[fic] To Call Me Mellow (Ed-solo, NC-17, prison!verse)
...yes, I wrote out-of-continuity porn set in the prison-fic universe :P All you have to know is that EdnAl are living in Winry's apartment with her, above their shop. Never fear, "History of Violence" will remain safely gen! As for this...
*shifty eyes left and right*
I regret nothing!
Warnings: NC-17, solo smut, set in prison-verse.
He wakes to the sound of the rain, soft and tinny against his window; rain again just like yesterday, like the three days before that. It’s like it never fucking stops. He rolls over and stretches tentatively, feels every inch of the wonderfully squishy mattress. His bed at First Correctional was mostly just metal slats sticking out of the wall, they didn’t give you anything with springs in it. Idiots used the wires to fight with, or worked them into keyholes.
Tiny little room. There’s not much else, besides his little bed and the opposing balcony, unless you counted the long skinny privacy blinds over the glass sliding door. He looks over at them and smiles a bit at the ribbons blue light peeking out between. The one good thing about the rain is, the clouds filter sun out and color everything steely grey. This light is easier on the eyes, doesn’t stab your ass awake with orange. It makes the nights feel longer, they last half the day.
He told Al, the other day, that one of the shittiest things had been getting up each morning - every morning at five, that when the guards wanted to fuck with you they’d bang on the bars more like three, tell you to get ready, then bitch at you for being out bed when you did. That wasn’t really the shittiest thing, actually - not by a long shot - and he’d felt sort of bad when the wake-up knocks stopped right after. He didn’t really mind that so much (kind of pisses him off to waste all day sleeping), but there’s always food in the oven for him when he gets up, and it is kind of nice just to have time to himself.
He rolls onto his stomach and squirms a bit, rubs his crotch reflexively against the mattress. He’s got a raging case of morning wood and it doesn’t. fucking. want. to. go. away. Usually, it’s wilting before he even slides out to get dressed; like the echoes of his nightmares, erections don’t take too long to fade. This one is stubborn though, and honestly, the goddamn mattress is really not helping. He wonders why the hell he isn’t just taking care of it.
He flips back over and sticks his hand down his pants, wraps it firmly around the base of the cursed annoyance. There’s a throb of hot pleasure and his cock pulses double-time in his hand; his fingers send sweet little tingles up through the head. Yes, there’s an itch there that he hasn’t been able to scratch in a while; he could use a little release.
Something about being on his back though, it bothers him in weird, obscure ways; can’t help wanting to flip onto his side. Face the wall, where he’s not so exposed. He can’t do that, though, because the wall is on his left side and if he rolls that way he’d be laying on his left arm, and that’s too damned uncomfortable; his right side faces the balcony.
His hand freezes. Fuck, the balcony. Fuck, someone could be watching. The thought sets off a nameless terror, and he slows his stroking to glance at the slats of the Venetian blinds. They’re waving a bit - dance a bit with the air flow, they always do that - but fuck, someone might see in through the temporary gaps.
No, he’s being ridiculous. Like a goddamn girl. He grips himself again and pumps his cock a couple times, studiously ignores the patterns of light as they shift on the ceiling (that means blinds are MOVING!), closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in it. Winry’s apartment is on the second floor, his room faces the abandoned factory; even in the infinitesimally small chance that someone could see anything through the hanging blinds anyways, there wouldn’t be anyone across the way to see.
Still, his heart is beating double-time too now, and racing like it’s going to come rocketing out of his chest. He bites his lip and holds still, tries just to pull hard and fast and get this over with.
Tug, tense; try to keep the hips still. Mattress was squeaking a bit - someone could hear that. Breathing - too gaspy? If you were right overhead you might wonder what the guy on the bottom bunk was rasping about. But DAMMIT, there’s nobody in the room, nobody across the way, no bunk mate above him that could look down through the sides and see that he’s-
He’s losing it.
He reseats his hand and strokes again, frenetically, tries to coax the softening organ back to attention. Tries to think of something, anything, to bring back the enjoyable tingle, but it doesn’t really work. He can’t focus on anything and the damn erection continues to fade, even though his balls are still sensitive and screaming, are gonna be goddamn sore later.
He gives up, disgusted. It’s not fucking worth it, really. He crawls out of bed and puts on enough clothes to make it to the bathroom.
The erection comes back a bit when he takes it out for the usual morning duties; makes it harder to piss and thus, pisses him off. He gets a bit nervous and has to check the door twice before he gets all the way undressed. It’s locked though, will remain so; solid wood all the way up, nobody gonna see over it. Or through the gaps along the side, like with stall doors. At Correctional, when you really needed to, you had to sneak into the farthest-back stall, stuff the cracks in the door with toilet paper so nobody could see what you were doing. They knew what it meant - fuck, everybody did it - but if they caught you with your pants down then you were already half defenseless, and everybody knew that if you had your wang out and it was pointing at a guy then you were just an ass-bandit homo, and then--
Erection starts to fade again, and he puts an end to that train of thought quickly.
He will not let his damn dick get the better of him. He will not. He leans against the wall and just plays with himself for a bit, rolls his balls back and forth in his palm and mouths wordlessly. Just don’t. Think. There, that’s nice, he can start to enjoy that. He curls his fingers upward and squeezes - just a bit, not too much or it’ll hurt like a bitch - and his cock pulses appreciatively, swells up again and brushes over his knuckles.
He starts running a bath, still working his hand idly over the sensitive flesh. Wonders if it will fade when he tries to get in the water. The worst combination in the world is an erection and the shower, cause you’re already in there with about eighteen other bastards, but - no, he already promised he wasn’t going there. Just don’t think about anything, just rock into your hand and oh fuck, that felt good. He leans against the wall and gasps hard as his thumb finds the sweet spot, rolls over a patch just beneath the head that makes his vision swim. He rotates his hand around and starts tugging in earnest, rocks up onto his toes just trying to fuck his own hand.
He throws out his automail and props himself up against the wall, but dammit, that’s not going to work. He can’t come standing up like this, it’s too hard. He doesn’t want to, but backs off just long enough to coax his knees into unlocking. Slides into the tub and oh hell, hot. Cock too sensitive. He hisses and lifts himself halfway out of the tub; changes his mind because this won’t leave a hand free, lowers himself right back in. Still pins and needles, dancing all over everything and his cock could really, really use some attention right now.
He grips himself and starts to jerk off beneath the water, but slowly, doesn’t want to splash water out. It’s hard to hang onto as tightly anyways, makes him half-crazy because he needs to squeeze tighter, move faster, oh fuck - why can’t he just come? He arches his whole body up and breaches the surface, bites back a cry at the rush of cooler air over his cock.
Oh please oh please oh please he mouths endlessly, the only fantasy he ever allows himself, doesn’t even know who he’s asking. It’s been so long, he’s right there, fuck, if he can’t make it work this time then it probably isn’t going to, he’s going to have blue balls again and just-
Don’t. Think.
He thrashes his hips, flounders around and doesn’t give a shit if the tub is overflowing; yes, that’s what he needed, the rest of his body to get into this. Stabbing, progressive spikes of pleasure are driving up his cock, it’s wonderful, mindless. Doesn’t need anything but this to focus on, every part of him tensing - oh please oh please - his cock swells suddenly and he grits his teeth together, can’t cry out.
He can feel the rush -
His vision stutters and he comes so hard he can’t seem to draw air, explodes into the water so hard he thinks he might snap. Oh, fuck.
He pants weakly for a long time afterward, drained and boneless. The bathtub isn’t helping, it’s so buoyant and warm that it’s like a watery cradle. Safe, inanimate currents of water rocking him slowly to sleep.
He shouldn’t sleep here, he thinks, but as with all things these days, he really wants to do it because he can.
“Brother?” Al calls, some indeterminate amount of time later, and Ed freezes instinctively. Tries to cover himself with a washcloth. But the door remains closed and locked, and his brother makes no attempt to transmute the lock open. It was ridiculous to even think that - Al knows better, he never, never would.
He is safe.
“Are you alright in there?” The knock comes again. “It’s been a while…”
Ed drags his hand bravely across the springy mass of curls just above his cock (naked, and yet talking to someone!!!), and even still, he is confident enough to answer back.
“Yeah.” Ed calls, eyes sliding shut again. “I think I’m okay.”
::to unify my universe / to call me mellow::
*shifty eyes left and right*
I regret nothing!
Warnings: NC-17, solo smut, set in prison-verse.
He wakes to the sound of the rain, soft and tinny against his window; rain again just like yesterday, like the three days before that. It’s like it never fucking stops. He rolls over and stretches tentatively, feels every inch of the wonderfully squishy mattress. His bed at First Correctional was mostly just metal slats sticking out of the wall, they didn’t give you anything with springs in it. Idiots used the wires to fight with, or worked them into keyholes.
Tiny little room. There’s not much else, besides his little bed and the opposing balcony, unless you counted the long skinny privacy blinds over the glass sliding door. He looks over at them and smiles a bit at the ribbons blue light peeking out between. The one good thing about the rain is, the clouds filter sun out and color everything steely grey. This light is easier on the eyes, doesn’t stab your ass awake with orange. It makes the nights feel longer, they last half the day.
He told Al, the other day, that one of the shittiest things had been getting up each morning - every morning at five, that when the guards wanted to fuck with you they’d bang on the bars more like three, tell you to get ready, then bitch at you for being out bed when you did. That wasn’t really the shittiest thing, actually - not by a long shot - and he’d felt sort of bad when the wake-up knocks stopped right after. He didn’t really mind that so much (kind of pisses him off to waste all day sleeping), but there’s always food in the oven for him when he gets up, and it is kind of nice just to have time to himself.
He rolls onto his stomach and squirms a bit, rubs his crotch reflexively against the mattress. He’s got a raging case of morning wood and it doesn’t. fucking. want. to. go. away. Usually, it’s wilting before he even slides out to get dressed; like the echoes of his nightmares, erections don’t take too long to fade. This one is stubborn though, and honestly, the goddamn mattress is really not helping. He wonders why the hell he isn’t just taking care of it.
He flips back over and sticks his hand down his pants, wraps it firmly around the base of the cursed annoyance. There’s a throb of hot pleasure and his cock pulses double-time in his hand; his fingers send sweet little tingles up through the head. Yes, there’s an itch there that he hasn’t been able to scratch in a while; he could use a little release.
Something about being on his back though, it bothers him in weird, obscure ways; can’t help wanting to flip onto his side. Face the wall, where he’s not so exposed. He can’t do that, though, because the wall is on his left side and if he rolls that way he’d be laying on his left arm, and that’s too damned uncomfortable; his right side faces the balcony.
His hand freezes. Fuck, the balcony. Fuck, someone could be watching. The thought sets off a nameless terror, and he slows his stroking to glance at the slats of the Venetian blinds. They’re waving a bit - dance a bit with the air flow, they always do that - but fuck, someone might see in through the temporary gaps.
No, he’s being ridiculous. Like a goddamn girl. He grips himself again and pumps his cock a couple times, studiously ignores the patterns of light as they shift on the ceiling (that means blinds are MOVING!), closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in it. Winry’s apartment is on the second floor, his room faces the abandoned factory; even in the infinitesimally small chance that someone could see anything through the hanging blinds anyways, there wouldn’t be anyone across the way to see.
Still, his heart is beating double-time too now, and racing like it’s going to come rocketing out of his chest. He bites his lip and holds still, tries just to pull hard and fast and get this over with.
Tug, tense; try to keep the hips still. Mattress was squeaking a bit - someone could hear that. Breathing - too gaspy? If you were right overhead you might wonder what the guy on the bottom bunk was rasping about. But DAMMIT, there’s nobody in the room, nobody across the way, no bunk mate above him that could look down through the sides and see that he’s-
He’s losing it.
He reseats his hand and strokes again, frenetically, tries to coax the softening organ back to attention. Tries to think of something, anything, to bring back the enjoyable tingle, but it doesn’t really work. He can’t focus on anything and the damn erection continues to fade, even though his balls are still sensitive and screaming, are gonna be goddamn sore later.
He gives up, disgusted. It’s not fucking worth it, really. He crawls out of bed and puts on enough clothes to make it to the bathroom.
The erection comes back a bit when he takes it out for the usual morning duties; makes it harder to piss and thus, pisses him off. He gets a bit nervous and has to check the door twice before he gets all the way undressed. It’s locked though, will remain so; solid wood all the way up, nobody gonna see over it. Or through the gaps along the side, like with stall doors. At Correctional, when you really needed to, you had to sneak into the farthest-back stall, stuff the cracks in the door with toilet paper so nobody could see what you were doing. They knew what it meant - fuck, everybody did it - but if they caught you with your pants down then you were already half defenseless, and everybody knew that if you had your wang out and it was pointing at a guy then you were just an ass-bandit homo, and then--
Erection starts to fade again, and he puts an end to that train of thought quickly.
He will not let his damn dick get the better of him. He will not. He leans against the wall and just plays with himself for a bit, rolls his balls back and forth in his palm and mouths wordlessly. Just don’t. Think. There, that’s nice, he can start to enjoy that. He curls his fingers upward and squeezes - just a bit, not too much or it’ll hurt like a bitch - and his cock pulses appreciatively, swells up again and brushes over his knuckles.
He starts running a bath, still working his hand idly over the sensitive flesh. Wonders if it will fade when he tries to get in the water. The worst combination in the world is an erection and the shower, cause you’re already in there with about eighteen other bastards, but - no, he already promised he wasn’t going there. Just don’t think about anything, just rock into your hand and oh fuck, that felt good. He leans against the wall and gasps hard as his thumb finds the sweet spot, rolls over a patch just beneath the head that makes his vision swim. He rotates his hand around and starts tugging in earnest, rocks up onto his toes just trying to fuck his own hand.
He throws out his automail and props himself up against the wall, but dammit, that’s not going to work. He can’t come standing up like this, it’s too hard. He doesn’t want to, but backs off just long enough to coax his knees into unlocking. Slides into the tub and oh hell, hot. Cock too sensitive. He hisses and lifts himself halfway out of the tub; changes his mind because this won’t leave a hand free, lowers himself right back in. Still pins and needles, dancing all over everything and his cock could really, really use some attention right now.
He grips himself and starts to jerk off beneath the water, but slowly, doesn’t want to splash water out. It’s hard to hang onto as tightly anyways, makes him half-crazy because he needs to squeeze tighter, move faster, oh fuck - why can’t he just come? He arches his whole body up and breaches the surface, bites back a cry at the rush of cooler air over his cock.
Oh please oh please oh please he mouths endlessly, the only fantasy he ever allows himself, doesn’t even know who he’s asking. It’s been so long, he’s right there, fuck, if he can’t make it work this time then it probably isn’t going to, he’s going to have blue balls again and just-
Don’t. Think.
He thrashes his hips, flounders around and doesn’t give a shit if the tub is overflowing; yes, that’s what he needed, the rest of his body to get into this. Stabbing, progressive spikes of pleasure are driving up his cock, it’s wonderful, mindless. Doesn’t need anything but this to focus on, every part of him tensing - oh please oh please - his cock swells suddenly and he grits his teeth together, can’t cry out.
He can feel the rush -
His vision stutters and he comes so hard he can’t seem to draw air, explodes into the water so hard he thinks he might snap. Oh, fuck.
He pants weakly for a long time afterward, drained and boneless. The bathtub isn’t helping, it’s so buoyant and warm that it’s like a watery cradle. Safe, inanimate currents of water rocking him slowly to sleep.
He shouldn’t sleep here, he thinks, but as with all things these days, he really wants to do it because he can.
“Brother?” Al calls, some indeterminate amount of time later, and Ed freezes instinctively. Tries to cover himself with a washcloth. But the door remains closed and locked, and his brother makes no attempt to transmute the lock open. It was ridiculous to even think that - Al knows better, he never, never would.
He is safe.
“Are you alright in there?” The knock comes again. “It’s been a while…”
Ed drags his hand bravely across the springy mass of curls just above his cock (naked, and yet talking to someone!!!), and even still, he is confident enough to answer back.
“Yeah.” Ed calls, eyes sliding shut again. “I think I’m okay.”
::to unify my universe / to call me mellow::