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lykomancer

Crown of Roses


There was nothing lost between them—nothing more than what they'd lost before anyway, and with those fleeting leaves swept away in cold winds and gone, there was nothing more that they could lose; perhaps that is part of what made this safer than it might have otherwise been or seemed, this joining of the son of man, perfect in imperfection, and the one fallen from grace, dark and beautiful.

Power ran between them, built up like static electricity by the friction between their bodies as they tangled up together, latching on with needy, desperate attachment to each other.

They were not used to being alone and when they were together they were not.

They had each other and the specters of all those dead and gone, all right there, though the echoes of long-lost voices fell down into shivering silence when they touched, when they looked at each other and focused, actually seeing one another in full complexity and glory.

Alphonse curled in the homunculus's lap like an overgrown kitten, bold and unafraid and hungry for the fleeting heat of skin on skin, and Envy was intimately familiar with temptation; his hands slid around the smaller, sturdier boy's waist, under the red coat the Sin hated so much, and pulled in tighter, closer.

Dark lashes fluttered down as he lifted his face up to Al's; he could feel the warmth of the human's breaths, the flush under his tanned skin, and it made him feel dizzy, his stomach twisting in strange ways. Al's arms crept around his neck as their lips brushed together, and he blinked slowly, a pang of regret and something like bitterness tightening in his throat.

Envy smiled secretly as he pulled away to drop his mouth to the curve of Al's jaw, his teeth closing down against boyishly smooth skin in a series of nips that made the alchemist stiffen, his chest hitching as he forgot to breathe.

The other one smelled different, metallic and aggressive, like corruption and sin, and had moved against the homunculus angrily, demanding and refusing simultaneously, unwilling to say yes and unable to say no, exiled from heaven and rejected from hell; but this one was sweet and soft, the bite underneath subtle and hot, honey and milk spiked with whiskey, intoxicating and delicious.

Alphonse touched his gloved hands against the nape of Envy's neck, the untriggered arrays tickling the layline that crossed his shoulders, a now instinctive warning against any misbehavior on the mercurial Sin's part, and then he shifted, baring more of his throat and looking up at the deep, deep sky, the spattering of stars gleaming far away.

This one didn't love him though he needed him; he'd protect him, but he was selfish, lacking any comprehension of human compassion and mercy; his touches were proprietary, and Al wondered if the creature was (envious) jealous of the one that had proceeded him, the one whose name Al had to bite back off his tongue every time he closed his eyes when they touched, if all this was an act to try to claim for himself some part of the life he thought stolen from him, the one he insisted should have been his.

When Envy rolled backward into the cool grass and unfolded his long limbs to sprawl loosely under Alphonse, in invitation, in a call to stay and entreat the unhearing stars for forgiveness, for more than they deserved, the youngest Elric moved with him willingly, his tongue muttering ceaselessly against his pale skin—

Pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.