[elricest; nc-17] State of Grace
Happy Holidays, bleedingsand. This one's for you. Surprise. ♥
Title:State of Grace Author:emilie_burns Pairing:Edward Elric x Alphonse Elric Rating:NC-17 Word Count: 407 Warnings: Smut, incest, yaoi, and gratuitous, shameless abuse of biblical imagery. Which I wrote after church. Why, yes, I'm a naughty, dirty, very bad girl. :D ... !!!! >_> Oh, yeah... ^_^;; And EoS/Movie spoilers. Betareader:yuuo Summary:The adoration of the spirit made manifest, lips forming prayers, begging and pleading for salvation. Original LJ Post Date: December 19, 2005 @ FM_Alchemist
"Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered." - Romans 4:7
The service always began with praise and worship. The adoration of the spirit made manifest, lips forming prayers, begging and pleading for salvation. The laying of hands, touching the redemption, tracing muscle and cupping supple flesh.
A blasphemous union, sinner and savior. The perfection of the divine yielding to the hungry, questing touch of a body scarred and damaged by sins. Lips craving forgiveness freely given, hands stroking affirmation of salvation and grace. A communion of flesh, sinner partaking of the body of salvation, mouth enclosing flesh both hard and soft as velvet. Communion of body not broken, of life spilt yet not blood. Moans drawn forth, the sound sweeter than any voice in the choir of Saint Paul's.
Alphonse was his brother, his younger brother whom he had sworn to protect, damned be the cost. Damned be himself. He craved his brother's touch, craved him, craved the grace and mercy bestowed upon him, and for those moments, feeling lips he so often feared he would never restore, feeling hands he feared he would never see again, Edward found himself suspended in his own state of grace.
Gentle hands, heated need, whispered affirmations of forgiveness and salvation. Mercy. Al was never loud, his voice as gentle as his spirit, mewling in prayer, begging, as he would writhe underneath him, flesh against slick flesh. Edward rarely came then, too caught up in the fascination of rapture on Al's face, not quite able to believe that it was him who was bringing that much pleasure to that precious face. Him, the damned, the sinner, the one who cursed them both, trapping Al in armor for years.
It was only when covered in grace, under him, helpless against the bedsheets, against the grass, against wherever they found a moment alone amid war-torn Europe that he surrendered. The sinner restored, graced in new flesh of rebirth and made whole, worshipping the divine, the scarred savior. Gratitude so sweet it pained him -- did he ever do anything to deserve it? Every moan, every caress was worship, praise for blood shed in the place of another, adoration for suffering endured for salvation. The lines between fallen sinner and battered savior blurred when his breath would come in short gasps, and he whispered the name of gods, his god, his brother and salvation and grace, clawing and crying, overwhelmed by forgiveness, by love he had no right to expect.