Surrogate
I've been up for 23 hours. O_O A fic to celebrate.
Title: Surrogate
Pairing: EdxRoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Roy reflects on a night in Rizembul.
Spoilers: End of series and some movie spoilers.
The ice clinked against the side of his glass, sounding like a bullet sliding into a chamber. It had
been twenty-one days since he had seen another person and the snow was beginning to pile up outside his door. He wondered briefly if he would be able to get out before spring thaw.
Thoughts did strange things to a man and his will when they were left to their own devices. It had only taken him these twenty-one days to find himself sitting the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest, sipping at scotch and unearthing things that were best left buried.
Like Edward's disappearance. He hadn't let on to anyone else how disturbed he was by it. He hadn't told anyone that he would see the boy in dreams and in waking, whenever he closed his eye. He hadn’t told anyone because he knew what they would say.
Lieutenant Hawkeye would frown in that mildly approving way she had and remark that he had
chivalrously stepped in to take on the role of a father figure to the Elric brothers in Hohenheim's
absence. She would let it be known in the way she held her shoulders and his gaze that she felt this was the noble thing to do. And he would have to look away in shame.
There was nothing paternal about Roy Mustang. His knees held no desire to seat small children; his arms did not ache to play catch. There was no part of him that wanted anything to do with progeny in the least. He would remind himself that there was nothing paternal about the way that he sent the boys off on dangerous missions for his own gain. There was nothing paternal, despite what anyone else said, about the way he had hunted the boy down in the woods near his home town. And there was certainly nothing paternal about the way Roy's hot breath fell onto the back of a sweat-slicked neck and the way his tongue trailed scars and bruises and pulse.
The scotch warmed him, a good defense against the small drifts of snow forming inside the cabin where gaps between the boards allowed. Unfeeling fingers poured another glass.
Roy pulled his coat tighter around his body, narrower now, and he traced absently at the stiff black curve covering the left half of his face. Some things, he reminded himself, hurt more than losing an eye. Not long before he'd faced that monster in a well-stocked wine cellar, he'd faced his own in another basement. This one had been dark and damp and modest with mechanical limbs hanging from hooks on the walls. It was perfectly at home in a town like Rizembul.
His lieutenant had been outside, standing watch, and he'd been down in the basement alone, hiding like the "important," cowardly man that he was. How was that for paternal?
He rubbed his hands together, for warmth and out of boredom, and watched foggy breath tumble
out of his mouth and into the cold air of the cabin.
That night in Rizenbul, when mismatched footsteps had made wooden stairs creak and moan, no one had been more surprised than Roy, except for maybe the blond boy himself. But for Roy to have said that he hadn't envisioned a scenario like this a few times before would have been a lie. It would have been false for him to say that he hadn't taken notice of the perfection of tanned skin and smooth muscle and burning eyes at least once in the years that they had known each other. Because he had, in the most depraved way possible.
It had been dark in the basement but for the shallow angle of moonlight sliding under the door. It covered one side of Edward's face when he sat down across from his colonel.
Roy scoffed at his former title and took another sip of scotch.
The boy had leaned against a wall and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He stared at the floor. It was a companionable silence and Roy was struck that they had never shared that before.
Rubbing at what might likely be frostbite on the tip of his nose, Roy wondered if Edward had known that night in that dark basement that he would soon die. Roy's eyes had flickered on the distance between them and the door that separated them from the other occupants of the home. He had wondered how softly he could make the boy cry out and the thought had made him sick to his stomach.
Ages had seemed to pass in the silence, surrounded by stone and dark. When Edward had finally looked up from the floor, he had looked older and wiser. His face was hard and his eyes held far more than fifteen years of experience.
"Col- Roy," the younger man had said.
Roy had leaned forward a bit, waiting for the invitation the knot in his stomach knew was coming.
"Roy, I’m...scared."
The older man had blinked in the darkness and returned to a full sitting position. So the boy had come to him for fatherly advice and consolation. That was something new and had made Roy want to recoil in disgust from the coil of arousal warming his guts. He couldn't really explain what had brought the boy before him that night, suddenly sobbing out all of his fears and guilt. Forgive me Father. I have sinned. Maybe it was because Hohenheim was there and Edward was realizing - maybe for the first time - all of the things that Roy had done for them.
Before he'd known what was happening, the boy's head was on his shoulder and he could feel tears soaking through the layers of his uniform. His hands were in thick blond hair, petting, comforting, soothing. Had Hawkeye seen, she would have nodded at how nurturing he was being.
But Roy knew better. Even now, alone in this dark, frigid cabin, he knew. He knew what he'd felt when Edward's weight was pressed against him and when a young, fleshy hand fisted in his regulation jacket. Remembering his excitement at their nearness, he choked a bit on his scotch.
He was able to at least swallow when he reminded himself that the last shred of dignity he had left was there because the boy had kissed him first and not the other way around.
Edward had tugged Roy down by the lapels of his jacket. A steel hand slid around the back of his head and his hair caught in the joints, but he didn't care. He should have stopped the boy then. He should have stopped him because Edward didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't want this. But the lips against his said otherwise and who was he to ever deny Edward anything? He should have. He should have pushed him away and told him to take his mouth off his jaw, his chin, his neck. This was clearly just an outlet for the boy's grief and fear; it had nothing to do with desire, at least on Edward's part. But Roy, being the pathetic man that he knew he was, again had failed in the fabled duty assigned him time and again.
Even after he pulled Edward's bottom lip into his mouth, making the boy moan in appreciation, he was failing. Even when he pulled away and felt the air cool the tears left on his cheek, he didn't try to stop. Even as Edward moved to straddle his thighs and pushed him back against the wall, he knew that he was hurting the boy. But he didn’t stop. He didn't stop because Edward had asked him not to, with his hands, his mouth, his eyes.
So Roy had responded in kind. While an honorable man would have stopped, he knew that he was no honorable man, so he pressed terrible lips to flesh and let the boy cling to him like a life preserver. Edward's mouth covered the pulse in his neck and small fingers began to fumble with the clasps on his jacket. Roy had hesitated then, to his credit, and had pulled back as much as his position against the wall would allow. Those scotch-colored eyes had held him in plea.
"Please, Roy," the boy spoke with a trembling voice, "Please. I need this."
Roy had tried to retain some semblance of pride, though he was speechless and his mouth gaped open. Couldn't the boy tell that his superior officer was taking advantage of him?
"What is it that you need?"
Edward averted his eyes down to the pale expanse of Roy's chest that he had exposed. "To feel that there’s something good left," he mumbled and looked up to meet Roy's gaze.
"You have your brother, Ed. You don't have to do this."
"Damn it, Bastard! I want to do this. Because of Al. For Al."
Roy's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What does this have to do with Alphonse?"
"You've been good to us, Roy. I'm just asking for this one last thing."
Roy smiled a weak smile then, and had dragged his fingers through the boy's hair. Tears resurfaced in the corners of the boy's eyes.
"Show me the good things. That there's a reason to risk Al's life to bring him back."
And with that, lips had descended hungrily upon lips and flesh, around fingers and earlobes. Edward pushed Roy's layers of clothing off his shoulders and onto the floor. When the boy's coat and shirt had joined Roy's at the urging of the older man's clumsy fingers, scars had been exposed. Roy's fingers hesitated, hovering over the marred junction of automail and skin. Edward had groaned and had arched into his hand.
"You're not gonna break me, Roy," he said in a huff.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he'd said in return and it had been a lie. He was hurting the boy at that very moment, he knew, but they let their fear and their grief drive them forward. His first intention should have been to protect Edward, as it always should have been but it never was. No matter what the boy might say he wants, Roy knew even now that this wasn't it. No matter how Edward melted into hot embrace, or how willing his lips felt as they burned a trail down his torso.
When the boy was laying on the floor, resting on his elbows, he reached for the button on Roy's pants. Roy lifted his hips to oblige in sliding them off and moaned when fingernails slid down his right thigh. He would have stroked Edward's head as he usually did when in that position, but his hands were really shaking something awful.
Edward, always observant, reached for Roy's trembling hand and pressed his lips to the palm. He had laid small kisses up the fingers, causing the spasms to become more violent.
"Would you relax?"
"Maybe we should just stop."
Edward rolled his eyes and sat back up. "Quit being such a dad," he scoffed and started to pull off his own pants.
In moments, the boy stood before him, naked and vulnerable and brave. Roy had swallowed hard and stood to step forward and slide his arms around Edward's shoulders. A blond head fell against his chest and mismatched palms rested against his abdomen.
"Roy, I'm not a kid. I mean, I am, but I'm not," he said into Roy's chest. The older man kissed the top of his head.
"I know."
"You've never treated me like a kid before. Don't start now."
"Did you plan this?"
Edward looked up and smiled bright and brilliant. "No. I didn't."
Then the kisses started again. Edward's lips pressed and suckled and slid down Roy's body. They traced across elegant shoulders, down arms, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin at the crook and at the wrist. His tongue flicked at fingers when they were pulled into a hot mouth. He trailed his tongue back up the arm, back across the shoulder, and down to lap at a nipple. Roy had moaned and leaned back against the rough stone wall. The muscles of his abdomen had quivered when Edward's mouth had brushed past his navel. When a nose brushed through dark curls, a small whimper escaped Roy's mouth. The lips that had felt so hot against the rest of his body felt cool when pressed to the heat of his erection. Roy gasped out and rested a hand atop Edward's head.
He felt the boy's lips slide into a smile against his flesh and then he felt a tongue slide out and along the length of his cock. Every thought born of conscience fled Roy's mind then, and his head fell back. Fingers gripped into his hips as he watched Edward's head slide back and forth.
Even then, in the back of his mind, he wondered what kind of sick monster he was to be accepting this from a fifteen-year-old - or was he sixteen now? - boy. And he liked it, which made his guilt worse. But guilt was such a small part of what he was feeling right then and so he just moaned. Edward moaned in return and Roy felt the vibration tickle his flesh. It felt terrible and wonderful and he couldn't stop clenching his fingers in blond hair and panting into the dank basement darkness.
Edward removed the warmth of his mouth far too abruptly and Roy gasped at the absence. The younger man looked at him pleadingly and began to crawl up onto his lap and position himself against Roy's cock.
"Is this okay?" he asked.
Roy struggled to keep his tone under control, finally abandoning all attempts at speech and merely shook his head with little grace. Edward looked at him quizzically.
Averting his eyes, Roy found his voice. "It will hurt."
Edward frowned and rested his forehead against Roy's. "I know."
The older man gestured with a jerk of his chin toward the workbench at the back of the basement. "The can on the bench. Get it."
Edward caught his eyes, understood, and nodded. When he had returned with the oil can in his hand, Roy had managed a small, apologetic smile.
"It's not...ideal, but it will do."
Edward smirked and climbed back into Roy's lap. Did he have to look so eager? Roy hesitated with the oil can in his hand, watching the boy almost quiver in anticipation. It repulsed him and drew him closer at the same time.
"Well?" Edward asked. "Do I need to do it for you?"
Roy opened his mouth to protest, but the boy grabbed the oil can and poured some fluid onto Roy's hand, guiding it between his legs. Keeping their eyes locked, the older man stiffened his middle finger to stroke tentatively at Edward's entrance and the boy mewled, sounding so very young and lonely. Roy felt Edward push back against his finger and he was enveloped in tight warmth. The boy gasped out.
Roy stroked lightly along the smooth contours, feeling resistance and give and the quivering of muscles. Was he hurting him? If he had been, Edward hadn't let on. Instead, the boy leaned his forehead against Roy's shoulder and choked out a sob. Roy thought he heard his name folded in a moan, but he really wasn't sure anymore. When Edward looked up at him, there were more tears in the corners of his eyes and his bottom lip was swollen from being bitten.
"Please. More."
Roy's breath hitched in his throat and he removed his middle finger from the boy's body only to replace it with two. Edward cried out softly, mindful of his family slumbering just above them. Roy was reminded of his adolescent days, sneaking off into abandoned rooms with attractive young ladies, putting on the gentlemanly face for her parents. Was this simply Edward's method of youthful rebellion?
The boy began to rock against Roy's sliding fingers, angling his hips in a way that made small, high-pitched noises escape his throat. Edward gritted his teeth against the occasional awkwardness of finger pitch and pressed his lips against the older man's throat.
"I’m ready," he gasped.
Roy watched his eyes for any sign of resignation or apprehension, but the boy must have been an exceptional actor. Supple cheeks were flushed with need and a pink mouth hung open, but only slightly, to allow more air into his lungs. With an inner shudder, Roy slid his fingers out of the youth perched on his lap and moved his hands to the hips, guiding Edward's movements. He felt the head of his cock press lightly against the boy's entrance and he paused.
"I promise I won't hurt you."
Edward rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he said, and lowered himself in one swift maneuver onto Roy's cock.
They both sat in stunned silence for a moment, awed by the overwhelming sensations. Roy was struck by how dissimilar to a woman Edward felt; he was, after all, a boy. A boy. He was a nothing but a child following the lead of an adult he trusted (like a father?), letting the older man's hands move his hips up and down, rising and falling with each hastened breath. Roy watched with a mild sense of horror as Edward's thighs began to work, guiding his movements, taking control of the pacing. They began to move far faster than Roy would have allowed them, were he in charge. But Edward's eyes were commanding and his legs were powerful enough to carry him past any qualms he may have had and into a pleasurable oblivion.
"We've got each other covered, right? We won't let each other down?" Edward asked as he raised and lowered himself and Roy felt slick muscles slide and clench around his length. He could barely see straight at that point.
He managed a nod in between gasping, desperate breaths and, out of guilt perhaps more than anything, he removed a hand from Edward's hip and wrapped it around the boy's throbbing, red cock. Slowly, he began to move his hand up and down the shaft, running the pad of his thumb gently over the sensitive area beneath the head and the boy's vocal gymnastics rose in pitch.
It wasn't Edward's pulsing, sweaty body that brought Roy to climax in that dingy basement; instead, it was hearing the boy cry out his name, drenched in an aching need to be comforted. It was hearing Edward beg for him, plead with him to take care of each other. It was, perhaps, the oddest thing Roy had ever heard during sex, but it worked for them and they cried out together, not minding the volume of their voices, focused only on the force gripping at their insides.
Edward slid off him and curled on the floor, resting his head on Roy's leg.
"Winry will kill us if she finds out we wasted her oil," he yawned before falling asleep.
Roy, of course didn't sleep then. He barely slept now in his drafty cabin. Instead, he had watched the boy asleep on his lap, a chest - half-metal, half-human - moving in the rhythmic pattern of his breath. It hadn't been long before the light bending under the door was intense enough to wake Edward from his slumber. He sat up, maybe a bit cautiously, feeling a hint of the abuse his body had taken a few hours previous, and stretched.
"I might not see you for a while," he had said, staring at the floor.
Roy nodded lamely. Edward frowned and squeezed Roy's shoulder with his metal hand.
"I should go check on Al. He was with the other bastard last night," Edward said and stood, rolling his eyes, "See ya."
"Edward!"
The boy stopped and turned back to Roy.
Roy had felt the weight of the moment upon him and opened his mouth to say a million important things, but closed it quickly and offered a small smile. "Put on a coat, will you?"
Edward had smiled and pulled his red coat over his shoulders and then he had been gone.
Roy closed his eye and sighed, feeling the chill seep again into his cabin and bite at his face. His good eye came to rest on his empty tumbler and a shaky hand reached to refill it with a liquor the color of ghost eyes.
Title: Surrogate
Pairing: EdxRoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Roy reflects on a night in Rizembul.
Spoilers: End of series and some movie spoilers.
The ice clinked against the side of his glass, sounding like a bullet sliding into a chamber. It had
been twenty-one days since he had seen another person and the snow was beginning to pile up outside his door. He wondered briefly if he would be able to get out before spring thaw.
Thoughts did strange things to a man and his will when they were left to their own devices. It had only taken him these twenty-one days to find himself sitting the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest, sipping at scotch and unearthing things that were best left buried.
Like Edward's disappearance. He hadn't let on to anyone else how disturbed he was by it. He hadn't told anyone that he would see the boy in dreams and in waking, whenever he closed his eye. He hadn’t told anyone because he knew what they would say.
Lieutenant Hawkeye would frown in that mildly approving way she had and remark that he had
chivalrously stepped in to take on the role of a father figure to the Elric brothers in Hohenheim's
absence. She would let it be known in the way she held her shoulders and his gaze that she felt this was the noble thing to do. And he would have to look away in shame.
There was nothing paternal about Roy Mustang. His knees held no desire to seat small children; his arms did not ache to play catch. There was no part of him that wanted anything to do with progeny in the least. He would remind himself that there was nothing paternal about the way that he sent the boys off on dangerous missions for his own gain. There was nothing paternal, despite what anyone else said, about the way he had hunted the boy down in the woods near his home town. And there was certainly nothing paternal about the way Roy's hot breath fell onto the back of a sweat-slicked neck and the way his tongue trailed scars and bruises and pulse.
The scotch warmed him, a good defense against the small drifts of snow forming inside the cabin where gaps between the boards allowed. Unfeeling fingers poured another glass.
Roy pulled his coat tighter around his body, narrower now, and he traced absently at the stiff black curve covering the left half of his face. Some things, he reminded himself, hurt more than losing an eye. Not long before he'd faced that monster in a well-stocked wine cellar, he'd faced his own in another basement. This one had been dark and damp and modest with mechanical limbs hanging from hooks on the walls. It was perfectly at home in a town like Rizembul.
His lieutenant had been outside, standing watch, and he'd been down in the basement alone, hiding like the "important," cowardly man that he was. How was that for paternal?
He rubbed his hands together, for warmth and out of boredom, and watched foggy breath tumble
out of his mouth and into the cold air of the cabin.
That night in Rizenbul, when mismatched footsteps had made wooden stairs creak and moan, no one had been more surprised than Roy, except for maybe the blond boy himself. But for Roy to have said that he hadn't envisioned a scenario like this a few times before would have been a lie. It would have been false for him to say that he hadn't taken notice of the perfection of tanned skin and smooth muscle and burning eyes at least once in the years that they had known each other. Because he had, in the most depraved way possible.
It had been dark in the basement but for the shallow angle of moonlight sliding under the door. It covered one side of Edward's face when he sat down across from his colonel.
Roy scoffed at his former title and took another sip of scotch.
The boy had leaned against a wall and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He stared at the floor. It was a companionable silence and Roy was struck that they had never shared that before.
Rubbing at what might likely be frostbite on the tip of his nose, Roy wondered if Edward had known that night in that dark basement that he would soon die. Roy's eyes had flickered on the distance between them and the door that separated them from the other occupants of the home. He had wondered how softly he could make the boy cry out and the thought had made him sick to his stomach.
Ages had seemed to pass in the silence, surrounded by stone and dark. When Edward had finally looked up from the floor, he had looked older and wiser. His face was hard and his eyes held far more than fifteen years of experience.
"Col- Roy," the younger man had said.
Roy had leaned forward a bit, waiting for the invitation the knot in his stomach knew was coming.
"Roy, I’m...scared."
The older man had blinked in the darkness and returned to a full sitting position. So the boy had come to him for fatherly advice and consolation. That was something new and had made Roy want to recoil in disgust from the coil of arousal warming his guts. He couldn't really explain what had brought the boy before him that night, suddenly sobbing out all of his fears and guilt. Forgive me Father. I have sinned. Maybe it was because Hohenheim was there and Edward was realizing - maybe for the first time - all of the things that Roy had done for them.
Before he'd known what was happening, the boy's head was on his shoulder and he could feel tears soaking through the layers of his uniform. His hands were in thick blond hair, petting, comforting, soothing. Had Hawkeye seen, she would have nodded at how nurturing he was being.
But Roy knew better. Even now, alone in this dark, frigid cabin, he knew. He knew what he'd felt when Edward's weight was pressed against him and when a young, fleshy hand fisted in his regulation jacket. Remembering his excitement at their nearness, he choked a bit on his scotch.
He was able to at least swallow when he reminded himself that the last shred of dignity he had left was there because the boy had kissed him first and not the other way around.
Edward had tugged Roy down by the lapels of his jacket. A steel hand slid around the back of his head and his hair caught in the joints, but he didn't care. He should have stopped the boy then. He should have stopped him because Edward didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't want this. But the lips against his said otherwise and who was he to ever deny Edward anything? He should have. He should have pushed him away and told him to take his mouth off his jaw, his chin, his neck. This was clearly just an outlet for the boy's grief and fear; it had nothing to do with desire, at least on Edward's part. But Roy, being the pathetic man that he knew he was, again had failed in the fabled duty assigned him time and again.
Even after he pulled Edward's bottom lip into his mouth, making the boy moan in appreciation, he was failing. Even when he pulled away and felt the air cool the tears left on his cheek, he didn't try to stop. Even as Edward moved to straddle his thighs and pushed him back against the wall, he knew that he was hurting the boy. But he didn’t stop. He didn't stop because Edward had asked him not to, with his hands, his mouth, his eyes.
So Roy had responded in kind. While an honorable man would have stopped, he knew that he was no honorable man, so he pressed terrible lips to flesh and let the boy cling to him like a life preserver. Edward's mouth covered the pulse in his neck and small fingers began to fumble with the clasps on his jacket. Roy had hesitated then, to his credit, and had pulled back as much as his position against the wall would allow. Those scotch-colored eyes had held him in plea.
"Please, Roy," the boy spoke with a trembling voice, "Please. I need this."
Roy had tried to retain some semblance of pride, though he was speechless and his mouth gaped open. Couldn't the boy tell that his superior officer was taking advantage of him?
"What is it that you need?"
Edward averted his eyes down to the pale expanse of Roy's chest that he had exposed. "To feel that there’s something good left," he mumbled and looked up to meet Roy's gaze.
"You have your brother, Ed. You don't have to do this."
"Damn it, Bastard! I want to do this. Because of Al. For Al."
Roy's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What does this have to do with Alphonse?"
"You've been good to us, Roy. I'm just asking for this one last thing."
Roy smiled a weak smile then, and had dragged his fingers through the boy's hair. Tears resurfaced in the corners of the boy's eyes.
"Show me the good things. That there's a reason to risk Al's life to bring him back."
And with that, lips had descended hungrily upon lips and flesh, around fingers and earlobes. Edward pushed Roy's layers of clothing off his shoulders and onto the floor. When the boy's coat and shirt had joined Roy's at the urging of the older man's clumsy fingers, scars had been exposed. Roy's fingers hesitated, hovering over the marred junction of automail and skin. Edward had groaned and had arched into his hand.
"You're not gonna break me, Roy," he said in a huff.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he'd said in return and it had been a lie. He was hurting the boy at that very moment, he knew, but they let their fear and their grief drive them forward. His first intention should have been to protect Edward, as it always should have been but it never was. No matter what the boy might say he wants, Roy knew even now that this wasn't it. No matter how Edward melted into hot embrace, or how willing his lips felt as they burned a trail down his torso.
When the boy was laying on the floor, resting on his elbows, he reached for the button on Roy's pants. Roy lifted his hips to oblige in sliding them off and moaned when fingernails slid down his right thigh. He would have stroked Edward's head as he usually did when in that position, but his hands were really shaking something awful.
Edward, always observant, reached for Roy's trembling hand and pressed his lips to the palm. He had laid small kisses up the fingers, causing the spasms to become more violent.
"Would you relax?"
"Maybe we should just stop."
Edward rolled his eyes and sat back up. "Quit being such a dad," he scoffed and started to pull off his own pants.
In moments, the boy stood before him, naked and vulnerable and brave. Roy had swallowed hard and stood to step forward and slide his arms around Edward's shoulders. A blond head fell against his chest and mismatched palms rested against his abdomen.
"Roy, I'm not a kid. I mean, I am, but I'm not," he said into Roy's chest. The older man kissed the top of his head.
"I know."
"You've never treated me like a kid before. Don't start now."
"Did you plan this?"
Edward looked up and smiled bright and brilliant. "No. I didn't."
Then the kisses started again. Edward's lips pressed and suckled and slid down Roy's body. They traced across elegant shoulders, down arms, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin at the crook and at the wrist. His tongue flicked at fingers when they were pulled into a hot mouth. He trailed his tongue back up the arm, back across the shoulder, and down to lap at a nipple. Roy had moaned and leaned back against the rough stone wall. The muscles of his abdomen had quivered when Edward's mouth had brushed past his navel. When a nose brushed through dark curls, a small whimper escaped Roy's mouth. The lips that had felt so hot against the rest of his body felt cool when pressed to the heat of his erection. Roy gasped out and rested a hand atop Edward's head.
He felt the boy's lips slide into a smile against his flesh and then he felt a tongue slide out and along the length of his cock. Every thought born of conscience fled Roy's mind then, and his head fell back. Fingers gripped into his hips as he watched Edward's head slide back and forth.
Even then, in the back of his mind, he wondered what kind of sick monster he was to be accepting this from a fifteen-year-old - or was he sixteen now? - boy. And he liked it, which made his guilt worse. But guilt was such a small part of what he was feeling right then and so he just moaned. Edward moaned in return and Roy felt the vibration tickle his flesh. It felt terrible and wonderful and he couldn't stop clenching his fingers in blond hair and panting into the dank basement darkness.
Edward removed the warmth of his mouth far too abruptly and Roy gasped at the absence. The younger man looked at him pleadingly and began to crawl up onto his lap and position himself against Roy's cock.
"Is this okay?" he asked.
Roy struggled to keep his tone under control, finally abandoning all attempts at speech and merely shook his head with little grace. Edward looked at him quizzically.
Averting his eyes, Roy found his voice. "It will hurt."
Edward frowned and rested his forehead against Roy's. "I know."
The older man gestured with a jerk of his chin toward the workbench at the back of the basement. "The can on the bench. Get it."
Edward caught his eyes, understood, and nodded. When he had returned with the oil can in his hand, Roy had managed a small, apologetic smile.
"It's not...ideal, but it will do."
Edward smirked and climbed back into Roy's lap. Did he have to look so eager? Roy hesitated with the oil can in his hand, watching the boy almost quiver in anticipation. It repulsed him and drew him closer at the same time.
"Well?" Edward asked. "Do I need to do it for you?"
Roy opened his mouth to protest, but the boy grabbed the oil can and poured some fluid onto Roy's hand, guiding it between his legs. Keeping their eyes locked, the older man stiffened his middle finger to stroke tentatively at Edward's entrance and the boy mewled, sounding so very young and lonely. Roy felt Edward push back against his finger and he was enveloped in tight warmth. The boy gasped out.
Roy stroked lightly along the smooth contours, feeling resistance and give and the quivering of muscles. Was he hurting him? If he had been, Edward hadn't let on. Instead, the boy leaned his forehead against Roy's shoulder and choked out a sob. Roy thought he heard his name folded in a moan, but he really wasn't sure anymore. When Edward looked up at him, there were more tears in the corners of his eyes and his bottom lip was swollen from being bitten.
"Please. More."
Roy's breath hitched in his throat and he removed his middle finger from the boy's body only to replace it with two. Edward cried out softly, mindful of his family slumbering just above them. Roy was reminded of his adolescent days, sneaking off into abandoned rooms with attractive young ladies, putting on the gentlemanly face for her parents. Was this simply Edward's method of youthful rebellion?
The boy began to rock against Roy's sliding fingers, angling his hips in a way that made small, high-pitched noises escape his throat. Edward gritted his teeth against the occasional awkwardness of finger pitch and pressed his lips against the older man's throat.
"I’m ready," he gasped.
Roy watched his eyes for any sign of resignation or apprehension, but the boy must have been an exceptional actor. Supple cheeks were flushed with need and a pink mouth hung open, but only slightly, to allow more air into his lungs. With an inner shudder, Roy slid his fingers out of the youth perched on his lap and moved his hands to the hips, guiding Edward's movements. He felt the head of his cock press lightly against the boy's entrance and he paused.
"I promise I won't hurt you."
Edward rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he said, and lowered himself in one swift maneuver onto Roy's cock.
They both sat in stunned silence for a moment, awed by the overwhelming sensations. Roy was struck by how dissimilar to a woman Edward felt; he was, after all, a boy. A boy. He was a nothing but a child following the lead of an adult he trusted (like a father?), letting the older man's hands move his hips up and down, rising and falling with each hastened breath. Roy watched with a mild sense of horror as Edward's thighs began to work, guiding his movements, taking control of the pacing. They began to move far faster than Roy would have allowed them, were he in charge. But Edward's eyes were commanding and his legs were powerful enough to carry him past any qualms he may have had and into a pleasurable oblivion.
"We've got each other covered, right? We won't let each other down?" Edward asked as he raised and lowered himself and Roy felt slick muscles slide and clench around his length. He could barely see straight at that point.
He managed a nod in between gasping, desperate breaths and, out of guilt perhaps more than anything, he removed a hand from Edward's hip and wrapped it around the boy's throbbing, red cock. Slowly, he began to move his hand up and down the shaft, running the pad of his thumb gently over the sensitive area beneath the head and the boy's vocal gymnastics rose in pitch.
It wasn't Edward's pulsing, sweaty body that brought Roy to climax in that dingy basement; instead, it was hearing the boy cry out his name, drenched in an aching need to be comforted. It was hearing Edward beg for him, plead with him to take care of each other. It was, perhaps, the oddest thing Roy had ever heard during sex, but it worked for them and they cried out together, not minding the volume of their voices, focused only on the force gripping at their insides.
Edward slid off him and curled on the floor, resting his head on Roy's leg.
"Winry will kill us if she finds out we wasted her oil," he yawned before falling asleep.
Roy, of course didn't sleep then. He barely slept now in his drafty cabin. Instead, he had watched the boy asleep on his lap, a chest - half-metal, half-human - moving in the rhythmic pattern of his breath. It hadn't been long before the light bending under the door was intense enough to wake Edward from his slumber. He sat up, maybe a bit cautiously, feeling a hint of the abuse his body had taken a few hours previous, and stretched.
"I might not see you for a while," he had said, staring at the floor.
Roy nodded lamely. Edward frowned and squeezed Roy's shoulder with his metal hand.
"I should go check on Al. He was with the other bastard last night," Edward said and stood, rolling his eyes, "See ya."
"Edward!"
The boy stopped and turned back to Roy.
Roy had felt the weight of the moment upon him and opened his mouth to say a million important things, but closed it quickly and offered a small smile. "Put on a coat, will you?"
Edward had smiled and pulled his red coat over his shoulders and then he had been gone.
Roy closed his eye and sighed, feeling the chill seep again into his cabin and bite at his face. His good eye came to rest on his empty tumbler and a shaky hand reached to refill it with a liquor the color of ghost eyes.