Thank you so much for your reviews melodicConcergence and Transparent Space! I appreciate it so much and I'm so very happy to know which details you liked - helps me a lot with improving the content! So here it is, more initiating on her part ;)

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Where A Kiss Serves As Closure

Roy awoke at the sound of his bedroom door falling shut. Shit. He cursed inwardly, his mind racing.

It was pitch-black. The middle of the night, he assumed, staying perfectly still to analyse his surroundings. He was in bed, in his home – that's right, he had gotten released from the hospital after that horrendous fight with that Homunculus called Lust. That fight that had cost his friend the ability to walk…

Focusing on the present, he listened closely to the steps encircling his bed. A stab in the back, he assumed. What he would have given to have his Lieutenant's light sleep, he thought, he could have reacted sooner. Harking intently, he let his breathing flow regularly, pretending to sleep. Why had the intruder not made a move yet…?

As if moving in his sleep, Roy manoeuvred his hand to casually fall of the side of the bed. Just within reach of the drawer of his nightstand. Listening to the quiet steps, noting them to be hesitant, indecisive, he reached for the knob of the drawer where his ignition gloves were in. Just when he was about to wonder how an assassin could be so skilled to break in without being noticed while at the same time stupid enough to go where the view of his target's hand hovered over certain death, there were more steps. Scratching steps.

Claws.

Roy frowned at the familiarity of the noise. A thud followed, then the puff of a dog's nose, when cold air hit his back. The blanket had lifted. With his eyes now wide open, not a single fragment of the previous aim of his gloves left, he waited. The mattress sunk behind him, a from the night's chill cooled body scooting close until she stopped right behind him.

He wanted to turn, to speak her name when her hand reached out. Carefully, perhaps still believing him to be asleep, she touched his back. He had to hold his breath to keep from wincing. She noticed. Silence engulfed the dark room for moments to pass, an insecure tension filling the air. But she could not stand it for long.

Soon – and to his great surprise – she put her palm flat against the small of his back. It wandered, going downwards until finding the hem of his shirt. A shiver shook him through when the tips of her fingers met his sleep-warm skin, ultimately giving him away. She did not care anymore, something that worried him the most about the entire situation.

She never initiated. She would permit – or reject – his advances. Seldomly, she would react, hardly ever returning his gestures, deliberately choosing not to take the countless hints he left her. And he knew she was doing it for both of their sakes, keeping the distance that was appropriate and would keep them out of the trouble they would find themselves in should word get out. She protected them, even if it was against both of their wills.

Right now, that same woman was feeling along his spine, bare skin to bare skin. His face was glowing with a deep blush, all the way up from his neck to his ears. His heartbeat was way beyond good and evil, hammering against his ribcage, threatening to shatter it. He heard nothing but the rushing of blood in his ears by now, his stomach a twisting mess. And she had only just brushed against his back.

Maybe she was drunk, he speculated, fully aware how that scenario was just as implausible as the current situation was.

With what he started so realise to be a frightened tenderness, she trailed further. Her fingertips reached the mark on his side. They stopped dead in their tracks. He had only just been sent home, not least because he had practically released himself. He did wear the bandages during the day as he was supposed to and he took great care in the shower but when lying down to sleep, they bothered him. They scratched and itched more than the wound did by itself, so he would take them off for the night.

Apparently having found their objective, she slowed her pace even more. Her hand was shaking by now, he felt with shock. Pressing on, gentle fingers – merely the tips – dared to go further. It was more of a tapping now, testing how closed the wound was, how big, how raw. How it was actually there.

Roy was beginning to understand what was going on inside her head. It was hard to grasp with how she had guarded him the entire time through, right there by his side, hardly leaving and for such short periods of time, it was as if she had not been gone at all. She had been there when he had awoken, undoubtedly waited through the doctor's examination, perhaps even then not budging an inch and remaining where she could keep an eye on him. He was not completely healed but she had had so much time to process his recovery.

Not enough, so it seemed rather obviously.

With her palm now, her delicately cupped the reddish injury. Relaxing slightly, his brows furrowed in pity.

"Riza," he whispered. The shaking picked back up, this time not only being her hand. "It's okay," he said in a hushed voice, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," he assured. His heart leapt into his throat at the sob that escaped her. Turning around, Roy clenched his jaw at the pain that zapped through him upon lying down on the wound. He could not let her see, hoping that it would soothe her to know he was able to apply pressure. His heart's racing nearly stopped entirely as he caught sight of her.

With both hands, Riza covered her face. Her body was quivering, her lungs most likely crying out and suffering from the lack of oxygen she allowed as she held her mouth shut, violently jerking as a result. Immediately, he reached for her hands, then reconsidered. Sliding one of his beneath her head, he hugged her to him. His other arm went to stroke her back, mellowly rubbing up and down. She hiccupped as compensation for the sobs she suppressed. Her breathing rasped, coming in pants. She let go of herself to only cover her mouth, the other hand wriggling between them where he held her close. It grasped his shirt, weakly tugging on it.

Her hair was loose, a proper mess, and he could not keep himself from running his fingers through it. It enticed a short shiver, then the falling of her shoulders. She was wearing her pyjamas, supporting his theory of her having had a nightmare or being unable to sleep unless there was closure about his well-being – about him being alive. He wondered whether she had remembered to wear any shoes at all, her bare feet blocks of ice where he touched them with his. He was glad she had at least taken Hayate with her – or perhaps he had brought himself, protecting her in any case.

Sighing through his nose, Roy gave a small squeeze when her gasps for breath gradually calmed down.

"Riza," he whispered. Sniffling, she lifted off where his shirt was now seeped through with hot tears, his collarbone damp where they had tumbled down. A pang made his heart ache as he met her swollen eyes, lashes still coated in glistening tears. She blinked her vision clear, and he saw her lips tremble lightly.

The hand that had uncovered her mouth travelled to his chest, then up his neck, digging into the pillow to pass behind and onto the back of his head. The other fist tightened around his shirt, almost as if imploring him to come closer. Every single hair of his stood on end when her eyes fluttered closed and she took a breath.

Then she was kissing him.
Roy thought his mind was on fire. Everything for that matter. His heart was bursting in his chest, pounding so fiercely he was sure she felt it. And he felt hers, too, beating quickly, laboriously.

His eyes fell shut of their own accord, all of his senses directed at nothing but her. Her lips were not soft as he had expected but rough and chapped, telling of hours of nervous chewing. She moved them relentlessly, devouring, sucking, somewhat inhaling him. He responded just as forcefully, feeling his own eyes itch at how desperately she clutched onto him with everything she had. Fresh tears rolled down his cheek where she failed not to shed any more.

With his heart soaring for the woman he loved, Roy brought her even closer, raking his hand up and through her hair, encircling her back to close any gap there might have remained between their bodies. Would he have been sane, he would have slapped himself for the luck he felt at almost having died since it lead up to the current moment. Another shaking from her interrupted his thoughts as well as his more and more possessively growing kisses that he claimed over and over again.

He pulled away. She was close to suffocation. Wheezing, Riza took a moment to open her eyes, as overwhelmed as he was. She did not look up at him. Instead, she squinted her eyes closed, hiding her face as she bent her neck downwards.

"Sorry…" was all she managed, her voice but a scratching breath.

"No," he tilted her chin up to meet guilty eyes, "don't be," he assured. Brushing his lips to hers again, he softly kissed her, then her forehead. With a small whimper and a swallow, she shoved her head beneath his, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Sighing deeply, he wound his arm around her again. Gently caressing it, drawing random patterns up and down, he did not cease to stroke until her breathing had calmed.

It took a moment longer for his own racing heart to settle, but his smile never left. The hand on his chest released him, uncurling around his shirt. Weaving it beneath his arm, Riza snuck it up to hook her fingers onto his shoulder, embracing him just a firmly, needing the proof and the security of him still being there. Of his heart against hers, skipping a beat in unison before finally drifting off into much needed sleep.