Fic: Entregarme, Chapter Two of Three
Title: Entregarme, Chapter Two
Authors: a_big_apple, sky_dark and bob_fish
Characters: Roy/Ed, Al/Riza, ensemble
Rating: NC-17 this chapter
Word count: 4830 this chapter
Summary: Welcome to the Central City Charity Dance-off. Where Roy sees an opportunity to take his relationship with Ed public via a classy tango, Ed sees an exciting new venue for brotherly oneupmanship. Will Ed invent breakdancing several decades too early? Will Roy's back survive the experience? How itchy can Riza's trigger finger possibly get? Join us for an epic tale of determination, sweat and very frilly shirts.
Notes: Set in sky_dark's Better Living Through Alchemy 'verse, which is a few years post-anime #1 and very, very AU on the ending.
Alphonse was never more grateful for his clear win over Ed in the height department as he was when the dance tux arrived. How on Earth did any man make a tailcoat look dignified, and not like an oversized penguin costume? He supposed it would have some dramatic flair on the turns, but somehow it made him look short when he wasn’t, and he wondered what such an outfit would do to Ed. Perhaps his brother would simply refuse to wear one. But what would he wear instead? Certainly not a dress…
“Does it fit?”
Al jumped, and glanced guiltily around the empty locker room. “Riza, this is the men’s side-”
“And my husband is the only man here,” she replied, unflappable, but maybe with a hint of a smile in her voice at Al’s expense. “You’re taking a rather long time getting dressed, and we only have the studio to ourselves for an hour today.”
Alphonse smoothed his lapels self-consciously. “It fits, I think, but doesn’t it make me look a little sho-”
Then he looked up, caught sight of her more clearly than just a familiar shape at the corner of his vision, and his mouth went utterly dry.
“Riza…you look…wow.”
She smiled that rare, pleased smile and gave a sedate turn; the flowing skirt fluttered around her feet, just hinting at its capacity for flare. The fitted sleeves hugged the subtle muscles of her arms, except for the sheer banner of fabric floating down along the length of one arm, and another attached at the opposite wrist. They whirled around her body as she spun again, a little faster, a corkscrew of pale aquamarine. His normally solid and dependable wife seemed unusually ethereal wrapped up in such elegance. There was an understated row of beadwork and sparkle around the high neckline, and the back … the back was entirely open, an expanse of smooth skin, shoulder blades shifting like hidden wings beneath, and a gentle curve of spine leading his eyes downward.
Then Riza turned to face him again, and when he could make himself look up at her face, there was a pleased and knowing sparkle in her eye. “Come along, we need to get started.” And since dancing would mean having Riza closer…well, how could he protest? Alphonse shook his head like a dog to clear it, and offered his arm.
Riza set the needle to its track as they swept by the phonograph, and the opening chords of the piece they’d chosen burst through the quiet studio like fish breaking the surface of a pond. There would be a pianist at the competition, but for the moment it was just Alphonse, Riza and the recording, and she watched him expectantly from the center of the floor until he got his wits back about him and slipped his hand around her back.
They’d been rehearsing in their costume shoes for almost two weeks now, but the clothes were another matter; they weren’t actually heavy or unusual enough to throw off his balance, but he felt dizzy all the same, and Riza felt lighter in his arms, as though they might both float away. They moved together smoothly, strong and practiced in spite of Al’s distraction, or perhaps because of it, and Riza smiled that tiny knowing smile again, as though she could read his mind. He was panting for breath when their track ended, not entirely from exertion. Riza, goddess of a wife that she was, let him kiss her soft and slow for a long moment before she pulled away to start the track again.
“A few times more,” she murmured, drawing him back to their starting position, her hand squeezing his before loosening into proper dance position.
“All right,” he managed, breathless. Take that, Ed. You’re not the only ones with chemistry.
***
Roy always looked forward to this time of the evening. Ed was methodical about gathering up all his various instruments of hygiene when he planned a soak in the tub. Roy would sometimes, on the pretense of holding a conversation, follow him about and then take up residence on the toilet (with lid down) just so he could watch Ed be wet. He was sure if Ed ever found out this was the main reason Roy often trailed him into the bathroom, he'd be evicted.
"So, I've been thinking about our routine," Roy said, as Ed meandered into the bathroom, dropping clean boxers on the sink.
"Uh huh?" said Ed. He leaned over the bath and turned on the faucet, incidentally giving Roy a great view of his rear end as he did so.
Roy took his customary seat, casually folded his arms, leaned back and waited to Ed to proceed with the strip show.
"I was just thinking, the moves that you've rejected from me for being 'too slow' and 'looks too much like you just want to dry hump me' aren't being given a fair shake. I am still for a modified quick-quick-slow routine; because honestly love, your looks are made for dance. But how is anyone going to admire you if they can't see you as you dash madly about the dance floor? This competition is more about technique than strength and endurance."
He shifted impatiently, waiting for Ed to start unbuttoning and unfastening his clothing.
"What does technique have to do with my looks?" said Ed, a guarded tone in his voice. His back to Roy, he flicked open shirt buttons rapidly, then shucked his button-down to the floor.
"Oh, I imagine that your looks lend to the technique. But we're missing the point ..."
And the point at the moment, truly, was the line of Ed's back. The musculature, the way his waist melded into the square of his hip. The way his golden hair hung in a line down his spine as it was still tied in a ponytail. And Roy didn't realize he'd stopped speaking, too caught up in his internal point, the point where Ed was beautiful. He let out a little sigh, which brought him back to where his mind was supposed to be and of course, by now, Ed had half turned to look at him.
"...and that point is," he tried to continue, as if that brief silence wasn't really his mental check list in the things he enjoyed most at an Elric strip show, "we should really make an effort to at least be somewhat traditional. I know you love your innovation, but the judges are going to expect at least some demonstration that the knowledge of the actual tango is there."
Ed turned fully to look at Roy, his attention caught. "Okay," he nodded, "Okay. You may actually have a point. So, what d'you reckon is the minimum amount of actual tango we have to throw in there to butter up the judges?"
"Oh," Roy said with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes trailing from Ed's collarbone, down each curve of muscle of his abs to the flat of his stomach and the barest hint of blond curls below his navel... "I'd think at least, minimally, we should perform the tango at the beginning of your gymnastics demonstration. At the very least."
"A whole tango?" Ed's eyebrows raised. "That doesn't seem very minimal." His hands moved to the fly of his pants, and Roy's eyes followed. "Look, the contest's three days away. I admit you were right about me learning to tango so we can incorporate some moves into our routine, fine, we did that. Why don't we just, you know, add a couple more tango moves to what we've got?"
Even after weeks of practice and a great number of books of the art of ballroom dancing, Ed still saw a routine as a merely collection of 'moves' and 'stances'. Roy was halfway through thinking up a response about dance being more than the sum of its parts when Ed stepped out of his pants and boxers.
This was the part where Roy truly used all his skill at being sexually poker-faced. This was the moment before the moment of glory when all of this, all that was Ed, every inch of his perfect being stood before him as nature intended him; as his mother presented him.
Nothing in Roy's view of existence would ever come close in comparison to his lover naked. It was just fact.
The glory of teaching Ed to tango lay in actually getting Ed to allow Roy to move against him in a place other than their bed. Getting Ed to stretch and flex, that lean and strong line of him molded to Roy's own body. Ed's chest against his chest (more or less, there was a bit of a height issue, but Roy, long accustomed to those conversations, knew better than to raise it) and Ed's body moving with Roy's own body in a sway to rhythmic music. It was hypnotic, even for Edward himself. There had been lessons that had been cut short for the very reason that stood in front of him now. Because Ed was sensual. Despite his protests, despite his mouth, despite everything to the contrary, and no matter how Ed tried to deny and deviate from that fact: there was no escaping it.
Roy was going to have many fond memories of the tango lessons which had gone awry, and the urges that had overcome them both until they had screwed in the back seat of the car, right out in the parking lot in front of the rental space they used for practice. The tango was a force to be reckoned with; and if Roy could get Ed to present that side of himself to the judge, the tango masters of the world would tremble. Edward Elric was above and beyond in everything he set out to do; he was undeniable.
And he was naked within touching distance of Roy's own hand; but Roy knew if he reacted now, if he moved to touch what was so temptingly within his reach, then Ed would figure out why Roy was in the bathroom almost every time he took a bath.
And Roy couldn't have that. So instead he cleared his throat and gave Ed a flat look.
"I don't see that as wholly feasible, since your moves have nothing to do with the actual tango itself," he stated.
Ed gave him a narrow look. "We've been over this; it's too late now. We can tweak a couple of moves in our final rehearsals, but that's all."
They were at an impasse: the same one they'd been at all through their rehearsals, or as Roy liked to think of them, torture sessions.
The bath was full now. Ed bent over to test the water's temperature, his bare ass wiggling in front of Roy's face.
Roy found himself leaning forward slightly, lips puckering a bit, but when Ed straightened back up he jerked back to his original seated position.
"I rather thought that would be your response, just bear in mind when we lose on some technicality - which you know Al will be perfection on - it will be your fault. I'm just saying," and he tilted his head slightly and thought about saying other things.
Things that had to do with where he wanted to put his mouth and his hands, and ultimately, his cock. He crossed his legs hard.
At mention of Al's name, Ed gave Roy a slow, considering look. For a moment it seemed as if he might be chewing it over. Then he just said, "We'll see."
Ed pulled the tie from his hair and then retied it, looped into a high topknot. Silly as it was, Roy always found this look absurdly sexy on Ed. Something about the way it exposed the nape of his neck, and how the odd gold strand would escape the tie to cling damply to the lines of his shoulders ... Roy should never attempt to have serious conversations with Ed when he was naked, it was just too hard to stay on-topic.
Ed stepped into the tub, rolling his shoulders, sitting, and finally leaning back with a sigh.
"Fair enough," Roy managed. Then he spent several moments schooling himself and trying not to be obvious about watching Ed being wet.
"You keep flexing your shoulders. Are they tight? Want me to rub them?" and he hoped that didn't sound too hopeful.
Ed nodded slightly and made a low, affirmative noise. He leaned forward in the tub a bit.
Roy stood slowly, hoping his evident arousal remained unnoticed, and started to unbutton his own shirt.
"It would be easier for me to really give you a good shoulder rub if I got in the tub with you," and Roy shucked his shirt, letting it fall to lie on top of Ed's where it already lay on the floor, and started on his pants. Those too, along with his boxers, soon lay in a heap and he stepped quickly in the tub, getting behind Ed to still keep his excited state secret. He leaned down a moment to put his hands on Ed's shoulders and push him forward a little, before settling into the tub behind him. Without pause, he immediately dug his thumbs into Ed's back, just above his shoulder blades, and began to move them in a circular motion.
"Better?" he whispered, leaning forward to lip at Ed's ear.
Ed just grunted and pushed his shoulders back against Roy's fingers, his head bowed.
The hazard, of course, was that if Roy pulled Ed back against his chest, like he was longing to do, Ed would realize what had prompted this back rub. But then again, maybe Ed would be receptive to that and then Roy could press his rather achy and hot erection against Ed's lower back, and that would be bliss. They could rock a bit then, that would be more bliss. Then they could have a discussion about Ed sitting in his lap.
Roy let go a low sigh and without realizing it, began to tongue and nibble the back of Ed's exposed neck.
Ed tutted softly, but he rolled his head to one side, offering his neck, and Roy heard his breathing begin to deepen.
So, Ed was being receptive. He would chance it then. He put an arm around Ed, slid him back between Roy's legs and leaned into him a bit. He still had his grip on Ed's shoulders, kneading and rubbing, but now he canted his hips forward a bit and pressed his needy cock right along side of Ed's spine just above the small of his back. His mouth grew bolder, he turned his head to get at the side of Ed's neck and he waited to see if Ed was going to grunt and elbow him off, or, hopefully, respond to Roy's invitation.
Ed made a soft, creaky, happy sound in his throat. "This is nice," he muttered. His eyes were closed. Roy felt Ed's butt cheeks flexing a bit, and then Ed pushed back against him.
Well, that answered the question of Ed's level of interest. Relaxed, his mood seemed to be shifting, as it sometimes did, from driven obsession to affection and horniness.
Roy purred happily, let one hand slip off of Ed's shoulder and slide down Ed's chest and stomach with no stopping in sight. He began to rock a little, to press himself against Ed's back and suck a little at the juncture where Ed's neck met Ed's shoulder. His fingers moved over the slightly coarse blond curls in Ed's lap and then down to confirm if Ed himself was taking this to the next step. A small smile when he found Ed was; Roy wrapped his fingers around Ed lightly, the pad of his thumb pressed the foreskin over the head of Ed's cock back and forth slowly.
Ed groaned, and his head flopped onto Roy's shoulder. His eyes were still closed, and he was smiling widely and deliciously now. "Yeah," he muttered, "that's what I'm talking about." Roy didn't point out that in fact, he'd been talking about something else entirely.
Actually, it was probably beneficial at this point not to bring up anything else at all; unless of course it was to expound on Ed's many naked and wet virtues. He let his other hand slide off Ed's shoulder now, follow the trail the first hand had taken but with a detour to the inside of Ed's thigh and then lower to cup his balls. He squirmed his way closer, to be molded to Ed's back and he ground with his hips.
See? Roy Mustang knew the definition of bliss. The next steps would be the most involved: the lube discussion, the lube is water-soluble discussion, the can't we just fuck on the bathroom mat no the tile hurts my knees discussion.
So many variables, and what did they matter when Ed was here and naked and wet and hard? They didn't matter at all.
Ed nosed Roy's jaw line; his breath was hot on Roy's neck. "So," he said, "logistics. The way I see it, we better work them out now before we're too far gone to care and one of us - well, you - ends up getting some kind of sex injury."
Ed was talking. He really did have a lovely, husky voice when he was aroused and Roy thought vaguely he should be paying attention. And well, he was paying attention and his attentions to what he was paying should be enough. Why did Ed feel the need to be verbal when there was all this physical conversation to be had? He just grunted affirmatively, whatever Ed wanted, that was fine with him. He kept his efforts steady and firm.
"Ehm," he managed. There, that was verbal, that should satisfy Ed.
Then Ed turned in his arms and what, why was he moving away from Roy's hands? Ed flipped himself around to face Roy. "Right," he said, poking a metal finger in Roy's chest. "I can see I gotta be the decision maker here. Mustang, you can either stay here and the most you're getting is a blow job, or you can get in the bedroom with me and have whatever you like."
His face was flushed and damp with sweat and steam, and his body was pressed to Roy's, and Roy found it really surprisingly hard to make simple decisions.
He found it hard to breathe, even. He made a few aborted grabs at Ed as his lust soaked brain tried to sort out this decision.
A blow job sounded marvelous, and he could put his legs up over the side of the tub and he'd get to hear all of Ed's noises and watch Ed's butt wiggle ... but then again, he could have that butt wiggling against his lower belly. He groaned in agonizing indecision.
Ed kept watching him, the corner of one blond eyebrow arched up a tad and then Ed made the decision easy. He reached down between Roy's legs and gripped his cock and squeezed and he said: "If it's all the same to you, how about we practice some of the dance moves on the way to the bedroom?"
And Ed got out of the tub and Roy sat there a moment, bereft at his sudden lack of Ed and then slid a little climbing out to follow him. Ed looked him up and down once, gave a rare smirk and held out a hand. When Roy took it Ed pulled him close and turned them toward the bathroom door.
"Quick, quick, slow, wasn't it?" he said with a grin and they took their first step out into the hallway.
Roy vaguely remembered this from their previous tango lessons: for all it looked like the dancers of a good tango were five seconds away from having sex, it could not be comfortably performed with a raging hard-on.
It was just his luck that now - when he finally had a receptive Ed in his arms, humming the rhythm into his ear, ready to follow his lead - he was completely unable to do more than tap out the beat against Ed's waist, while he tried to shuffle them towards the bedroom.
"Something," Ed muttered, trying to wrap his leg around Roy's hip while Roy attempted to guide them through the bedroom door, "there's something about that rhythm. Or maybe it's you, I dunno."
Roy replied by backing Ed into the doorframe and proceeding to hump him. Ed replied by giving a loud snort and a hard push and trying to get Roy back into position to tango. Why Ed suddenly cared about the tango, when just five minutes previous he'd given Roy a 'we'll see' about it, was beyond Roy at the this moment. At this moment, Roy didn't care about the tango and it was annoying that Ed did.
"Let's just get in the bed," Roy growled and tugged at his hands.
"NO, hang on, look this tango mess was your idea anyways, come on quit trying to poke your dick in my navel; quick, quick, slow! We're almost there!" Ed groused.
"This is impossible, look at my cock! Does that look like a willing dance partner to you? Ok maybe that could metaphorically be a yes, but in reality it's not a yes. The reality of this situation is the irony that I get you to care when I care least! Fuck, will I ever figure out how to be in sync with you?"
Then Ed smacked Roy's cock when Roy tried to poke him with it again.
"FUCK, that was uncalled for ..." Roy got out before Ed forcibly yanked him back into position and tried to tango him toward the bed.
Roy's knees hit the back of the bed, and then he was on his back and Ed was on top of him. His cool right hand slipped into Roy's and held it out at an angle, his left hand curled around Roy's shoulder. Ed hooked his leg over Roy's hip, his other leg stretched out straight, pressed against Roy's, and his cock nudged the side of Roy's cock, which, having a short attention span, instantly forgave Ed for the slap. "Quick, quick, slow," Ed muttered again, moving his hips to music which wasn't playing, but which they could somehow both hear.
"Now we turn," Roy muttered and rolled them, putting Ed on his back, keeping their hands in position, their hips pressed together. They moved as one here, but then again, they always did; if only there was some way to work this into their routine. But what did he care for routine right now? Right now he had Edward, beneath him, naked, smelling of soap. Right now that was all that mattered.
He had their hips together, the slide of skin on skin, Ed's cock still sliding into the side of his own at each undulation. He took Ed's mouth, his breathy sounds and swallowed them down. His hands moved to lace fingers, not merely hold hands and Ed opened for him, spread and arched.
It was more than a sane man could bear. When Roy lifted his mouth away so they could both breathe, Ed reminded him again.
"Quick, quick, slow," Ed urged, panting lightly now, his own fingers tightening over Roy's. "I think I finally see the metaphor here," Ed concluded, licking his lips. "So let's get on with it."
Roy nodded, he gave two, quick, hard thrusts and then a slow grind against Ed's hips and then they both groaned.
It was nearly unbearable to pull his hands and hips from Ed's for a moment, to reach for the little bottle on the nightstand, but somehow Roy managed it. Ed gave him a frustrated growl, but quietened immediately when he saw what Roy was doing. One knee pulled up against his chest, Ed lay with his chest heaving and his hair coming out of its knot. Roy thrust and curled one finger inside him, and then two, while his other hand tapped the rhythm out on Ed's thigh, quick-quick-slow, quick-quick-slow.
Roy usually made a point of savoring the anticipation at times like this, but still, when he slid inside of Ed, the relief was so delicious that he almost sobbed out loud.
Ed provided his own accompaniment to the moment, he did sob out loud, his hands slapped Roy's shoulders, his body rustled the sheets on the bed as he writhed. This was a dance, he understood; each move was choreographed, for every action there was a counter-measure.
And here, with Roy, he was good at it, he knew the steps. He reached back now, to brace his hands on the headboard, to use it as leverage to push back against Roy. They both raised their voices as one and the tempo, starting out as quick-quick-slow began to move beyond that; it became innovation, Ed's forte.
Ed's spine began to arch, his head to tip back and grind into the pillow. Roy knew his cues well by now; his next move was to reach down and grip Ed's cock, and at the same time to lean back a little, putting his other hand behind Ed's knee. Ed responded without dropping the beat: he threw his hands out to either side, fisted them in the comforter, and let Roy hear him howl.
Music, a symphonic harmony as old as nature and as primal as evolution itself. The human voice raised in adoration, exhalation and emotion. In these moments of rawness where this act made them one, these sounds were as much agony as ecstasy and Roy could not help but respond.
He raised his voice along with Ed, his control shattering and his movement moving to a frantic pitch, a vibrato of lust; a pitch corresponding with Ed's vocal tremolo. And at the crest, at the crescendo, it carried him over and he leaned hard into Ed, panting harshly as his body shook.
Afterwards, after the requisite few moments of them both being utterly useless, Ed rearranged them, pushing Roy onto his back and crawling onto his chest to lie with his cheek there. Roy's hands found their way into Ed's hair, and he set about playing with it sleepily: he pushed Ed's sweaty bangs back from his face, pulled the tie out of Ed's hair, and began to finger-comb it.
Ed made happy rumbling noises and rubbed his cheek against Roy's pec, and all was absolutely right in the world. Then abruptly, Ed jerked his head up. He looked Roy in the eye, and he was grinning his head off. "I figured it out!" Ed wriggled triumphantly. "I think I just had some kind of post-orgasm brainstorm."
"Figured what out?"
"How we make sure we don't lose to Al and Riza on the technical stuff."
Roy looked up. He'd done it, hadn't he? He'd finally persuaded Ed to abandon his dangerous gymnastic routine for a true Tango. "Oh yes?" said Roy, schooling his face.
"We just have to make sure we're after Al and Riza in the line-up. That's it! We adjust our routine depending on what they do. If they go the traditional route, we can throw in a few more old school moves to cover that base with the judges." Ed grinned at him, apparently waiting for Roy to shower praise on his lateral thinking.
"And just how do we assure that?" Roy asked, settled comfortably under Ed, now running his fingers up and down Ed's back. "As far as I know that is a random assignment." His fingers drummed a little right on the crest of Ed's buttocks. "I think it might just be the luck of the draw. Besides, we can't rehearse new steps on the night of the competition just because you think Al has a leg up on you in technicality. I say it's better we be more tango-like from the start."
"Just use your influence," said Ed. "Aren't you supposed to be a general? Strategize. Manipulate. Plot. I hear you're good at all that stuff." He punctuated his point by flexing his butt cheeks under Roy's hands, and giving him a slightly hazy grin.
Roy gave a sigh, but ran his hands over Ed's butt cheeks anyways. For love of this man he would, of course, do his bidding. Even if he felt a bit dastardly about leaning on a charity dance committee board. Ed thought he was a bastard before they were a couple? No, it was Ed that brought out the true bastard in him.
"All right, all right, if that's what you want," and because he was conceding and going to be a bully for Ed's sake, he thought he should get kisses. And Ed was only too happy to reciprocate.
Onward to Chapter Three!
Authors: a_big_apple, sky_dark and bob_fish
Characters: Roy/Ed, Al/Riza, ensemble
Rating: NC-17 this chapter
Word count: 4830 this chapter
Summary: Welcome to the Central City Charity Dance-off. Where Roy sees an opportunity to take his relationship with Ed public via a classy tango, Ed sees an exciting new venue for brotherly oneupmanship. Will Ed invent breakdancing several decades too early? Will Roy's back survive the experience? How itchy can Riza's trigger finger possibly get? Join us for an epic tale of determination, sweat and very frilly shirts.
Notes: Set in sky_dark's Better Living Through Alchemy 'verse, which is a few years post-anime #1 and very, very AU on the ending.
Alphonse was never more grateful for his clear win over Ed in the height department as he was when the dance tux arrived. How on Earth did any man make a tailcoat look dignified, and not like an oversized penguin costume? He supposed it would have some dramatic flair on the turns, but somehow it made him look short when he wasn’t, and he wondered what such an outfit would do to Ed. Perhaps his brother would simply refuse to wear one. But what would he wear instead? Certainly not a dress…
“Does it fit?”
Al jumped, and glanced guiltily around the empty locker room. “Riza, this is the men’s side-”
“And my husband is the only man here,” she replied, unflappable, but maybe with a hint of a smile in her voice at Al’s expense. “You’re taking a rather long time getting dressed, and we only have the studio to ourselves for an hour today.”
Alphonse smoothed his lapels self-consciously. “It fits, I think, but doesn’t it make me look a little sho-”
Then he looked up, caught sight of her more clearly than just a familiar shape at the corner of his vision, and his mouth went utterly dry.
“Riza…you look…wow.”
She smiled that rare, pleased smile and gave a sedate turn; the flowing skirt fluttered around her feet, just hinting at its capacity for flare. The fitted sleeves hugged the subtle muscles of her arms, except for the sheer banner of fabric floating down along the length of one arm, and another attached at the opposite wrist. They whirled around her body as she spun again, a little faster, a corkscrew of pale aquamarine. His normally solid and dependable wife seemed unusually ethereal wrapped up in such elegance. There was an understated row of beadwork and sparkle around the high neckline, and the back … the back was entirely open, an expanse of smooth skin, shoulder blades shifting like hidden wings beneath, and a gentle curve of spine leading his eyes downward.
Then Riza turned to face him again, and when he could make himself look up at her face, there was a pleased and knowing sparkle in her eye. “Come along, we need to get started.” And since dancing would mean having Riza closer…well, how could he protest? Alphonse shook his head like a dog to clear it, and offered his arm.
Riza set the needle to its track as they swept by the phonograph, and the opening chords of the piece they’d chosen burst through the quiet studio like fish breaking the surface of a pond. There would be a pianist at the competition, but for the moment it was just Alphonse, Riza and the recording, and she watched him expectantly from the center of the floor until he got his wits back about him and slipped his hand around her back.
They’d been rehearsing in their costume shoes for almost two weeks now, but the clothes were another matter; they weren’t actually heavy or unusual enough to throw off his balance, but he felt dizzy all the same, and Riza felt lighter in his arms, as though they might both float away. They moved together smoothly, strong and practiced in spite of Al’s distraction, or perhaps because of it, and Riza smiled that tiny knowing smile again, as though she could read his mind. He was panting for breath when their track ended, not entirely from exertion. Riza, goddess of a wife that she was, let him kiss her soft and slow for a long moment before she pulled away to start the track again.
“A few times more,” she murmured, drawing him back to their starting position, her hand squeezing his before loosening into proper dance position.
“All right,” he managed, breathless. Take that, Ed. You’re not the only ones with chemistry.
***
Roy always looked forward to this time of the evening. Ed was methodical about gathering up all his various instruments of hygiene when he planned a soak in the tub. Roy would sometimes, on the pretense of holding a conversation, follow him about and then take up residence on the toilet (with lid down) just so he could watch Ed be wet. He was sure if Ed ever found out this was the main reason Roy often trailed him into the bathroom, he'd be evicted.
"So, I've been thinking about our routine," Roy said, as Ed meandered into the bathroom, dropping clean boxers on the sink.
"Uh huh?" said Ed. He leaned over the bath and turned on the faucet, incidentally giving Roy a great view of his rear end as he did so.
Roy took his customary seat, casually folded his arms, leaned back and waited to Ed to proceed with the strip show.
"I was just thinking, the moves that you've rejected from me for being 'too slow' and 'looks too much like you just want to dry hump me' aren't being given a fair shake. I am still for a modified quick-quick-slow routine; because honestly love, your looks are made for dance. But how is anyone going to admire you if they can't see you as you dash madly about the dance floor? This competition is more about technique than strength and endurance."
He shifted impatiently, waiting for Ed to start unbuttoning and unfastening his clothing.
"What does technique have to do with my looks?" said Ed, a guarded tone in his voice. His back to Roy, he flicked open shirt buttons rapidly, then shucked his button-down to the floor.
"Oh, I imagine that your looks lend to the technique. But we're missing the point ..."
And the point at the moment, truly, was the line of Ed's back. The musculature, the way his waist melded into the square of his hip. The way his golden hair hung in a line down his spine as it was still tied in a ponytail. And Roy didn't realize he'd stopped speaking, too caught up in his internal point, the point where Ed was beautiful. He let out a little sigh, which brought him back to where his mind was supposed to be and of course, by now, Ed had half turned to look at him.
"...and that point is," he tried to continue, as if that brief silence wasn't really his mental check list in the things he enjoyed most at an Elric strip show, "we should really make an effort to at least be somewhat traditional. I know you love your innovation, but the judges are going to expect at least some demonstration that the knowledge of the actual tango is there."
Ed turned fully to look at Roy, his attention caught. "Okay," he nodded, "Okay. You may actually have a point. So, what d'you reckon is the minimum amount of actual tango we have to throw in there to butter up the judges?"
"Oh," Roy said with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes trailing from Ed's collarbone, down each curve of muscle of his abs to the flat of his stomach and the barest hint of blond curls below his navel... "I'd think at least, minimally, we should perform the tango at the beginning of your gymnastics demonstration. At the very least."
"A whole tango?" Ed's eyebrows raised. "That doesn't seem very minimal." His hands moved to the fly of his pants, and Roy's eyes followed. "Look, the contest's three days away. I admit you were right about me learning to tango so we can incorporate some moves into our routine, fine, we did that. Why don't we just, you know, add a couple more tango moves to what we've got?"
Even after weeks of practice and a great number of books of the art of ballroom dancing, Ed still saw a routine as a merely collection of 'moves' and 'stances'. Roy was halfway through thinking up a response about dance being more than the sum of its parts when Ed stepped out of his pants and boxers.
This was the part where Roy truly used all his skill at being sexually poker-faced. This was the moment before the moment of glory when all of this, all that was Ed, every inch of his perfect being stood before him as nature intended him; as his mother presented him.
Nothing in Roy's view of existence would ever come close in comparison to his lover naked. It was just fact.
The glory of teaching Ed to tango lay in actually getting Ed to allow Roy to move against him in a place other than their bed. Getting Ed to stretch and flex, that lean and strong line of him molded to Roy's own body. Ed's chest against his chest (more or less, there was a bit of a height issue, but Roy, long accustomed to those conversations, knew better than to raise it) and Ed's body moving with Roy's own body in a sway to rhythmic music. It was hypnotic, even for Edward himself. There had been lessons that had been cut short for the very reason that stood in front of him now. Because Ed was sensual. Despite his protests, despite his mouth, despite everything to the contrary, and no matter how Ed tried to deny and deviate from that fact: there was no escaping it.
Roy was going to have many fond memories of the tango lessons which had gone awry, and the urges that had overcome them both until they had screwed in the back seat of the car, right out in the parking lot in front of the rental space they used for practice. The tango was a force to be reckoned with; and if Roy could get Ed to present that side of himself to the judge, the tango masters of the world would tremble. Edward Elric was above and beyond in everything he set out to do; he was undeniable.
And he was naked within touching distance of Roy's own hand; but Roy knew if he reacted now, if he moved to touch what was so temptingly within his reach, then Ed would figure out why Roy was in the bathroom almost every time he took a bath.
And Roy couldn't have that. So instead he cleared his throat and gave Ed a flat look.
"I don't see that as wholly feasible, since your moves have nothing to do with the actual tango itself," he stated.
Ed gave him a narrow look. "We've been over this; it's too late now. We can tweak a couple of moves in our final rehearsals, but that's all."
They were at an impasse: the same one they'd been at all through their rehearsals, or as Roy liked to think of them, torture sessions.
The bath was full now. Ed bent over to test the water's temperature, his bare ass wiggling in front of Roy's face.
Roy found himself leaning forward slightly, lips puckering a bit, but when Ed straightened back up he jerked back to his original seated position.
"I rather thought that would be your response, just bear in mind when we lose on some technicality - which you know Al will be perfection on - it will be your fault. I'm just saying," and he tilted his head slightly and thought about saying other things.
Things that had to do with where he wanted to put his mouth and his hands, and ultimately, his cock. He crossed his legs hard.
At mention of Al's name, Ed gave Roy a slow, considering look. For a moment it seemed as if he might be chewing it over. Then he just said, "We'll see."
Ed pulled the tie from his hair and then retied it, looped into a high topknot. Silly as it was, Roy always found this look absurdly sexy on Ed. Something about the way it exposed the nape of his neck, and how the odd gold strand would escape the tie to cling damply to the lines of his shoulders ... Roy should never attempt to have serious conversations with Ed when he was naked, it was just too hard to stay on-topic.
Ed stepped into the tub, rolling his shoulders, sitting, and finally leaning back with a sigh.
"Fair enough," Roy managed. Then he spent several moments schooling himself and trying not to be obvious about watching Ed being wet.
"You keep flexing your shoulders. Are they tight? Want me to rub them?" and he hoped that didn't sound too hopeful.
Ed nodded slightly and made a low, affirmative noise. He leaned forward in the tub a bit.
Roy stood slowly, hoping his evident arousal remained unnoticed, and started to unbutton his own shirt.
"It would be easier for me to really give you a good shoulder rub if I got in the tub with you," and Roy shucked his shirt, letting it fall to lie on top of Ed's where it already lay on the floor, and started on his pants. Those too, along with his boxers, soon lay in a heap and he stepped quickly in the tub, getting behind Ed to still keep his excited state secret. He leaned down a moment to put his hands on Ed's shoulders and push him forward a little, before settling into the tub behind him. Without pause, he immediately dug his thumbs into Ed's back, just above his shoulder blades, and began to move them in a circular motion.
"Better?" he whispered, leaning forward to lip at Ed's ear.
Ed just grunted and pushed his shoulders back against Roy's fingers, his head bowed.
The hazard, of course, was that if Roy pulled Ed back against his chest, like he was longing to do, Ed would realize what had prompted this back rub. But then again, maybe Ed would be receptive to that and then Roy could press his rather achy and hot erection against Ed's lower back, and that would be bliss. They could rock a bit then, that would be more bliss. Then they could have a discussion about Ed sitting in his lap.
Roy let go a low sigh and without realizing it, began to tongue and nibble the back of Ed's exposed neck.
Ed tutted softly, but he rolled his head to one side, offering his neck, and Roy heard his breathing begin to deepen.
So, Ed was being receptive. He would chance it then. He put an arm around Ed, slid him back between Roy's legs and leaned into him a bit. He still had his grip on Ed's shoulders, kneading and rubbing, but now he canted his hips forward a bit and pressed his needy cock right along side of Ed's spine just above the small of his back. His mouth grew bolder, he turned his head to get at the side of Ed's neck and he waited to see if Ed was going to grunt and elbow him off, or, hopefully, respond to Roy's invitation.
Ed made a soft, creaky, happy sound in his throat. "This is nice," he muttered. His eyes were closed. Roy felt Ed's butt cheeks flexing a bit, and then Ed pushed back against him.
Well, that answered the question of Ed's level of interest. Relaxed, his mood seemed to be shifting, as it sometimes did, from driven obsession to affection and horniness.
Roy purred happily, let one hand slip off of Ed's shoulder and slide down Ed's chest and stomach with no stopping in sight. He began to rock a little, to press himself against Ed's back and suck a little at the juncture where Ed's neck met Ed's shoulder. His fingers moved over the slightly coarse blond curls in Ed's lap and then down to confirm if Ed himself was taking this to the next step. A small smile when he found Ed was; Roy wrapped his fingers around Ed lightly, the pad of his thumb pressed the foreskin over the head of Ed's cock back and forth slowly.
Ed groaned, and his head flopped onto Roy's shoulder. His eyes were still closed, and he was smiling widely and deliciously now. "Yeah," he muttered, "that's what I'm talking about." Roy didn't point out that in fact, he'd been talking about something else entirely.
Actually, it was probably beneficial at this point not to bring up anything else at all; unless of course it was to expound on Ed's many naked and wet virtues. He let his other hand slide off Ed's shoulder now, follow the trail the first hand had taken but with a detour to the inside of Ed's thigh and then lower to cup his balls. He squirmed his way closer, to be molded to Ed's back and he ground with his hips.
See? Roy Mustang knew the definition of bliss. The next steps would be the most involved: the lube discussion, the lube is water-soluble discussion, the can't we just fuck on the bathroom mat no the tile hurts my knees discussion.
So many variables, and what did they matter when Ed was here and naked and wet and hard? They didn't matter at all.
Ed nosed Roy's jaw line; his breath was hot on Roy's neck. "So," he said, "logistics. The way I see it, we better work them out now before we're too far gone to care and one of us - well, you - ends up getting some kind of sex injury."
Ed was talking. He really did have a lovely, husky voice when he was aroused and Roy thought vaguely he should be paying attention. And well, he was paying attention and his attentions to what he was paying should be enough. Why did Ed feel the need to be verbal when there was all this physical conversation to be had? He just grunted affirmatively, whatever Ed wanted, that was fine with him. He kept his efforts steady and firm.
"Ehm," he managed. There, that was verbal, that should satisfy Ed.
Then Ed turned in his arms and what, why was he moving away from Roy's hands? Ed flipped himself around to face Roy. "Right," he said, poking a metal finger in Roy's chest. "I can see I gotta be the decision maker here. Mustang, you can either stay here and the most you're getting is a blow job, or you can get in the bedroom with me and have whatever you like."
His face was flushed and damp with sweat and steam, and his body was pressed to Roy's, and Roy found it really surprisingly hard to make simple decisions.
He found it hard to breathe, even. He made a few aborted grabs at Ed as his lust soaked brain tried to sort out this decision.
A blow job sounded marvelous, and he could put his legs up over the side of the tub and he'd get to hear all of Ed's noises and watch Ed's butt wiggle ... but then again, he could have that butt wiggling against his lower belly. He groaned in agonizing indecision.
Ed kept watching him, the corner of one blond eyebrow arched up a tad and then Ed made the decision easy. He reached down between Roy's legs and gripped his cock and squeezed and he said: "If it's all the same to you, how about we practice some of the dance moves on the way to the bedroom?"
And Ed got out of the tub and Roy sat there a moment, bereft at his sudden lack of Ed and then slid a little climbing out to follow him. Ed looked him up and down once, gave a rare smirk and held out a hand. When Roy took it Ed pulled him close and turned them toward the bathroom door.
"Quick, quick, slow, wasn't it?" he said with a grin and they took their first step out into the hallway.
Roy vaguely remembered this from their previous tango lessons: for all it looked like the dancers of a good tango were five seconds away from having sex, it could not be comfortably performed with a raging hard-on.
It was just his luck that now - when he finally had a receptive Ed in his arms, humming the rhythm into his ear, ready to follow his lead - he was completely unable to do more than tap out the beat against Ed's waist, while he tried to shuffle them towards the bedroom.
"Something," Ed muttered, trying to wrap his leg around Roy's hip while Roy attempted to guide them through the bedroom door, "there's something about that rhythm. Or maybe it's you, I dunno."
Roy replied by backing Ed into the doorframe and proceeding to hump him. Ed replied by giving a loud snort and a hard push and trying to get Roy back into position to tango. Why Ed suddenly cared about the tango, when just five minutes previous he'd given Roy a 'we'll see' about it, was beyond Roy at the this moment. At this moment, Roy didn't care about the tango and it was annoying that Ed did.
"Let's just get in the bed," Roy growled and tugged at his hands.
"NO, hang on, look this tango mess was your idea anyways, come on quit trying to poke your dick in my navel; quick, quick, slow! We're almost there!" Ed groused.
"This is impossible, look at my cock! Does that look like a willing dance partner to you? Ok maybe that could metaphorically be a yes, but in reality it's not a yes. The reality of this situation is the irony that I get you to care when I care least! Fuck, will I ever figure out how to be in sync with you?"
Then Ed smacked Roy's cock when Roy tried to poke him with it again.
"FUCK, that was uncalled for ..." Roy got out before Ed forcibly yanked him back into position and tried to tango him toward the bed.
Roy's knees hit the back of the bed, and then he was on his back and Ed was on top of him. His cool right hand slipped into Roy's and held it out at an angle, his left hand curled around Roy's shoulder. Ed hooked his leg over Roy's hip, his other leg stretched out straight, pressed against Roy's, and his cock nudged the side of Roy's cock, which, having a short attention span, instantly forgave Ed for the slap. "Quick, quick, slow," Ed muttered again, moving his hips to music which wasn't playing, but which they could somehow both hear.
"Now we turn," Roy muttered and rolled them, putting Ed on his back, keeping their hands in position, their hips pressed together. They moved as one here, but then again, they always did; if only there was some way to work this into their routine. But what did he care for routine right now? Right now he had Edward, beneath him, naked, smelling of soap. Right now that was all that mattered.
He had their hips together, the slide of skin on skin, Ed's cock still sliding into the side of his own at each undulation. He took Ed's mouth, his breathy sounds and swallowed them down. His hands moved to lace fingers, not merely hold hands and Ed opened for him, spread and arched.
It was more than a sane man could bear. When Roy lifted his mouth away so they could both breathe, Ed reminded him again.
"Quick, quick, slow," Ed urged, panting lightly now, his own fingers tightening over Roy's. "I think I finally see the metaphor here," Ed concluded, licking his lips. "So let's get on with it."
Roy nodded, he gave two, quick, hard thrusts and then a slow grind against Ed's hips and then they both groaned.
It was nearly unbearable to pull his hands and hips from Ed's for a moment, to reach for the little bottle on the nightstand, but somehow Roy managed it. Ed gave him a frustrated growl, but quietened immediately when he saw what Roy was doing. One knee pulled up against his chest, Ed lay with his chest heaving and his hair coming out of its knot. Roy thrust and curled one finger inside him, and then two, while his other hand tapped the rhythm out on Ed's thigh, quick-quick-slow, quick-quick-slow.
Roy usually made a point of savoring the anticipation at times like this, but still, when he slid inside of Ed, the relief was so delicious that he almost sobbed out loud.
Ed provided his own accompaniment to the moment, he did sob out loud, his hands slapped Roy's shoulders, his body rustled the sheets on the bed as he writhed. This was a dance, he understood; each move was choreographed, for every action there was a counter-measure.
And here, with Roy, he was good at it, he knew the steps. He reached back now, to brace his hands on the headboard, to use it as leverage to push back against Roy. They both raised their voices as one and the tempo, starting out as quick-quick-slow began to move beyond that; it became innovation, Ed's forte.
Ed's spine began to arch, his head to tip back and grind into the pillow. Roy knew his cues well by now; his next move was to reach down and grip Ed's cock, and at the same time to lean back a little, putting his other hand behind Ed's knee. Ed responded without dropping the beat: he threw his hands out to either side, fisted them in the comforter, and let Roy hear him howl.
Music, a symphonic harmony as old as nature and as primal as evolution itself. The human voice raised in adoration, exhalation and emotion. In these moments of rawness where this act made them one, these sounds were as much agony as ecstasy and Roy could not help but respond.
He raised his voice along with Ed, his control shattering and his movement moving to a frantic pitch, a vibrato of lust; a pitch corresponding with Ed's vocal tremolo. And at the crest, at the crescendo, it carried him over and he leaned hard into Ed, panting harshly as his body shook.
Afterwards, after the requisite few moments of them both being utterly useless, Ed rearranged them, pushing Roy onto his back and crawling onto his chest to lie with his cheek there. Roy's hands found their way into Ed's hair, and he set about playing with it sleepily: he pushed Ed's sweaty bangs back from his face, pulled the tie out of Ed's hair, and began to finger-comb it.
Ed made happy rumbling noises and rubbed his cheek against Roy's pec, and all was absolutely right in the world. Then abruptly, Ed jerked his head up. He looked Roy in the eye, and he was grinning his head off. "I figured it out!" Ed wriggled triumphantly. "I think I just had some kind of post-orgasm brainstorm."
"Figured what out?"
"How we make sure we don't lose to Al and Riza on the technical stuff."
Roy looked up. He'd done it, hadn't he? He'd finally persuaded Ed to abandon his dangerous gymnastic routine for a true Tango. "Oh yes?" said Roy, schooling his face.
"We just have to make sure we're after Al and Riza in the line-up. That's it! We adjust our routine depending on what they do. If they go the traditional route, we can throw in a few more old school moves to cover that base with the judges." Ed grinned at him, apparently waiting for Roy to shower praise on his lateral thinking.
"And just how do we assure that?" Roy asked, settled comfortably under Ed, now running his fingers up and down Ed's back. "As far as I know that is a random assignment." His fingers drummed a little right on the crest of Ed's buttocks. "I think it might just be the luck of the draw. Besides, we can't rehearse new steps on the night of the competition just because you think Al has a leg up on you in technicality. I say it's better we be more tango-like from the start."
"Just use your influence," said Ed. "Aren't you supposed to be a general? Strategize. Manipulate. Plot. I hear you're good at all that stuff." He punctuated his point by flexing his butt cheeks under Roy's hands, and giving him a slightly hazy grin.
Roy gave a sigh, but ran his hands over Ed's butt cheeks anyways. For love of this man he would, of course, do his bidding. Even if he felt a bit dastardly about leaning on a charity dance committee board. Ed thought he was a bastard before they were a couple? No, it was Ed that brought out the true bastard in him.
"All right, all right, if that's what you want," and because he was conceding and going to be a bully for Ed's sake, he thought he should get kisses. And Ed was only too happy to reciprocate.
Onward to Chapter Three!