Kataomoi Ch. 6: In which we take time out
Mar. 7th, 2010 03:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akainagiKataomoi Ch. 6: In which we take a time out
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akainagi
Genre: Romance/Angst/Humor (little for everyone)
Pairing: RoyEd
Rating: So far PG-13 for Ed's dirty mouth
Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, Alchemist of the People, had been in many dire situations before. He had been locked up, beat down, burned, shot, kicked, insulted and injured so many times that he could probably keep Winry in business singlehandedly. But now he was in a new predicament, one from which there was no escape, no reprieve.
He was in time-out.
Just punishment, he supposed, for dropping an F-bomb in front of a preschooler. And from the look in the doting father’s eyes at the deflowering of his daughter’s virgin ears, he figured he was lucky to get off without serious bodily injury. He acquiesced without complaint. It was the least he could do; preserve in the youngest Hughes the idea that people who said and did bad things always got punished. Ed hoped she was a long way from finding out that particular concept was often the exception rather than the rule.
He figured he had already done about half of his five minute sentence. The time dragged not only because he was sitting with nothing to look at but the plaster wall, but because he was being watched. Not glanced at, not looked at, but eyes-boring–holes-in-the-back-of-his-head watched. And he was pretty sure he was being smirked at too.
Ed squirmed in his seat and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. What piss-poor luck. He spent all day avoiding the man only to end up eating dinner with him. He wondered briefly whether the colonel had known he was going to be there. Had he let Ed go all day running around like a maniac, all the while knowing that by seven o-clock they would be sitting at the same table?
God, that would be just like him. The Bastard.
A tug on his elbow jerked him out of his thoughts. Elysia stared up at him admiringly. “Wow. You didn’t even cry. I always cry in time out. You’re pretty brave.”
Ed couldn't supress a small smile, leaning over conspiratorially. “Special alchemist training," he imparted. "They teach you how not to cry in time out.”
Elysia’s eyes got even bigger, if that was possible. “Really? Do you think you could teach me?”
Yeah, you just picture yourself pummeling Colonel Mustang’s face in and everything’s roses. “'Fraid not. Special state secret,” Ed said somberly.
“Oh,” said the disappointed Elysia. “Mommy sent me to get you for dinner. Time out’s over.”
Finally. The best part of this whole night. Gracia Hughes’ cooking. Ed rose from his punishment chair and headed for the dining room, acutely aware that he was still the focus of Roy Mustang’s stare as he lounged on the couch.
“It’s true,” the colonel intoned in what Ed considered to be one of his most condescending tones. “Ed did pass the no-crying-in-time-out-training. However the listening-to-your-superiors-training, the-not-blowing-up-towns-training, and the controlling-your-temper-training are a different story."
“Well maybe if the superior wasn’t so condescending and smug.”
The smirk widened, “and of course he failed the height requirement.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HIS FEET DON’T REACH THE FLOOR FROM THE TIME-OUT CHAIR!???”
Mustang, having scored his point, rose and ambled his way to the dining room, still with a self-satisfied smile. “Coming, Fullmetal? Don’t want to be late for Gracia’s dinner. It would be rude.”
Ed, still fuming, let himself be pulled by Elysia into the dining room. Apparently the youngest member of the Hughes household was in charge of the seating arrangement. She informed Ed and Al, matter-of-factly that they were to sit next to her. Which left Ed to the left of Elysia, to the right of Hughes, and right smack-dab across from Colonel Roy Mustang.
Shit.
He began the dinner warily, waiting for his nemesis to launch barbs and jibes across the dinner table.
Nothing.
Apparently even Roy Mustang didn’t have the stones to disrupt the sacred ritual of dinner in the Hughes household. Conversation was polite, and non-work related. Gracia, the consummate hostess, kept the conversation flowing and the plates full. Ed ate with gusto, stopping frequently to cast wary glances across the table. Unlike the elder Elric brother, who had often been described as a human vacuum cleaner when it came to food, Mustang ate slowly, pacing himself, intermixing his enjoyment of the meal with conversation.
Schmoozing, that’s what they call it. And boy was Mustang good at it. Schmoozing even with the people closest to him. Was there a real person underneath that layer of bullshit? Maybe.
Maybe not.
And by the time dinner was completed and everyone prepared to dig in to Gracia’s famous apple pie with whipped cream, Ed decided he didn’t care. In that spot where the Mustang induced sexual pull had taken up residence there was now nothing. Not even a twinge. No little voices telling him to touch Roy Mustang, to Kiss Roy Mustang, to do various lascivious acts with Roy Mustang. Nothing.
Until what Ed would forever refer to as the whipped cream incident.
When the glob of whipped cream met the Colonel’s white shirt, Ed remembered thinking how human that was. Smug colonels didn’t dump food on their shirts, normal people did. And smug colonels certainly didn’t reach down with one long index finger, scoop up the offending dessert and deposit it neatly between his parted lips. Mustang even gave the index finger a quick, gentle suck and went back to finishing his dessert, totally oblivious to the fact that for the umpteenth time in two days, he had traumatized Edward Elric.
The Colonel sucks, Ed thought dumbly. He sucks fingers. He uses his lips for something other than smiling smugly. He uses his lips for whipped cream and lovers (which if rumors could be trusted numbered among the hundreds). He kisses with those lips. What else does he do with those lips?
What would I like him to do with those lips?
That was when he lost it. He jumped up from his seat like someone had just set a match to his rear. He dimly heard Gracia Hughes and his brother ask if he was okay. He stammered something about fresh air and a hurried apology and bolted through the kitchen and out the back door.
Oh my God. Ed steadied himself on the railings of the back porch, willing the warm stirrings in his lower abdomen to stop, dear God, stop. Why was this happening? Did he have no control over his thoughts where the colonel was concerned? Why oh why hadn’t he just gone this morning gotten his assignment and he’d be that much closer to putting miles between him and Mustang.
Because you were afraid that just this was going to happen, his traitorous brain interjected. At least if he had gone to Mustang’s office this morning he wouldn’t have quite so many witnesses and quite so much explaining to do.
“Brother?”
Speaking of explaining.
Alphonse Elric had to turn his body sideways to make it through the back door. “Brother? What happened? Are you okay?”
This time there would be no easy out. Alphonse would not go away without an answer. He deserved an answer. They were all each other had. But what answer was he going to give? It would be so easy to lie –Geez, Al, I just really had to fart. Didn’t want to let one rip in there. You know how it is.”
Except Al didn’t know. Every biological function from farting to smiling to crying was denied him.
Ed had never lied to his brother. Ever. He wouldn’t start now. Not even to spare his own image in Al's eyes. But where to start? How much to say? And was the Hughes’ back porch really the place?
Who was he kidding? There would never be a good time or place for this.
“Al, I have something to tell you.” Ed sighed heavily. “It’s going to surprise you and I hope you don't think I'm a total shit.”
Anyone but Ed would not be able to read the subtleties in voice and posture of this giant suit of armor. But they were brothers. And he knew. He could read the puzzlement, the slight undertone of hurt, the concern.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what I imagine. And you’re my brother, my family. Nothing is going to change that.”
Ed smiled; he should have known Al would react that way. His heart exceeded the size of his armor.
After checking quickly to make sure no one was around the back door who might overhear, Ed took a deep breath, faced his brother and bit the bullet. “Al, I’m gay. “
“Huh?” Alphonse squeaked.
“You know,” Ed’s metal hand clenched and unclenched in his nervousness. “I’m attracted to men. Gay.”
Al was silent for so long that Ed began to panic. He must be horrified. He has a freak for a brother…. Well, a bigger freak than before.
“And you being gay is why you ran out of dinner just now? I don’t get it.”
“Oh. That. That was because that bastard colonel did that thing with the whipped cream,” he explained matter-of-factly.
Al was getting more confused by the moment. “What whipped cream thing?”
“The licking thing. With his finger.” Ed let out another heavy sigh, as if he were about to unburden the weight of the world. “I’m attracted to the colonel.”
“HUH?!? B- b-b-but you hate the Colonel. At least you’re always saying you do.” Al’s surprise was so great it bordered on panic.
“Damn straight I hate him,” Ed growled. “I don’t want to be attracted to that bastard. It just happened.”
Al let that sink in for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had completely changed. “The Colonel didn’t … do … anything to you did he.” The tone implied that had the Colonel done so, Al would be doing something with his face.
“No! God no!” Ed denied vehemently. “He doesn’t even know, thank god. He’d make my life even more miserable.”
“But how can you, you know, want to do things with someone you don’t even like?” Al asked in confusion.
Ed’s frustration was palpable. “Fuck, I wish I knew. Then maybe I could stop it.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Ed set his brow with determination, “The only thing I can do. Get the next assignment and you and I get the hell out of town as quick as possible.” Ed looked his brother in the eye as best he could given their difference in height. “This whole thing, this gay Mustang thing, means nothing. What matters is the stone. What matters is getting our bodies back.”
Al thought about this for a moment. Then he nodded. “And I don’t think anything different about you. You’re still my brother. And we’re still in this together.”
Next Chapter
Author:
akainagiGenre: Romance/Angst/Humor (little for everyone)
Pairing: RoyEd
Rating: So far PG-13 for Ed's dirty mouth
Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, Alchemist of the People, had been in many dire situations before. He had been locked up, beat down, burned, shot, kicked, insulted and injured so many times that he could probably keep Winry in business singlehandedly. But now he was in a new predicament, one from which there was no escape, no reprieve.
He was in time-out.
Just punishment, he supposed, for dropping an F-bomb in front of a preschooler. And from the look in the doting father’s eyes at the deflowering of his daughter’s virgin ears, he figured he was lucky to get off without serious bodily injury. He acquiesced without complaint. It was the least he could do; preserve in the youngest Hughes the idea that people who said and did bad things always got punished. Ed hoped she was a long way from finding out that particular concept was often the exception rather than the rule.
He figured he had already done about half of his five minute sentence. The time dragged not only because he was sitting with nothing to look at but the plaster wall, but because he was being watched. Not glanced at, not looked at, but eyes-boring–holes-in-the-back-of-his-head watched. And he was pretty sure he was being smirked at too.
Ed squirmed in his seat and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. What piss-poor luck. He spent all day avoiding the man only to end up eating dinner with him. He wondered briefly whether the colonel had known he was going to be there. Had he let Ed go all day running around like a maniac, all the while knowing that by seven o-clock they would be sitting at the same table?
God, that would be just like him. The Bastard.
A tug on his elbow jerked him out of his thoughts. Elysia stared up at him admiringly. “Wow. You didn’t even cry. I always cry in time out. You’re pretty brave.”
Ed couldn't supress a small smile, leaning over conspiratorially. “Special alchemist training," he imparted. "They teach you how not to cry in time out.”
Elysia’s eyes got even bigger, if that was possible. “Really? Do you think you could teach me?”
Yeah, you just picture yourself pummeling Colonel Mustang’s face in and everything’s roses. “'Fraid not. Special state secret,” Ed said somberly.
“Oh,” said the disappointed Elysia. “Mommy sent me to get you for dinner. Time out’s over.”
Finally. The best part of this whole night. Gracia Hughes’ cooking. Ed rose from his punishment chair and headed for the dining room, acutely aware that he was still the focus of Roy Mustang’s stare as he lounged on the couch.
“It’s true,” the colonel intoned in what Ed considered to be one of his most condescending tones. “Ed did pass the no-crying-in-time-out-training. However the listening-to-your-superiors-training, the-not-blowing-up-towns-training, and the controlling-your-temper-training are a different story."
“Well maybe if the superior wasn’t so condescending and smug.”
The smirk widened, “and of course he failed the height requirement.”
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HIS FEET DON’T REACH THE FLOOR FROM THE TIME-OUT CHAIR!???”
Mustang, having scored his point, rose and ambled his way to the dining room, still with a self-satisfied smile. “Coming, Fullmetal? Don’t want to be late for Gracia’s dinner. It would be rude.”
Ed, still fuming, let himself be pulled by Elysia into the dining room. Apparently the youngest member of the Hughes household was in charge of the seating arrangement. She informed Ed and Al, matter-of-factly that they were to sit next to her. Which left Ed to the left of Elysia, to the right of Hughes, and right smack-dab across from Colonel Roy Mustang.
Shit.
He began the dinner warily, waiting for his nemesis to launch barbs and jibes across the dinner table.
Nothing.
Apparently even Roy Mustang didn’t have the stones to disrupt the sacred ritual of dinner in the Hughes household. Conversation was polite, and non-work related. Gracia, the consummate hostess, kept the conversation flowing and the plates full. Ed ate with gusto, stopping frequently to cast wary glances across the table. Unlike the elder Elric brother, who had often been described as a human vacuum cleaner when it came to food, Mustang ate slowly, pacing himself, intermixing his enjoyment of the meal with conversation.
Schmoozing, that’s what they call it. And boy was Mustang good at it. Schmoozing even with the people closest to him. Was there a real person underneath that layer of bullshit? Maybe.
Maybe not.
And by the time dinner was completed and everyone prepared to dig in to Gracia’s famous apple pie with whipped cream, Ed decided he didn’t care. In that spot where the Mustang induced sexual pull had taken up residence there was now nothing. Not even a twinge. No little voices telling him to touch Roy Mustang, to Kiss Roy Mustang, to do various lascivious acts with Roy Mustang. Nothing.
Until what Ed would forever refer to as the whipped cream incident.
When the glob of whipped cream met the Colonel’s white shirt, Ed remembered thinking how human that was. Smug colonels didn’t dump food on their shirts, normal people did. And smug colonels certainly didn’t reach down with one long index finger, scoop up the offending dessert and deposit it neatly between his parted lips. Mustang even gave the index finger a quick, gentle suck and went back to finishing his dessert, totally oblivious to the fact that for the umpteenth time in two days, he had traumatized Edward Elric.
The Colonel sucks, Ed thought dumbly. He sucks fingers. He uses his lips for something other than smiling smugly. He uses his lips for whipped cream and lovers (which if rumors could be trusted numbered among the hundreds). He kisses with those lips. What else does he do with those lips?
What would I like him to do with those lips?
That was when he lost it. He jumped up from his seat like someone had just set a match to his rear. He dimly heard Gracia Hughes and his brother ask if he was okay. He stammered something about fresh air and a hurried apology and bolted through the kitchen and out the back door.
Oh my God. Ed steadied himself on the railings of the back porch, willing the warm stirrings in his lower abdomen to stop, dear God, stop. Why was this happening? Did he have no control over his thoughts where the colonel was concerned? Why oh why hadn’t he just gone this morning gotten his assignment and he’d be that much closer to putting miles between him and Mustang.
Because you were afraid that just this was going to happen, his traitorous brain interjected. At least if he had gone to Mustang’s office this morning he wouldn’t have quite so many witnesses and quite so much explaining to do.
“Brother?”
Speaking of explaining.
Alphonse Elric had to turn his body sideways to make it through the back door. “Brother? What happened? Are you okay?”
This time there would be no easy out. Alphonse would not go away without an answer. He deserved an answer. They were all each other had. But what answer was he going to give? It would be so easy to lie –Geez, Al, I just really had to fart. Didn’t want to let one rip in there. You know how it is.”
Except Al didn’t know. Every biological function from farting to smiling to crying was denied him.
Ed had never lied to his brother. Ever. He wouldn’t start now. Not even to spare his own image in Al's eyes. But where to start? How much to say? And was the Hughes’ back porch really the place?
Who was he kidding? There would never be a good time or place for this.
“Al, I have something to tell you.” Ed sighed heavily. “It’s going to surprise you and I hope you don't think I'm a total shit.”
Anyone but Ed would not be able to read the subtleties in voice and posture of this giant suit of armor. But they were brothers. And he knew. He could read the puzzlement, the slight undertone of hurt, the concern.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what I imagine. And you’re my brother, my family. Nothing is going to change that.”
Ed smiled; he should have known Al would react that way. His heart exceeded the size of his armor.
After checking quickly to make sure no one was around the back door who might overhear, Ed took a deep breath, faced his brother and bit the bullet. “Al, I’m gay. “
“Huh?” Alphonse squeaked.
“You know,” Ed’s metal hand clenched and unclenched in his nervousness. “I’m attracted to men. Gay.”
Al was silent for so long that Ed began to panic. He must be horrified. He has a freak for a brother…. Well, a bigger freak than before.
“And you being gay is why you ran out of dinner just now? I don’t get it.”
“Oh. That. That was because that bastard colonel did that thing with the whipped cream,” he explained matter-of-factly.
Al was getting more confused by the moment. “What whipped cream thing?”
“The licking thing. With his finger.” Ed let out another heavy sigh, as if he were about to unburden the weight of the world. “I’m attracted to the colonel.”
“HUH?!? B- b-b-but you hate the Colonel. At least you’re always saying you do.” Al’s surprise was so great it bordered on panic.
“Damn straight I hate him,” Ed growled. “I don’t want to be attracted to that bastard. It just happened.”
Al let that sink in for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had completely changed. “The Colonel didn’t … do … anything to you did he.” The tone implied that had the Colonel done so, Al would be doing something with his face.
“No! God no!” Ed denied vehemently. “He doesn’t even know, thank god. He’d make my life even more miserable.”
“But how can you, you know, want to do things with someone you don’t even like?” Al asked in confusion.
Ed’s frustration was palpable. “Fuck, I wish I knew. Then maybe I could stop it.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Ed set his brow with determination, “The only thing I can do. Get the next assignment and you and I get the hell out of town as quick as possible.” Ed looked his brother in the eye as best he could given their difference in height. “This whole thing, this gay Mustang thing, means nothing. What matters is the stone. What matters is getting our bodies back.”
Al thought about this for a moment. Then he nodded. “And I don’t think anything different about you. You’re still my brother. And we’re still in this together.”
Next Chapter
