With Eyes to See

Look at him. Seriously, look at him. See that small body, lean with the corded muscles, the thick strength of a strong, scarred back. See the fall of sunlight hair that drifts down his back like it's the earth that it's covering, containing warming. See him move, see him train, see him jump into that air and swing his leg in a complete arch before he lands heavily to the ground in a perfect execution of Sensei's teachings. See his clothes flutter in the speed, see the air grip him in places other people dream. Watch him walk, the Fullmetal Alchemist, acting as important as any title, as vital as any piston in any machine. No, not a piston, but the engine, the key, the ignition. People laugh when they see him, but that's before they watch, they see with open eyes and open minds, before they watch the determination spread over his face, claim the windows to his soul.

Stare as he talks, as his lips move, purse and form letters and "O"s. Stare as he eats, as the noodles disappear over the threshold of his lips, down into that sweet heat of a hungry mouth. Stare at him as he jumps and screams and loses his temper, voice cracking from the height of his protests over height, over importance. Stare as he is human, driven by emotion, by feeling and sympathy and a heart that never ceases beating.

Let your eyes roam over him as he loves me, as his palmers screw up into a wicked little smirk while hips jerk forward in a smooth thrust down into my depths. See those muscles tighten, strain, ripple in the same way they did as he trains, as he fights, as he lives. And if asked, he will tell you that this is living, this is the best part of living, right here, right here under him, whispering things to into his mouth as he kisses me, owns me, feels me as I feel him.

Gaze at him as he cries, as he hangs his head and cries into my shoulder, as his tears spread over my flesh and down into the hollow of my throat. Feel your eyes rest on him as his arms snake around me, one so cold, so heavy, pulling me tighter in the middle of the night, all the while trying to bat away the horrors of a life of nightmares and disappointments. He's been so well since he's been back, but then, on nights when the moon is full and we're bathed in silver light, when it seems my flesh had faded to cold metal again, he cries.

Listen to him as he whispers my name, as he pledges his love to me in the depths of my shorter blonde hair. Listen to the vows he has made a million times, before I wake up, wake back up into the shell of a body that claims me. Listen in the last seconds of pleasure; listen as it slides through my spread sleeping fingers, the edges deteriorating too quickly to savor.

Listen before I know sadness once more.