FMA: Garfiel/Ed & Ling/Ed "A Long Day"
Title: A Long Day
Pairings: Garfiel/Ed & Ling/Ed
A/N: Again, all kageotogi's fault. Number 6 on her list, exactly. Also, concerning Havoc . . . well, considering it's a spoiler, I'm putting that a/n in the fic. ^^;;;
Warnings: Graphic sex, manga spoilers.
Rating: NC-17
A Long Day
Concerning Havoc, paraplegia caused by injury, particularly a piercing injury, is not exactly common, and it's rare that it's complete, a.k.a., everything below the site of the injury is "dead." While impotence is common, it's no anything resembling mandatory, especially in incomplete cases. ^^;;;
“Harder!” Edward Elric panted, canting his hips. “Harder!”
The hand on his cock wasn’t moving as fast as he liked, and the rhythm pumping in and out of him was too weak and jerky, but he couldn’t exactly complain about waking up with a cock up his ass. Much better than waking up to someone’s snores or hell, waking up alone.
“Harder!” Edward urged, arching into the thrusts. The friction was just enough to get him hot. Enough to make him sweat and moan. Enough to make him need. “Harder, Ling, hard-”
That thick, teasing cock vanished from Edward’s ass. A whine building in his throat, Edward turned to complain.
Smack!
“Yipe!” Edward fell off the bed and slammed onto the floor. Dazed, he held up a hand to his bruised cheek and stared accusingly upwards. Garfiel glared back.
“Winry told me you were over that slut!” he huffed. Edward stared uncomprehendingly at him, and Garfiel’s scowl deepened. “You don’t even know, do you? Ugh!”
Sputtering, Edward raised himself up to watch Garfiel flounce across the room, picking up his clothes as he went. Edward couldn’t help but cringe as he watched him. This man made all gay men look bad.
“Look, can you at least tell me what I did?” Edward asked, exasperated, watching Garfiel dress. Not the best topper in the world, Edward admitted to himself, but Garfiel was an excellent bottom. Edward wanted to know what his crime was before he lost that.
Garfiel glared at him again, even as he reached for his make-up. “You called that weird-eyed slut Ling’s name,” he snapped. The large man glanced at the make-up in his hand and trembled. Edward wasn’t sure if he was going to stamp his foot or cry. He thankfully did neither. “You know, some of us didn’t leave the country. Remember that.”
Edward flinched. Ah yes. That would do it.
Edward opened his mouth to apologize, but one look at Garfiel’s trembling bottom lip quieted him. The Fullmetal Alchemist feared very little in the world, but he hated making women and lovers cry. He coughed weakly and slunk back down below the bed.
Garfiel huffed again. “I’m not even going to bother! I’ll just finish up at Winry’s hotel room. I know she wants me in the room.”
Edward flinched again. He waited until the door slammed shut before crawling up from the floor.
“Fuck,” he sighed to himself, staring woefully at his hard cock, “that idiot can ruin things even when he’s not here.”
The light of the clock caught the corner of his eye, and Edward glanced nonchalantly at it-and froze.
“Shit!” he howled. “I’m late!”
Edward slipped in the shower, earning himself a bruise on his lower back to match the one on his face, learned he didn’t have any black shirts clean, lost another five minutes staring disappointedly at his still unused razor, discovered the hard way that maybe he shouldn’t have fucked Garfiel against the door the night before, and didn’t realize until he stepped outside and heard a crack of thunder that he forgot his jacket in his apartment. Since he had yet to even meet Fuhrer Mustang yet, he knew the day was going to get drastically worse.
Muttering expletives under his breath, Edward hurried through the flashflood otherwise called a summer storm. What a dumb way to lose his only steady fuck. Garfiel wasn’t exactly an ideal lover, but it took no effort to get into the man’s pants, and Edward had a lot of tension to burn. Garfiel was also one of the few men that Edward knew that wasn't in the military, and of that group, he was the only gay one.
You could’ve taken Ling’s offer and gone to Xing, a part of Edward’s mind taunted him. You would have gotten plenty of sex then.
Edward’s right eye twitched, a motion that extended to his entire right side when a passing car hit a puddle, splashing him. “Fu~uck,” he grated out.
In the end, the young colonel arrived to work over thirty minutes later, bruised and soaked and twitching. One secretary almost called something to him, took one look at him, and hastily hid behind her desk. Edward snarled at her.
His long legs ate up the ground between the entrance and the Fuhrer’s office (at the rate today was going, he almost expected them to shrink and for his automail to return), and Edward slammed the door open. “Fuh-Oh, fucking hell!”
The pair behind the desk didn’t even seem to notice Edward’s presence, Fuhrer Roy Mustang bouncing up and down on Lieutenant Colonel Havoc’s lap. The pair was moaning and panting, and Edward snarled at the sight of Mustang’s pants tossed carelessly on the side of the desk. He slammed the door shut with all of his strength, uncaring of the cracked frame and the startled looks on the men’s faces, and he threw himself onto the Fuhrer’s couch.
“What?” Edward sniped when they stared wide-eyed at him. “Don’t let me interrupt you two.”
Coughing weakly, Mustang eased himself off Havoc’s cock. Both of them hissed quietly at the separation, and Edward rolled his eyes. He deliberately looked away as they straightened up. To his annoyance, he was too irritated to even be amused by their flustered actions.
“Done yet?” he growled, glaring at the plush couch.
Mustang coughed again beside him, and Edward shifted his glare to the older men. Havoc had his pants on again and had wheeled himself to the other side of the desk. Mustang was adjusting his coat in front of his hard cock and was shifting uncomfortably in his own seat. Edward bared his teeth at Mustang in a parody of a smirk.
“I’m just-” Edward shifted his dark look to Havoc, and he could see the other blond trying not to look at the bruise on his face. “Right.” Havoc cleared his throat. “I’m just going to go have a smoke. See ya later, Boss, Fuhrer.”
Barely waiting until the door was shut behind the older man, Edward turned back to Mustang. Now that the man had received some time to recover, the Fuhrer was sitting tall, amused smirk fastened on his face. Unlike Havoc, he had no trouble blatantly studying Edward’s bruise. “You have a bad morning, so you decided to share?” Mustang guessed, an odd glitter in his eyes.
Edward bared his teeth in a snarl, uncaring that he was supposed to be a colonel now and thus “mature.” It never affected Mustang, so why should it affect him? “Don’t you have an assignment for me or something? Something for me to do?”
That odd glitter intensified. Edward tensed.
Shit.
Fifteen minutes later, Edward simultaneously remembered how much he hated Mustang and realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea to mess with his sex life.
“If you’ll just follow me this way,” Edward droned, pointing at the cafeteria, “is where you can eat between your shifts. Many people prefer to eat out of the-”
Edward really, really despised giving tours to the rookies. He didn’t get no stinking tour.
By lunchtime, Edward was cold, tired, sore, and his clothes had not completely dried yet. That glitter still had yet to fade from Mustang’s eyes, but at least he got the pleasure of Havoc blushing whenever he saw him. No matter how old Havoc got, he still remained nervous about Edward knowing anything about his sex life.
Unfortunately, that thought was still not enough when he realized he would have to walk out in the rain for a good lunch. Edward knew that if he made an offhand comment to Mustang, the older man would just as offhandedly find an excuse to loan Edward his jacket. It would be so incredibly easy, but Edward’s pride was aching enough anyway, so he steeled himself and stalked into the rain.
He found his favorite restaurant closed.
He slipped in a puddle.
He was splashed again by a passing vehicle.
He almost ate a cockroach that was crawling around his spaghetti.
And he was late getting back to work.
Stomping back to Mustang’s office, dripping and his back threatening to cramp, Edward decided that poor secretary would always hide when he walked into the office.
On at least one good note, the glitter in Mustang’s eyes faded when he saw Edward’s bedraggled appearance. “Why haven’t you dried yourself off yet?” he inquired, gesturing at his couch. Grunting, Edward accepted the invitation and collapsed. The back of the couch impacted with his back, and he scowled darkly.
“Master Izumi visited last month,” Edward muttered, closing his eyes. “She decided I used alchemy too much and I shouldn’t use it so casually.” He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know what was coming. “And she knows when you don’t listen to her. Think Colonel Hawkeye.”
The Fuhrer quieted. Even with Hawkeye in East City, everyone knew who held the leash on the Fuhrer.
Edward felt Mustang studying him for a moment longer. “All right,” he said eventually. “Lieutenant Fury is showing the recruits the dorms, so you can help me with paperwork.”
Edward cracked a sullen golden eye. So, the old bait and switch ploy. The Fuhrer pretends to be sympathetic and then … “Fine,” he mumbled, hauling himself back up.
“Stop pouting, Fullmetal.”
…Damn him.
By the time Edward left the office that evening, he was drier and his right hand was reacquainted with writer’s cramp. To his humiliation (and slight gratitude), Mustang’s jacket was slung over his shoulders. The rain had slowed, but the wind had picked up, and hunched in the borrowed jacket, Edward slunk back to his apartment.
On the way back, Edward was splashed for a third time by a passing vehicle. Dumfounded, Edward stood and shivered and watched water drip from Mustang’s jacket. If he felt the inexplicable urge to cry, well, that was his own problem.
“Fuhrer Mustang tells me he will take care of you, and this is the best he can do?”
The burning in Edward’s eyes vanished as he whirled around. “Ling?” he managed.
Sitting casually on a lamp post, dressed almost exactly as he had been when they first met, the young Emperor of Xing disapprovingly studied Edward’s disheveled state. He scowled darkly when he saw the bruise on Edward’s face, and Edward hastily turned away, oddly embarrassed by the bruise . . . or maybe its source. Anyway, he decided Ling didn’t need to know about that.
“You look quite dreadful,” Ling informed him, nimbly leaping down to land beside the blond. He gently grasped Edward’s chin and turned Edward’s face towards him. Edward scowled at him. “If you had accepted my invitation to come to Xing-”
“Speaking of Xing, aren’t you supposed to be ruling the place right now?” Edward snapped, pulling away. He almost stepped into another puddle, and he growled to himself. “Xing’s not exactly a hop, skip, and whatever away from here, you know.”
Ling pouted, and Edward crossed his arms over his chest. His scowl deepened when he pressed Mustang’s wet jacket against himself.
“Everything’s taken care of at the moment,” Ling dismissed, taking another step forward. “In Xing, at least.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was deceptively casual. “Who gave you the bruise? It looks nasty.”
Edward’s already dying pride wouldn’t be able to take it if he admitted it was Garfiel. “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced around, remembering that they were standing outside in the softly falling rain in the middle of Central. There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic at the moment, but it was more than enough for Edward. “You don’t have any place to stay at the moment, do you?” he inquired with a sigh. When Ling enthusiastically shook his head, Edward resignedly hung his own. “C’mon then, you mooch.”
On the way back, Ling attempted a conversation, but each time, Edward only grunted or snarled. Ling never gave up hope, though, comparing Xing and Amestris at this time of year, inquiring about the weather, idly mentioning Edward’s bruise, and occasionally asking about the current Fuhrer. In fact, the only thing that finally shut him up was Garfiel’s drying semen on the front door.
“What?” Edward sniped, hanging Mustang’s jacket up. “Did you think that just because you weren’t here I wasn’t getting any?” Even as he said it, though, he inwardly cursed himself for not cleaning it up. He turned away from Ling’s blank look and walked towards the bedroom. “You know where everything is. Get yourself a clean pair of clothes. I’m getting in the shower.”
Edward didn’t even reach his room before Ling pounced. Edward yelped as he found himself pinned against the living room wall, Ling’s face inches from his own.
“Did your lover do this?” Ling inquired softly, fingers lightly brushing against Edward’s bruised cheek. Edward flinched, more at Ling’s tone than his question, and Ling scowled. “Is this why you stayed in Amestris? Was this better than coming with me to Xing?”
All right, this situation was getting out of control now. Edward placed his hands on Ling’s shoulders, intent on pushing him away. “Ling-” he began warningly.
Ling’s mouth silenced him. It couldn’t be called a kiss, hard and wet and full of teeth. Against his will, Edward found himself moaning. This was the Ling with whom he fell in love. This Ling, all feral eyes and deadly hands. Edward returned the kiss bite for bite, and Ling groaned in the back of his throat.
“Tell me someplace,” Ling rasped against his mouth, “that he has not defiled.”
Moaning, Edward dragged Ling down to the floor.
Edward eventually got his shower. Ling just happened to be there with him.
That night, there was no more talk of Xing, but Edward knew it was coming. Curled up with Ling on the carpet, Edward hoped that Ling could at least wait until morning. After the long day, he just wanted to enjoy the night.
Pairings: Garfiel/Ed & Ling/Ed
A/N: Again, all kageotogi's fault. Number 6 on her list, exactly. Also, concerning Havoc . . . well, considering it's a spoiler, I'm putting that a/n in the fic. ^^;;;
Warnings: Graphic sex, manga spoilers.
Rating: NC-17
A Long Day
Concerning Havoc, paraplegia caused by injury, particularly a piercing injury, is not exactly common, and it's rare that it's complete, a.k.a., everything below the site of the injury is "dead." While impotence is common, it's no anything resembling mandatory, especially in incomplete cases. ^^;;;
“Harder!” Edward Elric panted, canting his hips. “Harder!”
The hand on his cock wasn’t moving as fast as he liked, and the rhythm pumping in and out of him was too weak and jerky, but he couldn’t exactly complain about waking up with a cock up his ass. Much better than waking up to someone’s snores or hell, waking up alone.
“Harder!” Edward urged, arching into the thrusts. The friction was just enough to get him hot. Enough to make him sweat and moan. Enough to make him need. “Harder, Ling, hard-”
That thick, teasing cock vanished from Edward’s ass. A whine building in his throat, Edward turned to complain.
Smack!
“Yipe!” Edward fell off the bed and slammed onto the floor. Dazed, he held up a hand to his bruised cheek and stared accusingly upwards. Garfiel glared back.
“Winry told me you were over that slut!” he huffed. Edward stared uncomprehendingly at him, and Garfiel’s scowl deepened. “You don’t even know, do you? Ugh!”
Sputtering, Edward raised himself up to watch Garfiel flounce across the room, picking up his clothes as he went. Edward couldn’t help but cringe as he watched him. This man made all gay men look bad.
“Look, can you at least tell me what I did?” Edward asked, exasperated, watching Garfiel dress. Not the best topper in the world, Edward admitted to himself, but Garfiel was an excellent bottom. Edward wanted to know what his crime was before he lost that.
Garfiel glared at him again, even as he reached for his make-up. “You called that weird-eyed slut Ling’s name,” he snapped. The large man glanced at the make-up in his hand and trembled. Edward wasn’t sure if he was going to stamp his foot or cry. He thankfully did neither. “You know, some of us didn’t leave the country. Remember that.”
Edward flinched. Ah yes. That would do it.
Edward opened his mouth to apologize, but one look at Garfiel’s trembling bottom lip quieted him. The Fullmetal Alchemist feared very little in the world, but he hated making women and lovers cry. He coughed weakly and slunk back down below the bed.
Garfiel huffed again. “I’m not even going to bother! I’ll just finish up at Winry’s hotel room. I know she wants me in the room.”
Edward flinched again. He waited until the door slammed shut before crawling up from the floor.
“Fuck,” he sighed to himself, staring woefully at his hard cock, “that idiot can ruin things even when he’s not here.”
The light of the clock caught the corner of his eye, and Edward glanced nonchalantly at it-and froze.
“Shit!” he howled. “I’m late!”
Edward slipped in the shower, earning himself a bruise on his lower back to match the one on his face, learned he didn’t have any black shirts clean, lost another five minutes staring disappointedly at his still unused razor, discovered the hard way that maybe he shouldn’t have fucked Garfiel against the door the night before, and didn’t realize until he stepped outside and heard a crack of thunder that he forgot his jacket in his apartment. Since he had yet to even meet Fuhrer Mustang yet, he knew the day was going to get drastically worse.
Muttering expletives under his breath, Edward hurried through the flashflood otherwise called a summer storm. What a dumb way to lose his only steady fuck. Garfiel wasn’t exactly an ideal lover, but it took no effort to get into the man’s pants, and Edward had a lot of tension to burn. Garfiel was also one of the few men that Edward knew that wasn't in the military, and of that group, he was the only gay one.
You could’ve taken Ling’s offer and gone to Xing, a part of Edward’s mind taunted him. You would have gotten plenty of sex then.
Edward’s right eye twitched, a motion that extended to his entire right side when a passing car hit a puddle, splashing him. “Fu~uck,” he grated out.
In the end, the young colonel arrived to work over thirty minutes later, bruised and soaked and twitching. One secretary almost called something to him, took one look at him, and hastily hid behind her desk. Edward snarled at her.
His long legs ate up the ground between the entrance and the Fuhrer’s office (at the rate today was going, he almost expected them to shrink and for his automail to return), and Edward slammed the door open. “Fuh-Oh, fucking hell!”
The pair behind the desk didn’t even seem to notice Edward’s presence, Fuhrer Roy Mustang bouncing up and down on Lieutenant Colonel Havoc’s lap. The pair was moaning and panting, and Edward snarled at the sight of Mustang’s pants tossed carelessly on the side of the desk. He slammed the door shut with all of his strength, uncaring of the cracked frame and the startled looks on the men’s faces, and he threw himself onto the Fuhrer’s couch.
“What?” Edward sniped when they stared wide-eyed at him. “Don’t let me interrupt you two.”
Coughing weakly, Mustang eased himself off Havoc’s cock. Both of them hissed quietly at the separation, and Edward rolled his eyes. He deliberately looked away as they straightened up. To his annoyance, he was too irritated to even be amused by their flustered actions.
“Done yet?” he growled, glaring at the plush couch.
Mustang coughed again beside him, and Edward shifted his glare to the older men. Havoc had his pants on again and had wheeled himself to the other side of the desk. Mustang was adjusting his coat in front of his hard cock and was shifting uncomfortably in his own seat. Edward bared his teeth at Mustang in a parody of a smirk.
“I’m just-” Edward shifted his dark look to Havoc, and he could see the other blond trying not to look at the bruise on his face. “Right.” Havoc cleared his throat. “I’m just going to go have a smoke. See ya later, Boss, Fuhrer.”
Barely waiting until the door was shut behind the older man, Edward turned back to Mustang. Now that the man had received some time to recover, the Fuhrer was sitting tall, amused smirk fastened on his face. Unlike Havoc, he had no trouble blatantly studying Edward’s bruise. “You have a bad morning, so you decided to share?” Mustang guessed, an odd glitter in his eyes.
Edward bared his teeth in a snarl, uncaring that he was supposed to be a colonel now and thus “mature.” It never affected Mustang, so why should it affect him? “Don’t you have an assignment for me or something? Something for me to do?”
That odd glitter intensified. Edward tensed.
Shit.
Fifteen minutes later, Edward simultaneously remembered how much he hated Mustang and realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea to mess with his sex life.
“If you’ll just follow me this way,” Edward droned, pointing at the cafeteria, “is where you can eat between your shifts. Many people prefer to eat out of the-”
Edward really, really despised giving tours to the rookies. He didn’t get no stinking tour.
By lunchtime, Edward was cold, tired, sore, and his clothes had not completely dried yet. That glitter still had yet to fade from Mustang’s eyes, but at least he got the pleasure of Havoc blushing whenever he saw him. No matter how old Havoc got, he still remained nervous about Edward knowing anything about his sex life.
Unfortunately, that thought was still not enough when he realized he would have to walk out in the rain for a good lunch. Edward knew that if he made an offhand comment to Mustang, the older man would just as offhandedly find an excuse to loan Edward his jacket. It would be so incredibly easy, but Edward’s pride was aching enough anyway, so he steeled himself and stalked into the rain.
He found his favorite restaurant closed.
He slipped in a puddle.
He was splashed again by a passing vehicle.
He almost ate a cockroach that was crawling around his spaghetti.
And he was late getting back to work.
Stomping back to Mustang’s office, dripping and his back threatening to cramp, Edward decided that poor secretary would always hide when he walked into the office.
On at least one good note, the glitter in Mustang’s eyes faded when he saw Edward’s bedraggled appearance. “Why haven’t you dried yourself off yet?” he inquired, gesturing at his couch. Grunting, Edward accepted the invitation and collapsed. The back of the couch impacted with his back, and he scowled darkly.
“Master Izumi visited last month,” Edward muttered, closing his eyes. “She decided I used alchemy too much and I shouldn’t use it so casually.” He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know what was coming. “And she knows when you don’t listen to her. Think Colonel Hawkeye.”
The Fuhrer quieted. Even with Hawkeye in East City, everyone knew who held the leash on the Fuhrer.
Edward felt Mustang studying him for a moment longer. “All right,” he said eventually. “Lieutenant Fury is showing the recruits the dorms, so you can help me with paperwork.”
Edward cracked a sullen golden eye. So, the old bait and switch ploy. The Fuhrer pretends to be sympathetic and then … “Fine,” he mumbled, hauling himself back up.
“Stop pouting, Fullmetal.”
…Damn him.
By the time Edward left the office that evening, he was drier and his right hand was reacquainted with writer’s cramp. To his humiliation (and slight gratitude), Mustang’s jacket was slung over his shoulders. The rain had slowed, but the wind had picked up, and hunched in the borrowed jacket, Edward slunk back to his apartment.
On the way back, Edward was splashed for a third time by a passing vehicle. Dumfounded, Edward stood and shivered and watched water drip from Mustang’s jacket. If he felt the inexplicable urge to cry, well, that was his own problem.
“Fuhrer Mustang tells me he will take care of you, and this is the best he can do?”
The burning in Edward’s eyes vanished as he whirled around. “Ling?” he managed.
Sitting casually on a lamp post, dressed almost exactly as he had been when they first met, the young Emperor of Xing disapprovingly studied Edward’s disheveled state. He scowled darkly when he saw the bruise on Edward’s face, and Edward hastily turned away, oddly embarrassed by the bruise . . . or maybe its source. Anyway, he decided Ling didn’t need to know about that.
“You look quite dreadful,” Ling informed him, nimbly leaping down to land beside the blond. He gently grasped Edward’s chin and turned Edward’s face towards him. Edward scowled at him. “If you had accepted my invitation to come to Xing-”
“Speaking of Xing, aren’t you supposed to be ruling the place right now?” Edward snapped, pulling away. He almost stepped into another puddle, and he growled to himself. “Xing’s not exactly a hop, skip, and whatever away from here, you know.”
Ling pouted, and Edward crossed his arms over his chest. His scowl deepened when he pressed Mustang’s wet jacket against himself.
“Everything’s taken care of at the moment,” Ling dismissed, taking another step forward. “In Xing, at least.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was deceptively casual. “Who gave you the bruise? It looks nasty.”
Edward’s already dying pride wouldn’t be able to take it if he admitted it was Garfiel. “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced around, remembering that they were standing outside in the softly falling rain in the middle of Central. There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic at the moment, but it was more than enough for Edward. “You don’t have any place to stay at the moment, do you?” he inquired with a sigh. When Ling enthusiastically shook his head, Edward resignedly hung his own. “C’mon then, you mooch.”
On the way back, Ling attempted a conversation, but each time, Edward only grunted or snarled. Ling never gave up hope, though, comparing Xing and Amestris at this time of year, inquiring about the weather, idly mentioning Edward’s bruise, and occasionally asking about the current Fuhrer. In fact, the only thing that finally shut him up was Garfiel’s drying semen on the front door.
“What?” Edward sniped, hanging Mustang’s jacket up. “Did you think that just because you weren’t here I wasn’t getting any?” Even as he said it, though, he inwardly cursed himself for not cleaning it up. He turned away from Ling’s blank look and walked towards the bedroom. “You know where everything is. Get yourself a clean pair of clothes. I’m getting in the shower.”
Edward didn’t even reach his room before Ling pounced. Edward yelped as he found himself pinned against the living room wall, Ling’s face inches from his own.
“Did your lover do this?” Ling inquired softly, fingers lightly brushing against Edward’s bruised cheek. Edward flinched, more at Ling’s tone than his question, and Ling scowled. “Is this why you stayed in Amestris? Was this better than coming with me to Xing?”
All right, this situation was getting out of control now. Edward placed his hands on Ling’s shoulders, intent on pushing him away. “Ling-” he began warningly.
Ling’s mouth silenced him. It couldn’t be called a kiss, hard and wet and full of teeth. Against his will, Edward found himself moaning. This was the Ling with whom he fell in love. This Ling, all feral eyes and deadly hands. Edward returned the kiss bite for bite, and Ling groaned in the back of his throat.
“Tell me someplace,” Ling rasped against his mouth, “that he has not defiled.”
Moaning, Edward dragged Ling down to the floor.
Edward eventually got his shower. Ling just happened to be there with him.
That night, there was no more talk of Xing, but Edward knew it was coming. Curled up with Ling on the carpet, Edward hoped that Ling could at least wait until morning. After the long day, he just wanted to enjoy the night.