Major Miles was laid on his back, staring at the dark ceiling of his quarters with a look of tired irritation. He had been laid in his bunk for the past hour or more, and no matter how relaxed he became or how much he tried to force himself, sleep just would not come.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips before he sat up from the bunk, no longer willing to just lay in the darkness with his all too familiar thoughts.
A deft flick saw the thin cotton sheet slung from his body while he swivelled to place his bare feet on the chilly steel floor. The Ishvalan had forgone the comfort of a carpeted room as he saw it as a pointless luxury. It was bracing to wake up with the cold he lived in.
Standing, the man quickly changed into his military uniform; donning his shirt, the thick canvas trousers and thicker still jacket, though he declined the need to wear his coat and other effects. He was only going for a walk.
Strolling out from his quarters, Miles took a number of steps before he was rushing back into his room to grab his forgotten boots, laughing quietly at himself as he dressed to set off again.
Another yawn graced the Major, but he didn't stop walking. There was no point. As tired as he felt, he would enter his quarters and the need to sleep would be gone faster than Buccaneer after a new arm.
That idea made him chuckle mildly, hands sliding into his pockets as he paused in the main corridor, looking at the men that passed and nodding respectfully to any he made eye contact with. Well, goggle contact. The Major, regardless of being among men that he trusted and valued, still wore the glasses that hid his scarlet eyes; a mixture of habit and also that daunting sense of fear he always felt when any of the Briggs men held his gaze.
There was too much bad blood between Amestris and Ishval for him to ever feel safe, although a certain blonde General had demanded he gave up his stupid naive ideas. Another chuckle.
Of course he felt safe here, it was stupid of him to think otherwise.
Miles veered down a side corridor, his new destination in mind and a slight smirk playing over his lips.
What were the odds that the training hall would be full?
The Major was in luck. The training hall was empty. He smirked, smug about the arrangement. The soldiers that had the middle of the night free all managed to sleep unlike their Major. Everyone else was working.
The man spared a glance at the equipment that was against one edge of the dominating hall, pulling his jacket off as he debated what to use first. The man strode to the wall nearest the door, neatly folding his jacket to rest it on the floor and doing the same with his shirt. Miles smiled, removing the tinted glasses that covered his scarlet eyes before he turned to stride into the middle of the wrestling ring.
The idea behind the ring had come from Buccaneer, an appropriate way to teach soldiers how to spar against real opponents. Of course, he just wanted it to be able to spar Miles as he often did, but Olivier had bought into it and arranged for it to be painted.
He scorned the use of the equipment, choosing to lie down on the floor with a small shiver at the sudden shift from warm body to cold floor. He gave a faint grimace, before he crossed his arms over his chest and began an easy rhythm of sit ups.
The Major lost himself in the exertion, starting slowly with blocks of ten before picking up the pace, grunting a little with each sit up.
It was like this that Olivier Armstrong chanced upon the man. At first she had frowned while watching him, readying herself to snap at him for being silly. Yet, when her presence went unnoticed, she soon lost the desire and became more interested in just watching him. A faint grin crossed her features as he suddenly sat upright and exhaled sharply, bent legs straightening and torso heaving.
His scarlet eyes were closed, and he rubbed his stomach slowly, laying himself back down to sprawl on the floor with a gentle sigh of relief. The dark skin of the Ishvalan was slick with a thin film of sweat, and his whole upper torso heaved.
"You should be asleep, Miles." Her voice cut through his reprieve, making the Major jump and open his eyes sharply looking almost behind him to see the General watching him.
"General Armstrong!" The man scrambled upright, saluting formally to his commander. "What brings you here, sir?" Although still out of breath, the man was as composed as ever which made her smile fleetingly, giving a lazy wave to stand him at ease while she crossed from the door to stand within the ring facing her Major.
"This is my fortress, Miles. If I wish to roam, I shall." Just as evasive as ever.
Olivier declined the need to tell her Major that she too was struggling to sleep. Drachma was being suspicious, and it was playing on her mind.
"Why are you here?" Her smile faded to be replaced by her usual frown, giving away nothing.
"I cannot sleep." He replied nonchalantly, his gaze flicking to the side to his abandoned clothing. While unashamed to stand before anyone without a shirt, he felt it improper and disrespectful of him to face Olivier in such a way. She on the other hand, couldn't care less.
"So instead of relaxing in your quarters, you're in here exhausting yourself? I don't appreciate my men having lie ins when they've stayed up all night, Miles." Her tone was stern. "Not when they could be in bed resting."
Miles, true to form, smiled thinly. "I am not one to lay around idle while I could busy myself, nor am I not one to forget to wake up, either." His husky voice was almost apologetic. Almost.
"Busy yourself, by working out?" Olivier smirked mildly, raising her sheathed sword up to prod him in the stomach somewhat harder than perhaps necessary.
"You don't need to work out, you do realise?" Her tone was teasing, her eyes lit by that cold amusement that went so often missed. Miles grinned ruefully at her, having been with the General too long to miss something as simple as that.
Another prod came from her sword, so with his open palm he batted the sword to the side, withholding the urge to shiver at the cold metal tracing over his dark skin.
"True, but I have nothing else that can claim my attention, so this is a productive wa-" he stopped talking while Olivier had turned away from him suddenly to walk away from him. "Ah, sir?" Miles was confused.
Olivier on the other hand, stopped at the edge of the painted circle, regarding the man calmly. A quick shift, and her coat was shrugged off and dropped so carelessly to the floor. Miles followed the movements, unsure of what to make of this random removal of clothes. Her gloves followed the coat, and that was then when she struck.
One minute she was dropped the gloves, the next she was running at Miles with her sword arcing up sharply; thankfully still sheathed.
Instinctively, Miles brought his forearms together in a cross, making an effective and hasty block against the vicious swipe for his head.
"You just lost your forearm, fool." Olivier berated him while shifting her hands on the ornate hilt, swinging the sword out of his block to only twist it for another swipe at him; this time at his waist.
While still uncertain about the situation, the Briggs training took over and made the Ishvalan jump away. That produced a smirk from Olivier, but she didn't waste time in gloating.
"What ar-" the words were no sooner out of his mouth when she had moved to strike again. Every moment she made was flawless, and her sword struck with deadly accuracy. Miles had no other option but to jump away from her.
"No questions are asked on the battlefield, Miles." Her tone was almost mocking, and that annoyed him.
He regarded his foe with a critical eye, no longer confused about what to do. She'd said battle. That meant make sure she didn't hit anything vital. His eyes roamed up the sheathed sword. If she swung that as she usually did, it would still hurt. Nothing damaging, but pain was annoying.
Olivier made the first move again, exploding into a flurry of strikes which Miles either ducked and dodged, or took on his shoulders and upper arms. Every time the sword touched him, Olivier enjoyed announcing how, were it a real blade, she would have just cut him.
The pair continued that way for a while, before Miles grew tired of the constant berating. While she had a weapon however, there wasn't much he could do.
Olivier on the other hand, was enjoying this. It wasn't often she could work out to this extent and it wasn't often her opponent didn't make a mistake. She could see where he was beginning to flag however. The odd sluggish dodge, an easy miss, missing exaggerated openings, it was all becoming obvious. That made her smirk, before she chose to stop her barrage, taking a step or two back to give him space. It pleased her to see his eyes narrow, as if expecting a trap.
"You are wasted as a tactician, Miles." Her tone was amused, eyes approving of the bare chested Ishvalan.
"I take my place in the field when I must..." He sounded almost defensive. Olivier simply laughed.
"I know, don't worry." She laid her sword on the floor, and strode to his front once more, smirking.
The Major just stared, a hand chasing away the stray beads of sweat that rolled over his brow and threatened his to impair vision.
"Perhaps if the need arises I should place you in the field."
Miles took the compliment well, smirking just a little at it.
"But then you would lack my tactical mind." He half teased, pointing out the obvious.
Olivier jabbed him in the chest for it. Hard. The man grimaced, unpleased.
"You are easily replaceable... Perhaps Lieutenant Henshal..." She gave a vague grin.
As retaliation Miles, with unusual playfulness, slapped Olivier's wrist away and moved to rub the jabbed spot ruefully, until he received a sharp blow directly into his abdomen from the woman. The Ishvalan grunted, but wasted no time in latching his hands to grab her wrist and just below her elbow.
The General's eyebrow rose before she was suddenly yanked into Miles's body. He released her and quickly wrapped his arms around her upper body, his strong arms trapping her own. Their fronts were crushed together, though Miles had allowed some room to encompass his General's buxom chest.
Said General glanced at their predicament, and a brief tense against his arms told her that he was taking this seriously. It would take too much effort just to break his grip and then suitably punish him. She sighed almost briefly, before raising up on her toes to press her lips firmly against his.
As expected, Miles stiffened and his arms left hers almost instantaneously and he made an attempt to step away. However, Olivier's hands had slid onto his waist and her open eyes were uncharacteristically curious. The Major couldn't help but enjoy the soft chill of her lips against his own, the almost gentle touch of her hands on his waist and the sweet smell of her so tantalisingly close.
He kissed her back; lips parting slightly and his body relaxing against her.
Olivier grinned a little against his mouth, and then stepped away from him. She didn't miss the confusion and disappointment in his gaze before he schooled himself to just look neutral.
"Enough for tonight, I think." Her tone was amused, but it was beginning to revert back to its typically cool demeanour. Turning away from him, Olivier strode to her discarded belongings, pulling her coat on and sliding on her gloves while calmly regarding her Major.
"Get some sleep, Miles. You are to be up early in the morning." Fully dressed, she reclaimed her sword and began to stride from the training hall, grinning unseen by Miles.
The second in command saluted, snapping his reply of "Yes sir" with its typical enthusiasm, before he began to reclaim his own clothes.
Sadly, he couldn't stop his mind from flashing teasing images, and playing over her last words in his head.
Enough for tonight... Perhaps... He glanced up at her back just as the door was swinging shut, obscuring her as she left.
Perhaps... another night?
The Ishvalan Major laughed, sliding on his clothes and glasses with unabashed slowness. Perhaps it could be interesting, becoming a nocturnal being.