that one oomf that too capochin

You’ve been assigned a hotel room with her while visiting Central for business—the military usually pairs the two of you together, being the only women on Brigadier General Mustang’s team. And typically, there are two twin beds to greet you in these rooms, but now there is only one queen.

When you had gotten here, late after a day of work, you’d both sighed. And then you’d quipped something about this being the way all your dreams started. She’d thrown you a hard look, resolutely said she’d take the floor, to which you’d insisted she take the bed.

That you both take the bed. That you’d be on your very best behavior.

(She knew you wouldn’t be. You knew you wouldn’t be. And yet, she’d still reluctantly agreed to take the bed with you.)

“But Captain, this bra clasp is very tricky to get undone on my own.” You simper.

She actually huffs out a laugh at that. Tugs deftly on the laces of her boots. “Certainly you’re not wearing a nice enough bra underneath your military uniform that it has a clasp?”

But she picks her head up from her boots, still bent over slightly, and her eyes slowly travel up the length of your body. You drop your crisp military shirt to the floor.

You’re in a lacy, white bra that digs into your tender flesh a little, pushes everything up. Makes it all look soft and giving. With your military pants and unbuttoned and slung low on your hips, it’s a harsh contrast. The delicate lace against the crisp and masculine pants.

You watch her eyes carefully. The way they flutter in surprise, blond lashes flickering like a little flame. Eyes so dark, taking you in. Her lips are parted slightly and you watch the prettiest flush creep into her cheeks as she drinks you in. You have to bite back a smile.

She sits up. She regains herself, schooling her features.

“That’s not very practical.” She says blandly.

“I wear it for you.” You hum. “Do you like it?”

“Private.” She scolds.

“I’ve got the matching panties, too.” You tell her, dipping into your loosened pants to tug the fabric a little higher on your hips—to show her the peek of lace.

“This is highly inappropriate. I thought you said you’d be on your best behavior tonight.” She reminds you.

“Maybe I need to be punished?” You reply, eyes dancing with mischief.

She sighs and leans back on the bed, head tipping backward momentarily—enough that you drink in the column of her throat, the line of her jaw. You want her to take her hair down. You want her to unbutton the top of her uniform.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” She asks. And then quickly adds, “don’t answer that.”

You’re close enough to Riza to know she’s not genuinely upset and that your flirting isn’t entirely unwelcome, but it is testing her. Which is something you love to do. The dynamic you have is a complex one—she’s your superior officer. She’s exactly fourteen and a half years older than you. She’s been your mentor, as has the Brigadier General, as you study alchemy and prepare to take the state exams, and she is a rule follower to her detriment.

When you had first come onto her—it’d been in the locker rooms after training together. And you’d kissed her. She’d pulled away and said it was inappropriate. When you asked if she wanted it, all she could say was that it wasn’t allowed. Then, she’d picked up her duffel bag and walked out.

You thought maybe she’d have you reassigned after that.

Except, she hadn’t.

And then you’d tried the General. Men, in your mind, are so much easier to seduce. And he’d been helping you with alchemy, hovering over your shoulder, voice low and soft as he guided you. When you’d kissed him, he’d frozen, then stepped away.

“Do you attempt to seduce all your superior officers?” He’d asked.

You’d swallowed, realizing Riza must had told him, then.

“No, sir.” You’d said, “only the two I like most.”

He’d hummed at that.

“Why didn’t she have me reassigned?” You had asked.

He’d drawn in a slow breath. Let it out. “Because she’s fond of you. And she thinks you’re troubled and need—protection. She fears if you’re reassigned, and you try this with another superior officer, they will simply take advantage of you.”

“How noble of her.” You’d drawled.

“It is both her best and worst quality.” He had agreed.

“Will you have me reassigned?” And your heart had been in your throat, more than you’d ever care to admit.

He’d softened. “No. No—you’re not going anywhere.”

You’d tilted your head. “Are you and the Captain together, General?”

“Fraternization Laws states that it is illegal for a superior officer to have an intimate relationship with their subordinate.” He’d said dutifully—

In the same way that Riza had said, this isn’t allowed, after you’d asked if she wanted it.

“You didn’t answer my question, sir.”

“Didn’t I?” He had retorted lightly. Before leaning down and getting in your space, catching your eyes with the flint-strike determination of his own. He had grabbed your chin in hand a little roughly, and said, “now be good and stop trying to seduce my Captain.”

But it had sounded more like a challenge and less like a threat to you.

So here you stand, trying to seduce his Captain.

“I love to see that tormented look on your face.” You tell her and you mean it.

With that, you unzip your military pants, let them fall to the floor, too. Now, you’re down to just your underwear and plain, white socks.

“Careful, or you’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“I can get on the floor for you.” You respond and you go down easy, to your knees and then lowering your hands.

You crawl the short distance to her. Her eyes hold yours and her breath hitches. That flush on her face darkens. A piece of her honey hair slips from her clip, falling to frame her face.

You settle yourself between her legs, sitting pretty on your knees, leaning up a little to drape yourself across her lap.

Your cheek presses to her thigh and your eyes roll up to meet hers. You let yourself savor the strong muscle of her thigh beneath you, let yourself languish in this contact, warming to the touch of it.

She’s holding incredibly still. She’s trying to get her breathing under control but she’s struggling.

“Get up, Private.” She warns.

“I like being here for you, ma’am.”

She hisses on her next intake of breath.

“You’re so insubordinate.” She gets out, hand hovering, uncertain, before she settles it on your head. You hum as her fingers tangle through your hair, leaning up into the touch like a cat arching into being stroked.

But then her fingers tighten, and she fists her hand in the hair at the nape of your neck. You make a small noise of surprise, of pain.

Heat flashes through you like a wildfire to dry kindle—like a brutal wind sweeping in to kick the fire into an inferno. You almost immediately slacken into her hands, into her lap, any fight bleeding out of you.

She forces you to look up at her.

“Oh, now I’ve got your attention.” She says lowly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then listen up.” She says, holding you, pain still tugging through your scalp. “When I let you go, you’re going to put on your sleep clothes, I’m going to take a cold shower, and then we’re both going to sleep side by side in that bed—with a pillow between us. Do you understand me?”

“But Riza—“ Your voice is just shy of whining.

“Captain, to you.”

Your heart throbs, heat searing through you.

This time, you do whine, “Captain—“

“Hush.” She responds, tugging on your hair, “you’ve had your fun. Do as I say.”

You almost fight her, just to see what she’d do, just to get her to hold you like this—hand in your hair—a little longer.

Even if it’s only pain she gives you, you’d take that, too. Take it all. Always—for her, always. Anything.

Slowly, she releases her hold on you and you sag a little.

“Up, Private.”

Slowly, you rise.

“Be good for me now.” She says evenly, looking up the length of your body.

You step away from her. She stands, lifting to her full height, just shy of being taller than you. Then, she walks off towards the bathroom. The shower starts momentarily.

Dutifully, you change from your lingerie, to your pajamas. A plain t-shirt of hers that you’d borrowed once, and boxers from the General that he’d also allowed you to borrow a night that you crashed on his couch some time ago.

When she emerges from her shower, you’re already tucked into bed, a pillow set perfectly in the middle of the bed—to separate her side from yours.

You watch as she fights back the twist of her smile. Her eyes lighten, like a sunbeam in the evening.

“Very good, Private.” She says as she slips into bed, “maybe you can be trained after all.”

You turn and curl around the pillow between the two of you, hugging it to you and taking away your arbitrary wall.

“Don’t I deserve a reward, Captain?”

Riza turns and finds your eyes. “I’ll need you to work a little harder for that. You’ve been a brat tonight.”

You flush with warmth again.

“I listened to you—“ You complain.

“Only after I used force.” She returns swiftly, “now if you want to be good for me, turn over, and go to sleep.”

“You’re such a masochist. I know you’re denying yourself, too.”

She turns to face you and her hair, now down and slipping all over her cheek and neck make her appear softer. More feminine. Still, her eyes are hard stone in the dark. She lifts a brow. “I could say the same of you. Clearly, you like a little pain.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Are you toying with me, Captain?”

“Goodnight, Private.” She returns.

And you watch as she turns away, her back shifting to face you, and through the top of her shirt—a peak of her tattoo. The red almost glowing in the dark. Her back to you, that she trusts you with.

You let loose a tired sigh. You don’t turn away. You long to replace the pillow in your arms with her.

“Not now, sir.” Riza scolds and she’s already working on getting your shirt off of you. They share a look above your head—any other time, you'd try to decipher their silent language, but this time, you can't keep up.

Roy deflates fractionally, but his jaw ticks. Riza says, “get my med kit. It’s—“

“—under the sink in the bathroom, I know.” Roy says, standing and retreating from your view. Your breath is coming in short and quick now. Pain is fierce—you almost wish you’d been stabbed worse. Sometimes, when the wound is bad enough, you hardly feel it. It’s just all this heat and throbbing and your body so jittery—trembling with adrenaline—that you hardly even register the actual pain.

Not until later, when you’re stitched up and awake and your whole body screams in agony.

But this wound isn’t nearly so bad. It’s a shallow cut—nothing a few stitches can’t handle. But it means you feel the pain of the cut; where the knife had pierced you, gone in fractionally before Riza had taken your assailant out with the crack of a bullet.

Your covert mission had gone sideways. Clearly. Since you're bleeding all over Captain Hawkeye's living room floor.

Roy returns with the med kit and what you know are Riza’s bad towels—bleach stained and torn. Immediately, the two of them get to work on you. Careful, practiced hands clean up your blood, ready the suture and then;

“Do you need something to bite?” Roy asks, “Are you going to scream?”

“Hawkeye’s doing the stitches?”

Roy nods.

“Then—General, come closer.”

Roy looks puzzled for a moment, but he hunches closer. He shrouds half your body, almost covering Riza, too. You let your face tip into the crook of his neck, nuzzle into the fabric of his shoulder. He huffs. But then presses closer for you.

“Ready.” You croak.

“Deep breath.” Riza says, unnervingly calm.

You suck in all the air you can muster.

Pain slices through you.

You keen. Then, with the feeling of the needle tugging through your skin, you open your mouth.

Your teeth sink into the meat of Roy’s shoulder. Through his thick military jacket, you won’t hurt him—hopefully. He jolts a little, but then relaxes into it, letting you clamp down harder. Behind the gate of your teeth, you groan.

“Easy, easy—” Roy murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle your head. The other keeps you pinned for Riza. “Breathe. Come on."

Your groan slides into a higher, agonized sound. Girlish and frightened. Riza is as quick as she can be; you feel the needle press and pull, then dip and push. You feel her steady, careful hands, and the horrible, blinding pain of doing this without any sort of numbing agent.

"Shh," Roy hushes, glancing down at Riza's working hands at your side, at all the blood. His jaw is in your vision now. You breathe hard against his shoulder, mouth filling with the rough fabric of his jacket. You unlatch your jaw, if only to breathe properly and Roy says, "That’s it—good, good." And you don’t know if he’s speaking to you or to Riza.

The next push of the needle has you spasming, jolting in his hold. You cry out.

"Hold her steady." Riza's voice is a cool balm.

Roy presses harder into your body, holding you down. "Hold still, lieutenant."

"Fuck you." You curse.

"Is that any way to talk to your superior officer?" Roy says dryly as Riza says, "language, lieutenant."

"Fuck you both." You get out, voice pitching as Riza presses in again, through your skin that you feel tug and burn.

"It’s alright—that’s it," Roy murmurs. And then, "Captain?"

"Three more, sir."

"Okay." Roy says, "hold onto me, lieutenant. Bite if you have to."

You sink your hands into the muscles of his shoulders, his arms. You press yourself deeper into Roy, letting his body hold you in place. He cages you in. You feel Riza’s fingertips graze your side and you startle away from her.

“Steady now.” Riza murmurs, “almost through.”

Pain sears through your side. Your teeth clamp down onto Roy’s shoulder again and he leans in as if to help you.

“There, that’s it.” Roy soothes, despite how his hold on you will be a bruise tomorrow. He keeps you steady. “Atta girl. Bite hard if you have to—just stay still for us.”

You groan, eyes fluttering with pain, clamping down harder. Your body protests and jumps but you force yourself to hold as still as you can, fingers twitching and spasming into the muscles of Roy’s shoulders and back. Your nails dig into his jacket. Along his back. Without the buffer, you’d certainly be tearing into his skin.

“One more.” Riza promises. You breathe hard. Pain pulls taught. Then;

“Finished.”

Roy lessens his hold on you, lets you fall slack a little, ragdolling—he catches the back of your head before it can drop too far. Cradles you for a moment. You unlatch your teeth and suck in gulps of air.

Your side is on fire.

“There—breathe for me. You’re alright, lieutenant.” And then to Riza, he murmurs, “good work, Captain.”

(Any other time you might’ve caught the faint flush in her cheeks.)

“I’ll get her water. We’ll need to sterilize and bandage the wound in a moment.” Riza says and you groan again, knowing that won’t be easy either.

Riza retreats for a moment.

Through the haze of pain, you open your eyes to find Roy’s. He’s holding you very tenderly now. Almost the way a father would their injured daughter. The way someone holds an injured bird.

You lift your fingers to pull at his jacket, to try to hoist yourself closer. You rub your cheek against his chest like a little stray cat.

“You know,” he drawls lowly, “you’re not off the hook yet.”

“Are you going to punish me?” You slur, an off-kilter smile touching your mouth.

He tsks. “I should.”

“Do you want to? Do you think about it?”

Riza returns.

“Evidently you do.” Roy says dryly, glancing to Riza, who has her arms full of gauze and antiseptic. A glass of water carefully balanced in one hand, too. She moves to kneel beside the two of you again.

“I’ll be good and take it.” You say.

Riza throws a disapproving glance to you and Roy, “no, you will not.”

Your grin is lopsided, “you’re right, I’ll whine and cry and beg—“

“Lieutenant.” Riza warns.

Roy grabs for the antiseptic and begins to ready it for use, while Riza untangles the gauze carefully. Both their hands working at once, seamlessly moving together.

“What?” You ask innocently, but it’s just from the wooziness of blood loss. “It’s true—I don’t take punishments well. I’ve been told I’m pretty when I cry, though—“

“This isn’t appropriate.” Riza says firmly.

“Nor is it to send your subordinate on a secret, undercover mission outside of military scope. And yet—“

“Point taken, Lieutenant.”

The moment Roy presses a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the wound, you jolt and yelp, grabbing for Riza. She hisses when you get your nails in her. You curse, pain singing inside your body, spasming and stinging. You curse.

“Fuck—no foreplay with you, huh? Can’t warm a girl up first?” You ask, head lolling onto Riza’s collar bones as Roy cleans your wound.

It grows into a strange, soft humming of sensation. A glow of pain that throbs. You let out a breath, sinking into it, into their capable hands.

Roy scoffs, “something tells me you like a little pain.”

“Roy.” Riza warns now, elbowing him in the ribs a little. It jostles you and you huff out a weak laugh.

“Uh oh. First name used.”

“I know—I’m in the doghouse now, too.”

Riza huffs. “What am I supposed to do with you two? Need I remind either of you of the stab wound that’s been incurred?”

“Trust me—I don’t need a reminder.” You say, squirming as Roy continues to press gingerly at the wound. You whine a little. “It hurts.”

Once the cloth isn’t coming away with blood, Riza’s hands move in to bandage it.

“Probably a good thing you’re whining about it, at least.” Riza sighs. “If you were quiet, I’d be worried.”

“Wanna kiss it and make it better, Captain?”

“Kiss your freshly stitched and sterilized wound? No thank you.”

Roy snorts and you can’t help the loose smile that slips over your face, letting yourself sink further into their care. Into their capable hands. Riza is diligent in wrapping the wound. Roy holds you in place. And when they’re finished, your body throbs dully, but you’re exhausted enough that it’s not unbearable.

They both help you to the couch. Riza brings you painkillers.

Finally, Roy looks to you, bandaged on the couch and says, “that was very dangerous, lieutenant.”

His voice is soft and surprisingly earnest. He really was worried about you.

“Have to keep you on your toes, General.” Your smirk doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Please don’t ever do something like that again.” Roy responds and there’s a shadow in his vision—something faraway and terrifying. Something he can’t name. “I hate watching and being unable to—“

He cuts himself off.

Riza unconsciously rubs at the scar at her throat.

Ah.

She moves to your side, kneels on the floor beside you. She offers you the glass of water on the coffee table like you couldn’t reach it yourself—like you’re a sick child. The notion does something to you. Something strange. An ache blossoms inside, spreading out and pressing against your ribs, along your chest.

Then, in a surprising move, she tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

(Always careful with boundaries, you are startled by her now.)

“You know we both care about you a great deal, don’t you?” She murmurs.

You swallow hard. “I thought I was just a pain—“

Riza shakes her head. She’s somber. “You don’t need to go get stabbed to try and see this side of us—to see our care.”

“I didn’t—“

“And you should work on valuing your life. You fight like you’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not when we don’t want to lose you.” Roy murmurs, looking at you and Riza, eyes dark and surprisingly soft. He clears his throat, “do not ever do something like that again, lieutenant.”

“Is that an order, sir?” You try to joke.

“Yes.” He says sincerely. “It is.”

Riza’s fingers draw against your cheek. Your gaze flickers to her, because it’s hard to look at Roy like this—earnest and concerned. Like a worried father. You almost squirm under this attention. You swallow hard.

In another startling move, Riza presses a slow, burning kiss to the apple of your cheek. She cups your face possessively. When she pulls away, it looks like she wants more.

You almost jolt with it—the dark fire of her brown eyes.