Territory

Undiscovered – second, rewritten preview

Sorry folks! I’m posting this new rewrite separately because, now with flesh on its bones, its completely different from what I’d originally written. Out of deference to those who prefer their smut unadulterated by introspection, I’m leaving the other up as is. This, then, is the first part of what will become, eventually, the second chapter of this story. Having now, finally, (THANKS HAUNTED ANGEL!!) the remaining eps, I can say that there will be at least 2 more stories, all dealing with Edward's last interactions with Mustang - intreptations and embellishments. (Having them both in Rezembol at the same time after the night of their first encounter it too GOOD an opportunity to pass up...)

Enjoy folks! And to those who are reading and who have commented – my greatest thanks for your encouragement!

~I~

Companion to “Territory”


*If they gave out an award for acting, I’d win it hand’s down…*

Edward sat in the back seat of the car Archer had arranged to take him to Lior, wondering how it was that life served itself up to you sometimes all at once…

Even before this afternoon, he’d felt like his life was on the cusp of many things; -since- this afternoon, his head was filled with so much change, so much big friggin’ change, that he was seriously considering letting his brain explode and be done with it. He was sure Scar would oblige if he asked nicely enough; he’d been itching to do if for a while now, anyway.

The biggest revelation of all of them was one that had come from out of nowhere; one he did –not- see coming…

He would have –liked- to have gotten in and out of Archer’s office before Mustang discovered him there and avoided that whole confrontation, but if he had, he would also have avoided … pretty much everything that had happened in the hour following it. In spite of the lingering, strangely pleasing feeling of rangy relaxation and calm-in-the-pit-of-his-stomach satisfaction he was currently experiencing, none of that had been planned. Or expected. Or even -dreamed of-, for that matter.

Colonel -Mustang?-

*…Colonel Mustang…*

Images flashed through his head: the whisper of hands moving under his clothes as they caressed his skin; being touched in one place, feeling it someplace else entirely; slick heat; blessed friction; noises he’d never heard before, noises coming from –him-, from
-both- of them, noises he couldn’t get enough of…

*Mmmmmm*…

Truth was, his brain and his hormones had been fighting a war since he’d walked out of that vacant office a little over an hour ago and he’d been struggling to stay focused on what he needed to do, there was so –much- he needed to do, with his intellect pretty much losing the battle… He’d try to get his mind back on task and two minutes later, he’d find himself slack jawed, with what was no doubt a vacant look on his face. Al had noticed and was getting quite worried about him. He even tried talking him out of going to Lior tonight saying Ed didn’t look well, but this was too important to put off, no matter what his hormones had to say about it…

And so he’d slipped his automail hand in his pocket and pinched himself on the thigh really hard a few times, put his game face on, and … and acted his pleasantly sore ass off.

*Scenes from a brilliant performance…*

Most recent: Talking about fate with his brother and an uncharacteristically unemotional Major Armstrong just a few minutes ago and being so bloody calm he amazed himself; accepting the Major’s concern for his safety as he headed himself off for Lior and that self-righteous idiot, Scar; reassuring the big man *(the big pansy!*) that he’d be all right.

Rewind a little earlier: Getting his stuff together for this trip out here, particularly what he thought was an extremely good disguise; warning Marta to stay out of sight because it wasn’t safe for her; fielding concern from his brother, somewhat distracted, but to all appearances focused and on point, betraying none of what was going through his head. It was amazing, he thought, how slapping a scowl on your face could make people think you were on your game.

Rewind to, oh, say 5:45 pm, the biggest performance of them all: Walking down that corridor, feeling a pair of dark eyes burning into his back; smirking, knowing it was probably somewhat -lower- than that and –loving- knowing it; trying not to swagger too wide because his knees were still like jelly and his breathing hadn’t quite returned to normal yet and he could still feel the Colonel’s tongue in every damn place he’d put it and…

He’d barely made it back to his room, had, in fact, had to duck into another office, this time around the corner, just to make sure he was completely dressed and that he was
-clean-…

He was having a hard enough time just trying to -think- straight, let alone walking and talking and planning out a mission.

Waiting for his heart to stop banging in his chest (he’d had a flash of Mustang’s dripping finger sliding into his mouth), he wondered absently if the Colonel wasn’t actually just trying to get him -killed.-

He was so distracted, so … single minded (and not about what he needed to be…), who knew what would happen. Again, he wondered if that could have been Mustang’s intent all along; finish him off once and for all and be done with the aggravation.

And so for his brother and Marta and Armstrong, and now, for Falman driving the car, he’d played All Business Fullmetal, I’ve-Got-To-Stop-Scar-Fullmetal, I-Need-To-See-Lior-For-Myself Fullmetal, when what he really was was What-The-Hell-Is-Happening-To-Me?-Fullmetal, Not-Ever-Gonna-Be-the-Same Fullmetal, and Damn-Oh-Damn-That-Was-So-Good Fullmetal…

And for that he deserved not just an award, he deserved a medal, a commendation, a big prize; shit, he deserved a couple weeks off so he could spend some time getting to know this new version of Edward Elric, and preferably not –alone-…

*Too much and all at once.*

*What did it mean…?*

For years now, he’d been studiously avoiding, both in internal conversations (yes, he talked to himself!) and in those uncomfortable conversations he had with his brother – on what was clearly Alphonse’s favorite topic – girls, making any determinations about his…love-life. He didn’t need the distraction now and frankly, truth be told, he didn’t really care either way. Al tried to egg him on, get him to admit some feeling or other for Winry, whom he did dearly …well, -love-, or poor, misguided Rose, whom he spared a thought to now and again, wondering how the young woman had dealt with Cornello’s disappearance, back before they’d found out “Cornello” hadn’t actually disappeared…

Honestly, though, Edward did not have time for that kind of complication in his life. Not if he was going to find a way to get his brother back into his body – and nothing,
-nothing- was more important to him than that.

Even so, he’d had any number of opportunities to test those waters since, well, pretty much since he’d gotten his State certification and begun spending more time in Central.

He saw the looks he got from women on the streets: shy, blushing girls his own age; studious-looking women carrying college books; female officers in the mess – hungry, sometimes –starving- looking, even –after- having eaten; beautiful women being helped into expensive cars by older men, pausing to check a heel, but –really- just checking him out; perhaps the most pitiful of all were the young mothers pushing –baby- carriages, laden with diapers and bottles, faces tired, but eyes alert to his every move… He got the distinct impression from those looks that with just the slightest encouragement from him, any one of them would have gladly spent an hour making him very glad he was a boy…

On more than one occasion, he’d actually -thought- about it, curiosity and teenage hormones fighting for airtime in his head…

The attention didn’t stop there, though, and while he would have chalked it up to his famously healthy imagination, he wasn’t the only one who noticed; Alphonse had pointed it out, too. More than once.

*‘Nii-san, did you see that man?…’*

It had seemed pretty odd at first, but Edward was getting longing looks from -men-, as well, and even bolder than the women.


Many of the men did more than look, some of them made vaguely suggestive gestures, some even got close enough to brush against him or touch him in some way.

He’d react with a sputtering combination of insult and embarrassment, but on more than one occasion, he’d also felt the slightest, tiniest bit… um, -interested.-

With a mumbled insult, he’d laugh it off, trying for nonchalance, then he’d studiously bury his head in a book or stroll out to the alchemic firing range to “work on his battle skills,” a.k.a. build and blow stuff up…

With that charge of teenage testosterone in his system, he’d be able to stroll through Central undaunted for a week or two. Until it happened again…

There was the businessman who worked in the financial district adjacent to Headquarters. He always seemed to be eating his lunch on a bench in the park across the street when Edward and his brother trooped out at midday for their usual lunchtime sparring ritual. The man never said anything, but his eyes would follow him hungrily wherever he went and once, when they’d strolled across the green to find a particular sweet cart, the man had turned up a few minutes later on a bench very close nearby. Alphonse had had to hold him back; he’d been about to accuse the man of child-molestation when Al reminded him that a) the man hadn’t so much as said a word to him and b) he really wasn’t a child anymore…

There were more incidents: the street vendor he bought his daily newspaper from who seemed to need to hold his -hand- as he counted out the change; the usher at the movie house who always seemed to go out on his break when Ed and Al were at the movies and would plop down in the seat next to Ed’s, knees and elbows straying over the customary invisible line throughout the show; young fathers on the train, carrying bags of groceries and trailing toddlers, but with one eye always on his seat. Once he’d dropped a stack of books in the aisle and stooped to pick it up, only to find the college student with the long black hair who’d been sitting in the row across from him suddenly … very close behind him, offering to help…

And then there was Second Lieutenant Havok who always wanted to talk about Ed’s female prospects…while he was in the shower…

Because of the frequent positive reinforcement he seemed to receive, Edward had developed a rather -healthy- ego. (To be honest, his ego had never been unhealthy.) He’d actually grown quite accustomed to the attention even, barely noticing anymore.

As easy as it would have been to indulge in any one of these -opportunities-, it just seemed like it would be incredibly cruel to -Alphonse-, who desperately wanted someone to love. Al’s heart was so big and he would never, never have dreamed of being jealous of his older brother, but knowing that, how could Ed flaunt his … -whatever-you-want-to-call-it- in Al’s face?

And so he shut it all down, ignored it, let neither his heart nor his hormones control his life.

Which is why, at the age of sixteen, not only was Edward Elric as pure as the driven snow (or he had been, up until a couple hours ago…), but he also rarely touched
-himself-, in part because he was hardly ever –alone- but mostly because it would have seemed so wrong to take that much pleasure from his body when he had a brother who didn’t –have- one and couldn’t even feel the -rain- on him…

Sometimes, though, say in the shower, his damn chemicals would send his brain into overload and he knew if he -didn’t-, he’d be worthless for the rest of the day – not a single, coherent thought would be able to make it through the hormonal haze.

Cursing himself for his weakness, Ed would slide the fingers of his automail hand around his aching heat – he’d found he liked using his right hand better, it made it seem like someone else was doing it – and skillfully bring himself off, blasting his climax onto the slick tile of the shower, hoping he hadn’t moaned too loudly or gathered an audience…

Back in the present, Edward pinched himself – he was looking at Armstrong and he knew the man was talking, his mustache was bobbing up and down, but he didn’t hear a word he was saying; he could tell he’d been staring serenely into the void again.

*Damn!*

He pinched himself again.

With a meaningful nod to Alphonse and Armstrong, Ed headed off to the car. He noticed the ever-silent Falman behind the wheel and was grateful it was him and not the annoyingly garrulous Fuery. And especially not Havok… Tossing himself into the back of the car, he winced slightly as his butt hit the seat. Taking a deep breath, he settled himself down for the hour-long drive through the desert and tried to get his brain back on the game. Lots to think about…

Which particular tape should he roll on the big screen in his head?

Option 1: Mission Prep – Find Scar, beat Scar to a pulp, destroy that frigging transmutation circle, all of which should take about 30 minutes. Okay, so no thinking required –there-. *How can Al tell me I don’t plan in advance well enough?*

Option 2: More of the big “Who Are You, Edward Elric?” Contemplation. *Am I really ready to think about that? Fuck, no, I am not!*

The thought, though, sparked another set of memories and, uncontrolled, they flashed across his already struggling mind…

*Head thrown back against the desk blotter, legs around Mustang’s shoulders, the Colonel was applying lips and tongue from one end of his arousal to the other and obviously really enjoying himself – Edward could feel the man’s moans vibrating through his lips as he drew Ed’s soft sack into his mouth. Pinching a very sensitive nipple with one hand, he slowly pistoned a finger, then two, then three, in and out of him…*

Swallowing the moan that nearly escaped his lips, Edward allowed himself a shuddering sigh and gave up. If he was going to mentally prepare for whatever potential fight lay ahead in Lior, if he was going to -live- long enough to deal with whatever disaster tomorrow might bring, he had to clear his head. -Now. -

*…um, okay, then…*

Option 3: Cue porno, hit the lights…

Several moments were fighting for inclusion on his “Best Of” reel and he played through these first.

The first time Mustang knelt before him and the hunger, the -need-, in the man as he used those nimble, alchemists’ hands to free him from his clothes in an instant and swallow him –whole-; the sweet, enveloping warm of his mouth; the way his tongue seemed to be writing -words- there; the way he never wanted it to -stop-…

The first time he realized that he -wanted it- – long before the Colonel asked him so… Was it when he first felt the man’s hand move down between his legs and his body betrayed him by responding immediately? Or was it when Mustang fixed him with those coal-hot eyes and hungrily claimed his mouth, his tongue tasting at the same time of peppery heat and cool mint? Or, if he was being honest, and Edward was nothing if not honest, was it the very moment Mustang pinned him to the wall, forcing their groins together so tightly he could feel, could -feel-, how that closeness was affecting the man *as it happened*… Did something in him not surrender completely at the very point he knew he’d had that kind of affect on him?

Maybe it was the instant he realized that he was no longer in pain, that in fact, he needed to move. -NOW.- The burning had been replaced by a thrumming feeling of pleasure, an itch that needed scratching, and though Mustang seemed content to paint his lips with feather-light kisses and trace patterns down his arms and across his chest, all actions which had their appeal, what Edward really needed then was -friction-, and so he’d grabbed a couple handfuls of butt and arched himself into the man, reveling in the rumbling moan this elicited from him and the way he could feel, could actually -feel-, every detail of Mustang’s…

“You all right back there, Sir?”

Falman’s voice cut through the re-enactment like a bucket of cold water.

For some reason, his chin was wet and without realizing it, he’d slipped his hands into his robes and had managed to work himself up into quite a state of … attention…

“I’m fine, Falman,” he called up to him, sounding quite casual, he thought, then wiping his face with the back of a glove.

Not-so-silent Falman continued. “We hit that last dune a little hard, Sir. Thought you might have gotten a bit roughed up – I heard you moan. Think I’ll take it a little slower the rest of the way, Sir, if that’s all right with you.”

-Blessed- Falman.

“Sounds like a good idea, Falman. Nothing wrong with being a little cautious.” They hit another dune and his metal hand brushed against his half-hard member, eliciting a hiss from between his clenched teeth. “I’m feeling a little bit … stiff, Falman. If it’s OK with you, I’m gonna climb into the way back and stretch out a little. I could use some rest before we get to Lior.”

“That’s fine with me, Sir. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Scrambling nimbly over the car’s roll bar and settling in, Ed immediately berated himself for not having thought of it sooner. The rear seat blocked him from view and combined with the noise of a windy desert night, he was as good as alone.

Pulling both arms back into his robe, he had his trousers open in a flash…

He’d would have liked to have taken his time, drawn it out, but he really needed to get his head straight, the one that housed his poor, sodden brain and so, getting right to business, he closed his fingers around himself and squeezed.

*Scenes from a seducion…*

Minutes before, his mouth at Edward’s throat, Mustang had slipped a hand into Edward’s trousers, his skilled finger’s driving him on and now, helplessly, Ed was begging for time…

*“Not yet,”* he’d breathed.

Pulling his hand back out, Roy had waited until he was certain Ed was looking, then licked his slick fingers carefully, grinding their hips together as he did so. Ed felt his eyes roll back into his head…

Mustang’s arms pulled him close and the feeling of his strong body pinning him still to the wall, the tip of his tongue tracing the curve of an ear, his warm mouth drawing one lobe inside to suck it, all conspired to make Edward loose control of his hips; moaning, he thrust himself against Mustang helplessly, realizing as he did so, that their lengths were pressed firmly against each other, nestled side-by-side, separated only by the fabric of their clothing, which was doing little to mask the heat...

Feeling bolder, he started to explore Mustang’s body, relishing the shiver his automail fingers send through the man. Minutes later, after a successful bargaining session (“Yes, I want “this”, “Yes, you’re the boss,” “No, I won’t get myself killed”), Ed had both hands braced against the wall behind him, grinding himself into the man with abject need.

Seconds later, Edward was buried deep in Mustang’s throat, screaming in mind-numbing pleasure as the man tried, almost successfully, to swallow him whole.

With a flash, a trifle of alchemy separates them, insulating them from the outside world and, freed to feel, to burn, without restraint, he surrenders himself to the man kneeling before him.

His own words: *“Make me scream…”*

With shaking hands, Mustang had laid him out on the desk and removed his clothing, carefully, as though he were unwrapping a gift: first his tank, already half-off; then his heavy-soled boots; next, with difficulty, his black jeans; and lastly, his somewhat sodden boxers. Roy fished himself out one-handed and Ed felt his eyes glazed over and all the blood in his body rush to his face. (Other than the couple pints currently busy due south.)

Slowly, carefully, Mustang kissed him, touching him as though he were something precious and breakable. Edward snaked his own tongue between Roy’s lips, tasting him deeply as the same time his hand, impatient to Know More, found Roy’s length pinned between them; smiling as a metal thumb drawn across the head of him made the man gasp and throw his head back in pure pleasure.

Finally, -finally-, Roy stood ready before him; guiding himself to and in, with a slow and even thrust, he pushed himself in carefully until, with a long, shuddering sigh, he was fully sheathed.

Full, stretched, his ass on fire, Edward held his breath as Roy drew his lips and tongue across Ed’s open mouth, his hands roaming Ed’s body caressing gently, drawing his attention away from the pain, distracting him until it no longer was…


-- I’m evil, I know, but I gotta stop here. [fans herself] Actually, there’s just too much left and I really wanted to get this out to you guys. More soon, swear!

~I~