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kinkfestTitle: Of Soups, Rain and Spoons
Author: Lucifer Hisaki (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mercy_slays/luciferhisaki)
Rating: R
Word Count: 2055
Summary: Just because he enjoyed the soups over at that bistro, didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own secret recipe for a good bowl himself.
Notes: Set in my fan universe, Soup-verse. Doesn't necessarily have to be read before reading this though it might make it more coherent. ^^;;;Probably will make a more kinkier "part 2" in the near future though...
Of Soups, Rain and Spoons
Just because he enjoyed the soups over at that bistro, didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own secret recipe for a good bowl himself. It just happened that he didn’t have the time to cook his family recipe (the only legacy he managed to take with pride from his home, but then again he didn’t really have many things to be grateful or prideful of during his childhood). It was a good dish, if he said so himself and maybe that was why on rainy days (and days he actually didn’t have to go to the office) he just made this traditional soup.
That and it brought some comfort.
Stirring the soup, he glanced at the clock and wondered if he would have an “unexpected” guest or not tonight. It would be nice to have some company but then again it had been a while since he was able to actually be by himself on an off duty date. Even an imposed one. Shrugging, he raked a hand through his hair before scratching the cloth on face, humming softly to himself as he turned and started to continue to cut the necessary vegetables to add into the broth. They took the longest to cook and Roy already had the noodles ready on the side. All he had to worry about now was getting the vegetables cut and in the broth and wait for roughly an hour or so on low heat. That was all and then he’d have his dinner.
His lips twitched slightly in anticipation as he glanced back at the broth, lowering the flame of the stove when he noticed it was starting to shimmer too soon. Despite what everyone might think, he was a fairly good cook but then again he used flame alchemy and how many times had the idea of “Alchemy was born in the kitchen” was stated allowed? Never mind that it was really Chemistry that they meant but Alchemy was just as similar.
Chuckling to himself softly, he stepped back from his work and patted the front of his black apron, smoothing out the wrinkles absently as well as spreading some of the splatter and debris. At least he wasn’t wearing his military uniform. It would seem awkward and strange if he was. Besides, in his home, he wasn’t a soldier of any rank. He was merely just Roy Mustang. Again, he shook his head, walking over to the study for a moment to retrieve a journal (any journal really, something to amuse himself later while his soup cooked).
His slippers were quiet against the dark wood of his flooring, soft enough not to make any real sound or squeak but with enough friction on the bottoms for him not to slip. It was just habit that he wore them really, a sort of conditioning from his childhood (probably from one too many canings from his uncle when he trod barefoot in the house). With a small sigh, he turned on the light in his study and turned on the phonograph for a moment, wanting to hear at least one strand of musical chorus fill his home before he let silence fill the space again.
Silence was nice some of the time but even with the rain tapping on every window on his home, he still preferred some noise to that. Rain reminded him too much of the nights of relief in Ishbal—nights in which he was able to relax and grieve, to allow himself to be useless due to circumstance and not intention. On other nights, it was merely a reminder of gunshots fired and of screams muffled.
Alchemy and War.
It was devastation of all kinds..
He jumped slightly when thunder clashed just outside, the storm apparently growing more heavy, more fierce. Roy shivered in sympathy and in slight fear, a shudder of memory spiking up each of his vertebrae as he grasped the spine of a worn book. He didn’t even look at it as he pulled it out of one of his numerous bookcases in the study. Just the feel of the rough spine, the unique texture of it was enough to tell him which book he had plucked. It was one of his Ishbal journals, the very first one and Roy smirked a rueful grin. Maybe there was more to this night than he already thought. He was so naïve then.
Replacing the journal, he opted for a more “sane” piece of work, something not riddled with despair and depression. He didn’t want to really remember what had happened in Ishbal, even after so many years. All he wanted right now was to enjoy his evening and settle for a bowl of soup.
Swiftly, he returned to his stove (dropping his book on the table first), peering into the pot for a moment, nodding to himself. It was almost shimmering again but this time it was expected. The broth had reduced considerably than before and though there were still a few more vegetables he had to cut, they weren’t so much important as the ones he chopped before leaving to his study. Sliding the cut pieces into a small platform, he carefully slipped them into the broth (making sure to keep the flame on the lowest setting), careful not to splash himself or burn his skin. It certainly wouldn’t do if the Flame Alchemist was with a burn injury from cooking. Not when so many people thought him incompetent of making a meal, much less able to boil water.
Done with that, he raised his knife and reached for one of the other vegetables he had to dice.
His blood froze, muscles stilled, breath paused.
Arms wrapped around his waist, one warm and one cold as ice. Wet. They were wet, too. Roy didn’t glance down to know whose arms those belonged to. His lips twitched into something of a half-grin, a minute shake of his head. “I thought you were staying with your brother tonight. Did you not notice the rain?”
“I thought you said I could stop by anytime,” there was a certain edge to the blond’s tone and Roy smirked a bit wider, glancing back over his shoulder at his companion, “Besides, Alphonse wanted to spend time by himself, says I’m too irritable when I’m in a mood.”
Roy snickered and turned but he was stopped by the blond, “Oh and you decided to come and impose on me do you?” He didn’t try again to face the blond, wondering what sort of game Edward would want to play tonight. So much for a night of solitude, though the surprise of company was always nice. “That’s not exactly fair. And did you at least make sure you didn’t bring in the storm with you when you decided to force your way into my home? I swear if I find a footprint of mud-“
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Edward pulled him down for a kiss with his automail hand, fingers caressing the side of Roy’s face a bit longer than necessary for just mere companions. There was no tongue or anything really pressing about it. A simple chaste kiss with a inner lining of something more. Roy laughed into the contact, almost turning his body enough to kiss the blond properly but Edward’s flesh arm kept him still before the brunet found himself being pressed up against the counter’s edge.
Staying still, Roy raised an eyebrow in anticipation as he felt one hand slip underneath his black apron and finger the fastenings of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them but not yet pulling them off completely, just leaving the denim hanging on his hips as the very same hand (cold but warming) slipped underneath his dress shirt, fingers grazing and dancing over his torso. Roy shivered at the touch, breath hitching when he felt a pair of lips press up against the side of his neck, against a line of raised white scarring (one of Roy’s more closer calls back in Ishbal), suckling softly against it.
He leaned back against his lover just as the other forced him harder against the edge, allowing the blunt end to dig into Roy’s body. “I never saw you in an apron before,” Edward chuckled, “Looks hot.”
Roy rolled his eyes and pressed back against the body pushing him forward, “Did you think that I wouldn’t want you to see me in something like this.” He was mocking somewhat but otherwise, it was nothing really. Compared to the frilly apron, Maes tried to blackmail him into wearing, Roy preferred this rather simple black one instead. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for aprons, Fullmetal. Perhaps I should just look the other way and wash my hands of you so you can explore this fetish further with a more adept person. Say… a female?”
He grinned at the blond over his shoulder with a hint of rue but Edward wouldn’t have anything of it, thrusting his body hard against the counter’s edge. “Don’t you dare say that to me,” the younger alchemist growled into Roy’s ear, “I don’t want a female. Haven’t we been together long enough for me to actually prove I want you? Or did all those times in the bistro actually make you think I’m going to break up with you like Hughes did?” He snarled slightly, automail hand tugging at the collar of Roy’s dress shirt from the inside, pulling downward, ripping the buttons without a single care.
Roy took a sharp intake of breath, surprised by the gesture and possessiveness. So what if he had…?
The shirt was pushed down to Roy’s biceps, a makeshift bound of cloth keeping his arms limited in reach. Straining his neck, he tried to look and see what the blond was doing behind him but Edward stepped away, pulling the cutting board and knifes away along with the vegetables that still needed to be cut and diced, setting them on the kitchen table. He then forced Roy to the side, farther away from the stove, pushing the taller and older man on top of the counter, not minding the mess as containers spilled and broke on the floor in his fury (an automail arm swiping them away to make room for Roy to sit).
He glared at the blond, not liking the mess at all when Edward pulled him down, thrusting his tongue inside, not waiting for even an invitation. Roy groaned into the briskness of the kiss, the ferocity of it. He pulled at the makeshift binding that held his biceps together, watching as Edward withdrew and smirked a very familiar grin. Quirking an eyebrow, he gazed into those mischievous eyes and heard, rather than saw the resounding clap of two hands against each other.
Edward pounced on him, arms wrapping around Roy’s torso, hands pressed against the dress shirt, securing—tightening—the fabric taut against the brunet’s limbs. It was more restricting than the pair of handcuffs they “borrowed” last week. “I think it’s my turn to have a bit fetish fun this week, Mustang.” Roy rolled his eyes and glared slightly, feeling his legs being spread apart just after the blond more or less tore his jeans off his body, leaving him in his sock and slippers.
He watched as the blond retreated again, this time walking over to the stove, pondering. Roy clucked his tongue, "What are you doing with that spoon?" The very same spoon that he had been using in stirring the broth of his soup. It was wood but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still warm from the heat of his cooking dinner. Roy had left it in the pot, not even bothering to take it out but apparently he probably should have if the gleam in Edward’s eyes was anything to go by.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a nice spoon, you know?” He brandished it like a sword, moving in front of Roy’s body again as he traced the side of his lover’s cheek with the hot back of the shallow bowl end. It almost scorched Roy’s flesh but thankfully it wouldn’t mark. He hissed softly in response before Edward pulled the handle back and smacked the front of Roy’s apron with it.
“I want to have some fun you know?” If anything Edward’s grin grew wider.
Roy quietly thought of asking Armstrong in helping him reinforce his doors and window to keep his lover out when he was in the mood.
End?
I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?
Author: Lucifer Hisaki (
mercy_slays/luciferhisaki)Rating: R
Word Count: 2055
Summary: Just because he enjoyed the soups over at that bistro, didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own secret recipe for a good bowl himself.
Notes: Set in my fan universe, Soup-verse. Doesn't necessarily have to be read before reading this though it might make it more coherent. ^^;;;
Just because he enjoyed the soups over at that bistro, didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own secret recipe for a good bowl himself. It just happened that he didn’t have the time to cook his family recipe (the only legacy he managed to take with pride from his home, but then again he didn’t really have many things to be grateful or prideful of during his childhood). It was a good dish, if he said so himself and maybe that was why on rainy days (and days he actually didn’t have to go to the office) he just made this traditional soup.
That and it brought some comfort.
Stirring the soup, he glanced at the clock and wondered if he would have an “unexpected” guest or not tonight. It would be nice to have some company but then again it had been a while since he was able to actually be by himself on an off duty date. Even an imposed one. Shrugging, he raked a hand through his hair before scratching the cloth on face, humming softly to himself as he turned and started to continue to cut the necessary vegetables to add into the broth. They took the longest to cook and Roy already had the noodles ready on the side. All he had to worry about now was getting the vegetables cut and in the broth and wait for roughly an hour or so on low heat. That was all and then he’d have his dinner.
His lips twitched slightly in anticipation as he glanced back at the broth, lowering the flame of the stove when he noticed it was starting to shimmer too soon. Despite what everyone might think, he was a fairly good cook but then again he used flame alchemy and how many times had the idea of “Alchemy was born in the kitchen” was stated allowed? Never mind that it was really Chemistry that they meant but Alchemy was just as similar.
Chuckling to himself softly, he stepped back from his work and patted the front of his black apron, smoothing out the wrinkles absently as well as spreading some of the splatter and debris. At least he wasn’t wearing his military uniform. It would seem awkward and strange if he was. Besides, in his home, he wasn’t a soldier of any rank. He was merely just Roy Mustang. Again, he shook his head, walking over to the study for a moment to retrieve a journal (any journal really, something to amuse himself later while his soup cooked).
His slippers were quiet against the dark wood of his flooring, soft enough not to make any real sound or squeak but with enough friction on the bottoms for him not to slip. It was just habit that he wore them really, a sort of conditioning from his childhood (probably from one too many canings from his uncle when he trod barefoot in the house). With a small sigh, he turned on the light in his study and turned on the phonograph for a moment, wanting to hear at least one strand of musical chorus fill his home before he let silence fill the space again.
Silence was nice some of the time but even with the rain tapping on every window on his home, he still preferred some noise to that. Rain reminded him too much of the nights of relief in Ishbal—nights in which he was able to relax and grieve, to allow himself to be useless due to circumstance and not intention. On other nights, it was merely a reminder of gunshots fired and of screams muffled.
Alchemy and War.
It was devastation of all kinds..
He jumped slightly when thunder clashed just outside, the storm apparently growing more heavy, more fierce. Roy shivered in sympathy and in slight fear, a shudder of memory spiking up each of his vertebrae as he grasped the spine of a worn book. He didn’t even look at it as he pulled it out of one of his numerous bookcases in the study. Just the feel of the rough spine, the unique texture of it was enough to tell him which book he had plucked. It was one of his Ishbal journals, the very first one and Roy smirked a rueful grin. Maybe there was more to this night than he already thought. He was so naïve then.
Replacing the journal, he opted for a more “sane” piece of work, something not riddled with despair and depression. He didn’t want to really remember what had happened in Ishbal, even after so many years. All he wanted right now was to enjoy his evening and settle for a bowl of soup.
Swiftly, he returned to his stove (dropping his book on the table first), peering into the pot for a moment, nodding to himself. It was almost shimmering again but this time it was expected. The broth had reduced considerably than before and though there were still a few more vegetables he had to cut, they weren’t so much important as the ones he chopped before leaving to his study. Sliding the cut pieces into a small platform, he carefully slipped them into the broth (making sure to keep the flame on the lowest setting), careful not to splash himself or burn his skin. It certainly wouldn’t do if the Flame Alchemist was with a burn injury from cooking. Not when so many people thought him incompetent of making a meal, much less able to boil water.
Done with that, he raised his knife and reached for one of the other vegetables he had to dice.
His blood froze, muscles stilled, breath paused.
Arms wrapped around his waist, one warm and one cold as ice. Wet. They were wet, too. Roy didn’t glance down to know whose arms those belonged to. His lips twitched into something of a half-grin, a minute shake of his head. “I thought you were staying with your brother tonight. Did you not notice the rain?”
“I thought you said I could stop by anytime,” there was a certain edge to the blond’s tone and Roy smirked a bit wider, glancing back over his shoulder at his companion, “Besides, Alphonse wanted to spend time by himself, says I’m too irritable when I’m in a mood.”
Roy snickered and turned but he was stopped by the blond, “Oh and you decided to come and impose on me do you?” He didn’t try again to face the blond, wondering what sort of game Edward would want to play tonight. So much for a night of solitude, though the surprise of company was always nice. “That’s not exactly fair. And did you at least make sure you didn’t bring in the storm with you when you decided to force your way into my home? I swear if I find a footprint of mud-“
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Edward pulled him down for a kiss with his automail hand, fingers caressing the side of Roy’s face a bit longer than necessary for just mere companions. There was no tongue or anything really pressing about it. A simple chaste kiss with a inner lining of something more. Roy laughed into the contact, almost turning his body enough to kiss the blond properly but Edward’s flesh arm kept him still before the brunet found himself being pressed up against the counter’s edge.
Staying still, Roy raised an eyebrow in anticipation as he felt one hand slip underneath his black apron and finger the fastenings of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them but not yet pulling them off completely, just leaving the denim hanging on his hips as the very same hand (cold but warming) slipped underneath his dress shirt, fingers grazing and dancing over his torso. Roy shivered at the touch, breath hitching when he felt a pair of lips press up against the side of his neck, against a line of raised white scarring (one of Roy’s more closer calls back in Ishbal), suckling softly against it.
He leaned back against his lover just as the other forced him harder against the edge, allowing the blunt end to dig into Roy’s body. “I never saw you in an apron before,” Edward chuckled, “Looks hot.”
Roy rolled his eyes and pressed back against the body pushing him forward, “Did you think that I wouldn’t want you to see me in something like this.” He was mocking somewhat but otherwise, it was nothing really. Compared to the frilly apron, Maes tried to blackmail him into wearing, Roy preferred this rather simple black one instead. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for aprons, Fullmetal. Perhaps I should just look the other way and wash my hands of you so you can explore this fetish further with a more adept person. Say… a female?”
He grinned at the blond over his shoulder with a hint of rue but Edward wouldn’t have anything of it, thrusting his body hard against the counter’s edge. “Don’t you dare say that to me,” the younger alchemist growled into Roy’s ear, “I don’t want a female. Haven’t we been together long enough for me to actually prove I want you? Or did all those times in the bistro actually make you think I’m going to break up with you like Hughes did?” He snarled slightly, automail hand tugging at the collar of Roy’s dress shirt from the inside, pulling downward, ripping the buttons without a single care.
Roy took a sharp intake of breath, surprised by the gesture and possessiveness. So what if he had…?
The shirt was pushed down to Roy’s biceps, a makeshift bound of cloth keeping his arms limited in reach. Straining his neck, he tried to look and see what the blond was doing behind him but Edward stepped away, pulling the cutting board and knifes away along with the vegetables that still needed to be cut and diced, setting them on the kitchen table. He then forced Roy to the side, farther away from the stove, pushing the taller and older man on top of the counter, not minding the mess as containers spilled and broke on the floor in his fury (an automail arm swiping them away to make room for Roy to sit).
He glared at the blond, not liking the mess at all when Edward pulled him down, thrusting his tongue inside, not waiting for even an invitation. Roy groaned into the briskness of the kiss, the ferocity of it. He pulled at the makeshift binding that held his biceps together, watching as Edward withdrew and smirked a very familiar grin. Quirking an eyebrow, he gazed into those mischievous eyes and heard, rather than saw the resounding clap of two hands against each other.
Edward pounced on him, arms wrapping around Roy’s torso, hands pressed against the dress shirt, securing—tightening—the fabric taut against the brunet’s limbs. It was more restricting than the pair of handcuffs they “borrowed” last week. “I think it’s my turn to have a bit fetish fun this week, Mustang.” Roy rolled his eyes and glared slightly, feeling his legs being spread apart just after the blond more or less tore his jeans off his body, leaving him in his sock and slippers.
He watched as the blond retreated again, this time walking over to the stove, pondering. Roy clucked his tongue, "What are you doing with that spoon?" The very same spoon that he had been using in stirring the broth of his soup. It was wood but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still warm from the heat of his cooking dinner. Roy had left it in the pot, not even bothering to take it out but apparently he probably should have if the gleam in Edward’s eyes was anything to go by.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a nice spoon, you know?” He brandished it like a sword, moving in front of Roy’s body again as he traced the side of his lover’s cheek with the hot back of the shallow bowl end. It almost scorched Roy’s flesh but thankfully it wouldn’t mark. He hissed softly in response before Edward pulled the handle back and smacked the front of Roy’s apron with it.
“I want to have some fun you know?” If anything Edward’s grin grew wider.
Roy quietly thought of asking Armstrong in helping him reinforce his doors and window to keep his lover out when he was in the mood.
I live off your reviews. Really. So please feed me?
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Date: 2007-07-11 02:35 am (UTC)Thank you very much!
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Date: 2007-07-13 08:39 am (UTC)