Fic: Folie a Deux (frshzl!)
FMA fic inundation, part the second.
Title: Folie a Deux
Character(s): Greed, Kimbley, Law
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The chimeras really shouldn't have fallen in love with him; they know that. Because even their love can't protect him from his own obsessions.
Author's Notes: Original 7stages prompt was "grey." Still spoilerific. Law doesn't get enough credit as the unofficial leader of the chimeras, methinks. Blood and gore warning. I wrote semi-porn, omg! Be afraid, be very afraid. (No really, other writers have done this better, but you gotta start somewhere.)
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Folie a Deux
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“What now?”
Law barely glanced up -- he knew Greed by his voice, of course, and there wasn’t anything telltale in his tone to suggest that Law should divert his attention from the book in his hands to focus on his boss. Sometimes it was a bad idea not to pay attention to Greed, but today clearly wasn’t one of those days. If anything, Greed sounded more smug than usual.
Law held up what he was reading so Greed, leaning over the back of the couch next to him, could see the cover. It was one of the many works of fiction that had been banned by the Bradley regime, about war in a world without alchemy. The Fuhrer didn’t like to promote the consideration of any alternatives to alchemy; if he did, the elite State Alchemists might lose their mystique or, more importantly, their appeal. If people decided building machines was easier than studying for the alchemy exam, where would Bradley be? The influence coming out of Rush Valley was bad enough as it was.
“Looks good,” Greed said absently. Law didn’t take offense at his dismissal. He’d talked with Greed, knew him as well as anyone who had known him for a few weeks could, and he knew that Greed was not an impatient man. He read; he understood the pleasure of a good book. He understood the pleasure in anything. A brief “looks good” from Greed was no condescension; in fact, it was probably true. Greed, after all, did not lie.
It just meant there was something more pressing on his mind.
Law held his finger over the sentence he was reading and asked, “Has anything happened, sir?”
“Not yet,” Greed said enigmatically. “Keep the kids off the second floor tonight, would ya?”
The kids. Greed only called Martel and Dorochet that when he wanted to imply that as much as he loved them, he was planning to do something they just wouldn’t understand. Not that they wouldn’t agree with whatever he said, but he clearly didn’t feel like justifying himself to them. Not this time.
Law understood, though. He’d been a soldier long enough. “Sir,” he said, moving his finger and staring at the page as if the conversation didn’t concern him in the least.
“Good,” said Greed, straightening up and turning to leave. “Enjoy that book. I might read it later.”
Heavy brows drawn, Law watched Greed’s slim but powerful form as he slipped out the door of the back room and went down the right-hand hall. Usually Greed only kept Martel and Dorochet out of his business when he was doing something strategically dangerous -- tracking certain government members, going to secret rendezvous with informants. Fighting. But Law recognized that walk, that slight speculative drag in his step that Greed had had as he left the room, and it was the walk of someone not entirely sure of his opponent.
Going to a fight, maybe, but a different kind of fight. There was only one thing Law knew to cause Greed such introspective absence of mind, such all-consuming curiosity. And only one person Law knew to have not yet been broken to Greed’s will.
The alchemist.
-------
Law didn’t bother trying to keep up the pretense of reading for the rest of the evening; he couldn’t keep his mind on anything but concern for his boss.
So maybe Dorochet and Martel were “the kids,” and maybe Greed expected Law not to question his orders. And maybe that was true. But even without questioning or intervening, concern was concern. Law knew that Greed knew that Kimbley was a loose cannon, and Law had been in the military for a lot longer than his younger teammates. He knew about loose cannons.
It wasn’t unusual for Law to be up later than everyone else, some vestige of the officer within keeping watch for the enemy while some new thread of animal instinct protected the weaker members of the herd. The bastards at the Fifth Lab really had known what they were doing when they hybridized Law and his team. It was too fucking perfect, too close to reality -- too much like they hadn’t changed at all, and that was what had scared Law for a long time. Chimerism was tangible proof that humans truly were no better than animals.
He could try to tell himself that he didn’t know what directed him up the stairs that night, long after the others had gone to bed, but that would have been a lie.
There was only the usual ambient noise on the second floor -- late traffic sounds through the broken window down the hall, the hum of electricity through the walls. The door to Greed’s suite was closed, shadows pooled around the corners and the debris littering the floor; no light shone through the crack at the bottom.
Law walked down the hall as silently as he could, not quite sure what he was planning on doing. He stopped with his knuckles mere inches from the door, stayed by a... he hesitated to call it familiar, but at the least an unmistakable sound coming from inside. It was a little like the times Greed had drifted downstairs and into Martel’s room late at night, or, less often, Dorochet’s. Law had made clear his disinterest in such activities -- not disapproval, per se, but something about his transformation had simply made Law less interested in pleasures of the body. His reaction time in a fight was better than ever, but in general Law was all for pleasures of the mind; stillness and solitude, good books and better music. Law enjoyed thinking, and while he wouldn’t call himself asexual, he did freely admit that observing the sexual dynamics of his new “family” was infinitely more interesting than participating in them.
Dorochet was simple; Greed was his master, his alpha, and with Dorochet there was always that intense desire to be owned, which meshed flawlessly with Greed’s desire to own. Martel was slightly more complicated, her mind always working in twists and loops that could rival her serpentine sisters’ -- only Greed seemed to have the innate ability to know what she wanted, and to enjoy giving it to her. There were others, more distant branches of the family, but within the core there was no resentment, not even a sense of having to share; they all knew that as long as they were Greed’s, he was theirs. There was comfort in that, and understanding, and maybe even true friendship.
Maybe even love.
But nighttime activities in Greed’s own room were rare, and Law was quite positive the second voice inside was not Martel’s or Dorochet’s.
Law hesitated only a fraction of a second before lowering his hand to the doorknob and twisting.
He was silent as the grave. He held the door only a fraction of an inch open, so that the light from the hallway wouldn’t disturb the occupants. There was next to no light to see by, but as Law’s eyes adjusted to the dimness he began to make out what he had suspected since that evening.
Two bodies twined together on the bed, writhing as one -- it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It would have been impossible, in fact, if not for the difference in skin tone, Greed’s darker tan almost blending into the shadows while the alchemist’s near translucent-pale white stood out even to unadjusted eyes -- a leg here, curling, and an arm, and hands flashing from place to place, gripping hard enough to bruise.
They struggled as Law watched, but it was a sensual violence, not this brutal, senseless stuff Law had grown accustomed to during and after the war. Law wouldn’t have thought less of Greed, but he hadn’t imagined the alchemist understood the pure art of pain. The two fought for power, yes, but for something else as well -- for the sake of the fight. For the pain. For the beauty of it.
It was amazing how that alchemist, that Zolof Kimbley, could fuck up a person simply by existing near them. Not that there was ever a moment when Greed wasn’t aware of what was happening to him, but Law had seen how Greed fell for Kimbley without a fight, had allowed the fascination to take over because he wanted it to. And now he was allowing Kimbley to fight him, hurt him, because he wanted to see how far the alchemist would go.
Kimbley had been on top, shudders of sensation practically visible as his spine curved and his hips rolled with each gouge Greed’s black-tipped fingers carved in his gaunt flesh. Through a series of arches and thrusts and distracting bites, they turned, somehow staying together, Kimbley resisting all the way; and then Greed’s powerfully built form was overbearing the alchemist, lower back sheened with sweat, and despite his reservations Law had to admit that the man, if he was a man, was inhumanly attractive.
Kimbley couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted to push -- up into Greed’s chest, down onto his impaling cock, anywhere, everywhere. For just a moment Law thought he saw sparks flying around Kimbley’s palms, searing black spots onto Greed’s shoulders that vanished almost instantly but still caused Greed to hiss with pleasure-pain.
“Soon,” Law barely heard Greed whisper, and it did seem to be coming to an end, becoming both more and less violent -- less creative and more rough, more carnal. Greed bodily lifted Kimbley up from the mattress, knelt back and dragged the alchemist onto his lap to finish, pinning Kimbley’s arms to his sides as he did so. Greed shuddered with one last thrust, shark’s teeth baring, and as he was still riding it out he pulled Kimbley’s hands up and slammed them against his chest, high enough to touch the small red nodes that never seemed to disappear from his skin.
Law saw what was coming -- his hand tightened convulsively around the doorknob -- but he barely had time to brace himself for the explosion, which was of immense magnitude and made the floor shake and the windows rattle. Kimbley cried out in unmistakable ecstasy and at that moment Law felt a hatred like he hadn’t known for half a century, in fact had probably never known -- not this strong, this deep, this virulent. He wanted to kill the bastard, wanted to do to Kimbley what the alchemist had just done to Greed, the one person Law held in the highest regard in this world --
His eyes cleared from the flash and he was aware that the doorknob was buckling in his grip, being crushed by the force of his rage. But even through the red haze he still had the presence of mind not to make a sound, and not to open the door.
Shaking, he watched as Kimbley, spent, knelt and panted over the ruined mangle of flesh that had been Greed. His knees were buried in entrails, his hands still resting on what remained of the ribcage. Slowly, breathily, he started laughing.
“Stupid fucker,” Law heard Kimbley say in a coarse whisper.
Kimbley eyed Greed’s face, only partially damaged, and before Law’s eyes he leaned forward and down, and kissed. Mouth-to-mouth for a moment, blood welling up and out at the corner, but then everywhere else, tasting salty skin and bared musculature, even reaching up to run criminal hands through matted black hair, streaking it with dark red. If Law thought his anger could grow no hotter, he’d thought wrong.
White light prickled around Greed’s fingertips, where his shield-claws had still been before Kimbley’s little experiment. Slowly, slowly, whole flesh began to creep up his arms, gathering the scattered bits of meat, reabsorbing, reconstructing. Greed’s body, still half-destroyed, moved under Kimbley, shifting in a perversion of post-coital laziness, dragging blood over the alchemist’s belly. An arm raised to touch Kimbley’s hair, almost... gently.
Kimbley jerked back at the fond touch. Greed healed a little more quickly, not bothering to reabsorb the blood that covered Kimbley’s pencil-thin frame. In less than ten seconds he was completely whole again, and chuckling lightly under his breath. He’d let his shield spread across his abdomen and chest in his usual mockery of a shirt. The red nodes and lines stood out brilliantly against the light-absorbing black.
“Enjoying yourself?” Greed asked.
Law experienced a sudden, terrible certainty that Greed was talking to him.
He pulled the door to without breathing, knowing that it didn’t matter what he did, Greed would know. As if the crushed doorknob wasn’t enough to give him away, there was simply the fact that nothing went on with his people that Greed didn’t know.
This could be bad, and yet... Law had heard no recrimination in his boss’s tone, only amusement and a hint of true curiosity. Maybe he really had been talking only to Kimbley. Either way, Law imagined Greed would be in a good enough mood tomorrow to let bygones be bygones.
Downstairs, Law stopped in front of Martel’s door, and in an instant realized exactly how tired he was. It hit him like his own sledgehammer, the exhaustion -- his hands were still shaking -- but even through the sudden crash he was still angry, burning with a loathing he couldn’t begin to contain. He’d never be able to work with the alchemist again. It was partly jealousy, but more than that it was a sense of indignation and overwhelming grief. He was furious at Kimbley for taking Greed away from the chimeras, away from the people who benefitted from his presence... who loved him. Rationally Law knew, knew how stupid it was to admit that he loved a being like Greed, whose very name was proof enough of the folly inherent in following him, but...
The others. The others would be destroyed if they found out. Not that Greed was fucking Kimbley, that wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, but if they found out the sheer degree of intensity with which Greed coveted the alchemist...
Law pressed a hand against Martel’s door, fancied he could feel her coiled warmth within. She loved Greed in her own way, as deeply as her coolly inhuman core allowed (and in a way Law thought that was stronger than mundane human love). Dorochet, as well. Even those who knew Greed less intimately couldn’t help but like him, or at least respect him.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to any of them that he would betray that love. Of course, it wasn’t betrayal to him -- it was instinct. Greed was more animal than any of them.
Law wondered if Martel and Dorochet would understand that.
He let his hand fall, but stood there for a moment more before he walked away, heading towards the sanctuary of his own room until morning brought its consequences.
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Also, FRSHZL!
-rave
Title: Folie a Deux
Character(s): Greed, Kimbley, Law
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The chimeras really shouldn't have fallen in love with him; they know that. Because even their love can't protect him from his own obsessions.
Author's Notes: Original 7stages prompt was "grey." Still spoilerific. Law doesn't get enough credit as the unofficial leader of the chimeras, methinks. Blood and gore warning. I wrote semi-porn, omg! Be afraid, be very afraid. (No really, other writers have done this better, but you gotta start somewhere.)
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Folie a Deux
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“What now?”
Law barely glanced up -- he knew Greed by his voice, of course, and there wasn’t anything telltale in his tone to suggest that Law should divert his attention from the book in his hands to focus on his boss. Sometimes it was a bad idea not to pay attention to Greed, but today clearly wasn’t one of those days. If anything, Greed sounded more smug than usual.
Law held up what he was reading so Greed, leaning over the back of the couch next to him, could see the cover. It was one of the many works of fiction that had been banned by the Bradley regime, about war in a world without alchemy. The Fuhrer didn’t like to promote the consideration of any alternatives to alchemy; if he did, the elite State Alchemists might lose their mystique or, more importantly, their appeal. If people decided building machines was easier than studying for the alchemy exam, where would Bradley be? The influence coming out of Rush Valley was bad enough as it was.
“Looks good,” Greed said absently. Law didn’t take offense at his dismissal. He’d talked with Greed, knew him as well as anyone who had known him for a few weeks could, and he knew that Greed was not an impatient man. He read; he understood the pleasure of a good book. He understood the pleasure in anything. A brief “looks good” from Greed was no condescension; in fact, it was probably true. Greed, after all, did not lie.
It just meant there was something more pressing on his mind.
Law held his finger over the sentence he was reading and asked, “Has anything happened, sir?”
“Not yet,” Greed said enigmatically. “Keep the kids off the second floor tonight, would ya?”
The kids. Greed only called Martel and Dorochet that when he wanted to imply that as much as he loved them, he was planning to do something they just wouldn’t understand. Not that they wouldn’t agree with whatever he said, but he clearly didn’t feel like justifying himself to them. Not this time.
Law understood, though. He’d been a soldier long enough. “Sir,” he said, moving his finger and staring at the page as if the conversation didn’t concern him in the least.
“Good,” said Greed, straightening up and turning to leave. “Enjoy that book. I might read it later.”
Heavy brows drawn, Law watched Greed’s slim but powerful form as he slipped out the door of the back room and went down the right-hand hall. Usually Greed only kept Martel and Dorochet out of his business when he was doing something strategically dangerous -- tracking certain government members, going to secret rendezvous with informants. Fighting. But Law recognized that walk, that slight speculative drag in his step that Greed had had as he left the room, and it was the walk of someone not entirely sure of his opponent.
Going to a fight, maybe, but a different kind of fight. There was only one thing Law knew to cause Greed such introspective absence of mind, such all-consuming curiosity. And only one person Law knew to have not yet been broken to Greed’s will.
The alchemist.
-------
Law didn’t bother trying to keep up the pretense of reading for the rest of the evening; he couldn’t keep his mind on anything but concern for his boss.
So maybe Dorochet and Martel were “the kids,” and maybe Greed expected Law not to question his orders. And maybe that was true. But even without questioning or intervening, concern was concern. Law knew that Greed knew that Kimbley was a loose cannon, and Law had been in the military for a lot longer than his younger teammates. He knew about loose cannons.
It wasn’t unusual for Law to be up later than everyone else, some vestige of the officer within keeping watch for the enemy while some new thread of animal instinct protected the weaker members of the herd. The bastards at the Fifth Lab really had known what they were doing when they hybridized Law and his team. It was too fucking perfect, too close to reality -- too much like they hadn’t changed at all, and that was what had scared Law for a long time. Chimerism was tangible proof that humans truly were no better than animals.
He could try to tell himself that he didn’t know what directed him up the stairs that night, long after the others had gone to bed, but that would have been a lie.
There was only the usual ambient noise on the second floor -- late traffic sounds through the broken window down the hall, the hum of electricity through the walls. The door to Greed’s suite was closed, shadows pooled around the corners and the debris littering the floor; no light shone through the crack at the bottom.
Law walked down the hall as silently as he could, not quite sure what he was planning on doing. He stopped with his knuckles mere inches from the door, stayed by a... he hesitated to call it familiar, but at the least an unmistakable sound coming from inside. It was a little like the times Greed had drifted downstairs and into Martel’s room late at night, or, less often, Dorochet’s. Law had made clear his disinterest in such activities -- not disapproval, per se, but something about his transformation had simply made Law less interested in pleasures of the body. His reaction time in a fight was better than ever, but in general Law was all for pleasures of the mind; stillness and solitude, good books and better music. Law enjoyed thinking, and while he wouldn’t call himself asexual, he did freely admit that observing the sexual dynamics of his new “family” was infinitely more interesting than participating in them.
Dorochet was simple; Greed was his master, his alpha, and with Dorochet there was always that intense desire to be owned, which meshed flawlessly with Greed’s desire to own. Martel was slightly more complicated, her mind always working in twists and loops that could rival her serpentine sisters’ -- only Greed seemed to have the innate ability to know what she wanted, and to enjoy giving it to her. There were others, more distant branches of the family, but within the core there was no resentment, not even a sense of having to share; they all knew that as long as they were Greed’s, he was theirs. There was comfort in that, and understanding, and maybe even true friendship.
Maybe even love.
But nighttime activities in Greed’s own room were rare, and Law was quite positive the second voice inside was not Martel’s or Dorochet’s.
Law hesitated only a fraction of a second before lowering his hand to the doorknob and twisting.
He was silent as the grave. He held the door only a fraction of an inch open, so that the light from the hallway wouldn’t disturb the occupants. There was next to no light to see by, but as Law’s eyes adjusted to the dimness he began to make out what he had suspected since that evening.
Two bodies twined together on the bed, writhing as one -- it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It would have been impossible, in fact, if not for the difference in skin tone, Greed’s darker tan almost blending into the shadows while the alchemist’s near translucent-pale white stood out even to unadjusted eyes -- a leg here, curling, and an arm, and hands flashing from place to place, gripping hard enough to bruise.
They struggled as Law watched, but it was a sensual violence, not this brutal, senseless stuff Law had grown accustomed to during and after the war. Law wouldn’t have thought less of Greed, but he hadn’t imagined the alchemist understood the pure art of pain. The two fought for power, yes, but for something else as well -- for the sake of the fight. For the pain. For the beauty of it.
It was amazing how that alchemist, that Zolof Kimbley, could fuck up a person simply by existing near them. Not that there was ever a moment when Greed wasn’t aware of what was happening to him, but Law had seen how Greed fell for Kimbley without a fight, had allowed the fascination to take over because he wanted it to. And now he was allowing Kimbley to fight him, hurt him, because he wanted to see how far the alchemist would go.
Kimbley had been on top, shudders of sensation practically visible as his spine curved and his hips rolled with each gouge Greed’s black-tipped fingers carved in his gaunt flesh. Through a series of arches and thrusts and distracting bites, they turned, somehow staying together, Kimbley resisting all the way; and then Greed’s powerfully built form was overbearing the alchemist, lower back sheened with sweat, and despite his reservations Law had to admit that the man, if he was a man, was inhumanly attractive.
Kimbley couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted to push -- up into Greed’s chest, down onto his impaling cock, anywhere, everywhere. For just a moment Law thought he saw sparks flying around Kimbley’s palms, searing black spots onto Greed’s shoulders that vanished almost instantly but still caused Greed to hiss with pleasure-pain.
“Soon,” Law barely heard Greed whisper, and it did seem to be coming to an end, becoming both more and less violent -- less creative and more rough, more carnal. Greed bodily lifted Kimbley up from the mattress, knelt back and dragged the alchemist onto his lap to finish, pinning Kimbley’s arms to his sides as he did so. Greed shuddered with one last thrust, shark’s teeth baring, and as he was still riding it out he pulled Kimbley’s hands up and slammed them against his chest, high enough to touch the small red nodes that never seemed to disappear from his skin.
Law saw what was coming -- his hand tightened convulsively around the doorknob -- but he barely had time to brace himself for the explosion, which was of immense magnitude and made the floor shake and the windows rattle. Kimbley cried out in unmistakable ecstasy and at that moment Law felt a hatred like he hadn’t known for half a century, in fact had probably never known -- not this strong, this deep, this virulent. He wanted to kill the bastard, wanted to do to Kimbley what the alchemist had just done to Greed, the one person Law held in the highest regard in this world --
His eyes cleared from the flash and he was aware that the doorknob was buckling in his grip, being crushed by the force of his rage. But even through the red haze he still had the presence of mind not to make a sound, and not to open the door.
Shaking, he watched as Kimbley, spent, knelt and panted over the ruined mangle of flesh that had been Greed. His knees were buried in entrails, his hands still resting on what remained of the ribcage. Slowly, breathily, he started laughing.
“Stupid fucker,” Law heard Kimbley say in a coarse whisper.
Kimbley eyed Greed’s face, only partially damaged, and before Law’s eyes he leaned forward and down, and kissed. Mouth-to-mouth for a moment, blood welling up and out at the corner, but then everywhere else, tasting salty skin and bared musculature, even reaching up to run criminal hands through matted black hair, streaking it with dark red. If Law thought his anger could grow no hotter, he’d thought wrong.
White light prickled around Greed’s fingertips, where his shield-claws had still been before Kimbley’s little experiment. Slowly, slowly, whole flesh began to creep up his arms, gathering the scattered bits of meat, reabsorbing, reconstructing. Greed’s body, still half-destroyed, moved under Kimbley, shifting in a perversion of post-coital laziness, dragging blood over the alchemist’s belly. An arm raised to touch Kimbley’s hair, almost... gently.
Kimbley jerked back at the fond touch. Greed healed a little more quickly, not bothering to reabsorb the blood that covered Kimbley’s pencil-thin frame. In less than ten seconds he was completely whole again, and chuckling lightly under his breath. He’d let his shield spread across his abdomen and chest in his usual mockery of a shirt. The red nodes and lines stood out brilliantly against the light-absorbing black.
“Enjoying yourself?” Greed asked.
Law experienced a sudden, terrible certainty that Greed was talking to him.
He pulled the door to without breathing, knowing that it didn’t matter what he did, Greed would know. As if the crushed doorknob wasn’t enough to give him away, there was simply the fact that nothing went on with his people that Greed didn’t know.
This could be bad, and yet... Law had heard no recrimination in his boss’s tone, only amusement and a hint of true curiosity. Maybe he really had been talking only to Kimbley. Either way, Law imagined Greed would be in a good enough mood tomorrow to let bygones be bygones.
Downstairs, Law stopped in front of Martel’s door, and in an instant realized exactly how tired he was. It hit him like his own sledgehammer, the exhaustion -- his hands were still shaking -- but even through the sudden crash he was still angry, burning with a loathing he couldn’t begin to contain. He’d never be able to work with the alchemist again. It was partly jealousy, but more than that it was a sense of indignation and overwhelming grief. He was furious at Kimbley for taking Greed away from the chimeras, away from the people who benefitted from his presence... who loved him. Rationally Law knew, knew how stupid it was to admit that he loved a being like Greed, whose very name was proof enough of the folly inherent in following him, but...
The others. The others would be destroyed if they found out. Not that Greed was fucking Kimbley, that wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, but if they found out the sheer degree of intensity with which Greed coveted the alchemist...
Law pressed a hand against Martel’s door, fancied he could feel her coiled warmth within. She loved Greed in her own way, as deeply as her coolly inhuman core allowed (and in a way Law thought that was stronger than mundane human love). Dorochet, as well. Even those who knew Greed less intimately couldn’t help but like him, or at least respect him.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to any of them that he would betray that love. Of course, it wasn’t betrayal to him -- it was instinct. Greed was more animal than any of them.
Law wondered if Martel and Dorochet would understand that.
He let his hand fall, but stood there for a moment more before he walked away, heading towards the sanctuary of his own room until morning brought its consequences.
-------
Also, FRSHZL!
-rave