"It was moments like this that Alphonse had missed the most." Light, fluffy Scar/Al.
It was moments like this that Alphonse had missed the most.
Being a suit of armor, he had been aware of sights, and of sounds, and he could sort of feel things in terms of vibrations, but that had been the limit of his senses. No sense of smell. No sense of touch to speak of. No taste.
It was a wonder he hadn't lost his mind completely, he thought, cut off from all that.
Now here he was, twenty years old with a body to match, and making up for lost time. Not with sex, necessarily - at least, not right then - but in ways that were softer and more subtle, and, in their own way, just as satisfying.
The human body has 19,000 sensory cells per square inch of skin. Since his body had been restored, it had been Alphonse's goal to acquaint himself with every. Last. One.
The young man sat up in the sea of blankets that served as his bed, soft sheets wrapped around his bare legs. He leaned backward with a pillow supporting him, feeling its soft pressure against his lower back, delighting in it.
The air was warm and heavy and laden with incense, spicy Ishvarite vapors that made Al feverish with indecision, for he didn't want to waste it, yet the smell was so delicious he couldn't burn it fast enough.
A book - not of alchemy, not anymore; now that there was no need, he was taking a well-deserved break - lay open in his lap. As he read the carefully printed words, his fingers - fingers, real flesh, blood and bone fingers - felt around for the bowl he knew was there.
The bowl was ceramic, painted in elaborate blue and white patterns, smooth and cool to the touch, and full of soft, red-and-purple plums. One of the village children had brought them for Alphonse, in exchange for Alphonse taking him and his sister on a voyage into town. Al had been all too happy to do it, was delighted to play with them and protect them, knowing they trusted him and that he did not frighten them, as his metal body so often had. They were good kids, too; so young, and already they understood equivalent trade.
And what a wonderful trade it is, Alphonse thought, as he bit into the plum and tasted the juices that flowed over his tongue - tongue! Such a simple word, and yet it signified so much, and none of it could really be explained to someone who did not possess one. The texture of the fruit, the way the flesh was so sweet and soft, the skin so tart and sour, the way it filled his mouth and the sweet sweet smell of it filled his nose . . . he closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh of gratitude: grateful for plums and for all such fruit; grateful to the child who had picked them, grateful for such a wonderful world, and to whatever god had created it, and him.
And grateful for Brother.
Always, always, grateful for Brother.
And grateful for someone else, too . . .
Al heard his lover returning, but did not open his eyes: heard the rustle of the tent-flap opening and falling closed again; heavy footsteps on the ground; a deep throated sigh as Scar inhaled the aroma of the incense Alphonse had learned struck such a chord with him, It was the smell of his childhood. Alphonse heard soft whispering sounds as excess clothes were discarded, felt the blankets shift around him as another body slid in beside his. He felt the warmth of Scar's body, so close by, and smelled the scent that was so distinctly Scar; animal and golden and strong, there was nothing else like it. There was a change in the darkness behind his eyelids that told him the candle had been blown out, and still Alphonse's eyes remained closed. Only when arms - arms, warm and present and protective - encircled him did he open his eyes, and smile, and say, "Hi."
Scar's response, like so many of his actions, didn't require words. Alphonse felt a deep rumbling - almost a purr - come from the other man; felt a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. A current of warmth flowed through him at the touch, at the tickling as his hair was pressed flat to his scalp, and he looked up. He couldn't see anything in the darkness, but he didn't need to; who needed sight, after all, when one had four other perfectly good, perfectly wonderful senses at one's disposal? In the dark, he found Scar's lips and pressed them to his own, tasting their warmth and affection on his tongue and in his mind, feeling Scar's arms tighten around him and their bodies press together.
And he reflected that it was moments like this that bodies were really made for.