Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Not for the first time in his life, Edward Elric hopes no one can see him like this.

The room is dark, moonlight casting strange shadows across the hotel floor. The sheets are a mess, slick with sweat and stained from half a week of nightmares. He inhales, a shaky thing as he scrubs a hand across his face and lets his gaze trail downward.

His feet are tangled, automail snagged in the edge of the comforter, and Ed kicks at it in irritation until the blanket loosens enough for him to pull away. He shudders, exhaustion mounting as he fishes one of the quilts from his side and splays it over his lower half, the attempt at modesty in vain.

Normally, he’d never go naked, but it’s hot. God, it’s hot.

With a sigh, Ed curls inward, trying to shake the dread from his shoulders. It’s easy to hold up a false sense of security, thoughts slipping the second he closes his eyes.

The dreams start the same way every night.

In the back of his mind, the Gate looms, and Edward huffs softly where he lies.

It groans, doors almost seeming to blister in the quiet, and it is with a start that Edward realises something has begun to push from the inside. Shadows slip from the cracks, dragging along the edges of his thought, and he is still until they are upon him.

Hands. Hundreds of them, curling eagerly around his waist and thighs, two for each limb. He tenses, a physical thing, the sheets creasing against the panels of his automail, and yet he does not move.

The Gate pulls at him, somehow more teasing this time, darkened fingers slick with the sin of the Gate wrapping his wrists. Something warm blooms in his gut, writhing gently in time with the quickening thrum of his heart, and he lurches. This feels, for a moment, less like a nightmare than it should. 

Edward’s breath hitches.

He pauses, shame catching at the edges of his mind, and he cracks one eye open out of embarrassment. The room is still empty, blinds closed. No one should be here for hours. If he wanted to, he could play it out. See where his mind took him.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it? (At least it wasn’t another fucking nightmare.)

Steeling himself, he lets his hand slip from his side to his naval, fingers skimming the edge of his crotch. Phantom nails dig into his hips the second his eyes close, dream far too close to reality as he jerks at the sensation.

His palm drags across his clit clumsily, and Ed bites back a yelp, a spark of pleasure enough to make him yelp. The hands twist excitedly, almost alive with delight. Then, for a sudden moment, they still, and Edward freezes.

A pause, and Ed thinks his ears pop.

Fingers like starlight thread his hair, cool where they tilt his head upward. Edward thinks his heart drops, but he doesn’t have the time to think about it.

“There we are,” A voice like the sun coos, and Ed whimpers, nails slick with quintessence digging into his scalp. “Hello, My alchemist.” God greets, not unkindly. The room smells like ozone. He keeps his eyes firmly shut.

“Gone so long, and you’re crawling back for this?” Truth asks, and he shivers, the echo ringing at the edges of his skull. His palm works a steady rhythm against his clit, and he lets a finger curl hesitantly, moaning as another jolt of ecstasy licks up his spine.

A sigh from beside him, and the hand in his hair tugs gently until he has to bite his cheek to keep from hissing. They snicker. “Loud thing,” God coos, tone warm and taunting in his ear. “Always so needy.”

Another hand joins his, fingers slipping down until the edge of their thumb greets his clit, and he can’t help the gasp that slips his lips. “Please-” He whines, the sensation too good to be real, but the hand at the base of his neck keeps him grounded.

“Be still,” God hums, and he heels, breath coming in shallow mewls that sound more animal than human. It’s too good, too much, too everything to feel the sun and stars and moon kissing his skin. Something coils in his gut, warm and aching, and he chases it the second he can.

“Come now, Alchemist,” God whispers, and Edward bucks pathetically. He thinks they laugh, the sound like the sudden crack of alchemical energy and solar wind. “Let go.” Ed chokes a moan, that tightened bundle of nerve and pleasure in his gut snapping taut, and with something like a muffled sob, Edward comes.

It’s hot, a blistering heat, the sensation of hands digging into his skin and soil and picking him apart at the core all he can feel. He gapes at the feeling, and Ed rocks into it, throat tight as he works himself through.

It feels, for a long moment, like light has just cracked open his spine.

The room is dark when he opens his eyes, heart rate finally averaging. There are no hands as he looks around, the room just as empty, the bed damp with the smell of sweat and sex. 

Ed shifts uneasily, letting a hand slip downward.

It comes away slick, hours old, and Edward shivers in the dark. Turning over, he snags a tissue from the side table, taking a moment to wipe the evidence of his shame from his skin before flopping back down. 

He really, really hopes nobody saw that.

Chapter Text

“You’re breathing again.” God whispers, less accusation than statement. Edward tries not to look startled.

They’re wrist-deep in his gut, darkened blood slicking the star-scatter of their skin. Stood over him like this, he thinks that the part of Truth that resonates more with godhood than disease feels at home.

When he doesn’t answer, they simply continue, lifting part of his larger intestine upward where it has been looped loosely around their palm and thumb. It glimmers in the sharp light of their domain, a deep crimson in colour where God’s hand does not touch.

It’s an odd sensation, to be held so sincerely when he cannot feel the flare of pain he knows should be there. It’s a cold sort of echo, ice against a bruise where it drags down his vertebrae. Truth studies the organ mildly, benign with how they twist it in their palm.

Ed inhales sharply, fingers twitching when the ache flares at the base of his hips. Above, Truth pauses in their process and looks at him quizzically. He tries to ignore the fact that his face feels horribly warm and instead focuses on how tenderly God is still holding his large intestine.

“I’m human,” He hisses, and Truth makes a noncommittal sound. “I need to breathe.”

“It’s less the idea, and more the process, Alchemist.” Truth answers, almost mildly disinterested. Their fingers find purchase on the edge of his small intestine, gentle where starlight meets his body. 

Edward swallows a gasp, brows knitting together. “Warn me when you do that,” He grits, and they make a shrugging gesture with their shoulders. “Warn you for pain you cannot feel?” They ask kindly, and he thinks he feels something warm lick gently at his vertebrae.

He squirms when they finally drop the rest of his intestinal track, inhaling shakily despite himself. The drag of their fingers through him, fingers slick with gore and stained sin. Ed has to bite his lip to keep from whining. 

“Oh, I can feel it.” Ed whispers, more to himself, skin suddenly far too warm for how cool their domain is. Absent-mindedly, he digs his fingers into his hips, mind wandering. 

What exactly is it he’s feeling? It’s warm, pleasant in the way the sun is on your face, and he shifts experimentally. 

He rocks into it gently, heat pooling firmly at the very base of his spine. A soft sound exhales from his lips, almost inaudible, and Edward sucks in a breath as the edge of Truth’s nail catches on muscle. 

Stars scatter across his vision, and he stills if only because he cannot hear the wet churn of his insides over the pounding of his heart. It felt good. Too good. The sun kissing at his hips and eyes.

The moment is over before Edward has the time to understand it, to catch the sensation of fire dancing along his nerves and warmth that pools in the pit of his stomach, and he immediately mourns it. “Fuck,” He whispers, and the hands in him still.

“You’re making it hard to concentrate.” Truth murmurs, gaze fixed firmly to some distinct part of his intestinal track. He jolts, skin burning as he tries to come up with an explanation that doesn’t sound disgusting. “I was- It, well- ” 

What had he been doing? Ed swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

I was getting off on the feeling of you inside me, He almost says. On the idea of your hands slick with my sin.

Truth looks at him almost incredulously, and Edward hopes they cannot read his thoughts. It is a long moment before they speak again, and he suddenly feels very nervous. Repulsive, even, skin crawling as he searches their face for any sign of distaste.

“You know,” They begin, expression caught somewhere between casualty and resolve. “I never would have taken you for a masochist.”

Heat slams into him the moment the words leave their lips, face flushing bright red. “I- It’s not like that,” He tries, fumbling uselessly, but his train of thought is cut short with a gentle twitch of their thumb against his insides.

“Fuck,” He hisses, hips bucking softly to nothing, and Truth almost smiles. “Then what is it like, Alchemist?” They ask, somehow sounding a little more curious as they draw back, knuckles coloured deep crimson. “I could stop, if it’s too much.”

Edward jerks, guts suddenly far too empty. “No,” The word is quick, begging, and he winces at how pathetic it sounds. How needy he seems. “It’s..” He sucks in a breath, and Truth waits patiently, letting their hands rest on the table beside him.

Irritated, he swallows, voice wavering. Did they mind? “It’s like being burned- like the Gate, like something rearranging my atoms.” “Because I am, Alchemist.” Truth whispers, snickering. “Did you think this vivisection was for fun?”

They poke gently at his side, bloodied fingerprint staining the very edge of where the top layer of muscle and skin lie. He chokes down a weak noise, nose scrunching when Truth’s smile widens a fraction.

“Fun for you.” He spits, and they snort. It sounds like ions screaming. “Of course it’s fun for me. I like watching you squirm.”

The admission makes him go still, and suddenly, Edward thinks they might have enjoyed this more than he did. When he does not respond, they lean forward almost conspiratorially. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Truth asks, not unkindly, fingers so close to his ribs he wants to cry from the lack of sensation. “Please,” The word is soft from his lips, pleading, and they do not move. “I want.. It's just- please.” 

God smiles, a beautiful sort of thing that makes his heart flutter.

“Of course.” 

His body is on fire. Their right hand slips down the rungs of his ribs, thumb catching gently under bone and cartilage, and Edward almost sobs. He is not unaware of the way tan skin glistens with his blood, nor how this is purposeful. 

“Oh, fuck-” His hips jerk, a writhing sort of thing that has Truth holding a palm to his thigh. “Needy,” They hum, almost chiding. The way they say it is horribly fond. “Be still.”

They’re close, so close he can feel the warmth of their divinity where it seeps. Ed keens, a soft sort of thing where he finds himself begging under his breath. “Please, a little lower,” He whines, and they shake their head kindly.

“You can make it,” Truth hums, leaning in to press the gentlest kiss to the edge of his manubrium. He hisses a breath, starlight pouring down his throat, and Edward almost sobs. “I need- ah, please-” “Just a moment more.”

For a moment, God seems to smile. “Oh, come now, Alchemist.” They coo, and their voice tastes like the sun. Their right hand presses gently to his gut, blindingly hot where he bucks into it. “There we are.”

Edward’s orgasm comes at the softest whisper beside his ear, thumb grinding against some foreign sweet spot. Stars scatter across his vision, hushed only by the warmth of a hand at his side and the tone of divinity working him through it.

It’s far too intense for anything he’s done by himself, but he doesn’t have the time to think about what it means to get off on having your guts quite literally rearranged.

By the time he comes down from the high, he’s dazed, mind caught somewhere between exhaustion and a sincere fluster. Glancing up at Truth, they look mildly pleased, blood dribbling in thick spurts down their chest.

A pause, and they snicker, whispering more to themself. “How will I ever be able to finish this?” They ask, more of a rhetorical thing, and Edward only groans.