Thank you so much for your review, Transparent Space! Also on my two-shot of Royai; I really appreciate it a lot!

Where Roy Pushes His Luck

Riza sighed when releasing her hair from its clip. It was a welcome warmth on the back of her neck, her otherwise freezing apartment causing a shiver to travel down her spine. Turning off the light in the bathroom, her steps were quick as she crossed over to the bed, exposing her bare feet to as little contact with the cold floor as possible.

Pulling the covers all the way over her shoulder, she bundled herself in, still shivering due to the chilliness of the mattress she was greeted with. Once the shuffling died down, she became stiff. Not even breathing was audible for another moment.

"And when were you going to decide on coming over?" She asked with a sharpness cutting through the silence he did not think to deserve. So she had noticed him. Perhaps the warmth of the blanket, Roy pondered, still more than curious as to how she would act had she not known. Of course, his hopes of watching her change had remained unfulfilled, though that could not be said for every night he had snuck in. Rarely, he would hear her tell Hayate one thing or another, having been keen on hearing whether she would say something about him when being completely honest and not feeling watched.

Tonight was not one of those nights, he realised.

Nevertheless, he gladly interpreted her snappy comment as an invitation. Scooting closer, he stole himself beneath her blanket, arms avidly reaching out for her slim form, wrapping around her waist to pull her close.

"It's bloody freezing in here," he nagged.

"You could for once sleep at your own place," she dryly said, "where there isn't a power cut every few weeks." She groaned, mostly out of annoyance about the situation – at least so he hoped. He would have offered her to come over for the night, but he knew she would not accept. Hence, his invasion. The only reason being to share warmth, naturally.

"Mmh, your hair smells lovely," he complimented, inhaling the sweet scent of the still damp tresses. Noting with surprise that she had gathered them to fall over the top of the pillow instead of down her back – another invitation.

"That's the shampoo, not the hair," she corrected, but he felt the reluctant sigh by the expansion of her stomach, knowing his warm breath down her nape to be to her liking. Pushing his luck, he placed a soft kiss below her hairline.

"How did you know I was here?" He murmured against her skin. "I even brought my own pillow," he praised himself. He was always blocking hers, giving himself away in the veil of darkness when she had to struggle with her belongings.

"Did you also bring the dogfood I asked for?" She circumvented and he did not harp on about it. He loved the challenge of staying hidden, always excited when hearing the front door open, eagerly awaiting her return.

"It's in the cupboard," he nodded, liking the silky texture of her warm skin against his face. So he kept on rubbing it on her nape, tightening his grasp with content. This was definitely the best part of his week – sometimes of his day.

"And did you buy-"

"The canned food, yes," he reported.

"With-"

"Three kinds of meat, no grains," he said, which seemed to satisfy her. Or rather relief, knowing him not to be listening to most things people told him. "I can't believe this is what you spend your hard-earned money on. I bet he wouldn't even notice the difference; he's not a picky eater," he complained. He would much rather see her shopping sprees result in a tight skirt or new lipstick than canine alimentation.

"I'm sure you have better ideas,"

"By far!" He ignored the sarcasm in her tone. Lowering his voice again, he tugged on her to lean over her ear. "Instead of spending your own, you could also let me pay so that I'll finally find out whether you're a picky eater or not,"

"Colonel, there are laws-"

"Not against having lunch with a colleague," he defended. He always felt his heart sink a little when she would retreat to calling him by his rank to create more distance between them. Usually, she would avoid calling him anything, which was fine, at least in the face of the other option being a strict 'Colonel' or 'Sir'.

"Which is exactly what's on your mind,"

"They don't have to know that," he grinned, pretending not to be hearing the rolling of her eyes ringing in her voice. She did not answer, and when there was still nothing after a whole minute, he pecked her shoulder again, settling down to sleep as well.

His thoughts wandered, mind travelling to his trip to the supermarket, the most recent events at work and finally the past, random memories of his visits to his foster mother's bar or Central Headquarters to see Hughes resurfacing. Usually, he would be the first to fall asleep, lulled by the scent of her nape and the feel of her body in his arms. She was a light sleeper; too light for his taste, blaming it on Ishval and the constant fears that came with her job – ultimately blaming himself and her resolve to protect him.

However, those reassurances that let him sleep in combination with her lack of resistance, barely existent irritation at his intrusion and downright offer of her neck by moving her hair out of the way triggered one of those rarely permitted dream scenarios that so often crept their way into his head. And he would ban them; try to forget the notion alone, overplay whatever had stirred them, but again, they were so delightful that he was not strong enough to nip them in the bud.

Hawkeye and him going out for dinner. Hawkeye agreeing to come to a bar with him – and not out of the need to stick a gun into anyone's face who was threatening the Colonel's safety, including himself. Hawkeye accepting one of his gifts that was not dogfood. A gentle hug or fleet kiss; anything that would tell him more clearly that his advances were not for naught. Technically, sleeping in her bed should have already appeased him, but gave way to that possibility of something more.

His heart skipped a beat when her hand moved. She always kept one under and one atop her pillow. The latter, he knew, was to shield her chest with her own arm. But now it was releasing her, travelling down, finding his hand above her navel. With the tips of her fingers, she traced his, while he desperately suppressed the shiver the light tickling entailed. It felt like an absent caress; a polite question and he was convinced she was either even further away with her thoughts than he had been a moment ago, or believing him to be asleep. Either way, the hair on his arms stood on end. It was thrilling.

She hesitated then, and he feared her to have felt his racing heart, perhaps the momentary stuttering of his breath. Before she could decide to pull away again, he opened his fingers, granting her entrance, rather capturing her lest she would actually try to deny the touch she had just initiated. She never initiated.

Bouncing giddily, his heart leapt more than once when she gave a small squeeze, letting her hand stay intwined with his. This was not the invitation following a need for warmth in a bitterly cold apartment. It was intentional and affectionate and it made him want to whoop out loud with happiness.

Because she did love him, that much he had no doubts about. Only with her fear of endangering his position, she was sometimes too absorbed in her professionalism, hurting him a little too much when rejecting what he was in no way entitled to ask for. Not that it kept him from trying. He would never stop showing his care for her, not even when the only way he knew how to was off limits.

Sometimes, the worst thing was not even the prohibition of courting her, but the fact that others were allowed. Those uninvolved in the military. Granted, most of their contacts were colleagues, fellow soldiers or officers from another branch; at least a secretary working for the military. But there were some nights, some investigations or simply happenings where a stranger would find a quite justified interest in her. She accompanied a man as his bodyguard instead of date when going to bars, she occasionally played the decoy on missions or frequented her routinely shops and parks alone. Someone was bound to chat her up.

Not merely jealous but angry – angry not to be able to step in as the role of her counterpart – Roy wondered not for the first time how things would be if she was not in the military. Given that he had not been killed yet without her protection – or not been kicked out due to slacking off when it came to doing paperwork. He could be greeted home by her, make her his wife, not chew off his lip in concern for her very survival. And not have to watch some horny bastard trying to get it off with his lieutenant.

"Colonel," Riza's voice roused him from his churning, slowly into sleep drifting thoughts. He blinked his eyes open, puzzled by the harshness in her tone. "Those are my breasts," she scolded. It took him another moment for the words to sink in. Then another to realise that he had been groping her, perhaps massaging her in his possessive fury.

"So it appears," he managed, giving an assessing squeeze, not least because it felt damn good to do so. She growled and he reluctantly let go, not wanting to risk being kicked out of bed. Wrapping his arms around her again – needing the reassurance of her being there with those enraging recollections of his – Roy refused to surrender his advantage completely, hugging her over her ribs now, the softness of the underside of her bosom on his arm.

"No," she chastised, "down,"

"I'm not doing anything," he pouted, pulling her in closer.

"Yes, you are," she hissed, one hand working to detach his upper arm, unsuccessfully.

"Oh, but it's so rare you're not wearing that cumbersome uniform – or a bra," he sighed with bliss at the way she wriggled against him, unable to resist a movement of his arm to feel that divine sensation again, even if it was just through the shirt of her pyjama. He paid with an elbow in his chest, making him choke.

Gathering every fibre of self-restraint he had, Roy gently moved his arms down, returning the embrace to its original, more proper if less enjoyable state. She remained stiff, so he bent his neck to line hers with apologetic kisses, praying for her not to be regretting to have given him that access.

"I'm sorry," he emphasised and she let out a sharp exhale, though one of defeat, "I didn't mean to," he went on. It was important to him not to anger her. Not only did it reduce his chances of another tryst in her bed, but with the playboy reputation he had – and badly longed to act out with her – he needed to prove to her that his craving to be with her did not solely originate in sexual desire.

"I was lost in thoughts, I didn't mean to let it out on you, I'm sorry," he repeated, "and I was joking," he added when finding his previous plea not to be doing him any favours. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She did not answer, merely a grumble enticed by his careful tug. Letting it go – most definitely not letting her go – Roy closed his eyes again. Sighing to himself, mourning his loss while at the same time celebrating not to have lost her closeness entirely, he started to drift off, not noticing how much time passed as his mind wandered again.

Not expecting her to be assuming him being asleep already.

The blanket rustled when she turned, unsuspecting when he let his arms slacken in feigned slumber. And she had not yet settled, anyway, so there was no reason to be squishing her again – to be increasing the risk of being thrown out.

Now facing him, Riza pulled up her knees, accidentally kicking him as she fumbled to pluck down the leg of her pyjama. Then she wriggled closer, stretching her legs, sneaking them in between his. With fluttering insides, Roy focused hard on keeping his breathing even. Which became harder the closer her face came. Then impossible as her lips brushed his.
His heart shot into his throat, a hurricane twisting his guts. What could have somehow and with a lot of denial been called accidental became a full-on kiss on his lips, the faintest of loving moans escaping her throat – threatening to shoot the blood not only up to his ears but into his groin.

Pulling back, Riza snuggled up to her superior officer, his previous mistakes apparently forgotten. Adrenaline still rushed through him and he was more than aware of the way his heart crushed his ribcage – something she should have already noticed. It made him curse just how much he loved her; how much he had loved that kiss.

Incapable of holding the overwhelming feelings in, he tightened his arms, pressing her flush against his body. Her breathing stuttered, the fierce hammering of her heart now directly transferring from her chest to his. Her face radiated with a feverish blush where she hid in the crook of his neck. Her fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to disappear. He only smiled. A quivering, unbelieving smile.

One thing was for sure, the cold was not a problem anymore.