"I know," Ed replies, and grins. "I mean, I can totally see why. Nobody else kisses the way I do."
They'd been on the run so long, Ed had long since lost track of the last time he'd slept in a bed instead of in an abandoned barn, or under a hedge.
Like a sudden flashback to younger years, both Hawkeye and Havoc realized that this was as good a time as any to experiment.
Someone had clearly forgotten to tell Roy that he was much better at starting fires than stopping them.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
"Beautiful," he purred again, a smile curling the edges of his lips, and Roy shivered despite the heat.
He did not expect an answer even though it was true that Wrath was more likely to speak to him than anyone else, even Winry.
Envy could rip him and all the worlds in two.
"No one shuns their duty in Xing," she said, firmly and leaving no room to brook argument, the way her elders had always passed the maxim to her.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
Ed liked him this way -- so why did it make him so furious to have to deal with Al caring one way or another about him?
He can still feel in his cheeks the faint scratch of beard against skin when his father kissed him there.
Why was Ed still letting this fear haunt him? How long was the lingering pain of these old wounds going to hang between them?
Alphonse worried, but was rapidly won over by his brother's promises.
I, the stray dog of the desert, who sloped long and pale, slashed to ribbons, across the moonlight sands on my journey to God.
You want to break him just once; see what he really is beneath that cool exterior.
He was glad his expression rarely reflected what he felt on the inside.
"Mai--" Ed didn't finish his sentence as he stared at the three-inch stack of letters in Foley's hand.
She would notice when that body's pulse went up around her, the flush of cheeks, and the way the eyes followed her curves.
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
There were many things that Edward Elric didn't want the world to know, secrets to be protected at all cost.
Ed's birthday had passed a little over a month ago, while they were still with Sensei.
"Each State Alchemist gets two subordinates; one foot soldier and one sniper," the General droned, organizing the files into a neater state in their folder and walking over to hand them to Mustang.
On Ed's thirtieth birthday, he attends a memorial that some of the military officers are holding for Ed.
The dizzy whiteness rushed over him again; bright, hurting, noisy, afraid, hard, can't remember, Niisan...
Edward doesn't come back the next night, or the next.
In matters of love and loss, it could be argued, the principle of equivalent exchange did not exist.
But it was through the hands that you cooked, and with a false hand Ed found that the cooking didn't come as easily anymore, didn't taste quite like Mother's.
"Apparently their mother never cautioned them to stay away from strangers with cars."
He had to force himself to remember that he hadn't even known what Alphonse had been like in the flesh, but he was fairly certain that he hadn't been a polished and polite doppelganger of his older brother.
Sick, both of them, sick and inhuman, the sigils of the devil's research pressed against each other's skin.
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
Even so, you still are a manipulative bastard.
The lilacs would wither all too soon, but until then she intended to indulge herself, carrying the scent of home with her wherever she went.
Al wonders, a little, what it's like to live inside Ed's head now.
If she cries, he may have to kill her. He can't stand that sound any longer.
They kissed only once. She tasted like ashes and brine.
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
Fear kept Al's metal arms at his sides, shaking slightly with each of Edward's pained moans.
And if she listened carefully enough, she could hear Edward reading in a low voice to a gurgling Alphonse.
"Do you remember that song Mom used to sing to us?" He asked instead, concentrating on the tiny kinks of the inside of his detached leg.
Mustang fell into a kind of trance whenever he killed with his flames -- snapping his fingers continually, sometimes so fast that both his hands blurred.
"He misses me," came the quiet whisper, a hope that maybe this madness would end, that maybe, maybe, he could be released, that he could go home.
But we the people of Ishvar endure, by the grace and mercy of Ishvarra we endure, and so long as we live we will remember.
This is the smell of ozone from a lightning strike. This is fear.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
The creature tilted its head, eyeing the two men to the side of her, and slid off its precarious perch.
Humans are so greedy, the Truth had told him in his dreams; and for all his airs and graces, he is no exception.