Title: The Dance
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Warnings: None
Rating: PG

When Fuhrer Roy Mustang had invited Colonel Edward "Fullmetal" Elric as his date to a public relations ball, at the very best, he had expected his lover to laugh at him. At the very worst, he expected to go to the dance with a black eye . . . perhaps a limp . . . maybe a sling. However, obligation forced him to ask. If he didn't ask his lover to the dance, Edward would somehow or another interpret it as a slight and threaten bodily harm later. So Mustang had asked and mentally braced himself.

And as always, his beautiful, unpredictable lover had surprised him. This time, it was with a warm smile, a kiss, and a congenial acceptance to go to the dance with Mustang.

That was all right, though. If nothing else, the Flame Alchemist could roll with the punches. So Mustang had grinned, kissed his lover back, and idly tossed a comment on how Edward should be grateful for being allowed to come to an adult party.

That's when the expected punch landed.

Three weeks later, Mustang had been completely calm when he had knocked on Edward's dormroom door. Havoc's laughing reassurances, as well as Hawkeye's calming words and Fury's concerned questions had been completely unnecessary. ...So had Armstrong's advice. Definitely Armstrong's advice. Why should he worry at all about taking his temperamental, passionate, admittedly deadly lover to a place full of pompous idiots, after all?

He had expected Edward to be sulking, dress clothes tossed on the bed and Alphonse wearily attempting to shove Edward into a white shirt. Instead, a smiling Alphonse had dramatically opened the door, and Edward had casually walked out. He had smiled, merrily informed Mustang to close his mouth, and held out his arm. When Mustang had finally stopped drooling, he had taken his lover's flesh arm and escorted him out of the building.

If nothing else, Mustang had been grateful when Havoc's jaw dropped, too. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from threatening to fry his ass if he didn't stop drooling over his lover, but that was all right. He had his gloves on.

Nothing else quite . . . disturbed . . . Mustang as much as the traditional dance expected of the Fuhrer. Edward would not accept him asking anyone else to dance, and Mustang had not wanted to ask anyone else, not with his beautiful lover there. However, the thought of asking was enough to chill even the Flame Alchemist. It would not have surprised him at all if, in front of several hundred people, Edward proceeded to throw a hissy fit and scream the exact details about why he wasn't a woman.

So when Edward had again only offered his arm and smiled sweetly, Mustang had been tempted to check if the shape-shifting homunculus Envy had returned.

Not only had Edward danced with him in front of all those people, he had allowed Mustang–in one of his more daring moments–to dip him and spin him. Each time Edward had returned to his embrace, smiled at him, and leaned his head against Mustang's chest.

Then, with one sentence, all was right with the world again.

"You're bottom . . . for the next week," Edward breathed, wrapping his arms around Mustang's waist.

Mustang only grinned and twirled Edward again.

OMAKE:

Havoc: "The little boss is topping tonight, isn't he?"

Hawkeye: "Havoc. . . ."

Havoc: "Shut up?"

Hawkeye: ((clicks)) "Correct."