Work Text:
Albedo heard his lab door handle turn as he was cleaning up his supplies. He didn't look up to see who it was; he already knew. Familiar footsteps echoed closer to Albedo's desk, and he heard a soft thud as the person shed their cape onto his floor. He heard quiet huffs before he finally looked up and locked eyes with his intruder. Scaramouche gave a small bow, to which Albedo returned. The Balladeer's hat had been discarded on the floor next to his cape. His hair was slightly disheveled, with tiny snowflakes glistening at the tips. Albedo sucked in a breath. No matter how many centuries he has come to know Scaramouche, his beauty still entranced Albedo like no other.
Albedo pulled out his sketchbook and pencil as Scaramouche situated himself on a loveseat. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back. Truth be told, Albedo has already committed him to memory. Every mole, every lash; he knew the doll's body better than the back of his hand. That didn't stop him from asking Scaramouche to pose every time they saw each other. It was an excuse, really; simply a game of pretend they played. They both knew it. So Albedo prolonged it. He erased more than he should. He added more hair strands than necessary. The Balladeer didn't mind. Secretly, he wanted more time with Albedo too. Secretly, he craved to be in Albedo's presence and drown out the world.
The two didn't talk. They rarely spoke. They seldom exchanged pleasantries; there was no need. They had a deep understanding of what the other needed, and speaking ruined their little game. Sometimes, Albedo stopped drawing to look up at the puppet. Sometimes, Scaramouche looked back. Most of the time, however, the doll's eyes were closed. And occasionally--though it had been happening quite more now--Albedo would walk up to his model and softly caress his face. Scaramouche would lean into the touch, clinging on as if Albedo would disappear the moment they let go. Their faces would inch closer, and their lips would touch. It was always gentle, like an unspoken confession.
Today was no different. Scaramouche snaked his hand into Albedo's hair, his jointed fingers intertwining with the blonde locks. Albedo's sketchbook was discarded at his desk, the drawing of the puppet already finished. Scaramouche's hands roamed down the homunculus's body, moving up to lightly trace Albedo's star. He loved how the blonde's breath would hitch over the smallest touch over the mark. He reveled in the tiny whimpers Albedo made as Scaramouche trailed his lips from the alchemist's cheek down to the pontil mark on his neck. He blew lightly at the star before peppering the mark with kisses. Albedo whined at the sensation, his own hands moving up to the back of his partner's neck. The Balladeer gave a pleasant hum when he felt the blonde's soft fingers circle around his Electro symbol. Their lips glided down each other's body, marking each other's skin.
Albedo's coat fell to the ground as he tried to push the kimono off Scaramouche's shoulders. The doll's back was pressed against the loveseat as the alchemist's body engulfed him. He felt greedy; he needed more. Scaramouche's hand was back at Albedo's head, tangling into his hair and pulling him closer so their lips would meet. Scaramouche moaned into his mouth, pressing himself closer to Albedo. They knew every part of each other's bodies; they knew exactly what to do to drive their partner wild. For a moment, they pretended that they were normal, that they were simply just two human lovers.
But they knew the truth more than anyone did. They were two artificial beings who found solace in each other's loneliness. No one understood Scaramouche more than Albedo, and no one knew Albedo like Scaramouche. They have witnessed centuries together and watched many people they grew fond of die. They desperately clung to each other in these little moments.
In the end, Scaramouche always had to leave. Again, they didn't speak. They never say goodbye. Albedo never knew when he would see Scaramouche again, and he never asked. The Balladeer lifted up his coat and hat and departed from the alchemist's lab. Albedo looked back at his drawing before closing it and tucking it away in the bottom drawer.