Hiya, ya'll. xP

So this is my first ever fanfic I've written, which makes me a bit nervous to post it up. I'd appreciate reviews, but no flames, please.

A/N: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa and I own nothing. Well, I do own the side characters and plot, but besides that, nothing.

Now, this is A/U, but still set in Amestris. Some slight differences occur, but just to make it fit more into the story.

I hope you enjoy reading!

Inside Beauty

June 15th

He smiled in the mirror, before scrunching his lips up to give him more of a pouty appeal, as his eyes of coal narrowed a bit. He then placed a giant grin on his lips, closed-mouth so none of his bleach white teeth showed through pale skin. He was a gorgeous man, with the pale porcelain face that girls swooned over and men aspired to have. No scars, no acne, no blemish or bruise. Hell, it couldn't be natural, and it wasn't, but it wasn't like the pompous man would ever care. As long as his teeth were shiny and people could see their reflection in them, he didn't give a flying fuck how he got them.

He was a model after all.

Sure, not all models were as big-head and a player like this one, but the man with the raven black hair was an exception. His hair was probably the only natural part of him, because even if he was pompous and a snob, he wasn't a fool. Nope, that shiny, black, luscious hair was au natural, which he would keep until it turned gray. Then he would most likely dye it back.

The man stood in his temporary apartment, as all his belongings were being moved to his new mansion on the better, more classy, influential, and rich side of town. Until then, he was stuck in the dingy two-bedroom, two bath apartment that his manager got him just to live in for a few weeks. Least to say, he wasn't impressed. But, he would wait for forever and a day if it meant the house he had originally planned out on paper.

Ten bedrooms and twelve baths, all scattered over a spacious three floor house. It was upscale, with linen and silk and precious fabrics aligning the walls, though marble covered the halls and room, along with the countertops in the stainless steel kitchens. It was fancy, and it was all going to be his. No way in hell would he let his family move in with him. Fuck them. They didn't believe that he could be become a model; each time, his mother and father shot down his dream, and each time, he pushed back, before he left his house at sixteen.

He thought that it would be difficult, but with his surprisingly good looks and pouty fierce attitude, he was able to be spotted in a crowd and booked in an agency. See, miracles do happen to the beautiful.

Even at his ripe age of thirty-three (1), he was still looking as great as his twenties. Don't believe it? Just take a look at the walls. The dingy apartment here still had the pictures, the numerous ones lining the walls. They mostly covered the drab fading green paint in the living and dining area, and some of his best in his bedroom. Only the best though, since only the best women he brought home would get to see the masterpieces.

The pictures were ads, pictures, canvases, art, magazine covers, movie posters, and everything that could display a picture of a man, because that's just who they were of. Him. Now, if someone bothered to look at all the pictures, maybe they could see a name gathered on the cold paper over and over again. And if you weren't stupid, as least you would be in his eyes, to figure out who he was, that would be a tip off.

Yup, he was Roy Mustang, the world-redound model. He was known for living in Central, the fashion capital of the country, but even then, he still couldn't believe some people didn't know who he was. Maybe it was for the best, he thought, since then the paparazzi and everyone would be on him twenty-four seven. And he wouldn't want them on him. Unless, y'know, they were all women paparazzi.

Roy was a ladies' man true and through. He was one of the many players in Central, though he could be counted as more of the popular ones, if you followed him in magazines. The man could get around the room faster than a disease, which was saying a lot. Sure, sometimes his career made him work with other men, but Roy was a full-time batter for the ladies' team.

Grumbling, Roy looked over to the opposite wall, beside the door. He was currently in the front room, which he also called the living room since the real one was occupied with his awards and covers and pictures and…everything else.

A black leather couch and loveseat sat in the middle of the room, on top of dark green rugs that matched the peeling painted walls around them. The carpet was shag and ivory, though had recently dirtied up from dust and lack of cleaning. Roy could still see crumbs from the chips last Saturday he had, when the bag had fallen off the wood-and-glass coffee table. He could also see the ring marks from mugs and beer on the glass, which wasn't much of a surprise since he would use a bib before he used a coaster.

There was a fan on the ceiling, where most of the dust from the carpet came from. It was summer, and it was hot as hell, but that's what air conditioning was for. And it wasn't like he was home every second of every day anyway. Plus, the light was out and Roy didn't want to fix the bulb. Instead, he just used the lamp next to the bookshelf, which was holding the flat screen television up.

Off to his right was a hallway that leads to the master bedroom and bath, where it sharply turned and leads into the guest bedroom. The other bathroom was right before his master bedroom. On his left was the kitchen and real living room that he had turned into a 'Trophy' room as far as the vain man was concerned.

His eyes had been set on the black and white clock, which was mounted right between the hall closet and front door. Ten to eleven. Great. His manager was late. It wasn't like her to be untimely, which made Mustang worry for half of a second, but then it was gone. She could take care of herself, he knew. And if he showed any sort of curiosity and worry on her behalf, he knew she would pile her gun out faster than any sharp-shooter he knew, and almost shoot him. Maybe miss an inch or two if he was lucky. Roy knew Riza would be okay.

He was dressed in a tight black t-shirt that extenuated his toned muscles of his chest, something he worked hard to keep at the gym every other day. On the bottom were just designer jeans he had got from Riza. She said they were from the newest up-and-coming designer, some man from a town called Lior in the north (2). He didn't catch the name, but they were a nice and expensive, so Roy didn't care.

He looked at his left wrist, where a silver watch sat, before sighing and looking back at the large mirror. It wasn't body size, but it did reach down to around his belt on his five eleven frame when he was standing up next to it, so it did him fine. The glass was mounted around a stainless steel-type of material, molded into cursive and exaggerated shapes.

As he looked back up, black eyes and raven hair falling into place in the reflection, a hard, commanding knock rang on the door. Without a doubt, Roy almost pissed himself a bit. Riza always did this to him. She came from a military family, which didn't give leeway to her decision to become his manager, and when time needed it, bodyguard. It baffled him at first, since Roy was a man who tried to tap everything with boobs at first sight, and even though Riza was no different, they never really had anything. Drunken nights don't count in his book. At least not for Riza.

When he was about to move to answer the door, a good twenty feet away, said wooden object suddenly flung open, smashing against the wall and leaving an indentation. It was just another one on that wall, as similar ones could be seen all around. He sighed, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair as he scratched his head, before lowering it back to his side with a sigh. As she made sure everything was secure, Riza Hawkeye walked in, crouched, with her gun in front of her, in all her seriousness and undeniable beauty. She had long golden blonde hair that was wrapped up in a bun placed firmly at the back of her head. Her almond eyes were fierce and fiery, showing some unbridled fury locked deep within them, though it all cleared when she saw Roy was okay.

She was dressed in dark blue jeans and a along sleeved gray shirt. The top was a bit low, not enough to make her breasts pop out, but Roy could see the beginning of them from the top. As she straightened up, holstering the gun in the back of her jeans, she placed her hands on her lips, pursed her lips, and looked at him disappointedly.

Roy looked at her, but he was used to this sort of apprehended look. "What's wrong, Riza?" He asked, though it came out more like a statement, an expectation to know he did something wrong, than a question.

"You're late." She stated, not moving a muscle, even when Roy's face went into total shock mode, as he began pointing a finger accusingly at her and sputtering uncontrollably.

"I'm late?" He repeated, as she nodded curtly. "You're late! You were supposed to pick me up at a quarter till, and now it's," He paused, looking at the clock on the wall, "Eleven on the dot." Roy stated, turning to look at the confused look of Riza.

"I wasn't supposed to pick you up, Mustang. You were supposed to come to the shoot on your own, since I'm not your mother and you're not completely helpless." She snipped, jabbing him straight in the jugular as he sighed. Of course, he knew that, though it did get old when Hawkeye told it every time he was late or missed something. So, sometimes he didn't have the best memory, but it wasn't his fault. He had better things to think about.

"W-w-well," Roy stuttered, not knowing what to say. He couldn't remember her telling him that, but then again, he couldn't remember half the things she told him over the last week.

"Wait, when did you tell me this again?"

Her face fell, giving into a large sigh as she leaned her arm against the door jamb for a moment. It took only a second for her to look up, shoulder replacing her arm as she kept herself up against the side of the door. "Mustang, it was yesterday, after the meeting with Mr. Cornello?" She said, tilting her head to the side, trying to prompt him to exclaim that he had remembered. When nothing came, she continued. "I dropped you off and told you to leave your house at ten thirty, because it would take you twenty-minutes to get there, and be nice and late like you like." She gave leeway finally as his face sparked, snapping his fingers in delight as he remembered.

"Ah, yes, I do remember! Oh wait, shit." His face fell, as Hawkeye gave him the same 'Oh shit' look back to him. He remembered a bit too late, unfortunately.

"Well, now you'll get your wish and be nice and late, as per usual." Riza said, pushing herself from the door as she walked over, grabbing Mustang by the shirt and dragging him out the door. He squeaked when she first grabbed him, but let her take him out the threshold, slamming the door close once again, before she finally let go, chucking him in the elevator downstairs.

---

He didn't get to the appointment until eleven-thirty. After being scolded in the car, traffic being a bitch, and not being able to find any place to pull the car over, Riza had finally just shoved him out the door and made him walk in himself. He stopped in the lobby, waiting for his manager.

Roy had never been here before, at this small studio located on the west side of Central. It was where most of the shops and cafes were located, along with small studios and art galleries such as this. It wasn't incredibly small, but wasn't as big as some places that he had been. The lobby was a bit small, actually, when he looked around. It was mostly covered by furniture and the large desk the secretary sat in front. On her left and right held a door, which he suspected led the same place, but the designers tried to make it fancier by adding two entrances. There were some chairs on both sides of him, silver metal with white and black cushions on the bottoms and tops for headrests.

Pictures of models and still-lives danced around the walls, accompanying every little space here and there. He only recognized one picture, the one that held the model Dante, on the furthest wall behind the petite secretary. He hadn't the pleasure of meeting the beautiful woman, but it was a dream of his to talk to her for at least a second of his life.

The secretary caught him looking, which she must've assumed it was him by the way she turned bright red. Oh well, he thought, completely forgetting about the picture of the nearly naked lying down Dante, as he sauntered over to lean on the polished wooden desk.

"Hey beautiful, how are you today?" He said, putting on his low voice as he lowered his head, though lifted his eyes up a bit to gaze at her hazily. The girl gazed back, her mouth open a bit as she got caught up in his trance. She squealed a bit back in her throat, though coughed roughly a second later to try and gain composure. Her hands shifted hurriedly through the once-neat paperwork, finally finding the planner and looking down at the date. June 15th.

"Are you…um, "The brunette woman squinted at the page, "Mr. Mustang?" She said, blinking up adoringly, though retaliated as Roy's face fell for a second. She didn't know who I was right away? Roy thought, though regained his composure once again, putting on a grin.

"Yes, that would be—"

"Roy Mustang!" A booming voice shook the room, and Roy swore he saw the picture of Dante almost tip forward. The black haired man turned to see the person who had spoken. He was a well-balanced man, with dark brown hair and a scruff all over his chin, placed deep within a high-structured face. His eyes were piercingly icy blue, probably the second sharpest gaze he had ever seen in his life. Riza still stole the cake on that one.

He was dressed in jeans on the bottom, with a suit jacket and blouse on top, as hands placed on his sides and his head crooked to the head to study him ever so slightly. "Yes, yes, yes!" He exclaimed, strutting forward to place his hand out and vigorously shake Mustang's, who was a bit overwhelmed already. He knew of this photographer, Vincent Noir. Of course, Roy had never taken any pictures with the over-zealous man, though Riza said it was a high-paying and good time to start working with difficult photographers. The only thing that concerned him was that Noir's pictures were mostly of men…Hopefully they knew of his position, as hard core ladies' man, and flown him in some boobs.

He hoped to whatever god was up there they did.

He looked around for Riza, gulping slightly, as the man came closer. He had heard a bit about the man, with his bi-polar attitude. He heard he could be playful and a bud one moment, and the next he would be yelling and going insane. He definitely didn't want to go down that road, but Roy wasn't about to let him dominate himself.

"Hello, Roy…can I call you Roy?" Noir asked, grinning at him. The mess of brown hair and giant teeth made him think he was looking in the face of a lion.

"Mmm...No." He spoke bluntly, as Noir's face faltered a bit, before sparked back up quickly. "How about, Mustang, May I call you that?" He questioned, almost sheepishly, to which the model shook his head no.

"Ummm...uh, ehh, Mr. Mustang?"

"Bingo."

Noir's face lit up immediately when he finally found a name to call him, completely forgetting that he had just failed at it twice, before swung around, bringing himself to rest with his arm over Roy's shoulder, he walked forward, jabbing on and on about something or another.

They walked through the door on the left of the petite brunette secretary, who was out of Roy's view the minute he was led into the back room. It was another room, smaller and covered with smaller, different versions of the pictures from outside. A brown door was straight ahead, as it opened with a slam, as a light brown haired woman assistant appeared with a clipboard against her chest. She had a Bluetooth in her left ear, and glasses perched on her nose.

"Ah, Rebecca." Noir said, pushing Mustang forward. He, of course, wasn't expecting it and nearly fell flat on his face. Noir grinned and Rebecca's face didn't falter from the blank expression it had been before. "Rebecca, this is Mr. Mustang." The photographer said with a nod, before he turned to the man he had just shoved. "Mr. Mustang, this is Rebecca. She'll assist you in getting ready. She'll get your clothes, make-up and everything done, so don't hesitate to ask her for anything. If you ask her nicely, she might even give you some snacks or something! Hah ah!" He laughed, shaking his head as he gave a wave to Roy and headed towards the door Rebecca had come in. "See you in ten, Mr. Mustang."

Roy sighed, glad the man was gone, but when he looked at Rebecca, he couldn't help but grumble. She still had a stern look on her face, reminding him of his manager…Speaking of his manager, where was she? He looked around hastily, back through the door to the main lobby, before towards the door that lead to the dressing rooms and photograph studio.

"You're manager is already back here and getting the dressing room prepared." Rebecca said, a slighted accent piercing through her melodramatic voice. He knew she wasn't from Central; perhaps down south? No matter, he nodded, which Rebecca accepted with a turn, as she went through the door into the larger room. It was spacious. Straight-forward was the large curtain where he knew that Noir and all the assistants would be taking his and his partner's pictures in a few minutes. To the left was another ivory curtain, which he presumed was his partner's dressing room, as his was the one on the right.

He was glancing around and taking in the high-ceilinged, beige-walled room that he had not seen Rebecca move toward the right hand curtain and life open the 'door.' "Let's go. You only have ten minutes." She snapped, adjusting the glasses on her nose as Roy hurried and walked into the room. It was typical, with a couch pushed against the single wall, with a long table next to it and coffee-like table in front of the plush couch. Some snacks stood in bowls on the tables, along with magazines he presumed held Noir's work.

He saw the rack of clothing to his left, right beside the opening to the space where he could clearly hear Noir's voice ringing over everyone else's. He turned back to look at Rebecca, who was gone, until his attention was drawn towards the other 'door', leading into the larger room. Riza appeared, slightly agitated already. Hm, they had something in common.

"Mustang, are you getting ready?" She asked, knowing the answer full on. Right as he opened his mouth to speak, she caught him off. "Two minutes." "What?!" He yelled, diving for the rack as he found the one's marked for him, pulling them off the hangers and throwing them on.

Riza stepped out and two minutes later, Roy emerged. He wore low-cut dark blue washed jeans, which rode dangerously low on his hips. On top was an ivory blouse, only buttoned half-way up, and with a black vest placed on top of that. It was simple, though still a bit more heavily than he imagined with this photographer.

"Ah, Mustang, what took you so long!" Noir boomed over the room, coming to place his arm back over Roy's shoulder. He was about to go on about how it had only been five minutes since he had last seen the photographer, but once he started, he was afraid he wasn't going to stop.

"Oh, zipper got caught." He muttered, looking away, before towards the scene. A smoky-gray canvas stood in the back, while the camera was perched some feet away in front. He didn't see any props, but another rack of clothes on the left hand side, which he presumed was from his partner's dressing room.

"Now, Mustang, my boy, get ready, we're starting in a moment." Noir exclaimed, letting go of the model's shoulders, as he went off shouting about the lighting. Roy rolled his shoulders and shook his head. "So much for Mr. Mustang…" He trailed, nearly jumping out of his skin as he glanced to the right, only to find Riza suddenly right there.

"Ready, sir?" She asked, looking over towards the camera, than back. "Yeah, but are they not gonna let me see my partner? I hope it wasn't someone like that Rebecca chick. Maybe more like the brunette secretary?" He muttered, though Riza heard him loud and clear, as she rolled her eyes in acknowledgement. "I haven't seen the person yet, but Noir was saying that he loved working with the model. Takes excellent pictures." She jabbed, trying to lay it on nice, though she could tell by the faraway look on his face that all Roy was thinking about was getting to get half-naked with some hot chick.

He had turned half-way to Riza, with eyes still looking towards the wall with the canvas and camera, when he heard the swoosh of the curtain opening, and the sudden gush of some of the female assistants.

"Oh, you look great!"

"Awh, that clothing looks amazing on you! Totally makes your skin and hair…pop!"

"So handsome!"

Roy had been enjoying the comments he had been hearing about his partner, but the last one made him freeze. Handsome? Isn't that something you usually say to a…man? He looked down at Riza, who didn't look the slightest bit surprised. Pheh. Maybe he was still saved. Maybe the assistant was just not from these parts and 'handsome' could be used for both genders. Hopefully when he turned around he would be face to face with a beautiful woman. Blonde or brunette didn't matter at the moment. Just a woman was fine. She could be flat-chested for all he cared…

He turned, and when he saw the long golden blonde hair in a ponytail down the person's back, he exhaled the breath he didn't know he had been holding. But as he trailed across and down, putting the rest of the body on the head of hair, he gasped lightly, eyes going wide.

The gasp must've been loud enough, because the man turned to look at him. He had the softest face that Roy had ever seen, with big golden eyes that was also a first time thing for Mustang. The golden locks framed his light face, as the braid ran down his shoulders and stopped between his shoulder blades. He was bare chested, with nothing on but a vest similar to the one Roy wore, along with the same style of jeans.

Riza smacked Roy on the arm, noticing the man had been staring at the shorter, obviously younger man. He didn't realize the blonde man curiously cock his head at first, but once he saw it turn into a fish-gasping-for-water sort of face, the blonde went straight into a scowl with narrowed eyes. Noir came in next, at a good time too, as Roy regained composure.

"Ah, Roy." I thought I said don't call me that. "I see you've met Edward already." Noir boasted proudly, throwing the arm back onto Roy's shoulder. He was sure it would bruise. "Well, not exactly meet, per say." Roy scrolled out, using hand gestures to prove the point.

"Well, then let me be the first to introduce you. Edward, this is Roy Mustang, the man I've been telling you about." So at least he knows a bit about me, Roy thought, that's a good sign. He saw the other man named Edward soften his face, almost go so far to put a slighted smirk on his lips, before he put his gaze back on Noir. Roy reluctantly pulled his gaze towards the man as well. It was hard, since Mustang wanted to look back into the golden stare he had been getting, to glance into it and know the pure innocence that lingered there. Of course, he knew it would be gone quickly, with his modeling career and everything…but for now, it was an innocence Roy hadn't seen in a very long time.

"And Roy, this is Edward Elric, a fresh face in the crowd. And for today, you're partner." Roy knew when he looked back at Edward that his fish-out-of-water look reappeared, since the scowl had also come back to his face. Oh fuck.

Reviews feed the hungry!

(1): I couldn't remember the exact number of years seperate Roy and Edward, so I guesstimated fourteen, making Roy, 33, and Edward, 19.

(2): I also couldn't exactly remember where Lior was located in terms to Central, and north was the first direction I thought of. So I chose that.