On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two Turtledoves
The wind was whipping his ink-black hair across his face, but it was a warm wind, warm for December, and he smiled as his vision was obscured not by his own dark strands but by the silky-gold of his wife's.
Roy Mustang, a married man. Never thought he'd see the day.
This day he was neither Private nor Corporal nor Colonel nor Brigadier General. He was the happy husband of one Riza Hawkeye (who had declined being Riza Mustang for professional reasons.)
One smooth, strong hand crept under his shirt, ghosting across his stomach, over his belly button, one finger sliding under the waist of his pants. He seized her hand with his own, and murmured into her hair, "Riza, we're in public."
She turned her liquid brown eyes on him, and her expression melted him at once. "Then let's get out of public," she said matter-of-factly, withdrawing her hand from beneath his clothing and twining her fingers through his.
He wrapped his other arm around her stomach and drew her through the bright silk draperies, from the balcony to the bedroom, unable to take his eyes off his wife. The room they were in reminded him that they were far from any concerns, far from anything but each other in this distant country. The journey across the desert had not exactly been romantic, but the trip was worth it. It was the symbol of the start of their new life together.
Yes, they both belonged to the military. But now, in an entirely separate way, they both belonged to the other, and neither had ever felt so right.
And a partridge in a pear tree