Kimbley wasn't a monster, wasn't a creature that hung beneath the rafters in scary abandoned barns. He wasn't the story parents told their children when they were misbehaving, and he wasn't the vengeful demigod that exacted retribution. No, nothing of the sort, not him.
Zolf J. Kimbley was simply the dark piece that harbored no inhibitions. He was the wicked part of humanity that secretly enjoyed slowing down by an accident to see the carnage, that gasped up at a burning building to smell the decay of burning flesh. He was the one that scanned the news reports to hear who died, who screamed at the war while taking everyone down with him. He was the darkness, the teeth, the savage, the primal instinct. He was everyone.
The power was what called to him, made him think twice, three times, made him stare with electric eyes at the short shit while he trumped around the damn city like he owned it. For one so young, he had to wonder how that Fullmetal twit was so cocky, what gave him the right to be so arrogant. How had he earned it? How many people had he killed?
How badly had he wanted to? Was it the notches on the belt that mattered or the need underneath?
The Crimson Alchemist, in all his demented and tantalizing glory, trailed his tongue over his lips and smiled. People that young, they were fun to manipulate, to play with, to tempt and twist. They were toys still in boxes, unweathered by sun or age or cruelty or hard fists; they were pieces of excitement in all the new and fantastical ways.
Edward Elric was a fanciful new obsession, an action figure still bound to the cardboard by twisted-ties, and Kimbley had to find a way to properly take him out of his packaging, to play with him correctly. Especially after that humiliating defeat upon their lovely meeting.
He wanted to taste the fury, the rage; he could have taken him by bribery, by hostage situations, but who wanted a doe-eyed cow when they could have the thrill of the bucking bull? The force of emotion, that drive to win, to succeed, that's what he wanted to have slipping over his palette like a set of slick oysters. That was what he wanted crush down between his teeth.
Kimbley was haunting the edge of the town, the depths of a lonely alley, while dusk crept long fingers along stone and windows that revealed nothing more than the scenic view of brick. He had left the note, had scrawled it over letterhead from Mustang's desk, had mastered the art of forgery for such an event. Edward surely would have found it, would have questioned why, oh why, his commanding officer would request a meeting off the army's grounds, why he would want to meet him in some dingy alley in the Red Light district. And it was that curiosity that was making that very same alchemist round the corner and march towards the depth of the alley, muttering something about why anyone would want to commune here of all places, at this time, in this dank, fucking smelly place.
But all those angry mutterings died on thin lips as the explosion shook the buildings on either side of them, wracked by a living bomb that stumbled to her knees between them. Blood, pieces of flesh, the smell of burning human matter filled the narrow space, dominated it, and for a moment, shocked amber met thrilled gold.
Come on. Come on, you short little shit! Show me what you've got!
And Edward had intended on just that, his hands clapping, the blade forming out of electricity and metal as he leapt at the other alchemist. From his words came the warcries of someone enraged, someone lost: How could you?! What did they do to you?! Do you get off on this crazy shit, you sick fuck?! unto which Kimbley replied with a smooth, "Yes."
Edward, for being a percentage of metal, was surprisingly fast; Kimbley just barely had enough time to move before that blade was coming at him, slicing through the air with a hunger and a prayer. There was a downswing to such a swipe, and though he danced back far enough, the blue of his uniform darkening his step, a split appeared in the wool fabric.
Kimbley had to admit, he was impressed, almost awed with the fluid movements, the way they twirled and twisted like the tops of flames, but he only had a heartbeat to marvel as he caught the metal arm and twisted it back. He followed the movement, danced behind the shorter alchemist as he fought, as he tried to pull away wildly, an animal caught by the horns. Kimbley's other hand was already drawing an array on the wall, drawing it in the blood of his pretty little bombshell, and once it was red and streaming, he slapped his hands to it, and watched in excitement as cement vines reached out and captured the Elric's wrists, tore them back, and clasped them like an overprotective mother to the wall.
As Edward wailed, kicked his feet, the strength of the automail arm began to force cracks along the cement bonds. Kimbley smirked, picked up a small stone, and after a small flicker (Was it a trick of the eyes, Edward wondered? Was that really alchemy?), it was slipped snuggly into a joint if that metal appendage.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
There was a jerk of the small body, golden eyes widening as smoke started wafting up between the slats of plates. Kimbley could see him trying not to cry out, could see that determination, that pride to keep up pretenses even as he watched the shining fingers twitch and fall dead, numb; shame that he had to go and blow up the electronic nervous system since he thought it might be fun to go ahead and dissect it one day.
Of course, by dissect, he truly meant, blow up each piece to gauge the reaction, but it was all the same scientific studies in his mind.
Fingers curled along the bottom of the younger alchemist's chin, the etched array still warm from the explosions. "You didn't find what you were looking for here, did you?" Kimbley hissed, trailing the pink of his tongue along the length of the sputtering Edward's lips. "Didn't find your precious little Colonel, hmm? Disappointed?"
Fullmetal tried to hide the rage that was running through his face, tried to avoid it, tried to reach his body and his neck out so he could bite the hand and the mouth that taunted him so; he succeeded only in getting a cruel strike of the back of a hand across his cheek. There was a low rumble, something daunting, and he bared his teeth like any animal would. "What do you want? Might as well tell me before I send you back to Headquarters in pieces."
"Hardly a threatening sight like this, are you?" There was a moment of silence as Kimbley nuzzled the long slope of a throat before his teeth brushed over the sweet skin. Sinned skin, but so beautiful, like his own. Fingers started to reached for the clothing, tearing the pants open, sending the button skittering onto the dirty alley ground, nails scratching at the tantalizing area beneath the navel as he started to pull the pants and underclothing down. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
And Edward had an idea, but he wouldn't say, wouldn't dare to think it. He looked away, thinking of Al, of the stupid Colonel, of the pies his mother used to make and set on the windowsill—
His head snapped to the side as another slap crashed against his face. "I said, do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
"Rape me, you sick fuck!" Edward screamed, feet kicking for a moment, but they couldn't move far with the pants around them like bonds. Kimbley ducked down under his line of sight, but he could feel the wall moving with the alchemy, could see the flash of light, and he knew his limbs were captured in cement much like his arms had been.
"No. No. I'm going to own you." The warm hands slid over narrow hips, up beneath his shirt; he could feel the hammering of the heart, feel the rage as it pushed adrenaline through narrow veins, and it was exciting. "Now, if you like having your tongue inside your mouth, I might suggest you stop with the yelling; it really is a mood killer. Well, at least in public, anyway."
Edward resigned to growling again, knowing that in this part of town, people didn't really stop for those that screamed, didn't give a damn outside of their own realm of existence. "I swear, I'm going to fucking kill you after this. I swear it!"
"Get in line." Kimbley opened the shirt, taking a bit more care than when he had worked the pants. The narrow chest, scarred from the port and the savageness of the loss of limb, fluttered with each rapid, panting breath, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in, lapping at it, running his tongue over the slopes of hard collarbones to the hollow of the throat. The heart worked so close, and he wondered what it tasted like, what heart-blood tasted like because it ran so much darker than the rest of it.
Teeth clamped down on a nipple, the tongue flicking over the tip, while his eager hands played with the opposite. The skin was starting to taste of sweat, of fear, and it's how he wanted it, craved it. There, there, pretty little mouse. You're going to make a fine meal. And when younger alchemist moved, his teeth clamped down harder, threatening, that silent threat: Want to be scarred even more, brat?
Edward writhed, tried to melt into the wall, into the items that held him so tightly; he didn't want to think about this, about how Kimbley's nails ran down his chest, down his hips, gripping them mercilessly. He didn't want to think of the bloody half-moons appearing on him, how they stung and burned, didn't want to think of the way his length was being pushed and rubbed against the starched and ironed fabric. He didn't want to think of how broad the grin was over the lunatic's lips, or the anticipatory light in his golden eyes.
But it was impossible not to think of it, not to dream of it even in the recesses of his mental safe place when he saw another bright flare, and cold stone was wrapping around the base of his cock, tight, hard. Amber eyes widened as the younger alchemist looked down, saw the long curve of brick that had been transmuted, the way it jutted from the wall and wrapped an inhuman hand around the base of his length. This was humiliation, this was cruel, this was fucking nuts!
"NO!" Edward shrieked, frothing and spitting at the mouth.
Laughing, Kimbley reached down and after tearing the younger's underwear from the captured ankles, he reached up and shoved them into the other's mouth. "I warned you about your volume, didn't I?" he purred, delighting in the panic, in the sheer will to fight in those irises, in those rapid movements. "Now, let's see if that can help."
Fingers trailed down, over the captured tip that was red, teasing the hole at the end, before dipping down beneath to cup the sack, rolling it slowly in his hands. He could hear the muffled breathing, the growling and groans of disgust, of losing, and it spurred him on. He smirked as he leaned forward, as he drew his tongue over the side of the alchemist's face, then hissed, "Mine, little mouse."
The older military man dipped out of view again, and Edward was marginally thankful; he missed the way the bomber's fingers dipped into the blood of his earlier victim after he had relieved himself of his pants, missed the way he painted it over his length, making it slick. Kimbley closed the distance again, felt their mingling music of heartbeats as he pressed, chest to chest, and guided his arousal towards the younger's entrance.
He was delighted to see the bitter tears in the blonde's eyes as he pushed in, hard, down past the muscle that was so tight that it hurt something fierce, and into the fire that was his body. Pride was broken, was gone, and this was base, simple, savory defeat. He panted, forehead resting on the cold metal of one shoulder, and he could feel the way that Edward's chest hiccupped, shuddered with each breath.
"A virgin," he hissed as his hips pulled out, away, before slipping forward, thrusting and drawing another blocked scream. "How cute."
His thrusts built momentum; with every tear that slid down the Elric's cheek, Kimbley spurred faster, harder, deeper, until the alleyway echoed with the sound of slapping skin and incomplete sobs. Hands clutched to the hips, held them in place as he drew closer, as the climax built, as his nerves sang with the relief that would be coming so soon, so damn soon. He buried his head under the other's chin, pressed his lips and teeth to the throat, delighting in how the blood was tacky, dried, and he was fucking him, taking him, owning him raw.
Kimbley moaned, growled, bit the offered Adam's Apple as he came inside Edward's body, thrusting one final time deep and hard. His nerves sang with the pleasure, tingling down his spine, in his toes, in his fingers, and he wondered if any time had been as thrilling as this. He blinked lazily, purring against the flesh while he pulled free of the body, watching at his release ran down the delicious, trembling thighs. The bonds receded with a clap after he had donned his pants, and he watched with some moment of glee as the nude alchemist dropped to his knees, his golden eyes so distant, so far away.
Poor thing's in shock. Perfect.
Arrayed palms ruffled the golden hair as Kimbley strolled to the mouth of the alley. "Tell your dear Colonel I said 'hello'. He was almost as good as you were."
"You do realize the weight of the allegations that you are stating, don't you?"
Edward growled, his hands shaking, fisted as he nodded. He'd go to court. He'd be humiliated with this, go the distance as long as that bastard hung for his crimes, burned for what he did to him among other people. And oh! if only he could be there for it, be the one to douse the sonofabitch in the gasoline before dropping the match! If only he could be the one that made sure that this never happened to anyone else again!
Archer looked over the written report in his hands, before raising his eyes to the boy in front of him. "And do you have any proof?"
It was an effort not to run across the desk and strangle the bastard where he sat so smug. "It's in your hand, sir," Edward hissed.
"This is just a testimony, your word against his." The manila folder was closed, pushed away, and the military officer tilted his chin up. "Do you have anything concrete? His clothing? His hair? A witness?"
"There was a dead fucking body in the alle—"
"Which could have been left by anyone." Archer smirked a little as he leaned back in his posh leather seat. "You don't have a case here. As far as I can tell, you had kinky sex that you regretted in the light of morning. Sound about right?"
There was a twitch in Edward's cheek, a single one, before he dove at the desk. "You bastard!"
The cool metal barrel that stared down into oblivion was cocked and readied at Edward's forehead before another movement, another sound could be made. "I would watch it if I were you. I could have you locked up for assaulting an officer, and we don't want that, now, do we?"
Edward stopped, his hackles rising, before he growled and backed away towards the exit. I'm going to kill you, his look said, but before his lips could get him in trouble, he was slamming the door behind him.
Kimbley came out from where he had been standing behind the curtain in some Hamlet mockery. Slick, tattooed hands slid down Archer's shoulders as he leaned over the chair and pressed his lips to the crown of dark hair.
"You need to be more careful in your conquests," the pale man chastised, and he listened as The Crimson Alchemist above him laughed.
"What fun would that be then, my dear?"