Categories > Anime/Manga > Full Metal Alchemist
Academy- Roy/Maes
0 reviewsRoy/Hughes, prompt-academy Warning: m/m or yaoi, and naughty bits of language Roy and Maes are training and things get a little heated.
2Hot
Requested by seaweed_fma
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters and settings were created by Hiromu Arakawa and are distributed by Square-Enix, Viz and Funimation. I'm just borrowing them for my own amusement and hopefully your enjoyment. All for fun, not for profit.
Comments would be loved. Happy Reading!
Roy’s back slams against the mat, air abruptly rushing from his lungs.
Maes pins him, bearing down and nearly suffocating him. They’re both winded, it’s a good match, and the length of Maes’ body sharply rises and falls along with Roy’s own. They’re flushed, panting hard, and salty beads of perspiration run and intermingle in the heat between them. Thin grey t-shirts and gym shorts darken and cling where their bodies press tightly, and lean muscles quiver from excitement and tension. Blood is rushing everywhere; hearts palpitate, pupils dilate, heads spin and flesh responds to every sensation.
The drill sergeant’s sharp brown eyes study each of them in turn, watching their every breath and move, his gleaming whistle ready.
Smiles are hidden behind their dark hair. Lips brush, hands move; Maes nips Roy’s earlobe and Roy smirks and slips his fingers below Maes’ waistband.
Cheeky bastard.
Move. Now.
Roy licks his dry lips. He jerks and flips Maes off and rolls with him before the whistle can screech. His black eyes dart over to their squad mates seated around the mat. The instructor is standing close by, his pectorals flex under his crossed, massive arms and his boots are set firmly on the floor.
Their squad mates snicker. The instructor’s eyes narrow.
They grin and tumble harder, the jagged edges of the old cushion’s tears slicing into their back. Nerve strikes are blocked; arms hook but slip through. Hands grip and legs lock, and fingers claw where it feels too good. Maes is hard and so is Roy, and they grind and buck and oh shit, he sees us.
"Finish him off," someone shouts.
They gasp and chuckle, they want to comply; it’s the right time but the wrong place. Their lungs burn and loins ache, and they both want to save their best moves for later.
Maes is on top again, the bastard always is, and flashes Roy a wicked grin. Roy’s eyes go wide as Maes hooks his arm under Roy’s leg, pulling it high, and purposely botching the move to shamelessly simulate fucking him.
Howls and whistles fill the gym. Some blush, others clap and several cheer.
The beet-faced drill sergeant shrilly blows his whistle, once, twice and three times before he quickly strides toward them in a huff.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist and its characters and settings were created by Hiromu Arakawa and are distributed by Square-Enix, Viz and Funimation. I'm just borrowing them for my own amusement and hopefully your enjoyment. All for fun, not for profit.
Comments would be loved. Happy Reading!
Roy’s back slams against the mat, air abruptly rushing from his lungs.
Maes pins him, bearing down and nearly suffocating him. They’re both winded, it’s a good match, and the length of Maes’ body sharply rises and falls along with Roy’s own. They’re flushed, panting hard, and salty beads of perspiration run and intermingle in the heat between them. Thin grey t-shirts and gym shorts darken and cling where their bodies press tightly, and lean muscles quiver from excitement and tension. Blood is rushing everywhere; hearts palpitate, pupils dilate, heads spin and flesh responds to every sensation.
The drill sergeant’s sharp brown eyes study each of them in turn, watching their every breath and move, his gleaming whistle ready.
Smiles are hidden behind their dark hair. Lips brush, hands move; Maes nips Roy’s earlobe and Roy smirks and slips his fingers below Maes’ waistband.
Cheeky bastard.
Move. Now.
Roy licks his dry lips. He jerks and flips Maes off and rolls with him before the whistle can screech. His black eyes dart over to their squad mates seated around the mat. The instructor is standing close by, his pectorals flex under his crossed, massive arms and his boots are set firmly on the floor.
Their squad mates snicker. The instructor’s eyes narrow.
They grin and tumble harder, the jagged edges of the old cushion’s tears slicing into their back. Nerve strikes are blocked; arms hook but slip through. Hands grip and legs lock, and fingers claw where it feels too good. Maes is hard and so is Roy, and they grind and buck and oh shit, he sees us.
"Finish him off," someone shouts.
They gasp and chuckle, they want to comply; it’s the right time but the wrong place. Their lungs burn and loins ache, and they both want to save their best moves for later.
Maes is on top again, the bastard always is, and flashes Roy a wicked grin. Roy’s eyes go wide as Maes hooks his arm under Roy’s leg, pulling it high, and purposely botching the move to shamelessly simulate fucking him.
Howls and whistles fill the gym. Some blush, others clap and several cheer.
The beet-faced drill sergeant shrilly blows his whistle, once, twice and three times before he quickly strides toward them in a huff.
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