Do Not Disturb

Title: Do Not Disturb
Pairing: Edward Elric/Alfons Heiderich
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
A/N: Poor Hei :( I keep being so damn mean to him XD;

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The tree branches rustled gently against the window pane, soft scratching, rhythmical; it almost kept time with his breathing tonight. The first time he’d laid awake with the wind blowing, he’d thought that noise was a mouse. The simple thought had made him half-crazy, worried about his research; rodents got into things, chewed on things, shat on things, but then in the morning he’d realized the ‘mice’ were just overgrown elm branches. Strange, how many weeks he had worked in this study, never noticed that tree.

Everything was different at night.

He took another shallow breath through his nose, held it; exhaled through the mouth. The burn in his chest was still there, but receding. Flickers of pain blossomed with the influx of air, held at a simmer, and then radiated out when he exhaled, but it was nothing like the fire that had tortured him earlier, pain without reason or fluctuation or end. This, this was manageable. Did not end in harsh coughing, or blood. Good.

Still endless, though. He shifted a little to get the weight off his arm; his whole right side was going numb from lying on it too long. How did people (like Edward) manage to sleep on their side, when it was so terribly clear that it made one uncomfortable? He supposed the trick was that those people (like Edward) must not actually spend the whole night in that position. Edward had the most amazing tendency to start off on his half of the bed prone, like a proper person, and then over the course of the night spread himself to claim the entirety of the mattress...or squirrel himself into a corner...or throw the sheets from the damn bed entirely, all while completely and soundly asleep. AND he talked. More like, babbled. He was chattering right now, actually; long chains of words that made very little sense, even on the thin premise that they might somehow narrate dreams. It would really be annoying, he thought - assuming he actually slept at night, which granted, was less and less common. When he was awake like this, trapped in his own rickety body, it was honestly comforting.

\"The answer is...\" He picked out from behind him, and smiled. Research, perhaps.

He rocked slowly over onto his back and turned his head to the side, mindful of his breathing. It was a bit harder now with the full weight of his chest on both lungs, but again, he didn\'t come up coughing.

\"What answer is that?\" He whispered to his roommate, amused. When Edward entered his little bursts of talkativeness, sometimes he would even hold a conversation. Didn\'t seem to remember any of them the next morning though, which was a pity. Couldn\'t talk about it, either. The one time he\'d brought it up, Edward had been so alarmed about \"keeping you up\" that he\'d nearly gone back to his nest on the couch, and that was one thing that Alfons most certainly did NOT want. So their conversations became secret, for only Alfons\'s guilty pleasure.

\"Edward...\" He whispered again. \"What\'s the answer?\"

\"Answer...\" He got back, which was disappointing. Edward stirred sleepily and nuzzled his cheek against a wrinkle of blanket, which most certainly wasn\'t. Alfons swallowed hard. No, he didn\'t mind company at night. Didn\'t mind it in the least.

\"Too high...in the cupboard.\" Edward suddenly snorted, and rolled over toward him, flopping an arm uselessly above his head. \"Pork chop sandwiches.\"

Alfons groaned fondly, allowed himself a friendly tap to Edward\'s shoulder. \"You WOULD be one to dream about dinner.\" He smiled.

Edward said nothing. The only response was the soft hiss of his breathing, low and clear, the perfect rise and fall of his chest. Alfons envied him so much. Envied his face too, in the moonlight; heart-shaped and round, soft cheeks, spill of fine, golden hair dripping down like molten butter. He looked absolutely delectable.

Alfons wondered how his skin must taste.

\"Now you\'ve got me wanting a snack.\" He snickered softly. Edward said nothing, again. Perhaps he was finally back to quieter sleep.

The covers had gotten knocked back sometime during Edward\'s reach for the mysterious dream-cupboard, and Alfons wiggled, trying to recapture them. Edward snorted as he tugged the cloth back up over his friend\'s hip, squirmed a bit; Alfons paused instinctively. He was always worried his restlessness might wake Edward up, despite how improbable that actually was. For all his dramatics, Edward was an amazingly heavy sleeper. He\'d dropped an entire shelf of books on the floor once and the man had barely batted an eyelash. He could probably choke to death next to him, Alfons thought darkly, and Edward wouldn\'t know until morning - more like noon, without Alfons about to prod him out sooner. Laz-a-bout.

He shook his head. No, that wasn\'t being charitable. If he had a truly awful attack, Edward could usually be roused. And occasionally, roused himself, boiled water, got him towels, helped him breathe in steam - all manner of small kindnesses that made him feel bad to think so poorly of the man. Strange and mercurially-tempered Edward might be, but in some matters, he was always rock solid. When Alfons needed help, he was always there to walk him unsteadily down the stairs.

It was in fact, probably the reason he\'d agreed to the share the bed in the first place, Alfons knew. Edward had been more than content to sleep on the couch for the first couple weeks - put up with it admirably, actually, which was no small feat because Alfons had SLEPT on that sofa and he knew damn well what that was like - and he had asked for nothing more than a blanket, though Alfons would have gladly tried to find him some kind of mattress. And once he\'d learned about the illness, that some nights it was bad enough Alfons woke himself up with the coughing, hell or high water couldn\'t have changed his mind about sleeping in the same room. He had honestly been prepared to take the floor. Alfons tugged the blankets further up, to Edward\'s shoulders, and gave his friend\'s side a short, affectionate stroke. Felt vaguely guilty. He took so much from Edward already. He couldn\'t help but wonder what Edward got from the bargain.

Edward mumbled something unintelligible, and swept his arm down toward Alfons.

Alfons withdrew his own hand immediately (what would Edward think if he woke up with his friend petting him!?), but couldn\'t help the curiosity. \"Edward?\" He whispered, not sure if the man was waking up or just starting up another dream. There was a faint groan in response, but if there were words there, they were too soft for Alfons to make out. He rolled up on his left side, now facing Edward, and scooted himself closer, oestentiably to hear the rest. It had nothing to do with how warm Edward was, how the air beneath the blanket smelled so wonderfully of musky person.

He couldn\'t help it. He wanted to touch again.

I can always say I was trying to wake him, he thought in startling burst of clarity, and his hand was out before he thought again, sliding across Edward\'s one perfect shoulder, down along his arm. So warm. Even through the night-clothes, he could feel the heat that constantly radiated from Edward\'s body, a couple degrees higher than his own, he always thought. Wirey cords of muscle, too; made a guy feel inadequate. Hell, the man was crippled, and he still more than just made up for it. Edward could wake up right now and beat the shit out of him for being a touchy-feely pervert, and he didn\'t even have his limbs. Alfons found there was a hard coil of excitement that ran through his belly when he thought about that, Edward\'s terrible eyes flashing down from above him, his powerful little body pinning him down thoroughly - it was disturbing. Nobody should look forward to being held down and battered. But still, oh hell, Edward straddling him-

That thought was why, when moments later Edward flopped over INTO him, Alfons bit back a screech. His stomach dropped into his feet.

\"Edward!?\" He hissed, heart in his throat. His friend\'s bulk had knocked them both over, him lying flat with Edward partially on top of him; it made it hard to breathe. \"Edward?\"

Another soft groan was his only reply, and this time at least he was definitely close enough to register that it did, in fact, carry no meaning. Great. Just great. He tried to muster his right elbow into action against Edward\'s middle, but it didn\'t quite want to bend with solid Edward on top of it. He finally settled for lashing out with his entire arm at once, desperately trying to ease the burden on his chest, needing there to not be WEIGHT THERE, holy shit.

Edward grunted and shifted to the right, though not enough to release him completely. Alfons panted painfully as the pressure lifted, too shaken to worry about the weight still leaning on his side. His chest. Oh god, his chest. He struggled to remember how to regulate his breathing again, in through the nose, out through the mouth, got to focus...couldn\'t stand to hyperventilate.Edward shifted sleepily against him and he barely even noticed it, so focused on slowing on slowing his breathing.

\"Alfons...\" Edward mumbled though, and his own name was suddenly riveting.

\"What?\" He panted, still very slightly out of breath; it wasn\'t so overwhelming anymore, and he thought he might actually be okay. Other than that initial crushing terror, he had actually survived relatively unscathed. Not like an attack, at least.

Edward said nothing though, just nudged him slightly with his leg. Alfons scowled. He had half a mind to wake the man up now, if for no other reaosn than to have someone to vent at. That sharp thrill of terror - that sudden weight - but if he did that, Edward would certainly be upset. He wouldn\'t be as relieved to hear about Alfons\'s ordeal as Alfons would be to tell it, he\'d feel horribly guilty. He\'d likely want to go back to sleeping on the floor and actually stick to it this time, he wouldn\'t be sharing the bed anymore, he wouldn\'t be -

- he wouldn\'t be rubbing himself against Alfons\'s hip!

\"Edward?!\" Alfons yelped, and he couldn\'t keep his voice down this time because it really was a shock. Pants or no pants, something was poking him, a hard bump jutting uncomfortably into the side of his body as Edward rocked ever-so-slowly against him. He was in fact a rocket scientist, but it didn\'t really take one to understand this.

Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no.

He tried to extract his trapped arm but if anything, Edward was leaning on it even more heavily than before; moving it proved impossible. Giving that up for lost, he attempted instead to reach across and shove at Edward\'s shoulder with his left hand. The man wriggled a little and snorted, paraodoxically squirmed closer in response to the stimulus.

\"Edward!\" He growled. \"Edward, MOVE!\"

\"Alfons...\" His friend sighed, and buried his face in the crook of Alfons\'s shoulder.

This was not helping.

What the hell was he supposed to do!? Edward rubbed against him again and made a shaky noise, and damned if he didn\'t shudder right along with it. Edward\'s scent was everywhere, the warm smell of his hair - which was RIGHT THERE - oh mother of god. He was going to die. Soft noises again, hard lump against his hip, and yes, he was dying, he was officially dead. He certainly didn\'t think he\'d ever take a proper breath again.

Was this what it looked like when he had a wet dream? Because that\'s what Edward was doing, Alfons was damned sure, right up against his self-same leg. He risked tilting his head downward, just a little bit, and hissed at what he saw, felt another hot bolt of excitement shoot down through his legs. Edward\'s expression...what little he could see of it...even lax with sleep, it made him ache. He swallowed, shaky. He needed...something. Maybe a good, stiff drink.

And Edward needed his leg, it seemed, because he continued to move against it periodically. \"You like that?\" He whispered down at the man. Couldn\'t help himself. Reached out with the tips of his fingers and stroked the tips of Edward\'s bangs, touched the cleft of his cheek. God. It was all he could do to keep from something momentuously stupid, like pushing himself up, grabbing him...

\"Alfons,\" Edward drawled sleepily. \"Pleeeeease.\"

Alfons. Please.

He couldn\'t keep his hands from shaking.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god it had to be a misunderstanding. Had to be. Edward hadn\'t gotten that idea himself, he must have planted it; people just didn\'t have wet dreams about their roommates, especially not male roommates, that-

- was complete and utter bullshit, he did it himself. Hell. Fuck. Alfons found himself running through any number of swear words but none of them seemed appropriate, neither profane nor reverent enough. The subject of his own malformed dreams was pressed up against him and needy and he couldn\'t think what to do with him. Couldn\'t move. Couldn\'t breathe. The only thing he could do was watch and listen as Edward\'s breathing increased, feel the intoxicating press of Edward\'s arousal through fabric, smell the heady, wonderful musk of someone else\'s sex...

Edward shuddered against him like a leaf, like a branch; stuttered like the elm tree against their window. Alfons himself fought the urge to cry out, seized a fistful of Edward\'s pajamas reflexively. Coming, coming, god, Edward was coming against him...he had never been so hard in his life. It almost made him want to weep.

The tension released completely and Edward just sagged against him, practically inanimate. He held still for several terrified heartbeats, but there was no sleepy stirring, no slow, dawning horror and comprehension. Nothing came, and eventually he managed to let out the breath he\'d been holding. He\'d thought Edward might wake. That happened to him sometimes, when the wetness seeped down and registered, but Edward remained dead to the world as usual. As always, Alfons reminded himself, and it was that fact more than anything that finally galvanized his muscles into motion. He scooted out from under Edward slowly, heart hammering every second - what if he wakes!? what if he WAKES?! - but he managed, and finally slipped out of bed entirely. Looked down at his pajamas and amazed at the tiny wet spot that had blossomed. It had really happened. Really.

He swallowed hard and snuck one more glance at Edward, who was slumped bonelessly at an odd angle, right in the center of the bed; felt vaguely bad for bolting on him. He was going to be a sticky, stiff mess in the morning, but really, what could he possibly do that wouldn\'t make things look horrible? This was a guilty, beautiful secret he would take with him to the grave, and he wasn\'t about to destroy it by waking the man now.

\"I\'m sorry.\" He whispered in his friend\'s direction, and bolted for the bathroom, not even bothering to shove Edward back to \"his\" side of the bed.

After all, he certainly wasn\'t planning on sleeping any time soon.

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To be continued...