At My Basest

The wind was colder up a skirt, he decided.
It was freezing out anyways, but the near exposure made it seem even more awful; frigid drafts howling down the cross-street and making his balls want to crawl up inside his body. His ass was freezing, his cock was freezing, it was all he could do to keep his legs spread, inviting.

A lone man slinking down the other side of the street gave him a contemplative once-over, and Edward tried to smile at him. It was a pasted on grin, a desperate slut's leer, and the would-be john turned away and kept walking, pulled his collar up against the wind.

How much longer was this going to fucking take?

Something stirred in the shadows behind him and Edward was instantly at attention, waiting for his master to put yet another damned nail in the coffin.

"Bitch." His brother's silky voice husked, intoxicating even though the words made him want to grind his teeth. "Get over here."

He didn't have to think twice about that. The alley was a haven, in a fucked up sort of way; it was out of the wind and dark enough that no one saw you, or if they did, the code of Central's red light district meant that you didn't pay attention. What happened in an alley, stayed in an alley, and so he didn't mind it (so much) when strong fingers seized his collar, and Alphonse pulled him bodily into himself.

"It's been fifteen minutes." His brother said, opening his coat and folding Edward into it. Edward whimpered at the contact, the sheer heat of another person felt maddening against his chilly front. His outfit was shameless, too skimpy, didn't cover enough; the feeling of Al's chest against his winter-erect nipples was almost too much. They fucking hurt.

"Dammit, I'm trying—"

"Not good enough." His brother said, and released him just as soon as he'd grabbed him, let go of his collar and pushed him away. Edward grabbed at his throat and gasped, felt a little bruised where he had been tugged on. His brother seemed to like it when the leather left marks, a residual token of ownership, even when the collar (by job-dictated necessity) had to be removed.

"Al, it's fucking freezing out." He protested, weakly, as a warm hand snaked its way up the thrice-damned little miniskirt and squeezed, injected heat into his groin in all possible ways. Oh fuck, warmth, that was just what he needed, and a knowing hand flitting over the silk of the panties he was trapped in, finding all the right spots, was wonderful but he didn't want another damned erection.

"Al, please..."

"If you want to get off the street, you'll have to work for the privilege." His brother said again. "Get your ass back out there."

The sting of his brother's hand across his ass was nothing compared to the sting of the wind on his hard-on. He gritted his teeth and stepped back onto the street, feeling like his cock was going to freeze and drop off, feeling like the precome was already icing over on the tip. It couldn't REALLY be this cold out, could it? It was just the damn clothes. Shivering, he forced himself to stand up straight again, thrust his chest forward. It kept his mind off the automail (his automail was uncovered, exposed, where anyone could see it!). Dammit, what the hell was his brother thinking. Nobody was going to pick up a hooker half-metal on a night like tonight. He didn't even want to touch his own limbs, he sincerely doubted anyone else would either. Johns didn't take well to getting their cocks frozen off.

Well, some of them probably did, but they wouldn't be looking down in the Perfumed Quarter for that. Fucking cruel, making him stand out here with the working girls. Edward shivered and loathed himself for going along with this, loathed himself for waving at cars, and most of all loathed himself for loving the predatory way those eyes stared at his ass from the alley, watching his performance, judging it...

A sleek black car pulled closer, slowed. Edward blinked in disbelief as someone started rolling a window down. No fucking way...

"Go check it out." His brother instructed, amused, and Edward had no choice but to follow. Cheeks were burning.

"Hey baby!" Someone called, out through a rear window, and he gritted his teeth. What was going to happen when they figured out he wasn't actually a woman? Hell, what was going to happen if they did know? Hot eyes still staring at his back, though, and he couldn't bear the thought of chickening out. He had his hands free. He could defend himself.


He sauntered forward in the best come-hither way he knew how, feeling like a damned idiot the entire time, garnering a cascade of incoherent babble from the denizens of the automobile. The smell of alcohol hit him long before he actually got close enough to see them, and he paused for a moment, contemplating (still holding his chest up, jutting his hips forward, fuck, at least Al couldn't say he wasn't trying THIS time). Had to decide whether or not it was safe enough to stick his head in. No way to tell if he was going to meet with grabby hands, fingers after his collar...or the business end of a broken beer bottle, if they didn't take well to him being a man.

"Go on." He heard lowly, behind him. "Remember, you have to work for it."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck.

He took a deep breath, and closed the distance.

"Hey, mister." He said. Shit, forgot the falsetto. Alphonse wasn't going to be happy. It didn't seem to matter to the john though, he was still staring at him, smiling at him...


He'd thought he was cold before, but one look at that uniform, that damn familiar eye patch froze his blood in his veins.

Is that Mustang?! Oh hell, that's Mustang... He wanted to shriek. He cast a helpless gaze over his shoulder, but his brother said nothing, gave him no indication that the play was yet over. The General didn't say anything either, merely continued to stare in a slightly off-kilter way. It reminded him of being twelve years old and stupid in his office, hell, of all the people...

"Get in." Mustang's voice was slurred, almost unintelligible from the drink. Did he even recognize him? Maybe he wouldn't even remember—but if he was that far gone he might not even be able to do anything, and he wouldn't get his fee, and that wasn't how the game was played.

He turned away.

"I don't think—"

"Go with it." His brother's voice was low, but just the sound of it (what if Mustang overheard!) made him panic. "Or do you need me to come out there?"

No. He mouthed, horrified. Bad enough if his ex-C.O. realized who it was he was picking up. Worse if he realized that Al was involved.

"Okay, sugar." He purred, remembering the Voice this time, put all his energy into playing for real, so Al wouldn't feel obligated to come participate. "I'll go for a ride with you."

The General didn't even ask him how much. Just leaned over and pawed at the door lock, until his drunken fumbling got too damn annoying and Edward just reached in, unlocked the stupid thing himself. Thank heavens Mustang wasn't behind the wheel, if he was that poleaxed; he doubted the bastard would have been able to get the key in the ignition.

Chauffeured. Damn. He wondered who the driver was. Hoped like hell he didn't know them.

The car was one of the divided kind, though, so it was unlikely the driver could see at all—there was a big sheet of tinted glass between the front and the back, and the tiny window connecting them was currently closed. Edward plopped himself unceremoniously onto leather upholstery; warm, surprisingly comfortable. It was almost too hot in the car now, after having been cold for so long. He hissed at the oppressive stuffiness, the sour scent of alcohol. His ex-C.O. was never one to take his benders lightly.

"Window." Mustang slurred, and pawed over his lap in a feeble attempt to reach the crank; halted then, and brushed over Edward's crotch in ways that he couldn't help but take as lascivious. Oh fuck, if he didn't recognize him, how was he going to react when he found out...he pushed the hand away and rolled the window up fast, heart hammering in his chest. He should get out of the car. He should tell Al the whole scene was over.

But damn, it was warm, and his brother was smiling at him from the alleyway, and he loved it when Al looked at him like that, even though this whole thing was so mortifying; envisioned fingers beneath his collar again and being held fast, rewarded...

Mustang tapped on the connecting glass, the car pulled away, and all he could think of was those eyes, staring out after them.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Edward got bold, reached out with his flesh hand to touch Mustang's knee. Drunk off his ass or not, Al wasn't going to like it if he didn't come home with something.

"What'll it be, sugar?" He said, kneading a bit. Damn, he couldn't believe he was actually saying this. "Starts at five hundred cens."

Mustang's eyebrows lifted up and Edward winced, internally. He knew it was cheap. Al wanted it cheap. You're a slut. He could hear his brother saying in his head, in that adorable, beautifully amused way of his. My little whore.

Just thinking about that was getting him hard, and he cursed himself heartily. He had no idea what Mustang was thinking, right now. He did NOT need a bulge in his skirt.

Mustang's hand flailed drunkenly down, captured his own in a surprisingly crushing grip. Edward stiffened a bit, tried to pull his hand away. He didn't feel safe without his palms free, especially not when he was with an extremely inebriated (bigger!!!) person.

"Fullmetal..." The General stammered, and Edward's heart lurched in his chest again. Fuck. There weren't enough curse words to describe it. He did, in fact, know who he'd picked up.

Maybe he can still forget. Edward thought, mortified. There was half a bottle of scotch lying on the floorboards. He could coerce his ex-supervisor into drinking more of that...maybe he'd have some too, while he was at it, holy hell this was going to SUCK.

"What were you doin' out...street..." The man's usual eloquence seemed to have escaped him, he slobbered around words like a three year old. "Why are you wearin' that..."

Edward paled. Exactly the question he didn't want to hear. "I was out waiting for you, lover." He said, in sing-song, trying to dodge it. The hand holding his migrated higher, to his elbow, he just couldn't get the guy OFF him it seemed... Mustang leaned in closer, looking earnest through the scotch-daze. Edward shuddered.

"If you needed money..." The man said, practically drooling on him. Edward jerked his arm harder, finally regained control of it.

"I'm not really a whore." He said, suddenly frustrated. Anyone else, he could handle. But Mustang?

"Yes, you are." Mustang's eyes were dark. Angry? He lurched forward and wrapped an arm around Edward's waist, yanked him closer in a surprisingly coordinated motion. Edward struggled and kicked, but the General was already halfway on top of him.

He wanted to protest, but there was already a hand beneath this skirt, crawling its way ham-fistededly up his thighs.

"Never do a damn thing you're tol'." Mustang hissed at him. His breath was poison against Edward's face. "'Cept for him. Now look at you. Look at you."

"It's five hundred cens for a handjob." Edward repeated. Fell back on it like a mantra. "A thousand if you want any more."

"You can have the fuckin' money." Mustang snarled, and then he surged forward, and fell on him.

Edward gasped as thick fingers found his cock, twisted around it. He yelped and struggled, but the pressure only grew stronger, started to burn.

"Do you like that, huh?" Mustang hissed, pressing him even harder into the seat cushion. Edward kicked out, trying to get his legs up; it hurt to be lying back at this weird fucking angle. "You WANT to be a whore? You WANT assholes to hurt you?"

"Yes." Edward answered automatically, not caring whether it was true or not. Anything to get the pressure off. Mustang eased up a little and he took the opportunity to squirm away, but the General was not so easily deterred. He jabbed his hands beneath Edward's ass and swung him all the way up onto the seat, straddled him and began biting at his neck.

Edward panted, tried his best to encourage with lips and groans and sighs, but it was difficult, so difficult. Mustang ground against him like he was trying to press the life out of him bodily, and it was all Edward could do just to get air to his lungs.

"Little girlie panties." Mustang snarled, when he got to them, and Edward breathed a sigh of relief as the man rose up so he could yank them down. "Are you clean?" Mustang hissed. Edward nodded the affirmative, and the General flipped him over so fast he saw stars.

"Fifteen hundred cens." He warned, and Mustang's response was a wordless growl.

A stubby finger (thankfully pad first) found his ass, and he willed himself to stay still, try to relax. Mustang's hand slid everywhere, haphazard; he didn't seem to have the control to counter the car's swaying movement.

Where the hell are we going, anyway? Edward wondered briefly. He would have thought they'd park. What does the driver think?

They turned a corner and Mustang almost lost his balance entirely, just about rolled Edward with him.

"Shh, let me handle this, sugar." He said, and took the opportunity to slide out from beneath the General. He patted his blouse hurriedly, looking for the lubricant he knew was stashed in one of the inside pockets. Al always thought of these things, he wouldn't have let him leave the house without it, and really, he didn't at all relish the thought of being fucked raw like Mustang had been after. He found the phial and pulled at it like a lifeline, popped the top off and coated two fingers hastily, before Mustang could get his bearings.

"Watch." He purred, and knelt on the seat, stabilizing himself with his automail. Fuck, the back window wasn't tinted...what if someone could SEE him? Mustang was behaving himself, though, which was a blessing, and he wasted no time preparing. By the time the hands were back on him, he was at least slick, and by the time a thick cock found his ass, he was ready enough that it didn't entirely feel like a hot poker, going in.

It was still absolutely brutal.

"Whore." Mustang accused, pulling his hips back and slamming in hard.

"Yes," Edward sobbed. It burned. Mustang gave him half a second of respite before doing it again, and again. And again. Edward clenched his jaw and forced himself to take it, move with the thrusts and stay open. His cock was weeping beneath him, but there was nothing he could do about it...if he got up on all fours, Mustang would probably fall off.

"You don't want this." Another agonizing thrust, Mustang's entire weight behind it. Edward spasmed and clawed at the leather beneath him, punched a hole in the seat with his automail.

"I do!" He wailed, shifted, encouraged Mustang to go faster. Had to be over soon. Teeth grabbed the back of his collar, and he cried out in shame, buried his nose in the seat. That was Al's. Dammit, Mustang didn't have the right.

It ended a few heartbeat's later, hot breath gasped hard against his neck, hips bucking wildly against his ass. Mustang jerked hard once, twice, then stilled; Edward breathed a sigh of relief. He was going to be sore as hell in the morning. He was grateful when the man released his collar though. Mustang pulled out of him, shakily, and he couldn't crawl away fast enough to fiddle with it. Bastard had managed to turn it out of place, it just didn't feel right facing that direction.

"'m not done with you yet." Mustang mumbled, reaching for him. The car, Edward realized, had stilled at some point. He wondered where they were.

"Okay." He said, still fingering his collar defensively. He was going to need to find some way to get Mustang cleaned up, though, if he expected a blowjob. Maybe another round, when he recovered.

Mustang pulled him in his lap, and began fondling him. Gentler, this time, and slightly more coordinated. Who knew, maybe he'd sweat out some of the craziness.

Another round, then. Edward swiveled around, searching for the phial. There was come leaking down the back of his legs, but that was no substitute for real lube. Mustang made a displeased noise and slapped his hand away though. Instead, cupped his own hand around Edward's balls and began to knead them, gently.

Edward hissed and tensed. Hated himself for liking it. It was fucking mortifying, being treated like the girl he wasn't. Mustang had just ridden him, used him; he didn't have any damn right to be all loving now.

"What do you want?" He snapped, forgetting to be sweet for the moment. There was a hand on his cock now, pumping it lazily. When he spoke, it only moved faster.

"You." Mustang replied, nibbling on an ear. When Edward failed to respond, he nipped and held it.

Fingers seized the collar again, and Edward scrabbled at them, desperately.

"Hold. STILL." Mustang growled around his earlobe, and Edward had no choice but to obey. The man had him by the balls, literally, and oh fuck, he'd been waiting too long. He twisted in the General's grasp but the tightness around his throat reigned him in, he couldn't transmute that off, that belonged to AL...his hips quivered violently, his whole body trembled, and on a breath he didn't think he had left he finally released, sobbing as Mustang bent forward with him, still working his hand over his cock until finally, he was dry.

Mustang pulled him back against his chest and petted him again, though slightly more platonically; Edward quivered and sagged. Didn't want to deal with it. He wanted his brother to be touching him, telling him he was a good little pet, not the bastard, not like this. The car interior was a wreck, come everywhere, splashes of lube, holes in the seat. He wondered if he would be expected to fix it up.

Mustang kissed his cheek and went for the door handle, and Edward was instantly on red alert.

"Come in with me." Mustang said—and no, it wasn't his imagination, the man was definitely more aware. They were at his house, Edward could see that now, and though he really would appreciate a nice long shower and a nap, there was one thing he wanted even more than any of that.

Edward swallowed.

"I can't spend the night with clients." He said.

"Course you can." Mustang said, still sounding a little fuzzy. He attempted to pick Edward up then, and Edward was forced to kicked him away.

Mustang's expression was an ugly thing then, dark and twisted. He stood up and slid out of the car, but somehow, that did not make Edward feel any better.

"I can't spend the night." He said again. "Sorry."

"Who says you can't? You? Or your brother?"

"...m-me." Edward stammered.

"I suppose you want to be driven home, too."

"N-no, I can walk." He said. "To the Eastside. Catch a cab." He started to crawl out despite the tangled mess of his clothing, prepared to make a break for it.

"No." Mustang hissed. "Never mind." He hurled something at him and slammed the door shut; walked to the front of the car, apparently, to talk to the driver.

Edward sat in silence as the car pulled away and piloted itself, ghost-like through the empty streets, looked out the window only occasionally as the scenery changed over into more familiar territory. When they pulled up to Number Nine Lind Street, he simply opened the door and slipped out into the darkness, hustled up the stair with his panties still hanging limp from one leg.

He left everything else exactly as it was, inside the car. Including the last minute present, forgotten on the floorboards. Mustang had given him his entire wallet, but Edward took none of it.

His brother was waiting up for him when he returned, as he'd expected; the foyer lights were burning strong. He did not bother to pull down his rumpled skirt, nor fix his displaced panties. He needed to be punished regardless. Alphonse poked his head out of the living room and smiled at him, a bright, mischievous grin that he knew did not bode him.

"Come here, bitch." He said, and Edward obeyed immediately, trembling. Alphonse's fingers twisted into his collar, and yes, that was what he'd needed to feel; the strong touch of possession, his brother's cool dominance. He would give up the world for his brother, knew his brother would give the world right back to him, it was all okay when Alphonse was the one holding the leash.

His brother's eyes, hands, roamed his disheveled form, and his eyes glittered with amusement.

"You're such a little slut." He pronounced.

"Yes," Edward hissed, eyes sliding shut.

"Come home with come on your thighs." A calculating hand, urging his legs apart. "Panties down around your ankles."

"Yes." He replied. He was hard again already.

"How much were you worth tonight? Five hundred cens? A thousand? You're a cheap slut, that's for sure. Let someone fuck you for a hamburger. How much were you worth, huh?"

"Nothing." He said, almost at a whisper. "I gave it away for free."

A brief, startled pause, and then Alphonse recovered. Licked his lips.

"Not even a whore, then." He rasped, placing a hard, open-mouthed kiss behind Edward's ear. "A toy. A fucking toy."

Edward seized up and mewled, too stimulated to do anything else. "Yes, please..."

"MY toy." Alphonse demanded, and Edward yielded, sunk down to his knees and clung to his brother.

"On your hands and knees." His sibling said, and he complied immediately. Alphonse knelt behind and molded himself around him, running his hands up and down beneath his tiny shirt, the crinkled miniskirt. He touched a finger to Edward's ass, and Edward hissed, wiggled forward unconsciously.

"Are you hurt?" Alphonse asked.

"I can take it." Edward said through gritted teeth.

"Good." His brother said, giving his collar a tug again. "Now spread 'em."

Edward did so on autopilot, already close just from the proximity. This was what he needed, his brother's powerful legs pressed against his, his brother's strong hands gripping him, holding him. Alphonse let up momentarily to get some oil, and Edward clutched at his collar in the interim, pretended it was his sibling reigning him in. Not Mustang. Not Mustang.

"Slut." Alphonse said again, when he saw what Edward was doing, but he allowed it, instead moving to prepare him. Edward hissed and forgot about the collar as a slick finger found its way inside him, dropped his hand back to the floor and braced himself. Alphonse would not be kind, he had come home with nothing. Oiled hands ran over his cock, drove him momentarily crazy, and then Alphonse was entering him on a long, slow burn. He took deep breaths, willed himself to go with it.

"Are you sure you're-"

"Just do it!" Edward hissed, dammit, he didn't want his brother to break character, it was just what he needed; he was dirty, come-covered, a slut if there ever was one, he didn't want caring, he wanted those hot eyes from the alleyway. Alphonse quieted, and then, stilled.

Frowned against his shoulder.

"Toys don't talk back." Alphonse hissed, and drove home, hard.

Edward wailed as his brother pounded into him, thrusting so hard that they both swayed from the force. His flesh hand, his flesh knee, screamed at each impact, it was all he could do to keep on all fours. He was so hard, he wanted to touch himself, but he couldn't risk picking his arm up—pure delicious, torture.

"Close..." His brother gasped, and his rhythm became erratic. "Close!"

Edward whined and thought about touching himself again, but he didn't have the chance because in the next few strokes his brother was coming, on a low groan that had Edward riveted. He could feel it through his back, vibrating down through to his bones.

As sinful, as dirty, as slutty as he was, he had pleased his brother. It felt good.

Alphonse pulled away, panting, and Edward remained where he was, respectful. His cock was screaming at him, but not until Alphonse said so, Alphonse would be mad if he didn't wait.

"Does the toy still want to be played with?" His brother asked, eventually, when he became desperate and started flexing his hips, trying to better showcase his erection. He nodded emphatically and was amazed when his brother deigned to comply, wrapped his hand around and began jerking slowly. There wasn't much left, but when he did come, Alphonse got everything he had left to give.

He collapsed on the floor and just shivered, only dimly aware he was lying in a puddle of his own come. Alphonse's hand trailed slowly down his back and he sighed, relaxed for the first time in weeks. In a bit, Alphonse would bid him rise and they would go to take their shower, take off the collar, and his sins would be his own again. For now...

"Mine." Alphonse said softly.

"Yours." Edward agreed, and he recognized that benevolence, truly, as a gift.