The Knight in Slightly Tarnished Armor (yuuo) wrote in chaotic_library, @ 2007-06-12 19:10:00 |
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Current music: | Panic! At the Disco - Build God, Then We'll Talk |
Entry tags: | edward elric, fma, fma: alternate anime timeline, het, nc-17, short story, yuuo, yuuo-lj, yuuo: fma |
[Sloth x Edward; NC-17] Jocasta
Character/Series: Edward Elric; Sloth; Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I'm going to hell for this.
Warnings: Psuedo-cest, rape, breath deprivation, psychological games, drugs, and three hundred shades of fucked up.
Title: Jocasta
Author: yuuo
Word Count: 1700
Summary: Soft cotton and a dull buzz coated his mind and never quite faded, as Edward pulled himself up to conciousness.
Original LJ Post Date: Mar 29, 2006 @ Chaotic_Library
"No more shall ye behold such sights of woe,
Deeds I have suffered and myself have wrought;
Henceforward quenched in darkness shall ye see
Those ye should ne'er have seen"
-Oedipus Rex; Sophocles
Soft cotton and a dull buzz coated his mind and never quite faded, as Edward pulled himself up to conciousness. It detached his surroundings from him, leaving him feeling somewhat afloat, like in one of those dreams that came when one was only dozing, having drifted off again after waking up to the piercing ring of an alarm too early in the morning.
"Al," he mumbled, his lips almost feeling too heavy and sluggish to form the words enough to be understood, "'s too early."
A cool hand pressed against his forehead, then brushed his hair to the side; slowly, he pried one eyelid open. Trisha (Mom how can it be Mom) watched him quietly, smoothing his hair back, and then reached for something to the side of the bed. A moment later, a cool damp cloth touched his skin. A fever. A fever dream, of course, that explained so much. Edward wondered how long he'd been sick, that such a long and vividly clear nightmare had haunted him.
Edward forced the other eye open, watching Trisha as she worked, soothing her son's flushed face. "Mom?" he whispered, even while something at the back of his mind yelled at him, trying to warn him of the truth. The voice was muffled by the cotton in his mind, as Edward looked at the woman that filled his field of vision with a hazy, half-lidded gaze. For a second he thought she smiled at him.
"Hush," she said, sitting back and dropping the cloth somewhere off to his left. Her hand returned to his face, tracing along his features gently. He closed his eyes with a contented sigh as Trisha's cool fingers (cool like the dead ought to be shut up shut up) travelled along his skin, along the line of his jaw, down the path of his pulse. It was comforting, and her touch feather-light and gentle.
There was a pressure on his throat and with some struggle, he pried his eyes open and looked at his mother questioningly. Her expression was passive, intent on what her hands were doing as they glided over his throat, wrapping around it and cutting off his air.
His mouth opened to protest, but his voice only whined under the pressure of Trisha's hands; he tried desperately to clear away the heavy fog on his mind, to force his muscles to respond, to do anything but stare at her helplessly, but his body refused to respond. This was a dream. A nightmare, it had to be.
Her weight on the bed shifted as something heavy settled on him, and he tried to push it away. His hips merely twitched in response, pressing ineffectually against hers as he realized the weight that had settled on him was her. "Mom..?" he croaked weakly. A nightmare, it had to be a nightmare, god why couldn't he move?!
"Shh," she whispered as she leaned down, moving her hands from his throat to trace the lines of his collar bone and shoulders. "Be a good boy." Her expression never changed as her hands explored him, fingers pressing against the place where automail met skin; her icy violet eyes were passive, cold and distant, like he was a curiousity and she was a child with something that puzzled her.
Trisha (not Trisha) slipped a hand up under his head, lifting it off the pillow and carefully running the fingers of her other hand through his hair, brushing his hair back away from his face. He whimpered in the back of his throat, trying again to move his arms, to do anything, as he stared at her in horror. Ignoring his wordless protests, she carefully laid his head back down, each movement slow and deliberate, then reached over somewhere past him. His vision went blurry suddenly as she slipped a pair of glasses on him; her features because distorted through the lenses, the distinct violet eyes losing focus so he could no longer tell that they weren't actually the warm green-gray of his mother's.
"Mom," (not Mom it's not Mom) his voice came out a thready whine as tears stung at his eyes, "wh't're y' doin'..?" (Please stop oh god please stop, Mom, don't do this)
"Hush, darling," her voice was right by his ear; her hair tickled his face and his shoulder as her hands dropped down along his sides. "Be my-" (whose?) "-good boy."
Her hands were cold as they slipped under his shirt and along his bare skin, pushing the clothing up to expose his stomach to the chilly air in the room. (Of course she's cold, the dead are always cold Mom you're not Mom god please stop)
The metallic grate of a zipper echoed hollowly in his ears as he felt the catches of his pants being undone, and tightly he closed his eyes. She lifted his hips up to slide his pants off; the leather rubbed against him, sliding over his skin easily. Slowly, nerves fired themselves in response to the sensation, and something twitched and stirred in interest at (she's not) Trisha's actions.
Edward bit his lip, wanting to draw blood, to cause pain, to distract and distance himself from the nightmare but everything felt heavy, like he was stuck in slow-motion. He couldn't even watch past the lenses of the glasses (why did she put these on me I don't wear glasses who is she seeing him or me?) what was going on, just feel it as (not) his mother's hands worked the reactions from his body.
"Edward..." her voice slid across his mind like water over stone, carving wet little paths, grooves that carved an array of his violation in his brain. "Didn't you miss me?" Fingertips brushed lightly over his cock, and slowly, his body responded even as tears slipped out of the corner of his eyes and pooled in the crevices of his ears. Something cold and wet slid up his body and brushed over his lips, his face, mingling with the tears before wrapping around his throat firmly. "Didn't Daddy's little boy miss me, too?"
A strangled sob fought past the pressure on his throat at that and more tears gathered in the corners of his eyes before falling down his cheeks, completely blinding him. "Mom..." He thought for a moment that she melted against him, cold and wet as she slid up, wrapping around his hips and legs, and her face, blurred around the edges and never quite in focus, moved back into his line of vision.
"That's Mommy's good boy," she cooed as she lowered herself onto his cock, muscles tightening around him. Another whine threaded its way past his throat and he closed his eyes, again trying to move, to get away as she began to slowly rock her hips. He felt her hands on his forehead again, and he choked on a sob before her lips covered his, stealing the little breath that he could draw past the pressure around his neck.
The bed creaked quietly under them as she moved, and her kiss was wet- no, it was wet, too wet, like water was sliding down his throat and he coughed and gasped painfully for air. The water removed itself as she pulled back, and whatever was around his neck tightened. "Hush, darling," she scolded quietly (which one?), and the slick bonds around his hips and thighs tightened as she thrust downward against him.
Edward began to feel lightheaded as nerves tangled up and a solid lump of something (horror god stop you're not Mom stop get off me stop please stop don't) settled in his gut and bitter tears welled in his eyes and slipped down his face with pitiful sobs. Trisha (no) moaned softly as she straightened, tossing her head back slightly. "Hush, darling-
(which one?)
-didn't you miss me?"
(which one?)
The room began to spin out of control around the blurred edges of his vision.
"Why did you leave me?"
(who are you talking to who are you you're not mom I never abandoned you it was him I'm not him who are you?)
"Didn't you love me? Wasn't I good enough?"
The bed squeaked and groaned in protest and Trisha's (no) body seemed to melt then tighten and pulled and moved and oh god the room was spinning and his vision was whiting out and he tried to scream past the water around his throat, in his throat, but nothing but the thinnest most pitiable of sounds came out.
He fought violently against the impending climax as her muscles teased and pulled him and the bed creaked ominously under them with the rocking of her hips, but his body worked of its own volition, shuddering hard as he came, and (she's not she's not she's not she's not!) Trisha stopped moving, tightening and tensing around him before melting off him, slipping off the bed completely.
Hot and angry tears stung at his eyes and sobs caught and died in his throat. Trisha (the monster) didn't move to wipe the tears away, didn't say a word to comfort him.
Somewhere behind his head, another voice spoke up, one familiar, androgyne and silky. "Don't go breaking him just yet," Envy said with amusement. "He's still useful."
"Should I hold him down for you to take your turn?" At that, she pressed a hand to his throat and he whimpered, begging wordlessly to be let go.
"Naw, I'll get him later," Envy replied, moving into Edward's line of vision and removing the glasses from his face. "Better put him back for now, or That Person will begin to wonder what's going on." Edward blinked against the tears, trying to pull the world back into focus again. Envy was holding a small vial of some clear liquid, smiling widely. "Why hello there, Little Shorty," he purred, grabbing Edward's jaw roughly and forcing his mouth open. "Hello and goodnight."
Edward choked on the liquid as it slid down his throat, coughing and sputtering, but Envy shut his mouth and pinched his nose until Edward reluctantly swallowed it. "Don't worry, Shorty," the sin assured him. "It'll only make you a little sleepy."