Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2006-05-02 01:02 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2006-05-02 01:02 pm
Fic: His Father's Son - Dante/Ed - NC-17
Originally, I wasn't going to post this to my personal journal. But the more I looked it over and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'm really proud of this fic. This was written originally for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fma_fuh_q. And this is the fic that first spawned the Scar/Rose/Dante fic I posted yesterday.
Title: His Father's Son
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theladyfeylene
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dante/Ed
Spoilers: Episodes 31 - 45
Word Count: 1657
Warnings: Non-con and manipulation
Summary: There was so much of his father in him, this lion-eyed boy full of talent and rage. She wanted him.
Lior was broken. It stretched out under the sinking desert sun, twisted and shuddering - a lion with a shattered spine. There was no saving it, no matter how many prophets or priests raised themselves up in the eyes of the people. Lior would fall.
Dante stood at the window, silent in the company of the strong-willed boy who had found his way into her den. This pleased her. The boy was useful, and if the false prophet of Ishbal failed to create the Stone… She felt no guilt over sentencing Lior to death. Whether it be the people of the desert or the soldiers of Amestris who were sacrificed, she didn’t care. She would have her stone, one way or another. And a new body.
“It’s going to be night soon.”
Dante turned, her eyes falling on Edward Elric. He was sitting with his shoulders hunched forward, petulance and aggravation radiating off of his form. She smiled at him, a brief flicker of lips turning upwards. He was a handsome young man, so brilliant in his rage and anger. But weren’t all of the young like that? So proud and determined and certain. It was endearing, in a way.
“It is.” In another hour darkness would fall. Lior was holding its breath. As was Dante. She could almost feel the Stone in her fingers. She had wanted the boy to make it - how fitting that would be! But now it hardly mattered. Her body was falling apart, slowly but surely. The fingers of decay spread across her hips and thighs like a lover’s caress, stripping her skin and blackening her flesh. She hated it. What sickness had plagued this fragile body?
She watched Edward. He was looking at her now, and she smiled mildly at him. He had his father’s eyes. There was much of his father in him, Dante decided. But Edward was young and new. Dante’s eyes traced along the strong line of his jaw to the arch of his shoulder. Was he as lean and narrow as Hohenheim, beneath his clothing? He lacked his father’s stature, true, but what other differences were there? And what similarities? Her smile widened.
“What?”
He had caught her watching him. Dante’s smile faltered and she dropped to her knees before him, putting on the face of a frightened young girl. She wanted him, suddenly. He wasn’t Hohenheim, but he was close enough. And she could mold him in whatever image she saw fit - he was young enough.
“I’m frightened, Edward,” she told him, her voice trembling.
“Yeah, well, it’ll be fine,” he said dismissively. Dante wet her lips and shivered, her face a mask of young girl fear. She let out a small noise and threw herself into Edward’s lap, dropping her body down to stretch across his thighs. She felt cold metal beneath his trousers; she wondered what automail would feel like against naked skin. She imagined it against her thigh, the bite of steel a stark contrast to the sensation of flushed skin. What would those automail fingers feel like against her breasts? Inside of her?
“Lyra!”
“Please.” Dante clung to Edward, inhaling his scent as she lay her head in his lap. He was warm and alive and Dante shuddered once more. “Hold me.”
“Look, everything’s gonna be fine,” Ed repeated, and Dante frowned into the fabric of his trousers. He had his hands held up, away from her, as though he feared to touch her. Dante lifted her upper body, sliding her breasts along Edward’s chest, her face tilted upwards to seek out his. Why didn’t he want her? This body was lovely, certainly, and he was a warm blooded teenage boy.
“What are you doing?” He was pulling away, straining back from her. What was the matter with him? A scowl flashed across Dante’s lips and she pressed her mouth to Ed’s, stealing a kiss from him while he was pinned beneath her. His lips were closed against her and she felt him squirming under her but she hardly cared. He would warm to her touch soon enough. They always did. She slid into his lap, her skirt bunch about her thighs. She spared a glance at her legs, a moment of fleeting horror coursing through her. But the lines of rot were still hidden, covered by the folds of her clothing.
“Shh, Edward,” she urged, twining her arms about his neck. He was stiff against her, his muscles tight as he strained away from the soft curves of her body. She felt nothing against her thighs, no hint of hardened erection. Why did his body reject her? She moved against him, her breasts pressed firmly against him, her lips seeking the soft skin of his jaw.
“Get off me!” he exclaimed, twisting violently beneath her. Dante held on, burying her face against his shoulder.
“Please, Ed,” she whimpered. Surely the brave hero Edward wouldn’t cast aside a frightened girl. How different he was from his father, who had pawed clumsily at her breasts in his eager haste to touch her. Hohenheim had bedded her quickly and wantonly, crying out her name as he drove himself into her, his words mixing with the rhythmic noises of hips against hips. Would Edward take her with the same fierce need, or with a virgin’s blushing shyness?
“Lyra…”
He protested still. Dante scooted back on his lap, her hand dropping down between them to rest against his flaccid member, still trapped within his clothing. She would bring his blood to a boil and he wouldn’t push her away then. Her fingers sought the zipper of his trousers, deftly flicking it down. His hips jerked away, and she heard him protest again but silenced him with her lips. Didn’t he realize he’d enjoy this?
Dante’s fingers closed around flaccid, warm flesh . Edward went still beneath her and she smiled against his mouth. The tight, tense stillness spoke more of shock and fear than of pleasure, but that would change soon enough. Her fingers stroked Edward’s length, passing slowly over soft skin. It twitched in her hand and Edward made a small noise into her mouth.
“Stop….”
“Shh, Edward. You’ll like it, I promise.” He was growing hard in her hand, her caresses coaxing him to a weak erection. Flesh responded to flesh, blood rushed and swelled under Dante’s slim fingers. The mind was weak before the wants of the body and his body wanted her. They all wanted her, once she got to them. Dante released his lips, moving to fasten her teeth on the warm skin of his neck. He tasted of sweat and the dust of travel, so unlike his father who’s skin had been touched with the traces of ink and incense. Dante whimpered into his neck, her wrist aching as she stroked his reluctant erection. He would climax for her. He was leaking now, she could feel the tell-tale drops of slickness on her fingers. His face was flushed and his breaths came too close together for him protest further.
The young had no stamina. Dante tightened her grip and Edward shuddered and a low moan escaped his lips, tortured and painful. He tensed in her hand and then it was over in a burst of sudden serous emission and Edward went limp beneath her.
“I told you that you’d like it,” Dante said, retrieving her hand. It was slick with his climax. She smiled like a cat and brought her hand to her lips. She could smell him on her, that tell tale scent of masculinity. She flicked out her tongue, licking her fingers clean of his emissions as he watched her with wide and horrified eyes.
“You…I…”
Dante just smiled and slid off of his lap, voices below alerting her to the fact that the prophet and the puppet girl had returned. Edward quickly scrambled to compose himself, doing up his pants and leaping back across the room, placing as much distance as he could between them.
Dante turned away, watching as dark settled over Lior. He was silent across the room from her, but she didn’t mind. She had tasted him, touched him, marked him as her own. Edward would love her soon enough.
They all did.
fma_fuh_q. And this is the fic that first spawned the Scar/Rose/Dante fic I posted yesterday.Title: His Father's Son
Author:
theladyfeyleneRating: NC-17
Pairing: Dante/Ed
Spoilers: Episodes 31 - 45
Word Count: 1657
Warnings: Non-con and manipulation
Summary: There was so much of his father in him, this lion-eyed boy full of talent and rage. She wanted him.
Lior was broken. It stretched out under the sinking desert sun, twisted and shuddering - a lion with a shattered spine. There was no saving it, no matter how many prophets or priests raised themselves up in the eyes of the people. Lior would fall.
Dante stood at the window, silent in the company of the strong-willed boy who had found his way into her den. This pleased her. The boy was useful, and if the false prophet of Ishbal failed to create the Stone… She felt no guilt over sentencing Lior to death. Whether it be the people of the desert or the soldiers of Amestris who were sacrificed, she didn’t care. She would have her stone, one way or another. And a new body.
“It’s going to be night soon.”
Dante turned, her eyes falling on Edward Elric. He was sitting with his shoulders hunched forward, petulance and aggravation radiating off of his form. She smiled at him, a brief flicker of lips turning upwards. He was a handsome young man, so brilliant in his rage and anger. But weren’t all of the young like that? So proud and determined and certain. It was endearing, in a way.
“It is.” In another hour darkness would fall. Lior was holding its breath. As was Dante. She could almost feel the Stone in her fingers. She had wanted the boy to make it - how fitting that would be! But now it hardly mattered. Her body was falling apart, slowly but surely. The fingers of decay spread across her hips and thighs like a lover’s caress, stripping her skin and blackening her flesh. She hated it. What sickness had plagued this fragile body?
She watched Edward. He was looking at her now, and she smiled mildly at him. He had his father’s eyes. There was much of his father in him, Dante decided. But Edward was young and new. Dante’s eyes traced along the strong line of his jaw to the arch of his shoulder. Was he as lean and narrow as Hohenheim, beneath his clothing? He lacked his father’s stature, true, but what other differences were there? And what similarities? Her smile widened.
“What?”
He had caught her watching him. Dante’s smile faltered and she dropped to her knees before him, putting on the face of a frightened young girl. She wanted him, suddenly. He wasn’t Hohenheim, but he was close enough. And she could mold him in whatever image she saw fit - he was young enough.
“I’m frightened, Edward,” she told him, her voice trembling.
“Yeah, well, it’ll be fine,” he said dismissively. Dante wet her lips and shivered, her face a mask of young girl fear. She let out a small noise and threw herself into Edward’s lap, dropping her body down to stretch across his thighs. She felt cold metal beneath his trousers; she wondered what automail would feel like against naked skin. She imagined it against her thigh, the bite of steel a stark contrast to the sensation of flushed skin. What would those automail fingers feel like against her breasts? Inside of her?
“Lyra!”
“Please.” Dante clung to Edward, inhaling his scent as she lay her head in his lap. He was warm and alive and Dante shuddered once more. “Hold me.”
“Look, everything’s gonna be fine,” Ed repeated, and Dante frowned into the fabric of his trousers. He had his hands held up, away from her, as though he feared to touch her. Dante lifted her upper body, sliding her breasts along Edward’s chest, her face tilted upwards to seek out his. Why didn’t he want her? This body was lovely, certainly, and he was a warm blooded teenage boy.
“What are you doing?” He was pulling away, straining back from her. What was the matter with him? A scowl flashed across Dante’s lips and she pressed her mouth to Ed’s, stealing a kiss from him while he was pinned beneath her. His lips were closed against her and she felt him squirming under her but she hardly cared. He would warm to her touch soon enough. They always did. She slid into his lap, her skirt bunch about her thighs. She spared a glance at her legs, a moment of fleeting horror coursing through her. But the lines of rot were still hidden, covered by the folds of her clothing.
“Shh, Edward,” she urged, twining her arms about his neck. He was stiff against her, his muscles tight as he strained away from the soft curves of her body. She felt nothing against her thighs, no hint of hardened erection. Why did his body reject her? She moved against him, her breasts pressed firmly against him, her lips seeking the soft skin of his jaw.
“Get off me!” he exclaimed, twisting violently beneath her. Dante held on, burying her face against his shoulder.
“Please, Ed,” she whimpered. Surely the brave hero Edward wouldn’t cast aside a frightened girl. How different he was from his father, who had pawed clumsily at her breasts in his eager haste to touch her. Hohenheim had bedded her quickly and wantonly, crying out her name as he drove himself into her, his words mixing with the rhythmic noises of hips against hips. Would Edward take her with the same fierce need, or with a virgin’s blushing shyness?
“Lyra…”
He protested still. Dante scooted back on his lap, her hand dropping down between them to rest against his flaccid member, still trapped within his clothing. She would bring his blood to a boil and he wouldn’t push her away then. Her fingers sought the zipper of his trousers, deftly flicking it down. His hips jerked away, and she heard him protest again but silenced him with her lips. Didn’t he realize he’d enjoy this?
Dante’s fingers closed around flaccid, warm flesh . Edward went still beneath her and she smiled against his mouth. The tight, tense stillness spoke more of shock and fear than of pleasure, but that would change soon enough. Her fingers stroked Edward’s length, passing slowly over soft skin. It twitched in her hand and Edward made a small noise into her mouth.
“Stop….”
“Shh, Edward. You’ll like it, I promise.” He was growing hard in her hand, her caresses coaxing him to a weak erection. Flesh responded to flesh, blood rushed and swelled under Dante’s slim fingers. The mind was weak before the wants of the body and his body wanted her. They all wanted her, once she got to them. Dante released his lips, moving to fasten her teeth on the warm skin of his neck. He tasted of sweat and the dust of travel, so unlike his father who’s skin had been touched with the traces of ink and incense. Dante whimpered into his neck, her wrist aching as she stroked his reluctant erection. He would climax for her. He was leaking now, she could feel the tell-tale drops of slickness on her fingers. His face was flushed and his breaths came too close together for him protest further.
The young had no stamina. Dante tightened her grip and Edward shuddered and a low moan escaped his lips, tortured and painful. He tensed in her hand and then it was over in a burst of sudden serous emission and Edward went limp beneath her.
“I told you that you’d like it,” Dante said, retrieving her hand. It was slick with his climax. She smiled like a cat and brought her hand to her lips. She could smell him on her, that tell tale scent of masculinity. She flicked out her tongue, licking her fingers clean of his emissions as he watched her with wide and horrified eyes.
“You…I…”
Dante just smiled and slid off of his lap, voices below alerting her to the fact that the prophet and the puppet girl had returned. Edward quickly scrambled to compose himself, doing up his pants and leaping back across the room, placing as much distance as he could between them.
Dante turned away, watching as dark settled over Lior. He was silent across the room from her, but she didn’t mind. She had tasted him, touched him, marked him as her own. Edward would love her soon enough.
They all did.
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I really like how you've portrayed Dante, especially in the very end. And I must go now, but much love to the fic!
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the soldiers of Amestis - should that be Amestris?
Dante is so childish, being surprised that Edward doesn't want her, expecting him to be just like his father... I almost feel sorry for her. But not quite. That bitch. >.>;
Edward would love her soon enough.
They all did.
Good GOD, she is creepy! o____o;; She sort of reminds me of Lust, but even Lust isn't that combination of scary/squicky!
Dante fluff may be impossible, but who cares when Dante squick is so much fun to read? :DD *such a psychology whore*
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Whoops, thanks you! :D
Dante is very childish. She expects everything to go her way, and everything to happen the way she wants it to. Rejection and failure aren't in her vocabulary. Yeah, Dante is the only character I have no sympathy for whatsoever. I even have sympathy for Envy.
She is so creepy! Lust has some of her traits, especially when it comes to men and being wanted, and I figure that Lust would pick up crap like that from Dante. And yeah, Dante squick is wonderful! She's so.... evil. And unapologetic about it!
And speaking of Lust: 28 Lust Pictures! (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v197/ladyfeylene/Lust%20Caps/)
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Oh, about the rot she is dealing with-- does Lyra really have leprosy? And Dante didn't know about it at first? That might be the only way I could feel sorry for her... her life *does* suck, but it's her own fault! D:
PICTURES!! *glee* I've downloaded them all, in case you need to remove them at some point.
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That's all explained in episodes 44 and 45. :D At the point this fic is written, Dante has no idea what the hell is up with her rotting skin. :D
Yay!
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What I see the most that makes me feel for him? He never had a chance. He could have been someone else, someone not so fucked up and twisted, but Dante warped him. Look at his reaction when she turns her back to him and praises Pride for being a perfect creation. In front of Envy. Who knows she was his former life's mother. The detached, dismissive way she treats him, like he's nothing. And he never was, not to her.
Is it any wonder he's so messed up? I put the blame at Dante's feet there.
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Which gives me this image of her reclining on a divan somewhere, making her homunculi feed her grapes and fan her with palm fronds. I'm not sure why.
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And by the way... I loved this. So marvelously creepily in-character.
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Thank you! Dante has grown to be one of my favorite FMA characters. :D
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I'm totally reminded of 'The Thing on the Doorstep' now.