a/n: Hey guys! As always, thank you for your wonderful reviews! You guys are the light of our lives! Sorry for the long wait, hopefully this extra long chapter (for us, especially for me) will compensate. Let us know what you think!
he was my first act of godhood / natalie wee, letters from persephone
Boredom befalls her unexpectedly after Olivier leaves Friday afternoon. Riza doesn't recognize it at first because she's so been occupied with one thing or another and it's foreign for her to feel so… stagnant. Roaming from her room to the kitchen to her closet, she finally settles for the shared living room and the place is quiet and empty, because only the stars know where Rebecca is. Her phone is going straight to voicemail; meaning her best friend does not want to be disturbed.
Sighing, her arm falls over the couch arm like a limp noodle, and Riza looks at the freshly tidied apartment. Pacing herself would have been a better idea; she'd need to occupy herself while her roommates were away on break. She'd have to stay here when she wasn't over there and if she's already without anything to do after the second hour, then she might have to pick up a new hobby for the time being. She sinks further into the couch and sits there in silence. Looking at the bright numbers on her phone, it feels like it's been half past seven for an eternity. She flips through the channels, watches an infomercial or two, and for kicks, she even touches herself - right there in the open of the living room for kicks- with mild success. Then, she checks her lockscreen once for what feels like the billionth time and it's not even eight o'clock.
It unnerves her, being this idle, with nothing to do, nothing to immediately work on and no deadline to meet. All her other course assignments have been done, leaving the upcoming two-week long break free of academic work. Roy hadn't even left her with an assignment or articles to highlight for the weekend, like he normally would do. Enjoy your long weekend, I'll reach out on Monday for what we'll be working on for the break, he had told her. She fights the grimace forming then, because Rebecca leaves late tonight to be with her family and she scratches her head wondering what she'll do for an entire two days.
She stares up at the bland popcorn ceiling, imagining this is what complaining brats must feel like. An entire two days to herself is a dream, she tells herself. Two days! She can cook, she can bake, she can organize her closet, maybe even Rebecca's closet because that is a horror show. But none of this sounds appealing, not in the least. And that niggling little thing, the annoying answer that's fluttering around the edges of her mind telling her that's what she really wants, Riza keeps it at bay.
She doesn't want to admit that she searched the university website to see if there was any information on his event, even if it is out of sheer curiosity. Nonetheless she comes up empty; without a doubt, something students aren't going to be privy to, she reasons. But her palm is itching and it's aching for her phone. Just one curious message, or a coy one. If he doesn't answer, then it won't be the end of the world. Simple as that.
It doesn't settle well in her stomach. Nerves are getting to her and she doesn't have Rebecca to egg her on for the confidence she lacks in that one department. If he wants to talk to her then he would've sent her message.
Except now she sounds like the girls Rebecca brings around, who Riza only knows by acquaintance, worrying themselves to an early grave about where they stand in their latest relationship. Hers isn't as complicated. She doesn't believe this is the be-all and end-all, and the day she does will be the day she deserves a good wake-up call.
It's an odd gray area with too many shades to define it. In the last few weeks, she's spent more time with him alone than she has with anyone else - ever. More than anything, she likes to spend time with him because he's good company. They fuck. They laugh. They bicker. They work. They fuck again. It's that simple, like close colleagues who occasionally bump uglies. Though, she's afraid if it might be more complicated than that. She worries that it is becoming complicated.
Eventually, she blames it on boredom when her thumb hits "send" and she doesn't want to wonder what are they exactly.
Avecilla, 8:04pm How's your dinner going?
Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Does it matter, Riza? She busies herself with something else, reminding herself that Rebecca has spoiled her with immediate responses.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:24pm Dinner?
Spanish Inquisition, 8:25pm Oh. Terrible. Hardly a dinner. Hor d'oeuvres at most. Or I guess the kids are calling it tapas now.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:27pm If it was any drier in here, I could start a fire
Riza wipes the obvious smile on her face but a small giddiness bubbles from his response. She ignores it, or pushes it down, when really she wants to just embrace it. As nonchalantly as can, she responds:
Avecilla, 8:29pm Please don't
Are crushes even possible on people you're already sleeping with? Were that the case, it is a non-issue. At the end of the day, and until the end of the semester, he is her professor. And as wrong as that is already, let's not mix something as messy as emotions into it. Her phone lights up again.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:30: Oh wait
Spanish Inquisition, 8:30: there's a bar
Spanish Inquisition, 8:32: bless the rains in africa
Spanish Inquisition, 8:35: What about you? How's your evening?
She smiles to herself as she thinks of the response:
Avecilla, 8:35pm The roommates are gone and the boss has left me with not much else to do. Sigh.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:40: All work and no play makes Riza a dull girl?
Avecilla, 8:41pm Bored, more like
Spanish Inquisition, 8:42: That'd make two of us.
She mulls on his last reply for a while, staring at it, unsure if there was any conversation left, and if she tried to start another one, would she be trying too hard? Trying hard for what? Or is this him ending the conversation? She's overanalyzing over five little words until her phone vibrates again, mercifully pulling her out of an argument with herself.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:49: Why dont you come over?
There it is, the proposition she secretly craved. She chews on the corner of her mouth and stares at the floor. Her legs cross over another and her fingers tap against the screen.
Avecilla, 8:51pm What happened to having the night off?
Spanish Inquisition, 8.51: HA
Spanish Inquisition, 8:52: There's no work getting done tonight.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:52: There's a spare key over the threshold. Let yourself in if I'm not there.
Avecilla, 8:52pm Who leaves a spare key there?
Avecilla, 8:52pm You do know robberies are a thing.
Why does she resort to banter? Is she incapable of having a normal conversation without instigating the man?
Spanish Inquisition, 8:52: Har har.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:53: If you'd rather not, I understand.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:53: But there's a certain menu I rather be eating out of.
Smooth motherfucker. She scoffs at his sly remark, but her cheeks are warmed. An involuntary smile pulls at her lips just as warmth begins spreading elsewhere too. It's tempting - entirely too tempting. She thinks about her flatmates, gone for the break. She thinks about how she has a relatively free schedule this weekend with no prior commitments to uphold.
It's too easy of a choice to make.
Avecilla, 8:55pm You let me know when I should leave.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:56: It's wrapping up soon. Shouldn't be long now with a 20ish min ride back
Spanish Inquisition, 8:56: Do you need to be picked up? I can call a taxi for you.
Avecilla, 8:56pm How chivalrous of you. I think I can get there on my own.
Spanish Inquisition, 8:57: I'll see if i can't escape sooner rather than later
Avecilla, 8:58pm In a rush, are you?
Leaving the cheeky grin on her face, Riza gets off the couch when her phone begins to vibrate.
"Apparently you can't even wait that long."
His mirthful laugh sounds in her ear and she shivers pleasantly from it. Roy takes a long enough pause and there's some kind of classical music in the background along with familiar clinking of cutlery and hum of chatter. "Are you sure you don't need me to call you a taxi - it's late and dark outside."
Her phone is wedged against her shoulder and her ear as she sifts through her underwear drawer. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll be fine with the public transportation this fine city has to offer."
He makes a disgruntled noise, clearly not happy with her answer.
Riza smirks, amused for his concern about her wellbeing, but dips a brow, irked that he's suddenly started caring about that now; she doesn't hesitate to call him out on it: "You know, I use the bus to get to yours every other time. You don't think I just teleport, do you?"
"You're right. But never this late."
"It'll be fine," she stresses, shimmying as best she can out of her loungewear with only one hand.
"And what happened to all those robberies you were mentioning earlier? Do those criminals specialize in only trespassing and theft? Or do they partake in other illicit activities, like when they see pretty girls walking alone?"
"The longer you spend arguing with me about this, the longer it'll take for me to get dressed and the later it'll get."
He grumbles something and she pauses until Riza can practically see the grin forming on his face. He exhales heavily and it rumbles down the line. "What are you wearing?"
She's about to respond that right now it's technically nothing, but a commotion on the other end interrupts her. There's somebody shrieking and other people start shouting. Riza pulls the phone away from her ear to save her ear from the shrill noises. It's hard to make out any actual words, but the tone is more than enough to tell her that someone is in deep shit.
Her mouth opens to call his name, but the call disconnects abruptly and Riza is left with the familiar beeping of a lost connection. Her thumb hesitates over the screen and thinks better of calling him again. A faculty event like that was bound to have a few staff over-indulging; if they were anything like some of the parties she has attended over the years there was always bound to be at least one incident.
She's quick to change out of the comfortable sweatpants and old t-shirt, and into a relatively casual dress that's probably shorter than what you should wear at church, but still presentable. Not that this outfit was the main event anyway. Underneath she wears the result of a successful shopping trip with Rebecca - it's nothing ridiculous, not like the ensembles her best friend had begged her to try on - but the surprise would be entertaining for both of them.
Her phone buzzes from a new message and she scoops it up off the bed as she grabs her keys from her bedside table.
Spanish Inquisition, 9:08pm Might be a little delayed. Get yourself a drink while you wait.
If at all possible, his place feels emptier without him filling it's living spaces. She's not used to entering it like this, when it is quiet and cool. Anytime she's anywhere but her personal bedroom, Riza tries to take up as little space as possible and leave it as if she were never there. It's strange to be in a place so foreign, yet in a place she frequently visits and stays and sleeps …amongst other things.
Her coat and bag settle neatly over the arm of his couch, and she wanders towards the kitchen where she leaves the spare key on the marbled counter. An opened bottle of wine sits in the middle of the island with an empty glass next to it, both glinting from the recessed lights overhead. Riza picks up the bottle and doesn't recognise the label - not that she's a wine connoisseur with an exhaustive repertoire detailing her favored vineyards, but she knows red wine and she knows port. Pouring herself a glass, she admires the deep hues. The fragrance of the wine wafts in her direction with spicy, almost leathery nuances of the alcohol, but it is sweet on her lips and warming all the way down to her belly.
The glass is cradled against her chest as she roams the apartment devoid of its tenant. It doesn't feel like a home, but rather a space where Roy exists when he's not at university. There's hardly any photos around, she realises once more with no indication of the life he leads outside his career. He owns the essentials, but nothing more. No decorations, no accolades, or souvenirs. She'd check the study, which seems more settled than the rest of the flat, but she doesn't need to know his life story - Rebecca's curiosity has rubbed off on her, that's all. But the questions begs what does she know of him really? Except that it ricochets back with, what does he know of her?
Her gaze flickers every so often to the front door when she hears a car drive past. She's not nervous - well, not in the true sense of the word, more like antsy. This feels like new territory for them, being here without the pretext of "work". She's just now realizing it and Riza isn't sure what to make of it.
From her bag, her phone pings.
Becca Catalina, 9:46pm what does nutmeg look like
Her face scrunches in confusion.
Riza Hawkeye, 9:47pm its brown. In a box.
Riza Hawkeye, 9:47pm it'll say nutmeg on the side
Becca Catalina, 9:48pm would i find it in the fridge?
Riza Hawkeye, 9:49pm bECCA. Its a spice!
Becca Catalina, 9:55pm like old spice? So the bathroom? Bitch idk
Becca Catalina, 9:55pm Mrs. Catalina needs it for her famous cheese sauce
Becca Catalina, 9:55pm shes lost in the sauce
Riza Hawkeye, 9:56pm youre fucking with me arent you
She sets her phone down to pour herself a second glass. Roy is a man with good taste. Drinking socially really isn't her preference, but if left to her own devices, she could drink this just for the taste. Like the sangria Rebecca makes whenever they host a party, but less bougie. Or more bougie. She doesn't know. Or care. She twists her head as she hears a car engine shut off outside and the effects of the alcohol aren't fucking around. The room moves on a lag, her cheeks feel warm to the touch, and she inspects the bottle again for the alcohol content only to set it back down with an "oof."
The front door opens and Roy grabs her attention without even needing to say a single word; he need only enter the room and she finds herself drawn to him. She meets his eyes across the space of the open-plan room, and lifts her glass in greeting. He smiles, cheeks dimpling. There's something much too homey about the entire exchange, but she doesn't have the time to comment on it. Seconds after shutting the door, he all but runs with swift strides into the kitchen, plucks the wine glass from her at the stem, and cups her face before kissing her soundly on the mouth, like some kind of greeting in another language she doesn't understand. His lips are hot and meld against her own, his tongue running along the seam of her mouth, and she opens herself readily for him. Her palms catches her against the edge of the island as his hands tangle into her hair.
The fabric of his suit is still cold from the night chill, her hands move up the front until her fingers curl around the lapels. The taste of wine lingers on his tongue; it's decadent and warm and mingles so well with hers. Riza lets herself be distracted by just how good his tongue feels against her own, and how his fingers brush over the sensitive skin behind her ears. He is still smiling that gorgeous, dimpled smile when he finally pulls back to look at her properly and Riza finds herself a little breathless as she does the same.
The man is already a menace to her trained focus when he struts around in class with his rolled-up sleeves, but even that doesn't hold a candle to the Roy Mustang in front of her now: dressed to the nines in what looks like an expensive three-piece suit that's clearly tailored to highlight his figure. The warm fuzz of the alcohol tears away any inhibition in ogling him. He looks deliciously refined, like nothing she's ever wanted, but her throat is dry, out of words. She'd like nothing more than to slowly undress him out of it, if she's honest. He pulls at his tie to loosen it slightly and it only makes the post-makeout arousal worse.
"Find the key alright?" he asks. Riza jerks her head in what she hopes looks like a nod. Roy comes at her again. His breath is hot against her skin when he laughs and drops kisses against the long line of her neck. Riza tilts her head further, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop a groan from giving him the satisfaction. "I realise," he continues, nipping at her neck lightly, "that you're not even legal to drink yet - but you don't strike me as someone who particularly cares about breaking rules."
Her breath hitches as he kisses his way back up to her mouth, her brain only half-computing that she needs to respond. It's hard though - his lips are like a brand on her skin, and she could drown in the smell of him, all spice and undertones of sandalwood. Her arms curl around his neck and she raises herself on tiptoes to kiss him once more, enjoying how his hands grip at her waist even tighter.
"I care," she manages finally, breathlessly. "For some."
A hum sounds in his throat in agreement and she can almost feel the vibration of it in her arms. His fingers relax their grip slightly, rubbing in comforting circles.
The port works its magic through her now: her body, once tensed, is relaxed and fluid, a different sort of giddiness buzzes inside her, just under her skin where she is unnaturally warm all over. She's so comfortable where she is that it feels abrupt and sudden when he gently removes her arms from around his neck; she fights the uncharacteristic urge to pout.
"I'm sorry about earlier. Hopefully you haven't completely lost your hearing." She picks up on the joking tone, but Riza tilts her head, narrows her eyes, and hopes that's enough for him to clarify. He smiles at her again. "On the phone?"
Riza perks as he moves towards the port. She grabs her wine glass when she remembers it on sight. "Oh, right. What happened? Was someone murdered?"
"Nearly," Roy chuckles. The bottle pops audibly when he uncorks it and pours himself a serving of his own. "One of my colleagues lacked the decency to at least be discreet with her affairs. Instead, she had the gall to boast about it by bringing her mistress to the dinner, under the assumption no one there would be able to recognize her wife. Except someone did know her, notified the wife, and the missus arrived to yell all kinds of obscenities and lay out their dirty laundry."
Riza frowns from imagining a messy fallout in front of professional colleagues. This is the kind of gossip Rebecca eats up, straight out of a Spanish soap opera. "Who was it?"
He's in the middle of a sip when he chokes it back. "One of the adjunct professors from the Physics department," he says, strained, after clearing his throat. Roy drinks the rest in a quick swig, as if it were a shot. "Older, but new to the university. Not the sort of thing you expect at an event like this."
"I can imagine," she responds, somewhat bored. This might be Rebecca's cup of tea but not hers. She's staring off into the distance and she says without a second thought, "Are all you professors prone to misbehaving?" Riza's finished her glass quickly and reaches for the bottle when she sees him watching her with dark eyes and a cocky smirk on his face. She has the question "What?" on her lips when he breathes in and pushes off from the island countertop.
"Prone to misbehaving?" Roy parrots back and approaches her slowly.
She tries to say words and none will come out. Her mouth forms a straight line. Her mind is trying to reconfigure itself, wondering if she really did say that out loud or if she kept it as a thought, but he closes the distance and, somehow, her back meets a wall, leaving her fumbling mind to short circuit.
His palms are flat against the wall with her head trapped in between. He's looking down at her and she feels so small and inadequate in her department store dress versus his formal attire ensemble. It's a crude metaphor, she realizes, symbolizing the gestures in his arsenal to weaken her knees, to reduce her thought process to the radio silence she has now, leaving it up to her senses to react for her and elevate her heart rate in a matter of seconds. She blames it on inexperience, but it's beyond that now. He surprises her when she least expects it; when her guard is down and she can't ever remember when or why she lowers it.
"You think I misbehave?"
Yes. Of course he does. They both do. That's a no brainer, and if composure was an ally she would said as much. Her eyes are probably wide and her mouth twitches for the words. At the moment she finally begins to create a sentence, his lips kiss her neck warmly and softly and she shivers with her nails going into her palms. The air she sucks in is cool compared to the rest of her.
He's always in the habit of wedging a knee in between her thighs. Whatever his reasons, it makes her painfully aware how wet she is, feeling that moisture and heat - ripe for sex - is sobering and inebriating all at once. The hem of her dress lifts as he bunches any material below her hips into his hands. There's a pulse throbbing in between her legs, and her hands raise to lose themself in his hair.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks huskily as his hands slide down the length of the wall and greet her hips.
Riza shakes her head, eyes closed. "No," she manages to choke out. With all the logic against this: no, she most definitely doesn't want this or them to stop. What's worse is that she can't put to words as to why, tipsy or not. "But we both know why you called me here." He hitches her leg over his hip and his hand coast up to her rear, but she finds composure now to finish, if only for her pride. "Don't kid yourself."
"I thought that much was obvious, but educate me."
Riza's fingers stroke his erection over his dress pants and he leans back, struggling to keep his expression from wavering now that it's her turn to smirk mischievously. "To misbehave together, sir."
The expression on his face alters with subtlety: his gaze darkens, his jaw clenches, and underneath her fingers, his cock twitches. "How astute, Miss Hawkeye. And what a lovely number you have on," he says, eyeing the length of her dress.
Her hand never stops. "I could say the same for you."
"Why don't you go see how this looks on my bedroom floor?" He releases her leg and backs away, finally unknotting his tie. "Preferably with everything else that you're wearing."
She starts for the bedroom and before she turns the corner, she looks back at him pouring himself another glass. "Why don't you come take them off me?"
In the current lighting, he smirks and she's a little too turned on by it, how the shadows are cast in all the right ways across his face. "Because I have other surprises."
Riza smiles sweetly; at first to him and then to herself once she's inside the bedroom. She pauses, fingers hovering over the buttons of her dress. The process of removing her shoes and her clothes is quicker than when she put it on. Her things are left hanging over the back of an armchair in the room, and in the mirror she catches her reflection in just lingerie. Whether it's bolstered by the alcohol or Rebecca's wolf-whistles, confidence is on her like a second skin. An unintelligent reaction is what she's gunning for, and hopefully, he'll deliver.
She settles on the bed with a shiver. Spring isn't upon them yet and the apartment is still warming from the cool air. She listens for footsteps down the hallway. As the time stretches on she finds herself twiddling her thumbs. Riza picks up the printed journal on his nightstand - one she recognises from a week ago - and flicks through it distractedly.
When he finally does enter the room, he has a full glass of port in one hand and a cloth bag in the other. The ends of his tie are undone and hangs on either side of his neck. His hair is more ruffled than she remembers, and buttons at the top of the white shirt are undone. The sight of him in this quasi-state of undress makes her curl her toes. He doesn't take notice of her - not fully until he places the bag on his dresser and turns around, mouth already forming a teasing remark.
He doesn't get far. She sees the cogs in his head coming to a complete stop. The muscles in his neck tense and he swallows thickly, thumbing a collar that's already undone from seeing her lounged across the bed with her head propped up by her palm in nothing but lingerie. The soft pink of the lace complimented her skin well. It wasn't the most daring of choices to go with - certainly not real lingerie, but she knew that. The push up bra certainly accentuates what she already has. Riza will have to thank Rebecca later.
But, as much as she valued her best friend's opinion, that all fell to the wayside in the face of who she actually bought and wore it for - and the glazed look in his eyes is more than enough to make the whole ordeal of fitting rooms worth it.
She's well aware of how his eyes of how his eyes are roaming up and down her body. "Like I said, I care for some rules," she teases, pushing up to a sit and brushing her hair to one side. "But I think this is a good compromise."
Roy wets his bottom lip. "I think I could agree to that. Is this-" he gestures towards her "-for me?"
"It depends. Do you like it?"
"Very much," he answers, lips splitting into a wide grin.
"Then you should join me." Riza shifts off the bed and stalks towards him. "It's not fair that you're still all dressed up and-"
"I have another idea," he interrupts and pushes her back to the bed. "No, tonight isn't going to be about me, it's going to be about you. And seeing as how you were so kind with your present-" he retrieves the cloth bag from the dresser and passes it to her, "-I should think it only right that I return the favour." He pauses to take a drink, dark eyes watching her intently. "It won't bite," he promises.
Her fingers undo the drawstrings quickly. "Are you sure about that, I - oh!"
A slim, almost cylindrical object falls into her palm.
"It's a vibrator," she says after a beat, hoping her voice hasn't betrayed anything. "I don't understand - sorry, I just-"
He laughs, shaking his head. "Not the most, uh, normal of gifts, I know. But as much as I like figuring out what you like and how you like it, I also enjoy a good demonstration. That is, of course, if it's within your comfort zone. If it isn't, all you need to do is say the word and that will just be a nice present from me. And then we'll just misbehave." He takes another sip of port here. He drags the armchair closer to the bed and sits down, resting his left leg on top of his knee. "Together."
Half-smirking, she rolls the vibrator over in her hand, testing its weight. "Tell me if I understood this right. You want to watch me... use this."
"Correct."
"While you sit there."
He nods.
"Watching," she repeats with emphasis.
His shoulders shrug, but he leans forward and places a warm hand on her bare knee. "Listen, I can understand if you're hesitant, but if you're uncomfortable, there's no pressure-"
"That's not it." The assurance is appreciated but wasted on her when she knows as much. She wouldn't be here in new lingerie for kicks. Wait; that's exactly why she's here. "A scientist to the bone, aren't you? This is your research. You have your hypothetical but you need the practical to confirm your theory."
"If we're to follow that analogy, then yes. But moreover I think it's important for me to not only know exactly what you do like, but also what you don't." He fixes her with a heavy stare. "Show me how Riza Hawkeye does it."
A chill runs through her. "You like what you see that much?"
"That..." He looks into his glass, almost sheepishly and then, their eyes meet again. "And you're stunning when you're all hot and bothered. I like watching it; it's an attractive look on you."
She flushes at his casual admission. "I never would have guessed the Chem Lit professor to have a kink for voyeurism, Professor Mustang. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"
"That sounds awfully accusatory coming from the girl who has a kink for authority figures."
"Is that what you are?" There's teasing laughter in her rhetorical question. She's pushing herself up the bed to the pillows when her ankle is snagged and she's pulled back to the edge of the bed. At some point she must've gasped because her mouth is open as watches him stand over her with a devious stare.
"Yes," he tells her emphatically. "And you like it." He releases her ankle and their eyes never break contact as she slowly retreats back to the pillows. She's breathing deeply and trying not to just jump his bones right then and there. She grips onto the vibrator tightly as she leans back against the pillows, watching him unbuttons his waistcoat with one hand, shrugging out of it and tossing it somewhere behind him. His tie is next, and she follows his lead, slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders and fiddling with the hooks at the back. The flimsy material slips off her easily and she tosses it to the side of the bed. Her fingers play with the lace on her underwear, hesitating.
He raises an eyebrow at her as if to say go on. She struggles for a moment getting her underwear off - he snickers at that, and in retaliation she aims directly at his head. He catches it deftly, winking in an obnoxious fashion before tucking them into his trouser pocket.
"Perv."
He grins, unashamed. "The controls should be fairly self-explanatory. There's different levels-"
"Levels?" She feels like she's showing her inexperience here; barring the awful gag gifts she got from Rebecca at her eighteenth, her experience with toys of this nature has been practically zero. Her fingers have always been good enough to get the job done. What if it didn't feel good?
She pushes the dial with her thumb and all of a sudden Riza finds herself very intimidated. The motor is powerful, vibrating her entire hand as well. Even adjusting it back to the lowest setting she can figure out seems like it will be too much for her. The sound carries in the room awkwardly as she lies back fully on the pillows, her legs bending at the knee. Riza breathes deeply, trying to quell her nerves and slips her other hand through her folds, testing her wetness. She's slick - abundantly so; the combination her orgasms from earlier in the evening, as well as the effects of the alcohol ensuring that every touch glides across her sensitised skin. When she draws her fingers back they glisten in the dim light of his bedroom, and she drags them along the skin of her belly, trailing in between the soft skin of her breasts. She hears him shift in the chair.
Carefully, she shifts the vibrator to align against her, the tip barely nudging between her folds and promptly lets her jaw drop as she flicks it on with her thumb. It is divine - this enough felt like overstimulation for her, the buzzing travelling through her labia and barely brushing against her clit. Her thighs squeeze involuntarily - trapping her hand as one leg digs tightly into the other. Riza can already feel her heart rate begin to rise, her pulse beating heavily in her throat. The sensations are heady and strong, and she lets herself be pulled whichever way the vibrations lead her.
She is too distracted to realise that Roy has moved from the armchair, too focused on the shifting, slippery edge of an orgasm that seems to be eluding her, to realise that he has rested his weight on one knee on the bed. The mattress dips beneath them both as his hands settle on the tops of her knees, thumbs rubbing reassuringly on the soft skin.
"The point of this was that so I could see you," he tells her softly. She feels him exert pressure and slowly begin to pry her legs apart. "So they're going to stay open, Riza." His voice remains that soft, quiet timbre but there's an order lingering behind it and Riza closes her eyes as another wave of pleasure breaks over her. His fingers trail along the inside of her thighs as he continues to separate them. The shift in her hips lets the vibrator slip closer to her clit, and she cries out, her back arching slightly. It's too much for her - already she feels like she's barreling towards her orgasm and the feeling of his hands on her, firm and unyielding is conjuring up fantasies of where else those hands could be put to work and she shouldn't enjoy how hot the idea of being dominated physically - however lightly - makes her feel.
But it doesn't come. She doesn't come - instead, she feels the familiar sensation rise in her, somehow moving out of reach once more. Every shift of her hips brings a new dimension to her pleasure, but equally she feels the pressure build within her. It expands and fills her, and she barely notices the heavy weight of his hands leave her thighs, too wrapped up in her own pleasure to even open her eyes. Her free hand brushes up against her chest, her fingers pulling and pinching at her nipples roughly. At this point Riza can't even register it as painful - she's gone beyond the parameters she was aware of for how she could feel.
Her moans and gasps are involuntary now, offered freely as she gyrates her hips against the vibrator, trying to find the exact position that she keeps passing over in fleeting little jumps. She feels fit to explode, and then -
The beginning of her orgasm hits her hard and unexpectedly. It's suddenly just upon her, crackling up her spine and fizzing along her skin. She's uncaring of how her body twists and contorts as she wills the sensations to keep going, pressing herself tightly against the vibrator, lungs heaving as she sinks back into the mattress, limbs unlocking and muscles untensing.
The vibrator is switched off, and all Riza can hear is her heavy breathing. Phantom vibrations tingle along her arm and she balls up her hand into a fist, squeezing tightly.
Coming down from her high, she cracks an eyelid open and sees him stroking himself. Her heart is already pounding but even more so at the sight of him, sinking into the armchair, head back and softly groaning - it elevates her heart rate, so drunk at the sight of him that it puts her on her knees and in between his. He looks surprised to see her there but easily relinquishes the control.
She wastes no time taking her tongue and flattening it against his cock until she reaches the tip where she circles and wets it. Goosebumps raise on her bare arms hearing moan louder than she's ever heard him, mumbling "fuck" at the tail end. Her ears get extremely warm, but it encourages her. Her mouth easily takes him in. She loves the feel of him around her lips, the way his fingers go through her hair, the way he squirms, and hearing his breath quicken.
Different from before, she finds that it's easier to take him further down her throat and hold him there. It's something he extremely likes, apparent by the way his eyes are clenched shut and mouth open in a gasp. He says her name and rolls his R's, like he can't control it, expletives in his language, and it's more than she thought she could get from pleasing a man with her mouth. She's never seen him more vulnerable, gripping at the armrests and cracking an eye to see her looking at him, and she's none too surprised to find that incredibly attractive on him too.
Her eyes close and she readjusts on the hard floor. Her hands hands travel up his pants, feeling the taut, tense muscle of strong legs underneath. Her fingers dig into his ass to pull him closer to take him in deeper. She uses that moment for her tongue to dance around the base and he looks like he doesn't know what to do with himself, alternating between arching over her and leaning back into the chair with the struggle to catch his breath while she holds hers. Releasing him sends pleasant little shockwaves, tingling straight down her to her sex and pulsing with need.
Spittle connects them at the bottom of her lip and the tip of his cock. Hastily, she swats it away, not knowing better and thinking it's an embarrassment. But when she looks up there's that dark glaze in his eyes that spells out hunger and desire as he catches his breath and hitches her own.
Just fuck me, she thinks, but in her mind there's an element of desperation to it. And on her knees, it feels more like a prayer.
The armchair scrapes the wood floor as he stands. She follows suit. He doesn't say anything until she backs into the bed to a sit. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you?"
She smirks. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing," she tells him, lying down.
"You are a bad thing."
His hands ghost down her thighs, hooking on her knees and pulls her legs up so her feet are flat on the bed, exposing herself to him. Roy finishes unbuttoning his shirt and untucks it from his pants with a stretch so every wretchedly toned muscle on his torso flexes and shifts, his scar basically dancing. The shirt falls off his shoulders and rests on his biceps. "Everything... in moderation."
He stops with his hands at his belt, looking at her with a half-cocked smirk and then down to where she's touching herself from watching him undress.
Two can play at that game, she surmises.
"I think we've both failed at moderating ourselves if we can't even go one Friday evening without finding ourselves in this position." He brings her ever closer to the edge by her bent knees. "But I'm willing to bear it."
"Such a heavy burden," she teases, adjusting her hips against his hands. His cock brushes up against her and the heat is almost too much for her to cope with.
She breathes in and a moan escapes on the exhale. Her hair is fanned out on the the bed and she tries to find purchase on the sheets to hold onto as the first point of entry prickles and instigates every nerve of her body from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. All her sensations are heightened and he just feels so good, like he fits just for her. Or it's that stretch. Or it's the fact that she's tighter around him from playing with herself.
She's had sex with alcohol before, but something is marginally different. The noises being made hardly allow her to think. The gradually increasing pace limits how long she can dwell on it and her head moves from one side to another before she's scratching against the sheets or running her fingers through her hair or palming her own breast or whatever else that will help her find balance on the tightrope she's crossing before she inevitably falls, before she plunges into something sweeter. He brings her this with each stroke, with each thrust into her; throwing her world off-kilter from the moment she stepped into his class. It's fucking perfect, poetic even. Her chest feels like it's fit to burst from the sexual euphoria.
Until he slows down and then stops altogether. Her neck cranes to look at him, offended.
"I- we," he stammers, clearing his throat. "We forgot-"
Protection. She exhales heavily, letting her head fall back. Her mind is hazy from her sensations going off that something like a condom seems so inconsequential. He's still inside her and any movement is a reminder of what she could be having if he'd only move his hips. She mutters something about plan B or pulling out. Impatiently, her legs curl around him and nudges him onto the bed, a demand that he should continue. Reckless in every definition of the word. But, he catches himself with his arms at either side of her. Drunk on the same libation, he obeys her orders, or whines, and his hand finds the small of her back and lifts her up to carry them further up the bed.
It's harder to find that same rhythm, the same wind up as before. But their bodies rock and sway against each other once more. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, his fingers lace over the crown of her head, and she's sure he will wake up to scratches thanks to her untrimmed nails on his back. She can feel him breathing into her hair, clutching but not pulling it as he traverses deeper and harder with more intimacy than they've shared before. Her climax is less of a snap of a branch from a harsh gust of wind and more of a soft wave splashing leisurely on a shore, but it wracks though her body nonetheless, holding him tightly as her body goes rigid from it.
Demonstrating some kind of great control, Roy abruptly stops and releases his seed over her stomach to just inches before reaching her breasts. She lets him go and he's panting over her body, beading with sweat and glancing at her briefly with a guilty smile. Her body feels boneless; she couldn't move even if she tried to. He gets up for the bathroom and she spots his mess all over her. Her fingers curiously touch the murky white, viscous substance, never actually having seen it on her … or ever, to be quite honest. It's sticky and gel-like and she gets the randomest thought of how many potential lives will be cleaned off her in a matter of seconds. It's even more morbid when she giggles about it.
"Don't do that."
She watches him approach her with a washcloth. "Do what?"
"Play with it. It's already hot enough that it's on you, it makes it almost unbearable watching you doing what you're doing."
"Imagine if I did what you do and put it in my mouth."
Roy half-scowls as he tries not grin and wipes her clean, taking care to catch her fingers as he does so. "You'd break me," he says, balling up the cloth and chucking it into his hamper.
Riza leans on her side, similarly to how he found her walking into the bedroom. Dryly, she says, "Hate it break it to you then, but you probably have half a dozen STIs by now."
He turns to her sharply and for a moment, he must've thought she was serious. But then his eyes narrow knowingly and she doesn't expect his hands to launch like missles to her sides and then tickling her, laughing together post-orgasm with familiarity. Neither of them have enough stamina to keep it for more than a minute and they lie next to each other in silence just stabilizing their bodies, catching their breath, in their nakedness with the cool air finally welcome.
His hands run through his face and rub almost frustratingly. "We'll head to the pharmacy in the morning - or either of us will. I hate that these things are coming up as an afterthought. But have you been tested?"
She looks at him and he's legitimately concerned, so much so she could almost laugh. She doesn't mean to make fun of the matter, but it's adorable. "Yes, I'm clean. And haven't been with anyone else since."
"You haven't?" He sounds surprised, and she bristles slightly against the notion that he thought otherwise.
She breathes a deep breath to finally settle herself. "No, I don't exactly have the time. I thought you would have noticed by now I'm not the type of person with lots of sexual experience."
He chuckles lightly. "Sexual experience doesn't relate to the number of partners. People have the same kind of sex with different people all the time."
"When I write my memoirs, I'll be sure to extrapolate." The bed shifts when he gets up and he heads for his dresser to dress himself and tosses her a shirt as she asks, "And what about you? Honestly speaking, no judgement whatsoever, how many have found themselves in your classroom and in your bed?"
"Only you."
This leaves her speechless and she unfolds his shirt quietly, unsure if he's being honest or if the sincerity she hears in his voice is feigned. She feels that it means something but Riza is pulled from that train of thought when he continues.
"And I'm clean too. No one else since … well, our little thing started it." He settles back on the bed comfortably, looking at her with his head propped. "I did have something I wanted to ask you."
Riza only acknowledges him by turning her head.
"If your roommates are gone, would you rather stay here?"
She shifts to look at him properly, dragging the duvet across them. "What do you mean?"
"You mentioned that they had left for the break - I just figured it'd save you some time and money if you stayed over here, instead of commuting constantly."
Right. Despite the lack of classes for the next two weeks, she still had a job to do - and the increase in hours would be appreciated. It was nice not having to worry about what she was going to eat for dinner, or worrying about paying rent and her bills constantly. The work was certainly harder - Roy certainly doesn't take it easy on her just because of this...thing on the side, but it left her feeling like she had accomplished something. Her grades were certainly beginning to reflect the amount of literature she was having to review for him.
Too lost in her own thoughts to see the slightly crestfallen look on Roy's face, she tucks her hair behind her ear and hums in thought.
"In any case," he says, pulling her from her woolgathering as he draws her close against his chest, "give it some thought. It's just an idea."
She wakes in the middle of the night, overcome with the sudden urge for a drink of water. Riza gropes blindly for her phone on the nightstand, before she remembers it was left abandoned on the kitchen counter. He's snoring softly when she slips out of bed. The streetlight sneaking its way through the curtains guides her out of the bedroom with a little difficulty.
She practically inhales the first glass of water and second glass doesn't stand much of a chance either. On her third, she's more measured, wandering around the kitchen in search of her phone.
3:23am, her lockscreen tells her, the brightness nearly blinding against the dim light of the kitchen. There are a few texts from Rebecca, and Riza rests her elbows against the kitchen island as she tries to make sense of the conversation her best friend started the night before.
Becca Catalina, 9:59pm no! I wanna kno!
Becca Catalina, 10:07pm you could have just told me it was in the pantry you dick
Becca Catalina, 10:47pm im leaving! ily! good luck with your grapefruit beej!
She smiles fondly at text before throwing her head back to finish the rest of the water. The hard buzz of a vibration next to her nearly makes Riza drop her phone in shock; she's a little embarrassed at how violently she jerks. Another phone lights up next to her, notifications popping up in quick succession.
She knows she shouldn't, but the rate of notifications is more than enough to make her more than curious.
The majority of them are in Spanish, she realises as she flicks through them, and what little she knows is not enough to make heads or tails of this conversation. The incoming two texts are more indicative of the nature of the one-sided conversation.
Axe, 3:25am Papi x favor
Axe, 3:25am it willb e diff this time
She feels her gut curl unpleasantly into a tight far as she was aware,he wasn't a father, but it wasn't entirely out of the question...and the alternative didn't bear thinking about. She doesn't want to doubt him, doubt what he had told her last night but the texts in front of her spell out a different story, one running parallel to hers.
"Riza," a voice to her left says and she shrieks, the phone clattering noisily onto the marble of the kitchen island. Roy watches her warily, shrugging on a cardigan as he stops in front of the island, and questioning her with a grim stare. "What were you doing with my phone?"
notes
"x" is also the multiplication symbol. in spanish its said "por" like 2 times 2 is "2 por 2". But in Spanish it can also be woven into replace some words so "por favor"/"please" would be read as "x favor"