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Caveat Emptor	By : seatbeltdrivein Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male > Roy/Ed Views: 798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and do not profit from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
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- 3
Six o'clock, and Ed looked even less of himself than he had when Roy'd walked in the door. A black dress, of course of he'd wear a black dress, and—his nails looked painted, red as his lips, and Roy couldn't look anywhere but at Ed-cum-Trisha, cocktail dress and high heels and makeup and hair bundled on top of his head and all.
"Does this meet your satisfaction, sir?" Ed asked sarcastically, hips cocked to the side. If he hadn't been rolling his eyes and sneering, Roy might've taken it as a come-on.
"Very much so," Roy said. "I'll have to compliment Greed on his tastes." Whether Roy meant in clothing or in subordinates, neither of them could really say.
Outside, the shrill honk of a car horn sounded, three separate bleats. Roy held out his arm, let Ed take it, and walked them both out the front door. He could see smoke floating out the open window on the driver's side, breathed a relieved sigh. Havoc was driving, which meant any slip-ups Ed made on the way to the restaurant would be forgiven, unmentioned. Hughes knew better than to send an unknown.
Roy opened the car door for Ed. The boy faltered at the move, closed his eyes - and when he opened them, the last vestiges of Edward Elric were gone, the eyes softened, the expression altogether one of a woman being wooed.
"Thank you," Ed demurred, and let his hand slide over Roy's gripping the edge of the door, the corners of his painted lips tilted up. Roy raised his eyebrows, heard Havoc cough suspiciously in the driver's seat.
Clearly, Roy thought, closing the door and climbing into the car on the opposite side, he had no reason to worry. In the presence of others, Ed's acting appeared to be flawless. It was difficult to reconcile the persona Ed presented in private with the easy, feminine grace he held himself with as Trisha. It was as if they were honestly two separate people. Roy found himself on edge, expecting the façade to shatter at any moment, to give them away. With any luck, it would hold true indefinitely.
"So, you're the boss' lady?" Havoc wasted no time, grinning back at them in the rear view mirror.
Ed smiled, dipped his head. "I'm Trisha," he said—practically purred it, really. Roy grabbed Ed's hand, gave Ed a sharp look when the boy laughed.
"She fits the part," was all Havoc had to say on the matter.
"For the money I paid, she'd better." Roy felt Ed's grip on his hand tighten, winced at the pressure. So the boy was still sore at being reminded of his position? What sort of experience did Ed even have? Roy didn't get it, didn't understand how the boy could be so—so utterly unprofessional, especially coming from such a lauded crime family. Perhaps it was simply that Ed didn't consider Roy part of the deal, on his own. Whatever the reason, the bizarre mixture of Ed's professional skill and insubordinate attitude was jarring, the switches between the two far too clean. But then, expecting anything to do with the Devil Nest's to make sense was likely wishful thinking on his part. "Are all the preparations ready?" he asked, turning his attention back to Havoc. He pointedly did not look at Ed's legs, at the way the slinky black material of his dress rode up, resting on skinny, dimpled knees.
Havoc nodded. "Hawkeye and Fuery went ahead about two hours ago to set the security detail. Hughes said something about the press, but hell if I can ever follow a word he's saying."
"He's enjoying this a bit too much." Roy didn't want to think about what Hughes was doing contacting the press. Something humiliating, yet necessary for Roy, no doubt. "I hope you're not camera shy," he said to Ed, because if the boy had an issue with something like that—
"Nah," Ed said in his own voice.
Havoc started and made a choking sound. The car jolted as his foot reflexively hit the brakes.
"I'm good,” Ed continued, ignoring it all. “Just point me where to go, and you can get all the damn photos you need."
"You're a man?" Havoc blurted, blinking rapidly into the mirror.
"Yeah," Ed said tersely, "I am. I double as a bodyguard. Fuckin' look at me like that…"
"Do try to remember what we discussed earlier," Roy said, leaning over so his words were for Ed alone. "My team will know who you are, but you'll still be Trisha. I won't tolerate you giving them any trouble," and just like that, Roy tightened the leash he had on Ed, saw the boy stiffen and look away. Ed was still young, questioned things too much—Roy couldn't allow any give in his hold on the boy. He didn't want to think what would go wrong if his control slipped, not when Ed would be so deep in everything he was working for.
Not for the first time, Roy felt the urge to call Greed, to demand a professional to be sent. No matter how the man had promised he had the perfect candidate for the job, Roy had his doubts. Ed wasn't alleviating them, either.
The boy muttered a surly, "Yes, sir," and turned away, scooted to the door and watched the city pass by the windows in a neon blur.
The restaurant wasn't one Roy would have chosen on his own. It was a small family owned café that sat on the edge of downtown Central, had been around for over ten years and was never frequented by the upper echelon of society. It was the sort of place a tourist would choose, someone from a small town with simple tastes.
Ed took to it immediately.
"Wasn't expecting something like this," he said, voice low, as Havoc parked the car, rounding the side to open Roy's door.
"It fit the situation," Roy said, shrugging. When he stepped outside, there was a small gathering of people with press badges dangling around their necks standing on the edge of the parking lot, a group of five or so serious-faced young people—interns, if he had to guess. They didn't move, didn't so much as blink when Roy stepped out of the car. But when he walked around and opened the other door, giving Ed his hand and helping him out, flashbulbs went off one after the other, the light catching in Ed's eyes. The boy gave a cocky smile, stood close to Roy and rested his head against Roy's shoulder. With heels on, Ed stood just at the bottom of Roy's ears, the perfect height for a female companion.
"Don't say anything," Roy advised. The less said, the less known, the better. He had no idea what he'd do when 'Trisha' up and vanished, but without any solid details spread about, it would be easy to make excuses. Another failed relationship—the press would love it even more than a wedding.
Havoc was three feet behind them as they walked, heads ducked, toward the decorative wooden doors of the little building. Roy watched Ed in his peripheral, amazed at the boy's composure. He was fitted against Roy's side, the hair bundled on top of his head brushing against the side of Roy's face. Roy even swore he could smell perfume, though he could hardly imagine the boy primping and spraying himself down with anything so sweet smelling. It was really as if he had a pretty girl clinging to his arm. His ambivalent feelings about Ed’s abilities tilted a little more towards trust.
If the boy could keep it up—three months, that was all it would take, three months to lose parliament's interest, to throw Bradley off the scent.
The restaurant's windows were blocked, thick screens drawn down over every last one: typical measures for the privacy of such a well-known man. Hughes was the only person waiting inside. He had a bag in his hands and a grin on his face, the edges of it strained. Roy's mind immediately reared up in alarm. "Hughes—"
Hughes, of course, couldn't let Roy have the first say, god no. He strolled forward, grabbed Ed's hand and jerked him from Roy's arm and said, "You look nothing like a man! I have to say, I'm impressed, though I suppose this is sort of thing I should expect from one of Greed's trusted family members!"
Ed stared, the only sign of his irritation a faint tic in his forehead. "Yeah, thanks."
"Right, well, down to business, I guess." Hughes sighed, shoved the bag in Ed's hand. "Bathroom's over there, go get dressed." Ed raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just shot Roy an unreadable look before sauntering off.
"What's that all about?"
"New information just came in," Hughes said. "Knox is a target. Tonight."
"Tonight?" There was no way. It was too soon. "Then there's a—"
"A leak, yeah, that's what I was thinking, too. There's no way of knowing who it is, though, and there's not nearly enough time to sit around scratching our heads about it. We need to move now."
"They chose tonight deliberately," Roy said slowly. Hughes nodded.
"Once word spread that you'd be enjoying dinner with a lady friend, I think parliament got antsy. They've wanted to test you, and I have to say, this is a goddamn perfect time to do it."
"If I show up at Knox's place…"
"Then they know you're a traitor. Or at least, they'd have enough to go on to investigate you further."
"And Ed?" Roy asked, glancing over at the bathroom door.
"I figured you should get your money out of him." No pretences. No dancing around it.
"Hughes—" Roy started to argue, but the door was opened and Ed stepped out, completely himself, and gave Roy a sharp look. The dress gone, Ed had shed all traces of the boy who'd been on his back for Roy, of the woman from the rural East. How many faces could one person have?
"This is what you hired me for, right?" Ed asked, tossing the bag back to Hughes. "Don't be stupid. Everyone else is useless here."
And Roy knew that, yes, that sort of thing was what he'd hired Ed for, had been explicit in his needs when he'd contacted Greed, but Knox … It made Roy’s skin crawl to be put a man - and a valued friend and ally at that - in this boy's, this stranger's hands.
"Give him what he needs," Roy conceded, nodding at Hughes. "We'll remain here." He would trust Ed, and he would trust Greed as a man with a common enemy. God help them both if Ed failed.
When Ed slipped out of the dining room and out the backdoor in the rear of the kitchen, Roy dropped into a chair and stared at the clock.
"First test," Hughes said, pulling out a seat next to him. "If he succeeds—"
"There isn't much of a choice."

*

As he crept through the alley behind the restaurant, Ed was still trying to wipe the makeup off his face, smearing the red across his mouth and cheeks and then wiping the back of his hand off on his jeans. Ed knew a little red stain didn't matter, not where he was going. His whole life was covered in red, his family, his home, his body.
A little red never hurt anyone.
"Get the job done," he told himself, edging out of the alley onto the night-darkened streets. Ed had to say it, had to use the words to steel himself, because killing—it wasn't in him, not really.
There was a gun strapped to his belt. Ed his ran his hands over the outline of the barrel, knowing that he'd never need to draw it. He was his own gun, his hands the trigger, and when he killed, it wasn't so indirect. If felt as if his soul touched the victim and allowed him to feel their last breath shudder from their lungs. He was sick from his own power.
The streets narrowed into residential housing. Fences mailboxes and toys abandoned in driveways appeared in the wake of offices and bars and phone booths. Ed's face felt rubbed raw. By the time he stepped onto Morehouse street (Morehouse, right off of main, third house down on the left, he'd chanted the words since he'd walked out the door), all the painted-on red was gone from his face, pressed into his skin and spread thin.
First house, and he kept walking, mind twisting, disconnecting, and the weirdest fucking thing was stuck in his head like a reel on replay, Roy's hands on him (the look on that bastard's face, he fucking loves me all dolled up, the shit), Roy's smug face—"I didn't pay to look," asshole, asshole, asshole.
Third house on the left. Ed crossed the street, walked through the front yard ("Give him what he needs," bastard thinks he has so much power over me—) and watched the windows, his eyes glued to the men dressed in military uniforms holding their weapons to the face of a broken old man.
Ed opened the door.

*

"How long are we going to wait?"
"As long as it takes." Hughes was still sitting at the table, staring fondly at some small square. Roy craned his neck and caught a glimpse of pigtails and pink—Elysia.
"If he doesn't come back," Havoc tried again, looking as nervous as Roy felt but couldn't express, "what happens?"
Hughes didn't say anything. Roy glanced at the picture again, then at Havoc. "If he fails, you mean."
A nod, slow and reluctant.
"If Edward doesn't return, we assume him dead. Knox as well. And we," Roy paused, "we assume ourselves exposed."
"And then?"
Hughes pulled his gun off his holster, put it on the table. "We have more than three bullets," he said. Havoc's face went white.
"Go, Ed, go," Havoc said, hoarse.
They'd arrived at the restaurant at nearly half past six, and it was fast closing on half ten, each successive minute another crack in the fading veneer of Roy's confidence. His and Trisha's supposed date could only last so long—and really, if the prime minister were to show up and demand to check on him—
Roy shook his head clear of all those ridiculous, paranoid fantasies, exhaled a slow and calming breath.
Through the strained silence, a creaking door sounded, wood hitting the frame as it closed. The back door.
Hughes' hand was on his gun. Havoc was inching toward the swinging doors to the kitchen; Roy was stock-still in his chair, fear gnawing at the edges of his minds, face frozen.
"Got you a doctor." Ed pushed through the doors and Knox stumbled along behind him with a look of stupid disbelief.
For a moment, sitting at the table, Roy thought his heart had exploded.
"Was there any conflict?" Hughes always bounced back the fastest, was grinning again.
Knox laughed a loud, harsh bark. Ed just half-shrugged and kicked the ground, managing to look as young as his years, for once. "A little."
"Were you seen?" Hughes asked, and Roy leaned forward, hands clasped on the table and still somehow shaking. If they'd been seen—
"For a second. But y'know, I figure it's pretty hard to rat a guy out when your head's three feet away from the rest of you."
Again, the strained silence. Hughes looked to Knox, who nodded, lips thin. "Good choice," his mouth said. Why not hire a monster to battle monsters? his eyes said.
Roy had a headache. He couldn't even begin to think beyond that, but Hughes was looking at him, Hughes and Havoc and Ed and Knox—he had a responsibility to fulfill. "Edward, go get changed. We need to leave. Hughes—"
"I'll take care of the esteemed doctor," Hughes said, and Knox, god bless the man, still looked too stunned to manage much more than a nod and a blink.
"We'll reconvene tomorrow at the office. Havoc, contact the others. I want Fuery to make certain Ed wasn't seen, and I want it done immediately."
"Sir," Havoc said, and nodded.
Ed disappeared at some point, but there was noise streaming from under the bathroom door.
"Hawkeye'll be sending a team to sweep the café," Hughes offered. There would be no traces left, nothing to suggest that they'd even been there.
When Ed strolled out, he was still Ed, but wearing Trisha's dress and Trisha's shoes with Trisha's hair. Knox looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "What—"
"Long story. I'll fill you in," Hughes muttered. Ed wasn't looking at either of them.
Roy, a gentleman if nothing else, held out his arm. Ed took it, and Havoc followed them out, lights clicking off behind them and the sleepy rousing of camera light in front. When Roy settled into the car next to Ed, an arm around his shoulders, he leaned in close and murmured over the loud kick of the engines revving, "You did well tonight." The scales tipped in Ed's favor. The boy's face reddened, eyes downcast.
For the remainder of the drive, Ed didn't move away.

*

The soldier - or rather the mess of meat that had once been a soldier - spread from the middle of the kitchen, veered into the sitting room between a pile of shattered glass-something and the splintered remains of a chair, and finally dragged in a fast browning smear to the back door. There, the trail stopped abruptly.
Lust drummed her long fingernails against the clipboard, glancing at the mess. "Mustang?"
"Never left." Envy kicked the doorframe. "None of his people were around here, either."
"Or so the report says." Lust looked at the file, eyes passing over the words.
Soldiers were in and out of the house, frantic, sweeping every last inch of it to no result.
"I told Pride he should have left this to us," Envy growled. "Leaving this to humans—the doctor'll be out of the country by now!"
"It doesn't matter. The man didn't have what we needed, anyway." Another soldier walked by, and Lust smiled at him, tilted her head, smiled wider when he stumbled.
"That person won't like it," Envy said. "She wanted the doctor."
"He's gone now. We should concentrate on finding whoever did this rather than on that useless old man."
Envy said nothing. Then, he shrugged resignedly and tapped his face, the sudden red crackling energy causing several shouts of surprise from soldiers within hearing range. His features blurred into those of an older, larger man. Envy's new face crumpled in disgust. Lust raised her eyebrows, pointed at the door.
"I'm going," Envy grumbled. "Slave driver."
"Find out what you can. We meet with Pride tonight."
Lust watched him hobble out of the house, holding her clipboard under her arm. Outside, the sun was rising.
She had work to do.

*

Roy woke up to rain thundering against the roof and his cell phone vibrating against his bedside table, clattering loudly for his attention. Ed lay next to him, fully dressed and with two pillows between their bodies. He murmured sleepily into the covers before settling again.
Groping blindly for his phone, Roy pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard. "Mustang."
"Roy!" Hughes crowed, voice loud and cheerful and altogether too obnoxious for—Roy glanced at the clock, shook his head in disgust at the glowing 5:04 AM—so early in the morning.
"What do you want?"
"Don't bother coming into the office today," Hughes said, still in that same tone, but pitched meaningfully. "I'd hate to ruin your honeymoon night with that blonde trick—"
"Don't call her that," Roy snapped back, picking up the game with ease. There was no telling who could be listening.
"Yeah, yeah, we'll see." Hughes laughed. "If she lasts, maybe. We all know how you are."
"Hm."
"There are a few things, though. Your lovely advisor—"
"You mean, task master," Roy corrected.
"She has a few things that need your signature. Said I'd pass them on."
"Aren't you helpful," Roy muttered.
"Sorry," Hughes said, completely insincere. "She's too scary."
"Hm."
Ed was slowly drifting toward consciousness, eyes moving behind their lids. His hands fisted in the sheets, and he pulled Roy's share over his body. Roy scowled, dragging them back. Ed snorted sleepily, rolling with the movement of the sheets, and dragged himself over the pillows between them to drool on Roy's arm.
"I have to go," Roy said, pushing his arm into Ed's face.
"Ah, she's waking, I take it?"
"When can I expect you?" Roy avoided.
"That's cold, Roy-boy." Hughes hummed, breaking into a bout of uncharacteristic quiet. "Later," he said finally. "I have to finish my own work, you know."
"Call before you come."
"Will do. Tell her 'hi' for me."
Roy placed the phone back onto the table and dropped his face into his hands. Safe—they were safe, for now, and Knox was, too. He'd never felt so relieved to succeed, to pull himself out of such a tight place. And Ed—
The boy snorted again, pressed his face harder to Roy and kicked his leg against the bed.
Ed had done it all. There was no word on exactly what he'd done, but Roy knew enough (It's hard to rat a guy out when your head's three feet from the rest of you), more than he wanted. It didn't even matter how the boy had done it. Roy knew better than to pity government lackeys, not with the things they did.
He was lucky, they were all lucky, that the boy was there, was on their side.
Ed rolled again, Roy watching, amused. He kept getting closer, nearly pressed flush to Roy's side, and it was just—sort of adorable, really, made Roy want to run his hand through that gold hair and—
Ed kicked again, his left leg landing on Roy's shin, and Roy swore, nearly flew from the bed, shin aching like someone had dropped a goddamn anvil on his leg. Ed jolted up, scrambled around in sleep, bleary-eyed confusion taking over for a moment before catching sight of Roy on the ground. He sucked in a harsh breath and jumped off the bed, crouching down at Roy's side.
"What did I do?" he asked, more of a whisper, voice still rough with sleep.
Roy, wincing and knowing there would be a bruise but not knowing why, said, "You kicked me," and Ed's mouth formed a silent O, as if that explained everything.
"Sorry," he whispered, pushing Roy's hands away and running his own over the offended shin. "How bad is it?"
"What the hell did you do?" Roy jerked away from Ed's hands, giving the boy a sharp look. How in the hell Ed could do that, when his legs were so scrawny—
"It's automail," Ed said, quiet. "My left leg and right arm. They aren't real."
"Not real." Roy looked at the leg, the arm, looked at his own—how was that automail? Those arms felt real around his neck, as warm as the rest of the boy, and the legs—he'd seen them, felt them wrapped around his waist and pulling him closer. "Not possible," he said, uncertain. "They feel—"
"Real," Ed finished, eyes downcast as his hand scrabbled at his shoulder, searching for something. "Twenty years ago, automail was—metal, that's all. If anyone had it, everyone fuckin' knew. Science is different now." His fingers pushed briefly into the skin spread thin over his clavicle, and suddenly the skin was moving. Ed was pulling it off, and in its wake was another layer of skin, intensely scarred and a great deal paler than the rest of Ed's body. It ended as the fake skin stretched further off, revealing smooth, cold metal where his shoulder should have met his arm.
It even looked like an arm, the shape smooth and contoured, nothing like the automail Roy saw on veterans of the old wars, like the prosthetics his own company regularly dealt with. The level of craftsmanship was so advanced. Roy found himself with a sudden and very strange jealousy toward Greed. Where did the man even find things like that? To be so far ahead of the rest of the world…
Ed sat still, fake skin hanging just off the tips of his metal fingers. With a reluctant hand, Roy reached out, ran his fingers along the port on Ed's shoulder. "It must be useful," he said, clearing his throat and repressing the desire to talk shop, "for the sort of work you do."
"Most of the time," Ed agreed. His shoulders relaxed. "I—normally, I mean—I don't have to worry about—kicking someone. Sorry."
"It's fine," Roy said, because what else could he say? It was unlikely the boy had ever spent the night with a client—let alone three months of nights. "We'll figure something out. It would be suspicious to give you your own room."
They were on the floor with the blankets strewn from the bed around them, and the clock was flashing a time too early to consider on a Sunday morning.
Roy was tired.
"Hughes called. Knox is safe, and we're out of the red." For now.
"Good," Ed said, rubbing his eyes, blinking the sleep away. "Guy was all right."
"Hughes?"
Ed nodded. "And the doctor—didn't say shit to me about anything. Just said I was doin' my job, which is right, y'know?"
Roy didn't know, was honestly terrified to see what Ed could do. He’d heard enough rumors about the Devil's Nest, about the things that family was capable of.
Ed's arm caught the light beginning to spill in through the open curtains. Roy got up and jerked them shut. Automail, he thought, looking at the arm. A hand like that could crush a man's skull, easy.
Roy wasn't so tired anymore.

*

Hughes hadn't suggested a day off for the sake of Roy's enjoyment—he'd ordered it, a tactical necessity.
Roy had given up on being able to get back to sleep after Ed's foot had its unfortunate run-in with Roy's leg, so instead he had suggested breakfast.
Out.
"Don't you got food here?" Ed was sitting up in bed, hair a mess of tangles and the sleep shirt he'd borrowed from Roy dangling off his shoulders, about three sizes too big.
"You're missing the point." Patience, Roy soothed his irate mind. The boy was worth the trouble. "We need exposure—Trisha needs it."
"Everything's politics and bullshit to you, isn't it?" Ed sneered. "Yeah, fine, we'll go get your fucking exposure, but that better be some damn good food."
"You make it sound as though you're the one giving orders," Roy said mildly, standing at the foot of the bed with one arm in his shirtsleeve. "Get dressed."
Ed's face turned an angry red, but the boy got out of bed, pulled the trunk from underneath it where he'd stashed it the day before. Roy watched with interest as Ed shuffled through it and pulled out something that resembled a brassiere - only stricter-looking. His hands tightened on its unforgiving material when he caught Roy's eyes. "Go wait downstairs."
"For the amount I paid, I can watch if I like." It was a cruel thing to say. The boy curled up tight, shoulders curling in and back hunched over where his knees rested on the ground. The garment, innocuous, lay across his thighs. Ed avoided Roy's face, staring down at the thing across his lap with sleep-mussed hair falling over his eyes.
"Fine," Ed said stiffly, pulling off the sleep shirt. "Do whatever the fuck you want." A pause. "Sir."
The tone of Ed's voice very nearly lit a spark of guilt in Roy, but he quickly stamped it out. He could say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted to Ed, and Ed had no say in it. Greed had handed Roy the boy's leash for a tidy sum, and Roy could jerk it in any direction he liked until the contract ended.
The boy was a weapon, had said as much himself. A weapon and a tool to be used.
Ed's shirt hit the floor, exposing bent, bare legs, the sharp angle of Ed's hips curving up into a smooth back. The scars tracing random patterns over his body were just another facet of the boy's many faces, at odds with some and ease with others.
Ed shifted, uncomfortable, and stood. "If you're gonna sit there and stare like some old pervert freak, then help me."
"With…?"
The boy stood completely nude next to Roy's bed, shrugging into the shaping garment. "This," he said, turning around. "Took me a goddamn hour to do by myself last time. I didn't even fucking bother to put it back on last night—"
All the blood in his body rushed from Roy's head to his cock. Ed, facing away with his hands at his back, pulling the thing closed, looked unmistakably female.
"Tie them," Ed said as Roy's hands grabbed for the cords, the older man staring helplessly at them. "Pull them tight and—do you see those hooks? Hook 'em in, and make it tight."
Roy's hands were clumsy, pulling the cords and hooking them in, watching Ed's midsection pinch inward, the cups at his chest empty and deceiving. When the straps holding the thing up at Ed's shoulders drooped down his arms, Roy pulled them up, hands lingering at the fake skin at the right, trying and failing to tell the difference.
"Is that the last one?" Ed asked, slightly breathless. Roy ran a hand over the tightly wound cords, over to the new dip in the boy's waist. Ed was otherwise bare, and when Roy's hand dropped to his hip, to his naked thigh, the boy started, his hand quickly covering Roy's. "Is it?"
"Yes," Roy said, almost unaware of his mouth even moving, because fuck, the boy looked too good in that place between male and female.
"What are you doing?" Ed asked, unsteady, when Roy's hand went between his legs, rubbing at the boy's rapidly swelling cock, his other hand covering one of the empty cups where the garment covered Ed's chest.
Too good, too good, and Roy's hips were pushing into Ed's ass, his cock restricted and uncomfortable against the restraining material of his pants.
Ed arched back, letting Roy's face fall in the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Dirty old man," he muttered, reaching blindly behind himself until his hand was at Roy's zip, drawing it down from an impossible angle and shoving the man's pants down. They hit the floor, and Roy stepped out of them, not missing a beat. "You weren't kidding about," a pause, Ed hissing and pushing back against Roy's slick erection, "getting your money's worth, were you?"
"I'm a frugal man," Roy panted into his ear.
"Cheap," Ed bit back, "don't try and make it sound pretty—"
He pushed Ed until the boy's upper half sprawled across the bed, feet still flat on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Roy, hands fisted tight in the covers, and scowled. And Roy—
Roy was scrambling for the lube while he ripped a condom out of one of the small square packages, gobs of it shooting across Ed's back in his hurry to slick his fingers, and where the hell had his self control gone? Hands shaking, lubed fingers sliding the rubber on, Roy went cross-eyed. God help him, he couldn't breathe until he was balls deep in the boy and Ed was clawing at the sheets, pushing back hard. The metal hooks lining from the top to the bottom of the strange, feminizing garment were glinting, winking at Roy, and Roy couldn't look away, followed the light of the line in and out of Ed like a landing strip, moving and moving and moving.
"Cheap bastard, fucking useless pervert!" Ed was cursing him, the words breaking with each inward movement, sharp gasps every time the swollen head of Roy's cock slid in, touched the sensitive nub inside him.
Roy didn't want to hear that, so he pushed Ed's hips up and reached under, grabbed the boy's cock and ground inward at the same time. He felt Ed shudder and shake and spill, spitting his pleasure in a cacophony of curses at Roy.
When Roy came, it was with his mouth open, and the breath that ripped from his lungs was the only thing keeping him from singing the boy's praises.
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