Weakness

Title:
Weakeness.

Rating: NC-17.

Genre: Smut, Angst.

Pairings: Bradley/Envy.

Feedback: Please! Feed my crazy!

Word Count: +/- 513.

Summary: Envy might be older, but he's not above discipline.

Notes: For wiccat. Eh, first thing that flashed through my mind when you
asked for it.

Weakness.lang=EN-US>

The stones feed them, power them up and
keep them in a high. But like all highs, they end at some point. And when they
do, unless they consume more, the after effects are not nice.

Bradley twists the sword that's lodged in his shoulder slowly, gently, and Envy
gurgles incoherently, baring his teeth as his eyes glare with the promise of
retribution. Useless promise, of course, because Dante need Bradley and what he
does, and Envy knows he deserves the punishment, but he, ever the spitfire,
cannot go down submissively.

Bradley thinks with a twist of wry humor, that maybe he's got his sin confused
again.

It doesn't matter, though, because he's a sight to behold, pinned to the stone
wall and bleeding, unable to heal and too weakened to fight back; it makes
Bradley hard and almost desperate, but he's not a mindless animal - mindless
brutality is what's landed Envy here, after all - and he will not do something
so uncouth like cut the chase. No, he will enjoy this and make it worth his
time, making the pain last and reduce Envy to a writhing, begging bitch, just
as he likes him best.

He'll cry and trash and hurt, and when Bradley takes him, brands him,
Envy will know who among them is the true favorite, the best.

It doesn't matter if he's older, Envy is not above discipline, he's not
infallible. Bradley will make sure he remembers this. He twists the sword at
his navel, inches over his groin and that bothersome loincloth, and Envy
produces the most beautiful wail. Bradley loves watching him there, pinned like
a butterfly, fluttering helplessly as he continues to resist, to deny what they
both know is inevitable.

"Plans, Envy, plans are the basis of what we do," he runs a hand down
his naked midriff, fingertips caressing in a mockery of gentleness, before the
long fingers bury into the dark, coarse fabric. It's deceptively soft, but it's
rough to the touch, almost abrasive. A bit like Envy, really, and just like the
rest of him.

A beautiful appereance that hides the most hideous of them all.

"Fuck you," Envy hisses violently, straining against the blades that
are threatening to tear him apart - Bradley never does things half assed, one
on his left shoulder, one above his groin, one on each hand; Envy could try to
kick him, but he's too weak, too tired.

"Gladly," Bradley murmurs almost lovingly, taking the sword that
still rests on his hip and then drives it straight through the oroborus on
Envy's thigh.

"I hate you," but Envy's crying now, and Bradley knows he's won this
round, "I hate you."

Bradley smiles, slowly undoing his pants, delighting in the mix of disgust,
horror and plain fear that tints the violet eyes of his brother. Envy
doesn't care anymore what he does to him; he only wants the agony to end. Too
bad, for him, that Bradley is just starting, and the night is young, young and
perfect for disciplining the immortal.

"I know.”