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Fic: Reunion

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Title: Reunion

Authors: nilepriestess and sohma_shigure

Pairing: Kimbly x Roy

Rating: Porn! NC-17! Violence! <3

Summary: First posted on thedevilsnest under my Kimbly puppett account (thriftstoresuit)--Kimbly returns from prison and goes to visit an old friend...

 


Other stoof: the Roy is her's, the Kimbly is mine, and the dub-con porn is ours. life is good <3

 


dually noted, this was taken straight out of an out-of-the-air RP, made for the DN LJ comm. the back-and-forth is sort of odd i guess. rather than a solid flow going, we're sort of i don't know @__@ ...this is my first time posting anything RP over here...be merciful please.

 


 






Riza narrows eyes and Kimbly smirks, and lounging back on the couch.

She stands before him in a towel, hair wrapped in another. She eyes the Crimson Alchemist. “...Can I...help you?” She had borrowed the Colonel's shower.

He shrugs and props his boots up on the coffee table. “Just waiting for Colonel Flame--I want to tell him about my reinstatement, promotion, and wonderful new life.”

“...” Riza nods and goes to change. It was in a simple outfit, nice pair of jeans and a blouse. Roy was actually in his room, doing some tai chi exercises to slow Xing music. “He's in his room--” And she went to gather her things… “Have a good night.”--and moves to leave. Funny, the man DID seem familiar.


As she leaves, Kimbly looks the woman up and down, letting out a low wolf whistle as she heads out the door. "Damn. Seems little miss sniper grew out while I was gone." he smirks. He looks over his shoulder, down the hall to Roy's room. "Slow as usual, Flame..." he says to himself. “Didn't even lock the door..."


Riza tensed at the wolf-whistle as she still headed out. Roy, on the other hand, was doing his practice as always. Slow and persistent--helped him relax. Slowly move forward, then back, do a Crane move, back slowly into a crouching tiger, all fluid mind you. He slowly stops and grunted. He rubbed his collarbone a bit. “Damn...”


When Roy straightens up, Kimbly is standing in the doorway to the man's bedroom, arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe. "Well, well, well...call you a sight for sore eyes. How've you been, Flame?"


“...” Roy froze and his heart stopped a moment. His back was to the door and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The scar was acting up a bit now as he seethed. No. It couldn't be--but that voice. No one could remake just a voice, let ALONE that presence that he made on himself alone. “--Crimson...” He murmurs, not even wanting to turn around. This was a dream--no...a HORRID nightmare. Flashes from a time before come to mind; memories of the war and those dry, cold nights that became hot and humid in the tent--because HE made it so. The cot would squeak relentlessly--bodies covered in sweat--no love in the carnal act--just...


Kimbly whistles--a sound of fake admiration as he looks over the bedroom. 'Nice place you got here, though looks like you finally jumped back over the fence again to girls. Did Dumbfuck finally skimp out on you and leave?" he smirks nice and wide, looking over Roy's body in the same hungry manner he'd used with Riza. "After all, the sun can only shine for so long on a cloudy day. Fucking a wet blanket like you for so long must not have been any fun for him."


Roy tensed and huffed in a growl. He was wearing just tai chi type of Xing Pants. No shirt. “He Got married.” Roy stated, slowly moving to turn to the other. His hair not that ridiculous little boy cut anymore, it was a bit longer, he might need a haircut again. No matter. He was toned, still not buff, but still nice for the eyes. And the mark still there. The one that Kimbly gave him years ago. “And what does it matter to you about my preference or whom I'm still with? Still testing the waters everywhere you go?” He and Riza were close, but more so to a point of protection and friendship. There as obvious attraction, but Riza knew better.


He shrugs--his air still as casual and blunt as the day Roy had met him. "Just a question. Though I see you're still defensive as always." he chuckles, his gaze slowly drifting back and forth between Roy's face and the mark branded into his chest. "Seems you're still wearing my mark too... Were you just too lazy to burn the whole thing off yourself? Too big of a coward? Or--" he straightens up, arms down at his sides as he steps into the room. "--do you look at it to remind yourself that you were my fuck-toy at one time?" he laughs, loud and sharp. "Does it get you hard at night, Flame? --what with Dumbfuck gone and all."


“Maes Isn't gone--He has a family.” He stated and then goes to walk toward the other. “And the scars we bare upon our bodies--to keep...remind us of the trials we went through--” He then was face to face with him, Kimbly maybe a hair taller or two, but that didn't bother him. “The past; To forget is to repeat, Crimson. To remember is to move on and live”


Kimbly follows after him, stopping him in the hall-- a hand on either of the wall by Roy's head, one of Kimbly's legs set forward between Roy's. Trapped. "So you're saying you don't want an encore performance, Flame? After all that? I would have thought--" he remarks. "--that I meant a bit more to you--what with all that begging you spat out." He brings his voice up a bit--mimicking Roy's years ago. "--please, Kimbly--don--ah! Don't stop!" He stops and snickers. "Isn't that now it went? Or was I just imagining things?"


Roy glared dangerously to the other. He had begged in the past. He was in total denial. He maybe missed being forcefully taken, slammed into, no remorse, no love, just Raw sex. “Your pitch was too high. I sounded like that when I was eight.” He stated bluntly. Oh, the only one that could make his masochistic side yell out for being buried would be Kimbly. But no--he wouldn't be weak. Temptation was before him. He Knew Kimbly--he knew if Kimbly wanted he could fuck him or fuck with him. Calmly, he closed his eyes, going to slowly slide down, around the arms and moves his leg from Kimbly's.


And Kimbly lets Roy squirm his way out, lets the man walk away, but with without cost. He keeps close at Roy's heels, so close to bumping into the man--but somehow managing to stay just far enough away. His breath is on the back of Roy's neck and his hands graze the other's hips. "So what does a Colonel like you do all day?" he asks, finally just grabbing the man around the waist. "And I'm pretty disappointed too. You never said you missed me."


Roy was doing his best to ignore the presence, the closeness that the other was giving. He was heading to the kitchen, until his waist was grabbed and he stopped. He did shift a bit, tensing as goose bumps came out then disappeared again. “No you're not. Like I'd give you the ammo.” He looks over his shoulder and eyes him. “I do paperwork--without no wars--that's all Colonels and officers do usually--”


"No wars? No bloodshed?" He breathes upon Roy's ear. "No screams or cries for mercy? Well that's no fun." he chuckles, hands wasting no time--one arm wrapped firmly around Roy's waist, keeping the other in place--his free hand roughly groping Roy through his pants. "Somehow I just can't comprehend how you can LIVE day to day with so little stimulation? Or is it that little pipe dream of you?" he purrs, pressed up against Roy's backside. "--the one to become Fuhrer and save this corrupt country? The very one that spared a murderer like myself?"


Roy was going to walk again when that arm, damn--seems he maybe scrawny but still pretty good in holds!, kept him close. He growled that faltered as he felt the other starting to grope and quite roughly for that matter. The purring made him tremble but he closed his eyes and moved to try and regain his mind. Though, ONE mind was starting to React. His eyes snapped open and he moved suddenly into a crouch and leaned forward suddenly. He grabs onto the other and throws the man OVER his shoulder and onto the floor, on his back, HARD. “Like the very war where death spared me to grow and become who I am today--Kimbly.”


The wind's knocked out of him, and Kimbly's left wide-eyed on his back staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck just happened as he tries to suck down a breath. That little...he did NOT... Kimbly had been with Greed for almost a month. During that time he'd been well fed and...exercised.. He'd been living in secret with Frank for a few weeks more--hiding out in the man's house until he was officially reinstated. And from then it's been about another two weeks, but with his reinstating being rather hush-hush, word had been traveling fairly slowly... He's had time to work out the atrophy. He's not as strong as he was, but he's close and gaining. And he's still just as sharp mentally. He flips himself into his stomach and glares up at Roy. Oh--it's ON.

And he jumps up--lunging at the other, throwing all of his weight into him. He tackles Roy before he can sidestep, knocking the man onto the hardwood floor under them, therein trying to wrestle him into submission. "You think you're such hot shit, do you?" he hisses. Explosive as always. Your best friend one second and your worst enemy the next. "You think you're the big man?" he laughs sharply and spits on the other. "Like hell--you're still the filthy little slut back from the war! You're as bloodstained as I am, and don't you forget it Flame!" he snarls. "Morals and ideals don't make anything better or worse! You killed, I killed--we're the same there--but I'm still higher up on the food chain than you Flame! You submitted first! You folded! You're mine!"


Upon seeing the other's glare, his stomach turned and he indeed backed up. He needed to and go into stance. He knew he had to watch Kimbly AND his hands. He knew those hands better then anyone to a degree. He was one of the only one to be touched by his array and live--not becoming a bomb or anything. But now? Who knew. Keep his wits about him...light on his feet. If Kimbly wanted him THAT badly, He'd have to fight for it. His eyes set, concentration within them as the other would come at him. He had a spacious home; a LARGE living room, so it shouldn't be so bad--so he hoped. Maybe not. He should of been prepared but no, it was a FULL, weight lunge and he couldn't recover. Roy's back hit the wooden roof and let out a noise. Though hands knew where to aim for. They held his wrists.

He had a hand slipping to the middle of Kimbly’s lower arm but still, trying to keep the other at bay. The spit sprayed onto his face but Roy shook it off. As Kimbly went on, he growls a bit louder, trying to restrain the other, even perhaps try to flip him off to the side. “THAN and THERE, Crimson!” Roy corrected, dark blue gazing, piercing into crazed yellow eyes. “Part of me will always be in the past--always yours--” He murmured, not denying that fact, the scar proved that. “But through the years the master's been away, the Dragon's breath has developed--and HE can BURN!” He moves to knock his knee into the other's side, hoping to fling him off to the side before getting back to his feet. “You ALWAYS loved and challenge! A FIGHT, Crimson!”

Roy pants, looking a tad shaky, but recovers quickly to get to his feet and stand. “What do you fear now to make you snap so suddenly--” And he slowly smirked. Perhaps a bit too cocky? Or Kimbly was bringing out the fighter in him that really wasn't there During Ishbal...It was better that then showing fear that did tingle at the back of his mind. Without his gloves, he could only hold off so long before Kimbly got really pissed and perhaps DID use his weapon that he was known for--and got his namesake from.


And the knee nails its mark--Kimbly shouts and swears and scrambles back to his feet, a hand grabbing at his side. It'll bruise without a doubt. Two months and then some out of prison--yes, he's got some meat on his bones, but he still bruises like you wouldn't believe. "Of course I love a good challenge." he grins, flashing teeth--almost a mimicry of Greed's tooth smile. "It gets the heart pumping, the adrenaline rushing--singles everything out but you and your opponent." He sidesteps once, twice, thrice--beginning a slow circle with the other, the Roy trying to keep distance from the madman. "A good fight is like nothing else, Flame. Better than any drug you could ever take. It makes you live, makes you scream from the inside out. It's a rush for survival. It’s primal.

"Human beings...worthless animals, really. This is what we boil down to aside from the elements we're created from; raw and primal urges. He eat, we fuck, and we fight." his smirk is positively sinister. "Simple, isn't it? Though I'd say it's saps like you who give humans a bad name--overcomplicating things with your ethics and morals--taking all the fun out of life--out of what it was before civilization--before man took logic and philosophy under his wing..." he claps once, palms pressed together for but a single second. "Now--logic and philosophy aren't all bad after all. Learn 'em right and you can mind-fuck any man you meet--beggar or priest--make him doubt his leaders, his life, himself. Tell me, Roy--" he says, calling upon the other.

"Have I ever done that to you? Made you feel so fucking undermined and useless you just didn't want to go one anymore? Did I ever show you that you were doing nothing more than wasting time in an uphill battle against an unbeatable corruption? Did I ever make you realize just how worthless your life and your efforts are in this world?”


“Frank learned that quite well.” Roy stated, after Kimbly went off about how to manipulate the mind. “As it seems you--Humans evolved--” He stated, still watching the other. Shit, he clapped. Meaning it would get serious soon--as always. “There's a deeper meaning in life; emotions, jobs, families. You are put on this earth to do one thing. Live. You live for pleasure, the pain, everything you can get out of it until you are back where you started. a corpse of matter. instead of growing, you're decaying...” He rolled his shoulder, putting on a face. “You did many things to me, Kimbly. Things that no one could perhaps want to live with or comprehend. The war did more so, and with your influence--I thought I was like you. A killer, but felt remorse...” narrows his eyes. “--no pleasure or gain from it.

“We always gain something from everything. Depends what... You got experience and pleasure--I got--experience--and pain. Pain that no one should have or a heavy soul...but that's what it was about, wasn't?” He smirked “You fucked me to show me. The pain, making me enjoy it... imagining all those people's faces, their screams--to fuel a primal fire to make me like you-to get lost in the rape of my body AND mind.” He paused for a moment. “--and to show that you had the power over pitiful little Major Flame...” His expression hardened a bit. “Every human as a beast--every being should learn to control...but you indulge in yours. You are your beast, using it to manipulate and get what you want.” He moved into a stance and let out a slow sigh. “I suppose...let the battle of the beasts...commence.”


Roy was the Dragon, Kimbly surely was the tiger, in Xing Lore. He looked unusually calm. The MAN was going up against Kimbly, who has clapped and was now armed. Was he mad? Maybe, but any man who survived Ishbal AND Zolf J. Kimbly in rape situations--you'd be a bit off your rocker as well.


Roy had called him a beast. Smirk. "You're right. I'm a beast. Inhumane. Inhuman. I kill for fun. I tell you a twist of truths and lies to watch you squirm. When I was still young, I came to an impasse in my life. I could sit back and let it all swallow me up; failure, despair--all of it. They hated me for no real reason. So I gave them a reason to. The impasse was breeched." he rubs his palms together, jackal yellow eyes--clear and piercing, locked onto Roy's dark blues. "I'm your boogieman, Roy." he tells the other, arms coming down to his side, hands flexing, knuckles and joints popping one by one. "I'm your dark side--your dirty little secret. I'm the outlet that gives you the power to go on.

"That darkness--that doubt--it festers in you--growing every day. Without Dumbfuck--who's your confidant? Who's going to give you that little bit of satisfaction that you're not numb yet? That you're still alive? You gave into me every time, but even still you would fight when I cornered you--let you convince yourself that if you struggled and your intentions were pure, you wouldn't be tainted. But you were wrong. You were tainted, but with every time I came into your tent, you would lose yourself in the sweat and the grime and the sand and the sex. And you'd love it. You could forget the war. You could live by your definitions. And with that defiant glare, you'd welcome me back every night. You needed me then."

Maes is a married man--wife, daughter, white picket fence. There is no more Roy. "You need me now." He dives for Roy, knocking the other back into a wall, clawing and burning, growling and snapping, trying to tear Roy out of his clothes. Anticipation is half the pleasure. He's waited. Now he's ready.


Yellow eyes glint, the ones of a proud tiger thinking. Roy listened. For men who had two different views on life, they did indeed know each other--didn't they? As Kimbly went on, memories came back clearer. The cries of his own voice, Kimbly's laughter and the sound of that damn cot. No one would dare question it. Hell, people wondered if Roy would indeed come out of that tent a bit after dawn. Muscled tensed and goose bumps flared up and faded. To forget about the war, to live on another day, Kimbly would allow Roy to just lose themselves in the raw act. He needed him that. And Maes? Maes was there! Maes--was-- "You need me now." And when Roy refocused from the back of his mind to the present? It was too late.

He tries to advert, but the tiger had pounced the dragon into a corner against the wall. The sensation of burning and scratched flesh caused Roy to cry out, struggling, trying to fight off Kimbly as best as he could. He tries, giving back blows and scratches as he struggles, yet Kimbly's hands were working quickly, going for his pants. “No!” Roy stated firmly, trying his best to fend him off, but more burning sensations ensued and Roy's body reacted. He forced himself not to curl up. Back then, Kimbly could pick up Roy and easily toss and pin the young major to a bed. He batted back, trying to pull off the hands but Kimbly's actions were fierce, feverish and quick.

Roy was now totally on the defensive, but to be on the defensive of Kimbly, is to lose a hand on the whole situation entirely. It’s only a matter of time. He would make sure he lasts longer then he use to. Eyes flashed with a stubborn, fiery spirit--making his body fight back the urge to give in, the flashbacks--the past coming back as clear as yesterday. His defense could only last so long in the end. The animal can only be held back for so long until humanity fades and the beast remains, thirsting for what it has been without for so many years...last resorts of growling, scratching, slashing and biting at the weak point--the neck.


They fight and rip, and snap and struggle. Roy's blows across Kimbly's back bruises, and his nails cut across the other's skin--the bloody red trails personifying the alchemist as his namesake; Crimson. And as Roy fights back, struggling for all he's worth, Kimbly recalls how his fellow alchemist would always fold after only a few minutes. Roy is older now--he has more resolve, more fight. So Kimbly pushes his farther--demanding more, arrays searing into Roy's skin--listening to those dirty and feral noises coming from the other man. And all of this does take its toll on Kimbly's stamina--but his blood his pounding in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wants to see it. He wants his finale.

Roy bites his neck and Kimbly throws the other to the ground, dropping on top of him, straddling his thighs, and backhanding Roy with his fist whenever the other man tries to get up. He strips Roy down without consideration, repaying the Flame for all the marks and cuts and scratches he'd left over Kimbly's own. Thighs are shoved apart to make way, and Kimbly is just as gentle with Roy as he was their first time. As he forces himself in, his breath catches. Seven long years... how time flies. He smirks down at the other, wondering briefly if Roy is really whimpering, or if he's reliving a moment from the past. And to think...all leading up to this point was merely foreplay. Kimbly growls. And thrusts.


The perfect teeth that women swoon at when the Flame Alchemist would give a flirty and always attractive smile were now weapons. He bit into the flesh of the other, hard. He seemed to growl almost possessively in a way to make the other get off of him. No prevail. Roy swore he was going to break skin but Kimbly already threw him onto the floor. Roy sits up and BAM! One backhanded fist. It stung right in his cheek and stunned him for a moment. It wasn't that bad. The sensation of his pants coming off, perhaps in a good deal of shreds anyhow at the moment, makes Roy get another surge of energy. So, he gets up again. BAM! again. This time right near his eye, upper cheek bone but close enough that he would indeed have half a black eye perhaps tomorrow morning.

A groan from the pain, was met by a surprised groan which morphed into a seethe and a growl. He laid there, a slight noise coming from his lips. His body trembling from the fully hardened cock ramming into him. It had been too long. Memories flashing--but no, he wouldn't be lost in them--he wasn't going to stay bottom for the whole ride. As the thrusting begins, Roy struggling to sit up, avoiding another backhand and goes to smack Kimbly, nails going into it, across the jaw line and down a bit on the neck. The scent of blood, sweat and burnt skin truly starting to over power the nice smells of Xing incense that Roy burned. He made a noise, a mix of a growl type and that of a moan-howl--that was truly something no one would expect Roy Mustang to have come forth.

If Maes or anyone were to see this--they wouldn't think womanizer Roy Mustang would have such a side. A side that wasn't suppose to exist. A side that was created from the Ishbal war. The side that the Crimson Alchemist wanted him to embrace--but Roy had no need to use--until now. As the thrusts go more forceful, more noises came out. Mustang, still trying to unpin himself, still trying to inflict some wounds on the other--even to a point of dragging the other close again to bite his other side of his shoulder with a snarl. No whimpers and begging came from the Flame Alchemist--No...not this time. Kimbly wanted a challenge--he was getting one. He was indeed getting a fight--of what he perhaps implanted in the young major's mind years ago.


Roy is bleeding, Kimbly is bleeding. Both are snarling and growling and shoving and trying to overpower the other. But Kimbly knows he's winning. He can hear it in Roy's voice--the very tone that resonates from the other--it sounds off like an alarm to Kimbly. He knows the depths of his madness. He knows the path there and back better than he knows his own body. Roy's showing the signs--he's opening up to his inner demons and the nightmares that plague him. It's all in the sounds. His vocalizations--in Ishbal, Roy would whimper and cry out for Kimbly. Now he hisses and howls for him--showing off such an animalistic side. It's too fucking hot for it's own good.

Kimbly keeps a harsh grip on Roy's hips and waist, driving into the other with a ferocity going beyond the limits of what they used to know back in that old tent surrounded by the sand and death --the place where Kimbly would take without prompting and where Roy would give without consent. They were grown men now, the stakes were higher and the fires burned brighter. "You--" Kimbly snarls, grabbing a fistful of Roy's hair, tugging the man forward and he leans further in. "--want it." he digs his fingernails, already smeared with blood into Roy's hip. "You always will." And he fucks him hard and rough, without regret, without remorse, without an ounce of love to him. He fucks Roy until his own inner demons have been quelled, finding Roy's body and mind the perfect sacrifice.

He does not call Roy's name, nor his title, but he growls and hisses and bucks and swears until he's done--leaving Roy on the floor, just as much or a mess as he is. Kimbly tugs his pants back up and zips his fly, taking one of Roy's own shirts to replace his own ruined one. He does not look back as he walks out the front door, but he wave to the other, grinning to himself. His hair is disheveled and his face, neck, and hands are all cut and bloodied. He looks like hell. But he feels like a million dollars.

Mood:
nervous nervous
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On November 6th, 2006 10:24 am (UTC), mercy_slays commented:
Oh my fucked up Ishballa. -applauds- ♥! xD
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