#edwinsmut18

[luffywhatelse]

Edwin Smut Week 2018

Day 4 | Workplace @edwin-smut-week18

[luffywhatelse]

Edwin Smut Week 2018

Day 6 | Makeup Sex

@edwin-smut-week18

 -------> A/N: I’ve assumed they’re married for quite a while <-------

Edward P.O.V. written in bold

Winry P.O.V. written in italic

I love looking at you. I love your falsely undecided way of walking, it seems like you don’t know where to go. I love your elusive and, at the same time, bewitching femininity. I love your musical voice, your skin, your sweetness.

I love your blue eyes and your liquid gaze in which I drown and abandon myself.

(Make me lose between your thighs, let me drown inside you, swallow me, delete me.)

I love that boldly way of yours in spite of your fragility, your shoulders that reflect your resolution, you always know where to go, what direction to take. I love all the things you know and learn, fascinated, your thirst for knowledge, the way you have developed your wisdom over time. You have learned to be more patient than before, even if you’re still so stubborn… but this is another thing I love about you. 

I love the manly shape of your body, I can lean on you when I'm falling over. I love your defined jawline and your thin lips, your broad shoulders, the strong curves of your arms muscles. I love the roughness of your beard.

I love your voice. It comes from a deep part of you and reaches a deep part of me. It surrounds me, warms me, guides me. It calms me.

(I want to know you more and more, really, to be able to look inside your mind and your soul, to spy on your thoughts and emotions).

I watch you as you bring the fork to your mouth, while your full lips open just enough to wrap the small and delicious morsel that you have stuck into your plate with slow cruelty. My gaze runs through your throat, slips along the soft curve of your neck that leads to your breast... I can imagine what's under that silk shirt.

(To be able to tear off that shirt, unveil your breasts and then suck on those hard nipple making you moan.)

I watch you while I bring the fork to my mouth. I feel the bite dissolve on my tongue but I cannot really enjoy it because, as usual, you absorb all my attention, you’re a black hole that sucks all the energies. Everything revolves around you, even me.

You speak, tell me about the latest developments of your work, you ask me some questions. But tonight I can only hear the sound of your voice without really understanding. I answer in monosyllables, I take a sip of wine to heal the heat in my throat.

(Let me bite your succulent lips and then the lobes of your ears, until I reach the curve of your neck.)

I keep on blathering on, words like rapid-fire. I convince myself that, if I talk, I can detach myself from you. I can stay in me.

You listen to me but you cannot hear me. I can tell by that look in your eyes that digs inside of me, hooks that part of me only you can reach.

(I still have to get used to really have you. To know for sure that you’ll always be here, in front of me, across the table, in my bed, on the seat next to mine. That your hand will always warm mine.)

Now your questions become more accurate, you ask me about my job. I’m planning a new journey and you don’t like the idea right now. A small pout appears on your face, imperceptible.

(Let me grab your hips, let me sink into your impudent belly, let me sniff all of your body, make me feel you’re mine, mine, mine and nobody else’s.)

I talk, and talk and talk. To distract myself from my thoughts. To keep your eyes on me. And the words, I don’t know how, slip on these fears.

I hate them.

I hate not being able to get used to this. I hate seeing you leave. From the first moment, when we were just children, I hated the fact that I would have to wait, able to do nothing more for you. I hate everything that takes you away from me. It’s your life, I know, but I want to be part of it. I hate the fact that I am full of fears while you’re there with your smile, I hate the way you can handle the situation… and this surely makes my anxiety grow even more. But, most of all, I hate when you’re not with me and what you can see, listen and touch without me.

(To be able to believe that I’m the only thing that matters to you, to be sure that your desire and all of your looks are just for me, to be able to live forever in an isolated bubble, where it’s only you and me.)

Your jealousy for my work - that makes me spend time away from you - flatters me, but I know its a self-destructive power. I answer you trying to look nonchalant, while I can feel a sense of discomfort starting from the base of my spine, from the bottom of my being. Because I thought you could laugh at the whole question, be glad at the idea that your man is so enthusiastic, that you could be my accomplice. And that’s what I thought you were, without a doubt, until now.

But you're leaving me speechless… what do you want? Tie me up?

(Let my fingers explore every part of your body and explore it again… I want to see you trembling at my touch, I want to please you.)

You’re not saying much tonight. You answer my questions, but nothing more. As if you were afraid that words could reveal you. But that’s not what makes me angry. It’s that damned smile of yours, the way you lift the corner of your mouth, your being irresistible, and that smug look on your face.

Now you’re talking in a high-pitched voice, your sentences become sharp, offensive. You know where to hit, edgy, you know my weaknesses. You like to torment me in this little perverse game in which you have more fun than I do. You tell me how I should do things and you never know when to shut up.

(I want to slam you on this table and take you right now, in front of everyone, stick my tongue in that impertinent mouth and banging you so hard that I shut you off.)

I raise my voice, I accuse you. I would like to see you angry. I would like you to slam me here on this table, in the lighted hall of the restaurant, in front of everyone, outraged by my insinuations. I would like to see the violence in your actions to know what you're really thinking and to throw away the mask you're hiding behind.

I try to appease you, but my calm does nothing but make you mad even more. Now many people look at us, you’re making a scene and I still have to understand if you like it (does it turn you on?) or if you simply can’t control your emotions. You're lost in your anger.

But you just say a few words. Quietly. And once again I feel that you’re not here. Infact, I feel like you're already under my clothes, on my skin. I feel you explore every part of my body - that you know so well -with your eyes.

The desire of you grows together with my anger.

You get up making your chair drop behind you (ok, now everyone’s eyes are on us), yell some other infamous accusation against me - you say I’m selfish, narcissistic and proud, while I stand speechless and you get out of the restaurant so fast that you're leaving a trail of perfume and immobility behind you. I stare at the wall in front of me while I breathe deeply. And I finally understand you want to play THAT game.

I stand up and hear the crash of the chair behind me. But I don’t care.

I’m out of the restaurant and I don’t even know how I got here, I know someone chased me and put my coat and bag in my hand. And that someone else, or maybe it was the same person, opened the car door. That I ran away, as in a chase - that didn’t surprise me because this IS an escape: I’m running away from you.

(Come and get me.)

I rub my mouth with a napkin, I put it on the table and, with a wave of my hand, I call the waiter who materializes next to me at the speed of light. I pay the check and, as I stand up, I calmly walk out of the restaurant following your steps and breathing the cool evening air. I calm down a little but the desire of you doesn’t want to abandon me. So I start walking fast to our house and the path seems to unroll itself in front of me with exasperating slowness before making me reach our home.

I get out of the car, I can feel my heart in my ears, and even if the path that leads home always calms me down a bit, my hands shake as I search for the keys in my purse. My heartbeat accelerates. I find the keys and pull them out.

The house greets me with a chessboard made of moonlight: the light through the windows casts bright squares on the floor while everything else is in the dark.

I breathe deeply the smell of our space, that mixture of you, me and our life together. I drop the bag and the keys, go upstairs and pull my shirt off my skirt taking it off my head. I untie my skirt as I head to the bathroom door. I let everything on the floor, like crumbs to make your way.

I flip the switch in the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror: it’s me without you. I have big and fearful eyes. I leave my panties and bra at the foot of the sink, open the shower box and the noise of the front door makes me jump.

I turn the key in the keyhole where you have turned yours before and enter the dark atrium illuminated just by the lights upstairs.

A strip of light filters through the bathroom door and I can hear the sound of water. I roll up the long sleeves of my shirt and slowly approach the door opening it.

You are there and the large transparent shower box, not yet fogged up by the water vapor, doesn’t hide you. You must have just entered the shower because you’re still not wet, staring at the stream of water in front of you waiting for it to be warm enough that it can caress your skin.

It’s you. You chased me, you reached me, I think as I turn on the tap to drown out the sound of your footsteps and the beat of my heart.

I know very well that the shower doors will let you see my silhouette and you can watch me while the water is flowing on my skin. The hot stream of water makes its way between my breasts, goes to caress my belly, slips between my thighs and then die on my thin ankles. I tickle myself with the water and let two of my fingers slip inside me, thinking of you touching yourself while you’re looking at me. I expect you to watch me and see what I do for you. I hold a groan in my throat. I want the first one you’ll hear is for your sex.

You don’t hear me come in and the vision of your naked body strikes me like a whip with a burst of excitement that I feel from the bottom of my spine and get straight to my heart accelerating its beats.

I approach the shower, open the transparent door and grab your arm.

A very long moment passes before I hear the bathroom door open, before the airflow warns me that you have also opened the shower door.

I feel your hand on me. Finally.

You turn with a scream of fright and, in a moment, your apparently hunted look becomes an angry glare.

It’s a strong hold, which would probably hurt me if my senses were not exasperated by excitement. I turn to you and, in an instant of pure terror, I think it might not be you.

You make a sharp movement to get rid of me, with the only result that my hand tightens even more around your arm. Your moon skin will have the marks of my fingers impressed on it, I already know, but this thought doesn’t make me desist. In fact, I want to mark your body with my presence, I want to cry out to the world that you're mine, that only I can have you.

The relief of seeing your familiar face is so violent that I can’t restrain an angry look and slap your face before you drag me out of the shower. I know that for no reason you would raise your hands on me and I try to hit you again, but you block me hugging me and staring straight into my eyes.

I drag you out of the shower while you hit me with the other hand and slap my face. I grab both your shoulders and hold you tight against my tense and excited body; your moist skin feels so soft and silky as you struggle against me.

The contact with your body, even with all your clothes on, gives me adrenaline and I can’t hold myself back. I would like to take your hands and put them on my wet breasts but, instead, I struggle to feel again your reassuring grasp, to feel myself wrapped in your arms, the only place I want to stay.

I leave the bathroom holding you tight in my arms and I let you fall on the bed.

You stay there for just a moment staring at me: your blue eyes are two deep lakes under your long eyelashes. I can see your pretty nipples peeking from the cascade of your blonde hair.

Searing lust rushes my groin the moment I see the soft shake of your breasts; I burn to bury my tongue in those sweet curves so I get on top of you, the weight of my body traps you, savoring the feel of you, unwilling to let you go. I can hear your heartbeat under mine.

You push me on our bed with undeniable strenght and stay there for a moment looking at me. There is a hungry intent in your golden eyes and your open ravenous mouth longing to satisfy your unappeased appetite. Your hands are trembling, your erection is evident. And it’s the last thought I have before you get on top of me. You hold me so tight that I cannot move, and your eyes are so full of feral madness that for a moment I'm almost afraid. But that moment passes quickly.

What I do know is that, while I feel your body trapping me, I think I'd like to be tied by you. I feel pleasure in being trapped by your body: like a cage, like a rope.

And keeping me this way, bound, you give me a kiss on my right cheek, then one on the left while I turn my head pretending I don’t want them. Then you finally taste my lips in a long kiss made of tongues that intertwine and fight. Your hands no longer need to block me and so they begin their exploration, burning against the most sensitive skin, sliding softly on my shoulders, on my breasts that don’t hide my desire for you as you lift them: a strong call that now makes you clearly horny. You suck, bite and hold everything you can grab.

I feel my sex is about to explode with pleasure and I move under you knowing that every movement I make will trigger a reaction from you.

You look at me now, unafraid, anger blooming in your cheeks and darkening your blue eyes. I want that fire to burn in desire.

The softness of your lips sends a joint of uncontrollable desire through me while, like petals, they part to be tasted. I love your taste as I explore the warmth of your mouth with my tongue and you rise your own to meet it. I bite your lower lip while your hands struggle to free themselves, sliding over my bare chest and up to my shoulders; I allow your fingers to clutch at me and then move my tongue on to taste elsewhere, sliding over your delicate chin, along the fine jawline, pausing to tease the lobe of your ear.

You gasp in complete surrender and I bring my mouth to the vulnerability of your soft and exposed neck while I tangle my fingers in your hair. I press my face into the soft skin where neck and shoulder join, to smell your scent. Then I see your nipples already hard in anticipation of my touch.

For a moment, I can't do anything but gaze at you, until, with a cry, you catch my hair in your fist and pull me down to you. I kiss you tracing the rich curves in small circles around the nipple. Then I take it into my mouth, savoring, sucking and licking it.

When I transfer my attention to the other breast, you twist your fingers in my hair tight.  But the discomfort is part of the pleasure. 

You stare at me with your golden eyes straight in mine. That’s how you want to continue our discussion. And you seem amazed, for a moment, to find me already so wet. But I don’t have time for your ingenuity.

Now your burning mouth is moving down trailing across my belly. I quiver under you. I arch against you, shamelessly, wanting you to taste me while you bury your face in the center of my need. You raise your head, your eyes are nearly black with desire.

I want to say something but then your mouth moved lower and I'm lost. The tip of your tongue teases me, taste me, and push gently and then with greater and rythmic force into the entrance of my body. Pleasure is proportional to the strength with which I cling to your golden ponytail.

Suddenly your hands were sliding once again to my shoulders and you're using them to lift yourself, to meet me, your nipples caressing my chest. Your mouth claims mine and, w ithout ending the contact, I stretch my hand to the zipper of my pants, pulling loose the buttons until I'm free and pull out my sex.

Your eyes now are closed, your neck arched back, your hands press against my chest.

I push you back again until your body lay once again open to me. You try to reach up to me, but I pin your arms to your sides and lower myself atop you.  I still move away, as if I'm escaping from you, because I want you to still hold me, still chase me and tie me up. Then finally, with a faint voice, I say: “Make me yours”.

You make me wait, amused and, instead, put your fingers in me.

“I want your pleasure,” I say firmly “and I want to feel it inside me. Now!”

You grab my hip strongly with one hand, just as I had imagined, and penetrate me, sinking so deeply within me that I cry in pleasure and relief. I realize that the void has been filled at last. When you begin to move, the naked skin of your penis rubs hot in me and I’m already too wet and eager.

I begin to move as I please and your movements seem to harmonize with mine. I don’t know if it's you following me or if it’s me to follow you. I push deeper and hear your gasping breaths catch up in the rythm while your breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath.

You're so deliciously hot and tight arching and moaning under me; I push one more time and I see you surrender to the pleasure that takes you.

So I free your arms and you become incandescent. Your legs are strong coming up to close around my hips, urging me on. But I let the rythm take me, sucking the hollow of your shoulder, biting, soothing with my tongue. Even the taste of you bring me too close to the peak.

Each move is your strongest push, as if you had to reconfirm the possession you have on me every time. Each thrust is more intense pleasure: we struggle on the bed in a love fight, my legs around your waist, your fingers are tangled into my hair, your grunts echo in my ear.

I shiver to your music, every string vibrate and I tremble. Your moves awakens something deep inside me, an hunger only you can appease, and I just enjoy the way you possess me.

What are you doing to me? You know how to shake me, besiege me and I claw and bite to answer to your fury.

I only know that, for a moment, there is nothing else outside our bodies. I don’t want this game to end, so I jump on top of you and start riding you. But after a while you lose your head and don’t want to play anymore: you grab my waist and push me on the sheets. I’m lying on my side and you lift my left ankle to rest it on your right shoulder.

I know I can't restrain my body's demands no longer. Your movements against me grow more urgent and I hold myself until I hear you cry my name and come in a flood that carries me with it. I close my eyes and feel the orgasm grow inside of me in a moment that looks endless.

With your hand you squeeze my left ankle until the moment I feel your hot pleasure explode inside and out of me.

When I return to the here and now, I look at you and see you lying with your eyes closed, still shaken by the last wave of pleasure. Damp blonde strands of hair hides part of your cheek.

I hear you're lying next to me and see your eyes heavy-lidded when I gaze up at you. Then, you roll onto your side so that one hand is free to stroke my skin. With your fingers, you pick up your seed from my legs and offer it to me.

I taste it devoted, insatiable.

My gaze falls guilty on the redness on your arm where I have grabbed you too hard.

(I can’t lose you, I can’t live without you. It’s great to be one with you, to be everything for you.)

Here and now I’m yours. And here and now, I know, you’re mine too.

You breath deeply and, looking at me with your bright eyes, you hug me and rest your lips on my right shoulder, kissing the scar you know so well.

“I’m sorry” you say.