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So, cleanse my vision, won’t let it restrain me
All the stories burning in my head
I let them live and grow until they shame me
‘Til I’m seeing colours that look red
I wanna see with new eyes, new eyes, new eyes
New eyes by Echoes
Edward came home in a burst of chaos and glory; the ground shook, and buildings crumpled as the sky roared and blazed with fire, with flying machines from another world. There was madness and destruction, complete pandemonium. Hundreds died, and dozens were injured; none of it, of course, was Edward’s fault. Alphonse opened the Gate on this side; their father, Hohenheim, opening it from the other. This Edward told Roy much later, once the shock and adrenaline had waned, dulled by a few glasses of whiskey. Edward had tried to leave, to take Eckhart and her monstrous, malformed army back to their world. He tried to disappear again before Roy could pull him close, hold him still long enough for him to cup Edward’s face tenderly in his hands, closing the last inch of distance between them, capturing his lips in a kiss years in the making.
Edward tried to leave but Alphonse cried and begged and shattered, scattering Edward’s misguided resolve for atonement for sins that were not his doing. Roy held his tongue, stood his ground, even as his battered heart twisted and thudded, aching and begging, beseeching him to speak, to make Edward stay. Break his bones, take his automail limbs, say “I love you, I always have. So please, stay.” Reveal his truth, that he’d fallen for Edward in his absence, that he regretted not kissing him as they parted ways under the blood orange sky. He should have taken the chance, risked it all, put his heart on the line. After all, he knew it was a possibility that he might die that day, so why not go out with one less regret.
Edward had only been sixteen then, but now he’s on the edge of nineteen, a few inches taller and more gorgeous than ever, even with dark circles under his eyes and a too-thin frame - a hungry, starved, thin. A strained thin, the kind that comes from neglect, from living alone and afraid, ensnared in the clutches of a deep depression that is numbed by alcohol and falling into strangers’ beds. The latter is just a projection from Roy’s own past. It’s easier to forget the ache of your sins under the weight of another man. Roy liked it rough, borderline violent. He deserved the pain, to be treated like something worthless after use. Edward did not. Edward would never - could never - be worthless. He matters too much, to his friends, to Alphonse, to Roy. To the world. Edward was willing to return to a world without alchemy, without Alphonse, leave everything and everyone behind, again, to protect them from the dangers of the other side.
He was always willing to give an arm, a leg, expecting nothing in return, not even an equivalent exchange. He was willing to be the sacrificial lamb, to walk away less than he was at the start. It’s unfair, and most of the time, it’s irreversible.
Is this irreversible?
Roy’s fingers curl tighter around the porcelain edge of the sink. The faucet drips, an ever-present leak, rhythmic, consistent. Persistent . Like Edward. The air is still charged, pulsating with the after-current of a transmutation. Roy’s face is still damp, still scarred and aching. He woke to this pain two years ago in the intensive care unit, his vision tunnelled and flickering around the edges, his mind clouded and lapsing around fragments of memories. It took weeks for the clouds to lift, months for the fragments to weave themselves back together into a patchwork quilt of memories. It took a year to resharpen his mind, to walk without the aid of a cane.
He grew accustomed to the new aches and pains, he learnt how to see the world again, halved now, but still there. Still full of life and colour and wonder, but all that faded as one year stretched into two. Amestris healed, Alphonse grew, people moved on. They put Edward to rest, believing him to be truly gone. Roy couldn’t let go, couldn’t give up hope, and yet, as the seasons changed, that hope began to wane. Colours desaturated and lost their shine, sparks shrivelling to embers, then to ash. Roy’s world became a monochrome landscape, with buds of reds and flickers of orange flames that only served to remind him of what was lost.
The world is bright again, lit by Edward’s flame, seen now in whole, through new eyes, one ebony and the other gold.
The pain overcame Roy the moment the cold water splashed his face, searing and tearing and writhing in the socket of his unseeing eye. It took him out at the knees, knocked the breath from his ash-filled lungs. Collapsed on the floor, Roy clutched at his face, gasping for breath around the cries of agony clawing up his throat. The agonising pain lasted no more than a few minutes, leaving a dull, throbbing, nauseating ache behind. His pulse was a war drum beating in his head, distorting the distant sounds of the day dawning anew. He’d left the kettle boiling on the stove, pulled two mugs from the cupboard, as he’s done every day for the past eight weeks, one blue and the other red, purchased especially for Edward, to show that time had not erased him completely from Roy’s mind. He remembered the flashy red coat, the red pen he wrote his reports with, the red tie used to bind his hair. Roy never overlooked a detail, no matter how small or inconsequential.
But clearly, he had missed something. There must be a book tucked well out of sight or a journal with information gathered from outside the house. Edward has learnt how to conceal his motives, how to distract those around him so they cannot see the self-destructive - the self-sacrificing - path he’s chosen to walk down. He’d loosened his hair, shed his clothes, pulled Roy in for a kiss, drawn him in under the covers. He blinded Roy with his beauty, stunned him with his willingness, his eagerness to spread his legs and allow him inside . None of this was done out of malice or as pure manipulation; he knows Edward cares for him deeply, possibly even loves him. After all, he’d gone to great lengths to keep Roy in the dark.
He went to even greater lengths to lift him out of the dark.
After the churning sea settled in Roy’s stomach, and the dizzying kaleidoscope of colours shifted and solidified back into the moss green tiled walls of the bathroom, Roy rose on unsteady legs, gripping the porcelain sink with trembling hands. For a moment, he thought he must have slipped into a dream, that the fall had knocked him out cold, but the floor was dry. He wiggled his toes, curling them against the cold tiled floor, and that is when he noticed that the view was different. It was whole. When he looked up to the pale, startled reflection staring back at him, he thought again that he must be dreaming. He hadn’t fallen to the floor, clutching at his face in agony. He didn’t rise on shaky legs to stand, bewildered and paralysed, before the vanity mirror. He hadn’t woken in the dusky light of dawn, pulled back the covers to untangle himself from Edward’s naked embrace.
He hadn’t woken at all.
This is a dream.
This has to be a dream.
The golden eye, set perfectly in the hollow where his had once been, cannot be real. Because if it is – if this is not a dream – that means Edward’s world has been halved. That means, instead of two eyes of gold, there would be only one. A world cut in two. Another piece of Edward -flesh, blood, cells- traded away in an endless game of exchange.
Roy’s grip tightens on the sink. Anger stirs awake, simmering beneath his ribs, scattering the inky tendrils of disbelief, thawing the paralytic chill from his bones. This is not a dream, although it is achingly close to a nightmare. The golden eye nestled in his socket, a jewel amongst the twisted mess of scar tissue, is unmistakably Edward’s.
The anger swells, curling around his ribs, rising up his throat, a searing rage pulling at his strings. He storms from the room, boots heavy on the wooden floorboards, cavalry skirt billowing out behind him. His hands tremble at his sides, fingers curling and unfurling, itching to snap, to grab a fistful of Edward’s golden hair and pull it until his eyes tear up. No longer a gesture done in passion but an action done in desperation. The house shudders around him, the floorboards trembling beneath his feet, a quivering thing at the mercy of his rage. He pushes open the bedroom door, hears the handle crack against the wall, the photo frames rattle on the nightstand.
Edward looks up from where he sits in the centre of the room, surrounded by research notes and the chalky outline of an intricate array that only an Elric could create. He rises swiftly to his feet, the hem of Roy’s button-down fluttering temptingly around his bare thighs. Roy’s desire knows no bounds; even amidst his anger, he yearns for Edward. He burns. He’s been burning for years. He wants to throttle Edward. He wants to throw him to the bed, rip the shirt from his frame, hold him down and worship every inch of him. He wants to say ‘thank you’. He wants to ask ‘why’. He wants to say ‘I love you’.
The rage flickers, searing flames shrivelling to glowing embers, the thick fog thinning in his lungs. He breathes out, takes a step forward, then two, coming closer to Edward. The early morning sun is pouring through the window, bathing Edward in pale light. He’s trembling slightly, a shiver setting in from the first touch of winter. His hair falls in rivulets of gold, spilling down his shoulders, framing his ashen face. There’s a wistful smile twitching on his lips, a searching, flickering glint in his eyes. No, eye. Singular. The other is there, greyed-out ebony, unseeing .
The rage flickers, embers hot within his chest, rising up his throat. He takes in a deep breath to steady himself, to calm his frayed nerves and raw edges, but the air is gasoline pouring down his throat. He reignites, rage burning furiously from within, spreading outward. He is in motion, storming towards Edward, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt, yanking him harshly forward.
“Take it back,” his voice is fire and brimstone, words crawling around a vicious snarl. “Damnit Edward, take it back.”
“Why?” Edward’s voice is a quiet, melancholic, heart-wrenching thing. “You need it more than I do.”
Roy hears what lies underneath; you deserve it more than I do, which is undisputedly untrue. He is blood-stained and haunted, is breathing through corrupted lungs and living with a battered, blackened heart.
“Damnit, Edward.” Roy’s hands tremble, fingers loosening their hold on the scrunched collar of Edward’s borrowed shirt. The rage quivers within, raw and burning to the bone. He takes hold of Edward by the arms, grip tight, then pushes him towards the bed, ignoring the flicker of fear lighting up Edward’s remaining eye, the quiet, shaky protest falling from his lips. It’s all a little too rough, a touch too cruel, but he manhandles Edward over to the bed, pushing him down onto his back, crawling on top of him, caging him in.
Edward’s breathing quickens, eyes widening, pupils - pupil – dilating, a flicker of arousal beneath the trembling fear. Roy should be gentle with him; tender the way he was during Edward’s first time and all the times after that. He treats Edward like spun glass, like the yellowed, thinned pages of an ancient alchemic book. He treats Edward like he’s something delicate and terrifyingly breakable, which he is. Everyone is, in some way or another. Flesh and bone can only endure so much. Edward can only endure so much. Eventually, the losses will stack up too high, a tower of lost loved ones, a fortress of broken dreams built on the grounds of a haunted childhood.
Tears well in Roy’s eyes, hot and burning and falling for the first time over scarred flesh. Edward blurs around the edges, a mirage fading into the distance, a dream fading at daybreak. Roy’s fingers press bruises into his skin, body shifting closer, closer, closer , leaving no space between them. He captures Edward’s lips beneath his own, reassuring himself that he’s still here - in Roy’s arms, in his bed - nipping at his bottom lip, encouraging him to open up, to surrender . The truth of the matter is he isn’t angry at Edward for the gift of full sight; he’s terrified that he’ll regret it. That it’ll become another mistake.
Another meaningless loss.
Roy cannot stand the thought of losing Edward a third time, not now that he’s here , that he’s giving - given - himself over to be cherished. To be loved.
Edward tangles his fingers in Roy’s hair, cinching it tight, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, hips lifting up to rut against his straining erection. Roy brings his hands to Edward’s hips, the bones slender yet strong beneath his touch, pushing him back down onto the mattress. Edward whines against Roy’s lips, squirming against his binds. Roy grins into the kiss, devilish and hungry, then removes a hand from the sharp jut of Edward’s hip bone, trailing it across the exposed skin of Edward’s stomach, slipping it between his legs, skimming his fingertips teasingly over his clit. Edward writhes beneath him, hips twitching and pushing up, eager for the torment to end.
Roy’s never been rough with him; even now, caught in his whirlwind of fury and fear, he can’t bring himself to give more pressure than Edward likes, where he likes. How he likes it. Roy presses the heel of his palm at the edge of Edward’s pubic bone, dragging it down then back up in slow strokes, the pressure firm and deep. Edward’s breath hitches, a quiet moan escaping past his lips, followed by a pleading ‘more.’ Roy nips at Edward’s neck, teeth grazing at the delicate flesh, leaving a mark, a claim . He turns his hand to the side, so the ridge of his hand and the knuckle of his thumb can rub firmly against Edward’s clit once more.
Roy’s never been rough with Edward, but he hasn’t exactly been gentle, either. He has worshipped every inch of Edward’s skin, tasted the sweetness between his legs, licked him open, felt Edward’s soft, wet warmth on his tongue, his fingers, his cock. Filled him up in every sense of the word. Taken him apart. Submerging him in pleasure in hopes that he’ll forget every memory of pain, every ache of his battle-scarred body. Roy gives because Edward has given enough.
The anger flickers, sparks burning amongst the arousal. He’s not angry at Edward, not completely. How could he be? Edward sacrificed his right eye for Roy to see again. He’s going to give his thanks, not in words – not yet – he doesn’t know what he’d say, other than take it back, I’m not worthy of it. His words would fall on deaf ears. Edward is too stubborn to undo this transmutation - if it can be undone - he gives freely , without expecting anything in return. He sacrifices without thinking about how those around him might feel. He gives and gives and gives , and it’s beautiful and admiring, but he’s given enough.
It’s Roy’s turn to give, not with words, but with his body. Every kiss, every touch, every stroke, a silent thank you, an unspoken ‘I love you.’ Beneath the gratitude, there will be a warning, a reminder that this is the last sacrifice he’ll let Edward make, one that he isn’t certain he can accept. Roy won’t be violent, not to Edward, never to Edward. However, he won’t be gentle either. He wants Edward to remember this moment for days to come, to think of him as he sees the bruises bitten in devotion blooming on his skin. Remember the feeling of him inside whenever he sits or moves a certain way.
He’ll give pleasure on the edge of pain because that is how Edward likes it. That is how their lives are, a constant ebb and flow of agony and ecstasy. Edward moans wantonly, and Roy gives, slipping his fingers into the hem of Edward’s underwear, dragging them hastily down his thighs. Roy’s hand returns to the wet heat between Edward’s legs, fingers stroking firmly over a familiar path, pausing only briefly, to take in a steadying breath to soothe his burning lungs, clear his smoke-filled head. He gazes down at Edward, searching for a cue to stop, to apologise for taking this too far. Edward’s face is flushed a pretty crimson, his eyes - eye, singular, there might only ever be one able to see, to show emotion - wide and open with want . He grins coquettishly up at Roy, rutting against his fingers, eager and impatient as ever.
Roy gives, he indulges , slipping a finger inside. Edward’s walls flutter around him, welcoming his attention. Roy gives and gives and gives , willingly, eagerly, devotedly, with his hands, his fingers, then his mouth, tasting Edward’s sweetness as he brings him to climax. Edward deflates, boneless on the mattress, panting softly as he comes down from his high. Roy shifts his weight, pulling away from the heat of Edward’s body, the absence unbearable. He undresses in a flurry of motion, carelessly tossing his uniform to the floor. He’s going to be late for work, but he doesn’t care; there is no place he’d rather be, no place better than this room, in this bed with Edward naked beneath him, still wanting more. There is no place better than at Edward’s side. Well, almost no place. Inside Edward is his favourite place of all.
His patience has worn out. Carnal desire sears through him, hot and heady. He parts Edward’s legs, pressing a kiss to each quivering inner thigh, before crawling up between Edward’s open legs to his divinely beautiful face, kissing him deep as he reaches down to guide himself in. Edward moans into his mouth, breathy and close to a whimper. Roy shivers as the warm, wet heat envelops him, eyes fluttering closed. He lingers in the moment, feeling the sheets against his bare legs, Edward’s breath ghosting over his face, the heavenly sensation of his walls squeezing around his cock. A deliberate act done by Edward to encourage him to move, to take his pleasure.
And so he does.
He takes and gives because he cannot deny Edward pleasure. He could not deny Edward anything. If he asked for the world and all the stars in the sky, Roy would give them to him, but Edward would never ask for something that monumental. He rarely asks for anything, yet he gives, gives, gives , which is why Roy can never just take from him. So, Roy gives him pleasure. Shows him love and endless devotion until he’s a trembling mess crying out his name. Roy never wants another name to fall from Edward’s tongue, not like this, not while he’s writhing naked on the bed, riding the high of a second orgasm. Not ever.
He wants Edward’s tragically beautiful heart, his tantalising sun-kissed skin, his soft pink lips and nimble fingers, flesh and metal, his silken hair, and golden eyes that blaze with the intensity of a thousand suns. He wants every little piece of him until the end of their dying days. Roy kisses him deeply, leaving reddened lips, leaving love bites and blossoming bruises across his skin. He cums deep inside of Edward, a choice that could have consequences, but he doesn’t care; a life with Edward - a child with Edward - would be a blessing. He thought he’d never get this day, this moment, this kiss, this passion.
This love.
Yet it’s here.
It’s his.
Spent, sated , Roy collapses onto the mattress beside Edward, panting, dizzy and heady from the high. Edward presses against his side, head pillowed on Roy’s chest, in the hollow beneath his chin, flesh arm slung low over his stomach, metal fingers absently stroking the smooth jut of his hip bone. A hush falls over the room, a chill breeze billowing the curtains, gauzy white flags fluttering in the air, declaring surrender, ceasefire . Pleasure ebbs slowly from Roy’s languid limbs, the embers burning out in his lungs, clearing his mind of smoke.
The breeze whispers across his skin, a prickling fear crawling up his spine. There’s a tug and a cinch of his heart, a writhing of thorns in the pit of his stomach and the coldness sets in, a sudden fever clawing through his veins. Every muscle stiffens, breath catching sharply in his throat, smouldering within his lungs, another fire to ignite, different this time. One of guilt, of aching regret.
It rips into Roy, sharp and vicious as wolves’ teeth. He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at Edward, seeing with new eyes the dishevelled, debauched state he’s left him in. He’s shaking, gazing up at him through glassy eyes, breath on the edge of laboured. What has he done? What has he done? Did he really just shove Edward down onto the bed, crawl on top of him and pin him there while he forced his tongue into his mouth and slipped a hand between his legs? He stripped Edward of his underwear, pushed his fingers inside him, then his-
“-Roy?” Edward’s voice is so soft, so tender, that it breaks his heart.
“Edward, my love, I’m so...” He swallows thickly, struggling to get the words up his charcoal throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He’s pulling away, scrambling up the bed until his back collides with the wooden headboard, leaving him trapped and at the mercy of Edward’s piercing gaze. “I am so fucking sorry.”
“For what?” Edward arches a brow, above his seeing eye, head tilting to the side. He looks so utterly adorable and endearing that the broken pieces of Roy’s heart quiver in his chest.
His voice miserable as he says, “for hurting you.”
“For hurting…” Clarity lights up Edward’s eye, then there is a flicker, a spark, an impish grin. “You idiot. If I didn’t enjoy being manhandled and seeing your possessive side, then I would have stopped you.” He leans forward, closing the distance between them, sealing his words with a kiss, gentle at first, then there’s a sharp sting, a flash of teeth as Edward nips at Roy’s bottom lip before pulling away, still grinning like the devil, only twice as pretty. “I’m not some faint-at-heart damsel; I like it a little rough, too. I like surrendering myself to you-” The sharp, flirtatious edges of his grin softens into a tender smile “-because I wholeheartedly trust you, Roy.” He reaches out, brushing his fingertips under Roy’s golden, gifted eye. “I am sorry I didn’t ask first, but I knew you’d say no.”
Roy laces his fingers around Edward’s slender wrist, cradling it against his scarred cheek. “Why do you think I deserve it more than you?”
Edward’s fingers twitch, a feather-light flicker of movement that ripples throughout his body. Roy can see it in the rise of his shoulders, the quirk of his mouth. “It’s not about who deserves it.” Edward shifts, throwing a leg over Roy's hips to straddle his waist. The feeling of raw, tender flesh on flesh is so achingly good that it pulls Roy closer, a moon drawn to its sun. “It’s about you needing it more than I do. It’s a dangerous journey to the top, and you’ll need both eyes on the prize.”
The selfless, reckless , lion-hearted fool. Of course, there was more to this than just restoring Roy’s full vision; it was a calculated decision to further him on the path to becoming Führer. It was a sacrifice made for the people of Amestris, the ones still here, living and breathing in the city around them, and the ones gone, slain by Roy’s flames, by the corrupt system that still clings to power, that will stay in power if he doesn’t rise to the top. You need clear vision to look to the future, and yet, the moment he saw Edward step away from Eckhart’s ship, step towards him, Roy saw a fraction of a better future flicker before his eyes. Days like this, tangled up in bed, in Edward’s embrace. Late night dinners and slow dancing in the kitchen, lazy kisses that melted into languorous lovemaking. Winter nights by the fire, summer nights under the Resembool sky. Happiness and peace, the bone-deep kind that fills you with warmth and an unyielding sense of safety. The kind that sparks to life in the fragments of a battered and broken heart, embers growing into unconditional, irrevocable love.
Roy saw a home with a heart waiting inside it to be loved. Edward saw the gunmen in the shadows, the threats hidden behind the veils of friends. He saw Roy reach for the crown only to lose his head, and that was unbearable. Unthinkable . So, Edward gave him an eye, not just for the goal ahead but for the monsters that gathered around them. Edward gave his right eye in hopes that it would be enough to prevent the world from tearing them apart again. Beneath it all, there had been a trace of selfishness, one born from love and reckless devotion.
Oh , how Roy wholeheartedly loves this foolish, beautiful man.
Laughter bubbles up his throat, escaping past his lips into the morning air, a rich and hearty sound muffled by the press of his lips against Edward’s. Mirth fades out, fades into a deep, lingering kiss that leaves him heady and breathless.
Easing back, Roy gazes deeply into Edward’s eyes, gold and silver, sunshine and moonlight, alive and burning with fire, with life . “Thank you, my love.” A rosy shade of pink blossoms across Edward’s face, highlighting the faint freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. “I greatly appreciate your offering, but I cannot keep it.” His throat tightens around the words, around the bittersweet gratitude. “You’ve sacrificed enough, I won’t take anymore from you.”
“But-”
Roy presses a finger to Edward’s protesting lips, smiling at him. An offering, of another sort, rolling smoothly off his tongue. “If you want to give me something meaningful, something that can help me get to the top, then I ask this of you.” One deep, slow breath, to replenish the fragile embers of courage. “Take back what is yours, and in exchange, I ask for your hand.”
A blonde brow quirks above Edward’s unseeing eye. “You don’t want my eye, yet you want my han-” The words trail off, breath hitching as realisation dawns over him, eyes widening and welling with tears. “Wait, are you…” his voice rises and strains, breaks , then returns, warmed through with swelling, trembling joy. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I do believe I am.” Roy brushes away a stray tear with a gentle sweep of his thumb, letting his hand linger on Edward’s cheek. “Although not right now, but someday, if you still want me.”
“You idiot.” Edward shakes his head minutely, breath ghosting over Roy’s skin. “I’ll always want you.” Nimble fingers, flesh, and metal, tighten around the nape of Roy’s neck, threading through his hair. “In every world.” Closing the space between them, Edward rubs the tip of his nose down Roy’s before brushing a gentle, lingering kiss across his lips. “In every life.”
Roy’s heart swells within his chest, ignited from within, no longer a cold, aching, lonely thing. Edward’s warmth, his devotion has thawed the chill from Roy’s weary bones, his fire lighting up the dark, showing him the way home, to a heart that has been waiting just as long to be loved in return. Not just in this world, but the one across the Gate, the one with aircrafts and zeppelins, without alchemy and a place to call home. Edward has loved him all this time from a world away. This love has weathered time and misery, the deep spell of depression and the temptation of warm, willing bodies. Edward travelled far and wide, always in motion, while Roy remained still, paralysed in the frozen outskirts of the north, but his heart never faltered, never strayed. It stayed loyal and steadfast, bound to Roy’s across time and space.
Roy draws Edward in for a kiss, a little less tame, a little more wild and desperate, a drowning man drawing in his last breath, only the water never fills his lungs, never steals his breath. Edward gives only life.
Edward gives only love.
Roy pulls back, cradling Edward’s face in his hands. The morning sun bathes him in gold, highlighting the contours of his face, the sharp edges of his automail, the softness of his skin, his hair. He is a being made of flame and steel, an ethereal beauty that is both devastatingly dangerous and wholeheartedly full of love and kindness, even if displayed with a flash of teeth, a prickle of thorns. Edward is like the sun, fly too close and you’ll get burnt, but that’s alright with Roy. He knows - he trusts - that Edward’s fire will only ever keep him warm.
“I love you,” Roy says, the words rising with ease, lifting a weight he never realised he was carrying. It was like breathing for the first time, the air clear and crisp, no longer clogged with smoke and burning flesh. It was like turning a key in a lock, releasing the chains, opening the door to a place that has been waiting for him since the start of time.
Edward’s chest hitches sharply, a stuttering breath catching in his throat, suspending him motionless for a fraction of a moment, then he breathes out. The exhale expelling something heavy, something painful, allowing something else within to shift, to lift up, into the light. It’s there, in his one golden eye, a shimmering spark of relief. It rolls down his flushed cheek, tracing the edge of his lips, trickling from his chin to the space below. Edward draws in a shaky breath, and Roy can see the sparks ignite within, welling both eyes with tears of pure, wholehearted joy.
“I…. I love you too,” Edward’s voice is a soft, quiet, wispy thing. He slumps forward, into Roy’s waiting embrace, forehead resting against the curve of his shoulder, breath ghosting over one of the many scars left by Bradley’s sabres. “I never thought I’d get to say those words to you.”
Roy wraps his arms around Edward, pressing feather-light kisses to the crown of his head. Edward shudders at the touch, a silent sob moving through him. Roy tightens the embrace, afraid Edward will shatter apart, leave nothing but fragments and a borrowed night shirt behind. It would at least leave Roy with something - with more than what he was left last time. Yet it would not be enough. He needs Edward here , oh so beautiful and alive and safe in his arms.
“It’s alright, love, I’m not going anywhere.” Roy seals each word with a kiss. “You’re home.”
“I know.” The words are muffled against Roy’s chest, still quiet, fragile things. Another shudder sets in beneath Edward’s skin, stronger this time, a rumble, distant thunder warning of an oncoming storm. When it hits, it’s not a violent sob that explodes throughout the room. It’s laughter. Soft, quiet laughter rising from Edward’s chest, swelling in the air, louder and louder until Edward’s head is tipped back and he’s laughing at the ceiling, at the sky above and whatever deities live in the white void that sits between two worlds.
He looks utterly dazzlingly delirious and absolutely gorgeous . Roy cannot believe he is this lucky, to have and to hold such an ethereal beauty. To love and be loved by such a wildfire heart. He brings his lips to Edward’s throat, nipping at the flesh above his bobbing Adam’s apple, feeling the vibration of laughter, the hum of vocal cords.
“Don’t most people say I love you,” Edward says, gaze lowering from the ceiling to meet Roy’s, eyes still alight with mirth, “before offering marriage proposals?”
Roy’s mouth twitches, a grin betraying the severity of his voice, “We’re not most people.”
“No,” Edward says, failing to keep the smile from his face, the feathery softness from his voice. “I guess we’re not.”
The softness shifts from his smile, the mirth taking on a mischievous edge. Edward closes the fraction of distance between them, nose grazing against Roy’s, lips seeking his, kissing hungry and deep, the carnal desire reignited, searing beneath Edward’s skin, travelling from the tips of his fingertips, through the press of his lips and grinding of his hips. He grins into the kiss, moaning wantonly as Edward reaches a hand between them to stroke his hardening cock.
This time, Roy surrenders to Edward, giving himself over to trusted hands. Hands that cradle the pieces of this battered, brittle heart. Hands that caress and bring pleasure, hands that show devotion and adoration. Hands that belong to the man who cherishes him with all the broken, burning pieces of his heart. When it’s over, the heat of passion evaporating from Roy’s veins, chased away by the cool brush of autumn air, they lie entwined, like roots of ancient trees. Edward’s head is pillowed on Roy’s chest, wispy strands of gold hair tickling Roy’s chin. His breathing has evened out, delirious laughter and wanton moaning faded into the morning, as absent as the rage Roy felt upon realising what Edward had done. The offer still stands, an eye for a hand to have and to hold, for a life to share, and if Edward were to refuse, to one or the other, Roy would carry on, even though he is certain his barely thawed heart could not endure such heartache. Yet, to give up, give in , to waste such a precious gift is unfathomable.
Edward gave him an eye to make it to the top, and though Roy remains steadfast in his decision for Edward to undo this mad, brilliant exchange, he is willing to bend to Edward’s stubbornness should it cause him more hurt to see Roy live without it. Love, it’s a beautiful, dangerous thing. It can tint the world rose gold or blind you with desire. It can lift the shroud of fog and show you a world through new eyes.
Love , it will make you a fool, but it is oh so worth it.