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Title: The Warmth of Love
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: General
Pairings: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Summary: Ed really, really hates being cold.

A/N: Every winter season, I send out cards to anyone willing to give me their address, and I decided this past year to send out winter-themed ficlets to slip in with them, one for each ship that people on tumblr and LJ voted for. I asked if people thought I should post them all in the new year, and most people agreed I should, so this is one of them. Save for one, which is against FFN's rules, all of them will be posted on the major, multi-fandom sites I usually post on; links to those can be found in my profile/about me page of whichever site you're reading this on. ;)

I'd originally thought to post these next month, for my birthday, and then decided I might appreciate the reviews while I'm stuck in video rooms all this weekend, lol. (I staff at Katsucon. If you're attending, feel free to drop me a line! I promise I don't bite, and I've a bag of valentines to hand out. ;)

-0-0-0-

The older he got, the more Ed hated the cold.

As a kid, not even the bone-deep chill of Briggs had slowed him, frozen automail aside. But, any more, even the most mild of Central City winters left him miserable and utterly unwilling to leave the bed in the morning. Or at any point of the day. Not for anything.

"Ed," Roy called from outside the cocoon of blankets he'd made for himself sometime in the night.

"Cold," Ed grumbled, pulling the corner of the heavy comforter already in his hand a little bit closer.

He was fairly certain Roy sighed, but it was hard to tell through the warm, fluffy barrier. "I know, but you can't stay in bed all day again. It's not good for you."

"Perfectly good for me," Ed argued back, even though he was fairly certain that hadn't been grammatically correct.

Whatever. He was a scientist, not a bloody linguistics major; he could misuse and abuse their language to his heart's content, and screw anyone who argued otherwise.

The laugh Roy let out was a familiar one, fond and annoyed in a way that had once left Ed waiting to be kicked out, until he realised the fondness was far stronger than any hint of annoyance. Assuming the glow of warmth in Roy's eyes every time he looked at Ed could really be labelled something as weak and flimsy as 'fondness'.

"Well, it's not good for me," Roy insisted in that tone that always meant he was about to say something utterly embarrassing, all while wearing the stupidest besotted look on his face. "I mean, with as little of the planet's sun as we're getting right now, how else am I supposed to get my daily allotment of vitamin D? My precious, gorgeous sun."

Ed moaned and hid his face in his hands; leave it to Roy Mustang to cause his face to overheat from embarrassment in the middle of winter.

His cocoon shifted because of some power other than Ed's own, and he wasn't particularly surprised to glance up toward his air vent and find Roy smiling in at him. "There you are! I'm feeling more energetic already."

Ed stuck his tongue out at him. " 'M not coming out," he insisted.

Roy put on a pensive expression. "Not even for the clothing that have been laying over the heater for the past hour?"

"You've been stealing my precious heat to warm up a jumper?" Ed demanded, annoyed; no wonder the air outside his cocoon had felt so cold when he'd tested it earlier. (He firmly ignored the fact that it had been far longer than an hour since his temperature check.)

"And socks," Roy added, clearly missing the point. "How about for the fire I've built up in the fireplace downstairs?"

"I'm fine in here," Ed insisted, determinedly turning away from Roy's stupid-perfect face.

"Will you come out for hot cocoa?" Roy offered.

Ed bit his lower lip, because that was tempting. And he knew Roy knew it would be, the bastard. The only thing more tempting than hot cocoa was–

"There's stew, too. It should be fully heated about the time you finish getting dressed and make it downstairs."

Ed's stomach, the traitor, gave a loud growl at the suggestion of food. Especially since Roy had cheated before they'd started dating by getting the stew recipe Mum and Granny had always made from Winry. Because he knew, of course, that the quickest way to gain Ed's favour had always been through his stomach.

"Hate you so much," Ed grumbled, and he really couldn't say if he was talking to his traitor stomach, or Roy; in the end, they both sucked about equally.

"Do you need help getting out?" Roy offered. Then added, a fair bit quieter, "Assuming I can actually find the outside edge. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you transmuted this thing."

"If only," Ed muttered, because alchemy would let him get rid of any drafts, while also making a slightly more efficient air vent, keeping in all the warmth, while still circulating the oxygen and carbon dioxide enough that he never felt like he was suffocating.

"Oh, dear," Roy said in that tone of voice he always used when Ed got lost in the science behind something. "Why don't we redesign your blanket nest over stew and hot chocolate. Just this once."

Ed snorted, because it was never 'just this once' when it came to Roy ensuring he was actually eating while he worked. Which, to be fair, Ed needed Roy to babysit him sometimes when he got too focussed on something, just like there were days he had to drag Roy out of the office, or he'd never come home; equivalence.

Between the two of them, it didn't take long for Ed to free himself from his cocoon, and Roy was right there with the heater-warmed clothing. Which, okay, Ed supposed he deserved a kiss for that. But not until after he was dressed, because he had plenty of experience with Roy's natural ability to distract him from anything. Even something as important as putting on warm clothing.

By the time they'd made it downstairs and Ed was safely ensconced in a couple of the blankets from Roy's many 'sisters' in front of the cheerfully crackling fire, his leg port was aching just enough to remind him why he hadn't wanted to get out of bed.

But then Roy carried over a tray laden with two bowls of stew and two mugs of hot cocoa, all of it steaming promisingly, and Ed forgot about the ache of chilled metal against scar tissue in favour of his growling stomach.

They ate off the coffee table, Ed's left leg stretched out in front of him, and Roy's own leg draped over it in just the right spot to keep the port warmed with body heat, easing the old ache.

"Still wish you were in bed?" Roy asked once Ed had finished his stew and was doing his best to savour the last few sips of his hot cocoa.

"Maybe," Ed lied, and set down his mug in favour of curling into Roy's warmth.

Roy chuckled and wrapped his arms around Ed, as warm and comfortable as any blanket cocoon.

Okay, so maybe there was something that could get him out of bed in the winter.

.

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