The Binary Alchemist (binaryalchemist) wrote in fm_alchemist,
The Binary Alchemist

Fic: "The Man Who Loved Amestris"

Fic: The Man Who Loved Amestris
By binaryalchemist 
Rated: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Romance
Pairing: Roy/Ed, four days before the coup at Central, reference to Ed/Hei
Warnings: Alt!FMA AU
On a snowy Christmas eve in the Colorado Rockies, Edward breaks his silence about the great love of his life when the loneliness becomes more than he can bear..
            His niece’s hand slid into his. “Would it help to talk about her?”
            To her everlasting credit, Tricia’s only response to that bombshell was to nod   sympathetically and squeeze her uncle’s hand tighter. “Him, then.”

Author's Note: This is a companion piece to "The Boy Who Loved Rockets' ("Stille Nacht"). The song "The Vacant Chair" was a traditional song of the Civil War...and as true then as it is now
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            “Uncle Edo…I’m sorry.”

            He didn’t look up from his brandy. “Not your fault, kiddo. You didn’t do anything. I---“ he bit his lip, then shrugged. “Nothing.”

            “I did something, all right.” His seventeen year old niece was as obstinate as her father Alphonse when it came to reading Uncle Edo’s moods. “You know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

            He cut his eyes at her and shook his head. “Yeah…you will, damn it. Still doesn’t mean it’s any of your business.”

            “Hey!” she shot back, nearly nose to nose with him, getting that conk-you-with-a-wrench look on her face that marked her as half-Rockbell. “I was singing and you stomped out on me. That’s pretty damned insulting. Wanna tell me why?”

            Ed glared right back at her. “Kid, if I talked like that to my elders…” Waitaminute…he had talked like that to his elders. Especially his father. He rumpled his hair in frustration. “Ohhkay. I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have walked out when you were playing.”

            “Then, why, Edo? You got a wild hair up your ass about something. You’re the one always getting up my butt about not opening up and trusting people. Maybe you need to listen to yourself for once.”

             Ouch. “Al hears you swearing like that, he’s going to have a heart attack and your mom’s gonna blame me, so cut it out, Kiddo.”

            “Okay. So…you gonna tell me what got up your…posterior?”


 “Thick as thieves, those two,” Winry would observe dryly again and again over the years. Ten years younger than her siblings, Tricia “Teddy” Elric would have felt quite alone if she had not bonded so closely with her uncle, who in turn had been a second father—and later mentor—to the child, fast becoming a woman, bearing the name—and the face--of the beloved mother he had lost so very long ago.

All three of Al’s kids were too damn sharp for their own good—but this one was the worst. She’d be all over him like death on Elvis, bugging him relentlessly until he admitted what was bothering him…and that was the problem. It wasn’t her—it was what she was singing. That and that heart-stopping moment in the lobby of the ski resort when he glimpsed that young man who looked so damn much like…him.  At second glance the resemblance was not so striking. The young man was Hispanic, had a wider face, was thinner and had slightly stooped shoulders, not the proud carriage of an officer in the Amestris State Military. The boy was handsome…but…not the man Edward had hung his heart upon in his youth. Still, Ed’s eyes tended to drift towards the young man—probably a college student on holiday—whenever they passed. The boy never looked back, although in the café he noted the boy’s dark eyes darting towards Teddy’s older sister, a blonde Valkyrie named Winry-Sara, already a promising pediatrician with a practice outside Boston.

Teddy had hooked up with a bunch of older kids from Nashville who were part of a family bluegrass band. A musician herself, she had spent a lot of her time swapping songs and jamming and getting her first lessons from an elderly aunt who played the mandolin. Having learned her first songs on the eight-stringed instrument, she borrowed one from the band and after supper played for her own family. The melody was simple and she sang the old song from the Civil War era in a sweet low alto that sometimes made the hair stand up on the back of Edward’s neck, having heard the same tones murmuring lullabies so very, very long ago on the other side of the Gateway…


We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer.
When a year ago we gathered,
Joy was shining in his  eye,
But a golden cord is severed,
And our hopes in ruin lie


At our fireside, sad and lonely,
Often will the bosom swell
At remembrance of the story
How our noble brother fell;
How he strove to bear our banner
Thro' the thickest of the fight,
And uphold our country's honor,
In the strength of manhood's might.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer.


            That near encounter with someone so close to his lost one—and the poignancy of those lyrics---combined with the dry ache in his heart from endless seasons alone…it was too much. Muttering apologies, Ed all but fled from the room, leaving his niece hurt and his family utterly baffled.

            Now, outside in the snow overlooking the skating pond, his eyes drifted towards a lone figure on the ice. He wasn’t going to approach the young man—not that Edward hadn’t had the odd casual encounter over the years of waiting. Perhaps the boy might have said yes. Perhaps Edward’s bleak December might have been warmed for a little while with a heated tumble before a gas-log blaze in his over priced room-with-a-view. Most times, Ed reckoned, the fantasy was better than the cold reality of acting upon it…and blaming some dark haired stranger for not being the true object of his love and desire—a man who, more than likely, was long dead and lying under green grass, somewhere close to Maes Hughes, if there was any justice in the world.

            “I’m lonely.” The admission startled him, but once it had blundered out of his mouth he felt a little better for it. “That song reminded me…of someone from my past. Someone gone.”

            A small hand slid into his. “Would it help to talk about her?”


            To her everlasting credit, Teddy’s only response to that bombshell was to nod    sympathetically and squeeze her uncle’s hand tighter. “Him, then.”

            After a long while, Edward sighed quietly, not looking at his niece, his gaze lingering on a lone figure with shaggy black hair, his blades cutting graceful figures on the gleaming surface of the frozen lake below. “I waited years for that man—and in the end I only had him for four nights…”


            Red room. Red and gold and stinking with some cheap scent that any desperate teenager would have followed around the block, panting like a cur in heat. The smell of whores. The smell of women who washed their privates with carbolic acid soap in hopes of avoiding whorepox or the drip or the whites or some other souvenir of the wars of King Bradley, given thoughtlessly by the endless lines of soldiers in blue.

            Nobody gave him a second glance, just as the Colonel had told him. Generations of young men had handed The Code down to their younger brothers, later their sons and nephews. Go down a certain street. Turn left in the alley. Knock at the door down from the service entrance. Say “Merry Christmas”—not in honor of the long forgotten prophet of ancient times but in honor of the Mistress of the House, Mrs. Christmas. Sens would pass from hand to hand—that’ll get you a hand job, sonny. Not enough to ball on—no, we don’t take nothin’ in trade—and then up the stairs and to the rooms on the right. The cheap rooms, where the women were overripe and past their shelf life but patient with the young’un’s, more so than the pretty young chippies would be.

            This was one of the better rooms but it still stank of carbolic and perfume and sweat. The smell alone nearly drove him out. The sight of the satin draped bed, the stack of clean towels, basin of steaming water and the sound of approaching footsteps made him stay, heart pounding suddenly as the doorknob creaked under a gloved hand.

            He could hear the sallies of the women up and down the hall:

            “Ohhh, it’s him!”

            “Ain’t he fine!”

            “Evening, Colonel!”

            “Lookin’ for somewhere to stable that stallion of yours?”

            “Sure would love to ride THAT mustang!”

            The man in the hall was laughing, answering their calls with good humor, gallantly thanking them for the compliments to his endurance and manhood, telling them he was ‘engaged for the next few evenings’ but he appreciated the lustful thoughts all the same.

            The laughter stopped the minute Roy Mustang locked the door behind him. Three strides and he caught Edward in a tight embrace, pulling the folds of his black wool coat around them both. He was pale. His was shaking slightly, and he buried his face in his young lover’s hair as they clung together desperately.

            After a very long time he stepped back, shrugged off his coat and smoothed his hair, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Bet you thought I’d never show.”

            “Bet you thought I’d chicken out.”

            A blue jacket fell to the floor, followed by a long coat tail and a short black jacket trimmed in white. “My home is under surveillance. Nobody’s going to think twice about either of us in a brothel.”

            Edward frowned. “Your home away from home, is it?”

            “Best nest of spies in the city. Most of them lost family to the wars. If Bradley came in here, he’d walk out about six inches shorter.”

            “Six inches?”

            “I’ve seen him in the showers.”

            “You’re full of shit, Mustang.”

            “Quite possibly. Now,” the taller man eased sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his arms, “come here. I want you.”

            Edward was puzzled. “You mean…we’re not going to just…? You know. Like on your desk.”

            “Edward, that was fucking. Fucking is about need. This is about wanting. I was rough. I know I hurt you.”

            Ed shrugged, pulling his black tank top over his head and tossing it over the mirror. “I asked for it. Hell, I told you to do it.” He colored a little. “It was…great. I wanna do it some more.”

            “And we will.” Roy’s fingers worked at his braid, freeing his hair, scattering it loosely over his lover’s shoulders. “But this time I want you to take the lead. I want you to do whatever you like, whatever feels good to you. Whatever you feel comfortable doing together. That was about lust, earlier. This is about…something more.”

            “You mean love?”

            The Colonel didn’t answer, but smiled and guided Edward’s fingers to the front of his shirt, while he unfastened the stout leather belt around his lover’s lean waist.

            The Colonel’s ivory skin seemed to glow against the red sheets. He was lying back now, his feet still on the floor, thighs spread wide, Edward kneeling between them, not quite sure what to do with all this heated, pale smoothness or with the swollen manhood, flushed and pulsing against the thicket of fine black curls. “Wha—what do you…I…I mean…how…?”

            Roy’s fingers now swept against his fevered cheeks, his voice very soft, very tender. “What feels good to you…it feels good to me. Don’t be afraid. I just want to feel your hands on me. Please.”

            Edward was rewarded with a soft hiss of pleasure when his fingers lightly flicked the dark nipples. Licking at them produced a velvety purr. Feeling a bit more confident, he let his tongue explore the taut, rippled belly. The man’s skin was clean, enticingly scented with some exotic cologne that smelt of sandalwood and cinders and rare spices. As his mouth trailed downward he found himself face to face with that part of Roy Mustang he had fantasized about for years…and now it scared him. How the hell did that thing fit in me? he wondered, not daring to touch it quite yet. It’s fuckin’ huge! Could split me in half, said one side of his brain. Yeah…but remember how good it felt when he was all the way in—when he kept hitting that one place inside. Never wanted him to stop, it was so goddamned good. Rock hard, the glistening head was so wet it left a trail of salty moisture that tasted….well, it didn’t taste bad. It tasted…different. Tasted like something he wanted more of, so he gently eased back its velvety sheath and lapped a little at the tip, catching the pearly drops and making his lover groan with delight. He curled his hand around it, squeezing gently. “I can feel your heartbeat,” he whispered as he began to stroke, noting how the thighs wrapped around his body were trembling now, the hands restless in his hair.

            His own body felt…empty. He drew back, looked down into his lover’s dark eyes. “Do it again. Like last time.”

            Roy, however had a slightly different idea. A jar of some unguent, greasier than the stuff he’d slicked Ed with last time, was produced. “Trust me,” Roy murmured soothingly as his fingers gently probed and stretched and explored, all the while his tongue swirled and darted in and around his mouth, down to a rosy nipple, across a whitened scar, a shoulder of steel, fingers warm and cold.

            He lay back now, knees raised, arms open as Ed nervously straddled his hips. “Take your time.” His voice was hoarse, as if holding his own hunger in check was placing a huge strain on him. “Ease it in a…no…stop. Relax…yes…this always happens. Give it a moment. The spasm will stop…and then you can take me deeper.” Hands braced on his lover’s arms for balance, Edward began to rock down just a little. Roy reached down, guiding a little, drawing back his foreskin so the thick ridge would glide in a little easier…yesssss….that was it. Both hands slid between their bodies and he parted his lover’s nether cheeks, making gentle thrusting motions until he was fully sheathed inside that incredible heat.

            This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. Fullmetal impaled, back arched, head flung back, thighs wide, cock dripping and lips parted in a silent cry of delight. Rising up a little, then down, then deeper. He was oblivious to everything save the rigid cock that filled him, circling his hips and shivering. 
     “Yesss…ride it…ride it hard…take me…take everything…god, you’re so beautiful, fucking me... so deep inside you...ohhh, Edward..…” Ecstacy stuttering on the lips so accustomed to sarcasm, not tenderness. Unable to stand it any longer, Roy pulled his lover down to his chest, arched and clung, kissing the younger man with a desperation he’d never felt before. I can’t die now. Not after we’ve found this. I can die for my country. That's a soldier's duty, and after Ishball it would seem only fitting to pay with my life to save my country. But now…I want to live. For this…for him. For…us.


            “….did he tell you he loved you?” Teddy wanted to know.

            Edward smiled at the memory. “Not in so many words…but we knew. We both knew. But there wasn’t enough time for us. I kept hoping he’d come back from the war, come back and we’d be together but…” His voice trailed off.

            Teddy slid her arms around her uncle and hugged him tightly. “I’m glad you told me,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “And I promise I’ll never sing that song again.”

            “No. Sing it. But when you do, think of what it really means to me—and to others who lost their loved ones, just because they had the guts to put their lives on the line for their country.”


We shall meet, but we shall miss him
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our evening prayer…







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