Archive of Our Own

Edward gets everything he’d ever said he wanted. That doesn’t mean he’s happy at the end of the day.

He does wish (often, in fact) that he hadn’t had to lose something so dear to him in order to have this end result. The trade of his alchemy for his brother was a no-brainer, a decision he’d make again and again if he had to, but it doesn’t make it any less painful the first time he claps and there is no spark. The circle he’s envisioning in his mind doesn’t materialize in the loop of his arms.

He manages not to cry about it until he’s well and truly alone, back at the room he’d gotten in the hotel down the street from the hospital in which Al is staying. He’s been around people all day. Today, and yesterday, and the day before - the Promised Day. But now it’s just him. And he cries.

He cries for hours, wrapped around his knees, one metal and one bone. Wipes his face with a hand that’s made of flesh but doesn’t feel like his own. 

There are pieces of metal buried in his arm. The joint is half metal. The x-rays had looked bizarre. The doctors are still trying to figure it out, but it doesn’t hurt, so Edward isn’t too worried about it. He’s been part metal for years. What’s the difference now?

Eventually he cries himself out and lays himself down, his stomach aching with hunger and his mouth dry with thirst. He’s exhausted, tired to the bone. Every piece of him has given and given and given and there is nothing left.

But Al needs him.

So the next morning he wakes up, and he gets a cup of coffee, and he goes to the hospital to sit at his brother’s bedside.

It’s many weeks - months - later that they finally return to Resembool. Alphonse has put on a lot of weight - almost forty pounds of it - but he is still too slender. Edward doesn’t think he will have trouble reaching his ideal weight. The boy never stops eating.

“Jeez,” says Al, shifting uncomfortably, “You always said the benches were hard, but I forgot what that feels like.”

“You can’t stay in bed forever,” says Edward, although Alphonse has done many hours now of concerted effort in relearning how to walk in a body whose muscles had atrophied beyond recognition.

“I know,” says Al. Edward smiles at him and then turns to look out the window, at the farmland rushing past. They’re coming up to his favourite part of the train ride, through fields upon fields of lavender. The window is open, so they’ll be able to smell it. He looks forward to sharing that with Al.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Al is still staring at him. He’s been like this since he was brought back to his human body. Maybe he was like that in his armour body too… It was hard sometimes to tell which direction his brother was looking in. Now though, it’s obvious. Al stares at him. A lot. 

“Yeah?” he asks, turning back. 

Al doesn’t flush, or turn away, or act like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He just keeps unabashedly staring.

“What?” presses Edward.

“Just looking at you,” says Alphonse, as though that much weren’t obvious.

“Why?”

Al shrugs. His cane is laying across his lap, his fingers curled lightly around it, “I like looking at you.”

Edward frowns at him. Alphonse smiles beatifically. 

Edward resigns his post in person a few months after that. Roy is back in East City, so he’s close enough, and Edward feels like it’s fair to give him the (certainly expected) news face-to-face.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay on leave a bit longer?” Roy asks him, nonchalantly. Edward has been on paid leave for almost a year at this point, and though he hasn’t used any of his research budget, the regular salary is certainly more than enough to have gotten him and Alphonse back on their feet.

“Don’t you need to show the Fuhrer some actual results in order to keep me on as a state alchemist?”

Roy smiles a little and leans forward, resting his chin on his knuckles, “Ah, suddenly a little concern about your job performance. Where has that been for the last five years?”

Ed rolls his eyes, “Look, I’m not really doing the job. I don’t think I should be paid for it anymore. Last year -- okay, I’ll take it, as overtime payment for the Promised Day.”

Roy chuckles, “That’s fair.”

“But now I think it’s time to move on.”

Roy sighs through his nose and reaches out for the watch that Edward had put down on his desk, dragging it closer. He looks at it in the palm of his gloved hand, “You know, I think an exception could be made for you.”

“How? I can’t do alchemy anymore. How can I be called an alchemist?”

“Research,” says Roy.

“How do I research when I can’t conduct experiments?”

“I have been thinking of creating pre-made circles,” says Roy, carefully. “Circles that would be printed on paper that anyone -- anyone with a gate -- could activate. It would allow us to have our soldiers use basic alchemy when out in the field - to repair their weapons, to create clothing, or to make food or bread.”

Edward’s mind immediately starts whirring. It could be done, theoretically. Everyone has a gate, after all. Everyone except him. But to do alchemy requires intent. You need to know what you are doing. It doesn’t work to just go through the motions. Then again, there are certain forms of alchemy that auto-activate. Like the circle that saved the world, using the moon’s shadow. Maybe he could --

“No, thank you. Not yet. Maybe later.”

“I understand,” says Roy. His fingers curl around the watch.

“Thanks,” breathes Edward.

There’s a little quirk of a smile on Roy’s face, “So, I suppose I can’t call you Fullmetal anymore.”

“I can’t call you Colonel, either.”

Brigadier-General Roy Mustang chuckles, “Okay, then how about a friend?”

“Do I need friends like you?”

“Everyone could do with a friend like me.”

Edward play acts like he’s considering it. As though Roy isn’t one of the people he holds most dear in his life. “Well, alright. I suppose so, if you’re that desperate.”

Roy follows it up immediately, “Well, as a friend, would you consider coming in on a consultant basis sometime? If you get bored with life in the country?”

“Yeah,” says Edward, and grins. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

After two years, Alphonse is as hardy as any other man. He has reached his full weight - although not his full height, as Edward bitterly notes when Alphonse grows past him.

They’re sixteen and eighteen, and Edward has yet to decide what to do with himself. He thinks he might propose to Winry. After that...who knows. Without alchemy, he’s lost, but she is a successful and highly sought-after automail mechanic. He thinks if he marries her, he might find purpose in being her support. 

They could move to Rush Valley. Further, maybe. Perhaps to Xing. 

He thinks Ling would be happy to see him. 

In the meantime, Al has needed a lot of help. More than Ed had expected. 

Alphonse has never been that independent. As kids, he’d been at Edward’s heel all the time. When they’d been traveling together, they’d been together 24/7. But that had been because they’d been on this quest, this crazy, insane, dangerous quest. Right?

Edward had always assumed that as they grew up, they’d eventually start building their own lives. They’d get married and have families of their own. They’d always be close. Closer than most brothers, of course. What they have is special.

But sometimes...it’s too much.

“Where are you going, brother?” asks Alphonse, as Edward puts on his coat. It’s impossible to sneak out with his automail leg. The distinctive clicking sound of his joints, the heavy, uneven footsteps...it’s obvious. So he doesn’t bother trying any more.

“To Winry’s.”

“Can I come?”

Ugh, thinks Edward. Sure, he enjoys hanging out, just the three of them, but sometimes he wants it to be two. Because the truth of the matter is that he and Winry have started fooling around and how her hand feels on his dick is the main thought on his mind about fifty percent of the time. She has calluses but god...it feels so good.

He can’t get a hand job if Al is there. He just can’t. 

“No, sorry,” he says, “We want some alone time.”

“Alone time for what?” asks Al, eyes big and wide, as though he’s innocent to the idea. Edward huffs a sigh out of his nose. Al has seen them kiss. He knows they’re dating. He’s also a sixteen year old boy. It’s not like he doesn’t know what boys and girls do when they’re dating and alone. 

“Romantic time,” says Ed, hoping that will be enough.

Alphonse frowns, “But you just saw her yesterday.”

It’s maddening!

Edward tries to stay calm, “Well, that’s because we’re dating.”

“I know, but how much time do you need to spend with her?”

“A lot.”

Alphonse stands, and very plaintively, says, “Edward, come on, we hardly spend any time together any more.”

“What are you talking about?” wonders Ed, trying desperately not to sound too frustrated, “We were together all day.”

“I was hoping you’d help me with some circles.”

Edward scowls. This is a subject he’s still not sure he’s comfortable talking about. Making circles for Al is… hard. Edward loves drawing circles. He loves working on new designs. He adores the process of making them simpler, more elegant, more precise. But helping Al with them is hard because when he sees Alphonse clap, and sparks fly from his hands… it hurts him in some deep, dark place he’d never known existed.

It’s a pit of jealousy so deep he fears that if he lets himself fall into it he may never climb out.

So no, he doesn’t want to give up an evening of kissing Winry to help Al draw circles that Edward will never again be able to use. 

“Tomorrow,” he says, definitively.

“No,” says Alphonse, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Too bad,” snaps Edward and marches out the front door. He feels guilty about it almost instantly, but he’s not going back to apologize. He’s going to touch a girl’s boobs.

They finish building their house around the time that Alphonse turns seventeen. The external structure has been done for a while - it had to be, before winter set in, but they place the final nail in the staircase just a couple of days before they celebrate Al’s birthday.

Edward loves his new room. They’d made the house almost symmetrical, with big bedrooms for both him and Al, and two smaller bedrooms - one to be used as an office, and the other for guests - on the ground floor. There are even two bathrooms in the house, one upstairs and one down, which is a bit of a luxury, but one they can afford thanks to Mustang’s generosity.

He sleeps well, mostly. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, heart pounding. He’s not sure of what, or why, and chalks it up to some shellshock from the things that had happened to him in the past. Usually it’s a simple matter to get back to sleep.

However, one night he wakes up, and because of the position he’s in, when he opens his eyes, he can see the doorway into his room. His door is open, and there’s a figure standing there. It’s backlit, barely, by a light further down the hall. Someone is standing there, staring directly at him.

He freezes, blood turning to ice in his veins. 

Shit, he has no weapons. He has no alchemy. 

What should he do?

Then the person moves, just slightly. The light reflects off their golden hair, and Edward realises it’s Alphonse. 

The gripping fear fades a little. “Al?” he croaks.

“Oh, sorry brother,” murmurs Alphonse quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Huh?” mumbles Edward. “What do you mean?”

“Go back to sleep,” says Al.

Edward shuts his eyes again, at least for a moment. Then he considers how strange the situation is, and opens his eyes again. Alphonse is gone, but the door is still open. Edward blinks blearily at it a couple of times, then sighs and relaxes back into his pillow. He passes out a moment later.

He never does get an answer as to why Alphonse was watching him, but every subsequent time he wakes up in the middle of the night, certain someone is standing over him, he wonders if it could have been Al.

He’s engaged to Winry for a couple of years before they set a date for the wedding. There’s a lot to do first. Edward goes travelling in the west. Winry does another apprenticeship under a master living in downtown Central. She’s very independent, and he loves that about her. Loves that she loves the same about him. They can be apart for many months, and come back together without any loss of love or trust. The distance makes their feelings stronger, if anything.

So when he comes back to Resembool after a long trip, he doesn’t bother going home. He goes straight to Winry’s. She welcomes him back with open arms. 

It feels wonderful to be with her after such a long time. She’s beautiful, and soft everywhere but her hands, and she smells good, like machine oil and apple pie. Her smile is sweet and then it’s not. She’s wicked, in bed. Cruel, almost. Keeps him waiting until he can wait no longer. 

God, he loves her so much.

It’s the next morning that he finally meanders home. He expects the place to be empty. Filled with the dust and shadows that have settled in the time since Winry last aired it out on his behalf.

But it's not. Al is there. 

Edward has been away for months, and hasn’t seen Al in even longer. So when he sees him, Edward drops his suitcase and opens his arms as he crosses the room. Al smiles, big and broad, like sunshine, and wraps his arms under both of Ed’s and hugs him close. 

Suddenly, Ed’s feet leave the ground, his toes scraping over the hardwood as he’s lifted up and into Alphonse’s full embrace, like a child being held by a parent. Oh shit, Al is so fucking tall!

“Al!” he squawks, horrified about the difference in their sizes being so clearly demonstrated. 

“Brother, you’re home!”

Al spins him a little, like Edward had done to Winry the night before, and Edward slaps at his shoulders, outraged, “Put me down!”

“Did you get smaller?” asks Al with a laugh as he places Ed back on the ground and straightens back up to his full height. Edward scowls up at him.

“Who are you calling so short that he could be mistaken for a character from a fantasy novel?!”

“No one,” says Alphonse, smugly. Edward glares up at him. He’s grown another couple of inches in the last year. He’s almost as tall as Hohenheim had been now, nearly six feet tall. Edward seems to have topped out at five foot six. It is a great injustice. 

Edward sniffs indignantly. Of all the things to end up happening to him...his greatest fear is realised and he’s going to be short forever. 

...At least he’s taller than Winry. She doesn’t seem to mind his height.

“You’re home early,” says Alphonse, checking his watch, “I didn’t hear the train.”

“Oh, I got in last night,” Edward tells him, finally taking the opportunity to remove his gloves and coat. “Stayed over at Winry’s.”

He hangs up his jacket on the hook beside the front door and shoves the gloves into one of the pockets for safe-keeping. Then he unwinds his scarf from his neck, grateful that Alphonse is here - without the fire burning low in the hearth, it would probably be quite cold in the house. 

“So, when did you get back?” Edward asks him.

“Winry didn’t say?” says Al flatly. 

She hadn’t, but then, they hadn’t really talked much. “No,” Edward says, “I guess she wanted it to be a surprise for me. It is an awesome one, to have you home!”

He joins Al in the kitchen, and reaches for the tea kettle, intending to put some water on to boil. His hand is slapped away from it. “I’ll make you tea,” says Al, the tone of his voice frosty. He’s scowling, deep lines splitting his brow down the middle, so without thinking about it too much, Edward reaches up and roughly smears his thumb up Alphonse’s forehead, from between his eyes up to his hairline.

The eyebrows go up and the frown disappears as Al stares down at him in surprise.

“Hey,” Edward tells him, “No frowning. You should be happy your big brother is home.” 

“I am,” says Al, and then sighs, and shakes his head a little, as though to clear thoughts cluttering his mind, “I am.”

“Good,” says Edward, “Glad that’s settled.”

But it isn’t settled. Al acts like a fucking weirdo for the rest of the day, and worse still when Winry stops by for dinner. She had known Alphonse was home and had indeed left it as a surprise for Edward, but she too seems surprised by the icy reception on Alphonse’s part.

They go to bed, eventually. Winry sleeps over often when they’re in the same town together, or vice versa. Granny Pinako doesn’t care too much for making sure Winry remains chaste, and Ed and Winry have agreed not to do anything that might get Winry pregnant until they’re married. So there’s nothing stopping them from snuggling up together, wrapped under a thick blanket. 

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers against his chest. Her long, silky hair is strewn over his arm. 

“Me too,” he says, “I missed you.”

“Let’s stay in the same town for a bit. For the winter, at least.” She chuckles a little bit, “Or until one of us gets too antsy.”

“The winter, at least,” he agrees. He doesn’t think he’s going to feel the call of wanderlust for a little while. He wants to be here, in Resembool, with Winry, and with Al. There’s a long comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sounds of their breathing, and then, he murmurs, quietly, “Do you want to get married while we’re here?”

She starts a little, pulling back so that she can see his face, “Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah!” she says, and grins, “Yes, I’d love to! Maybe we could get married at the Spring Festival? When everyone is here?”

“That sounds perfect,” Edward says, and wraps himself around her, even tighter than before. She laughs against his chest, sounding simply delighted.

“In Spring?” asks Al. His mouth is wide open, his facial expression bordering on...dismayed. 

Edward wilts a little at the unexpected reaction, but tries to stay upbeat. “Yeah, we’ve been engaged for more than two years now, we figured it was finally time to tie the knot.”

Al props his chin on his knuckles and frowns down into his cup of coffee, “You don’t think you’re a little young?”

Edward is twenty, almost twenty-one. So is Winry. Baffled, he opens his mouth and closes it again, before managing, “No? Alphonse, I was a state alchemist when I was twelve, I think I am responsible enough to get married at twenty.”

Alphonse’s frown deepens, “The more I think about it, the less I can believe that they let you do that.”

“Well, King Bradley had good reason to keep potential human sacrifices close, and it was a means to control us, so,” says Edward, before realising that Alphonse has effectively changed the subject on him and thus circumvented any more discussion of Edward’s upcoming nuptials. He decides to veer back without an appropriate segue, “Will you be my best man?”

What he expects to happen: Alphonse gasping “yes, of course!” and offering to help plan. Truthfully, he’d expected Alphonse to be so involved that it would become a hassle, and that he’d have to spend all his time nixing over-the-top ideas. The boy has loved love for as long as Edward can remember. He used to read romance novels on the train while Edward slept. It had always been assumed that when either of them got married, the other would be the best man. He’d expected Alphonse to be beside himself with excitement.

But what actually happens when Edward asks him: Alphonse’s mouth turns down. He is silent. Silent for long enough that Edward’s stomach sinks low in his body, his gut churning with anxiety. Hesitantly, Edward speaks again, “You don’t want to?”

“I…” begins Alphonse, unsurely, “I… yeah, sure. I can do that.”

The lukewarm reception is hurtful, but Edward tries to smile at him, feeling the grin falter on his face. “It’ll be great.”

Winry and Edward have an engagement party in Central, nominally organized by Gracia, but likely sponsored by Mustang while he's on an assignment in town. Alphonse comes, but begrudgingly. He’s grumpy the entire train ride, sitting with arms crossed over his chest and dissatisfied face turned to the window. Attempts to engage him in conversation fall completely flat, so Winry and Edward chat for a couple of hours and then Ed sleeps for the remainder of the journey.

Gracia and Elicia await them at the platform, and they’re allowed one night of respite at their apartment before the following day’s festivities. Naturally, Edward and Alphonse share the guest room and Winry sleeps in Elicia’s. 

“I wonder what Gracia would think if she knew Winry and I slept together all the time,” chuckles Ed, as he strips his shirt off, preparing to get into bed. “She’d probably be fine with it. I don’t feel like Hughes is the type who would have wanted to wait to get his hands on his future wife.”

“You shouldn’t talk about him like that,” says Al.

“I doubt he would mind. Everyone knows he was crazy about his wife.”

“Ed,” snaps Al, “I don’t want to hear about how you want to fuck Winry, and I definitely don’t want to hear you using Hughes as an excuse for why it should be okay for you to do it in Gracia’s home.”

Taken aback, Edward snaps his mouth shut, staring up at Al with wide eyes. 

Al glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Look, I’m sorry Ed, but I don’t want to hear about how horny you are.”

“I - I wasn’t --” starts Ed, feeling himself flush. It’s not like he hadn’t implied that he wanted to...with Winry, but this puritan attitude from Al is not something he had expected in response, and he feels hot with humiliation. “I was just joking.”

Alphonse sighs, and then visibly softens, turning to face him. His hand comes down on Edward’s bare shoulder, heavy against his scarred skin. It feels big. As big as it had when Al had been a suit of armor, though Ed knows that isn’t possible. “Sorry, brother, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Look,” starts Edward, scratching at his cheek and averting his eyes to the side, trying to ignore the feeling of inadequacy that springs up as he’s reminded of how small he is compared with his own brother. “I am sorry, if it makes you feel weird to see me and Winry together, in a romantic way. I know she’s like a sister to you, and that’s not gonna change. I swear, you’re gonna find a girl of your own one day, Al, I promise.”

A frown, “Ed, that’s not the problem.”

Then what the fuck is? Al has been weird for weeks... months. Years, even. Ever since he’d gotten his body back. He’s been weird and disconnected and just...off. The way he looks at people. The way he talks to them. The way he stares at Ed, with longing in his gaze, like he's jealous, despite having the whole world laid out in front of him. Edward throws out his hands, bringing his shoulders up into a shrug, to clearly indicate that he has no fucking idea what Alphonse is trying to say to him. “Alphonse...”

“I don’t want some girl,” continues Al.

A second goes by, and then another, and then Ed blurts, “What?”

Alphonse huffs loudly, and then says, at last, “I know who I want.”

Another moment of silence.

“Oh?!” Edward’s eyebrows go up all the way to his hairline, and a grin splits his face, and he presses a hand to each of Alphonse’s sides. He wants to shake him. The whole time, this has been the issue? Alphonse has a crush on someone and is jealous of him and Winry because they’re actually together? What a load of teenage bullshit! Thank god! “Al, that’s so cute! You like someone?”

No smile from Alphonse, only a deepening frown. Edward feels his own enthusiasm drain away at the lack of response. Maybe this isn’t a good thing. Maybe Al likes someone who’s taken. Or someone he shouldn’t.

Quietly, he asks, “She doesn’t like you back?”

Al steps back, breaking their contact, “Who would?”

Edward follows him, ducking his head and rounding him to try to get back into his line of sight, “Huh? Al, what are you talking about? You’re a total catch. Smart, handsome...t-tall.” Edward grimaces at the last word but forces himself to continue, “And you can do alchemy without a circle. That’s pretty freaking impressive. You could be a state alchemist if you wanted to!”

Al smiles weakly, “I don’t think the person I like would be convinced by any of that.”

“I’m sure she would,” insists Edward. “You’re great. Be confident and tell her!”

“I’ll consider it,” says Alphonse. Edward counts that as a win, even if the way Al says it is best described as dejected.

The engagement party is lovely...except for Al, who sulks in a corner the entire time. Edward tries to ignore him. It’s probably just teenage hormones, right? He has great fun with Winry and Gracia and Elicia, who is now eight years old, a precocious young girl who has inherited Hughes’ irritating way of worming his way into your heart. 

Roy shows up, about an hour late, looking like he’d deigned to drop by on a whim. Edward knows this is not the case. He’d probably worked all last night to make sure he could attend. That alone is more meaningful than the gift he gives them, which is a pair of first-class train tickets to take anywhere in Amestris for their honeymoon.

“Congratulations,” Roy says, and shakes his hand, when they’re in front of everyone.

“You need advice?” Roy asks him, when the two of them are sitting off to the side of the room, plates of food in their hands. 

“Not from you,” says Edward. “You’ve never been married.”

“I’m married to the job,” says Roy.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure the job never involves half the things that being married entails.”

“I had to raise a child,” says Roy and then eats an olive. It takes Edward a couple of seconds to realise he’s talking about him.

“Hey!”

“I did,” says Roy.

“If you did, you did a horrible job of it. I nearly got killed a dozen times.”

“A hundred times.”

Edward rolls his eyes. As he does, he catches sight of Alphonse, who sits at the opposite end of the room. There’s a young woman about his age chatting to him, but Edward can see that Alphonse is looking at him and Roy, quite intently. “Anyway, what advice is it?”

“Well, not so much advice,” says Roy.

“What do you actually want from me here?”

There’s a long pause and then Roy says, quietly and sincerely, “I wanted to ask - as you have no father still living - whether you’re okay? Whether you’re ready.”

“Wow,” says Edward. “You’re laying it on pretty thick today.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” says Edward, and then heaves a sigh. “I mean, I feel ready. I love Winry. Always have, kinda.” He can feel himself going a bit red. “Anyway, what reason is there to wait?”

“None, if you know that’s what you want,” says Roy.

“And you’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

“No,” says Roy. He leans forward, dark eyes warm, and pats Ed’s knee with his one bare hand. “Look, I know that you know what you want. And that you’ll get it, whatever the cost. I just wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to, if the case were, in fact, that you weren’t completely sure.”

Edward’s heart swells. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alphonse stand up. “Thanks Roy, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” says Roy, and ruffles Edward’s hair. “Call me any time.”

They are interrupted then, by Alphonse asking Roy a question about alchemy. 

They’ve grown apart, thinks Ed, sadly.

As much as he values independence and freedom, it still bites to know that they are less close now than they were before, and that that is largely his fault. Should have helped Al with his circles. Should have let him come along to dinner at Winry’s house. Should have traveled together to Xing, rather than apart. 

So, it’s his own fault, but it still sucks. 

It’s early December, and it’s raining. Edward’s knee hurts badly enough that he’s dragged a bucket beside his bed, ready for the inevitable wave of vomiting that’s sure to come once he’s overwhelmed. At least he doesn’t have two metal limbs to contend with anymore, but one is more than enough to ruin his day.

Because he’s already miserable, it’s easy to wallow in his other unhappy thoughts. It plagues him to know that Alphonse feels sufficiently disconnected with him that he wouldn’t even want to be his best man. He’s just doing it out of a sense of duty, rather than any real feelings of support. That’s sad.

God, he’s fucked this up rather badly, hasn’t he?

He’s sure Al won’t want to stay in Resembool if he doesn’t want to be with Edward. He’d told Ed about Xing and it had sounded wonderful. Alphonse had grown and learned a lot. Made new friends. Maybe more than friends. For a moment, Edward had imagined himself as the best man, at a wedding between Alphonse and a Xingese princess. (Could that have been the girl he said he liked? The impossible love?)

What would his mother say, to see them now? Her sons, once inseparable, now on completely different paths in life despite living in the same home.

Edward vomits into the bucket. Then he lies down and watches shadows pass over the ceiling of his room as the rain thunders down around their little house sitting atop a hill out in the middle of a field. It’s loud on the tin roof. The sound lulls him into a half-sleep, and his thoughts echo around his head with the rhythm of the rain.

Hours later, long enough that what little sun had been filtering through the clouds has dipped enough so that the room is lit by grey twilight, someone knocks on his door. 

“Come in,” he groans, his mouth gummy and voice unused for the past few hours.

Al cracks open the door, and then is visibly taken aback, presumably by the stench of bile which must have filled the room by now, but which Edward can no longer smell. “Oh, Ed, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

Because you’re mad at me, and I don’t know what to do about that, Ed wants to say. Instead, he mumbles, “I dunno.”

Alphonse swings the door all the way open, and crosses to the window, which he opens as well. Definitely the smell, then. The curtains billow inwards as damp, cold air is sucked into the room. It feels good, and fresh, against Edward’s hot, sticky face. 

“Come on,” says Al, and reaches for him. Bleary, Edward isn’t really sure what’s happening until Al wraps his arms around him and lifts him from the sweat-soaked sheets and into his embrace. He’s like a child, chest pressed to Al’s, and arms slung over his shoulders. Al’s arm is looped under his ass to keep him up. 

Edward rests his face on Alphonse’s shoulder, drooping eyes watching the world pass him by as he is carried from the room and down the hallway to Alphonse’s.

“Do you think you’re still going to need to throw up?” he asks kindly, as he gently deposits Edward into the clean bedding. 

“No,” says Edward, “I’ve been empty for a while.”

A large hand smooths over his forehead, brushing his bangs back off his face. Edward sighs in pleasure at the comforting touch. “Sorry, brother, I should have known a storm like this would hurt your leg.”

“Not your fault,” says Edward, turning his cheek into Al’s palm. Feels nice. He wonders if Winry could come over. It’d be amazing to have her touch him like this. Her gentle touch, her rough fingers. Her hands are always cold too, it’d be perfect. He wants to ask Al to get her, but somehow it feels like a stupid idea, when Al has been so annoyed at them lately.

“I’ll be right back,” says Al, and gets up. Edward dozes off almost immediately.

When next he wakes up, it’s to a bowl of soup and a thick chunk of bread, cut by Alphonse’s generous hand. “I cleaned up your room,” says Al, “But I need to wash your sheets, so just sleep in here tonight.”

“Okay,” says Edward. He’s feeling a little less queasy now than he was earlier, so he sits up and takes the tray from Al, setting it on the bed in front of him. The soup is salty, good. Cream of potato and leek. 

He drinks it right out of the bowl and tears off a hunk of bread with his teeth to chase it down. It feels amazing to have his empty, sour stomach filled with warm food.

“Ah, thank you Al,” he moans in pleasure as he slurps it down. 

Alphonse chuckles and sits on the bed beside him. “You looked pretty rough,” he says, smiling sympathetically, “I’m sorry about your leg. I guess it’s easy for me to forget that we didn’t get everything back in that last exchange.”

Edward doesn’t say anything about the more painful loss of his alchemy, just smiles wryly and eats another bite of bread. 

“It’ll pass,” reassures Alphonse.

The pain in his leg, yes. 

“So, I guess we should get to bed,” says Al, once Edward is done with his dinner. He helps Edward to the bathroom, unnecessarily doting and gentle, guiding him down the hallway and helping him to stand at the sink. Edward tries not to look into the mirror as he brushes his teeth. He doesn’t feel like seeing how big Al is behind him, like a child with his father. He can see that Alphonse is looking.

He scowls and spits. Empties his bladder with Al's back turned, washes his hands and face, and then limps back down the hallway on his own (despite Al’s insistence on helping him) and leaves Al to shower.

Alphonse’s bed is clean and soft, and as Edward crawls beneath the covers, he has just enough presence of mind to plaster himself against the wall to allow as much space for his brother as possible in the small double bed. Then he falls asleep.

He wakes up when Al climbs into bed behind him, his bigger body depressing the mattress and disturbing Edward. It’s nice, though, to be close to Al again. This amount of attention after a couple of weeks of being largely ignored is weird and overbearing but welcome, if it means not having to feel like he’s completely fucked their relationship. Perhaps Al has realised how he’s been acting the last little while and is overcompensating to make up for it.

Nah. Al has always been like this, from fixing Edward’s clothes while he’s sleeping to re-braiding his hair when it’s come out of its plait. He’s a mother hen.

Edward smiles into his pillow. Well, it’s nice to have the good old Al back, and if all it took was one day of rain and commensurate illness, that’s a price Ed is willing to pay.

He’s nearly asleep again when Al moves, rolling closer. Edward tries to give him more space, but he can’t. He’s tucked against the wall, his arms almost pinned to his chest by the blanket tucked between the mattress and the plaster. Al moves again, so he’s pressed right up against Ed’s back.

“Al?” wonders Edward sleepily.

“Shh,” grumbles Alphonse, slinging an arm over him, above the covers, his hand coming to rest on Edward’s chest, right over his sternum. His knees tuck up under the backs of Edward’s.

Uh.

He’s spooning him. 

“Al, what are you doing?”

“Snuggling,” says Al, very matter-of-factly, as though this were an everyday occurrence. 

Edward shifts a little before realising with alarm that any movement in this position would rub his ass against Al’s groin. They’re brothers, and closeness is to be expected, but this is a lot. “Too close.”

“Don’t worry about it,” murmurs Al, his mouth now against the crown of Edward’s head. “Your hair smells so good.”

Edward wonders how it can, given that he’s been sweating all day and hadn’t had a bath before getting in bed. In fact, he should be far too grubby for Al to want to be around, let alone plastered up against. Winry always wants him to bathe before they get physical. It’s not like Al is a girl, nor like they’re doing anything remotely sexual, but it’s still...weird that Alphonse would want to be in such close proximity with him.

“Al --” he tries, again.

“Go to sleep,” croons Alphonse.

Edward, exhausted, can’t help but acquiesce.

Edward builds an arch for the wedding. There’s a field where miles of golden grass spreads out all around you. He imagines seeing Winry standing beneath the arch, on that hill, dressed in white, with the blue sky behind her in the fresh air of spring, and his heart swells. 

His plan is to surprise her with it, the burnished metal draped with white silk and flowers and copper gears he’d nicked from the junk bucket that sits by Winry’s feet as she works. 

(Pointedly, he does not think about how good this arch could look if he was able to use alchemy…)

Because Winry is always at their house, he asks one of their neighbours if he can build it in their barn in order to keep it a secret.

He’s done screwing the main frame of it together and has just sat down for a rest when Alphonse shows up. There’s a basket in one of his hands and Edward’s growling stomach swoops in excitement as he considers that Alphonse might have brought him lunch!

“Hey!” he cheers. 

“Hey,” replies Alphonse, raising the basket a little in greeting. Despite the fact that it’s December, it’s warm after working with his jacket on, and Edward is thankful when Alphonse pulls a bottle of cold tea from the basket. He guzzles it down gratefully as Alphonse sits beside him beneath the arch.

“It looks good,” says Alphonse. “The metal is...a nice touch.”

“Well, it’s what...well, not what brought us together, but it definitely kept us close for all those years. Metal. I guess it still does, since she still works on my leg.”

Alphonse sighs.

“What is it?” wonders Edward, flipping open the top of the picnic basket and peering at the contents. Two sandwiches, wrapped in wax paper. Two bright red apples which must be some of the last ones left in the cellar. Some cheese. Eagerly, he digs for the sandwich. Roast beef between two slices of the freshly baked bread Al had made last night, with horseradish. He takes a healthy bite of it and moans quietly in pleasure at the taste.

“I don’t know,” mumbles Al, leaning forward. He looks pensive. “It just feels too soon.”

“Too soon?” asks Edward around a mouthful of food.

Al droops a little, towards his knees. “I just… I thought you… you and Winry have been engaged for a while. I guess I just thought that you… I just… why now? Why are you getting married now ?”

Ed swallows, “We just thought it was time. We’re ready. It’s been a couple years and neither of us got cold feet, and we’re finally in the same town for the next little while. So, why not?”

A pause. And then, quietly, voice half broken, Al murmurs, “I’m not ready.”

Edward blinks, mouth full of his second bite. “Huh?” he manages.

Al does not repeat himself.

“What do you mean you’re not ready?” Ed asks him. 

“I said what I meant.”

“But how is that -- how can you not be ready? For me to get married? It doesn’t affect you!”

Al stands abruptly, fists clenched at his sides. Edward sighs and does not get up. He’s in for more dramatics, apparently. It can never just be lunch, can it? Edward doesn’t want to have these emotional conversations. He wants to just...go on living. Ignore the problems. Since when do men have to have all these fucking discussions about their feelings? Edward just wants to eat his sandwich.

“It does, brother!” Alphonse shouts, “It affects me. Because if you’re married, you’ll want to live together with Winry and to have kids, and then I’ll be all alone, won’t I?”

Edward gapes up at him, “No, of course I won’t leave you alone.” 

“You say that now, but you’ve already left me alone plenty of times in favour of seeing her.”

“I’m dating her!” grits Edward, through his teeth. 

“I love you,” shouts Al, and his voice cracks brutally, halfway through the sentence. Edward can’t see his face; Al is standing a little in front of him, facing away, but he can see that he’s shaking. With anger? Or… is he crying?

“I love you too,” says Edward, “But you know this is how it has to be. Everyone grows up and moves on with their lives. You too! I know you don’t see it now, but one day you’ll find someone you love. We’re always going to be brothers, and I’ll never abandon you, but you know that there are some things we can’t do together, right Al? ” 

“Why not?”

“Because there’s obviously stuff I do with Winry that I’m not gonna do with a member of my family.”

“So, you’re valuing sex over me.”

Edward does get up now, sandwich still firmly gripped in one hand, “Al, now you’re just talking fucking nonsense! You can’t be a part of my marriage. Me being with Winry doesn’t mean --”

“We were everything to each other, before!” Al says, and turns. He isn’t crying, but his facial expression is...desperate. A pang of guilt strikes Edward in the heart, despite how irrational Al is being. He doesn’t want his brother to hurt, but this is ridiculous. Alphonse is nineteen. It’s time to move on.

“We were kids! Things change!”

One of Al’s hands snaps out and grabs him by the front of his jacket, yanking him closer. Edward’s boots crunch in the dead grass as he staggers forward. “You’re still everything to me.”

Edward curls fingers around Alphonse’s wrist and says, “And you’re still one of the two most important people in my life. Just because I love Winry and we’re going to get married, doesn’t mean I love you any less now. There’s room in my heart for both of you.”

Alphonse’s face crumples, his forehead creasing, his eyebrows drawing in together. His amber eyes are shiny, fluid. Edward’s heart clenches. Alphonse drops his hand from Edward’s person, and without another word, he turns and walks away.

Edward is at Winry’s when the snow starts falling. 

“You should probably go home,” says Winry. She’s hunched over her work bench, her back curved forward. 

Edward snorts. He’s been sitting at the dining table, reading. He’s been debating a new career path. Engineer, maybe. Or architect. Something that involves designing things. Putting together a building, seeing the perfect lines of it. It’s something he’s done as an alchemist, and he’d enjoyed the complexity of it. But building their own house without alchemy had been different. He thinks he could get behind the idea of doing that for other people. “You just wanna get rid of me.”

“No,” says Winry, “you know how much I love having you as a bed warmer. Lasts longer than a hot water bottle and I don’t have to go through the effort of boiling the water.”

“Nice,” says Edward.

“But I’m going to be working all night. And tomorrow, probably. It’d be better for you to head home and be with Al.”

Edward twists his mouth. Things have been weird with Al over the last month. He has been equal parts cold and needy with Ed - he demands his attention, and then, when Edward does not provide enough of it or the right kind, he gives him the cold shoulder. So even when they are spending time together, Alphonse regularly acts like he wants more, or that Edward isn’t present enough. It’s annoying.

“Yeah, but if I’m here, I can help you out if you need it.”

Winry turns and looks over her shoulder, “Ed, come on. What are you going to do to help me? In weather like this, it’s probably best that no one is home alone, just in case something happens. I have Granny here. You should go be with your brother.”

Ouch. He supposes she’s right, and that he can’t really assist her with this detail work. His usefulness is usually limited to picking stuff up and holding it for her. “Fine.”

He gets a kiss from her and he bundles up. It isn’t a moment too soon - even the short walk home is difficult. It’s going dark and the snow is thick enough that he can hardly see ten feet in front of him. His boots are only water resistant, rather than waterproof, and about halfway through the walk, he realises water is seeping through the seams and into his socks.

“Fuck,” he grumbles into his scarf, and starts up the hill to his house, the golden light of which he can see gleaming even through the weather. He hopes Al will be in a good mood. Or, at least, a neutral mood.

The house is warm on his snow-scraped cheeks when he gets in, and he brushes himself off in the entryway, stamping his feet to get as much of the slush off as he can.

“Brother?” he hears, called from the living room.

“Hey, Al,” Edward responds, stripping his coat off and unlacing his boots. Al materializes in the hallway in front of him, looking surprised and pleased to see him. 

“I wasn’t expecting you home.”

“Yeah, well, thought it’d be best to be home with you just in case anything happens in the bad weather.” He leaves out that it was Winry who thought such, and is rewarded by a brilliant smile from Alphonse. 

“Well, I’m glad to have you here.”

Good mood, then. Great.

He gets all the outer clothes off and shuffles in, dropping himself in front of the fireplace and stripping off his sodden socks. He hangs them over the grate in front of it to dry. By the time he’s done this, Alphonse has brought him a cup of hot cocoa, and Edward accepts it gratefully. 

“What have you been up to tonight?” Edward asks him, bringing his feet in to press together in front of him in the butterfly position. 

“There was a show on the radio,” says Alphonse, “It was really good. About aliens.”

Edward snorts, “No such thing.”

“You can’t tell me that,” says Al, “After everything we’ve seen. Our father was functionally immortal.”

Ugh. Fucking Hohenheim.

“I know what you’re thinking,” says Al.

“No you don’t.”

Al grins and plops himself down on the ottoman just in front of one of the two armchairs facing the fire. He leans forward, forearms on his knees, “Look, he might not have been the best Dad, but you can’t deny that his life was interesting.”

“I suppose,” grumbles Edward. He had indeed been thinking about what a crappy father Hohenheim had been.

“Anyway,” says Al, “The show was about aliens coming to Earth and taking over. They had some sort of guns that would shoot a beam of light, and when it hit the person it disintegrated them. Like alchemic deconstruction but by shooting them. Can you imagine if Scar had had something like that?”

“I’d be dead for sure,” says Edward. His feet are warming up and they’re tingling unpleasantly as the feeling returns to them. He leans forward to hold his hands close to the fire as well. Almost immediately he hears the questioning noise from Al. 

“Brother, what’s that?”

“What?” asks Edward. A moment later, gentle fingers brush the back of his neck.

“A bruise?”

Oh shit. Edward feels himself going red immediately, and snaps his hand back there to knock Al’s fingers out of the way and cover the mark. “N-nothing,” he mumbles. 

“Did something bite you?”

“Well,” starts Edward, because yes, Winry did.

Al’s hand drops away, “Ah.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Edward, “So what happened in the end, with the aliens?”

There are several seconds of silence. And then icily, Alphonse says, “Do you show me these things to upset me?”

Edward turns and looks up at him. Sitting on the footstool, while Edward is on the floor, Alphonse looms over him, his expression dark. The firelight flickers over his face, casting parts of his face into deep shadow. His eyes are intent.

“What?” Edward asks him, confused.

Carefully, voice flat, Alphonse says, “You want to upset me, don’t you? I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t approve of you and Winry doing that stuff, but you still flaunt it.”

“I’m not flaunting it,” snaps Edward, annoyed. 

“You know what? I’m done,” says Alphonse, and his hand jerks out, grabbing Ed by the back of the neck, and shoving him forward. Surprised, Edward goes sprawling, but immediately rolls over, bringing his non-metal leg up and planting his foot on Alphonse’s chest. 

If he wants to fight, fine. Edward is no stranger to fighting Al.

He kicks him away, hard, and as soon as Al’s hand leaves his neck, he rolls away and to his feet. His drink had toppled and spilled over the hardwood floor, and he narrowly misses the puddle with his back. 

No sooner has he gotten to his feet than Alphonse attempts to tackle him, and he flips back onto his hands to avoid being grabbed. When he comes back up from the handspring, he stumbles back two steps from the momentum, and hits their dining table, which rattles and rocks the vase full of dried flowers that sits in the center of it.

Alphonse is well-acquainted with Ed’s reflexes, and is already back in his space, trying to trap him against the furniture. Edward brings both hands up behind him, pressing his palms to the tabletop, and using his triceps to push himself up and onto the table. Then he rolls back over his shoulder and off the other side.

“What are you even trying to do?” Edward asks Alphonse, who stands there on the other side, glaring at him.

Alphonse says nothing, just shoves the entire table, hard. It’s so fast and sudden that it does catch Edward and pins his hips against the wall. Then Al snarls, “Come here.”

“Fuck off!”

Alphonse can’t get to him without letting go of the table, and as soon as he does, Edward uses the opportunity to wiggle free and darts towards the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s intending to do - get into the bathroom, maybe, where he can lock the door. Not that a flimsy door could stand up to Alphonse Elric, but it's better than nothing, right?

“Brother!” Alphonse shouts after him, and vaults the table himself, hitting the ground barely two feet behind Edward. 

Alphonse is a lot bigger than Edward, but he’s not big enough that it slows him down, and Edward knows that in a flat-out foot race, Alphonse is faster than him. So the only thing he can do is dodge and weave as Alphonse attempts to grab him. But Alphonse’s arms are long and he’s behind Ed so he can’t see what’s coming, and one hand catches his sleeve, yanking him backwards and pulling him off balance.

He twists and is twisted and his back hits the wall of the corridor, Alphonse pressed up against his front. “Wha -” he starts, but cannot say anything more, because suddenly his half-open mouth is occupied.

By Alphonse's.

He --

Alphonse is kissing him. 

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!!!!

This is his brother.

“Nnnn!!!” Edward moans against Al’s lips, snapping his teeth closed, and tries desperately to get his hands up to push him off. Alphonse is holding him tight, a hand around each upper arm, squeezing him hard enough to bruise. 

Oh god, he feels sick.

His little brother is kissing him - and not in an innocent way. His tongue is teasing against Edward’s teeth, as though yearning to go deeper, to explore. “N-no,” Edward tries to say through his teeth, attempting to turn his face away. One of Alphonse’s hands leaves his arms, and lands instead on his jaw, squeezing fingers and thumbs into his cheeks to hold his chin in place.

Then he digs his fingers in harder, obviously trying to lever open his mouth. No dice, thinks Edward, clenching it shut. The average human bite strength is 162 PSI. 

“Open your mouth,” growls Alphonse against his lips.

Why the fuck would he?

The hand moves from his cheeks to instead pinch his nose shut. 

Fuck.

He can’t even suck in a breath between his teeth because Alphonse is blocking his mouth. Panic swells in his chest. If he opens his mouth, will Alphonse let him breathe through his nose? He’s got at most a couple of minutes before he passes out. Then his mouth will be open by default.

...Will Al stop then?

For thirty seconds, Edward lets it be a game of chicken. He waits to see what Alphonse will do, assuming he will realise that what he’s doing is certifiably insane and stop.

But he doesn’t. Alphonse keeps kissing him. Keeps his nose pinched shut. After forty-five seconds, Edward is starting to panic, his entire body seizing up as he tries to push Alphonse off of him. But he’s at a disadvantage, pinned to a wall by a much larger body. 

Is this even Al? Could this be…

Could it be Envy?

Or...someone like them? Someone who can pretend to be Alphonse? New homunculi? A trick of alchemy?

Out of desperation, he opens his mouth. Al’s fingers leave his nose and Edward gasps for air as they dig into his cheeks instead, hard enough that he can’t close his jaw again. Then he kisses him, this time with tongue in his mouth. 

It’s disgusting, somehow completely different from when he and Winry french kiss, despite the physical motions being the same. The slippery feeling of Alphonse’s tongue in his mouth makes his stomach turn. He wants to vomit. 

This can’t be Al, can it?

It has to be someone else. Or… or Alphonse is sick and doesn't know what he's doing. Or… something.

Al’s other hand wraps itself around his waist and pulls his lower body forward, so that their groins are pressed together, and with alarm, Edward realises that the hard line he feels against his lower belly is Alphonse’s erection. He’s hard.

It’s so repulsive that Ed really does throw up this time.

Luckily for Alphonse (and unluckily for Edward who had been hoping his brother would be shown the error of his ways via a mouthful of vomit), Al is well enough acquainted with Edward puking that he sees it coming, and releases his mouth and physically turns him so that the contents of Edward’s stomach splatter the floor rather than either of them. 

“That’s not very nice, brother,” says Alphonse, sounding hurt.

Edward hangs in his grip, drool and sick dripping from his mouth, and manages to groan, “Are you kidding me, Alphonse?”

“I know you’ve had sex before,” says Alphonse, “I’ve heard it. So this shouldn’t be such a shock to you. It’s nothing new.”

He’s heard it? Edward can feel himself paling a little. They’d always tried to be quiet, in fact, that’s something Edward has been looking forward to about moving in together - that they won’t need to be quiet. If Alphonse has heard it, that means that either they are not as quiet as he'd thought... or Alphonse has been listening to them. “It’s not quite the same when it’s my brother forcing himself on me,” says Edward.

Alphonse scowls, “You’re stubborn. I’ve had to force lots of things on you.” Hands still wrapped around Edward, he lifts him bodily over the puddle of vomit, and drags him towards the bathroom, “Vegetables. Milk. Washing your hands when you come in from working on god knows what. Going to bed when you’re beyond exhausted.”

“Those were all things for my own good,” hisses Edward and tries to rip Alphonse’s hands off of him. It’s fruitless. When did Al get so big? So strong? He hasn’t just been sitting and reading books, it seems. Has he… been planning for this? Getting ready to forcibly grapple Edward? Working out thinking about how he needs to be strong to subdue his elder brother?

All the strange looks suddenly filter back into Edward’s mind. All the lingering touches. The looks. The jealousy whenever Ed spent time with Winry. The way he'd interfered whenever Edward was touched by someone else. Has Alphonse wanted this for a long time?

“So is this,” says Al, and shoves him into the bathroom and over to the sink. He closes him in against it, jamming Edward’s hips into the vanity. His cock is still a hard line, pressed to Edward’s ass. 

“How the fuck do you figure?”

Alphonse’s arms wind around him as though hugging him from behind. His right hand rests on Edward’s throat, and tilts his chin up until Edward meets his own eyes in the mirror that hangs on the wall. He looks terrified, his eyes wide and forehead creased. Behind him looms his younger brother, who stares over his shoulder, eyes dark with the look of a predator. It’s exactly like it had been a couple of months ago, when he’d been sick. Only this time Al is making him look at them. Making him look at the picture of them together. “Because we belong together. More than anyone else in the world. Our souls are intertwined.”

Flabbergasted, Edward breathes, “What?”

“Your blood sealed my soul to the armour. Your sacrifice brought my body back. You’re the entire reason I’m even in this world. You’re what I live for. You're why I live.”

Edward’s mind is spinning. He can see it on his own face, frozen with his mouth half open, his chin pulled up by Al’s big hand. He sees Al kiss his cheek in the mirror. Feels his lips press softly against his skin.

“When I tell you I love you, I don’t mean as brothers. I mean as soulmates.”

“I --” starts Ed. Words have completely left him, “I -- I don’t feel the same.”

It should be obvious, right? That he wouldn’t -- doesn’t -- because not only are they both men, they’re brothers. This would be illegal even if it weren’t incest. Which… Which it is. So it's doubly illegal.

And the thought of having some kind of sexual relationship with his… baby brother… Someone he’s seen wet the bed. Seen cry for their mother. Seen… Seen… throughout their lives together? That’s disgusting.

He’s never known a world where Al wasn’t his brother. Doesn’t remember it, anyway. 

“Now wash your mouth out,” says Alphonse, reaching over him for Edward’s toothbrush. 

“Why?” hisses Edward, despite yearning to rid himself of the sour taste lingering on his tongue.

“So I can kiss you more.”

Edward scowls as hard as he can at the Alphonse in the mirror. He looks weird in the reflection. Backwards. But to Al, he looks the same as he always does. You only ever see yourself in reverse. 

“Why would I want to enable that? I don’t know what you’re not understanding, Al. You are my brother. We are both men.”

“You don’t look like a man,” says Alphonse flatly.

Edward’s face explodes into scarlet; he sees it happen in his reflection in real time. He’s furious and embarrassed. He knows it’s a dig at his size, but it’s more than that. An attack on his masculinity rolled into a joke at his size and somehow twisted into a justification for why it’s alright that Edward can presently feel Alphonse’s hard fucking cock pressed into the seam of his trousers. 

Flustered, he spits, “That’s disgusting. Get off me.”

“I never took you for a person who hates homosexuals,” says Alphonse, as though Edward is the one being unreasonable here.

“I’m not!” manages Edward, though truthfully he has never thought much about homosexuals one way or another - he’s never known one. Or at least, he’s never known that he’s known one. Weaker he manages, “You -- you’re my brother.”

Alphonse curls a little tighter around him, if that’s possible. Edward’s hips are pressed into the porcelain sink, Alphonse’s weight and force enough that his genitals are in great discomfort where they’re trapped between his body and the hard surface. 

“You keep saying that like it matters.”

“It does,” cries Edward, wildly, completely at a loss for how to make Alphonse understand. “We’re brothers.”

“I don’t care,” says Alphonse, and uncaps the toothpaste, squeezing a thick line of it onto Edward’s toothbrush. “We’ve broken other taboos before. Why are you so averse to breaking this one?”

“Because I don’t want to break this one,” says Edward, “I’m happy with Winry.”

“You’ve never tried me,” says Alphonse, and shoves Edward’s toothbrush into his mouth.

Since he’d caught him in the hallway, Alphonse hasn’t given him an inch of space nor taken his hands off him once. He knows him too well. He knows that Edward will take advantage of any little opening to slip out. 

It means Edward is going to have a lot of bruises tomorrow, from Al’s tight, unrelenting grip. Especially since he won’t stop fighting him. He’s like an eel, he knows, except with limbs, thrashing and wriggling relentlessly in his hold. Al has to keep his arms all the way around him, and has to use Edward’s clothing to hang on to him as he kisses him. Ed smacks Alphonse in the face and he still doesn’t let go. He wonders if kicking him in the balls might work better. 

And then Alphonse touches his palms together behind Edward’s back and Edward’s shirt melts into itself, so that his arms are trapped. Like a straitjacket. 

That hurts. That he’s trapped. That Al can do that so easily. That Edward can’t, not anymore. 

He howls and twists in the fabric as Alphonse uses his opportunity to sling Edward forward over his shoulder into a fireman’s hold. One hand rests on his ass, and the other attempts to stop Edward’s legs from kicking Al in the chest and stomach. It’s pretty effective.

“Why are you doing this?” Edward screams at him, as Alphonse walks them back into the living room. “How can you want me like that?”

“I told you that already,” Al says and shifts Edward on his shoulder, tipping him forward to bring him back down off his shoulder.

“No,” says Edward, even as he tries to kick and run. Without the use of his arms, it’s easy for Al to keep him under control. As he’s forced down onto the living room rug, he gasps out, “I mean, not -- not why you don’t care about the taboo -- why do you want me in the first place? What about Mei? What about any other girl - uh, person - in Amestris, or Xing, or anywhere in the world? Why me?”

“I’ve never known you to be lacking in self-confidence before, brother,” says Al, pushing him down onto his back on the floor. Edward tries to wriggle away but Alphonse has a pretty good grip on him. “There, wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

He’s parallel to the fireplace. The flames roar merrily, three feet from his head, apparently blithely unaware of what they are witnessing. Edward can see his abandoned mug from here, and the now cold puddle of hot chocolate seeping into the gaps between the floorboards.

Low on self-confidence? Is Alphonse implying that he likes Edward because he finds him physically attractive? Or?

“There’s nowhere to go,” says Alphonse, “So there’s no point crying and struggling. Why not just relax? See if you like it.”

It’s true. Behind where Al looms over him, Edward can see the way the snow flurries past the dark windows. They’re trapped in a house on a hill, surrounded by a blizzard and the darkness of a winter night. Edward’s stomach lurches unpleasantly, and it takes a second for him to realise what it is. 

It’s fear.

He’s scared.

He hasn’t been truly scared since the Promised Day. 

And there’s good reason for that. Generally, when you’ve seen the apocalypse and survived, whatever comes next seems insignificant. There has never been a threat to him like the one he faced in Father. Not since then. So nothing has scared him.

Al… Al scares him.

“I don’t want this,” he tells Al.

“You’ve made that pretty clear,” Al says. His fingers alight on Edward’s belt buckle, and in a fury, Edward tries to kick him away, with both legs at once. Alphonse simply adjusts him so that he’s sitting atop his knees. It’s embarrassingly easy for him. 

Another feeling rises up in Edward: shame.

Why is this so easy for Al?

“It’s going to be okay,” breathes Al, and undoes his belt, “I won’t hurt you.”

“That depends on your definition of h --” Al gets the buckle open and starts to slide his belt from its loops, “--urt.”

“I’m going to make you feel wonderful,” says Alphonse, and then lowly, so lowly that Edward can hardly hear him, “Just like I’ve always wanted to.”

“You al-always,” again the word is interrupted by Alphonse fiddling with Edward’s pants. He pops the button and drags down the zipper, looking intensely focused and excited. His hands are shaking as he works Edward’s trousers down over his narrow hips, his lips parted and eyes wide. 

Like he’s always wanted to?

How can he say something like that? How can he mean it?

There’s nothing Edward can do at this juncture to stop him from stripping him. Words have obviously failed. Struggling has failed, thus far at least. His arms are pinned to his sides by his own shirt. The rest of him is pinned to the floor by 190 pounds of Alphonse Elric.

A chilly hand cups his genitals. It’s gentle, but he starts in surprise as his testicles are rolled in Alphonse’s palm, his penis rubbed gently with a thumb. He’s being inspected. Edward grits his teeth and sets his mouth into a firm line and stares at the ceiling. He’ll be stoic, he decides. He won’t give Alphonse the satisfaction of a reaction. 

Of course, no sooner has he thought this than Alphonse comments, in apparent surprise, “Oh, it’s small.”

Face a burning crimson, Edward immediately abandons his plan and instead screams at him, as loudly as he can, “It is not, don’t call me small you absolute piece of shit!”

“Sorry, sorry,” says Alphonse, sounding sheepish. “It’s probably just because you’re cold.”

“Get off me,” snaps Edward, and then moans, “Just leave me alone!”

Al doesn’t, of course. He keeps touching Edward, as though hopeful the attention will provoke some sort of change in the size of the appendage he currently has in hand - it doesn’t, of course, as Edward cannot think of something less sexually arousing than his brother groping him - and then leans forward to kiss his lower belly. 

“We look so different,” Al comments lightly, between presses of his lips, “You’re so thin.”

Edward isn’t thin, he’s compact. Muscular, even. 

“Well, Winry likes my body,” he spits, boldly. 

Al’s warm expression drops, and suddenly he’s lifting off Edward and forcibly rolling him onto his stomach. “Can’t imagine you satisfy her much, given your size,” he says coldly, and Edward is hurt by the words as intended, but much more importantly, Al isn’t being careful. 

There’s a moment where his weight lifts off of Edward, and ever the opportunist, Edward immediately rolls himself to the side and kicks Al as hard as he can in the gut. 

This time with his metal leg. 

Alphonse doubles over, clutching desperately at his stomach. Edward gets to his feet a little unsteadily. He must look ridiculous in just his shirt, arms pinned to his torso, his bare, pale legs extending from the hem that stops along his upper thigh, but there’s no time, nor does he have the means to get his pants back on so he just turns and runs. 

But then the floor ripples beneath him and he realizes: of course Al can still reach him. Edward is flung off his feet and goes tumbling into the wall opposite, rattling the picture frames hung there. The force pushes his body against the shirt at a strange enough angle that it tears. He wastes no time getting back to his feet, sprinting for the front door again as he rips his arms free of his makeshift straitjacket. 

It’s a storm outside but he’d rather run through a blizzard than take what Al is offering him. 

And then one leg sinks into the floor, all the way to just above his knee. It’s like being dropped into cement, like quicksand sucking him down. The other sinks too as he tries to pull himself out of the sudden puddle of his hardwood floor. 

Edward reaches forward, searching for the edge of the area of effect, and finds it, pressing palms to the solid edge, ready to push himself up and out.

But Alphonse is too fast, obviously completely ready for Edward’s reflexes. The alchemy drops, and as Edward tries to haul himself out, it abruptly solidifies around his legs, capturing them completely.

“No!” he shouts, and tries to pull himself forward again. “No!”

Tears prick at his eyes again as he stares down at the floor, inlaid with the telltale signatures of alchemical transmutation.

Isn’t that typical? He’d given up his alchemy for his brother, and now has no means to protect himself from him.

“You got me good,” wheezes Al, and Edward can see out of the corner of his eye as his legs approach. He tries again to pull himself free. He might be able to, if he could just get his toes pointed, to squeeze them from the casts they’re trapped in. It’s tight enough around his upper thighs that the flesh bulges a little around the spot where he’s trapped. It’s going to hurt to rip his legs free, but he can do it.

“You won’t be able to get your automail leg out,” says Al, as though reading his mind. “Every divot and gap is going to be filled and held in place.”

Edward’s heart sinks. 

“The ridges around your knee are going to be enough to keep you down there.”

“Thought about this a lot, have you?”

“Yes,” says Al, and drops to a crouch beside him, “I thought you’d probably try to get away. And when you try to do something, well. You’re likely to get it done.”

To Al, Edward might as well be on hands and knees on the floor. But Edward knows his legs are held straight. He’s essentially standing at a position a couple feet lower than the floor - except that when he’d leaned forward, he’d gotten trapped with his legs at a forward-sloping angle. 

So he can straighten up but it’ll be a feat of core and back strength to keep himself up. 

Al’s hand drifts up the back of his thigh, sending shivers down his spine. His skin crawls beneath the touch. 

“If you do any more, I’ll never forgive you,” seethes Edward.

“I’m sure you won’t forgive me for what I’ve already done,” says Alphonse. “So why not do everything I want to?”

Edward’s clenching his jaw so hard that it creaks. A big hand presses in on either side of his ribcage, sliding down along his torso as though measuring his size. Al’s fingers are long enough that as he does this, his thumbs run down either side of his spine, digging into the muscle there.

The hand on his head hooks into his hair tie and drags it free. Gold falls around Edward’s face, dripping down over his shoulders and neck in rivers.

Al’s face presses to the crown of his head, and he inhales deep. Sighs it out with an, “Mmmmm.”

Edward looks down at the grains in the wooden floor beneath him.

“What do you do to get your hair so soft?” Alphonse wonders aloud, “Mine doesn’t feel anything like this.”

Nothing. Edward washes it with plain tar soap. Apparently he’s just lucky in that regard.

Well… if you can call that lucky. He doesn’t feel terribly lucky at the moment. 

“Do you know how pretty you are?” Alphonse asks him, voice breathy, “Do you know what you look like?”

“I’ve seen myself in a mirror,” huffs Edward.

“No,” says Alphonse, and Edward feels his mouth move against his ear. “No, that’s not what I mean, brother. I don’t mean… whether you know what colour eyes you have. I mean, do you know what your eyes look like? Do you know they look like warm honey? Like condensed sunlight? Like liquid gold?”

“Alphonse.”

A big hand smooths down his leg and then back up, dipping beneath his shirt, and over the bare skin of his ass. “When you look at me, I feel so -- so --,” he sighs, halfway to a groan. “Having your eyes on me makes me feel a way I’ve never felt before. When you look at me, my heart skips a beat.”

Edward wants to slap him. He seethes, “I will never tell you that this is okay, because it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

“Fine,” says Alphonse, and his touch turns rougher, “Then stay silent, because your words cannot change how I feel.”

Edward’s torn and mutated shirt is pushed up under his arms and his back and ass are exposed. A hand squeezes one cheek, fingers sinking into the flesh greedily. Then it pulls to one side and Edward feels his face flush as he realises that Alphonse is looking at his… well, at a very private place. The thumb of Alphonse’s other hand presses against his hole and Edward flinches away. Al simply follows his movement, pressing a little more firmly. 

Wait.

Wait, is he planning to? Put something inside of him?

Edward whips around to look at Al, completely aghast, “Alphonse, what are you going to do?”

He knows what anal sex is. He and Winry have played around with the idea many times, in the interest of saving actual vaginal penetration for after they’re married. But Edward is a man! That’s -- he’s not supposed to have something put in him --!

“Alphonse,” Edward wheezes, in panic.

“Don’t worry,” says Alphonse, sounding breathless. “Don’t worry, Ed.”

“Al, please don’t.”

Al’s thumb presses in a little. It feels dry and painful and Edward flinches. Alphonse tries again to push it in but is physically unable to; the skin drags with his finger and he simply cannot get it past the tight pucker. “Ah,” says Alphonse, “Right, yes, I read about this in a medical textbook. You need lubricant to insert anything into the anal canal. Just a second, okay?”

He releases Edward and stands, walking away with purpose and speed. Edward, of course, stays where he is, trapped up to just above his knees in the ground of his own home. It’s a good thing he’s flexible - he’s trembling a little bit from the strain of being bent over like this with his legs held straight. Desperate, he tries again to lift himself out of the floor. He gets a little movement with his natural leg, though it hurts to attempt to scrape it out of its mould, but absolutely nothing from his automail. 

Exactly as Al had said, the leg is too unyielding to bend or give in to the pressure of pulling up, and has too many dips and grooves, meaning it’s locked in place. And the mechanism to detach his leg is buried several inches deep in the floor of his living room.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his forehead to the floor as though in prayer. He feels desperately scared, the dread of what is about to happen mounting, clutching at his chest until he can hardly breathe. Tears are squeezed from his hot eyes and he swipes them away, unwilling to give them real estate on his face.

“Oh, wow,” breathes Alphonse from somewhere behind him, and Edward realizes that the change of position means he’s effectively sticking his ass in the air invitingly.

He doesn’t move, can’t move. Can’t bring himself to bring attention to it.

“Okay, okay,” says Alphonse, as though trying to soothe himself, and settles back down, this time behind Edward. “Now, just relax.”

Somehow the loss of anger and urgency from the situation makes it all worse. Al isn’t just doing this in a fit of animalistic urges or instinct. He has thought about this. Planned it. And now that Edward has apparently laid the straw that has broken the camel’s back, he’s not going to stop.

The first finger slides in easily, once Alphonse has lubricated it, despite Edward clenching desperately to try to keep him out. It feels awfully strange and uncomfortable. 

“I couldn’t exactly find a manual on how homosexuals have intercourse,” says Al, sounding a bit breathless. “But I did do some research on the anatomy involved. The anus is a muscle, of course, so we need to slowly stretch it out so that I don’t do damage to you when we have sex.”

“I don’t want to have sex,” croaks Edward.

Alphonse does not address that. Just moves his finger gently back and forth and from side to side. It feels like a worm or something, but more solid. Completely unnatural and unpleasant. “Oh, wow, you’re so hot inside. It’s so...so tight.”

The sad thing about this is that Edward can totally relate. When he’d first pushed his fingers into Winry, he’d been in awe at how tight and wet and hot she was. He’d imagined immediately what it would feel like to push his dick into her, and how good it would feel. Better than his hand. Better even than her mouth.

But here he is on the receiving end of it. Al is probably thinking the same about him. About how good it’ll feel inside him. Another set of tears overflows his eyes and drips down over the curve of his forearms. 

Al is quite careful about it. It would be a stretch to call it clinical, when Edward knows how excited he is to be doing this, but the touch is methodical to be sure. Eventually he works in a second finger, and Edward tries again to rock forward and away from the touch, but it’s an easy thing for Alphonse to follow him, as the give in Edward’s thigh muscles are the only lateral space he can eke out. 

“How many fingers, do you think?” wonders Alphonse aloud, “I don’t want you to tear, but I can’t deny that I’m eager to move on.”

“Do you want me to weigh in on the process of my own rape?” hisses Edward.

Al’s hand not presently worming its way into his ass lands atop his head and strokes down, letting the golden silk slide through his fingers. “Why do you keep your hair so long, if not to entice me? Or is it someone else you’re trying to entice?”

“Our fucking father had long hair, would you ask him the same thing?”

He can practically hear the smile on Alphonse’s face as he croons, “Our father didn’t look like a girl.”

“I don’t look like a girl!”

“You do,” the hand runs through his hair again, “You’re so pretty. So small.”

“I’m not small!” His face slides over his arms as Alphonse manipulates his body. They’re wet from tears. He’s not small. He’s bigger than Winry. He’s… okay, he’s a little shorter than average. But he’s -- he’s five foot six now, he’s adult-sized. 

There’s a third finger pushing into him. It hurts. “When you compare our bodies, brother… the difference is stark. I was meant to give. You were meant to take.”

He doesn’t understand the logic. Because Alphonse is bigger than him?

“I can’t wait anymore,” rumbles Al. “God, Edward, I can’t wait. I need to be inside of you.”

“Aren’t you already?” he jibes, but truthfully he’s terrified. Al pulls his fingers out and Edward hears the jingle of his belt as he unbuckles it. “Al, Alphonse, please don’t. Please don’t put it in!”

“It’s okay,” hushes Al, rubbing soothing hands over Edward’s back and ass and hips.

“Al,” Edward tries. He feels something blunt press against his ass, and panicked, he sobs, “Al, please, please. Don’t.”

The cock against his ass presses forward, slowly but inexorably. It pushes forward, into him, hot and slick, and far too big.

He can’t help it, he screams into his arms. In pain, yes, but also… this is his little brother. This is Al. The person Edward’s spent his entire life protecting, helping, supporting. One of the two people he loves the most in all the world. And he’s fucking him in his ass against his will.

“Ohhh,” moans Alphonse blissfully, deep and guttural. He stops for a second, pulls out half an inch and then pushes back in, a little jerky. “Oh god, Ed, this feels so good.”

It doesn’t feel good for Edward. It hurts worse than he could have imagined. 

It aches and burns, despite the lubricant that Al has generously applied. It’s just far too big. And -- apparently Alphonse wasn’t all the way in, because a moment later, he pushes even further forward, sinking deeper. Edward reaches back with one hand. He’s not sure what he’s trying to do, maybe trying to shove Al back, but all he achieves is feeling the spot where Alphonse is pressed inside of him. He can feel the girth of Al’s cock with his fingers, and the way his own asshole is stretched tight around the intrusion.

“Look how small your hand is,” says Al, and presses his fingers around Edward’s palm, pulling his hand back a little further and down. The movement forces Edward to arch his back and bring his head up off the floor to relieve the pressure on his shoulder joint. 

Then Al wraps Ed’s fingers around the portion of Al’s cock that isn't in him yet.

Oh god.  

There’s several inches left to go. And it’s so thick!

“Relax, relax,” hums Alphonse. 

“Stop saying shit like that!” snaps Edward. “I’m not going to relax, am I? My little brother is fucking me in the ass! There’s no possible way that I’m going to relax in this scenario! Saying it is a pointless waste of breath!”

He hears Alphonse laugh breathlessly. He lets go of Edward’s hand and Ed retracts it immediately. “You’re right, of course,” says Alphonse. His fingers curl tight over Edward’s hips and suddenly, brutally, he pushes the rest of his cock into him.

Edward howls in pain as every muscle in his lower body spasms around the intruder. It hurts! 

Alphonse makes a very different sound. 

Hot, fresh tears spill from Ed’s eyes as Al pulls out and slams back in. The gentleness with which Alphonse has been treating him is gone. He’s fucking him hard, like he never will be able to again. And that’s probably true. Edward will never let this happen again. 

He’ll probably never be alone with Alphonse again.

“God, this feels so good. Is this how it feels with everyone? Or is it just you, brother?”

Edward’s stomach is churning. He might puke again. It’s so fucking vile, to think about. Brother. 

“You’re so small and tight, aren’t you?”

“Don’t -- don’t call me --”

“What? Small? Tight?” Alphonse snaps his hips again, hard, and Edward chokes on nothing. On a sob, maybe. “Time to come to grips with it. You’re twenty and you haven’t gained an inch in years. You’re not getting any bigger.”

“I --”

He feels Alphonse lean down, bringing his chest down to Edward’s spine. His breath is hot and damp against the back of his neck. He’s so much bigger than Edward. It’s so unfair. They have the same genes. If anything, his diminutive size is a direct result of his caring for Al. He spent his formative years feeding two bodies. Of course he’s small. His puberty was interrupted.

“You’re built to be fucked. Look how well you’re taking it. That little body, just swallowing me up.”

“No --”

“It’s almost like you want it. Like you’re greedy for it.”

“I don’t --”

Fuck, Al is fucking him hard enough that he’s struggling to get words out. He’s so full he can hardly breathe. It hurts. Nothing about this feels good.

“I love you,” gasps Alphonse, “I’m so glad my first time is with you.”

Where did he go so wrong? To have his brother end up like this? 

“Ed,” moans Al against his skin. He’s hot, a direct contrast to the freezing ground wrapped around Edward’s legs.There’s sweat slicking his upper body, despite the cold seeping into his lower extremities. “I love you.”

Edward says nothing, simply grits his teeth and bears it. 

And then Alphonse comes inside of him. It’s with a groan of pleasure and relief, a guttural, animalistic sound. Edward can’t actually feel the come inside of him, only that Alphonse’s movements become more slick. Easier. The sounds of it start to squelch more obscenely. 

He actually does heave again, hearing and feeling this. Knowing that his brother had just…ejaculated in him. Thankfully, nothing comes up.

“Ah,” groans Al as he pulls out, thankfully unwrapping himself from Edward’s back. As soon as his cock is out, Edward feels the lubricant and… Al’s bodily fluids… trickle out as well. It runs down his perineum and then the inside of a thigh. Edward grits his teeth harder at the feeling.

“Oh wow,” says Alphonse, and Edward feels a hand on either of his ass cheeks, thumbs coming into the center to pull his hole open a little. Al is rewarded with another overflow, and makes a sound of arousal as Edward feels it run down the same track the other trickle had taken. “Wow, it’s really… I really came inside you.”

“No shit,” says Edward. “Let me out of the floor.”

“You’ll run as soon as I do.”

“Yes,” agrees Edward. “Of course I will.”

A finger squelches into his ass. Edward yelps in shock at the feeling, though it doesn’t hurt, not after having Alphonse’s dick in there. “I’m not going to let you out until I’m done, then,” says Alphonse. 

Roy had told him long ago that he needed to learn when to lie to Alphonse.

Suddenly Edward wishes he’d listened to him.

The snow stops two days later. Edward stares blearily out of the window at the six-foot high snow drifts. His eyes are burning and red from crying, and from not sleeping. 

“Thirsty?” asks Alphonse, sitting up from where he’d been lying next to him on the bed, recuperating from their latest round. He kisses Edward on the cheek, his arm still slung around Edward’s waist from behind, like they’re a married couple waking up in the morning together.

“Yeah,” croaks Edward. 

“I’ll see what’s in the icebox,” says Alphonse, and kisses him again before shuffling up and out of bed. Edward doesn’t move. Can’t really move. He’s been trussed up, and the rope burn is bad enough from struggling earlier that he doesn’t really fancy attempting to get up because almost any movement will aggravate his existing lacerations. So he just lies there and looks out the window at the snow. 

Alphonse returns with some tea that smells of lemons and honey. He puts it down on the nightstand and helps Edward sit up carefully. Brings the mug to Edward’s mouth. Edward sips at it gratefully. It soothes his throat going down. 

Getting face fucked yesterday had really torn up his esophagus.

“So, it’s stopped snowing,” Edward says.

“Yeah,” says Alphonse, “Feels like the end of a dream, or something. It’s been just the two of us here, while the snow came down. Now the rest of the world exists again.”

Thank god, thinks Edward.

“It’s going to be hard,” says Alphonse.

“What will?”

Alphonse chuckles, and raises the mug to Edward’s mouth again. He takes another sip. “Well, going back. To reality.”

“It has to happen,” says Edward, carefully. He wants to scream at Al, but he’s so close to getting untied that he can taste it. 

Al carefully brushes Edward’s hair back out of his face, tucking the stray pieces behind his ears. Al looks ruffled, and exhausted, but satisfied. The look on his face is warm and contented, his hair mussed and pyjama bottoms wrinkled. “I can’t believe how good your hair looks, even now.”

“Hmm,” says Edward. Another drink. The lemon and honey feels great on his abused throat. He’s exhausted. He wants to eat something and take a bath and sleep for two days. He’s so sore. Alphonse kisses him again, this time on his mouth. By this point, it doesn’t bring up any nausea. It’s amazing how fast a person can adjust to a new normal. Alphonse kissing him is normal now. Edward just waits for him to finish, mouth totally slack.

“So, should we do it once more?” Alphonse asks him. “Before I untie you?”

“Do you think I’ll say yes?” says Edward dispassionately.

Alphonse laughs brightly, as though it’s some sort of inside joke. He sits himself on the edge of the bed, and physically picks Edward up, lowering him onto his cock facing one another. It slips in easily, gently, like the movement of a hot knife through butter. Alphonse’s arms wrap around him, hugging him close as gravity forces Edward to settle the rest of the way into his lap. “You’ve really adjusted to me, haven’t you?”

Sadly, yes.

Edward’s hands are tied to his chest, tightly bound with his palms pressed to his clavicle. After a while, Al had removed his left leg, and tied his right ankle to his right thigh. He’s kept tight and controlled, but Alphonse has easy access to all of his body parts. 

Alphonse has fucked him in the ass twelve times in the last three days. Fucked him in the mouth three more. It’s all they’ve done, pretty much. Alphonse is certainly trying to make the most of his time here. 

He grinds up, deep into Edward’s guts. The head of his cock nudges against a spot inside Edward that Alphonse had found on day two. Something about that spot makes Edward’s mouth fall open every time. “Feels good, hmm?”

“No,” whines Edward.

“Here, brother,” says Alphonse, and lifts him a little, up and down, fucking the same inch of his cock into Edward over and over, nudging the tip of it against that same spot every time. Edward can feel his eyes starting to cross. “There you go.”

Ugh it does feel good. It does. 

“Stop,” moans Edward.

“I’m going to get you to come eventually,” says Alphonse. “I want to see you come while I’m inside of you.”

Edward hasn’t come at all, despite Alphonse’s best efforts. He’d sucked Ed’s dick until it was sore, yesterday. 

“I’d like a photograph of you like this. I’d like to be able to see this face whenever I want.”

Edward hates the thought of that, of this moment being immortalized. It’s bad enough having to live through it once. 

“It feels so right, being inside you.”

He’s really hitting that spot. Oh. 

Oh!

It feels good in a way that he doesn’t understand. Not the same as touching himself, but weirdly arousing in a way that builds. His body wants more. Fuck, he’s disgusting. Getting pleasure from his little brother’s dick in his ass. 

“Oh, Edward,” sighs Alphonse, apparently having noticed. A hand stays around him but the other drops to grasp at his cock. “It just feels better every time for you, doesn’t it?”

Yes. Every time hurts less. Every time the feeling of the stretch feels better. The press of it inside him feels more intense. He’s scared that if this keeps happening, one day it’ll feel so good that Alphonse will get his wish. 

God, god it feels like too much.

Alphonse’s hand tightens around Edward’s dick, jerking it in time with his thrusts. Without his other hand to help lift Ed up and down on his cock, he’s hardly able to thrust, but the movement of his hips against Ed’s ass is enough to prod at that spot over and over in shallow motions.

The attention from the front and the rear is maddening. His mouth is filling with saliva and he swallows so that he doesn’t drool. 

“I’m so happy to get to see you like this,” hums Alphonse. “Completely unravelled. You look… debauched.”

“I’m your brother,” mumbles Edward, just one last time.

“I know,” says Alphonse. “I like that.”

Well, maybe this battle was lost from the beginning.