Plot, what plot? or, pr0n without plot.
"Alphonse... why are you wearing a blouse?" The younger boy buried his face in his textbook, and mumbled something inaudible. "...and a miniskirt!?"
At a large mahogany desk, polished to an almost jewel-like shine, sat Colonel Edward Elric, who was deep into his paperwork. Or at least that is how he appeared.
The desire to go wandering again, to never settle down... it worried Alphonse.
Unexpectedly, the door flew open with a loud bang, steps sounded on the tile, and a very familiar, very cranky voice said...
"You paid for him to have sex?" Mustang says incredulously, putting his pen down on the table top and shoving the form away. "You bought him a prostitute?"
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
"I can't be this old and still a virgin," Ed snickered. "I mean, you've been with someone, right?
Her lover could have been anyone; Edward or Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, Ling Yao.
Of course, the jar was really the professional female companionship fund; or, as Ed liked to sarcastically call it, the pussy kitty.
"It was a while ago," he offered nervously. "Before your time. He's, uh, well, he was a persistent bastard, and... You're not mad, are you?"
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
"Yeah," Fuery chips in, "you're always the one to stop Ed from doing weird stuff, not the other way around."
Now the eyes were dull, the gold frosted, and bitter lines caged his mouth.
"You know it's a good thing I heal almost immediately, because otherwise I'd be so sore, I'd never get anywhere in the story."
"So," said Ling. "I was thinking, perhaps my father can buy out Ed's contract."
"No funny business!" Ed thundered, not fooled for one minute by that innocent look.
I noticed, Ed told him with as much edge as he could muster.
Pillow talk, with the Fullmetal Alchemist, was shop talk.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
Tenderly, Ed's flesh fingers threaded into hair that he had created — short and bronze-gold, the same downy texture that he'd recalled from childhood.
Artificial muscles and steel could not replace the level of sensitivity real muscle and skin had.
"So ...." Havoc tried to look nonchalant. "Fullmetal's hair is, uh ... bright."
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
"Can't you forget what you read for a few minutes, and just... you know... go with the flow?"
I know we're going to wind up in our power roles again and again, claws out, dipping hard, down into flesh that sprouts the sanctity of red, red, blood.
Ed was pretty sure that the Colonel had an office fetish.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
From saint to sinner, from mother to whore… She was far more beautiful in death than she'd ever been in life.
"Yeah, so I hear the best way to get anything out of you is by going through your pants," the boy said evenly.
Roy Mustang still doesn't entirely understand First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Perhaps he never will.
He's been after her since the day they met. He'd been a newly-made Major and, at the time, the youngest State Alchemist ever. She'd been a Colonel going on Brigadier General.
"I will teach you patience even it if kills me," Alfons gritted out. "Let me do this my way, you can give up control just for one act."
Ed let out the barest squeak, then glared fire as if daring Roy to say anything.
His flatmate is a night owl and is always knocking around at odd hours, reading well in the early morning; if Alfons didn't remind him to sleep he most likely never would bother to.
Ed had his suspicions about any offer Roy Mustang made that sounded like what he wanted. There had to be a catch.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
The door opened, and all the energy Ed had been ready to put towards transmuting the door into a pile of sticks drained out of him through his feet.
Yeah. Get it right and be honest, it's a little too good, a little too everything to let go of just yet.
There were many things that Edward Elric didn't want the world to know, secrets to be protected at all cost.
The Colonel's laugh might have been relieved or wanting or even mocking; it was hard to tell.
"So by 'torture,' you really mean 'sexual gratification'. Specifically your sexual gratification.
Ed knew he was going to muck everything up between the three of him if he didn't get a hold of his libido.
"Hi Brother!" the other end of the phone chirped, and Ed's shoulders immediately went from tense to jelly.
No kinks, no cross-dressing, no tag-team threesomes, and all pets must be ushered out of the room beforehand.
Al didn't complain about his brother's occasional delinquency, so Ed didn't have room to complain about Al's taste in boyfriends.
She clung to him so tightly that his skin was white under her fingertips.