All that Matters

by Mirune Keishiko

He's his brother, goes the whisper in his head. He's a boy. They're both boys. It's just wrong.

Ed's come to expect it, and the now-familiar roil of horror and shame inside him. After all these years of desperate self-restraint, it would shock him if the whisper fell silent, if the discomfort eased. But already he's reaching for Alphonse; already Alphonse's fingers are tangling in his hair.

He's his brother. He shouldn't want his brother.

But he does, he does, and his brother wants him too, as they've never wanted anyone else in all their lives. This is the way it's always been. This is the way it's supposed to be. Their lips touch and Edward shudders, leans blindly into the kiss. Al's tongue is soft and wet and writhes knowingly inside his mouth.

Because "brother" is just a fragment of a thought, just a ghostly echo in his fevered mind from the moment they reach for each other in the night-dimmed room. Because male and female and right and wrong lose their meaning once love is no longer denied, and suddenly what matters is only what's in front of them, only the hunger crying out to be sated, only the desire that seeks and finds no words.

Only a lip that begs to be sucked, a secret corner of warmth where strong jaw meets slender neck and where a sly, sloppy kiss wrings out a strangled cry. Only the sleek curve of one muscle entwining with another, to be traced with the tip of a worshipful tongue. Only rough, wet heat over a straining nipple and clever fingers on sensitive skin, and a lover to madden with pleasure until there are odd desperate sounds and a name sharply hissed, again and again—please, yes, so good, don't stop.

Between them is only heat and joy and the intimate smell of sweat and spit. When he's this close to him, the softness and hardness of their bodies together flooding his senses, all that matters is making Al feel good, making him realize what he does to him. In the silent shadows where all they have is each other, Ed brings Alphonse panting and moaning to that jealously guarded point where his flushed face screws up just so, and he completely loses control—alternately quivers and goes rigid beneath him; the feel of thick, hot liquid splashing against his throat or his chest or in that tiny, private space between his legs is a satisfaction just as potent—if not more so—than his own similar climax which is never too far behind.

When it's all over and by wordless agreement they stay tangled into each other in the too-narrow bed, the regret grows a little heavier and the uneasy whispers a little louder; but with Al strong and solid warmth beside him, it's easy to pretend they don't exist. Sleep steals over him curled up tightly inside the circle of Alphonse's arms.

Still, there are some things that can't be completely forgotten. And Ed asks Al never, never, never to call him "'Niisan" during the night.

owari

I don't think I'm quite up for writing full-blown hardcore Elricest, but... baby steps. Whew, this anime is REALLY pushing the perimeters of my comfort zones like WHOA. sweatdrops