"Ed, just, please...I've had a really long day, I've been looking forward to this for hours..."
"You? Bull shit—you've been sitting on you ass all day. You don't do shit, you just send me on these shit missions..."
Not exactly known for his wide vocabulary at such times, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Roy leaned back against the headboard with a deep sigh at the beautiful, hard, flailing naked boy in his bed.
"...I've been away a week because of your stupid mining surveys and you expect me to come back and let you have your way?"
"Look, Ed, I get lonely too—"
That earned him a glare that could strip paint. "You're not fifteen. And sharing a room with your little brother."
"You could always room separately..."
"But how would I explain it to Al?" Ed wailed. "Or Hawkeye, I'd have to file another stupid form..."
It was an old argument—practically every night, the ritual sparring for who'd be in control. Roy, naked himself, gave up on the verbal tack and sprawled out amongst the sheets, pawed himself, tried his darndest to be as enticing as possible. But Ed, of course, stubborn brat, would have none of it.
"You can't keep up with me, old man, is that it?"
Roy winced a little. "Look, once in a while I just like—"
"So do I!"
"You know, technically I outrank you—"
"Oh, don't pull that shit. That's only 'cause you're too lazy for fieldwork, asshole," Ed declared, and—later than Roy had expected—sent a pillow flying at his head.
A brief and heartfelt tussle ensued.
"Not the armpits!" Ed was shrieking a moment later, as Roy, through long practice, kept himself reasonably out of range of flailing steel limbs—though Ed's human knee and elbow hurt almost as much, really. "Not fair! Not fair! You can't tickle me and have your way!" Ed trailed off into a string of incoherent whooping insults as Roy got a better angle on his left armpit and the absurdly sensitive patches south of the automail port—"I can feel that all down my arm you fucking bastard—aagh!—could use your power for good but no you have to be all selfish—" and Ed was all squirming wiry muscle, damp with boy sweat and smelling of trains and long travel, but Roy didn't mind, that was just part of this wild little creature's beauty.
"So you're saying a little tickling is the only price you have to pay..." He eased off, a little, would've waited for Ed's breathing to return half to normal, but, of course, Ed himself didn't wait.
"It's not my fault you aren't ticklish, bastard. Come on, you owe me!"
"There was that time before last when you said—"
"Ed, I would've said anything just then."
"But still! And the last two times you conned me into it..."
"Two? I thought it was just the one..."
"Well, okay, we just gave each other head that time, but I still didn't get to, so I'm counting it."
"I haven't been counting. And that means I didn't get to either."
"Then you still owe me!"
Roy let out one last long-suffering sigh. He could've argued him down, true—much as Ed may have been one of the geniuses of the century, he was still an amateur in the manipulation department. The problem was the big golden puppyeyes, and if he could've resisted those he might not be in bed with the kid in the first place. Oh he knew what Ed was craving, craved it himself, but he could go without for another night or two if he had to. He'd created this wonderful monster when he'd deflowered the boy, after all. Ah well, he thought, surrendering, it was a delight to watch him while he...
"All right, I give up," Roy groaned. "You get to bottom."