Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2016-02-10 05:30 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2016-02-10 05:30 pm
Scar/Lust Fic, NC-17, AU Verse
Title: The Heart's Constant Hunger
Fandom: FMA, complicated AU.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,117
Summary: The mildest of bad habits can be the hardest to break.
The cigarettes were the last to go. Lust had flushed the final stragglers stashed around the apartment that morning. And then she'd spent a long few hours sitting on the couch, hands clenched in her lap, grinding her teeth and staring at the radio without actually listening to it. She'd made herself lunch but had taken two bites and decided she didn't want it. She'd wrapped it and stored the rest in the icebox - she wasn't about to waste food.
Somehow, this was even worse than the sickness that had come with quitting the rest. She was only mild ill - a light headache, a distress of her intestines - but she still felt miserable. Anxious. Upset. She was seized with the need to move but couldn't keep her mind on housework. She kept glancing at the clock, growing more and more frustrated at how slowly the hands seemed to move.
By the time Scar came home, she was at the kitchen table, tearing scraps of paper into very small slips and letting them pile up in the now useless ashtray.
She pretended not to notice the scanning of his eyes, the subtle shift of the tilt of his head as he discreetly smelled the air. She looked away, feeling ridiculous with her hands full of shredded paper.
"I brought Horn and Hardart," was all he said, as he set the paper bag on the table. He looked at the bits of paper, his expression difficult to read as it always was. She'd thought perhaps she'd be able to read him better, without the veil of drugs. Sometimes she could. Not always. Not as much as she'd like.
He nodded, and lifted his hand slowly. He let it rest on her shoulder a moment, squeezing lightly, before dropping it. Between the pre-made dinner and the small gesture, Lust understood well enough what he was trying to say. He was proud of the efforts she'd made. He knew how difficult they were. She wished she could be more grateful for the acknowledgement.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Lust cleared away the litter she'd left all over the table and set out the baked beans, corn, and chicken that Scar had brought home from the automated food cafe. She didn't trust herself to speak beyond single word answers or monosyllables.
Scar cleared the table when they were done. Lust returned to the couch, twisting her hands together restlessly. She couldn't seem to figure out what to do with them. That restlessness refused to leave her. She listened to Scar doing the dishes and putting them away, and tidying the kitchen. She was thankful he didn't speak. The silences were more often now, her own chattiness fading with her new-found sobriety, but they were more comfortable silences now.
Usually.
When Scar finally joined her on the couch, she was twisting her fingers together rapidly with her jaw tightly clenched. Her body was held rigid and tight. She didn't notice him reach for her until his large hands closed over her own, gently stilling her fidgeting fingers. She froze, startled and quieted in a moment.
"It's so much harder than I thought it would be," she finally said, the words tumbling out softly. Scar nodded, his hands still gently holding her own.
"You've...done well."
Lust leaned forward, pressing her forehead against their clasped hands. It was all him. She'd probably be dead in a gutter somewhere by now, if it weren't for him. And after all she'd put him through....
"I'm tired." She sighed, sagging into him.
"We can go to bed."
It wasn't that sort of tired, and she didn't think she could sleep, but there was nothing else to do. She nodded and lifted her head. He hesitantly brushed back a bit of her hair, fingertips grazing her cheek. She'd let it grow out, over the last two years. He lifted her from the couch, helping her to her feet without her needing to ask. She leaned on him as they made their way to the bedroom. They sat on either side of the bed, facing away from each other. She knew Scar was taking off his socks and his vest and suspenders. The rest would be taken off in their little bathroom. She unbuttoned her dress, slipping it off her shoulders. She hadn't bothered with stockings today. She hadn't left the apartment. She stretched out on the bed in her slip, watching Scar walk into the bathroom. He still closed the door over, but he didn't latch it.
She noticed these things.
There was always the temptation to lift her head and peer through the slim crack, but she didn't bother tonight. She was trying not to think about how badly she wanted a cigarette. Or maybe something else to smoke...
Her fingers curled against the bedspread. Her nails dug into the fabric and she exhaled forcefully. She felt so tired but wide awake even so. Her eyes tracked Scar as he came back and set a glass of water by her side of the bed. And then he sat beside her, instead of returning to his own half of the bed. He took her hands in his again, smoothing her fingers and holding them flat between his palms.
"Tomorrow will be better." His voice was soft. The tone was as gentle as he ever was.
"That does little for tonight." Lust flinched as soon as she'd spoken. He was so kind to her. So patient with her, when he had no obligation to be. "I'm sorry. Everything seems to irritate me..."
"It's fine." His calloused thumb stroked the edge of her hand. His touch was soothing. She lifted herself up against the pillows and scooted into the middle of the bed. Scar hesitated a moment before settling in beside her. It was a warm night, he was dressed for bed in cotton sleep pants and a strapped sleeveless undershirt. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. He'd cleaned himself in the sink but the scent of musk still clung to him. It was familiar and comforting.
She didn't intend for anything to happen. They hardly went to bed together like that now, though when they did it was...better. But her arms slipped around him when his hands loosened on hers, and she turned her face into his neck. It was a moment before she felt his hand in her hair, stroking lightly. And then his other hand on her back, resting against the middle, below the edge of her slip. The silky material bunched under his touch. His face was right there when she looked up and it only felt natural to brush her lips against his.
He didn't respond at first, and she turned her face away. But he stayed as he was, holding her, and after a moment he gently turned her face back to his. He barely nodded, his expression was drawn, but he put his mouth against hers and closed his eyes. Lust whimpered softly and opened her lips pulling him into the kiss.
It was such a different thing, now. In the early days, it had been a mechanical thing. He wouldn't even look at her during, his face stayed turned away. There had been no tenderness. No understanding. No sharing.
There was still hesitance in Scar's kiss, in his hands on her back. But there was a presence to his touches now. They reacted to each other, paid attention to one another. It wasn't perfect, but it was something close to lovemaking than they'd ever achieved when she was drugged out of her mind.
Maybe it was simply the withdrawal, but it felt like they sat on the bed together kissing for well onto an hour. Lust ran her hands over his arms and back, his neck. She played with the short, soft hair at the back of his neck. At some point her hands wandered to his chest, giving it the same attention. It was like discovering his body all over again, each time they came together this last half year or so.
Scar's hands stayed over her slip, running along her back. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts through the satin. His mouth mimicked hers, opening against hers, his tongue brushing against her lips fleetingly.
Lust fell back onto the bed, and urged Scar to lay over her. He stretched out on top of her, lowering his head to kiss her between the lace edges of her slip that lay over her breasts. She was squirming now, her thighs flexing. All of that restlessness was finding a welcome outlet. She resisted the urge to wrap her legs around him and desperately lift her hips against him. Instead she slipped her hands under his cotton shirt and ran her fingers over his bare back. She kissed the top of his head, his hair tickling her face. He lay there with his head on her breasts, quiet, letting her explore his back. Her slip had ridden up and she could feel him against her bare legs. His sleeping pants were very thin. And beyond that she could feel the heated press of his arousal against her thigh, sending small shivers to the core of her.
There had been a time when she didn't think she could enjoy sex without the added layer of various things smoked, drank, or swallowed. Now she didn't think she could go back to that. Not with him. Not ever with him. And who else would there be, now?
Her hands found their way down to the waistband of his pants. She hooked her fingers in the elastic, and he raised his head as she slipped them down. She grasped his bare buttocks, taking his mouth in another kiss. One of his hands covered her breast and the other pushed her slip up around her waist. Now she lifted her hips to him, one leg bending, her foot planted against the bedspread. She could feel the heat of him between her thighs. It made her want spike, shoot through her like some desperate need.
Maybe she was only replacing the drugs. But wasn't this so much better? Needing a certain someone, needing love and comfort...
Scar moved against her. He brought his arousal to the junction of her thighs and rubbed himself against her welcoming slickness with a soft grunt. They did this so infrequently that Lust didn't bother to keep close track of her cycles. She didn't keep birth control on hand. Having it seemed to send the message that it should be used.
But this was good. The friction made her toes curl and she clung to him, his face again buried between her breasts, working his mouth against them through her rumpled slip. She balled his sleep shirt in her fists, mouth parted. The tip of his length pressed and nudged against that little bundle of nerves that made sparks burst behind her eyes. She curled around him, legs bent but pressing together against him, gripping him, He rocked against her, tempo increasing, pressing firmly into those intimate parts of herself that had so often gone ignored.
She felt her body tense just before the waves rolled over her. It wasn't an explosion, but more a slow cascade of warm trembles and bursting bubbles. She felt Scar finish against her inner thigh a few moments later, as she lay enjoying the small after-tremors that made her legs shiver.
He rolled away shortly after, leaving the bed silently to clean himself with a lingering touch to her face. Lust simply made use of the handkerchief she kept by the bed. She felt properly tired now, and that jittery compulsion to move and fidget had seeped out of her in the bed. Somehow, he seemed to give her just what she needed. For good or ill.
She was tucked under the covers when Scar returned, dressed in a fresh set of pants and undershirt. He lay down facing her when he climbed into the bed. It was dark, but the streetlights shone inside the room and Lust brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth before settling against him to sleep.
She felt she could, now.
Fandom: FMA, complicated AU.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,117
Summary: The mildest of bad habits can be the hardest to break.
The cigarettes were the last to go. Lust had flushed the final stragglers stashed around the apartment that morning. And then she'd spent a long few hours sitting on the couch, hands clenched in her lap, grinding her teeth and staring at the radio without actually listening to it. She'd made herself lunch but had taken two bites and decided she didn't want it. She'd wrapped it and stored the rest in the icebox - she wasn't about to waste food.
Somehow, this was even worse than the sickness that had come with quitting the rest. She was only mild ill - a light headache, a distress of her intestines - but she still felt miserable. Anxious. Upset. She was seized with the need to move but couldn't keep her mind on housework. She kept glancing at the clock, growing more and more frustrated at how slowly the hands seemed to move.
By the time Scar came home, she was at the kitchen table, tearing scraps of paper into very small slips and letting them pile up in the now useless ashtray.
She pretended not to notice the scanning of his eyes, the subtle shift of the tilt of his head as he discreetly smelled the air. She looked away, feeling ridiculous with her hands full of shredded paper.
"I brought Horn and Hardart," was all he said, as he set the paper bag on the table. He looked at the bits of paper, his expression difficult to read as it always was. She'd thought perhaps she'd be able to read him better, without the veil of drugs. Sometimes she could. Not always. Not as much as she'd like.
He nodded, and lifted his hand slowly. He let it rest on her shoulder a moment, squeezing lightly, before dropping it. Between the pre-made dinner and the small gesture, Lust understood well enough what he was trying to say. He was proud of the efforts she'd made. He knew how difficult they were. She wished she could be more grateful for the acknowledgement.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Lust cleared away the litter she'd left all over the table and set out the baked beans, corn, and chicken that Scar had brought home from the automated food cafe. She didn't trust herself to speak beyond single word answers or monosyllables.
Scar cleared the table when they were done. Lust returned to the couch, twisting her hands together restlessly. She couldn't seem to figure out what to do with them. That restlessness refused to leave her. She listened to Scar doing the dishes and putting them away, and tidying the kitchen. She was thankful he didn't speak. The silences were more often now, her own chattiness fading with her new-found sobriety, but they were more comfortable silences now.
Usually.
When Scar finally joined her on the couch, she was twisting her fingers together rapidly with her jaw tightly clenched. Her body was held rigid and tight. She didn't notice him reach for her until his large hands closed over her own, gently stilling her fidgeting fingers. She froze, startled and quieted in a moment.
"It's so much harder than I thought it would be," she finally said, the words tumbling out softly. Scar nodded, his hands still gently holding her own.
"You've...done well."
Lust leaned forward, pressing her forehead against their clasped hands. It was all him. She'd probably be dead in a gutter somewhere by now, if it weren't for him. And after all she'd put him through....
"I'm tired." She sighed, sagging into him.
"We can go to bed."
It wasn't that sort of tired, and she didn't think she could sleep, but there was nothing else to do. She nodded and lifted her head. He hesitantly brushed back a bit of her hair, fingertips grazing her cheek. She'd let it grow out, over the last two years. He lifted her from the couch, helping her to her feet without her needing to ask. She leaned on him as they made their way to the bedroom. They sat on either side of the bed, facing away from each other. She knew Scar was taking off his socks and his vest and suspenders. The rest would be taken off in their little bathroom. She unbuttoned her dress, slipping it off her shoulders. She hadn't bothered with stockings today. She hadn't left the apartment. She stretched out on the bed in her slip, watching Scar walk into the bathroom. He still closed the door over, but he didn't latch it.
She noticed these things.
There was always the temptation to lift her head and peer through the slim crack, but she didn't bother tonight. She was trying not to think about how badly she wanted a cigarette. Or maybe something else to smoke...
Her fingers curled against the bedspread. Her nails dug into the fabric and she exhaled forcefully. She felt so tired but wide awake even so. Her eyes tracked Scar as he came back and set a glass of water by her side of the bed. And then he sat beside her, instead of returning to his own half of the bed. He took her hands in his again, smoothing her fingers and holding them flat between his palms.
"Tomorrow will be better." His voice was soft. The tone was as gentle as he ever was.
"That does little for tonight." Lust flinched as soon as she'd spoken. He was so kind to her. So patient with her, when he had no obligation to be. "I'm sorry. Everything seems to irritate me..."
"It's fine." His calloused thumb stroked the edge of her hand. His touch was soothing. She lifted herself up against the pillows and scooted into the middle of the bed. Scar hesitated a moment before settling in beside her. It was a warm night, he was dressed for bed in cotton sleep pants and a strapped sleeveless undershirt. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. He'd cleaned himself in the sink but the scent of musk still clung to him. It was familiar and comforting.
She didn't intend for anything to happen. They hardly went to bed together like that now, though when they did it was...better. But her arms slipped around him when his hands loosened on hers, and she turned her face into his neck. It was a moment before she felt his hand in her hair, stroking lightly. And then his other hand on her back, resting against the middle, below the edge of her slip. The silky material bunched under his touch. His face was right there when she looked up and it only felt natural to brush her lips against his.
He didn't respond at first, and she turned her face away. But he stayed as he was, holding her, and after a moment he gently turned her face back to his. He barely nodded, his expression was drawn, but he put his mouth against hers and closed his eyes. Lust whimpered softly and opened her lips pulling him into the kiss.
It was such a different thing, now. In the early days, it had been a mechanical thing. He wouldn't even look at her during, his face stayed turned away. There had been no tenderness. No understanding. No sharing.
There was still hesitance in Scar's kiss, in his hands on her back. But there was a presence to his touches now. They reacted to each other, paid attention to one another. It wasn't perfect, but it was something close to lovemaking than they'd ever achieved when she was drugged out of her mind.
Maybe it was simply the withdrawal, but it felt like they sat on the bed together kissing for well onto an hour. Lust ran her hands over his arms and back, his neck. She played with the short, soft hair at the back of his neck. At some point her hands wandered to his chest, giving it the same attention. It was like discovering his body all over again, each time they came together this last half year or so.
Scar's hands stayed over her slip, running along her back. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts through the satin. His mouth mimicked hers, opening against hers, his tongue brushing against her lips fleetingly.
Lust fell back onto the bed, and urged Scar to lay over her. He stretched out on top of her, lowering his head to kiss her between the lace edges of her slip that lay over her breasts. She was squirming now, her thighs flexing. All of that restlessness was finding a welcome outlet. She resisted the urge to wrap her legs around him and desperately lift her hips against him. Instead she slipped her hands under his cotton shirt and ran her fingers over his bare back. She kissed the top of his head, his hair tickling her face. He lay there with his head on her breasts, quiet, letting her explore his back. Her slip had ridden up and she could feel him against her bare legs. His sleeping pants were very thin. And beyond that she could feel the heated press of his arousal against her thigh, sending small shivers to the core of her.
There had been a time when she didn't think she could enjoy sex without the added layer of various things smoked, drank, or swallowed. Now she didn't think she could go back to that. Not with him. Not ever with him. And who else would there be, now?
Her hands found their way down to the waistband of his pants. She hooked her fingers in the elastic, and he raised his head as she slipped them down. She grasped his bare buttocks, taking his mouth in another kiss. One of his hands covered her breast and the other pushed her slip up around her waist. Now she lifted her hips to him, one leg bending, her foot planted against the bedspread. She could feel the heat of him between her thighs. It made her want spike, shoot through her like some desperate need.
Maybe she was only replacing the drugs. But wasn't this so much better? Needing a certain someone, needing love and comfort...
Scar moved against her. He brought his arousal to the junction of her thighs and rubbed himself against her welcoming slickness with a soft grunt. They did this so infrequently that Lust didn't bother to keep close track of her cycles. She didn't keep birth control on hand. Having it seemed to send the message that it should be used.
But this was good. The friction made her toes curl and she clung to him, his face again buried between her breasts, working his mouth against them through her rumpled slip. She balled his sleep shirt in her fists, mouth parted. The tip of his length pressed and nudged against that little bundle of nerves that made sparks burst behind her eyes. She curled around him, legs bent but pressing together against him, gripping him, He rocked against her, tempo increasing, pressing firmly into those intimate parts of herself that had so often gone ignored.
She felt her body tense just before the waves rolled over her. It wasn't an explosion, but more a slow cascade of warm trembles and bursting bubbles. She felt Scar finish against her inner thigh a few moments later, as she lay enjoying the small after-tremors that made her legs shiver.
He rolled away shortly after, leaving the bed silently to clean himself with a lingering touch to her face. Lust simply made use of the handkerchief she kept by the bed. She felt properly tired now, and that jittery compulsion to move and fidget had seeped out of her in the bed. Somehow, he seemed to give her just what she needed. For good or ill.
She was tucked under the covers when Scar returned, dressed in a fresh set of pants and undershirt. He lay down facing her when he climbed into the bed. It was dark, but the streetlights shone inside the room and Lust brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth before settling against him to sleep.
She felt she could, now.