Healing

Healing

Rose sat on the little cot in the room the man known on every wanted picture as Scar had set up for her. She’d just finished nursing her son, now looking into his soft little face she considered him to be the only good thing to come from the night he was conceived. Inhaling her baby’s scent, she closed her eyes, trying not to think about the images overtaking her mind.

“I’d like to talk to you,” the pleasant baritone of the scarred and tattooed man said. “Lyra said she’s willing to take the baby.”

“I’d be happy to,” Lyra said, stretching her arms out to take the child.

Reluctantly, Rose handed her child over to the woman she would never have trusted a few weeks ago, but suddenly began feeling as though she would willingly give over her only son to the strange alchemist, even trust her with his life.

With eyes following the woman and her child, Rose watched long after they’d left the room.

“Rose?”

Suddenly ending her reverie, Rose looked into the red eyes that watched her intently.

“Rose, I know you have been through a great many injustices.” Rose didn’t understand why, but this man made her feel both incredibly uncomfortable and relaxed at once. “I only wish you could trust me more. You could be a great leader for your people, someone capable of showing them the truth.” Rose shook her head. “Then what of being someone who could get revenge on those who harmed you, and all the people like them.

“You can have peace, finally. I know you must want that. A chance to raise your son, maybe find someone to care about.”

By that he meant another man who would probably rape her, with nothing done about it because he would legally be her husband.

Instinctively her knees drew up to her chest.

The scarred man brought a hand to her hair and she winced, waiting for him to hurt her as every other man she’d known had done before him. Even Cain, though it was not his fault that he had caused her hurt with his death or that his memory would become a way she had been so easily led by Father Cornello.

“Rose,” he said, almost kindly. “It is different if the person cares for you.”

She pulled away, shaking her head.

He tilted her head upwards, leaning closer, much too close. “Was that time your first?”

Tears were in her eyes, threatening as they pooled, to fall down her cheeks. A single, slight nod was all she managed, and to her complete and utter shock, she felt the man kiss her cheek, directly over the falling tear. “It can be so much better.”

He kissed her lips with his somewhat cracked ones, but his motions were tender. “I would like to show you that it is better Rose. Do you trust me?”

Did it really matter? He’d take what he wanted all the same. But if she played along, maybe there wouldn’t be so much blood, so much pain. If she acted like she trusted him, it would be better for her than to fight.

She nodded.

“You can make me stop any time,” he said, red eyes looking into her own, the dark-skinned hand meeting her own tan face once more. “Even now. Do you want me to stop?”

She could not manage a shake or bob of her head. But he saw the fear in her eyes. “I see you want me to stop.” He kissed her again, just as tender as before. She was waiting for the attack, for him to simply rip her clothes off and be done with her, but he pulled away, taking her hand in his. “Many call me a monster, an outsider, but there are some levels of monstrousness to which I refuse to stoop.”

With another gentle caress to her cheek he stood, leaving her in the make-shift room, bewildered.

********

He didn’t broach the subject again, but Rose had been considering it, as she watched the man, with his serious nature, his speeches to her people, seeming to actually care about the civil war that had erupted in her city. She watched him at nights, being kind to her little baby, even breaking a smile when two chubby little hands had grabbed hold of his finger.

And he was warm and protective to her, shielding her from some of the opponents of the cause who blamed her. He threatened those who dared to use the words “whore” or “slut.” And he actually showed concern for her health and her stamina on the long walks throughout Lior.

It was true, she could merely be accepting the idea that she was being used by this man, trying to justify her reason for letting him use her as a figurehead for a cause she knew nothing about, but it didn’t stop the feelings of contentment she got when he was around. It wasn’t love, but it could at least be said she was growing fond of her protector.

********

When finally she had resolved herself to allowing him to show her what he had promised, she was unsure how to approach him. Men were supposed to be the aggressors, weren’t they? Surely, she couldn’t be expected to ask someone to…

She couldn’t even think of it.

They were alone, the baby asleep in her little room, Lyra above shopping.

He looked at Rose, that stare with those ruby eyes seeming to look right through her. He grabbed her hand, and continued to look into her very being, forcing her to dart her eyes away. “We do not need to do everything tonight, Rose. Not that we have time for that, either. Lyra will be back soon.” He held her head in his hands. “But are you willing?”

She wanted to speak, to tell him yes, she was willing, she would find out if he’d lied to her when he said she could find pleasure, but as it had been since the attack, her voice didn’t work.

As though he’d heard her thoughts, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers, then nearly nibbling on them. His mouth opened and she felt the wet appendage within it sliding out, licking at her lips. Tentatively, she gave him the access he seemed to be seeking, feeling as his hands moved from the sides of her head to the back. She waited for him to mash their mouths together with force, but instead, the hands lingered. There was no force here. She lifted her hand, moving it up to the same spot on his own neck and head, slowly losing herself in the movements of his tongue against her own, the strong, pink organ massaging at her teeth and gums.

When he broke the kiss, if she could have whimpered, she would have. But then he began worshipping every inch of her cheeks and her neck with his mouth, laying tiny, light kisses on every bit of skin that was not covered by her dress or her wrap. Rose and Cain had kissed, but she didn’t remember him taking such care with her as this man was right now. Perhaps it was because her ally felt she needed to be treated like something fragile, afraid she would break if he didn’t do everything exactly right.

It didn’t matter.

For the first time since the attack, she allowed the muscles in her back and shoulder relax enough to let the heavy wrap drop to her feet, wanting to give him more access without having to actively do so, fearing becoming an actual participant, but as her hands clenched in his steely hair, she wondered how she still felt she could deny she was one.

Seeing her willingness to at least proceed somewhat more than before, his hands moved from her neck.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Rose. You should be cherished,” he said as his hands moved over her shoulders and down her back. “Gorgeous.”

His words made her feel a way she thought she’d forgotten after Cain’s death. Those strong hands moved down her ribs, moving close to her front, near the soft tissue toward her breasts, but as her body tensed up, his hands moved to the small of her back, his mouth moving to her ear, drawing the lobe into his mouth.

As those strong hands moved back up and nearly to the front, she did not tense up. He was being so careful, his hands moving forward, lightly cupping over her chest then moving to rub over her fabric-covered nipples, which thanks to breastfeeding were incredibly sensitive. As his thumbs circled them, she gasped, and she heard him chuckle.

“I told you it could feel good.”

He leaned down to press his lips to hers just in time for them to hear the baby cry.
“Perhaps that is good timing. I have no desire to rush you.”

*******

It wasn’t until several nights later that Rose once again found herself alone with her protector and self-proclaimed guardian. He had managed to bring her a bed of sorts. It wasn’t high off the floor, the mattress was a bit far from perfect, but it was still considerably better than the cot she had been sleeping on. Though the young mother knew he’d been promising to find her a bed, she suspect that, perhaps, the older man had something of an ulterior motive.

When he came into her little corner of their bunker, she happened to be seated on the bed, folding some of her son’s things in an attempt to make it seem just a bit like home. She looked up to find the usually serious-looking man watching her with an affectionate, almost smiling glint in his eyes, though his face remained as stoic as ever.

Rose had gone back and forth over continuing on the road on which they were progressing. She had seriously debated whether or not to trust that this man only had her best interests at heart. After all, she still had reservations about becoming a figurehead to his “cause.” Given the time she had, she had wondered on many occasions if his reasons for treating her in this manner, attempting to “heal” her, were to in some way convince her to join him willingly.

But moments like these, when she felt a warm gaze from the usually cold man, these made her forget all doubts and concerns over his intent. It wasn’t love, and it might never be, but fondness and lust were close enough.

He stepped into the room, saying nothing as he approached her, waiting somehow for Rose to signal for him to sit down. When she did, she felt the mattress shift beneath her as the weight of his body shifted her own to press against his hard, muscular side.

At first, she attempted to move, but felt his arm on her shoulders, holding her firmly but with the care he had shown through everything so far.

“Lyra decided to take the baby for a walk.”

His hand moved from rose’s back, slipping down to her hand and cupping it within his own. “This bed is not particularly comfortable,” he said as he shifted beside her. “I will try to find one better.”

For some time, they were silent, Rose almost wishing for the sound of his voice or even his touch. Despite herself, over these last few days, she’d been thinking about it, about him. He’d made her feel wanted and desired, made her want and desire, and to have him so close was almost nerve-wracking, as he only held her hand.

To initiate whatever it was they were going to do that night, Rose pulled the scarf from her head and shoulders, looking up at him intently.

That kind expression once again spread through his strange red eyes that looked down and met her own. He moved his large, calloused hands to hold her, to pull her onto his lap, turning her upper body to face him, while she sat across him. Large arms pressed her body to his and locked themselves behind her back as their lips met and her own hands reached up to feel the desert roughened cheeks that refused to grow any hair. As their lips met, the intensity was nearly as overwhelming as it had been when the baby had interrupted days before.

This time, though, they were alone. There was no Lyra here, no little boy. Just them and this moment.

His hands moved beneath the linen blouse she wore, fingers tickling her bare skin. Her won hands pulled at his head, moving it to her neck. She wanted to feel his lips on her skin again, to feel them worshiping every bit of her neck and collarbone. While his mouth made her nearly delirious in pleasure, his hands kneaded her tan flesh beneath the shirt.

Without even considering the action, she moved her hands downward, threading her fingers beneath his shirt, feeling the heat of his taut, hairless skin, a trait she knew was carried through the pure Ishballan bloodlines. His skin felt so much warmer, so different than her own, than even she remembered Cain being.

No sooner did her mind question if his entire body was like what she was sensing beneath her palms, than he removed his shirt. She almost gasped at the sight, but not out of fear or the proximity of a shirtless man to her own body. Rose could not begin to take in the sight before her. His chest, as perfectly tan as his face and hands, was entirely hairless, as Rose had expected, but the muscles throughout his chest, back and arms were well defined, those of a man who had created them through physical labor and not through weight lifting and vanity.

With his shirt gone, he did very little to Rose, allowing her to explore his bare chest and back with her hands and her eyes, and she honestly could not stop taking in the sensation of his skin. Where it wasn’t marred with pink scars, it was firm but almost velvety to the touch.

“Rose we will not do any more tonight than you are comfortable with,” he said. “But I am very pleased you are not frightened of me.”

His hand moved to her cheek, thumb rubbing the delicate skin beneath her eye.

She moved away from his hand, leaning forward to see if his hot skin tasted as wonderful as it felt beneath her fingertips. As she pressed her lips against his neck as he had done for her, a rumbling moan escaped his lips. She let her soft, pink tongue slip out from between her lips, taking in his almost sweet taste combined with the bit of salty essence from the beads of sweat beginning to cover his body. It was amazing to her that her fear of this man, of what he could do to her, had faded, whether by that same mysterious method which made her trust Lyra or because this man treated her at all times with respect and care.

At this moment, Rose only knew her cirousity was getting the best of her. She found her hands were now freely roaming over his stomach and lower back, as she kissed his neck, feeling him return her actions. His hands guided her to the mattress once again before moving to his pants, sliding them over his hips. It left him before her in nothing more than his eastern style undergarments, which covered only the necessities.

She realized that he was trying to let her get comfortable with his body and his presence, to accept that this man wanted to be with her in the most intimate of possible ways. Comfortable and acceptance were long past. She was fascinated.

She was all the more interested in the bulge in the strange undergarment around his waist. Used as she had been, plain as she felt she was, she was causing that. She was making him aroused just by her presence.

And then the fear began to creep back. She knew what would happen once he got her completely naked, what that arousal would lead to. It would mean excruciating pain, possibly even more so than it had from the soldiers, as that bulge seemed far larger than anything from her choppy memory of the night she’d been passed around like a playtoy or common whore.

“We can stop,” he said, sitting up.

Rose shook her head. She wanted to see if he could fulfill his promise, to change the definition those soldiers had implanted in her mind as the meaning of sex.

Quickly—as she was still reluctant to see what was beneath his one remaining piece of clothing—she removed her linen blouse and began unfastening the bra she’d had to start wearing regularly since her pregnancy. She was trying to barrel ahead, to move as quickly as she could through this process to get it over with, and he seemed to know that, stopping her hands from moving the straps over her shoulders. Instead, he guided the strips down her arms slowly, sandpaper-like hands tickling as they graced over the soft skin of her arms.

Languidly, he moved his hands to the cups on her chest, pulling the fabric off to reveal her own naked chest, the hands laying the bra aside. They moved to her chest, massaging, caressing, loving. A mouth joined them, making Rose’s back unconsciously arch.

This definitely felt good, an it was making her entire body, more specifically that beneath her waist, feel increasingly warm and even making her tingle with every touch, every sweep of his tongue. She had felt this before, but never as intense as this moment.

She found her hands moving to the remaining bit of clothing on her partner’s body, unintentionally releasing the strangely designed underwear.

As the things that looked like nothing more than a thick band of white fabric when released from the muscular body rode lower on his hips, Rose tried not to panic when she saw the tip of the man’s member from within the mass of fabric. He seemed so distracted at the moment that he didn’t even notice, continuing to suck on her right breast, one warm arm wrapped around her waist, fingers just below the synched band of her skirt.

She felt him pulling at the little piece of cord that held the skirt tight around her waist, but at the moment, her mind was focused on the now shifted piece of fabric at his waist and what it revealed to her.

As though suddenly realizing why they were doing this in the first place, he pulled back, looking at the direction of her gaze. She hadn’t really gotten to see those men. They had used her body, but each of them had taken her, as though they were afraid to risk her mouth. In the light of the lantern within her room, she was able to see him, wondering if the men who had violated her body had been as large as he was. Tentatively, she reached her hand out, touching his hip, pushing away the remaining pieces of fabric, leaving herself faced with the man’s member completely uncovered.

She could feel her heart beating more loudly, and her breathing was quickening as she felt the fear rising. They were really going to do this, and he truly was aroused by being with her.

“Rose,” that warm baritone said, drawing her attention back to his face. “If you are frightened…” She held her hand over his mouth. If she had to be with someone so intimately, she wanted it to be this man who was working so hard to prove to her—already with some success—that sex could be more than the painful memories she still held.

Taking the initiative herself, she removed her own remaining clothes, standing from the bed to let them drop to the floor. She now stood before him, completely naked, body sweating, hands clammy, unsure of where to proceed.

He held out a hand, the one attached to that tattooed arm and led her back onto the bed, then guided her to lie down. His hands moved down her stomach, moving toward her hips, then her inner thighs, slowly nudging her legs to part for him.

She wanted him to be right, to be telling to truth, and the only way to find out for certain that he was would be for her to allow him to continue. She shook as his hand found its way over the brown curls, headed down toward her moist core. She didn’t know if it was from anticipation or fear, but she wasn’t panicked enough yet to make him stop. His fingers brushed over something that forced her back to arch off the bed in pleasure.

He smiled at seeing her reaction, then ran his fingers over it again, leaving Rose to do nothing but strain her back, mouth open with silent moans and whimpers that would not come out.

His hand moved further down, thumb massaging over that thing that she wished she had discovered on her own much earlier. Two fingers slowly massaged around the opening that she was familiar with, moving easily inside. A shudder went through her entire body, and she was reduced to nothing more than a twitching bundle of nerves, deciding that she actually wanted more.

She guided him with her legs, pulling their bodies closer together. He said nothing, looking only into her eyes, trying to see if she was certain. She nodded and he took one of the pillows from the head of the bed, putting it beneath her hips, then spread her thighs to place himself between them. She felt that enormous member at her opening, felt him pushing, pressing inside of her. She felt stretched, filled, but not in pain.

It took him forever to meet their bodies together, with the patience he was showing at pressing himself inside of her combined with the sheer length of the man. Once she felt his hips meeting hers, the feeling of being incredibly full, somewhat uncomfortable, he leaned down, kissing at her neck and breasts once again, taking a slow, steady rhythm, gradually building until all Rose could do was silently scream out her climax, hearing her own name being cried out on his own lips.

********

Kneeling at the grave, that was the memory she still held close to her heart. She knew he wasn’t here, even more so than at other graves. His body and life had been used to create the philosopher’s stone, had allowed for Al to come back, to eventually join his brother in some distant place.

He never seemed to intend to do anything for anyone outside of supporting his own cause for Ishbal, but the man helped the Elrics and had healed Rose in his own way, showing her even before they had sex, made love, that when done between two people who cared, it really was an amazing feeling, that there was more to sex than the act itself.

While Rose laid her hand on the stone of his grave, she said a prayer to Ishbal, hoping that the god, if he did exist, granted his servant the peace he deserved.