InsaneJournal

FMA fic. Puberty. Al/Ed
Puberty
by Lily
Rating:NC-17
Pairing: Ed/Al
Warnings: incest, sexually explicit, armour!Al
spoilers: possibly something very minor, but I couldn’t say for what ep. Sorry -_-
3863 words
Summary: “Remember when I said I wished I could touch you? I miss when we were little, and I could actually feel your skin.”



It’s not unusual for it to be very dark when Edward comes in the room, nor it is it unexpected for Alphonse to be asleep, his big steel body stretched out on the bed across the room from Edward’s. And Ed, for his part, prefers it this way, he likes the privacy. As much as he adores Al, his body is changing, slowly but surely, and so he creeps out after Al falls asleep, and he doesn’t return till much later, which is not always a good thing -- Alphonse’s consciousness may be able to ‘sleep,’ but Edward needs the sleep in a way that Al does not.

It takes a couple of weeks for Edward to muster up the courage to touch himself, instead of just sneaking out of the room to think. When he does, he surprises himself by how good it feels. After he comes the first time, it’s not unusual for him to disappear into the nearby bathroom and bring himself to that peak -- and then stop. He discovers that prolonging the sensation makes the payoff even sweeter.

It only takes a couple of months for Edward to get tired of the trek down the hall and to the left, for him to decide that really, the bathroom is cold in the middle of the night, and wouldn’t his bed be so much better? He knows Alphonse does ‘sleep,’ so he tries not to feel too guilty the first time he slides his left palm over his cock and rubs it a little. He listens for any noise from Alphonse, but there is none, so he pushes his shorts down his hips and shivers as the cool nighttime air shocks his overheated skin. He loves these little moments alone, and he relishes the feel of his skin against his skin. He steadies himself with his automail arm on the headboard and cups his hand around his erection, pressing down. He gets just that far before he thinks about Alphonse in the other bed, and the fact that he can’t go through puberty sends what feels like icy water cascading down his spine, and he jerks his hand away from his groin and threads his fingers together above his head, metal meeting skin in an imperfect junction. He considers padding back down to the bathroom, but he’s tired, really, and so he closes his eyes, and forgets that his shorts have been kicked onto the floor.

Al doesn’t say anything about his nudity, though, even though he wakes before Edward. He does, however, comment on the circles under Ed’s eyes and the way his limbs shake at breakfast.

“Brother?” he says cautiously, passing the salt across the table. “Are you sleeping enough?”

“Of course, Al, don’t worry about it,” Edward says, pouring practically half the salt shaker over his eggs and bacon.

“But, really, you look so tired,” he persists. He inches the glass of milk closer to Ed’s plate, a little warily, knowing he should just leave Ed alone. When Edward is focusing this thoroughly on his food -- he usually doesn’t even need to look at it to wolf it down -- then something must be the matter, and he doesn’t want to talk to Alphonse about it. That is enough to make him worry; Ed not confiding in Al is like the sun not rising in the morning.

“Look, Al, it’s nothing,” Ed says, and pushes his fork into his mouth. He carefully scoots the milk closer to Al, and Al notices, of course, but he doesn’t say anything. This is a battle they wage over every breakfast, one that has become completely silent; they no longer need to speak sometimes.

“Brother,” he says. “I may be a hunk of metal with no physical brain but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. There is something bothering you enough that you aren’t sleeping at night, and you aren’t even eating everything in sight, like usual.”

“Al! Give it a rest, okay?” Ed stands up so fast that his automail arm swings into the table and knocks over the glass of milk, which, of course, he never intended to drink. Alphonse sighs and uses a napkin to wipe it up; by the time he’s finished Edward is long gone and so Al sits quietly at the table. Ed is sure in a hurry to get away from him, isn’t he? Is it something about Al that’s making him so upset? He doesn’t -- snore, does he? How can he, he doesn’t need to breathe -- but then what’s the problem? Has he been moaning in his sleep? Is Ed sleeping so poorly because of Al that he can barely move without wreaking havoc -- spilling the milk for example? Are the nightmares he has keeping his brother up at night, is it all his fault? Al puts his helmet down into his gauntlets on the table. If he could, he would sigh, but he can’t, so he has to settle for making a noise to express his displeasure. Sometimes, the foul dreams wake him up in the middle of the night, and Edward is missing. Where does he go? Those nights, Al tries to listen for Edward moving about the house, but he can’t hear anything, and eventually he drifts back to sleep, even before Edward returns.

It’s a moment before Alphonse remembers that Ed’s shorts were on the floor and his blankets twisted at his ankles when he woke up that morning. Al doesn’t know what that means, exactly, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and gets up from the table. He can’t just sulk all day, he needs to keep an eye on Edward, because his brother doesn’t always think practically before he does things. That impulsivity gets them into trouble more often that not, particularly with Roy, and so Al climbs down the stairs to the street and looks both ways for Edward. They are stationed in Central for the time being, as the Colonel doesn’t have any tasks for them at the moment, and the house they are staying in is one that the military has insisted they make use of -- supposedly the dorms are too ‘cramped,’ but personally Al feels it is because they do not want the attention it would garner for an empty suit of armour to be around that many people; what if someone else besides Roy, and Armstrong, and Hughes were to find out their secret?

He doesn’t see Ed anywhere though, so he walks around to the back of the house, his steps loud and accusing in his ears. He’s going to have to tell Ed he’s sorry for having such noisy dreams. He must be a lousy person to sleep in the same room with, but he remembers when they were little, just after their mother died, and it was more comforting to sleep in the same room -- sometimes even in the same bed. That hasn’t changed; without his brother Al is too lonely to sleep, and Ed never seems to find it disturbing to share a room, even now. Perhaps Al should offer to sleep in another room; there’s enough of them, after all. But he thinks of how lonely he would be and he wishes he could still cry, or that he was young enough that crying wasn’t shameful, the way it is now. Ed never cries, not even when Winry and Auntie Pinako reattach his automail after it’s been broken. Which means Al must be weaker than Ed, but still, he has to take care of his older brother, because it’s his fault that Ed has lost his right arm, and really, it’s his fault that Ed lost anything because -- because if Al had voiced his doubts at the time, maybe none of this would have happened.

--

Ed sprawls out on the grass behind the house, and he can hear Al coming, but he doesn’t open his eyes. How can he tell Alphonse that because of him, his little brother might never know what it feels like to come? How can he possibly rectify his fatal error, the one that cost Al his whole body? It was Edward’s stupid idea, but Al lost so much more than he did, really. What does it matter if he never sleeps again? Ed thinks, but before he knows it he’s dozing, and drifting and the sun is warm, the clover soft against his bare arms, the droning of a nearby insect lulling him into sleep.

--

Al doesn’t want to wake his brother, but really, Ed shouldn’t be sleeping outside, especially when it’s only 55 degrees and the sun is considering visiting the clouds nearby. Al feels himself smile inside, where no one can see it, because once again Ed is pushing up his tank top with his flesh hand resting on his bare, tanned stomach.

“Oh, Ed,” he laughs softly. “I always warn you about sleeping with your stomach out, don’t I?” and gently he brushes Ed’s golden bangs off his forehead with the tip of a leather clad finger. Pressing down slightly at Edward’s temple, he says, “Time to wake up, brother-mine. You can go in the house and sleep, I won’t bother you, I promise.”

Ed opens his eyes and gazes into the flicker of light in Al’s faceplate that signals he’s still alive, and he smiles, before it all comes crashing back to him and he frowns. “Al,” he says slowly. “I’m so sorry I cost you so much.”

“You shouldn’t apologise, brother. It’s my fault that you can’t sleep, isn’t it? I must be keeping you awake. Or -- or you don’t really want to be in the same room with me. Is that it?”

“Al,” Edward says, sitting up and letting his tank top slide down. “I love you. I don’t want you to be unhappy, and no, it’s not because of you I can’t sleep, so trust me on this and drop it, okay?” What he doesn’t say is that he can’t sleep because Al can’t feel the things his body can, and it makes him feel sad and angry and guilty all at once. He doesn’t tell him, either, that when they were little and slept together, that sharing a bed with Al had been the sweetest thing in his life after their mother died. And he doesn’t say that he can’t sleep anymore because he’s addicted to the way his hands feel on his cock; and he doesn’t tell Al -- his baby brother -- that if things had been different, that if he could change anything, he would switch places with Al in a heartbeat and give up all of those wonderful sexy sensations that he has discovered his body is capable of.

“Oh,” Al says, and falls silent. The annoying buzzing is back in Ed’s ear, and he shakes his head, golden braid flashing in the sunlight before the clouds cover it up.

“Al,” Edward says, and touches that metal arm, even if Al can’t feel it, it makes Ed feel better to be touching him somehow. “I guess we should go back inside.”

“Are you sure, brother, that it’s not because of me? I -- I have these nightmares, all right? Sometimes I see the strangest thing -- like a set of huge doors, or something. And it’s terrifying and thrilling all at once, and you don’t think I cry out in my sleep, do you?”

“No,” Ed says, and smiles at his brother. “You don’t make any noise at all when you sleep.”

“Oh,” Al replies, and twists some grass between his fingers. He can’t feel it, or smell it, but it helps to have something to do with his hands. “Brother?” he says. Ed stands up and brushes off his dark leather pants.

“Yeah?” he says, watching a spider crawl down his automail arm, before shaking it off.

“Remember when I said I wished I could touch you? I miss when we were little, and I could actually feel your skin.”

“I know, Al. I wish I could give that back to you. I’m gonna get your body back, Al, I swear it to you,” he says fiercely, and presses his hands to each side of Al’s faceplate.

It’s a shock to them both when he kisses the unyielding metal, and Alphonse’s eyes would widen, if they could. And Ed is astonished that he would kiss an empty suit of armour at all, much less one that holds his brother’s soul. Maybe it’s the blood seal, drawn in Edward’s own blood on that fateful night, that has bound them so closely and thoroughly together. Whatever it is, it suddenly doesn’t seem strange to Ed at all that he kissed Al, even if Al couldn’t feel it. Maybe he should have gone for the cheek, though, and not what would have been Al’s lips had Al had a normal body.

--

Al doesn’t really think it’s odd at all, once he thinks about it. Their mother used to kiss them on the mouth all the time when they were little, and there was nothing -- sexual -- about it, and where did that word come from? Al looks and looks at Edward, studying the soft golden eyelashes, hard lines where automail port connects to shoulder blade, the way his body is young and virile and strong and sexual suddenly seems like the perfect word, even if he has never used it before in his life, and doesn’t know much about the mechanics of sex, anyway; but he doesn’t think Edward knows much about it, either.

--

Ed never even thinks the word sexual, and he doesn’t connect it with what he does at night, either. It was just a freak incident, a moment when kissing his brother seemed like the most natural thing in the world, when he feels so badly for Al; why can’t he provide some comfort? Unless it’s more comforting to you, his mind says traitorously.

Later on that night, he thinks of Al when his hand creeps into his shorts, and pushes up his tank top that he has taken to wearing to bed lately. He finds it funny that Al never mentioned his nakedness that morning, and so when he grips his cock and finds himself already hard he doesn’t take the time to wonder why; he just strokes the head of his cock in concentric circles, biting his lower lip and pulling back the foreskin, slicking his length with the fluid gathering profusely at the tip. He closes his eyes, stroking and pulling at the skin until it moves back and forth within the confines of his fist, and he doesn’t notice at first that he’s thinking of Al again, and it doesn’t kill his erection like it did the night before, and then his eyes fly open and his hand freezes on his cock. He’s thinking about Al, his brother, while he’s masturbating. Somehow that seems really wrong, and he yanks his hand up to his face, pressing his fist against his mouth so hard his lips are jammed against his teeth. He breathes heavily for a few moments, and then cautiously slides his palm down over his abs and brushes the head of his erection and his cock jerks and twitches, and he closes his eyes and thinks about Hawkeye, which is probably also really wrong, but anything’s better than Al, right, and then his hand moves faster and he is suddenly thinking of Al when he was six years old and sucking on a lollipop that Ed had given him in a spontaneous kind gesture, and Ed’s cock drips precum onto his belly, and then he’s thinking of what Al would look like at fourteen years old.

--

Al is startled awake by the sound of heavy breathing, and he turns his head to the side to ask if Ed’s all right, or having a nightmare, or something, when his eyes adjust to the dark and he nearly gasps. Ed has his flesh fist wrapped around that private part of him, and he’s stroking, and all of a sudden Al remembers sleeping next to that warm body and waking up to find his hands damp with perspiration, situated on his own most private parts, and now he looks at Ed, and really looks, and something inside him twists and jerks sideways, then all of a sudden something clicks and feels absolutely right. Ed has always been his anchor, and his best friend. Suddenly it doesn’t seem like much of a leap to be thinking sinful thoughts about truly kissing his brother, and not in the way their mother meant it, either.

--

Had Ed known that Al’s soul could still go through a semblance of puberty, he might have felt a little less guilty.

--

So Al decides to watch, and try to learn something. He’s a little surprised at first, that Ed actually has a libido and it seems to be in full-swing, but then he accepts the idea and watches Ed drags himself up towards some sort of precipice, gasping and making little mewling cries in the back of his throat, before thrusting into his hand and then stilling, pulling his hand away, letting his cock drop back against his abdomen, pointing upwards at his navel, and Al watches, fascinated. He’s never seen a naked aroused anyone before, and strangely, he thinks that his brother is beautiful, with all that golden hair curling around his cock. Ed breathes steadily for a moment, then with a long lick to his palm returns it to his erection and rubs it with concentration, and he seems to be building towards something, as his hips start to buck off the bed.

--

He’s breathing so loudly in the small stifling room that he doesn’t hear Al get up and come over to him, and he doesn’t see him, either, because his eyes are closed, so it’s rather a shock when a leather gauntlet closes over his hand -- and by virtue of that, his erection -- and starts to help him move. His eyes fly open and he just looks at Al, who is kneeling by his bed.

“Brother,” he says softly, “I didn’t know there was anything that could be this beautiful. I wish I could really touch you.”

“Al,” Ed cries, trying to pull away. “This is so, so wrong. You’re my brother, I’m supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to set a good example and--” he stops abruptly. “Because of me,” he says miserably, “you don’t even know what it feels like to touch your own body.”

“But I can touch yours, brother, and make you feel good, can’t I?” Al looks at him earnestly, although how Ed can discern this he doesn’t know.

“This is really sick,” Ed says, and covers his face with his automail hand, the shock of cold steel on his face a welcome relief.

“No, brother, it could be beautiful,” Al says, and pulls away his hand. “I wish I could really kiss you.”

“Al, brothers don’t do these things with each other,” Ed tries to explain, but Al wishes he wouldn’t.

“Sometimes they do,” Al says simply, and waits. There is no response from Ed, so he continues. “I’ve heard the officers talking, sometimes, and the general consensus is just about every boy learns this from his older brother.”

“But they don’t fuck each other, Al,” Ed says.

“Well, maybe we’re different, because really, I can’t see wanting to kiss anyone but you, now that I think about it.”

Ed is silent. Al huffs a little his nonexistent breath. Then, he grips his brother’s cock gently in his own gauntlet again, and watches Ed jerk his hips into the contact. His mouth says one thing, Al realises, but his body says another, and that’s all the consent he needs. Ed may not say it, but he’s thinking about Al, thinks Alphonse, and so he helps Ed until his brother comes over his hand. When they’re finished, Ed cleans Al silently, with no help from alchemy, and then he raises bleak eyes to Al’s.

“Before today, when I kissed you, I had never thought about it like this. And then you caught me jacking off and I was too much of a coward to stop you from getting me off. Al, I’m so sorry.” And Ed cries. It’s such a shock for Al to see tears forming and clinging to the sharp edges of Ed’s cheekbones that he wishes he had a tongue to lick them away with. Ed’s crying.

“Ed,” Al says, and the tears stop and Edward looks up sharply; Al never calls him by name. “It’s okay. If you want to -- uh -- fuck me, you can.”

“How?” Ed says miserably, and wipes at his tears with metal fingers.

“Well, I’m not really sure, ‘cause I don’t know exactly how it works, but I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist, after all.”

And now Ed laughs, and the cocky grin on his face is so much more his style. “God, Al, you’re beautiful,” he says, and then claps a hand over his mouth. “Are you sure this is okay?” he says, but the words are muffled by his hand, and it’s Al’s turn to laugh.

“Brother-mine, now that this is out in the open, I can’t believe I never realised it before. I think I’ve wanted you my whole life,” he says, and stands up and goes back over to his bed and lies down.

“Al,” Ed whispers, “I was thinking about you, when I was touching myself.”

“I know,” Al says simply, and it’s true, because he knows Ed better than he knows himself, and he thinks he knew all along -- since the kiss in the backyard -- that Ed’s feelings for him were changing.

“Al,” Ed says again. “I still think this is so fucking wrong, but what the hell. I love you more than anything, and sometimes, sex is just the way to express love, and who else am I gonna love like this but you?” and he smiles into the darkness. “This is why I couldn’t sleep, Al, because I was feeling guilty about jacking off and you couldn’t.”

“But someday I’ll be able to,” Al replies, and his voice is getting softer. “Get some sleep, brother, and maybe tomorrow you can figure out how to make love to me.”

Ed bursts out laughing. “You’re right, Al, and I think I figured it out. Are you sure you wanna do this in that armour, and not wait till you’ve got your body back?”

“Nah,” Al says, and his voice is smiling. “I want you to be happy, brother, I don’t want to wait; but when I get my body back, the first thing I’m gonna do is fuck your brains out.”

“WAIT!” Ed shouts. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE CAN’T EVEN TOP FOR HIS BROTHER, EH?”

And Al laughs hysterically, because he loves Ed, even when Edward is being ridiculous, and Ed laughs too, because with Al, he’s only ever joking, and when they fall asleep, it’s together, and somehow, mysteriously, the guilt is gone.

end.