Fic: Infatuation of the Stars
Title: Infatuation of the Stars
Prompt: Written for pleuvoir for the alphabet meme (I is for Identical)
Word Count: 485
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Alfons/Ed, brief mention of Ed/Winry
Summary: Alfons dreams of constellations. Edward dreams of him.
A/N: I've had a brief outline of how I wanted this to go for a while now, but that outline was scrapped this morning. What resulted was this, which I'm fairly pleased with. I confess though that I never write Alfons and have only written Ed maybe two times in my life - I also tend to stay away from movie canon, so this is probably ooc. Hopefully you still enjoy it!
It happens gradually. Ed notices as time goes on that Alfons Heiderich looks less and less like his brother - tall and blonde become adjectives of lust rather than comparison, words that follow the admission of kind, intelligent, handsome. Thoughts that filled Ed's mind (Amestris, Winry, Al) become eclipsed in the moment by thoughts of needing to feel skin trailing against skin, the taste of Alfons' breath on his lips. In the darkness of their study Ed fantasizes of Alfons reciting formulas for propulsion (exhaust velocity, momentum) as he removes his shirt and trails kisses down his chest, breath hitching as he begins to explain thrust.
He wonders sometimes if this is how Winry felt while fixing his automail.
One night, standing at the window, Alfons asks him what he thinks of socialism. Ed is embarrassed to admit that he doesn't know, but Alfons smiles gently at him. He doesn't know either. He supposes it's up to the Nazis to decide. People like them (alchemists, scientists) don't understand such things - politics and economics. "I'd rather concern myself with more important things. The rotation of Saturn, for one," Alfons tells him. Ed disagrees entirely - he doesn't see the use in science if it's not grounded in humanity (for the people, he remembers as he reaches for his automail and discovers for the hundredth time that it isn't there), but he doesn't say anything. He likes to think he's giving Alfons time to work things out on his own, come to his senses, but really he just cannot bear to concern himself with politics when all he wants to do is satisfy this desire to touch the other man's face.
"Come outside," Alfons tells him. "There's a beautiful view of Orion tonight." So he does.
Ed has looked through the telescope a million times by now, but there is nothing to be found in the constellations that cannot be found in Alfons' eyes as he gazes up at the heavens, voice filled with wonder as he declares, hardly above a whisper, "I'd like to go there one day." He turns towards Ed with an embarrassed grin. "To space. That's silly, isn't it? But I do. I think to myself, if the Russians can do it then why can't I? I've read Tsiolkovsky, you know."
"It isn't silly," Ed tells him. Alfons smiles.
"Perhaps I should go to Moscow?"
"Perhaps," Ed agrees, squinting into the telescope. He traces the slope of Orion's shoulders from Betelgeuse to Bellatrix and imagines, foolishly and not for the first time, that he is the hunter and Alfons is Pleione, fleeing him from Earth into Heaven, infinitely beyond his grasp.
In the morning Alfons talks of rockets, of quantum mechanics - things Ed doesn't entirely understand, but they share a passion for science and that is enough to explain away the forces that pull him towards this man. Gravity.
Like Earth orbiting the Sun.
Prompt: Written for pleuvoir for the alphabet meme (I is for Identical)
Word Count: 485
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Alfons/Ed, brief mention of Ed/Winry
Summary: Alfons dreams of constellations. Edward dreams of him.
A/N: I've had a brief outline of how I wanted this to go for a while now, but that outline was scrapped this morning. What resulted was this, which I'm fairly pleased with. I confess though that I never write Alfons and have only written Ed maybe two times in my life - I also tend to stay away from movie canon, so this is probably ooc. Hopefully you still enjoy it!
It happens gradually. Ed notices as time goes on that Alfons Heiderich looks less and less like his brother - tall and blonde become adjectives of lust rather than comparison, words that follow the admission of kind, intelligent, handsome. Thoughts that filled Ed's mind (Amestris, Winry, Al) become eclipsed in the moment by thoughts of needing to feel skin trailing against skin, the taste of Alfons' breath on his lips. In the darkness of their study Ed fantasizes of Alfons reciting formulas for propulsion (exhaust velocity, momentum) as he removes his shirt and trails kisses down his chest, breath hitching as he begins to explain thrust.
He wonders sometimes if this is how Winry felt while fixing his automail.
One night, standing at the window, Alfons asks him what he thinks of socialism. Ed is embarrassed to admit that he doesn't know, but Alfons smiles gently at him. He doesn't know either. He supposes it's up to the Nazis to decide. People like them (alchemists, scientists) don't understand such things - politics and economics. "I'd rather concern myself with more important things. The rotation of Saturn, for one," Alfons tells him. Ed disagrees entirely - he doesn't see the use in science if it's not grounded in humanity (for the people, he remembers as he reaches for his automail and discovers for the hundredth time that it isn't there), but he doesn't say anything. He likes to think he's giving Alfons time to work things out on his own, come to his senses, but really he just cannot bear to concern himself with politics when all he wants to do is satisfy this desire to touch the other man's face.
"Come outside," Alfons tells him. "There's a beautiful view of Orion tonight." So he does.
Ed has looked through the telescope a million times by now, but there is nothing to be found in the constellations that cannot be found in Alfons' eyes as he gazes up at the heavens, voice filled with wonder as he declares, hardly above a whisper, "I'd like to go there one day." He turns towards Ed with an embarrassed grin. "To space. That's silly, isn't it? But I do. I think to myself, if the Russians can do it then why can't I? I've read Tsiolkovsky, you know."
"It isn't silly," Ed tells him. Alfons smiles.
"Perhaps I should go to Moscow?"
"Perhaps," Ed agrees, squinting into the telescope. He traces the slope of Orion's shoulders from Betelgeuse to Bellatrix and imagines, foolishly and not for the first time, that he is the hunter and Alfons is Pleione, fleeing him from Earth into Heaven, infinitely beyond his grasp.
In the morning Alfons talks of rockets, of quantum mechanics - things Ed doesn't entirely understand, but they share a passion for science and that is enough to explain away the forces that pull him towards this man. Gravity.
Like Earth orbiting the Sun.