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It started civil. The Armstrong private Yule ball tempted socialites, officers and celebrities from across Amestris. By the time Roy realized someone had laced the liquor with a powerful narcotic it was already too late. It was sheer chaos. Sex and outright violence under the guise of revelry. Roy’s not sure where the outdoor bonfire came from but he suspects he was involved. Still all he remembers is the band playing frantically behind him as revelers danced around the flames in an ungodly display. Women in various states of undress proved tempting but—
He doesn’t exactly remember it. Not all of it. One second he there were lewd ladies and the next Edward Elric was yanking his hand and dragging them together. Edward, twenty-two, was more than a little intoxicated at that point and, like Roy, a drugged Edward was a dangerous Edward. Roy remembers scoffing at him, going to pull away, but yanking him back Edward slapped his face hard. Roy remembers his head spinning, remembers Edward grabbing his shirt, remembers laughing breathlessly. He should’ve been angry, under regular circumstances he would’ve been, but heavily intoxicated he was, frankly? Aroused.
Edward was plainly never trained to dance but Edward Elric has known how to fight since pre-pubescence and with the band playing so frantically, the fire so hot, the shouting so loud… it was enough. More than enough. Roy led, he remembers that much, but Edward matched every step in a kind of half-dance half-playfight that escalated in sheer intensity over several long moments. Roy would dip the blonde, Edward would throw his head back, and Roy would feel quite pleased with himself for a split second before surging up Edward would knock his feet out from under him. Roy remembers growling, he remembers Edward laughing, he remembers Edward slapping him again… Roy remembers picking Edward up and twirling them around with the wail of the violins and Roy remembers thinking, vaguely, he was just lucky Edward was a playful drunk and not an angry one. He was rough, sure, but if Edward Elric wanted to hurt him Roy would already be dead.
Roy has flashes from the rest of the night; a swathe of gold-blonde hair featuring prominently in his recollections. He remembers being happy. He remembers being aroused. He remembers shutting off his brain. He remembers slamming Edward against an interior wall of the Armstrong estate. He remembers Edward throwing his arms around his neck and jumping up locking his legs around Roy’s hips. He remembers—he tries not to remember exact details beyond this point but they come unbidden regardless in brilliant snapshots. He remembers a lot of vocalizing in particular. He remembers distinctly; “Oh fuck yeah, fuck me! Harder!”
Now, rolling onto his back, Roy is hesitant to open his eyes. He hasn’t gotten off lightly, he can tell immediately, because he’s in a world of pain. His head pounds, threatening to split open, something’s died in the back of his throat, he’s pretty sure he’s got rugburn on his knees and as he shifts he can feel a swarm of new bruises and wounds. Opening his eyes cautiously Roy moves with equal trepidation. He’s in a guest bedroom. He’s in a mess of sheets on the carpeted floor. Apparently, missing the bed, he just decided to make a nest on the floor? Glancing down he finds fresh scratches and hickeys and— is that a bike mark?
A quick glance to assure himself he’s alone is all he wants but his quick glance assures him instead that he is definitely not alone. Edward is sprawled beside him, equally naked in the pile of sheets, pillows and discarded clothes. Edward’s hair has come loose. Edward is littered with bruises particularly a few violently black ones about his hips…
Roy swears.
Edward mumbles in his sleep, automail arm slung across Roy’s lap, and running a hand through his hair Roy isn’t sure how he’s going to explain this one. He could sneak away, sure, but that seems primed to do more harm than good. Edward might not remember anything but he’s more likely to feel violated and confused if he wakes alone.
Roy knows he needs to find Alex. If someone drugged them all then there was a plan in motion. He needs to make sure the Armstrong estate hasn’t been ransacked. He needs to call in the military police. He needs to take statements. There will be dozens of complaints of rape and assault and god knows what else after last night. Still, all of that means waking Edward. Edward who, evidently, is a passionate lover…
Fuck.
Roy swears again. This was a mistake. He remembers being aroused, he remembers being happy, but he also knows he was drugged and drunk out of his mind. He was in no position to make any decisions and if he was off his rocker then Edward, who’s had considerably less time to build his liquor tolerance, was in no position to accept any advances. Not that he thinks he forced Edward. If he remembers rightly Edward practically forced him but that’s beside the point.
Twisting Roy grabs Edward’s shoulder and shakes gently.
“Come on, Fullmetal. Consciousness time. Battle stations.”
Edward moans brokenly, twisting in on himself; “oh fuck, my head….”
“I know,” Roy sympathizes sorely, “but there’s work to do.”
Coughing on bile Edward shuffles onto his elbows. He blinks blearily for a moment, taking in the decimated room, before glancing idly to Roy and then, with increasing concern, giving himself the once over. Edward seems to compute suddenly that he’s naked, that Roy’s naked, that they’re both littered with hickeys and—
Edward yelps, yanking the sheets around himself.
“What the fuck, Mustang?”
“Don’t look at me,” Roy holds his hands up placatingly.
“What—? Did—?” How Edward’s got the energy to shout Roy has no idea. It rumbles through his aching skull like a jackhammer and cradling his temple Roy watches Edward flush and then turn brilliant, searing, red. Red to his ears.
“I would assume so.”
“Why?” Edward snaps.
“Because someone evidently drugged the party.”
“Fucking tits!” Edward cusses violently, his hair bouncing with the force of his expletive. Edward is not impressed. “I’ll kill whoever—Who the fuck—?”
“If you’ll kindly hand me my pants I’ll endeavor to find out for you.”
Edward, still red, shifts his ass off the abandoned dress pants and yanking them up thrusts them at Roy without meeting his eyes.
“Thank you,” Roy grunts, lying back to tug them on. His underwear is lost, a casualty of the night, but he manages to assemble most of the rest of his suit. Someone, not naming names, has ripped buttons off his shirt but he’ll let it slide.
Edward, brutally red, is wrapped in the sheet still. His eyes traipse the room, the ceiling, anywhere but Roy. Only when Roy is semi decent do golden irises wander cautiously back to him. Edward gives him the once over and, huffing, declares;
“You look like shit.”
“Well if someone hadn’t ruined my shirt—”
“You shut yer face,” Edward slurs angrily, country twang creeping discernably into his voice. This early in the morning, this hungover, Edward evidently loses all his niceties when it comes to diction and pronunciation.
“I’m going to go find Alex,” Roy explains, “I’ll let you get dressed in peace. Don’t leave.”
“Why?” Edward hisses. “You want my number, Mustang?”
“The military will want to take statements when they get here.” Roy huffs.
“Fuck that!” Edward snaps, totally indignant. “I am getting out of here and erasing the last twenty-four hours from my memory! I can’t believe you—We— Fucking hell!”
“I’m going to find Alex,” Roy growls, “stay put.”
“Ugh!” Edward hurls a pillow at him. “Just get lost!”
Most of the party goers who are not passed out have already fled. The house is a wreck. Vandalism is apparent but Roy’s not sure how much has been ransacked. Alex is in the library beside a fallen bookshelf and when Roy shakes him to he’s more than a little distressed. Distressed as only an Alex can be; dramatically distressed.
The military police take evidence, laugh quietly about the devastation of the ‘big night out’, and when Roy swings back around to check on Edward the blonde has already hightailed it off the estate grounds with barely any evidence he was ever here. Roy’s a little relieved on one level. He doesn’t want someone piecing together in the statements that Roy Mustang and his ex-subordinate, his twenty-something ex-subordinate at that, got hot and nasty in a guest bedroom.
His part done Roy leaves the investigation in the capable hands of the experts and devotes himself to attempting not to think about it.
Except he does think about it.
He does a diligent job not touching the subject at first. Then the dreams begin. Edward’s naked legs around his equally naked hips. Edward arching up into every thrust of his cock. Edward moaning and swearing with hair splayed. Edward’s nails running down his arms. Edward’s distinct, purposeful, whisper in the darkened guest bedroom of; ‘oh god yes, Roy, that’s it. Just like that. Please, please—’
Roy wakes in a cold sweat, cock throbbing.
He has decided to put this to rest. He is not going to think about it. Evidently his subconscious mind is still processing, sure, but that will fade and until then his conscious mind at least will cooperate.
Except it doesn’t.
Roy’s sitting at his desk literally twenty-four hours later, pen in his mouth, daydreaming when Edward crashes into the subtle deviations of his waking mind. Roy doesn’t remember everything, sure, but very little makes him so hard these days as thoughts of naked Edward. Maybe it’s worth talking to Edward? Maybe sober they can recreate the passion? Maybe—
Roy slaps himself hard and spitting the pen out moans into his forearms. No. Bad brain. Stop that.
Roy tries to be good, he really does, but he’s playing a mental game of hide and seek with himself. He would like to tuck away, wait for the storm to pass, meanwhile his brain would like to present in technicolor every single recollection he’s strung together. Edward’s mismatched hands dragging down his back, one hot with nails, one cold and smooth with steel. The feeling of his hands buried in Edward’s thick hair while he directs the blonde’s head lower and lower and—
Eventually the obscenity becomes too much to handle. It’s ridiculous. He has no solid plan but he knows he needs to talk to Edward lest he go mad.
Edward and Alphonse are living in a small terrace house across Central doing alchemical work. The story of how exactly Edward got his alchemy back is complicated and strange and beside the point for now. Roy knows if he calls, announces himself, that Edward is likely to avoid him purposefully. So he just drops by one chilly afternoon about a week and a half later.
“Afternoon Alphonse.”
“Hello Roy,” Alphonse invites him inside warmly, offering to take his coat. “You’re looking a little worse for wear if you don’t mind my saying so. How’s a coffee sound? Maybe tea?”
“Actually Alphonse I was hoping to steal Edward for a while?”
“Upstairs, library. Knock yourself out.” Alphonse sighs.
“Something I should know?”
“I don’t think so,” Alphonse shrugs, “Ed’s just being his typical weird self in stereo lately.”
Roy’s gut does a backflip. Has Edward been swamping the thoughts too? Has Edward been helplessly assaulted by memories of sights and sensations? In a way he hopes so. Partially because he feels he shouldn’t be the only one to suffer and partially because it’ll make this so much easier.
Upstairs he finds Edward on the floor in an assorted pile of alchemy books. The blonde, evidently, has been flooding his mind with as much distracting stimuli as he can get his greedy little hands on. Leaning into the doorway Roy coughs once, gently, trying to shake Edward out of his haze without violence.
Edward grunts, acknowledging the presence, and glancing up—
Edward swears violently, head ducking back to his book, and he’s trying to hide it but Roy can see the beginning of a furious blush creeping across him.
“What do you want?” Edward demands tartly.
“I come in peace,” Roy assures, hands up placatingly as he creeps a little closer into the room.
“Unless this is work related or you can erase my memories you can fuck right off.”
“Sadly I can’t promise either release.” Roy admits, taking a seat in the armchair to Edward’s right by the softly churning fire. On the floor, on his knees, Edward looks rumpled and good. Half crazed too, sure, but good all the same. Roy’s mentally starving at this point, he realizes, he’ll take anything. The way Edward tosses his ponytail to shoot him a glare is enough to make him weak at the knees.
“What then?”
“Let’s go on a date.”
Edward pulls a face, reacts violently, and scrunching his nose up seems caught between a disbelieving moan of frustration and an utterly loathsome scoff. It’s rapturous.
“I’m serious,” Roy promises.
“Then you’re out of your goddamn synapses.”
“Look maybe it was just a storm of coincidences and a lot of drugs,” Roy supposes, “but I can’t get it out of my head. So go on a date with me, utterly dispel the mystery, and then neither of us ever has to think about it again.”
Edward crosses both his arms and his legs for good measure as he glares up at Roy.
“Dates are experiments.” Roy counters. “No one even has to know.”
“Fine,” Edward grits his teeth. “One date to get this out of our system. Then this saga effectively never happened. Deal?”
“Deal.” Roy swears. He wants this over as soon as humanly possible. Edward is a good friend, a loyal companion, he’s brilliant and handsome and effectively charming once you get over his peculiarities but Roy can’t handle fantasizing about him every ten seconds. He needs to know there’s nothing between them. He needs to know the spark he remembers was pure accident.
Edward is permitted to organize the date because, as Edward puts it, he doesn’t want to endure any of Roy’s ‘fancy, boring, bullshit’. Besides Roy’s not sure how to begin organizing a date with Edward. Flowers and wine would go over about as pleasantly as a grenade in an aid station. Edward doesn’t want to feel like a girl, Roy knows that much, but what does Edward want to feel like? Roy can amp up the charm, seduce, but Edward finds his suave mask utterly insulting. Edward knows the secret after all. Edward knows Roy is a loser in sleek clothing. Any attempts to pretend to be something he’s not would fall flat. Edward hates liars and fakes, always has, however good their intentions.
So Roy let’s Edward pick and they catch a cab across Central into a more metropolitan district. There’s a night market on. Which means several things, primarily; street food vendors and stalls selling everything from record players to jewelry to books. There are local alchemists in a row down the far right and, as is prone to happen with alchemists, their attempts to stir up business and interest in their wares has descended into theoretical squabbles with their competing vendors.
Edward moves through the alchemists first, like a man possessed, practically on the war path. Two alchemists are squabbling with each other from their stalls, loudly, and passing them Edward takes a cursory look over their wares before announcing.
“You’re both morons. The answer is a sun in the lower right quadrant of the transmutation circle. Hubrick wrote a fucking book on it. Now shut up and show me something good.”
There’s a pause, complete disbelief, and then the vendors scramble to show Edward their more unusual wares. Roy almost laughs. If Edward knows one thing its alchemy. Roy probably could’ve answered the debacle himself but he tends to block out shouting. Edward flickers through their various toys and glancing over his shoulder Roy keeps track of the presentations; lame, fragile, inane, Edward was making better at twelve… Grunting Edward decides to move away, completely unimpressed with both the rhetoric and the quality of the alchemy, and when Roy doesn’t follow fast enough Edward grasps his hand and tugs him along curtly.
Edward’s hand is warm. Edward’s beautiful under the street lamps. The business of alchemy appraisal done with he seems to become less serious too. Food is the next order of business. The Cretan street food is delicious and Edward manages the business of eating one handed with significantly more skill than Roy. When he pauses to lick his steel finger tips, index finger in his mouth, Roy loses focus for a split second but Edward glances, expecting him to keep up with the conversation, and Roy stumbles to comply.
Conversation with Edward is sharp. Edward’s not cruel but if there’s room for a joke he’ll make it. Roy falls into the rhythm quickly when he stops thinking about it. They’re not trying to be charming, charm would just slow them down. No Edward genuinely wants to talk, to sass, and to most they probably appear as if they’re bickering but Roy finds he’s actually enjoying himself. A little quick wit, plenty of shared knowledge, and a general desire to dress each other down a peg makes for delightful chattering.
Roy usually has to put up so much more on a first date. There’s always an angle, a mask, a style… he might as well be an actor running through routine monologues. He can’t do that with Edward. Edward would chew that up and spit that out. No, with Edward he finds he is forced to be his crass self. Edward doesn’t give him time to think of nice answers. Edward frowns pointedly when he says things just to appear more than he is. Evidently Edward came on this date expecting to grapple with the real Roy Mustang. No substitutes accepted. So, surrendering, Roy gives him what he wants and Edward… fuck Edward actually starts to laugh. Edward is not put off when he grunts. Edward just squeezes his hand and relaxes.
As they move through the stalls, drawn by flashes of curiosity, Edward is always quick to remind Roy, however unintentionally, that his mind works in strange ways. Edward sees mundane objects in bizarre lights. That is a potential gift for someone he loves, that reminds him of home, that reminds him of an adventure with Alphonse, that’s bullshit— Roy finds himself grinning, arm hooking itself around Edward’s shoulders and waist when the hand proves insufficient and the blonde moves too quickly for his liking.
Edward pauses in front of a row of music boxes. Roy’s arm wraps around his shoulders, hand lulling into his clavicle, mouth close to his ear. Roy grunts his question. He wants to know what’s caught Edward’s attention. Edward begins to explain.
“It’s just beautiful fucking craftmanship. Look at the detail work in that mechanism. That tiny finicky shit. I mean this is just to make a music box. Can you imagine the hell Winry goes through with my automail?”
“Given you break it so often I’m sure she’s found shortcuts.” Roy grins.
“Ha fucking ha.” Edward scoffs.
By the time they’re done exploring it’s getting late. Edward has had dessert and swallowing the remnants of his ice cream cone is watching vendors pack up when he hums; “So are we done then? Are you satisfied?” He glances over Roy, their faces close in the shadow of the streetlight and Roy considers the question carefully.
Is he done? Has this put his temporary fascination to rest?
“No,” Roy admits, “no I confess I’m not satisfied.”
“Mustang—” Edward growls.
“Come home with me.” Roy appeals, arm hooking round Edward’s waist again.
“You said, promised actually, that a boring date would kill your interest.” Edward begins. “You assured me that we would never have to think about this again after tonight. You said—"
“I assumed as much.” Roy agrees. “I was wrong. Now, an equally pressing question is this; is your interest waning? Do you want to go home and never speak of this again? Are you done?”
Edward glares at him. He’s not supposed to pull that card evidently. He’s not supposed to flip the tables. Yet he does and he waits and groaning Edward’s eyes roll back into his head. The blonde is a ripple of frustration and sudden embarrassment when he admits—
“No.” It’s a growl. Low and guttural. “But you’re supposed to be the reasonable one. This isn’t my job, damnit Mustang.”
“Come home with me,” Roy repeats. “Just tonight. Just see what happens.”
Edward glares but there’s no venom in it. The blonde’s too embarrassed, too wrapped up in hesitations, to really commit to smoking Roy out with a look. Edward wants to come play. Edward wants to see. He’s embarrassed by that, sure, but it doesn’t change the fact its true. Sighing Edward looks away and nods.
“Yes?” Roy presses with a grin.
“Yes.” Edward’s voice is a warning. He doesn’t want to be teased about this.
Roy bundles them into a cab and, too prim and proper to make out in the backseat like a teenager, settles for lacing their fingers. Edward won’t look at him at first, is set on watching the streets pass, but Roy can feel his body stiffening with every corner. Roy knows he’s rippling with anticipation but he can’t tell if its nerves or excitement that’s gripped Edward. That worries him. Edward’s coiling like a spring and it could go one or two ways for them. That being the case Roy’s resolved to be a touch more considerate this time. He can’t imagine he was a thoughtful lover when he was drugged.
He pulls Edward against him by his waist as they mount Roy’s front steps and the blonde’s tight as steel when they get the front door unlocked. Roy’s ready to take charge, ready to convince and soothe, but he very quickly finds he’s utterly misread Edward.
He has the door locked, barely, when Edward yanks him around by his collar. Edward’s kiss is white hot and eager. Roy’s almost bowled over by it. Roy falls back against the door, catching armfuls of Edward, and the blonde kisses him so hard there’s a line of spit between them when he pulls away. Edward’s fingers tangle in his hair, the blonde pushed up on his toes, and panting Edward grunts;
“You going to just stand there like a limp fish?”
“There’s no rush—” Roy tries to soothe. They don’t need to be rough. Edward’s perhaps gotten the impression that’s how Roy likes it but—
Edward slaps him, whining roughly in the back of his throat; “don’t fuck with me, Mustang. Kiss me like you mean it you sack of shit.”
How Edward manages to be commanding and needy in the same breath Roy has no comprehension. Still, head spinning, cheek stinging Roy computes as best he can that it’s not about him; Edward wants this. Edward wants this hard and fast and now. Head ducking down Roy bundles his hand in the thick hair at the base of Edward’s skull. Tugging the alchemist’s head back Roy kisses him. More accurately Roy brutalizes Edward’s mouth with his tongue.
Edward purrs.
Roy doesn’t think they’re going to make it up the stairs so he shoves Edward back into his first floor office. They bump up against the desk in the semi-darkness. Edward’s hands tangle in his hair tighter than before. Edward’s hips arch up against him where they’re pinned between Roy’s body and the desk. Roy shoves his hands under Edward’s t-shirt, groping, but until he drags his nails down the blonde’s side the other barely seems to notice the touch.
Edward gasps, catching his breath between kisses, and pushing at him the blonde tugs Roy’s hands off him. Roy wonders in a flash if he’s done something wrong until Edward drops to his knees. Edward tugs at his pants, practically ripping buttons off in the low light—
“Careful,” Roy entreats but Edward ignores him. Growling Roy changes styles, grabbing Edward by his hair and forcing the blonde to look at him; “you break it you bought it, brat. You understand me?”
“Yes Sir,” Edward hisses, totally into it.
Roy forgets how to breathe. Edward served under him for years but this has to be the first time Edward Elric has called anyone ‘sir’. The rumble of that voice, the—It goes straight to Roy’s cock. He can’t think. Edward, seeming to sense Roy’s stumble, shakes his head free of Roy’s hands and tugging the older man’s pants and underwear down a fraction eases his cock out. Roy thinks, for a split second, he can handle this until Edward grasps him with a cool automail hand—
Automail and cocks should not mix. Roy’s fairly sure of it. But evidently Edward’s done this before because the pressure is just right and swirling the steel fingers around the head of Roy’s cock he slicks the automail with precum making the slide of his palm up and down the shaft smoother. Roy doesn’t—There’s a strangled noise that escapes his throat, part shock, part pure arousal, and head back Roy is utterly lost to the world. Edward’s hand is cool, almost unpleasant, but it’s an indescribable feeling and so distinctly Edward that Roy can’t for a second forget who he’s dealing with.
Edward’s hand along his shaft is cold. Edward’s mouth wrapping around the head of his cock meanwhile is almost blisteringly hot by comparison. Roy can’t choke back the sound he makes. One hand grasps the edge of the desk for dear life, the other coils in Edward’s hair, and swearing sharply Roy’s feels his eyes roll back.
Roy’s on a knife’s edge. Everything is in sharp relief. Achingly hard his cock endures the cool tightness of Edward’s automail fingers and the hot, wet, confines of his mouth. Roy is usually quite an apt lover, don’t misunderstand, but there’s evidently a real artform to working with Edward. Roy can grasp some of the basics but it’s going to take practice to totally unravel how this game works. Edward likes being roughed up apparently. A little pressure, a solemn grunt, and the blonde can seemingly be convinced to do just about anything. That said Edward is evidently not interested in just sitting back and taking it.
It feels so good.
Moaning, Roy tugs on Edward’s hair. This keeps up much longer and he’s going to blow his load down that massaging throat. Tempting, yes, but he didn’t endure the last two weeks for a blow job. When Edward ignores him Roy tugs harder, a little rougher than he would usually dare to handle a lover.
“Up,” he barks, voice rumbling with desire and something like frustration.
Edward’s mouth pops off his cock and panting the blonde finally let’s Roy maneuver him up onto his feet. Roy’s hands work quickly. Edward’s shirt? Discarded. Thrown away across the room. Edward’s pants and underwear? Yanked down hard while the blonde stumbles out of his shoes. Roy’s perfectly organized desk? Roy swipes his arm across it sending pens and papers skittering onto the carpet and grabbing Edward’s ass hefts the blonde up onto it.
Roy realizes as Edward’s legs wrap around his hips that the drawer he needs is on the opposite side of the desk. Swearing, dragging his nails down Edward’s thighs, he manages—
“Lube, top drawer. Grab it.”
Edward sprawls back hand fumbling over the opposing edge of the desk to find the top drawer. The lube is found while Roy plies kisses across Edward’s navel and, legs tightening around him, the blonde tugs on Roy’s shoulder to grab his attention. Growling Roy glances up, takes the lube and standing prepares to—
“Fuck me,” Edward moans.
“Edward I’m going to give you bruises.” Roy promises hoarsely.
“No, I mean—” Edward pants, pushing up on one elbow to grab Roy’s hand. “Don’t prep me.”
Roy freezes, brain short circuiting, and totally forgets his struggle with uncapping the lubricant.
“Edward, you can’t—” Roy knows he should argue. He’s trying very hard to be the voice of reason here but, squeezing his hand, Edward whines—
“Slick up your cock and just—Just take me hard. Fuck me open.”
Roy’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment as he groans. Fucking hell.
“It’ll hurt,” he stresses, trying to claw back some common sense or decency.
“I want it to hurt,” Edward whines. “Come on, Roy please, I’ll be so tight.”
“Sweet mother of god,” Roy wheezes, “lie back. Lie back.”
Hearing the warning in his voice Edward sprawls, cheeks flushed, and cursing his lax self-control liberally Roy slicks up his cock. Roy is just a man. He is only human. How the fuck is he supposed to say no to something like this? He’s got a blonde slut begging him to fuck him raw. What else is Roy supposed to do?
Taking Edward’s hip in one hand he lines himself up against the young man’s hole with his other. Pressing, tugging Edward closer, he breaches the ring of muscle slowly and—
“Oh fuck…” Roy almost blacks out. Edward wasn’t lying. He’s so desperately tight and hot.
“Ah-Ooh…” Edward makes these noises. Breathy and tense. He must be in pain but the blonde doesn’t once ask Roy to stop. His thighs tremble around Roy’s hips, his eyes scrunch shut, his nails try to dig into the desk but Edward still doesn’t ask Roy to stop.
Roy pushes past the resistance and, settling, finds himself fully sheathed inside the other. He tries to breathe but it feels like his lungs are clamped shut. All he can do is hold Edward’s hips and stand still. It’s almost too much.
“You alright?” He pants. Edward is heaving, shaking, and Roy’s not sure if it’s a good sign or not.
“Don’t move.” Edward gasps. “I just—If I don’t—Fuck, fuck, you move I’m going to cum.”
Roy wheezes.
“You’re not supposed to like this, you fucking slut,” Roy can’t help but groan.
“Oh god…” Edward whimpers. “I know, I know but—Fuck Roy…”
“You’re a slut,” Roy hisses, totally past the point of no return. “Now hold still and let me fuck you.”
“Nhhhn—” Edward drags the sound through his throat as Roy eases back but when the older man jerks his hips, thrusting back into the blonde, the sound Edward makes is caught perfectly between pained and overwhelmingly turned on.
Roy swears. He’s not going to last. He knows that. Part of his brain stops worrying so much about Edward. Edward couldn’t fake this. Edward’s loving this and if the blonde wanted him to stop he’d make his desires pretty clear pretty quickly. So Roy digs his thumbs into Edward’s hips and starts fucking him hard. Roy’s had lots of lovers but very few of them have ever let him be this mean.
Roy’s hips work into Edward, cock bottoming out inside the other with every thrust, and head back the blonde starts to moan out the lewdest things Roy’s ever heard.
“Oh god, fuck, god…” Edward pants. “Yes, please, just like that. God, fuck me, fuck me…”
Roy has his kinks but he never imagined one of them would be hearing Edward Elric totally unhinged and moaning wantonly. The blonde starts to arch his hips into Roy’s adjusting to the way Roy’s cock is stretching him but just barely. Edward hiccups, voice cracking with need, and pounding him into the desk Roy grits his teeth. He wants to last, wants to hold off, but he’s been riding the edge for a little while now and he’s about to lose it.
“Keep talking.” Roy orders. “You like that?”
“Oh god yes…” Edward pushes down into his cock. “Feels so good. Fuck me harder. Give it to me.”
“Fuck you any harder you’re going to break.”
“Fuck you,” Edward hisses, “just give it to me.”
Growling Roy’s hand shots out. Pinning Edward to the desk by his neck, fingers tightening around his jugular, Roy couldn’t hold back his hips if he tried.
“Like that?” Roy growls. “Is that what you want, you slut?”
“R-Roy—!” Edward bucks off the table, all hips, and moaning brokenly starts to cum.
Roy can’t move, fully seated inside the blonde, feeling Edward clench and spasm around him and swearing thickly Roy feels his own orgasm rip through him. Moaning he grips Edward tight, trying to still the squirming body, riding out his orgasm as he floods the body under him with cum, hips twitching...
Edward slackens, panting, legs locked around Roy tightly with the last of his strength. Roy almost collapses, burying his face in Edward’s chest as he tries to catch his breath.
Roy is pretty sure he blacked out for a second there.
He hasn’t cum that hard since he was eighteen.
He tries, vainly, to slip his hand away from Edward’s throat but slender fingers snap up, pressing his hand down, keeping it there. Chuckling Roy rubs his thumb into the crook of Edward’s jaw. Edward sighs, the very image of satisfaction.
“You like that?” Roy rumbles, sweaty forehead still plastered against Edward’s chest.
“Yeah…” Edward breathes. “I liked that a lot…”
“Didn’t expect you to be such a slut,” Roy half jokes, half confesses.
Edward clenches around him.
Roy hisses.
Note to self; don’t insult Edward when the blonde literally has you by the dick.
Pushing up on his hands Roy manages to stand upright again. Edward lets the fingers around his neck slip away and pulling out of him gently Roy watches that perfect face for residual pain.
“Would you like to stay the night?” Roy wheezes weakly.
Edward nods, equally spent.
“Perfect,” Roy relaxes. “Come on, can you stand? I’ve got a bed upstairs that’s just singing your name.”
Edward moves cautiously, a little sore, but Roy helps him to his feet and a moment later they’re sluggishly ascending the stairs. Roy is totally wrecked. Brain dead. But he could get used to that he decides.
Edward likes to cuddle. Roy’s a little surprised given the blonde also likes to be fucked raw but he’ll take it. Edward is permissible of plenty of things, but he doesn’t give Roy much chance to be nice. That known, that understood, Roy takes what brief opportunities he is presented with to pamper Edward with kisses. Roy wonders if there’s a threshold of some sort? As in; ‘Your Edward must be at least this fucked senseless before you are permitted to be sweet with him’. Roy’s not sure but it’s fine. Brain dead after his orgasm Edward snuggles down and almost smiles into Roy’s hands. Now that is nice.
In the morning Edward permits Roy to make pancakes. The blonde is evidently not in such a hurry to leave that he’ll reject a free breakfast.
Roy finds he likes this. That spark? It wasn’t imagined and its proved kindling to a slowly growing forest fire in Roy’s gut. Edward is handsome, yes, but Edward naked and mewling is fucking disastrously hot. Edward is smart, quick witted, yes, but Edward relaxed and lazily smiling makes Roy’s heart do a giddy little backflip. Roy definitely likes this. It feels secret, special.
Roy’s got to think of a plan.
“We should go on another date,” Roy decides.
“Mustang—” Edward warns.
“We came home, we saw what happened, it was good. I think we should see how deep this rabbit hole goes.” Roy argues stubbornly.
Edward rolls his eyes, feet up on his seat, glass of juice in his automail hand.
“We go on many more dates and we’re going to have to start telling people we’re dating.” Edward concludes. “If you just want to fuck again, I’m down for that. We can organize that. I’ll—”
“No,” Roy puts his foot down, “dates. Dates and sex. Simultaneously. The Amestrian dream.”
“You’re not supposed to be a romantic.” Edward returns his glass to the table. “I feel misled. You’re supposed to be the one pushing for fuck buddies so I don’t mess up your orderly little life.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m feeling very romantic right now.”
“Ugh, fine.” Edward relents. “On one condition.”
Roy invites Edward to speak. Whatever inane little thing Edward wants Roy can handle. He’s a grown man. He’s a decorated war veteran.
“You’re telling Alphonse.” Edward announces.
Roy struggles with that despite himself. He’s willing to get into a lot of dangerous situations but getting between the Elric brothers? That seems… Roy sighs. Fuck. Alphonse could react in a number of ways. Alphonse is a sweet, kind, gentleman but he’s also a fierce, protective, warrior who will make that evident to suitors. Still…
“Fine,” Roy grunts, stabbing his pancakes. “I’ll tell Alphonse.”
Edward seems surprised.
“Mustang I get you’re interested,” Edward mumbles, “but I didn’t think you were suicidal.”
Roy shrugs.
“Fine, fine,” Edward relents, “survive Alphonse and it’s on.”
Roy walks Edward home. Stretching his arms over his head as they enter the front yard the blonde works a kink out of his spine. Roy fucked him hard last night the older man rues smugly. He’d like to fuck Edward hard many more times. If he can talk the blonde into it he’d even like to make love to Edward sweetly sometime. He suspects that will take some deception but such is life.
Alphonse comes to greet them at the door.
“Brother,” he grins, laughing; “you were out all night. I’m guess whatever you were up to went—General Mustang?”
“Morning Alphonse,” Roy greets, trying to ignore the way his stomach tightens.
“Did he get arrested for something again?” Alphonse sighs.
“Not quite,” Roy snorts. “I might have been responsible for occupying him last night. My apologies for any inconvenience.”
“That’s…” Alphonse seems temporarily confused. “Do I want to know what you two were up to? Is some lowlife criminal trussed up this morning?”
“No, no,” Roy tries to remain calm under Alphonse’s weary, searching, gaze. Edward has his arms folded and is watching, amused. Little shit. “We just talked, had dinner, lost track of time…”
Alphonse’s brows twitch.
“Like a date?”
“Like a date,” Roy parrots as levelly as he can manage. He’s waiting for impact.
“That’s… Huh.” Alphonse seems to consider it. “Is this the first of a series of dates, Mustang?”
“That’s the plan,” Roy stuffs his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t have his gloves. He probably should’ve brought his gloves.
“Is this part of a scheme?” Alphonse’s eyes narrow.
“What?” Roy startles. “No, no, of course not.”
“Good.” Alphonse’s voice is a warning. “What brought this on exactly then?”
“I don’t…?”
“You’ve never seemed particularly interested in brother, General Mustang.”
“We…uh…” Roy struggles for how to word this. “There was an incident at the Armstrong Yule Ball.”
“Where everyone was drugged.” Alphonse clarifies.
“In my defence there were no drugs last night.” Roy is careful to point out.
“Hmm….” Alphonse considers it. “Okay. Fair enough. Thanks for bringing brother home, Roy. If you’re going to be around more often we should have dinner sometime? Just us three.”
“Right, yes, of course.” Roy agrees. He thinks he’s past the worst of it and Alphonse has evidently decided not to behead him. This is good.
“Wait, wait, hold up,” Edward pivots. “You’re not going to grill him more than that? Weak Alphonse. Weak.”
“Shut up Edward,” Roy hisses.
“General Mustang is an old friend,” Alphonse shrugs, “I already know he’s a good man, brother. I also know General Mustang has seen what I can do. Which should be sufficient incentive not to cause trouble, right?”
“Right,” Roy nods.
“Mother of god,” Edward throws his head back, “you’re both the worst. Alphonse get your ass inside, it’s cold, and you, Mustang, call me. Good day to you. Get. Go.”
“Right, going,” Roy laughs with relief. “Have a good day boys.”
“Stick it up your ass Mustang,” Edward calls after him.
And, just like that, Roy has secured himself a relationship with Edward Elric.