No Protests at All

Roy moaned when automail fingers nudged under his chin, dug into soft skin and forced his head up, and he opened his eyes, shaking, to find far too clear a view of Jean Havoc's crotch.

"Go ahead," Ed whispered from behind him, never breaking his rhythm—only that boundless Elric will could possibly account for the ceaseless, fluid ease of his thrusts. Every one made Roy shake, toes curling helplessly against the carpet; every time hips met ass, the fresh bruises tingled; every time he pulled away, nails raked over tender skin.

Havoc, just watching, was flushed all down his chest and the muscles in his throat, and hard beyond belief.

"I've already come twice," Ed informed Roy, in case the fact had escaped his overloaded mind. And he had—suckered one blowjob out of Havoc, forced a second out of Roy in between spankings. He was sixteen, he was entitled. "I can keep this up for a while." Words came in staccato spurts between thrusts. "You, on the other hand, haven't." Roy didn't have to be reminded of that; he was so hard it hurt, so wildly close to coming just from being fucked that Ed had tied a shoelace around his balls for insurance. Ed liked to strip him naked while he stayed half-dressed, liked to leave him desperate while he was sated. He didn't mind; he loved it, loved losing control and himself and everything to the boy—and, now, to Havoc, whom Ed had dragged into all this. "And you won't until he does."

Slowly the situation seeped into his sex-and-pain-muddled brain. He was panting, ragged gasp with each deep and shattering thrust, red and sweating with his hair plastered round his eyes, all but begging and captive over the coffee table, bound spread-legged and helpless. He could only strain his chin up, plead with his eyes for Havoc's cock.

Oh, yes, Ed had ordered him not to speak, too. Couldn't forget about that. At least he'd taken the gag out now.

"Don't worry," Ed chuckled. "I don't think it'll take long. Go ahead, Jean, you know he likes it."

Not that Havoc seemed to mind either. He'd been uncertain at first, true, but all his protests had been worn away one by one, leaving only a wide-eyed, lax fascination. And Roy, well, Roy had stopped protesting long ago. Blue eyes met gold for an moment over Roy's heaving back, and that huge and sharp grin spread over Ed's face, and they shared a spark of wild, almost mischievous understanding—what it meant to have the Colonel sprawled wanton between them, stuffed full of cock—and then Havoc took Roy's chin himself, slid into his unprotesting mouth, let that famous talent get to work on him, and Roy moaned and whimpered round his cock as Ed sped up, just a little, in reward.

No, no protests at all.