Extant (Looking for an Exit Sign)
More fic! Never edited! Still needs a title!
I don't think we need advisories yet; even Nomads take more to get to screwing than "Hello, handsome."
Eventually: blood, crossover, crack!fic, irrelevant consent, threesome (m/m/f).
(Can you picture someone actually saying no to Greed and meaning it with every fiber of their being? I can't. I really can't. This fic reflects that. XD)
It began here.
Kimbley set the shotglass down. It was never going to get clean without actual soap and water, two things they didn't have much of, and he was tired of explaining that to Greed. The boss listened, alright, but he never understood. Hygeine was a foreign concept. Grit made life interesting. That was the homunculus' stance.
Fine for him to say. He couldn't get sick, and he'd never been in prison. He could talk about dirt. He could spout off about grime like he knew something about it, like it was part of being a Sin, part and parcel with the want, with the avarice. Apparently, in his book, his proper wages were filth. Death would have been a holiday.
Greed laid down with dogs, alright. A man who was a dog. An ox that was a man. And a snake that couldn't decide if it was a woman, or a dyke, or what the hell, that hissed when it moaned and jammed ice-cold fingers in hot places and licked the air with a forked tongue.
He was the Crimson Alchemist. The most feared man in all Ishbal, in all Central, maybe in all the fucking world, and he was living in a goddamned zoo. A petting zoo. It made Kimbley crazy, or crazier, and he wanted, like he wanted at least twice a day, to unfold his palms on the bar and purge the place with fire.
Couldn't do that to the customers. Not until they'd paid for their drinks.
I don't think we need advisories yet; even Nomads take more to get to screwing than "Hello, handsome."
Eventually: blood, crossover, crack!fic, irrelevant consent, threesome (m/m/f).
(Can you picture someone actually saying no to Greed and meaning it with every fiber of their being? I can't. I really can't. This fic reflects that. XD)
It began here.
Kimbley set the shotglass down. It was never going to get clean without actual soap and water, two things they didn't have much of, and he was tired of explaining that to Greed. The boss listened, alright, but he never understood. Hygeine was a foreign concept. Grit made life interesting. That was the homunculus' stance.
Fine for him to say. He couldn't get sick, and he'd never been in prison. He could talk about dirt. He could spout off about grime like he knew something about it, like it was part of being a Sin, part and parcel with the want, with the avarice. Apparently, in his book, his proper wages were filth. Death would have been a holiday.
Greed laid down with dogs, alright. A man who was a dog. An ox that was a man. And a snake that couldn't decide if it was a woman, or a dyke, or what the hell, that hissed when it moaned and jammed ice-cold fingers in hot places and licked the air with a forked tongue.
He was the Crimson Alchemist. The most feared man in all Ishbal, in all Central, maybe in all the fucking world, and he was living in a goddamned zoo. A petting zoo. It made Kimbley crazy, or crazier, and he wanted, like he wanted at least twice a day, to unfold his palms on the bar and purge the place with fire.
Couldn't do that to the customers. Not until they'd paid for their drinks.