A Sort of Understanding
folder
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
894
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
894
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Sort of Understanding
It was with a practiced refusal to jerk with surprise that Roy reacted to the knife blade that slid silently and swiftly in front of his throat, ghosting across vulnerable skin with just enough pressure for Roy to appreciate its edge. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“You weren’t supposed to.” It was a deep, crooning voice; filled with a mix of lust, violence, and amusement that would, to anyone else, seem utterly incompatible, incomprehensible. Roy felt gooseflesh leap to life up and down his arms, adrenaline pumping in response to the threat of the knife at his throat, at the promise of rough handling.
It had been too long. Roy started to turn, to face the man behind him, but the knife pressed closer, and Maes hissed an adamant admonishment. “What’s your rush?” He asked again, lips brushing against the nape of his neck. “Take your gloves off, alchemist.”
No one else…not for anyone else…Roy removed his gloves, careful not to move too abruptly lest he cut himself on the knife held steady against his jugular, trying not to let the mouth working at the sensitive parts of his neck with disarming expertise lull him into pleasured complacency. He knew better than that, knew better than to let his guard down when his friend was in such a dangerous mood. Whenever Maes vanished, whenever he went off on some assignment or another, he would inevitably reappear in the wee hours of the morning, his knife heralding his presence, his voice deep with a baffling and arousing mix of emotion.
Enthralled with being alive, with having won; with having outsmarted and outmaneuvered whatever and whoever he had matched wits and wiles with. Roy knew the glittering look that would be in those pale eyes, had memorized the tilt of the intense smile that would be pulling and playing with the lines of stress and worry that would be marring the proud face of the man behind him. The man holding a knife to his throat while kissing and nipping at his neck…at his ears….
Roy couldn’t avoid the gasping sigh that escaped as Maes’ tongue brushed along the edge of his earlobe…couldn’t avoid pressing up against the knife.
Maes’ chuckle chased away any discomfort the little cut his knife had made might have caused, teased a little shiver down Roy’s spine. “Turn around.”
Not for anyone else…no one else…Roy turned, eager, easily obeying the command. No one else was as privileged as he. No one else had ever seen the intense ferocity gleaming in usually placid, disarmingly friendly eyes. No one else was privy to this exultant, deadly Maes Hughes.
It was arousing. The threat of the knife, the danger of Maes’ demanding dominance…Roy shuddered as Maes smothered him with a forceful, needy kiss. Energy that needed an outlet, emotion that needed a target; Maes sought out his friend, his lover…
Roy’s eyes slid shut as Maes’ mouth moved down to worry at the little cuts his knife had left on Roy’s throat. So close, so dangerously close to where lethal wounds would be. So tauntingly, temptingly close.
It was amazing what emotions brushes with death scared into being, the intensity of terrified desperation and fierce determination. Roy understood, had pushed a chuckling Maes up against enough walls while himself still stinking of ozone and burnt meat. He understood the games, the knife and the dominance, and allowed for their necessity. He reached one ungloved hand up and tangled it in Maes’ neglected, slightly shaggy hair, and pulled the Maes close, encouraging the erratic biting and sucking the other man was engaging in.
He understood it.
And oh did he enjoy it.
“You weren’t supposed to.” It was a deep, crooning voice; filled with a mix of lust, violence, and amusement that would, to anyone else, seem utterly incompatible, incomprehensible. Roy felt gooseflesh leap to life up and down his arms, adrenaline pumping in response to the threat of the knife at his throat, at the promise of rough handling.
It had been too long. Roy started to turn, to face the man behind him, but the knife pressed closer, and Maes hissed an adamant admonishment. “What’s your rush?” He asked again, lips brushing against the nape of his neck. “Take your gloves off, alchemist.”
No one else…not for anyone else…Roy removed his gloves, careful not to move too abruptly lest he cut himself on the knife held steady against his jugular, trying not to let the mouth working at the sensitive parts of his neck with disarming expertise lull him into pleasured complacency. He knew better than that, knew better than to let his guard down when his friend was in such a dangerous mood. Whenever Maes vanished, whenever he went off on some assignment or another, he would inevitably reappear in the wee hours of the morning, his knife heralding his presence, his voice deep with a baffling and arousing mix of emotion.
Enthralled with being alive, with having won; with having outsmarted and outmaneuvered whatever and whoever he had matched wits and wiles with. Roy knew the glittering look that would be in those pale eyes, had memorized the tilt of the intense smile that would be pulling and playing with the lines of stress and worry that would be marring the proud face of the man behind him. The man holding a knife to his throat while kissing and nipping at his neck…at his ears….
Roy couldn’t avoid the gasping sigh that escaped as Maes’ tongue brushed along the edge of his earlobe…couldn’t avoid pressing up against the knife.
Maes’ chuckle chased away any discomfort the little cut his knife had made might have caused, teased a little shiver down Roy’s spine. “Turn around.”
Not for anyone else…no one else…Roy turned, eager, easily obeying the command. No one else was as privileged as he. No one else had ever seen the intense ferocity gleaming in usually placid, disarmingly friendly eyes. No one else was privy to this exultant, deadly Maes Hughes.
It was arousing. The threat of the knife, the danger of Maes’ demanding dominance…Roy shuddered as Maes smothered him with a forceful, needy kiss. Energy that needed an outlet, emotion that needed a target; Maes sought out his friend, his lover…
Roy’s eyes slid shut as Maes’ mouth moved down to worry at the little cuts his knife had left on Roy’s throat. So close, so dangerously close to where lethal wounds would be. So tauntingly, temptingly close.
It was amazing what emotions brushes with death scared into being, the intensity of terrified desperation and fierce determination. Roy understood, had pushed a chuckling Maes up against enough walls while himself still stinking of ozone and burnt meat. He understood the games, the knife and the dominance, and allowed for their necessity. He reached one ungloved hand up and tangled it in Maes’ neglected, slightly shaggy hair, and pulled the Maes close, encouraging the erratic biting and sucking the other man was engaging in.
He understood it.
And oh did he enjoy it.