Heavy Metal Madonna

Author's Note: So here is the long-awaited fourth chapter to Heavy Metal Madonna. I think it would be prudent at this point to address a concern that one of you (who will remain nameless) has had. This is not, contrary to popular belief, merely a story about sex. It is what I believe should happen in the course of the overall story of the FullMetal Alchemist manga. Also, you can't just expect Winry, who is a virgin, to hop right into bed with a man she does not know very well. While there are some virgins that would, she is not one of them. It has to evolve at a natural pace. And to be honest, it isn't that slow, and I don't do PWP, so if you don't like it, then you don't have to read. Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I believe we're good to go with the chapter itself.

Chapter 4: Something Stupid

When Jean woke up, he felt as if a herd of midgets had been using his head as a trampoline. Well, maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration, but the pain in his head told him that he should keep a sharp eye out for anyone under four feet tall. Light filtering through his eyelids told him that it was well after dawn, for which he was glad. His thoughts turned to the nightmare he had the previous night. Luckily, Winry had been there to wake him.

He flinched slightly at the memory of the dream. A group of violent terrorists from the north had kidnapped Winry, using her as bait to lure in Edward, Roy, and anyone else they could possibly catch in their web. Just when things seemed to be going well, one of the grungy men decided that they did not need her. Jean had only been able to watch powerlessly as blood flowed from the gash at her neck.

But he could feel her laying next to him, the bed trembling slightly with her peaceful breathing. She was alive and well, and right where she should be. Jean opened his eyes, taking in the early morning light that gently reflected off of her hair. His chest hurt a little to look at her, and for a long few minutes, he wondered why. It shouldn't pain him to simply watch her sleep. The unexplainable feeling dulled the more he stared, finding the way her skin took in the light to be fascinating.

For a few more minutes, Jean indulged himself in the habit of staring at Winry, but it then became quite clear that he was in need of the restroom. It was a tricky proposition to get out of the bed and not wake up Winry, but he managed it. As much as he hated his physical therapy, Jean was thankful for it now; he could cross his room to the tiny closet-sized bathroom on his own. He used the toilet and took a glance at the shower. Pinako and Winry both said it was a bad idea for him to shower unsupervised. The old woman was unsure about his ability to balance, and Winry worried over him slipping on the slick ceramic tiles.

But really, what could it hurt? Jean shucked his sleeping shirt over his head and started the shower. The warm water would soothe his tense muscles, and it was always good to wash off the sweat of a nightmare. One pull on the strings of his pajama pants sent them to the floor, and he stepped into the tiny stall, closing the glass door behind him. Hot water spilled over his face, neck and shoulders, trickling down his back, abdomen and legs. The warmth was relaxing, yet invigorating at the same time.

He let his mind wander as it might, and it did not take long before he began thinking of Winry again. Lately, she was the thing that he seemed to think of the most. He remembered the day when he'd been in detox, and she'd bent over to get a new bag of fluids from the drawer. Jean had gotten a healthy eyeful of white panties, and had so many dirty images floating around his head, it was actually easy not to think of just how badly he needed a cigarette.

Of course, other thoughts followed, changing the demure white cotton for sheer black silk, and adding stockings, one of those strapless bustier things, and a slinky blue dress. Stiletto heels would make those gorgeous legs look a mile long, and he wondered if she ever wore them. That image lodged itself in his head, taking the practical, no-nonsense version of Winry that he knew and turning her into a sultry, seductive goddess of a woman who could break him with a glance.

He leaned against the tiles in the shower, groaning heavily. All of that thinking about Winry in naughty underwear, and wondering exactly how he might be allowed to get her out of said underwear had made him aroused. His erection pulsed, demanding attention. But if he were to do that, would it be possible to keep his voice in? Jean wasn't sure. For a long moment, he battled with himself. In the end, he was amazed and quite proud of himself for turning the hot water completely off, dousing his heated flesh in icy cold.

Once his erection subsided, banished by the frigid temperatures, he turned on the hot water a little so that he would not be cold when he got out of the shower.

--

Winry woke to the sound of rushing water. In her groggy half-aware state, she was unsure as to where she was, or what was happening. But then the sound was gone, and she was awake. It was only a moment or two before she heard the sound of a door opening, and she sat up, looking around to see where it had come from. Oh, God...she thought frantically, trying to get hold of her desperately beating heart. I Don't need this kind of shock just when I get up in the morning.

Jean Havoc was just coming from the bathroom, wearing nothing at all but a towel that was loosely draped around his waist. When he saw her, he looked sheepish. In an apologetic voice, he said, “Uh...sorry. I needed a shower.” He thought she was upset that he'd taken a shower? She wasn't mad about that. Was she even angry? No. Bewildered, yes. Mesmerized by the way tiny drops of water made trails down his chest and stomach until they were absorbed into the plush white fabric of the towel? Certainly. But she was not angry.

He moved to the small wardrobe that held his clothing, and got a shirt and a pair of pants. But when he tried to bend over to get at the drawer that held socks and undergarments, he cried out, gripping the wardrobe door for support. Winry moved without thought, jumping up from bed and running across the small room to lend him her shoulder. She helped him to the bed, and he sat, still wearing a tight grimace of pain. “Where does it hurt?” she asked, standing in front of him and putting a hand on his wet shoulder. He did not answer. “Jean, tell me where it hurts,” Winry demanded in a firm tone.

He still said nothing, but took her hand in his, guiding it to his lower back, just to the right of the access panel. This motion brought her face much closer than intended to his. “Winry,” his voice seemed to rumble from his mouth, low and filled with something unidentifiable. She was becoming very aware of the fact that he was all but naked, and that she was not wearing very much, either. Jean let his voice hang in the air, preferring to reach out with his free hand to thread his fingers into her hair.

“Jean,” she began, about to protest what she knew was going to happen. “I can't do this with you...” But then his lips brushed against hers, sending electric tingles of sensation through her body. “I...” Those little thrills of feeling began pooling in her stomach, forming a heat that she could now recognize. “I can't...” Desire. That was what she was feeling. It was like a constrictor snake, coiling around her resolve, squeezing until she felt as if she could take no more.

His grip on her hand shifted, and he pulled her forward. Again, she found herself in his lap, straddling his thighs. Once again, his lips connected with hers, but unlike before, Winry was unable to control herself. Pressing her body close to his, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, digging her nails into firm muscle and scarred skin. Jean's large hands seemed hot enough to burn when they landed on her outer thighs, sliding upward and under her favorite blue nightgown. When his palms settled onto her hips, they pulled her harder onto his lap. Hardness pressed against her through towel and the panties she wore, only stoking the fire in her belly.

Letting out a small sigh, Winry spread her legs wider, allowing her weight to press down more against the hardness beneath her. Jean's lips broke away from hers, trailing down her neck until he lavished the skin of her chest with small open-mouthed kisses. His hands began to slide up again, fingers skimming over her sides and brushing the outer curve of her breasts. They continued their journey, higher and higher, until Winry felt compelled to lift her arms as her nightgown went over her head.

Again, his lips were on hers, taking away all sense and worry. His hands spread over her back, warm and still a little damp from the shower. But these were eclipsed by what she felt when she was pressed against him. Winry's bare breasts slid against the wet skin of his chest, and she bore downward with her weight onto his groin. When his lips broke away from hers, she felt his mouth on her neck, licking her skin and grazing the large tendons with his teeth. “Oh, God...” she half-moaned, her back arching slightly. His lips traveled still further, nibbling her collarbone, lingering over her upper chest. She felt a sense of anticipation that she did not understand, until something hot and wet covered one of her nipples. “Jean!” she whispered loudly when she managed to look down. He teased the sensitive skin with his tongue, and let his teeth run over it as well. Winry clamped her right hand over her mouth, muffling the cries that tried to escape.

There was nothing left of her. She was merely a body, sensation and need. Winry writhed under his touch, driven by the heat that had long since traveled from her stomach to burn hot between her legs. Jean groaned beneath her, and slid one of his hands away from her back, around and over her stomach, then down. For a moment, she felt him toying with the top edge of her panties before his thumb sneaked behind the waistband. That thumb slipped lower, finding heat and wetness that had gathered there. She moved into the feeling of his touch, pleasure igniting through every nerve.

Her hips moved on their own, desperate to seek more sensation. The towel began to bunch up, digging uncomfortably into her left thigh, and Winry blindly fought it, shoving it out of the way. Then the hardness was that much harder, that much warmer, and it felt so much better when it pressed against the fabric of her panties. They moved against each other, sliding and grasping, Jean now using both hands to guide her hips against his. There was a tightening sensation, like all of her muscles tensing against a heavy blow, and Winry pressed herself tighter against him. And then, with sudden and blinding force, pleasure exploded through her, and she cried out sharply, her nails drawing red welts into the skin of Jean's shoulders.

When she came to herself, she was still moving against him, unable to stop and unable to get enough of him. He began to groan heavily, and his grip on her became almost hard enough to hurt. Something hot and wet splashed her stomach, as well as the underside of her breasts, and she looked down. Semen. It dribbled down over her skin, and she watched it, mesmerized. It did not last long, for Jean grabbed the towel and wiped it away.

His face was extremely red as he stammered, “I'm sorry...” Winry got the impression that he was apologizing for more than the mess he had made. She herself did not understand what had just happened. But also unfathomable to her was the lack of guilt that she knew she should be feeling.

“Shh.” Winry soothed, “It's all right.” Taking his head in her hands, she lay it on her shoulder. “It's all right. Don't apologize...unless you regret that?”

His head shot up from where it had been, eyes intense and mouth set in a grim line. “No,” he said gravely, “I don't regret it. But I didn't force you?”

“Would I still be here, touching you like this, if you had?”

Jean shook his head. “You said you couldn't...with me...I thought--”

“I have my reservations, yes. I should not get attached to you,” she spoke slowly, feeling the fatigue that was inevitable after what they had done. “Because you're going to go away, just like my other patients. Getting this close...it's a bad idea.” Jean put his head on her shoulder again, a sound coming from him that sounded half like a wry laugh, and half like a strangled sob.

“Guess that this makes us both stupid, right?” He asked in a rush, sounding desperate and miserable.

“Very,” Winry said, yawning. “I think you need another shower.”

--

Author's Note #2: Well, there's a bit of sex for you. Not a lot, and nothing extremely graphic, but she's not as innocent as she was. Not to mention that I really, really like Havoc. Can you tell?