"Skewed" (Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy/Maes)
Jun. 11th, 2009 11:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle- Skewed
Author-![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fireun
Rating- PG13
Warning-sexual content
Word Count- 624
Prompt- Fullmetal Alchemist: Roy/Maes: knife play: set during Ishbal
Notes- posting late. my internet died tragically for a few days. sorry!
“Don’t move.”
Maes held still, brain taking in everything within and just out of easy reach, going through possible plans and evasive maneuvers, the gamble involved in disobeying what might be a bluff…
Metal touched the back of his neck. As Maes inhaled he processed the smell of burnt hair, a touch of acidic sulfur, and while he didn’t relax, he settled from fear into anticipation.
War did things to people, skewed perceptions and drives as the brain attempted frantically to adapt. It had shifted something in the back of Roy’s eyes, allowed a fanatic need to dominate to surface. Having been made into a walking weapon, Roy needed to be the one holding the leash, to be running the show.
He needed to be the one running a knife along the curve of Maes’ cheek, holding Maes’ gaze as they both held their breath.
From kid brother to companion to…this. Their dynamic had taken so many shifts from that first time Maes grinned at and teased the stuffy young man sitting beside him to the first time Roy had leaned forward with a scowl to kiss the smirk off of Maes’ face. Maes cracked first, exhaling shakily and Roy smiled, lowering the knife but not setting it down.
One of Maes’ own blades, pilfered at some point while Maes had sat utterly enthralled by the piles of camp communication on the dirty table in front of him. It added a certain something to the situation. Maes could vouch for every lethal inch of metal, lovingly polished and sharpened daily. Chapped lips brushed against his, an arm wrapped around him, half embracing, and half threatening as the tip of a knife settled against Maes’ spine. Maes wanted to kiss back, to nip at Roy’s lips until they opened, to force a sound out of him.
Silent, always silent. Half in fear of giving themselves away, half in fear of having to admit what they were doing, the little gasps and hisses were swallowed by the winds. Anything more, the shouts and howls that tried their best to scramble free as Maes was reduced to open mouthed panting, were an agreed upon taboo.
Roy’s eyes weren’t affectionate as he stared at Maes, taking stock. Not this time. Not for a while.
Affection led to fear, the horror of losing that which you held dear. There was no place for it, not in the hell they were stranded in.
Roy allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, face buried in the crook of Maes’ neck. Maes felt the knife fall away for a second, and took the opportunity to press up against Roy, urging him, goading him.
It was evidence that Maes enjoyed each stolen moment, and it turned Roy on like nothing else. Roy clenched his jaw around a groan, knife dropped and forgotten as dirty, broken nails clawed fitfully at Maes’ back.
They were sunburned and scarred, lean and exhausted. Maes dragged his lips across a bit of dried blood on Roy’ shoulder, shuddered as Roy rubbed his cheek along his days old stubble. They were worn out, but not worn down. Not yet.
Paperwork scattered as Roy pressed Maes down onto the table, both of them huffing breathless laughs as the unstable piece of furniture wobbled in protest of the added weight. There was a measure of piece to be found amidst the pants, in sweat-slick skin against skin.
There was a gentling humor in the way Maes shook sand out of tangled pants before attempting to straighten them, putting them back on.
Roy replaced Maes’ knife in its previous location, an impromptu paperweight atop a box-turned-table before slipping out, leaving Maes to rearrange his papers and settle back into reality.
Author-
fireun Rating- PG13
Warning-sexual content
Word Count- 624
Prompt- Fullmetal Alchemist: Roy/Maes: knife play: set during Ishbal
Notes- posting late. my internet died tragically for a few days. sorry!
“Don’t move.”
Maes held still, brain taking in everything within and just out of easy reach, going through possible plans and evasive maneuvers, the gamble involved in disobeying what might be a bluff…
Metal touched the back of his neck. As Maes inhaled he processed the smell of burnt hair, a touch of acidic sulfur, and while he didn’t relax, he settled from fear into anticipation.
War did things to people, skewed perceptions and drives as the brain attempted frantically to adapt. It had shifted something in the back of Roy’s eyes, allowed a fanatic need to dominate to surface. Having been made into a walking weapon, Roy needed to be the one holding the leash, to be running the show.
He needed to be the one running a knife along the curve of Maes’ cheek, holding Maes’ gaze as they both held their breath.
From kid brother to companion to…this. Their dynamic had taken so many shifts from that first time Maes grinned at and teased the stuffy young man sitting beside him to the first time Roy had leaned forward with a scowl to kiss the smirk off of Maes’ face. Maes cracked first, exhaling shakily and Roy smiled, lowering the knife but not setting it down.
One of Maes’ own blades, pilfered at some point while Maes had sat utterly enthralled by the piles of camp communication on the dirty table in front of him. It added a certain something to the situation. Maes could vouch for every lethal inch of metal, lovingly polished and sharpened daily. Chapped lips brushed against his, an arm wrapped around him, half embracing, and half threatening as the tip of a knife settled against Maes’ spine. Maes wanted to kiss back, to nip at Roy’s lips until they opened, to force a sound out of him.
Silent, always silent. Half in fear of giving themselves away, half in fear of having to admit what they were doing, the little gasps and hisses were swallowed by the winds. Anything more, the shouts and howls that tried their best to scramble free as Maes was reduced to open mouthed panting, were an agreed upon taboo.
Roy’s eyes weren’t affectionate as he stared at Maes, taking stock. Not this time. Not for a while.
Affection led to fear, the horror of losing that which you held dear. There was no place for it, not in the hell they were stranded in.
Roy allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, face buried in the crook of Maes’ neck. Maes felt the knife fall away for a second, and took the opportunity to press up against Roy, urging him, goading him.
It was evidence that Maes enjoyed each stolen moment, and it turned Roy on like nothing else. Roy clenched his jaw around a groan, knife dropped and forgotten as dirty, broken nails clawed fitfully at Maes’ back.
They were sunburned and scarred, lean and exhausted. Maes dragged his lips across a bit of dried blood on Roy’ shoulder, shuddered as Roy rubbed his cheek along his days old stubble. They were worn out, but not worn down. Not yet.
Paperwork scattered as Roy pressed Maes down onto the table, both of them huffing breathless laughs as the unstable piece of furniture wobbled in protest of the added weight. There was a measure of piece to be found amidst the pants, in sweat-slick skin against skin.
There was a gentling humor in the way Maes shook sand out of tangled pants before attempting to straighten them, putting them back on.
Roy replaced Maes’ knife in its previous location, an impromptu paperweight atop a box-turned-table before slipping out, leaving Maes to rearrange his papers and settle back into reality.
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