"Mustang, I haven't... I've never..." It was hard to form words, since his superior was currently eye-level with his naughty bits and shimmying his tight pants down his thighs. Edward watched it happen, watched his boxers be tugged down with his pants, watched his erection come free of the confines and bounce back to tap his belly.
A smirk. Dark, mischievous eyes and a smirk was all he got in response as the man rid Edward of the clothing. Gloved hands held down his hips as pale lips parted, the Colonel's tongue poking out and sliding over the head of his c**k teasingly. Edward hissed, one of his own hands shooting down to grip into his superior officer's hair. "********... G-Go easy on me..," he whimpered.
Mustang gave him that smirk again, and suddenly, within seconds it seemed, Edward was completely nude and on his elbows and knees. Slim, gloved fingers were spreading his cheeks and a hot, wet tongue was tracing his entrance, teasing him. He felt like he was going mad with impatience and pleasure. "Please," he whimpered, and the tongue was gone, replaced by two ungloved fingers, slicked up and thrusting inside of him, fast and thorough. His own hands gripped the cushion beneath him as he pressed back into the touch, small little whimpers and moans leaving his parted lips. Two fingers turned into four fingers turned into a whole hand.
Which turned into Edward's face pressed into the cushion, crying out and drooling while Mustang took him from behind vigorously, one dry gloved hand gripping onto his hip, one wet ungloved gripping onto his shoulder so he could pull him back against his thrusts. There were grunts above him, coming from the mostly-clothed mustang's mouth. Edward was crying out wildly, toes curling, flesh and metal alike, as the Colonel let him have it.
"--ward, honey. Breakfast is almost ready," called the sweet voice of Gracia through the door. Edward startled awake, hair a messy array of a braid. He sat up quickly, legs sprawled out across the bed. He had beads of sweat dampening his skin as he stared, wide-eyed at the door. His breath came heavy until he forcibly cleared his throat and answered back with a, "Great, be right out!" And then he paused, and promptly looked down at his crotch. There was a clear tent in the quilt, and a pressure in his boxers. Damn.
He flopped back down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? That was the third dream like that that he's had, and it's really starting to freak him out. He didn't have a thing for the Colonel. Not in the slightest. He had a thing for Winry. Having a crush on the Colonel just...sent shivers up his spine. And not the good kind. So, what the hell was his brain thinking, making him have a dream like that?
...Plus, the Colonel was way too old for him anyway.
A smirk. Dark, mischievous eyes and a smirk was all he got in response as the man rid Edward of the clothing. Gloved hands held down his hips as pale lips parted, the Colonel's tongue poking out and sliding over the head of his c**k teasingly. Edward hissed, one of his own hands shooting down to grip into his superior officer's hair. "********... G-Go easy on me..," he whimpered.
Mustang gave him that smirk again, and suddenly, within seconds it seemed, Edward was completely nude and on his elbows and knees. Slim, gloved fingers were spreading his cheeks and a hot, wet tongue was tracing his entrance, teasing him. He felt like he was going mad with impatience and pleasure. "Please," he whimpered, and the tongue was gone, replaced by two ungloved fingers, slicked up and thrusting inside of him, fast and thorough. His own hands gripped the cushion beneath him as he pressed back into the touch, small little whimpers and moans leaving his parted lips. Two fingers turned into four fingers turned into a whole hand.
Which turned into Edward's face pressed into the cushion, crying out and drooling while Mustang took him from behind vigorously, one dry gloved hand gripping onto his hip, one wet ungloved gripping onto his shoulder so he could pull him back against his thrusts. There were grunts above him, coming from the mostly-clothed mustang's mouth. Edward was crying out wildly, toes curling, flesh and metal alike, as the Colonel let him have it.
"--ward, honey. Breakfast is almost ready," called the sweet voice of Gracia through the door. Edward startled awake, hair a messy array of a braid. He sat up quickly, legs sprawled out across the bed. He had beads of sweat dampening his skin as he stared, wide-eyed at the door. His breath came heavy until he forcibly cleared his throat and answered back with a, "Great, be right out!" And then he paused, and promptly looked down at his crotch. There was a clear tent in the quilt, and a pressure in his boxers. Damn.
He flopped back down onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? That was the third dream like that that he's had, and it's really starting to freak him out. He didn't have a thing for the Colonel. Not in the slightest. He had a thing for Winry. Having a crush on the Colonel just...sent shivers up his spine. And not the good kind. So, what the hell was his brain thinking, making him have a dream like that?
...Plus, the Colonel was way too old for him anyway.
