Roy Mustang rather enjoyed touching Fullmetal's automail parts.

"Goddamn you, just do it." And he does, pressing Ed's chest do the bed with a hand in the center of his back, letting his fingers splay between cool metal shoulder and overheated skin, pressing into Edward, who would hiss like an offended snake. Hard to breathe at that noise, at the clenching heat, at the danger of what they were doing here.

They were uncomfortable sometimes, frequently a startling cold against hot flesh, and heavy. Although Fullmetal liked to watch - had almost an obsession with seeing Roy's face change (And how could he protest that?), they'd given up on sex with Fullmetal on his back, even flexible as he was. When they'd last tried, Roy had ended up with a popped rib from Ed's leg, and a ring of dark bruises on his left wrist that his uniform cuffs didn't hide. The decision to give up on that had been mutual.

Fullmetal gets incoherant fast, he's found. He used to try to talk through it, to demonstrate a control he didn't have. He doesn't bother any more, just curses until his words vanish into noises. He's most pliable then, most willing to go along with anything Roy can think up, until they run out of ideas. Mostly, he doesn't bother trying new things, not when this - heat, motion, the scent of sweat and musk - is the oldest of all things and the best.

His idea of foreplay freaked Fullmetal out at first. He wanted less personal things. Kisses if he had to, groping and fondling, things everyone did. He'd been uncomfortable, though he'd gone along with it, when Roy had drawn him close, stripped him bare, sucked a metal finger into his mouth. He'd called Roy vague insults as Roy dragged fingers along the join of flesh and metal, where nerves were too sensitive, too used to being attached and detached, too trained to send signals quickly and abruptly. Roy had stopped when Fullmetal's teeth had drawn back off his lips, but - "No, no, it's good. It just. It's. Shut up, just do it."

Fullmetal simply wasn't used to being touched there at all.

Some would say that Fullmetal never has control, that he's always wild; those people don't know Fullmetal. His emotion comes fast and hard, yes, but even his rage has some control, when he lets it. It's all in the mind; Fullmetal's mind is frighteningly strong and powerful and doesn't like to let go. It lets go now, now, as language fails and everything is tension and heat and movement, a something not enough reaching for more striving for more more more; that's the secret, because sex isn't enough by itself. It's a road, and when Fullmetal finally steps onto it, he throws himself into it like he throws himself into anything. Sex itself is incompletion, trying to become complete, closer, closer. He pulls out almost completely, slams in, earns himself a choked noise and he needs more, he needs more, bends double over Fullmetal, chest to back, puts his hands on top of Fullmetal's, a chill under one hand, burning heat under the other.

"It's weird," Fullmetal would tell him. "You're weird, you freak." But he wouldn't pull his hand away as Roy explored metal joints, tasted the sickening sharpness of machine oil, the bloodlike scent of iron filling his nose and mouth. "Freak."

He characterizes Fullmetal as himself sometimes, too often sometimes. Fullmetal loses control, speeds up, he loses control, speeds up; he's not sure which happens first. Heat and motion and reaching - always a feeling of - incompletion, and he's begging, he thinks he's begging, his mouth pressed into Fullmetal's hair. He inhales hair, it's in his mouth, and Fullmetal will curse him for that later; that's the thought in his mind as he presses his weight forward, down, in and comes hard, reaching, reaching

there

"I'm just not used to it." Fullmetal's voice had been sullen, almost petulant. "That's all - stop smirking"

After, he's weak, tired, complacent, and so is Fullmetal. When he can get up the energy, Fullmetal shifts away, pulls Roy out of him, turns over, and glares, sullenly, as he puts his right hand to Roy's cheek, lets him lick the fingers with a sleepy, satisfied tongue.