Author's Note: So, it's not totally her fault this time, but after much struggling with another piece I'm not really terribly interested in writing, hieronymousb talked me into writing what I actually wanted to write, so enjoy, and totally blame her. XD
Sometimes they make love, warm and slow, full of sweet nothings and tender kisses. Sometimes Roy can forget that love means you’re not totally in control anymore, that here they are equals, here Ed is not just some person under his thumb. Sometimes Roy can stop being the Fuhrer long enough to just be Roy, and let Ed stop being his subordinate long enough to just be Ed.
Tonight is not one of those nights, and Ed sighs inwardly at the fact that some days his lover can’t let go of his mask long enough to be kind. Nights like these are nights where Roy will vehemently deny that he loves at all. Nights like these, Ed is nothing more than a source of relief, allowing himself to be sucked dry until the person who he can admit he loves, even now, is satiated. He lets Roy take what he wants, stringing them along in bitter rhapsody, alcohol, violence and anger at his own emotions’ betrayal winding its way through his every movement.
Roy does not kiss him on nights like these, because you only kiss those you care for, and right now he will vehemently deny loving Ed, even if he’s the only one who believes it. Ed wonders how long it will be before the man comes to terms with this, with them. He wonders if he can handle what’s happening in the meantime. He will though, he’ll hold them together as long as it takes, because he knows Roy doesn’t really mean to hurt him. He understands that just because he finds no issue in the way the cards fell, does not mean it comes so easily to Roy, who hasn’t spent the majority of his life dangling at the puppet end of someone else’s strings.
The way Roy’s fingers dig into his arms, hard enough that there will be bruises in the morning, almost makes Ed miss the automail. His back is against the wall, and it hurts the way he’s being forced into it, teeth scraping against his neck. He sighs in something akin to, but not quite pleasure, because the way Roy’s mouthing insistently at his collarbone, hands moving away from his arms to pull away his shirt, does feel nice.
He meets violence with violence, allowing his distress at their situation to flare into full fledged anger. With a growl in his throat that he’ll wonder later if it was really his, he shoves Roy away from him. The older man’s arms are pulled tight around him, though, and they tumble backwards, landing in a heap on the bed.
Ed has hardly caught his breath when Roy rolls them over, pinning Ed on his back against the mattress. He shuts his eyes against the tide, says nothing as Roy yanks his belt off rather unceremoniously, pants and boxers quickly following. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Roy’s still in uniform, jacket and all. Ed’s not afraid of Roy, but there’s something vaguely terrifying in the expression on Roy’s face, as if the man who loves him just isn’t there right now.
He thinks back to the first time it had been like this. It had been exhilarating at first, when he’d thought that he was just seeing an odd incarnation of enthusiasm. It isn’t like that now, and though his body responds eagerly to Roy’s touches, his heart aches. He never turns the man down though, happy to have what he can get, and willing to accept this in return for the times when Roy can admit the truth, for the times when Roy really smiles, the heartbreaking, happy upturned lips that tie Ed in knots and make him feel like he might explode with joy. This is equivalent, he thinks, in its own, broken sort of way, and isn’t equivalence the truth of everything?
Ed cries out, his mind drawn away from more tender moments into here and now. He wants to buck his hips up, because Roy is devouring his length, but the man’s still gloved hands press firmly, almost painfully, against him, keeping him from moving for the most part. He submits as best he is able, panting with the effort and basking in the way Roy’s tongue presses against the underside of his length, his head bobbing almost manically. He thinks he could come like that, and Roy’s so far gone, he might let him. Perhaps then he’ll be too far gone to hurt when Roy fucks him, no trace of love in his hands or his hips, and only a spark of denial in his eyes.
Roy teases, slowing only enough to deny release, his hands tugging urgently at Ed’s balls, in case his body had actually been thinking about cumming. Ed shivers at the soft sound of sliding fabric as Roy pulls off one of his gloves, reaching over Ed to pull a bottle from the nightstand. He closes his eyes once more, not sure when he’d opened them again, but he knows what’s happening anyway. He can hear Roy unbuttoning his pants, and the zipper being pulled down. There’s the faint click of the lube being uncapped, and a shaky groan as Roy slides a slicked hand over his own length.
Ed wonders what it means that they’ve done this so many times, he knows all the sounds. He wonders if there’s something wrong with the fact that they do this so often it doesn’t hurt when Roy slides into him, pressing urgently until his hips are flush with Ed’s skin. He wonders if he should worry about the time it doesn’t take him to get used to the sensation, to nod his head in approval for Roy to just move already.
At least now, he can forget that this makes him want to die inside. He can focus on the feeling of Roy thrusting in and out urgently, not even touching him now. When Ed looks up, his lover’s eyes look a little vacant, like his mind is somewhere else, and the younger man decides he doesn’t really want to know. He slides his own hand between them, pumping in time to Roy’s movements, and there’s something to be said for the spastic, jerky, sorry excuse for rhythm, because Ed’s body is already tensing, and he thinks he might scream. He comes hard, and will wonder later if that means he likes being treated this way, but right now all he can focus on is the fireworks behind his eyes, and Roy’s length pulsing his own release inside him.
It’s over all too soon, and Ed’s rolling off the bed, heading to take a shower, as much because he feels a bit violated as it is because he doesn’t want to have to talk about this. Talking would be akin to admitting there is a problem, and he doesn’t have the strength for it, not right now. He heads for the bathroom, hoping the shower will ease the aches in his heart as well as those of his body, and perhaps the water will wash away the look Roy’s giving him, silent and… something he can’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it is sorrow, or remorse, but Ed does not dare hope, though he knows it is different than usual. That Roy looks at him at all is an improvement.
He turns on the water, stepping into the shower and letting it wash over him as soon as it is warm enough. He runs his fingers tiredly through his hair, enjoying the warm wetness caressing his back. On nights like this, the water gives his body all the adoration Roy does not, and he allows himself to relish it, basking in the way the droplets worm their way like tiny fingers over his body.
Now, though, there are no distractions. Now, he cannot pretend he isn’t hurting. Now, he can’t forget the way the places where he’ll be bruised tomorrow burn, and though he knows it’s just in his head, the feeling is still there. Finally, it’s a little too much, and he gives, convincing himself that the tears are only water dripping from his hair.
He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t hear the rustle of the curtain pulling back, or see Roy poke his head in. It’s not the way things normally go, and so he doesn’t expect it. He opens his eyes, nearly jumping out of his own skin, and he hopes that Roy does not see the tears, because he’s oddly irritable when he gets like this, and Ed doesn’t really want to know how he’ll react.
Roy doesn’t comment, but he looks like something broken, as if perhaps he’s finally realized what he’s doing to them. He steps into the shower, still in his pants, though the shirt and jacket are gone, and says nothing, tugging Ed into his arms.
Once Ed is leaning against him, Roy murmurs apologies he’s longed to hear for months, and never dared hope for. He wants to laugh because it feels like he’s free of some bond he couldn’t get rid of. He thinks about saying something about Roy’s clothing, but all that matters right now is the fact that there are arms around him and his lover has come to terms with what they are. Perhaps now, they can find peace.