#caesurables

———

Roy Mustang was made for a night like this. Handsome, stylish dress uniform, hair slicked back like a frame around his striking facial features, an air of dignity in his walk, his posture, even his gaze. He wears it all so well that he stands out from older, more distinguished company in the East City Hotel, where tonight, the Eastern Army is holding an extravagant ball in recognition of its recently promoted officers.

Riza is present as well, of course. For the occasion, she has traded her usual military attire for a blue satin gown with a flatteringly slender silhouette. A sash pinned with the insignia of her rank hangs from her shoulder to her hip. Having gone up the stage much earlier in the program for her own recognition, she has now retreated to the far end of the room, from where she’s got a full view of Roy as he waits to be called in front of the crowd.

Her promotion from Second to First Lieutenant is nowhere near as significant as his becoming Colonel, but it is no less her night than his. Selfish though the thought may be, it’s true that Roy owes this night to her, every title and every honor conferred to him. In every aspect of his life, she has made a crucial choice that allowed him to take a step in the right direction towards their goals—his goals that she has chosen to make her own.

“For the rank of Colonel, Roy Mustang…”

It was Riza’s choice to join him in the military, and it was this choice that has kept him on his path and his eyes on these goals. She has been devoted to his success just as much as to her act of atonement, but she was not subservient to either. Roy also carries with him the burden of their sins in Ishval. Her responsibility over his atonement means that she has more power than a subordinate would normally have under their superior. Anyone could be a dutiful subordinate or competent bodyguard, after all, but only she could be trusted with his life as well as his death.

“… the formidable Flame Alchemist…”

And it was her choice to reveal the secrets of flame alchemy, entrusted to her by her father, that first set him on the path towards his goals for the people and the country in the first place. Had she not trusted him, Roy would have searched further and longer for some other practice of alchemy. Had Riza chosen to die with her father’s secrets, Roy might not have come anywhere near who he is now.

“… and Hero of Ishval.”

Every choice she has made in their intertwined lives has determined the course of his, even when he should have been none of her concern. This was especially true in Ishval. She could have pulled the trigger at any time when she despised him most. She could have reversed the choice that brought him to Ishval. Riza chose instead to be an ally—a friend in a war where every other sense of humanity seemed to have been lost.

The Hero of Ishval was made through her actions; as was the Flame Alchemist; as was this shiny new Colonel Roy Mustang. As he is introduced by Lieutenant General Grumman, he takes his place at the center of the ballroom stage, and his titles and promotion seem all the more impressive due to the fact that he is the only new Colonel being recognized tonight. The crowd erupts in a reverent applause which Riza does not join in.

In different circumstances, if it weren’t for the very cards they have been dealt, tonight could have truly been happy, a cause for celebration. But their plans continue forming and unfolding; this game on which they have staked their lives does not pause. And so Riza watches him as she drinks her champagne, quietly imagining the steps they ought to take next, the moves they must plan, the sacrifices she must make in this gambit where she is both player and piece and he is the king set to take it all.

Her life is a game which she plays for Roy Mustang to win.

When his moment passes and the ceremony moves on, Roy descends from the stage, searching through the crowd for Riza. He finds her and meets her gaze across the room, and for a moment she wavers in her train of thought. She is familiar with this feeling. She has felt its pull before, but never this strongly, never with enough clarity so as to explicitly name him its object. How could she possibly feel it towards someone for whose sake she has forgotten her own needs and her own desires? How could she not be indifferent instead?

Riza leaves her champagne on a nearby table and turns in the opposite direction to walk off its effects. The party thankfully offers plenty enough distraction from the drink and from Roy. She meets a few colleagues here and there, makes small talk, and when she loses sight of Roy, she’s certain that he has been intercepted by people wishing to congratulate him or rub elbows with him for his prodigious rise through the ranks. She soon manages to extricate herself from the crowd and disappear from the ballroom.

———

“You should be celebrating tonight, Lieutenant.”

Riza knows that Roy has found her before he even speaks. She didn’t think that he would. She had wandered around the hotel until she found herself in distant, unfamiliar hallways decorated with beautiful artwork that she could admire until her intoxication had worn off enough to safely drive home. But there is no mistaking the sound of his footsteps or the scent of his perfume tinged with the liquor from the party. Part of her wants to disappear again, but his proximity in an otherwise deserted place seems to further slow down her currently unreliable reflexes.

Riza smiles dryly. “Does it matter if we received our actual promotions a week ago? We all know this is just an excuse to flatter ourselves and have a good time without spending our own money.” Roy smirks as she shakes her head. “Either way, I think I'll enjoy the party much better here, away from the crowd. But you're everyone's darling for the evening. They'll be wanting you back."

Roy sighs and rubs the side of his head, as if the very thought tires him. "I see enough of them at work. And there's going to be more of them around now, especially when we get transferred to Central. This night isn't about them."

The mention of Central causes Riza to bristle with alertness. She whips her head around to ascertain that the hallway is deserted. Behind her, she finds an intricately carved double door, and she quickly strides across the hallway to it. To her surprise, it is unlocked; the room beyond it appears to be dark and deserted. Riza shoots a glance at Roy as she enters. He swiftly follows.

Riza spots a nearby floor lamp just before she locks the door. For a moment, the room is pitch black, then Riza switches on the lamp. Its warm glow is just enough for her to make out Roy’s face and the silhouettes of the furniture in the room. They seem to have found themselves in a lavish parlour with a high-backed sofa and matching armchairs, a handsome tea table for two, a fireplace carved from white marble, and a vintage piano.

“I see you’re already making plans for proceeding to Central,” Riza begins. “We should be more careful about discussing them from now on, Colonel. Everyone has their eyes on you.”

Roy stares at her questioningly. Then, a small laugh breaks through his expression, and he shakes his head. “I’m not. I didn’t come looking for you to talk about our plans.”

She frowns. “What is it, then?”

“It’s just like I said. You should be celebrating tonight.” He draws what sounds like both a nervous breath and a laugh. “It wouldn’t have been right to enjoy the party without you. You’re the reason we’ve both come this far.” He pauses, and then his voice turns softer than before. There is no trace of a smile left in it or on his face. “I know you know that, Lieutenant.”

In the soft light, Roy’s face appears flushed, his features softer than they were when she watched him back at the ballroom. Riza doesn’t realize just how close he is until the scent of champagne on her is lost to his raspberry wine. Something stirs in her; on one hand, it would be easy to call it yearning. But on the other, nothing that concerns Roy Mustang has ever been easy. Riza has always equated these things with methodical moves and calculated risks.

And so, for once, Riza pictures herself playing her game not for Roy’s sake, but for hers. She imagines that the stakes are different, the rules may be broken, and the only person she has ever wanted is both her gamble and her prize. She could have it all now—she need only play her piece.

But never in any of their plans or her own did she consider this a possible outcome, that Roy Mustang would be kissing her with one gentle hand on her face and another on her waist, or that the warmth of his body could be such a welcome comfort. He kisses her as if he has known for a long time just how closely he would need to lean in, how to tilt his head to the correct angle so that the curve of his lips would fit perfectly with hers. Riza senses this not because of unrestrained passion—on the contrary, Roy is perfectly still. The kiss is tender, but the rest of him is tense, as if it’s the only thing holding him together now. Or as if it’s the only thing he has held out for all this time.

Roy breaks away from her slowly, and it’s Riza whose heart is thundering in her chest. Perhaps, had the game been hers alone to play, it wouldn’t have led them so far so soon. Had it been she to approach him first, they might have only teetered over their fragile lines and not fully crossed to a point of no return. But Roy has taken her by surprise where the playing field has always seemed to be even between them. This, she cannot accept—she has never made a gamble that she did not see through. This will not change now.

She will play her game on her own terms.

Riza flings her arms over Roy’s shoulders as she kisses him, one hand running through his hair and undoing it back to the style she knows and likes best on him. It makes her want more—thank heavens that he realizes it right away. He responds so ardently that they stumble, so he steers her until she falls back against the piano and dissonant notes blare over their sighs. His hand runs down her side, over her hip and into the slit of her blue dress, where he reaches under her thigh and lifts it up against his leg.

But Riza refuses to give in so easily. She trails her hand down his front, all the way down to where he has started to turn hard. A gasp escapes him when she wraps her fingers around his erection and tugs at it. It gives her an opportunity to push back and reverse their positions so he is seated on the piano—it clangs unpleasantly again—and she is leaning over him as she makes short work of his jacket and his shirt to kiss his chest. The further down Riza drags her lips, the less familiar she is with the territory she is exploring, but she goes on until she brushes against that warm, rough outline. Riza tugs his trousers down, and when he springs free of his clothing, she takes Roy into her mouth.

He is exactly how she wants him right now, inelegant and vulnerable with his head hanging all the way back. Riza starts off slowly, but she is eager to figure out whether she can get him to unravel more quickly with her lips running back and forth along the length of him, or with her fingers massaging the base which her mouth cannot reach. His pleasure seems to build unhurriedly until she twists her tongue around, making him throb and moan quaveringly. She becomes hungry to hear more of him and picks up the pace, never mind that the effort is choking her. Roy grips her hair until it falls out of its pins, ultimately coming loose down her back. She goes, and goes, and she thinks he might be close, but then—

But then Roy pulls her up so he could kiss her, and Riza sighs in pleasure, and it isn’t enough for her just to watch him unravel anymore. She falls into him in a blissful, drunken haze, allowing him to kiss and caress her and unzip her dress. She could burst into flames at every part of her that he touches, even the scars that he had left on her back when their game was at its deadliest. He begins rubbing her between her legs, and there it hardly matters whether his touch flutters over her skin like candlelight or pushes as suddenly as lightning—the sensation just builds and builds, like a storm stirring up the sea.

How could he know so well what to do with her, how to give her just enough and yet leave her wanting more without ever having explored her this way before? The question is quickly lost in Riza’s mind as he finds other ways to arouse her. Now, he’s pulling the top of her dress down, switching positions with her again, alternating between kissing her lips and her breasts. It’s easy to follow him where he goes when he’s leading her through a dazzling trance, easier than it has ever been to follow him in any other way.

The storm slows only once as Roy’s lips brush against her ear with a stammering plea. “Do you want me to—can I keep going?”

Riza hardly recognizes the sound of her own voice when she gasps, “Please.”

Slowly, carefully, he enters her, with her dress hiked up above her hips. Despite the mild ache that comes with it at first, it feels better than anything she could have planned or imagined. Riza is shaking now. She buries her face in Roy’s neck and moans there, where only he can hear her, and she feels his excitement growing at the sound of it. He begins to thrust into her—clang, clang, clang, goes the piano—first at an even pace, which helps ease away her initial discomfort. When the tension disappears from her shoulders, she finds herself swaying against him hungrily. He varies from going exhilaratingly fast to tantalizingly slow—clang, clang, clang!—and at some point, she whimpers—

“Roy—"

It seems to awaken something feral in him. Everything he does with her is greedy now, from his kisses running clumsily from her neck to her lips and back, to his hands grabbing at every part of her that he can reach—and although she likes him like this, unhinged and at the same time in complete control, it makes her want to give him more than she is getting.

Riza pushes herself off the piano and into Roy, and he is more than willing to let her drive him down to the floor. There, she pulls at his hair as she kisses him, then shifts slightly so he can kiss her chest while she slowly sinks down and allows him back into her. Their rhythm is easier to find this time. She starts off at a pace that builds up the heat in her body just right, then later allows his hands and hips to guide her with more fervor and intent. Soon, the pleasure is just too close for her to wait any longer, and they are both overcome with an aching desperation—

“Roy”—she pleads, groans—“oh—"

“Riza—ahh—fuck—”

 “Don’t stop, don’t stop—"

Roy climbs over her, snaking his arms around her to grab at her chest, and he enters her from behind without breaking their rhythm, thrusting vigorously until and throughout her release. The rush, the bliss, the high is simply unthinkable—Riza presses her forehead down and bites her own hand hard to keep herself from screaming. She sinks into an ungraceful sprawl on the floor, drenched in sweat and tremors and Roy’s weight all over her body, but also as feeling if she were made purely of her sensations, with no physical body at all.

A moment passes, or two, or an eternity before she turns to lie on her back. Roy has collapsed next to her and entangled with her, so he adjusts to make way for her. She then finds herself looking up at him; Roy is leaning over her, seeming like an entirely different person with his gentle gaze, his tousled hair, his clothes only barely clinging to his body. His clothes—a reminder of who he is, and therefore, the gravity of what they have just done.

The high subsides almost as quickly as it came over her.

The room is piercingly silent as they scramble back to their feet and several meters away from each other. They keep their backs turned as they smooth their clothes back onto themselves and comb their hair into some normal, unquestionable style. Riza’s senses settle back into rationality at last. This was not a different way to play their old game. This was a temporary escape, a rare exception to her life’s unwavering rules.

“Riza.”

It’s unsettling how he says her name as if it were what he normally calls her, so she does not respond. Surely, he understands that what has just transpired between them must remain in the past, in favor of the reality that they left outside the door. Surely, he knows as well as she does that that reality has already resumed before they have even left the room.

He calls her name again. Riza, again, refuses to acknowledge him.

“Lieutenant.”

Her resolve wavers for only a moment. Riza knows exactly what he is doing. She knows her own excuse for this lapse in judgment—she knows how to keep it from happening ever again. But she can tell by his current insistence and his earlier passion that he doesn’t consider this a mistake like she does. This is, after all, exactly how he plays the game—head on, without hesitation. Roy has broken the rules more thoroughly than she has. He would have done so without her instigation. He has made perfectly clear the gamble that he is willing to make for her.

“I’m fine, Sir,” Riza reassured him.

The bullet had only grazed her on their mission that morning and she’d gotten the all clear to return to work. It was just unfortunate the Colonel had returned to the office from his lunch break earlier than anticipated and had seen Riza quickly changing the bandage.

One of his hands lifted to examine her injured shoulder. His fingers ghosted over her arm, tickling her bare skin, and this time, Riza did shiver. She subtly cleared her throat as the Colonel shifted his feet. His body was now closer to hers. Another step and they’d be touching.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispered dejectedly.

Riza shook her head. “It wasn’t mission critical. You had no need to know.”

“That’s…” he sighed heavily, his eyelids drooping as sorrow flooded his expression, “a lot of blood.” He glanced over at the old dressing on her desk, scowling at it.

“Not really,” she argued lightly.

The hand that had been at her shoulder was pressed softly against her cheek, cupping it so he could tilt her face and make eye contact.

“Even a drop of your blood lost is too much.”

“The doctor said it’s fine. I just need to change the dressings every few hours. It’s just a scratch,” she reassured.

“Do you promise?” His eyes searched her face, anxiously awaiting an answer.

Riza smiled. “I’m fine,” she stressed with a light laugh, trying to ease his worry. “But,” she added, regretfully, “we won’t be if someone walks in.”

The Colonel just shrugged. “It’s worth it to know you’re all right,” he replied. “Please don’t shoot me for this,” he quipped, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards into a knowing smirk.

His lips were pressed against her forehead, making Riza freeze. Then, after a brief second of surprise, she melted underneath his touch.

Then he was gone, walking back over to his desk.

“Thank you, Sir.” She was sincere as she watched his retreating back.

Not that she knew that at the time, of course. He'd never said a word. Riza had only been interested in a good time - Rebecca had insisted they'd go out and get black out drunk - and Riza was determined to have a good time with her friend…

Except she'd declined the "black out drunk" offer because they both had to work the next day. Apparently, things had gotten a little out of hand, and Riza had become drunker than she'd wanted to be, resulting in doing something that was very uncharacteristically her - sleeping with a stranger.

It had been good though. She wasn't so drunk that she'd forgotten how good a night it was.

And now the man was her new boss. Talk about awkward.

"What about?" Riza enquired, shrugging on her jacket. She'd pulled her hair from her ponytail, noticing in relief that it lessened the pain in her head. Damn tension headaches. Working with Roy all day and tiptoeing around what had happened hadn't helped her sore head either. Pulling her trapped hair from out underneath her jacket, Riza turned to face him expectantly. 

"You know what," he huffed irritably. Apparently, her playing dumb all day had grated on his nerves a little.

Well, what was she supposed to do? She'd never been good with confrontation, never mind something like this. She'd fucked her boss. That certainly wasn't like her and Riza had worried all day about what would happen if it all came out. Would she be fired?

"There's not much else to discuss," she shrugged, pulling her bag out of her locker. "We said it all last night. It was a one night thing," she stressed, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets to hide the nervous shaking. She was desperate to keep her voice from quivering. Why did he have to do this now?

"What if I didn't want it to be?"

"... What?"

"You heard me," he nodded, expression determined and confident.

That's why you'd fallen for him in the first place. That damn charm and stupid confident smirk.

"I think you're delusional." Riza shoved her locker door closed harshly, moving to leave the room.

God this was such a mess. She just wanted to go home, have a nice long bath, and forget all about this horrible situation.

Not giving up without a fight, Roy followed her out of the room, one step behind. The worst part was, others noticed them. That would only make things worse. Riza groaned internally, already hearing the gossip people had made up about them ringing loudly in her head.

"I want to talk about this."

"Why?"

"Well, first of all, I'd like to know if it'll be a possibility."

Riza snorted. She couldn't help herself. "You're my boss, what do you think?"

"Not your boss. A colleague."

"You're my boss," she confirmed. Technically, in a weird, roundabout way, he wasn't but in a conventional business view, he was. 

"It doesn't matter. There's no rule against it."

"You're in a position of power over me. And you're very persistent about this. It's getting on my nerves." Riza shoved open the staff entrance at the back of building with more force than was necessary. It never closed, but she heard him catch it in his hands.

"You're right." Riza turned in surprise, not expecting him to agree with her. Most guys wouldn't. "I'm sorry. I just…" He raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. "I don't want it to be awkward for you after what happened." The hand dropped. "I was just as active participant as you were, but I'm genuinely curious if it could be a possibility." His eyes seemed to burn into hers, igniting her insides. Just like last night. "I… I really enjoyed last night. Not just that," he stressed with a smirk after Riza raised an eyebrow. "But in the bar too. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much."

"I did have a good time," Riza grumbled her admittance.

"I remember it well," he grinned widely at her light blush. "And it wasn't entirely one sided," he added, waggling his eyebrows.  “I was drunk, vulnerable, and good-looking. You took advantage.” The look of mock hurt on his face made her irritation build back up, but then Riza vaguely recalled her drunk self being all over him, and Roy just smiling, enjoying the attention.

“I was the one that was drunk. And you aren’t that good-looking.”

Roy chuckled. "Controversial statement. I particularly remember you stating you thought, and I quote, I was "hot as fuck"."

"That was Rebecca who said that, not me!" she exclaimed, mortified.

"No, you said it in bed afterwards too," he grinned again, laughing at her now beetroot face.

"Shut up," she muttered, climbing into her car to escape from his amused laughter. Roy approached and tapped on the window for her to lower it.

"Sorry for all the teasing. Will I see you again tomorrow?"

"It's my day off." His face fell slightly. "I'll drop you a text."

The team had shot her concerned looks throughout it, while shooting scalding looks at the reason for her upset. However, there was nothing they could do about it. What was done was done. They knew this day was coming, had done for a year. They all had to learn to deal with it and keep moving forward.

The door behind her opened quietly and Riza just knew who it would be. The one person she really didn't want to see right now.

"You okay?" Roy murmured. He couldn't talk to her like that. Not now, and not anymore.

Like a lover.

"Havoc told me to come out and see you."

"Perfectly fine, sir," she replied, straightening her spine and turning to face him. It was unfair, how good he looked. "Just needed some air." Her voice was calm, collected, and strong. Her brief moment of release was over, time to get back to the party. Knowing that she had to keep up this front in his presence for the rest of her life made the task seem daunting, but she'd hid her feelings for him for twenty years already. What was another five, or ten?