This is the first of three Fullmetal Alchemist stories that I am working. They're all based on a common theme and are also the result of me wanting to write something a little more adult in nature. I hope that I can do it well. I admit, I have never written for the FMA fandom before, so I am a bit nervous. Please wish me luck.
The story reads a little PWP, but I promise it is not all sex. Oh god.
I really just want to sit here and just apologized for this entire story, so I'm just going to get out. orz I PROMISE THERE IS A PLOT! It is not just sex!
It'll be a while for me to work out the kinks in writing characters, so yeah, sorry if Roy seems a bit OCC. I'm trying.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1: The Journalist and the Hero
Cecilia Warren sat in the best seat of the tavern, upfront at the bar on the other end of the room. It offered her a clear view of every patron that walked in and out of the establishment. She listened to the miseries of men drunk on several pitchers of beer and the giggling of charmed women, basking in the attention being given to them. She enjoyed frequenting bars—this one was among her favorites—because alcohol tended to bring out both the best and worst of people. It made for wonderful entertainment.
She ordered another whiskey. The barman, an old acquaintance, took her glass with a sour expression. "Last one, Cee."
"I am paying you, Rob," she reminded, annoyed that he wanted to cut her off.
Robert Grace refilled her glass, his bushy brown eyebrows drawn together in disapproval, as he returned it to her reach. "And stop glaring at the customers, they're starting to complain."
Cecilia rolled her eyes, snatching the whiskey into her hand.
Robert went to tend to a different patron, putting on his best smile.
She drank deep of her whiskey. She didn't feel the burn rushing down her throat anymore, which was strange because she hadn't been drinking long. She had only been in the bar for an hour. She had walked in at seven after she had left work and it was now—she stole a glance at the small, gold-face clock sitting among all the liquor bottles behind the counter—okay, it had been five hours.
Cecilia continued drinking in silence as the night continued. Although, Robert no longer filled her glass, other men, less intimidated by her glaring bought her drinks. Like many of her fellow patrons, she wanted to disappear from her everyday responsibilities. Inside the warm brown walls with the sweet company of liquor, she found comfort that other places only played at providing.
She enjoyed the bar best on colder evenings. She liked it for the welcoming ambience it kept sealed behind its wooden doors and shuttered windows. That said, she could easily find the same soothing bleakness in her apartment next to the wine cabinet, but she preferred staying out until the dead of night until after the streets were empty and full of mystery—a bittersweet reminder of home, so cold and far away.
Robert's tavern sat about five blocks away from her apartment. Its distance gave her the opportunity to indulge in the late walk back. She appreciated the midnight air—stinging cold and enveloping, though it often made her inebriation worse.
Cecilia was ignoring the man flirting with her when the loud merriment died down to whispers, the front door closing. The murmuring of patrons gave the new customer a profession: State Alchemist. Everyone called him a hero, those that dared speak to him thanked him for his hard work in Ishval, and as their grateful, slurred voices reached her ears, Cecilia lifted her green eyes from the amber liquid in her glass.
A deceptively youthful male stood in the middle of the tavern, dark-eyed and brooding, and dressed in a long coat that hid his navy uniform. He personified the bar's bleak atmosphere, though his expression was marred with censure as he surveyed his surroundings with a hint of arrogance that grated her nerves. As if those other suck-ups telling him how heroic all the mass murder he committed in Ishval hadn't made her blood boil enough.
She hated what'd happened in Ishval. She had felt infuriatingly powerful feelings over it, mostly because it had been complete utter bullshit. The Ishval Civil War had been a massacre in disguise, and in its aftermath, the military had been treated as though they had done the world a favor by killing its population.
It had been an injustice. Had she the power, she would have happily stuck it to the military, but as she did not, she had made a satisfying living tearing it a new one in every article she wrote on them for an independent newspaper, Sunspace Tribute, that sold fairly well for being completely unapologetic about the unbiased politics that it reported.
Robert distracted her from glaring further at the alchemist when he took her drink. "Go home, Cee, or I'll call your boss."
"You're an asshole." Cecelia leaned over the bar after insulting him and swiped the packet of cigarettes he kept hidden there. She pulled her hand back before he had a chance to take those back. "You can stop my drinking, but not my smoking."
He gave in, sighing. "You don't smoke, you drunken idiot."
Cecilia retrieved her purse ignoring him (because she smoked if she wanted) and exited the bar, bumping into the alchemist as she did. She neglected to apologize, too busy scouring the contents of her purse for matches or a lighter. If she remembered correctly, one of her editors smoked, and the last time the office went out drinking (last week), he gave her one or the other to hold for him in her purse because he feared losing it.
The cold air chilled her warm body as she came to a halt on the sidewalk. The long street was oddly lit since several lamps went out after some alchemist-related incident, so it was much darker.
She found a small matchbook and only one match, though she had expected something like a fancy lighter. She then reached inside the carton of cigarettes, taking one out to place between her lips. She tried to light the match, but it bent and broke when she dragged it across the side of the matchbook.
She cursed softly, removing the cigarette from her lips. She turned toward the direction of her building when she noticed the State Alchemist exit.
It was hard to deny that he had a good face. His features were handsome.
It sucked about his profession. Really. He was her type.
He unconsciously made eye contact with her and she lifted her cigarette, asking, "Got a light?"
"No."
He walked in the opposite direction. She didn't like his tone.
"Hey, war hero," she called, returning the cigarette to its carton.
The alchemist stopped, turning, peeved.
Cecilia slinked up to him, drawing her hand purposely to rest against her hip. She shifted her weight onto her left leg and observed the way his eyes had flickered for the briefest moment down her body. She smiled. She was his type, too. "Why don't I buy you a drink?"
She expected him to agree, but he eyed her in silence, as if he were weighing his choices, though she doubted drinking in solitude would be a better option than enjoying a couple of liquor glasses with a beautiful woman.
"Thank you, but no."
He left her flabbergasted, though she recovered quickly and pursued him. She knew better than to chase after a man that snubbed her, but she was too drunk to care that it was pathetic.
"War hero, hey," she called, her voice oozed sarcasm.
His shoulders tensed. He heard the derision in her call. Good. However, that did not stop him. She persisted in annoyance. She couldn't believe she considered seducing him.
"Hey, asshole!"
The alchemist turned to glare.
"Is this old hole in the wall not good enough for you?" she demanded, invading his personal space. She stood close enough that she could smell the masculine scent coming from his body; the strong fragrance was mixed with a hint of cologne and expensive wine that made her feel lightheaded. Beneath the opaque light of the nearest streetlamp, he appeared more handsome to her. She chased her attraction from her body, shoved it into darkness. "It probably ain't for a war hero. You must have a fancier bar out there, so why come all the way down here? Do you enjoy everyone jumping at the opportunity to kiss your ass, huh?"
"If you mean to harass me, take it somewhere else," he said, voice clipped. "I don't have time for drunken women."
"Oh really? Perhaps, it's being told that you're a despicable human being for your heroic contributions to the war," she retorted, blood boiling mad about her stand. The alcohol was to blame for the sudden word vomit, the hounding, and the maddening attraction too, but she was fully conscious of her actions and in complete control of her five senses. She hated that all of the State Alchemists that participated in the Ishvalan Civil War left it a hero, despite having received orders to murder indiscriminately—the elderly, women, children, and male civilians. The military had literally gone into Ishval and killed everything. "Maybe that's what you don't have time for."
Furiously, he took the back of her neck and his face came dangerously close to hers. "Do not pretend to understand! You aren't an officer! You weren't there!"
"I understand," she snapped, slapping his hand away from her neck, "and I don't need a damn uniform to know. I bet it was all purposefully arranged because the military needed an enemy—"
"Shut up!"
"—and so an officer went and shot a child!"
"Do you think you have any say in—?"
"If I have an opinion I have an opinion, who the fuck are you to shut me up about? There are newspapers all over the place saying the same thing—"
"There are more articles in newspapers written with erroneous information than there are faithful—"
"But is it erroneous because it goes against the military or is it—?"
"Will you let me finish a—?"
"No!"
Immediately, with the swiftness of light abandoning a bulb after it was switched off, they were silent and furious. Their warm breaths came out in wisps of white when they hit the cold air.
The quiet should have been reason enough to depart, turn away from one another and go on their way, disappear perpetually from each other's lives, never to meet again. They didn't move—not an inch away or closer. She looked at him and he at her.
Maybe, she mistook the prickle of goose bumps spreading as a shudder possessed her body to be the result of the freezing night, but something clicked, like a bone snapping back into place—between them, two strangers in the street, one a State Alchemist and the other a reporter. He represented everything that she hated about the military. Participation in genocide had brought him fame—good fame, the type that had some people wanting to kiss the floor he walked on. It annoyed her that this was what Amestris had become after the Ishval Civil War. It hadn't been anything like she'd hoped.
Cecilia realized that it probably wasn't entirely his fault, but she had given her piece and even if she apologized, the moment wasn't right. She couldn't get the words out in her current state. She'd hated how stubborn she was when inebriated.
She never thought it was possible for two people to yell at each other so closely. She supposed they were living proof of it. She could feel the heat coming off his body.
That was too close.
The log lodged in her throat, she swallowed, painfully and with great difficulty. She watched him, sweat forming at his temples, his black eyes darker than the night around them. Her chest rose and fell, her breath thinned as though she had finished running a marathon without prior training or preparation.
Cecilia wasn't prepared for this encounter.
"Is that it?" he bit out. He challenged her. She could hear his breaths, loud and rhythmic like hers.
"I have insults for days, asshole, don't think I'm through with you," she retorted. She wouldn't back down. She didn't care who he was. She didn't care that he could probably kill her in an instant. She cared about remedying this fastidious situation that she'd instigated without leaving it looking like a fool.
Oh, but she swore to high heaven and back that there was something there, sparking between them, rumbling like thunder behind dark clouds. She wasn't the only one feeling it. He was too. She saw his frustration deepen with every breath that left his body.
"You're only lashing out because I turned you down," he remarked, stepping in closer and forcing her back. The implication infuriated her. "Is that it?"
"Ha!" she exclaimed, folding her arms over her chest. "You are really self-important, aren't you? You honestly believe that I am so starved for sex that I will take it from just anyone?"
He let out an exasperated sound and grabbed her firmly by the waist. She didn't protest or fight against him. Her body was free of tension, soft in his arms.
"What do you want from me?" he demanded, the berries and alcohol in his breath filled her senses.
She wanted to taste them on his tongue.
Cecilia took him by the collar, drawing him in, still teasing. "You?"
"You're infuriating," he seethed, closing the small gap between them.
His mouth was strong and urgent against hers. She met the kiss with similar fervor, opening her mouth to run her tongue over the seam of his lips, eager to taste the wine she smelled on his breath. He met her tongue as he pushed her backward until her back hit the side of a car. She started to undo the buttons of his coat, starting to push it off his shoulders. His hands were searching, running down briefly to touch her breasts underneath her thin blouse before they dropped down to knead her ass, grinding his hips against hers.
She moaned in his mouth, his tongue tangled with hers in a languid dance that made her every nerve pulse with excitement, and reached for his belt.
He stopped her, pulling apart from her lips. His eyes remained glued on hers. Her lips throbbed, ached from the bruising of their passionate kiss.
"Take me home," she told him, her heart drummed wildly in the adrenaline rush. "Or if some lowly apartment is too good for a war hero, you can take me back to your place."
"Just shut up."
He walked her across the street to a parked car shrouded in darkness. He opened the door for her, but she was too eager to wait for them to get home. She couldn't keep her hands off him. The backseat was cramped for their long bodies, but they fit perfectly atop one another, limbs tangled.
They kissed deeply, touched heavily over their clothes, and rocked against one another. The hard friction brought her spurts of pleasure that made her body tremble.
"How is it?" he asked, his hand on her face. A sly smile played on his lips.
She mirrored his grin. "I think you can do better."
"Isn't it a little pathetic of you to be so desperate for my cock?"
Cecilia laughed. "A little," she said once her mocking laughter subsided, "but isn't it your fault for lacking the self-restraint to resist me?"
He frowned. "Shut up."
He kissed her hard until her lips were bruised and aching. His hand dipped low between them, cupping her crotch and rubbing her through the thin fabric of her underwear. Her body jerked and tensed to keep herself from shaking, but their heavy petting left her sensitive to his more aggressive maneuvering. She could barely keep her voice low when her touched her clit through the cloth or rubbed the damp fabric against her slit, teasing her with a finger pressing down the edge of her underwear, spreading her slowly.
She rocked her hips against his hand, increasing the friction. She twisted underneath him, rising on her arms. As she did, he silenced the moan about to escape her lips by covering her mouth with his hand. He raised his finger to his lips.
She stilled.
Voices reached her ears.
Cecilia looked out the window and saw a pair of drunkards making their way across the street in the direction of his car.
He put his hand on her thigh, her skirt riding up to expose her skin to his eyes. "We should go."
He released her once the two men changed direction, offering a small timeframe to compose themselves and button their clothing.
Breathlessly, she said, "My place is five blocks away."
He nodded.
The two exited the backseat of his car once the street was empty. He opened the passenger seat door open for her. She brought him in for a kiss that left them equally short of breath. He jumped into the driver's seat and asked her for directions to her place.
The drive to her building had been silent, but charged with sexual tension. Once inside, they made their noisy ascent to the fourth floor, bumping into the frames decorating the walls and the banister until they fumbled through the entrance of her apartment, tugging at each other's clothes. Every now and again, they were exchanging insults. Their coats were already on the floor with her heels by the time they entered her apartment.
Cecilia slammed the door shut with her foot as he kicked his boots off. She locked the entrance—wanted no interruptions—and went to help him undress. She pushed the blue uniform jacket off his muscular arms and stepped out of her underwear.
She worked down the buttons of his stark white shirt as he kissed her neck, sucking against her pulse point. He discarded his shirt, revealing a sculptured chest that she was all too delighted to touch.
The alchemist hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed her up against the wall to drag the loose shirt off over her head. He left a blaze of kisses over her breasts. He took one of her nipples into his hot mouth, teasing the erect peak with his tongue. She buried her fingers into his dark hair, arching her back, pressing her breast more into his mouth. He sucked it, kneading her other breast in his strong hand.
"Where's your bed?" he asked, leaving her breast. His eyes were smoldering as they met hers.
Cecilia wiggled free of his hold and stepped down, taking him by the hand. She led him across her living room and into her room down a short hallway. She shoved him down onto her bed and straddled his hips. She slid her hands down the length of his chest, admiring the hardness beneath her palms.
She licked her lips, eager to kiss down it and outline the muscles with her tongue.
"So," she started, lifting her eyes to meet his, "do you have a name, war hero? I'd like to know what to scream if you do a good job."
He sat up and switched their positions in one swift move. He pressed is erection against the heat between her thighs. He took her wrists down near her head. She giggled, breathing heavily. He leaned forward.
"Roy Mustang," he told her. "Use it sparingly or your voice might go out."
"Roy Mustang," she repeated, savoring the sound of his name on her tongue.
"What's yours?"
"Cecilia Warren," she replied, putting her hands on his face. "Stop making me work for it and take your pants off."
He obliged her, removing his pants. She reached down between them and wrapped her hand around his throbbing shaft. She guided him inside her and threw back her head as he spread her, slow.
"Mmm."
He lifted her hips and slid his dick deep inside her. She grasped at his strong arms, moaning lowly.
He grinned devilishly at her. "Better?"
"Yes," she said, rocking her hips. She drew a pleasured groan from him. "Come on, war hero—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
He moved slow and strong, thrust it in deep. He kissed her hard, quickening his movements. It thrilled her to feel the fullness of his dick inside of her. She relished the way his mouth sucked on her skin, how his tongue drew circles and teased her nipples.
As he assured in earlier banter, she found herself unable to stop from saying his name. She spoke it, lowly at first—a small whisper drowned in the sound of wet slapping skin, their quickened breaths, and his moans mingling with hers every hard thrust.
"Mustang," she said, rocking her hips to match his rhythm. She doubted he heard her, but when he bit her nipple, he made her say it louder, he rose up above her, shoving his length inside her to the hilt.
"Yes, Cecilia," he said, drawing out to push back in. Her breath hitched. "Like that."
With his eyes locked on hers, the intensity in them, the sensual movements that melded their bodies together and introduced them to strong, rising pleasure, she felt her body starting to tremble, her insides tingling.
Roy buried his face in her neck, his hot breath caressing her skin. "You're incredible."
"I know."
She held onto him tight, meeting every thrust. He throbbed inside of her.
He fucked her hard. She couldn't think beyond the rave sensations taking control of her. She gave in completely to him when he dropped his hand down and his fingers pressed against her clit. The slightest touch made her twist underneath his body.
She was too sensitive. She begged him to stop, but she wanted him to touch her more. She couldn't think. She didn't think she was making any comprehensible sounds that sounded anything like actual words.
He applied a little more pressure, rubbing in soft circles. Her toes curled, her back arched, her throat ached as her voice grew louder. The headboard started to slam against the wall with his quickening thrusts.
"I'm close! Don't stop!"
She gripped the sheets.
Her orgasm came suddenly, in long, drawn out waves that made her insides spasm around his thrusting cock.
"I'm close," he grunted.
He started to slow, but she grabbed his arm. "Keep going," she urged. "Don't stop!"
Roy pressed down on her, thrusting into her and riding out her climax until he gave in to his own. She felt the instant he burst inside her, moaning against her ear, his hoarse voice rekindling her arousal. Her body wrung out the last of his orgasm, feeling it scorching hot and thick inside her.
Roy pulled out and flopped onto his back beside her, breathing heavily.
Cecilia climbed him, slithering down low to kiss down the length of his chest as he regained his breath. She met his eyes as she positioned her body between his legs, her hand wrapping around his cock, half-hard in her grip. She ran her tongue along the length, feeling it twitch as the blood rushed to it, and brought the head to her lips. She kissed it, tasting him. She licked the slit and felt him shudder.
"I'm not done yet," she told him. "So you better have some fight left in you, war hero."
He smirked, reclining back onto her pillows as she took his cock into her mouth. "I didn't think so, princess."
The night ended in a blur of pleasure. The dangerously unbridled pleasure that had filled her gave her comfort that she didn't realize she had been seeking and offered her, for the first time in many years, a dreamless sleep.
Cecilia woke up the following morning groaning and full of shame. She stayed on her back with Roy lying beside her asleep.
Her bed sat underneath a pair of windows. Even though they were covered with heavy drapes, the sunlight shone through, illuminating her room.
She left her bed and found a robe in her closet to tug on. She left her room and walked into her kitchen as she knotted her silk robe shut. She set a kettle full of water on the stove.
Cecilia sat down at the square table inside her kitchen space wondering what possessed her to sleep with a military dog. He was handsome, but that should not have been enough to do the deed with him.
She barely knew him.
Roy Mustang. She remembered his name after hearing all about his participation in the Ishval Civil War. The Flame Alchemist, if she recalled correctly. Worse, she was certain she had started a personal slander campaign against him (and several State Alchemists) during the war and after. It had gotten her arrested for a day—for the public disturbance, not the actual campaign. She had blamed that on her boss.
Cecilia washed her face and brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink to keep her mind off the information she knew about him. Once the water boiled, she made two cups of coffee, feeling that that was the least she could do after last night.
Roy stepped out in his pants, searching the living room for the rest of his clothing.
"Morning, Mustang," she greeted lazily, raising her mug at him. She slid the second mug across the table where it stopped near the edge. "I made coffee."
He picked up his uniform and draped them over his arm. He picked up the coffee mug. "Thanks."
She tried to read the emotion on his face, but he wasn't very expressive. He took one quick sip before setting it down. He pulled on his shirt, buttoning it down before her wandering eyes could memorize every inch of his sculptured chest. She would not have minded staring at him naked for the rest of the morning. It beat going to work to continue defending her choice in article. However, she had to remind herself that she should have minded it.
"So, do you do this often?" she asked, hoping to break the ice. "Sleep with every woman that tries to call you out on your bullshit?"
"The same could be said about you."
"I try not to make it a habit," she replied, smiling brilliantly. "Sleeping with the enemy is not great for my reputation."
"Certainly didn't stop you last night." Roy fastened his blue jacket and pulled on his dark coat before taking a seat across her. He drank his coffee as quickly as possible. "This is good coffee."
"I have a gift," she said proudly, watching him set his mug down. "But if you're done with your coffee, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"No need, I was about to go myself." He forced a smile. "Thank you for the hospitality, Cecilia Warren."
She smiled, walking him to the door of her apartment. As she shut the door behind him, she hoped she wouldn't have to see him again.
To be continued...
xl: See you next week!