Chapter Text
Prompt: “Tell me to stop touching you." "No."
Ling was supposed to be meeting his future husband. Not right now, but soon. Far too soon.
When he was a child, before his mother had unveiled the curse of his lineage, he had dreamed of love. He had dreamed of sweet arms around his shoulders. He had dreamed of his love’s hair tickling his nose while they laid under the Xing stars and fell asleep.
And now his heart was breaking.
And maybe that was why he was one bottle down on the sweet wine, shirt loose and feet bare in the gardens. His vision blurred, only a little, but that made it easier to pretend the white flowers in the arches were stars. But no amount of drunken stupor could turn alone into not alone.
Inside the palace was a feast. People chattered on without him, somehow not bothering to find him in his own party. So far away but close enough he could still hear the band’s music warbling through the night air. It hadn’t been difficult at all to slip a bottle into his jacket and disappear through the back doors.
He should have grabbed two bottles, he thought. “Maybe I can go back in and leave again.”
“Not a fan of this kind of thing?”
The voice came from somewhere above him. He didn’t feel like turning his head to see who it was. “What?”
“Do you usually make a habit of slipping away and drinking yourself stupid, or is today an exception?” A foot nudged his, the sensation of hard leather unpleasant against his skin. “I don’t think your new husband will approve.”
“Oh, shut up.” Ling closed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was could fuck off. “If you tell on me, I’ll just run away and then what? You’ll look like the guy who ruined the first royal marriage in Xing in almost a hundred years.”
Which was only because the last emperor had married when he was barely more than a child and then not died until he was so decrepit as to be near dust. Still, so few remembered the last wedding that all of Xing was going wild for the chance to celebrate.
“I don’t envy you.” The voice got a lot closer. “Do you have more?”
Ling sighed. The empty bottle waved around, his grip tight on the neck to ensure he didn’t drop it on his head. “No. All empty.”
“Do you want more?” A clinking sounded beside him as the bottle was suddenly gone. “Or do you think you’ll get sick?”
“I am still engaged?”
“Unless the bastard drops dead of a heart attack.”
Ling could see bright blond hair, glowing dully gold in the lamplight. “Well, then. Please, give me more to drink.”
“So polite for an emperor.”
“Politeness is a whole language, and I am fluent.” Ling struggled to push himself up. “I’m only impolite to people I really like.”
“You just told me to shut up.” The blond chuckled.
“And you brought more wine. I obviously have excellent skills of perception.” Ling grabbed the bottle and greedily drank a mouthful.
The stranger only laughed again.
Ling liked the sound of it. He looked at the stranger, struggling to focus. These weren’t exactly small bottles of wine. The man was pretty.
“Thanks, though the last person to call me pretty was a lot smaller than you.” The person took a long, loud drink. Ling hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he didn’t regret it.
“I’m not going to remember you in the morning, you know.” Ling wiped his arm across his eyes. “In case you’re trying to get some kind of favor.”
The man turned quiet, his face suddenly stern. “I’m not trying to get anything from you. You just looked so… scared. When you went outside.”
Ling felt the tears gathering. Why should he care? Why should it matter to him if this stranger saw him cry? An arm wound around his shoulders and Ling cried into a warm chest.
“I’m Edward.” The bottle was pressed back into his hand. “I’m from Xerxes. Or was, I guess.”
Ling thought the name Edward sounded familiar. And if it sounded familiar to him… from Xerxes? He was too drunk to really think it through, but he had a feeling that Edward from Xerxes wasn’t just some guy. “Ed from Xerxes. Do you want to lay down with me?”
“You’re way too drunk for all that.” Ed’s arm swung away from his shoulder. Ling groaned and grabbed the arm again.
“Not like that.” Ling flung himself back, and the stranger Ed followed. “Just lay and look at the stars.”
“Those are flowers,” Ed said but it was too late. Ling was already asleep.
--
He woke up the next morning with a headache that threatened to split his face in two. His mouth was dry. Drool dried on his chin. Someone was moving just outside his view. “Lan Fan?”
“Yes?” His best friend was busy not looking at him.
“How bad did it go last night?”
“Grandfather found you asleep in the garden.” She bit her lip.
“Was I alone?” He had the shape of a memory. Of a person, kind and warm and pretty.
She burned red. She gestured on the chair beside his bed. “You were alone, but.”
A red jacket lay across the back. It was well crafted. Ling got the impression it was also very soft. Bits of grass stuck to the sleeves. “This was covering me?”
“Yes. You were clutching it quite possessively.” She hesitated. “Did… Did anything happen?”
“If I say yes, do I get to not get married?”
“Unfortunately, Sire, I think not.” She reached over and brushed his hair away from his eyes, placing a firm kiss against his forehead. “Though, the fact you didn’t turn into a mess tells me enough.”
Ling rubbed at his eyes. He yawned and tried to ignore the anxiety swelling in his chest. “Well, I guess we best get the day started.”
All his insides felt tangled and wrong. A sour taste permeated his mouth. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, thumping his feet against the floor. The smooth wood was cold and grounding. He felt a little less wobbly now.
He ran his hand over the jacket, brushing off bits of grass from the sleeves. A lavish dining hall full of people, all there to celebrate his engagement, and only a single person sought him out. He struggled to remember the stranger’s face or his voice or anything. All he could remember was being so alone, and then not, wanting to watch the stars fade into morning. And then nothing.
“Lan Fan, do you know who this belongs to?” Ling picked the jacket up, slid it over his shoulders. It was too small.
“I don’t, Sire.” She chewed on her cheek, a habit she had when she wanted to say something but was too nervous.
“Don’t worry, I’m not. Expecting anything.” He sighed and laid the jacket back onto his chair. “I understand my duty to Xing.”
The words grated against his mouth like nails. He scrubbed the inside of his mouth with a toothbrush. Lan Fan finished fiddling with his breakfast, which he was certainly not touching, and left him to get organized for the day.
He needed to bathe. His hair was filled with small bits of twigs and grass. “Ugh.”
He didn’t have anywhere to be too early this morning. The advisors had assumed he’d be worn out from his party and would need time to recover. They were fully right, of course. Just not for the reason they’d assumed.
He poured perfume and salt into his tub, filling it with the hottest water he could stand. And he spent the next hour scrubbing the sweat and dirt and sick-sweet smell of wine from his body and his hair. Try as he might, he couldn’t scrub himself free of even the vague memories of last night.
“Hm. Red jacket, huh?” He glanced at the chair. It was a nice jacket. Surely whoever was missing it would want it back. And he owed them some kind of thanks for keeping him company. Right? “I’m sure someone knows who you belong to.”
He sat in the bath until it was cool and the bubbles had disappeared. The smell of sandalwood and fire still hung around the room, but his stomach had settled not long after he’d crawled into the water.
Mind made up, Ling pulled a simple white shirt over his head, loose and cool, and shimmied into a simple pair of dark pants. His skin felt raw, everything too sensitive and overstimulated. A dull throbbing ached behind his eyes. Pulling the brush through his hair threatened to throw him into a migraine, so he didn’t risk tying his hair back. He lay back on the bed again for who knows how long, mind drifting through what he was meant to do now and what his options really were.
The late afternoon sun was red, hovering just above setting. Ling had wasted a whole day of his freedom locked away in his room. He’d have to shake himself out of this. He gave himself a full body shake, in each of his limbs and through his hair, imagining all of this feeling falling off his body like water. His mother had taught him that technique, and usually it worked.
Maybe not so well today. Still. He grabbed the jacket from the chair, taking a chance to really look it over. Bright red, finely crafted. Mostly just a rectangle with a long, ruched sleeve holding it together at either end. The fabric was soft, woven. Stitched, very carefully, into the back was the Xerxian lion.
A memory floated up through the haze of last night. It was still soft all around the edges, not quite set, but enough that Ling thought he could at least test it out. Someone had told him they were from Xerxes… or used to be… Someone named Ed. Well, everyone from the party would still be here tonight. A Xingese engagement celebration lasted for a full week. In a usual situation, it would be a week where he and his lover did not see each other, so that they might have a chance to dedicate themselves to their friends and their families, and allow anticipation to grow for the day they saw each other again.
For Ling, the engagement party would end, and he would meet this Amestrian for the first time. From there, he was expected to be united with his husband. And his husband with him.
But already, Ling was getting the shit end of this deal. His husband had chosen him. Ling had been advised that this was a wise match--his future husband’s military strength was impressive, and the man was said to be handsome, if a bit gruff. The advisors had outlined how a marriage of this type would confirm Ling’s rule--no one would be able to challenge his proclamations any more. Not without risking the weight of the Amestrian military crushing them.
It wasn’t how Ling wanted to rule. A people loyal under threat were not loyal at all. But the clans still fought, day to day. And the people were distrustful of him and his youth. The Amestrian he was meant to be marrying was supposed to be older, experienced. It made Ling’s skin crawl.
He’d gone through hell to get here. He’d rather be miserable than let all the lives he took and all the things Lan Fan had endured go to waste. So he’d agreed. Like a man with his neck in the noose, he’d agreed.
Now, though. Now his fingers buzzed with the feel of the fabric. He hadn’t bothered to put on shoes yet. With any luck he’d be mistaken for one of the many guests around and his guards would leave him alone. If he only kept his face out of view.
He didn’t know why he was so interested in whoever owned this jacket. It wouldn’t matter. And if he was right, it would only make it worse.
He began in the west wing, sidling up behind one of his housekeepers who was nosily dusting a very dustless vase. He assumed her diligence had very little to do with the state of his Palace and several-greats-grandfather’s priceless pottery and everything to do with the very loud and unsavory sounds coming from the room behind the vase. “It’s not unusual for people to pair up at these kinds of shindigs, you know.”
Ling kept his voice low, his presence unassuming. She jumped anyway, tossing the duster in her hand clear over his head. It was quite a feat, considering he was at least a foot and half taller than her. She was mousy and plump, every bit the picture of the nosy old woman. “Sire!”
“Well, hello there. You seem quite,” he glanced pointedly at the gleaming vase, “committed to your duties. Would you mind telling me if you recognize this?”
She took one glance at the red jacket and her face relaxed. “Oh, that’s just the Amestrian alchemist's uniform.”
Ling frowned. He would have noticed that. “Are you sure? Look here, it has this lion on the back of it.”
She barely glanced back at it. “It’s been customized. But I just washed about a dozen of those. You can see here how the sleeves have been taken in, so as not to smudge the chalk.”
Ling frowned. “So, is there a Xerxian alchemist in the Amestrian alchemists program?”
“I’m sorry, Sire. Not that I know of.” She eyed the jacket again. “I can take that for you, if you’d like. It needs a good washing.”
Ling pulled it away just before she was able to grab it. He winked at her. Her lined cheeks turned bright red. The jacket flung casually over his shoulder, and he walked quickly away from her. “No, I’d like to return it myself.”
By the time he found someone else to ask, someone who wasn’t a housekeeper or cook or any other nosy body, the sun was sinking. He was nearly out of time. Dinner was starting soon, and he’d have to be dressed and suitable for addressing the people. So he was less smooth this time, when he finally stopped someone who looked not at all familiar. “Do you know whose this is?”
Immediately, he sensed danger. The person he asked grinned, their eyes way too wide and excited to be a casual reaction. Instinctively he pulled the jacket back to his chest. “Yeah, you know. I do. Hold on.”
The person turned back towards the room they’d been coming out of. “Oh, Ed! Someone has something of yours. He’s handsome, too.”
“Al, I swear to God if you’re fucking with me--”
And Ling suddenly had another memory as the golden haired man stuck his face out the door. “You are pretty.”
And then the door slammed in his face. Like, painfully. He rubbed his nose, feeling underneath for blood. Maybe it would bruise.
The door inched open, and Ling saw a still grinning Al. “Sorry about that. He’s not used to people calling him pretty. I’ll send him right out.”
Ling wasn’t standing around for long before the man returned. He covered his nose and held out the jacket. “You left this.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to remember me.” The man scowled.
“I assume that’s why you left a clue behind?”
“You were completely shitfaced.” The scowl deepened. “I couldn’t just leave you there, uncovered.”
“I get it, you felt sorry for me. I didn’t become Emperor of Xing by getting embarrassed by stuff like that.” Ling ran his hands through his hair. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? I want to repay you for your kindness.”
Al was watching them both with a grin stretched across their face. “Your kindness, Ed.”
“Do they usually act like this?” He wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or if he was being laughed at.
“Yes, they do. When it’s me, at least.” Ed rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, I guess. Let’s go.”
Ling looked down at his clothes. “I’m not wearing shoes.”
“Yeah, you should take care of that.” Ed’s scowl was maybe just permanently fixed there. Was it possible Ling was making a mistake?
He’d just opened his mouth to tell Ed that he wasn’t required to eat dinner with him, if he didn’t want. Sometimes that happened too--people assumed when he asked something, that it wasn’t a real question. So he’d stopped asking for things, usually, unless it was an order. Or he was talking to Lan Fan.
Ed waved him off before he could speak, reaching for his jacket. “So, are you ok?”
Ling’s mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t expected that. “What?”
“Are you ok?” Ed gave him a worried look. “You seemed pretty messed up last night. I mean, by the time I found you.”
“I’m doing better.” Ling lied.
“That’s good to know.” Ed shrugged his jacket back on. “I don’t know how often I can get away with sneaking out to the garden with you and drinking ourselves senseless.”
Ling blushed. “Ok, well, you know. You don’t have to remind me.”
“Apparently you remembered all on your own.” Ed shook his head, his blond braid swinging behind him. “So, are you going to change, or are you planning a soft rebellion?”
A soft rebellion sounded nice. Ling did not consider his bare feet to be a soft rebellion. “I’ll be stopping by my room, briefly. Feel free to follow me if you like.”
Ling had meant it as a teasing, assuming that he’d meet Ed in the dining hall. Yet, when he headed down the hallway that led to his rooms, Ed followed behind, ticking off artifacts and paintings on his fingers. The run of his fingertips against the wall sounded unusual.
“Are you wearing… Metal gloves?” Ling paused, listening more closely.
“No, actually. The opposite.” Ed tapped his fingers purposefully on the wall. It made a loud, satisfying tinking sound “Wanna see?”
Ling quirked a brow. “See your hands?”
“Well, hand.” Ed wiggled his fingers on his right hand, a thin white glove covering whatever was making the metallic sound against Ling’s walls. Carefully, one finger at a time, Ed took the gloves off to reveal a metal hand. “See, I’m wearing cloth gloves. What you heard was me.”
Ling moved closer, nearly touching Ed’s fingertips before he caught himself. “Is it ok if I touch it?”
“I--uh, yeah? Most people just do.” Ed rubbed the back of his head with his other hand. “Thanks for asking.”
The gratitude surprised him. “It’s your hand. I wouldn’t be happy if someone just grabbed my hand without warning.”
Ed’s face split into a grin. “You know, you’re right.”
Ling shook his head, placing his hand gently against the metal. Cool, jagged edges pressed back against his palm. “Can you feel my hand?”
He didn’t look up to see if Ed responded. He brushed the tips of the metal caps with his fingertips. They weren’t sharp, like he’d expected. And the oval plate meant to be the base of the thumb was smooth, polished nearly naked by use. It was art, Ling thought to himself. He pressed his hand against Ed’s once more. Art in a more real way than Ling had ever seen--art of a person to a degree he’d never been able to accomplish. His fingers stretched out beyond the edge of the metal, his palm just a smidge wider. “My hands are bigger than yours.”
Ed coughed and pulled his hand back. “You’re... I didn’t expect you to be that interested. Usually it’s, kind of like a. Like a party trick, you know?”
“Are you nervous?” Ling had gotten too close. He stepped back and turned on his heel. “Your arm is beautiful.”
“People don’t usually have an opinion on it.” Ed frowned. “Well, unless they’re automail mechanics, but then it’s nothing like that.”
Ling laughed. “Then what do people usually say?”
Ed considered for a moment. “Nothing. They usually are surprised that I've got a metal arm, say something about how I’m an inspiration or something, and then we move on. Automail mechanics usually go all gaga and ask me for Winry’s number.”
They’d made their way to Ling’s rooms. “Do you feel like an inspiration?”
“No. Can’t say I do.” Ed tapped his fingers. “I have to say, this is an unusual conversation. Let’s change the subject.”
So Ling did. “Well, I’d best get changed. You’re welcome to come in.”
Ed followed him, quietly. Ling flitted around the room, grabbing the most comfortable, passable clothes he could get away with that night. His room still smelled of sandalwood and soap. It was a pleasant smell but heavy and perfumy in a way that made him self conscious. He glanced back after pulling his shirt off to see Ed rustling through his papers on his desk.
“Did you do these?” Ed didn’t touch Ling’s work. Instead he hovered over them, nose nearly touching the charcoal. “No wonder you called my arm art. You probably see art in a lot of things.”
Ling scrambled over to the papers, quickly placing himself between Ed and the desk. “You are an explorer, aren’t you? Ha.”
Hastily, he stacked the papers and shoved them into a drawer.
“What, you don’t like them?”
Ling groaned and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to get into how he felt about his art. He went to rub his hand over his face but flinched as his hand bumped against his bruised nose. “Ow.”
Ed scowled more harshly than Ling had seen him scowl so far. His non-metal hand reached towards Ling’s face. Ling flinched on instinct. But Ed’s touch was gentle as he traced over the light bruise on Ling’s nose.
“I’m sorry about that. You caught me off guard. I didn’t expect you to remember anything.” His thumb pushed a little too hard on the bridge of Ling’s nose and Ling hissed in pain. “I used to be able to help with stuff like this. Nowadays, I’m useless.”
“It’s just a bruise. Don’t be so dramatic.” Ling covered his nose with his hand. It was a mistake--it just hurt again.
“Jeez, no need to get all embarrassed. I’m the dumbass that slammed a door in your face.”
“You were, weren’t you?” Ling hummed, tapping his finger against his chin. “I guess that means you owe me.”
“I don’t do just any kind of favor.” Ed crossed his arms and stood defiantly straight. The pose reminded Ling of a small bird puffing out its chest. “What do you want me to do?”
“Model for me. Just real quick. Your arm, I’ve never seen anything like it. Not up close anyway.” Ling picked up a charcoal left on his desk. “All the tarnishing in the nooks and crannies, all the smooth polish of well used parts. It’s so unique to you--to the actions you’ve taken and the places you’ve been.”
Ed deflated sheepishly. “Oh, that’s all. Ok, then. I mean, I don’t get it really. It’s just automail.”
Ling grinned. “I’ll show you, after I’ve sketched it out.”
Ed looked uncomfortable at first. Then, Ling nudged his shirt sleeve up until the full bottom half of the automail was exposed. Carefully, Ling arranged Ed’s arm to catch the light, to show off all the worn angles. As he sketched, arranged, sketched, and rearranged, Ed settled down. He held his metal arm perfectly still, and laid his head on his other hand, and closed his eyes. Ling almost thought he was asleep, until suddenly, Ed leapt from his chair.
“Dinner!”
And then they were both jumping, Ed all but dashed out the door while Ling slung his robe on.
It wasn’t until he got to dinner that Ling remembered he wasn’t wearing shoes. “Shit.”
They were very late. Late enough that the dining room was full.
“We should have come in separately.” Ed whispered from the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”
Ling didn’t say anything. Lan Fan sat in her usual spot, his empty seat beside her. A familiar face sat across from her, grinning the same wide grin as when Ling first met them. Alphonse. So, the two of them must have been talking when neither he nor Ed showed up on time for dinner. He wasn’t sure how, but Lan Fan must have made some excuse, since everyone was eating. Even if the guests were still staring at them, at least they hadn’t been waiting to start for all this time.
Ling took his seat, careful to never drop his neutral, most royal expression. “How is the food tonight, Lan Fan?”
“Delicious as always, Sire.” Lan Fan took a large bite off her plate. “Though it would have been better warm.”
Her words bit at him. She was upset. “I’m sorry, Lan Fan.”
Al laughed. “He’s so quick to apologize. My brother is stubborn to the end. He never says anything outright.”
Ling grinned around a mouthful of rice. “An emperor must have some sense of humility. And besides, I got carried away with him. I should have paid closer attention to the time.”
Ed sputtered. He’d forgotten to put on his gloves, so one metal hand waved around with this others. “You can’t just say--do you know how that sounds? It was just art, ok!”
“Art?” Al tapped their plate. It was already empty. “You’re not usually so appreciative of the creative process, Ed. What kept you?”
“I was modeling,” Ed’s voice got smaller and smaller, until it was difficult to hear the last word. He rubbed at his automail, face tinged red. “Anyway, what business is it of yours?”
“To the contrary, Edward Elric. It is everyone’s business where our engaged Emperor disappears to during his celebrations.” Lan Fan put her fork down. “It is something you should be aware of if you choose to become close to the emperor.”
Ling didn’t feel much like eating. She was right, and right not to sugar coat it. But it still hurt. “Usually there are fewer eyes, though it is no less true.”
“Why on earth would I care?” Ed glared at his food, alternating between chowing down on his rice and glaring at whoever dared watch him. “Al, do you want the rest of this stuff?”
Al gladly accepted grilled pork off Ed’s plate. The rest of the night the conversation stayed civil, the stream of words flowing easily between all of them.
“You know, he draws a lot of pictures of you,” Ed pointed his fork at Lan Fan. “You do a lot of chores. He should be paying you more.”
“I am the highest paid advisor he has. In all of Xing, only Ling is better compensated.” Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I go around in his rooms helping him because he is my friend.”
Ling put his fork down. “My best friend.”
Ed looked between them. “Oh.”
“Not like that, brother.” Al shook their head. “They really are just best friends. Lan Fan is super gay.”
And for some reason, the rest of the dinner, Ed was all smiles. Not a scowl in sight.
Eventually, the food and the small talk was over. People were heading to their rooms. Some were barely able to stand, some leaned a little to casually into the bodies of their partners, and some were already dozing at their tables. The housekeepers would corral the snoozing partygoers into their rooms. Ling was worn out from the previous nights drinking and the up and down of rolling depression and unacceptable adventure of the day.
Lan Fan had already gone for the night, and Al was hovering around Ed to walk back to their rooms. Ling opened his mouth to say his farewells.
“Can you show me the work you did of my arm? I never got to see the end result.” Ed didn’t look at Al. He didn’t even look at Ling. He stared off somewhere near the door, hands tossed over his head. Ling could recognize a carefully casual pose when he saw one. So could Al.
For the first time since Ling met them, Al’s grin faltered. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t be silly, Al. It’s just some pictures.”
Al paused, their face unnaturally stern. Then, they grinned again. “As long as you're sure. Be careful.”
“I didn’t even respond yet.” Ling scoffed.
“Oh, do you have something to do?”
But now the prospect of showing off his work, possibly drawing more of Ed’s arm, maybe even convincing Ed to let him draw his face, had Ling feeling wired. “Uh, well, no. But still, you should have let me answer at least.”
“I’ll expect you back sometime tonight, Ed.” Al waved and headed off to their own room.
Ed just waved himself on, following Ling as they headed back to his room.
“You got away with wearing no shoes through all of dinner.” Ed chuckled.
“Yeah, well. You can get away with a good bit when you’re emperor. People don’t want to point it out, in case it’s something you’re supposed to be doing.”
This time, the walk back to Ling’s room was heavy. There was an expectation, a shared thought neither of them wanted to voice.
“I didn’t realize you’d gotten that much of a look at my drawings. You really liked the ones I did of Lan Fan?” Ling shrugged his robe off. His room was hot, the smell of sandalwood having finally faded, but the humidity lingering.
“You’re talented. I knew who you were drawing straight away.” Ed stretched.
Ling spread the few pages of preliminary sketches he’d gotten done across the work desk. “They aren’t much. I was still working out shapes and angles when you realized it was dinner.”
“Weird how time got away from us.” Ed laughed. “Didn’t realize my arm was so captivating.”
“You are good company,” Ling tapped his charcoal against the paper. “But, now you’ve seen the pictures. I’m sure Al is expecting you.”
It was a direct challenge. Ling wondered if Ed would meet it.
“If I’m such good company, why’re you kicking me out?” Ed scowled again, and this time Ling laughed.
“You make that face too often. Let’s see if I can get a prettier expressio.” Ling sidled up against Ed’s side, his face still split into a smile. “And then maybe I could draw some more pictures?”
“Hey now, how conceited do you think I am?”
Ling darted around Ed, pushing his golden hair away with one hand while tilting his chin with the other. “I think you are conceited enough to invite yourself to the room of an engaged emperor.”
“Well, you wanted me here.”
Ling did, it was true. “Let’s get you posed then.”
“Posed?”
“Look, if you’re going to be here, I’m going to get some practice in.” Ling tapped his hand against Ed’s cheek, sliding through Ed’s hair until he’d smoothed the blond strands behind a scarred shoulder.
And so Ling took full advantage--he drew. He drew Ed’s long hair and strong jaw. He sketched the scars where the automail connected. Ed told him about nerve connectors, and his automail mechanic, and the podunk town he grew up in.
“What about Xerxes?”
“Xerxes hasn’t had a ruler in a long, long time. Eventually, we were whittled down to nothing and Amestris absorbed us.” Ed frowned, and it marred the image he was sketching. “It was going to happen eventually, but. It didn’t make it better.”
“Amestris is quite a greedy nation, isn’t it?” Ling put down his charcoal. There was something he’d wanted to do, from the moment he’d first touched Ed’s metal hand. “First it takes your home. Then it takes me, reaching its claws into Xing. Offering what we want in exchange for everything we already have.”
He slid his hand along the cool metal, pushing the arm up and away. “Can you feel my hand? Is that how the nerve reactors work?”
“A little. It’s like a pressure.” Ed narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious but not worried. “Not like when you touch my other hand.”
Ling nodded, pulling Ed’s other hand to him. He had almost a memory of Ed’s arm around him. Almost a memory of a moment. “Tell me to stop touching you.”
Ed didn’t look away. “No.”
“Then I’m not going to stop.” Ling cupped his hand against Ed’s face. And there, exactly where he wanted them, Ed’s arms wrapped around him.
Tomorrow's problems would come tomorrow. This was what he wanted now.