Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Comisseration ❯ One-Shot

A/N: This is actually the first time I've written for FMA. I know it's just a drabble, but reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.

 

-coldchik

 

***

 

He wasn't sure what was worse. The blood, screams, and hellfire he moved silently through during the day -- or the company he came to commiserate with after sunset.

 

Not that they shared even one feeling in common though. He wondered if that man had any really. Besides those which drove him to smile the way he did, scream and smile while the world died around him.

 

Mustang entered the tent, unceremoniously tossing his jacket on their single chair. In the beginning it would have been unthinkable. But none of that mattered anymore. He didn't care if their clothes mixed -- didn't care if the blood seeped from one to the other.

 

He refused to acknowledge the already occupied bed as he unlaced his boots and kicked them free to the sandy tarp of a floor. Maybe he'd let him be tonight. Let him move past to his own dirty sheets and fall unheeded into the nightmares that surely awaited him.

 

“That was an interesting touch you put on the sandstorm this morning...”

 

No such luck. He felt his body bristle as he turned to meet the golden eyes. Kimbley was splayed shamelessly on top the blankets. His scrawny frame breathing shallowly in the heat, panting like the jackal he was Roy thought, with an indescript bottle clutched loosely in one murderous hand. Roy didn't bother to play civil anymore, disgust obvious in his words. “It wasn't intentional.” The wind had been moving far faster than he'd thought. The vortex had caught his flame, sending cyclones of fire down upon the whole damned city.

 

The golden eyes narrowed dangerously even as the mouth grew a smile. “Shit, can't you even take a compliment?”

 

When he didn't give an answer, those eyes regarded him in silence a moment further before looking away as their owner gave a harsh laugh.

 

“You're far too serious, Flame. You won't last much longer with an attitude like that.” He took the bottle he'd been holding then, almost choking as he sloshed some of its contents down his narrow throat. The jackal's eyes closed at this, a predator appearing briefly satisfied. He grinned, lifting the container above his head -- a gesture of unknown meaning until spoke. “Take it.” He said, muscles relaxing visibly into the bed. “I swear you won't dream anything at all.”

 

He wasn't surprised when his hand reached without thought. Their hands even grazed as he took it, but Mustang wouldn't let himself flinch. Because it didn't matter if the blood seeped from one to the other anymore. Intentions were meaningless the day their actions became the same.

 

-End