He is running out of excuses to not return to East City and see the Colonel.

Ed hates the half-lies he's started to tell in order to keep his brother satisfied. They're also half-truths, which is why he's been able to sustain them for so long -- the Colonel does piss him off, he does imagine the sarcastic things the Colonel will say, he does want to hit the man in the face until it all goes away.

It seems like innuendo has been stalking him since he realized why.

On the train, he had played poker with his brother and picked up the Joker to see its broad, nasty grin and a large curved sickle moon between its legs. He had told Al just how reluctant he was to see the the Colonel again, thought of his face, and slid his lunch into his mouth - skewered on a stick, round, long, hot, heavy.

It is enough to make him resentful. Why this, why now? Why laying awake and imagining all the things he could do-

He backs the Colonel to the wall and sees the Colonel smirk down at him, that same fucking knowing face. He grins back and sees eyebrows lift. He bites at the line of a bare throat and feels the Colonel relax, feels him sigh. The Colonel's hands come to Ed's back, pulling him closer, and Ed growls into his skin, growls as, suddenly urgent, he works at clothing. The only thing important is getting them off. The only thing that matters is the Colonel's face, right now, Mustang's smirk melting away as his brows furrow, as his lips draw back, as his gaze grows heavy and needy, as his breath hisses out between his teeth in a purely male groan of want.

-why touching himself, here and now, trying desperately not to wake his brother, dead silent, muffling his breathing in the pillow-

He bends the Colonel over the desk, sees the disorderly way his hair falls, sees the tense line of his back, runs flesh hands over the hard cords of muscles built up from so many years of military service. Mustang is talking, saying husky, Mustang things (I hope you won't be making a habit of this, Fullmetal. But if it's just this once, I can't say I have any objections. There's lubricant in the bottom drawer. I don't suppose you care to deliver a report while you're back there?) and he's snickering, muttering a fervent shut up, pressing into him, hot and tight, and Mustang doesn't do this with just anyone, does he?

-thrusting into a tightened fist, teeth gritted, eyes closed-

Mustang smells male under him, sweat sharp, and that's good, that's what he wants, body hard and taught underneath his, rocking back against him. His noises are all Mustang, Mustang, Mustang, groans and moans and growls all in the back of the throat, that thick purr he's been hearing for years when Mustang teases him, and there's no teasing now, it's all blunt and straightforward and that's what he wants. No more games, no more dancing around together, just Mustang looking at him as a fucking man, dammit, not a child, and he's a man now, buried, hot, moving, and Mustang's head twists on the desk so he can look up at Ed, the angle bad, and there's no trace of a smirk with his teeth gritted like that, though his eyes are soft, languid, meeting Ed's with good humour, acceptance, maybe a bit of a joke between them-- (ah, what a pair we are...)

-coming, managing to keep the sound down to a hiss into the pillow. He hasn't woken Al, and he cleans up hurriedly, shivering a little. He sleeps.

They have to return to East City the next day and he doesn't think he can do it. There's too much distance and dammit, it's not fair, Roy's been breaking Ed's walls down since he was a child and Ed's never been able to touch Roy's. He wants the hard line of his body to shake and open under him. He wants to hit Roy in the face until he bleeds. He wants some sort of truce, some way to put things equal between them.

He knows this is normal. He's read books - it's how he dealt with the worry that first came when he saw Mustang as a man, not a uniform. It's how he's always dealt with worry. He knows this is normal.

He believes this is impossible.

"We're here," Al says, and Ed stands on the step, ready to leave the train, bag in one hand, unable to move. "Brother?"

Ed inhales and steps down. It's just another few days and another few lies, he tells himself. Overhead, rain spatters down, and Ed hadn't noticed it when they were on the train.

"I wonder what sort of sarcastic thing he'll say this time," Ed mutters, and thinks, I'll hit him this time. I really will. And then he'll have to fight me back honestly, for once.