That frown is the sole reason Maes is being stubborn about this. That frown and the excuse to kiss Roy. Not that he needs one.
“Come on, Roy,” he purrs, swinging the alchemist into his arms and blatantly ignoring all of the squirming that said alchemist immediately employs. “It’s a tradition.”
“I fail to see the point of your argument,” Roy grumbles with his usual lack of enthusiasm, giving up on his token struggles with no small measure of sullen resignation.
“The point, Roy,” Maes says with infinite patience, stroking a hand down his lover’s back, “is that you should never shirk your origins.”
Roy rolls his eyes, glaring up at the cluster of greenery above them as though his eyes could start fires and not just his gloves. “Is that your excuse?”
“Pfft. You really don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?” Maes nuzzled into Roy’s throat, even as the alchemist strained back to avoid him, just to be a pill.
“This isn’t romance. It’s… it’s…”
Maes cuts off Roy’s struggle to define the tradition with a kiss, one that Roy returns with all enthusiasm, despite his previous protests. Heh.
Maes: 352. Roy: 0.
They get entangled in the doorway. Literally.
Roy is trying to leave. Ed is trying to enter. The frame isn’t big enough for the both of them, whether it be Roy’s ego, Ed’s pride, Roy’s sweater, and Ed’s automail.
“My great-grandmother knitted me this sweater,” Roy states, deadpan, as he tries to unravel the loose strand of yarn from where it has wound around a hooked edge of Ed’s automail.
The Elric rolls his eyes, making no efforts to help Roy’s entanglement. “Liar. It’s an ugly sweater anyway.”
“Is this your grand, evil plan to make me get rid of it?”
“Since when do I plan anything?”
Roy grins. Wolfish. “Good point.” He pauses, tilts his head, and looks up. “Oh. What do we have here?”
Ed scowls. “Al’s idea of tradition.”
It’s a sprig of mistletoe, bright green, berries red as blood. It’s been tied with a sparkling silver ribbon and Roy’s pretty damn certain it wasn’t there this morning.
Roy smirks. Ed’s still captured by the loose thread and Roy takes advantage of that, gripping his lover’s chin with his fingers.
“Well,” he says with a quiet chuckle. “I would hate to disappoint your brother. Wouldn’t you?”
And Ed turns to putty in his hands. As well things should be.