He doesn't look anything like Roy, and she's not sure if that's good or bad.
When he comes to, the blue light of the alchemical reaction is fading, and the air is thick with smoke.
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
All the alchemical skill in the world didn't matter, he was learning, when it came to something like this.
Humans were fools, and alchemists were the worst of the lot.
"Come on," he snorted. "As if I could say no to Al AND Winly looking at me like that."
A hand was extended, and he finally, finally took it, even if he didn't use it to pull himself up.
"You are the only one who has acknowledged me," she suddenly whispered , "since he's been gone."
On the first night, he comes to her as her teacher.
Like a sudden flashback to younger years, both Hawkeye and Havoc realized that this was as good a time as any to experiment.
Eventually, Roy had to take things into his own hands. Was it really his fault that it had ended up so literal?
He would come to understand later that what she meant was, I’m stronger than you.
Wasn't young love grand, perfect as crystal, flawless as the summer overtures?
"...Sir..." he tried, beginning to compose himself again. "Don't you think...ah...that this isn't very professional of either of us?"
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
The kid had said she was into ... different things, but in all his years Greed could not recall ever having found eggs a helpful sex aide.
"Fuhrer my ass," Edward said. "He's still nothing but a perverted old man."
Endorphins then, that's what he's been missing.
He underestimates the little things, like how long it will take him to put his socks on in the morning, and she comes up the stairs when breakfast is long since over to find him crouched over a torn stocking, blinking back furious tears...
Really, who said that a woman's sex life had to end at 60? An experienced woman had a lot to offer, and Pinako was quite, quite experienced.
“You just need to make it clear to him that he may have an opinion on the matter, but in the end, you’re the one who’s going to be doing all the work. Roy and I had that discussion months ago, and he’s been very cooperative ever since.”
Roy Mustang still doesn't entirely understand First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Perhaps he never will.
Roy was enchanted by the sound of her voice, pure like dewdrops in the morning.
There was a lot to be said for experimentation, Ed thought later, when Al was curled up in his arms as Winry fussed in the bathroom.
Roy Mustang often looked back on his wedding night, recalling what he had thought about his subordinates; even now, they were his family, his safety, his friends.
There were faces more beautiful, and figures more perfect--he saw them all the time. But none had whatever it was that made him ache for her.
All he had to do was snap his fingers. Again. Again in this endless night of terror.
She had heard all the lines before. Pinako was a female in a mostly male line of work, after all.
There was no need to go rushing off into anything now that he had his flesh and memories back and life was becoming a living experience.
“Envy,” she murmured in her brother’s ear. “I need a favor.”
Edward would speak to him, eventually. Any good dog would, and despite his obstinacy, the child could be trained.
She clung to him so tightly that his skin was white under her fingertips.
A small smile crept along her face--this visage made for mischief--and her tell-tale purple eyes narrowed.
Zinnsoldat, they named it, the Tin Soldier, in reference to their former service and in acknowledgement of their current uselessness.
When the lines didn't matter, when the lungs weren't working in labor of sweet industry worlds, then it was so easy to see where they might be all born of the same blood.
They could profane the inner sanctum; it would be a perfect cat burglary. Her father would never know a thing.
Edward was like on a dog on a too-short leash, so close to the bone but unable to taste it.
She laughs to see the grand scholar on his stomach on the floor of the living room, reading his sons a fairy tale from a fat little book.
Fullmetal was starting to turn slightly purple, now, which definitely clashed with his coloring...
Her original name had been Mary, like the mother of Jesus, and Hohenheim had found that noteworthy; something to comment on, if only in passing.
"You should know better than to behave that way, Envy," said a voice against his ear, and he felt the warmth of breath as it feathered over the side of his face.
From saint to sinner, from mother to whoreâ€¦ She was far more beautiful in death than she'd ever been in life.
Roy could order her to stay home and rest, but he couldn't keep her from cleaning.
"If I do not, I might begin to love you, whom I should hate."
He's getting so awfully, awfully tired of pictures, but they won't just stop coming.
They kissed only once. She tasted like ashes and brine.
He hates the military. Maybe he doesn't. Roy and straight-line thinking aren't on speaking terms anymore, though he likes to pretend.
Pillow talk, with the Fullmetal Alchemist, was shop talk.