(A/N: So I generally dislike it when authors include elaborate dream sequences...but I like to write them, so yay for hypocrisy.)

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At this point, keeping a written record of events is possibly the worst thing I could do.

And yet...

So what if it could potentially get me killed? Same could be said of this entire business. Same could be said of my becoming a soldier. Same could be said of stepping out my front door every morning. Everything entails a risk, but we move forward because the risk of not doing so has the potential to be even worse.

And I am at risk of losing my mind, for the sheer volume of thoughts within it, which I can safely express to no one else.

So, if you feel you have the courage to explore the private thoughts of Zolf J. Kimblee, have at it. Assumedly you will be horrified/disgusted by what you read, and I will be revenged upon you for snooping.

Now then.

This writing is also a record, documenting a phenomenon which is both unprecedented and highly disquieting.

The hostility of my fellow researchers has ceased to be entertaining. A joke told too many times. Each failed chimera begins to seem like an insult to my abilities. The archaic and often poorly translated Xerxian texts concerning the Philosopher's Stone have lost their intrigue and merely seem impetuous, as though deliberately defiant. Our deficient sacrifices and limited resources become increasingly infuriating. Even the secrets to which I am privy have become burdensome, the revelation which I was given but can share with no one. I am restless, I dislike this subterfuge, this bland and meaningless pretense which I am forced to maintain. Although I am good at acting the role necessary, that is not what I find joy in. I want to rip away the mask; I want to see the fear in people's eyes when they look at me. When they know the truth.

The cause of my dissatisfaction, however, lies elsewhere as much as in any thing I have thus far mentioned. While these complaints are valid, I did not view these problems as such when…ah, I struggle to even write it.

The truth is, journal, I am infatuated. Besotted, smitten, sweet-on – whatever tooth-rottingly saccharine term you like. I face this realization with a mixture of horror and fascination. Thus far in my adult life I have never experienced such a thing, and had come to believe that I would not. I assumed I was incapable, and the few who truly know me would have agreed. And I cannot say that I am grateful for this, nor that I am fond of it.

I brought it on myself, this much I will admit, and neither did it come as a surprise. I was aware of what was happening, my rather unprecedented feelings. Yet I was taken unaware of just how acute they had become. Again, I cross into irritatingly mawkish territory when I say this, but one truly does not know the importance of something until it is removed. (I am reminded of a previous test subject whom I accidentally asphyxiated. That man likely had never given much overt appreciation to the air, until he found himself deprived of it, drowning in his own blood.)

So, Invidia is gone, without a word, and I find myself – I must force myself to put the word down in ink – pining. It has only been slightly more than a week since we last saw one another, but whether a few days or a few hours, I have difficulty of thinking of anything else (my vital research, for starters, which might explain how I let a perfectly healthy subject suffocate while preoccupied with brooding. How I hate incompetence, particularly my own.)

Historically I have felt nothing but pity and mild contempt mingled with curiosity for those who place their happiness in the hands of another. Perhaps this is fate teaching me the error of overconfidence. Even my precious alchemy offers little consolation. Not that it matters to me any less than it did, but it is food when one is dying of dehydration.

I miss Invidia's company terribly. It was a source of boundless amusement to witness the way (he? she? it? Pronouns, they fail me) observed the other researchers, viewing them as the hawk observes the field mouse. That fierce yet neutral predatory objectivity. The viewpoint of one who has studied humans in terms of how best to destroy them, yet who is nonetheless profoundly and unapologetically alien. For the first time in my life, I knew someone with whom I could be both be honest and maintain an amicable relationship – and someone who I simply like, all else aside.

But now, I must ask myself, am I just another field mouse, to Invidia's bird of prey? It is not with self-deluding egotism with which I say I am different from other humans, but perhaps I am still too human, even at that.

Yet just as any addict knows their poison makes them weak and yet cannot deny it, so I too cannot even fully reject these silly sentimental hang-ups. As discontent as I am at the moment, had I the choice to erase these emotions, I would likely opt to keep them. That, above all else, tells me how badly I've fallen.

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The worst punishments were always the ones which involved a loss in sense of time. Although prone to complain about it, Envy could tolerate a great deal of pain, but not for eternity. And, alone in the darkness, it might just as well have been.

Coherence waxed and waned as its body tried, and failed, to heal itself around the penetrating objects. Each was something Envy could have escaped individually, although it would have had to rip its body apart in the process. The bar through the brain, however, was its undoing.

Envy's consciousness kept guttering out like a candle in the wind, as its body tried to restore itself and could not, around the foreign implement. Working within the brief windows of lucidity between its brain partially healing and failing over and over, it would take…a long time, a very long time, to pry itself out. It was pinned so tightly that transformation was, if not impossible, counterproductive. Even the slightest alteration of size or shape involved ripping and rending everywhere, around all the skewers which had been thrust carefully, meticulously, between every bone, tendon and vital blood vein possible. As soon as the process was begun, the sheer amount of physical damage which ensued caused Envy to lapse back into death.

Its body worked just well enough, between windows of darkness, to still feel pain. Figured.

The ascents and descents into nothingness were almost as bad as the agony of full consciousness, for in that brief span of time, Envy could dream.

There were very few things which Envy dreamed about. Only a small number had to do with its own life. The most common theme was 'Greed' dreams, generally involving him either leaving or having already left, his absence. Sometimes, just before he left or as he was leaving, he would kiss Envy, and it was bittersweet for a moment, until Envy realized that the stone in its mouth had been stolen in the kiss. Then its multitude of lives would rot off its bones, severed from their source.

Then there were the 'human' dreams, generally involving the things Envy did while under cover. Usually, the dreams involved being found out. The human façade would be ripped away and they would see Envy, not just in its usual form, but in its small, weak, ugly one. Envy usually awoke from such dreams in a murderous rage.

However, the vast majority of Envy's dreams were not dreams at all, nor were they Envy's. When it slept, it relived the last moments of the people of Xerxies.

Envy was generally outside in the dream-memories, surrounded by pale buildings and palm trees stretching up to a bright, clear desert sky darkened with impending nightmare. Envy was one gender or the other, with sun-kissed limbs and hair of flaxen or gold.

There would be a blood-chilling, breathless sense of foreboding. Then, doom fell. The pain, the terror, of having one's soul ripped away from its body. In the absence of physical form and powerless to resist, it was dragged to the epicenter, the place where the stone was being forged with the raw power of many thousand lives. Every stolen soul was screaming.

There came the understanding, in death, of what they could not have known in life, that their king had betrayed all of them, had sold them out to a power beyond their reckoning. They were to be the blood-price of immortality. And they were drawn into a cloud of darkness, an inhuman consciousness contained within a flask. They were with him, of him, they were him…

It was from those dreams which Envy usually awoke screaming.

But now, lost in the endless peaks and valleys of its shifting consciousness, a new nightmare seeped out from the confines of Envy's hemorrhaging brain like a cold, insidious fog.

In the dream, Envy is lost in the void of lost souls…or maybe it is Pride's darkness, full of razor teeth and leering eyes. Perhaps it is some mixture of the two, for Envy seems at once at risk of being sliced and pierced, and of falling away into the cold, infinite emptiness. An icy, shrill wind howls around it, or maybe that is the sound of all the souls wailing. Underneath, fading in and out of perception, there is Pride's indecipherable, ominous whispering. Screams and whispers. There's so little of Envy left, too little to keep out the wind it can feel whistling right through its insubstantial form.

Greed and Kimblee are present as well. There and yet not there, in the way bits and fragments of different thoughts and ideas can be presented in dreams; intersecting and yet not interacting. Symbols taken out of context. They are together in a mercifully inexplicit way, more sensual than sexual, in a manner which almost seems to transcend the fact of physicality.

In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, Envy is consumed with itself, the bitter taste of jealousy like bile in the back of its throat. Greed has not a glance to spare on Envy, even to gloat, too satisfied with himself and his new toy. And what a toy he is. Envy's dream representation of Kimblee is not more attractive than reality per se, the attractiveness is merely emphasized, like a diamond under lights. Glossy black hair like wet ink makes a striking contrast against pale skin and immaculately white sheets, which are both slightly luminous. Envy is caught in this half-light, and this seems to be the only thing keeping Envy in existence.

They fit well together; a striking couple. In the face of bitter jealousy comes resignation. This makes sense. This is how it should be.

Greed, every inch of him hard, sculpted predatory perfection, leans down and sinks shark-like teeth deep into Kimblee's throat, spilling red into the darkness, splashing across pale bedclothes and skin now cool in death. Greed, in his avarice, consuming his possession totally. Envy doesn't know if it is sad or angry or more jealous than ever.

The dream shifts, the darkness shudders. Envy flirts with consciousness for a moment like a drowning swimmer reaching for the light of the surface. Encounters crushing pain which cannot be endured. Flounders. Body fails. Darkness falls again, and the dream resets itself. It's just Kimblee now, sitting there in layers of once-more white cloth. No Greed, no blood. He reaches out a glimmering, tattooed hand into the darkness. Every fiber of Envy's rather deficient being is suddenly oriented to that gesture, like a magnet to the North.

Invidia.

Slowly it stands, although there seems nothing under it to support any weight. One wrong step will send it into the void, and sometimes even the right steps are sharp and piercing. They are not far apart, and yet takes an impossible effort of will to cross that small distance.

Finally Envy is there, sitting on the edge of the bedding, glad of something to anchor it. Kimblee reaches out and pets Envy like a cat, with his touch drawing it closer. Envy knows he's warm, although in the dream it cannot feel it. His touch is gentle and exquisitely painful, and it seems like Envy might shatter down to each fragmented soul under the tension.

Without missing a beat or altering his expression in the slightest, with his fingertips he begins to casually shred a little more of whatever is left of Envy's being. And his eyes become dark holes, in which countless smaller eyes open. Then the incandescent shell of him is shredded from the inside with razor shadows, and the light is gone, and Envy doesn't have enough of itself left to scream.

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Envy was wrenched back to consciousness by the pain of having every piercing object ripped out. It was Pride rather than Greed, Envy saw, once it could see once more, and for a moment it panicked as though it were still in the nightmare. Still mostly pinned, however, it could do nothing about it.

Finally, and with both of them participating towards the end, every skewer was removed and Envy fell to the ground, coughing on bits of splinters and clots of dried blood. Any gratitude Envy might have felt was offset by the knowledge that Pride could have intervened at any time, yet had still chose to leave Envy pinned to the wall for so long. Days, perhaps, judging by the spider webs in Envy's hair, and the frostbite that had corroded it everywhere there was any flesh left to blight.

Pride's actions probably had less to do with desire to help Envy and more to do with foiling Greed's devised 'punishment'. Come to think of it, Pride might be the reason Greed wised up to what Envy had been doing so quickly. Envy made a quick note never to accept help from Pride ever again. It should not have needed to be reminded.

"It was a nice touch, using the human against Greed." Pride said, as Envy spit out a nail that had gotten inside it somehow. "However, do not trust Greed to get revenge on Kimblee for you."

Envy did not respond. It could have stood up, but had no will to, remaining in a heap on the floor. For a moment, Envy wanted simply to not…be.

"Envy." Pride said sharply, and Envy sat up and listened because it was used to doing what Pride says.

"I said, you must not trust Greed to get revenge on the human for you."

"No." Envy managed, although its voice was a rasp through a cut-up, partially obstructed throat.

Pride smiled. "Shall I avert my eyes tonight?"

It was not Pride's job to keep the human alive, after all. That was too time-consuming, considering how many people hated Kimblee. If someone was to murder him while he slept, well, even Pride could not be everywhere at once. Not quite.

"Yes."

In the shadows, sharp teeth were bared in a hundred grins.

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Envy had carefully planned its revenge.

Greed's had been simple. Familiar. Envy knew how it worked, between them.

Kimblee, though? That part was more complicated. It had to be subtle. Too heavy-handed, and it would be as though Envy were admitting it cared. If their plan had worked, if Envy had given in and given the human what he wanted – and, by extension, what Greed wanted – then Kimblee would certainly have died a very painful death. However, that was not the case. Envy wasn't technically looking for revenge. It was looking to take back control.

As Envy crept through the darkness of Kimblee's living quarters, it forced itself not to think about all that could go wrong. In terms of fortitude, this moment was not its best, still recovering from its recent ordeal. It had to remind itself that this was just normal darkness, not Pride's shadow, not the void inside. Both things still felt very close, as though one wrong step and it would be cut, would fall…

A whole different fear took over as Envy edged up to Kimblee's bed. It was not practiced at seducing people. That was Lust's job, and Greed's hobby. Envy stepped in to mimic a person, and by extension a relationship, which already existed. Making this first step was not in its experience. If there was any chance of Kimblee turning it down, Envy would not have had the nerve. It reminded itself how hard the human had been trying to win it over, all his careful manipulation. He would only assume his plan had worked, that Envy had been won over and was falling into his arms like a little whore. He would not say no.

All the same, Envy's hands shook as it pulled back the blankets and slipped underneath. Kimblee was sleeping on his back, at least, which made things easier than they might have been. Slowly, carefully, quivering with the anticipation of being blown to pieces, it slipped one leg over the his sleeping form, straddling his hips.

A man from Xing would comment, years later, that Envy's body was disproportionally heavy for its size. However that, like all of Envy's features, was variable. Weight could be an advantage in a fight, but at the moment Envy weighed about as much as one might expect to look at it – not very much at all. It wasn't Envy's intention to break the human's pelvis. Not yet, anyway.

His warmth made Envy aware of how cold it was, having been left for so long underground and dead. For a moment, Envy was tempted to forget about the plan and just kill him, imagining how lovely it would be to lay here in his warmth until it was utterly spent, without fear of betrayal. Who cared if Greed had his body, if Envy claimed his life? But he was already stirring, coming back to his treacherous self, and the brief opportunity was gone.

Before he was fully conscious, Kimblee knew who it was on top of him as if he had been given a written notification in advance. Only Envy's lips could be that cold on his cheek, his jaw line, his neck…

He reached up, laying his hands on the homunculus's sides. Envy froze, as though it hadn't intended to get caught in the act. In was certain, for a moment, that it was about to become a humanoid bomb. That wouldn't be the end of it, but it would be painful and humiliating; both things which Envy had had quite enough of recently.

Yet for once, explosions were far from Kimblee's mind.

"And here I'd thought you had forgotten me." He murmured, rubbing small circles with his thumbs, feeling how distinct the ribs were beneath his touch. All bone and muscle on this creature, no softness to speak of.

"No." Envy said, relieved at being intact. "Greed just nailed me to a wall for a few days."

"A few days? Are you alright?"

Envy seemed well enough, but it struck him as rude not to ask.

"I'm fine." There was a slight waiver to its voice, but this might have been due to Kimblee's fingers running up the length of its spine as much as the falsehood.

He sat up, so that Envy was now sitting in his lap, wrapping one arm around Envy's waist while the other drew the blankets closer around them, the better to warm Envy. It didn't escape his notice, how Envy didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" He felt he had to ask, because while Envy was certainly being quite forward, it was also a very dramatic change. They had never even kissed before, after all. The surprise was welcome, but it was a surprise, and he wanted to be certain.

"Yes…" Envy still didn't fully look at him. "I should have done this a long time ago."

It thought for a moment that Kimblee might argue, but he merely leaned in and pressed his lips to Envy's. There was the initial plunging fear and revulsion. Envy had kissed before, although never as itself. Most people just mashed their mouths up against Envy's, shoved their tongues inside and slavered like dogs. The more enthusiastic they were, the more rushed and sloppy it was.

And yet this…this was nothing like that at all. The contact was gentle, slow and deliberate. He put attention into it, as though he was kissing Envy just for the sake of a kiss alone, rather than rushing along to get to the good stuff. Weirdly, miraculously, the apprehension melted away. Envy realized that it…it liked this, and was horrified that it did. When he started sucking and nibbling on Envy's lower lip, it felt like it just might go insane. Its mouth opened of its own accord, and their tongues brushed together. Envy moaned into Kimblee's mouth.

Kimblee was feeling a little out of his mind as well, in more than just the usual way. Those little sounds Envy made, the way its nails dug into his back through his tank top…it was his favorite fantasy made real. It was excruciating to take this slowly, but so worth it...

"You wouldn't believe how much I've thought about this. About you." He whispered, slightly breathless, pulling back and shifting his attention to Envy's neck, kissing and sucking, punctuated with sharp little nips. "Every night," kiss, "since we met", bite, lick, "I've dreamed of having you in my arms." He sucked for a moment, raising a hickey fated to vanish as soon as it was made.

Envy moaned, louder than before, tightening its grip on him. It could not become aroused from this, it lacked the requisite anatomy and hormones, yet there was a reaction. Its stomach was a flurry of butterfly wings, and hundreds of nerve endings it had never been aware of were called to tingling attention beneath Kimblee's mouth and hands. Nothing had ever felt like this. Some sort of tension was building in it, coiling inside, so taut it felt like something vital might snap…

What the hell was this? It was suppose to be Envy in control, not whimpering and writhing under Kimblee's touch like a bitch in heat.

Yeah, that little voice in the back of Envy's mind, which sounded a lot like Pride, commented. I'll bet Greed enjoyed it too.

Envy forced itself to think of that, that cold, sobering thought that killed each of the fluttering insects in its stomach. With new resolve, Envy shifted just enough to create a bit of space between their bodies. It reached down between them, and with one finger began teasing the head of his cock through the fabric of his pants. He was hard as a rock already, and Envy smirked at the way his hips jerked slightly, seemingly involuntarily. Good, he was more worked up than he let on. With that assurance, Envy slipped its hand under the elastic waistband and gripped his length in earnest. He made a low, appreciative sound as Envy began working his member with firm yet painfully slow strokes.

Envy found a surprising - no, appalling - enjoyment in that as well, that which should have been entirely disgusting. It was...satisfying, to be in control like this, to make him moan, make his breath hitch in his throat as Envy quickened the pace. To feel exactly how much he wanted Envy, Envy. No matter what had or would happen with Greed, this moment belonged to Envy and no one else. Envy adored that and hated that it did.

It was apparent to Kimblee that either the shape-shifter had explored this piece of anatomy on its own form, or had had a lot of practice with others, for its touch was not that of a novice. Even so, since when did he lose all his composure, just from a bit of fondling? He couldn't bring himself to care overly much. It just felt too good, Envy was so…

"I'm curious." The object of all his desires whispered in his ear, "is a hand-job enough, or do you actually have to fuck me before you can say you won your bet?"

It took a moment for the words to register, yet when they did it was with appreciable impact. Fear and desire clashed, and he was lost in the struggle for a moment, torn between his mental this-is-bad and his physical I-don't-care-don't-stop.

He had been breathing heavily, and then for a moment ceased to breathe at all. The look on his face was exactly the look a man would have when they realize that, not only have they angered a monster, but said monster could crush his balls with the slightest movement of its hand.

Envy did not choose that moment to unman him, however, merely watched his fear with cold satisfaction.

"That's the problem with telling me a lie I like so well. I might like the lie of you better than the truth of you. And if the real you has to die, so the lie can remain unsullied…"

"I haven't been lying." His voice was low, strained.

Envy's fingers tightened ever so slightly on him.

"Uh-huh." It voice was coolly cynical.

He took a deep breath, struggling not to find words, but to choose the right ones. He considered himself a skilled rhetorician; let that be true now if ever.

"Will you hear my side of it?"

"Why would I do that?"

"…Food bill?"

Envy pulled back. "Huh?"

"I've fed you several times." It was one hell of a reach, but it was all he had. "That should at least earn me one chance, as little value as human lives are to you."

Envy scowled. "Chintzy bastard."

"If it keeps me alive."

Envy sighed. Normally, hearing them beg was the best part, but this was hardly normal. It had no desire to see Kimblee use what had seemed, for a moment, like a genuine bond between them as ransom to save his own life.

"Don't bother." Envy let go and slid off of his lap, standing. "It's not worth it for me to kill you, nor do I care about your reasons. I just want you to know you lost." It turned to go.

"Invidia –"

Salt in the wound Envy was pretending not to have, that nickname. Envy rounded on him, all but snarling.

"Call me that again and I'll rip your cock off!"

"You owe me a chance to explain." His voice was more decisive now.

"Why?" Envy took a step towards him, threatening. "What do you think you'll get from it? Even if I swallow every lie you tell me like an idiot, I'll never put out!"

"What lies am I supposed to have told you?"

"Think I'm gonna make it that easy? I've been doing this longer than you have." It made to leave again.

"Invidia."

Envy turned again, incredulity rivaling anger. "Are you trying to make me kill you?"

"I'm trying to make you stay."

"Even if I do, what could either of us hope to gain from that?"

What could be left to salvage?

"You could gain a cup of tea, if you wait for me to boil water." He pushed the blankets aside and stood up. "Then we can actually talk, which it seems we very much need to."

Envy bristled. "Just that you're being amicable after what I did is enough to make me doubt every word you say!"

"What did you do, aside from start something you don't intend to finish?"

"I threatened you. A-and even so, you must be…unhappy…"

Envy could only think of what Greed would do, when denied something he wanted.

"On the contrary." Kimblee smirked as he passed Envy in the doorway. "If every threat made to me included such a sweet caress, my life would entirely more enjoyable."

In reality, he was somewhat uncomfortable now, having been brought so close and then denied release. Still, in terms of what an enraged homunculus could do to a human, he figured he was singularly lucky if the worst he dealt with was the deep ache of pent-up tension.

Envy was grateful to the darkness for hiding its blush, as Kimblee made his way into the kitchen.

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(A/N: Happy Christmas smut, thanks for reading!)