Kagome (_newworld) wrote,

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[Fullmetal Alchemist] Never Trust a Xingese Prince - Ling/Ed

Title: Never Trust a Xingese Prince
Author: Kagome
Series: Brotherhood/the manga
Word Count: 7,908
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Ling/Ed, with an appearance of Greed the second.
Summary: The problem here is that he gives in far too easily.
Warnings: boysex, bondage (obviously), language, pitiful attempts at humor.
Notes: This is my first time writing this pairing. *LOL* Major shoutouts to bob_fish, enemytosleep, and vwl, who write these two so much better than me. I hope you all get a laugh out of reading this, at least (and there’s porn, too)! Written for Prompt 78: Handcuffs, over at fma_fic_contest. It didn’t even place, but I had fun with it anyway. ^_____^

Never Trust a Xingese Prince

This is a not-good idea, Edward thinks, not for the first time. This is a very not-good idea. He knows this—knew it from the start, but here he is all the same, handcuffed to this cheap, lumpy hotel bed that squeaks with even the slightest of movements. According to their bill for the night, it seems that the hotel staff would have them believe the beds found within these rooms are the best beds that have ever been made. Ed can’t bring himself to attempt to believe such a presumption—his back is beginning to hurt already, and he’s only been lying on the bed for a grand total of about five minutes.

Of course, the fact that his arms are stretched somewhat uncomfortably above his head might have something to do with it. Metal is currently encircling both his flesh-and-blood wrist and his automail wrist, the chain connecting the cuff is looped around a couple of the railings of the wooden headboard, and Edward has already learned that trying to break the links with his automail arm doesn’t work, and he’s also learned that no ability to clap means no circle, which means no alchemy.

He curses under his breath whilst Ling smiles sweetly at him, teasingly walking the fingers of his left hand along Ed’s chest; Ed’s shirt is between them, so for the moment, there is no skin-on-skin contact. This frustrates Edward too, but he’ll be damned if he lets Ling know that.

“You’re acting like you’re already regretting the decision to let me have my way with you,” Ling drawls, and his fingers meet skin for a moment, right above the neck of Edward’s shirt.

“I regretted the decision even before I made it, I think,” Edward grits out, glaring up at Ling as he wriggles a bit, straining against the cuffs. It’s useless, of course, and Ed is left wondering why in the hell the wooden headboard seems to be reinforced with steel when the framework itself feels like it could possibly collapse at any moment.

How did he get himself into this, again?


Not ten minutes before, Ling sidled over to Edward (Ed can always tell Greed and Ling apart, even from a distance—Greed’s gait is more of a swagger, while Ling’s is more of a slink; sometimes the man is as graceful as a panther, and sometimes he is… well, anything but) and nudged him, all suggestive smiles and naughty eyebrow waggles, and Ed narrowed his eyes at him skeptically.

“What?” Ed asked, barely resisting the urge to take a few steps away from the prince. He’s learned that, at times, the dork can be just as unnerving as Greed. Sometimes, he can be almost as untrustworthy, only for different reasons.

“I have an idea,” Ling began, and before he could finish, Edward was already denying him, knowing without a doubt that Ling’s idea would revolve around sex, and Ed was tired—teenage hormones be damned. He planned to spend the entire night sleeping and enjoying it, nevermind that the comfort of the mattress seemed questionable. He hadn’t tested it out yet… but the bed on Ling’s side of the room looked a little less lumpy. They could always change sides, right?

(And he wouldn’t let Ling sleep with him—not this time; he’d already woken up one too many times to Greed’s sneers and general mind-fuckery.)

“You’re not even going to let me finish?” Ling demanded, sounding shocked that Ed would just interrupt him like that. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide, a small frown adorning his lips.

“No,” Edward replied, quickly and easily, waving at Ling as if he were a bothersome fly instead of another human being (well… mostly human). “When you look at me like that, it’s either because you want food or sex.” There was a pause as Edward reconsidered, and then made an addendum to his statement: “Or you want to cuddle up beside me and stick your damn cold feet on my non-automail leg.”

“Hey, your automail gets colder than my skin,” Ling pointed out, and then added onto his statement as well: “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to shove you away when you decide that you want to cuddle.”

Edward’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t cuddle,” he half-snarled, and it was a lie, but he was protecting his manhood, damnit. Men (teenaged boys… whatever) just don’t cuddle.

Ling lightly tapped Ed on the nose. “Whatever you say. We’ll pretend that Greed didn’t wake up with your nose shoved against our neck the other morning, if that’s what you want.”

At this, Ed blushed even darker, and let out a noise that was very close to a most undignified squeak. “I did not have my nose shoved against anyone’s neck!” And then, much quieter, “It was supposed to be you, by the way.” Realizing that they were getting horribly off-topic and their conversation was heading dangerously close to very embarrassing aspects of their… relationship, or non-relationship, or whatever the fuck it was… Edward tried desperately to steer the conversation back in the correct direction. “So anyway, what is it that you want? Food, sex, or cuddles?”

He already knew the answer, but he decided to let Ling say it anyway.

“Sex,” Ling admitted, and the word rolled easily (and admittedly, quite sexily) off of his tongue, and he gave Ed that look—the one that would typically have Ed saying ‘yes’ to nearly anything within a matter of moments.

‘Typically’ did not equate to ‘tonight’. Ed would refuse, flat-out.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ed warned, pointing the index finger of his automail hand at Ling. “It’s not going to work, Ling—not tonight. I’m full and I’m clean and that stupid bed doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but I’m going to have a good night’s sleep on it regardless.”

“You can have a good night’s sleep after,” Ling replied, giving Ed a deceptively innocent look. Rather, it would have perhaps been deceptive if Edward didn’t know that Ling was just about anything but innocent. Unluckily for Ling, his smile would not work.

“No,” Ed repeated, shaking his head as if that would help Ling get the message. Unluckily for Ed, the twelfth prince of Xing was (is, and always will be) a stubborn bastard.

“Let me just show you what I want to try,” Ling said, and his tone was now bordering dangerously close to a whine. “You’ll like it.”

Edward huffed and frowned deeply, but he said nothing. Ling took the lack of an answer to mean that he had been given permission, and from behind his back, he produced a pair of handcuffs. Edward’s eyes widened. “Where did you get those, and what in the hell do you think you’re going to do with them?!”

“Call them a…” Ling trailed off for a moment, as if searching for a word, and then he smiled again. “A novelty. I thought we could just do something exciting and different and… what is it?” He paused again, said something in Xingese, and then in Amestrian: “Kitty? I thought it would be something kitty for us to try.”

“Kinky,” Ed automatically corrected, rolling his eyes at Ling’s mistranslation. He really wondered more often than not if the other teenager just said the wrong shit like that on purpose.

“Whatever. I thought it would be nice, anyway.” Ling This-Is-Your-Personal-Bubble-And-I-Am-In-It Yao moved even closer to Edward, nuzzling at his neck and making Ed’s frown deepen all the more. “Think about it, Ed.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it.” Cuffing Ling to the opposite bed and gagging him so that Ed wouldn’t have to hear his whining while he was trying to sleep was beginning to seem like a pretty good idea, honestly.

“You’re not thinking about it in the same way I am,” Ling replied, sounding disappointed. He pressed his lips to that spot just below Ed’s ear, and much to Ed’s own chagrin, he found himself shivering a little at the sensation, goosebumps popping up all along his flesh.

“Ling. No.” Edward figured that maybe if he repeated it enough, it would get through the stupid prince’s thick skull.

“Ed. Yes.”

Or, maybe it would just make him that much more determined.

Ling kissed along Edward’s jaw. “I wanted to see what it would be like to have you a little helpless underneath me is all. I promise I won’t do anything that you wouldn’t want me to do. I promise I’ll be really good to you.” He emphasized the ‘really good’ with a nip to the corner of Edward’s lips and a light touch to Ed’s right inner thigh. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ed bit back a moan, and tried to give Ling a menacing glare. He figured it didn’t work when Ling only laughed softly and leaned in to capture Ed’s lips with his own. Sometimes, their kisses were hurried and sloppy, but this one wasn’t: Ling took his time, exploring Ed’s mouth fully, and this time, Ed couldn’t bite back his moan. It escaped him and Ling swallowed it greedily (which was all in all quite appropriate), tangling the fingers of his free hand into the mess that was Ed’s sloppily-done ponytail.

“I’ll let you do the same to me afterwards, if you want,” Ling continued in that same sultry tone, lips not quite leaving Edward’s. “And then we can sleep all we want. Or at least until Darius and Heinkel knock very loudly on the door and demand that it’s time for us to get moving again.”

Ed tried to push himself away (he really did, really), but only wound up pressing his body closer to Ling’s, noting very quickly that he was not the only one who was becoming aroused here. He made a sound low in the back of his throat.

“Is that an agreement?” Ling queried, and Ed could feel that stupid victorious smile spreading across the prince’s stupid face. Why in the hell did Ed always let the other teenager win? Why?

Ed said neither yes nor no—he simply leaned in for another kiss, which Ling gave him, though this time it was Ed’s tongue that was doing the exploring and not Ling’s. Hell, Ed was fighting a losing battle anyway, why shouldn’t he have a little fun before losing entirely?

Ling canted his hips just so, making Edward hiss, low and wanting now. Maybe needing, too, but damnit, Ed had already said too much without saying much of anything at all, hadn’t he?

“I do wish you’d answer me, Ed.” Ling drew back a little, dangling the cuffs between them, his free hand deftly cupping and teasingly rubbing Ed’s growing erection through his trousers. “Hmm?”

Maybe it was the way Ling spoke to him, or maybe it was the way Ling kissed him or touched him. Maybe it was the way Ling put delicious images into his mind. Maybe it was because Ling was just as stubborn as him. Maybe it was because Ling promised that he would let Ed get some much-needed sleep later.

Whatever the reason (though Ed admitted to himself that he believed it had more to do with the touching and the kissing and the mental images more than anything else), Ed found himself acquiescing to the other’s request, although he tried to do so begrudgingly (he kind of completely failed in that department, and his answer wound up being a bit more breathy and a bit less forceful than he’d hoped).

They toppled onto the lumpy, uncomfortable bed together – the one that Ed had decided was his own – and for a moment, they were all wandering hands and hot, wet mouths, until Ling grabbed the cuffs again and gestured for Edward to hold his hands above his head.

Ed did so, but only after a somewhat lengthy hesitation. “If you do anything stupid, I can still kick you in the face,” he warned, but this, too, came out much less forceful than he intended.

Ling chuckled. “Deal,” he replied, before leaning down and kissing Ed yet again.


Ling’s fingers dipping under the neckline of Ed’s shirt bring Ed back to the present, away from his thoughts of how the hell did I get myself into this position?, because he knows—knows that it has everything to do with Ling’s goofy smile and his stupid laugh and his lingering kisses and his heated touches and all those other inane qualities that makes Ling essentially himself and no-one else. Nevermind that he’s sharing his body with a homunculus, an intruder. The one leaning over him right now, touching him and teasing him, is Ling.

“You seem distracted,” Ling notes, though he doesn’t sound or look offended. “You were saying that you regretted this decision before you even made it—something like that. How is that possible?”

“I was just wondering how I managed to get myself into this situation is all,” Edward replies with a semi-glower as he tests his bonds again, metal rattling against wood. “I think it had something to do with you being a sneaky ninja bastard.”

“Now, now,” Ling lightly admonishes, sliding his right hand under Edward’s shirt and pressing his palm flat against his belly, “no need for such language.”

Ed ignores the scolding (or whatever it is) for the most part, focusing instead on the way Ling’s fingers are currently resting against his stomach, frustratingly motionless. “As for the regret… I don’t know. It’s kinda one of those things that I knew would be a bad idea but I got roped into it by you and your fucking groping.”

“‘Fucking groping’?” Ling’s hand has moved upwards now, and his fingers are teasingly circling a nipple, making Ed squirm beneath him. “What a strange term that is. Yes, I did do some ‘groping’ as you call it, but the ‘fucking’ is going to happen in a little while, hopefully.” He seems highly amused about something, though whether it’s due to Ed’s choice of phrasing or Ed’s obvious frustration or the fact that Ed is mostly helpless against whatever onslaught Ling has planned… Ed can’t say he knows, but then again, he can’t say that it really matters, either.

“Well get on with it, then,” Ed half-growls, half-sighs. Perhaps part of him is resigned to the fact that Ling is obviously pretty much entirely in control of what happens between them for the time being, and perhaps the other part of him is anything but resigned to the aforementioned fact, and is rebelling in the best way that it knows how: by acting bossy and maybe a little childish. It’s called a coping mechanism… or maybe it’s really just called ‘stubborn assholishness’, which is something that Ling seems to be suffering from as well, in Ed’s opinion.

“Well, well,” Ling murmurs, that ever-present goofy smile of his showing no signs of going anywhere anytime soon, “it would seem that someone is awfully impatient. Or does this someone seem to think that if he tries to boss me around, he has some control over the situation?”

Ed only glares in reply. Maybe if he glares hard enough, Ling will either stop his teasing and magically become naked, or maybe the weight of Ed’s gaze alone will succeed in boring a hole right through the smiling teenager’s head. The truth of the matter is that Ed is both impatient and would like some sense of control over the situation, though he doesn’t say this out loud. He’s already gotten himself in hot enough water as it is, and Ling is obviously taking delight in torturing him as much as he can.

Why did I agree to this? Ed asks himself for at least the third time, and then, much to his surprise, Ling begins undoing the buttons of his shirt (he takes his precious time in doing so, but progress is progress, is it not?). Ed’s shirt can’t be removed for obvious reasons, so once it is unbuttoned, it bunches sort of awkwardly and loosely around his shoulders.

Ling leans down, and then there is the wet warmth of his mouth trailing across Ed’s chest—of his lips closing around a nipple and sucking slowly, tongue teasing at the little hardened nub of flesh.

Oh, Ed thinks somewhat distantly as his breath catches in his throat, I suppose that’s why. Not that he’ll actually tell Ling, or anything.

Not that he actually needs to.

There is a hint of teeth, and Ed arches into it instead of shying away from it (Ling has learned what he likes and uses it to his advantage, damn him), fingers automatically flexing, grabbing for something (Ling’s hair, maybe, or the back of Ling’s shirt) but closing around nothing instead.

“Ling,” he says, and purposefully (meaningfully) rattles the chain that links one cuff to the other. He’s willingly – and stupidly – given up his ability to touch, and that is another reason why this is not a good idea at all. What in the hell made Ling decide that it would be fun?

“I’m afraid not, Ed,” Ling casually replies, trailing kisses from one side of Ed’s chest to the other. “You agreed to this, remember? Stop trying to think of reasons why you shouldn’t have done this. Focus on how sensual this can be—you’ve given the control to me; you can’t touch me, but I can touch you.” As if to prove his point, he slides the fingers of one hand along the inner thigh of Ed’s right leg, and he’s so very close but not close enough; it’s maddeningly frustrating and yet so undeniably good, insomuch that Ed involuntarily groans, legs falling a little more apart as he tries to force Ling’s hand upwards and a little to the left, using amazing mind powers that he knows he doesn’t possess.

“Ling,” he says again, this time with a bit more force, “stop teasing.” He has this crazy, unrealistic hope that Ling might actually listen to him, even though he knows better. Ling has always loved to tease, and Ed doesn’t expect that particular quality to go away anytime soon; he doesn’t expect Ling to give in to his current demand, though he internally vows that once the tables are turned, so to speak, he’ll return the favor in full.

“I’m not teasing,” Ling responds in that falsely innocent tone, and he does move his hand, though not where Ed wants him to move it—instead, the prince seems quite happy to slide his hand lower instead of higher, fingers finding and mercilessly attacking that ticklish spot just behind Ed’s knee. It’s not fair in the least, and it makes Ed jump in surprise and then glower, all while trying not to either laugh or moan because it tickles and feels nice at the same time.

“You make such a terrible liar out of yourself,” Ed accuses, and he’s squirming again, wondering if Ling’s secondary goal in life (his first, of course, is to become Emperor of Xing) is to torment Ed in every (sexual) way possible. Ed thinks that this is a very strong possibility.

“I’m not lying,” Ling retorts, and then his hand moves in the direction that Ed wants it to move—up and over and oh, that’s nice, but it’s a fleeting touch, and Ed groans at the loss of contact. He knows Ling probably wants him to beg or something, but he won’t, damnit. He won’t—not this time. He doesn’t give a shit if Ling is royalty.

“You’re impossible,” Ed grits out, glaring yet again as Ling wriggles his fingers at him and grins like he’s just learned that all other heirs to the throne have just keeled over dead due to some mysterious illness that causes the heart to stop beating almost instantaneously.

The bastard is just too happy sometimes, really.

“Your perception is off.” Ling’s voice is a contrast to Ed’s: all sing-songy and light and undemanding. “I’ll have to fix that—just relax and enjoy yourself, Ed. Remember, I told you that I wouldn’t do anything that you wouldn’t enjoy. You still have the right to kick me at any time, as you said.”

Ed almost smiles at this. He won’t resort to such measures… yet. He might seriously contemplate it sooner rather than later, depending on Ling’s actions (or lack of them). “Yeah, there is that.”

“So stop complaining.” Ling’s mouth then resumes its journey, and just when Edward thinks that he’s going to lavish attention upon his neglected nipple, Ling bypasses it altogether in favor of the scars that run haphazardly along the skin just above his automail arm.

It’s a surprising gesture—simple and yet sweet in its own way, and Edward has to say something sarcastic and silly in order to not sound like some emotional twit: “You’re such a damn sap sometimes.”

“I could stop if you want,” Ling offers, and again, his voice is a contrast to Ed’s: soft and serious as opposed to loud and sarcastic.

Ed doesn’t think about it, really—he just declines, and makes his own voice softer and more serious. He makes his gaze softer too, wanting Ling to believe him… because all things considered, Ling’s tendency to occasionally be a bit sappy makes him who he is, just as his dogged determination and his wacky ideas and his weird-ass ninja stuff makes him who he is. Ed has already figured that he can’t deny a part without denying the whole.

“It’s fine,” Ed answers, and means it.

“Good,” Ling asserts, and then continues where he left off: his tongue is running along the scars now, and Ed shudders a little, closing his eyes as Ling’s hands run up and down his sides before taking hold of his hips and squeezing. “Still sour and impatient?” Ling queries, and he sounds genuinely curious.

Ed shrugs as best as he can while handcuffed to the lumpy, uncomfortable bed. It’s an awkward motion, to say the least, and practically impossible, and leaves him briefly wondering if he’s managed to dislocate his left shoulder. Note to self: Do not try to shrug while handcuffed to a bed; it doesn’t work.

“I figure you’ll get around to it whenever you decide to,” Ed eventually answers (after realizing with a measure of relief that no, he has not dislocated his shoulder), lips set in a thin line. He refuses to pout at this point, and he sure as hell refuses to beg. Yes, he’s impatient, and yes, he’s grumpy because he’s tired and he initially wanted no part of this, but he’s horny now and Ling is just fucking toying with him. He has every right to be impatient, and he has every right to feel grumpy, sour, pissed off, annoyed… and any other appropriate feeling that he can think of.

“Ah, so he can be taught.” Ling says it in a way that makes Ed believe that he’s mostly talking to himself, though his next words are most definitely for Ed: “Patience is a good quality to possess—I was taught that at a very young age. You learn to be patient when fighting your enemies; you learn to wait for their weak moment and move in for the kill.” His lips find the nipple that he neglected earlier, and his teeth and his tongue find it, too, making Ed release a low moan, fingers once again automatically clenching around nothing.

“You learn,” Ling continues, fingers fluttering over Ed’s abdomen, dipping into the waistband of his pants, “about how you can easily subdue your opponent based on your patience and persistence.” His fingers are deftly undoing the button and zipper on Ed’s trousers now, and Ed’s beginning to feel slightly dizzy. “You learn how to get your opponent exactly where you want them.” He draws back then, and there’s that insane, goofy grin again. Ed thinks that the Xingese prince might somehow be referring to him, but at the moment, most of his blood is busy rushing elsewhere and his brain is getting precious little oxygen-rich blood. Maybe that’s why he feels a little fuzzy-headed.

“Patience,” Ling repeats, and Ed wonders how the idiot can focus on giving a fucking lecture when Ed himself is half-naked beneath him and oh, god, how he wants, and it’s fairly damned obvious, what with his dick standing at perfect attention and all, not to mention the way his breathing is slightly labored now—surely Ling notices this, for Ling tends to not miss even the smallest and obscurest of details.

“Can we skip the--” But he cuts himself off when Ling’s tongue dips into his navel—that shit tickles, and what the hell is up with Ling wanting to tickle him all of a sudden? Once again, the idea of kicking the other teenager flashes through his mind, and Ed thinks that said kick will preferably involve his automail leg as opposed to his flesh one. Automail would hurt a hell of a lot more.

But then again, focusing on self-preservation, Greed might show up and just pull that ultimate shield crap, and… so much for that plan.

Ling chuckles like it’s all fun and games right now – and maybe it is, for him, in a way (this was his idea, after all, something new to try) – and simply continues with his lecture, even as his lips work their way downward ever-steadily. “As I was telling you… patience can pretty much get you anything that you desire, really. If you play your cards right and bide your time--”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ed says, all sarcasm again, “but what the fuck does your little lecture have to do with this?”

“Well,” Ling purrs, and the sound goes straight to Ed’s groin, “patience got me into the position that I am currently in, did it not? And got you into the position that you are currently in.”

Touché, Ed thinks, and then Ling is (thankfully, yes, yes, please, yes) tugging at his pants—apparently Ling has decided that it is time for them to be removed, and yeah… maybe there is something to that whole ‘patience’ thing, even though Ed has to admit that he’s pretty much been anything but patient with Ling since this whole thing started.

But now they actually seem to be getting somewhere, and so that changes things, doesn’t it? Of course it does.

Ed lifts his hips eagerly, wriggling when Ling prompts him to, helping the other teen rid him of his pants. His underwear are removed next, though he scowls when Ling makes a remark about them—something along the lines of, “I don’t know why you bother to wear these things, still. It would make sex easier if you didn’t, you know.”

Ed, now fully naked (save for the shirtsleeves still bunched around his shoulders), rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care for running around underwear-less, unlike Ling, who insists that the lack of ‘that silly garment’ is more freeing than Ed can imagine. Ed would rather not imagine, and besides, he can poke fun at how Ling’s ridiculous sashes always seem to get themselves in the worst of knots, and how freeing can that be, when you’re trying to get it on and you can’t get the thing holding your pants up out of a knot?

“It would,” Ling says, and Ed knows that he is trying his damndest to sound convincing, but his words fall on mostly deaf ears, because Ed has no intentions whatsoever of swaying in the direction of Ling’s whims regarding this particular topic.

“Uh-huh,” Ed replies in monotone, unconvinced. At the moment, he is more concerned with the fact that he is naked and Ling is not, and he wants Ling to be naked. Patience, he tells himself, and then wonders if he’d be tearing at Ling’s clothes at this point if he weren’t handcuffed to the bed.

His answer is a resounding maybe definitely.

Ling is now laying beside Ed, flush against his side, his clothed cock pressing against Ed’s flesh thigh—he’s as hard as Ed is, and Ed finds great pleasure in that fact. It’s just a matter of time before Ling’s control snaps, and it will, sooner or later (preferably sooner rather than later); Ed knows what buttons he can press, even while restrained.

“If you hadn’t been wearing any underwear,” Ling murmurs against the shell of Ed’s ear, “when I undid your pants, I could have simply done this…” He trails off then, apparently deciding instead to give Ed a lovely demonstration, the fingers of his right hand curling around Ed’s cock and squeezing before moving up in one fluid stroke.

Ed’s hips come up off the bed and he can’t possibly even hope to hold back his whimper, so he doesn’t bother trying. “Ling,” he breathes out, “again.” And because he doesn’t want to seem too terribly selfish, he rubs his thigh against Ling’s erection; this earns him a gravelly moan and a harder press of Ling’s hips. It also earns him a hint of teeth against his neck and an even firmer stroke from Ling’s hand.

God, that’s good, Ed’s fuzzy, dizzy mind unnecessarily informs him, because every other fiber of his being already knows that this is really good, and that it’s only going to get better and… okay, maybe he’s not too tired for this after all, and maybe he doesn’t regret this bondage business as much as he initially let on. In his defense, that was when Ling was doing nothing more than being a teasing little fuck. He was doing a whole lot more than teasing right now.

One of the things that Ed has learned about Ling (amongst all the other things—things that Ed has carefully filed away for future reference, memories that he can keep stashed away like little treasures to be taken out on rainy days) is that he can be very obliging when he wants to be.

Ling’s thumb finds that delightfully sensitive spot beneath the head of Ed’s cock and he presses, making Ed’s hips arch again and oh, hurry Ed wants to say but doesn’t. He doesn’t, because he’s still being stubborn, and because if he’s going to lose control, he’s going to watch Ling’s control unravel along with his own. Equivalent Exchange, pure and simple.

And then Ling is unsettlingly moving, and Ed wants to protest, because Ling was doing just fine, he really was, and why couldn’t he continue doing that, huh? The chain rattles once again as Ed nearly forgets the fact that he’s restrained in the first place, and then he has to bite his tongue to keep from asking Ling just what in the hell he thinks he’s doing now. The bed squeaks a few times, Ed glares at Ling, and only then does he realize what Ling has in mind, and he laments over the stupid thing he might’ve done two-point-seven seconds ago (‘the stupid thing’ being opening his mouth).

All related thoughts are purged rapidly from his mind as Ling’s wet, hot mouth closes over his shaft and Ling sucks, his tongue flicking over the head to gather the pre-cum at the slit, and Ed has to mentally recite several of the known elements and their various combinations (what can be made during a chemical reaction, what can be broken down, etc.) in order to keep from coming entirely unglued right then and there.

One of Ling’s hands has snuck between his legs, and his fingers are lightly massaging Ed’s sac, and Ed closes his eyes again, letting the separate sensations wash over him. His legs spread a little wider of their own accord, letting Ling have more room, and somewhere between a swipe from Ling’s tongue (right there, yeah) and a gentle squeeze from his fingers, Ed thinks he understands why some people would be into this bondage thing. Granted, being tied up or whatever is not something that he’ll want to do all of the time, but he does understand the thrill of it a little better now. There’s just something about relinquishing control to another person—about allowing yourself to be rendered mostly helpless by another. There’s also the fact that Ling promised he would make it worth his while, and after all of the teasing, Ling’s making good on that promise.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s because the hand that was squeezing and rubbing his balls has moved, and he can’t quite see what’s going on down there, but within the next moment, Ling’s fingers are pressed against his entrance, slowly circling. The substance on Ling’s fingers is cool and slick—knowing the Xingese prince, he probably had the lubricant hiding somewhere in those poofy-ass pants of his. Not that Ed’s going to complain about something as trivial as that… not when one of those fingers is pressing inside of him with deliberate slowness.

That lone finger circles within him and curls, finding his prostate, and every nerve in Ed’s body practically fucking sings. He whines, his hips bucking down onto Ling’s finger and then back up, into Ling’s mouth. He wonders if he’s moved too roughly when he feels the muscles of Ling’s throat constrict a little, but then those same muscles relax again, and Ling doesn’t pull away.

He adds another finger, scissoring them now, and Ed’s afraid he might come too soon—might come in Ling’s mouth before Ling is really inside of him, and he doesn’t want that, even though he knows Ling would probably be okay with it.

A third finger is added, stretching him, and Ed is all but writhing at this point, making sounds that he’s not sure are qualified as sexy or not, but Ling seems to be enjoying them, just as Ling seems to be enjoying what he’s currently doing. It’s an entirely different form of torture, and as badly as some part of Ed wants the prince to continue, he breathes out, “Stop, stop.”

Ling complies, though only after dragging his tongue up the length of Ed’s cock, making Ed shiver and clench around Ling’s fingers. It’s so fucking impossibly delicious, and before he and Ling started doing this sort of thing, he never would have imagined that it could have been like this with a guy—or, hell, with anyone, really.

“Why do you want me to stop?” Ling asks, and his breath is cool against the skin of Ed’s cock, which is glistening with pre-cum and saliva. Ling’s fingers are still moving slowly but steadily inside of Ed, thrusting in and out, and Ed can’t fucking think.

“Because,” Ed grits out, trying to stop the steady press of his own hips (he fails), “if you keep doing that, I’m going to--”

“I don’t see the problem,” Ling interrupts, obviously understanding what Ed is getting at.

“I want to wait until…” Ed trails off then, gazing down at the teenager between his spread legs and giving him a pleading look, hoping that Ling won’t make him spell it out.

“Until what?” Ling queries, and he’s this close to smiling again, Ed can tell. His fingers haven’t stilled, and the fingers of his other hand are busy drawing nonsensical invisible designs on the lower part of Ed’s belly.

“Fuck, Ling…” Ed doesn’t know why he’s blushing, but he is. The skinny jackass loves to do things like this, even in the heat of the moment. Ling wants him to actually say it. “Until-you’re-in-me.” He says it in a rush, like his sentence is comprised of one word instead of four. “Happy now?” He attempts to make his glare a scathing one, but he’s not sure how well it works—his face is still very warm, and he imagines that he looks more than a little needy and desperate. Not to mention that his hips won’t stop moving against Ling’s fingers.

“Oh, very,” Ling assures, and his voice is low and guttural. “I always like it when you tell me things like that, even though I already know.” He withdraws his fingers from Ed, more carefully than is necessary, and then leans over him to kiss him—there isn’t much finesse to this kiss; this one is kinda bordering on sloppy and it’s a little rough. Ling’s teeth tug at Ed’s lower lip and his hands grip tightly at Ed’s waist, and this… this is a sure sign that Ling’s self-control is nearly worn thin.

It is now that Ed decides to pull the hypothetical Ace from his sleeve: Ling may know his weaknesses, but he knows Ling’s weaknesses too (and pretty damn well, if he says so himself—and he does). “Ling,” he growls against the other’s mouth, “now. Now, please.” He presses his naked hips to Ling’s clothed hips and he rubs; the little choked half-whimper that Ling makes causes his cock to throb in response.

“Want,” Ed hisses, grinding his hips again, thoroughly enjoying the sounds Ling makes when their lengths brush together—and why the hell does Ling have clothes on still?

Ling remedies that particular problem rather quickly, and Ed is both a little disappointed and largely relieved when the sash at Ling’s waist comes undone with a slight tug. It’s funny how Ling undresses himself so much faster than he undressed Ed. Ed’s pretty sure that, given the crazy clothing that Ling wears, removing them in such a short amount of time is a feat of some sort.

Ed watches as Ling coats his straining erection with a good dollop of the lubricant before setting the little jar aside; it’s probably more than is necessary, but in this case, too much isn’t really a bad thing.

Ling leans over Ed then and lines himself up; Ed spreads his hips even wider as if on cue, and just as he feels the head of Ling’s cock press against his entrance, he smirks up at the Xingese prince. “Whatever happened to patience?” he asks, figuring that he’s earned the right to tease just a bit.

His smile is returned, and Ling’s reply is, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His hips are moving in the next moment, pressing forward urgently and determinedly, not quite shoving but close, and Ed relaxes for him, takes all of him in, right to the base.

Ed is trying to keep his breathing under control—trying not to make those needy, gasping moans, and he is failing utterly in that department. His thighs are trembling and there’s heat swirling low in his belly, and his nails are digging into his palms (points of contact, sharp and bright and slightly painful).

Above him, Ling is perfectly still, muscles tense with the force of restraint. Up to this point, they’ve fooled around plenty of times: blowjobs and handjobs and the like. Mostly, they’ve just gotten naked and rubbed their cocks together until both of them came. They haven’t done this quite as much, and they’re both still adjusting to it. On some level, it’s sweet how Ling is still concerned about whether he’s causing Ed pain instead of pleasure, but on a different level, it’s just a tad annoying (mostly it’s just plain sweet, though).

“I’m all right,” Ed tells him, and then repeats it as if Ling didn’t hear him the first go-around. “Move,” he demands, wrapping his legs around Ling’s waist, heels digging into the small of the prince’s back. “C’mon, Ling, fucking move.”

Ling draws back and pushes in again, harder this time, and Ed practically keens—a sound that Ling echoes, and god, does it ever sound wonderful coming from those lips (not that Ed would actually admit it or anything like that).

“Yeah,” Ed says encouragingly. “Like that.” He says other things too, but it’s pretty much a string of mostly-incoherent curses and maybe there are a few endearments thrown into the mix as well, and if that’s the case, maybe Ling is too focused on what he’s doing to actually understand whatever embarrassing words Ed might or might not have just said.

With each thrust of his hips, Ling whispers something that Ed can’t quite catch. He thinks it might be in Xingese, and he wants to kick the other teen simply for switching to his native language, because Ed can’t understand more than two fucking words of it. Then again, Ling might or might not be saying something that is likewise sappy and/or embarrassing, and maybe he doesn’t want Ed to understand. Ed figures he can live with this.

This – the movement of their bodies – is instinct, basic and primal; it’s a dance as old as time itself, and instructions are technically not required, though admittedly, sex (like many other things) is something that gets better with practice. Both of them are getting better at figuring out when to speed up and when to slow down, and both of them are getting better at gauging each other’s reactions. All in all, Ed has to admit that the sex is damn good.

Ed realizes he’s forgotten to take a few breaths when his vision begins to swim and darken around the edges, and he takes a couple of deep breaths, only to have the air stolen from his lungs again when Ling changes the angle very slightly and hits that spot, and Ed cries out and claws at the air, his legs tightening around Ling’s waist.

“There, that’s it.” Ling doesn’t make it a question, because Ed’s made it fairly obvious that yes, he’s hit exactly the right spot.

Ling makes no efforts to hold himself back now, and Ed can tell. The prince shoves into him again and again, each time hitting his prostate, and some stupid little voice in Ed’s head is trying to urge him to comment on how the lumpy mattress squeaks every time Ling’s hips move, but at that moment, one of Ling’s hands wraps around his length and starts stroking him roughly and in time with his thrusts.

At this point, Ed can barely hear anything over his own blood pounding in his ears—and then there’re the sounds that he’s making for Ling, and the sounds that Ling is making for him, and it’s really so utterly, mind-blowingly erotic. He’s spiraling downwards and fast; he can feel himself throbbing in Ling’s fist, can feel himself clenching around Ling’s cock.

Ling leans down then, and it skews the rhythm a little but Ed discovers that that isn’t a problem at all when Ling whispers (silkily and breathlessly) against his ear: “I want you to come.”

And that does it—those few words coupled with Ling’s thrusts and touches undo Ed completely. Ed feels that heat within him tighten like a bowstring and then release deliciously, and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that he groans rather loudly as he comes.

That’s okay, though, because Ling isn’t exactly quiet either when he comes exactly three thrusts later. Ed keeps his eyes open to watch him just because; he doesn’t need a reason, does he?

For several moments after that, they are both useless, mostly motionless lumps on the lumpy, uncomfortable bed. Ed tries to steady his breathing and his pulse, and Ling – predictably – nuzzles at his neck, heaving a happy little sigh. Ed smiles while Ling isn’t looking.

“I told you that I’d make it worth your while,” Ling says, gently nipping at the side of Ed’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed replies in his best attempt at a noncommittal tone. “Don’t go gloating about it, okay?” He pauses to think for a moment. “When’s my turn? When are you going to undo these damn things from my wrists?”

“Give me two minutes of this,” Ling answers, repositioning himself, sliding out of Edward and moving to his side, slinging one leg over both of Ed’s and curling as close to him as he can.

Ed doesn’t have the heart to deny him, so he rests his cheek against the top of Ling’s head and echoes Ling’s earlier sigh, content to bask in the warm and relaxing glow of post-orgasm. He knows that they’re both a bit of a mess right now and that they could both use another bath, but that doesn’t seem important right now, either.

“So that was actually kind of fun,” Ed announces, and is a little concerned when Ling doesn’t reply. When it comes to sex, Ling always jumps at any chance to show off or to basically say ‘I told you so’ without actually saying ‘I told you so’.

“Ling?” he asks, nudging at Ling’s head with his chin. Ling is entirely too quiet—his breathing isn’t slow or even enough to be indicative of sleep, and this worries Ed even more. He’s gradually being pulled away from the warmth and comfort he’d been surrounded by just seconds ago, and there’s this hard little knot of anxiety that’s forming in the pit of Ed’s belly.

Full-blown panic sets in when it is Ling’s body that pulls away from him, but it is not Ling’s voice that says, “I don’t know why that damn kid insists on snuggling afterwards, every fucking time.” Greed makes a face. “It’s not my style.” His sour face intensifies when he notices the various fluids on his (on Ling’s) body. “Ugh. That was nice and all kid, but I’d rather bang a chick, and now I’m going to take a shower. All that bullshit he said about you having your turn… it’s not happening tonight.”

With that, Greed leaves the squeaky bed entirely and heads for the tiny bathroom within their shared hotel room.

“Wait!” Ed shouts before Greed can shut the bathroom door. “You’ve got to let me out of these things!”

Greed turns around slowly, and flashes him a large, maniacal grin. “I’m so sorry,” he says, poorly imitating Ling’s voice and accent, “but I don’t really understand your language.” Then he turns around again, shuts the bathroom door, and locks it for good measure, leaving Ed bound and helpless on an uncomfortable-as-hell bed.

Ed releases a long-suffering sigh. This was not a good idea, he thinks. This was a very not-good idea.

Once he’s finally out of these damn handcuffs (and who knows when that will be?), he’s going to make a list of things that Ling is no longer allowed to do before or during sex.

At the top of that list will be this: Don’t you ever come at me with a pair of handcuffs ever again, you stupid prince.

Over the sound of running water, Ed can hear Greed’s muffled shout: “Guess you learned your lesson tonight, huh kid?”

Ed snarls even though he knows that Greed can’t hear him. He rattles the chain against the railing of the headboard with renewed vigor, but this attempt is the same as the others—it gets him nowhere.

When I get out of this mess, he vows, I’m going to smother both of them in their sleep!

He might mean it right now (just a little), but he knows that once Greed is gone and Ling is back, and once Ling cuddles up beside him with sweet kisses and soft apologies, he’ll change his mind and all will be forgiven.

… He’s still not letting Ling anywhere near him with a pair of handcuffs ever again though.

Tags: edxling, fma fic contest, fullmetal alchemist, lingxed

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