What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
When he received no immediate response, he drew back and let her go, and the aching vulnerability on his face made her blink in surprise.
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
He lay back on the couch (in Roy Mustang's office, where else?) and declared , "I'm not wearing this."
He shuffled into her store nearly six months after she had moved to Central.
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
When there was no answer, he tried again, but gave up after that. It wasn't like Ed would get eaten by a rabid saucepan, or something.
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
He was coming to read Alfons pretty well now too, and from what Al did understand he could give as good as he got.
More than once already, Edward had regretted turning down the offer of a ride home, despite the fact that the little house he shared with Alphonse was nowhere near where Havoc lived.
"Hey! She did it blindfolded! No one else could do that! And better her than that old hag!"
"This one's for you, Al." Edward swore, raised the glass to his lips, and braced for the impact.
The tree was wobbly, but with a few kicks and shoves Ed got it to stand up in the corner by the window.
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
The room had gotten hot and stuffy, and there was sweat on both of his hands, though the sheen on the automail had not come from his own body.
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
Ed was normally a cheerful, friendly drunk, thank goodness, but the slightest hint of reproach or anger on Al's part would send Ed into a crashing depression.
This would be so much easier if he could just refuse the man to his face.
She preferred mechanical work for just that reason; at least you knew with relative certainty what automail was going to do when you did something to it.
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
Alphonse washed, and Edward dried (owing to the automail; safer not to submerge), and between the two of them the stack eventually diminished.
It didn't fool Al one bit when his brother tried to sneak into their dorm room long after curfew, but that didn't stop Ed from trying.
He reminds Alfons of himself, in a way, back after he'd been first diagnosed with his illness; when he used to get up and stare at his face in the washbasin mirror every day and think, I am too young for this.
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
So, really, it was only fair that Ed's first, instinctive reaction when Roy hit the ground after slipping off the roof was to snort and tell him, "I told you so."
"Are you saying," Al inquired, slowly, "that you never believed that I didn't blame you?"
Both Edward and Winry were on hand day and night, looking for anything they could do to ease his way.
... to prove his point, he wields his tongue as he would a pen, hastily spelling out the letters P-E-R-V-E-R-T with his saliva...
"Huh? Whose fault? Ahahah.. aha..." Ed tried to avoid the topic.
They say that a wizard lives in the log cabin, on the other side of the dark woods and the silver river.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
Ed saw Roy's fingers twitch and curl at his sides as the desire to embrace almost overwhelmed discretion and good sense.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
The only other tradition that was better than eggnog to Al, was that of mistletoe.
She laughs to see the grand scholar on his stomach on the floor of the living room, reading his sons a fairy tale from a fat little book.
"This is disgusting," he said aloud, then poked his head through the door and yelled, "Brother! This is disgusting!"
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
The house rumbled gently, as a cat purrs, and Alphonse tied off the braid, pressing his hands to Edward's scalp one more time before dropping them to his side.