of Ed that was touching his bare skin. But it wasn't enough.
Their lips parted with a soft sound, and he felt Ed's quick pants against the wetness on his lips, felt the way his breathing stuttered as he softly ground their bodies together. But it wasn't enough.
He reached under the duvet, pulling Ed's boxers off with Ed eagerly assisting him. He threw them in the general direction of the floor, and then Ed's hands were pulling his boxers down, and Roy manoeuvred them off himself.
The feeling of Ed's hard cock against his own chipped away another layer of his already struggling control. Ed made a small sound of appreciation at the contact. It came from deep in his chest, a gasp of relief with a whimper of pleasure. He kept his eyes on Ed's face as their hips rolled, their cocks rubbing against each other, first steadily, controlled, but slowly that control eroded, and their pace became frantic, desperate.
Roy's thrusts weren't gentle. They were rough, demanding, as though his body could get closer the harder he pushed his skin against Ed's. With each thrust the glide became slicker; with precum, with sweat, with the sheer craving they had for each other.
Ed's delicious whimpers were the only thing on his mind, somehow making him even harder, more aroused with every passing second. Ed's arms were around him, his hands hot stamps on his back, his lips against Roy's, not fully kissing, but unwilling to be too far away.
It wasn't enough.
"Fuck me," Ed gasped, almost pleadingly. His cock was throbbing against Roy's own, and he could feel his wanton hunger through the bond—or was that his own?
Roy shivered, those two words reverberating even more desire through his already aroused body. "Is that what you want?" he panted against Ed's lips, his voice urgent, impatient for Ed to confirm.
Ed's glazed eyes gazed at him, wanton, needy. "Fuck yes." He gulped, his nails digging into the skin of Roy's back. "Do you?"
"Yes," Roy said breathlessly. He'd never wanted anything more than this.
Ed's legs shifted, drawing further upwards and spreading. Roy pulled back, on his knees in front of Ed, between his legs. The duvet fell off his back, barely covering his legs, and was forgotten and abandoned behind him.
His hands ran over the skin of Ed's thighs, as though they needed to satiate their own desire for touch. They touched his cock, his balls, and finally his finger circled the delicate skin of Ed's entrance.
Ed shuddered, panting, hips thrusting towards Roy's hand.
"I don't want to hurt you," Roy said, his body screaming at the pause, screaming at him to hurry up. But he would never forgive himself if he hurt Ed—he had to make sure he wouldn't hurt him. For that, at least, control was non-negotiable.
Ed licked his lips and looked at him. His brain seemed to stutter for a moment, before he said, "Do you have—any lube?"
Roy's eyes went to the bedside table, his brain providing him with the very useful information that yes, he did, yes, he hadn't thrown it out. He reached over Ed to open the drawer, but he fumbled around aimlessly in his frenzied impatience, and had to switch the bedside lamp on.
He grabbed the bottle of lube, squirting enough on his hand so his fingers were slick, and unceremoniously dropped the bottle next to Ed. The faint scent of cherries lingered in the air as Roy leaned over him. He gazed at his slightly flushed face, now visible in the light the lamp provided, the way his eyes glowed even more golden when supplemented by the yellow light, the shine on his blond hair.
So fucking perfect.
Ed's eyes widened, his blush deepening, and Roy realised he'd said it out loud.
His finger was circling Ed's entrance once more, teasing, but Roy had no self control for much more than that. He pushed a slick finger in, as quickly as his non-negotiable control allowed, and Ed gasped at the intrusion, clenching around Roy's finger.
Roy paused, swallowing, trying to steady his shaking hands. Once Ed relaxed, Roy focused on stretching him, trying his damned best to ignore the way his cock throbbed, the way Ed's looked so reddened and perfect, and the urge to take it into his mouth.
The urge won, and Roy's lips wrapped around the tip of Ed's cock as he fisted it with his free hand, his finger now deep inside him. Ed's hips arched and a loud moan escaped him, his legs drawing further up, his hands holding them up and apart.
Roy eased a second finger in him, slowly, gently, his mouth giving him enough pleasure to distract him. He took more of Ed's length into his mouth, his tongue running along the shaft, his cheeks sucking.
Ed looked down at him, and Roy kept his eyes on him, watching, making sure the scrunching of his face was from pleasure and not pain.
He tried a third finger, momentarily pausing as Ed clenched and grunted, but he made himself relax, and soon Roy could easily thrust the three fingers in and out.
His tongue flicked over the tip of his cock, and Ed groaned. "If you don't stop that I'll…"
Roy pulled back, easing his fingers out of Ed in the process and gazing down at him. His hair pooled around him on the pillow, his cheeks and chest flushed in that perfect way of his, his cock hard and red against his abdomen, his legs spread and raised, ready for Roy to take him.
How was Roy ever meant to resist this? He had tried—he'd tried so hard to resist; surely that counted for something. Right?
His hands grasped his thighs again, pushing them further upwards, and it occurred to him then, how flexible Ed was. Lithe, agile Ed, deft and nimble in the way he fought, the way he sparred.
He reached over for the lube again, slicking his shaft in one swift motion and fighting the urge to shiver at the spark of pleasure that rushed through him. Ed's eyes were on him, watching him fist his cock with glazed, glassy eyes.
"Are you sure?" His body throbbed with every passing second, but he had to know, he had to make sure—
"Fuck yes," Ed breathed, licking his lips.
He brought the tip against Ed's entrance, lining himself up. His body throbbed with longing, screaming at the pause. His eyes flicked up to Ed's, and he saw the fire in his gaze, the burning desire that was swelling inside both of them.
He pushed the tip in, gasping at the tightness. His hands groped Ed's thighs as an anchor, a way to hold on to his non-negotiable control and resist the urge to bury himself in one thrust.
"More," Ed husked, his voice scratchy and deep and a massive fucking turn on.
Roy gave him what he wanted, easing himself further, slowly, gently—and it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, when Ed was so tight and warm and slick. He watched his length disappear into Ed, whimpering with every inch his body took.
Ed clenched around him, shivering as Roy finally buried himself to the hilt. He leaned over Ed, hands planted on each side of his face, gasping, sweating, trembling.
"You're so tight," he growled, voice strained. Ed's golden eyes held so much promise, so much passion, and Roy slowly eased himself out, to push back in.
He groaned, loudly and embarrassingly, but he was inside Ed and he didn't care about anything but that simple fact.
After a few slow, torturous thrusts, Ed's body adjusted, and Ed reached around him and pulled him closer—and they were once again chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip. But this time, Roy was buried inside him, and Ed's legs were wrapped around his waist, and the warmth of his body engulfed Roy whole.
"I'm not hurting you?" he asked, staring into those golden eyes that had him so fully enamoured.
"No," Ed replied, voice low, deep, needy, his hands gripping him tighter, closer.
Roy couldn't not thrust even if he tried. His body had a mind of its own as his primal need for Ed took over, his thrusts rougher than they probably should be, but Ed was moaning into his ear in tandem with each slap of their skin, and holding him so tight, so close—and how was Roy expected to have any shred of control?
Ed's hands roamed down his back and palmed his ass, demandingly, possessively, pushing Roy in deeper—closer, as closer as they could be. They were both panting against each other's mouths, the pleasure searing through them burning too hot for them to focus on kissing.
"Fuck," Ed breathed, eyelids fluttering and head turning to the side, and then Roy was panting against his cheek, the flushed, overheated skin burning his sensitive lips.
He paused, just long enough to angle Ed's hips, to get even deeper—closer, he needed to be closer.
He guided Ed's legs over his shoulders, folding him in two as he leaned over him and with one rough thrust started pounded him into the mattress.
"Oh, fuck—" Ed frantically grabbed at his arms, nails digging into his skin, his groans raspy and so utterly primal, getting louder with each slapping thrust. Roy watched his red lips as they parted, the gleam of sweat on his brow, the way his eyebrows drew together in ecstasy. The automail dug into his shoulder but he didn't care—he didn't care about anything but Ed right now.
"Ed." The name was like a prayer on his lips. Was that even his voice? It sounded choked, strained, so completely hungry.
Roy had never been a vocal man, but the grunts and whimpers were uncontrollable, leaving his mouth and reaching his ears as though they weren't his own. There was a part of him that knew he was being loud, but he couldn't focus on being embarrassed, not when Ed's tight, perfect body was giving him this much pleasure.
He wasn't being gentle but he couldn't stop, waves of searing heat spreading through every inch of his body. Ed was clenching around him again, and his cock was so hard and leaking precum against his stomach, and the sight was driving Roy that much closer to insanity.
Why had he even been resisting this? Was this what he'd been missing out on? Finally he'd given in, and it was the best moment of his life.
No one would be able to blame him for this—he could say it was to break the bond. It was acceptable that way, a last resort. Only he and Ed would know what this moment truly meant, a connection they both wanted, something they were both craving. A need they had to satiate. The fact that this would break the bond was a bonus at this point, an excuse for them to hide behind.
His mind, body, and soul wanted Ed.
In one hard thrust he'd buried himself to the hilt and ground against him, fucking him deeper and relishing Ed's loud whimpers. His whole body was throbbing with the need for release, and he was so close—but not yet. Not yet. He didn't want this to end.
"Fuck, don't stop." Ed's breathing was laboured, his grip on his biceps almost bruising.
Roy kept grinding his pelvis against Ed's, fucking him as deep as he could. "You like that?"
"Mm—" Ed licked his lips, his cheeks flushing further. Roy reached between them and fisted his cock, pumping once, twice—and then Ed threw his head back on the pillow and moaned loudly, his perfect, tan neck strained and flushed as he came.
The sight would be his undoing.
"Ed," he breathed again, urgently. It sounded like a beg, a beg for this pleasurable agony to both stop and never stop, for the sweet release building in his lower abdomen to finally come, for Ed's body to spare him this perfect torture it was inflicting on him, while at the same time begging for Ed to give him more, so much more of this.
He buried his burning face in Ed's neck as he thrust harder and harder, his rhythm abandoned as the sweet, sweet agony made his body tremble and his breathing quiver. Ed fisted his hair, his teeth bit at his neck, and Roy felt every nip, every spark of pain prickling all over his body.
A loud, deep groan escaped him as the pleasure reached its peak, and Ed's strong arms wrapped around him as Roy gave in, losing the last scraps of control as he came inside Ed.
His arms gave up, and he collapsed on Ed, only slightly managing to cushion the fall with his elbows. Ed's legs slipped off his shoulders and wrapped loosely around his hips, holding him down.
They lay there, breathless and slick from sweat and lube and cum, for a time unknown to Roy. He didn't think he could move even if he tried; his limbs had turned to jelly, and he was overcome by this sense of complete calm. Ed didn't seem to mind the weight.
He lay with his cheek over Ed's chest, just under his chin, hearing his rapid heartbeat slow as the seconds ticked by, feeling the soft rise of his chest with every breath. Ed was massaging his scalp, trailing fingers down his spine—and it was heaven.
Roy had reached heaven, a place he knew he would never deserve to be, not for the long term anyway.
But he was here now, with Ed.