Title: Dating Al
Author: m.jules
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Romance is its own kink.
Disclaimer: These aren't mine and I'm not making a profit.
Author's Notes: Multi-tasking, what? This was written as an authorized follow-up to velvetmace's much-smuttier Halloween, based on Roy's promise at the end that he and Al would "just go out to dinner like normal men, and dispense with all the props for once. Forget the kinks and just make love for a change." I also used it for my 7stages Roy/Al claim, theme "One last dinner". Anime-verse-ish.
Dedicated especially to rainyelysian who wanted Roy/Al fluff badly enough that she just might forgive me for this, and to illame whom I hope won't look too closely at it since it is A) unforgivably fluffy and B) unbeta'd. cringe
Roy almost winced. Alphonse often complained that he looked like a little kid, but never was that more true than this very moment. The boy -- man, Roy insisted – was dressed in a tuxedo, his bronze hair pulled back into a long, tempting ponytail, and his eyes were alight with childlike excitement. He looked like he was getting ready to go to his first dance where the highlight of the night would be a shy, innocent kiss on the cheek from a girl in a frothy pink dress with lips to match. Roy felt like a criminal.
"Ready?" Al asked, practically beaming, and Roy couldn't help but smile. Al had been so thrilled with the idea of a proper date that Roy hadn't been able to resist really going overboard. He'd thrown his weight around – it was fun to do that now and again – and gotten last-minute reservations at an exclusive restaurant downtown and they had plans to go to the cinema afterward to see the new film that had been released. And after the movie… well, Al couldn't stay in that penguin suit all night, could he?
"Ready," Roy confirmed, turning on all his charm and flashing a beguiling smile. Al seemed momentarily taken by surprise but visibly softened in response, eyelashes lowering almost coyly, mouth curving with hidden promises. If Roy was going to play the seduction game, Al would gladly be seduced.
Being Al's lover was complicated in its own right; dating Al was downright problematic. It all started when the maitre d'hotel at the restaurant asked Al if he would be ordering from the children's menu. Roy raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to reply but Al beat him to the punch, answering archly, "No, I will not be."
The waiter worsened the deal by asking Roy what his son would be having for dinner that evening. Al's sharp reply was that he would be having the chicken marsala with a glass of chardonnay. Roy didn't know whether to be amused or exasperated; ordering the wine was pushing things, after all.
When Al produced his identification showing that he was eighteen years old, the waiter became flustered and looked to Roy as if to say, "Is this a joke?"
Roy didn't give an inch, but the poor man was in such a state that Al sighed and backed down, ordering water and tea instead. The waiter took their menus and retreated to the kitchen as if they both had the plague and Al sat back in his chair with a huff.
Roy couldn't exactly soothe him the way he normally would, but he did push his foot across the floor to bump Al's toe underneath the table. When Al only deigned to give him a sulky look from beneath his golden-brown bangs, Roy sighed and reached out to take Al's hand.
"It's not fair, Roy," Al whined before Mustang could get anything out. "Five years. Five years I'm going to have to wait before anyone believes me! I'll be twenty-three by then!"
Roy chuckled. "Yes, you'll be practically ancient." Al glowered and Roy stroked a thumb over the back of his hand, sitting back as their waiter returned to the table with their beverages and took off again, but not before regarding Roy with a horrified expression. "And maybe in five years, people will stop giving me dirty looks when I go out with you." A finely dressed woman across the way stared daggers at him and Roy shrugged. "Or maybe not."
Al sighed again and straightened in his chair, arranging his silverware on the tablecloth. "I'm sorry," he muttered, color coming to his cheeks.
Roy grew suddenly serious, catching Al's eyes with his and holding the young man's gaze. "Every relationship has problems, Alphonse," he said. "You choose the relationship you want and you live with the issues."
Al cracked a small smile, seemingly mollified by this indirect admission of Roy's affection for him. "I guess you're right," he acknowledged, his bad mood blowing away as quickly as it had come.
Unfortunately for their waiter, Al's goodwill only extended so far and Roy thought he detected a sigh of relief when they paid their bill and left. He doubted the poor man had been worked so hard in the entirety of his career.
If Al had been irritated in the restaurant, he was downright stormy when the admissions lady at the cinema told them the film they had come to see was sold out. The only other show playing that night was a children's program.
"You'll probably enjoy that one more anyway, sweetheart," she said to Al with a dimpled smile.
Al turned on his heel to face Roy, who was regarding him with a questioning expression. "Did you want to see the movie, Al, or would you rather go somewhere else?"
"Somewhere else," Al ground out, already stalking away from the ticket window.
Roy nodded a goodbye to the ticket seller and followed his young lover down the sidewalk. At first he doubted Al even knew where he was going but soon realized they were approaching the park in the center of town. Al's steps finally slowed when they reached the fountain, strings of white lights illuminating the walking paths that wound around it.
Roy sank onto one of the wrought iron benches but Al stood at the edge of the fountain, staring into the pool of water at the bottom.
"Al," Roy called after a moment. "Come sit with me."
"Why?" Al called back without turning around. "So you can get arrested for molesting a child in public?"
Roy flinched. Al hadn't meant that as a reflection on Roy, but it was one of Mustang's issues. It disturbed him how easy it was for him to be with Al, to make love to that young body, no matter how old the soul inside it was. Sometimes he wondered what that said about him and he never liked the things he came up with as an answer.
When Roy didn't respond, Al turned just in time to catch the troubled expression cross Mustang's face.
"I'm sorry, Roy," he murmured, coming close enough to reach out, fingertips brushing Roy's hair.
"I'm sorry," Roy said, shaking his head. "This was supposed to be a nice evening out for you."
Al shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. The look on his face was all too serious and for once, he looked damn close to his age. "Maybe we should just go home."
Roy couldn't argue with that; there were still enough young couples wandering through the park that Al's jibe about being arrested if they tried anything was within the realm of possibility. "All right."
Though the evening had been a disaster, Al took it well, even smiling a little as he "helped" Roy undress for bed that night. Still, Roy couldn't help remembering how excited his lover had been at the beginning of their date and how disappointed he was by the end. He might be a selfish old man, but Roy Mustang never failed in anything he set out to do, and that included dating Alphonse Elric.
As Al drifted off to sleep in his arms, Roy lay awake and began devising a plan.
"Roy, I don't think this is a good idea."
It was the fifth time Al had expressed this particular sentiment since Roy had told him to get dressed and "dress nice." The young man was particularly tempting in tan slacks and a white button-down shirt but the look on his face suggested that he didn't have a lot of faith in Roy's plan… whatever that was.
"Trust me," Roy said cryptically. Al gave him a suspicious look but followed along with one last glance over his shoulder at the cab they had taken to the outskirts of the city. They were on the nice side of town where large, sprawling lawns and manicured gardens stretched out between restaurants and boutiques like fields of emerald in the afternoon sun, and Roy was headed toward a very highbrow café that Al knew by reputation only.
"Roy, are you sure they're even open yet?"
Roy ignored the question and Al sighed. A lovely young woman greeted them with a polite smile as they entered the café whose dim lights and empty tables certainly gave the impression of being closed for business.
Al prepared to resign himself to the usual routine of being patronized while the girl flirted with Roy but to his surprise, she simply said, "Mr. Mustang, Mr. Elric? Right this way, please."
She led them to a private table on the back patio with a full view of the lovely Xingese gardens behind the café and left them with the menus, promising that their waiter would be with them momentarily.
Before Al could ask another question, Roy turned a sly grin on him, the kind that always made Al suspect that Roy had something up his sleeve. It was a terrifying look and Al loved it.
"Well?" Roy asked, his voice deep and rumbling. "What do you think?"
"It's beautiful," Al answered. "But it seems odd that we're the only ones here."
If Al had meant to trap Roy into revealing exactly how many strings he'd pulled for this, his efforts were in vain. Roy gave him a slippery smile and reasoned, "Not many people dine at three in the afternoon."
He brought Al's hand to him across the small table, pressing a kiss to the palm, and Al caught his breath. Al tried to pull his hand back quickly as he noticed the waiter approaching, wary of having their afternoon ruined by a rude remark or disdainful expression. Instead of letting go, however, Roy just held Al's wrist more tightly.
"Good afternoon, sirs," the waiter greeted them without blinking, making a short bow. He tilted the bottle of wine he held to give them a better view. Al's eyebrow arched at the year on the label. "Would either of you be interested in a glass of one of our fine vintage wines today? We offer an exclusive selection of the best of Riviere."
"Alphonse?" Roy asked, his fingers still closed around Al's hand. "Would you care for wine?"
Al was stunned. "It's a little early for wine," he finally stammered, and Roy nodded in acquiescence.
"I believe we will save the wine for another day," Roy said to the waiter. "I think I would like a glass of water."
"Very good, sir." The waiter nodded then turned to Al. "And for you?"
"Water, please," Al said, regarding Roy with an expression of utter surprise as the waiter returned into the restaurant. Roy let go of his hand, turning his attention to the menu in front of him, and Al picked up his own menu, willing the words on it to make sense.
When the waiter returned, Al ordered in a daze and afterwards wasn't even sure what he'd chosen. He and Roy almost never went out to nice places as a couple because of exactly what had happened the week before. Two men obviously "together" was odd enough in most places; for one of those men to have the appearance of a thirteen-year-old was sure to turn ugly no matter where they went. Al hadn't realized how dizzying it would be to be the center of Roy Mustang's attention in public. It was certainly a new, heady experience.
Roy soon drew Al out of his shocked state with discussion of literature, drama, philosophy, alchemic theory… their conversation leaped from one subject to the next with all the nimble dexterity of an acrobat as it usually did and Al found himself grinning from ear to ear, forgetting about the slight age of his cheated body and feeling only the near-infinite reaches of his mind. He loved when he and Roy had these conversations because it was one of only two times that he didn't feel held back by the alchemic quirk that had kept his body from aging for five years. The other had very little to do with conversation at all.
By the time their dinner came, Al was in high spirits, his eyes practically glowing as he enthusiastically met each of Roy's logical points with a counterpoint of his own, jousting and sparring with words and ideas. The waiter actually smiled as he brought their meals and Al was startled to realize that, if one bothered to look past the surface, his relationship with Roy wasn't really all that strange at all. Well, mostly.
Sometime in the middle of dinner, Roy interrupted one of Al's particularly inspired monologues with a forkful of his own meal held up to Al's mouth.
"Taste this," Roy suggested in his most seductive tone, and Al did. Unwilling to be outdone by his charming lover, however, Al didn't just taste it. He wrapped his mouth around the tines of the fork, pulling the tender meat from it and letting the tip of his tongue trail behind to catch the burgundy sauce.
He savored the bite with a smirk and lowered eyelashes, watching how Roy watched him. "Good," Al purred before spearing a chunk of his meal and holding it out to Roy. "Now taste mine."
Roy smiled and leaned forward obediently, repeating Al's performance with a smoldering glance that went straight to Al's groin.
Evening was falling by the time they finished their dessert and coffee, other guests beginning to fill up the popular restaurant. Al and Roy's table still managed to be secluded even when people were seated at the other outside tables and by this time, their conversation was subdued and littered with hints and suggestions. Roy's coat was draped across Al's shoulders in the crisp November night and Roy secretly loved the subtle claim of ownership the small gesture afforded him. Maybe they would look into a proper collar of some kind later.
Warm light from lanterns and lamps set around the gardens began to come on, turning the café into something otherworldly. Al glanced around, hearing the low chatter of other patrons and the soft strains of music that a violinist was beginning to produce, and sighed reluctantly. "I guess we probably need to get going," he observed, but Roy shook his head.
"There is one more thing, although we can always return home if you wish."
Curiosity piqued, Al decided to wait to see what the "one more thing" would turn out to be. He didn't have to wait long; within five minutes, costumed men and women filtered out onto the open area of the garden. One of the players whom Al correctly assumed to be the leading man stepped to the front and greeted the audience, introducing the night's play – "a tale of romance, passion, and a murder most foul."
Roy and Al had a perfect view of the drama from their table and the players were masters of their art. By the time the tragedy wound to a close, the hero having expired in his beloved's arms at the hands of a wicked villain, all the restaurant's patrons – and a few of its staff – sat perfectly still in enraptured silence. As they abruptly burst into applause, Al turned to look at Roy, a particular kind of hunger in his bronze eyes.
"I'm ready to go home now," he said, and Roy nodded.
Roy knew a long evening of flirting and romance was a prolonged form of foreplay but he hadn't expected Al to be quite so eager by the time they got home. Almost before Roy closed the front door behind them, Al's hands were everywhere, his lips following close behind, plying Roy's mouth open with demanding kisses.
Despite his zeal, Al's posture was submissive, inviting, and Roy easily took control of the kiss, tilting Al's head back until his neck was arched like a swan's, a strangled moan vibrating from the strained throat.
Cause and effect, Roy mused, feeling fire lick up his body at Al's utter pliancy in his arms. Torturing him gets me punished – going out of my way to seduce him gets me this. Not that Roy minded the punishment, either.
This was what he'd promised Al, Roy realized: a few hours by themselves, just the two of them learning each other all over again without the usual distractions. He wondered if his promise of "making love like normal men" included a stipulation that they had to use the bed because, at the moment, he didn't really want to move away long enough to walk that far… if he could walk that far.
Al's hand snaked under Roy's shirt, fingers smoothing firmly up the older man's spine, thumb scraping across the bottom edge of Roy's shoulder blade. Roy sighed, nipping Al's lower lip, and the heat in the room ratcheted up by several notches. For a moment, he thought, he'd forgotten how good just plain sex could be.
They did make it to the bed after all, Al's bronze hair spread out over the pillows, his tanned skin seeming almost golden against the stark white sheets. The young man welcomed Roy in with a matchless grace, all glorious acceptance and unfettered yielding, and Roy silently swore to himself that whatever else he did, he was going to make Al forget his own name.
Long minutes of steadily increasing pleasure crescendoed in a blinding arc of silky caramel hair and salty-sweet skin, Roy's name stumbling over Al's tongue. Roy collapsed on top of his lover, spent and breathless. A few awkward movements later, Al curled into Roy's body, their sweaty chests heaving against each other, Al's lips brushing over Roy's collarbone with each shaky breath.
"Not bad," Al murmured against Roy's skin, and Roy made a noise halfway between questioning and indignation. A smile curved Al's swollen mouth and he repeated, "Not bad for a new kink."
Roy chuckled softly, holding Al close, ignoring the way his arms trembled from exertion – and possibly emotion, he admitted. "Not bad at all."