Title: Birthday Suit
Part: 1/1
Author: ibshafer
Rating: NC-17, yaoi
Character/Pairing: RoyXEd
Disclaimer: I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me spin them around the page now and then.
Summary: It's Ed's 18th birthday and Roy's got a present for him …
Warnings: some profanity, suggestive situations, fairly graphic sex
Genre: Fullmetal Alchemist; Yaoi fluff, P(A)WP Porn (Almost) Without Plot
Spoilers: none; AU – heavy
Feedback: yes, please!

Note: written as a birthday present to my dear friend, inugrlrayn – Happy Birthday, sweetie! btw, girlie – I invite you, nay, I challenge you to write the scene that's missing, the 'what happens next' scene… as only you can…

Well, I suppose it had to happen one day…

The tailor, finally satisfied with the fit, pulled his hands away from the seat of Edward's pants and sat back to survey his work.

"Good," the man grunted around a mouthful of pins, face reddened from his exertions.

Excusing himself, he scurried hastily into the back room, leaving Edward to examine himself in the mirror at his leisure.

Don't know what took him so long – he didn't make any changes …

Edward's sighed exhalation both expressed his frustration and successfully got the errant blond lock that had been annoying him out of his eyes (The tailor had told him not to move!)

Well, all in all, it's not as bad as it could have been…

Dead-boring blue. Ropey gold braid. Shiny brass buttons. And that ridiculous, friggin' butt skirt…

The General had been adamant about the uniform. So adamant, in fact, that he had threatened to withhold Edward's promotion if he didn't get himself fitted for one immediately. Not only that, Mustang had ordered him to wear it whenever he came to Central Command.

They'd fought long and hard over the issue – at the office, in the park, …in Mustang's well-appointed bedroom – but in the end, the General had won.

Six years in this alchemist's army and Edward had finally, less-than-gracefully, accepted the title of Military Dog.

Glancing at him over the top of his newspaper at the breakfast table that morning, Mustang had begun the day by issuing him a few orders. (Actually, they'd begun the day before they'd come down to breakfast…)

"…And make sure you get to the tailor's shop by three, Edward, in case he needs to make any further alterations. Don't want you standing up in front of the assembly tomorrow to accept your rank with baggy pant legs."

Edward spit out a mouthful of toast at this obvious heightist remark, but before he could sputter out his objections, the General continued.

"And for God's sake, Edward, please try to learn a proper salute before then!"



In the tailor's massive three-panel mirror, Edward managed to wipe the smirk off of his face long enough to practice his version of a crisp military salute, but only succeeded in cracking himself up.

I look fucking ridiculous

He had to admit, though, that as ridiculous as he looked, especially with his right hand set in a stiff, perpendicular line against his forehead, he still looked good…

Truth be told, Edward liked his buttons shiny and the color of the uniform was a great contrast to his hair, the highlights of which were set off wonderfully by the sheen of the roped braid at his shoulder, the insignia pins at this collar and breast, the flash of cool blue at his neck. And if he was being honest, and Edward was always honest when he was talking about himself, that silly, useless flap of fabric that fell from the waistband to cover his rear, that flap of fabric he'd laughingly (because it irritated the General so much) called a 'butt skirt,' rather than cover and disguise his rump, actually accentuated it.

Not bad, he thought, taking advantage of the mirror's opposing panes to appraise himself at an angle he wasn't usually afforded. Not bad at all…

After all that fuss, he actually wasn't displeased with the end product, but then his resistance to the uniform had been more about what it stood for, than for the style or the color scheme and those reservations had long ago disappeared.

Getting rid of Fuhrer King Bradley had helped with that.

Getting to know General Roy Mustang had helped even more…

Feeling a sudden blush creep up the back of his neck, Edward huffed once in annoyance, peering around the counter for the tailor, but there was no sign of the man.

Irritated to be kept waiting, he was about call out to him, when he found his receipt and a pen waiting on the countertop.

Hmmm… Well, if we're done…

Edward signed the receipt with a shrug and pocketed the yellow customer's copy.

He grabbed the bag containing his old "uniform" – cropped black jacket, black jeans and tank, trusty hooded red coat – and strolled out of the shop into the fading light of a crisp February afternoon.

The General had told him to hurry on over to his place (his "place" being a ridiculously palatial manse in the city's affluent west end) after he'd finished up at the tailor's, but in spite of the ebbing daylight, the day had been favored with unseasonable warmth, and Edward, lungs filling with good, fresh air and basking in the glow of a well-tailored suit – and the appreciative glances of city's legions of passers-by – was in no hurry…



An hour later, Edward found himself in front of the General's house. He glanced at his pocket watch then muttered a curse under his breath.

He's gonna kill me…

Sure enough, Mustang met him at the door.

"Met" might have fit the bill in the strictest linguistic sense, but it was somewhat inaccurate; "grabbed by the metal hand and dragged bodily into the house…" would have been much closer…

"Yow!" Ed squeaked, stumbling over the threshold and into the General's polished, marble foyer. "Watch the friggin' seams!!"

Arms folded across his chest, Edward steeled himself for the tirade to come; accusations of tardiness, carelessness, his general lack of consideration – the usual, but instead of haranguing him with typical Roy Mustang homilies, the man stood back, a canny smirk on his face.

"Listen to you. A week ago, you were whining about having the uniform made…"

Relieved to be spared a lecture, Edward's sharp eyes immediately found the hall mirror. He stood admiring himself with a decidedly smug look on his face.

"Well…" he began, a blush beginning to tint the smug around the edges. "Turns out I look good in blue…"

Mustang was suddenly behind him.

Close behind him.

"Yes, you do…" he murmured into the soft hair at the base of Edward's neck. "You look even better out of it…"

"Oh, please!" Edward growled, sliding out of the man's reach, but the General's arms were long and he deftly caught the newly minted Colonel again, holding him fast.

"So…coy is the name of today's game, is it?"

Mustang spun the squirming alchemist around, pulling him tightly against him, his lips worrying an especially luscious spot at the divot of the young man's neck. "You weren't particularly interested in wearing clothing last night…"

"Yeah, well…" Helpless, Edward's eyes were rolling into the back of his head, "last night I wasn't –ah! …a C-Colonel …"

Mustang paused in his ministrations as he considered this.

"True, true…" He suckled at Edward's neck a moment longer, then pulled back a step, hands at the young man's shoulders, surveying him with a look of uncharacteristic tenderness.

"And last night," he said, pausing for affect, "you weren't a man…"

In an instant, Ed felt his ears and cheeks redden with anger.

What the hell is he talking about?!

"I've been a man for a long time, Mustang!" This last was said with Edward's most withering look, arms once again folded across the uniform's starched lapels. "Even before you lured me into your damned bed!"

By those standards alone, he'd been a "man" for two years now…

The way Mustang so coolly restrained the urge to laugh out loud was particularly maddening. It was all Edward could do to restrain himself from wiping that self-satisfied smirk off the old man's face…

The General seemed to take all of this in stride, and instead drew Edward to him, wrapping arms around his bristling form, heedless to the muffled curses being uttered against his starched blue shirt front.

After a moment, unable to resist the warmth of that big body, Edward relaxed against him, cursing himself silently when his own arms, despite his anger, slipped easily around the General's broad back and held fast.

Damn, he always smells so good. There oughta be a law against that… Makes it too hard to think straight…

Still clinging to the last remnants of his anger, Edward turned his head to the side to speak.

"You're holding me too tightly," he said. His words were cross, but his voice held no ire. "You're gonna wrinkle the suit…"

He felt the General take a deep, rumbling breath and fought the overwhelming desire to press himself more closely into the hollows and planes of the man's body.

Smells good. Feels good. Mustang is the devil…

Then the moment was gone as Roy pulled away, surveying him with an appreciative smile.

"The suit is lovely and you're lovely in it, Edward, but you're right; we should get you out of it. Now."

Edward felt his groin stir and cursed audibly.

There had always been something seductive about Mustang's voice; the way he could make an innocent word like 'now' sounds like a bloody mating call…

But now Roy was steering him, not towards the back of the house, and the staircase that lead to the General's bedroom, but to a room to the left of the foyer where they sometimes ate dinner…

Benignly amused by Edward's confusion, Mustang smiled and continued.

"We wouldn't want to get anything on it, Edward. At least not before tomorrow's ceremony…"

Don't tell me he wants to do it in here?

In a heartbeat, Edward felt the blood rush to his face.

Didn't he say 'never again'?

His memory spun back to their last experience in the dining room; the encounter had drawn to a roaring conclusion for them both, but had not ended particularly well for one of Roy's antique mahogany chairs…

Edward's confusion deepened until his nose finally wrested control of his higher brain function away from his libido long enough to deliver some slightly more accurate information to his gray matter: the rich aroma of hot food was drifting in from the General's formal dining room.

His jaw dropped when he saw the meal laid out there – fried chicken, barbequed ribs, hamburgers, all his favorites – minus the ridiculous pomp and circumstance the General usually favored (shiny glasses and silver, drippy candles, vases of cloying, heavy flowers). Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with him in mind.

"Happy Birthday, Fullmetal," Mustang whispered into his ear, his breath warm, his hands at Edward's shoulders.

"Oh, yeah…" Edward said, somewhat taken aback.

'Last night you weren't a man…'

In all the excitement – Al's passing the state alchemist's exam, then taking a post in the South, his own promotion – he'd forgotten.

"It's February."

I'm eighteen…

Overcome by a sudden wave of nostalgia, Edward struggled to cover it with a feigned nonchalance.

"Big whoop," he mumbled, turning away from him.

For some reason, this time of year was especially loaded with guilt for him. Hughes and Gracia, little Elysia. Nina. His mother. Al… The things he'd done, the things he hadn't

Mustang's hand was at his arm.

"C'mere," he said softly, pulling Edward back into his embrace.

"It's okay to be happy, Edward," he said and his words and breath feathered the hair at the top of Edward's head. "It's okay to be sad."

Sometimes it spooked him – how easily Mustang could read him.

He sighed as a warm kiss was placed over the crown of his head.

"Just don't be quiet." Another kiss, this one longer. "Quiet doesn't suit you…"

"If you'd rather, I could start yelling." Edward pulled back to look the man in the eye and fix him with an ignoble grin. "I've had any number of reasons to since you dragged me through that door."

"No doubt."

Mustang smiled; the kind of big smile that touched his entire face, the kind he saved for when he really, truly meant it, the kind that made Edward's knees weak.

Feeling the last bits of his resistance fade away, Ed wondered briefly why he always fought so hard. Why was it so difficult to accept that the man cared for him? Hadn't he proven it by now? Hadn't Mustang risked his career to be with him? Even if he'd never put it into words, didn't the way he loved him say it just as clearly?

Raising himself up on his toes, pleased when Roy met him halfway, he kissed the man hard and fast, shivering when Mustang caught him up by the waist and held him tightly to his chest. He started to pull away but Roy deepened the kiss and he surrendered himself to it, reveling in the strength and the intensity of it, relishing the taste of him.

Moments later, breathless, cheeks glowing, he remembered the meal that awaited him and as if under some strange alchemic power, he floated towards the table.

"I'm starving," he gasped, throwing himself into the seat at the head of the table, the armchair, usually Mustang's (but it was his birthday, damnit!), and started to pile fried chicken onto his plate.

Before he'd had the chance to put a single bite into his mouth, the General had grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the plate.

"I thought you were going to take this off," he said, still clutching a uniformed wrist.

"What am I – twelve!?" Edward growled. Mouth watering, he glared at him."If I'm a "man," now, why are you still treating me like a child?"

Roy seemed to bite back a retort with visible effort. Fingers still circling Edward's metal wrist, he guided Edward to his feet, then dropped the arm and began unbuttoning the uniform jacket.

"What I am doing, Fullmetal…"

Jacket unbuttoned, he tugged at the cuffs while Edward, eyes rolling, dutifully obliged him.

"…is treating you like someone I know."

He started on the starched shirt, collar first, taking a moment to brush blond bangs from a smooth forehead and plant a kiss there. Edward felt the blood rush back into his cheeks, but he couldn't help being annoyed; if there was anything Edward hated it was being thwarted in his pursuit of food.

"Five minutes from now you'd have a glob of that awful gravy you love on your sleeve and we'd end up spending the rest of the night experimenting with household remedies, but calling it alchemy, all so we could make you presentable enough for tomorrow's festivities."

The shirt was completely unbuttoned now, a fact that escaped neither of them.

Nor did the fact that Edward, unaccustomed to the convention, had neglected to put the customary white undershirt on beneath it.

Or any other color undershirt, for that matter…

Embarrassed, both by the inexperience that had led to this uniform faux pas and by the fact that he was suddenly, nearly naked, Edward blushed furiously.

Mustang seemed to lose his composure for a moment, but covered it by spinning Edward around so he could pull his shirttails out of his trousers. Grasping the shirt by the collar and right cuff, he coaxed the starched, still clean garment off Edward's now flushed body. The cool of the room ('Mustang never turns the heat on…') was a sudden chill to his heated skin and he winced, looking down to see himself…peaking. ('Like a girl!')

Hanging the cool blue shirt carefully over the squared back of Edward's chair (the armchair!), Mustangleaned forward to sweep a long, gold braid to the side and plant a kiss at the base of Edward's neck.

"Tonight has festivities of its own, Edward…" he breathed, lips so close Edward could feel the words as well as hear them.

Edward shuddered, suddenly unable to think clearly.

If you wanted to seduce me, why all the food?

Ah! All that food – chicken and corn and chili and …was that shrimp tempura?!

Part of him wanted nothing more than to fill his plate and dig in.

The other part wanted to climb into Roy's lap and tear his clothes off…

I'm eighteen now…

I'm supposed to be able to resist my impulses.

The food smelled so good…

That's what grown-ups do.

But not half as good as Mustang.

They resist…



At least for a little while…



At least until they've had dinner…

Unaware of the heated debate going on in Edward's head, Roy had taken a seat at the table and was meticulously unfolding a linen napkin onto his lap.

Edward glanced at him, and all thought processes – and debate – stopped dead.

Roy had fastidiously removed his own uniform jacket, probably the moment he'd walked through the front door that afternoon, and his crisp shirt was open at the neck. As he arranged himself in the chair, the shirt fell open to reveal his smooth neck, the deep hollow at its base, and a hint of the well-defined chest below it.

Suddenly, Edward couldn't breath.

Control. He chanted to himself. I must learn control…

Reaching for a stemmed water glass, Roy took a long drink, and then set it back on the table, catching the last drop on his lips with the tip of a pink tongue.

Fuck! Who needs control when I can have this?

With a strangled cry, Edward vaulted into Roy's lap, knees straddling his hips, mouth at that exposed hollow of throat.

"E-Edward!" Mustang roared in surprise.

Mustang's hands were at his shoulders, pulling gently at him.

"Edward," he said, almost pleading.

Roy's tone said he was making a game attempt at resistance, but the way his breath caught in his throat and the way his hands were at the back of Edward's head, guiding him, impelling him upward, said otherwise.

And no amount of clothing could disguise his growing pleasure at Edward's impulsiveness.

"Edward…" he murmured, seconds before their lips met.


Hands on either side of the man's face, fingers deep in all that thick, black hair, tongue tracing the contours of Roy's mouth, Edward rocked his hips forward and pressed himself tightly against Roy's broad chest, drowning in pleasure.

Roy resisted a scant moment longer, then with a moan of sweetest defeat, his hands were at Edward's back, pressing him closer.

Groaning, Edward slid his own hands between their bodies and began working at the buttons of Mustang's shirt. He noted with no small amount of pleasure that Roy had neglected to wear the usual undershirt himself

Did he plan this?

Leaving the man gasping, Edward broke off from Roy's mouth to trail lips and tongue down Mustang's smooth neck. Suckling the skin over Roy's vocal cords, he smiled at the moan this elicited from the man, then with a final nip, Edward pulled back far enough to survey the results.

Ah, so gooood…

Roy's eyes were half-lidded, reddened lips parted, breath coming out in ragged pants. His face was flushed and his hair was pleasantly mussed.

All-in-all, Roy Mustang was truly a sight to see

Mission accomplished…

Yes, indeedy… Edward liked lap sex the best. He liked everything about it.

Skin against skin.

In this position, he could feel every breath Roy took; see the pleasure play out across his beautiful face. When those dark eyes glowed, when his usually pale cheeks flushed red, when that mouth that so easily fell into a smirk or framed a sharp retort fell instead to ragged panting, to moaning his name


…it made an experience that could be purely physical, supremely sublime and completely and utterly real.

This position had another, less romantic advantage; sitting in Roy's lap this way, they were, for once, eye-to-eye…

Pleased with both the altitude… and the wanton expression on Mustang's face, Edward covered Roy's mouth once again with his own, shivering when Mustang willingly let him take control of the kiss, something he didn't often do, moaning as Edward sucked at his lips, then sought out the heat of his mouth, delving deeper. Roy's big hands were at his back, pressing them more closely together and the heat of him, of his bare skin, combined with the sensations in his groin, feeling Roy's clothed arousal stirring against his own, was a heady mix. There was abandon in the man's actions, as though he'd lost control, and it was most unusual; even in sex, control was something Mustang never surrendered.

Edward broke off with a gasp as Roy's hands, which had been flat against his back, fingers splayed across his shoulder blades, suddenly found their way beneath the fabric of his trousers' skirt; grasping his buttocks, Roy pulled Edward's aching need hard and fast against his own.

In some distant portion of his brain, Edward marveled that this sort of pleasure, this almost-sex, could be had while still, essentially, being clothed.

Tightly clothed.

Pleasantly tightly clothed.

And then all thought processes stopped entirely as he surrendered to the heat, hips mindlessly working against Roy's own gentle thrusts.

Intoxicated by the sensations rocking through his body, Edward panted hard, throwing his head back, and Mustang, seizing the opportunity, drew lips and tongue over the skin of Edward's quivering neck.

Arching back farther and farther, aching groin finding purchase against Roy's, Edward began to loose his senses, breathlessly chanting Mustang's name.

"R-Roy… Roy… Roy…"

He was distantly aware of Mustang's answering moan ("Edward…"), of lips trailing heat down his neck and across his chest, of teeth and tongue circling and then claiming an exposed pink nub.

And then those teeth bit sharply at him there, and with ragged gasp he was fighting for air and arching back so hard, practically bending himself in half, that when his head hit the table and noisily unsettled the china, he almost didn't react, almost couldn't separate the "reality" of it from the sensations raging through his body.

When he did react, it was to freeze in place, chest heaving, and look wildly around the room.

"Owww…" he said in a daze, hand coming up to rub the back of his head. His body was still splayed out across Roy's lap.

Roy, too, seemed in shock.

"Y-you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse, breath ragged.

Sometime after the dishes took to rattling, sometime after they'd both frozen in place, Roy had drawn his right knee up to cross his lap, supporting Edward there.

"U-um, yeah…"

Eyes locked to each other's, faces flushed, they remained suspended like that for a time, breathing heavily, bodies cooling in the air of the approaching evening.

Roy was the first to break the silence.

Glancing quickly to Edward's still clothed groin, the edges of his mouth began to turn up.

"Did you…" he asked, his voice trailing off. The salacious smile had now claimed his mouth fully and was making its way upward, crinkling the edges of his eyes.

Edward's breathing had almost returned to normal, but he remained stretched out across Roy's lap, head cushioned from the table by Mustang's hand as the man gently massaged his bruised scalp.

"'Did I' what?" he asked, and then his eyes followed Roy's to his own lap… and the growing circle of wetness over his groin…

"Shit!" he sputtered, sitting himself up quickly. "I guess I did – when you …when you bit me…"

Twisting in Roy's lap, he grabbed the linen napkin next to his place setting, dipped it into his water glass, then turned back to dab angrily at his pants.

"Looks like we'll be cleaning my uniform tonight after all…" Annoyed, he started to rub more furiously at the stain.

For the second time that night, Roy grabbed Edward by the wrist.

"I don't think so," he said in cool, even tones.

'Tonight has festivities of its own, Edward…'

From his pant's pocket, Roy suddenly produced a folded sheet of paper with some faint writing on it.

Curious, Edward tilted his head to the side, trying to read what was written there.

'Happy Birthday, Rachel!' it said.

He scowled.

Who the hell is Rachel?!

And why was Roy wishing this Rachel 'Happy Birthday' when it was his birthday?

But then Mustang shifted again, this time to get a pencil from his back pocket, no mean feat with Edward firmly planted on his lap.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

He watched as Roy unfolded the paper and flipped it over to its clean side, shifting him around in his lap so that both hands could reach the table. To do this, Mustang placed one hand on Edward's shoulder blades and the other, once again, on his ass, then pushed him gently, but firmly, against his own body. This maneuver brought them tightly together again, from neck to groin, and garnered a pleased sound from the back of Edward's throat. With a sigh of pure pleasure, he circled his arms around Mustang's body and clung contentedly.

Chin perched over Edward's left shoulder, Roy began to draw something on the paper.

"I-I repeat," Edward began, peering back over his other shoulder to the table behind him. "What are y—"

"Sssh!" Roy said, sharply, an expression of utter concentration on his face.

After a moment, Edward could see a simple transmutation circle forming, one containing the symbols for water and heat (though not flame), and another, still, that he didn't recognize.

"What's that one," he asked, raising his chin to indicate the unknown symbol with the tip of his nose.

"That's sodium bicarbonate."

Ah! Baking soda…

Edward was grinning now. "What – no 'experimenting with household remedies?'"

Roy's focused expression colored a faint rose. "This one I have some experience dealing with." And then, before Edward could say anything, he added, "If it's all right with you, can we save that conversation for another time?"

Feigning dismay, Edward sighed dramatically. "Oh, all right…"

He drew his knees up and started to move from Roy's lap when the man grabbed him by the hips.

"Where are you going?"

Edward looked confused. "If you're gonna clean them, don't I have to take them off?"

Roy was shaking his head.


Mustang shot him an impatient glare and sighing, Edward drew himself back into Roy's lap to wait as patiently as he know how to, meaning…he fidgeted and huffed and generally hurried Roy along that way.

After a moment, the circle was complete and Mustang, pulling away from him enough to make some space between them, laid the paper directly over the stain in Edward's lap.

"Hold this, here – just by the corner," he said, grabbing Edward's flesh hand and placing it where he wanted it. "And don't move."

Edward had just enough time to squeak out a 'wha?!' and then Roy's smooth hands had covered the circle, and Edward's groin, and reddish light began leaking out between his fingers.

Almost immediately, Edward felt the heat; it bled through the thick fabric of his trousers and then began to warm his skin and as the temperature rose, it seemed to excite the very molecules that comprised the fabric's threads: with a shiver, and an unconscious groan, Edward realized that his clothing was vibrating.

Edward swallowed hard and fought for control; the hand he was holding the paper with began to shake.

In an instant, his renewed arousal was pushing up against Mustang's flattened hands.

He heard Mustang gasp faintly in surprise.

"Huh," Roy said, an eyebrow quirked. "Good to know."

It was a moment before those big hands, glowing red in the fading light of the transmutation and hot as hell, were pulled away from his lap.

Slipping the paper from Edward's fingers, Roy bent lower to inspect the results of his transmutation.

Edward took a deep breath and held it.

To his further embarrassment, Mustang ran a fingertip over the fabric.

"Ah!" Edward gasped audibly.

To his surprise, Roy didn't even flinch.

He was staring at Edward's slightly tented trousers as though he possessed some sort of special vision that could see through solid materials. Swallowing visibly, his jaw muscles tightening beneath his pale skin, Roy suddenly looked away sharply, breaking his own focus.

"Perfect," he said with a forced cheerfulness.

Edward's own mind was still foggy from his release, still focused, as well, on the realm beneath his trousers, so he was at first a little confused by the pronouncement, feeling himself blush at such an openly sexual compliment.

"You mean my—" he began and then, thankfully, Mustang cut him off, continuing.

"The stain came out perfectly," he said innocently, but Edward found the faint rose in Roy's cheek very gratifying.

"You're pretty handy to have around, you know that?" Edward said, grinning.

He leaned forward to place a hot little kiss behind Roy's ear, a spot he knew was directly connected to the man's groin. He shifted in Mustang's lap, knowing the friction would further feed the fire. "I'm gonna have to find some way to thank you, General. You saved me from certain embarrassment…"

Roy drew in a deep, shuddering breath, his hips moving reflexively.

"…Edward, stop…"

"C'mon, now, General," he said, nipping at the nearest earlobe, then sucking it between his lips. "I know for a fact that you didn't…complete your last mission…" He wiggled meaningfully in Roy's lap.

Mustang groaned loudly, and this time, it wasn't a sex groan.

"Please tell me I didn't just hear you say something a red-light movie actress might say."

Insulted, Edward drew away to find Roy shaking his head in amusement.

He considered flying off at the handle, that handle he was so very fond of flying off at, but then he had to admit; it was true…

"Pretty cheesy, huh?" He grinned back at the man, then snuck a glance downward. "Still, though, I did and you … didn't…"

He raised his right arm, automail creaking faintly, and executed a perfectly crisp regulation salute.

"I'd consider it an honor, Sir!"

Before Roy could respond, a grinning Edward had slipped his hands into his superior's pants and was about to rectify the oversight when Roy caught him by the wrists and stopped him.

"Have you forgotten that it's your birthday, Edward?"

"And?" He asked, all innocence.

Roy grunted once, pulling Edward's hands from his trousers.

"And," he said. "Don't you want to open your present?"

Edward's brows furrowed.

"…um, I thought that's what I was trying to do…" Edward said, knowing his grin was devilish and enjoying the responding blush it got from Roy.

There was nothing more adorable than a flushing, embarrassed Roy Mustang. Since he was so seldom able to elicit such vulnerability from the man, he took a moment to enjoy it.

"What are you smiling at," Roy growled, clearly aware of his own state.

To cover, Mustang shifted Edward backwards, farther down his thighs, incidentally putting some space between them, and then reached past him to pull a large, rectangular object closer.

"I'm fairly certain, Edward," he said, tapping the object with a well-groomed fingernail. "That you will be very happy with this gift. In fact, it's something that you have long been asking for."

Squinting, eyes to the crown molding above them, Edward ran down the lengthy list of items he had asked for over the years.

Hmmm, let's see…

A pony?!

No, wait, he didn't ask Mustang for that.

Stick to the now, Elric. What have you asked for recently?

The double surf 'n turf dinner special from the Brick House Inn on Watson Street, the one Mustang always contested was too much food, even for him?

Food doesn't count! You don't give food as a birthday present!

Well, what then?

That great little pinky ring from the jewelers' in Edward's neighborhood; the ring with the topaz in it that matched the color of his eyes?

That's an awfully big box for a pinky ring…


Real 14k goldleaf on his official Colonel's stationary?

Nah! Yer not thinking big enough.

Throughout this internal discussion, Mustang watched Edward puzzle it out, a look of quiet amusement on his face.

Ah, wait!

He had it!

"I know!" He sat back, smiling in excitement and expectation. "You managed to get me that corner office with all the windows, didn't you?" He saw Mustang look to the box, then start to smirk. "And the keys are in the box?" he offered, hopefully, eye brows raised.

Mustang just shook his head impatiently.

"No, Edward, I did not get you that corner office. I'm fairly certain General Ryan would be quite upset to find himself turned out of it, don't you agree?" He punctuated this last with a wink, which only succeeded in annoying the hell out of Edward.

"I can't guess! Why don't you tell me?!"

Mustang jockeyed forward, a move that made Edward's eyes start to roll back into his head, and grabbed the box from the table.

"I've got a better idea, Edward," he said, placing it between them. "Why don't you just open it?"

Relieved to no longer have to guess, Edward's curiosity now took center stage.

His first impulse, impatient individual that he was, was to fling the box open and have at it, but the minute his fingers touched the lid, his brain issued a stern warning to his hands that basically said it would stage a wholesale mutiny – no touching of any skin below the waist, anywhere, on anyone – if he didn't take a moment to appreciate it fully…

Stealing a glance to Mustang, who was watching him rather expectantly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, Edward began to run his fingers over the textured surface of the box. Carved into the dark, rich grain of the wood was an elaborate design that Edward couldn't name, save that it evoked a distant time and place and it was beautiful beyond reckoning. With a single finger, he traced an elegant curving line created by inlaid and delicate pale woods and embellished with ivory and faceted gemstone.

It was the single most beautiful piece of craftsmanship that Edward had ever seen and the that fact that it now sat before him, a gift from this man who was his lover, robbed him of words and breath.

"I-I don't know what to say, Roy," he whispered. "This is – I've never owned anything this beautiful before."

He looked up to find Roy smiling at him so tenderly, he instantly began to blush.

"Edward," he said, impatiently, but with great warmth. "The box isn't the gift."

"It's not? Oh, right! Right!" Grinning, he rubbed the back of his neck with a hand.

Then what is?

Suddenly, the prospect of the box's contents seemed portentous and he regarded it with not a little trepidation.

"What are you waiting for?" Roy said, gently squeezing Edward's hip with his hand. "Open it. You don't get it if you don't open it."

"Oh-kay…" he huffed.

It's my birthday. Why's he the impatient one?

Sliding a fingernail under the elaborate brass latch, he flipped it up, then with both hands, he lifted the domed lid as far as their current positions would allow; it came to a rest against the bared skin of Roy's abdomen and Edward thought it must have felt unusually cold to him, judging by the way he jumped when it touched him.

Edward was watching Roy's face for a reaction and what he saw confused him; Mustang was eyeing the box's contents with an odd expression on his face – odd when you considered that he already knew what they were.

But then it was his turn to eye them oddly.

What is it?

The inside of the box was richly lined with deep, burgundy velvet and nestled deep in this rather plush bed, was what appeared to be a narrow bottle of faceted blue glass. When Edward peered more closely he could see the bottle contained some sort of liquid.

He looked up at Roy quizzically.

"Cologne? When did I ask you for cologne?"

Mustang was shaking his head. "It's not cologne, Edward."


Hooking a finger under the bottle's neck, he lifted it from the box and held it up to the light. The liquid inside must have been quite thick, judging from the way it moved slowly when he tipped it from one side to the other.

There was an ornate brass stopper at its opening and Edward gingerly slid it off, then drew the bottle to his nose to sniff its contents. The scent was faint and very mild, much too weak for cologne. It was also vaguely familiar, but Edward couldn't put his finger on it right away.

Opting, instead, to put his finger on the contents themselves, he upended the bottle's opening against a flesh finger, righted it, then ran thumb over forefinger.

How odd…

It wasn't alcohol based, as he might have expected and it certainly wasn't sweet, as he'd begun to hope. (Honey sex was another favorite of Edwards.) His fingers slid easily against each other, so easily in fact that he began to move them more quickly, feeling a slight thrill when the friction started to heat the skin.

Face flushing, he realized what the substance was.

"I—you—" he stammered, unable to get the words out.

Roy was clearly amused by his sudden inability to speak.

"Yes, Edward?"

"I can't believe my birthday present is a bottle of lube!" he squeaked, suddenly finding his tongue. "Of all the…" He huffed once. "What the hell kind of present is that?!"

"Ssssh," Roy soothed, but Edward could see his face starting to color.

What the--?!

"That's not all there is, Edward," he said, gently. "Look in the box…"

Pausing to glare at the man a moment, Edward hefted the ornate bottle of lube (lube, damnit!) in one hand and then looked back into the box's velvet-lined interior.

He swallowed hard.

He'd missed it before, but beneath the bottle had been several small, cellophane packages. Several small, square cellophane packages. Several square cellophane packages that each contained a raised circular object; an object made of a rubber substance not unlike what balloons were made of…

His face flushed full-out crimson as he started to put all of the elaborately packaged pieces together.

The box.

The bottle.

The lube.

The…the little packages…

Edward was quite certain he was either going to pass out or die. He had no doubt his head was about to explode.

He was also, instantly, hard.

Jaw working soundlessly, he looked to Mustang, who also appeared flushed.

"You've been asking for a long time now," Roy said, his voice husky and soft. "I figure now that you're a man, it's unfair to say 'no'…"

What he was saying, what he was offering… It was almost too much to take in.

This was big. It was huge.

He felt the flush start again, this time in the center of his chest; a warmth that spun and spread and filled him from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes.

I…I love Roy Mustang…

More than that, it seemed, it really seemed, that Roy Mustang loved him, too…Why else would he agree to this?

"Are you sure," Edward asked softly. "I mean, I never actually thought you'd agree to it. Y-you can change your mind. I won't hold you to it."

Maybe that's what being an adult meant – putting someone else's desires ahead of your own. He well knew what a difficult decision this must have been for Roy; once that line was crossed, there could be no turning back. Roy Mustang gave up control to no man.

"I've thought about it, Edward, and I'm sure."

No man, it would seem, but one Edward Elric

He studied Mustang's smooth, porcelain face; the finely arched brows, the shiny fringe of hair that curtained his forehead. His full lips could turn up in a suggestive smile or down in a frown of disapproval at a moment's notice. His jaw was square, but quite graceful. And his skin – it was as white as one of those Xingian dolls the man kept in his office. Really, he was quite beautiful.

He was beautiful and he belonged to Edward.

Edward took a shuddering breath and wet his lips.

I'm… I'm nervous…

"W-when—" he broke off, unsure what came next. "N-now?"

"Well…" Smirking, Roy motioned to the table with his chin. "Mrs. Graham fussed for a long time over this meal. If a significant portion of it isn't gone by the time she gets in tomorrow morning, she's going to be hurt, Edward."

"Besides," he continued. "Don't you think you're going need to put some fuel in that big tank of yours?"

Edward's blood supply was once again racing south and his brain was starting to feel quite abandoned.




'Fuel' food; 'tank' …

Oh, it's a car metaphor.

My boyfriend is so creative…

My boyfriend…

He smiled fuzzily at Mustang, then leaned forward to kiss him deeply, moaning when Roy reached up and buried both hands in his hair, loosed his braid, then pulled him close. When Mustang withdrew his tongue, then pointedly guided Edward's back with it, Edward shivered, the gesture not lost on him. Slipping his own hands into shining black hair, he leveraged himself higher in Roy's lap; pressing into the man's chest, tongue delving deeply.


Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he froze in place.

"D-dinner," he gasped, pulling his mouth from Roy's. (Roy instantly went to work on his neck.) "M-Mrs. –ah! Mrs. Graham worked so hard… mmmm, h-hard on all this food…"

Sitting back abruptly, he disentangled himself from Mustang's warm body then stiffly walked back to his chair (the armchair!) and sat down, chest still heaving.

Dinner. Dinner.

His own voice chanted a promise in his head.

Dinner first, then…

Roy was breathing heavily himself, watching Edward most curiously, and when he realized Edward was watching him back, his face colored a lovely shade of pink.

Forcing himself to look away from that flushed, beautiful face, Edward turned his attention back to his second great love…


The chicken was looking lonely on his plate and he was about to recruit some corn and a biscuit to keep it company, when he caught sight of the box, still opened wide to reveal its contents.

With a shaking hand, he resettled the bottle and the cellophane packages into their nest, then closed the box carefully.

He caught Roy's amused smile and just shrugged.

"Well, it's a little…distracting, you know?"

Mustang nodded, pushing damp hair off his face.

"I do know," he said quite deliberately and it then was Edward's turn to blush.

Smirking, Roy spooned some curry onto his plate, crossed his leg (with some difficulty, Edward noticed with satisfaction), then began to eat in that meticulous way of his.

As Edward dug into his meal in true Edward fashion, arms akimbo, food flying, he realized that he'd never thanked Roy for his gift.

Then again, they had the whole night for that.

Besides, technically, he hadn't gotten it yet…