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Roy resisted the urge to pace before the Führer’s door. From drills during his cadet years, Roy remembered Bradley being able to single out the single soldier in a squadron of three hundred Amestrian infantry who had the misfortune to march off beat on the day of the Führer’s visit.
King Bradley had preternatural hearing, so had probably heard his approach. Had probably assessed Roy’s gait from just the sound of his steps- his fear and guilt a plain staccato against the imperious marble of the Bradley estate. It was for the best that he couldn’t pace - he’d have to abandon fear at the threshold to survive.
Roy raised a hand to rap at the door, but before he could seal his fate, Bradley boomed, “Come in!”
Roy turned the heavy ornate nob, entering with his shoulders straight, masquerading the loyal soldier. If Bradley thought that Roy still believed himself safe, maybe he could buy himself a few days, hours, minutes. Maybe the King would wait, try to observe Roy; he could wait for his former loyal dog dig a bigger treasonous hole before putting him down.
Why summon him in the first place, if only just to kill him? Why not formally accuse him of treason and take him out with the firing squad? Or keep it simple and send a discreet assassin. Roy could flatter himself and think that the old bastard just wanted the pleasure of killing him himself, but he just wasn’t sure of the homunculus’ intentions.
Roy struck a crisp salute, avoiding Bradley’s penetrating gaze.
“Make yourself at home,” Bradley said, indicating that Roy sit across from him.
Roy’s eye landed at the low divan across from Bradley’s desk. Roy sat carefully, sitting ramrod straight. Bradley’s tone was warm, despite the permanent furrowing of his face.
“You’re an interesting man colonel.”
“Interesting? Sir?”
“Deeply. Shaping this nation is not without its challenges, but at times intriguing challenges make the fight all the more worthy.”
“I can’t imagine what challenge I could ever pose to you, sir.”
Faster than Roy could process, the Führer was before him, tilting his chin up.
“I think you can imagine quite a few things, boy.”
Roy felt a frisson coil down his body from where Bradley’s fingers met his face, as if the being was made of pure energy. Roy fought to keep his eyes on Bradley’s but felt compelled as if by gravity itself to drop his gaze to his superior’s shiny boots. Bradley leaned over, lips to Roy’s ear, breath impossibly hot.
“Would you like to know what I’ve been imagining, Roy?”
Bradley drew his sword, and Roy prepared himself for death. Death did not come. Instead, Roy found his uniform, undershirt, briefs, and gloves in tatters on the floor.
The Führer let out a quiet note of displeasure.
“No, that’s not quite my vision. That can be easily corrected.”
Roy gaped as the homunculus pressed a hot hand to his solar plexus, pushing him almost delicately onto back. As Roy’s mind struggled to keep up with the events of the past thirty seconds, he felt himself yield helplessly — he knew the power behind that gentle hand could punch through his sternum.
“That’s closer, but not quite it,” Bradley said, his voice dripping with his faux paternalism.
In a flash, Bradley freed his cock, and if Roy’s mind had had any neurons to spare, it would have exhausted them processing the sheer size of the erect cock. With a put upon huff, Bradley seized both of Roy’s thighs in his massive hands, holding him up like he was a goddamn doll, lining himself up against Roy’s hole.
“There, you’re finally ready.”
And Bradley slammed home. Roy gasped, his hands scrabbling for some sort of purchase on the velvety cushion beneath him as the surreality finally broke with the first painful pump of the Führer’s hips. Roy felt Bradley’s strange energy suffuse him again. Roy expected to be torn open — his doting sisters and his few secret dalliances in the academy had thoroughly impressed upon him the utility of oils — but after being forced open the first time, he was shocked to feel the next stroke glide smoothly out.
Though it was futile, Roy tried to pull away from Bradley’s iron grip — if he could just get to his gloves -
“You know,” Bradley said, tone holding its steady and infuriating geniality, “my life was planned for me.”
“I had to fight for it, of course, earn what was mine, but after I earned this,” Bradley spared a hand to rip off his eyepatch, revealing his tattoo’d true eye, “everything was given to me. Chosen for me. Except my wife.”
Roy could barely process the monologue over the obscene rhythmic slapping that filled every corner of the office. Despite his horror shock fear disgust, Roy felt his body betray him, his cock rising pathetically untouched.
“My wife, she loves me,” Bradley spoke with fucking fondness in his voice, but his lips curled in disgust, “and I’ve gone long enough without getting to feel what it’s like with someone who hates me.”
As if conjured by Bradley’s words, from the tumult of hurt and confusion Roy’s rage boiled to the surface. And yet, even as the white-hot anger fought its way through his body, Roy grew painfully hard. He didn’t feel like a soldier. He felt like a boy in the claws of a beast.
“You’re a goddamned monster,” Roy croaked.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Bradley smiled — Roy blinked and saw that the homunculus was once again brandishing his sword, with a sputtering Xingese man appearing on the end of it.
“Good for you to join us, Greed,” Bradley said, “I saw you coming from a mile away.”
The Xingese man, no, another homunculus, Greed, Roy’s addled mind corrected, flipped off of Bradley’s sword, gut wound healing with crackling lightning.
Roy could barely follow the ensuing fight — Bradley somehow kept up the punishing snap of his hips as he batted away a gray blur. And when Roy thought he could use the fight as a distraction to pull away, he was lifted even higher into the air by a supernatural forearm.
“Stay where I put you,” Bradley growled.
Using the temporary split of attention, Greed tried to close and wrap a claw around Bradley’s throat, but, without even an upward glance, Bradley skewered Greed through the shoulder, keeping him at arms length, right above Roy’s head.
“Now, I know you’re feeling young and ornery,” Bradley mused, lowering Greed until his crotch rested on Roy’s face, “but consider stowing your petulance long enough to enjoy the opportunity I’m giving you.”
“Fuck you old man,” Greed bit out, but his gaze finally locked onto Roy’s supine form.
Roy knew he was a mess — flushed red, straining, helpless. Greed licked his lips.
“Who’s this?” Greed said.
“Someone I’m willing to share.”
“I don’t share.”
“Grow up.”
Roy followed the exchange through a haze — the blood in his brain was rushing elsewhere, and he couldn’t tell how long it’d been since he’d entered the lion’s den.
Greed hooked a carbon thumb into Roy’s mouth, wedging it between his back molars. Before Roy could utter a word of protest, another monster cock was shoved roughly inside him. Roy gagged, his air cut off by the slow first dip of Greed’s cock. Roy’s vision began to blur, eyes reflexively drifting shut. Greed pulled out and Roy gasped for air.
“I didn’t say you could kill him,” Wrath snapped, “the fun’s over once they’re dead.”
“I always forget how breakable these things are,” Greed said, having the gall to look sheepish as he shoved his cock back down Roy’s throat.
The world became a blur as Roy was forced to arch up, bowed tightly between two impossibly strong creatures. Time ceased to exist as they rocked him between them, Greed still partially impaled on Bradley’s sword. Roy’s body was rendered into a taught string of pure need — his entire body felt cold save for the red hot points where the homunculi pounded into him. Wrath refused to angle to the sweet spot, and Greed seemed to delight in cutting off Roy’s air.
This was hell. This was heaven.
Then the Führer paused.
“Finish up,” Wrath grunted, “party’s getting shut down.”
When Roy had received the invitation to the Bradley estate, a small note delivered by a mousy secretary, he’d sprung into action. If you flash enough cash in the Industrial District of Central, you can get enough warehouse space to house a tiny army. A tiny army which was now taking out Bradley’s personal security, if Roy could hear correctly over the smack of the Führer against his red-hot ass.
With one final thrust, Wrath unloaded a river into Roy, before unceremoniously dropping him back onto the divan. In a flash, Wrath was at the window, eyepatch secure, looking back with mirth in his expression.
“See you on the Promised Day, Roy.”
Then the ruler of Amestris dropped out of the window.
“I wish I could keep you, but the Prince inside me is screaming, it’s killing my boner,” Greed grunted.
The homunculus pulled out, coming ropes across Roy’s face, painting him white down to his nipples.
“Gotta go kill my brother,” Greed said, before following Wrath out the window.
Roy closed his eyes, knowing he could not bear the expression on Hawkeye’s face when she found him.