Do Not Disturb

He was on his way back to the living room with yet another book when Edward finally made an appearance. Alfons stepped to one side in the corridor, tried his best not to stare. Edward\"s hair in the morning rallied around him like a living thing, a wild, puffed-up animal that just begged to be stroked into submission.

\"Oh, uh, morning!\" His friend yelped as he passed by, and colored. He was carrying a bundle of their sheets, with something red in the middle – pajama sleeve, Alfons identified, and felt his face heat.

\"H-how are you?\" He called belatedly, as Edward dived into the bathroom with his laundry, felt a strange little thrill. Edward was going to wash out the mess he had left - on Alfons\'s leg, some of it - right in the very room where Alfons had taken care of himself. In the very same bathtub. He couldn\'t help but conjure up images of Edward kneeling beside the tub with him IN it, as he had been a few hours ago; Edward running the soap up and down his body, sliding it lower...

No. Keep down that road, and he was going to need to jack off again, and he\'d already been through that about as many times as his body could take. It wasn\'t helping his lungs at all to exert himself this much; fuck, he\'d already been up five extra hours that he really should have been sleeping. He shook his head. Had to get control of himself. He was normally better than this.

\"I\"m alright.\" Ed called out from the restroom. Alfons could hear the water running. \"You?\"

\"…alright. Tired. I\'m going to take a nap.\" He announced, suddenly exhausted, and slunk off toward the couch where he could lie down and hopefully not think about his roommate for five minutes.

Unfortunately, Edward was almost immediately on his heels, hair wild, eyes panicked. The worlds all came out in a torrent, almost incomprehensible in their urgency. \"Alfons--oh, shit, I\'m sorry--spilled some oil--gotta wash the sheets, fuck--\"

Yeah. Alfons wanted to say. Spilled some oil. I bet you did. All over my leg, last night! But that would be horrible. Edward had never been good at poker because his face was so open, and that was certainly no less true any other time the man lied. He looked absolutely frantic for Alfons to believe him, and he couldn\'t bring himself to do it.

\"It\'s okay.\" He said instead. \"I was just gonna crash on the couch.\"

\"You sure?\"

He did snicker at that. \"Do I really have a choice? You\"ve got the sheets.\"

\"Alfons...\" Edward looked absolutely stricken.

\"Good night, Edward. Don\"t worry about it.\" He said firmly, and made a beeline for the living room. Sometimes, the smarter man knew when it was prudent just to walk away.

Especially because, if he had to look at those beautiful, pleading puppy-dog eyes for much longer, he was going to be up all day in the bathroom, too.

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Edward was fairly considerate, all things told, the rest of the day, and Alfons felt less and less guilty about keeping his little secret. Especially once Edward learned that Alfons had been \"up half the night having an attack\" (which, admittedly, was only partially a lie), Edward was as sweet as sugar, bringing him books when he needed them, asking if he wanted some water every five minutes, offering to fry bacon toast. Alfons might have found it more endearing if the man hadn\'t been so visibly relieved to learn Alfons had been \"studying in the living room\" to while the night away. Poor guy. And Alfons had thought he\'d been nervous! But Edward didn\'t know that Alfons knew, and so life could go on as normal with the two of them sharing fried goods and notes in perfect camaraderie.

He just wasn\'t at all sure he wanted it to.

Because eventually night came around again, as happened when day came to a close, and eventually Edward was once again dressed in those maddening red pajamas (freshly washed and still slightly damp), and Alfons found a different sort of catch in his breath.

\"You still reading?\" His roommate asked, the Edward Elric equivalent of \"are you coming to bed?\"

\"Yeah, I\"ll be up for a while.\" Alfons said. \"Go on ahead.\"

\"You sure?\" Edward bent down at him and Alfons could see the worry lines in his forehead; he could also see very plainly where Edward\'s pajamas were too big on him. The wrinkled fabric draped down too low over Edward\'s hands, and the neck hole gaped large enough to catch a glimpse of that strange prosthetic. Collarbone.

Chest.

No, life could NOT go on as usual.

What would you do, he wondered, kneading his fingers slowly into the couch cushions, if I told you? Right now? What would Edward\"s face look like? Surprised at first, probably, and hurt; but what then? The Edward in his mind was hesitant, hopeful.

The Edward in real life was staring at him oddly, and he remembered that he should not be staring in the first place.

\"You gonna be alright in here?\" Edward asked. He looked dubious. \"If you\'re having trouble...\"

\"Y-yeah, I\"m fine. Just slept too much.\" He gave his friend a pained smile, and Edward seemed to accept that, at least.

\"Should learn not to stay up all night, then.\" Edward groused, but he said nothing about the reason. That was the other man\"s way, he never, ever spoke of it directly – as if somehow, not giving name to the monster could make it disappear. He seemed smaller than ever, though, with his too-big pajamas and that desperate, lost look again, and Alfons wanted to go over and hold him so much, it hurt.

He WOULD be alone, if I left him. It was a sudden, clear thought, though not at all a nice one. It was just...it was so hard to know if he was ever needed. In any way.

If I asked him right now, would he need me that way, too?

\"I\"ll be in after a while.\" Alfons said instead, and forced himself to look back at his book. \"Really, don\'t worry about it.\"

\"Night, then.\"

\"Night.\"

He listened to Edward\"s uneven gait step-thump down the hall and disappear into the bedroom. Finally managed to take a (relatively) unlabored breath. And another. And another. In his roommate\'s absence it was quiet enough for him to hear the house\"s little settling noises, tiny groans from the floorboards, and he couldn\"t help but imagine some of them were Edward – that the creak he just heard was the creak of springs as Edward crawled onto the mattress, or that snap was the headboard, complaining as Edward got comfortable. Realistically, he knew those sounds were shut behind a door. In his mind, he could still see it. Edward\"s eyes were wonderful when he was sleepy. They were unfocused and heavy-lidded, the way one might look after a particularly good kiss.

Alfons rubbed at his throat, wishing he could pretend that line of thought wasn\'t so oddly appealing. Wished that Edward wasn\'t so oddly appealing. He rather suspected he might love Edward, actually, the way a man was supposed to love a woman...he wasn\'t sure if that made it better or worse. If it was just born of loneliness, he\'d at least have an clue how to deal with it. He\'d always been prone to odd flights of fancy like this. He beat it with drinking buddies, extra hours of research.

But Edward\'s voice, husky with sleep, twisted deep in his memory. It was different now, dammit, something new had its claws in him; the wound ached in ways that the longing usually didn\'t. It was in the sudden possibility, the what-if just-maybe, the realization that Something Might Happen that burned in his gut, set his imagination off at every flicker of Edward\'s tongue, every tremble in Edward\'s lips. He had found himself watching - half the day, he\'d been watching! - his roommate in new light, suddenly fascinated, overwhelmed by his presence. He was no different from yesterday, but somehow, he seemed More in everything. The display case glass was gone from between them; now Alfons felt like he could reach out and take.

And it would not be right. He had no way of knowing (not without ASKING, and that would be the one thing he could not, would not do) if it would be taking advantage, how could he possibly? Edward was most assuredly lonely, and he knew better than anyone what a long stretch alone could mean. He probably shouldn\'t even be sharing a bed with him, when they were both so terribly lonely; it lead to...mistakes.

He set his book aside and stood, determined suddenly to go to bed, even though his body shrieked it was still not quite tired. If he went to bed now, he might stand a chance of falling asleep before the sleep-talking came, before he was tempted...before he was tempted to see if his conversations could affect other aspects of his roommate\'s strange dreams.

He cracked the door open slowly, mindful of the squeaky hinge, even though he knew it would not bother Edward in the slightest. It was simply habit, and he waited a few seconds to let his eyes get used to the dark before he started to pick his way across the minefield of the floor. Edward did not have many things, but they were always everywhere - much like Edward himself. In the gloom, he could see that his friend was stretched out right now...defying the laws of physics to take up the entire center of the bed, despite his small stature. Despite his lack of prosthetics. He was also sound asleep and snoring softly already, which was not unusual; Edward did not go to sleep so much as pass out where he landed. Alfons envied that talent sometimes, as hard as it was for him to drift off.

He also envied the sheets, which were molded around the man in ways that he could only dream of.

Belatedly, he considered the merit of just going back to the couch for the duration, but that, if anything, could only make the situation worse. He would get next to no real rest at all, and Edward would worry about him in the morning, and surely he was man enough to not cause any more grief. He peeled back the bedding gingerly and considered. Edward\'s remaining left arm was stretched out across \"his\" side of the bed, tantalizingly, looked like he was reaching out for him; Alfons considered standing there and staring for a little while longer. God, that wasn\'t fair.

On the other hand, he could climb over and curl up on the opposite side, where Edward didn\'t have an arm to take up space with; but then he\'d be on Edward\'s \"side\" of the bed, which wasn\'t right either. It was better than lying on the poor man\'s limb, though, so he gritted his teeth and swung a leg over, acutely, acutely aware that there was something very warm and soft and Edward underneath him. Not fair not fair not fair his body screamed, but his imagination needed very much for him to not be straddling his roommate, so he wrested himself the rest of the way over and collapsed on the mattress, legs still trembling.

Beside him, Edward made a sleepy, mewling noise, and Alfons froze where he was, heart yammering in his chest. He lay rigid on his right side, watching Edward\'s face for any sign of recognition, but the man merely wrinkled his nose and flopped his head in the opposite direction, did not all seem to acknowlege his presence. Alfons relaxed.

He\'s asleep. He reminded himself. He didn\'t see a damn thing. Even if he did, what the hell did I do wrong? Nothing. I was just trying to get into bed. It\'s not my fault. He\'s asleep in my spot.

Asleep.

Slowly, cautiously, Alfons reached out and laid a hand on Edward\'s shoulder, tapped it ever so slightly. There was no response, not even a break in Edward\'s breathing; the slow, steady hiss continued unerringly. He scooted a little closer, observing, and Edward\'s eyelashes did not so much as flutter. Emboldened, he gave the man a gentle pet, down along the edge of the prosthetic harness and onto the warm chest itself.

Asleep. No response.

He stroked again, fascinated, despite the sharp coil of tension in his belly; Edward slept through worse things than this, he reminded himself. He had slept through being crawled over. He fingered the wrinkled cloth of Edward\'s pajamas, felt the warm, dizzying suggestion of muscle beneath them, and remembered that chest being right up against him, and he shuddered, drifted; lost.

I could always say I was trying to wake him up. A treacherous part of his mind suggested. I could always pretend I was rolling in my sleep.

He closed his eyes and ran his palm lower, tried to remember to breathe as cloth shifted to define a pec, a flat stomach, the jut of a hip. Too low, this wasn\'t right; but he found himself fascinated by the line of Edward\'s pelvis sliding down toward the center, god, any closer...

He pulled his hand back up at the last second, shamed; ran it quickly up Edward\'s middle. His fingers caught on the gap between Edward\'s pajama top and bottom, and for the moment he was paralyzed. Clothes came apart, there. People took off their shirts. Anyone could do it. The fact that it would be Edward doing it made it especially appealing, and he shivered. He wondered if he could slide his own hand up there, feel those twitching stomach muscles directly. He nixed it out of hand, of course, it was far too impossible to excuse, but what if...oh, just, what if.

What if he could come even closer? Edward was asleep, hell, he had managed to mold himself completely around Alfons last night while asleep. Could Alfons do the same thing, could he wrap himself around Edward? Suddenly, for all his worries, it seemed unbearable NOT to try. The thought of dying without ever getting the chance to touch Edward felt simply unspeakable. He wriggled cautiously toward him.

I am asleep. He thought giddily. Just rolling over. Nothing wrong with that.

His legs brushed up against Edward\'s side and he jerked, couldn\'t help himself; Edward was ohsowarm and smelt so good that he wanted to fling himself bodily onto him. The thought was what stayed him, the realization that that would cross a line he didn\'t dare. Not like this. He checked himself and leaned forward gently--so gently--to rest against Edward.

Serendipity.

For a moment, he just trembled and breathed, the first bit of relief since forever, it seemed. He had squirmed low enough to put his head on Edward\'s chest, and he could hear the man\'s heartbeat - slow and rhythmical, soothing, like the rise and fall of Edward\'s chest, like the echoed rush of the blood through his own veins. It slowed him down, took the edge off his lust; turned it into something manageable. He burrowed his face in Edward\'s front and shuddered, let the tension drain out like a sieve. It was warm where Edward was, comfortable, and if he just lay still, listened...it was the middle of the night, but he no longer felt so alone. Alfons let his eyes slide shut, stretched an arm out across his friend\'s body.

And then, he did the one thing he knew that he shouldn\'t.

He fell asleep.

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