Title: Our Sins
Word count: 2,600
Rating: PG – 13/ T
Characters: Trisha Elric, Kimblee, Scar, smidgen mention of Maes/Roy, a wee bitty assumption of Roy/Riza, Elicia Hughes, Alphonse Elric
Warnings: A little implied-psychopathic-eww-violence, references to sex, use of the explosive 'f' word, angst, fluff, silly… Quite a mash ^^; Also, time-line is different in each part.
A/N: Written for fma_fic_contest Prompt 5: Sins.
Disclaimer: Arakawa and I hold tea parties in big fluffy silly pink Victorian gowns in my head; reality, unfortunately, doesn't take a slice from my imagination. I owns nothing.

Envy

Trisha Elric gazed with perfectly concealed envy at the Rockbells. It was hard not to be a little envious of them. She felt rather bad for doing so, but sometimes she wished that her family could have looked half as happy as the four of them did. Winry's glowing smile at Euri Rockbell only served to remind her of Edward's petulant face, his sulking at the mention of his father... The complete lack of a father.... Blast that damn man for thinking he was a sin, such an idiot, such an idiot -

"Mom"

Her little man; he looked so much like him it was uncanny. Every time she saw her son she remembered him and could never forget even if she wanted to.

Ruffling his hair, trying to ignore the little bubble of unhappiness inside of her; it did no good to dwell on unpleasant things. One day Van would be back, the four of them would learn how to be completely happy; she was certain of it. They would be happy again. Till then she had to squash that insufferable little twinge of envy.

One day...

Lust

Her name was... he didn't remember. Either way she was human and that's all that mattered. Desperate for money, seedy little room, seedy little far off place, no one would notice her gone, he was certain and he couldn't really be picky - he needed - he - he was desperate -

She almost laughed when he tackled her but he didn't care. He ran his fingers over every inch of her skin and her laughter froze; little hitches of surprise. They all knew the drill and this - this wasn't part of the drill. But Kimblee was different; this was what he wanted, needed; norms and drills were not for him.

It didn't take long, he knew how the human body worked, every nerve, every fiber, every bit that was in a being; shock left her defenseless and the sudden wail of her orgasm made him grit his teeth, close, close, oh so close.

Water, carbon, ammonia, lime, phosphorus, salt, saltpeter, sulfur, fluorine, iron, silicon and 15 other elements in small quantities

Break them down, elements under his hands; a human being was a walking mass of chemicals, chemicals that under a skillful alchemist could be broken, moulded -
"Hey, hon. What about - "
Remade into something a lot more worthwhile, explosive. Remade by him.

As the blood dripped down the walls, the clear white sensation of his orgasm nearly knocked him out. Pure bliss; he was only eighteen but he knew, he knew, this was what humans were made for, nothing but this...

Wrath

Someone was tearing the inside of his head out, piece by piece. He opened his eyes but realized his head had been bandaged, through the gaze of gauze he saw people and he raised his arm to move the bandages. His mind vaguely registered that he saw his brother's arm; but then.... it wasn't. The lines and curves, his arm, not his... Not his arm.

He felt himself yell, but that didn't feel like his either. Not his scream, but that of his people long dead, destroyed for something, something they didn't understand in ways most violent.

The clattering of things, noise, shrieks, yells and he was moving. Awareness was slowly dawning up on him; his brain catching up with his body. He didn't care, he was angry, he was furious. He burned, he burned. He didn't care. Blue eyes and blonde hair and skin so beastly fair and all he registered was - they aren't Ishballan.

They weren't his people. They weren't being killed. They were doing the killing. They, they, they... Furious, vengeance, they had to pay, it was burning him, eating him inside to out, they had to know, they had to take responsibility, they had to -

More shrieks and yells around him; blood dripping from his arm and he didn't care. All of them had to pay. Wrath tore through him, eating him up, consuming him, he was lost but he didn't care. They, all of them had to suffer, especially the ones that made his people suffer. They would and he would make them. They would feel his fury.

Pride

"This doesn't bother you, does it?"

Silence

"That - that - did that mean anything to you?"

Whispers, heat, fingers trailing along his body, the same hand guiding his fingers, feel, feel. You're human, feel. It's okay, you only did what they told you to, and you only did what you were asked too. Gentle hands, fingers, blotting out thought and with each touch sending him spiraling, overwhelming sensation. Feel, feel, you're human, you're alive, feel. The softest of chaste kisses to top off an act of - he didn't know - to top off that.

"Roy?"

Hughes wasn't supposed to ask this a day before the wedding, but he was. And Roy knew, without a doubt, that his answer however late he gave, would matter. He knew that for Maes, Roy Mustang came first and Gracia too knew that. Just how much was he willing to ask from his best friend? Just how much...

"Roy?"

You could tell him that he was the only thing keeping you sane, making you feel human, holding you together, the only time in your life you've ever felt most loved.

He could tell him.

But that would mean admitting, admitting he needed someone, giving them ammunition to hurt him. He didn't even know how tolerant society was of homosexuality, bisexuality, whatever he was, whatever that was, he didn't... Admitting he was weak and needed someone. His parents hadn't needed him, the military had used him, just why would he go about admitting and rendering himself weak? Roy Mustang crawling on the damn floor and admitting that he needed, depended, couldn't work well without - didn't want to be hurt; didn't want to admit.

Keeping his pride intact, stifling his heart, "Don't be ridiculous", ending it all, emptying the glass of whiskey. There. Now he couldn't be hurt.

Sloth

Riza Hawkeye shut her front door, leaned against it and stared into the mess that was her apartment. There were boxes everywhere, a few unpacked, most of them sealed, a few made a threatening wobbly tower or two, paper plates, gun oil, clothes, dog-food; all in all her apartment looked like one of a slob.

Appearances, she learnt were everything. Society made snap-judgments based on the way you spoke, look, behaved. Appearances really were all that mattered. Some had to be kept up for the sake of keeping.

Like the way no one was allowed to remember Roy Mustang was an alchemist, that alchemy was a science, that in all honesty Roy was a big geek. All they were allowed to see was the snapping and the spark of fire, all magic, all powerful, not science. A powerful deadly human weapon, the Hero of Ishbal, the Flame Alchemist; no one was allowed to know about the wretched state he became when thinking about Ishbal. Colonel Mustang, to the untrained eye was not a hard worker, he delayed paperwork, he lazed around, he flirted, he tried to feed the damn dog and he spoke of mini-skirts - that was what they were allowed to see. Few knew of the work that he did when no one was around; few remembered he was the youngest Colonel yet and a genius, no one knew the amount of hard work he put into appearing nonchalant. The numerous dates they knew of; the extensive spy network masquerading as dates, they didn't.

People weren't supposed to see he cared, that he was ambitious, because if they saw the determination and drive he had, the clear focused goal; he would be a target for assassination by nearly half the generals in fear of their position.

No one at all, was supposed to know whatever little thing Roy and Maes had years ago. Riza knew - she was surprised at herself for not being surprised. Everyone had skeletons in their closet, to her this was the least terrifying of all skeletons a person could have. Love was love, sexuality be dammed; but then everyone else didn't see it that way.

Appearances really were everything.

Riza had made her decision, to follow him wherever he went, she believed in his dream and for that there were sacrifices.

If people honestly thought Riza's apartment was the way it was because of lack of time then they were an ignoramus idiot. Riza Hawkeye could make time whenever she pleased. Those boxes everywhere, held not a speck of dirt, there was a pattern in the mess, and only the essentials had been unpacked. This mess existed for a reason; because she couldn't settle down, because following Roy Mustang had its risks. There could be a transfer, a coup, anything was possible. She had to be able to pack up and move or abandon everything in a moments notice; she never wanted to be caught unaware or unprepared. The fact that her loyalty and love was reciprocated was sometimes nearly enough for a lot of things. Besides, till Roy became Fuhrer, the office was her home, immaculately clean and organized; it would be enough.

She patted Black Hayate affectionately, "You don't mind me being a slob for a little while longer, do you?"

He wagged his tail happily, she smiled.

Gluttony

Alphonse Elric wished for the thousandth time there was some way he could have prepared himself for having his body back. People really didn't know what they were missing; the things they took for granted.

Everything to his chagrin made him feel rather trippy; smell, taste, touch.

Smell: Everything smelled, everyone smelled; his nose felt like it was assaulted rather violently. Once, he had sniffed around a little manically in Central Office hunting for that faint lingering smell, which turned out to be emitting from Havoc's cigarette. Despite Havoc's extreme bewilderment, he'd handed the cigarette to Al, who decided that taking a puff was in order. He had coughed oh so violently (extreme panic from all sides) - but oh wow - it was strong and it tasted and it smelled and his throat seized and his brain literally shut down.

Taste: Good Lord, food. How could people just swallow down food? How could they reduce something so incredible to something so mundane? There were textures, flavours, heat, cold, spices, oh so many things that went into food! Everything tasted and if he had his way he would taste nearly everything.

Touch: Oh God. That was very nearly earth-shattering, to be touched and to touch. Fingertips, hands, hug - it drove him nearly insane that he could feel. Whenever someone affectionately tried to ruffle or pat his hair, he went nearly cross-eyed with pleasure. Pebbles, rocks, paper, leaves, desks, cats, oh cats felt so soft and furry. Touching himself suddenly went from sounding weird and rather narcissistic to feeling incredible, he honestly wondered why people did anything else. Obviously human beings were a bit idiotic and didn't know their priorities.

Sensory overload they termed it; it was why everyone excused Alphonse Elric for being slightly idiotic. Everyone was being insanely polite to Al, getting amused at his sudden gasps and wide eyes.

But how could they know, they'd never know what he'd gone through, how could he explain it, to have it all come rushing back? It was incredible to be human in every way again.

It was incredible to sit at a table and eat with everyone again; which was what he was doing now. A rather flamboyant ceremony and nearly everyone was there and that made Al very happy. Not to mention, the food was exquisite; not a surprise considering it was being served to the new Fuhrer.

A plate containing something brown was served in front of the youngest Elric.
"Chocolate", someone helpfully replied to his puzzled looks.
He took a forkful of what appeared to be something spongey, warm and gooey; the aroma was starting to make his mouth water. He stared at it and then gingerly graced his tongue with it.

He very nearly died.

A rather frantic moan wretched out of himself, much to the shock of others, even more to his horror. It was involuntary he wanted to shriek, he hadn't obviously meant to moan about food - but oh God. The taste, the taste, the taste, the rapturous taste; fucking hell. He was going to die from pleasure, this felt quite nearly orgasmic! It shouldn't be fucking legal!

A muffled cough brought Alphonse rather abruptly back to reality.

Embarrassing, horrifying, reality in which he wanted to stuff his face with that; that which tasted like heaven, stuff his face with it till he died from over-eating.
The problem now was how to continue eating this and not make any noises he didn't want to make. Also, to make that dammed blush he could feel burning on his face go away.

He could always pretend to be dignified, stoic and expressionless... but then again, he'd done that, hadn't he?
All those years of being unable to express how he felt, all of years of feeling like a rather animated tin-can which didn't leave much room for expression, all those years of well - being stoic and good and watching his brother be the social embarrassment he was. Now, now Alphonse was allowed to express what he felt, and if something was making him moan involuntarily well then -

He swallowed another delicious, delicious large bite and floated to heaven. Another embarrassingly orgasmic noise wafted out of him, but he didn't care. He was too lost in his new discovery.

Chocolate, according to Alphonse Elric, was absolutely sinful.

Greed

He never liked her wearing black.
She irritably picked at her black dress, she didn't want to wear black but her mother had forced her to wear black, she was supposed to. She didn't like it all she didn't want to be here...

Everyone was so quiet, their faces so beautifully stony, some so sad. Her father wouldn't have liked that, he liked happy faces; he liked people to be happy, he even sometimes made Uncle Roy smile.
Her father would have really hated this.

She wanted him to come back home, she didn't want them to put him in a box. She wanted him to come home, she didn't want to hear their speeches, she just wanted to hear the click and see the flash of his camera.

She wanted to go home and find her father there. He would then buy her that new toy that annoying Jimmy had. They would have ice-cream and he would play with her, tickle her silly, read to her, make her laugh and tuck her in for sleep. He always kissed on the forehead; she wanted that to happen to her everyday till she became very, very old.
She wanted her family of three to never change. For daddy to come home, for mommy to stop crying, to understand what was going on...
It was unfair; people were trying to explain that it happened to everyone, that it was life. She didn't care, this wasn't what she wanted.

Somewhere, at the back of her mind she knew she was only looking at the small tiny pictures, like the kinds daddy carried in his wallet, she wasn't looking at the bigger one. She didn't want to know about life and sacrifices and greater good. She didn't want her daddy to be brave and promoted; she just wanted him to come home.

As the first pile of mud hit her father's coffin, Elicia Hughes started to cry.

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