Mutual Oblivion
I can't believe this.
My fingers are drumming on the steering wheel. My knee is rocking, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I shift a gear.
I can't believe this happened.
The traffic light is already amber but I pass it anyway.
I can't believe myself.
How could I let this happen? How could I do such a thing? Guilt doesn't even begin to describe how I feel; how low I have sunken into despair and hatred about my actions. Of course, I don't wish that I had done it to anyone else, but to her of all people. It has been a short five months of her working under me – and now I've set a premature end to it.
The shortest way to the Lieutenant's flat is another right, then left. I go straight. My pulse is speeding, my throat tight. I need more time. I'm not ready. I ease off the accelerator slightly. I've been to her place before, she had been to mine too, but today feels different.
Four days ago felt different too to say the least.
I don't usually go out on Monday nights, but it was a special occasion. One of my sisters is leaving the bar because she's having a baby. I never get drunk at Madame's – but since we were celebrating here in the East City where my sister's husband lives, and I had already had a few sips there and then left for the bachelor's party of a former schoolmate, let's just say I was… more than tipsy.
The Lieutenant picked me up like she always does. I don't know what went so wrong this time; how I could have possibly been this stupid. Okay, stupid is the understatement of the decade – I was a monster.
She had made me something to drink and eat. I had suddenly slithered right behind her, trapped her against the counter, said something I must have thought was staggeringly charming (and was most likely excruciatingly embarrassing instead).
I don't know how we came to be face to face; something must have happened in between being in the kitchen and standing in the bedroom – on, right, she had helped me stand at some point. Her slender, strong hands are as if burned into my mind's eye. My hands tingle even now. I rub them nervously on the leather of the steering wheel.
So she had pulled me up, at least I think so, and suddenly, her beautiful face had been so close, so enchanting, her lips deliciously near mine – it had been sheer impossible to resist. Even though I knew what was happening. And even though I know about the laws.
On second thought, maybe I didn't know exactly what was happening, because the next thing I remember is waking up to that enormous tattoo on her back. Bits and pieces of her body trickled into my mind when I caught sight of one of those enthralling thighs sticking out of my sheets. Good gods, they still smelt like her all morning. The entire bed. I prayed it would stay like that for the duration of the week, then cursed myself for such thoughts.
Just looking at her naked in my bed had made my body spring to life in more ways than one, but once I had left the ice-cold shower that had somewhat calmed me down, she had been gone. We haven't spoken much since then. We were both at work, naturally. She was professional as usual, and I still can't decide whether I was too, or whether I was an even bigger arsehole for not bringing it up once. I just kept… staring at her. Waiting for her dismissal. A lawsuit. At least a request for transfer.
It's Friday night now. It's long overdue but I could never pretend it didn't happen. And that I don't have to make it up to her somehow. I contemplate leaving her the car so that she can get away from me as quickly and far as possible. I settle with leaving the keys rather obviously on her table. Should she let me in.
I won't run after her if she flees. This will be the last time that I am ever going to pursue her – to apologise – before I will disappear from her life forever. I've come to the decision that if she won't – if she fears me too much to do so – then I will have to file in that transfer.
I still can't believe I did that. I cannot begin to imagine the horrors she must have gone through, and on top of that, pretended as if nothing was amiss all week. The weight of the lush bouquet on my arm feels too light in the face of what it attempts to smooth over. A material form of excuse, how pathetic.
I ring the bell. I have to briefly wipe my hand on my trousers. I'm breaking a sweat. My heart has yet to slow down.
I jump a little when the buzzer goes off. She must not know that it's me, or else she wouldn't have opened the door. She can still reject me at her apartment's door. Part of me wishes that she will; that she will banish me as harshly as she can to break in me what I have broken so cruelly in her.
I stop at the top of the stairs, swearing under my breath. Images of her gorgeous body just flashed before my inner eye again. How I have loved this woman. I still do. After all these years, when I had finally reached the point of no return; the realisation that there is no denying how I feel for her, I went and ruined it all.
It's not as if I had a chance, seeing as we are superior and subordinate now, but a man can dream… And I did dream; I have since she was only the sweet, lonely daughter of my master, since I studied the secrets on her back so intimately after his death, later during my training, during the war even, I had imagined going back, asking for her hand in marriage and freeing her from that gossipy old village.
And then, of course, since she has been assigned as my aide, my dreams took a turn for the worse.
Once I'm back home, I will make a vow to never dream such things again. It must have been what made me commit such an atrocious act.
From the stairwell, I make it to her door in seven big strides. I raise a hand to knock. Then pause. Briefly closing my eyes, I forbid myself the frown wrinkling my brows and knock. What will she think when she sees me at her threshold? Carrying flowers. It wasn't her place on which I imprinted this trauma but it's still so much more… vulnerable than at the office.
Why didn't she just shoot me?
Footfalls. Before I can locate them, the lock clicks. Two locks. She peeks through the gap the door chain allows. I want to kick myself. Hard. There is merely one eye visible and already, I feel my insides aflutter. How could I destroy this? I am going to miss her like I would my arms. My heart.
"Lieutenant Colonel," she softly says, more to herself. The door closes. The chain rattles, and then I'm inside her flat.
It's colder than I thought. Or maybe I'm still overheating. The collar of my shirt sure feels too tight to breathe comfortably.
"I'm sorry to bother you." I am so sorry, I almost yell. I'm such a mess. I can't believe I'm losing her tonight. I should already have. Why did she grace me with her presence all week if this is the end? I deserve the heartbreak, I know, but I still wish I wouldn't hurt so much.
"It's no trouble," she quietly says. I really did break her; she's usually so confident, so stoic and adamant and— good gods, are those buttons going all the way up to her waistband? Whatever kind of shop sells skirts like that should be illegal. I'm getting off track here.
Riza has closed the door behind me. She even put the chain back in place. It confuses me profusely, but she seems to be in a similar state of mind when she sees me holding that enormous bouquet of flowers.
"I'm sorry, did you need me to drive you?" She goes back to the door. She thinks they're for someone else. It flares up my self-hatred like a match would a petrol transporter. She thinks I'm going to see another woman, when all I ever do is keep up a façade or have a blubber at Madame's about how I cannot be with the one I love so dearly.
"No," I interrupt her getting her coat, "no, they're— they're for you." Did I just stutter? Roy Mustang, State Alchemist, youngest Lieutenant Colonel in Amestris' history and the Hero of Ishval, stuttering? I really can't stress enough what an effect Riza has on me; my womanising reputation means nothing in the face of her.
"Oh." She blinks at the bouquet, taken aback. "I, uh," her eyes search the measly kitchen area to my left, "here." She brings a cooking pot that she fills with water. In a way, it soothes me. She will have a better life once she can choose where she wants to live – far away from the military, from me, in a house of her own with anything my salary can afford.
It strikes me for the first time that she might not want to quit her job. That if she doesn't want to transfer away from the East, I will have to do so. It will be more than difficult to persuade the General to let me, not to mention a huge disadvantage regarding my position. They might demote me. He might just kill me if he finds out what I did to his precious and only granddaughter.
Anything, I catch myself thinking, anything to make up for what I've done.
"Thank you very much," Riza says a little awkwardly. I didn't mean to embarrass her. I pray she doesn't think I'm doing this to repeat my gruesome mistake; to get back into her favour. It's far too late for that.
"May I?" I point at the couch. I have to tell her now. "We need to talk, Lieutenant."
She looks from me to the couch with big eyes. So then she caught on. I can see the appal flash across her features. Turning away, she offers me something to drink. I cannot refuse – my throat is as scratchy as sandpaper.
The couch is old and worn-out. Second hand, I muse. It creaks under my weight as I sink too far into it to be comfortable. I don't care. I gulp down the glass of water she hands me in one go.
By far more carefully, she seats herself beside me. I hate the distance between us. I hate the way she stares at her lap, the way she fidgets with discomfort. I hate to have to do this, I hate everything about this but most of all, I hate myself. I have to. I couldn't stand to keep her around, knowing just how much she hates me.
I take a deep breath. And another.
"I… I'm so—" I'm despicable.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," she has her head down, "I wasn't thinking and sullied your reputation for my own selfish desires. I… understand if you don't want me as your aid anymore and," she falters slightly, "court‑martial me…"
"Court…?" I stutter. Wait, what?! She said desires, I'm one hundred percent sure she just said that and holy cow did it sound alluring coming from her mouth. It makes me stare at her lips. I shouldn't be thinking this, I really am pathetic. And when she's feeling down and apologising of all times.
I pause. What exactly is she apologising for?
"I would never court‑martial you, Lieutenant," I say urgently. "I can only hope you will forgive me someday for what I've done, even though it's inexcusable. I'm prepared to compensate you should you choose to leave for however long you need. I know money isn't sufficient in any way, but I…" I don't know what else to offer. Court-martialling me might only be a small satisfaction, but if that's what she needs, so be it.
I can't believe I've hurt her again – severely. Court-martialling isn't enough, I realise, not even for my own sense of righteousness. How could I have done this? To my most trusted subordinate, my childhood friend? What kind of a twisted, sick mind do I have, pining after my long-lost crush even years later that it made me sexually assault her?
She's silent. I watch her reaction carefully, trying in vain to detect any ire or even gratification at my proposals. She isn't returning my seeking glance. Fixed on her lap, her eyes stare on, big and intense. Why isn't she lashing out at me? I'm on my knees – metaphorically – and ready to pay in whichever way she sees fit.
Perhaps I should kneel. Bow down, wait for punishment.
Okay, that sounded too sexy again. I want to cuss myself; why can't I get these thoughts out of my filthy, wretched mind? I see her face – her lips, her eyes – and just…
"You're not… upset about what happened?" she quietly asks.
I frown unhappily. There's no understanding her lack of care for herself – why in the world would I be the one who is mad? And why on earth isn't she? "I'm upset with myself." I can't say it enough. "That was never supposed to happen and I feel beyond horrible."
"Oh." She is mute again. For some reason, she seems… disappointed? "Of course, sir. My most humble apologies." Her voice wavers. My brows crease until they almost meet in the middle.
"Lieutenant," I restart slowly, "I don't see how there is anything you need to be sorry for." She winces a little, never looking up. "You're the victim here. You did nothing wrong and you have a right to—"
"But I did," she cries, hitting her legs with her fists.
I'm stunned. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
She could have walked out of here free of charges, rich, and perhaps even less scarred for life by confronting and blaming me – all of which she is entitled to. I'm ashamed to admit that it would have made me feel better too, but my priority is her feeling better. I'm torn but I still don't exclude the offer of buying her a house somewhere, away from me, never to be violated again by my sick, undying desire for her.
There's that word again. Desire.
"You're going to have to explain," I cautiously order. I don't want her to relive the trauma but whatever I offer, she won't accept. She doesn't even react the way I expected. I'm more than lost.
"I…" She swallows audibly. Her fingers furl around the fabric of her skirt. "I took advantage of you."
My mouth falls open without me noticing. She… what? How? When?
"Lieutenant—"
"You told me all these nice things and struggled to get your coat off and I thought I could help you… further – which was selfish and inappropriate and playing on your… inhibited thinking, I know – but there was your bed and your sheets and you and… I suppose I just…" The waterfall of words peters out into drops. Each a sizzling hiss on the sudden heat of my face.
"You…" It's the first and only coherent thing that makes it all the way to my tongue. Everything else is her – her words, her words; what she just said! It almost sounded like…! "I… I didn't rape you?" I'm entirely too thunderstruck to keep my voice down.
"No!" Her head snaps up but she immediately regrets it. Her cheeks are flaming. Her eyes flash to my lips. It makes me realise how dry they are, my tongue darting out to wet them. She does the same, her lower lip momentarily rolling between her teeth.
I can't believe my eyes. Or my ears. Or my hideous mind, because bloody hell, I want to be the teeth nipping at her lips.
She averts her gaze downwards again.
"I'm terribly sorry, Lieutenant Colonel," she mutters. "I didn't mean to exploit your drunken state to seduce you – well, I did, but it was wrong. I can't tell you just how sorry I am."
"Don't be!" I blurt stupidly. "It's not that I'm opposed – I mean I was, but I didn't know you wanted it too, I mean—" I cough. That was wishful thinking and sounded entirely too lovestoned to be serious. I am seriously in love with her, that much is certain.
Also, did she say 'seduce'?
I have to clear this up before my befuddled mind makes up any more impossible dream scenarios.
"Did you—" I hesitate, feeling obtrusive. "You can say 'no' – please be honest," I emphasise. My pulse is all over the place, my palms sweating, so I rush before I can duck out again. "Did you want to me to sleep with you?"
She shrinks into herself. Her voice is but a whisper. "Very much, sir." I lean in to be able to hear, and also because I think my heart just leapt out through my ribs. I actually physically rocked forward. My face is so hot, you could fry an egg on it. I might faint. "I… was the one taking advantage of you," she mumbles. "And I will accept whatever punishment you see fit."
I'm having trouble breathing. Despite all that – despite the heat raging beneath my skin and the hints of white spots dancing before my eyes – I get up. Riza freezes when I sit down closely next to her.
"Do you want to be punished, Lieutenant?"
She winces slightly at the sound of her rank. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad sign. I, for my part, am up for absolutely anything beyond this point.
I have to wait a full minute until she whispers, "Yes, sir."
My hand flies to my shirt, clutching it over my heart. I'm going to explode with her saying these things, and in more ways than one. My boxers have never felt tighter. It almost makes me miss the way she's squeezing her legs together tightly.
I put a hand on her back. She is perfectly still, tense from head to toe.
"I won't punish you, Lieutenant." I rub her back but she won't relax. I trail further to her arm, pulling her towards me ever so slightly. "But if you are doubtlessly honest and agreed, I would like to… do things to you." My other hand slides to her knees, parting them.
"Yes, sir," she moans softly. Shit, I think that alone tore something. I can't imagine that my boxers are still in one piece. It's a miracle my fly hasn't sprung open with how madly I'm throbbing down there. Not to mention the rest of my body – a fever has nothing on how I'm flaring with wild arousal.
"I can't believe I missed out on this," I grunt as I hoist her leg over mine. The sudden shift tips her balance, her torso at my mercy with my arm still strongly wrapped around her. "I've fantasised about you since before the war." Her eyes go wide. "You've always been on my mind. How I make you mine, how I worship you." My lips find her neck. Hotly, greedily, I cut straight to suckling. She gives a yelp and then a whimper when I travel down to her sternum. My chin brushes her breasts through her blouse. "I sincerely hope this isn't just another one of those dreams."
"If so, it must be mine," she sighs shakily.
My hand on her leg strolls towards her, along the inside of her thigh, up to her waistband where I trail along until touring southward again, this time to her rear. I spread my fingers to capture as much as I possibly can as I grab for purchase. Riza moans. Her breath husks above my head.
Her hand came up in surprise, perhaps bashful at how I'm about to attack her chest. Now she's entangling it in my hair, forcing me closer.
I retrace the path of my hand, this time sneaking into her skirt. Focused on her vertebrae, I notice too late to be rushing, to have skipped her underwear, now holding the soft flesh of her left buttock. Her legs squeeze around my hips. I bite down on her shoulder because damnit, I'm about to burst just from this.
I pull away slightly, but not before winding my arm more closely around her back. She's so close to me. My grasp is so tight and possessive, my fingers are already arriving on her opposite flank, grazing the side of her breast.
Our panting breaths mingle. I stare up at her, seeking permission. She already gave it to me, but I desperately want to remember every little detail this time. Sweat is beading her forehead. Her lips are apart, glistening deliciously. She's studying my eyes, fighting the haze inside her own as much as in mine. But I don't want to stop. I don't ever want to stop.
She shivers when I circle a single finger inside her skirt.
"Riza," I growl.
"Yes," she wheezes.
Slowly, gingerly, I tilt up my chin. Her chest heaves against it as she takes a breath. I don't know what's happening until it already happened, her lips crushing down on mine. She's kissing me. She's going all out on me.
Every nerve in my body is electrified when her tongue darts out. With a fierceness I don't see coming, it pushes its way into my mouth. I answer immediately.
Tipping her onto her back, lips never leaving hers, devouring, inhaling, suckling hard, I end up between her legs. My hips buck when she hooks her leg onto my pelvis, using it as a lever to grind against me. This is all way too hot. I should be taking it easy, treat her tenderly. I'm surprised to find out that she has other ideas.
Like lightning, the buttons of my shirt have flown open. I want to slow down, I do, but I either just tore apart the buttons of her blouse with my teeth or she helped with an equal precision as she used with mine. All I know is that we're both topless, and then my mouth is on her nipple and the sounds she's making nearly have me collapse on top of her.
It makes me wonder more than ever what happened while I was drunk, but I think I'm about to find out…