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andrea weiling

A Perfect Morning


It was rare that he spent the night away from Al on any given day, but mornings where he woke up earlier than Roy were almost nonexistent. It had seemed like any other morning, awareness slowly seeping through his eyelids, warmth creeping across his shoulder and neck and alighting on his hair today he felt a strange, perfect peace in all the simplicity of waking up late, being able to have a bit of a lie-in since it was a weekend. At first he thought he was warm simply because the window curtains had been cracked open and the sun was shining through them or because the Taisa had just gotten out of bed. But when the warmth didn't fade, and he felt the smooth rise and fall of movement behind him, a thrill of something warm and fuzzy and joyful inside of him that somehow didn't at all have to do with the bed he shared with the other. After the surprise faded, his mind seemed to flutter back down from somewhere up high, settling its feathers down to enjoy the morning while he was still awake. In the cocoon of warmth he and the other made in the blankets, he could very well fall back asleep and wake up to find him gone. So he relaxed (which, given his disposition was quite a feat) because Roy would wake up otherwise, and inwardly smiled as the Taisa blew strands of gold back over his shoulder.

He knew he had to be perfectly still. He'd ruined it the first time. It had been a while since he became the Taisa's 'side dish,' but to be perfectly truthful that length of memory seemed to stretch for longer than it actually was. When he could, he went memories, replaying them in his head, seeing what went wrong or what went right. Somehow, the memories of him and the Taisa and wherever they might be fighting (or screwing, for that matter) seemed dimmer than the others, but nostalgically painted gold. Heavy-lidded, he would savor them slowly, letting them seep into his mind's eye until he could see nothing else. There was much to relive, after all well-placed barbs and smirks, one-sided arguments (on Ed's part, at least, as he was ashamed to admit and denied to anyone who had the misfortune to ask), black gazes thrown at him haphazardly, taking him off guard, judging his character and reading every bit of unspoken language he used unconsciously. The sheer irony of it all, that hands that had killed the parents of a childhood friend would be used to pin him down and claim him, that the one person that rubbed him the wrong way made him his lover, seemed incredible. Still, their illicit relationship persisted, through all Ed's attempts to shake it off, trying to leave behind an agony that dodged all attempts at rationalization.

That had certainly been a memory to remember, and often he thought of it rather as a mistake than a victory. May, it had been, or perhaps April? Blustery winds brought clouds streaming out to sea, looking like white beach sand tossed in the sky and then frozen in time. The winds had brought Ed back as well, after a month of running miscellaneous errands, and he faced another painfully sarcastic lecture about absolutely nothing. Instead, the Taisa sweetly informed him that someone had blown up the dormitories and that he, Edward, would be staying at the Taisa's house. Al, consequentially, was shipped off to Hughes' house, which left Ed rather touchy. The bastard had even supplemented it with an order from the Fuhrer, he grumbled. Then there had been another one-sided argument with Roy, and as he stormed out with a mind to just GO to Hughes' with all of his stuff and ASK to stay there for the duration of his stay so he could vent out all of his frustrations on his brother's (nonexistent) well-accustomed ears, the Taisa had spun him around, his back suddenly against the cold plaster of the wall, pinned him with one of his more heated gazes and then nothing but white that filled his vision instead of the Taisa's black gaze, a profound nothingness where color had thousands of meanings and then no meaning at all, where the ground seemed up and the sky down, the color of a flame too hot to touch.

Their coupling had never been so consuming that he forgot all else. Certainly, he was to wrapped up in taking care of Alphonse and Al taking care of him and his job and being laughed at because he was short and being mistaken for being the younger Elric and so many other things that he never really thought about that aspect of their relationship. That was probably a good thing, because it would raise a lot of questions. Certainly he wasn't thinking of anything but one thing when he was in bed with the other, and that one thing was to find some handhold somewhere before he got swept away, again, fearing that he'd actually want to stay, and give up his dream for the Taisa. He had claimed he couldn't be controlled, that he had a purpose in becoming a follower of someone else but in the euphoric peak of the moment, he really could not see much else but the concentrated, physical point of light ahead.

Today, he marveled the two of them could possibly lasted this long. A morning in the Taisa's house with that infuriating man should be overblown with arguments, explosions, or something spontaneously combusting. The scent of silence in the room was absolutely still, and he wondered he could be so quiet when the bane of his life snored away behind him. There was only the beat of his own heart, anxiously hammering in his chest, and the regular puff of breath at his neck. Even upon closing his eyes, he could picture no greater perfection.

He began to turn around, knowing the Taisa would wake, but hoping this morning he was more groggy and would go back to sleep. Upon facing Roy, he observed as black eyes still misted over in sleep deemed him not a threat and shut again. The face in front of him fell lax again still controlled, but a far cry from the customary smirk he received from the other. Almost against his will, his eyes dropped to the curve of neck and shoulder, mind shivering as he remembered how he had pressed his lips there, wrapped his arms around and prayed this time would make his resolve crumble, wouldn't make him forget his purpose, his dream of finding the Philosopher's Stone so he could return his and his brother's bodies to normal. Jolting back into reality as Roy shifted his other arm so he could hold Ed closer, bemused black gaze no longer sleepy but hair still tousled cutely, mouth twisting into the familiar smirk. Ed was rather annoyed to find the morning was well and truly shattered. His shoulders tensed at the contact, and did not relax again.

"Good view?" Roy's voice seemed to reverberate around the room, chasing away the last vestiges of a nice waking up. It hadn't been completely silent after all, Ed observed, as he heard birds cheeping irritatingly outside.

"Don't be kidding me," he retorted back to that infuriatingly still-smirking face, and heaved himself out of those arms to start the day.