Full Metal Alchemist, "Side Effect," Jean/Roy, NC-17
Exactly 1,000 1,135 (I added stuff on the second run-through) words of fun-and-games for havocmangawip who encourages my unbearably fluffy Roy/Jean writing so very nicely each time I post. This is in response to both her request for vertical!sex and her assertion that no vertical!sex would happen for Jean and Roy after chapter 38 of the manga. Lust can go fuck herself, the bitch.
Well fuck that. Here's my evidence against all pessimism. Rated NC-17 for fluff that will kill you if you don't like fluff and sex that's ... sex. And that is all.
Side Effect
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Dr. Marcoh had warned them, stern and serious even in the face of their joy, that there would be side effects, that there would be a long period of healing, even after the initial recovery.
And all through his lecture, Roy and Jean and Jean's dear mother had listened closely, had paid attention and nodded and tried to be strong. It was a tense time, after all, hearing that the dream they'd all had for so long could finally be realized, that Jean would be able to stand alongside his mother and his lover, once again, not sit with his mother's hand on his shoulder and Roy's hand clasped tightly in one of his own.
But for all the discussion and warnings, for all the side effects Dr. Marcoh had listed, Roy hadn't expected this.
There would always be scars, Marcoh had told them, and the scars indeed were still there, white and smooth and shiny like cheese-sauce left too long at room temperature, jagged where Roy had cauterized Jean's wounds, praying in the stench of burning and blood and terror that Lust's claws hadn't nicked anything that could bleed poison into his lover's body.
In all honesty, Roy was glad the scars remained, because they matched the scars on his own body, reminded him of the pain he and Jean had lived through, pain they'd lived through together.
Then there would be fatigue, and probably muscle aches and some cramps, Marcoh had told them, that Jean would be weak and would tire easily, that he should probably stick to using his wheelchair anytime he planned to move around much more than just a trip to the bathroom, or moving from the kitchen to the den in the evenings, wanting to play cards with his mother.
And the good doctor had been absolutely correct, Jean could do little more than just that without horrible fatigue that left him blushing and apologizing as his mother helped him collapse in an organized heap of limbs in the hallway while Roy fetched his wheelchair, the both of them quietly murmuring that Jean needed to "take it easy."
And finally, Marcoh had told them that there would be emotional scars, that Jean would have to work through the pain of losing his mobility, the fear that he could lose it again, even once it was regained.
That, too, had happened, had left Jean screaming in the night, shuddering in Roy's arms as his mother came rushing into their room in her nightgown, climbing up onto the bed along with her full-grown son and his lover, her arms wrapped just as tightly around Jean as Roy's were, her strength just as welcome as his lover's.
Still, no mention had been made of this.
Roy wondered, idly, if it had-or would-ever occur to the good doctor or Jean's gentle mother that Jean's incredible upper-body strength would be a logical side-effect of the man's three-year loss of full mobility, even after he could walk, once again.
He'd not really considered it himself, not until his lover had pulled him close and kissed him, his second day back in Central City, stripping him naked and hoisting him into the air, holding him as though Roy were as light as a child, steadying the man with only one arm as he reached around Roy's thighs, carefully slicking and stretching his lover's entrance, his thick fingers gentle and wonderful as ever.
"Ngh," said Roy, trembling as Jean's cock slid inside him, rubbed his prostate on the first try, the sensation making up for the hard detailing in the front door of his apartment, which was digging into his spine. "Hard, Jean, can you do it hard?"
His lover growled and thrust up hard, strong hips swinging, brow furrowed in concentration as he balanced himself and Roy, making even their frantic fucking into a form of lovemaking, smooth and familiar and perfect.
"Don't ... want ..." he gasped, "to hurt ... you ..."
Roy wailed and tightened his legs around Jean's waist. "You won't, just fuck me, Jean ... please ..."
And Jean did. Folding Roy's body up in his arms, he thrust his cock all the way in and set a fast, not-quite-even rhythm, his deep, quiet moans mixing with Roy's breathless pleas. After only a few precious moments of building ecstasy, he faltered, moaning as Roy called his name and started to come, cock twitching and pulsing between them, even without being touched, his semen dripping down Jean's arms, making a mess. Together, they groaned in satisfaction, Jean's rhythm speeding as Roy shuddered in his arms.
"Come on, Jean," he growled, "come for me. Come on, let me feel you, come on."
"Close," whispered Jean curling close to his lover as he thrust wildly, forceful in a way he was only when he was about to come, too intent on seeking his pleasure to worry for his lover's comfort. Then he cried out and thrust up and in, harder and deeper than before, stilling as he came, filling Roy with his semen, holding Roy aloft in his strong, muscular arms, until he'd finished, his cock starting to soften as he relaxed and sighed, sated and panting.
Roy purred and rocked forward, kissing Jean softly on the lips as the man gently pulled out, sucking on Jean's tongue to distract himself from the burn of his lover's substantial cock sliding past the tender flesh of his entrance. Only when Jean shifted, lowering him to stand on his own two feet, did Roy pull away from the kiss, smirking happily at his lover's flushed face.
"I've missed that," he said, idly tracing patterns in his own semen, which was drying sticky on Jean's forearm. "Although I don't remember you being able to hold me up like that, before."
Jean shrugged and offered his lover a lopsided smile. "My arms were my mobility for three years, Roy," he said simply. "They got strong."
"Indeed they did," said Roy. "I wasn't complaining."
The look of relief that crossed Jean's face, at that, was too precious for Roy to resist, so he drew the man close and kissed him, all tongue and warm breath and closeness until he was satisfied that Jean was reassured, the younger man's thickly-muscled arms wrapped gently around him, holding him close.
When Roy pulled back, Jean was smiling. "It's a good side-effect, then," he said. "Just need to get my legs to be this strong, and I'll be set."
"Oh yes," purred Roy. "And then you can have competitions with Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong to see who's got the better body. I know which one of you will have my vote."
The bright red blush on Jean's face was just another side effect, too, Roy decided.
And he liked it. Almost as much as the other.
Well fuck that. Here's my evidence against all pessimism. Rated NC-17 for fluff that will kill you if you don't like fluff and sex that's ... sex. And that is all.
Side Effect
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Dr. Marcoh had warned them, stern and serious even in the face of their joy, that there would be side effects, that there would be a long period of healing, even after the initial recovery.
And all through his lecture, Roy and Jean and Jean's dear mother had listened closely, had paid attention and nodded and tried to be strong. It was a tense time, after all, hearing that the dream they'd all had for so long could finally be realized, that Jean would be able to stand alongside his mother and his lover, once again, not sit with his mother's hand on his shoulder and Roy's hand clasped tightly in one of his own.
But for all the discussion and warnings, for all the side effects Dr. Marcoh had listed, Roy hadn't expected this.
There would always be scars, Marcoh had told them, and the scars indeed were still there, white and smooth and shiny like cheese-sauce left too long at room temperature, jagged where Roy had cauterized Jean's wounds, praying in the stench of burning and blood and terror that Lust's claws hadn't nicked anything that could bleed poison into his lover's body.
In all honesty, Roy was glad the scars remained, because they matched the scars on his own body, reminded him of the pain he and Jean had lived through, pain they'd lived through together.
Then there would be fatigue, and probably muscle aches and some cramps, Marcoh had told them, that Jean would be weak and would tire easily, that he should probably stick to using his wheelchair anytime he planned to move around much more than just a trip to the bathroom, or moving from the kitchen to the den in the evenings, wanting to play cards with his mother.
And the good doctor had been absolutely correct, Jean could do little more than just that without horrible fatigue that left him blushing and apologizing as his mother helped him collapse in an organized heap of limbs in the hallway while Roy fetched his wheelchair, the both of them quietly murmuring that Jean needed to "take it easy."
And finally, Marcoh had told them that there would be emotional scars, that Jean would have to work through the pain of losing his mobility, the fear that he could lose it again, even once it was regained.
That, too, had happened, had left Jean screaming in the night, shuddering in Roy's arms as his mother came rushing into their room in her nightgown, climbing up onto the bed along with her full-grown son and his lover, her arms wrapped just as tightly around Jean as Roy's were, her strength just as welcome as his lover's.
Still, no mention had been made of this.
Roy wondered, idly, if it had-or would-ever occur to the good doctor or Jean's gentle mother that Jean's incredible upper-body strength would be a logical side-effect of the man's three-year loss of full mobility, even after he could walk, once again.
He'd not really considered it himself, not until his lover had pulled him close and kissed him, his second day back in Central City, stripping him naked and hoisting him into the air, holding him as though Roy were as light as a child, steadying the man with only one arm as he reached around Roy's thighs, carefully slicking and stretching his lover's entrance, his thick fingers gentle and wonderful as ever.
"Ngh," said Roy, trembling as Jean's cock slid inside him, rubbed his prostate on the first try, the sensation making up for the hard detailing in the front door of his apartment, which was digging into his spine. "Hard, Jean, can you do it hard?"
His lover growled and thrust up hard, strong hips swinging, brow furrowed in concentration as he balanced himself and Roy, making even their frantic fucking into a form of lovemaking, smooth and familiar and perfect.
"Don't ... want ..." he gasped, "to hurt ... you ..."
Roy wailed and tightened his legs around Jean's waist. "You won't, just fuck me, Jean ... please ..."
And Jean did. Folding Roy's body up in his arms, he thrust his cock all the way in and set a fast, not-quite-even rhythm, his deep, quiet moans mixing with Roy's breathless pleas. After only a few precious moments of building ecstasy, he faltered, moaning as Roy called his name and started to come, cock twitching and pulsing between them, even without being touched, his semen dripping down Jean's arms, making a mess. Together, they groaned in satisfaction, Jean's rhythm speeding as Roy shuddered in his arms.
"Come on, Jean," he growled, "come for me. Come on, let me feel you, come on."
"Close," whispered Jean curling close to his lover as he thrust wildly, forceful in a way he was only when he was about to come, too intent on seeking his pleasure to worry for his lover's comfort. Then he cried out and thrust up and in, harder and deeper than before, stilling as he came, filling Roy with his semen, holding Roy aloft in his strong, muscular arms, until he'd finished, his cock starting to soften as he relaxed and sighed, sated and panting.
Roy purred and rocked forward, kissing Jean softly on the lips as the man gently pulled out, sucking on Jean's tongue to distract himself from the burn of his lover's substantial cock sliding past the tender flesh of his entrance. Only when Jean shifted, lowering him to stand on his own two feet, did Roy pull away from the kiss, smirking happily at his lover's flushed face.
"I've missed that," he said, idly tracing patterns in his own semen, which was drying sticky on Jean's forearm. "Although I don't remember you being able to hold me up like that, before."
Jean shrugged and offered his lover a lopsided smile. "My arms were my mobility for three years, Roy," he said simply. "They got strong."
"Indeed they did," said Roy. "I wasn't complaining."
The look of relief that crossed Jean's face, at that, was too precious for Roy to resist, so he drew the man close and kissed him, all tongue and warm breath and closeness until he was satisfied that Jean was reassured, the younger man's thickly-muscled arms wrapped gently around him, holding him close.
When Roy pulled back, Jean was smiling. "It's a good side-effect, then," he said. "Just need to get my legs to be this strong, and I'll be set."
"Oh yes," purred Roy. "And then you can have competitions with Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong to see who's got the better body. I know which one of you will have my vote."
The bright red blush on Jean's face was just another side effect, too, Roy decided.
And he liked it. Almost as much as the other.