Mea Culpa

There are some things that aren't to be tolerated.

Oh, I've known about the way that smug Colonel of his looks at the boy—the sly, corner-of-the-eye glances from dark tip-tilted eyes, a tiny smirk in place as he takes in the golden beauty—and I've known that the object of the Flame Alchemist's attentions was flustered and flattered and annoyed by the attention, as almost anyone would be, really; yes, I've known all of this for a while now, but I've held my tongue and bided my time patiently. After all, despite everything, it is still me that the famous Fullmetal Alchemist comes to whenever he can possibly escape for a few hours; it is me that Edward Elric submits to; it is me that marks his lovely tanned flesh with bruises and kisses and welts.

To be honest, I don't care who the little blonde slut fucks in his free time; I know that they can't be to him what I am, and that no one else sees that precious vulnerable, needy side of him that is mine and mine alone. Heh. He hates me and loves me and I possess him; every touch—no matter how whisper-fine—serves no other purpose than to remind him of me and the terrible, wonderful things that I do to him when we are alone.

As if any kiss could burn through him like mine. As if anyone's caress could soothe and savage him simultaneously. As if anyone else's voice could command him and his wild, tumultuous spirit.

It's laughable, really.

Still, there are some things that aren't to be tolerated, and I want to give my pretty little paramour something to remind him of me constantly.

Smiling, I dance my fingers down his chest, pirouetting around each dark puckered nipple and shifting my weight a little back onto my heels and his hips, feeling the achingly hard, hot length of him pressing against me in that oh-so-right way. He's panting softly, lips parted and moist (positively kissable), and my slight motion makes him grind up into me, trying vainly to provoke me into hurting him, into taking him, into some action we might find some mutual satisfaction in. I lift my free hand and wag a finger at him, clicking my tongue, but I'm not really upset; I am, in fact, delighted at his wanton hunger, and he can read me well enough to know that he's not going to achieve the result he wants.

Well, he is, but not in the way he expects.


I always use his name when we are like this; never any other time. Part of our unspoken etiquette.

His hazy golden eyes regard me steadily, and he licks his lips before responding in such a slow sensuous manner I tremble and fight the urge to lean down and suckle that strawberry-pink mouth until I have drawn every cry and moan of pleasure from him. I long to kiss him, bite him, lick the groans straight from his tongue until he climaxes under me from that alone.

Mmmm... Maybe later. I have plans for now.

"Yes?" A blonde brow quirks upward curiously. He speaks when he is spoken to, like a good boy. That lesson had been one of the first, and one of the hardest. Sometimes, he still forgot himself, much to my endless fury and pleasure, and then... Oh and then he was punished! and I'm not sure which one of us enjoyed that more.

My smile broadens, and I lean forward again to check the tightness of the rope binding his hands together, palm to palm and fingers interlaced, to the bars of the bed headboard. Not cutting off circulation, but yet still holding firm; he'd wear friction-burn bracelets from the hemp for a few days, but he'd be sure to cover them with his coat and gloves, his stinging flesh singing sweet melodies of my seduction and ownership of him every time the cloth rubbed across the healing marks.

"I... " I play this game very carefully; the emotional impact has to be just right for the game to work, and so I let my gaze drop to his, my breath hitching as I ham it up. "Edward, I... I want to give you something. It's wrong and I hate it—I hate you, I do!—but... " I trail off, seeming disgusted and thwarted and shamed, shifting a blush to my pale cheeks. "But I... "

Ah... I saw that. His answering flush, the confusion and then desire and spark of... of hope, maybe? in his widening eyes. "Wh—Envy, what do you mean?" he stammers, trying to sound more demanding than he possibly can, naked, aroused, and tied helplessly to the bed. "What are you talking about?"

It's so damned hard, so hard, not to laugh right then, but I bite the inside of my lip and force it down. "I want to give you something that will make you think of me... " and take your mind off that damned colonel of yours. But that can wait for later. "... a bit of jewelry, in fact. A ring." I'm already reaching for the nightstand drawer, pulling out what I need and hiding it from view in the palm of my hand.

My pet, my lovely pet, sucks in a breath; I can feel the confusion radiating off of him, and he's tense beneath me. This isn't how things are supposed to go. Our relationship is nothing but violence and kinky sex, and here I am talking about reminders and rings. He can't be blamed for his bewilderment, but that's not going to last much longer.

"Envy... " he draws out my name, shaking his head slowly, still sorting for the right words to answer me. I lay the flat of my hand on his sternum, the heel pressed down to feel his heartbeat, and the slender silver needle hidden between my fingers; I slide across his chest and then, with a quick and skilled flick of my wrist and long nimble digits, the needle pierces the hard nub of his nipple.

He wasn't expecting that, not at all, and he arches up from the bed, trapped under my weight and he involuntarily pulls at his bindings, a yelp of indignant pain flying from his precious lips; I can't resist the temptation any longer and I lean down, fingers still pressed around the metal, and I capture his mouth with mine.

Ed always tastes so rich and heady; kissing him is like sucking in that rush of hair-prickling electricity before a thunderstorm, and the white-gold voltage of him shoots down my spine straight to my groin. I can almost taste the sharpness of the pain rising from his breast, and he's drugged me with the sweetness of his submission and voluntary suffering; I am high off of the power the golden boy beneath me gives me, and I could never turn this down.

Despite of—or because of—the needle embedded in his sensitive flesh, he responds to this eagerly, teeth and tongue clashing with mine jarringly, and he plunders my mouth as desperately and fully as I do his, damn near making me lose any sense of control, making me need to take him right now; visions of fucking him good and hard slithered into my mind, of riding him like a goddamn horse and spurring him of by biting down on that ruddy, aching kiss of a nipple and the silver lance still in place through it.

Gasping, I jerk up and away from his deliciousness, trying to quiet my own mind. I push the wild mass of my hair over my shoulder, ignoring Ed's futile writhing and aggravated whines for attention. Such a beautiful little whore. I palm the golden ring for a moment, content to merely watch and admire as his pleading gets more and more aggressive and angry. He yanks at the rope tying his hands several times, and I think about those burn-bracelets he's going to have again. He's going to have a full set of jewelry from me by the time I let him go from here.

But then, he's earned it.

I let my mind carry me into that space that the Gate gave me, visualizing the short dark hair, the mysterious dark eyes, the creamy skin, the blue military uniform... and then I push out, shifting the inner image to the outer reality. I look down at my pet and smirk as his tirade is cut short and he stares up, stunned. I've never once done this during one of our clandestine meetings.

Unspoken etiquette.

But I've breached that now, and I am less than pleased that I had to do it, though the rage and hurt betrayal on his face is truly, truly priceless. He should know me well enough by now to know that I don't give a damn about him and his feelings; outside of this room I'd stab him in the back while wearing the guise of his brother and laugh while I did it.

And then fuck his pretty little corpse.

I reach down with white gloved hands—complete with the salamander sigils on the backs—and tug viciously on his gorgeous blonde hair, so similar to... No!I shove that image away before it came come into focus. He hisses and bucks futilely, cursing me with more spite than I've heard from him in a long time.

"You like that, Ed?" I ask in my borrowed voice. "I've seen the way you and that bastard flirt with each other on the sly. Little glances, little touches. It's fucking cute, and I got to say that I don't care if you're spreading your whoring little legs for him on the side. Go for it; it certainly can't hurt your career or anything to be getting it up that ass from your male commanding office that's twice your age... "

He curses violently, gold eyes wide and glowing with fury as he struggles under me, and I sit on top of him easily with his colonel's heavier weight and laugh at him. Such a fighter!Such a warrior!Even like this he is unconquered.

"And of course," I add, almost as an afterthought, "you can never be sure, can you? Who you're fucking, that is." I grin as comprehension dawns on his face, and drop back down into my own form, shaking my head.

"I don't care who you do in your spare time," I repeat, and I push the golden ring through his nipple, working the needle out. Ed makes a face, but stays still and quiet for this, not wanting to risk his tender tit. The needle is placed on the nightstand again; I place the clear crystal drop-shaped ball in the open gap of the ring, and I lean down to close it with my teeth, securing the metal in his flesh.

I sit back up, admiring the effect. Lovely. My fingers are so pale compared to his torso—I'm all moonlight and dusk and he's sunfire and dawn—and the difference is striking as I play with the slender hoop, blocking his enraged words with wild gasps of pleasure and pain.

"Because," I purr, leaning down to suck the tender nub, to roll the gold and crystal and hot skin between my lips, "you can never be sure, can you?"