Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Automail ❯ Milk ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Milk

Edward Elric hated his brother.

Well . . . maybe not really. He and Al had been through so much together. They had committed the taboo and lost their original bodies in the process—Al losing his completely to the other side; they had fought of robbers, murderers and homunculi et al; they had lived and doubted and cried and laughed and hated and loved. And through it all they had been brothers. Family.

(“We're all we've got!”)

No. Ed didn't hate Al.

He just didn't like him very much right now.

Because Al, ever cognizant when it concerned Ed's wellbeing, had gone behind his brother's back and recruited his boyfriend to get him to be more `health-conscious'. And Mustang—probably less out of caring for the elder Elric and more out of finding a way to scratch the mischief-itch he had—had wholeheartedly agreed.

Now, because of Al, Roy had insisted that Ed . . . drink . . . milk.

(Yuck!)

Because of Al, when Ed refused—which all parties involved knew would happen—Roy had cut him off.

Because of Al, Ed wasn't getting any!

It had been almost two months now since Roy had told a shocked Ed this, and the black-haired alchemist still hadn't touched him. At first, Edward had reasoned that he could outlast the older man. After all, Roy was the one who—before Ed—had to pick up and sleep with women on a regular basis; meanwhile, hadn't Ed gone almost seventeen years before he lost his virginity? Mustang's sexual needs were much more . . . well, needy than his, weren't they? He was full of burning passion.

Being the Flame Alchemist and all.

And besides, Edward hated . . . ne, loathed milk. It was the bane of his existence. He felt about the disgusting cow-juice the way the colonel felt about paperwork. In fact, he probably hated milk more than he liked having sex with Roy . . . having Roy kiss him and touch and caress him with those expert hands and lips and tongue and . . . and . . .

Oh God, how he hated his stupid little brother!

“Something wrong Fullmetal? You've been acting extraordinarily cranky these past few weeks.” Ed glared up at his superior/estranged lover, who was seated across the table smirking at him over their lunches. “Do you need a diaper change?”

The blonde felt his lip curl. “Fuck you.”

Roy crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow. “Now, you know I can't do that until you drink at least one glass of milk. After all, I did make a promise to Alphonse.”

“Fuck Al, too,” Ed responded crankily, putting his chin down on the lunch table, using his glass of unwanted, white beverage to block his view of the Flame Alchemist.

He heard Roy chuckle, then say, “As interesting as that would be, I'm afraid it might throw a major kink in our relationship . . . him being your brother and all.”

The boy sat up and glowered. As mentioned before, Ed, at first, was positive that he could outlast Roy in this weird game that he had started. It had taken one week before the blonde realized how incredibly wrong he had been.

He wanted Roy.

Badly.

Week number two found Ed sleeping in a guest bedroom at Roy's estate, instead of in the master. One night after this, the colonel had begun to lock his door at night. This had pissed the alchemist off quite a bit—to say the least—and he had actually considered dumping the man.

However, seven more days drained all the hatred out of him and filled him up with sorrowful heartache when he wasn't around Roy . . . and heated, lustful need when he was.

Sometime in week four the raunchy, steamy dreams had started . . . and they had continued all the way to present.

Weeks five and six consisted of numerous failed attempts to try and seduce Mustang—many of the plans influenced or inspired by the dreams of week four. At one point, Ed had snuck into his office while the colonel was away, stripped, donned one of those miniskirt things that the bastard was so fond of, struck a sexy pose and awaited his return.

Of course, Edward had heard of Murphy and his damnable laws.

He just didn't know what a malicious, infuriating bastard the man could be.

Even now, Ed still couldn't look Havoc in the eye.

In week seven, it would be reported by his coworkers that the elder Elric had begun acting particularly strange. He took to being by himself for long periods, either sitting in the library or taking walks—if anyone interrupted him, even Al, he would lash out at them with abhorrence he normally only possessed when someone mentioned his height. He could also be seen walking down the halls of Central HQ, talking to himself or sobbing hysterically or laughing at nothing at all.

“It's stress,” everyone said.

Mustang had just sighed and shaken his head and considered sending Fullmetal on a mission to take his mind off of everything . . . and to get the blonde away from him. He'd never admit it, but seven weeks

(49 days; 1,176 hours; 70,560 minutes; 4,233,600 seconds . . . not that he was counting, of course)

without so much as a kiss from the younger man was starting to get to him.

However, week seven had come and gone, taking Edward's odd behavior with it. Now, at the beginning of week eight, he was back to being angry and hostile towards anyone who looked at him. That included Roy.

Roy Mustang; Flame Alchemist; colonel; bastard . . . who was now sitting across the table, smirking at him knowingly, looking so smug and so arrogant and proud and handsome and sexy and Ed didn't know whether he wanted to smack him or scream or come or maybe do all of them together . . .

He groaned and averted his eyes, blushing madly as his deceitful libido went straight south.

Roy just smiled wider and whispered, “You know what you have to do.” He then looked pointedly at the glass of milk which sat before Ed, untouched. “To get what you want . . . all you have to do . . . is drink. Me for the milk. Equivalent Exchange.”

Just as the flame of a candle dances dangerously before the assault of wind, so too did Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, flinch in shock as Edward Elric slammed his unequal hands down on the table, drawing the attention of everyone seated in the mess hall. He then stood up and, much to Roy's surprise, calmly walked away without saying a word.

Mustang watched him disappear, conscious of the eyes that were now upon him, and then looked back down at the glass of milk. He caught his reflection in the white liquid that had started all this and swore he saw regret there. Roy sighed.

Maybe I did push Edward too far, he thought to himself.

The black-haired man was just about to get up and go after his young lover, when said blonde came stomping back into view and plopped back in his seat, a look of gritty determination plastered on his face. Roy watched in mute amusement as Ed began some sort of odd dance with his glass:

He picked it up, put it back down again; reached out his hand, withdrew, reached out, withdrew, stood up and walked away. He made it halfway to the doors before he turned around again and sat down, picking up the glass once more. He held it for a few seconds, a look of dread in his golden eyes, then slammed the glass down—causing some of the drink to spill out onto the table—got up once again, made to leave, but only ended up circling the chair before he sat down again. He reached out his hand, withdrew, then reached out and took hold of the glass for a third time.

It stayed in his hand for several silent moments—by now, everyone in the mess hall had stopped what they were doing to watch the blonde alchemist perform his little act—then he brought the glass rim up to his lips and began to hurriedly drink it down. Roy held back his laughter as he watched Ed, who suddenly looked so much younger than he had only seconds ago, eyes clamped shut in disgust, milk dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

When the last drop of the milk was finally downed, Ed roughly slammed the glass down on the table and ran a black sleeve across his mouth. There was scattered clapping as everyone who knew of the Elric's aversion to milk began to applaud his actually finishing a whole glass.

Roy let a genuine smile creep across his usually masked face, before he stated, “Well Fullmetal, I am impre—ooph!”

`Ooph' being what one says when a sexually frustrated, diminutive, blonde alchemist tackles one from across the table, thus knocking them both to the floor, then captures one's lips in a fierce, passionate, impatient kiss, not caring who is there to witness the strange occurrence.

When Ed was finally forced to come up for air, he pulled back and looked down into the older man's black eyes. Roy grinned and said quietly, “Glad to see you haven't lost it, Fullmetal.”

“Same here, you bastard.”

“I knew you'd drink it.”

“Shut up.” Edward grabbed the Flame by the collar of his uniform, pulled him up and then, ever-so gently, smacked his head against the floor. As Roy recoiled against the onslaught to his skull, reaching up to rub the lump already forming there, Ed leaned down and whispered, his eyes narrowed dangerously, “And if you ever try anything like that again Mustang, I'll throw you out a fucking window. Your pain for my pain. Equivalency.”

And as Edward descended hungrily upon his lips once again, Roy reminded himself that it was probably better not to mess with Fullmetal.

Though, he thought to himself as he caught an adventurous hand, how can I help myself?