chapter 14.

The homunculus hardly knew whether to laugh or wince at the victory he had at last claimed. Ultimately, he did neither, preferring instead to wear a calm expression as he reached up and swiped his cheek with long, rangy fingers.

He kept his breathing steady for the nonce, deciding it would be best to let Ed be the one to pant like a tired dog and grow ruddy with heavy blushes. Envy wanted to be quiet so as to hear every little murmur, every begging and tentative word; for all his maturity elsewhere, for all his careful planning and his astounding strategies, Fullmetal was still nothing but a naive maid in the context of sordid bedroom affairs, and even if he ended up getting bloody in the process, at least Envy would be stealing something of the boy's which no one could ever have again: virginity. And Ed, sweaty and flustered as he was, surely had not considered that—or probably much of anything else—at least not in the past few minutes.

Envy gathered the last lingering droplets of stone fluid; they were slightly cool against his heated digits. He smirked and lowered his hand to his pelvis, brushing his erection several times before dipping further down and nudging his ass suggestively, sighing and sucking his breath in sharply as his nails grazed over the puckered skin, circling before pressing inwards slowly.

"T-take the fucking hint, y-you shit," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Don't just s-sit there and act like a-an oggling f-fucking kid. Are you...a m-man or not, Elric?"

"Yeah...yeah, I am. You and your friends saw to that, didn't you?"

He shifted his weight so that his metal leg was firmly beneath him, supporting the remainder of his trembling form. His hand raised to his mouth, and as Envy watched in amusement, he spat onto his fingertips, putting forth all the enthusiasm of someone who was really trying to make it look as though he knew what he was doing. Then, with an almost maniacal grin, Ed pressed the hand to his companion's face—flesh slapping flesh—and rolled his palm, collecting upon it the stone fluid that had settled on Envy's neck and chin. The homunculus held still, regarding this new twist with silent curiosity.

When Ed eased his hand back, the fingers curled into a fist and, as soon as the jaw line was reached, Envy found himself thinking 'oh no, he won't'.

But he did.

A muted sound—nothing like the crack that automail would have made—announced the punch to Envy's face.

There was not sufficient strength behind the blow to leave a bruise, nor to hurt too much, but Envy jumped and thrashed in surprise all the same.

"What the..." he managed to growl, eyes wide, red rising in his pale cheek like thermometer alcohol diffusing throughout milk.

"I'm not going to go easy on you," Ed interrupted, waving his hand. The moon was bright upon his foot, an outline of mercury slowly spreading upwards and tracing his defined muscles. "You want something from me? Fine. But I get what I want in return."

Eyes like lavender thistles stared back at him, narrowing. "And what is that?"

"Just a little...equivalent exchange. You want...release, right? Heh. Well. So do I."

Envy tried not to show his confusion and displeasure. He had asked for this, hadn't he? And he could fucking handle whatever the little shit decided to bestow upon him, whether it was fucking or fighting; in fact, it was better this way, wasn't it? He wanted his stupid urges gone, and if Edward craved what Envy suspected he did, then he would uphold their distinction as enemies without blurring the line between them further. I'm the one who's in control, he reminded himself, though the wire on his wrist was begining to feel somewhat more restricting; still, there was no fucking way he was going to get intimidated by this pathetic brat's habit of spewing testosterone.

So the kid wanted to be rough, did he? Well, fine. He already had been, and Envy hadn't been broken into any sort of goddamned submission, and he wouldn't be, either! He had no intention of flinching. Fuck Edward. He fucking hoped that the asshole did dare to start a pissing contest with him; he'd be sorely disappointed.

"...y-you know, Envy? This was a pretty damned good idea." Another aspirated laugh. "...Because I've been angry with you. Really angry. And now I with it..."

Mentally, Envy called bullshit, but he didn't react outwardly. A release and a catharsis; that's what Edward had said, right? So that's what this was. But the little tantrum-throwing red and yellow fireball maintained his hesitation, and Envy found himself thinking that yeah, yeah, he could talk big, but what would he actually do? Beat him to a pulp? Crush his bones with that metal foot? Or would he simply follow the usual Edward Elric route of disgorging a hail of ineffectual (and laughably melodramatic) insults? Shouts and screams and the occasional fist—of which he now had only one, and it was his weakerthose were the boy's weapons, and Envy almost, almost started laughing at how stern and determined the teen now sounded.

Then, abruptly, Ed shoved his hand between Envy's thighs and leaned forward until golden strands shrouded the shaking chest, beneath which rickety ribs and ancient lungs worked to maintain a stable breathing pattern.

So close. He was so close that Envy could almost taste him, but he could no longer see his face, and he wondered, was he still wearing that achingly beautiful expression of martyrdom? No one carried pain in such an aesthetic manner as did Edward, who—when he gave himself to angst—allowed every notch of his emotions to permeate his face as though he were lost to rapture, exalted, a sculptured representation of mourning. But perhaps now Ed was grinding his teeth in that immature anger that he'd carried into his teenage years, hefting thousands of childhood taunts and his violent hate for his missing father over his shoulder and bundling them into something quite unremarkable for a boy his age: pure, unadulterated venom.

"'re uh..." Suddenly, Ed hesitated, lifting his head and blinking. For about half of a second, Envy wondered what in the hell he was looking at him so oddly for; all at once, it was as though he'd just become a grotesque laboratory experiment gone wrong. Oh, shit, no... he realized, just about two seconds before Ed said, "'re know...clean, right? Like uh...I mean..."

"You're the one who shits, you stupid human!" Envy shot back, slightly surprised by how quickly Ed managed to go from intimidating to ignorant. "J-just...fucking do it, okay? N-not it, but me! And for fuck's sake, don't say anything. The only thing I want to hear—the only thing—is your fucking gasps, your pants, your moans. I want to hear how much you want me, need me; how much you want to open me, touch me, fuck me." He grinned a tense grin. "A-and you can...say all that without words..."

For a moment, Ed looked chilled. Then, the look passed, and he smiled lazily. An I-know-something-you-don't-know smile, at that. "Oh, I want you all right. But not in the way you think. And I have had fantasies about you...but not the kind you think..." He licked his lips. "But maybe you're right. Maybe this'll satisfy me, too. Purge my t-thoughts, right? A...fresh start for both of us."

And having said that, he immediately shoved a finger into Envy's ass.

The homunculus had been expecting a little more virginal hesitation, but oh no; it seemed runty Fullmetal was out to prove how well he could really handle something like this. Figured. Envy suppressed a gasp and a wince, instead growling and coaxing his muscles to relax around the slick digit that he'd rather suddenly found sheathed within himself.

It'd been a very long time since he'd had sex, and anyway, as a rule, he'd never let anyone fuck his preferred form. That would have been altogether too intimate—as intimate to a shapeshifting homunculus as an emotional connection to sex would have been for a human. He'd never wanted anyone to see him vulnerable in this form; he'd never wanted anyone to see his violet eyes rolling, his lips opening in feverish sounds of need...and he'd certainly never wanted anyone to hold his quivering body as his hips spasmed in the throes of, no, he'd wanted that from no one...least of all him...

But wonder of wonders: life, and death, and the Gate...were funny sometimes. They all had damned strange senses of humour.

And if it would get Ed to fucking look at him...really a way that the bastard had never cared to do...then it was worth some humiliation, right?

He altered his position, trying to find an angle that better accommodated Ed's probing, poking finger, but the blond didn't give him a chance to move before he popped another finger in, and Envy grunted and muttered swears at him. What the fuck was wrong with the kid? Envy understood that virgins often got impatient, but this was just awkward.

"...g-go slower, you goddamned idiot," he insisted, hating that he had to say the words; they made him look weak, like he couldn't take it! Ed probably wanted that, too. He was probably fucking up on purpose just to spite him. He must have been, given that Edward Elric was a prodigy, good at everything even from the first go...or so everyone seemed to think. "T-that' good. Horrible, Elric. You...careless...agh...bastard!"

"Envy?" The word was muffled by Envy's body, and it shook slightly due to his increasingly ragged breathing. Golden hair splayed over light flesh like honey pouring onto milk. Ed's face was buried beneath it, nose against his enemy's skin, lips pressing casual kisses as though he were praying to a stone idol. "Take your own advice and don't fucking say anything. I'll figure it out myself. I don't n-need"

You'd better, the Sin thought, and sure enough, after a few moments of uncomfortable jabbing and prodding, his body seemed to acclimatize to the sensation of having fingers wandering around his ass, and Ed in turn slowed down and eventually began moving more smoothly, eliciting gasps and grunts of a very different sort. His nails were blunt, broken, dirty, and they cut the sensitive skin when he manuevered poorly, but once he apparently caught onto his error, he turned his fingers so that their soft padded tips stroked the nerve-filled warm flesh.

Envy reasoned that the whole bizarre learning process must have resembled the way that Winry girl pottered about her machinery when she fine-tuned it, but that was not a very flattering comparison, so he put it from his mind and focused instead on the here and now.

It was, Envy supposed, a very unorthodox way of losing one's virginity: with a four centuries old undead being he'd really rather kill than feel up, on an alien world, in a broken down train car full of splinters, lost in a sea of endorphins and teenage acrimony, sticky with sweat, still half-crazed from fever, and surrounded on all sides by empty wasteland, loud trains, isolation, and endless night.

But for a boy who'd had two limbs ripped off by an interdimensional Gate at the age of twelve—a boy who had walked around for years with a body-deprived brother inhabiting an empty suit of armour—the whole matter was probably par for the course. Edward Elric losing his virginity in any conventional manner would have simply been anti-climactic.

Though, by a human's standards, could this really be very sexy? Both of them were still bath fresh, with nerves made overly sensitive by lye and water, with new sheens gracing their complexions, but the air itself was a solution of dust particles in oxygen, and Envy could feel his sweat-drenched flesh collecting grit as though it were velcro. Ed was no better; when he breathed against him, Envy heard every hitch of his strained breaths and felt every heated patch of sweat, every tiny bump of automail, muscle, and dirt, and every strand of silky wet hair. The sensations set his neurons ablaze, and he drank them thirstily; ears imbibed Ed's hungry, needy gasps and pants, bare skin imbibed the press of his weight, his body heat, his trembling, and the unsteady, unconscious tapping of his metal foot.

Envy wasn't used to being touched in so many ways at the same time; he wasn't used to such an odd mixture of tentative gentleness and boyish roughness, and from Edward, he couldn't say which was stranger—the feathery, teasing caresses of his hair, lips, and legs, or the crude violence of his fingers, teeth, and cock. It was like being simultaneously scrubbed by paper and sandpaper, and the vast contrast caused Envy to whimper uncontrollably and groan low in his throat. To his pleased surprise, this action won him a matching noise from Ed, and Envy realized that, well, fuck, they were acting like animals, weren't they? Shifting and grunting and pawing, posturing, biting and metaphorically (possibly eventually not so metaphorically) butting heads, and ultimately rutting in the grungy train car as though they were a pair of dogs.

At least it was all very de-humanizing, Envy thought, and the touch of irony was not lost to him.

"I-if I had my a-automail..." Ed looked up, once, then lowered his head and resumed nipping Envy's chest. "I...I'd really..." He let the words die, seemingly afraid of what they might convey. You'd really fuck me up, right? Envy finished for him, and he tried not to laugh when he thought about how malicious the brat could be sometimes.

Fingers went deeper, flexed, then straightened. Envy shuddered as the digits dragged along nerve endings, causing him to clench reflexively. Bursts of colours filled the darkness before his eyes as his head spun with something far more potent than the human equivalent of a sugar buzz. Toes curled as Envy sucked his breath in, eyes opening and closing in pleasured nictation; the homunculus was spread as wide as possible, legs making sloppy acute angles before distending to hook ankles around the small of Ed's back. Envy shivered and sighed, breathing heavily as five fingertips sketched grubby trails along Ed's perspiration-silvered shoulder. Prey. The boy was such wonderful prey, even if he didn't realize it yet.

The Sin laid back, situating himself in the corner of the train car as his breathing grew erratic, uncontrollable; tangled dark hair cushioned his head, neck, and shoulders as he relaxed against the wood, slipping from comfort to discomfort, pleasure to pain, light to darkness, reality to surreality.

The minor vibrations throughout the yard soothed his nerves, and he was pliant and more than a little receptive to the boy's inexperienced touches; how long had it been for him? He couldn't remember...didn't think he wanted to remember...and it was wrong, so wrong, that Edward should have what no one else had taken from him, the body that was more him than the flesh sack he'd been before, but he was taking from the boy, too—tail to head, tail to head, swallowing and swallowing forever and ever.

"Oh...o-oh..." he slurred, not quite managing to stop himself.

His hand lifted, shook, grabbed the golden threads and wrapped them around the bony spools of his fingers. He yanked harder, wanting, wanting, wanting; why wasn't Ed fucking looking at him? He reached further, feeling suddenly overcome with inexplicable desire—the core of all sins—and having dug past the straw coarseness and satin softness of Ed's hair, his fingers roamed over the skin of the scalp.

Cut. Bruise. Hurt, his mind insisted, but instead he was biting his lip bloody and trying to pull Ed up, trying to force his little slave into succumbing to the invisible manacles of the homunculus's will. What did it matter which one of them was bound? Edward was the one who had offered himself so willingly—martyr suffering for some better cause, saint served with his head on a platter and his will handed over with the meager but powerful words of consent.

This wasn't holy soil, and this act was not meant to consecrate anything, but the sacrifices for both of them were abundant, paid in lost innocence, in blood and sweat...and perhaps in tears, too, eventually.

Catharsis, Envy told himself when it became almost unbearable. Release, he assured his mind as it boiled with oh-so-comfortable-and-familiar antipathy, the stew of which had thickened into painful, terrible lust. Theft, violation... he silently tried to convince himself; not his, of course not, but...

...but then he was tilting his chin up, seemingly inviting another blow, quaking—and not from the trains, at that—pivoting his pelvis downwards onto the blond's hand, smothering his budding screams with frantic, wet sounds, and maybe, maybe it was his prostate that the fucking brat manipulated and played like a lute—seamlessly, symphonically, perfectlyamazing and hot and aching, throbbing...but he had no fucking idea what the fuck was even being...what the fuck the kid was doing...but then he was touching something, some goddamned thing, some fucking internal switch or something, something, nerves and... "Oh f-f-FUCK, FUCK, you l-little BASTARD—"

"Horrible, did you say?" The blond looked up and smirked. Malevolently, at that.

Envy's breath froze in his throat. That expression should have been worn by him, but there it was on the face that should have been his!

"Muh...MORE!" he panted. Sweat burned the back of his neck. "DON'T just fucking touch me there! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His back arched, touching the wall to form something akin to an uppercase D, but then his thrashing legs distorted the shape into something highly unnatural. He rubbed Ed insistently, ordering him with unspoken commands, grinding him with his thighs, forcing those pistoning fingers deeper, pushing them over whatever the fuck that was, keening pathetically and lamenting his sudden loss of control, but no, no, NO! He still had...had...SHIT!

Edward had been right about being able to figure things out for himself. Driven. The boy was so fucking driven! And apparently he knew what he was doing right by relating it to the amount of decibels he managed to prize from his enemy.

Envy tensed, trying not to let Edward have any more power than he'd already acquired, because no matter what form their actions took, this was a battle and they were enemies, and the Sin wanted to be the victor over that miserable teenage whelp; yet he was pulled open, stretched from within, getting touched in a body he'd never allowed anyone to touch before, in places he didn't even know he had, and bleeding from the razor-thin tributaries Ed's teeth had carved all over his chest.

He was achingly hard—cock scraping his belly, pulsing with arousal and fake blood, reminding him of his lack of control, his human weakness, his inability to regulate the workings of his physical form. Couldn't control his cock, his mind, his yearning, the way he was driving his feet into Ed and telling him to give every part of himself because he wanted it all—all of it, every fucking eyelash—his hate and his love and his kisses and his one remaining hand and his tongue and everything, because Edward was his and Ed had given himself up, had drowned himself with hormones and rage, and so what if the wire was nicking ruby dashes onto a chalk-pale wrist? Envy had won!


And lost.

He could not recall the last time he had climaxed. He didn't know what form he had been in, but now it was memorable because this time he hadn't intended for it to happen...hadn't intended let himself...

It was too fucking soon!

Heartbeat thundered in his ears, drumming over the tympanic membrane, over the involuntary shout robbed from his larynx by those damned fingers stretching the sensitive skin within him, and orgasm's jaws locked down upon his muscles in one tense instant, causing coherency to vanish; Envy closed his eyes and pumped ruthlessly against the filthy touch he had invited, spearing himself onto Ed's hand as spikes of pleasure bombarded his spine like white-hot icicles, as his body spasmed and his cock spilled hot cum all over his perfect navel and the tiny indention that marked a birth he'd never had.

A tide of delirium crashed into him, sweeping across every undead inhuman neuron from his toes to his head, filling his belly with tight, fluttering heat—a whole fucking injection of wildfire—bursting through his veins and searing his dry lungs like a summer blaze chewing through wheat and underbrush, and fuck if he didn't feel so incredibly alive—alive, living, kicking, twitching, breathing, panting, screaming, hearing and seeing and feeling overwhelmed, and what the fuck did that stupid soul thing matter, anyway? And he hated and loved and hated and loved that he was so whole but by that he was also so fucking similar to a human, and oh shit, shit; what the fuck was he even thinking?

Static draped dense lint along whatever remained of his 'coherent' thoughts, cleaving his violent words and reducing them to ribbons of whispered animosity, but it all felt so hollow, and each layer of heat formed a fresh explosion which scattered the ashes of his emotions, one after the next, until even the anger dissolved and all the hate was incinerated, but...that wasn't right! That was frightening, and Envy gasped and clung to his curses, muttering every swear he knew, or at least fragments of them—shredded vowels and torn consonants—but his eyes were wide and Ed had better not be looking! Envy had wanted Ed to look at him, but he hadn't wanted him to see! Not this! Not him at his most open!

"...h-hate hate much..." he said when his words began to settle, when he stopped sputtering and hiccuping over spittle-mangled syllables, but the exhaustion of his release managed to bleed the emotion from his words, leaving them abluted—pale, dead, and deceptively soft—not so unlike himself.

"...hate..." he added in a puff, and turned his head to the side, hearing the slight pop of flesh as Ed's spit-sticky fingers slid from his ass. A thumbnail scraped the cockled skin, and Envy bowed up, wire rattling against the wood as he did so. The youth had been none too gentle in his ministrations; Envy's ass hurt, damn it! The inside was sore and the outer sphincter muscles felt mildly abraded, and for all he knew, the skin would probably be blistered soon, and red...

But it didn't matter, he assured himself. He always healed, after all.

Ed was saying something, Envy thought, but the words weren't reaching him.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he lay in the twilit darkness, wishing they at least had a fucking candle or something to give them illumination so Ed wouldn't be fumbling around like a damned idiot.

The hour was between midnight and sunrise, perhaps three in the morning, and the air was alive with fog and dust and the ghostly start-and-stop buzz of trains, and without Envy's yells to conquer them all, the world sounded suddenly very quiet, save for the voice that was still so cool and composed—the voice that strung its sanity out as tight as a harpsichord, concealing a mind just a few inches away from an inevitable cracking.

The cool, faint scent of stone fluid wafted upwards—like burnished metal, a trace of vanilla, an aroma of thousands of lives destroyed and reformed, with chemical bonds severed and reconnected and intense pressure and heat having been placed upon each cell. The air was half rain-chilled and half womb-hot, blanketed by breath and sweat, annexed by friction, marked by contrast, and this was a night for opposites and opposition, and Envy didn't want to feel that gaze on him as he rested and attempted to gather his thoughts, because the darkness and the eyes within it were far too familiar, and he couldn't take...

"You're warm."

Slowly, Envy's eyes opened.

What the fuck is he doing? he wondered as soon as his mind had at last scooped together something vaguely resembling coherency. Edward was leaning forward on one knee—the flesh knee—head lowered, face laminated black, arm outstretched, hand coasting over Envy's fragile hips, slowly progressing up to run a moist fingertip along the exposed midriff. Envy twitched and tried—uselessly—to pull away from the unexpected caress, but curiosity and confusion halted his action, and the next thing he knew, the boy was smearing the semen, smoothing the balmy liquid over the hard ridges below Envy's ribs—over the perfect landscape from which all fat had been pared away by simple transformation.

The nerves on the abdomen were close to the surface, prone to jerking when tickling fingers brushed against them, and Envy bit back a small gasp and shot Edward a vicious stare that he didn't even fucking see.

He wanted to yell at him. Tell him to fuck off already. But something clogged his throat, and if he thought too much about what that something might've been, then he truly would have gotten upset, and knowing this, he simply waited to see where this sudden intimacy was going.

He had instigated this, of course, and he'd never lost sight of that fact, although it had seemed so fucking different in theory than it had in practice, what with the short bastard breathing down his neck literally, staring at his cock as though it were a fucking mathematical equation to work out, and...and...well, it seemed a lot different when no longer sufficiently turned on; this was like flipping a switch in a dark room and really seeing the objects within it.

Something close to regret blew over Envy like tiny, swaying cilia, and he could feel his body and mind allying together in a sudden assembly of protest, reminding him that this is your fucking enemy, idiot, and asking—no, demanding—to know that if he was the one in control, then why in the hell had he just lost control in such a palpable way...and Ed was touching him, really touching him, uninvited...or...well, invited, but...wrong! It was all going wrong!

"Stop it!" he finally yelled, hoarsely. "Just..."

What? He wished he knew.