Work Header

Chapter Text

“Enjoy your shirt, Sir,” she said, 

and then she just took it off 
and then she just walked away 
and, while she did, she just looked like


and Roy couldn’t deny he pictured it before, imagined her like that
shamefully so, even he could not dream up 
a woman so


Well, frankly, perhaps it had to do with the specific woman in question. 
Perhaps it was she who was perfect, 
regardless of any of her equally as perfect physical features.

Either way, it was too much.  

It was too much. 
He had to go get her. 
There was no way it could end like that.  

He had tugged her wrist, pulled her into Room Three
with only the intention to at least talk

That’s obviously not what happened.

He could truly promise he wanted to just discuss or something, 
come to an understanding
quell the tension, 
enough to get some sleep and subsequently have the ability
to tolerate Fullmetal’s wedding service and festivities.

There was a dusk to dawn itinerary. 
Riza made Roy swear he wouldn’t complain about it.

But, she relinquished her authority to give him any orders at all 
after ripping off his shirt, effectively stripping down to next to nothing, 
and leaving him to absolutely never sleep again.

So, he couldn’t help it, 
and you can’t blame him.

Roy Mustang swung open the door to Room Three and chased after Riza Hawkeye
knowing his chance to see her again - like that - would vanish in a matter of seconds.

His only chance to exist with her this way, 
like any normal pair of their caliber, 
if there were any competitive contender

such a chance.

He tripped over the carpet, crunched over ice from a complimentary glass
of water he knew he never needed. He flew through that door and reached out
to catch her before she evaporated, disappeared.

Roy stumbled into the wall. Roy looked up, and fortunately so, 
she hadn’t evaporated. Riza, instead, was frozen solid,
forehead against the door to Room Four.

The one barrier that stood between her
and sweet freedom from such a night,
such humiliation.

Eye closed, fists shaking, not to mention particularly chilly from embarrassingly extreme lack of clothing.
Muttering words under her breath, reciting verbatim that entire phone call, a very problematic one as is seemed.

For, during those short ten minutes, there were a handful of various amenities
the little old lady bragged about to Riza while she booked their stay, 
as if there was any other inn available for consideration.  

Ice machine, brand new.  Cold, complimentary water available around the clock.
“Oh, and automatic locks,” the owner gushed.

Riza rubbed her forehead. 
Central was chaos, 
She needed to make this quick.

“Courtesy of Ms. Rockbell, in fact.
Such a talented mechanic, that one.”

Riza held the bridge of her nose, unsure that the theft rate 
in Resembool was substantial enough to call for fool safe locks.

Still, the woman took her time, rambling on, boasting, oh so proud.   
“We’re quite high-tech here at the Owl Inn.”
“Wonderful,” Riza fought off the deadpan.

She didn’t particularly care, at all. It made no difference, 
The room was still booked. There was no other option. 
She had work to do.

So she cut the conversation short the second she got the chance, 
made a hasty get away, rushing back to the office,

hoping the whole place 
wasn’t on fire just yet.

Automatic locks.

It made no difference. 
She gave it no thought.

But now.

Riza yanked the handle down once more, hard. She pushed. She gave up. 
Roy glanced from her hand to the handle to Riza, 
crunched closed eyes, 
numbing the panic
as best as she possibly could.

Roy’s jaw dropped even before she could admit,
absolutely, positively defeated, “It’s locked.”

The laughter began as a bark, no reservation, and most certainly 
no semblance of even some kind of discretion. Roy laughed, 
and choked, and chose to forget about the other two occupied rooms 
only feet away from them. Roy simply clutched his stomach and continued
to pry his eyes open to watch her priceless glare, 
in her underwear, 
locked out, trapped.

Every time he did look up sparked an even louder sort of ruthless snort, 
a strained smothered snicker, deep and relentless, 
filled to the brim with a rich mixture of spite, revenge, 
and pure euphoria.

The tables had turned. 
Roy Mustang now stood as
the winner. 

Riza was livid.

Shut. Up. Sir.” she cut, a caustic whisper,
“and burn down the door or something.”

This struck the smothered snicker back into a larger and louder explosion.  
“You’d rather have me commit arson –“cough, laugh, wheeze, 
“than sleep in a room with me.”

Riza shook, incredulous. Had he not been conscious for the last thirty minutes?
Not only had they slipped, shamefully lost control due to a pathetic, ill-timed, 
most unfortunate dream. But, they both proceeded, individually decided 
to step out into the hall

eager for more.

He had pulled her to him, lifted her up. 
She held him tight to her, 
and gasped.

They were caving and failing 
and buckling under the tension.

Had he suddenly forgotten? 
Roy Mustang: suddenly dull?

Of course, she would rather him burn down the whole inn, the whole town
than go back into Room Three and backslide entirely.  
There would be no recovery if they returned 

“Yes. You’ve been itching to incinerate something all night, after all.”

Roy continued to cackle attempting over and over to contain it. 
He was truly untalented in dealing with such circumstances.  

“Burn. It. Down. Now.”

Riza was way too close to hyperventilating. 
Roy was way too close to suffocating.

However, he did try very much to compose himself, 
think clearly, thoroughly, for just a moment 
mull over the options.

Riza thought then, in that moment, 
she had a chance.

Perhaps he would have compassion.

Roy Mustang was truly soft inside, most particularly around her, right?
There was a chance, right? He would give up his gloves for her.

She knew he had brought them to bed, all on account of his 
charming and irrational fear of inanimate owls. He left his luggage, 
his keys, his shoes, his Captain.

But, he kept his gloves.

He would not die and die mortified.  
He would not die without kissing her again.

She could shamefully understand that, honestly. 
She knew he had them somewhere.

As it turned out those owls might be her salvation. 
As it turned out, those owls could have been.

until Roy proved himself mortal, 
imperfect, and infuriating immature,

quite the opposite as he seemed moments ago 
pushing her into walls, dark eyes, 
a smug, dominate smile centimeters from her lips, 
immortal, perfect, indubitably in control. 

Yet, with only Roy Mustang it could be so. 
Here in front of her, seconds later
he giggled like a schoolboy,

overwhelmingly enjoying the fact 
that his little crush was practically naked, 
and trapped.

Riza couldn’t handle it, her toxic cocktail 
of panic, disappointment, fury, 
and ever persistent lust.  

Riza had ripped off his shirt abandoning Roy to choke on his words, 
bound to haunt his dreams forever. It was a clever play. 

Even so, she waltzed out that door. 
She waltzed out and remembered.  

Automatic locks.

Just like that.

Roy Mustang was now 
the winner.

Riza Hawkeye was not a loser. 
Riza Hawkeye was panicking.

She went back to the very basics, quick on her feet. 
Riza lunged for the door to Room Three, 
open wide.

She knew he would take his time drooling, 
bribe her, she imagined, tug her so close. 
She was sure,

So, instead, Riza lunged for the door. 
Yet, if there was ever a match for Riza Hawkeye,
it was Roy Mustang.

Roy was choking on his laughter, 
working overtime to stifle it, 
keep their cover.

Still, he twisted after her, 

She snatched the handle.  
He snatched her hand and yanked

The door slammed shut. Her skin lit like fire. 
Riza stumbled backward as fast as utterly possible, 
as far away as possible.

Automatic locks.

Damn it.

“Give me the key,” she seethed. 
“What key?” Roy raised his eyebrows innocently, 
coughing back his victorious laugh, his delighted giggles.

“It’s in your pocket,” she cut, muffling the desperation. 
Riza went diplomatic, transforming. Sure, steady, knowing.

The Captain.

There weren’t very many reasons for her to know this. 
So, Roy seemed rather impressed, 
yet not quite that surprised.

He smirked.

“Give it, “ she said.

“And, allow you to lock me out in the hall all night?” 
He scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

“You would not win that fight,” 
she agreed, she threatened.

“Oh?” he tilted his head and grinned, 
“How will you initiate then? Will you just reach for it?”


There was the rub, the grand road block. 
The key was buried deep inside his pocket, inside his flannel pajama pants, 
so deep she would have grip enough to rip them off him.

Restart this whole thing, 
back to square one.

Then there was the fact that Riza couldn’t get close enough
to hit him without smashing her lips into his

He was right. He was genius. She couldn’t initiate. 
So, Riza struggled to stay afloat, returning to her first plea.

“You’re forced to burn it down then.”

“No gloves. Regretfully,” he pulled his pockets free, then of course 
tossed the little key up into the air and snatched it back, 
“I can’t help you, Captain.”

Pure power, 
pure control.

He had the freedom to snicker and snicker, 
to take his time, gawk and admire, 
prolong the agony.  

She had no choice but to resort to extreme measures.  
She had to get back on top. She would not survive like this.

So, it was then that Riza crossed her arms and cocked her hip. 
It appeared as a habit of irritation, but, oh, was it calculated.

Honestly, Riza truly could not believe that she had sunk this low. 
Yet, in one swift move, her breasts pushed together, lifted, juicy. 
The kicker, however, she knew, 
were her legs.

So, it was then she drew his eye line to the round of her breast, 
the black bra overflowing. He followed that line from her bare stomach
to the curve of her hip, and then down, down her long, long legs, fair and flawless.

Oh yes, Riza knew Roy Mustang’s weakness. 
In about a half hour, speaking not at all,
she already knew precisely 
what made him crazy

that brilliant, 
ingenious woman.  

Roy swore it was involuntary.
He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t help it.

It was absolutely mandatory for that 
brilliant, stubborn, ingenuous woman 
pay for her intelligence.

So, it was then Roy stepped, accidentally pretty much lunged, 
pushing her too quickly to the wall. Riza lost her breath
and stumbled into his trap, locked down, arms on either side of her head.

Roy’s eyes went dark, and Riza then knew
he was now dead set on torturing her, 
ruining her 
before she could ruin him first.

Of course,

She did know this was a possible outcome, a backfire to her tactic, 
and she certainly did not expect Roy to hand the key over without a fight.

So, what was the subconscious end game here, truly: 
the key? or the possibility that Roy Mustang would lift her up 
and carry her to straight to bed?

She wasn’t sure.

He hovered so close to her lips.
No, not hovering, grazed 
all over her.

Roy tried to fight the itch to crush her. He forced himself to be delicate, 
brushing his fingers down her side, all skin, soft soft soft. 
He weaved his arms around her waist, hands drifting down to her ass.

The black underwear suddenly seemed all too small, thin, 
leaving little to the imagination. Roy grinned on her lips, 
then squeezed.

Riza gasped into a cough then gritted her teeth so hard she felt they might shatter.
 She grumbled, “You’re impossible.” Roy’s smile dissipated, just as frustrated, 
infuriated. “Yes, well. You’re the one who stripped.”  

“You’ve pushed me into a wall twice now,” she cut, bumping into his nose. 
His breath hitched. He huffed if off and surprisingly forced himself away,
as much as he could muster, at least  “Even so, you have yet to budge.”

Roy wasn’t fooled. Not even he could lock down Riza Hawkeye, 
corner her, pin her. Riza Hawkeye was not one to be pinned.

Yet, she had let it happen. 
She hadn’t moved, made no effort at all. 
She hadn’t before. 
She hadn’t now.

Riza was caught and pinned, 
and, one could say, quite contently.

She had to move. This had to stop. She so desperately wished to be yelling, 
and screaming and fighting, guilty and hurt, in pain once more.

They had let it get this far. 
so shameful, 
so irresponsible.

They had to move, retreat, 
but he-

“Stop looking at me like that.” 
“Like what?”

Roy’s eyebrows lifted with his head feigning utter naiveté, as if he wasn’t just tracing
her ear with his lips, her ass with his fingertips, looking at her with those eyes, looking at her,
“Like-“  Riza struggled.  She knew and she didn’t know.

“Like I’m going to devour you?”

Her throat then closed up, her stomach washed warm 
Roy had confirmed her theory.

Her face was steel, though her heart raced at tenfold rate.
Roy stared at her, looking oh so innocent, 
and still said that word


“So, you’re going to eat me then,” she deadpanned. 
Roy smiled, sinister, “Well, we did leave before dessert.”

“Oh, I see. I’m piece of apple pie now,” she had a much harder time 
not trembling when Roy’s eyes got deeper, darker, hungry, 
when he accidently licked his lower lip


Riza scoffed, pounding her fist into his bare chest.  
Despicable.” He only chuckled deviously, in control, 
still ever the winner.

Riza could not stand it, 
would not stand it.

She would not..

But, Roy tucked his nose to her neck, 
skimming from her collarbone to her ear,

brushing past her scar from the sword, 
the slice, one of the worst nights of his life,

He brushed past it without flinching, 
without remembering.

Everything was gone.

He was grinning, and she was giving in, 
sighing, all dreamy-like, 
all un-Captain Riza Hawkeye like.

“See, it’s my theory,” he said, voice low, dangerous, 
right into her ear, “that you want me to devour you.”

Roy wasn’t fooled. 
Riza Hawkeye could never be pinned.

“No,” she said, unconvincingly  before she, so luckily, managed
to solidified her voice, “I do not wish to be treated like a meal.”

Roy exhaled a soft laugh, and kissed her just under her ear, 
just like that, instantly draining any will she had to deny
she wanted
actually wanted
every piece of General Roy Mustang.

For once in her life, she even thought she could say it out loud. 
But, Riza Hawkeye held her cards close to her chest.

She was determined to win. 
She was determined to-

“No,” he snickered, interrupted her scheming, plotting, 
kissing her nick, dragging his tongue along the sharp line just so, 
effectively tasting her, “I think you very well know that you’re-“

Riza swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed.
She stretched her neck out for him, 
inhaled lightly at his kiss, 
his tongue.

oh, his tongue. 

She was determi…

He actually then bit at her skin, sampling, then squeezed her hips. 
Riza held back a gasp. “You know very well that you’re-“

Delicious?” she breathed.

It was far too sensual, 
and the slightest bit degrading.

But, he was so close. She had lost control, 
she was quite a different woman.  

They were far, far away from Central, far, far away from their past,
too far to see or remember. So wonderfully far far away.

She could say right now, 
she was a different woman.

However, to be quite frank, 
she was Riza Hawkeye ever still,

if any different, she was now unchained, 
smothered no longer, honest, true, 
and pure.

Well, maybe not pure. 

Not pure 
at all.

Delicious? Riza had finished his thought. 
It’s my theory that you want me to devour you.

There was now very little evidence that
Roy Mustang was even remotely incorrect.


Roy looked up to her. 
He blinked.

She opened one eye, waited, 
so curious as to what he might-

Roy slammed her all the way up against the wall, a little too rough, 
a little too hungry. Riza gasped, unwillingly squeaked, 
then Roy went for her lips, desperate, starving, 
stopping at nothing,

That is except for Riza out right, 
honest to god, moaning 
once more.

She had kept her cards close to her chest. 
She could lose her composure all she wanted.

She could heat up and itch for his skin, 
beg him to rip her to shreds, 
black cotton, pale skin, 
heart and all.

She could pull his hand between her legs, 
drag his fingers along the far too soaked cloth.

He could make him pant at the wet, crave for it to coat his fingers, his tongue. 
She could too cry out for it all desperately. Ever so pathetic, simple, 
despicably, eternally hypnotized, 


It would only result in failure, a loss, 
and Riza Hawkeye was a winner,

She would win. 
She had to win.

Mn,” so she moaned, groaned, inhaled
his ultimate undoing, “General.”

Roy clenched his jaw, forced to pull away, his lips from her lips, 
his hand from the hem of her underwear, ready to rip. 
He had to pull away, snapped into shock.

“Oh,” he actually whined to her brown eyes. “Unfair.” 
She was an evil genius, disguised as a perfect vixen.

Everything calculated, targeting his demise. 
And, Riza just huffed, rigid, ready for him to unravel.

Riza Hawkeye: 
the winner.

Finally, once more. 

She smirked then shrugged like Roy Mustang would, 
a taste of his own damn medicine.

She titled her head and picked her excuse. 
She raised an eyebrow and played make believe.

“I was trying to get you to back off, Sir” 
she explained, adding the formality.

Nmh,” he gritted desperately.

Oh yes, his reaction to Sir; just as satisfying. 
Roy swallowed away the throb, managed to cough a laugh 
and not spare her a second, give her a break, or even humor the idea.


He instead snaked his arms around her waist, 
and very much nearly yanked her into his groin.

Riza so almost arched into the rock solid, agonizingly close to the center.
She was so proud, however, that she hid the jolt of that desperate reflex. 
She hid it so very well.

Except she hadn’t.

Riza had bit her lip, and Roy knew. He felt the buck of her hips, heard
the tiniest whine behind her lips, “ahmn” Topping it off, he gave her a taste.
of her own damn medicine.

I was trying to get you to back off.

Roy pinned her to the wall again, pressed his knee in between her legs. 
He leaned to her ear, and rumbled out a deep, “It certainly didn’t sound that way,


Riza trembled through a silky, soft, starved moan
She was most obviously not immune.

Her rank in his voice, 
in that tone,
oh god.

Two could play this game.

Roy Mustang: 
the winner.

Yet, this time. 
Riza Hawkeye willingly conceded.

Electricity buzzed from his fingertips to her skin,
through every vein, muscle, and nerve.

She would surrender. Yes, she would concede. 
Her undoing. Roy Mustang.


He held her cheeks, 
guided her lips close.

He breathed out.
She breathed in.

It certainly did not sound that way, Captain. 
She blinked, so far far gone.

“Perhaps it did not,” she mused softly, 
He grinned, not smug or proud, 


And, for once in their lives, 
there was peace, 
everything was slowed, languid, 
everything was quite and irrelevant

except for his fingers weaving 
through her blonde, hot skin on hot skin.

Even so, he kissed her chastely, bit her bottom lip and tugged gently. 
He spoiled himself with sweets. He indulged in a little apple pie.

Roy parted and saw Riza
honestly, purely smile right back.

He then lost his breath and the peace was gone, the world warped rapidly, 
a delightful speed. He rushed going straight for her panties, 
for the cotton at her hips.

His touch trailed down. He even dared to hook the cotton in his fingers. 
He watched Riza’s eyes flutter close, lips part, 
scrunching her nose, anticipating the pull, 


He would have perhaps followed through. 
She perhaps would have given in.

Certainly, in fact. 

He saw that smile in the back of his mind, 
genuine, rare. Everything else was gone. 
Roy and Riza.

They would have pressed on, followed through, given in. 
Yet, the realization always arrived.

They were too sensible, too dedicated to be rid of it for good. 
This time the return was gradual, gentle. 
He blinked, almost heartbroken. 
Her brown eyes opened. They softened, defeated.  

Perhaps they would have followed through. 
Perhaps they would have given it.

Yet, they had an agreement, a future. 
It certainly did not sound that way, Captain.

Roy huffed, hung his head, “Perhaps it should have.”
Riza thinned her lips, nodded softly.  

It was humiliating, to be honest:

the excruciatingly insufferable, 
relentlessly reasonable 
very logical
consistently correct 
piece of the mind catching them in the act, 
doing something extremely stupid

three times in one night, 
back to back to back.

Perhaps it would have been easier, if that night 
were all about cravings, and hunger, lust, 

apple pie.

They could forget. It would linger for a week, maybe two. 
No close quarters, little eye contact. But, back to work. 
Amestris took precedence.


Against that wall, Roy had spent most of his time studying her skin, 
kissing her so delicately, tugging at her gently all over. 
Such moves were not fueled by lust-

He had pinned her. 
He had made her moan and arch.
He even labeled her as a delectable dessert.

Yet, he had also made her smile.

Roy’s lips brushed her cheeks,
kissed the skin tender beneath her ears.

These things were not rooted in lust, but rather
the polar opposite side of the romantic relationship spectrum.

That, when it came down to reality was really the worst possible outcome
of a simple, disastrous clerical error. Not the lust. 
But, the so clear cut


They were in trouble.

This was something that would pull away from Amestris, 
their call, their obligation. Prove itself more important, 
over and over and over.

It couldn’t happen. They had to recover now,  preferably before morning.
Roy nodded resolutely, then stepped away and fished out the key to Room Three.

“I’ll go get my gloves.”

Riza cinched a sweet smile. 
She knew he had taken them with him.  

The owls of Owl Inn were their salvation in the end.

He could melt the lock, he thought, open it then shape it back together. 
Strategic, little damage, the softest form of arson to deliver Hawkeye 
some much-needed peace,
an escape.

“I do have your permission, I imagine, to burn down that door,” 
his joke faltered into almost melancholy, “for your sake.”

“This one time, Sir.” she nodded, huffed, 
the blaze gone, then smiled small, “For my sake.”

Finally. They were heading in the right direction. 
Roy pulled out his key, fiddled with the lock, 
opened the door, but Riza couldn’t move.

Roy did not go in, but studied the carpet, 
then, of course, turned back.

One last step in the wrong direction.

Roy grasped her hand, brushed her fingers with his thumb,
never committing to weaving them tight. He knew she wouldn’t let go.

Instead, he nudged her nose, brushed her cheek,
kissed it feather soft, and stayed far too long.

There was a click. 
Room One.

There was peace, quiet
a kiss on the cheek,

“Turn around,” he ordered.

They were doomed. 
Roy ripped away.

Riza crinkled her brows, throat closed, eyes actually glassing over with water. 
He had ripped away from her and the shock of the sudden solitude 
took her hearing. The lock on Room One, the click did not exsist.

His demand was only silence. 
Instead, she reached out for him.  

One more minute, she nearly begged, that is
until he heard his more pressing plea, his panic.

“Riza, turn around.  Now.”

He snatched her shoulders, twisted her himself, 
then pulled her backward toward the door.

That’s when she felt ice. Roy shook in just the slightest. 
Yes, they went too far this time,
too deep.

Her tattoo.

They had forgotten. 
She had forgotten

to the greatest extreme.

Even in their soft realization, 
they had forgotten their position, 
their attire,

the stakes.

Roy and Riza. No. 
The General and the Captain.

They had forgotten who they were, what they had done, 
what they had to hide, what they deserved.

They couldn’t get away from it. 
The General and the Captain.

They couldn’t get away from it.
Not even in Resembool.

Now, the door to Room One, it was opening. 
Now, they were exposed, caught, done for.

But, it was only a hot second until Roy pushed her through the door. 
He followed right after, his final measure to block the view, 
the bra, the panties, the blush and the sweat, 
the tattoo.

The door to Room One inched open, 
just far enough to peek through.

Roy and Riza. They were doomed. Roy and Riza, they were gone
when Lan Fan peered around the frame. They hid. 
They vanished.

For good.

That being said. 
They still most conveniently, 
most unfortunately

did end up once more flush against each other, 
again. again, Riza Hawkeye, pinned.


Roy watched Riza smash her eyes closed.
as if that would solve the problem,

as if by pure force of will, they could stay themselves,
as they once existed together. Roy frowned.

Riza Hawkeye was capable of a great many things, 
but, not this. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t solve this.

She would shoulder the guilt, he knew.

Damn it.  

“Is anyone out there, Lan Fan?” Ling called out. 
Roy leaned over Riza, straining to look through the peephole.

He saw the young girl look down the hall toward the lobby, 
feigning some sort of investigation before she looked straight
to Room Three.

She most definitely knew before she even opened her door, 
Lan Fan knew precisely what was happening.

It will not work, good General.

Roy still ducked as if the girl would see him through the solid door, 
find them, catch them, leak the details under obligation to 
the Emperor of Xing

or, well, 
her boyfriend.

His chin rammed into the top of Riza’s head.

She hissed off the pain and whispered angrily, “Ouch, Sir.
She was furious with him, furious with herself, 
with the whole situation,

and livid that she was actually somewhat happy 
to be back with Roy in Room Three,

Riza Hawkeye could do a great many things, 
but she could not cut away the fact that she melted
into a hopeless puddle

when Roy whispered, “Sorry.” brushing the skin 
at her waist apologetically. He clutched her tighter, 
nose to her hairline.

Yes, Riza Hawkeye melted.

No longer was this lust. 
No longer could they shake this.

They were doomed.
Riza smashed her eyes closed.


Roy risked another glance back through the peephole. Lan Fan cleverly
decided to pick her words carefully, knowing she was being watched, 
knowing Ling was behind her, chin tucked into her shoulder,

knowing Roy Mustang saw through her, 
knowing very well they could be blackmailed.

Oh my god, Roy remembered, blinked, they could be blackmailed. 
That was their ticket. He could save the night. 
Roy and Riza.

“No, your majesty,” she said flat, “seems like it’s coming from one of the rooms.
” “Interesting,” Ling called from behind her, peering over her himself.

Lan Fan glanced to him then pointed to Room Three. 
They both knew for certain. No strokes of luck in sight.

“Indeed,” Lan Fan agreed quietly, “Interesting.”
“Damn it.” Roy whispered, but then watched Ling snake arms 
around his bodyguard’s waist and turn her, hovering far too close.

Oh yes, they could be blackmailed.

“What?” Riza was still clueless to this, however. 
She turned, pressed up on her toes, trying to look herself.

Roy gently pressed her back down, hand on top of her head, 
stuck on deciding if he should keep this to himself.

She would be grumpy, Roy knew. Still, Riza Hawkeye didn’t need 
more to worry about, to carry around for weeks, months, years.  

He had already begged, pleaded they forget everything,
everything but Roy and Riza. He had already practically tackled her
with the sole purpose of hearing her moan, 
devouring her.  


She was in inconsolable distress by all his antics,
everything he couldn’t control, 
everything about this state, 
this night,

They would end up here someday. 
They belonged here.

Not necessarily half naked, pressed against each other, 
and hiding from the Emperor of Xing.

But, together, yes, even under this context, 
Roy knew this.  To be cheesy, this was a small gift, 
holding her close, so close,
just for a night.

It was disastrous. 
It was a gift,

and Roy had already accepted this as their irrevocable end result. 
Riza, however, knew it only as a private, hopeless, impossible wish.

She was so good at punishing herself, soaking up the shame, 
the mental beating. Her father was a marvelous teacher in such techniques.

So, yes, he decided to keep her down. 
Of course, it didn’t matter in the end.

Lan Fan glanced over her shoulder, concern, blackmail. 
And, Ling knew it all though she said nothing. 
He knew his protector, his best friend, 
his Lan Fan.

He read her. He turned her. He relaxed her shoulders, 
gave her a smile. Roy sighed, understanding,
perhaps only a touch of blackmail.

an agreement, maybe, 
to put all their minds at ease.

Ling knew Roy was watching. 
Ling knew there wasn’t cause for fear.

I know a man quite like you.

“Come back to bed.”

Riza’s eyes shot open, jaw dropped. 
Roy’s mouth melted into a deliciously warm smile, 
snickered at her shock and barely whispered to her,

“I know”

Yes, an agreement.

Ling and Lan Fan.
Roy and Riza.

For tonight.

The door to Room One closed. 
They stood in silence.

Riza found herself gripping Roy’s torso, holding it tight, 
listening to his heartbeat, catching the breath she hadn’t known she lost.

She tried to look up, 
but it didn’t truly work.

He was too close, nose on hers, lips centimeters away. 
They needed to move, and move in the right direction.

She breathed in the air, filled with everything 
that was purely Roy, then accidently, in the process, 
rested her forehead against his chest.

Riza could feel, study the vibration as Roy chuckled, “Sleepy?” 
“Yes,” she deadpanned. “You’re exhausting,”

“Make your jokes,” he smirked, prideful,
“We still have to share a bed tonight.”  

Riza gave a labored sigh, 
legitimately worn out.

“After all that fuss.”

Of course, Roy still could melt the lock to Room Four. 
They did not necessarily have to share one queen sized bed.

Neither mentioned this.

Riza stayed. But, she did pray that they could forget
the walls and grinds, sighs and moans.

Roy and Riza could just sleep, wait it out until the mood passed, 
then they could leave, They could talk to Ling and Lan Fan in the morning,
convince them to move their luggage elsewhere for the remainder of their stay.

Their last night they would have separate rooms. 
The slate would be clean. It would be time to start 
forgetting once more.

They could do this.

Alas, in that moment, neither Roy nor Riza chose to move. 
He just grinned down at her, broke the tension, 
like only Roy Mustang could.

“I’ve been told I’m incredible in bed.” 
“You have never been told that,”

Roy had to resist urge to kiss his Captain, 
his best friend, not too deeply, soft and quick.

Fatefully, it was not lust anymore.
They inched dangerously, perilously close
to the much purer opposite.


So, Riza then demanded softly, 
“Give me the shirt back, please”

Roy reached to the ground
and scooped it up. “But, of course.”

He watched her pull the shirt over her head.
The moment peace swept through the room.  

The catastrophe over, the foe of the hour faced, 
and deferred at least until tomorrow,
the battle to forget.  

The night was over.

Roy stepped back close to Riza. 
She pulled her long hair into a ponytail 
and eyed him warily as he watched her.

He had no ill intention in his eyes, 
no advance, no pressure.

He never did. Instead, 
there was something else.

Something kind, 
and lovely.  

He tucked a missed strand of blonde,
behind her ear, and just stood there, 
looking at her.

Not gawking at her lack of clothing. 
Not choking over his hormones.

He sighed into a smile, 
into a reassuring peace.

Such a cliché, she huffed, such a silly man.  

Since she was young, Riza Hawkeye had resolutely accepted 
that she was not a woman of the marrying type, 
nor a woman of the loving type.

She was beautiful.

But, she was colder, 
and broken.

The same was of Roy Mustang, 
damaged, broken.  

Yet, he always managed to be so irresistibly warm. 
For so long she thought she never would be the type of woman
a man might love unconditionally.

Riza consistently choked over the fact
that Roy’s eyes always said

something quite different.

Perhaps it was the Wedding. 

Riza blinked then had to push past him through his shoulder. 
She had to act like it was nothing. The night was over. 
It was time to sleep.

Time to forget. 
So, she pushed past him, 
and tucked herself into bed.

He waited back, gave her privacy 
and moved only when she muttered, 
“Ready, Sir.”

Riza counted striped on the wallpaper.  She felt the mattress dip, 
while Roy settled with his back to her. The night was over.

It was time for sleep.

Still, Roy blinked, wide awake, huffing off the churn in his stomach. 
Riza bit her lip and counted the spins of the fan.


Roy pulled one of his pillows and set it between them, 
a barrier. Riza caught it, “That’s not necessary.”

He let the pillow go and watched her blink in the dark 
It was actually quite necessary, Roy thought.

She was still only in his night shirt, long, long fair legs. 
Roy cleared his throat. Oh yes, a barrier was quite necessary.

Yet, he studied his Captain’s eyes in the moonlight 
and saw the slightest bit of panic, regret, 

They had been separated for more than a decade. 
The night was over, but it wasn’t. 
They still had the slightest bit of time.  

He remembered her in the hallway, reaching to pull him back.  
One more minute. So, he placed the pillow aside and nodded. 
Riza nodded right back, sighed, and turned back to the fan. 
Roy did the same.

She closed her eyes and did her best 
to count sheep instead. 


“We could cuddle,” he offered a solution, a small one, a simple one. 
He smirked and he grinned, and Riza felt warm, glancing at him, 
“I’m just fine, Sir. Thank you.” He huffed a smile, “Shame.”

It must have been the Wedding, she thought. 

Silly little parties that made their guests just the slightest bit insane. 
The Captain and her General. They had been distracted, she was sure, 
thinking, dreaming, forgetting pajamas and all.

Perhaps they had gotten swept away. 
Caught up in such frivolous things. 
Tomorrow they would reset, forget. 
The night was over.

This was goodbye.

Still, she breathed into a soft smile, “Goodnight, Roy.” 
He blinked at his name in her voice, on her lips,
sincerity, content, sort of kind of happy.

Roy turned to her and nodded,
and counted down, preparing.

Roy and Riza for the last time for a long time.   
He hesitated, accidently reaching to ghost knuckles over her cheek. 
Riza bit her lip, kept her eyes locked closed. The night was over.

Roy and Riza for the last time 
but for only just a little while.  

one, he said under his breath.  
two, she understood, whispering in her mind.


“Goodnight, Riza” he turned away. As lovely as it had been, 
the night was now over. Goodbye. at least for now.