Authoress' Note: Yo. This is -miss. Aoki and no, this story is not listed in the wrong section. While I do tend to write mostly for the Naruto fandom (heck, all the time) I rather enjoy—no, am in love with—the EdWin pairing. It's just so… ragged? Pleasantly violent? And at other times so unbelievably awkward and oblivious that it pleases me greatly. :D

Well, this is just a little nonsensical piece that I thought up last night over a slice of pizza and under a nice ceiling fan. Please, read at your own discretion. : )

Also, a warning: Edward is so unbelievably dense and embarrassed when it comes to showing any type of affection that he's just a bit OOC in this… sigh. It's kinda hard to write that always-in-denial runt. Anyways, they're both around 16 in this.

And crackish. Kinda crackish.

But please, do enjoy my first dabbling in the FMA fandom. I'm so proud.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. And it feels rather nice to say that instead of Naruto, for once.

Curiosity

One rather indignant Edward sat with his arm folded, legs crossed, glaring daggers at nothing in particular. How he had gotten himself into this situation, for the life of him, he still hadn't discovered. Golden eyes narrowed, he watched as a—the, that crazy girl—scurried about the room, searching for something that he couldn't actually care less about.

He raised an eyebrow when she took a brief pause in her rummage, and pivoted on her heels to regard him. "You really do look like a child pouting like that, Ed."

Annoyed, he averted his gaze to a nearby wall, resolutely deciding that he no longer wished to watch her. "This isn't fair…" he sullenly muttered, then threw his head back and released an exasperated sigh. "I don't understand why I have to suffer!"

"What? You're suffering?" Glaring, the blonde girl plopped down on the bed beside him, hands settling on the cloth behind her. She eased back, legs crossed, and tilted her head backwards to acknowledge him. "You know, I'm the one who's really suffering, Ed."

"You should be!" he petulantly retorted, "What type of hack-mechanic burns an entire room to a crisp?" He couldn't even begin to wonder how she had done it; and he didn't actually aspire to know. All that he knew was that there was a room missing in the Rockbell household—a guest room, to be exact—and Winry had been the culprit.

Needless to say, Pinako hadn't been at all amused by the matter. Which accounted for why she had made it a point to allow Edward and Alphonse to stay in her personal quarters, much to her chagrin. Winry could have sworn she saw a bit of mischief flicker in the old-timers eyes, but she had been to enraged at the time to attempt to figure out why.

At Edward's reminder, as well as at the blatant insult, her cheeks reddened considerably. "Hack-mechanic? You never seem to complain when I repair that automail that you always manage to so recklessly ruin!"

He turned away from her again with an innocuous scoff. "It doesn't really matter now anyways…" His words were only an uninterested mutter, and he sighed immediately after. The blonde-haired teen allowed himself to fall backwards on her bed and onto his folded arms, which he utilized as a makeshift pillow.

Where was Alphonse, anyways? Winry was growing insufferable very quickly, and he was the only one who could quiet her.

For a long while, neither of them said anything. Edward was lost in a plethora of meaningless thoughts, a futile attempt to distract himself.

Winry's room, he had com to realize, wasn't the least bit feminine; not that he had actually expected such. After all his years of knowing her, it had lost him that he had never actually stepped foot in her room. As it turned out, her room was quite messy; with clothes, shoes and mechanical catalogues, of all things, strewn about. Her room, even her sheets, didn't smell of perfume and sweet, womanly things—they instead held the pungent aroma of metal. But then, it very easily could have been his own arm that he was smelling.

Even now, he was lying atop one of her green overalls; one of which he couldn't be bother with getting off of. On the dresser beside him were nuts and bolts, most likely left there by an obsessive Winry.

Really, he absently thought, she was quite the impossible gearhead.

"It's really cold in here…"

He was broken from his thoughts when the words reached his ears. Curiously, he strained his neck just enough so that he could get a better view of the girl. She was in fact shivering a bit, but it really was her own fault. Why wouldn't see be cold?—she was only wearing that pastel tank top of hers with a black skirt. Of course the two flimsy pieces of clothing wouldn't ward off the chill.

Still though, he couldn't help but notice her blooming figure. Whilst he didn't tend to outright stare, her physical developments had not went undetected to him. She had strong arms, what with her unrelenting duties in the workshop. Her legs—and the abdomen that she so frequently exposed, for that matter—were toned, much to Edward's confusion. She hardly ever left the workshop for exercise, so how was it even possible?

Perhaps she didn't eat that often either…

His eyes were still focused on long, fair legs, one nonchalantly crossed over the other. How had Winry—gearhead, irritating Winry—turned out the way she had from their childhood days? It didn't make much sense to him…

Suddenly becoming conscious of his blatant observation, the blonde-haired teen settled back into her bed, an obvious blush staining his cheeks. A crease in his brow, he closed his eyes to silence rampant thoughts. Why did she opt to dress like that anyway? He was surprised that he had just now took the time to notice; it was all so subtly provocative.

He snorted, intent on taking out his troublesome frustration on her. It was her fault that he was being distracted from… well, himself. "It's your fault," he muttered, his words a reflection of defiant thoughts.

She turned to him, bewildered. "Huh?"

"It's your fault that you're cold," he elaborated, uncaring as to how immature he may have seemed.

"How the heck is it my fault?"

"Why do you dress like that, Winry!"

"Why does it matter how I dress! I'm cold because you demolished my space heater!"

Guilt. "I could've fixed it…"

"You scattered the pieces; and Granny doesn't want you using chunks of the house anymore!"

It was then that the other's intent glare became too much to handle. Cheeks puffed—and still unmistakably red—Edward was the first to once again anxiously glance elsewhere, followed by a slightly confused Winry.

There was another silence, though this time, briefer than before.

He heard her sigh, then mutter once more, "It really is cold in here…"

Edward thought she was crazy; he was near sweating bullets.

Oddly, he felt guilty then. He had managed to obliterate her space heater, though mostly by mistake. And, if it hadn't been by his sudden arrival, Winry would've long ago been lost in the land of sleep; and warmth.

That mild feeling of remorse was probably what fueled his next actions; that and his growing curiosity regarding her developing—developed—body. Swallowing hesitantly, Edward released his inhibitions in one fell swoop. He sat up and seized Winry's arm, effortlessly yanking the unsuspecting girl forward and onto his chest.

Winry yelped and went wide-eyed with disbelief; mostly because of the way her body had so smoothly settled between his propped legs. Her cheek pressed into his chest, she unwillingly inhaling his scent. His blonde hair which was loose from its usual braid was lightly grazing against the tip of her nose.

Why did it feel so natural…? So easy? Even though slim hips were dangerously between his legs, in one of the most awkward situations possible, she couldn't deny the fact that it didn't feel as bad as it was supposed to.

Quite the contrary, actually.

Even the flips in her stomach weren't as uncomfortable.

A pretty blush spread on her cheeks, she so quietly murmured against him, "Ed…?"

Flushing, he promptly shut his eyes. "Body heat."

And indeed; she felt several degrees warmer.

For the third time that night, her room fell silent. It was rather unnerving, so Winry had been the first to speak again, softly: "You're still really short, Ed…"

His eyebrow twitched; but he couldn't find it within himself to lash out. That was what she wanted, and he wouldn't so much as give her the satisfaction. "I'm growing."

So that had been an utter failure on her part. She assumed that riling him up would be the best solution to easing the anxiety; but he seemed to have already grown accustomed to her tendencies. So, instead, the girls took to restlessly squirming against him.

His eyes shot open at her deliberate movements. "Winry!" he hissed. What on Earth did she think she was doing? Her chest—her very round chest—was rubbing into his abdomen! Her hips were buried between his legs! Didn't she realize that he was a growing boy? Wasn't she aware of the male anatomy!

"Damn it, quit fidgeting, Winry! Before I—" What? Become happy? Was that the type of crude—and painfully honest—thing he had to say to convince her to stop? Frustrated huffing, he lifted his arms in an attempt to still her body.

…which wound up doing more harm than good.

The instant she felt cool metal against her shoulder and calf, her mind went berserk. And it was that that compelled her to do what she did next—took a ruthless wrench to his vulnerable skull.

The force of the blow caused the boy to gracelessly tumble out of her bed. Struggling to sit upright, he regarded her with contempt.

"Winry, what the hell?" He roared, though it was more reminiscent of a peeved chipmunk than of a ferocious lion.

The girl had settled into a kneeling position on the bed, feigning innocence. She wrapped her arms around herself, smiling sheepishly and wagging her hips comically from left to right. "Oh Ed, that cold automail of yours makes me so incredibly ticklish~"

"YOU'RE TICKLISH SO YOU BASH ME IN THE HEAD WITH YOUR FREAKIN' WRENCH!"

Mischievously, she giggled. "But you caught me by surprise, Ed."

"Like hell! That damn wrench always makes you trigger-happy!" And then, with the side of his head throbbing, he blindly lunged at her with the intent of seizing her beloved tool.

Startled, she screamed, "Ed!" as the enraged boy straddled her, madly grabbing at her wrench. She fell backwards on the bed, holding her most cherished tool tightly against her chest; he wasn't going to reduce it into a twisted heap of metal!

The room fell into a deathly silence when instead of the wrench, Edward's human hand gripped a mound of flesh. Breast-y flesh.

His face fell blank, but his hand didn't move.

Gold stared into blue.

Blue into gold.

"Hey, Brother—good news! I found an extra mattress so you don't have to sleep on the… floor…?"

Al…?

Alphonse…?

Edward didn't turn to look at him; neither did Winry, mostly due to mortification.

"I… I'm sorry! I didn't see anything!"

At that point, the boy was to stricken with shock to move. What did he have to lose, anyway? With that thought, he curiously squeezed, deciding to explain things to his sibling later on.

"Soft…"

And Winry took it upon herself to once again bash him in the skull.

Authoress' Note: I'm a perv in a sense. But then, don't we ALL love EdWin? Is there any other way to go?

& I may be compelled to do more EdWin in the future. It's quite fun to write, actually. Also, if the ending left much to be desired… then I'm sorry.

And one more thing... I don't even know about the title. My brain wasn't working.

Anyways, review softly!