![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Title: Moth To Flame
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Lust/Scar
Author’s Note: Set between “The Scar Mark” (episode 40) and “Without Knowing His Name” (episode 42). Written for the September challenge at![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scarlust. Major props to jadedsilk for the great job she did beta-ing. Thanks so much!
Summary: “Nothing fuels a good flirtation like need and anger and desperation.”
“The moth don't care if the flame is real,
‘Cause flame and moth got a sweetheart deal.
And nothing fuels a good flirtation
like need and anger and desperation.
No, the moth don't care if the flame is real.”
“The Moth”
–Aimee Mann
Dawn was the faintest blush in the East as Lust stepped from the windowsill down into the room of the Scarred Man.
Gluttony would be so annoyed with her. He hated when she left him alone, and he’d been especially clingy after the encounter in the alley but....
Lust walked over to stand above Scar’s bed, careful to keep her heels from making a sound against the floor. He looked serene, lying on his back, his eyes closed. The sheet halfheartedly enswathed his lower body, leaving his chest bare and his feet and the ends of his loose trousers visible. She wasn’t surprised. His room had thick adobe walls (he’d have to scream for them to be disturbed) that held the heat close. Even so early and with the window open the room would have been considered uncomfortable for someone with hotter blood than hers.
Lust listened to the rhythmic sounds of Scar’s breath.
She shouldn’t be here. It would do nothing to further Dante’s plans, and might cause additional entanglements, but she didn’t care. Her desires aligned with Dante’s, but confronted with physical, tangible proof of her humanity, of her past... She could no more stay away than she could create a child within her body.
She stood staring at Scar. The locket he had wielded during their altercation rested on the bedside table on the far side of the bed. She could feel it tingling on the edge of her skin, not dangerous, not debilitating, not yet.
Lust peeled off her gloves, moving slowly, the whisper of fabric softer than Scar’s breath. She dropped them in the middle of the floor, the fabric hissing against the floorboards. He didn’t flinch, his breath didn’t quicken, and she admired his self-control, as well as the expanse of chest visible above the sheet.
He didn’t move. Yes, he was definitely waiting for her to make the first move. Well, she wouldn’t want to disappoint.
Lust stalked toward him, feet still silent. She walked around the foot of the bed and sat down, careful not to let the bed creak. She rested one foot on the wall as she looked over at the bedside table. The pendant lay there, silver and shining, looking incongruous among the monastic furnishings of the room. She could feel it, pressing against her face (kicking off the sheets, and it was hot, hot, so hot, like high summer at noon and she was dying of the heat, and cool hands–) Lust jerked out of the memory at the same time that Scar lunged for the necklace, but she had been waiting for him to do so since she first entered the room and was prepared.
She kicked away from the wall. The bed slid across the room and Scar’s hand missed the pendant. He lunged for her instead and the legs of the bed caught on some miniscule unevenness in the floor, tipping over. Scar grabbed her wrists as they fell, and she let him, let him land on top of her, his weight heavy and not entirely unpleasant.
Lust’s dress, as obedient to her wishes as her claws, fell open, and she lay under him with her breasts exposed, nipples pink-tinged and heaving as she breathed hard, as if startled. Her hair fanned about her head in a negative aurora.
Scar pinned her wrists to the floor, holding the rest of her down with his weight, and she knew the exact moment he realized how close to naked she was, and their relative positions. He tightened his hands.
“What do you want, soulless creature?” he asked, voice hard, and eyes unforgiving.
Lust looked up through her lashes, trying to convey frailty.
“Your help,” she spoke softly, and couldn’t help if it came out half-purring.
She’d startled him, she knew, because his hands loosened fractionally.
He stared at her, and she stared right back. She slid her wrist free of his left hand and pulled up the top of her dress, then curled her arm close, letting her hand curl protectively over her Ouroboros, veiling it from sight.
Scar’s lips moved as if he wanted to repeat her words, and she had to check her instinct to lean forward and bite them.
He must have seen something in her eyes, because he dragged her upright and headed for the door.
“Get out,” he said, and started to pull open the door. She slapped a hand against it, preventing him from doing so.
“Please,” she said, and there was no artifice in her voice, just liquid longing. He tensed, the muscles in his back cording as his body responded to the need in her tone.
She’d wanted her humanity for so, so long. She wanted life so badly her throat ached with it, so badly she could roll that taste of that want across her tongue like blood. Lust had been given glimpses of her past, just images, just fragmented wants. She craved something real. And right in front of her was someone who could tell her. He knew who she had been (who she was, who she could be) and she wanted.
He was staring at her hand.
She followed his gaze, and couldn’t understand what had caught his attention.
Her hands were long and elegant, but not enchanting enough to be owed the attention he paid. Her hand was flat against the door, her nails clear white crescents, nothing like the claws she’d used against him in Central Library.
“Wouldn’t you help me?” she pleaded, voice low.
“Stop using her voice,” Scar snarled, and Lust was startled. That hadn’t been what she was expecting.
Lust looked down, stalling for time, feeling her hair slide over her shoulder.
“Who’s voice?” she finally asked, not seeing a way around it.
Scar shoved himself away from the door and started to pace across the room. Lust darted around him, not wanting him to get close to the locket.
He rolled back on his heels at her sudden motion and braced himself.
“Leave, demon,” he told her harshly.
Lust licked her lips, making the gesture quick and nervous. His eyes followed the flick of her tongue.
She stepped closer and he made an aborted motion, like he wanted to grab at her but didn’t trust himself. Lust felt victory uncurl in her chest. She wanted to push him past his limit, wanted him to grab her, wanted to pull his knowledge out of him with lips and teeth and nails but that wasn’t the way to play him.
Instead, she just looked at him, vulnerable, and didn’t say anything.
“You are not my brother’s wife,” he said, and there was a thread of weakness running through the implacable granite of his voice.
“Was that who I was?” she murmured to herself. She looked at him and her gaze sharpened. “Was that all I was to you?”
“Yes,” he snapped and Lust couldn’t prevent a smile from quirking her lips.
She took one step forward, standing too close, so close she can feel the heat of his skin. Her hair fell around her shoulders and her dress threatened to slide off. Lust knew she looked wanton and desirable. Her eyes were as soft as she could make them, her face full of longing and trust.
“Thank you,” she breathed, looking up at him. Scar put his hands on her shoulders. He was going to push her away but the touch of skin to skin broke his control and instead he bent his head down. He paused fractionally and then softly pressed his lips against hers.
He kissed her like a man would kiss his beloved, and if she had possessed any doubt about what the woman she’d used to be had meant to him, it was vanished now.
She wanted to wrap her legs about his waist, wanted to dig her nails into his back, wanted to kiss with teeth and slashing tongue, but she held herself back.
She only arched gently against him.
He deepened their kiss (Finally, Lust thought) and wrapped his arms around her. She let her body sink into his hold. He stepped forward. Lust moved with him and snagged the edge of the bed with her heel, flipping it upright so he’d have somewhere to lay her tenderly down.
He skimmed his hands down her sides. His fingers brushed over the clasps of her dress and they clicked open, the fabric falling open before him.
He touched her like she was something sacred (was I?) something holy, and even if she’s not herself to him, she can’t bring herself to care. He ran his hands over her body, like he couldn’t get enough of her skin.
Lust dug her fingers into the mattress, controlling her body’s desire to undulate; she didn’t intend to break the illusion. His hands felt amazing, hot against her skin, the calluses on his fingers deliciously rough against her flesh.
He ran his hands down her thigh, following with his mouth. He pulled back, kneeling between her legs, twisting to press a kiss into the side of her knee as he pulled off her boots. She draped a leg over his shoulder, running her bare heel down his back, and he took the hint.
When he kisses her (ah, THERE, she thinks) Lust gasps in surprise as if his mouth is first to explore her.
He kisses his way up her body, and when she is able, she leans forward to meet his mouth (gently, gently, if she had her way he’d be pinned down and writhing for her, but that is not the way to peel him open). Scar nibbles at her lips delicately and she has the faint and surreal wish to watch him eat fruit.
He slides into her, gentle and smooth, holding his weight off her, burying his face in the arch of her shoulder as he thrusts. She bows her body back, taking him deeper. She runs her hands over his back and knows the moment he comes, feeling his muscles cord under her fingers. He calls her name (her real, true name) and Lust digs her nails into his back in satisfaction.
When Scar wakes, the only proof of her presence is the pair of gloves lying on the floor, looking to his eyes like a pair of blackened wings.
(Icon by![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
sleepdebtfairy)
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Lust/Scar
Author’s Note: Set between “The Scar Mark” (episode 40) and “Without Knowing His Name” (episode 42). Written for the September challenge at
scarlust. Major props to jadedsilk for the great job she did beta-ing. Thanks so much!Summary: “Nothing fuels a good flirtation like need and anger and desperation.”
“The moth don't care if the flame is real,
‘Cause flame and moth got a sweetheart deal.
And nothing fuels a good flirtation
like need and anger and desperation.
No, the moth don't care if the flame is real.”
“The Moth”
–Aimee Mann
Dawn was the faintest blush in the East as Lust stepped from the windowsill down into the room of the Scarred Man.
Gluttony would be so annoyed with her. He hated when she left him alone, and he’d been especially clingy after the encounter in the alley but....
Lust walked over to stand above Scar’s bed, careful to keep her heels from making a sound against the floor. He looked serene, lying on his back, his eyes closed. The sheet halfheartedly enswathed his lower body, leaving his chest bare and his feet and the ends of his loose trousers visible. She wasn’t surprised. His room had thick adobe walls (he’d have to scream for them to be disturbed) that held the heat close. Even so early and with the window open the room would have been considered uncomfortable for someone with hotter blood than hers.
Lust listened to the rhythmic sounds of Scar’s breath.
She shouldn’t be here. It would do nothing to further Dante’s plans, and might cause additional entanglements, but she didn’t care. Her desires aligned with Dante’s, but confronted with physical, tangible proof of her humanity, of her past... She could no more stay away than she could create a child within her body.
She stood staring at Scar. The locket he had wielded during their altercation rested on the bedside table on the far side of the bed. She could feel it tingling on the edge of her skin, not dangerous, not debilitating, not yet.
Lust peeled off her gloves, moving slowly, the whisper of fabric softer than Scar’s breath. She dropped them in the middle of the floor, the fabric hissing against the floorboards. He didn’t flinch, his breath didn’t quicken, and she admired his self-control, as well as the expanse of chest visible above the sheet.
He didn’t move. Yes, he was definitely waiting for her to make the first move. Well, she wouldn’t want to disappoint.
Lust stalked toward him, feet still silent. She walked around the foot of the bed and sat down, careful not to let the bed creak. She rested one foot on the wall as she looked over at the bedside table. The pendant lay there, silver and shining, looking incongruous among the monastic furnishings of the room. She could feel it, pressing against her face (kicking off the sheets, and it was hot, hot, so hot, like high summer at noon and she was dying of the heat, and cool hands–) Lust jerked out of the memory at the same time that Scar lunged for the necklace, but she had been waiting for him to do so since she first entered the room and was prepared.
She kicked away from the wall. The bed slid across the room and Scar’s hand missed the pendant. He lunged for her instead and the legs of the bed caught on some miniscule unevenness in the floor, tipping over. Scar grabbed her wrists as they fell, and she let him, let him land on top of her, his weight heavy and not entirely unpleasant.
Lust’s dress, as obedient to her wishes as her claws, fell open, and she lay under him with her breasts exposed, nipples pink-tinged and heaving as she breathed hard, as if startled. Her hair fanned about her head in a negative aurora.
Scar pinned her wrists to the floor, holding the rest of her down with his weight, and she knew the exact moment he realized how close to naked she was, and their relative positions. He tightened his hands.
“What do you want, soulless creature?” he asked, voice hard, and eyes unforgiving.
Lust looked up through her lashes, trying to convey frailty.
“Your help,” she spoke softly, and couldn’t help if it came out half-purring.
She’d startled him, she knew, because his hands loosened fractionally.
He stared at her, and she stared right back. She slid her wrist free of his left hand and pulled up the top of her dress, then curled her arm close, letting her hand curl protectively over her Ouroboros, veiling it from sight.
Scar’s lips moved as if he wanted to repeat her words, and she had to check her instinct to lean forward and bite them.
He must have seen something in her eyes, because he dragged her upright and headed for the door.
“Get out,” he said, and started to pull open the door. She slapped a hand against it, preventing him from doing so.
“Please,” she said, and there was no artifice in her voice, just liquid longing. He tensed, the muscles in his back cording as his body responded to the need in her tone.
She’d wanted her humanity for so, so long. She wanted life so badly her throat ached with it, so badly she could roll that taste of that want across her tongue like blood. Lust had been given glimpses of her past, just images, just fragmented wants. She craved something real. And right in front of her was someone who could tell her. He knew who she had been (who she was, who she could be) and she wanted.
He was staring at her hand.
She followed his gaze, and couldn’t understand what had caught his attention.
Her hands were long and elegant, but not enchanting enough to be owed the attention he paid. Her hand was flat against the door, her nails clear white crescents, nothing like the claws she’d used against him in Central Library.
“Wouldn’t you help me?” she pleaded, voice low.
“Stop using her voice,” Scar snarled, and Lust was startled. That hadn’t been what she was expecting.
Lust looked down, stalling for time, feeling her hair slide over her shoulder.
“Who’s voice?” she finally asked, not seeing a way around it.
Scar shoved himself away from the door and started to pace across the room. Lust darted around him, not wanting him to get close to the locket.
He rolled back on his heels at her sudden motion and braced himself.
“Leave, demon,” he told her harshly.
Lust licked her lips, making the gesture quick and nervous. His eyes followed the flick of her tongue.
She stepped closer and he made an aborted motion, like he wanted to grab at her but didn’t trust himself. Lust felt victory uncurl in her chest. She wanted to push him past his limit, wanted him to grab her, wanted to pull his knowledge out of him with lips and teeth and nails but that wasn’t the way to play him.
Instead, she just looked at him, vulnerable, and didn’t say anything.
“You are not my brother’s wife,” he said, and there was a thread of weakness running through the implacable granite of his voice.
“Was that who I was?” she murmured to herself. She looked at him and her gaze sharpened. “Was that all I was to you?”
“Yes,” he snapped and Lust couldn’t prevent a smile from quirking her lips.
She took one step forward, standing too close, so close she can feel the heat of his skin. Her hair fell around her shoulders and her dress threatened to slide off. Lust knew she looked wanton and desirable. Her eyes were as soft as she could make them, her face full of longing and trust.
“Thank you,” she breathed, looking up at him. Scar put his hands on her shoulders. He was going to push her away but the touch of skin to skin broke his control and instead he bent his head down. He paused fractionally and then softly pressed his lips against hers.
He kissed her like a man would kiss his beloved, and if she had possessed any doubt about what the woman she’d used to be had meant to him, it was vanished now.
She wanted to wrap her legs about his waist, wanted to dig her nails into his back, wanted to kiss with teeth and slashing tongue, but she held herself back.
She only arched gently against him.
He deepened their kiss (Finally, Lust thought) and wrapped his arms around her. She let her body sink into his hold. He stepped forward. Lust moved with him and snagged the edge of the bed with her heel, flipping it upright so he’d have somewhere to lay her tenderly down.
He skimmed his hands down her sides. His fingers brushed over the clasps of her dress and they clicked open, the fabric falling open before him.
He touched her like she was something sacred (was I?) something holy, and even if she’s not herself to him, she can’t bring herself to care. He ran his hands over her body, like he couldn’t get enough of her skin.
Lust dug her fingers into the mattress, controlling her body’s desire to undulate; she didn’t intend to break the illusion. His hands felt amazing, hot against her skin, the calluses on his fingers deliciously rough against her flesh.
He ran his hands down her thigh, following with his mouth. He pulled back, kneeling between her legs, twisting to press a kiss into the side of her knee as he pulled off her boots. She draped a leg over his shoulder, running her bare heel down his back, and he took the hint.
When he kisses her (ah, THERE, she thinks) Lust gasps in surprise as if his mouth is first to explore her.
He kisses his way up her body, and when she is able, she leans forward to meet his mouth (gently, gently, if she had her way he’d be pinned down and writhing for her, but that is not the way to peel him open). Scar nibbles at her lips delicately and she has the faint and surreal wish to watch him eat fruit.
He slides into her, gentle and smooth, holding his weight off her, burying his face in the arch of her shoulder as he thrusts. She bows her body back, taking him deeper. She runs her hands over his back and knows the moment he comes, feeling his muscles cord under her fingers. He calls her name (her real, true name) and Lust digs her nails into his back in satisfaction.
~*~
When Scar wakes, the only proof of her presence is the pair of gloves lying on the floor, looking to his eyes like a pair of blackened wings.
~*~
(Icon by
sleepdebtfairy)
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I'm so, so glad you liked it!
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Hot, believable, and with spot-on characterization. I loved it.
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By the way, I love your icon.
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Thank you! My friend made it for me. :D
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She could no more stay away than she could create a child within her body. Ouch. Nice.
Scar nibbles at her lips delicately and she has the faint and surreal wish to watch him eat fruit. That line really struck me, not sure why. It seems like it out to feel out-of-place there, but it doesn't, it works nicely.
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"She could no more stay away than she could create a child within her body." I had to think about that line a bit- I was going, what can't Lust do? To say ‘live’ would be a little obvious and kind of untrue since that's what she's searching so hard for, a way to live, but the idea of barrenness (imho) works for Lust on a number of levels.
"Scar nibbles at her lips delicately and she has the faint and surreal wish to watch him eat fruit.
I like that line, too, and I'm glad it didn't seem disruptive, because while it is adding new image and tone into the piece, it also adds the seed of the idea that they could actually have relationship where they're Lust and Scar as opposed to Ghost Of My Dead Brother's Wife Who I Was In Love With and Guy Who Can Tell Me About My Past.
Glad you liked!
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I'm glad to be part of the prompt group. I had a question, though. I heard that if you post something on the internet, it counts are publishing and you'll have trouble later. If I f-lock my post nanowhinging, does that solve the problem by making in basically a long-distance writing group? Any thoughts?
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The other possibility is to put it up, get your comments and you can always pull it down later if you think you're nearing the publication phase of that piece
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hope to see stuff from you soon
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I'm not sure when I'll get a chance to post something- I just returned to college so everythings kinda crazy.... but don't worry, sooner or later I'll put something up.
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And from someone who's written such lovely Scar/Lust fics hearing that I have wonderful characterization sends me over the moon.