What happens when WAFF meets PWP: feeling good, little plot required.
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.
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
Heaven is this: a short, crisp October day, the clear sky a great bowl above them, the amber valley a chalice below.
Ed's heart began pounding in anticipation of the rush he'd feel when the process was over.
He's a pessimist with an ego seven miles long; he's a scientist, too, doesn't approve of Al's books.
Winry sucked in a gasp, and dropped backward in shock.
"You know, Al, you don't have to warm yourself in the sun for me."
Alphonse Elric was a gentle soul, and he detested fighting.
"YOU HAVE JUST INTERRUPTED AN IMPORTANT TRIP. IF YOU WISH TO NOT BE BEATEN WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE, YOU BETTER ABANDON THE TRAIN RIGHT NOW!"
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.
It had been a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Eyes across a crowded room, and all that jazz.
It was a game they often played, what would they do once they got their bodies back.
Ed peeked into the last box and began to grin. "Twelve-layer chocolate cake," he said. "Wow, a whole slice."
His boyfriend. He wants me to be his boyfriend. He's wooing me with gifts. I'm being courted!
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."
... 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...
The showy bastard snapped with a killer grin for their audience and really, Roy was meant for either politics or the stage.
Apparently, years of stress had jaded Ed into thinking that if things were looking good now, then something terrible must be around the corner.
Ah. Fans. He preens slightly into his coat, sits up just a little taller on his haunches. Fans he knows how to deal with.
He doesn't have time for any of this, oak trees and summer days and a pale, bony hand twined with his.
"Of course, that depends how you define cruel," he adds, amused.
He would have killed, before a nonexistent God and Winry, to be that goddamn spatula.
There was a lot to be said for experimentation, Ed thought later, when Al was curled up in his arms as Winry fussed in the bathroom.
The only problem was that Ed didn't know what the heck "getting some" was or what he was being congratulated for.
It was the truth, but it sounded lame upon Edward's lips; the way her eyes hooded, she seemed to think so, anyway.
Alphonse settled for a barely audible sigh and hoped that his brother knew what he was doing.
Somehow, this volunteer assignment wasn't starting out exactly the way she'd hoped it would.
"Stupid bullies," Ed grumbled, limping for a few steps before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be feeling it. "Call me a girl, will they?"
He lay back on the couch (in Roy Mustang's office, where else?) and declared , "I'm not wearing this."
"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.
"Hey! She did it blindfolded! No one else could do that! And better her than that old hag!"
"I know those court ordered anger management classes were years ago, but you've come such a long way."
At fifteen he had been intimidating; at thirty, he could be terrifying.
"Ah, Alphonse-kun, I was wondering when you would wake up."
He felt ten years old and small, pressed against a door that wouldn't open for a very long time.
This is the most perplexing part, for Edward, because often he thinks, how in the hell did I end up with…?
"How do you manage to win, even when you lose?" he asked sleepily, some time later.
It made a lovely picture, with the moonlight streaming in thick and silver under the curtains, and Edward silently cursed everything that came to mind...
"He's the Fullmetal Alchemist," Alphonse interrupted, tapping his pen against his clipboard. "Are you sure you're up to the task?"
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.
The Colonel's staff next door ignored the pleas for help and gunshots.
He was not ready to be an uncle! He was ready, however, to hit things and curse.
"This is disgusting," he said aloud, then poked his head through the door and yelled, "Brother! This is disgusting!"
"He's a smug arrogant prick and Jean's a lazy bastard with a mouth like an ashtray."
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.