Five-sentence FMA ficlets from chat
May. 19th, 2019 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kraitThe other night I was in Ed/Roy FMA Chat with anotherfmafan and the usual suspects (plus a few new faces! Hi!) and we had a blast! There was much exciting discussion, and fun trivia questions (anotherfmafan was the victor! I was sadly nowhere in the running for the crown), and prompts for 5-sentence ficlets.
Mine are below, lightly edited.
The buildings shook as the training ground erupted with stone pillars. A golden figure danced one to the other, sometimes flashing silver in the light of the flames that shot past him to melt the stone into puddles that dripped and ran like strange geologic candles. A pillar collapsed, and then another, and the golden figure wobbled precariously before leaping to safety on a stone plank that sprung out of the tortured stone.
"Playing with fire again in a populated area," Havoc observed to the young man standing beside him, "and just to show off, no enemies in sight; can you believe it?"
"Of course," Alphonse said placidly, his eyes never leaving Edward's distant darting shape; "Brother never did have a lick of common sense."
The North sky is oddly both darker and brighter than he's used to, with no city glow to lighten the atmosphere over the ground but a million glinting stars visible in the absence of manmade competition. At dusk - which comes early - he lights one candle to see him through the evening tasks. There's not much, in this desolate place: a last checking of the fuel supply, a note in the logbook, a cleaning of his weapon and a regulation polish of his boots passes for military duty in the cabin that is less of an outpost than a prison. There's no lock on the door, but it's unneccessary; a hundred miles of howling wilderness and an overnight temperature of -10 are more than sufficient to keep a disgraced officer confined, without the need for shackles or deadbolts that might raise questions from the populace. Roy Mustang may have saved Amestris, but here, between the cold silver starlight and the golden glow of the candle, he knows he would leave Amestris to its fate if he could trade these lights for the sight of a golden head and a silver arm.
"Nineteen minutes, thirty-four seconds, Fullmetal," Roy said pleasantly as he strolled into the office, "How's that for an 'old man'?"
Edward glared, and seemed to swell like an angry kitty fluffing itself up to appear larger - an impression not helped by his spitting, "I can beat that right now, you just watch!"
Roy followed him as he marched out the door toward the obstacle course, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Once they both had vanished, Breda raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye, who was kind enough to explain:
"Edward's last run on the obstacle course set a record of nineteen minutes, thirty-four seconds exactly, so Roy is now his only competition and has his undivided attention."
At his shrug, she looked at the empty doorway and added with a sharklike grin, "Meanwhile, Roy was just personally invited to watch Edward in workout gear."
It had taken Edward a while to be comfortable with Roy; he might loudly assert that he'd learned a LOT from hanging around the military canteen - and anyway he'd grown up in the country, sex was how you got cows and chickens - and besides, Ed could read and when you were trying to make a human being you couldn't exactly just ignore the reproductive system - but he didn't think Roy was entirely fooled. Sex with Roy was new and exciting and awkward and sometimes really, really embarrassing. Bodies in theory were easy; bodies in practice were weird and loud and sometimes sticky or noisy or just not the same as yours in ways that could be a little, uh, jarring when you were distracted and not expecting it.
Roy had been really patient, and if he laughed he made up for it by explaining, and sometimes sharing the story of how he'd made that same awkward mistake or odd discovery, and Ed would die before he admitted it but he was so, so grateful for Roy and his patience while Ed figured things out. Goodbye, inhibitions, he thought cheerfully, as he slid his mouth over Roy's balls and heard his lover whimper with anticipation.
Roy had heard plenty of complaints from other soldiers about condoms, but had never really understood why they complained. Sure, maybe you lost a *little* sensation; but in Roy's experience sensation wasn't limited to your cock, and how uncreative did you have to be not to find ways to feel more with your hands and mouth and belly and balls and nipples and feet? There were a thousand ways to feel good in bed, and for 999 of them there weren't any barriers at all.
With Edward's teeth exerting just enough pressure to be painful on bare skin, he was discovering that even a little loss of sensation could be a new kind of pleasure. "Just a little more," he breathed, and shut his mouth on further directions, trusting Ed to lead them through even more astounding discoveries together.
"Wrrzahfeffid," Roy grumbled and reluctantly faced the fact that he was awake. Something had been trying to strangle him in his sleep, but when he pried his eyes open there were no assassins in sight. He frowned; of course the Fuhrer's security was better than that, but what had he...
Something tickled his ear, and he slapped it away instinctively, only to raise his hand again with gold strands clinging to it like a snarled spider's web.
That took waking from unpleasant duty to sudden delight, as his eyes followed the shining threads to the back of a beloved head he'd once never thought to see from such an angle, and he he drifted back to sleep with a smile on his lips and the precious strands of gold still twined around his fingers.
"Just hold on, okay, we're going to get out of here."
"Of course," Roy murmured sleepily, and tucked his head into someone's warm leather-clad leg.
"Get *up,* you lazy bastard," came the furious hissing from above his head, "I don't care if they broke every rib you have, we're getting out of here right now before they come back! Some of us have little brothers out there, and I bet Winry already somehow knows I lost the automail to crazy kidnappers and is packing her heaviest wrench to hit me with, and YOU have a country to run, General Bastard, so we're not staying here till they come back for another round of drugs and questions! If we don't make it back" -- the anger ran out and the fragile underlying tension twanged through the goading voice, and suddenly Roy was conscious and moving before he so much as thought about his ribs, -- "well, we're going to, that's all, so let's go now, Roy."
"Good afternoon, Alphonse," Roy said, glancing up from his paperwork as the door slid open after a knock, "If you're looking for Edward, he borrowed some of my books and headed straight for the lab this morning, I believe."
The silence stretched unnaturally long, until, concerned, Roy looked up to see if he'd left.
Alphonse loomed directly in front of him, and his glowing eyes burned into Roy's with an intensity that increased exponentially with every passing second of continued silence.
"Alphonse," Roy spoke very carefully, tension racing through his shoulders and spine at the sudden (unexpected, inescapable) awareness that he was being studied by a martial artist with faster reactions and indefatiguable strength, impervious to blows or fire or gunshots.
He couldn't quite suppress the shudder that ran through him when Alphonse turned and left for the labs.
"Don't stop!" The sound of his own voice, so insistent and strained, would usually bring a blush to Ed's cheeks. Right now, though, blushing was the least likely reaction to anything he could think of. Roy might be straddling his back and tenderly rubbing lotion into his shoulders, but if he tries anything else Ed is going to slap him - with the metal hand. Crossing the desert was Roy's dumb idea in the first place, and with this sunburn Ed doesn't even want to *think* about anything involving friction, any more than he wants to think about taking off more clothes so the sun can fry him in far tenderer places.
anotherfmafan and the usual suspects (plus a few new faces! Hi!) and we had a blast! There was much exciting discussion, and fun trivia questions (anotherfmafan was the victor! I was sadly nowhere in the running for the crown), and prompts for 5-sentence ficlets.Mine are below, lightly edited.
The buildings shook as the training ground erupted with stone pillars. A golden figure danced one to the other, sometimes flashing silver in the light of the flames that shot past him to melt the stone into puddles that dripped and ran like strange geologic candles. A pillar collapsed, and then another, and the golden figure wobbled precariously before leaping to safety on a stone plank that sprung out of the tortured stone.
"Playing with fire again in a populated area," Havoc observed to the young man standing beside him, "and just to show off, no enemies in sight; can you believe it?"
"Of course," Alphonse said placidly, his eyes never leaving Edward's distant darting shape; "Brother never did have a lick of common sense."
The North sky is oddly both darker and brighter than he's used to, with no city glow to lighten the atmosphere over the ground but a million glinting stars visible in the absence of manmade competition. At dusk - which comes early - he lights one candle to see him through the evening tasks. There's not much, in this desolate place: a last checking of the fuel supply, a note in the logbook, a cleaning of his weapon and a regulation polish of his boots passes for military duty in the cabin that is less of an outpost than a prison. There's no lock on the door, but it's unneccessary; a hundred miles of howling wilderness and an overnight temperature of -10 are more than sufficient to keep a disgraced officer confined, without the need for shackles or deadbolts that might raise questions from the populace. Roy Mustang may have saved Amestris, but here, between the cold silver starlight and the golden glow of the candle, he knows he would leave Amestris to its fate if he could trade these lights for the sight of a golden head and a silver arm.
"Nineteen minutes, thirty-four seconds, Fullmetal," Roy said pleasantly as he strolled into the office, "How's that for an 'old man'?"
Edward glared, and seemed to swell like an angry kitty fluffing itself up to appear larger - an impression not helped by his spitting, "I can beat that right now, you just watch!"
Roy followed him as he marched out the door toward the obstacle course, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Once they both had vanished, Breda raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye, who was kind enough to explain:
"Edward's last run on the obstacle course set a record of nineteen minutes, thirty-four seconds exactly, so Roy is now his only competition and has his undivided attention."
At his shrug, she looked at the empty doorway and added with a sharklike grin, "Meanwhile, Roy was just personally invited to watch Edward in workout gear."
It had taken Edward a while to be comfortable with Roy; he might loudly assert that he'd learned a LOT from hanging around the military canteen - and anyway he'd grown up in the country, sex was how you got cows and chickens - and besides, Ed could read and when you were trying to make a human being you couldn't exactly just ignore the reproductive system - but he didn't think Roy was entirely fooled. Sex with Roy was new and exciting and awkward and sometimes really, really embarrassing. Bodies in theory were easy; bodies in practice were weird and loud and sometimes sticky or noisy or just not the same as yours in ways that could be a little, uh, jarring when you were distracted and not expecting it.
Roy had been really patient, and if he laughed he made up for it by explaining, and sometimes sharing the story of how he'd made that same awkward mistake or odd discovery, and Ed would die before he admitted it but he was so, so grateful for Roy and his patience while Ed figured things out. Goodbye, inhibitions, he thought cheerfully, as he slid his mouth over Roy's balls and heard his lover whimper with anticipation.
Roy had heard plenty of complaints from other soldiers about condoms, but had never really understood why they complained. Sure, maybe you lost a *little* sensation; but in Roy's experience sensation wasn't limited to your cock, and how uncreative did you have to be not to find ways to feel more with your hands and mouth and belly and balls and nipples and feet? There were a thousand ways to feel good in bed, and for 999 of them there weren't any barriers at all.
With Edward's teeth exerting just enough pressure to be painful on bare skin, he was discovering that even a little loss of sensation could be a new kind of pleasure. "Just a little more," he breathed, and shut his mouth on further directions, trusting Ed to lead them through even more astounding discoveries together.
"Wrrzahfeffid," Roy grumbled and reluctantly faced the fact that he was awake. Something had been trying to strangle him in his sleep, but when he pried his eyes open there were no assassins in sight. He frowned; of course the Fuhrer's security was better than that, but what had he...
Something tickled his ear, and he slapped it away instinctively, only to raise his hand again with gold strands clinging to it like a snarled spider's web.
That took waking from unpleasant duty to sudden delight, as his eyes followed the shining threads to the back of a beloved head he'd once never thought to see from such an angle, and he he drifted back to sleep with a smile on his lips and the precious strands of gold still twined around his fingers.
"Just hold on, okay, we're going to get out of here."
"Of course," Roy murmured sleepily, and tucked his head into someone's warm leather-clad leg.
"Get *up,* you lazy bastard," came the furious hissing from above his head, "I don't care if they broke every rib you have, we're getting out of here right now before they come back! Some of us have little brothers out there, and I bet Winry already somehow knows I lost the automail to crazy kidnappers and is packing her heaviest wrench to hit me with, and YOU have a country to run, General Bastard, so we're not staying here till they come back for another round of drugs and questions! If we don't make it back" -- the anger ran out and the fragile underlying tension twanged through the goading voice, and suddenly Roy was conscious and moving before he so much as thought about his ribs, -- "well, we're going to, that's all, so let's go now, Roy."
"Good afternoon, Alphonse," Roy said, glancing up from his paperwork as the door slid open after a knock, "If you're looking for Edward, he borrowed some of my books and headed straight for the lab this morning, I believe."
The silence stretched unnaturally long, until, concerned, Roy looked up to see if he'd left.
Alphonse loomed directly in front of him, and his glowing eyes burned into Roy's with an intensity that increased exponentially with every passing second of continued silence.
"Alphonse," Roy spoke very carefully, tension racing through his shoulders and spine at the sudden (unexpected, inescapable) awareness that he was being studied by a martial artist with faster reactions and indefatiguable strength, impervious to blows or fire or gunshots.
He couldn't quite suppress the shudder that ran through him when Alphonse turned and left for the labs.
"Don't stop!" The sound of his own voice, so insistent and strained, would usually bring a blush to Ed's cheeks. Right now, though, blushing was the least likely reaction to anything he could think of. Roy might be straddling his back and tenderly rubbing lotion into his shoulders, but if he tries anything else Ed is going to slap him - with the metal hand. Crossing the desert was Roy's dumb idea in the first place, and with this sunburn Ed doesn't even want to *think* about anything involving friction, any more than he wants to think about taking off more clothes so the sun can fry him in far tenderer places.