Title: Watery Mirage (extended version)
Pairing: EdxHand, one-sided “elricest”; don't read if it offends you!
Disclaimer: This is rather annoying, seeing as how it rubs in the fact I don’t own these precious babies…*dramatic sigh* It's fun to play, though.
A/N: *wants to give luffs for comments*
A/N: *wants to give luffs for comments*
He had locked the bathroom door, and was now inside the bathroom, inside the tub, inside himself, his tanned face soaking up the hot moisture in the air as the steam rose from the now still water below. His right arm, being made of metal or steel—or whatever the hell Winry said it consisted of—leaned against the tile wall, condensation forming into tiny pearls along the gleaming ridges.
Edward sighed heavily and pressed his cheek against said arm. It was a mixture of chill and warmth. In other words, it was perfect alongside his musing torrents. He didn’t mean this; he never did. He didn’t mean to feel this brackish emotion swirl in his stomach, then down into his thighs. It wasn’t right, but it had to be…
It wasn’t right.
But this was his ritual, a habit scored from seeing Alphonse sigh like Edward did one night, a night too long ago to his liking. It meant he was growing up, and he was afraid of the inevitable. Because it meant he would grow up, and his brother would stay the same. No one said child-like souls grew into adults. No one said.
And it was inevitable, and it still wasn’t right.
He silently took the parched rag from the side of the tub and dunked it into the heat, water rushing to impregnate the material like a brook onto dry land. Ed watched the miracle of movement, of growth; he then took the sopping rag to his bare chest, miniscule streams flowing down the slick pectoral. Just one. A visible shake went through him, from bottom to top, leaving ripples to surround him, to gather speed…
“Brother, don’t take too long this time, or I might have to break down the door!”
Ed snorted to himself, cocky in thinking he could keep anything from Alphonse. And maybe he could. Frankly, Al had not provided any evidence of adolescence, and he was as baby-bearish and soft in the armor as ever, down to his leather fingertips.
“I heard that, Ed. Just don’t drown, okay?” Clanking footsteps proved Al to be leaving.
A grin started on his mouth, bitten lips curling. It wasn’t a grin. It was sickness, an obsession for his brother that Ed could not possibly get over any time soon. It hurt so much…to know he was sick.
That it was wrong.
When had this started? When had…there been more love found than could be openly and honestly admitted? Why did there have to be more? Why couldn’t he brainwash himself into thinking it was wrong and correct it without realizing, rather than knowing he was ill and still commence with this obsession? He was going insane, he knew that much. His sanity had left him at the door, waiting for his return, waiting to disinfect that stalking guilt in his eyes.
He blinked back a pained twitch, plunging the rag back into the water, forgetting to laugh at his insanity. The cloth floated along a small current, tickling his inner thigh.
It had started again, like it had in Rankertown and even on their visit to Central, where the bathtubs happened to be big enough to hide Fullmetal (and he never minded that part). It was good to hide from the torment that immediately splurged upon him whenever given the happy chance.
This is a mistake. I don’t love him more than I did a year ago. I can’t do this. I can’t.
Yet he was, his scrawny, muscular body taking that familiar direction toward the back of the tub, leaning back just so. The amber strands were free, and they were free to cascade along his shoulder, the human one. Free to do as they pleased, just as he wished for himself, as he hoped…
Hope was what caused his hand to drop the cloth to the porcelain bottom; to seize his hands into fists; to bite the psychological pleasure in his lip. The sweat perspired across his top lip, salt bunching against invisible hairs. If he was older, would this feel right? Would he feel right?
Oh my fucking…
I want to die.
Because his own submerged hand was raking the cloth across his sprung erection so gently yet so harshly as the word did suggest, that he bucked into it once, then twice, hoping to nothing that Al was distracted by whatever the hell he had to distract himself with in the inn room. This was too good to miss. Oh yes, he felt it tickle in his balls, in the very tissue, and the sensation sent itself all the way to his shoulders—a violin, Edward was—so they shook without intending to, almost jerking backward. If Al knocked down or simply transmuted the door, his naiveté would not prevent him from recognizing what he saw.
Hell, Al should already have cottoned on to what Ed had been doing for the past few months. The discovery of what hormones did to the male body was such a gracious thing. Curse that. Ed found himself to be hard half the time around his little brother, a bit of a problem in fact.
His taste in clothing saved him from public humiliation, at least, save his own.
Contrary to his current state of thought, he did not care much for Alphonse to know about Ed’s misdemeanors. He would prefer to have Al place him high up on a pedestal rather than bury him under mounds of unwanted incestuous sins.
Just the image of Al’s high-pitched memory shot straight to the tip of his cock, where he rubbed the cloth vigorously, trying to lure out those non-water droplets. He loved this part, the waging of war on his body. It was like fighting to keep it going, to spring from calm to feral, a jumble of nerves solidifying his abdominals muscles into hardened squares.
How in the fuck could his baby brother make him react so? He wanted to scream and slam his front against the wall.
In addition, he was glad he had a penis, or otherwise, he had no clue whatsoever how he would fair as a girl, despite having researched female anatomy and its functions to the letter. A clitoris was a clitoris was a clitoris, but what to do with a tiny nub?
Here, he could pull and tug on an organ that was noticeable (cursedly noticeable at times), tangible (oh yes, he could touch it…), and pleasurable (and by all the bastards in the world, did he feel it throb).
How was there blood beating out his brain through his ears when he had thought it had been cheating on his grey matter with his manhood just moments ago? He did not want to angst over his hang-ups right now; he wanted to thrive and throb all over the place. All over the tub. All over…
Alphonse, if you saw me, you’d hate me, wouldn’t you?
His lips moved to a separate mantra that he seemed to have created on a whim; those unleashed musings about his brother spilled like he wanted them to. He thought about Al’s sweet voice, how it rung even when he was whispering sad retorts. He thought about his dedication to get his brother’s body back, how futile it may seem, to others, even to them. This dedication brought further lust to Ed’s eyes as he tugged on his skin, now with his bare hands. The light fixture was scalding his pupils. His slick back slid down the curve of the tub a bit, so that his head rested halfway into the water. Legs were spread beneath clouds of soapsuds, and if Al ever did knock the door down, all he would see would be a very compromising position, nothing more.
Would Al laugh about it? Would he care? Would he…point and whisper in shock?
Edward’s body refused him of any emotion he had left to filter; it demanded for him to fuck himself and get it done. All he had to do was cum.
Once it’s over, it’s over. I won’t do this anymore. Just one last time, I promise. If I do this…and this…
His throat trembled with a repressed groan.
There was no asking himself why exactly he did this to his brother. These fantasies, these waking dreams of his brother touching him…were wrong, but they caressed him and kept him…loved. It had to be love. Or just lust. Or both. If he were lucky, it’d be both. Hell, if he were lucky, he wouldn’t be missing two human limbs. Then again, because he was lucky, that was all he lost—
His cock derailed him from that train of thought once again, and it demanded to be touched in all the right places, like some whiny whore with the wrong customer. His index finger stroked the ridge, and he shivered in the warm water. His thirty minutes were almost up; he had to hurry if he was going to beat his own deadline. If he was going to burst, he better move.
Speed is good.
“Brother! You’re taking forever! Yanno, if I had a body…”
“Yeah, Al, I’m bathing!” he half-lied, startled, because he knew his DNA would be floating in the water soon enough.
“Well, just so you know, I got dinner for you! And, the Colonel called.” There was a hint of a snicker in his voice. Perhaps it was a devilish grin. Ed coiled his hand around the shaft, making the grip so tight he blushed scarlet at the ceiling.
“Mhm, when I was downstairs.”
The alchemist started to rush it, but at the same time, kept his doings on the downlow. It was so hard, he breathed shallow. Like his automail. Like his ego.
So hard like his cock. He was so hard, so why couldn’t he cum, dammit!? According to the books, he should have shot his arrows by now! Fourteen-year-olds should have it easy.
“And he said the reason you spend so much time in the bathroom is so obvious that he’s surprised I overlooked it…” A hesitant silence on his end, making Ed’s mind stammer and seep through his bloody ears. It was sweet like he thought. That voice would squeeze it out of his damn wiry frame. Like a boxed structure, the corners would shrivel inward toward a center, his shoulders and thighs into his belly; then the center would drop out, whooshing like a baby being passed through the birth canal. Only, this was better. Much, much better.
Voice be damned. His flesh hand stopped its light motions. Tissues stilled and blood coagulated upon hitting a one-second wall. What could he say to this? He wasn’t sure if there were any words for the matter. Al knew…
“So, I told him that maybe you’re sick and that you’re not telling me because of your guilt—yeah yeah, I know—and to that, he laughed! Why would he laugh at me, Brother? I’d like to think he was just laughing at something in the background, and not at me or you like he said he wasn’t, but I’m not too sure of it!”
Now Ed had to bite back a barking laugh, and although it would have felt nice to bark like the unwilling military dog he was, he wanted to cum more. “Ugh—he laughed?” His right foot came across a soft block on the floor of the tub, and he lunged for it over his knees.
An idea made his erection move like the end of a rattlesnake. The soap, for being a hindrance, was sentenced to languishing over Ed’s Southern Headquarters. If he had to guess, he would say it felt like how a satin tongue would feel against his turgid flesh. It teased its corner over his tip, along the shaft’s veins, underneath like a swoop, and back up to wash like it was born to do.
This pale, little bar had a dirty mind. Plus, the water wouldn’t shut the fuck up; it kept slapping his chin.
Meanwhile, Al had regained Ed’s attention. “Are you sick, Ed, because I wouldn’t hold it against you if you were…”
Oh, please hold it against me… Do you even know what you’re talking about, Al? I’m thinking incest, and you’re thinking I’m busy hiding my guts. Do I even know what you’re talking about?
The most pleasurable sting surrounded his balls, and he knew he was nearing it. It would be the end, and it would mean there would be no more love for his poor penis. If he thought about virgins with boobs, he could let himself get away with it. Maybe Riza Hawkeye was the gal to dream about. But he couldn’t think about Al anymore. Al never meant to hurt him, but Al always hurt his core with just his presence. With the giggling littler brother there, Ed would have to—
Cum, all over the place. Like he promised himself. He blinked in the sight of white gushing out of him, as Al said, “Ed, do I have to come in there to make sure you’re not lying to me?”
“No!” he recoiled, this time his hands wiping themselves along his thighs.
Ed didn’t know where to start; once giving up a habit…it was tempting to give in and keep it for himself. For him, it was like giving up his hatred for milk. It was his hatred for rainy days, for nights without stars, for his father abandoning them… Those he would never forget; so why would he forget this disgusting habit? It wasn’t the cum; it was the cause of it. The straight face he put on would have sent Roy Mustang to relive their hell.
“I’m all right… I just need time to myself!”
“Uh—yeah.” Ed tried to make his tone as fluid as possible. He would never underestimate his brother ever again if he could help it.
“I see.” Al clanked. “The Colonel also said to make sure the bathroom is properly sterilized once we are done with our stay.”
“Who the hell gave that bastard the number to our whereabouts, anyway!?” Ed ripped his lungs, arms lifting his upper body out of the water in tottering effort.
“You did,” the younger boy confirmed.
Al could hear a very distinctive clang! and splash! a moment later after some mention of dope!!! or nope!!! or soap!!! or something.