The Mortal Coil - Dante/Envy
Title: The Mortal Coil
Author: theladyfeylene
Pairing: Dante/Dante!Envy, hints of Hohenheim/Dante
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Mildly disturbing content, pseudocest
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Word Count: 871
Summary: What a pity it was, that mortal bodies were so prey to the claws of time. Dante only wanted to remember when she was young and new.
The face in the mirror was lined and weathered; an old woman’s face. The eyes were narrowed by age and circled by delicate folds. The nose was hawkish and worn, straight and stern with age. The lips were thin, hardly more than a line that too quickly disappeared in flaps of loose skin. The hair that framed it was thick but graying. It was a witch’s face.
“Envy? Do you remember my first body?” Not her real body but her first. They were all real, all flesh and blood and bone. And they all failed, as human bodies were wont to do.
“Yeah. Of course I do.”
She could see his reflection in the mirror. Bored and arrogant, he stood with a hand on his hip and a sneer on his lips. Such a precocious boy, her demon-child. But oh-so-useful.
“Show me.”
She watched his expression in the mirror. She saw the flash of anger that passed like a storm cloud over his features. He hated to be reminded, didn’t he? But she didn’t care. She was sick of the face in the mirror.
The storm cloud passed, and Envy’s features shifted. Hair darkened and curled, features softened and shrank, boyish body curved and plumped. Dante turned, trading the face in the mirror for the face the sin now wore. That was more like it.
“So beautiful.” Such luxurious black curls, such fiery blue eyes, such porcelain pale skin. Like a doll, both delicate and sumptuous at once. That was the body that Hohenheim had loved. A pity it was so long gone to dust.
“How long do I have to do this?” The voice was light, delicate, feminine. Her voice.
Of course he hated it. He wouldn’t even wear his own face, and now he held that of his mother. But Dante still didn’t care. She reached out for the fine black curls, ran her fingers through them as though they were still hers. The old woman’s body felt like a cage.
“Just hush,” Dante instructed. Her fingers moved to the silken soft swell of a cheek. So smooth. So supple. So unlike the withered skin that currently housed her soul. She could feel the dryness of her fingers, rough against such satin perfection. And the lips… Dante’s fingers passed over them, tracing their moist softness. Had there ever been a more perfect mouth on any woman?
“Master…”
“I told you to hush.” Speaking ruined the illusion. She cupped the heart shaped face in her hand, cupped it lovingly as Hohenheim had once done. In her memory, she could feel his hand against her skin. She followed the graceful curve of swan-line neck, fingers tracing ever-so-lightly over pale skin. She paused at the top curve of the two small, perfect breasts. The light swell against her hand made her shudder. Her fingers passed downwards, brushing against tightening nipples. So perfect. Always so perfect. She leaned forward, pressing her withered forehead against tumbles of black curls. Her hand closed around a petite breast. One gentle swell of hip pressed against her stomach. She wanted to possess this perfect, beautiful, long-dead body. She wanted youth and beauty once more. Eyes closed, holding the image tightly in her mind, she pressed her sunken lips to winter-white skin as her arms went around it, pulling it to her.
“Alright, that’s it!”
Envy jerked away, already slipping back into his usual androgynous form as he escaped the circle of her arms. Perfect cheeks and lips and breasts and hips melted away. A look of disgust colored his features and he ran a hand through his dark verdant hair.
“I didn’t tell you to change back!”
“Yeah, well, I was tired of being groped. You‘ve got an eighteen year old girl downstairs, go grope her!”
It was pure instinct, a reaction that harkened back to a time when both were human. She slapped him, sharply, across the cheek. He stared at her as though stunned. Never since his sinful rebirth had she struck him.
“Get out.” She turned back to the mirror, dismissing him and her own impassioned action against him. The face that met her was more hateful than before. How long before this body, too, went to dust?
But Envy had a strong point. There was a beautiful young girl downstairs, dark of hair and pale of skin and slim of body. Not perfect, but good enough.
In the mirror, Dante smiled. When this body crumbled to human weakness and slipped loose the mortal coil, she would laugh and dance on its grave.
Author: theladyfeylene
Pairing: Dante/Dante!Envy, hints of Hohenheim/Dante
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: Mildly disturbing content, pseudocest
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Word Count: 871
Summary: What a pity it was, that mortal bodies were so prey to the claws of time. Dante only wanted to remember when she was young and new.
The face in the mirror was lined and weathered; an old woman’s face. The eyes were narrowed by age and circled by delicate folds. The nose was hawkish and worn, straight and stern with age. The lips were thin, hardly more than a line that too quickly disappeared in flaps of loose skin. The hair that framed it was thick but graying. It was a witch’s face.
“Envy? Do you remember my first body?” Not her real body but her first. They were all real, all flesh and blood and bone. And they all failed, as human bodies were wont to do.
“Yeah. Of course I do.”
She could see his reflection in the mirror. Bored and arrogant, he stood with a hand on his hip and a sneer on his lips. Such a precocious boy, her demon-child. But oh-so-useful.
“Show me.”
She watched his expression in the mirror. She saw the flash of anger that passed like a storm cloud over his features. He hated to be reminded, didn’t he? But she didn’t care. She was sick of the face in the mirror.
The storm cloud passed, and Envy’s features shifted. Hair darkened and curled, features softened and shrank, boyish body curved and plumped. Dante turned, trading the face in the mirror for the face the sin now wore. That was more like it.
“So beautiful.” Such luxurious black curls, such fiery blue eyes, such porcelain pale skin. Like a doll, both delicate and sumptuous at once. That was the body that Hohenheim had loved. A pity it was so long gone to dust.
“How long do I have to do this?” The voice was light, delicate, feminine. Her voice.
Of course he hated it. He wouldn’t even wear his own face, and now he held that of his mother. But Dante still didn’t care. She reached out for the fine black curls, ran her fingers through them as though they were still hers. The old woman’s body felt like a cage.
“Just hush,” Dante instructed. Her fingers moved to the silken soft swell of a cheek. So smooth. So supple. So unlike the withered skin that currently housed her soul. She could feel the dryness of her fingers, rough against such satin perfection. And the lips… Dante’s fingers passed over them, tracing their moist softness. Had there ever been a more perfect mouth on any woman?
“Master…”
“I told you to hush.” Speaking ruined the illusion. She cupped the heart shaped face in her hand, cupped it lovingly as Hohenheim had once done. In her memory, she could feel his hand against her skin. She followed the graceful curve of swan-line neck, fingers tracing ever-so-lightly over pale skin. She paused at the top curve of the two small, perfect breasts. The light swell against her hand made her shudder. Her fingers passed downwards, brushing against tightening nipples. So perfect. Always so perfect. She leaned forward, pressing her withered forehead against tumbles of black curls. Her hand closed around a petite breast. One gentle swell of hip pressed against her stomach. She wanted to possess this perfect, beautiful, long-dead body. She wanted youth and beauty once more. Eyes closed, holding the image tightly in her mind, she pressed her sunken lips to winter-white skin as her arms went around it, pulling it to her.
“Alright, that’s it!”
Envy jerked away, already slipping back into his usual androgynous form as he escaped the circle of her arms. Perfect cheeks and lips and breasts and hips melted away. A look of disgust colored his features and he ran a hand through his dark verdant hair.
“I didn’t tell you to change back!”
“Yeah, well, I was tired of being groped. You‘ve got an eighteen year old girl downstairs, go grope her!”
It was pure instinct, a reaction that harkened back to a time when both were human. She slapped him, sharply, across the cheek. He stared at her as though stunned. Never since his sinful rebirth had she struck him.
“Get out.” She turned back to the mirror, dismissing him and her own impassioned action against him. The face that met her was more hateful than before. How long before this body, too, went to dust?
But Envy had a strong point. There was a beautiful young girl downstairs, dark of hair and pale of skin and slim of body. Not perfect, but good enough.
In the mirror, Dante smiled. When this body crumbled to human weakness and slipped loose the mortal coil, she would laugh and dance on its grave.