The Touch of Your Skin
folder
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,086
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,086
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Touch of Your Skin
Title: The Touch of Your Skin
Pairing: Ed/Alter!Ed
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: noncon, AU
Feedback: Please Read & Review
Disclaimer: Don\'t own FMA, ain\'t profiting. S\'all good.
-----
Ed’s head, cradled clumsily in his hand, started its slow slide towards polished veneer of the Smithe’s Pub bar top. He blinked hazily and jerked himself upright just in time to prevent his face from smashing into the solid wood, having learned his lesson the hard way the day before. He stared blearily into his nearly empty pint and took one last pull of the thick ale before throwing his last one pound note onto the bar top—it was just enough to pay for the afternoon’s drinks. He didn’t remember when it had begun to take so much of the bitter beer to numb the ache in his chest, but his own private version of medication was becoming more and more expensive as the days passed. The barkeep wouldn’t be getting a tip; Ed would have to find another pub for awhile.
He staggered up from his worn stool and out the door, passing by a table of grey-haired men whose chatter quieted as he faltered. Ed would have glared if he found the strength to care, but he was too dizzy. All he wanted was to go home—not to his barren London apartment, but to his real home. Amestris.
Al…
It had been two months already since he died for his brother, but he still had no way of knowing if Alphonse had survived. The world Ed lived in was empty; dank and grey, filled only with disease and loss. Even the countryside was dull, lacking in the cheerfulness and vigor that he remembered of Risembool. The land was different, the sky was different, the people were different… life was different and painfully so, but he did it all, lost it all, for Al. It felt like death, it should have been death, but no. Ed was forced to live without him, without the smell of his hair lingering on their pillow, the feel of his skin against his back at night. Even while Alphonse was trapped in armor, it was better than nothing. Ed never lost those memories, replacing the soft touch of Al’s skin with the coolness of armor and the slickness of polishing oil. The feeling of Al’s warm fingers against his lips was replaced with rough leather and that was just fine—it was still Al. He could close his eyes and imagine the sweet voice of his beautiful brother through pleasantly swollen, red-tinged lips instead of the tinny ring of a soul through metal.
Anything was better than the nothing he found himself in.
Somehow, he managed to get back to his apartment without incident. He couldn’t remember how he got there, mind swimming with thoughts of Alphonse, distorted and skewed by too much drink. Memories of candy-sweet kisses in the chill of their empty home spun through his mind, followed by memories of inhuman gauntlets over his ruined body in the heat of a foreign land’s summer. Whispered promises breezed through the tiny hairs behind his ear, warming his neck and sending chills over his scalp; they had been repeated later in life, breathless, from an iron helm, but they never lost their meaning or strength.
Ed could never possibly conceive of a way to put into words how much he missed Alphonse.
His eyes blurred with salty tears as he arrived at his front stoop, the door to a life reduced seemingly to nothingness looming before him. He gritted his teeth, head bowed with his bangs obscuring his vision further as he gripped the door handle and pushed across the threshold. It wasn’t as though he lived there alone. He had taken to caring for a young boy who shared his face, and while the boy’s company was better than complete solitude, young Edward still wasn’t Al.
However, when his eyes focused on the figure in their small kitchen, Ed’s drink-addled mind did not recognize that boy. He gasped as he stumbled through the door, eyes adjusting slowly to the glare of the setting sun shining through the kitchen window, illuminating Edward in a golden halo. There was no conceivable reason why Alphonse would be standing in their kitchen; there was no possible way, but, to Ed’s misguided judgment, he was. Al, his beautiful brother, his rock, his life—he was home.
Ed’s quivering tears spilled down his cheeks and he stepped unevenly into the kitchen, arm outstretched, voice lost, as the startled boy stared back, wide-eyed. Ed couldn’t see Edward’s eyes, too golden to be Al’s. Ed couldn’t see Edward’s hair, much too light and of a different style.
All Ed saw was Al.
Al, Alphonse, brother. Beautiful child; gentle and sweet. All charm, all kindness; smooth and whisper soft.
When Ed’s lips claimed the boy’s, the taste, all wrong, was just right. When thin arms struggled against his own, to Ed, it was a warm, accepting embrace. His hands ran along Edward’s body as his lips clumsily, drunkenly, traveled over Edward’s chin and neck. Ed’s tongue tasted Al on Edward’s skin, Al’s innocence and spirit. He breathed his lost brother’s name into Edward’s ear and wept into his too-blond hair, holding the shivering boy tight, pinning him back against the kitchen counter.
Edward was frightened, but Ed’s hands were skillful. They ran in all the right places, caressing and teasing where all boys loved to be touched. Buttons were undone and hands roamed over a smooth chest, lingering in places that drew the types of noises that drove a lover on. By the time both of their trousers pooled at their feet, belts and clasps undone by Ed’s graceless fingers, both Ed and his other self were hard, panting heatedly through shined lips, cheeks and chests flushed with need.
From somewhere far away, Ed heard a voice calling to him—scared, choked by tears. The voice of his brother was of a different timbre, but it didn’t matter then; all that mattered was the heat in his hand, the salt on his lips. Ed reassured Alphonse and kissed away his tears as his hand gripped Edward’s cock against his own. The boy whimpered feebly and slacked, resigned, virginally and physically weak against Ed’s advances. The frightened whimpers in his throat turned to pleasure as Ed guided him to heaven, loving their cocks as one in his hand. They slid together, sweat and sex slicking their flesh; throbbing, twitching. Grasping, biting. Licking, sucking, tasting, tasting.
Ed’s thumb swirled over the head of Edward’s cock, slippery in the boy’s fluids, and he came over Ed’s hand, ever inexperienced, tensing and whining long and high into Ed’s mouth. The boy panted and wept quietly, his back pinned painfully against the edge of the kitchen counter as Ed continued on his self, his own cock slicked with what he thought was his brother’s orgasm.
Fisting and squeezing himself quickly, licking Edward’s ear, Ed came with a rough grunt not long after. He gasped raggedly for breath and staggered back before falling to the floor, blinded by drink, ever unaware.
He muttered words of love to his beautiful brother as he drifted into unconsciousness, deaf to the sounds of a frightened child’s cries.
Pairing: Ed/Alter!Ed
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: noncon, AU
Feedback: Please Read & Review
Disclaimer: Don\'t own FMA, ain\'t profiting. S\'all good.
-----
Ed’s head, cradled clumsily in his hand, started its slow slide towards polished veneer of the Smithe’s Pub bar top. He blinked hazily and jerked himself upright just in time to prevent his face from smashing into the solid wood, having learned his lesson the hard way the day before. He stared blearily into his nearly empty pint and took one last pull of the thick ale before throwing his last one pound note onto the bar top—it was just enough to pay for the afternoon’s drinks. He didn’t remember when it had begun to take so much of the bitter beer to numb the ache in his chest, but his own private version of medication was becoming more and more expensive as the days passed. The barkeep wouldn’t be getting a tip; Ed would have to find another pub for awhile.
He staggered up from his worn stool and out the door, passing by a table of grey-haired men whose chatter quieted as he faltered. Ed would have glared if he found the strength to care, but he was too dizzy. All he wanted was to go home—not to his barren London apartment, but to his real home. Amestris.
Al…
It had been two months already since he died for his brother, but he still had no way of knowing if Alphonse had survived. The world Ed lived in was empty; dank and grey, filled only with disease and loss. Even the countryside was dull, lacking in the cheerfulness and vigor that he remembered of Risembool. The land was different, the sky was different, the people were different… life was different and painfully so, but he did it all, lost it all, for Al. It felt like death, it should have been death, but no. Ed was forced to live without him, without the smell of his hair lingering on their pillow, the feel of his skin against his back at night. Even while Alphonse was trapped in armor, it was better than nothing. Ed never lost those memories, replacing the soft touch of Al’s skin with the coolness of armor and the slickness of polishing oil. The feeling of Al’s warm fingers against his lips was replaced with rough leather and that was just fine—it was still Al. He could close his eyes and imagine the sweet voice of his beautiful brother through pleasantly swollen, red-tinged lips instead of the tinny ring of a soul through metal.
Anything was better than the nothing he found himself in.
Somehow, he managed to get back to his apartment without incident. He couldn’t remember how he got there, mind swimming with thoughts of Alphonse, distorted and skewed by too much drink. Memories of candy-sweet kisses in the chill of their empty home spun through his mind, followed by memories of inhuman gauntlets over his ruined body in the heat of a foreign land’s summer. Whispered promises breezed through the tiny hairs behind his ear, warming his neck and sending chills over his scalp; they had been repeated later in life, breathless, from an iron helm, but they never lost their meaning or strength.
Ed could never possibly conceive of a way to put into words how much he missed Alphonse.
His eyes blurred with salty tears as he arrived at his front stoop, the door to a life reduced seemingly to nothingness looming before him. He gritted his teeth, head bowed with his bangs obscuring his vision further as he gripped the door handle and pushed across the threshold. It wasn’t as though he lived there alone. He had taken to caring for a young boy who shared his face, and while the boy’s company was better than complete solitude, young Edward still wasn’t Al.
However, when his eyes focused on the figure in their small kitchen, Ed’s drink-addled mind did not recognize that boy. He gasped as he stumbled through the door, eyes adjusting slowly to the glare of the setting sun shining through the kitchen window, illuminating Edward in a golden halo. There was no conceivable reason why Alphonse would be standing in their kitchen; there was no possible way, but, to Ed’s misguided judgment, he was. Al, his beautiful brother, his rock, his life—he was home.
Ed’s quivering tears spilled down his cheeks and he stepped unevenly into the kitchen, arm outstretched, voice lost, as the startled boy stared back, wide-eyed. Ed couldn’t see Edward’s eyes, too golden to be Al’s. Ed couldn’t see Edward’s hair, much too light and of a different style.
All Ed saw was Al.
Al, Alphonse, brother. Beautiful child; gentle and sweet. All charm, all kindness; smooth and whisper soft.
When Ed’s lips claimed the boy’s, the taste, all wrong, was just right. When thin arms struggled against his own, to Ed, it was a warm, accepting embrace. His hands ran along Edward’s body as his lips clumsily, drunkenly, traveled over Edward’s chin and neck. Ed’s tongue tasted Al on Edward’s skin, Al’s innocence and spirit. He breathed his lost brother’s name into Edward’s ear and wept into his too-blond hair, holding the shivering boy tight, pinning him back against the kitchen counter.
Edward was frightened, but Ed’s hands were skillful. They ran in all the right places, caressing and teasing where all boys loved to be touched. Buttons were undone and hands roamed over a smooth chest, lingering in places that drew the types of noises that drove a lover on. By the time both of their trousers pooled at their feet, belts and clasps undone by Ed’s graceless fingers, both Ed and his other self were hard, panting heatedly through shined lips, cheeks and chests flushed with need.
From somewhere far away, Ed heard a voice calling to him—scared, choked by tears. The voice of his brother was of a different timbre, but it didn’t matter then; all that mattered was the heat in his hand, the salt on his lips. Ed reassured Alphonse and kissed away his tears as his hand gripped Edward’s cock against his own. The boy whimpered feebly and slacked, resigned, virginally and physically weak against Ed’s advances. The frightened whimpers in his throat turned to pleasure as Ed guided him to heaven, loving their cocks as one in his hand. They slid together, sweat and sex slicking their flesh; throbbing, twitching. Grasping, biting. Licking, sucking, tasting, tasting.
Ed’s thumb swirled over the head of Edward’s cock, slippery in the boy’s fluids, and he came over Ed’s hand, ever inexperienced, tensing and whining long and high into Ed’s mouth. The boy panted and wept quietly, his back pinned painfully against the edge of the kitchen counter as Ed continued on his self, his own cock slicked with what he thought was his brother’s orgasm.
Fisting and squeezing himself quickly, licking Edward’s ear, Ed came with a rough grunt not long after. He gasped raggedly for breath and staggered back before falling to the floor, blinded by drink, ever unaware.
He muttered words of love to his beautiful brother as he drifted into unconsciousness, deaf to the sounds of a frightened child’s cries.