Morning After: Lack of Indifference

When considering potential dates, Edward Elric had never crossed Roy's mind. Sure, the kid was attractive, but he was just that—a kid. A child with an adult's burden, but a child none-the-less. Roy respected him, even admired him, and he had to admit that he was fond of the annoying little brat, but date material? The very idea would have been ludicrous. He might have broad tastes, but Roy Mustang was not a pedophile. Besides, he was perfectly happy dating women.

Roy could remember the exact moment when his indifference toward the little alchemist had ended. It hadn't faded; it had crashed squarely into a boulder of pure desire and shattered into a million pieces. He didn't remember the date, but he remembered the moment with crystal clarity.

The Elrics had been in East City for several days, waiting for their next lead or assignment, and they'd gotten restless. The boys had decided to expel some of their energy by sparring in the courtyard. It was only chance that Roy had passed by.

He'd stopped dead in his tracks. He wasn't the only one watching; a seven foot suit of armor in an even fight against a boy who didn't even reach five feet wasn't something one saw every day. But that hadn't been why Roy stopped. He hadn't been sure why.

What Roy had first focused on was Edward's braid, the thick rope of hair that had swung out behind him when he moved. It didn't shimmer, or shine in the sun, or any other such poetic nonsense. It had been dusty and sweaty and messy, it had bits of what looked like plant matter lodged in it, and the loose strands had stuck to the boy's face and neck. He had nice hair, Roy could admit that, but many of the women he dated had hair that was equally as lovely, and Edward's certainly hadn't been at its best right then. That couldn't have been why he had stopped to watch.

The automail had caught the sun, flashing coldly as he dodged and attacked, but it was a shine marred by scuffs and scratches, marks that spoke of rough use. Roy was always fascinated by Edward's metal limbs, although he tried not to let it show. He knew the elder Elric saw them as a mark of sin, something to be ashamed of, and so kept them covered; but to Roy they were a symbol of the boy's strength and determination, and the love he had for his younger brother. The exposed automail might have been enough of a reason for Roy to stop.

But the automail hadn't kept his attention for long that day. The boy had caught himself in a one-armed handspring, deftly flipping himself back to his feet, and Roy's gaze had been drawn to the flesh-and-blood limb the boy had used. Edward's stature and the fact that he kept himself so often covered up made it easy to forget just how strong he was. His arm was well toned, with a definition that Roy both admired and envied. Sweat had made his undershirt cling to his torso, giving Roy teasing hints of a firmly muscled back and chest. He was small without being squat, slender but broad shouldered, and had none of the awkwardness or lingering child-softness that most adolescents had. He was like a great cat, all grace and tightly-controlled, deadly power.

He was, in essence, beautiful.

The little alchemist had taken a final tumble that ended with him propped against the wall in a rather undignified, tail-over-teakettle position, and Alphonse had declared his win. There had been a smattering of applause and friendly laughter from those watching and Edward had righted himself, grinning self-consciously. Then the boy had pulled the tie from his braid and had shaken his hair out, combing his fingers through it and working out bits of debris. That was when Roy had fled.

It had taken all his self control to maintain a dignified pace and not run back to his office. Once behind closed doors he had all but collapsed at his desk. When Edward had started fixing his hair, all Roy had been able to think about was running his own fingers through those thick, sweaty strands, smoothing his hands down that firm chest and stomach, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under his touch, the scent of sweat and steel filling his nostrils, claiming that smart little mouth and, ultimately, claiming that sweet little ass that was shown off so well by those tight leather pants.

Roy hadn't been able to keep himself from wondering what Edward would be like in bed. The boy was fiery and volatile, but he also had a gentle side, a sweetness that Roy had only glimpsed a time or two, and only from afar. He was bold and reckless, but he was also shy. Which facet would come to the forefront? Would he try to dominate? Or would he submit? One thing Roy had been sure of, was that it wouldn't be boring.

Roy had groaned and dropped his forehead to the desk, trying to ignore the ache in his groin and wondering what had possessed him to be lusting after a child. A fifteen-year-old child, for God's sake.

But no. No, that was it, right there. Edward Elric was no longer a child. He was fifteen, less than a year from the legal age of consent, and he was no longer a child.

But child or not, he was still young, still technically a minor, still male (wonderfully, deliciously male), and still under Roy's command, all things which made him off limits. So Roy had pushed his newly-awakened desire to the back corners of his mind and had gone on treating the boy the same as he ever had.

Roy hadn't counted on both of them getting drunk one night. Roy really hadn't counted on Edward returning his desire.

When Roy had kissed the younger alchemist, he'd expected the boy to react negatively. Or had Edward kissed him? No, Edward had grabbed his collar in the middle of an argument and pulled him down, but Roy had done the kissing. As soon as he'd pressed their lips together he had expected to be punched, or at least pushed away. He hadn't expected to be kissed back. Edward was sloppy, inexperienced and drunk, but he was kissing him back, pulling on his clothes with lust now instead of anger, parting his lips to allow Roy's tongue, and Roy's mind abandoned all thought except get rid of the clothes and get to the bedroom.

Once these two things were accomplished, another thought forced its way through the haze of lust and alcohol: don't take advantage of him.

I wouldn't be taking advantage! He wants it!

He's drunk, he doesn't know what he wants.

Edward threw his leg over Roy's hip and ground against him, and Roy's resolve nearly shattered. He groaned and cupped that tight, sweet ass and pressed their groins together. The boy moaned and shivered, and nipped his collar bone.

He wants it. He's practically begging for it!

He's inexperienced and drunk, he doesn't understand what he's asking for.

You'll only hurt him if you take him now.

Roy bent down to take that eager mouth, slipping a hand between them and pressing both of their erections against his own stomach. The little alchemist cried out and bucked his hips, clinging to the older man in a seeming attempt to get closer than was physically possible, his lips and teeth traveling over Roy's shoulder and neck and chest. It took all of Roy's will power not to throw caution to the winds and claim the boy right then and there. What ultimately stopped him, once and for all, was the realization that he had nothing to use as lube. Even drunk he had enough sense not to risk taking him dry.

Young as he was, Edward climaxed quickly, and then he lay there and watched with a sort of bemused fascination as Roy finished himself off. "You take longer'n me."

Roy pulled the drunk, sated boy close and drew the covers over them both. "That's because you have no stamina."

"Do too have stam'na." Edward apparently hadn't satisfied his desire for physical contact, because he threw an arm around the older man and pressed against him, snuggling under his chin. "Yer just . . . slow. . . ."

Roy kissed the top of a golden head, and stroked his hand down a finely muscled back, then back up, to a pair of broad shoulders, one metal and one flesh. He sighed. "Please don't hate me tomorrow."

". . . M'kay. . . ."

He only hoped he could trust that half-asleep response.