[Fic] "Taking Off" (Hei/Ed, NC-17)
Title: Taking Off
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Hei/Ed
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP, Rocket Sex, Tl;dr
A/N: First of all, this fic is set in the same verse as The Intimate Details of Rocket Science, which means that yes, the rocket!vibe is making a reappearance XD; (C'mon people, it's FRIday - Fucking Rocket Insertions!? day XDDD I will make the world believe in this! ) Anyway, this is just a bit of tl;dr pwp that was meant to be funny, but somewhere along the way, it got incredibly sugary on me O.o How sugary? It will give you cavities, and I'm talking in the literal sense. The filling I'm supposed to have in my tooth fell out. So enjoy the fic (hopefully) while I attempt to get an emergency dental appointment today, uggggghhhh...
Happy FRIday!
The ultimate problem with the rocket, Alfons thinks, is that like many things good, it is entirely easy to get too much of.
Many other things he doesn't so easily tire of. He could spend all day tearing apart an engine (with Edward); every night eating tasty fried odds and ends at the local pub (also with Edward); every morning waking up to a warm figure pressed insistently against his side and complaining when he tried to get up (most definitely Edward). But when day turns to night and Edward is sitting on the edge of his bed, slowly and methodically undoing those brown vest buttons one by one along the line of his torso, sometimes, Alfons just wishes that this were no longer so horribly routine.
"Mm," Edward sighs, stretching his arms out behind his back, one human and one mechanical. One of them gives with a pop. He flops backward down onto the bed, legs still hanging off, and dammit, Alfons's eye still can't help but follow the line up the center of Edward's chest. There is a bit of white workman's shirt peeking out where his vest is undone, just begging for someone to undo the buttons.
"Tired?" Alfons asks, mouth a little dry. The lights are on, and they are on Edward, and although he is more than aware by now that Edward means for him to ask (fool me once, shame on you; fool me a hundred times, brand me an idiot for life), he can't help but make the offer. "You want me to help you get ready for bed?"
"Sure," Edward hums, and in case Alfons needs even more encouragement, he lifts his hips up a little, enticingly. Hips that, Alfons now has the pleasure of knowing that he can pin down with a single hand to either side, and when he does that and his mouth is on the man, Edward wails. If only Edward would let him go further, he thinks sourly. So far, he has been held at bay with hand and mouth and of course, the rocket - the rocket which they have had to recharge multiple times now, because the battery just isn't powerful enough to last for very long. That infernal device, which Edward keeps insisting on. Instead of more appropriate things, like Alfons's cock.
He looks over at it balefully, its gleaming, well-sterilized surface pointing mockingly back at him from where it sits in a little box on the dresser, and for a moment he hates it. If ever man had a rival, this thing -- this pathetic little mockery of man, that all so easily replaces man -- is it.
Edward makes a questioning noise and flicks smoldering eyes directly to Alfons's pants button (not subtle in the slightest, holy mother of God) and Alfons forgets for the moment that he is busy at war with a jerry-rigged model, and succumbs to the request to come closer, touch. Edward's body moves like clockwork as he runs his palms down along the man's chest, down the outside of his legs and back up his inner thighs, and yes, he was supposed to be Having a Discussion with Edward about something tonight, but those shirt buttons are right there and just begging to be unfastened.
Edward still hasn't learned that he's supposed to wear an undershirt beneath white dress shirts. Alfons still thinks that is the hottest thing he has ever known.
He helps the man out of his clothes, trying to seem chaste though tonight, as always, he is failing miserably. Edward blooms in stages, through layers of rough brown pants and strange buckles and belts that Alfons swears he only wears to be a sadist. He knows how much Alfons likes to take his clothes off, and sometimes during work he makes a show of toying with some minor facet, that buckle on his arm; gives him a smoldering look as he slides it off to leave on Alfons's workbench, presumably to avoid getting it caught in a gear shaft. And then even the thought of the word "shaft" will start hurting, and Alfons wants to yell at him so much sometimes because some days he's in danger of walking with a permanent limp.
He presses teeth to Edward's neck and nips, runs his hands everywhere over the man's wiry body. He isn't even fully undressed yet (to say nothing of Alfons himself, he isn't even out of his shop clothes) and still he tries to straddle Edward and rub himself all over him.
I want to eat you, he thinks muzzily, as Edward presses back against his tongue and lips. His skin tastes salty. His hair smells sweet. And then Edward has to squeeze his eyes shut and shimmy a little, and no, dammit, but -- just like usual, he makes a breathy little plea.
"Fuck, Alfons," Edward groans, and flexes his hips up. "Give it to me."
Again, Alfons's mouth goes dry. He knows Edward means "the rocket" (that fucking rocket, he never would have used it had he realized what kind of monster he was creating), but he just can't help interpreting it his own way. The thought of Edward spread out like this, legs hanging off the side of the bed, with his cock up the man's ass is...is something that is not going to happen any time soon, but it is the one image guaranteed to give him a hard-on, come hell or high water. Alfons thinks he might have to be declared legally dead if being-inside-Edward some day failed to get a response.
Edward jerks his head over toward the dresser, slightly annoyed, and Alfons grits his teeth and forces his muscles to carry him there. The limp is back, and it's a bitch. He picks up the blasted thing and applies a rubber to it, slicks it mechanically with lubricant. They have streamlined this part of the process too, and it's almost enough to make him despair. Sometime, he thinks he would like to get Edward just to sit still for a good couple hours, so he can run his eyes and fingers and tongue along every last inch of him. Edward has a magnificent cock, which he has touched enough times to be familiar with, but also wonderful calves, shoulder blades; ankles, knuckles. He looks back over to the bed, and sees that Edward has devoided himself of what was left of his clothing, is now smiling at him naked and pink.
He hurts. He hurts, he hurts. He clambers onto the bed, still fully clothed, and looks down at Edward nude, at the thick, swollen cock he doesn't even pretend to hide anymore, at the way he even thrusts his hips up. Edward's eyes are half-lidded already with lust. For a long time Alfons thought the man was completely asexual, and then finally that illusion had shattered, and now it seemed like Edward himself took off like a rocket - when he was ready for sex, he was ready on a moment's notice; the launch sequence ticked down, and if everything was set right it barely took any time at all.
"C'mon," Edward complains, and it is not fair that again, he is going to have to watch the man grind back against that model. Vibrating or not. It has been one hell of a week so far at work, and he could use a way to destress, and he grips the rocket and strikes upon a sudden, feverish plan.
Enough.
"Edward," he asks. "Could you get up on your hands and knees?"
Edward looks immediately suspicious. This is deviating from the plan, the routine they've followed every night for the past...Alfons isn't even sure how many, right now.
"Why?"
"I was thinking, it might, ah..." - god, why did Edward always make him say this stuff? "Penetrate deeper."
At least Edward has the decency to also look embarrassed. His cheeks flame as he mulls it over. "I guess," he mutters finally, and obediently scrambles up onto hands and knees, facing the headboard to give Alfons enough room behind him. His muscled ass is right there and the miracle that is gravity is pulling his cock down, and Alfons absolutely has to undo his fly in the front. It's biological imperative.
It's also pure torture to have to slick his fingers and prepare the man, especially when that crushing heat that he feels is destined only for an unfeeling toy that won't at all appreciate it. Edward keeps swinging his head back over his shoulder to see what Alfons is doing, and he holds the slicked rocket up each time to reassure him. He will use it on him, that much is certain. It is just that tonight, he hopes there might also be more.
"Alfons," Edward complains on a groan; Alfons is by now very familiar with the prostate. "Give it to me already!" It takes a supreme act of will-power not to just rise up and slam himself inside the man, but Alfons manages to survive long enough to substitute the rocket. He does have his pants rolled down now, though, and strokes himself hard several times before he remembers that he needs to save it, stay alert. He bites down on his lip and flips the switch on the toy instead.
Edward immediately collapses downward, curling his legs beneath him and at the same time trying to jam his human hand between them. Alfons is sympathetic. He has been on the receiving end of this a time or two now (though usually Edward falls asleep too fast to properly reciprocate) and he knows how the vibration brings that incessant urge to masturbate, to come and come until there is nothing left. He wipes his hands off on a convenient towel and then catches Edward's wrist, pulls it back to join its mate. Edward complains loudly and very, very throatily, but that too is part of the game as it is usually played. He doesn't fight to put the hand back again, instead whimpers, demanding, for Alfons.
Alfons has other plans.
He molds himself around the man from the back and showers kisses down along Edward's spine, as if he is merely teasing before sliding his hands around Edward's cock the way the man wants him to. His hands are busy at the back of their makeshift sex toy, though. It is a bit hard considering how Edward's hips are rocking, but Alfons manages to work two fingers up inside the thing to where the battery leads are. One side effect of it running out of juice so often is that they eventually gave up and just left the far end open as the end cap was too difficult to pry off, a design flaw that he thinks will serve him well. He feels a little bit mean doing it, but holy mother, the thought of Edward beneath him in all ways--he curls his fingers around the positive lead wire and pulls.
The vibration cuts out almost instantly, and Edward struggles to look behind him when the motor whine stops.
"What happened?!" he demands. Alfons tries desperately not to smile.
"Shit, I think the battery ran out," he lies. "I didn't change it today." He makes a show of sliding it out just a few inches to get a better look, and Edward hisses. When he notices that, he slowly pushes it back in.
"How the fuck do you forget to replace it?" Edward complains, squirming, though it seems he is not entirely focused on the battery. Alfons slides the rocket in and out, in and out a couple more times, never very far, just enough to press down on the sweet spot and then let off, and by the fifth or sixth stroke Edward is starting to squirm a little.
"How do you like that?" he breathes, and Edward offers a shaky sigh.
"Okay, I guess?" The poor bastard actually sounds confused. Alfons can't resist leaning forward to nip at Edward's back again, to feel his muscles shudder. He pulls the rocket out a little further now, presses in deeper.
"We can do it another way," he hazards, "we can do it like this," and Edward must be liking what he's doing because he just nods hard, seemingly overcome. He his hunched over his lap again, and Alfons gives in to his urge to touch the man everywhere.
In and out, in and out. He runs his free hand all over Edward's flanks, up his back, down his belly, cards his fingers through rough, beautiful pubic hair. Edward is starting to whimper and thrash his hips, even though they have no place to go because his legs are still folded up. Maybe he's trying to drive his cock between his thighs, and that though is so funny and sad Alfons nearly laughs at him.
"How is it?" he breathes, and Edward pants back incoherent things that sounds like good and fuck and yes, and Alfons wants him so bad he is damn near going cross-eyed. But he's tried to ask so many times before - Edward always just looks to that damned rocket, and how can he possibly find the words, in any language? I want to fuck you so hard you scream. I want to hold those hips down and your shoulder and press into you and just come and come and come.
He is going to hell. He is going to hell assuredly, but assuredly there is also a heaven, because just at that moment Edward cries out in annoyance and frustration, and his words are a God-send.
"Faster! Fuck! For the love of everything, faster, dammit..."
Alfons silently thanks the God that he knows will one day condemn him, and pulls the rocket the rest of the way out.
Edward's head lifts up immediately. "What are you doing?" he asks, as Alfons reaches down and pours oil everywhere over his aching cock. It hurts so much, he strokes it for several moments and it sends jolts of confusing pleasure-pain racing up his spine.
"You said you want it faster," he explains as he lines himself up. His legs are shaky at the moment, it's almost hard to stay up on his knees. "I can't with the rocket. The rocket is too hard."
"Alfons..." Edward warns, and Alfons wants to cry. Oh god, please just LET ME, he sobs inside his head, and he squeezes himself hard.
"Do you trust me, Edward?" he rasps. Edward says nothing at first, and he's sure his heart is going to break. "Please..."
"...yeah, I trust you," Edward says finally, at length, and that is all the encouragement Alfons needs to press the tip of himself into the cleft of Edward's ass, and he's amazed with himself that he doesn't come from just doing that. Edward bows his head down back to the mattress again, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"Do what you want," the man says quietly, and there has never before been a set of words that Alfons has wanted to weep at.
He presses in on a long, slow burn and it is official, he is going to die. All sane thought flees in that first, crushing moment of feeling Edward all the way around him, and Alfons wraps his arms around the man's middle and squeezes him until he feels Edward's ribs compress. Edward's head flies up again as he gasps, no longer sounding so quietly resigned. Alfons waits a moment in case Edward needs it, but it is killing him not to move.
He is so tight.
"Are you okay?" he gasps, and he only realizes he used the wrong language when Edward attempts to respond in kind. Alfons has a hard time understanding Edward's accent in German, but the words are right, and he kisses at the back of the man's neck fervently.
I said, faster!
"Okay," he says and pulls his hips back, and then there is no more room for words because there is only Edward bucking back underneath him, and skin, skin, everywhere skin, and his only regret is that he didn't manage to get his damn shirt off so he could feel Edward's back molded tight against his chest.
He is wound so tight he is sure he won't last long enough, but between his hand and the earlier stimulation it is amazingly Edward who stiffens first, every muscle locking suddenly and then oh mother of God, fuck, Edward has gone impossibly tighter around Alfons's cock and he struggles for a moment because he knows he is going to die if he has to wait for the man to stop shuddering and let up, Edward is coming right beneath him --
A searing pleasure lances its way through the back of his skull and then out through his groin, and Alfons joins Edward in gasping, because suddenly, there is not enough air in the world. He breathes shallowly through his nose, and then deeply again, as the moment passes, and his cock does not hurt so much anymore, and he realizes faintly that yes indeed, it is not just that Edward has come beneath him.
He has come inside of him.
Alfons wraps his arms around the man's waist again, despite the mass of stickiness that is Edward's stomach, and just squeezes him tight, rocks him back and forth gently, amazed. They stay there for a while like that, until finally, Alfons is no longer so sensitive he can't move.
***
He isn't sure what he's supposed to say after that, so he doesn't really say anything. Edward makes a disgusted face at the mess all over his front and Alfons wordlessly hands him a towel, gets up and stumbles to the restroom to draw a bath. He's not sure Edward will get in with him tonight or not. It is part of their ordinary ritual, but nothing about this night so far has been ordinary. Extra-ordinary, he thinks fuzzily, smiling stupidly around him at nothing all the time. It is like...words don't even hope to describe it. It is like losing his virginity all over again, and in a way he supposes it is. He has never been inside someone before. He has never felt them shudder inside and out and known, so very acutely, I did this.
He wants to pounce on Edward and scoop him up into his arms just kiss the life out of him, and he wonders, deep down and secretly, if this giddiness is love.
Reality comes back to bite him when he comes to tell Edward the bath is ready though. His friend has the soiled towel wrapped around, flushed a violent scarlet, and he won't quite meet Alfons's gaze from the doorway. He is looking at the rocket also, and Alfons swallows around a hard knot that has suddenly formed in his throat. He remembers now, all too well, that Edward is embarrassed by affection. He seems to understand getting off easily enough, but the rest - the unnecessary parts, like Alfons holding him -
"You..." Edward lifts up the rocket to show the dangling, disconnected wire, and Alfons wants to die. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he knows he should say, except that he isn't sorry. Damn it all...
He squeezes his eyes shut. Edward is smart. Edward designed this battery. He should know what it means, that the lead is undone.
But what he expects is not what comes. "You've really messed it up, that's for sure," Edward says with a shaky laugh. "Damn, I told you not to leave the back off. Gonna take a while to fix this one."
"What!?" I only pulled the one lead! he nearly says, but recognizes that would be suicide. Instead, Alfons strides over and takes a look himself.
The positive lead is disconnected. Everything else is perfect.
He gives Edward a questioning look, confused as hell, and Edward flushes darker, takes the model back.
"So, yeah. I'll work on fixing it when I get around to it," he says, and Alfons nods distantly, finally beginning to get the picture. A glorious, glorious picture. Edward is forever getting "around" to doing things, like filing his scattered papers, like taking out the garbage; Alfons has joked that "around to it" secretly means never.
"Sure," Alfons says, and Edward flashes him a rare sort of smile, leans ever-so-slightly closer.
"Until then," Edward sighs, "guess I'll just have to make do with you." He gives Alfons a playful wink.
Alfons throws caution to the wind, kisses the life out of the man, and then promptly elbows him hard in the ribs for making fun of him.
***
::and i'm taking off your clothes / and you bloom like a rose ::
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Hei/Ed
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP, Rocket Sex, Tl;dr
A/N: First of all, this fic is set in the same verse as The Intimate Details of Rocket Science, which means that yes, the rocket!vibe is making a reappearance XD; (C'mon people, it's FRIday - Fucking Rocket Insertions!? day XDDD I will make the world believe in this! ) Anyway, this is just a bit of tl;dr pwp that was meant to be funny, but somewhere along the way, it got incredibly sugary on me O.o How sugary? It will give you cavities, and I'm talking in the literal sense. The filling I'm supposed to have in my tooth fell out. So enjoy the fic (hopefully) while I attempt to get an emergency dental appointment today, uggggghhhh...
Happy FRIday!
The ultimate problem with the rocket, Alfons thinks, is that like many things good, it is entirely easy to get too much of.
Many other things he doesn't so easily tire of. He could spend all day tearing apart an engine (with Edward); every night eating tasty fried odds and ends at the local pub (also with Edward); every morning waking up to a warm figure pressed insistently against his side and complaining when he tried to get up (most definitely Edward). But when day turns to night and Edward is sitting on the edge of his bed, slowly and methodically undoing those brown vest buttons one by one along the line of his torso, sometimes, Alfons just wishes that this were no longer so horribly routine.
"Mm," Edward sighs, stretching his arms out behind his back, one human and one mechanical. One of them gives with a pop. He flops backward down onto the bed, legs still hanging off, and dammit, Alfons's eye still can't help but follow the line up the center of Edward's chest. There is a bit of white workman's shirt peeking out where his vest is undone, just begging for someone to undo the buttons.
"Tired?" Alfons asks, mouth a little dry. The lights are on, and they are on Edward, and although he is more than aware by now that Edward means for him to ask (fool me once, shame on you; fool me a hundred times, brand me an idiot for life), he can't help but make the offer. "You want me to help you get ready for bed?"
"Sure," Edward hums, and in case Alfons needs even more encouragement, he lifts his hips up a little, enticingly. Hips that, Alfons now has the pleasure of knowing that he can pin down with a single hand to either side, and when he does that and his mouth is on the man, Edward wails. If only Edward would let him go further, he thinks sourly. So far, he has been held at bay with hand and mouth and of course, the rocket - the rocket which they have had to recharge multiple times now, because the battery just isn't powerful enough to last for very long. That infernal device, which Edward keeps insisting on. Instead of more appropriate things, like Alfons's cock.
He looks over at it balefully, its gleaming, well-sterilized surface pointing mockingly back at him from where it sits in a little box on the dresser, and for a moment he hates it. If ever man had a rival, this thing -- this pathetic little mockery of man, that all so easily replaces man -- is it.
Edward makes a questioning noise and flicks smoldering eyes directly to Alfons's pants button (not subtle in the slightest, holy mother of God) and Alfons forgets for the moment that he is busy at war with a jerry-rigged model, and succumbs to the request to come closer, touch. Edward's body moves like clockwork as he runs his palms down along the man's chest, down the outside of his legs and back up his inner thighs, and yes, he was supposed to be Having a Discussion with Edward about something tonight, but those shirt buttons are right there and just begging to be unfastened.
Edward still hasn't learned that he's supposed to wear an undershirt beneath white dress shirts. Alfons still thinks that is the hottest thing he has ever known.
He helps the man out of his clothes, trying to seem chaste though tonight, as always, he is failing miserably. Edward blooms in stages, through layers of rough brown pants and strange buckles and belts that Alfons swears he only wears to be a sadist. He knows how much Alfons likes to take his clothes off, and sometimes during work he makes a show of toying with some minor facet, that buckle on his arm; gives him a smoldering look as he slides it off to leave on Alfons's workbench, presumably to avoid getting it caught in a gear shaft. And then even the thought of the word "shaft" will start hurting, and Alfons wants to yell at him so much sometimes because some days he's in danger of walking with a permanent limp.
He presses teeth to Edward's neck and nips, runs his hands everywhere over the man's wiry body. He isn't even fully undressed yet (to say nothing of Alfons himself, he isn't even out of his shop clothes) and still he tries to straddle Edward and rub himself all over him.
I want to eat you, he thinks muzzily, as Edward presses back against his tongue and lips. His skin tastes salty. His hair smells sweet. And then Edward has to squeeze his eyes shut and shimmy a little, and no, dammit, but -- just like usual, he makes a breathy little plea.
"Fuck, Alfons," Edward groans, and flexes his hips up. "Give it to me."
Again, Alfons's mouth goes dry. He knows Edward means "the rocket" (that fucking rocket, he never would have used it had he realized what kind of monster he was creating), but he just can't help interpreting it his own way. The thought of Edward spread out like this, legs hanging off the side of the bed, with his cock up the man's ass is...is something that is not going to happen any time soon, but it is the one image guaranteed to give him a hard-on, come hell or high water. Alfons thinks he might have to be declared legally dead if being-inside-Edward some day failed to get a response.
Edward jerks his head over toward the dresser, slightly annoyed, and Alfons grits his teeth and forces his muscles to carry him there. The limp is back, and it's a bitch. He picks up the blasted thing and applies a rubber to it, slicks it mechanically with lubricant. They have streamlined this part of the process too, and it's almost enough to make him despair. Sometime, he thinks he would like to get Edward just to sit still for a good couple hours, so he can run his eyes and fingers and tongue along every last inch of him. Edward has a magnificent cock, which he has touched enough times to be familiar with, but also wonderful calves, shoulder blades; ankles, knuckles. He looks back over to the bed, and sees that Edward has devoided himself of what was left of his clothing, is now smiling at him naked and pink.
He hurts. He hurts, he hurts. He clambers onto the bed, still fully clothed, and looks down at Edward nude, at the thick, swollen cock he doesn't even pretend to hide anymore, at the way he even thrusts his hips up. Edward's eyes are half-lidded already with lust. For a long time Alfons thought the man was completely asexual, and then finally that illusion had shattered, and now it seemed like Edward himself took off like a rocket - when he was ready for sex, he was ready on a moment's notice; the launch sequence ticked down, and if everything was set right it barely took any time at all.
"C'mon," Edward complains, and it is not fair that again, he is going to have to watch the man grind back against that model. Vibrating or not. It has been one hell of a week so far at work, and he could use a way to destress, and he grips the rocket and strikes upon a sudden, feverish plan.
Enough.
"Edward," he asks. "Could you get up on your hands and knees?"
Edward looks immediately suspicious. This is deviating from the plan, the routine they've followed every night for the past...Alfons isn't even sure how many, right now.
"Why?"
"I was thinking, it might, ah..." - god, why did Edward always make him say this stuff? "Penetrate deeper."
At least Edward has the decency to also look embarrassed. His cheeks flame as he mulls it over. "I guess," he mutters finally, and obediently scrambles up onto hands and knees, facing the headboard to give Alfons enough room behind him. His muscled ass is right there and the miracle that is gravity is pulling his cock down, and Alfons absolutely has to undo his fly in the front. It's biological imperative.
It's also pure torture to have to slick his fingers and prepare the man, especially when that crushing heat that he feels is destined only for an unfeeling toy that won't at all appreciate it. Edward keeps swinging his head back over his shoulder to see what Alfons is doing, and he holds the slicked rocket up each time to reassure him. He will use it on him, that much is certain. It is just that tonight, he hopes there might also be more.
"Alfons," Edward complains on a groan; Alfons is by now very familiar with the prostate. "Give it to me already!" It takes a supreme act of will-power not to just rise up and slam himself inside the man, but Alfons manages to survive long enough to substitute the rocket. He does have his pants rolled down now, though, and strokes himself hard several times before he remembers that he needs to save it, stay alert. He bites down on his lip and flips the switch on the toy instead.
Edward immediately collapses downward, curling his legs beneath him and at the same time trying to jam his human hand between them. Alfons is sympathetic. He has been on the receiving end of this a time or two now (though usually Edward falls asleep too fast to properly reciprocate) and he knows how the vibration brings that incessant urge to masturbate, to come and come until there is nothing left. He wipes his hands off on a convenient towel and then catches Edward's wrist, pulls it back to join its mate. Edward complains loudly and very, very throatily, but that too is part of the game as it is usually played. He doesn't fight to put the hand back again, instead whimpers, demanding, for Alfons.
Alfons has other plans.
He molds himself around the man from the back and showers kisses down along Edward's spine, as if he is merely teasing before sliding his hands around Edward's cock the way the man wants him to. His hands are busy at the back of their makeshift sex toy, though. It is a bit hard considering how Edward's hips are rocking, but Alfons manages to work two fingers up inside the thing to where the battery leads are. One side effect of it running out of juice so often is that they eventually gave up and just left the far end open as the end cap was too difficult to pry off, a design flaw that he thinks will serve him well. He feels a little bit mean doing it, but holy mother, the thought of Edward beneath him in all ways--he curls his fingers around the positive lead wire and pulls.
The vibration cuts out almost instantly, and Edward struggles to look behind him when the motor whine stops.
"What happened?!" he demands. Alfons tries desperately not to smile.
"Shit, I think the battery ran out," he lies. "I didn't change it today." He makes a show of sliding it out just a few inches to get a better look, and Edward hisses. When he notices that, he slowly pushes it back in.
"How the fuck do you forget to replace it?" Edward complains, squirming, though it seems he is not entirely focused on the battery. Alfons slides the rocket in and out, in and out a couple more times, never very far, just enough to press down on the sweet spot and then let off, and by the fifth or sixth stroke Edward is starting to squirm a little.
"How do you like that?" he breathes, and Edward offers a shaky sigh.
"Okay, I guess?" The poor bastard actually sounds confused. Alfons can't resist leaning forward to nip at Edward's back again, to feel his muscles shudder. He pulls the rocket out a little further now, presses in deeper.
"We can do it another way," he hazards, "we can do it like this," and Edward must be liking what he's doing because he just nods hard, seemingly overcome. He his hunched over his lap again, and Alfons gives in to his urge to touch the man everywhere.
In and out, in and out. He runs his free hand all over Edward's flanks, up his back, down his belly, cards his fingers through rough, beautiful pubic hair. Edward is starting to whimper and thrash his hips, even though they have no place to go because his legs are still folded up. Maybe he's trying to drive his cock between his thighs, and that though is so funny and sad Alfons nearly laughs at him.
"How is it?" he breathes, and Edward pants back incoherent things that sounds like good and fuck and yes, and Alfons wants him so bad he is damn near going cross-eyed. But he's tried to ask so many times before - Edward always just looks to that damned rocket, and how can he possibly find the words, in any language? I want to fuck you so hard you scream. I want to hold those hips down and your shoulder and press into you and just come and come and come.
He is going to hell. He is going to hell assuredly, but assuredly there is also a heaven, because just at that moment Edward cries out in annoyance and frustration, and his words are a God-send.
"Faster! Fuck! For the love of everything, faster, dammit..."
Alfons silently thanks the God that he knows will one day condemn him, and pulls the rocket the rest of the way out.
Edward's head lifts up immediately. "What are you doing?" he asks, as Alfons reaches down and pours oil everywhere over his aching cock. It hurts so much, he strokes it for several moments and it sends jolts of confusing pleasure-pain racing up his spine.
"You said you want it faster," he explains as he lines himself up. His legs are shaky at the moment, it's almost hard to stay up on his knees. "I can't with the rocket. The rocket is too hard."
"Alfons..." Edward warns, and Alfons wants to cry. Oh god, please just LET ME, he sobs inside his head, and he squeezes himself hard.
"Do you trust me, Edward?" he rasps. Edward says nothing at first, and he's sure his heart is going to break. "Please..."
"...yeah, I trust you," Edward says finally, at length, and that is all the encouragement Alfons needs to press the tip of himself into the cleft of Edward's ass, and he's amazed with himself that he doesn't come from just doing that. Edward bows his head down back to the mattress again, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"Do what you want," the man says quietly, and there has never before been a set of words that Alfons has wanted to weep at.
He presses in on a long, slow burn and it is official, he is going to die. All sane thought flees in that first, crushing moment of feeling Edward all the way around him, and Alfons wraps his arms around the man's middle and squeezes him until he feels Edward's ribs compress. Edward's head flies up again as he gasps, no longer sounding so quietly resigned. Alfons waits a moment in case Edward needs it, but it is killing him not to move.
He is so tight.
"Are you okay?" he gasps, and he only realizes he used the wrong language when Edward attempts to respond in kind. Alfons has a hard time understanding Edward's accent in German, but the words are right, and he kisses at the back of the man's neck fervently.
I said, faster!
"Okay," he says and pulls his hips back, and then there is no more room for words because there is only Edward bucking back underneath him, and skin, skin, everywhere skin, and his only regret is that he didn't manage to get his damn shirt off so he could feel Edward's back molded tight against his chest.
He is wound so tight he is sure he won't last long enough, but between his hand and the earlier stimulation it is amazingly Edward who stiffens first, every muscle locking suddenly and then oh mother of God, fuck, Edward has gone impossibly tighter around Alfons's cock and he struggles for a moment because he knows he is going to die if he has to wait for the man to stop shuddering and let up, Edward is coming right beneath him --
A searing pleasure lances its way through the back of his skull and then out through his groin, and Alfons joins Edward in gasping, because suddenly, there is not enough air in the world. He breathes shallowly through his nose, and then deeply again, as the moment passes, and his cock does not hurt so much anymore, and he realizes faintly that yes indeed, it is not just that Edward has come beneath him.
He has come inside of him.
Alfons wraps his arms around the man's waist again, despite the mass of stickiness that is Edward's stomach, and just squeezes him tight, rocks him back and forth gently, amazed. They stay there for a while like that, until finally, Alfons is no longer so sensitive he can't move.
***
He isn't sure what he's supposed to say after that, so he doesn't really say anything. Edward makes a disgusted face at the mess all over his front and Alfons wordlessly hands him a towel, gets up and stumbles to the restroom to draw a bath. He's not sure Edward will get in with him tonight or not. It is part of their ordinary ritual, but nothing about this night so far has been ordinary. Extra-ordinary, he thinks fuzzily, smiling stupidly around him at nothing all the time. It is like...words don't even hope to describe it. It is like losing his virginity all over again, and in a way he supposes it is. He has never been inside someone before. He has never felt them shudder inside and out and known, so very acutely, I did this.
He wants to pounce on Edward and scoop him up into his arms just kiss the life out of him, and he wonders, deep down and secretly, if this giddiness is love.
Reality comes back to bite him when he comes to tell Edward the bath is ready though. His friend has the soiled towel wrapped around, flushed a violent scarlet, and he won't quite meet Alfons's gaze from the doorway. He is looking at the rocket also, and Alfons swallows around a hard knot that has suddenly formed in his throat. He remembers now, all too well, that Edward is embarrassed by affection. He seems to understand getting off easily enough, but the rest - the unnecessary parts, like Alfons holding him -
"You..." Edward lifts up the rocket to show the dangling, disconnected wire, and Alfons wants to die. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he knows he should say, except that he isn't sorry. Damn it all...
He squeezes his eyes shut. Edward is smart. Edward designed this battery. He should know what it means, that the lead is undone.
But what he expects is not what comes. "You've really messed it up, that's for sure," Edward says with a shaky laugh. "Damn, I told you not to leave the back off. Gonna take a while to fix this one."
"What!?" I only pulled the one lead! he nearly says, but recognizes that would be suicide. Instead, Alfons strides over and takes a look himself.
The positive lead is disconnected. Everything else is perfect.
He gives Edward a questioning look, confused as hell, and Edward flushes darker, takes the model back.
"So, yeah. I'll work on fixing it when I get around to it," he says, and Alfons nods distantly, finally beginning to get the picture. A glorious, glorious picture. Edward is forever getting "around" to doing things, like filing his scattered papers, like taking out the garbage; Alfons has joked that "around to it" secretly means never.
"Sure," Alfons says, and Edward flashes him a rare sort of smile, leans ever-so-slightly closer.
"Until then," Edward sighs, "guess I'll just have to make do with you." He gives Alfons a playful wink.
Alfons throws caution to the wind, kisses the life out of the man, and then promptly elbows him hard in the ribs for making fun of him.
***
::and i'm taking off your clothes / and you bloom like a rose ::