Exactly one year ago, Edward Elric returned from beyond the Gate. How or why is heavily debated both in political and civilian spheres. For the most part, however, he has been keeping quiet, spending more and more time with recently reinstated Brigadier General Roy Mustang of the (newly democratic) Amestrian State military. ((This blog is a compilation of both manga and FMA1/Shamballa canons. It's mostly based on the first series, but the continuity's not a huge issue and I'll be using both Brotherhood and FMA1 icons.)) Icons are from lavaliere and suspecting on dreamwidth.
Has Ed ever felt self-conscious about his body (automail)? Have you ever had to reassure him that you love him the way he is, Roy?
"He has moments where he is terrified I am going to shun him, or insult him, or worst of all leave him for someone who is—in his words—‘whole.’ When we first became involved, I expected him to be…reserved, careful. To not want to let me see…"
"And I didn’t want to let you see," Edward says quietly. "If I remember right, I asked if we could just do it with our clothes on…"
"And I said that was fine, if he felt more comfortable that way. But it ended much differently, once we—got started. Because little by little, he began to trust me, he began to believe my words; I told him he was beautiful, I meant it, because neither before nor since have I ever seen anyone who could light my blood on fire the way he does. My God, Edward, the way you looked that night…the way you look in my sheets, with your hair fanned out on my bed…”
"They asked about the automail, bastard, not my fuckin’ hair…"
"I adore every part of you, Edward…every part, and that includes pieces of you that I can’t physically see. The silver gleam of your limbs is as striking as your eyes, so rich, so exquisite. The intricacies of the mechanical parts match the complexities inside of your head. I love the feel of your fingers in my hair, on my skin; warm and cold, so delicate, so light, despite the destruction they can bring…”
"Damn it, why do you—? I’m not…It’s ugly, Roy, you don’t have to lie to me, I’m still gonna be here even if you get tired of whatever game you’re playing…”
"I never tire of telling you how lovely you are," Roy says patiently. "I will continue to do so until you believe it."
Roy, have you ever told Ed that you nearly committed the taboo after the war?
"I’ve thought about it," he says, ashamed that he hasn’t. "And I would, if not for the fact that Hughes was the only one who knew. It was something dark and unspoken between us. He implied the memories with his eyes, whenever he was angry at me; whenever he saw me in despair. A warning not to ever consider human transmutation again.
"I don’t believe that Maes would have wanted Edward to know. He was paternalistic with Edward, to an illogical degree. He was always reticent to discuss me and my…issues with him, simply because my past deeds were far too horrible to reveal to him. And I agree. He would have been overwhelmed, at that age.
"Now…now I’ll consider it. Hughes is long dead and Edward deserves to know that he is not the only one who thought he could bring back the dead."
((In case you guys weren't aware.... I'm back :D Or should I say we? also, side note! I'm always in need of icons, so if you have any recommendations (generally I used doujinshi/shamballa icons) then please let me know!))
Ed, has Roy ever tried to kill you in his sleep while having one of his nightmares?
Edward shrugs, avoiding the question. “It’s not like I haven’t done the same…”
He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not about waking up in the middle of the night with Roy’s hand around his throat, Roy’s hand tight in his hair and jerking his head back painfully. Not about the fierce and horrifying accusations that he’s Envy in disguise, taking the form of the person who is most precious of all to General Mustang.
He doesn’t want to talk about trying to be calm when his lover is screaming in his face, when those gloved fingers are poised to snap, when he can smell the transmutation beginning to simmer in the air. Or how the only thing that can make Roy snap out of it is if he hits him hard enough. Blood in his automail knuckles.
But what else could he do? Roy wanted to burn him alive. Would have done it.
They’re both sobbing wrecks at the end of each nightmarish episode, so it’s stupid to think of himself as the only victim. All they can do is hold each other and find ways to circumvent the danger. Lock up Roy’s gloves in places he can’t find them, take sleeping pills, promise that the morning will come soon enough.
((Hey! I must say I love you blog! :) In a past post, you mentioned something about Roy having migraines after being shot. Can you write something, like, a short passage where you describe what they do on those "migraine days"? Thank you!))
((Thank you dear! <3))
The bedroom is ominously dark when he enters, the heavy drapes pulled across the windows to keep out a sunny afternoon. Edward received word earlier that General Mustang wasn’t feeling well, but bad enough to cripple him and send him whimpering home like an injured dog? His suspicions are confirmed when he sees the man lying on the bed, mostly motionless.
When he goes to kneel on the bed, he flinches, aware of the muffled crunch of the mattress like wet snow. He hopes Roy doesn’t hear it.
These—“headaches,” as Roy calls him, though Edward knows they’re much worse than that, they have to be—are the only thing that can render General Mustang vulnerable. They spring on him at inopportune moments, without any warning. One second he’s meeting with a foreign dignitary, perfectly composed, and the next he’s crumpled in a chair complaining that his head is throbbing.
They didn’t occur before it happened. Before he got shot. Ed doesn’t understand the medical reasons behind it, doesn’t care, just knows that his lover is suffering and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it but clench his teeth and wait in the dark for any flutter of lashes, any sign of life and awareness.
He reaches out to lightly brush Roy’s hair out of his face, glad that at least he feels cool and not feverish. He appears to be asleep—a very good thing. Rest makes them go away.
"This sucks,” he whispers, but without any lost intensity. He continues to sweep his fingers through Roy’s tousled, dark hair, pressing close to him as if he can’t not. He wishes that he could just reach into the man’s head and yank out the aches, extract the pain, but it’s not that simple. He knows from experience with his automail.
He gets distracted by his thoughts and drifts off, but when he comes back he realizes there’s a single glimmering eye staring back at him. Roy gives him a weak smile, but otherwise does not move.
"Missed you," the man says in a slightly hoarse whisper.
Edward manages a smile of his own. “Missed you too.” He leans down and very carefully presses a kiss against his temple, then stays there, reluctant to leave his side. Roy’s hand finds his.
"You smell good," Roy says.
Edward chuckles. “Dunno how, I need a shower like crazy…”
"Should I join you?"
"Only if you feel up to it," Ed says, brushing his lips down against his jaw. "You didn’t look like you were up for anything…"
"I wasn’t," Roy says, "and maybe I’m still not. It’s—subsiding. Slowly. But having you here makes me feel less like I’m battling alone. Your warmth, your affection, it’s like medicine, honestly…" His words end on a soft note in Edward’s ear, and the blond shudders, squeezing his hand.
"I…can be more…affectionate. If you’d like," Ed says. "It you think it’ll help you."
Roy smirks, kissing the side of his head. He still looks incredibly exhausted, and there’s pain in his remaining eye that he’s trying to disguise, but he’s no longer living death at least. Edward will make sure he stays comfortable. That he’s taken care of.
Ed, what do you do you when people say Roy is too old for you?
“I tell them to look me in the eyes real hard and tell me what they see. There are a lot of things I’m too young to be doing, but I’ve done them all and then some. I’ve killed men, seen murder, been hurt, lost limbs, chained myself to the state. Roy is one of the few people who understands how dark the world is, and that comforts me, even if he's acted as that darkness himself.
“All things considered, I think a relationship with a man that I love, a man who loves me just as much, is the last thing you should try to ‘save’ me from. I'm not a child and we've both committed enough taboos between us that this is mind-bogglingly inconsequential."
“My bed, in the dead of night, when his hair is messy from a hard day and his muscles are tense from fatigue. Usually there’s a bottle of wine involved, the scent of his skin in my sheets, the fall of moonlight on his body…”
“Anywhere. I don’t give a fuck. Table, couch, against a wall, under his desk, I have no qualms. We did it in the bathtub once. Neither of us were bathing.”
Roy, would you ever give Edward his own office? Does Major Armstrong and did Major Hughes have an office of their own?
“He’s technically a colonel now, though he doesn’t have quite so many responsibilities. Mostly his and Colonel Hawkeye’s job is to keep me from getting shot. They both have their own offices, of course, though only Hawkeye has any responsibility for direct subordinates.”
“I’m pretty much just a glorified bodyguard, yeah,” Edward said. “But the perks are great. I’ve got a secretary, I’m allowed to bring the cat with me, I’ve got the office stocked with junk food and books. I mean, sure, I’ve got to do work (most of it Roy’s), but none of it involves killing people so it’s not a bad setup.”
“The majors did have private offices, in fact, though they were made to accommodate lower-ranking officials obviously. A small room with a desk and some decor, nothing more.”
So a solid 2/3 of the asks on here have made me start tearing up. It makes me angry I can't write like this, and I stopped a few drabbles after reading some of the best responses on here. So basically, keep up the good work. xD
((Thank you so much, but don’t you dare stop writing! This is seriously just for fun, and lord knows the FMA fandom needs more Roy/Ed drabbles. ;D ))
"I can do some things," Roy said, thinking about the hobby he had recently undertaken despite Edward's annoyance. "Cooking is not altogether different from alchemy, in a way, and I've started to try it out. At the moment my talent lies in anything involving fire, naturally."
"He's pretty good, though he's almost burned the house down more than once." Edward sighed. "And I'm getting sick of stir-fry. Still. It's nice to not have to order take-out every damn night...."
"The bastard seems to think he has the stamina of a seventeen-year-old. Most of the time we go at it before bed, but he has a thing for waking me up in the morning with this look on his face."
"This look?"
"Exactly that look..."
"But in all seriousness, I do quite appreciate the way this anon worded it. Making love. I've never 'fucked' you, Edward, and I never will. You're worth far more than that."
