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stunudo · 6 years

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BAU Prep School AU: 2018

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. 2016-2017 school year Class of 18

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Uphill

September 11, 2017 6:58am

Grant Anderson had barely slept the night before in worry over remembering to cast the school flags at half-mast. It had been an annual tradition since before he took over from the old groundskeeper, an indeterminate amount of years ago. He arrived at the school in the peaceful, yet creeping silence of the pre-student hours. He quickly parked in his usual spot and rounded the school in nearly a circumferential path, the American and Virginia State flags were listless on the solitary hill before the student parking lot. He said a simple prayer of remembrance as he steadily lowered the cords.

He sighed as he walked into the building, the heavy front doors creaking in the quiet. Grant Anderson turned to open his office and begin his day but something in his periphery stopped him. He paused and spun back to the large entrance hall that broke out into twin curving stone stairwells. There in the middle of the space was a stone table, where a tiny, antique, single-person submarine was held inside a glass display case. It was held, because in that moment Grant Anderson found it missing. In its place was a very underwhelming plastic model and a notecard. In stunned silence he approached the case, which was meticulously wiped down after the switch. The note read: ‘Good luck without Old Unity guiding your way.- New Canaan International School.’

Grant hunched over to read the note under his breath, “Oh shit.”

7:19am

Kate didn’t appreciate the incessant media reminders of the day that tore her family apart. She leaned against their kitchen island while Kit was talking to his toys instead of eating his cereal. She remained in her flannel pants and thermal long sleeve pajama top; this was not a day she chose to deal with people, especially not teenagers who couldn’t completely grasp the meaning of the anniversary. Someone of them weren’t even born, like Meg. It had been sixteen years since her mother, Kate’s sister went to work in Manhattan and the entire world changed.

Still, Meg was her silver-lining. The most impossible outcome of that day and the trauma it caused. Two years after losing contact, Kate’s sister Liz showed up on her doorstep, homeless, pregnant and desperate. And today that silver-lining was taking her time in the shower.

“Meg!” Kate called up the stairs, the water audibly gushing through the thin door.

Meanwhile Meg was sitting on the closed toilet lid, texting Maya as she walked into school. She was dressed and avoiding the awkwardness of the day as long as possible. She loved her aunt and uncle, but somedays she wondered what it would have been like if her mom were around. If maybe, just maybe she got her shit together. The brunette girl sighed and locked her phone. Time to start their yearly ritual and try not to make Kate cry, more.

Sept. 12 4:02pm

Coach Morgan wasn’t holding a standard practice today, instead he was in full Under Armor running outfit; his ripped body hugged thoroughly. He stood stone faced waiting for the team to exit the locker rooms in their running gear. Eventually his forty players were lined up before him, three uneven rows of bulky teenagers.

“Submariners!” The Coach’s deep voice barked in to the afternoon heat. “The New Canaan Cougars disrespected us this weekend. Those fools stepped foot in our house and took our mascot. Now!” He began pacing in front of his team. “Are you going to put up with that?”

“No!” A few players answered in various ways.

“I’m sorry? Are you going to LET them disrespect this school?!” He cocked his head to the side in exaggerated listening.

“NO, SIR!” Forty voices proclaimed.

Coach Morgan grinned, “That’s right. We won’t be able to put the pain to those guys until playoffs, but, for now, we run laps. Together. As a team. Because we don’t lose focus and we don’t back down.”

Derek grabbed his whistle off his chest, “Line up by jersey number, we stick together.” The whistle blast got the kids scrambling to fall into line. He waited a minute before giving another shrill alarm, sending Iggy Cruz, the kicker, off to lead the team down the hill. Derek knew the pace would quickly dwindle as they fought to keep their spacing even to his attentive glare. He followed behind his number 93 for the first lap as soon as he crossed their starting point he sprinted to the front of the pack, taking over the lead. It was going to be a long practice, for coach and players alike. In the middle of all the sweat and swearing and straining bodies, May Howard was formulating a plan.

Sept. 14 12:57pm

Jordan Kyle and Alex Blake were making quiet conversation across the staff table as Spencer was munching on his perfectly edged sandwich while reading over some worksheets. The lunch Chef Rossi prepared smelled amazing, yet still he dutifully ate his prepared sack lunch. The women were whispering about more personal details of their summers and Spencer was dutifully playing ignorant. What Stan Kyle had removed from where, was really none of his business, nor how long it took to get him back to, uh, normal in any arena.

The wizened Chef had been avoiding the sixth period lunch hour in the staff room because he was avoiding his ex-wife, though not belligerently; more like a puppy that had to lick his wounds after a round of play that was more than he bargained for. Today, he had outdone himself and needed the extra time for preparations; he quietly made his way towards the half-occupied table with his own tray of food.

“David! This is amazing quiche!” Jordan covered her full mouth with her hand as she spoke. Her bright eyes sparkling with delight. He shrugged, smugly.

“Wait until you get to the cannoli.” Alex murmured conspiratorially.

“How’s everyone? I fell like I haven’t heard much from you lot.” Dave tried making small talk.

“Good!” Spencer perked up. “Hotch gave me a prep period this year and you wouldn’t believe how much time I have now.”

“That’s great kid.” Rossi nodded, inspecting his slice of cheesy egg bake. It was a little moist, he took a mental note.

“How was Turkey?” Jordan asked him, Alex unsubtly rolling her eyes at her friend and colleague.

“It was great, Jordan, thanks for asking.” He grinned, the amusement at Alex’s uncomfortableness equal parts reassuring and instigating. “Cyprus was my favorite though.”

“Cyprus third largest and third most populated island in the Mediterranean?” Spencer added after a few eye daggers and a swift kick from Alex beneath the table.

“Right from the brochure, look at that.” Dave deadpanned. “The people were great, really welcoming. It’s amazing, the ones who have the least in this world are willing to share the most.”

“The constructs of community vary from culture to culture, but the village mentality leaves personal possessions nearly impossible. It is innate generosity.” Spencer built on the complexities of Dave’s experiences.

“Well said.” Alex finally spoke up, after the bell rang, freeing her from Dave’s retelling of the vacation that could have been hers.

Sept. 15 11:38am

As a new student in the middle of her high school career, Lena Curtis was less concerned with fitting in and more focused on keeping up with the rigors of the new academic environment. She had been eating alone, earbuds in while reading over assignments or syllabi. Lucas and Jake had been watching her on and off the first week of school, both innately empathetic and seated in the cafeteria two tables away. Now, they just had to acknowledge that they had been staring and perhaps they could talk to her. Fortunately for all them, May Howard wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

“You guys going to invite her to eat with us or do I have to?” She huffed as she sat down between Jake and her more socially acceptable twin, Cissy.

“Be our guest, Howard.” Lucas took a massive bite of his panini as he waited for her to own up to her bluff. She looked to Jake and back to the smug lineman. She slid back off the bench seat, shoving her hands in the pockets of her pressed khakis. She didn’t want to scare the new girl, Azalene, she remembered from last period Physics.

“Hey.” May’s voice was gruff because she was trying to remain calm. “So, a few of us have Physics with you and were wondering if you want to sit with us. It’s cool if you’d rather study, I know there is a lot of homework and I don’t want to pressure you into a forced social in—”

“No, that’s fine. Nice, I mean. Thanks.” The girl’s twin French braids bobbed with her enthusiasm. “I’m Lena, by the way.”

“May, I mean—I am May.” She stepped back as Lena grabbed her stuff, giving her lunch group a double thumbs’ up behind the acquired newbie’s back. Jake’s face broke into his signature grin while Lucas waved obviously. “The big one is Turner, Lucas, then there’s Jake and Cissy.”

“She’s your sister, right?” Lena looked down, either because she was trying to hear May or because she didn’t like looking people in the eye, it was hard to tell.

“Yeah, stuck with her since birth, but its fine. She grows on you.” May shrugged as a half smirk quirked up her usually hidden dimple.

“Hi!” Lena smiled shyly as she say down with her backpack and tray.

“Atta-girl, Howard,” Coach Morgan muttered his approval of his player reaching out to one of the new kids.

“What’s up?” Luke Alvez leaned in, following Derek’s line of sight.

“One of my kids reached out to the Curtis girl. Glad she had the balls, so to speak.”

“Right, Lena. It’s about time, they’re in my next hour together.” Luke shrugged. “Cafeteria duty is pretty chill, huh?”

“As long as nobody crosses Turner over there,” Tara Lewis nodded back to the group they’d been watching.

“Oh, come on now, that’s not fair.” Derek laughed. “Turner is good. Honestly I can’t think of anyone in here we really have to worry about.”

“Why are so many of us on this hour?” Tara asked confused.

“I think it’s a ratio thing, fifth hour has more students having lunch, so there are more of us. Hotch knows what he’s doing.” Derek shrugged, not mentioning that Lewis and Alvez were still new to the school and Hotch wouldn’t leave them to the wolves alone. Derek wasn’t complaining, having back to back lunch breaks were the dream. Meanwhile, Tara shifted from foot to foot. She hated losing her momentum in the middle of the day, she felt like cafeteria duty was a fairly menial task. Luke was quizzing himself on student’s names and learning who were friends outside of class.

Sept. 25 6:37pm

Derek walked behind Penelope as she strutted into the library, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the coming meeting. The first Booster Club gathering of the new school year, which meant new students, new ideas and old standbys making the upcoming calendar filled with possibilities. She carefully placed the school’s tablet and her phone on the central table. Grant had rearranged the hefty study desks into a semicircle complete by a collection of chairs in arching rows for the parents and additional student participants.

“Okay, thanks for coming to the Fall meeting again. I know you’ve got your hands full this season and it means a lot that you’re here tonight.” She made sure to give her boyfriend her appreciation, who had yet to be home from school for the day.

“Hey, this is important to me too. Don’t worry about me, I’m good.” Derek held her hand against his chest. “You ready?”

“For another record-breaking year? Hell yeah. Let’s just hope everyone else is.” She grinned before sneaking a quick kiss. They were still alone anyhow.

The meeting went effortlessly, or Penelope Garcia and Michel Foyet were so prepared that it felt more like a conversation than an agenda-riddled requirement. Derek sat calmly to Penny’s right as Mrs. Jordan Kyle was to her left, nodding and smiling in encouragement. The parents were enthusiastic and those that usually overreached were pleasantly absent. Midway through a mother and son made their way to the back of the meager crowd, Penelope smiled as they sat down nervously. The meeting wrapped up before the hour was up, leaving the attendees to break into their own bubbles of conversation. Jordan thanked Penelope for a job well done and went home without much fuss.

Derek and Mr. Howard were talking football as Penelope approached the late arrivals.

“Hi! I’m Ms. Garcia, welcome to the Boosters Club.” She held out her violet manicured hand to the mother and then the anxiously quiet boy.

“Thanks, I’m Rebecca Garner, this is Regi, he’s a freshman this year.” The brunette woman confided in a slight accent.

“Regi is short for Reginald, right? How royal.” Penelope grinned, letting the student roll his eyes at her observation. “If you are looking for service to the school hours, check with Michel, they have the sign-up lists for the semester.”

Regi nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. Rebecca looked impatient with the gesture but smiled sympathetically to Ms. Garcia anyhow. “Thanks, nice meeting you.”

“Of course, thanks for coming.”

Derek called for Chinese pick up as Penelope cleaned up the library from the meeting. She hated leaving it less than she had found it, Grant was anal, but he worked himself too hard as well.

“Ready, Baby Girl?” Derek sighed as she gave the room a tertiary glance. “Penelope.” He was tired and needed some cuddle time.

“Yes, I guess. So? My place or yours tonight, Lover?” She asked as he held the door for her.

Sept. 26 4:08pm

Hotch had driven the same route home for the past five years, a scenic and unrushed ritual. He mentally left his day behind him, focusing on the yardwork and dinner awaiting him. There was an oddly satisfying feeling that he was able to come home to his family at a reasonable hour each and every day. His few years practicing law proved how treasured this possibility was. The leaves lined the neighborhood thoroughfare as he made the turns methodically. He passed a teenager mowing the lawn on one corner and a family walking home from school down another block. It was the American Dream and Aaron Hotchner sighed contentedly as he acknowledged his reality with gratitude.

Though it was breezy, their front door was open for him and Aaron quickly found Jack and Haley in the living room which doubled as Jack’s play spot, an octagonal area fenced off in the middle of the room since he had begun crawling at the beginning of summer. The plastic sides had been folded inwards, leaving Jack’s mat and toys strewn across the room.

“Hey!” He smiled as he set his briefcase in the foyer.

“Wait, Aaron, stay there.” Haley called hurriedly.

“Okay? Any particular reason why?” He chuckled, but listened, hovering in the archway between the hall and the room which held his family. “Hey, buddy!” He called to his son who had been thumping a block against another toy with a satisfying and repeated thwack. Jack’s face burst into a drooling grin and he began crawling to his dad.

“Wait for it…” Haley warned quietly. When Jack reached the recliner, he pulled himself up and continued toward him determinedly. His tentative feet taking him away from the grounding of the furniture, but he managed a good four or five steps before falling back into a crawl. Haley clapped excitedly, the joy upon her husband’s face unparalleled.

“Alright, Jack-Attack!” Aaron bent down and snatched up his giggling son. “Has he been walking all day?!

“Just since lunch. I almost called three times, but I figured seeing it firsthand would be more impactful.”

“Well, that’s the best welcome home I’ve ever had. Good job, buddy!” Aaron kissed the baby’s head and brought him back across the room to his toys. The little family spent the next half hour getting Jack’s consecutive step total up to nine before breaking up the fun for dinner preparations and yardwork. Aaron expertly strapped Jack into his carrier, complete with noise dampening earmuffs so the Hotchner men could clear the yard with the leaf blower before settling in for the night.

Next Chapter: Messy

@mentallydatingspencerreid @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @cynbx @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @wheresthewater @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @thismiss02 @literallyprentissstwin

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thejovianmute · 7 years

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A Different Way Home, Ch 2

Author: TheJovianMute

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (any, since it's AU)

Pairing: Ed Elric/Roy Mustang

Tags: Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Prostitution, Hooker Roy, Student Ed, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rape, Violence, PTSD, Disabilities, Vision-Impaired Roy, Eventual Happy Ending

Summary: Roy's standing on a freezing street corner, his body for sale and his pride long-since gone, when the boy in the red coat approaches him.

Notes: So the first few chapters of this are going to be pure fluff and smut. Basically, I wanted to develop the relationship a little before everything goes to hell. So if anyone's just interested in the happy porny stuff, read on and I'll warn you when things are about to get dark so you can bail.

I had intended to include both Roy and Ed's POV in this chapter and get through the entire evening, but I hit 10k words and still wasn't done and realised I really needed to split it in half. On the upside, that means I already have 3k of the next chapter done!

Still pretty terrified about posting, but people were so lovely with feedback on ch 1, it was incredibly encouraging! Thankyou to everyone who reads, kudos or comments, you're all wonderful!

Ch 2: In which Roy is fed, Ed is kissed, labels are contemplated, and there are orgasms all round.

Read on AO3, or read under the cut:

Ed leads Roy to a large apartment block made of grey stone. They take the lift up to the fourth floor and head down a corridor to the door at the end. Unlike Roy's apartment block, this one is relatively tidy and clean, even if the peeling and faded paint gives away its age.

Ed fumbles his keys before managing to get the right one in the lock, and Roy notices that he has a little plastic suit of armour on his keyring. The silver paint is chipped and scratched, marking it as a long-time favourite. Roy wonders if Ed fancies himself something of a knight in shining armour.

Once Ed's managed to unlock the door, he holds it open and gestures for Roy to go through. "So this is my place," he says, somewhat unnecessarily.

Roy enters with a touch of caution. He's not expecting Ed to try and pull anything unexpected or untoward, but old habits die hard.

Directly inside there's a little entrance hall, with a bookcase crammed with books on one side and a shoe rack on the other, above which are a row of pegs. As Ed divests himself of his long red coat Roy follows suit, taking off his jacket and hooking it onto one of the unoccupied pegs. Ed proceeds to lean against the wall to unlace his boots and tug them off, so Roy assumes this is household protocol and removes his shoes as well. He places them in a spare space at the end of the rack, noting as he does that there are two distinctly different sizes of shoes present. The smaller size likely belongs to Ed - a supposition borne out as Ed dumps his boots haphazardly beside the smaller set of sneakers - but there's no explanation for the latter.

"You have a housemate?" Roy asks casually, gesturing towards the larger sets of shoes. It's not likely to indicate anything sinister, but if Roy needs to keep an ear out for a boyfriend returning home early, that will definitely change the tone of the evening.

But Ed doesn't look in the least abashed, nodding and visibly brightening. "My brother, Al. He's a year younger than me, but he's fucking brilliant." There's unvarnished pride and affection in Ed's tone; it's obvious the brothers are close.

"He's not here tonight," Ed adds. "He's staying with his girlfriend." His nose wrinkles, and Roy wonders if it reflects Ed's opinion of said girlfriend, the idea of a girlfriend in general, or the idea of his brother being sexually intimate with anyone.

Ed heads through the archway and into what Roy presumes is the main room of the apartment. Roy follows, looking around curiously. It's a reasonably-sized lounge, with a kitchen directly attached to the right. In the lounge area two couches are arranged with a television opposite, and a dining table is strewn with textbooks, notebooks, paper and pens.

Ed dumps his satchel in the corner by the dining table, pulls off his gloves and tosses them on top, and then turns back to Roy.

"Payment up front, right?"

Roy nods, surprised - he often has to prompt tricks to remember that part, especially first-timers who don't know the drill yet.

"Be right back! Feel free to make yourself comfortable, or whatever."

Ed disappears down the hallway, and Roy uses the opportunity to look around. The apartment has a lived-in feel, with evidence of the occupants' personality in everything from the carefully-repaired furniture to the assortment of geeky nick-nacks arranged along the windowsill. There's no coherent colour scheme, but the mismatched curtains, cushions and throw rugs - which should in theory clash rather horribly - simply make the place look bright and homely.

Best of all, Ed must have flipped on the heating as they entered, and warm air is already circulating, slowly defrosting Roy's numb extremities.

Roy finds himself drawn to the table and it's haphazard spread of books and papers. The notes are written in two different hands - one neat but cramped, the other a chicken-scratch scrawl - neither of which his vision can make out. But the titles of the textbooks are printed in bold, clear capitals, and he aches at their familiarity: "Fundamentals of Materials Science", "Introduction to Electrodynamics", "Malchion's Inorganic Chemistry", "Classical Mechanics". The texts range across the sciences, from biology to chemistry to physics and several crossover areas in between.

One of the textbooks is open, and he lifts the front half of the pages so he can read the cover. The design on the rust-coloured background is immediately familiar, and he doesn't even need to read the title to know what it is: "A History of Chemical Discovery". He runs a finger over the bonds of the molecule on the cover, an odd sense of nostalgia stealing over him.

In his peripheral vision he sees Ed return and approach the table to stand beside him.

"Rifamycin," Ed comments, looking at the cover Roy is still staring at, lost in memory.

"Rifampicin," Roy corrects absently, and then freezes as he realises what he's just revealed.

Ed's eyes widen and he looks down at the cover and then back up at Roy.

"You've studied chemistry?" Ed asks, surprise and confusion in his tone.

"A long time ago, yes," Roy says stiffly. He carefully re-opens the book to where he'd marked the place with a finger, waiting for the inevitable question: so how the fuck did you go from studying chemistry to whoring yourself on a street corner?

But Ed surprises him yet again. "That's so cool!" Ed says, his delight seemingly genuine. "What was your favourite? Organic or inorganic?"

"Inorganic," Roy replies automatically. The sudden, vivid image of flames blazing against a starlit desert sky reminds him of the uses his chemical knowledge was put to, and he shuts the memory down hard, his hands clenched into shaking fists.

"Mine too!" Ed enthuses, oblivious to Roy's distress. "Al's totally into organic, he's probably going to go into medical research or biomedical engineering or something fancy like that. He really likes people, wants to do something where he can work with them, not just be stuck in a lab all the time. I'm still undecided. I mean, materials engineering would be fascinating, but I'm not sure what I'd do with it, y'know? Astronomy is kinda tempting, too, but it's not all that practical. Al says it's more important to do what you love than what's useful, but there's a lot to be said for not worrying about where your next meal is coming from."

Speaking of income seems to remind him of his errand, and he holds out his hand, in which is a folded bundle of notes. "Sixty thousand," he says, sounding oddly cheerful about the amount.

Roy's not even going to ask. He takes the money and slips it into his pocket. Normally he'd count it first, especially if it was from a trick he didn't know or didn't trust, but he wants to trust Ed. More than that, he wants Ed to be trustworthy. His self-preservation instincts mutter their discontent, but he forces himself to ignore them.

"And speaking of food, I'm starving," Ed says, with enough fervour to imply that he hasn't eaten in a week. "I'm gonna cook. Stir fry all right with you? It's not real Xingese style, as Al's girlfriend likes to point out repeatedly, but it's pretty damn tasty all the same."

Ed looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer while Roy stares back at him blankly; he's never in his life had a trick offer to cook for him before. He was relatively sure he knew how the evening was going to go once they got here, but Ed's just veered completely off-script and Roy feels like he's been caught flat-footed.

Ed, however, misinterprets his hesitation. "If stir fry isn't your thing, I make a mean quiche. I'm pretty sure we have enough eggs, lemme look…" he trails off as he opens the fridge and begins to rummage through the contents.

"I have no objections to stir fry," Roy says, managing to finally find his voice. "But you don't have to feed me."

"When was the last time you ate?" Ed asks, peering around the open door of the refrigerator.

Roy pauses, trying to remember. He's only been awake since the early afternoon, but he has no idea whether or not he ate when he got up today. He often forgets to eat if he's not hungry, and he hasn't felt particularly hungry lately. He hasn't really felt much at all.

"If you have to think about it, it was too long ago, and it's time to eat again," Ed declares.

"All right," Roy says, his shock slowly fading into amusement. Ed's the one paying for his time, so if Ed wants to spend it cooking for them both, Roy's not going to argue.

Ed starts rattling around the kitchen, pulling out pans and knives and ingredients and setting everything on the bench.

"Can I do anything to help?" Roy asks.

Ed waves him away without even looking. "I've got it under control. And besides, you're a guest! I'm not gonna put you to work."

Roy finds this both amusing and perplexing; few people would consider a hooker they've hired to be anything resembling a 'guest'. The dismissal does give him a convenient opportunity to watch Ed as he works, however, so Roy takes advantage of it. Although Ed prefers his left hand, he seems quite willing and able to use the right when he needs to, and its dexterity is impressive. He also crouches down to reach things stored on the lowest shelves, without even a hand on the bench for balance.

The functionality of the prosthetics is extremely impressive, and he finds himself curious about exactly how they work. Not a conversation he's going to initiate, of course - regardless of how sensitive Ed is to the topic, Roy's here do a job, and he doubts talking about missing limbs is going to get Ed in the right kind of mood. He wonders idly what will get Ed in the mood, and spends the next half an hour alternating between watching Ed and thinking about what sort of tricks he can use to get Ed writhing and begging for more.

By the time Ed serves the stir fry into bowls and clears room for them at the table, the house smells of the savoury sauce Ed fried the meat in, and Roy has to admit it smells pretty tempting.

"Would you like a drink?" Ed asks.

Roy would kill for something alcoholic, preferably neat, but he knows that drinking on the job usually leads to making bad decisions, and he really doesn't need any help in that department.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Roy says instead. He's expecting some kind of soda, but Ed surprises him yet again.

"Juice for me," Ed says, heading back to the fridge. "But there's milk if you'd rather." The shudder in Ed's voice suggests that drinking ditch water would be preferable.

The set-up is too perfect for Roy to resist. Any other trick and Roy wouldn't bother trying to engage, but he can sense the tentative beginnings of a rapport between them, and Ed's earnestness makes him too tempting a target.

"What's wrong with milk?" Roy asks. "It's good for growing bones." He pauses for effect, and then adds: "Although it rather looks as if yours have given up on the attempt."

"Hey! No!" Ed exclaims, incensed, "I'm still growing!"

Roy smirks, having hit the target dead-on. "Perhaps if you drank more milk they'd put more effort into it."

Ed splutters indignantly, cheeks reddening, obviously working himself up into some kind of rant in response.

"Juice is fine," Roy says before Ed can let it loose, unable to suppress a grin.

Ed gives him a darkly suspicious look before pouring them both a glass and delivering them to the table, finally collapsing into a chair in an untidy sprawl. Roy takes the seat opposite, so he can watch Ed as they eat, as well as his vision allows.

Fortunately, when faced with food Ed's ire quickly vanishes, and he dives into his bowl. Roy follows suit more sedately.

As it turns out, Ed's assessment of his own cooking isn't actually hyperbole: the stir fry is quite tasty, and after the first couple of mouthfuls, Roy's body begins reminding him of exactly how hungry he is. He makes an appreciative sound as he swallows, and Ed grins at him, obviously delighted.

"See! It's good. Mei's just a food snob," Ed declares.

"Mei is Al's girlfriend?" Roy asks.

"Yeah," Ed says, in between mouthfuls. "She's all right, I guess. Not really sure what he sees in her. She seems to adore him, at least - but who wouldn't, he's Al. He's like, a kitten in human form or something."

Roy is amused by the description, especially considering the size of Al's shoes compared with Ed's - Roy is guessing that he's significantly taller.

"Mei is from Xing?" Roy asks.

Ed nods. "Came here to study, Al met her in one of his classes. What about you? I mean, where are you from?"

"I'm from Central," Roy answers, tone a little flat. He dislikes the the way too many people ask him the question, as if his exotic looks make a lie of his assertion that he's Amestrian, despite having been born here. He's never even been to Xing, doesn't speak the language or know anything of their culture. He never knew his mother long enough to learn.

To his relief, Ed doesn't seem to see any need to question his nationality. "I figured as much," Ed says, "from the fancy accent. Al and I are country bumpkins, we're from out East. Risembool, if you've ever heard of it."

Roy is amused to hear his accent described as 'fancy', especially considering his background, but if there's one thing Madame Christmas taught him it was how to socialise with the elite as if he'd been born one of them. Her informal elocution lessons over tea (for him) and gin (for her) were a regular part of his week, his accent being gradually 'corrected'. By the time he reached the Academy, he only had to introduce himself and the well-bred young men there simply assumed that he was one of them.

So he supposes that to a country kid he would sound rather formal. It's a strange juxtaposition, considering their current roles; Ed the one with money and a bright future ahead of him, while Roy has lost everything and returned to the gutters he was born in. He shuts down that line of thinking, knowing it can lead nowhere good.

"I know of Risembool," he answers. "I spent some time in the East."

"Neat," Ed says. "It's a nice place, but there isn't all that much to do there. Me and Al both knew we wanted to study science when we finished school. We researched every university in the country, but we heard that Central University had the best science department in Amestris, so we moved here."

"That's what I've heard, too," Roy agrees.

"Where did you study?"

Roy freezes, and then forces himself to swallow the mouthful he was chewing. Admitting the truth would reveal far more information about him than he had any intention of admitting to a trick he's just met. He knows he could easily lie, come up with something convincing that Ed would have no reason to question. But he finds that he doesn't want to. Ed's been nothing but honest with him so far, and he feels like it would change something between them if he broke that tentative trust, whether Ed was aware of it or not.

"CAA," Roy says finally, knowing that even someone as provincial as Ed will have heard of it. Central Army Academy is well-known throughout Amestris as the only choice for officers who aspire to the upper echelons of the military hierarchy.

Ed's eyebrows fly up. "You're military?"

"Not any more, obviously," Roy retorts, with more bite in his tone than he had intended.

Ed stares at him, wide-eyed, obviously aware that he's just stepped on a verbal landmine and not quite sure what to do about it.

Roy takes pity on him, smoothing things over with the skill he's cultivated since childhood. "I'm sure the Academy did things rather differently than the University, of course. Tell me about your studies, and how you've been finding it so far."

The relief on Ed's face is obvious and Roy wonders what his life has been like, that he's never had to learn to school his expression the way Roy did to survive.

Once prompted, Ed is more than happy to ramble on about his studies and his experiences at the University to date, and the brief tension which had flared between them quickly dissipates. Ed is an engaging speaker, his enthusiasm contagious, and Roy listens with genuine interest. It helps that he has the background to understand the things Ed's learning, and is able to ask relevant questions that get Ed shooting off on fascinating tangents.

"What drew you to study science?" Roy asks eventually. "And what about Al - did he choose to follow in your footsteps, or just happen to be interested in the same areas?"

"Al got into science because he wanted to use it to help people. Me, I thought it'd be kind of like a superpower: if I could understand the fundamental building blocks of the world and how they worked, I figured I could learn to make them do anything I wanted!" Ed snorts - Roy assumes at his childhood naivety. "It didn't work out like that, of course. Understanding matter and energy doesn't give you some kind of magical control; it's not like waving a wand or having a superpower."

Ed is silent and contemplative for a few moments, getting the look Roy is beginning to recognise as the one that means he's about to go veering off on a tangent. When he speaks again, Roy isn't disappointed.

"I mean, as far as superpowers go, matter transformation would be pretty damn cool. But if you're going for flashy it's hard to go past super-strength, and there are definitely a few assholes that I wouldn't mind punching through walls. But if we're talking about utility - and matter control was off the table - you'd have to go for something like telekinesis or intangibility, maybe teleportation. Something that you could use in all kinds of ways - to rescue people, steal stuff, whatever you wanted." Ed pauses, giving a grateful Roy a moment to catch up; following Ed's mental meanderings feels rather like being aboard a bus taking lefts and rights suddenly and at random, with no actual destination in mind.

"What about you?" Ed asks. "What would you pick?"

Roy considers the question.

If you had have asked him when he was Ed's age, Roy probably would have said pyrokinesis. He's always had a fascination with fire, the way the tongues of flame flicker and dance, beautiful and almost supernaturally alive as they consume all they touch. But now, having seen the horrors he's seen and knowing how he'd be forced to use a power of that kind, the idea makes him ill.

Again he has to force down the mental images and phantom smells of burned and bloody bodies, and give himself a moment for his stomach to stop churning. He tries to breathe through it, keeping his expression bland.

The thought of the wounded and dying makes him tempted to choose healing. Certainly there was a moment in time where he would have sold his soul for the ability, and would have gone happily to his eternal damnation if it had have saved the man bleeding out in his arms. But now there's nobody he cares enough to save.

Now… now he thinks he'd go for mind control. He'd take control of the Amestrian Government and make sure that nothing like Ishval could ever happen again. He'd restore Amestris to the country it should have been, without the political aggression and expansion-at-all-costs philosophy that caused decades of territory wars and destroyed an entire race of its people. He'd be a dictator, he knows, but a benevolent one, working for the good of the people. But then, all dictators probably think of themselves as benevolent, he supposes.

"I don't know," he says finally, unwilling to expose so much of himself by speaking his thoughts aloud.

Ed accepts this at face-value instead of pushing, for which Roy is grateful. A moment later and Ed's quicksilver mind is off and racing again, this time steering the conversation into the realm of superheroes and comic books. It's been a while since Roy's read anything in the way of comics; a while since he's been able to read anything at all. But he enjoyed comics during his younger years, and finds common ground with Ed over the heroes and villains of a decade ago.

By the time Roy finishes his meal, Ed has long-finished his. Roy finds himself feeling satiated and well-fed for the first time in a long while. The sensation settles on him uneasily, making him feel like it's something he hasn't earned. He reminds himself that it was Ed's choice to feed him: Ed's is in control here, and Roy's being paid to go along with whatever he chooses to do, sex-related or not.

Roy helps Ed clear the dishes despite Ed trying to wave him away, and then they move back into the lounge. Ed stands awkwardly for a moment, looking at one of the couches, and then abruptly turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

Roy is somewhat nonplussed by his sudden departure, unsure if he's supposed to follow or wait where he is. After a few moments curiosity wins over caution, and he follows the path of Ed's retreat.

He finds Ed in a bathroom, standing at the sink and squeezing toothpaste onto a toothbrush. Ed looks up as Roy appears in the doorway behind him and their eyes meet in the mirror.

Roy raises a questioning eyebrow.

"What?" Ed demands defensively, with a somewhat embarrassed scowl. "It's polite to brush your teeth before you kiss someone."

Roy is amused by Ed's defensiveness but genuinely touched by this small display of thoughtfulness, and his smirk softens at the edges.

Ed pauses with the toothbrush halfway to his mouth, suddenly breaking the eye contact and looking away. "I mean, only if you want to. You don't have to, of course." He pauses for a moment, looking back up to the mirror. "Do you kiss? I mean, your, uh…" Ed stumbles to a halt, obviously unsure what term to use.

"Clients?" Roy suggests, trying not to smile at the kid's verbal fumbling.

"Yeah," Ed agrees, obviously relieved by the save.

Roy contemplates the question for a moment - generally he doesn't kiss, but that has more to do with the acts he's usually performing than any kind of prohibition on his part. It's difficult to kiss with a mouthful of cock, or while he's being hammered from behind. That being said, he certainly has no desire to kiss most of his clients, shuddering to think of that kind of intimacy with those of poor personal hygiene or who get off on the more degrading aspects of his work.

But Ed… Ed, who is brushing his teeth for Roy's benefit, who is forthright and sweet and awkward by turns. He thinks he could kiss Ed. He thinks he might even want to.

"I kiss," Roy says simply, not daring to say more for fear of what he might reveal.

Ed's expression brightens, and he shoves the toothbrush in his mouth and begins brushing vigorously, as if concerned that Roy might change his mind.

"Do you have a spare?" Roy asks. "Fair's fair, after all."

Ed crouches down to rummage in the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a pack of a dozen-odd toothbrushes, only half of which remain. Roy extracts one from the packet and Ed makes room for him at the sink.

They stand side by side as they brush, and Roy tries to make sense of the picture they present in the mirror: two men, pressed close in the limited space. It's an oddly domestic scene, typical of partners or family members. There's nothing to mark Roy as a whore, or Ed as his trick.

The pair of them are a study in contrasts. Ed is in the same black shirt and cargo pants as the previous day, his golden hair up in a ponytail, cascading down his back and forward over one shoulder. Roy is taller by nearly a head, wearing plain blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, his arms bare. In the mirror Ed's eyes are golden-bright, while Roy's are so dark a brown they look black.

Ed spits and rinses, and then makes room for Roy to do the same. When he's done, Roy hands the brush back, and Roy adds it to the little rack where Ed's and his brother's already stand. Roy isn't quite sure how to feel about that, so tries to put it out of his mind.

They head back through to the lounge, which is when Ed seems to run out of steam, looking unsure of himself for the first time.

"So, uh. How do we do this?"

"Well, generally, my clients tell me what they want, and I get on with doing it." Roy takes a step towards him, letting his hips tilt a little and offering the knowing smile that gets him the attention of both genders; Roy knows he's good at this particular game. "But if you like, I can make some suggestions. Would you like me to kiss you?"

"Yeah," Ed says, voice low with want. "Yeah, definitely. I'd like that."

Roy closes the distance between them, until he's standing directly in front of Ed. This close, he can see how richly amber the depths of Ed's eyes are, currently alight with anticipation.

But he can also sense the tenseness of Ed's body, shoulders as tight as if he were braced for a blow. Ed's obviously nervous and uncertain, but Roy can't discern the cause. Is it because Roy's a stranger? Because he's a man? Because Ed expects something in particular to happen that he doesn't want?

"Here, let's sit down," Roy says, putting a hand on Ed's shoulder and guiding him towards the couch, nudging Ed to sit when he's close enough and taking a seat beside him when he does. He hopes that the casualness of the position will help Ed relax, with the added bonus of reducing the height difference between them.

Then he slides a hand around the back Ed's neck and guides him forwards with the lightest of pressure. Their lips meet lightly, slide over each other's, and part again. Roy gives Ed a moment to process, and then moves back in to kiss a little more firmly.

It takes Ed a few moments to engage fully, and then he's leaning into the kiss, mouth fitting to Roy's, warm and wet and tasting faintly of mint. Ed's left hand reaches to grip Roy's bicep as the kiss deepens. Roy licks at Ed's lower lip, a gentle request, and Ed opens his mouth for Roy to delve inside.

It's quickly obvious to Roy that while this isn't Ed's first kiss, he's not particularly experienced either. But he's enthusiastic, and willing to follow Roy's lead, and Roy finds himself enjoying a kiss for the first time in too many empty years. He slides an arm around Ed's body to pull him closer, cradling the back of his head with the other hand, silken hair sliding over his fingers.

Roy breaks the kiss off after a few minutes. "How are you doing?" He asks, wanting to make sure Ed's still on board. His enthusiasm seems genuine and his physical responses indicate he's enjoying the proceedings, but people can be complicated, Roy knows.

"I'm great!" Ed says fervently. His breathing a little fast and there's a pink flush stretched across both cheeks.

"Do you want to keep going?" Roy asks.

Ed nods. "Definitely!"

Roy smiles and succumbs to the urge to run a thumb over the blush on Ed's cheek. He kisses Ed just once, and then nudges him to lie back, using the arm around him to help guide him down until Ed's reclining along the length of the couch. Roy follows him, shifting until he's lying atop Ed's body. Ed's eyes are wide beneath him, and it takes a few moments before Ed lets his arms come up and fold around Roy's body.

He kisses Ed gently, letting Ed dictate the intensity. Ed shifts beneath him, and Roy can feel Ed's cock, hard against his pelvis. Roy has little doubt that Ed's just as aware of his own erection, pressing into the hollow of Ed's hip. The kisses slowly become more heated as Ed's confidence increases and his arousal builds, and Roy is pleased when Ed gets game enough to slip his tongue into Roy's willing mouth.

Ed pulls back to gasp a breath, and Roy moves his attentions to Ed's neck, nuzzling and kissing at the soft place beneath his jaw, sucking lightly and then scraping his teeth lightly along the skin. Ed bucks beneath him at that and Roy smirks against his neck. After that Ed can't seem to hold back the little twitches and jerks of his hips. Several times he presses up deliberately and then stills again as if he isn't sure he's allowed to seek his pleasure against Roy's body.

Roy rolls his hips in response, a deliberate grind, and Ed groans. Roy can't wait to get Ed out of his clothes, to have no barriers between them, nothing but skin against skin. He remembers Ed asking if Roy was willing to fuck as well as be fucked, and his cock twitches just at the thought of sinking into Ed's body.

"Do you prefer to top or bottom?" Roy asks against Ed's neck.

There's no immediate response, so Roy pushes up so that he can see Ed's face. "When you're with men," he elaborates.

Ed's gaze slips off to the side and he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well, uh…"

"You've never tried either?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head. "Not so much, no."

"What have you tried, with other guys?"

"I've never really, uh…" Ed trails off with a shrug. "Yknow. Anything, with a guy."

Roy sits up and moves off of Ed's body, knowing that there's a conversation here that needs to be had without distraction.

Ed follows his lead, sitting up and trying to sweep his hair into some semblance of order, looking at Roy a little warily.

"I'm the first man you've been with?" Roy asks, gentling his tone.

"Yeah," Ed admits. He gives an embarrassed sort of smile, and then suddenly looks worried. "Is that a problem?"

Roy shakes his head. "Of course not, but it's useful for me to know. I don't want to rush you or do anything you're not comfortable with, so we'll just take it a little slower than usual, all right?"

Ed looks relieved by this. "Yeah, that would be great," he says.

"And if there's anything you find you don't like, please tell me. There are always plenty of other things we can try."

"I will," Ed promises. He looks as if he wants to say more, so Roy waits patiently.

"Are you into guys?" Ed blurts abruptly.

The question isn't what Roy expected, and throws him slightly. "I'm a male prostitute," he says sardonically, resorting to deflection. "It would be problematic if I wasn't."

"Yeah, but…" Ed shrugs. "It's not like you'd have to be into it to do your job, would it? I mean, if you aren't, uh… the one doing the fucking, then it wouldn't matter if you weren't into it, right?"

And damn this kid for being one of the insightful ones, for not accepting Roy's prevarication at face value. Roy wonders for a moment what would happen if he said 'no', whether it would make a difference to Ed, whether Ed might halt the evening altogether out of respect for Roy's stated preferences. But Roy has no reason to lie.

"You're right, of course," Roy concedes. "But as it happens I am sexually attracted to men. Why do you ask?"

Ed fiddles with his sleeve. "I had a girlfriend," he says after a few moments, and Roy realises that Ed's issues might not be limited simply to his inexperience. It would hardly be the first time he's been rambled at by a trick working through their own hangups, though, so Roy settles himself more comfortably as he waits.

"We practically grew up together," Ed continues, "and just sort of fell into a relationship when we were pretty young. We broke up a bunch of times but we always got back together, until this last time."

"What was different about this last time?" Roy asks.

"She wanted to have sex," Ed says. "And I realised that I didn't. I mean… not with her. I love her, I really do. But I just didn't feel that way about her. When I kissed her, it felt… nice, I guess. But it didn't make me want to do anything more."

"It didn't turn you on?"

Ed shakes his head, and then shrugs. "I mean, she sat in my lap and I got hard - but it was a physical thing, y'know? She was rubbing against my dick, it paid attention. But that's all."

"Did you have sex with her?" Roy asks.

Ed shakes his head again, and Roy is oddly relieved, glad that Ed wasn't pressured into doing something he didn't want. "She didn't get why. I'm a teenage guy, I'm supposed to be desperate for it, but I turned her down, even though I was sitting there with a hard-on tenting my pants. She got pretty angry at first, and then she cried." Ed winces a little at the memory. "She thought it was just her I didn't want, but it wasn't. I've never felt that kind of thing about any girl."

"Did you think you might be attracted to other men?" Roy asks.

"Well, at that point, it hadn't really occurred to me. I know that sounds stupid - I mean, how can someone not even know what floats their boat? But the thing is, for most of my life I never really thought about sex at all," Ed says. "I was so busy taking care of Al, making sure we stayed together, trying to fix our bodies, plus studying and working on top of that, that I just didn't have room in my head to think about sex as well. I mean, I jerked off, but it was just a physical thing, I wasn't really thinking about anything in particular. At school the other guys would talk about sex all the freaking time, but I just… didn't. It was only after Winry said she wanted to that I really stopped to think about it."

"What conclusions did you come to when you did?"

"I realised that I just wasn't into girls."

"And?" Roy prompts.

"And I tried thinking about guys, and that did make me want to do more."

"But you haven't had the opportunity to try it out in practise, as yet?"

"No."

"So, is that why you hired me, then? To test out your theory, see if it works the same way in reality as it does in your head?"

Ed doesn't answer for a moment. "Well," he says, looking somewhat abashed but with a hint of a grin, "to be honest, I just saw you and wanted you. I didn't really think about it much further than that. But I guess it works out, right? Means I can try stuff out with a guy and if I don't get into it, it doesn't matter! It's not like having a date that'll be pissed if you realise you're just not into dick halfway through." He pauses and then the grin spreads wider as he reaches down to adjust himself in his pants, erection still obvious. "Not that I think being into it's going to be a problem."

Roy smirks. "I'm flattered to have caught your attention." He's definitely getting the impression that Ed's not really the sort to look before he leaps, jumping into the things with wholehearted enthusiasm, but not always a lot of forethought. In this particular instance, however, it seems to have worked out well for both of them: Ed gets to experiment with his sexuality without the anxiety of trying to please a partner, while Roy gets the easiest night's work he's had in years, and gets to stay warm in the bargain.

"And you're right, I certainly won't be offended if you choose to stop the experimentation at any point during the evening. You've paid for my time and you get to choose what to do with me, even if you decide to do nothing."

Unexpectedly, Ed's expression twists in a grimace of embarrassment. "You must think I'm a total loser," he says, looking away. "Hiring a hooker to lose my virginity. Like I couldn't get a guy any other way."

"Not at all," Roy says, frowning. "My first time was with an escort, too." The words escape before he can corral them, and Roy curses himself for opening yet another chink in his protective armour of anonymity. He's only ever told that story to one other person, and he certainly hadn't planned on divulging it to a trick he barely knows.

But Ed's looking at him with sudden hope in his expression, so Roy tries to push the self-recriminations aside and continue.

"She was kind and gentle with me - she made sure I enjoyed it, as well as teaching me some useful things about how to please a woman."

He didn't mention that it was at the request of his foster mother, who had specifically chosen one of her girls to initiate him, once she decided he was old enough.

"Really?" Ed stares at him, wide-eyed. "And you don't regret it?"

"Not at all," Roy says. "Look, Ed. There are a whole range of reasons why you might want to hire a sex worker, and other people have no right to judge you for it. It doesn't mean you're a loser, or that you couldn't find a partner to have sex with if you tried. It just means that you're choosing to take control of the experience in a particular way."

"I guess so," Ed says, not sounding entirely convinced.

"When you have sex - especially when it's your first time - it should be with someone you feel comfortable with," Roy presses. "And someone you trust to stop if you need them to. If that person is someone you hire, so what?"

"I feel comfortable with you," Ed says, a touch shyly. "I trust you."

"I'm very glad," Roy says, trying not to let Ed's hesitant, earnest smile get to him, while fearing that he's not entirely successful.

Roy wants to tell Ed that he has entirely too much faith in people, that it's not safe to trust anyone, particularly someone you know so little about. But he doesn't want to be the one to disillusion the kid, or expose him to the fundamental assholery of humanity. At the same time Roy recognises the hypocrisy of the thought, considering he's broken several of his own rules this evening already because he trusted a kid he'd only just met.

"So you like girls, too?" Ed asks, obviously contemplating Roy's earlier statement.

"Yes. I'm bisexual." Roy ends up drawn to men more often than women emotionally, but finds women more convenient for casual sex. He used to, anyway - he hasn't had the urge for any kind of sex in a long time.

Ed seems to digest this silently. "I guess that makes me gay," he says, as if only just coming to the realisation. Roy gets the feeling that Ed's recently-discovered attraction to men is something he still hasn't fully processed.

"Ed, they're just labels - try not to get too hung up on them." Roy reaches out to cup Ed's face in his palm, stroking Ed's cheek with the side of his thumb. Ed tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before refocusing on Roy's face.

"People like labels to conveniently pigeon-hole others, but not everyone fits neatly into one box or another, or even identifies with the same box from day to day. Don't let other people's labels push you into doing something you don't want, or keep you from doing something you do want."

"I want this. I mean, I want you," Ed says, no uncertainty in his tone this time.

"Good. That's the only thing that matters, right now."

"So, does that mean we can keep doing stuff?" Ed asks hopefully, seeming to have shelved his sexuality-related anxieties for the moment. "Like what we were doing just before?"

"Of course," Roy says, hiding his amusement. "We can do anything you like."

"I liked it when you were on top of me," Ed says, with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. "Kissing me."

"In that case…"

Roy presses Ed back down onto the couch, settling himself between Ed's thighs and covering Ed's body with his own. Ed immediately grabs Roy's hips, pulling him down while pressing up against him, making his desires clear. Roy smirks against Ed's mouth as he kisses him; he's getting the impression that patience isn't one of Ed's stronger suits either.

Roy accedes to the unspoken demand and grinds his hips against Ed's, setting up a regular rhythm, the pleasure slowly building as their cocks rub together, pressed between their bodies. Ed hooks his flesh hand around Roy's neck, holding him in place as their mouths slide over each other's, heated and wet. Ed's making stuttered moans whenever they break for breath, the sounds going straight to Roy's cock. Ed presses his face against Roy's neck for a moment, overwhelmed, and the warm caress of his exhalation against Roy's skin makes him shiver.

Being with Ed like this feels good in a way that Roy hasn't felt in a long time. It's completely unlike the sex he has when he's working; he never makes out like this, clothed and messy like desperate teenagers. Usually he's using his skills to drive his target towards orgasm as quickly as possible, or letting them use his body to do the same. His own pleasure just doesn't enter into it.

But he could come like this, Roy thinks, just from grinding against Ed's body with all of his clothes still on. It's obvious that Ed's already well on his way to the finish post, if the way he's squirming beneath Roy is any indication. But Roy doesn't particularly want to come in his pants, especially when he has to walk home in them.

What he wants is to slow things down, to undress Ed and explore every inch of his body with fingers and mouth, to show Ed all the different types of pleasure his body can experience. But he knows that Ed doesn't have the patience for that right now. He's practically vibrating with pent-up arousal, desperate to come as quickly as possible. Fortunately Ed's also young, and shouldn't have any issues getting it up for a second round, so there's no harm in getting him off fast right now.

But Roy's still not coming in his pants.

Roy sides off Ed and encourages him to turn so that they're both lying on their sides, facing each other. Ed's looking at him inquisitively, impatience held in check for now but lurking not far beneath the surface.

Roy reaches down between them, undoing Ed's belt and pants by touch alone as he watches Ed's face. He pauses with his fingertips just under the elastic of Ed's boxers.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Roy asks.

"Yeah," Ed breathes. "Fuck, yeah!"

Roy pushes the waistband down, freeing Ed's dick, and wraps a hand around it, taking a long, slow stroke.

Ed makes a sound halfway between a choke and a gasp, pushing into Roy's hand in an unspoken demand for more.

Roy obliges, setting up a rhythm, experimenting a little to see what gets a reaction. Some guys prefer firmer pressure down at the root, others like a squeeze over the head on the upstroke. Ed seems to appreciate everything Roy tries, looking half-dazed with pleasure, responsive to every change in Roy's touch.

"Good?" Roy asks.

"Oh hell yeah," Ed says breathlessly. "I didn't think it'd feel so different - someone else's hand, I mean. But it's so much better."

Roy smirks, using a few of his tricks to tease Ed and wind him up even further, while Ed grips his arm so tightly his fingers will probably leave marks.

Meanwhile, Roy's own arousal is a low ache in his abdomen, his dick still clamouring for attention.

Roy releases Ed for a moment, ignoring his small sound of complaint, and quickly undoes his own belt and pants so he can pull himself free. Then he presses forward until his cock is aligned with Ed's and takes them both in his fist, stroking firmly.

"Oh, fuck," Ed mutters, looking down between them to where the heads of both cocks protrude from Roy's fist on the downstroke. "That is so fucking hot."

"Do you want to come like this?" Roy asks.

Ed nods quickly. "Yeah, fuck yeah!"

Roy strokes them both firmly and quickly, foregoing any further teasing and simply pushing them both towards orgasm as quickly as possible. Ed is so wound up he can't hold himself still, his hips stuttering forward and back to push himself further into Roy's hand. It makes Ed's dick drag against his own, and Roy moans at the sensation. Soon they're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, Ed's eyes closed.

Ed is the first to tip over the edge. He stiffens abruptly with a sharp indrawn breath, and then he groans as his dick pulses in Roy's hand and he starts spurting onto both of their stomachs. Roy eases him through it, slowing as the orgasm tails off. Ed is gorgeously flushed and breathing unsteadily, his good hand still gripping Roy's shoulder.

Roy takes a few moments to enjoy Ed's dishevelled state before giving in to his cock's throbbing demand for attention, taking himself back in hand and stroking hard and fast. It isn't long before he reaches his own climax, gasping as the pleasure crashes through him. It's been so long since he's jerked off that the rush of sensation and the relief that follows nearly blindsides him.

Afterwards, they lie tangled together on the couch as they recover.

"That was fucking awesome," Ed declares.

Roy can't hold back a snort of amusement, Ed's combination of enthusiasm and inexperience ridiculously appealing. His unbridled delight at a simple hand-job - the tamest trick in Roy's sexual repertoire - is a novelty completely at odds with the the usual reactions of his clients, who barely seem to enjoy the acts they engage in.

But then, the experience was something out of the ordinary for Roy as well, the intensity startling and unexpected. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed sex. He's certainly never come when he's on the job before, never let himself turn the act into something mutual, or let his own pleasure enter into the equation. There's no denying he enjoyed himself, though, not with the evidence still decorating the front of his t-shirt.

"It was pretty awesome," Roy agrees, both amused and sincere.

Roy's hand is now thoroughly sticky, so after a minute he carefully extracts himself from Ed's tangle of limbs, re-fastens his pants with his left hand, and makes his way down the hallway to clean himself up.

In the bathroom, he stops at the sink and meets his own eyes in the mirror. His hair is in disarray from where Ed's fingers have threaded through it, and his mouth is reddened and kiss-swollen. He's coming down from the high of orgasm and the reality of the situation is starting to intrude in unpleasant ways. His thoughts clamour at him, reminding him how dangerous it is to get attached, to open himself up, to trust in any way, big or small. He should know better, he thinks. He should remember the lessons that were hard-learned.

"Roy," he mutters to his reflection. "What the hell are you doing?"

#my fic #fma fanfic #a different way home #royed #roy/ed #fma

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