Chapter Text
The life of a military man was often lonely. Whereas strong bonds between comrades were formed, those same comrades often died, and those who lived often retired and moved on with their lives as civilians. It was not a career that many could hack in the long term, unless they either had been changed too much by their experiences to ever leave or held aspirations to climb to the top of the hierarchy.
Roy Mustang fell into both categories.
At forty-three, he was a field marshal, and he sometimes regretted taking the promotion. As general, at least he was still in active duty. He would not see active duty again in his current rank unless there was another war, and despite the restlessness itching in his bones, he did not want war.
It was a mostly honorary position. He was recognised for his achievements and illustrious, blood-soaked career. The title carried the heavy weight of prestige and authority. But he didn't do anything any more. The next step up was Führer, that once coveted highest authority, now just a figurehead in Amestris' shiny new democracy. Roy spent his entire life with his eyes on the prize and now that prize was little more that a consolidation. He was too much a military man to ever be purely political, despite being considered one of the best political minds of the military, there was a distinction. Roy Mustang scared people, even if he was respected. That didn't win votes. It was too early in their new democracy for voters to feel confident electing someone like him; what if he turned them back into a military dictatorship? The citizens of their nation were thriving under the new government. The egotistical dreams of one man meant nothing.
Roy had always been a proud, vain man. He refused to let himself go in his middle age. Sure, his hair was streaked with silver and his face lined with evidence of his experience, but he was disciplined in the way only a lifelong soldier could be. He worked out daily, fighting against the softening of age perhaps a little too obsessively. He had gained weight as he aged but most of it was the bulk of hard-earned muscle. Not the aesthetically lean, sculpted body of his youth, something more befitting his age and authority, something more intimidating, as if intimidation meant anything any more when all he did was sit behind a desk. He couldn't let people see him as an aging remnant of the past. He couldn't let people doubt him. As field marshal, he may no longer be in active duty due to peaceful circumstances, but he didn't want to be doubted if that fragile peace ever shattered.
He was in limbo. Swiftly becoming an archaic remnant of the past but with no clear future that meant a damn.
It was hollow. He was hollow.
His marriage had crumbled. Riza was stationed in the east now. They never had children. They kept in touch, still loving each other very much, only in the way it should have always been instead of trying for something more. He dated but that too felt hollow. Beautiful women who were starry-eyed because of his status and celebrity, the shine of him dulling when they realised he was just a complicated man with a horrific past, unwilling or unable to be emotionally available.
He had his friends, his old unit, a few more recent acquaintances he couldn't be sure saw him as more than a prime connection in the upper echelons.
He had the Elric brothers. Al, seldom seen in person these days, living in Xing with his wife Mei and their children. Edward, travelling more often than not, but based in his hometown of Resembool with his wife Winry and their two children. They met up a sporadically when Edward passed through or for the annual reunion of their group, and the infrequent times they talked on the phone it was for longer than Roy talked to anyone else. If he could tell his younger self that Edward Elric was now one of his dearest (if rarely seen) friends, he would be laughed at. Edward? That egotistical, cocky spitfire with a chip on his shoulder and no sense of self-preservation? Edward? Who exclusively antagonised you for his own amusement and never once respected your authority? Edward, who Riza once said was too much like you and that's why you butted heads, and you were offended that she thought you were anything alike, even if later you realised that shit, she was right?
Edward Elric was still Edward Elric, but a decade had changed him.
Edward called him to say he was in Central, did he want to get a drink together? Asking was a recent change: for years, Edward told him where to meet him and Roy pretended to be offended that he assumed he wouldn't have anything better to do, but he always met him, if late just to prove a point, and Edward always rolled his golden eyes and asked if his old man arthritis made paperwork take that long, and Roy would deny having arthritis because he didn't and he wasn't old. In truth, he enjoyed their banter, now that it had lost the infuriating edge of both of them having something to prove and the complications of superior and subordinate. Edward new how to get under his skin but was no longer malicious, and Roy knew how to rile him up in turn. His infrequent meetings with Edward were some of the only times Roy felt lightened. Edward just had that effect on people.
It has been eleven months since he last saw Edward. Technically, he should be working, but realistically, he didn't have to make excuses for not being at his desk. Perks of his position. It's early afternoon, a warm spring day, and he wants to feel something other than boredom and that disquieting sense of uselessness.
He changes into a regular suit because Edward mocks him if he wears his uniform outside of work. He'll still mock him for the suit, but Roy has appearances to keep up and more casual clothes are for weekends.
The bar Edward has chosen is new, tucked away on the corner of a street Roy can't even recall walking through. The windows are full of plants and the interior is cozy, wooden floors and panelling, dark green chairs and brass lamps. It's quiet, only a few other people, and he sees the flash of golden hair in the corner by the windows and his breath catches as it always does and he pretends it doesn't as always.
Edward is reading, and because he is reading he's wearing wire-framed glasses, perched low on his proud, straight nose. His hair is gleaming in the sunlight like molted gold, twisted into a loose braid even longer than the last time Roy saw him, and he imagines it is practically hip length when loose, and he imagines it like a curtain over Edward's bare back, and he forces the mental image from his mind in an instant because over a decade of denial has made him adept.
He is wearing a loose rust-coloured shirt, black trousers, and probably boots, but he can't see his feet, but he knows Edward's fashion sense better than his own. It evolved over the years, less edgy teenage boy and more grownup and comfortable, but still entirely Edward. It's not just the clothing that changed, it's the body that wears it: he never grew tall, still a couple of inches shorter than Roy, but he grew broader in the shoulders but remains narrow in the waist and hips. He turns a page with his right hand and it's still startling to see flesh where once there was metal, still makes Roy dizzy with relief and gratitude.
All he is doing is reading, dressed casually, and he is the most beautiful thing Roy has ever seen.
Edward glances up as if he can sense Roy's gaze and he smiles, soft and pleased, so different from his toothy grins that it makes Roy's heart ache. He shouldn't notice but he does, he always does - Edward's lips are very pink with just the right amount of fullness to support that breathtaking androgyny age did nothing to change. He's a man now, almost thirty, and yet he is effortlessly, divinely beautiful in a way Roy has never seen in another man.
Maybe that's why Roy has rarely been interested in other men. There is nobody like Edward.
Edward closes his book and his left hand rests atop the cover.
He is not wearing his wedding ring.
Roy's heart twists.
Edward's eyes sweep down and back up his body, lazy and blatant, and Roy expects a jab about his stuffy suit, and he would say it's a damn good suit from one of the finest tailors in the city, but it doesn't come.
"Well, shit, Mustang. You know you're supposed to let go a little in your old age, right?" Edward drawls.
Roy could interpret it two ways: one, the most likely option, is that Edward is goading him about being dressed so formally; two, Edward has noticed that Roy has dedicated himself to strength training in an effort to turn the inevitable widening of middle-age into muscle rather than fat, and has mostly succeeded, because his older suits are now too tight in the shoulders and waist. He knows it's the former, but a man can dream.
Roy takes the seat opposite Edward, unbuttoning his suit jacket for comfort.
"You know me better than that, Edward," he replies.
Edward grins, and it's the same grin as every, wide and toothy, but these days it wrinkles the corners of his eyes in a disarmingly gorgeous way. He takes off his glasses and hooks them in the dip of his open shirt collar.
"Been a while, huh? You were only forty percent grey last time, what is it now, a good fifty?" He teases.
"Give it time, that gold will turn to silver before you know it."
"Already is. Hard life and all that."
Roy can't help but study Edward's hair for the supposed silver strands, but he doesn't find them. If they're there, they blend in better with his blond, whereas Roy's raven black contrasts each and every grey hair. He had considered dying it when the odd strand turned into thin streaks, but he figured it might lend him a certain distinguished air. Even in his forties, his face still holds traces of his once youthful visage, not quite as hardened and angular as his similarly aged counterparts. A boon of his mixed heritage, the Xingese blood from his mother. Not that he looks anything less than a middle-aged man: lines had turned to wrinkles and the skin of his jaw was no longer taut, but he'd never been able to grow a beard to cover it. Another thing he blamed on that half of his heritage. He had briefly experimented with a moustache and Riza had pushed a razor into his hand. A little too like Bradley, or just a rare misstep in aesthetics.
"It's good to see you, Edward," he says honestly. It's always good to see him.
"You too," Edward replies warmly.
They order beer and Roy takes Edward's recommendation. It's good, exactly to his taste, and he wonders when Edward learned his tastes.
They catch up for an hour that passes by faster than a single minute at his desk. Edward tells him about his kids, about visiting Al and Mei, shows photographs of them together with their gaggle of children (two are Edward's, three are Al's), a glimpse into his family that Roy never takes for granted. Al looks so happy, but he looks older than Roy remembers, his hairline receding a little, his eyes tired; he's both a father and a respected, busy doctor, and it shows. He looks fulfilled. Roy is unbelievably delighted. God, to think he was once just a soul in a suit of armour. What a life he had lived.
Edward retired from the military after the Promised Day and it had been a quietly decided that despite retirement age being sixty, he would receive a full pension that far out valued his rank. He didn't need to work, so he didn't, not really, so he spends his life researching and has published many prominent books and papers about his work. He is the greatest mind of a generation, and he travels the world teaching at universities and small schools alike. He talks about his latest paper, as yet unfinished, about the potential application of energy drawn from ancient woodland in alchemy. Roy listens, rapt, as Edward effortlessly traverses realms of knowledge that make his head spin, his eyes vibrant with excitement, his clever tongue stringing together words Roy can hardly interpret. His mind was always his greatest asset. So much natural intellect honed through years of hard work into the type of brilliance that only occurs once a generation - no, once a century. For all of Roy's many achievements, talking to Edward makes him feel humbled, but not in a bad way. He could listen to Edward talk for days.
When did he get so damn sentimental? Another hallmark of his age, perhaps.
The one thing Edward doesn't mention is the ring missing from his finger. Roy doesn't ask.
He doesn't want to presume.
He doesn't want to hope.
Roy realises he doesn't really know Edward any more. This Edward is confident in a quietly self-assured way, a far cry from the insecure runt of days gone. He is admired and aware of it, but not egotistical like Roy was at his age with half his beauty. He is also considerably more patient and open with his kindness in a way he never used to be. But despite all the changes to him, he is still Edward.
They move to a restaurant after a couple hours, both past tipsy, and Edward stumbles over his own feet and leans on Roy for support, clutching his arm and laughing.
"Damn automail. You wouldn't believe the advancements Winry has made, and I still trip over myself after a few drinks."
It's the first time he has mentioned his wife (?) all night.
"Think that's less the automail and more the booze."
"I'm barely buzzed, and I'm still a damn invalid."
"You're not an invalid. You're more physically capable than almost anyone I know, and you haven't been in the military for a decade."
"Not 'bout to let myself go just 'cause I ain't fighting for my life every day." He looks up at Roy (and it delights him that he still has to) and his smile goes lopsided, a smirk that makes Roy's gut clench. "But you know all about that. God, you're like, huge now." He must be more than a little drunk, because then hand clutching Roy's arm squeezes his bicep and Roy almost chokes. "Like a brick shithouse," Edward mumbles.
"Charming," Roy says.
"No, seriously, what have you done? You're like, like-" he snorts laughter, graceless and boyishly charming, "was gonna ask if you'd been taking tips from Armstrong, but then I imagined your face on his body and I never wanna see that again."
"God, no. Like you, just because I'm not fighting every day doesn't mean I have to let myself go. It's a fast decline once you do at my age-" he stops, pressing his lips together, annoyed at himself for admitting his advanced years, knowing Edward will gleefully latch onto it.
"Oh, c'mon, you're not old old," Edward says, surprisingly courteous, and then his face turns serious. "Crazy to think I'm almost as old as you were back then. Where has the time gone? I'll be thirty in a couple years. Thirty!"
"You achieved more than just about anyone before you were even an adult."
"Yeah, and now I'm almost thirty and I'm divorced and still trip over my automail when I'm drunk."
Roy doesn't quite hear Edward's words after he says divorced. Edward is divorced. Edward is divorced.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know," he says quietly.
Edward sighs. "Yeah. Been like, half a year now, but it was coming for a lot longer. But hey, it's just one more thing we have in common. People always used to say we were too alike and that's why we were always at each other's throats."
Roy laughs. "I know. Riza gave me hell for it. I didn't see it for so long, but she was right. Two big egos and stubborn asses - it's a miracle we ended up friends."
"Yeah," Edward says softly, his eyes dreamily sentimental or just blurry from inebriation.
"I'm glad we are."
"Me too."
They look at each other and Roy thinks that maybe, maybe he isn't just hoping, but they're outside the restaurant and a group loudly walks out and the moment is gone.
They order food, heaping dishes of pasta in rich sauces, and a bottle of wine that Roy pours into their glasses.
"To failed marriages and successful friendships," Edward toasts wryly.
"Cheers," Roy says, and their eyes meet over their glasses as they clink.
The wine goes down easily, and the food does little to absorb it, so they end up throughly drunk before it's even dark, the glow of sunset illuminating Edward through the window and Roy is, and has been for far too long, utterly infatuated. Edward is flushed from wine and warmth and laughter, his smiles easy and his eyes heavy, his posture loose. He looks younger and it's hard to imagine that the man in front of him has lived so much life.
Their conversation loops back to their respective marriages.
"I love her - always will, y'know? She's my best friend. But that's the thing, we were always best friends and we always loved each other, but it wasn't... there was never passion between us. We were so young but we were like this old couple, and it wasn't what either of us wanted, it just took a long time to admit it and accept that even if we love each other, we're not right for each other. I want her to be happy, and I'm the luckiest guy ever 'cause I know she wants me to be happy too. We just couldn't be happy together," Edward sighs. He twirls his glass, the last mouthful of wine sloshing about. "What's your story then, huh? What happened with Riza? You never did tell me."
Roy heaves a sigh. "Honestly, it wasn't too different to yours. We grew apart. I spent too much time working, we spent less and less time together. She met someone else. I realised I'd let her slip through my fingers too late, too buried in work to see it happening right before my eyes. You'd think I never got my sight back."
"Did she..."
"Cheat on me?" He laughs bitterly. "Yes. She told me. She didn't have to, she could have left it at she was in love with someone else, but Riza has always been honest to a fault."
Silence falls between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy. Roy drinks his wine. His tongue is dry.
"I think, in another life, we could've..." Edward murmurs drunkenly.
Suddenly, Roy is alert, the drunken relaxation receding in a flash.
"Could've what?" he asks, leaning forward.
"Could've been happy. Together," Edward murmurs, eyes raising to look at Roy, never one to be shy in his honesty. His cheeks are delightfully rosy red. He is breathtaking. Roy tries to speak and can't. He can't believe his ears. He has to be mistaken. "I had the biggest, dumbest crush on you, y'know," Ed says and Roy chokes on his tongue.
"You what?" he croaks.
"Al gave me shit for it all the time. Said it was a cliche, you being my CO and the way we were always at each others throats."
Edward had a crush on him when he was young. Back when he was still the Fullmetal Alchemist and Roy struggled with what it meant that he, a grown man, thought Edward was the most beautiful creature in the world.
"You... had a crush on me? Back then?" He asks, disbelief making him dumb.
Edward rolls his eyes, a familiar mannerism, but he's smiling and his blush darkens.
"It never really went away," he admits.
Roy's mouth drops open. He waves down a waitress. "Check please."
Edward laughs brightly, and his foot bumps into Roy's under the table. He leans his elbow on the tabletop, his chin cradled in his hand, and the look in his eyes is undeniable. Desire darkens his eyes, his pupils dilated, like an abyss haloed in liquid gold. Either Edward has always had exceptional self-control, or Roy was too burdened by his own guilt and doubt to see that his desire was returned.
The ride back to Roy's house is silent and tense, and really, they should talk about it. They know what it means, they know they aren't going for a night cap and a conversation. But neither breaks the tense anticipation. Roy's hand drifts to Edward's thigh, too high for propriety, and the driver keeps his eyes on the road ahead, either oblivious or professional. Edward's breath is audible, and he slides down in his seat, moving Roy's hand higher, his fingers brushing the obvious bulge of his already hard cock. Roy is flattered. He doesn't particularly like what he sees in the mirror any more, but somehow, this radiant young man is all but shaking with eager arousal.
Roy knows he pays the driver but the time between that and opening his front door is lost. The door isn't even closed fully before he grabs Edward by the waist and shoves him against it, kissing him with a decade of desperation. Edward moans into it and Roy slips his tongue into his wine-sweet mouth, one hand sliding up into his hair - fucking finally - and gripping the soft tresses a little too hard. It's all a little too hard, too fast and urgent, a first kiss years in the making and nothing sweet about it. He had thought about it hundreds, thousands, of times, and it was never quite like this.
Edward holds onto his biceps, his slim hips canted forwards to press against Roy's thigh between his legs.
Roy kisses his jaw, behind his ear, his throat, and Edward makes pretty gasping sounds, his hand curling in Roy's hair. Roy bites his earlobe and Edward shudders.
The greatest benefit, he now realises, of improving his strength is that when he prompts Edward to wrap his legs around his hips, he can support his weight and carry him upstairs. Edward looks down at him (how novel) with so much white hot desire that it almost makes Roy give up on taking him to bed, thinking briefly of putting him down on the stairs and fucking him right there. He resists and makes it to the bedroom, where he drops Edward onto the bed and leans over him on his elbows to kiss him again, Edward's legs still wrapped around him, one warm flesh and the other hard metal.
Edward breathes heavily when they part for reprieve, eyes locked, mirror images of lust.
"I can't believe this is happening. I used to think about you when I touched myself. Still do, sometimes," Edward admits, whisper quiet.
Impossibly, Roy feels what is left of his blood rush south, and grinds his cock into Edward's.
"You're killing me," he groans and kisses his neck.
"I don't-" Ed heaved a breath, "I don't wanna be your rebound, and I don't want you to be mine. This is- this is a fuckin dumb idea."
It is.
"It's not."
He unbuttons Edward's shirt quickly and tugs it out of his trousers. He pushes it open and gazes down at his bared torso. Still lean and strong, muscles lightly etched, smooth skin (where it isn't scarred) mostly hairless but for a sprinking of dark blond hair between his pectorals and trailing from his bellybutton down under the waist of his trousers.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, trailing his hand down his chest, thumb grazing one pink nipple and making him twitch.
"Shut up," Edward whines, turning his head to the side, embarrassed. Edward is not somebody that gets embarrassed. This is a new side of him.
"You can't possibly be unaware."
"It's different, coming from you."
Roy is smiling as he ducks down to kiss a trail from Edward's throat to a nipple, laving his tongue against it and grazing it with his teeth, and Edward makes the most wickedly sinful noises that not even his wildest dreams could have conjured.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, lips brushing rhe hardened nub.
He applies the same attention to the other one and unbuckles Edward's belt. Edward kicks off his boots and Roy strips him of his trousers, leaving him naked but for the sleeves of his shirt. In the low light, it looks red, and he suddenly sees Edward as he once was, a flash of honey and crimson. It's dizzying. It's Edward. Still so young and gorgeous, compact muscles and lean limbs, his cock hard and downright pretty in a thatch of dark blond hair.
Edward sits up and pushes Roy's suit jacket off and Roy unbuttons his waistcoat, not managing to remove it before Edward's fingers deftly unbutton his shirt. He shoves the shirt and waistcoat off together and his hands land on his chest, roaming over his body.
"Fucking hell, Mustang," he says raggedly, taking in the changes of time and effort.
"Roy," he corrects.
"Roy," Edward says as if testing it out, rolling the short syllable on his tongue. "You're not supposed to get hotter at your age. It's just fucking cruel."
"What a surprise, the boy with the world's most complex daddy issues is hot for an older man," Roy teases.
Edward swats him on the shoulder but he is undeniably blushing even as he glowers. He doesn't deny it. He just reaches down and works open Roy's trousers, pushing his hand into his boxers and pulling his cock out through the open V of his zipper. He gazes down with hungry eyes and curses.
"Of fucking course, no wonder you're so fucking egotistical," he mutters, and Roy can't help but laugh, though it tapers into a groan as Edward's hand strokes him.
He kicks off his shoes and pushes his trousers down, and before Edward can lie back on the bed, he stops him. Roy does something he had dreamt about more often than he has dreamt of kissing or touching Edward: he pulls the hair tie from his braid and watches Edward shake his head to free his hair. It falls over his shoulders like a cloak of molten gold, and Roy was right: it's down to his hips now.
"Your hair has always driven me mad," he admits, combing his hand through it from root to ends. It slips through his fingers like silk, cool and soft.
"I was thinking about cutting it," Edward teases.
"Don't you fucking dare."
Edward throws his head back and laughs, a mannerism so Edward that it stops Roy's heart for a moment. His laughter has a Midas effect; the world glows golden when he laughs.
Roy has always had a secret weakness for Edward's hair that borders on obsession. It's just such a startling contrast to the rest of him, especially now that he has matured - square jaw, straight nose, feline eyes - but he was softened by the golden gleam of his long hair. Roy didn't see many women with hair as long as Edward kept his. He knew that the men of Xerxes had kept their hair long, and he wondered if Edward was intentionally being traditional or if he simply liked having long hair.
Roy should not spend so much time thinking about Edward's hair.
It was just funny that for all Edward had always had a chip on his shoulder about his height and had been concerned, as every teenage boy was, with being cool and manly, he had always worn his fairytale hair in a long, pretty braid.
He climbs back onto the bed, where Edward has situated himself against the plush pile of pillows, and he spreads his legs to accommodate Roy. The frantic desperation of earlier returns in biting, wet kisses and roaming hands, and when Roy slides a hand from Edward's hip to tease questioning fingers at his hole, Edward moans eager acceptance.
"Have you done this before?" Roy asks, not so selfish in his lust to not be considerate.
Edwards nods. "Yeah. With, um, Ling. We used to hook up when I was in Xing."
Roy recognises the tone of guilt and doesn't press him on it. People are complicated and nobody is perfect. He reaches into his bedside table drawer for the lube and coats two of his fingers with it, rubbing it into Edward's hole and observing how his cock twitches and drools in response. He presses into him with one finger and Edward moans quietly, pushing into it and watching Roy with an expression bordering on awe. Roy has to take steadying breaths to not lose control - Ed is unbelievably tight around just one finger, it's impossible to imagine fitting his cock inside of him. He thrusts gently with his finger and slides a second into him, taking hold of Edward's cock with his free hand and stroking gently, but Edward pushes his hand away.
"Don't wanna come until you're inside me," he explains, voice strangled. "Fuck it, I'm good, just fuck me already."
"You're still-"
"I can handle it," he insists.
Roy has only so much patience when it comes to Edward. He slicks up his cock and pushes Edward's metal leg up to his chest, the other wrapped around Roy's back. He holds eye contact while he pushes inside of him, desperate to see his cock swallowed by Edward's body but needing to see his face, his reaction, to imprint it in his memory for all eternity. Edward's eyelids flutter and his mouth drops open as he pants, his face screwing up in half pain and half pleasure. He is unbearably tight and hot, too tight for it to be good for him, and he whines high and thin, eyes squeezing shut as he fists one hand in the sheets and another clutches at Roy's bicep, nails digging in.
"Fucking hell, holy shit, you're too fucking big, you son of a bitch," he groans. "Of course you've got a huge fucking dick you fucking smug bastard."
The combination of dirty talk and how very Edward the scathing words are drives Roy wild, and he buries himself to the hilt in one hard thrust, causing Edward to cry out, his back arching off the bed.
"I'm gonna fuck you until you can't run that bratty mouth of yours for once," he murmurs, and makes good on his promise.
He's relatively careful at first. Relatively, because it's the greatest test his willpower has ever faced. Relatively, because Edward is under prepped and clearly struggling, even though his erection doesn't flag. He fucks into him with shallow but firm strokes, barely withdrawing at all, and gradually pulls further and further out and pushes inside harder and faster while Edward spills a litany of curses and moans from his bitten-red lips.
He's utterly divine in his pleasure. Completely uninhibited, unafraid to make intense eye contact, not trying to hold back any noise (or unable to). He touches Roy all over, hands groping at his muscles, nails curling into his skin when it's too much. Roy loses himself completely in the feel of him, clutching tightly around his cock, his hips rocking into every thrust as he gets used to the stretch. It's heaven. It's everything.
Edward pushes at his chest and Roy stills, worried he's hurting him, but Edward just pushed him onto his back and climbs into his lap and fuck, it's almost unbearable to look at him like this. He rides Roy with sinuous undulations, hands planted on his chest, and his hair falls over one shoulder in a silky curtain, the ends caressing Roy's body. It's too much, he's too much, too tight, too good, too beautiful. He grabs Edward by the hips to pull him down as he bucks his hips upwards harshly, and Edward clings onto him and practically screams.
"Oh, fuck, right there, don't stop, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-" he cuts off with a sob and his body tenses, clenching impossibly tighter around Roy's cock as he comes untouched, spurting over Roy's abs and chest.
It's impossible to resist and Roy comes with a gutteral groan, not once taking his eyes off Edward.
Edward falls forward and tucks his sweat-damp face into Roy's neck, breathing hard and shaking. Roy strokes a hand down his back and one over the back of his head while he rides the last waves of bliss, head delightfully empty, heart still pounding.
He gently moves Edward to lie at his side and he winces when Roy pulls out of him. They just lie together for long minutes, Roy unable to keep his hand out of Edward's hair, Edward idly stroking Roy's chest.
"Holy shit," Edward says eventually, still a little breathless.
"Holy shit," Roy agrees.
"I heard stories, but... God."
It's no small fuel for Roy's ego. He's undeniably smug that even in his forties, he can make a pretty young thing fall apart entirely. If anything, his stamina has improved through virtue of age and decades of experience, although if it was anyone buy Edward, he could have dragged it out far, far longer. As it was, he was relieved he hadn't blown his load in under twenty minutes.
"Are you alright?" He asks, suddenly very aware that he barely stretched Edward before fucking him into the mattress like an animal.
"Sore but it's good. I, um, kinda like it when it's, y'know, a little painful," he admits, sounding genuinely shy about it.
If Roy were ten years younger, he would be ready to go again just from that confession. His cock twitches valiantly, and he gives it another hour or two until he can see if Edward is too sore for another round. Less time than it would usually take these days, but he is utterly insatiable when it comes to the man next to him.
"I have a feeling we're gonna have a lot of fun together," he grins. Edward looks up, a hint of surprise in his face. Roy's smile drops and he frowns. "You didn't think this was just a one-off thing, did you? That I just wanted to fuck you for the hell of it?"
Edward looks away and shrugs. "I didn't want to assume."
"We probably - definitely - should've talked first, but I just want you to know that I deeply care about you and respect you, and I would never want to jeopardise our friendship by treating you like some disposable novelty."
Edward sucked in a breath and pushed himself onto one elbow to look down at Roy.
"What are we doing?" he asks softly.
Roy reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear.
"Whatever you want. Whatever you're ready for."
Edward touched his face with the hand that he once lost to the burden of truth.
"I..." he falters, takes several breaths. "I wanted you for so long and I never considered that this was possible, let alone that there could be more, or any kind of after. I'm not who I used to be. I'm divorced. I've got two kids. And you're not who you were either, you're one of the most important people in the country. You've got responsibilities and expectations. I dick around researching something I can't even do any more and travel a lot teaching. I live hundreds of miles away."
Roy understood and he shared Edward's same concerns. It was never going to be easy. He didn't know how to make it work, all he knew was that he wanted to. It wasn't just the post-fuck hormones, it was the many years of friendship and fondness. While fucking had been impulsive (and incredible and unbelievably hot) it wasn't like he just picked up a stranger in a bar. It was Edward Elric, hero and living legend, dear friend and former comrade.
"I want to try, Edward. Do you?" he asks.
"Yeah. I really do," Edward replies and kisses him, sweet and slow, not their first kiss but the first like it. "One thing though."
"What?"
"Please call me Ed. Edward is way too formal for someone who just had their dick inside me."
Roy chuckles, and Edward - Ed - openly looks at the lines around his eyes and mouth.
"Looking at my wrinkles, Ed?"
Ed smiles coyly. "They look good on you. And no, it's not just the daddy issues, but if you say that again I will hit you, and even without automail you better believe I can still throw a punch like a motherfucker."
Roy laughs from his belly and he feels alive.
"Maybe I could use a black eye to remind people I'm still a soldier and not to be fucked with."
Ed snorts. "They'll just assume you hit your face off a cabinet door, not got into like, a bar fight or some shit."
"I'd hope not. Man of my standing, I can't be known for brawling."
"I seem to remember you keeping a wall of fire between you and anyone who might get close enough to injure that handsome mug. Oh, and Hawkeye watching your back." He suddenly looks serious and glances down awkwardly. "Sorry, didn't mean to bring up your ex-wife in bed. God, this was your bed."
"Actually, it wasn't. I moved and bought a new one."
"Guess this is part of dating after marriage. Everyone has a past."
Roy smiles, very pleased with Ed's description of them as dating. "Also, I'm forty-three, I have fifteen years of life experience on you and a sordid bachelor past."
"It's got its positives," Ed says with a smirk, hand trailing downwards, and Roy wonders if his wine was spiked with an aphrodisiac, because it hasn't been this easy to get going again for a long, long time.