"No," said Ed, his voice quiet. "You can't hurt me."
They were sharing a bed by necessity that winter, piling all the quilts onto one bed and hiding under them while the little radiator struggled to warm the small room.
This is what lovers do, thought Ed. They sacrifice for the other's pleasure.
Predator-sleek and supple like a malignant-looking trickster, blurring the lines between human and inhuman, male and female, dead and alive.
No one talked of Equivalent Exchange in England, but they had a saying that came close: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
Edward needs pushing. Hohenhiem wants to push him with his own two hands — to touch.