The Rest of the Story

A/N: Thanks reviewers, and like I said, have any ideas for a prompt, we'll see what I can do.

Fetish

Roy stood on the platform, letting the tailor measure his arms, a look of bored disinterest on his face. He needed a new suit, he knew that, but the simple fact was he hated going through this process. He got to spend so little time at home with his family, and being measured and poked with needles simply wasn’t his idea of fun. This was all so ritualized, he’d hold his arm out, he’d feel the man wrap measuring tape around it, then hold it lengthwise.

Honestly, all of his suits still fit him quite perfectly. He certainly hadn’t put on any weight living with Ed the last three years. The twenty-year-old was still the closest thing to a human garbage disposal Roy had ever met and he insisted on sparring every chance they got, insisting it was a “necessary skill” for the older man. Roy still felt it was all done on that pretense so the younger, faster, automail-endowed, fully-sighted man could kick his ass.

And, as Roy was thinking of Ed, sparring against him, or even better against Al, he smiled, trying to keep any lecherous thoughts at bay. Proud of his success for only a few moments before he felt the strange sensation of something metal against his skin at his neck, Roy found filthier thoughts flooding his mind and his body responding properly to them.

“Wh-what is that?” Roy stammered.

“Merely a tool to measure your neck properly, fuhrer, sir,” the tailor said. “Now, we’ll get the uncomfortable part of this out of the way.” If only the man knew, Roy thought to himself as he willed the lower regions of his body to settle as the metal item was removed from his neck. “We’ll go ahead and check your inseam.”

Roy tried to think of something, anything that would turn him off. Dead puppies, General Armstrong in a miniskirt, Ed in a miniskirt… okay, that one was definitely not helping. Ed’s reaction to Roy fantasizing about him in a miniskirt. The guaranteed castration that would follow if he ever suggested such a thing.

Roy hadn’t completely deflated, but his pants and boxers didn’t seem quite so tight.

Practicing a bit of deep breathing, Roy managed to gain a bit more control as the tailor asked him if he still dressed to his left. Though he’d answered the question dozens of times before, it took Roy’s lust-clouded mind a moment to regain itself and remember what that phrase meant in reference to getting a new suit. When finally he realized that yes, he still situated his currently misbehaving bits to the left, he answered in the affirmative and allowed the man to continue his work.

********

He sat at his desk later that afternoon, trying to figure out why he’d reacted like that in the tailor’s. He’d been fitted for suits many times before and aside from one time as a teenager he had never lost control over himself that way before. It was strange that it came right after that thing hit his neck. Experimentally, he put his gloved hand to the back of his neck, finding nothing happened. He grabbed one of his pens, one of the red plastic ones Ed had bought in bulk, after Roy, who had the tendency to chew the things when stressed, practically chipped his right canines on a metal pen after a particularly tense meeting with some of parliament.

He moved the pen up to the back of his neck, again, finding nothing.

Then, he saw the solid steel letter opener on his desk. He grabbed the bladelike end in his hand, moving the slim handle to the back of his neck, finding that once again his body responding, flashes of a naked, sweat-covered Ed in the midst of passion, his automail slipping to its familiar spot on his neck, bringing Roy’s member back to life again.

With a slight toss of the offending object, Roy watched the letter opener twirl a bit on his desk before it finally stopped, his expression one of complete shock. For a few moments, the back of his mind fully aware of why that object had giving him the same reaction but still not sharing with the rest of his brain, he glared at the thing, forgetting for a moment that his alchemy didn’t work just through hard stares.

********

When he got home, Ed was sitting, reading a book in the library, the twins in the back yard with Al and Winry, playing a game of hide and seek. Roy stormed into the room where his husband lounged sideways in one of the wing chairs, left foot jiggling over the arm. Languidly a set of gold eyes looked up from the pages of the book, as though trying to figure out exactly why Roy was so mad.

“You have completely ruined me,” Roy said, frustrated.

“Excuse me?” Ed said, setting the book on the floor face down, still open to the page he’d been reading, a habit of the blond’s that under normal circumstances, Roy would have pointed out as something which destroyed the spine of the book.

“I…” Roy was mad, along with a few other things, but he wanted to stay mad and not turn this to something else. “I was at the tailors and he measured my neck, and do you have any idea what my reaction was?”

“Um… No,” Ed said. “’Fraid I’m not a mind reader, Roy.”

“I got hard.”

“And it’s my fault…because?” Ed said, taking a quick glance down at Roy’s crotch.

Roy stormed over to Ed, grabbing hold of the younger man’s right wrist, flopping his husband’s hand a bit as he did. “Because of this.” He let go of Ed and walked back through the room, trying to ignore the sound of derisive laughter behind him.

“Aww…” his husband managed between chuckles, “big bad fuhrer’s got a metal fetish. And it’s all his young hubby’s fault.” Roy turned to make a comment, only to find that Ed was standing within arms reach of him. “So you’re saying all I have to do is this,” Ed darted his hand beneath the back of Roy’s collar. “and you’ll get hard?” Roy hissed just a bit at the feeling of the metal warmed only slightly by Ed’s body heat against the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. As the left hand reached toward Roy’s pants, cupping a very erect member, the laughter returned. “Apparently so.”

The metal hand moving, tickling at his neck had Roy weak in the knees, leaning against the desk.

“Seems fair really.” The automail fingers began scratching between Roy’s shoulder blades, left hand kneading the hardened lump in the wool uniform.

“How… so?” Roy asked, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Because thanks to a certain arrogant bastard, I have a thing for low voices. How often does something metal come into contact with your bare skin that isn’t attached to me?” Ed began kissing Roy’s neck, his hands never stopping. “How often do you think I hear a voice that finely walks the border between bass and baritone?” Ed’s right hand moved to the front of Roy’s neck, tickling below his chin and jaw.

“Damn it, Ed,” Roy said, trying to keep from doing exactly what Ed was trying to achieve.

“So we’re weak when it comes to one another, big deal.” A few more skilled moves of both the hand turning him on and the one getting him off had Roy soiling his boxers and pants, trying to stifle a cry at his completion, turning it into a very loud moan of satisfaction. “I see you doing anything kinky with the stove, we’ll talk about it being a problem. Otherwise,” Ed said, grinding his hips into Roy’s thigh, “your little noises and that nice moan gave me a little problem of my own.”

“We’ve horribly ruined one another, haven’t we?” Roy said with a predatory grin as he wrapped his arm around the smaller man.

“Damned good thing we’re together, isn’t it?” Ed said with a smirk.