Rating: PG-13 (language)
Characters: Ed, Al
Warnings/Genre: Language, hints of (nonElricest) yaoi, comedy
Summary: I am not your big, burnished butler!
Link to the story on FF.net
The Misuse of Alchemy series
a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.
Because sex is better with an alchemist!
by Masamune Reforged
Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of the characters in it. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.
Warnings: Some adult language, a hint at shounen-ai if you're looking for it, humor
This one's for ZaKai also.
Misuse of Alchemy 3
Misuse of Metallic Siblings
Alphonse Elric let out a deep sigh, a hollow sound like wind blowing through a church bell, and, for a change, felt thankful for his lack of a flesh and blood body. He turned and surveyed the small apartment in Central City that he shared with his brother.
Bookshelves organized, (Ed's) laundry hanging neatly outside to dry, floor sparkling, rug freshly washed, furniture dusted, kitchen floor mopped, dishes done, refrigerator restocked, stew simmering, walls wiped.
Al beamed with tired pride. It had taken all day, but he'd gotten the place looking decent at last. Al had grown sick of living in the "Yeah, yeah. I'll take care of it later" inspired pigpen that their apartment had steadily deteriorated into since they'd moved into it. His brother didn't seem to have a problem with living like a hobo whose idea of a clean space was the least dirty box from the dumpster, Al, on the other hand... Well, honestly, Al thought swine had more standards and sense about cleanliness than Ed did...
Al collapsed onto his little stool like a ton of bricks, or a ton of steel. Either way, the miraculous little stool took it like a champ, letting out only a quiet squeak of protest as Al sat down for the first time in hours. That stool was a trooper. He looked at the couch.
Al eyed the back of the navy blue couch with what would have been an expression bordering on hysterical intensity if his lips could curl. He'd spent almost three full hours alone cleaning that couch. He'd dusted it, scrubbed it, gone to the store and bought more stuff to scrub it with, accidentally ripped a hole in it (a suit of armor with spiked shoulders is a bitch to deal with, both in and out of battle), mended the hole, scrubbed the whole thing again, and the damn thing still looked shabby and dirty somehow.
Freshly muddied boots, damp jackets, food coma produced drool, bloodied red overcoats, unwashed gloves smeared with lab chemicals, soil from every time Fletcher Tringham came over, innumerable spilled beverages, whatever that sticky stuff from the bottle in Ed's dresser was, and a host of crumbs so complete in their variety that the thing could have passed for an Elric's Ark of Junk Food was that 'somehow', Al reckoned.
"Ed..." Al rued with a sigh. Where on earth could he start to educate his older brother not to live like a club-wielding barbari–
Summoned like Satan, the door swung open suddenly, and Ed stomped into the apartment.
"Welcome home, brother!" Al let out a warm greeting.
"Fucking son of a cock-sucking, bitch-cunt whore!" Ed replied, or rambled, more accurately. His mouth and the language it produced were somewhat a mirror image of how he lived, and it was another thing that sent Al into shocked fits. "I swear, one of these goddamn days I'm going to fuck that smug-smiling son of a–"
Ed stopped, finally taking notice of his brother, who was as catatonic as a Catholic school girl after a football player's prom night. "Er... hi, Al." Ed sucked in some breath and, when no response came, muttered, "Er- um... sorry. You know, I wasn't talking about you of course. "
An awkward silence passed between them before Ed sniffed and said, "Hey, something smells good!"
Al replied with, "Beef."
"It's what's for dinner?" Ed asked. "Really smells great."
His brother's compliments cheered him out of his shell a bit, and Al stood up off the stool. "Thanks. It's just a stew though... I didn't know what time you'd be home so—AHH!!!"
"AH!" Ed yelled in startled surprise, stopping two steps into the room. "Wh-what?"
"Your boots!!! Your boots!!!" Al cried miserably, for those two steps were clomped and crusted with thick brown streaks in the outline of Ed's treads. "Take off your boots!"
Seriously, it hadn't rained for two days. Where in the world had Ed managed to find so much mud?!
"Ah, geez, do I have to Al?" Ed protested. "It's just a little bit of dirt. I'll clean it up af–"
"No! No! Just– just, please! Take them off!" Al was caught between rushing for the wash rags and staying put to make sure Ed actually did as he was told. He'd just cleaned!!!
But Ed did comply, bending down and undoing his boots while muttering under his breath, "Seriously... are we living in Xing now?" After he had them off, producing some ripe-smelling socks with holes at the toes, Ed stood and asked, "Okay now?"
"Sorry..." Al apologized in a small voice. "It's just... you always say you'll clean it later and-"
"Ahh, I get it, I get it." Ed waved Al's apology away. "So that's it. Sorry, Al. You know, it's just been sorta hell being back in Central. I've got to deal with training Fletcher almost every day. Havoc keeps hassling me to go out to the bars with him. Mustang is all over my ass at work. There's just been a lot of shit going on, and..."
"I... I know," Al said, feeling guilty now. Everything his brother went through was because of this body of his, and the sacrifice Ed made to keep his younger brother from having to go through the humiliation of being a dog of the military. "I just wish you wouldn't always put it off... is all..."
"Alright then, I'll clean this up right now!" Ed said gleefully, much to Al's surprise.
However, instead of going for the closet with the broom and cleaning supplies, Ed turned around and bent down, checking out the dirt and muck he'd dragged in before saying, "No problem!" He clapped his hands together.
But it was too late. A flash of blue light and a comic book POOF! signaled the simultaneous beginning and end of the transmutation, and as the light vanished, Al was horrified to see that the mess of mud had become a descending mist of dust and tiny flakes of dirt. "There we go!" Ed smiled, indicating the spot on the floor, which, to his merit, was spick and span.
"Now where's the beef?" Ed asked cheerfully, darting into the kitchen just as the small cloud of filth began to settle on Al and everything else in the room.
Al was too furious to speak. Instead, he trudged into the kitchen and watched as Ed hastily ladled a steaming portion of stew into a bowl, depositing several fluid ounces onto the counter.
"Looks great!" Ed praised, lips smacking. Al watched him grab a table spoon, look at it for a second, then change his mind and toss the unused silverware into the sink. His brother then selected a large soup spoon in its place.
Ed raised the bowl and began shoveling piping hot stew down his throat. Brown globs sprinkled his face, little tiny gravy babies drizzling to the floor as the spoon flung them fast and feverishly in the general direction of Ed's mouth. He ate on his feet, in the middle of the kitchen, while the gravy on the counter slid over the edge and down the cabinets. Ed scraped the bottom of his bowl, tossed the spoon into the sink, and then put the bowl to his lips and tilted it to deliver the death blow.
"Phah!" Ed exclaimed wordlessly, then belched. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, patted his chest with one hand, and set the empty bowl down on the counter. "That was great!" he said, then opened the fridge, leaving a mark of who-knew-what on the handle from his gloves. "Uck! You bought milk again? You know I won't drink it. But this looks cool!" He optioned for one of the bottles of fizzy sugar water that Al had earmarked for a special occasion.
"So-oh-duh, huh?" Ed read the label aloud, before tearing open the packing around the six-pack of bottles and letting it float to the kitchen floor. He took out one of the bottles and popped the cap with his automail hand, sending it flying across the room into a corner. Ed took a long chug from the bottle, leaving the rest of them out on the kitchen table. Finally, he kicked the refrigerator door, but was back out into the living room again before it had a chance to not close completely, leaving all the recently purchased groceries to spoil.
Al surveyed the kitchen with a blank face. Iron, you know, doesn't do scowls.
The gravy had cut a line halfway down the face of the drawers below the stove top.
In the other room, Ed burped again, then exclaimed, "This stuff is actually pretty fucking good."
Al closed the refrigerator door and walked out to the living room.
Some of the "pretty fucking good” stuff was already on the rug.
The rest of it continued to bubble inside the container it was trapped in, which was now standing on the bookshelf where Ed was thumbing through a book and talking to himself.
"No, we reviewed that last week..." He set the book down on a shelf other than the one it had come from, then plucked another from the shelf and leafed through it. "Solutions... reactions... no, this should be stuff Russel already taught him..." The book went back into the shelf it had come from, but spine facing out backwards. "Ah!" Ed exclaimed as he grabbed a third book and began to walk to the couch, leaving the bottle of soda forgotten on the shelf.
"You think Fletcher would like if we did fluid transmission and-"
"DON'T YOU DARE!!!"
As far as several towns away, every man, woman and child wondered in astonishment as their pets all suddenly whimpered in fear.
"Um... okay..." Ed, eyebrow raised in impossibly clueless confusion, conceded. "I won't teach him fluid transmissions if you—"
"I MEAN DON'T YOU DARE SIT DOWN ON THE COUCH WITH THAT FILTHY JACKET OF YOURS!!!" Al raged.
"My... my jacket...?" Ed tried to make sense of it all.
"I SPEND ALL DAY CLEANING THIS PLACE AND WITHIN A MINUTE YOU TURN IT INTO–INTO–INTO SHIT!” Al raged with swear words.
"Now, Al..." Ed tried to apologize.
"DO YOU THINK I JUST LIVE TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOU? AM I JUST YOUR BIG, BURNISHED BUTLER?!?!" Al raged with alliteration.
"Hey now, wait a—" Ed tried to protest.
"I AM SICK AND TIRED OF HAVING TO LIVE LIKE A MENTALLY CHALLENGED SEWER ANIMAL!" Al raged with analogies.
"Look! I'm sorry! I just-" Ed tried too late.
"WHY DO I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU LIKE SOME KIND OF LITTLE BABY?!?!" Al raged too long.
In the other room, the gravy completed its trek down the entirety of the stove front and onto the floor.
"...what did you just say?" Ed's silence was broken.
"I said that I'm sick of picking up after you like you're a little kid!" Al's fury was not.
"So I'm a little kid now, am I?" Ed's voice was threateningly calm.
"You certainly act like one often enough!" Al was too angry to care.
"Even when I'm the one working my ass off under Mustang's whip all day?" Ed punched low.
"That doesn't give you the right to dump on me when you get home!" Al countered high.
"I'm not the one all worried about keeping things perfectly tidy!" Ed made it about preferences.
"You're the one who'd contract some kind of disease if things stayed your way!" Al made it about fact.
"I am not! Just look! You've made a mess in the kitchen, got dirt all over the living room, spilled on the rug, left a drink out on the bookshelf!" Al listed. "And you've only been home for two minutes!"
"So what do you want me to do? You want me to clean it up?" Ed opened the door for resolution, but with a piss-poor attitude stemming from a long, tiring day and a poor disposition for losing.
"No, I'll clean it up! I've had enough of your cleaning from when you managed to take the mud from the floor and send it airborne onto every piece of furniture in the room!" Al closed the door, but with an equally piss-poor attitude stemming from a long, tiring day and a poor disposition for winning.
"Alright, fine!" Ed tore off his coat. The battle had ended.
"Just hang up your coat in the closet," Al asked.
"I will!" Ed snorted. He stomped off towards the bedroom, but stopped halfway down the hallway before turning and opening the storage closet door.
Al heard his brother close the storage closet door, then open the one with the cleaning things. For God's sake, didn't Ed even know where the clothes closet was?! Al yelled, "It's the one next to the bathroom!" He heard Ed open what had to be the never-used closet. Then he re-started the nuclear countdown. "I trust you're big enough not to need me to hang it up for you?"
There was silence. Then the sound of the closet door closing.
Ed walked back into the room. He was still holding his jacket.
"Wh—" Al stopped himself mid-speech. His brother's eyes were like smoldering fire, his face like a sinister, demon idol chiseled from hate-stone. This was not good.
"I just have one question," Ed said in a perfectly flat, calm voice. This was definitely not good.
"You know, since I'm an absolute slob who can't even clean the shit out from above his unwashed eyelids long enough to even get a glimpse of his biohazard of a cesspool surroundings..."
This was, most certainly, bad.
"So maybe I just didn't see them, but would you mind telling me..."
This was a parachute without a pull cord. Winter without firewood. Disease without medicine. Hands without thumbs. A car without brakes. Life without air. Chicken wings without hot sauce.
"...how am I supposed to hang my coat up...”
On a scale from good to bad, this was the needle being broken off and shoved directly up Al's asshole.
"...if there aren't any fucking hangers in the fucking closet!!!"
Al was using all of the hangers to dry Ed's laundry out on the small porch...
"I- ... um..."
"So I suppose I'll just hold it all goddamn day and catch the Black Death from it!”
“Or wait..." Ed grinned evilly. "Maybe there is something I can use to hang my coat on after all..."
Al looked around the room, fearful. Was Ed going to put that filthy thing on the couch? Or the rug... Or—he wouldn't!—the kitchen table?!?!
Al was too struck with worry to move fast enough. His brother jumped on him with a feral pounce, grabbing his arm. In an instant, bright blue light filled Al's vision.
And then his arm was a coat hanger.
-end "Misuse of Metallic Siblings"
Misuse of Alchemy 3 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series
Notes: So~~~~ That didn't suck completely or anything.... right? 'hate-stone'... totally made that shit up. I can't believe I used two early 90s cliches about beef in this. Also, is Ed boinking Fletcher? Or is he being boinked by Roy? Maybe it's both? Or maybe it's Havoc? And why am I channeling Bert and Ernie Sesame Street antics in this thing? Way too out of character towards the end. Oh well, I had fun writing it.
I can swear I remember seeing a scene where Al sits down on this little tiny stool, and it made me wonder how he doesn't break half of the furniture he uses. Or did I imagine that?
Feedback keeps me going. Help me by telling me what you liked, didn't like, anything. It really goes a long way to keeping me active.
Posting behind ZaKai! It must be fate!