"I don't believe I want it to stop, Edward," Envy answered.
Spirits, the words. They weren't his.
He was getting hard at the thought of Ed fucking him. Him fucking himself, him fucking Ed. Fucking Ed over even by forcing Ed to do the deed through the power of Envy's own sustained rage.
Envy moaned and squirmed and rubbed Ed. Even as he tried to drive his crotch against his leg or his abdomen or his arm or something—anything—to get friction, Envy choked on lumps of dread.
He feared the result of Ed stealing his personality, his hate; he loathed it, but also, a voice inside of him begged to end this, to let his anger subside. Was that Edward's voice, too? Envy couldn't tell.
Was this what humans called a conscience?
Envy laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
And gasped as the vision vanished and emotions flickered like an electric shock of ten-thousand volts to the backs of his eyelids. Gone.
A connection wound between them, wound them together. That much was true.
But it went both ways.
It went both ways.
Envy thought he heard his ears pop, but he knew it was only his imagination. He thought he heard his blood sizzle, along with membranes and the bones in his head, but he knew that was only his imagination, too.
Edward took his breath away. Literally.
Envy couldn't resist. Maybe he'd never been able to resist to begin with.
He found his mouth covered, felt the pressure and the insistent need as the tongue plunged into it, swallowing Envy's complaints. He tilted his head back, blind eyes rolled up so he was staring blankly at the ceiling, and then he arched so hard that his back ached; as if gravity had decided it'd had enough, he snapped back down like a rubber band and flattened against the bed. Air poured from his lungs into Edward's, along with so much everything else. Anger dissipated, if only temporarily, and need rose, higher and higher and higher and Envy kissed and was kissed and tasted and was tasted and he forgot, forgot, forgot.
This was the place.
"You taste like—fuh-fucking d-dumplings," Envy said, distantly aware of the splinter in his voice. That...fucking...little... Envy hated it when he sounded like that. He remembered hating it. Ed's fault. All Ed's...yes, he hated Ed, and he would kill the goddamn bastard as soon as this pressure in his head subsided.
Yes, that. That was what he was supposed to be doing. Killing Ed.
"Get the fuck off me!" Envy ordered.
He tried to thrash and found he scarcely had the energy for it; he felt as if his body had been drained of its blood and his muscles and bones had been crushed into paste. Fuck. FUCK! Why was it so hard to think? Was this the toll of a mental link? Envy groaned and growled and bit down hard, resisting, turning his head and pressing his cheek against the mattress, brows furrowed as he scowled deeply. He wished he could just fucking see. He wished he could just fucking move a little more, just enough to kick Ed off, or maybe enough to stab him through the heart again.
"Doesn't feel good to have someone else in your head, does it?" came the reply.
It sounded like Edward's voice, but was it Edward? Envy didn't want to extend enough of himself to know; the price was too high, too fucking high. He just wanted to get free. He needed to get free. He couldn't stand what this did to him, being so near like this. If Ed raped him, fucked him up, hurt him—he could handle that, all of those things. The more Edward hurt him, the more Envy felt confident that he was justified in his rage towards the brat, so it was worth it for his own vindication and sense of righteousness. But he couldn't handle...couldn't stomach being held by an Elric. That was too much. Too cruel. Too insulting. To be shown affection by the object of his greatest contempt?
Something shoved between Envy's thighs (a knee?) and Ed's hands abandoned Envy's wrists to roam eagerly about his body, climbing up his sides. The pads of his fingers brushed over his tight top and Envy felt burning trails of sweat dribbling along in the wake of the caresses, like small fires. Stroking, curving; fingertips, nails. Before, Edward had only had one hand. Envy had seen to that. Now, it felt like he had ten-thousand. Hands everywhere. Hands on hands, hands on arms. Hands on Envy's chest and his bouncing stomach. Hands on his thighs, hips, pulling at his waistband, dragging his clothing away, exposing his wet skin—
I don't want this, he thought frantically.
But his body did.
"How?" Envy felt kisses on his throat. Kisses, nips, bites. The same mouth that had kissed away his tears and licked the salt from his skin now pushed itself on him, exploring hungrily. "How? How did you ever k-keep from raping me? Fucking me? Huh? It...it hurts. My ventricles are about to b-burst. How? How do you put up with this? How, how, howhowhow?"
Envy thought his body was about to burst.
Sweat poured down his thighs, drenching the bed below. He was panting violently, fists bunched in the sheets, rendered powerless by Ed's emotions and Ed's hands and Ed's mouth and his own need. Lust washed over him, a tide of raunchy thoughts; his own, Edward's. Envy wanted to be held open, to fuck and be fucked, to claw bloody and to be clawed bloody, to bite and taste and get pounded into the mattress until he couldn't walk straight for days and days and oh. So filthy, seedy, shameful, and the shame amplified everything and made him so aroused he could barely think.
Ed ground his hips against Envy, who moaned loudly at the feel of weight and heat and movement against his unclothed erection.
"I couldn't have, because—"
Another kiss—harder this time—muffled Envy's words; Ed's tongue shoved into him.
Lust and pain and confusion shoved into his chest, stabbed him, swelled like a cloud filling his lungs.
Because, Envy thought dizzily, his mind cracking and splitting as he found himself pushed into the mattress—pushed down, suffocated, bruised—because it would've made me fucking need you like this, wouldn't it?
He hadn't thought of raping Ed, hadn't thought of taking from him, because had he taken, he would've never, ever stopped wanting.
Now he'd had what he desired. And he'd never, ever stop needing.
Envy wrapped his legs around Ed's waist. Inviting, begging, coaxing; he thrust upwards, grinding their cocks together, thrusting his own swollen cock against Ed's strong thigh.
He responded to the kiss by giving as good as he got, playing with the tongue he found inside himself as he moaned around it. Ed's hands pawed at Envy's top, patted his sides, dipped lower and trailed through his hair—the strands of which were now sticking to his skin and scratching and tickling and digging. The world was nothing but touch; blind, stupid touch, rippling across Envy's nerves and senses and confirming that he was alive. Alive. Alive.
The kiss broke.
Envy gasped for air and grasped for words.
Ed bit Envy's lips, nuzzled his face, nibbled his ear, chewed his shoulder, and Envy keened and arched again and swore and said, "Fuck. Stop. S-stop it. Stopit. Fuck...fucking bastard. Just fuh... fuck you for taking so long to fuck me."
Envy tangled his hands in Ed's hair—endless loose hair, and the parts that hadn't fallen loose yet were now unravelling as his fingers threaded through them—and inhaled, then dragged his hands lower, hissing in disapproval at the fact that Ed was still fucking clothed. Envy wanted skin and blood under his fingernails.
He dug his heels into the small of Ed's back, urging him to move downwards, to touch, to thrust, to satiate this need. One touch. One punch, one bruise; if only one goddamned hand would wrap around his cock and pump. Ed groaned, but he did not move, and Envy was straining and he was so hard; his cock wept onto his leg. And then finally, finally, Ed's hands closed on the undersides of Envy's thighs, biting into the flesh with his short, broken nails, intensifying the pain, the burn; Envy could almost see the red marks through Ed's eyes. He tasted blood and confusion and an ocean of want and the heady, intoxicating flavour of madness. Pure madness.
He knew it well.
"Do I have to throw you down and teach you how the fuck it's done?" Envy snarled, twisting his expression savagely.
Anger hit him. Rage. It was adrenaline, a rush, and he rode it eagerly, licking his lips. He heard something which sounded like the rustle of clothes being removed, and then he felt the brush of naked legs against his and a naked erection; moist, amazingly stiff, pulsing, throbbing. Everything tasted like Ed, smelled like Ed, sounded like Ed and felt like his movements and his mouth as he panted into Envy's.
Ed ran his teeth along Envy's bottom lip and for a time, he was silent.
"You know..." His voice was broken with emotions and his breathing hitched and the sound rumbled about inside Envy's ears like velvet; rich, decadent. Insane. Ed's voice. Maybe not Ed. "You're mine. Completely. You're...you just want to be me. I could kill you. Could snap your fucking neck."
Envy gaped. You sucked my breath out and stole my fucking lines from my fucking mouth, you son of a bitch, he tried to say, but there was only air.
Fingers yanked off Envy's headband. Jerked it away with enough force to scratch his forehead, and he blinked and groaned indignantly, uncomprehending. Cool air struck his damp skin. Hair fell around his face.
Ed cut him off. "Shut up."
Another motion and Envy found himself shoved backwards against the headboard. The small of his back crashed into the wood, knocking the wind from him. Before he could utter a word, a hand lashed him across the face, stinging, and he swallowed and shook and reeled with the force of the blow; the back of his head joined the rest of his body in banging into the wood.
In the absence of sight, vibrations became much more intense, bordering on devastating. A yelled syllable or a kick or a collision might reverberate through one's entire body. The black world abided by different rules than the world of colour.
Envy's head hit the board. Then it fell forward, lowered.
He tasted hair in his mouth as he grinned. It mingled with the blood from his split lip.
Even as he felt the bruises disappearing before they could darken into completion, Envy—still disoriented, head spinning about a thousand miles an hour—felt a hand clamp down on his upper arm. Suddenly, he was on his stomach, pulled backwards. He growled and cursed as his cock dragged along the sweat-soaked achingly hot, silky sheets. That bastard, he was. He was. Envy twisted, grabbed the sheets, kicked backwards and his hair was jerked and then his nodes and his ass and legs, until he was on his hands and knees, knots forming all throughout his muscles as he sucked in oxygen. Emotions everywhere, weighing down on him. Emotions, emotions, emotions. They were going to crush his fucking back, snap it in half. And somehow, he only wanted this—needed this—more. More than ever.
He couldn't see what the fuck was going on, and his head still had that weird buzzing overtaking it, as if it were infested by bees, and he knew Edward was up to something wicked, something he himself would've wanted to try. He could all but hear the smirk as words dripped from that tongue. Envy felt his brain fizz out as his libido overtook it, and his cock felt like it was just about to crack apart; he couldn't fucking stand the agony. While sound faded and his senses dimmed, Envy leaned forward, pressing his face to the sheets as he bit down.
Just like before. Just like the first time.
Hands in front of his face; indelicate, careless, forcing his chin up, forcing cloth into his mouth, and Envy tried to growl again—but it sounded more like a moan.
He thrashed; he needed to at least fucking look like he was fighting back, but before he knew it he was gagging around fabric and it was being tied behind his head and it was—had to be—he knew what it was—
Envy tasted his sweat on the headband.
Screams turned quiet, muffled. He felt drool threatening to seep out of his mouth, around the edges of the cloth, but presently Envy was more concerned with the intense, pounding swell in his chest from his body's now suppressed sounds and his groin was so fucking wet and his thighs were sticking together; he felt like someone had fucking set fire to them. Envy whimpered a little, pleading, not caring if that bastard thought it was weak or what the fuck ever, because it didn't matter. That fucking bastard was the weak one, him and his control freak ways—his sexual hang-ups.
"...bound," Ed was saying, though Envy hadn't heard whatever he'd been prattling about before that, and what the hell. Hands up, stretched, sore; sheets twisted, and for a moment Envy saw it all clearly, saw the bed and blond hair falling, hanging, descending towards it, and hands and sheets and hands working sheets around other hands; binding to bedposts, white everywhere, white white white and dark hiding the face, the face that must've been flushed and pink slowly becoming red.
Envy saw it from Ed's eyes, felt it from Ed's hands, smelled himself as Ed smelled him, and it was enough to knock all of his senses askew. The feeling was the equivalent of being hit ten times in one second: all the jolt and none of the pain.
It took Envy a few seconds to come back to himself, to realize that his wrists were together and his hands had been bound to the bedpost. He tugged experimentally, grimacing all the while, and then something lashed him across the back and he fell forward. Fuck, he thought, which wasn't very profound but he couldnotthinkanythingelse.
Another lash. Scorched.
Envy could just imagine the red streak on his back. Belt, eh? Ed must've been wearing one; Envy hadn't noticed, in his brief visions. Pussy! he wanted to yell, and tried to. You can hit harder than that. Stupid cunt! Stupid, weak human—
Hands on his top. Envy felt it pulled up, bunched at the neck, though Ed didn't attempt to remove it fully, either out of impatience and horniness or out of the sense that with his hands bound, taking the thing off would be a bitch.
Another strike, and another, and another, and Envy bared the curve of his ass and his back, inviting. Challenging. He could handle it. He could handle anything. He was much stronger than Edward.
The pain was raw. Ecstasy. Envy's nerves tingled and fizzed and came to life as his body endured the intense heat of pleasureable hurt. He didn't even realize the lashing had stopped until he felt a hand on his ankle; he breathed deeply through his nose, trying to think. And then his ankles were bound; he was on his knees and a pillow was shoved between his thighs. They clamped down around it, hugged it.
Nails. Nails dragged down his back, down the sweaty, trembling back, ripping hotly; blood sizzling to the surface, and Envy chewed and bit back a scream. He wanted to sob. He wanted to come.
Envy bent and arched and tilted his ass so that the angle would be right, and finally, finallyfinallyfinally he felt hands on it. Then, a mouth on his back: licking the scratched, bleeding, sweaty cuts. And the first push inwards; that slow, indulgent push, thick and filling and fuck he wasn't prepared and he just spread and spread and decided it didn't fucking matter if it tore him apart. That push, that inside-reshaping push, that nudge, the feel of that hard, wet, heated cock sliding into him, opening him; the simultaneous split double-vision feel of his insides around it, muscles clenching down—
Fuck, he thought, but couldn't say. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
Arms around him, a hand on his cock; holding it, running a nail over the tip, and Ed whispering in his ear, panting, saying something, moaning; vibrations against his skin, his hair. It hurt, it hurt, but his skin was slick enough and his legs were pulled far enough apart and his head was floating away at such a rate that the pain was joy and he was so sensitive. He felt himself. Rippling. Tight. Squirming. Breathing. Coming.
Ed's cock dragged along his prostate as his hand simultaneously jerked Envy's cock once more.
Envy lost it.
It hadn't taken long. He'd known it wouldn't take long. He was so tight, so wired, so wound up that he'd known he was going to come as soon as they fucked, and the least little touch set him off, caused him to explode.
He felt a hand jerk the headband from his mouth at last and Envy screamed and screamed, breathless, then wheezing.
Tension poured out. Come drenched the sheets.
At some point Ed must've finished, too, though Envy hadn't felt it (or maybe he had felt it, but from inside his own head); distantly, he was aware of something dripping down the backs of his legs and his ass. He reached to wipe the embarrassing tears from his eyes, but he found his arms still bound and slack, bone tired; all his energy had gone with his orgasm.
Envy slumped as much as he could in his position, gasping harshly. His hair was a fucking mess, and someone (Ed, of course; that bastard) was touching it, and the hand on Envy's softening cock was becoming entirely too much to bear.
"Let go," he moaned, because he was too sore and too raw to stand being touched so firmly. His voice had been torn to shreds. Owowowowow, he felt like saying, but he didn't say that, because that would've been fucking weak and pathetic. "Let me the fuck go," he repeated.
Edward was disconcertingly quiet, but then, sex usually left him that way. It left him thoughtful, probably, though it left Envy thoughtless, and feeling sore and excited and hyperstimulated and very, very vulnerable and exposed. He groaned in contentment when he felt the bindings around his arms and legs loosen as they were pulled away. In silent, sighing gratitude, he collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto his back, stroking his chafed wrists and ankles. His healing powers were still good; the minor injuries vanished at his touch.
Envy rolled again, this time onto his side, and grabbed the nearest pillow, murmuring everythings and nothings of old languages into it as—half-deliriously—he wiped his wet eyes and soggy cheeks. He rubbed himself clean on the sheets and his mind didn't bother to acknowledge anything else, didn't bother to focus on anything else, until his muscles had stopped quivering so violently.
The world was getting colder.
This was not a world of endless sunlight. This was a world of mountains and high, thin air. This was a world of shadows and ragged, tattered wisps of grey clouds going by overhead; this was a world that was and was not, familiar and forever lost to time and forever with Envy in every step he took. It was cold and there were things in the evenings that rolled out and leapt and laughed and came back to him, and for one high and perfect instant—like when a light flickers on or a cloud drifts past the moon and leaves it naked—he could see it. Everything, every pain, every year. It felt logical, reasoned out.
And he knew what he had to do.
And then he didn't. The knowledge was gone, slipping through his fingers like so many grains of sand, and a part of him inside cried all over again for it, though his mouth did not move and his eyes were drying.
"I—you need to get clean," Edward said, from some distant place. Like nothing had happened. And in that place, perhaps it had not.
Envy's ears popped, not so much as a sound or as a physical reality, but as a knowing; clouds in his head thinned, transformed, and floated away. Machinations of the mind.
"Wait a minute. There's a ...it's a bathroom, hidden away here. Tub and washing utensils. Be right back."
But Envy wasn't really listening. He understood, in a flash of golden light, that he'd made the right decision. Well, not he himself, but his body and his libido and his spirit, and it hadn't been a decision so much as an impulse, but this course of action had been good. It could've been called instinct; an instinct to fuck or an instinct to act on the bodily urges that had had him coiled tight enough to explode, but whatever it was, he'd done something right. He didn't know exactly what it was or how that worked, only that it had.
And then Envy was on his back, looking up.
Up into the canopy of the bed. Up into that face that was so like and unlike that other face, that face that haunted his dreams and nightmares and now floated before him—all gold and boyish softness and that fucking patronizing concerned expression.
The same face that had been before him as he'd wept.
He wanted to shred it.
"Overload it," Envy murmured. His tongue felt plump, like a giant slug tossing carelessly about his mouth, but the words came out coherently. He heard them.