dragonimp

Title: Marked
Rating: PG
Genre: AU, Romance
Pairing: Roy/Ed
Warnings: none

Follow on to Stigma because I can't help myself.

Ed fought to keep from blacking out. The rubble and debris surrounding him only entered his awareness when it it dug into his side or scraped his hand as he shifted about trying to cling to the tiny thread of awareness. He was focused on one thing: Al. Al better be okay.

Because Ed was going to kill him.

....

Title: Stigma
Rating: PG
Genre: AU, angst
Pairing: Roy/Ed

For: “Soulmarks on the wrist/arm that Ed lost”

Ao3

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help, Alphonse.”  Roy set another box on the to sell stacks by the door.  It wasn’t as if he would be needing much up north.  “And I’m sorry I’m not being a better host.”

“That’s okay, Sir,” the boy was quick to assure him.  “I’m just glad I caught you before you had to leave.”

dragonimp

It was a big mountainside, right? Plenty of room. At least that's what Roy had told himself. And yet, somehow, he was careening toward a collision with another skier and all he could do was shout out a warning. He didn't just crash into the small blond—he completely bowled the person over and sent both of them tumbling, skis and poles and limbs everywhere.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" He fumbled around in the snow, cursing the skis and those damn rigid boots. How did anyone move in these? He finally managed to extricate himself without doing too much damage and awkwardly reached a hand out. "Are you all right?"

The other skier didn't answer right away. From the long hair and short stature he'd been afraid he'd run over a child, but when the skier pulled his scarf down and pushed up his ski goggles he could see that this guy was at least in his twenties. That made him feel slightly less terrible.

"I think you broke my leg."

So much for that.

Ed’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.  Mustang was waiting for him; his own hand clamped around Ed’s wrist as soon as it got close.  Ed stared up at him, found him smiling in a way he wasn’t used to, in a way that . . . he wasn’t sure what it meant.  He worked his mouth, finally found his voice.

“This . . . isn’t really a dream, is it.”