FMA -- Extracurricular Activities
Title: Extracurricular Activities
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Ed/Al, Roy/Hawkeye, Riza/Rebecca (LOL BUT REALLY)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,072
Warnings: major SPOILERS for Brotherhood; some language; the über-sketch
Prompt: "comfort food"
Summary: General Roy Mustang has an unexpectedly nice night.
Author's Note: My pairing sensibilities in this fandom fall somewhere between omnishipping and a cast-wide orgy.
EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES
If Brigadier-General Roy Mustang collapses from exhaustion at some point this week, Riza has orders to ensure that the obituary includes the line Tragically, the insufferably sexy young officer simply worked himself to death in his noble quest to better the country and the world. He can only assume that he will be widely mourned and greatly missed; the higher-ups may have to instate a national holiday to accommodate the grieving.
In the meantime, he can’t decide whether he’s relieved or disappointed that the house’s windows are dark. Obviously he knew Riza would be out (“Just a reminder-it’s Ladies’ Night at Rebecca’s, sir.” “Ah, of course. Shall I expect the file-” A whole manila folder of photographs, of magnificent photographs. “-on my desk Monday?” “At eight o’clock sharp, sir.”), but usually the Elrics aren’t quite so subdued of a Friday midnight.
Roy is still not entirely sure how he got roped into sharing a house with the Elric brothers. He vaguely recalls some discussion of Alphonse’s State Alchemy research and the heartfelt verdict that the new houses in Central were both too cold and too distant from the libraries to suit his fragile new body. There might have been a mention of how poorly Amestris rewards its heroes and some tearful reminiscence about the family home that they (somewhat shortsightedly, Roy thinks) burnt to the ground. The rest is washed out in a haze of puppy eyes and permutations of “Oh, but, General, don’t you live alone?”
He supposes that if there’s one thing he learned since the day he lit a fire in an eleven-year-old Edward Elric’s eyes, it’s not to get in the brothers’ way. Hence his housemates.
Since they’re apparently pioneering an unprecedented scientific experiment called Sleeping during the night like normal people for once, Roy opens the front door with minimal jingling of keys and quietly locks it again behind him. Hayate’s nails click on the floorboards of the hall, and Roy kneels down to greet the final member of his household with a scratch beneath the chin. He earns a thorough hand-licking for his pains.
“Have you been fed?” he whispers to the dog, pulling off his boots-which Hayate investigates interestedly-and then padding into the kitchen. There are crumbs of kibble in the silver bowl, so Alphonse took care of it; Edward should never be allowed to keep a pet alone. Duly noting that Alphonse will also have remembered to feed his brother, Roy cracks open the refrigerator and discovers a treasure trove of lasagna that turns his mouth into a reservoir quite despite the fact that he had Falman fetch takeout at eight. Hayate sits down on the floor and looks up at him, tail swishing on the floor like a windshield wiper, and over the dog’s quizzical whine, Roy hears… a giggle. And then shushing.
He supposes that this was inevitable-Roy Mustang knows better than most people what kind of difficulties arise when one volunteers to share one’s space with horrifyingly attractive blond(e)s. It’s a bit unfortunate; he always feels slightly hypocritical laying down puritanical house rules given his track record, but someone has to maintain order. He takes a fortifying breath, squares his shoulders, strides through the hall, and flicks on the living room light.
“I honestly don’t mind if you bring girls home,” he says as his eyes protest and then adjust, “but could you please relegate the extracurricular activities to your bedr…”
There are two pairs of eyes blinking back at him-one a fierce yellow-gold, the other with a slightly gentler olive tint.
The Elric brothers are on his couch.
Naked.
Together.
There’s a blanket tangled around Edward’s automail leg, and Alphonse is straddling his brother’s hips, one hand tangled in the elder Elric’s unbound hair. Roy realizes that a rather different sort of difficulty has begun to arise.
“Oh,” his voice says. “I… am… sorry. I’ll just…” Get off in the shower and then die of shame, in that order, thank you and goodnight. “…leave you to it…” Maybe the other way around.
“Don’t be stupid, Colonel,” Edward says, with the usual petulance even though his cheeks are fast transitioning to a shade of scarlet that his coat would envy.
“The lieutenant mentioned that she was busy tonight,” Alphonse says brightly, one fingertip tracing small and intricate designs on Edward’s chest, “and that you’d probably be working late and feeling lonely. She suggested that maybe we could help.”
Riza should have known that they would interpret such an innocent comme…
Wait a damn second. Riza would have known. Riza must have intended for this to happen.
Something important in Roy’s brain dies in a small but powerful explosion.
“So we made dinner,” Alphonse says. “Well, I did, and Brother helped. There’s garlic bread, too, under the tinfoil, except that you were so late-”
“That you clearly don’t give a shit, and you’re ungrateful,” Edward says, “so you can’t have any.”
“Be nice,” Alphonse says, slapping him.
Hard.
On the ass.
Edward yelps and then shivers violently, and Roy’s knees wobble exactly like they did the time he walked in on a fifteen-year-old Riza stepping out of the bath. He’d thought he was too old for this.
“We decided,” Alphonse says as Edward sulks and then settles under the ministrations of his brother’s slender hands, “that maybe you’d like to have dessert with us instead.” He gestures to the table, which Roy would never have noticed without the help. Upon it he finds a mound of sundae-making supplies, including cartons of ice cream which sit atop papers adorned with cooling transmutation circles. If Roy is not mistaken, that was Edward’s idea conceptually, and Alphonse’s in execution; Fullmetal would have drawn directly on the tabletop left to his own devices.
“And then we got bored,” Edward says, and Roy desperately wants to lick the spots of pink high on his cheekbones. “So we… improvised.”
Alphonse twists his lithe body to line it up with his brother’s on the couch. Edward squirms, and the springs creak softly, and Alphonse drapes an arm across Edward’s waist to support himself. Then he casts a smoldering glance at Roy.
“Oh-are you too tired, General?”
In answer, Roy starts undoing the buttons of his uniform coat. “On the contrary, Alphonse, I have not felt so energetic in a very long time.”
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Ed/Al, Roy/Hawkeye, Riza/Rebecca (LOL BUT REALLY)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,072
Warnings: major SPOILERS for Brotherhood; some language; the über-sketch
Prompt: "comfort food"
Summary: General Roy Mustang has an unexpectedly nice night.
Author's Note: My pairing sensibilities in this fandom fall somewhere between omnishipping and a cast-wide orgy.
EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES
If Brigadier-General Roy Mustang collapses from exhaustion at some point this week, Riza has orders to ensure that the obituary includes the line Tragically, the insufferably sexy young officer simply worked himself to death in his noble quest to better the country and the world. He can only assume that he will be widely mourned and greatly missed; the higher-ups may have to instate a national holiday to accommodate the grieving.
In the meantime, he can’t decide whether he’s relieved or disappointed that the house’s windows are dark. Obviously he knew Riza would be out (“Just a reminder-it’s Ladies’ Night at Rebecca’s, sir.” “Ah, of course. Shall I expect the file-” A whole manila folder of photographs, of magnificent photographs. “-on my desk Monday?” “At eight o’clock sharp, sir.”), but usually the Elrics aren’t quite so subdued of a Friday midnight.
Roy is still not entirely sure how he got roped into sharing a house with the Elric brothers. He vaguely recalls some discussion of Alphonse’s State Alchemy research and the heartfelt verdict that the new houses in Central were both too cold and too distant from the libraries to suit his fragile new body. There might have been a mention of how poorly Amestris rewards its heroes and some tearful reminiscence about the family home that they (somewhat shortsightedly, Roy thinks) burnt to the ground. The rest is washed out in a haze of puppy eyes and permutations of “Oh, but, General, don’t you live alone?”
He supposes that if there’s one thing he learned since the day he lit a fire in an eleven-year-old Edward Elric’s eyes, it’s not to get in the brothers’ way. Hence his housemates.
Since they’re apparently pioneering an unprecedented scientific experiment called Sleeping during the night like normal people for once, Roy opens the front door with minimal jingling of keys and quietly locks it again behind him. Hayate’s nails click on the floorboards of the hall, and Roy kneels down to greet the final member of his household with a scratch beneath the chin. He earns a thorough hand-licking for his pains.
“Have you been fed?” he whispers to the dog, pulling off his boots-which Hayate investigates interestedly-and then padding into the kitchen. There are crumbs of kibble in the silver bowl, so Alphonse took care of it; Edward should never be allowed to keep a pet alone. Duly noting that Alphonse will also have remembered to feed his brother, Roy cracks open the refrigerator and discovers a treasure trove of lasagna that turns his mouth into a reservoir quite despite the fact that he had Falman fetch takeout at eight. Hayate sits down on the floor and looks up at him, tail swishing on the floor like a windshield wiper, and over the dog’s quizzical whine, Roy hears… a giggle. And then shushing.
He supposes that this was inevitable-Roy Mustang knows better than most people what kind of difficulties arise when one volunteers to share one’s space with horrifyingly attractive blond(e)s. It’s a bit unfortunate; he always feels slightly hypocritical laying down puritanical house rules given his track record, but someone has to maintain order. He takes a fortifying breath, squares his shoulders, strides through the hall, and flicks on the living room light.
“I honestly don’t mind if you bring girls home,” he says as his eyes protest and then adjust, “but could you please relegate the extracurricular activities to your bedr…”
There are two pairs of eyes blinking back at him-one a fierce yellow-gold, the other with a slightly gentler olive tint.
The Elric brothers are on his couch.
Naked.
Together.
There’s a blanket tangled around Edward’s automail leg, and Alphonse is straddling his brother’s hips, one hand tangled in the elder Elric’s unbound hair. Roy realizes that a rather different sort of difficulty has begun to arise.
“Oh,” his voice says. “I… am… sorry. I’ll just…” Get off in the shower and then die of shame, in that order, thank you and goodnight. “…leave you to it…” Maybe the other way around.
“Don’t be stupid, Colonel,” Edward says, with the usual petulance even though his cheeks are fast transitioning to a shade of scarlet that his coat would envy.
“The lieutenant mentioned that she was busy tonight,” Alphonse says brightly, one fingertip tracing small and intricate designs on Edward’s chest, “and that you’d probably be working late and feeling lonely. She suggested that maybe we could help.”
Riza should have known that they would interpret such an innocent comme…
Wait a damn second. Riza would have known. Riza must have intended for this to happen.
Something important in Roy’s brain dies in a small but powerful explosion.
“So we made dinner,” Alphonse says. “Well, I did, and Brother helped. There’s garlic bread, too, under the tinfoil, except that you were so late-”
“That you clearly don’t give a shit, and you’re ungrateful,” Edward says, “so you can’t have any.”
“Be nice,” Alphonse says, slapping him.
Hard.
On the ass.
Edward yelps and then shivers violently, and Roy’s knees wobble exactly like they did the time he walked in on a fifteen-year-old Riza stepping out of the bath. He’d thought he was too old for this.
“We decided,” Alphonse says as Edward sulks and then settles under the ministrations of his brother’s slender hands, “that maybe you’d like to have dessert with us instead.” He gestures to the table, which Roy would never have noticed without the help. Upon it he finds a mound of sundae-making supplies, including cartons of ice cream which sit atop papers adorned with cooling transmutation circles. If Roy is not mistaken, that was Edward’s idea conceptually, and Alphonse’s in execution; Fullmetal would have drawn directly on the tabletop left to his own devices.
“And then we got bored,” Edward says, and Roy desperately wants to lick the spots of pink high on his cheekbones. “So we… improvised.”
Alphonse twists his lithe body to line it up with his brother’s on the couch. Edward squirms, and the springs creak softly, and Alphonse drapes an arm across Edward’s waist to support himself. Then he casts a smoldering glance at Roy.
“Oh-are you too tired, General?”
In answer, Roy starts undoing the buttons of his uniform coat. “On the contrary, Alphonse, I have not felt so energetic in a very long time.”