blood and silk
Once upon a time a long time ago, I had a cunning plan to write a short story for each of the Fullmetal sins, and then to post them all together.
Sad fact: some of these sins are just not happening. For example, it is really, really hard to write something for Sloth that isn’t the most boring thing in print since those early 1900s shipping lists re: Manchurian pig iron which I no longer remember my reasons for reading. No one likes lists re: Manchurian pig iron. Or at least, those people are few and far between.
IN CONCLUSION, I give up: I’ll just post these as I finish them, and in the unlikely event that I ever actually finish them all, I’ll make a master list.
This one is Lust, and I’m pleased with how disturbing it turned out. :D Thanks to zephy_magnum for betaing this for me, ehm, LAST YEAR SOMETIME.
Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. Spoilers through Ch. 38 or so.
Blood and Silk
She loves the way he smells.
Cigarettes and aftershave, gunpowder and sweat. She breathes in and feels it coiling around her, a warmth in her chest and heat between her legs. She wants to cover herself in it, she wants to tangle that scent in her hair and keep it there for days.
The scent of a man doesn’t die with him. When she was younger, more impulsive, she’d killed men during sex and painted herself with their blood and kept them for weeks, weeks. Soaking into her skin, dripping down her thighs. Part of her.
Ah, but breathe, breathe. She can enjoy this one, but she can’t keep him. He’s for Father to keep.
They’re all for Father to keep.
Are you okay, Solaris? You look a little…
Worrying about me, Jean? Such a gentleman.
Um. Thanks. I mean, I didn’t mean to say-you just looked-not that you’re not beautiful! You always are, it’s just. I’ll shut up.
Nothing is more entertaining than a man in an advanced state of sexual panic, particularly if the man in question is well-socialized. Oh, Jean, hilarious and dear. She wishes she could keep him. They would be beautiful together.
He tells her stories, so many stories, and she laughs in the right places and brutally combs through the words for a scrap of useful information. But nothing, nothing, nothing. Dear Jean, so careful, even now. She does wish…
He tells her stories, and half of her mind listens, sifts for information. But the other half.
What would she do with Jean, if she could keep him?
She sees him tied to a bed, white sheets and pale skin, hair sweaty and disheveled. Those sweet blue eyes wide, because this will be the moment he realizes what she’s going to do to him.
No, they never realize, do they? They never quite understand. But this is when they begin to suspect. It’s an entertaining thing to watch, because even though they suspect, she is what she is, and they can’t help but respond to her.
The sex is always good, she makes sure of it. The sex is so very good that they almost forget what made them uncomfortable before: gasping and writhing, shining and warm, mindless with sensation. Humans are never so beautiful as they are in the moments when they’ve forgotten everything. She takes them only at their most perfect.
Death throes feel so much like orgasm that she wonders if the humans can tell the difference. She can’t. Either one is gorgeous. Glazed eyes and all that fragile control failing, giving everything to her…
Oh, she really shouldn’t gasp at the lunch table. What on earth would Jean make of that? Kind, innocent boy.
After he’s dead, beautiful Jean, after he’s given himself to her, she’ll take her time with him, the way she used to. She’ll allow herself the luxury. After all, it’s been so long since she found a true gentleman. She may not have another opportunity.
She’ll touch everything of his, everything he is. The blood will pool on the sheets and drip onto the floor, and she’ll paint Jean onto herself, and he won’t have any secrets from her, and he’ll be hers. He will become her.
Perfect.
Ah, I’ve gotta get back to work! How did it get to be so late? I’ve been talking your ear off, I’m so-
Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Jean. I’ve had a lovely time. Do you think we’ll be able to do this again on Tuesday?
Of-of course! I mean, if you want to. Here? If that’s okay? Or, or we could go somewhere else if-
Here would be perfect.
Perfect, perfect, perfect.
He insists on calling her a taxi and handing her in. She waves goodbye. A pleasant pastime, as usual. But not a useful one, and Father doesn’t have time for her to waste on her own amusements. A shame. She’ll give Jean one more day, and if he’s still so tight-lipped, why, Father will have no need of him. She’ll ask if she can keep him.
Oh, she wants to keep him, she wants-
But then, after. She’ll have to find her information elsewhere, and Roy Mustang is too careful to be of use. Far too careful.
Beautiful, though. Strong and compact, but graceful, and those eyes, that passion. Mm, she would happily burn and drown in that passion. She’d love to be the one to destroy it and own it.
But it isn’t practical. He’s too careful, and Father needs him alive. She wants him to be a sacrifice even more than she wants him for herself.
Who does that leave? She went through this list when Father first asked her to collect information, and the people on it haven’t changed. The unfortunate truth is that Jean was her best bet, and it looks like he’s going to disappoint her. Heymans Breda is, among other things, too wary of strangers. Vato Falman is absolutely not a creature of passion. Riza Hawkeye…
Riza Hawkeye would be gorgeous with her hair loose and tangled and her face open and frightened and young. No ropes for Riza, oh no. Boneless with lust over burgundy sheets, smooth skin and scars, small gasping breaths turned to cries turned to screams, and women always make the best sounds. With Riza, she would aim the first strike to paralyze. With Riza-
Impossible. Hawkeye is every bit as careful as Mustang: impossible.
Must the beautiful ones all be so difficult?
That leaves Kain Fuery, too childish to be her type. Ah, well. She’ll just have to cope; she isn’t awash in choices. Anyway, she only needs to use him. No one is asking her to keep him, so her preferences needn’t come into it.
And after all, she may be allowed to keep Jean. She shouldn’t be greedy. Demonstrably, no good comes of that.
We’re here, miss.
Oh, thank you. How much?
No worries, miss, your friend paid me already.
Did he? Such a gentleman.
Such a gentleman.