Equivalence of Lies

Equivalence of Lies

Disclaimer: FMA is not mine. I’m just enjoying the fruits of the creator’s genius. n_nv

Warnings/Notes: Not for minors, i.e. anyone under eighteen years of age. Heck, I wouldn’t let anyone under eighteen watch the actual series (with a few exceptions), but that could just be me. Anyway, this story is slightly Alternate Situation, not quite Alternate Universe because it’s still set mostly in the same world, timeline, etc., but some things will be different from the show. All additional warnings should be included on the previous page.

Summary: The military gets wind of the false Elric Brothers in Xenotime, and Russell learns a lesson about telling lies.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The older boy’s hand trembled ever-so-slightly as he stared at the paper clenched between his fingers. Violet-blue eyes scanned the words, harsh black on stark white, over and over, to make absolutely certain nothing had been misread.

“Brother,” the younger boy questioned softly, “What is it?”

Russell Tringham closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his free hand. “It’s a summons. The military knows we’re here, and they’re ordering me—that is, Edward Elric—to come to Central Headquarters immediately.”

Fletcher, the younger Tringham, gasped, his already large eyes widening in fear. “Russell! Are we in trouble?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I knew it!” Fletcher cried. “I knew we were taking this too far; they were bound to find out eventually, and now—”

“Relax,” Russell admonished. “We don’t know we’re in trouble yet. They could just be wondering why the ‘Elric Brothers’ are in Xenotime, instead of wherever they were supposed to be right now.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Your big brother is going to take care of this. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just deny all the rumors about us using the Elrics’ identities, and no one will be able to prove otherwise.”

“So…you’re really going?”

“No choice. If I don’t go, they’ll just come here looking for me.”

The younger boy bit his lip, but nodded. “Okay. Just, promise me you’ll be careful.” Because we’re all we have, brother. And I can’t do any of this alone.

“I will,” the elder promised. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He disliked the idea of leaving Fletcher here alone, but he really didn’t have any other options. He couldn’t let the military come here; if he was in trouble, they might throw his little brother in jail with him!

He informed Mugear that he was going on a short trip, and that he would return in a few days at most. Their employer was not happy, but he consented once Russell told him it was a military summons, and could not be avoided. The land baron didn’t want the army involved either, considering he was illegally forging gold with alchemy. He wished Russell a safe journey, and the eldest Tringham packed a travel bag and headed out for Central.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He had played it cool for his brother, but in truth Russell was terrified. What could the military possibly want, unless they had discovered the brothers’ ruse and were calling them out? By the time he reached Central HQ, he was a nervous wreck on the inside. His only consolation was that if they arrested him, his one phone call could be used to tell Fletcher to get the hell out before they came after him too.

He went up the steps, past the guards, and through the front doors without any harassment, and he began to breathe a little easier. As long as he looked like he belonged, no one would bother him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t even have to flash his non-existent pocket watch, the symbol of the State Alchemists that he didn’t have.

A secretary did stop him halfway across the lobby of the main building. “Excuse me, but the Visitors’ Center is that way. Those doors you’re heading for lead to the offices, and I’m afraid civilians aren’t allowed through there.”

Russell armed himself with his most charming smile and turned toward her. “I can see it’s been a while since I last came here. My apologies, but I’m a State Alchemist.”

The woman raised a brunette eyebrow. “You’re not exactly dressed for work.” She stared pointedly at his obviously civilian clothes. “And you look awfully young to be an alchemist.”

“Well,” he replied casually, “I left my uniform at the cleaner’s, I’m afraid. As to my youth, that’s easily explained. I’m Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

He prayed to God she hadn’t. In Xenotime he could get away with calling himself the Fullmetal Alchemist, because no one there knew the difference. This was Central; everyone here probably knew about Fullmetal, if they hadn’t met him personally. He was taking a HUGE risk here, but what choice did he have? If he admitted he wasn’t military personnel, this woman would likely ask him questions, the answers to which could get him tossed in a cell.

The secretary gave him a blank look. “Pardon me,” she said, and picked up the phone at her workstation. She dialed a number while the blond boy fidgeted his hands in his pockets.

She cocked her head slightly, and then said, “Yes, this is Michelle, down in the lobby? There’s a young man here claiming to be a State Alchemist. He says he’s the Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.” She paused for a moment. “No, Sir, he’s not in uniform.”

After another pause, she placed her hand over the receiver and turned back to Russell. “Do you have clearance?”

Hoping, praying it would be enough, he produced the summons and handed it over to the woman. She scanned it briefly, and spoke into the phone again. “He has a summons from Central Headquarters, Sir.” Another, longer pause. “All right, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

She handed the summons back to Russell, nodded and said, “You’ve been cleared. Go on in; I’m assuming you know which office it is?”

“Er, yes,” he replied. “Thank you.”

He walked away, feeling her eyes on him until he was through the doors at the end of the room. Glancing occasionally at the paper in his hand, he made his way down halls and around corners until he reached the office listed on the summons. It was a good thing, he reflected, that the military was so precise with these things. Otherwise, how would he possibly know which office belonged to his “direct superior,” or even who his direct superior was?

He reached out to knock on the door, but a sudden thought made him freeze just as his hand brushed it. This “Colonel Roy Mustang” was Edward Elric’s superior officer, right? So wouldn’t this man know exactly what the Fullmetal Alchemist looked like? He swallowed hard; there was no turning back now, was there? He would just have to explain that he had only used Edward Elric’s name to get into the office, so he could shed some light on the misunderstanding that had brought him to Central in the first place. It wasn’t an entirely sound plan, but he was in a corner now and he would have to make due. He just hoped he wouldn’t be shot first and questioned later. He knocked.

“Come in.”

He tried to compose himself. The deep voice on the other side of the door had sounded firm, but not angry. Perhaps this “Mustang” character would let him explain himself after all? Or maybe he just couldn’t aim through the door.

He opened the door and entered, closing it again behind him, and looked up to see what sort of man Fullmetal’s superior was. Colonel Mustang was a man in his early twenties, with jet-black hair and eyes that looked black at first glance, but flashed midnight-blue when he tilted his head up to observe Russell in return. He cocked a sable eyebrow and leaned forward, lacing his gloved hands together and resting his chin on them in an honestly inquisitive manner.

“So,” he intoned, “You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist?”

Russell blinked in surprise. Was it possible the colonel had no idea what his own subordinate looked like? He steadied himself and stood at what he hoped was attention. “Yes, Sir.”

Mustang chuckled softly. “At ease, Fullmetal. Please,” and he indicated the office couch with an elegantly gloved hand, “Have a seat.”

Tingling with trepidation, the blond youth complied. “You asked for me?” he asked, trying to keep his tone confident, laid back.

“I did.” The older man stood and moved to the side of his desk, glancing out a window as he spoke. “I was curious as to why reports indicated your presence in Xenotime, when your last correspondence was from Aquroya, a good day’s train-ride away.”

Russell’s heart hammered in his chest, and he fought not to blanch white. Aquroya!? The real Elrics are in Aquroya!? That’s too close! He kept his expression neutral through sheer force of will. “A false correspondence, perhaps?” he ventured.

“Perhaps,” Mustang conceded. “If so, though, it’s a matter of slight concern. Why would anyone send the military false information on your whereabouts?”

“I…I don’t know, Sir.” Please, please, don’t let me give anything away....

“No?” The colonel walked over to the couch; Russell quickly made to stand, only to be waved a negative by Mustang. “Relax, Fullmetal. I’m sure this is just a bit of misinformation via the post. It happens now and then; someone will send a correspondence, and it will come late, or marked with the wrong date, or the wrong address. That’s perfectly normal, if a little confusing for those of us whose job is to sort these things out.”

The young alchemist (for alchemist he was, Elric or not!) exhaled silently in relief. It looked like he might be in the clear! “If there’s nothing else, Sir, then may I have your leave to go?”

Colonel Mustang smiled, and for some reason the expression gave Russell chills. “Actually, there was one more thing before I let you go.”

There was no warning but the glint in those deep-blue eyes, and the next thing the blond knew, there was a mouth covering his own, and hands pressing him firmly into the back of the couch. He gasped loudly, and pushed at the older man’s shoulders in a panic. Mustang did not relent for a few seconds, and when he did he was still smiling in a wholly unapologetic—and frankly scary—fashion.

Russell sputtered, alarmed and aware of the crimson stain in his cheeks. “Wha-what the—you—” He couldn’t even manage a complete sentence for the indignation.

He all but squeaked when he was roughly shoved down on his back in the couch cushions, the sound choking off when the black-haired man loomed over him with that wicked gleam in his eyes.

“You can scream,” the colonel told him, “If you want half the military running in here. But I don’t think you do.”

He captured the blond’s mouth with his own again, ignoring the muffled sounds of protest that forced past their locked lips. Russell squirmed frantically, alarm sirens clamoring uselessly in his mind. What the hell was going on!? He wanted to flail, but his wrists were pinned beneath the taller man’s hands, and kicking was ineffectual when the colonel was straddling his waist as was the case.

When at last he was allowed to breathe, he could barely find his voice. “W-what are you doing!?” he managed, hating the way his words quivered from shock and lack of air.

The dark-eyed man just smirked at him, and leaned down to nip non-too-gently at his neck. Russell yelped, and suddenly found one of his hands free. He had little time to process this knowledge, because the hand that had released him was now unceremoniously yanking open the buttons of his shirt.

“S-stop!” He tried pushing at the colonel’s shoulder again, but from this angle it was even less effective. He cursed the scientific principles that made it hard to get any leverage when on one’s back. That hand dove inside his shirt, nails dragged harshly over his skin, and fingers pinched an unsuspecting nipple, and Russell arched and cried out in something akin to pain, but not entirely the same. “Ah! No, n-no, stop!”

A purely violated gasp wrenched its way out of him when that hand moved down to cup him through the front of his trousers, and his own hand shot down to clamp around the older man’s wrist. “Damnit, I said NO!” he yelled, his face a brilliant red with humiliation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

The colonel arched a delicate, black brow at him in amusement. “What’s wrong, ‘Fullmetal?’” he asked, and the way he said the title made Russell go rigid. The man pursed his lips briefly as though in deep thought, and then smiled. “Ah, I know. You’re worried about your brother. You always are, aren’t you? Well, don’t trouble yourself; if you cooperate, ‘Alphonse’ will never have to know about this, or about that small unit of armed soldiers I sent two days ago to investigate the goings-on in Xenotime. They should arrive today, I think.”

Russell gaped at him, and all the color drained out of his face. Oh, SHIT....

“But don’t let that concern you,” Mustang crooned. “I’m sure nothing will happen to ‘Alphonse’ while you’re here. I’ll make absolutely sure of that, so just settle down, and let me take care of you.”

The elder Tringham kicked himself mentally with enough force to make him wince physically. No, goddamnit no, this man knew he was a fake! Of course he knew Russell was a fake; he was Edward’s direct superior! How could he have let himself think he could get away with this!? And it was starting to look like Mustang was a lot more to Edward Elric than his commanding officer. How could he have been so stupid? He had walked right into a trap, and now he had no way of getting out.

He attempted reason. “Please,” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t about to lose it. “This is just a misunderstanding. I only needed clearance to get to this office so I could explain myself—”

“Explain yourself?” the colonel queried, a look of surprise on his handsome features. “What for? Obviously you’re the Fullmetal Alchemist. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yes,” and Russell knew he sounded desperate now. “Yes, but you see that wasn’t—”

Mustang’s eyes narrowed. “So, basically, you were lying to me.”

Frantic, the blond boy struggled to come up with a good reason for his deception. “Yes, but I—”

“Well, then,” the older man cut him off. “I guess that means I have to punish you.”

“What!? No! I mean, I know it was wrong, and I apologize, really, I’ll never even think about doing this again, please believe me!”

But the colonel shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. You deceived a ranking State Alchemist, and a colonel at that. I’m sorry, but duty demands that I discipline this action.” He flexed his fingers where they even yet rested over the violet-blue-eyed boy’s groin, and Russell gasped, cringing from the unexpected pressure. “You’re in trouble, young man, and I intend to drive home exactly. How. Much.” With each of his last three words he squeezed a little harder, until the younger man cried aloud, feeling a sensation just shy of pain. “And if you resist your punishment, I will throw you in a military holding cell and give the order for your brother to be brought here as well. This State frowns heavily upon fraud.”

Russell practically cowered at the mere mention of his brother being arrested as well. He couldn’t let that happen, not ever! He had promised himself he would protect Fletcher no matter what the cost. “I w-won’t resist,” he swore, his voice a little shaky, but solemn.

“Good,” Mustang purred.

He stood and walked back to his desk, rummaging briefly through a drawer. Russell didn’t see what he took out of it, because it went right into the older alchemist’s pocket. He flinched when the colonel pushed him back down from the half-sitting position he had levered himself up to in that short interval, and did his best not to struggle when those hands resumed their earlier roaming ways. He clenched his eyes shut tightly and endured, because there was simply nothing else for him to do.

When the taller man unbuttoned his pants he winced again, and he shuddered when the colonel unsnapped his suspenders and yanked both pants and underwear down his hips, leaving them bunched around his knees for the time being. A whimper broke free when a shockingly rough glove wrapped around his penis and stroked him, and he couldn’t help bucking a little, in protest, in unexpected pleasure. He couldn’t breathe right; he was panting and squirming and the black-haired man was sucking gently—why so gently?—on his neck. He was making sounds too; little animal noises that made him blush furiously.

Mustang lifted his hand to his mouth and pulled the glove off with his teeth, laying it on the arm of the couch within easy reach. He repeated the motion with the other glove, and when he went back to touching Russell, the boy groaned and pushed into his slowly pumping fist. He reached under the unbuttoned, white shirt and rolled a dusty-rose nipple between his fingers, wringing a stuttered moan from his victim. “You’re lucky,” he informed the fair-haired youth. “I’m going to let you come. I shouldn’t, all things considered, but I’m generous that way.”

He ducked his head down and engulfed the boy’s erection with his mouth, his own groin tingling at the husky cry this action wrought. He raked his nails through the darker blond curls at the base of the organ between his lips, and used his other hand to gently massage the younger man’s scrotum. He knew he was being too kind, but he also knew he had a more stern punishment in mind after this. This was just a way of making sure the boy didn’t go off in an untimely fashion a little later on.

Russell barely registered what was said to him; how was he supposed to think with the colonel doing that to him? Words burst from him, “please,” and “no,” and random pleas to deities he wasn’t quite sure were real. Wordless exclamations were more common, moans and whimpers that would have shamed him if he’d had any sort of presence of mind. All at once the unbearable heat coiling low in his abdomen reached critical mass, and he let out strangled shout and jerked uncontrollably, dissolving gradually into shudders as the wave passed through him. He lay gasping afterwards, those shivers still wracking his body as the dark-eyed man moved up and took his mouth hard. He tasted what it occurred to him was himself on the tongue that forced its way inside, exploring his mouth with languid brutality. The tang made him cringe once more, and he wrenched his head to the side to escape it, his breathing still harsh and irregular.

He vaguely registered his pants and undergarments being stripped off him completely and tossed on the floor, and then what might have been a plastic cap popping open, and a liquidy ‘squishing’ sound. He was unprepared for the two slick fingers that were abruptly and unforgivingly shoved into him up to the knuckle. He screamed and thrashed, but Mustang held him down firmly with one hand while the other worked deep into him. The fingers withdrew, only to return with a third as company a moment later, and Russell found himself sobbing with pain and mortification. Tears stung his eyes and spilled over, and he kicked weakly and strained against the hand that held him in place. Those three digits thrust rhythmically in and out of him, and when they curled and pressed against something inside him, he completely lost his mind. He had no idea what the garbled nonsense spilling from his lips in staccato bursts was supposed to be, but it didn’t sound even remotely sane.

The colonel withdrew his fingers altogether and unzipped the front of his uniform pants, taking his own throbbing erection from it confines within and coating it thoroughly with the lube he had earlier placed in his pocket. He didn’t bother to take it slow, just lined up and pushed in, causing the boy beneath him to all but howl in pain. He did pause once he was buried, but more for effect than to let the false Edward adjust.

“Look at me,” he snarled, grabbing the young blond’s chin and forcing him to obey. “Are you sorry you lied?” He thrust hard once, twice, and a third time before settling into a less barbaric rhythm. “Tell me you’re sorry,” he coaxed, his tone now almost kind.

“I’m s-s-sor—” Russell gulped, trying desperately to form the words. “I’m s-sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Mustang encouraged, emphasizing his question with another brutal thrust, then stilling again save for a gentle rocking motion that was sure to drive the blond youth mad.

“I’m sor-rry I l-lied!” the younger alchemist moaned wretchedly, tossing his head in agonized need. Too much, not enough, oh God he was going insane, he could feel his mind breaking with his body....

The colonel pulled out suddenly and flipped him over, making him ‘huff’ as his face hit the couch leather. His whole body burned, and he struggled to catch his breath as he wondered what in the world the black-haired man was going to do to him now.

*SLAP*

He yipped in pain when a hand connected sharply with his backside, and he tried to get up, get away, but Mustang was once again holding him down.

“You’re not finished,” the older man growled. He lifted Russell’s hips and thrust in again, uncaring as to the wail the rough treatment produced. “Tell me again; what are you sorry for? I want specifics!” And he delivered another slap, harder than the first. The boy screamed like he was being lashed with a bullwhip instead of only spanked, and Mustang had to hold onto his tightly to prevent his escape. “Tell me why you’re sorry!” he barked again, punctuating this demand with another slap and a short series of thrusts.

“I—ah, please—I’m s-sorry I l-lied—aah!—a-ab-bout my iden-ident—” He broke and sobbed; he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t get it all out!

“Almost there,” the midnight-eyed colonel pressed, his movements gentle again. “Come on now.”

“About m-my identity!” Russell choked out, and immediately felt a hand wrap around his cock, so hard now it hurt. He gasped, pathetically grateful for the easy stroking that hand was doing for him. He bucked, needing more, but the hand stopped moving and instead made a tight ring around the base of his erection, stopping him from finishing. He bit his lip to kill the plea that wanted its freedom; it emerged instead as a keening sound that he prayed wasn’t loud enough to hear.

The colonel spanked him yet again, with enough force to rock him forward. “We’re not quite done here. You’ve admitted your crime and apologized for it; now, tell me who is apologizing.”

Russell shook his head frantically, his damp bangs whipping about his face. His refusal earned him several brutal slaps, and he was soon reduced to tears once more.

“Tell. Me. Your. Name!” the older alchemist hissed menacingly, digging his nails into the reddened, abused flesh of the blond’s backside. He continued to thrust, but he did not release Russell’s painfully throbbing sex. The pleasure built, but it had no way to escape, and the denial was torture all in itself. And the spankings made him clench, made him tighten around the hardness pounding into him without mercy.

Mustang slapped his rear again, and it was too much. “Russell!” he screamed. “My n-name is Russell!”

*SLAP* “Russell what?” the older man ordered ruthlessly.

“Tringham,” the violet-blue-eyed youth sobbed. “Russell Tringham!”

The colonel let go of the base of the boy’s cock to fist it, his strokes quick and tight as he continued to slam into him. After all of that, there was no way the blond could last long, and he didn’t. One final spank and many hard, fast strikes to his prostate were more than enough, were far too much, and he shrieked and came so hard his vision sparked and went black. He was aware of the body continuing to hammer his, of the sudden rush of hot fluid that filled him and made him moan and jerk and come yet again, and then nothing for what was possibly a good while. When he came around again, the colonel was fixing his clothes for him. He stared numbly at the once-again-gloved hands as they made short work of his shirt buttons, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now.

“Naturally,” Mustang said, noticing he was conscious, “You won’t be allowed to continue this ruse of yours. You’ll go back to Xenotime and inform your partner that the game is over, and from there you’re free to do whatever you want. Stay and continue your research, whatever it is; I don’t care. But you’ll do it under the name Russell Tringham, not Edward Elric. Is that clear?”

Russell just continued to stare at him, and the dark-eyed man wondered if perhaps he’d gone a little too far. But then those violet-blue eyes closed and the boy was nodding, though he did not speak.

“Good,” the colonel praised, and reached out to smooth the mussed, butter-yellow mess he’d made of the younger man’s hair. “I’ll arrange for your ticket back to Xenotime, and I’ll call home that armed unit I sent out, since I won’t be needing them anymore. I wish you luck with your future endeavors.” He pulled the unresisting boy to his feet and showed him out the office door, closing it quietly behind him.

I really hate having to be the bad guy, Roy mused once the blond was gone. But someone has to do it. And I’m sure Nash would thank me for keeping his son out of prison.

He smiled, and sat back down at his desk to resume his paperwork, or at least look like he was. Perhaps, he reflected, Nash Tringham wouldn’t have approved of his methods for keeping Russell out of jail, but that was just the way Roy worked. He would have done the same for Edward.

And he would have appreciated my efforts even less, the Flame Alchemist thought wryly.

Oh well. That was life for you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Not a day later, Roy received a correspondence from the real Edward Elric, and from Xenotime, no less. Its contents made him pale slightly.

Colonel, it said, Just got to Xenotime on the trail of the Stone; rumor has it some people here have been trying to develop it. Get this: Al and I almost got kicked out of a local restaurant because the people there thought we were fakes! I say “almost” because the real fakes showed up right then and settled things down. They’re names are Russell and Fletcher Tringham, and they were using our names so they could research ways to make the Stone! They apologized right off the bat, so I didn’t have to clobber them. Anyway, they seem like okay guys, and they’re letting us see their research. I don’t like the guy who owns the lab they’re using, though; he seems kinda slimy. We’ll have to look into that. Oh, and the older brother, Russell, says he’s met you, and he totally agrees with me; you are a bastard. I think he might be out to get you (just kidding; if anything, he’s out to get me. He called me short, damnit!). That’s all for now; I’ll type up a full report when I get back.

Don’t make too many enemies!
-Fullmetal Alchemist, Ed. Elric.

Roy raked a hand through his hair and sighed a bit shakily. If Russell Tringham let slip what had happened during their “meeting,” then Roy was definitely in for an earful from Edward—and probably a week of sleeping on the couch in his office.

There was no other lover on earth as jealous as the Fullmetal Alchemist.

“Ah,” he muttered. “He probably won’t find out. And if he does I can just explain it was for the greater good.”

With this optimism in mind, he leaned back in his big desk chair to take a nap. He had at least an hour before Hawkeye came to check on him again, and he was damn well going to make good use of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bedeebedeebedee-that’s all, bitches!
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