He didn't know when the light faded that day. His vision was misted...almost comfortingly so. His hands were slathered in salve and bound with gentle gauze. Uncontrolled power from the Stone had given him second degree burns. The gauze felt as if it had multiplied and wound around his body in a motherly embrace.
Breaths tumbled in and out of his mouth. He refused to breathe from his nose. When he did, he smelled the battlefield. The memories of the death embedded themselves inside the cells of his nasal cavity, releasing the scent of burning flesh and hair constantly.
He didn't know when the light had faded until someone had closed the drapes to the ravaged ruin that laid before him. "What...?" His voice sounded dusty and creaky, unused for centuries in fear touching it would destroy it completely.
"Don't talk, Mustang. Just feel."
His lips trembled under the pressure of another's. The gauze was being burned away, unchecked by his abilities. He couldn't let it spiral out of control...he couldn't kill...and warm water killed the fire. It dripped slowly, the source of the leak making the oddest gasping noises.
Finally, he looked up, trying to read the eyes behind glass. He raised bandaged hands and removed the frames, but the eyes were still barricaded behind hard glass. The fire was fed again, but this time remained under his strictest control. He built it higher and higher with hands and tongue, sacrificing his flesh to burn under the ministrations.
And then it exploded, consuming his mind. There was nothing but the heat of lips and tongue and body against his, blindly demanding release. He reached back just as sightlessly, finding the anchor as the fire snapped through his body, mind, and soul. His palms burned the worse, being the only part of him in reality.
He relaxed, looking up at the green-gold mirrors above him. Gentle lips pressed against his brow, soothing the last bit of ravaging hatred into a sleep that the body followed. Not a story, really...I suppose it's like a more concrete version of the dreamy style I used in "Against the Darkness." Sorry, Trudy, it's short and weirdly metaphorical. I don't think my choice of music helped.