Travelers

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"Look at me everybody! I'm Seito Kaiba! I've got a dragon fetish and I sound like Brock from Pokemon! Screw the rules--I'm in love with nurse Joy!" --Yu-Gi-Oh episode spoof found here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=fno-4_8V9OY --I have never seen Yu-Gi-Oh, so I know nothing about the characters or any possible inside jokes, but it was still pretty damn funny.
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Roy Mustang rubbed his eye-patch. Sometimes he still felt twinges from it—almost as if the dark eye under it was still there. It probably looked pretty dashing with his dark suit and hat (or maybe it just looked ridiculous). He stretched as the train pulled into Central and stifled a yawn. He scowled. His stomach felt cold again.

He shook his head and stood up to grab a suitcase and followed the rest of the passengers off the train.

He looked around and saw her, standing a short ways away in her blues. She marched up to him, head held high, cold-eyed, and toting a handgun.

As always.

When she was, perhaps, a foot in front of him, she raised her hand in a small salute. “Should I take your suitcase?”

He smirked. “Of course not.”

The smile she gave him was almost dangerous. “Yes, Colonel.”

“You probably shouldn’t call me Colonel while I’m in Central. And I should be saluting you.”

She gave a minute shrug. “I know what you are.”

He smiled at her and raised a lazy hand to salute.

Hawkeye shook her head. “This way, Mustang.”

“Where are we going?”

“You said you were here to gather supplies and information. Havoc and the others just left today—”

“Why the delay?”

She barely glanced at him as they walked out of the train station to a waiting car. “Fuery had something to take care of and I had trouble getting Falman. Havoc wanted to leave you a note. Breda was the only one ready, sir.”

“You did well, Hawkeye.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She started a little when Roy stepped in front of her to take the driver’s side. He smiled. “You out rank me now. I’ll drive.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

The corners of her mouth barely twitched. “We’re going to my apartment.”

Roy blinked at her. “What?”

Her face was suddenly completely expressionless. “You will need a place to stay while you’re here.”

He suddenly recalled the two of them sitting in his room while she peeled him an apple. He felt a little awkward. After that day, neither of them had spoken of it. How he had touched her hair or when she’d gone with him to the market, showing him a happy, more carefree side of her that was totally gone when she was in uniform. He had not stayed with her when he’d visited a couple weeks ago. He had gone to a cheap motel. She hadn’t visited so much as shown up at his door, in uniform, saying she must ‘escort’ him. He hadn’t asked about where this order had come from; he took in the look on her face (or lack there of) and gave her a tiny smile, which she’d returned. Thus, for the week or so that he’d been there, she had stayed by his side. She was always in her uniform when he was with her and so, she had not relaxed or shown any other sign of anything beyond friendship.

So now he just stared at her for a split second and then stilled his face, masking it, like she did. “I appreciate that, Hawkeye.”

She merely nodded and walked around to the other side of the car.

About ten minutes later, Hawkeye grabbed Roy’s suitcase and, with her defining stride, went to her apartment. Roy did not attempt to take the suitcase away, she’d probably give him a Look .

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, Black Hayate raced to meet her, immediately stopped short and sat in front of her. She reached down to pat him between the ears. Roy looked around and smiled. “It’s sparse. It looks like no one lives here.”

He couldn’t see Hawkeye’s face as she silently took his suitcase to another room. He followed her and saw that this room was just as sparse as the front room. With her back to him, she put the suitcase on the floor, straightened the bed covers (that looked a little too fresh to have been out very long, Roy thought) and went to the window, where she opened the drapes. She seemed about to do more but Roy stopped her, stepping in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. “Hawkeye.”

Her face was a solemn mask and he wondered what the hell he’d done.

“Sir,” Hawkeye said and he felt her tense into attention under his hands, although whether it was intentional or unconscious, he didn’t know.

Roy narrowed an eye at her. “At ease, Hawkeye.”

She didn’t remove her eyes from his but her gaze slipped into something less steely. “Sir,” she said, quietly and then she removed his hand from her shoulder and turned away to leave.

Roy looked at the floor, still not quite sure what had happened. He walked over to sit on the bed and watched Black Hayate pad into the room and poke his nose at Roy’s hand. With a sad sort of smile, Roy ruffled the dog’s ears. “What’s wrong with her, huh, Hayate? What did I do?” Roy shook his head; such quiet musings weren’t going to get him anywhere—maybe he’d done nothing?

The evening was full of a strange sort of tension. Hawkeye ordered food to be brought from a local restaurant (she wasn’t much of a cook) and each ate quietly. For some reason, Hawkeye had closed up and it didn’t worry Roy—it just puzzled him. Hawkeye had always been strong and quiet; it was just her way. She wasn’t a bimbo, a flirt, or a hardass…she was just…Hawkeye. She was cool, clever, mature, collected, almost fearless, and a little stern. She had always been that way with everyone…except for him. When the two of them were alone she allowed some of that emotion to come through; perhaps he’d just taken it for granted because he kind of missed it now.

After the meal, he took a shower (marveling again at the emptiness of the place but then, Hawkeye had never been one for useless items and décor, probably because most of the time she wasn’t here anyway) and was surprised when he exited the bathroom with a pair of baggy pants and a shirt—that Hawkeye was still in uniform.

He stopped short in front of his door and scowled, throwing his clothes into his room and going back to front room where the woman was sitting, straight-backed, looking down at her dog.

“Hawkeye. Why are you still—“

And he paused when she looked up. He couldn’t quite interpret the glance but something about it stopped him. Almost cold, but not—almost…sad, but not. He licked his lips, sighed and cocked his head to the side, summoning a smile. “Riza. Why are you still in uniform?” he asked her softly.

He noticed how her fingers crept up to the jacket and straightened it and he smiled. Of course, it didn’t surprise him…she wore her uniform like a shield. So he nodded, smiling softly. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

Her eyes barely flickered, as though she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She simply nodded.

When he was gone, Riza looked around her sparse, almost bare, apartment—stony faced and looked at the guest room door. Her hard look softened just a little. Just a little.


He knew the sense. It had come before. Military drilling taught you, even if you were a deep sleeper, to awake at a twinge. Something in your mind merely sprang to life and opened your eyes. He felt that twinge now. Opened his eye now. Let the eye adjust and found Riza sitting on the edge of his bed now.

He sat up. She was still in uniform, but the jacket was unbuttoned, showing the black shirt underneath. She had also disarmed. She was not looking at him, rather, sitting to attention, staring at the wall. “Sir.”

“Riza…”

“Yes, sir.”

“Riza,” his tone had a bit of bite in it, throwing the blanket off and letting his legs fall over the bed. “What are you doing?”

She couldn’t seem to come up with an answer to that. She stayed silent.

He snorted and resorted to a tone he had only used on her once or twice. “Hawkeye. Explain yourself.”

That seemed to reach her, but she still didn’t look at him. “I was once your bodyguard.”


The other times that Roy had stayed in her apartment, they had been pleasant, friendly but for some reason—this time was different. She was more tense then he’d ever seen her, still in her uniform. He glanced at the clock and, damn, it was two o’clock in the morning.

There had always been some sort of underlying tension between them. He knew it and had always known it; she had as well, how could she have missed it? She was too smart for that.

But it seemed, now, that the tension between them was coming to a head.


“Yes. You were my right arm. Every other time you have been kind enough to allow me to stay with you, our exchanges were less formal and you were different and we both know it. You wear that uniform like a shield, but you always changed clothes. You kept it on this time. What’s going on?”

Finally, she looked at him. “I’m not certain.”

“You’re not certain?”

“Sir—“

“Roy, goddammit!”

She paused, looking away for a brief second before looking back. “Roy. I am a simple woman. I am a sniper. That was my duty. I do not decorate needlessly or waste my pay on fruitless things, except for Hayate. I do not feel the need to exploit myself for any anyone for any reason, whether it be in clothing, make-up, looks, or intelligence because I know what I am and I accept it.”

Which makes you different from about ninety percent of the female population, which makes you far more complex then any of them.

“Where are you going with this, Riza?”

And with that same cold professionalism, staring at the wall, at attention, she said, “It means, Sir, that I do not know how to explain, relieve or what to do about the constantly growing tension between us.”

He was, at this moment, glad she was looking at the wall—because she’d come right out point-blank and blunt and said what he’d been thinking on for months and no matter how many girlfriends he’d had, she had been a totally different case for him.

He just stared, his mouth slightly agape.

And at his silence, she faltered; he saw it. Her eyes twitched a little, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her pants and she looked at him.

“I’m not sure, either…Riza.” He looked down and took a breath, gathering up the same shield of courage she had used and stood up. He squared his shoulders, walked about two feet, and sat right next to her. He felt her tense, snapping her gaze back at the wall. He let his shoulders slacken and looked at her. “Look at me, Riza.”

She didn’t budge.

“Hawkeye.”

She did look at him then, but her eyes weren’t nearly so hard.

He bit the inside of his cheek, took in a breath to fortify himself for a possible punch in the face and leaned forward. He kissed her, right on the mouth.

He felt her freeze, heard her inhale sharply. He lifted a hand and set it on her shoulder; rock hard and tense. Her eyes were open, staring wide right into his remaining one.

He pulled away. “Do I need to order you to relax as well?”

She glared at him.

He almost smiled, but was afraid she might actually leave if he did; thinking he was making fun of her.

“Riza…”

Her glare faded, still slightly wary and took a little breath. She opened her mouth as if to say something…but nothing came out.

She was as she had always been: strong, tough, proud, fierce, deadly…and beautiful.

He lifted his hand from her shoulder and laid it gently, on the side of her face and leaned, kissing her again. She jerked a little but then seemed to force herself to relax a little. In fact, she even kissed back, just a bit.

That was what he needed. He slipped his hand from her face to her throat and he felt her tense again. He ignored that, slipping the hand to her shoulder, under her open jacket.

She jerked away to stare at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Riza.”

She was silent and didn’t tense.

Damn, this was going to be hard…he couldn’t dare ask her to relax—attempt to reassure her or something. She was far too proud for something like that. If she felt vulnerable, she would likely leave.

Time for drastic measures.

He glared at her.

Her chin lifted and she glared back.

He grabbed her shoulders, practically picked her up and threw her back onto the bed. He climbed over her. It was what they both wanted and they both knew it and neither of them would say the words. Riza could be painfully blunt and painfully silent. Roy could be stubborn as a bull and act like an ass.

She looked up at him; swallowing hard, trying to keep her hard glare but he could see the slight wariness in her. He could feel the tension. He looked down, swallowing, trying to remain solid. Finally he sighed, leaned back on his knees and hauled her up by her shoulders into a sitting position. She went rigid as a board. He ignored it and said, “Take the damn jacket off.”

The look she gave him was solid and, chin high; she did so. He grabbed it and threw it on the floor. Her eyes followed it.

Then she stared at him. He stared back.

She leaned up and kissed him. He kissed her back, pushing her back on the bed again, sliding a hand down to her waist, feeling her tense up, ignoring it and pulling away to kiss her throat.

She gasped at that.

He looked at her. “Have you never done this before?"

She glared at him. “I have too much self-respect and I put my career first.”

“You are a complex woman, Riza Hawkeye.”

“You’re a stupid man, Roy Mustang.”

He smiled. He was wearing a loose shirt and a baggy pair of pajama pants. He leaned back and removed the shirt. He felt her tense beneath him again. His skin was already heating up. He leaned down again, kissing her throat, putting a hand behind her neck, holding her steady, hearing her take a short breath.

He swallowed, sliding a hand under the hem of her shirt. If she was tense from the actions he’d already taken, petty, timid actions would only make her feel more vulnerable.

She arched, muscles going rock hard at his touch as he peeled her shirt off.

“Roy—“

“Quiet.”

“Sir.”

“Hawkeye—”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t I already say that?”

“You said it nicer.”

He smiled at her, sliding his arms under her and unhooking her bra, another simple affair. No lace, no ribbon, plain cotton. The first thing he did was take her nipple in his mouth.

She jerked, arching a little. He sucked at her breast, smoothing over the swell of the other with his other hand, then trailing over her bared torso. Her skin was as rough as any soldiers’, her muscles firm and he smiled against her breast. For some reason, that was far more alluring then some of the soft, civilian women he’d been with.

He unclipped her hair, throwing it aside and placed hot, open-mouthed kissed tracing up to her throat. She arched a little, blinking, seeming to try---

“Why are you fighting it so much?”

She paused…and then looked up at him and then away, not saying anything.

“You don’t want to admit that you might be a little uncertain or scared, maybe?”

At that she did look—in fact, she snapped her gaze to him but her eyes betrayed her…that really was the reason.

“Think of it like a battlefield, Riza Hawkeye.” He smiled a little.

She blinked, as if surprised and smiled a little in return. “All right.”

She grabbed him and yanked him down, crushing their mouth together. He drug his hands down to her pants and undid them, tugging and pulling at them. He heard her gasp and go rigid and nearly fight him but he refused that, pinning her arms above her with one hand, finishing the job with the other.

That seemed to irritate her. She ripped her hands away, grabbed onto his shoulders and threw him over. She was above him, grabbing his pants and pulling them away. She was not glaring exactly—but her eyes had a heated, intense expression that was hard to describe.

In retaliation, he yanked her down on top of him, pulling up a leg and trapping one of hers, curling around it and drug his hand down her body, stopping at her breast to squeeze and thumb at the sensitive nipple and then shoving down between them, slipping his fingers into her folds, hot, sensitive, and already damp.

She gritted her teeth, holding back a sound but her body language changed almost instantly—not as fierce, arching her back, her eyes were open—a little surprised.

He was already hot, his length getting stiffer. He rolled them over, rubbing his fingers against her, smiling—slightly smug—as her express changed from trying to keep her composure to tensing. Her muscles bunched, she curled around him, knees at his hips. She looked down, screwing her eyes shut, biting her lip and made the tiniest of a whimpering sound.

“That isn’t so bad, is it?”

She opened her eyes, grunted and glared at him. She reached between them, keeping her gaze right on his face and grabbed him.

He jerked, almost falling and gave her a sour look. “You didn’t have to do that!”

He pressed into her more insistently. She tried to rub her hand against him—but her clumsiness betrayed her inexperience. Nevertheless, Roy felt like someone was pumping liquid heat straight through him. He started kissing her again, stilling his fingers, and lacing restlessly over her throat and breasts. He was so hard it was painful.

She’d eased up, nearly let go by now. The sensations were likely overwhelming her. He went down on an elbow. “Riza…you…know…”

She opened her eyes, taking quick breaths. “Yes, Roy.”

She cried out initially, clamping her mouth shut almost immediately, but clearly not prepared for it but he kept until he was buried into her. Hot and damp and deliciously tight.

Good God.

She was breathing hard, shaking.

He put a hand behind her head and the other on her face, stroking her cheekbone. “Riza…it’s all right if you want to stop…it’ll be all right…it won’t hurt after a moment…”

She screwed her eyes shut, hard, and when she opened them again, she swallowed and gave him that steely, no-nonsense look of hers. “I’ll be all right.” Her voice was slightly shaky.

He pretended to ignore it. They’d just been incredibly frank with each other. Don’t ruin the moment. So he started to move and be damned if it wasn’t a challenge to move hard and fast and, likely, she’d have done her damn best to keep up, no matter if it hurt like a knife to the gut. She was proud but…he couldn’t do that. Something kept him from that.

So he started slow and although she tried to silence them, he could hear her gasps, breathless whimpers, slight moans…

“You don’t have to be silent. We’re in this far, why be coy now, Riza?”

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, pain nearly fading, getting used to him, heat replacing it. “Shut up.”

He smiled a little. “All right.” He moved faster and he heard her gasp. He opened his eye, watching her expression change, losing the hard, sternness and replaced with another. This side of her he’d never seen, mouth open, eyes closed, hair splayed all around her and covered in a light film of sweat. It was almost erotic. It doubled the maddening, pulsing blood and feeling and scent of her; his own lust.

He picked up the pace almost unconsciously and she did her best to keep up, picking up on the rhythm rather quickly and moving together. Sweat mingled. Roy moved his hands up Riza’s arms and entangled her fingers in his own, pinning them to the bed. He rocked against her, panting for breath next to her ear, moving more and more erratically. Frantic.

She came first. Her eyes suddenly snapped open and her back arched, her muscles rippled around him and she moaned. It only took him a swift few strokes to follow her, clenching her fingers, screwing his eyes shut, growling in his throat, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

And then it was over and they were both panting, breathless. Her muscles were limp, he could feel it through her hands. His arms were trembling. He let one hand go, then the other, lowering himself down. She breathed into his shoulder, letting her arms fall on his slick back.

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