Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Playing With Fire ❯ Chapter 1

a/n: Het and shota warning.

 

Did you know I obsessed over ways to draw you to this place? This drab antithesis of magic: Yes. That secret ingredient that makes us think we are gods, much more drunk on our divinity than we should be. Playing god; playing with fire. Oh, fire. That lust that sings in me, even now. Do you know? That magic spark? That lure I used? The philosopher's stone. What a ruse. What a joke.

 

I don't believe, like you believe. I only know one thing: Fire.

 

It's heat I smell when I stumble to your doorway. Flames in my blood, in the chemistry of the air. Fire licks the doorway. I can not resist the invitation.

 

When I open the door, a closed invitation, I am easy to detect.

 

Your brother knows.

 

Your brother: trapped in that tin can. What do you call him? Kindness in a can? What do you see, when you look into that thing? Your memories? I understand memories. And memory understands me, looks back at me, in the darkness. He is kind- you are right. Compassion is all I see when I look into those red lights. I am standing still and staring as it stares back at me.

 

The room is so small.

 

The beds are so narrow. I cannot look at him for long. The suit of armor, the soul entrapped in your pain, he directs me to you. Fullmetal. You are a busy boy, aren't you?

 

Already naked. I knew it. I am a man; I know what boys do, when they think no one is looking. I know.

 

You know.

 

He knows.

 

We all know…

 

Naked. Incoherent. Flipping and flopping while you milk that feeling out of your system. I understand the feeling. Virginal lust, it is all hunger. I wipe my lip, taste the sweat and lean hard against the other side of this cracked door.

 

Watching you masturbate. He's watching, too. Watching me, watching you. We're waiting, Ed.

 

“How does it feel?” His voice is a child's voice, a little boy's voice, trapped in time. I see- he is no little boy, but he will never be a man. Not like you. He watches you, doesn't he? This is as close as he comes to a hard on. As close as he comes to an orgasm. Poor guy. And he's sharing this with me.

 

All he can do is share.

 

“Tell me?” He is begging. “Does it feel like peeing?”

 

“No.” You thrash your head back and forth.

 

“Does it feel like eating?”

 

“No…” You cover your eyes with the automail and fist your young, hard cock.

 

“Tell me, Ed?” He's whining, now. “Please try.”

 

“Fire.” You arch your back and shoot the spasm out. You whimper. You groan. You jerk when he comes to the bed and wipes you clean. “Fire,” you say again. He turns and waves me away.

 

Fire. I close the door and the word ferments in my blood.

 

Fire.

 

Those two… I understand how it is with boys. So hungry for ass and stoned on hormones they are willing to do just about everything and anything to get even a taste of it. But, when there is only one body to feed with. Only one… Those two…

 

“Do you miss him?”

 

“Riza?” I turn around, stumble-fall, the wall catches me and she smiles. The dark dorm hall shadow is cut by moonlight. Half a smile, hidden eyes. Her hand, under the holster, right on her hip.

 

“Hughes.” She tilts her head, and I can see the horrible kind look in her eyes. “That's why you were drinking.”

 

“I thought you went to bed.” I don't want to see her, now. No, I don't want to hear her speeches. I would love to see her, though. I would love to be blinded by her moonlight smile and milky skin. I move forward, I reach out for her. She moves away.

 

“Men are so typical.” The smile is gone. At least the mercy is, too. Thank god. “You think sex is the answer for everything. Sad? Go jerk off. Angry? Go fuck a whore. Desperate? Find your girlfriend.”

 

“Are you my girlfriend, then?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Then a whore?”

 

“Wait- how about jerk off?”

 

“That would make you another man.” I reach for the scruff of her pageboy cut and she smacks my hand.

 

“Were you thinking about him, back over there, while you spied on the Elrics?”

 

“What?” I freeze. The Scotch turns in my gut and she gives me those pitiful eyes, again. “What did you say?”

 

“Hughes. Did you get drunk over him? Think about him back there? Colonel?”

 

She… What does she know? The bitch. She might be a soldier, but she's still a woman. She doesn't understand. Can't.

 

“It's so easy for you women.” I can't help feeling the itch at my fingertip. I fight to control the rage, but even now it's so hard. So fucking hard. “You women. With your bodies and your babies. You can lose a man and still be happy.” I didn't want to think about Hughes' widow and their child. How the little girl looks so much like her father. How that woman will always have a part of my comrade, my friend.

 

And what do I have?

 

Not even a warm body to hold on to.

 

“Screwing my body won't bring him back.”

 

She walks away. I watch her, the twitch in her hips, the way her head hangs low; her pity makes my blood boil. Then, I feel it cool, when two red eyes blink in the dark hallway.

 

“Al.” I hear you call his name. “Quit putting your nose in their business and come back inside.”