Envy doesn't quite look around as he walks down the corridor; he has every right to be there, he has every right to be there. The others may disagree, but fuck them -- they have no idea who deserves what.

Fuck them.

They are never quite kept in storage any more, though they used to be -- they're too needed these days, there's always something to do, and sometimes they're even given rooms like civilized human beings. Envy looks around; he knows what he's looking for, and that it should be here, but can't see anything useful on the first glance.

He's a shape-shifter, and in a way so is what he's looking for (which is only right as his son) and there's no need to rely on first glances.

Envy finds a decorative box in the corner, large enough to hold a woman's old dresses. He lifts the lid, finds a book inside, and calls out, "Wrath."

Wrath emerges from the book slowly, his paper becoming flesh, until the book fully unmerges and drops to the floor. "What?" he says, irritably. "I was reading."

It takes Envy's large, silent grin to make Wrath look up and see who it is; Wrath's entire position immediately changes. His face lights up, and he throws himself at Envy, wraps his arms around Envy's neck to hang, kicking his feet, like any child might. Envy puts his arms around him and places spindled fingers against Wrath's tiny ribcage, like birds fluttering. "Hello," Wrath says, his voice a tone as pleased as he can ever become now, his feet planting themselves against Envy's upper thighs so his body forms a vee from Envy's neck to his legs. "Did you miss me, Father?"

That's his private nickname and Wrath knows enough to not say it around the others; Lust and Sloth, at least, wouldn't understand, would report it with their bitch attitudes and their superior air, as if Envy isn't the oldest of them all, as if he doesn't remember everything that's gone on before they were made.

"Of course I missed you," Envy purrs, and Wrath smiles a rictus grin full of teeth, a familiar grin, then lunges up.

The kiss starts light, chaste, a 'proper' kiss, maybe a little long, but that's fine. Envy grins into that, waits, and Wrath howls, attacks his mouth with teeth and tongue, tries to lure Envy out.

Envy thinks he could wait until Wrath is in a franzy, he could wait -- but doesn't want to, he decides, it's better now, now, now, now. He meets Wrath's tongue, so that they dance in the open air; he growls into Wrath's mouth, and Wrath purrs back, flicks his tongue against Envy's, sucks Envy's tongue between his lips.

Bare toes flex against Envy's thighs, and Wrath's feet slip; he falls so he's dangling from his arms about Envy's shoulders, his chest bumping Envy's with air-sucking force. Envy lets him hang, hanged by the neck, and lets go of Wrath's chest and back to slide hands into the wild mass of black hair, teasing it out with long fingers until the boy is wild, until he's wild.

Wrath whimpers against Envy's mouth, the backs of his toes curled against the front of Envy's knees, he's that small.

And he's my son, Envy thinks, with a bizarre sort of pride. I found him, I made him out of the red-stone forms of embryos, I was his father and mother and midwife. None of the others have that. None of the others can ever have that.

"Father," Wrath sighs, and Envy grins, bites teasingly on Wrath's lower lip.

And he thinks of Hoenheim Elric, the stupid bastard, remembers how he acted when Envy was born (Cold, the bastard, cold, the sins are a tool, the homunculi aren't even human), remembers how he changed after those few years away, how later the only thing he could talk about were Edward and Alphonse, Edward and Alphonse, how are they now, I wish I could go back and see them, Trisha will take care of them, Edward and Alphonse.

But Envy's been watching them since they became useful and they haven't met yet, they're going to meet soon, and Edward will hate Hoenheim, it's the only sane response to a man who made you and abandoned you, it's the only thing to do, it's what you do.

And then I'll have the only thing you can't have, Envy thinks, purring into the kiss. My son loves me.

Wrath is snarling, biting, and Envy thinks of time flowing away, of things he has to do, and thinks that he could leave Wrath like this, could go, but he doesn't want to.

And besides, his son is Wrath -- there's no stopping him now.

Laughing, Envy lets Wrath bear him to the floor.