Better Living Through Alchemy

His tiny eyes darted back and forth and between his fat, sausage shaped fingers he rolled the brim of a battered bowler hat. Round and round it went. Luludja watched him from behind the partially curtained doorway at the back of her parents’ small grocery store. He was round, but that didn't make him jolly. His rounded stature might have been suited to a jovial nature once, but his swine-like eyes only held a dull luster and his tongue moved out of the gap in his face that served as his mouth.

He had no neck, but yet still managed to turn his head. He abruptly leaned close to a bin of potatoes and inhaled deeply, mumbling to himself the entire time. His threadbare coat and luster-less shoes bore witness to the fact that this gentleman wasn't going to be helping the family coffers this evening.

With a sigh she pushed aside the beaded curtain and strolled into the shop proper. Her hands were on her hips, her long dark hair falling carelessly over her shoulders and down her back. She even had on the little black top her mother so hated, but she was wearing her big skirt. How was she going to flirt,(Not that this man was worth a flirt) if she didn't have the proper attire?

He didn't notice her at first. He was making small sounds that made the hair on the back of her arms raise up, and still he was ogling the potatoes. If she didn't drive him out soon it was likely he might start stuffing them into his mouth or pockets, and she couldn't have that. Her father often warned her about handouts.

“Hey Mister, you have to buy those before you drool on them,” she said. “No one will want them with your spit all over them... are you listening to me?”

He turned to look at her then, and something happened; she wasn't sure what, but he suddenly glowed. It wasn't bright and shiny, like a glowing person should be, it was rather dark and it looked red. His face, so dull and lax only moments before, burst into the most amazing grin and his eyes, which she had thought to be transplanted straight from a sow, lit up, like a million suns come to life.

Luludja took a half step back then gasped as her wrist was engulfed in one massive fist, and the little round man, the little jovial round man, spoke.

“Lust!” he cried in glee.


**

Edward Elric strolled into the room like he owned the place. And for all intents and purposes, he did. He'd already been at the receiving end of an admiring Ms. Bloom, (who told him his beard was the best thing since sliced bread, but maybe not in those words) and was ready to take on the world yet again.

The 'world' of course, was twenty-three boys and their eagerness to go out and inflict alchemy on an unsuspecting world.

The first on the scene, naturally, was Tom Pine. He came bouncing in and glanced up at Edward, who was sitting at his desk, and then Tom promptly ran into another desk when he couldn't tear his eyes away.

“You ok?” the Professor called from the front of the classroom.

“Uh, yeah, I'm fine,” Tom said, embarrassed, and negotiated the rest of the trip to his desk without incident.

“What did you do for break?” the Professor asked as Tom got settled.

“We went to see my cousins,” Tom said, trying not to look directly at the professor.

“Did you have a good time?” the Professor pressed, being unusually chatty.

“Yeah,” Tom said, fumbling with his notebook so he didn't have to look up. “It was great.”

When the expected congratulatory comment about his beard, (therefore reaffirming his passage into adulthood) was not forthcoming, Edward let the boy be, glancing down at his own notes.

Tom piped up after a couple of minutes of silence.

“Did you have a good time on break, Professor?” he asked across the empty room.

“Yes I did,” Ed said, looking back up quickly, grinning. Waiting, hoping for Tom to notice anything different about him.

“That's good,” Tom said, quickly dropping his eyes again.

Ed kept looking at him, and then slowly lowered his eyes back to his desk, glancing up only once to see if Tom might speak again but he didn't.

It wasn't long before the sound of footsteps and the murmur of voices brought fresh hope. The classroom door swung open, spilling gray uniforms into the room. Edward looked up and half smiled to see three of his gang of four making their triumphant return. Daniel was in the lead. He stopped at his desk, and stretched and yawned, dropping a notebook onto it. The top button of his uniform was undone and his hair was a bit of a mess. Eric immediately folded his lanky frame into his own desk and Duffy looked toward Ed and halted in his tracks.

Daniel caught Duffy's sudden halt of movement and looked toward the big desk, too.

“Hello,” the Professor said, “I hope you're all rested up because I have some big plans for this quarter.”

Neither boy said anything, in fact they looked at each other, and then they both looked at Eric, who was now also drawn to the spectacle at the big desk.

Seth took this opportunity to slip in, and take up his desk behind Daniel's. He peered around them, to see what they were all wordlessly gawking at, reaching up to adjust his glasses.

“Don't tell me that by some miraculous chance you were all struck dumb over the break,” the Professor said into the silence. “There is no way I could be that lucky.”

The gauntlet had been thrown.

“Nah,” Daniel drawled, “we're trying to figure out why there are caterpillars mating on your chin.”

“We're too young for Sex Ed class, Professor,” Duffy added.

“Did you transmute it there? Was it an accident?” Seth asked.

“My grandpa has whiskers like that,” Eric offered.

The professor bristled, all the way from his chin to top of his head. He set his jaw, or at least it seemed he set his jaw; it was too difficult to tell because his chin was behind a wall of brown fuzzy camouflage now. He laced his fingers together, elbows on his desk and lifted an eyebrow that while it's color didn't match the hair on his chin, was kind of like an accent and didn't clash or anything.

“So it's going to be like that, is it?” the Professor said with a little smile.

Eric, Seth and Duffy all darted a nervous glance at Daniel. They were his lackeys, this was true, but in the same context they wanted badly to be on the Professor's good side; because he was just cool like that.

It was then that Richard and Boyd wandered in, talking about the upcoming football season, and Richard stopped so suddenly Boyd ran into this back.

“Whoa, Professor, you grew one of those beatnik things my dad wants to disown my older brother for!” Richard gushed.

Finally! Vindication! Proof he had finally tread into the adult world! Yes, yes! Recognize his coming of age... wait...

“Beatnik?” the Professor asked.

“All the 'free-thinkers' have them,” Richard confirmed.

“Free thinkers?” Edward repeated. It seemed there was a world out there, and somehow he was missing out.

“You don't want nothing to do with them,” Daniel said. “They're going to be the ruination of society.” This was Daniel's father talking.

There was a general murmuring of agreement from around the room and Ed felt his eyebrow twitch.

“I think that's a bit of over generalization,” he said to quell the uprising in the making, “there have been several groups of people out to ruin civilization, and it hasn't worked yet. I know: I use to be a member of one of them, just like all your fathers.”

This, of course, was blasphemy. But they weren’t quite sure why it was blasphemy, and while they milled over a good comeback, the bell rang. Everyone begrudgingly took their seats as a few stragglers came flying in the door and provided unintentional entertainment by trying to kill themselves while trying to get into their respective seats.

It was just as well. The last thing he needed was a debate on just what Ed thought of the military. Said military he was once a member of, said military Roy still believed in. No, he didn't need a discussion on that.

He glanced up to see twenty-three sets of eyes trained on him. It always made him stand a little straighter, but in reality they were trained on his chin and that eventually sunk in. He might as well field the questions and get it over with. Why was everyone so resistant to change? He pointed at the first hand in the air.

“Did you razor break? My dad gets whiskers when his razor breaks and he doesn't go get a new one right away. My mom says she can do it with tweezers, that always makes him go get a new one.”

They weren't whiskers. It was a beard, a beard! He wasn't a beatnik either, he just wanted to look older! Was it a crime he wasn't aware of?

“They aren't whiskers,” he said, not meaning it to sound as defensive as it came out. “It's a goatee,” he reasoned. “And no, my razor isn't broken,” he finished.

“It's a goat?” Daniel gleefully leapt in. “So it's not caterpillars, it's a goat,” he confirmed.

“It's a goatee,” Seth corrected.

“Beatniks have them,” Richard chorused in.

“I didn't know we were charged for thinking, why do beatniks get to think for free?” Duffy asked.

“No, no, no,” Daniel said, “that is not what it means.”

“What does it mean then?” Duffy asked.

“It means you're loose,” Daniel explained.

Everyone checked the fly on their pants.

“No, not that either!” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.

Ed had folded his arms by now, and was leaning back in his chair, watching the rest of the class come to terms with new and innovative things, such as his beard, in an open air debate which was in the style of the so called 'free thinkers' they were trying so hard to avoid.

“Well, you know the professor; we've all heard those stories by now,” Richard supplied.

“Pop quiz!” Ed yelled.

***

“She eats twice a day, I brought all the little cans. Thank you so much for watching her. This is her mouse; she plays with it before dinner but after lunch. This is her collar, she wears it when she goes outside but when she comes in she likes to relax. I know it's a bit immodest because she is a lady, but what can I do? She likes what she likes. This is her water dish, please change it frequently and always dump out any old water in it before adding fresh water. She doesn't like it mixed. These are her treats, I try to get healthful treats, so I read all the ingredients. These are better than the last ones I tried. I give them to her, but only a few, once a day,” he looked at First Lieutenant Colonel Pharr anxiously.

“It will be fine, Al,” Clayton said, giving him a slap on the back. “She's a cat and she'll do her things, I'll even let her sleep on the bed with me if she wants.”

Al wasn't sure this was any kind of treat for Sophie, but he finally bent over and set her on the floor. She dashed away and slid under Clayton's couch.

“She's just checking the place out,” Clayton placated at Al's distraught look. “Go and have a good time. Come on Al: you've been plotting this for years.

“Not years, ok maybe years,” Al said. “Where are you going to put Sophie's box? You'll have to show her where you put it.”

“I'll show her! You're going to be late meeting up with your dream woman worrying over where your cat does her business! Go on already,” Clayton laughed.

“Alright, alright, I'm going,” Al cast one more look toward Clayton's couch before he allowed himself to be ushered out the door.

**

It was a bit of a blow to his burgeoning male ego that Riza had to drive the car. It only reinforced the fact that he still believed everyone thought of him as the twelve-year-old boy he'd once been; and it heightened the fact that his elder brother now supposedly knew how to drive. At least according to Ed.

As the scenery passed, Al let his mind wander back to the last conversation he'd had with his brother before leaving on what he through, (hoped, dreamed, prayed), would be a life altering experience.

Brimming with all sorts of good news, Ed had taken it upon himself to call and inform his little brother just how exceedingly well his vacation had gone.

“I can drive now,” he crowed into the receiver.

“That's great, brother,” Al congratulated, (and tried to suppress the surge of jealousy at the satisfaction in Ed's voice), “it sounds like you had a good time.”

“It was fabulous, Roy bought me a car,” Ed added.

“The General brought you a car?” The only mode of transportation the General had ever bequeathed on Al was a bike, and that was ages ago, when he was still a child. “What kind of car?” Al forced out, hoping it didn't sound like an angry hiss. And angry, jealous hiss of the sort he was far too old to be hissing. Why should he be upset? After all, Ed was the General's... boyfriend...husband…something like that. Al hadn't worked it out yet.

“Well... I don't know,” Ed confessed, his voice dropping a bit. “But it's a convertible, it has a back seat and everything.”

“How can you have a car and not know what type it is?” Al asked. “Surely the General let you pick it out, (I didn't get to pick out my bike), or did you buy the first car you saw? You're very impulsive like that,” Al said, lifting his nose even though Edward couldn't see it.

“It was the car we rented when we were at the lake,” Ed countered. “I didn't bother with the details. I'm sure Roy knows a good car when he sees it. He bought it because he taught me to drive in it.”

“So are you driving it to the academy now?” Al said, because if he didn't keep up the polite conversation he'd hang up and go sulk.

“Well no,” his brother said, “it's not running at the moment. You've read a lot of books on engines; I've only studied rockets. I was hoping you could come visit me and help me out.”

“The General bought you a non-working car? I find that a little hard to believe. I thought you said you learned to drive in it, so it must have been working at some point. What's wrong with it?” Al asked.

“I drove it into the lake,” Ed muttered, “but it totally wasn't my fault.”

“I don't think driving a car into the lake qualifies as knowing how to drive,” Al said, feeling a smile creep over his lips. Really, he was becoming so petty! He should be ashamed of himself. He would make up for it. “I suppose I can come down there in a couple of weeks, I have my own trip planned you see,” now he could launch into his impending dream-vacation details and Ed would be obliged to listen.

“I grew a beard,” Ed cut him off. “Two weeks, do you really have to wait that long? I really wanted to get it up and running. It's just sitting under a tarp in the driveway now. Roy almost ran the sedan into it the other night because he forgot it was there. Did you hear me about the beard? Everyone thinks it's great.”

Al could interpret Ed-on-nese easily enough. What he meant when he said 'everyone thinks it's great' was actually 'no one really likes it, or everyone is picking on me. I need you to validate my beard growing talents, because that's what I really called you for'. He was a bit miffed Ed was jumping on his chance to gush about his own trip, so he sniffled into the phone.

“You with a beard makes me think of Dad,” he said. “In fact, eerily so. You say the General likes it?”

“...I don't look like Dad...hang on.” Al could hear Ed lower the receiver and footsteps moving away quickly. He heard the creak of a door. Ed usually called him from the phone on the bedside table, so the door creak would mean he was going into the adjoining bathroom. There he would look in a mirror and come back and argue with Al on his Dad-like appearance. He heard returning footsteps and the sound of the receiver being lifted again.

“Had to go to the mirror and double check?” Al asked cheerfully.

“Shut up,” Ed hissed. “I'm not wearing it like he wore it, I have it all trimmed to just around my mouth and chin. It looks nothing like his beard did. He was just shaggy and unkempt. I have an appearance to maintain, I am a teacher, you know.”

“I wasn't implying anything, brother,” Al said neutrally. “What does the General say about it?”

“He said it made me look older,” Ed stated.

What 'he said it made me look older' really meant was 'I badgered him until he gave in and said what I wanted to hear'.

“Well I'm sorry I can't come down for a bit,” Al said, studying his nails, refusing to stroke his brother's wilting beard ego, “Riza and I are going on a trip.”

“Where are you going?” Ed asked immediately. Not ’Congratulations, you have now reached adulthood and you're dating the woman of your dreams!’ or ’I'm happy for you Al, it's what you've always wanted!.’ No, instead, it was Ed the big brother and his 'What? How can you possibly date by yourself? And I should be there to chaperone your every move, because you are still twelve!’ voice.

“To the country. Riza picked out a nice bed and breakfast,” Al said, his eye twitching.

“Oh, well, that sounds nice. Riza picked it out? How long will you be staying?” Ed asked in a 'politely trying to access the situation and be really nosy' sort of way.

“A long weekend,” Al said vaguely. “Marilyn will be taking care of Hayate for us and Pharr is watching Sophie.” Al would give details; just not any Ed actually wanted to hear.

“Al, you know there is the talk that boys usually have with their fathers,” Ed started a bit lamely. “And while I'm not your father, I am your closest relative and I'm not sure anyone else has had the talk with you.”

He wasn't...he was!

“I've already had that talk with First Lieutenant Pharr,” Al rushed out. “And I thought I was going to have it with the General, but he wussed out. “

“Pharr? That womanizing letch gave you the birds and the bees talk?! What was Roy thinking?! When? When did he do it, I swear Al, I'm coming to East City and kicking his ass if he filled your head with crazy-assed ideas! Tell me Al, tell me what he said to you!”

“It's better than having it with my brother!” Al snapped, and then promptly slapped his hand over his mouth.

There was a long silence on the other end.

“It would be embarrassing!” Al tried to reason. “Ed, think about it from the other way around, what if I was trying to give you the sex talk?”

There was more brooding silence for a moment, then a little clearing of the throat.

“Ok,” Ed agreed, “I see where you're coming from.”

Al knew that Ed resented his other life. Not actively or openly; he didn't resent Al, he'd never do that. But all the things he missed, all the times he wasn't there when he imagined Al needed him. Ed didn't forgive himself easily for that. Distance was their enemy now, that Al couldn't be there to see his brother's face, or let his brother see his own. Ed had spent to long looking at his reflection in armor. Al felt guilt about being in the East while his brother was in Central. Ed had given up so much for him.

“As soon as I come back, I'll come out to visit with you for a while, we'll fix your car,” Al said. “I really want to see you drive it.”

“Ok,” Ed said brightly, happy to let Al sidetrack him. “Have a good time while you're there. I guess say ‘hi’ to Riza for me.”

“I will,” Al assured him, smiling.

**

“Ed said to tell you hi,” Al said, causing Riza to turn and look at him. A smile touched her lips and she nodded, turning her attention back to the road.

“I hope he's doing well,” she said. “I'm sure with Roy's venture into politics things can be very hectic for him.”

“He seems to manage ok,” Al shrugged. “He says he can drive now. He even has a car. I'm planning to spend a couple of weeks with him soon.”

“He can drive?” Riza said, her tone neutral, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

“I didn't say he could drive well,” Al said with his own small smile, “supposedly the only place he's driven was into a lake. His car no longer works, so I've been appropriated to help him fix it, because you know brother, taking it to a mechanic is like showing throat. If he can't do it himself... he has me do it.”

Riza laughed then and it made his skin tingle.

“I made you an itinerary,” she suddenly said. “It's in the glove box. I know how you like to have things planned out, and while I think it might do us a world of good to be spontaneous, I didn't want you to be caught flat-footed. Take it as a guideline instead of a plan.”

Al opened the glove box, pulling out a small notebook with a neat roadmap folded inside of it. He opened the map up and noted the precise circle and marginal notes that might be places of interest. There was a time schedule duly noted in the journal in her tight script. He snapped it shut and put it back in the glove box.

“Let's try this spontaneous idea you had,” he said. “I know it's a stretch for me, but I'd really like to see if I'm cut out to be impulsive.”

She laughed again and nodded.

“Agreed,” she said. “Start thinking about what sort of place we should stop at for dinner.”

Thinking about what sort of place to stop for dinner? But there were so many variables to consider! First and foremost, what would she like to have? And he was caught flatfooted out on the open road in a part of the country he invariably had visited at some point in the past, but never with the thought in his mind to check out the local eateries. He didn't eat at the time and Ed was happy to eat any old thing! What to do for dinner?!

“This might be harder than I thought,” Al mumbled.

**

“Your highness,” the man at the door bowed graciously and Ling swept past him in a rustle of silk and aroma of jasmine.

Otto closed the door and followed the prince down the front hall of his house. The Prince made the predictable left hand turn into the sitting room, the flopped gracefully into the large and decadent leather chair. He sighed heavily and looked broodily toward the bar.

Otto was an indulgent man, especially in the presence of such fine looking Xingian nobility, so he made his way to the bar and paused with cordial glass in hand.

“It must have been more than a passing fancy for you to still be so very put out by it,” he said causally, then picked up his bottle of very fine cherry liquor and poured a shot.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the prince said huffily. “I'm merely giving you the honor of a visit. There is precious little to do in this country outside my diplomatic duties. At least you know the proper way to indulge my hedonistic tendencies.”

“Ah, but poaching is still poaching,” the older man smiled. “And it's not as though I blame you, as you just said, I exude hedonism. But your prey was already well trapped before you set your eyes on it. Be content that you might still make a friend of him, all it takes is a respectful distance.”

The prince narrowed his eyes a bit, then flopped his head back and draped his arm across his forehead.

“It's hard not getting my way, I am a prince you know,” he said in his ever practiced whine. “I'm a fine catch. I bring to the table my good looks, not to mention wealth and power and a whole country to bow at your feet. What is not to like?”

Otto came over and offered the glass, and Ling reached up and closed his long fingers around its bulbed shape.

“There now your highness, it's not as bad as all of that,” he reassured, moving to sit on the divan across from where Ling was draped like a silk throw across his best chair. “There will be other alluring conquests quite worthy of the royal glance.”

“But none of them will be him,” the prince grumbled.

“Do you still visit with him?” Otto asked, enjoying the elegant display of sprawled young male across his chair. “Do the two of you still spar?”

“No,” the prince said sullenly. “I haven't seen him in a while. I thought it best to lay low and let things cool a bit. The General seems an even-tempered sort, but one can never be too careful with fire. And Edward himself made it clear we were to be friends, and nothing but that. He actually gave me an ultimatum, me,” the prince said, just to clarify what a gross misstep of boundaries Edward had made.

Otto templed his fingers and rested them just under his chin.

“You have to respect his rules, I know, I know, quite troublesome when the commoners get uppity,” he said with a wave of his hand to stall Ling's sudden scowl and opened mouth. “But if you do want to have his friendship, and I think you'd be a fool not to, you have to respect his request. I'm sure he would do you the same courtesy. I honestly think he enjoyed and valued your friendship.”

Ling swirled the liquor in his glass a moment, before touching it to his lips and tilting his head back. He down the shot in a fluid motion, then licked his lips and let the lip of the glass rest against his chin.

“You know,” the prince said slowly, “there is another Elric.”

Otto's eyebrows rose.

“Surely you don't mean Alphonse? Really your highness, you're quite insatiable. I would think it poor sport to make Alphonse the object of your intentions when it's very clear you prefer his brother.”

Ling grinned then, in his easy way, making him look boyish as well as mischievous.

“I don't mean for that, but as a way to get back in Ed's good graces, perhaps,” the prince held up his finger. “The younger Elric is quite interested in pharmacy, the Xingian form of their alchemy. He won't tell me why exactly, but I think I can make an educated guess.”

“And the reason you weren't helping him before?” Otto asked.

“Edward's request, but I think I can put that behind me now,” Ling sat up, swinging his legs off the arm of the chair and putting his feet on the floor. “I think that just the effort might be worth something... and perhaps it's a way to make amends, not that amends need to be made,” he clarified a bit haughtily. “A good faith gesture.”

“Of course,” Otto said, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. The prince missed his friend and wanted him back, but he was too regal of course to come right out and say it.

**

The terror of the first days faded amidst the realization that this might be something more. There was some innocuous charm to this thing when its moments of lucidity were gone. The giggling that erupted from its mouth, the way it sucked on it's sausage like fingers, the way it looked to her with it's tiny black eyes, seemingly pleading for approval.

She'd come to the conclusion it was not human, it couldn't be. Not with its stamina, its appetite, it's very presence. There was something there that was an imitation; but it could be seen that it was faked. It was like fool's gold. The packaging was right but the content was all-wrong.

When she complained of hunger, he brought her food. When she complained of cold, he brought her clothes, when she complained of sleeping under the stars he brought her to a house. He made her wait, there in the back yard; crouching behind a stone birdbath. The birdbath was tall and elegant, it had a large dish shaped like a flower resting atop its pedestal and it was scratchy when she leaded against it. Where she came from, this was a sort of luxury scoffed at; who had money to waste giving birds a bath? It was lunacy how some people foolishly flitted away their money. Her papa often scoffed behind the backs of some of their more affluent customers. It was clear these idiots didn't deserve their money, since they made it off the backs and labor of the working class, such as himself.

As she crouched there in the gathering dark, the stone bird bath picking at the sleeve of her sweater she wondered why she did not run? Why did she not just flee now, while he as there in the house, doing things she's didn't know, (but perhaps suspected). When he appeared in the back door and waved, grinning from ear to ear she jumped up and hurried toward him. She reached for his hand when he extended it and he drew her into the house.

They came in through the back door. There was a little mudroom there, and she glanced at several pairs of rain boots, in varying sizes, all lined up next to the wall. The door of the mudroom led into a kitchen. She released his hand as she walked in, her eyes traveling the clean white lines of the counter. There was a stove there with the type of burners that used gas, not wood, and there was a large icebox. There was a sturdy table, also painted white with a bright splash of blue tablecloth thrown across it. There was a running board and china hutch against the wall behind the table. Inside it were clean, unchipped dishes, all lined up beside one another, like children in their Sunday best lined up for inspection.

“It's alright to be in here?” Luludja said, aware the hem of her skirt was dirty and her shoes were muddy from the all walking they had done.

“No one else is here,” the round man grinned. She pointedly ignored the dark stains on his black clothes. She couldn't tell what they were, and she had no idea what he'd been eating, (for he'd eat anything), to cause those stains on his lips and around his mouth.

She ventured cautiously to the door of the kitchen and saw a small sitting room there. A large comfortable chair and ottoman dominated one corner of it; there was even a newspaper that had been dropped in the seat of the chair; left there until the owner could return to reclaim his place. There was a desk at the other end; it had a blotter and a pen stand. The carpet on the floor was dark gray.

“Where did they all go? Do they know we are in here?” Luludja asked, stepping into this room, feeling very much an intruder because the room was so personal. It was tailored to the usual occupant of the chair.

“They went away,” the round man said, and rubbed at his large belly. “They don't care who is here now,” he said.

“When they come back, we will get in trouble for being here,” she warned him. Because sometimes he was so much like a child. She didn't feel the need to look out for him, she really didn't, but she would feel bad if she didn't warn him about the consequences of his actions.

“They won't come back,” he told her, “they are never coming back. This house is yours now.”

“Ah, that can't be right, someone is bound to notice,” she said, walking through the room and into the small hallway. There was the front door of the house, on the other side the opening to a much larger living room and a set of stairs leading up. She looked up them for a long moment, then back at the man who trailed her, watching her, looking for praise and approval.

“They aren't upstairs?” she asked, pointing.

He shook his head no.

“You’re sure?” she said, narrowing her eyes a bit.

“I'm sure,” he chortled, then drummed his fingers on his chin. “There were five, but now there are none, I'm sure,” he told her. “I can't smell any more,” he added.

She walked across and looked into the living room. Two couches sat facing one another, a dark wooden table between them. There were lamp tables and doilies, knick-knacks and bookcases. There was a chest with a few toys sitting beside it. There were throw rugs on the floor and real curtains on the windows. There was a large, tall radio, the type she'd only seen in a catalog, sitting placidly under one window, a doily covering it's domed head.

She then steeled herself, clenched her fists and turned to the staircase. She marched up it, and paused to look out the front window at the top of the stairs. She could see the street, the cars and a bike lying at the top of the drive. She looked down the hallway. There were framed pictures hanging and a rub that ran the whole length, right down the middle. The knocks on the doors were glass, but clean and see through. Everything was white and pristine. She moved slowly, paused, and put her hand on the first door knock. She breathed deep for a moment, then turned it and threw it open quickly.

It was a bedroom. There was a bed under the window, it had a pale pink quilt and some pillows with pink embroidery on them, it was a name but she didn't look too closely. There were a few books on the floor, and a notebook. There was a magazine, open and lying next to the books. There were shoes at the foot of the bed and a sweater lying over the back of a chair that sat at a vanity. Luludja backed out and pulled the door closed. The next bedroom had bunk beds and toys. Trucks and ships, soldiers and circus animals. She didn't linger there, but instead fled down the hall. The last room was appropriately adult. A large central bed, dresser and vanity, pictures on the wall, books and magazines on the side table.

To the far side of this room was another room, a walk through into a bathroom. Her curiosity won over and she went there, pausing in the walk through that served as a large closet. She touched the dresses and sweaters there. The fine heavy winter coat, the blouses and silks. Even the shoes lined up on the floor beneath them were all leather and heavy canvas. Her toes pressed against the thin cloth sides of her own shoes; they were still damp, and her toes were cold.

“It's all yours now,” the round man said. “Everything to do with as you please.”

“They'll want it, when they come back,” she said again, her voice no longer quite so convicted.

“They will never come back,” the man said again. “It's all been left for you.”

“Why?” she said, turning to look at him. “Why would they do that? They don't know me, I am nothing here.”

“You said you didn't want to sleep under the stars, and so I got this for you,” the man said. “We may not be here long, but while we are you can sleep in here and this can be your place. What they wanted, it doesn't matter. We are stronger like this; we don't have to be humans. Lust, don't you see? We can have anything, I will give you anything.”

She turned her face from him quickly. He wasn't talking to her anymore, only to what he thought he saw, and what woman who proudly wear the name of such a cardinal sin? When he was like this, she was just stay quiet until the spell would pass, and then he would fall back into his stupor where she preferred he stayed.

She pulled the coat off the hanger and slipped it on. It was thick and warm; it smelled like lavender and was a deep burgundy. She stroked her hand down the front and the back up to the collar. Such a color looked good on her, she knew. She turned from him to continue into the bathroom, there was a full-length mirror there on a stand.

It did look good on her.

The woman could obviously afford a new coat, if she took this one. Just the look of the house was proof enough for that. She'd heard about places like this, from the other girls in her neighborhood. The girls who were maidservants and cooks. The ones who told of the low wages and long hours and the condescending tones of the women whom they worked for. They never got fine coats like this one, no matter how many hours a day they spent in virtual slavery to women who threw money away on stone bird baths.

“Do you like it?” the man said in his little hopeful voice, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, he'd pulled his bowler hat off again and he fingered the brim nervously. Luludja smiled and did a twirl, the tail of the coat floating out around her.

“Yes,” she said. “I like it very much. I like this house.”

“When we go from here, I'll get you a better one,” the man promised.

“Where is it we are going?” she asked, coming to a stop, watching the coat tails settle around her legs.

“Central,” the man answered firmly. “We have to go back there so you can be made again,” he finished.

“Made again?” Luludja asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means we need to find an alchemist,” the man said, then he disappeared from the doorway and Luludja would have followed him if the closet hadn't stopped her again. She let the coat fall off her shoulders to the floor and reached up and closed her hands on a silk blouse. There were so many things to try on; it might take all night.

**

The car whipped off the road with a hard right and came to a stop in gravel parking lot just inches from a wooden post set there to designate a parking space. Both occupants sat still and silent for a moment.

“If this is unsatisfactory we can try further down the road,” the male said finally.

“No, I think this might be the last stop between here and our destination,” the female said. “And they don't serve dinner, they are a bed and breakfast, let's keep that in mind.”

Alphonse Elric sat forward a bit and peered out at the wooden shack with the broken sign. This is definitely not what he would have picked for an evening out with Riza. But at each eatery they had passed, he'd somehow convinced himself there was a better one, just down the road. What if they had stopped at the first one they'd seen, but then seen a better one after they'd gotten back on the road to continue their trip?

This is why spontaneous decision-making was so disastrous. Hadn't he learned anything at all from the examples his brother had set?

Riza undid her seat belt and looked at her hair in the rearview mirror. Al began to pat at his own hair, and then he unstrapped his seat belt and smoothed his shirtfront. They looked at each other for a long moment, before simultaneously reaching for the door handle and opening the car doors at the same time. They both got out and shut the door in sync and their feet made identical crushing sounds on the gravel as they approached the front door of the shack.

To his very much surprise the smell that curled around his nostrils as he reached for the door handle was delicious.

Riza gripped his elbow and he turned to look at her.

“I think your spontaneity may have paid off,” she said.

Al pulled the door open, shook his head with a half smile.

“Good or bad, this can't be accredited to me, it was your desperate turn of the wheel that lead us here,” he laughed as they stepped in.

“I was triggered by the loud growling of your stomach,” she returned.

“Is that what that was?” Al returned, “I thought that was the car engine.” He paused, “Ok, that was lame,” he shook his head and nodded at a woman in a white apron who was carrying plates across the room.

“You two just sit anywhere,” she called, “I'll be right with you.”

Al gave a quick look around, then guided Riza over to a booth situated under a window. There were paper menus on the table, curled on the corners and spotted with grease and possible samplings of the meals. He glanced up and saw Riza scanning the menu she had picked up, curling her upper lip a bit as she read. It was... adorable. Not the mention the fact that her hair was down, and had been so for the entire trip.

He'd been too wrapped up in planning how to be spontaneous to appreciate the car trip fully. Leave it to him to detail the enjoyment right out of a thing. Maybe Winry was right, he was to anal.

It was decided, (mostly by Riza), that they would have fried steak and vegetables, but when the waitress came, Riza nudged Al beneath the table with her foot and it prompted him to order for both. They pushed the menus aside then and sat facing each other, just like they'd often done in her office. But here they were on equal terms and there was no blue fabric shield of protocol to follow.

“I'm really glad we decided to do this,” he started nervously, lacing his fingers together as his hands rested on the tabletop. “I think this will be better for us in the long run. I mean getting away from everyone where we can concentrate on each other. I know there are probably some residual doubts you have, and I hope to take this opportunity to put them to rest.”

He studied the tabletop hard. That was to formal, wasn't it? He was talking to a potential lover, not writing up a proposal for funding. No matter how determined he was, he always got in his own way. He thought too much. That was his problem. He just thought himself right into neat little ruts, and when he tried to get out of the ruts, he realized he'd worn them so low that the walls where just too high for him to climb. And so he would sit, in the bottom of his rut, stewing and wondering if he'd ever make his way out. Riza probably considered him hopelessly dull. He would consider himself dull if he were forced to spend hours on end with him. Ed never said he was dull, but Ed was his brother, and biased in these matters. Ed figured, because of the blood relationship he had no choice but to endure Al's dullness, because that was how families worked. Ed was obsessed with family togetherness, sometimes a little too much.

When he dared to glance up, Riza was smiling at him. A funny little smile, and he quickly rifled though his flip chart of Riza facial expressions and came up blank. He was too busy trying to decipher what this smile might mean; it could mean any number of things. His overwhelming dullness had made her catatonic! He was being a simpering twelve-year-old; she was thinking how hilarious it was going to be to lower the boom on him and tell him she was doing this to save him the humiliation of dumping him at the office. He startled when she reached over the table and laid her hands on top of his.

“Alphonse, we're here to enjoy ourselves, yes?” she said. “I appreciate and understand what you are saying, I even agree with you on the need for us to concentrate on each other,” she rubbed her thumbs over the backs of his hands. “I am touched that you are trying so hard to please me. But I want you to enjoy yourself, too. How are we to truly get to know one another if one of us is so afraid to be themselves? I think it's presumptuous of me, but I think I can guess some of your fears. I thought I had been demonstrating that some of them are groundless. I'll just try a little harder. We have three days ahead of us, let's make the most of them together.”

He nodded, looking at the way her hands covered his. So, some of his fears were groundless. He really wished she would elaborate on which ones. It would be so much easier for the checklist in his mind if he actually knew what he could check off. He was interrupted as the food arrived. The matter of eating was nothing. He was an Elric, after all, and there were family standards to uphold. They were both eager to be back underway, so the stop was made brief, because the car was also a good place to talk.

“I hear there is a farm nearby that rents horses and has an extensive riding trail,” Riza said after the tires were firmly back on the highway. “I imagine I'm rusty, I haven't ridden for some time; but I thought that might be fun,” she glanced over at him. “Have you ridden before?”

The truth of the matter was, he had. Though not in the usual style. When he was armor, he had ridden horses. He'd fallen off, or been dumped off. Once he was rubbed off against a tree. But it wasn't any struggle for him to get back on the horse. The old adage, 'if you fall off a horse, you get right back up', didn't quite apply to him; because when he fell off of horses...it didn't hurt. So yes, he'd ridden a horse, only somehow he felt he'd cheated.

“I've ridden before,” he said. “Ed and I sometimes rode on rented horses between towns. Once we hired a cart and I drove,” this was a bit of pride for him.

“Oh good,” Riza said. “Then let's do that, I think it will be relaxing and a good way to take in some of the countryside.”

“We'll definitely do that,” Al said. “Also star gazing, do you like to star gaze? I love to star gaze. I picked it up when brother and I use to travel a lot. I read extensively on the subject as well. I can show you all the constellations. It's a good time of year, the bit of crisp in the air makes them all the brighter.”

“I'd like that,” she said. And sincerely, she would. It wasn't lost on her that Alphonse might indeed know more about stars than even the most skilled astronomer. He had many years of being awake when the rest of the world slept, with only the night sky as a companion.

“I think our turn off is up here,” Al suddenly said, a tinge of excitement in his voice. He was unfolding the map and tracing the route that she had highlighted with his finger. It would be good to be there. It would be the official beginning to what would hopefully be the rest of their lives. It startled her to think of it in those terms; but that is how it had come to be in her mind. She had to know, and soon, how the rest of her life was to be played out. It was ironically enough, Alphonse’s own hesitant confessions and eager courting that made her realize she had a rest of her life.

It was time she went about living it.

**

Edward grinned as he leaned into the door, and then held it open for the General to pass. It was a pub. A small, slightly dingy, dim interiored place that was packed wall to wall. The buzz of conversation ruffled Ed's bangs as he stepped in behind the General and he couldn't help the pricking up his spine as they made their way toward the crowded bar.

Occasionally Havoc could talk the General into anything.

It's not as if the General wouldn't indulge him in a bit of elbow rubbing with the populace if Ed were to ask, it was just more likely he'd try to sweet-talk Ed out of it. And it always worked!

Yes, the Spitting Serpent Tavern sounds like an adventure, but I was rather hoping for something a bit more intimate; we rarely get to go out anymore. You know, something with a terrace and good wine...

Damn stupid romance. He was ruined.

Gone were the days of swinging his fists wildly while his eyes were tightly shut. Gone were the days of Al's shrill apologies, even as he’d flatten some bozo aiming a bar stool at Ed's head. Gone were the days of being thrown out of the bars before he could pick a good fight, because he was underage.

The General pushed in between the instigator of this venture and the instigator's trusted henchman.

“General!” Havoc grinned, “Glad you could make it.”

“We don't get to see you much outside the office anymore,” Breda added, then looked at Ed, as if this was somehow his fault.

“Gentlemen, you know how it is. I have a home now and responsibilities. One of us has to be the role model now that Hawkeye is gone,” the General grinned smoothly, then signaled the bartender.

Breda kept giving Ed the eye and Ed squared his jaw and jutted his chin out.

“What are you looking at?” he challenged, then shoved into the space between Roy and Jean and resisted going on his tiptoes.

“Nuthin', but I know what's coming,” Breda then turned his eye on Havoc. “It won't be too much longer beforeyou got 'responsibilities’ and it will be me in the bar alone.”

Havoc snorted and lifted his half full beer mug.

“Not likely,” he said. “She respects I need my guy time, just like she needs her girl time. It won't change at all.”

“Wait a minute,” Ed said, “am I being compared to Sarah?”

“I'm just saying,” Breda continued, insistent on digging his grave, “that every guy says this. ‘Nothing will change just because I got some chick...’”

“Chick?” Ed snarled.

“Heymans,” the General interrupted loudly. “Let me buy you a beer.”

“But still, it changes. Suddenly they can't go out and get a beer after work, or they can't go to the track on the weekends, or they can't even come and play poker with someone they've known a hell of a lot longer than the piece of ass they got in their bed. It's just pitiful, and you are heading down that road,” Breda pointed at Havoc. “She's tasty and she's got you by the nuts, I already see it coming, you're gonna be just like the General.”

The General then said: “Please don't kill a member of my staff.”

Ed was trying to climb up on the bar so he could get around Roy, but Havoc grabbed him by the waist before he got halfway up. The General backed himself in front of Breda and spread his arms.

“I'll have to die for him,” the General pleaded. “It's in my nature to protect my staff, no matter how badly they need to be pounded into a greasy puddle. If you'll forgive him this once I'll get him sensitivity training!”

“He won't need any training, in fact you're gonna have a surplus on your payroll,” Ed howled. “It ain't ME that keeps you from doin' whatever the hell you want! I'm all for it! Wanna go swilling beer every night, be my fuckin' guest! Let me have five minutes with him, no make it three! I just wanna explain a few things, that's all, I won't kill him much!”

The General looked over his shoulder at Breda and the man shrugged.

“What? I was just sayin',” Breda said.

The General considered stepping out of the way.

Havoc turned Ed, backed him against the bar and shoved his beer mug under his nose.

“Here, drink a lot of this,” he told Ed as Ed tried to push the beer mug away and drain it at the same time. “It always makes you feel better, and if you have enough of it, you won't give a damn about what anyone says. When are you going to lose that beard?”

Roy reached over then and upended the end of the mug. Ed probably got as much beer through his nose as his mouth at that point.

**

He carried the suitcases up the stairs and tried not to watch her walking just ahead of him. His eyes seemed to rivet to one spot, between her upper thighs and lower back and no matter how much he protested they would not look away once fixed.

He supposed the room was nice, and he heard Riza make some exclamation about it. She sounded pleased and that made him happy. But now, his mind had strayed to the edge of the desirable, yet forbidden territory of the 'Riza Hawkeye' fantasy.

All this chatting about going out doing things that he could not for the life of him remember right now; were they really necessary? They could just spend the entire three days in this room. After all, they would not starve in three days, they would be occupied and he would be... dead, probably. But the manner of his demise would only heightened the glorious legend; the one he'd already painstakingly penned in his ‘Riza Journal,’ (yes, he kept one, just like he kept a journal for his other observations. After all: she was the subject of many internal discussions he had with himself, and he had to keep his notes somewhere).

He heard his name from a distant place. A place where there was no alluring woman in a uniform jacket and mini-skirt, (oh my Pirate, you were so, so right), who was beckoning him with a sweet and savage smile and saying something in a coy tone about 'breaking in the bed'. He frowned a little, wanting to block out this other voice, but it was suddenly accompanied by a touch, (and the touch was not long, slender pale digits working the buttons his pants, but a rather normal touch on his shoulder).

He turned to see Riza looking at him, one side of her mouth quirked up and her eyebrow half raised on the opposite side. If she called him 'sailor', 'sport' or 'stud' at this moment, his head would explode. No, he meant it: he would damn well explode. All the talk leading up to this moment, this meeting, this place where they would tryst, (and OH how he loved that word. That noun...an appointment to meet at a certain time and place, especially one made somewhat secretly by lovers... to tryst, trysting, a tryst in the darkness! I want Riza to tryst all over me! YES, my god, what a word!), that was nothing compared to the moment of actually being there.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her tone seemed amused and Al wondered; was he alright?

“I don't know,” he confessed honestly. “I mean here we are, we're here. We talked about it, we planned it, we got in a car and drove all the way out here and now all I can think about is staying right here in this room.”

When Al was candid, he pulled no punches. He gave her such a lovely baffled look, and it was almost impossible to keep her hands off of him. Yes, she was entertaining the same ideas, how could she not? In their, long and leisurely courtship, there has only been one instance to date where she had gotten a taste of him. It had left her hungry. Starving if she wanted to be melodramatic; but it was there, a constant niggling reminder of what she could have, if only she could pin him down. Not that she was one to talk. To break years of self-conditioning was not something that was going to happen over night. Yes, logically she knew Al was not: 1. Her subordinate any longer, 2. As young as he looked, nor 3. Experienced in intimate matters.

To say she was intimidated at first was a mild understatement. Yes, she was use to taking charge. She'd lived her whole life based on the fact she had more common sense than most anyone else around her. Conceited? True. A proven fact? Yes. But there were some matters that should simply not be by rote. There should be the special situations where all protocol and decorum was tucked away in a nice out of the way nook if not heaved bodily out the window.

Roy had been good at this. She knew it was extremely unreasonable and unfair to Alphonse to give him such a model to measure up against. But in reality, Roy had been, at one time, her most sought after goal. She believed in him, (and she still did), despite himself. And she would not deny that she resented Edward, once upon a time, because to deny hard facts was to fall into delusion, and that was something a leader could not afford to do. She only wished that Roy had instilled some of his aggressiveness in the more intimate matters into Alphonse. He's practically raised Alphonse after the boy's return to Central, and had made it a point to be part of his everyday life. How could Alphonse be around such a strong and unrelenting personality and not absorb any of his traits?

Alphonse must have had an innate immunity to such things. It wasn't hard to see that, once it was remembered who Alphonse's elder brother was. Still, she remembered the office talk of the 'passing of the little black book', and she knew that Alphonse had been deemed the inheritor, (much to Havoc's despondent flailing).

“I'm messing this up, aren't I?” Al's voice suddenly broke her from her reverie.

No, this would not do. Alphonse was no longer the boy who trailed her to the file room, saying how he was happy to help. He was no longer the smiling face in his brother's coat, or the boy her office staff doted on whenever they thought she wasn't looking.

He was a man, and he was to be her lover. She would give this every opportunity because it was right, and fair...and she wanted it. She wanted him in a way that surprised even her.

So Alphonse had to be taught to be more...assertive. She didn't think he could handle aggressive, and if she were to suggest it he might get all flustered. So assertive would do for now.

“There is nothing to mess up, Alphonse, because neither of us have been here before,” and by that she did not mean the location. He understood, he nodded slightly and smiled a little. She tried to make herself look, well, inviting. But she wasn't quite sure how to accomplish this. Teaching assertion in rank or on the battlefield seemed a much less daunting task.

“Do you remember the chicken?” she asked him suddenly.

“Chicken?” Al said, eyes glazing over. He loved chicken now. Roasted chicken that was slightly over done, a bit dry and had almost blackened skin. With dry, over cooked potatoes and shriveled carrots and Riza's tongue down his throat for the first time. He remembered the chicken, oh yes.

“Good,” she said and moved closer to him. There, perhaps that little bit of a reminder would get him going again. She watched his eyes travel from her own, to her chin then lower and she watched his cheeks heat to a charming pink. He clenched and unclenched his hands a bit, but they remained stubbornly at his side.

“Eating chicken has become something of a special occurrence for me,” she prodded. “Sometimes it's best if I avoid it in mixed company.”

“I make you think of chicken?” he said in such a hopeful way. She had to encourage him, and keep the amused smile off her face at the same time.

You make me aware of the things I want.

“I suppose that is a joke between us,” she said, and how that made her smile. She'd never had a place in her like this to share before.

You make me aware of the things I need.

“Riza... I had all these grand things to say, all these plans. You know me, I had my whole strategy mapped out, but it can't be like that, can it?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

You make me aware of myself, like no has ever done before.

This young man, standing before her with his heart on his sleeve and his soul in his eyes; he always wore his soul there. For a long time it was the only way he could still feel part of this world and his life. How many times had she looked into them and had never seen what she need to see; what he wanted her so desperately to see.

“Alphonse...”, but that was all she got to say. Because he took a breath and a step forward and then his lips were warm against hers. She allowed her eyes to slide closed, because here, finally, is where she could let go.

His hands were moving on her back, in circles, starting out small and growing in radiance. She opened her mouth to him, hoping he took the initiative. He always exceeded expectations. His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, and he shuddered then, swallowed hard. He had the book knowledge, but not the experience yet; he was trying not to gag himself. As absurd as it seemed it endeared him all the more at that very moment.

She stroked her hands slowly, up and down his sides. A move to encourage him, but nothing overt at the moment. This was to be Alphonse moment. This was to be his aspiration, his inspiration, and his triumph. She wanted to give these things to him as much as she wanted to become what she didn't know she had wanted.

And that was something precious.

His rubbing pulled at her shirt and after a moment, he bunched his fingers into it and pulled up. She felt the fabric of her shirt pull free from her pants. The motion of the cotton over the skin between the waistband and her pants was all the more erotic because of the perpetrator of the deed. He moaned a little, into her mouth, and she felt his fingers brush her skin, lightly, on the small of her back. Now it was her turn and she smoothed her hands around his waist, flattened her palms against his back and pulled him closer, molding her body against his frame. The shiver that ran through him charged into her own flesh, making her tingle, making each brush of his hand, each sway of her freed shirttails against her own flesh, a catalyst.

She turned her head, to free his mouth, to take in his sounds; but in reality she was hungry. She had been starving, and her mouth moved over his cheek to the side of his neck. She reached up to pull his shirt collar down. His hands shot up her back, under her shirt and his fingers came up against the strap of her bra. They paused there, pushing and testing and he tilted his head to the opposite side.

She tugged his collar hard, finally able to get her fingers to the button and nudge it open. She then hooked her fingers in the collar of his undershirt and pulled it down; extending her tongue to the divot in his throat. His Adams apple worked, brushing the top of her nose.

“Riza,” he said, soft and husky and rushed. No one said her name like that. No one had ever dared; but she wanted it, she wanted it from him.

His second button gave way, and then his third. His undershirt was pristine and still smelled of the sizing that new shirts were doused in to keep them stiff and unwrinkled in their packaging. She let herself have a dizzy, heady moment that his boxers would be brand new as well. He was really more than she was prepared to handle and everything she'd ever wanted if only she had known it.

He broke his own spell of immobility, the one he had fallen under when her tongue touched his skin. He began to work her shirt up, boldly, without even asking if it was alright. She regretted having to lift her head away, and then her arms to allow him to pull it free. He started to drop it on the floor, then caught himself and stretched to put it over the back of the chair sitting at the writing desk near the door. All these things that made him who he was, all these details that spoke of him and his reverence would be her undoing.

She couldn't get her hands back to his shirtfront fast enough. His buttons were a matter of annoyance now and she tugged impatiently. He looked down, then hastily grabbed his own shirttail and yanked it out of his pants. He started at the bottom and their hands met in the middle and then his shirt was off his shoulders and hanging at his elbows. Riza herself took the pleasure of yanking his undershirt up and then flattening her palm on his bare stomach.

She felt his stomach jump under the hand, felt the ripple of muscle that traveled in a wave toward his sternum and she heard his hissed intake of breath. It was like a symphony, the movement and the air around them like their own music. His breath the melody, his movements the harmony, and her hand the conductor.

But he didn't want a solo, he wanted a duet. She felt his hands on her shoulders, felt the pull of her skin as the straps of her bra moved. She felt the light slap of fabric against her upper arm when they were pushed aside and then his arms were around her again, his hands sliding up her back again.

She indulged herself, pushing his undershirt up, pressing herself to his half-bared chest, listening to his soft grunts as he tried to figure out the mystery of the modern bra.

“How do you...?” he began, but then he looked down and saw her ever-baring cleavage and was struck momentarily mute.

“It stretches,” she cajoled him. “It's easier if you push the ends toward each other, it has a little hook and eyelet.” She wanted to help him and she wanted him to do it himself. He could make her feel so contradictory. That in itself made her wet.

Al continued to work it. The feel of the bra rubbing back and forth against her back, pulling at her breasts and then sagging forward as he snorted with frustration, was tantamount to fire. She couldn't help it, her hands slid down to his butt, she cupped each cheek, then pulled him against her, grinding her groin to his. His throaty almost wail of surprise and the hardness of his erection against her mon was bliss.

He was hard, he was hard for her. He gave a little whimper and she squeezed his butt cheeks and refused to help him with her bra. Alphonse Elric was a grown up now, that was all she needed to know. He was a grown up, with a grown up man’s needs, desires and wants. She was a desire and want, and she wanted to be a need. She wanted him to need her so desperately that he would chew through her bra strap. He could turn her around, shove he down on the bed and simply bite though the hooks and eyelets in lust. She groaned at the image as it lay wantonly across her mind and she slid up against him again.

Somewhere in this overwhelming state she'd come to be in, this place where he had put her, she realized the absurdity of these thoughts. But she didn't care, because she had found the man who could give her exactly what she wanted – freedom from rational. It was inconceivable, she supposed, that she would be with him in the first place. There was the age difference, the rank difference (not such a problem now that he was retired), the very fact she'd know him since he was a boy of eleven. In fact, she'd know him twice at that age.

This was about letting everything to do with your reservations slip right through your fingertips. Like intoxication, it was the impairment of all reason, but far more sweet, far more seducing. His lips were suddenly on her shoulder, working there. She could hear him complaining about her bra in soft tones, and he was now looking over her shoulder and down her back.

She had to touch him, she shouldn't have to wait.

She released one butt cheek and shoved that hand between them. They were pressed so closely together for a moment she had a hard time turning her arm, so just the back of her hand was wedged up against his cock. He sputtered and tried to press closer, which made it even harder to get her hand turned around so she could palm and appreciate his cock appropriately.

“Al, let's...ah move to the bed, Al? Are you listening?” she asked.

But despite his brilliance, he overwhelming ability of observation and his incredible attention to detail, he was in this respect, like any other man. He started to thrust against the back of her hand.

She was rather upset he'd given up on her bra, and trying to turn and maneuver him across the room wasn't as easy as it seemed. He made it difficult, but he was so adorable as he did it. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, as if this could pull her even closer than his arms were already doing. She tried to take a step back and he made a choked sound of anguish and moved forward to keep their bodies pressed close together. It caused her to half stumble, and they both teetered for a moment before they caught their balance again.

“Let's move to the bed,” he said as they clung to each other in the wake after the near fall.

“I think that's a good idea,” she said, because really, Al should be encouraged.

Instead of releasing her, he just walked her backwards. When the back of her knees touched the mattress, she tightened her hold on him and just fell backwards. The weight of him on top of her was brief, because he recovered himself quickly and was able to get his hands on the bed to brace himself before he bounced on her a second time.

“It's so much better than when I dreamed this,” Al said and she felt her chest tighten and her breath hitch. “My fantasies do you no justice,” he shyly confessed.

“I'm glad to know you thought about me,” Riza told him, her stomach twisting in knots. Why could he do this to her? Render her so helpless with only a few words, a few simple touches? She wanted to surrender, she wanted to give in; she was scared but she was determined.

Al was as frightening a thing as she'd ever faced.

“I have thought about you since I've known you,” he said and smiled. There was no way he could know how his simple honesty laid waste to all her defenses. “I've always thought about you, I just never though you would want this... I mean with me. “

“I will admit that it's a surprise; to both of us,” she began to rub his sides again, slowly up and down. “I had doubts, but you know that. I think I'm past them now.”

“Good,” the smile could have lit a city block. “I just want to be good to you. I just want to make you happy,” he lowered himself as he said it and she tilted her head back and parted her lips. She would have never applied the terms 'defenseless' or 'vulnerable' to herself; in fact, she would be the first to challenge anyone against such a gross misconception.

But when his lips visited hers only briefly; when they broke away to trail over her chin and down her offered throat; when they traveled lower and the tip of a nose traced the edge of the bra Alphonse had failed to remove; she wasn't sure what to think. What term could describe this feeling of being laid bare and unguarded? There was nothing like lying to yourself.

She actually jumped when his tongue touched her, tracing the same path his nose had. She felt his fingers then, how they skimmed the edge of her bra and then gently began to nudge it down. Her nipple, already peaked and sensitive reacted by shooting waves of electricity straight to her crotch when he pulled the fabric over it.

He made a small sound when he uncovered her breast. It was like surprise and curiosity and she reflexively bit her lip and curled her fingers against his sides in alarm when he dragged his tongue over the very tip of her. To be something she was craving, it was so unexpected. He flattened his tongue for the next stroke, pressing her nipple upwards and then sweeping his tongue all the way over the swell of her breast.

Her fingers worked nervously against his sides, but she caught herself, and thanked some of her practicality for saving her, (and damning it for not just letting her abandon herself to the moment), and she moved her fingers where they would be more productive; his belt and the button of his trousers.

He closed his mouth over her then; his lips pressing the sides of her nipple, his tongue nudging the tip. His eyes slid shut as he started to suck.

But she couldn’t close her eyes. His face was half obscured by his soft dark blond bangs and he kept raising and lowering his eyebrows. She was so riveted that she had his belt undone and his pants open, that it took many long moments before she remembered why she had unfastened them in the first place. But it felt so good, and the temptation to just spread herself out for his leisurely pleasure was almost unbearable. But her hunger burned.

She pushed at the elastic of his boxers. The fabric, as she predicted, felt scratchy and new under her fingers. She got her hands inside his pants on either hip, and as she used her fingers to push his under garments down, the backs of her hands helped his trousers along as well. His balanced on his other hand now, and he reached up and dragged her bra down. Though it was still fastened around her, it now bunched under her exposed breasts. He laid his palm over her unattended one and the flesh of his palm spiked pleasure in that nipple as well.

When her palm slid over his cock and he bucked with an involuntary sound, but didn't release her from his mouth, she knew that she was conquered. She stroked his entire length, cupped her fingers over his balls for a moment, letting them rest in her hand. He squirmed and whined. She slowly dragged her fingers back up before wrapping them just under the head of his cock, stroking the pad of her thumb over the tip. He was hot and sticky and it couldn't have been more of a compliment. He made strangled sounds and his suckling became ravenous as she handled him.

She cupped the back of his head with her free hand, and he released her then, looking up at her. His hips jerked and he pressed his face into her throat, just under her chin. She let him hide there, but only for a moment, before tucking her chin down to make him pull back. He was breathing hard. She moved her hand from the back of his head to his cheek and he turned his face into it, licking at her palm before kissing it; his hips jerked again.

She was a little surprised when he reached between them and covered her hand with his own, curling his fingers over her and pulling it away. He groaned as if the effort cost him dearly and she knew in that moment she loved him in the way she needed to love her lover.

“I'm so close already, just from that,” he begged her. “I don't want...I've read romance novels,” he got out in a rush. “I try not to let that mix with the reality of human sexuality I've read about, but I can't help it. I want this to be like those books, all heated and perfect, but I know, if I don't stop you now; I'll be embarrassed and you'll be unsatisfied,” he bit his lip and pleaded with her with his eyes.

She wanted to eat him alive.

She spoke not with words, but with motion. She sat up, pushing him back and he stood on the floor then, between her spread legs. His pants were low on his thighs and his cock was prominent; angling up from a thatch of dark curls toward his stomach. She thought she wouldn't mind being unsatisfied if she got the satisfaction of watching him writhe under her hands, to fell his cock jerk and throb as he came in her mouth; but no, this was Al's victory and she was the spoils of his conquest. She would do things his way.

His eyes were fixed firmly on her breasts, then he seemed to notice this and hastily pulled them back to her face.

“Can..can you take your bra off?” he asked with pink cheeks.

She immediately obeyed. She reached around to undo it, but his frantic attempts to relieve her of it had left the trap all twisted. She grunted in frustration and looked at him and almost laughed out loud at his look of vindication.

“Why are they so complicated to remove?” he muttered.

Again she let actions speak for her. She got her bra off, held it up to show it to him before letting it drop on the floor between them. Then she reached up, grabbed his pants at his hips and pulled them down to his knees. She leaned over as she did it and his cock practically leapt at her, resting on her forehead before he sputtered and stumbled back. He almost fell over, hopping around to get his pants the rest of the way off; and then there he stood in a slightly wrinkled new t-shirt and his socks and nothing else.

She noticed they were both without shoes and Al's dress shirt was gone. When did that happen, and why didn’t she care? She started to undo her own belt and he made a sound of protest and came over to her. So she flopped back on the bed and he set his jaw and managed to get her belt undone. He tugged it off of her, tossing it triumphantly over his shoulder. Next, he plucked nervously at her trousers before sucking in his bottom lip and undoing them. But being as they were women's trousers, and not men's, they had an extra catch he was unfamiliar with. He struggled with it for a few moments, before whining in frantic irritation.

“This isn't fair,” he sobbed. “It's not like I spent my formative years sealed in steel; why wasn't that enough for you?” he appealed to the ceiling.

Riza took pity and reached down to help him. He leaned over and kissed her hands as she did it, then when she got them open his kissed her bare stomach once or twice as he worked them down. Riza raised her legs for him and he merrily shucked her trousers off and gave them a casual toss. It was nice to see that impending sex made Al less of a tight-ass, too.

He reached down and pulled his socks off and then he gave her a most lovely vista of his body, stretching upwards as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head. They were almost there, Al was naked now and Riza only had on her panties. Al licked his lips, his fingers actually twitched and Riza put her heels on the bed, ready to lift her hips to help him get them off.
He looked at her, then back to her panties. He licked his lips again and then did it as one rushed motion. She barely had time to get her hips up before the undergarments were around her ankles and off.

It was done: they were alone together, naked, and one of them was on a bed.

**

“She's taken him off into the country to make a man of him,” Ed sobbed into the bottom of the fourth beer mug that had been thrust into his hand.

“AL'S GOING TO BE A MAN,” Havoc and Breda sobbed together.

“He's all grown up now, he doesn't need me anymore,” Ed slobbered.

“AL'S GROWN UP NOW, WHAT WILL WE DO?” Havoc and Breda commiserated, throwing their arms over each other’s shoulders.

Roy was fairly certain Alphonse would not be pleased his most important male rite of passage was being shouted drunkenly by Ed and the dork twins across a crowded tavern. At least no one was trying to kill each other. It was amazing what slights a man would forgive if you got him shit-faced enough.

“Wait a minute, this isn't a time to be all sad and shit,” Havoc reasoned, then burped. “Al's getting some, go Al!” he waved his beer mug around and doused Breda's shirtfront. Breda grunted then lifted his shirt to smell it, then went back to drinking his own beer.

Ed laid his cheek on the table, and then turned big, pitiful eyes on Roy.

“Don't look at me, I'm on the ‘Al's-getting-some-go-Al-woot’ team,” Roy told him, arms folded over his chest.

“It's not that I'm unhappy,” Ed slurred. “I think it's great. Now he'll go off and be happy, that's the happy ending, right? Yeah, that's good shit, that's what I want for him...and kittens,” Ed rubbed his cheek against the scarred wood of the table, making it rock back and forth slightly.

Havoc reached over and pounded Ed on the back like he was trying to put out a fire that had started there.

“Don't be sad,” Breda cajoled. “The Colonel is one nice piece of ass, ask the General, he knows. Al will be yodeling to the rafters. I'd almost be jealous if the woman didn't make my balls pull up into my body every time she walked by,” Breda then drained his mug.

“The General cheated on me,” Ed slurred. “He cheated on me with her, and now she's got my baby brother in her clutches. Did she make you do it at gun point?” Ed asked, looking at Roy again but not bothering to lift his head.

“I'm so glad you won't remember this in the morning,” the General said, studying his nails.

Havoc and Breda both gave gasps of shocked disbelief. “He cheated on you?” Havoc said, then he made a mournful sound and looked at Roy like Roy had just kicked several puppies he'd had lined up in a row for his kicking pleasure.

“That bastard,” Breda wheezed, (never mind said ‘bastard’ was sitting right here listening to every word), “He found something else when he had you at home? You're too good for him,” Breda nodded, and then seemed to get distracted by a stain on the table. It amazed Roy that not half an hour ago Ed was the villain for keeping Roy from going on these little soirees. Considering this was how they typically went, Roy rather thought Ed was a hero.

Roy then noticed Ed had fallen asleep and quickly jumped on the opportunity to make a break for it.

“Ed's passed out, I get to go home now,” the General said with a certain amount of glee. He got up and pulled Ed upright, then onto his feet, and then finally just over his shoulder.

“Got him drunk just so he could take him home and take advantage of him,” Havoc said in a very loud, conspiratorial whisper to Breda.

“Typical maneuver for the big guy, as much as I admire him, he can be real scum,” Breda nodded.

“You two do realize I'm standing right here,” Roy said.

“Ed could have had anyone he wanted,” Havoc continued, “but it seems he's a poor judge of character.”

“You know how it is, someone pays a little attention to you, makes you feel like the top of the world, then you get all dependant on them and they think they can lead you around by the nose,” Breda supplied.

“I'm right here,” Roy said again, shifting Ed a bit on his shoulder. “I'm standing right here.”

“I never pegged Ed for the co-dependant type,” Havoc said, finishing up his own mug. “He sort of seemed hyper-independent if you ask me.”

“What the hell with the big words? Stop it already. Damn woman of yours putting ideas in your head and shit,” Breda snorted.

“WHAT? You don't say nothing about my woman!” and Havoc jumped on Breda. Breda yelped and fell over and then they started to fight and the table fell over with them. The General left with Ed over his shoulder before the cops arrived.

There would be a lot of begging, and he did mean a lot, before he bailed anyone out of jail the next morning.

**

When he first remembered himself and he realized that he wore flesh again, even though he knew he wore flesh again, he wanted to drown himself in sensation. All sensation, good or bad, weak or strong. He was glad of the indulgence of those around him as he tasted, smelled, and felt everything in his path. The world was rich and alive and he was reborn into it; his exploration was endless in those first days when he came back to himself.

Now, the way her skin rebounded to his fingertips was wonder. The very texture and scent coming from her skin threatened to overwhelm him. He watched the muscles in her neck tighten and relax when he touched her in certain ways. She was an experience he intended to chronicle in his mental journal in the most minute of detail.

Beneath him, on the bed, was the woman he loved. Yes, he loved her, he knew this to be a fact. He would tell her, but she had just come to him like this after overcoming her own doubts. She was as reborn into this, as he once was into flesh. She needed time before the next revelation.

When he and Ed had tried to... when they had done what they did; he had studied the female anatomy in it's every detail. Internal and external, function and purpose. He could easily recite every molecule she was made of; he could know her in her most base elements. He could name the bones that made up her frame and specify which organs she could live without. This was his knowledge of a woman, and despite he had once penned a paper on female anatomy, he knew nothing about women.

His close acquaintances, Granny and Winry, were, as he knew, family. He couldn't compare any interaction he had between them as a basis on how to act with a woman. Not that they weren't women, (he would never intentionally insult either of them, and he apologized profusely to his mental homages of them), but his behavior with them would not be a good example of behavior with women outside of his family. Like Riza, for instance. But then again, right now he was getting along splendidly with Riza. So well, in fact, that she was about to let him do what all men wanted to do with women since the dawn of time.

Except his brother, who always had to do things the hard way.

“Stop thinking,” she said to him, looking up at him from the sheets.

“What?” Al asked, baffled.

“Stop thinking, Alphonse. This isn't the time or place for it, this is where we feel,” she told him.

He stilled for a long moment, absorbing her words and just the sound of her voice.

Stop thinking, just feel.

Could he do it?

That would be spontaneity, wouldn't it?

That is what he wanted.

Stop thinking.

She grabbed his hand, slid it over her stomach and pushed it between her legs. She even tightened her thighs against his wrist.

All thought left his body.

The curls between her legs weren't soft, like the hair on her head. They were almost the same shade, however, not that it mattered. His fingers encountered moisture and when he probed at it, she made the most breathy little gasp and it shot straight to his cock. His fingers sank inside her body and he shook with amazement.

This was sex. This is how it was suppose to be; two people sharing their bodies for the purpose of pleasure. It was natural and Al though it should come naturally. But here on the cusp of his final hurdle into adulthood, he trembled with hesitation. He could feel her, warm and slick on his fingers, she throbbed, inside, and it made his stomach quiver and his cock bounce.

Here was his chance, his moment, his dream. He knew all about dreams, he'd experienced them often. He'd seen them come to fruition. The very flesh he caressed her with was a dream spanning many years. It was a dream he shared, with his brother, it was the reality of what he lived now.

Dreams did come true.

And here, again, there was a dream to share. A dream of a life, and love, and companionship. A dream to be together with someone else who had come to be as close to his heart as anyone could possibly get, (and not be named Ed).

He heard her take a breath, perhaps she was opening her mouth to speak; but he didn't want her words, he wanted her lust. He wanted the sensations he dreamed about when he towered over the rest of humanity. When he was unfeeling and above them, when he longed to join them and have all there was of happiness and pain.

He moved his fingers and she made a mew that shot straight the center of his brain that said: I can't hold out, we have to have it Now. And Al was not one to disobey, no he wasn't. He was fairly certain he knew where to stick what, and they were already naked, which was helpful, so he helped himself by moving over her.

She made all kinds of encouraging sounds, and that was good, because somehow he'd gotten blinders on and just his cock could maneuver now, although it had no eyes, it tried valiantly to see where they were going. His hand decided to help out by withdrawing from her and grabbing his cock and pulling on it as if to show it where to go. After all, his hand had already been there; it knew the way.

Riza was helping too; she put her hands on his hips. She also lifted her knees and pressed them to either side of his body, offering them like guide rails along the side of the road, so he wouldn't slip off and could keep on heading in the right direction.

His hips decided his hand might know what it was talking about, so they arched forward and the head of his cock met dampness and the brush of almost coarse hair, then Riza's hand joined in the expedition and her fingertips trailed along the underside of his cock and nudged the head up at the same time her knees tightened and urged him forward.

And then, just like that, he was there. Riza's hands griped his forearms, her body arched back as her hips angled up and for the life of him he could not breath. He felt her heels dig into the small of his back when she wrapped her legs around him, felt the bite of her nails against the skin on his arms, and he felt his cock jerk and constrict and expand and it was nothing he could have ever imagined feeling, (and he had imagined quite a bit of feeling not so long ago when all around him every word he uttered echoed).

He wanted to tell her all these amazing things, because he wanted to share everything with her. So he opened his mouth: but he didn't manage to say quite what he had on his mind.

“Can't...breathe...,” he started, and then he detonated. He really couldn't breathe for long, agonizing moments, and when he finally could he did it so hard and fast he made his head swim.

He just wanted to wallow, to drop and rub himself against her and purr. When he lowered himself, she let him. When he rubbed against her, she held him close, and when he purred she kissed along his forehead.

Sex was great.

“It's great,” he said airily, “it's really, really great,” he told himself out loud.

“I'm sure it will be,” Riza said in a slightly terse and tense sort of way. He wondered at it hazily, but he afterglow fairies came, then, and clubbed him on the head with their wands until he feel asleep.

**

“I love you,” the blond crooned. “I love you so much, I wanna tell everybody, let's get a billboard.”

“Yes, yes,” the dark haired man replied, eyes never leaving the road.

“Do you love me?” the blond simpered. “You do, don't you? You better say you do because if you don't, and you like someone else, I'll find them and kill them.”

“Yes, yes,” the black haired man said, squinting up at the road sign above their exit.

“Are we there yet? We're almost there, aren't we?” the blond questioned.

“Yes, yes,” the other man said, sounding tired.

“Oh good,” said the blond, and then promptly threw up on the floorboard.