[Fic] Philomathic (NC-17, Al/hand)
Title: Philomathic
Pairing: Al/hand
Rating: Erm, let's go with NC-17.
Word Count: 1,448
Warnings: Um. AT. I will warn that you could construe one-sided Elricest from this if you so desired but I feel that it would be a stretch.
Notes: Thanks to sutlers, who looked at it along the way but hasn't seen the final version. One day I will bake her a rhubarb pie. Written for the fma_fuh_q March challenge.
Sunny day, shady tree, hidden from the world in the back yard. Ribbons of cool air touch skin, lift short hair. Al closes his eyes and listens.
Birds and the rhythm of wind chimes in the breeze two houses down. Sweet high notes and rich low ones, rolling like waves, bobbing against each other. Ed inside, talking to Gracia, their voices drifting faintly through the screen door. Al runs a hand over his stomach, over the faint undulation of muscle there. Grass prickles the backs of his knees, a sweet green scent, fresh and new like he is. Tree bark skids roughly over his neck and through his shirt on his back; the fabric shifts with it. The wind chimes roll and Al feels each note wash over him, clear and hollow into his chest. He brings fingers down tentatively, touches a different place on himself for each note, and comes when an eddy of wind picks them up into a frenzy, flowers and earth in his nose and music in his ears.
Riza Hawkeye tells him, Alphonse, it's so nice to have you back with us. She softens her eyes, voice not-quite-gentle, and curves her lips. He thanks her, so kind, he says, and leaves a few minutes later. Her hand is chilly, strong and reassuring.
He has to stop in the lobby bathroom. Thinks of cold metal, how she fingers it at her hip and he's uneasy; Hawkeye commands respect. Holds a gun like it's an old friend, cold and sleek and so is she. Beautiful, reaches out with brown eyes that would swallow him whole if she told them to. Her smile, hard-won and well worth it - and Al earned it. Blonde hair and dusky lips, curve of her throat. Al holds his cock the way she holds a gun, trigger finger on the sweet spot, feels her hand on his again, voice in his ear so nice and goes off fast and hard, wobbles and sits down hard to catch his breath. Yes ma'am.
Rainy night, damp and chilly. Ed aches and mopes, curled up by the fire. Al closes the bedroom door.
Pattering on the window, faint flickers, purrs of thunder. The storm tears through; flashes get brighter, thunder gets louder. The bedroom has a leak and the drips catch in the saucepan on the floor, ping ping ping. Wind howls through the tree outside; close lightning raises hair on his arms, everywhere; it crashes and vibrates so hard he can feel it. He rests his head against the pane; rain stabs from the other side of it. He waits for another flare, another rumble, shaking through everything. Flash stroke crash stroke lightning and thunder right on top of each other. Al grips the windowsill, moans into the next explosion, and shudders with the house.
Havoc smiles at Al; he wets his lips so they won't stick to the glass, raises it, drinks, Adam's apple working. He takes a long drag of that cigarette, blue smoke curling idly up to the ceiling, inhales, and exhales it in perfect smoke rings, rolling the smoke out between his lips and tongue-
Al excuses himself and walks shakily to the bathroom; when Havoc smiles there are lines around his blue eyes, faint sunburn always tinging his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, Hey, boss, how's it going, rough and tumble and oh god. Al's cheeks are hot and he sucks in breath through his teeth while he leans back against the wall, rolls it out between his lips and tongue like Havoc, pulls in another breath. Feels the coldness of the tile against his ass through his pants and pulls his cock out, oh sweet air against the wetness at the tip, he smears it on his fingers and tugs and one two three oh god oh god he comes and his knees buckle. Finally lets out the heavy, burning breath he has been holding in his lungs, and oh god this has to stop.
He almost wants to ask Ed; he wants this to stop. It's embarrassing and silly and too much and so good.
Roy Mustang snaps his fingers and there is light, heat, fire, so hot, so bright Al wants to touch it just because he can burn now. Roy brings his fingers quickly to Havoc's cigarette and then back with a practiced flourish. He shakes his hand and peels the glove away; rubs those fingers through his hair and then through his back pocket in an elegant sweep as he tucks the glove in, shifts his hips. Roy's fingers curl around his glass when he drinks, scotch shadowing golden on them; he swirls it-
All in the wrist, flourish sweep swirl. Al moves his own fingers against himself in the fourth floor bathroom at Headquarters, remembering. All in the wrist, he thinks lazily. Roy is smoky and dark-eyed, practiced and worldly and narrow hips, shifting, and holy hell Al is on an agonizing smolder. Roy is command and finesse; always knows, always has, and Al takes his cock in his hand, all in the wrist, like it's a handful of loose change, like he's rolling dice. Brings himself off slowly, breathing steadily, stays up even when his thighs shake, doesn't make a sound, control.
Steam snakes into every last pore and he imagines he can feel every one open and relax; tension goes like a ghost, vaporized. Hot water twists over his skin in clear ropes. The tile is warm and smooth and wet against the soles of his feet. White noise in his ears and on his flesh, soap slicking, transforming water into sloppy, hot kisses on his shoulder, on his chest, on his stomach, the insides of his arms and oh yes on the smoothest skin underneath his cock. Up and over, around and down. He wraps it in the washcloth, dragging every loop of fabric gently over, adds friction where he wants it until it burns I can burn and frets and he can barely breathe. Chest full, stomach tight, ass against the shower wall; he slides down and the ridges of the tile ride cool and bumpy on his back. When he shouts out the echo quivers and fades with him.
Ed gives Al an amused look when he comes out of the bathroom.
"Hey. Don't worry," Ed says later, over dinner. "It happens to everyone."
His brother, his own brother: the one he's been with through everything, needs like water and air, his own brother oh hell. He looks in the mirror, sees the things in his face that are Ed's - everything is Ed's, given to Al and given and given.
Al traces his fingers brother gave me these fingers along his jawline and shivers gave me this jaw, these bones, this skin, and cheekbones his mine his mine all mine, cheeks are pink - high flush, hot skin. He bites a lip, white teeth, sharp and hard. Grey green bronze eyes - they shift with the light, so deep, so beautiful Al doesn't know how he'll ever pull himself out of their reflection. Blond hair, gold and red and brown, each strand a different color brother did this, it is mine. Eases fingertips across the lie of his collarbone mine his mine his all his and his other hand creeps across to where his cock is rubbing on the bathroom counter. Clean it later oh fuck he thinks and he brings himself off thinking mine his mine his all mine all his; brings a trembling hand to his mouth and adores the sticky wet fingers, the ones his brother returned to him, with his tongue.
He makes it to the creek by the house, home, hugs the tree there, wants to kiss the ground, jump in the water. Tears off clothes and the creek is cold. It doesn't matter; he is warm, alive. Ed will be here any second. He ducks his head under, comes up with water in his eyelashes and halfway there already, water rushing over his cock and his hand hot around it. Looks around at dappled sunlight; looks up at deep and endless blue sky marked with puffs of white and that's it, he cries out and bucks into his own hand, comes so hard he sobs, ducks under again and sees his brother's golden head approaching when he comes back up. He swims back to the bank for the first time in years. When he clambers out, cheeks hot, Ed laughs at him, joyful and bright for the first time since he was nine and Al was eight.
Al mirrors his brother's exultant grin. Ed has no idea.
