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Caveat Emptor	By : seatbeltdrivein Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male > Roy/Ed Views: 798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and do not profit from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Series: This is an AU of the first anime that uses some elements of the manga

Full Summary: In a world where alchemy is illegal and Amestris is run by monsters, Roy Mustang has his work cut out for him. But it's impossible to fix a broken nation with the government breathing down his neck, so Roy starts a shaky alliance with the head of the notorious Devil's Nest family, who offers him a quick (and expensive) solution. What he receives isn't at all what he expected.

Notes: Another NaNo fic! This one was written for my au_bingo card with the prompt of "Prostitute." So do keep in mind, this fic involves explicit prostitution. On the whole, I am very iffy about the prostitute-yaoi-cliché, so I'd like to think I can sort of mess around with that. Here's for trying! ^^; Thanks goes to bob_fish, who beat the hell out of this for me.

**

The boy turned up at his front door at precisely seven minutes past midnight, just as Roy was putting his bottle back in its cabinet, the amber liquid catching the light as the doorbell rang. Head to feet, he was drenched with rain, dwarfed in a black overcoat, the tremors wracking his arms visible even through the thick fabric. He stared up at Roy with liquor-gold eyes, scowled and said, "The boss sent me."
"You're from—" Roy shook off his stupor and opened the door wider, taking a careful look toward the darkened streets as the boy barged in. Closing the door behind him, "You're not what I expected."
"Isn't it better that way?" The boy pulled off his boots, dropping them to the floor with a solid thunk.
"I need proof," Roy insisted. If Greed had sent him a kid, there wasn't much he could do, but he wasn't rash enough to take the boy at his word, not even close.
The boy shrugged out of the too-large coat, the fabric squelching when it hit the tile, covering his boots. He looked significantly older then, and Roy relaxed his shoulders, able to breathe again.
"Edward Elric," the boy said, "seventeen, been a member of Devil's Nest for five years. Call it in if I'm so fucking disappointing, but I'm not tryin' to pull anything."
Seventeen—and five years? "I suppose that will do," Roy said, still reluctant. "You do realize what—" He broke off, shook his head. "I was expecting a woman."
"A woman couldn't do what you need done," Edward said. "Not all of it, anyway. She'd just get killed, an' then where the fuck would you be?"
"I paid for the full service," Roy said, chose his words carefully. He wouldn't have been surprised if the boy turned tail and ran.
"You'll get it," Edward promised. "And you'll get to live and keep your limbs. Good deal, right?"
"You'll have to be discreet. I couldn't care less what you are, but the board of directors will."
"Relax," Edward said, rolled his eyes. "I told you, I got this. Greed sent me for a reason, y'know."
Roy would sooner eat his own tongue than trust Greed, but the boy was there and the money already wired to the proper account—he had little option. "I suppose so," he said again.
"Yeah." The boy stood in the entryway, tugging the hem of his shirt with nervous fingers. "So," he said, looking off to the side. "So. You need anything tonight?"
The boy looked cold, looked unsure, but Roy had paid for three months, an obscene amount of money. "Go take a shower," he instructed. He gave Edward a long look and added, "Towel yourself off only. You've no need for anything else."
Edward's face burned red, but he nodded. "Where…?"
"Upstairs, third door to the left," Roy said, already grabbing the coat and nudging the boots into some semblance of order against the wall.
"And after?" Edward asked, one foot up the stairs.
"The door at the end of the hall is my room," Roy answered. "Try not to take too long."
The boy scowled again, eyebrows dipping into an angry v, lips twisted. "Yes, sir," he said, sneering. "I'd hate to make you wait." He stomped up the stairs, feet slamming loud against the wood, and Roy watched him go, amused and exasperated.
Clearly, the boy wasn't used to the specific job he'd been assigned. No matter. Roy had built his entire career on dealing with difficult men. One mouthy hooker wasn't enough to unsettle him.
He was still downstairs when the water kicked on in the upstairs bathroom. The boy's coat was, for lack of a better word, atrocious. A complete abomination to good taste—throwing it away seemed hardly enough to deal with the mildewy smell floating around it like its own ozone layer, but it would have to do. Roy threw it out the living room window, heard it land on the trash with a satisfying clatter of glass and metal under damp fabric, and made his way up the stairs to the master bedroom, pulling his tie loose.
As he opened the bedroom door, the sound of running water died abruptly, and he caught sight of movement, shadows under the door, feet trailing back and forth in the small confines of the bathroom.
The boy was cussing about something, loudly, and the banging that followed the steady stream of expletives sent Roy's stomach churning.
Laying his tie over the foot of the bed, Roy was just tugging his buttons open, shrugging out of his shirt, when he saw Edward in his peripheral vision. The boy was standing stark naked in the doorway with a large white towel clutched in his fists, dangling over his groin. Roy stared at the boy and angry pits of gold stared back defiantly, belying the almost petulant set of the boy's lips.
Roy folded his shirt, placed it on top of the chest of drawers, and reached out a hand. "Come here," he said. Edward jolted, and Roy softened his tone, lowered his voice. "Edward," he said the boy's name slowly, drew it out into a rumbling purr, and watched the boy's flush darken, red creeping down his neck. Roy tugged on the buckle of his belt, looked pointedly at the boy. "Any day now," he couldn't help but say, pleased at the answering spark in those eyes as the boy stormed forward and, as if it were an afterthought, let the towel drop. Roy made no secret of his appreciation, even as Edward's hands fumbled on his buckle. Edward was beautiful, from the sharp, square cut of his hips to the damp gold hair streaming down his shoulders and back.
It was impossible to be disappointed.
He put his hands on the boy's shoulders, and Edward froze, then scrambled back into motion, ripping Roy's belt from the loops and sending the man stumbling backward onto the bed.
"Stop lookin' at me like that," Edward demanded, but it was too hard to concentrate on words when the boy's hands were drawing down his zip, tugging down two layers of clothing until Roy was just as bare as he was.
"That's fine," Roy muttered in a rushed tone. "I didn't pay to look" — and then they were rolling. Edward's back hit the bed and gold fanned out behind him. The boy looked frantic, eyes wide and focused on Roy's face, and Roy ran his hands in a long, smooth motion up Edward's sides as he crawled over him, staring down. "Edward, relax."
Silence, then, "Ed," the boy murmured, closing his eyes. "S'weird, bein' called my whole name."
"Ed," Roy repeated, leaning down, face pressed against Ed's neck, grinning into the warm, wet skin when the boy arched, moving, open for Roy to do anything he pleased. "You're much more compliant than I would have thought," he said. He scraped his teeth along the smooth skin, pressing down just barely when a tremor ran up the boy's spine, body vibrating in Roy's arms.
"Don't take it personally," Ed said, voice a breathy whisper. "'Cause I kinda think you're an ass."
Roy laughed, sliding a hand between Ed's legs and cupping his cock, felt the flesh harden against his fingers. "Then I suppose I have biology to thank for this," he squeezed for emphasis, and Ed whined, a long, keening sound, and pressed up into his palm.
"Yeah," he panted, "biology's cool, great, you just keep workin' that."
Fisting Ed's cock, Roy tugged, pressed his thumb against the slit, watched Ed's face contort with pleasure. "This isn't very fair, now is it?" he asked, watched Ed crack his eyes open, blink rapidly, and close them again, hips pushing into Roy's grip.
"S'not fair? Seems fair to, ah, fuck, to me!"
"Your poor client is hard and wanting, Ed," Roy said, thrusting the hard line of his cock against Ed's hip. The boy's eyes shot open, the murky gold clearing, and Ed bit his lips, tossed his head to the side and wailed when Roy let go and slipped his hands under Ed's back, cupping his ass and squeezing, drawing the boy closer.
"Wait," Ed said, a rushed pant, squirming. "Wait—" Roy made a vague shushing noise, sliding one finger between Ed's cheeks, rubbed at the slight dipping crease between them, and Ed bucked up, struggling, pushed Roy's chest. "Wait, damn it!"
"For what?" Roy sat back on his knees, incredulous.
"I—nothing," Ed said finally. "You startled me, that's all." He looked around. "Don't you have…" He made a vague hand gesture, and Roy swallowed, tried to pull his mind back together.
"Have what, Edward?"
"Lube," the boy squeaked, cleared his throat. His mouth was set in an angry line, and he was pressing his thighs together like a built-in chastity belt. "You can't fuck me if you don't."
"Idiot," Roy muttered, "it's in the drawer next to the bed, right—no, right—yes. It's the tube."
Ed scrambled through the drawer in the bedside table, angled awkwardly so he could watch Roy at the same time, and pulled out a tube, flicked the cap open. "Okay," he said, took a deep breath. "Sorry, let's just—try again."
"Right," Roy said after a moment, watching Ed fidget, legs splayed open, his strangely disproportionate knees bent up, the position something a touch beyond obscene. "Right," Roy said again with a bit more trouble, mouth going dry. Ed held the tube for him and squirted a generous amount onto Roy's open hand, an extra glob dropping onto Ed's stomach, sliding down to his navel.
"S'cold," Ed muttered, watching Roy's hand disappear between his legs.
Really, it felt nothing like being with a prostitute. The practiced ease of the working women Roy knew was suspiciously absent. The red hue of the boy's face and the tight line of his lips was a stark contrast to the smouldering, parted mouths he'd encountered in the past. It was refreshing, dirtier that way, and when Roy slid a finger inside Ed, he groaned, his cock jolting, knowing instinctively that it was going to be in that blissful, tight heat.
Ed stiffened, and Roy spared him a glance before his eyes returned to his hand, watching, enraptured, as his finger disappeared, then a second. Ed whimpered when Roy scissored them and tossed his head and keened when he pushed in a third. The boy was tight, so tight, and somewhere in the back of Roy's mind, he was singing Greed's praises for sending the boy.
When Roy pulled free and looked up, Ed's hand was on his own cock, fist squeezing sporadically, thumbing the head, and his mouth hung open, lips glistening. Roy grabbed his knees, pulled them around his waist, and watched his cock slide against the cleft of Ed's ass with something akin to wonder. Ed's jaw went slack, eyes half-mast, but the moment Roy started pushing in, the boy let out a strangled noise and jerked back, slamming his head against the headboard and narrowly missing jamming his knee into Roy's cock.
Patience a too-thin string, Roy grabbed Ed's leg and dragged him back. "What?" he demanded. "What is it now? What could possibly—"
"Condom," Ed said, one hand rubbing at the back of his head. "You didn't have one on—"
Roy stared, incredulous. "A condom." He wanted one now?
"You forgot one." The boy's voice was still husky, still simmering raw, but he no longer looked as though he was toeing the edge, too close to blowing. Roy waved again at the bedside table, watching the boy stretch over and fumble through it again. It was ridiculous—Ed was the one with the job. Surely he should be the one to remember?
Roy fumed in his mind for all of a few seconds before suddenly Ed was right there, contorting his body to bend forward almost completely in half, ripping the packaging open with his teeth and sliding the rubber on with clever fingers. Roy would have said something, would have demanded to take the lead, but the situation was oddly uneven. The boy was too aggressive. Ed was on his back again, but he was pulling Roy forward, still clinging to some semblance of control, letting the head nudge between his cheeks before he slid relaxed back onto the bed. His brow was furrowed and he was frowning. "Okay," Ed said, the word catching in his throat. "Go, whatever, just go—"
So Roy did. Ed could pretend control as much as he liked, but Roy had the upper hand.
The boy groaned, loud and long and feverish, one hand sliding between them, the other curving around Roy's neck as Roy held his cock steady and pushed—
"Ohfuck—" Ed's eyes clenched shut and there were suddenly two hands on Roy's shoulders as Roy pushed in steadily, trying to control his breathing, himself, unable to believe how fucking tight—
He looked at Ed's face again through arousal-blinded eyes, ran a tongue over his dry lips, leaned down until there was barely space for air between their mouths.
"Nnngn!" Ed's body moulded against him, and Roy pushed in, further, further, all the way, until he was buried, balls slapping against Ed's ass, and Ed panted, forehead glistening.
The boy couldn't have been very experienced, not with the way he was writhing under Roy, Roy's hand barely brushed over his cock before he blew his load. Thick, sticky wetness spread between them, and Roy thrust, eyes wide and blind, went higher and higher until his whole body shuddered, cock jerking inside Ed, the boy gasping — and he was spilling over.
Roy slumped down, face pressed in the juncture between Ed's neck and shoulder, breathing heavy. He couldn't remember when he'd come so quickly—it'd been years, he'd been so young. But Ed didn't seem to have any complaints — apart from wanting Roy off. He pushed at Roy's shoulders and slid out from underneath him, wincing a bit as he stepped off the bed.
"Where are you going?" Roy asked, flat on his stomach in a wet spot. He'd move eventually, but for now — he felt a bit too good, too sated, to be considering anything as strenuous as rolling over.
"Bathroom," Ed said tersely. "Stuff's—all over me." He made a face and walked quickly out of the room. Roy followed the sway of his hips, a strangely uneven gait, until that perfect ass disappeared into the bathroom.
Three months of that, Roy could handle.
As much as he wanted to lay still, the idea of falling asleep while wearing a condom—a used one, at that—left Roy wanting to wince. Sitting up with an exaggerated stretch, Roy pulled himself free of the rubber and tied it off.
When he slung it at the trash bin, it landed off to the side, and Roy let out a relieved breath when it didn't pop.
Note to self, he thought. Move the trash bin.

*

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Ed couldn't look at Roy. After he had woken up curled up into the man's armpit, he had immediately panicked and fled to the bathroom, followed not five minutes later by an irate Roy needing the toilet.
"How do you like your coffee?"
"Black," Ed said, watching the screen of Roy's computer with a growing frown. "How fucking slow is this thing?"
"It's an older model, so I imagine it runs very slow," Roy said, putting a mug down in front of Ed and settling into the chair across the table. The laptop took up most of the space, so Roy found himself leaning backward in order to not send the computer and the coffees tumbling all over the place while he read the paper.
"Aha!" Ed grinned. "It loaded, excellent. All right, just key in here… and here it is!"
"Here's what?" Roy asked, peering over the top of the newspaper.
"Intel an' stuff," Ed said. "For the job."
"On the computer?" Roy set the paper down. "Is that wise?"
"Yeah, it's cool. It's a private server, and I know the guy who encoded it. I'd pay the guy who managed to crack into this." Ed grabbed the mug, downed a gulp. "Okay, so three months. I got my new ID, got the info on the meetings—"
"New ID?" Roy asked, scooting the chair around.
"Yeah, my name is, uh—oh, that bastard!"
"What?" Roy glanced at the screen, catching sight of a picture of a pretty young blond before Ed shifted the computer, scooting it out of his line of vision. "I was looking at that!"
"Trisha," Ed spat. "That bastard named me Trisha!"
"Named you…" Then, the pieces began clicking together, the blond, a new identity— "You're going to be cross-dressing." Roy stared. "You're going to pretend to be a woman?"
"How the hell else did you think this was gonna go down?" Ed scowled, the expression apparently so natural to him that it settled over his features automatically.
"Interesting. Are you sure you can pull it off?" Ed was undeniably male. Roy knew first hand, and it was hard to imagine the boy as anything but.
"I've done it before," Ed admitted. "Not like this, or for this long, but shit has to get done somehow, y'know?"
"I suppose," Roy said dubiously.
"Someone's bringin' my clothes and stuff over today," Ed said, scanning the screen. "Oh, hey, they even wrote us a back story!"
Roy leaned over Ed's shoulder and raised his eyebrows. "Greed is certainly…thorough."
"He has a lot invested in you," Ed said. "Apparently, anyway, I don't really get what's so great about you, but whatever. So tell me."
"Tell you what?" Roy couldn't understand Ed's thought process—he seemed to jump from topic to topic rapidly, without any warning.
"What you need," Ed said, as though it was obvious. "I mean, I got all this," he waved at the computer, "but I wanna hear what you're after. So I know."
"You know who I am," Roy began, and Ed shook his head.
"Not really. I mean, I know your name and that you're some—some fancy rich business guy—"
"Hawkeye Industries," Roy cut in. "It's the largest weapons and technology developer in all of Amestris — and the government's main supplier. I own it."
Ed whistled. "Nice. So you make wars."
"I wouldn't have put it exactly that way," Roy muttered, "but I can't really argue. It has…recently come to light that Parliament is not what we thought it was. And the Prime Minister," Roy laughed, a bitter, cynical sound. "He's not even close to who I thought he was."
"Greed's mentioned you before," Ed offered. "You're the guy planning the coup, right?"
"Something like that. Those aren't details you need to know," Roy said dismissively. "What you do need to know is that I've attracted unnecessary attention." Ed was silent. "I have a—reputation, I suppose you could say."
"I've heard," Ed said, dry. "Go on."
"Everyone's heard," Roy said. "That's the point. Up until two months ago, I was out with a different woman every night. But as of late, due to, ah, recent developments, I've been unable to go out. The Prime Minister has taken notice."
"Why would he care, that's what I don't get," Ed said. "Who cares?"
"You don't understand the subtleties of politics," Roy interrupted. "The military—everyone knows my company has a great deal of power in the country, and I can't imagine that Prime Minster Bradley is unaware that I've discovered the things I have."
"He knows you're planning to rebel."
"He suspects," Roy corrected. "So long as he has no reason to suspect, so long as he believes I'm safely under his thumb, he will do nothing. It's imperative that he doesn't think I've been up to anything dubious."
"Where do I come in?" Ed glanced back at the computer. "Your long distance lover. So I was distracting you, right? And now I'm moving in."
Roy nodded, pleased. The story made sense, really. "If Parliament believes that I've been distracted by a woman for the last few months, then that explains why I’ve been so quiet recently. It’ll throw them off the scent - they'll have no reason to think I've been involved with anything unsavory. And with you here, they'll think I've begun settling down and turn their eyes elsewhere. You'll be my scapegoat, Ed."
Ed was quiet for a long time after that, clicking rapidly through whatever was on the computer, eyes narrowed, teeth working his lower lip in concentration. Finally, he sighed loudly, sat back in his chair, arms behind his head, and said, "Yeah, all right, old man. I'm in. I'll be your scapegoat."
As if he'd had a choice to begin with.
"I am curious, you know," Roy took a sip of his coffee, pushed the mug carefully to the center of the table, "about how you got involved with Greed at such a young age."
"It's not up for discussion," Ed said, looking almost apologetic. "It's—just better. Don't ask." He packed up the laptop and put it in its case next to his chair,
Ed's refusal to discuss his past only made Roy more curious, naturally, but he knew better than to press the matter, knew first hand that people’s pasts were often dark and painful, even unbearable to discuss.
There was unfortunately little that either of them could do until Ed's 'supplies' arrived. Roy, within twenty minutes of breakfast, found himself dressing for work, following the automatic pattern he'd set years ago.
"So you're just gonna leave me here?" Ed asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed. "That's real nice, old man. Very gentlemanly."
"You're paid help, Ed," Roy said bluntly. "I have work to do, and someone has to be here when your things arrive. Don't answer the door for anyone else, don't touch the phone, and don't use the computer again. I have to spread the word."
Ed gave him a sour look and stomped up the stairs, muttering darkly under his breath. Roy shook his head and headed out the door, mind already on the task at hand.
Hughes, he knew, would be the first person he should speak with, given the fact that the entire charade had been his idea in the first place. And really, when he walked into his office, closed the door behind him, and said, "So, my long distance girlfriend is moving in today. Perhaps we should celebrate," Hughes’ shocked look was well worth the trouble.
"Hell, Roy," Hughes breathed, hand over his chest, "you actually did it? Is she from—" Hughes looked around his office, then back at Roy, mouthing, the Devil's Nest?
"She's from the East," Roy said, nodding. "A small town. It's supposed to be very quaint."
"I'm sure it is." Hughes rubbed his eyes. "Well, hell. Does the team know?"
"Not yet. I was hoping we could break it to them together. Over dinner, perhaps?" Roy added. "I could rent somewhere out for us." The somewhere safe was not necessary.
"I'll take care of it," Hughes said, chuckling. "You certainly work fast, Roy-boy. This is going to be a PR nightmare, you know. Hawkeye's going to skin you alive."
"I'll be sure to mention where the encouragement came from," Roy said dryly.
"No," Hughes said, "really, feel free not to. I'm a behind-the-scenes kind of guy."
"I recall you saying that exact thing," Roy began, "that one time during the convention for entrepreneurs in Aerugo—"
"You promised to never speak of that again," Hughes reminded. "And in any case—"
Whatever Hughes had in mind was killed by the arrival of Havoc. He stumbled through the door, a box filled to the brim with papers perched precariously in his arms. "A little help?" he said, strained. Roy looked at Hughes, eyebrows raised, and mouthed, Aerugo.
"Let me help you with that!" Hughes said quickly, helping Havoc hoist the box onto Roy's desk—but not before shooting a look that promised a terribly embarrassing revenge.
"What's all this, then?" Roy asked, peering into the box.
"Stuff?" Havoc suggested. "It just came down from human resources, something about new applicants."
Roy picked up the paper on top, giving it a cursory glance before tossing it aside. "Wonderful."
Hughes was quick to grab it. "She's not bad looking," he said. "Graduated from Central U with a degree in… art. Ah."
"Emphasis in modelling," Havoc said, reading over his shoulders. "I could use a personal assistant, Boss. You know, just saying—"
"Havoc," Roy interrupted, "you are a personal assistant."
Havoc wilted. "Right."
"How long do I have to go over these?" Roy asked, temples already starting to pound. "Surely all of these didn't pass HR's initial inspections."
"Sorry," Havoc shrugged. "Blame Fuery. He's the one that passed them on to me. He said HR claims to need the next round back for interviewing by, uh, Wednesday, maybe?"
Roy huffed. "Then pass on a message for me, won't you? There is no way in hell."
"I'll need that in writing," Havoc said. "Signed and dated." He looked thrilled.
Days like these, Roy wished it wasn't necessary for him to be personally involved in the hiring process.

*

It was a damn good thing that the asshole went to work. Ed stood in the living room, watching Greed poke through the man's belongings, take in each room with the same unguarded amusement.
"I don't see why you had to come yourself," Ed said accusingly. "You're gonna cause trouble."
"You worry too much," Greed said, waved him off. "This is a high-cost operation. I just want to see that you don't mess up."
"Fuck, I'm so sure."
"He's got the means to take control from that person," Greed said. "We need him, so be accommodating, kid. It's not every day I loan out my most valuable possession—don't make me regret it." Or you will, Greed didn't need to say. Ed heard the threat, plain as day, and scoffed, rolled his eyes.
How fucking typical.
"Sure, boss," he said, let anger bleed into his tone. "It'd be a fucking honor to whore myself out—"
"You've got to get in the mindset, kid," Greed argued. "If you've got to be a woman, then you've got to do the same things a woman of his would do. Think he'd just hold her hand? Don't expect anyone to dance to your tune, kid. Just do your job and then put it behind you, same as always."
Ed could hear the reasoning, could understand the logic, but—it was more than demeaning, more than humiliating.
It almost made him glad that his mother was dead and that his little brother thought Ed was too, because like hell was he going to let anyone see him like this.
"You had to pick that name," Ed grumbled, rooting through the trunk Greed brought with him, eying the clothing and shoes and—and everything with complete and utter disgust. "I don't know why the fuck you had to do that, ever heard of overkill, you shithead?"
Greed laughed. "You've got what you need. I'm out of here."
"Yeah, 'bout fucking time. I need to get ready," Ed said, face pinched. He'd done some shitty work before, done whatever Greed stuck in front of him as efficiently as he could manage, but there was a still a part of him that recoiled at the thought of the operation, of being so—
It was being an object that bothered him. Ed could stand being used, could work around the rules with no problem, but there wasn't any give in this. He couldn't step out of place when there was so much riding on him.
"Take care, Trisha," Greed said, pushed open the window and looked out. "I'll check in on you when I can." When he took a step out the window and disappeared from view, Ed waited for a few moments before pushing it shut again, clicking the lock.
Some days, he really regretted the whole 'being alive' thing.

*

Saturdays were the best days in the office, because Roy could walk out at one in the afternoon and not worry about his advisor jumping out of nowhere and piling new work onto his already overwhelming workload. Saturdays were half days. Saturdays were wonderful.
"A car will be there at six, so make sure you and your, uh, lady are ready."
Roy balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder, tapping fingers impatiently at the steering wheel as the red light continued to be red, much to his displeasure. "I'm sure she'll be ready, Hughes."
The man laughed, and Roy could just tell he was enjoying himself way too much. The first chance he'd gotten, he'd told Hughes the truth, told him just who Trisha really was, and the man had laughed until he cried, and then proceeded to continue laughing every time he saw Roy the rest of the day. One o'clock had never felt so far away.
"Sure, sure," Hughes said, clearing his throat and trying not very hard to keep from laughing. "I had Hawkeye rent us out one of those traditional Xingian places, think Trisha will like that?"
"I'm sure she will," Roy ground out. The light finally turned green, and the tires of his car squealed as he peeled out, sped past the cars in the lanes next to him. He didn't live more than five minutes’ drive away from the office, but between the traffic lights and the thousands of other people living in Central, it always took forever and a day to get to his front door. Hughes let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Roy huffed. "I'm hanging up now."
"Don't be like that—"
Tossing his phone onto the passenger's seat, Roy took a sharp right, went straight through another red light, and pulled into his driveway. The gates parted automatically for his car, thanks to a bit of technology that his security specialist had installed a year previous, something Roy didn't understand in the least. The gates recognized his car, but no matter how many times the man explained it, Roy just didn't see how.
Car parked, Roy dragged himself up the walkway, catching sight of movement in the kitchen window—a slender blond at the table, mug in hand, reading a book. He stopped dead in his tracks—that was Ed? He couldn't see the boy's face at all, just the curve of his back, but—
It was a dress, had to be a dress. Something strange and floral, and Roy ran flat-footed the rest of the way, practically kicked the front door in trying to get it open, and stumbled into the kitchen, briefcase dropped the moment he'd gotten inside.
Ed was sitting at the table, same as he'd seen, but the book he'd been reading was laying open, pages down to hold his place. He was watching Roy, lower lip stuck between his teeth, eyes wary. "Hey," Ed said, voice softer than that morning. When he stood up, the dress fell just above his knees. His hair was twisted in some decorative braid, resting over his shoulder, his lips were a soft red, and his eyes were painted. They looked natural, and somehow bigger.
"Hi," Roy said, staring. He cleared his throat of the sudden lump crawling its way down to his heart. "You clean up well."
"All part of the job," the boy said, but this time he sounded like Ed, same rough voice with the odd country twang. "So you like? I wasn't sure what type you went for, so I went simple. Fuckin' hate this dress though. I look shit in green."
Ed didn't look shit in green, looked amazing in it, actually. It was some sort of earthy color with ivy vines twining into each other all down it, from the hem of the dress up to the short sleeves rounding over his shoulders.
"You look fine," Roy assured, crooking a finger at Ed. "Come here. I want to get a better look."
Ed rolled his eyes and walked closer, stood in the middle of the kitchen with his arms out accommodatingly as Roy circled around him, arms crossed, eyes critical.
"Perfect," Roy declared. "Though you don't seem to have any breasts."
"Oh, fuck you," Ed said. "I have this—this, like, figure thing, and I'm not gonna have huge knockers, so you can forget that shit right now. It's just supposed to give me a—"
"Feminine figure," Roy finished for him. "That's fine. You make an excellent woman," and he was surprised when Ed's hackles raised at that remark, shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes on fire. He rounded on Roy, stuck his finger in the man's face and absolutely growled, "Let's get this fuckin' straight, you shitty old man. I am not a woman. This is just a fucking part I play, so don't lose your head, got it? This isn't me—this shit isn't me—"
"I understand," Roy said, raised his hands in defeat. "I was merely complimenting your skills. You do understand that you'll be treated as a woman when we're out?" It would be awful if Ed got his panties in a twist over every man that looked twice at him (Roy was pointedly not wondering whether or not Ed was wearing panties).
"I get that," Ed said, huffing, arms crossed over his flat chest. "But just 'cause I'm gonna take that shit when we're not alone doesn't mean I'll take it when we are. Don't forget that."
"Duly noted," Roy intoned. "But you don't forget who's paying you."
And just like that, Ed's shoulders dropped, face sliding back into that hesitant, undeniably feminine expression he'd had when Roy first walked in. "I understand," Ed said, voice sliding to fit his appearance.
The boy from the night before was gone, the change almost eerie in its severity. If Roy didn't know better, hadn't just heard Edward speak, he'd swear he was staring at a different person, someone altogether too demure looking, too soft to be the boy from the Devil's Nest.
"We're going out to dinner tonight with several of my employees," Roy said. "People I trust implicitly. They know you're not—who I say you are, for the most part, but it's imperative that they understand the whole of it." He went silent for a moment, then added in a hesitant tone, "I hope you like Xingian food, Trisha."
The name set off something strange in Ed's eyes (Roy had to stop thinking of this person as Ed, had to shut off that name in both mind and words, this is Trisha). "I've never had it before," Ed said, eyelashes batting in a way that should have driven Roy up the wall but instead made him want to drive Ed up against the wall. The dress' hem fluttered around his knees, and Roy's eyes zeroed in on the motion. He shook his head, one rough movement, and stepped back.
"A car will be here at six," he said. "Make sure you're ready."
"This all right?" Ed asked, pulling the fabric of the dress, eyebrows raised. "Or should I try something else? This isn't gonna be formal, right?"
Roy looked him over, frowned thoughtfully. "Typically, Ed, everything I do is formal. Eveningwear," he said. "You look a bit too casual for a date."
"Don't see how this is a date, this is like—are these the people you're trying to take over with, or whatever?" Ed asked. "I don't see why I should give a damn about them—"
"Because you have to be convincing," Roy pressed. "If you think I'm not watched every time I walk out the front door, you're wrong."
Greed was a sadistic bastard, more than even Roy had realized, to have sent him someone so utterly uncouth. Ed had the looks, might have even had the knowledge and the skill, but he was sorely lacking in the know-how necessary for such a discreet job. Ed's contrariness, his need to mouth back at everything Roy said, left him nervous, wondering if perhaps he should send Ed back to Greed, ask for someone who actually knew how to play the rounds, knew what was necessary to survive in life and politics—
But then Ed turned around and strolled out of the kitchen, hips wagging from the high heels and the dress and—Roy remembered Ed on his back, so compliant, and he couldn't muster up enough disappointment in the boy's attitude to send him back.
Hedonism, Roy knew, was likely to be the end of him.
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