thedeadparrot (thedeadparrot) wrote,

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I Might Be Wrong (Part XI) - In which there is porn. Yes, I really did just say that.

Title: I Might Be Wrong (Part XI)
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Roy/Hughes
Spoilers: through 51
Rating: NC-17 ( I know I haven't put any here before, but there's one for this chapter, and this chapter only, really.)
Summary: Roy hasn't learned from other people's mistakes.
Previous Parts: Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Tag filter
Notes: Still lots of love to my betas tatooine and daringu. Here be porn. I realize that I should have mentioned this earlier, but I wasn't sure if I actually had the (not) gonads to actually go through and post it. So there you have it. My first porn ever. Point and laugh if you wish.


Roy steps into the alleyway prepared to wait. He's ready, this time, for what's going to happen. Forewarned and forearmed.

To his surprise, Wrath is already waiting there, looking impatient. "Took you long enough," he (it) snarls.

Roy shrugs. "I had other business to attend to."

Wrath shiftblurs (something Roy is no longer surprised or intimidated by) and is once again in Roy's personal space, their noses almost touching.

Roy's not going to cower this time, though. He has his own reasons for being here. Probably not what Wrath has in mind, but he doesn't particularly care what Wrath has in mind. Manipulation can go both ways.

Taking Wrath by surprise, he launches himself at the homunculus, grabbing a fistful of his (its) shirt and pulling their lips together. It's a rough kiss, and Roy forces his tongue into Wrath's open mouth. Part of him would be willing to just do this the entire night, to just kiss Wrath's mouth and forget that the last few months ever happened, that the last few years ever happened.

Using Wrath's distraction to his advantage, Roy slides his hand into Wrath's pants, wraps his fingers around his (its) cock, and squeezes. Hard. It's silky and hot in his hand, and so familiar Roy almost doubts himself. He swallows Wrath's moan in his mouth. It's not going to be very similar to the times he had with Maes, but it shouldn't be.

Roy pulls away, not a lot, just enough to get a good look at Wrath's face. He leaves his hand where it is. Wrath gives him a questioning look, but Roy ignores it and strokes his (its) cock slowly, enjoying the familiar texture and the further darkening of Wrath's eyes. They're both panting heavily, trying to suck as much air into their lungs as possible.

Roy can feel Wrath hardening in his palm, and it's a rush to be back here again. To feel this power. He squeezes just a little tighter, and Wrath lets out a little groan that sets Roy's nerves on fire and sends all the blood to his groin.

There's a moment when they just stare at each other as Roy strokes Wrath slowly, agonizingly slowly. "What's this all about, Mustang?" Wrath asks, his voice taking on that deep, husky tone of Maes' that Roy always loved.

"I want you to fuck me," Roy says, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. This isn't as much a challenge as a request. "So I can forget him. So I can remember that you're not him."

Wrath doesn't react, his eyes heavy-lidded. So Roy takes the initiative, shoves him against the wall, their bodies are pressed against one another, his mouth near Wrath's ear, his hand still stroking. They look like lovers, he thinks. In the middle of a tryst. And maybe they are. "Do you think you can do that?" Roy hisses quietly, challenge there this time.

Wrath chuckles, and Roy can feel the rumble of his (its) chest against his own. "I think I can manage." He (it) spins them around and presses Roy back against the wall. He can feel the rough brick against his hands, which have slipped out of Wrath's pants and are pressed up against the wall behind him, scrabbling for purchase as Wrath tries to devour his mouth.

It's not soft and gentle, but then again, it's not supposed to be soft and gentle.

Roy reaches into Wrath's pants again and pulls out his cock, which is hot and hard and right (and Roy wants this so badly he can taste it). He strokes it a bit again, too, just because it's too good not to.

Wrath grins at him, eyes glittering, and Roy wants to punch him. Just because he's wound so tightly, he needs to do something and fucking or fighting seem like good ideas at the moment. "Hurry up," he snarls, anticipation coiling in his stomach.

Wrath goes after the military uniform pants, which have far too many buttons for his taste.

For a second, Roy's in a military barracks, hearing Maes mutter curses at their uniforms, feeling the slick slide of Maes' tongue on every available bit of skin and his teeth biting into his lip to keep himself from crying out --

-- but then there's Maes' (Wrath's) tongue laving the head of Roy's cock and he's pulled back into the now. Roy's knees want to buckle, but he manages to keep himself upright. He's panting, desperately, and he feels wide open. Completely exposed.

He doesn't really care because this is Maes.

Except it's not Maes. And Roy realizes that the lines have blurred.

Wrath looks up at him, eyes glittering with lust and maybe something darker. "Did he do this to you, too?" he (it) asks as his (its) tongue traces a line of blistering heat from the base to the tip of Roy's cock.

"No," Roy groans out. "He wasn't such a fucking prick tease."

When Wrath takes Roy all the way into his mouth, Roy has to swallow his own moan. It's tight and hot and familiar, and he's fucking forgotten how brilliant Maes' mouth was. He threads his fingers into Wrath's (Maes') hair and holds on as tight as he can. He doesn't try to control Wrath's movements (it's too good and too perfect for Roy to even want to.) He's sweating, he realizes, water trickling down his neck, his face, his back, into his mouth that's wide open and gasping.

Wrath pulls back, and Roy suppresses an undignified whimper. This whole situation is getting out of hand, past the point where he can control it, but he doesn't care, because it feels so right. (It's fake, though, part of Roy realizes.)

He's almost surprised to find Wrath standing up again, pressed against him (their erections rubbing against each other, causing Roy to shiver). "I don't have any lube, and neither do you," he (it) murmurs, surprisingly softly.

"I don't care," Roy says, and he means it. He wants it to hurt.

Wrath pushes his fingers against Roy's ass, sliding in with some difficulty, and Roy bucks, wanting more friction. Wrath spreads his fingers (spreads Roy), and something twists inside him. He shuts his eyes, even though he wants to keep them open, he wants to see that this isn't Maes. Isn't that why he came? Roy's forgotten. He opens his eyes again, anyway.

There's a moment, when Wrath just looks at him. Almost as if he's asking for permission, in the exact same way that Maes used to. Roy thinks he can feel his heart break.

And then Wrath half-shoves Roy upward (causing his shirt to ride up, and his back to scrape against the wall) and pushes in. It burns, hot and rough and painful, but Roy welcomes it, sinks into it, lets it wash over him in waves. He grips Wrath's shoulders, fingernails digging into his (its) shirt.

There's no sound in the alley, besides their grunts, snarls, and occasional hisses. Roy thinks that maybe even that's enough to give them away, but no one passes by. Wrath thrusts again, and Roy forgets how to think.

It's hard for Roy to keep still, probably the smartest thing to do in this case, considering he's being held up by the wall (which is scratching his back, making him bleed) and Wrath's hands on his hips (which are too hard, making him bruise), but he can't stop. He arches, thrashes, grabs onto anything he can. The burn, the hurt, he needs it. Because he deserves it.

Wrath is panting hard, eyes so dilated that Roy can't even see the purple. He (it) stills for a moment, and Roy's almost reduced to begging. "Why'd you stop?" he mumbles, voice strangled. Wrath doesn't reply, and shifts slightly.

And pushes in again, hitting that spot and something behind Roy's eyes (even the one that isn't there) fucking explodes, so Roy can barely breathe.

Wrath fucks him in earnest now, snarling low in his (its) throat. "Did he do this for you?" he (it) asks, half-hissing. "Did he fuck you so hard you forgot your own name?"

If Roy's throat wasn't so raw that every breath tore at his throat and maybe if he could form a coherent sentence at the moment, he would have answered. But instead, he digs his fingers into Wrath's neck, so hard that it probably hurts.

Roy's getting close, really fucking close, when Wrath grabs his cock and squeezes (like Roy did before, all too tight and just tight enough), and Roy comes so hard he nearly blacks out from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

He's tired, gasping for air (again), and he almost doesn't notice as Wrath comes himself, wet and hot, inside Roy.

"I could kill you, you know," Wrath says as he pulls out, dropping Roy unceremoniously on the ground.

Roy looks up from his sitting position, too tired to stand. "You won't," he says simply, believing every syllable.

"Why's that?" Wrath arches an eyebrow sardonically at him.

"Because you want to know more about him and nobody else will tell you." Roy doesn't look up this time, just stares straight ahead as Wrath disappears into the night.


There was a man -- or possibly a boy -- standing there, waiting to greet the approaching figure. The newcomer glared. "Envy," he said.

The boy-man grinned, eyes alive with something dark. Cruelty, perhaps. "How did the visit go? Did you enjoy yourself?" he sneered.

The newcomer didn't answer, simply threw the boy-man against a nearby wall and walked off without another word.
Tags: fic, fma, i might be wrong
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