Domestic Bliss

It was hard enough accommodating everything to fit two people, but three was sometimes excessive, especially when it came to sleeping.

Ed was notorious for completely spreading out in the center of the bed, leaving about a foot on either side, if the other two occupants were lucky.

Al, being used to this tendency, could snuggle up to Ed's side and cling stubbornly to his chest and avoid being knocked over-board. Alfons, however, with his greater height and longer limbs often found it difficult to sustain a comfortable position and more often than not woke up balanced precariously on the edge of the bed.

Food had its troubles as well, with Ed's pernicious appetite and Alfon's illness restricting what could be bought and mixed. Creating a week's menu was a challenge for Al that sometimes ended with a pencil stuck in the table and a crumpled up shopping list shoved down his brother's pants.

"Why down his pants?" asked Alfons, as he helped Al tote the collection of bizarre groceries home later on.

"Because if it's close to his crotch, it'll get his attention." Al winked, and Alfons had to agree.

Snuggling on the couch was perhaps the only place where their differences worked with each other, albeit briefly. Ed, with his need for space, could spread out, Alfons could stretch his legs and place his feet in Ed's lap, and Al was perfectly content to bunch himself up between them.

The problem there was when one of the three inevitably became aroused. Usually it was Ed—Al was convinced that going through the Gate had had some dramatic effect on his sex drive—but at times it was spurred by Al's generally cuddly nature, or Alfon's foot happening to fall in the wrong (or right) place at a particular time.

If the bed was a disaster area, the couch was a catastrophe in phases.

Al was tactile, and loved foreplay, lots of long, slow touches on his back and neck. Alfons would generally accommodate him, but Ed's impatience and annoyingness ("Hey. Hey, I need attention. Over here. Your hand, my pants. Get it?") would eventually overpower them both.

"You know, Brother," Al scowled as he undid his sibling's belt, "I know it's hard foryou to believe, but there are actually people in this world who enjoy watching their lovers touch each other."

"Yeah, well, find one and introduce me." Ed grinned. "And maybe I'll see things your way. In the meantime..."

Al would start by giving Ed a handjob, and Ed would reach across to start undressing Alfons, who generally continued to stroke Al and simply made the best of it.

The next problem would arise concerning the giving and receiving of blowjobs. Alfons was the professional, and both Ed and Al revered his oral skills with a kind of heavy-eyed, moaning wonder. They had come close to fighting over who got to be the recipient several times, but generally, if need be, Alfons was willing to perform the service twice.

Ed, on the other hand, gave perfectly horrific blow jobs, that usually involved either too much spit or some kind of awful gnashing accident, and both Al and Alfons did whatever they could do avoid such a fate. To submit to oral sex from Ed was to take a fall for the other boy, and often later in the night they might compare wounds and wonder just how hard it could possibly be to not scrape at someone's cock with your teeth.

This was never said to Ed, of course. He certainly preferred to receive, but one comment on his sexual prowess (or lack thereof) would either incite a screaming fit or call off all carnal activity for the next week while he pouted and attempted to piece together his shattered pride. Between them, Al and Alfons often wondered if they might enjoy each other's company during Ed's pouts, but every attempt was usually botched by Ed conspicuously walking into the room every time.

"For god's sake, Edward, can you not knock?" Alfons had asked one day, Al half-undressed with both legs over his shoulders.

"Just getting some socks." Ed glared at them. "Just getting some socks."

But assuming that everything went well on the hands and tongue front on a typical afternoon on the couch, there was always the issue of who might be bottoming for whom. Ed would get defensive, even when reminded he rather liked it, Al would insist he bottomed last time, whether he did or didn't, and Alfons would want to throw both of them out of the house and have a good Scotch instead.

But when it came together—if it came together—it was a gorgeous mess of blond hair, blue and gold eyes, hands and tongues and touching and moaning and everything in the right place, hitting the right spots, hands on hips, mouths on cocks, words forgotten and swallowed and everyone devoured by each other.

Ed was loud when he came, shouting incoherent messes of syllables. Al often gave up his climax with a tight gasp, his back arching no matter what position he was held in. And Alfons' was more of a grunt, his face determined and serious even at his most vulnerable.

The resolution would often end with one or more on the floor rather than the couch, clothes tossed about the room and occasionally impossible to locate, and more than a few stains on the rug. In general, though one might be bruised, another bitten, and another have gotten hit in the eye by a poorly aimed orgasm, the consensus was that the act had been enjoyable, if not professional. And having fun was what really mattered.

But who got to take the first bath was always another battle, and rather than through compliance or gentle surrender, the winner of that was often determined by who got up the stairs first.

Alfons mused that you certainly couldn't win every fight, but what mattered was still finding something to enjoy even in the ones you lost.

...although he didn't enjoy being pushed down the stairs, thank you very much. He was going to have to talk to the Elrics about that one.