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Entry tags:
- abc kink project,
- art,
- fic,
- fma,
- yaoi
Fic - "ABC Kink - W for Wet and Messy Fetishism"
Title: ABC Kink - "W for Wet and Messy Fetishism"
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Character/Fandom: Roy Mustang and Jean Havoc. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1753
Warnings: Foodplay. Sploshing. Mild manga spoilers for recent chapters.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Notes: Wet and messy fetishism, also known as 'sploshing,' is a sexual fetish whereby a person becomes aroused when substances (often foods, such as whipped cream, cake, chocolate, or baked beans) are deliberately and generously applied to the naked skin, or to the clothes people are wearing. The fetish often stems from a desire to consciously thwart social etiquette in an extreme way.
for “Wet and Messy Fetishism"
“Happy birthday, Sir,” Havoc called out after Roy as he was heading toward the door.
“Thank you, Havoc,” Roy said, not slowing. He didn’t want to waste a second getting back to his apartment. He barely had time as it was.
But Havoc, damn him, was never tactful and couldn’t take a hint. He grabbed Roy’s shoulder and stopped him, turning him with a smile.
“Just wanted to tell you the restaurant wants our group to come after seven. That okay with you?”
“Fine, I’ll see you then.” He was starting to wish he’d never agreed on a birthday dinner with his entire staff. Havoc’s fault again. Roy had managed to keep his birthday largely under wraps, until Havoc stated poking through files on a slow day and pinpointed the date. He’d been causing all this hoopla about it ever since.
“Do you know the place? I could come and walk you over. I live close.”
“Not necessary, Havoc.”
“Want a car home? I can—”
“The walk won’t hurt me; it’s not far.” He finally managed to shrug Havoc’s hand away and exit the office, squeezing his fists in anticipation. Eating at seven only left him an hour and a half for his real birthday treat, and half of that time would be devoted to cleaning up. His hurry was entirely justified.
He passed the mess hall on the way and remembered lunch earlier: baked beans and sausage in huge, gooey vats. He’d looked down at his own pristine blue uniform and those of the soldiers around him and had a sudden, violent fantasy of reaching into the drums of beans, taking out giant, dripping handfuls, and smearing them all over the well-ordered, immaculate blue around him. Complete chaos out of so much order. He’d gotten so hard he couldn’t get up from the table, even when Havoc and Breda came and sat near him and started to take the piss out of him for being an old man of thirty. Even the memory now was enough to make him shiver.
The bakery was exactly halfway between his apartment and headquarters, and it was his business there that kept him from accepting a ride. He might’ve been able to come up with a convincing lie about why he was picking up a giant chocolate birthday cake when he had been so insistent that he had no birthday plans, that he in fact hated birthdays and usually tried to ignore them, but it was better not to need to try.
The cake was so large it took both hands to carry it once the smiling girl behind the counter had handed it over and wished the handsome Colonel many happy returns. She’d been blushing faintly when he smiled at her, thinking perhaps that he found her attractive. No idea at all that what he was eyeing was the large tray of cream pies she was putting the final touches of frosting on, imagining spreading them all out on the floor and rolling, until his skin was caked with crust and his hair was stiff with drying meringue.
Of course, he knew it was ridiculous. His whole face glowed red whenever he did it, and he usually laughed aloud at himself. It didn't change how much he enjoyed it, and that he never came as hard as he did when he was so filthy with smears of food he couldn't see his own skin.
He even had a pretty good idea where the fixation started. He remembered being a young boy, about seven or eight, attending the first birthday celebration of the illegitimate child of one of his “aunties,” as he’d called the women who worked in his foster mother’s bar. They’d given the kid a whole cake to himself, and laughed as he absolutely destroyed it, gushing it between his fists, smearing it over his face, griming it through his hair. Roy had been intrigued. Wasting food was a crime at mealtimes. As his foster mother often said, it cost enough to feed a growing boy without him refusing to eat his mashed potatoes. ‘Stop playing with your food, Roy-boy,’ was a pretty common dinnertime maxim, so the sight of that damn lucky kid absolutely covered in his cake had made quite an impression.
“Don’t play with your food,” he murmured to himself under his breath once he was back in his apartment. But of course, he intended to do just that. From the first time he’d snuck a handful of jelly from the kitchen on the sly and rubbed it up and down his arms in front of the bathroom mirror, he’d been hooked.
The cake was a masterpiece, surely the work of ten hours or more. Huge, heavy, with layers on layers of chocolate cake all wedded together in a tapering tower, covered all over with thick, moist icing. Marzipan roses at the top, letters proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday’ done in dark green spirals of icing, raspberries, chocolate flakes… oh, god, he was getting so hard.
“Don’t play with you food,” he said again, muttering it in a mantra under his breath as he rolled up the rug, moved the coffee table, and placed the flawless cake in the very center of his living room. “Don’t play with your food…” He stripped out of his uniform, folding it neatly over his sofa, and stood naked over his birthday cake, his clean skin tingling all over in anticipation of not being clean anymore.
He sat down.
Moaning so loud he startled himself, he sank lower and lower, the cake giving way to his weight. Chocolate icing gushed up into his ass and around his balls, cake crumbled around his thighs, cool, moist, and sticky. It tickled and he laughed, wriggling to spread the mess deeper around him. Finally he reached the floor and sat, panting, in a pool of ruined cake.
“Oh, god,” he moaned. He reached between his legs and brought up a thick, gooey handful. He held it to his face, licked, took a quick bite of the sugary, sticky, delicious mess, and began to smear the rest over his chest. He rubbed it against his nipples, felt it stick and smear, thicker and thicker until large chunks began to drop off under their own weight, laughing and moaning in equal measures. He reached down again, this time with both hands, and brought up two more dripping, sticky handfuls. One he splattered against his face and began to rake through his hair. The other he slid his cock into, crumbs prickling and sticking, the chocolate making squishy noises as he fucked the mess in his hand.
“Oh god, oh yes,” he panted, “oh yes, oh—”
There was a sudden click behind him as his front door opened.
Roy stopped stark still. He had a moment to violently berate himself for getting so worked up he hadn’t remembered to lock himself in. He had another moment to violently hope that no one was there, and the door had simply opened itself, but no such luck.
“I… oh man, Sir, I…” said a voice behind him, and Roy almost groaned. Oh, of all the people to find him, it would have to be the man who’d been Roy’s self-appointed rival in love for three years. Everyone in Amestris would know by this time tomorrow.
Roy turned slowly, resolving himself to his fate.
Havoc was in the doorway holding a grocery bag and, ironically enough, a white bakery box. If Roy could’ve, he would’ve made a dignified exit from the room and left Havoc gaping in the doorway, but he was so deep in cake that even rising to his feet would be an ungainly challenge. So he could only sit and be stared at.
“Havoc,” he finally managed, “what the hell are you doing here?”
Havoc, who was going rather red, indicated his bakery box. “I… I was… I was gonna bring you wine and a cake before…” His lips trembled. “Wine and a cake before…”
He burst into loud peals of hysterical, uncomfortable laughter, so hard he stumbled backwards, thankfully closing the hall door when he did so. He managed to get the box and bag down without spilling their contents and rocked back and forth on the floor. Roy’s stomach knotted and, under the chocolate, his skin went red.
“I was bringing you a cake,” Havoc gasped between laughs, “but I guess you don’t need one. Oh, my god, ha ha ha—”
“Just go,” Roy managed to say. “And tell everyone I don’t want to have dinner.”
Havoc abruptly got control of himself and looked over at Roy. “Why not? Just take a shower or something; you have plenty of time.”
“I’m not in the mood. Get out of my house.”
Havoc didn’t, though. He looked over at Roy, suddenly serious. His face knotted as if with some great hurt.
“Look, Sir, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come in and see—”
“I said get out.”
“Don’t be mad at me.” Havoc got up, but he didn’t get out. Instead, he crawled over to Roy, inadvertently kneeling in a chunk of cake and staining his uniform. His expression was oddly pleading. “I won’t tell anyone. Everyone has something they keep secret. Mine is—”
“That doesn’t matter. Just get—”
“Let me stay.”
“Goddamn it, Havoc, can’t you see I don’t want—!”
“Do you like this sort of thing, Sir? Is it sexy?”
“I… what?”
“Is it sexy? Does it make you hot?”
Flabbergasted, Roy saw Havoc extend a finger, brush it over Roy's sticky face, and bring a chunk of cake back to his own mouth. Havoc’s eyes closed, rapturous at the taste, and slid open again to give Roy a long, pleading look. It came like a spark to tender in Roy’s head, igniting a series of images; Havoc planning him a birthday dinner, Havoc sitting with him at lunch, Havoc taking his shoulder on his way out the door, Havoc showing up at his house with cake and a bottle of wine. Something they keep secret, he’d said, and mine is…
“Havoc?” Roy said, for a moment actually forgetting he was naked and covered in chocolate. “Did you come over here to…?”
A faint, pinkish color came into Havoc’s cheeks. He reached behind him, taking the small bakery box he’d come in with. He opened it and displayed the little cake inside.
“Do you only like chocolate?” He asked, smiling shyly. “Or is vanilla flavor okay too?”
He dipped a finger in, brought it up sticky with white icing, and slid it into Roy’s open mouth.
23/26
Letter X is up next. I'm gonna try to put it up tonight if I can, since I'm a day behind. :)
Author/Artist:
raja815Character/Fandom: Roy Mustang and Jean Havoc. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1753
Warnings: Foodplay. Sploshing. Mild manga spoilers for recent chapters.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Notes: Wet and messy fetishism, also known as 'sploshing,' is a sexual fetish whereby a person becomes aroused when substances (often foods, such as whipped cream, cake, chocolate, or baked beans) are deliberately and generously applied to the naked skin, or to the clothes people are wearing. The fetish often stems from a desire to consciously thwart social etiquette in an extreme way.
for “Wet and Messy Fetishism"“Happy birthday, Sir,” Havoc called out after Roy as he was heading toward the door.
“Thank you, Havoc,” Roy said, not slowing. He didn’t want to waste a second getting back to his apartment. He barely had time as it was.
But Havoc, damn him, was never tactful and couldn’t take a hint. He grabbed Roy’s shoulder and stopped him, turning him with a smile.
“Just wanted to tell you the restaurant wants our group to come after seven. That okay with you?”
“Fine, I’ll see you then.” He was starting to wish he’d never agreed on a birthday dinner with his entire staff. Havoc’s fault again. Roy had managed to keep his birthday largely under wraps, until Havoc stated poking through files on a slow day and pinpointed the date. He’d been causing all this hoopla about it ever since.
“Do you know the place? I could come and walk you over. I live close.”
“Not necessary, Havoc.”
“Want a car home? I can—”
“The walk won’t hurt me; it’s not far.” He finally managed to shrug Havoc’s hand away and exit the office, squeezing his fists in anticipation. Eating at seven only left him an hour and a half for his real birthday treat, and half of that time would be devoted to cleaning up. His hurry was entirely justified.
He passed the mess hall on the way and remembered lunch earlier: baked beans and sausage in huge, gooey vats. He’d looked down at his own pristine blue uniform and those of the soldiers around him and had a sudden, violent fantasy of reaching into the drums of beans, taking out giant, dripping handfuls, and smearing them all over the well-ordered, immaculate blue around him. Complete chaos out of so much order. He’d gotten so hard he couldn’t get up from the table, even when Havoc and Breda came and sat near him and started to take the piss out of him for being an old man of thirty. Even the memory now was enough to make him shiver.
The bakery was exactly halfway between his apartment and headquarters, and it was his business there that kept him from accepting a ride. He might’ve been able to come up with a convincing lie about why he was picking up a giant chocolate birthday cake when he had been so insistent that he had no birthday plans, that he in fact hated birthdays and usually tried to ignore them, but it was better not to need to try.
The cake was so large it took both hands to carry it once the smiling girl behind the counter had handed it over and wished the handsome Colonel many happy returns. She’d been blushing faintly when he smiled at her, thinking perhaps that he found her attractive. No idea at all that what he was eyeing was the large tray of cream pies she was putting the final touches of frosting on, imagining spreading them all out on the floor and rolling, until his skin was caked with crust and his hair was stiff with drying meringue.
Of course, he knew it was ridiculous. His whole face glowed red whenever he did it, and he usually laughed aloud at himself. It didn't change how much he enjoyed it, and that he never came as hard as he did when he was so filthy with smears of food he couldn't see his own skin.
He even had a pretty good idea where the fixation started. He remembered being a young boy, about seven or eight, attending the first birthday celebration of the illegitimate child of one of his “aunties,” as he’d called the women who worked in his foster mother’s bar. They’d given the kid a whole cake to himself, and laughed as he absolutely destroyed it, gushing it between his fists, smearing it over his face, griming it through his hair. Roy had been intrigued. Wasting food was a crime at mealtimes. As his foster mother often said, it cost enough to feed a growing boy without him refusing to eat his mashed potatoes. ‘Stop playing with your food, Roy-boy,’ was a pretty common dinnertime maxim, so the sight of that damn lucky kid absolutely covered in his cake had made quite an impression.
“Don’t play with your food,” he murmured to himself under his breath once he was back in his apartment. But of course, he intended to do just that. From the first time he’d snuck a handful of jelly from the kitchen on the sly and rubbed it up and down his arms in front of the bathroom mirror, he’d been hooked.
The cake was a masterpiece, surely the work of ten hours or more. Huge, heavy, with layers on layers of chocolate cake all wedded together in a tapering tower, covered all over with thick, moist icing. Marzipan roses at the top, letters proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday’ done in dark green spirals of icing, raspberries, chocolate flakes… oh, god, he was getting so hard.
“Don’t play with you food,” he said again, muttering it in a mantra under his breath as he rolled up the rug, moved the coffee table, and placed the flawless cake in the very center of his living room. “Don’t play with your food…” He stripped out of his uniform, folding it neatly over his sofa, and stood naked over his birthday cake, his clean skin tingling all over in anticipation of not being clean anymore.
He sat down.
Moaning so loud he startled himself, he sank lower and lower, the cake giving way to his weight. Chocolate icing gushed up into his ass and around his balls, cake crumbled around his thighs, cool, moist, and sticky. It tickled and he laughed, wriggling to spread the mess deeper around him. Finally he reached the floor and sat, panting, in a pool of ruined cake.
“Oh, god,” he moaned. He reached between his legs and brought up a thick, gooey handful. He held it to his face, licked, took a quick bite of the sugary, sticky, delicious mess, and began to smear the rest over his chest. He rubbed it against his nipples, felt it stick and smear, thicker and thicker until large chunks began to drop off under their own weight, laughing and moaning in equal measures. He reached down again, this time with both hands, and brought up two more dripping, sticky handfuls. One he splattered against his face and began to rake through his hair. The other he slid his cock into, crumbs prickling and sticking, the chocolate making squishy noises as he fucked the mess in his hand.
“Oh god, oh yes,” he panted, “oh yes, oh—”
There was a sudden click behind him as his front door opened.
Roy stopped stark still. He had a moment to violently berate himself for getting so worked up he hadn’t remembered to lock himself in. He had another moment to violently hope that no one was there, and the door had simply opened itself, but no such luck.
“I… oh man, Sir, I…” said a voice behind him, and Roy almost groaned. Oh, of all the people to find him, it would have to be the man who’d been Roy’s self-appointed rival in love for three years. Everyone in Amestris would know by this time tomorrow.
Roy turned slowly, resolving himself to his fate.
Havoc was in the doorway holding a grocery bag and, ironically enough, a white bakery box. If Roy could’ve, he would’ve made a dignified exit from the room and left Havoc gaping in the doorway, but he was so deep in cake that even rising to his feet would be an ungainly challenge. So he could only sit and be stared at.
“Havoc,” he finally managed, “what the hell are you doing here?”
Havoc, who was going rather red, indicated his bakery box. “I… I was… I was gonna bring you wine and a cake before…” His lips trembled. “Wine and a cake before…”
He burst into loud peals of hysterical, uncomfortable laughter, so hard he stumbled backwards, thankfully closing the hall door when he did so. He managed to get the box and bag down without spilling their contents and rocked back and forth on the floor. Roy’s stomach knotted and, under the chocolate, his skin went red.
“I was bringing you a cake,” Havoc gasped between laughs, “but I guess you don’t need one. Oh, my god, ha ha ha—”
“Just go,” Roy managed to say. “And tell everyone I don’t want to have dinner.”
Havoc abruptly got control of himself and looked over at Roy. “Why not? Just take a shower or something; you have plenty of time.”
“I’m not in the mood. Get out of my house.”
Havoc didn’t, though. He looked over at Roy, suddenly serious. His face knotted as if with some great hurt.
“Look, Sir, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come in and see—”
“I said get out.”
“Don’t be mad at me.” Havoc got up, but he didn’t get out. Instead, he crawled over to Roy, inadvertently kneeling in a chunk of cake and staining his uniform. His expression was oddly pleading. “I won’t tell anyone. Everyone has something they keep secret. Mine is—”
“That doesn’t matter. Just get—”
“Let me stay.”
“Goddamn it, Havoc, can’t you see I don’t want—!”
“Do you like this sort of thing, Sir? Is it sexy?”
“I… what?”
“Is it sexy? Does it make you hot?”
Flabbergasted, Roy saw Havoc extend a finger, brush it over Roy's sticky face, and bring a chunk of cake back to his own mouth. Havoc’s eyes closed, rapturous at the taste, and slid open again to give Roy a long, pleading look. It came like a spark to tender in Roy’s head, igniting a series of images; Havoc planning him a birthday dinner, Havoc sitting with him at lunch, Havoc taking his shoulder on his way out the door, Havoc showing up at his house with cake and a bottle of wine. Something they keep secret, he’d said, and mine is…
“Havoc?” Roy said, for a moment actually forgetting he was naked and covered in chocolate. “Did you come over here to…?”
A faint, pinkish color came into Havoc’s cheeks. He reached behind him, taking the small bakery box he’d come in with. He opened it and displayed the little cake inside.
“Do you only like chocolate?” He asked, smiling shyly. “Or is vanilla flavor okay too?”
He dipped a finger in, brought it up sticky with white icing, and slid it into Roy’s open mouth.
23/26
Letter X is up next. I'm gonna try to put it up tonight if I can, since I'm a day behind. :)