Fic - "Days Gone By"
Mar. 25th, 2009 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajTitle: Days Gone By
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Pairing: Royai, Lust/Riza
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 2064
Warnings Manga spoilers up to chapter 60. Het, yuri.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fma_exchange in September of 2007. Somehow, I never got around to reposting it on my journal. Delta Dawn is my Royai song and it partially inspired the fic. Also inspired by my wonderment; if Lust was willing to seduce Havoc to get at Mustang, shouldn't she have had a try with Hawkeye as well?
For the most part, she didn’t let herself think about him in any capacity beyond their professional one. He was her commander, she would lay her life down to push him forward, and that was enough. There simply wasn’t room for anything else.
Besides, what was past was past. Riza Hawkeye wasn’t one to deal in might-have-beens.
Their unit arrived in Central late in the evening, too late to start work, and she intended to spend the few hours before bed at least attempting to organize her new apartment. He no doubt would spend it checking out some of the local bars, and though she didn’t necessarily approve, she’d seen the hidden sadness lingering in his shielded eyes for the duration of the train ride and as usual she found she couldn’t begrudge him his comfort.
He hadn’t offered to help her move (knowing she would, of course, refuse) but he had carried half her bags to the waiting taxicab and helped her load them into the trunk. When he’d finished, he’d smiled in his usual lazy way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t stay out too late, Sir.”
He’d laughed a bit at that but made no effort to negate it, and strode back to the platform and his own baggage. She sighed, leaving him with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and climbed into her cab. The charming, lazy smile and gentle laugh would’ve fooled anyone else, but she knew him well enough to see what the casual gestures kept hidden. He knew it, too, but that never stopped him from trying to hide.
He always hid his pain from her.
The room in the apartment building was large but rather dim. There were a few sconces on the back wall, but even their bright glow couldn’t banish the shadows from the corners that Black Hayate was thoroughly inspecting for bugs or mice or anything else he could conceivably give chase to. When he located nothing but a large dust ball, he settled for barking at it.
“Quiet,” she instructed, which was all it took to silence him. He let the dust ball go, sneezed a few times, and came to stand by her feet. Kneeling to scratch his ears, she surveyed the room to formulate her plan of action. Cleaning, she decided, would have to happen first, before the rest of her cartons were shipped from the east, but cleaning would be pointless if she couldn’t see what she was doing. She needed a lamp.
She gave Hayate a few moments to run around in the small fenced yard behind the apartment complex, knowing he must be miserable enough after the long train ride, but left him in her room when she left. She didn’t know Central well enough to have him tagging along on her errands yet.
The sun was going down by the time she’d located a furnishing and hardware store and purchased a small tabletop lamp, and on the way back she saw him through a small, foggy bar window, still in his uniform and alchemic gloves, seated at a table with a bottle of malt whiskey and a lovely light-haired woman. She didn’t let herself linger. Simply passed him by, stopping at a small general store with a large shelf of fresh cut flowers outside its front door once she’d gotten far enough away.
It wasn’t that she minded; it was only that she remembered.
Stroking the stem of a rose, sliding her fingers in between the velvety petals, she let herself relive it. The first time had been strange and sweet, his face so young and soft and awed, still open, unmarked, idealistic, as his fingers ghosted over her skin. At first his kisses had been so gentle she almost couldn’t stand them, and they built from tickles to heavy tension that made her sweat and whimper. He’d traced the marks on her back with his tongue, marveling at first, but he’d soon forgotten them, moving to hold her against him, kiss her, whisper and press her forward into the mattress.
“What have you got there? A faded rose from days gone by?”
She started, pulling her hand away from the full, red blossom and whirled around to face the speaker. Absurdly her first thought was still of him, of the way he’d smiled and made her heart beat faster when he’d come for his first lesson with her father. But it wasn’t him, of course it wasn’t, and she cursed herself for letting her mind get away from her long enough for that kind of projection.
It was a young woman—a stunning young woman—in a high-necked black velvet dress, with long wavy hair. She was smiling gently at Riza, seeming to beckon her forward, and all at once Riza’s thoughts shifted from Roy Mustang to Rebecca Frank, her roommate from academy whose hands had been soft and warm and so like his in the dark after lights out.
Anyone else would’ve flustered and blushed, but Riza wouldn’t let herself do either such thing, and she faced the woman with her usual utilitarian smile.
“Just musing. I’ll be on my way.” She turned, adjusting the lamp under her arm, and started away, only to be stopped by a soft hand clad in a matching black velvet glove.
“You don’t have to run away.” Her voice was warm, and Riza’s skin tingled under her fingers. “I won’t bite.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m running late for an appointment,” Riza lied. The woman’s hand worried her; it was long and elegant, and the way one finger played at her high collar made her remember his touches more clearly than she had in years.
“Who is it?” The woman asked. “Was it the man in the bar?”
RIza's eyes widened, but she kept the shock hidden.
“I saw you looking in at him,” the woman continued, “and then come over to the flowers. I wondered—”
“That really isn’t anyone’s business but mine,” Riza said curtly, and tried once again to walk away, but was once again caught… and this time by the hand.
“Please… if you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m very good with things like this. You seem like you’re unfamiliar with the town—”
That set off a warning flare in the back of Riza's mind. How could this woman have possibly known that?
“—and I’d be glad to help you feel better.”
Riza knew she should pull away. There was something… off… about this woman, and it wasn’t safe to fight her instincts… and yet, she couldn’t. She felt rooted to the street, the woman’s soft but cloying perfume and the warmth of the woman’s fingers twined around her own seeming to flow through her skin and stomach and hold her in her place like rope snares. Heat flared between her legs. It didn’t make sense, no one had ever had this kind of effect on her before…
Except for him.
“Come on,” the woman purred, and Riza found the woman’s hand snaking around her waist, pulling her away from the storefront, into an alcove. Dark, secluded, dangerous, and Riza's hand skirted down toward her concealed pistol... and then the woman's mouth closed over her own.
Her lips were nothing like his—they were full and plush, his were thin and hard—and yet she could think of nothing but him; him, him, and only him, of the way he’d kissed her before he’d vanished into the military’s clutches and she’d scrambled to catch up to him, working so hard at academy that she’d surpassed her class and been sent in to Ishbal to assist. She’d gone that far for the love of him, and the irony of it was that by finding him there, she’d also lost him.
The woman’s hand grazed her thigh, so like he’d once done, long, long ago before he’d left the first time. Touching her thigh in the hallway outside her father's study where her father lay passed out against his desktop. Smirking as he stroked the hem of her nightgown, raising it higher and higher, whispering into her ear that she should wear skirts more often. She shuddered, remembering how he’d pulled her in close and how she’d felt him, hard against her hip.
“You poor thing,” the woman whispered, “he’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t he?”
Of course he had. How could he not? The words fused with the mounting tension of her body, wanting to be said, wanting for once not to be buried amidst her own sensibility, and she’d actually opened her mouth to say them, I can’t ever stop loving him, no matter how much I know I should, and all I want is to forget all about it, when the woman spoke again.
“It must be hard to be so close to a man like the Colonel.”
And all at once, her instincts were back. They screamed in her head that this was dangerous, this stranger couldn’t know that, this wasn’t an ordinary woman, and Riza shoved her away, drawing the pistol holstered at her waist.
“Get back!” She snarled. The woman did move backward, but seemed oddly nonplussed by the cocked gun, smiling in the same seductive smirk as she playfully raised her arms halfway.
“Now, now, what was it I said?”
“Stop that!” Riza aimed her gun, face set. This was someone to protect him from, she knew, and felt a moment of nausea at the realization that someone had tried to get at him through her, and that she’d let her feelings for him come up long enough to almost allow their success. “How did you know that? What do you want with us?”
“What do I want? I want nothing. Nothing at all.” She smiled wider, the full lips predatory but still, even now, harshly sensual. She began to edge back out to the street. One high heeled boot clicked against the sidewalk.
“Stop where you are!”
“Or what? Kindly tell me what I’ve done to warrant such an aggressive display.” The woman nodded toward Riza's gun, and, elegant as a cat, slipped away into the open street.
“Wait! Stop tight there!”
“I’m sorry,” she mocked, striding off at an otherworldly quick pace, “I’m afraid I’m running late for an appointment.”
Riza lowered her gun and tried to chase after the woman, but she was moving too fast and Riza was too unfamiliar with the streets to pursue her for long. She lost her within two blocks.
Once she had to admit defeat, she retraced her steps, hoping to retrieve her lamp, and was relieved to find the package where she’d dropped it. She gathered it up and started for home. She checked the bar where she’d last seen her Colonel, wanting to warn him there was a suspicious character in the area, but she found he’d already left.
As a final effort she tried his number on a public telephone, but found his line hadn’t yet been activated. Briefly she considered looking for him, but decided it would be fruitless effort; he could be anywhere. Tomorrow, early, she promised herself, she’d warn him there was a strange woman who seemed to know a bit more than was safe. She would not, of course, tell him just how it was she’d come about this knowledge. Specifics and kisses could keep to themselves.
She fed Hayate and installed the lamp, but found she now lacked the energy to clean. With a deep sigh, she opened a suitcase, removed her set of sheets, and started to make up her bed for the night. Once she’d put the bottom sheet on, though, she simply lay down, closing her eyes. And for a moment, because she’d come this far already, she let herself remember it all.
They’d tried it once more, after the war was over, after her burns had healed, but the guilt in his eyes made the bed seem much too large. When his hand had grazed her back he’d winced as though he’d been wounded. Still, they’d kissed, and held each other, and for a short, sweet moment when he’d crawled on top of her and stroked her face she’d thought everything would be all right.
Then he pulled back. Not by much, but enough so the faint light from the streetlamp outside had illuminated the hurt set in his jawline and the ache in his eyes. He gasped once, struggling to speak, and turned his face toward the wall.
For the first time hiding his pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at his hand, “I’m so, so sorry… I can’t—”
He rolled away, facing the wall. A few inches of starched white sheet and a hundred thousand lost lives stretched out between them. She’d heard a gentle sound that could have been a sob. At that she’d reached for him, and he hadn’t pushed her away, but he hadn’t accepted the comfort either, and all at once that was the end of it.
But he had still trusted her, and she had still followed him, would follow him, and would protect him with everything she had. It was easy enough to fool herself into pretending she didn’t regret a thing.
Author:
raja815Pairing: Royai, Lust/Riza
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 2064
Warnings Manga spoilers up to chapter 60. Het, yuri.
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
Author's Notes: Written for
fma_exchange in September of 2007. Somehow, I never got around to reposting it on my journal. Delta Dawn is my Royai song and it partially inspired the fic. Also inspired by my wonderment; if Lust was willing to seduce Havoc to get at Mustang, shouldn't she have had a try with Hawkeye as well?For the most part, she didn’t let herself think about him in any capacity beyond their professional one. He was her commander, she would lay her life down to push him forward, and that was enough. There simply wasn’t room for anything else.
Besides, what was past was past. Riza Hawkeye wasn’t one to deal in might-have-beens.
Their unit arrived in Central late in the evening, too late to start work, and she intended to spend the few hours before bed at least attempting to organize her new apartment. He no doubt would spend it checking out some of the local bars, and though she didn’t necessarily approve, she’d seen the hidden sadness lingering in his shielded eyes for the duration of the train ride and as usual she found she couldn’t begrudge him his comfort.
He hadn’t offered to help her move (knowing she would, of course, refuse) but he had carried half her bags to the waiting taxicab and helped her load them into the trunk. When he’d finished, he’d smiled in his usual lazy way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t stay out too late, Sir.”
He’d laughed a bit at that but made no effort to negate it, and strode back to the platform and his own baggage. She sighed, leaving him with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and climbed into her cab. The charming, lazy smile and gentle laugh would’ve fooled anyone else, but she knew him well enough to see what the casual gestures kept hidden. He knew it, too, but that never stopped him from trying to hide.
He always hid his pain from her.
The room in the apartment building was large but rather dim. There were a few sconces on the back wall, but even their bright glow couldn’t banish the shadows from the corners that Black Hayate was thoroughly inspecting for bugs or mice or anything else he could conceivably give chase to. When he located nothing but a large dust ball, he settled for barking at it.
“Quiet,” she instructed, which was all it took to silence him. He let the dust ball go, sneezed a few times, and came to stand by her feet. Kneeling to scratch his ears, she surveyed the room to formulate her plan of action. Cleaning, she decided, would have to happen first, before the rest of her cartons were shipped from the east, but cleaning would be pointless if she couldn’t see what she was doing. She needed a lamp.
She gave Hayate a few moments to run around in the small fenced yard behind the apartment complex, knowing he must be miserable enough after the long train ride, but left him in her room when she left. She didn’t know Central well enough to have him tagging along on her errands yet.
The sun was going down by the time she’d located a furnishing and hardware store and purchased a small tabletop lamp, and on the way back she saw him through a small, foggy bar window, still in his uniform and alchemic gloves, seated at a table with a bottle of malt whiskey and a lovely light-haired woman. She didn’t let herself linger. Simply passed him by, stopping at a small general store with a large shelf of fresh cut flowers outside its front door once she’d gotten far enough away.
It wasn’t that she minded; it was only that she remembered.
Stroking the stem of a rose, sliding her fingers in between the velvety petals, she let herself relive it. The first time had been strange and sweet, his face so young and soft and awed, still open, unmarked, idealistic, as his fingers ghosted over her skin. At first his kisses had been so gentle she almost couldn’t stand them, and they built from tickles to heavy tension that made her sweat and whimper. He’d traced the marks on her back with his tongue, marveling at first, but he’d soon forgotten them, moving to hold her against him, kiss her, whisper and press her forward into the mattress.
“What have you got there? A faded rose from days gone by?”
She started, pulling her hand away from the full, red blossom and whirled around to face the speaker. Absurdly her first thought was still of him, of the way he’d smiled and made her heart beat faster when he’d come for his first lesson with her father. But it wasn’t him, of course it wasn’t, and she cursed herself for letting her mind get away from her long enough for that kind of projection.
It was a young woman—a stunning young woman—in a high-necked black velvet dress, with long wavy hair. She was smiling gently at Riza, seeming to beckon her forward, and all at once Riza’s thoughts shifted from Roy Mustang to Rebecca Frank, her roommate from academy whose hands had been soft and warm and so like his in the dark after lights out.
Anyone else would’ve flustered and blushed, but Riza wouldn’t let herself do either such thing, and she faced the woman with her usual utilitarian smile.
“Just musing. I’ll be on my way.” She turned, adjusting the lamp under her arm, and started away, only to be stopped by a soft hand clad in a matching black velvet glove.
“You don’t have to run away.” Her voice was warm, and Riza’s skin tingled under her fingers. “I won’t bite.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m running late for an appointment,” Riza lied. The woman’s hand worried her; it was long and elegant, and the way one finger played at her high collar made her remember his touches more clearly than she had in years.
“Who is it?” The woman asked. “Was it the man in the bar?”
RIza's eyes widened, but she kept the shock hidden.
“I saw you looking in at him,” the woman continued, “and then come over to the flowers. I wondered—”
“That really isn’t anyone’s business but mine,” Riza said curtly, and tried once again to walk away, but was once again caught… and this time by the hand.
“Please… if you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m very good with things like this. You seem like you’re unfamiliar with the town—”
That set off a warning flare in the back of Riza's mind. How could this woman have possibly known that?
“—and I’d be glad to help you feel better.”
Riza knew she should pull away. There was something… off… about this woman, and it wasn’t safe to fight her instincts… and yet, she couldn’t. She felt rooted to the street, the woman’s soft but cloying perfume and the warmth of the woman’s fingers twined around her own seeming to flow through her skin and stomach and hold her in her place like rope snares. Heat flared between her legs. It didn’t make sense, no one had ever had this kind of effect on her before…
Except for him.
“Come on,” the woman purred, and Riza found the woman’s hand snaking around her waist, pulling her away from the storefront, into an alcove. Dark, secluded, dangerous, and Riza's hand skirted down toward her concealed pistol... and then the woman's mouth closed over her own.
Her lips were nothing like his—they were full and plush, his were thin and hard—and yet she could think of nothing but him; him, him, and only him, of the way he’d kissed her before he’d vanished into the military’s clutches and she’d scrambled to catch up to him, working so hard at academy that she’d surpassed her class and been sent in to Ishbal to assist. She’d gone that far for the love of him, and the irony of it was that by finding him there, she’d also lost him.
The woman’s hand grazed her thigh, so like he’d once done, long, long ago before he’d left the first time. Touching her thigh in the hallway outside her father's study where her father lay passed out against his desktop. Smirking as he stroked the hem of her nightgown, raising it higher and higher, whispering into her ear that she should wear skirts more often. She shuddered, remembering how he’d pulled her in close and how she’d felt him, hard against her hip.
“You poor thing,” the woman whispered, “he’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t he?”
Of course he had. How could he not? The words fused with the mounting tension of her body, wanting to be said, wanting for once not to be buried amidst her own sensibility, and she’d actually opened her mouth to say them, I can’t ever stop loving him, no matter how much I know I should, and all I want is to forget all about it, when the woman spoke again.
“It must be hard to be so close to a man like the Colonel.”
And all at once, her instincts were back. They screamed in her head that this was dangerous, this stranger couldn’t know that, this wasn’t an ordinary woman, and Riza shoved her away, drawing the pistol holstered at her waist.
“Get back!” She snarled. The woman did move backward, but seemed oddly nonplussed by the cocked gun, smiling in the same seductive smirk as she playfully raised her arms halfway.
“Now, now, what was it I said?”
“Stop that!” Riza aimed her gun, face set. This was someone to protect him from, she knew, and felt a moment of nausea at the realization that someone had tried to get at him through her, and that she’d let her feelings for him come up long enough to almost allow their success. “How did you know that? What do you want with us?”
“What do I want? I want nothing. Nothing at all.” She smiled wider, the full lips predatory but still, even now, harshly sensual. She began to edge back out to the street. One high heeled boot clicked against the sidewalk.
“Stop where you are!”
“Or what? Kindly tell me what I’ve done to warrant such an aggressive display.” The woman nodded toward Riza's gun, and, elegant as a cat, slipped away into the open street.
“Wait! Stop tight there!”
“I’m sorry,” she mocked, striding off at an otherworldly quick pace, “I’m afraid I’m running late for an appointment.”
Riza lowered her gun and tried to chase after the woman, but she was moving too fast and Riza was too unfamiliar with the streets to pursue her for long. She lost her within two blocks.
Once she had to admit defeat, she retraced her steps, hoping to retrieve her lamp, and was relieved to find the package where she’d dropped it. She gathered it up and started for home. She checked the bar where she’d last seen her Colonel, wanting to warn him there was a suspicious character in the area, but she found he’d already left.
As a final effort she tried his number on a public telephone, but found his line hadn’t yet been activated. Briefly she considered looking for him, but decided it would be fruitless effort; he could be anywhere. Tomorrow, early, she promised herself, she’d warn him there was a strange woman who seemed to know a bit more than was safe. She would not, of course, tell him just how it was she’d come about this knowledge. Specifics and kisses could keep to themselves.
She fed Hayate and installed the lamp, but found she now lacked the energy to clean. With a deep sigh, she opened a suitcase, removed her set of sheets, and started to make up her bed for the night. Once she’d put the bottom sheet on, though, she simply lay down, closing her eyes. And for a moment, because she’d come this far already, she let herself remember it all.
They’d tried it once more, after the war was over, after her burns had healed, but the guilt in his eyes made the bed seem much too large. When his hand had grazed her back he’d winced as though he’d been wounded. Still, they’d kissed, and held each other, and for a short, sweet moment when he’d crawled on top of her and stroked her face she’d thought everything would be all right.
Then he pulled back. Not by much, but enough so the faint light from the streetlamp outside had illuminated the hurt set in his jawline and the ache in his eyes. He gasped once, struggling to speak, and turned his face toward the wall.
For the first time hiding his pain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at his hand, “I’m so, so sorry… I can’t—”
He rolled away, facing the wall. A few inches of starched white sheet and a hundred thousand lost lives stretched out between them. She’d heard a gentle sound that could have been a sob. At that she’d reached for him, and he hadn’t pushed her away, but he hadn’t accepted the comfort either, and all at once that was the end of it.
But he had still trusted her, and she had still followed him, would follow him, and would protect him with everything she had. It was easy enough to fool herself into pretending she didn’t regret a thing.
