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the catwoman to your batman

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“Fucking bullshit, no way,” Ed growled and slid the file back across the table. “No.”

 “We have a deal,” Colonel Mustang said, non-perturbed. He wasn’t even looking at Ed - the bastard. Instead, he seemed distracted with whatever was happening outside of his window, chin resting in his hand, propped up by his elbow, and Ed was gonna slug him across the face. “This order isn’t even from me, it’s from the Fuhrer himself. You can’t refuse.” 

“Why can’t you do it?” Ed questioned, nearly pleading by not quite there. “I - have things to do, I-”

“You can’t refuse,” Mustang stressed, and then turned towards Ed, eyes narrowed. “Fullmetal, you’re to escort the Ishvallan refugees to the camps or else.” 

Ed glared. “Or else, what?” 

“Do you really want to know?” the Colonel questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Do you accept? Or would you like turn in your watch.” 

He hated him, he hated him, he loathed him

“Fine,” Ed snarled, grabbed the dossier off of the table, and stomped out of the office. 

 

 

The refugees were, in a word, miserable. The slums were bad enough as they were, rain water turning the back alley streets into slushed mud. Clothes were torn and wet and ragged, and Ed felt the indignation boil over the top of his temper, and he didn’t - he couldn’t

But, he had to. Over and over, in the back of his mind; for Al, for Al, for Al. It was the only way he could keep his patience, to actually watch the hoards of absolutely miserable people get loaded on to the trains as their homes, for the second time, were ripped away from them. 

He had made Al stay at the dorms. There were things that Ed couldn’t protect Al from, from knowing and seeing, but this sure as hell would be one of them. Ed could bear this burden himself. 

“Sir!” an older private called up to Ed, as Ed tried to ignore the sight going down underneath him as he sat on top of the dilapidated train car. “We’ll be ready to move in ten minutes!” 

For all of Ed’s impatience, he could do little more than scowl and mutter a ‘fucking finally’ after his breath. Yes, the sooner they moved the sooner the refugees would be shipped off, but the sooner they moved Ed would haven’t to deal with seeing what was happening in front of him and having no ability to help. And then, soon enough, they were on their way. The refugees were boarded, the train’s fire was being stoked, and Ed hopped off of the train car and straightened his red coat over his arms, getting ready for the three day train ride and - 

The front car exploded.  

Ed stared, stunned by the sudden eruption and the burst of flame, and then he felt time speed up to it’s current moment, and he moved towards it. The train’s doors opened and the refugees and soldiers spilled out, looking to get away from the flame and explosion, and Ed had time to thank whoever’d listen that the car that burst into flames was the unoccupied storage carrier, between the first car and the passenger car. Ed instantly moved forward, shoving the refugees away from the fire and back towards the temporary tents set up for them. 

It was a mess of spilt and lit coal, metal warped and completely ruined, and Ed clapped and placed his hands onto the ground, transmuting the gravel into a nicely tightly packed shield that should have kept the  flames from spreading towards the train car towards the tents.  

And, through the flames, a figure. Ed lifted his right arm to shield himself from the glare of the flames and squinted to try to make out who the hell was standing in the middle of the flames. Whoever it was was wearing a dark coat, nearly touching the ground in length but flickered out from the heat of the flame, and Ed could just barely see the beginnings of a mask over their head, and the figure turned, smirked, white teeth glinting against the mess of red and orange flames, and took off. 

“No fucking way,” Ed swore and leapt through the flames, checking over his shoulders to see the soldiers hurrying around, drawing out the nearby water hose and cranking the water, but Ed couldn’t stop to make sure they had it under control. The figure was getting away and Ed knew he would never hear the end of it. 

A man, Ed could tell that much as he pushed through the train depot’s chain link fence. Whoever it was, was a man. Taller than Ed (unnaturally so, Ed grouched), and fast. Ed was nearly heaving as he dove underneath the train depot’s final gate, and the man leapt over one of the abandoned cars and vaulted himself over it, landing nimbly on his feet. Ed slid to a stop a few meters away, glaring. 

“Big mistake, buddy!” Ed called, clapping his hands together and pressing them onto the concrete. Immediately it arched up into huge hands and leapt towards the man, grabbing at him, but - barely even moving - the man reached a hand up and yawned, and the concrete promptly exploded. Ed winced as the concrete shattered back towards him, and Ed threw up his arms to shield his face.

“Come now, love, is that the best you can do?” the man called out, and smirked again, still barely moving, but before Ed knew it explosions of what was more smoke than real flame erupted to his right, and then to his left, and the flash blinded Ed. He stumbled back, could barely see, but the man was right in front of him now, leaning down slightly to be eye level with Ed. “And I had such high expectations for the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Bastard,” Ed hissed, blinking rapidly, but the his vision was still white. The voice - it was familiar, but it was already low and Ed didn’t - “You could have hurt someone!” 

“Please,” the man drawled, and rolled his eyes. “Like I’d be so careless.” 

“So, what,” Ed growled, swatting at the man, but he just took a step back. “You got a thing against the Ishvallans? Or the military?” 

“Neither,” the man shrugged - or at least, Ed thought he did, and suddenly there was a hand under Ed’s chin, tilting his head up, bumping it just lightly. “See you around, kid.” 

By the time the flash cleared from his eyes, the man was gone.

 

 

Mustang was giving him an unimpressed glare. Ed gave him a helpless ‘what the fuck do you want me to do?’ Mustang’s glare cranked up a notch.

“The transport’s been delayed until tonight,” Mustang informed, leaning back in his chair. “Luckily, I was able to make a quick excuse about the train’s boiler blowing. Much more plausible than a ‘masked man blowing the train up’, don’t you think?” 

Ed was halfway to choking him, he really was.  

“Plausible - it happened. I got the fucking headache to prove it!”

“Language, Edward,” Mustang scolded. “Your assignment is still in effect. You’re to transport the refugees to the camps tonight. I will have a team go over the train’s engine to make sure that there are no...accidents.” 

“Accidents my ass,” Ed nearly yelled. “I-” 

“You’ll be late, Fullmetal,” Mustang sung, and twisted around in his chair, and stared out at the setting sun.  

“I hate you,” Ed growled, spun on his heel, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

 

Well. 

“God damnit!” Ed nearly yelled, clapping and slamming his hands onto pavement, tipping over the train carriage and pouring a wave of gravel over it, dousing a good half of the fire that was spreading. The soldiers were running around like chicken’s without their heads, and Ed sprinted around the corner of the train depot, past the refugee’s tents, and into the courtyard. “Will you stop?” 

“Why would I?” the man called, leaning against the lamppost. Ed growled and rushed after him, but the man simply stepped out of the way and into the street, dancing out of the way of Ed’s fist. “Such a temper.” 

“It’s cause you piss me off!” Ed roared, crouched down, swung out his left leg in a wide arc, missed, and pulled himself up just in time to miss again as the man neatly leaned out of the way of his punch. “Stay still!” 

“Honestly,” the man said, exasperated, and grabbed onto a nearby fire escape, across the street, and pulled himself up. “Do you honestly think I’d listen to something like that?” 

“If you know what’s good for you, you will!” Ed called back, grabbing onto the fire escape and following him, tugging himself up the ladder and onto the roof. The man was waiting for him, leaning over the edge of the roof and contemplating the jump down, and the moonlit spilt over the graveled roof. Ed was breathing heavily, hands clenched. “Why the hell are you doing this?” 

“Hmm?” the man questioned, looking over his shoulder. The mask was nearly loose over his eyes, just a few strands of black hair escaping, and Ed narrowed his eyes at him and took a step forward. The man turned, leant against the roof’s edge, and tilted his head. “Why not?” 

“You could have hurt someone,” Ed stressed. 

The man shrugged. “I said before, like I’d be so careless. Shame that the Ishvallans will have to spend yet another night here. I suppose it’s better accommodations than the concentration camps.” 

“You-” Ed started, stopped, and froze. “You-?” 

The man pushed off the wall and winked at Ed, smirking at him. “See you around, short-stuff.” 

Before Ed could stop him, he had moved (Ed didn’t know how, didn’t know what movement he had made, but he had moved) and a white flash erupted in front of Ed. Ed threw up his arms on instinct, blocking most of the glare, and when it cleared, the man was gone. A second of silence passed, before Ed threw his automail heel against the ground and roared, “Who are you calling short?!"

 

 

Ed stomped into the office, growling under his breath.  

“Stupid unnaturally tall masked bastards with their stupid flash grenades,” he snarled. His eyes still watered, and he blinked out the most of it to see Hawkeye raising her eyebrow at him. “Is he in?” 

“The Colonel is on a phone call,” she informed him, and nodded towards him. “How are you and Alphonse, Ed?” 

“Well, considering,” Ed replied, rubbing a hand through his bangs. He considered bringing Al last night, except then Al would have to see the refugees, and really, it wasn’t anything Ed couldn’t handle on his own, it really wasn’t. Luckily, though, Al wasn’t (actually, was never) required to escort him on his missions. At least he could stay in and do some research while Ed spent his night doing - whatever. 

What was that bastard playing at? Obviously he wasn’t there to inflict real damage, and it wasn’t like he ever stuck around to let the soldiers or the refugees actually see him - and hell, Ed wasn’t going crazy was he? Damnit. 

Still - each day that the man interfered, the refugees stayed put. If it was kept up long enough… 

No, Ed couldn’t think like that. Best to just - get it over with. Hawkeye looked up suddenly, and then nodded towards Ed, and he waved a hand in her direction before slipping into the inner office.  

“Again, Fullmetal?” Mustang called as he walked through the door, closing it behind him with his heel. Mustang was reading a file, yawning, and propped up his cheek on his hand. “The mechanics said there was nothing wrong with the train.”

“I told you-” Ed started. Mustang waved him off. 

“Yes, yes, the masked man,” Mustang cut in. “The man that no-one saw or can account for, though there are several witnesses saying you ran away from the scene. I suppose we should all be grateful that you managed to put out the brunt of the fire first.” 

“You-” Ed snarled. “Come see then! I’m not making this up!” 

“Ah,” Mustang said, yawning again. “I would, but I have a date tonight. Someone of us do have lives, you know.” 

Really, Ed was going to kill him. “You’re still going to make me do this?” 

“Not my orders,” Mustang repeated in a bored tone, distracted by his paperwork. “Directly from the Fuhrer. Our deal. So on, and so on. The sooner the refugees are sent East, the sooner you can request your personal time off.” 

Ed was half way to shouting something obscene, before he visibly restrained himself, carefully tensing his shoulders as he stood, back straight. “Is that all, sir?” 

Mustang looked up, gave him an odd look, and waved with his free hand. “You’re dismissed.” 

Ed, quite pointedly, slammed the door behind him.

 

 

He was ready, this time. The refugees (now used to the procedure) loaded themselves onto the train carriages, a blur of dark skin, white hair, and red eyes. Ed watched them go, counted each person until he felt dizzy, and then waited on top of the train depot warehouse’s roof, looking over the edge of the roof’s wall to survey the scene below him.  

“My, aren’t we hard at work?” a voice said, close enough that Ed jumped at the feel of warm breath on the shell of his ear. He spun around, already throwing up his automail hand, but the man grabbed it easily, looking completely unimpressed. Ed wasn’t putting his full weight into it, wasn’t even really trying to deliver the hit, but -

“What’s your game?” Ed questioned, and realized at this position - where the man had Ed’s right hand grabbed with his left, and Ed’s foot was in between his, and they were standing close enough that Ed could make out the stitching on his long black coat - that the man’s eyes were blue, and - familiar. Ed’s eyes narrowed, scowled, and the man smirked at him. 

“Game?” the man questioned, shrugging. “There is no game. A game implies that there’s more than one player.” 

“Are you saying I’m not a player?” Ed snarled, and the man tugged him forward so that their chests crashed together, the man tilting his head down to study Ed. 

“Love,” the man said, patronizingly. “That would imply you’re competition.” 

“You’re a real bastard,” Ed said, low. “You know, you remind me of someone.” 

The man must have raised an eyebrow. He looked fairly interested, and he dipped his head lower. “Someone good, I hope.” 

“He’s a real bastard, too,” Ed said, and kicked out at the man’s calf, and in order to avoid it, the man had to pull away, just barely scowling. “But he’s a better man than you’ll ever be.” 

The man gave a mock, wounded gasp. “That hurts.” 

Ed dove forward, swinging out with his automail foot, but the man caught it easily, twisted it down, and threw Ed off balance. Ed recovered easily enough, threw out his left hand to get his balance back, but the man had Ed twisted so that one hand was around his upper arm and the other was on Ed’s hip. 

“Such kind words,” the man murmured, and they were somehow even closer than before. Ed couldn’t even pull back, and stilled when the man tugged Ed’s hip forward, pressing Ed against himself. “You must really care for this man, to speak so highly of him.”

“Fucking no,” Ed hissed, suddenly unconcerned about the fact that the man in front of him was barely a hair’s breath away. “I couldn’t give a shit about him.” 

The man’s lips twisted - up, down, it was hard to say. He tilted his head, considering, and shrugged. “There are no hard feelings about this, then, I suppose.” 

“What?” Ed questioned, drawing his eyebrows together, but he couldn’t finish his thought. The man moved forward, suddenly, and pressed his lips against Ed’s.  

Stunned silence, for a moment. Ed couldn’t react - was somewhere between horrified embarrassment and righteous indigent rage, but he still couldn’t move. The man hummed against his lips, sending - something - down Ed’s spine, and the shiver twisted him just so that his head twisted barely and then the man was pressing forward, just a tad bit harder than before, running his tongue over Ed’s bottom lip. And Ed - 

Ed closed his eyes.  

Which - he wasn’t quite sure why he was doing something like that. Common sense was yelling at him - Sexual harassment! Unwanted advances! Fucker! - and really, Ed should be slugging him across the jaw with a tightly curled automail fist, but instead the man held him steady (not too tight and not too loose), and took Ed’s lip in-between his own, sucked on it, and Ed - 

The man drew back, nose brushing against Ed’s, and Ed knew he was blushing (from rage or - whatever) and the man’s grip on his loosened. He looked - contemplative. Almost disappointed. Kind of hopeful. Happy. Upset. Ed had no idea.  

“The-” Ed started, sucked in a much needed breath, and tried again. “The hell?” 

“Not competition,” the man murmured, moving forward again, and before Ed could stop him, kissed him again, nearly chaste. “You’re the prize, love; and I do believe I just won.” 

A sudden snap (and really, Ed was used to this by now) and the hands around him were gone and bright light flared around Ed, blinding him. He waited the usual minute for his vision to clear and looked down to the train car to see - 

The wheels melted to the tracks. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Ed roared.

 

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ed said, slouching downwards on Mustang’s couch. “I do not want to hear it.

“Wheels melted to the tracks,” Mustang said, reading Ed’s report. “Metal wheels. Melted. To the tracks. Do you know how much paperwork I’m going to have to fill out - between the clean-up crew, getting rid of the train, laying down new tracks, and finding someplace for the refugees to stay-” 

“Wait,” Ed cut it, leaning forward suddenly, eyebrows drawn together. “Stay - the Ishvallans are staying? They’re not-” 

“Considering that every attempt to get them out of the city has resulted in unfortunate bad luck,” Mustang said, raising his eyebrow at Ed. “The Fuhrer has decided to set up lodging in the city.” 

“They’re putting them back in the slums?” Ed questioned, just barely keeping the horrified tone out of his voice. It was better than the camps but - 

“No,” Mustang said, shortly. “They’re under state protection; they’re to be put into project apartments, given wages, and temporary citizenship.” 

Ed - couldn’t breathe. He kept blinked at Mustang who seemed utterly bored with the news (the great news, really, the fantastic news) and Ed - Ed - 

“Oh,” he said, quietly. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” Mustang repeated, looking at Ed quizzically. “A random interjection? Something the matter, Edward?” 

“I just-” Ed started, and stared out the ground. “I think I owe someone an apology.” 

“Oh?” Mustang said, and sighed. “Look, you have me saying it too. Who do you need to apologize to?” 

Ed shook his head and summoned up a growl. “None of your business. Can I go? Or-” 

“You’re dismissed,” Mustang said, leaning back in his chair. “A month’s personal time for research and the like. Do try to keep me up to date on your findings this time, Fullmetal.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed waved off, distracted. “I - is the train depot sectioned off, then?” 

Mustang blinked at him. “Currently, no. The normal guards are stationed around the gate. Until proper accommodations have been set up, the refugees are staying the tents near the ruined train. I believe they’re celebrating.” 

“Alright,” Ed said, quietly, and stood up. “Uh - thanks.”

He got an odd stare. “You’re welcome.” 

Before Mustang could ask anymore questions, Ed left.

 

 

It was cold. Utterly, freaking cold. Ed - had no idea what he was doing. He should have left a note except there was no way to know if the note would get delivered, and the only good part of the situation he was in were the happy shouts and music coming from below him, the Ishvallans nearly blissed out of their freaking minds that they weren’t going to be packed away into concentration camps. Ed knew it was lucky - or rather, not luck, luck didn’t really have anything to do with it, but still - because he had heard stories about the camps. The Ishvallans were in a shit situation, having their homeland stolen from them and being pushed into the dregs of society, but at least they could live fairly comfortably in something they could call their own instead of the prison like camps.

 “You’ll catch cold,” a voice called out from behind him, and Ed turned to his side and saw the man from before leaning against the roof’s wall, coat billowing in the wind. Ed had his own red coat wrapped tightly around him. The man was looking up to the moon - round and fat and full - and was nearly unconcerned with the blustering gale.  

“You care?” Ed called, across the roof, and the man smirked - smiled - up at the moon, before lowering his gaze towards Ed.  

“Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, then,” the man said, shrugged, and smirked (definitely a smirk). “I hope you aren’t looking for a fight. I have bruises from that leg of yours.” 

“Fucking good,” Ed hissed. “I should introduce you to my right fist for - you-” Ed blushed, helplessly, and glared. “You kissed me.” 

“Ah,” the man said. “Yes, I did.” 

“The-” Ed started to say one thing, and changed his sentence abruptly, gesturing with one hand towards the tents. “The Ishvallans are staying in the city. They’re not going to the camps. That’s what you were after, wasn’t it?” 

The man hummed. “That was the original plan, yes. The military can only put so much money into moving a group of people they care little for. All I had to do was annoy them long enough until they decided it wasn’t worth their time.” 

“So, you decided to put on a mask and provide the problem yourself? Is that it?” Ed called, frowning fiercely. “You use alchemy.” 

“I do,” the man said, amused. “You don’t think I actually melted those tracks manually, do you?” 

“I-” Ed said, and turned away, twisting his lips. Ah, the words were right there, he just had to…  

“I?” the man repeated, pushing off of the roof wall to walk towards him. “I?” 

“‘I’ nothing,” Ed groused. “Just - thanks. Didn’t want to see them head off to hell, either.” 

“No,” the man said, stopping a foot away from Ed. “I didn’t think you would. Part of me wonders what would happen if I didn’t come along. Perhaps the Ishvallans would never have gotten to the camps in the first place.”

Ed couldn’t help the blush. So, he had entertained some thoughts about highjacking the train (subtly, subtly) halfway there and just letting the refugees run free, but… 

He twisted his lips in a half scowl. “The hell did you kiss me?” 

“Such stark changes in conversation,” the man said, nearly in wonder. “Because I wanted to.” 

“Why would you-?” Ed nearly said, and then cut himself off. “What the hell did you mean ‘prize’?” 

“Well,” the man said, as if he was speaking to a student. “I don’t hold any illusion that you would willing give yourself away. You have to be worked for, don’t you? You’re very special, and I’m afraid that I find myself quite enamored with you.” He moved forward, and Ed took a step back, hit the roof’s wall, and stopped short. The man studied him, and then nearly smiled. “You’re unique, Edward; and I want you.” 

“I’m not a fucking piece of jewelry,” Ed growled. “I’m not something you can just steal off of a pretty pin cushion.” 

“I don’t think you are,” the man said, amused. “You’re a human being, not an object, and I would like to kiss you again.” 

Ed swallowed. “What if I say no?” 

The man tilted his head to the side. “Then I won’t kiss you. But if you say yes-” 

“I-” 

If you say yes,” the man pressed, and took another step forward, neatly breaking into Ed’s personal space, breath hot against Ed’s neck. “I could make you very happy.” 

And Ed - wanted. 

It wasn’t entirely fair. Pros; Ed could let - whatever happen and in the short term it could very, very good. Cons; long term was probably very, very bad. Probably filled with regret and yelling and he didn’t even know this guy’s name, didn’t know anything about him, and here was Ed, pressed against the wall, heart suddenly racing in his chest, and he could say yes, he very well could say yes - but. 

That was the thing. But.  

“I don’t know a thing about you,” Ed said, standing straighter. “I don’t know your name, where you grew up, how old you are, why you even wanted to help the Ishvallans out. All I know is that you kissed me and you’re an annoying bastard.” 

“Things I’ve very proud of, considering,” the man said, and - smiled. “I figured you might say that. At least - a kiss goodbye, then. I highly suspect I’ll ever be doing this again; my work is done, here. My purpose is fulfilled.” 

“I’ll never see you again, then?” Ed questioned, eyebrows drawing together. The man laughed, deep and from his throat, and Ed swallowed again. 

“Never again,” the man repeated, and shrugged. “Nothing’s impossible. So, can I have that kiss?” 

Ed twisted his lips, before exhaling. “One kiss. One kiss. And then-” Ed turned away, scowling.  

“And then?” the man pressed. “And then we say goodbye.

Ed turned back to him, and the man gave him a warning (a tilt of his lips, the way his hand was suddenly on Ed’s upper arm, a hand on Ed’s waist) before he leant down to Ed’s height and kissed him, slow, deep, and Ed could count the number of times he had been kissed (including family members) on one hand. The man’s lips were soft, but firm on his, and just like before he took Ed’s bottom lip in-between his and sucked on it gently, running his tongue over it, slicking it wet, and Ed had no idea what to do with his hands so they just - hung there. 

The man’s hand, however, moved up from Ed’s arm to his neck, gently cupping his jaw bone, and Ed let him, pulling away for just a second to catch his breath, before the man was kissing the side of his mouth, then the other side, and finally back to the center, tilting his head so that he could kiss open Ed’s mouth and slip his tongue inside.

Ed nearly moaned, felt it start in his throat and build it’s way up, and suddenly Ed knew what to do with his hand and moved up to the man’s neck, sliding into his hair and under the leather mask, tugging him forward as the man ran his tongue against Ed’s, the ridge of it slick over Ed’s mouth, and Ed - 

The mask was suddenly tangled in Ed’s fingers, and Ed somehow pulled it off, and before he knew it, the man had pulled away and pressed his face into Ed’s neck, breathing heavily, and Ed stared at the piece of leather cloth in his hands, not knowing what to do with it. The bridge of the man’s nose was pressed into the junction between Ed’s neck and shoulder, breath hot on Ed’s collarbone, and Ed let him hold him close, trying to catch his breath. 

“Whoops,” Ed managed to pant, still holding the mask.  

“Accidents happen,” the man breathed into his neck, sending a shiver up Ed’s spine. He huffed a little laugh into Ed’s neck, and squeezed his grip on Ed once, just lightly, and kissed the bare skin on Ed’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Ed.” 

The voice was suddenly familiar

There was a soft muted click, and then the world exploded in bright white around Ed, and Ed blinked rapidly as his vision went ivory. The man pulled away, grip slacking, and there was another kiss on Ed’s lips, sweeter, somehow, this time. 

The man slipped from Ed’s fingers, and by the Ed’s vision cleared, the roof was empty and the man was gone. The leather mask was still in Ed’s grip, warm and foreign, and Ed stared down at it until the white spots at the edge of his vision melded back into the dark blue night. 

That voice. That voice. It had always sounded familiar before, but hearing Ed’s name - it couldn’t.  

Ed tightened his grip around the mask. It wasn’t. 

(So, why did he know that it was?) 

 

 

Early morning. Ed had waited outside of the office for hours now, leaning against the wall next to the door, and finally a familiar blue uniformed figure was walking up the hallway, yawning widely, grey greatcoat slung over one of his shoulders, and Mustang stopped short when he saw Ed, frowning. 

“You’re supposed to be on leave,” Mustang said, nearly gentle, like Ed must have hit his head and forgotten. 

“Yeah,” Ed said, reaching around him to search in his jacket’s pocket. “I’m supposed to. Thought I’d return this first.” 

He threw the leather mask and Mustang caught it on instinct, not realizing what it was until he held it his hands and stared down at it. Mustang raised an eyebrow and said, “Ah.” 

“You got a lot of nerve,” Ed said. “A lot of nerve.” 

“We should discuss this in the office,” Mustang said, moving towards the office door as if they were talking about the weather, unlocking it and pushing it open. It was dark inside, the blinds half closed, all the lights off. Ed followed him in and Mustang threw his coat over the rack by the filing cabinet, walked towards Falman’s desk, and leaned against it. “So.” 

“A lot of fucking nerve,” Ed pressed again, frown fierce and furious. “How dare you.”

“I suppose I’d say that I could explain, but I’ve already told you my reasons,” Mustang said, shrugging, looking out the window, even though he could probably barely see out of it. “It all worked out better than expected.” 

“The Ishvallan thing I can understand. I can fucking understand that. But - so, you kissed me twice for the hell of it, then?” Ed snarled, taking a step forward, automail foot heavy against the office’s carpeted floor. Mustang swung his gaze back towards Ed, lifting his lips up in what wasn’t a proper smirk, but wasn’t really a smile either.  

“I kissed you twice because I wanted to and I had the opportunity,” Mustang said, leaning back, grabbing onto the table’s edge. A beat passed, and before Ed could say anything, Mustang had pushed off the desk and crowded into Ed’s space. “I kissed you because I wanted to - have wanted to, and I highly doubted you would’ve let me.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Ed said, growled really. “You don’t get to assume shit about me. You - always do that. Colonel Mustang; one step ahead of everyone else, can predict their movements down to their last breath. You don’t get to presume what my feelings are.” 

“Feelings,” Mustang said, suddenly, eyebrows drawing together. Ed’s mouth opened, before he snapped it close and worked his jaw. Mustang took a step forward. “You said feelings.” 

“Fuck off, Mustang,” Ed snapped, and turned away, but Mustang grabbed onto his wrist - lightly, but firm enough that Ed couldn’t immediately pull back - and tugged him back.  

“You said feelings,” Mustang said again, and swallowed. “What feelings?” 

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Ed snarled. “Let me go.” 

“Only if you tell me what you meant. Equivalent exchange, Ed.” 

Ed glared up at him, scowling. “Feelings, Mustang. Those things that your nerves send out through your body and what causes your hormones to tip every which way. Those things.”

Mustang studied him. “You have feelings for me.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ed said. “I told you what I meant, let me go. The deal’s up.” 

And - Mustang let him go. It threw Ed off balance, mainly because he had been tugging at Mustang’s grip around his wrist, and gravity pulled down on Ed’s body and tipped him backwards, and Mustang grabbed his upper arm on instinct, catching as Ed was suspended in the air, angry and frustrated and he didn’t even know what. 

“I can wait,” Mustang said, suddenly, and Ed stared up at him, nonplussed. Mustang pressed forward, looking nearly shy, except that it was Mustang in front of Ed, he couldn’t - Mustang wasn’t shy. “I could wait - I am waiting. We both have a lot to do. I need to - and you need to help your brother. After, though.” 

“You would wait,” Ed nearly breathed, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Why would you-” 

“Because you’re special,” Mustang said, firmly. “You’re unique, and I know that I need to work for you.” 

Ed stared at him, studied him. For once there wasn’t an inch of deception in his expression, and there was obviously a mask in place, as usual, but it felt - honest, somehow. And Ed - 

“You’re still a shitty asshole,” Ed hissed, and yanked himself out of Mustang’s grip. Mustang stumbled and caught himself, and suddenly Ed was right back where he started, in Mustang’s space. (Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice sung out Roy, you should call him Roy and Ed firmly ignored it.) “After.”

Mustang - Roy - blinked at him, and then suddenly was smirking, or nearly smiling. “Can I kiss you, then?” 

“Goodbye?” Ed questioned, confused. Mustang - Roy smirked down at him.  

“No,” he said. “I just want to kiss you.” 

“Well,” Ed said, almost hotly. “Sorry for not-” 

He never got to finish his sentence. Roy rolled his eyes, exasperated, and leant down, kissing him shortly, and really, there was little Ed could do but kiss back.