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whumptopia · 4 years

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Officer Jelko Erban

oc werewolf ladywhump commissioned by @silentlygo

content warnings: female whump, gun violence, blood

—

Jelko Erban was accustomed to getting into fights—it was part of her job description, after all. Unofficially, of course. She was an officer of the law and therefore expected to conduct herself as responsibly as possible, but everyone knew her lycanthropy meant she was regularly assigned the more… dangerous assignments. Conflict came with the territory. Supernatural cases ended in violence more often than not, unfortunately, and she was more durable than her fellow officers, so she was frequently placed on the front lines. Normally, her status as the resident tank wasn’t a problem. She charged into the fray, tackling opponents to the ground and even taking bullets to spare her co-workers from suffering fatal wounds. She was stronger than non-lycans, and she healed faster too, so better her than them, she reasoned. She didn’t resent the other cops, the higher-ups, or the full-timers for the sacrifices she was asked to make. As a liaison officer, she was used to being called in for the tough jobs, so she didn’t really mind. Her work with the police made her kind appear less-threatening and more cooperative to non-lycans, who were typically wary of werewolves in general. Besides, she liked helping people. She wouldn’t have gotten involved in the whole arrangement in the first place if she didn’t want to make the world a safer place.

All-in-all, Jelko had a pretty good deal. Steady work, good pay, and only the expected amount of uneasiness from the other cops. She couldn’t complain.

With her skills, advanced abilities, and years of training under her belt, she rarely ran into real problems on the job, but when messes happened… well, things got ugly. She was rather tough, so she only got into trouble on the worst of days.

Today was one of those days.

Jelko was called in on another supernatural case, as per usual. Once again, she was partnered with Detective Jack Tyler, an upright man who she’d worked with on all of her recent cases. The department seemed to think they made a pretty good team—or Detective Tyler did something to warrant the annoyance of his superiors and thus kept on getting stuck with her as punishment. Even if that was the case, he never treated her with any disrespect. He wasn’t warm or friendly toward her, and she could tell he was uncomfortable with having a lycan partner, but he never verbally expressed his complaints, so she never asked for anything more than base-level professionalism from him. She had to deal with rude and even outright malicious partners in the past, so Detective Tyler was frankly an upgrade. She just hoped he wouldn’t request to be assigned a different officer in the future. She didn’t want to have to make the adjustment for the upteenth time and risk being stuck with a prejudiced asshole.

The case started out routine in the beginning. Violent gang activity with suspected supernatural beings involved. Jelko and Detective Tyler, after interrogating the suspect in custody, gathered enough evidence to be granted a warrant to search the property of the suspect’s alleged leader. The drive to the site was terse, Detective Tyler replacing the potential for conversation with smooth radio tunes, the music quiet but still loud enough to keep them both alone in their own heads.

Occasionally, she shot glances at her partner. The detective wasn’t an intimidating looking man by any means. With big ears, a triangular nose, and pale skin, he looked very British. His brows were low, just barely above his dark eyes, giving him a perpetually serious, worried countenance. His mop of thin, brown hair sat atop his head, straight and cut short. He usually wore a black leather jacket. Overall, he looked more professional than anything. Despite his lack of excessive musculature, he seemed relaxed in her presence, alone with her in his cruiser. More at ease than she was used to. Awkward, sure, but not concerned for his safety. When he looked at her out of the corner of his eye while stopped at a red light, she shot him a smile. He nodded out of obligation. Yes, their partnership was significantly more pleasant than what she was used to.

They arrived at the factory by the docks in a shadier part of town, the sun already starting to set. The plan was to search the place and question anyone they came across.

What they didn’t expect was to come across the leader of the group while he was conducting criminal business, but, as was their luck, they did. They knocked on the door, barged in when no one answered, and hurried down the dark hall until they stumbled into some sort of meeting. All of the men and women in the bright lit warehouse room looked so shocked, it was almost comical. The thugs got over their surprise quickly, however, and immediately pulled out their weapons, their grips tight on an assortment of blades and handguns. Jelko recognized several of the faces in the room—previous arrests, ex-cons, and wanted felons. They weren’t likely to come quietly.

The fight that ensued was rough, to say the least.

Immediately, both Jelko and Detective Tyler took cover behind crates of what was likely contraband, diving for shelter just as the gang members started shooting. They were outnumbered for sure, and their adversaries seemed intent on firing first and asking questions later. Detective Tyler pulled out his weapon and shot her a look. When the room quieted down to only the sounds of heavy breathing and frantic re-loading, Jelko jumped out from behind the crate and into the fray.

She charged the person closest to her, catching him in the jaw before he could ready his pistol. With her increased speed and strength, she incapacitated him before the others could react to her presence, sweeping his leg and knocking him to the concrete floor. Without hesitation, she lunged for her next target, swiping the woman’s weapon out of her hands before she could try to use it on her. As she brought her hand down on her shoulder and struck a pressure point, Jelko quickly scanned the room. Only a dozen or so armed thugs, all of them hastily shaking off their stupefaction from the surprise attack. Detective Tyler was firing his gun, shooting warning shots that sent a couple of the gangsters retreating for cover. Behind all the others stood a large, burly man with an enraged expression on his bearded face. She spotted his tail bristling behind him. A lycan, their leader, just as their intel suggested. He was the only real challenge for Jelko here.

Only after she took out a third opponent did the bullets properly come flying in her direction. She now had to operate on the defensive—despite her quick healing, a gun wound would still slow her down, and she couldn’t risk one of them scoring a lucky headshot. Ducking and dodging, she made her way to the next felon, engaging him in hand-to-knife combat, effectively directing the bullets in another direction. Apparently, these goons were smart enough not to risk killing each other in their pursuit of her. The man snarled and slashed his knife at her, but she snatched his wrist and twisted it so painfully he had to drop the blade. Grunting, he swung his other fist at her, but his blow to her stomach did little to stop her. She spun him around and locked him in a choke-hold, using him as a human shield as she forced him into unconsciousness with the pressure against his neck, his hands clawing uselessly at her jacket arm.

After she dropped him, she felt bullets whiz past her head, her elongated ears twitching at the proximity. A loud whistle pierced the air, the noise subdued by the cacophony of gun-fire, but Jelko could still hear with her advanced hearing. The gang leader had apparently concluded that she was too powerful a threat and would likely take out all of his goons if he didn’t stop her himself. He lowered his hand from his mouth, and the remainder of the thugs who were out in the open speedily joined the others in their hiding spots. Detective Tyler was still exchanging fire with the sheltered shooters, but none of the bullets came close to her now as the lycan leader of the gang approached her. He was a big man, but she had fought and beaten bigger lycans before. She readied herself in a fighting stance, briefly considering pulling out her gun but deciding against it. She wouldn’t kill him unless she had to. She was better than that.

With a shout of rage, he charged toward her, and she just barely ducked out of the way. The fight happened as if in slow motion, they were both moving so fast. Claws out, fangs bared. The man was clearly not holding back, which left her at a disadvantage. He wasn’t too proud to yank on her tail or tug her tied-back brown hair, which left her more frustrated and insulted than anything. Hissing, growling, and cursing between heavy pants, they hashed it out. Fighting lycans was completely different from fighting humans. For Jelko, it was a whole new level of challenge. Each blow hurt, dealing real damage, knocking the breath out of her and leaving her winded. It took all of her focus and concentration to maintain the upper hand, but, after a particularly well-aimed punch to the face sent her stumbling backward several steps, her odds ceased to look promising. He kicked her in the chest, knocking her to the floor, which was when she realized she was well and truly fucked. He climbed on top of her, and she slashed at his face. He howled with pain, clamping a palm over the red gashes.

“Bitch,” he hissed. Her ferocious expression matched his.

“Fuck off,” she barked, trying to scratch him again.

The next couple minutes passed in a blur. A series of punches and relentless blows. A cut across her forehead spilled blood into her eyes. She tried her best to shove him off, but his attacks sapped her strength and focus. She knew she was getting in some good hits because of his furious swearing, but, other than that, she was losing bad. He clamped his hand around her throat, warding off her swats with his other arm, and even though her eyes were closed against the rain of her own blood, spots gathered across her line of sight.

She heard Detective Tyler yell something she couldn’t decipher, and then she was out.

—

When Jelko next awoke, it felt as if only a moment had passed. Her body, heavy and bruised, ached more than she was used to, and when she cracked open her eyes, her lashes were sticky with blood. She groaned, and a face appeared in her hazy vision. Detective Tyler. He was crouched down in front of her, his expression one of pinched concern.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

“You alright?” she asked him. She could handle getting banged up, but she didn't know if he could. She cleared her throat. Her neck was sore, purple bruises more than likely discoloring the tan skin of her neck. The fight came back to her as she cataloged her wounds, but she couldn't recall the end. “What happened?”

“I shot ‘em,” Detective Tyler said, his voice tinged with a light British accent. He was rummaging through the white case with a red cross that they kept stashed in all of the patrol cars. “That bastard was gonna kill you, so I shot him in the head. The rest scattered soon after that. I dragged you outta there, and we were driving away when someone shot out my tires.”

Jelko listened attentively. He looked rattled. Neither of them had expected this when they left the precinct earlier that evening.

“They’re following us—or they were, at least. I carried you outta there to the closest safe house. I think this operation is bigger than anyone thought.”

Jelko looked around the room. A bit dusty, clearly unused, with curtained windows and a locked door. Definitely a safe house. She was lying down on a lumpy couch, her head cushioned by his leather jacket, folded into a make-shift pillow.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to meet his eyes. He could’ve left her behind and few people would’ve blamed him, her being a lycan and all. He went through so much trouble to save her.

He waved her off. “Just doing my job, Erban. My arms are right sore from dragging you around, though.”

She chuckled a little at his weak joke, hoping to ease the tension between them. He still wouldn’t look at her directly.

He produced a water bottle and a handful of drugstore brand painkillers. “Here, you’ll want this.”

She nodded and accepted the offer, sitting up with his help. She swallowed all the pills without hesitation, much to Detective Tyler’s apparent surprise.

“How much can you take? I mean, do you need more in order for it to kick in?”

She smiled, appreciative of his careful questions about her lycan physiology. “Maybe a couple more.”

He handed her the bottle, and she finished the pills with the remainder of her water. The cool liquid soothed her throat, and she sighed. Detective Tyler watched her before standing up and heading toward the sink, a towel in his hand.

“I stitched up your head. A sloppy job, but it should be fine until we can get out of here and to a hospital. I called for backup. They should be here soon.”

Jelko nodded along to this new information, reaching up and delicately thumbing her forehead. Sure enough, she could feel the lines of stitches. She winced. She normally would heal quickly enough not to need stitches, but the claws of another lycan left longer-lasting wounds.

He returned to her side with a damp towel. Without asking, he started to wash away the blood splattered across her face and neck. She arched an eyebrow at this, surprised by how readily he offered her aid and came into close proximity, but she didn’t question him. She felt weak and tired, something she wasn’t used to, so his help was welcome.

“I’m sorry for not intervening sooner,” he said quietly. “It seemed like you had a handle on it for a while. You usually do. I know we haven’t worked together long, but… you have a reputation, you know, and I’ve seen what you can do. I figured you would be alright if I focused on picking off the little guys one by one, and I only realized you needed help when it was too late…”

Detective Tyler trailed off, the white towel in his hand pink with her blood. He shrugged. “I guess I thought you could take out another werewolf on your own. Guess I was wrong.”

Jelko listened quietly. This was the most they had spoken throughout their partnership, and it was a heartfelt apology. She almost couldn’t believe her ears.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. She knew he took his job seriously and held himself accountable, but this was pushing it. “You handled yourself exceptionally well. You brought me here, didn’t you? I’m the one who lost the fight.”

The Detective finally met her eyes. He looked skeptical. “That was one big fucker, Officer Erban. I don’t blame you.”

“And I don’t blame you,” she said earnestly, and he nodded slowly, seemingly taking her words to heart. Rising to his feet, he made his way back to the sink.

“Your face is clean. I’ll grab you an ice pack, I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere.”

Jelko laid back down, relaxing into the relative comfort of the soft surface beneath her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She normally liked to be alone when she was injured, safe at home in her apartment, licking her wounds. Hurt lycans tended to suffer mood swings and other unpleasant side effects. She wouldn’t want Detective Tyler to witness her in such a state, especially since it seemed he was finally starting to like her.

The floorboards creaked as Detective Tyler returned by her side. She cracked open her eyes, and he handed her a bag of ice. She placed them on her ribs. Her bones throbbed, muscles aching. She could tell the painkillers were starting to kick in, but she would need something stronger from the hospital. Detective Tyler gnawed on his bottom lip. If only his colleagues knew he was such a mother hen. The teasing would never end.

“I’ll be alright,” she assured him with a half-hearted grin. “I heal fast. The process will just be a bit slower this time, but still plenty quick.”

He nodded, seemingly absorbing the information. “Okay. I’d turn out the light and let you rest, but I don’t know if you have a concussion.”

“Good thinking,” she praised, even though all she wanted was some sleep. He shot her a knowing look, apparently aware of her thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I called a half-hour ago. They said they’re sending a squad car to come bring us to St. Mary’s. You can rest once we get there.”

“I know, I know,” she sighed, playing up her exhaustion. His eyes crinkled, almost as if he wanted to laugh. He sat down on an unoccupied space of the couch by her feet, sinking into the pillows with a deep exhale. He looked tired himself.

“Long night?” she asked, and he smiled wryly.

“You don’t know half of it.”

“How ‘bout you share the details of your selfless rescue?” she suggested, and he appeared unamused. “To keep me awake.”

He groaned, looking as if he were about to roll his eyes. He was silent for a long moment, but then he began: “Well, it all started when I had to drive halfway across the city to search some rundown warehouse. Little did I know, a bunch of good-for-nothings were there waiting for me...”

Jelko smiled as he retold their night, focusing primarily on the parts where she was unconscious, as they waited for help to arrive. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was part of a team.

#my writing #whump #lady whump #oc whump #beating #bruises #blood #choking #injury #hurt #unconscious #pain #comfort #tw guns #not a prompt #commission

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

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Lady of the Lake

Pairing: Ginger Ale/Elizabeth x Merlin/Hamish

Warnings: Smut

A/N: We’re now in the same modern day timeline as California. You’ll probably wanna read Chapters 8 through 12 if you’re lost.

Reminder: I haven’t seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle, so I’m just using the Wikia, IMDB.com, some gifs, and my own weird ass brain to make up this whole ass story.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @tarrevizslas , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale [please message me to be added or subtracted if you were just here for some Jack Daniels goodness! I don’t want people being tagged in something they don’t want]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

Part 6

California Dreaming

Today

Ginger was typing away on some notes when the door to the tech room opened. She looked up and saw Shirley walk in with her arms full of folders and books, looking every inch of the spectacular researcher she was. She stopped at Ginger’s desk and set down a large folder stuffed with papers. She looked up when Ginger spoked to her.

“Hey friend, I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” Her voice and smile were cheery, but it faltered a bit when she really looked at Shirl. Though the librarian’s voice didn’t give anything away, something seemed off about her.

“Hey Ging, here’s that file you asked for. I’m still working on it, but I didn’t want to delay what I already had for you so you could get started.” While her voice held steady, Ginger sense that something was wrong only grew. Her questioning face was answered with a tight smile and shoulder squeeze. “I’ll see you later, ya?”

“Of course.” Came the reply. Ginger knew better than to push her friend, but she worried, nonetheless. The research she requested was on three dead agents connected to the Chicago office and she opened her file as Shirley left the room and began to go over the case contents. Her work on the California case was heating up and she was certain she had been able to track the killer’s patterns.

She wondered if Shirley’s behavior was tied to the subject matter. She never said anything directly to her, but Ginger wondered if she should start asking someone other than Shirley to help on this case given her deep connection to it. Even if the woman insisted everything was fine, her friends secretly thought Shirley was just telling them what she thought they wanted to hear.

She was engrossed in her readings when Merlin shoved open the door and strode up to her. She looked up and smiled before she saw his face. It immediately fell when she saw the serious look he sported and began to worry when he saw the panic in his eyes. Merlin doesn’t panic, but he was now.

“He’s here, m’eudail.”

“What? Who?”

“The killer you’ve been hunting. He was in the library and spoked to Shirl.” Ginger’s gasp was loud, and she dropped the file that was in her hand. He stood next to her, but before he could say anything, Chai’s radio went off and Champ’s voice filled the room alerting her to the situation.

Ginger began to feel a creeping cold in her chest at his tone – he sounded scared. She looked through her windows towards the library across the hall when she saw Tequila stalk by with his rifle out and the doors to the library swung open as Jack strode through. Oh god, oh god, oh god, she thought.

“Oh god, Hamish!” In her fear she used his real name in the lab without thinking about it and in his concern, he didn’t notice. He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded towards the CCTV monitors. She nodded back and they hurried over, with Chai on their tail. With thirty monitors, three sets of eyes were needed.

“Focus on the library, Elizabeth, he was in there with Shirley.” Her hands shook at the thought that her sister had been in the same room as the killer, as the man who tortured her all those years ago. The cold in her chest soon felt like a block of ice and she tried not to panic. The last time she felt such cold was five years ago and she forced herself not to think of California or its aftermath.

“I don’t see anyone out of place on this thing, though and no one going into the library.” Merlin’s voice was rough with frustration. She looked over at him. She realized he didn’t know half of it.

“We think he’s a Statesman.” His head whipped around to look at her. “Everything Shirley uncovered years ago and everything I’ve been working on points to it. He knows our tricks, Hamish, he’s going to be hard to find because we taught him how to stay hidden from sight.”

Jack entered the room, clearly trying to keep his fear and anger in check. “Anything?” He asked, his voice giving him away.

“Give me a minute, we’re still scanning the halls.” Ginger murmured as her face was practically against her screen, looking for something that would tell her where the bastard was. “I didn’t see him leave the library after the call came over the radio, so he had to leave before.”

She suddenly stopped and Merlin looked at her with heavy concern. They both turned to Jack and yelled in unison, “Whiskey, the boardroom!”

Jack looked stunned and paused a moment before he whirled around and ran out of the tech room. Ginger ran to Chai’s desk and grabbed the radio to relay her findings to the rest of the team. Chai stood still next to the monitors while Ginger ran to a lockbox in the lab.

She drew out her keys and unlocked it, revealing several guns. She pulled out one and checked to see if it was full. She put the safety on and tucked it into the waistband of her pants before turning around to Merlin. He nodded and they left the room.

Ginger took a hard left at the end of the hall and she saw a small crowd already gathering at the doorway to the board room. Champ stood in front of it, arms out and blocking access to inside. Brandy, Vodka, and Tequila, along with a few other agents were standing outside the door, watching the events inside unfold. Even from the hallway, Ginger could hear Jack’s voice.

They elbowed their way to the front and Ginger lightly gasped when she saw Jack tussling with what must have been the killer. She felt both Tequila and Merlin each grab a hand and she clung to them for dear life. Her eyes wandered over the Shirley, who stood in the corner not looking the least bit afraid. The tightness in her chest eased at the sight, but she was still worried for Jack.

The fight seemed to last forever and when the killer slammed Jack into the ground several times while strangling him, Ginger couldn’t hold back her sobs. Her friend was being killed and Champ wasn’t doing anything about it. She felt Tequila’s hand get tighter and she glanced over and saw his cheek muscles jumping. She knew he wanted to jump in and save Jack. They were like brothers and it pained him to see it all go down the way it was.

“Oh my god.” Brandy’s voice behind Ginger made her jump and she looked back into the room just in time to see Shirley drop a plant pot on the killer’s head before stepping back.

“What the fuck?” he screamed as he turned around. Shirley stood there looking at him.

“Get off of him.” Her voice was low. He laughed.

“Aww, the kitten has come to protect her man.”

“I said, get off him, you fucking prick.” Ginger gasped and dropped both men’s hands to cover her mouth. The man turned to her and the cold that seemed to ease a few moments ago grew bigger in her chest until she saw Shirley draw a gun and point it at the man. When the gun went off, Ginger jumped a mile and let out a squeak. She then watched the woman she’d spent five years trying to avenge walk over and sit on the man until he bled out.

She started to cry again as Shirley ran over to Jack and they kissed. The killer was dead, and this exhausting saga was done. Champ stepped aside and Tequila and Ginger ran to their friends. They fell into a heap and Ginger kissed Shirley on the cheek and hugged her before Tequila grabbed her. Ginger held her hand out to Jack who took it and smiled at her. Their foursome remained unbroken.

Merlin stayed back at the door with Champ, watching the scene unfold before him. His heart eased at the lightness on Ginger’s face and when he was asked to stay to help with the aftermath, he heartily agreed. Happy endings weren’t staple in their work, especially for cases like this one, so he wanted to enjoy it while he could.

It was over.

---***---

Several Days Later

“So, here’s what I know and what Malbec and I assumed. . .” The authority in Shirley’s voice filled the room and she, along with Ginger, Merlin, Chai, Tequila, and Champ closed out one of the agency’s longest running cases. A serial killer had operated inside the organization for years and over forty agents, recruits, and even retirees had been murdered by one Agent Kirsch out of the Austin office. Chai worked the computer, compiling the reports while Ginger created the digital timeline. She looked at back at the faces on her screen and her heart clenched at so many lives lost.

“Ginger, call Jackson Hole, Port . . . I mean Kirsch . . . said he killed a female agent from their office two weeks ago.” Merlin made the call instead and as they watched, the headshot of a woman with sparkling green eyes and curly red hair looked back at the crew as it popped up on the screen. She had been known as Agent Bourbon and she had been only thirty-three when she was tortured and killed. They all sat silent and Chai’s quiet sniffles could be heard.

“God, I hope that is the last of them.” Champ’s voice was roughened with emotion. Knowing so many of his agents had been killed so brutally by one of their own was heartbreaking. But the bastard was dead, and he knew that they had to be better about ferreting out these kinds of agents and getting rid of them – by any means necessary.

“I’ll notify the offices of this news and I’ll work with Cooper, Tannin, and Oak to create new policy to stop this shit.” Champ stood up. “The least we can do is make sure this never happens again and that no one can use our work against us. But first, I’m calling Austin. I’ve had it with Rum.”

Ginger couldn’t help the smile the played on her lips. Looks like he was getting Mezcal as Austin’s new chief agent after all. Shirley also stood and said her good-byes before leaving for lunch with Jack. Tequila and Chai sat together, talking quietly and Ginger briefly wondered if anything was going on between the two of them. Elizabeth, you got sex on the brain, she scolded herself before turning back to Champ.

Merlin sat at the desk working on the digital files while Ginger and Champ chatted about technical protocols that they could put in place now.

“Damn. I think I need Shirley back; I have questions.” Merlin looked at Ginger. Champ held up his hand before reaching for the phone and calling his assistant, Tannin.

“Go waylay Shirley before she and Jack leave. We need her here.” He nodded a few times before hanging up. “She’ll get Shirl.”

As they continued to talk, Tequila walked up to them and joined the conversation. Much of the work he and Chai did gave them some understanding of a final count, but he was certain they wouldn’t ever know the final number. When Shirley walked in, she was smiling at everyone and Merlin pulled her aside. She stayed for an hour and together the two had a completed case file to share with the rest of the Statesman offices. The look of satisfaction on everyone’s faces was contagious and the dark cloud was fully dissipated, the five-year saga was at an end.

“Let’s get lunch, Ging, I’m starving.” Shirley looped her arm through her friend’s. No. Her sister.

“Aren’t you having it with Jack?”

“Not anymore, he’s gotta be in his meeting with Brandy about those transfers about now. I think they’re going to be the last ones for a while. Kingsman is almost at capacity.”

“Then sure.”

“Good, then I can give you an earful for interrupting me before Jack could rail me on his damn desk.�� Shirley said quietly as she glared at her friend and Ginger coughed in shock before laughing almost manically. Shirl just kept walking out the door, dragging the hysterical woman along with her. Sometimes sisters could be such little shits to each other.

#ginger ale #halle berry #merlin #mark strong #ginger ale x merlin #fanfic #kingsman: the golden circle

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carbynn · 6 years

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RoyEd Gift Exchange 2017

@automailsucker I hope this is fluffy, hurt/comforty, and recovery/sickficy enough! Happy Holidays to you and yours :)

(Please forgive any editing errors, I did my best but I’ve been staring at this for days so I’m sure I missed some glaring ones)

In My Head

Rating: M

Tags: Post 03′/CoS-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Graphic Nightmares, Explicit Content, Ed-Typical Cursing, Fluff

Summary:

The bastard’s remaining eye finally cracked open a fraction and a low, pained hiss escaped his lips, mirroring Ed’s relieved exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fullmetal.” His voice was low and rough and Ed had to crouch down just to hear him. “Get out.”

Story under the cut!

The mission had been an absolute hell (lately, all of his missions had been hell,) and Ed wanted nothing more than to collapse into his narrow bunk in the military barracks and sleep for an eternity. He’d collected a couple of new cuts that were sure to evolve into more fucking scars, and more than a couple of bruises in some very uncomfortable spots and each halting step up to the check-in point at the entrance of Central Command pulled on every single one of them.

“Good evening, Sir. May I please see your identification?” The bushy-tailed private in the security booth was eyeing him a little warily and Ed was sure he deserved it. He’d ditched the uniform before he’d hopped on the train(he’d grudgingly started wearing it when it became clear to him that some of the behaviors he’d skated by with as a kid weren’t nearly so endearing as an adult,) and was dressed in a rather unimpressive collection of well-worn travel clothes, a few darkening bruises peeking out from under the collar of his shirt with purple smudges under his eyes to match.

He rifled through the pocket of his overcoat and yanked out his watch, dangling it out for the private to inspect. “This good enough? Otherwise I’m gonna have to dig through this suitcase and we could be here awhile.”

The private’s eyes widened as he took in the glint of the watch and the glint of Ed’s metal hand. “Oh! Major Elric, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you out of uniform!” He shot Ed a frantic salute.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Ed said, waving his flesh hand as he stuffed the watch back in his pocket. “Did the mission go well, Sir?”

Great, a talker. Usually, Ed didn’t mind engaging the new recruits in friendly conversation but he was dead on his feet and hanging on to his fragile sanity by a very, very thin thread. “Went okay,” he grunted. “I gotta be up bright and early to give the Brigadier General my report, actually, and I don’t mean to be rude but…”

“Oh, no, of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you, Sir. Although, if I may say, Sir, Brigadier General Mustang hasn’t left yet. You may be able to catch him before he goes.”

That gave Ed a bit of pause. It’d definitely be easier to drag his ass up to Mustang’s office, give him an incredibly brief verbal report, and sleep in and he was actually pretty grateful to the private for cluing him into that possibility. Still, it was almost midnight and he’d never known the lazy bastard to stay any later than absolutely necessary. Even Hawkeye and the business end of her pistol never kept him past ten.

“That’s a good idea, thanks uh…” Ed squinted through the low light to catch a glimpse of the man’s nametag. “Levy. Take care, okay?”

“You too, Sir, thank you.”

Ed gave him a quick nod and started off for the front doors.

Mustang’s office was dark when Ed pushed his way in and the desk was unoccupied. A lump draped over the sofa caught his attention and a quick inspection revealed the lump to be Mustang himself. He rolled his eyes, the little bubble of concern that had settled in his stomach dissipating when he realized what must’ve happened.

“Hey asshole, wake up,” Ed said loudly, stomping over to the sofa. “You slept past quitting time, you lazy shit.”

He expected a groan or a curse or at least some kind of movement, but Mustang didn’t even shift.

“Hey, Mustang!” Ed called again, nudging at the sofa cushion with the toe of his boot. “C’mon, time to go.”

Again, Ed’s interference sparked no reaction and Mustang remained stone-still on the sofa, and in the dark of the room, Ed couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest. Something almost like terror spiked through him and his exhaustion all but disappeared, a sharp alertness replacing it as he dropped his suitcase and scrambled to seize one of Mustang’s shoulders and give it a vicious shake.

“Mustang. Mustang! Roy!”

At that, the bastard’s remaining eye finally cracked open a fraction and a low, pained hiss escaped his lips, mirroring Ed’s relieved exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fullmetal.” His voice was low and rough and Ed had to crouch down just to hear him. “Get out.”

“Not a chance. What’s your problem?”

“Just go.” Mustang’s voice had somehow gotten even quieter and rougher.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong, you stupid asshole,” Ed snapped. “You obviously need some kind of help. Are you hurt? Did someone attack you? D’you need me to get someone from the medical corps?”

Mustang, much to Ed’s eternal shock, let out a quiet whimper. “Nothing like that.” Every word sounded like agony and Ed winced in sympathy. “Just a migraine. I get them, sometimes, since…” he trailed off in favor of another miserable groan, but Ed could fill in the rest on his own. Fucking Archer and that fucking headshot. Wasn’t it bad enough the vain bastard’d lost an eye?

Ed blew out a long breath and stood up with a wince as the movement bore uncomfortably on a few of his fresher injuries. “Okay, well, you’re not gonna like this, but you need to get home.”

“What I need—“

“We’ll go slow,” Ed promised, and leveraged an arm under Mustang’s shoulders and hoisted him up, ignoring his weak protests as he continued to manhandle him until he was up on his feet. “You’ll be better off in bed than on this lumpy fuckin’ sofa.” He looped his flesh arm around Mustang’s waist and took most of his weight with a grunt as he leaned heavily against him.

Mustang didn’t say anything else as Ed struggled with him out of the office and down the hall. His body was on fire and protested every single step. It felt like an eternity before they emerged outside. The cobblestones in the yard, nicked and uneven, proved a difficult challenge without the benefit of light and with the added burden of Mustang, who groaned quietly at every little misstep until they finally, finally made it to the motor pool which, mercifully, still appeared to be in service with at least one car to spare.

“Hey, hi,” he said, approaching the woman who seemed to be in charge of the remaining cars. “The Brigadier General isn’t feeling well. Any chance we can get a car to take him home?”

The woman coordinating the pool gave them an unimpressed once-over and made it clear that she both thought he was lying and didn’t care to hear anymore about it all at the same time. Without a word, she waved over the nearest driver and shoved a clipboard into Ed’s face. He scrawled a signature on the line and she yanked it back, looking over it and, presumably, was satisfied enough with Ed’s chicken-scratch to go stash the form in a overloaded book at the other end of her booth.

Ed hefted Mustang over to the car and yanked the door open, unloading him into the back seat as carefully as he could manage. He slid in after him and closed the door just a little bit too hard, which pulled another groan from Mustang, and exhaled heavily as he sank against the seat and letting his eyes fall shut.

“Where to, Sir?” The driver’s question snapped Ed’s eyes back open.

“Oh, uh…” Shit. He didn’t actually know where Mustang lived. He nudged him gently in the ribs. “Hey, bastard, what’s your address?” Mustang rattled off a series of numbers and a street name without even raising his head. “Did you get that?”

The driver look scandalized by Ed’s disrespectful address of a senior officer but he nodded and quickly put the car in gear.

Ed might have nodded off during the drive but the gentle motion of the car coming to a halt jerked him back into awareness. He scrabbled for the door handle and wrenched it open before attempting to maneuver Mustang, who had pretty much devolved into dead weight by that point, out of the car.

“C’mon asshole, work with me here,” he muttered, looping one of Mustang’s arms over his shoulder and curling his own arm around Mustang’s waist and wrenching him out of the car as gently as he could manage.

“Do you need help with that, Sir?” the driver asked, just as Ed got Mustang back on his feet.

“Think we got it from here, thanks,” he grunted. “You’re good to go.” He pushed the car door closed softly, recalling Mustang’s pained reaction to the earlier slam, and started off up the walk as the car pulled away.

Mustang’s house wasn’t quite what Ed had expected. He’d imagined it’d be something over-large and flashy with perfectly manicured hedges and maybe some a marble sculpture or two thrown in for a bit of flair. Instead, Mustang lived in a cozy little red-brick townhouse with a few sloppy bushes and a tiny lawn that looked like it could’ve used a good mow.

He managed to get his palms together and alchemized the lock, careful not to let the door slam behind them as he hauled Mustang into his dark entryway. Ed was infinitely curious about the rest of the house, but there’d be time to snoop later.

“Bedroom?”

“Upstairs,” Mustang mumbled into his shoulder and Ed muffled his groaning response to the prospect of lugging him up the stairs but started off towards them anyway.

Ed had climbed mountains more forgiving than Mustang’s fucking stairs but he managed, thanks mostly to the iron grip of his metal hand on the railing (he’d alchemize the dents out of it later,) and to Mustang’s own attempts at careening them forward between miserable little whimpers and outright-moans that he unsuccessfully tried to muffle in the bend of Ed’s neck (and he had not fucking shivered, it was just his ungrateful nerves reacting to the strain, thank you very much,) to haul Mustang up them and into his bedroom which was, thankfully, just across from the top of the staircase.

He dragged his armful over to the bed and steadied Mustang on his feet with one hand while he stripped off his jacket and waist cape with the other before very, very carefully helping him ease down into the mattress. His back and the automail port on his shoulder were screaming by the time he let him go and he straightened with a grimace.

“Be right back,” he said after catching his breath through the wave of pain, and worked his way back downstairs and into the kitchen they’d passed on their way up.

A few minutes of rifling through cabinets produced a glass that he filled from the sink before setting off back upstairs. He tried a few doors before he found the bathroom and a bit more rifling rewarded him with a bottle of painkillers. He distributed a dose for himself and swallowed them dry before tapping out a few more for Mustang, and headed back into the bedroom.

“I have water and painkillers,” he said, setting the glass and the pills on the nightstand. “C’mon, sit up for a sec.”

“They won’t work,” came Mustang’s quiet response through the density of the pillow his face was currently buried in. “I don’t want them.”

“Like I give a fuck. Come on, they’ll at least help a little.” He steeled himself for another round of violent protestation from his back and reached down, pushing his arm under Mustang’s shoulders and pulling him up. “I may have carried your sorry ass up here but I’m not gonna shove these pills in your mouth and hold it closed like you’re one of Al’s fuckin’ cats so just take the damn things.” He pushed the glass into Mustang’s hand.

Reluctantly, and more slowly than it seemed possible, Mustang groped for the pills on the nightstand and threw them back with a sip of the water before collapsing back into the pillows with another groan.

“Was that so hard?” Ed set the water back on the nightstand and looked over Mustang’s prone form, finally allowing a bit of the worry he’d been suppressing to seep into him now that his work was done. He’d never seen Mustang so helpless, so fragile and miserable and ill. He’d always been something like a pillar in Ed’s life, an unshakable, stoic pillar and, yeah, he was a fucking nerd and wasn’t anything like half the masks he put on for different people, but he'd never seen this.

He pulled the blanket up over Mustang and tucked it around his shoulders, letting his flesh fingers linger for a moment on the dip of his throat to reassure himself that the pulse there was regular and strong.

“Get some rest, bastard,” he murmured, drawing away. “I’ll stick around until you’re a little less useless.”

Mustang’s only response was a muffled whine.

Everything was burning. There was heat on Roy’s face, ash in his mouth, and a pounding, hot orange-red that curled around his limbs and tore through his body and then he was screaming. At first, the only screams he could hear were his own but a chorus of screaming soon overwhelmed him, and with the screaming came the familiar smell of burnt flesh.

He scrabbled to escape the burning, boots kicking and sliding in the grainy sand beneath his feet, and then there were hands attached to screaming bodies drawing him back into the fire. He fought them, struggling against the pull as the flames began to lick at his heels again, but the fingers were razor-sharp and they dug into him where they grabbed and he couldn’t escape them.

He was pressed into the ground, then, half-buried in sand that was blurring his eyes and clogging his throat and only then did the screaming stop.

There was only silence, then, punctuated here and then by the crackling of flame and the howling whip of wind kicking the sand up around him, at first pale brown and then gray. Everything was gray, and the sand had turned to ash, cut with shards of the black, ragged bone that the heat of the fires hadn’t been able to burn away from the hands that had been holding him down. He tried to cry out but his throat was still plugged with sand and he could barely even breathe through it.

Don’t you like it, Flame? It was Maes, his voice higher and more mocking than Roy had ever heard it before, cruelty cutting through every word.

He was standing, then, facing down Maes and the barrel of a gun.

You should have had the decency to die in the North.

Pain exploded out from his left eye when the bullet struck it. A thick stream of blood cut down his face, caressing his cheek and smoothing over his throat before staining the collar of his shirt. Another stream followed, and then another, and then suddenly there were hands on his face, one flesh, one metal, stroking soothing lines down his cheek.

Maes was gone. The wind had died down, the ash had disappeared, and all Roy could see was gold. At first, it was the gold of desert sand stretched out for miles and miles around him, the gold haze of fire burning hot in the distance clogging up the blue of the sky, but the sand soon turned liquid and melted away to form the molten gold of Edward’s eyes, the gold of his hair, the warm, golden glow of his skin.

The sand in his throat was gone and he could breathe again. The air was cool like the metal hand against his face and tinted with the taste and scent of machine oil. He was buried again, but this time instead of sand, he was covered by his own comforter in his own bed.

He blinked to clear his eye and turned towards the warmth at his side only to find Ed propped against his headboard balancing one of Roy’s books in his hands, framed by a halo of pale golden light coming from the lamp on the nightstand that had been covered with a sheet to cut the brightness. Though the sharp, stabbing pains in Roy’s head and calmed considerably, dulled to a miserable throb, he was still in agony and he appreciated the gesture.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Ed said sheepishly. “Sorry for, uh, being here. You were… you kept, um, I think you were having nightmares and I didn’t want to go too far.”

Roy wondered just how much of those hands on him had been a dream. “That’s quite all right, Fullmetal,” he said, and his throat was raw as if it had actually been stuffed with sand, as if he’d actually been screaming. The thought made him grimace, and Ed must have interpreted that as his marching orders. He was shifting over to the side of the bed, preparing to slip out of it while he mumbled another apology. Roy’s hand moved of its own accord, reaching out and just managing to grab Ed’s metal wrist. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Stay.”

Ed stared down at him for long enough that Roy was sure he would refuse, but after a moment he relented and settled back against the headboard once more, stretching out his legs flush against Roy’s side.

It had been a long time since Roy had lain so close to someone else, and that was surely the explanation for the way his chest tightened in response to the warm press of Ed’s side against his own. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ed said, still a little uncertain. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Not completely recovered, but better. My head is still—“ He reached up to press his fingers lightly to his left eye but found only flesh where the patch, likely lost in his fitful sleep, should have been. Panic, cold and clear sank into him and he immediately moved to cover the left side of his face with his hand. Mortification and nausea warred for dominance, both eventually giving way to abject misery and a trembling that he couldn’t quite stop. He had spent years carefully rebuilding himself around his injury, recultivating his image, hiding his failures behind the patch and, as long as no one saw, as long as no one had an inkling of the wasteland that lay beneath it, then Roy was safe. Safe from judgment and safe from himself.

He wrenched himself away from Ed’s side and turned his back to him, grinding his teeth through the new sparks of cutting pain that tore through his head at the movement. He very nearly whimpered again from the force of it, but then there was a careful, hesitant hand on his back pressing lightly between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Ed said softly. “It’s all right, you know. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a reminder of everything I have ever done wrong,” Roy whispered. He was too tired and too miserable for this, in far too much pain for this. His defenses were shredded enough already. That he was so exposed was almost too much to bear.

“Yeah, I get that, believe me.” Ed’s hand, warm and solid, still hadn’t strayed from his back and it served as a grounding point for Roy, something that saddled him in reality as images began to bloom behind his eyelids. “I figure everybody loses something eventually, no matter what the goal is. Sometimes it’s body parts, sometimes it’s something you can’t see, but after it’s all said and done, you’re still you.”

“I’m not. I’m not the same.”

“Just because you’re not the same doesn’t mean you’re not you,” Ed pointed out. “Everyone dies once. Some of us die a whole lot more than that. What survives isn’t always nice or neat or soft, but it’s you.”

Who knew that better than Ed? The logic was there, and it should have spoken to him, would have spoken to him if he’d been just a little bit more in control of himself and the wave of self-loathing he usually kept tight behind a floodwall. “I should have died in the North,” Roy whispered. They were words he’d never said out loud. He didn’t delude himself into thinking that no one knew his motives for his self-imposed exile, but saying it gave it power. Made it true. “I wanted to. It would have been fitting, in a way, for the Flame Alchemist to freeze to death. I hoped the cold and the isolation would do what Archer’s bullet didn’t do. I was too much of a coward to do it myself.”

Ed’s hand slipped over his back and curled around his shoulder and yanked. He found himself quite suddenly on his back again, staring up into Ed’s amber eyes through a hazy wave of the pain that shot through him. “People woulda missed you, idiot. I woulda missed you. I didn’t know if you’d lived or died when I got pulled through the Gate and I spent two years wondering if you pulled through ‘cause even though I wasn’t here, I couldn’t imagine this world without you in it. I know we had our differences or whatever but you stuck your neck out a hell of a lot for me n’ Al when we were kids and… I mean, we owe you a lot, y’know? And you had shit to do. You still have shit to do. Good shit. You’re s’posed to change the world, or at least this stupid fuckin’ country. You’re important. And I know me saying that probably doesn’t mean shit to you, but I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

The spike of pain his rather sudden movement pulled forward had caused most of Ed’s words to be swallowed up in it but he understood enough. He couldn’t deny that seeing Ed again after his absence, older and sharper and wilder, had pushed him to abandon his post in the North and retake his rank and position in Central, that his absence had been a blight on Roy and just another thing he’d managed to get wrong, that he spent nights half afraid that he was, as the military presumed, actually dead even if he couldn’t quite make himself believe it. Ed was a constant weight on his mind, but he hadn’t expected to even register as a blip on his radar in those years he’d been away, wherever it was that he’d gone, and he certainly never expected an open acknowledgment of the hand he’d extended to Ed when he was a child. There was something in his eyes, sometimes, and something in his tone that spoke to his understanding of their history and that had been more than enough for Roy. It was enough to know that Alphonse was whole, body and memory restored, and that he and Ed were safe and well.

A hand on his forehead startled him out of his thoughts. “You all right?” Ed brushed the sweat-sticky hair that had fallen into Roy’s eye. “I figured I had a few more hours at least ‘till you were with it enough to regret spillin’ your guts like that. Not that I’m gonna use it against you or anything, but I know how much you like to act like nothing bothers you.”

Edward had grown far too perceptive by half. “Forgive me for being so macabre. You’re right in saying that I’m not quite myself. I’m tired, and I’m in pain, and I shouldn’t burden you this way.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ed’s fingers brushed his forehead again and Roy thought he could feel the hesitation there just before he pushed them into his hair and began carding through it. “Don’t even know why you’re awake at all, you stupid bastard. You should be resting.”

It was difficult to argue when Ed’s hand, surprisingly gentle, was brushing through his hair and soothing him down through the hurt and into a relaxed and quiet calm that soon faded into sleep and, for once, there were no terrors waiting for him on the other side of it.

Ed waited until Mustang was deep asleep, and then waited just a little bit longer after that just to be sure no more nightmares would follow, before slipping out of the bed and padding down to Mustang’s kitchen, his shoulder and the new bruises twinging as he moved. He didn’t think he’d sleep as long as he had the first time, and if all he was gonna do was sit around and wait for him to wake then he might as well do something helpful.

He poked around for a few minutes and came up with a pitcher which he then filled with water and set aside in favor of scrounging up something to take back upstairs for Mustang to eat when he woke up again. He’d been out for most of the night and a good portion of the morning so he was sure to be half-starved when he finally came to.It was nice to feel useful again. The missions were fine and provided Ed with at least a temporary goal to focus on, but he’d never quite managed to find purpose in the years since his return from the other side of the Gate. He’d spent most of his life chasing lofty goals; bringing mom back, getting Al’s body back, getting home. Now, he wasn’t pushing for anything. Al was completely recovered and had taken up a research grant in Xing, strong and capable and finally living the life they’d fought so hard to win back for him, but Ed had stayed behind. The military, at least, gave him purpose, even if only for a little while. Even if the missions got worse and worse every time because he was an adult and he was capable, and Mustang couldn’t shield him from the worst anymore. There was always another asshole piecing together chimeras. There was always another asshole trying to alchemize an army. There was always another asshole cutting up kids or blowing up passenger trains or murdering families, and he would always be there to take them down, because he couldn’t do anything else. He didn’t know how to do anything but fight.

Coming home was always a different kind of fight. He was useless again from the moment he stepped on the train. The days, sometimes the weeks, in between assignments stretched out into an uninterrupted haze of endless repetition interposed now and then with a beacon in the form of a letter from Al or a call from Winry. At least now, helping Mustang served as a worthy distraction from the inevitable downward slide.

Ed managed to find a can of chicken soup buried deep in the back of Roy’s pantry and retrieved it somewhat triumphantly. The subsequent struggle between his metal fingers and the slippery fucking knob on the can opener resulted in the thing being pitched across the room and the can being alchemized open somewhat more furiously than necessary.

He dumped the soup into a bowl and swiped a piece of chalk off of the little chalk board that hung next to the door (and filed away the information that Roy Mustang made grocery lists on chalkboards in his kitchen, honestly,) and sketched out a heating array on the wooden tray he’d found tucked away in a cabinet. The bowl of soup went on the array and the pitcher of water went on the opposite corner of the tray for balance and Ed crept upstairs with it as quietly as he could manage.

Mustang was still sleeping peacefully when Ed edged into the bedroom. He set the tray down carefully on the nightstand and, for a moment, just stood and watched. It wasn’t fair that the bastard managed to be fucking attractive even with sick-sweaty, messy hair plastered to his face and those deep, dark circles under his eyes. It had taken Ed a long time after his trip back through the Gate to reconcile the fact that he found Roy Fucking Mustang attractive. On those rare occasions he was completely honest with himself, he had found the bastard attractive a long time before that and maybe his fixation on him during his years on Earth had been less about concern and more about actual pining. Not that it mattered. Not that he ever intended to act on what was probably just a hang-over from a stupid teenage crush. Mustang was still his CO, still a fucking bastard, and even if laying next to him and feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through his clothes did weird shit to his chest, even if his heart had nearly leapt out of his throat when Mustang’s fingers locked around his metal wrist and he’d asked him to stay, it didn’t matter.

He retrieved the book he’d been reading from the opposite side of the bed and settled back in, resting his flesh leg against Mustang’s side as he propped himself back up against the headboard and willed away yet another wave of the exhaustion he’d been fighting since he’d gotten off the train.

Mustang stirred again a few hours later. Ed set the book aside just as he was cracking his eye open and peering up at him. “You’re still here.”

As if he’d be anywhere else. “Yeah, well, had to make sure you weren’t gonna kick off. Takes too long to break in a new CO and I just don’t have the time. How’re you feeling?”

Mustang took a moment and seemed to assess himself before nodding once. “Much better. I think the worst of it has passed. How long was I asleep?”

“Not counting the little intermission, you’ve been out for about sixteen hours.” Ed gestured to the steaming soup on the nightstand. “I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

Mustang was still a little shaky as he hauled himself up into a sitting position. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “For the soup, and for bringing me back here.”

“’S no problem.” Ed’s shrug sent a ripple through his body and, in turn, through Mustang’s. “I figure you’d’ve done the same for me. Besides, I’ve slept on that sofa before. It’s not the best place to recuperate.”

“Is that an admission of dereliction of duty, Fullmetal?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Jeez, even half-dead you can still find time to hound me. They ought to promote you.”

“Can I have that in writing?”

“Why, so you can bitch about my handwriting?”

“So that I can take great exception to your handwriting with the magisterial grace befitting my rank, thank you. ”

Ed rolled his eyes again. “You’re such a fuckin’ nerd. You must be feeling better if you’re throwing around that kind of vocabulary.”

“I am,” Roy agreed, reaching for the tray and carefully balancing it on his lap. He scooted the bowl aside and took a moment to study the array before speaking again. “The rest did me quite a bit of good. It looks to me like you could benefit from a bit of rest yourself, Fullmetal. When was the last time you slept?”

“’M fine.” Ed had stayed up longer for worse causes. “Got a few hours before I finished up my assignment and then hopped on the first train back.”

Mustang looked like he was doing some serious mental math as he tried to figure out exactly how long Ed had gone without sleeping and the answer seemed to horrify him. “Why don’t you go home? You’ve done more than enough for me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay. I had to carry you up here, do you remember that? You’re not just magically fine after bein’ so sick you gotta be carried up a flight of steps.” The idea of going back to the barracks, even for the sleep he so desperately needed, was furiously off-putting. He’d be alone again, purposeless again, and he had to see for himself that Mustang was better. “I can do more good here than I can do in the dorms, at least until you’re back at one hundred percent.”

“I assure you, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” He swallowed down a few spoonfuls of soup as if to make his point.

“Is that why you were gonna ride out your migraine on the sofa in your office?” Ed snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, seems like you’re real capable.”

“You look like you’re going to collapse.”

“You look like you’re gonna end up with a face full of soup if you don’t stop tryin’ to argue me back to my bunk.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not? You need a shower anyway after all that fevered sweating you’ve been doing. Y’know, because you’re fuckin’ sick?”

Mustang stared at him for a hard second before finishing off the last of the soup and setting the tray and the empty bowl back on the night stand. “I’m not sick anymore, and now you’ve got nothing to throw.”

Bastard. “Yeah, well, you still need a shower,” Ed huffed.

“If I can manage a shower on my own, will you concede that I am recovered enough to be left alone and get some rest?”

Mustang just wasn’t going to leave this alone, was he?

“I’ll think about it.”Mustang heaved a sigh and began to work himself out of bed. He was very obviously unsteady on his feet and Ed almost snapped himself up to help steady him, but he managed to regain his composure and walked easily to the dresser and then into the adjoining bathroom, casting Ed one final hard look before shutting the door firmly.

Ed scowled at it and reached for the book again.

Most of Roy’s unsteadiness had come from laying down for so long, and he managed the shower without much trouble. He dallied in the bathroom for a little bit longer than was strictly necessary in the hopes that when he emerged, Ed would have fallen asleep.

Of course, Ed was still very much awake when Roy emerged from the bathroom. He’d thrown the sheet off of the lamp and the curtains were open, and in the new light Roy could see just how run down he looked. His hair was loose and flying everywhere, either fallen from the braid or freed from it by Ed’s own hand, and there were dark purple smears under each of his eyes, so severe that for a moment, Roy wondered if he was actually just nursing two black eyes in the aftermath of his assignment. He looked pale and drawn, and Roy thought he could detect a slight tremor in his flesh hand when he moved to turn the page of the book he was still reading. By his calculations, Ed had been awake for a little over two days. By all rights, he should’ve succumbed to the pull of sleep by now and that he hadn’t was troubling.

It was troubling, too, that despite his haggard appearance, Edward was still the most beautiful thing Roy had ever seen. It wasn’t news to him that the years had been kind to Ed; he still had one good, working eye after all, and a very vivid imagination. That imagination had plagued his sleep, mercifully free of nightmares the second time, with unending flashes of gold and silver and the echoes of soft caresses against his face that he was certain he hadn’t dreamed up the first time around. He’d seen those flashes in his dreams in the north, too, except in those dreams Edward had been dying over and over again and Roy could only scream and reach out for him as he fell.

“Are you satisfied that I’m no longer in danger of kicking off?”

Ed’s head jerked up from the book as if he had only just then realized that Roy was there. He gave him an appraising once-over and shrugged. “I dunno, I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“And thank heavens for that. Your bedside manner could use quite a bit of work.” Roy moved the tray from its precarious perch on the nightstand to the dresser before settling on the edge of the bed, angling himself towards Ed. “You need to get some rest, Edward.”

Ed let his head fall back against the headboard with an audible thud, sending a cascade of gold over his shoulders. “Fuckin’ told you, I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Then rest here, I don’t care, just as long as you do. You look terrible. You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends just because you’re worried for me. I’m much better now, you don’t need to keep vigil.”

“You seem fine now but what happens if the migraine comes back?”

“Then I will deal with it the way that I always deal with it. This is hardly a new hell for me. I’ve been dealing with these headaches for years. The doctors assure me they are harmless, that they’re just an unfortunate side-effect of being shot in the head.” His eye caught the strap of the eye patch poking through a tangle of sheets and he reached out for it. “One of the side-effects, anyway. I appreciate your concern, and I am eternally grateful for everything you’ve done to help me, but I’m not in any danger and wouldn’t be even if the headache were to recur.” He went to slip the patch back over his head but Ed leaned over and his hand shot out lightning fast, faster than he had any business being after being awake for so long, and stopped him.

“You don’t have to do that. This is your house, for fuck’s sake. You shouldn’t have to wear that thing here. Is it even comfortable?” He reached with his free hand, the automail, and plucked the patch out of Roy’s fingers. “Besides, it’s not like you’re not fuckin’ gorgeous, even without the damn thing.”Ed’s mouth snapped shut and his face flushed a deep and fetching shade of red as soon as he realized what he’d said. “I… I mean—“

“Edward,” Roy murmured through the shock, twisting his wrist under Ed’s hand and catching it to lace their fingers together. “If either of us is worthy of the word, it would certainly be you.”

Roy wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, Ed’s mouth hot against his own. The angle was terrible, with Roy’s hips twisted sideways and Ed stretched halfway across the mattress, but it was transcendent.

Roy reached out and caught Ed around the waist, hauling him closer and finally, finally maneuvering him into a position that allowed him to curl a hand around the back of Ed’s head, fingers buried in soft gold, and tilt him down to fit their mouths together more completely. Ed hummed in approval and scraped his teeth across Roy’s bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue, and Roy was lost. He nipped at Ed’s lip in return and licked his way into his mouth, tasting and learning every little dip and the curve of his teeth and the shape of his jaw. It was perfect, bombastic, electric, everything that he’d never dared to dream of or think of wanting in fear of what denial would cost him.

He let go of Ed’s hand and drew him even closer until Ed was nearly on his lap. Just the weight of him, heavier than he looked because of the automail but warm and solid and Ed, was enough to work Roy into a frenzy. He trailed his hand down the curve of Ed’s spine and brushed the pads of his fingers lightly against the skin of his lower back just under the hem of his shirt. Ed gasped and broke out of the kiss, panting, and Roy took the opportunity to trail kisses down the length of his throat, tasting his skin.

“Fuck,” Ed hissed, letting his head fall back as Roy laved his tongue over the place where Ed’s neck and shoulder met. “Shit. I knew you’d be like this. Knew you would.”

“Like what?” Roy murmured, ghosting warm breath over the damp spots he’d left on Ed’s throat.

“Good. Intense.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.” Roy scraped his teeth lightly over Ed’s pulse and soothed it with his tongue before he straightened to meet Ed’s golden eyes.

“Yeah,” Ed breathed, flushing red again. “For… for a long time.”

“So have I,” Roy confessed. He leaned in and kissed him softly, still hardly daring to believe he would be allowed.

“You never said anything, you bastard,” Ed complained against his lips.

Roy trailed kisses up Ed’s cheek before pressing his lips lightly to each of the dark circles under Ed’s eyes in turn. “You’re my subordinate. You’re young. You’re whole.” That drew an inelegant snort from Ed but Roy barreled on. “I never had any right to ask this of you.”

Ed’s fingers curled in his shirt and hauled him down until Ed was flat on his back and Roy was pressing down on top of him. “Ask me now. Anything you want.”

Roy seized his chance, slotting his legs on either side of Ed’s hips and rocking against the hardness he found there. He swallowed down Ed’s gasp with another warm kiss. “I want you, Edward.”

“Fuckin’ have me, then.”

Roy didn’t need further invitation. He captured Ed’s lips again, kissing him deeply as he allowed his hands to roam over the expanse of Ed’s chest and sides. His fingers quickly found the hem of Ed’s shirt and, without bothering with the buttons, he broke the kiss to lift it off over his head. Ed’s tan chest was marked with a combination of old scars and nicks, and fresh cuts and bruises, no doubt from his latest assignment, and the automail port was ringed with thick, jagged tissue but he was nothing but beautiful in Roy’s eyes. He inhaled sharply and bent to press kisses against the place where Ed’s automail joined his arm, memorizing the topography of the scars under his lips.

Ed’s resulting mewl almost sent Roy over the edge then and there and it took everything he had to regain his composure. “Ed,” he breathed, mouthing gently over a new bruise. “You are radiance personified. After all I have ever done in my miserable life, I’ve never done anything nearly good enough to deserve this.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sap,” Ed said, curling his flesh fingers in Roy’s hair and tugging on it gently. “Take your shirt off.”

Roy laughed at Ed’s forwardness but, honestly, expected nothing less. He kissed Ed’s chest again before rising up off of him to quickly shrug off his shirt. He leaned back down, hissing quietly when flesh made contact with flesh. The edge of the automail was cold where it touched him, but it was nothing compared to the heated flush of his skin.

He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over the curve of Ed’s throat as he began to work at the fly of his trousers, sucking gently over his pulse as he flicked the button open and began pushing the offending garment and the underwear beneath them out of his way. Ed whimpered and shifted his hips beneath Roy’s hands, complicating the removal of his trousers and nearly landing a kick with the automail foot against the side of Roy’s head in the process.

“Mustang, Roy, shit,” Ed hissed when Roy’s fingers finally made contact with his heated erection. He could feel him trembling under his hand and, if he was even half as keyed up as Roy was, this was sure to be brief.

Roy quickly shed the rest of his own clothing and didn’t bother muffling his moans when he pressed his cock against Ed’s and wrapped his fingers around them both. “Is this all right?” It was messy and inelegant and Roy could do so much better but he was cognizant of both Ed’s state of exhaustion and his own state of urgent need and he couldn’t begin to entertain the idea of anything more involved.

He allowed himself, for just a brief moment, to entertain the idea that he would be allowed to do this again, and properly.

Ed’s only answer was a furious roll of his hips that sent both of them crying out in incoherency, and Roy took that as a resounding ‘yes.’ He leaned up to catch Ed’s lips again, swallowing down all of Ed’s soft little whimpers and cries as they settled into a breathless rhythm.

The heated slide of Ed’s flesh against his own was better than he’d ever allowed himself to dream of, and it didn’t take long at all for him to reach his peak. Ed seemed to be in a similar state, if his desperate gasps and the way his head thrashed back and forth on the sheets, sending splays of golden strands shifting over the linen, was anything to go by.

With his free hand, Roy grabbed Ed’s chin and stilled him. “Edward,” he gasped. “Ed, look at me.”

Ed seemed to struggle with the request but finally managed to pry his eyes open. They were blown wide, black pupils just barely ringed by gold. His face was red, his hair in complete disarray, and he looked completely and utterly debauched.

Roy tipped over the edge with a cry, the cadence of his hips losing their rhythm, and vaguely he heard Ed’s muffled swear as he followed close behind. He collapsed just off to Ed’s side, breathing hard, and as soon as the white cleared from his vision he looked over to Ed, who was a vision on his own. His flesh arm was thrown over his eyes, lengthening and tightening his body into a collection of fine and elegant lines, and just a hint of the flush on his cheeks was visible from the cover his arm provided. He was breathing hard, little breaths catching in his throat as he struggled to regain the air. He was absolutely beautiful, and Roy couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Ed shifted his arm and cracked an eye open. “Fuck,” he said emphatically.

“Quite,” Roy agreed, smiling. He brushed another kiss to the corner of Ed’s mouth before willing his watery muscles into submission and rolling to retrieve his shirt where it had been tossed on the bed. He cleaned Ed’s stomach gently before turning his attention to himself, and then threw the shirt in the vague direction of the laundry hamper.

“Thanks,” Ed murmured, letting his arm fall off of his face and turning to regard Roy with something like uncertainty. “So, um, d’you still want me to… go?”

Roy reached out and curled his arms around Ed, dragging him close and burying his face in his mussed hair. “I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you to sleep.”

Ed pressed his face into the curve of Roy’s neck and he swore he could feel his heart stopping. “”Mh gonna sleep, don’t worry. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Edward,” Roy murmured, stroking a light hand down Ed’s spine. “How could I be anything but, with you in my arms?”

“F’kin sap,” Ed mumbled, nuzzling closer. “Makes me sick.”

“If you’re sick, then I suppose it’s my turn to take care of you.”

“Mmh, you can try, bastard.”

Roy smiled into Ed’s hair, tightening his arms around him and pulling him impossibly closer. “Go to sleep, Ed. If I need you, you’ll be right here.”

“You always need me.” Ed nosed at Roy’s neck and blew out a long breath, and, god, if it wasn’t absolutely true. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

Ed muttered a vague response and Roy drew the blanket up over them. Within a few minutes, Ed was out like a light, breathing evenly against Roy’s shoulder.

It was, he supposed, the best migraine he’d ever had in his life.

#RoyEd Gift Exchange 2017 #royed #safe royed #I hope you like it!#automailsucker

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