Fullmetal Alchemist Summer Olympics

a/n: This is a story for the non-shippers and the shippers of RoyEd. That sounds strange, I know. The shippers will enjoy the part where the relationship works, but I think the non-shippers will agree with me when the fundamental problem with their relationship comes to light at the end.

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It began on a rainy September day in Central.

Some would say it also ended on a rainy September day in Central.

Even more would deny anything ever happened in September, deny that it ever rained, and deny that Central had the strictest no-tolerance rules for fraternization. The people who said this would then normally quiver in fear, develop a stutter, act shiftily, look around uneasily, jump at sudden noises, and otherwise rapidly conform to the typical PTSD patient profile.

None of the above observations were true.

It began on a cloudy July day in Resembool.

It ended on a clear December day in Resembool when one of them passed on.

And while little usually happened in September, it did indeed rain in Central, although it was not simply to befoul the Flame Alchemist as he so adamantly claimed it did. Even though on paper Central probably had the least fraternization, it was commonly believed that there were many who got away with it, giving the lowest fraternization rates to Briggs.

The attraction between the two had been immediate and sudden. Whoever said "opposites attract" had not made a case study of them, because the similarities far outweighed their differences. Neither held their tongues and both lashed out vehemently in the face of cruelty or unfairness. They were strong in mind and body, quick to action but not without some degree of thought if the situation was severe. Flames burned in both pairs of eyes, the wildfire of a blazing forest in one and a smoldering beacon of hope in the other.

Mustang was the first to notice. Admittedly, lunging across the table and grabbing the boy's shirt upon their first meeting had not been due to the onset of any romantic feelings, but it _had_ been to get the boy's attention. He had wanted nothing more than for the boy to come back to Central with him – the burning gaze that held his would never be extinguished until it had violently imploded under its own sheer force, and the last thing Mustang wanted to see was someone snuffing it out like a cigarette driven into the ground. In the future, Edward would indeed follow Mustang – a lot more literally than either had intended.

Edward could be forgiven his late start in noticing that Mustang would be important to his life. After all, he had been missing two limbs at the time. His impenetrable defense had reared its head as he was opposed by the man in front of him, only to clash with an unstoppable force. The truth that was delivered to him was not bitter. It was brighter than any future he could have hoped for, and he knew it was well within his powers to reach, just as he knew his only option was to follow Mustang. That too would later be taken more literally than either would have believed possible.

Years would pass. Edward would grow out of boyhood, shedding and leaving it in his wake like discarded clothes. Mustang never commented on how he had become increasingly attractive or how the boy's immature attitude was often the highlight of his day. Meanwhile, Edward would stubbornly ignore the fact that his hormones were rapidly catching up to him, and the only person he saw on a regular basis who wasn't family was Mustang.

It could only last so long, that calm before the storm. Thunderclouds were brewing on the horizon and streaks of lightning flickered in the distance. Storms are beautiful until they catch up to you.

The biggest deciding factor was their mutual need for adrenaline. It had been in their lives for so long that it would have been strange without it. Even when there was no enemy to quarrel with, they turned to the fast tempo of thoughts instead of punches. Whoever could get the most creative insults out the quickest would win. It was nice to not be hair breadth away from death but still get the blood pumping. In the end, it all came down to one more spat.

"If you must know, I _did_ grow since you last saw me!"

"Oh, poor you. Had to add another hole on your belt?"

"I'm not getting _fat_ I'm getting _taller_!"

Mustang snorted. "Says who?"

"I measured!"

"You know denial's not healthy, right?"

"It doesn't matter how much freakishly taller you are, 'cause I could still kick your ass!"

"Alchemical talent has nothing to do with height!"

"I'm not talking alchemy, although I could whup you there too!"

"Then what _are_ you talking about?" Mustang said, leaning back.

"Any physical contest!"

Mustang rolled his eyes. "It's not like we can test this. Alphonse and Lieutenant Hawkeye would never let us."

Mustang should have kept his mouth shut.

That was how they ended up pretending to stay late at the office (in Mustang's case) and going to the library to research (in Edward's case) while they really trekked to Mustang's house. It was, of course, raining, downpouring in sheets of cats and dogs. This led to the shivering pair entering the colonel's house carrying their own body weight in the water soaked into their clothes.

By the time they got inside, they were too drenched to mind yanking off soaked layers in front of the other. Not even bothering to move out of the hallway by the front door, they tugged off jackets and shirts that were doing more to keep them freezing than warm.

"Your stupid idea," Edward grumbled, yanking his braid out to let his hair dry faster. He scowled as he realized his shirt had gotten stuck on a gear in his automail arm.

"It was _yours_!" Mustang shot back.

"You suggested your house!" Edward tugged futilely on the shirt.

"Where else were we going to do it? The _dorms_?" Mustang looked over and gave an exasperated sigh. "You're making it worse," he said, pushing Edward's hair over the other should while he unknotted the shirt from the steel. When the fabric finally came off, he looked up to see Edward staring at him with a curious look in his eyes.

"What were you planning for exercises?" Edward asked, voice unexpectedly calm and matter-of-fact.

"I thought you had ideas." Strangely, Mustang wasn't irritated at his subordinate.

"No." A moment passed. "What do you think?"

"Well…I could come up with a few things to do."

And they did…_things_.

…

Not _that_, you sick jerk!

…

They were much more creative than _that_.

Foreplay had never been so interesting.

Surprisingly, it was never awkward. It could be said that both were trying to demonstrate physical prowess so much that they never slowed down enough for it to become awkward.

No, that came later when Mustang's alarm alerted them that they hadn't slept and needed to start whipping up some very good reasons as to why Mustang hadn't gotten anymore work done despite staying late and how Edward had managed to spend the night at the library.

_That_ was when things got _awkward_.

"I fell asleep in a stack of books! Yeah, that'll work..."

"You're so small, they probably thought you _were_ a book."

"That's not what you said last night on the closet floor."

The smug, self-satisfied tone was so unexpected Mustang spit his coffee out across the kitchen floor.

They spent the rest of the commute to the office coming up with various ideas. By the time they had opened the door and stepped in, their roles as colonel and major had been established and their covers prepared. Bicker was already going back and forth between them as they walked in. Mustang settled into his chair before even bothering to glance at his subordinates, who were chatting amongst themselves amiably. He looked to Edward, who smirked.

Success.

"Oh, Boss," Havoc said, tilting back in his chair. "How'd it go last night?"

Edward paused for the briefest of moments before shrugging. "Nothing much in the library. Kind of a waste of time."

Breda blinked in surprise. "Really? I would've thought the colonel would have some pretty interesting selections in his library!"

"Wait, what?"

"Hold on!"

"I was at the library last night!"

"And I was at home _alone_!"

"That explains why Edward's leg appears to be burned and your neck's bright red, sir," Hawkeye said bluntly. Mustang clapped a hand over his neck. She set a stack of paperwork down on his desk. "Due tomorrow," she added in reference to the papers.

"T-the shower was broken and it was too hot!" he stuttered.

"That doesn't explain why you came in together when Edward wouldn't have had an alarm clock in the library to wake him up and you're always late," Havoc pointed out. "At least Edward got you here a half hour early."

"W-We didn't – ah – Where did you come up with this?!" Mustang demanded. His argument was refuted by the flush rising across his face.

"Huh," Havoc said, blinking. "We thought Edward was going to be the bashful one."

"You thought I was going to be _what_?!"

"Fullmetal, shut up!" Mustang said, too late to stop his subordinate from giving it away.

"If anyone was bashful, it was _him_!" Edward said, pointing at Mustang.

The colonel stopped playing defensive immediately. "Oh, yeah? Says the one who was too star struck to start anything!"

"Star struck?! I was _bored_!"

"I doubt it! I've got way more experience on you, Virgin!"

"Definitely still a virgin since what happened last night was _lame_."

"You couldn't even keep up!"

"I think you've gotten too slow in your age to realize I was way ahead of you!"

"In your dreams! Which you didn't have last night because you spent it saying-"

"Brother! I thought you said you were going to be from the library by eleven!" Alphonse paused in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. "Why's Havoc crying on the floor?"

"NO ONE MENTIONS THIS," Edward shouted, pointing at the rest of Mustang's staff imperiously. They were too busy cracking up to actually notice.

"He's laughing," Hawkeye explained in answer to Alphonse's question. "Colonel, Edward, I'm assuming you've learned your lesson about certain challenges you should not propose to each other?"

"Yeah, I think the colonel knows I won that one pretty solidly," Edward said, somewhat nervously that they were still talking about this with Al there.

"There were many things you were," Mustang stated dryly, "but 'solid' was not one of them."

Alphonse looked between the two. "Oh, so you guys finally did it then?"

"HOW THE HELL DOES EVERYONE KNOW WHAT WE DID LAST NIGHT?"

"Maybe because you're shouting about it at the top of your lungs!" Mustang yelled back.

That was their relationship. It was very possible that further developments could have occurred between the two of them, but if they did, they were too busy yelling at each other to notice. Edward would come in and drop of a report. If they were in a hurry, he and Alphonse would set out immediately on their next assignment or lead. If not, they would hang around a bit longer. This usually resulted in friendly bantering between Edward and Mustang that turned into rather aggressive non-bantering.

It would one day end, long after Mustang's ascension to Fuhrer and Edward's retirement from the military, when Edward would get deathly sick in Resembool. Mustang received a call in his office and made his way as quickly as he could to the small country town. He waited many long days as Edward fought in the grips of the illness. When the ex-alchemist (no longer could he be called a boy – he was well into his sixties) finally sat up, it was so abrupt and with such force that Mustang started. His heart did too. Their roles reversed as Edward found himself driving a Fuhrer in the midst of a heart attack to the nearest hospital. A herd of sheep blocked their path across the road, and they both got out in order to find a faster way through. Mustang, in his last moment of weakness, collapsed again while Edward was talking to the farmer and promptly stampeded on by a herd of sheep. His last words were for Edward to never mention this again, that this felt vaguely like their first romp in the bed (at this point, Edward was demanding for him to either shut up and die or get on his feet already), and to please come up with better last words for the first democratic ruler of Amestris. Edward nodded solemnly and, when later asked, recorded them as "Baaa."

But that would be a long ways in the future.

In the mean time, there were many…things they had to attend to.

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a/n: Did that just totally suck? First time writing any sort of romance whatsoever, so sorry to anyone who read this. I don't actually ship the two, but if they were together, that's how I think it would turn out. I think they'd just get together because they're so headstrong.


End file.

Fullmetal Alchemist, Humor