totally irreverant (neko_yasha001) wrote in fm_alchemist,
totally irreverant


After having a what? four day break from my fics, here’s another one. It’s probably nowhere near up to snuff, because I’m concurrently writing an essay for English class. Do we care? NO.

Title: Pax Oblivium
Rating: PG (for any language and ‘suggestive themes’ *eyeroll*)
Genre: Romance, general
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Spoilers: No.

There is a different kind of peace.

Ed really doesn’t care anymore. Damn his research, damn the military, and damn reality. He needs sleep.

He kicks off his boots and climbs into bed. If Roy wants to fuss at him, the old fart would just have to shove it. He’s really not supposed to sleep during the day (Roy’s orders and Al’s recommendation) but it’s not like he’s gotten any sleep lately. Between one thing and another, he’s very possibly had what? Two hours of sleep in two weeks? No matter what they say about midday napping, he’s of the opinion that he needs one badly.

He flops onto the steel-spring mattress, grimacing at the squeal of protest. For all practical intents and purposes, the automail balances itself out, and he’s nearly gotten used to it. It’s just times like these, when he sinks farther into the mattress than another person of his height and build normally would and when he can’t feel the soft cotton against his hand... it’s just another bitter reminder and he hates it.

With a soft, sulky sigh, he pulls the sheets up over his ears.

Roy Mustang stops short when he sees the cornsilk puff of hair poking above the sheets. “Edward?”

“Mmph. G’way.”

“So it is you.”

“Tol’ you, g’way.”

“What have I told you about sleeping in the middle of the day?”

One irate amber eye peers over the hem of the sheet. “Look, keep in mind that I haven’t slept for about two weeks,” Ed snaps in a moment of lucidity. “And in my opinion, that blows any and all of your orders to hell.”

“A subordinate really isn’t supposed to have an opinion on these things.”

Ed blows him a raspberry and curls into a tighter ball.

Roy sits down on the edge of the mattress, eliciting a soft sigh from the bed. He can see Ed cringe. “Something wrong?”

“Shut up.” Roy notices that Ed declined to finish the rest of his intended thought.


“Just shut up and go away.”

“Now I know you’re tired. You usually hide your snippiness better than this.”

“Go away.”

“That I will not do. The bed’s half mine anyway.”

Ed yanks the sheet over his head, completely hiding himself from view. “No.”

He chuckles. “Poor little Edward.” He leans down to remove his boots, still talking. “So worn out from any number of things...” A pillow hits him in the side of the head. Totally unperturbed, Roy removes his jacket. “Throwing things at me isn’t going to do a lick of good.”

“What if I transmute something sharp and pointy and then throw it at you?” Ed snaps, his voice muffled under the covers.

“You’re terrible at flirting with people.”

“And you aren’t?”

He can see the lump that is Ed curl up and wiggle around. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just tired. Now, please, go away.”

Roy sighs himself and stretches out near the edge of the bed. There’s enough room that the both of them can be comfortable without being squished together or being lonely.

From the deep and even breathing from the Ed-lump, he assumes that the boy is asleep again. He almost regrets it, but realizes that the poor kid really hasn’t had more than two or three hours of sleep in the past few weeks. He can sympathize with the boy – he himself is exhausted by paperwork, the military, and his own research.

He slides in under the covers and turns over onto his side. Reaching out, his fingers brush the yellow silk puff of hair.

Ed murmurs in his sleep and wiggles closer.

“Sweet dreams, I hope,” Roy replies, smiling slightly. He draws the boy close against himself, and Ed snuggles up against him. Holding him tightly, Roy feels himself drowsing off.

There is a different kind of peace: not the kind that exists after war – that is an uneasy, wary peace that eventually wears down into something soft and familiar as a pillow. There is the peace of oblivion, of a sleep without dreams and without memories of what once was and what is. There is only oblivion.

No lacerating, lampooning or griping, please. (and yes, taisa, this will be put up on my lj)
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