gut / WRENCHING

He makes notes. Market dilution as helpful ointment. Market concentrate as... aphrodisiac? Adonis smirks at him, the bark that Ed given losing its edge as he sees him grow hard and uncomfortable beneath the effects of his new product. He likes mouthing off? Fine. He'll let him mouth off as much as he wants. His gloved hand pinches the nipple again, as the clones grab chains from hidden compartments within the laboratory for his less... ethical experiments. "Sensitive. Does this mean that if I just do this," Adonis remarks, pinching hard as he eyes Ed's groin with intent. "You'll turn what? Into some pathetic animal in heat? Have some self respect—this is science."

ed doesn't even bother to hold back—what's the point? adonis wants data. he gives data. it's not like shame or embarrassment has ever meant anything to him. if he's going to pinch at him like that, let him know how it feels. even without words. especially without words. "—fuck off," he chases, still pressing back against donny's hand. transparent? certainly. it doesn't matter. "science has nothing to do with self-respect. that's what you rich pansies made up to control the rest of us. now fucking—" he breaks off into another moan; "—fucking tell me to take my pants off, already. aren't you curious to see everything first hand? i could be rotting right now and you'd have no idea."

Well. That was certainly enlightening. Ill-advised and short-sighted, but enlightening. Ed rubs the experimental ointment on his dick, and Adonis waits to take notes, eyeing him curiously. Eyes flit to his hand, then to his face as he makes a show of himself for an audience of one. Not that he minds, of course—Adonis was always about mixing business with pleasure, though he didn't like being called a perv by the man who thinks clothes should be optional. "Watch your mouth, mutt." His hand pinches a nipple hard as he returns it to his pen. Aphrodisiac, possible? Test on others. "Now. describe the feeling."

"or what?" he asks, already feeling that steady burn begin to creep downstairs. he shifts his weight to and fro trying ( and failing ) to get comfortable again. of course, the source of his discomfort is swollen and obvious even underneath a thin layer of fabric. and peeking out more than it should, too. "you'll cry?" the weight of his insult ( what little it held to begin with ) falters with the moan that follows—adonis has always known the right buttons to push. this new product of his just makes them bigger. "it's—it's like i said. hot and—fuck—and—and—sensitive."

His hand pulls away to make a note. Sensitivity? Heat plus sensitivity from extract of salamander. Dilution preferable. The tone of voice doesn't escape his notice, of course, but he puts it aside for the moment to observe Ed lying back against his chair as always. The man has had no thoughts in his head, save for feeding or fucking like some unsightly animal, but he seemed to want to be put through testing, so he simply shrugs. "Oh, try it." Adonis dares him to do anything, intrigued by what's about to happen. "Any data is good data."

ed knows that he's the best lab rat a mad scientist could ask for—he's hard to kill and, when prompted properly, eager to try new things. to boldly go where no shapeshifter has gone before... or whatever. the bold part is true, at least—that's obvious by the way he immediately, shamelessly, shoves his hands down his undergarments. he still has a bit he can rub in. not much. probably better to start with a conservative amount. "that's what i like to hear," he moans ( again, shamelessly ) tongue between his teeth. "but i think you just like watching. perve."

"I tried. The homonculus didn't survive." Alchemy was an odd duck, and while he was no master yet—experiments on flesh, willing and less than enthusiastic helped. Writing the feedback down in a notepad—warm, tingly, Adonis couldn't help but grimace. Internal feelings were helpful, but were of no use to him. Warm to one might be cold to another, and with their differeing biologies, who knows what warm actually is, from tepid to boiling. He purses his lips, and simply touches the affected area with his leather glove, starting to massage it, trying to give it some external stimuli. "Alright then, Ed," he says "Does this feel good or bad? Give me details."

"maybe you should fix that," he suggests, shrugging. yeah, just make them explosion proof. how hard could it possibly be? he's supposed to be an expert. but watching adonis scribble away in his notebook isn't enough to keep his interest, and by the time he's looked up again ed's eyes are glazed over and staring off into the distance. nobody home. he's back thinking about digging up that salamander. what a nice night that had been... at least until—"hey—oh." he snaps back in an instant, mouth hanging open. "it's... inter—esting. nice. very... sensitive." it's about as intelligent a speech as he can manage with donny touching him like that. maybe this isn't so beneath him, after all! "will it—fuck, will it do that everywhere?"

Tearing away the poor excuse of a shirt off him, Ed actually does what he's told. The medicines are on standby, and so are any restraints if he might have a good notion to try anything. A perfectly gloved hand makes notes against which section of the body he slathers the lotion against—his chest—and hums against the notion that a lotion is beneath him. "The salamander secretion was too volatile for powders and not harmful enough to concoct any poisons," he replies, eyes tracing over his chest for any adverse reactions present. A rash, perhaps. Some sort of expression of it working. "Hm. If you feel nothing yet, perhaps applying more somewhere else will hasten the process."

"volatile? why not make a bomb or something, then?" he grimaces a little, torn away from what he's sure is a very riveting conversation about how actually, it's not lame at all, because blah, blah, blah, blah... couldn't adonis ever say something interesting? it feels sometimes that all the only time he uses his voice for something worthwhile is for some kind of punishment. otherwise, yawn, it's usually a lecture. "you know, i think i am starting to feel something," he probably interrupts, glancing briefly down at his chest—visibly, no change—before shifts his attention ( the little he has ) back toward adonis. "it's kinda warm. a little tingly."

Adonis doesn't dignify what he says with a response, before sighing and realizing that he has to talk to the man with a brain the size of a teaspoon. This would not get done unless he talked to him, which was often a drawback of actually using someone else for his tests. "Just rub a patch of skin with it, Ed." He pauses, before making the instructions more specific—the man was like a dog sometimes, so perhaps clarity would be his friend. "Take your shirt off and just get some of it onto your shoulder, or arm, or chest perhaps."

"you're always so picky about it," he says, rolling his eyes. adonis is right to get specific with him, though—when he doesn't, he'll take any excuse to get filthy with it. the disapproval and disdain only make him more eager to misbehave; he's like a kitten that way, batting mischievously at an expensive trinket left too close to the edge of a countertop. if someone doesn't pull him away, he'll knock it off. every. time. but donny has done the pushing he expects, so ed is dutiful enough to pull the scraps of his shirt off and follow instructions like a good boy. for now. "why make lotion, anyway? seems beneath you," he says, slathering a dollop of the stuff over his chest.

He yelps at the squeeze, trailing off in a whimper as Ed takes his hand away entirely. "Eddie," Jules whines, arms folded over his face. He really is trying to be good! And so naturally, when it comes to Ed metaphorically pushing him out of the nest, he says, "Thank you-- thank you-- I'll be good, I promise. I'll be so patient. Fuck-- can I touch you? Can I blow you?" The agreement had of course been that Ed gets to edge Jules until their food arrives but he desperately wants to reciprocate somehow; not to tease Ed but just because being a pillow princess has never been Jules' way.

"It's supposed to be a lotion." He beckons Ed to come with him to his laboratory, a whirling room of clones and contraptions. Most purchased, some purlioned and others freely given. He gestures to a low examination table, plush and velvet, barely looking at Ed as he's sure that he's looking at the lotion like he's never seen before. Adonis prides himself on the man's predictability, but some days you never know. "But that's what I'm here to find out. Now, if you don't mind sitting, Killiam? We can begin the tests then. If it helps—it's an order."

"you're making lotion?" it can't possibly be that simple. knowing adonis—and he likes to think that he does, to some extent—he's leaving out the key details he needs to make an informed decision. he would make an excellent doctor. maybe it's just time for another prostate exam. he's always been partial to those, hasn't he? settling himself on the plush exam table ( no, not just because he's been given an order... ) "what do you want me to do with it, then? jerk off with it?"

"Since you've come to darken my door, Ed, I suggest making yourself useful. Perhaps you might want to sample a new concoction that I've cooked up?" His homonculi, all perfect copies of him mill about, and one gingerly hands him the bottle that he would have searched for. "To the lab, or is this, gods forbid, a social call?"

it all seems so silly when he puts it like that—a social call. no, he wants to say. i'm just bored. isn't that the point of a social call? he's got him there. usually does, the rat bastard. it's his own fault for continuing to crawl back. "is it because i didn't bring another gift? you know, finding useful materials isn't always easy." it's just deflection, meaningless discussion he brings up to fill the space between now and what he knows will happen. "what's this shit supposed to do?"

When Ed squeezes him after what feels like an eternity of teasing, Jules does yelp, and with a sharp inhale wraps his hands around the bars of the bed's headboard, so tight his knuckles turn white. His breath shudders. For a moment he thinks not getting to cum for the rest of the night could be a relief; and then he thinks, not getting to cum doesn't equate to not being touched and teased and toyed with. "I'd still eat them," he groans; Jules has never yet encounterted something that would put him off his food. And honestly the taboo of what Ed suggests is tantalising. And, managing a joke if even in strangled voice: "S'extra protein. I'd thank you. Gotta-- gotta try harder than that to punish me."

For a moment Jules nearly gives up on ordering food, back arching and head pressing back into the pillow with a muffled moan, eyes squeezed shut. He loves overstimulation, but he gets very easily lost in it. His eyes shoot open with a reproachful look to Ed, though, as Ed says he'll just edge him till the food comes. "Mean. Fine. I'm--" struggling for words, but with shaky fingers he manages to get the order sent off, and the second his phone beeps in confirmation Jules drops it carelessly behind him. "Don't stop just 'cause I cry. I'm a fucking pansy, right? Cry at anything. Don't stop til I beg you to." Turning his head on the pillow now to face Ed, Jules looks at him with dark, breathless excitement. "What if I can't handle it? What if I cum again before the food gets here?" Jules might struggle to get properly hard again so soon after sex, but that's never stopped him having an orgasm. If anything, he finds it intensifies them, like they draw from some deeper, more primal part of him.

If anyone is going to get worn out, they both know it's Jules. He knows, too, there is a nonzero chance he could fall asleep while cockwarming Ed, and he even finds himself hoping that does happen, just because he knows Ed would be so mercilessly mean about it.