Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye come to a startling conclusion and reach an agreement. One shot.
"I told you so." Sighing, the blonde attempted to stretch out a kink in her shoulder. She only managed to extend halfway, though, before she sucked in a breath of air, biting back a curse as the muscle cramped viciously. Drawing the arm back, she rubbed at her shoulder and then thoughtfully inspected the strangely rectangular bruise on the inside of her forearm. "But you've never listened to any sensible advice from me before... /Sir/."
Roy winced faintly at the sharp edge that she tacked onto the honorific and sat up to study his own new accumulation of marks. "That's quite enough, Lieutenant. Your objections are duly noted." Sullenly, he prodded the developing bruises over his knuckles. Stupid hard corners. "However, let me point out that you made no objections at all during the..."
"If you do, I reserve the right to add to your new collection of black and blues."
"Again noted." Flexing his fingers experimentally, he reached over to lazily trace a line along Riza's shoulder. Leaning back, he tucked his other hand behind his head with satisfaction. Getting dressed could wait another minute or two. Good idea or not, her skin felt perfect under his touch, silky soft and damp from the exertion previously. "Though it wasn't so bad, was it?" He allowed himself a slow, smug smile as if he already knew her answer.
Of course he did. He was Roy Mustang and that pretty much meant he was this close to being God. He wrapped a piece of silky blonde hair around a finger idly and the smile melted into a smirk. Some men would worry at the silence his question had been greeted with. Some men would continue to talk as if the question had been rhetorical and it didn't matter what the woman thought. Not Roy Mustang. Oh, no. Not him. He read Riza Hawkeye as easily as she read him and, if he were honest, the sex they shared was the best he had ever come across. The concept of her in a miniskirt made his offhand jokes about uniform changes more tempting than anything else. Of course, that might work against him, he reflected. Did unobstructed peeks of her thighs outweigh the thought of other men also enjoying the view?
His pants landed on his head, the buckle of his belt cracking his head smartly and startling him out of his thoughts. Mildly, he tugged the article of clothing downwards and absently set about smoothing a few wrinkles out with his palm, precursor to wearing them again. "Yes, Lieutenant?" he asked without a single flicker of reaction. "You had something to say?"
"I did." Riza had already slipped back into her undergarments and was in the process of zipping her pants. "I would say that those couches and that desk make for unique torture devices. Honestly, this was worse than the handcuffs and ball-gag."
"You think so? I'm not sure." Roy stood, retrieved his boxers, and began dressing. "I had to be careful of my sleeves for over a week after that little adventure."
"Your fault for not listening to me. Again." A wicked, little smile flitted across the blonde's face as she did up her blouse and Roy felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response. "Metal restraints will do that to flesh if you insist on jerking around like that."
"As if you gave me much of a choice?" He pulled on his shirt and paused thoughtfully with his hands on the buttons. Turning his head, he regarded her with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"... Yes, it was still top-notch, Colonel." She held out her hand expectantly. "My pistol, please?" As he complied, she added, "But I suggest that we never have sex in your office again."
"Suggestion noted and passed." Smirking, Roy went back to assembling his perfect military faÃ§ade. As the last button was done, though, he couldn't seem to resist adding, "Though I hear the Fuhrer gets extraordinarily comfortable couches in his office..."
Surviving the resulting scolding about propriety and respect (despite the more than slightly hypocritical slant to it all) was small price to pay when paying it meant that he got to see Riza Hawkeye turn charmingly scarlet with heated embarrassment.