Okay you guys, this update took me forever. I'm so sorry. But I was unsure whether to publish it or not, because of a hundred million things.

One of them being: a warning. This is a) mushy, b) a teeny tiny bit angsty (just a tiny bit. My oh my, le angst. NOT!) and c) kinda... graphic. Ummm. So yes, I'm very unsure about it.

I'm publishing because I'm tired of postponing. What best way to dissolve my doubts than to let this out on public and see what you guys tell me, right?

So here. Some fuff, yes, but... I can't even be sure of how I should describe this chapter. Just thinking of the title is giving me headaches. XD because I know I'm supposed to write Winry out of character (that's the point of the fic) but I'm not so sure of how I'm coming along with Edward. THIS is the result I wanted, but is it justifiable? If it isn't I'll rewrite it. I still need to rethink this a bit (perhaps) but for now... there ya go!

(Ooops, sorry. Too long a comment, right? I gotta stop doing this!)

CHAPTER 9 – Just Give In

Love – "a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker."

Edward woke up agitated. He'd had the weirdest dream about pickles that night… All he remembered was trying to open up countless pickle jars, failing to pry open a single one. Then all of a sudden all the jars broke into pieces, covering him in the greasy liquid used to preserve the vegetables.

He tried to slowly open up his eyes, but there was this really annoying ray of light which crept through a crack in the window curtain that kept finding its way to his face. He cursed the dawning sun and his curtain and their promiscuity.

So he tried moving his head to an angle that would get his eyes out from under the UV rays; it felt as if it weighed a ton and his neck was made of jello.

He growled. He managed the herculean effort of moving his head anyways. Somewhere in the grueling process, his body involuntarily jerked a muscle or two that didn't belong to his neck; and all of a sudden he felt really, really bad.

For one, he felt like he'd been someone's kicking bag all night, 'cause his muscles all felt like jelly – he examined his naked arms, half expecting them to be covered in bruises. They weren't, of course. He also felt like he was a giant water balloon, ready to burst at any sudden move… Painfully parting the sheets away from his body, he looked down, confirming his fears – the 'content' of his boxers sprang outside its rightful domains, proudly sticking up in the air, as if screaming "Warning! This tank is full and it will leak!"

He mumbled something that vaguely resembled the word 'motherfucker' but without most of its important consonants and vowels. So he'd have to go to the toilet. Easy as pie; but getting out of the bed wouldn't be so easy.

His jelly-like muscles seemed to be unresponsive. He thought he must have been a miracle of science, for he was convinced that he only managed to crawl out from his bed out of sheer will power and painful necessity. He dragged his unwilling yet needy body across his room, clumsily missed the doorknob twice, and proceeded to lurch in the general direction of the bathroom.

Eyes shut most of the way, his head about to explode and limbs feeling pretty much numb, he was amazed how the hell he hadn't wet his bed. Especially after that stupid pickle dream.

Upon reaching his goal, he was faced with a terrible predicament. His bladder was so full of liquid that it had nowhere else to go but up his 'boy-part', which ached terribly. It was a painful task, but he finally managed to relieve himself after about a minute – during which he constantly swayed back and forth and sideways, due to his drowsiness and slight hangover. He completely forgot to flush the toilet.

But he thought it was a good idea to wash his face. Maybe it'd help soothe his dizziness. The house was incredibly warm for this time of the year, where people could freeze outside if incautious.

He splashed his face with some more tap water, trying to get his nearly blank mind to work straight. It was coming out warm now… So he decided to water his arms as well. And the chest too, why not? Oh well. Might as well go on ahead and take a damned shower.

He dropped his boxers on the tile floor of the bathroom and hopped into the shower. The water was cold at first, which made him jerk into an alert state. He needed that. When it started getting warmer, he just hung the shower over himself and let the water run through him. His limp muscles appreciated the treatment and relaxed into less painful positions, allowing him to feel so much better.

He had some time to think now. A part of last night was a complete blank. He remembered holding Winry outside the bar, out in the cold wind that barely scratched his warmed up body, and he remembered feeling a terrible urge to have sex with her in a warm, comfy bed.

Hm. That was not good. Did they…?

He replayed those moments in his head. He had wanted to have sex with her. He practically told her he wanted it. He grabbed her hand and dragged her along, even forgetting about his brother. They sped up all the way; she kept her arm locked on his and they kissed at every three steps… Alphonse eventually caught up with them. The bottle of vodka was already halfway through when they reached the house, but after that point, he didn't remember anything else…

He tried to focus harder on that memory. Harder. Concentrate.

He remembered the snow.

It had started snowing… And Al said it was cereals from the skies, so everyone opened up their mouths and tried to eat some. Ed remembered tasting the cold and tasteless flake and yelling at his brother for being such a dope. Those cereals sucked, and they had better cereals to eat at home.

He started questioning his mental conditions of last night; indeed they weren't the best. So he eventually gave up on trying to remember what the hell happened and turned the shower off.

He wrapped a towel around himself and proceeded to dry himself off before heading back into his room. Suddenly, the hallway seemed much colder than it was when he left his room; so he bolted straight back to his bed, plopping down under the sheets, fully relaxed, ready to get himself some sleep. The clock on his nightstand read 7:23 A.M.

He completely forgot about his boxers.

Now Edward was dreaming again. Not about pickles, but something far more interesting: Winry. Giving him an all-out strip show.

Slowly she advanced upon him, clothing articles falling lifeless on the floor and disappearing from his imagination, because nothing – not even the background – mattered more than the sensual female dancing across the room towards him.

The bed where he lay was large and white; he realized there were pillows behind his back, so he positioned himself comfortably upon them. He was suddenly in the middle of a huge bed, in a poorly lit room. She only had her underwear on – laced, white, the color of innocence. Approaching the bed in cat-like moves, there was nothing innocent at all in the way she slowly climbed into the bed, standing there in front of him in all fours. Once more she advanced, slowly. She stopped inches from his face and removed her bra, which she dropped over his head… Upon such a sight, his reaction was immediate: he flashed his hands forward to cup the round items of desire, feeling them. He felt ecstatic as a heat rush like never before inflamed his veins and flushed his cheeks, also spurting the growth of something else.

Like an expert, her hand found its way to the place it was needed. If she kept it up like that he was bound to explode at any given minute… She drew closer and licked his ear and neck, causing heavy groans to escape the depths of his throat. This was it. He was nearly there…

Then she poked him in the ribs. He stared into her beautiful blue eyes in a quizzical way, and the only response he got was another poke.

"What are you doing, Winry?" he asked. One more poke, and a gleeful smile.

"Stop it… Come on, do the other thing again. It was so much better.." he pleaded. This time, he got a giggle and another poke as a reply.

"What the…?"

He woke up. He had turned sometime during his sleep, and was now directed at the other side of the bed, facing the blonde haired object of his dreams. She dampened her lower lip with her tongue and leaned forward, locking her lips on his. He kissed back enthusiastically, still trapped somewhere in the limbo between dream and reality. He felt her warm hand hold his and direct it to her exposed breast… For a second, he cupped it. Then his logical, lightning-fast mind came to work.

"Wh- whoah!" He fell off the bed with a loud thud, sheets following his fall. He couldn't believe he was actually doing that. They were doing… They were in bed. Naked.

"What's wrong…?" She peeked over the edge of the bed, propped on one of her shoulders, both of her large breasts exposed and perky. He couldn't bring himself to look.

"Get yourself covered. Get dressed." He spat, still fumbling around on the floor while trying to sort out how the sheet was entangling him. He was angry, angry that he could sink so low. He hated himself.

But was he the only one to blame? Could she really be considered guilty in this situation?

"But I don't want to get dressed. I want you to come back here and finish what you started…"

"What I started? Listen, as far as I know you're the one who's been acting like a sexual maniac! You came onto me!" he hissed, finally managing to find a way to free himself from the oversized cloth. He noticed he hadn't any boxers and his erection was positively eminent, so he covered himself up again best he could.

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Prude," she replied, stifling a giggle, "but I think it was just last night that you invited me to your room! You and I rolled around this bed for quite a while, taking our clothes off and touching everything we could get out hands on. Or don't you remember that?"

He froze there on the spot. He wasn't looking at her, but at the clothes scattered on the floor of his room. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting his boxers in the bathroom. He tried to breathe and cool down, because somehow he felt it was his fault. When she came to her senses she'd hate him for what they'd done…

"I was… I was drunk. I'm…" he took in a deep breath and covered his face with his palms. He was so sorry. But the words wouldn't go past the knot that formed in his throat, choking him and cutting off all oxygen supply. What had they done… What had he done…?

"I didn't mean it… Not like this." He screamed to himself, silently.

He heard her move around in bed, probably looking for the bed cover that had most likely fallen on the floor last night due to their relentless acrobatics. She got up, wrapped in the large furry thing, and sat on the floor next to him. She tried to touch his soft hair, still slightly damp from his earlier bath, but he wouldn't let her. He shook his head. How could he not have noticed her after he went back to bed? How could he have taken advantage of her, in that condition?

"Edward, please…"

He shook his head again.

"Just talk to me."

He couldn't. He was too ashamed. Too angry.

"Please don't be this way. We were just being together, being a couple… Come on. I know we weren't thinking clearly –"

The knot untangled a little. His eyes snapped to her face, puzzled, a spark of anger still visible in them. He interrupted her. "Yes, I know you haven't been thinking clearly. You've not been yourself since yesterday. But I have, I'm still me, I'm still…"

His words failed him again. He needed to get his message through, so he ignored that knot that started pulling tighter again. "I'm supposed to protect you. Keep you unharmed. I made a promise once because I didn't want to hurt you! And now, look! I just went and did something rash, something you wouldn't have consented were you perfectly sane –"

Now it was her time to interrupt.

"I'm not insane Edward!" She felt, at the very least, vexed. She wasn't going crazy. Just a tad hormonal. She couldn't really remember what they used to be like – she didn't remember almost anything about herself really –, but she loved feeling that characteristic flame whenever he was around. She didn't want that to change. And she doubted that she'd never felt it before her incident. "And we both did it. I didn't think it was rash, I think that at the time we were just giving in, we were doing something we really wanted! Tell me you didn't want it!"

She was practically screaming at him, anger filling her up because he wouldn't give her a chance. She took in a deep breath and calmed down, because she was beginning to feel the urge to club Edward over the head with something metallic.

"Besides, when we fell asleep in each other's arms last night there didn't seem to be any protest or any resolve not to be with me. Tell me you regret that, tell me you hated doing that. Or better yet, do you even remember any of it?"

He didn't know which was worst. The guilt for not controlling himself, or how he couldn't remember last night's latest events.

But one thing he was sure of. If she wasn't in that condition, they would have never gotten into this situation. She wouldn't have allowed it; and he would not have pressed the matters, because all he needed was a go-sign from her.

"You don't remember," she deadpanned. "You really… That's… That's too bad."

She lowered her head and crawled back into bed, away from him. Now she felt like an idiot. She had enjoyed their games so much... Was he really so passed out that he didn't remember any of it? Or worst, was she really that bad that he couldn't remember? And why, oh why did her heart feel so bad over him? She had a sensation that they'd known each other forever, but that was it: a sensation. Not much more – no memories, no references – aside from that aura of his that made her cheeks flush and her thighs tense up. But she was in love, that had to be it. It wouldn't hurt this bad otherwise, would it?

How could she be in love with someone she had barely just met? In her conscious mind, he was a memory not two days old. A new friend; or an acquaintance by normal standards. If she felt such a strong pull towards him it could only mean two things: love at first sight or a long-time crush. Maybe he'd been just a crush before? What if she was just a crush to him… an attraction?

She wanted to cuddle him and touch him, but at the same time slap his face.

"I'm such an idiot…" she mumbled before breaking off into silent tears. But a long, cracked sigh gave her away to him. A little piece of his heart broke when he realized he'd caused her pain... She was crying because of him.

He had to speak up. Explain. Explain that he was furious at himself, not at her; that it was his fault. God, for how long had he been dreaming of having her? He'd dreamed, he'd envisioned it, he'd fantasized. All those times he imagined how their first time would be, gentle and awkward and shy.

Instead, he couldn't remember it. He was furious, especially because in his mind, he hadn't made love to his Winry. She supposedly has the same personality but none of her memories, none of the things they share in common. A struggle and a victory; then a walk through the same path of rebuilding their lives, getting organized. Happy memories, sad memories; their automail sessions; the strolls through Risembool; caring for his sick brother; and kissing. Kissing like only a new couple could, full of doubts and fears and frantically beating hearts.

He wished she could remember their first kiss. Or those small, stolen moments of boldness he'd displayed before whenever he grazed his hand over her bare leg or breast, or kissed her jawline lightly. How she'd suspiciously bumped her behind against his groin one day, inside the grocery store. Alphonse almost noticed it.

And he'd never really shown how profoundly he cared for her. How deep his thoughts ran; how much he not only desired her body, but also, above all else, her person.

What if he hadn't been gentle with her..? What if he'd hurt her, what if he caused her physical pain, what if his inexperience and drunkenness caused him to be too rough? He'd never forgive himself; and neither would she.

Of course this was his Winry; she'd just been cut loose of the shyness and propriety that were holding her back on her shelf. Now she was falling, and he had to be there to hold her. They could fall together, for all he cared. Just as long as they were together… He'd always thought that she would want to get married or something like that before the deed was performed. Now he was confused, unsure of what to do. What if, upon regaining her memory, she angers? What if she cries in disgust, over not having married before having intercourse? He wondered if she valued all those things.

He didn't. And yet, he did. He wasn't a religious man at all, God had never been by his side. His parents didn't marry, and yet had two children. So on one hand he didn't find marriage a necessity. But on the other hand, it was a sign of commitment.

He never wanted to do what his father did to his wife and his children. He did have a good reason to leave, but he could have explained better, he could have written a letter or two or a hundred. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd been married things might have been different.

He heard another sigh – deeper and broken – she was clearly trying to stifle her crying so he wouldn't hear. Now he didn't know what to do. He couldn't just sit there forever, and walking away was out of the question. He could, however, turn this into his favor. He should calm her down so he could explain himself to her; and honestly, he wouldn't mind snuggling back into bed with her, even though it made him feel a little guilty. But if those were the lady's wishes, he'd have to find out. He always did hear that women say "no" when they mean "yes".

So he stood up – still naked – and awkwardly set himself in bed next to her frame. Hidden under the furry blanket as if it were a cocoon, she moved a little, but didn't speak. He placed his hand over what could be her hip, but no response. Just another long sigh and a small sniff.

"Uh… I'm kinda cold. Can't you share the blanket?" he didn't know what else to say. She didn't reply.

"…Really cold, actually." He cleared his throat. "Please?" he insisted. This time he got a response.

"Get away from me, jerk. Leave me alone." Her voice came muffled and low, and she shifted violently, dislodging his hand from her hip.

"Look," he pinched the bridge of his nose, for patience for women was not his forte, "I'd like to explain to you what I'm thinking right now, but…"

He was lost for words when suddenly – a flash of genius – "… I can't do it while I'm sitting butt-naked in this cold world. Allow me to enter thy realm of warm fluffiness."

She didn't thrash this time. A pause, as if she was considering his bold offer. "… Are you seriously trying to make a joke at this time?"

"Did it get me a pass into thy warm realm of fluffiness?"

His voice was so cute, so… husky, that she couldn't resist. It made her melt like molten lava and she loved it. She felt her hands tingling and her thighs contract, both clear signs of how badly she wanted physical contact.

"You know Edo, that question sounds like an innuendo…"

They both blushed at the thought, awkwardness once again settling in full-force as she untangled herself from the over-sized fur cover so he could also dive under it. She kept her back turned to him, covering her breasts with her hands. Now he forgot what he was going to say again, because all he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her shoulder.

"What was it?" she asked to break the silence, her voice a mere whisper. The question caught him off guard.

"What was what…?"

"What you wanted to tell me. The reason why I let you enter my 'fluffy realm'."

"Oh." Realization dawned on him; he tried to get his thoughts sorted in the correct order so that what he had to say was perfectly coherent and came out right. He didn't want to sound cheesy. Heck, he didn't really know how to put it in words. But he had to tell her, or he'd risk losing her…

"Well…" he hesitated. He wished he could just magically learn how to express himself to a woman like that, or that women could automatically understand his emotions. That would make life much, much easier.

"I have… These feelings – for you. We've been friends since we were kids, for as long as I can remember. There are things about you that I have watched all these years, that kind of… They pulled me towards you. But it took time, you know, for you and I to… I mean… I want my Winry back. With her memories. Her point of view on things, her knowledge of what we are. Because to be truthful, I'm not sure of what we are. I wish I'd asked you sooner."

And that was it. That was as far as he could manage to go; and it had been so hard… so incredibly hard to get those words out. He still felt something was missing in those words. Could he just cut open his chest and show her his heart, for her to read and understand? Is there in this world a manual about these things? If there were, he'd read it. And know it, back to front, front to back. Twice.

After all, books were his thing.

Plus, he desperately wanted to be sure if they were a real boyfriend and girlfriend. It was stupid, that a man so short for words would need words to explain that situation.

She still wasn't facing him. She didn't want him to see her reddened eyes just yet. So he wanted her. Her memories and points of view, he said. He wanted her for the person she was, not just for being a woman, or rather, a female body. That was… So romantic!

"Edward," she decided to say after a few minutes of thought, "You have to trust me. If I'm feeling this way towards you it can't be coming out of the blue. I'm still me, somewhere. And I know what I'm feeling. I want you – and if you want me – you can't just say no. I can't explain what's going on, but I'm sure you can somehow. Does this have an explanation?"

He didn't hesitate much.

"Yeah."

She smiled and sighed out of relief. But after a few seconds of silence, she had to ask, "So… You're saying you have feelings for me. Romantic feelings?" she bit her lip. She wanted him to answer, but she was also nervous because she knew he wasn't the kind of guy who could easily be in touch with his emotions. Or express them very well, unlike his brother.

How did she know those things…? It couldn't just be a mere hunch. No. She was getting warmer, closer to finding herself. But she wanted Ed's help in the search.

A muffled "I guess" was his reply.

But that didn't please her. She wanted – no, she needed to be sure that he was in love with her, at least the same way she was with him. Her body craved for his, and she was sure her heart always started beating so erratically because it was also craving for his heart. That had to be love, or obsession, or both… So she took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"I'd like a more direct answer."

His mouth stood open for a while, but then he covered his eyes with his hand and sighed. "Yes, you damned woman, yes, I'm almost one hundred percent sure I completely love you, why must you insist on having me tell you directly?"

He didn't say this out loud, of course.

"Interesting… Is that your way of saying yes, Edward? Sighing? Or are you still not sure?" she was feeling that bitter taste climb back to her mouth and hide under her tongue. It made her nose sting a little, which by its turn made her eyes water the tiniest bit.

However, she was a bit startled when he suddenly jerked and caught her lips with his – she even forgot how to breathe. She could listen to her heart pound inside her ears, as if screaming of both surprise and happiness… A kiss.

It made her even hornier. Their tongues touched briefly.

Then kiss broke. Breath returned to both their lungs, as their cheeks flushed in some sort of unwritten communication code only their bodies could understand. "I liked it," the blushing means, "and I would just love to do that again if you wouldn't mind." Her tongue no longer tasted bitter, but sweet instead. Even though they were both smelling a bit like alcohol.

"That's my way of saying it, okay? Happy?" He pretended to be cross at her, his face in a sort of frown. But soon the frown turned upside-down, into a smile; and the smile was converted into a chuckle. Happily, Winry giggled at him in response. So the answer was yes, he had romantic feelings for her.

He tried to focus on looking at something else – like the ceiling for example. He tried not to think much about the whole situation, else he might evaporate out of embarrassment. Plus, her blue gaze made him feel like he was made of jelly, and he didn't like not being in control of the situation.

But Winry wasn't over with him yet: she still needed to work one thing out… One thing she was practically sure of anyways, but still, having a confirmation wouldn't hurt.

"It's not platonic, is it?"

"Oh God woman, come on… What am I supposed to say now?"

"You're not supposed to talk now, actually." Before he knew it, she had climbed on top of him; supported by her elbows, her body came close enough to his to make them both shiver and tremble in some automatically-induced ecstatic state. Legs open, her hips on his, she could feel the hardness rise underneath her belly. They stood like that for moments – a second, or maybe an hour, or a whole year. She wasn't sure. Probably just ten seconds, for all she knew.

He thought about fighting back; but why didn't he? His mind screamed at him to fight, to struggle, to resist the urges. But he simply gave in.

He couldn't help it. He knew he didn't want to cause anymore damage or pain to her but… They both were craving for something and he couldn't deny that. Moral fiber, kiss my ass!

He moved lower in bed, so her breasts came ever closer to his lips. When he rose his hips up higher, to come in full contact with her sensitive area, it felt really, really good – but with a bit of a surprise. She had her underwear on.

On second thought, he'd also had his on (before he took it off in the bathroom). He also didn't remember getting naked and having sex.

However, the thought lasted for only a second, because right then she allowed her whole weight to come down on him; his throbbing increased somewhat painfully as a reaction. Their skins seemed to burn with contact, but her nipples were as hard as if she'd just stepped into the cold snow. He wanted to wrap his tongue around them badly. He was deciding whether or not to, when suddenly… She started grinding slowly up and down, up and down, in gentle pelvic moves, rhythmically. He felt the softness of the fabric of her underwear; it was also very warm, wet from her own sweat and moisture.

It was all too overwhelming for him; he let out a moan of despair, and a gasp of relief as he felt what was possibly the world's greatest sensation. Lights flashed before his closed eyes, obliterating anything else from his mind. For a moment all was focused on that warm rushing sensation, as if his own soul escaped his body and took a ride in the fun carrousel. It had never really felt so good; maybe it was all the accumulating tension of that moment that had culminated into such an amazing release. Either way, he was in total bliss.

Winry was halfway through herself. Seeing his face when he hit the brink, and the sounds he produced during it, took her to act almost as if on instinct. She rolled from on top of his body and, shivering, placed her right hand gingerly over what seemed to be the most sensitive point she had in her whole body; it felt wet as never before and also a bit dirty, which made the whole thing even better. Not entirely sure of what her hand was doing – whether it was moving around in circles or back and forth – she didn't care. The liquid spilt on her small clothing article was still warm, and the more she thought about it and whom it had come from…

Her body's release eclipsed all else, and for a split second she died and went to Heaven.

When she (unwillingly) returned to Earth, she noticed the spasms that ran through her legs, her stomach, her arms. Her body craved for the warm touch of another skin, which lay only a few inches from her. She removed her dirty underpants and threw them on the wooden floor. She wiped her hand on the sheet, not giving a damn about how icky that was. Pushing the blanket over the two of them, she placed her frame over Edward's and quickly fell asleep.

The clock read 9:36 A.M.

So, this is it. Might need some adjustments, I donno... (sigh)

I need to get ch.10 started. I hope I'll be able to slip more comedy into THAT chapter. Just because I feel like it! xD

So, whatcha think? Be honest, but no flames or else... (I'll write a chapter on how crappy you are if you flame me, ha!)