OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 5: "SALTED CARAMEL AND OTHER SURPRISES"
By The Binary Alchemist, 2012
Roy Mustang was all too familiar with the destructive qualities of fire. He was equally aware that fire heals, especially the fire kindled between bodies. He was quick to deny it, but sometimes the only thing that made the long separations bearable was the healing flame generated when skin touched skin—breath to breath, hip to hip—after such a long absence. He needed that sweet friction and spark set off when lovers give of themselves, all the while equally greedy to take and take and take.
Edward was flushed, skin damp and deliciously salty, playfully bound, a silk scarf over his eyes. "I'll turn you loose in a moment," Roy purred throatily in his ear. "Are you all right like that?"
"Y..yeah…" He licked his lips and tasted traces of warm caramel and the tongue that had feathered it off. He shuddered. Being engaged to an older, more sophisticated man who was reared in a whorehouse had distinct advantages at times. This was one of them. Before Roy, his notion of sex was in, out, off, out the door and downstairs before he felt any more awkward. Oh, it felt good enough, but there was still that uncomfortable feeling that was too close to incest, and when he was honest—honest, and drunk and miles away, mostly—he recognized that while there was nothing strictly wrong with Winry, it was hard to feel rampaging lust for a girl who'd been raised as his sister.
Edward might stumble over an endearment but after fifteen years in Roy's bed he had learned to speak the language of passion very eloquently. Roy was an unabashed sensualist—inventive, often playful, his eyes taunting his lover, daring to see how far they could push the boundaries of pleasure together. Even after all this time he kept Ed off balance, never knowing if the night's encounter would be tender, silly, intense or abandoned. Would it be slow, sensual tongue baths and Ishballan erotic poetry breathed against Ed's skin or would Roy mount his back like a stallion, ride him like some feral beast, growling low obscenities in his throat? Ed never knew and that made him return home to his lover's bed with an appetite that increased as time went by.
As for Edward, his awkwardness in bed had vanished once Roy led him into the discovery of his own wants and needs. After sex he was drowsy and tender and the kisses were as leisurely as the hands that caressed Roy's skin. In the act of love, however, Ed was assertive, if not downright aggressive. He was not afraid to tell Roy what he wanted, how hard, how deep-or he might even flip Roy over on his back, climb up and force that steely phallus inside, rocking down hard and snarling out curses. Or he would yank those ivory thighs apart, drape the long legs over his shoulders and grind into the older man with no mercy at all, covering the pale chest with love bites and sucking Roy's nipples so hard they stung. Maybe this was what he'd been afraid of before, afraid to fuck like an animal, not trusting himself or trusting his former wife to understand…or more to the point, he simply couldn't let go in the bed of the girl who had gone from sister to wife with no transition. Roy met him more than half way—strength for strength, lust for lust. Roy taught him to revel in both surrender and conquest and in the end it didn't matter who rode or who was ridden. When the fires were quenched eyes met eyes with trust and love and they would lie in the dark together, contentedly entwined, grinning and utterly at peace.
He could hear the whisper of buttons slipping through buttonholes, of fine wool and crisply starched linen being folded and laid aside. His own shirt and waistcoat had been torn open—easy enough to repair with alchemy when they were done. Roy's breath was warm against his belly as Roy knelt to undo his trousers and remove his shoes. Naked in just his open shirt and waistcoat he shivered with want, aware that Roy was circling him, admiring him, fingers tracing the curve of well-cut abs, the soft golden down under his arms, the ripple of scarred back muscles. At last he pushed the remains of Ed's clothing aside and curled himself around his lover, chest to back, after guiding Ed's flesh foot up onto a stool Roy had dragged over. It made Ed's stance more stable and comfortable and spread his thighs at just the perfect angle for probing kisses and questing fingers.
"I missed the way you smell." Ed shuddered as Roy softly nuzzled the back of his neck. Something silken and hot circled his inner ear. 'And the way you taste….all over."
"Shit!" Gritting his teeth, there was nothing Ed could do. His wrists were bound, his eyes blindfolded, his feet positioned just so…opening him for his lover's eyes. The curious tongue swirled and stroked its way down along his spine, interspersed with sharp nips that caught his breath. Roy drew back and then he gasped as something thick and cold pressed against his opening, pressed inside as a hot mouth lapped at the moisture that was dripping down his length like hot wax on a burning candle. He knew what it was and why it would last only a few quick thrusts before the heat of his insides melted it. The melted butter trickled down his thigh—mixed with his and Roy's own rich muskiness it was a scent he associated with some of the most soul-shaking nights of sex he'd ever had in this room. It meant Roy intended to play upon his body like a fine instrument in the hands of a virtuoso. His head fell back, eyes closed beneath the blindfold. "Do it," he whispered. "Whatever you want…I don't care…"
The warmth of the melted caramel had something of the pleasant shock of Roy's mouth or his insides, but instead of the delicious tightness it was thick and silky and as warm as Roy was when he was rooted deep in that splendid body. Roy was kissing his mouth slowly as he stirred the thick sweet stuff with the head of Edward's captured cock.
He slid abruptly to his knees and plunged the whole treat into his mouth, humming with delight as he sucked and tongued and lapped at the reddened tip, sweet with caramel and salty from the beads of pearly fluid that pulsed from him with each caress. He rose and slid his tongue into Edward's mouth, sharing. "See how good you taste?" Roy whispered into Ed's open mouth. Ed sweated and shivered, his mind melting into something primal and pre-verbal. He could only make low, half moaning sounds that had long since ceased to sound human.
Licked clean, Roy then bathed Ed's member with a basin of warm water and a silken sponge, drying him carefully. Then the second silk scarf came into play.
Roy moved in close from behind, the slick crown of his own cock brushing Ed maddeningly under his balls and against the well-buttered opening that Ed wanted filled and plundered. Roy wrapped the scarf around Ed's length the way Ed would often wrap his own silken hair around Roy's shaft, tugging it this way and that and making Roy wail and thrash and demand release. "Now you know how it feels," Roy hissed , rubbing himself against the furl of muscle that clenched at his tip when he half breached it. Edward was slick with sweat now and his legs were shaking. "I want….I…want…"
"-this…." A slow push now, since it had been months since Ed had been breached. The butter slicked him within and without and there was very little resistance, although Ed was panting now as if he was running a race. Once deeply rooted, Roy tightened the silk scarf, under and around his balls and his shaft, binding him tightly. "You can't come until I release you…so enjoy the ride…"
Roy churned his hips, his rigid cock churning Ed's insides and pulling strange keening sounds from his throat. His cock was straining against the silk, wetting it, as Roy's hands swept his torso, along his straining arms, over his flanks, pinching at his nipples, one hand sliding between Ed's cheeks to stroke where they were joined, teasing that ring of muscle that strained and stretched to welcome his lover. 'This is my wedding ring," Roy groaned in his ear. "This is the ring you gave me and nobody else…" His finger slid in alongside his cock, rubbing it from within. Ed hissed and sobbed and his knees buckled. "I'll wear it till I die…I swear it…I swear it…with this ring…I thee wed…"
A clap of his hands and the blindfold was gone his hands were free and Ed howled and bucked hard, shouting for Roy to take it, take it hard-take it all…to take him. Roy bit his lip and slammed his hips once…twice again…then pulsed inside his lover.
Before Ed could recover he found himself flat on his back with Roy crouching over him like a madman, spreading himself, guiding himself down until he was pressed hard into the sweat-matted curls of Edward's groin. Ed rose half up, straining to kiss him, balls near to bursting as that wet heat owned him. He clutched at Roy's buttocks, spreading him wide, digging his nails in the straining muscle. Roy's eyes burned into his as he squeezed the shaft inside him. "My ring," Ed grunted. "Give it to me!" Roy slammed down, tightened, sucked hard on Edward's tongue then yanked the silk free.
Ed burst inside him, hot and thick, Roy's name a strangled shout as he thrust blindly, riding out the last waves of pleasure.
On the other side of the door, standing watch, Jean Havoc wiped the sweat off his face. He was stiff in his pants—hell, he'd almost spooged himself. Not that he was attracted to men—hell, no! But all that energy—those…sounds…a guy couldn't help it if his dick got hard. In his mind, massive breasts that tasted like vanilla ice cream were rearing up to his mouth and there was something wet between creamy thighs that tasted even better. He should have at least thought of Riza when he rubbed himself off in the Gent's – he should have thought of her when he came but lately she'd been preoccupied and their coldest arguments occurred when he suggested that they break some bed slats and mess up some sheets. Women were mysterious creatures, he told himself as he wiped down and tucked back in, and there was just no figuring them out. Maybe the Boss and Ed were better off than they knew….
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"The vote passed?"
"As expected." There was a discreet pause. "You'll be going through with your plans?"
The officer behind the desk didn't even dignify that with an answer. "There's no stipulated restriction on military or ex-military?"
"None. But the elected candidate will not serve as a military Fuhrer, but as a civilian President. That would mean retiring or resigning a military commission to prevent conflict of interest."
"Hmmmm….I see. Well, the advantage of that is that an officer can always accept re-commission, and in times of war or national emergency a retired officer can be called back to active service if he or she is fit for duty." There was a knowing smile. "And any fool who's read their history books understands that times of peace and plenty are always little more than a brief interlude. It is against human nature to expect men to co-exist in harmony for very long. There is always conflict simmering along the borders. Peace is tenuous. It's not wise to get too comfortable."
"So there's no impediment to your running? You're going to oppose Mustang?"
"Was there any question that I would not? If nothing else," there was a harsh smile now, "that greenhorn upstart needs to be reminded that command has to be earned, not given. He's getting soft. Grumman put him in that office. Let's see if he deserves to keep it, shall we?"
###
Elycia Hughes had made up her mind as a young girl that one day she would own the Il Gattina bakery. At twenty-four she was young to take over, but she had gone to work there part time since her early teens and Sophie had taken her on as an apprentice ten years ago. With her father's level head and planning skills and her mother's artistic sense she had done very well indeed, and once she came into her trust fund at 21 she had more than enough money to buy in as a co-owner. When Sophie's health became a problem, Elycia proposed to take over the establishment and leave the accounting to Sophie so she could stay off her feet. It was an arrangement that was agreeable to everybody and soon business was better than ever. Under Elycia's management they had even begun to market a line of pastries for sale in neighborhood markets and a newly inked agreement with the Funny Bear Ice Cream parlors gave them distribution rights to special ice cream flavors that Elycia dreamed up, inspired by people she knew and loved. There was a strawberry 'short' cake for Edward, a rich vanilla bean and fudge swirl for Alphonse, cool mint chip for Nina, a decadent coffee with dark chocolate chunks for Roy and for Maes there was Absolutely Nuts—a name nobody would argue with.
She was doing well and had expanded the little shop to add a larger full service café. It was bright and airy and a popular luncheon spot in Central, serving as hostess to greet the diners and insure that every meal was as delicious as the pastries and ice cream and chocolates sold on the other side.
The lady seated in the corner had been the first in for the day, arriving moments after the door opened. "A salad and a cup of soup, please, and ice water with lemon to go with that," she requested.
Nan, the pretty waitress who was Sophie's youngest sister, nodded and smiled as she penciled in the order on her pad. "That comes with our honey whole wheat rolls, They won't be out of the oven for about ten minutes, but I can bring you some as soon they're done and serve you your soup and salad now, if that would be all right?"
"No thank you, dear." The blonde woman patted her flat tummy proudly. "I'm watching my girlish figure. Have to look trim—the camera puts five pounds on you, you know!" There was something about her altogether-too-sweet tone of voice that put Nan's teeth on edge, rather like someone who thought herself very clever and didn't believe the rest of the world was quite up to speed with her. " I've just spent a hellish amount on this dress and getting my hair styled—mustn't spoil my looks! Would you be a darling and serve my soup in a cup so I won't spill?" The woman pulled out a tiny silver compact and applied a layer of surprisingly red lipstick that Nan knew would be hell to get off the coffee cups.
Elycia stopped by the table to greet her customer, overhearing the comment. "Perhaps you might like to substitute your rolls with a side of our seasonal fruit salad."
The woman frowned. "Canned fruit? Dreadful stuff. Can't believe you serve that rubbish."
Elycia bristled. "All of our salads are freshly made, Ma'am. Our fruit is fresh from Aerugo, shipped every week in the autumn and winter-"
"—one of those little perks of being part of the Fuhrer's entourage, I imagine." She made a sweeping gesture around the room. "I suppose 'Uncle Roy' paid for this too."
"I'll bring you your soup," the younger woman's eyes narrowed above a smile that was still welcoming, 'I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
"If Maes were here, he'd be tempted to spit in it, " Elycia snapped to Nan as she poured the savory broth into a mug for her unpleasant customer."
"Her?" Nan's eyes grew wide. "I'd be careful with that one, Miss Elycia. She's like to write a book about you, shame your name all over if she don't like the meal. She's a snake in silk stockings-and I hope she spills the lot all over her dress!"
The passion of that outburst startled Elycia. "Nancy—just who is she, anyway?"
Dark brown eyes snapped with anger. "Don't you know? She's that horrid woman who wrote that book about nice Mister Armstrong bein' a coward and all—and about how his big sister the Major General," she lowered her voice, "is…well…a Tom girl! Can you believe it?"
"You mean, that's Kelley Winchell?"
"The very one, Miss."
"I'm half temped to spit in her soup myself." Elycia had seen the poster in the bookstore advertising 'Fire and Vice' and didn't find it particularly amusing. Bad enough this loathsome gossip was going after Uncle Roy, but she was certain her father's name would be dragged through the mud and wouldn't have been at all surprised if her and her mother wouldn't figure in the narrative as well. "She knows who I am."
"Nine'll give you ten on that one, Miss. She's probably reckoning that you don't know her well on sight—or if you do, you're too well raised to say anything to her."
"If this weren't a public place, oooh! What I wouldn't say to her!"
She brought Kelley Winchell her mug of soup, a crisp garden salad with a generous handful of roasted chicken chunks scattered over the top and a light vinaigrette dressing on the side. The fruit salad had been chopped by hand, the apples and pears crisp and juicy, accompanied by dried cranberries and toasted walnut pieces. She'd have served this luncheon to the fearsome Chef Ramsay at the Palace and not been afraid of critique. Winchell pointedly ignored it, flicking ashes from her cigarette over it before stubbing out the butt on the fruit plate. Winchell complained, in that nasty-nice way of hers, that the soup was too salty and would make her bloat, the chicken in her salad was too dry and the dressing tasted like it came out of a bottle—"but I supposed that can't be helped, my dear. After all, you are so very young to try to run a restaurant by yourself."
"Not expecting a tip from that rat-bag, I'm tellin' you," Nan sighed.
Tip….that gave Elycia an idea. Il Gattina was on the corner and the parking area they shared with Chris Mustang's restaurant was closed off while being repaved. She glanced at the clock. "Half past eleven on a Thursday. That means…."
She darted back to the bakehouse, where Jake Leeson, the boy who had been shot in the alley by General Edison when Elycia had been taken hostage, was now her assistant manager. He had gotten part time work at Il Gattina's after recovering from his wounds and Chris Mustang had footed the bill for Jake's bakery apprenticeship and bought her breads exclusively from Il Gattina for her own successful establishment. Jake, if anything, was more efficient than even Elycia, overseeing every detail from finding the sweetest cherries for their cordial chocolates to making sure the grease traps were cleaned and that the trash went out three times a day.
"Jake!' she shouted above the din of oven doors slamming and trays of hot rolls being slapped on marble counters. 'Have they done the traps yet?"
"Mr. Rowe's out there now!" Nobody envied the poor man who had to muck out the grease traps and tip them into the trash truck. They were shared by both Il Gattina and Mustang's and the reek of rancid beef fat was so offensive that, as Maes put it, 'it could knock a buzzard off a shithouse'.
"Excellent!" She gave Jake a hug and darted out the back door.
"Sorry, Ma'am, but you can't press charges. This isn't the reserved lot. You parked in the alley—which is public property," the police officer informed Miss Winchell as she shouted and waved her arms furiously. A great splash of something greasy and foul-smelling covered the hood of her expensive new brougham. The windows were thankfully rolled up but the stench would take some time to dissipate once the muck had been scrubbed off. "You'd just as well sue the pidgeons that poo'ed on your windshield. If I were you, I'd park somewhere else next time."
Mr. Rowe and Jake were hiding out in the storeroom, roaring with laughter. Elycia popped in her head, eyes dancing with ill-concealed glee. "That'll teach that old cow," she told them. "Lunch is on me, guys!"
….TO BE CONTINUED…