The Limits of Control: a BDSM love story, Chapter 7
Title: The Limits of Control: a BDSM love story
Chapter: Chapter 7/10?
Word count: About 52,000 so far?
Series: 2003 anime... sort of. Assuming a slightly alternate ending.
Characters: Roy Mustang, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric
Rating: M. Mature. Explicit. NC-17. Porn.
Warnings: Serious kinkiness. Pain play, whipping, dominance/submission, bondage. Oh, and a profusion of cursing, though that's going to be the least of your worries!
Summary: Just because you want something doesn't mean it's easy to let yourself have it. Relationships are hard enough even when they're totally normal - but Roy and Ed seem determined to make theirs as not-normal as it can get.
BDSM porn with a plot. Or plot with overwhelming amounts of porn. Pick one.
Notes: A totally unofficial (and much longer) sequel to Cryogenia's wonderful "Ties that Bind." If you haven't read it, go read it here!
This chapter: Snark, stupidity, whipping, and orgasms. In that order. What more could you possibly want?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
*
Edward sauntered in to his office a few days later, wearing those same goddamned leather pants, and grinned at him, razorlike.
That expression was entirely too familiar, and Roy's stomach gave a nervous turn. Those smiles usually meant something dangerous. He listened to his better judgment and watched the younger man's face rather than his gorgeous body.
“Spar with me,” said Edward without prelude.
“What?” Roy asked, processing.
Ed rolled his eyes. He leaned on Roy's desk, sitting on the edge and propping himself up on a straight arm.
“Don't be a dumbass. I want to fight you.”
Roy's mind went blank.
“Why?”
“We've been over this: I miss punching people. Today in particular, I'm in the mood for something dangerous,” he said, and the general's body took notice. “You're the most dangerous person I know, other than Al, but Al and I spar all the time. So here I am.” Roy smirked, an automatic response that hid the strange flicker of pride in his chest. There weren't many people in the world Ed would compliment in the same breath as his genius little brother.
“And besides,” Ed added, looking terribly dangerous and also terribly appealing, owning the edge of Roy's desk, “it's good exercise for you. Can't let you get all soft and doughy.” He laughed, look turning mischievous. “That, and a good spar gets my adrenaline up.”
Roy knew what happened when Ed got in that particular mood.
A parade of thoughts flickered through Roy's mind: first, the image of Fullmetal, panting, shirtless and sweating, destruction all around him - pure fantasy of the kind that robbed his breath from his lungs. Second came a memory of their fight: Roy's hand out in front of him, ready to snap, and Edward, blade to Roy's neck, looking tense and focused and lethal.
Roy raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? Do tell,” he purred, thinking of their last fight - years ago, now: Ed had been so young - in a new light. “I remember our last match. Were you after the same thing, even back then? Interesting. And on the parade grounds in front of everyone... What would everyone say if they knew?”
Ed rolled his eyes again and huffed.
“I can actually see your ego swelling, Mustang,” he said, still relaxed, neck deliciously exposed as he stretched out to the side. “You're gonna regret that comment. I was fifteen and basically asexual. I wasn't doin' anything kinky, I just wanted to make you pay through the nose for bein' a bastard.”
“Sounds to me like a case of repressed sexual tension. Are you sure you weren't trying to get my attention, Fullmetal?”
Ed looked at him with a sudden, wide-eyed incredulity.
“Of course I was trying to get your attention. I just wanted you to take me seriously. You never did till recently.” Then, his tone changed from earnest to amused. “So take me seriously, dammit, and spar with me.”
Roy found himself temporarily lost for words. He had never expected Edward to be open with him about anything, much less about something so potentially embarrassing.
“I have an engagement this evening that I really shouldn't miss,” he lied, never missing a beat. “Tell me why I should cancel it to go play with you?” Convince me, Edward.
“Because it'll be fun, you shit. For you and for me. I like pain, you like makin' me squirm, sounds like a fun deal to me,” he said, smiling in a way that looked too genuine to match the words that were coming out of his mouth.
“So, you in?” the blonde asked, head cocked to the side. He watched Roy, unguarded and curious.
“Purely physical, or with alchemy?”
“With alchemy, 'course. More dangerous means more fun,” he said, grinning.
“So reckless, Fullmetal. That's going to get you in trouble some day.”
“It's gotten me in plenty of trouble already, but I'm still here to talk about it. I'm not too worried.”
“What about the property damage? Last time we fought it took us the better part of two days to clean up, and we had a parade ground at our disposal.”
“What, you can't control yourself?”
“It's not myself I'm worried about.”
“Worried? Seriously, Mustang? You worried about going up against me?”
Roy gave a laugh that was half a huff of frustration. Trust Fullmetal to always know what buttons to push, and to do so repeatedly, shamelessly.
“Fine, you got me,” he said. “I'll meet you after work.”
*
Edward knew where all of the empty warehouses in Central were, due to long acquaintance: they were large and empty enough that crazy alchemists and rebel factions seemed to find them ideal hiding spots, which made Ed wonder who was stupid enough to leave them abandoned in the first place. They were pretty handy now, though, when he wanted someplace private to spar with his lover where the type of wanton destruction they were likely to create wouldn't be such a big deal.
He could almost feel Roy's eyes burning through the leather on his ass as he walked on ahead and flipped the bare electric switch on the wall inside the warehouse door. The power struggled on, filling the room with a flickering yellow light. He suppressed a hot shiver, and turned back to the other man.
“Can I help you?” Ed asked, crossing his arms and giving the general a smirk.
Roy stared at him hotly.
“Your pants,” he said, tone barely restrained. “You're wearing them again.”
The sudden force of his lover's desire never failed to shock Ed.
“Yeah. I thought - well, you liked them a lot, and every time I wear them you end up doing your dominant thing.” Ed swallowed his nervousness down, his throat suddenly dry. Words were easy for Edward Elric when they didn't mean anything: suddenly, when he really wanted them, they refused to come out properly. He soldiered onwards. “So, I thought that maybe, wearing them would be how I asked? When I want some pain, I'll wear 'em, so you don't have to keep asking me if it's okay,” he said, pressing his voice into nonchalance.
Roy looked like he was about to say something: Ed just kept running his mouth so he didn't have to hear it, because he wasn't sure he was ready.
“But when I don't want it you had better fucking not try anything. That's the trust thing. I'm trustin you not to try to get all high and mighty all the time, or to try and make me do what you want. But when I'm wearin 'em, I'm game. Is that cool? We have a deal?”
Roy stepped inside the door and shut the grey light of the day out, leaving them alone together in the warehouse. They both let the question hang between them for a moment.
“Well,” he began, and Edward's stomach took a nervous flip. “I agree in principle, but that hardly seems fair, does it?” Roy asked, face smooth and voice unreadable. “What if it's what I want, what I need? Did that occur to you?”
The words snared Ed, cold. He watched Roy, and Roy watched him back.
“What?” he asked, to cover up the frantic spin of his brain.
“Your whole attitude towards me and our play has been incredibly selfish. Would it kill you to show some consideration for me every once in a while?
Fuck, he'd gone and said something stupid again. How bad had it been - how much had he offended? Did he care? He wavered in between apology and fury - first one, then the other - no, no it wasn't fair, Roy was right, but did he want it to be fair? Roy had so much power some of the time, and that was fucking scary. A rush of arousal swirled into his emotional cocktail because he was in that mood, goddammit, and it just infuriated him more that the man could do that to him even when he wanted to stand his ground.
He didn't like the look on the general's face. Not at all.
“As we have discussed before, our activities are as much a release for me as they are for you.” Mustang's expression just got colder, more distant, if that was possible.
Ed twitched.
“Goddammit, stop looking at me like that. Would it kill you to show some emotion every once in a while?” he said, crossing his arms and glaring knives. “I have no idea what the hell you're thinking.”
Roy raised an eyebrow, in his patented fucking Mustang expression - incredulous, superior. That wasn't the emotion Ed had been looking for.
“Did something I was saying confuse you? Apologies. I thought I was perfectly clear,” he said.
“I'm not confused,” Edward said, looking at the floor because he was either going to feel guilty or angry, but the former was going to get him in less trouble right now, and he really didn't want any more trouble. “I just wish I knew why you were asking.”
“And I wish you would give me something, Edward. Anything. I've been trying. I've been doing whatever I can not to scare you the hell off. I have been so patient with you,” Roy snapped, and Ed stared, rigid, unable to move or reply. The emotion that flickered across the older man's face then was anything but cold. His face had pulled down into a frown, and Edward would have guessed that the man was furious if not for the tone of his voice. Was that... hurt? He couldn't be sure: the moment was gone as quickly. “Is this going to work between us? There has to be a give and take, Edward. I am more than willing to do whatever you need me to do in order to make you comfortable with what we're doing, but I expect the same in return.”
Edward wished, not for the first time, that his legendary genius would manifest itself in a useful way for once in his life.
“You - but you - you never said any of this,” Ed shot back, immediately embarrassed by his sudden turn to accusation but somehow unable to stop it. “This is the way I fucking am. If you don't like me, you don't have to be here. If I'm not doing good enough, you can just shove off and go find somebody else!” Ed crossed his arms and glared, not sure whether he was more frustrated at Roy or at himself. Why would his mouth never do what he fucking wanted it to?
“That's just it. I don't want to go find anyone else,” Roy said, and stalked forward to stand in front of him, close enough to touch. “You frustrate me, you make me angry, and sometimes I want to strangle you - but you also make me laugh, and you're so damn clever, and you always make me horny as hell.” He took a breath, and the distance between them crackled with a live energy. “It is... difficult to find someone who wants what you want, Edward, much less someone I would actually want to be in a relationship with. But if you aren’t willing to put in some effort, I have to wonder if you're not just using me to get what you want. I do not like to be used,” he growled, and Ed suddenly felt the height difference between them like a weight on him.
He wished he knew what to say. People in general confused Edward on a daily basis. This whole sex thing just made everything more complicated.
His confusion couldn't explain the tightness in his throat, though. A pause - he gathered his thoughts.
“I'm - sorry,” he said, the words thick and foreign in his mouth. “I just - I had no idea. I'm not very good at this. I don't even know what I'm trying to do, much less how to do it. And this is still so - not normal. Normal relationships seem confusing enough, and you confuse me all the time and - um, is this a relationship?” he blurted out, and wished immediately that he could take it back because Roy looked surprised, then all soft and amused and everything Ed didn't know what to do with.
“Yes, Ed. It is. Unless you have an objection?”
The younger man smiled back, and everything seemed much less terrifying.
“No, uh, not really. I mean, yeah, it's fine,” said Edward, a warmth in him. The tension between them dimmed to something normal, manageable - Roy's shoulders relaxed enough that Ed could see it.
“Good,” the man said, mirroring Ed's expression. “But that means we're going to have to work something out. Relationships take effort from both parties.” A pause. “I understand your reluctance. I really do. But I'm human, too, and my patience, while astonishing, isn't infinite. Christ, Ed,” he said, expression both wry and maybe a little bit pleased as he took a small step back and ran a hand through his hair. “We fight so badly that we'll tear each other apart if you don't start making an effort. Alright?”
Edward nodded, slowly.
“Okay. I don't know exactly what you mean, though. What is it that you want me to do different? If you could tell me specifically what I'm doing wrong, that might help. I mean, is it... is it just sex stuff, like the - pants thing? I've never done this before, you know,” he said, flushed. “I don't really - well, you shouldn't be surprised that I don't know what I'm doing.”
Roy gave a faint laugh.
“No, it's not your performance in that arena. At all, actually. You're the most perfect creature I have ever had the pleasure of undressing.” Edward's cheeks felt very hot. “But when our clothes are on? You are still confrontational, and you insist on ordering me around, as if you want to make up for the times when I am in control. I need that to stop, and I have to to be able to ask you for things that I need without you throwing a fit. I need you to have some consideration for me.”
A sudden guilt clenched his throat tight, settling there, familiar.
“I'm sorry,” he said, feeling very small, but keeping his voice steady. “I know I can be an asshole. I'm just gonna make a blanket apology right now. I'm gonna fuck up a lot more. You should probably prepare yourself for that.” Roy responded with a laugh, and Ed risked a smile. “I'm willing to try to not be an asshole, though, if you'll tell me how to fix it.”
Roy stroked a gloved hand down Ed's arm.
“Just understand that our activities require mutual understanding and compromise. This is as clearly as I can say it: I need to be able to ask you to submit to me when I need it,” Roy said. It was not a request, it was a statement: here are the terms, how will you respond? “That never means that you can't refuse, though. You can always refuse, at any time, as can I.”
Ed nodded, too aware of the rough fabric on Roy's hands. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
“Good.” A pause. “Do you want me to ask in any particular way?”
Ed thought for a moment, head cocked to the side.
“Well, if we're doing the clothes thing...” The heat in his cheeks turned to a proper blush. “Maybe by wearing your gloves? They're, uh, kind of really fucking hot.”
His breathing sharpened and a shudder slid down his spine as Roy's smile cut him through.
“Is that right?” he asked, shifting all in one instant into the other man, the Roy Mustang who could make Ed want to give in.
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” the blonde said, forcing the words out his irritatingly uncooperative lips. What he wanted and what his body wanted seemed to be at cross purposes for the moment. “We're sparring first, remember?” A pause, backpedal. “I mean, if you still want to.”
“That’s not so different from what I had in mind,” Mustang said. “Either way, you're just begging for a beating, aren't you?” His rumbled words sent shocks to Ed’s groin.
Ed snorted and pulled away, so that hand wouldn't be so distracting.
“Still cocky after all these years at a desk, huh?”
“Well, I am very skilled,” Roy said, words smooth, “and you are out of practice. Think fast,” he said, and Ed's body barely had time to throw him to the floor in a side roll before a bloom of flame seared the air where he had once been.
“The fuck, Mustang?” Edward said. He clapped and pulled a blade out of the back of his metal hand, blood pounding through him. “You're still pulling that same shit, Mr. Start-it-quickly-and you'll-end-it-quickly, huh? Kicking it off before we've started is still a cheap, dirty trick, but now it's not even original any more!” He lunged forward, arm lancing towards the other man's throat, but fingers snapped and left a stream of flame before he could get there.
“Well, you still fell for it, so what does that say about you?” Roy returned, eyes following Ed's form as he snapped, burned. Edward ducked around, between, below, weaving in and out of Roy's fire. His mind whirled, searching the environment desperately: what could he use?
“I guess I expected you to be original this time, but I shoulda known. I bet everything starts and ends quickly with you.” Ed sprang up and behind a stack of splintery crates - the place was loaded with them, perched precariously on top of each other in towers anywhere from one to five high. What could he do with those? Without actually hurting Mustang, Ed amended.
“I don't know about that, Fullmetal. I can drag this out as long as you want.”
“You come over here and fight me man to man, we'll see how long you last!” Ed snapped, scrambling around the backs of the crates as flames shot above them, then curved down, over, seeking their target. Fuck if the man didn't have perfect control over where that shit was going. It would have been impressive if it weren't so goddamn irritating.
Ed looked up, still scrambling forward as fast as his mismatched legs could carry him, which was pretty damn fast. He searched for anything that might help, noted pipes in the ceiling. Would there be water in them still? No, this warehouse had been abandoned for years, the water had probably been turned off a long time ago.
He felt a flame lick at his heels as he sprinted around the crates to behind the place where he knew Roy was standing. He vaulted over the boxes towards the man, and found himself facing another burst of fire, larger than he himself was.
He sprung back again, away, dropping to the floor: the flame passed over him harmlessly, and crackled out.
“Mustang, you son of a bitch, you lookin to kill me?” Ed shouted. He was on his feet again in a second: he bolted around the side, then leaped back over the crates to see Roy's back. Three steps, then he dropped to the ground and slammed out a leg to sweep the general’s out from under him. No luck - the older man jumped over Ed’s sweep with a surprising agility, spinning around to face his opponent. The moment he landed, he snapped his fingers. Flame struck through the air at the ground, but Edward rolled away, hissing as he hit a wall of crates.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Roy said, sounding entirely too unaffected. “I have complete faith in your ability to avoid my attacks.”
A clap and a press of hands: then, the crates exploded in a cloud of sawdust - a tongue of fire missed Ed by a foot.
“Well it's a good fucking thing you're not stupid enough to underestimate me. That's the worst mistake a lot of people have made!”
“Oh, I know you too well to underestimate you. If I'm tiring you out, though, I can go easy on you.”
“Fuck you.”
Edward clapped again, then put his hands to the ground: four great slabs of concrete lifted up from the floor and came together in a shell around where Roy had been. Ed let himself feel pleased for just a moment, though the feeling was abruptly stolen from him as fire blasted around both sides of the concrete box to converge right in front of him. He jumped to the side and sprinted around the box, to find Roy smirking on the other side.
“The hell did you do to get out of that one, you bastard?” Ed asked, pausing for just a moment.
“You're not the only one capable of using a piece of chalk, Fullmetal,” the man said, and Edward felt that familiar low burn in his stomach as he saw the man standing there like a monument, his flame-gloves out, promising. “You know, if you would just give up, I could give you what you really want.”
“Not a chance, Mustang,” Ed snarled, and rushed forward, snapping out his blunted blade and dodging the strings of flame that shot around him. He spun to the side, out of the path of the fire and used the momentum to carry his weapon towards its target - it scraped across Roy's side even as the man sprung away, not quite fast enough.
“Ha! First blood,” Edward said, though his blade was dulled, so there was of course no blood at all.
He must have let his guard down in that moment of pride, because within seconds he found himself pinned to the floor, face-first, with Roy's body on his back and breath on his neck.
“Well done,” Roy said, voice rumbling into Edward's ear and shivering across his skin. “But that still doesn't mean that you've won.”
That heavy pressure - that heat on his back - Roy’s hips grinding down on his ass -
Damn the man. Just - fucking - goddammit. Like he needed another distraction right now.
Edward let all the struggle go out of him, let his muscles loosen and his head sag forward.
“Oh? Giving up already, are we?” Roy asked, but in a flat second Edward wound up every muscle he had and twisted, caught Roy between his legs. He flipped the other man onto his back and felt a satisfying thud as he went down. The look on the man’s face was more satisfying still.
He bounced straight up off of the man, skidding back a few feet and back into a fighting stance, and let himself feel a wash of pride at the sight or Roy Mustang on his back.
“Giving up? Not fucking likely,” Edward said, grinning like fire, but his celebration was short-lived. He had somehow forgotten that being on the floor didn't stop Roy from snapping. The fire arrowed straight towards him and he dove to the side behind a crate - the red whip curved to follow him, then caught on the wood, set fire to it.
Fuck, what is that smell, he thought - his brain put the pieces together just a hair too late, he had less than a second to realize that the smell was gunpowder, and that meant -
He jumped to the side as quickly as his body could carry him as the crate erupted into a sparking bonfire, but he wasn't quite good enough. The flame blasted through the air so quickly that his metal arm got caught in it. Even as quickly as he pulled away, he felt the pain of his joints melting together, his wire nerves turning to bubbling liquid -
- and in that brief moment of pain, the answer came to him.
Fire needed oxygen. Without air, nothing could burn. The circle on Roy’s glove didn’t really transmute fire, if you thought about it: it transmuted air. It transmuted air, and the flame followed - or didn’t.
Edward knew that transmutation circle, backwards, forwards, inside out; he knew it cold any day. He pictured it in his head, clapped his hands together, took a deep breath - then pulled his hands apart and drew all of the oxygen away from the area between Roy and himself.
Roy choked immediately, and when he snapped, no fire came from his gloves. Ed’s transmutation was the stronger. He surged forward, put his blade to the general’s neck, and savored the look of the older man, frozen there, for just a moment before finally letting his transmutation fade. Oxygen rushed back into the area, cool and welcome against his skin.
The elder man took a deep, gasping breath.
“And checkmate,” said Edward, stepping back and pulling his arm away from Roy's neck. His heart thrummed, raced, the sweet spark of adrenaline pounding through his blood, making his whole body ache and his mouth run dry. “What did you think of that, General?”
“Taking all of the oxygen out of the air so that my fire couldn't burn... impressive, Fullmetal. You won this time. Congratulations.”
Ed might have glowed, even preened, at another time, but at that particular moment other concerns were paramount.
“We're not done yet,” he said. He wasn't ready for this feeling - this blissful, stinging, heady feeling - to be over.
“Oh?” said Mustang, voice rumbling low.
Ed looked around quickly for something he could use, saw a piece of rubber tubing, discarded for years. He clapped, enjoying the last pained twinges of his cooling metal arm, though he was careful not to let it show: if Roy knew what had happened to his arm, he'd probably end this immediately. But there was nothing more that could happen to it now, so what was the point of stopping? He bent over and picked up the tubing, drawing it into a whip of a few feet long that tapered down from one end to the other.
“I want you to hit me with it,” Edward said, and extended the makeshift implement towards the general.
The man took in a sharp breath - if Roy's arousal hadn't been evident enough before, it certainly was now.
“And,” he said, reaching out to take the implement from Ed's hands. “What do we say when we want things, Fullmetal?” He bent it, flicked it once or twice, testing it. He looked so comfortable, so confident with it in his hands: the sight almost took Ed's breath away. There wasn't anyone else like that man, not anywhere.
“You're going to have to try a little harder if you want me to beg,” Edward said, trying out a smirk. He wouldn't just do it. He wanted Roy to make him beg.
Roy's smirk put his to shame.
“You're going to regret that you said that.”
“Yeah? Prove it,” Ed replied, tilting his head to the side. Roy took a breath, and assumed his role.
“Take your shirt off,” Roy said, every word forceful as a blow, and just like that Ed was hard. He didn't say anything, just pulled his tank top off over his head and let it fall to the ground beside him. “Turn around. Kneel.”
He did so, and bent forward slightly to expose his bare back to the other man. He could feel the heat off the general as the man came closer, and wrapped his arms around his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall forward.
“That's right,” Roy growled, and Ed felt the light trace of the whip on his back. His erection throbbed, constrained by the curl of his body. “You're being so obedient. I haven't even heard a word of protest from you today. How unusual.” The circles the man teased on his skin burned every bit as much as his scorched arm.
And then, Edward heard the noise of cutting air: a long line of pain erupted on his back, thin and sharp and beautiful. He gasped, couldn't help it - goddamn, that hurt, stung and burned and lit every bit of him up from the inside. Another lash, a third, each new one criss-crossing the last, and after a few more he lost count because he was floating somewhere up above his body, everything a haze except for the scream of skin, of metal and muscle, the blissful rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Every time he felt another blow it was different, new again, no one area hit twice in succession; good, because the last thing he wanted was to get used to it. This - this, high on the pain and his arousal and on Mustang standing right behind him -
This was the most beautiful feeling in the world.
“Is that - ah - all you've got?” Ed asked, feeling another deep sting across his back. He didn't know why he said it. Another lash: he allowed himself a soft cry.
“Are you challenging me, Fullmetal?” Roy's growl focused right in on him, and he shivered, body recognizing that tone even without the presence of his mind. “I will win a contest of endurance.”
“Oh yeah?” Another sharp crack burned the air in his lungs, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm still not - fuck - begging.”
This time the tongue of the whip on Ed's back cut harder, deeper - shit, he was pretty sure he was bleeding, the sensation thin and biting. Like hell he was going to ask the man to stop, or even slow down, though - not after his challenge.
“I've barely gotten started, Fullmetal. You will, by the end.”
Edward moaned, the hardness between his legs insistent and undeniable. This giddy feeling, the rush, the excitement, the adrenaline - he felt so awake, so alive, in this moment -
- and just when he thought he never wanted the feeling to stop, it did, suddenly. Edward's voice filled the emptiness with a whimper, and he began to turn around -
“No. Don't move.”
Ed froze where he was.
And then, a touch on his back: soft, gentle, caressing. The blonde hissed and pulled away as something soft and wet moved across a lash-mark - Roy's tongue, it had to be. It stung like the devil but didn't really hurt, not enough, not down to his core, and Ed made a small noise of despair as the man laid a devastatingly gentle kiss on his shoulder, then another, damn him, another.
“Unbutton your pants,” the general said, almost casually, in between the silken presses to Ed's back. A hand stroked down his side, and Edward followed the command. “Now, touch yourself,” he growled, and Ed nodded, hoping the other man understood because there was no way his mouth could form words right then.
He managed a soft cry - a pitiful, needful sound - and slid his knees apart. He leaned forward so he could put his left hand on the ground to support himself, and worked his cock out of the cloth with his automail. He squeezed it hard, so that maybe the pain of that would make up for the screaming emptiness at his back. The general growled, breath hot on Ed's neck, then bit down on the muscle. Roy's hand moved from his side to his back, pretending to soothe, but the gentle friction of it just made his skin sting worse.
Ed squeezed his metal hand down on his cock, moving it slightly, just a bit, doing his best to be careful but how could he be - his rational mind was somewhere up near the rafters and all that really mattered was the shock of pleasure that crept up through him, taking him over, unrelenting. He whimpered at the sting of wetness on his shoulder, wanted more, but refused to beg: not this early, not this easily.
The rhythm of his hand increased, slowly, the pleasure of it burning through him. A cool breath of air met his back, and before he knew what was happening, he felt another lash there. He groaned, the intensity of the two sensations building hot in his mind again, blocking out everything else - he didn't know when his eyes had slid shut, but he couldn't open them.
Then, lips on his shoulder, down his spine, then a pause and the sting of the whip again.
He was so hard it hurt - he wanted to come, he needed to come, but he didn’t want it to be his own hand, not when the general was so close - and before he even knew what he was doing he heard words out of his own mouth:
“Please, General. Fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me.”
He didn’t know why he had said it, but he knew as soon as he had that it was true.
There was a sudden, tense silence. Edward didn’t move. He hadn’t been ordered to, yet. Then, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around: Mustang knelt in front of him, eyes hot and dark and exactly like his own.
“Is that really what you want?” he asked. The man’s free hand came up to stroke down Ed’s neck, and he shivered.
“Yes, please, just -”
And then he couldn’t talk because Roy was kissing him, open-mouthed, fucking him slow with every sweep of his tongue. Ed moaned, deep in his throat.
Mustang pulled away, to Ed’s disappointment.
“God, I want to, Edward,” he said, sounding like Roy again for a moment. “You don’t even know how much I want you right now. But you’re going to have to stop tempting me.” He gave a wry little smile. “Our first time together isn’t going to be on concrete in some warehouse with no preparation. It’s going to be in a bed, and I'm going to do it properly.”
Fuck, no, he couldn’t wait that long, he needed it now - he started to stroke harder, faster, but before he knew what was happening, Roy’s hand had replaced his own on his cock, pumping, sliding, bringing him closer to the edge. With the very last piece of his conscious mind, Ed fumbled with the button on Roy's pants, clumsily freeing his lover's erection and stroking it, long and heavy. Then, they were kissing again, tongues tangling around each other as free hands twisted in hair, clasped onto bodies, stroked and learned and worshiped.
He came with a feeling like exultation, his head thrown back and crying out, trying to keep a rhythm with his hand even through his pleasure. As he came back down from the rafters, conscious mind beginning to reawaken, they kissed again, Ed's hand speeding up to match Roy's shallow breaths.
When Roy finally came in his hand, they shared it - mouths pressed together, bodies touching: warm, and strange, and wonderful.
*
“Why the hell didn't you say anything?” Roy snapped, fear and guilt blooming into anger for just one moment. “If something's wrong, you're going to have to tell me.”
If he hadn't seen the damage with his own eyes, Roy never would have believed that Ed was injured. He sat on Roy's couch like he owned it, arms flung out over the back and arms with one foot up on the coffee table. His tank top left his injured metal arm in full view, resting on the cushioned fabric at a slightly awkward angle - the metal had blackened, and the elbow joint seemed unable to bend to its fullest extent. The general bent over it, putting a hand out onto the cool metal. One of the plates on the back of the hand had come off, exposing the wiring that normally would have transmitted sensation from the pressure plates to Ed's brain, though now it covered the inside of the Automail casing in drips of colored metal.
Ed snorted, rolling his eyes like Roy's concern was just annoying. Roy chose to believe that it was just an act.
“I'm tougher than that, Mustang. I'm not gonna roll over and die just 'cause something stings a little.”
Roy touched Edward's arm again, tracing the delicate machinery as if to test whether it was real. It felt just as substantial as it ever had.
“Edward, I melted your arm,” the general said, half in disbelief.
“Only a little. I've had worse. C'n barely feel it now.” The sinking in Roy's stomach must have been visible on his face, because Ed gave him a strange look and said: “It's not your fault, you know. Damn box was full of gunpowder, not like you did it on purpose. It was my fault - I didn't move fast enough.” Then the blonde man grinned, bright and happy. “I beat you, though.”
“Yes, you did. Well done,” Roy said, meaning it completely. “But Edward, I don't think you're taking this as seriously as you ought to.”
“The fuck? It's my arm, I think I know how bad it's busted.”
“Yes, fine. But that's only part of the issue here.”
“Yeah? Seems to me like you just feel bad. You don't have to. I told you already, it wasn't your fault.” Edward's words were so matter-of-fact, so uncompromisingly stated, that Roy wavered between being touched that his lover cared enough about him to try to deflect the blame, and being pained that the man cared so little about himself or his safety that this wasn't a big deal.
“I do feel guilty, and frankly I deserve to. But there's something else that's even more important: I have to ask. Do you want me to have to hold back in the future? Either while fighting or in play.”
Edward made a face.
“'Course not. Why would I?”
“I didn't think so. But if you don't want me to, then I am going to have to be able to trust that you won't let your stubborn goddamn pride stop you from telling me when you're hurt. I don't want to injure you. I don't ever want to really hurt you. Part of the point of this is to keep you safe.” Roy put a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them, exhausted. “Besides all that,” he added with a pained laugh, “your brother is going to murder me in my sleep after he finds out about this.”
Edward's expressions passed through such an astonishing range so quickly that Roy couldn't even catch them all.
“I'm not gonna let him do that,” the man said, looking at the floor. “Told you it wasn't your fault.”
“Alphonse might see it differently - but in any case, if I survive the next two days, then things may have to change in our play. I'm going to have to be much more careful with you. I will have to restrain myself, if I can't trust you to tell me when to stop.”
Edward sank into his seat at those words - Roy felt the immediate spread of guilt, because he looked like he had been kicked.
“But - I didn't want you to stop. I asked for it to keep going. My arm wasn't gonna be any less melted if we stopped then.”
The older man heaved a sigh.
“Yes, well. I admire your stamina. Really. Your pain tolerance is amazing.” Edward's look turned pleased, and the general shook his head. That wasn't what Ed was supposed to be getting out of this conversation. “But Ed - please promise me that next time, you'll stop me before something like that happens.” He closed both his hands over the younger man's metal one. Ed looked away.
“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, coloring in his cheeks. “'slong as you promise you're not gonna start bein’ on eggshells around me or anything. I don't break that easy.”
Roy gave a short laugh. “No, of course not. Of course not.” A pause - a breath. “Ed, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Edward's eyes shot back over to Roy, startled.
“What? There's nothing to forgive.”
“Please just take my apology. You don't have to argue with me.”
“Not arguing. Just don't want you to get all guilty an' shit,” Edward said, like the hypocrite he was. “It's no big deal. You didn't even do anything. You're such crap that you could only even hurt me by accident,” he said, and grinned, equal parts warm and fierce. The expression lit a smile on Roy's face, too - this ground was comfortable, familiar.
“No, more that you're so slow that you can't even get away from something I literally put no effort into,” he said as he stood, then moved over to sit down on the couch next to Ed. He cut off the younger man's snarled response: “But seriously, Ed. Let me pay for your trip back to your mechanic and for your repairs.”
Ed gave him a disbelieving look.
“What, now that I'm not working for you anymore, you finally stop being a tight-fisted bastard? Go fucking figure.”
“Maybe you would have gotten a bigger paycheck if you hadn't made us spend so much money on cleaning up your little disasters. You're never happy unless you've blown up at least one building in every town you're in.”
Ed's dark scowl brought a smirk to Roy's face.
“Hey! If you hadn't fucking sent me to every goddamn rundown backwater with a gun-toting nutjob then maybe I woulda blown up up less shit!” The sight of Ed's crossed arms and glowering look was familiar, pleasant.
“I seem to recall that a large number of the buildings you destroyed were in towns that I never even sent you to. You just make trouble everywhere you go,” replied Roy, crossing his ankle over his knee and putting an arm over the back of the couch.
“Fuck you, Mustang!” the younger man snarled.
“That's more like it,” Roy said, and laughed. “I get nervous when you're too nice to me.”
Ed's face went purple for a second, then retreated back to its normal color palette.
“Son of a bitch,” Edward said, looking wary, but not angry. No, no - not angry. Roy slid a hand down to rest on the younger man's leg - innocent, not at all sexual, just a brief physical reassurance.
“Guilty as charged. So, you'll be on the first train to Risembool tomorrow morning, right? And you'll let me pay?”
“Fine. I'll tell Winry to charge you double for being an asshole.”
“Fair enough,” Roy said, and grinned.
***
***
Hey. Hey. I love you all :)
Oh, and we're finally caught up, so unfortunately these won't be going up as quickly as they have been! Sunday or Monday is usual, as the chapters require significantly more editing from now on!
Comment and make my day!
Next Chapter
Chapter: Chapter 7/10?
Word count: About 52,000 so far?
Series: 2003 anime... sort of. Assuming a slightly alternate ending.
Characters: Roy Mustang, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric
Rating: M. Mature. Explicit. NC-17. Porn.
Warnings: Serious kinkiness. Pain play, whipping, dominance/submission, bondage. Oh, and a profusion of cursing, though that's going to be the least of your worries!
Summary: Just because you want something doesn't mean it's easy to let yourself have it. Relationships are hard enough even when they're totally normal - but Roy and Ed seem determined to make theirs as not-normal as it can get.
BDSM porn with a plot. Or plot with overwhelming amounts of porn. Pick one.
Notes: A totally unofficial (and much longer) sequel to Cryogenia's wonderful "Ties that Bind." If you haven't read it, go read it here!
This chapter: Snark, stupidity, whipping, and orgasms. In that order. What more could you possibly want?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
*
Edward sauntered in to his office a few days later, wearing those same goddamned leather pants, and grinned at him, razorlike.
That expression was entirely too familiar, and Roy's stomach gave a nervous turn. Those smiles usually meant something dangerous. He listened to his better judgment and watched the younger man's face rather than his gorgeous body.
“Spar with me,” said Edward without prelude.
“What?” Roy asked, processing.
Ed rolled his eyes. He leaned on Roy's desk, sitting on the edge and propping himself up on a straight arm.
“Don't be a dumbass. I want to fight you.”
Roy's mind went blank.
“Why?”
“We've been over this: I miss punching people. Today in particular, I'm in the mood for something dangerous,” he said, and the general's body took notice. “You're the most dangerous person I know, other than Al, but Al and I spar all the time. So here I am.” Roy smirked, an automatic response that hid the strange flicker of pride in his chest. There weren't many people in the world Ed would compliment in the same breath as his genius little brother.
“And besides,” Ed added, looking terribly dangerous and also terribly appealing, owning the edge of Roy's desk, “it's good exercise for you. Can't let you get all soft and doughy.” He laughed, look turning mischievous. “That, and a good spar gets my adrenaline up.”
Roy knew what happened when Ed got in that particular mood.
A parade of thoughts flickered through Roy's mind: first, the image of Fullmetal, panting, shirtless and sweating, destruction all around him - pure fantasy of the kind that robbed his breath from his lungs. Second came a memory of their fight: Roy's hand out in front of him, ready to snap, and Edward, blade to Roy's neck, looking tense and focused and lethal.
Roy raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? Do tell,” he purred, thinking of their last fight - years ago, now: Ed had been so young - in a new light. “I remember our last match. Were you after the same thing, even back then? Interesting. And on the parade grounds in front of everyone... What would everyone say if they knew?”
Ed rolled his eyes again and huffed.
“I can actually see your ego swelling, Mustang,” he said, still relaxed, neck deliciously exposed as he stretched out to the side. “You're gonna regret that comment. I was fifteen and basically asexual. I wasn't doin' anything kinky, I just wanted to make you pay through the nose for bein' a bastard.”
“Sounds to me like a case of repressed sexual tension. Are you sure you weren't trying to get my attention, Fullmetal?”
Ed looked at him with a sudden, wide-eyed incredulity.
“Of course I was trying to get your attention. I just wanted you to take me seriously. You never did till recently.” Then, his tone changed from earnest to amused. “So take me seriously, dammit, and spar with me.”
Roy found himself temporarily lost for words. He had never expected Edward to be open with him about anything, much less about something so potentially embarrassing.
“I have an engagement this evening that I really shouldn't miss,” he lied, never missing a beat. “Tell me why I should cancel it to go play with you?” Convince me, Edward.
“Because it'll be fun, you shit. For you and for me. I like pain, you like makin' me squirm, sounds like a fun deal to me,” he said, smiling in a way that looked too genuine to match the words that were coming out of his mouth.
“So, you in?” the blonde asked, head cocked to the side. He watched Roy, unguarded and curious.
“Purely physical, or with alchemy?”
“With alchemy, 'course. More dangerous means more fun,” he said, grinning.
“So reckless, Fullmetal. That's going to get you in trouble some day.”
“It's gotten me in plenty of trouble already, but I'm still here to talk about it. I'm not too worried.”
“What about the property damage? Last time we fought it took us the better part of two days to clean up, and we had a parade ground at our disposal.”
“What, you can't control yourself?”
“It's not myself I'm worried about.”
“Worried? Seriously, Mustang? You worried about going up against me?”
Roy gave a laugh that was half a huff of frustration. Trust Fullmetal to always know what buttons to push, and to do so repeatedly, shamelessly.
“Fine, you got me,” he said. “I'll meet you after work.”
*
Edward knew where all of the empty warehouses in Central were, due to long acquaintance: they were large and empty enough that crazy alchemists and rebel factions seemed to find them ideal hiding spots, which made Ed wonder who was stupid enough to leave them abandoned in the first place. They were pretty handy now, though, when he wanted someplace private to spar with his lover where the type of wanton destruction they were likely to create wouldn't be such a big deal.
He could almost feel Roy's eyes burning through the leather on his ass as he walked on ahead and flipped the bare electric switch on the wall inside the warehouse door. The power struggled on, filling the room with a flickering yellow light. He suppressed a hot shiver, and turned back to the other man.
“Can I help you?” Ed asked, crossing his arms and giving the general a smirk.
Roy stared at him hotly.
“Your pants,” he said, tone barely restrained. “You're wearing them again.”
The sudden force of his lover's desire never failed to shock Ed.
“Yeah. I thought - well, you liked them a lot, and every time I wear them you end up doing your dominant thing.” Ed swallowed his nervousness down, his throat suddenly dry. Words were easy for Edward Elric when they didn't mean anything: suddenly, when he really wanted them, they refused to come out properly. He soldiered onwards. “So, I thought that maybe, wearing them would be how I asked? When I want some pain, I'll wear 'em, so you don't have to keep asking me if it's okay,” he said, pressing his voice into nonchalance.
Roy looked like he was about to say something: Ed just kept running his mouth so he didn't have to hear it, because he wasn't sure he was ready.
“But when I don't want it you had better fucking not try anything. That's the trust thing. I'm trustin you not to try to get all high and mighty all the time, or to try and make me do what you want. But when I'm wearin 'em, I'm game. Is that cool? We have a deal?”
Roy stepped inside the door and shut the grey light of the day out, leaving them alone together in the warehouse. They both let the question hang between them for a moment.
“Well,” he began, and Edward's stomach took a nervous flip. “I agree in principle, but that hardly seems fair, does it?” Roy asked, face smooth and voice unreadable. “What if it's what I want, what I need? Did that occur to you?”
The words snared Ed, cold. He watched Roy, and Roy watched him back.
“What?” he asked, to cover up the frantic spin of his brain.
“Your whole attitude towards me and our play has been incredibly selfish. Would it kill you to show some consideration for me every once in a while?
Fuck, he'd gone and said something stupid again. How bad had it been - how much had he offended? Did he care? He wavered in between apology and fury - first one, then the other - no, no it wasn't fair, Roy was right, but did he want it to be fair? Roy had so much power some of the time, and that was fucking scary. A rush of arousal swirled into his emotional cocktail because he was in that mood, goddammit, and it just infuriated him more that the man could do that to him even when he wanted to stand his ground.
He didn't like the look on the general's face. Not at all.
“As we have discussed before, our activities are as much a release for me as they are for you.” Mustang's expression just got colder, more distant, if that was possible.
Ed twitched.
“Goddammit, stop looking at me like that. Would it kill you to show some emotion every once in a while?” he said, crossing his arms and glaring knives. “I have no idea what the hell you're thinking.”
Roy raised an eyebrow, in his patented fucking Mustang expression - incredulous, superior. That wasn't the emotion Ed had been looking for.
“Did something I was saying confuse you? Apologies. I thought I was perfectly clear,” he said.
“I'm not confused,” Edward said, looking at the floor because he was either going to feel guilty or angry, but the former was going to get him in less trouble right now, and he really didn't want any more trouble. “I just wish I knew why you were asking.”
“And I wish you would give me something, Edward. Anything. I've been trying. I've been doing whatever I can not to scare you the hell off. I have been so patient with you,” Roy snapped, and Ed stared, rigid, unable to move or reply. The emotion that flickered across the older man's face then was anything but cold. His face had pulled down into a frown, and Edward would have guessed that the man was furious if not for the tone of his voice. Was that... hurt? He couldn't be sure: the moment was gone as quickly. “Is this going to work between us? There has to be a give and take, Edward. I am more than willing to do whatever you need me to do in order to make you comfortable with what we're doing, but I expect the same in return.”
Edward wished, not for the first time, that his legendary genius would manifest itself in a useful way for once in his life.
“You - but you - you never said any of this,” Ed shot back, immediately embarrassed by his sudden turn to accusation but somehow unable to stop it. “This is the way I fucking am. If you don't like me, you don't have to be here. If I'm not doing good enough, you can just shove off and go find somebody else!” Ed crossed his arms and glared, not sure whether he was more frustrated at Roy or at himself. Why would his mouth never do what he fucking wanted it to?
“That's just it. I don't want to go find anyone else,” Roy said, and stalked forward to stand in front of him, close enough to touch. “You frustrate me, you make me angry, and sometimes I want to strangle you - but you also make me laugh, and you're so damn clever, and you always make me horny as hell.” He took a breath, and the distance between them crackled with a live energy. “It is... difficult to find someone who wants what you want, Edward, much less someone I would actually want to be in a relationship with. But if you aren’t willing to put in some effort, I have to wonder if you're not just using me to get what you want. I do not like to be used,” he growled, and Ed suddenly felt the height difference between them like a weight on him.
He wished he knew what to say. People in general confused Edward on a daily basis. This whole sex thing just made everything more complicated.
His confusion couldn't explain the tightness in his throat, though. A pause - he gathered his thoughts.
“I'm - sorry,” he said, the words thick and foreign in his mouth. “I just - I had no idea. I'm not very good at this. I don't even know what I'm trying to do, much less how to do it. And this is still so - not normal. Normal relationships seem confusing enough, and you confuse me all the time and - um, is this a relationship?” he blurted out, and wished immediately that he could take it back because Roy looked surprised, then all soft and amused and everything Ed didn't know what to do with.
“Yes, Ed. It is. Unless you have an objection?”
The younger man smiled back, and everything seemed much less terrifying.
“No, uh, not really. I mean, yeah, it's fine,” said Edward, a warmth in him. The tension between them dimmed to something normal, manageable - Roy's shoulders relaxed enough that Ed could see it.
“Good,” the man said, mirroring Ed's expression. “But that means we're going to have to work something out. Relationships take effort from both parties.” A pause. “I understand your reluctance. I really do. But I'm human, too, and my patience, while astonishing, isn't infinite. Christ, Ed,” he said, expression both wry and maybe a little bit pleased as he took a small step back and ran a hand through his hair. “We fight so badly that we'll tear each other apart if you don't start making an effort. Alright?”
Edward nodded, slowly.
“Okay. I don't know exactly what you mean, though. What is it that you want me to do different? If you could tell me specifically what I'm doing wrong, that might help. I mean, is it... is it just sex stuff, like the - pants thing? I've never done this before, you know,” he said, flushed. “I don't really - well, you shouldn't be surprised that I don't know what I'm doing.”
Roy gave a faint laugh.
“No, it's not your performance in that arena. At all, actually. You're the most perfect creature I have ever had the pleasure of undressing.” Edward's cheeks felt very hot. “But when our clothes are on? You are still confrontational, and you insist on ordering me around, as if you want to make up for the times when I am in control. I need that to stop, and I have to to be able to ask you for things that I need without you throwing a fit. I need you to have some consideration for me.”
A sudden guilt clenched his throat tight, settling there, familiar.
“I'm sorry,” he said, feeling very small, but keeping his voice steady. “I know I can be an asshole. I'm just gonna make a blanket apology right now. I'm gonna fuck up a lot more. You should probably prepare yourself for that.” Roy responded with a laugh, and Ed risked a smile. “I'm willing to try to not be an asshole, though, if you'll tell me how to fix it.”
Roy stroked a gloved hand down Ed's arm.
“Just understand that our activities require mutual understanding and compromise. This is as clearly as I can say it: I need to be able to ask you to submit to me when I need it,” Roy said. It was not a request, it was a statement: here are the terms, how will you respond? “That never means that you can't refuse, though. You can always refuse, at any time, as can I.”
Ed nodded, too aware of the rough fabric on Roy's hands. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
“Good.” A pause. “Do you want me to ask in any particular way?”
Ed thought for a moment, head cocked to the side.
“Well, if we're doing the clothes thing...” The heat in his cheeks turned to a proper blush. “Maybe by wearing your gloves? They're, uh, kind of really fucking hot.”
His breathing sharpened and a shudder slid down his spine as Roy's smile cut him through.
“Is that right?” he asked, shifting all in one instant into the other man, the Roy Mustang who could make Ed want to give in.
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” the blonde said, forcing the words out his irritatingly uncooperative lips. What he wanted and what his body wanted seemed to be at cross purposes for the moment. “We're sparring first, remember?” A pause, backpedal. “I mean, if you still want to.”
“That’s not so different from what I had in mind,” Mustang said. “Either way, you're just begging for a beating, aren't you?” His rumbled words sent shocks to Ed’s groin.
Ed snorted and pulled away, so that hand wouldn't be so distracting.
“Still cocky after all these years at a desk, huh?”
“Well, I am very skilled,” Roy said, words smooth, “and you are out of practice. Think fast,” he said, and Ed's body barely had time to throw him to the floor in a side roll before a bloom of flame seared the air where he had once been.
“The fuck, Mustang?” Edward said. He clapped and pulled a blade out of the back of his metal hand, blood pounding through him. “You're still pulling that same shit, Mr. Start-it-quickly-and you'll-end-it-quickly, huh? Kicking it off before we've started is still a cheap, dirty trick, but now it's not even original any more!” He lunged forward, arm lancing towards the other man's throat, but fingers snapped and left a stream of flame before he could get there.
“Well, you still fell for it, so what does that say about you?” Roy returned, eyes following Ed's form as he snapped, burned. Edward ducked around, between, below, weaving in and out of Roy's fire. His mind whirled, searching the environment desperately: what could he use?
“I guess I expected you to be original this time, but I shoulda known. I bet everything starts and ends quickly with you.” Ed sprang up and behind a stack of splintery crates - the place was loaded with them, perched precariously on top of each other in towers anywhere from one to five high. What could he do with those? Without actually hurting Mustang, Ed amended.
“I don't know about that, Fullmetal. I can drag this out as long as you want.”
“You come over here and fight me man to man, we'll see how long you last!” Ed snapped, scrambling around the backs of the crates as flames shot above them, then curved down, over, seeking their target. Fuck if the man didn't have perfect control over where that shit was going. It would have been impressive if it weren't so goddamn irritating.
Ed looked up, still scrambling forward as fast as his mismatched legs could carry him, which was pretty damn fast. He searched for anything that might help, noted pipes in the ceiling. Would there be water in them still? No, this warehouse had been abandoned for years, the water had probably been turned off a long time ago.
He felt a flame lick at his heels as he sprinted around the crates to behind the place where he knew Roy was standing. He vaulted over the boxes towards the man, and found himself facing another burst of fire, larger than he himself was.
He sprung back again, away, dropping to the floor: the flame passed over him harmlessly, and crackled out.
“Mustang, you son of a bitch, you lookin to kill me?” Ed shouted. He was on his feet again in a second: he bolted around the side, then leaped back over the crates to see Roy's back. Three steps, then he dropped to the ground and slammed out a leg to sweep the general’s out from under him. No luck - the older man jumped over Ed’s sweep with a surprising agility, spinning around to face his opponent. The moment he landed, he snapped his fingers. Flame struck through the air at the ground, but Edward rolled away, hissing as he hit a wall of crates.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Roy said, sounding entirely too unaffected. “I have complete faith in your ability to avoid my attacks.”
A clap and a press of hands: then, the crates exploded in a cloud of sawdust - a tongue of fire missed Ed by a foot.
“Well it's a good fucking thing you're not stupid enough to underestimate me. That's the worst mistake a lot of people have made!”
“Oh, I know you too well to underestimate you. If I'm tiring you out, though, I can go easy on you.”
“Fuck you.”
Edward clapped again, then put his hands to the ground: four great slabs of concrete lifted up from the floor and came together in a shell around where Roy had been. Ed let himself feel pleased for just a moment, though the feeling was abruptly stolen from him as fire blasted around both sides of the concrete box to converge right in front of him. He jumped to the side and sprinted around the box, to find Roy smirking on the other side.
“The hell did you do to get out of that one, you bastard?” Ed asked, pausing for just a moment.
“You're not the only one capable of using a piece of chalk, Fullmetal,” the man said, and Edward felt that familiar low burn in his stomach as he saw the man standing there like a monument, his flame-gloves out, promising. “You know, if you would just give up, I could give you what you really want.”
“Not a chance, Mustang,” Ed snarled, and rushed forward, snapping out his blunted blade and dodging the strings of flame that shot around him. He spun to the side, out of the path of the fire and used the momentum to carry his weapon towards its target - it scraped across Roy's side even as the man sprung away, not quite fast enough.
“Ha! First blood,” Edward said, though his blade was dulled, so there was of course no blood at all.
He must have let his guard down in that moment of pride, because within seconds he found himself pinned to the floor, face-first, with Roy's body on his back and breath on his neck.
“Well done,” Roy said, voice rumbling into Edward's ear and shivering across his skin. “But that still doesn't mean that you've won.”
That heavy pressure - that heat on his back - Roy’s hips grinding down on his ass -
Damn the man. Just - fucking - goddammit. Like he needed another distraction right now.
Edward let all the struggle go out of him, let his muscles loosen and his head sag forward.
“Oh? Giving up already, are we?” Roy asked, but in a flat second Edward wound up every muscle he had and twisted, caught Roy between his legs. He flipped the other man onto his back and felt a satisfying thud as he went down. The look on the man’s face was more satisfying still.
He bounced straight up off of the man, skidding back a few feet and back into a fighting stance, and let himself feel a wash of pride at the sight or Roy Mustang on his back.
“Giving up? Not fucking likely,” Edward said, grinning like fire, but his celebration was short-lived. He had somehow forgotten that being on the floor didn't stop Roy from snapping. The fire arrowed straight towards him and he dove to the side behind a crate - the red whip curved to follow him, then caught on the wood, set fire to it.
Fuck, what is that smell, he thought - his brain put the pieces together just a hair too late, he had less than a second to realize that the smell was gunpowder, and that meant -
He jumped to the side as quickly as his body could carry him as the crate erupted into a sparking bonfire, but he wasn't quite good enough. The flame blasted through the air so quickly that his metal arm got caught in it. Even as quickly as he pulled away, he felt the pain of his joints melting together, his wire nerves turning to bubbling liquid -
- and in that brief moment of pain, the answer came to him.
Fire needed oxygen. Without air, nothing could burn. The circle on Roy’s glove didn’t really transmute fire, if you thought about it: it transmuted air. It transmuted air, and the flame followed - or didn’t.
Edward knew that transmutation circle, backwards, forwards, inside out; he knew it cold any day. He pictured it in his head, clapped his hands together, took a deep breath - then pulled his hands apart and drew all of the oxygen away from the area between Roy and himself.
Roy choked immediately, and when he snapped, no fire came from his gloves. Ed’s transmutation was the stronger. He surged forward, put his blade to the general’s neck, and savored the look of the older man, frozen there, for just a moment before finally letting his transmutation fade. Oxygen rushed back into the area, cool and welcome against his skin.
The elder man took a deep, gasping breath.
“And checkmate,” said Edward, stepping back and pulling his arm away from Roy's neck. His heart thrummed, raced, the sweet spark of adrenaline pounding through his blood, making his whole body ache and his mouth run dry. “What did you think of that, General?”
“Taking all of the oxygen out of the air so that my fire couldn't burn... impressive, Fullmetal. You won this time. Congratulations.”
Ed might have glowed, even preened, at another time, but at that particular moment other concerns were paramount.
“We're not done yet,” he said. He wasn't ready for this feeling - this blissful, stinging, heady feeling - to be over.
“Oh?” said Mustang, voice rumbling low.
Ed looked around quickly for something he could use, saw a piece of rubber tubing, discarded for years. He clapped, enjoying the last pained twinges of his cooling metal arm, though he was careful not to let it show: if Roy knew what had happened to his arm, he'd probably end this immediately. But there was nothing more that could happen to it now, so what was the point of stopping? He bent over and picked up the tubing, drawing it into a whip of a few feet long that tapered down from one end to the other.
“I want you to hit me with it,” Edward said, and extended the makeshift implement towards the general.
The man took in a sharp breath - if Roy's arousal hadn't been evident enough before, it certainly was now.
“And,” he said, reaching out to take the implement from Ed's hands. “What do we say when we want things, Fullmetal?” He bent it, flicked it once or twice, testing it. He looked so comfortable, so confident with it in his hands: the sight almost took Ed's breath away. There wasn't anyone else like that man, not anywhere.
“You're going to have to try a little harder if you want me to beg,” Edward said, trying out a smirk. He wouldn't just do it. He wanted Roy to make him beg.
Roy's smirk put his to shame.
“You're going to regret that you said that.”
“Yeah? Prove it,” Ed replied, tilting his head to the side. Roy took a breath, and assumed his role.
“Take your shirt off,” Roy said, every word forceful as a blow, and just like that Ed was hard. He didn't say anything, just pulled his tank top off over his head and let it fall to the ground beside him. “Turn around. Kneel.”
He did so, and bent forward slightly to expose his bare back to the other man. He could feel the heat off the general as the man came closer, and wrapped his arms around his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall forward.
“That's right,” Roy growled, and Ed felt the light trace of the whip on his back. His erection throbbed, constrained by the curl of his body. “You're being so obedient. I haven't even heard a word of protest from you today. How unusual.” The circles the man teased on his skin burned every bit as much as his scorched arm.
And then, Edward heard the noise of cutting air: a long line of pain erupted on his back, thin and sharp and beautiful. He gasped, couldn't help it - goddamn, that hurt, stung and burned and lit every bit of him up from the inside. Another lash, a third, each new one criss-crossing the last, and after a few more he lost count because he was floating somewhere up above his body, everything a haze except for the scream of skin, of metal and muscle, the blissful rush of adrenaline and endorphins. Every time he felt another blow it was different, new again, no one area hit twice in succession; good, because the last thing he wanted was to get used to it. This - this, high on the pain and his arousal and on Mustang standing right behind him -
This was the most beautiful feeling in the world.
“Is that - ah - all you've got?” Ed asked, feeling another deep sting across his back. He didn't know why he said it. Another lash: he allowed himself a soft cry.
“Are you challenging me, Fullmetal?” Roy's growl focused right in on him, and he shivered, body recognizing that tone even without the presence of his mind. “I will win a contest of endurance.”
“Oh yeah?” Another sharp crack burned the air in his lungs, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm still not - fuck - begging.”
This time the tongue of the whip on Ed's back cut harder, deeper - shit, he was pretty sure he was bleeding, the sensation thin and biting. Like hell he was going to ask the man to stop, or even slow down, though - not after his challenge.
“I've barely gotten started, Fullmetal. You will, by the end.”
Edward moaned, the hardness between his legs insistent and undeniable. This giddy feeling, the rush, the excitement, the adrenaline - he felt so awake, so alive, in this moment -
- and just when he thought he never wanted the feeling to stop, it did, suddenly. Edward's voice filled the emptiness with a whimper, and he began to turn around -
“No. Don't move.”
Ed froze where he was.
And then, a touch on his back: soft, gentle, caressing. The blonde hissed and pulled away as something soft and wet moved across a lash-mark - Roy's tongue, it had to be. It stung like the devil but didn't really hurt, not enough, not down to his core, and Ed made a small noise of despair as the man laid a devastatingly gentle kiss on his shoulder, then another, damn him, another.
“Unbutton your pants,” the general said, almost casually, in between the silken presses to Ed's back. A hand stroked down his side, and Edward followed the command. “Now, touch yourself,” he growled, and Ed nodded, hoping the other man understood because there was no way his mouth could form words right then.
He managed a soft cry - a pitiful, needful sound - and slid his knees apart. He leaned forward so he could put his left hand on the ground to support himself, and worked his cock out of the cloth with his automail. He squeezed it hard, so that maybe the pain of that would make up for the screaming emptiness at his back. The general growled, breath hot on Ed's neck, then bit down on the muscle. Roy's hand moved from his side to his back, pretending to soothe, but the gentle friction of it just made his skin sting worse.
Ed squeezed his metal hand down on his cock, moving it slightly, just a bit, doing his best to be careful but how could he be - his rational mind was somewhere up near the rafters and all that really mattered was the shock of pleasure that crept up through him, taking him over, unrelenting. He whimpered at the sting of wetness on his shoulder, wanted more, but refused to beg: not this early, not this easily.
The rhythm of his hand increased, slowly, the pleasure of it burning through him. A cool breath of air met his back, and before he knew what was happening, he felt another lash there. He groaned, the intensity of the two sensations building hot in his mind again, blocking out everything else - he didn't know when his eyes had slid shut, but he couldn't open them.
Then, lips on his shoulder, down his spine, then a pause and the sting of the whip again.
He was so hard it hurt - he wanted to come, he needed to come, but he didn’t want it to be his own hand, not when the general was so close - and before he even knew what he was doing he heard words out of his own mouth:
“Please, General. Fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me.”
He didn’t know why he had said it, but he knew as soon as he had that it was true.
There was a sudden, tense silence. Edward didn’t move. He hadn’t been ordered to, yet. Then, a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around: Mustang knelt in front of him, eyes hot and dark and exactly like his own.
“Is that really what you want?” he asked. The man’s free hand came up to stroke down Ed’s neck, and he shivered.
“Yes, please, just -”
And then he couldn’t talk because Roy was kissing him, open-mouthed, fucking him slow with every sweep of his tongue. Ed moaned, deep in his throat.
Mustang pulled away, to Ed’s disappointment.
“God, I want to, Edward,” he said, sounding like Roy again for a moment. “You don’t even know how much I want you right now. But you’re going to have to stop tempting me.” He gave a wry little smile. “Our first time together isn’t going to be on concrete in some warehouse with no preparation. It’s going to be in a bed, and I'm going to do it properly.”
Fuck, no, he couldn’t wait that long, he needed it now - he started to stroke harder, faster, but before he knew what was happening, Roy’s hand had replaced his own on his cock, pumping, sliding, bringing him closer to the edge. With the very last piece of his conscious mind, Ed fumbled with the button on Roy's pants, clumsily freeing his lover's erection and stroking it, long and heavy. Then, they were kissing again, tongues tangling around each other as free hands twisted in hair, clasped onto bodies, stroked and learned and worshiped.
He came with a feeling like exultation, his head thrown back and crying out, trying to keep a rhythm with his hand even through his pleasure. As he came back down from the rafters, conscious mind beginning to reawaken, they kissed again, Ed's hand speeding up to match Roy's shallow breaths.
When Roy finally came in his hand, they shared it - mouths pressed together, bodies touching: warm, and strange, and wonderful.
*
“Why the hell didn't you say anything?” Roy snapped, fear and guilt blooming into anger for just one moment. “If something's wrong, you're going to have to tell me.”
If he hadn't seen the damage with his own eyes, Roy never would have believed that Ed was injured. He sat on Roy's couch like he owned it, arms flung out over the back and arms with one foot up on the coffee table. His tank top left his injured metal arm in full view, resting on the cushioned fabric at a slightly awkward angle - the metal had blackened, and the elbow joint seemed unable to bend to its fullest extent. The general bent over it, putting a hand out onto the cool metal. One of the plates on the back of the hand had come off, exposing the wiring that normally would have transmitted sensation from the pressure plates to Ed's brain, though now it covered the inside of the Automail casing in drips of colored metal.
Ed snorted, rolling his eyes like Roy's concern was just annoying. Roy chose to believe that it was just an act.
“I'm tougher than that, Mustang. I'm not gonna roll over and die just 'cause something stings a little.”
Roy touched Edward's arm again, tracing the delicate machinery as if to test whether it was real. It felt just as substantial as it ever had.
“Edward, I melted your arm,” the general said, half in disbelief.
“Only a little. I've had worse. C'n barely feel it now.” The sinking in Roy's stomach must have been visible on his face, because Ed gave him a strange look and said: “It's not your fault, you know. Damn box was full of gunpowder, not like you did it on purpose. It was my fault - I didn't move fast enough.” Then the blonde man grinned, bright and happy. “I beat you, though.”
“Yes, you did. Well done,” Roy said, meaning it completely. “But Edward, I don't think you're taking this as seriously as you ought to.”
“The fuck? It's my arm, I think I know how bad it's busted.”
“Yes, fine. But that's only part of the issue here.”
“Yeah? Seems to me like you just feel bad. You don't have to. I told you already, it wasn't your fault.” Edward's words were so matter-of-fact, so uncompromisingly stated, that Roy wavered between being touched that his lover cared enough about him to try to deflect the blame, and being pained that the man cared so little about himself or his safety that this wasn't a big deal.
“I do feel guilty, and frankly I deserve to. But there's something else that's even more important: I have to ask. Do you want me to have to hold back in the future? Either while fighting or in play.”
Edward made a face.
“'Course not. Why would I?”
“I didn't think so. But if you don't want me to, then I am going to have to be able to trust that you won't let your stubborn goddamn pride stop you from telling me when you're hurt. I don't want to injure you. I don't ever want to really hurt you. Part of the point of this is to keep you safe.” Roy put a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them, exhausted. “Besides all that,” he added with a pained laugh, “your brother is going to murder me in my sleep after he finds out about this.”
Edward's expressions passed through such an astonishing range so quickly that Roy couldn't even catch them all.
“I'm not gonna let him do that,” the man said, looking at the floor. “Told you it wasn't your fault.”
“Alphonse might see it differently - but in any case, if I survive the next two days, then things may have to change in our play. I'm going to have to be much more careful with you. I will have to restrain myself, if I can't trust you to tell me when to stop.”
Edward sank into his seat at those words - Roy felt the immediate spread of guilt, because he looked like he had been kicked.
“But - I didn't want you to stop. I asked for it to keep going. My arm wasn't gonna be any less melted if we stopped then.”
The older man heaved a sigh.
“Yes, well. I admire your stamina. Really. Your pain tolerance is amazing.” Edward's look turned pleased, and the general shook his head. That wasn't what Ed was supposed to be getting out of this conversation. “But Ed - please promise me that next time, you'll stop me before something like that happens.” He closed both his hands over the younger man's metal one. Ed looked away.
“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, coloring in his cheeks. “'slong as you promise you're not gonna start bein’ on eggshells around me or anything. I don't break that easy.”
Roy gave a short laugh. “No, of course not. Of course not.” A pause - a breath. “Ed, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Edward's eyes shot back over to Roy, startled.
“What? There's nothing to forgive.”
“Please just take my apology. You don't have to argue with me.”
“Not arguing. Just don't want you to get all guilty an' shit,” Edward said, like the hypocrite he was. “It's no big deal. You didn't even do anything. You're such crap that you could only even hurt me by accident,” he said, and grinned, equal parts warm and fierce. The expression lit a smile on Roy's face, too - this ground was comfortable, familiar.
“No, more that you're so slow that you can't even get away from something I literally put no effort into,” he said as he stood, then moved over to sit down on the couch next to Ed. He cut off the younger man's snarled response: “But seriously, Ed. Let me pay for your trip back to your mechanic and for your repairs.”
Ed gave him a disbelieving look.
“What, now that I'm not working for you anymore, you finally stop being a tight-fisted bastard? Go fucking figure.”
“Maybe you would have gotten a bigger paycheck if you hadn't made us spend so much money on cleaning up your little disasters. You're never happy unless you've blown up at least one building in every town you're in.”
Ed's dark scowl brought a smirk to Roy's face.
“Hey! If you hadn't fucking sent me to every goddamn rundown backwater with a gun-toting nutjob then maybe I woulda blown up up less shit!” The sight of Ed's crossed arms and glowering look was familiar, pleasant.
“I seem to recall that a large number of the buildings you destroyed were in towns that I never even sent you to. You just make trouble everywhere you go,” replied Roy, crossing his ankle over his knee and putting an arm over the back of the couch.
“Fuck you, Mustang!” the younger man snarled.
“That's more like it,” Roy said, and laughed. “I get nervous when you're too nice to me.”
Ed's face went purple for a second, then retreated back to its normal color palette.
“Son of a bitch,” Edward said, looking wary, but not angry. No, no - not angry. Roy slid a hand down to rest on the younger man's leg - innocent, not at all sexual, just a brief physical reassurance.
“Guilty as charged. So, you'll be on the first train to Risembool tomorrow morning, right? And you'll let me pay?”
“Fine. I'll tell Winry to charge you double for being an asshole.”
“Fair enough,” Roy said, and grinned.
***
***
Hey. Hey. I love you all :)
Oh, and we're finally caught up, so unfortunately these won't be going up as quickly as they have been! Sunday or Monday is usual, as the chapters require significantly more editing from now on!
Comment and make my day!
Next Chapter