Woohoo, I get to use the AU bunny I've had noodling around in my head for a while now!
I do apologize; the plot commandeered the porn. x.x
*
--but when he turned, the creature was Gracia, gun in one soft hand, and he froze with knife half-raised, shock to despair to acceptance in a moment so fast it seemed an eternity--and then two inches of sharp steel was sticking out of her chest.
Reality stretched, twisted.
Gracia--the creature--tossed off the blade, and there was Ed, panting, blood spattering his bare arm, automail sharpened to fight, looking for all the world like he'd bolted out of bed to get there.
Shock lasted half a second, tops, though it seemed longer. He was too well-trained to dwaddle.
"There're more--"
"C'mon, let's go before that jerk Envy revives again."
*
From there, through all Amestris, all hell had broken loose, because from there, Hughes sighed, gritted his teeth, and explained just what Fuhrer Bradley was, and Ed's eyes went so wide he could see the whites all round.
"We've gotta tell them," Ed hissed. "Shit. We've gotta tell the Colonel, we've gotta tell everybody..."
"But the risks--"
It became a guerilla campaign of knowledge, carried on by the three most wanted fugitives. The rumors spread wildfire through the military--that the Fuhrer wasn't human, that their command wasn't serving any good interests. It became chaos, dissent; they traveled in woods by night, no contact with anybody, and Hughes became used to eating transmuted bread, hiding sometimes in the great hollow of Al's armor, dusty with the faint smell of blood and the disembodied voice echoing gentle and nervous around him.
He hadn't had time to call Gracia. He hadn't even had time to pick up the picture.
*
It wore them thin. It wore them thin and tired, all the things they didn't have lurking too close to the surface. Not Al, he was tougher than that; Hughes was realizing, after weeks turning to months, that Al was the toughest person he'd ever met, stronger than Ed and Roy put together. But Ed was coming closer to cracking by the day; every time they found themselves desperately fending off a homunculus, there was less fight in him.
And Hughes, well, Hughes was lonely beyond belief.
Nights, when they could afford to sleep nights, were cold, and Al stood watch because he didn't have to sleep at all, and the warm hard shape of Ed's body where he curled pathetic tight on his side, steel in odd places, was becoming familiar. Or they'd lean together against a tree, not quite sleeping yet, and he'd be staring off into space with the terrible pain of seperation, and Ed would nuzzle close to him, face to the curve of his neck.
*
The night after Ed first met and recognized Sloth, he held the boy as he cried, great, spastic sobs, with Al's great gauntlet in the middle of Ed's back and his tremulous cries of Nii-san...
Later, Al looking elsewhere, Ed whined in distress against Hughes' chest. "I'm not a child, damnit, I'm not her child, I'm not anyone's child..."
They were wandering the paths of madmen now, they both felt. Al was stronger, but they were mere flesh, and Hughes could feel his ribs, and the only damn thing he'd had left was his wedding ring, because they'd even had to leave his uniform.
Ed's flesh hand was touching his face, soft young skin against the rough stubble--he shaved with his knives now, kneeling over little streams--and he looked as if he was seeing him for the first time.
Hughes, after a long moment, dared to touch him; the boy didn't even have to shave, his features were almost as fine as a woman's.
Wandering the paths of madmen, constant battle reducing them to animals. Hughes kissed him.
Ed's tongue flickered across his lips.
"Nii-san?"
They sprang apart.
*
But later, when Al left to patrol round the little cave they'd settled in--the cave Ed had transmuted the first inch of to glass, smooth, waterproof, because Sloth had already leaked through a roof upon them once--they came back together. Not a word passed. If they spoke, it might break the one comfort they had. Touch burned warm; the human body, on impulse arches into it. That was all, really. Two bodies twined skin to skin, because it was the only good thing left.
no subject
I do apologize; the plot commandeered the porn. x.x
*
--but when he turned, the creature was Gracia, gun in one soft hand, and he froze with knife half-raised, shock to despair to acceptance in a moment so fast it seemed an eternity--and then two inches of sharp steel was sticking out of her chest.
Reality stretched, twisted.
Gracia--the creature--tossed off the blade, and there was Ed, panting, blood spattering his bare arm, automail sharpened to fight, looking for all the world like he'd bolted out of bed to get there.
Shock lasted half a second, tops, though it seemed longer. He was too well-trained to dwaddle.
"There're more--"
"C'mon, let's go before that jerk Envy revives again."
*
From there, through all Amestris, all hell had broken loose, because from there, Hughes sighed, gritted his teeth, and explained just what Fuhrer Bradley was, and Ed's eyes went so wide he could see the whites all round.
"We've gotta tell them," Ed hissed. "Shit. We've gotta tell the Colonel, we've gotta tell everybody..."
"But the risks--"
It became a guerilla campaign of knowledge, carried on by the three most wanted fugitives. The rumors spread wildfire through the military--that the Fuhrer wasn't human, that their command wasn't serving any good interests. It became chaos, dissent; they traveled in woods by night, no contact with anybody, and Hughes became used to eating transmuted bread, hiding sometimes in the great hollow of Al's armor, dusty with the faint smell of blood and the disembodied voice echoing gentle and nervous around him.
He hadn't had time to call Gracia. He hadn't even had time to pick up the picture.
*
It wore them thin. It wore them thin and tired, all the things they didn't have lurking too close to the surface. Not Al, he was tougher than that; Hughes was realizing, after weeks turning to months, that Al was the toughest person he'd ever met, stronger than Ed and Roy put together. But Ed was coming closer to cracking by the day; every time they found themselves desperately fending off a homunculus, there was less fight in him.
And Hughes, well, Hughes was lonely beyond belief.
Nights, when they could afford to sleep nights, were cold, and Al stood watch because he didn't have to sleep at all, and the warm hard shape of Ed's body where he curled pathetic tight on his side, steel in odd places, was becoming familiar. Or they'd lean together against a tree, not quite sleeping yet, and he'd be staring off into space with the terrible pain of seperation, and Ed would nuzzle close to him, face to the curve of his neck.
*
The night after Ed first met and recognized Sloth, he held the boy as he cried, great, spastic sobs, with Al's great gauntlet in the middle of Ed's back and his tremulous cries of Nii-san...
Later, Al looking elsewhere, Ed whined in distress against Hughes' chest. "I'm not a child, damnit, I'm not her child, I'm not anyone's child..."
They were wandering the paths of madmen now, they both felt. Al was stronger, but they were mere flesh, and Hughes could feel his ribs, and the only damn thing he'd had left was his wedding ring, because they'd even had to leave his uniform.
Ed's flesh hand was touching his face, soft young skin against the rough stubble--he shaved with his knives now, kneeling over little streams--and he looked as if he was seeing him for the first time.
Hughes, after a long moment, dared to touch him; the boy didn't even have to shave, his features were almost as fine as a woman's.
Wandering the paths of madmen, constant battle reducing them to animals. Hughes kissed him.
Ed's tongue flickered across his lips.
"Nii-san?"
They sprang apart.
*
But later, when Al left to patrol round the little cave they'd settled in--the cave Ed had transmuted the first inch of to glass, smooth, waterproof, because Sloth had already leaked through a roof upon them once--they came back together. Not a word passed. If they spoke, it might break the one comfort they had. Touch burned warm; the human body, on impulse arches into it. That was all, really. Two bodies twined skin to skin, because it was the only good thing left.