Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ these fatal moments of your nearness ❯ these fatal moments of your nearness ( One-Shot )

Edward had said he'd only be gone a couple of days, but it was nearly two weeks after he'd walked out the door before Alphonse was woken from his afternoon nap by a rattle at the door. He sat up, picking the penny novel off his chest before it dropped to the floor, just in time to see his older brother force the door open and cast him a sunny grin.

"I'm home," said Edward. The clean bite of the cool autumn air came in with him. His hair was a bit mussed, long strands escaping the braid, and there was a leaf clinging to him near his ear.

"You didn't write," said Alphonse crossly. "I was starting to worry."

"By the time I realized how long it was going to take, a letter would have taken just as long to get to you as me. Otherwise I would have." Edward walked past him, carrying his suitcase toward the guest room, where Alphonse would just have to move it later anyway. He wondered why his brother maintained this charade, every time he came home, of intending to sleep in the guest room. He never did, and never wanted to, but he always behaved as if he was going to, and made Alphonse move him into the master bedroom.

"You could have written East City Headquarters then, and had them call me." Alphonse got up from the living room couch and followed Edward.

"I wouldn't trust them to know their asses from a hole in the ground."

"You could have called me yourself from the station, then, when you started back. Even two days' consideration would have helped." As Edward went through the motions of unpacking into the guest room, Alphonse came up behind him and picked the dead leaf out of his hair. Edward jerked when touched, as if he hadn't realized that Alphonse was that close, and glanced that way.

"Yeah. I could have." He turned around again, pulling a stack of slender journals out of his suitcase. "I'm sorry. I should have."

"It's okay," said Alphonse. Once the apology was offered, he could forgive and dismiss it; offering an apology was all he wanted Edward to do. Snagging Edward's comb from out of the suitcase, he backed off and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You're home now, that's all that matters. Come here and let me fix your hair."

Edward wanted him, he knew. Edward always wanted him, and would never admit it. Alphonse didn't have to look for the clues anymore; it was just a given that his brother wanted him, especially right after they had been apart as a result of Edward's travelling. The game of unpacking in the guest room, as if he intended to sleep there, was part of Edward's homecoming ritual, a ritual of pretending that he didn't want Alphonse.

In the past, Alphonse had tried to get Edward to drop the pretenses, and be honest with himself and with Alphonse about what he wanted. He didn't bother anymore, and just played along.

It was with studied nonchalance that Edward sat down on the edge of the bed, but Alphonse could see the nervous tremble in his brother's hands. "You never used to get this messy," he said, also maintaining a mask of indifference as he tugged the leather tie off Edward's golden braid and began to finger-comb the braid out. It helped Edward for things to go this way. "I've seen you fight for ten minutes without getting your braid messed up, how do you manage to do it sitting still on a train?"

"It's gremlins," said Edward. "They come and play with my hair while I'm asleep."

"Riiiiight." Alphonse started to comb the ends first, and slowly worked his way up. "I suppose they plant these gray hairs while they're doing it."

"I don't have any gray hairs."

Edward yelped when Alphonse yanked one out to study it closely. "You're right. It's more silvery than gray. I stand corrected."

"I don't have any silver hair either. You're just colorblind."

"If you say so." It amused Alphonse to humor Edward in this, because it was unimportant and he humored Edward in so much else. The weight and heft of wiry golden hair in his hands was a pleasure, as was the texture of his brother's neck when his fingers happened to stray a bit, and the scent of dust and sweat and masculinity that occasionally reached his nose. "It's not like you might actually reach middle age like a normal mortal or anything."

Edward's shoulders were still a little tense, but he was slowly relaxing as Alphonse combed his hair. "I'm going to be twenty-two forever, what are you talking about?" He was starting to lean back a little bit as well, in silent supplication.

"Oh, of course. I forgot about that." The tangles were all out - there had never been many to start - but Alphonse continued to gently comb, running his hands over that beautiful hair, threading his fingers through it to follow the comb. His motions were slowing, becoming less utilitarian and more appreciative, wandering to the sides of Edward's neck more often. "So what kept you this time?"

"Mmmm," murmured Edward, and then said vaguely, "People always have something to hide." He leaned back a little more, almost resting against Alphonse's shoulder now, and Alphonse turned a bit to the side so he could reach an arm around his brother and continue to play with his hair.

"They're not always hiding bad things. You need to stop assuming that everyone is doing something illegal."

By turning his head a little to the side, Edward was able to flick him an amused glance. "I'll stop assuming it when it stops being true." One hand twitched in Edward's lap, and Alphonse thought that his brother would maybe like to reach up and touch him in return, but didn't dare.

"You're biased. You only see the ones who are suspected of illegal activity in the first place. When did you get so cynical?"

"I was born cynical. You know that." Edward closed his eyes, a tiny, contented smile softening his lips as Alphonse began to run his fingers over his brother's face. There were lines there, old ones and new ones - sun-lines radiating out from his eyes, an angry little dent etched between his eyebrows, and worry-lines creasing the corners of his mouth. There weren't that many, and they weren't deep, but they weren't ever going to go away. Alphonse traced the lines, wanting to erase them with a touch.

"You weren't," he said. "But you were born a liar."

The lines vanished for a moment as Edward laughed softly. He tilted up his chin, asking without asking to be kissed, and Alphonse could not refuse.

It was always like the first time all over again, when Edward had been gone and was freshly home again. There was hesitation, restraint layered on top of hunger and desperation, as Edward held himself back from what he wanted as long as he could. Alphonse had to draw him out, kiss him greedily, unbutton his shirt and slide a hand inside and brush his fingers over one warm nipple, before Edward began to reciprocate. It was part of the ritual, just one more action in the game they always played.

Edward squirmed around until he was facing Alphonse, kneeling on the edge of the bed and straddling his brother's lap; Alphonse's hands fisted in his open shirt as they kissed. At some point, probably on the train or at the station, Edward had eaten something with strawberries in it. "Al," whispered Edward, breathlessly and without breaking the contact of their lips. It was not a question, because Edward never asked, but Alphonse answered it anyway.

"I don't mind," said Alphonse.

He leaned back now, so that Edward could press him down into the mattress, and still they kissed. Edward smelled like dry leaves and road dust, tasted like berries and shameful desire. When Alphonse ran his hands up his brother's arms to hold his shoulders, he could feel the tension lingering there; there was pleasure as he crawled backward a little to get more fully onto the bed, and Edward lowered himself down atop him, knees between Alphonse's thighs and erection pressed to Alphonse's hip. Alphonse had not re-braided his brother's hair, and it spilled down around Edward's neck like a golden scarf.

Edward had never grown very much. He'd never gotten lanky or awkward; he'd remained neat and compact throughout his teenaged years, and had only become more precise after that. His weight atop Alphonse was light and comfortable, and even when he ground his erection into Alphonse's groin, it was as if he was incapable of inflicting pain. Alphonse knew this wasn't true, but as he slid his hands around and back into Edward's shirt so he could caress the smooth warmth of Edward's back, it felt that way. Perhaps it was only true when they were together.

The more encouraging Alphonse was, hands eager on Edward's back and sides, the more Edward let his control slip and the harder he kissed, the more urgently he rocked his hips against Alphonse. Eventually their lips parted, and Edward was panting in Alphonse's ear and mouthing his neck.

"Yeah," whispered Alphonse. And then he said, "I want you," because Edward never would. His reward was a soft, broken moan, and so he said it again. "I want you. I want you inside me, Nii-san. I want you to fuck me. I like it when you do."

"Fuck," whispered Edward softly, desperately, and Alphonse knew it was because those were Edward's desires, the ones he refused to speak. "Al ..."

Alphonse forced a hand between them, and began to unfasten his brother's belt. "Shhh, don't say anything. Just fuck me."

Sometimes Edward used to cry when Alphonse would say things like that. It had taken Alphonse a long time to figure out that it wasn't because Edward was unhappy, but because he was so hopelessly relieved. He didn't cry much anymore, and he didn't today, but the moans in Alphonse's ear were wet with unvoiced sobs.

As the pants and shirt came off, Alphonse stroked down his brother's back, over the tight curve of his rear, down his thighs, and Edward pressed up into his hands, down against his body. It was more problematic getting his own clothes off, but Edward helped him squirm free, and then it was just the warmth of his brother's skin against his own and the hardness of his brother's erection next to his.

"Nii-san," whispered Alphonse in pleasure, as he thrust his cock up to rub it against Edward's body. Even if he hadn't known how good it could feel, desire was contagious, and Edward had plenty to spare. "I want you. I want you."

"Swear," whispered Edward, into Alphonse's collarbone. "Promise me you want this."

"I swear. I want you." And there was that hitched little groan of relief again, breathed against his throat. What would Edward have done, if Alphonse had not been willing to tolerate his desire? If Alphonse had not figured out just how much Edward wanted it, when Edward was never willing to say it? Driven himself insane, maybe. "I only want you. I've only ever wanted you."

"Al ... oh fuck, Al." Hot, moist lips and a wet tongue marked Alphonse's shoulders and collarbone, concealed under a curtain of golden hair.

There was oil in a jar on the bedside table, because they often ended up doing this here. Alphonse let Edward roll him onto his belly, and he lay with his eyes closed and his knees spread, with his fingers curled into the coverlet, as Edward carefully oiled him. He wouldn't have let anyone else do this. He never would have let anyone else touch him this way, violate him like this with a slow and slick finger, but Edward needed it. The kisses on his back, between his shoulderblades, were apologies that would never be spoken; Edward could hardly apologize for wanting something he would never admit to wanting. But that was all right. The fact that an apology was offered was sufficient for Alphonse to forgive his brother anything.

Edward knelt between Alphonse's thighs, hands denting the mattress on either side of his brother's shoulders, and hesitated with his cock pressing lightly between Alphonse's buttocks. He was trembling. "Al," he murmured, and Alphonse could hear the second thoughts in the word.

Gathering his hands beneath him, Alphonse pushed himself up a bit, rising slightly onto his hands and knees and forcing himself back onto his brother's cock; it slipped halfway inside him, easily, and Alphonse gasped in pleasure. "Just fuck me," he said, and words were difficult. "Just fuck me."

"Al," whispered Edward thickly. Edward's body was a warm presence, light along Alphonse's back, and his breath was hot against Alphonse's shoulder.

"I want you," said Alphonse. "Just believe me." There was no need to voice the corollary, And you want me.

The last of Edward's control slipped, vanishing with a defeated groan against he nape of Alphonse's neck. The pleasurable pressure inside Alphonse was withdrawn, then returned as Edward thrust deeply into him. They moved slowly at first, concerned less with the rush to orgasm as just enjoying the feel of each other: Edward kissed Alphonse and licked deeply into the flesh of his shoulders, and Alphonse spread his knees wider, depriving his own genitals of the protection of his thighs in favor of dipping his hips as low as possible so that he could feel every inch of his brother sliding in and out of him. It was exquisite, to feel that inside him, to know that it was Edward.

Really, there was no need for all the pretending, but Edward apparently didn't see it that way.

Alphonse had already cried out, a short bark of pleasure, before his mind registered that Edward had found the exact right angle. "Nii-san," he breathed, and cried out again on the next thrust. Edward's hands moved from the mattress to Alphonse's hips, bracing his weight and thrusting hard. Alphonse didn't even try to speak anymore, or keep his eyes open; he just rested his head on his forearms and his weight on his elbows, and rocked in time with his brother's motions, letting each thrust pull a yelp of pleasure out of his throat. Edward still leaned over him, his breath a harsh counter-rhythm and his hair a layer of warmth over Alphonse's shoulders.

When Edward's hand finally worked its way around and found Alphonse's erection, Alphonse couldn't help a low keen and a hard buck of his hips. It was mind-blanking for a moment, the addition of this new pleasure to his already-overloaded nerves, and it only took a few strokes of Edward's hand to bring Alphonse to orgasm. While Alphonse's world was going off in silent sparks around him, and he panted to catch his breath, Edward sobbed softly against his back and came as well.

Alphonse let himself down, his knees sliding sideways and his elbows folding until he was resting belly-down on the bed with Edward still on top of him, and inside him. Neither of them said anything for a long time, while their breathing slowed and the heat glowed off of them into the coolness of the room's air. Eventually Alphonse stirred, squirming a little until Edward noticed the motion and pulled out of him and sat up enough to give him space to roll over onto his back.

Edward's skin was damp enough with sweat to stick to his fingers as Alphonse touched his brother's chest. Those dark gold eyes would not meet his, and Alphonse respected his brother's silence. "How long are you staying?" he asked.

"A week, they say," said Edward. "But you know how that is."

Alphonse nodded, gaze flicking down to the nipple under his fingers. "You could always quit."

The only answer was a brief shake of Edward's head. His reasons for not trying to get out of his contract had been the subject of numerous arguments, and Alphonse suggested it now only out of habit. "I could go with you," said Alphonse.

"You don't need to do that."

"I want to."

Again, Edward shook his head, and this time he also let himself down onto the bed, laying on his side beside Alphonse. Now that he'd indulged in his desire for his brother's body, Edward was relaxed, all the tension gone out of his muscles. Alphonse buried his fingers in Edward's heavy hair. "It's not like it used to be," said Edward. "There's no need for you to uproot your life for weeks at a time."

"I don't like being separated from you."

"I know." Alphonse's hand was captured, restrained between Edward's scarred fingers, and languidly kissed. "I want you to come with me, but there would be issues if my civilian brother tagged along everywhere I go. There are things they wouldn't want you to see."

Everything had been said before, and Alphonse didn't offer to try for a certification this time. He knew what Edward would say to that, too; Edward had answers for everything, except the things he refused to talk about. So instead, he touched his forehead to Edward's and said, "I never want to be without you."

"You're not without me," said Edward with a sleepy grin. "It's always a temporary thing."

The argument was an old and tired one, and were it not for the idle kisses against Alphonse's fingers, and the comfortable soreness in his rear, it could have taken place anywhere. He let it drop, because Edward had been travelling all day and was looking tired, and presently Edward let his hand go and settled in to sleep. Alphonse watched him for a long time, but Edward's fingers were curled under his chin, and never fully relaxed.