A/N: Hello, all! This has been bouncing around for a while. I'm a little afraid I didn't do it justice, but that's not for me to decide, right now! This is a dark take on the relationship between Mustang and Ed. From Ed's POV. The "he" in bold is Roy. Please Enjoy!
Hands Bound Behind
It was dark in the room, with regularity a feeling in the air. He knew where to step without knocking into a desk or trash can, like he'd used to. The sound of one pair of footfalls and two people breathing — not quite even breaths, not quite sane ones. Close enough, just close enough not to break anything, not the boundaries or the near silence that was always the beginning. He didn't have to tell him to take off his boots anymore, and his fingers did so on their own, trembling, anticipating.
A shiver of cloth, coming his way. He bit his lip, never able to quell the soaring feeling that he thought might be adrenalin. The silence roared in his face. He was even more silent than he could ever manage. He never would've guessed, if the hands that suddenly snaked around his wrists and a hot breath caught in his ear hadn't affirmed it. A hot body pressed against his. Whiskey and cologne and male musk and smoke.
The Masochist and the Sadist, and really they each were both. The ties chaffed the skin of his flesh wrist; they brought with them that feeling of being dominated, the helplessness that brought a sort of warped peace. To be completely out of control, unable to resist whatever the Sadist tried. Really, it was his version of masochism, too, it he wanted to be fair.
He felt his body roughly shoved onto the floor, his bound hands bruising the small of his back. Cold floor, hot man above him, breath coming a little harsher now, the usual blackness that enveloped everything. Actually, his skin shone, even in the black. So pale and white and perfect. His fingers could not trace it, so his tongue flicked up, licking, hot breath warming that white. He can feel him flinch at the touch, and gets ready.
His hands are plunging, his body dominant, and he cries and strains at the bindings, and he pins down his legs and spreads them, like God above his lowly servant, Satan punishing his unruly soul. Hands touch and stroke and his own scrabble against the cold tile below him, pinned by his own weight and the weight of the other on him, dominating and hurting. He screamed, eyes wide in the dark, his mouth putting him through Hell.
Letting masochists rot with masochists.
And people actually thought they were okay. The smells came around him, pungent. Whiskey and smoke and cologne. At the idea of forgiveness, of being saved, he nearly laughed, body arching. This dance of masochism was the closest thing they had. They would never be alright. Never better than this. And they both knew. The lowest of humanity, all wrapped up in two souls.
Him and himself, alone with nothing but a dark room where the only thing they could see was his skin, glowing white and soft and alluring as moonbeams.
A/N: I hope you liked it! By the way, the idea for this actually came from one frame of a edroy slideshow on youtube. (I can't even remember the song...) I seem to get inspired by watching AMVs.
cheers,
pandafoot :) review please!!!