Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What the fuck do you even do with one of these?” Ed asked, picking the mechanism up and examining it with the kind of aimless intensity of someone who knows nothing about mechanical operation and hopes that squinting at it may give them additional insights. He pried at the faintly translucent rubber coating, trying to reach the gears and seams below, to no avail, then flipped the thing so he could peer at its other, exposed end. There he apparently found a button of some sort, which brought the thing to raucous life: the metal base began to rattle against his metal hand at tremendous volume, initiating startled leap backward that Ed only barely managed to contain.

“What the fuck?!” Ed yelped, switching the thing off hurriedly. “What the hell is this? A torture device? Or a joke. She’s fucking with us, isn’t she?” Ed sent Roy a pleading look, like a man waiting for reassurance he knew instinctively was not coming.

Despite the fact that Roy knew probably rather less about machinery than Ed did, he was way ahead of Edward on this one -- way ahead and around the block and thinking dirty, dirty thoughts the whole way.

“Ah,” Roy said, entirely neutrally. “It appears Ms. Rockbell has sent us a vibrator.”

They had found the box on the porch that evening after returning from rather a late dinner: innocuous, wrapped with a mechanical precision in brown paper, brief inspection had found it labeled “To Ed (and General Mustang too) with love.” This perfectly normal salutation had been followed by a frankly absurd number of hearts. Roy was beginning to suspect these were added to the note with a rather wicked glee, because he had just borne witness to all the blood draining out of Ed’s face and into his ears, which was a fascinating and biologically improbable phenomenon. As his practically-sister, Winry probably knew exactly what kinds of things would get their favorite little powder keg to start.

“It’s a what?” Aghast, Ed dropped the thing to the table with a faint thud, the sound muffled and somehow squished by the toy’s rubber coating.

“A vibrator. Are you alright, dear?” Roy asked, perhaps a trifle amused by the whole affair. “You don’t look well.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘dear’ me,” Edward said, slapping Roy’s hand away from where it had wandered up to cup Ed’s ass. “Just for that, you lose groping privileges.”

“So young to be so cruel,” Roy replied, mournfully, his rejected hand shooting up to cover his wounded heart. “How can you ask this of me when you’re making it so deliciously accessible?” Ed had decided to examine this mysterious object standing with his hands planted to either side of it, bent over at just enough of an angle that Roy got a perfect view of that gorgeous curve. “It looks positively grope-worthy. How do you expect me to resist?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Ed retorted, rolling his eyes. “And yes, I’m fine, but why the fuck would she send us a vibrator. No, don’t touch it either -- god knows where it’s been.”

“I’m quite certain your friend wouldn’t send us a used vibrator,” Roy replied, half laughing. “There are things that are socially awkward, and then there are things that are socially unacceptable. Used vibrators fall heavily into the latter category.”

“Oh, so sending us an unused one is totally kosher,” said Edward, who, for all his curiosity, could be, shall we say, recalcitrant when it came to trying new things, if he was in the wrong mood. Which, clearly, he was at the moment; and equally clearly, the aforementioned curiosity seemed to be winning out over his reluctance. He continued his squinted examination, though from a safe distance now.

Reluctantly, Roy pulled his hand away from the utterly gravitational pull of Edward’s finely-honed gluteal muscles to pick it up himself and examine it -- the vibrator, not Ed’s ass in this case, although he’d been known to pick that up and examine it on occasion too.

“Hm — it looks like it’s one of her designs,” Roy noted, only slightly surprised to find her initials near the on-switch: the pair had been on the receiving end of Ms Rockbell’s prototypes before -- he just hadn’t expected “making luxury sex toys” to be included in her admittedly vast repertoire of talents.

“One of her what?” Ed asked, or maybe ‘shrieked’ was a better word, halfway between furious and faint. “You mean she -- planned that thing, and like, built it and shit?! Oh my god, does she USE them?? Roy, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Roy, entirely used to Ed's histrionics, was far beyond being moved by them; he just smiled and turned the thing on again while Ed went through the five stages of grief. A bit of exploration revealed that it seemed to have a number of different intensities and behaviors, one of which actually made the rubber tip bend around in a small circle — just the thing for an internal massage.

If Roy had been in a different mood, he might've conceded to his lover that it was -- odd, how much thought she appeared to have put into this gift; but at the moment, it was difficult to think of much at all beyond just how good Ed would look, moaning and writhing around this most pleasurable intrusion.

"Roy, what the hell are you doing," Ed moaned, slumping forward onto the table, then following that up with a defeated slide into the nearest chair. "You're not thinking of using that thing, are you?"

"No," said Roy, entirely honestly. "I'm thinking of you using that thing -- and in some detail," he added with a grin.

The sadist in him thoroughly appreciated Ed's betrayed wail.

"Oh my god," he said again, for about the fifth time since the gift's arrival. It was his favorite phrase when he got all prickly and defensive. "You are such a fucking pervert! What the hell," he groaned, predictably offended. "I am not doing -- whatever it is you do with those -- things. Winry made it," he added emphatically, as if this explained everything.

Roy's eyebrows met his hairline. They may have exchanged numbers.

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything," he said, and barely left a beat before moving on to: "'Whatever you do with those', hm?"

Ed looked like he was about to regret all of his choices very shortly, if he didn't already.

"Roy, whatever you're thinking, don't," Edward said, almost pleadingly. "I don't like that look you've got."

"Naturally not," Roy replied, advancing towards his lover, lips slashing up into a smirk. "I imagine it's confusing to be terrified and aroused both at once."

"Holy shit, you cocky-ass mother-"

"You don't know what vibrators are used for?" Roy interrupted him, delight growing more evident by the second. "From your reaction earlier I would have thought you had at least a vague idea."

The scarlet that burst across Ed’s face as Roy backed him into the table was always a good look on him, and it was only improved by the way his knuckles went white as he clutched the table behind him. He made a very poor attempt to look menacing, which only turned Roy’s grin fiercer, more leonine.

"Bastard,” he said, eyes flicking from side to side as if he were looking for a means to escape. “But 'vague and general' doesn't translate to 'detailed and specific.' I know enough," he declared, almost indignant.

"You think so? I very much beg to differ," Roy rumbled, bringing a hand up to trail a teasing thumb across Ed’s pink lips. "It seems I have been unforgivably lax in your education."

"What?" Ed squeaked, eyes adorably round. "No you haven't -- you've been really super un-lax — or whatever — word —” The explanation came to a choked off halt as Roy traced the backs of both hands up the sides of his lover’s neck, where at least one stayed, playing with the short hairs at his nape. Finally, Ed strangled out:

“Jesus, Roy, -- both of you are absolutely fucking certifiably insane," he added, gaze flickering back over to the object on the table — but Roy's hand cupping his chin, not forcefully but not yielding either, brought his attention front and center again.

"You can't tell me you're not curious," the general said, stroking the pad of his thumb along Ed's cheek. "Do you really not want to know," he continued, words dripping promise, "what ecstasies I could show you, with tools at my disposal tailored towards that goal?"

Ed swallowed visibly, and his blush paled, leaving just a dusting of scarlet on his cheeks and nose.

"Not with something my almost-sister sent me," Edward replied, weakly, his crossed arms the last flimsy barrier against the meeting of their bodies.

"Hm," said Roy, then put the vibrator down on the table beside Ed, ran his eyes over it one more time before sliding them back to Ed. "That's a shame. I think she'd be disappointed to know you didn't like her peace offering."

"Oh my god, you asshole," he said, accompanied by a hearty shove, which Roy entirely deserved. "You're not gonna guilt me into using a fuckin -- wait, peace offering?" he interrupted himself, brows furrowing. He gave it another appraising glance. "Are you s'posed to smoke it, or what?"

Roy snorted, and gathered his lover up in his arms, which Ed did his best not to enjoy.

“I’m afraid not all peace offerings are imbibable substances, although I concede that my job would probably be much easier if they were.” He pulled away enough to look Ed in the eye again. “But it seems clear enough to me: why would she, having previously registered her displeasure at our… activities, send us a sex toy, unless she was giving her blessing for us to use it?”

A pause.

“I dunno,” Ed grumbled, which, from him, usually translated to you’re right, and I know it, but I would actually die before admitting it out loud. “Maybe because you’re both freaks?” he suggested, venomless, eyes cast back over to the object in question.

Roy just kept smiling, allowing his fingers to wander up to the tip of his lover’s braid, combing the tie out of the end, then set to work unplaiting the rest of it.

“I can’t speak for Ms Rockbell, but as for myself -- yes, probably,” he said with a warm laugh, unashamed. “But you know you’d love it. You love all the dirty, ‘freaky’ things I do to you,” he purred. A groan worked its way out of Ed’s throat as his eyes squeezed shut. A sharp, victorious elation; Ed’s head fell forward to press against Roy’s shoulder.

“Do not,” said Edward, which was about the least convincing denial he could have given. “So basically, you’re sayin Winry sent that thing to tell us that if we’re gonna be havin kinky-ass sex, we’d better damn well be having good kinky-ass sex, huh?”

“Precisely,” Roy replied, his grin all teeth; then, he pressed in closer to his lover, molding their bodies into one form. A bend of his neck; a sharp, hot breath; his next words scraped across Ed’s skin, and the man shuddered gloriously. “And believe me,” he said, pausing just a moment to leave a faint red mark under the bend of Ed’s jaw. “It would be.”

This, heavy, animal, full of intention; then Roy pulled away again, leaving Ed blinking and bereft.

A smirk cut across the general’s features. Let it never be said that Roy Mustang didn’t know his goddamn game.

“It really is a shame you’re so against it,” he added, without even a hint of remorse. “Otherwise, I might be tempted to bend you over the table right now and show you what you’ve been missing.” With this, he met Ed’s gaze, the communion of their focus electric, powerful, and filled what little space remained between them.

He hoped, he prayed, he would never become accustomed to the shocked pinking of Ed’s cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly, the silent welcome in the way his body opened to Roy -- his chin tilting up to bare his perfect neck, back straightening, shoulders pulling back. If there was any god, merciful or not, they would never let Roy stop taking Ed, golden and glorious, as anything less than a divine revelation.

“You,” began his Apocrypha, casting each letter as its own unique being, lips working slowly to fight the smile that threatened, “are a son of a bitch.”

Roy’s smile bared all his teeth.

“I didn’t hear a ‘no,’” he said, lovingly taking one hand to stroke down the expanse of pulsing vulnerability at Ed’s neck.

Ed shut his eyes; groaned; leaned in to the gentle touch, and how could Roy ever tire of this — he had taken a tiger and tamed it, and it thrilled him.

His cheek now cupped in Roy’s palm, bangs tumbling down around his face, lips still enticingly open, Edward was the picture of temptation. When Roy, overcome at last, took the last step to meld their hips together, he found Ed already gratifyingly hard.

“No,” Ed replied, slightly breathlessly, golden irises glinting through barely-parted lashes; Roy, taken aback, jerked away, frowning — but Ed’s eyes flew open again, startled, and a hand shot out to clutch at Roy’s shirt. “Wait — I was tryin to say, no you didn’t hear a no.” This was enough to bring a laugh to Roy’s lips and a hand back up to stroke Ed’s collarbone; Ed, in turn, made a weak little noise and gave up on keeping his eyes open. Roy didn’t say a word, allowing Ed to fill the silence. “Or fuckin’, yes, — or — fuck, if you want me to talk you’re gonna have t’ stop touchin me like that.”

“What if I don’t want to stop?” Roy said, low, bringing his free hand up to tangle in Ed’s hair.

A strangled noise escaped his parted lips, accompanied by a needy little buck of his hips.

“Shit, Mustang,” he breathed, opening his eyes just enough so he could give a scandalized glance around the kitchen and into the living room beyond. “Here? Now?”

“Yes,” Roy said, the word carrying the weight of authority, of direct and intentional order. “Now.” He was mercifully close enough to see Ed’s pupils spasm outward, leaving them blown and welcoming, a wide dark circle rimmed with gold.

“Oh,” said Edward. His tongue slipped out to run over his bottom lip; the little lip bite that followed was shy, sexy, entirely too appealing for Roy’s health.

In his turn, Roy gave a pleased hum and leaned in to the curve of Ed’s neck, to let his hot breath slide up the length of it as his hands set to work on Ed’s hair, discarding the tie and combing through the plait as it came apart.

A fraction of an inch allowed Roy’s lips to brush against the fevered skin just below the bend of Ed’s jaw as he murmured:

“That isn’t the magic word.”

This time Ed’s groan was exasperated, and Roy smothered a low laugh against Ed’s neck; if the younger had been any less, mm, invested, he probably would have smacked Roy for that, and Roy would have taken his beatings gracefully, like a winner. Still, he didn’t miss a beat, scraping teeth across skin to follow the laugh.

“You know what you have to say,” he told his lover, low and rich.

In return, Ed growled, the tail end scraping out into a word.

“Bastard,” he snapped, pasting a snarl on over the pleased glint in his eyes; blood surged down to Roy’s loins, and the blade of his smile caught the same glint. Though that hadn’t been the response the general had been expecting, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been welcome: that word, said in that tone, was as good as a written declaration that what Ed wanted right now

was to be controlled.

Abruptly, Roy pulled away to deliver a stinging slap to Ed’s cheek; Ed whined — quiet, quickly swallowed, but audible nonetheless. For Roy, the opportunity to ease Ed out of his aggressive reluctance and into calm, trusting, even desperate compliance was privilege and passion both; the way Ed struggled against every order, against even his own pleasure, ignited something in the general’s soul.

But the noise hardly meant that Ed had given in: and as he slowly turned his face back to Roy, his eyes gleamed, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Is that it?” he demanded, pulling himself up to his full height as he sharpened a smirk that turned his delicate features deadly. “All that talk, and this is all you got?”

And in the flickering electric light Ed’s eyes gleamed, and Roy burned: he grabbed Ed’s chin, stared into the gold as a slant, delighted and predatory, played across his lips.

“It looks like,” he intoned, stepping forward to tip Ed’s head back further, to reemphasize the difference in their heights, “you are just begging to be taught your place.”

Ed, caught up in their game, in the role he inhabited, betrayed his arousal only with a soft intake of breath. Once taken, and thus fortified, he said:

“Yeah? And I guess you think you’re gonna be the one to do it, huh.”

“Brat.” Using surprise to his advantage, Roy grabbed a fistful of Fullmetal’s hair in one hand and the automail shoulder with the other, and used both as leverage to spin the man around and shove him, cheek first, onto the table, leather-clad ass presented. There, Roy pinned him down with a forearm applied to Ed’s spine with all of Roy’s not inconsiderable weight behind it. “I had intended for this to be a pleasant affair, but you leave me no choice.”

And with that, he picked up the discarded pocketknife with which Ed had opened their gift, and carved a transmutation circle into the wood of the table.

“Oh my god, Roy, not the fucking table, Al is going to murder me — ”

Roy laughed, activated the circle: two wooden cuffs burst up out of the smooth, waxed surface to capture Ed’s wrists, jerk them up as far above his head as far as his torso could stretch. There was a reason Roy favored tying Ed’s hands up far away from his body, arms stiff and straight: the position lengthened taut muscles, forced them to stretch elegantly below the black tank he favored, emphasized his lean ferocity, the sheer physical strength coiled in this creature that Roy had bound to his will.

“We can transmute it back later,” he said, and wasted no time reaching out to smooth a palm over the curve of Ed’s leather-clad ass. “For the moment, I think there are other things more deserving of your attention.”

In half a moment Ed had refocused, eyes sharp and beautiful on Roy; he barked a laugh.

“Are there?” he asked, pushing his hips back against Roy’s hand just a bit, as much as he could manage in that position, which was enough that Roy could feel the muscles shifting and clenching underneath but not enough for the man to get any real leverage. “I hadn’t noticed. Like what, exactly?”

So gentle just moments ago, Roy’s hand moved to punishment in a single, stark moment, slipping into the narrow gap between his lover’s thighs to dig harsh fingers into the tent he found there. Ed muffled a delicious whine into his own shoulder, sweat beginning to sheen on what little skin lay bare.

“Having trouble paying attention today, are we?” Roy noted, silkily. “Maybe I should add that to today’s lesson plan.” Then, the silk stripped away to reveal the dagger underneath. This time, as Ed breathed, his whole body shuddered; Roy smiled, all teeth, and increased the pressure of his hand against Ed’s testicles until the shuddering turned to heaving, his muscles bunching and cording deliciously in his arms, his neck.

Then, as if gathering up his willpower, he hissed, brought up one of his feet to kick backward, like a horse; Roy sidestepped it easily — Fullmetal’s current position didn’t exactly lend itself to breadth of vision or precision of movement.

“Brat,” Roy growled, cuffing the offending leg back down to the floor, and following it up with a light slap across the other man’s cheekbone — Ed flinched away for a moment, then gritted his teeth against a grin. “You can fight it if that makes you feel better, but we both know I’ll have you pliant and willing before the night is through.”

“Like fuck you will,” Ed spat back, after a moment to collect his breath. The harsh, labored sound of his lover’s breathing nestled up in him, made him want to press gentle kisses down Ed’s back almost as much as he wanted to leave thick red marks behind his fingers on that same skin — his gaze kept returning to the glimpse of it between Ed’s belt and the hem of his shirt where it rode up past his waist, like a compass to the north. This time, Ed twisted his body so that the gleam of one eye and the slant of his smirk could be seen through the fall of his hair. “Whatcha gonna do to get me there, spank me?”

The fact that Edward Elric became powerfully aroused by pain was simultaneously a challenge and a blessing: on the one hand, it meant the general had to get more creative with his punishments, given that a spanking was more likely to be taken as a reward than a reprimand.

On the other hand, Edward Elric became powerfully aroused by pain, which was a gift he would keep thanking the universe for till the day he died.

A wildness, a deep-rooted desire to take and claim and subdue, snarled through him: he practically clawed Ed’s pants open, shoved them down to bunch just past the beginning of the automail port. Then, breath aflame in his lungs, Roy lunged forward to press his hardness up between the sweet cheeks of Ed’s ass, angling his face so his breath caught in the shell of Ed’s ear. When he spoke, mere centimeters from the sensitive skin, it would rumble through the man, down to his core.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Roy growled, digging fingers into his lover’s hips as he pulled them back against him, pleasure kindling low in his stomach at the contact. “Can’t wait for me to discipline you like a stubborn child. You’re so afraid of letting yourself feel pleasure — but pain, pain you know how to deal with.”

Ed’s first whine of the evening; tiny, shocked, but undeniable, and a faint euphoria blended with Roy’s arousal. They both knew it to be true, but saying it aloud crystallized the intimacy of the moment; a surge of fierce protectiveness warred with an equally powerful urge to make the man hurt for him.

But Roy had too much practice shielding his emotions to allow this conflict to show.

Instead, he played his part: he gave a low chuckle; slipped his hand between Ed’s hips and the sharp edge of the table to caress the length of the man’s erection where it was trapped, the table cutting into it about halfway up its length. That would be more painful than it was strictly stimulating, but that was alright: that was the way they both liked it. With every second that followed, Roy settled back into his role more easily, until he found himself once again under control, and could allow himself to speak.

“You’re lucky. I like punishing you even more than you like being punished.” Roy straightened again, stepped away from his lover; a smirk cocked, weapon and ammunition both. Ed looked up at him, wide eyes full of anticipation, his golden hair spilling across the deep red-brown of the table, and even the stark kitchen light couldn’t make the man look any less ethereal.

He licked his lips; took a breath; then, unsurprisingly, opened them to argue.

“Thought you were gonna use that vibrator thing on me,” he said, adding a poor impression of a confident smirk. “Thought that was the point.”

“In due time,” Roy said feeling indulgent, and in a surge of affection bent down to kiss first one cheek of Ed’s ass, then the other, before straightening up again to stroke down Ed’s shamefully clothed back. A quick decision had his fingers curling under the hem of the garment, shoving it up past Ed’s shoulder blades, which cleared a fascinating stretch of skin for Roy’s perusal. The swell of Edward’s deltoid muscles; the valley of his spine. Later, he would trace them all with worshipful fingertips.

“But not just yet. We both know that you like your pleasure after pain. You like to feel like you’ve earned it.”

A fistful of Ed’s hair, jerked back for emphasis; a high, breaking noise from Ed’s lips, like a too-tight wire being plucked.

“I make you hurt just the way you need it, don’t I,” he rumbled, soft: though phrased like a question, there was only certainty in his voice. Then, lower, ghosted up the skin of Ed’s neck to heat his ear: “You make such pretty noises when I do.”

And that was it: Ed groaned, going limp against the table, unable to keep up his combative facade any longer in the face of all this touching, everything he needed. Eyes glinting in the yellow light, one hand caressing his prize, thumb tracing the ridges and valleys of Ed’s scars, traversing the mountains of his spine, Roy returned a mellifluous chuckle.

“Such a good boy,” he purred, stroking Ed’s hair back from his face to get a good look at his dazed expression, the sweet parting of his lips, his blown-out pupils. “Yes. So good. Wait right here for me, lovely.” His hand drew away for just long enough to nestle between Ed’s legs again, squeeze the man’s testicles just barely hard enough to hurt. “And don’t go south on me while I’m gone.”

Golden eyes flicked down to him; their owner swallowed once, managed a shallow nod, but no words.

Automatic, Roy’s hand jerked back on its fistful of hair, forcing Ed’s neck into a doubtlessly uncomfortable position.

“What the fuck?” the man tried to snarl, though the words came out soft, lacking dignity and authority both. “I was doin what you asked, wasn’t I? What the fuck is your problem?”

“You know what my problem is,” Roy said, lowering himself so his eyes were on the same level as Ed’s, could lock their stares together — Ed’s wide, startled; Roy’s keen, narrowed to cutting sharpness — without relinquishing his grip. “What do you do when I give you an order?”

“Okay, god, fine,”Edward said, pausing just a moment to lick his lips. Then, “I get it. Can you let me go now?”

One of Roy’s eyebrows arched, though Ed’s eyes squeezed shut before he could see it.

“Do you?” he intoned, unimpressed. “You’re doing a very poor job of showing me. What do you do,” he said, punctuating the word with another sharp backwards jerk on Ed’s hair, “when I give you an order?”

“I —” A few, straggled breaths between this parched word and the next; again, Ed tried to wet his lips to little avail. Then, breathily, peeking up through dark lashes, he tried again. “I say, ‘yes sir.’”

“Good boy,” Roy said, then leaned in for a long, chaste kiss that seemed to take Edward by surprise; the general smiled into it, releasing his grip to stroke Ed’s hair, to smooth it down.

“An’ here I was, thinkin you were some kinda badass,” Ed mumbled when the kiss was over. “The hell’s all this kissing about.” Each word came with difficulty, slightly slurred; Roy’s blood heated at that realization, his cock throbbing against the constraints of his pants, because he knew what that mumbling imprecision meant: it meant Ed had gone under, had entrusted his pride and his worry and his control to Roy, would do anything the man asked —

There was no more intoxicating substance in all the human experience than that knowledge.

When Roy reached in to pinch Ed’s waist in retaliation, just above his hipbone, the man hissed a breath, like he couldn’t decide whether to protest or not.

“Fuck you!” he finally spat, a happy compromise which earned him another, harder pinch, just above the last.

“Are you quite done?” Roy said, his casual tone belied by the sharp slant of his lips, the white flash of teeth. The only kind of pain Ed didn’t enjoy, as far as Roy had discovered, was being pinched: too ephemeral a sensation to sink into, too sharp and sudden to be ignored, it drove him absolutely mad. “I can go on like this all day if you like.”

“No!” A pause, a staggered spate of breathing. “Or — yeah. I mean, yes sir. Sorry, sir,” he muttered, and despite the half-measures in the sincerity department, Roy relented.

“Good,” said the general, and moved behind his skittish colt to squeeze the man’s ass, pull the cheeks up and apart to get a better view of his sex, trapped between his stomach and the table. A venturing hand confirmed that the Major was still at full attention: perfect. “Now, be patient. I’ll be right back.”

“Yessir,” murmured Ed, head lolling to the side again, his shoulders heaving with each breath.

Roy couldn’t bear to be absent for long, and luckily it wasn’t necessary: a quick jaunt up the stairs and into Edward’s bedroom secured him the implements he was looking for, tucked away in a drawer.

The first, a mahogany rod, long and thick, with an ivory knob at one end and a rubber cap on the other. Roy’s grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he could know the uses to which his deviant grandson was putting his heirloom cane: as Roy had never much liked his grandfather, this thought amused him greatly. Next came his gloves, sigils red and promising on their backs; then a few other necessities, and back into the kitchen at a brisk walk, where he set the spoils of his journey down on the marble countertop. No sense in risking damage to them by putting them near Edward during their more vigorous activities.

A moment’s pause to pull the gloves on; then, he closed white fingers around the cane and with it turned back to his lover.

Ed’s gaze scrawled hungrily up and down its length, his breathing rapid and shallow, and Roy could hardly imagine a prettier picture than this vaunted debauchery.

A few forward strides; he slapped the cane down into his open palm, to test it, feel the weight of it — and, admittedly, to watch Ed shudder in anticipation, golden eyes banked to a low burn.

He considered asking if Ed was ready; considered, and rejected, smoothing rough cloth across the bare skin of Ed’s back for just long enough to take in the stuttered rhythm of his breathing, to connect them for just that short moment before —

Whap. The first blow, across the tender flesh of Ed’s ass, leaving a long, red mark behind it; the man hissed, harsh, through clenched teeth.

“That was the first,” Roy drawled, tracing the cane up the insides of Ed’s thighs. “Count them for me.”

Like dry brush in a forest fire, Ed’s shaky, disbelieving laugh blazed within him, directed his course.

“Bastard,” Ed managed: another blow, just above the last. “You — think I can —”

“That’s one,” Roy interrupted, silky.

“What?” mumbled Edward, and the next blow almost caught him off-guard enough to groan, but he choked it off before following through.

“Still one.” Reaching out to cup his face; smooth the pad of his thumb across a cheekbone; to smirk, assured, down at Ed’s dark-eyed bewilderment. “It’s going to keep being one until you start counting.”

A response — part laugh, part growl, and if Ed had been a dog he probably would have bitten.

“Fuck you,” he said, baring his teeth in a humorless grin, but followed it up with: “Fine. One.”

“Very good, Fullmetal.” Another strike — harder, a reward, forcing a hiss of air out from between Ed’s clenched teeth, which turned to a strained:

“Two.”

The third was hissed, the fourth softer, and with every subsequent angry red weal he left on Ed’s ass, the man’s voice lost a bit more of that angry edge, until they came out more like breathy whispers than human speech.

At fifteen, Roy frowned: normally by this time, Ed had already given in to the gasps and moans and full-throated cries that he was so fucking good at. But this time, Ed seemed to be fighting them off: a quick brush of Roy’s hand between Ed’s legs confirmed he was still quite with the program in that regard, but even that didn’t elicit any more than a strangled noise of surprise.

“Go on,” said Roy, velvet-smooth and possessive, stroking one of Ed’s much-abused ass cheeks with a gloved hand. “Make noise for me, gorgeous. Don’t hold back — every moan and whine you’re holding back belongs to me. And I want to hear you.”

“Gonna have to —” Another sharp inhalation as the cane replaced Roy’s hand. “— do better than that, if y’want me to — whine.”

This act of resistance, at this stage of the game, caught Roy so off-guard that he actually paused for a moment, then laughed.

“You are,” he rumbled, bending down so the words caught right in Ed’s ear, well aware what that had to feel like, “an absolute delight,” he finished, closing deft fingers around his lover’s testicles to squeeze them cruelly. This time, Ed’s gasp came louder; he buried his face between his arms even as a shudder wracked him from skull to the base of his spine.

“You’re try so hard to keep yourself under control,” he continued, soothing tone playing counterpoint to the vise grip of his hand between Ed’s legs. “I understand that. I respect that.” Then, rougher: “But you’re so fucking beautiful when you give yourself over to me. Let go.”

This time, when Roy brought the cane back down a muffled sob emerged, and an elation coursed through him, like he was holding the universe in the palm of his hand, like he was taming a sun — he growled, appreciative, and hit harder in reward. This earned another, higher cry, and then —

The sound of a door opening. The front door, from which a person with reasonable eyesight would have quite a clear view through the living room and into the kitchen, with everything that was happening there.

“Hey, Brother, I’m —”

And then, as Alphonse halted in the doorway and in the middle of his sentence, Ed gave out the kind of pained wail Roy had been waiting for, although admittedly he’d been hoping for a different cause.

“Oh my god, Al, I can explain — it’s not what it —”

And then Roy’s hand over Ed’s mouth, the other stroking back his hair, and he murmured:

“Shhhh, shhh, stay with me. Don’t come up yet, gorgeous,” which Ed met with a whimper against Roy’s palm, and squeezing his eyes shut. The man hadn’t bitten him, though, which Roy figured under the circumstances was probably as close as Ed would come to giving up.

One hand still on Ed’s mouth, Roy turned smartly to face the man in the front doorway, who, to the general’s surprise, looked more exasperated than horrified.

“I’m afraid I must disagree with your brother,” Roy said, almost conversationally. “It is, in fact, exactly what it looks like, which is why I think you might like to find some other place to be for the next — hour and a half or so. It may get loud before we’re done.”

Ed whimpered again into his hand, and Roy stroked his hair back again; in barely more than a heartbeat, Al had exhaled a loud sigh and set his mouth into an exasperated little smile.

“You two had better disinfect that thing like nobody’s business, or so help me, you will know my wrath.”

“Of course,” said Roy, even as Ed moaned another muffled oh my god into Roy’s hand. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“An hour and a half, then,” said Al, before turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him.

When the general finally took his hand away from Ed’s mouth, the man opened his eyes, looking pained.

This was a delicate moment: Ed had been pulled out of the scene by his brother’s surprise entrance, and might want to stop on instinct. Normally, any sign that Ed wanted to stop would be as good as an order, but Ed’s mood might bottom out if they stopped now, without even an attempt to get back in the appropriate headspace. Ed, as he always had been, was a worrier, prone to guilt, and those were the very last emotions he wanted to leave Ed with as they transitioned into aftercare. But at the same time, if the man did ask to stop, Roy would sooner lose a hand than refuse, and thus lose Ed’s trust.

So, instead, he knelt in front of his lover, tucked imaginary stray hairs back behind Ed’s ear, and murmured:

“Stay with me, Ed, hm? I have so much more in store for you tonight. You’ll love it. Just let yourself go again, I’ll take care of you.”

It wouldn’t have taken a careful examination to notice the way Ed’s pupils blew outward again at those last words: a surge of affection hit Roy like a wave in a storm, and he couldn’t help leaning in to press a kiss to Ed’s forehead even as Ed struggled out:

“But, Al —”

“Don’t think about that. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got it.” Then, his trump card: “You trust me, don’t you?”

And Ed — held a breath for a moment, two, then shuddered it out again, let his eyes fall shut with the same fluttering quality, and said:

“’Course, I — I mean.” He licked his lips, prying his eyes open enough that just a gleam of gold locked on Roy’s. “Yes, sir.”

Surprised to hear it so soon, but nevertheless pleased, Roy let his smirk slide back into place, then purred:

“Good boy. You know what you need, don’t you.” A pause; Roy’s index finger on Ed’s chin, keeping it tilted up despite Ed’s instinct to turn away. “You may answer.”

“Yes,” said Ed, voice small, his eyes once again squeezed tightly shut. “Sir.”

“That’s right. And so do I. But before I give it to you, you have to make me a promise.” A pause for dramatic effect; Ed’s breathing harsh in the silence. “Make noise for me. No counting this time: just let me hear what a wanton little whore you are. Show me how much you want it. Can you do that for me?”

Ed’s whimper, sharp and simple, and then words:

“Yeah, oh my god, yes. Please. Sir,” he added, tongue flickering out to wet dry lip. “Fuck, hit me.”

A chuckle, rumbling deep in Roy’s chest, and his lover’s lips went slack, parted; each breath deep and wracking but even, slow, as Ed looked up at Roy with an expression bordering on the worshipful; and that was all Roy needed.

Moments like this ensured Roy’s addiction: those brief flashes of wonder, of trust, when time ceased to exist and every atom of their bodies were attuned to their lover’s desire, each empty alone and together overflowing with each other, with this simultaneous desire to take and to serve. This small bliss of trust and surrender, a drug he would never give up, that would keep him coming back until he had overcome mortality entirely.

A wonder, that this man was his: this golden prodigy, a thunderstorm barely contained by this vessel of flesh, a young god only just bound to this earth, was kept there by chains of Roy’s own making, a symphony of thoughts and sounds and soul that played for Roy’s ears alone.

Very suddenly his body reminded him that he was achingly hard, and god he wanted Ed, wanted to fuck him while he was helpless like this, wanted to unzip his pants and shove his cock into Ed’s willing mouth —

— but patience was a virtue thoroughly rewarded, and Roy was a patient man.

“Well, since you ask so nicely,” Roy purred, allowing himself to stroke down the length of Ed’s back from the bunched-up hem of his shirt all the way down a thigh as he repositioned himself for maximum leverage. His cane lay ready in his hand; he used it to spread Ed’s legs a bit from the juncture between ass and thigh, just so he could get a better look at what lay beneath. He’d gone south some during his brother’s sudden intrusion: not unexpected, to be sure, and it firmed up again even as Roy watched. Roy made an appreciative noise, stroked his thumb up from his lover’s testicles to his entrance, circled it once and groaned at Ed’s little hitching gasps.

Then, a light, quick, stinging blow, to the backs of his lover’s thighs: Ed jumped, made a tight noise in the back of his throat before breathing:

“Come on, old man. Harder. That all you got?”

Roy’s smile, savage; then another blow, up on the crest of his rump. A faint moan at this: not enough, but Roy would fix that soon enough.

“You are going to regret making that request,” Roy promised, and delivered another blow right above the last, so Ed couldn’t get accustomed to the pain. “I am going to make you hurt.”

And this time, a thin, bleeding moan, high pitched and loud, and Roy was a consummation of flame: searing, merciless, consuming, with Edward Elric burning at his very core. He struck again — a red welt, left this time across the juncture of his thighs, and Ed’s shoulders had begun to heave with the force of his breath. Another: a frantic writhe against the table, a moan trapped halfway between pain and desperate want.

Smile, long and thin and sharply curved, like the blade of a scythe; the general set to work in earnest, now, drinking in the sound of the cane connecting, the noises Ed made in reward, growing in pitch and intensity until each breath came out wracking and wanton, yes, that’s it, tell me how much you want it.

“Roy,” gasped Ed, after one particularly vicious blow: his muscles squirmed, writhed, but Roy didn’t relent. Another blow, and Ed flinched away on instinct, muscles clenching against the impact, before pushing back again for more. In every frantic, needy motion, every time he rocked forward, seeking contact against his aching cock, Roy could see his edge fast approaching. “Roy, I can’t — I’m gonna —”

“Not yet, gorgeous,” Roy purred, delivering another blow. “You can take it, I know you can.”

The ragged, sobbing noise that tore out of Ed’s throat burned down his spine like brandy; it beat through him with his blood, coalesced and throbbed in his stomach to settle and throb in his stomach. He knew it well, loved it, lived for it: that was the sound of Ed breaking.

And all of this, for him: Edward Elric allowing himself to be shattered down to his core, to his basest instinct, for Roy’s pleasure and enjoyment; trusting Roy to gather up his shattered pieces and put them ever so carefully back together again; trusting the man more than anything to want, to praise, to worship and respect and hold him after without being asked.

“Roy, I can’t,” Edward said again, the edge to his voice piteous, breathy, begging.

“Wait,” Roy commanded again, putting all the force of his authority behind the word. “You can, and you will, because I’m not done with you yet,” he finished, trailing the cane up between Ed’s reddened cheeks.

The little mewl that was Ed’s only reply was almost enough to make pity twinge in his heart, but satisfaction followed close on its heels as he bent, just a bit, to examine the welts he’d criss-crossed all the way from Ed’s upper thighs to the final inward curve where his ass met the muscles of his back.

“You’re so pretty like this, all trussed up —” a deceptively soft whap as Roy’s cane descended again, followed by another heavy noise, a buck of Ed’s hips “— and spread open for me —” another whap, and this one drove Ed to prayer, a mumbled and desperate oh god oh god oh god falling from his fevered lips as the blows crescendoed — “and red all over from my cane, you take pain so well sweetheart, god you’re gorgeous —”

But whatever else Roy was about to say got lost in Ed’s sharp yelp as he jerked forward and came hard, the whine increasing in the back of his throat as his hips stuttered against the table, seeking pressure, seeking friction, as he emptied himself in spurts.

Taken by surprise, Roy couldn’t help the crush of arousal, so heavy he stopped breathing for just a few moments too long before exhaling a long groan; it was a near-religious ecstasy, seeing Ed, his arms chained up above his head, rutting out his orgasm against the hard edge of his kitchen table before Roy had even touched him.

A sudden, overwhelming need to do exactly that hit him; it was all he could do to remember place the cane on a chair and tear off both gloves before giving himself over to stroking the stinging welts, soothing the pain away, running his thumb up and down them to feel the heat from them, their texture: after a moment, he realized he was speaking.

“God, you’re perfect,” he heard himself say, and meant it; the words kept coming. “So good for me, beautiful, you did so well.” Instinct more than conscious decision brought him to his knees behind Ed, so he could press kisses to the reddened expanse, first to one cheek, then to the other, chaste and genuinely worshipful. As the aftershocks subsided, and Ed, presumably, regained consciousness, he groaned, rolled his head to the side, and tried, despite the awkward angle, to lock his blown-out eyes on the general’s.

The little creases that deepened on Ed’s forehead gave away his thoughts: Roy knew his lover well enough by now that he could see the self-doubt beginning to creep in. He had given an order, and Ed hadn’t been able to follow it, and now Ed wondered… If he moved quickly enough, maybe he could avert this oncoming disaster.

So, when Ed opened his mouth again as if to speak, Roy stood pressed a finger to Ed’s lips, allowed himself to give a gentle smile, so rarely awarded when they had assumed these roles.

“Don’t speak,” he said, before the crinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out, his eyes narrowing to complement the smirk. “Unless you plan to beg for mercy. I’m far from done with you.”

Ed’s eyes widened; he swallowed, tried a shaky grin.

“Yeah?” he said, the word no steadier than his expression, but genuine. “Bring it on, old man.”

“Cocky brat,” Roy growled, an edge of admiration to the roughness of his tone. A burst of inspiration hit him: he shoved a hand under Ed’s belly to swipe fingers through the mess Ed had left between himself and the table, brushing against the man’s softening cock enough to make Ed flinch, overstimulated. Then, back out again, sticky and coated with his lover’s come, and he brought the fingers to Ed’s lips.

“Suck,” he commanded, authority incarnate; Ed keened, and Roy’s erection throbbed against the confines of his pants as the man parted his lips to allow entrance.

There was something indescribably erotic about watching a man lick his own come off of you, especially when the flush on his cheeks spread down his neck and shoulders, and he made delicious little high noises as he began to suckle, to lave his tongue up your fingers, around them, between, like fire lapping at paper’s edges.

“So good,” he crooned, smoothing his lover’s hair down with his other hand. “So obedient, Fullmetal.” His cock, already throbbing against the confines of his pants, informed him of its displeasure by sending a shot of arousal so powerful it almost hurt through him, scalding up to his throat, his fingertips when Ed whined in reply to those words.

Finally, he pulled his fingers free — and Ed looked almost bereft, straining forward to trace his lips across them one last time, as if he could convince them to return with a wordless plea.

They did, for a brief instant, but not in the way Ed had so clearly hoped: they paused by his lips just long enough for Roy to thumb the drool off of the corner of his lover’s mouth, cup his jaw for a moment before reaching up to the transmutation circle etched into the table and activating it.

“Nn,” said Edward, as his hands came free of the makeshift wooden shackles. Despite his newfound freedom, he didn’t move at all, staying collapsed on the table in a boneless sprawl. A little edge of pride at that, Roy thought, was not unwarranted. “We — done already? Weren’t you gonna —”

From his position, he couldn’t twist his head enough to actually look at the vibrator, but the way his eyes flickered to the side before focusing back on Roy made his intention clear enough.

“Yes,” Roy declared, rumbling and low. “I was, and I am. Roll over onto your back for me.”

With some difficulty, and a bit of assistance from Roy, he did as ordered, which left him on his back, ribs heaving to accommodate each heavy breath, his own mess still evident on his stomach and his softened cock. A few moments later, he’d made quick work of Ed’s shoes, his socks, peeled his leather pants from where they’d been bunched up around his knees and deposited them unceremoniously on the floor.

Then, he hooked one hand around the back of each of Ed’s knees and tugged them up; Ed, blissed out and gorgeously pliant, didn’t complain or even ask as Roy brought them up to his lover’s shoulders, splayed slightly apart.

Which left him bent in half and spread open, on display, a fact which was not lost on Ed, judging by his piteous moan and the way his eyes slid closed, as if he could protect himself from Roy’s hungry gaze.

“God,” Roy growled, prying apart his lover’s cheeks for an even better view. The skin around, a mottled red-and-white crossed by occasional angry lines, little patches that had begun already to blossom into faint bruises. “I’ve never met anyone who loves pain more than you. I love what a slut for punishment you are.” Those words, carnal, worshipful, hungry; Ed’s eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his lips together against a whimper. The general slid his hands up and down Ed’s thighs, feeling the curve of the muscle beneath, heat pounding between his legs.

“I want to see you work yourself open with your fingers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Fullmetal. You’d like for me to watch, love knowing how much I want you.”

A whine; Ed tossed his head to the side, his golden hair twisting and catching in the sweat on his chest, leaving it caught there, frozen.

A soft reply, as Roy stroked gently around Ed’s entrance: Roy leaned forward.

“What was that? You’re going to have to speak louder if you want me to hear you. You should have covered that in basic training. Speak up,” he said, as he dug his thumbnails into the juncture of Ed’s thighs.

“I said — fuck you, sir, yes,” and the last word came out so deliciously needful that Roy growled.

“That’s right,” Roy purred. “Now, don’t move,” he added as he withdrew his hands, and Edward — beautiful, obedient Edward — froze, his breath caught in his lungs, as if any motion might be counted as disobedience. A pang through Roy’s heart: affection, want; a buoyant, giddy sensation like joy —

But now was not the time to break character and show it. Not when they had so far left to go tonight: so Roy turned to the counter to retrieve the jar of lubricant, opening it effortlessly as he twisted back to his lover. One scoop of the stuff would be enough for the moment, Roy guessed: he took a finger through it and applied the cold gel to Ed’s asshole without ceremony, which earned him a rather gratifying yelp. Even more pleasing, however, was the fact that Ed continued to obey his orders despite the shock of the cold between his legs, refusing to move even a single muscle besides his lungs, his heart.

“Good boy,” Roy said, unable to resist a moment of massaging the lube against his lover’s entrance before retreating to pull a chair up, where he would have an unobstructed, nearly eye-level view of the action. Feet planted wide, elbows propped on knees and chin atop laced fingers, he reveling in each shuddering motion.

“You may begin,” he said, smirk sharp and wide and dangerous. Ed took in a breath — hesitated, but for only a moment — then brought his flesh hand down, between his legs, wrist curving upward as he prodded himself with one exploratory finger.

Barely a moment’s pause and there it was — he was moving, fucking himself with that one finger, his hips juddering forward to meet it in tiny motion, like he was embarrassed at his own wanton reaction. Breath out; muscles stretching, pulling, twisting as he tried to resist this need, this impulse; he bit his lip, yes, squeezed his eyes shut, chest rising and falling powerfully as he worked himself.

Roy, utterly captivated, heard his own voice forming words without thought or permission:

“Mm, so good for me, lovely,” he said, rough, and he found that he had started palming himself through the front of his pants, groaning and arching up into the heat of his own hand. To Roy’s surprise, the groan turned back to language, each word cast by inspiration from molten want. He could hardly keep his voice from giving everything away. “I want you so bad; god you look good like that,” and he did, and Roy pressed down on the tent between his legs so hard he hurt. “But you’ll look even better when I’ve got that toy shoved up in you.” Ed drew a breath, staccato as the motion of his hips but long, pained. “You want that, hm? Need to get fucked that bad, do you?”

The way Ed’s half-hard cock jumped at those words would have been answer enough even if he had managed to hold back the desperate whine that passed his lips. A second and third finger joined the first together, and this time it was Roy’s turn to suck in a breath, fingertips of one hand digging hard into the meat of his thigh as his palm did the same to his hardness, perhaps to hold back the throbbing, to regain some sense; perhaps for sheer sensation’s sake. He swallowed, a futile effort to bring some moisture back to his lips.

“Such an impatient brat, Fullmetal,” he finally managed, voice made harsh by the sandpaper of his tongue. Not that he was one to talk, tonight, because suddenly he was on his feet again, reaching for the vibrator with a fierce hunger in his throat, chest, in the hand that kept up its beautiful friction against his own heat. “You want to see what impatience gets you?” he purred, and then —

jerked Ed’s fingers out of himself; Ed’s eyes shot open, mouth following, like he was going to say something, until the eyes went dark and the mouth slack, head falling back as he saw Roy settling the dry rubber tip of the vibrator up against him, not even bothering to add any extra lubricant before bringing it to bear.

“Oh,” said Ed, his hands scrambling to find something to hold onto: he settled on balling them into fists, and no sooner had fingernails dug into his palms than Roy began to press the thing in.

So entrancing was this sight, the intently observed phenomenon of Ed’s body opening to first the blunt head of the thing, then to each further inch until the flared base rested right up against the taut skin of Ed’s entrance, that Roy entirely forgot to touch himself.

That particular lapse could not be maintained after Roy flicked the switch that turned the thing on: it started gently, but still Ed’s eyes shot open as his back arched up off the table, his lungs rushing to fill with air — holding that breath, holding the pose, in a moment suspended, frozen, silent but for the innocuous hum of the object in question —

— before he gave one sob, wracking his body head to toe, and began to writhe.

“Oh, oh, oh my god — oh fuck, oh god — ah!” And Roy’s fingers flew back to his cock, zipper and button and dignity now unnecessary as he pulled it out to fist himself properly, his blood a thunderous cavalcade in his ears.

“Doesn’t seem so strange now, does it,” Roy breathed, his free hand smoothing up and down the inside of Ed’s thigh as the muscle in it bunched, flexed, as it shifted and Ed twisted and bucked into air.

The last thing Roy had expected from his lover at that moment was words, but nevertheless, words came:

“I — fuck! — oh my god — let me —” Eyes trying to open; one spastic, aborted hand gesture towards Roy, like he had tried and failed to reach out, to touch.

“Please, Roy, General — let me —” he tried again, this time supplementing the words with a deep breath. “Let me suck you off.”

The general exhaled like a shot, all oxygen leaving his body at once to be replaced by neon or plasma or something else bright and combustible and inhuman.

Roy was not the kind of man who needed to be told twice.

“Get on all fours, soldier,” he growled, moving his hand from Ed’s thigh to grip the table’s edge for stability. Thank god the Elrics made most of their own furniture: it barely even trembled under the weight of Ed ineptly rearranging himself onto his knees and elbows, his ass high and presented out. Even in that position he was utterly unable to keep from squirming, his noises scraping and wanton and gloriously, vociferously shameless as he brushed his hard cock against his legs, against the table, against anything with which great desire or flexibility could bring it in contact.

If the neighbors were home tonight, they might have a very good idea of what was going on in the Elric kitchen that night. For a moment, Roy found himself hoping they were.

And then all such thoughts vanished, because Ed lifted his head to look through the golden curtain at Roy, standing in front of him, and lost no time diving forward to swallow Roy down. And as he did, he gave a sharp moan that morphed into vibrations against Roy’s cock, as did the crescendo of high whimpers that followed. Ed’s balance, so recently acquired, abandoned him under the onslaught of sensation; his right arm half-collapsed, his knees spreading wider as he struggled to remain upright, to keep a hold of himself in the face of everything. Frantic and clumsy, for once in his life, he couldn’t keep Roy’s cock in his mouth — and when he tried to swallow it again all he could manage was to lick it, mouth it desperately, sloppy and wet and unskilled but so, so eager —

This must be death: Roy could feel the end fast approaching amongst this maelstrom of sounds and sensations and images engraved forever in his mind. Yes, death: sweet, shared, immediate and eternal.

But if this was death, then what a fucking way to go.

*

Roy barely restrained himself from collapsing next to his lover on the table when they were both happily spent: only the knowledge that even the Elric brothers wouldn’t have designed their kitchen table to hold two full-grown human men at once, and having that collapse in the midst of post-coital affection might put a bit of a damper on the festivities.

Instead, he just had to make do with getting down on his knees and hauling his boneless lover into a vise-like hug, nuzzling into the man’s neck. There, nestled in the safety of Ed’s golden canopy, he could grin like a maniac without getting caught and/or accused of excess sappiness, which would no doubt make Ed’s allergies act up, though as symptoms usually included a fetching rash across the cheeks and an adorable excess of halfhearted complaints, Roy failed see why his lover was so opposed to them.

“Changed your mind about vibrators yet?” Roy asked, still happily ensconced in the curve of Ed’s neck, at least for the moment. Any minute now he’d have to start acting like a real dominant again, have to rouse himself to see to Ed’s needs and begin the process of aftercare, but he felt he could be forgiven for taking a few moments to regain the proper use of his legs after that particular combination of event and sideshow. “Ms Rockbell does good work. I may have to send her a personal thank you letter.”

Ed’s returning blush-and-mumble affair was incoherent but precious, and the way he curled himself just a bit around those places where their skin came in contact might just end Roy’s pathetic existence. Wordless in the face of Ed’s tentative affection, all the general could do was give a fond laugh and press a kiss into Ed’s tresses, still wavy from the indention of the ponytail. Then, he stood again, and tucked himself back into his pants for good measure.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured, brushing back a golden strand with a gentle thumb. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“’sif I could,” Ed slurred back, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Hurry back. ‘M cold.”

There was a very good reason why blankets were a standard part of aftercare, and why Roy kept one on hand in his lover’s bedroom. After the adrenaline high of their scene wore off, all those endorphins drained out of your system at once, which affected the body much like going into shock and tended to make subs very cold. Quick treatment and proper application of affection could keep the effects of the shock from ballooning, so Roy wasted no time in retrieving the queen-size red flannel blanket he kept in the chest of drawers in Ed’s bedroom. While there, he snatched a candy bar off of the pile of them he kept beside it — one of the ones with nougat and caramel in the middle, Ed’s favorite — and brought both offerings back to the pile of limbs and hair that was currently playing the role of Edward Elric.

A few moments later, Ed was a golden head sticking out from a red flannel lump, almost devouring his entire candy bar in one impressive bite. Roy had time to go to the sink to pour his lover a glass of water, wet a cleaning rag, and return to sit in the chair beside the other man, slip a hand and that warm towel under the flannel blanket to begin soothing, gently washing Ed’s mess up off of his skin as best as he could. It took a few passes, before he realized that his lover was being oddly quiet, even considering his usual post-orgasmic habits. An inspection of Ed’s face revealed a furrowed brow, a distant look in his eye as he chewed thoughtfully.

“Everything ok?” Roy asked lightly, arching an eyebrow to soften the seriousness of the inquiry. “You’re awfully quiet.”

This jerked Ed from wherever he’d been idling, his wide-eyed glance towards Roy full of shock, as if he had forgotten that the other man was even there — but the corners of his eyes crinkled almost immediately under the headwind of some emotion, and he looked away as if — ashamed?

“Yeah,” said Ed, taking the last bite of his candy bar, as if that could excuse him from replying. “Fine.” Then, an afterthought: “Thanks.”

This time, it was Roy’s turn to furrow his brow. Ed loved volunteering information about the things upsetting him if they were minor, so if he was hiding it… A pit grew in Roy’s stomach.

“Ed,” the general said, chiding. “Don’t do this. If something’s bothering you, especially after a scene, you know you need to tell me. If I’ve done something, I need to know so I don’t do it again.” Not to mention that leaving problems unaddressed during aftercare was the first step in a long, awful spiral ending in sub drop, which was not somewhere he ever wanted Ed to go.

As wonderful as their play was, and as much as it satisfied various and sundry emotional needs, the body remained a much more primal beast than even the mind. In practical terms, this meant that the body reacted the same way to pain and dominance play that it would to actual abuse. That was to say, that in the face of absent or insufficient aftercare, both partners, though the sub especially, could experience a variety of physiological and psychological after-effects: shock, the cause of the cold and also the source of a rapid drop in blood sugar; often a feeling of loneliness, unworthiness; sometimes an irrational hurt, wondering if someone could really care for you and still do those things to you — or in the dominant’s case, guilt over the same question, all of which could culminate in a deep depression, starting anywhere from hours to days after play and ending within the same variable time frame.

Sub drop, as it was known within the community — or, analogously but less commonly, dom drop.

Roy had been to that place personally, and he had caused it in others, back when he was young and even stupider, and he never wanted to repeat either experience again. This was why aftercare, and a loving discussion of any issues afterward, were so critical to mission success for both partners.

Without that? Or with lingering doubts, concerns, inadequacies, insufficiently addressed?

Well. He wouldn’t let it come to that. Ed had been in enough black places in his life that Roy would be damned if the man would go to another on his account.

“What? No, you didn’t do anything,” replied Ed, still a bit mumbly around the edges, though his distress was plainly evident.

It was only the remaining buoyancy from the giddiness of the scene that kept Roy’s heart from sinking. If it wasn’t something Roy had done, then…

Suddenly it hit him.

“Oh, Ed,” he said, reaching out on instinct to find Ed’s hand under the blanket. “Are you — upset about not being able to carry my order out?”

It had been such an inconsequential thing in Roy’s understanding of the evening that he had almost forgotten: with his cane flying, both of them ecstatic with the satisfaction of pain, willingly given and received, Roy had ordered Ed not to come yet. Overcome with the enormity of it, Ed hadn’t been able to stop himself: there had been no willful disobedience, just a physical inevitability

Only Edward Elric could orgasm under Roy’s cane, with no sexual stimulation attendant, and then finesse the event in his mind into a disappointment, with himself as the guilty party.

An uncomfortable shift on the table; Ed’s hand remained limp in his.

“Not really,” said Edward, in a way that made it painfully obvious that he was lying. But, to Roy’s gratitude, he didn’t stop there. “I mean, I just — you said I was good then. Or, y’know, whatever,” he added, the blush returning faintly atop angled cheekbones. Then, mumbled, barely audible: “I didn’ take you for the type to give out consolation prizes.”

Both of Roy’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Consolation prizes?”

Ed frowned, then parted his lips; pursued first one word, aborted, then tried another.

“Yeah. I was supposed to do a thing, and I didn’t.” A pause; a faint squeeze to Roy’s hand, which Roy echoed, stronger. “Shouldn’t you be fuckin — mad at me, or something?”

Roy hadn’t realized it was possible for his eyebrows to summit his head, but his horizons were expanding every day.

“Mad at you?” he asked, disbelief clearly evident. “For god’s sake, why?” Then, the return of a little sexy smirk, accompanied by a smolder leveled directly at Ed’s own gaze, half shaded by his lashes. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of spanking you till you come from that alone?”

The faint noise he made, accompanied by the slight widening of his eyes, took his deepening blush over the line from “adorable” to “positively delectable.”

“But,” he started, a faint protest at best, “you ordered — Wait, you still jerk off ‘cause of me?” he asked, interrupting himself, incredulous.

At this, Roy laughed heartily, lips spreading out into a grin as he quieted, though they took a brief break to kiss Ed’s resulting pout.

“I’m not laughing at you, gorgeous,” he said, cupping Ed’s cheek in his hand. “Sorry if it seemed that way. I was laughing because that question is positively ridiculous. Who else would I possibly want to think about?”

The whole of Ed’s face went cherry-red, and he worried at his bottom lip for a moment before responding.

“I dunno. Girls.” Another pause; then, quieter: “Somebody who follows orders better, or’s less of a pain, or somethin.”

“Preposterous,” said Roy, both because it was, and because that word was always funny, regardless of circumstance. “Apparently I don’t tell you often enough just how grateful I am to even be in your orbit, before we even get to my wonder and disbelief that I get to touch you at all.” Ed wrinkled his nose in faux disgust at Roy’s untrammeled adulation, which Roy took as a sign he should keep going. “Well, take all of that gratitude at being lucky enough to know you and to count you as a friend, then compound it with a few tons of absolute gobsmacking bewilderment that you want what I provide, and that you’ll let me kiss and hold you after I give it to you. Consider all of that, and you might come to some kind of understanding of why that series of sentences is actually physically painful to me.”

“Oh my god,” said Ed, a weak smile finding its way onto his face. “Did you really just say the word ‘gobsmacked’ out loud?”

“Technically ‘gobsmacking’,” Roy replied, his grin getting toothier and more manic by the second. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I am not at all disappointed in your performance or your behavior — quite the opposite, in fact. You are inimitable, astounding, breathtaking, resplendent —”

“Oh my GOD, STOP,” interrupted Ed, who was clearly enjoying it very much, though he was hiding his burning cheeks under his equally-red blanket. Undaunted, Roy continued, getting to his feet just so he could sweep his lover up in his arms — in his state, Ed could barely manage a yip at the indignity rather than his usual full-blown squawk, which only intensified Roy’s glee — and wrap him up into a red shrimp burrito, held bridal style as Roy spun towards the staircase up to Ed’s bedroom.

“— sensational, spellbinding, perfect, I can go on like this for hours, you know.”

“You are a fucking drama queen,” said Ed, his smile wide if still a bit tentative. “Impossible, sappy, incorrigible —”

“Oh, have mercy,” said Roy, his heart expanding tangibly, straining against his ribs. “Spare me your barbs, for I am mortal wounded, my liege.”

This made Ed laugh, and the swelling in Roy’s chest turned to soaring at the sound. Then, shyly, but without that edge of self-recrimination from earlier:

“So… you really aren’t disappointed? That I didn’t follow orders?”

Roy, his heart apparently having expanded to fill his throat, stopped halfway between the table and the staircase to allow himself the dexterity to simultaneously pull Ed closer and lean over to press his forehead against Ed’s, their noses just barely brushing, breaths mingling, and apparently Roy’s stupid grin was so infectious that Ed couldn’t help catching it off him.

“You tried, Ed. You wanted to. And that’s all I ever want from you. As long as you’re trying, you’re doing exactly what I want. Even if you had disobeyed, I wouldn’t be disappointed — that’s just another kind of fun,” he added, his laugh low and rich.

“Oh,” said Ed, grinning back up at him, and Roy knew it was the afterglow that was making his lover — well, making both of them — so giddy, but he was going to make the most of it just the same.

“So, you good?” Roy finally asked, Ed’s breath tremulous and warm against his lips.

“Yeah,” said Edward, “I’m —”

Which was precisely the moment that the front door burst open: there was a resounding squeak to follow, and Roy closed his eyes, groaning internally. Really? Was this karmic retribution for his unforgiven sins?

“Al!” said Edward, apparently too startled to try to struggle out of Roy’s grip — though in his current, burritoed state, he would probably find such a feat difficult. “Oh god, sorry, Al — can you just — just two more seconds.”

“I knocked,” said Al, faintly. “I knocked a lot,” he added, at which Ed let out what could only be described as the cry of a dying whale.

Resigned now to his fate, Roy sighed and straightened up, then turned to face Al properly, only to find the man actually frozen, beet-red, in the doorway.

Funny, how Alphonse had managed a deadpan exasperation when he walked in on the kinky sex, but was semi-permanently calcified by intruding on this sappy exchange.

Funny, yes, but then again, also appropriate: everyone here knew which moment had been the more intimate of the two.

“Apologies, Alphonse. We were nearly finished. If you’ll just excuse us, we’ll be out of your way — although you might not want to go anywhere near the kitchen table yet.”

Al sent a guilty, helpless glance over to the table, which still bore the evidence of both of Ed’s spectacular orgasms: his face drained from red to white in significantly less than the time it took for Ed to summon more cetaceans to his tragic passing.

“Right,” squeaked Alphonse, just as Roy said, “If you’ll excuse us,” spun towards the stairs, and took to them just a tad faster than was strictly dignified, accompanied by the continued strains of Ed’s swan song, at least until they reached the top and Roy could kiss him quiet again.

A few moments, and some maneuvering, and Roy lay the man down on his bed, arranging him so that Roy could fit in beside him to wrap arms around him, despite the narrowness of the twin bed.

“I’m dead,” said Edward weakly, and Roy couldn’t help a chuckle at his lover’s utter mortification, grateful that Ed was probably too distracted to notice the pink dusting across Roy’s own cheeks. “That’s the end of Edward Elric. Tell Al I love him, and everyone else… Well, tell them they can go fuck themselves. ‘Cept Hawkeye. She’s cool.”

The blonde turned his head to bury his face in Roy’s neck, and Roy just squeezed him harder.

“What, no exception for me?”

“Nope,” said Edward, pawing at his blanket with enough success to free an arm, which then snaked loosely around Roy’s shoulders. “Goes double for you.”

“Edward, mi corazón —”

“Your cora-nothin, you heartless bastard, I’m dying here. Would it kill you to show some fuckin sympathy?”

Roy’s delighted laugh finally broke Ed from his mopey soliloquy, and he smiled against the skin of Roy’s neck even as Roy pressed a kiss to Ed’s forehead.

“My apologies. I am most contrite. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Edward, and gave a happy little sigh.

*

Luckily, years of military training meant that Roy could more or less awaken when he pleased, to use a spectacularly inaccurate turn of phrase. Waking up before the crack of dawn wasn’t pleasing on any day, and even less so when waking up required extracting himself from a tangle of limbs, both metal and flesh, and a lover who had gotten increasingly handsy over the course of the night. But Roy knew Alphonse was an early riser, and as neither he nor Edward had managed to summon up the willpower the night before to go downstairs to clean up their mess, he felt it was only polite to ensure the kitchen table had been washed down and thoroughly disinfected before Alphonse might want to use it for breakfast-related activities. But at least he could return to bed with Edward afterward, he told himself as he shuffled down the stairs, still in his button-up and black slacks, though now thoroughly rumpled from a night of engaging both a set of bedsheets and one Edward Elric in close combat, each dangerous alone but unstoppable in conjunction.

But by the time he had finished removing all traces of the night’s activities from the vicinity, he found himself, regrettably, too awake to go back even to the most comfortable bed, and so resigned himself to a cup of coffee from Ms Rockbell’s previous gift — an automatic coffee maker, which was much more suitable for polite company but no less genius.

No sooner had he availed himself of her talents, and sat himself down at the now-pristine table, his dark, steaming cup of coffee well in hand, than the sanctity of the silence was broken by the sound of slippers trudging across tile, followed shortly by Alphonse Elric in a pale blue terrycloth bathrobe and full bedhead, looking like he was about two fuses short of a switchbox and about the same distance from either murder or death, whichever happened to be more convenient.

“Ah,” said Roy, glancing at the clock. An early riser, perhaps, but not a quick one. Roy sympathized. “Good morning. Care for some coffee?”

A grunt was all Al managed in return before turning to the machine, swiping around in the nearby cabinet for a mug, and pouring himself his own cup.

“Not quite awake yet?” Roy asked, amused despite himself. “Me either. Sorry about keeping you out of your own house for so long last night,” he added, before he lost his nerve. “The table is clean, though,” he added with a little smile above the rim of his coffee cup, somewhat sheepish.

Al fixed a look on him then, somehow both bleary and appraising: then he shambled over to the man, coffee mug in his right hand, and used his left to deliver two heavy pats to Roy’s general front-scalp-and-forehead area, followed by an inept scruffling motion at the general’s bangs probably intended to be a tousle.

And then, without even removing his hand so Roy could smooth his hair down, he made a little attempt at a sleepy smile and broke his silence.

“You pass,” he mumbled, before offering one last scruffle and turning back to the stairs, leaving an utterly bewildered Roy behind.

“Thank… you…?” he said, hoping that was the right answer, watching Al’s back for some hint of meaning as he shuffled back up the stairs.

Then, when the man had almost made it to the top of the stairs and Roy had almost given up puzzling it out, over his shoulder Al gave a distant, imprecise:

“You break his heart, and they’ll have to cremate you, ‘cause there won’t be enough parts left to bury.”

Ah. And there it was.

“Noted,” the general replied, simultaneously amused and touched and terrified, a unique combination to say the least.

Regardless, he was still smiling into his — third — coffee by the time Ed came downstairs an hour later.

“Should be illegal to smile that dopey before nine,” Ed groused at him, his pajama pants slipping dangerously off one hip, hair a snarled mess that Roy was going to love getting to comb through later. “It’s morning,” he added, as if that explained everything, then rounded the corner to lay eyes on the empty coffeepot, and retaliated by scooting a chair over next to Roy, inserting himself beside the man, and unceremoniously stealing his lover’s half-full mug. “What the fuck’re you so chipper about anyway?”

Roy laughed, his expression going from a misdemeanor to a flat-out felony the longer Ed was in his presence, or he was in Ed’s.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, not even remotely bothered by the theft; he turned to place a kiss on Ed’s forehead, loosely garlanding Ed’s shoulders with the length of his arm. “Nothing at all. Just happy, I suppose.”

“Weirdo,” said Ed, and leaned almost imperceptibly further against the solid heat of his lover’s chest.