Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Snake in the Playpen ❯ Part 1: Welcome to the Playpen ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

SNAKE IN THE PLAYPEN
A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfic With Lemon
Written in Response to Challenges #2 (“The Audience,”) #15 (“The Bordello, or Dude Looks Like a Lady of the Night”) and #30 (“The Playroom, or, Wow, Santa Never Brought Me *That* Kind of Toy!") on the 30_Lemons Community

By Sailor Mac

PART ONE -- WELCOME TO THE PLAYPEN

When Russell walked into Roy’s office, the first thing that struck him was the yelling.

Not that it was unusual to hear Ed yelling, not at all. It especially wasn’t unusual to hear Ed yelling in this office. In the three months that Russell had been working with the military as a civilian consultant, he’d gotten almost blasé about hearing his lover snapping at his commanding officer.

But this time, he could hear him all the way down the hall.

“You’ve gone TOO FAR this time, Mustang!” Ed was shouting. “I can just quit any moment now, you know. We’re not chasing a Philosopher’s Stone anymore. I’ll just take Al and *both* of us will--”

“And who will finish the research on the Ultraweapon?” Roy said, much more calmly, as Russell peeked tentatively into the room. He saw Ed standing by the desk, hands balled into fists, face bright red from fury. Al was sitting in one of the other chairs, looking like he didn’t know whether to try to placate his brother or just drag Ed out of the room.

“Get somebody else to do it!” Ed snapped. “You’ve got to have plenty of toadys working under you who’d be all too glad to --”

“None of whom have your skills, of course,” Roy said, leaning over the desk. “Weren’t you the one who said you’d stay with the military until we caught these extremists, Fullmetal, since nobody else would be able to do it?”

“That was for LAB RESEARCH!” Ed shouted, slamming his automail fist to the desk. “And straight investigation! Not THIS!”

Russell didn’t know whether he should turn and leave. What the hell kind of assignment did Roy just give him? He wondered if it was something having to do with Ed’s shadowy past, the things he still wouldn’t tell Russell about . . .

And then, Roy spotted him, and said, “There you are, Mr. Tringham. Come right on in and have a seat.”

Ed’s face went from red to ashen white. “Russell? You got RUSSELL involved in this, too? Bad enough you tried to drag in *Al* . . .”

“Brother,” Al said, quietly, “calm down. Let Colonel Mustang and Russell talk. Maybe they can figure out a way . . .”

Russell slid into the seat next to Al, suddenly wishing he were miles away. “Hello,” he said, tentatively. “You called for me, Colonel?”

“Don’t let him drag you into *anything*, Russell,” Ed snapped, throwing himself into the seat next to his lover. “He’s gone insane.”

“Fullmetal . . .” Roy said in a warning tone, holding up a hand. Turning to Russell, he said, “I want to discuss you helping us with an assignment -- which, it seems, Fullmetal has some difficulties with.”

Ed just snorted and looked away, arms folded over his chest.

“It seems,” Roy said, “that we’ve been getting reports that a local woman named Marie Werner is one of the ringleaders of the political extremist group we’ve been pursuing.”

Russell nodded. He was more than familiar with the case -- he’d been brought in to help the government of Amestris develop an Ultraweapon, a super plant-based explosive, before a group of extremists who were planning to overthrow the current government could.

“Marie Werner,” Roy said, “just happens to be the madam of a bordello frequented by a lot of rich and powerful people. We suspect she’s using her position to gather information about high-ranking government officials for the rebels. The only problem is, nobody has been able to come up with any *concrete* evidence against her. She guards her secrets well. We tried sending operatives to the bordello as customers, but they weren’t able to find out anything.”

Russell squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He could suddenly see where this was going -- and he knew why Ed was so very upset.

“We need to infiltrate her operation from the inside,” Roy said. “Send someone in there posing as a prostitute -- and since she uses young boys and girls, and there’s always a demand for prostitutes with automail --”

“DAMN YOU!” Ed suddenly shouted, springing to his feet. “I signed up to be the dog of the military, not its whore!”

“Colonel,” Russell said, trying to keep his cool, “can’t we come up with some alternative? Isn’t there another way? I mean, can’t you send someone in there posing as a maid or something?”

“I wish we could,” Roy said. “But from the intelligence we’ve gotten, it seems that Madame Marie has no maids -- she has her girls and boys do the cleaning. She doesn’t trust anyone else. However, we did find out one piece of useful information -- the reason she’s so popular with wealthy people is she allows them to have exclusives on a prostitute for two-week blocks -- twenty-four hour access, and he or she has no other customers. For a nice fee, of course. And that, Mr. Tringham, is where you come in.”

Russell’s eyebrows shot up. “You want *me* to work in there as well?” He’d rather have himself in there rather than Ed, but still, the thought of having to give *himself* up to strangers . . .

“*No*, Mr. Tringham,” Roy said. “Contrary to what Fullmetal believes, I would *not* send either of you into a situation where you would *actually* have to prostitute yourselves.”

Russell squirmed in his seat again. He looked over at Ed, who had sat down again and was still scowling and looking away, and then over at Al, who just sat with big eyes, still not quite knowing what to do about the situation.

“As soon as he gets there,” Roy continued, “he would acquire a steady customer, someone he feels comfortable with who’s actually working for us. Initially, we were going to use his brother, but . . .”

“No way in HELL are you sending Al into a place like that!” Ed snarled.

“Brother . . .” Al said.

"That," Roy said, unruffled as ever, "is going to be your role, Mr. Tringham."

Russell thought this over. If there *truly* was no other way to catch this Madame Marie, they’d have no choice. But that’s if there were *no* other way.

“I’d like to talk to the Elrics alone for a few minutes,” Russell said.

Ed’s head snapped toward him. “Russell!” he growled.

“Brother, just hear him out,” Al said.

Ed stood up and pointed at Russell. “If you even *consider* going along with this . . .”

“Fine,” Roy said, getting up from the desk in one smooth motion. “I have some things I need to attend to elsewhere, anyway. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He turned and left the office.

Once he was gone, Ed flung himself back in his seat, grumbling, “He’s probably going to hit on some secretary. Bastard.”

“Ed,” Russell said, “why don’t we just *break into* the place? Lord knows you’ve done that enough.”

“That a reference to something specific?” Ed said, head turning rapidly toward his lover.

“Well, I *do* seem to remember our first meeting being something like that,” Russell said, a sly smile crossing his face. “But . . . you’ve got a *lot* of experience doing that, Ed. Why do you have to infiltrate the place?”

“Place like that, it’s easier said than done,” Ed said. “There’s something going on 24 hours a day -- you heard what he said about 24-hour access. It’s not like there’s any time when everything is *quiet*.”

“Maybe you could infiltrate it for just a day, put in some kind of bug so we could listen in and then leave?” Al said.

“Oh, yeah, *that* won’t look suspicious,” Ed grumbled.

“If there was some way we could *guarantee* that nobody else would touch you . . .” Russell said.

Ed shot a scowl in Russell’s direction. “I am NOT doing it, Russell,” he said.

“You wouldn’t have to *do* anything, Brother,” Al said. “Just go into the room with Russell.”

“Ed,” Russell said, “look, why don’t we talk to Mustang, and tell him we’ll agree to his plan, as long as he *promises* that if there’s even a *threat* of someone else having to touch you, he’ll get you out of there and there won’t be another word about this mission.”

“I don’t believe this.” Ed got up from the chair and stalked toward the window. “You two *both* want me to be a whore.”

“I don’t *want* you to be a whore!” Russell said, jumping up from his own chair. “I want you to catch these people who want to blow everything up so you can get the hell out of the military!”

“Brother, we *did* promise the Colonel we’d stay with him until those people were captured,” Al said.

“Did we promise to do *anything* in order to do that?” Ed said.

“Ed, you won’t have to do *anything,* Russell said. “Not if I can help it. Look, if this Madame Marie is as high-ranking in their gang as Mustang seems to think she is. . . if you get her, you could leave the military in a matter of weeks.”

He walked over and put a hand on his lover’s shoulder. Ed made no effort to shrug it off, but he just stood absolutely still, rooted to the spot.

“Brother,” Al said, softly, “I believe the Colonel when he says he won’t let you *actually* prostitute yourself. He *does* care for you . . . more than you know. Besides . . .” His eyes suddenly took on a dark, menacing look. “If anything *does* happen to you, he’ll have to answer to *me.*”

Ed turned around slowly, looking from one of the people he loved most in the world to the other.

Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Fine. I’ll *try* it. For a *day* or two. And I swear, if anyone *tries* to touch me other than Russell, I *will* hurt them. Mission or no mission.”

Russell suddenly grabbed Ed in his arms, and felt the smaller boy hug him back, tightly.

He wasn’t crazy about the mission, either. But if it could help get Ed out of the military, help them begin the life together as civilians he’d been dreaming about for a long time, it would be worth it.

After all, the world worked on equivalent exchange. And if he wanted something like getting Ed out of the military for good, it was going to mean one hell of a sacrifice.

* * *

Outside the door, Roy Mustang listened to the conversation within. It didn’t surprise him in the least that Russell Tringham had managed to convince Fullmetal to accept the mission. For all the tension that was in their relationship on the surface, he’d noticed that the younger boy ultimately had something of a calming effect on Edward.

Which was precisely why he’d allowed Russell to work with him. It made it much easier to get Fullmetal to obey orders.

He had some suspicions of just how deep the relationship went, but he didn’t ask Edward about it, and he didn’t expect the boy to tell. Personal lives were none of the military’s business unless there was fraternization involved -- which didn’t apply here, since Russell Tringham was a civilian contractor, not a State Alchemist.

He actually regretted that the elder Tringham would never be a member of the military -- the boy’s abilities with plants were phenomenal -- but he knew that Russell and Ed wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship if they were intimately involved.

And as much as he liked the idea of Russell as a State Alchemist, he liked the idea of Ed finally having some happiness in life more. He definitely would not have dreamed of sending Ed into Madame Marie’s with anyone else for a partner.

He heard footsteps coming toward the door, and knew it was Fullmetal coming to tell him he’d accepted the assignment. He’d be sure Tringham was thanked properly once the mission was over.

Now, he just needed to get his staff to find a suitable undercover wardrobe for the boy. From what he’d heard, Madame Marie’s workers usually catered to fetishes . . .

He couldn’t help but feel amused at the thought of the face on the poor new recruit who’d have to fetch the stuff.

* * *

When Ed walked up to the door of Madame Marie’s establishment, the first thing that struck him was how *normal* it looked. It was a large, white house with four stories, a manicured lawn, flowers along the path, gingerbread trimming on the windows . . .

It could have been the home of any of the old-money families who lived in the hills just outside Central.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “The less time I spend here, the better.”

He knocked on the door, knowing he’d be expected -- he’d called the place a day before, rattling off a carefully-rehearsed speech.

The door was opened by a young woman wearing a seemingly normal day dress made of a shiny pale blue material -- except the neckline was just a bit too low, and the skirt was just a shade too high. Her hair was so pale blonde it was almost white, and she had a wide, wide smile decorated with pink lipstick. She also didn’t look a day over 20.

“Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”

Ed blinked. “You’re not Madame Marie, are you?”

“Oh, no, I’m Betsy, I just work here. Do you have . . . an appointment?”

Ed wanted to snap, “Do I *look* like the kind of person who would come to one of these places?” He managed to hold his tongue, though, and said, “I called Madame Marie yesterday about working here . . . I’m . . .”

“Oh, you’re the automail boy!” Betsy grabbed him by the arm in question and yanked him into the building so hard that Ed thought she’d ripped out half the circuits. “She’s gonna be *real* glad to see you.” Leaning over, she whispered loudly, “We had some rich kid call here about being with a guy with automail. He was offering a freaking *fortune*.”

“Really?” Ed said, feigning surprise. “Nice to know I’m in demand.” He struggled to keep up with Betsy as she dragged him through a parlor that was as normal-looking as the exterior, with a couple of landscape paintings, heavy, old furniture, a grand piano, and a few women dressed similar to Betsy lounging about.

She rounded a corner and stopped in front of a door with a heavy, brass knocker. “Wait here,” she said. “Madame Marie is *very* particular about who she lets into her office.”

*I’ll bet she is,* Ed thought. He watched Betsy grab the knocker and pound it against the door hard enough to be heard back in Riesemboul. The door swung open a crack, and he watched the girl lean over and whisper something to whomever was inside. The door opened a bit wider, and a woman in her early 40s came out, dressed in a well-tailored gray business suit with a ruffled cream blouse. Her chestnut hair was a neat, wavy bob. She looked more like a bank officer than . . . what she was.

“Madame Marie, this is the boy who spoke to you on the phone the other day,” Betsy said.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said in a low, warm voice, extending a hand toward Ed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Thomas Sutton,” Ed said, giving the pseudonym Roy had told him to use.

“Won’t you come into the parlor, Thomas? Or do you prefer Tom?” Madame Marie said, leading him back the way they came.

“Tom is fine,” Ed said, getting a better look around the place. Outside the parlor, there didn’t seem to be much activity, other than some sounds that seemed to be coming from a kitchen at the back of the house. He figured the occupants were busy with their trade, and resisted the urge to shudder.

“I was quite pleased to get the phone call from you,” Madame Marie said, settling into an elegantly embroidered easy chair and gesturing for Ed to sit in its twin, across from her. “The day before you called, we had an inquiry from a young man who is most interested in automail -- you do remember the exclusivity policy I went over with you on the phone?”

Ed nodded. “He wants dibs on me for two weeks?”

“Precisely,” Madame Marie said, templing her index fingers in front of her. “Now, ordinarily, I would put a newcomer to our establishment through testing before I let him or her receive customers . . .”

Ed could just imagine what the *testing* would have consisted of, and repressed the urge to shudder again.

“. . . but given the fact that we need you right away, and boys with automail *are* hard to come by in this profession, I’m putting you to work right this afternoon. The boy will be here in precisely an hour and a half.” She pointed to the huge grandfather clock ticking away across the room. “You do have working clothes with you?”

Ed looked down at the suitcase Roy had shoved in his hand as he was walking out of his office. He had no idea what was in there. He didn’t know if he wanted to. “Yeah,” he said.

“Excellent,” she said. “I’ll take you up to the room you’ll be using for this assignment. The third floor is reserved for people with steady customers. Once you’re in the general pool, you’ll be living and working on the second floor.”

*Like hell I will,* Ed thought. “I understand,” he said.

“Now, you are aware you’re responsible for keeping your own room clean, right?” she said. “We all pitch in here.”

“You have no employees other than the . . . contractors?” Ed said.

Madame Marie chuckled. “Contractors. I’ve never heard that word used for my workers before. I rather like it. No, Tom, the only employee I have is the cook, and she’s never out of her kitchen. Comes in in the morning, goes home at night after dinner. You’ll have days when it’ll be your duty to help her out, and other days when you’ll be responsible for helping to clean the halls and parlor.”

Ed frowned. “Are *all* places like this one? I mean, I’ve never worked in a *house* before, so I don’t know . . .”

“Most places aren’t,” Madame Marie said in an airy tone as she got up, gracefully. “But then again, most places aren’t as generous in splitting the profits with their workers, either. Come, I’ll show you to your room . . .”

It was definitely suspicious, Ed thought as he followed her up a staircase with a carved bannister. The one employee was a cook who never left her kitchen except to go home at night . . . the workers were told the reason for the strange arrangements was so they could get a bigger cut of the profits . . .

*And the reason she’s probably so generous with them is she’s more interested in any information they can get her than the money,* Ed thought as they headed up the second flight. *And she wouldn’t even let me into her office to be interviewed . . .*

“Here we are,” Madame Marie said as they came to the top of the stairs and walked into a large, open area with parquet floors. The walls were all lined with numbered doors.

“Your room is #8,” she said, handing him a key. “You have a private bath, which also has a massage table for your customer. Across the hall, you can see we have a lounge area for the people on this floor when they’re off-duty -- there’s also a phone there if you need it. Dinner is available from six to eight, but if your client wants to take you out to dinner, feel free to let him -- you’re not bound to this place.” She turned to him with a smile. “Any questions?”

“Yes,” he said, eyeing the suitcase with apprehension. “Do I have to wear work clothes all the time?”

“For the two weeks you’re with a steady client, no,” Madame Marie said. “Once you’re out in the general pool, we encourage it, because you can be called on at any time.”

Ed gritted his teeth. He couldn’t imagine what life in that “general pool” would be like, knowing at any moment, you’d be called on to have sex with a total stranger . . .

“All right,” he said. “That’s all I need to know. I’m going to go get dressed now.” He waved at her and carried his suitcase toward the door of room #8.

“We’ll let you know when your client arrives,” she said as she headed downstairs.

Ed unlocked the door and peered carefully into the room, not knowing quite what to expect. At the center of it was a king-sized bed, covered in wine-red material. There were some kind of straps hanging from the posts . . .

He quickly looked away from those to scan the broad, low dresser, the heavily-curtained window, a full-length mirror and some kind of rack next to the bed. It looked like a cross between a bookshelf and a wine rack, and held some kind of implements . . .

When he looked closer, he drew back with a “GYAAAA!” The rack seemed to be filled with disembodied penises of various shapes and sizes, and below that was a shelf that held several small whips -- a cat o’nine tails, a riding crop . . .

“That’s it,” he said. “Madame Marie is going down, the sooner the better.”

He hauled his suitcase onto the bed and unlatched it. *Might as well see what the work clothes consist of*, he thought.

He flipped the lid up, peered in and let out a yelp. There, on the top, was a leather corset, laces hanging from the back.

“No way!” he shouted. “I have to wear THIS? No WAY!”

He threw the corset aside, wondering what *else* there was for him to wear -- and saw a very small black bikini and a pair of laced-up black leather boots that looked like they’d reach to his thighs.

“What the HELL?” he said. “Who would think this kind of thing was *sexy*. . .”

A picture flashed in his head. He knew *exactly* who.

“GOD DAMN YOU, ROY MUSTANG!” he yelled.

* * *

Russell pulled at his bow tie as he knocked on the door. The expensive suit he was wearing was constricting him like a rubber leotard. He just wasn’t used to clothes like this. When you spent your life in a lab and an orchard, you wore things that were loose and *comfortable*.

Besides, he felt like something was *missing* without suspenders over his shoulders.

The door was opened by a statuesque redhead in a too-brief black dress studded with rhinestones. “Hello,” she said in a voice that sounded far too high-pitched to be coming from her body. “Welcome to Madame Marie’s . . . do you have an appointment?”

“I’m supposed to be seeing . . .” He consulted a paper in his hand for the alias Ed was using. “Thomas Sutton.”

“Ah, so *you’re* the boy with the exclusive on him! Come right in, he’ll be down shortly . . .”

Russell entered the parlor, resisting the urge to pull on the tie again. He was supposed to be a rich boy (Reginald Hawthorne, that was the alias Mustang had told him to use), he had to *try* to look like he wore clothes like this all the time.

Right now, he was sure he wanted this mission to be over just as badly as Ed did.

A woman in a business suit came around the corner, a bright smile breaking out over her face as soon as she saw Russell. “You must be Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, extending her hand for a shake. “I’m Madame Marie.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Madame,” Russell said, shaking her hand.

“Thomas will be right down,” she said. “I am sure you will be most pleased with him.”

“He has automail?” Russell said.

“Arm and leg,” Madame Marie replied. “Wonderful work, if I do say so myself, though I can’t claim to be an *expert* at that sort of thing.”

Russell wondered if Winry would be flattered or insulted if he told her that her work had just been complimented highly by the proprietor of a whorehouse.

“Ah, he’s coming down the stairs now,” Madame Marie said at the sound of footsteps in the distance. Russell turned toward the staircase she indicated -- and gasped.

The redhead was leading down a blond in a formfitting black leather corset that stretched from just above his nipples to his hips. Below a tantalizing strip of bare skin was a brief, tight black bikini. His legs were covered with laced-up boots that only accentuated the muscles beneath, and his golden hair spilled over his shoulders.

It was *so* over-the-top, a virtual charicature of sexiness, that Russell thought he was going to burst out laughing.

“Reginald Hawthorne,” Madame Marie said, “this is Thomas Sutton.”

Ed bowed his head a bit, trying to look polite and submissive. “Hello,” he said.

Russell choked back laughter, feeling like he was in the middle of a comedy sketch in a burlesque house, that any minute pounding music was going to start playing and Ed was going to go into a striptease -- which just made him want to laugh all the more.

But at the same time, it was strangely hot, revealing *just* enough skin to make an onlooker wonder what was under the brief coverings.

Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he had to play his part. He grasped the automail hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “Beautiful,” he said. “Exquisite. All I ever wanted.”

Madame Marie beamed. “I take it he is to your liking?”

“Very much so.” Russell reached within his jacket and withdrew the fat envelope of cash he’d been given at Central headquarters. “Here is your payment.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Madame Marie said, taking the envelope. “Tom, would you please show your guest up to your room?”

“This way,” Ed said, and led Russell up the stairs. They climbed in silence until they reached the third floor, when Ed led him to a door and reached inside the corset for a key.

Once they were inside, Russell sank onto a red velvet chair opposite the bed and burst out laughing. Ed wheeled around to face Russell with burning eyes. “What the hell is that about?”

“It’s just . . . that *outfit* . . .”

“Oh, yeah? Well, *you* look like a penguin in that suit!”

“Hey, you think this is *comfortable*?” Russell said.

“You think *this* is comfortable? Plus, I look like an idiot!” Ed grumbled, flinging himself down on the bed. “When I get hold of Mustang, I am going to make him *pay* for this.”

“*You’re* going to make him pay?” Russell laughed. “I feel like I’m being slowly choked to death!”

“Crap, I can’t wait until this is over,” Ed grumbled.

Russell got up and walked toward Ed. “You know . . . the outfit is silly, but . . . it *is* kinda sexy. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it when we’re alone.”

“Yeah, and with any luck, you won’t see it again.” Ed sat up. “I had to use *alchemy* to put this damn thing on! Tied the laces in the back, then split the front, wrapped it around me and resealed it.”

“You haven’t seen yourself yet, have you?” Russell said.

“Just looked in the mirror for a second,” Ed said. “I don’t *want* to see it.”

“Come over here,” Russell said. “Take a look.” He indicated the full-length mirror.

Ed frowned. “Why do I want to do that?”

“Just look. You’ll see.”

Ed got up, walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. “I was right. I look like an idiot,” he said -- but at the same time, he reached up and brushed his hair back, as if admiring himself.

“See, it *is* kind of sexy, isn’t it?” Russell said, wrapping his arms around Ed. “I like how the leather *just* covers your nipples, and that strip of tummy skin peeking out . . .”

“This place is getting to you, Russell,” Ed grumbled, but he leaned back into Russell’s embrace.

“You don’t think it’s just a *bit* hot?” Russell said, pulling Ed tighter.

“Are you kidding?” Ed twisted back to look at him. “I look like a slut! Like . . .” He looked away. “An object. That’s what all the people here are. *Objects.* People who sell themselves like this, or buy their services . . . they don’t know the value of a *human.*”

Russell could see the haunted look in Ed’s eyes in the mirror, and knew the boy was looking back at a painful time in his past. . . . probably his struggles to help Al regain his body.

He bent over and kissed the top of Ed’s head. “I don’t see you as an *object* in that outfit. I see *you*. I think of it as you wearing those things for *me.*”

“What, so you can laugh your ass off?”

“I *told* you it was hot,” Russell said.

“Yeah, after you got done laughing,” Ed replied.

“Look, can’t something be funny and hot at the same time?”

“Whatever.” Ed yanked at the corset, as if trying to tear it off. “I’ll tell you one thing -- if I *was* to pick out something sexy to wear for you, it sure as hell wouldn’t look like *this.*”

“Oh?” Russell looked at Ed in the mirror again, running his eyes over the boy’s body. The more he looked at the clothes, the more sexy they appeared. “What *would* they look like, then?”

“I don’t know,” Ed mumbled. “You think I go around thinking about things like *that*?” He tugged at the corset again. “Sure as hell don’t want anyone but you seeing me in this.”

That idea suddenly struck Russell as very sexy -- the idea that Ed didn’t want anyone but *him* seeing that outfit, as much as he hated it. He suddenly became aware of a familiar heat stealing through his body.

“Look, I don’t like this assignment any more than you do,” Russell said, softly. “But we might as well make the best of it while we’re here, right?” He nuzzled his cheek in Ed’s hair. “We’re not going to be expected to come down for awhile. We have this room, our privacy . . .” He kissed Ed’s temple.

“You want to make love *here*?” Ed said. “Are you nuts? We have no idea of knowing what the hell went on in this room . . .”

“But this room was *made* for that, wasn’t it?” Russell said, lightly running the tips of his fingers up and down Ed’s flesh arm, feeling the boy lean a bit more against him in response.

“You just want an excuse to get out of that suit,” Ed sighed, tilting his head back against his lover.

“Damn right I do,” Russell said. “But that’s not the *only* reason.”

“All right,” Ed said. “Just let me do something first . . .”

He slid out of Russell’s embrace, walked over to the bed and clapped, touching his hands to the red cover. Purple lighting flashed about the whole thing, then faded away.

“What did you just do?” Russell said.

“Sterilized it,” Ed replied, moving over to the chair. “And just in case we end up using this as well . . .” He clapped again, bending over to touch the piece of furniture. “Remind me to do the bathtub later, too.”

“I will,” Russell said, watching his lover move back across the room, the tight bikini hugging that exquisite ass, the leather corset embracing his torso . . .

He reached up and yanked on his tie. He wanted out of this suit *now*.

“Damn, Russell, don’t *rip* the thing,” Ed said as he sat on the bed, watching his lover shed his clothes like they were on fire. Russell didn’t stop until he peeled off his boxers, at which point he let out a deep sigh of relief. He felt like *himself* again.

And there was a luscious creature waiting for him on the bed.

He walked over to Ed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I’m paying for you, you know,” he said in a teasing tone.

“No, you’re not,” Ed said, giving Russell a hint of a lopsided smile. “The Amestris government is. And I can’t wait to hear the reaction of the accounting department when they get the invoice for whorehouses and leather corsets.”

“Well, then, let’s see what the *government’s* money bought,” Russell said in a husky near-whisper.

He leaned over and kissed Ed hard, reaching up to run his fingers through all that long, thick, soft gold as his lips opened, his tongue starting to probe the smaller boy’s mouth. He heard Ed let out a soft whimper of pleasure, and he thrust his tongue more aggressively, letting out a moan of his own when he felt Ed caress back.

Ed broke away from Russell and leaned over, tongue coming out to caress a nipple, sliding back and forth over the bud before he drew it in his lips, rapidly suckling, causing Russell to lean back and moan, the hand that had been stroking his hair tangling in the strands.

“Aaahhh, Ed,” he groaned.

Ed moved to the other nipple, suckling and licking it, his flesh hand reaching around Russell’s body to grasp his bottom, squeezing it, caressing it, squeezing it again. Russell just closed his eyes and let his head drop back, his mouth open in a gasp, savoring the sensations -- the wet tongue sliding over his hardening bud, the skilled fingers stroking and rubbing and massaging, his body completely flooding with pleasure.

“You have such a sexy ass,” Ed moaned, raising his head.

“So do you,” Russell panted. “I could feel yours all the time . . .”

Suddenly, Ed pulled away, a wicked smile on his face. “I have an idea,” he said. “Get on the bed, on all fours.”

Russell frowned. “Already? I thought you wanted to play around some more first.”

“I do,” Ed said. “But you’ll see.”

Russell complied, wondering what the hell Ed was up to, lowering his head and fully expecting to feel lubed fingers penetrate him next.

Instead, he felt something against his bottom . . . smooth, and firm, and gently rounded, rubbing against him in lazy circles. He sucked in his breath, then groaned -- he wasn’t quite sure what Ed was doing, but whatever it was, it felt *good*.

The thing rubbing against him began to move up and down, and Russell moved up and down as well, starting to press hard and grind against whatever it was. The pressure on his sensitive flesh was tantalizing, sending warm tingles running through the rest of his body.

He had to find out what it was that was driving him nuts. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

There was Ed, on all fours as well, the black bikini gone, rubbing his own ass against Russell’s. The sight of it -- one set of firm mounds caressing the other -- made him let out a small moan.

“You like this?” Ed said as he started to move faster, swaying his hips back and forth, then up and down. Russell let his head fall forward, matching Ed’s movements, the friction making him pant and whimper, his erection feeling rock-hard and throbbing.

“Yes,” Russell gasped, “but . . .”

Ed stopped and turned around, and Russell gasped at the sight. If Edward had been beautiful before, he was an erotic fantasy now, his hair mussed from their play, his erection standing up against the bottom of the leather corset.

“But, what?” he said with a sly smile, laying back on his elbows so his top half was elevated.

“Right now, I’d like this more,” Russell said. And he leaned over, taking the other boy’s length in his mouth in one swift motion, sucking hard, letting his tongue caress the shaft as he started to slide it in and out.

He heard Ed gasp, then moan, flesh and metal fingers tangling in his hair, and he slid his lover’s hardness out of his mouth, licking over and over the head, kissing it reverently. When he took it back in, he went as deep as he possibly could, and was rewarded with ragged breathing and a groaned, “Ohhh, *yes*, Russell.”

His fingers teased his lover’s thighs as he pulled him almost all the way out, sucked hard on the head a few times, then slid him back in, surprising even himself with how deep he was able to take it this time. Ed let out an “Aaahh!” and the fingers in his hair tightened.

Russell slid away, kissing the head tenderly again before looking up. “Do you want to keep going like this, or . . .”

Ed gave him a wicked grin. “Sit in the chair. I have another idea.”

Russell gave him a puzzled look, but got off the bed, walking across the room. Ed got the bottle of lube and headed over to him, and Russell expected his lover to bend over, offering himself up to be prepared for penetration.

Instead, Ed sat on Russell’s lap with his back to him, wriggling his hips so that Russell’s erection was within the cleft of his bottom -- not far enough to penetrate, but far enough so that he could *feel* it, could know very well he was encased in firm, heated flesh.

“Ooohhh,” he moaned, and moaned it again when Ed started to move, rubbing against him, his cock sliding back and forth against the tantalizing, smooth curves. His hands ran over Ed’s torso, sliding over the leather, and the feel of the tight material just made him even hotter.

He slipped the fingers of one hand under the top of the corset, feeling around for a nipple, and when he connected, Ed cried out, tossing his head back so waves of gold spilled over Russell’s shoulder. His hips pumped faster, stroking Russell harder, and the younger boy moaned loudly, his other hand reaching for Ed’s cock . . .

But before he had a chance to grasp it, Ed stood up, moved to the bed again and got onto it on all fours, that delicious ass, pink from the earlier friction, offered up to Russell like a gift.

“Do it, Russell,” he said. “Get your fingers in me *now*.”

Russell grabbed the bottle and spilled lube onto his fingers as he made his way to the bed. “I can’t believe how you look right now. You’re so incredibly sexy . . .”

“Russell, if you don’t stop talking and *fill me* right now, I’m going to transmute your hair into chicken feathers.”

Russell didn’t have to be told twice. He parted the two mounds and slid a finger inside, slowly, feeling the tight heat that was becoming familiar to him, but never failed to make his blood race. He felt his lover stiffen at first, then relax as the pain gave way to pleasure.

Ed leaned back against Russell and let out a low sound, and Russell moved his finger faster, deeper, thinking that he couldn’t wait until it was his *cock* in there . . .

But he had to be patient, at least for now. He slipped the finger out and relubed it, along with a second, pushing them in again.

“So tight,” he said as he moved them in and out, hearing Ed’s low cry as he brushed the sweet spot within him. “You feel so good . . .”

“Now,” Ed said. “I’m ready.”

Russell slid his fingers out, quickly wiped them off and lubed his cock. Ed didn’t seem to be moving from his current position, so he knelt behind the boy, grasping his hips. He probed the entrance gently, pushing in a little. He bent over and kissed his shoulders, his neck.

“Is this position okay for you?” he said.

“I’m all right,” Ed replied, his voice husky. “Just keep going.”

Russell moved in a bit more, slowly, until he felt Ed relax. Then, he began a gentle thrust, and heard the older boy gasp in pleasure beneath him.

“Ooohh, that’s good,” Ed said. “Faster . . .”

Those were some of the most welcome words Russell ever heard. He quickened his pace, his manhood sliding deeper and harder and more rapidly into the heat that surrounded him, pulled him in, enveloped him, tightened around him with every thrust . . .

One hand reached around Ed’s body, grasping his erection and stroking it in time to Russell’s motion. The air was filled with a chorus of soft moans, gasps, and names whispered in husky voices, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the dull thud of an automail hand pounding at the mattress as the pleasure got to be almost too much for its owner. Golden hair was tossed about like a silken sea as the moaning and panting sped up, grew more intense.

Russell thrust harder and deeper, thinking he wasn’t going to make it much longer, his blood was on fire, he thought he was going to explode from the inside out . . .

Then, he heard Ed let out a loud cry, and felt his lover buck wildly against him, warm seed starting to pour over his hand. It was all Russell needed -- as Ed’s body clenched around him, he was suddenly overwhelmed by white heat, and his body shook again and again with shudders that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul.

Ed collapsed to the bed, panting, and Russell fell beside him, drawing him into his arms and kissing him, tenderly.

“You kept that thing on the whole time,” Russell said, teasingly, touching the leather corset.

Ed yawned contentedly, snuggling against his lover. “Too much of a hassle to take it off and put it back on,” he murmured.

Russell held him closer, gently kissing his forehead and temples. “So . . . where did you get the ideas?”

Ed opened his eyes, lazily. “What ideas?”

“You know. The butt-rubbing. The thing with the chair.” He gave Ed a sly smile. “I’ll bet you were reading those books again.”

A look of panic passed over Ed’s face. “What books?”

“Oh, you know . . .” Russell stroked his hair, lazily. “The ones I got from Arthur Corley. The *private* library.”

“I never took any of those books!” Ed said, sitting up. “I’d rather eat broken glass than read that flowery crap! I just . . . made the stuff up, okay?”

“Okay,” Russell said, smiling to himself. He knew very well that the last time Ed had visited, two books had mysteriously disappeared from the “private library,” which he kept in miniaturized form in his bottom drawer -- and one of the books that had disappeared had a scene very much like what he and Ed had done tonight.

He knew this, of course, because he had been sneaking reads in the books himself. But he wasn’t going to let Ed know that. Or Fletcher. Or anyone else.

After all, it was a long-held alchemist’s belief that books were a waste unless they were actually used for research.

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Fullmetal Alchemist is property of Hiromu Arakawa, Square Enix and Studio BONES. No profit is being made from this fanfic.