[Fic] "Good Girls Don't" (Ed/girl!Hei, NC-17)
Title: Good Girls Don't
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Girl!Hei/Ed
Rating: NC-17 all the way
A/N: Sequel to Alter Ego, although I think it can mostly stand on its own :) Also, yeah...this was supposed to be a drabble? But the problem with me writing things out on notebook paper is that I quickly get tl;dr. This little monster was um, three sheets of paper O.o
/me eyes other *30* v-e-r-y suspiciously.
Friday night is a hot bed of activity, all fires lit, all street lights burning. The sound of jubilant voices and trains and people bopping about aimlessly in the street. The work day is done, the beer halls are open, and for all good university students it is the beginning of a blessed weekend, two whole days in which they will not have lecture. Their research group, naturally, is also going out. Edward pulls on his coat and she smiles at him discretely out of the side of her mouth, enjoying the way his strong back arches when he does that.
Someone claps her on the back and she immediately looks elsewhere. In public, where she is a boy, it would be a disaster to be caught flirting with Edward. Alfons coughs briefly into the palm of her hand, laughs at an ambient joke she overhears, and contents herself with watching Edward's ass as he walks out ahead of the throng, always keeping himself a careful three feet away from human contact because his false limbs are secrets too.
She smirks. Despite outward appearances, neither of them are "just regular Joes."
She wonders indeed what it would be like to grow up "normal". Probably not good, she thinks. For one, most likely, she and Edward would never have met. There are a great many things, she notes critically, that she can only do as a young man, and that is sad. Also ironic, because of course she isn't one and yet she manages these 'impossible' feats anyway. A young man can take university courses at the tender age of fifteen and ace them every time; a young woman would at best be allowed degrees in teaching. Engineering would never be her specialty.
A young man can also walk into certain shoppes and purchase a pack of rubbers, and the store clerk will look at her (to all outside observers, of course, a 'him') and just wink, assume that she's headed out for the red light district. Alfons breaks away from the main group for a few moments to do just that, heart hammering in her chest as always with the ludicrous fear that somehow now is the moment she will magically be seen through, but the most that happens when she gets back is a few good-natured jibes from the guys. "Alfons" is an overly serious man to them, too constantly buttoned-down; they think 'he' needs to relax and get laid more.
If only you knew, she smiles to herself, her chest growing a bit warm as she watches Edward still traipsing on ahead, determined to lead the way to tonight's chosen pub. She knows that good girls aren't supposed to go drinking, but she is Alfons, and Alfons is a boy, and so she has no trouble following them all in to the Black and Tan.
The pub is, of course, crawling with lots of other naughty girls, but that part doesn't bother her either. She's lived too long with men to be morally outraged at loose women, but neither does she pay them much mind. It's simply that party girls don't interest her. They go up to the bar proper to order, and she pretends to watch the serving girls flaunt themselves for their party, mostly counts floor tiles instead. She knows just like breathing how to go through the motions, but their tight little blouses largely just engender an idle sense of jealousy. She wishes sometimes she could wear stockings like that, a little rouge, maybe a skirt, but that is not a dream compatible with machine oil and the Greater Purpose. Men look at women like her for their long legs, not their brains. Can't ever forget that. Everything she has built - everything she has worked for - might perish in an instant if the lie of what she really is were to be revealed.
They get a whole passel of beers and divvy them up. Edward is already sitting down at their usual table, staring at her hotly over a mug of amber stout that matches the color of his eyes, and it is all she can do to remember not to flush.
She also has to remember, she considers with a faint smile, that apparently not all men stop believing she has worth just because she is female.
She rather likes that her secret can fluster him so easily, though. Just to cause mischief, she sidles over to one of the bar girls that she knows and pays her a quiet compliment. The pretty brunette lights up predictably and flirts back readily, laughing and opening her mouth wide to expose large, healthy teeth. She is playing a part here too, and Alfons has always been careful to be respectful and kind. She likes to sit down and just talk with the serving girls sometimes, a secret, guilty glimpse into those things that she cannot have. They seem to enjoy that she listens. A couple of them have even, in the past, expressed their joy by stealing kisses from Alfons, and while she has always been polite about that as well, she does regret that they were never special enough to inherently kindle fire in her belly, make her grow weak and shaky in the knees.
Not the way men, the way Edward, does.
Edward, for his part, is not content to watch her flirting with the barmaid from across the room; Alfons watches out of the corner of her eye as he gets up and stalks over to them. His eerie eyes glitter dangerously when the brunette coquettishly trails a few fingers up the side of Alfons's wrist in the pretense of examining Alfons's nonexistent cufflinks.
He closes in.
“Oh hello, Edward! Meet my friend, Ilsa…” Alfons whips around and s-m-i-l-e-s.
“Huh?” he blinks. Edward isn't really so much the jealous type, honestly, as just unsure of himself. About everything, really. Alfons watches in amusement as the barmaid notices him and turns her charm onto him as well, and he draws up short and blinks back and forth between the two of them, visibly confused. It's just flirting, Edward, she wants to say, exasperated, but does not. It is not how things are done, and besides, she doesn't want to make him look even worse than he already does. Instead she winks at him and predictably, he flushes. The brunette who is attempting to work on him takes it as a positive sign, and bustles off to bring him a beer.
The brunette comes back with a bottle for all three of them; they chat some more, flirt a bit. A good girl wouldn't be encouraging her man to talk with other women, but it both looks good to the crowd of lab buddies catcalling at them from their table and well, is frankly kind of endearing how he keeps shifting closer toward her. Edward is so hopelessly out of his element with how strong this girl is coming on to him that he keeps looking for Alfons to rescue him -- which of course she does, all the while privately laughing her head off.
A good girl wouldn't run her tongue around the neck of her beer bottle suggestively, either, but Alfons does this as well and Edward gets a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression. His cheeks flush so bright he could be wearing the barmaid's gaudy rouge.
He could almost be mistaken for the real girl in this situation, Alfons thinks with amusement. Edward is ambiguously pretty and wears his hair entirely too long (though she has to admit it looks good on him); he is also small and slim. Not wimpy, however - she happens to know for a fact that underneath those baggy linen shirts and trousers is pure, tight muscle; Edward is built like a miniature tank. She must have licked her lips thinking about that, because suddenly Edward's eyes are fixated on her mouth. The very second the barmaid moves away to go con someone else into buying more drinks, Edward leans in to Alfons and whispers.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, the boldest he has ever been.
"Eventually," she responds on a breathy purr, and watches with pleasure as Edward visibly shivers. He licks his lips too.
It wouldn’t do to bail so quickly though. The night is still young. They go back to join the rest of their crew, tease Dorchett for striking out with the girl he was hitting on, laugh and joke, pretend like they’re not going to talk shop when of course, ultimately they do. God, she could talk about rocketry for hours, their slick, perfect machinery; engine design gets her hot and it’s all she can do not to squirm in her seat. Edward for his part loves it when they talk chemistry, and when they start once more idly fantasizing about liquid fuel systems, she can’t help but remember a similar conversation when it had just been her and him alone in the lab. They had both gotten so riled in an intellectual debate that it had ended with him pinning her to the work bench, one hand fisted hard in her hair and his tongue halfway down her throat. (She still contended he had only done that because he was wrong and he was trying get her to shut up.)
Edward did have a lot of interesting theories though, Alfons had to admit as she listened to him yammer animatedly to the group, a little more relaxed now that he’d gotten a few beers in him. He could really be excellent if only he could shake that strange tendency of his to jump from point A to point B and forget about conversation of energy. Carbon couldn’t just become diamond in an equation, it took heat and pressure.
Strange education that man must have had, she thinks.
Stranger still, that he is as good as he is anyway.
The evening eventually starts to wind down. One of their buddies falls asleep in his seat, others are starting to wilt. Perfect time to make an exit, and Alfons sees her chance standing by the door.
“You want to get out of here?” she repeats to Edward now, and she is amused to see him literally jump at the chance. Their argument during the liquid-fuel discussion must have gotten him going indeed, because he isn’t just staring at her mouth anymore but her suspenders this time, and she has seen that look enough now to know what it means.
I’m thinking of taking your pants off, his eyes say, and she sucks in a shaky breath at the thought of him doing just that. Wants to be back in their dormitory right now.
“Come on,” she says, and heads for the door. The brunette barmaid from earlier is headed out for a smoke break, which is another thing of course that good girls don’t do - and at least in this case, neither does Alfons; her lungs are too weak for it. Her research group hasn’t caught on to that yet, though, and it is good for them to be seen headed out for a smoke with the pretty little brown-haired girl.
They hit the alley, the barmaid goes left; they go right. Alfons considers that she’ll probably have to make up some story tomorrow about how she failed to get anywhere with the broad, ha-ha, “tried the trigger but got no action”. It’s kind of annoying. Maybe Edward can take the heat instead…bless his heart, he’s sort of replaced her as the Young One, the most Innocent of the group. The weakest one.
If only they knew, she thinks again, a rivulet of excitement running down through her center. Edward is a cripple, yes, but he is blessed with an amazing amount of strength in his remaining two arms, and because of it his good hand is so powerful, so untiring, that secretly she’s not sure she likes her own touch because her hand is so prone to cramping up.
“What are you smiling for?” Edward asks dubiously, as they make their way back toward their lodging.
“You,” Alfons says simply, and Ed endears himself by starting to bluster about how ‘completely stupid’ that is. Translation: he’s touched.
***
They climb the old rickety steps to the second floor where Edward’s room is. For security’s sake (because of that trunk of prosthetics he worries about), they have installed better locks up there; that’s also where they go to tryst. Alfons realizes he wound up a few steps behind her and makes sure to throw a little sway to her hips. It feels awkward, actually - she has long since trained herself out of that girlish habit; not so easy just to pick it up again - but she must be doing pretty good because the first thing Edward does once he gets her inside is to lock the door and then throw her up against it.
Strong. He is so much stronger than her, and he has a way of making her feel little too, and she still isn’t sure what to think about that. That fascinating prosthetic arm of his is clamped down tightly on her hip and his other hand is behind her head, pulling her incessantly down to meet his lips. Oh hell, why fight it. He has her pressed so tightly back against the door that she can’t see the harm in leaning more of her weight down on to him. He brings his left knee up to support her, and she straddles it gladly, giddy at the ridge of prosthetic she can feel through his trousers as well.
Still hasn’t gotten over the beauty of his prosthetics, nor is she sure she ever wants to.
“I bought you a present,” she whispers between kisses.
“Mm?” Edward’s fingers are on her dress shirt buttons. Alfons hisses her next breath as he works the front of her shirt all the way open, revealing where her small breasts have been bound. He slips his fingers up beneath the bandages and starts to peel them off, unwrapping her like a present. She hisses again at that thought.
“What is it? More Goddard?” Edward asks hopefully. He moves his flesh hand down lower to knead at her breasts. She straightens up a little and arches, whimpering. After being bound all day, even her small swells ache from being compressed. It has been especially bad lately…maybe they are growing again.
“No, it’s not more goddamned Goddard!” Alfons sighs, exasperated. It figures he would still be thinking physics at a time like this.
She arches her back again and he is predictably captured by the sight of her dusky nipples. That is one good thing, she thinks. Edward has his Moments about her height, but he is always a fan of her breasts, and even when she stands flat-footed, because his face winds up right there at her chest, it often keeps him from complaining. He is perfectly proportioned so that he can easily use his mouth on her breasts, and while good girls wouldn’t be nearly so happy about that one either, good girls don’t know what it’s like to suddenly have a warm, wet mouth envelop an aching nipple.
She straightens up a bit so he can do just that.
“Oh god, Edward…” she wails softly as he attacks her chest, sending a warm tingle all down her front. It pools between her legs and she can tell she’s getting wet; her woolen underwear is starting to feel slippery and uncomfortable at the crotch. She doesn’t want to be wearing anything at all.
“Check my pocket,” she gasps out as his flesh hand starts to get into the action, kneading at her tender skin and nearly making her knees buckle. “No, other pocket…yes!” she says as he gropes about with his prosthetic arm.
Edward pulls out the little brown package, stares at it for a moment, then a thunderstruck expression something akin to wonder spreads across his face. He kisses her so hard she thinks she can see the Pleiads.
“It’s just a pack of rubbers,” she says, trying to play down the event. As if she hadn’t been a virgin before, too. Edward responds by simultaneously blushing and unclipping her suspenders. Her trousers fall off almost immediately; the suspenders are the only way she’s been able to compensate for her narrow waist in large-all-over male pants.
“Are you sure?” he asks in between kissing at her. He bites down on his lip, looks embarrassed. “Last time, it didn’t um…”
“I’ll be okay,” she promises, and takes advantage of his momentary stillness to start undoing his clothing as well. Edward stiffens reflexively, shivers a little. He never likes to be all the way unclothed, which is a quirk she still doesn’t entirely understand. His false limbs are fascinating to her and she can’t imagine not seeing those lovely machines he wears on them; it’s not as if he’s flabby or ugly anywhere either. Alfons suspects it’s just the loss of power. Edward literally feels ‘exposed’ when he’s exposed.
Well, fine she thinks determinedly to herself and yanks down the front of his pants before he can object. He says I am supposed to be his equal; well, I want his clothes off too.
He retaliates by jerking down her pants and underwear; she uses her superior height to bully him back toward the bed. He takes a couple steps before he realizes what he’s doing, gets pissed, and picks her up and just throws her onto the mattress. God, she’d never admit it but it turns her on how he can just flip her over his shoulder like she’s nothing. A tall girl even as a kid, she has always taken so much grief about being too ‘intimidating’ for men; Edward doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She has seen him stare down beer hall bouncers three times his size, beat up brawlers in an alley. She is no slouch herself (try lifting heavy engine chassises all day and even a gal grows some biceps), but Edward…he could probably beat the shit out of her if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t.
She twists a little on the bed, tingling all over, wanting him to just come over and jump on her, and Edward’s breath hitches audibly. She slants an eye toward him and his human hand is shaking.
“What?” she asks, a little concerned.
He runs his hand through his hair and exhales hard.
“Nothing, it’s just…fuck, when you look like that…” His eyes are on her again, drinking the long line of her torso hungrily, and she squirms again, uncomfortable suddenly beneath so much scrutiny. She is completely naked here, save for her trousers which are tangled somewhere around her ankles. He at least still has his undershorts-
--which, oh god, he is taking off of his own volition. Alfons’s eyes go round as saucers. Edward’s hair hangs down about his face like a golden curtain, and his cock stands out away from a similarly bright patch of curls down below. He is fiddling with the rubbers and looks utterly, utterly nervous.
It suddenly has become very hard to breathe.
“Well?” she calls to him. “Get on with it.” So much bravado. She isn’t sure she means any of it. He nods and begins to roll the thing down along his length, and the sight is just so…so something that she finds she suddenly has to look anywhere, anywhere but at him. She wallows around on his bed, breathing in the faint musk of bed linens and the scent that is Edward’s personal smell. Alfons like this bed, it smells like him…god, how awfully asinine is that. She is awfully glad she’s keeping her mouth shut.
“Alfons?” he chokes out a moment later, and she rolls up on her side to see that Edward has one knee on the mattress and is watching her snuggle his pillow, a stricken expression on his face. His cock is an angry, stiff third appendage jutting out from betwixt his legs, and she reaches out to touch it.
Edward gives a strangled gasp and then just falls on her.
It is always hard to keep track of this part. She doesn’t even bother. His hands are everywhere on her, and she gives back as good as she gets. Little details are suddenly the most important thing in the world to her. The way his eyes roll when she cups her hand over his crotch just so. The ruined sob he makes when she climbs on top and bites at his neck. They can’t ever figure out which of them is supposed to be on top or in what position, just tumble and twine and suck and fight for dominance. Before long Edward is close to going off and she is getting nearer; he lets out a particularly desperate groan when he attempts to drill himself straight through her hip, and finally Alfons takes mercy.
She positions herself beneath him and hooks her long legs over his hips. Edward looks like he’s nearly had a heart attack.
“C’mon,” she purrs, in what she hopes is a seductive tone. Dammit, she’s not good at being a girl. She knows calculus and physics, not how to behave invitingly or act in a manner pleasing to men. She had always been a good girl, until because of it she had to become a boy, and either way there are no books that explain this; prose cannot begin to capture what it’s like when just one look from him can set her mind on fire, the brush of his fingers down her front making the world uproot…
Edward takes a deep breath, takes a hold of himself, and moves down and inward so that they can be joined.
They have only tried this a handful of times, but she thinks it will forever be, without a doubt, the strangest feeling she will ever experience. Muscles she never uses stretch and pull uncomfortably, and Alfons makes a face as he sinks into her by inches, slowly, literally painfully slowly.
“Are you okay?” he asks over and over, to the point where she almost wants to just knock him on his back and impale herself already. That was what got them into trouble their disastrous, technical first-time though - he was too worried about going slow and she wanted him try and go faster, and somewhere between the two she had wound up hurt and bleeding, and he had fretted for two days straight, convinced that he had done irreparable damage. It would have been cute if it weren’t so annoying.
“I’m fine,” she says, and forces herself to wait. He’s trying so hard to be good to her, she can see it written all over his face. Edward’s eyes keeps no secrets and right now they are honest and needy; to be frank, it must be painful indeed for him not to just haul back and start slamming inside. He makes it all the way in, clings to her chest and trembles. She pets him and just tries to remember how to breathe, tries to resist the temptation to start fiddling with his glorious prosthetic ports and make him go off right now. God, he would be beautiful.
They lay there for a few seconds, pressed close against each other, feeling each other breathe, and Edward presses his forehead down to her collarbone and whimpers. Alfons strokes his back and tries to get used to the feeling of him inside of her. They are as close as two people can be, she thinks, dazed, without being part of each other.
He raises his head again, and his cheeks are brilliant with color, his bangs clinging messily all around his pretty cheeks.
“Alfons, can I-“ he chokes out and she nods. Edward pushes himself up on his forearms and braces himself, and so, they try.
It is not perfect. It kind of hurts at first, to be completely truthful. But where it is hard and arrhythmic, it is also full of heat, kindles a kind of pleasurable burn deep down in her belly. Her hands are slick with sweat and her nipples are two hard points between them; and the confused muddle that is all the rest of her shudders as he thrusts into her.
He slips out, joins them again. Mutters something embarrassed about friction coefficients and she in turn is embarrassed by how breathy her laugh sounds. God. She’s amazed that he’s lasting this long - what if it’s too slippery? She knows from his face that he likes it when it’s tight, maybe this is too easy, maybe this won’t work for him, maybe, maybe…
Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pressing a little to the right and upwards, and she is startled to realize that oh god, she is coming, and she doesn’t have time to do anything more than gasp. Every last piece of her comes clamping down around him and she sucks in a breath. She arches.
She breaks.
***
She comes back to herself and he is petting her a few moments later. He nuzzles her with an awed expression.
“Did you-?” he asks, panting, still obviously tense, and she gives him what has to be the stupidest smile in the history of the universe and strokes his neck.
“What do you think?” she says, but somehow the sarcasm doesn’t quite carry. It is the first time she’s ever come like this, and she isn’t sure what to make of it. His arms, legs, pressed firmly up against hers; held, slick with sweat but now slightly cooling. It is a good feeling, she decides. Her body still thrums; his cock inside her now feels comfortable.
Still hard. She raises an eyebrow. She is surprised he lasted long enough to make it work at all. The first time they tried it (not counting the other first time, the one that had lead to her limping) he had gone off in seconds. He had been mortified. It had taken weeks before they had tried it again.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, and he scratches the back of his head, embarrassed.
“I think so?” he says, and bites down on his lower lip. “You seized up, and - fuck, Alfons, it was kind of freaky, I couldn’t really move that much anymore, I didn’t want to hurt you or whatever-“
She chuckles quietly. He is babbling again, the way he always does when he gets embarrassed. He’s too short for her to be able to kiss him, but she ruffles his bangs and smiles at him, squeezes her thighs on either side of his hips.
“I’m fine,” she sighs, and bucks her hips up. “Go right ahead.”
She bucks again, and this time Edward’s eyes cross. He gets the picture.
***
Some time later when they have finally exhausted themselves, Edward is curled up against her chest and dozing, looking for all intents and purposes like the cat who stole the cream.
Alfons herself is only barely awake. She keeps drifting off into warm dreams, dreams of rockets and flying, and Edward’s pretty hair all twined through her fingers. Watches the clock.
Soon, they will have to get up, get cleaned up. It is not good that they have lingered so long already, given her secret, though she supposes that again, ‘good’ is relevant. A truly good girl would have, in fact, never have done this at all…
She smiles to herself.
Alfons has never been very good at being a good girl.
***
::good girls don’t / but I do::
xposted to fma_genderswap
Author: cryogenia
Pairing: Girl!Hei/Ed
Rating: NC-17 all the way
A/N: Sequel to Alter Ego, although I think it can mostly stand on its own :) Also, yeah...this was supposed to be a drabble? But the problem with me writing things out on notebook paper is that I quickly get tl;dr. This little monster was um, three sheets of paper O.o
/me eyes other *30* v-e-r-y suspiciously.
Friday night is a hot bed of activity, all fires lit, all street lights burning. The sound of jubilant voices and trains and people bopping about aimlessly in the street. The work day is done, the beer halls are open, and for all good university students it is the beginning of a blessed weekend, two whole days in which they will not have lecture. Their research group, naturally, is also going out. Edward pulls on his coat and she smiles at him discretely out of the side of her mouth, enjoying the way his strong back arches when he does that.
Someone claps her on the back and she immediately looks elsewhere. In public, where she is a boy, it would be a disaster to be caught flirting with Edward. Alfons coughs briefly into the palm of her hand, laughs at an ambient joke she overhears, and contents herself with watching Edward's ass as he walks out ahead of the throng, always keeping himself a careful three feet away from human contact because his false limbs are secrets too.
She smirks. Despite outward appearances, neither of them are "just regular Joes."
She wonders indeed what it would be like to grow up "normal". Probably not good, she thinks. For one, most likely, she and Edward would never have met. There are a great many things, she notes critically, that she can only do as a young man, and that is sad. Also ironic, because of course she isn't one and yet she manages these 'impossible' feats anyway. A young man can take university courses at the tender age of fifteen and ace them every time; a young woman would at best be allowed degrees in teaching. Engineering would never be her specialty.
A young man can also walk into certain shoppes and purchase a pack of rubbers, and the store clerk will look at her (to all outside observers, of course, a 'him') and just wink, assume that she's headed out for the red light district. Alfons breaks away from the main group for a few moments to do just that, heart hammering in her chest as always with the ludicrous fear that somehow now is the moment she will magically be seen through, but the most that happens when she gets back is a few good-natured jibes from the guys. "Alfons" is an overly serious man to them, too constantly buttoned-down; they think 'he' needs to relax and get laid more.
If only you knew, she smiles to herself, her chest growing a bit warm as she watches Edward still traipsing on ahead, determined to lead the way to tonight's chosen pub. She knows that good girls aren't supposed to go drinking, but she is Alfons, and Alfons is a boy, and so she has no trouble following them all in to the Black and Tan.
The pub is, of course, crawling with lots of other naughty girls, but that part doesn't bother her either. She's lived too long with men to be morally outraged at loose women, but neither does she pay them much mind. It's simply that party girls don't interest her. They go up to the bar proper to order, and she pretends to watch the serving girls flaunt themselves for their party, mostly counts floor tiles instead. She knows just like breathing how to go through the motions, but their tight little blouses largely just engender an idle sense of jealousy. She wishes sometimes she could wear stockings like that, a little rouge, maybe a skirt, but that is not a dream compatible with machine oil and the Greater Purpose. Men look at women like her for their long legs, not their brains. Can't ever forget that. Everything she has built - everything she has worked for - might perish in an instant if the lie of what she really is were to be revealed.
They get a whole passel of beers and divvy them up. Edward is already sitting down at their usual table, staring at her hotly over a mug of amber stout that matches the color of his eyes, and it is all she can do to remember not to flush.
She also has to remember, she considers with a faint smile, that apparently not all men stop believing she has worth just because she is female.
She rather likes that her secret can fluster him so easily, though. Just to cause mischief, she sidles over to one of the bar girls that she knows and pays her a quiet compliment. The pretty brunette lights up predictably and flirts back readily, laughing and opening her mouth wide to expose large, healthy teeth. She is playing a part here too, and Alfons has always been careful to be respectful and kind. She likes to sit down and just talk with the serving girls sometimes, a secret, guilty glimpse into those things that she cannot have. They seem to enjoy that she listens. A couple of them have even, in the past, expressed their joy by stealing kisses from Alfons, and while she has always been polite about that as well, she does regret that they were never special enough to inherently kindle fire in her belly, make her grow weak and shaky in the knees.
Not the way men, the way Edward, does.
Edward, for his part, is not content to watch her flirting with the barmaid from across the room; Alfons watches out of the corner of her eye as he gets up and stalks over to them. His eerie eyes glitter dangerously when the brunette coquettishly trails a few fingers up the side of Alfons's wrist in the pretense of examining Alfons's nonexistent cufflinks.
He closes in.
“Oh hello, Edward! Meet my friend, Ilsa…” Alfons whips around and s-m-i-l-e-s.
“Huh?” he blinks. Edward isn't really so much the jealous type, honestly, as just unsure of himself. About everything, really. Alfons watches in amusement as the barmaid notices him and turns her charm onto him as well, and he draws up short and blinks back and forth between the two of them, visibly confused. It's just flirting, Edward, she wants to say, exasperated, but does not. It is not how things are done, and besides, she doesn't want to make him look even worse than he already does. Instead she winks at him and predictably, he flushes. The brunette who is attempting to work on him takes it as a positive sign, and bustles off to bring him a beer.
The brunette comes back with a bottle for all three of them; they chat some more, flirt a bit. A good girl wouldn't be encouraging her man to talk with other women, but it both looks good to the crowd of lab buddies catcalling at them from their table and well, is frankly kind of endearing how he keeps shifting closer toward her. Edward is so hopelessly out of his element with how strong this girl is coming on to him that he keeps looking for Alfons to rescue him -- which of course she does, all the while privately laughing her head off.
A good girl wouldn't run her tongue around the neck of her beer bottle suggestively, either, but Alfons does this as well and Edward gets a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression. His cheeks flush so bright he could be wearing the barmaid's gaudy rouge.
He could almost be mistaken for the real girl in this situation, Alfons thinks with amusement. Edward is ambiguously pretty and wears his hair entirely too long (though she has to admit it looks good on him); he is also small and slim. Not wimpy, however - she happens to know for a fact that underneath those baggy linen shirts and trousers is pure, tight muscle; Edward is built like a miniature tank. She must have licked her lips thinking about that, because suddenly Edward's eyes are fixated on her mouth. The very second the barmaid moves away to go con someone else into buying more drinks, Edward leans in to Alfons and whispers.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, the boldest he has ever been.
"Eventually," she responds on a breathy purr, and watches with pleasure as Edward visibly shivers. He licks his lips too.
It wouldn’t do to bail so quickly though. The night is still young. They go back to join the rest of their crew, tease Dorchett for striking out with the girl he was hitting on, laugh and joke, pretend like they’re not going to talk shop when of course, ultimately they do. God, she could talk about rocketry for hours, their slick, perfect machinery; engine design gets her hot and it’s all she can do not to squirm in her seat. Edward for his part loves it when they talk chemistry, and when they start once more idly fantasizing about liquid fuel systems, she can’t help but remember a similar conversation when it had just been her and him alone in the lab. They had both gotten so riled in an intellectual debate that it had ended with him pinning her to the work bench, one hand fisted hard in her hair and his tongue halfway down her throat. (She still contended he had only done that because he was wrong and he was trying get her to shut up.)
Edward did have a lot of interesting theories though, Alfons had to admit as she listened to him yammer animatedly to the group, a little more relaxed now that he’d gotten a few beers in him. He could really be excellent if only he could shake that strange tendency of his to jump from point A to point B and forget about conversation of energy. Carbon couldn’t just become diamond in an equation, it took heat and pressure.
Strange education that man must have had, she thinks.
Stranger still, that he is as good as he is anyway.
The evening eventually starts to wind down. One of their buddies falls asleep in his seat, others are starting to wilt. Perfect time to make an exit, and Alfons sees her chance standing by the door.
“You want to get out of here?” she repeats to Edward now, and she is amused to see him literally jump at the chance. Their argument during the liquid-fuel discussion must have gotten him going indeed, because he isn’t just staring at her mouth anymore but her suspenders this time, and she has seen that look enough now to know what it means.
I’m thinking of taking your pants off, his eyes say, and she sucks in a shaky breath at the thought of him doing just that. Wants to be back in their dormitory right now.
“Come on,” she says, and heads for the door. The brunette barmaid from earlier is headed out for a smoke break, which is another thing of course that good girls don’t do - and at least in this case, neither does Alfons; her lungs are too weak for it. Her research group hasn’t caught on to that yet, though, and it is good for them to be seen headed out for a smoke with the pretty little brown-haired girl.
They hit the alley, the barmaid goes left; they go right. Alfons considers that she’ll probably have to make up some story tomorrow about how she failed to get anywhere with the broad, ha-ha, “tried the trigger but got no action”. It’s kind of annoying. Maybe Edward can take the heat instead…bless his heart, he’s sort of replaced her as the Young One, the most Innocent of the group. The weakest one.
If only they knew, she thinks again, a rivulet of excitement running down through her center. Edward is a cripple, yes, but he is blessed with an amazing amount of strength in his remaining two arms, and because of it his good hand is so powerful, so untiring, that secretly she’s not sure she likes her own touch because her hand is so prone to cramping up.
“What are you smiling for?” Edward asks dubiously, as they make their way back toward their lodging.
“You,” Alfons says simply, and Ed endears himself by starting to bluster about how ‘completely stupid’ that is. Translation: he’s touched.
***
They climb the old rickety steps to the second floor where Edward’s room is. For security’s sake (because of that trunk of prosthetics he worries about), they have installed better locks up there; that’s also where they go to tryst. Alfons realizes he wound up a few steps behind her and makes sure to throw a little sway to her hips. It feels awkward, actually - she has long since trained herself out of that girlish habit; not so easy just to pick it up again - but she must be doing pretty good because the first thing Edward does once he gets her inside is to lock the door and then throw her up against it.
Strong. He is so much stronger than her, and he has a way of making her feel little too, and she still isn’t sure what to think about that. That fascinating prosthetic arm of his is clamped down tightly on her hip and his other hand is behind her head, pulling her incessantly down to meet his lips. Oh hell, why fight it. He has her pressed so tightly back against the door that she can’t see the harm in leaning more of her weight down on to him. He brings his left knee up to support her, and she straddles it gladly, giddy at the ridge of prosthetic she can feel through his trousers as well.
Still hasn’t gotten over the beauty of his prosthetics, nor is she sure she ever wants to.
“I bought you a present,” she whispers between kisses.
“Mm?” Edward’s fingers are on her dress shirt buttons. Alfons hisses her next breath as he works the front of her shirt all the way open, revealing where her small breasts have been bound. He slips his fingers up beneath the bandages and starts to peel them off, unwrapping her like a present. She hisses again at that thought.
“What is it? More Goddard?” Edward asks hopefully. He moves his flesh hand down lower to knead at her breasts. She straightens up a little and arches, whimpering. After being bound all day, even her small swells ache from being compressed. It has been especially bad lately…maybe they are growing again.
“No, it’s not more goddamned Goddard!” Alfons sighs, exasperated. It figures he would still be thinking physics at a time like this.
She arches her back again and he is predictably captured by the sight of her dusky nipples. That is one good thing, she thinks. Edward has his Moments about her height, but he is always a fan of her breasts, and even when she stands flat-footed, because his face winds up right there at her chest, it often keeps him from complaining. He is perfectly proportioned so that he can easily use his mouth on her breasts, and while good girls wouldn’t be nearly so happy about that one either, good girls don’t know what it’s like to suddenly have a warm, wet mouth envelop an aching nipple.
She straightens up a bit so he can do just that.
“Oh god, Edward…” she wails softly as he attacks her chest, sending a warm tingle all down her front. It pools between her legs and she can tell she’s getting wet; her woolen underwear is starting to feel slippery and uncomfortable at the crotch. She doesn’t want to be wearing anything at all.
“Check my pocket,” she gasps out as his flesh hand starts to get into the action, kneading at her tender skin and nearly making her knees buckle. “No, other pocket…yes!” she says as he gropes about with his prosthetic arm.
Edward pulls out the little brown package, stares at it for a moment, then a thunderstruck expression something akin to wonder spreads across his face. He kisses her so hard she thinks she can see the Pleiads.
“It’s just a pack of rubbers,” she says, trying to play down the event. As if she hadn’t been a virgin before, too. Edward responds by simultaneously blushing and unclipping her suspenders. Her trousers fall off almost immediately; the suspenders are the only way she’s been able to compensate for her narrow waist in large-all-over male pants.
“Are you sure?” he asks in between kissing at her. He bites down on his lip, looks embarrassed. “Last time, it didn’t um…”
“I’ll be okay,” she promises, and takes advantage of his momentary stillness to start undoing his clothing as well. Edward stiffens reflexively, shivers a little. He never likes to be all the way unclothed, which is a quirk she still doesn’t entirely understand. His false limbs are fascinating to her and she can’t imagine not seeing those lovely machines he wears on them; it’s not as if he’s flabby or ugly anywhere either. Alfons suspects it’s just the loss of power. Edward literally feels ‘exposed’ when he’s exposed.
Well, fine she thinks determinedly to herself and yanks down the front of his pants before he can object. He says I am supposed to be his equal; well, I want his clothes off too.
He retaliates by jerking down her pants and underwear; she uses her superior height to bully him back toward the bed. He takes a couple steps before he realizes what he’s doing, gets pissed, and picks her up and just throws her onto the mattress. God, she’d never admit it but it turns her on how he can just flip her over his shoulder like she’s nothing. A tall girl even as a kid, she has always taken so much grief about being too ‘intimidating’ for men; Edward doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She has seen him stare down beer hall bouncers three times his size, beat up brawlers in an alley. She is no slouch herself (try lifting heavy engine chassises all day and even a gal grows some biceps), but Edward…he could probably beat the shit out of her if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t.
She twists a little on the bed, tingling all over, wanting him to just come over and jump on her, and Edward’s breath hitches audibly. She slants an eye toward him and his human hand is shaking.
“What?” she asks, a little concerned.
He runs his hand through his hair and exhales hard.
“Nothing, it’s just…fuck, when you look like that…” His eyes are on her again, drinking the long line of her torso hungrily, and she squirms again, uncomfortable suddenly beneath so much scrutiny. She is completely naked here, save for her trousers which are tangled somewhere around her ankles. He at least still has his undershorts-
--which, oh god, he is taking off of his own volition. Alfons’s eyes go round as saucers. Edward’s hair hangs down about his face like a golden curtain, and his cock stands out away from a similarly bright patch of curls down below. He is fiddling with the rubbers and looks utterly, utterly nervous.
It suddenly has become very hard to breathe.
“Well?” she calls to him. “Get on with it.” So much bravado. She isn’t sure she means any of it. He nods and begins to roll the thing down along his length, and the sight is just so…so something that she finds she suddenly has to look anywhere, anywhere but at him. She wallows around on his bed, breathing in the faint musk of bed linens and the scent that is Edward’s personal smell. Alfons like this bed, it smells like him…god, how awfully asinine is that. She is awfully glad she’s keeping her mouth shut.
“Alfons?” he chokes out a moment later, and she rolls up on her side to see that Edward has one knee on the mattress and is watching her snuggle his pillow, a stricken expression on his face. His cock is an angry, stiff third appendage jutting out from betwixt his legs, and she reaches out to touch it.
Edward gives a strangled gasp and then just falls on her.
It is always hard to keep track of this part. She doesn’t even bother. His hands are everywhere on her, and she gives back as good as she gets. Little details are suddenly the most important thing in the world to her. The way his eyes roll when she cups her hand over his crotch just so. The ruined sob he makes when she climbs on top and bites at his neck. They can’t ever figure out which of them is supposed to be on top or in what position, just tumble and twine and suck and fight for dominance. Before long Edward is close to going off and she is getting nearer; he lets out a particularly desperate groan when he attempts to drill himself straight through her hip, and finally Alfons takes mercy.
She positions herself beneath him and hooks her long legs over his hips. Edward looks like he’s nearly had a heart attack.
“C’mon,” she purrs, in what she hopes is a seductive tone. Dammit, she’s not good at being a girl. She knows calculus and physics, not how to behave invitingly or act in a manner pleasing to men. She had always been a good girl, until because of it she had to become a boy, and either way there are no books that explain this; prose cannot begin to capture what it’s like when just one look from him can set her mind on fire, the brush of his fingers down her front making the world uproot…
Edward takes a deep breath, takes a hold of himself, and moves down and inward so that they can be joined.
They have only tried this a handful of times, but she thinks it will forever be, without a doubt, the strangest feeling she will ever experience. Muscles she never uses stretch and pull uncomfortably, and Alfons makes a face as he sinks into her by inches, slowly, literally painfully slowly.
“Are you okay?” he asks over and over, to the point where she almost wants to just knock him on his back and impale herself already. That was what got them into trouble their disastrous, technical first-time though - he was too worried about going slow and she wanted him try and go faster, and somewhere between the two she had wound up hurt and bleeding, and he had fretted for two days straight, convinced that he had done irreparable damage. It would have been cute if it weren’t so annoying.
“I’m fine,” she says, and forces herself to wait. He’s trying so hard to be good to her, she can see it written all over his face. Edward’s eyes keeps no secrets and right now they are honest and needy; to be frank, it must be painful indeed for him not to just haul back and start slamming inside. He makes it all the way in, clings to her chest and trembles. She pets him and just tries to remember how to breathe, tries to resist the temptation to start fiddling with his glorious prosthetic ports and make him go off right now. God, he would be beautiful.
They lay there for a few seconds, pressed close against each other, feeling each other breathe, and Edward presses his forehead down to her collarbone and whimpers. Alfons strokes his back and tries to get used to the feeling of him inside of her. They are as close as two people can be, she thinks, dazed, without being part of each other.
He raises his head again, and his cheeks are brilliant with color, his bangs clinging messily all around his pretty cheeks.
“Alfons, can I-“ he chokes out and she nods. Edward pushes himself up on his forearms and braces himself, and so, they try.
It is not perfect. It kind of hurts at first, to be completely truthful. But where it is hard and arrhythmic, it is also full of heat, kindles a kind of pleasurable burn deep down in her belly. Her hands are slick with sweat and her nipples are two hard points between them; and the confused muddle that is all the rest of her shudders as he thrusts into her.
He slips out, joins them again. Mutters something embarrassed about friction coefficients and she in turn is embarrassed by how breathy her laugh sounds. God. She’s amazed that he’s lasting this long - what if it’s too slippery? She knows from his face that he likes it when it’s tight, maybe this is too easy, maybe this won’t work for him, maybe, maybe…
Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pressing a little to the right and upwards, and she is startled to realize that oh god, she is coming, and she doesn’t have time to do anything more than gasp. Every last piece of her comes clamping down around him and she sucks in a breath. She arches.
She breaks.
***
She comes back to herself and he is petting her a few moments later. He nuzzles her with an awed expression.
“Did you-?” he asks, panting, still obviously tense, and she gives him what has to be the stupidest smile in the history of the universe and strokes his neck.
“What do you think?” she says, but somehow the sarcasm doesn’t quite carry. It is the first time she’s ever come like this, and she isn’t sure what to make of it. His arms, legs, pressed firmly up against hers; held, slick with sweat but now slightly cooling. It is a good feeling, she decides. Her body still thrums; his cock inside her now feels comfortable.
Still hard. She raises an eyebrow. She is surprised he lasted long enough to make it work at all. The first time they tried it (not counting the other first time, the one that had lead to her limping) he had gone off in seconds. He had been mortified. It had taken weeks before they had tried it again.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, and he scratches the back of his head, embarrassed.
“I think so?” he says, and bites down on his lower lip. “You seized up, and - fuck, Alfons, it was kind of freaky, I couldn’t really move that much anymore, I didn’t want to hurt you or whatever-“
She chuckles quietly. He is babbling again, the way he always does when he gets embarrassed. He’s too short for her to be able to kiss him, but she ruffles his bangs and smiles at him, squeezes her thighs on either side of his hips.
“I’m fine,” she sighs, and bucks her hips up. “Go right ahead.”
She bucks again, and this time Edward’s eyes cross. He gets the picture.
***
Some time later when they have finally exhausted themselves, Edward is curled up against her chest and dozing, looking for all intents and purposes like the cat who stole the cream.
Alfons herself is only barely awake. She keeps drifting off into warm dreams, dreams of rockets and flying, and Edward’s pretty hair all twined through her fingers. Watches the clock.
Soon, they will have to get up, get cleaned up. It is not good that they have lingered so long already, given her secret, though she supposes that again, ‘good’ is relevant. A truly good girl would have, in fact, never have done this at all…
She smiles to herself.
Alfons has never been very good at being a good girl.
***
::good girls don’t / but I do::
xposted to fma_genderswap