Plot, what plot? or, pr0n without plot.
"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?"
Yeah. Get it right and be honest, it's a little too good, a little too everything to let go of just yet.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
"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."
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.
"No funny business!" Ed thundered, not fooled for one minute by that innocent look.
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.
"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."
The Colonel's laugh might have been relieved or wanting or even mocking; it was hard to tell.
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.
Ed had his suspicions about any offer Roy Mustang made that sounded like what he wanted. There had to be a catch.
I noticed, Ed told him with as much edge as he could muster.
"So ...." Havoc tried to look nonchalant. "Fullmetal's hair is, uh ... bright."
There is no way Alfons knows what he does to him.
Now the eyes were dull, the gold frosted, and bitter lines caged his mouth.
The blow cracked Ed's cheekbone, an audible noise in the quiet room, and he felt and tasted the blood that filled his mouth.
She clung to him so tightly that his skin was white under her fingertips.
Ed was pretty sure that the Colonel had an office fetish.
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.
"Damnit, brother," Alphonse managed, and Ed grinned at him. "I was only away for a week!"
"Alphonse... why are you wearing a blouse?" The younger boy buried his face in his textbook, and mumbled something inaudible. "...and a miniskirt!?"
Artificial muscles and steel could not replace the level of sensitivity real muscle and skin had.
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...
"So," said Ling. "I was thinking, perhaps my father can buy out Ed's contract."
Of course, the jar was really the professional female companionship fund; or, as Ed liked to sarcastically call it, the pussy kitty.
"So by 'torture,' you really mean 'sexual gratification'. Specifically your sexual gratification.
No kinks, no cross-dressing, no tag-team threesomes, and all pets must be ushered out of the room beforehand.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
"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?"
"I can't be this old and still a virgin," Ed snickered. "I mean, you've been with someone, right?
There were many things that Edward Elric didn't want the world to know, secrets to be protected at all cost.
Ed let out the barest squeak, then glared fire as if daring Roy to say anything.
Al didn't complain about his brother's occasional delinquency, so Ed didn't have room to complain about Al's taste in boyfriends.
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.
"Can't you forget what you read for a few minutes, and just... you know... go with the flow?"
Roy Mustang still doesn't entirely understand First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Perhaps he never will.
From saint to sinner, from mother to whore… She was far more beautiful in death than she'd ever been in life.
A collection of 100 word ficlets.
Pillow talk, with the Fullmetal Alchemist, was shop talk.
Her lover could have been anyone; Edward or Alphonse Elric, Roy Mustang, Ling Yao.
"Yeah, so I hear the best way to get anything out of you is by going through your pants," the boy said evenly.
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.
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.
"Yeah," Fuery chips in, "you're always the one to stop Ed from doing weird stuff, not the other way around."