Abuse of Power

Even from here, I could hear the groaning, that struggling sound of sweet need to follow direct orders, and it brought a wicked little smile to my lips. Quick, short pants echoed in the air, rang so true, sounded so perfect that they drew my eyes even when I tried to look away. The sound of his curses made my throat work a purr that vibrated through my body, made my lashes dip down half-way, made his back straighten. I watched with greed as his body moved, that spine arching, that golden hair dipping forward as he jerked back and forth while on those delicious mismatched hands and knees. The sweat was dampening his brow, rolling down to his jawline, and for a moment, it made him glisten like rays of sun sneaking through open patches of a cloudy sky.

Beautiful, really.

"You missed a spot."

He looked up at me with hate in his eyes, burning and twisting, enough to crucify me where I sat on my chair. "Fuck you," he muttered, before moving to the portion of the floor my fingers were waving at. The sound of a bristled brush drifted to my ears soon enough, and it was hard not to purr was I watched him rock back and forth once again. He looked wonderful when he was reduced to this manual labor, all insulted and humiliated; I could taste the rage, and it was a wine full of divination.

This was always my favorite part of the day, when I could observe the wicked gleams of a glare I wasn't meant to see. It fueled me more than the lonely nights where I could spy on the shrimp and watch him stare out windows, illuminated by the ghostly moonlight, his skin bathed in mercury and lips satin blue as they formed his brother's name.

He was so adorable when he was brimming with angst!

People had come and gone since I acquired my little pet; Lust's face had been priceless when I made him curl around my feet like a desperate housecat and purr on command. Sloth had wanted to kill him, citing that such a game was too dangerous to be playing; she has no sense of fun. Even Pride had poked his head in, had grabbed the brat's chin and forced a look into his one uncovered eye.

"You should have stayed in the military, a good little drone," he had purred, before tossing him back and walking away.

Now, lingering here atop the wooden, elaborate chair (The Throne, I called it), I draped one leg over the side while my elbow sat on the arm. I rested my chin in the palm of my hand, watching him move, watching the doll work; such a pretty little thing, really. Obedience was the true power of the world, whether forced or willing.

"Come here." The brush was ignored, forgotten, and I watched as he climbed to his feet. As I had explained oh-so-kindly to him, he would keep his eyes lowered when approaching me, a good little warrant to his nature in life. It was amusing to watch him, watch the way his feet pulled him, yanked by, all by the leash of my words, of my will. He went down on his knees in front of me, another of the little clarifications we went over along with such thrilling rules and regulations as My orders, my will, is the only one that you will obey, and You will sleep at the foot of my bed like the little dog you are. This was a game that never ended. This was my toy, my time, my prize that I earned, and I used that to my advantage every chance I got. Nothing wrong with that, right?

How many times did I erase his memories, his personality, bring him about as my perfect little robot? I think he enjoyed that time more than I did; he couldn't feel the guilt, the remorse as his mouth stretched around my length. He couldn't remember me making him scream, and he couldn't see his brother's eyes in his head, staring at him with pleading worry. For a moment, there were no inhibitions, and it was a beautiful wonder.

I spread my legs open, and his cheek rubbed my inner thigh, a hypnotist's trigger if you will. There were no sounds, at least not at first; for the moment, I simply rested my fingers in his golden hair, twirled it around my fingers lazily, lured him down between my thighs. His breath was hot against my skin, burning, searing, and I poked him with one of my toes. The tip of his nose found my knee, his lips pursing, kissing my skin, tongue lashing out to lick it.

Even from towering over him, I could see the amount of disdain and absolute loathing in those pretty little golden baubles of his. Well, we'll just have to change that, now won't we?

"Enjoy it, little one," I whispered, each word a purr, a sound of an order, of a command without the cruelty. At least, not outwardly; people tell me that everything that comes from my lips has a bit of a mocking air about it, and with the amount of times I've heard it, I'm almost inclined to believe them. I heard a moan, heard the purr, and I let my eyes roll back as I relaxed in my chair. His hands were sliding over skin, were dancing over flesh as his breathing shook in rapid pants. The lust was programmed, was forced, but it was real, real, had to be because I told him it was to be so. And I was always right.

Fingers were working open the bottom half of my clothes when I was so rudely interrupted by Lust, her eyes rolling over us in such an obvious display of curiosity that I couldn't help but smirk. If she wanted the shrimp, she could have easily paid me for a night with him, or bargained, or...something. I would rent him out; he was nothing more than a possession, after all.

Her heels echoed in the room as she strolled to us, arms crossed low over her stomach. "I thought you might want to know that his brother is on the way," she said in that low, sensuous drawl.

I felt my pet hesitate, before opening my clothes below and laying them flat over my seat. Though he refused to whimper, refused to fall to the shame of whining, I knew he was screaming in his heart, knew he would do anything to keep from the former tin can from coming in here and seeing him like this.

Which, of course meant—

"Let him come on in!" I purred. "It will be a wonderful family reunion, don't you think?"

She looked confused, one of the few times emotion crossed her eyes, crossed her full red lips. One time, I tried lips like that, but they were hard to talk through, even if they did, indeed, look nice. "Are you sure you don't want us to stop him?"

"Of course not." My back arched against the chair while my fingers embedded themselves into golden strands, tightening, jerking. His mouth was warm, wet on me, around me, moving down onto me; I fought the urge to moan, to melt into it, to lose my thoughts as he sucked them out of me. "I want the brothers to see each other, after all."

I didn't see her leave; my eyes were rolled back into my head, and my hips thrust forward into the inviting mouth. The shrimp was good, was excellent at what he did; I often wondered if he had practice, if he was just waiting for the day when his little sibling would turn to flesh again so he could have at him like this. What a funny thought, then, that all his passion was being used on me, the bastard child, dammit.

My legs looped over the strong shoulders (one oh-so-cold and metal), drawing the shrimp closer as he dove deeper on me, down, down, down. I smirked, my head back, the hair sliding down my arms, down my chest, mingling with his, mixing, making darker, darker, making into mine, all mine, all mine. People envied me, people were jealous, the sins were, the sins wanted him, wanted to have him, humiliate him, eat him, devour him, but I had him, I did, I did, I did!

"If I didn't know better," I hissed, "I might think you like this."

And he did, he did because I made him, but I didn't care; even from here, I could turn my head a little, spy down between us and catch a glimpse of the arousal he was carrying. I smirked, my nerves on fire, exploding, bursting as that tongue slid hotly over the length, up along the tip, underneath, all around. He was good, good, and though I could have held it, though I really could have made this last so long, I didn't have much time with that stupid brat coming. I snatched his head back, away from me, and released over his face with a low growl, the white streaks wet and thick over his cheeks, his sweet, wet lips.

"There. Branded as mine." I planted a foot on his chest and kicked him away while I fixed my clothes back on. "Now, now, don't wipe it off; wear it proud, shorty. Like a warrior wearing his king's colors."

I earned a glare, but I didn't really acknowledge it; I received so many of them that if I addressed and punished each one, I'd be doing only that all day. And really, what fun would he be if he only agreed with me all the time? It's the passion, the drive in him that makes him special, that makes him unique, that makes it all the more fun to squash.

We stayed where we were, me in my chair, him on his knees where I had kicked him down, his head lowered so the white brands were hidden beneath golden bangs. I only looked up when I heard the whisper of footsteps in the doorway, knowing it was the brat there, knowing that the face that stared back at me wouldn't be metal but would be trying to imitate it for sake of pride. How silly. His eyes were the vibrant soulfire even if they had color, had irises, had corneas to read like any open book.

Humans were so stupid, thinking that they could outsmart us.

"Welcome!" I tittered, my elbow resting on the arm of the chair, chin sitting on my knuckles. "We've been waiting for you!"

His eyes turned towards my little pet, staring down at his sibling, before swinging back to me with all the rage that he couldn't hide. It made my lips quirk up. "Let him leave with me, Envy."

"Now, you really didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" I drawled. "Did you honestly believe that you could walk in here, say that, and I would fall all over myself to let him walk out with you? Come on now."

Poor kid looked almost sheepish for a moment. "Well, I had hoped..."

I spied my pet's hands curling on his knees, tightening into little fists, and I laughed when I looked back to where his devoted sibling stood in the doorway. "Sure. You came all this way to get him back, fine. Take him. I've used him for everything he is anyway." The color of shame drifted into the shrimp's ears; I could see it from here, just as I could see it crawling into his brother's cheeks. Or was that rage? Did it matter?

"Of course, you'll have to drag him out of here first." I know, I'm a bastard. So shoot me, then see how far it gets you. "Shorty, your place is at my side, at my heel, and that's something you know, you feel, isn't it? You are mine, mine, and if anyone tries to take you from me, well, then, I guess you'll just have to fight them to the death, won't you?"

I caught the widening of those amber eyes, the blonde head craving to shake back and forth in denial. He couldn't believe I would do this, couldn't believe I would make him fight his own precious blood brother. How delicious! I leaned back in my chair, a Caesar to them all, and smirked.

"Now there, do you still want my pet, boy?" I purred. "Would you be willing to fight him, beat him, maybe even kill him?"

The look on that young, smooth face was priceless, and I drank it in like any fine wine in a jeweled goblet. I could hear the muttered curses under the shrimp's breath, could hear the pounding of their mutual hearts, could hear the panting breaths. I had them, not just one, but both in my hands, moving them, playing with them; what was one brother when I could have both?

I almost sounded like Greed there, didn't I? Hm.

The standing brother stared at my pet, stared with those helpless eyes, before he started walking, each step shakier than the last. He was going to do it, the fool; he was going to try to take his sibling away from me. My pet shrank away, pulled in on himself, hands falling to the ground and clawing at it.

"Come on, brother," he whispered, flesh and blood hand out to the shrimp. "Come on. We can go home. We can go home. Please...?" When there was silence, when there was nothing, I heard the soft strangle of a broken breath. "Why won't you look at me?""

I watched the golden head tip back, watched the amber eyes on fall on his beloved sibling, could see the dried come over his face, that brand as symbolic as any tattoo. I smirked as the younger Elric shook his head, thrashed it, before reaching out to flake it away.

"I can get you washed up," I heard. "You can take a bath when we get home. We can get you clean from all his sick gam—" The hand was smacked away, the shrimp whimpering in the back of his throat. Oh, how he hated this, hated and despised lashing out at his brother, but I was too strong for all this, my words, my power. "I...I have to stay here, Al. I have to. Go home. Be safe."

I would have been disappointed if the brother would have taken the proper advice and gone about his way. After all, this was setting up to be a good little play, all laid down for me, for my enjoyment, for my amusement. I could feel the smirk, so wide that it threatened to break my face, when there was insisting, when there were pleas. Come with me, brother! You don't have to listen to him! He... he can't make you stay! Idiot.

"Brother, just come on!" I watched as he rested a smooth, soft hand on my pet's shoulder, trying to tug him, to urge him, to lead him. "We can fix yo—"

I could barely catch the blur of the line that made up the shrimp's hand, knocking his treasured sibling's hand away with a low growl. The former tin can looked wounded, mentally worried away, even as he took a step back while the shrimp climbed to his feet. The brands were being washed away by the tears leaking from his eyes; awww, he didn't want to fight his brother? Was that it? Wasn't that a shame for him?

There was a flash, the wave of the hand, the familiar blade pouring from the metal of that missing arm, and I could hear his voice shaking as he rasped, "Don't make me do this, Al! Don't! Get the fuck out of here!"

And the brown eyes went wide as he fell into a defensive stance. Was this what it was going to be, then? Elric blood spilt on my floor? Mmm, I would have to bathe the shrimp in it when it was all over, mar his hair and his flesh with it; he does look wonderful in red, you know. I knew the brother wasn't going anywhere; their bond was too strong or something as foolish as that, so I settled back in my seat to watch the pre-dinner entertainment. The younger one stumbled backwards, moving into a corner, fingers working over the thin layer of dust in the stone floor to design an array. The clap of his hands echoed in the small chamber, the light blinding, moving, swirling, illuminating the shadows on his face, in his eyes, and within seconds, he was grabbing a spear from the ground, one I had seen the shrimp wield more than once.

There were sparks from metal striking metal, the loud clang of impact, and the younger skittered back a few paces with his teeth clenched together. From here, I could listen to the pleas to stop, to please stop, that it couldn't end like this, idle promises that it would be better, that things could be better if he just trusted him. The shrimp screamed back that this wasn't him, that he wouldn't dare do this, no, of course not, not while he took another swing at his brother with the blade jutting out of his arm. Another impact, another growl, another moment of weightlessness as they struggled.

"You know," I called, "if you just give up, I could let you stay here with him. You could be together, forever, side by side. Just as you want. Doesn't that sound wonderful?"

That earned me a deathlook from both, a glare of hatred and a promise of bodily harm if freedom was ever achieved. I shrugged, narrow shoulders rising up with a look of, Well, I tried on my face. I suppose you can't please them all.

Another jump, another lunge, and another parry. The younger turned to the side, sidestepping in a wide circle, the point of the spear sparking along the stones as he wearily drug it over. Oh, come now, he couldn't be tired already, could he? And my pet, my poor little dog was crying as his arm dropped in another wide swing, the sunny eyes releasing diamonds over the canvas of his little face. Really, it was quite the drama to watch, the stuff great plays and tragedies are made of. Another strike. Another parry, along with a shove that sent the shrimp back. Another wide strike with the spear, sparks born and flying along the ground.

The younger played defensive, the older offensive. It was a ballet that wouldn't end, couldn't end, because neither would let anything through, would let the other into the small chink of their armor (ha, pun). The shorty's arm jutted out as the former tin can finished a circle around the room, catching the boy in the cheek with a shallow cut, the blood dribbling down the smooth skin, down to the hollow of his throat.

"Get out of here, Al," he insisted again, growled amid his pants. "Why don't you ever listen to me?!"

"Because I love you!" The sparks against the floor again as he hefted the spear to block another attack, moving towards the middle of the center of the room; he really must have been tired if he was dragging it along all this time. I admit that I was surprised it lasted this long.

"Awww, how sickening," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Really, couldn't they keep their mushy banter to themselves? War wasn't the time for declarations of love and companionship; it was for the destruction of boundaries and for vindication!

Another twist, another turn, another spin on the heel. They moved like art, like water; when the older tried to knock the younger's legs out from underneath him, the former tin can jumped, used the spear as leverage, and sent his feet careening into his brother's chest. Bruised and battered, they still fought with abandon, without limitations, with enough feeling to make anyone turn their head.

If one died, I thought I might get a homunculus made from the corpse. Maybe we could have fun like this more often then.

How long did this last? Minutes? Hours? Years? I don't know. It didn't matter; I could see that they were bother tiring, both moving a little more lethargically, breathing a little heavier. How perfect. I moved to the end of my seat, eyes glittering, sparking, waiting, waiting for the final blow, for the deathstrike that would be heard around the world.


Oh. Oh! That little shit! He...he had this planned! He was playing us all! I climbed out of my chair, clawed out of it, my eyes on the ground, on the array that had been manipulated, carved across the floor by the end of the damn spear—


"Get away from him!" I screamed, but I wasn't sure which one I was yelling at. I was storming down the steps, moving, running, but I wasn't fast enough. The short shits were smirking, smirking at me when the younger clapped his hands and shoved them against the ground. The array exploded into light, and when I could see again, they were gone.

Gone to the Gate. I could feel it. But what could they give? What could they offer the greedy bastards of the Gate? They would come back here, and I would order, demand that he kill his stupid sibling! A punishment for both!

Damn them both to Hell!

I sat on the edge of the array, fingers dipping into the new groves of the floor, glaring, waiting, counting breaths and minutes.

Assholes. Assholes trying to get the better of me, trying to outsmart me, trying to upstage me in my own home! What gave them the right? What gave them the authority? I'd show them! I would I wo—

The light sparked, shimmering along those indentations in my nice stone floor, and I snatched my finger back, unsure of what would happen if I didn't. I watched them, watched them come forth, little newborns unto this world, deposited by the Truth, by the Gate. And...they were smiling. Smiling!

I leapt to my feet, snarling, glaring, nearly foaming. "Kill him! Do you hear me, shrimp?! Kill him! Bathe in his fucking blood!"

And oh so serenely, my pet, my former pet, turned me to with golden eyes and a small little glare, hands shaking at his sides. "No." He looked back to his brother, the one that was wearily leaning against him, lips curled into a little bit of a smile, before looping an arm around his shoulder. "We're going home now, Al," he whispered, and his brother nodded.

I ran at them, but stopped when the shorty looked over his shoulder at me, glaring, but subdued. "No. Nononono. Can't you hear that? You lost, Envy. Enjoy it gracefully and leave us alone today!"

"What did you do!" I demanded rather than asked. The rage was gripping me, was curling around me, and I think I spat when I spoke.

But he wouldn't answer, he just smirked and held his tired little brother up as they strolled on out. "Al, why don't you wave to the loser?" he taunted, and when I was obediently waved at (with a middle finger, no less), I knew. I fucking knew.

The bastards traded one will for another. The little shit gave his will to his brother, because... because he knew no one could ever control him if he was in the shrimp's care.

I stood in the same spot long after they were gone, staring at the door, at the dead array, wondering just how the Gate, the cruel, mindless Gate, could be manipulated so thoroughly. Or maybe... just maybe, it had a rare tendency to be kind.

If that was the case, why wasn't it ever kind to me? Why? Why was I left behind?!

Lust entered the room long after I destroyed it, long after I had torn apart the chair, and sent splinters into all the corners, long after I scratched the array out of the floor, long after I tore down drapes and shredded them. When she looked at me, I knew she wanted to asked, knew she wanted to know, but instead, she turned and walked out.

I didn't know what I would have said to her if she had spoke, anyway.