Fic repost

[anax]

Yeah, I did the editing on Rust that I should have done before I ever posted it the first time. So most of this will probably look familiar, but hopefully most of the "wtf, I don't get why ..." should be cleared up.

I still left Roy's motivations unclear, though. That's deliberate. If anything else is unclear, let me know.


The Rust Within Their Throats

The Colonel's card arrived the morning after Edward's return. There was no surprise in that, because the Colonel usually sent him a card within a day of Edward's arrival, sometimes handing it to him personally as Edward gave his report. He always hoped it wouldn't come, but it always did, so there were no shocks when he saw it on the desk when he got back from taking a shower - a thick, cream-colored envelope, with his name and dorm room number printed on it in neat block letters.

His brother didn't say anything, although he must have been there when the card was delivered. Edward picked it up from the corner of the desk, feeling a cold that had very little to do with the water in his hair, and opened it to check the time on the card inside. Then he ripped it all to pieces and threw the bits away.

"You should eat something," said Alphonse, his tone flat. He was reading a book, and didn't look Edward's way.

"Not hungry," said Edward. He was never hungry after he got the Colonel's card. He felt a little sick, in fact.

There was a long pause, and then in a rush Alphonse said, "We should go. Right now. Somewhere ..."

"No," said Edward.

"... why not?" Alphonse turned around in his seat, which forced Edward to pivot in turn to keep their gazes apart. He couldn't look at that gray steel and at the same time hear his brother's anguished voice echoing from it. "We can find some other ..."

"No," said Edward again, harder this time to interrupt. "I'm not going to argue with you again, just stop it. There is no better way. We have everything we need right here, I'm not going to give it up."

Alphonse was staring at him. Edward could feel his brother's eyes on the back of his neck. He busied himself with combing out his hair and plaiting it while it was still wet; his shirt stuck to his body, where he had put it on after his shower without completely drying off first, and it felt disgusting.

"I'm not going to give up everything we have," said Edward again, when the silence had lengthened too far and the pressure of his brother's stare became too much. "Not for this."

"There has to be another way."

Edward didn't answer. Perhaps there was another way, but there was no better way. They had access to written documents, funding, and the less tangible benefits such as being able to move freely around the country and the right to speak with other State Alchemists about their research. There was so much that Edward's position gained for them. It was only natural that there be a cost; equivalence must be satisfied.

At least, that's what he told the queasiness in his belly, when his eyes fell by chance on the torn-up scraps of cream-colored envelope in the trash.

"I hate this," said Alphonse eventually.

Edward said nothing.

At six-thirty, the city was already dark, the sunset concealed behind gray clouds. It was hot and dry, and the clouds were just for show; Edward knew from the look of them that they were dust clouds, so it wouldn't be raining tonight.

He waited outside the dorms, in the shadow of the doorway where he could watch the road but wouldn't be easily noticed. He was hungry, because he hadn't eaten all day, but his stomach roiled and he doubted he'd eat much tonight at dinner. He'd need to make some kind of effort - the Colonel might comment on it if he didn't - and hoped there would be soup or something with raw greens.

A car rolled to a stop in front of the door. Edward didn't move until the rear passenger window rolled down, and he could see the Colonel peering up at him.

Edward's coat was brushed, his gloves were clean and so were his shoes, and he put a smile on his face as he came out of the shadow of the doorway. "Hey there," he greeted, as cheerily as he could, as he skipped down the steps toward the street. It was just dinner, he told himself. Just dinner.

"Hi," said the Colonel, with a warm smile to match Edward's.

The driver was no-one Edward recognized, and if he thought there was anything odd about driving the Colonel out to dinner with a young subordinate, it didn't show on his face as he opened the passenger door for Edward. The military cars were wide enough for Edward to sit on his side and never have to touch the Colonel - he'd discovered that some time ago - but not wide enough to discourage the Colonel from laying a hand on his knee. It required a lot of effort to sit in a more-or-less natural position, and not scrunch himself against the door to escape that hand before it could touch him.

"I made reservations at the White Crane," said the Colonel. "I hope you don't mind."

Edward shook his head, and tried not to stare out the window as the car started up again and moved out into the city. He could smell the Colonel's cologne, a scent that might have been pleasant enough if not for the memories it brought, and felt the man's hand land on his knee.

There was a long pause, and then, "If you'd rather go somewhere else ..."

"No, it's fine," said Edward quickly. "It's fine." He had never heard of a restaurant called the White Crane, but it hardly mattered to him where they ate.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead, because he didn't want to look at the Colonel, and the only other option was to press his face to the window and wish he could jump out of the car without consequences. The driver's eyes rarely flickered to the rear-view mirror, and when they did, Edward could see that he was merely checking the road behind them, and not eyeing the alchemists in the back seat.

There was nothing unusual about State Alchemists dating each other, after all; it was said in the ranks that only another State Alchemist could understand a State Alchemist, and it wasn't unusual at all for State Alchemists to pair up and sometimes even marry. Edward supposed there was nothing particularly unusual about military brass indulging in forays with whatever young person caught their fancy either. He'd thought at one point that there would be repercussions for the Colonel, rules that were being broken that would result in a court-martial or something like that, and he'd looked forward to that day with equal parts dread and malice. But nothing had happened, in all these months. The Colonel had been circumspect at first, and Edward didn't know why, because he was quite open about it now and nothing had happened to him.

The Colonel's hand began to move, stroking his knee gently, and sliding up the inside of his thigh. Edward caught himself clenching his fists, and forced his hands to uncurl.

"Are you all right?" asked the Colonel.

Edward nodded, and hoped it didn't seem shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The man seemed to accept that, and the soft brushing inside Edward's thigh did not cease. "You should wear something different when we go out."

Different? "Like what, a uniform?" asked Edward nervously. What, was he going to start playing dress-up with Edward too? Was he a doll or something?

"No, of course not," said the Colonel, with a fine disregard for his own uniform. "I don't know." There was silence for a few long seconds, and then, "It just seems like you wear the same things most of the time."

"I like my clothes," said Edward. He liked to stay in them, too, but he didn't say that. "They're comfortable." The layers and layers of cloth between his skin and the air was what was comfortable ... the illusion of armor protecting him from this man's gaze and touch.

"You don't have to," said the Colonel, stroking the inside of Edward's thigh. "It was just a thought. I think you'd look good in a suit."

Edward did not reply.

The restaurant was a nice one, and Edward was definitely underdressed. They let him in anyway, and Edward wasn't sure if it was because of the silver chain on his belt, or because of the rank of his dinner companion.

There was soup - a clear mushroom broth - and a green salad, and Edward picked at both. The soup settled his stomach somewhat, and the soft rattle of silverware around him, the murmur of dinner conversation from other tables, soothed him. Nothing could happen to him here, in public. The Colonel wouldn't dare even touch him.

It didn't stop the Colonel from looking at him, though. It was easier to pretend that everything was fine when they were in public, that nothing was going to happen to him later when they went back to the Colonel's home after dinner, but Edward wasn't very good at lying to himself. Especially when he could feel those dark eyes on him, following the lines of his body right through his clothes. He ordered poached fish for his main course, but didn't eat much of it.

"Sorry," he said with a grin, when he was asked if he felt okay. "I ate a lot for lunch."

"If you're not well, it's okay," said the Colonel, with what might have passed for concern if Edward hadn't known better; any faith in the Colonel's concern for his wellbeing had been destroyed months ago. "It seems like you haven't been eating very much lately. Maybe you should take a vacation."

"No," said Edward quickly. A vacation would mean staying in East City. With the Colonel. For weeks. "No, I'm fine." He wouldn't be able to handle that. It was hard enough to handle it every two weeks, or once a month, or however infrequently he could manage to make it. Staying out on assignment was great, it was the coming back to give his report and receive the Colonel's card that made him feel like slitting his wrist sometimes.

Through a supreme effort, Edward managed to eat more of his fish. It tasted wonderful, like melted butter and sweet lemon sauce, and it wasn't the fish's fault that his stomach lurched with each bite.

The Colonel looked dubious, but didn't press him, and resumed talking about the rumors of politicking that filtered in from Central.

After dessert, Edward went to the restaurant bathroom to throw up. It would be easier later to keep himself from throwing up in the Colonel's bed if he got everything out of his stomach now.

The Colonel stood up from the table when he came back. "You sure you're okay?" asked the Colonel.

"Fine, thanks," said Edward. He drank a little ice water out of his water glass as the Colonel put on his coat.

He could feel the Colonel's eyes on him again as they waited for their driver to bring the car around, and he put his hands into his pockets and tried to look as cheerful and normal as possible. It made him nervous, to be looked at that way; it made him feel unclean. "So do you think there will be war?" he asked, grasping for a distraction.

"Probably," said the Colonel. "But not for a year or more. It's not at the point yet where it could really be triggered easily."

"Only a matter of time?" asked Edward. If there hadn't been this knot of nausea and dread in his belly, he might have been interested in this ... wars and rumors of wars were part of his job, after all, and he rarely had the time or inclination to read the newspapers.

The Colonel nodded. "If we don't make trade concessions, it will only make things worse, and I doubt that we'll make any concessions. Probably this time next year, or maybe the year after, there will be war."

"That sucks," said Edward, but his mind wasn't on it. He startled when he felt a touch on the back of his head, and froze immediately.

The Colonel petted his hair, and played a little with his braid, but said nothing. The car came around, and the driver opened the doors for them.

"I missed you," said the Colonel softly, once they were on their way. It was fully dark now, not even a hint of moonlight behind the dust clouds overhead.

Edward didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, and eventually the Colonel continued, "I wish you'd take a break. Just a short one. A couple of weeks. I can tell the stress is getting to you."

Mouth dry, Edward said, "I can't do that." The silence that followed was awkward, so he added, "I have to keep looking," by way of explanation.

"I know why you can't," said the Colonel. "I just wish you would anyway."

The Colonel touched his cheek then, and turned his face. Edward, who had been avoiding looking at the man all night, suddenly found himself unable to avoid it any longer, and he tried to smile. The Colonel's eyes were all but invisible in the darkness, his lips turned down into a slight frown. They looked at each other for a long moment, Edward trying not to shrink away from what he knew was coming, and then the Colonel leaned forward to kiss him.

Edward had no idea what kind of job description had been given to the position of military motor pool driver. He imagined it must be something like, Must be able to drive without batting an eye while a high-ranking officer gropes an underaged subordinate in the back seat. The Colonel slid across the seat to get closer, hand moving up Edward's leg again to gently rub him through his pants while kissing him. The Colonel's tongue was an invasion into his mouth, and Edward could all but smell the man's lust. It was a good thing he didn't need to try to conceal his whimper; the Colonel always interpreted it as reciprocal desire.

"You're tense," whispered the Colonel against Edward's mouth. The words came out wet and a little breathless. "You're always so tense."

"Sorry," whispered Edward back, wishing he were anywhere else. Anywhere at all.

"You don't have to be sorry," murmured the Colonel, as he kissed softly down to the side of Edward's neck. The rubbing became a little harder, and Edward gasped as he felt himself start to become involuntarily hard.

"I just think you're working too much," said the Colonel into Edward's throat, chin nudging aside the collar of Edward's jacket. "You need to take some time off, relax."

The Colonel's idea of "relaxing" Edward was anything but. "I'm fine," he said again, fingers clutching the shoulders of the Colonel's uniform as his body was expertly manipulated. "I'm not ... not working too much."

"I could order you to take a vacation," purred the Colonel, and then Edward could feel the man's tongue on his skin.

The confusion of sexual arousal and horrified revulsion was joined by a terror that the Colonel would order him to take some time off. He'd probably be expected to stay in the man's house the whole time, at the Colonel's disposal ...

"I can't," he whispered in desperation, as his treacherous body pushed upward against the Colonel's hand. "Have to keep looking."

With a sigh the Colonel backed off a bit, but his hand remained between Edward's legs, stroking gently. The look he offered Edward could not be read at all in the darkness. "I don't want you falling to pieces, Fullmetal. I know you're trying to hide it, but I see it, and it's getting worse."

"I'm ... fine," said Edward. It was good that the Colonel's mouth wasn't on him anymore, but that hand on his genitals needed to go. It really, really needed to go. He squirmed uncomfortably, fingers clenching in his gloves; the fact that he was, as usual, easy to arouse didn't help at all. He never understood how he managed to get physical pleasure out of this, when at the same time felt so revolted and nauseated by it.

The car slowed, and rolled to a stop. The Colonel's hand left him, just before Edward's door was opened to let him out. He didn't look at the driver, and the other man made no comment, just moved around to the other side of the car to open the Colonel's door as well.

The Colonel sent the car back to headquarters.

Edward tried not to shiver as the Colonel let him into the house and began to turn on lights. It looked the same way it always did, drab and painfully neat, with only a couple of photographs to betray that a real person lived here. Edward approved of that. He liked to think of this place as a kind of trumped-up hotel room, not as a place the Colonel actually lived. It comforted him somehow to imagine that in the morning, the Colonel would move on to his real home, and not sleep here a second time, with Edward's scent in the sheets.

Without preamble, the Colonel led him into the bedroom, a room Edward had seen entirely too much of already, and began to kiss him again; Edward tilted up his head and let the man kiss him, took the Colonel's wet tongue into his mouth even though the feel of it made him glad he'd gotten rid of his dinner. The groping in the car had already started to numb Edward toward what was happening, so there was no shock when the Colonel started to peel off his clothing, a layer at a time, only a kind of dull distaste. Coat first, then underjacket, then shirt ... when Edward was bare to the waist, the Colonel pushed him gently down to sit on the edge of the bed. There was a mouth on his neck, hands on his skin, knees between his own, and Edward closed his eyes to imagine that he was home, really home. His mother was there, his brother with smiling gray eyes, the old maple tree, the woodshed behind the house ...

His body responded all by itself to the teasing touches of the Colonel's hands, the moaning licks of the junction between automail and skin. Edward couldn't even feel the hand on his right shoulder, or when the Colonel began to mouth his automail, and that was perfectly all right with him. The less he felt, the better.

"That's it," whispered the Colonel, and Edward supposed he must be relaxing some. His pants were eased down over his hips, then his underwear followed, and the Colonel's mouth was on the scar around the automail port on his leg. Edward lay back on the bed, letting the man do whatever he wanted. It didn't matter, he told himself, trying to capture some kind of acceptance. Something that would quell the nauseating humiliation, the sense of violation as that mouth moved higher up his leg, and his treacherous erection was handled. It was just a body. Nothing more. It wasn't him.

The Colonel dozed afterward, as Edward swallowed over and over against the nausea and the bitter taste of come in his throat. The darkness and blandness of the room were good. They made things feel less real.

Eventually he heard a rough exhalation, as the Colonel drifted closer to sleep and began to breathe through his mouth, and Edward took that as his cue to squirm away from the man's extended hand and slide out of bed. He felt a bit sore from the Colonel's cock inside him, and there was a spot on his knee that had been rubbed raw against the mattress; he could feel the Colonel's semen dirtying his leg, taste it in his mouth, and his own come was sticky on his belly. He groped for his clothing across the floor, sorted through it as silently in the darkness as he could, and began to pull it on.

"Don't go," said the Colonel softly.

"Al will worry," said Edward. It was a mechanical answer. Each motion pulled on overstretched, ill-used muscles, and every twinge made his brain want to skip back to what just happened to him. It was an effort to rein it in.

"You can call him. Please, Fullmetal, don't go this time."

There was no way. No way. "I can't," he said again, tugging his shirt on over his head. Feeling the fabric against his disgusting skin made him queasy. How could he come? How could he do that to himself, and actually ejaculate in the Colonel's bed? How many kinds of sick could he be, or was there part of him that actually enjoyed this? Edward didn't know, and didn't want to think about it.

A rustle of bedclothes as the Colonel sat up. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be." One boot was near the doorway, but Edward was having trouble locating the other one. "I'm fine." As soon as he got out of here, got back to the dorms and scrubbed his skin clean of the Colonel's scent, got rid of all these fluids and the linger of the man's cologne, he'd be fine. As soon as he fell asleep with Alphonse holding him, curled up against the cold metal for comfort, he'd be fine. As soon as he screamed the nightmares out of his system, he'd be fine.

He'd have to walk back to headquarters, in the dark, but that was okay. He always did that, and at this point he didn't care if he lived or died.

"Fullmetal, please."

It was enough to make him want to scream. How can you claim to care about me? How could the Colonel act as if he cared, when he did things like this? How could he expect Edward to believe that there was any concern at all when he did things like this?

If he said anything, though, he wouldn't stop. He felt it inside him, lurking under the surface like a boil. If he started, he wouldn't stop, so he clamped down on it and didn't reply.

Edward's other boot was under the bed, and once he found it, he was ready to go. "Thanks for dinner, Colonel," he forced himself to say. That was expected. For him to be grateful. Grateful for everything.

A long pause, and then the Colonel said, "Good night. I love you."

And, by the way, if anyone knows where a friend of mine can find some Scar/Ed (or Ed/Scar) fanart, fanfic, whatever, please let me know. It doesn't matter whether or not it's believable, or even good, but explicitness is preferred. :)