Disciplined Breakdown

Title: Disciplined Breakdown
Pairing: Al/Ed/Hei, primarily Al/Hei
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Pure, unabashed PWP
Warnings: Handcuffs, Dom-ish Al XD

****************

The attack, when it comes, is two-pronged and deadly.

Also, fast. Alfons hears the front door open and looks up from his sandwich just long enough to see Alphonse come in, his back lit silhouette in the hallway distinguishable from Edward's only in the way he carries his things. Were this Edward, the coat would already be discarded on the floor by the foyer rug, and his work papers dumped helter-skelter in the living room. Alphonse, however, has ever been the proper one. Things have a Purpose and Place, and the young man is carrying his folded-up coat neatly in front of him because he will shortly be hanging it up in the closet. Perhaps it is a hold-over from this fabled time when Al was 'armor', never tiring, never sleeping, but he has time for details like that Alfons and Edward do not. Al, the punctual. Al, the detail-oriented.

Al, the hard-ass.

"Good afternoon, Al! Wow, you're home early-" Is all he has time to say before he suddenly and abruptly finds the man flying at him, strong arms lifting him bodily out of the chair by the waist, and then his entire world is inverted as Al quite neatly flips him end over end and deposits him on the dining room floor. Just like that, no warning; not even remotely any kind of provocation, and his chin thuds against the hard wood and makes his jaw click shut on the screech he was about to embarrass himself with. Al is on top of him in the next breath and grinding his nose to the floor, and Alfons does cry out this time, both at the the sudden pain and the sheer unexpectedness of it all.

"What?" Alfons gasps, struggling to breathe beneath Al's body weight. "What did I do!?" Because he has to have done something, Al may play rough but he is not Edward. Al doesn't pounce 'just because'; he has to have some reason for pouncing, no matter how stretched or barely plausible.

Al's hands are vises on his wrists and he is forcing his arms back and together between their bodies, so that Alfons cannot move them one bit.

"The table," Al says, and god, how can he sound so sweet and nonchalant even when he's got a knee pressed between Alfons's legs, jammed up hard against his ass? "You forgot to use a coaster again." Tsks, actually makes a clucking sound with his tongue, as if Alfons is five and Al is his mother. "You two are bad about that."

"Bad about what?" The front door clicks shut, Alfons's ears register distantly through the thundering drumbeat that is his heartbeat right now, and he can feel Ed's heavy footsteps through the floor as the man comes closer, closest, stops right next to him and all Alfons can see of him is his feet, his shiny patent leather military boots.

Al sighs, sounding a touch exasperated. He leans a little more of himself down on top of Alfons, down against his back (oh fuck, why is he doing that? his lungs still aren't the best yet, doesn't Al know he can't breathe!?) "Coasters, brother. That's a nice table the General gave us. If you set a bare glass on it, the condensation's going to leave rings in the finish."

"Oh," Edward sounds less than not-interested, that noise is him actively tuning his brother out. The pressure against his back lessens as Al shifts upward, presumably to start lecturing his brother, and Alfons gasps and breathes easier in more ways than one. Thank heavens for Edward, the perennial distraction. Maybe he will get off easy this time.

One of Al's hands is suddenly fisted in his hair, pulling hard at the back of his head, and Alfons cries out because he is now being shifted, head pulled back so he can look up at said table, and the pain of it brings tears to the corners of his eyes.

"That's why I keep reminding you two to be careful," Al rumbles, face very near him all of a sudden. His warm little tongue flicks out to lick the shell of Alfons's ear.

Maybe he doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell.

Al licks again and this time it makes him shiver, the slippery touch sending jolts of feeling all down the side of his neck and chin, and the way Al man-handles him, pulling his head closer solely by his hair...god help him he's already starting to get hard and god knows he shouldn't be. He was just trying to have a spot of lunch for fuck's sake, now he's captive on the floor and Al has a hand fisted at the back of his head and the man's breath is hot and possessive in his ear. Edward makes an interested-sounding noise and shucks his coat -- Alfons can hear it fall, dimly -- and Al presses his nose back to the floor and calls up to his brother, voice still chipper but also all-business.

"Can you get in my coat pocket, brother? I need the key."

As usual, Edward pretends to protest at the ignobility of having to do work, but Alfons can see his feet move toward the coat closet out of the corner of his eye. The rest of him is focused on the floor beneath him, how hard the oaken floor is beneath his front and how it's certainly not getting any less hard with Al pinning him to it. Part of him recognizing that it isn't fair, how come he is the only one who ever gets accosted like this, over such ridiculous and trivial things - Al has certainly never jumped on Edward and held him down over a glass on the dining table. It's all bullshit and he knows it, they're just looking for an excuse, and dammit, why, why, why is he so hard from this?

Alfons knows he can't get away but he feels obliged to struggle anyway, especially as Edward returns and hands something to Al which gives him an opening. He jerks his arms out in front of him and tries to drag himself out from under the copper-haired demon on his back; all that earns him is more pain. Al cuffs him hard on the side of the head and hisses like a wild thing, reclaims his arms in no time flat and before Alfons knows it there is something cold and metallic being pressed around his wrists, circling them.

Clicked shut and locked.

"Nice," Ed whistles appraisingly. "Where'd you get the handcuffs?"

"The General's 'private supply room'," Alphonse says, laughs -- laughs, the little bugger! -- and Alfons whines through his nose. Handcuffs!? He jerks at his wrists and the chill metal around them bites into the sides, they are indeed handcuffs and his arms are now stuck straight out behind him, and Al is grinding his knee even harder up against his ass and groin from behind, and he has never been so turned on in his life.

"Dirty bastard," Edward says, presumably in response to Al mentioning General Mustang and his famed collection of contraband 're-appropriated' from soldiers caught with it. Alfons doesn't know him all that well, mostly what Edward says about him and Al has confirmed that indeed only half of that all is true, but from the looks of it half is still more than enough. Alfons squirms and rattles the handcuffs some more, and Al responds by bending low and making it hard to breathe again.

"So what should we do with you?" Al says into his ear, mouth close and hot, and the feel of the words makes him shiver. General Mustang isn't the only dirty bastard in this strange land - as if Al's thoughts weren't already completely obvious, the little devil starts sucking on his ear, runs one hand roughly up the underside of Alfons's neck to tilt his head closer.

"I can give you some suggestions, if you're taking," Edward offers eagerly, a little breathless. It sounds like he is fiddling with his uniform, and Alfons groans weakly at the thought.

"I'm not asking you," Al says pointedly, and shakes Alfons's chin a little. "Well? What do you think we should do with you?"

Anything you goddamn please, Alfons thinks, his cock throbbing in his pants, even though it makes no sense and he never fucking understands this, why them throwing him down, mocking him, gets him hard. You're going to do it anyway, you might as well get it over with. Saying that would be tantamount to suicide, though; Al would likely get up and just leave him there to try and finish himself off, hands cuffed behind his back and unable to reach. Once he had been bound like this and had wound up rubbing himself off on the arm of the living room couch, and Edward broke into hysterical laughter for a week afterward every time they both wound up in that room at the same time.

Instead, he merely moans and flexes his hips as best he can, hopes Al will be merciful, fuck, he is turned on. Edward is shedding clothes like water and he can see blue fabric fluttering all around them; the man has never made any bones about how much he hates having to dress up to attend base events and he takes any excuse to shuck his uniform off. Alfons whines at the fact that he can't turn his head to enjoy the show properly, and Al nips hard at the side of his neck.

"I think I know what we should do to you," Al's voice growls. "I think you need to be fucked," and Alfons and Edward both groan at those words coming from Alphonse's deceptively cherubic mouth.

"Brother, stop that," Al also instructs, and Edward makes a wounded, "who, me?" noise. "Keep your pants on, I get him first." 'I get him first', divvying him up, as if he were nothing more than an object they can pass back and forth between them, like the salt shaker Edward likes to hog at dinner time. It is alarming how much that thought turns him on, but it does, he can't deny it. Alfons rocks his hips against the floor experimentally, needing pressure on his aching erection all of a sudden.

No good. The floorboards certainly provide the necessary friction, but they are also so firm they hurt to hump. Plus, Al notices his little game and isn't happy with it.

"And you, stop that too," the man reprimands, and Alfons yelps as he is smacked hard on the right flank. Al slides his hand beneath Alfons's body and ohgod, that is sensitive. He never notices his belly on a regular day but Al's palm shoving against it, sliding lower, sends ripples of excitement through his stomach. He fights not to buck his hips again.

Al pulls back and relinquishes his death grip on all of Alfons's body just long enough to reach beneath him and undo the buttons to his fly. Alfons chokes on an incoming breath at that square palm pressing over his need. It takes a gargantuan effort not to try and start grinding himself against it.

"Yes," Edward hisses, and this time Alfons can turn his head up to look in the elder Elric's direction. Edward's eyes are like two polished coins, golden and glimmering with excitement.

"Get his pants off," Edward encourages, and Alfons arches his head back and hisses as Al does just that, pulling his trousers and underpants down in one fell swoop. They wind up bunched around his thighs; Al is too impatient to bother taking them the rest of the way off.

"Yeah, hell yeah," Edward says, and Alfons can see that Al's injunction for his brother to keep his pants on lasted only as long as Al was actively paying attention to Edward. Al is distracted, sneaking his hands up the back of Alfons's shirt right now (ohholyfuck that feels good, skin on skin) and so Edward has his own fly open and is busy fisting his cock. Al notices Edward doing so and scowls, Alfons can hear it in Al's voice.

"We don't need a running commentary!" Al tells his brother, but Alfons would disagree, damn, he loves hearing them talk about what they want to do to him. So many years he thought he was crazy for wanting these things -- other men, in him, on him, their mouths and hands and cocks and everything -- the knowledge that yes, yes indeed he is not alone, yes, it turns his partners on to look at him, part-naked and writhing on their dining room floor, that gets to him like nothing else does. Maybe that is why he puts up with this, Al's possessive mood swings and the roughness and them using him in general like their own personal plaything. Held, bound, Al's hands and Ed's eyes raking over him hungrily, lusted after and wanted for the first time in his life, and he wails, just wails, with how good that feeling is.

Al seems to take that as a good sign. His hands trail low over Alfons's exposed buttocks and kneads at them, slides a hand along the cleft.

"Fetch me the lube?" Said so casually, and Ed just scurries off and gets it; something about how controlling and matter-of-fact they are about everything twigs that I-am-Wanted part of him again. Al keeps petting him gently and Alfons wiggles desperately, rattling the handcuffs, showing off that yes, he is helpless, Al's possession. He wants Al to spread his legs and fuck him.

Al presses a smile along with a kiss to the back of Alfons's neck, he can feel the man's lips quirk up.

"You want me to touch you?"

"Yes," Alfons all but sobs, shimmying back and forth beneath Al. "Yes, fuck me..."

Edward is suddenly at his side and running hands over him too, panting hard. Al smacks his hands away and Edward yelps.

"I called first dibs."

"I got the lube for it!"

"Like hell-"

Oh god, they are fighting over him. Alfons's groin surges again and he rocks from side to side, pressing it against the unforgiving floor, whimpering because surely he is going to die.

I don't care, just one of you, please! he wants to say, but he can't. If Al thinks he's trying to take charge when Al is in this aggressive mood, he'll smack him, or worse, get up and leave him hanging. He settles for jangling his handcuffs again, spreading his legs as far apart as possible, making himself look as pitiful and fuckable as possible.

Al and Edward snap at each other for a few more long, agonizing moments until finally Al wins somehow -- Alfons isn't quite sure; the argument veered into territory covering some debt incurred years ago, the kind that always leave him feeling uncomfortably left out -- and Ed scoots back in a huff, pants and buttskirt still (barely) hanging onto his hips. Al slicks up a hand and then, thank god, there are finally fingers skating down to finger him.

"Are you ready?" Al asks, teasing just the fingertip around the edge, and Alfons nods wordlessly, overcome by the shivers racking his spine. He would never, ever admit it but he tries to keep himself clean and ready as absolutely much as humanly possible, just in case of days like this, when the Elrics come home in a strange humor and just want to throw him down and have him. Al presses in and starts to slick him up, and it is all he can to do to press his cheek to the floor and pant. He stares over at Edward and it doesn't help to see that Edward is indeed touching himself again. Does the man have any idea how beautiful he is when he does that?

"You like to watch?" Al says as he fingers him, jerking his head in Edward's direction, and Alfons shakes. God, Al is so adorable but he can have the dirtiest mind, and he is not surprised when that question proves not to need an answer. Before he can say anything Al has risen up, straddling him, and is guiding his cock down to press into Alfons.

"Go ahead then, watch," Al husks as he sinks in, one eons-long second at a time. "In fact, why don't you get a close-up view? Brother, come over here."

Edward needs no further invitation, he scoots eagerly closer and flops down on his side right in front of Alfons's face, curled around so he's stroking himself right in front of Alfons's nose. Alfons can no longer breathe, he's so wound up. Everything is hot and tense; Al holds his shoulders down with one hand and starts to move within in him and he mouths needily toward Edward's groin, wanting to be able to touch some part of them, any part.

If years ago, someone had told him he would one day grow up to give up his homeland, travel to a world far across time and space, and then beg to suck on one man's cock while another buggered him, Alfons would have not even bothered to tell them to sod off - they would have clearly been delusional, or kidding.

Right now, he feels pretty damned delusional, but it is no joke how much he needs this. Al strokes fire into him from the inside out, Edward presses his cock into his face and gives him something to lap, to nuzzle, to cry out against, and he wants to wallow in this whole heady mix of sensuality. He is so close...grinds his cock desperately against the floorboards and he is so close...

Al comes first though, and does -- he slams forward suddenly and cries out, and Alfons twists hard because ohgod, Al is shuddering against him and coming inside of him and he wants to follow him over the edge so badly it hurts. He licks desperately at Edward's cock and sobs, pulls on the handcuffs so hard he's sure the skin is bruising.

"Me next," Edward gasps, and then there goes his oral fixation - Al hasn't even remotely recovered and Ed has moved behind him trying to pull Al away and take his place. "I wanna go!"

Alfons's eyes roll back at that and grinds himself hard against the floor. He's like some kind of attraction, Ed is begging for his turn, they're going to just pass him back and forth between the two of them and he is helpless to do anything about it, and somewhere he's vaguely aware that someone is begging comeoncomeoncomeon and he realizes with fascinated horror that it is him. His mouth is running away without him now that he doesn't have Edward to suck on.

No more time to think though, one two three and then wham-bam, Al is out and Ed is in and going at him hard, one hand on his chained wrists to assert his dominance and the other planted by his shoulders to help him brace. It's a damn good thing Al went first actually; for all he loves being fucked hard, Ed does it very hard, and if he weren't already so keyed up this would hurt.

Instead, right now, it's sending fire through his groin and it was already unbelievable before, and he just writhes and howls and begs them to finish him. They won't of course, not until Ed is done, but he is beyond rational thought right now and into the realm of pure feeling, where his face is a mess of sweat and eyes watering and he doesn't even care.

Al lies down in front of them to watch, purring, and wickedly strokes his hair, takes in the tense line of his body, and Alfons rolls his eyes up toward him, seeking absolution.

Edward seizes hard behind him and shouts something throaty and unintelligible, falling over the edge, and Alfons kisses the floor in front of Al and begs.

Al gives him an evil grin, splitting his sweet little face in two, and reaches down to fist a hand in his hair.

"You may come now," he says, and half on those words alone, Alfons grinds himself against the floor again, and finally, finally it brings him.

It does feel like dying - and then, he is reborn.

***

Sometime later he is aware of the distant click of a key in the lock to his handcuffs, and Alfons groans weakly as calloused hands removed the infernal metal cuffs. He tries to flex his arms and finds his motor control lacking. Everything is pins and needles, the parts of him that can feel anything besides a hazy, floating buzz. Hands roll him over and he looks up into two grinning, smug faces.

"Looks like someone sure enjoyed that," Edward snickers, and Alfons snorts and tries to smack him with his gelatin-like arms. It fails, of course - he's so wiped out, he can't hardly do anything but breathe - but Al does the honors for him.

"You'd be hosed too if you just took two in a row," Al asserted, and the sharp edge is gone from his voice - the hunger sated for now. Alfons closes his eyes, pleased. Revels as Al strokes his hair. Of the two of them, Al is always the more difficult one to please, especially when he's in that mood...the mood where the world belongs to him, the sun, the moon and the stars, and Alfons is but a tiny satellite caught up in Al's orbit. He sighs and turns toward the touch, feels Edward's hands petting down his front as well, and thinks that sometimes it is nice, being owned.

"Am I forgiven for the lack of coaster, then?" Alfons jokes tiredly, although he knew from the start that was never the issue. Most likely Al just wanted an excuse to use his newly acquired pair of handcuffs. Edward murmured something positive on Al's behalf and poked him in the sides, and Alfons laughs a little as the man continues on, trying to tickle him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he laughs, and Edward sticks out his tongue playfully. "And as for you, Alphonse?"

"Yes," Al says softly, stroking him gently. "You've paid it back in full."

Then Al's hand suddenly tightens in his hair, and Alfons's heart skips a beat.

"But," Al breaks, suddenly right there in his face, those large and terrible grey eyes hanging over him like twin dusky moons. "I can't help but notice you got a wet mess all over the dining room floor now too."

His hand began to search down Alfons's torso again, predatory, and Edward's eyes started glimmering as well, his lips sliding over Alfons's neck, and it is unbelievable - but then again, if there's anything he has learned from this, it's that 'unbelievable' and Elrics always go hand in hand.

Alfons groans and lets them roll him over again, and prays someday they will invest in some damned carpet and Formica.

::you're my satellite::