Con-crit is highly appreciated. Thank you @_@;
Warnings: All Unbetaed. Tread with caution. x.x
Pairing: Al/Heid with Elricest undertone.
The cold was nothing compared to the frigid depth of guilt that consumed his soul. It did nothing to cool the burning fire in his blood, in his mind, burning his conscience and damning his soul.
what could be said of his actions?
Yet still, he could feel the echo of flesh along his being, could hear the breathy moans of an olive-eyed youth, all creamy smooth skin and spun honey tresses.
His best friend's brother.
It was shameful, it was indecent, it was unnatural, yet the feel of that warm, supple form under him, moving with him had felt so good, so right. and those soft little whimpers had only fueled the burning need clawing at his belly, soft sobs that wee his name falling from those swollen lips, tasting of strawberry and icing, of chocolate and desire.
it had been so easy, so damnably easy to slide his hands along all that creamy satin skin, running his fingers through silky locks of mahogany as those wide wide eyes had branded his flesh with need and urgency, words punctuating by harsh breathing and delicious friction.
"Take me. Now, hurry. Take me before I lose my mind, before I die of wanting you." had been the desperate plea, a frantic demand.
So he took.
He'd woken the morning after to the feel of a warm weight draped over his hip, yet even then, even then the guilt hadn't been this heavy, his heart hadn't dropped to the floor with horror.
He'd only felt warmth, spreading through his body, steeping into him, a lazy contentment.
That is, until he realized that the warmth on his side was real and substancial, that the face currently buried into the crook of his neck, soft mouth pressed against the pulse beating there thickly, had been his own; younger, softer, a tinge darker in shade. A small hand was fisted over his heart, and a name uttered in the peacful realm of dreams...
Genre: like I freakin’ KNOW? Smutty as per usual.
Rating: PG? R-ish? I dont know!
Notes: I wrote this in twenty minutes, I know it sucks.
It was like being consumed by fire, a big burning mass of heat devouring his skin, his eyes, his loins. A violent beast tearing at his throat, making it hard to breathe and making his head swim, making his blood bubble and boil.
Its’s name was Alphonse Elric and it gazed down at glazed azure eyes in triumph and passion.
“This should be MINE” those wide olive-gray eyes said, and the swollen pink lips that mapped the pale flesh of skin branded him with a gentle ferocity that made the breath clog in his throat, made his heartbeat double, stagger and slap in his ribcage, making what little air that managed to enter his lungs thin and raspy.
His eyes swam with tears, shock, desire, and confusion.
But those lips never wavered, never paused in their relentless assault, those fingers and lips on his belly never trembled as they roamed and claimed, as they dug into yielding flesh and brushed over sensitive areas, making small, helpless sounds escape him. He was helpless in the face of such stark and relentless lust.
A part of him screamed out in denial and shock, but it was muffled and weak, overpowered by the rough feel of cloth sliding over his chest, of a silken tongue running over his aching need and swallowing him whole, making him cry out verbally and choke on his own spit.
“Alphonse!” He heard his own voice, harsh and needy and desperate. It only made those different shaded eyes rise, made them stare down at him through a veil of honey tresses, their gaze possessive, smoldering, and resentful all at once.
“This should have been MINE”, the words fell from those cherry tinged lips, full of venom and lust, but it didn’t stop that wonderful mouth from swooping back down upon him and making him lose all sanity.
So this was what it was to burn.
What you need to know: mirror to Burning, Al's POV.
Notes: I have no excuse *readies blind to be shot*
It was an inescapable mass of resentment and envy that made him do as he did.
It was repressed lust and instinct that allowed him to pin the taller and paler young man beneath his thighs, it was strength bread of relentless training and hard work that guided him to gain the upper hand when the object of his ire was a good fifty pounds heavier.
But it was need and desperation that made his limbs claim all that pale flesh, made him fist his hands into those short tresses of wheat hued hair and make those wide sapphire swim with painful, helpless tears.
He wanted this body, he wanted what this body entailed, he wanted the memories this body possessed and wanted, in turn, to posses the heart which he so ardently longed for.
“Mine” he rasped out as he dragged his teeth and tongue over a sensitized nubbin, his glove clad hands scored roughly over pale skin and left a trail of searing red blood cells in their wake, those hands dug into sensitive areas that made the body beneath him buck and strain, made color flare in those pale cheeks and lust clod those clear blue eyes.
Mine, mine, MINE his mind and body screamed, for once, completely in accordance when he claimed warm lips with is own, when he thrust his tongue into warm velvet and dug his hips ruthlessly against clothed, unyielding heat.
He was panting, his hair falling around him in a wild disarray, his skin pricking with a foreign sensation, something hot and heavy and demanding clawing at his belly, making his groin burn and throb, making all thought flee his mind, save for the command in his blood to move, thrust, take.
His pants were too tight and he wasn’t getting enough air into his lungs, his blood was roaring in his head, ears, groin.
He pressed his hips against the writhing mass of nerves beneath him, over and over again, creating delicious friction, watching with avid eyes as those cheeks flamed and that mouth worked, as the fine tremors of pleasure ran over the slight frame, almost as slight as himself, wrack that frail looking body and make a horse cry from those lips.
The fire in his chest only grew, fed by a brutal beast roaring in his heart, demanding the claiming of the supine and lustful body crying out before him
The words welled up from deep within him, shaming him, branding him, branding the innocent soul, the mirror reflection gazing back at him dazedly “You are mine, I‘ll take what‘s mine if it’s the last thing I do.”
His response was naught but a sob. So he plundered and claimed, took and branded.