Red Roses2: I had kind of been wanting to write a smut scene between Ed and Al for this story for a while now, but I couldn't find a place to put it. Now I have. This takes place before Chapter 1, obviously. For the most part, it has Al's point of view, but the end is Ed's. Hoenheim is noticeably absent.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. It belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

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Al knew having a fully developed grown body would feel awkward for a while after not having a body at all for so long. But he had no idea – he couldn't have imagined – that being aroused would feel like this.

It started that morning.

The morning went like the other mornings they've had with Al with his body, Hoenheim living with them, and Ed transitioning from loving brother, angry son, and stressed-out employee at alarming speeds. Ed always woke first, and the clangs of pots and pans always woke Al up. Hoenheim always rose later than them, sometimes thirty minutes later or two hours later. That often threw a wrench in Ed's plans, what with rushing to get everything together so he could relax somewhat at work. Ed, after all, was the only one who could cook something that wouldn't kill them, and despite Hoenheim being immortal, it just wasn't a good idea to let Hoenheim fend for himself, food-wise. So Ed was constantly running around every morning, rushing to get everything together so he could relax somewhat at work. Ed and Hoenheim barely communicated at all in the morning, and while Al thought that caused most of the routine incongruities, maybe perhaps that was best.

However, Al couldn't bring himself to say anything that morning, either.

Ed's hair was still damp from his usual morning shower. He was missing his shirt, the water from his hair dribbling down his well-toned upper back to his scar-ridden lower back, and his pants rode low on his hips. As Ed clanged and banged the pans around for a decent breakfast, he ate a banana to sedate his hunger temporarily. Ed turned his head toward Al, his lips curled around the fruit. Al suddenly understood all of Havoc's sex jokes.

"Hey, Al," Ed said, chewing the bite of banana. He put his mouth over it for another bite, and Al had the sudden urge to have Ed feast on something completely different.

And that's when it twitched.

His surprise – or was it panic? – must've showed on his face, because Ed came over to him, a concerned expression crawling over the innocent, fantasy-inducing one.

"Are you okay?" Ed asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Ed had developed a habit of touching Al in appropriate ways as often as he could. No one really blamed him, but right then, Al had to swallow the urge to ask him to touch him inappropriately.

Al had no idea where these thoughts were coming from, but he could only assume they were the same thoughts that Ed had when Al had propositioned him all those years ago. It really had been only three years since then, hadn't it? It felt like such a long time ago.

It twitched again as Al remembered how Ed would pine for those leather fingers to penetrate deep into him.

"Al?" Ed's voice trembled with panic, and Al realized he hadn't answered.

"Sorry," Al said, still distracted. "I'm fine, Brother." Why didn't saying Ed's family title make him feel dirty? If anything, it increased his arousal.

Ed furrowed his eyebrows, completely unaware of Al's current thoughts.

"If you say so. Hey, what do you want for breakfast?"

You would be very tasty indeed, but Al couldn't say that. Ed would get flustered, get distracted, then would freak out about being late for work once he snapped out of it. Though Ed always looked incredibly cute when he was flustered. . . .

"Whatever you make is fine, Brother."

"You sure?" Ed's new catch phrase.

"Yes," He was more sure about making Ed's body buckle in pleasure. . . .

How was he supposed to do that in this body?

Al set the table, and Ed continued to cook. Al stole glances at his brother, especially when Ed dropped something and bent to pick it up. The pants pulled farther down Ed's hips, almost showing off his butt crack, and the leather fabric tightened around his firm ass. Al froze and stared for a while, only somewhat paying attention to the tightening of his own pants.

Ed stood up and went about his oblivious work. Al sat down before he did something stupid, like fall over.

A sudden thought occurred to him: without sex, how would the thing in his pants go away?

He frowned as he realized he really would have to ask Ed that question.

"Brother?"

"Yeah?"

"How do erections go away?"

Ed dropped the spatula in his hand, then scrambled to catch it, all the while uhing and ahing. Once he captured the spatula, he blushed a deep red and looked at Al as though he had sentenced him to fight the Homunculi single-handedly. He looked absolutely adorable.

"W-why do you ask?"

"It's something I need to know, isn't it?" Al retorted. Ed flinched.

"W-Well . . . y-you either touch it or – " Ed's face turned a dark crimson. He whispered the last part so quietly, Al almost didn't catch it. "or you shove it up my -"

Al felt all his blood flow south, and Hoenheim just had to come in at that point.

"What's for breakfast?" Hoenheim asked, completely unaware of what was happening.

Ed ignored him completely and concentrated on cooking. Al took a moment to realize Ed just answered two of his questions at once.

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Al couldn't have been happier to see Ed come home. He had been torturing himself with ideas on how the inside of Ed would feel, how Ed's sweat would taste, and what Ed's hair would smell like. He had no idea so many possibilities existed – not that imagination could substitute reality, but he had never entertained any of these fantasies in his armored body.

Ed tossed his red coat over his chair at the table and immediately started cooking. His stomach growled, and the vein in his forehead throbbed, and Al really did wish he could cook something decent, just so Ed wouldn't be so hard-pressed to do everything. Al felt a stab of guilt in his heart as he reminded himself he hadn't gotten a job yet, though Ed kept saying that he didn't have to rush it, that he should get used to his human body first. That didn't make Al feel any better about Ed having to shoulder everything.

"Can I help with anything, Brother?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, set the table, please, Al?"

Al smiled.

"Sure."

A few moments later, and Al was without a job again. He sighed.

"Need anything else, Ed?"

Al watched as a scowl twisted Ed's features.

"Someone to punch Mustang in the face."

Al smiled, trying to force down a chuckle.

"What did he do this time?"

Ed whirled around, hand on his hips, and wielding a ladle in his automail hand.

"That bastard's still complaining about not getting that damn promotion! He's not the only one who participated in overthrowing King Bradley and the homunculi who didn't get one! Why can't he just stop moaning already?" Ed continued on, describing vividly exaggerations (or so Al thought) of Colonel Mustang's displeasure with Fuhrer Olivia Armstrong. Al found his attention wandering from Ed's mouth to his hands, to his tight-leather-clad crotch. Ed didn't seem to notice at first, but then he trailed off on his rant, knitting his eyebrows together.

"Al? Is something wrong?"

Al snapped out of it and smiled, a blush engulfing his face. Focusing on Ed's eyes instead, he responded.

"I'm sorry, Brother. I've been having trouble concentrating today."

Worry invaded Ed's eyes, and the elder pressed his flesh hand against Al's forehead. Al giggled.

"I'm not ill, Brother." Al grabbed the front of Ed's shirt and pulled him closer, their noses brushing. "You're beautiful, is all."

Al felt Ed's gasp against his lips and couldn't help the smug smirk.

The one thing that didn't change when Al gained his body was how much he loved brining out his brother's more vulnerable side. He prided himself in being the only one who knew how susceptible Ed was to praise like that. Or course, Al was also the only one who knew what Ed really thought of himself, and why flattering his physical being meant so damn much, and that wasn't nearly as comforting.

I don't understand, Al. What do you mean, Brother? How can you think this mess of scars and – and hideousness is attractive? I mean, sometimes it's like the only attractive thing about me is my automail, and that's only because Winry makes it so well. . . . How can you say that? Ed, you're beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous. All Ed did was shake his head.

Al hated it when Ed talked like that – when Ed thought like that. So he took every opportunity to disprove it.

Al pressed his lips against Ed's. They both gasped and pulled away, surprised. Al felt Ed tense up.

"Ed?" He still was in love with Al, right? Being in his body didn't change that, right?

"You sure, Al?" Was that fear? "I – I've never – and I want yours to be - !" Oh. Al felt like hitting himself.

Ed may have given Al his virginity three years ago, but it's not possible to kiss when you're a suit of armor. And Ed was a perfectionist, who wanted everything to be right, especially for his little brother.

"I'm sure, Ed."

Al locked his lips with his, entwining his fingers into Ed's hair. Ed's lips moved against his, then froze, reflecting Ed's thoughts. Before Al could do much else to encourage him and banish all thought from the elder's brain, the timer buzzed, alerting them t hat if Ed didn't do anything soon, dinner would burn.

Al let Ed go, and it twitched as he gazed into Ed's dazed eyes and listened to his faint pants.

He had to know what it would feel like to fuck Ed, to insert his cock deep in him like he had with the armor's leather glove. Why would he find out now?

"Is dinner ready?" Hoenheim asked.

Oh. That was why.

Ed glared at Hoenheim and growled out something, but Al didn't pay any attention to the words. He found his gaze landing on Ed's ass again, and imagined what it would be like to move in it.

Dinner, naturally, was a torturous affair for Al that evening.

Ed probably wasn't eating any differently than normal, but every time Ed took a mouthful of something, Al's overactive imagination turned it into something perverse. It didn't help that Ed kept sending Al wistful and wondering glances, proving that the only reason they weren't fucking right then was Hoenheim. Hoenheim, of course, was oblivious as to the sexual tension. It may have been Al's imagination, but Hoenheim seemed to be taking twice as long to eat and leave for his evening walk. Al leered as he realized he and Ed would have plenty of time to screw each other thrice before Hoenheim came back.

The father would have to leave first, though.

Finally, Hoenheim stood up, carried his dishes over to the sink, wandered to the coat rack, and slipped his coat on.

"Is there anything we need from the store or anything?" Hoenheim asked.

Al opened his mouth to say no, just get out already, but thankfully Ed spoke first.

"A truck load of Advil so I can get rid of this fucking headache," Ed sneered, glaring at his father.

Hoenheim ignored the blatant disrespect, muttered a goodbye, and left.

Al pounced.

Ed stumbled for a moment, was whirled around, and moaned into Al's kiss. Al slipped his tongue into Ed's mouth, and adored the noise Ed made in response. Ed circled his arms around Al's neck, pulling Al closer. Al trailed his hands down to Ed's belt and started to unbuckle it.

"A-Al," moaned around the younger's tongue. "Ah – are you sha – sure?" A long, drawn-out whine as Al snuck his head into Ed's pants. Al gasped as he touched his brother's heat, marveling at the sensation he had provoked in Ed for all these years and couldn't feel until now.

"Positive." Why would he turn away something like this? Al nipped at Ed's mandible and tugged at Ed's pants, wanting them off.

He almost didn't hear what Ed breathed in his ear.

"M-my room – please – I – I want to give I - " the 'i' turned into a whine as Al ran his tongue up Ed's throat. "it t-to you in my room." Ed tilted his head to the side, giving Al complete access to his neck.

"What's wrong with right here?" Al whispered, his voice coming out heavy with lust. He felt Ed shudder against him.

"N-nothing, but I – I want your first to be comfortable and – ah – y-you always say you l-like my bed b-better."

"Whatever you want, Brother." Before devouring Ed's mouth.

Al wasn't entirely sure who was leading who, but neither paid much attention, and it was a miracle they got up the stairs without hurting themselves, let alone actually getting into Ed's room.

They tripped over each other before reaching the bed, and Al really didn't care. Ed didn't protest when Al clumsily pulled his leather pants off.

"Ha! AL!"

Oh, God, it felt good – there wasn't any other description for it, but "good" was an inadequate word. Ed wrapped his legs around Al's waist, the cool automail contrasting with the heat exchanging between them. The cool of metal against skin was both refreshing and jolting, but Al couldn't bring himself to care either way as Ed clung to him, panting in his ear, moaning his name in a mantra.

"Al, Al, oh! Al! Al, Aaaal. Al."

He ran his tongue along Ed's toned muscle, tracing any scars he came across. Ed shuddered at the contact with Al's breath, and he thrashed whenever Al touched a scar, still sensitive after all this time.

"Brother – you – feel – so " Wonderful, amazing, perfect, "tight!"

Ed whimpered and Al gasped, the younger discovering he could go deeper.

"Oh! Ed!"

Al screwed his eyes shut, the feeling overwhelming.

"Al, look at me," Ed begged, his voice strained. "Look at me, please."

Al forced his eyes open, and dearly wanting to thrust again, see how much deeper he could go.

"Al, it hur - " Ed stopped, taking a better look at Al's expression.

The younger attempted to clear his head a little.

"Yes, Brother?"

Ed hesitated, then said, "You like it?"

Al nodded, prepping for another thrust.

"It's perfect. You're perfect, Brother."

Ed swallowed and pressed a kiss on Al's collarbone.

"I-In that case . . . harder."

It took Al a moment to figure out what that meant. Odd, Ed never asked for that before. . . .

"Hit it harder, Al. I – I want to be good enough for you."

Al wasn't sure what that meant, but if Ed wanted it, he'd make sure he got it.

So he pounded into Ed, harder and harder until he couldn't think at all, until Ed was screaming, until he came inside him.

Ed sucked in air, and Al felt Ed orgasm against his chest. They panted together, and their hearts beat as one.

Al kissed Ed's cheek and nuzzled his neck. Silence hovered over them for a while, and then . . . .

"How was I?" Ed asked, his voice faint and a little hoarse.

Al smiled at Ed and pushed Ed's bangs out of his face.

"You were wonderful, Brother. Wonderful, beautiful, hot, and oh so good."

Ed smiled, though something about it was off.

"What about me? How was I, Ed?"

Ed chuckled a little.

"Great, Al. As always."

With great effort, Al pulled out and helped pull Ed to his feet. Al noticed the wince.

"Ed?"

The elder shook his head.

"I'm fine. Ah, I'm going to get ready for bed, okay? Big day at work tomorrow."

Al smiled again.

"Okay, Brother. Sleep well."

Zipping his pants back up, Al left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Ed covered his mouth as he let loose the pained scream. His ass felt like flames were eating his ass up from the inside out. He managed to shuffle to the bed, but each step sent a flare of pain up into his gut. He eased himself onto the bed, wincing. Tears pricked in his eyes, and he tried to control his breathing.

Al liked it, and that's what mattered. Al deserved to have him however he wanted him. If that meant sucking up about a little pain, then so be it.

That morning, it didn't feel any better. It felt like Mustang had used his ass for alchemy practice. A week later, it just felt like Havoc had stuck a lit cigarette up it.

Then Al wanted to do it again.

And Ed couldn't say no. Not to that face. Not to his little brother.

Not to the only person who could ever love a fuck-up like him.