Fic: Culture Shock
Title: Culture Shock
Authors: enemytosleep and bob_fish
Word Count: 7873
Characters: Ed, Ling
Series: Manga
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ed has a pain in his butt, and this time, it's not just Ling.
Notes: marginally fuzzy time-line and setting; takes place sometime during the arc where Ed and Ling agree to help each other capture a homunculus and fight Scar. Just know that it takes place someplace where awkward, teenaged, slashy sex is wont to happen. This fic began as a silly RP fight in an lj comment thread, which we then dared each other into developing into an entry for fma_fic_contest Prompt 37, "Sensory Overload". We won joint third place and got this delightful boasty banner from sky_dark:
"Ling! Get that thing the hell away from my ass this second or I'll transmute you into the floorboards!"
"But Ed, a man that goes to sleep with an itchy butt wakes up with a smelly finger! This lavender oil will help heal the wound there. You should really let me apply some." Somehow, Ling said this with a completely straight face. Ed could almost believe that he was being sincere, except that he had just quoted some supposedly ancient saying about itchy asses. That, and the fact that he was literally chasing after him with said vial of oil. They were in an abandoned apartment building in the wastelands of Central, trying to lay low after a less than successful attempt at cornering a homunculus.
As Ling sidled forward, Ed scooted back warily, his arms folded. "Why are your 'ancient Xingese proverbs' all about the same, y'know, stuff? You're just making 'em up, aren't you, you sneaky fuck?"
Ling pouted. "Are you implying that my people's wisdom is nothing but a collection of perverse sayings? That's quite offensive, you know. I could have you beheaded for that. Or perhaps a ride in the spiked saddle is more fitting, as it is an injured rear that has made your tongue so cutting tonight."
"I call it like I see it - the only bits of 'your people's wisdom' you've been sharing recently seem to revolve around your junk." Seriously, what was it with this kid? His comments always seemed to be laced with innuendo and hidden meanings, but if you called him on it, the idiot prince would just try to pass it off as some language barrier thing. Ed was suspicious, to say the least.
Oh, and had the weaselly little fuck just threatened him? That deserved only one response.
"And if you think you can take me - bring it, bitch. " Ed found his fighting stance and tensed his muscles. He'd been sure since the day they met that he could easily take Ling down, but he'd never been able to get him away from his ninja backup long enough to find out. This was going to be sweet.
Ling was taking the shift from argument to fight pretty calmly. "If force is required to treat you, then that is what I'll use. You should be lucky to have such dedicated friends." Then, without further warning, he drew his sword while pivoting on one foot in a low, swinging kick.
Ed sprang back out of reach, landing on his heels, but managing to stay balanced anyway. He felt torn between satisfaction that Ling wasn't trying to weasel his way out of this, and incredulity that the prince was actually willing to sword fight over it. He clapped his hands together, drawing his left hand over his automail forearm and shaping a wide blade with the energy he'd summoned. He adjusted his stance with his blade-arm held out across his chest, beckoning Ling to advance with a small wave of his fingers and a shit-eating grin designed to show Ling just how badass he was.
Suddenly Ling lunged forward, cutting across his chest with his sword from left to right. Ed blocked the swing with his own blade. Ling was fast, but the move had been an obvious one. Ed's boot heels skidded across the wooden floor a few inches as Ling pressed into the attack, forcing him back.
"I told you - if I wanted my butt to smell like lavender - which I don't! - I could put it on myself, you weirdo."
With that, Ed spun and ducked the blade, leaving Ling's sword to swing out to the right. Immediately he came up, thrusting his automail at the prince's throat, stopping short of slicing him and holding the blade firmly against his neck. He had intended to pull the blow from the start - as insanely irritating as the guy was, he didn't want to actually slit his throat.
"Ha!," he laughed triumphantly as Ling lowered his sword. That had been embarrassingly easy. He was going to give Ling so much shit over this.
Then, suddenly, Ling hooked his foot in the crook of Ed's flesh knee and broke his stance. Ed stumbled back a step before lunging forward again. They crossed blades. Ling moved forward, forcing Ed's arm back and speaking to him through gritted teeth as he pushed.
"I've already told you, the pleasant smell is merely a bonus. The oil has healing qualities that will soothe your irritation and aid in quick closing of the wound. I offered to help because of the location; it's hard to properly tend to one's own rear."
Exasperation fueled Ed's resolve. He forcefully pushed Ling's sword back and pressed forward, letting the automail leg take the strain. He leaned forward, getting his face right up into Ling's.
"Why would you want to go near my ass? I sure as hell don't want to go anywhere near yours!"
Ling leaned in further, smiling like he knew something that Ed didn't. "And why not? It's not everyday a commoner such as yourself receives the privilege of treating a royal - but it is your 'ass' and not mine that needs attending to right now." Was he for real? For a moment, Ed wished that Al was there, just so he could have someone to witness the insanity. Then he changed his mind. Al might have his back in a fight, but in a situation like this, he couldn't be trusted not to point and mock.
Ling pulled back into a backward hand-spring, landing on the balls of his feet, then immediately launched himself forward in a low tackle, aimed to take Ed down.
Ed wasn't going to go down so easily.
He vaulted forward, planting a hand on Ling's back as he flew over him, sending the idiot off balance as he himself landed neatly behind him in some grown up, vicious form of leap frog. Ed quickly spun around, pointing and yelling to the room at large, "Privilege?! I - why do I even bother trying to talk to you like a normal person?"
Ling had tucked his shoulder and rolled upon landing, coming to stop in a low crouch with his non-sword hand on the floor for balance.
"Seeing as I am not a normal person, it would make sense that treating me like one would be difficult and perhaps frustrating. Now try to calm down so that we can get you treated and continue towards our goal." He didn't even sound out of breath.
He watched Ed carefully, obviously waiting to see what he did next. The bastard.
"You got that right! Uh, about you not being normal, I mean. And I would be calm if you weren't trying to oil up my ass! I mean, what the fuck, Ling?" Ed half-noticed his voice getting louder and louder as he continued on. He jabbed a metal finger pointedly in Ling's direction as he ranted. "And for the last time, I'm fine. We can continue now."
"I am the future emperor of a great country, of course I'm not 'normal.' Descriptions like that are for people like you. As for your injury," Ling paused as he stood up and sheathed his sword before continuing, "I cannot perform rentanjutsu, so this is the best treatment we can offer you at present. You are not above getting an infection, which will only slow us down later. Let me apply the oil, Ed."
He folded his arms into the billowing sleeves of his jacket, squinting intensely at Ed. Ed was rarely certain what those squinty looks meant, but he figured this one was supposed to mean he was irritated or something.
Well, if he wasn't going to get the chance to beat Ling in a fight, he could at least take him down in a debate. "How is lavender oil going to prevent infection? There's absolutely no scientific basis for that, if anything it's going to aggravate things, it's hardly sterile." He crossed his arms carefully.
Then he added, "And I'm not gonna get an infection. It's just a cut, dammit. Stop fussing."
He looked away to the side, tapping his foot anxiously. Future emperor, huh. That kid was so full of himself, it was almost admirable or something. He snorted derisively, before clapping his hands and removing the blade from his arm. He wasn't standing down, though, he'd still kick Ling's ass if he had to.
"Lavender oil has long been used in Eastern medicine as an antiseptic," Ling informed him in the pompous tones he often used when discussing anything to do with Xing. "Just because it is different does not mean it is false. And it's hardly 'just a cut.' That chimera nearly sunk all its fangs into you. What if it was venomous? I need to check for poison before it spreads too far." Ling also stood firm, obviously not willing to back down either. He would soon, though, Ed was sure.
"'Traditional'? You mean you don't have any clinical evidence, that's what. Have they ever heard of double-blind controlled studies in Xing? Or is it all good because the giant dragon napping under the earth says so?" Ed had started pacing, getting into his argument wholeheartedly. "If it was Xingese alchemy, then maybe I wouldn't be so skeptical," he continued. "But since it's you, and you know about as much science as I do about the contents of your brain..."
"Again, you are insulting my people's culture and history. Are you just oblivious to your offensive nature, or do you do this purposefully to upset me? That's no way to treat a friend who's trying to help you."
Ed looked up to catch the tail end of a signature Ling pout. Geez, the prince was like a caricature sometimes, an exaggeration of a human being. He looked pathetic standing there like that.
Ed turned away, mortified. He'd been treated for wounds by many doctors and nurses. He'd had his automail fitted and adjusted by both Granny and Winry. He certainly was used to lying prone and semi-naked while his body was examined, but there was something about the prospect of Ling looking at him that was exceptionally awkward and inexplicably humiliating. The bottom line was, though, that the prince had a point there. He didn't want to screw around with venom, and that chimera had seemed the type. Shit, he hated this whole situation.
"Okay. Just - you better make it quick. And no fuckin' around."
"Good, that's the first sensible thing you've said so far."
Ed exhaled deeply. Then, without warning, Ling's hands had found their way to his belt buckle, and the prince was briskly undoing it.
Ed squeaked.
"What?!" He jerked free of Ling's hands. "I didn't say you could -"
Completely flustered and unable to even say anymore, Ed turned away from Ling and began unfastening his belt himself. He could feel heat rushing to his face, so he quickly disregarded the sensation before he had to conclude that he might be blushing. His hands shook slightly as he maneuvered the fastenings of his pants. He ignored that too.
****************
Ling crossed one arm over his chest, propped the other elbow up on the palm of his hand, and leaned his forehead against his index and middle fingers, trying to smooth out the frown line he was sure Ed was giving him. Ed was being exceedingly frustrating. If Ling wasn't such a generous person, he would have given up trying to help by now and left the bull-headed fool to his own devices. Sometimes being so giving could be quite a nuisance, but there was nothing for it now. He had offered to help and so he had to see this through.
"May I see the wound now?" Ling asked again.
Under his breath, Ed muttered a small, nearly inaudible, "'kay." Then he scanned the room one last time for hidden threats and shimmied his pants down to his knees, grimacing all the while. Were they really so tight that they couldn't go past that point without painful effort? This country was quite strange. Ed did not remove the strange short pants that he wore beneath his outer pants, but at least these were loose enough that he would be able to examine the wound with them still on. Funny that he would wear the looser pant on the inside instead of the other way around.
Ed tensed up, pulling a pained face that vaguely reminded Ling of those who were punished on the stretching racks, and then shuffled in a tight circle until his back faced to Ling.
Honestly, why was he so worked up over having a wound checked? Surely a bite like this was nothing compared to losing two of his limbs? Ling had been wanting to ask him about the cause of that for some time, but it was obviously a story that Ed didn't share with many, and Ling didn't want to push him away with prying questions. He needed his help to find the answers he was looking for. Still, he was a curious thing, Edward Elric.
Ling moved forward and dropped to one knee. Carefully, he pushed up the leg of Ed's underpants - he would have to ask Ed about these at some point as well - exposing the bite wound that marred the curve of Ed's left cheek. He studied it carefully for a moment. The edges were quite raw, and there was some swelling. More perturbing were the dark red lines that fanned out from around the puncture, thin trails of dying flesh where the poison spread. There was still some blood seeping from the wound itself, so he didn't think he needed to re-open it. He leaned forward, sealed his lips over the wound, and began sucking, hoping to pull out some of the venom that was now seeping its way into Ed's body.
"Gah!" Ed jerked away from him, arms cartwheeling as he flailed about. Then he froze for a moment and whipped his head back around to Ling. "Poison, right?" He was sputtering nervously. "Hey, why don't I alchemise a tube? You could suck it out through that!" Really, was it that hard to accept? If a wound was infected with venom, you sucked it out as quickly as possible. Why was he so resistant to this?
Ling spat a mouthful of blood and venom to the side without breaking eye contact with Ed. Then he said, testily, "You are beginning to wear out my patience, Ed. The sooner you stop thrashing around, the sooner this will get done." He gave him a most intimidating look, one that had sent many a servant cowering in fear.
Ed gave an ill-tempered grunt before sighing and finally staying still. Ling scooted forward again to remove more of the poison. He could taste the bitter acid that was mixed with the copper tang of Ed's blood, and he was not sure if they should celebrate that it tasted so weak; either it meant the venom itself was not that strong, or it could mean that it had already diluted itself in Ed's blood. Ling silently hoped for the former. As he sucked out a second mouthful, he looked up to see Ed craning his head around, attempting to watch.
"Is it - it's not that bad, right? It doesn't feel that bad. The bite." He seemed nervous, his eyes wide and glistening. It was sort of endearing to see this softer side of him: he was usually so caustic.
Ling spit out another mouthful of blood, not entirely sure if the lack of venom was a good thing or not. Carefully, he licked his lips and then answered, "There is some swelling, and the venom has begun spreading from the site; I can trace the lines with my finger." And then he did so, following one of the stronger lines down the curve of Ed's rear to the point where it met the top of his thigh. "I do not think it will be fatal, but we should check it again soon." Ling placed his lips to the wound one last time, hoping to draw out even a tiny bit more of the venom that was spreading through Ed's body.
Still kneeling, Ling started undoing the sash at his own waist, carefully wrapping the cloth around one hand as he went.
Ed made to turn away again, but immediately whipped back around and shouted, nearly incomprehensible, "Waitwhatthefuckareyoudoing?"
Ling froze in place, raising an eyebrow in surprise. What kinds of roads did this boy's mind wander? He replied coolly, "What do you think I'm doing?" Then he ripped off a piece of fabric and uncorked the small vial. Honestly, did he not know that lavender was best applied topically?
Finally, thank goodness, it seemed Ed understood what was happening, and turned away grimacing. Ling carefully applied some of the oil to the cloth before resealing the container. Then he carefully began dabbing at the open wound, letting his untied waist band fall over his knee as he worked.
The oil made the edges of his open flesh glisten in an unsettling shade of purple, and then he found himself dragging his thumb down the top of Ed's thigh as he traced the intended path of a particularly vile venom trail.
Ed squealed at the contact with his leg. "Hey - hey now! What's that - with the other hand? What are you doing?" He reached around and grabbed Ling's wandering hand, shaking it in illustration.
Ling looked at his hand in Ed's. Then he looked back to the wound on Ed's rear, and finally he looked up to meet Ed's face. He was confused about the question. Wasn't it obvious what he was doing? Apparently not. Ed never ceased to amaze him.
"What do you mean? I'm treating your wound."
Ed's brows dropped low, and Ling decided something cheeky was in order, "And now we're holding hands."
Ed all but threw Ling's hand away, clearly not taking the joke as it was intended. He almost shouted, "How is feeling up my thigh treating the wound?"
Ling dabbed at the wound again, then answered quietly and truthfully, "I was tracing the path the venom will follow if it continues to spread."
Ed made a pained face. Whether it was guilt at his reaction or actual, physical pain, Ling could only guess. Then he asked, a little sheepishly, "D'you think you stopped it from spreading?"
Ling ran his thumb over the back of Ed's thigh again as he looked at the small puncture. "I can only hope," he said, "but I fear we may have gone too long between your injury and treating it. How does it feel?"
"Uh ... a bit - sensitive, I guess. But it doesn't really hurt." Ed tried looking again, then asked, "How's it look?"
Ling hooked both hands around the sides of Ed's thigh near the top where his leg joined to the rest of his body. Gingerly he pressed the flesh around the outside of the wound with his thumbs, watching Ed's face to gauge his reaction. He tensed slightly, but he remained relatively still, so it could not have been too sore. "It's a little swollen and there are venom lines, but it doesn't look infected yet."
Ed tensed again. "Umm. Uh. Good."
Absently, Ling continued running his thumbs over Ed's skin. It was sort of nice being so intimate with him like this. Not that it was a romantic moment by any means, but seeing Ed so exposed, both physically and emotionally, was rather agreeable. He had considered Ed an reluctant ally from the beginning, but now, he was starting to wonder if they honestly were friends. Sure, he'd joked with him about it, but being who he was, Ling had never really had the opportunity to be close with another boy his own age before. Being trusted like this by Ed made him feel important, somehow, perhaps even more so than when his servants bowed low and pledged their lives.
He flattened the leg of Ed's short pants so that it lie as it should. Ed was still as red as redbean soup. It was actually pretty funny, how flushed his face had been this whole time. It certainly brought out the color of his eyes, though, and his light hair. Ed stepped away, moving a bit stiffly. He shuffled up his pants, suddenly seeming more secure now that he was fully covered. These westerners and their modesty ...
"Right! Let's get moving! We've got stuff to do! Important stuff!" Ed prompted heartily.
Ling nodded, then stood up and began folding the sullied fabric. He had forgotten that his pants were no longer tied properly as they slid partway down his hips, exposing his hip bones and some of the dark trail of hair that covered his lower abdomen. He carefully slid the lavender oil back into its proper place in his chest strap and began unwinding the sagging sash. Unfortunately, Ling had learned that there was no easy way to simply pull it tight and go. He would have to redo the whole thing from the start.
Ling looked up to find Ed staring, somewhat hypnotized, as he attempted to fasten his own belt. When Ed noticed Ling watching him, he looked down and away swiftly, wetting his lips.
Ling kept on unwrapping the sash from his waist and looping it around one arm, over his elbow and a crooked thumb, using his forearm as some sort of bobbin. Ed stared silently, with a slightly confused look on his face. "I need to re-tie my pants first," Ling finally supplied.
As he reached the end of the fabric, it slipped off his hips, allowing his pants to drop dangerously low. He widened his stance a bit to catch them, and they clung desperately to the curve of his rear and the sides of his thighs. Ed remained frozen in place, his gaze completely transfixed on the waist of Ling's pants. Ed didn't even seem to notice he was staring. Somehow that made it even more intriguing.
Ed's lack of manners and his bizarre cultural taboos had forced Ling to be very patient with him up until this point. Now that Ed had left himself wide open for it, Ling couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little in return, and so he asked, "Care to help me?"
Ed jerked out of his daze and focused on Ling's face again. His eyes were wide like a frightened cat. Finally, he seemed to reign himself in, and folded his arms firmly, cracking a smile. "Not used to dressing yourself without an army of servants?" The tone of voice was a slightly forced version of Ed's usual insolence. His voice actually cracked a little on the last word.
Smiling, he said, "Truthfully, yes, it is a bit difficult to dress without assistance. Holding the sash flat while keeping the pants at the right place without bunching them is quite the task to handle." He finished preparing the sash on his arm for rewrapping, pulled up his pants a bit and then asked, "Would you be so kind as to hold my pants for me while I wrap them?"
"Uh ... 'kay." Ed moved over hesitantly, coming up behind Ling and holding his pants up at the right level at arm's length. Ed tried to put as much distance between them as possible, holding his hips out from Ling's rear in an odd stance that looked as if he was trying to imitate a duck. More strange western modesty: Ling wasn't quite sure why trying to break Ed of this was so irresistible, but he'd never been one to deny himself a little fun.
Ed grumbled, "You really should have packed different pants for this trip. I mean, did Ran Fan and the old geezer have to help you into 'em every morning?" Ed paused, presumably to envision the scenario, then grimaced and said, "No wait, don't answer that."
Ling turned to face him over his shoulder, smirking. "And what pants should I have worn then? Pants like yours that are so tight they defy movement?"
Ed's eyes flashed wide. "These pants are totally practical! Leather is tough, and it doesn't snag automail, and it's weatherproof - and I can move fine in them! They're awesome and you know it. These things you're wearing are practically a skirt, I bet you get caught in revolving doors all the time..."
Ed ranted on, and Ling smiled wider. Really, embarrassing Edward was far too fun and easy. Ed's face twitched as though he were trying to school it into an impassive mask. He was terrible at it. In fact, as usual, Ed's face was a stunning tell of emotion.
"These pants are far from a skirt - the beautiful mechanic, what was her name? Winry? Anyway, her skirt is so small and flimsy. If I were to wear something like that I would be dreadfully exposed. These pants allow all ranges of motion, are light as air but strong as steel, and help regulate body temperature. You'll notice despite all of the running and battling we've done I am not sweaty at all. You cannot boast the same of your pants." He paused, turning back to look at Ed. "I tasted your sweat with my own tongue."
Ed's breath hitched a little.
"I see you have no defense," Ling stated, breaking the silence. He was actually quite surprised that Ed had nothing for him, but that was fine. He would accept this victory with the grace of royalty. "That means I win! My pants are the superior pant!" He wiggled his hips in a celebratory dance that would have made his tutors cringe.
Ed scooted back as far away as he could get while still holding Ling's pants, glaring and talking through gritted teeth. "Just do your freaking pants up, Ling."
"Not until you concede that you have lost this battle of the pants."
"No freaking way! Your pants are fuckin' ridiculous. I just - don't have time to argue about this all day!" He sighed heavily, and then he said, a bit more quietly, "We have places to be, remember?"
Ling stood up straight and started to wrap the sash around himself, but stopped, frowning. "Actually, I need you to hold them like this-" He grabbed Ed's hand and placed it right against his waist. "If you hold them away from my body, they'll bunch as the sash is wound."
Ling took notice of the sharp intake of breath Ed took as he pulled him closer. Was it shock? Embarrassment? He also took notice of the fact that this time, Ed did not back away. Perhaps his attempts to break down some of Ed's pointless inhibitions were working? He situated Ed's hands on his waist to make sure that his pants were at the optimum height, and then began wrapping the sash.
It was then that he'd noticed that certain things had swelled. At first, he figured it was the proximity, or even the burn of poison on his tongue, but when he looked back at Ed, and Ed turned away pointedly with a pout that's charm was no doubt unintentional, Ling had to admit it might have been more than that.
Ling turned his head slightly to the side and whispered, "It seems I need a few minutes before we are able to get my pants properly tied."
Ed's mouth set into a mortified, wobbly line. When he noticed Ling looking, he turned to the side so as not to meet his eyes. Ling watched curiously as Ed cowered in place, with something of the look of a trapped rabbit.
Ling smirked quietly, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. It was a breathing exercise he had performed thousands of times, designed to help center the body and mind and relax his qi in the careful art of meditation. Interestingly enough, it was also useful for situations like this one. After a few breaths, he peeked to find Ed still frozen in place, flushed brilliantly all the way from his chest to the tips of his ears. Ed took deep, rather shaky breaths, which he also seemed to be visibly trying to control. He wasn't doing it very well, though. Perhaps some other time, he could show Ed how to do the breathing exercise properly?
When Ling felt Ed's hands actually shaking, he opened his eyes fully. Ed's chin was held up stubbornly, the muscles of his neck tensed. From the corner of his eye, he was looking down to where his hands were holding the front of Ling's pants with some uncertainty, as if weighing whether it was better to keep holding them up or to let them go as get far away. He seemed dangerously close to bolting, and yet he continued to grip Ling's pants as if his life depended on it. It was almost as if he were fighting something within himself.
Something whispered in Ling's mind. Why not? He recalled a discussion he once had with the royal harem about the art of nuance, and how sometimes it was best to cut right to the chase. Since Ed was always so direct, why not the direct approach? He pivoted around to face Ed. The fabric of his pants twisted in Ed's hand, but he didn't let go. "Are you all right, Ed? If we're so pressed for time -" He leaned in to Ed's ear and said in a breathy whisper, "You could help me with this."
****************
"Wh-what?" Ed's voice rose a couple of octaves despite himself. Had he just heard him right? No, there's no way Ling said what he thought he'd heard him say, no fucking way.
"Just give me a few minutes to breathe," Ling said, "I'll be okay." Ed felt hugely relieved. He'd imagined it, right? And it wasn't like he'd never got accidentally hard himself, it was a physiological thing, it wouldn't be fair to blame Ling for this. The prince sucked in a long breath through his nose, somewhere behind Ed's ear. Ed twitched.
Ling lowered his head so that his forehead was nearly touching Ed's shoulder. He continued taking deep breaths in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, his warm breath puffing over Ed's neck. Ed's body was rigid, and his breathing hard and a little unsteady. What the hell was going on, and why didn't anyone warn him about this? Despite his best efforts, he could feel his whole body shaking. He leaned on his right leg a bit to try and stop it from wobbling - stupid thing was making a racket.
At first, Ed tried to go to some happy place where he wasn't in a very compromising position hanging on to an idiot prince's pants while the guy did ninja breathing exercises to banish a boner. This failed to calm his nerves, so he switched to staring angrily at Ling's head on his shoulder. After a few moments, it seemed Ling had felt the daggers Ed was boring into him, and he moved his head to look up at Ed. Ed tried to stop his body from jolting at the brush of Ling's bangs against his collarbone. His body wasn't listening to him at the moment, so it jolted anyway. Shit.
Ling looked up at him, and he was doing another of those mystery squints. Then he said, "Ed, it's not good for you to be so nervous. I can calm your nerves if you'll let me help."
Geez, not the freaking poison thing again. Ed rolled his eyes. "Ling, my leg feels fine. Stop fussing."
Ling said, casually, "You're shaking all over." Ling put his hands to Ed's shoulders and laid him out on the floor again. Ed didn't fight him off, just straight went down with his jaw hanging open, although he had absolutely no idea why. Ling's hands were suddenly undoing Ed's belt buckle again. Ed put a hand on his wrist to stop him, then took it right off again when he realised how much he really was shaking. Ling's pants had fallen around his ankles again. This whole thing was getting surreal.
Ed said, "Ling, I'm not sick. I'm not poisoned." His voice sounded thin. Ling had to know this, had to be fucking with him.
Ling smiled at him, nicely, reassuringly. Then he yanked Ed's pants - boxers and all - down his hips in one, swift tug. He sat down on Ed's thighs, smiled again, and just waited to see what he'd do next.
What Ed had expected to do was to throw him straight off with a twist of his hips and a blow with the automail, pull his pants up, spring away and restart the fight.
He didn't do any of those things. What he did was mostly to lie there, sucking in air too hard, his hand and foot tingling, the automail beating a shaky tattoo against the floorboards. Ed fought monsters, monsters and mad alchemists and men with guns, and he never got nervous. Sometimes he got a little scared, maybe, but it never made him shake, never paralysed his body and brain like this and turned him into a drooling, panicky idiot. So why was he he freaking out in this stupid, dumbass situation, with Ling of all people - skinny, wiry, dorky Ling who he was sure he could take easily, if they went another round. He had no idea what his brain was doing to him, or why.
Ling said, still nicely, "You're scared, Ed. But you shouldn't be. There's no need."
Damn right there was no need. Why was Ling trying to push his buttons like this, the asshole? And he wasn't scared, it was just - Ed groaned. "Ling - I'm not - poisoned. It's just - the naked thing! It's weird! It's making me nervous! That's-" He grit his teeth, mortified. "That's why I was - reacting. I'm not used to..." and then Ed ran out of words. In all honesty, he didn't know how to finish that sentence. I guess I'm not used to getting my ass bit by an unidentified monster spliced together in some lab with unidentified venom, then hiding out in a ruined building that smells like rats died here, and then having a naked foreign idiot take off my pants and sit on me.
Ling interrupted his thoughts. "I have noticed that about your country, actually: that there is shame in the human form. The body is a beautiful thing, Ed. You should take comfort in the fact that you have such striking features compared to others I have met here. The color of your eyes, the shade of your hair, the tone of your skin - not to mention the way your body is so well formed. And the metal limbs are quite unique and interesting. Don't be afraid to share yourself with the rest of the world more often." Ling paused, scratching his chin again. "Or is that the reason you wear such tight pants?"
Ed's mind was racing. What was this kid getting at? And why did he keep going on about the leather pants, what was so freaking interesting about them? Ed tried to come up with some awesome comeback, but found himself stammering wordlessly instead. The things Ling had said, all those details, they were flattering and embarrassing, and Ed just wasn't used to people noticing that stuff. He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or indignant. Ling had said his features were striking. Did that mean he thought Ed was handsome? All of a sudden the truth of the thing struck Ed so hard it knocked the wind right out of his lungs. For a few moments he just sputtered, until he could drag in enough air to to ask, totally incredulous, "Are you - hitting on me?"
"I am most certainly not hitting you! You're injured - I would never beat on a fallen man. That's dishonorable."
"No - not hitting me, hitting on me. It's an expression!"
Ling was doing it again, the whole dubious language-barrier, cultural misunderstanding schtick. Ed supposed that some of the time it had to be real, but he'd seen Ling exploit it to weasel his way out of food bills enough times that he knew it wasn't always the real deal. Ed eyeballed Ling, trying to work it out. Was that the hint of a smirk in those dark eyes of his? It was gone before Ed could really tell. The jerk was pouting, though. He seemed genuinely upset. Maybe he had misunderstood this time.
"Coming on to me! Flirting! Trying to - do - stuff - with me, y'know, stuff?" Ling looked blank. Ed howled, "You know damn well what I mean!"
Then Ling was smiling again. "Ed, I didn't know you felt that way about me. I'm so flattered! I've never actually been with another male before." Wait - what the fuck? By the time he'd processed that he had definitely, definitely heard right that time, Ling was already right up in his face, far too near. He couldn't seem to move. Leaning in, Ling whispered in his ear, "But as we're so close, I'd be willing to try." And on the last word, Ed felt Ling's lips on the skin over his cheekbone, right in front of his ear.
Ed's skin buzzed. The spot where Ling had kissed him was slightly damp, and the air felt colder there now. Fuck, Ling was probably going to go for his mouth now. He could get out of this, it wasn't too late, he had to fix this misunderstanding now before things got any weirder. Ed was sure he squeaked before actual words made it out of his mouth. "I wasn't - I didn't mean -"
He never got to finish his sentence. The next moment, Ling's lips were on his, soft and dry, and the moment after that, Ling's tongue was in his mouth, moving and pushing, filling it up. It felt fucking weird, and the weirdest thing about it was that doing it felt kind of okay. Ed could get out of this if he wanted to. He was stronger, he could be fast, he had his alchemy. His arms flailed uselessly. Then Ling reached out and took hold of Ed's human hand, lacing his fingers into his own and running his thumb over the outer edge of Ed's palm. Ed felt dizzy and weird. The fingers of his left hand tingled; his chest was horribly tight. In this storm of new sensations and ideas, the cool grasp of Ling's hand was somehow weirdly reassuring. It felt solid. Ed's jaw shook briefly, and then he relaxed, his automail arm flopping outwards onto the floor. He swallowed, then squeezed Ling's hand just a little bit.
Ling squeezed back, and then the kiss was over. He let go, pulling away from Ed and sitting up. Ed opened his eyes, and watched, dazed and hazy, as Ling shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the floor.
He leant back over Ed with an evil smile, and grabbed Ed's side, rolling him on top of himself. Ling said quietly, "We should keep your wound out of the dirt."
Ed simply stared into Ling's eyes for a moment, completely overwhelmed. How had they ended up like this? He tried to force his brain into working, to put the pieces together. Ling had been making a fuss over the bite, and then they were fighting, and now ... Ed was half-naked, and Ling was totally naked, and he was sitting on top of Ling, and they were making out. Ed had never made out with anyone before. This was definitely not how he had pictured the first time. For a start, the location wasn't exactly what he would have expected: a ruined apartment with a lingering whiff of dead rat. Also, it was with another guy, he hadn't seen that one coming. And not just some guy, but freaking Ling. Weirdest and most upsetting of all, he didn't even mind any of it that much. Kissing felt kind of good, if not deeply, utterly strange, but still. He looked down at Ling. Ling smiled, and it felt like the hand-squeeze: something to hang onto. Feeling oddly detached from himself, as if he were a just a spectator, watching his own body from somewhere above near the dusty lampshade, Ed leaned down. Very carefully, he placed his lips to Ling's.
Ed breathed in through his nose deeply, and then closed his eyes and reached out with his left hand, running his thumb along Ling's jawline. Ling's lips moved against his own in a soft dance. It felt nice. It felt different. Ed kind of liked it. And then he'd made up his mind: he wanted to do this. He kissed Ling harder, pressing his tongue against Ling's lips and delving deep inside when they parted. He moved his hand from Ling's jaw and started rummaging over Ling's chest, wriggling on top of him. Was he doing this right? Was he going to fail miserably? One of Ling's hipbones crashed right into his, hard enough to hurt. He shifted on top of him, pushed his fingers through Ling's hair. It seemed like a good thing to do, so he kept going, moving his hands roughly back - and then Ling's head jerked back and he yelped into the kiss. Ed thought stupidly for a second, Was that good? then Ling pulled away and grabbed his right wrist. Oh yeah, automail and hair weren't necessarily a good combination.
Ed braced himself for the start of the whining, but then Ling grabbed the back of Ed's neck, pulling him back down. Ed got half an apology out; the rest was swallowed in the kiss.
For the next few minutes, everything got a bit confused.
There was a lot of kissing, increasingly hard and heated. There was a lot of stuff with hands. Ling had shoved Ed's shirt up until it bunched awkwardly under his arms. Ed felt like they were so tangled together now that he was getting mixed up about whose what was whose. The way they were rolling their hips and grinding together disoriented him completely. It felt completely different than jerking off: the sensations seemed to roll through Ed's whole body, through his skin down his spine to his groin and back again. He couldn't breathe right through any of it.
Ling muttered things in his own language, and then refused to translate. Ed felt like he was grinning a lot. This was a strange and scary kind of fun, like jumping off a high rock into water.
Ling made a noise, and his face screwed up. His breathing was ragged now, and his movements jerky. Crap, was Ed hurting him again? Ed paused, trying to work out what he'd done wrong. Ling made a pained noise. Ed said, "What did I -"
And Ling reached out before he could finish, and pulled him back in, grinding hard against him. He grit out, whiny and irritated, "Don't - stop."
No, wait, it was the opposite, wasn't it? Ed was doing this fine, he didn't suck at it after all. Apart from the whole bit where he'd just stopped dead at a crucial moment. He moved in time with Ling, as best he could, and then caught himself craning his neck, trying to watch the way their bodies bucked against each other, with each other ... it was a bit hypnotizing. Then he found himself watching Ling's reactions, fascinated by all of the small noises and the way he kept his eyes shut tight, occasionally pulling back his lip to reveal a sharp tooth.
Then he felt Ling's hand squeeze his shoulder painfully tight. Ling scrunched his face, and made a weird little sobbing noise, and he ground and thrust one last time, hard. Ed's stomach felt suddenly wet, and it made him jump, but it wasn't as gross as he'd thought it'd be. Ling held on tight to Ed for a moment, then suddenly and completely relaxed, flopping in Ed's arms, huffing a breath into his neck. Ed stared avidly. He'd never seen anyone else, um, finish before. Ling's face had gone all weird - well, weirder - and it had been because of him, his body had done that to Ling. It was kind of a head trip.
Ling raised his head and gave Ed a funny sidelong look, and then, while Ed was still trying to work out if he was annoyed about the staring, he felt Ling's fingers reach around and circle his cock. Ed made a small noise in his throat, then looked at Ling's face, and then down at his dick in Ling's hand. He realised he was grinning, and that he probably looked totally stupid, and then - then he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't done this for Ling. Had he done enough stuff? It didn't seem balanced. As soon as Ling started stroking him, his concerns narrowed rapidly - he didn't much care how he looked, and he could deal with the other stuff later - the only thing that mattered was that Ling keep doing that.
Ling was kissing his neck, which was weird - why the neck? - then moving up to his jaw line, which felt sort of nice, and moving his hand in a steady, clever rhythm all the while. He asked, "Tell me, does this feel good?" Fishing for compliments, the devious asshole, of course it felt good. Ed screwed his eyes shut, trying to give himself more room to feel properly. A few more moments of breathing and rhythm and tension, and Ed found himself turned on his side, and Ling's hand working him hard, in a way that felt totally different from the way he did it himself. Ling's mouth was on his nipple - why? was that supposed to be good? - and then, suddenly, it really was good.
That was the end of Ed's attempts at coherent observation. His brain fried itself like an overheated radio, and from then until the final crash there was nothing but a chaos of unidentified input.
The quiet and stillness afterwards was absolute, for a moment, like the edge of sleep. Then he found himself with his forehead leaning on Ling's shoulder, the bridge of his nose pressing uncomfortably against Ling's clavicle. His body felt limp and heavy. His skin tingled vaguely, as if he'd just climbed out of freezing water. He peeled himself off; his sweaty bangs clung to his skin and Ling's. He shoved them back with one hand.
Ling was looking at him, hazy, narrow-eyed and smug. It felt too close. How could a look feel too close after - all that? Then, before Ed could move away, Ling came in and kissed his forehead, a quick, firm peck. Then he pulled away again. Ed looked at him. He was doing that thing where he laughed at you with his eyes, but his mouth stayed shut. Had he planned this thing after all? Had Ed's own brain planned it and not told him? He'd read about this stuff. The unconscious mind was a sneaky little fucker, sneakier than Ling, even. What if -
"Come on," Ling said, "Let's get dressed. As you said, we have places to be."
Authors: enemytosleep and bob_fish
Word Count: 7873
Characters: Ed, Ling
Series: Manga
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ed has a pain in his butt, and this time, it's not just Ling.
Notes: marginally fuzzy time-line and setting; takes place sometime during the arc where Ed and Ling agree to help each other capture a homunculus and fight Scar. Just know that it takes place someplace where awkward, teenaged, slashy sex is wont to happen. This fic began as a silly RP fight in an lj comment thread, which we then dared each other into developing into an entry for fma_fic_contest Prompt 37, "Sensory Overload". We won joint third place and got this delightful boasty banner from sky_dark:
"Ling! Get that thing the hell away from my ass this second or I'll transmute you into the floorboards!"
"But Ed, a man that goes to sleep with an itchy butt wakes up with a smelly finger! This lavender oil will help heal the wound there. You should really let me apply some." Somehow, Ling said this with a completely straight face. Ed could almost believe that he was being sincere, except that he had just quoted some supposedly ancient saying about itchy asses. That, and the fact that he was literally chasing after him with said vial of oil. They were in an abandoned apartment building in the wastelands of Central, trying to lay low after a less than successful attempt at cornering a homunculus.
As Ling sidled forward, Ed scooted back warily, his arms folded. "Why are your 'ancient Xingese proverbs' all about the same, y'know, stuff? You're just making 'em up, aren't you, you sneaky fuck?"
Ling pouted. "Are you implying that my people's wisdom is nothing but a collection of perverse sayings? That's quite offensive, you know. I could have you beheaded for that. Or perhaps a ride in the spiked saddle is more fitting, as it is an injured rear that has made your tongue so cutting tonight."
"I call it like I see it - the only bits of 'your people's wisdom' you've been sharing recently seem to revolve around your junk." Seriously, what was it with this kid? His comments always seemed to be laced with innuendo and hidden meanings, but if you called him on it, the idiot prince would just try to pass it off as some language barrier thing. Ed was suspicious, to say the least.
Oh, and had the weaselly little fuck just threatened him? That deserved only one response.
"And if you think you can take me - bring it, bitch. " Ed found his fighting stance and tensed his muscles. He'd been sure since the day they met that he could easily take Ling down, but he'd never been able to get him away from his ninja backup long enough to find out. This was going to be sweet.
Ling was taking the shift from argument to fight pretty calmly. "If force is required to treat you, then that is what I'll use. You should be lucky to have such dedicated friends." Then, without further warning, he drew his sword while pivoting on one foot in a low, swinging kick.
Ed sprang back out of reach, landing on his heels, but managing to stay balanced anyway. He felt torn between satisfaction that Ling wasn't trying to weasel his way out of this, and incredulity that the prince was actually willing to sword fight over it. He clapped his hands together, drawing his left hand over his automail forearm and shaping a wide blade with the energy he'd summoned. He adjusted his stance with his blade-arm held out across his chest, beckoning Ling to advance with a small wave of his fingers and a shit-eating grin designed to show Ling just how badass he was.
Suddenly Ling lunged forward, cutting across his chest with his sword from left to right. Ed blocked the swing with his own blade. Ling was fast, but the move had been an obvious one. Ed's boot heels skidded across the wooden floor a few inches as Ling pressed into the attack, forcing him back.
"I told you - if I wanted my butt to smell like lavender - which I don't! - I could put it on myself, you weirdo."
With that, Ed spun and ducked the blade, leaving Ling's sword to swing out to the right. Immediately he came up, thrusting his automail at the prince's throat, stopping short of slicing him and holding the blade firmly against his neck. He had intended to pull the blow from the start - as insanely irritating as the guy was, he didn't want to actually slit his throat.
"Ha!," he laughed triumphantly as Ling lowered his sword. That had been embarrassingly easy. He was going to give Ling so much shit over this.
Then, suddenly, Ling hooked his foot in the crook of Ed's flesh knee and broke his stance. Ed stumbled back a step before lunging forward again. They crossed blades. Ling moved forward, forcing Ed's arm back and speaking to him through gritted teeth as he pushed.
"I've already told you, the pleasant smell is merely a bonus. The oil has healing qualities that will soothe your irritation and aid in quick closing of the wound. I offered to help because of the location; it's hard to properly tend to one's own rear."
Exasperation fueled Ed's resolve. He forcefully pushed Ling's sword back and pressed forward, letting the automail leg take the strain. He leaned forward, getting his face right up into Ling's.
"Why would you want to go near my ass? I sure as hell don't want to go anywhere near yours!"
Ling leaned in further, smiling like he knew something that Ed didn't. "And why not? It's not everyday a commoner such as yourself receives the privilege of treating a royal - but it is your 'ass' and not mine that needs attending to right now." Was he for real? For a moment, Ed wished that Al was there, just so he could have someone to witness the insanity. Then he changed his mind. Al might have his back in a fight, but in a situation like this, he couldn't be trusted not to point and mock.
Ling pulled back into a backward hand-spring, landing on the balls of his feet, then immediately launched himself forward in a low tackle, aimed to take Ed down.
Ed wasn't going to go down so easily.
He vaulted forward, planting a hand on Ling's back as he flew over him, sending the idiot off balance as he himself landed neatly behind him in some grown up, vicious form of leap frog. Ed quickly spun around, pointing and yelling to the room at large, "Privilege?! I - why do I even bother trying to talk to you like a normal person?"
Ling had tucked his shoulder and rolled upon landing, coming to stop in a low crouch with his non-sword hand on the floor for balance.
"Seeing as I am not a normal person, it would make sense that treating me like one would be difficult and perhaps frustrating. Now try to calm down so that we can get you treated and continue towards our goal." He didn't even sound out of breath.
He watched Ed carefully, obviously waiting to see what he did next. The bastard.
"You got that right! Uh, about you not being normal, I mean. And I would be calm if you weren't trying to oil up my ass! I mean, what the fuck, Ling?" Ed half-noticed his voice getting louder and louder as he continued on. He jabbed a metal finger pointedly in Ling's direction as he ranted. "And for the last time, I'm fine. We can continue now."
"I am the future emperor of a great country, of course I'm not 'normal.' Descriptions like that are for people like you. As for your injury," Ling paused as he stood up and sheathed his sword before continuing, "I cannot perform rentanjutsu, so this is the best treatment we can offer you at present. You are not above getting an infection, which will only slow us down later. Let me apply the oil, Ed."
He folded his arms into the billowing sleeves of his jacket, squinting intensely at Ed. Ed was rarely certain what those squinty looks meant, but he figured this one was supposed to mean he was irritated or something.
Well, if he wasn't going to get the chance to beat Ling in a fight, he could at least take him down in a debate. "How is lavender oil going to prevent infection? There's absolutely no scientific basis for that, if anything it's going to aggravate things, it's hardly sterile." He crossed his arms carefully.
Then he added, "And I'm not gonna get an infection. It's just a cut, dammit. Stop fussing."
He looked away to the side, tapping his foot anxiously. Future emperor, huh. That kid was so full of himself, it was almost admirable or something. He snorted derisively, before clapping his hands and removing the blade from his arm. He wasn't standing down, though, he'd still kick Ling's ass if he had to.
"Lavender oil has long been used in Eastern medicine as an antiseptic," Ling informed him in the pompous tones he often used when discussing anything to do with Xing. "Just because it is different does not mean it is false. And it's hardly 'just a cut.' That chimera nearly sunk all its fangs into you. What if it was venomous? I need to check for poison before it spreads too far." Ling also stood firm, obviously not willing to back down either. He would soon, though, Ed was sure.
"'Traditional'? You mean you don't have any clinical evidence, that's what. Have they ever heard of double-blind controlled studies in Xing? Or is it all good because the giant dragon napping under the earth says so?" Ed had started pacing, getting into his argument wholeheartedly. "If it was Xingese alchemy, then maybe I wouldn't be so skeptical," he continued. "But since it's you, and you know about as much science as I do about the contents of your brain..."
"Again, you are insulting my people's culture and history. Are you just oblivious to your offensive nature, or do you do this purposefully to upset me? That's no way to treat a friend who's trying to help you."
Ed looked up to catch the tail end of a signature Ling pout. Geez, the prince was like a caricature sometimes, an exaggeration of a human being. He looked pathetic standing there like that.
Ed turned away, mortified. He'd been treated for wounds by many doctors and nurses. He'd had his automail fitted and adjusted by both Granny and Winry. He certainly was used to lying prone and semi-naked while his body was examined, but there was something about the prospect of Ling looking at him that was exceptionally awkward and inexplicably humiliating. The bottom line was, though, that the prince had a point there. He didn't want to screw around with venom, and that chimera had seemed the type. Shit, he hated this whole situation.
"Okay. Just - you better make it quick. And no fuckin' around."
"Good, that's the first sensible thing you've said so far."
Ed exhaled deeply. Then, without warning, Ling's hands had found their way to his belt buckle, and the prince was briskly undoing it.
Ed squeaked.
"What?!" He jerked free of Ling's hands. "I didn't say you could -"
Completely flustered and unable to even say anymore, Ed turned away from Ling and began unfastening his belt himself. He could feel heat rushing to his face, so he quickly disregarded the sensation before he had to conclude that he might be blushing. His hands shook slightly as he maneuvered the fastenings of his pants. He ignored that too.
****************
Ling crossed one arm over his chest, propped the other elbow up on the palm of his hand, and leaned his forehead against his index and middle fingers, trying to smooth out the frown line he was sure Ed was giving him. Ed was being exceedingly frustrating. If Ling wasn't such a generous person, he would have given up trying to help by now and left the bull-headed fool to his own devices. Sometimes being so giving could be quite a nuisance, but there was nothing for it now. He had offered to help and so he had to see this through.
"May I see the wound now?" Ling asked again.
Under his breath, Ed muttered a small, nearly inaudible, "'kay." Then he scanned the room one last time for hidden threats and shimmied his pants down to his knees, grimacing all the while. Were they really so tight that they couldn't go past that point without painful effort? This country was quite strange. Ed did not remove the strange short pants that he wore beneath his outer pants, but at least these were loose enough that he would be able to examine the wound with them still on. Funny that he would wear the looser pant on the inside instead of the other way around.
Ed tensed up, pulling a pained face that vaguely reminded Ling of those who were punished on the stretching racks, and then shuffled in a tight circle until his back faced to Ling.
Honestly, why was he so worked up over having a wound checked? Surely a bite like this was nothing compared to losing two of his limbs? Ling had been wanting to ask him about the cause of that for some time, but it was obviously a story that Ed didn't share with many, and Ling didn't want to push him away with prying questions. He needed his help to find the answers he was looking for. Still, he was a curious thing, Edward Elric.
Ling moved forward and dropped to one knee. Carefully, he pushed up the leg of Ed's underpants - he would have to ask Ed about these at some point as well - exposing the bite wound that marred the curve of Ed's left cheek. He studied it carefully for a moment. The edges were quite raw, and there was some swelling. More perturbing were the dark red lines that fanned out from around the puncture, thin trails of dying flesh where the poison spread. There was still some blood seeping from the wound itself, so he didn't think he needed to re-open it. He leaned forward, sealed his lips over the wound, and began sucking, hoping to pull out some of the venom that was now seeping its way into Ed's body.
"Gah!" Ed jerked away from him, arms cartwheeling as he flailed about. Then he froze for a moment and whipped his head back around to Ling. "Poison, right?" He was sputtering nervously. "Hey, why don't I alchemise a tube? You could suck it out through that!" Really, was it that hard to accept? If a wound was infected with venom, you sucked it out as quickly as possible. Why was he so resistant to this?
Ling spat a mouthful of blood and venom to the side without breaking eye contact with Ed. Then he said, testily, "You are beginning to wear out my patience, Ed. The sooner you stop thrashing around, the sooner this will get done." He gave him a most intimidating look, one that had sent many a servant cowering in fear.
Ed gave an ill-tempered grunt before sighing and finally staying still. Ling scooted forward again to remove more of the poison. He could taste the bitter acid that was mixed with the copper tang of Ed's blood, and he was not sure if they should celebrate that it tasted so weak; either it meant the venom itself was not that strong, or it could mean that it had already diluted itself in Ed's blood. Ling silently hoped for the former. As he sucked out a second mouthful, he looked up to see Ed craning his head around, attempting to watch.
"Is it - it's not that bad, right? It doesn't feel that bad. The bite." He seemed nervous, his eyes wide and glistening. It was sort of endearing to see this softer side of him: he was usually so caustic.
Ling spit out another mouthful of blood, not entirely sure if the lack of venom was a good thing or not. Carefully, he licked his lips and then answered, "There is some swelling, and the venom has begun spreading from the site; I can trace the lines with my finger." And then he did so, following one of the stronger lines down the curve of Ed's rear to the point where it met the top of his thigh. "I do not think it will be fatal, but we should check it again soon." Ling placed his lips to the wound one last time, hoping to draw out even a tiny bit more of the venom that was spreading through Ed's body.
Still kneeling, Ling started undoing the sash at his own waist, carefully wrapping the cloth around one hand as he went.
Ed made to turn away again, but immediately whipped back around and shouted, nearly incomprehensible, "Waitwhatthefuckareyoudoing?"
Ling froze in place, raising an eyebrow in surprise. What kinds of roads did this boy's mind wander? He replied coolly, "What do you think I'm doing?" Then he ripped off a piece of fabric and uncorked the small vial. Honestly, did he not know that lavender was best applied topically?
Finally, thank goodness, it seemed Ed understood what was happening, and turned away grimacing. Ling carefully applied some of the oil to the cloth before resealing the container. Then he carefully began dabbing at the open wound, letting his untied waist band fall over his knee as he worked.
The oil made the edges of his open flesh glisten in an unsettling shade of purple, and then he found himself dragging his thumb down the top of Ed's thigh as he traced the intended path of a particularly vile venom trail.
Ed squealed at the contact with his leg. "Hey - hey now! What's that - with the other hand? What are you doing?" He reached around and grabbed Ling's wandering hand, shaking it in illustration.
Ling looked at his hand in Ed's. Then he looked back to the wound on Ed's rear, and finally he looked up to meet Ed's face. He was confused about the question. Wasn't it obvious what he was doing? Apparently not. Ed never ceased to amaze him.
"What do you mean? I'm treating your wound."
Ed's brows dropped low, and Ling decided something cheeky was in order, "And now we're holding hands."
Ed all but threw Ling's hand away, clearly not taking the joke as it was intended. He almost shouted, "How is feeling up my thigh treating the wound?"
Ling dabbed at the wound again, then answered quietly and truthfully, "I was tracing the path the venom will follow if it continues to spread."
Ed made a pained face. Whether it was guilt at his reaction or actual, physical pain, Ling could only guess. Then he asked, a little sheepishly, "D'you think you stopped it from spreading?"
Ling ran his thumb over the back of Ed's thigh again as he looked at the small puncture. "I can only hope," he said, "but I fear we may have gone too long between your injury and treating it. How does it feel?"
"Uh ... a bit - sensitive, I guess. But it doesn't really hurt." Ed tried looking again, then asked, "How's it look?"
Ling hooked both hands around the sides of Ed's thigh near the top where his leg joined to the rest of his body. Gingerly he pressed the flesh around the outside of the wound with his thumbs, watching Ed's face to gauge his reaction. He tensed slightly, but he remained relatively still, so it could not have been too sore. "It's a little swollen and there are venom lines, but it doesn't look infected yet."
Ed tensed again. "Umm. Uh. Good."
Absently, Ling continued running his thumbs over Ed's skin. It was sort of nice being so intimate with him like this. Not that it was a romantic moment by any means, but seeing Ed so exposed, both physically and emotionally, was rather agreeable. He had considered Ed an reluctant ally from the beginning, but now, he was starting to wonder if they honestly were friends. Sure, he'd joked with him about it, but being who he was, Ling had never really had the opportunity to be close with another boy his own age before. Being trusted like this by Ed made him feel important, somehow, perhaps even more so than when his servants bowed low and pledged their lives.
He flattened the leg of Ed's short pants so that it lie as it should. Ed was still as red as redbean soup. It was actually pretty funny, how flushed his face had been this whole time. It certainly brought out the color of his eyes, though, and his light hair. Ed stepped away, moving a bit stiffly. He shuffled up his pants, suddenly seeming more secure now that he was fully covered. These westerners and their modesty ...
"Right! Let's get moving! We've got stuff to do! Important stuff!" Ed prompted heartily.
Ling nodded, then stood up and began folding the sullied fabric. He had forgotten that his pants were no longer tied properly as they slid partway down his hips, exposing his hip bones and some of the dark trail of hair that covered his lower abdomen. He carefully slid the lavender oil back into its proper place in his chest strap and began unwinding the sagging sash. Unfortunately, Ling had learned that there was no easy way to simply pull it tight and go. He would have to redo the whole thing from the start.
Ling looked up to find Ed staring, somewhat hypnotized, as he attempted to fasten his own belt. When Ed noticed Ling watching him, he looked down and away swiftly, wetting his lips.
Ling kept on unwrapping the sash from his waist and looping it around one arm, over his elbow and a crooked thumb, using his forearm as some sort of bobbin. Ed stared silently, with a slightly confused look on his face. "I need to re-tie my pants first," Ling finally supplied.
As he reached the end of the fabric, it slipped off his hips, allowing his pants to drop dangerously low. He widened his stance a bit to catch them, and they clung desperately to the curve of his rear and the sides of his thighs. Ed remained frozen in place, his gaze completely transfixed on the waist of Ling's pants. Ed didn't even seem to notice he was staring. Somehow that made it even more intriguing.
Ed's lack of manners and his bizarre cultural taboos had forced Ling to be very patient with him up until this point. Now that Ed had left himself wide open for it, Ling couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little in return, and so he asked, "Care to help me?"
Ed jerked out of his daze and focused on Ling's face again. His eyes were wide like a frightened cat. Finally, he seemed to reign himself in, and folded his arms firmly, cracking a smile. "Not used to dressing yourself without an army of servants?" The tone of voice was a slightly forced version of Ed's usual insolence. His voice actually cracked a little on the last word.
Smiling, he said, "Truthfully, yes, it is a bit difficult to dress without assistance. Holding the sash flat while keeping the pants at the right place without bunching them is quite the task to handle." He finished preparing the sash on his arm for rewrapping, pulled up his pants a bit and then asked, "Would you be so kind as to hold my pants for me while I wrap them?"
"Uh ... 'kay." Ed moved over hesitantly, coming up behind Ling and holding his pants up at the right level at arm's length. Ed tried to put as much distance between them as possible, holding his hips out from Ling's rear in an odd stance that looked as if he was trying to imitate a duck. More strange western modesty: Ling wasn't quite sure why trying to break Ed of this was so irresistible, but he'd never been one to deny himself a little fun.
Ed grumbled, "You really should have packed different pants for this trip. I mean, did Ran Fan and the old geezer have to help you into 'em every morning?" Ed paused, presumably to envision the scenario, then grimaced and said, "No wait, don't answer that."
Ling turned to face him over his shoulder, smirking. "And what pants should I have worn then? Pants like yours that are so tight they defy movement?"
Ed's eyes flashed wide. "These pants are totally practical! Leather is tough, and it doesn't snag automail, and it's weatherproof - and I can move fine in them! They're awesome and you know it. These things you're wearing are practically a skirt, I bet you get caught in revolving doors all the time..."
Ed ranted on, and Ling smiled wider. Really, embarrassing Edward was far too fun and easy. Ed's face twitched as though he were trying to school it into an impassive mask. He was terrible at it. In fact, as usual, Ed's face was a stunning tell of emotion.
"These pants are far from a skirt - the beautiful mechanic, what was her name? Winry? Anyway, her skirt is so small and flimsy. If I were to wear something like that I would be dreadfully exposed. These pants allow all ranges of motion, are light as air but strong as steel, and help regulate body temperature. You'll notice despite all of the running and battling we've done I am not sweaty at all. You cannot boast the same of your pants." He paused, turning back to look at Ed. "I tasted your sweat with my own tongue."
Ed's breath hitched a little.
"I see you have no defense," Ling stated, breaking the silence. He was actually quite surprised that Ed had nothing for him, but that was fine. He would accept this victory with the grace of royalty. "That means I win! My pants are the superior pant!" He wiggled his hips in a celebratory dance that would have made his tutors cringe.
Ed scooted back as far away as he could get while still holding Ling's pants, glaring and talking through gritted teeth. "Just do your freaking pants up, Ling."
"Not until you concede that you have lost this battle of the pants."
"No freaking way! Your pants are fuckin' ridiculous. I just - don't have time to argue about this all day!" He sighed heavily, and then he said, a bit more quietly, "We have places to be, remember?"
Ling stood up straight and started to wrap the sash around himself, but stopped, frowning. "Actually, I need you to hold them like this-" He grabbed Ed's hand and placed it right against his waist. "If you hold them away from my body, they'll bunch as the sash is wound."
Ling took notice of the sharp intake of breath Ed took as he pulled him closer. Was it shock? Embarrassment? He also took notice of the fact that this time, Ed did not back away. Perhaps his attempts to break down some of Ed's pointless inhibitions were working? He situated Ed's hands on his waist to make sure that his pants were at the optimum height, and then began wrapping the sash.
It was then that he'd noticed that certain things had swelled. At first, he figured it was the proximity, or even the burn of poison on his tongue, but when he looked back at Ed, and Ed turned away pointedly with a pout that's charm was no doubt unintentional, Ling had to admit it might have been more than that.
Ling turned his head slightly to the side and whispered, "It seems I need a few minutes before we are able to get my pants properly tied."
Ed's mouth set into a mortified, wobbly line. When he noticed Ling looking, he turned to the side so as not to meet his eyes. Ling watched curiously as Ed cowered in place, with something of the look of a trapped rabbit.
Ling smirked quietly, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. It was a breathing exercise he had performed thousands of times, designed to help center the body and mind and relax his qi in the careful art of meditation. Interestingly enough, it was also useful for situations like this one. After a few breaths, he peeked to find Ed still frozen in place, flushed brilliantly all the way from his chest to the tips of his ears. Ed took deep, rather shaky breaths, which he also seemed to be visibly trying to control. He wasn't doing it very well, though. Perhaps some other time, he could show Ed how to do the breathing exercise properly?
When Ling felt Ed's hands actually shaking, he opened his eyes fully. Ed's chin was held up stubbornly, the muscles of his neck tensed. From the corner of his eye, he was looking down to where his hands were holding the front of Ling's pants with some uncertainty, as if weighing whether it was better to keep holding them up or to let them go as get far away. He seemed dangerously close to bolting, and yet he continued to grip Ling's pants as if his life depended on it. It was almost as if he were fighting something within himself.
Something whispered in Ling's mind. Why not? He recalled a discussion he once had with the royal harem about the art of nuance, and how sometimes it was best to cut right to the chase. Since Ed was always so direct, why not the direct approach? He pivoted around to face Ed. The fabric of his pants twisted in Ed's hand, but he didn't let go. "Are you all right, Ed? If we're so pressed for time -" He leaned in to Ed's ear and said in a breathy whisper, "You could help me with this."
****************
"Wh-what?" Ed's voice rose a couple of octaves despite himself. Had he just heard him right? No, there's no way Ling said what he thought he'd heard him say, no fucking way.
"Just give me a few minutes to breathe," Ling said, "I'll be okay." Ed felt hugely relieved. He'd imagined it, right? And it wasn't like he'd never got accidentally hard himself, it was a physiological thing, it wouldn't be fair to blame Ling for this. The prince sucked in a long breath through his nose, somewhere behind Ed's ear. Ed twitched.
Ling lowered his head so that his forehead was nearly touching Ed's shoulder. He continued taking deep breaths in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, his warm breath puffing over Ed's neck. Ed's body was rigid, and his breathing hard and a little unsteady. What the hell was going on, and why didn't anyone warn him about this? Despite his best efforts, he could feel his whole body shaking. He leaned on his right leg a bit to try and stop it from wobbling - stupid thing was making a racket.
At first, Ed tried to go to some happy place where he wasn't in a very compromising position hanging on to an idiot prince's pants while the guy did ninja breathing exercises to banish a boner. This failed to calm his nerves, so he switched to staring angrily at Ling's head on his shoulder. After a few moments, it seemed Ling had felt the daggers Ed was boring into him, and he moved his head to look up at Ed. Ed tried to stop his body from jolting at the brush of Ling's bangs against his collarbone. His body wasn't listening to him at the moment, so it jolted anyway. Shit.
Ling looked up at him, and he was doing another of those mystery squints. Then he said, "Ed, it's not good for you to be so nervous. I can calm your nerves if you'll let me help."
Geez, not the freaking poison thing again. Ed rolled his eyes. "Ling, my leg feels fine. Stop fussing."
Ling said, casually, "You're shaking all over." Ling put his hands to Ed's shoulders and laid him out on the floor again. Ed didn't fight him off, just straight went down with his jaw hanging open, although he had absolutely no idea why. Ling's hands were suddenly undoing Ed's belt buckle again. Ed put a hand on his wrist to stop him, then took it right off again when he realised how much he really was shaking. Ling's pants had fallen around his ankles again. This whole thing was getting surreal.
Ed said, "Ling, I'm not sick. I'm not poisoned." His voice sounded thin. Ling had to know this, had to be fucking with him.
Ling smiled at him, nicely, reassuringly. Then he yanked Ed's pants - boxers and all - down his hips in one, swift tug. He sat down on Ed's thighs, smiled again, and just waited to see what he'd do next.
What Ed had expected to do was to throw him straight off with a twist of his hips and a blow with the automail, pull his pants up, spring away and restart the fight.
He didn't do any of those things. What he did was mostly to lie there, sucking in air too hard, his hand and foot tingling, the automail beating a shaky tattoo against the floorboards. Ed fought monsters, monsters and mad alchemists and men with guns, and he never got nervous. Sometimes he got a little scared, maybe, but it never made him shake, never paralysed his body and brain like this and turned him into a drooling, panicky idiot. So why was he he freaking out in this stupid, dumbass situation, with Ling of all people - skinny, wiry, dorky Ling who he was sure he could take easily, if they went another round. He had no idea what his brain was doing to him, or why.
Ling said, still nicely, "You're scared, Ed. But you shouldn't be. There's no need."
Damn right there was no need. Why was Ling trying to push his buttons like this, the asshole? And he wasn't scared, it was just - Ed groaned. "Ling - I'm not - poisoned. It's just - the naked thing! It's weird! It's making me nervous! That's-" He grit his teeth, mortified. "That's why I was - reacting. I'm not used to..." and then Ed ran out of words. In all honesty, he didn't know how to finish that sentence. I guess I'm not used to getting my ass bit by an unidentified monster spliced together in some lab with unidentified venom, then hiding out in a ruined building that smells like rats died here, and then having a naked foreign idiot take off my pants and sit on me.
Ling interrupted his thoughts. "I have noticed that about your country, actually: that there is shame in the human form. The body is a beautiful thing, Ed. You should take comfort in the fact that you have such striking features compared to others I have met here. The color of your eyes, the shade of your hair, the tone of your skin - not to mention the way your body is so well formed. And the metal limbs are quite unique and interesting. Don't be afraid to share yourself with the rest of the world more often." Ling paused, scratching his chin again. "Or is that the reason you wear such tight pants?"
Ed's mind was racing. What was this kid getting at? And why did he keep going on about the leather pants, what was so freaking interesting about them? Ed tried to come up with some awesome comeback, but found himself stammering wordlessly instead. The things Ling had said, all those details, they were flattering and embarrassing, and Ed just wasn't used to people noticing that stuff. He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or indignant. Ling had said his features were striking. Did that mean he thought Ed was handsome? All of a sudden the truth of the thing struck Ed so hard it knocked the wind right out of his lungs. For a few moments he just sputtered, until he could drag in enough air to to ask, totally incredulous, "Are you - hitting on me?"
"I am most certainly not hitting you! You're injured - I would never beat on a fallen man. That's dishonorable."
"No - not hitting me, hitting on me. It's an expression!"
Ling was doing it again, the whole dubious language-barrier, cultural misunderstanding schtick. Ed supposed that some of the time it had to be real, but he'd seen Ling exploit it to weasel his way out of food bills enough times that he knew it wasn't always the real deal. Ed eyeballed Ling, trying to work it out. Was that the hint of a smirk in those dark eyes of his? It was gone before Ed could really tell. The jerk was pouting, though. He seemed genuinely upset. Maybe he had misunderstood this time.
"Coming on to me! Flirting! Trying to - do - stuff - with me, y'know, stuff?" Ling looked blank. Ed howled, "You know damn well what I mean!"
Then Ling was smiling again. "Ed, I didn't know you felt that way about me. I'm so flattered! I've never actually been with another male before." Wait - what the fuck? By the time he'd processed that he had definitely, definitely heard right that time, Ling was already right up in his face, far too near. He couldn't seem to move. Leaning in, Ling whispered in his ear, "But as we're so close, I'd be willing to try." And on the last word, Ed felt Ling's lips on the skin over his cheekbone, right in front of his ear.
Ed's skin buzzed. The spot where Ling had kissed him was slightly damp, and the air felt colder there now. Fuck, Ling was probably going to go for his mouth now. He could get out of this, it wasn't too late, he had to fix this misunderstanding now before things got any weirder. Ed was sure he squeaked before actual words made it out of his mouth. "I wasn't - I didn't mean -"
He never got to finish his sentence. The next moment, Ling's lips were on his, soft and dry, and the moment after that, Ling's tongue was in his mouth, moving and pushing, filling it up. It felt fucking weird, and the weirdest thing about it was that doing it felt kind of okay. Ed could get out of this if he wanted to. He was stronger, he could be fast, he had his alchemy. His arms flailed uselessly. Then Ling reached out and took hold of Ed's human hand, lacing his fingers into his own and running his thumb over the outer edge of Ed's palm. Ed felt dizzy and weird. The fingers of his left hand tingled; his chest was horribly tight. In this storm of new sensations and ideas, the cool grasp of Ling's hand was somehow weirdly reassuring. It felt solid. Ed's jaw shook briefly, and then he relaxed, his automail arm flopping outwards onto the floor. He swallowed, then squeezed Ling's hand just a little bit.
Ling squeezed back, and then the kiss was over. He let go, pulling away from Ed and sitting up. Ed opened his eyes, and watched, dazed and hazy, as Ling shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the floor.
He leant back over Ed with an evil smile, and grabbed Ed's side, rolling him on top of himself. Ling said quietly, "We should keep your wound out of the dirt."
Ed simply stared into Ling's eyes for a moment, completely overwhelmed. How had they ended up like this? He tried to force his brain into working, to put the pieces together. Ling had been making a fuss over the bite, and then they were fighting, and now ... Ed was half-naked, and Ling was totally naked, and he was sitting on top of Ling, and they were making out. Ed had never made out with anyone before. This was definitely not how he had pictured the first time. For a start, the location wasn't exactly what he would have expected: a ruined apartment with a lingering whiff of dead rat. Also, it was with another guy, he hadn't seen that one coming. And not just some guy, but freaking Ling. Weirdest and most upsetting of all, he didn't even mind any of it that much. Kissing felt kind of good, if not deeply, utterly strange, but still. He looked down at Ling. Ling smiled, and it felt like the hand-squeeze: something to hang onto. Feeling oddly detached from himself, as if he were a just a spectator, watching his own body from somewhere above near the dusty lampshade, Ed leaned down. Very carefully, he placed his lips to Ling's.
Ed breathed in through his nose deeply, and then closed his eyes and reached out with his left hand, running his thumb along Ling's jawline. Ling's lips moved against his own in a soft dance. It felt nice. It felt different. Ed kind of liked it. And then he'd made up his mind: he wanted to do this. He kissed Ling harder, pressing his tongue against Ling's lips and delving deep inside when they parted. He moved his hand from Ling's jaw and started rummaging over Ling's chest, wriggling on top of him. Was he doing this right? Was he going to fail miserably? One of Ling's hipbones crashed right into his, hard enough to hurt. He shifted on top of him, pushed his fingers through Ling's hair. It seemed like a good thing to do, so he kept going, moving his hands roughly back - and then Ling's head jerked back and he yelped into the kiss. Ed thought stupidly for a second, Was that good? then Ling pulled away and grabbed his right wrist. Oh yeah, automail and hair weren't necessarily a good combination.
Ed braced himself for the start of the whining, but then Ling grabbed the back of Ed's neck, pulling him back down. Ed got half an apology out; the rest was swallowed in the kiss.
For the next few minutes, everything got a bit confused.
There was a lot of kissing, increasingly hard and heated. There was a lot of stuff with hands. Ling had shoved Ed's shirt up until it bunched awkwardly under his arms. Ed felt like they were so tangled together now that he was getting mixed up about whose what was whose. The way they were rolling their hips and grinding together disoriented him completely. It felt completely different than jerking off: the sensations seemed to roll through Ed's whole body, through his skin down his spine to his groin and back again. He couldn't breathe right through any of it.
Ling muttered things in his own language, and then refused to translate. Ed felt like he was grinning a lot. This was a strange and scary kind of fun, like jumping off a high rock into water.
Ling made a noise, and his face screwed up. His breathing was ragged now, and his movements jerky. Crap, was Ed hurting him again? Ed paused, trying to work out what he'd done wrong. Ling made a pained noise. Ed said, "What did I -"
And Ling reached out before he could finish, and pulled him back in, grinding hard against him. He grit out, whiny and irritated, "Don't - stop."
No, wait, it was the opposite, wasn't it? Ed was doing this fine, he didn't suck at it after all. Apart from the whole bit where he'd just stopped dead at a crucial moment. He moved in time with Ling, as best he could, and then caught himself craning his neck, trying to watch the way their bodies bucked against each other, with each other ... it was a bit hypnotizing. Then he found himself watching Ling's reactions, fascinated by all of the small noises and the way he kept his eyes shut tight, occasionally pulling back his lip to reveal a sharp tooth.
Then he felt Ling's hand squeeze his shoulder painfully tight. Ling scrunched his face, and made a weird little sobbing noise, and he ground and thrust one last time, hard. Ed's stomach felt suddenly wet, and it made him jump, but it wasn't as gross as he'd thought it'd be. Ling held on tight to Ed for a moment, then suddenly and completely relaxed, flopping in Ed's arms, huffing a breath into his neck. Ed stared avidly. He'd never seen anyone else, um, finish before. Ling's face had gone all weird - well, weirder - and it had been because of him, his body had done that to Ling. It was kind of a head trip.
Ling raised his head and gave Ed a funny sidelong look, and then, while Ed was still trying to work out if he was annoyed about the staring, he felt Ling's fingers reach around and circle his cock. Ed made a small noise in his throat, then looked at Ling's face, and then down at his dick in Ling's hand. He realised he was grinning, and that he probably looked totally stupid, and then - then he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't done this for Ling. Had he done enough stuff? It didn't seem balanced. As soon as Ling started stroking him, his concerns narrowed rapidly - he didn't much care how he looked, and he could deal with the other stuff later - the only thing that mattered was that Ling keep doing that.
Ling was kissing his neck, which was weird - why the neck? - then moving up to his jaw line, which felt sort of nice, and moving his hand in a steady, clever rhythm all the while. He asked, "Tell me, does this feel good?" Fishing for compliments, the devious asshole, of course it felt good. Ed screwed his eyes shut, trying to give himself more room to feel properly. A few more moments of breathing and rhythm and tension, and Ed found himself turned on his side, and Ling's hand working him hard, in a way that felt totally different from the way he did it himself. Ling's mouth was on his nipple - why? was that supposed to be good? - and then, suddenly, it really was good.
That was the end of Ed's attempts at coherent observation. His brain fried itself like an overheated radio, and from then until the final crash there was nothing but a chaos of unidentified input.
The quiet and stillness afterwards was absolute, for a moment, like the edge of sleep. Then he found himself with his forehead leaning on Ling's shoulder, the bridge of his nose pressing uncomfortably against Ling's clavicle. His body felt limp and heavy. His skin tingled vaguely, as if he'd just climbed out of freezing water. He peeled himself off; his sweaty bangs clung to his skin and Ling's. He shoved them back with one hand.
Ling was looking at him, hazy, narrow-eyed and smug. It felt too close. How could a look feel too close after - all that? Then, before Ed could move away, Ling came in and kissed his forehead, a quick, firm peck. Then he pulled away again. Ed looked at him. He was doing that thing where he laughed at you with his eyes, but his mouth stayed shut. Had he planned this thing after all? Had Ed's own brain planned it and not told him? He'd read about this stuff. The unconscious mind was a sneaky little fucker, sneakier than Ling, even. What if -
"Come on," Ling said, "Let's get dressed. As you said, we have places to be."