They were the same, caught in the same whirlwind, in the same hurricane of emotion and torment. Both had failed, both had loss, both had felt cool hands of horror around lean throats. Both had stood, albeit shaky, after the dust was blown to the four corners of the world, and would continue to stand until someone stumbled by and cut their legs off at the knees.
They had lost love, and found, instead, the sweet constant of comfort.
Winry opened her eyes, pert lips caught up in a delicate yawn as the room came into some sort of blurry view. She wondered if she was going to need glasses soon, that sort of idle sleep thought that was caught on clogs, on wheels that were lethargic from slumber. Her arm tightened around the pillow a little more, feeling the tickle of her hair as it slid over her shoulder, down the hillside of her throat, and brushed over her cheek. With an indignant little humph!, she tossed the honeyed strands behind her.
Oops. She sat up in bed a little, raising her hands over her head, listening to her back crack in a domino row down her spine. The sleep still lingered in the edge of her smile as her blue eyes laid on the lump that was weakly staring at her from amid the blankets and feather-fluffed pillows.
"If you wanted to wake me up, you could have shaken me. I didn't really need a mouthful of hair."
Winry offered a weak grin, a little slice of flush marching an invasion into the round tops of her cheeks. "Sorry."
Riza sat up slowly, her own movements more graceful than her companion's if only from years of training, of honing, of desiring perfection. Sleep-tangled hair drifted down her nude shoulders, down the lean planes of a tight back, and with a contented shuffle, she grabbed the brush from the nightstand, pressing the end into the coverlet. "Sit here.""
Winry smiled, fighting back the excitement; this was the best part of every morning, that glow of sex still thick in the air, and the promise of a good hair-treatment. Crawling onto her knees, she sat tall and eager, waiting for the first stroke of the bulbed teeth to run down the length of the scalp.
"How is Alphonse?" came the beginning of idle chat, and the younger woman just tilted her head forward a little, fighting the urge to purr from the brush. It was difficult to be wrapped in hurt when something as wonderful as pampering was in place.
"Good." A sigh, a shift, and small shoulders slumped slowly. "He found a couple leads."
Awkward silence threatened to strangle and maim, and they succumbed to the depths as they often did when the subject rose. After all, with how Roy lamented and fumed over Edward's disappearance, and how Al had clawed at any and all hope that he could touch, why wouldn't those left in the wake of such a tsunami feel...abandoned. Even abandoned in the world that they had never set foot out of.
Someone had once asked, How could so many people be so affected by one person's disappearance? Winry had smiled, grinned full of teeth and pride, and shook her head.
You never met Edward Elric before, did you?
Fingers curled around the mechanic's chin, turning her face towards her as Riza descended on plump lips lightly, gently. "He'll bring him home," came the whisper, the same whispered words that were repeated almost every day, every moment, reassurance that started to feel thin after the sixth, the seventh, the tenth time in cheap repetition. "Don't worry."
Winry smiled against the sweet mouth, her hand resting on one of the military woman's strong thighs, fingers light, thrumming against them with heartbeats and life. Another kiss, another soft sigh, this one of need, of sweet embrace of consolation, of the unity of lonely hearts. "And until then..."
The brush began its march through the sunbeam locks, from crown to tail, and Riza pressed her lips to them. "Until then."