Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist
Disclaimer- not mine. borrowing. no profit made.
There was a magnificent beauty to the first sunlight of the day. It filtered in through thick, imperfect glass and formed little rainbows that shifted and danced as Maes breathed. It was one of the little things Roy enjoyed, what made the quiet time in the morning as much of a ritual as the dressing, grooming, and eating that would follow. Rainbows dancing across his lover's chest. A passing bit of serenity, a fleeing bit of peace. Soon, soon Maes would shift, roll onto his side and sigh, the little signs that he was considering waking.
Roy would have to give up his hold on the older man, become detached as Maes snaked an arm towards the nightstand in search of his glasses. He would have to allow Maes to pull away, to haul himself into a sitting position as he yawned and scratched his stomach absently.
Mornings were the play of light, a faint hint of yesterday's cologne, and the personal musk that was fighting to overwhelm it. Mornings were a silent avoidance, a casual collection of the clothing that had become scattered the night before, handing socks to their proper owners, detaching shirts from desk lights and chairs. Mornings involved the silent camaraderie of serious coffee drinkers, with serious concerns they were busy avoiding. They were speckled with polite inquiries, of milk needing passing and newspapers being shared.
Maes would lace his boots; forget to tuck in his shirt, and stand, rubbing at a muscle in the back of his neck that had spent the night in an uncomfortable position. Roy would take a deep breath and, as Maes moved towards the door, would curl tentative arms around Maes' waist, fixing the belt Maes had neglected to buckle before daring to pull the man closer.
Nights were for comfort, for closeness, for tasting and touching and reveling in a passion that defied reason. Nights were for caressing, for nipping, for grasping. When the morning blinked through the window, casting bits of rainbow, everything changed. Everything was supposed to change when bits of reflected light twisted as the men in the bed stirred.
That was the plan, the program. That was how everything had been, had to be.
The beauty in the new sunlight was a small compensation for the fact everything would shift from fey beauty back to normal, back to acceptable restraint, polite smiles and nods; recompense for the polite distance that would fill the day.
"Maes."
It was a scratchy inquiry, with more than a hint of pleading, of frightened, frantic desperation. It was unfamiliar, unwelcome...
Maes held still, considering in a way that made Roy want to scream. He wanted a playful grin, to be tossed back on the bed and tickled mercilessly, to have the scruff of a new beard rubbed along his cheeks like a cat marking its territory. He wanted hands that couldn't keep to themselves, wanted that knowing smile...
"It's getting late."
That was what he didn't want...didn't want the duty, the reminder.
Roy's arms fell limp at his sides, releasing the older man in silent defeat.
"Hey now..." Maes turned, leaning his side against Roy's slumped form, tilting his head to rest against Roy's.
The colors of the morning shifted, gaining the sharp intensity of early afternoon, and Maes stirred, huffed a breath into Roy's hair, smiling as the man reflexively reached up to fix the mussed strands.
"I'll see you tonight." Maes whispered, brushing soft kiss across Roy's cheek before slipping out the door.
There was a magnificent beauty to the first sunlight of the day. It filtered in through thick, imperfect glass and formed little rainbows that shifted and danced as Maes breathed. It was one of the little things Roy enjoyed, what made the quiet time in the morning as much of a ritual as the dressing, grooming, and eating that would follow. Rainbows dancing across his lover's chest. A passing bit of serenity, a fleeing bit of peace. Soon, soon Maes would shift, roll onto his side and sigh, the little signs that he was considering waking.
Roy would have to give up his hold on the older man, become detached as Maes snaked an arm towards the nightstand in search of his glasses. He would have to allow Maes to pull away, to haul himself into a sitting position as he yawned and scratched his stomach absently.
Mornings were the play of light, a faint hint of yesterday's cologne, and the personal musk that was fighting to overwhelm it. Mornings were a silent avoidance, a casual collection of the clothing that had become scattered the night before, handing socks to their proper owners, detaching shirts from desk lights and chairs. Mornings involved the silent camaraderie of serious coffee drinkers, with serious concerns they were busy avoiding. They were speckled with polite inquiries, of milk needing passing and newspapers being shared.
Maes would lace his boots; forget to tuck in his shirt, and stand, rubbing at a muscle in the back of his neck that had spent the night in an uncomfortable position. Roy would take a deep breath and, as Maes moved towards the door, would curl tentative arms around Maes' waist, fixing the belt Maes had neglected to buckle before daring to pull the man closer.
Nights were for comfort, for closeness, for tasting and touching and reveling in a passion that defied reason. Nights were for caressing, for nipping, for grasping. When the morning blinked through the window, casting bits of rainbow, everything changed. Everything was supposed to change when bits of reflected light twisted as the men in the bed stirred.
That was the plan, the program. That was how everything had been, had to be.
The beauty in the new sunlight was a small compensation for the fact everything would shift from fey beauty back to normal, back to acceptable restraint, polite smiles and nods; recompense for the polite distance that would fill the day.
"Maes."
It was a scratchy inquiry, with more than a hint of pleading, of frightened, frantic desperation. It was unfamiliar, unwelcome...
Maes held still, considering in a way that made Roy want to scream. He wanted a playful grin, to be tossed back on the bed and tickled mercilessly, to have the scruff of a new beard rubbed along his cheeks like a cat marking its territory. He wanted hands that couldn't keep to themselves, wanted that knowing smile...
"It's getting late."
That was what he didn't want...didn't want the duty, the reminder.
Roy's arms fell limp at his sides, releasing the older man in silent defeat.
"Hey now..." Maes turned, leaning his side against Roy's slumped form, tilting his head to rest against Roy's.
The colors of the morning shifted, gaining the sharp intensity of early afternoon, and Maes stirred, huffed a breath into Roy's hair, smiling as the man reflexively reached up to fix the mussed strands.
"I'll see you tonight." Maes whispered, brushing soft kiss across Roy's cheek before slipping out the door.
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