"Anyone can pass themselves off as a normal person… provided they know what does and doesn't constitute heresy."
~Zolf Kimblee (manga chapter 71, page 11)
"Cocoa?"
Kimblee smiled, a disarming, gentlemanly smile, as he offered the steaming mug to the scowling boy.
"And how much will this cost me?" Edward Elric glared at him, hunching his shoulders inside the heavy red coat he wore. "600 cens, is that about right?"
"It's on me," Kimblee stated, taking a delicate sip from his own mug. "But you're correct about the going rate."
Edward made a face, but accepted the drink all the same, wrinkling his nose as his first swig of the hot drink scalded his tongue. It was bitterly cold in the fortress, but although he had taken on the hunched position that all newcomers to Briggs assumed, he hadn't complained once of the cold. Even here, in the fortress' icy halls, outmaneuvered and reluctant, the Fullmetal Alchemist stood with defiance and looked him fearlessly in the eye as they waited for the soldiers to assemble. The boy had courage; Kimblee had to give him that much credit.
It made the job so much more enjoyable. It was clear that the Fullmetal boy was as stalwart as his name. And Kimblee liked strong things.
It was so pleasurable when they broke.
Watching the diminutive alchemist lick the froth from the cocoa off his upper lip, a ripple of anticipation slid down through his stomach, centering heavily at the base of his spine. Strong, yes, but also surprisingly attractive; delicate fingers gloved in white that curled around his mug of cocoa as he soaked up its heat, thin, mobile lips currently pulled down into a frown that Kimblee found quite appealing. Although his form was shrouded in his heavy winter clothing, Kimblee had already seen the sharp cut of muscles that merged almost seamlessly with the automail prosthetics, and the supple skin, lightly tanned and velvety smooth with youth. Edward Elric was like a piece of fine artwork, almost preternaturally beautiful; even the expressions of irritation he so regularly wore were as carefully chiseled as his startling, unexpected smiles.
As if reading his thoughts, the young man cast eyes of molten gold in Kimblee's direction, narrowing suspiciously. The mug of cocoa was still clutched possessively just at his chin, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to clean the remnants of the sweet drink from his lips, and Kimblee found himself longing, with an unexpected hunger, for the opportunity to sully this pristine canvas. To strip the innocence from him as though he were peeling an onion, layer by devastating layer, and dredge the remains through such depravity as would leave the boy's soul indelibly scarred. He could do it- had done it before, to other lovely, idealistic men- and never once lay a finger on the boy. But it would be rather a shame to not touch this one.
"Would you like another?" The question was mild, innocuous, but the young alchemist glared at him as though he'd been offered a pint of blood. The hatred in his eyes was heady; Kimblee could feel the heat between them, like imminent bloodlust, and as always the sensation was deeply seductive.
"No," the boy snapped, still holding the mug. "Let's just get moving. Scar's going to walk off this mountain if we keep waiting."
"My, aren't we eager?" Kimblee murmured in amusement, handing off his own mug to one of the soldiers. "By all means then, Fullmetal, let's begin."
What a delightful day this would be. First, the chance to kill yet another Ishbalan piece of scum. Plans for carnage in the heart of Briggs itself, to carve a bloody crest into the fortress' ice walls. And if he were truly lucky, a chance would arise to set his own bloody crest into the cocky young alchemist's heart.
Things were definitely going his way.