Rachel (inugrlrayn) wrote,

Song of the Broken Hearted - Part 11

Title: Song of the Broken Hearted - Part 11
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: RoyxEd, Alter!RoyxEd
Author: inugrlrayn
Rating: NC-17 (PG-13 for this chapter)
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or it's characters and all that jazz.
Summary: Post movie. Ed has resigned himself to being stuck on our side of the Gate. Roy tries to find a way to bring him and Al home and the ensuing accident results in both a moral and emotional dilemma.
Author's Note: Thanks hikaru_9 for being the most awesome beta ever. You have thoroughly corrupted me, just so you know. >:E Short chapter is short... Roy goes a little crazy... and stuff.
All Chapters Here

“I wish, sometimes, that once in my life I could catch a break. It’s always… I mean, god, even when it’s good, it’s not,” Ed muttered, head thrown back against the pillows.

“What do you mean? Surely
this isn’t bad?”

“No, but we can’t even just be happy. I’ve got Al to think about, and you… you have a government to overthrow.”

“It’s worth the sacrifice,” Roy insisted.

“I never said it wasn’t. Just… just I wish for a week, for a day even, that there wouldn’t be all this junk in the way. Is one good thing so much to ask for?”

The book made a satisfying, ruffled thunking sort of sound as it hit the wall, pages scattered messily as they were slammed between drywall and leather bindings. They did not soothe Roy’s agitation in the slightest.

Another lonely evening, another pointless book, and what was left? What remained that he hadn’t thought of?

He picked up another volume, flipping idly through the pages, scanning between sips from a glass full of liquid the color of Ed’s eyes. The cover almost burned in his hands, faded red, like a familiar jacket he hadn’t seen in years.

That was enough. He would lay it aside, just for tonight. After all, what good was he desperate and half drunk? All desperation had done so far was to lose everything… absolutely everything.

“You’re bleeding on the carpet, Edward.”

“Yeah, well, you sent me on that stupid mission. It’s what you get,” Ed grumped wearily.

“You should learn to be more careful,” Roy chided.

“Oh shut up,” Ed growled, limping towards the bathroom.

When he returned, the blood had been washed from his hair, his skin, leaving him tired looking, but clean. “There, are you happy? I’m not bleeding on your damn carpet anymore.”

Their spat was forgotten in sharp, needing kisses, and stumbled steps that landed them just barely on the couch. He’d fallen asleep afterwards to Ed’s breath ruffling his hair.

By morning, Edward was already gone.

It was still there, the blood stain on the carpet. Three tries and he’d given the cleaning gal permission to give up on the project. Now he sat on the floor beside it, thumb rubbing idly over the faint, brown stain, stark on the off-white carpet.

“Do you think there might be another way to go about opening the gate?” Roy asked idly, far more interested in watching the curve of Ed’s lips than in the actual answer.

“From what I can tell, it takes some sort of human transmutation to do it. Why?” Ed paused to leer, “Thinking of trying it yourself?”

“I don’t need your circle free parlor trick,” Roy teased.

“Next time, Roy, I will make it rain. We’ll see whose alchemy is a parlor trick then.”

“I’m fairly certain I like our current state of affairs better than the past, Edward. No need to put ourselves on display again.”

“Aww, you just know I wouldn’t let there be another draw,” Ed drawled.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Human transmutation really did seem to be the only way. The few books that bothered to mention the gate, all alluded to it appearing after such a thing.

Would he be left with that as his only option?

There was no doubt in his mind, of course. Edward was worth the risk. If that was the way to get to him, that was what Roy would do. He couldn’t yet, though. He couldn’t do it until he had a way to bring them home.

Roy padded through the living room to the kitchen to discard his glass.

“God, Mustang, don’t you ever cook?” Ed mumbled through a bite of takeout spaghetti.

“Does it really matter? You eat so quickly it’s a marvel you can even tell me what it was you had half the time.”

“You know what? You’re completely right. It actually doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s probably a good thing you don’t cook. I’d really like to not be sick for the next week.” Ed gestured wildly with a plastic fork, eyes alit with something unholy and gleeful.

“Next time you can just fend for yourself, then,” Roy huffed in mock hurt.

“Oh shut up and eat your stupid takeout spaghetti already.” Ed slurped the last of his noodles, tongue darting out to caress his lips.

Roy didn’t actually make it through the rest.

The glass clattered, echoing through the kitchen as it hit the counter. Somehow, it did not break, though Roy hardly noticed. Absently, he headed for the stairs, for some sort of relief from the pain.

Two steps passed under them, and he couldn’t keep his mouth off of Edward’s neck. There just wasn’t any time to waste, and the rest of the world felt unimportant. The disaster their existence was coming to paled in comparison to soft locks of hair beneath his fingers. Nothing reached his ears when Ed was making those noises, hiccupped moans as Roy devoured his throat.

They were dropping clothes, tripping over them, and there was no way they were reaching the top of the stairs. Lips on lips and Ed was scrabbling at his back like he was falling down a cliff.

They moved together, Ed’s belly rubbed raw against the carpeting on the steps. He’d hear about it later, but just for now…

He had to get away. The noises Ed made, choked cries, curses, his name, still sang in his head, and he nearly tripped over shed garments that littered the staircase, though they were not there, ghosts of a time long past.

He reached the top of the steps, shutting his eyes away from the memories, even as he stumbled into the dull familiarity of his own room.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You cannot possibly tell me you just waited until I was completely naked to ask me that,” Ed groused.

“Well, in my defense, my mouth was otherwise occupied before,” Roy smirked.

“Yes, yes it was. I think I liked that better than you talking. It was a lot less irritating.”

Kisses and a desecrated bed were all he could think of now. Sheets that had been washed a hundred times since Ed had last rolled in them still smelled faintly of oil. The side of the mattress Ed always laid on, but never slept in, except for that once, still dipped as if it expected him home any moment.

Why couldn’t he remember anything where they weren’t naked… or about to be? Why couldn’t he remember one moment where they were just warm and in love?

Were you really in love?

If I weren’t, I would have moved on.

Are you driven by love or obsession?

Is there a difference?

You’re going mad, you know.

I’m just desperate.

Will you risk all that you spent your life building, all he helped you achieve?

I have to hold him again. I have to tell him I still love him.

What about what he wants?

He didn’t want to leave. This is what he’d want. Ed would come home if there was a way without putting the world at risk…

Wouldn’t he?

The bed was too empty, to big, and why couldn’t Ed just come home? It wasn’t about the way it felt to be touching, kissing, feeling, not right now. He just needed to hold him again.

Why didn’t I ever just ask you to stay? Why did you always walk away?

We promised. We promised that when it was over, we’d sort out our mess, we’d pick up the pieces and make something good of all this.

What ever happened to someday?

The last of his thoughts played over and again, lost in the space between his living agony, and the nightmares that lurked in the back of his mind.

Someday might never come.
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