FMA -- Dicey
Title: Dicey
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,035
Warnings: mild language, craps is really complicated????
Prompt: Kyri went to Vegas and Hikaru_9 is a seductress
Summary: Sixes and eights, and stranger things have happened. (AU where Roy is a craps dealer, and Ed is up for a challenge.)
Author's Note: DAMN ME TO HELL. Speedfic is really not my gig, and I should be asleep. D: Also why in the hell did I not actually make use of the setting idk whatever g'night kiddos ETA: Now accompanied by fantastic art by the magnificent hikaru_9! *___*
DICEY
Edward-Roy can’t help that he remembers what the driver’s license said; the kid had a crazed grin in his picture, and he looked even younger, and he’s an organ donor, and he’s actually twenty-three-rakes his wildfire gaze across the table and turns the dice slowly with the fingertips of his left hand. Roy doesn’t know why he’s always found southpaws kind of sexy. He tends to find that it’s better not to read too much into that sort of thing.
Edward sets the dice on boxcars and then flicks his wrist and flings them at the far wall. Funny how the right hands can make shooting look like an art form. The dice bounce, dance, click, twist-come up three and three.
Edward has had six bucks each on six and eight for every round-clever bet, and Roy’s been tossing him the chips to prove it. The point’s on nine, and it’s lucky-whatever that means in this city-that it doesn’t matter who Roy’s rooting for.
“You’re awfully hot this morning,” Roy says. Oh, shit. “Ah-rolling. You’re rolling hot.”
Havoc, sticking the dice and swinging them back over towards Edward’s deft hand, gives Roy a look like he’s an embarrassment-Havoc, who moons over the showgirls and only ever makes out with the ends of his cigarettes. That’s unconscionable.
Edward grins broadly and pushes a five-dollar chip towards him. “For the dealer.”
“Thank you very much,” Roy says, and he makes sure to give Havoc a glare as he sets it firmly on the eight with Edward’s bet.
Havoc is either pretending to ignore him or actually too distracted by the intensely-focused Asian kid with the ponytail to notice Roy’s small triumphs. Havoc checked his ID, so Roy has no idea what to call him, especially since Quite the Multitasker, to Be Smoking with One Hand and Twirling Chips with the Other is a little too long.
Edward sets the dice on sixes and shoots again-five and three. The kid’s on fire.
“Al was right,” he says as Roy hastens to pay out. “This is pretty relaxing.”
“Horn high yo,” the Asian kid says, sliding the chips to Havoc. “Craps is relaxing?”
“Probability and physics,” Edward says. “Biochem’s been good to me, but math was my first love.” He lines up his most recent accruals and sets the dice on those damned double sixes. “Hey, is it tacky to drink at ten in the morning?”
“Not when you’re winning,” Roy says, trying to flag Maria down.
“Don’t jinx him,” the Asian kid says.
“No such thing as jinxes,” Edward says. He shoots again-a five and a six.
The Asian kid commences an elaborate victory dance. Havoc stares for a long second before he starts doling out the payoff.
“You’re something else,” he says to Edward. “How long you been playing this game?”
“About four hours,” Edward says. “I think I like it.”
Havoc looks like he really needs a cigarette.
“You were up by six?” Roy asks. “Or did you never get to bed last night?”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Edward says. “Or maybe when the high wears off. It’s not every day you get a patent. Well, I mean, maybe once every couple years, but we had to fight for this one. Slimy son of a bitch Tringham’s such a piece of-anyway.” He sets sixes. “It’s gonna be good. Save some lives. Lots of ’em, maybe. It’s good.”
He shoots-four and a two, and Roy’s heart wants to squeeze out between two ribs and curl up in that impossibly lucky left hand.
“Al’s trying to see every single Cirque du Soleil show on the Strip,” Edward says. “So he’s gotta rest up. Those automated poker machines are addictive, though, man. Total ripoff, obviously, but addictive as hell.”
Maria sidles up with her tray and her warmest smile. “Can I get anybody anything?”
“I’d like his luck,” the Asian kid says, “for the duration of my vacation, please.” Edward laughs, stacks his chips, and is generally radiant. “Failing that, could I trouble you for a brandy and Coke?”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Maria says. “How about you, hon?”
“Something James Bond,” Edward says. “I’m in a casino, this guy’s Roy, and my brother’s Al. Makes sense, right?”
Oh, God, he likes pop culture puns. Roy is so fucked.
By the look Maria gives him, she knows it, too. “Gotcha. I’ll be right back with those.”
“What did you patent?” Roy says. “Or is that a state secret, and men in suits would have to drag me out into the desert and shoot me if I knew?”
Edward makes a few extremely vague hand gestures. “Complicated. And I’m half-hungover and half-still-drunk, so if I tried to explain, ’d be gibberish. Helps detect cancer early. Good stuff. Al’s brilliant.” He grins again, wide and bright and blazing. “Guess I am, too.”
He sets his sixes, shoots-four and a five. He releases a deep breath, shakes his head in a way that makes his scary-gorgeous yellow hair fall in his eyes, and watches Roy pay him like mad for the pass line. Roy has to focus, has to think, has to move, has to do his damn job-take the point off again; chips flying here, there, everywhere; the Asian kid politely played the pass line, too-
“Hey,” Edward says. “You got a break any time soon?”
“About an hour,” Roy says. Even towers of red chips; smooth green felt with yellow numbers; don’t look at the way his throat moves when he swallows. “Why?”
Edward’s grin is devastating. “’Cause I’m feeling lucky.”
“You don’t believe in jinxes,” the Asian kid says, selecting his dice from Havoc, “but you do believe in luck?”
Edward goes pink, and Roy thinks it might be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “Well-screw you. I just made you so much money, you should be kissing my feet.” He fidgets with the edge of the table and peeks at Roy. “So how ’bout it? Coffee or something?”
“You bet,” Roy says.
And Edward laughs, and Roy thinks maybe, maybe, if-
What the hell, right? The odds are crappy, but sometimes you win.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,035
Warnings: mild language, craps is really complicated????
Prompt: Kyri went to Vegas and Hikaru_9 is a seductress
Summary: Sixes and eights, and stranger things have happened. (AU where Roy is a craps dealer, and Ed is up for a challenge.)
Author's Note: DAMN ME TO HELL. Speedfic is really not my gig, and I should be asleep. D: Also why in the hell did I not actually make use of the setting idk whatever g'night kiddos ETA: Now accompanied by fantastic art by the magnificent hikaru_9! *___*
DICEY
Edward-Roy can’t help that he remembers what the driver’s license said; the kid had a crazed grin in his picture, and he looked even younger, and he’s an organ donor, and he’s actually twenty-three-rakes his wildfire gaze across the table and turns the dice slowly with the fingertips of his left hand. Roy doesn’t know why he’s always found southpaws kind of sexy. He tends to find that it’s better not to read too much into that sort of thing.
Edward sets the dice on boxcars and then flicks his wrist and flings them at the far wall. Funny how the right hands can make shooting look like an art form. The dice bounce, dance, click, twist-come up three and three.
Edward has had six bucks each on six and eight for every round-clever bet, and Roy’s been tossing him the chips to prove it. The point’s on nine, and it’s lucky-whatever that means in this city-that it doesn’t matter who Roy’s rooting for.
“You’re awfully hot this morning,” Roy says. Oh, shit. “Ah-rolling. You’re rolling hot.”
Havoc, sticking the dice and swinging them back over towards Edward’s deft hand, gives Roy a look like he’s an embarrassment-Havoc, who moons over the showgirls and only ever makes out with the ends of his cigarettes. That’s unconscionable.
Edward grins broadly and pushes a five-dollar chip towards him. “For the dealer.”
“Thank you very much,” Roy says, and he makes sure to give Havoc a glare as he sets it firmly on the eight with Edward’s bet.
Havoc is either pretending to ignore him or actually too distracted by the intensely-focused Asian kid with the ponytail to notice Roy’s small triumphs. Havoc checked his ID, so Roy has no idea what to call him, especially since Quite the Multitasker, to Be Smoking with One Hand and Twirling Chips with the Other is a little too long.
Edward sets the dice on sixes and shoots again-five and three. The kid’s on fire.
“Al was right,” he says as Roy hastens to pay out. “This is pretty relaxing.”
“Horn high yo,” the Asian kid says, sliding the chips to Havoc. “Craps is relaxing?”
“Probability and physics,” Edward says. “Biochem’s been good to me, but math was my first love.” He lines up his most recent accruals and sets the dice on those damned double sixes. “Hey, is it tacky to drink at ten in the morning?”
“Not when you’re winning,” Roy says, trying to flag Maria down.
“Don’t jinx him,” the Asian kid says.
“No such thing as jinxes,” Edward says. He shoots again-a five and a six.
The Asian kid commences an elaborate victory dance. Havoc stares for a long second before he starts doling out the payoff.
“You’re something else,” he says to Edward. “How long you been playing this game?”
“About four hours,” Edward says. “I think I like it.”
Havoc looks like he really needs a cigarette.
“You were up by six?” Roy asks. “Or did you never get to bed last night?”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Edward says. “Or maybe when the high wears off. It’s not every day you get a patent. Well, I mean, maybe once every couple years, but we had to fight for this one. Slimy son of a bitch Tringham’s such a piece of-anyway.” He sets sixes. “It’s gonna be good. Save some lives. Lots of ’em, maybe. It’s good.”
He shoots-four and a two, and Roy’s heart wants to squeeze out between two ribs and curl up in that impossibly lucky left hand.
“Al’s trying to see every single Cirque du Soleil show on the Strip,” Edward says. “So he’s gotta rest up. Those automated poker machines are addictive, though, man. Total ripoff, obviously, but addictive as hell.”
Maria sidles up with her tray and her warmest smile. “Can I get anybody anything?”
“I’d like his luck,” the Asian kid says, “for the duration of my vacation, please.” Edward laughs, stacks his chips, and is generally radiant. “Failing that, could I trouble you for a brandy and Coke?”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Maria says. “How about you, hon?”
“Something James Bond,” Edward says. “I’m in a casino, this guy’s Roy, and my brother’s Al. Makes sense, right?”
Oh, God, he likes pop culture puns. Roy is so fucked.
By the look Maria gives him, she knows it, too. “Gotcha. I’ll be right back with those.”
“What did you patent?” Roy says. “Or is that a state secret, and men in suits would have to drag me out into the desert and shoot me if I knew?”
Edward makes a few extremely vague hand gestures. “Complicated. And I’m half-hungover and half-still-drunk, so if I tried to explain, ’d be gibberish. Helps detect cancer early. Good stuff. Al’s brilliant.” He grins again, wide and bright and blazing. “Guess I am, too.”
He sets his sixes, shoots-four and a five. He releases a deep breath, shakes his head in a way that makes his scary-gorgeous yellow hair fall in his eyes, and watches Roy pay him like mad for the pass line. Roy has to focus, has to think, has to move, has to do his damn job-take the point off again; chips flying here, there, everywhere; the Asian kid politely played the pass line, too-
“Hey,” Edward says. “You got a break any time soon?”
“About an hour,” Roy says. Even towers of red chips; smooth green felt with yellow numbers; don’t look at the way his throat moves when he swallows. “Why?”
Edward’s grin is devastating. “’Cause I’m feeling lucky.”
“You don’t believe in jinxes,” the Asian kid says, selecting his dice from Havoc, “but you do believe in luck?”
Edward goes pink, and Roy thinks it might be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “Well-screw you. I just made you so much money, you should be kissing my feet.” He fidgets with the edge of the table and peeks at Roy. “So how ’bout it? Coffee or something?”
“You bet,” Roy says.
And Edward laughs, and Roy thinks maybe, maybe, if-
What the hell, right? The odds are crappy, but sometimes you win.