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23 March 2004 @ 01:10 am
fic contribution  
...wherein Dana hopes she doesn't step on any toes on her way in. :D

title: wax
by: dana dahchi

thanks to the beautiful arisato for battling my bad tenses and worse mood.
yaoi warning


Lieutenant Ross is nothing short of twisted lip victorious as she hands him the official looking piece of paper with two words capitalized, underlined and scratched out in thick, black marker, "Sleep, Fullmetal" and Ed watches, dismayed, as the steam of his determination floods out from between his shoulder blades with a pronounced 'whoosh'. Two weeks enforced leave, it says, no missions, no haphazard raison d'etre quests to City A or Village B, just 'for god's sake sit still for awhile, Ed.'

"Everyone has to breathe sometime, Edward-san," Ross reasons, breeching that third wall of propriety once again and when it occurs to him that he should be fighting back, he gazes up to the thinly veiled worry pressed behind her eyes and feels something raw and slow stretch itself out in his chest with a sullen oh. He lets go, exhales.

Al, of course, takes the entire thing in stride and as they sit watching the sun seep away behind the city, he places a heavy hand on the crown of Ed's head, a thumb smoothing lightly across his hair until the tense humming and haa-ing peaks Ed's frustration, "What's wrong, Al?"

Sheepish metallic laughter, "Winry's been asking when I'm going to visit again, Brother."

The silent 'alone' lurking beneath the request palms an embedded bit of hurt in the middle of Ed's chest and he's surprised when he puts a name to it, as it's not jealousy like he thought. He should have seen/sensed this before, it whispers. Should have just pushed Al onto a train and said 'go, go be with her' instead of dwelling on all the physical 'hows' and 'whyfors'. Silently, he hands his brother enough money for a ticket, then pulls his face down from the light because god, this was Al he was talking about, idiot idiot moron, 'impossible' didn't even begin to apply.

Twitchy and spiteful on day five, Ed takes to turning up his collar and wandering the chilled streets of the alchemist quarter alone just because he can. Except the occasional murmur of Ross' voice somewhere behind him strikes out any philosophical delusion of being alone and the 'because he can' is null and void as he has purpose.

Which is not (period, exclamation mark) stalking.

This is especially true when he pulls to a stop in front of the pseudo-escher mansion with its familiar address box insignia (aha, found you!) and calls out to the street, "That's Colonel Mustang's house, isn't it?"

Ross' bemused voice echoes up from two alleyways back, "Yes, sir!"

The Colonel is all raised eyebrows and obvious lack of surprise when he finds Ed on the doorstep and it’s enough to make his head go “um” and his stomach to flip-flop wildly. It's not like he was going out of his way to end up here.


Well, actually, he was but denial is easier than the alternative of Deconstructing Edward Elric's Inner Urges.

"How very inevitable of you, Fullmetal. Come in."

Ed abandons his shoes and jacket near the door, because the coat rack is too damn tall and follows Roy into the large, rather bare living space just beyond. The Colonel should, by all that is logical in the world, be less intimidating out of his uniform. But lounging in a heavy leather chair, an arm thrown behind it, Roy's lips curve up to wrinkle at his eyes and the dull, smudged lights make him somehow more threatening.

If they were going to Freudalize and compartmentalize (which Ed does, more than he likes to think on) then Personae A (The Colonel) was the epitome of straight-backed, narrowed eyed military. But at least the rank came with rules, standards which dictated behaviour. Personae B (Roy), on the other hand, well, Roy had a big, echoing house, something sharp in his eyes and fire lingering on his fingertips even when his hands were bare. And therein lay the problem; because here it wasn't the Colonel and Fullmetal, it was Roy and Ed, Ed and Roy. Or maybe some congolmeration with bits and assorted mentalities from all four personalities and yeah, now Ed's starting to think, "crash and burn, run while you still have your eyebrows."

Ed fiddles with the abacus on Roy's desk, counts off 200 g nitrogen, 50 phosphorus, 100 carbon until he realizes Roy is staring at him. Not blinking. Waiting. He pulls the demobilization order from his pocket and lets it flutter to the floor with a quiet "Why?"

Roy shifts in the chair, flicks a thumb at the mirror over Ed's shoulder, "You're a walking, talking answer to your own question, Fullmetal," a rustle of movement and he's on his feet, "And you're no use to anyone like that."

Ed turns, stares at his reflection for a moment and thinks heavy. Dark eyes, limp hair, dull metal, pale-pale empty white. And alright, he looks a little wild eyed, maybe, but not incapable, "We're close, Colonel, you hear me? We can't stop now!"

"Icarus," Roy's hands are on his shoulders then, weighted and warm, and his voice thrums its low, shivering way up the back of Ed's neck, "your wings are melting, but you're so blinded by the sun you can't even smell the wax."

Ed wants to seethe, to confront and demand. Snap, if that's what it takes to make him understand. He can't stop right now, it was too close to surrender's fine edge and this Growing Up (But Don't Really) thing they've been impressing on him is starting to feel too much like fading away, "I can't. Just. Don't you get it?"

Roy shrugs at the mirror, at the doppelganger, then paces humming over to the record player settled along the far wall. It's a clunkier, older model than the ones currently sweeping the market, but Ed isn't really surprised. Looking around the room he sees that Roy obviously has a taste for the classics; books, plinking clocks and tapered, wooden ceilings cut high by heavy buttresses. He watches Roy pull a polished black record from its slip and needle it onto the player where it creaks momentarily with static before settling into a sultry, swaying jazz. It's a little more piano than what he's used to, with a languid male baritone singin' bout the beatin' of his heart and filling out the bass line; hum hum hum thump, trembling the walls and vibrating the floorboards. The song dates Roy and Ed is just about to tell him so when Roy turns slowly and everything grinds, grinds, halts. Suspends.

And Roy is looking at him, bright, unwavering.


Ed hears the shock fall from his lips but he doesn't look away, finds that he can't. Roy closes the distance between them, coming up until they meet toe to toe, sways along the floor to the beat unconscious/silent. The smile is the same though, and Ed swallows the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it just to see if it's real or something that will shatter if he pokes it, "Do you know how to dance, Fullmetal?"

"No." It's not his voice, or hasn't been his voice in more years than he can count.

Roy's arm comes up around Ed's waist, fingers ghosting against ribs, pulling close the remaining distance and suddenly they are rocking, back and forth, smooth with the steady rhythm of the bass, "You have two weeks to learn."

Ed thinks this (right here, right now) is the critical point of no return. That he's standing on the threshold of more than one room simultaneously, unable to make sense of, well. Of anything. Everything. But he can feel his body wanting to imitate Roy's motion, the sway of his hips, the shift of his feet. And there are lines being breached here, but they're Ed and Roy. Not Colonel Mustang and Fullmetal.

Or so Ed keeps telling himself.

"That's an order," Roy states under frantic violin, then eases Ed's arm up to rest along his shoulder and watches himself, slowly, as his palm smooths back down over warm skin and fabric, their foreheads and gazes clashing in a fury of high octave piano. Ed expects it to be awkward with his automail leg, but it's simpler to allow Roy lead, the arm tight around him correcting without missing a step. And they are lost, completely, everything shifting kaleidoscope into 4/4 time. Percussion and c sharps. The tension clinging onto Ed's spine seems to drain gently out his toes and he lets the warmth and music roll over him, laughs weakly when he pictures Roy, stiff but oddly graceful, spinning around this room with an invisible partner every night. The beat picks up, and so do they, Ed sliding a knee between Roy's slightly parted thighs (feels right, natural?) and watches, rather breathlessly, as the other man's head falls back with a choked ah.

"Music is about just being, Fullmetal," Roy tells him, his voice low and rough and curling coy along Ed's cheek. The record crackles and spits to an end before resetting itself on a melodic violin solo and they stop moving. Hold on. For a heartbeat, there's no hovering promises or Stones, pretty painted facades or missions to City X and Y.

Ed nods (Roy's mouth is very, very close and he still wants to touch it so he pushes up on his toes), breathes deeply and just is.



This is extremely wordy even for me. And I fear lurking OOC-ness. It was a lot harder than I first thought it would be, switching from the relative concrete realism of rps to fps. I'm still trying to get my head around the characters. XD XD XD uh, viva la random fluff?

And! A random question for future reference: how high does Ed's rank as a State Alchemist go? It's easier to understand in the military context, with the ranks and whatnot, but where do technically non-military people like Ed fit in? What makes him higher than Ross but lower than Roy? /dumb question numero uno

pretty much the nostalgia chick: evil laughtervikki on March 22nd, 2004 11:24 pm (UTC)
I liked how vague everything was in this fic, how it felt like I was dropped into something I don't quite understand. And the description of Roy in his home. >D Yes, bare and classical. hehehe.

to answer your question, Edward's rank as a State Alchemist is the equivalent of 'Major', so everyone below that rank will show him the according respect. How, exactly, this fits into the military as priviledges per se is something that isn't quite explored.

look! naked belgians!: icarusdahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:17 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much. :D And I definitely picture a Roy with steepled fingers sitting up in his big chair, in his big dark house with classical music playing at high volumes. Then again, I also wouldn't be surprised if the inverse was true and the holier than thou attitude was just a facade and his house is filled with pink, puppies and Abba. Look at the Fuhrer's pyjamas. XD

re "major": ah, alright, that makes sense! The relationship of Ed to the military still seems a little grey to me still, as if he's in but not really IN. Like, is able to be promoted, for example? Roy is obviously able to advance but it seems like he's more military and the National Alchemist bit remains on the side. >D

ah, sorry, it seems like I'm cross-examining you!
bipolarbunny on March 22nd, 2004 11:40 pm (UTC)

as always, your fic is gorgeous, and i love you for writing FMA fiction. ^.^

you're my hero, please write more roy/ed :D <3
look! naked belgians!: mushu yodahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:01 pm (UTC)
AH! HI!! A familiar face~~~! :D :D :D How are you, darling?


and I will probably write more, yup, as soon as I can actually think of an idea. The problem (which isn't REALLY a problem at all) is that they give me all the angst I could possibly want IN the show so when I sit down to write it's like "well, that's great, what now?"
Sugsugahlei on March 23rd, 2004 05:07 am (UTC)
mm. not wordy. mmm. i'm barely awake, mind you, so i'm incoherent, but yeah. i like this too much anyway..

*gives what-happens-next a thought...*

*wipes nose*

ah. i go off now.
look! naked belgians!: we pay the pricedahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:22 pm (UTC)
ahaha <3 just like me when I came to read the comments this morning; "must think of coherent...reply to....feedback....ahgfsdjgh" Thank you very much for replying even in your barely awake state!

what-happens-next: I will leave that up to your own mind. Maybe they just sit around sipping tea and discussing AC DC records. Probably not what I would wrote had I kept going but hey. :D
scimitarsmile on March 23rd, 2004 06:35 am (UTC)
Sometimes present tense doesn't work in a story...but here, it does, because it lends an immediacy that makes up for the almost stream-of-conciousness element to the storytelling. As though Edward is more in his head than in his body, in a way. Very impressionistic, and the details about music, Roy's gestures, the quick snapshots of the surroundings, really fit and work perfectly.

And btw, a National Alchemist's rank is automatically equal with that of Major, if I recall the manga properly. I believe that makes Edward on a level with Armstrong, and a step above Ross and...drat, Ross' partner, what's his name...Gyah, only just woke up. Heh. But what a great story to wake up to!
look! naked belgians!: icarusdahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:43 pm (UTC)
Uh, yes. *winces* The present tense just sort of happened. It started out that way and kept going and going until I had an entire fic and a beta who wanted to shoot me dead. And then upon editting *I* wanted to shoot myself dead. Unfortunately the "head writing" is my style of choice though, so it's an interesting challenge. I'm glad you enjoyed it! :D

Re "major": Thank you! Sat here the other day as I was watching and just wondered where he FIT in relation (have only seen the later manga -_-). Though, in reference to Armstrong, he seems more of a Military Alchemist (as in the priority of being soldier first and alchemist second), while Ed is a scientist or alchemist first and a "dog of the military" second. If that's the case, is it even possible for Ed to get a promotion at any time seeing as he's more "civilian military"? Or do you think it was just the case that they tried to get Ed into the uniform and he was like "NO!!! *flails*! I'm the main character and I get cool clothes!" or possibly more likely, just didn't have anything small enough? XD XD
brosef stalin, leader of the broletariat.: flattery will get you EVERYWHEREarisato on March 23rd, 2004 08:08 am (UTC)
*smug* I told you it was fantastic. But no, you had to go and develop a neurosis on me. Anyway, I'm just going to have to repeat myself--this is a great fic, and dammit woman, you can write.
look! naked belgians!: howehdahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:03 pm (UTC)
I don't think that got through to my head yet, would you like to repeat it again. :P it's not fantastic, it's...uh...bare-able? In either case, I wasn't sure how my uber odd style would go over. Have you read the rewritten revised version?
brosef stalin, leader of the broletariat.arisato on March 23rd, 2004 12:12 pm (UTC)
Yes, I have. And I still think it's amazing, you old coot.
look! naked belgians!: the cock masterdahchi on March 23rd, 2004 12:45 pm (UTC)
I'm not old....*is almost 21* wait.

brosef stalin, leader of the broletariat.arisato on March 23rd, 2004 01:08 pm (UTC)
... Well, if you don't expect to live past 42, then YEAH...

Need somebody to mash your peas up for you, granny?
[ non sequitur ]: Hughes. ;_; <3 Industria!pureblackrose on March 23rd, 2004 07:23 pm (UTC)
*Blinks* My god, you lovely woman, do you do everything? XD *Recognizes you from manymanymany other fandoms, as well as being a regular pr0ner with Mareh* :p

I loved this, I really did. And I love your writing style, which is sort of broken and choppy but in a fitting, good way, because it flows at the same time. [Heheh, coherent, I am! XD See what you do to me?] Anyway, I hope you do more FMA fic [not only because I'm terribly, rabidly obsessed with this series at the moment!], but because I'd loff to see what you do with the characters.



*Always encourages teh Roy x Ed pr0n* XD

look! naked belgians!: u cannae nat luv the uwandahchi on March 23rd, 2004 08:47 pm (UTC)
*recognizes you from Merry's journal and your fantastic choice in...everything!* Hi! ~<3 :D And um, no, I don't do everything. I like to try a bit of everything, just to see if I can, but I usually end up being sort of being mediocre at some things and rather craptastical at others. This fits into the latter, actually. I didn't know there was a difference between fps and rps until I tried to write fps again. HARD.

I'm so glad you liked it, thank you oh so very much! The style I have is fun to do and different but sometimes it's hard to get by that it's a STYLE and I do know how to write it's just a stylistic choice wahhhh~~! But yes. Am also rabidly obsessed with the series right now so hopefully there will be other plot bunnies on the horizon. Ed fun to play with, oh yes.

*licks Hughes icon*

*scurries away*
wanderingwidget on November 16th, 2004 01:40 pm (UTC)
pets the pretty and ja~z!
maudite_a_deux on December 5th, 2006 06:39 pm (UTC)
This is beautiful. Perhaps wordy for you, but just exactly the right number of words nonetheless. Mmmmmmmmm.
Bearer of Overwhelming Charismasbanchs on January 6th, 2007 02:04 am (UTC)
Holy crap...fantastic!!! Wonderful fic - descriptive writing perfect. You rock!
priestess_grrrlpriestess_grrrl on January 6th, 2007 02:08 am (UTC)
just found this and I really love it. How cute, Roy and Edo dancing. I write jazzafficionado!Roy, too, funny enough...! ^_^