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kaltia

Silence


Boys shouldn't do this, either with their brothers or with any other boy. He knows this from what the priest down at the village used to say, when he used to visit them in school. He'd rant and rave about sodomites, damnation and hellfire, about Judgement Day and demons always watching. Alphonse had been terrified at the time, but Ed had just grinned, teeth glinting white, and said not to worry, that the alchemy they studied from the old books in father's study proved there wasn't such a stupid, unnecessary human invention as a god.

That same Edward lies underneath him now, on his back. Al pushes gently at his thighs and leans forward, reaching out hesitantly to touch his brother's cock. It juts out from Ed's body, proud and hard, and Al finds it fascinating even as it sends a chill down his spine. I can't believe we're doing this. Ed watches him through half-lidded eyes, corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. He props himself up on his elbows, bare chest moving with his breathing, slowly at first but faster as Al's fingers brush the head.

"Yeah," he whispers. "That's it."

Al swallows against the dryness of his throat and settles fully on the bed, remembering to keep silent. Mom's sleeping now, though the sun is just setting, and Al doesn't want to wake her. Partially because he knows she needs all the rest she can get to get better—Ed said so—and partially because he knows she wouldn't approve.

Ed is gasping softly under his fingers, and Al crawls a little closer. His brother's dick feels weird in his hand, hard and hot but somehow right, like it's natural for him to touch it. Cautiously he moves closer, rubbing it gently with his thumb, and touches the round softness of his brother's balls with his other hand.

Ed is biting his lip, making odd, stifled sounds. Al glances up at him but he doesn't seem to be making them because it hurts; instead, they seem to be noises of encouragement. It works; Al's fingers move faster, all hesitances lost in the face of his brother's pleasure. When Ed comes, it is with a strangled whine, and Al draws his hands back and stares at the tiny amount of white stuff spilled onto the sheets and over his palm.

"Sorry," Ed whispers, pushing himself up, but stops and stares as Al slowly raises his palm to his mouth and licks the white stuff up. "Al?" he asks, more surprised than anything else, and then grins. "That's one way to clean up, I guess."

Al smiles for him, brightly, and reaches under them to gather the sheets up. "Not the only way, brother," he replies, shaking a corner at him. Ed scoots off the bed and helps him untuck it, and between them they carry it downstairs to be washed.

As they enter the kitchen, Ed's hip bumps against Al's and he pauses, staring. Al blushes, and tries to hide his face in the sheets. "Me next?" he tries, voice muffled by the fabric.

"How about now?" Ed offers, dumping the armful of bedsheet in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Saves having to clean this thing twice in a row."

Al can't argue with that.