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cryogenia

The Right Tool for the Right Job


He was gone again.

It was the only thing she could think of as she slipped moodily beneath the covers, still not tired enough to sleep but not sure what else to do with the evening. The blankets still smelled like him, a comforting mix of boy musk and pine-scented shampoo, but right now that only made her more restless. She was used to having an Al attached to that scent, or failing that, a patch of warmth from his body heat. He should be rustling around in the bathroom and waiting to jump back in her arms...not gallivanting halfway across the free world doing god knows what.

"Stupid boy..." Winry groused, more to hear the sound of her voice than anything else. One of these days, she was going to have to remember to let him have it when he breezed into her shop. The problem was that she was usually so worried by the time he made it home (what was wrong with that family anyways?! didn't anyone know how to write letters?!) that she always ended up pouncing on him. They would kiss in the doorway and neck in the foyer...and by the time they got into the living room, she'd have moved on to much more constructive ways of venting her frustration. Still, this time he'd gone too far entirely. He hadn't even stayed long enough for dinner, babbling something about arrays and diagrams and research in Backend-of-Nowhere, Podunk, Centralia. It had been so fast she'd barely had time to get angry at him when he'd crawled out of bed, and they certainly hadn't had enough time to make up properly for the past two months.

He must have learned that from his brother. She sighed disparagingly, and rolled heavily onto her back. Ditching a girl to go look for some library would have been a decidedly Edward thing to do, alright. She sighed into her comforter and punched the bed moodily. Seven years later, and he was still acting like a kid.

Well, at least that makes two of us.

She slid one hand low along her belly and started teasing the top of her pants open with the remnants of her fingernails. It really sucked pulling out knots with only one decent nail, and it took longer than usual to ease the drawstring apart. She really did need to start watching it when she worked in the shop—either she needed to stop breaking them all the damn time, or she needed to start filing them down. She started sliding the jeans down her hips and almost kicked them off, then thought the better of it. It was sort of nice to feel the rough material bunch around her legs, almost like someone was kneeling there between them. She slipped her other hand down into the front of her panties, feeling that familiar disturbing prickle as her fingers dug into the matted hair. She was still slightly wet, even after several hours, and the smell of his sweat on her sheets wasn't doing anything to help the situation.

Damn him, damn him, damn him for leaving me hanging. She hissed, and pressed her fingers down hard.

This was the way it was every night, the sharp, painful build-up. She caught her clit between two fingers and squeezed roughly, trying not to catch a nail on anything sensitive. The pleasure throbbed fiercely between them, a pinpoint of feeling so intense it was almost painful. She flexed her hips and thrust upward slightly, trying to pretend it was someone else's hand between her legs, but the friction only racheted to the point where it was unbearable. Al never made her feel like that...it was always slick and satisfying, and the warmth spread out everywhere that his fingers touched her. She'd never quite figured out how it was that he did it so gently and still made her shudder—she practically had to pinch to get that reaction.

She spit on her fingers and tried again, hoping it would make some of the burn go away. It did, for a few seconds—she could almost pretend it was his hand sliding over her entrance—but then the moisture spread thin and it was back to the squeezing. She just wasn't wet enough, and it was all his damn fault.

She pulled her hand away momentarily and searched for a throw pillow. If she had something under her elbow her hand might stop cramping, and then she could get the whole thing done faster. She snagged one carefully and laid it down in the space Al would usually be sleeping, and propped her left arm on top of it gratefully. The angle was a little better when she slid her hand back into place and the familiar tingle began spreading almost instantly. Much better now. She caught her clit again and resumed the usual, pressing eagerly into her hand in time with the tiny thrusts. The feeling curled throughout her groin and tickled at the back of her legs, making her thighs tighten and begin to contract. Yes, that's what she wanted, THAT was what felt good, and she spread her legs wider and waited for the orgasm.

...Except that she still felt so empty. She frowned and readjusted, wondering if it was because her legs were too far apart, but the feeling only intensified when she brought them together. Her inner thighs were tense and hurting, twitching with anticipation, but somehow she still felt the non-presence of something inside her...a strange ache that throbbed with each new flicker of sensation. Maybe she'd gotten used to the feeling of him inside of her. It wasn't something she was accostumed to wanting (penetration, in general, was pretty uncomfortable), but perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try. She stretched her right hand to the limit and pressed her middle finger into her entrance, not quite sure if she was wet enough.

The feeling changed immediately, switching from a controlled burn to a five-alarm house fire. She groaned in spite of herself and searched deeper, adding a second finger. It wasn't quite deep enough but she didn't care, pressing faster with her other hand. God, she was right there...she could feel the firmness of her fingertips against her entrance and it was so, so very nice.

Her hips spasmed and her fingers temporarily slid in deeper, sending a fresh set of sparks shooting up her spine. She wanted them deeper, dammit...why did fingers have to be so short? She twisted and scrunched her body closer to her hand, but that only made her stomach start to hurt. She just needed something inside of her...

And then her right elbow landed on something cold and solid.

She withdrew her hand slowly and groped for the object, not sure exactly what she'd bumped into. With the state of her workshop these days, it really could be just about anything—ah yes, her half-inch spanner. She closed her palm around it carefully and fished it out of the blankets, giggling at her own folly. She'd been threatening Al with it earlier, only half-seriously, and she'd completely forgotten she'd left it there. It must have gotten lost in the covers. She twirled it expertly around her fingers and set it down on the nightstand with a loving pat. It was one of her favorite tools, the old Craftsman round-handled kind, and she'd had it almost as long as her guild license. She'd even used it on Ed's automail, back when he was still alive, and it had something of mystical air surrounding it at this point. This was history, right here, the down-to-earth kind that actually counts, and she couldn't help but feel attached to it. She rubbed her pinky over its worn, grooved hand grip, and ran her palm affectionately down its length. She thought about its lengthy, cylindrical handle...

She thought again.

She picked the wrench back up and laid it across her belly, considering. It would be all kinds of wrong, but at least it was something...and it wasn't like it could really hurt her, since it didn't have sharp edges. It would probably be safer than her jagged nails (she really should think about cutting them soon). The bigger question was how clean it was. She usually kept things pretty well oiled, but it was true that she'd been neglecting some of the older tools of late...she sniffed it experimentally, but it was hard to tell if the metallic scent was from oil or just the wrench itself. Not like a little machine oil would kill her anyways. She was so used to being steeped in it that sometimes she nearly forgot that her hands weren't originally brown. She rolled the wrench back into her hand and gripped it tightly, feeling the comforting weight of it in her palm. It was a little too long and not nearly thick enough, but by god, it was something.

She repositioned the throw pillow under her hips and drew her legs up so she could align with it better, shaking a little in anticipation. The sheer naughtiness of it all was unexpectedly exciting, and she found herself trembling even before the cold steel met her skin. It was so wrong, but the feeling of the handle sliding into her instantly made it worth it. The grooved texture was slightly bizzare, but not at all in a bad away.

She paused to draw a long, shaky breath, flexing her legs slightly downwards. The handle was HARD inside of her, unnaturally firm, and it didn't give at all when she moved. Not like he did. It was cold too, an alien chill in a place where she rarely felt anything below body temperature. Still, it felt good to have something down in there, scratching that not-quite-an-itch. She moved her left hand forward and touched her clit again, and THIS time there was a blossom of pleasure, radiating out from her clit and washing around the wrench handle. She rubbed some more and gasped at the feeling, rocking against the steel as she followed the waves of tingles. It never felt like this when she was on her own, never in a million years, and she whimpered as her muscles flexed around the wrench and sent bright bursts of sensation shivering up throughout her body.

She tried to press it in further and immediately gave that up for a lost cause. She was so tense she could barely slide it out, let alone farther in, and the friction that caused was almost unbearable. She tugged at it half-heartedly and then settled for jostling it back and forth. Each movement made the tension in her groin rachet tighter; each flick of her fingers brought her that much closer to release. She let out a low moan and gasped for air, desperate to reach the end. So...damn...close...

It felt longer than it really was, but finally the warm waves came rushing back inwards and crashed around her fingers, leaving her shuddering into her hand. Her back arched involuntarily and the pleasure exploded until it was everywhere at once, leaving her whole body numb and tingling. She continued rubbing until everything was so sensitive she couldn't bear to continue, and then collapsed back against the mattress with a shaky sob.

It was over.

"Oh...wow..." She breathed quietly, letting her legs fall back to the bed. The wrench jerked hard inside of her, and she grabbed for it immediately, wincing in pain. She'd actually forgotten it was there for a moment, and she withdrew it as quickly as she dared. The movement still sent a shiver down her spine, and she wondered if perhaps she could try it again in a few minutes...

But it was late, and she was tired, and her tension had finally given way to that wonderful drowsy feeling. She wiped the wrench off gently on a corner of the sheet and placed it reverently on top of her nightstand. He was gone, but at least she wasn't so frustrated about it anymore, and well...

Maybe the next time he wandered in, she could show him some other uses for her workshop.