Full Metal Alchemist, "Saturday Morning," PG-13, Russel/Edward
I’ve been trying to write this fic for a month now, seriously. Maybe longer, don’t know. Anyway, I got the idea after writing “Does a Body Good” in the Domesticity arc, that if Edward can’t stand cows’ milk, he might go in for soy milk. David and I stopped drinking cows’ milk a few months ago, and now the thought of the stuff makes my stomach turn. Just another thing Edward and I have in common: inordinately strong love of Russel’s butt, and strong dislike of cows’ milk.
*sigh*
I’m going to call this PG-13. Russel/Edward because I like them waaaaaaaaaaay too much.
(no more Disney World in an hour and a half, woo hoo!!!)
Saturday Morning
by Mistress Quickly
“Russ? Where’re you going?”
Russel snapped the left suspender to his trousers and looked up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Greenhouse. Why?”
Edward sat up, shoving the blankets away from his legs. “It’s early. You don’t have to be up yet, you know.”
“I want to be,” said Russel. “Besides, the plants are nice to be around.”
Edward paused, halfway out of the bed. “Oh.”
“You can come too, if you want.”
Edward was out of the bed in a heartbeat, tugging on sweatpants and an old t-shirt, clothing he only wore when working in the greenhouse with Russel. Russel loved it, seeing the boy in short sleeves. He wouldn’t admit to having an automail fetish, but the sight of his lover’s metal arm, working in sync with the flesh arm like there was no difference between them sent a thrill down his spine, a thrill so similar to the one he felt while watching Edward pleasure him at night (with both arms working in sync like there was no difference between them), that he had to admit that there was likely a connection.
They made their way down the steps and out of the house in silence, the wet grass wetting their toes through their sandals and soaking the hem of their pants, making the fabric cling wetly to their ankles. The intermittent rain that had woken Russel had petered out, but the clouds hung low over the trees, promising more in the near future.
Russel held the greenhouse door for his lover, then followed the boy inside.
“What are you working on?” said Edward, mismatched hands in his pockets, studying a tray of round white beans.
Russel stood behind him, close, and wrapped his arms around the boy, feeling the rhythm of Edward’s breathing against his own chest, nuzzling the long, ponytail-tight strands of blond hair. “This?” he said. “This is actually a surprise I’ve been working on for you.”
“Hmm,” said Edward.
“Want to see what I’ve got?” said Russel. He kissed the top of Edward’s head, gave the boy a squeeze, then let go, crunching gravel under his sandals as he made his way to the back of the greenhouse. He retrieved a glass bottle from the icebox and returned, presenting the bottle to Edward’s curious gaze.
“This,” he said, “is for you.”
Edward took it in his flesh hand, turned it around one full cycle, then looked up at his lover. “What is it?”
“Guess,” said Russel.
“Well, it’s too thick to be come, and there’s too much of it,” said Edward, sloshing the white liquid around inside the bottle. He frowned and set the bottle down, eyeing it like a cat eyes a bathtub full of water. “Which leaves only one thing. And if you think that being cute and calling this a ‘present’ is going to get me to drink milk, you’re wrong. I’ll make you sleep in Fletcher and Al’s room for a week, see if I don’t.”
Russel reached out and tucked a strand of escaped blonde back behind his lover’s ear. “Well, it will fulfill your brother’s wish that you drink milk, but it’s not quite what you think,” he said.
“You’ve got fifteen seconds, Russ,” said Edward. “Fifteen seconds before I chuck you and that bottle out of here and don’t let you back in until you beg.”
Russel cleared his throat and traced patterns in the condensation forming on the side of the bottle. “Remember that town I visited with Fletcher, last time he and I went back to Xenotime to visit Belsio?” Edward nodded. “Well, we met a group of people there who, for religious reasons, do not eat or drink anything made from animals,” he said.
Edward quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”
“Well, they were really interested in Fletch’s and my research, since they depend on plants for their food,” said Russel. “They showed us that you can make milk out of soybeans and water, and if you add vanilla, it tastes really good. Only problem is, you have to soak the skins off the beans, and the amount of time and water it takes for that is really taxing on their resources, so I’ve been working on making the skins thinner. This is the first batch I’ve finished completely, not just the soaking part. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be worth the try, if it turns out to be better than milk.” He watched Edward roll that thought around, watched the boy look up at him, slowly.
“So ... that’s not milk in that jar,” said Edward.
“Not cow’s milk, no,” said Russel. “I soaked the soft-skinned beans, for a test, and when they were soft enough, I didn’t want to waste them, so I ground up the curd, mixed that with water, some sugar and some vanilla, and added some stuff, all plants, for vitamins and minerals, so it’s still as good for you as cow’s milk, but tastes nothing like it.” He fidgeted with the strap of his suspenders. “I’m going back, next week, to show the people what I’ve learned about making the beans easier to hull. I thought you might want to try this before I go.”
Edward eyed the bottle. “You’re sure it tastes nothing like cow’s milk?”
Russel smiled and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Tell you what,” he said. “Try it, and if you don’t like it, I’ll go sleep in Fletcher and Al’s room all on my own, you won’t even have to throw me out. Deal?”
“You’re bribing me,” said Edward, scowling, but he took the bottle and sniffed it. He gave Russel one long, hard stare, as though the boy were trying to trick him into something nasty, then tilted the bottle and took a tiny sip.
“Well?” said Russel.
Edward swallowed and took another drink, this one much larger than the last. “Just stop calling it ‘milk,’” he said, “and it’ll be perfect.”
Russel grinned and fought the urge to jump up and down.
~*~*~*~
Fletcher was the first to wake, stumbling sleepily down the stairs to investigate the noise of giggling and unmanly squealing coming from the kitchen. By the time he’d found out more than he wanted to know and returned to the room he shared with Al, Al was awake, rubbing his eyes adorably and scowling.
“What on earth are those two doing?” he said, moving over and holding the blankets away in invitation to Fletcher, who climbed onto the mattress and cuddled him immediately.
“It looked like they may have been making brownies, originally,” said Fletcher, snuggling around his best friend. “But that’s certainly not what they’re doing now.” He blushed and hid his face in the warm nest of Al’s body and the bed-quilt.
“Oh,” said Al, wrapping his arms around Fletcher and relaxing back into the pillow. “Well, thanks for checking. At least now we know better than to eat any brownies they might bake.”
“Ew, yeah,” said Fletcher.
Al yawned. “I’m going back to sleep until they’re done down there. You?”
“Mmm-hmm,” said Fletcher, already half asleep. He sighed and relaxed, warm in Al’s embrace. “I’m glad I’ve got you, Al,” he whispered. “You’re so warm.”
Al chuckled and kissed the top of the younger boy’s head. “I love you, Fletch,” he said. “Just don’t tell Winry, or she’ll get the wrong idea and beat me up for trying to steal her boyfriend.”
Fletcher laughed and gave Al a squeeze. They fell asleep listening to each other breathe, giggling softly each time they heard a moan or a squeal from the kitchen, warm and happy in each other’s arms.
*sigh*
I’m going to call this PG-13. Russel/Edward because I like them waaaaaaaaaaay too much.
(no more Disney World in an hour and a half, woo hoo!!!)
Saturday Morning
by Mistress Quickly
“Russ? Where’re you going?”
Russel snapped the left suspender to his trousers and looked up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Greenhouse. Why?”
Edward sat up, shoving the blankets away from his legs. “It’s early. You don’t have to be up yet, you know.”
“I want to be,” said Russel. “Besides, the plants are nice to be around.”
Edward paused, halfway out of the bed. “Oh.”
“You can come too, if you want.”
Edward was out of the bed in a heartbeat, tugging on sweatpants and an old t-shirt, clothing he only wore when working in the greenhouse with Russel. Russel loved it, seeing the boy in short sleeves. He wouldn’t admit to having an automail fetish, but the sight of his lover’s metal arm, working in sync with the flesh arm like there was no difference between them sent a thrill down his spine, a thrill so similar to the one he felt while watching Edward pleasure him at night (with both arms working in sync like there was no difference between them), that he had to admit that there was likely a connection.
They made their way down the steps and out of the house in silence, the wet grass wetting their toes through their sandals and soaking the hem of their pants, making the fabric cling wetly to their ankles. The intermittent rain that had woken Russel had petered out, but the clouds hung low over the trees, promising more in the near future.
Russel held the greenhouse door for his lover, then followed the boy inside.
“What are you working on?” said Edward, mismatched hands in his pockets, studying a tray of round white beans.
Russel stood behind him, close, and wrapped his arms around the boy, feeling the rhythm of Edward’s breathing against his own chest, nuzzling the long, ponytail-tight strands of blond hair. “This?” he said. “This is actually a surprise I’ve been working on for you.”
“Hmm,” said Edward.
“Want to see what I’ve got?” said Russel. He kissed the top of Edward’s head, gave the boy a squeeze, then let go, crunching gravel under his sandals as he made his way to the back of the greenhouse. He retrieved a glass bottle from the icebox and returned, presenting the bottle to Edward’s curious gaze.
“This,” he said, “is for you.”
Edward took it in his flesh hand, turned it around one full cycle, then looked up at his lover. “What is it?”
“Guess,” said Russel.
“Well, it’s too thick to be come, and there’s too much of it,” said Edward, sloshing the white liquid around inside the bottle. He frowned and set the bottle down, eyeing it like a cat eyes a bathtub full of water. “Which leaves only one thing. And if you think that being cute and calling this a ‘present’ is going to get me to drink milk, you’re wrong. I’ll make you sleep in Fletcher and Al’s room for a week, see if I don’t.”
Russel reached out and tucked a strand of escaped blonde back behind his lover’s ear. “Well, it will fulfill your brother’s wish that you drink milk, but it’s not quite what you think,” he said.
“You’ve got fifteen seconds, Russ,” said Edward. “Fifteen seconds before I chuck you and that bottle out of here and don’t let you back in until you beg.”
Russel cleared his throat and traced patterns in the condensation forming on the side of the bottle. “Remember that town I visited with Fletcher, last time he and I went back to Xenotime to visit Belsio?” Edward nodded. “Well, we met a group of people there who, for religious reasons, do not eat or drink anything made from animals,” he said.
Edward quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”
“Well, they were really interested in Fletch’s and my research, since they depend on plants for their food,” said Russel. “They showed us that you can make milk out of soybeans and water, and if you add vanilla, it tastes really good. Only problem is, you have to soak the skins off the beans, and the amount of time and water it takes for that is really taxing on their resources, so I’ve been working on making the skins thinner. This is the first batch I’ve finished completely, not just the soaking part. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, but I thought it’d be worth the try, if it turns out to be better than milk.” He watched Edward roll that thought around, watched the boy look up at him, slowly.
“So ... that’s not milk in that jar,” said Edward.
“Not cow’s milk, no,” said Russel. “I soaked the soft-skinned beans, for a test, and when they were soft enough, I didn’t want to waste them, so I ground up the curd, mixed that with water, some sugar and some vanilla, and added some stuff, all plants, for vitamins and minerals, so it’s still as good for you as cow’s milk, but tastes nothing like it.” He fidgeted with the strap of his suspenders. “I’m going back, next week, to show the people what I’ve learned about making the beans easier to hull. I thought you might want to try this before I go.”
Edward eyed the bottle. “You’re sure it tastes nothing like cow’s milk?”
Russel smiled and pulled the cork out of the bottle. “Tell you what,” he said. “Try it, and if you don’t like it, I’ll go sleep in Fletcher and Al’s room all on my own, you won’t even have to throw me out. Deal?”
“You’re bribing me,” said Edward, scowling, but he took the bottle and sniffed it. He gave Russel one long, hard stare, as though the boy were trying to trick him into something nasty, then tilted the bottle and took a tiny sip.
“Well?” said Russel.
Edward swallowed and took another drink, this one much larger than the last. “Just stop calling it ‘milk,’” he said, “and it’ll be perfect.”
Russel grinned and fought the urge to jump up and down.
~*~*~*~
Fletcher was the first to wake, stumbling sleepily down the stairs to investigate the noise of giggling and unmanly squealing coming from the kitchen. By the time he’d found out more than he wanted to know and returned to the room he shared with Al, Al was awake, rubbing his eyes adorably and scowling.
“What on earth are those two doing?” he said, moving over and holding the blankets away in invitation to Fletcher, who climbed onto the mattress and cuddled him immediately.
“It looked like they may have been making brownies, originally,” said Fletcher, snuggling around his best friend. “But that’s certainly not what they’re doing now.” He blushed and hid his face in the warm nest of Al’s body and the bed-quilt.
“Oh,” said Al, wrapping his arms around Fletcher and relaxing back into the pillow. “Well, thanks for checking. At least now we know better than to eat any brownies they might bake.”
“Ew, yeah,” said Fletcher.
Al yawned. “I’m going back to sleep until they’re done down there. You?”
“Mmm-hmm,” said Fletcher, already half asleep. He sighed and relaxed, warm in Al’s embrace. “I’m glad I’ve got you, Al,” he whispered. “You’re so warm.”
Al chuckled and kissed the top of the younger boy’s head. “I love you, Fletch,” he said. “Just don’t tell Winry, or she’ll get the wrong idea and beat me up for trying to steal her boyfriend.”
Fletcher laughed and gave Al a squeeze. They fell asleep listening to each other breathe, giggling softly each time they heard a moan or a squeal from the kitchen, warm and happy in each other’s arms.