warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
That was unacceptable. Anger was to be expected; disgust was not allowed.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
It is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
"Oh, what would YOU know? said Winry. "You've never looked at a girl in your life."
"That's what you said last time. And the time before that. And," he added, dragging the feather upward with maddening slowness, "The time before that."
"I want to bring father back for her," Al had whispered the week before Christmas fell.
It was a lousy day, depressing and the color of the sky on his way home reminded Ed of the color of the Gate and he just felt helpless and sorry and lonely and bad.
You're the only person on earth who will ever be able to read this message.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
It was only after the sheer sensation had abated — only when he felt on solid enough ground to focus on the subtleties of life once more — that the habit began to catch his attention.
He had never dared to dream that things could get better, astounded as he'd been by the way air tasted spilling over his tongue...
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
Roy Mustang often looked back on his wedding night, recalling what he had thought about his subordinates; even now, they were his family, his safety, his friends.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
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.
"Tall girls need not apply," Hughes read aloud, without even the trace of a smirk.
rated:K | M+F S+S | Fullmetal | mid-series | First Place, Het & Non-Het | Green Lion Winner | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | angst | humor | sweet | Elric Kyoudai | 354th FG HQ | 2004 First Kiss, Non-Het
Between Ed's commanding presence and the fact that Al had been an impressively large suit of spiked armor, it had been hard to get to know him much.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
He has lots of women like her, who would like to be his anchor, and too many of them confuse that for throwing themselves head first into the ocean.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
Tenderly, Ed's flesh fingers threaded into hair that he had created — short and bronze-gold, the same downy texture that he'd recalled from childhood.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
The feel of hands on his shoulders woke him, one metal and one flesh, and it was the chill in human fingers that told him how cold the night had grown while he slept.
Anything, she reflected, is worth seeing you so genuinely happy.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
Al can see his handwriting -- which closely resembles the marks a tap-dancing spider might make if it fell in an ink pot first.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.
"Don't worry about it," he says bossily. "I know what to do. Give me the book--don't close it--ah, thanks."
Theirs is a strange relationship--they know so little about each other--but somehow it's okay, as though knowledge would throw a spanner in the works.
It is to such a morning that Alphonse wakes up, light pouring in through the blinds and over the bed sheets.
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.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
His friend is blushing, ashamed to be seen in such a condition - and this is not new, either, this is not new at all.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
He looks like he wants to scold Ed for swearing, but is afraid to; at the thought, Ed forces his expression to soften, and gives his little brother a wan smile.
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
This new life was staggering - more so, the feel of Alphonse's shoulder, warm and flesh beneath his cheek as the train lurched out of the station.
Winry muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
I know what I feel, I know what I think, and I don't need to chickenscratch the shit down and have the risk of it falling into the wrong hands.
It doesnít disappoint, never does; Ed is standing on the corner when the car arrives, all sharp moody edges and obtrusively coloured blue shorts.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."