Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Warnings: non-con, mild violence, exhibitionism, spoilers for manga chapter 54.
Summary: Please try to relax, Edward. This is going to hurt quite a lot.
What few stars could be seen in the city sky glittered like bits of broken glass in the thick black night. The moon and dim streetlights cast sharp shadows across Greed’s face. Some of the monster showed in the obscured angles of his brow and gleamed in the glint of distant light over his liquid eyes.
He scaled the wall with ease, in his own strength and the lithe power of this new body. The soul he had displaced spoke in a streaming whisperscream, white noise like misting rain railing against the wall of his unhidden intent. He felt the faintest flicker of disappointment that so promising a host had so underestimated the reach and grasp of pure and perfect avarice.
Through the open window, he slipped into deeper dark. Points of light shown from shadowed armour, expressing, impossibly, surprise.
“Ling?” A child’s voice clanging upward out of an endless metal depth, and a pause in which no, not Ling. “What are you doing here?”
The body in the other bed gave a grunt and shifted. With a sly look at Al, Greed pressed a finger to his lips and stole silently to the light switch. In the abrupt brightness, Ed’s eyes twitched open. He blinked blearily once, then his gaze sharpened into absolute wakefulness, glaring suspiciously, and with no small spark of anger, at the disturber of his sleep. “What do you want?”
A broad and gleaming grin split Greed’s face like a bright white wound. At the back of his mind, the boy’s soul begged him to stop. “Everything,” he answered, truthfully, prowling closer to where Ed scrambled to sit upright on the bed. He bent and hissed into Ed’s ear, “But, for now, I’ll settle for you.”
A steel fist swung around heartbeat quick. He caught it without a glance and had Ed by the throat, choking, before Al had even risen to his feet.
“Settle down, Alphonse,” he soothed. In the same even tone, one for warning a child away from danger, he said, “If you make any sound at all, I will snap your brother’s neck. Okay?”
Al’s only response was to drop silently back to the bed as though his hollow knees could hold him no longer.
Turning his attention back to Ed, still struggling in his grip, Greed smiled. “That goes for you, as well. Now, are you going to behave?”
Ed’s eyes could have scored jagged bleeding lines into less resisting flesh. “Fuck you.”
“No, no,” Greed corrected him softly. “I’m afraid you’ve got that backward.” Ed growled, and a wicked laugh bubbled out from Greed’s mouth like sour spring water. “This should be fun. Although, this,” he muttered, stroking a finger along the automail knuckles, “could be troublesome.”
He shifted his hold to Ed’s wrist and gave a violent pull that ripped the limb from its port with a jolt, tossing it limp and clattering to the floor. Ed’s teeth gritted, and a sound of pain slithered from between them. Greed chuckled.
“And these, of course.” He tugged away Ed’s shorts in a single motion and ran the tips of his fingers across the newly exposed flesh, tsking as he did so. “Not much to you, is there?” He sighed. “But I suppose it’s something.”
Ed twisted his legs, trying to cover himself. “Don’t touch me, you bastard.”
“Ooh. Such a vile little mouth,” Greed cooed and slapped Ed hard across the face. “Quiet, Alphonse.” A thin streak of blood appeared on his chaffed lips, and Greed licked it away with a smacking, wet sound. Ed flinched back, his face flushed and contorted in revulsion.
Greed pushed Ed’s thighs apart and knelt between them on the bed, one hand trailing back and forth along the length of Ed’s squirming sex. The other hand remained tight to bruising around Ed’s throat.
“Get off me, pervert,” he snarled, fighting to suck down enough air.
Greed met his eyes squarely, still smiling. “No. I’m going to do what I like, and you’re going to do what I tell you. Do you know why that is?”
Ed glared at him, silent and defiant. Greed sighed and loosed his throat hold long enough to land a blow across Ed’s unmarked cheek. In a calm voice, he chided, “I asked you a question, Edward.”
With a grimace, Ed spat a clump of blood and saliva into his face. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it. I don’t care. Just get your hand off my dick.”
Greed licked the thick coppery spittle from the corner of his own mouth. “I think your dick might object to that, actually.” He gave a tug at the hardening flesh, and Ed jerked. “And, yes, I might very well kill you. But do you know what will happen then?”
Ed said nothing, and Greed suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He delivered a solid punch to Ed’s side and was rewarded with a high, sweet whine. “This will only hurt as much as you want it to, you know,” he said gently. “Now, it’s a simple question, Edward.”
Ed took a deep, steady breath. “If you kill me,” he answered flatly, “then I guess you’ll just have to fuck my corpse.”
Greed gave him a bemused look. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ed appeared to brace himself for another blow, but Greed leaned close and breathed into his ear. “After I break your neck, I’ll break your brother’s bloodseal. Then I’ll fuck your pretty little corpse.” He felt a shudder coil through Ed’s body and grinned. “Maybe I’ll even cut a few extra holes, just for variety.”
Pulling himself back up, he cast an appreciative eye over the flesh spread out beneath him, so many scars for such a small body, with a pleased pause at the juncture where he held hard, hot sex. “I think it’s in your best interest to keep this civil.”
There was a soft whimper from the other side of the room, but Greed ignored it. Beneath his thoughts, the soul kept up a litany of curses against Greed, his ancestors, his progeny, and everyone he had ever met. But Greed knew the deeper whispers, knew that the honour, the loyalty, the disgust, were dug helplessly in against a relentless current of want. This had been Ling’s idea, after all.
Ed was still except for the violent rise and fall of his chest. Greed could almost hear his heart pounding, the primal drumbeat of an ancient hatred, the timeless screaming fury in every age of all victims for their rapists.
Xingian clothes were made for this, he thought, as he freed his sex with remarkable ease. “Please try to relax, Edward.” Soft skin shifted to hard carbon. “This is going to hurt quite a lot.”
Not a sound, not a cry or a gasp, just a sharp breath and an arching back as Ed was skewered on solid stone. Greed gave a sigh of disappointment and pushed again. “Oh, you’re not going to bear this silently, are you?”
Ed jerked, eyes screwed shut, teeth gritted, still no sound but harsh breathing, hissing in exhales that stirred the blood, and spittle settled at the corners of his mouth. Greed pressed hard against him and whispered sweetly, imploringly, “Moan for me, Edward.”
He gave a brutal push, and Ed’s mouth fell open, almost almost with a cry, but only a sharp keen in the back of his throat. Greed slapped his face and thrust twice into him, more viciously than before. “That’s really not going to be good enough.” His voice was a purr, slick as silk, glossed without blood or malice. “You wouldn’t want your brother to die just because you couldn’t make a little noise.”
Ed opened his eyes and offered him a look of such perfect and vulnerable ire, Greed wanted to kiss that twist right off his lips. Elsewhere in his consciousness, what remained of Ling Yao hid its face in shame. “Now, are you ready to moan for me?”
Ed’s eyelids dropped shut again, and he laid his head back against the pillow without a word. Greed punched him squarely in the mouth. “I asked you another question, Edward.”
Ed’s remaining fist clenched. “Yes.”
Ed swallowed. “Yes… sir.”
He pushed again, and Ed let out a sound that was choked and hollow, spilling up from some deep subdermal spring of aural exsanguination. “Good, just like a professional. Just like a whore.”
Greed struck a violent rhythm, and Ed wailed on cue, strangled noises that echoed deeper than ache. Greed could hear it, the code in his cries. One relentless moan for every injustice. One for every hormone that raged unregarded. One for every tragedy. One for every scar. One for every failure. One for every moment of despair. One hundred more and the air between for things lost and never gained.
Greed laughed and pulled Ed’s hand to his mouth. His fingertips were hard with calluses, tasted of salt and oil and something else, something rich and red and brighter than light. Greed sucked at them as though the flavour could seep into his mouth and become a permanent part of his tongue.
“Do you know what you taste like, Edward?” he mused. “You taste like Truth.” A cry choked off in Ed’s throat. “It’s all over you, in your sweat, in your spit.” He grinned. “I bet even your come tastes like alchemy.”
The moans now were sharper, bitter and breathless, touched with rage and fear in alternating measure. In spite of himself, Greed felt the sound creeping down his spine, pooling in pleasure at the small of his back. He slammed his hips with renewed vigour and released Ed’s hand, which dropped clenching to the bed.
“Why don’t you get yourself off,” he suggested. Ed made no move but to curl his fist more tightly. Greed sighed, took hold of Ed’s spit-slicked fingers, and twisted. “I did ask nicely. Keep still, Alphonse. I can do this for hours, Edward. How quickly it ends is really up to you.” A hitch in the hard breath. “You do want to finish quickly, don’t you?”
Ed’s voice was tight like an overstrung chord, ready to break at a single careless touch.
Greed turned his fingers to an impossible angle, and Ed wailed.
“Sir! Sir. Yes, sir.”
Greed smiled and let him go. Ed’s touch was tentative, fumbling, eyes shut so tight that tears stalled in the folds of skin around them. He pulled at himself with a desperation and uncertainty that bespoke almost endearing inexperience. Greed thrilled at the rare opportunity for such an absolute claiming of innocence.
“You shouldn’t be so shy, Edward,” he purred. “After all, the Gate made you its whore long before I touched you.”
Ed choked and rubbed harder.
“How old were you when you gave it up?” Greed licked his lips. “You knew exactly what you were doing, too. Asked for it, begged for it. Your little body was made for this, and you know it.”
This was not sex. It was not intimate, was not sensual. This was acquisition, the subjugation of an object desired, with a shattering as he went so that no one ever after could have or keep it. Nothing, he had found, smacked more perfectly of possession, of avarice, than the forcing of a virgin.
All the while, the displaced soul wept words continuous notlikethisnotlikethis.
Ed was rising, closer and closer. Greed could feel him tensing, all his muscles timed to one unsteady heartbeat. “Open your eyes,” he commanded, and the lids snapped back. “Look at your brother.”
There may have been form intended in the sound that punched its way past Ed’s bruised lips, but it was lost in the overcurrent of anguish pushed through the bounds of semantic containment. Even no was beyond him, now. His head jerked weakly from side to side.
Greed slapped him and held his face so that his wide, unfocused eyes were turned toward Alphonse, still sitting silent as the grave, armoured joints clicking with tension. “Can’t forget why you’re doing this, after all.” Greed’s other hand wrapped around Ed’s own, keeping a quick rhythm. “Just think of your brother, Edward.”
Ed came like a sob, sudden and violent, wracking his body without any trace of pleasure. All the tightness disappeared, and he fell back boneless, no more sign of fight, no pain, no longer present as Greed never so much as paused in his relentless pounding. Dirty tear tracks streaked over the swelling bruises on his face. It seemed that all he could do any more was breathe.
Greed sighed. He had, after all, promised that would be the end of it. Slick carbon shifted back to flesh, and a few sharp thrusts had him emptying useless fluid into Ed’s battered body. Sticky streams crept out along the inside of Ed’s thighs, shining on the automail.
He sat back with a satisfied smile. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Ed didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
“Though honestly,” he continued, “you might be a good whore, but you’re rather a crap lay.”
He resettled his clothes and paused to watch the flush slowly cool away from Ed’s skin. “Still, we should do it again some time. Alphonse,” he added with a wave, “thanks for your cooperation. Couldn’t have done it without you,” and he was out the window, back into the thick night with never a backward glance.
In one dark shadow of his mind, a soul screamed. Prowling back along the empty street, Greed whistled.