Fullmetal Alchemist (Hughes/Mustang)
Jul. 13th, 2007 05:36 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
toxictattoo.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Redemption
Author: Jan![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toxictattoo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1323
Summary: Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes have an unspoken understanding.
A/N: Set pre-anime. For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
springkink July Spring Kink Fest, prompt: July 13: #27. Fullmetal Alchemist, Hughes/Mustang: War, punishment, needing, love - "Break me and rebuild me."
*~*~*
There is a time in a man’s life when he hits rock bottom. No hope for salvation, just the blackness that swallows him whole, blotting out any light. Redemption seems such a hollow word and so far out of reach as to be impossible to attain.
The muzzle of his gun has a sharp taste. Metallic, which stands to reason, of course. There is the aftertaste of alcohol that permeates the room; an all-night drinking binge.
But beneath that is the taste he strives to satisfy. Gunpowder, ignition and oblivion.
Scraping behind his teeth, the sight cuts the roof of his mouth, tingeing it with another taste…one he knows by smell. Only it’s missing the unmistakable stink of char. It haunts his dreams, until he’s forced to wake up stifling a scream, coated in sweat and shaking from the chill in the room.
There must be a psychic connection because what follows is what always follows when Roy Mustang has hit the bottom.
It’s just a tap, almost apologetic and yet insistent. “Roy,” Maes’ muffled voice calls out to him. “I know you’re there. Want some company?”
As if Roy could ever keep him shut out. With a wry twist to his mouth – Maes isn’t one to take no for an answer, anyway – he sets the gun aside, takes another drink and answers the door. He knows he looks like hell, he feels like hell and Maes is one who sees him at his worst, regularly.
“Jesus, Roy, you look like shit.”
…and makes comment. Maes and his gift of understatement.
Roy subconsciously combs his fingers through his hair. It takes several times to clear his throat and even now the whiskey roughness tears through him. “I feel like it.”
“I bet.” Maes doesn’t wait for any further invitation. The fact Roy opened the door to his friend is invitation enough. “Rough night?”
There’s no mistaking the look on Maes’ face when he sees the gun and Roy doesn’t try to hide it. “You could say that.”
Maes nods very slowly. His fingers trace over the black metal finish, outlining the barrel and noting the dampness on the muzzle with a scowl. “I see, it’s one of those nights. Well, it’s a good thing I couldn’t sleep.”
In sudden motion, Maes is moving against Roy. He has little time to react before their bodies collide and Roy is forced face first into the door. He feels the cool of the metal against the base of his head, hears the hammer cocking back. His fingers claw at the wood to make room to breathe.
Shoving hard, he gains some distance before he collapsing against the surface again, Maes’ heavier weight pinning him solid. “Oh, so now you have what it takes to fight back,” Maes hisses against his ear. “Fuck, Roy. How long are you going to do this to yourself?”
“I…” And perhaps it is a good thing Maes is there. Roy feels his resolve crumbling and everything he is falls apart. Unable to hold it together any longer, Roy slumps against the wood and buries his face against a hand to muffle the sobs.
To fall apart and to rebuild – it’s a never-ending cycle. “They die in my dreams, Maes, over and over and I can’t get it out from under the weight.” Roy sounds pathetic and he hates that he does.
But this is a scene that repeats and perhaps that is what Roy is counting on.
Maes Hughes, good friend, confidant, supporter and sometimes-lover, a secret that Maes doesn’t share with anyone, not even his current girlfriend. He always knows what needs to be done.
He hears the sound of the hammer easing down again, followed by the gun being tossed across the room. Roy isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not. One of these days Maes really will pull the trigger and it would finally end.
He’s jerked around forcefully and pinned again, Maes covering him once more with his body, and their mouths connect. Angry and rough, Maes pulls at Roy’s shirt, the ripping sound rending through the room and his hands are on Roy’s chest, stroking over his skin. Every place Maes touches comes alive in his path and Roy is on fire from his own need, hard and throbbing in his slacks.
Roy can’t keep up with Maes’ frenetic motions, ridding them of clothing as quickly as he can guide Roy across the room to the sofa. That’s as far as they make it before Maes forces him, naked, down to his knees.
Slick fingers enter him, roughly but not painfully. Roy knows they are not lubed properly but silently agrees finding it would waste time and he doesn’t want that. Saliva, while not optimum, will do in a pinch.
Every exhale sounds like a sigh to his ears and with each pained breath out, he relaxes further.
The urgency is there, a ragged underline to the slow and tender preparations and Maes’ shaking hands don’t go unnoticed. No need to ask, Roy knows.
Pain blossoms, taking his breath and filling the space behind closed lids with pricks of vibrant light. Roy forces himself to breathe and to keep from fighting the intrusion into his body until Maes is seated in him.
“You,” Maes breathes over Roy’s ear. He pulls out and slams home. “Are not allowed to leave me like that, Mustang.”
His hips pound hard against Roy’s body, each connection a sharp slap. Their bodies collide again, each slide punctuated with his words. “Do you understand me?”
Roy’s fingers curl around the sofa cushion, digging hard until he’s certain the fabric is stressed to the point of ripping. He answers but the sound is a low moan. His head is forced back when Maes tangles his fingers in his hair. “Do you understand me?” he repeated.
It sends a shiver through his body, spreading his toes and tingling at the soles of his feet. His hands ache to clasp hard, fingers wanting to curl into fists. “Yes.” Roy is surprised by how little he sounds like himself.
Maes falls quiet, other than the occasional guttural groan. Their tempo is sharp and fast, banging and pulsing. No tenderness, there is only the greedy grasping at release.
Close, evident from the string of curses Maes utters through his clenched teeth, he reaches around Roy, taking him in hand. Perfunctory tugging, Maes jacks him with quick motions that match his pounding until his rhythm frays at the edges.
Roy hits sensory overload and bucks beneath Maes. He presses up against him and holding his strangled shout, muffled against the sofa cushion, he comes. Hard and sudden, Roy’s vision grays at the edges.
Maes holds on, small thrusts as he rides out Roy’s orgasm and when Roy relaxes against the sofa, picks up his tempo again.
“Not allowed,” Maes repeated with a soft hitch to his voice. He jerks once and shouts, the sound echoing through Roy’s living room, fingers bruising at Roy’s hips as he holds their bodies together and empties into Roy.
Finally, he relaxes and bends over Roy’s back. Maes’ breath is hot between his shoulder blades. Just beneath that, hot splashes trickle down his spine. Sweat? Maybe but they weren’t at it long enough to work up that kind of sweat.
Roy knows what it is and he’s grateful.
It’s comfortable to feel Maes there. Symbolic, if Roy were to think hard about it but at that moment his ability to think just expressed against his sofa in white streaks. But it’s enough, subconsciously, for Roy and he feels the vestiges of the pressure in his chest finally melting away.
Along with the sunrise will come, not redemption, but hope for atonement, for some small way to set things right in his fucked up world. One step closer to seeing his plan come to fruition.
Maes will be there, as he’s always been there.
*~*~*~*~*
Author: Jan
toxictattooRating: NC-17
Word Count: 1323
Summary: Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes have an unspoken understanding.
A/N: Set pre-anime. For the
springkink July Spring Kink Fest, prompt: July 13: #27. Fullmetal Alchemist, Hughes/Mustang: War, punishment, needing, love - "Break me and rebuild me."*~*~*
There is a time in a man’s life when he hits rock bottom. No hope for salvation, just the blackness that swallows him whole, blotting out any light. Redemption seems such a hollow word and so far out of reach as to be impossible to attain.
The muzzle of his gun has a sharp taste. Metallic, which stands to reason, of course. There is the aftertaste of alcohol that permeates the room; an all-night drinking binge.
But beneath that is the taste he strives to satisfy. Gunpowder, ignition and oblivion.
Scraping behind his teeth, the sight cuts the roof of his mouth, tingeing it with another taste…one he knows by smell. Only it’s missing the unmistakable stink of char. It haunts his dreams, until he’s forced to wake up stifling a scream, coated in sweat and shaking from the chill in the room.
There must be a psychic connection because what follows is what always follows when Roy Mustang has hit the bottom.
It’s just a tap, almost apologetic and yet insistent. “Roy,” Maes’ muffled voice calls out to him. “I know you’re there. Want some company?”
As if Roy could ever keep him shut out. With a wry twist to his mouth – Maes isn’t one to take no for an answer, anyway – he sets the gun aside, takes another drink and answers the door. He knows he looks like hell, he feels like hell and Maes is one who sees him at his worst, regularly.
“Jesus, Roy, you look like shit.”
…and makes comment. Maes and his gift of understatement.
Roy subconsciously combs his fingers through his hair. It takes several times to clear his throat and even now the whiskey roughness tears through him. “I feel like it.”
“I bet.” Maes doesn’t wait for any further invitation. The fact Roy opened the door to his friend is invitation enough. “Rough night?”
There’s no mistaking the look on Maes’ face when he sees the gun and Roy doesn’t try to hide it. “You could say that.”
Maes nods very slowly. His fingers trace over the black metal finish, outlining the barrel and noting the dampness on the muzzle with a scowl. “I see, it’s one of those nights. Well, it’s a good thing I couldn’t sleep.”
In sudden motion, Maes is moving against Roy. He has little time to react before their bodies collide and Roy is forced face first into the door. He feels the cool of the metal against the base of his head, hears the hammer cocking back. His fingers claw at the wood to make room to breathe.
Shoving hard, he gains some distance before he collapsing against the surface again, Maes’ heavier weight pinning him solid. “Oh, so now you have what it takes to fight back,” Maes hisses against his ear. “Fuck, Roy. How long are you going to do this to yourself?”
“I…” And perhaps it is a good thing Maes is there. Roy feels his resolve crumbling and everything he is falls apart. Unable to hold it together any longer, Roy slumps against the wood and buries his face against a hand to muffle the sobs.
To fall apart and to rebuild – it’s a never-ending cycle. “They die in my dreams, Maes, over and over and I can’t get it out from under the weight.” Roy sounds pathetic and he hates that he does.
But this is a scene that repeats and perhaps that is what Roy is counting on.
Maes Hughes, good friend, confidant, supporter and sometimes-lover, a secret that Maes doesn’t share with anyone, not even his current girlfriend. He always knows what needs to be done.
He hears the sound of the hammer easing down again, followed by the gun being tossed across the room. Roy isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not. One of these days Maes really will pull the trigger and it would finally end.
He’s jerked around forcefully and pinned again, Maes covering him once more with his body, and their mouths connect. Angry and rough, Maes pulls at Roy’s shirt, the ripping sound rending through the room and his hands are on Roy’s chest, stroking over his skin. Every place Maes touches comes alive in his path and Roy is on fire from his own need, hard and throbbing in his slacks.
Roy can’t keep up with Maes’ frenetic motions, ridding them of clothing as quickly as he can guide Roy across the room to the sofa. That’s as far as they make it before Maes forces him, naked, down to his knees.
Slick fingers enter him, roughly but not painfully. Roy knows they are not lubed properly but silently agrees finding it would waste time and he doesn’t want that. Saliva, while not optimum, will do in a pinch.
Every exhale sounds like a sigh to his ears and with each pained breath out, he relaxes further.
The urgency is there, a ragged underline to the slow and tender preparations and Maes’ shaking hands don’t go unnoticed. No need to ask, Roy knows.
Pain blossoms, taking his breath and filling the space behind closed lids with pricks of vibrant light. Roy forces himself to breathe and to keep from fighting the intrusion into his body until Maes is seated in him.
“You,” Maes breathes over Roy’s ear. He pulls out and slams home. “Are not allowed to leave me like that, Mustang.”
His hips pound hard against Roy’s body, each connection a sharp slap. Their bodies collide again, each slide punctuated with his words. “Do you understand me?”
Roy’s fingers curl around the sofa cushion, digging hard until he’s certain the fabric is stressed to the point of ripping. He answers but the sound is a low moan. His head is forced back when Maes tangles his fingers in his hair. “Do you understand me?” he repeated.
It sends a shiver through his body, spreading his toes and tingling at the soles of his feet. His hands ache to clasp hard, fingers wanting to curl into fists. “Yes.” Roy is surprised by how little he sounds like himself.
Maes falls quiet, other than the occasional guttural groan. Their tempo is sharp and fast, banging and pulsing. No tenderness, there is only the greedy grasping at release.
Close, evident from the string of curses Maes utters through his clenched teeth, he reaches around Roy, taking him in hand. Perfunctory tugging, Maes jacks him with quick motions that match his pounding until his rhythm frays at the edges.
Roy hits sensory overload and bucks beneath Maes. He presses up against him and holding his strangled shout, muffled against the sofa cushion, he comes. Hard and sudden, Roy’s vision grays at the edges.
Maes holds on, small thrusts as he rides out Roy’s orgasm and when Roy relaxes against the sofa, picks up his tempo again.
“Not allowed,” Maes repeated with a soft hitch to his voice. He jerks once and shouts, the sound echoing through Roy’s living room, fingers bruising at Roy’s hips as he holds their bodies together and empties into Roy.
Finally, he relaxes and bends over Roy’s back. Maes’ breath is hot between his shoulder blades. Just beneath that, hot splashes trickle down his spine. Sweat? Maybe but they weren’t at it long enough to work up that kind of sweat.
Roy knows what it is and he’s grateful.
It’s comfortable to feel Maes there. Symbolic, if Roy were to think hard about it but at that moment his ability to think just expressed against his sofa in white streaks. But it’s enough, subconsciously, for Roy and he feels the vestiges of the pressure in his chest finally melting away.
Along with the sunrise will come, not redemption, but hope for atonement, for some small way to set things right in his fucked up world. One step closer to seeing his plan come to fruition.
Maes will be there, as he’s always been there.
*~*~*~*~*
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-13 11:52 am (UTC)well done.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 05:45 am (UTC)And that last line just kills me. *clings to the both of them*
Thank you so much!
D
no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 11:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 11:07 am (UTC)Glad I did. I am particularly proud of this fic.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 02:12 am (UTC)good job - thank you for writing and sharing.