Series: Brotherhood/the manga
Word Count: 998
Characters: Team Greed!Ling, implied Ling/Ed
Summary: They like to watch.
Warnings: humor, potty mouths.
Notes: It’s Team Greed!Ling. Is any further explanation necessary? *LOL* Written for fma_fic_contest, prompt 86: “That’s so crazy, it just might work!” It didn’t place, but that’s quite all right. It was terribly fun to write all the same.
“Those rabbits aren’t going to just cook themselves, you know,” Greed says pointedly as he glances sidelong at Ed, who in turn gives him a steely glare.
“What, you mean like they didn’t just magically wind up dead and skinned and de-gutted before us?” Ed asks, all sarcasm and dangerously-glinting golden eyes. “I suppose since I caught them and cleaned them, you’re expecting me to cook them, too?”
Greed shrugs in a lazy manner, now eyeing the firewood. “Dunno, kid. Just figured it would only be appropriate since Darius and Heinkel were nice enough to gather the firewood.”
Ed makes a sound of unmistakable annoyance low in his throat and points a finger at Greed. “And what the hell have you been doing while everyone else has been working? Ling would have pitched in, royalty or not!”
Greed rolls his eyes and leans back against a tree. “You know, that whole attempt at guilt-tripping won’t really work on me. Just get a fire going, already.”
Ed’s cheeks darken and he shakes his head. “You know what? No. You do it. If you’re worried about chipping a fucking nail or something, get over it.”
“And how do you propose I start a fire, kid?” Greed drawls, and then winks. “I know you consider this body to be smokin’ hot and all, but I don’t think it’ll start a real fire.”
Ed’s cheeks are red again, but obviously for a different reason this time. He shakes his head again. “If all it took to start a fire was a huge ego, everything within five-hundred kilometers of this place would be burnt to a cinder. Unfortunately, your ego won’t help us in this situation. How about you take a match, strike it, set the tinder on fire, and then stack the wood on top of it?”
Greed gasps over-dramatically. “That’s so crazy, it just might work! There’s just one problem.”
Ed waits expectantly for Greed to announce ‘the problem’, and when the homunculus doesn’t, Ed clears his throat and glares even harder at him.
“Oh, were you waiting for me to finish?” Greed asks, evidently making no effort to hide his smirk. “No matches, and I never quite got the hang of rubbing two sticks together... although you and the prince seem to have that particular activity down pat.” When Ed doesn’t take the bait, Greed continues, perhaps sounding just a little disappointed: “Can’t you just use your alchemy or whatever to make a fire?”
Ed shakes his head. “That isn’t… my area of expertise.”
Greed cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
Ed fumbles awkwardly with the bottom of his shirt and looks down, away from the rapidly-reforming smirk on Greed’s lips. “I mean that I can’t just snap and voila, fire! Okay?”
Greed makes a tutting noise. “And why is that?”
Ed scuffs a foot in the dirt, silent for several seconds until Greed prompts him to answer, and then he all but yells, “Because I’m not fucking Mustang!”
Greed’s laughter somehow sounds absolutely obscene. “Well, I’m sure your prince is happy to hear that—he’s under the impression that he’s your one and only, you know~.”
“Fuck you,” Ed replies through gritted teeth, and Greed tilts his head from one side to the other, chin on his finger as he apparently contemplates the words—or, at least pretends to contemplate the words (the latter is by far the obvious truth).
“I don’t know,” Greed eventually states. “You might be the prince’s type, but you aren’t quite mine—I must admit, though, that there really is something nice about getting you all riled up.” He smiles, all teeth and feigned saccharine, and leans in closer while Ed all but leaps away, like he’s been burned.
“That wasn’t an invitation, you asshole,” Ed hisses, spitfire and sourness and sarcasm all rolled together.
Greed rolls his shoulders casually, and his smile and tone of voice are anything but apologetic when he says, “Sorry, kid.”
Ed is obviously more than ready to change the subject, and that is exactly what he proceeds to do: “Now, about the fire that we need to make. We--”
“Are you sure you can’t just go ‘voila, fire!’?” Greed interjects, failing at looking perfectly innocent when Ed glares daggers at him.
“I know you’re nearly immortal and all,” Ed begins, “but I don’t care. If you weren’t in Ling’s body, I’d kill you.” Ed probably doesn’t mean it, but in this particular moment… well, he just might.
A few feet away, Heinkel nudges Darius. “What the hell are we doing?”
“Watching,” Darius replies, biting back a laugh—the blonde is currently stomping around the homunculus, and this is all rather comical, really. With every second that passes, Ed looks more and more like the human equivalent of a teapot that’s been sitting on the stove for far too long and could literally blow at any moment. He expects to see steam coming from Ed’s nose and ears within seconds.
“This isn’t constructive,” Heinkel lightly argues. “What are we learning, just by watching those two bicker like an old married couple?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Darius replies in an agreeable sort of tone. “But you have to admit, it’s entertaining.”
The two of them watch as Ed waves a stick threateningly in Greed’s direction, while Greed gazes at the blonde with a mix of defiance and delight scribbled all over his – or Ling’s – face.
“Well… I guess you have a point,” Heinkel relents.
“I always do,” Darius responds. “It wounds me to believe that you would think otherwise.”
Heinkel rolls his eyes. “So, when’re you planning on telling them that you’ve got matches?”
Darius smiles broadly, patting the side pocket of his pants and listening to the rattle of said matches. Alchemist glares at homunculus and round two of the battle begins (the first round was won by Greed, hands down; maybe Ed will have better luck this time).
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll tell them… Eventually.”