Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Rain ❯ Part Seven ( Chapter 7 )

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Rain: Part Seven

 

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A Full Metal Alchemist fanfic by L.A. Mason.

Standard disclaimer applies: No copyright infringement intended. No profit being made or sought.

 

Author's Notes: A word of warning: the research bug has again bitten me in the worst way. The various quotes in the chapter below are all real, although there is no book entitled Aura Aris: A Collection of Alchemical Poetry. That I made up. A longer note with details appears at the end of the chapter.

 

And, once again, I offer humble and grateful thanks to the kind people who have reviewed since I last updated, and sincere apologies for losing email addresses. I do back up my hard drive - I just forgot that the address book lives in a different directory from the message archive. If I owe you an email, please, poke me.

 

 

L.A. Mason, aka LibraryCat

 

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Perhaps… the hair clip had been a bit much. Because, to judge by the tight set of Full Metal's tensed shoulders, the boy… young man… was nearing a breaking point. And Roy really didn't want to know whether that break would come in the form of a frothing, ranting fury - or something worse. Concern set a narrow, vertical crease between the officer's brows, and cautiously, he stepped up behind the shorter blond and laid a hand on Ed's human shoulder. A twitch nearly threw off the touch, forcing Roy to squeeze the rock-hard muscles gently. “Full Metal? Edward… if… I've crossed a line, I'm sorry. If you wish, we can call this whole thing off.”

 

Rage turned the lambent eyes a molten shade of gold as Edward spun about, easily twisting out of Roy's grip. “You bastard!” he choked. “How dare you start something, and then think you can just `call it off!' ” The faint, metallic whine of automail was unexpectedly loud in the suddenly silent kitchen as Ed raised both hands and shoved. A stunned Flame Alchemist stumbled backward, barking his hip painfully on the corner of the stove, but the furious figure stalking after him didn't give Roy a chance to catch his balance. Elric slapped the hand that stretched out to seek support away from the corner of the appliance, pushing until the dark haired man was leaning away, off-kilter, with the oven handle digging into the small of his back.

 

The wide-legged, aggressive stance was more than a little threatening, and a shiver of something very like fear scurried up Roy's spine. Being forced to lean back like that made him aware just how much of a disadvantage he was at, but at the same time, there was a distinct thrill to courting bodily injury. An intuition that he couldn't have explained if his life depended on it, made him meet the seething, tiger-fierce gaze that was now so nearly on a level with his own, and smile. Startled, the steel alchemist recoiled by the tiniest of margins, and Roy felt the corners of his mouth begin to curl up even more, as the part of his brain that never stopped calculating the odds abruptly went, Aha! Deliberately, he leaned forward, bringing his lips up along side of Ed's suddenly rosy ear, and whispered, “Are you saying that you want me to continue our little contest, then?”

 

Silence. Then a sharply in-drawn breath that went nowhere as the blond realized that he was damned whether he said `yes,' or `no.' Either way, he'd have to yield a chunk of the high ground to the invading Mustang army.

 

Roy just loved it when circumstances played into his hands better than if he had planned everything.

 

He leaned a little closer to the still frozen steel alchemist, pitching his resonant voice even lower, making it warm and intimate in his former subordinate's ear. “I will stop. All you need to do is to say the word. One… little… word. Just… `Stop.' ” The sensation of breath against the delicate whorls drew forth a powerful shiver, but not before the parted lips closed, and the white teeth met with a sharp snap. Ed threw off the effects of the spell, his head jerking up with enough force that the cords stood out along the column of his neck. For a second, Roy was distracted into wondering if he could get away with a clumsy, `accidental' kiss, just there, before deciding that it was tantamount to attempted suicide. And that would mean that Ed would hurt him twice, once for his presumption, and again for trying to kill himself. Roy winced. There was no way that he could escape both consequences.

 

Oblivious to his close call, the blond whirled about, ponytail flying out in an arc that would have been painful had it been braided when it connected with Mustang's cheek. Rigid, the teen stopped dead for an instant, before he spun back into Roy's personal space. He ignored the instinctive flinch on older man's part, much to the Flame Alchemist's relief, stepping up close to growl, “You said a month, Colonel. Don't think I'm going to let you cheat!”

 

Staring down into the blazing eyes, full of the fierce courage and prickly, desperate pride, Roy was lost, his own temper slipping loose from the rigid control he kept over it. For once in his life, the older man balled his fists in his trouser pockets to keep them from striking, and yelled back without thinking, “Then stop running away!”

 

Honey gold eyes went wide with shock.

 

Crap.

 

Roy hadn't meant to actually say that, to respond to the unspoken awareness that Edward held to himself like a funeral pall; that should he ever stop facing his fears and moving forward, one slow, tormented step at a time, no matter how hard it was and how little he wanted to, he would fall.

 

Roy understood falling.

 

The youthful face wobbled, struggling and losing the fight to retain its mask of self-righteous fury, and the retired army man felt a twist of unease in his gut; Edward did not fall apart. Even on those occasions when the boy had been at the limits of his strength, battered by his inability to save those around him, Full Metal had somehow rallied, and found a way to continue on. But this time, the one who had looked out for him and protected him was the betrayer. With a single, careless accusation, Roy had crossed the line between an officer, and those he had in his charge and keeping. And, unexpectedly, it hurt to see the normally determined teenager falter. Clumsily, the dark haired man again gripped Ed's shoulder, just to the human side of the steel, and said, “Enough dishes for tonight. Why don't we go sit down, and simply relax? I'll read a bit of something to you.”

 

Incredulity warred with common sense, and sense lost as Ed blurted out, “Read? As in `out loud?' Why? It's not like I can't read on my own.”

 

Roy sighed. But, at least the blond hadn't shrugged off his hand, or smacked the older alchemist into next week for his presumption. There was honest confusion in the tilt of Edward's head, and for a moment, it seemed he had forgotten his paranoia where his former commander's intentions were concerned. And that served to give Roy hope. Patiently, he said, “For pleasure, Full Metal. Words have a beauty all their own, and the ideas that they express can be worth enjoying for their own sake, even if they have no present application.”

 

Still staring at the Flame Alchemist, the frighteningly sharp mind turned the idea around. Ed did read for enjoyment, Roy knew, but he was so used to justifying it to himself as necessary research that the concept of there being no point what-so-ever to a line of inquiry had a degree of novelty to it. But books were a safe topic, and the blond relaxed. Interested in spite of himself, Ed asked reluctantly, “What do you have in mind?”

 

“Hmm… Maybe Jean d'Espagnet's Enchiridion physicae restitutae.” he answered thoughtfully. “It's been a long time since I read it.” At his companion's derisive snort, he added defensively, “It's a classic.”

 

“It's duller than dirt!” exclaimed Edward over his shoulder. But he was headed into the parlor, with its warmth and treasure trove of books.

 

Pausing to turn down the flame of the kitchen lamp, Roy struggled to suppress all indications of surprise, keeping his features bland and unthreatening, as he asked, “You've read it?” The shorter alchemist's distinctive tread - barefoot and metal shod - became muffled as it passed from the kitchen's scrubbed, wooden floor to the other room's worn carpet with its pattern of cabbage roses, dull maroon on duller dark blue. Hurriedly, Roy put the last pot in the sink to soak and followed his housemate.

 

Carelessly, Elric answered. “Yeah, I read it.” A quick frown of concentration flitted over his animated features, and he recited slowly, “ `The beginning of this Divine Science is the fear of the Lord and its end is charity and love toward our Neighbor; the all-satisfying Golden Crop is properly devoted to the rearing and endowing of temples and hospices; for whatsoever the Almighty freely bestoweth on us, we should properly offer again to him. So also Countries grievously oppressed may be set free; prisoners unduly held captive may be released, and souls almost starved may be relieved.' ” A rude noise expressed his low opinion, as did the words that followed hard on the heels of the quote: “It's a bunch of crock. D'Espagnet spends pages talking about basic chemical reactions being accompanied by flights of angels and trumpets. Take fulminating silver. Any idiot knows that dissolving silver oxide in ammonia will create an explosive. God's got nothing to do with it.” Roy had to sidestep to avoid wildly gesticulating arms when the excitable blond stopped dead in his path to argue.

 

Souls almost starved may be relieved… The dark haired alchemist repeated to himself. It shouldn't have surprised him that Ed had memorized that bit. The words were corny, perhaps, and very likely God didn't have anything much to do with it. But the sentiment expressed was also true, on a very basic level. Once, he too had held that same passage close to his heart as an example of what a real alchemist ought to be.

 

God, where had that innocence and naiveté gone?

 

Oblivious, the steel alchemist was still waving his arms, elaborating on the flaws in letting philosophers - Geeze, you can't trust those people to find their asses with both hands! - perform practical alchemy. A snicker threatened to escape from Roy, but he held it in, settling for a sardonically raised eyebrow. “That's not entirely fair.” the former officer protested mildly. “In d'Espagnet's time, the religious hierarchy held alchemy to be only one step higher than witch-craft, even if they no longer burned individuals at the stake. It was safer to be pious.”

 

Triumphant, Elric pounced. “See? That's the problem. They were so worried about what the authorities thought, that a lot of what they published is totally useless.”

 

The older man had to admit that Edward had a point. But it didn't stop him from slyly saying, “All right. Then how about Gerber? What do you think of him?”

 

The stresses of the past few weeks were forgotten as a delighted grin spread across a boyish, almost too pretty face, peeling back the years until Roy felt a twinge of guilt. Edward was eighteen, dammit, and the voice of reason that said an officer should be ashamed of himself for so much as thinking of the dense muscles under that white shirt and those black slacks, was having a field day. Roy told the voice to shut the hell up. He was the one taking the risks here, trying to tame a feral alchemist. It was worse than breaking a wild horse to the saddle. One wrong move, and not only would Ed verbally rip him a new one, he'd probably revert to type and do it physically, too. But, God help him, every time Mustang found himself faced with the vivid life housed in his counterpart's small body, his chest seized up, and his brain turned stupid. He bit his tongue before it could utter something especially idiotic.

 

It was damned hard being responsible, and worse having to think first.

 

The voice was still trying to get his attention, helpfully pointing out that Roy was trying to ignore the real issues, and to only think with his libido. And that the real problem was that somewhere along the way, what Edward felt and wanted had come to be important. Seducing him for a night through trickery wasn't enough, what Roy was finding he wanted was going to have to be the steel alchemist's idea. And that would take time.

 

Well, Roy Mustang could do patient, he sarcastically told that inner voice. A book that he wanted caught his eye, and he plucked it from a teetering stack on the floor. Heading for the couch, he called, “Come along. I think you might like this one.” Curious, Ed followed.

 

The black haired man seated himself at the end nearest to the fireplace, directly beneath the warm yellow flame of one of the gas jets. At his gesture of invitation, his companion dragged over a straight-backed chair and plopped down, and then proceeded to crane his neck trying to make out the title on the book's spine. Roy crossed his leg at the knee, and rested the volume against his shin, thwarting the attempt. “Bastard.” mumbled his frustrated houseguest, and the Colonel permitted himself a tiny, smug smile. He began to read:

 

…If these four elements do work in the fire,
To engender and bring forth some creature,
As the Salamander, ever living therein,
You must conceive well of his commixtion,
Which is by Nature and elements tempered so well,
That he delights as gold in the fire to dwell.
For to the creatures of the fire and his region,
The fire is always most natural…

The words died away and Roy glanced up, smirking, to catch a bewildered look that skated across the boy's face, followed by a thoughtful frown. Full Metal was hardly stupid; he grasped that the Salamander was a favorite symbol of Fire alchemy, and he knew that Roy's affinity lay in that realm, just as his own was with Earth. But it was also clear that the poem itself was unfamiliar. Relenting, the former army officer held up the book so that Ed could finally read its title: Aura Aris: A Collection of Alchemical Poetry. “What I just read is from Simon Forman's Of the Division of Chaos.” Roy commented.

 

Intrigued, the steel alchemist plucked Aura Aris from the older man's hands, and flipped through it. Half to himself, he mumbled, “Thomas Rawlin… Edmund Dickinson… Huh. I didn't know Dickinson wrote poetry…” His lips moved briefly, following a line, then he dropped the book back into Roy's hands and squirmed into a more comfortable position, his legs crossed on the dining room chair. At the expectant stare, Roy shook his head in mock-dismay and flipped through the pages until his fingers slowed, then stopped. His tone gentle, he said:

 

Wilt thou, by God's grace alone
Obtain the Stone of the Philosophers?
If so, seek it not in vegetables or animals,
In sulphur, quicksilver, and minerals;
Vitriol, alum, and salt are of no value;
Lead, tin, iron and copper profit nothing;
Silver and gold have no efficacy.
Hyle or Chaos will accomplish it all.
It is enclosed in our salt spring,
In the tree of the Moon and of the Sun.
I call it the Flower of Honey,
The Flower known to the Wise.
In fine, the Flower and Honey
Are the Sulphur and Quicksilver of the Wise.

Shock widened the younger alchemist's eyes, and for a dizzy second, Roy thought honey, and then yellow sulfur, just like that described by the anonymous poet.

 

He wanted, desperately, to reach out and cup the smooth jaw in his hand, and to run a hand through the thick golden hair. But Ed was already on his feet, stomping over to the big table. A massive book landed with a thud at Roy's feet, and a low growl commanded, “No more stupid poetry. Read that instead.”

 

Bemused, he hiked both eyebrows nearly into his hairline, and stared down at the solid mass of paper. It looked less like a book, and more like a lethal weapon, and Roy was glad that it had missed his bare toes. But he supposed that there was probably something in the collection of essays that would serve to pay his irritated partner back. He gave a melodramatic sigh, swallowing a snicker when Edward glared at the sound, and hefted the book into his lap. “I'll make you a deal,” drawled the Colonel slyly, “We'll read one of yours, but then I get to choose something that I like. Agreed?”

 

There really wasn't too much the steel alchemist could say to that. If he complained, he'd come off looking selfish and petty, and if there was one thing that this more matured Ed seemed to want, it was to move beyond simple Equivalent Trade, into genuine fairness. And while the new Ed still didn't like being out-flanked, he managed to give in with better humor than the older, childish version would have. The realization made Roy offer the book gravely, no amusement showing on his pale features, earning him an impudent, unrepentant grin.

 

“No, no - that's okay. I'll let you pick.” Anticipation brightened the sharp intelligence in the blond's gaze; obviously, he thought that he knew the content of the thick book, and believed that there was nothing between its covers that Roy could make use of. How little he knows! the elder alchemist thought with a winsome smirk. In the right hands - or mouth, as the case might be - any printed word became dangerous. He matched Edward's impudence with a wink, and tapped his forefinger on the open page. And, true to form, the younger man's competitive nature saw to it that his eyes narrowed in response to the challenge.

 

Ray had known nearly from the moment he'd first laid eyes on the severely damaged child that not only was he stubborn to a fault, but that he couldn't bear defeat. Whether the contest was against the agony of learning to accept automail, and to walk again, against his father's legacy, or the `bastard Colonel,' Ed could give nothing but his best.

 

Certainly, now was no different.

 

Impatiently, the glinting metal hand made a circling gesture of come on, get the show on the road, and Roy had to fight to hold in an outright snicker. It was too bad that the younger man didn't have a taste for poetry, as there were a number of rather more erotic selections in the Aura Aria. But there would hopefully be time enough for that later. For now, he flipped open the heavy boards of the essay compendium's cover and scanned the table of contents. One name in particular caught his eye, and a thread of curiosity uncurled in the older man's gut. It was a clear invitation to cause a little trouble in return, and the devil in the former officer went ah, ha! There was more than one way to throw an opponent off-guard, and he'd been meaning to find a way to broach the topic, anyway. Now, what would Edward make of that…? Carelessly, he said, “Here's one by Marcilio Ficino, from1518. Why don't I read that?”

 

The name did mean something, to judge by the way that the blood drained from Full Metal's face, leaving him starkly white, with a pinched look to his expressive mouth. Pretending not to notice, Roy added, “It's from the age of the vanished city, four hundred years ago.” Coaxingly, the dark haired man held the volume aloft, trusting to his houseguest's insatiable appetite for printed matter to lure him in. It didn't prepare Roy for the way the senior Elric abruptly flushed.

 

“Oh, I know all about him!” hissed the outraged steel alchemist. “ `The souls of the lesser and impure be the fuel that sustains the Immortality of the Wise?' What the Hell? Why would I want to hear about that?” He waved both hands, steel glittering in the lamplight, at the shelves lining the majority of the room's walls, calling attention to the wealth of other, more modern texts that overflowed into piles on the floor, the small side table, and even the spare dining chairs. “Who wants to read about some has-been? The guy was probably a quack- ”

 

“Was Dante a quack?” Roy parried swiftly. There was a certain temptation to add `Was Hoenheim of Light?' but he squelched that. Something in the younger man's fierce glare told him that no matter if he had done some growing up and no longer hated the man, Ed was just daring him to bring up the father that had been absent through most of the brothers' lives. Roy wanted progress, not a brawl. He allowed himself a small grunt of displeasure. It was no help at all that he had obviously stumbled yet again over the invisible, unmarked line that Ed had drawn around the battle in the underground city, when all he'd intended was to trick the younger man into discussing morality, and maybe to confirm a few facts. Past tantalizing hints had only served to whet Roy's curiosity. But at the scowl that twisted the expressive features, the ex-officer reminded himself that he was known for his patience as much as for being sneaky and conniving, and continued more gently, “You told me, once, that they had managed to create a perfected Stone. The only cataclysmic event that fit was the city that disappeared.”

 

Miserable, the steel alchemist muttered, “A whole city's worth of lives, Mustang. I- ” A closed, metal fist pounded on the battered table, rattling the abandoned dinner dishes. His voice rose in shout, “Do you have any concept of the cost involved in making a Stone powerful enough to confer virtual immortality on not one, but two people?”

 

“I did the math.” Roy said, not unkindly. Edward's fair skin flushed with outrage, and he opened his mouth to refute, to argue… and in the end, said nothing. He turned his head away, uncomfortable, and resolutely looked at the tawdry yellow wallpaper to one side of his former commander. Who, sighing, offered an olive branch. “Ficino was a contemporary of Dante's, and may well have known her. I thought you would be interested in getting a feel for the prevailing school of thought from her day. It wouldn't excuse what she did, of course, but it might still provide some insight.”

 

“Damned straight, it doesn't excuse!” the younger alchemist snapped. The hot yellow eyes snapped up, meeting calm black, and narrowed in consideration. Sulkily, he continued, “You're trying to make some point or other. I'll never get why you don't just come out and say what you're thinking, instead of making a big production out of it.”

 

The Flame Alchemist allowed a slow, smug grin to flow across his features, and crossed his legs deliberately. The book, with his forefinger serving as bookmark, rested on top of one knee. “But Full Metal,” he murmured silkily, “Where would the fun be in that?” Astonishment widened the blond's eyes momentarily, before Ed gave his own, razor-sharp smirk in return.

 

“Oh, never let it be said that I interfered with your fun! Okay, fine. You're running the show.” Back on familiar ground, Ed nonchalantly rested his hip on the edge of the table, while reckless humor lit his face. “Well…” he drawled, “What do you want me to do?”

 

The line was almost too good to resist; a thin black eyebrow skated perilously high on Roy's forehead, threatening to vanish into the messy fall of equally black, straight hair. At the slight, upward jerk of Edward's chin, still challenging him to retaliate, a more genuine smile briefly curled the Colonel's lips. But instead of answering, he simply patted the couch cushion by way of invitation.

 

It was Ed's turn to hike an incredulous brow. “What? You think I'm nuts? It'd be safer walking into a hibernating bear's den. In spring. While playing the cymbals.”

 

Startled into amusement, Roy laughed. He caught sight of an answering twitch in the other alchemist's lips, and treated the reluctant blond to a full dose of his most seductive, low purr, “Oh, but I know you, Edward. You like the thrill of doing what's dangerous. The way it makes your heart speed up, and your palm sweat, just a little. If you don't, you'll be wondering what I had in mind… for hours. It'll drive you crazy, not knowing if I really was up to something… Or not. But it's your choice.

 

Scowling, the steel alchemist weighed the threat of the slim volume of poetry, against the unexpectedly more hazardous than it had looked collection of essays, and lastly, his smug commanding officer. There was a definite sense of damned if I do, damned if I don't. And put that way, Ed really had no choice but to cross the intervening space in a couple of quick strides, and throw himself down onto the sofa. He was close enough that Roy could feel the caress of living heat, and could look down into the open collar of the shorter alchemist's shirt. The thin cotton filtered the gas jet's yellow light into a soft gilding of highlights and shadows, curling along well-defined muscles and bone, glowing on metal and scars. Roy's fingers itched to reach out and discover for himself if the steel was as warm to the touch as it looked, or if it would be a soothing coolness. Patience, he reminded himself, and the digits stilled, limited to the task of holding the book while he read.

 

Instead of Ficino, he chose an essay that was really rather boring, a beginner's introduction to laboratory practices, and the Flame Alchemist only gave it half of his attention. His couch-mate was fidgeting, alternately mesmerized by the low, deliberately seductive voice of his former commander, and distracted by trying to sit still.

 

Roy couldn't decide if he was flattered by the attempt, or annoyed by its on-going defeat. Finally, a finger held his place in the book as Roy paused to scowl at his companion. “Full Metal,” he snapped. “If you'd rather stretch out while I read, then please do so.”

 

Typically, Ed took it as an insult, growling, “What? You think I'm so short that I can fit on only half a couch, you bastard?”

 

“I did not say anything of the sort. But if the shoe fits, by all means, wear it.” retorted the annoyed army man. Transparent as always, the blond's eyes widened in surprise to hear such a blunt response, then narrowed in calculation as he tried to figure out what Roy was up to. Exasperated, his former commander rolled his eyes, remarking, “Sometimes, Edward, a cigar is just a cigar.” Ed glared angrily. Sighing, Roy patted his own thigh. “Here, you can use me as a pillow. Just lie down.”

 

Dubious, his housemate measured the length of the couch, and considered the potential for traps in the offer. Yes, if he used Roy as a headrest, and put his feet up on the far arm, there would be just enough space… But there had to be a catch, and the older alchemist could nearly smell the oil burning as his former protégé over-thought the whole matter.

 

But at the same time, there was a spark of considering interest.

 

Even Ed would be the first to admit that he simply couldn't pass up a challenge, no matter if it involved something as idiotic as trying to swim while weighed down by automail limbs; prod him in the ego, and he'd bite. And now was no exception. He dropped onto the sofa, head landing on the proffered substitute cushion, sprawling with one arm dangling, and the calf of his human leg resting atop the bent metal knee of the other.

 

Roy grinned. “You realize it's my turn? And I don't intend to let you pick for me.”

 

“Feh.” One lip curled in mock disgust as Ed shot back, “Do your worst, old man. I won't crack.”

 

The thick tome returned to the lowest point in the gravity well, hitting the floor with a sound reminiscent of cracking floor boards; the owner of the house winced - just in case the fancy had been true, and he had damaged the cottage through the injudicious application of an alchemical doorstop. But even so, he was relieved to not only be rid of the book's mass, but to be back to making some headway with his stubborn quarry. Edward had just laid his head in Roy's lap, and if that wasn't something worth marking on the calendar of these lonely days, he didn't know what was. Contented, the former military man reached for his book of poetry, and resumed reading.

 

At the nub of radium
At the hollow of the atom
Where space is fixed upon
A point of black light,
A jut of green casts into
The beating element
At the nub of radium
Seething with dyes and coils
Of ether, pointed like stakes,
There at the peak of the atom
Where I planted a flag and drew upon my map
The river and the shepherd,
One coursing on the ice of the valley
The other leaping a chasm
His crook slashing the air like a scimitar.
I set my blazon in the snow
At this height, at the nub of radium,
Where the pennon hums and flashes
In a blast of suns…

Whether it was the unaccustomed angle to his view of the strong line of Roy's jaw, or the more martial rhythm, the teenager seemed to have forgotten his objection to poetry, and lay quiescent. The only problem was that the gold clasp holding Full Metal's aureate hair was digging painfully into Roy's thigh. Murmuring a soft apology, the officer slid a hand beneath the nape of Edward's neck, and wiggled the clip loose to lay it on the table of his chest. The unexpectedness of the gesture made him tense reflexively. Roy hadn't paused the smooth cadences of the poem, and as the former soldier's hand drifted away, the younger man relaxed imperceptibly. But he tightened up again in alarm when the long, elegant fingers threaded themselves into the gleaming yellow hair.

 

To be honest, Roy had memorized the poem - and most of the others in the book - ages ago. But holding the thin volume steady in one hand provided him with a ready-made screen. It let both of them, he and Ed, pretend that Roy wasn't stroking the silk-sleek hair, or allowing his fingers to wander, massaging gently behind one ear, or worrying at the old knots in young muscles. It gave them a way to pretend that nothing was happening.

 

The faint scent of machine oil, and the scorched ozone tang of electrical connections making and breaking complex circuits every time he twitched and trembled. God… masculine or feminine, Edward was beautiful. The potential that had been present in the child, had matured like the best wine, his features grown a little leaner and refined by time, just as the compact body had become unconsciously graceful.

 

The stereotypical thing, of course, would have been to compare Edward to a great pussy-cat, purring under the knowledgeable caress of a master's hand. So, equally of course, that was the last analogy to hold water; there was nothing kitty-ish about the temperamental blond. Fierce? Yes. Proud? Ditto. Prickly? Without a doubt. Likely to curse his former superior into next week if he got wind of the thoughts playing bump-and-grind in a certain head? Only if said former superior didn't end up dead first.

 

Which was, sadly, a not unreasonable expectation.

 

Full Metal had never learned to play nice with others, even before he'd been granted his famous title by Amestior's Fuhrer. The odds was equally good that he'd punch Roy below the belt for the thoughts scurrying around in his brain, as transform the tired old couch into rack and use it to immobilize the officer. And, sadly, Roy had to admit that a part of him found the idea of being stretched out, helplessly at Ed's mercy to be an incredible turn-on.

 

And just where had that thought come from, anyway?

 

The words he read continued to fall in measured cadence from his lips while his mind did a busy turn on the hamster wheel trying to figure out how he'd gotten from being a Controlling Bastard to Tie Me Down, Mate.

 

Oh, Lord… He was smitten. And bad.

 

A certain corporal had once claimed that Roy could make even the army's manual on field stripping a rifle sound sexy if he put his mind to it, and the former colonel had to admit that he was investing some serious effort. And it was beginning to look as if it was paying off; Edward's brilliant eyes had taken on a distinctly glazed look, and the soft lips were parted. But before Roy could congratulate himself, his warm lap-full rolled off the couch and onto his feet in one smooth, feline movement, and strode to the table. Distractedly, Ed muttered, “Furnace temperatures… Kircher's Equipment Catalog'll have `em… I know I saw it here somewhere… Where did that damned book go?”

 

Nonplused, Roy blinked, years of playing poker army-style squashing his urge to whine, “Hey!” at the oblivious younger man. Who had apparently found the volume in question because he had flipped open a fat book, taken out a sheet of paper and his pen, and sat down.

 

The rapid scritch of Full Metal's pen's nib was the only sound. Then, unable to contain it any longer, Roy began to laugh. It was that, or cry, because it was first time that he could remember having the object of a determined attempt to seduce dump him in favor of research.

 

To be continued…

 

 

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Author's Unashamed Notes:

Yeah, yeah… Guilty of overdoing, as per normal. Here is the bibliography for the chapter above. And no, it is NOT as long as the admittedly much-delayed piece of fic. So there.

 

As mentioned, there really is no such thing as the Aura Aris: A Collection of Alchemical Poetry. But the poetry itself is real. The bibliography is below.

 

FYI… Fulminating silver: Silver nitride, very explosive when dry. Made by dissolving silver oxide in ammonia.

 

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“THE ELEMENT”

is from “Adam Before His Mirror” by Ned O'Gorman. Harcourt Brace & World, (1961).

“Libre de Arte Chemica” by Marsilio Ficino.

Item 7 from Ms. Sloane 3638. Transcribed by Justin von Budjoss.
This text is a translation of a Latin text, Marsilius Ficinus, 'Liber de Arte Chemica', which was printed in the Theatrum Chemicum, Vol 2, Geneva, 1702, p172-183. It is not entirely certain if this text was actually written by Ficino, or was later ascribed to him:
"An unknown concerning the Chymicall Art. But Lucerna Salis affirms him to be Marcilius Ficinus, an Italian of the Dukedom of Florence or Tuscany, in the year 1518."

(Okay, I admit it. I bastardized his work a bit, although he does go on at great length about the superiority of the Alchemical product over the natural, and how the philosophers bring the luster of perfection to the imperfect.)

 

An Alchemical poem by Thomas Rawlin

Transcribed from The British Library MS. Sloane 3643, at the end of 'A warning to the false Chymists or the Philosophical Alphabet by Thomas Rawlin' folios 14-55. This work was printed in Latin, Thomas Rawlin, Admonitio de Pseudochymicis, seu Alphabetarium Philosophicum in quo refutatur aurum potabile Antonii, 1611.

http://www.levity.com/alchemy/rawlin.html

 

Of the Division of Chaos, by Simon Forman.
This alchemical poem by the physician, astrologer, magician and alchemist, Simon Forman (1552-1611) is in the Bodleian Library Oxford, MS Ashmole 240. I relied on Adam McLean's modernized spelling and adjusted punctuation. http://www.levity.com/alchemy/forman_chaos.html

 

Certain Verses of an Unknown Writer
concerning the Great Work of the Tincture.

This was included in the compendium by Benedictus Figulus, Pandora magnalium naturalium..., Strassburg, 1608, which was translated by A.E. Waite in his edition The Golden and Blessed Casket of Nature's Marvels..., London, 1893.

 

The Worck of Dickinson, A 17th century allegorical alchemical poem by Edmund Dickinson, transcribed from MS Ferguson 91 in Glasgow University Library.

Enchiridion Physicae Restitutae (aka `The Hermetic Arcanum') by Jean d'Espagnet, was a key work of 17th century alchemy. It was written in Latin and the first edition was issued at Paris in 1623. A number of editions were issued over the next decades and it was included in a number of alchemical compendia. An English translation, by Elias Ashmole, was printed in 1650, in Arthur Dee's `Fasciculus chemicus: or chymical collections.'

http://www.levity.com/alchemy/harcanum.html

 

Table of alchemical equipment and operations by Athanasius Kircher

This systematic table of alchemical operations and apparatus is found in Athanasius Kircher, Mundus Subterraneus... Amsterdam, 1665. Tomus II., page 260. (For giggle-value, I've extrapolated it into a supply catalog…)