Where Is It?
folder
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
784
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fullmetal Alchemist › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
784
Reviews:
2
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.
Where Is It?
fic responce to the fma500 challenge o' the week...
oh, and just so's you know, the challenge was:
Your topic this week is: "in the blood"
Whatever it is that "in the blood" inspires you to write, you have until the end of Wednesday, June 8th to respond to this challenge
Title: Where Is It?
Author: ClarySage
Pairing/Characters: Envy/Ed…though it’s really hard to tell…
Rating: R? NC-17? - somewhere in there.
Warnings/Kinks: Rhyming…badly dr. suessian-esque rhyming at that…beware?, sex(though it rhymes too), incredibly stupid dialogue, and SPOILERS for the last episode…sort of…though not really?
Word Count: 624! So close to 500 I could almost taste it!
Feedback and Comments: Oh baby…yessss ^_~
Authors Notes: I can’t explain it, I only meant to write something for the challenge, why oh why did it have to rhyme?!
Is it in his eyes? No, but then, that’s no surprise. Maybe it’s his lips, but I can’t tell when we kiss. He never listens to what I have to say, but then again, he doesn’t tell me to go away. So when we meet again, late at night, under cover of darkness and without the light, I can’t help but ask, “What is it?”
He looks at me then, those eyes of his shining with their own special glow, and his nose crinkles divinely though his anger is careful not to show. “It’s this,” he says as he takes my hand, biting gently and without demand. “And this,” he whispers as he follows a path, as if there is writing from my head to my ass.
He reads it for a while, tracing each contour, whispering something that sounds suspiciously like “your skin…” and “…velour.”
And then I’m hissing, and he’s panting, and somehow we’re on the floor; where he leaves off and I begin becomes something of a blur. The clothes I chose so carefully find their way airborne, and his teeth find a spot on my thigh… I can’t think about these things anymore.
Yet even as I drift in a pre-orgasmic haze, I feel as if I’m perched upon a long blank, white, page. On it should be written the story of how we came to this place. Because I wasn’t always like this - I think that’s what I miss.
At one point we were enemies, because of course that’s how these things start. He hated the sight of me, and turned his hatred into a form of art. There were times when he followed, silent and shrill, and then he swallowed that pride, and took a moment to stand still.
And that’s when I saw him.
Somehow, and in someway, we, or maybe it was only he, turned the page.
Back on the floor -it seems where we always land- his teeth find a nipple, my thigh in his hand. “Come on,” he whispers, and the sound slides next to my head, “isn’t this better than you being dead?”
It is and it isn’t as I twist with the thought, things here are, as they never ought. Back home, I imagine, things are as they should, and all is meaningful, well and good. Then I’m back to this place, with his hands on my neck, and his hot little whispers of “hell,” and “oh yeah.”
We come to that place where all stands still, where I wish that he would, and yet know that he will. And things get frenzied and maybe filled with lust, and somehow I feel that here lays an odd form of trust.
There’s that steady moment and that shallow gasp, then there he is, inside me at last.
The movement starts jerky, and speeds to fast-forward, and we’re pushing and pulling, knocking on the floor. My hands find his face, and we push yet faster. When suddenly we’re kissing, and I think I know the answer…
“Is it in the blood?”
“Oh yes,” he smiles, and I think he might be stealing, when suddenly I gasp and writhe at the feeling. And we’re there, and it sparks, and it aches deep inside and he rolls his hips just a bit and deepens the slide. I’m open, broken, split, and torn wide, I can only moan with this treacherous tide.
When it’s over, and motionless we lie, I push away his hand, and recover my thigh. He’s envious no longer, and I can’t get my fill, he is a still pond that I drink at my will. We are tied together though we are no longer home, but that’s okay, because now… I’m not so alone.
-el extremo- aka - the end -
oh, and just so's you know, the challenge was:
Your topic this week is: "in the blood"
Whatever it is that "in the blood" inspires you to write, you have until the end of Wednesday, June 8th to respond to this challenge
Title: Where Is It?
Author: ClarySage
Pairing/Characters: Envy/Ed…though it’s really hard to tell…
Rating: R? NC-17? - somewhere in there.
Warnings/Kinks: Rhyming…badly dr. suessian-esque rhyming at that…beware?, sex(though it rhymes too), incredibly stupid dialogue, and SPOILERS for the last episode…sort of…though not really?
Word Count: 624! So close to 500 I could almost taste it!
Feedback and Comments: Oh baby…yessss ^_~
Authors Notes: I can’t explain it, I only meant to write something for the challenge, why oh why did it have to rhyme?!
Is it in his eyes? No, but then, that’s no surprise. Maybe it’s his lips, but I can’t tell when we kiss. He never listens to what I have to say, but then again, he doesn’t tell me to go away. So when we meet again, late at night, under cover of darkness and without the light, I can’t help but ask, “What is it?”
He looks at me then, those eyes of his shining with their own special glow, and his nose crinkles divinely though his anger is careful not to show. “It’s this,” he says as he takes my hand, biting gently and without demand. “And this,” he whispers as he follows a path, as if there is writing from my head to my ass.
He reads it for a while, tracing each contour, whispering something that sounds suspiciously like “your skin…” and “…velour.”
And then I’m hissing, and he’s panting, and somehow we’re on the floor; where he leaves off and I begin becomes something of a blur. The clothes I chose so carefully find their way airborne, and his teeth find a spot on my thigh… I can’t think about these things anymore.
Yet even as I drift in a pre-orgasmic haze, I feel as if I’m perched upon a long blank, white, page. On it should be written the story of how we came to this place. Because I wasn’t always like this - I think that’s what I miss.
At one point we were enemies, because of course that’s how these things start. He hated the sight of me, and turned his hatred into a form of art. There were times when he followed, silent and shrill, and then he swallowed that pride, and took a moment to stand still.
And that’s when I saw him.
Somehow, and in someway, we, or maybe it was only he, turned the page.
Back on the floor -it seems where we always land- his teeth find a nipple, my thigh in his hand. “Come on,” he whispers, and the sound slides next to my head, “isn’t this better than you being dead?”
It is and it isn’t as I twist with the thought, things here are, as they never ought. Back home, I imagine, things are as they should, and all is meaningful, well and good. Then I’m back to this place, with his hands on my neck, and his hot little whispers of “hell,” and “oh yeah.”
We come to that place where all stands still, where I wish that he would, and yet know that he will. And things get frenzied and maybe filled with lust, and somehow I feel that here lays an odd form of trust.
There’s that steady moment and that shallow gasp, then there he is, inside me at last.
The movement starts jerky, and speeds to fast-forward, and we’re pushing and pulling, knocking on the floor. My hands find his face, and we push yet faster. When suddenly we’re kissing, and I think I know the answer…
“Is it in the blood?”
“Oh yes,” he smiles, and I think he might be stealing, when suddenly I gasp and writhe at the feeling. And we’re there, and it sparks, and it aches deep inside and he rolls his hips just a bit and deepens the slide. I’m open, broken, split, and torn wide, I can only moan with this treacherous tide.
When it’s over, and motionless we lie, I push away his hand, and recover my thigh. He’s envious no longer, and I can’t get my fill, he is a still pond that I drink at my will. We are tied together though we are no longer home, but that’s okay, because now… I’m not so alone.
-el extremo- aka - the end -