Warning: THIS IS NOT CRACK. PLEASE ATTEMPT TO TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY.
Rating: NC-17 for naughtiness
Feedback: Makes the Kawa happy.
Archive: Just lemme know.
To: devils_devotion, again, for making all of this possible.
Cain Fury knows that he is doing nothing to stop a criminal, and he feels rather guilty about it. Well, to be honest, "rather guilty" is an understatement. For here he is, sitting atop Maes Hughes' desk, a gold wedding band tangling into his hair, heated lips claiming his own, drinking from Cain's fountain of youth.
There is so much wrong with this picture -- the age difference, the fact that they work at the office together, the wedding ring, the fact that it's not just someone older and married but a man...
Yes, Cain knew there had always been something wrong with him; he had never been attracted to a girl's soft curves and light voice, always preferring the company of fellow males, the ones who understood, the ones who knew just how to touch--
Like that. Maes' strong hand gropes through blue heavy cotton, Cain whimpering for more. Cain has always had a weakness for strong hands; he's been searching for them ever since he landed into the office. Roy has talented fingers but cannot grasp at things with his palms half as well; Jean has a lot of power but is too gentle to use it. And now Maes, now Maes, has what he needs -- granted, it is totally wrong, what with that ring on the left hand and the picture of Elysia in the left chest pocket, but nevertheless, it is what Cain needs.
And Maes knows it. This has happened before, many times, enough for both to know exactly what to do. Cain is hardening under that hand, eyes closed behind those too-large glasses (Maes always told him that there were better frames for his face, but Cain refused to budge for reasons unknown), now a slight stumble and Cain accidentally stepping on Maes' toes as he attempts to stand, gingerly, if only for fingers to tangle, cape down, pants down, briefs down, Maes down on his knees.
Traitor traitor traitor traitor traitor... Cain cannot help but think, poor Gracia, poor Elysia, poor Maes for wanting this, poor me for being unable to do anything but feel and accept and oh god those hands and oh GOD--
Now Cain cannot even think, and he knows that this is why he does this, this feeling, this lovely nothingness where nothing matters but strong hands and a warm mouth, and he is thrusting, and Maes is probably gagging but has never, ever, complained (does he need this too? Cain would wonder if he was able to do anything so coherent at this point), and then a finger sneaks behind and thrusts in and hits that spot and Cain is falling, falling, falling, falling, falling.
It is not love. Cain is not falling in love with Maes, never has, never will. But he is falling into his own oblivion, some particular form of hell where the traitors go, where Maes may end up as well, who knows, where no one would expect either of them since they both seem oh so saintly.
But if treason can feel like this, maybe saints are nothing but traitors after all.
x-posted: fma_writers, fm_alchemist, fma_yaoi