Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist

Firebird

by Laylah

Future AU. Restored to his body, Al comes to the desert, looking for something he can't quite name. Scar helps him find it.

Category: Full Metal Alchemist - Rating: NC-17 - Genres: Erotica, Romance - Characters: Alphonse Elric, Scar - Warnings: [?] [X] - Published: 2005-06-18 - Updated: 2005-06-18 - 5486 words - Complete

?Blocked
Firebird

O Marvel of the World, prodigy without a blot, unique Phoenix who givest thyself to the great Sages! Thy feathers are red, and golden the hues of thy neck; thy nest is built of cassia and Saboean frankincense. When thy life is drawing to a close, thou knowest the secret way of Nature by which thou art restored to a new existence. Hence thou gladly placest thyself on the altar of Thebes, in order that Vulcan may give thee a new body. The golden glory of thy feathers is called the Medicine of health, and the cure of human woe. Thou has power to cast out disease and to make the old young again. Thee, Blessed Bird, I would rather have than all the wealth of the world, and the knowledge of thee was a delight which I sought for many years. -- Michael Meier, Symbola Aureae Mensae Duodecim Nationum, Book 12

There was noise coming from the end of the valley, where the Ishvarites had set a guard to protect the camp. The guards' voices, loud and angry, and another voice that he almost recognized. Scar got up with a sigh. More trouble.

The intruder was a boy of about seventeen, with eyes like pewter and hair like dark gold, his fair skin burnt pink by the desert sun. "I don't want to hurt him!" he protested, but the guards who held him seemed unconvinced.

"What's going on here?" Scar asked.

All eyes turned to him. "Scar-san!" the boy cried. "I came to see you." The hair, the voice, the odd courtesy all came together like a transmutation, and Scar realized what he was seeing.

"Alphonse Elric," he said. "Your brother succeeded."

The boy ducked his head shyly, as if embarrassed to be recognized, and nodded.

"You know him?" one of the guards asked.

"Yes." Scar studied Al. The boy's mannerisms made more sense in his real body, for all that Scar had gotten used to seeing them performed by an animate suit of armor. "I know him. He won't be any trouble -- will you?"

Al shook his head.

"No alchemy," Scar cautioned.

"I know." Al nodded again. "I won't."

"Well." The guards let go of him, and Al stood there, squirming slightly to try to get his clothes back in order. "You came looking for me," Scar continued. "I suppose I should at least offer you tea."

It was the first time he saw Alphonse Elric smile.

*

Al was just as polite as ever, following Scar back to his tent without one stray question and thanking him more than once for the invitation. They sat in silence while the water heated, and Scar studied his unexpected guest.

Whatever the Fullmetal Alchemist had done to restore his brother, it had worked brilliantly. Al looked -- normal. Healthy, if sunburned. His body had the same slenderness -- not quite delicacy, but almost -- as his brother's: large expressive eyes set in a slightly rounded face, and long elegant hands that seemed to perch on his thighs like birds at rest. But there the similarity ended; Al had a stillness, a composure to him that Ed had never managed. He looked content to sit there for as long as it took before Scar decided to talk to him.

Which meant, of course, that he wouldn't have to wait long. "Why here?" Scar asked. "Why me?"

Al smiled again, a radiant expression that seemed to animate his whole body. He'd never learned to disguise his emotions, Scar realized. Quite the opposite -- in the armor, he had to display his feelings as obviously as possible to make them visible at all. "Because you gave me hope, Scar-san," Al said softly. "Because you hated the alchemy that had made me what I was, and you still saw me as human when I doubted it myself. I came to thank you."

"I'm glad that it helped you." Scar poured the tea. "But this seems an awfully long journey from Central City just for that."

Al nodded, looking down into his teacup. "Everything is -- different, now that we're restored. Ed is -- really, um, busy with things he didn't have time for before now...." He was so red from the sun that he could hardly blush any darker, but the embarrassment was clear in his tone. Scar wondered which of Edward's admirers had gotten lucky.

"And General Mustang --" Al's voice cracked on the name, prompting a suspicion that Scar didn't want to consider too closely -- "has asked if I want to study for the qualification exam and become a National Alchemist, too." He paused, sipping his tea. "I don't know if that's what I want, though. So I said I was going to travel for a while and think about it."

"You know what kind of advice you'll get here." Scar sipped his own tea, hot and bitter. "Alchemy is a perversion of the gifts that God gives us."

"How can you say that? Your arm...."

Scar nodded. He wrapped his left hand around it, the curse he carried, the reason he wore long sleeves even in the worst desert heat. "I expect to be damned for it."

"I -- I'm sorry," Al stammered, looking down, shame clear in the set of his shoulders. "Please forgive me for bringing it up."

Alchemist or not, he might just grow up to be a good man. "Would you like to stay here for a while?"

"I -- what?"

"Would you like to stay here?" Scar repeated. "The others have -- not wished to impose," or rather, not wanted to contaminate themselves with his heresy, "so I have this whole tent to myself. If you want to stay here while you think things over, just say so. I'll talk to the elder."

Al stared at him in shock. "Thank you, Scar-san! How can I ever repay you?"

Scar smirked. "You can stop thinking like an alchemist." He rose to leave, offering his guest a quick bow. "I'll be back."

*

"Are you certain this is wise?"

Scar looked down at his hands. "No. But I suspect that no one ever is, when the question is one of any importance."

"All too true," the elder agreed, surprisingly kindly. "You don't think his brother will come looking for him?"

"It's possible." The floor in the elder's tent was harder on his knees than his own. Scar wondered if that was due more to the ground beneath it or to his own sense of sinfulness. "I will ask him about it, and see if he has any suggestions how to keep the military away from here."

"Good. We cannot afford to shelter him, should they want him back." The elder paused, his stare measuring. "Make sure, also, that he knows we will not abide him performing alchemy here. Even with...your support."

Scar flinched at the reminder. If the tribe hadn't been so decimated by the years of conflict, he had no doubt that he would have been exiled a dozen times over by now. "I'll make sure he understands."

The elder smiled, leaning back on his heels. "Then the rest is in Ishvarra's hands."

*

It had been a long time since Scar had really believed Ishvarra was watching over them. Hadn't his people suffered more than any loving god would ever demand? But he found that he wanted to, as he walked back across the camp to his own tent -- pretending not to notice when children averted their eyes, or the way old women muttered prayers in his wake. It would be so comforting, to think that there was a power somewhere in this world that wanted to keep them safe.

Al was putting away the last of the tea things when Scar got back. "I -- I hope this is all right?" he said, watching Scar nervously.

"It's fine," Scar reassured him. "Thank you." He must not be used to his restored body yet -- he still moved like he was too big, too awkward, like he expected to be told at any minute that he was in the way.

He smiled briefly, starting to relax. "I felt like I ought to do something -- even if I can't stay, you went to ask for me --"

"It doesn't work like that," Scar interrupted. "I don't need a housekeeper, and you can't pay me for doing the right thing." He saw Al's face fall, and he continued, "The elder says you can stay, as long as you don't use any alchemy and the military doesn't come looking for you."

Al frowned thoughtfully. "I could -- I could send a letter to my brother," he suggested. "Telling him I'm safe, but I need to be left alone for a while." That little apologetic smile again. "He's still not completely happy about being a National Alchemist himself, so I think he'd understand."

"Good. I'll drive you to the village tomorrow -- did you walk all the way out here from the train station?"

Al nodded. "Almost. I helped an old man with a flat tire, and he gave me a ride for a few miles. But I walked the rest of the way."

"You'll sleep well tonight." The nearest village had to be at least fifteen miles away, and even if he'd ridden more than half of the trip, walking the rest would be exhausting for someone who wasn't used to the desert. And no wonder he looked sunburned.

"I can't wait," Al admitted, yawning, stretching his arms over his head. "It wasn't easy to get here."

No, it couldn't have been. And yet he'd done it anyway. He wanted much more than a chance to offer his thanks, that was clear. Scar hoped he had the answers Al was looking for.

*

Scar gave up trying to sleep at dawn. Al was snoring softly, cocooned in blankets on the other side of the tent, and the sudden awareness of his presence had caused Scar to start awake half a dozen times throughout the night. How long had it been since anyone had been that relaxed around him? Years, probably.

Might as well start breakfast, if he wasn't going to get any more sleep. Scar rolled off the sleeping mat, shrugging his blankets aside and tugging a shirt on before he turned on the little gas cookstove. He'd need more water than usual -- enough for two bowls of porridge, for a whole pot of tea. He would need to carry more water, too -- Al would need plenty while his body adjusted to the climate. Scar smiled faintly. If a little extra fetching and carrying turned out to be the only trouble that Alphonse Elric brought into his life, he'd consider himself blessed.

"What smells so good?" Al asked from his nest of blankets, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

"There's cinnamon in the porridge," Scar said absently, stirring it.

"You're making breakfast?" Al sounded shocked.

"Unless you'd rather go without," Scar retorted, glancing up at him.

"No, I -- I mean, thank you." Al's eyes were dark and intense, with no pretense masking them. He sat up, still watching Scar, and the blankets fell to his waist. He was built like his brother, slender and...not tall, but the body in that thin white undershirt was a young man's, not a boy's any longer -- the developing muscles of his chest and shoulders clear through the worn cotton.

Scar looked away. "You're welcome," he said stiffly. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could. Al would say yes, not because he wanted to but because of some stupid, alchemy-derived notion that it would be a fair trade for his food and shelter. "If you write to your brother this morning, I'll take you into town. The train to Central comes in around noon, and it takes the mail."

"Thank you, Scar-san." So much earnest gratitude in that voice -- it would be so easy to take advantage of that. "Is there anything...?"

"No." Scar measured out the porridge into bowls, not looking up. "The things I need are things no human can provide -- not even one as talented as you."

Al's sad little sigh of disappointment as he accepted his bowl was almost comforting.

*

They made it into the village with time enough that Al not only mailed his letter, but rented a post-box where Ed could send him replies. Afterward, when they had watched the train steam out of the station, northbound toward Central, Al offered to buy lunch before they headed back. He looked so pitiful, so hopeful, that Scar agreed.

"Scar-san," Al said as they waited for their food, "why do you not want me to do anything for you?"

Scar sighed, picking up his chopsticks as lunch arrived. "Because you're thinking about it like it's alchemy. You're trying to make an equivalent trade."

Al looked confused. He paused, noodles slithering off his chopsticks and back into his bowl. "Is that bad?"

"It's not right. There are things you can't trade for. And things you shouldn't." And things for which the price was far, far too high. The rice tasted like ashes in his mouth. His brother -- his people --

Something must have shown in his face, because Al had gone white under his fading sunburn. "I'm sorry," Al whispered. "I didn't mean to make you angry...."

Scar shook his head. "I'm not angry. Not at you, anyway." Al didn't seem reassured, so he tried to smile, as awkward and false as it felt. "There's a bakery in the next street. I'm sure if you brought some sweet things back to camp, the children would be happy that you had thought of them."

He watched Al digest that idea. "But you were the one who thought of it," Al said at last. "I should at least mention --"

"No. I'm a dangerous heretic. Unclean. They wouldn't accept gifts that came from me."

Al dropped his chopsticks into his bowl with a clatter. "But that's -- that's horrible. You helped them. You fought for them."

"And then I very nearly repeated my brother's transgression -- the sin that turned God's face away from us. I don't blame them for being wary." He glared at his lunch, trying not to see Al's hurt expression. "Don't pity me."

"Three years ago, I asked you if I was human, and you said that I was," Al said softly. "You aren't asking me now, but I want to tell you all the same: you are a good man. You should have a chance to be happy."

Scar pushed his chair back from the table. "We should be going." If his voice sounded choked, or his posture was tenser than usual, Al was too courteous to mention it.

*

Al made the adjustment to life in the Ishvarite camp surprisingly well. He played games with the children, carried water for the elders, and climbed into the hills looking for pieces of jasper or prickly red cactus-fruits. The sun bleached his hair and darkened his skin until he was gold all over, except for the slate of his eyes and the rose of his mouth.

After a week, Scar took him into the village to check for mail. Ed had written, promising to do everything in his power to keep the military from looking for him, and demanding more details about Al's adventures. They ate lunch in the same cafe while Al wrote back, his handwriting exuberantly spiky.

At the end of the second week, Al recited the thanksgiving over dinner before Scar could hurry through it himself. He explained rather shyly that he'd asked Ruth, the old woman in the next tent, to teach it to him, and asked if that was all right.

In the third week Scar found himself saying the devotions again, for the first time in years. Al asked about them, and learned them quickly -- the hopes for blessing at sunrise, the celebration of Ishvarra's glory at noon, the delight in the day's bounty at dusk. Another letter arrived from Ed in the city, this time with a postscript from Winry to say that she hoped Al was well, and he should see her latest creation because it was a masterpiece. Al drew pictures of cacti and rock lizards in his reply, and tucked some of his brightest bits of jasper in between the pages.

By the fourth week Scar couldn't pretend that Al's presence wasn't affecting him. He could mostly ignore Al's beauty -- mostly -- but he couldn't deny the fact that Al's laughter, Al's questions, disrupted his routine in ways he didn't mind at all. And when Ruth greeted them both politely one sunrise, he didn't think twice about offering her one of the rabbits he'd snared the night before.

It was all Al's fault.

"You're smiling again," Scar said as he passed Al, carrying water back to the tent for the evening meal.

"I'm happy here," Al said simply, rolling up out of his basking-cat sprawl and following Scar into the tent. "Can I make dinner tonight?" Scar opened his mouth to ask what brought that on, and Al continued, "No alchemy, no equivalent trade. I know it doesn't pay for you taking me in. I'd like to do it anyway."

Scar raised an eyebrow, setting down the water jugs. "Why?"

Al looked a bit lost for words. "Because -- because sometimes it's good to just offer things, without expecting anything in return."

He had learned, then. Scar smiled. "Yes, Alphonse. Make dinner. I'd be happy to share it with you."

The smile Al gave him in return was dizzying -- like the sun rising just for him. And then Al launched himself at Scar, wrapping both arms around him in a fierce, crushing hug.

Scar returned the gesture automatically, too surprised to do anything else until his body began to respond to the unfamiliar contact with so much warm, inviting flesh. He put both hands on Al's shoulders and tried to push him back, gently. "Al, I don't think this is a good --"

Al grabbed him by the shirtfront and stretched up to kiss him, hard, knocking his sunglasses askew and pushing their hips clumsily together. "I do," Al said breathlessly when he pulled away at last. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

Scar just stared at him, stunned. After a moment, Al's face fell. "You can't, because of your religion...?"

"No," Scar managed, "that's not -- not a problem."

"Then --" Al seemed to shrink in on himself -- "you don't like me that way...?"

"No, I just...." He just wasn't about to lose this chance, Scar decided, and he tilted Al's chin up with one gentle hand, leaning down to kiss him back.

Al closed his eyes and opened his mouth, melting into Scar's touch, and his lips tasted tangy and sweet from the cactus fruit. He let go of Scar's shirt, twining his arms around Scar's waist instead. Scar pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, feeling Al open to him, lips and tongue soft and yielding.

"I just didn't expect it," Scar said when he broke the kiss. "I didn't think you would want to." He ran his fingers through Al's soft hair, and Al smiled up at him.

"I do," Al said quietly. "That's why I came here, and not anywhere else."

Scar closed his eyes, hugging Al tightly. "I'm glad."

"Can we --" Al's voice was uncertain, but his eyes were bold when Scar met them -- "can we wait on dinner?" As if to make his meaning clearer, he punctuated the request with a little thrust of his hips.

"Yes," Scar breathed, his voice gone dark and smoky with hunger. "Dinner can certainly wait." He led Al to the back of the tent, pulling him down onto the sleeping mat in a graceful spill of golden limbs. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

Al shook his head. "Is that okay?"

Scar licked at Al's neck, tasting clean sweat and feeling him shiver. "Yes. If this is what you want."

"It is," Al whispered. "You are." His hands slid up under Scar's shirt, skating lightly over his stomach and coming to rest on the small of his back to pull him closer.

Scar let Al move him, rolling over so that he had Al half-pinned beneath him, their legs tangled together. When he kissed Al again, he could feel Al's whole body responding, arching up toward him. The clear passion of the response laid his last doubts to rest -- Al did really want this, as much as he did. Al rocked his hips, hard against Scar's thigh, and Scar growled into his mouth, reaching for the buttons of his trousers.

"Please," Al whispered, "please," tugging Scar's shirt buttons open, pushing the rough fabric back off Scar's shoulders. "I want to feel you."

Of course. "You will." Scar shrugged out of his shirt -- and Al didn't look down at his arm even for a moment -- and helped Al pull his own off over his head. Scar was Ishvarite-dark all over, but Al had lighter skin on his chest and stomach, where the sun hadn't touched him. He shivered when Scar stroked the line of his collarbone, inward from shoulder to throat, and the look in his eyes was almost panicky.

"It's all right, Alphonse. Keep breathing. There's plenty of time." Scar closed his hand on Al's shoulder, steadying him --

And Al lunged for him, clinging to his arms as tightly as he could, shaking. "I'm sorry," he was saying -- sobbing -- as Scar cradled him carefully close. "I'm sorry."

"Sshh," Scar murmured. He could feel the wet heat of tears where Al's face was buried in his neck. He should have realized how careful he would need to be. "It's a lot to take in."

"I don't -- want you -- to stop."

"I'm not stopping." Scar stroked the length of Al's back, soothing him like a frightened kitten. "I'm just slowing down."

"Okay." Gradually, Al's breathing calmed, and he relaxed against Scar's chest. He let go his deathgrip on Scar's arms and began to explore cautiously, fingertips skating over chest and shoulders, up the side of Scar's neck and over the line of his jaw.

Scar turned his head to kiss Al's fingers, and then, slowly, watching Al's face the entire time, sucked the first of them into his mouth.

Al inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide, but the sound he made was a moan of shock and pleasure, so Scar didn't stop. Instead he eased Al onto his back, shifting to cover him, weight braced on his elbows and knees. He let Al's fingers slip from his mouth, cradling that hand in his own and licking at the palm, tasting the sharp tang of sweat as he traced the lines with his tongue.

And Al was incredibly responsive, treating every touch as though it awakened a new erogenous zone he hadn't known about -- which, Scar realized, was probably no less than the truth. He licked a path over the heel of Al's hand, following the faint blue lines of his veins up the inside of his forearm. When Scar paused at the crook of his elbow, biting gently at the soft flesh, Al whimpered, arching his back and clutching at Scar's hair.

"Is that a good sound?" Scar asked. "Not too much?" He could see a faint flush to Al's cheeks in the dim light.

"Yes," Al managed, "so good. Please, more."

Scar smiled against his skin. "Of course." He licked and nuzzled his way up Al's arm to his shoulder, biting and sucking at his throat as he writhed on the blankets. "More?" Scar asked, watching Al gasp for breath.

"Oh, yes." Al's eyes were huge and dark, pupils shining with need.

"Good. There's so much of you I haven't tasted yet." Scar slid down Al's body, sucking at one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers. Al moaned, and his hips started to move in little hungry thrusts.

Al moved like fire, golden and brilliant, and Scar wanted to burn. He reached down to unbutton Al's trousers, and this time Al let him, hips arching to press his cock into Scar's hands.

"Oh -- Scar --" Al panted, his hands clenched white-knuckled in the blankets.

Scar looked up. "Too much?"

"Not --" Al met his eyes, and the heat in his expression made Scar's cock throb. "Not enough."

"Then let's try this." Scar leaned down, hands on Al's hips to hold him still, and licked a slow trail up the underside of Al's cock. Al trembled under his hands, then moaned low and broken when Scar dipped his head to take Al's cock in his mouth.

Al's breathing was fast and shaky, and he tasted like heat and brightness, and it took barely half a dozen slow deep strokes before he was arching, shuddering, spilling down Scar's throat like liquid fire.

Scar sat up, tugging at the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Feeling better?"

Al nodded, his face flushed, hair clinging damply to his forehead. He reached out in invitation, and Scar lay down carefully beside him, resting a hand on the flat of his stomach. "I want to do something for you, too," Al said shyly, running one careful hand down Scar's side and inward, forward, toward his cock.

"You don't --"

"I know I don't have to." His voice was quiet, but perfectly even. "But I want you to feel that good. I want to see it. I want to feel it." His fingers were clumsy, fumbling Scar's trousers open, and the friction was maddening. "Will you fuck me?"

Scar took a deep breath and tried to think about anything less immediate than the slender fingers stroking him. He could already tell he would want this -- would want Al -- again, and that made it even more important that it go right this time. "Do you want that?"

Al kissed him sweetly, eyes open and smiling. "Yes. I do."

Scar kissed him back, harder. "I would love to." He stroked Al's chest one more time, then rolled to his feet. "Don't go anywhere."

They would need something to use as lubricant. Cooking oil was less than ideal, but probably the best option he had on hand. Scar retrieved the bottle, then turned back to the bed -- where Al was squirming out of his trousers, already half-hard again.

For a moment, all Scar could do was stare. He'd spent the last month trying not to notice that Al's body had become as beautiful as his soul, and now all that loveliness was being offered to him like a blessing.

"Is everything okay?" Al asked, looking at him nervously.

Scar smiled. "Yes. For the first time in a long time, everything is okay." He pushed his trousers down off his hips and let them fall, stepping out of them to kneel between Al's legs.

And Al smiled at him again, that giddy, sunrise smile that made him glad to be alive. "I can hardly believe you said yes."

"I can hardly believe you asked." Scar poured out some of the oil on his fingers, and looked up to meet Al's eyes. "Stop me if I hurt you, because if I'm doing this right I shouldn't."

Al nodded. "I promise."

Scar reached down and smoothed the oil between the cheeks of Al's ass, not pushing yet, just touching. Al's eyes flickered shut and he raised his knees, spreading himself open, trusting and vulnerable and unbelievably desirable. Holding his breath, Scar eased one finger into him, shivering at Al's soft moan of surrender. He began to stroke gently, slow and deep, looking for the right angle, the right spot.

When he found it, Al's eyes flew open, the panicked look on his face again. Scar stopped moving immediately, steadying Al with a hand on his thigh. "Do you need a break?"

"I...don't think so," Al said. "Again?"

The second time, his cock twitched against his belly, and his sharp breath sounded less like pain and more like pleasure. "It doesn't -- it doesn't feel like anything else." He managed a little crooked grin. "Do it again?"

Scar smiled back, relief swelling warm in the pit of his stomach. He took one of Al's hands and moved it to Al's cock. "Do it with me," he suggested, and when he thrust in again, Al's hand stroked down his cock in the same slow tempo.

It went much more smoothly after that, Al's body relaxing and opening for him, taking a second and then a third finger easily. Once Al learned to process a new sensation, it seemed he couldn't get enough, breathless and hungry.

"Now?" Al asked at last, his eyes shining, his voice rich with need.

Scar nodded. "Now." As if he could deny Al anything when he asked for it like that. He withdrew his fingers carefully, oiled his cock, and slid into Al on one slow, easy thrust. He had to stop moving almost immediately, consumed by the slick, clutching heat, and he bit down on a curse, because Al deserved better.

"Are you okay?" Al asked, fingertips coming to rest on the back of Scar's hand.

Scar couldn't help laughing a little at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Yes. I'm okay." He turned his hand, lacing his fingers with Al's. "I'm not used to feeling this, either."

Al grinned. "Is this the part where I tell you we can go as slow as you need to?"

"Sounds about right." Scar found himself grinning back, amazed at how different this was from anything he remembered. "I think...this should be all right." He rocked his hips, just slightly, his cock sliding deeper, and Al's grip on his hand tightened.

"More like that," Al suggested, "would be really good." He seemed to have forgotten all about the hand on his cock, but he didn't seem to be missing the extra stimulation, either.

"More like this?" And oh, fuck, Scar hoped so, because it was so good like this, slow and deep, Al's body yielding around him just enough.

"/Yes/." Al wrapped his legs around Scar's waist. "Yes."

Yes. It was like the coming of dawn, a little more heat, a little more light at every stroke until it seemed like his whole body would erupt into flames -- and Al's breath hitched, little helpless gasps every time he drove deep -- Al's hand barely moving, like it was too much for him to take all at once -- and he cried out, his whole body rocking inward, muscles rippling around Scar's cock, spilling white and sticky across his belly -- and Scar let go his control, let the fire consume him, devour him, transform him -- and he could hear his own voice, distantly, making a sound almost like a sob as everything he was shattered inside Alphonse.

When he opened his eyes and looked down, there were tears on Al's face. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching to wipe them away. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay," Al reassured him, stilling his hand. "I'm just -- feeling so much."

Scar nodded. "Okay." He pulled out carefully, leaning back on his heels. "I'll be right back." He got up at Al's nod, fetching a soft wet rag to clean them both off.

Al sighed happily at the touch, arching into it, his shoulders slumped in an expression of relief. "I'm glad I came here," he said shyly, reaching out one hand to Scar.

"So am I," Scar answered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "Everything has seemed...brighter, since you got here."

It would be time for evening devotions soon; the meager light from outside was turning from gold to rose. But they had a few minutes to spare yet. Scar lay down beside Al, cradling him close, and treasured the warmth in his heart.

*

Gentle kisses to his eyelids woke him. "The sun is almost down," Al said. "If you want to go out for devotions, we should do it now."

"Mmm. We should." Scar sat up, smiling at the pull and ache of unfamiliar sore muscles, at the long sleek lines of Al's body beside him. They dressed quickly, and Al followed Scar out into the red-violet of the dusk.

"Oh Ishvarra, God of all that is," Scar began. Al kneeled beside him and joined in on the next line: "Creator of the world, ruler of Heaven: all glory is Yours, and we rejoice in it.

"We have been blessed this day, Ishvarra, through Your love and mercy." Al reached over and took Scar's hand. Scar faltered at first, then continued, "Your kindness to Your children is without end, and we are strengthened by it. May we walk in Your grace for all the days of our lives."

Scar squeezed Al's hand in his own, and added quietly, "And may all our days be as blessed as this one."

Al smiled, and his voice was completely steady, completely certain, when he answered, "Amen."
Sign up to rate and review this story