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"Wait, wait, wait— I still, damn it Roy, I still don't get it."
Roy threw his head back in a groan. "How," he slurred, "how…? Maes, it's so simple, it's just a—"
"I'm so sorry I'm not familiar gay slang, I'm sorry for my… my... discrimination—"
"Shut up," Roy cut him off, and despite the alcohol in his system he was struck with self-consciousness after sounding so petulant, so childish, so. So. "The only thing you're doing wrong is not listening to me, okay, I can explain it to you but you have to, to listen."
They were too far gone. An hour or ten minutes ago, Roy noticed the bartender shooting them disapproving glances and was very glad that he had had the mind to change out of his uniform before meeting Maes for a drink. Because sometimes, it wouldn't be a single unity of drink.
"I am listening!" Maes cried out. "I'm listening to you, but back then I was listening to the privates in the canteen and, and— god..." He took a sip from his cup, then pointed a finger at Roy's face. "But you just said it yourself! When they are young, it's, it's twink, right?"
"Yes," Roy said. Gave it some thought. Shook his head. "No."
"You just—"
"Wait. Wait."
Roy had the vague notion that he must look wasted. Maybe not to everyone in the room but to Maes, who had seen it countless times the point when Roy starts to gesticulate, flapping his hands and moving his head as if he is becoming more and more passionate about whatever they decided to talk about in the evening.
"Yes," Roy continued, "they have to be young-looking, so teens and twenty-and-a-few, and yes, he, he fits that criteria. But Maes— Maes. He's just not. All right? Trust me, at least I know what I'm talking about."
"But he is young-looking! And he is pretty, right? With the long hair?"
Roy cursed under his breath.
"Yes. Yes. But Maes—"
"If you're, if you're just pissed that there are people who look at him— and I don't know why you'd be pissed because you know he is growing up fine, I'd get it, but frankly, Roy, you just sound out of arguments."
"No. Maes."
Maes arched a brow. "What?"
Roy swallowed dry.
"Fullmetal," (because he wouldn't dare call him Edward), "is shredded."
And he banged his closed fist on the tabletop for emphasis.
Somehow, saying it out loud was a revelation. Of what, Roy couldn't be sure. He couldn't think straight — ha! — even if he wanted to, even when he squinted at the condensation on his glass and watched as the droplets slid onto the wood. Either way, it felt good. Fullmetal was muscular, lean but sturdy, and by fifteen his shoulders were broad enough to make Roy's mouth water, and Roy could see the strength of his thighs and calves hidden under leather.
Maes shot him a flat look. "And? What's the matter?"
Roy shook his head. "A twink can't be shredded," he explained matter-of-factly. "When they look like, I don't know, like they could throw you over their shoulder they can't be a twink, for fuck's sake."
Twink is a word reserved for Albert, Coran, Ezra — pretty faces, pretty bodies, pretty voices. Edw—Fullmetal might have shiny blond hair and soft-looking lips, but he was rough, brash, tempestuous. Imprudent, impulsive, impossible. Underage.
"Then what do you call them when they can throw you over their shoulder?"
"Usually, a hunk."
"Hunk?"
"Fullmetal is not, and I cannot stress this enough, a hunk, Maes. Also no."
"Then next time I hear the men in the cafeteria what I'm supposed to say?"
Roy paused.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Hughes kept looking at him as if he was actually waiting for an answer.
"Have it crossed your mind," Roy started, "that you don't have to stick your nose where it does not concern you? Why would you want to talk about— with a bunch of—"
"Why isn't he a hunk?"
"Maes…"
"Why?"
"Because," Roy sighed. He rested his chin on his palm, propping his elbow on the tabletop. "Because he is— you know. Please, don't make me say it. God. I don't know, he is short and…"
Cute, or something like that. Roy wasn't used to associating the word cute to a hunk.
Maybe one day Fullmetal could grow into his skin enough to merit the title, but not yet.
At last, Maes relented. "Too young-looking, I guess." He shrugged. "So what is the word then?"
"Maes…"
"Hwink?"
"Oh, lord."
"That one was bad, okay, I admit it."
"Twunk?" Roy suggested. "I'm not sure though."
"Is that a thing?" Maes surprise sounded genuine. "Well, then I next time I hear—"
Roy let his head fall down until his forehead hit the table with a painful thud.