Archive Post! FMA Fic - Understanding: Part Two
This is an archive post. This story was originally posted on Aff.net on June 17, 2005.
Title: Understanding
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Summary: Ed/Winry 'He was holding something back, afraid to show her what he needed.' WARNING: Rape/Rape Issues M/F
Author’s Notes: In all my stories, both partners are at least 18 years old. It’s the only way I don’t feel dirty writing this. Needless to say, most of my fics take place after episode 51 and therefore are AU.
FMA does not belong to me and I make no profit from any of these tales. Any further archiving of my fiction is strictly prohibited unless cleared by me.
PART TWO
The Rules of Engagement
All the lights were off as Winry made her way upstairs to her room, unsure of what the night would bring. The moon cast the hallway in a blue hue, making the blood red bandana wrapped around her doorknob seem black. Of course he’d want to play tonight. It was perfect. Pinako and Al had made an overnight business trip to the next village so they could be as loud as they wanted.
Walking in the room, she left the bandana on the handle. If she took it off, then they wouldn’t play. That was rule number one.
The game began as soon as she opened the door, and rule number two was that she never knew what would happen. She didn’t turn on the light as she walked in. He was there, somewhere, she knew it, watching her with his sharp, cat-like eyes.
She walked to her dresser and began to get ready for bed. Slowly, she pulled off her tank top and bra. Her underwear was next and she pulled them down, lifting her skirt just enough to give the man in the shadows a peak.
She went to pull down the zipper on her skirt, when suddenly an arm was around her torso and a metal hand covered her mouth. Her muffled cry was real. Sometimes it frightened her how dangerous he could be.
His chest was bare and she could feel the warmth where their skin made contact. His hardness pressed into her backside. Apparently, he had enjoyed her little show. “Just do as I say.” His lips were right by her ear and goose bumps formed on her skin when the heat of his breath tickled her lobes.
Her body was pulled back and thrown, stomach down on the bed. It didn’t hurt, but she let out a cry anyway. It had to seem real. The sound of his zipper lowering filled the room followed by the soft sound of shifting clothing.
Roughly, he grabbed her hips and pulled them up, positioning her so that she was on her knees, face down on the mattress. A warm hand probed at her folds, checking to make sure she was ready. This was probably the only time he ever broke out of the game. He never began unless she was ready, that was rule three.
Ready she was, and screamed out in protest as he roughly entered her. Her hands flew out, trying to swat him away. He grabbed one with his fake hand and held it pinned against her back at an angle that forced her to be still. She found it strange that the little bit of pain brought her pleasure. She wanted to moan out loud so badly, but that was not part of the game. Instead her free hand gripped the sheets and she cried out, “Please stop.”
If she wanted to really stop, all she had to do was say the word, the word that would break him out of anything, ‘Brother.’ That word always brought out the best in him. That was rule four.
He grunted and used his human hand to move her hips in time with his thrusts. They were hard as always, and caused her body to jerk in response. Her cheek rubbed against the sheets and the headboard banged on the wall.
Abruptly, he pulled out and her head spun with the speed that she was flipped over. “No!” she cried out, glad that they were alone.
Ed slipped between her legs and thrust back in. Both her hands were pinned by her head. She fought against the gentle restraint but soon became weak with pleasure. He always could hit just the right place.
His eyes were close and she stared at his face. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead and his brows were knit together. His mouth formed a small O as he panted in satisfaction and his long bangs swayed in time with his thrusts.
He was close too and she wondered what he was thinking, if he was even thinking anything at all. She wondered if he thought about his experience, or if he just went away, letting the pleasure and control make him into someone else.
Suddenly, an idea struck her, “Look at me.” She asked through pants. He didn’t seem to notice. “I said look at me, you bastard!” The demand was more forceful than any she had ever issued and his eyes flew open. The trance was broken and his movements stopped. His eyes found hers and he looked down in confusion, wondering if he had really hurt her.
At that moment, she more than saw him. She felt him. All his pain, fear, anger, helplessness, she saw it all and finally understood why he wouldn’t look at her. He was keeping it bottled up, like always. Afraid to let anyone in, for fear that some of that hurt would rub off on them. She didn’t shy away.
He tried to pull away but her hands shot out and grabbed his wrists, forcing them to keep her pinned. “Keep going,” she nodded.
Hesitantly, he did as she asked. His movements started out slow and gentle as he tried to mask his feelings, but he never could with her. “Give it to me, baby,” she told him, “Let go and give it to me.”
The pace built back to its previous speed and slowly his walls dropped. His eyes lit up in fury and his hips thrust hard into hers. She cried out, but didn’t look away. Neither did he.
Her back arched as he forcefully drove into her over and over again, his eyes remaining open the whole time, projecting all of his rage onto her. She let him, and cried out as a fast orgasm hit her out of nowhere. She screamed as the waves shot through her, harder than anything ever before and his voice soon followed hers. His orgasm was hard too, and he buried himself as deep as he could inside her as his warmth invaded her body.
As usual he slumped over, completely spent. His arms let her go and she soon found herself wrapped inside his embrace. This was new. He never held her. His body was shaking and she knew that something had happened. She had forced some kind of break through.
“I was so scared.” It was the most he had ever said to her about his rape. His voice was strangled and muffled by her hair. She could tell that he was holding back tears.
“I know.” She cooed, and rubbed his back gently, tracing one of his many scars.
“Not for me,” he sniffled, “I didn’t care if he killed me. I was afraid that he’d come here, and do to you all what he did to me.” Winry continued to rub his back, occasionally running her fingers though his pony tail. “But he didn’t kill me or come here. He just… left me there…” He began to cry, his whole body shaking on top of hers as he held her tight.
She didn’t say anything, just let him cry. There was nothing she could say that would make it better. As usual, all the big steps he’d take on his own, she could only hold his hand as he took them. That was the fifth and final rule.
Title: Understanding
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Summary: Ed/Winry 'He was holding something back, afraid to show her what he needed.' WARNING: Rape/Rape Issues M/F
Author’s Notes: In all my stories, both partners are at least 18 years old. It’s the only way I don’t feel dirty writing this. Needless to say, most of my fics take place after episode 51 and therefore are AU.
FMA does not belong to me and I make no profit from any of these tales. Any further archiving of my fiction is strictly prohibited unless cleared by me.
PART TWO
The Rules of Engagement
All the lights were off as Winry made her way upstairs to her room, unsure of what the night would bring. The moon cast the hallway in a blue hue, making the blood red bandana wrapped around her doorknob seem black. Of course he’d want to play tonight. It was perfect. Pinako and Al had made an overnight business trip to the next village so they could be as loud as they wanted.
Walking in the room, she left the bandana on the handle. If she took it off, then they wouldn’t play. That was rule number one.
The game began as soon as she opened the door, and rule number two was that she never knew what would happen. She didn’t turn on the light as she walked in. He was there, somewhere, she knew it, watching her with his sharp, cat-like eyes.
She walked to her dresser and began to get ready for bed. Slowly, she pulled off her tank top and bra. Her underwear was next and she pulled them down, lifting her skirt just enough to give the man in the shadows a peak.
She went to pull down the zipper on her skirt, when suddenly an arm was around her torso and a metal hand covered her mouth. Her muffled cry was real. Sometimes it frightened her how dangerous he could be.
His chest was bare and she could feel the warmth where their skin made contact. His hardness pressed into her backside. Apparently, he had enjoyed her little show. “Just do as I say.” His lips were right by her ear and goose bumps formed on her skin when the heat of his breath tickled her lobes.
Her body was pulled back and thrown, stomach down on the bed. It didn’t hurt, but she let out a cry anyway. It had to seem real. The sound of his zipper lowering filled the room followed by the soft sound of shifting clothing.
Roughly, he grabbed her hips and pulled them up, positioning her so that she was on her knees, face down on the mattress. A warm hand probed at her folds, checking to make sure she was ready. This was probably the only time he ever broke out of the game. He never began unless she was ready, that was rule three.
Ready she was, and screamed out in protest as he roughly entered her. Her hands flew out, trying to swat him away. He grabbed one with his fake hand and held it pinned against her back at an angle that forced her to be still. She found it strange that the little bit of pain brought her pleasure. She wanted to moan out loud so badly, but that was not part of the game. Instead her free hand gripped the sheets and she cried out, “Please stop.”
If she wanted to really stop, all she had to do was say the word, the word that would break him out of anything, ‘Brother.’ That word always brought out the best in him. That was rule four.
He grunted and used his human hand to move her hips in time with his thrusts. They were hard as always, and caused her body to jerk in response. Her cheek rubbed against the sheets and the headboard banged on the wall.
Abruptly, he pulled out and her head spun with the speed that she was flipped over. “No!” she cried out, glad that they were alone.
Ed slipped between her legs and thrust back in. Both her hands were pinned by her head. She fought against the gentle restraint but soon became weak with pleasure. He always could hit just the right place.
His eyes were close and she stared at his face. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead and his brows were knit together. His mouth formed a small O as he panted in satisfaction and his long bangs swayed in time with his thrusts.
He was close too and she wondered what he was thinking, if he was even thinking anything at all. She wondered if he thought about his experience, or if he just went away, letting the pleasure and control make him into someone else.
Suddenly, an idea struck her, “Look at me.” She asked through pants. He didn’t seem to notice. “I said look at me, you bastard!” The demand was more forceful than any she had ever issued and his eyes flew open. The trance was broken and his movements stopped. His eyes found hers and he looked down in confusion, wondering if he had really hurt her.
At that moment, she more than saw him. She felt him. All his pain, fear, anger, helplessness, she saw it all and finally understood why he wouldn’t look at her. He was keeping it bottled up, like always. Afraid to let anyone in, for fear that some of that hurt would rub off on them. She didn’t shy away.
He tried to pull away but her hands shot out and grabbed his wrists, forcing them to keep her pinned. “Keep going,” she nodded.
Hesitantly, he did as she asked. His movements started out slow and gentle as he tried to mask his feelings, but he never could with her. “Give it to me, baby,” she told him, “Let go and give it to me.”
The pace built back to its previous speed and slowly his walls dropped. His eyes lit up in fury and his hips thrust hard into hers. She cried out, but didn’t look away. Neither did he.
Her back arched as he forcefully drove into her over and over again, his eyes remaining open the whole time, projecting all of his rage onto her. She let him, and cried out as a fast orgasm hit her out of nowhere. She screamed as the waves shot through her, harder than anything ever before and his voice soon followed hers. His orgasm was hard too, and he buried himself as deep as he could inside her as his warmth invaded her body.
As usual he slumped over, completely spent. His arms let her go and she soon found herself wrapped inside his embrace. This was new. He never held her. His body was shaking and she knew that something had happened. She had forced some kind of break through.
“I was so scared.” It was the most he had ever said to her about his rape. His voice was strangled and muffled by her hair. She could tell that he was holding back tears.
“I know.” She cooed, and rubbed his back gently, tracing one of his many scars.
“Not for me,” he sniffled, “I didn’t care if he killed me. I was afraid that he’d come here, and do to you all what he did to me.” Winry continued to rub his back, occasionally running her fingers though his pony tail. “But he didn’t kill me or come here. He just… left me there…” He began to cry, his whole body shaking on top of hers as he held her tight.
She didn’t say anything, just let him cry. There was nothing she could say that would make it better. As usual, all the big steps he’d take on his own, she could only hold his hand as he took them. That was the fifth and final rule.