warm and fuzzy, gentle, sweet, maybe a bit of sap.
It was a pleasant thing, warm and innocently tender.
The water streamed clear and icy through his fingers- and all at once he straightened, laughing, to flick the last few drops into his brotherís face.
Alphonse had thought that he must have the bravest brother in the world.
Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly.
Winry had been confused by the birthday present she received from Gracia, this year.
When Havoc came back from lunch, he wondered why Hawkeye was picking up scattered papers with a small and warm smile on her face.
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.
Roy had arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat. "Can I ask what it is about my hand that merits such an intense examination?"
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.
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
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...
"Get out of the kitchen, brother," he snarled, waving the spatula threateningly. "I'm still cooking, damnit."
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.
It was so terribly painful, really, the way he would smile when he was about to cry.
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 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.
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 muttered something Scieszka couldn't quite catch, brow furrowed as she leaned in to adjust something on the switchboard.
"Oh, hello, brother." Alphonse flashed the smaller boy a smile, startled but pleased. "I didnít hear you come outside."
There were people here who did not run screaming when he whipped out a photo. Or five.
It was a big world out there, full of more possibilities than either of them could dream of.
"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
There were precious few memories remaining, now, dimmed with the passage of time and the years that heíd spent lacking a flesh body, but he kept them close to him all the same.
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
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.
His ruse works; Ed dismisses him - with a harsh, impatient rejoinder that he isn't finished yet - and devotes his attention to his brother.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
It was so, so much easier just to go hungry than to try their hands at something she'd done so well.
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 is somewhat odd that two brothers can be so different, yet so close.
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.
Edward had come into his life, taken over his life; and sometimes Roy wondered what was left of it for him.
You're the only person on earth who will ever be able to read this message.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
Usually when he wanted something he just took the steps he knew were necessary to getting it.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
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.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
"It's cheating," he declared at last, "To pick a fight while I ache."
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.
His tone was all weary patience, as though explaining to a child why candy was out of the question until after dinner.
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.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
It was sure to be a disaster.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
He wanted to be able to do something like that; tangle limbs and lips and know what it was like to not have a responsibility.
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.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad.