Le Main d’Envie

Beautiful, Envy thought, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed and crossing one leg over the other, toes curling like ferns. Slowly, an indulgent smile formed upon his lips as he stared at the bound figure before him. The homunculus did not find Alphonse Elric appealing in the least; after all, what was the boy besides a clunky, empty suit of armour? Garbage, Envy deemed him, refuse not worth the notice or the antipathy that his famed elder brother had managed to prize from the Sin simply by being the treasured firstborn son.

Alphonse might not have been attractive in Envy's eyes, but what he currently represented was.

"You're back?" the boy asked, his voice meek and shaky. The noise of metal scraping against itself followed as Alphonse shifted, seemingly trying to position himself so that he could attempt to stand once more. Envy raised an eyebrow, wondering if the fool actually meant to make a move against him. "You'd better not—"

"What?" Envy demanded coldly, sneering and chuckling to himself. He could already tell that this was going to be a pleasure. That defiant edge in the boy's voice...the Sin had heard it before in the Fullmetal Shorty's tone. Although cockiness in either youth's timbre grated on Envy's nerves like few other things could, the shapeshifting homunculus did maintain a certain taste for dulling the sharp corners of the boys' respective dispositions.

The memory of humbling the arrogant older Elric (the damned runt, the pissant from hell, the little thief) was so sweet and so fucking sapid that Envy's eyes had narrowed to violet slits before he could even grow aware of this physical response. His hands fisted into the sheets, muscles tightening slightly, almost imperceptibly; still, he remained unaware of what he was feeling until his breathing hitched and a few sparks of pale alchemical energy danced along his pliant form.

Envy remembered the sight of Edward on the ground, blond hair like a golden aureola shining around his head, breath raspy as he pleaded for his brother's life with a voice strangled by tears. He remembered the stress and pain he had heard within each and every fucking one of the syllables. He recalled how good it had felt, how impossibly, agonizingly wonderful it had been to kick the short bastard over and over again.

Envy closed his eyes, musing about how much more pleasurable it would have been had his kicks elicited the wet cracking sounds of blood and skull fragments mixing into a fine pulp; instead, thanks to that damned woman, he had been forced to settle for the infinitely less satisfying slap of flesh on flesh.


Still, he visualized the cool red glow of the liquified stones in Laboratory Five.

All around the homunculi and their prey, the fecund concoction had swelled and throbbed like a living thing, causing Envy to feel inexplicably primal, as hungry as a predator lured by the scent of blood. There, bathed in ripe fuchsia light, Envy had been alive once more. He had stood next to enormous containers laden with the same unlife which filled his own body; he had basked in the raw, ethereal radiance, and he had been so close to his roots.

In that breeding ground for monstrosities, Envy had relished the opportunity to exact his revenge against the little brat who had stolen everything that was rightfully his. A short-lived victory, but a victory none the less. At the time, Envy had been too high on the sheer rush—the overwhelming excitement of the experience—to feel any arousal, but in retrospect, tormenting Edward had granted him an intense surge of power, one which he now found highly...appealing.

A twinge of longing shot through the Sin, and before he knew what his body was doing, a hand had slithered down to rest in his lap; willowy fingers smoothed along the tight black fabric that clung to his hips. His movements so slow as to be nearly painful, Envy licked his lips as his digits playfully crept along the folds of the skort, teasing and tantalizing the cold, concealed skin beneath. Thoughts of maiming his son affected Envy in a way that little else did. Despite his affinity for displaying much of his body, the creature had never been especially libidinous; he let Greed and Lust worry about carnal desires.

Yet...within every homunculus, there was a fiery core point in which all sins melted into one. Pride and sloth went hand in hand; an overabundance of self-satisfaction gave rise to a refusal to work. An unwillingness to work produced an empty belly, effectively leading to gluttony. The ravenous appetite of gluttony beget envy, and desire for the qualities of others fashioned greed. Supreme greed, wanting all things which lived, soon led to lust for the flesh. And what could all of this raw need birth, save for unsatisfaction? The child of unsatisfaction was anger...wrath.

At present, Envy was experiencing one of those rare connections between wrath and lust, two sins that civilized humans deemed very different from one another, though Envy knew better than to believe there was much of a disparity between them. He had seen the number of rapes which had occurred during wars; he knew firsthand that a taste for blood went hand in hand with an injection of adrenaline and a restless yearning for flesh, for warmth, for bodies glistening with sweat and blood.

Just as the eager fingers finally slid under the cloth encircling his waist, Envy's blissful thoughts were interrupted by... a familiar, shrill little voice, a goddamned annoying squeak, a tiny drone just loud and whiny enough to shatter his concentration.

His eyes shot open, then narrowed once more—this time not in lust, but in anger. Envy regarded the boy with a scowl, eyebrows furrowed, face bathed in the warm glow of lamplight. Velvet shadows streaked his face and deepened the small creases produced by his wry expression. His heart was still thumping at a frenzied pace, ululating alongside the silent wails of desire rippling through his form.

He had to have release, damn it! Did the stupid shit really think Envy cared what he had to say? Could the empty tin can's audacity truly be that great?

Envy smirked. Deep down, all sins truly were one, and Wrath was not the only homunculus whose anger could crush souls and bring spirited creatures to their knees.

"Brother's going to destroy you," the boy insisted, prattling on as though someone besides him actually thought his words were worth shit. "He's going to destroy all of you, and—"

"For an empty fucking suit of armour who doesn't even have a head, you sure are yappy, y'know?" Envy hopped off the bed, smirk broadening to a sneer as he padded over to the struggling suit of armour.

One foot raised off of the soft red carpet and entered Alphonse's exposed neck, toes gripping the border where the helmet would have been had Envy not earlier kicked it off. The homunculus felt around the cool metal with his foot, tightening his grip. It was a pity the boy could not feel the power Envy had inside of him, the strength in those limbs, the capability to effortlessly rip metal asunder.

"I could tear you apart with the smallest movement if I wanted," Envy bragged, laughing deep in his throat as he savoured the knowledge of his authority, and, conversely, Alphonse's lack thereof. "I would, too, if it weren't for the fact that you have..." He gave the armour a kick, listening in satisfaction to the hollow ringing sound the motion produced. "...the Stone inside of you...all those human lives filling your body..."

Envy's breathing hitched. The speech was scarcely more than a repeat of what he had said earlier, but in his current state of mind, the thought of all those dead humans had...more of an effect than before. Envy bit his lip, shuddering softly and swallowing a whimper. His eyes maintained the malevolent smile that brought sparks of life to the chilly purple irises; he looked over, giving a perfunctory glance at the helmet. Alphonse had suddenly grown quiet, leading Envy to suspect that guilt over carrying so many lost lives had once again claimed him.

"You're seeing this, aren't you?" he asked of the helmet, lightly placing one hand upon his hip while the other rested beside his thigh. "You're seeing everything. Well..." He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, then slipped his tongue across them, relishing the cool taste of the stone-formed solution. It was not as good as warm human blood, no, but Envy was in too much of a mood to care. "...I'm going to give you a better show."

So saying, Envy eased his skort down with his thumb. When he heard a small noise—probably a gasp of alarm, protest, or both—eagerness got the better of the Sin and he yanked the lower half of his clothing off with one quick flick of the wrist.

Having discarded the skort, Envy placed his hand upon his erection, stroking the moist glans with his thumb and index finger. Meanwhile, his other fingers wrapped around his cock, clothed palm cupping the shaft. Rough fabric rubbing against hard, blood-gorged flesh promised delicious, spine-tingling friction, so much so that Envy could not resist hissing softly, eyes once again slimming until the room dulled to a blurry jumble of shadows stirring alongside the yellow-orange gleam of lamplight.

Applying only mild pressure to his cock (he intended to savour this moment), Envy looked over at his captive's face. The light in the armour's eyes had dimmed, and Envy could only snicker, certain that the boy was trying either to ignore what he was seeing or close his eyes against it—if such a thing were possible. Envy did not know whether Alphonse could simply choose not to watch, but it did not matter. If visual torture failed, he had other tools, other ready methods for getting under the boy's "skin" in ways that were both figurative and, to Envy's immense amusement, literal.

"Can you guess what I'm thinking about right now? Huh? Whaddya think, you tin can?" First stroke. He tried to keep steady, but his thumb slipped on the tip, though he quickly caught himself and eased his hand downward, harsh texture meeting sensitive bundles of nerves. Envy sucked his breath in sharply, tightening his grasp as he perched upon the hollow armour, one foot on each of the hulking shoulders. "I'm..." He paused, allowing himself a small groan. "...thinking of what I'm going to do to your short shit of a brother...thinking of..."

Another stroke, much harder this time. By now, he was already panting; tiny trickles of sweat were beginning to wet his palms, body, and hair. Envy grimaced, fondling himself until pleasure flickered all over his body; heat pooled in his groin, muscles grew taut, spots lined his vision, and his mind swirled with thoughts of carnage. He loved it; fucking loved that his body could be whatever he wanted, loved that he could give himself such pleasure with the same hand which also snapped necks and punched through ribs as though they were soft, rotting fruits. Most of all, he loved...

" of you, but especially him..." Envy paused, drawing out the next couple of strokes and massaging his cock with deliberate sluggishness, palm inching along the smooth hardness at a pace which denied him the crude friction he had earlier enjoyed.

He tilted his head back, growling like a feral animal. Slow. Had to go slow. Oh fucking damn! It hurt! He wanted to squeeze his erection and thrust into his hand wildly, but at the same time, a part of him knew he needed to relish both the physical pleasure and the greater joy of knowing he was going to crush one of that bastard's sons. Yes, he thought, squeezing suddenly and jerking hard, trembling and inhaling through clenched teeth. Yes. Fucking. Perfect.

"...think I'll...give your brother's heart a little...caress..." To illustrate precisely what he meant, Envy raised his unoccupied hand and transformed it—along with his forearm—into a knife. He pressed the point to his lips, kissing the shimmering metal, enjoying the beautiful, wicked glint it produced.

"You're sick!" Alphonse exclaimed, reacting at last, body attempting to push itself up beneath Envy's feet. That edge had returned to his voice, that damned streak of supposed valor, that imprudent recalcitrance.

That, Envy decided, would have to go.

"Maybe so, but at least I'm not an empty hunk of steel. I'd rather be sick and have a body than be a virtuous shit without one." Envy turned the blade back into its usual shape, letting that arm hang by his side while his opposite hand continued holding his now aching cock. "Speaking of bodies...maybe a different form is in order for me..." Grinning in pure malice, Envy allowed the dazzling scintilla of Gateborne energy to claim him, shredding away his current body and replacing it with a softer, slightly more voluptuous figure.

He listened closely, laughing behind his teeth at the sound of the quiet whimper, the pathetic mewl that could be so likened in pitch to the boy's favoured pet. If Alphonse was a house cat, domesticated but none the less having a sharp bite and a tacit ability to claw one's eyes if sufficiently provoked, then Envy was a tiger: untamed, predatory, and proud, having traded fangs and claws for tricks and mind games as his weapons of choice.

"So you are looking!" Envy declared in Winry's high-pitched soprano timbre, squealing the words with the same youthful exuberance the actual girl would have typically displayed. "Who's the sick one now?" he inquired, voice thick with saccharine warmth.

To enhance the theatrics of the situation, Envy giggled flirtatiously and fingered his long blonde hair. He moved his other hand away from the male appendage that had been left very much intact even through the switch of forms, cupping a breast and fondling it, squeezing gently while tracing circles with his thumb, flicking a blunted fingernail against the areola and nipple. Envy as Winry cried out as though the stimulation was beyond anything comprehensible.

Inwardly, Envy was pleased with himself as he pushed a heavy pink blush to the image of the girl's cheeks and moaned throatily, salivating unabashedly as he lowered his head and forced the breast to his mouth. Keeping an eye on Alphonse the entire time, he licked and suckled, groaning, panting, and screaming the boy's name in a pleading tone. His hands went everywhere, touching breasts, belly, hips, ass, neck, cock, and cunt.

"Is this what you've always wanted, Al?" the lovely voice chimed as slender fingers dug into the slick pink warmth, thumbing the clitoris and swirling until all fingertips were dripping with 'Winry''s juices. Envy swung his hand, flicking a few droplets into Al's armour "I know you wish you were human so that you could put your cute little boy dick into this..."

Envy chortled, then settled down upon the suit of armour, giving the metal a kiss with his lower lips. He paused, surprised by how good that felt; the cold surface made his imitation nerves react in a way he could not have anticipated.

With a pleased sigh, Envy stroked himself over the ridges of the armour a few more times before raising to his feet once more, holding the brat down with more pressure and weight added to each of the shoulders. Sparks exploded into the darkness once more, sending Envy back into his preferred shape, though now he was a good deal sweatier.

"You better thank me for that, you stupid prick..." he said, smirking and resuming his earlier ministrations. "Probably...the closest you'll ever fucking get to having her cunt..."

He thought the room had grown silent once more, but by then, he was too horny to even notice if the tin can was clinking his rusty pipes. Where had he been before the little distraction that had led to Winry's body? Oh, yes. Genocide. Killing the miniature bastard. Even considering reverting his train of thought to that sent a greater jolt of pleasure down Envy's spine, and he cried out in a more genuine ecstasy than what his prior acting as Winry had produced.

Envy closed his eyes and began wantonly thrusting into his hand, hips twitching uncontrollably; he could see it, could taste the blood, could smell the fear, could see the bodies, rows of corpses piled high for a Philosopher's Stone, life and death bleeding into one within that eerie red glow. Soon, everything melted away. Forms grew fuzzy-edged and vanished into nothingness, swept away by the waves of white hot wanting, needy wet voraciousness—raw, fleshless, and unadorned—something as simple and intrinsic and alive as a newly made homunculus.

All colours came together, filling the darkness behind the homunculus's eyelids, and while his body beat away a rhythm matched exquisitely by his galloping heart and frenetic mind, Envy screamed—or thought he did—consciousness consumed by thoughts of fiery skies and scorched fields, the endless light of the Gate, the pregnant darkness from which his own kind were born, the feel of viscous blood flowing over his hands, limbs and organs and a broad spectrum of emotions, from the agony of slowly cracking bones to the euphoria of conquest...


Envy did not even realize he had climaxed until he felt the cool spritz of cum leaking onto his wrist. As his heartbeat slowed and his mind began to descend back into the more boring reality of the present, he raised his hand, examining the contrast of black cloth and white release. Interesting. Pretty. He touched his mouth, licking away the substance. It was not salty as a human's would have been, and it carried the tiniest trace of incomplete Philosopher's Stones. Envy thought it decorated the outside of the armour nicely. Certainly a glob of white inside of the armour added a distinct...flair...

"Lovely," Envy purred, transforming his clothing back into place as he eased off the armour, but not before leaning in and giving the blood seal a good lick. He was not worried about tonguing the marking away; it had long since dried on, and besides, the boy was the Philosopher's Stone now. Envy slathered the seal unrepentantly, beaming at the muffled, seemingly distant sound of sobs. Obviously, the child was trying to repress the noises, trying to stay strong as his brother probably would have asked him to do, but Envy's senses were keen; he heard, and he thought it made a perfect applause.

"Soon..." he promised, patting Edward Elric's younger brother, gazing at him wistfully as he contemplated the future. The homunculus's tone altered, becoming the kind of murmur a person might offer into their paramour's ear. "Soon, it'll be your brother's neck instead..."

He laughed, punched the empty exterior hard enough for the sound to vibrate and echo throughout the room, and arose, turning to leave, strides long and easy. He figured he might as well leave the brat to his sorrow...

...after all, it would soon be the only thing he had left.