Perfect Moment

There's not a lot of difference between a sleepy Ed, a content Ed, and a sexually satiated Ed. Not many people are close enough to his brother to have seen either of the first two with any sort of frequency, save Winry and himself; but the last part of Edward is his, and his alone. He watches Ed now, the line between sleepy and satiated blurring together in Ed's expression into contentment, and traces a gentle hand along his brother's naked side. Ed is unusually beautiful tonight; the curtains above their bed are open, and the moonlight erases all the little worry-lines around his eyes, smoothes the harsh ridges of his scars.

Ed's eyes flicker open, a hint of lazy curiosity in them as he snugs closer to his younger brother, and Al smiles, rubbing gently at the web of scars around the automail port with his thumb. Ed makes a little noise of satisfaction, but makes no effort to speak, so Al leans over and kisses him right there, on the exposed neck. Ed snaps his chin down, instinctively concealing the sensitive spot, but he's smiling, so Al kisses him again, this time on the cheek.

His legs are tangled together with his brother's, three warm living limbs to the body-heated steel one, and his left hand rests, idly, on Ed's waist. The other toys gently with the unbraided golden hair spread over Ed's pillow, some spilling over into his face, some on the sheets, and Ed watches him do so with a small half-smile. The automail arm is cool between them, but not uncomfortable, so Alphonse raises no objections. Ed's other hand skates up across the sheets, capturing his right, and their fingers slide together, twining smoothly. Edward raises his head off the pillow a little, considering them. Al's hands are bigger, the fingers longer and the palm slightly narrower; the soft, uncalloused skin paler than Ed's own, and they contrast pointedly with the gold. Ed smiles to see them clasped together so firmly, the end of a long and painful journey, and raises them to his lips. Al's eyes do not leave his face as he does so, and Ed wriggles even closer still, slinging his automail over Al's waist and nuzzling into his little brother's shoulder, still sleep-dazed and—soft, somehow, sweet and still without his customary edge, his natural wariness. Alphonse is taller than his brother by a good six inches, at least, and the difference in height is made so much more obvious in moments such as this, when Ed is curled into him so tightly and his heartbeat is just—there, right below Al's ribcage, strong and sure and reliable. Al slides his free hand down Edward's back, listens to his brother's steady, even breathing, then closes his eyes and relaxes into the warmth and the rightness and the sheer perfection of the moment. Because really, he thinks, as he begins to drift off, what more could he ever want, than this?

—notes: This was written for the '25 Ed/Al themes', and covers number twenty-two, Only This. Thanks to hagane_no for translating.