[FMA] Knives

The anticipation makes him shiver. He’s hard as a rock and has been since the second Maes stared at him and asked in that low growl of his ‘do you trust me?‘.

Those key words make Roy’s mouth go dry. Make his pulse leap as he nods mutely, no need for words. And when Maes leaves the room to get what he needs, Roy undresses with careless haste. He tosses his clothes to the floor, leaving them in crumpled heaps, and sprawls on top of the bedcovers, limbs to the four corners.

At first, Maes had to tie him down, for Roy’s own safety. His control has improved since then, making the bindings superfluous. Roy waits, cock throbbing, eyes locked on the door, fingers curling and uncurling out of anticipation.

He hears Maes’ boots on the stairs. A shadow in the doorway before Maes appears in full military dress, the sight of which makes Roy’s breath hitch. He all but exudes power and confidence. A whine builds in Roy’s throat but he swallows it down.

Maes’ gaze sweeps Roy over from head to toe, bearing a smirk made of sin and flicking one of his knives across his fingers. “Eager?”

“Always,” Roy rasps with brutal honesty.

Maes slips further into the room, still twirling the knife, the sharpened metal catching glints from the low light.

Roy lifts his arms, holding them above his head, wrists crossed. He doesn’t ask what made Maes need it this time. He knows this dark side Gracia can never see. And it is Roy’s pleasure to give Maes what he needs.

The bed dips as Maes sits next to him, plants one hand on the bed on Roy’s side opposite to where he sits. The flaps of his coat brushes Roy’s bare abdomen as he leans over. Maes’ free hand toys with his knife, dragging out the moment.

Roy watches, captivated by the metal’s sheen, and watches with breathless anticipation as Maes reaches, the edge of the knife aiming for the sensitive and now exposed skin of Roy’s underarm. So delicate and thin there. Roy quivers.

The blade touches him. He can feel the pressure. More important is the hot weight of Maes’ eyes on him, watching, as Roy forces himself not to move. He keeps his eyes open, though he’d rather close them and surrender, and the first, thin cut makes his cock twitch. Precome seeps from the head, dribbling down the side of his length. Roy’s breath catches.

Maes hums appreciatively. “Do you trust me?” he says again and watching the knife move again, Roy can only moan a solid ‘yes‘.


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