He couldn't put it in any simpler terms, he had missed this.
There was a rhythm to the way bodies slid and crashed together that was comforting; limbs twined and untwined, clenched and clawed, felt like home. Alfons tried to get his hand around Ed's weaker prosthetic wrist, missed his mark, and Ed inverted the action easily, trapped Alfons's hand with his own instead. He hooked a leg behind Alfons's knee and flipped him over on the mattress; the old springs made a noise like a shot. Alfons's body was hot beneath him and he grinned, then grimaced: he had gotten too cocky, and his friend's hand had found purchase in his ponytail, was pulling as if to yank it off.
"Ow, fuck, let off the hair!" he hissed, and Alfons gave him an impish grin, took advantage of Ed's momentary weakness and shoved. Ed yelped and tumbled sideways, clawed blindly at Alfons's shirt for a second before relinquishing his hold.
Belatedly, he remembered there was aspects of wrestling he did not care for quite so much.
"Hair's off-limits," he complained as Alfons attempted to roll him the rest of the way over. Honestly, if they were fighting fair, his friend wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell. As it was, he merely had a snowball's chance in a blast furnace.
Slim fingers pressed urgently against his wrist again, and he twisted out of Alfons's grip without even thinking about it. It was so easy to break his hold. Almost embarrassingly so. But Alfons had never had anyone his age to horse around with, Edward thought, and as cerebral as he was he probably didn't get in many street fights. This world was rough sometimes, but not so rough that an academic had to know how to slip out of a half-Nelson, and certainly none of the scholarly-types wasted lunch breaks outside tussling on the green. When he and Al had lived with Izumi, sparring had practically been law. Here, they took a whole different attitude to the connection between mind and body.
Alfons struggled to twine both his legs around one of Ed's, and Ed, feeling gracious, let him. A hold like that felt secure, but Ed knew for certain that if he wanted to get free, he could easily flip Alfons over. Alfons didn't know how to brace himself right. He had half a mind, actually, just to chuck him off the bed and be done with it, but that might make the other boy go off and sulk. Well, at least, it would make HIM want to go off and sulk, and that was the only basis he had for comparison. Al he'd certainly never won a fight of King of the Bed against. Either way, he didn't want the fight to end just yet. He hadn't had this much fun in ages.
Having secured a tentative grasp on Ed's lower half, Alfons seemed content to just hold still and gloat for the moment. He wiggled closer and wrapped an arm around Ed's neck, pretty uselessly in Ed's estimation. He raised his head up and raised an eyebrow at the man, silently asking "what the hell?", and got a sheepish look back, a questioning look. Yeah, sure, you got me good, Ed snorted to himself, and barely resisted rolling his eyes. So easy. It was surprising it was fun to fight with the guy, when this was so easy. At any time, he could sit up and eat Alfons for breakfast.
Alfons seemed to think the opposite was true. He tilted his head down, and bit gently down on the exposed skin at the base of Ed's neck.
"Shit! No biting, either!!!" Annoyance snapped within him like a livewire, and he used his leg like a lever to throw Alfons over himself, a bit more forcibly than he'd originally planned. The man hit the bed with a surprised "oof" and unfortunately released his hold, tumbled a bit and smacked a hand against the headboard. As was entirely predictable, he also started coughing.
"Oh, for the love of—you okay!?" Ed sat up and offered Alfons a hand, all other upset forgotten in his concern. Shit. That was entirely his fault; he had known how fragile the guy could be. Losing control, like an idiot. If his teacher had seen that, she would have kicked him through a wall.
Alfons held up a hand, though, signifying that he was not yet done coughing his lungs out, and Ed had no choice but to scoot to the edge of the bed and give him some breathing space, feeling entirely like a stupid little brat of a kid being punished. He kicked his legs off the edge irritably, hated the fact that his feet didn't quite touch the floor, too, and was generally stewing until something soft and warm came close and molded itself around his back.
"We should probably knock it off, already," he grumbled at Alfons, twisted gently to one side to ward the other man off. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Alfons's arms went right back to where they had been, wrapped around his chest. He was pressed so close, Ed could feel the man's shaky breathing through his back.
"I already got hurt," Alfons pointed out. "Why don't you make it up to me?"
Ed shivered a little, feeling strangely uncomfortable with Alfons's knees squeezing in on his hips like that. Alfons's words, when he talked, whispered against the side of his neck and made his skin tingle.
"What more do you want?" He asked, opting for bravado to distract himself from the nameless disquiet. "I was already letting you win. If I didn't hold back you'd be a smear on the rug."
"Just hold STILL for a sec," Alfons breathed, and his hands moved in slow circles on Ed's chest, down his sides, up his belly. He leaned closer still and opened his mouth, but no words came forth. He pressed his mouth to Ed's neck, and bit gently again.
There was an immediate, hot rush of blood down his belly, and all of Ed stiffened along with his groin.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, He gasped, aware that his eyes had to be bugging out, and grasped reflexively at Alfons's wandering hands, trying to stop them.
"Easy there," Alfons said, almost warningly, and Ed, momentarily weak, obeyed him. Alfons's touch was relentless, fingers slipping between gaps in his shirt, ignoring saner things like buttons and hooks and burning sense in their wake. His hands rode lightly on top of Alfons's surging arms, not quite able to summon the power to clench them.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. In his head like a mantra, and there was a hand sliding lower, and very vaguely he was aware that was exactly what they were doing, fucking. Being fucked. Losing control. His erection throbbed in his pants, but what frightened him more was the rest of it. He was warm, quivering all over. He was aware of every inch of Alfons pressed against his body.
Alfons savaged his throat with his teeth, tongue, and Ed could not help but tip his head back just as one questing hand slid lower. He let out a strangled shout and Alfons swallowed it, pulled his head up and captured Ed's mouth with his own.
"There," Alfons said, when they drew apart for air. "See? That's what I wanted from you. Not so bad, hm?" His tone was mild, but he looked far too pleased with himself, smug in a way that five minutes ago might have encouraged Ed to put him in a friendly headlock. Right now, he wasn't sure he could trust himself to do that much. His body was a strange and volatile thing all of a sudden, reacting with violence to such simple contact. It worried him. Ed shook his head dumbly and was surprised as Alfons caught an earlobe between his lips, nibbled on it harshly until it screamed out like the rest of him. Even his ears were betraying him.
Alfons scooted backward and pulled on Ed's hips, obviously wanting him to follow. Ed was torn between bolting and obeying. In the space of a few minutes, his friend had gone from a soft, defenseless creature to one with strength, seemingly infinte power over Ed's own body. It was terrifying. It was nerve-wracking.
It was impossibly, impossibly enticing.
He took a deep breath in through his nose, held it, willed himself to calm down and then followed, scooting dutifully toward Alfons in the center of the bed. He tried to remember what his teacher had taught him about facing an unknown situation. The worst thing you could do was lose control of yourself, she had always said, because *you* are the only thing you are guaranteed to control in a situation. She had recommended focusing one's concentration, and utilizing zen breathing. Well, Ed was pretty damn focused, and it wasn't doing a hell of a lot of good. He turned to see that Alfons was licking his lips, and bam, there went the control of the breathing. He was panting like a dog in August.
"Well? Get over here already," Alfons said in a husky voice, and Ed tried to pretend all his blood wasn't tied up in his groin.
"Okay," he said, and gingerly moved until his side was brushing up against Alfons's.
Alfons seemed annoyed, though, when Ed didn't immediately do...well fuck, what was he supposed to do? Ed watched, stupefied, as Alfons leaned back and arched his chest upward, rolled his hips up off the bed.
"Touch me," Alfons said finally, and Ed reeled, aghast. His skin looked so soft...if Ed attacked his chest the way Alfons had attacked him, he'd be more likely to mar it. He licked his lips, considering.
"Edward..." Alfons's tone was bordering on exasperation. Not sure what else to do, Ed reached out with his flesh hand and pressed it, shakily, to his friend's chest.
The look on Alfons's face was priceless, but not in a good way. Ed felt what was left of his confidence curl up and wither inside him.
"I, uh," he stuttered, "I'm sorry..."
Alfons grabbed hold of his arm suddenly, and pulled.
He reacted on instinct to keep himself from falling, fisted his other hand in Alfons's shirt and pulled back. Too nervous, he pulled harder than he needed to, and they both toppled over, fell next to each other on the mattress. Alfons surged toward him and shoved at his hips, and Ed growled and fought back, used his superior strength to knock Alfons flat. He didn't screw around this time, rolled all the way on top and pinned the idiot properly. He was tired of feeling so useless. THIS, this he knew.
Alfons hissed and squirmed beneath him, sending a new rush of heat down Ed's front. When Ed froze, he opened his eyes and looked up at him.
"Yes, keep going," he urged. "Like that."
He was momentarily confused but brushed it aside, focused on the facts. Apparently Alfons liked losing a fight, as ridiculous as that seemed. Well, Alfons was already pinned beneath him, it wasn't like he could get any MORE immobile, but Ed felt compelled to do something. That in mind, he slipped a leg between Alfons's and squeezed, used the strength of his thighs to emphasize his hold.
"Yes," Alfons hissed, and encouraged, Edward ground his body hard against the man beneath him, pressing him hard into the mattress.
And funny he had thought he had control over Alfons. He dominated him, physically, with every inch of his body, but the noise Alfons made then made him feel like kneeling at the man's feet. He realized he wanted Alfons to do things to him, again. He could use those hands on his front again.
Thinking about it made him want to try touching Alfons, too. Figuring that Alfons wasn't going to fight him, he risked rising up enough to slide a hand down to the man's chest. So soft. His fingers trembled a little, brushing over a flat nipple, prominent even through the cloth. What would it be like to touch that directly? What would it be like to feel Alfons without a shirt in the way, could he actually stand it—
Belatedly, he realized that Alfons had wriggled his free hand between them and was unbuttoning his shirt.
It became a blur.
They tore at each other's clothes like they'd forgotten how clothes worked, tugging at parts haphazardly. Skin was revealed, skin, skin, skin, and Ed was aware that he should not be this fascinated, but it felt so wonderful, under hands, lips, tongues, everything...he was lost in the taste and scent of it, buried his face against Alfons and gasped for air that would not come. They moved against each other in a different kind of give-and-take, fighting to claim territory from beneath vile clothing, that horrid oppressor. Ed thought he might have bitten a button at one point, but it didn't matter because Alfons's tongue was in his mouth not long after, and though the first time he had nearly gagged, the next many times had proved surprisingly pleasurable. It was also likely all the blood in his body had relocated permanently to his lower half, and he wondered if that was why he felt so damn light-headed.
He was on top now by only the barest of definitions, teetering unstably on Alfons's left side. Alfons seemed to like him there, though, and made angry grabbing motions when he tried to shift away, so Ed did his best not to fall off. Eventually, he hit upon the idea of scooting over to rest all of his weight on Alfons's hips, and that worked much better. It was impossible not to want to want to move, though, and he found himself shaking from restraining himself.
Alfons didn't like that either. "What are you doing?" Alfons hissed. "Here—"
A hand snaked up and clenched his ass, tugged him lower.
His cock, which was already aching, was suddenly and violently pressed against a hard lump that pressed back, and he lost coherency completely, bucked his hips reflexively against it. Oh fuck, it felt good to have something to rub on. Alfons surged underneath him and they momentarily missed each other; Ed growled and pinned Alfons's hips down with his arms. He forgot about breaking him, forgot about everything but how fucking good Alfons felt beneath him. He wanted—oh hell, but he wanted—
Alfons shuddered suddenly and let out a long, high wail, and Ed ached so badly he wanted to scream, too. He was so close, how could Alfons have come first, oh hell—He ground his nose against Alfons's chest and pleaded, wordlessly, for release.
Alfons, limp and panting, thumped an arm against Ed's hip. It took a few tries before Ed realized Alfons was trying to get his attention.
"First drawer...on the right side." Alfons said.
Language was difficult, but he managed a syllable. "Huh?"
"There's a bottle in my dresser. Go ahead..." He looked up, and Alfons's smile was tired but brilliant. "You deserve it."
He didn't know what Alfons was talking about, but that smile promised something, and he certainly didn't want to keep talking. He struggled to find his legs and half fell across the room to Alfons's dresser, pawed about in the man's underwear until his hand closed on something hard with a cork in it.
"Right," Alfons said, and Ed turned to realize that his roommate was now lying naked completely naked, a far cry from how Ed had left him, with his pants still caught up on his knees and boxers sopping in the front. Ed almost dropped the bottle.
Alfons rolled his eyes and reached for it, and Ed crawled back on the bed and handed it over immediately, anxious to please. "Take your pants off," Alfons instructed, and when Ed was too busy choking over his own spit to comply, he sat up and unfastened them himself. If Ed had thought he was hard before, his cock could probably now cut diamonds.
Alfons uncorked the bottle and poured a copious amount of clear liquid—oil, apparently—onto his hand, then matter-of-factly wrapped said hand around Ed's cock, stroking pure fire up Ed's spine.
"Oh fuck..." he growled, feeling like he was in severe danger of falling on his face. Alfons relented, applied more oil to his fingers—and put them in another place entirely. Ed was not sure if he should be surprised or horrified, watching Alfons's digits disappear into his own body. He settled for turned on beyond belief. His brain was well enough to work out basic engineering problems, as long as Alfons wasn't touching him. And the oldest instructions in the book ran this way: insert Tab A into Slot B.
"Okay," Alfons breathed finally, and lifted his ass up enticingly toward him. Ed lowered himself onto his elbows and poked his erection forward eagerly, lined up, missed, lined up, missed; until Alfons got tired of it and reached down to help guide him.
"Sorry," he apologized reflexively. Alfons gave him a pained smile.
"Don't be. Just let me do it."
He let Alfons push him back against the mattress and straddle him, gripping his erection in a way that almost hurt. He watched, transfixed, as he lowered.
There were no words.
Alfons was even warmer and softer on the inside than the out, gripped him so tight he wanted to howl. The process took aeons, how could he be going so slow, this was agony.
Oh fuck oh fuck he was inside Alfons, he wanted to go faster, he wanted to move—
"Move," Alfons ordered finally, and Ed had never been so relieved to have someone bossing him around in his life.
And it was tight and hot and oh so perfect, and he wasted no time thrusting into it, lost. He wanted to worry about Alfons's comfort, but he didn't have the mind for it, he didn't HAVE a mind, it was just wonderful and he was so close and he thought he might cry. Each time he withdrew even a tiny bit he missed it; each time he pressed back, Alfons made a little noise that went straight to his groin, which was already screaming, and it became more with every. single. stroke.
It was, all told, quite possibly the best two minutes of his life.
Later, after Ed had scraped the remnants of his brain into a neat little pile and gotten it running again, Alfons convinced him to leave the bed long enough to take a shower. With Alfons in it. THAT had blown his mind all over again, and left him even more ready for bed than before, so he wound up staggering back to the bedroom without even a towel, sopping wet and exhausted, ready to just lay down and die. Or at the very least, sleep for a year. Alfons followed him and thwapped him lightly, on the ass, for getting the covers wet, but the affectionate way he toweled Ed off told Ed he was forgiven. He sincerely hoped so, at least. He would lay down and die for sure if he never got the chance to use the dresser-drawer bottle again.
Alfons pulled the covers up around them and pulled Ed to his chest, humming a nameless tune. He had an extremely smug smile on his face, and for once, Ed was too tired to contest it.
"Well?" Alfons asked, nibbling affectionately at one of Ed's ears.
Ed rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, you win. I believe you."
Remind him never, ever, to challenge Alfons to a fight ever again. It wasn't really that he was stronger...the bastard just didn't fight FAIR.