This segment was hard to split up, cuz it read like a huge chapter...but I hope I can make it connect well from where I cut it off.
TITLE: Caricature of Human Intimacy
Author: Youko Fujima
PAIRING: Ling/Alphonse (both as a girl and as a boy)
RATING: NC-17 overall (This chapter is R)
WARNINGS: Overall, non-consensual sex, sexism, molestation (in large numbers), gender-bending, etc
AL'S GENDER IN THIS CHAPTER: FEMALE (this fic consists of half-and-half Al as a boy and as a girl)
BETA: circe67, thank you!
SUMMARY: How do you treat a piece of flesh offered up from a foreign land if you have never been trained in morality?
Previous chapter here.
Nudging the double wooden doors to his chambers open just a crack with his thigh, Ling kicked the heavy doors aside when they did not give immediately and moved both himself and the girl in his arms into his room. He shifted her weight on his arms in an attempt to push the curtains to his box-bed open, but when the mesh curtains refused to give due to their all-too gossamer property, Ling opted instead to just lay the girl down on the autumn mattress of his bed and pull out whatever parts of the curtains that had caught under her. She stirred and looked up at him, though not exactly with gratitude, as Ling had sadly expected from her. The look she gave him, however, made him smile. It was a look of some confusion, though mostly tainted with resentment; not yet directed at him personally, but at the current situation as a whole. She was, indeed, not completely a woman mentally, it seemed.
“What is your name?” he asked her, pulling a chair up to the bed where she struggled to sit up. Her hands still covered herself in an attempt for modesty, yet she did not even think to pull Ling’s jacket over her. She seemed to resist depending on him from the very beginning and Ling was starting to wonder if her cry for help had been his own hallucination of machismo.
The girl stiffed her upper lip. Her eyes were still foggy from the drug, though they were more focused than before, which showed that whatever they gave her was wearing off. She did not answer him.
“What. Is. Your. Name,” Ling tried again, slower to make sure he pronounced each word correctly. The girl quirked an eyebrow to show that she understood him, but still she did not answer. Ling glared at her and looked into her eyes, which he found were gray-green, but at certain moments seemed gold, like a cat’s. The spirit behind it was more stubborn than that of any cat, though.
“If you don’t answer me, I’ll have to give you a name I choose myself,” Ling announced, tapping his chin,. “How about ‘Xiao Mao?’ It means ‘Kitten,’ you might like it—“
“Alphonse,” she interrupted, “My name is Alphonse Elric.” Her tone was full of repulsion that he even considered naming her like a pet and her voice was a bit higher than he had remembered hearing it from before.
“That’s a boy’s name, isn’t it?” Ling asked, recalling the textbooks and picture books bearing names of a male artist by that name.
“That’s because I am a boy,” she retorted, attempting to stand up. Ling grabbed her wrist and made her sit back down, noting with some heat rushing to him, at how her barely covered breasts bounced as she plopped down. He leaned forward and poked at one of the bumps attached to her, pleased at how it yielded under his fingertip. She gasped and moved away, offended.
“They don’t seem to be parts one would commonly see on a boy,” he remarked. She covered her breasts now with both arms and squeezed her legs shut again. Her glare intensified and she seemed to snarl, just a little, though the rising blush on her cheeks betrayed her defiant demeanor. Shuffling on the mattress of the bed, she moved to distance herself from Ling. He did not make a move to draw closer just yet.
“Does your country endorse in actions like this?!” she yelled, turning her shoulder towards him. She seemed to look about for something, maybe a weapon or a way out.
“It’s for examination purposes,” Ling explained, moving closer, “Now, how did you get like this?”
Alphonse looked away and once again did not answer, choosing to play the role of a deaf mute. Ling pulled his chair over so that he was sitting across from her and asked her again. “What did you do to make yourself like this? You claim you used to be a boy, but unless you are able to provide proof with whatever science you used, you are just a piece of flesh.”
There was a flash of gold when she moved for something on the bed, and when the hard pillow was hurled at his face, Ling caught it easily. As he threw the pillow aside, Alphonse made an attempt to escape, finally pulling Ling’s red jacket close to her shoulders in a futile effort to cover herself. Her bare feet made uneven pit-pat sounds against Ling’s stone-tiled floors, a sign that she was still sluggish, so Ling gave her until she reached the door before standing up and rushing to slam and bolt it before she even crossed the marble threshold. Enraged at how he toyed with her, Alphonse spun around and connected the brunt of her elbow into Ling’s solar plexus. If she had been in full control of her body, that blow could have very well knocked the wind out of him.
Ling was intrigued by her show of fight and decided to play along again. He swung the side of his hand at her ribs, grinning when she reacted correctly by leaning her body down to soften the blow, as well as putting up her arm, bent and supported by her one hand, so that her forearm and upper arm caught the impact at the same time, but by the way she curved her body, Ling noticed that she had not anticipated the way her arm would press into her breast, hindering her movement. Apparently, she was not used to fighting in this body and it was more proof that she may very well have been a boy. She lunged forward, then, as she made a move to punch the soft area under Ling’s jaw, and he knew then that she would not back off until he was a vomiting, bruised pile of flesh on the ground. So, taking full advantage of her sluggishness and discomfort in her own skin, Ling captured her arm with his left hand, and made a grab at her one breast with his right, digging his fingertips and nails harshly into her flesh. She howled in pain, as expected, though she attempted to kick him and wrestle away. Swiftly, he released her breast and knocked her square in the temple with the ball of his palm, sending sparks into her vision and to keep her from continuing any more attacks, he swept his foot under hers, knocking her, stunned, into his arms. He promptly carried her to his bed and dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress before climbing over her prone body. Alphonse writhed beneath him, her gold hair spilling over her face, her breasts, and Ling’s sheets, as fine as the gold silk that the Emperor wore.
“You know,” Ling whispered, unbuckling the thick leather sword holster across his chest, “if you had not been drugged, you could have probably matched me in a fight.” He threw the leather holster aside and pulled up the red jacket she had on, along with her arms, wrapping her wrists above her head. One hand then grasped at her breast, squeezing it severely and pulling it in a straining manner, more in a way to torment her than for even his own pleasure. She winced, but bit her lip in a refusal to grant him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.
“And by the way you fight, it almost seems like you were trained within a boy’s body,” Ling continued, “So I’ll believe what Tso said about you for now and ask you this again—how did you do it?”
“Why would you want to know?!” Alphonse shouted, trying to at least turn onto her side, “What good would it do you?!” She yelped when he grabbed her other breast and pulled it in the opposite direction of the one in his left hand, and using them as a means to turn her onto her back once more.
“Because what you did was almost a step away from human transmutation,” Ling breathed, leaning in to bite on her shoulder, “And I need to know how you did it.” Her skin and flesh were definitely a female’s, soft and supple. Though he himself was not a pharmacist, Ling had heard about human transmutation and if Alphonse had been able to alter her body perfectly from a boy’s to a girl’s, then there was very well a chance that if her science were refined, it could very well rejuvenate or reconstruct human cells and unlock the mystery to eternal life, or at least long-lasting youth, He wondered if his labored breathing was from lust or the idea that the key to his becoming an Emperor was lying literally right underneath him.
All he needed was to get it out of her and he was willing to use any means necessary.