Disclaimer: Although it's been a while since I posted, I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Chapter One – Danneggiare
"You know what?" Edward's eyes lingered on his fingers, which were clasped in his lap, before drifting up to my own. He didn't even give me time to guess, "I like it here."
A lazy smile spread across my face, my eyes locked into his while I stroked his hair. "Well, that's good," I admitted to the boy in my lap, "it would have been odd if you had been coming here so much if you didn't like it… in fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you have a crush on me." I paused, dramatically, "But that, of course, is impossible."
"Of course," Edward responded, without being taken aback a bit. Not that he'd have a reason to—this is how most of our conversations went, really.
We were both complete jackasses.
He rolled over and, disappointingly, retreated from my lap. "What do you want for dinner," he inquired, "I'm starting to get hungry."
"What do you care?" I teased, "You never seem to care what I want. In fact, most of the time you seem to make the exact opposite of what I want."
"What are you talking about?" Edward's face was screwed up in a combination of confusion and insult.
"Take last Wednesday for example," I offered, "You asked me the same question. You said, 'What do you want for dinner? I'm starting to get hungry' and I said I wanted something—anything—Mexican." I could feel my face growing red, and I took a deep breath. As I remember, it did make me pretty angry. Calm again, I continued. "So what do you go and make? Lasagna!" I growled, "Now, does that sound like anything remotely close to Mexican food?"
"Well," Edward stated, once again, not phased, "I didn't want anything Mexican, and lasagna is both easy and delicious."
"Exactly! You made what you want. So why bother asking?"
"As I recall, you happened to enjoy every minute of my lasagna. I certainly didn't hear any complaints from you." Now he was getting himself worked up. He was sitting on the couch in such a way that if I pissed him off any further—which was entirely possible—he would pounce on me.
So, I snorted. Not the best course of action, I suppose.
"What?" he snapped.
"You look ridiculous," I said, trying my best to stifle a giggle, "I honestly can't take anything you're saying seriously."
"Why, you—" and suddenly he was on top of me beating the hell out of me. I have to admit, too, the little runt is damn strong. Eventually, I pushed him off of me, practically tossing him onto the area rug on my wooden floor. At that point, though, I could care less about him—I was too busy rubbing the large bruise I knew was forming on my right cheek.
"Fine," I shot, "make whatever the fuck you want!" And with that, I retreated to my bedroom on the other side of my apartment.
Probably about five minutes later, as I lay on my side in my, behaving childishly, I know, I felt two arms—one real, another prosthetic—wrap around my body, and Edward's warm cheek against my neck. Reluctantly, I rolled over to meet his face. His eyes immediately shot for the bruise, which I'm sure was looking lovely, and then they returned back to mine. He was biting his lip.
"Er…" Ed stuttered, "Uh, sorry, I guess… but you were being a jackass…"
"Well, so were you," I smirked, before kissing his forehead, "but I guess that's why I like you."
"Yeah…" He smiled softly.
I then tried to retreat from the bed, but he did not allow me to do such a thing. Instead, he grabbed my hand, pulling me back towards him. My eyes widened in surprise. How very… un-Edward
"What was that for?" I questioned, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.
"I'm not… that hungry…" he flushed, eyes averting mine, "I would rather… y'know… lay here with you…"
This was much more than I could stand. Very rarely was Edward stumbling over his words, flushing, or so very affectionate—except for when something bad had happened at home.
So, obviously, I jump to worst-case scenario.
"Is everything okay? He didn't hurt you again, did he?" I reached forward for his shirt, yanking it up. There were no new bruises on his chest or stomach, nor his back. "What did he do to you this time? I really wish you'd just let me tell child services, or get emancipated or something—"
"Roy! Chill out!" He gave me a very stern look, "everything is fine. You know I tell you when that happens."
"I know, I know," I breathed, "I just worry, you know?" I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close, moving my lips to his ear to whisper, "I care about you, I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Don't… don't worry," he was still stuttering, and it was adorable, "I c-c-care about you too, I guess."
"You guess?" I laughed, "How ridiculous."
"Shut up! I'm trying to be sentimental or whatever."
"I like you better tough," I pointed out, "but if you want to be more feminine, I have a proposition for you…" I pulled away from him for a moment to roll over and reach into my bedside table's drawer—from which I retriever a ring of black, flowing fabric. "…wear this for me."
"You're fucking kidding, right?" He looked seriously offended, "I am not wearing a skirt. Forget it!"
"Come on, Ed," I pleaded, "just do this one thing for me! Isn't there something you want from me? Anything at all?"
"Nothing I want that bad…" He stopped himself short, perhaps pondering something in his mind, "…except…"
"Except, what?" This was exciting! I never thought he'd actually cave.
Snatching the skirt from my fingertips, he left the bed and stood at the foot of it. "Except… well, my spring break is this upcoming week and I was thinking that maybe perhaps I could stay here all week. My father is going away on business that day, and I need a place to stay anyway. One full week, this Saturday until next Saturday." He smiled, "If you let me live here that long, I will wear this… thing…. for you." He was eyeballing it as if it were an insect.
That was it? He wanted to live here? He didn't need to do anything for me to allow him to stay with me that long—he would be away from me and from that bastard he claimed was his father. That was enough for me. It was a win-win situation for me.
So, I agreed. "That seems… fair, I suppose."
"Alright…" he responded, reluctantly, "you promise?"
"On my very own grave."
"Okay, then, expect me here with all my stuff Saturday afternoon." He eyed the skirt, "I guess I better keep up my end of the deal, then." And with that, he departed, making his way down the hall for the bathroom.
The waiting was difficult for me. When I had first purchased the skirt with the intention of trying to coax Edward into it, I never imagined that he would agree—and for such a small price! Now I was sitting my room, awaiting his return. It was so bad I was fidgeting.
The door squealed open a couple of minutes later, a sure sign that Edward was going to come through it—and he did, in all his glory. The sight I saw was one of immeasurable wonder. I motioned for him to come back to bed, worried that words might wreck the moment because of the lack of composure I even possessed at that moment.
Crawling into the bed, I wasted no time in pressing my lips against his, feeling that tiny piece of fabric drape gracefully in between my legs as he lay on top of me. Our lips pressed together, feeling, corny as it was, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. I ran my hand across the nape of his neck, slowly down his back, up his shirt, feeling his soft, warm skin against my fingertips once again. I unglued my lips from his for one moment, just enough time to slide the shirt he was wearing over his head while he did the same for my own shirt. Then, our bare skin touched, hot against each other's bodies.
Suddenly, as if a switched were turned on, we were all over each other. I rolled him over and straddled him, lying on top of him and hungrily attacking his lips, our tongues occasionally meeting for a quick touch before retreating back into our own mouths. My hands moved up his chest, feeling the ever-surprising amount of muscles the small boy had. His hands were busy being tangled in my hair, running through it a hundred times. Then he flipped me over so he could be back on top.
In that instant, the tiny skirt flipped up slightly, and I made sure to try and make no reaction so that he would not notice. Never before had I seen Edward pants-less, and needless to say I was eager. It floated down softly, giving me only a glance of what lay underneath. I was no longer holding back, and I ran my right hand down his back, over his ass, my fingers feeling the hemmed edge of the skirt, I quickly pulled the bottom part up while pushing him back down to the bed.
He simply had no time to react—and I got what I wanted. A neat pair of grey underwear hugged his hips tightly, not leaving much to the imagination. I ran my hand over his erection, feeling it in my fingertips—and that's as far as I got.
Edward, in a huff, pulled the skirt back down, and gave me a death stare.
"Whaaat?" I whined, and then leaned into the crook of his neck, "I just wanna please you…"
"Then you should respect boundaries!" His argument was far from convincing, his breathing heavy and his speaking slurred, "you know the rules!"
"This isn't sex! I just wanna… touch you," I admitted, my own breaths short, "I wanna feel you, hear you moan and your heavy breathing. I want all of you, Edward."
Edward contemplated this, "I don't know, Roy, I—"
Angry knocking from the front door startled both of us and left our conversation cut short. We both took looks at each other, and I silently agreed to answer the door so Edward could get dressed, just in case. I retrieved my shirt and pulled it over my head as he scampered off, back to the bathroom. I watched him and cursed silently, "Someone must really fucking hate me up there…"
I finally reached the obnoxious banging at my door, wondering if the person on the opposite side was attempting to leave a fist mark on it. "I'm coming, I'm coming… Jesus!" I threw the door open, and I was face to face with a complete stranger—a black-haired, tall, middle-age man, who looked might angry with me for reasons I could not possible understand at that given moment. After all, he was one that interrupted what could have possibly been a great moment for Edward and me.
But that was gone, and I had a new problem on my hands, apparently.
"Is there a problem, sir?" I was trying to mask my utter dislike for the man, but I wasn't actually doing a very good job.
"Is Edward Elric here? Someone told me he was coming here." He took it upon himself to stick his head inside my home to see if I was hiding him or something behind my fern or my couch.
"And you are…?" I had to be careful, I suppose.
"I'm his father."
At that moment, I wanted to punch him in the face, kick him in the shins, and then set him on fire. Fortunately, I possessed the ability to hold myself and not do these things. I honestly hated this man, and now that I was meeting him, I think I had significantly justified my hate.
Because this person, this evil person, hurt my Edward on a regular basis—and that was simply not okay.
I remained composed, albeit the above. "Yes, he is. Let me retrieve him."
I shut the door most of the way, and said nothing about entering my apartment so that he would remain outside it. Edward was sitting on my bed in my room tying his shoes when I entered.
"It's your father. I have no idea what he wants, but he does want you. I told him you're here."
"What!" He looked up from his knot, "Why would you do that?"
"What's the use of not doing that? And now, I can protect you from that bastard!"
"No," he mumbled, "no, no, no. This is not okay… what do I do?"
"Tell him I'm your tutor, Ed," I ran my hand over his bangs, tucking them lovingly behind his ear.
"Okay, okay," He breathed, "but please—please—stay in here. No!" he stopped the protests I was about to shoot at him, "just do it! Trust me!"
I had no choice. I sat on the bed, fidgeting again. Only this time, I wasn't anxious for something great, like before—I was flat out worried. I was scared for Edward. I tapped my foot against the carpet, not even able to make out the conversation down the hall.
And then I heard it—a sickening crack accompanied by a just as awful thud. I jumped up and ran down the hall, seeing Edward pressed against the wall, holding his head. His father was long gone, thought that was the least of my worries. I attempted to wrap my arms around Edward, but he flinched and wouldn't allow it.
"Edward…" I said, placing a hand on his shoulder to try to spin him around, "Edward! Edward, are you okay?"
The hand holding his head had two lines of red blood trickling down from it, staining every piece of beautiful, golden-blonde hair that it touched. I grabbed the hand and forced it away, seeing the awful cut on his left temple. It was two inches long and it was dripping blood. "Jesus! Edward, I need to lay you down!"
He did not protest, he simply let me pick him up and carry him into the bedroom, laying him down on the sheets. I was afraid to leave him for even a moment, but I knew I needed to treat the atrocity on his head. I rushed to get what I needed, and quickly returned to his side. Soon enough, it was covered by a thick bandage and the hair sticky with blood was clean. I pulled him into my arms, this time unmoved by the affection he was showing for me. I was used to this—the neediness he portrayed when his father did something like to this to him. He hooked his arms around my neck and closed his eyes. Laying down on the bed, I let our legs intertwine and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him as close as I could.
Letting him go had been my mistake, and now he was damaged, hurt, and I could help but feel like it was my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone with that man that hurt him so often. I felt his breathing slow and then steady—he had fallen asleep. I sat there, wide awake. I vowed to never let him go again, never leave him alone with the man that claimed to be his father if I had it in my power to. I had witnessed it, and now it was all I could do to save him.
Little did I know the wheels were already in motion, and the time to save him had already passed.
A/N: Hahaha. It's been so long… over a year, actually. I really have no idea where this came from. I just sat down and typed it up. I'm kinda proud, really. However, I am still putting off my English homework, which I really need to get on…
I really hope you enjoy it. I hope it's not too depressing.
Yes, I'm back,