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Remembrance	By : RiekaDeVolka Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 389 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Remembrance
- 1
Title: Remembrance.

Rating: NC-17.

Genre: Psycho!PWP.

Pairings: Scar/Al, Wrath/Al.

Feedback: Please! Feed my crazy!

Word Count: +/- 973.

Summary: Wrath supposes Al remembers things when they�re together,
snippets of the life within the armor, and that�s why Al insists on coming
back. Always back.

Notes: Written for the fma_fuh_q month challenge, Scar. I had almost
given up this claim, until my mother � bless her heart � reminded me May
actually has a 31st. So here�s your monthly doze of weird porn, thanks to my
mom. XD As per usual, movie canon is completely inexistent to me. Short,
because I fail at life.

~�~�~

Remembrance.

~�~�~

This weird
thing they have, of not quite hating each other, but fighting all the same,
makes Wrath�s head spin most of the time. The game intrigues him and infuriates
him all the same; in the end, he and the boy are the same, two tears that were
shed � and bled - from a single violet eye within the womb of The Gate.
But if Wrath was a tear of sadness, Alphonse was a tear of triumph, and that
difference between two parts of the same whole is what makes this wrong and
painful and oh so terribly addictive.

Inside the
small cave, Al falls to his knees, planting kisses all over the caramel skin.
The edge of his coat curls over the sand and his pants stain with dirt where
his knees hit the floor. Wrath shivers a bit, remembering the sensation of
those lips ghosting over the surface, teasing and promising a thousand evil
things. The Ishbalan is barely standing, resting his weight against the wall of
his makeshift shelter and staring down with an unreadable expression on his
face. A whole arm is missing, another feature to relate them, and Wrath
clenches the automail tightly, fiercely, just as those thin, long fingers begin
undoing the rundown pants.

It drives him
insane � with lust, with fear, with envy, with wrath � to see that
curious boy that never quite tires of trying to be his friend bringing so much
pleasure to someone else. Wrath taught him how to touch and how to lick,
how to close his eyes and let the tide overtake him. He�s not supposed to share
that knowledge with someone else, to serve someone else. It�s dirty and
leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but Wrath�s not entirely sure why. And
as long as he doesn�t know why, he�ll continue to watch and do nothing. Nothing.

The Ishbalan
moans, and the sound reverberates around the cave, low and guttural, laced with
pleasure. Al is licking him now, arousing him with those skills that no boy
with his eyes should have � Wrath has spent days pondering why if they�re the
exact same hue as Edward�s they don�t sparkle with the same bristling intensity
� the quiet, loving golden eyes that unfocus and become mercurial in the
twilight between pleasure and release.

Now Scar � the
Ishbalan, the Ishbalan, he has no name and as long as he has no name,
this whole scene is pointless, senseless; Wrath seethes some more � Scar is
slumped against the rocks, panting and writhing and pleading softly for Al to
stop. Or maybe he�s pleading for him not to stop. Regardless, it�s Al
who�s straddling those hips, but those hips are certainly not Wrath�s,
and that�s wrong, and evil, and it hurts.

Wrath
supposes Al remembers things when they�re together, snippets of the life within
the armor, and that�s why Al insists on coming back. Always back.

He
can�t deny Al this, the search for his memories and the company of someone
warm, of someone alive, but it still hurts and Wrath would like to know
how to stop it without getting himself killed in the process. Irrationally, he
hates Al for making Wrath not want to attack him, to tear him down. It doesn�t
matter if Al spread his legs for Wrath � or Scar � Al is his new master,
and Wrath knows his place. Hates it vehemently, but knows it all the same.

When
Al sheds his coat, raising over the glistering erection and whimpering softly
as that rough hand holds his hair tenderly, Wrath looks away and shuts his eyes
tightly, hoping he could shut his ears as well, keeping the gurgling moan and
the hiss away from his mind. He doesn�t need to see to know Al is sliding down
slowly, ever so slowly and taking each millimeter of the other in, savoring the
sensation of warmth and safety. He doesn�t need to see to know the Ishbalan is
trembling and Al is trembling and the world is trembling. Blurring at
the edges � or maybe it�s the tears that sting his eyes as he tries hard to not
see in reality what his mind is picturing so nicely.

From
his corner in the shadows, Wrath watches them make love and entertains the idea
himself. He and Al fuck, fuck viciously and avidly, starving for the contact
and wanting to reach the end by all means possible, but what he�s watching is
different. Scar thrusts deeply, drawing out the pleasure and burring his face
against the soft strands of hair � Al smells differently than other humans,
with a spike of something unique thrown in the natural musk; maybe because he�s
a child of The Gate, maybe because he�s Al and he�s special � and trying
to merge with him in an alchemic reaction without arrays or clapping or light.
Just the lazy movements, the powerful impulses and the noises.

God,
the noises.

And
then Al�s spine shoots backwards, dangerously close to snapping and he
dissolves into a twitching mess that pools around the Ishbalan, stealing
warmth against the cold air of the desert. The taller man holds onto him and
buckles once, twice, before curling around the precious creature that�s still
holding him deep inside. Wrath watches against his will, because it hurts and
because it�s Al, skin gleaming with sweat and things, doing this because
he remembers how, he remembers when, he remembers him.

The
golden eyes that meet Wrath�s through the thin curtain of darkness in the cave
might not be glowing and trapped within armor, but they have gained another
sliver of that glow. It�s only when he smiles at him, sweetly and knowingly
that Wrath flees, automail sinking in the sand and tears falling freely down
his face. Remembrance has a price he�s not strong enough to pay.
- 1
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Remembrance