-1Disclaimer: Characters herein do not belong to me. I am making no money off of this.

Warnings: This fic contains some suggestive themes. You have been warned.

Spoilers: This fic contains spoilers for episodes 21, 22 and 40.

The Shape of a Man's Desire

The temple was untended and dusty. Since second the fall of the false priest, it had gone unattended and unrepaired. Lust perched on the broken alter, her ankles crossed and her chin resting on her palm. She hadn't visited this place in some time - it was different now. It was dying.

She didn't know quite what had brought her here. It wasn't her Master, though she knew the woman was around somewhere. Lust had no desire to be in her company, however. She wanted to think. It wasn't the Elric boys, either. They weren't difficult to follow - they left a trail as wide as a river. There was something else that had called her to this place.

It was quiet in the old temple. Gluttony was off somewhere in the building, rooting about for scraps to eat. Lust allowed him his freedom in this place; he wouldn't go far. And his absence made it easier to think, to let her mind wander. She was close, she knew she was. Close to that one thing she desired, close to what had consumed her. The others didn't want it as badly as she did, that much was obvious. They didn't understand the craving, the desire. But why should they? They had what it was they wanted so badly. Sloth had that abhorrent child, Envy had his power, Pride may as well have been a human, Gluttony probably didn't even understand what humanity was….

They didn't need humanity like she did. They would abandon this quest at a moment's notice if they were endangered. They all felt too safe, too comfortable in their sinful skins.

Footfalls on the stone floor of the temple caught Lust's attention and she raised her head, peering through the dusty gloom. She had wanted to be alone and had no desire to leave her spot or to kill an intruder.

"You."

The word came out of the darkness like a growl and Lust's lips curved up in a seductive smile. How lovely. The Ishbalite alchemist killer had found her yet again. He looked frightful in the dim light, red eyed and large and angry.

"Fancy meeting you here," Lust said, stretching her arms out behind her and leaning back on her hands. "Have you come to pray? This is a temple to a false god, you know. Not that you seem to have a problem with them."

"I am not here to pray."

"Well I'd hardly venture to guess that you came to see me," Lust said, bouncing her crossed ankles.

"I have no wish to lay eyes on you."

"Pity that we don't always get what we wish for." Lust hopped down off of the alter and fingered a broken candelabra, still dirty with run wax.

"Why are you here?"

"No reason." Lust shrugged. "Why are you here?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, her inhuman eyes picking up the tightness around his eyes and lips. He didn't answer. It was always difficult to think around him. Lust was both curious and vexed by it. He was just a man. She knew how to deal with men. But not with him. Still, she enjoyed his company well enough. And they always seemed to run into one another. If she were a being prone to believing in fate she would have guessed that there was some higher plan bringing them together. She didn't mind.

"I heard music," Lust went on, making idle conversation. "In the city. Is it a holy day?"

"Long ago," the scarred man said, looking off into a distance Lust couldn't see, "there was a goddess worshipped here. Anunit."

"A goddess?" Lust laughed. "And what happened to her?"

"That same thing that happens to all false gods." His voice was like stone.

"And yet…?"

"The old ways hold on," he said with a shrug. "They dance in worship of her name, in their own homes."

"And what is it they dance for?" Lust's voice was teasing.

"Immorality," Scar snapped.

"Well that goes without saying, I suppose. False gods and all." She grinned and leaned against a pillar, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"They work themselves into a frenzy," he went on, "worshipping their heathen goddess."

"Afraid they're slipping from your grasp?" Lust raised her eyebrows and waved a hand at his angered glare. "I'm not insensitive to politics, you know. Please, I hardly care what it is you do, I was only making an observation. Though I would venture to ask how it is you know what goes in these 'heathen rites'."

He didn't answer again. Lust laughed, enjoying his silence and his anger. It gave her power over him, and it was rare she had the upper hand with him.

"I remember there was dancing," she said suddenly, her eyes glazing as a memory faded into her mind. "For Ishballah."

"Yes." He didn't react. "But that was different."

"I see. Only the young women dance, don't they? In some sort of fertility ceremony - I hear those used to be quite popular. Have you seen it?" she pried, impish in both voice and expression. "Do you like to watch them, the young women? The way they move their bodies? I suppose even holy men are allowed to look…."

"Still your tongue!" He turned on her, his eyes burning.

"Shouldn't you be back protecting your little holy girl?" Lust smoothly changed the subject. "Shielding her from the heathens?"

"She is well looked after."

"Of course she is." Lust tossed her head, shaking out her long mane of black curls. "I'm not your enemy you know."

"I know." He didn't look at her when he spoke and Lust moved behind him, studying the back of his neck.

"You danced with me," she said, quietly.

"I did." The words were torn from his throat as though by force, rough and low.

"If I were to dance now," Lust said, moving to stand before him. "I would dance like the heathen girls."

"I know."

"And would you dance with me now?" Her smile was like a devil's. She turned, slowly, the handful of lit candles casting her shadow across the walls and floor. He only watched her and Lust tilted her head, her shoulders angled in a sort of half-shrug. "I don't have any veils. Do they dance with veils like I've heard?"

"They do."

The tremor in his voice excited her. Slowly she was working under his skin, and she moved her hips in a slow circle. She knew how she moved. There was nothing she did that didn't capture a man's imagination. And now she moved in the wan light, her soft boots stirring the dust of the old temple. He watched her. She lifted one arm high above her head as she undulated, and his eyes followed the line from her wrist to her breasts.

"Dance with me?" She held out a hand, her eyes glittering with enticement.

"No."

"You're no fun." Lust pouted and pressed against him anyway, molding her shapely body against his. "Afraid of a little sin?" she teased.

"Get off of me."

His words told her to get away but he made no move to push her off of him. She rubbed her body against him, twisting and writhing and moving her body the way she imagined the heathen girls did in their pagan celebrations. She ran her hands over the curves of her own body, rolling her shoulders and twisting her hips to unheard music. He stood like a statue, his skin warm against hers. His hands, once clenched at his sides, found her hips and rested there. They were large and strong and felt comfortable. His eyes were closed. She melted against him, lithe and limber and catlike. Her head fell back against his shoulder as her hips swayed. His cheek against hers was rough. She felt him against her then, his desire for her undeniable now. She turned her lips to press a kiss to his cheek and tasted sand on his strong jaw. She wanted his lips, strained for them, one hand sliding up to press his cheek, to turn his lips to meet her own.

"Enough." The hands on her hips pushed her away and the moment was broken. Lust stumbled and turned, her hair falling into her face.

"You really aren't any fun," she said, tucking her hair back behind her ears. She could hear Gluttony now, snuffling his way back the main room of the temple. "And I suggest you go back to wherever it is you go. We aren't going to be alone for very much longer. I suppose it's better you stopped me. I hate being interrupted." She smiled and hopped back up onto the alter, watching him as he watched her.

"You are a demon," he breathed, his skin flushed.

"I never said I wasn't," Lust responded with a shrug. He tightened his fists once more and moved as though to yell or strike out at her. But he didn't. He turned from her, his shoulders set like an iron bar, and left the old temple.

A demon. She found herself retracing her thoughts as she watched the place where he had stood. She could still feel him against her, warm and hard and wanting.

No. None of the others needed humanity as much as she.