Leave A Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Thirst

A/N: Lemon (kind of?) ⚠️

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We didn't get a room to ourselves until a few nights after Briggs.

I could tell the effect it was having on Ed; how his shoulders hunched a bit more, how his gait was much slower than before. Dragging footsteps, limp arms.

The first time we finally got a room to ourselves, how those eyes stared into mine with such an intent... I wanted to ask... I wanted to ask what was wrong.

But I knew better than to question.

When his steps brought him to me, when he became physically close enough, his hand just came to my face, fingertips arriving first to brush against my cheekbone, palm trailing behind in a slight speedbump. Habit set in, and I hid away. Eyes closing off, shutting away and turning in towards his touch. Making sure he knew I was here, in whatever way he needed me to be.

I felt, heard him move forward, face closer to mine. Felt the air against a small spot of my skin sweep away as he inhaled just for a moment, and then his lips parted against the bone of my jaw. Pushing against the bone enough to raise my head, other hand coming to cradle the back. As if I needed that much support. As if the brain confined by such thick stone walls actually did anything worthwhile.

His hand had slipped down to the curve of my back and ass, trailing over the slope, gently teasing with a drift between the cheeks. My thoughts left me, my mouth parting in a soundless moan. My breath raising my lungs up and my chest towards his face. I felt his throat move, jaw shifting in the smallest of ways as he swallowed. And his hand kept teasing, slipping between and hooking the string of my underwear. Raising it away from what I wanted him to violate so badly. But even if he did, even if he could gather whatever type of strength that took, he would still be so gentle about it. And that's what made it hard, to watch his head raise from my chest and eyes open to meet mine. Half-lidded and stare foggy. A slight smile sliding onto his lips, as he glanced in the direction of his hand, quirking a brow.

He wanted to, and I wanted him to. But I didn't want whatever emotion that would come with his touch. I forced my hips towards him, enough to gently snap the garment back as my hands came to each side of his face and lips came to meet his.

He accepted the kiss, head turning to avoid a collision of noses, hands flattening the cheeks of my ass and grounding the front of our hips together. A soft meeting of the mouths with a melting push of throbbing intimates. Each heartbeat filling the space of the other.

I blocked myself from the thought, trying to get stuck in the feelings of his tongue and his hips moving like that. Rolling increasingly harsher against a swelling clit, moving even firmer when his roll reached its peak and I moaned from the back of my throat. A small sound, one I shouldn't have made but let escape anyway. The hand I had on his shoulder tightened, nails digging into metal, my pointer meeting firm muscle.

His kisses returned, planting seeds at my neck, the side of my throat where the skin was the most sensitive. He was really trying to get me off, and he damn sure knew how to do it.

He kept dry-fucking me, each peak his hips made forcing another sound to come from my throat. A sigh, a wincing moan, an airy breath that led into his name...

I kept my eyes closed, head back and hanging there without any hand to cradle it. Both his hands were on my ass still, firmly holding me against him and securing my place at his cock that way. His groans sounded in a clip of sound, a noise that made me soil myself further. My other hand came to the back of his neck, holding on and adding strained pressure to my arm, given how extended it was. The rest of my body arched back, held in place from my ass while his stature remained rigid, erection continuing to grind against me.

I lifted my hand, the one by his shoulder. I threaded my fingers through his hair, pushing my palm against his forehead and forcing his head back a few inches. Extending my fingers, creating pressure (and distance) with that, too. Like I was simply pushing a schoolboy away in the slowest of speeds.

His upper body bowed against mine, arms coming to wrap around me, support me as he avoided my arm and leaned in for the embrace. And he brought me back up, carried me until I was straighter, carrying is so his cock could rub directly against my clit again. We both groaned out a gasp, sounds partially muffled by open mouths against each other. Barely, sloppily touching again. And his tongue slipped in, capturing me in another kiss.

I happily obliged.

A few minutes later, I found myself on top of him, straddling with the bed below us. His hands snaked up the backs of my thighs, hands coming to my ass before sliding down, fingertips slipping underneath the legs of my shorts, thumbs stroking out and giving him more room to firmly grab me.

"Y'know," he began, watching as my face relaxed into a silent moan. More of a gasp that never sounded, really. "I really wish you didn't wear these shorts. I know it's for modesty and all"-His hands grounded themselves against my cheeks, palms pressing into bone and gyrating in a circle, fingers still staying clenched tight around the meat-"But they're really pretty annoying. Makes it a bit harder."

I grinned internally, but my smile was hidden as I swooped down to his face. Narrowing my eyes, watching that smile of his meld into some look I never put an emotion to. His lips parted a little, and I spread mine a bit wider, tips brushing against his.

I watched his eyes close, completely succumbing to the feeling. I almost wanted to do the same, make myself so distracted I didn't have to be inside my own head. But instead I spoke, replying to his statement. My hips rocking against his in a slow, silent wave; the heat and width of his intimates grinding against the narrowness of mine. The force of my stroke awoke his hands once again, forcing them to follow my hips away from the prison my shorts held.

The bed squeaked dangerously at the movement, and I didn't move, continuing to stare down at his weakened form. Finally, when the pressure to perform became too much, I did something. I lowered myself again, lips lowering to run along his jawline, brushing in the softest of ways as I spoke, breath sliding against his pulse.

"My shorts make what a bit harder?"

I delivered a kiss to his heartbeat, focusing on how I felt the skin throb against mine. How much it quickened, how suddenly it accelerated. I forced myself not to feel accomplished, instead drawing up to look down upon him, my lips parting on their own.

His eyes were closed, and he was struggling to regain his breath, keep control of himself. I swallowed just before he did, another breath wincing from his nose. And finally he grinned, and his hands pressed against me, grinding us firmer together. I felt my mouth drop open, the smallest of whines escaping, and a light grunt came from the corner of Ed's mouth, traveling around clenched teeth.

"How are you so fucking hot?" he asked, seeming to be speaking to someone else. Someone much higher up than I was.

I moved my lips into my mouth, folding them back to prevent myself from answering. Telling him the truth; that I hated myself, so I could be shaped this way. Dark, sharp, a heart made of thorns.

I rocked my hips deeply against him, asking again.

"It makes what a bit harder?"

He finally grinned, lips spreading far enough for me to no longer feel them. And I saw his eyes curve in sheer, almost childish amusement before his lips came to mine again. Capturing my focus with another kiss. But the distraction was split to a half-second, thoughts being dragged back into that abyss again. Reminding me what I was here for. What I was letting myself be used for.

My hand came to his chest, fingers spreading out as they slid against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the hard muscle underneath. Feeling the way it flinched, not in fear but in a tease. Flexing; he was flexing for me. And I grinned against his lips, feeling him mirror the expression. And there was a ghost of authenticity in mine. I was thankful when he kissed me again, forcing me to stop smiling. Forcing us both away from expressing anything with a curve of our lips. Routine, chore. He could settle into that; I could, as well.

I knew I could do what I did best.