Chapter Text
july.
Their first meeting is, perhaps, a bit of a cliché.
Because Roy is a charmer, doubtlessly, but even he runs out of steam after hours or small-talk and smiling and smoothly navigating the mine-filled conversational landscape of the social elite.
So, after an excuse for a bathroom break, he allows himself to slip away unnoticed and hide outside on one of the large balconies, hoping for a bit of reprieve.
It had been a blazing hot day and, though it had slightly cooled down by now, most guests seemed to prefer the air conditioning inside the hall. So Roy is somewhat surprised to find that he is not the only one who has chosen to step outside.
He had been in the middle of loosening his tie and now barely manages to suppress a sigh, realizing that he will have to keep up appearances after all.
But, he reasons, chances are that whoever had come out here is also looking to avoid talking to anyone else, so he might still be safe.
It takes him a moment to identify the person, for their back in turned and their gender somewhat ambiguous. They are wearing a suit and their shoulders are broad, but their hair is long and their stature short. A man, though, Roy reckons, judging by their stance and narrow hips, and probably rather young at that.
Roy makes his steps deliberately louder as he steps up to the railing of the balcony so as to be heard over the music and chatter from inside, though he does keep a few meters away, neither wanting to intrude upon nor surprise the other with his presence.
When he reaches the balustrade and places his hands on the warm smooth stone, he subtly glances over, finding his suspicion confirmed.
The boy – he can't be much over twenty, really – has a smooth face but an angular jawline, his long blond hair tied back in a high ponytail, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He is wearing a waistcoat, the suit jacket probably discarded somewhere inside, and the first few buttons of his shirt are carelessly undone.
One of Senator Hohenheim's sons, Roy recognizes, because the family resemblance is undeniable, although Van Hohenheim himself stands at an impressive six foot two – something that had obviously not been hereditary.
Admittedly Roy himself isn't overly tall either; though when he had talked to the man earlier this evening, he had not found his height intimidating. Instead, Hohenheim had a calm, unassuming air about him, even if he did get a bit intense and start gesticulating wildly when he was passionate over a particular topic and perhaps had had a drink too many.
Overall, Hohenheim is a reliable man with a good reputation and, as senator of Illinois, highly influential, and Roy knows how the game is played. So he inclines his head and gives Hohenheim's kid a polite smile.
What he does not expect, however, is to only get a miffed frown in response.
Roy blinks, bemused.
“Roy Mustang,” he introduces himself, in his most congenial tone, because that usually works best when he is caught off guard.
“Yeah,” Hohenheim junior says curtly. “I know.”
Of course he knows. By now, all Democrats knew Roy, if not by face, then at least by name. He is, after all, the most controversial of all candidates.
Roy clears his throat, turns to the side a little more openly. If there is one thing he knows how to do, it's how to manipulate a conversation via body language.
“I don't think I caught your name,” he says, with a small gesture that is not quite a wave. They are too far apart to shake hands, so anything else would be awkward.
In front of him, the young man only rolls his eyes.
“Edward,” he allows, audibly exasperated, “Elric.”
Roy stills.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I think I got you confused. I thought you were-”
“Yeah, yeah,” the boy waves him off. “I'm his son; I just didn't take his name.”
“Oh,” Roy says and knows better than to dig. “In any case, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Look,” Edward Elric says, quite testily. “I know you're just here to lick some boots, but that doesn't work with me. I'm not gonna tell my father what an incredibly capable and charming chap you are so that he'll sponsor you. So just... shut your trap and leave me be.”
Roy opens his mouth, only to snap it shut again. For a moment, he cannot help but stare at Edward, but then he turns his head away, having to brace himself against the balustrade as chuckles shake his shoulders.
“What?” Edward growls.
“Nothing, just-” Roy ducks his head to cough into his fist in an attempt to calm himself. “It's been a while since anyone has been so candid with me. Well,” he amends, “Anyone outside my closest circle.”
“That's what's wrong with you politicians,” Edward tells him. “You just need a reality check every once in a while.”
“I won't disagree with you there,” Roy admits. “Most of the time, we do have our heads up our asses.”
“Then you better pull it out and enjoy the view,” Edward tells him, jerking out a nod to the estate below. The gardens, though not quite as beautiful as by light of day, lay skillfully illuminated in front of them, winding paths and rose bushes and all. “Or do you wanna go back to the boot-licking?”
“Not particularly, no,” Roy admits. “My tongue is already feeling somewhat fuzzy.”
A snort and he glances over, only to see Edward press the back of his hand to his mouth.
“Do you always mention the state of your tongue in polite company?” Edward asks with a grin and Roy makes a blasé face.
“I'm sorry, am I in polite company?” he asks wryly. “Because I honestly had no idea.”
“Oh shit,” Edward cackles. “What a sick burn. Call an ambulance.”
“I'm afraid I left my phone inside,” Roy returns. “Perhaps I could toss you into one of the fountain springs?”
“Pff, as if a paper-pusher like you could even lift a finger against someone like me,” Ed taunts, eyeing him from the side. “How old are you anyway? Fifty, fifty-five?”
“Thirty-five,” Roy says with some vindication, though Edward must doubtlessly know. After all, if Roy truly was elected, he would be the youngest president in the history of the United States.
“Aw, shit,” Edward says. “Isn't it past your bedtime?”
“That would be a whole lot funnier if you were old enough to drink,” Roy points out.
“Hey, I'm twenty-two, okay!” Edward snaps, a nerve obviously struck, and Roy finds himself honestly surprised.
“Are you the older brother then or the younger?” he asks.
“Older,” Edward says. “But not by much. Al and I are only eleven months apart.”
“Irish twins,” Roy whistles. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, my dad's a slut,” Edward says lackadaisically, and Roy almost chokes on his spit.
“Does he know you talk about him like this?”
“I've called him worse,” Edward shrugs, scrunching up his nose, and Roy has to wonder whether his impression of Hohenheim had been wrong after all.
For a moment, they stand in silence. They had slightly drifted toward each other while they talked and now they are standing only a few feet apart.
“You went to Harvard,” Edward notes, seemingly non-sequitur, but he is glancing down at Roy's hand and Roy remembers he is wearing his class ring.
“I did,” he says, cupping his other palm over the metallic shine, strangely self-conscious. He does not like to flaunt it but he knows that, within these circles, showing off that he is an alumnus will gain him recognition.
“Yeah, me too,” Edward shrugs. “Well. Graduating next spring.”
“Oh?” Roy cocks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What major?”
“Law,” Edward says, pulling a face.
Roy laughs. “You don't sound very enthused.”
Despite his amusement, Roy quickly does the math in his head. If Edward had finished his Law degree in the regular three years, he still must’ve previously completed a different degree. Roy himself had only started uni after his military service but, if Edward had gotten an early start then this likely meant that he was some sort of whizz kid. A pleasant surprise, really. Roy himself didn’t exactly come from money, and he had often found it grating to be surrounded by legacy students who only got in because their parents were affluent and influential.
Meanwhile, Edward only shrugs. “I wanted to stay at MIT. Continue with Physics. Go to NASA or something.”
Ah. Roy offers a sympathetic nod. “Your father wouldn't let you?”
“Nah,” Edward just shakes his head. “He doesn't give a fuck, really. Just... space travel sounds nice and all but- I wanna help people now, y'know?”
“I do.” Roy gives a chagrined little smile. “Believe it or not, but I'm one of those delusional idealists who are in it for the betterment of the world.”
“Ew,” Edward says. “Next thing you know you'll be talking about morals and socialism.”
“Hmhm,” Roy hums, putting on a face that wouldn't be out of place in a Shakespearean tragedy. “Better infrastructure. Health insurance. Publicly funded schools and colleges.”
“You're damn lucky I'm not a Republican spy or else I would have decked you by now,” Edward snorts.
“I don't think spies are supposed to deck people,” Roy muses. “Then again, Republicans are not known for their subtlety.”
“True that,” Edward agrees.
Another pause, longer but more comfortable than before.
At length, Roy pushes himself away from the railing.
“I should go back inside,” he says.
“Should you?” Edward asks.
“Probably,” Roy sighs. “My handler must be looking for me.”
“Your handler?” Edward cocks an eyebrow. “What are you, a dog?”
“With the way she orders me around, I might as well be.” Roy's shoulders slump. “She's my campaign manager, which is just a nicer term for slave driver.”
“Ooh, careful with that slavery comment,” Edward warns. “Loose lips sink presidential candidates more quickly than you think.”
“Are you going to tell on me?” Roy asks, watching as a shark-sharp grin pulls Edward's lips apart.
“Depends on if the money is good,” he says, and Roy gives a disbelieving laugh.
“Guess I'll have to buy your silence then.”
“Seems like it, yeah,” Ed agrees but then turns away. “Get back inside, Mustang,” he says. “Those boots aren't gonna lick themselves.”
The next hour is spent with Roy flitting from conversation to conversation, complementing this dress, shaking that hand, recommending those oeuvres. His feet are sore from walking and standing, and his cheeks ache from smiling. If he has to hear another person try to badly imitate his Boston accent, he is going to bash his head against the wall.
It is therefore a lucky coincidence that he once more ends up running into Senator Hohenheim, this time accompanied by both of his children.
“Roy,” Hohenheim says pleasantly, waving him over. “I don't think you've had a chance to meet my sons yet.”
“I don't think I did,” Roy replies, smoothly reaching out to shake the hand of who he now knows is the younger brother.
“Alphonse Elric,” the boy says. He stands not quite as tall as Hohenheim, but possibly with some room to grow still. His hair is cropped short and his eyes are moss green; there is something softer about his features that Roy suspects might come from his mother's side of the family. “Please call me Al.”
“Roy,” Roy offers in turn, and then comes face to face with Edward once more. Edward keeps his face neutral, close to bored even, no indication of having met Roy before, so Roy does what he does best and plays along.
“Roy Mustang,” he introduces himself, his hand squeezing Edward's. They hadn't done that before, he realizes. Edward's palm against his is warm and slightly calloused.
“Edward,” Ed says, already pulling back. “I'd say it's a pleasure and all but that remains to be seen.”
“They both go to Harvard, too,” Hohenheim reveals proudly. “Alphonse is in med school, but Edward does Law.”
“You don't say,” Roy pretends to be surprised. “How's it been treating you so far?”
“Eh,” Edward gives a one-shouldered shrug. “There's a new cafeteria that sells really good cheese bagels.”
“Is that so?” Roy smirks. “Is Professor Morris still teaching, by any chance?”
“That old coot,” Edward grimaces. “I hate him.”
“You wouldn't be the first,” Roy allows. “A young tradition, I believe.”
“Young?” Edward asks. “He must have been there for half a century.”
“As good as,” Roy knows. “He was already old when I enrolled.”
“So, like, forty years ago?”
“Edward,” Hohenheim admonishes. “Manners.”
“No, it's quite alright,” Roy laughs. “I guess, to someone straight out of middle school, most adults must seem ancient.”
Alphonse stifles a laugh in his hand, turning away, but Edward’s elbow catches him in the side nevertheless. Brothers, indeed, Roy thinks.
They talk for a little while, about Harvard and Boston and then about Chicago and the charity gala. There're a lot of mindless pleasantries and some name-dropping, Roy subtly insinuating that he is still looking for some bigger sponsors, Hohenheim even more subtly hinting that he might be interested in supporting Roy in his campaign.
Some other people join them, Chicago's mayor and her husband, a local celebrity, a high-scale journalist, and by the time Roy manages to untangle himself, Hohenheim and his sons have moved on. Van's head can be seen above the crowd and Alphonse has wandered over to the buffet, trying different kinds of finger food. Edward, however, is standing over by the door to the balcony. His gaze is fixed straight on Roy.
Roy smiles to himself and snags two flutes off the tray of a waiter passing by him. By the time he reaches the balcony, Edward is already outside. He is sitting on top of the balustrade, legs casually dangling, and Roy has to wonder whether he is doing it to be slightly elevated.
“Nice acting in there,” Edward greets him easily, peering down his nose at him. “Even Al had no idea, and he is really good at reading people.”
“I wouldn't be a politician if I didn't know to fool people here and there,” Roy points out, leaning against the railing next to Edward and offering him one of the glasses. “A small token in hopes of buying your silence.”
“I don't drink,” Edward tells him, pointblank.
Roy frowns, though he does put the glass down, keeping the other for himself. “I thought you said you were old enough.”
“I am. But age is not an obligation,” Ed says, turning up his nose. “Just because I am able doesn't mean I am easily convinced to do something.”
Roy narrows his eyes.
“Oh?” he says. “For example?”
“Well, I am old enough to drive but I'm a really shit driver,” Edward admits. “So road trips are out.”
Roy laughs. “I would make fun of you, but I'm really not much better.”
“Asian stereotype?”
“Asian stereotype,” Roy agrees.
“Anything else?” Edward asks. “Honor roll student? Good at maths?” His gaze drops down. “Small dick?”
If Roy had suspected before that he was being flirted with, he was relatively certain now. In an effort to hide his amusement, he lifts his glass to his lips and takes a small sip.
“Well, two of those questions can be answered with a quick Google search,” he allows.
“Yeah?” Edward raises an eyebrow. “And the third?”
“I don't think that is a matter of public record.”
“Would you like it to be?”
“Are you planning to distribute any ill-advised pictures I might take?”
“Are you planning on sending me any?”
Roy grins, slow but titillated. “I'm afraid I left my phone inside.”
“Guess you'll have to show me live then.”
This time, Roy has to be careful not to choke on his sparkling wine.
“Edward,” he says. “You are young, so perhaps you are not quite aware of how some lines shouldn't be crossed.”
“Oh please,” Edward lightly kicks at him and Roy does not bother to evade it. “You're just as bored as I am.”
It is close to midnight. A good chunk of the guests have already left. Roy's job for the evening is mostly done. And, he reminds himself, this might very well be the last chance he might get at having a little bit of fun before his campaign truly takes off.
With a big swallow, he downs the rest of his drink, already grabbing the other glass.
“Let's go for a walk,” he says, and offers Edward his arm.
From up close, the gardens are even more beautiful. White lights sit between roses of different colors, and the fragrance hangs heavy in the summer night. Roy undoes his tie and stuffs it into his pocket, finally breathing easy again.
If he had thought that the atmosphere between them would turn awkward now that mutual interest was confirmed, Roy is pleased to find that conversation still flows easily between them.
They talk about the wars in the world and the way the USA has left their fingerprints all over. They talk about immigration and exploitation, about public education and tuition debts. They talk about affordable health care and Edward's fists clench and his teeth grit, and Roy changes the topic instead of asking for an explanation.
They talk of turning the world into something better before the world turns them into something worse.
They talk until their mouths are numb and then, standing by one of the fountain springs, they try to kiss some feeling back into their lips.
Edward kisses well, open, curious, with Roy's hands cradling his jawline, and his own fingers curled in the lapels of Roy's suit jacket. He tastes of soda and spit and summer sweat, and Roy is a little bit drunk, doesn't know whether to blame it on the alcohol.
“Will your family miss you?” he asks against Edward’s mouth, and Edward shakes his head, barely even opening his eyes.
“Hohenheim leaves me alone, usually, and Al knows I like to go AWOL every now and then,” he says. “Why?”
“It’s getting rather cold out here,” Roy explains, though the lie is obvious. “I thought we could go up to my room.”
“Okay,” Edward nods, a little breathlessly. “Okay.”
They are careful to make their way back inside, to not let themselves be seen by anyone. The scandal, if they were to be found out, would be sure to ruin Roy’s run in this election. Because people might be somewhat alright with having an openly bisexual man running for president, but they would not like to read headlines about him debauching local senators’ sons.
Just the one, Roy amends as he unlocks the door to his room and lets them inside. Just for tonight.
Inside it is dark, so he steps over to the bedside table and turns on the small lamp that immediately casts a yellow glow over everything. Like this, Edward’s blonde hair looks golden.
“I’m afraid I’m not very well equipped for this encounter,” Roy tells him when he spots his bag of toiletries sitting in his open travel bag.
Edward scoffs. “Small dick after all?”
Roy sighs. “I don’t have any lube. Or condoms.”
“I- That is-” Suddenly, Edward appears flustered. “God, you asshole.”
Roy blinks, a dangerous suspicion creeping up on him.
“Edward,” he asks carefully, “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“You bastard, don’t make it sound so stupid!”
“Oh my God,” Roy buries his helpless laughter in his hands. “A baby gay. I got seduced by a baby gay.”
“If anything, you’ve been doing the seducing,” Edward huffs, stepping closer to harshly poke Roy in the ribs. “And I’m not completely inexperienced, okay? There just wasn’t a lot of opportunity.”
“You’re in college,” Roy reminds him. “That is the best opportunity of your life.”
“Great, drunk people at parties. Frat boys. Guys who think they are the shit because daddy owns some stocks.” Edward looks annoyed. “Not to mention that I am busy, okay? It’s Harvard Law.”
“What about before?” Roy asks. “In school?”
“I grew up in a backwater town, in Johnson County, Iowa, population 2,800,” Edward points out. “Not a lot of guys to get frisky with behind the bleachers. And then I started college at fifteen, so people weren’t exactly lining up to be with me. Not to mention that I had to be extra careful with my old man being senator.”
“Point taken,” Roy sighs. “But still. Edward, I cannot… deflower you in some nondescript hotel room.”
Edward throws his hands up, his patience obviously running thin. “How has this suddenly turned into such a big deal?” he demands. “You weren’t gonna fuck me anyway. The least you could do is suck me off.”
“Why are you so keen on this anyway?” Roy furrows his brow. “Are you just looking for bragging rights?”
Edward grins. “Blown by the future president - don’t think there are many people who can claim that.”
“Fine,” Roy relents, shrugging off his jacket. “I’ll blow you. But only because you think I’ll actually make president.”
“You’re so easy,” Edward teases and reels him in.
They kiss again, with more force, more purpose than before, until Roy puts his hands underneath Edward’s ass and lifts him up. Edward makes a slightly alarmed noise, but then Roy just tosses him onto the bed, making him bounce on the mattress.
“I told you I could lift you,” he says when he sees Edward’s outraged expression.
“Oh fuck,” Edward says as Roy begins to unbutton his dress shirt, revealing his toned upper body. “I take back the comment about you being a paper-pusher.”
“I don’t know,” Roy smirks. “With the amount of paper I push every day, I get quite the workout.”
“Fuck,” Edward repeats, reaching out to pull him onto the bed. “Put your fucking hands on me.”
“Gladly,” Roy says and makes short work of Edward’s waistcoat and shirt.
Edward, as he had already suspected, is extremely well built as well. He’s got an athlete’s body, the type that comes from true strength and rigorous training instead of being merely maintained for looks.
“MMA?” he guesses and Edward gives a short nod.
“Muay Thai, mostly,” he says, pushing Roy’s shirt off his shoulders.
“Well,” Roy acknowledges. “At least no one can say that I physically forced you.”
“Yeah, talking about sexual assault at the hands of a politician really gets me going,” Edward gags. “Shut the fuck up, yeah? Or better yet, get your mouth on my cock.”
“And here I thought this night would be somewhat romantic, what with the kisses under the roses,” Roy laments.
“Roses stink,” Ed huffs. “And anyway, chocolate is so much better.”
“And you trump chocolate,” Roy breathes, pressing his nose to the crook of Edward’s neck. The taste of salt is stronger here and he licks it off the skin with little ado. Some of the skin underneath his fingers is uneven, yet strangely smooth, and it takes him a moment to understand that Edward’s entire right shoulder is covered in a winding mess of scars.
Ed squirms a little but does not pull away from the exploring touches, so Roy takes it as a permission to keep going, though he does not ask about the origin of the injury.
This is just for tonight, he reminds himself, divorced from past or future. A bit of fun, a distraction from his many worries. There is nothing beyond that, no obligation, no meaning.
Edward sighs into a kiss and Roy catches his breath.
Afterwards, Roy does not sleep, only dozes and keeps an eye on the clock, an arm around Edward. It’s four in the morning when he carefully frees himself to step into the shower and then shave and brush his teeth. His hair is still damp when he slips into a different suit, putting the other fancier one back on its hanger. Then he zips up his bag, puts on his shoes and makes sure his phone is fully charged.
Edward’s smartphone is sitting on the bedside table and Roy hesitates for only a moment before reaching out and waking it up. There is no passcode so he only has to slide to the right to unlock it, and Roy shakes his head at the lack of security, thinking that a senator’s son really should know better.
It takes barely thirty seconds to save his number among Ed’s contacts, though he makes sure to only put himself in as ‘Roy’ and nothing more. He contemplates calling himself so that he has Edward’s number as well but then decides against it. The choice should be Edward’s, just as it had been all along.
His own phone vibrates with an incoming message from Riza, reminding him that the car is waiting outside. It is time to leave.
“Edward,” he whispers, gently shaking him until Edward's eyes open groggily.
“Edward,” Roy repeats, keeping his voice low for the moment seems terribly fragile. “I'm sorry, but I have to be at O'Hare in a couple of hours, and I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.”
“Oh,” Edward mumbles, still sounding disoriented, but then his lips are on Roy's and they are kissing again.
In his hand, Roy’s phone vibrates for the second time.
“Sleep,” he tells Edward, pulling back. “And thank you for the wonderful night.”
Edward groans quietly, and turns onto his side, fast asleep again after barely having been awake. Roy does not allow himself to linger.
“You look like you haven’t slept at all,” Riza greets him outside, opening the car door with little fanfare.
“I don’t think three hours or not at all make that much of a difference,” Roy returns, well aware of how puffy his eyes must be.
“And here People thinks you are the most eligible bachelor of the year,” she notes with mild disdain, and Roy ignores the sting he feels in his gut.
august.
As an up and coming presidential candidate, Roy does not get much of a chance to reminisce. He travels around too much, sleeps in too many hotel rooms, talks to too many people in too many different cities.
He knows it’s good preparation. If he really makes president, touring around for his campaign will be child’s play in comparison. That doesn’t make it any more fun.
He tries to read during his downtime, some of the classics he never got around to picking up in school. He bought To Kill a Mockingbird at an airport store but can’t seem to make it past the first twenty pages. He reads the SparkNotes and Wikipedia entry instead, in case someone spotted him with the book and an interviewer wants to ask him questions about it.
His phone vibrates and he expects a message from Riza or an email notification.
Instead it is an unknown number which immediately has his guard up. This is his private phone, but that doesn’t mean no one might target him through it.
I’m bored, he reads but before he can even contemplate the message, there is another slew already incoming.
What are you doing?
Anything good happening?
Your campaign very campaign-y?
Been blowing any senator’s sons lately?
A cold shudder runs through Roy which then turns unexpectedly hot when he realizes who the unknown number might belong to.
Who is this? he texts back, just to make sure.
Aw man, that hurts, he reads only a moment late. Srsly, whom have you been blowing that you don’t remember me?
I have never blown anyone in my life, ever, Roy types out quickly, Especially not any senator’s sons named Edward who moan quite prettily when I make them come.
He waits for a reply, fervently hoping that this really is Edward and not some hack out for a good story. But then his phone vibrates with an incoming call from the unknown number and he quickly hits Accept.
“So you do dirty talk, too, huh?” Edward asks casually. “Too bad I’m only finding out about that now.”
“Pretty confident for someone who was blushing rather hard when I told him how good he looked with my finger in his ass,” Roy returns. There is heat sitting underneath his sternum and it seems to be spreading. “Are you still in Chicago?” he asks.
“Nah, back in my hometown, visiting my grandma,” Edward explains. “Driving back up to Boston next week, though. School’s starting soon and it’s pretty boring out here.”
“Driving?” Ro cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you said-”
“Well, we’re going back to Chicago first, and then we’re catching a flight,” Edward amends. “And Al is driving, so I’m not gonna kill myself, no worries.”
“I was rather worried about whomever you might involve in an accident,” Roy notes. “I trust Alphonse is a better driver?”
“Yeah, he is. Drives like a little old lady, though. It always takes us two hours longer than necessary, just because he is so damn careful.” Edward sighs. “How about you? Still boot-licking?”
“Pretty much,” Roy groans. “Currently making nice in Alabama.”
“How are they liking you?”
“Well, I am not white, and I am not black, so my guess is: not so much,” Roy says. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing at the moment?”
“Talking to you.”
“Edward.”
A sigh. “I told you, I’m bored. I was thinking about watching some Netflix, but that’s boring on my own.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Out with… well, a friend. We don’t see her often, but they’ve kinda been hitting it off this year, so I thought I might give them some time alone. Told them I had a headache.”
“How generous of you.” Roy smiles. “And now you’re home alone?”
“Just lil ol’ me,” Edward agrees. “In this big empty house. Granny’s out drinking. The A/C conked out again. It’s hot as balls and I’m sitting here in my underwear in the middle of my bed.”
“Are you trying to initiate phone sex?” Roy asks. “Because it’s working.”
“See,” Edward teases, “I told you you were easy.”
“I never claimed otherwise,” Roy chuckles. “Just your underwear, you say?”
“Yeah,” Edward says. “Red boxers.”
Roy thinks for a moment. “The Harvard ones?”
“With the little emblems all over?” Edward asks. “Because yeah, those. What about you?”
“Still in my suit, I’m afraid,” Roy tells him. “I haven’t even taken off my shoes yet.”
“Fuck yeah, you look hot in a suit,” Edward groans. “Hot out of it, too. God, I wish you’d have fucked me.”
Roy swallows.
“Do you?” he asks hoarsely, wondering whether this is just part of the dirty talk.
“Yeah,” Edward says and, by the sounds of it, he already has a hand in his little red Harvard shorts.
Roy lets out a slow breath, hoping it’ll calm him. Their night in Chicago had been supposed to be a singular experience. He hadn’t meant to engage Edward further than that.
But then again, a treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers, he had saved his number in Ed’s phones.
He licks his lips, slips off his dress shoes, pulls his feet up onto the bed and gets comfortable.
At the other end of the line, Edward’s breathing is growing more labored.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” Roy instructs and Ed laughs in a way that shows he had known it would come to this.
They keep texting and talking throughout the rest of the month. Edward is a breath of fresh air and he gives Roy something to look forward to when the days drag on for too long. He appreciates that, around Edward, he does not have to watch his every word, that he can make crude jokes and yawn and complain about his fellow candidates.
Edward has a juvenile humor and a sharp wit but, beyond that, sits a kind of honesty that Roy has been missing in his life.
Edward tells him when he sounds like a conceited prick, when his outfit that day looked crappy, when his speeches rambled on a little too long.
It’s a curious thing to have someone who knows him only so fleetingly look through him quite so easily, so intimately. If there were lines that they crossed with their first encounter, Roy now finds that there are no lines left at all.
Their conversations flit from Edward’s studies to what they had for lunch to some obscure Screamo band Ed has been mooning over to a famous actress Roy met due to his political campaign.
It shouldn’t be this comfortable. There should be topics where Edward cannot quite keep up, subjects that make Roy feel left out of the loop -- but it never happens.
They get into arguments, sometimes, when Edward is dead-set on a viewpoint because he doesn’t have all the information, but other times it is Roy who has to concede defeat because there are things he never quite considered before.
Edward, Roy slowly catches on, considers himself a working class kid. He gags at the amounts of money Roy has to amass to get his campaign going and speaks of the community colleges he had considered attending when he was barely into his teens.
It’s strange, really, considering that, as the son of a long-standing senator, Edward should have never had to worry about some of these things. And Roy wants to ask but he gets the feeling that this is not something he should look up online or ask over the phone.
Like this, the plan to meet up with Edward once they are both back in Boston happens almost all by itself and Roy, for one, cannot wait for time to pass more quickly.
september.
It’s three weeks into the fall semester when Roy finally returns to Massachusetts, and another three days until he works up the nerve to call Edward and ask him out on a date.
“A date,” Edward echoes. “Are you gonna wine and dine me?”
“Well, you said you don’t drink, but I did already buy you some expensive chocolates.”
“Chocolates?” Edward asks. “Seriously?”
“I was thinking flowers, at first, but I seem to recall you saying that roses stink,” Roy points out. “So? How about it?”
“Fine,” Ed says. “You better have bought some expensive condoms as well.”
So Roy Mustang, prime candidate of the Democratic party in the 2028 elections, goes to pick up Edward Elric, Harvard Law student and son of Doctor Van Hohenheim, senator of Illinois, and takes him back to his place to properly fuck him.
Edward, to his credit, does not act like a nervous virgin. He does not act like a spoiled rich kid. But he does not act like someone of his standing either.
He fleetingly glances around Roy’s apartment and then takes his time to inspect Roy’s extensive library. There’s an armchair sitting by the window, an old-fashioned globe next to it.
“You read all of those?” Edward asks, his fingers running along the spines of the books.
“Not all of them,” Roy admits. “I buy more than I really have time for.”
“Oh yeah?” Edward cocks an eyebrow at him. “A bit pretentious, isn’t it? Making people think you’re really this well read.”
“Perhaps,” Roy admits, stepping closer. He doesn’t put his hand to Ed’s lower back but he doesn’t have to. “But I take a certain pleasure in ownership.”
Edward shudders.
“Yeah?” he asks, glancing at Roy through his messy bangs, and Roy doesn’t say anything in return, content to let the tension sizzle a little.
Eventually, Ed makes himself look back at the books in front of him, moving along the shelves, until he eventually pulls a collection of poetry from in between some language textbooks.
“You speak Chinese?” Edward asks, waving a hand at the characters. “Mandarin or Cantonese or whatever?”
“Poorly,” Roy admits. “I took some classes in high school. Never really got the hang of it.”
“You were raised by your aunt, right?”
“Yes,” Roy nods. “Though, even if my mother had still been alive, she was a third-generation immigrant. As far as I know, she wasn’t exactly fluent herself.”
It is a point of contention for some voters. Because yes, he is Asian American, but for the Americans he isn’t American enough and for the Asian he isn’t Asian enough. He is grateful that, after his death, Aunt Chris had taken him in without hesitation, but it had still ended up denying him that part of his heritage.
“Huh,” Edward says. “My dad’s third-generation, too. From Prussia, if you can believe it. He’s stupidly proud of it for some reason.”
“Yes, I had noticed that most white Americans tend to be able to trace back their ancestry for a hundred years at least,” Roy scoffs. “The rest of us are just Asian American or African American. I had a Japanese great-grandmother, did you know that? But everyone just focuses on the fact that my dad’s family was from Wales. What’s so special about Wales?”
Edward’s reaction to his little rant is, surprisingly, a shit-eating grin.
“You are so much more fun in real life than on T.V.,” Ed says. “Hotter, too.”
“Cosmo did call me the cutest candidate since 2008,” Roy notes mildly, but Edward just rolls his eyes.
“I fucking hope people have more sense than electing their future president based on looks,” he snorts, and Roy laughs.
“I think I have the political agenda to back up my campaign,” he points out. “Though I’ll take whatever positive press I can get.”
“Oh yeah?” Edward grins at him, stepping closer again. “Because if you give me a repeat performance of last time, I’ll be sure to write you a five star review on Yelp.”
“Repeat performance,” Ruy mutters. His hand reaches out to play with Edward’s hair. “I had rather hoped to step up my game a little.”
Edward’s grin only widens.
“Bedroom’s this way, right?” he makes sure and then marches ahead with more confidence that anyone should have in this specific situation.
When Roy follows and closes the door behind them, Edward is already seated on the edge of the mattress, peering down at the picture frame that stands on the bedside table.
“That better not be your secret boyfriend,” Edward jokes darkly, eyes narrowed at where Roy and Maes stand arm in arm, laughing. It had been taken at the Bat Mitzvah of Maes’ niece, because Maes always made a point of inviting Roy to all family gatherings.
“No,” Roy says, looking at the old photograph with some nostalgia. “My best friend. He’s dead.”
“Oh,” Edward says, hunching his shoulders. “I’m sorry. For- For your loss and for being a tit.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Roy tells him calmly, sitting down next to him. “It happened a few years ago. I think he would have liked you,” he feels the inexplicable urge to add, but he knows it’s the truth.
“Yeah?” Ed asks. “Why?”
“He was very bright, in all ways imaginable. Stubborn and quick-witted to a fault. Made dirty jokes to make me laugh at inappropriate times. Needled his way into my life quite efficiently.” Roy gives a lopsided little grin. “Rather like you, I should think.”
Maes Hughes had loved wholly and honestly. When he died, he left behind a wife and daughter, and a plethora of friends who never managed to recover from the loss.
“He encouraged me to run for office, actually,” Roy continues. “He was a fed, if you can believe it. Intelligence. Had access to certain files. And then he died.”
Next to him, Edward stills, but doesn’t say anything. And Roy has never had to tell anyone this, no one who hadn’t already known, in a way, but now he cannot stop himself. Edward should know what kind of person Roy is.
“Mugging gone wrong, they said. Put some homeless kid on trial, put him in jail. He died of a ruptured appendicitis a few months later. At least, that’s what the records say.”
Edward swallows audibly.
“You think it was a cover-up,” he says, still sounding somewhat strangled.
“I think,” Roy says slowly, “That there are many things going on behind the whitewashed facade of our dear old White House.”
“So you’re in it for revenge,” Ed concludes but, this time, there is no intimidation to be heard.
“Not revenge, per se,” Roy corrects. “Justice.”
“I think I like that better than the starry-eyed go-getter act from before,” Edward says, turning toward him.
“I do believe in making the world a better place,” Roy assures him. “I just think that, sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire.”
“Pretty hot,” Edward grins and kisses Roy.
Should Roy Mustang truly win in next year’s elections, he would be a man of many firsts.
He would be the first president less than forty years old. The first non-religious president. The first Asian American president. The first openly bisexual president.
It seems, before all that, he would become Edward Elric’s first.
october.
Somehow, without either of them quite acknowledging it, Edward and Roy slide into a mutually beneficial relationship that could, for lack of a better word, be considered as something like dating.
So they have little rendezvous, sparingly, whenever Roy’s schedule allows for it. There aren’t a lot of options, of course, for fear of either of them being recognized. They go to movies, though it is always Edward who goes ahead and buys the tickets, and then they mostly sit in the dark back rows and make out. They go for walks, in the zoo or the arboretum, with scarfs pulled high and basecaps low.
Most people know Roy’s face by now, so he takes to dressing down and wearing black facial masks whenever they meet, and Edward delights in the moments they are among themselves and he gets to pull down Roy’s mask and kiss him.
When they are at Roy’s place, they cook together, not particularly well, but always with gusto. When Alphonse is out with his many friends, Roy drops by so he and Edward can order pizza and watch shitty action movies.
It’s the early stage of their relationship, the weeks when the sneaking around still feels thrilling and exciting instead of tedious and oppressive. Roy is jaded enough to know that it will sour soon, but so happy that he just wants to enjoy the sweetness while it lasts.
And that is, of course, when they are found out.
It is on one of those evenings when Alphonse is supposed to be working late in the lab, that Roy has managed to get out of a meeting early, and bought some popcorn on the way over to Ed’s apartment.
Ed’s in the kitchen, getting them drinks – a coke for himself, and a Pabst for Roy because, no matter how many times Roy tells him, Ed still only buys whatever brand he has seen at assorted frat parties – when the front door suddenly opens and Alphonse Elric walks in.
Roy hasn’t really seen him since that very first meeting at the charity gala back in summer, but he is probably still better prepared for this inevitable meeting than Alphonse himself is.
Alphonse stills, stares, carefully closes the door behind himself. Then he makes a small surprised sound and walks straight into the kitchen.
“Alphonse!” Edward yelps and drops what sounds like a beer can onto the floor.
“Brother, is that presidential candidate Roy Mustang sitting on our couch and eating popcorn?” Alphonse asks.
“Yeah?” Edward tries.
“Why?”
“Uh, yeah, see, him and me, we’re kinda, uh, fucking, I guess?”
Roy resists the urge to bury his face in the popcorn in an attempt to smother himself.
“What?” Alphonse screeches, though he keeps his voice low, either out of respect for Roy or the neighbors. “Isn’t he like father’s age?”
Okay, that does kind of sting, but Roy will forgive it, considering the extenuating circumstances.
“Oh my gawd, Al, no, that’s gross, why would you even say that?”
“Because politicians are always kind of father’s age.”
“He’s thirty-six, Al.”
“That’s a fourteen year difference!”
“Thirteen and a half,” Edward says petulantly.
“How long has this been going on? You only met him in, like, July.”
“Yeah, since then.”
Alphonse splutters. “Since the- Is that why you weren’t in your room that morning??”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Brother!” Alphonse sounds downright scandalized. “What will father say? Scratch that - what would mom say?”
There is a beat of silence, then-
“Don’t bring her into this, Al. Don’t blackmail me.”
“Brother, that’s not what I-”
“Yeah, whatever,” Edward says, but then he is storming back into the living-room.
“Let’s go to your place,” he says, stuffing his feet into the shoes by the door and grabbing his hoodie off the armchair.
“Alright,” Roy relents without objection, setting the bowl of popcorn aside and gathering his own things.
Alphonse stands in the threshold of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, and simply watches them leave with a torn expression on his face.
“Mom died when I was five,” Edward says the moment Roy starts up the engine. “Leukemia. She was sick way before that, so I didn’t really know any different. Fucking joke, too, considering she was a nurse herself.”
Roy doesn’t say anything, just angles the car away from the sidewalk.
“Toward the end, she got really bad,” Ed continues. “Kinda delusional. Al barely remembers it, I think, but I was scared shitless. She didn’t have health insurance, so we kept her at home the whole time.”
He’s chewing on his fingernails now, staring out of the dark window. “Granny – she’s not my real grandmother, just a neighbor – took care of her. Of us, too, really, ever since then.”
Roy frowns. “What about your father?”
But Edward just barks out a laugh.
“Was never around back then. He and mom had this sort of torrid affair back when she still lived in Chicago. He got her pregnant twice and then he wanted to focus on his career. Mom didn’t want us to grow up in the city and moved to Iowa. She was… fuck, twenty-six by the time she died.”
Twenty-one when she met Van Hohenheim, Roy does the math, a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Granny was a surgeon so she had some money saved up. She sold mom’s house, but there wasn’t much, y’know, so she covered the medical bills and the funeral costs, and that would have been it, really. We lived with her and Winry and we kinda made do.”
Ed swallows, bobs his head.
“Al and I were good in school. Like, really good. Our teacher encouraged us to go out of town and get some testing done, see whether we could get some scholarships or whatever, go to a better school. On the way there, our taxi got hit by a drunk driver. Fucking t-boned at ten on a Friday morning.”
Roy’s fingers clench around the steering wheel, because he knows that Edward is alright now, but he’s seen the scars and he knows what’s coming.
“The drivers were both out. Al was conscious for a bit but then he passed out, too. He was bleeding from a cut in his temple, but he just kept saying, ‘Brother, brother’, as though I was the one in trouble.”
Ed sniffs, wipes a sleeve over his nose. “I managed to squeeze myself onto the front seat and call for help over the taxi’s radio. By the time the ambulance arrived, I had almost bled out.”
His fingernails dig into his palms, leaving stark white crescents behind.
“The surgeons wanted to take off my arm and my leg, but granny tore them a new one and they just put a lot of metal in me. Al was in an artificially induced coma for two weeks. Then it was physical therapy and sessions with a psychologist for months on end and, by the time we were okay again, the hospital bills were so high I thought it would have been better if I had never managed to call for help.”
“Is this the reason you don’t drink?” Roy asks.
“I guess.” Ed shrugs. “It’s kinda why I’m such a shit driver, too. I flinch at every unexpected movement. Not a good habit to have in heavy traffic.”
“I can imagine.” Roy purses his lips. “Is that when Hohenheim entered the picture again?”
A jerky nod. “Granny reached out to him. Told him, the least he could do was to cover the bills, considering he had just made senator.”
“And he thought it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce his two darling sons to the public?” Roy ventures a guess.
“Nah, he’s not that much of an asshole,” Edward allows. “He stayed away because he thought that was what mom wanted. But mom was dead and Al was super enamored with the idea of having a cool ivy league dad and shit. We kinda compromised on staying with granny but doing summer school in Chicago each year. Christmas is still super awkward, I tell you.”
“Does Alphonse think I’ll be like your father?” Roy wonders, because that little argument in the kitchen was what had gotten them here in the first place.
“What, that you’ll leave me with two kids out of wedlock in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” Ed asks. “Fat chance.”
For a long moment, Roy is silent.
“Do you see me as someone like your father who can give you the affection you have been missing in your-”
“Oh my God, Roy, shut the fuck up,” Edward groans. “I hit on you because I was bored and horny and because I wanted to see how far you would let things go. I knew you were bi and you were surprisingly fun to talk to and even hotter in person and, for some reason, I felt extra confident that night. Please stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“Alright,” Roy relents. “But if you ever feel the need to call me daddy-”
“I swear,” Edward threatens, “I survived one car crash, but I wouldn’t mind causing another.”
“Duly noted,” Roys says and keeps driving in silence.
When they get to his place, they don’t talk much. They brush their teeth and strip off their clothes, and Edward pulls an old t-shirt from Roy’s closet. It’s surprisingly easy to just crawl into bed like this, to not kiss, to just lie there with an arm thrown around Edward, tucking him close against his chest.
Surprisingly easy to forget that they’ve only known each other for three months.
november.
In November, most of Roy’s campaign focuses on the East Coast, so he doesn’t have to travel far. Edward is neck-deep in preparations for his finals because, for all his lackadaisical attitude toward Harvard Law as such, he is astoundingly gungho about getting stellar grades in all of his classes.
Roy tries to help as best as he can, quizzing Edward over the phone and providing him with tips for Professor Morris’ classes. Alphonse seems to have reluctantly accepted that his brother is meeting with an older man, though he isn’t accepting enough for Edward to have invited Roy back to his place since then.
It’s just as well. At Roy’s place, the bed is bigger and the water pressure much better.
They’ve just gotten out of the shower on a dreary Sunday morning when Edward’s phone starts blasting a particularly annoying ringtone, audible even over the sound of him blow-drying his hair.
Roy nudges him and hands him the phone, watching as Edward glances at the caller ID and rolls his eyes before he shuts off the blow-dryer and picks up.
“Where the fuck are ye, Elric?” an annoyed Irish voice at once bursts from the speaker and Edward grimaces.
“None of your fucking business, you fucking mick,” he returns, smirking evilly when he gets an according reaction.
“I told you to stop fucking callin’ me that, ye faggot,” the man at the other end of the line says in aggravation. “And anyway, that doesn’t answer my fuckin’ question. Where the fuck are ye that you are not in the fuckin’ library like we fucking agreed?”
“Sorry, I had a hot date with one of the presidential candidates and I didn’t wanna cancel,” Ed claims with a wicked grin aimed at Roy who barely keeps himself from spluttering loudly.
“Ugh, gross, Elric, I coulda done without the mental image of you getting reamed by Archer.”
“What the fuck, Tringham,” Edward screeches. “Like I would ever fuck a Republican! I meant Mustang, of course!”
“Get the fuck out of here, Elric, Mustang is way out of yer league!”
“Tell yourself that, Tringham,” Edward scoffs. “Just stay where you are and I’ll be there, once Mustang is done sucking my dick.”
“Whatever, ye fucking fairy,” Tringham returns and simply hangs up.
Roy stares.
“Is that the teenage vernacular these days?” he asks faintly.
“Not a teenager,” Edward reminds him sourly. “And anyway, that’s just how I talk to fucking Russell.”
“Then who is Russell, dare I even ask?”
“The bane of my existence, really” Edward shrugs. “He is in Biochem and we wouldn’t even really see much of each other, but he got my scholarship so he got it in his head that he has to prove he is better than me or something.”
Roy frowns. “What do you mean, he got your scholarship?”
“Well, I got a full ride for Harvard but then I figured that someone else might need it more, considering my old man is swimming in money,” Edward explains easily, as though it were no big deal, and Roy has to marvel again at how he managed to find someone so unique in a world that often to be made up of paper-cutouts.
“You, Edward Elric,” he says fondly, “Are a profoundly kind-hearted human being.”
“Shut up,” Ed grumbles. “I made Hohenheim pay for Al and Winry, too, so.”
“Ah, yes, even more charity disguised as extortion. A true Robin Hood of the modern day.”
“Look, I really promised Russell to meet him and the others, so you got like ten minutes to actually suck my dick before I have to get back to campus.”
“And they say romance is dead,” Roys sighs and sinks to his knees.
“How was your study group?” he asks later that evening, when it is already past midnight and he is stumbling through the door after another grueling session with his team.
Campaign organization, Riza calls it, while Jean mutters ‘War council’ whenever she isn’t around to hear it.
“It was okay,” Edward yawns. “We all have different majors, so it’s not like we can really help each other. It’s just a way to stay focused. Whoever gets distracted first has to pay for coffee.”
“Is it effective?” Roy asks.
“Not so much,” Ed snorts, “Considering we’re a bunch of rich kids and not exactly hurting for money.”
“Who are your friends then?” Roy wants to know, though it seemed like a reach to call Russell Tringham Edward’s friend.
“Don’t let Russell’s mick act fool you,” Ed chuckles. “He went to Eton, and his father was Doctor Nash Tringham, a big guy in STEM, but he got cheated out of a lot of his money before he died. Then there are Ling Yao and Lan Fan, both the children of some Chinese politicians. Shezka usually hangs out with us, too, because she practically lives in the library. She’s a English Lit and Translations post grad, a fucking Brain on legs, I tell you, eidetic memory and all. Oh, and lately Al has been dragging along this girl, May Chang. She’s in Med School, too, but the kid of a local politician, I think?”
“May Chang?” Roy repeats, thinking for a moment. “Ah! Perhaps the daughter of April Chang; she’s on the city council.”
“... Is her mother called March or something?” Edward asks wryly and Roy laughs.
“I think it’s safer for you to ask May that, than for me to ask April,” he points out. “But anyway, are any of them graduating in spring?”
“Well, sure, Ling and Lan Fan and Russell. Why?”
“Because,” Roy says, his chest swelling with satisfaction, “I was asked to be the keynote speaker at the ceremony.”
“Holy shit,” Edward gasps. “Are you saying you’ll be speaking at my graduation??”
“If you manage to graduate, yes.”
“You idiot,” Edward says, but he is laughing. “That’s amazing. Do you think I could get away with kissing you in public and blaming it on my euphoria?”
“How about,” Roy proposes, “I kiss you in secret behind the bleachers and so we don’t have to blame anyone at all?”
“Deal,” Edward says and sounds truly genuinely happy.
december.
Winter comes and with it gray days and too many things to do. Roy jet-sets from charity events to political rallies to caroling at Trinity Church. In-between it all, he barely gets to talk to Edward, much less meet him in person. It’s made better, barely, by the fact that Edward is drowning in finals and wouldn’t have time to see him either.
Thank you for not being a woman, Roy texts him cryptically when he is sitting in the backseat of the car after another long day.
You’re welcome?? Ed texts back at once. But why??
Because if I have to kiss another baby, I think I might puke.
We could adopt? Ed offers.
Great! Roy writes, I was at an orphanage yesterday and the merchandise looked okay.
You are awful and I am awful for laughing at your awful jokes , Edward replies, sending a long line of smileys that are crying tears of laughter.
“Who’re you texting with, chief?” Jean asks from the driver’s seat, watching Roy through the rearview mirror.
“Ah,” Roy lies easily. “Gracia just sent me some pictures of Elicia. She cut her own hair yesterday.”
“You should take some time off,” Jean tells him. “Go visit them.”
“I’m staying with them for the end of Hanukkah,” Roy replies. “I already cleared it with Riza.”
“Some time for yourself, too,” Jean notes. “Schedule’s pretty free after Christmas.”
“There’s Kimblee’s New Year’s party in San Diego,” Roy reminds him. “Can’t skip out on that. Much as I want to.”
“That’s still at least three days for you to go and laze around in the sun. God knows you won’t have much time for it next year.”
“True,” Roy admits. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that,” Jean says and turns his eyes up front again.
Roy looks back down at his phone.
What are you doing between Christmas and New Year? he types and hits send.
Nothing much, Edward replies. Why?
Care for a vacation? Roy asks and gives a private little smile.
They book two different hotel rooms, just for discretion’s sake, but the truth is they barely even leave the large bed in Roy’s suite.
Edward arrives on the evening of the 27th, so it is still technically Christmas when Roy presents him with a small nicely wrapped box.
“Merry Christmas,” Roy tells him as Edward eagerly tears at the paper, his eyes glowing like that of a child.
“Oh,” Edward says, when he wrestles the velvet casket open and a silver pocket watch falls into his lap. “A watch?”
“A little old fashioned, perhaps,” Roy admits. “But with your penchant of dropping your phone whenever you check the time-”
“Hey!” Ed complains, but then is inspecting the intricate ornaments that sit along the watch’s body.
“Open it,” Roy says and Edward pushes the small clasp, the lid immediately snapping open.
“E.E. & R.M.,” Ed reads out the fine engraving inside. “07/17/27.”
“The day we met,” Roy says, though he knows Edward already knows.
“You sap,” Edward says, grinning. “Why not go all the way and get a medallion with our portraits in it?”
“Too incriminating,” Roy points out. “People might catch you constantly gazing at my handsome face.”
“You shit,” Edward laughs and hits his shoulder. “Do you even celebrate?”
“Only the consumerism. I celebrated Hanukkah with my goddaughter and her mother, though.”
“Hmm,” Edward hums. “Still can’t believe we have an atheist candidate.”
“Agnostic,” Roy corrects. “Never say never.”
For a moment, they sit in silence, Edward playing around with the watch, running his fingertips over their initials.
“I didn’t really think to get you anything,” he admits at length. “I was so busy with finals, and then I was down in Iowa, and now we’re already here. I thought about getting you something at the duty-free, but that seemed even worse than nothing. But I’m really shit at gift-giving anyway, so I saved you some of the disappointment.”
“Edward,” Roy says. “You don’t have to get me anything.”
“Yes, I do,” Edward insists, somewhat petulantly. “Equivalent exchange.”
“What’s that?”
“The principle law of alchemy.”
“Alchemy,” Roy laughs. “What does alchemy have to do with it?”
Edward falls silent again, keeping his eyes on the watchface and the steadily moving hands.
“When I was little,” he begins, a strangely melancholic look in his eyes. “I had this book about alchemy. I think we bought it at a garage sale or something. It was really old and kinda waterlogged, but that’s what I liked about it. And then, when mom got worse, I became obsessed with it and made her read it to me at the time. Thought that alchemy was the key to eternal life and that I could save her. Didn’t quite work out that way.”
Roy gives a small smile, sad around its edges.
“You want to gift me eternal life?” he asks, relieved to see Edward laugh a little.
“No,” Ed shakes his head. “But I like the thought that, what you do for me, I can return in kind.”
“How about this, Roy says. “Every time you kiss me, I am simultaneously kissing you. Each time I make you laugh, I am laughing with you. Is that equivalent enough?”
“Yeah,” Ed says, leaning in for one of those kisses. “It is.”
They only have three nights together before Edward has to return to Boston, so they spend their days with sex and food, eating grapes and cheese in the hot tub and having lunch delivered so that they can eat on the balcony and enjoy the temperate climate of a Californian winter.
Roy loathes that they cannot really go outside, that they can’t have dinners at fancy restaurants or go for walks along the beach, even though Edward seems relaxed and happy and grateful.
They don’t speak of Roy’s campaign or of Edward’s exams, they don’t discuss Riza’s growing suspicion or Alphonse’s poorly kept silence over Christmas dinner.
Instead, Edward grows a golden tan with little effort while dutifully covering Roy in sunscreen, drawing smileys between his shoulder blades and giving him surprisingly skillful massages. Roy takes pictures – of Ed in bed, in speedos, or fresh out of the shower. And he looks at them and looks and looks, until they are burned into his memory, and he deletes every single one, for fear of leaving any incriminating evidence behind.
“Any plans for New Year’s Eve?” Roy asks on their last evening, when they are lounging on the balcony.
“Mmh, yeah,” Edward replies without opening his eyes. “Ling invited me to his first party.”
Roy frowns. “Has he never thrown one before?”
“Huh?” Ed perks up. “Oh no, he’s from Shanghai, so he celebrates Western New Year and Chinese New Year.”
“Ah,” Roy nods. “I hope you have fun.”
“Hmhm,” Edward nods. “You’ll be here then?”
“Yes, unfortunately. Kimblee’s party is kind of a big deal, so I have to show my face.”
Kimblee is a terrible opportunist, fickle as the wind, never quite aligning with one party, but happy to make nice with whichever politician he deems useful enough. Roy dislikes him immensely, but Kimblee has money. And Roy needs money.
There is also the problem that Massachusetts and California are three hours apart which means Roy and Edward won’t even factually enter into the new year together. It’s a sobering thought, but Roy refuses to let it get to him.
“Come here,” he says, hooking an arm around Edward’s neck and dragging him close, lifting his phone and aiming shakily as he presses a kiss to Edward’s temple.
The photo ends up a little blurry around the edges, and Ed has one eye squeezed shut against Roy’s kiss, but he is laughing and there are freckles sitting across the bridge of his nose and, with the sunset bleeding red into the sky, he has never been more beautiful.
And Roy should delete this one, too, he knows, should purge these past three days as well as he can so that no one may ever find out.
But he just sets his phone aside and promises to do it later, to do it tonight, to do it tomorrow, to do it next year.
Roy has barely arrived at Kimblee’s party and made his obeisances, when he already steps out into one of the many hallways of the giant mansion, hoping to still be on time. Because for him it is only 9pm but, for Edward, it is very close to midnight.
He carefully glances in every direction before pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial. It takes a few seconds for the call to go through, a few more for it to be accepted, and then some until Edward actually speaks.
“Ling, you shit, let go of me, go kiss Lan Fan or a fucking desk lamp for all I care,” he says, and there is a small scuffle, a grunt, a yelp, and then Edward breathes into the speaker, the sounds around him slightly muffled, perhaps by a hand cupped around the phone.
“Hey,” he greets, obviously knowing better than to mention Roy’s name in public.
“Good to know you remain faithful to me,” Roy notes dryly.
“I swear, Ling can’t hold his liquor at all,” Edward complains. “He gets shitfaced every damn time.”
“It’s starting!” someone in the background calls at that moment, and then people start boisterously counting down the seconds.
“Ten! Nine!”
“I’m sorry I can’t be with you,” Roy rushes to say.
“Eight!”
“It’s okay,” Edward tells him. “I don’t mind.”
“Seven! Six!”
“I wish we’d had more time,” Roy says.
“Five!”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Four!”
“I wish I could kiss you.”
“Three!”
“Then do,” Ed prompts.
“Two.
So Roy pulls back a little and, careful to not accidentally end the call, presses a kiss to the screen.
“One!”
“I love you, Edward,” he says, even as he hears cheers erupt from the other end of the line, people toasting and wishing each other well. Then he quickly hangs up, stuffing the phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and returns to the local festivities.
It’s only three hours and twelve minutes later, after Roy has kissed cheeks and shaken hands and drunken campagne, that something vibrates against his ribcage. He surreptitiously allows himself to pull out his phone and glance down at it, the screen a little smudged with fingerprints and a single kiss mark.
The message was probably sent on time, he suspects, three in the morning from somewhere in Boston, but the heavy traffic must have caused a slight delay.
The words themselves, however, ring loud and clear, like the best kind of New Year’s resolution, and Roy has to duck into an alcove so no one will notice his giddy little smile. All in all, he thinks, reading and re-reading the words on the screen, it has been a wonderful year.
Love you, too, bastard.