[Sept '04 Drabble Challenge] - 1 FMA

Snow
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Requested by: shuki_ai
Request: "I'm going to be unoriginal and vague and ask for Roy/Ed from Fullmetal Alchemist. ^__^;;"
Mild sexual content, swearing, no spoilers



It was frozen outside, cold enough that the air ached as he drew it into his chest, and burned on his lips. After he had managed to warm it in his lungs, it hung in the air outside like manifest spirit before finally dispersing again.

He was warm enough for all that; the uniform might not be good for fighting in the stinking, roiling heat of the desert, but it was useful to stay warm in. His boots were heavy leather, his pants and their tails were thick, his jacket was warm even in the gaps because his linen shirt underneath protected him, and he wore his heavy black coat over his shoulders, giving him warmth but keeping his arms free if he needed them. He didn't think he would.

The snow muffled sound; he almost didn't hear someone coming up behind him, though when he caught the noise, it was clear that the snow was being waded through.

Roy half-turned and caught a snowball right on his cheek.

It wasn't particularly fun; it stung, the tiny pellets of ice leaving his cheek red, and burned with cold. As the snowball disintegrated, snow and ice slid down his collar and he jerked as it stung there too, like tracing scars out.

But Ed was laughing, ducking to scoop up another one as Roy wiped the lingering sting away. "GOT you, Colonel," he jeered, packing the snow in his hand, laughter muffled in the thick winter air.

It wasn't anything he'd ever done as a child; he'd come from far enough to the south-east that they never got snow, just chill rain, except on rare occassions -- and then, never enough to fight with. Though Central had frequent storms, he wasn't a man comfortable in the cold; every bit of research he'd done had been for fire, and warmth, the stinking, roiling heat of the desert. This was not his childhood game; it was not something he was sure he could do and get the right spirit for.

But Ed was laughing and getting ready to throw, and so Roy ducked, buried his gloves in the snow, and scooped a handful out.

It seeped through the coarse cloth, leaving his fingers tinglingly, burningly cold, and he caught another snowball on his shoulder. He squeezed the snow together in his hands; it was a pathetic snowball, not round, not wanting to stick together, but Ed was rearming and so he turned and threw. Specks of snow stuck to his gloves.

It mostly came apart in mid-air, though a small bit caught in Ed's hair, and if Ed knew that it was Roy's first snowball, he didn't show it -- just ducked, laughing, and scooped up another handful.

He tried a few more times and they were better, solid in his hands, and he even managed to catch Ed's head with one; Ed shouted, scrubbing at his skull, trying to shake the snow out before it melted and soaked into everything. Too late, Roy thought, and found himself grinning as he waded towards Ed.

"Colonel? What are you -- GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

Too late, and Ed landed in the snowdrift with style, snow flying, and screeched as it got inside his clothes. "YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I'LL SHOW YOU--!"

Laughing, surprised by how it sounded in the air, Roy fled.

Later, they went inside and Roy made cocoa on the stove, because it was what Ed insisted was done, and had threatened to beat him up if he didn't. He'd found a tin, probably stocked by Hughes some years earlier, and followed the instructions -- though Ed had made him (loudly, and at length) replace the milk in his with hot water.

It burned going down, warm and sweet in his mouth, and he looked up to find Ed grinning at him, completely at ease there in Roy's house. Roy had no idea of how Ed had tracked him down here, or found him in the property out back, or -- more importantly -- why.

"Fullmetal?"

"'Ed''s fine."

Roy watched him, and Ed smiled, stretched out on the couch, put his mug down on the teak wood coffeetable without thinking about how likely he was to leave it ringed.

"Ed," Roy said. "You, ah--"

"That was fun," Ed said. He stretched again, then rolled his eyes when Roy didn't seem to respond. He beckoned.

Roy came over, sat on the couch, and pondered Ed, who was waiting, grinning challenge at him, his cheeks flushed from cold and showing a red mark high on the side of his face where Roy's snowball had taken him.

Slowly, he leaned in. The kiss was warm, and surprisingly soft, Ed's tongue meeting his without hesitation, one hand twining in Roy's hair, his face tilting up into it. Roy sighed, soft, and kissed him again, like he'd wanted to do, but it had never seemed right before -- too much to do, too little time, everything too serious. He had time now, though, and Ed growled contentedly into the kiss, and after a moment, it shifted. It grew hot, demanding, Ed's hands sliding down Roy's shirt, fumbling with buttons to brush cold skin over warmer.

They made love on the couch as if taking the time to go elsewhere would stop them entirely, as if neither wanted to risk that, and Ed was loud, vocal, moaning, the sound unhindered in indoor air, his legs tucked up hard against Roy's sides, hot and fast and hard and Roy kissed him again and again, back curved awkwardly to be able to do so with Ed so small -- not that he'd ever say it -- and Ed purred into those, slamming back against Roy until he groaned and arched and came against Roy's belly and Roy moved, and Roy moved, and Roy moved, and the world seemed to grey out, until heat crashed over him and he heard himself cry out. It faded slowly, ebbing, leaving him warm and content, and he pulled out to curl against Ed.

"Good," Ed muttered. "It works. Let's do this more often."

Roy lifted his head to look down at Ed's face, soft and open for once, his eyes closed and lines of pain smoothed out. It was like something inside melted at the look.

"Yes," he said.