Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1307782.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Fullmetal_Alchemist, Fullmetal_Alchemist:_Brotherhood_&_Manga, Fullmetal
      Alchemist_(Anime_2003)
  Relationship:
      Lust/Roy_Mustang, Edward_Elric/Roy_Mustang
  Character:
      Lust_(Fullmetal_Alchemist), Roy_Mustang, Edward_Elric
  Additional Tags:
      Mild_Gore, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Squick
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-13 Words: 3755
****** The Descent ******
by taranoire
Summary
     Roy thought he had killed Lust, but she's come back for him, and
     she's fueling dark thoughts concerning his youngest subordinate. He
     can no longer control his impulses.
Notes
     *Please heed the warnings on this fic.* Much of the disturbing
     material takes place in Roy's fantasies, but it's still squick.
     This was a giftfic written for Goregeous.
The lights had been turned off in the summer heat in order to conserve energy.
The windows were open, which stoked hot air but also let in all manner of
creatures. Flies would land on paperwork and be smashed against running, heat-
smeared ink. His first lieutenant blamed his absent-minded nature on the
weather, which he encouraged, if only because the real reason carried more lewd
connotations.
A fire burned in the cheap hearth, and he knelt in front of it, humming deep as
salt dribbled down his forehead. His button-up shirt was soaked through beneath
the uniform, but he relished in the discomfort, stewing in the dark hellfire
his pride had become. One snap of the fingers, the rush of adrenaline in his
veins, the blood of his underling under his nails, and Lust had shriveled up
into charcoal dust. No longer would her sweet words and sweet lips (like dead
roses) draw his men into her claws.
Alone. He was alone now. He had sent them away (Jean was alive; a snapped twig,
but alive) to cool their heads for another round of mundane military tasks. One
hour separated him and his crew, and though he found them each, individually, a
necessary piece of his puzzle, this was sin they didn't need to witness. They
needed Colonel Mustang, cool, calm, collected, cunning, with golden braids
adorning his blues. Not Roy, plastered and dark, simmering and drinking his
lust.
He felt her. Her - spirit, maybe, if such things existed, but even if he did
believe consciousness survived death (it didn't, it was fed to the Gate)
homunculi would not have been allowed entrance into the abyss. They were what
one called soulless. They were not born, they were sired by death, more rot
than human and containing the desire to spawn chaos' children.
Nonetheless, he felt her, her burned, bloody carcass following him wherever he
went. At first he had been horrified to discover that Lust had survived his
fire, and then that horror mutated into dread when he realized he was the only
person who could actually discern her presence. Hawkeye had thought him mad at
his insistence that their debriefing was being interrupted by the ghost of a
homunculus, and asked him to seek counseling. He never did.
She was smiling at him, black teeth in a crumbling jaw. He smelled her burnt
hair, enunciated by the wood disintegrating in the fire grate. Like her body
her hair was dry and brittle and covered in congealed blood. Every time he saw
her, the body would be just a little more decomposed, a little more rotted, a
little less beautiful than before. It was ironic that her name was Lust and yet
her form was a mass of ashen limbs and bloated organs.
He asked her questions when they were alone. She never gave a straight answer.
"What do you want?" he had asked once, after finally conceding to the idea that
she would not hurt him and probably was just a figment of psychosis. And in her
distinctly fluid voice, unmarred by either flame or rot, she had replied that
she was a curious being and simply wanted to watch him fall.
She made him feel things. When he dipped into his liquor cabinet, his dreams
were clouded by a toxic mixture of innocence and desire. Before she came, it
had been one or the other. Now there was shaking and blistering heat and
carnivals of desperation. That was why he was here, on the ground, in the dark,
shuddering in his sweat and inhaling the stale smoke while his subordinates
remained blissfully unaware of the self-inflicted torment.
Oak rumbled. Metal on wood. Dear God, let him go.
"Fullmetal, I haven't the time for your report at the moment. Come back
tomorrow," he rasped, his heart thudding despite his earnest efforts to slow it
down with vodka and scotch. The glass beside his knee vibrated as Ed knocked
again, the bubbling liquid protesting.
"The hell? When do you ever not have time, you procrastinating son of a bitch?"
Ed said through the door.
Lust turned her head, the tendons in her neck creaking like strained leather.
Her eyes were a violent purple color, still mesmerizing and terrible even in an
incinerated corpse. "You should probably let him in," she said, coy, torturous,
knowing. "You are foolish if you think you can defy the innate." The innate.
He was in front of the door, opening it, choking down his words. Edward had
always been beautiful. Even as a child he had a certain aesthetic appeal, so
that he convinced hard-lined military men to allow him to attempt the State
Alchemist Certification. Promising, distinctively pretty features, Roy had
overheard them saying; not quite delicate, but malleable. He was a gold coin, a
lucky token, young and fair-haired.
"Damn," Ed said, now sixteen and distinctly not malleable but somehow delicate
in a curious fashion. He shouldered his canvas bag, eyes squinting either from
the smell of booze or the lack of light across the threshold. If he noticed
either of those things, he didn't mention them. "The fuck is up with you today?
The hell is everyone?"
Ed was not perceptive.
"Holy shit." Ed wrinkled his nose, voice falling to a scandalized whisper. "Are
you hammered? At work?"
Or maybe he was. Roy wasted no time, pulling him into the darkness and the
smell of burning wood. The teenager did not notice the carcass sitting sprawled
against the wall. After removing his red coat and depositing it on a hook, he
walked straight by Lust, his movement stirring the flames in the grate. He
leaned back against his superior's desk, fingers curled around the edge.
Expression calm, cold, even while the heat pressed against his leather clothing
and metal limbs.
Roy's mouth dried up as easily as water in Ishbal. Yes, as a child Edward had
been pretty, a doll coveted by higher-ups who wanted to taste innocence before
it was taken by inevitable bloodshed. Now, he was radiant. He didn't even need
to try, could wear gaudy leather and never comb his hair, and yet Ed was
beautiful, always looking windswept and curious and content. It should have
been a contradiction but it wasn't.
He closed his eyes, but the lids had already been branded with molted iron,
fair hair across fiery eyes, lips parted in quiet breath. His heart stuttered,
heat shooting through his body straight between his legs, as the convincing
(but imagined) sensation of those perfect lips against his skin took over. Ed
had such a sweet-looking mouth when it wasn't spewing curses.
"Stop it," he whispered.
Ed looked taken aback, blinking. "Stop what?"
"I'm not doing anything, human," Lust purred, a chuckle escaping the depths of
charred throat tunnel. When she laughed he wanted to kill her all over again,
but that would only result in Ed fearing for his commander's sanity and his
office being destroyed. "Maybe it's all that vodka sloshing around in your
brain. Careful. Don't bottle it in or things could get messy."
It was a brief moment. In his head there was a room, much darker than this one,
and he was inside the blond and Ed was screaming. Pushing him away. But he just
forced him quiet, stifling sound with his hand, thrusting and owning and taking
because he could. He could.
Horror and grief trembled through Roy's blood. Two hemispheres battled for
dominance, one side telling him how easy it would be - how simple to transmute
a drug, a potion, convince Ed to breathe it in and satisfy his desires once the
boy succumbed. The other side was not as taken by the idea, but equally curious
for the taste of the Fullmetal Alchemist. How he would smell of sex and sweat
and degradation.
The blood in his dick stirred at the thought. Pulsed. "The report," he said
hoarsely, holding his hand out. He could see the color of the fire in his blond
hair, the flicker of pale scarlet, shadows of sulfur. Ed held his gaze,
briefly, before dropping his eyes and his hands to his satchel where he began
to dig for what would surely be a sloppy and altogether worthless compiling of
the events in Aquroya.
"Better not have written it in crayon again," Roy said smugly.
"Prick. You're the one drinking scotchka in the dark like a lunatic."
Roy almost hit him. Almost. It would have been nice to humble the little shit,
knock him to the ground and shove fingers in the automail socket until he
apologized. But he didn't, because that would have been unwarranted violence
against a subordinate, and he knew that Ed was so very delicate. It just
wouldn't do for another authority figure (not a parent, but close enough) to
push him away. Hohenheim had broken this one.
No. He didn't hit him. He did something much worse.
He walked slow, very slow, making sure that Ed was aware of every movement.
Edward had abandoned his search and was staring at his face. The danger had
presented itself, subtly, and now Ed was analyzing it. Dissecting it. His days
in the military had trained his body to be on alert, even if he was asleep,
even if he was in the presence of someone he trusted. Because no matter how
much Ed tried to live like an exiled god, he was only human, made of expendable
parts.
"Do you have the report, Edward?" Roy murmured, though his tone spoke of
something else. He let his hands fall on either side of the boy's body, palms
on the desk. Effectively trapping him like a rabbit in wolf teeth. When Ed said
nothing, Roy thought it a curiosity. He smirked, and that smirk widened when
Fullmetal's eyes searched his in an evaluation of threat. As if he had
determined Mustang wasn't in his right mind but hadn't discovered what that
meant for him.
Things were getting. Hazy. The stench of burning was in the air and lumber
popped and sizzled. The glass cracked, the juxtaposition of hot and cold
throwing atoms into disarray. Vodka leaked from the crystal into the grate, a
steam of poison, liquor, soiled blood.
"I want you to see you touch him," Lust said calmly, a spectator. She made
excitement sound like melancholy. And it frightened Roy because he had only
seen such collected manipulation in himself. "I want to see you put your hands
on him."
"I'm not doing anything," he snapped, stealing a glare at her decomposing body.
It had rotted even more in just the last few minutes, belly open and raw.
Black, blood-soaked organs tumbled out like extra limbs. Ed flinched when he
heard Roy speak, and Roy assumed it was because he had done nothing to provoke
it and the foul scent of alcohol on his breath must have been intimidating.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Edward is so beautiful when he's angry, Roy's mind said. His cock agreed. This
close, he could feel body heat. He could smell his hair. He could see the way
nervous blood pulsed in his throat. And despite his declaration that he
wouldn't do anything, would not attempt to satiate his hunger, he allowed
himself to sweep his thumb across soft, dry lips, allowed himself to tangle his
other hand in warm golden hair.
Ed's breath hitched. "Don't-"
Roy heard it, but by the time his brain had decoded the words, his tongue was
already cutting them off. He kissed him so deeply that he expected to taste his
stomach acid, his tongue a worm, his hand a claw holding Fullmetal's head in a
position more readily accessible. And Ed didn't fight it, was resigned to it,
let it happen, because honestly there was really nothing he could do.
Roy heard ringing in his ears, like a heartbeat. Like waking up from a
nightmare. Press closer. It's not real.
Roy pulled back, just to see. Disentangling the knots from his fingers. Ed was
looking at him, but not at him; past him, really. He opened his mouth to say
something. Closed it. When he finally looked at him, his eyes were much softer
than anything Roy could compare them to. Like clouds golden from the sunrise.
The sound of his panting breaths was like the rustle of far-off trees.
"That was just lovely," Lust snickered. Limbs creaking in the silence. "You
animal. You monster. You should have seen it, what you were doing, grinding
like a dog on its mount. Look at what you've done. He thinks the world of you,
trusts you to shield him when things go wrong, and now you've mauled him like a
bitch in heat."
"I have to go," Ed stuttered, quietly. The quietest Roy had ever heard him say
anything.
Like he was afraid. That made Roy's stomach turn nauseously; Ed knew he wasn't
forcing him to do this, right? Ed knew he could leave whenever he wanted,
right? Roy wasn't that kind of person, not a pervert who snatched kids up and
used them like condoms or cigarettes or fuel. Despite whatever sick mind-
fuckery the homunculus was playing at, he would never, ever stoop so low as to
hurt Fullmetal.
"Ed, I'm not gonna..."
"No!" Ed shoved him away, hard, throwing all of his strength into it. The
colonel stumbled back, and then caught a whiff of sweet hair as Ed darted past
him, making an escape, running because that's what he would rather do than
fight. Somehow, this was too much for the alchemist. This was overloading his
system. And he needed out.
Ed kept his hand on the knob, briefly, panting and shaking. "Don't you ever
fucking touch me again," he said. Tears didn't fall because Elrics never cried.
"I won't tell anyone. Because I know they'd fire you. But if you touch me
again, I'll kill you." He slammed the door on the way out, causing the
floorboards to tremble and the door to moan on its hinges. If anyone asked
about the mussed hair and the swollen lips he would deny it.
Roy leaned up against the wall, forehead against the cool plaster. He closed
his eyes and let the fire scald him. Hellfire was the price of his
transgressions. Hellfire was the toll for the feel of silk against his skin and
virgin sweat against his tongue. Running his hands along the boundaries. He was
not ordinarily a sick man. This was just a combination of the summer heat,
Lust's presence, and the boy's latent attractiveness.
It had always been there, and he had always seen it for what it was. But he had
never felt anything quite like this maddening soul-scorching. His throat had
never run dry when Edward combed blond hair with his fingers, his heart had
never beat a slow pace if Ed accidentally stumbled against him through clumsy
impatience. But now those things were happening, and he couldn't restrain
himself.
He could smell the smoke of his sin, his flesh boiling in hell. One touch and
he had damned himself. Edward would tell, because it was the right thing to do,
and now he, Roy Mustang, would have no choice but to face the consequences. If
he didn't tell someone in power, he would tell his brother, and neither of them
would trust him the same way again. Ed would no longer be coming here alone.
"Silly man," Lust said, not quite through tormenting him yet. He couldn't
command her to leave. He couldn't get a priest to command her to leave. He had
tried burning her, though that had done nothing but set a quick fire to his
bedroom. The flames touched her blackened, crispy flesh and didn't roar.
"Fullmetal isn't one to just leap into anyone's arms."
Roy looked at her angrily, teeth bared in a painful grimace.
"He needs real love, affection. He needs to know you'll satisfy him in ways
others couldn't. Think," the burned woman whispered in his ear, suddenly
materializing at his side. He could feel the dead, dry flesh of her lips, a
flash of tongue, decaying breath. He shuddered as she pressed against him.
"What does he want more than anything in the world?"
Roy seriously considered that question. At first, the answer was quick on his
tongue. What Edward wanted more than anything was for his brother to be
restored to a real body. But then he quieted himself. Thought of Edward in his
head. Gleaming steal arm and leg. Fiery eyes that were molten pits of anger,
sorrow, and yes, fear.
"He wants to know he's wanted," Roy found himself saying.
"He wants a man," Lust continued, smirking. "He wants to be controlled. He
wants to be subdued. He wants to be told no. In short, Mustang, he needs you."
He broke away from her, pushing away the ashen corpse. Pieces of her fell off
and then disappeared where they'd landed. "I molested him." The words were
bitter poison in his mouth.
"He's not as innocent as you think he is, Roy," she purred his name, laying
down across his desk. Papers flew about her burnt hair. "He thinks about you.
He thinks about all kinds of things. In the dark. When there's no one around to
hear him breathing so very hard."
Roy froze, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. Paper moonlight, the scent of
oil and cotton blankets, Edward trying to keep himself quiet as he moaned and
squirmed. Roy imagined jerking hips and slightly damp hair and half-lidded,
golden eyes dripping tears of ecstasy. He imagined his own name spilling from
those lips in a moment of convulsion, of chaos. And then Ed would just lie
there, blood coloring his cheeks as he caught his breath.
"He rejected you today because he feels he's doing something wrong," Lust
continued, smiling as if she could read his thoughts. She let her head fall
back, neck exposed and hair hanging down. A mockery of seduction. Necrophilia.
"He feels dirty. Knowing he should be thinking of you as anything but a lover."
"That's a lie," he spat.
"Even if it was, it feels good to think about, doesn't it?" she said knowingly.
It did. His crotch wanted friction, any friction, and it wanted it now.
Edward had left his coat on the rack. He walked towards it, the red cloth
suddenly warm and soft beneath his fingertips. What would Ed look like wearing
nothing but this? Draped in nothing but the seductive color of crimson. Gold
and red. He held it close to his face, the scent sweet and hot and unholy. He
moaned against the cloth, body sliding against the wall in utter submission. He
felt his eyes grow heavy like he wanted sleep. But sleep was not what he
desired.
"He trusts you," Lust said, appearing beside his ear. Her tongue beneath the
lobe. Lick. "He would do anything if you promised him something good would come
of it. That's something to think about, isn't it, colonel?"
Would he? Would he really do anything? Roy thought about that. Would Ed go down
on his knees for him? Would he use that filthy mouth of his? Sweep his tongue
and tease him until he couldn't take it anymore? Or would he bend over, give
everything he had, let his superior fuck him nice and rough?
He rubbed his groin against Ed's jacket, in his hand, somehow reveling in the
sparks it sent up and down his spine. Touching himself with something so
intimately part of Edward's being was like oxygen. Almost as good as having the
real thing.
"Shut up," he said, but unbuckled his pants anyway.
When the red cotton touched his bare dick, it twitched in response, attuned to
Ed. He could smell him. Leather and oil and sweet youth; laundry soap that
could not cover up Ed's scent. He rubbed himself through the jacket, his dick
stiffening up without any thought to stimulate it. The fire in the grate grew.
Shadows on sweat.
He remembered the taste of Ed's lips. Sweet, warm, wet, young. He was fresh. He
was practically walking sex, strutting temptation, glorious in his ignorance.
Edward had no idea the power he had - no idea that men and women would give
anything to see him crawl for them. To have him, all of him, and the permission
to do unspeakable things to his body.
This in itself was unspeakable. His dick was slick and hot, pulsing as he
rubbed it slow. The cotton felt so damn good, so soft, and Roy closed his eyes,
pretending that it was Ed he was thrusting into, Ed he was touching. He spread
his hand flat beneath the cloth and just rode it, panting breaths escaping his
throat.
He felt hands on his shoulders. He stiffened up as he realized it was Lust, her
burned features, her sick grin. "The fuck?"
"Keep your eyes closed," she said. "Pretend I'm him. Pretend I'm Fullmetal."
He obeyed - possibly because of how turned on he was, possibly because he was a
sick bastard - and let her take his jacket, let her rub his groin. He thought
about Ed. He thought about his tight little ass and the way he moaned in his
sleep. The way he'd blush and play coy if Roy could ever dream of seducing him.
The way he might scream an orgasm.
"Keep going," he panted, groaning. She was on her knees. He didn't care. Didn't
mind when he felt dry lips take his dick, didn't mind the slick wet of a hot
tongue. There was something dirty about pretending it was Ed between his legs,
something truly satisfying about that blond head bobbing as a tongue lapped at
his head. He would twist his fingers in Ed's hair, use it like reins to steer
his dick further in.
He'd like it if he choked, gagged, would like it if his throat tightened up.
Eyes clenching in fear. How humbling.
In his vision, Ed looked up at him, golden stare penetrating, deep, as the
blond licked a slow circle around the head of his cock. Roy came hard,
breathing heavily, waves of euphoria beating his muscles into a wonderful kind
of bruising. And the gates of hell closed. No, he would not touch him again; he
didn't need to. He would burn his lust again and again until it was spent, like
logs in the grate.
Lies were wonderful things.
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