O.o 503 killed my computer!
Couldn't sleep, so I stayed up and wrote the following drabble, which was requested something like a million years ago. (The prompt was unabashed Ed/Winry PWP with a vibe, and "not the same old sex scene". Well uh, I have no idea what sex there is yet to invent that people would still care to read, but well, I did write it slightly differently.) Anyway. The amusing thing is, literally the second I pressed the button to post...my laptop died. As in, it just shut off. No "low battery" warning, no other kind of preamble - it just turned itself off.
I can only conclude this was the universe trying to thwart my attempts to write het, but well, since when did I ever listen to it XD
Title: Idyll
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Ed/Winry
Rating: NC-17
He likes to ride on top and she likes to let him, feet pressed flat on the bed, knees up and apart with him sitting in front of them. His weight is formidable, settled just at the crest of her hipbone, and in the hot, all too hot blaze of midafternoon heat there is wetness between them like never before; slick patches of sweat at his chest and knees and shoulders, sultry oppression between their bodies where his thighs are straddling her hips. Her tube top is rolled up, revealing pert nipples, and her breasts are also slick - from the aftermath of his strong tongue, mixed with the heat of the day and her own intense excitement. Sex is nothing if not messy.
He also likes to reach around himself and strain a finger down; over time he's gotten good enough he can slip the damn thing in. She cries out and bucks a little (as much as she can with him pinning her hips) when his fingertip teases her clit, god, it almost burns, but he's really more interested in plunging the digit inside, shoving desperately, the way he can't do with another part of his anatomy.
You want to be...inside? She wants to ask, but that would just be cruel; it's too dangerous for them to go that far yet, too young to risk Kids. "You like that?" She whispers instead and works her hand faster on his cock. He doesn't open his eyes very much, but he gives her a heartfelt hiss for her efforts. Again, a flick to the clit. She is so turned on, she is so ready to come, but she wants to see him first, that makes it so much better. She curls herself up until she can touch her tongue to the tip of him, and he shudders all over like kneeling is suddenly too much. It hurts her neck but she can just barely do it, one lick, two, three and he is falling forward to all fours like she wants, panting and eager, a creature acting on instinct. Her creature.
"Here," she says, and presses her bare breasts together. They aren't as large as some girls, which used to make her worry, but there is at least enough to make a soft, sinful crevice for his cock to shove into. He wants to fuck something, and she wants to let him, and this is the safest way to approximate intercourse that she knows.
He needs no other invitation and wriggles his way further up her body, shaking and eager, the way he is every time. The way THEY are every time. Her own hands are trembling as she slides them up his chest, along the contours of his arms. So powerful. She has callouses and tough biceps and an entire regiment of acquaintances terrified by her wrench-arm, and he still bests her without even having to work at it. Men, and their muscles. His muscles work splendidly though, as he grits his teeth and begins to move, and though it's tiring to hold her breasts together she can't help but love the feel of him between them, and the sight of his firm, defined abdominals clenching and unclenching, the taut quiver to his legs.
It is not long before he is trembling even harder above her, and she wants to reach out and card her hands through that golden hair, scrape her nails down his chest, clench his ass as he thrusts. Any of that would destroy her illusion though, so she presses her breasts hard together and waits, fixed on his face, anticipating the moment. It comes, and he shudders, opens his mouth and makes a grimace so beautiful, she is not sure at all it should be called that. Warm wetness floods her chest, splashes messily between her breasts, and she hisses at the feel of it, secretly crows to herself at the sight of it. He reaches for her shop towel and she waits with dignity as he sponges off her breasts.
"Good?" She asks.
"...yeah," he sighs. He never has words when it is over, only half-mumbled praise. He flops down beside her and whispers some of that now, directly into her neck where it will hurt nobody. Edward is a proud creature; he voices love rarely but shows it often, in action instead of words.
Time passes. She has time to get comfortable in his sticky embrace, despite the light blazing through her open shoproom window.
"What 'bout you?" He mumbles, half-asleep, and she presses a soft kiss to his forehead in response.
"I've got a new prototype," she says. "Don't worry about it."
"I could do it," he volunteers, but she knows better than to take him up on his offer. When he is this sated and smiling, sleep is always sure to follow, and even though he means well an idle hand is something she could not stand right now. She got to see him on top of her, and coming, and that alone has her nipples so hard they could cut glass.
"No, that's okay," she says firmly, and reaches for the drawer in the nightstand. "You can just hold me."
He looks dubious but agrees; she come back with a metallic object reminiscent of a hand. She won't build automail to be a sex toy, no matter how much Edward begged, but she will build a sex toy to be like automail. It is modeled after his old hand, actually, though he does not yet know that; maybe, he never will. There are some things that are secret between them. That's the way it always is. His work, being a State Alchemist, all of that is something she can only catch a glimpse of; her work, blood and sweat and gears, is something he only shares in because he has to. Sometimes, she takes that automail arm of his and slips it down between them, slides a fingertip up to the nub of her clit, and he laughs and says she has an automail fetish. It is not just any automail though, it is the set she made for HIM that is important to her, because it is the only way she knows to say "I love you", too. They are both creatures of action. It is simply their way.
She flips the switch and it buzzes pleasantly; the inner motor has been calibrated just right. Edward's arms snake around her loosely but possessively, and she finds herself drowning in his scent. Warm. Sex. Musk. Male. He strokes her side slowly and burrows closer to her chest, and the need between her legs grows until she is helpless to place that buzzing instrument beside it.
It is only a few minutes to ecstacy but when she gets there, it is blinding.
"Good?" He mumbles with a heavy tongue, and she just presses her lips to his forehead and smiles.
"Not as good as you," she lies (really, neither of them are Better, they're just Different), but the flattery doesn't matter because he's already going to sleep. She smiles and gives his tangled braid a pet. She does have work to do, but she will wait until he dozes off first to think about taking his measurements, and repairing the past damage, and worrying about how all that damage was done. There will be time for that, later. There will be time for everything, later.
"'Night..." he sighs, totally incorrectly, and she just squeezes him tight, lets herself start to drift off with him.
He likes to do this after sex too, and she, indulgent, always lets him.
::let me take you for a ride / we can do just what you like::
Now I swear, if I can't find a way to go to bed and STAY THERE, I will die >:E
I can only conclude this was the universe trying to thwart my attempts to write het, but well, since when did I ever listen to it XD
Title: Idyll
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Ed/Winry
Rating: NC-17
He likes to ride on top and she likes to let him, feet pressed flat on the bed, knees up and apart with him sitting in front of them. His weight is formidable, settled just at the crest of her hipbone, and in the hot, all too hot blaze of midafternoon heat there is wetness between them like never before; slick patches of sweat at his chest and knees and shoulders, sultry oppression between their bodies where his thighs are straddling her hips. Her tube top is rolled up, revealing pert nipples, and her breasts are also slick - from the aftermath of his strong tongue, mixed with the heat of the day and her own intense excitement. Sex is nothing if not messy.
He also likes to reach around himself and strain a finger down; over time he's gotten good enough he can slip the damn thing in. She cries out and bucks a little (as much as she can with him pinning her hips) when his fingertip teases her clit, god, it almost burns, but he's really more interested in plunging the digit inside, shoving desperately, the way he can't do with another part of his anatomy.
You want to be...inside? She wants to ask, but that would just be cruel; it's too dangerous for them to go that far yet, too young to risk Kids. "You like that?" She whispers instead and works her hand faster on his cock. He doesn't open his eyes very much, but he gives her a heartfelt hiss for her efforts. Again, a flick to the clit. She is so turned on, she is so ready to come, but she wants to see him first, that makes it so much better. She curls herself up until she can touch her tongue to the tip of him, and he shudders all over like kneeling is suddenly too much. It hurts her neck but she can just barely do it, one lick, two, three and he is falling forward to all fours like she wants, panting and eager, a creature acting on instinct. Her creature.
"Here," she says, and presses her bare breasts together. They aren't as large as some girls, which used to make her worry, but there is at least enough to make a soft, sinful crevice for his cock to shove into. He wants to fuck something, and she wants to let him, and this is the safest way to approximate intercourse that she knows.
He needs no other invitation and wriggles his way further up her body, shaking and eager, the way he is every time. The way THEY are every time. Her own hands are trembling as she slides them up his chest, along the contours of his arms. So powerful. She has callouses and tough biceps and an entire regiment of acquaintances terrified by her wrench-arm, and he still bests her without even having to work at it. Men, and their muscles. His muscles work splendidly though, as he grits his teeth and begins to move, and though it's tiring to hold her breasts together she can't help but love the feel of him between them, and the sight of his firm, defined abdominals clenching and unclenching, the taut quiver to his legs.
It is not long before he is trembling even harder above her, and she wants to reach out and card her hands through that golden hair, scrape her nails down his chest, clench his ass as he thrusts. Any of that would destroy her illusion though, so she presses her breasts hard together and waits, fixed on his face, anticipating the moment. It comes, and he shudders, opens his mouth and makes a grimace so beautiful, she is not sure at all it should be called that. Warm wetness floods her chest, splashes messily between her breasts, and she hisses at the feel of it, secretly crows to herself at the sight of it. He reaches for her shop towel and she waits with dignity as he sponges off her breasts.
"Good?" She asks.
"...yeah," he sighs. He never has words when it is over, only half-mumbled praise. He flops down beside her and whispers some of that now, directly into her neck where it will hurt nobody. Edward is a proud creature; he voices love rarely but shows it often, in action instead of words.
Time passes. She has time to get comfortable in his sticky embrace, despite the light blazing through her open shoproom window.
"What 'bout you?" He mumbles, half-asleep, and she presses a soft kiss to his forehead in response.
"I've got a new prototype," she says. "Don't worry about it."
"I could do it," he volunteers, but she knows better than to take him up on his offer. When he is this sated and smiling, sleep is always sure to follow, and even though he means well an idle hand is something she could not stand right now. She got to see him on top of her, and coming, and that alone has her nipples so hard they could cut glass.
"No, that's okay," she says firmly, and reaches for the drawer in the nightstand. "You can just hold me."
He looks dubious but agrees; she come back with a metallic object reminiscent of a hand. She won't build automail to be a sex toy, no matter how much Edward begged, but she will build a sex toy to be like automail. It is modeled after his old hand, actually, though he does not yet know that; maybe, he never will. There are some things that are secret between them. That's the way it always is. His work, being a State Alchemist, all of that is something she can only catch a glimpse of; her work, blood and sweat and gears, is something he only shares in because he has to. Sometimes, she takes that automail arm of his and slips it down between them, slides a fingertip up to the nub of her clit, and he laughs and says she has an automail fetish. It is not just any automail though, it is the set she made for HIM that is important to her, because it is the only way she knows to say "I love you", too. They are both creatures of action. It is simply their way.
She flips the switch and it buzzes pleasantly; the inner motor has been calibrated just right. Edward's arms snake around her loosely but possessively, and she finds herself drowning in his scent. Warm. Sex. Musk. Male. He strokes her side slowly and burrows closer to her chest, and the need between her legs grows until she is helpless to place that buzzing instrument beside it.
It is only a few minutes to ecstacy but when she gets there, it is blinding.
"Good?" He mumbles with a heavy tongue, and she just presses her lips to his forehead and smiles.
"Not as good as you," she lies (really, neither of them are Better, they're just Different), but the flattery doesn't matter because he's already going to sleep. She smiles and gives his tangled braid a pet. She does have work to do, but she will wait until he dozes off first to think about taking his measurements, and repairing the past damage, and worrying about how all that damage was done. There will be time for that, later. There will be time for everything, later.
"'Night..." he sighs, totally incorrectly, and she just squeezes him tight, lets herself start to drift off with him.
He likes to do this after sex too, and she, indulgent, always lets him.
::let me take you for a ride / we can do just what you like::
Now I swear, if I can't find a way to go to bed and STAY THERE, I will die >:E