Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Lovingly Convinced ❯ Lovingly Convinced ( One-Shot )

 

 

Lovingly Convinced

 

- by Shy Himura

 

 

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Series: Full Metal Alchemist

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Pairing: Elricest (Ed/Al)

 

Warnings: Incest, lemon, yaoi, angst, explicit language, explicit adult themes. It may seem like NCS at the beginning, but as the story progresses, you'll see why I wrote it that way.

 

Type: One Shot

 

Word Count: 2,691

 

Disclaimer: I own: 1 Rusty Car, 1 Sexy Boyfriend, 3 Annoying Muses, and a goddamn partridge in a pair tree. Obviously, I don't own Full Metal Alchemist. Though I won't say no to anyone willing to buy it for me…

 

Dedications: To Snapey-chan, she who inspired me with so many ideas and thoughts. To the songs I have listened to, especially Returnable Memories, without which this fiction could never have been born. And to that feeling of wrongness which changes to right, when everything seems broken and down.

 

 

 

 

 

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“All the passions make us commit faults; love makes us commit the most ridiculous ones.”

 

- -François de la Rochefoucauld

 

 

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It didn't really matter, the moment he started fucking me. That was just…release, a form of love and release for him, and a salvation for me, who had wanted his touch for so long, even if not that way. I didn't mind the caresses, the biting kisses, the hurried hand jobs in alleys far from home; this was just another fact, the debt I owe him bigger than life itself.

 

Just because I didn't mind them, didn't mean I enjoyed them. I had guilt, fear, doubts…I knew it wasn't right, what we were doing, that it went against every law society had. I used to convince myself that I only came from the friction, and from him, the sheer prescience of Edward and all that he is in my life. I convinced myself, every single time, that I hated it.

 

Time marched along, as it always does. The Colonel became the Fuhrer, the patch over his eye symbolising the old even as he brought about the new. The one's loyal to him rose too; they became Generals in the biggest arm that Artemis had ever seen, and provided peace for the places they had once conquered but were giving back slowly to their rightful owners.

 

He grew. He became tall and golden, though not the golden boy that everybody expected him to be. He got drunk, had fights in bars, fucked up regularly enough at work that he got put on probation…then turned his life around, all because of two little words.

 

“Don't, Brother.”

 

And he didn't.

 

I know why he drank, and I know why he still hungers for it, even now…though it's not something I'll ever tell him, not because I love him too much to hurt him like that, or that it's a secret I want to hold. No. It hurts me to even think about it, but at least I know what he's going through.

 

We lived in a flat near headquarters; room for him and his alchemic books, room for me and my growing orphanage of neglected animals. Room enough for the double bed in the bedroom nobody ever saw, lest they knew the full truth about our relationship. He might have gotten in trouble for coming to work drunk as a sailor on shore leave…but having people know that every night, or near enough, he puts his cock inside his little brother? Not something you want your superiors knowing, at any rate.

 

We were like brothers in every regard, excluding the sexual part. We fought, we sulked, and we loved each other always, because that's what families do and ours was no exception. The night he turned on our bed, at first only for the nightmares I used to wake screaming from and he could be there to comfort me, and then for the acts we performed…sucking me, licking me and touching me, and every second of it murmuring my name, that was the night we crossed lines and became something…more?

 

Family who are lovers. Lovers inside a family. At first, I hated him for putting this burden on my conscious, even as I purred and arched into his gentle hands. And then I just didn't care. And then it started to hurt, deep inside, every time he murmured those words I could ever say back to him, though I said it anyway nearly every day. Just the context of those words made me feel horrible.

 

“I love you, Al.”

 

I knew that he loved me…God, the man sacrificed his life just so I could experience touch again! But he loved me….loved me...and I didn't know how to handle that. So I lay there beneath him, panting, feeling sore and loose and wet with the scented oils he had purchased at some bazaar or another, and felt empty even as he was filling me.

 

This went on for years. He had women chasing after him, for his looks, his eyes, his long braided hair, and most of all, for his impressive military salary. I wasn't left alone either, but I never responded to any of their advances, like he never did. From the time I was seventeen and he eighteen it's been understood, almost silently, between us…we had passed a line. Even before we had sex. Even before he joined the military. We had trespassed on holy ground, and were below the people who wanted to be intimate with us. I used to hate it, when I was attracted to someone but realised they were never as good looking as Edward. At the very least it was annoying.

 

Winry got married, had children, raised a family. I was twenty one when her last child was born, a little red cheeked boy she called Mayes, for memories that should never be forgotten. He's two now, and already has an unexplained fascination with phones that remind me eerily of the man that used to be our friend. Edward loves him, and Isabelle, and so do I…I once had dreams of starting a family, before I witnessed death, before I witnessed the pain of losing a parent. I know it's cowardly, but I'd rather never experience it than have it happen again. My animals, however briefly they stayed with me before I found them good homes, were enough.

 

Another promotion. Another small house, this time in the country, where he could research his medical alchemy in peace. I raised small creatures, kittens and birds mostly, made friends with the families around us, and slowly began to fall into something I knew I would never get out of. I thought I was just going crazy.

 

I noticed something was different on that Monday, the Monday that equated to something more controversial than forbidden alchemy had ever been to me. That's the moment I began to believe that something was different.

 

He was fucking me again, in the shower. His cock sliding in and out of me easily, halting when I tensed or loosened around him. The slickness of the soap made me feel queasy, even as I moaned and grunted steadily, half sobbing through the breath that was snatched from my lungs. He liked to, back then, fuck me slow and demandingly, making it last, always controlling the passion that flooded through him. His metal fingers were so cold against my skin.

 

The sound, of his cock, always made me so hard…that sound, of wet flesh, constricting heat and the sliding between them, the suction pulling aching sounds from between our joined bodies. It was only always that, back then, that made me come,…because it equated to sex, to fucking, to coming, and it didn't matter that it was Edward fucking me…because it was the sound of sex. It didn't make much sense to me either, at the time, and it still doesn't. That was the reason I used to give myself, anyhow.

 

I turned my head up, letting the warm water run on my face, feeling it slip inside my open mouth as we moved steadily and rhythmically. My elbows and shoulders aching from the pressure I put on them every time I leant forwards, my legs trembling from the effort of holding my weight while being so spread. Him, pressing deep, the head of his weeping cock pushing the soap further inside me, making me feel so loose and wet and warm, and the gentle ache as he pushed past muscles he had faithfully stretched with twitching fingers. It was erotic, erotic as hell, even though I swore to myself that I didn't enjoy it.

 

He leaned forwards, a hand slipping to rest on my wet stomach, rubbing the twitching muscles there.

 

I hate this.

 

A gentle mouth, nipping at my arching neck, murmuring, comforting, humming sounds into my skin.

 

I hate this so much. I have to hate this. I remember repeating that to myself, even as a sure hand curled around my cock, chilled fingertips moving down to loving pet and squeeze my throbbing balls.

 

Oh, God, please let me hate this…

 

I could feel the pleasure rise, even though it burned slowly, steadily, minutes away from the roaring conclusion. But I realised something, a thing that occurred between him licking my neck, to that chilled hand running back up my stomach, pressing and twisting my nipples until they were sore from the touch. I realised, that this was him. He was doing this to me. He was creating this tingling pleasure, this sin, this total swamping of the mind and soul.

 

And God, I enjoyed it. On every level, primitive and emotional, spiritual and physical, I loved the feeling of him inside me, of his loving hands all over me. Of his gentle words, and the smiles he pressed into my skin. Of the sure way he knew my body. Knew how to make it tremble and want and roar. That he loved me enough to do this, and…and that I loved him enough to allow him, to do things forbidden, and to love him even as the guilt washed me away like the foam on the receding tides.

 

I could never hate him, because even though I had never wanted to, not really, in time it had become a tangible essence, a need I wasn't fully aware of until that moment. Because of him, I was spoiled, but also because of him, I was saved. Because, I knew, because I want, because I need him, everything fell neatly into place, and the love I hold for him flared brighter than the sun in my mind, and in my heart. I had pushed it all down before. Buried every single scrap of feeling beneath mountains of remorse and guilt. But this was Edward. And this was right.

 

Because this was Edward. And he was my brother. And he was my lover.

 

And I loved him, because he was all of those things.

 

He cried out in surprise when I braced myself against the wall, finally responding, finally improvising, even after all this years. Supine fucking has it's merits, but this…relinquishing all control, leaving the anger and guilt and fear far behind, never wondering if this was wrong, because fuck, it felt so good…good and proud and strengthening my resolve as I met every thrust, initiated more, and enjoyed all of it.

 

I dragged it out, clenching as I moved forward, feeling every inch of him as my muscles rippled along his cock…and it felt so good, so filling and right. It had never happened to me before, this pleasure, this descent of madness into what I used to think a duty. I liked this. I liked it when he started fucking me harder, moans louder and pace faster, getting into it in a way I knew he never thought he would be able to.

 

He knew I had crossed the rest of the line and let me know it, in the hot, open mouthed kisses he left against my neck, my ears, my cheeks. In the fingers that grabbed tightly at my waist as his balls slapped against my bottom, the way I cried out, arching, sobbing brokenly and screaming as pure pleasure flooded every inch of me, sin without the guilt. This was Edward, the man I loved, and he was making me come and I liked it.

 

He fucked me for what seemed like hours after I had orgasmed, breathless and twitching against the tiled wall, fucking me and telling me how tight I was. How he loved my tight little hole, that I was so wet and warm inside, that he loved me, most of all he said he loved me. Every breath I could hear, whispered into my ringing ears.

 

“I love you, Al.”

 

“I…I love you…”

 

“God, Al, so much…I love you…”

 

Praising me for my cock, how wet and silky it was with my come, how full and ripe my balls were. Constantly petting both of them, hoping to inspire another round out of me, though we both knew I was spent. Every time he came bursting back inside me he aimed, always so carefully and precisely, to hit the spot that made my mouth water as I cried out his name. I had never done that before. Never acknowledged that Edward was fucking me…no, loving me, making love to me, because then it would have made it real, and I don't think I was ready for that.

 

“Ed…” Whispers rang past my lips, and he stiffened against my back, lifting me up with final, jerking thrusts as he released through his own gate, and I broke the walls that separated us.

 

“Ed….I love you.”

 

He came with a howl, a feral, triumphant sound I had never heard from him, never imagined possible in another human being. Liquid heat pumping into me, and when he pumped the last strands from his cock he forced the rest to slide in sticky waves, along with the water, down my tense and aching thighs. We collapsed against the wall, and I was so grateful that he didn't say anything, didn't ask me why it had taken so long. Just held me as our breath rang in the confined space.

 

We explored each other like newly formed lovers that night. I suckled him, loving the feel of his pulsing length in my mouth, drinking and lapping the bitterness that wept from his swollen, glistening tip. Licking and petting his balls, stroking his skin, tasting for the first time the mind blowing taste that this…well, Ed. Nobody could ever taste that good.

 

Nobody could ever replace Edward, in my heart or in my body. He's…in a way, he's me, my mirror, my twin, and the only one ever capable of inspiring this from me. I knew that, in the moment he slid out of me in that shower, turning me around so he could lovingly explore my mouth with his. We tumbled, from me hating this and him loving me to me loving him and this and wanting more, to shower to hallway and then to bed.

 

He fucked me for hours, and when he couldn't raise any more passion from his continually weeping cock, he licked me, licked me down there, until I came screaming and shuddering, holding his braid and screaming his name, as those chilled metal fingers traced patterns over my groin.

 

The next day, we didn't even leave the bed. I was too sore, so we just drank and ate our fill from each other, pausing occasionally to laugh and whisper and smile, because it was sweetness that I was feeling. Not hate. Not fear, or anger, or remorse. He knew it, and even if he didn't say anything, I could read it in his eyes, and in his golden smiles.

 

Life returned, somewhat, to normal…he made breakthroughs in his research. Tabitha gave birth to five kittens, all the colour of molten caramel with bright, gleaming blue eyes. They were so cute even Edward couldn't be angry when they tumbled into his study, disrupting his work and curious about his automail leg.

 

But we made love every chance we got.

 

And I made sure, damn sure, that he was lovingly convinced. Of what? Well, that I loved him, of course, and loved the things we did to each other. Seven years without a word can bruise egos, and the Fullmetal Alchemist has a bigger one than most. Beside's, I loved the words that rolled off my tongue, because I knew, with him, that he would always understand the sacrifices one has to make, to dignity and soul and pride, with those simple little words that mean so much.

 

“I love you.”

 

It didn't matter, the moment he started fucking me, when we were so young and new.

 

It matters now, that we are so much wiser, though not so much older, and the word love isn't a word that inspires fear and horror in the pit of my belly. It inspires lust, and love, and a feeling of intrinsic rightness that hasn't left me, even a year later. Even after all these countless years.

 

It inspires these convincing thoughts.

 

 

 

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The End