Kale (jadedsilk) wrote in fm_alchemist,

[Title] Pea Soup
[Author] jadedsilk
[Pairing] RoyxEd
[Rating] PG13 for some naughty talk and Ed's mouth
[Warnings] Probably a bit ooc, but it was really fun to write.
[Spoilers] Surprisingly, not really
[Summary] For nicari26.


The sun beat down mercilessly, and the Amestrian military flag whispered limply against the side of the building in the piteous lack of breeze. Edward Elric was sweating so hard that his leather pants had soaked through. Roy noted mildly that it looked a bit like the young man had wet them. The blond bent to pull a thistle, and did so unwisely with a flesh hand. His yowl was what had stopped Roy’s shovel.

“Here Fullmetal, would you like the shorter shovel? It might make things easier.” He taunted.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit dirty old man! If you hadn’t of missed, we wouldn’t be out here!”

“If you hadn’t been so short, it wouldn’t have been a problem!” Roy sniped back, expression unamused yet neutral. His appearance was nearly soulless, and it was the only way he could show disapproval without making more of a scene then them being out here already had. There wasn’t an office window without a face peeping out of it from time to time. He would have to think of a way to get revenge. After all, his plight was not funny, and to top it all off he sunburned easily.

“Ahh! I fucking HATE you!” Ed shrieked bad temperedly, the heat making the already short fuse, even, well…shorter.

Roy ducked, holding up his shovel like a shield and deflecting a weed clod.

“Nh…We’ve already established that Fullmetal, why don’t you try being creative for once, or are you too short?! Hell…I think I’m getting a blister…”

He had already broken a nail.


“Now now Fullmetal, it isn’t fair to blame yourself for this either. After all, it isn’t your fault that shot that would have been chest height on even a moderately small man went cleanly over your head.”

Ed flailed in powerless rage, a ballet that would have probably resulted in physical violence if it wasn’t far too beastly hot to expend the effort, let alone risk touching someone. “THAT IS BECAUSE YOUR AIM SUCKS MUSTANG!” Ed bellowed.

Roy chuckled quietly to himself before stooping, sweat soaked, to pull a weed.
“My aim is just fine, it is you who managed to come all over my chin and the floor and the side of the bed last night.”

It was a killing blow, and Roy knew it, yet he was feeling bad spirited enough to feel a need to take the jab. Edward was so immature…always getting into trouble.

“That is FUCKING IT!” Ed hissed, throwing his shovel down and shrugging out of his coat. Roy got the feeling that if his lover had been wearing sleeves instead of a tanktop underneath, he would have been pushing them up too. He stalked closer to Roy, so close that Roy could feel the body heat roiling between them like the burning slap of sunlight. Ed lowered his voice then, getting strangely quiet. Roy felt a brief moment of apprehension. He really didn’t want a broken nose on top of a massive peeling sunburn. “It is your fault that you had to be juvenile and fling that soup at me and then you hit the Fuhrer and now we are out here on the front lawn for EVERYONE to see and laugh at while we do YARDWORK AS PUNISHMENT!”

“You are my subordinate. It was only necessary that I accompany you in your sentence.”


“Sitting behind you, that’s what.” Roy said, taking his jacket and tossing it into the pile that Ed had unintentionally created. “He apparently turned around too, perhaps when you began shrieking about your height?” Roy was a bit more than disgusted with this situation himself, and he couldn’t keep drollness from his tone. “At least it won’t go on our records, so long as we get this bed done before sundown.” Roy continued.


“Primadonna.” Roy said, flipping Ed a crude hand gesture.


“What is your preoccupation with my asshole?” Roy asked Ed lowly.

Apparently, that was a big mistake.

Roy didn’t even have time to reach for a glove before Edward pinned him in a psychotic sort of dive, slamming him into the dirt so hard it knocked the wind out of him, making him cough and grimace up at Ed, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Get. Off. Me.” Roy hissed as a bead of sweat dripped from Ed’s chin to the hollow of Roy’s throat.

Ed took a deep breath, winding up no doubt for an insult that mercifully, never came. Instead, the sprinkler system kicked on.

Roy reflected, that he had never made a sound like that before in his life, and he hoped to god he never had the occasion to again.

He had landed directly on a sprinkler head, and as it popped up, and soaked the tender skin of his kidneys and his ass with icy water, he couldn’t help the high pitched and piteous wail that ripped its way out of his throat.

Ed himself was doing a strange sort of dance.

Despite it being hot as hell and they were standing on the flat plain of gardening strip just outside of the main offices in the summer high, neither of them appreciated the sudden temperature change.

Roy sprang to his feet as soon as he was free of Ed, and then they just stood there, barely out of the sprinklers reach and glowering at each other, shoulders heaving.

Roy smirked at Ed just before he shoved him backwards into one of the more impressive sprinkler arcs.

The fight was on.


It raged from one end of the flower bed to the other, the combatants going from curses, growls, and half-hearted punches to growls and peals of laughter.

It continued until someone cleared their voice ominously, and Roy and Ed simultaneously froze, glancing up, and up, and up, to observe the stern and unamused figure of the Fuhrer. He was standing over them, and glancing at the churned and muddy wreckage of the flower bed. A large and uprooted poppy fell with a muddy splat from the top of Ed’s head, and Roy glanced with fearful eyes from amid two white rings, which were the only bit of skin color on his face showing through the mud.

This was it. They were both dead.

“Just… go home?!” The Fuhrer pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose before he turned on his heel, stalking away.

Ed glared down at Roy.

“I am so sleeping on the couch, aren’t I?” Roy said sheepishly.

“Fuck yeah.”


Somewhere back at the pump-house, Riza Hawkeye was smiling smugly to herself as she put the sprinklers back on their regular night timer and called Black Hayate to heel.


April challenge for scarlust Hurray!

Title: Rain
Author: jadedsilk
Rating: NC17 just to be safe.
Warnings: Some sexual content, not terribly graphic, just be aware.
Spoilers: Yes.
Summary: This has a very tribal feel to it, I am giving the Ishbalites some older pagan rites and customs...it isn't canon, it's just for some filler. I can say no more without giving away too much. ^_^


Rain in the desert was a rare thing.

One learned not to waste water, and certainly not to waste tears.

She licked them off her lips as they fell, but even then, she was not fast enough to catch all of them. Some of them plummeted to the sand to evaporate, while others never made it there in the first place thanks to the blazing desert sun. Well…she certainly didn’t need them to survive…not like she used to, though she couldn’t help pretending. But then again, wasn’t everything about her an illusion? Were these not as well? A homunculus could not really cry, but didn’t they have a right to?

She watched the escapees fall with a strange disinterest, studying them as they reflected light like diamonds. She caught a few in cupped palms. If she didn’t need water, than surely she didn’t need them to cry. What was the point? And yet here they were, a fluttering sunlight halo tangled in her dark lashes. An ocean in her hands.

The real odd thing about this whole situation? She couldn’t remember why she was crying. But then again, she didn’t know why she was here. Gluttony was back in town. She was alone and she couldn’t remember what had driven her here. But her feet had known the way, and here she was.

She was sitting on this boulder. Something familiar about it. Of course she had never been here before, but…

A breeze kicked up then, violently, tugging at the heavy brown woolen cloak she was wrapped in, pulling at it too insistently to ignore. Pulling so hard that in moments the hood fell from her shoulders, and her sleeves fluttered in a wind that was nearly constant. It dried the tears in her palms then, tears that had failed to scintillate anymore, heralding the loss of the sun.

A rumble, low and echoing made her look up to where a straight line of boiling gray clouds had bubbled up on the seemingly endless desert horizon.


Perhaps she had come here, simply , deep down, part of her was still an Ishbalite, and the Ishbalites knew their world, their desert. Their sun god and their scorpion goddesses. Knew how quickly life could erupt forth from the earth following a rain, scrambling for continuity…and how things died just as quickly, gasping and shuddering.

The desert was a harsh mistress, as unforgiving as fate, and even more volatile.

She tilted her head up to the sky, and as she did so, a fat drop of icy rain fell between her eyes and rolled down her nose, making her blink in surprise. Made her shiver…

She heard the drums of the outer villages begin, the drummers telling of the coming storm…telling of the festivities to come. Of course it was time for the rains. How could she forget? Perhaps she hadn’t, and that was why she was here.

More rain began to fall, pouring from the sky until it was a shivering torrent, until she was completely soaked, her cloak doing her no good. The ground stained in pockmarked patches of dun on gold. She remembered now, why she knew this place. How she had gotten here. As much as the sands shifted, there were areas of the desert that somehow froze in time. And this was one of them.

She closed her eyes, standing from the rock, standing into the cold and the chill. The drums tore into her heart, running through her bloodstream with a heat that was like an injection of acid and she had to stand because her body remembered what she did not.

The steps came naturally, a sway of the hips, a fluttering of her wrists and her limpid hands. A flick of an arm. She tilted her head back into the rain, and she shouted. Shouted his name because in that moment, she was not Lust anymore. She was alive and tingling and human and he was dancing beside her again, next to her. Following her. And she danced. The dance that every Ishbalite woman had ever danced in every festival since time began. Since the rains began. In the time before the moon, when the rains brought birth and death, pleasure and pain.

The water soaked her silken dress, soaked the royal blue of a married woman, and his hands were on her waist…soft, careful, hesitant like the wispy brush of ostrich feathers. He wanted to be with her, and by tribal law, she would not reject him. He was after all, the brother of her husband. She didn’t want to reject him. He and his hungry scarlet eyes, the pressure that she felt against her hip and her thighs as they twined. As they danced the sand churned into mud that tickled and caressed the bottoms of bare feet while the low hum of the drums echoing through taut bodies and the heavy sandstone not an inch beneath the sands.

The beat that mixed with heartbeats, that mixed with the aching breath and the motions of him inside of her. With the pulse of life in the desert. With the heartbeat of the world.

She had leaned back against the rock, holding him as he cried out lowly, trembled with the pleasure of his first coupling, his first release within a woman. Cradling him within her warm body, with her strong arms as he shed his tears, a luxury to be spared now in the rain. And she had wanted to keep him then, in that moment. He had blessed her with his innocence, the blessing of the gods in this. He had cried and they had had coupled again and again, until he had managed to pleasure her as well, as he had learned and sweated and still the rains had not stopped…

The beat had not stopped, the beat of her heart or the drums and she had known then in the call, in the rhythm that she would never be the same. In the sweat and the seed and the sticky mud and sand…and the rise and fall of the sun.

The beat still did not stop, no it had just begun anew and stronger all these years later, as she slid back to now, into this lie, this curse, this husk of two halves of a woman. She would never be the same, and she faltered in her dance, falling to her knees, her head bowing as raven hair covered her face, clung to her porcelain skin. This dance was no longer hers to have. She could not dance now; not even the rain was hers.

Her tears ceased, but she could not move, and she did not until night fell, until a tiny voice stirred her from the nothing she was.

“Lust?! Lust! I’m hungry. Lust?”

“Yes Gluttony, I know…so am I.” She murmured over the rain.


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