Sorry for the unacceptable delay on this chapter, but I can't really manage to do much more than I'm currently doing... I had this written out for a while now but hadn't quite figured some bits of it yet. I wound up deciding on, well, going down this particular direction and I hope I won't regret it. 'Twas fun to write, any way. :D

BEWARE: I've changed the fic's rating from T to M because of this chapter. I'm sorry if anyone's uncomfortable with it, but I like my EdxWin hot and spicy. ;D

Also, PLEASE let me know if it's simply too large, because I feel like I've unwillingly written two chapters into one. Lol.

"Never knew how much I love you,

never knew how much I care;

When you put your arms around me,

I get a fever that's so hard to bear.

You give me fever, when you kiss me – fever when you hold me tight;

Fever, in the morning, fever all through the night."

- Ray Charles ft. Natalie Cole, "Fever"

CHAPTER FOUR: Fever, ´till you sizzle!

Winry had been sleeping for a few hours already. It was close to dinnertime, and if the night wasn't dark already the somber weather didn't make it any lighter. No moon to be spotted in the heavens and no stars either.

The definition of dark.

Every now and then Edward looked around tensely; to Winry, to check if she was still asleep and to the other passengers to see if they were looking at his book. He hadn't wasted a single minute – as soon as Winry fell asleep on the bench he took the black book from the enormous inside pocket of his (new) trench coat and continued devouring its content, even though he felt a little tired.

The train had left Risembool very early that morning so they had barely had any sleep at all.

Pinako was apparently fine with the whole thing, "It's your life, Winry. I think it's good that you go on about and see what's out there to be seen. But you'd better keep her safe, Edward. Or else…"

He shuddered a little. If only Pinako knew of his other intentions. She'd probably kill him right in the spot with that smoking pipe of hers – Ed bet that would definitely hurt. But what could you expect? They were both 20 years old already… They weren't exactly kids anymore.

He looked at his mechanic once more, peeking from over his book. She looked so peaceful sleeping like that…

And all of a sudden she wasn't sleeping anymore, but screaming in surprise as the train hit the brakes violently and Edward fell heavily on top of her, book flying off his hand and landing beneath someone else's seat. Lucky for her, Ed was rather soft. Unluckily for Edward, one of the suitcases that fell on his back was rather hard.

Cries of surprise and angry screams filled the cabin entirely. But when the lights went out those cries were replaced by tense whispers.

"Ed," Winry spoke nervously, sleep still in her eyes. "What is going on…?"

"I don't freaking know," he spat, rubbing his aching shoulder. "Wait here," he told her, as he fished inside his pocket. He found what he wanted: a matchbox. He lit a match.

"Is everyone okay?" He asked out loud. He heard a lot of affirmative answers and one grumpy person who told him to look up the definition of 'okay' on the dictionary. What a smart-ass.

He lay down on the floor between his seat and the next to see if he could find his book, but he didn't manage to do it before the match went out. So he lit up another.

"Ed… What are you doing?" Winry asked.

"Looking for something I dropped," he replied.

"Shouldn't we ask for help?" Winry asked again nervously after a couple of minutes and Ed's sixth match in a row.

Shortly afterwards someone came inside the cabin with a night lamp in his hand, "Is anyone here injured?" The man asked.

"We are sorry for the inconvenience," he proceeded after everyone said to be okay, "But we had a major problem. The storm knocked down a few trees which cut off the railroad ahead of us, and also affected the train's power supply. So we will have to ask you all to take your indispensable belongings with you and follow the other security guards down the trail to the train station. It is only two minutes away on foot."

Everyone started complaining and some people actually yelled at the poor man, who had to apologize a million times over for something he wasn't to blame for.

"Please, everyone remain calm. Just collect your belongings and leave whatever may be unnecessary behind. The rest of your luggage will be kept entirely safe! In a matter of minutes more security guards with lamps will be arriving to escort you all to the station," he continued to speak above the hubbub, as the crowd of angry people in the cabin kept on cursing the bad weather and the instability of the power lines in that area.

"Ed, didn't you hear him? We need to get our stuff, come on!" Winry told him as she started looking for one of her travel bags, a water-proof one.

"Got it!" He exclaimed triumphantly as he managed to retrieve the book from beneath a seat two rows away, much for the annoyance of the respective passengers.

"Are those Al's notes?" Winry asked, picking up her bag and checking if she had everything she needed inside.

"Uh. Yeah, yeah. They are," he replied as he hastily stuffed the book back inside his pocket, "And I sure don't wanna lose them. Here, take these," he handed the matchbox over to her.

Took them only about 15 minutes to find a hotel in that town, and by the time they did they were both soggy like biscuits in a milk cup. Ed, of course, was famished.

"I'd like a room, please, just for tonight," he told the man behind the counter. Then he remembered he was with Winry. "Errr, I mean two rooms please," he corrected himself nervously.

Winry almost wished he hadn't corrected himself – her heart did a somersault when he asked for only one room – but, of course, she wouldn't say anything. It was inappropriate, almost, for her to think things such as them sleeping in the same room, no matter how badly she wanted to. However, she found herself wondering if Ed shared the same desires. Sure, he had somehow properly proposed; sure, he had kissed her, months ago; and yes, he had invited her to travel with him for a while. But what did that mean? What were his feelings, exactly?

She mused over this for a while, oblivious to the conversation between the object of her affections and the hotel's receptionist.

"Rooms 83 and 85, third floor to your left. Here's the keys. And if you want the money back from the train company, you should write a complaint here," the employee gestured at a large book that sat on a desk behind him; obviously they weren't the first guests in the hotel that had come running from the train. They certainly weren't the last ones, because a long line started to form at the reception.

"Thank you," Ed replied, picking the keys up. "Maybe after dinner. How much is it…?"

Only a few minutes later they reached the doors to their hotel rooms. Ed struggled a little with the key before he gingerly opened the door to the room he would be sleeping in. Winry opened her room too and inspected the interior after she put her luggage down on the floor; she noticed there was a door ajar, a private bathroom!

"Quick shower, then dinner?" She asked standing at his door while he put his own stuff down, glad to find out that she could take a peaceful bath to relax her sore muscles. She hurt all over, not only from the long train trip but also because of how long she had to run with the luggage in her hand under the rain, no matter how small it was.

"Sure. Meet you out in the hall in a few."

The food at that hotel was surprisingly nice – as usual, Edward devoured it with ferocious appetite, earning one or two patronizing glares from Winry, which he obviously ignored.

And after their late dinner – it was half past ten – they sat sheepishly at their table for a while, both silently lingering on what to do after they got up from the table. The town didn't seem like it hosted many places to have fun in; but even if it did, none of them was really quite used to going out to bars and such, especially not the two of them alone. So…

"What do you wanna do now?" Edward asked, trying not to sound eager or anything of the sorts.

"Well…" she spoke uncertainly, "I'm a little tired, so I don't know. I haven't even brought a book with me or anything. I'll have to buy one tomorrow."

"I'm tired too. Maybe we should just head off to our rooms and get a good night's sleep. The train's leaving at six A.M., so we'll be arriving at Central at about ten in the morning, if all goes well."

"Ugh, I hate long trips… How did I let you convince me into doing this?" she groaned mockingly, punching his left arm lightly as they walked over to the elevator that would carry them all the way up to their room.

"Maybe it's my pretty hair or my long eyelashes. What do you think?" His reply earned him a good pinch at his belly, to which he replied with an exaggerated "Ouch!"

They arrived at their respective chambers; truthfully, they didn't really want to part. But what was there to do or say? If he invited her to his room, that would just sound wrong, and he certainly didn't want to give her the wrong impression (or so he figured).

"So… Goodnight, then." He said softly, almost in defeat – even though he did not want to show it to her.

"Goodnight. See you in the morning, Edo."

She gently closed the door of her room and leaned her forehead against it, sighing longingly against the hard wood. They were so close, she thought, and technically alone – neither Alphonse nor Granny were anywhere near them to check on whatever it was that they may be doing. She had just a small flicker of hope that he might just invite her over to his room, at least to talk for a while. But he was clueless as usual… At least nowadays she knew he had feelings for her. But she couldn't help wondering just how intense those were.

Her heart ached when she missed him; and, at night, the dreams in which he visited her bedroom made her wake up covered in sweat and other types of moisture, and feeling slightly guilty. But could she really blame her body for wanting to physically be with him? She had long ago accepted her love for him, when she was much younger. And after a certain point she clearly realized she wasn't just facing a crush, or a platonic love for that matter, regarding her childhood best friend.

Tonight was just going to be another one of those lonely nights, she guessed. Either Edward or Fate itself would have to make a move, because she didn't quite feel like it was appropriate for her to do so. Or worst, she'd really have to wait to get married. She was never a very traditionalist girl, and she'd never thought Ed would really be the type to wait for a mere formalism to get to something he really wanted.

For example, she remembers them being very young and Edward, at that age – already having his fierce stubbornness and rashness that characterize him until this day –, did not hesitate to put a chocolate in his mouth with the wrapping paper and all, simply because he couldn't unwrap it. Needless to say both their mothers panicked, but in the end, even after being told off, he still demanded that a chocolate be given to him – and that he be taught how to unwrap it properly.

She laughed inwardly at the memory.

But maybe he was that sort of person. Or maybe… just maybe… he was just waiting for her to say so. Could that be? Was he that much of a gentleman? They had already slipped a few months ago on his first trip back to Risembool, when he gave her the ring. They'd given in to their shaky passion and kissed a little too far, they'd brought their bodies just a little too close together. But their general lack of experience in that area had been a problem at the time – and it probably still is.

But here's the catch: if they don't do it, they'll never be experienced enough to feel comfortable about it anyway. "I suppose these things take practice…" she sighed, unable to control the heat that came flowing up to settle on her cheeks.

Then she decided it was about time to quit her musings and go to bed because, after all, she'd have to wake up early in the morning.

She removed her shoes right near the door and turned the lights on, eyes still closed with slight drowsiness. So she failed to see what she was stepping into…

Meanwhile, Edward was dealing with his frustrations in his own way. He lay in the darkness, eyes shut tight and left hand expertly working its way through to his delight. He just hadn't been able to help himself from fantasizing about his fiancée, as he had done several times before already during the past few years. Of course, presented with such an opportunity – being "alone" in a hotel with her, albeit not in the same room – his mind could basically do nothing else but picture a hundred different hot scenarios in which they'd finally, invariably succumb to each other.

He fantasized, even though he knew each and every single one of those situations was impossible to happen, at least not anytime soon. Plus, he'd never dare make such a move on her. First of all, he was still too unsure of what to do (because even if the book his brother sent him did consist on excellent literacy about the action of intercourse itself, it did not present any solution as how to lead a woman into that kind of situation); and second, he wasn't sure if she even wanted it or not. Heck, he doubted she was half the pervert he was. She probably had no clue as to what intercourse itself was – unlike him, who was so full of blissful information which he really, really wanted to teach her badly.

On the other hand, she's been reading anatomy books for as long as, well, for as long as she's been able to read, almost. So she's not completely ignorant when it came to that department.

So, a dilemma… he couldn't make his move until either she told him to, or after they got married (because marriage basically implied sex; heck, the honeymoon was every guy's consolation prize).

But that wouldn't stop him from giving in to his desires, oh no. He'd take care of those matters in his own hands – literally.

He pictured her in dressed up ways he was usually too ashamed to admit he liked; however now, as his hand's experienced movements rode him far off into his erotic fantasy, lust overshadowed all his logic and rationality and not a thread of conscience seemed to be left in that small corner of his mind. He could only feel, and he could only imagine… A low moan escaped his lips as his fantasy escalated, accompanied by the tightening of the grip of his hand around himself. He was no longer simply staring at Winry in lesser garments, but he was actually inside her; he could picture her warm skin covered in sweat, both his and hers, and shaking with every single one of his thrusts.

As the images flowed inside his head, so did something else in his nether region. Faster, hotter, stronger… He could actually swear that she was in bed with him, so strong were the feelings.

Of course, while giving in to his primal instincts, all other sensations that didn't involve touch were substantially dimmed. That small fact prevented him from hearing the small ruckus in the room adjacent to his… Until he heard a distinct, dry knock on his door and Winry calling out for him.

His hand stopped in mid-motion.

Holy mother of crap

"Ed, you awake? I've got sort of a problem here…"

Oh yeah. You think you're in trouble…

"I'm awake! I-I'll go get the door, w-wait up!" His voice came out edgy and nervous, plus he was really irritated that his fantasy had been so suddenly, rudely interrupted.

If only she were interrupting his reverie to continue what his hand had started… Nah! He never had any luck with his wishes. If he wants something done he can't sit and wait for others to do it, he has to go do it himself.

But right now, silly fantasies aside, he was in a sticky situation. That bulge of his wasn't going away anytime soon, so how was he supposed to get up and open the door to talk to her? If she wanted to come inside she'd see it!

She would surely figure out what was going on and crack his head open in a fit of rage. He'd most likely die out of embarrassment before he bled to death, anyway… What a short-lived life!

"No need to, I think the door's open. I'm coming in."

Her words froze him on the spot. He didn't know what to do, and he felt like he was about to go through the greatest humiliation of his oh-so-short adult life. He felt heat prickle his cheeks, probably tainting them red even before Winry managed to flip the lights on.

Someone at the back of Ed's mind shouted at him to tell her to sod off, but somehow he couldn't even manage to open his mouth to formulate those words.

Her eyes quickly fell on him as she threw the door of his room ajar. She thought he looked strange, sitting on the bed with his knees bent up to his chest, under the hotel's white sheets and dull brown bed cover.

He was, of course, trying to look casual and/or sleepy, whichever worked best; but there was a glint of something in his face that caught her a tad unaware. However, she couldn't pinpoint what it was…

"What's up?" He managed to gush out, still a little breathless and agitated from his previous actions. Automatically he cringed at the unintentional pun behind his words (and underneath the sheets).

"Ummm… well…" She didn't know where to begin. So she sighed, shutting the door behind her and taking a seat in the single chair that stood there, dropping her dry, water-proof backpack on top of the commode nearby – basically the only pieces of furniture that the small room possessed.

He noticed, quite startled, that she had a pillow under her arm.

"See, I went into my room and… and it took me a while to notice it, because I was, er, distracted with something, but… a pipe burst in the bathroom and it's all flooded. Or half-flooded, really. But the problem is, I can't really sleep in that room anymore. And the hotel valet can't get me another one because they're booked with everyone that came in because of the tree that cut off the rails, so…" Her voice dropped when she noticed the look of disbelief stamped across his face.

She'd been pissed because of what had happened, of course. It was late and she desperately needed to sleep, so she had asked for another room. There was none, they'd replied. Make me one, she'd snarled back, her patience finally snapping. But then… it crossed her mind that it was an actually good excuse to be in the same room as Edward. So she had quickly changed her behavior and lightly waved the problem off, "Stuff like this happens I suppose! I'll just stay in my… brother's room."

The valet had been surprised about her change of behavior, but he still offered up to repay for the rooms. And get them a couch.

She didn't tell Edward about this detail, of course. But he didn't need to know either.

"So… You're gonna have to bunk here?" He asked incredulously, after a few moments of dead silence.

"If you don't mind. I mean…" she still tried to sound like sleeping in his room was something she would have avoided if she could. "I don't see much of a solution here."

Ed did see another solution. They could drag the mattress from her room and place it on the floor in his room, where he could sleep. He was also sure Winry could picture this possibility perfectly, but for some reason she chose not to speak of it.

So he'd not speak of it, either.

"… In my bed?" He asked again rather sheepishly, feeling his blush intensify. He just wanted to make sure, of course, of what her intentions were. But without presenting her the possibility of sleeping anywhere except from next to him.

To her, he looked unsure and positively taken aback with the idea. "Oh no," Winry thought bitterly, "maybe he won't do it… maybe he'll back away?"

She felt a little disappointed all of a sudden. She hoped it wasn't her problem that he seemed to want to avoid even the most basic physical interaction… She cleared her throat.

"Yes." She ventured to answer.

"…With me still in it?"

"Well, what? Do you want to sleep in the shower, or something?" She snapped back, her temper rising a little due to her frustration. God, how dense can he be?

"N-No! I mean… I could sleep perfectly on the floor, if you want me to." He mentally kicked himself for even suggesting that. Idiot.

"I think the bed's large enough for the two of us," she shamelessly lied; those weren't exactly single beds, but they weren't quite made for two people to sleep in and still manage some space in between. They'd have to stay close to each other – exactly what both of them wanted, but wouldn't admit. "No need for you to sleep on the floor, it's not very comfortable I'll bet."

"Fine." Was all he could say. The sheer thought of sharing a bed with his blonde, curvaceous mechanic made his palms sweaty, and he was painfully reminded of the bulge that still crept beneath his (recently quickly pulled on) boxers.

"Okay, so… I just need to brush and… stuff."

She made her way somewhat gingerly to the bathroom with her hygiene utensils in hand. And after she properly brushed her teeth, cleaned her face and washed herself up, she noticed something. She didn't have any pajamas with her!

Stupid… or rather, stupidly convenient.

In the meantime Edward was trying to think of anything but what had just happened to him and what was about to happen. He needed to get his playful appendage down as soon as possible, both to avoid horrid complications with Winry and to soothe the aching pain it had become as a result for being stiff for so long.

So he thought about several things. Like camel dump, or disemboweling a fish, or what's the color of the boxers Mustang's wearing right now. If he's wearing any…

Ew. Okay, that seems to have worked.

Right on time, actually, because the door of the small bathroom creaked open to reveal a rather sheepish-looking Winry.

"What is it?" He asked, in a (hopefully) casual tone.

"I don't have any pajamas. Do you have anything I can wear?"

He didn't even think before replying, "What? You're a girl. A girl, Winry, you're supposed to carry around a bunch of clothing articles!"

"Well, Edward, we were in a hurry when we left the train and I forgot to bring my pajamas. And the rest of my stuff is completely soaked, I can't wear it!"


"So! I'm asking you something, why can't you answer properly…? Do-you-have-anything-I-can-wear?" She repeated out slowly, as if talking to an old, senile man.

"… No." He flatly replied. "I have one pair of dry boxers – on me – and a pair of soaked boxers. I have one dry sweatshirt – on me – and one wet one over there." – he pointed at a lump of soggy clothes hanging on the back of a chair.

"Great," she deadpanned. "Thanks."

She closed the bathroom door again, visibly annoyed. And after about a split second Edward mentally roundhouse-kicked himself; he'd love to have her wear one of his t-shirts tonight. Boy oh boy, wouldn't that be nice? But no… Now she's gonna have to sleep in her jeans and thick wool sweatshirt.

Damn it.

Of course, Winry was considering other options. And Ed was ever so surprised when she casually walked out the bathroom with a white bathrobe on.

And it was a little short – it was large, but half her thighs were just perfectly exposed. Though he could see the collar of some orange-colored article underneath.

"What's that?"

She noticed he couldn't help his eyes from popping a little as she walked past him with her clothes folded in her arms. Much less when she (purposefully) put down said clothes, folded, on the chair – her black bra sitting neatly at the top.

"It's a bathrobe. Why, did you think it was a duck or something?"

She did try to sound like that whole situation wasn't awkward at all, but it wasn't exactly an easy accomplishment. She had to stop the little tremors that made her walk in a funny way, and made her hand and arm movements a little less fluid than they ought to be. It was like her body was becoming slightly stiff, overtaken by anxiety.

"Tsk. Turn off the lights and let me rest," he spat out. Rather stupidly, he added to himself, for he had no clue on why he was being so brisk. It was just a stupid way of dealing with the situation – he didn't want to show that he cared much about the fact that she was wearing such a suggestive item and was crawling into bed with him.

Quick. Remember when that camel spat on your face, Edward!

But that didn't fool her. Or, at least, she was more than willing to test her little "theory". If she herself was so nervous about this, then it had to mean he was too. He had to be; and he had to be dying for her to just get in there and… and what?

It didn't matter. All she knew was that her minty lips were dry and she desperately wanted him to do something about that.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up." She flicked the lights off and then tried to find the bed without tripping anywhere.

Finally, she curled under the sheets and next to him. He was lying right there, with his back turned to her, unmoving. She didn't want to get too close, but at the same time she did…

"Goodnight, Ed."

She waited for his reply, but nothing came. He couldn't be asleep already, could he?

"Goodnight…?" She insisted.

A couple of minutes passed, and she was beginning to feel slightly disappointed (and somewhat sleepy). Then he cleared his throat. And he asked, in a whisper, "C- Can I hold you?"

"What?" She whispered back, unsure if she'd heard him correctly or if she was just dreaming about it. She waited tensely for his reply.

"Like this."

And then all of a sudden, her small frame was entirely enveloped by his torso. Not only did he drape his arms around her, but he also pulled her tightly against his chest.

It took her a while to realize where she was, or what was that musk she smelled, or who that warm breath on her skin belonged to. But as soon as she did, she didn't hesitate and, instinctively, placed her hands on his waist and crawled even closer – if that had even been possible.

And even though she was lying on a bed, she felt her legs turn into jelly and her heart pick up an even quicker pace; it was so loud she was sure he could hear it. And then, in that wordless reverie, she shifted slightly; in spite of the somewhat thick robe she sensed growing pressure right next to that dangerous spot in between her thighs.

She dug her face in his hot neck as she sighed deeply, shakily. That exact pressure on that spot had some very curious effects on her. But she wanted to feel it a little more; she wanted to be closer…

For a moment Ed thought she wanted to back away; he thought she'd had too much and wanted to leave it at that. He would not have minded, he would have understood; but instead, after only a few minutes of lying still she was already untying the bathrobe around her waist, so the front of her body was exposed.

In the faint moonlight that his eyes had become accustomed to, he could still somehow see that underneath the robe all she wore was her panties and a tight orange top; he noticed her perky breasts just loosely laying there, mere inches away from him, causing some point in his nether regions to throb violently.

And then she shifted back into that embrace with him; bodies pressed so tight together in a way that he would only dream of. There was not much fabric to meddle between the heat of their skins…

"Winry…" He wanted to ask her what exactly were they doing, but that would just be stupid. Instead, he ventured a kiss. Timid and fast at first, but soon enough they became as passionate as their hearts desired.

She was clearly enjoying the rubbing of his limb on her. So he thought… Why not be a little bolder?

"Oh God…" he muttered, praying that she would not kill him for this. He turned his body, and hers too, so that he was on top of her. With his hands he parted her legs.

"Ed, what are you…? Nnh!" She timidly tried to protest, but as he placed himself into a perfect fit with her shape a moan cut her off mid-sentence. Once again out of instinct, she arched her back and thrust her waist against his, increasing the burning pressure even more. He too was startled at her body's reaction. Tender as he was, he might just pop the lid at any given minute and he did not want to blow this up.

She had never felt so hot, so vibrating; it was like a fever had taken over her and every bit of her skin, or almost – she had a sudden desire to remove her top, the robe and his t-shirt and let the skin of her stomach and breasts warm up against his chest.

Would that be too much? She longed for it, yes, but somehow she was also afraid. Afraid of what they could lead themselves into, and afraid of her own desires. Anxiety seemed to take over her for a while – so she interrupted their kiss and fully covered her face with her hands.

"What… w-what's wrong? You okay? You wanna stop?" Ed asked, alarmed.

She spread her fingers a little so she could take a good look at his face. The look of worry he carried was sweet, she thought. But his stare also made her uncomfortably embarrassed, so she shut her fingers tight again.

He thought that was a cue for him to drop off her, so he did, feeling slightly undone.

"No!" she gasped, hands flying towards his arms. She gripped them tight, but still couldn't stare into his eyes.

"But I thought…I don't get it." He needed an explanation, pronto.

"I'm sorry. I'm just…thinking. Ohhh," she groaned, turning her back on him. "I shouldn't be thinking at all at a moment like this, should I?"

He didn't quite know what to say. Sure, he did think they could both do the thinking later, but he couldn't blame her for it. They'd never really been quite this close.

"You know what I think?" He ventured whispering into her ear; apparently women love that. "I'm your childhood friend. So you can talk to me. Plus, if we both want this, then…that just means we… we're…"

Of course he loved her. He was sure of it, he'd admitted it to himself a long time ago. After all, he wanted to start a family with her, eventually. But it was still something he had a hard time saying. He had tried and failed every time, so tonight it wasn't going to happen either.

She waited for him to complete his sentence but he never did. Instead, she felt a hand slowly snake from her knee, up her thigh, over her underwear and up to her stomach. He felt the goosebumps that covered every inch of her skin as his fingers trailed upon it, as if her body was telling him in Braille, "Keep going!"

The tingling between her thighs intensified, especially when he started kissing her neck. She completely went overboard with that and – to both their surprise – what had started a sigh at the bottom of her throat had escalated, and by the time it escaped her lips it was a full-out moan.

She heard him chuckle, somewhat nervously, and hated herself for handing out such an obvious sign of her ecstasy. She was still terribly self-conscious though. This was such an intimate matter that she couldn't avoid thinking about how embarrassing it was.

"You're tense," he said, kissing her jaw line, then her chin, "and I really want you to… relax…" Her previous moan encouraged him to try something daring. He was only slightly aware of what the womanhood was like, having read about it in books and seen pictures in occasion. He had some guidelines, from the book Al sent him, which he mechanically played in his head. Find the vulva. Press gently on the center of the lips with the middle finger and around them with the index and ring finger. Meet the… clitoris? Yeah, that. Tiny pea-like bulb.

Okay, deep breath and…

Damn it. Harder to do it than he thought. Maybe it was the panties, no matter how moist they were. The fabric didn't really allow for good sensi-

"Whoah! ED!" she squeaked automatically. She didn't know what to do so she swatted him off of her.

"What the hell?" she huffed as she tried to scramble away from him.

"Whu- wait! You're supposed to enjoy this!" He tried appeasing her.

"I'm supposed to? Just… what… who?"

He seemed to understand where her thought was heading for. "I've never done this before! I'm sorry! I just thought you'd like-"

"And how exactly did you come upon that knowledge?"

He stammered and he blushed. He tried to explain, but couldn't. It was just embarrassing to tell her that he'd read a book about intercourse.

"Ah… I mean… G-guys like it! So girls will… like it… too?" he ventured.

An awkward moment of silence fell between them. Very awkward. In fact, she felt so embarrassed at Ed's attempt of addressing masturbation, that she just flew right under the covers.

Oh, great. Now why was she hiding? The book said women usually loved… that. Maybe he'd done it wrong? Might as well play stupid.

"Winry, I'm sorry. I just thought that… I didn't mean… Please, tell me I didn't hurt you or anything. I just assumed girls would enjoy – you know – I mean, us guys do. I mean – uh." Great. He felt like he was just making this even more awkward.

She didn't know what to say. It startled her, his hand under there, pressing on her. She reacted automatically, even before registering that it had, indeed, felt quite good.

"Sorry." She stood up, and walked towards the bathroom, robe wrapped again around her. He watched, enticed and frustrated, letting his gaze rest on her thighs. He wished he could just push her legs apart and dive in. If only she'd let him. Then she vanished into the bathroom…

She dropped the robe on the bathroom floor, to get rid of the smothering warmth. She splashed some cold water on her face. Her legs were shaking, and her skin felt like it was boiling, so she splashed some more water on her thighs, on her arms, on her neck.

She pulled her panties down and inspected them – as suspected, they were completely moist and sticky. Surprising even herself, she touched that sensitive spot – at first just to "check on it" (which was silly, since the evidence was already displayed on the small piece of fabric), but then… Then her mind automatically wandered into that moment when Ed reached down.

She could feel her insides stir and tighten, as she imagined her own hand to be his, as she'd done before. But wait. Before… Hadn't she always wished for him to be in bed with her, when she gave away to her reveries? Now she actually had that chance, and stupidly cowered away. Why? It made no sense. None at all. And with her age and all the sexual tension bottled up in her, she was absolutely sure he longed for it as much as she did.

It was just too good a feeling not to be shared. Besides – he was right. They were old friends, technically, so they knew each other; she could trust him, as he always trusted her to help him. Hadn't he already asked her to be his, and his alone? Promising he'd be the man for no other woman but her. Or, at least, that was implied in his proposal.

So, she knew. She would trust him. He was the only man she ever wanted to be with, the only one she dreamt about, the one man to where her most intimate thoughts went rushing to. She was his.

And with her mind set, she put the robe back on once again. Her hand on the doorknob still shook a little as she turned it; but after one long, deep breath and exhale, despite her heart's violent pounds, she stepped firmly outside.

Well, she was glad she'd shaved properly. Wax, you're a life-saver.

He watched begrudgingly, and rather angry at himself, as she picked up her clothes from the chair and disappeared into the bathroom again.

"Great, now I've scared her into wearing all her clothes to bed. Way to go, idiot."

So he didn't even turn when he felt her walking about the room again, opening her bag and return to bed. Of course he wanted to apologize for his idiocy, and he was going to. But before he had the chance she poked him on the shoulder and asked him to turn around. Fully clothed, as he'd thought she would be. Obviously.

"Hold these," she said, handing him the matchbox she'd kept inside her bag.

Then she got up and completely closed the curtains; the room was dipped in complete darkness. He heard her move about.

"What are you doing? Hey?" He sat up and squinted, but it was too dark. He lit up a match after he heard her giggle. She walked over in her sweater and jeans, bent over and, with a smile, put out the match with her breath.

He groaned. Hesitantly, he lit up another match. Her sweater was now gone, instead she wore her orange top – which glowed darkly under the dim light of the match. Setting her ruffled hair straight, she put the match out again. Ed had stupidly put down the matchbox, so he cursed himself profoundly as he looked for it so he could light yet another match, provoked by the sound of her rustling clothes.

When he finally did, her jeans were gone. He let out a small sound, indistinct and choked. He'd never actually seen her as exposed before. Again, the little flame on the match was blown into nonexistence, despite his attempt to protest.

Nervously he fidgeted for yet another one, which broke. She could hear him curse his trembling fingers, giggling again in response. That match also broke, so he growled with irritation. After he finally managed to light up the fourth match, her underwear was finally exposed. Black, and slightly laced, both her bra and panties. He felt the sudden urge to gnaw them off with his teeth and chew them. Huh.

His excessive breathing put that match out. "Damn it! This is torture!"

He felt her sitting on the bed, crawling up next to him. Another match, quickly!

He'd never seen her breasts before. He was simply, utterly entranced by the absolutely glorious sight of them. Those delicious breasts were responsible for his first wet dream. He remembered noticing that Winry had started to grow these lumps on her chest, but never gave them much thought.

Until, of course, this one time, one particularly hot summer, when he and Al had dropped by for Ed's maintenance. Ed couldn't sleep well so he dragged himself downstairs in the middle of the night, hoping for some orange juice leftovers from dinner. Instead, he found Winry raiding the fridge, looking for the same orange juice. She only had a semi-transparent night gown on, which was – he had a hard time admitting to himself – rather cute. She'd usually just sleep in some random tee. He could tell there was something opaque underneath it, around her waist, but when his eyes travelled upwards he noticed the dark circles of her nipples, which had perked up due to the coolness from the refrigerator. She was so sleepy she didn't notice his heavy blush, nor how he avoided even looking at her much when she waggled around looking for another glass to share the juice with him – when she moved, her boobs bounced around underneath the fabric in a very hypnotic way.

He was lucky they were at the Rockbell house, because Al would definitely have suspected something if they'd been in the same room. Ed had even more trouble falling asleep than he'd had before, and when he woke up he was all sticky and gooey. Those had been some really uncomfortable two days.

"Ah!" he exclaimed in pain – the match had burned out, charring his fingers a little. He stuck them in his mouth to soothe the ache, and resented the darkness that had once again settled between the two of them.

He felt a little silly when she lit up a candle that was set on the bed-side table. How'd he fail to notice it before?

And there she was, only three small garments standing between him and the long-awaited venting of all his sexual, and amorous, frustrations. The blushes spread across their cheeks completely matched in intensity, the same sheepish look of curiosity, mixed with panic, mixed with shyness, mixed with awkwardness and yearning. A great deal of yearning, actually – and that yearning mixed with curiosity makes for a killer blend which tops all other doubtful feelings, pulling at their sense of adventure.

She never thought herself capable of such an endeavor, and apparently neither did he. Also, she didn't expect him to play along automatically like that – she was so used to some kind of resistance on his behalf, even when she wasn't really "hitting" on him. Edward too was surprised at himself, at the whole situation. Not two years ago, this wouldn't have been possible.

But, now, it seemed like all of the universe was conspiring towards one result: their union, their head-straight fall into pleasure in each other's arms. Their bodies and passions had at last taken control, two unmoving forces of nature fated to meet, to collide, and to explode into an unexplored new reality full of sensuality, newfound thrills, broken barriers.

She let her riveted gaze flow softly, unwillingly, through the tense, hard muscles of his shoulders, gliding down towards the center to admire his distinct collarbone, free-falling in the direction of his preeminent chest and abs, continuing down to where his skin disappeared under his bulging boxers. She couldn't help the new surge of tingling heat which ran through all of her body, as she stared at his defined pelvis – unable to suppress the want to feel it up, and have it press right between her legs as it had been a while ago, but without the terrible nuisance of clothes. She shuddered and felt her cheeks set on fire, resisting the urge to look away from embarrassment – she didn't want him to think she was getting cold feet.

He was now fully erect, every bit of his body vibrating with over-sensitivity. As if, in that short yet long distance, he could feel the heat radiating from her body; as if he could taste the sweetness emanating from her lips; as if he could feel the softness of her hair cascading over his skin as they united, and the scorching touch of her hand on him. He imagined the hot, sweet, soft, plump form of her breasts molded inside his palms, or spicy and wet beneath his tongue. He wouldn't have to imagine for long, so it seemed.

"Now it's your turn," she purred, drawing slightly closer to him…


Whew! Done! Hope it's not too exaggerated. D:

Thank you for your time. So, er, opinions, anyone? :)