Written for springkink, FMA fic, "A Clash of Sabers", 1/1
If you've never checked out springkink and you like...fandoms...you might want to check it out. I got suckered into it cornerofmadness suggested I join. This is one of my stories for the current running challenge.
Title: A Clash of Sabers
Author: evil_little_dog
Rating: R (Teen)
Warnings: N/A (Sex? Is that a warning?)
Word Count: 356
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist, Riza/Maes (implied Riza/Roy; Maes/Roy; Maes/Gracia)
A.N.: Thanks to lyrangalia for the readthrough.
* * *
They come together and it’s like
the clash of sabers,
the roar of cannon,
the sharp staccato of gunfire.
Together, they are the base. He stands on their shoulders, striving to reach his goal. They share the same sentiments - love for him, strength in his convictions. They understand - him, each other, what he sees in them both. They see it, too; they ground him as they lift him up. They are his pawns, to cast onto the playing field, and they trust his orders. He is their star, guiding them along their way.
Except, some short hours, sometimes minutes, fleeting like fever dreams and tantalizing as ghosts, they come together and he, oh, he is not a part of their meetings (except in all the most obvious ways). She is not afraid of her passion and his is so much a part of him that it seems inevitable they must spend it on each other. His broad, large hands (so much bigger than Roy’s) smooth her skin, cup her shoulders. His arms cradle her, embrace her and his chest, with its thicket of hair (so unlike Roy’s sparse growth) offers her a place to rest, should she want it.
But she wants more than rest, she wants everything - his cock, piercing her as surely as those little daggers he’s so prone to using, his big hands, urging her on with touches firm and sure, and she can’t help but wonder if his fiancé - later, his wife - suspects that he learned how to touch a woman by exploring her body.
The things they both want, oh, how they share the waking dream; one of which they do not speak, save obliquely and even then, watching every word as if it were a miser’s sen, those things are set aside as neatly as clothing that can bear no blemish to show this coupling.
When he dies (is murdered, with Roy bearing witness to his death through the singing lines of the telephone), she dies, too; but something else keeps her upright -
- he - Roy - still needs her.
And Riza will never tell Roy how much she needed Maes.
* * *
Title: A Clash of Sabers
Author: evil_little_dog
Rating: R (Teen)
Warnings: N/A (Sex? Is that a warning?)
Word Count: 356
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist, Riza/Maes (implied Riza/Roy; Maes/Roy; Maes/Gracia)
A.N.: Thanks to lyrangalia for the readthrough.
* * *
They come together and it’s like
the clash of sabers,
the roar of cannon,
the sharp staccato of gunfire.
Together, they are the base. He stands on their shoulders, striving to reach his goal. They share the same sentiments - love for him, strength in his convictions. They understand - him, each other, what he sees in them both. They see it, too; they ground him as they lift him up. They are his pawns, to cast onto the playing field, and they trust his orders. He is their star, guiding them along their way.
Except, some short hours, sometimes minutes, fleeting like fever dreams and tantalizing as ghosts, they come together and he, oh, he is not a part of their meetings (except in all the most obvious ways). She is not afraid of her passion and his is so much a part of him that it seems inevitable they must spend it on each other. His broad, large hands (so much bigger than Roy’s) smooth her skin, cup her shoulders. His arms cradle her, embrace her and his chest, with its thicket of hair (so unlike Roy’s sparse growth) offers her a place to rest, should she want it.
But she wants more than rest, she wants everything - his cock, piercing her as surely as those little daggers he’s so prone to using, his big hands, urging her on with touches firm and sure, and she can’t help but wonder if his fiancé - later, his wife - suspects that he learned how to touch a woman by exploring her body.
The things they both want, oh, how they share the waking dream; one of which they do not speak, save obliquely and even then, watching every word as if it were a miser’s sen, those things are set aside as neatly as clothing that can bear no blemish to show this coupling.
When he dies (is murdered, with Roy bearing witness to his death through the singing lines of the telephone), she dies, too; but something else keeps her upright -
- he - Roy - still needs her.
And Riza will never tell Roy how much she needed Maes.
* * *