Sorry, sarah_the_crab.  ;_;  Fletcher and Ed weren't cooperating at all.  I hope this still works for ya.
Fletcher/Ed.  Takes place between Impressions and What One Does For Love.  Fletcher's attempt to help Ed deal with his "trauma" backfires.  Sexual content warning.

Taking Action

Do you trust me?

Edward Elric really, really hated that line.

You won’t regret this, I promise.

He hated that line even more.

Scowling, the young alchemist lay on the roof of his new home and stared at the night sky.  After Fletcher Tringham had learned more details concerning exactly how they had restored Al’s body, he had sworn to help Edward deal with the aftermath.  Ed would be the first to agree that the whole incident had been . . . less than appealing, but he had gotten over it.  He was fine!  And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how this change of pace was helping anyone, nonetheless him.

For example, after Fletcher had dragged the story out of Ed, he had decided it was necessary to stay by Ed’s side at all times.  By the end of the first day, Edward had been ready to kill the younger man.  When he and Alphonse and Winry had originally moved into the Tringham home, Fletcher had been more than respectful of Ed’s need for space.  He would leave Edward alone in the library while the older blond did his research, only occasionally interrupting with a gentle touch to the arm and a shy smile.  He had been respectful of Ed’s space.  After their talk, he had refused to leave Edward alone.  It was driving him mad.

Later, Fletcher had decided Edward should have the complete day off to rest and had convinced Alphonse to help him make a surprise dinner for the state alchemist.  That was three days ago.  In the time that Edward should have been comparing human transmutation to chimerical transmutation, he was scrubbing the black and green stains off the ceiling.  One of the cats acted like he would never recover, and one of the younger dogs still yelped whenever she saw Al.  Not to mention what it had done to the ceiling!  Worst of all, they had chosen spaghetti.  Why spaghetti?  Dammit, Edward had liked spaghetti!  Now he’d never be able to eat it again without remembering Russel’s panicked screams.

…It was hard to eat spaghetti while snickering madly.

Unfortunately, Edward had made the mistake of listing the physical circumstances of the incident.  Thus he was awake at 1:00 in the morning, sitting alone on the roof, waiting for his younger lover to finish whatever he was planning so he could go to bed. 

“Edward,” Fletcher chirped, and Ed turned his head to see Fletcher walking on the roof towards him.  His golden eyes darkened as he noted how Fletcher had his hands behind his back.  This week was about to get worse.

“Fletcher,” Edward retorted, his voice not quite as nice as Fletcher’s had been.  Used to his lover’s moods, Fletcher barely blinked.  Indeed, the younger blond was vibrating, his eyes bright.

Smiling brightly, Fletcher plopped beside Edward.  “I . . . I remembered what you told me about that night, with your father and the homunculi on the church roof, so I thought if you had some happy memories on our roof, it would help!”

Edward struggled to hide a grimace.  If it was anyone else—nix Alphonse—he would be tossing him and his dumb idea off the roof.  As it was, Edward managed a tight smile.  “Make it quick,” he managed between gritted teeth.  “I have research to work on in the morning.”

Fletcher smiled winningly, but Edward noticed something dark and uncertain in his eyes.  It had been there ever since Fletcher had started this odd plan.  Edward didn’t like it.

“Close your eyes and stick out your hands,” Fletcher instructed.  Twitching, Edward obeyed . . . and nearly leaped out of his skin when Fletcher tied a cloth around his eyes.  He yelped when Fletcher tied something silk around his wrists.

“Fletcher—!” Edward cried out, but Fletcher silenced him with a rapid kiss.  The younger blond barely brushed his lips against Edward’s, the older blond noted sulkily.  If he was going to get tied up, he deserved more than that.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Fletcher assured him quickly.  “I mean . . .  you’ll like this!  I promise!”

…Edward had a new phrase to add to his “most-hated” list.

Those warm lips fluttered against his again, and Edward leaned forward, attempting to deepen the kiss.  Fletcher pulled back.  Edward felt his lover’s hands fumble with the buttons of his nightshirt.  He sucked in a deep breath as he felt those shaky fingers slide against his skin.  He had no idea why the younger man was acting so shy.  It wasn’t like they had never done this before.

“Fletcher,” Ed whined, raising his bound hands.

Apparently encouraged, Fletcher kissed him, firmly this time.  Edward parted his lips to that tentative tongue.  As Fletcher’s kiss grew bolder, invading his mouth and sucking Edward’s hot cocoa from his lips, his hands grew steadier.  Edward sighed into the kiss as Fletcher finally unbuttoned the nightshirt and slid it down, only to groan in despair as his nightshirt caught on the binding on his hands.

“Oh, sorry,” Fletcher murmured sheepishly against his lips.  “Didn’t think about that.”

Edward growled and squirmed.  The shirt was wrapped around his back and wrists.  Dammit, if this situation didn’t improve quickly, someone was going to—

Fletcher’s mouth fastened on Edward’s throat, and the young man groaned thickly.  Oh, yeah.  He loved that spot.

“Sorry,” Fletcher mouthed against his neck.  “Don’t worry.  It’s still good.”

And how was Edward supposed to argue with the man pulling his boxers down?  It didn’t seem like good policy.

“Ooooooh,” Edward moaned, arching his back.  Those hands slid down his hips, pulling his boxers over his knees, down his legs, and off his feet.  Goosebumps rose; Edward shivered.  Fletcher nibbled a little, raking his teeth down Edward’s neck to his sternum.  That hot, wet little tongue flickered over his flesh.  With a low moan, Edward moved against his lover.  Damn.  Maybe he could allow Fletcher to top . . . sometimes. . . .

Smooth hands ran back up his thighs.  Edward raised his hips, but Fletcher bypassed his lover’s hardening cock, instead trailing to Edward’s taut buttocks.  A stubby fingernail slid between the muscled cheeks.

“I never penetrated you,” Fletcher murmured, sliding down Edward’s body.  “You never let me.  Is that another trauma we have to deal with?”

Edward couldn’t bring himself to respond, raising his chest to meet Fletcher’s hot mouth.  The younger man licked the pink flesh around his nipple.  His tongue moved in time with the finger sliding down Ed’s ass.  Ed cried out as Fletcher scraped over his puckered hole.  At the same time, Fletcher suckled on a flat nipple.  It pebbled instantly.

“Fle—Fletcher,” Edward keened.

Fletcher switched to the other nipple, his finger tentatively jabbing but never entering Edward.  With a groan, Edward rubbed against that finger.

Abruptly, the finger pulled away from Edward’s anus, quickly sliding down over his sensitive perineum to cup Edward’s balls.  Edward cried out and arched again.  Fletcher was so close!  His cock was fully hard and dripping by this point.  Fletcher’s hand—Fletcher’s mouth!—was always so talented on him, and—

Fletcher completely froze over him.  Edward groaned.  “Now what?”

“Ah, Edward?”

“What, Fletcher?!”

“Um . . . did Russel ever finish fixing the roof?”

“…Russel was supposed to fix the roof?”

“Um . . . remember when Al and I made spaghetti?”

“…Fuck.”

Edward screamed as the roof gave under him, Fletcher shrieking as he rode him all the way down.  A second later, several more screams erupted.

“Fletcher?!”

“Brother?!”

“Ack!  Brother!  Alphonse!”

“…Boxers?  Shirt?  …ambulance?”

xoxoxox

Edward stared resolutely at the hospital ceiling.  Fortunately, Fletcher had escaped completely unscathed.  The soldiers at the scene had confided to Ed that he had probably broken his lover’s fall.

Gee.  That was so nice.

Someone knocked at the door.  Edward refused to look away from the stain on the ceiling.  It looked remarkably like the cigarette stains in Havoc’s apartment.  He didn’t want to know why there was something like that in a hospital.

“Ed?” Fletcher called tentatively.  With a small scowl, Ed glanced at the door.

“Come in,” he groused, glaring at the ceiling again.  Of all the places to get stabbed by a piece of tile—!

Fletcher coughed, wringing his hands as he entered the room.  At the sight of his lover acting so nervously, Edward couldn’t help but take pity on him.

“Sit down,” Edward sighed, scooting a little on the bed.  It rubbed annoyingly on certain bandages, but Edward could ignore those. 

Smiling weakly, Fletcher sat on the edge of Edward’s bed.  “Um, I’m sorry . . . for everything.  I didn’t mean for it to turn out that way.”

Edward closed his eyes.  “Does this mean the strange behavior is going to stop?”

“Strange behavior?”  By the odd tone in Fletcher’s voice, he knew exactly what Ed was talking about.

“Strange behavior,” Edward confirmed.  “What’s going on?”

Tentative fingers grasped Edward’s own.  Edward gripped them gently.  “I know. . . .”  Fletcher cleared his throat, and the older blond could feel him gathering his courage.  “Alphonse and I were talking, and he told me how worried he’s been about you.  You and Alphonse taught me not to leave problems unattended, so I hoped. . . .”

Ugh.  He really fucking hated it when those two talked.  How could two gentle people cause such problems by just talking?!

With a low groan, Edward tightened his grip on those long fingers.  “Fuck, Fletcher.  Just . . . fuck.”

He focused on his lover’s pale face and forced a smile.  “Look.  You want to help me?  Don’t try to be someone you’re not.  That’s not going to help anyone.”  Wow.  He was trying to give advice.  In any other situation, he would wish Al was here, but his little brother had done enough damage already.  “I . . . I’m fine with you.  Don’t try to change, all right?”

Personally, Edward thought that was the shittiest speech he had ever heard, but Fletcher smiled a little nonetheless.  Then the younger blond’s shoulders drooped a little.  “Does this mean I’m not topping anymore?”

“…Actually finish the job next time, and we’ll talk.”