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The office of Colonel Roy Mustang was, as usual, a battlefield of paperwork. Stacks of files threatened to create a new skyline on his desk, and the air was thick with the scent of old coffee and ink. A certain gold-haired alchemist stomped in, ready to deliver his latest mission report and perhaps start a verbal spar or two. It was practically part of his job description at this point.
"Colonel, I've got the—"
He stopped short. The chair behind the mountain of documents was occupied, but its occupant was slumped forward, head resting on his folded arms, face buried in the crook of his elbow. Roy Mustang was asleep.
A familiar wave of irritation washed over Ed. Of all the lazy, good-for-nothing… He was about to slam the report down on the desk to wake the man with a jolt, but something made him pause. The usual sharp, smug lines of Roy’s face were softened by sleep. The perpetual smirk was gone, replaced by a gentle, almost vulnerable parting of his lips. His dark bangs, usually perfectly styled, were slightly mussed, falling across his forehead. He looked… tired. Deeply, bone-weary tired. The stress of his position, the weight of his ambitions, was etched onto his features in a way Ed rarely saw when he was awake and performing for the world.
An unexpected pang of something other than annoyance flickered in Ed’s chest. He found himself just… watching. He admired the long, dark lashes fanned out against his skin and the relaxed slope of his jaw. Without really thinking, Ed reached out with his automail hand, the cool, smooth metal a stark contrast to what he was about to do. He gently traced the line of Roy’s jaw, then let his finger hover just above the Colonel’s lips. He fully expected the man to jolt awake, to catch him in this uncharacteristically tender moment.
But Roy didn't wake. He just let out a soft, contented sigh and mumbled something unintelligible into his sleeve. "Mmm… s'warm…"
Ed’s breath hitched. He snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned, his heart hammering against his ribs. He glanced around the office, his ears straining. The main office area was quiet. It was lunchtime; most of the staff had already left. He could hear faint sounds from the hallway, but no one was immediately nearby. He looked back at Roy, who was still dead to the world.
A dangerous, thrilling thought bloomed in Ed’s mind, born of a long-buried attraction he refused to acknowledge in the light of day.
He’s asleep. No one will ever know.
The idea was insane. It was a line he shouldn’t cross. But the image of Roy’s peaceful face, the memory of that soft sigh, was too potent.
Taking a shaky breath, Ed leaned in closer, the scent of Roy’s cologne and clean soap filling his senses. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pressed his lips against the Colonel’s.
He intended it to be a quick, chaste peck. A stolen moment, a foolish impulse.
But Roy’s lips, even in sleep, were surprisingly responsive. The moment they made contact, they softened and parted slightly. Ed felt a gentle pressure return his kiss, and then, impossibly, Roy’s head tilted, deepening the contact. A soft, warm tongue traced Ed’s bottom lip, and a low hum vibrated from Roy’s throat. It was a practiced, confident motion, utterly unfair for a man who was supposedly unconscious.
A soft moan escaped Ed’s own lips as Roy’s sleepy kiss became more insistent, more consuming. It was slow and deep, a languid exploration that sent shivers down Ed’s spine and made his knees feel weak. He clutched the edge of the desk for support, his mind going blissfully blank. The world narrowed to the feeling of Roy’s mouth on his, the taste of him, the impossible heat of the moment.
Just when Ed thought he might actually melt into a puddle on the floor, his lungs began to burn. He pulled back with a gasp, breaking the kiss and stumbling back a step. He was panting, his face on fire, his lips tingling. He stared at Roy, half-expecting him to finally wake up with a triumphant grin.
But the Colonel didn't stir. He simply settled back into his sleep, his expression once again peaceful, as if nothing had happened.
Blushing furiously from his hairline to his neck, Ed scrambled backward. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be caught. He snatched his report from where he’d dropped it on a nearby chair, his hands shaking so badly he nearly fumbled it. Without a backward glance, he fled the office, his boots thudding loudly in the quiet hallway.
He nearly collided with Second Lieutenant Fuery, who was just returning from his own lunch, carrying a sandwich.
"Whoa, are you okay?" Fuery asked, adjusting his glasses as he watched the younger male, red-faced and wide-eyed, practically run past him.
"I'm fine!" Ed choked out, not breaking his stride.
Fuery stood there, bewildered, for a moment. He watched the door to the Colonel’s office swing shut behind Ed, then looked back in the direction the blond had disappeared. He shrugged to himself, taking a bite of his sandwich.
Must've had another argument with the Colonel, he thought. Honestly, some things never change.