Midnight Snack
Disclaimer: Nope. It's just what you thought: FullMetal Alchemist is not mine.
The ceiling was yellow . . . a bright, sunshine yellow that still looked loud and vibrant, even in the dark.
She'd been watching it for two hours straight now, desperately trying to ignore the boisterous snores that rattled the walls, coming from the bed beside hers.
Gluttony.
He slept as stridently as he ate, guttural growls emitting from his throat, the bed creaking noisily as he rolled over and murmured zealously about food.
So it always took her awhile to go to sleep when they shared a room in an inn. And back at Dante's mansion too, where his room was right next to hers, downstairs, because he wanted to be close to her and supposedly the kitchen.
She should've been used to his thunderous slumbering by then. But she wasn't, each throaty inhalation vibrating off of her body and drilling into her ears.
It was a total nuisance. But it was also Gluttony, her faithful partner, so she had to deal with it, plus the occasional knock on the door to quiet down whatever "bear" she had stashed in the room with her, fighting the instinct to strike at whoever it was through with her spears.
She groaned tiredly, turning over and brushing dark locks from her violet eyes.
A soft, irritated sigh was released from full lips. "Must you sleep so loudly, Gluttony?"
He answered, much to her surprise; she hadn't expected him to, as she'd always thought that his deep snores meant that he slept so soundly, not at all listening to her restless complaining.
But he was, sitting up and blinking at her with blank eyes. "I'm sorry . . . so sorry . . . happens when I'm hungry. Very hungry."
And he slept like that all the time.
A shrewd smile graced her face. "You're hungry."
"Yes!" His voice was high . . . eager, like a child being promised a treat.
She took a glimpse at the clock that was set on the nightstand beside the bed. They had ample time for him to grab a small snack, even though they had an early-rising mission for Dante the following morning.
His vacant eyes pleaded with hers as he murmured, "I'm so hungry . . . please, Lust? Can we get something to eat? Pretty please, Lust?"
She stared at him.
That was his routinely beg: with an 'I'm so hungry', 'please', and so on and so forth.
Was he constantly so famished? He was Gluttony after all, and his sin meant that he was gluttonous, perpetually greedy, wanting to consume everything and anything.
But did it really mean he was hungry? Or just had the insatiable urge to eat? What was being hungry, really?
She had never actually experienced the need to devour anything but Dante's red stones because they were addicting and upped her strength, health, and abilities.
But she did eat on occasion, when he was bored or on an information-gaining meeting with some human and they'd offered her something.
Other than that, she didn't know, or acknowledge if she did, the feeling . . . if there even was a feeling.
But obviously one existed, because there was always pain etched across Gluttony's face whenever he made a request to her for something to eat, always some sort of agony. That was frankly the consistent cause of what brought her to give in with a yes every time: the unidentified anguish painted on his fleshy features.
"Please, Lust?" His eyes were gleaming in the darkness, intense and inquiring. His bottom lip quivered, a droplet of drool dripping onto his chest. "We'll be fast. One snack, one. One, one, one. Please?"
She finally averted her gaze, swinging her pale legs over the edge of the bed. "Fine, then, Gluttony. Let's get you something to eat."
His face was instantly active, but she saw behind it. He wasn't entirely contented . . . no not yet.
The night was cool and brisk, the gentle air surging through her thick tresses and the wind fluttering the ends of her dress. Even though the breeze felt nice, she still had to pull the cloak that she'd acquired sometime in the recent visit to Ishval tighter around her body. Gluttony lumbered about three paces behind her, his steps and breathing heavy. She could hear the sporadic splatter of his slobber hitting the pavement.
She glanced back at him, at his familiar awkward stride, feeling her black eyebrows furrow. What he wanted to eat was beyond her; his eating habits were from abroad, but he could never go wrong with a human. It wouldn't be too difficult to find one anyway, even if it was late, people hardly prowling the streets.
Gluttony was moaning something incoherent and breathless behind her, his meaty arms dragging on the sidewalk after him.
"What was that, Gluttony?" She asked impatiently, not even bothering to face him.
"I'm hungry, Lust," he whimpered dolefully. "So hungry. Need something to eat. I'm hungry."
She remember distinctly when that used to be bothersome, back when she'd first met and gone on her first mission with him and every time he'd whined to her about needing food, she'd ignored him or edgily told him to be quiet and knock it off.
She'd figured he was just being overly-voracious because it was his sin and he couldn't help it and didn't really need anything; he was just Gluttony, which meant he had the urge to eat but wasn't actually hungry, right?
It seemed she was wrong about that, about him, nowadays; she wasn't so sure if her theory was correct. She didn't like witnessing his sorrowful expressions, hated listening to his distressed pleads for food. They sounded so real . . . as if food was honestly crucial for him, as if . . . something would actually happen to him if he didn't consume . . . .
She'd been semi-sympathetic from then on, feeding him when he needed to be or when she thought it necessary.
"I know, Gluttony," she slowed her pace so that he could catch up. "Just hold on. Do you smell anyone nearby?"
He paused for a second, lifting his bulbous nose to the air. And then he pointed straight ahead, right into a dark alleyway. "There. Human. Food. I'm hungry. So hungry."
She gazed into the confined space between the two buildings, narrowing her eyes. There was a brunette-haired child . . . about eleven years old exiting a door from one of the buildings and carrying a large, black garbage bag over his shoulder, heading toward one of the trash cans.
"But not for long. You will eat, Gluttony. I assure you."
He peered up at her then, his eyes glazed over with a large amount of appreciation, so much that it put an odd sensation in her belly. Gratitude. Gratefulness. The emotion lit up his face and she just had to turn away, yanking her hood over her head.
They approached the boy slowly and perhaps silently if Gluttony's mouth hadn't been watering like that, causing the child to flinch, startled, and drop the bag he'd been hauling.
"Hi," he said graciously, even though his youthful voice wavered a little.
She leaned coolly against the side of the opposing building and gave him a little finger-wave. "Hello."
In the soft moonlight, she noticed the boy's cheeks blush a bit, as if he'd never been confronted by a beautiful woman late at night in an alley before.
She smirked at that. How cute.
"I-if you're here for food, t-the entry's on the o-other side," he stammered nervously. He pointed at the door he'd just came out of. "That's for staff only."
Gluttony was twitching anxiously beside her, eager for his feast. His drool was like a waterfall.
The kid took a staggering step backward, alarmed.
She grinned maliciously at his expression."Oh, we are here for food. Just not whatever repulsive meals you serve."
Gluttony stepped forward, his fat tongue lolling out of his mouth. "I'm hungry, Lust. Very hungry. Extremely hungry."
She shrugged, crossing her arms. "Go on then. Eat. I did promise you."
Gluttony leapt at the boy, his jaws opening wide, while the child crashed to the ground, crying out when the immense homunculus landed on top of him.
"What're you doing?" he yelped, fearfully as Gluttony's acidic saliva flooded onto his face. "Stop it! Stop!"
"I'm going to eat you," Gluttony hissed, moving his face closer to the boy's. "I'm going to swallow you up. Chomp, chomp, chomp."
Lust blinked from the sidelines, watching the boy's horrified face as he flailed uselessly. His cries were horrendous, blood-curdling and desperate. She couldn't tell what were tears and what was slaver that drenched his face.
Gluttony took a huge mouthful of the kid's left thigh, crimson blood dribbling from his doughy chin. The boy wailed hoarsely, punching vainly with small fists.
"Please stop! Stop it, please! Get off of me, you slime! Why are you doing this? Stop!"
Gluttony froze for a second, gulping on the flesh. He was hesitant, Lust could see, lowering his eyes.
"Because I'm hungry . . . ."
She sighed. This would never work.
Gluttony would regret. He always was remorseful after a snack on a human. Every time. But it always depended on how the human reacted. If they were surprised or expressionless while being eaten, Gluttony would only mourn for a little, maybe a tiny whimper. But if they responded with terror, begs, and so much emotion, Gluttony would shut down afterward . . . just stare at the bloody puddle in which scraps of the demolished body lay, silent and . . . scared.
Scared. She wasn't sure at first in what that . . . look had been on his face the first time she'd seen it, but she was positive now. Gluttony was scared.
And he regretted . . . regretted eating people. Regretted eating humans.
After the initial display she'd ever seen of his lament, the earliest display of his odd, not at all simple-minded silence, she didn't like it. A silent, lifeless Gluttony was not a Gluttony at all. And so she always stopped his feasting procedure whenever he started to get troubled.
"Gluttony, stop." Her voice was soft, the quietest sound in the deafening alleyway, yet full of authority and charge.
He did stop, his chest heaving profoundly, even though he groaned, his voice agonized, "But I'm so hungry, Lust. Please. I need it. I need to eat."
Her eyes ducked to the petrified boy underneath him, whose leg was bleeding deeply. "You need to stop. Did you see him? His face? You're going to act that strange, distraught way you do later, and I won't tolerate it again, Gluttony. So stop it and come. I'll find you another."
Reluctantly, the larger homunculus backed off, licking blood from his upper lip. "But Lust . . . ." He trailed away, his keening moan echoing in her ears.
She frowned, wondering how anybody could sound so miserable, or even make her name sound so miserable. Not even the child's howls had plucked at her chest nor sent her stomach plummeting like that.
It made her feel . . . the slightest bit guilty of his pain.
She avoided his eyes, examining the chronically trembling child on the ground. He was bleeding absolutely a great deal. He could die, if not treated shortly and correctly. He would probably never move that leg again: too much muscle and vein tissue torn out. Gluttony may have cracked the bone as well.
It was hardly a debate. She casually extended one fingernail and stabbed him through the heart. He choked a little too audibly and sputtered out blood . . . and then was still.
Gluttony could eat him then, if he wanted to, without having to listen to the kid's braying screams. But she could tell he was turned off, facing the other way with a pouting expression.
"Gluttony," she spoke quietly, two words on her tongue that she had never said before. The thought that she actually wanted— no, had a must to say them churned her belly. "I'm—"
"I don't want him," he said suddenly, in a despondent tone she couldn't quite distinguish.
She stepped toward him, feeling a necessity to comfort him (if he needed the comfort), but not exactly knowing how to start. "You don't have to want him. You don't have to eat him. We'll find another."
"But I do want him. I want him. I'm so hungry. I need him." He turned around, staring back at the dead boy and knelt beside him, taking a small sniff. "Can I, Lust?"
She was unenthusiastic to say yes, but she had to give in to his face. That tormented face . . . . Why was it so grieved? How did hunger affect him that way? She came across the same question again: What was hunger, really?
"Go ahead, Gluttony . . . ."
His chews and swallows were audible, as were the crunching of bones. Lust normally didn't hang around while Gluttony consumed; she always had better things to do and told him to catch up with her when he was finished. But when she did stay, she was usually occupied with something else, notifying him to "erase the evidence."
That time was different, though.
She honestly watched him then, watched him ravenously guzzle down the flesh and bones of the child as if his life depended on it. He was sniffling to, as if crying, ripping apart the boy's limbs and swallowing down organs from the stomach. Blood stained his face, his hands, his clothes . . . .
It was . . . appalling, the way he ate, to say the least, although she didn't know if that were the way one was supposed to eat.
Humans didn't eat that way, did they?
No.
No, it was because Gluttony was gluttonous, wasn't it? Did he even have control over his appetite? Was that why . . . he was always so . . . bothered after he ate?
Gazing back over at her sniveling, overweight partner, she didn't know what to think. Thoughts about it had never crossed her mind so sharply before.
Slowly, she cleared a strand of hair from her eyes, glaring at nothing in particular. She needed answers.
The boy was gone, she noticed a few seconds later. The only proof that he ever lived was the clotted blood that was blotted on the ground. She didn't bother tell him to do the evidence erase.
"Gluttony."
He glanced up at her, his mouth tainted a rusty red. "Yes, Lust?"
Questions about him that had gnawed on her mind for some time were instantaneously roused again, tossing around in her head.
She chose each word carefully, noting how . . . earnest he looked. "How is it— how does it feel . . . to be hungry?"
His expression faltered for a moment and she was suddenly annoyed with herself for asking. It wasn't her business. What was she to even care? Why did she, anyway?
" . . . It doesn't matter. Come, let's—"
"No." He was staring at the concrete underneath, taking his index finger out of his mouth, indicating that she listen. His eyes were blank . . . far away. "I'll tell . . . ."
She leaned against the wall, eyeing him intently. "You don't—"
"Lust," he blurted urgently, as if he needed her to hear. "It hurts."
She didn't drop his gaze, even though his words confused her to the fullest extent. And while she'd heard exactly what he'd said, she still had to ask, "What?" and feel the slightest bit ridiculous.
"It hurts," he repeated, his voice despaired. His eyes were hopeless and fraught, watching her with anticipation.
His tone rattled her: it was so unlike the typical, blithe Gluttony. Was what wrong with him?
She stepped closer to him, swallowing thickly. "It . . . hurts you? What do you mean? What hurts?"
His expression was odd, his jaw locked tightly as his eyes darted around uneasily.
Her face hardened as she pursed her lips. "Answer me, Gluttony, you said you would tell me! What hurts you? What actually hurts you?"
She didn't know how she could become so worked up over something as little as a possibly injured Gluttony— he could just heal, right?— but she was, something akin to a . . . an almost motherly frustration and worry clenching at her chest.
He staggered back a step, his hands unconsciously clutching his stomach as he piteously whined, "Hunger . . . ."
She stared at him; the raw emotion in his voice was overwhelming, and she felt an undying urge to . . . she didn't know what exactly, but she wished he would stop sounding so . . . tortured.
He slumped to his knees, as if admitting this to her was too much for him. "It hurts . . . it hurts so badly, Lust, it chews my insides! I hate it. I hate it!" His fists tightened, pounding into the stone-cold floor. "Hunger hurts. It aches. It eats. I don't eat. Hunger eats. It makes me, Lust. It makes me! It hurts, so I eat. It makes me Gluttony."
Her dark eyelashes fluttered and she understood a little at what he was saying. He was gluttonous. But was he really? Or was it just his sin that forced him to eat? Forced him to consume?
"Oh, Gluttony . . . ," she breathed, the pant hitching in her throat. Was that really the reason? Was it really the sin to be rapacious overtaking him, filling him with the reason to eat? Was it incontrollable?
Was it why Gluttony regretted?
His face was full of suffering, hurt evident in his thickset features. "Lust . . . ."
She moved nearer to him, keen to hear what he had to say.
"Yes?" Her tone was unintentionally tentative because . . . well, maybe she did feel unsure about what she wanted to listen to.
He looked as if he wanted to cry then, his face and nose scrunching up childishly, something that normally would've disgusted Lust —what was a homunculus to cry for?— but Gluttony was different somehow because he had always been like that in a way and . . . wouldn't be unfair to think indifferently of his pain? His hurt?
Because she'd felt a lot of it too, with each vision of that red-eyed Ishvalan that appeared to her . . . with every scrap of a memory regarding that necklace . . . .
She . . . she didn't want to think that another homunculus was feeling as distressed as she was.
She rested a hand firmly on Gluttony's shuddering back, her voice strangely passive. "You can tell me, Gluttony. I'll listen to you even if no one else will."
He quivered anxiously for a couple of second before he finally deadpanned in something analogous to desire, "I want to eat you."
She stiffened, but oddly, she wasn't the least bit surprised. "Interesting . . . ."
"No!" He barked, breathing jaggedly. "It's not, Lust, it's not! I shouldn't want to eat you. Not you . . . ."
Her mouth was silent, having no idea what to say.
"I want to feel you in my mouth, warm and tasty. I want to lick you up and down. I want to taste you." He paused, as if nauseated with himself. "You smell so yummy, Lust." His tongue began to dangle from his mouth, saliva trickling to the ground. "I want you."
His words made her involuntarily shiver and turn her eyes away from him a moment. So why didn't he eat her? Surely not because of Dante? He could eat her any day of the week.
"So what's stopping you?" Her tone was nearly inaudible and she was almost tense to hear the answer.
He faced her, drawing his tongue back in. "Me. You're my Lust." His lips turned upward in a half-hearted grin. "And I can't eat my Lust. Never."
She blinked in shock before wordlessly letting one of her own soft smiles grace her lips.
And then she took one of his callused hands her own and led him out of the alley, back toward the inn, deciding that she couldn't let her Gluttony go hungry. Never. She was partially she reason he was inwardly dueling with himself, a reason he had to wrestle with his hunger because she just happened to look so tasty and because of the way she'd used to deny him of his starvation. Which probably made him want to eat her even more.
But the words from earlier were on her tongue again, before she could think. "I'm sorry."
A/N: This was interesting to write. The conflict with Gluttony and his appetite is still sort of unresolved, but he probably feels better getting all of that off of his chest. I hope this wasn't too confusing. Review please and tell me what you thought. XD.