Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Family ❯ Red-Handed ( Chapter 9 )

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

Note from Lina: Warning! There is a lime/lemon/fruity thingin this chapter. If you want to skip it, then by all means, break away when you feel uncomfortable, but for goodness sake, READ THE LAST LINE. ^_^ Thank you.

Chapter IX: Red-handed

Edward stood on the front steps of the Mustang estate, waving at the black car as it rounded the driveway into the street; Roy likewise stood beside him, hand raised in a lazy farewell wave, until the car containing his family disappeared behind the stone wall that separated the house from the outside world.

Dropping his hand back to rest upon his hip, he lowered his gaze to Ed with an ill-contented sigh. “Too bad they're not leaving for good, huh?” he asked the blonde alchemist with a small grin.

Ed offered his lover a tired smile and stated, “One more night, Roy. Just one more night.”

The dark-haired colonel gave him an odd, almost sympathetic look, and then turned his gaze back to the wrought iron entrance gate, which was swinging shut as they spoke. Edward sighed and let his golden eyes drift back to where the car had just exited the property, cursing his and Roy's bad luck that Tamalynn, Mai Yao, and the Major General would only be gone for a short time.

- + -

After the three absent Mustangs returned from their day out, Mai Yao happily suggested that the family—which included Ed, much to he and Roy's secret delight—go to see one of the shows playing in Central the next day. The Major General huffed and stated in a gruff voice, “Unless we get decent seats up near the front, I won't be able to see a thing. We should go to the symphony, instead.”

Mai Yao shoved her fisted hands down onto her hips and said, “Gerald, we can go to the symphony any time back home! We can only go to plays in Central and that's what we should do while we're still here.” She then told him that, if he was going to complain like that, then he should get some glasses.

All the better to see you with, my dear.

Her husband said something rather childishly along the lines of “I don't want to go to a play; I want to go to the symphony!” and Mai Yao responded fiercely in her native tongue. A brief argument ensued between the two, of which none of the younger trio attempted to break up and in which Ed admittedly had no clue as to what was said, owing to the fact that both parties were speaking fluent Xingian.

A few minutes later, much to the surprise of the blonde, the Major General stood and stormed out of the room, a defeated and . . . almost horrified look on his face. But Mai Yao just smiled sweetly and said, “Tamalynn dear, why don't you pick out which play we're going to go see?”

Knowing that his lover was highly confused by this turn of events—as he showed it in his dazed expression all the way through dinner—Roy pulled him aside later that night, just before after-supper coffee was served, and explained:

“My father and I aren't the only members of this household who have been in the military, Ed. My mother was also enlisted up until about thirty years ago—she only withdrew from the military after I was born.”

Ed stared.

“Your mom? But . . . but, she's so . . . so . . .” Edward slowly shook his head from side to side and waved his hands about in small circles, as if doing so would generate the word that he was looking for. “Dainty.”

Ed knew that there were women in the military. Hell, he saw Hawkeye nearly everyday; not to mention Maria Ross and Schieska, who he occasionally bumped into—along with the dozens of other officers, secretaries, and such that he saw around HQ. But, somehow, Roy's mother just seemed far too feminine to be strutting around in the stark blue uniform that he was so accustomed to. The gentle silk blouses and tweed skirts that she now wore seemed much more suited to her.

The dark-haired man chuckled softly, looking back to the dining room where his mother was now serving the coffee. “Trust me—back when she was younger, my mother was anythingbut dainty.”

Ed felt himself gulp.

“She was brought over from Xing, along with several other highly-trained combatants, and was enlisted in our military. You see . . . my mother had special skills that, frankly, our military wanted. Or, at least, that's what I've been told.”

The blonde's eyes narrowed, half-hiding the golden irises that Roy had grown so fond of, and he pursed his lips in contemplative speculation. “And what skills were those?” he asked tentatively.

Roy took deep breath and said, “She knows how to make people talk.”

One. Two. Three. Four seconds . . .

Ding!

“Y-you mean she . . . shet-tortured people into . . . giving up information?” Ed questioned, his voice suddenly going quite small and shrill as he glanced back to where his lover's mother was sitting, delicately sipping coffee. “No fucking way.”

So that was why the Major General had looked so terrified . . .

Ed was suddenly very glad that he couldn't speak Xingian.

“Yes way,” Roy corrected, choosing to leave out the expletive that his boyfriend was so fond of using whenever he was upset or shocked. “I suppose that our military knew that no one would expect a little Xingian girl to be so vicious with her torture methods . . . No one would suspect her. And that's why she was chosen. There was a war going on . . . and, I'll admit that was how my parents met, so it wasn't all that bad. So . . . what do you think?”

Edward was silent for a few moments, letting all of this new information regarding the kind woman sitting not forty feet away from him sink in. Vivid visions of her shoving bamboo spikes under fingernails, clipping off people's fingers and toes like she was pruning the hedges, and trapping live rats under buckets on prisoners' bare stomachs suddenly flooded Ed's mind. He felt sick . . .

“I'll try not to get on her bad side, then,” he finally stated in a squeaky voice, giving Roy a nervous smile. He then sighed and turned away, talking to his lover over his shoulder without looking at him. “Though . . . now that I know that your mother was in the military, I have to admit that your miniskirt policy thing now seems slightly . . . Oedipal.”

“You're sick, you know that?” Roy said defensively, following after the teen.

“A) That's why you love me,” Ed stated, not seeing the small twitch of nervousness that went through the older alchemist at the last word. “And B) Not as much as you, old man.”

Quickly shaking off the uneasiness before it could show in his voice, said old man sighed and attempted to change the subject. “How do you know about that miniskirt policy, anyway?” he asked, suddenly very curious as to who had told the blonde about his—now purposeless—plan to clad all women officers in skirts that blatantly disregarded the fingertip rule.

Ed smiled, though the dark-haired man couldn't see it, and stated, “Hawkeye.”

The Flame let a sound of displease escape the confines of his throat. “Figures . . .”

- + -

Ed crossed his arms and turned away with a sigh, heading back inside, and Roy only gazed at the street a little longer before following suit. “What're they going see, anyway?” the blonde asked dully.

Even though they had both been invited to attend with the three other Mustangs, both had also declined. Roy said that it was because he had lots of paperwork to catch up on and Ed didn't doubt that this was true—the man had taken the entire week off from work to tend to his visiting parents and sibling.

Hawkeye had not been pleased.

And, of course, if Roy wasn't going to the show, then Edward didn't feel comfortable going. It wasn't that he didn't like spending time with the Mustang herd . . . it was just that, without his lover there, him canoodling with Roy's family didn't seem appropriate. Even though, that was really what he was supposed to be doing.

The dichotomy of it was enough to make his head explode.

In the end, Edward had scratched the back of his head with a nervous smile and declined the invitation, saying that he really should go and check on his brother and visiting friend before she left town, instead. The Major General had given him an oddly suspicious look, but had said nothing.

“Um . . . Fiddler on a Hot Tin Roof or something like that,” Roy answered as he crossed the threshold of his house, looking back over his shoulder at Ed, who was holding the door open for him. “Honestly . . . who would write a play about something like that?”

Ed shrugged placidly and responded, “Who knows . . .” He closed the door behind him and leant one shoulder against it. “So, how long is it, anyway?”

Roy rolled his eyes upwards in thought and chewed ponderingly on the inside of his cheek before replying, “About three hours, I think.”

Nodding slightly, the blonde teen went to respond to this . . . but he was cut off as Roy crashed his lips down onto Ed's open mouth and literally slammed him up against the door. Although initially shocked at this, the Fullmetal quickly recovered and leant into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Roy's neck and pulling the taller man down into an embrace.

The Flame chuckled a lusty rumble into Ed's mouth and, mentally cursing how humans were created with the need for air, the blonde pulled away with a gasp. “God, I missed you . . .” he whispered breathlessly, gazing up into Roy's desire-darkened eyes and raking his fingers through his black hair.

A smirk. “Same here. I'd forgotten how good you taste.”

Ed scowled. “You forgot? Just who have you been kissing these past few days, you—whoa!” The blonde cried out in surprise as Roy grabbed a hold of the backs of his thighs and, lifting him up so that their waists were level, slammed his back against the door once again. “Ow! You need to st—”

Edward stopped his protest, letting out a contented little sigh as the colonel kissed him again. Pulling back to begin working at the skin on the blonde's neck, Roy mumbled against his collarbone, “Maybe I should just fuck you right here against the door.”

Chuckling slightly, Ed closed his eyes at the ministrations and muttered sarcastically, “As romantic as that sounds . . . I don't think that Madalay would appreciate walking out here and finding us.”

“I'll pay for her psychologist,” the dark-haired man offered as he nibbled at Ed's neck playfully.

“Roy,” he said as forcefully as he could muster. The man was already having a dangerously intoxicating effect on him, inhibiting his ability to think straight. If he let the colonel go any further . . . he might not have the will to say no.

Sure, Roy's family may have departed from the house, set to be gone for a good few hours, but that didn't mean that the time was written in stone; it would be . . . inconvenient, to say the least, if they were to return early and find the two alchemist doing each other up against the other side of the front door.

Not to mention if anyone else were to walk in unannounced.

Roy mumbled a confirmation that he was listening against the lovely cord of muscle that ran down Ed's neck at a gracefully sloping angle, and the blonde managed to get out, “Roy . . . upstairs . . . bedroom.”

“That would take too much time,” the Flame said quickly before returning to work. “And energy . . .”

Edward rolled his eyes. “I'll take my clothes off on the way up . . .”

Roy paused in his ministrations to gaze down at the younger man. “Hm . . .”

- + -

Much to Roy's disappointment, Ed had only managed to shed his boots, red coat, and jacket by the time he carried the chibi alchemist up the stairs and dumped him unceremoniously onto what was once—and after his parents left would once again be—their bed.

“You're losing your touch, shrimp,” said the dark-haired man, planting his knees on either side of his young lover. “Normally you're naked by now.”

Ed huffed indignantly at the gibe Roy had made regarding his height and how it resembled that of a sea-faring crustacean, not caring that the man was now straddling his waist, a very personal part of his anatomy digging into the blonde's stomach. “Shut up, you asshole. Maybe you're losing your touch—maybe you're just getting too old for me . . .”

Of course, Edward didn't really mean this; the same way Roy didn't really mean that he was short. Though they may have both been deadly serious when they first met, launching volley after caustic volley at one another, now it was just playful banter between them.

“Old, huh?” the colonel asked, a frown forming on his face, but a mischievous twinkle in his black eyes. The blonde smirked as Roy swooped down to claim his lips in yet another overpowering, passionate kiss—almost like a childish challenge to Ed's former statement regarding his age.

“I'll show you who's old!”

That was what the kiss said.

Ed suddenly felt hands—intrusive, groping, welcome, wonderful hands—sliding beneath the black tank top, callused fingertips dusting along his rippling obliques. A violent, involuntary shudder ran through him at the electrifying touch and he quickly shifted beneath the older man, trying to find a more comfortable position on the familiar old mattress.

Roy pulled back and looked down at him, a triumphant look plastered on his face; however, instead of the pang of annoyance that usually ran through him, Edward only felt a strange, giddy pressure in his chest—it was a feeling that he remembered well, from back when he first realized how he felt about the man hovering over him.

Nervousness.

His eyes suddenly softened, his lips parted, and the words left his mouth before he knew that they had formed in his throat:

“I love you.”

The three syllables hung heavy in the air like a poisonous miasma, bringing the colonel to a dead stop. Roy stared down at the blonde, stoic mask set firmly in place, something unreadable, yet nonetheless haunting in his dark eyes. A soft smile pulling at his lips, Ed let his head drop back against the pillow, golden orbs hiding behind their lids.

“Don't look so terrified, Mustang. I told you that you don't have to—”

Ed stopped.

Lips. Warm, wet lips urgently crashing down onto his own, smothering the words in his mouth and leaving him breathless. It only took a second for the realization that Roy had probably only kissed him so that he didn't have to think about what Ed had just said to sink in—and about two seconds more before Ed's brain went hazy, his fingertips went numb . . . and he realized that . . . he didn't care.

He didn't care whether or not this man chose to truly love or not love him in the end; he didn't care if Roy had once, or still did love Hughes; he didn't care if he could never have all of his heart. Right then, in that moment, he didn't care.

All he wanted then was to seal their mouths, tongues, lips together; to entwine their limbs and meld their bodies to each other in a macabre, chimera-esque fashion; he wanted to run his fingers through black hair and feel damp, pale skin beneath his flesh palm. He wanted this man.

Edward loved Roy. Loved him.

And he wanted time to stand still, so that he could hold him . . .

Forever.

However, physics did not take into account the wishes of prodigal alchemists and, much too soon for Edward's liking, the colonel pulled away, a smile forming as the blonde attempted to follow his lips. Chuckling quietly, the Flame moved his attention lower, dotting hot kisses along Ed's pristine jaw line and down his neck. He paused just long enough to nibble on the ample clavicle, earning a delightful moan from his partner, before moving on.

Roy passed up the Fullmetal's chest, which still had the intrusive black fabric of his tank top wrapped stubbornly around it; he chose instead to concentrate on giving attention to each perfect mound and valley that made up Edward's abdomen. Said alchemist giggled and squirmed fruitlessly beneath Roy's strong hands, half-attempting to twist away as a tongue found Ed's navel.

But to no avail.

Deciding that there was no use in trying to escape from the titillating strokes of simultaneous hands and mouth, Edward instead pressed his head back into the down pillow as far as it could go, reaching up to drape his arms above his head, and arch his back into the touches.

He felt his lover breathe out humourously into the graceful curve of his diaphragm, his breath fanning out in a warm huff over the rise of his exposed chest. Then, the long-awaited feel of Roy's hand traveling downwards . . . down past his belly, past his navel, past his slender hips . . . to rest at the place where his warm, tanned skin met with his leather pants.

Ed was only slightly aware past the feeling of lips trailing liquid-hot kisses down his rippling stomach that quick fingers were working away his belt buckle. Unzipping his pants . . .

And then the familiar, exquisite sensation of teeth and lips and tongue sliding down his heated erection. Edward gasped and bucked against Roy's mouth, the touch completely overtaxing his seven-day-abstinence-starved nerves. Hands groping and twisting the sheets into tight balls at his sides, breath coming out in a painful hiss as teeth grazed sensitive skin just enough to hurt . . .

The blonde suddenly blinked and, panting, tilted his head in the direction of the closed door. Roy hummed away happily as he worked, completely oblivious to Ed's concern.

Oblivious to the fact that his lover had heard something from downstairs . . .

Breathless, the Fullmetal tried to find his voice through the hormones speeding through his bloodstream like a drug and the ungodly pleasure trampolining somewhere below his navel. Unfortunately, all he managed to squeak out was his lover's name, before Roy did something amazing with his tongue . . . and Ed went cross-eyed.

But somehow . . . somewhere past his huffing breaths, the blood pounding in his ears, and the foggy, lust-induced haze hovering over the logical parts of his hormone-addled mind, Ed barely managed to hear the footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall . . .

Before their bedroom door slammed opened.

- + -

Caught red-handed. ^_^ But by who?

To kiori: Thanks for reviewing nearly every chapter of every story I have up. I appreciate it. And yes: though I am an art major, I plan to pursue a career as a writer (preferably a novelist). Thanks again for all the lovely comments.