Jean only realized that they were going to miss their dinner reservations because Winry pulled away from him, giving him a glance at the clock on the opposite wall. Literally, that was the only reason – if she'd kept on kissing him, as she had been doing when she initially sat up, he wouldn't have noticed if Barry the Chopper had come barreling into the room with his machete.
He didn't want to say anything. It was cold and snowy outside, and things were rapidly heating up in his little bedroom. Winry's weight was settled at his hips, her weight rocking against him in just the right way. He was already painfully hard and straining against his pants, and he was pretty sure if they stopped now he would… explode, or melt, or cry, or experience some other heinously undignified outburst.
Still, girls could be picky about stuff like that. Best just to make sure.
He looked back at Winry, and his mouth went dry. Somehow, when he was mentally debating whether or not to mention their dinner reservations, she'd gotten her top off and was working on the hooks to her bra. Her breasts were right in front of him, just begging to be touched.
"Ah… wha… dinner?" he managed to stammer out, and Winry paused in her efforts, her arms still folded behind her back, to give him a quizzical look.
"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, in an innocent tone that Winry was very, very good at, and usually employed to tease him. One of her bra straps slid down. He could see the tan line from her tube top.
He shook his head, and Winry laughed, leaning over to kiss him again as she shrugged out of her bra. "I didn't think so."
It was easy to get lost in a girl like Winry, soft and sweet and warm against him. It was especially easy for Havoc, who wasn't quite used to having a girl like Winry right in front of him, who knew exactly how to nip at his lips and slide herself down his body, palming his erection through his trousers before freeing him.
Jean wondered if he was drooling. "Uh," his tongue was utterly tied at the sight of her, one hand wrapped firmly around his cock, and a look in her eyes that indicated she was going for the kill.
What he wanted to say was that she didn't have to do this, that this wasn't expected of her, that he was just glad she was here for god's sake, that this was kind of beyond his wildest expectations and that he wasn't entirely sure he deserved this.
He wasn't sure how much of that came across in that one little utterance; a grin unfurled across Winry's face, and she pressed a kiss into the crease of his hip. "Relax," she murmured against him, right before her hand moved and was replaced by her mouth.
Jean's response was a strangled gasp – he always marveled at all the ways Winry could leave him both speechless and breathless, because she seemed to know exactly what to do in order to make him squirm and buck helplessly against her.
She flipped her head, her golden hair fanning across his stomach and thighs, and the feel of her cool, silky locks against his skin almost pushed him over the edge. His fingers grasped at the locks, his back arched and he drew ragged breaths as he tried to maintain some semblance of self discipline.
Then he made his fatal mistake: he looked down at her just as she glanced back up at him. They made eye contact: she with her endlessly blue eyes, darkened by desire, peering up at him through her long bangs, with him in her mouth. Jean barely had time to gasp out a warning before he came so hard his body was still trembling some minutes later as she crawled back up to lay next to him.
He tried to marshal his scattered wits. "That was – that –"
Winry smirked at him, leaned over and kissed him gently. "I know."