FIC: Fullmetal Alchemist: Dependence
Title: Dependence
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairings: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Rating: NC-17
Warnings:: ( skip) No warnings apply.
Word Count: 800
Summary: Riza is in control, except when she isn't.
Notes Written for PornBattle XI, which I used as an excuse to be a bit experimental. I'm not sure how I feel about it - tell me if you think it works?
It happened, like everything else, at the office. When his hand brushed her's, she met his gaze and nodded. Roy nearly ruined it by opening his mouth and asking if she were sure, but then he remembered: Riza Hawkeye had not been unsure since she donned a blue uniform, and he knew it. They stared at each other, standing outside of the door after hours. Her hand hadn't moved away from the lock, yet, and she turned the key again to unlock the door with a click that echoed in the empty hall.
The dance back into the office was a strange one, more a game of tag than a seduction; he touched her, she withdrew, he stepped forward again and it started over. When at last her hips hit the edge of the big desk she allowed him a small victory. He unbuttoned her jacket with steady hands, but when his hand slipped under her turtleneck she shook her head. He drew it back and looked up at her with eyebrows drawn together and lip poking out just so, the kind of expression that made women either laugh or cry, but she did neither. Instead she continued to stare at him for a few moments more before pushing him over the desk in her place.
"I need-"
"I know." Her voice never rose or fell below a certain volume. There weren't any pants or cries, no begging, nothing so undignified as a whimper. Only Riza's clever hands, releasing his belt and pulling his trousers down with the same efficiency she would use to field strip a rifle, moved between them. Her lips thinned into a nearly invisible line and Roy couldn't have that, couldn't have the coldness in her eyes anymore. Instead he leaned up and kissed what he could see of her mouth, teasing it open with a curious tongue until she couldn't help but let it go. Her eyes eased then, too, with just enough warmth that he knew the need wasn't one-sided. And, now that he looked, the lightest dusting of color spread across her fair cheeks.
The thick canvas of his trousers pooled at their feet, followed by Riza's only moments later, and Roy bit his lip to keep in a laugh. Under the gender-neutral sobriety of her uniform he saw a pair of sheer and lacy panties. The hand that darted between her thighs found them wet, too, another little sign of humanity that made the entire thing even more surreal. Did she wear these every day, he wondered, and would he ever be able to concentrate again with this new and secret knowledge?
"Sir," she said when his eyes glazed over, and then: "Roy."
"Riza." He feared for his life when he pulled the barrette loose to let her hair fall over her shoulders, but she only gave him an approving smile. He might even get her to put down the gun sometime.
"Hawkeye," she said. "It's Hawkeye."
"Hawkeye."
When he hesitated, she hooked her thumbs between her skin and the edge of her underwear, pulling them out and down until they hit the point just above her knees, giving him plenty to look at - and plenty to touch. Instead of diving in, though, he kissed her again to ease some of the tension he saw creeping back into her eyes. "Hawkeye."
Not content with his hesitance, Hawkeye grabbed his wrist and brought his palm between them, pressing it to herself. Roy hummed in response and let his instincts and long experience take over. He turned them, again, so that she rested under him against the desk; she hopped on top of it and spread her knees apart, taking her underwear even further down below her knees. "Are you going to take all night - sir?"
"I like to make sure the lady has a good time first." And true to his word, Roy dropped to his knees in front of the desk and pulled her panties down over her boots before dropping them on the floor.
A woman like Hawkeye unwound in stages, Roy thought: first her expression softened, and then her hair came down. After a few gentle touches to the right places, she tilted her head back and laughed breathlessly while her hands got away from her and combed through Roy's hair. Orders fell from her lips as though she was born to give them - she was - but Roy is too busy enjoying the sound of it to really obey until she grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him up.
"Want-" she said, but corrected herself, "Need you."
"Coming," he said, not thinking of the double meaning until it slipped out. They shared a brief smile before Roy wrapped himself around her again, his chest pressing into her's and his face nuzzling her hair as he slid into her. She gave shivered as they moved together across the desk, and cried his name out softly when he came.
"Riza," he breathed, and she didn't correct him.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Characters/Pairings: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Rating: NC-17
Warnings:: ( skip) No warnings apply.
Word Count: 800
Summary: Riza is in control, except when she isn't.
Notes Written for PornBattle XI, which I used as an excuse to be a bit experimental. I'm not sure how I feel about it - tell me if you think it works?
It happened, like everything else, at the office. When his hand brushed her's, she met his gaze and nodded. Roy nearly ruined it by opening his mouth and asking if she were sure, but then he remembered: Riza Hawkeye had not been unsure since she donned a blue uniform, and he knew it. They stared at each other, standing outside of the door after hours. Her hand hadn't moved away from the lock, yet, and she turned the key again to unlock the door with a click that echoed in the empty hall.
The dance back into the office was a strange one, more a game of tag than a seduction; he touched her, she withdrew, he stepped forward again and it started over. When at last her hips hit the edge of the big desk she allowed him a small victory. He unbuttoned her jacket with steady hands, but when his hand slipped under her turtleneck she shook her head. He drew it back and looked up at her with eyebrows drawn together and lip poking out just so, the kind of expression that made women either laugh or cry, but she did neither. Instead she continued to stare at him for a few moments more before pushing him over the desk in her place.
"I need-"
"I know." Her voice never rose or fell below a certain volume. There weren't any pants or cries, no begging, nothing so undignified as a whimper. Only Riza's clever hands, releasing his belt and pulling his trousers down with the same efficiency she would use to field strip a rifle, moved between them. Her lips thinned into a nearly invisible line and Roy couldn't have that, couldn't have the coldness in her eyes anymore. Instead he leaned up and kissed what he could see of her mouth, teasing it open with a curious tongue until she couldn't help but let it go. Her eyes eased then, too, with just enough warmth that he knew the need wasn't one-sided. And, now that he looked, the lightest dusting of color spread across her fair cheeks.
The thick canvas of his trousers pooled at their feet, followed by Riza's only moments later, and Roy bit his lip to keep in a laugh. Under the gender-neutral sobriety of her uniform he saw a pair of sheer and lacy panties. The hand that darted between her thighs found them wet, too, another little sign of humanity that made the entire thing even more surreal. Did she wear these every day, he wondered, and would he ever be able to concentrate again with this new and secret knowledge?
"Sir," she said when his eyes glazed over, and then: "Roy."
"Riza." He feared for his life when he pulled the barrette loose to let her hair fall over her shoulders, but she only gave him an approving smile. He might even get her to put down the gun sometime.
"Hawkeye," she said. "It's Hawkeye."
"Hawkeye."
When he hesitated, she hooked her thumbs between her skin and the edge of her underwear, pulling them out and down until they hit the point just above her knees, giving him plenty to look at - and plenty to touch. Instead of diving in, though, he kissed her again to ease some of the tension he saw creeping back into her eyes. "Hawkeye."
Not content with his hesitance, Hawkeye grabbed his wrist and brought his palm between them, pressing it to herself. Roy hummed in response and let his instincts and long experience take over. He turned them, again, so that she rested under him against the desk; she hopped on top of it and spread her knees apart, taking her underwear even further down below her knees. "Are you going to take all night - sir?"
"I like to make sure the lady has a good time first." And true to his word, Roy dropped to his knees in front of the desk and pulled her panties down over her boots before dropping them on the floor.
A woman like Hawkeye unwound in stages, Roy thought: first her expression softened, and then her hair came down. After a few gentle touches to the right places, she tilted her head back and laughed breathlessly while her hands got away from her and combed through Roy's hair. Orders fell from her lips as though she was born to give them - she was - but Roy is too busy enjoying the sound of it to really obey until she grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him up.
"Want-" she said, but corrected herself, "Need you."
"Coming," he said, not thinking of the double meaning until it slipped out. They shared a brief smile before Roy wrapped himself around her again, his chest pressing into her's and his face nuzzling her hair as he slid into her. She gave shivered as they moved together across the desk, and cried his name out softly when he came.
"Riza," he breathed, and she didn't correct him.