Disclaimer: FMA isn't mine.
She wasn't sure exactly what had initiated that first kiss, but something about it had led her to kiss him in return, and one kiss had led to another. With each touch she had sensed how desperate they were, seeking an outlet for their emotions, the same way lightning seeks the ground in a storm.
Once she'd held love in a golden, almost idolizing light. Love was something for adults, with their all knowing looks and depreciating sighs. Love could overcome any barrier. Love came before anything else, even yourself.
She'd gotten one part right. Love was something you put before yourself. It meant that you'd sacrifice yourself if it would help that person. It meant waiting in silence for long meetings to end, a match tucked in her jacket pocket, just in case.
She'd spent years protecting him selflessly, knowing she'd never gain from it. She knew she would never be able to tell him how she felt. If love meant sacrificing love itself, so be it.
She knows that tonight will be their only night. It's surprisingly easy to accept that. She knows he'll struggle with it more than she will. After all, if she's sat in silence this long, she'll continue to do so as long as it's necessary.
She's learned much about love in these past years. She discarded that idealistic notion she'd once had long ago. Love is desperate and harsh. Love hurts. Love has nothing to do with reason. Love is so often inconvenient but it's the reason she goes to work every day, the reason she pulls the trigger.
She tells herself that everything will go back to normal, even though she knows there's no way that it possibly can. She'll never be able to look at him in the same way, and giving in this one time just reinforces the fact that she's in love with him. Still, there's no way they could keep up a relationship for long - her former co-workers have long ago guessed that there's something more between them than there should be. She isn't willing to risk his shot at the top for something she's managed without for her entire life. She knows he'll try to hang on; when he's passionate about something he doesn't let it go easily.
His fingers unbutton the front of her shirt with the ease of much practice and it slides free of her body, followed shortly by her undershirt. She manages to rid him of his shirt as well and his hands linger on the waist band of her pants. They're in too deep. They've always been there for each other - after Ishbal, after Hughes's death. Tonight, words shadowing their true feelings just aren't enough.
Hmm. I'm not really crazy about this one. It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. Oh well.