It shouldn't be awkward anymore, but it is, and Al stirs his oatmeal not so much with frustration as disappointment.
It was supposed to be easy, now that they were home and patched in the torn places, now that he and his brother had kissed and made up and then kissed some more, mouths melding into each other from Strasbourg to Stuttgart, where they had to change trains, and then they were too tired to do anything beyond curl around each other on the seats until Munich.
Upon arrival home, under a mutual understanding—-or so it seemed—Ed moved back into his own bed, and Al gladly accommodated him, wrapping around him in what his brother called an imitation of kudzu, and their first night in the same unmoving bed they picked up where they had left off until... Ed had pulled away from him.
Al sighs and lets the spoon rest on the side of the bowl.
He remembers every second of the encounter as if it has been signed into his nerves—it was hot under their blankets, warm and tantalizing, and his body was reacting with a strength he hadn't known possible, aching and yearning and needing something more than it ever had. He'd wanted to be touched, wanted to touch, wanted to press against his brother's hips and then suddenly Ed was kissing his forehead, telling him "good night" and rolling over.
Al had tried to avoid mentioning it, but when it happened again the next night, he demanded a reason.
The response that evening was, "I'm so tired, let's go to sleep."
The second excuse was "I have a headache."
The third, "I think I'm coming down with something, I don't want you to catch it."
And finally, "Noa might hear something."
It's that last excuse that irks Al this morning, because he knows that Ed and Alfons had sex while Noa had been with them, and that using her as a scapegoat is merely Ed's way of avoiding another issue.
Was it the bed? Maybe Ed's memories of what had happened there before make it too hard for him to avoid the past. Maybe he's worried about confusing the two boys again and hurting Al's feelings. Maybe...maybe...
Al sighs; he doesn't know what's wrong with his brother now, but he does know he's gone to sleep the past few nights with his heart heavy and his cock so hard he's felt like crying.
The kisses are so passionate at first, why won't his brother follow through?
"Al, are you feeling all right?" Noa's eyes are concerned; she's taken great pains to see to his comfort, and Al worries she feels partially responsible for not knowing the severity of his illness months before.
"I'm fine," he smiles weakly. "I've got to meet brother at the library anyway. Thank you for breakfast."
Al knows she's watching him as he gets up and shrugs on his coat, praying she doesn't notice what he feels must be painfully obvious. Certainly he'd missed out on these sensations when he was thirteen and his body wasn't, but really, is it terribly necessary for him to get hard just thinking about his brother? He could have done without that.
It's a very uncomfortable walk to the library.
Within days of his return Edward has used his father's name and Alfons' connections to secure a position as an independent researcher at Ludwig Maximilian University. He's been granted a room that is already filled with books and a few strange tools—an astrolabe, for one—and his papers are spread out along the desk and spill over onto the floor. It's a beautiful set-up, high in the library with large windows that look out into the city, and he likes it very much, especially when the sun begins to go down and the room gets dark. Surrounded by his work, it feels very much like a long-lost room in a burned house, and it comforts him.
However, the comfort he currently seeks is being given him by his hand, and he leans back against an unsteady stack of books to close his eyes and groan.
Too many more nights of excuses are going to drive him from appropriately celibate to stark raving mad, but he cannot, absolutely cannot take advantage of his brother.
Ed swirls his palm around the head of his cock and shifts, thinking about the first kiss on the train, flawed and wet and so much like drowning... It feels like he's had a permanent erection since then, and every night it grows stronger as Al snuggles against him in bed and presses into him, takes his lips and...
Ed squeezes himself hard to try and focus, as if that were even possible. He wants Al but he can't make the moves; he's frozen with indecision. Al says he's fine with it, but is it really okay? Does he really want it? Al had been hurt when Ed ignored him, even though that had been Ed's attempt to shield his brother from his lust. When he confessed to his sins—-and under duress, he might say—Al offered that he had is own desires, but might he have said that just so Ed would continue to pay attention to him? And if Ed were to let his brother feel how aroused he is just by brief contact, would that be too much too fast? Would it even be...disgusting?
It's miserable to think that this is just a sick game in a line of so many, but he wants Al so badly and is terribly, utterly incapacitated by it.
Two things happen at once, and quite suddenly: there are the very clear sounds of someone coming up the stairs, and Ed's control vanishes and he comes with a strangled yelp of surprise, semen splattering on the closest few pages of notes. In a panic, he leans over and quickly piles other papers on top of them, and hurriedly redoes his pants and wipes his hands down the sides as the door opens.
"Good morning, Al!" he chirps a little too quickly, and Al blinks at him.
"You're pretty cheery considering how early you got up. I don't see why you have to get here before me. Can't we come together?"
Ed twitches slightly at the last few words, but disguises it behind a rather lopsided smile.
"Rules are I have to be her at 8 o'clock sharp. I thought you could sleep in."
"I'd rather walk with you." Al slips out of his coat and hangs it next to his brother's. "You don't have to make special allowances for me."
Ed nods and pretends to be distracted by something on the floor—it's actually a newspaper ad about unicycle riding lessons, but anything to keep him from looking at Al undressing in any capacity is good.
"Are you looking at the things from yesterday?" The younger Elric bends down to look at the papers on the floor, and reaches for the incriminating stack of notes.
"Ah, no! Not those today, I...found something interesting in the...uh...the..."
Al is still peering at those papers, and trying to pull them apart.
"Brother, these have gotten stuck together. What did I tell you about keeping bottles of ink on the floor?"
"You told me it's bad, I'll stop, now put those down and come over here and we'll look at the Millikan papers again. We didn't really get to consider them much on the train and I'd like to...to..."
Fuck you, he thinks, as Al walks over to stand beside him. Fuck you so very, very hard that neither of us would survive, but I can't and I won't and it...
"Brother, you're crushing the notes. Are you all right?"
"Fine, Al, just fine." Ed kneels to the floor and smooths them out. "Come down here and we'll pick up..."
Once they get to work, they'll be fine. Sex does not enter into any mathematical equation when the Elrics are consumed by their second greatest love. When they're busy with vectors, Ed won't have time to notice the places on Al's neck where bite marks would look amazing.
Until then, however, his pants fit very, very poorly.
It's approaching December, and Al likes the way the city smells like charcoal and carbon when they walk home. It makes him feel warm to think that families are lighting fires and curling up with each other, and he looks forward to making dinner in their flat. The thought keeps him preoccupied from wondering why Ed keeps brushing their fingers together but won't actually commit to holding hands. It's not like before, when the attempt to touch was rewarded with coldness, but there's still something strange. He's halfway tempted to ask if Noa will hear them holding hands, but decides it would come out too bitter and it's still too soon for him to try any deep sarcasm on Ed.
Halfway through dinner his stomach begins to knot up—-in anticipation or nervousness, he can't tell—and he curls up with a book as Ed goes out to meet the Hughes-policeman for drinks at a nearby tavern. His eyes won't hold on to the page, however, and he keeps glancing at the door, waiting for his brother to come back.
Eventually he gives up on Ed returning at a reasonable hour and feels the waves of disappointment rush over him again. He's being avoided; Ed doesn't want to kiss and hold him tonight, and that hurts, even if he would pull away before more than lips could touch.
Al strips down to his shorts and tugs on one of the few short-sleeved button-down shirts he has, leaving it hanging open as he crawls into bed. The "Ed" smell that had been so strong when he first slept in it has returned, and in a small act of pitiful defiance, he switches their pillows, burying his face in the scent.
When he next opens his eyes, the room is pitch black, and the faint chiming of the clock in the hall lets him know that it's four in the morning. Al begins to sit up and rub his eyes, only to find that there's a heavy restraint across his hip: Ed's automail arm is wrapped around him quite firmly.
Careful not to disturb his brother, he slips back down, listening to Ed's breathing and occasional snorts, feeling the heat radiating off his body. It's wonderful to lie this way, safe and cuddled, knowing that this was not an accident; Ed usually commits himself to one sleeping position right off the bat lest he damage his bedmate by rolling around with flailing metal limbs, and to have his arm where it is now means it was intentional.
But of course his body is reacting as if the intention was something more than affectionate, and he nearly groans. His cock is demanding again, nearly throbbing with the need to be touched, and while he could slip out of bed and take care of it, he doesn't want to give up this hold for the world.
And then it occurs to him.
Ed has some amount of sensory abilities in his automail, that much is clear, or he would not be able to do half the things he does. But certainly he has very little tactile sensation.
Al nearly chides himself for the idea but it is so tempting, and he needs something to alleviate this deep pain. Almost before he realizes it, he is holding his shorts open and slowly, carefully, easing his brother's hand down into them.
Just the tips of Ed's fingers brushing against the head of his arousal is like a shower of sparks down his back. He can't help licking his painfully dry lips as he slips the hand lower, molding his palm to the back of his brother's hand to curl the fingers around his balls and the thumb around the very base of his cock.
His spine snaps immediately, and it's so good to finally have something else touching him, have something of Ed touching him. He slides the thumb his free hand across the tip and shudders as he spreads his leaking wetness around. He forces Ed to hold him tighter, tighter—-yes, brother—and it only takes a few more strokes before he comes on the sheets with a gasp of complete relief.
His eyelids feel heavy again almost immediately, and he succumbs to sleep without a second thought.
...until he wakes again as the sun splashes across his face and he sits up, putting his hand on the still-damp coverlet and realizing that he fell asleep with Ed's hand down his shorts.
And that the bed is empty, because Ed has woken up before him.
Right now, he decides, would be an excellent time to jump out the window.
Total and utter unrelenting mortification, those are the words for it.
It is 9 am, he's late to the library, and Ed doesn't even notice because he's leaning against the door of a very out-of-the-way tavern staring at his hands. It's not even open yet—even the Germans wait until 10 to start drinking, but Ed feels like he could really use a shot of something, anything, because this morning he woke up and found he'd molested his little brother in his sleep.
How could he? How could he?! What kind of sex-starved pervert was he? And with his automail hand?! It's a wonder he didn't crush Al's penis with a random spasm of some kind! What the hell was up with his unconscious that it would...that it would...
Ed takes a deep breath and watches his hands shaking slightly, noticing with horror for the first time that there's a strange white powdery streak on his right index finger, a residue of some kind. And that's when he realizes that not only did he assault his only sibling, but he ran out of the house with said siblings come on his hands and didn't even think to wash it off.
Mortification doesn't even cut it anymore—he thinks he might start crying in desperation any minute now.
Because the worst part of this whole situation is how horribly, atrociously turned on he is right now. It's not even entirely about what a awful person he is but what Al's erection must have felt like in his hands—-if he could have felt it, would it have been hot? Slick? Firm?—and what Al's face might have looked like, what his voice might have sounded like, what it would have been like to actually have Al orgasm in his palm, on his palm and then to raise it to his mouth and—
Ed catches himself doing just that, tongue poised on his lip, and quickly stuffs his hands into his pockets with an agonized groan. He needs a very cold shower right about now, and he needs to stay in it for at least a week.
He needs to apologize to Al.
And he's about to do that when the tavern opens, and he thinks maybe it would be a good idea to have a few drinks to work up his courage. A few dozen, maybe, but first he darts into the bathroom for one last indulgence.
...he was going to have to wash his hands anyway, better to get them dirty twice and only wash once.
It's Noa stroking his hair that makes Al raise his head from where he's buried it in his folded arms on the kitchen table.
"You seem worse today than yesterday. Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"
If Al were a more sarcastic person, he would suggest to her that he has been coming with something, his brother's hand in fact, his sleeping brother's hand, but he doesn't think she wants to know, so he just smiles sadly and says the next best (and less incriminating) thing.
"Brother left without me again this morning and when I got to the library he wasn't even there."
Noa nods thoughtfully and plays with the edging on her sleeves—-her one visible nervous habit, Al's noticed.
"He did run out of here quite suddenly this morning. I thought it was because he was late for work."
"He got up late?" Al raises an eyebrow.
"Mm." Noa nods and busies herself filling up a kettle. "Much later than usual, and he was still buttoning his shirt on the way out the door."
Al moans and sinks into his chair. Great. His brother was so thoroughly repulsed by the morning's tableau that he sprinted out the door without even putting his clothes on. That's a low blow, he thinks, and doesn't do much for Ed's insistence that he's been attracted to Al this whole time. So much for sexy, he snorts, and picks at his jacket.
"But if he wasn't there, where do you think he'd go? I don't know the city as well as he does. He must have hiding places..."
Noa pauses and thinks, tapping her fingers against the cupboards in an almost musical manner.
"There's a tavern he and Alfons liked to go to. I have to go to the market anyway, I can show you the way."
"Would you? Thanks."
She gathers her things and they leave together, winding through the streets that Al swears he will memorize this time, just in case he needs to use this route again, and nods as she points down the alley that hides the entrance to the tavern. They bid each other goodbye until dinner, and Al races to the tavern to find it full of people, smoke, the stench of alcohol...but absent of his brother.
He doesn't like the idea of Ed drinking again, or at all, really, but he supposes he can't fault him for wanting to wash the nauseating taste of having been used as a sex toy out of his mouth with something strong. And really, Al should feel much worse than he does for the whole incident, betraying his loved one's trust and all, but really, half of his apologies are smothered by the memory of those metal appendages pressing against him, cupping him just the way he likes best...
When several people turn to give him strange looks, Al realizes that is would behoove him not to start jerking off in the entrance way to a tavern whose door he is still holding open. He shuts it with a quick squeak and scoots back down onto the street, quickly nabbing a paper from a vendor without paying for it and holding it in front of his crotch with both hands as he walks.
Maybe Ed did go on to the library.
Maybe Al should go look for him there again.
Maybe he should go home first and take a bath in some ice water.
...maybe he should stay in it a very, very long time.
Having left the tavern around 11—before noon is just a little too early for him to be drunk—Ed has long since walked off any of the effects of his brief bender over the course of the afternoon, and returns home as the short day begins to wane, hoping that Al has spent the day at the library and that he'll be able to avoid the necessary confrontation just a little bit longer.
He steps into their room and looks at the bed, suppressing a shudder of shameful desire, and is just turning to walk back out into the main hall and hang up his coat when the doorway is blocked.
It's dim in the house, but it's clear that Al is dripping wet and wearing little more than the small towel he has hitched around his slim waist. Ed is certain he hears his jaw hit the floor, but he doesn't have the time or the brain power to check.
"Ah, brother," Al immediately casts his gaze downwards and reaches up to rub his damp hair. "About last night, I...I wanted to—"
"NO!" Ed blurts, waving his hands for emphasis. "It was my...I didn't mean to..."
"I don't know what I was thinking, just that maybe—"
"-so totally immature and wrong and I dunno, freakish of me to—"
"-but I just couldn't seem to help it and I—"
"-and with my little brother? I mean, seriously—"
They pause simultaneously, and Al tilts his head to the side.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"...uh, no?" Ed tugs on his ponytail. "Were you listening to me?"
"So, uh... let's take turns this time. Al, I'm sorry."
Ed stares at him.
"You know what! For what I did to you last night!"
Al blinks back.
"You didn't do anything to me last night."
"Yes I did."
"No you didn't."
"Yes I did!"
"No you didn't!"
"I woke up with my goddamn hand down your pants, Al!"
"Because I put it there!"
A bird takes that moment to fly into the window, but even that doesn't dislodge the sudden silence that has perched on the room.
It takes Ed several minutes to process what exactly words are, and how one makes a sentence with them. When he figures it out, he offers:
"So I didn't..molest you in your sleep?"
"No, why would you think that?" The younger Elric is trying to burrow into the towel, even as it means revealing as much as he covers. "You've made it clear that you like kissing me but you don't want to—"
"Of course I want to do more than kiss you! I thought I fucking put my hand down there because I couldn't stand it anymore!"
"Well why would you do that? If you're so attracted to me, what would be wrong with showing it?"
"Because you just don't..." Ed flails his hands a little. "I can't... I've done enough to you, I don't even know if you want to start having...I mean, it's not something I can just—"
"Yes it is!"
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"I don't care what you were going to say! If you want me, you can have me!"
"But how can you say that for sure? Dammit, Al, I've been waiting for you to give me some sign..."
"How much more obvious can I be?! I've been waiting for you!"
"Then what are we waiting for?!" Ed shouts, stomping his real foot.
And then the towel is on the floor and Ed is slamming his brother against the wall in a ferocious, angry kiss, grabbing two handfuls of his behind as he attempts to lever Al up and against him so their hips can meet, Al's arms snaking around his neck—-one hand jamming into his hair, one clawing at his vest—and nothing has ever felt so goddamn good.
But not quite good enough.
They've already kissed—they both need more.
Ed hisses as Al's hard cock presses into the juncture of his thigh and pelvis, and he tries to maneuver them to the floor, never mind that they're sprawled across the doorway and that floorboards make a lousy bed. Al goes easily, but nips at his brother's face, neck, ears, everything he can reach as they both fumble with Ed's pants, four hands fouling up the job that two could have accomplished easily, but neither of them is willing to let go.
When they're suitably undone, Ed pushes them and his shorts down and yelps as he feels Al's skin on his. It's like falling into cold fire, chills shooting up and down along his arched back and he presses forward into the hand; it's a little rough, Al's hands are dry, and they need some kind of lubrication, but he's waited for it for so long a little chafing won't stop them.
It's when Al gasps that Ed realizes he's forgotten all about the second erection in the equation and takes hold of the other boy's cock, finding it everything he imagined (if not as thick, but oh well, that'll change in time) and he pumps his hand a few times, sending Al wriggling under him.
He needs him. They need each other. Al smears the leaking fluids from the tip of Ed's cock down along the sides, pressing his thumb hard against the outstanding vein and it's all his brother can do to remember what he's doing. In return he raises his palm to his mouth and licks it thoroughly, getting it as wet as he can before returned it to Al's flesh and working it faster and faster.
But not fast enough. Or slow enough. Or something. They each have their own tempo, and as they kiss and lick and bite and trace saliva trails all over each other's faces and necks, they fight each other with their hands, each attempting to guide the other in the tempo they prefer best.
Panting, groaning, the squeak of sweaty skin against the floorboards, the darkness slowly taking the room, Ed finally pushes Al's hands away, slams their hips together, wraps his automail around both of their cocks and squeezes them together until his brother gives up with a yell and then they're both coming at once, spurting on each other but mostly on Al, who has the misfortune of being gravity's victim.
Ed sags, slowly moving his hand away to brace himself above his brother. They've always been able to see each other in the dark, something about golden eyes and shared genes and the look on Al's face, Al's beautiful face... And then Al is dragging his fingers along his stomach, raising them to his lips and licking away their shared orgasm.
"Al..." The word is full of reverence and passion, heavy-lidded and yearning, and just as Ed leans down to kiss him, the front door opens and the hall light goes on.
Noa is home.
Give Edward Elric a few minutes, and he can come up with a brilliant lie, a strange disguise, an alchemic creation worthy of contemplation if not praise. He can see the best way to perfect an array in seconds, figure out an opponent's weakness with a few glances, sometimes even travel huge distances in a single bound.
But catch Ed with his pants down, and his brain completely fails.
Al is reminded of this as Ed flails to his knees, trying to redo his pants without tucking himself back into them and cursing when it doesn't work. He would be exasperated with his brother, sure, but right now he doesn't have the time either. He's naked, covered in ejaculate, and has only a split second to clear out of the doorway before Noa comes around the dividing wall and catches them both.
He makes it without anything to spare, pressing up against the wall on the side of the door.
"Edward, good evening." he hears brightly from the foyer. "You're home early today. Did Al find you?"
He glances over at Ed to make sure he's fixed his pants properly and notices that Ed has picked up the towel from the floor and draped it across his head. Oh no, Ed can't be thinking—
"Oh, hi Noa!" he says, a little too animatedly, a little too loud. "I was just getting out of the shower!"
"...but Edward, you're entirely dressed."
"Well, I...just got out and then I put my clothes on! I didn't shower with them on, you know! That would be silly! Ha ha ha!"
Al finds it interesting that he can go from wanting to fuck his brother into next week to wanting to strangle him in such a short period of time. If Ed would just get out of the doorway and distract Noa, he could bolt across the room and pick up his clothes, but Ed's brain hasn't quite made the switch back to his other head, apparently, and he doesn't move.
"Did you find Al, though?" There's the sound of Noa setting down groceries in the kitchen. "He was very worried about you this morning."
"Ah, yeah, we...he...found me. And we talked. It was great. Really...great."
Al massages his temples with his fingertips and reminds himself that the sex was really good, he'll regret if it he has to kill Ed right this minute.
"Did he come home with you?"
"Al. Edward, are you all right?"
"Yes! Fine! I'm wonderful, even. He, uhhh...stayed at the library, actually. He said he'd come home later."
That's so it, Al thinks, and is about to commit naked murder when Ed finally steps away and closes the bedroom door behind him. Well fantastic. Al storms across the room—-quietly, of course—and picks up one of Ed's discarded tank tops (stupid messy brother) to wipe off his stomach, then dresses quickly. What is he going to do now? He's not supposed to be in the house at all, how can he possibly get out of the room without being seen?
A light flashes from the street below and Al looks at the window.
...if he recalls correctly, there's a drainpipe fairly close to it that leads down to the ground. They're only two stories up, it can't be that far, can it?
He opens the window and takes a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Al." Ed winces at the harsh glare he receives and returns to twisting his hands around themselves.
Al is standing over the sink washing dirt and blood off his face, and Ed feels nothing short of terrible. Dinner, which was delicious, was also a new exercise in awkward; it's not everyday you have sex with your brother, make him climb out a window and then sit down to eat with your flatmate. Ed had been possessed by the weirdest urge to play footsie or some other juvenile game of touch with Al under the table, but the long scrape down his cheek and the cold rage in his eyes told him that it would be a bad idea.
When his brother had left the table, Ed dumped the dishes on Noa and followed him to the bathroom.
"I am, though! I don't know what I was thinking, the words just came out, and—"
"Screw you." he repeats.
"You did screw me, that's why I couldn't think!"
"You are not blaming your ineptitude on me, brother." Al wrings the cloth out and slaps it over the edge of the sink, and Ed shrinks back. "You could have at least told her I was taking a nap or something!"
"I said I was sorry! Okay?!"
Al sighs and sits down on the edge of the bath, and Ed takes a step towards him again. His little brother is picking at the knee of his trousers, which is muddy and torn, and Al looks so downright kissable... He hesitates, though. Maybe Al wouldn't want a kiss right now? He hates to be tentative about the issues he was sure they'd utterly resolved, but he hasn't entirely rid himself of the fear that if he makes some awful mistake again his brother will leave him despite all the confessions and the really mind-blowing sex on the floor.
Yeah, that was really, really good.
But Ed is not certain if forcing him to crawl out the window was or was not a huge faux-pas, and if it was, can it be remedied with a kiss?
And then Al looks up at him and he decides that everything else besides consensual mouth to mouth be damned, and puts either side of him and does just that.
Al squeaks slightly behind it, but responds with the same hunger he'd exhibited earlier—a voracity, Ed thinks, that makes it seem like he hasn't worked off any of his arousal at all. It takes mere moments, then, before Ed has moved to his sibling's neck, biting and sucking and licking and pulling at the edges of Al's shirt, trying to rip it open through the buttons.
"Brother...brother wait, not here, let me...oh, let me..."
One button tears off and skitters into the porcelain tub, and Ed wants to devour the collar bones that it bears, he wants to suck on them until his mouth goes numb. Another one pops and if Ed pulls the shirt down he can see the very top of Al's right nipple and he latches on, laving away with his tongue, his cock getting harder and harder by the minute, and Al's gasping attempts to be quiet only make it worse.
And then Al is tipping backwards too far, or maybe Ed is pushing too far, but suddenly Al is fumbling for a hand hold and grabs on to the only thing in reach—the tap, which turns and dumps freezing water onto both of them.
Ed raises himself and looks down at Al, who is glaring at him from his uncomfortable tub-slump, and realizes with some dismay that Al's lap has gotten all wet and the chill has probably killed whatever erection he had.
"Okay, fuck, I'm sorry again." he sighs, and stands, offering a hand to pull Al out.
"Are you two all right?" Noa calls from the kitchen.
"We're fine." Al shouts back, "Brother's just being a jerk," and then shoves past him, making for their room.
"Wha-Al!" Ed is panicking now and chases after him, crossing the threshold to the bedroom only a second before the door slams behind him and Al is leaning against it, locking it and looking at him with a grin that is positively feral. "...Al?"
He has an armful of his subject a moment later, wet and cold and still hard—-he's still hard!—and within seconds Al's shirt is utterly devoid of buttons, Ed's pants are missing their clasp, and they are half-on, half-off the bed, pushing and biting and thrusting and squeezing and making such a ruckus that when Noa knocks on the door several minutes later, she sounds downright nervous.
"Are you two...Edward, Al, are you..."
"Just...having a fight, is all." says Ed, looking at the door upside down from where he's ended up on the floor, Al on top of him licking come off his chest. "Brother thing, we do it all the time, 's all good."
"Yeah." Ed looks at Al and grins, wiping a drop of semen off his brother's lip. "It's all good."
Al wakes up with Ed's hair in his mouth and his hard cock nestled comfortably in the cleft of his brother's behind and the world is just too perfect for words.
He carefully picks the strands from his tongue, trying not to dislodge his hand from where it's resting on Ed's stomach. Sometime during the night Ed had dragged on the same black tank top Al had used to clean up earlier, but it's rumpled and around his armpits right now, as all of Ed's sleeping shirts inevitably end up. Al himself never got out of his own shirt, though it is now entirely devoid of buttons. His boxers are around his knees, irritating his raw scraped skin and astounding him with their staying power; at one point he definitely had his legs wrapped around his brother's hips as they thrust against each other, how is he still wearing them?
Whatever, he decides, and goes back to contemplating how nice this current set-up is. The sun is pouring through the windows just so, the bed is soft and warm, and—
"Mmm, Al." Ed mumbles sleeping and snuggles into his pillow.
He melts like chocolate on a burning stove. Al resists the urge to hug his brother awake, telling him this is all he ever wanted in the whole of both worlds they know.
And then the phone rings, of course, and there's a delicate tap on the door.
"Edward?" Noa still sounds wary, and Al flushes, remembering just how long they were "fighting."
"Nngh." Ed responds.
"Edward, telephone for you."
"Gggh." The elder Elric suggests again, sliding away from Al (who hates to let him go) and slipping off the edge of the bed.
He begins to walk toward the door when Al blinks and hisses at him.
"Nf?" Ed's eyes aren't even fully open, and it's hard to know if he's seeing him at all.
"Your shorts!" he points to the floor.
Ed looks down and ponders his half-nude state, scratches his head, then pulls the top sheet off the bed, wraps it around his waist and turns the doorknob. Or tries to. It's still locked from before, and as he is not awake enough to understand this concept, he jerks it back and forth until the lock breaks, and steps out.
Al smacks his hand to his forehead and sighs. So much for having a barrier against any more accidental intrusions, he thinks, and wonders where in Munich one might find a good locksmith.
When his brother returns, he drops the covers on the floor—-just like the rest of his clothes, where the hell did he grow up, in a barn?—and crawls back into bed, molding himself around Al. He shivers slightly as their cocks touch, and pulls Ed closer, nuzzling his hair.
"Who was on the phone, brother?"
"Was it important?"
"Asked why I didn't come in yesterday." Ed yawns, and Al recoils slightly from his morning breath. "Told 'em I was sick."
"Maybe?" Al must be the responsible one, he thinks as Ed presses and wriggles against him, triggering little spasms of pleasure all through his body. "What do you mean, maybe?"
"Said something about a sponsor and a meeting and a grant, wasn't really listening."
"A sponsor? Your sponsor for the study, maybe?"
"Mm." he shrugs and nips at Al's neck. "Let's fuck."
It's hard—-as hard as two Elric cocks in the morning—to even consider pursuing a logical line of though with those words activating every hormone Al has ever heard of, but he presses again.
"I think you should call them back. You might have had something you were supposed to do today and..."
Ed sits up quite suddenly awake
Al raises an eyebrow.
"Oh..." Ed covers his mouth with his hand, eyes wide.
"Oh?" Al looks at him quizzically, then puts the ideas together: sponsor, meeting, grant. "Oh! Ohhhhhh..."
"Oh." Ed nods, and then they're both tossing back the covers and rushing around to make themselves look presentable somehow.
Al sheds his ruined shirt for one that still has buttons and kicks off his boxers for a clean pair. His brother gets the joints of his automail hand stuck in his hair, and barks curses as Al tries to hurriedly work them free, finally kicking him in the shin to get him to behave. Half an hour after Al considered never getting of bed, they are bolting out the front door together, Ed grabbing their coats off the hooks and Al half-walking, half hopping as he tries to tie his shoes on the way down the hall.
Al only remembers to say goodbye to Noa once they hit the street, but by then it is too late. As they run, he remembers a time when he felt bad for the woman who clearly wanted something more with Ed. Back then, Al was jealous of her and a dead man, but this morning he can't bring himself to feel sorry or envious at all.
Ed's first blow job was a quiet affair in Alfon's bedroom on a pale day in early April. In retrospect, the time, place, and mood seemed very fitting for their relationship: guarded, tentative, bordering on silent, but very sweet, very well-intentioned, and very good. He remembered fondly Alfons' gentleness, almost reverence at being allowed to do the act on someone who had previously nearly run from every kiss and touch soon after they occurred.
Finding the experience quite to his liking, Ed had requested the service again later, and had been told he needed to reciprocate first. After his initial try, a shaken Alfons told him that he would never ask for a return off-sucking ever again.
Ed hadn't ever really figured out why—he'd come, hadn't he? He shrugged it off and lay back and enjoyed the benefits of receiving without having to give.
It's different, with Al, though. Ed has never in his life really thought about fellatio. It's come up in conversations around him in military mess halls, in books, and of course eventually, in his sex life. But for all his encounters, he can't ever remember really seeing the appeal in putting someone's penis in your mouth and swishing it around...until, as the cliche goes, now.
Feeling it against his thighs, his stomach, his own crotch is no longer enough—he wants Al's cock in his mouth and he can't stop thinking about it, can't stop imagining it, can't be bothered to actually look at any of the call numbers he's supposed to be finding, and instead drags Al a to a row of dark, dusty stacks in a corner of the library, high up on a floor no one in their right mind would go to, and goes down on his knees in front of him.
"Brother, what are-hey!"
Al's hands try to push Ed's away, but Ed smirks; by now his brother should have learned that an aroused Ed will not be deterred. He'd lost the same battle this morning and ended up on all fours in their workspace, coming all over the proposal forms they need to fill out for their sponsor (they haven't yet figured out how to ask for new ones, especially not after having been late to the meeting).
"I want to do something, Al." Ed says thickly, pulling his brother out of his shorts.
"Then let's...aaaha, let's go back to the...the..."Al is slumping backwards, reaching to hold on to the bookcases on either side of him, sagging slightly.
Ed grins and opens his mouth.
Al shoots up with a choked cry, then actually falls, catching himself on the wall and easing down slowly until Ed is kneeling between his upraised legs.
"Bro-THER!" His voice is halfway between a hiss and a whimper, and Ed likes it, and sucks him deeper into his mouth.
Al's foot kicks out and he gives up little sounds of indeterminate feeling, and Ed can't help but think that this is perfect. It's raining outside, hard and cold, like so many days in their lives, but here they are together, safe, warm, surrounded by books, nothing to interfere with this moment except—
"Brother, STOP, IT HURTS!"
Al's hand on the middle of his forehead forces him backwards and Ed coughs at the sudden rush of air into his unsuspecting lungs.
"I said it HURTS!" Al's face is flushed—-and Ed had assumed it was from excitement—but now it's becoming clear that it's from pain.
"Hurts? But I was—"
"You," his little brother's voice is shaking slightly, "Have no control over where you are putting some incredibly sharp teeth."
Ed blinks and runs his tongue along his teeth, finding that wow, his canines are really sharp, he hadn't noticed before. He is immediately contrite and lowers his head.
"Sorry, Al, I just...I guess I just... I wanted you to feel good, but I've never—"
"How hard can it be?!"
Ed twitches a little at that. Here is trying to be deferential and apologize, but Al won't accept it. It's a fucking blowjob, after all, what's there to be upset about? He'll show Al, oh he'll so show him...
He goes back to Al's cock instantly, licking the head, tracing patterns down the sides, cupping his balls and squeezing and—
Al kicks him in the face.
Ed is still muttering when he gets into bed, and Al rolls his eyes.
"Worst blowjob eeever," his brother says in what is quite possibly the lousiest imitation of his voice ever attempted.
"You bit me, brother." Al glowers at the wall. "I was supposed to enjoy that?"
"I didn't mean to bite you!"
"It's a sensitive area, you should know better!"
"Well I'm sorry I didn't think about that!"
"Maybe you should have! You're really brilliant, brother, but have you ever considered that maybe there are some things you're just stupid at?"
"I am not stupid about sex!"
"I didn't say sex, I'm not talking about sex!"
"Blowjobs are sex!"
"They're one part and you're fine at the others!"
"You and Alfons are such whiners!"
It's a bombshell that drops on the floor and they both hold their breath waiting to see if it explodes. Al knows it shouldn't hurt, shouldn't feel like some kind of betrayal, but it clenches inside him. Of course Ed wouldn't have been so familiar with other physical acts if he hadn't had some kind of teacher.
"Al..." the word comes a long time later, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
"Al, are you...mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad? You only tried to bite my...thing off, that's nothing to be angry about."
"Fuck, fine, be an asshole about it."
Ed drags as much of the covers around him as possible, and burrows into his pillow with an exaggerated motion. Al curls into himself, still facing the wall. It's not like he can't feel the heat from Ed's back, or hear his breathing. It's all going to fall apart, he thinks frantically. They've finally had a real fight about something that's been hanging between them—-or has it been? Maybe only Al has been considering it—and now he doesn't know what to do. He's paralyzed at the thought of turning around and finding his brother gone, even if he was the one who left, even if Ed couldn't get out of this bed without Al knowing immediately.
Many long minutes go by, and they turn into hours. His eyes get heavy and they drip closed once, twice...
"Al, are you awake?"
Leave it to Ed's timing.
"Al, I'm..." he pauses, and there's a shifting sound—he's rolling over. "Would you look at me?"
Al presses his lips together tightly and then does, turning to face his brother.
"Al, do you still...I mean obviously you do, but why do you think about him?"
"Brother, if you can honestly be so callous that you don't even think about your friend..."
"That's not what I meant!" Ed looks hurt by the accusation, and Al wishes he hadn't said it, but his brother continues on. "Why do you still think about him between us?"
"I don't, really, I just...when you said that... I know you had sex with him, but it's not something I want to think about, you know? You're mine and I want to pretend that all these things we're doing belong to us and just us and that you're doing them for the first time. Even if that's dumb and naive."
His brother smiles at him softly and tucks his human hand under his cheek on the pillow.
"But it's my first time doing it with you. Doesn't that count for anything? Doesn't the way we make each other feel mean something? It's still us, being together, having sex on our terms and isn't that...can't it be enough?"
Al blinks, and can't help blurting "I think I kicked you in the head too hard."
Ed grumbles and blushes something about "knew it was too sappy" and moves to roll over again but Al grabs his shoulder and stops him.
"You're right. You're right and I'm just being silly. I just...I want you so badly and hearing his name was a jolt. It shouldn't be. You should be able to talk about him whenever you want."
"I don't usually want to bring him up during sex, but..." and he dissolves into mumbling.
"....Alfons....said I gave shitty blowjobs too."
"....did he actually say 'shitty?'"
"No, he just..." Ed waves his hand and tries to divert Al's gaze from his face. "Kind of asked me to never ever give him one again."
Al starts laughing, and doesn't stop until Ed has thwacked him repeatedly with his pillow.
"Well brother, it was awful!"
"So you say but you came anyway! On my FACE!"
"You weren't supposed to move!"
"You started coming, what did you expect?"
"You're supposed to swallow it!"
"No fucking way!"
"What's wrong with it? I don't mind."
"Well you're fucking weird. And what do you know about blowjobs anyway, huh? No one is perfect. I just need practice."
"No one is perfect?"
Al feels himself challenged and strips the covers off them both, squirming around and getting between Ed's legs, yanking his shorts down and proceeding to show the older Elric just what an oral first-timer can do.
And he swallows, too.
The word strikes him while Al is bent over some sort of drawing, behind in the air just so, and Ed is admiring it quite happily when it arrives.
He clears his throat and Al looks up with a grin.
"Dust getting to you?"
"Yeah, a little, " he lies, and watches as his brother gets up, rubs his hands together to free them of eraser shavings, and gets to his feet.
"I'll go to the fountain and get us some water. I'm really thirsty."
Ed nods and watches him go, estimating how long this journey will take before pulling out a books he's secreted into one of his stacks. He flips through it quickly, but soon finds what he's looking for, albeit in described in a different situation and in, well, German.
But it's the only sex guide he could easily find, and though the instructions are for a man and a woman, he's sure he can work out some kind of variation to suit two boys. It's a step he and Alfons never reached, and that actually never appealed to him until quite recently, but the more he watches himself disappear down Al's throat, the more he wants to watch it from a different angle, the more he wants to be inside Al and be able to hear his brother moan and call out for him.
"Penetration of the anal cavity" he writes next to a section he's circled for easy reference, not entirely realizing how stodgy and scientific his wording is. His German is much better than it was when he first found this volume, but there are some words he still needs to look up; he doesn't know what "schmeirmittel" is, but apparently he needs a lot of it.
There's a mug thrust in his face quite suddenly and he jumps, slamming the book shut and catching one of his automail fingers in it.
"Al! You're back so soon!"
"I've been gone half an hour." Al raises and eyebrow at him, and Ed observes that his cheeks are pink with cold. "I decided to get us some coffee. What have you been reading so intently?"
"It's nothing, really." Ed has no place to hide the book but—-ha ha, how ironic—under his butt, and he promptly sits on it, still unaware that one of his fingers is trapped inside.
"It must be something interesting if you want to hide it from me." Al sets down the mugs and works at reaching around his brothers hips to try and get a good hold on it. "Come on, let me see!"
"No!" Ed puts a hand on his face and pushes. "You always want to read what I'm reading because I'm reading it but this time you can't, it's mine!"
"Sometimes you are such a brat, let me see!" His hands flail at Ed's sleeves.
"Don't call your big brother a brat! I'll tell you when I'm done! You're the brat for being nosy!"
Al shrugs the hand off his head and in a deft maneuver, slides straight onto Ed's lap.
"Hey, hey what are you doing?"
His fingers are cold, and Ed shudders as they unbutton his shirt and then delve beneath it, pinching at his nipples, running along the edge of his automail, and Al thrusts his hips against him.
Really, Ed muses some minutes later as he lays on his back and watches the papers settle around him, it's a wonder they haven't destroyed all their research with the rolling around they do in here. Passing off the come on that one paper as spilled ointment was one thing, but if it happens too often people are going to start asking questions.
"Penetration of the anal cavity?"
Ed shoots upward, realizing that in his post-coital contemplation, his sibling has sneaked over to the book and opened it.
"Al it's...not what you think?"
"So it's not that you have the most unattractive way of describing sex ever, it's what? Notes on some research I haven't been told about yet?"
"Give that back!" Ed scuttles over on all fours, pants around his knees hindering his movement.
Al leans out of the way and presses the open book to his chest with a sultry smile.
"Why brother," his eyes are liquid sex, "Do you want to fuck me in the ass?"
Ed falls over laughing at the juxtaposition of his hopelessly attractive brother ruining the image with those words, and Al doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day.
The conference at which their attendance has been mandated by their sponsor is in Berlin. Al packs their suitcases as Ed showers, and wonders why on earth his brother feels compelled to pack their own sheets. Hypochondria? Aversion to foreign laundry soap? Whatever the reason, it's bizarre and inconvenient, and Al is forced to pack and re-pack to make sure everything fits.
"Dammit, brother!" he huffs, trying to push the suitcase shut and then leaning on it before blowing some of his bangs out of his eyes in frustration.
"Mm?" Ed walks in, damp and groggy, and through his irritation Al muses that Ed probably fell asleep in the shower again. He's never understood that ability, but he chalks it up to just one more of his brother's endearing weirdnesses.
"Why, pray tell, do you need to pack a sheet with our stuff? It's a modern hotel. They'll have their own sheets."
"I like ours better."
"Ours aren't even good quality!"
"Since when have you ever cared about linen quality?" Ed lays down on the bed and promptly curls up like a cat. It would be endearing—-he looks so small when he does that, hair braided wet, black tank top clinging to his chest, pajama pants slipping down his hips—but Al is still annoyed.
"You want to take the sheets?" He snaps, dragging them out of the suitcase and holding them up. "YOU can pack them!"
A very distinct "clink" rings out between them, and Ed bolts upright.
"You didn't break it, did you?"
Ed jumps off the bed and is on his hands and knees scouring for something.
"Shit, that cost me a fortune, if you broke it..."
"What the hell are you even looking for?" Al bends down to see under the bed (though he's distracted by Ed's wiggling ass as his brother tries to squirm underneath it), and spots a small vial next to his foot. "What's this?"
He picks it up just as Ed starts again, this time slamming into the underside of the bed.
Al tosses a look of concern at his feet, then goes back to pondering the item. It's full of an oil of some kind, not thick and sticky, or like the oil he and Noa use in cooking, but rather like the oil Winry gave him to polish his armor. Just...not black and obviously not for that purpose.
"Brother, what is this?"
The answer is muffled by the mattress and frame—-and probably by Ed talking into the floor—but it sounds something close to "What the fuck do you think it is?"
Al sloshes it back and forth a few times, then blushes.
"Oh, is it that...er...shmermim? Shmigermit?"
"Schmeirmittel." Ed says irritably. "But colloquially, we call it 'lube.'"
"Brother, you mean you want to... in Berlin?"
The bed is silent.
"But what about... is that what the sheets are for?"
Again, the bed offers nothing useful.
"Brother you're so silly, why can't we wait until we get home?"
Finally, the furniture sighs wearily.
"I don't want to wait anymore."
"We have our whole lives, brother, it's not like it has to be done today or tomorrow or..."
"I want to do it now. I want to do it with you, and I want to do it now. I don't care about today or tomorrow or next week or the week after that. We spent seven fucking years always looking ahead and never enjoying 'now' and that's finally over and I can have something now and I want it now. I want you now. I don't want to wait."
Al's mouth opens, but he's speechless. He's touched, for lack of a better word, and very deeply so.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you don't want to, we'll wait, but I just thought it would be good, we wouldn't be in the house so we wouldn't have to worry about—"
"I want to do it. But you know, you could have told me."
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
"You're not really a master of seduction, brother."
"Shut the fuck up."
Al laughs, and rolls up the sheet, places the vial in one of the folds, and then manages to shut the suitcase. Once they're positioned by the door and ready for the train trip in the morning, he gets undressed.
Ed, however, has not moved.
"Brother, aren't you coming to bed?"
"...my hair is caught on the springs. This bed fucking sucks."
Whatever the opposite of touched is, Al is sure he's feeling it now.
Perhaps at any other time, Ed would love to hear about Wilhelm Conrad Roentgen's marvelous new discovery: the X-ray, which can show you the inside of a person, even their bones, without harming the skin. Really, it's a fabulous discovery, but Ed cannot help spending the talk thinking about how much more he'd like to discover what it's like to take his brother from behind and make him scream and come and...
"Mr. Elric, I assume you have a comment on this? It is in line with your current work, is it not?"
The question startles Ed out of a very vivid picture of Al sucking his cock pre-insertion, and he fumbles blindly through an answer, hoping that "Al's balls" don't accidentally get themselves involved. His peers seem impressed by whatever he's said, though, and he slumps into his chair with a sigh. He doesn't like being on this panel. Al is not required to speak, and is at another talk, and probably dutifully taking notes, too. Ed considers dumping his glass of ice water onto his pants, but figures that would be a rather large mistake with this audience.
At seven o'clock, they break for the day and for dinner, and Ed searches out Al across the crowded hall. Even with sex also on the menu he can't pass up free food of this quality, and he makes nice with important European scientists and enjoys the meal until he finally locates his brother, whose stare can be called nothing short of smoldering. And then he excuses himself abruptly and running out the door.
The hotel they've booked is several stops away on the tram, and Ed requested that they be placed away from the other guests because his brother "has very delicate sensibilities, and is easily awakened by the slightest noise."
They are barely in the room before they are all over each other, kissing, biting, licking, sucking, and Al has to pry Ed off his neck like a leech to remind him that if they're caught with hickeys here it will look more than a little suspicious.
"Whores?" Ed suggests, but Al smiles and shakes his head, and he pouts. "But I like sucking your neck."
"You like sucking a lot of things," Al nips at his nose. "I'm going to get undressed."
Ed turns to straighten out their sheet. They'd pushed the room's twin beds together upon their arrival, but the stains are minimal so far and Ed is certain this is because of Al's swallowing habit (not that he minds at all). He retrieves the oil from his suitcase and closes the curtains, switches off all but one of the lamps—-he dims it—and then turns...
Al is naked.
Well, not entirely—he's folding his shirt and it's shielding some of his skin, but other than that, Al is naked.
And this should not come as a shock to him, but it just...is. Because for all the sex they've had, for all the showers they've taken, for all the times they've changed in the same room, not once has Ed ever paused to just look at his brother, and that's just insane.
So much of his life and Al's was defined by the fact that Al had no body at all, and then by the time Ed actually saw it he was too preoccupied with the miseries of fate to think about it. But now, alone in this room, lifetimes from where they began, Ed is sitting on the edge of a bed in Berlin and finally seeing the body he sacrificed everything for.
It's more than perfect.
It's like he's found his arm, gained back his leg. Part of him that was lost is complete before him and the weight of the tragedy is lifted and in it's wake there's nothing but...
"Al..." he sputters.
Al looks up and blinks at him.
"Al." he repeats, and then Al is blurry and unclear and it's because his eyes are full of tears.
Al tries to follow his gaze, finds himself naked and then distractedly rubs his cheek with the back of his wrist.
"If I look that horrible naked, why don't you tell me so I can get put my clothes back on."
"Don't you dare put anything on," Ed hisses, salt water and love running down his cheeks. "Don't you dare even move."
It's strange, he thinks, that in all this time they haven't even both been completely naked with each other. In fact it wouldn't even have occurred to him if Ed wasn't insisting that he just stand still so his brother can look at him.
And look at him.
And look at him.
And...he's getting stiff, both in muscle and in groin, and it's embarrassing.
His cock is twitching as it hardens, and god this is ridiculous, it's like his brother is making him aroused with the power of his mind alone.
"Brother, knock it off."
Al runs a hand through his hair and Ed's breath catches audibly. He examines his voyeur as best he can in the poor light, and can make out the distinct extra fold in Ed's pants.
Al walks over to the bed, puts one knee up on it and leans into his brother, kissing him soundly, deeply. Ed's hands—-soft and warm and hard and cool respectively—fly up to caress his back and pull him in closer; Ed doesn't just return a kiss, his consumes it and then devours Al along with it. The best kisses are the ones he's still bad at that leave them both messy.
It's a bit of a struggle to get Ed out of his clothes, but once he is they mold into each other, pressing every inch of skin and metal together as if they could fuse into one. Al shudders and breathes deeply as Ed's hands run down his stomach and into the stiff curls that surround his cock, digging into them and pressing at the skin underneath, and from the way his sibling's cock begins to leak more in his hand, Al can tell that this is exciting him, and it makes him happy and more than a little proud.
"Hey brother," he says, softly as Ed pulls away and down to lick the crown of his erection with short, soft strokes. "I want to do it."
"Mmmm?" He's sucking quite contently—and without teeth, thank god—at the head now, and doesn't seem to register Al's request.
"I want you inside me."
After he says it, he realizes how stupid it sounds, something you might find in those dreadful novels they sell alongside the newspapers. Ed even looks up and laughs, and Al looks for something to throw at him just so he can feel less dumb.
"We have all night. What was that about not rushing things?"
"Shut uuup," Al moans as the contact to his cock ceases. "Either suck me or fuck me, but do one of them, and do it soon."
Ed grins—that fierce, determined grin of his that Al so loves—and slides off the bed to get the oil.
"Do you want to be on your back or on your stomach?"
"What did the book say?"
"The book said shit like 'spulung' and 'scheide,' too, and anyway I didn't bring it. So you get to choose."
"It would probably be easier if I was on my stomach, right?" Part of him can't believe he's saying these words—-butt sex? Alphonse Elric? What would his....well, everyone say? But he rolls onto his stomach and then rises to all fours, his skin prickling with anticipation and his nerves singing.
He can almost here Ed grinning, and there's the soft sounds of him opening the vial and carefully pouring the oil onto his hands.
"Okay," Ed says, placing his right hand on Al's hip. "Here's one."
Al braces himself on the bed and...
Ed slowly slides his middle finger into his brother's body, heart pounding, stomach full of butterflies, a few moths, and maybe a grasshopper or seven. He's almost giddy, like they've never done this before—-and, well, they haven't done this before, but...—and he waits for Al to say if it's good or bad or nothing.
"Huh." is the reply he gets.
"It feels so strange. And kind of cold."
"I'll try moving it, tell me if it hurts okay?"
He pulls his finger out slowly, centimeter by centimeter, and then carefully pushes it back in. Al starts slightly, but doesn't show or make any sounds of pain (and since the incident at the library, he knows to listen for them). After a few more tries, the tight muscles clamping on his finger feel a bit looser.
"I'm going to put a second one in, all right?"
"Mm..." Al offers.
"Mm? Is that okay? Is it good or bad or—"
"It's good, brother. I like it. It's still strange, but there's...a place I feel like you're almost touching and it...it's just good. Two, please."
Ed isn't aware he's holding his breath until it comes out. He wants this so badly. He's aching for it, from his head to his toes, even in the places that he can't really feel, but if Al had said no, that ache would have had to sate itself on oral sex and fondling.
But as such, he happily inserts a second finger, curving them slightly, and his brother starts with an "OH!"
"Not again. Was that good, or—"
"Would you stop asking? If it hurts, I'll tell you."
Ed is shushed, and concentrates on the little motions, and almost unintentionally begins to stroke himself in time with them. Al on his hands and knees in front of him is really a nice picture, and his cock delights in the touch. The thought that soon it'll be where his fingers are make him even harder, and he closes his eyes, imagining it...
Ed jerks back to reality.
"You stopped moving your fingers." Al tries to look over his shoulder and glares. "Brother, are you jerking off and just putting your fingers up there with no intention of actually having sex with me? Because if you are, I want my butt back."
"No, no..." Ed restarts the activity and with some degree of guilt moves his hand from his own cock to Al's. How silly of him to forget that Al has a needy erection as well.
Al sighs and his shoulders tighten momentarily.
"Three," Ed announces shakily before inserting the third. If he waits much longer, the sex will be very short indeed.
"Brother, I might...AH!" Ed has curled his fingers again and Al tosses his head back.
He can't wait anymore.
"Okay, Al.." He pours more oil onto his fingers and spreads it along his cock in easy lines, then smooths it around and gets up on his knees. "I'm going to...you know."
Al nods and spreads his legs a little bit further.
The first contact is strange and Al makes a weird noise. Ed grips himself firmly and guides himself in slowly, watching the muscles in his brother's back ripple as his breathing falters.
"It hurts a little...but don't stop, please."
Ed nods, not that Al can see, and presses in, and in, and in until his hips meet Al's buttocks and then it's real, he's really inside his brother, they're really committed.
"I'm all in."
"Fuck." Al lets it out in a gasp.
"Yeah," Ed replies, and then he starts to move.
It's tight, but tight is too easy. Binding, maybe, but he can still move and oh, it feels so good to move, Al is so hot and it burns him, every thrust is hotter than the last and he reaches down to cup Al's erection, squeezing it, rubbing it, swirling the tip of his index finger around the head and painting the streaks of fluid down the shaft and—
His hands are coated in come quite suddenly, and Al sags slightly.
"Oh..." he's moaning, but not the way Ed wanted; he sounds disappointed. "I came already. I'm sorry, I couldn't..."
Ed hesitates a minute, then starts dragging his hand up and down Al's hyper-sensitive skin and thrusting harder.
"Well I didn't come yet, so we're not finished." The words taste good in his mouth, only Al would taste better, and he raises his wet hand to his lips and licks it clean before bending down and kissing the upraised bumps of his brother's spine. His hand returns to Al's not-soft-yet length, and he deliriously entertains the idea that maybe he can make his brother come twice, even though biology says that's a big no.
He leans back slightly and presses his pelvis forward, watching as Al moves with him and then pushes back against him.
"I want more of you."
There will probably be bruises on Al's hips and thighs from the automail, but there's no time to care about that.
"I want all of you."
Al moans and cries out and digs his fingers into the sheets and almost wails as Ed suddenly crouches over him, stomach to his back and comes hard, harder, hardest, the spasms shaking into his ports and for a second he's whole.
And then he's mortal Edward Elric again, sprawled across his brother and drooling onto his shoulder.
"Get off..." Al murmurs, and Ed slides backwards and out of him slowly.
Al rolls over onto his back and inhales deeply, his hand going up to rest on his forehead.
Al smiles and reaches out for him, and Ed goes willingly, pressing onto him fully, and trying to express with his mouth what it can only make into actions and not yet words. It's happiness and exuberance and afterglow until Al makes a face and pulls away.
"I'm lying in the wet spot." he says, and Ed rolls his eyes.
"Big deal, that happens all the time."
"And it's...coming back out again."
"I don't know."
"...you came in me. It's..uh...leaking."
Ed stares at him.
"The book didn't say anything about that." Pause. "That's disgusting. That's really gross, Al."
Al shoves him off and drags his hand across the wet spot, then tries to rub it into Ed's stomach.
"And whose fault is that, huh? Who put it up there?!"
Ed can't help laughing—-because it tickles, because it's so gross it's hilarious, because he's so happy—and that makes Al laugh too even as he puts his older brother in a headlock.
"Hey brother," he leans down and puts his lips right next to Ed's ear. "I love you."
And Ed laughs again.
Maybe he is whole in the places where they come together.
But he's still going to make Al sleep in the wet spot. Love doesn't have any sway on that.