alternatively titled: Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang really should know better than to play with fire.
this started with a prompt, but then i got rid of the prompt because it didn't suit the tone of the fic. at least it got me writing! tbh this is just a hella indulgent fic that has been lurking around my head for two days and didn't leave.
i'm still a bit unsure about the ending. i'm happy to write more if people want. let me know what you think!
title taken from bic runga's 'gravity'.
"Lieutenant, stop."
Riza pauses in her writing, and looks over to Roy, where he is sprawled out on the couch inelegantly, Black Hayate resting on his chest, panting happily and tail thumping a tattoo onto his leg. "You've been at that letter for hours," he continues, his fingers lost in Hayate's plush fur, scratching occasionally. "The world will not stop spinning if you finish it tomorrow instead of tonight."
Riza sits back in the chair, and puts down the fountain pen, careful not to smudge the still-drying ink. "Of course not, sir. But you don't need to stay here and wait for me."
"Nonsense," he says. "It's dangerous at night to walk home alone – and I have a car. Having to file a missing person's report would be more trouble than it's worth."
"I think you mean that you wouldn't know what to do if the report hit you in the face – not to mention you would never finish it without me reminding you."
"You wound me, Lieutenant," he sighs, dropping a soft kiss on Hayate's muzzle. The dog is happily dozing, tail finally still and there is a peaceful silence in the office that Roy is not used to.
"Whether I do or not is not the point, sir," she remarks. "The point is you need to take more responsibility with your work. It does not behove you to slack off your work – not when we have our annual training camp with Lieutenant General Armstrong coming up: she does not indulge laziness like I have been forced to."
Roy snorts. "You have not been forced to, Lieutenant."
"I beg to differ." Her response is blunt and he looks up at her – she's frowning at him and her left hand is drumming a beat on his desk. The Lieutenant is annoyed, and though he does know better than to prod, he desperately wants to needle her.
Roy swallows, and tries his best to keep his face neutral. "What have I done to receive such insubordination? This is most unlike you."
Her stare has become steely, and inwardly Roy celebrates. He is sick and tired of the strained formality between them – particularly when it is just them, alone. He might've had a bullshit reason to ask her to stay behind, but then, she didn't have to agree. She's just as guilty as he is in this regard, and he knows that she too, is tired of the formality – formality that has increased over the weeks as the conjoint training exercises approach.
Even when she wasn't here, Major Armstrong could be a real pain in the arse.
"I just wanted you to have a quiet evening-"
"Did you consider what I wanted in all of this?" she asks. "Of course not. You just went ahead and just expe-"
"Has it really been that awful? Honestly?"
Her lips thin.
"I just…" Roy sighs, sitting up and shifting Hayate down next to him carefully. "It has been a shit week and we've both been at our wits' end ensuring that General Armstrong's every request has been accommodated for. Forgive me for wanting to spend a bit of downtime with you."
There's silence and Roy half expects her to dismiss herself and go home. But she doesn't. Riza simply sits there, watching him and Roy suddenly realises that she's not angry anymore, nor annoyed. She's regarding him carefully, and Roy isn't quite sure what he should do. He doesn't want to ruin what favour he has suddenly earned back but her stare is almost unnerving.
"Is the door locked?" she finally asks. Roy nods, albeit a bit hesitantly. "Good," she continues, fingers moving to her jacket and unbuttoning it swiftly and shrugs it off, placing on the side of his desk. This is unusual behaviour for the Lieutenant certainly, but it's not like –
Riza's hands move to her head, and then she unclasps the clip holding up her hair.
It is not an altogether scandalous act on its own – after all, she only started wearing it up constantly a few months ago. Before, it had hung loosely, and Roy doesn't like to think about how many times he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it. He has known her for a long time, but this is new and foreign concept – Riza with long hair and Riza maybe letting him near this new long hair, maybe even touching this new long hair – and this makes him both nervous and agitated. A line is being crossed here – a line that didn't exist until just now, but Roy can't seem to care that much; not certainly when there is waterfalls of golden curls suddenly right there, contrasting sharply against the black leather of his chair.
It has developed some kinks, he notices as Riza runs her hand through it, her hand catching on a few tangles along the way. It's not quite straight anymore – it curls more, softening her whole appearance. He rarely sees the soft side of Riza anymore. He wishes he could.
She cocks her head to the side and regards him carefully. "Shall we play a game?" she asks, an indulgent smile pulling at the edges of her mouth.
"What kind of game?" he shoots back, sitting up straighter on the couch. Riza's smile deepens.
"A game of…restraint," she replies, clearly amused at his reaction.
"Rules?" He tries to keep his voice steady.
"If you can keep yourself in check, then you win." Her voice is dripping with innuendo and Roy shifts where he's sitting; adjusting as best he can without her noticing. He licks his lips and her resulting smile practically glows.
He finds that he rather enjoys Riza like this – sitting in his chair, watching him like a lion watches its prey before pouncing it. The shift in power, in control, is thrilling him more than it should.
He can't help but smirk at how she leans back in his chair – she knows exactly what she's doing and part of him knows they should take their business elsewhere. The other part doesn't care.
Riza beckons him leisurely.
He approaches his desk slowly, watching her as intently as she watches him. He wants to say she is smirking – he certainly is, but her expression is more confident than smug, more self-assured than bravado.
He likes it a lot. It's a good look on her – scratch that – a fantastic look, hair down and jacket off, far more casual than she would ever allow normally. She sacrifices a lot for him, he thinks, swallowing and standing in front of his desk in a perfectly executed parade rest.
"Lieutenant?" he asks a little hoarsely, schooling his features to remain as impassive as possible, watching as her smile curls.
"Colonel," she replies, pushing off his seat and standing before shifting some of his papers to the side. There's nothing between him and her on the desk.
Riza climbs onto the desk with care, smiling benevolently and not dropping her gaze. He thought she was hot before with tousled hair and bedroom eyes but she is on his desk she is on his desk-
The bar has been raised for the Amazing And Incredibly Sexy Things Riza Hawkeye Has Done For Roy Mustang – Riza Hawkeye forgoing any respect for government property and walking on his desk is all kinds of hot, and then she is just sitting mere inches from him on his desk-
"You fight dirty, Lieutenant," he manages, feeling a flush creep up his neck.
She hums thoughtfully at this, and shakes her head. "No, that isn't fighting dirty, Colonel. This is."
Her arms cross over each other in a familiar motion and then Riza Hawkeye has no top on and Roy is certain his brain isn't functioning anymore. Riza Hawkeye hasn't got her top on and he can see her collarbones. Riza Hawkeye hasn't got her top on and her skin is just screaming to be marked. Riza Hawkeye hasn't got her top on and-
"Colonel?" she asks sweetly. There is no right response to her question. No matter what he says it will not be right and the complete lack of control in this situation is both thrilling and terrifying in its enormity.
Roy Mustang is quite sure he has never been this turned on before in his life – and he knows that Riza knows it.
She tugs on the edge of his shirt, which is covered in dog fur, and pulls him closer. She tuts at him in mock concern.
"Nobody will take you seriously if you're covered in animal fur, Colonel," she observes, running her hands over his chest before she moves to his buttons, quickly and methodically undoing each one. He shrugs out of the shirt easily, watching her carefully. She's breathing deeper now, a deep pink staining her cheeks. He would wager she's just as turned on as him.
Her fingers are blessedly cool on his chest – every part of him feels warm and it takes a lot of will to remain standing there while she lightly scores him with her nails.
"I wonder how long you can hold out," she teases, one hand drifting down to his abdomen, curling around his hip.
"Easy for you to say," he mutters, nearly swearing as she cups him through his pants – her touch is so so so so light and awful and he cannot stop the shiver that engulfs his body. She smirks properly now, eyes big and brown and he desperately wants to stop her in her tracks.
Roy doesn't think she'd mind if he did – but that's not why she's doing it. It's been a while since they played games like these – before, it was too dangerous and there were too many eyes, too many ears around them to be anything other than Colonel and Lieutenant. But now he can rest a little easier – having your commanding officer heartily in favour of you marrying his granddaughter means he will turn a blind eye to any rumours of unbecoming behaviour.
Her hand slides back up to his hip and she traces the muscles that lead into his hipbones, before slowly moving back up to his shoulders. Her fingers leave fire in her wake, and every nerve that she brushes over is hypersensitive. He swallows as she traces the edge of his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek and fingers splaying out on his neck.
"Number?" she breathes and it takes him a few moments before he realises what she's asking.
"Seven," he responds, closing his eyes as her other hand leaves his hip and curls around his jaw, thumbs carefully smoothing over his cheekbones. She cradles his head in her hands for a moment before shifting on the desk, moving closer to him.
"Should I stop?" she asks. He shakes his head, breathing deeply. "That would defeat the purpose of the game, wouldn't it?"
She laughs a little at this, snaking her arms around his neck and curling her hands into his hair. "I suppose so. If I can get as far as-"
He doesn't let her finish, instead kissing her fiercely, and his hands gripping tightly at her hips. She shrieks a little in surprise, but swiftly wraps her legs around his hips, grinding into him.
"You cheated," she pants as he lets go of her lower lip, pressing quick kisses down her throat.
"Course I did," he replies, biting at her earlobe and grinning in satisfaction at her audible groan. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
She giggles, trying to swat away his hands away from her sides as he brushes over her ribcage. "You're incorrigible," she murmurs, hands smoothing over his shoulder blades as he feathers kisses across her sternum.
"You love me for it," he quips back, a hand drifting over the skin between her navel and pants.
"I suppose so," she sighs as he holds her jaw with his other hand, thumb rubbing at her swollen lower lip.
"Number?" he asks.
"Five," she teases.