Blank Pages

She was the moon. Pale, beautiful and shining. Wrapped in black lace rather than stars, she still glittered as bright as any constellation. She was a faerie, she was beauty incarnate, and she was perfect.

And all Edward could say was, "oh."

"Oh?" Winry repeated mockingly, shifting her leg on the mattress. The green bed sheet crinkled with her movements.

"It's not my birthday," Edward said, walking towards the bed, his golden eyes staring hungrily at the woman he had only recently married.

"I didn't say this was for you," Winry grinned, but beckoned him to the bed with a single twitch of her calloused pointer finger. He smiled and joined her, his automail leg creaking very slightly as he sat beside her.

"You haven't been oiling it," she accused as she leaned over and kissed the side of his neck. "I shouldn't have to remind you; you're not a child."

Edward laughed and pulled her gently up, kissing her lips.

Only partially because he hoped to distract her from his faulty automail care habits.

Unfortunately for Ed, Winry was far too clever for such familiar bullshit.

"I know exactly what you're doing," she breathed into his ear. "But, just tonight, I don't mind."

"Aren't I lucky?" He replied, as he pulled off his shirt.

Winry leaned back, trailing her fingertips against the numb scar tissue on his stomach and shoulder.

"Yes," she whispered, still looking at his familiar old wounds. "You are."

Ed stopped right before he could unbuckle his pants. "They bother you, eh?

Winry frowned and shook her head. "…No. Really, I love you, and I really don't care about the scars; I think you're beautiful. They just remind me of pain. Your pain. My pain. Everyone's… pain… I'm not making sense."

Edward bit his lower lip thoughtfully. "I get it, Win. They're reminders, aren't they? Some people have diaries to record their memories. My body is my journal."

Winry smiled wryly. "Are you a poet now?"

"Yep."

"Can we go back to what we were doing? I was having fun, before I ruined it."

"So was I."

Edward removed his belt and pants, not breaking eye contact with Winry. Their lips met again, harder than before. Ed's tongue slipped between sharp teeth and Winry moaned into his mouth. Her lingerie was quickly discarded carelessly onto the floor.

Ed fell back on the bed and Winry settled herself on top of him, smiling as he entered her. He knew he was not allowed to top when Winry wore the black lace.

With deft fingers, Winry traced the pink outlines of his scars as she rode him. "They are beautiful," she murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Ed gasped as he undulated under her.

"Nothing," she breathed, assuring him with a smile. "And you're not allowed to speak until your moaning my name."

"Alright," he said, wincing slightly as his shoulder hit the headboard.

He kept his promise.

When they'd finished, and Edward had fallen asleep, Winry held her hands up in the air. Though the room was dark, she could at least see the outline of her flesh. If Ed was right, then her hands were a diary, as well. They told stories of hot metal, sharp edges, carelessly placed screwdrivers.

"Yeah," she whispered to her sleeping husband. "Scars can be journals. I just hope the rest of those pages stay blank for you."

Perhaps he had not been fully asleep, as Ed draped an arm around her. Not caring if he had heard her worrying or not, Winry's lips formed a silent chuckle as she clasped his fingers between her own and settled in to sleep.

Author's Note~ Whoops, I haven't posted in ages! I hope you enjoyed this one, and I'll try to get back on a regular posting schedule.