It had all been so fast that Edward really hadn't been able to prepare himself. One moment he'd been presenting his report to the Colonel -who, as always, had a biased view as to what was necessary since he liked to follow the law and whatever other ridiculous notions came into his head- and the next Roy had him pressed up against his desk with a hand up his shirt.
See? Completely random. No logic whatsoever in the action, nothing beyond a sharp, "stay still, Fullmetal," like somehow it was Edward's fault that Mustang had stepped on his toes -the flesh ones of course- in his eagerness to take off the teenager's belt.
"You're a rapist," Edward accused. "A pedophile and a rapist."
"I don't see you protesting," Mustang pointed out as he flung the belt aside.
"And the part about you being a pedophile?" Edward flicked his braid over his shoulder since Mustang had decided to forgo answering in favor of placing evidence of the encounter right on Edward's neck. They could lie about it later, he supposed. His collar was probably high enough. Probably. "I thought -ahhh- I thought a man of your social and political stature had to p-protect his reputation. I'm pretty sure this'll count as a conflict of interests when your yearly review comes up."
"You're talking too much, Fullmetal."
Edward's pants slipped down to his ankles. Huh, he thought as he looked down at them curiously, even as Mustang lifted him up to sit on his desk because for some reason, his brain wasn't sending the correct impulses to his legs and his knees kept going weak whenever Roy did that right there, yeah, that. His boxers followed soon after, but Edward kicked them off instead of letting the Colonel have the satisfaction.
"You're a virgin, aren't you Fullmetal?" Edward's gaze snapped up to take in that goddamn smug expressionand he wanted to punch it. He really did.
"Shut up! What d'you expect, you freaking cradle-robber? Sending me on your stupid errands for the past three years doesn't exactly put me in a position to take some time for myself! And how many deflowered twelve-year-olds do you know, anyway?"
"You haven't been a child for a long time, Fullmetal." Like dropping a bucket of ice water right onto his head, Mustang's observation killed whatever coherent insults Edward may have flung his way. He was right, in a way; not completely a child, not anymore. He and Al had been grownups in a lot of ways ever since...the basement.
Edward looked away with a scowl. "Trying to justify yourself, Colonel? Is that what you're planning on telling the judge?"
"You won't be telling anybody what happened in here." The smug look was back, but this time accompanied by two slickened fingers between his legs. Edward gasped, hand grasping at Roy's arm while his automail hand cracked the edge of his desk. "Careful," Roy chided, slipping his fingers inside the boy.
"Yoube careful," Edward hissed through his teeth. It wasn't that great -actually scratch that, it wasn't great at all. It felt weird and invasive and Edward had half a mind to headbutt Mustang and scramble away from him, but then the Colonel's fingers twitched and something shot through him that felt better than battle adrenaline minus the whole fear of dying thing that usually accompanied it. Elevated heart rate, labored breathing, flushed skin; Edward categorized his reactions like symptoms, like a formula for something. "A-again..." he said with an uncertain lilt to his voice.
Mustang wasn't going to have any of that. "I believe I outrank you, Fullmetal. If anybody's going to be giving any orders here, it'll be me. Lie back."
"Screw you!" Edward snapped. Roy pressed against his shoulder to goad the teenager to lie across the desk, and Edward kicked at him just to be difficult. Fuck the Colonel! He's such an asshole sometimes!
It took a fair bit of wrestling and goading on both parts, but soon enough Roy was inside of Edward and rocking against him, moving hard enough to make Edward slide back and forth across the desk until he anchored himself by grabbing at the side. Edward, however, was in no position to complain. Once again, coherent thought escaped him and he found himself chanting -much to his abject horror- Mustang's first name.
Worse still, the Colonel seemed to be getting off on it. Nasty.
Still, "nasty" wasn't exactly the best adjective to use for how Mustang -"Shit, Roy-!"- was making him feel at the moment, and as Edward stared at the ceiling, free fingers tangled in Mustang's hair, ankles hooked behind his back, white edging his vision and his insides tying in knots so tight he was sure they'd snap like tethers soon he came to a conclusion.
He would have to start coming in to give his reports in person a lot more often.