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Branded	By : ibshafer Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Het - Male/Female Views: 13845 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Learning Curve – Part 5

Chapter: 3/7 (Branded – series)

Author: ibshafer

Rating: R

Character/Pairing: EdXWin… or is it WinXEd?…

Disclaimer: I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me
spin them around the page now and then.

Summary: In which Winry is introduced to Edward’s passion, (“How do you do, Passion.
Niiiice to meet you…”) and Edward just tries to survive Winry’s book…

Warnings: sexual situations, but nothing too explicit

Genre: Fullmetal Alchemist; AU, I guess…

Spoilers: none

Feedback: Yes, please…

[from the previous chapter]

A second later, he pulled her roughly into his arms, slipped one hand into her hair, and kissed
her hard.

She had a moment to wonder at the unexpected gesture, so abrupt in the face of his recent temper
tantrum, as well as to revel in his obviously burgeoning skills – for a moment her knees went
weak – before he just as abruptly pulled away, still without comment, stomping back down the
stairs and across the lawn to the tree.

She touched her lip in awe.

He-he wanted me to know he hasn’t forgotten…

…how we started the day…

Winry shivered.

She’d seen it before, but never in this particular context; their morning had been fueled by a not-unappealing mix of excited energy and wide-eyed inexperience, but she had yet to see, or feel,
this.

Edward’s passion…

He’s gone back to read the book. What will happen when he finally “gets it?”

She touched her lip again, then steadied herself with a hand to the railing.

Oh, god…

~*~*~*~

Strawberries…

Winry tasted of strawberries.

On his way back down the hill, Edward spared himself a split second silent rant – miffed that
there were no strawberries in his lunch, then his face flushed full out at his own impulsiveness.

I…I want her…

He was startled and surprised by the intensity of what he was feeling, keenly aware that it went
far beyond some purely physical need.

The little winged cherub that stood in for Edward’s heart, still blissed from its recent romantic
getaway in the south with Edward’s libido was now bouncing spiritedly against Edward’s ribs
and for once, Edward wasn’t shooing it away in annoyance...

He wanted her.

Why did I waste all that time having a stupid fit about milk when…

Edward shivered, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He touched his lip in wonder.

Winry tastes of strawberries…

~*~*~*~

Halfway back to the tree, Ed had stopped dead in his tracks.

What’s he doing now?

Face still flushed, Winry had found her way to a chair on the porch where she’d sat down,
fanning herself with a free hand.

Breathless, she watched as Edward seemed to waver in place and she was shocked to realize she
was actually hoping he’d given up on the book entirely.

Two voices were competing for airtime in her head.

‘Yesss, Edward!’ one was saying ‘Come back now.’

The other voice, cooler and far less amnesiac said, ‘Don’t rush him, Winry. Let him do the
research first. Or do you like being frustrated?’

Her heart was still beating like a greased steam piston, though, and it was beginning to look like
the amnesia might be winning.

Forget the book! We don’t need it!

Oh, god, if he touches me like that again, I might… I might just…finish on the spot…

Edward still hadn’t moved any closer to the tree and now he seemed to be searching the grass for
answers.

She watched in wonder as he reached up and touched his lip and she let out an unconscious gasp
before she could stop herself.

Yes, Edward! I know you feel it, too! Come back up here now! Come up here and show me how
you really feel…

She had both hands on the railing now and when Edward shook his head, resolutely turning back
towards the tree, she almost fell over the edge and onto the grass below…

No!!!

She wanted to run down the hill after him and throw herself into his arms.

She wanted to throw him to the ground, and herself, on top of him.

She wanted to…

But Edward was walking back to the blanket as though he’d just been listening to his own
internal dialog and had, for once in his life, opted to err on the side of logic.

This is no time to start, Edward!!

Then again, she knew she should be grateful, she knew she should be touched, that her own
happiness obviously meant so much to him; she was pretty damn sure – he had pulled her very
close, how could she not be sure – that were Edward obeying his own impulses right now, he
would have run back up that hill and enlisted her aid in breaking in the new patio furniture…

Winry popped another strawberry into her mouth, chewing very deliberately.

Read fast, Edward…

~*~*~*~

Edward was gritting his teeth as he made his way back to the tree.

It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to rush back up that hill and embarrass them
both in front of whatever passing neighbor happened by…

But that wouldn’t have been the right thing to do.

It would have been fun; shit, it would have been freaking fantastic, but what would he do if…if
the result were the same as all their previous attempts?

Winry wasn’t the most patient person in the world and that there were no new knots on his skull
was a testament to just how badly she wanted this to work – for both of them.

How much longer would that patience hold out?

That he’d been unable to do for her what she’d so completely done for him, was no small source
of humiliation for him. After all, he was known far and wide as someone with great skill – at
alchemy.

Wasn’t sex just another form of alchemy?; turning chemical and electrical impulses, sights,
sounds, and sensations, into one all-consuming systemic reaction that built in intensity and
emotion, elevated the heart and mind, increased respiration, output new electrical impulses and
produced still more chemicals, and eventually…climaxed in one (hopefully) shared, sweaty,
exhilarating conclusion that filled the senses and left mind and body shaken.

If he couldn’t get this right, he had no business calling himself an alchemist.

Shit, if I can’t get this right, I’ve got no business calling myself a man…

He’d also found a new sensation elbowing its way into the mix.

It just plain hurt to disappoint her.

In her short life, Winry had lost almost as much as he and Al had and so she deserved happiness
just as much as they did.

And it was right that he be the one to give that to her: she’d given him so much – and not just
today.

A long time ago, she’d given him back his life.

He wanted to make her happy.

Edward was determined to do whatever it took to make that happen.

If it meant that even though he’d read the Bastard’s Sex Manual and fully understood all the
mechanics involved, he still needed to read Winry’s book, then he would do that.

If it meant subjecting himself to further humiliation at the hands of the arrogant ape and his
barely clothed, lascivious maiden, he would (sigh) do that.

And if it meant sacrificing the overworked vein in his forehead, the one that even now was
threatening to escape through his skin to beat a hasty, but well-deserved, retreat for parts
unknown… then he guessed he would have to bid it a fond farewell and try to live on without
it…

After a last moment’s procrastination to root through the basket, (she did pack strawberries!),
Edward was back at the tree, Winry’s well-loved paperback in hand.

Chewing a berry and studiously avoiding the judgmental gazes of the goon and gooness on the
cover, Edward laid the book out on his left palm and was poised to crack the spine at whatever
random passage he happened to hit, when he noticed the pages righting themselves at a particular
point.

He giggled at the thought (must be a favorite spot of hers…), then remembering he’d had a few
favorite spots of his own (the image of Diagram 4 floated through his mind and his blood, now
somewhat rested after a brief nap, dutifully rushed back upstairs), Edward’s face flushed hotly.

Keep his breathing and heart rate normal by sheer force of will alone Edward began to read.

Thirty minutes later found the book splayed face down on the blanket and Edward, having gone
through an altogether entertaining array of facial expressions, now red-faced and gasping
desperately for air.

He’d started out, of course, by blushing his fool head off.

The ape and his conquest were adventurous and altogether much more forward with each other
than any two people had reason to be. Especially two people who the book, and its so-called
author, expected one to believe, had only met an hour ago… Banter was exchanged, flowery
compliments given; there was a lot of heavy breathing and a lot of heavy, creative, touching.

Along about this point, Edward’s libido woke up from its post-vacation nap, and, seeing much to
its liking on those wordy, sweat-soaked pages, decided to call a close buddy who lived just south
of the border, one who would appreciate the entertainment just as much. This spurred a new
spate of blushing, some deep, labored breathing and what appeared to be a math exercise.
(Edward had counted to ten over and over until the worst of his … embarrassment had passed…)

As the ribald adventure on the book’s pages continued – and continued, it became a contest to
see which would happen first; would Edward come to a humiliating and completely inappropriate
conclusion of his own – or would he simply just pass out…?

In the end, he was saved, as it were, by a flower.

A flower and a deep, helpless belly laugh.

On its own, it wasn’t a particularly funny flower, certainly not one possessed of any immediately
recognizable comedic skills. For the most past, it was generally not a flower that would have
even gotten noticed were it standing on its own in a vase or, au naturale, in its home habitat.

The author, showing off shamelessly and with much verbal virtuosity, described said flower in
abundant and, well, flowery detail, far more detail than any single flower, nay, any single person,
deserved: the length, breadth and color of its stem; the shape of its leaves and the fragrance
released when they were pinched between thumb and forefinger; the texture of its petals, the
scent, the flavor, the soft shooshing sound they made when they were touched by cool mountain
breezes or drawn across luscious exposed skin…

By the time Edward realized how annoyed and impatient he was, he was too committed to the
passage, expecting something worthwhile at its conclusion, to turn away from the page.

And so, he read on. And on…

After several needlessly long, protracted paragraphs, the literary excursion of excess finally, and
ultimately, ground towards its single less-than-astounding destination.

The gist of all that drivel, the basic concept of The Flower was…that it was both red and smelly.

A good kind of smelly, from the response its sudden introduction to the proceedings garnered
from the, by then, panting maiden.

And while Edward’s relief at seeing that ridiculous passage draw to a close, coupled with the
rather underwhelming conclusion of all that misused descriptive language, was enough on its
own to bring about a tiny bubbling swell of relieved mirth, it would have ended there, dying an
ignoble, forgettable death, were it not for what the author wanted him (well, and any other
unsuspecting reader) to believe happened next.

The flower, for its part, had no real autonomy here, and was not an interactive part of what was to
follow. Therefore, it deserved none of the blame. (In fact, Edward imagined it screaming, “How
dare you?! Put me down NOW!!”)

No, that little bit of creative idiocy belonged solely to the ape himself. (And, Edward reminded
himself, the so-called, and forever to be ridiculed, “author” Yuki Eiri…)

What happened next was completely unexpected, completely bizarre and rendered Edward
completely, and utterly, incapable of normal respiration…

What kind of degenerate uses a flower to … to …

At first he was too stunned to react, in a stupor as he was from all that prose.

The unsuspecting flower was clasped between blocky teeth, bushy Neanderthal eyebrows were
waggled suggestively, and the maiden giggled her response, shedding what little clothing
remained her.

This ridiculous display was embarrassingly clichéd, not that Edward was particularly familiar
with overused romance novel sexual conventions, but it merely earned an eye roll and nothing
more.

When the ape dragged the stem from his teeth and started to it run up and down his partner’s
arms, this seemed silly and somewhat pointless, but again, Edward barely reacted.

But then the ape decided that arms weren’t enough and what he really wanted was to draw the
poor, abused flower’s petals over the maiden’s soft…heaving…flushed…

Edward was giggling before he had any idea he was amused. (In point of fact, amused was the
last thing he was…)

The beleaguered flower was drawn first over one pointed mound (Edward saw stars and burst out
into helpless laughter) and then the other, accompanied by breathless moaning from the maiden
and what was fast becoming a case of noisy asphyxiation for Edward.

No, way!! There, too?!!!

Dropping the book, Edward gave the impulse free reign, rolling from side to side on the blanket,
struggling for air as he attempted to stem the tide of inadvertent, wholly embarrassed mirth.

What was so funny about this?

Were Edward able to think straight, (had not every single geek deserted its post and run for the
hills), he would no doubt admit that there was not a thing funny about this.

No, what was making Edward laugh so helplessly was not actual amusement, but actual
embarrassment; this couple’s lovemaking put a very real spin on the reality, the actuality of sex.

T-this is what sex is?

What it could be?

Is this was what people did?

Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?

He was freaked beyond reason and the only thing, the only thing, his mind could think to do, was
laugh out loud like he’d he saved up reacting to ever single joke he’d ever heard in his life until
just this minute.

But nothing, nothing was funny.

Not at all.

While he was rolling around on the blanket like a loon, he opened his tear-filled eyes long
enough to catch a glimpse of the porch.

Winry stood leaning over the railing; mouth frozen in surprise. Even at this distance, he could see
her blue eyes were open wide and her expression was one of complete and utter frustration.

Oh, man…

There you go… You disappointed her again…

~*~*~*~

What the hell?

What is he doing now?

Why hadn’t she known Edward was such a drama queen?

No, wait – she knew that. Of course, she knew that.

She’d known him all his life, had occasion to see him react, and overreact, to all sorts of run of
the mill things; all of which she could predict, see coming from a mile away, and handle neatly
with a glare or a swing of her wrench.

Easy-peasy.

Then she had to go and introduce sex into the mix. How did she think he was gonna handle it?

Well, for one, she thought he might have had a little more experience than he did. That he hadn’t
– had any – had actually been a mildly flattering, and somewhat exciting, realization. (“I get to
share all of this with him for the first time; I get to see all his first reactions, get to cause all of
his first reactions…”) More than somewhat, that had been an incredibly exciting concept.

That he’d be embarrassed by simply every stage of this, was a surprise and, in spite of the
aggravation, and her increasing…frustration, it was a surprise that was actually a little endearing.

She had wanted to open his mind, shit, she’d wanted to blow his mind; clearly, clearly she had
done that.

But now it was starting to look like she’d really blown his mind, or something had, anyway.

Either that or he was just laughing like an idiot because he found her book funny, which she
supposed, turnabout/fair-play and all, she deserved.

All that energy could be put to better use…

Standing on the porch, gamely resisting the urge to run down to the tree and either throttle him,
or find some other way to shut him up, she leaned herself far over the railing and simply stared.

~*~*~*~

tbc…
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- 9
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