Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Family ❯ The Talk ( Chapter 7 )

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

Chapter VII: The Talk

The aging grandfather clock chimed once, signaling to the residents of the Mustang manor that it was now one hour into Thursday and that only owls, bats, and insanely insomniac people should still be awake. Colonel Roy Mustang glanced over at the clock's face and frowned in dulled disdain.

“One o'clock already?” he asked himself drolly, picking up the mug of hot, black coffee before him and jostling it a tad, effectively swirling the contents around without needing a spoon. He took a sip, savoring the bitter, expensive taste, and then placed the mug back in its saucer.

Roy sighed as he looked down at the cleared chess board before him. After Edward had lost his queen, it had taken the Major General all of five minutes to collect the blonde's remaining pieces and then get him into a rather embarrassingly simple checkmate. Of course, Ed had thrown a tantrum and stalked off to his room to sulk.

And it was his room . . .

Seeing as how the two alchemists had started their odd relationship off with a bang, it had seemed insensible to both of them to try to be subtle with one another when it came to their living situation—Ed had shown up at Roy's house one day with a suitcase, unpacked, and claimed half the house as his; Roy, in turn, had “agreed” to this little arrangement by (as Ed described it) putting up a half-hearted fight and only attempting to incinerate him once. They had shared the same bed ever since.

So, when Tamalynn had informed the duo that she and the folks would be coming over for an impromptu visit in a few days, it had been a mad dash to set up a room and obtain an extra bed—for Roy only had two guestrooms in his house: one for Tamalynn and one for his parents—and then separate all of their stuff that had accumulated all over the house. Roy and Ed had had to make it look like the blonde had only been staying there for a few days prior to the Mustangs' arrival; and that meant that Edward could not stay in Roy's . . . their bedroom while his parents were there.

And that was why Roy was now sitting in his sparsely decorated living room at seventy-three minutes past the witching hour, cradling a cup of coffee instead of his addicting aphrodisiac of a blonde lover. The bed that he was used to sharing now felt far too big and cold without the other, albeit small, occupant. After five nights alone—and it had been five nights, even though his family had only been there for three; after Tamalynn's call, neither had been able to “get into the mood,” due to the stress of the impending visit—the colonel just couldn't get to sleep.

He hadn't spent five nights without company even before he had met Ed. Not since the War, in fact.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant observation.

Roy heaved out another sigh and picked up a black chess piece. The king. Fingering the crown lightly with an ungloved digit, he observed the onyx plastic with a tilted head and then gently sat it down on its appropriate square.

“That's me,” he said quietly, letting a small smirk play on his lips. “Um, the knights are Hawkeye . . .” he continued, sorting through his pile of players, giving them names of his subordinates, and then placing them on the board. “The rooks are pretty big and powerful, so . . . hm, they'll be Armstrong. The bishops . . . definitely Hughes—stupid, useless pieces that can only move diagonally. Um . . . pawns are Havoc, Fuery, Breda, Falman, and, um . . . hm, appears as though I've run out of subordinates,” said Roy as he eyed the four remaining pawns. He shrugged, setting them up anyway. “Oh, well. They'll double.”

“And this . . .” he said finally, picking up the final black player—the queen—and placing her on the white square next to the king. “Well, this is Ed . . .”

“What's me?”

The voice was so unexpected that Roy actually jumped in surprise. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of Edward descending the stairs, his blonde hair out of its usual plait and flowing freely over his shoulders. He had a cute, sleepy—albeit pissy—expression on his face and he yawned loudly as his bare feet hit the carpeted floor of the living room. Roy heaved out a wanton breath and let his eyes travel down Ed's approaching form in a slow, lecherous look—even the heavy folds of the blonde's extremely over-sized military-issued shirt (whose hemline reached all the way down to his knees and whose sleeves went well past his fingertips) couldn't completely hide the lithe body that Roy now knew so well.

Edward padded over and came to a stop before the table, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. The colonel smirked. “Do you know how unbelievably sexy you look right now?” he asked the younger alchemist, not bothering to hide the lusty rumble in his voice.

The teen shrugged and put a hand on his hip. “Yeah, but I'm not gonna give that much thought, considering that it's you who's telling me . . . and, of course, what you're doing.”

Roy quirked an eyebrow. “And what am I doing?”

Ed stretched sleepily, his neck giving a painful-sounding pop before he relaxed again and indicated the chessboard with a tilt of his blonde head. “You're playing with yourself.”

The colonel rolled his black eyes, but chuckled quietly at the double entendre. “True . . . Well, sit here in my lap and I won't be playing with myself anymore, now will I?” he mischievously suggested, leaning back in his chair and patting his knee.

He thought he saw a small smirk grace Ed's features, but if it was ever there, it was quickly wiped away by a serious, almost morose look. “Actually . . .” Edward began slowly, his golden eyes fixed on the reassembled black army on Roy's side of the board. “Can . . . can we talk?”

The dark-haired colonel frowned and furrowed his brows slightly, looking up at his lover's anxious expression with worry. “Yeah, sure. We can talk about anything. What's the matter?”

Instead of answering, Ed reached down and took hold of Roy's wrist, then gently led the man over to one of the comfortable living room divans; he pressed the colonel down next to one of the arms and then chose to take a seat between Roy's open legs, his back pressed up against the older alchemist's chest. Roy tilted his head slightly, wondering why Edward was acting so odd, and then instinctively wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist and rested his chin on Ed's shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Ed let out an almost pained breath and then muttered, “I'm fine, Colonel.”

`Colonel'? Where had that come from? He only calls me that when he's . . . oh . . .

“Are you mad at me? What did I do?” Roy asked placidly, going on his hunch. He cocked his head slightly, taking advantage of his position on Ed's shoulder to discretely eye his lover's profile, watching for a more visual conformation of the blonde's mood while he questioned him.

Unfortunately for him, when he had placed his chin on Edward's shoulder, said alchemist had turned his face away. Now, Roy was getting a great view of the back of his lover's ear and the thick cord of muscle in his neck—which, Roy knew, if he bit down on just right, Ed would let out this heavenly little moan and . . .

Dammit . . .

The now effectively flustered colonel shifted his lower body away from Edward, aware that if the younger man discovered that he had gotten turned on while Ed was so clearly upset . . . well, there would be hell to pay.

The dark-haired man suddenly felt his head lift as the blonde gave a small shrug, accompanied by a noncommittal mumble in response to his earlier question. Frowning slightly, Roy sighed and pressed his lips against the back of the Fullmetal's shoulder, quickly finding one of the small junctions where a screw had been wound down into a port in the automail; he opened his mouth and gently shoved one of his lower canines into the gap between the metals. If Ed noticed this, he gave no indication or complaint, and the colonel quickly went about saturating the small area with his tongue, enjoying the metallic taste that seeped up through the now damp shirt.

Sort of like licking the tip of a battery.

Pulling back slightly, Roy stated, “Well, you're mad at something. What is it?”

When Ed answered this question with a quiet “Fuck off,” the Flame's eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head to one side.

“Well,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I'm glad we got that straightened out. We should have these talks more often.”

There was a long silence between the two lovers, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional night noise from outside, both too stubborn to be the one to talk first. However, after almost ten minutes of giving Roy the cold shoulder, the Fullmetal final broke the silence with a huffed sigh. “I'm . . . I'm not . . . mad at you . . .”

Roy frowned. Oh, no you don't . . .

Though he had only been with Edward for five months, the dark-haired alchemist was already wise to this little game. He quirked a curious eyebrow and asked, “Were you mad at me?”

Ed's silence was answer enough for the Flame.

Roy sighed, his left eye twitching slightly, and stated, “Well . . . if you're not mad at me, then you won't mind if I do this.” He pushed aside Edward's loose golden locks, and began nuzzling the back and side of the teen's now-exposed neck. Of course, he didn't get very far before said blonde reached up and pushed the older man's face away.

“You're mistaken there, Colonel. You try that again, and I swear I'll scream.”

Roy grinned wickedly and admitted, “Well, that's what I want . . .”

“Not with your parents here, you don't.”

The colonel hummed out something that could be construed as an assent to this remark, and then busied himself with trying to untie the drawstring on Edward's pajama bottoms. However, a vice-like grip around his right forearm stopped him in his tracks.

“Mustang, if your hands go any lower, I will rip off your arm and beat you with the wet end.”

“Edward! What's wrong?” a now annoyed Roy asked, a tic forming above his previously twitching eye. “You said that you wanted to talk—so let's talk. I know that you're mad at me. What for?”

There was a pregnant silence, before a response-like utterance finally met with the colonel's ears. Ed's voice was small and strained, but Roy still managed to make out, “Why?”

He rolled his black eyes in aggravation. “Why what?”

“Why didn't you tell me about Hughes?”

The knot of exasperation that had been tightening in Roy's chest, suddenly loosened by a small degree. Hughes? Where's this coming from? I . . . I didtell Ed that Maes was killed, didn't I?

Of course he had.

Roy remembered all too clearly the pain- and sorrow-filled, guilty look that had invaded the boy's golden eyes when he had informed him of the now-Brigadier General's death. The colonel knew that the information would upset Edward . . . but he admitted to himself that he had been shocked at how utterly devastated the boy had looked—sort of like there had just been a blizzard and it would never be warm again. Roy had to remind himself that the man had been almost like a father to the Elric brothers.

He had later offered to accompany Ed and Al to Hughes' gravesite . . . though the boys had both refused. Edward had given him this look that made his heart drop down into his toes . . . and asked Roy why he hadn't told them sooner. Of course, when the colonel had gone to answer, Ed had shaken his blonde head and stated angrily, “Don't. I get it. You didn't tell us, because you were trying to come up with a way to break it to us gently . . . and the longer you put it off, the harder it became, until . . . until . . .”

Until the easiest thing to do would be to not tell them at all.

But, of course, Hawkeye had deemed that unacceptable and had . . . suggested that the dark-haired man should let the brothers know as soon as possible. Roy had finally chosen to tell them after Al had gotten his body back: it had been a happy time . . . and Roy had foolishly thought that it might lessen the blow to tell them then.

It didn't.

Now, back in the present, the guilt of that confession added itself onto Roy's confusion as to what Ed was talking about. A frown ghosted over his face and he asked, “What about Hughes?”

There was a tense pause, before Ed whispered, “Why didn't you tell me that you were in love with him?”

Well, there went his hard-on.

Releasing his grip on Edward's waist, Roy leaned away the blonde, his pulse racing, his fingers and whole legs going numb, incredulity plastered on his face. “H-how . . . who . . . how did you . . .?”

“Tamalynn told me,” Ed answered flatly, his face still turned away, gaze fixed on the back of the couch.

“Did she?” the colonel asked in a tight voice, slowly recovering—but still reeling—from the blow he had just received from his blonde lover. “Oh, well . . .” he said, trying to push himself up from the couch. “Let me just go and talk to her . . .”

Ed reached around and grabbed him by the wrist with his automail hand, effectively halting the man's progress. “Roy . . . I like Tamalynn. I'd prefer it if you didn't kill her just because she just told me what you didn't have the balls to.”

Roy bit down on his lower lip as he eyed the back of Edward's head, fighting down the urge he felt to shake the blonde off and rush upstairs to set his sleeping sister on fire. Deciding that he could take care of that later, he sighed dejectedly and flopped back down onto the sofa.

The silence stretched as the Flame tried to form some acceptable excuse—other than `It's my own damn business, so stay the fuck out of it.' However, it must have stretched a little too thin for Edward. “Why?” he asked again, quiet and full of morphemic vehemence.

Why?

A brutal lethargy suddenly and mercilessly overcoming his senses, Roy let his eyelids droop slightly; he opened his mouth . . . and just began talking, slow and deliberate. Of his past and of his sins:

“After Ishbal . . . I was a mess. The guilt of everything that I had done . . . of what I had been forced to do for the good of our country . . . It was all just too much for me to handle and I . . . I wanted to just end it all. I almost did once, too—after I had moved up in rank for mercilessly slaughtering two doctors at the local hospital. I swear I had the barrel in my mouth and I wanted to pull the trigger . . . but I was too much of a coward to do it.

“Well . . . not long after that . . . I considered taking a different route. One where my life might actually be of some use. I considered doing what you and Alphonse had both done. I actually considered committing the ultimate taboo—Human Transmutation.”

At this statement, Edward, at last, shifted in his seat between Roy's splayed legs and looked back at him. His bright golden eyes were wide and brimming with unshed tears; he looked like he wanted to say something, but Roy held up his hand for silence.

“No, let me finish. You wanted an explanation . . . and I'm giving you one.” He took a deep breath and pressed on: “Hughes found out what I was planning and . . . well, to make a long story short, he slapped some sense into me. Literally. He told me that what I was trying to accomplish was pointless and that if I wanted to change anything . . . then I'd have to go about it a different way. Then . . . he told me that, if I wanted to make this country better, that he would help me. That he would stay beneath me and he would push me all the way to the top. He would follow me to hell and back again . . . so that I could achieve my goal.

“Hughes'd been my best friend while we were growing up . . . we joined the military together—I as a state alchemist and he as a regular soldier. I don't think that he even wanted to become a soldier . . . but he stuck with me even after my father forced me to follow in his footsteps. During the war, he took care of me physically—made sure that I didn't die out there . . . and afterwards, he took care of me mentally. I truly believe that Hughes is the only reason that I didn't go completely crazy with guilt. He kept me sane . . . Whenever I thought about giving up, he would give me the kick in the ass that I needed to get back up and keep going.

“It was only after . . . he stopped me from doing what no one had stopped you from doing . . . that I realized that . . . I did . . . love him. And . . . I thought that he felt the same . . . I mean, why would he stick with me for all those years otherwise, right?”

Roy was now staring determinedly at an invisible attrition on Edward's shirt, unwilling—if not completely unable—to look into his gold eyes. He didn't want to see the pity there.

“But he didn't?” the blonde finally asked in a small voice.

“No . . . he really had just followed me through it all as a friend. I told him . . . and he looked at me like he thought that I was vile. Like I was the most horrible person in all of Amestris . . . and then he said . . . `I wanted to tell you that I'm getting married to Gracia . . . and I wanted you to be the best man.'” The dark-haired alchemist paused, taking a moment to chew contemplatively on the inside of his cheek, then he shrugged and said, “I told him yes . . . and that was it. After that . . . we both sort of pretended that it didn't happen. He got married to Gracia . . . and I went on with my life . . . but . . .”

Roy stopped when he heard his own voice crack, and looked away. After a few seconds, Ed spoke up, guessing at what his dark-haired lover was going to say: “But . . . you were still in love with him.”

The colonel closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

A pause. Then:

“You never stopped loving him?”

Roy's breath hitched in his throat and he finally tore his black eyes away from the decidedly interesting spot on the living room carpet, looking up into Edward's now-lackluster gold eyes. He opened his mouth to deny it . . . to tell Ed that, no, he was not still in love with Maes . . .

But that would have been lying.

Shutting his mouth again, he lowered his gaze down to his hands. There was a pregnant silence and Roy could almost sense all the emotions radiating off of his young lover—loathing, anger, worry, sorrow—and he could feel golden eyes boring into him.

“Ed . . . I—”

He stopped short when he suddenly felt a hand rest gently on his cheek. Glancing up, he found that Edward had turned around to face him fully, a sad, and yet oddly serene expression gracing his features.

“I'm not mad . . . really. I admit that I was when Tamalynn first told me. I was furious and confused and scared . . . because you hadn't been the one to tell me.”

“But, I thought that—”

“No, don't interrupt,” Ed stated forcefully, pressing his thumb against Roy's lips to hush him. “I was mad at you because I thought that . . . if it was a big deal—something like you having had been in love with your best friend—then you would have told me about it . . . Silly me, right?” he stated, though his voice held no mirth. “And I was mad at Hughes, because . . . I thought that I had been the one to make you realize that you were . . . y'know . . .”

Roy quirked an amused eyebrow and asked from behind Ed's thumb, “About as straight as an alchemy circle?”

Edward sighed and continued, “Yeah. And I was mad at myself . . . for getting so upset over something that . . . now . . . just seems so pointless to get upset over. And now . . . after I've thought about it for a long time, I realized that . . . whether or not you told me about it . . . it already happened. It's in the past. I know that you loved him and that . . . you . . . still love him, but . . . I understand that that's part of you—it's something that I can't erase or make you forget . . . no matter how much I love you.”

If shock were a sound and not merely a noun, then Roy would have been making quite a racket at that point. “Y-you . . .” he stammered out. “You . . . l-love me?”

Edward made an exasperated sound and nodded. “Of course I do, you stupid bastard. You couldn't tell that?”

Roy's eyes softened and he swallowed hard before attempting to talk. “Ed, I . . . I lo—”

The blonde suddenly placed his fingers over the Flame's mouth to silence him, shaking his head. “Don't,” he said. “I don't want you to say it if you don't mean it—I don't want you to say it . . . just because you think that it's what I want to hear. Even if . . . it is what I want to hear.”

Slowly taking his hand away from his lover's lips, Ed shifted around and gently collapsed forward against the older alchemist's chest, wrapping his unequal arms around Roy's thin waist.

Sighing heavily, Roy likewise enveloped the small blonde in his arms, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Are we okay?”

Ed was contemplatively silent for a few moments, before answering quietly, “We will be.” The blonde closed his eyes and snuggled closer to his lover, letting out a small contented sigh . . . before he suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with a knowing antipathy and a strong frown splitting his face. Reaching up to his right shoulder and pulling forward his shirt, he swiftly spotted the small area of saturated cloth that had obviously just moved to where it was touching skin. He snapped his head back to Roy, face contorted in disgust. “Ew! You licked me, you bastard!”

The colonel chuckled quietly to himself, then leant forward to capture Edward's lips with his own before he could start ranting. Feeling the boy sigh exasperatedly, but then relax into the kiss, Roy smiled lightly to himself.

Yeah . . . we will be.