The Human Stain (Envy/Greed)
Aug. 14th, 2007 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
What it says in the title bar.
AU: past!fic. Magical wank of healing? FMA. Envy/Greed, centuries old homunculi are well over the age of consent by a handful of decades AT LEAST. Uh, PG-13?ish. Blood, mild kink. SLASH. m/m. Maybe 300 words? Characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa, originally. I'm justsullying borrowing them.
About half of the first part of a few. Sex probably next part or part and a half. Too sickish to come up with it right now. Feh.
And on the seventh day, he is again himself. He has posture and memory and skin. Flesh. New, raw, agonizing. The air itself scours over him like a thing with teeth. It moves through his lungs with ragged, razor-edged slowness. His eyes come open with effort--they were sealed in his sleep with tears or sweat, something that flakes back when he blinks, crinkling on his temples.
He wants some of that dreadful colony tobacco. Right now. Desperately.
He cannot move. He hurts too much to bother trying. There are heavy bands across his wrists and ankles, thick cuffs lined with leather and pulled just a bit too tight. It's a shame he can't seem to remember where he is, or how the flying fuck he got here, or why exactly he has no clothes on.
Blood. That's what he smells. That's what's on his face, and--he cranes his neck--most of the rest of him. He's brownish-crimson from top to toe like the old-style devils of home.
Home. Dante.
The name goes through him like lightning, images flooding alongside it; he lunges forward so hard that his shoulders give way and his arms lurch against the cuffs, nearly broken. He screams. It's impossible to stop once he starts. There's always more of the noise coiled inside him, waiting to burst free. He snaps the bones in the tops of his feet, bucking, kicking to get loose. He has to get away before she comes back. He'll fucking crawl out of here if he has to.
He is not going back into the circle. That unravelling array.
"Good morning," she says, with that fragile and heartless smile. White hair and a slight stoop have not made her less terrifying.
He's only just pulled all his pieces together again; the imprisoning lines on the floor are quite fresh. He wails like a girl, wide-eyed, frantic.
"I won't do it again," he says, because her hand is coming at him and last that happened her fingers were all the way through him, clenched and demanding as they crushed out his heartbeat. The Shield didn't work when she didn't want it to. "I swear! Please."
It's pointless to curse himself, to hate himself, to hate the words. He does anyway, because he needs everything, all the time, and it makes him do and say the most shameful things.
A smirk creases across Dante's face; her hand is hot and smooth. "You're such a whore."
Is that all? The shock must show on his face, because she laughs at him, dark and low.
"Idiot brother," and her voice slides sideways, her features melting and twisting as she pushes up against him, their bodies jutting against each other uncomfortably in new and different places. "Welcome home."
It's not Envy's true face, all sly cruelty and deep green hair, but it's his favorite. It's Greed's favorite, too, truth to tell. And Envy knows it. Greed makes a strangled noise of astonishment and tries to get closer. It hurts. A lot. But he's on the mend already, and what's a little more pain if it gets him what he wants?
Sometimes, if everything wants you back, it's not so bad.
Yeah, shitty last sentence. I'll fix it up (and finish the part) when my body sucks less.
*SNEEZE gag hack cough etc. etc.* Damn it. XD
AU: past!fic. Magical wank of healing? FMA. Envy/Greed, centuries old homunculi are well over the age of consent by a handful of decades AT LEAST. Uh, PG-13?ish. Blood, mild kink. SLASH. m/m. Maybe 300 words? Characters belong to Hiromu Arakawa, originally. I'm just
About half of the first part of a few. Sex probably next part or part and a half. Too sickish to come up with it right now. Feh.
And on the seventh day, he is again himself. He has posture and memory and skin. Flesh. New, raw, agonizing. The air itself scours over him like a thing with teeth. It moves through his lungs with ragged, razor-edged slowness. His eyes come open with effort--they were sealed in his sleep with tears or sweat, something that flakes back when he blinks, crinkling on his temples.
He wants some of that dreadful colony tobacco. Right now. Desperately.
He cannot move. He hurts too much to bother trying. There are heavy bands across his wrists and ankles, thick cuffs lined with leather and pulled just a bit too tight. It's a shame he can't seem to remember where he is, or how the flying fuck he got here, or why exactly he has no clothes on.
Blood. That's what he smells. That's what's on his face, and--he cranes his neck--most of the rest of him. He's brownish-crimson from top to toe like the old-style devils of home.
Home. Dante.
The name goes through him like lightning, images flooding alongside it; he lunges forward so hard that his shoulders give way and his arms lurch against the cuffs, nearly broken. He screams. It's impossible to stop once he starts. There's always more of the noise coiled inside him, waiting to burst free. He snaps the bones in the tops of his feet, bucking, kicking to get loose. He has to get away before she comes back. He'll fucking crawl out of here if he has to.
He is not going back into the circle. That unravelling array.
"Good morning," she says, with that fragile and heartless smile. White hair and a slight stoop have not made her less terrifying.
He's only just pulled all his pieces together again; the imprisoning lines on the floor are quite fresh. He wails like a girl, wide-eyed, frantic.
"I won't do it again," he says, because her hand is coming at him and last that happened her fingers were all the way through him, clenched and demanding as they crushed out his heartbeat. The Shield didn't work when she didn't want it to. "I swear! Please."
It's pointless to curse himself, to hate himself, to hate the words. He does anyway, because he needs everything, all the time, and it makes him do and say the most shameful things.
A smirk creases across Dante's face; her hand is hot and smooth. "You're such a whore."
Is that all? The shock must show on his face, because she laughs at him, dark and low.
"Idiot brother," and her voice slides sideways, her features melting and twisting as she pushes up against him, their bodies jutting against each other uncomfortably in new and different places. "Welcome home."
It's not Envy's true face, all sly cruelty and deep green hair, but it's his favorite. It's Greed's favorite, too, truth to tell. And Envy knows it. Greed makes a strangled noise of astonishment and tries to get closer. It hurts. A lot. But he's on the mend already, and what's a little more pain if it gets him what he wants?
Sometimes, if everything wants you back, it's not so bad.
Yeah, shitty last sentence. I'll fix it up (and finish the part) when my body sucks less.
*SNEEZE gag hack cough etc. etc.* Damn it. XD
