Rating: PG-13 for implications
Genre: Crack fluff. Though by now I think "Wedding Dress Crack" should be an official genre.
Warnings: Beware the mutant bunny.
Summary: "If anyone else ever sees this—if anyone else ever hears about this—you will die. Slowly. And painfully. Got it?"
Notes: I'd thought the mutant bunny was safely tranquilized, but rainjoyous revived it and it came back over and started nibbling on my ankle again. And lucky for you all I finished my schoolwork in a timely manner this week (for once), so I can subject you to this and get the bunny off my leg. Follows Cream and Gold.
Roy finished toweling off and pulled on a robe—no sense in putting on anything else, it wasn't as if he'd be wearing it for long. He smiled to himself as he left the bathroom, running the towel over his hair. The day couldn't have been more perfect. Resenbool really was a nice little town, and it made a gorgeous backdrop for a wedding.
His and Ed's.
"Hey, Colonel. . . ."
The older man's smile turned to a smirk as he dropped the towel to his shoulders and surveyed his lover. Husband. Ed was wearing the button-down Roy had worn under his dress uniform that day (which he must have filched while Roy was in the shower). It hung down almost to his knees, but the sides rose high enough to show the lacy band around one muscled thigh. He let his gaze linger there for a moment, then moved it higher. Ed's hair was loose, leaving wet splotches across his shoulders, which turned the white fabric of the shirt pleasantly translucent. The top few buttons were open, and Roy let his gaze linger again, visually devouring a strong neck and a tantalizing sliver of muscled chest, with just a bit of steel showing on the right. Higher still, and he took in a sly smile, sharp gold eyes, and a faint blush. And did he look . . . nervous about something? Roy raised an eyebrow. Yes, his eyes just darted to the side, and he was shifting his weight. And he was holding something behind his back.
"Have something for you. . . ."
"Do you, now?"
"Yeah, but . . . there's a condition."
His eyes flashed dangerously as he crossed the room and Roy prudently held his tongue. The younger man caught the front of his robe in a metal fist and yanked him down so they were nose to nose.
"If anyone else ever sees this—if anyone else ever hears about this—you will die. Slowly. And painfully. Got it?"
"Oh . . . kay. . . ."
Edward sighed and let go, glancing away in what seemed to be embarrassment. "After you look at this I'm sealing it shut until we get home," he mumbled. "So . . . here."
He unceremoniously handed Roy a hinged picture frame, then flopped down on a corner of the bed. Roy was momentarily distracted by the fall of the shirt; it was clear now that the lacy cream-and-lavender garter was the only thing Ed was wearing under it. The younger man scowled at him. "Well, open it already."
Roy smirked and sat down next to him on the bed. "Impatient as ever."
He smirked at him a moment more, then flipped open the frame.
The smile froze on his face, then slowly melted, until his mouth was hanging open. Inside the frame was an eight-by-ten photo of Edward.
A wedding dress.
The dress had a lacy bodice with a sweetheart neckline and short, puffed sleeves, and full skirts. He was wearing fingerless gloves that came up to his elbows, and a ribbon choker. The sleeves accentuated his broad shoulders, and the gloves, instead of hiding anything, showed off both the automail and the muscles of his left arm quite nicely, He was holding a small bouquet of what looked like wildflowers, which Roy thought suited the independent young man far better than anything cultivated and arranged. His long hair was loose, falling softly over his shoulders, and more flowers were pinned behind his bangs.
"This . . . you. . . ."
Edward rubbed his nose with a finger. "There's, um, more behind that one."
Roy carefully slipped the photograph—photographs—out of the frame. There seemed to be five in total. "How . . . where did you get these? I know you didn't go to a portrait studio."
The blond coughed. "Gracia-san. She still has all of Hughes's old equipment. She found the dress for me at a second-hand store, helped me alter it. . . . I think she was having a little too much fun, to be honest," he added in an undertone.
The older man chuckled and slowly flipped through the images. The first one was pretty basic, with Edward smiling softly at the camera. The second one had him turned, looking back over his shoulder. The third was him with the flowers raised and his head tipped toward them, and a sly smile on his face. The fourth had him grinning in embarrassment, his cheeks quite fetchingly darkened. The fifth had him holding the flowers down at his side and his other hand in his hair, with a miffed expression on his face that Roy was all too familiar with.
"What prompted this one?"
Edward cleared his throat again. "I told you, she was having too much fun with this."
Roy chuckled again and made a mental note to talk to Gracia at some point. He tapped the photographs together and carefully fitted them back into the frame. "Edward Love, this is—you are quite simply amazing." He wrapped an arm around his lover, his husband, tangling his fingers in long golden hair, soft and damp, and pulled him close. "Thank you."
"Yeah, well," Ed replied, nuzzling his neck, "only you could make me do something so completely idiotic, so you better appreciate it."
"Oh, I do, I do." He set the frame on the bedside table and turned his complete attention to the treasure in his arms. He peppered light kisses along the side of his face and nuzzled his ear, sliding his left hand up one muscled thigh to slip his fingers beneath a lace-and-ribbon band. "And I'm going to show you just how much I appreciate it."
The younger man's breath caught as he pressed against him, arching into the touch. As teeth started nibbling against his neck, he heard flesh and metal clap together behind his back, and then an alchemic reaction that had to be the picture frame being sealed shut. No matter; Edward wasn't the only alchemist, after all.
"You know," the blond said suddenly, "I still have that dress—well, Gracia-san does at the moment—so maybe, if you're a good boy . . . a very good boy. . . ."
He pushed at his shoulders, and Roy willingly fell back onto the bed and let the smaller man straddle his hips. "I'll just have to be a very, very good boy, then," he said, hooking his hands behind his lover's thighs and kneading, one hand still tangled in the garter. "Won't I?"