[Fic] Holding Lightly (PG-13, implied Roy/Ed)
Title: Holding Lightly
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Implied Roy/Ed.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,671
Notes: Once again, I suck at timeliness, but you know that real life thing sort of gets in the way sometimes. But this is BIRTHDAY FIC for mikkeneko! Let's see, we got tied-up Ed in a bad place. Also, this seems like it would be a scene from a larger story but alas, it is not.
Tied up. He's been tied up for hours now, and he can't feel his arm much at all anymore. Ed keeps wiggling his fingers to remind himself that it does still exist, back there at an awkward angle against his back, ropes digging in between his arm and the back of the chair. He's lashed to that as well, or he would have writhed his way to the door and found a way out of it.
But he can't do that. He's tried rocking the chair using leverage, but it's sort of hard with his foot tied to it at the ankle. All he's succeeded in doing is almost tipping over twice - his heart nearly stopping both times - and moving himself a grand, taunting total of two inches forward.
He doesn't know how long he's been here. His head aches, and when he moves it too fast his vision blurs around the edges like a bad dream. The cut on his forehead stopped bleeding down a long while ago; dried blood is itching there and below his eye on his cheek, and it's driving him nearly insane. Almost worse than the arm thing.
Ed ineffectually blows at his bangs, heavy and sweat-matted, for about the hundredth time and then sighs. If only Al were around to get him out of this. But oh no. He had to leave Al behind this time. Had to keep Al safe, he reminds himself, Al's got the key. And this is decidedly not safe.
They were so close Ed could practically taste it, couldn't wait for it, and Roy's fucking lazy demeanor: We'll get to it, Fullmetal, just try to show a modicum of self-restraint for once in your life. He had ignored Roy completely. The key Al's got unlocks a door somewhere in this building. Roy insisted they come to scope it out first.
In retrospect, all of this was a pretty bad idea.
Ed waits, with the stifling silence of stone walls around him, dim light, a door that he can't get to, cold damp air seeping into his open automail ports, and Roy Mustang elsewhere in this place. Roy promised him, he promised.
Go with them; don't fight them; I know what to do, Roy had hissed at him, and then he was dragged down another corridor with his hair uncharacteristically haywire and looking like a drunk dragged out of a gutter instead of an aftershave ad. Where the fuck is he? Ed thinks angrily, also for the hundredth time, and tilts his face up to the ceiling, resting his aching neck on the back of the chair.
He listens for the muffled sound of a snap outside the door, envisions himself bracing for an explosion, practices his reflexes. He knows what combination of movement would bring the chair twisting around and down, away from the blast, he's gone through it mentally over and over. There will certainly be one, followed by smoke-filled haze and confusion, Roy barking out "Fullmetal" in a tone that sounds like anger but is really relief and suppressed anxiety - Ed sees right through that little tone - and then the melee of twisted corridors and pounding feet on the floor. He hates the whole thought of it, being rescued like some helpless princess in a tower, but at this point he'd settle for just about anything that isn't nothing.
Maybe Roy didn't know what he was doing. Not that he'd ever admit that. Ed grits his teeth and once again tries to work out a way to escape. It's a long time, maybe minutes or hours, and it's really hard to think with his head throbbing as if his brain is trying to crawl out of his skull.
His thoughts are rattled like the doorknob when someone opens the door. No explosion.
"I'm supposed to take you for a piss and something to eat, in that order," the surly guard informs him.
Ed says nothing.
"And don't try anything funny," the guy says, and Ed is suddenly laughing, laughing, laughing at that. Sounds like something goofy out of those action comics Al buys at the train station. Al, goddammit. Al, who has the key that these people are looking for. The one they're trying to beat out of Ed and possibly Roy.
The guard looks at him, nonplussed. "Yeah, I'm a real funny guy. Shut the fuck up." And after a few thoughts of kicking the man's face in - impossible at the moment - Ed manages to calm himself with one more wild hiccup of laughter and settles for an icy glare instead.
"Your buddy is a charming guy." The guard begins unlashing Ed from the chair. "Charming."
Yes, that he is, Ed thinks dryly, refusing to speak to the man, and is curious why he'd say such a thing.
"He was out of here two days ago, if you're wondering." The man finishes and Ed's heart is pounding wildly. "They let him go after he talked to Wilson again."
Wilson, Wilson, Wilson, Ed muses, trying to place the name. It comes to him suddenly. Wilson is the ringleader here, and they had tried to talk their way out of this to the guy. It had all gone bad rather quickly.
It might have been Ed's fault for muttering that the man was a fucking moron.
"Yep," the guard continues, pulling Ed roughly to his feet - foot, actually - and pushing him down onto a cart like a sack of produce. "He told Wilson that you were the problem here. I guess that was pretty apparent, huh. But yeah, Wilson said he could go, but he wanted to keep you around. Teach you who's the fucking moron."
"Fuck," Ed mutters, and it's not despair welling up, he knows Roy won't leave him here, wouldn't leave him here.
Would he? Well. Roy knows what Ed's priorities are, and if he saw a chance to help Al he might leave Ed here. Ed's been pretty clear with Roy on that point. Al comes first at all costs.
Ed's dizzy with the movement of the cart down the hall, but he tries to memorize the turns, one, two, three doors, left turn, one, two, right turn, seven, eight, nine, and then one more right turn. Stop. He looks up and it makes a wave of nausea bolt through him, tight chest and the watery taste of I'm gonna puke in his mouth. He wills it back down desperately.
And then they're outside. Ed's head shrieks in pain at the sunlight and he can't think; the miserable stabs of light bring that nausea back tenfold, but he is not going to show one bit of weakness to this guy, so he goes through the hallways again in his mind one two three left one two right onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine right stop. It works.
And there's Roy, and for a minute Ed thinks he's passed out and dreaming. Roy like a giant looming over the cart, Roy reaching over and snapping in the guard's face - there's a shout of pain - Roy trundling Ed up and then the jostling, sickening movement of running. He smells like a compost pile and somehow, defiantly, still like expensive cologne, but he manages to untie Ed while he's running and Ed feels a bit of grudging admiration at the man's ability to multitask.
Ed manages not to throw up until Roy throws him down, gasping for air and watching him.
"You must have continued to run your mouth," Roy says when he can speak again.
Ed wipes his mouth on his sleeve and coughs. His voice is hoarse with disuse. "And now what, fucker, I can't walk, I can't - "
"You're out of there, aren't you? Do you know what they were going to do to you?"
Ed glares at him, but he's so exhausted, it's hard to muster up the proper amount of venom.
"You don't want to," Roy says. "It took me three days to figure this little plan out, and let me tell you, Fullmetal: I'm not sure you're worth the trouble sometimes, but you need the limbs you have and they didn't seem to agree with me on that point."
Ed starts shaking then, and Roy pulls him closer. They're in an alleyway, one that smells like trash and now like vomit, but Ed manages to get his nose into Roy's neck. He smells that annoying cologne, but it's soothing somehow. "Fuck you," he mumbles.
"Hmmm." The sound is an amused rumble against Ed's face, and Roy's hands are warm against his back. "You're welcome." He feels Roy's weight shift against him. "Let's get going before they find us."
Ed drags his head up. "Al."
"Is waiting. He's really very angry at you at the moment. For not thinking before you act. As usual. He went on about it for some time."
"Not surprised." Ed's voice is still cracking, but he feels marginally stronger now. "I can go; let's go."
"I'll have to carry you."
"I don't see how else we can do it," Ed admits.
"You'll be making this up to me."
"I'm sure," Ed grumbles, and works his arm around Roy's neck. "You smell terrible." Roy doesn't smell that terrible, but he has to say something.
"So do you." Roy heaves both of them up. "I think I know how to do this now. Wilson has some serious flaws in his security detail. Nothing a little persuasion can't take care of."
"I guess I'll leave that part to you then," Ed says sullenly.
"That would be for the best, next time," Roy says, smirking down at him. "Al's not too far away. I feel sorry for you when we get there."
"Fuck," Ed mutters, and fights down nausea again. "The two of you are gonna kill me."
"More trouble than you're worth," Roy murmurs.
It's only because Ed's feeling so sick and his head is still spinning that he lets Roy have the last word.
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Implied Roy/Ed.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,671
Notes: Once again, I suck at timeliness, but you know that real life thing sort of gets in the way sometimes. But this is BIRTHDAY FIC for mikkeneko! Let's see, we got tied-up Ed in a bad place. Also, this seems like it would be a scene from a larger story but alas, it is not.
Tied up. He's been tied up for hours now, and he can't feel his arm much at all anymore. Ed keeps wiggling his fingers to remind himself that it does still exist, back there at an awkward angle against his back, ropes digging in between his arm and the back of the chair. He's lashed to that as well, or he would have writhed his way to the door and found a way out of it.
But he can't do that. He's tried rocking the chair using leverage, but it's sort of hard with his foot tied to it at the ankle. All he's succeeded in doing is almost tipping over twice - his heart nearly stopping both times - and moving himself a grand, taunting total of two inches forward.
He doesn't know how long he's been here. His head aches, and when he moves it too fast his vision blurs around the edges like a bad dream. The cut on his forehead stopped bleeding down a long while ago; dried blood is itching there and below his eye on his cheek, and it's driving him nearly insane. Almost worse than the arm thing.
Ed ineffectually blows at his bangs, heavy and sweat-matted, for about the hundredth time and then sighs. If only Al were around to get him out of this. But oh no. He had to leave Al behind this time. Had to keep Al safe, he reminds himself, Al's got the key. And this is decidedly not safe.
They were so close Ed could practically taste it, couldn't wait for it, and Roy's fucking lazy demeanor: We'll get to it, Fullmetal, just try to show a modicum of self-restraint for once in your life. He had ignored Roy completely. The key Al's got unlocks a door somewhere in this building. Roy insisted they come to scope it out first.
In retrospect, all of this was a pretty bad idea.
Ed waits, with the stifling silence of stone walls around him, dim light, a door that he can't get to, cold damp air seeping into his open automail ports, and Roy Mustang elsewhere in this place. Roy promised him, he promised.
Go with them; don't fight them; I know what to do, Roy had hissed at him, and then he was dragged down another corridor with his hair uncharacteristically haywire and looking like a drunk dragged out of a gutter instead of an aftershave ad. Where the fuck is he? Ed thinks angrily, also for the hundredth time, and tilts his face up to the ceiling, resting his aching neck on the back of the chair.
He listens for the muffled sound of a snap outside the door, envisions himself bracing for an explosion, practices his reflexes. He knows what combination of movement would bring the chair twisting around and down, away from the blast, he's gone through it mentally over and over. There will certainly be one, followed by smoke-filled haze and confusion, Roy barking out "Fullmetal" in a tone that sounds like anger but is really relief and suppressed anxiety - Ed sees right through that little tone - and then the melee of twisted corridors and pounding feet on the floor. He hates the whole thought of it, being rescued like some helpless princess in a tower, but at this point he'd settle for just about anything that isn't nothing.
Maybe Roy didn't know what he was doing. Not that he'd ever admit that. Ed grits his teeth and once again tries to work out a way to escape. It's a long time, maybe minutes or hours, and it's really hard to think with his head throbbing as if his brain is trying to crawl out of his skull.
His thoughts are rattled like the doorknob when someone opens the door. No explosion.
"I'm supposed to take you for a piss and something to eat, in that order," the surly guard informs him.
Ed says nothing.
"And don't try anything funny," the guy says, and Ed is suddenly laughing, laughing, laughing at that. Sounds like something goofy out of those action comics Al buys at the train station. Al, goddammit. Al, who has the key that these people are looking for. The one they're trying to beat out of Ed and possibly Roy.
The guard looks at him, nonplussed. "Yeah, I'm a real funny guy. Shut the fuck up." And after a few thoughts of kicking the man's face in - impossible at the moment - Ed manages to calm himself with one more wild hiccup of laughter and settles for an icy glare instead.
"Your buddy is a charming guy." The guard begins unlashing Ed from the chair. "Charming."
Yes, that he is, Ed thinks dryly, refusing to speak to the man, and is curious why he'd say such a thing.
"He was out of here two days ago, if you're wondering." The man finishes and Ed's heart is pounding wildly. "They let him go after he talked to Wilson again."
Wilson, Wilson, Wilson, Ed muses, trying to place the name. It comes to him suddenly. Wilson is the ringleader here, and they had tried to talk their way out of this to the guy. It had all gone bad rather quickly.
It might have been Ed's fault for muttering that the man was a fucking moron.
"Yep," the guard continues, pulling Ed roughly to his feet - foot, actually - and pushing him down onto a cart like a sack of produce. "He told Wilson that you were the problem here. I guess that was pretty apparent, huh. But yeah, Wilson said he could go, but he wanted to keep you around. Teach you who's the fucking moron."
"Fuck," Ed mutters, and it's not despair welling up, he knows Roy won't leave him here, wouldn't leave him here.
Would he? Well. Roy knows what Ed's priorities are, and if he saw a chance to help Al he might leave Ed here. Ed's been pretty clear with Roy on that point. Al comes first at all costs.
Ed's dizzy with the movement of the cart down the hall, but he tries to memorize the turns, one, two, three doors, left turn, one, two, right turn, seven, eight, nine, and then one more right turn. Stop. He looks up and it makes a wave of nausea bolt through him, tight chest and the watery taste of I'm gonna puke in his mouth. He wills it back down desperately.
And then they're outside. Ed's head shrieks in pain at the sunlight and he can't think; the miserable stabs of light bring that nausea back tenfold, but he is not going to show one bit of weakness to this guy, so he goes through the hallways again in his mind one two three left one two right onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine right stop. It works.
And there's Roy, and for a minute Ed thinks he's passed out and dreaming. Roy like a giant looming over the cart, Roy reaching over and snapping in the guard's face - there's a shout of pain - Roy trundling Ed up and then the jostling, sickening movement of running. He smells like a compost pile and somehow, defiantly, still like expensive cologne, but he manages to untie Ed while he's running and Ed feels a bit of grudging admiration at the man's ability to multitask.
Ed manages not to throw up until Roy throws him down, gasping for air and watching him.
"You must have continued to run your mouth," Roy says when he can speak again.
Ed wipes his mouth on his sleeve and coughs. His voice is hoarse with disuse. "And now what, fucker, I can't walk, I can't - "
"You're out of there, aren't you? Do you know what they were going to do to you?"
Ed glares at him, but he's so exhausted, it's hard to muster up the proper amount of venom.
"You don't want to," Roy says. "It took me three days to figure this little plan out, and let me tell you, Fullmetal: I'm not sure you're worth the trouble sometimes, but you need the limbs you have and they didn't seem to agree with me on that point."
Ed starts shaking then, and Roy pulls him closer. They're in an alleyway, one that smells like trash and now like vomit, but Ed manages to get his nose into Roy's neck. He smells that annoying cologne, but it's soothing somehow. "Fuck you," he mumbles.
"Hmmm." The sound is an amused rumble against Ed's face, and Roy's hands are warm against his back. "You're welcome." He feels Roy's weight shift against him. "Let's get going before they find us."
Ed drags his head up. "Al."
"Is waiting. He's really very angry at you at the moment. For not thinking before you act. As usual. He went on about it for some time."
"Not surprised." Ed's voice is still cracking, but he feels marginally stronger now. "I can go; let's go."
"I'll have to carry you."
"I don't see how else we can do it," Ed admits.
"You'll be making this up to me."
"I'm sure," Ed grumbles, and works his arm around Roy's neck. "You smell terrible." Roy doesn't smell that terrible, but he has to say something.
"So do you." Roy heaves both of them up. "I think I know how to do this now. Wilson has some serious flaws in his security detail. Nothing a little persuasion can't take care of."
"I guess I'll leave that part to you then," Ed says sullenly.
"That would be for the best, next time," Roy says, smirking down at him. "Al's not too far away. I feel sorry for you when we get there."
"Fuck," Ed mutters, and fights down nausea again. "The two of you are gonna kill me."
"More trouble than you're worth," Roy murmurs.
It's only because Ed's feeling so sick and his head is still spinning that he lets Roy have the last word.