(no subject)
I promised the wife fic, so here is fic for the wife. It's kind of crappy, but I don't feel like editing it for a fourth time right now, though I may touch it up before I post it to the comms. Tell me if it sucks, kay?
Title: Saturdays
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word count: 980
Roy found out quickly when Ed moved in with him that Ed craved routine, held it above almost all other things, and that if Roy wanted a say, he'd better have it before Ed got settled into a pattern, because the boy had all the maneuverability of an out-of-control road roller. After the fights had been had and the routine had been established, Roy found that he didn't really miss spontaneity so much at all.
On Sunday they wake up whenever they're ready to and cuddle in bed until Ed gets bored of being pliant. Ed shoves Roy out of the bed, helps him off the floor, and they shower together. Roy eventually bullies Ed into putting on clothes and they walk down to The Grey Gull, a café about seven blocks from their house, for breakfast (or sometimes lunch, depending on how late they managed to sleep). Roy always picks up a newspaper at the stand outside The Gull, and as they wait for their food, he and Ed discuss the popular news stories and the events that never seem to get aired. In the evening they usually go to concerts, moving pictures, or lectures, anything that catches either of their eyes, including a rather fascinating series of modern plays last summer and, look Ed, that theatre company is going to be in town again soon. They try to get to bed as early as possible on Sunday evenings, though, as Monday was never meant to be handled on too little sleep.
On weekdays the alarm goes off at six but one or other of them hits the snooze button at least twice before dragging out of bed. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Roy cooks breakfast while Ed showers first, mostly because Ed knows how to make exactly two types of breakfast food, and Roy vetoes cereal and refuses to have cream of wheat more than twice a week. Roy drives them to work while Ed curses at a comb and tries to get his hair into some semblance of order. Roy had thought, up until Ed moved in with him, that Ed's hair must be very easy to manage, or he would have cut it all off, but this is obviously not the case, and Ed gets defensive whenever Roy questions it. Roy drops a grumpy but braided Edward off at the labs or library, then goes to attack his paperwork (read: hide from Hawkeye for as long as he can). Ed will storm in at sometime around fifteen after noon with some form of purchased foodstuff - usually sandwiches - and they spend their break discussing politics and alchemy. After lunch the day flew by, both of them striving to not have to stay late with uncompleted work, and on the drive home from work, Ed would pull the tie from his braid, brush his hair out, and put it up into the ponytail that suited him even better than the plait. One or other of them would cook dinner, (Ed was quite an excellent cook when he could be badgered into the kitchen), then spent the evening curled together on the couch reading or listening to the evening radio.
But Saturdays, Saturdays are the best. Roy can't quite remember how the tradition of Saturdays got started, but he looks forward to all week. Saturday is puzzle day, and on Friday, they go and search for a sufficiently challenging jigsaw puzzle. They've done puzzles of uniform color that had to be put together based on piece shape, they've done puzzles where each piece is the same shape and which had to be put together based on the picture, none of the puzzles is ever less than seven hundred pieces - Ed throws a fit if they're too easy - and they are usually more like fifteen hundred.
There is no alarm clock on Saturday, but both Roy and Ed are usually up no later than eight, showers are taken, food is eaten (usually toast or cereal, something quick) and then they attack the box on the coffee table. They've become extremely efficient at sorting through puzzle pieces, they've gotten it down to a science. They spend hours silently concentrating on a singular goal of being the one to finish the puzzle. Roy never wins this effort because Ed always squirrels away a piece so he can have the satisfaction of filling the last gap, but Roy indulges him because, well, there's really no reason to argue.
And after the puzzle is finished, Ed will alchemize the pieces together, to be stuffed in the garage with all of the other puzzles they've done, and the rest of the day is spent "any way Roy likes it". It's Ed's acknowledgement of all the things Roy does for him, or at least, that's what Ed says. Roy's almost certain that it's just an excuse, just a reason Ed supplies to himself for allowing himself to enjoy all of the things he professes to hate every other day of the week. The endearments and cuddling and "mushy crap" that is taboo Sunday to Friday is all that happens on Saturday after the puzzle has been put together. It's just another inexplicable thing about Ed, and Roy doesn't question it, because then Ed might change the routine, and Roy couldn't bear that.
And Saturday day evolves into Saturday night, which Roy professes to love more than all other things, because Saturday night is devoted to slow, languid, almost excruciatingly drawn out lovemaking. Ed miraculously learns patience on Saturday nights, and there are no growled "hurry it up, bastard"s. Ed is beautiful in the throes of passion and Roy could not ask for any life better than the one he has.
Some might say that being entrenched in such a binding routine would quickly lead to monotony, but Roy would argue that constancy was enough for him.
Title: Saturdays
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word count: 980
Roy found out quickly when Ed moved in with him that Ed craved routine, held it above almost all other things, and that if Roy wanted a say, he'd better have it before Ed got settled into a pattern, because the boy had all the maneuverability of an out-of-control road roller. After the fights had been had and the routine had been established, Roy found that he didn't really miss spontaneity so much at all.
On Sunday they wake up whenever they're ready to and cuddle in bed until Ed gets bored of being pliant. Ed shoves Roy out of the bed, helps him off the floor, and they shower together. Roy eventually bullies Ed into putting on clothes and they walk down to The Grey Gull, a café about seven blocks from their house, for breakfast (or sometimes lunch, depending on how late they managed to sleep). Roy always picks up a newspaper at the stand outside The Gull, and as they wait for their food, he and Ed discuss the popular news stories and the events that never seem to get aired. In the evening they usually go to concerts, moving pictures, or lectures, anything that catches either of their eyes, including a rather fascinating series of modern plays last summer and, look Ed, that theatre company is going to be in town again soon. They try to get to bed as early as possible on Sunday evenings, though, as Monday was never meant to be handled on too little sleep.
On weekdays the alarm goes off at six but one or other of them hits the snooze button at least twice before dragging out of bed. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Roy cooks breakfast while Ed showers first, mostly because Ed knows how to make exactly two types of breakfast food, and Roy vetoes cereal and refuses to have cream of wheat more than twice a week. Roy drives them to work while Ed curses at a comb and tries to get his hair into some semblance of order. Roy had thought, up until Ed moved in with him, that Ed's hair must be very easy to manage, or he would have cut it all off, but this is obviously not the case, and Ed gets defensive whenever Roy questions it. Roy drops a grumpy but braided Edward off at the labs or library, then goes to attack his paperwork (read: hide from Hawkeye for as long as he can). Ed will storm in at sometime around fifteen after noon with some form of purchased foodstuff - usually sandwiches - and they spend their break discussing politics and alchemy. After lunch the day flew by, both of them striving to not have to stay late with uncompleted work, and on the drive home from work, Ed would pull the tie from his braid, brush his hair out, and put it up into the ponytail that suited him even better than the plait. One or other of them would cook dinner, (Ed was quite an excellent cook when he could be badgered into the kitchen), then spent the evening curled together on the couch reading or listening to the evening radio.
But Saturdays, Saturdays are the best. Roy can't quite remember how the tradition of Saturdays got started, but he looks forward to all week. Saturday is puzzle day, and on Friday, they go and search for a sufficiently challenging jigsaw puzzle. They've done puzzles of uniform color that had to be put together based on piece shape, they've done puzzles where each piece is the same shape and which had to be put together based on the picture, none of the puzzles is ever less than seven hundred pieces - Ed throws a fit if they're too easy - and they are usually more like fifteen hundred.
There is no alarm clock on Saturday, but both Roy and Ed are usually up no later than eight, showers are taken, food is eaten (usually toast or cereal, something quick) and then they attack the box on the coffee table. They've become extremely efficient at sorting through puzzle pieces, they've gotten it down to a science. They spend hours silently concentrating on a singular goal of being the one to finish the puzzle. Roy never wins this effort because Ed always squirrels away a piece so he can have the satisfaction of filling the last gap, but Roy indulges him because, well, there's really no reason to argue.
And after the puzzle is finished, Ed will alchemize the pieces together, to be stuffed in the garage with all of the other puzzles they've done, and the rest of the day is spent "any way Roy likes it". It's Ed's acknowledgement of all the things Roy does for him, or at least, that's what Ed says. Roy's almost certain that it's just an excuse, just a reason Ed supplies to himself for allowing himself to enjoy all of the things he professes to hate every other day of the week. The endearments and cuddling and "mushy crap" that is taboo Sunday to Friday is all that happens on Saturday after the puzzle has been put together. It's just another inexplicable thing about Ed, and Roy doesn't question it, because then Ed might change the routine, and Roy couldn't bear that.
And Saturday day evolves into Saturday night, which Roy professes to love more than all other things, because Saturday night is devoted to slow, languid, almost excruciatingly drawn out lovemaking. Ed miraculously learns patience on Saturday nights, and there are no growled "hurry it up, bastard"s. Ed is beautiful in the throes of passion and Roy could not ask for any life better than the one he has.
Some might say that being entrenched in such a binding routine would quickly lead to monotony, but Roy would argue that constancy was enough for him.