Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ The Misuse of Alchemy Series ❯ You ain't no automail mechanic ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
The Misuse of Alchemy series
a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.
Because sex is better with an alchemist!
by Masamune Reforged
Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of the characters in it. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.
Warnings: Men getting it on with men. Lots of it, and in kinky style too. This one's also Roy x Ed, BDSM, then comedy, cursing.
For ZaKai, Masa?
No. For me!
Misuse of Alchemy 4
Misuse of Automail Transmutation 2: You Ain't no Automail Mechanic
The sound of a metallic creak caught Ed's ears.
It came amidst the din of heavy, wet slapping noises of sweat slick flesh on sweat slick flesh; the flighty whistle of the whip before it landed on his back; the raspy breaths that heated the nip of his earlobe; and the still not faded sound of his last, loud, pleasured cry.
Still, somehow, the noise was audible.
Creak.
It came again, and this time—despite the sharp, searing pain of the whip raining down on his exposed skin; the coiled, burning tension of his flesh arm tied behind him; and the white hot, piercing heat of Roy Mustang's long, thick cock spearing his insides—Ed focused on the noise.
Creak.
It came from above him.
“Um- Ah!” A not so gentle bite on the back of his neck and an even more savage than usual thrust from his superior officer cut Ed's words off. “C-Colonel, um... YEAGH!” The whip landed heavily across his already abused flesh in a way that was usually reserved for 'punishment', and not just the casual, kinky sex. Ed wasn't to speak unless ordered to.
Creak.
“S-seriously! Colonel! GAH!!!”
A strangled cry, a deep thrust from below, and the whip—this time with a furious blow that drew blood—told Ed that Mustang was quickly getting angry with him breaking the 'No Speaking' rule. This time, the man's hand even left Ed's impossibly stiff cock long enough to pull on the chained collar attached to his neck.
Creak! The protest was louder and more desperate this time.
“R—really! I-” An even harder jerk of the chain choked Ed's words in his throat. The whip rained down with a fury, and the thrusts pistoned up into his most sensitive depths with violent force. Ed felt lightheaded; close to the point of climax. Mustang gave another sharp tug on the collar's chain, and Ed almost came right then.
CREAK!
He felt his body jerk, not from the colonel's stabbing thrusts up into him, and not from the collar yanking him toward the ground, but— Creak. Ed felt his body jerk as something above him—in the automail arm that he was suspended from the ceiling by—gave way slightly, causing him to drop a little bit further down towards the floor, further down onto Mustang's considerable erection.
Ed heard the raven-haired colonel hiss in surprised pleasure.
Creak!
His body sagged a little lower, and it was all he could do to keep himself from cumming as gravity drove him deeper onto his lover's flesh.
CREAK!
This time Ed's body lurched toward the ground in a way that brought no such pleasure. He was almost positively speared on Roy's cock—which in itself was far from a problem—at an angle that drove the hard flesh into him in a very uncomfortable way. The shock of pain was enough to clear his head, and the further sound of the creaking from his automail limb gave Ed the panic enough to suddenly shout out in a loud voice.
“NOBELIUM!”
There was a cry of frustrated disbelief, a final tug on the collar, and the gasp-inducing sensation of the man quickly and roughly pulling out of him. Ed heard Mustang howl, “Oh, come on! What the hell?!”
CREAKKK--!!!
Before Ed could explain why he'd felt the need to use the 'stop word', the loud noise of failing metal rang out one final time, this time a long, sustained, tearing. Ed cursed and fell. It was a good four feet from where he hung to the floor, and with no arm free to brace himself with, his head connected on the wood with an almost comedic bang.
There was a surprised breath from the colonel, several pained curses from Ed, and then a light, almost melodic clatter. Tink! Tink! Tink! A metal bolt bounced twice on the floor before rolling onto its side and stopping.
“THAT!” Ed yelled in angered explanation, his face red. He tried to stand, forgetting that Roy had purposefully removed his leg before they'd started. Growling, Ed squirmed and balanced on the one knee left to him, glaring up at the ceiling. His eyes did what his bound flesh hand could not, pointing up at the ceiling beams of the colonel's lounge, where half of his automail arm hung from the high grade metal fastenings the man had secured there.
“I see...” the colonel allowed softly. Was that amusement in his voice? Ed seethed quietly.
“Well don't just stand there, you dirty, old pervert! Fuckin' get it down!”
His own ragged, angry breaths were the only noise in the room before the collected, reproachful voice of Ed's superior asked, “What did you just say?”
“I said, 'stop standing there being fucking useless and—' ” Still in a rush of anger, Ed's words came from his mouth before thoughts could form in his muddled mind. “Ah!”
Mustang was suddenly hauling him up into the air by the chain attached to his collar. Fear dissipated the mental fog, and Ed was quickly aware of his words, and several of the other ones that might have served him better. But now the inability to get breath silenced him.
“You will not address me with that kind of insolence,” the colonel commanded. “Understand?” Ed let out a strangled gurgle, accompanied by the slight nod of his head. The blond coughed and spat upon being thrown down onto the floor.
“Wait there,” came the stern command, then the padding of bare feet on wood, the clicking of locks being undone, and the creak of the lounge door being opened.
Ed, his automail leg somewhere in the next room, really had no other options. He rolled onto his back, wincing at the contact of his open wounds on the cold wood, and stared up at the ceiling forlornly. Half of his arm swung back and forth, waving down at him.
“Winry is going to kill me...” Ed muttered to himself.
He didn't have too much time to dwell on just how he'd be murdered by his long time friend and mechanic, as the sound of the lounge door being opened wide soon met his ears. Ed rolled onto his side again to see the colonel returning with a tall ladder and...
“Are you going to try to fix it yourself?” The raven-haired man stopped, and Ed's eyes moved from the wrench in the man's hand to his face, making him hastily add, “Colonel, sir?” Mustang insisted he be addressed by his rank whenever the two were being 'intimate'.
The man continued to carry the ladder into the room, only answering after placing it in the center and opening its legs. “You'll get in trouble with your mechanic if she finds out, won't you?” His voice was still cold and resolute, but Ed's well trained ears could catch the concern in the man's words.
Winry was a small girl, but she was a scary freak of a bitch when it came to Ed's automail maintenance. Even the Flame Alchemist couldn't stand toe to toe with an angry Winry Rockbell. Mustang let out a sigh that was half anticipated frustration, half “my balls are so blue right now”.
Ed thought about how best to phrase his next words. Was this just a break in their 'intimate time'? Or had it prematurely come to an end? Ed couldn't remember it ever having ended before his 'master' had had at least one orgasm...
“Can you fix it, Colonel?” he decided to play it safe.
There was the sound of metal being tinkered with above, and then the dark-haired man asking, “Who says I'm going to fix it?”
Ed knit his brow in confusion. “Then... um...”
“You change your automail arm into different shapes all the time, don't you?” The question came with the sound of jangling as his arm was being freed from the restraints. “If we get all the pieces together and make it so you can form a circle with your hands, can't you just fix it yourself?”
Ed stopped to consider this. In theory, maybe... He heard the colonel descending the ladder.
“But I only use alchemy when I'm forming a weapon,” Ed said. “When I send it back to normal, it's more like I'm just reversing that; I'm not really turning it into anything new...” Automail was something very complex, and the thought of trying to alchemize his limb to anything besides the simple blade he wielded in battle was...
The man was at his side now, dropping the automail next to him with a clamor. “Try.”
“I... I'll need to have it reattached... Colonel...” Ed stammered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. If he somehow screwed up the automail even more, he'd have to deal with Winry... But if Mustang, under these circumstances, was ordering him to...
Ed's discomfort turned into fear as Roy brandished the wrench in one hand, and the bolt that had popped out in his other. “Let me worry about that, Fullmetal. You should just worry about recalling as much about your automail arm as you can... and about deciding what punishment you deserve for speaking without being ordered to.”
Fear became panic. “But- I...” Ed grasped at words. The colonel despised begging, but... Having Ed pick a punishment meant that the man was not going to be kind to him at all after this technical difficulty was resolved... It was another of his 'games' that could get downright ugly... “I...”
“Sit up, Fullmetal.” Mustang watched the teen struggle to—one leg, one stub, a muscled torso and bound arms—sit up into place. When Ed was in position, Mustang gave a wan smile, waving the wrench as he bent down. “I'll handle this.”
~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~
More than an hour later, Roy stood up, stretching and letting out a curse under his breath. It had been a very cold, rainy autumn, and Roy found the hours hunched over his office desk more and more taxing on his lower back. But it wasn't old age! Oh no! He'd be thirty soon, and while he did have soreness and things that he didn't have ten years ago, he was still in fantastic working order. He tilted to his side and gave a grimace of relief. The nightly, bone rattling sex with his younger subordinate sure didn't seem to be helping things...
He shook his head and let out a sigh. The idea of doing his lover from below while the young blond was suspended from his lounge ceiling had been a scenario he'd been planning out for the past week. The industrial strength bolts and fastenings that Falman had 'lost' into his hands had proved better than Roy had expected. Surprisingly, it was the Rockbell automail that had given way...
Well, Ed had informed him, Winry had once said something about shifting towards a lighter, less durable composition for his arm... And, when Roy thought about it, the things he had Ed do with that automail arm were downright ridiculous sometimes...
“Umm... maybe we should just...” Roy had suspended -The Rules- after the first half hour of fiddling with the automail. “I mean, you can't even fix eggs, let alone auto-” Ed was making him regret it now.
“No,” Roy cut Ed off quickly. He was tired, annoyed, and sexually frustrated, but he'd be damned if he stopped now.
“Sometimes you're almost as stubborn as me.” Ed shook his head.
“I'll remember you said that when I'm not so dog tired and pissed off.” Mustang threatened, but he'd grown weary over the last hour and a half, and this strain was reflected in his tone.
As if sensing the weakness, Ed got crass, “Oh? You sure it won't slip your mind? You know, I read that as you get older one of the first things to go is your memory.”
Roy let out a deep breath. “I won't, and with as much as you've been mouthing off tonight, the only reason I'm not punishing you right now is because I'm afraid if I did I might actually hurt you. I'm going to need to be well-rested and level-headed to not seriously injure you with what I have in mind.”
Although spoken with a tired tone, these words seemed to have the desired effect. Sloppiness, mental or physical, was fuel for trouble in a sex life like theirs. They both knew this too well. Roy watched Ed swallow his next words before the first could leave his mouth.
He looked down at the half of Ed's automail arm lying on the ground and the bolt that refused to cooperate with him, still stuck in the mouth of the wrench and—
Roy bent down and picked up the automail limb, the fingers tilting downward to the floor. He set it down on the floor again, fingers wrapping around the handle of the wrench. Roy grasped the wrench in his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers while he looked at them for a long moment, before taking hold of the metal tool with both hands.
With a stern voice, he said to Ed, “Don't move.”
“What are you— AGH!”
The shrill cry of pain would have made most men jump, or at least twitch enough to counteract the task Roy was now laboriously focused on, working the wrench up into a gap in the half of the automail still connected to Ed's flesh. Roy had heard many such cries from Ed before.
Finally, with one last savage jerk of his arm, Roy let the wrench go. Ed squinted his eyes open, looking down to where the wrench was now dangling from his arm. Roy knew that the young alchemist was probably still seeing stars from the pain of the damaged nerve receptors.
“FUCK! That hurt!” Ed cursed. “Fucking goddamn sadist...”
Roy paid these words no mind, knowing them to be largely true. Instead, he picked up the broken half of Ed's automail arm and, eyeing a loop of loose metal where the damage was the worst, draped it unceremoniously over the handle of the wrench. Ed's shoulder sagged a little from the added weight, but the arm stayed hanging from the metal tool.
Ed, stubbornly blinking away the shock of pain, looked at the mess that was his left arm and spoke, “You're gonna leave the wrench in there?” His fiery bronze eyes cast doubt and a steady rasp of anger as they met Roy's.
“All the pieces are there, right?” Roy asked academically. “You should be able to transmute it back into one solid piece for now.”
Ed seemed to consider this for a moment, but looking down at his arm, shook his head and said, “But the wrench...”
“Your automail is steel, correct?” Roy asked.
“Yeah, but—”
“The wrench is military grade solid steel,” Roy informed him. Honestly, did Ed think he was that stupid? “Just make your arm into one piece for now and we'll get a mechanic to look at it later.”
Ed looked up at the man for a moment. “Winry's going to kill me...” Ed mumbled, but offered no further protest. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the traits of steel and his automail arm's form. He touched his flesh hand to the automail one dangling weakly at his side.
There was blue light.
~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~
“Fuck! Shit! This is bad! She's going to kill us!”
“Us? Now, don't—”
The voices floated into Winry Rockbell's ears as if muffled by rumbling walls and train whistles. There was a strange murmur of colliding voices and clattering feet all around her. One of the voices sounded like...
“Oh fuck you, Roy! You know this is your fault too!”
Ed?
Winry blinked; surprised to be lying on her back and staring up at a wood ceiling that was completely unlike the lighter ash in her home in Rizembool. She turned her head and saw a bench and a bunch of suitcases. Her suitcases. She frowned, trying to remember. The commotion outside—
That was a train whistle.
“Now now, remember what we agreed to, Ed” a heavier, somewhat coolly detached voice came. This voice was familiar to, but... “I'll pay for the maintenance, but you—”
Maintenance. Something in Winry's brain clicked, and the memory began to come back to her. That's right, she'd be on her way to Central to do some maintenance on Ed's automail. It had been very strange, the tone in her childhood friend's voice when he called her-he rarely called her, that had been strange in and of itself-and she had been worried he'd gotten into some kind of fight with one of those monsters who wore black... But she was always glad to have the chance to visit him... to feel like Ed...
“But I just take all the blame!?” That was Ed's voice. “Hell no! I'm—”
“Look. She's coming around,” Roy Mustang said.
Mustang.
Winry sat up suddenly, eyes darting around the small, brightly lit room; all benches and ashtrays. Through the glazed windows, she caught silhouettes flickering to and fro as they bustled about Central City Station. The train station. She remembered. She'd fallen asleep on the train, and the conductor had woken her at the station. He'd even helped her with her heavy equipment bags, and when she'd gotten onto the platform—
Movement to her left broke her from the recollection. A handsome, dark haired man was leaning down next to her. He had a soft smile on his face, but there was something about the man that unsettled Winry, that always unsettled Winry. It wasn't just the uniform and the painful memories the sight of it invoked. “Are you alright, Ms. Rockbell?” Roy Mustang asked in that snake smooth voice of his. It was the man's cleverly guarded insincerity.
“I'm fine,” Winry replied stonily. Her head hurt a little bit, but... “I thought Ed was...”
She narrowed her eyes at the officer when the man flinched, then forced his smile back on with a tick of effort. Her suspicion grew. Mustang had been at the platform to meet her, and that had struck her as incredibly odd. She wasn't exactly on good terms with him, and even though Ed had been there with Mustang, Winry...
“Where's Ed?” Winry asked peevishly. There was something that she knew she was forgetting. And it was making her angry.
“He's—”
“I'm right here!” Ed popped out from Roy's side, waving at her and sporting a grin that was far too wide to be an indication of anything but trouble. “Hehe,” Ed chuckled hollowly. “Good to see you're okay, Winry. You gave us quite a scare, you know. Hehe.” He patted the back of his head nervously with his hand; his left hand, his non-automail hand.
Winry stood, slightly unsteadily. Mustang stood too, offering her a supporting hand that she did not take. She looked at the two of them, trying to recall what had happened. She'd passed out. That much was obvious. But what had caused her to?
“What happened to me?” Winry asked, somehow not trusting either of the two men in front of her to answer honestly. She was beginning to feel a little embarrassed, and that didn't mix well with her confusion and frustration at not being able to remember.
Mustang and Ed exchanged a glance, then both started at once.
“Well, I dunno, you—”
“It seemed like you w—”
They stopped mid-sentence, looking at each other nervously, Mustang behind and down, Ed up and to his right.
“Why are you standing so close together like that?” Winry asked. The man was standing in front of Ed, and Ed was almost leaning in towards his side.
“Huh?” Ed asked dumbly, a panicked look ruining his attempt at cluelessness.
“N-no reason!” Mustang managed little better.
Winry took a step forward. The two took a step back in tandem. It was almost as if Mustang was shielding Ed, but only on his right side. Winry frowned, demanded with an icy glower, “Ed, show me your arms.”
Ed blubbered something, and Roy watched the two of them with a tense, walking on needles look. It was a sight Winry had seen not long ago. She just couldn't— But then she did. Something flashed through Winry's mind, and the confusion boiled and evaporated in a bed of hot, liquid anger. She glared at Ed fit to choke a bullfrog and roughly pushed Mustang aside. There was a horrified look on Ed's face as she reached out and grabbed the mangled mishmash of metal that was awkwardly jutting out under his red coat.
Winry tore the coat away.
~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~ | ~
In the far suburbs of West City, a young housewife was talking on the phone when she suddenly let out a startled cry, stepping back and crushing the tail of her surly calico cat who had been napping nearby. The cat mewled madly, scampering away blindly and cowering under a couch. It hissed and licked its wounds, its poor tail stinging as though it had been stung by a scorpion. The cat was brooding thickly when her owner coaxed her out with a piece of fresh fish and informed her that there had been some kind of commotion at the Central City train station, some small explosion or something of the sort that had caused her husband, away on business for the week, to cry out in confusion. It had startled her, and she quietly pleaded with her precious kitten-mitten-baby-boop to not be angry with her.
The cat snapped up a jaw full of fish. Oh, no, she wouldn't be angry with her.
She'd just claw the mustache off of her ass of a husband when the fool returned.
Back in a louder than usual Central City Station, a slightly overweight but amiable and kind young man felt a shiver run down his spine as he exited the phone booth he'd been using. He hated to be away from home, to be so far away from his wife. But these new mechanical house cleaning devices didn't sell themselves. The man sighed, shaking off the feeling of apprehension, and picked up his heavy suitcase and the machine he used for live demonstrations, the 'Vacuum'.
There were a few people gathered near one of the smoking areas, and a considerable ruckus was being raised. Deciding it must have been the source of the awful, blood curdling scream that had caused him to frighten his wife so badly, the man felt obliged to take a peak. He made his way through the crowd, apologizing whenever he passed to close to someone or took a step that would conflict with their intended path. Finally he got to the front.
Several police officers were trying to calm down a wild-eyed, blonde girl. A tall military officer with black hair and a wicked gash on the side of his face seemed to be trying to restore order too. The girl was furiously screaming at the man, something about 'automail' and 'can't just mess with it if you don't know what you're doing you shit for brains'. She was waving a wrench menacingly, doing a strange, almost theatrical dance with the shuffling security guards, the evading officer, and herself; desperately trying to get at the black-haired man but avoid letting the guards grab her, lunging forward every so often, screaming obscenities and threats more often.
Behind all of this, a medic was leaning over something near one of the smoking area entrances, a guard trying to shoo people away. There was something sticking halfway out the smoking area door, a yellow thing that almost looked like a head stuck out from a heap of silver and a blanket or coat of crimson red that pooled out over the floor. Squinting, the man thought he could make out black clad legs, and he realized that not all of the red belonged to the coat.
Feeling slightly ill and even more disturbed, the vacuum cleaner salesman shook his head and walked away. He wondered what on earth could have possibly caused such a ridiculous and violent scene, but he had a feeling that he'd be better off not knowing.
-end Misuse of Automail Transmutation 2: You Ain't No Automail Mechanic
Misuse of Alchemy 5 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series
Notes:
If you don't know why “Nobelium” is the best safe word ever, you haven't read ZaKai's “Blind Obsession”, and you are DOING SOMETHING WRONG.
I went from BDSM yaoi lemon to random silly violence in one fic. I have lost all sense of thematic control.
I have always been bugged by this: How the hell does Ed get his arm to go back to normal if automail is supposedly so complicated? Is it just like a “Reset” button? There's no way it's that easy, right? I mean, otherwise all alchemists would be putting automail techs out of business.
And what's with the “he has to clap his hands to make a circle”? ONE OF HIS HANDS IS GODDAMN METAL ANYWAY. Wouldn't he have to make a circle using his actual body? If he has no hand, but the metal is still there, can't he just tap that? In fact, if it's “all is one and one is all” and Circle of Life Mufasa in the Clouds, why does he have to make a circle at all? The circle is in him, right? There is no spoon, Neo. That's why he can do alchemy without transmutation circles, right? Couldn't he just click his ruby slippers together and do it, or just think about it and Third Policeman Box it? (a prize to anyone who gets that reference) Can someone please explain this to me? Fuck.
What does Ed's mangled automail arm look like after he tries to transmute it? I have no idea. I totally phoned that part in.