Jean/Roy 2 (Chapter 2)
Title: To Really Free One's Self.
Chapter Title: To Make True Art
Author: sull89
Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist
Pairing: Jean/Roy (Maes/Roy and Kimbley/Roy both alluded to as past relationships.)
Other Main Characters: Zolf Kimbley.
Rating: This chapter, R. Story as a whole, NC-17.
Warning: In this chapter, non-con blood play and bondage. In later chapters, rape.
Summary: Finally free from prison, Kimbley decides to visit and old "friend" and ruin the life he had build for himself.
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter One
Grunting at the sudden pain that flared through his body, Havoc pressed back into the wall, trying to get away from the knife to no avail. He was scared, there was no getting around that, and this was worse that he had first thought it would be. Kimbley was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to have been executed years ago, and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to be standing here now with a knife pressed against his captive’s skin.
Havoc wanted to struggle, but the knife point now resting against the left side of his chest made him pause. Watching the man in front of him with slightly panicked eyes, Havoc had to wonder just exactly what he had planned; whatever it was it couldn’t be good and Jean was desperately thinking of a way, any way, to get out of it.
His frantic thoughts were cut off, though, when he felt the knife point trace around one of his exposed nipples. A few whispered words found their way to his ears now and he shuddered again, the mix of cold metal and even colder words worrying him to no end, “We’re gonna have some fun today, Havoc.”
His name on Kimbley’s lips was slimy, slick with distaste and possible hatred, even though Jean couldn’t quite figure out why; he’d never done anything to the man. That bit of information seemed not to mean anything to the crazed alchemist though, because he was currently engaged in tracing that knife over and around Havoc’s chest and the blonde lieutenant could feel how close it was to breaking skin; so close that he didn’t even dare to breathe properly.
This, too, seemed to only amuse Kimbley all the more and lead him to press harder, until the man under his control almost tried to stop breathing all together, his chest and body sucked in and pressed hard against the wall behind them. Holding the knifepoint against quivering flesh, the black haired man just smirked and waited, meeting Havoc’s frantic eyes with his own crazed gaze, “You’re going to have to breathe sometime.”
Even though he knew Kimbley was right, Jean still figured he could try to avoid breathing and save himself the pain of being cut. That plan lasted for only a few more seconds though, because on top of being terrified and helpless, he was also sick; his body was already hurt and it didn’t feel like letting him deprive it of oxygen any longer. Just as soon as he drew in a much needed breath of air it escaped him again, this time in the form of a painful cry as that lethally sharp knife bit into his tender skin again.
“Mhmmm,” the sound of pleasure was raw and animalistic as it left Kimbley’s throat; the sight of dark red blood welling up around the tip of the blade was obviously turning him on, “perfect…” As though he was an artist, studying his canvas intently before applying another stroke with his paintbrush, Kimbley watched the rise and fall of Havoc’s trembling chest for a moment before moving on, tracing the soft curves his blood made as it flowed over the peaks and valleys of his skin.
But, just as the artist, Kimbley had more to add to the formerly pristine canvas in front of him. Giving the younger man just a moment more to realize what was about to happen to him, Kimbley smirked into his face, voice a deathly whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to paint you red just as I did your boyfriend all those years ago.”
Slowly moving the knife down now, Kimbley flicked it over Jean’s crotch, letting the tip rest against his most sensitive organ, “He got away before I could finish. You, my friend, won’t be so lucky.” Pausing just long enough to savor the look of panicked fear and confusion that flashed across his victim’s face, Kimbley smirked before yanking the blade up hard, scoring a long gash though the front of Jean’s pants and letting them sink low around his hips, knowing that they’re just about ready to fall off.
It was a promise of things to come, and Jean knew it, shivering as Kimbely’s demon voice echoed through the room, “But we’ll save the real fun for later.” Try as he might, Jean couldn’t take his eyes off the shining metal as it lazily traced its way back up his skin. It captivated him even though he wanted nothing more than to escape it; an exact replica of Kimbley. Now all he could do was sit back and hang on for the ride, but he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that it might be the last ride he ever took.
Jean knew that it would only be moments before that tempered steel dug into his flesh again. Everything about Kimbley told him that he was not a patient man, nor was he much inclined to allow his toys much time in between cuts and bruises to recover. With a sharp gasp and an involuntary lurch forward, Jean bit his lip against the shock of pain that ran through his body as he was proved right - there was now a matching rivulet of blood running down his chest, intertwining with the first somewhere around his belly button, streaking his skin red.
With that second mark, Kimbley seemed to go insane. Suddenly, Jean found it almost impossible to breathe as the knife dug into his skin so rapidly that all it seemed he could do was cry out. Eventually, those cries turned to screams as his flesh turned into tatters and his pale skin grew even redder with his own life pouring out over it. Kimbley was sadistic in his pleasures and drew great happiness from seeing how his poor defenseless plaything writhed and twisted under his ministrations with the blade.
Even though every slice of the blade into his tender skin felt like eternity to Jean, it was in reality only a matter of minutes before Kimbley had, with a sinister smirk, finished with his canvas. His shining red paint had expanded to cover that precious white space almost everywhere, which quite fit his satisfaction. Kimbley was fascinated, for a moment, by watching how the cuts that now marred the once pristine field of his work diverted the flow of blood from the paths they would have liked to take.
It was beautiful, his art. It flowed so well through the rivulets and chisels in the military man’s body, glinted off his skin in a sickened parody of glitter. Havoc’s quivering chest and pained gasps only helped to enhance the utter beastly beauty of it, causing the delicate red droplets to tremble and shake along with him and pause along their route when his breathing did the same. Almost in awe of what he created, Kimbley stood there, soaking in the glory of blood, open wounds, and marred human flesh.
With an evil grin taking over his lips, he finally moved his eyes back to Jean’s face, and the evil there shook the blonde to his very core, “Just the way you should be.” The searing pain that ran though Jean’s entire body was almost crippling, but what scared him was that he knew this wasn’t the end of it. The cuts Kimbley decorated him with weren’t that deep; they were deep enough, to be sure, but not so much as to be fatal.
This was done with preciseness on his captor’s part, that much Jean knew without a doubt. It meant that he wanted to keep him alive, and more than that, conscious, for a while longer. Nothing good could come from Kimbley wanting him to remain conscious and Havoc shook with the fear of what else he might have planned. The specific reference to his crotch was something the captive man was specifically trying not to think about; whatever Kimbley had planned for him there was something to be terrified of, that was for sure.
The sudden touch of cold hands on his hips suddenly roused Jean from his frantic whirl of thoughts. Without thinking about it he tried to jerk away from the clammy grip those hands had on him, but his back was already pressed against the wall; he has absolutely nowhere to go and no way to stop whatever it was Kimbley was going to do next.
Jean’s breath caught in his throat as Kimbley slipped his fingers into the loosened waistband of his trousers and started tugging them down slowly even as Jean struggled for all he was worth to stop what was happening. Even though there was nothing he could do to control Kimbley’s actions, Jean felt he had to try something as the evil man finally let his pants drop to the floor, “Stop!”
All he got for his efforts was a painful, stinging slap to the chest.
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Three
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Four
To Really Free One’s Self: Chapter Five
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Six
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Seven
Chapter Title: To Make True Art
Author: sull89
Fandom: FullMetal Alchemist
Pairing: Jean/Roy (Maes/Roy and Kimbley/Roy both alluded to as past relationships.)
Other Main Characters: Zolf Kimbley.
Rating: This chapter, R. Story as a whole, NC-17.
Warning: In this chapter, non-con blood play and bondage. In later chapters, rape.
Summary: Finally free from prison, Kimbley decides to visit and old "friend" and ruin the life he had build for himself.
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter One
Grunting at the sudden pain that flared through his body, Havoc pressed back into the wall, trying to get away from the knife to no avail. He was scared, there was no getting around that, and this was worse that he had first thought it would be. Kimbley was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to have been executed years ago, and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to be standing here now with a knife pressed against his captive’s skin.
Havoc wanted to struggle, but the knife point now resting against the left side of his chest made him pause. Watching the man in front of him with slightly panicked eyes, Havoc had to wonder just exactly what he had planned; whatever it was it couldn’t be good and Jean was desperately thinking of a way, any way, to get out of it.
His frantic thoughts were cut off, though, when he felt the knife point trace around one of his exposed nipples. A few whispered words found their way to his ears now and he shuddered again, the mix of cold metal and even colder words worrying him to no end, “We’re gonna have some fun today, Havoc.”
His name on Kimbley’s lips was slimy, slick with distaste and possible hatred, even though Jean couldn’t quite figure out why; he’d never done anything to the man. That bit of information seemed not to mean anything to the crazed alchemist though, because he was currently engaged in tracing that knife over and around Havoc’s chest and the blonde lieutenant could feel how close it was to breaking skin; so close that he didn’t even dare to breathe properly.
This, too, seemed to only amuse Kimbley all the more and lead him to press harder, until the man under his control almost tried to stop breathing all together, his chest and body sucked in and pressed hard against the wall behind them. Holding the knifepoint against quivering flesh, the black haired man just smirked and waited, meeting Havoc’s frantic eyes with his own crazed gaze, “You’re going to have to breathe sometime.”
Even though he knew Kimbley was right, Jean still figured he could try to avoid breathing and save himself the pain of being cut. That plan lasted for only a few more seconds though, because on top of being terrified and helpless, he was also sick; his body was already hurt and it didn’t feel like letting him deprive it of oxygen any longer. Just as soon as he drew in a much needed breath of air it escaped him again, this time in the form of a painful cry as that lethally sharp knife bit into his tender skin again.
“Mhmmm,” the sound of pleasure was raw and animalistic as it left Kimbley’s throat; the sight of dark red blood welling up around the tip of the blade was obviously turning him on, “perfect…” As though he was an artist, studying his canvas intently before applying another stroke with his paintbrush, Kimbley watched the rise and fall of Havoc’s trembling chest for a moment before moving on, tracing the soft curves his blood made as it flowed over the peaks and valleys of his skin.
But, just as the artist, Kimbley had more to add to the formerly pristine canvas in front of him. Giving the younger man just a moment more to realize what was about to happen to him, Kimbley smirked into his face, voice a deathly whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to paint you red just as I did your boyfriend all those years ago.”
Slowly moving the knife down now, Kimbley flicked it over Jean’s crotch, letting the tip rest against his most sensitive organ, “He got away before I could finish. You, my friend, won’t be so lucky.” Pausing just long enough to savor the look of panicked fear and confusion that flashed across his victim’s face, Kimbley smirked before yanking the blade up hard, scoring a long gash though the front of Jean’s pants and letting them sink low around his hips, knowing that they’re just about ready to fall off.
It was a promise of things to come, and Jean knew it, shivering as Kimbely’s demon voice echoed through the room, “But we’ll save the real fun for later.” Try as he might, Jean couldn’t take his eyes off the shining metal as it lazily traced its way back up his skin. It captivated him even though he wanted nothing more than to escape it; an exact replica of Kimbley. Now all he could do was sit back and hang on for the ride, but he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that it might be the last ride he ever took.
Jean knew that it would only be moments before that tempered steel dug into his flesh again. Everything about Kimbley told him that he was not a patient man, nor was he much inclined to allow his toys much time in between cuts and bruises to recover. With a sharp gasp and an involuntary lurch forward, Jean bit his lip against the shock of pain that ran through his body as he was proved right - there was now a matching rivulet of blood running down his chest, intertwining with the first somewhere around his belly button, streaking his skin red.
With that second mark, Kimbley seemed to go insane. Suddenly, Jean found it almost impossible to breathe as the knife dug into his skin so rapidly that all it seemed he could do was cry out. Eventually, those cries turned to screams as his flesh turned into tatters and his pale skin grew even redder with his own life pouring out over it. Kimbley was sadistic in his pleasures and drew great happiness from seeing how his poor defenseless plaything writhed and twisted under his ministrations with the blade.
Even though every slice of the blade into his tender skin felt like eternity to Jean, it was in reality only a matter of minutes before Kimbley had, with a sinister smirk, finished with his canvas. His shining red paint had expanded to cover that precious white space almost everywhere, which quite fit his satisfaction. Kimbley was fascinated, for a moment, by watching how the cuts that now marred the once pristine field of his work diverted the flow of blood from the paths they would have liked to take.
It was beautiful, his art. It flowed so well through the rivulets and chisels in the military man’s body, glinted off his skin in a sickened parody of glitter. Havoc’s quivering chest and pained gasps only helped to enhance the utter beastly beauty of it, causing the delicate red droplets to tremble and shake along with him and pause along their route when his breathing did the same. Almost in awe of what he created, Kimbley stood there, soaking in the glory of blood, open wounds, and marred human flesh.
With an evil grin taking over his lips, he finally moved his eyes back to Jean’s face, and the evil there shook the blonde to his very core, “Just the way you should be.” The searing pain that ran though Jean’s entire body was almost crippling, but what scared him was that he knew this wasn’t the end of it. The cuts Kimbley decorated him with weren’t that deep; they were deep enough, to be sure, but not so much as to be fatal.
This was done with preciseness on his captor’s part, that much Jean knew without a doubt. It meant that he wanted to keep him alive, and more than that, conscious, for a while longer. Nothing good could come from Kimbley wanting him to remain conscious and Havoc shook with the fear of what else he might have planned. The specific reference to his crotch was something the captive man was specifically trying not to think about; whatever Kimbley had planned for him there was something to be terrified of, that was for sure.
The sudden touch of cold hands on his hips suddenly roused Jean from his frantic whirl of thoughts. Without thinking about it he tried to jerk away from the clammy grip those hands had on him, but his back was already pressed against the wall; he has absolutely nowhere to go and no way to stop whatever it was Kimbley was going to do next.
Jean’s breath caught in his throat as Kimbley slipped his fingers into the loosened waistband of his trousers and started tugging them down slowly even as Jean struggled for all he was worth to stop what was happening. Even though there was nothing he could do to control Kimbley’s actions, Jean felt he had to try something as the evil man finally let his pants drop to the floor, “Stop!”
All he got for his efforts was a painful, stinging slap to the chest.
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Three
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Four
To Really Free One’s Self: Chapter Five
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Six
To Really Free One's Self: Chapter Seven