FicWad

Being around the colonel always made Edward feel sick in some deep, unnameable and unmentionable way. And so he tried to avoid it, whenever at all possible, but there were invariably reports to be made, and that was his least favorite thing of all. Straight back from some fruitless soujourn, and the first thing he had to do was report at Mustang's office.

Or in this case, at his home.

Mustang had given him some reason, along with the address, but it was stupid and Ed didn't bother remembering it. He pretty much knew what the reason was, anyway, and the specifics depended on exactly how much of a bastard the colonel was. Yet, he was his commanding officer. And he commanded certain information...

So.

He stared at the door. Locked. Almost as if Mustang had forgotten that he was getting a visitor, but that was impossible. The man was like an elephant. Well, damned if he thought that Ed was going to just wait around for him, the asshole.

Ed thought about leaving some kind of note on the door, but he didn't have paper or pen on him. And then he looked down- perfect.

"Mustang, you slob," Ed muttered to himself as he crouched down to examine the few bent nails on the ground. "What, are you doing construction on your flat or something?"

It was with a certain wicked pleasure that he straightened up again and, on his tiptoes-- he did not make the writing higher so that the bastard would notice it better, he just didn't want it getting messed up by a stray dog or something- started to carve a note onto the right side of Mustang's apartment door. Dear bastard colonel....

He ended the rant with Next time you make me wait for the PLEASURE of your company, I swear I'm going to hunt you down and jam an old piece of automail down your arrogant fat throat. Or up your ass. and in a fit of inspiration, signed it "Havoc". Mustang would know who it was from.

It had started drizzling though, not uncommon for a summer afternoon in Central, but annoying all the same. He just had to lose his last flask of joint oil in East City- now, there was no choice, really, but to wait until the shade above Roy's door until the rain stopped enough that he could make for the library. Ed scowled. At least Al was making himself useful doing research today.

Ed sighed and pulled a book out of his rucksack, sitting and couching his head in his hand. Stupid weather.

He became quite engrossed in the book, after some time, and it took a while for his mind to register that it had gotten darker outside, and while the rain had mostly stopped blowing onto him, it was still quite cold. He frowned and stared at one last page before looking up and starting to stand- he started, and fell back onto his knees.

"How long have you been standing there?" he angrily demanded.

Roy Mustang stared down at him and raised an eyebrow. "Long enough to figure out that you would make a very poor Secrets Department agent. Or-" his gazed flicked up to the graffiti and back- "hoodlum."

Ed swallowed, and scrambled to his feet. "Stop hovering like that, it's not like I need a reminder that you're..." His words died away as he registered that he was indeed taller than Mustang. And then, that he was standing on the top step, and Mustang was two steps beneath him.

"Taller than you?" the colonel asked. "Does that arouse you?"

Ed flushed. "Don't be an idiot. And besides," he added, jerking a thumb toward the apartment, "didn't you ask me to come here for business? Let's get this over with."

"I told you to come here for.." Roy muttered. He raised his voice. "It looks like first I need to deal with a certain matter of property damage... don't be fool enough to think that I could believe that Havoc would actually pull a stunt like that."

"That lapdog? Nah," said Ed. "But what are you going to do, arrest me? Who would do your dirty work?"

"I wasn't going to arrest you," said Roy, as he reached around Ed to unlock the door. "But that doesn't mean there won't be consequences."

"Yeah, yeah, there always are," Ed said airly as he pushed open the door. "Can I just put my shoes in this hall? Thanks..." Roy heard his voice trail away as he wandered deeper into the house, and smirked to himself as, before he followed his young alchemist in, he bent to scoop up a handfull of battered nails.

-

Ed watched as Roy stalked into the living room after him and threw himself down onto a couch (the sole piece of seating furniture in the room), his hands tightly clenched. He grinned. "Bad day, much?"

Roy glanced at him. "Well, I've just been standing in the rain for eight minutes acting as your personal human umbrella- and not a word of thanks, I might add. I'm not in the best of moods."

"It takes more than that to get you started," Ed told him. "Hawkeye must be getting onto your back about paperwork again, right?"

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Don't you even start."

"Right..." Ed muttered. Looked around. "Where the hell am I supposed to sit, then? You're a fine host."

"Sit on my lap," said Roy, intending it as a joke. It came out as a slightly harsh command, and Ed glanced at him warily before directing his eyes away. "I- I'll just get a chair from the kitchen, then..." He came back with Roy's only chair, a hard wooden contraption that looked like a mess of splinters waiting to happen. Ed set it down across from Roy, about 3 metres away. "I can't believe a guy like you has such trash for furniture like you do."

"It's not one of those things that bother me," Roy said. He cleared his throat. "So... your report on the eastern countryside?"

Ed scowled. "You know I don't like the east," he said frankly. "Every single bureaucrat over there is as crooked as that idiot Yuuko in East City a few years back... I'd have thought that you being there for a while, you could have cleaned things up. It was a real pain in the ass..."

As Ed ranted on, Roy let his mind wander from the task at hand, to other things... such as, what an idiot he himself was. All but forcing Edward to his /apartment/, of all things... and it wasn't even as if he really liked the boy much at all....

No. That wasn't true-- at least, maybe not. Roy didn't know, that was the problem, and that pesky thought made him drum his fingers against the armrests angrily, causing Ed to stop and stare. He waved the boy on. Let him give his report, that Roy would never hear. Wear himself down, and take away some of that infuriating, dreadful anger that he always carried around with him.

Attractive. To deny it would be a lie, but just admitting it made him a much sicker bastard than anyone had ever accused him of. Roy set his mouth firmly against the thought.

"Edward," he barked, not knowing what possessed him. He paused, and took in the sixteen-year-old's surprised expression. Sixteen. Twenty-seven. He shook his head. "That's enough of the report for today. You'll only have to dictate it again tomorrow, to a stenographer."

Ed paused. "Then why did you ask me to come?"

"I don't know," said Roy.

Ed grinned. "That's not a reason."

"Yes it is," Roy said. He glared. "And... before you go... didn't I tell you that there would be consequences for destroying my door?"

"So I'll wire you the money," said Ed. "Can I go now?"

Roy swallowed, and stood up. "No."

-

Ed watched apprehensively as Roy stalked toward him, closing the distance in a surprisingly short amount of time. Roy leaned over him, propping his arms on the armrests on either side. To stand up, thought Ed, would be to dash his head against Mustang's chest, and maybe fall backwards, if the man didn't move. To remain seated had as-yet-unknown consequences.

Cocky, that was his best defense in dangerous situations, but it wouldn't work here, and not least of all because Mustang would see through his act in the blink of an eye. So, he could stay where he was... and face the consequences.

He stared up at Mustang's face composedly. "Colonel?"

Roy swallowed. "Don't call me that."

"But--"

"Anything that happens in the next few hours is off the record," he said. He looked down at Ed for the reaction, expecting the ordinary outburst of rage... hoping for it, pleading for it. Ed blinked, but made no other show of surprise, and continued to watch him levelly. No childish reaction, thought Roy- a firm stare. It was unexpected, and it aroused him.

Idon'tlikemenIdon'tlikeboysthisisnotacompromisingsituationI'mincontrlthisisnotacompromisingsituationthisisnotacompromisingsituation.

He swallowed. "So you like danger."

Ed smiled. "If I hadn't made that clear already... then... I do."

Roy lowered his eyes and contemplated the spread of shirt fabric before him. Deliberately avoiding Ed's eyes, he sighed as he buried his nose into the boy's golden brown hair. "Good."

He opened his mouth and let a few of the strands in, only moving slightly in annoyance when they itched against his tongue. Putting his mouth flush against the top of Ed's head, he let his canines graze against the boy's skull. Automatically, one hand moved to cover the yelp of protest.

"Pain?" Roy muttered, shifting his entire weight against his left hand, still clenched in a fist. "Don't tell me that's pain." He drew his mouth down the right side of the boy's head, increasing the pressure to something hard enough to leave visible red marks, if not for the curtain of blonde hair. He bit sharply at one ear.

"Damn!" Ed cried, knocking Roy out of the way and using his hands to cradle his ear. He touched the rent in his skin, and his fingers came away bloodly. "Colonel... what the hell are you doing?"

"Don't call me that!" Roy repeated. He dropped to his knees, coming to equal height with Ed, who was sitting on the chair. Roy brought his right hand up to inspect the slowly flowing blood. His tongue followed, and he rocked forward on his knees towards Edward, licking gently around the puncture and curling the tip of his tongue on the center, until the blood began to clot.

"Isn't that better?" he asked softly.

Without waiting for a reply, he leaned forward again, tracing the shell of Ed's ear, onto his cheek, towards his chin. The wet trail of saliva continued down to the collarbone, and Ed shivered as it dried in the cool air of the afternoon.

"Co- I mean, Mustang..."

One hand reached out to push at Roy's forehead, but Roy dodged it and continued wetting any part of Ed's chest that he could reach. Propping his chest on Ed's knees, he lowered both arms and reached for his left hand with his right.

Ed jolted suddenly at a rip of fabric.

"What the /fuck/?"

Roy looked at him blankly, and continued running the nail down Ed's shirt, not really caring if the metal sometimes extended too far, and thin lines of blood appeared between the open fabric. "Yes?"

"Well-- well-- what do you think you're doing?" Ed demanded. "Is that one of those old nails I saw outside? What do you think you're doing, ruining my clothes like that? And-- that thing could be rusted over, I mean, I bet it is rusted over, or at least it's got parasites running down the length of it. And you'll give me gangrene!"

Roy stared at him. Then, wordlessly, he lifted his left fist onto Ed's lap, and unclenched it. He didn't care if he ruined the boy's pants as well, as the blood that had been contained within his hand flowed freely down the sides of his palm and onto the black pants underneath. Very calmly, he handed the nail in his hand to Edward, who accepted it dumbly, and then pried the remaining five broken and rusted nails out of his palm.

Ed swallowed. "Colonel... how long have you been holding those?"

Roy glared at him from under dark lashes, and Ed gulped as he remembered. "... Mustang," he quickly corrected.

At this, Roy chuckled. "You're getting there," he allowed. "But," he said as he brushed blood off Ed's pants, carelessly letting it drip to the carpet, "not really fast enough." He shifted the nail in his hand and snapped the fingers of his left hand under it. Ed watched the small, controlled flame lick the metal with some relief. So the colonel... this colonel... he still had control. So he was still lucid, and he could be reasoned with. Not some madman, really... not yet.

"Mustang," he called out, voice steady, "tell me how I get out of this room alive, will you?"

Roy cocked his head. "I don't intend on killing you, Edward," he said. "If you keep still, there won't be any accidents...?"

Ed shook his head immediately.

"That's what I thought."

Ed sighed miserably as he watched the flame above Roy's fingers die away. He saw Roy look up and lean towards him again, and the picture registered somewhere in his mind, but there were no thoughts to accompany it. There were no more adequate thoughts.

-

The apartment was hot, the air sweltering after a brief rain shower that had brought no relief. The air inside was humid. The kind of weather that made sweat slick to skin, and skin stick to skin. The air was oversaturated with moisture, and leftover fluids would never dry. Sex, in this condition, would be more pain than pleasure, and mundane pain at that. Flat, sickening, displeasure like forcing order on a sticky afternoon, like a knife that was stopped in its cutting by thick ennui.

Roy felt his skin prickle with impatience, and ignored it all. He fumbled clumsily around the floor for the nails that he had dropped, and managed to sink one into the side of Ed's foot in the process-- to the boy's credit, he didn't complain-- before he found the rest. He pushed them to Edward, who looked at them uncomprehendingly.

"Use them," Roy said, hating his voice for the roughness that sank into it. "However. I don't care. Just use them."

He didn't stick around to see if the boy obeyed. In one fluid motion, he flipped open the front of Edward's pants and pushed the fabric down the boy's hips, where it rested in folds that belied his rough motions. The front of Edward's pants open, the legs still on, the minimum amount of skin exposed.

Some portrait of lewd abandon.

Edward no longer tried to speak to him, Roy noted absently, and he was glad; words, at this point, would have been dangerous enough to snap him out of this state, to start him on asking what he was doing, getting him to question Edward's motives and his own, when all he wanted by now was pain. Hot, burning pain from ragged wounds, fire in a million tiny cuts across his skin. The heavy, throbbing pain between his legs.

He ignored that last form of agony, and with impatient hands, pried at the shaking knees in front of him. The Fullmetal Alchemist, shaking like a virgin... Although, the boy probably was one. No, that was wrong. Don't think of him as a boy. Don't think about that.

With a groan, he wrenched Edward's legs apart, as the pressure clamping them together suddenly ceased to be. Another tiny capituation.

Roy would not turn his face upwards after this point- the position would be too strange, it would feel too much like supplication. Begging before a golden demigod... If he had, he would not have liked what he would have seen. Edward's hands had still been clutching at the bottom of the chair as if it was a last refuge before some hurtling into space, but now one jerked up suddenly to cover his face.

For Edward, tears would have been fatal. He paid no attention for the nails that very nearly stabbed into his eyes.

He arched, hands tight in position even as his head was thrown back, as Roy inhaled once, hard, before swallowing him whole.

Pain bloomed behind Roy's eyes as Edward thrust into him, instinctively; too hard, too deeply, the boy has no control because he has never had need to learn. Blood throbbed in Roy's head, and his vision grew black for the split second before he pushed at Edward's hips and fell back, sharp against the metal on the floor. Blood was rushing to his palms and seeped out, but he only coughed, put his hands to his throat and massaged it, pushing painfully at his jugular as above him Edward opened his eyes in horror and saw only the metal of his hand to comfort him.

The boy had been half hard when Roy had first gotten his pants open, but now... Roy had no idea how he had managed it. If Edward had a fetish for blood? the thought made Roy laugh deep in his throat, and cleared his vision to the sight in front of him.

To be honest, it was more disgusting than arousing. He wasn't often with men, and when he was, he usually tried to make sure that he wasn't in this position.

Feeling the leanness of Edward's thighs beneath his now-sensitive hands, Roy swallowed and slid his tongue forward, flicking it across the swollen head. He heard a muffled gasp from above, and frowned. If Edward continued as he was doing, he would be the ones to have scars in the morning. Pushing his lips around Ed's cock, Roy mumbled. "Hurt /me/."

Obediently, Edward's hand dropped heavily from his eyes to Roy's back, and Roy hissed in pain as the fisted nails dug into his skin. Ed groaned as the stream of air hit his sensitive skin, and one leg, uncurling from a chair leg, hooked itself against Roy, the heel of his automail pressing into the small of the man's back. Roy winced and moved away from the pressure, towards Ed, and slid forward on the boy's cock.

As Roy's tongue continued its ministrations, Ed found that his mind had come to some kind of reasonable plateau, where he could think for a moment. He gingerly fingered the nails in his flesh hand and tried to wonder about it all, but soon thinking became much too difficult as Roy below him bobbed against his cock, all mysteriously skilled lips and delicate teeth. He grasped at Roy's back as the world shrunk to the two of them, and then not even that, but to the space around his lower belly, the pleasure curling there against the agony of his heavy flesh.

Roy slipped his arms around Edward, hands flat against the boy's back as he inhaled deeply through his nose and sudden pushed his feet forward, pushing his mouth and then his throat around Ed. Roy's throat constricted against the intrusion and he gagged, feeling sick as cum dripped down his throat, the sour taste in every part of his mouth, it seemed to be coming out of his nose, throbbing to his ears. He became conscious of the sticky wetness against the front of his pants.

Ed leaned back dizzily, fingers absently running over the gashes on Roy's back, feeling his hands grow slick and sticky from the blood that flowed and clotted there.

-

Hours later, or so it seemed, Roy was the first to stir. He pushed himself off of Edward's thighs with some disgust, looked at the mess around him and decided to leave it. He thought exhaustedly of what the evening at work, or the next day, would bring.

Hopefully Ed would be in control of his temper well enough to not compromise either of them... but Edward would want explanations. And Roy's mounting aches made the thought of trying to explain post-traumatic stress, or the changes that experience wrought-- let alone Kimbley or the others-- too complicated to bear, at least for the remainder of the afternoon.

Roy padded into the bedroom for a handfull of painkillers from the bottle under his bed, and then a change of clothes. He didn't want to be around when Edward awoke.