The Ties that Bind

A series of related one-shots that range from Roy finding Ed and Al in Resembool and far, far beyond. Not chronological. EdWin, AlMei, Royai Parental!RoyEdAl Parental!RizaEdAl

Her Favorite Flower Part 3

Older Brother 17, Younger Brother 16

The door rang at exactly 19:00, and Olivier wondered just how long Jean had been standing outside her door waiting for the second hand to tick down enough to strike the hour. The image of such a man—usually so self-assured and confident—fiddling with his tie, with the chain of his watch, repeatedly checking the time tugged her lips into a smug half-smile. How utterly endearing.

Olivier stood from the couch, an extravagant but vaguely uncomfortable thing that was the decorating centerpiece of the sitting room in the enormous suite she'd rented for the next six months. She had a lot of leave saved up from her time at Briggs, and with everything running so smoothly, she'd decided now was as good a time as any to spend it. After all, she couldn't be sure exactly how long it would take for Jean grow comfortable with the idea of marriage, and she didn't want him to feel rushed. The man was a hopeless romantic, or so she'd been told by her source in East City. It was best to court him first.

She glided across the room in a pair of two inch red heels with crisscrossing straps from toes to ankle. The full, sheer silk skirt of her illusion-style dress flared about her ankles and knees to nearly her hips where the opaque fabric of a much shorter underskirt that hit her just above the knee clung scandalously to her shapely legs and wide hips. A darker red bodice, opaque silk and embroidered with gold, left her shoulders bare and crossed over itself beneath her bust, accentuating her already ample assets in a way she was certain Jean would approve. More sheer silk filled in bust, covering her chest in a ruched fashion that kept her neckline technically appropriate but left little to the imagination. Considering the amount of work that went into making this dress not only fashionably acceptable, but amply enticing, Jean had better take a full minute at least to appreciate it or she would grind her needle-like heel through his foot and into the floor.

Opening the door, Olivier popped her hip and leaned against it just-so, framing herself neatly with the mahogany doorframe on all sides. Jean Havoc didn't disappoint. His jaw dropped, his face freshly shaved—which was slightly disappointing as she was certain the man would look delicious when scruffy—with his hair swept back in a neat but almost carefree way. Good; she detested stuffy men. His blue eyes roved her body from head to toe, lingering obviously on the length of her neck, which her swept up hair allowed in full. He swallowed hard as he traced the line of her throat all the way down—the skin unbroken by any necklace or jewels; something he seemed to appreciate—to linger on the hint of cleavage she hadn't needed to force in the slightest.

Olivier allowed him to peruse—that's what she'd dressed for, after all—and even took advantage of his distraction to take him in as well. He'd worn a full, three-piece suit with black slacks and jacked, but the waistcoat was charcoal gray over his crisp white shirt. Interestingly, he'd chosen a dark red tie that matched her dress almost exactly. Olivier's eyebrow went up, impressed despite herself.

Making her way further down, her eyes landed on his hands and widened just a fraction. Clutched tightly in two fists, the poor stems looking like they were about to snap in half, was a tasteful bouquet of dark red and rich purple gladiolus lilies. Colloquially known as the Sword Lily, the Gladiolus grew perennially in Central where the weather was warm throughout the spring and summer without reaching the oppressive eastern heat. They symbolized strength, faithfulness, and integrity; every trait a good soldier should possess. Even more than that, the colors Jean chose represented passion and nobility; two things Olivier knew she possessed in excess. The Gladiolus lily stood for everything Olivier expected herself to be as both a soldier and a woman, which is why they were her favorite flower.

Eyes blazing a heated trail back up Jean's chest to his face to lock her eyes with his, Olivier frowned. How in the world did he find out?

"There's been a change of plans, Lieutenant."

Jean blinked at that, obviously trying to catch up. "Sir?"

Olivier rolled her eyes. "Originally, I planned a night at the theater followed by a late dinner and dancing. But I've just decided such a thing is pointless, so the plan has now changed."

"O-oh…" Jean looked intensely crestfallen, but at the same time, almost as if he'd expected this. "Of course, General. I…well…here." He held out the gorgeous bouquet with a sad smile. "Even if we don't go out after all, I got these for you."

"Of course you did, Lieutenant," Olivier snapped. "Why else would they be here if not to be given to me?"

Jean's jaw worked wordlessly for half a second, undoubtedly groping for something at least mildly intelligent to say, but Olivier didn't give him the chance. Reaching out with the speed of a striking asp, her hand latched onto his deep red tie and yanked him—hard—down to her level. Their lips met with an almost painful clash, and Jean gave a muffled squawk, his arms flailing about as lily petals scattered about the hall until he seemed to finally realize what was going on. His arms banded tight around her waist and pulled her closer, almost lifting her off her feet as he ravaged her mouth with a delightful level of experience.

Olivier pulled away, their lips separating with a wet pop, and Jean tried to follow her down but she stepped back. He blinked dumbly at her, his hands still groping her waist around the stems he somehow still held. Olivier smirked and tugged his tie, leading him forward like a dog on a leash.

"Let me know when you get hungry, Lieutenant," Oliver said, "and I'll order room service for you."

Jean shook his head and cleared his throat, the haze in his blue eyes fading. Well, she'd just have to fix that, now wouldn't she?

"Just for me?" He asked, frowning a bit. "You're not hungry?"

"Oh, I am Lieutenant." Olivier took the abused flowers from his hands and stepped back into the sitting room to situate the blooms in an empty vase on the low, mahogany table. "In fact, you could even say I was starving."

"Okay?" Jean's brow furrowed adorably as he tried to work out her meaning. "Should we go ahead and order something now? I don't want you going hungry—"

The flowers happily situated in their gold vase, Olivier spun around and grasped the sides of Jean's waistcoat, pulling his body flush with hers.

"Jean," she ordered. "Shut up and kiss me."

Eyes wide, mouth gaping, expression stunned, it was a long moment before Jean saluted her—actually, literallysaluted. "Yes ma'am!"

And kiss her, he did.

Kaliea: Soooo. Yep. That is a thing that I just did. Not exactly as I originally planned, but I definitely like it better XD Also, Olivier is surprisingly fun to write!

Thanks for reading!