FicWad

It was the firm pressure on his otherwise limp wrist that woke him initially, still groggy and useless to the world, followed but a sharp pinch and then soothing lines floated through him. And he fell back, heavy and clumsy and awake. It was too soon, still too soon for there to be nothing on one side and everything but the right on the other side that he did not panic when all there was against him was darkness. The dark and a familiar cologne that he knew. Roy could only reach out blindly, even as chapped lips mouthed that name over and over and the world tilted and finally broke, his heart stopped. "Mustang, look at me."

And there was only that one side of his world but it didn't matter because it was made up of Hughes. Who smiled at him, all amusement and light and a sharp edge. But then there were his hands, the same as he remembered, smoothing across his rumpled bed wear. Roy could only lay back, staring with his good -only-eye and feel what was happening, proof that this was real. He didn't question how this could be happening or why --his rational mind refused to question whether or not this was his own doing -- Roy could only spread himself across the sheets and whimper happily when things got rough.

Closing his eye, he tilts his head back, baring his neck for the bite that was surely coming. And it did, followed by a strong and comforting weight across his body. Thoughtlessly he pressed forward, arms and legs moving to hold on and stay this time, prepared to never leave again. Roy sniffled and gasped and squeezed and struggled to say anything, choking on days and days of guilt and that one last goodbye. And Hughes only touched to leave bruises, easily shoving off anything in the way and maneuvering and grinning all the while between soft kisses.

Desperately Roy tries to slow things down, wanting only to lie still and breathe together. He suddenly shoved upward, Hughes sitting up and giving him an amused look. "Like what you see?"

And that gnawing feeling of wrong continued to try and figure itself out, but everything but what he was feeling was fuzzy and dulled. He couldn't think with hands and hips doing that. And then he saw a flash of red. Circular, alchemical. No. Roy tried to struggle, he really did, but his body was too far gone to do much damage, still feebily moving against that friction.

"Stop. Don't hurt yourself more." And Roy does, reflexes from years of listening to that worried and careful voice.

"I want to help you, Roy, you think you can let me do that?" asked a sharp wanting grin he could feel against his throat.

He shook his head yes and no/, hands fisting the hospital sheet, refusing to touch this parody. And yet he swallowed any protest, opening his mouth to be tongued-fucked. "Thank you." And his skin crawled with rising anticipation and anxiousness. He wanted to panic and burn at his lack of apprehension and disgust. /But how I have missed him, I wanted him back, I still do. Roy could cry at how bad he wanted to believe in the smile that was freely given to him. I've already paid for it, haven't I? He felt fingers brush across his lips and obediently he opened his mouth, teeth softly rasping across two fingers, followed by his tongue. "I don't want to hurt you."

The only reason he bit down was feeling the eye patch being brushed against by lips. Deep chuckling and the homunculus easily backhands him, his straddling position being the only anchor keeping Mustang from tumbling out of the bed. Tsk tsk tsk. No one said it, but Roy could hear it implied as bloodied fingers wiped themselves across his cheek. So he grabs a wrist, and kisses the finger tips, each one of them, mouth moving down to a pulse point. Is there a pulse? Is there? Please? And then he stilled completely.


He had spent days alone in the beginning, refusing to see anyone, refusing to let anyone see. How he thought he liked being alone, letting everything hurt quietly and his self hate bleed itself out. It only really lasted two days until Hawkeye threatened doctors and nurses and put a few holes through the door, that visitors were once again able to visit. But even then he hadn't let her see the extent of his scars. The bandages were only removed to be quickly replaced with a patch, one he had the intentions of hiding behind for as long as it took.


And now, it was gone, so carefully and gently removed that he hadn't noticed until it was gone. And here he was, laid bare and waiting. I can't breath. Say something. I need...

"It looks good, healed really well, just pink scar tissue. You'll be fine, Roy." A soft kiss beneath his socket, and a hand gently running through his hair, he knew this feeling.

After Ishbal, he held me like this for hours, I thought I hated him for it, for knowing that I needed it, but that's when I realized I loved him..

And when he felt one gentle hand move to lightly trace around and smooth across his bloody cheek, Roy only sobbed in relief and curled his fingers into Hughes' opened shirt. And then there was a soft rough and warm tongue. And Roy burned, the nerves not quite dead but dying and it felt...it felt like frustration and bruises, like someone biting your lip in a hungry kiss, like eating ice cream too fast...flashes of slight pain, but not....Roy didn't really want it to stop.


*
"Stay with me this time."

"Want to, but can't. This was a goodbye present."

"I know, just had to ask..."