-1Disclaimer: Characters herein are not mine, I am making no money off of this.

Warning: Adult situations, you have been warned.

Author's Note: Inspired by the Nightwish song 'Feel For You'.

Barely Cold In Her Grave, Barely Warm In His Bed

"Barely cold in her grave
Barely warm in my bed
Settling for a draw tonight
Puppet girl, your strings are mine"

She wasn't fully done yet. Oh, she looked human enough - her body was fully formed and functional. But the mind wasn't there the way it should be. Envy was used to it, having lived through so many growing homunculi before. He never ceased to be fascinated by the way they developed, slowly and feebly like a child born sickly.

This one had grown fast, though. Funny, considering she was the current Sloth. She was pretty enough, Envy decided, watching her as she gobbled down the red stones he offered. Slim and pale and petite, nothing like Lust. He wondered how much she looked like who she had been.

Envy had never set eyes on the whore who had taken his father, nor the twisted fruit of the hateful union, but he imaged he could form an image from the blank-eyed woman that sat before him. Certainly the bitch had been small and fair. And she'd given birth to two brats? Envy was surprised such a small woman hadn't died in childbirth. But he supposed women, all women, were built to bear offspring.

Had she been pretty? Sloth was. But Sloth held that odd, otherworldly beauty that all homunculi held. The dark eyes, dark hair and death white skin were head turning. Especially when coupled with such petite and delicate features. She looked like a porcelain doll, sitting there and watching him with uncomprehending eyes.

Dante had plans for this one. Envy didn't much care, he only wanted to look at what was left of the woman who had taken away his father. It was a cruel irony, wasn't it, that she was now the same as him.

Had his father loved her? Mourned her? Envy wasn't certain he really cared, but the questions preyed on him still.

"Come here," he said, still watching the living doll that would soon be as human as the rest of them. Sloth responded, already understanding of human speech even if she couldn't form it herself. Envy leaned back, letting his eyes move over her. What did she care if he was ogling her? Lust wouldn't like her. Envy didn't care. Lust could do with a bit of rivalry. She wasn't the alpha female as much as she liked to think she was.

Envy knew that this woman wasn't really the whore who was the object of so much of his rage. But she was as close as he would ever be, now that the bitch was dead. He wanted to make her his, to destroy any vestige of hold that his father had over her. She was his now, in a way. He had hand fed her, watched her grow, tended to her when Dante was busy. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to own her as his father had owned her before him, to leave his mark on her.

"Here," Envy said, patting his lap as he watched her. She sat awkwardly, jerkily, still unsure of her fully developed body. She was cold as the grave against him, the warmth of the stones not yet touching her skin. It was like holding a corpse. A beautiful corpse, but a corpse all the same.

Looking at her closely, Envy found her more desirable. More desirable than Lust, certainly. Lust was sensual and the embodiment of female beauty. Sloth was different - exquisite, ethereal, elfin. She looked as though she'd break in Envy's arms.

"You're mine," Envy whispered hoarsely before pressing his lips against Sloth's. She did nothing, sitting like a dead thing as he kissed her. It wasn't particularly arousing but that didn't matter. He was claiming her as his own, in every way he knew how. Besides, she needed to learn this sooner or later. May as well be now.

"Open your mouth," Envy ordered, drawing back from Sloth's silken cold lips. She did as she was told, parting her lips and remaining that way. This was arousing, the complete control that he had over her. She was a blank canvas to be bent to his will, shaped and molded as he so desired. Lucky for her that he only wanted this possession. Dante would kill him if he did anything else.

With her lips now parted, Envy kissed her again. He explored her mouth, her perfect small teeth, the smooth skin of her cheeks, the delicate ridges that lined the top of her jaw. She made no move of resistance, allowing him to do as he pleased. Had he kissed her like this? Did some part of her remember? He'd burn it away, one way or another.

"Here. Move your mouth when I do it, alright?" Envy took one of Sloth's hands and placed her fingertips to his lips, mimicking the movements he'd made against her lips. Her fingers were slender porcelain shafts, frigid against his lips. "Like that."

Again he kissed her, and this time her mouth moved hesitantly against his. She did learn quickly. Good. Envy kissed her for a while, coaxing her tongue to join his. Perfect. He lifted a hand to her hair, running his fingers through the soft black strands. Her hair was fine and thin like all the rest of her, falling like satin through his fingers.

Envy moved on then, moving his lips along the graceful curve of Sloth's neck. She tasted like ice and grave dirt, ruin and cold. At the place where neck met shoulder Envy closed his teeth over her skin, biting sharply. Sloth hissed but did nothing else and Envy drew back to admire the mark he had left on her flawless skin.

"You're mine," he repeated, his teeth in her skin reinforcing his claim to her. "You belong to me." Would she remember his words, when words made more sense to her? She had better. Envy's hands moved over her body, tracing the lines of her small breasts down to the slight curve of her white stomach. She was a living statue, Galatea in alabaster. With every pass of his hands over her Envy repeated the mantra. "You're mine." He wanted the words burned into her, burned into him, burned into the fabric of existence. This woman belonged to him.

"Spread your legs," Envy ordered, his own voice touched now with desire. Sloth's legs were as pale and perfect as the rest of her, slim curves and fragile lines. And cold. Envy's fingers moved along her thigh, bruising the skin with pressure, one arm supporting her back. She arched out of some deep seated instinct when he reached the apex of her legs, her thin shoulders thrust back and her small breasts tipped upwards. Even there she was cold.

"Mine," he hissed, his hand working between her legs. She made a mewling sound, one shoulder drawn up to her cheek in a parody of remembered pain. Her body was virgin new, and Envy buried his face in her neck as he repeated his claim. She was lovely, writhing on his lap in some mix of pleasure and discomfort.

He unfastened the garment at his waist and drew it back. Now, for this, he was fully male. He held her about the waist, his thumbs pausing for a moment to stroke the soft skin of her narrow hips. He could feel the bone directly beneath the flesh. And she moved now, carefully. Her hands were small and insignificant on her shoulders, resting limply like dead birds. He pushed her down roughly, impaling her as he hadn't done for years. She arched once more, her fingers curling into her palms against him. She was so cold. He could feel her chill all around him now, seeping into him as he completed their union.

But she was his now, touched by him, marked by him, taken by him. Nothing was left of any other man who had placed his hands on her body - her body when it had been warm and fresh and alive - or her mind. All traces had been stripped away with Envy's hands and lips and words and body. He drove into her with a fevered pace, gripping her tightly and holding her in place.

"Mine, mine, mine," he chanted in lieu of any sounds of pleasure. Sloth was making some sound as well, either in pleasure of in pain Envy didn't know and didn't care. He found his release quickly, unfamiliar and surprising. He clung to Sloth, his jaw clenched tightly together as he spilled into her, finishing his possession.

"Mine," he breathed once more, falling back and releasing her. She stood on unsteady feet, as cold and pale as she had been before. But Envy could see the difference in his handprints and teeth prints on her body. They'd fade to the eye soon enough, but he would see them every time he looked at her. He would see him, his handiwork, not that of his bastard father. Whatever traces of what had come before were gone now, completely.

She belonged to him.