Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Do Not Panic! ❯ Do Not Panic! ( Chapter 1 )

Roy Mustang swore to himself that he would never drink again.

Though this was a weekly promise, and it was broken daily, he finally had the motivation, and horrific scarring to hold to that promise.

The morning had started out on a sour note, appeared to have picked back up, and plummeted into the downward abyss all within a few sparse minutes. Why, you ask? Well, let's start with the headache and move forward.

His head was angry with him, his brain in accordance as it beat its way out of its holdings through his ears, eyes, and forehead. The soft light from the window glared harshly at his corneas through his eyelids, screaming defiance as he wormed his way deeper into the soft blankets and hair to avoid it. The soft warmth that he cradled to his chest was offset with slight temperature difference on his bare chest and calf.

Warmth, he had bedded someone? Cracking an eye, even though it detested him in the same moment, he grinned at the long smooth blonde hair that curled around the shoulders and back of his bedmate. All he could see was the lower back and the top of her right shoulder, but the bone structure was one of a petite young woman.

Leering at his new friend, he decided a morning goodbye was in order. Though he only remembered bits and pieces from the night before, something about stairs and another, more evil blonde, he figured that with all the drinking going on he might have other houseguests that could awaken at any moment and he really didn't want a weekend wakeup call from Hawkeye.

Tucking the blonde closer, he wrapped one arm around her waist and went upward in an attempt for a quick grope. What he found, or didn't find, made him blanche.

 

Edward Elric at this point swore that the next time he saw the bastard general, heads would roll. If not for the elder's insistence and taunts, he would have only consumed one or two of the evil drinks and would not be in this strange room contemplating his situation.

Beer tasted vile, wine sour, and whiskey and scotch like fire. The only thing he found that he could stand to swallow was vodka and that was when it was hidden in other, sweeter drinks.

His body, half missing with automail in his arm and leg, didn't take well to alcohol consumption. Keeping up with the rest of the pack, at its head a man that could out drink his name sake and still be willing for another round, proved for a foggy memory and throbbing headache. His stomach didn't want to stay in place either, pressing at his throat but for the moment, as long as he didn't move, lying in wait for its chance to strike. The taste of sour liquor and stale bread lingered in his mouth, and he remembered vaguely the older alchemist pushing a loaf of it at him. Something about a hangover. It soon turned into an eating contest.

He had won, if he remembered correctly.

Now though, he was trying to place exactly where he was. There was someone here with him, and he hoped to whatever god hated him that it was either Al or some girl that had followed him to bed.

He felt the body at his back stir, nuzzling into the back of his neck in an effort to block out the evil light. Please be a girl. He didn't want his brother that close. Staying still, he waited for the person to either fall asleep or say something. Instead of either, the body pulled him closer and a—mother of god that's a guy's arm!!—hand went around his waist. Trying very hard not to freak, as that would have sent his stomach into a full revolt, he stiffened as the hand moved upward, making a cupping motion as if searching for mounds of flesh that weren't there.

Several things enraged the man. One: he was in a bed with someone that was not a girl, and he didn't have a clue why. Two: his head was killing him, and there was no General in sight to relieve this anger on. Three: Someone had just tried to grope his nonexistent breasts.

Someone had to die.

Grapping the hand, which had stiffened and started to tremble upon grasping air instead of flesh, with his automail hand, he twisted the appendage into a very painful shape.

“YOW!” The man screeched, setting off a ringing in his ears, but he didn't let go. Another hand pressed into the skin between his shoulder blades in an attempt to shove him away and release crushed hand, but automail had more strength and could be locked into place when needed. “Let go! I need that!”

Time stopped, well maybe not stopped but it sure as hell felt like it for one small alchemist. No, please not him. Anyone but him. The bastard would never let me live it down if it was him… “Mustang?”

“YES! Now let go!”

 

Roy was not having the best morning after. He'd nearly had his hand ripped off right after nearly groping his subordinate directly after spending the night in the same bed cuddled with the damned brat. Hell, if his subordinate had the right parts he would have groped him!

Managing to free himself, he scrambled to the end of the bed, misread the distance, and hit the floor with a loud `thud'. Better the additional bumps and bruises then spending another second on the bed with the homicidal shrimp.

“Mustang? Er—what?” A shuffling came from the top of the bed and a few seconds later gold eyes looked down at him. “Are you ok?” The blonde head cocked to the side and the unleashed braid that had looked so cute in bed now looked a little too girlish on the younger male. The anger had leached from his face, but was still evident in his mouth and eyes.

“Yeah, my heart's still beating anyway.” Rather fast and loud and skipping over itself to go somewhere without him, but still beating. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Roy looked up. “Fullmetal, why are you in my bed?” Yes, that was a good question. That was the question at the moment.

The blonde turned a bright red, opened his mouth, and then turned green. Alarmed, and a bit fearful, Roy scrambled backwards, holding one hand up to point to the bathroom adjacent to his room. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Fullmetal made a break for the smaller room, slamming the door behind him.

Confused, he got up and got dressed. He was very pleased to find that while Fullmetal's clothes were in a tangled pile with his, both of them were still wearing boxers. Therefore nothing could have happened.

Yes, that was the story and he was going to stick to it until he figured out what the hell had happened last night.

Raising an eyebrow at the tangled mess of wet, muddy clothing, he kicked them into a basket and tossed on some sweats, throwing a smaller pair onto his bed. Fullmetal could were those.

Taking the clothes to the washroom downstairs, he back tracked as he passed the living area. It was a disaster zone. Bodies, empty cups, and plates lay in several heaps and the only point of order was his favorite seating chair, now accommodating a blonde lieutenant cradling a pistol. Most of his staff was lying haphazardly in lumps of flesh, and one dog lay atop a snoring chest asleep. Smirking as best he could through his hangover, he decided that as soon as he found his camera he could have Breda in a very difficult spot.

 

“Never going to drink again.” Edward moaned, pulling his head out of the toilet to press the plunger down. Staggering to his feet, he washed his mouth and face off, debated about taking a shower and decided against it. He didn't have any clothes and he didn't want to give the bastard any more ammo against him.

Putting one foot in front of the other, he made it out to the room to find his clothes. At least his boxers were still attached to his ass, so nothing could have happened. He wasn't in any state of mind to put clothes back on after their removal last night so he figured if the pervert had tried something, he hoped it wasn't anything too mentally scarring.

His red and black ensemble lay nowhere in sight, but a pair of faded black sweats two sizes too big lay on the bed for his use, he hoped. Well, no one here to ask and the General could kiss his ass if he didn't like it.

Transmuting the extra material into scraps of cloth that he threw onto the bed in a silent promise to at least think on putting them back to rights, Edward had to stumble back to the bathroom again as his head did a full 360 along with the bright blue flash of light. Where as the tingling sensation of alchemy had always been welcomed before, this time it had overwhelmed the fragile control he had gained over his body.

What the fuck had happened last night? Why did his ass hurt like he had—no! There was no way in hell that would he ever let the bastard do that! He wouldn't let anyone do that to him! He was as straight as a board!

Mustang would know. Even if it took a few blows to the head Mustang would figure this out and it would be all his fault! Hah!

Trudging down the stairs, Edward wondered past the study/library and sitting room that contained the rest of the party goers, he headed to the only sound in the house. Someone was knocking around in the kitchen, but even the possibility of food made his stomach go screaming in terror. He did feel marginally better after throwing up twice, but his inner ear still went in circles as he walked.

“General Bastard, can't you keep it down?” He grumbled, falling into a chair at the table to watch the flame alchemist add several gross ingredients into a blender. “What the fuck are you making?”

“Hangover cure.” He stopped what he was doing to dig into his sweat pockets, pulling out a small silver pill case to throw at him. “Take those; they'll help with the headache.” Grimacing, he put the top of the blender down, a quick `sorry' thrown into the air, and hit the on button.

The sound of ice meeting metal in a horrid thunderclap of noise sent both males to covering their ears. Shooting the bastard a glare, Edward grabbed a glass from the cupboard to fill with water. The pills went down after doing battle with his gag reflex and he journeyed back to his chair to watch the brunette fill to cups with the red smoothie.

“Its tastes horrible, but it'll make you feel better.” Slumping into his own chair, Mustang took his own glass to throw back a long swig.

The first sip coated his throat and mouth, and he quickly followed Mustang's example to swell his back without taking time to taste it. Oddly enough, within minutes he could feel his headache and stomach dim away into background noise.

“What happened last night?” Fullmetal had held his tongue long enough for his head to stop trying to commit suicide, for which Roy was very grateful. He had known that the brat wouldn't stay quiet forever, but he had hoped.

“Not a clue.” He replied, and though the thought of violence did cross the shrimp's face, the nice things that he had done for the brat turned the idea away. That was what he was hoping for, butter the damned blonde up and he might not try to kill him; yet.

Frowning, Edward dropped the empty glass back onto the table, which had contained the nastiest and most efficient cure known to mankind, and gulped down his water to clear the taste from his mouth. “Do you think the others know?”

Nodding, Roy dragged at his mind. He remembered bits and pieces, mostly a jumbled mess of laughing manic blondes and alchemic flashes, but could see Hawkeye and Havoc hovering around the edges.

“Do you want to flash burn them now or at the office?”

“Later, my house has enough damage thank you.”