A/N: I don't own them. I just play with them.
He came out of sleep, sure he was still sleeping because the touch hadn't gone away. The hand moving over him, and oh, oh, it felt so good, and it felt so good and he should stop it, because it wasn't right, he shouldn't relax, he shouldn't let anyone get this close to him he shouldn't feel this but oh it was just so good and he couldn't bring himself to say a word. Instead he pushed into the hand, asking, demanding a firmer touch, because that was just too light teasing really and he needed this, had for so very long but had denied it, abstained, because it wasn't right...
The hand pulled away in surprise, and the voices around him cleared into those he knew. He now knew where he was, and was torn between mortification that he'd fallen asleep here and the sheer desire. It was the craving that won out, and between the pleading and the husk of his voice he hardly recognized it as his own.
"Don't stop, please."
After a moment in which he almost gave up the hope and gave into the aching pain of resignation, the touch returned, ghosting along his skin, and he arched into it because he wanted it he needed it and he wanted it harder, rougher. After a moment the hand complied, pressing, pushing, and he pressed right back, breath catching, holding, gasping away and hissing back, because it felt good oh it felt so good and he couldn't think barely breathe as shudders wracked his frame. He caught at the ragged moan but it left his mouth anyway as he let his head fall forward and pushed back into the touch needing wanting and shaking with the sheer force of the pleasure that coursed through every single nerve.
The hand withdrew, and he protested its going with a wordless whimper. As his mind drew back together, he lifted his head and stared up with almost-blind eyes. He was still trembling, but he hadn't had near enough, it wasn't enough and he needed it he did though he shouldn't and it wasn't right and he shouldn't be letting this happen but he was still drugged with the pleasure and racked with the desire.
"Don't stop," he said again, and still his voice was barely his, raw and begging. "Please. Please."
As the fingers touched him again, he let his head drop, and arced into the touch, because he needed it he needed it and it felt so good and once again he couldn't think he couldn't breathe because it felt so good and he'd needed this for so long so long it wasn't right but he was past caring. Harder, he gasped, and got it, letting the hand press him down and down until his shivering stilled and all he could feel was the sheer pleasure singing through every nerve and his mind simply shut down. When the hand drew away a third time, he didn't, couldn't protest, for all words had left him and it was all he could do to breathe again.
Long moments passed, while his mind came back to him in little fragments, and slowly he sat up, lazy and relaxed and sated for the first time in so long. He looked around, and though he couldn't see he knew his expression was dazed and soft because that was how he felt.
Dark eyes, bemused and a little puzzled, looked at him steadily, before their owner asked, "so tell me, who are you and what have you done with Fullmetal?"
He couldn't answer, couldn't bring any anger or bitterness to answer with. Instead he toyed with his braid, because having been reminded of pleasure he couldn't stop now and he pulled the tie from his braid and started combing it out with his fingers. He relished the resistance of the snarls and pulled through them, eyes drifting shut, head leaning into the sensation. After a moment there was a sharp little chuckle, and a lean hand with strong fingers threaded through his hair. He gave himself over to them with a wordless little cry, own hands dropping limp, and shiveringly set himself at their mercy.
Once again his thoughts dropped away, dimmed into darkness by the sheer feel, overloaded senses frizzing haywire in a way he had forgotten, until he was completely drugged and drunk with pleasure because it felt so good and he could hardly stand it, breath catching so hard it made those low moans he tried to stop. The hand rustled over his scalp, fingers scratching, rubbing, pulling, and he leaned into it, shaking again, even when the pulls came too sharp for pleasure but fire-edged with pain, because he couldn't help it, he needed this so badly and had for so long that he was overwhelmed by the intensity that he had forgotten.
When a shudder took him hard and fierce, the hand drew away. He didn't follow its retreat, he couldn't, instead he drooped and tried to remember how to breathe. He was still for long moments, aware and sated and satisfied and so relaxed that he didn't know what to do with himself. Dazed, almost light-headed, he looked up again at the dark eyes, joined now by other pairs in varying shades, all a little surprised and uncertain. A last shiver shook him, shut his eyes, arced his spine briefly. He wanted to stay like this, warm and relaxed and drunk on sensation, but he knew he couldn't, knew that it wasn't his place it wasn't right and how dare he do this but oh it had felt so good and even now the echoes of pleasure were whispering along his nerves.
"Thanks," he whispered, and his voice gained firmness, control, with every word after that. "What time is it?"
"A little after four. You slept perhaps half an hour," the blonde woman replied, shifting her clipboard.
"You had business with me, Fullmetal?" dark-eyes asked, smirking, laughing.
"I did." He raked his fingers through his hair, pulling the tangled mess into a rough braid. He'd fix it later. He found his hair-tie and bound it back. "I recently discovered something I thought you ought to know."
"Wonder of wonders," the blue-eyed man announced.
"Well, I'm listening." Dark-eyes, again.
"In your office, idiot," he returned, and stood, slightly surprised that his legs would hold him. After such complete relaxation, they should have at least trembled, or even buckled. He strode quickly, sharply, and heard more than saw the dark-eyed man fall in behind him, chuckling.
Inez: Sorry about the suggestive wording. I couldn't help it. How many of you thought this was yaoi, though?
Ed: (Snorts) Well, that wasn't as bad as last time.
Roy: Just plain wierd, if you ask me.
Inez: We didn't. Well, this was spawned late one night, out of the puzzlement of how non-touch people can stand to be non-touch, and frustration that every good-feeling touch must be sexual. Me, I'm a touchy-feely person. And yes, the rational brain can be cut off entirely. (Laughs.) And no, backrubs and hair-scratches are not sexual by themselves. Ta-da!
Ed: I prefer not to follow her twisted logic. Feel free to review.
Roy: Or flame! (Gets out his gloves.)