Note: Written for the Cunnilingus and Chocolate Day Oral Sex Fanfest. Enjoy!

Exactly What You Do

Roy has just enough mild celebrity that undercover activities are generally better left to his subordinates. This time though, they're far enough from his usual haunts and there seems little enough chance of any elevated encounter that it seems worth the risk. Moreover, their reconnaissance activities tonight aren't exactly– official.

So that's why he and his Lieutenant are tucked away in a dark corner of a bar several towns over from East City, on the lookout for a certain aide of a certain someone high up on the political food chain. Someone with rumored connections to the Green Hand, a burgeoning smuggling chain from further south. So far they'd had little luck. To be fair, the rumors were pretty tenuous, but they'd struck gold before.

"We can't stay much longer," Riza says eventually, interrupting the purposefully benign conversation they'd been sharing while waiting and shooting a cautious glance at the clock over the bar. Roy shifts to look too, resisting the habitual urge to check his pocket watch instead, their knees brushing beneath the small table. He pretends not to notice.

"Havoc will be in to cover the rest in twenty," he murmurs back. She nods once and falls right back into character, giving him a wry glance as she takes another sip of her bourbon.

"And are you ever going to finish your drink before then?" she asks, voice slipping up to a higher octave than usually and casting a wry glance at his cheerfully green cocktail–barely touched.

He gives her a bland look at first but ultimately can't resist the opening. He leans in, donning an effusive smile.

"But Elizabeth," he says, drawing out the syllables, enjoying the spark of amusement that lit up in her eye. "I'd much prefer to get drunk on your company tonight."

Riza sets down her glass, the ice cubes tinkling softly. She shifts and their knees press together briefly beneath the table again; Roy is suddenly reminded of the look of her legs beneath her skirt, long enough to fall to her knees except for that slit up the side–he forcibly discards the thought.

Then she says, a little laughing curl at the corner of her mouth, "I prefer a man who can hold his liquor."

Roy's mouth goes promptly dry. It's more that than his carefully punctured pride that has him reaching for his cocktail glass but that doesn't mean her aim isn't as flawless as always. When he sets it back down, the mix is suddenly halfway gone and her smirk is even more pronounced than before.

"I think I can handle it," he declares, even though it's a bald faced lie. His alcohol tolerance has always been something of a joke, even at the best of times and much to his ever living embarrassment, which is why he was exercising caution. She knows this just as well as he does and it's probably thanks to the fact that he'd already finished his first drink that he fell to her goading so easily.

She opens her mouth to reply when they hear the bar door open and her eyes flicker briefly towards it. Roy is careful not to look too, just waiting for her to make the call whether it's important or not.

It is.

Riza looks back to him with a level look before she smiles again – it's so convincing that if he didn't know her as well as he does (and he knows her very, very well) it would be easy to mistake for genuine. What he doesn't expect is how she leans in, her hair spilling over her shoulder and catching the light and her hand gliding across the table, her fingers brushing over hers.

"I think it's time I called a cab, don't you?" she says, the code they'd agreed upon for 'I've seen what we came here to see.' Then, a bit less smoothly, she withdraws her hand and her voice turns rueful. "I think it's been too long since I last drank, actually."

Roy swallows down the lump in his throat, his face warm and fingertips tingling. The same could probably be said for him.

"I'll get the tab, then," he agrees. Despite her mild self-depreciation, Riza gets up effortlessly enough, making her way towards the telephone at the end of the bar, by the bathrooms, where she'll act as though she's calling a cab but actually call Fuery instead. He really shouldn't watch her go but he does anyway, unable to keep his eyes from catching on the way her skirt flutters as she walks, momentarily exposing a flash of pale, creamy thigh. He suddenly wishes she were back sitting beside so he could press his hand to that skin, that they were alone so he could drop to his knees beneath the table and–

Roy turns abruptly away from his Lieutenant and, reaching for his glass, promptly drains the rest of his cocktail. It's probably a poor idea but it's better than watching Ri– the Lieutenant– wind the telephone cord around her fingers as she chats.

Giving himself a firm mental shake, he reaches for the tab.

"They came in together," Riza comments as they walk to the car, slow and meandering, already a few blocks away from the bar.

"I saw them as we left," the Colonel agrees. "They don't seem to care much in the way of discretion, but that's easier for us."

Riza hums her agreement, finding herself too distracted to say much else. She's not all that drunk at all, but perhaps just tipsy enough to find the low, lazy timbre of Roy's voice slightly discombobulating. It doesn't help that he still keeps shooting her the same warm, dark looks he's been giving her all night, except now the game is over and their (very small, completely uninterested) audience is gone.

There's no good reason, really, for him to keep looking at her that way. At least not any reason she allows herself to think about.

It is perhaps that self same reason that he keeps walking closer to her, his arm brushing against hers periodically, hands bumping. She really shouldn't be harboring thoughts about what it'd be like to take his hand in hers.

Suddenly, he stops walking. She walks several steps further before noticing, then stops and looks back. Roy has his hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side and hair falling into his eyes. He looks– ridiculous. Riza raises an eyebrow.

"The car," he says, jerking his head to the side. And lo and behold, there it was.

Biting back sigh and feeling irritable at herself for getting so side-tracked, Riza turns back around, propping her bag on her hip and searching for the keys. They come into her hand with a jangle and, hooking her purse back onto her shoulder, she approaches the passenger door. As she pushes the key into the lock and turns it, Roy sidles up beside her, leaning his weight on the back door. Riza tries to ignore him, at least until she feels him reach up, his fingers brushing against her ear as he tucks back a lock of hair. A jolt runs through her, her breath catching before she can master herself.

"Colonel?" she asks, spearing him with the most pointed look she can muster. He only grins back at her mellowly, his hand falling to her shoulder.

"Have I told you that you look lovely tonight?" he asks, bending his head toward her in a way that makes her stomach tighten with unbidden anticipation, only to suddenly draw back. There's a slightly befuddled expression on his face when he adds, "I really shouldn't have finished that drink."

Riza can relate to this feeling well. Maybe if she hadn't, she wouldn't feel so disappointed, but suddenly she just feels so unspeakably frustrated that this is all they get – the only time they're allowed to do things like this is when they have to pretend that it's something else entirely. It's the life she chose, yes, but that hardly makes it easier, not when he's standing beside her, face cast half into shadow, close enough that she can feel the heat thrown off from his body. She wants him closer.
She casts an unsteady look down the street. They're alone.

Roy's fingers begin to stroke little circles over her shoulder and the movement pulls her gaze back to him. There's a question in his eyes, one of many that they're not supposed to ask each other.

She leaves the keys in the lock, lifts her hand to press against his chest, just below the sternum. Riza can see the gratified, relieved look on his face in the moment before he shifts forward again and kisses her.

His mouth is soft against her, his palm warm as it comes to cup her cheek, fingertips coaxing into her hair and the only thing she can think of is finally. He kisses her tentatively at first, brushing her lips gently with his, over and over again until she sighs, hand clenching in his light jacket and he makes a soft sound and kisses her harder.

There are a thousand different reasons why they don't do this, all of them valid and utterly important, but when it comes down to it, Roy is the reason she does most of it. She knows that, lives with it every day, tied up as it is with as many regrets as anything else. Thisexists between them constantly, quiet, persisting in the background noise of each day, but all it takes is the gentle press of his tongue against hers to send it into a sudden, roaring fury. She reaches for him, pulls him closer, bringing his weight against her and pressing her back against the car door.

Roy groans, hand sliding further into her hair and kissing her with a focus that makes Riza's knees tremble. But then he pulls away, groaning again, this time a sound of heartfelt frustration, and when she tries to kiss him again he says her name. She opens her eyes.

"We're in public," he says reluctantly and the look on his face makes it clear enough that the words don't come easily.

Riza bites her lip, feeling her own doubts and second thoughts beginning to clamour for her attention, even though right now, this instant, she wants none of them. She makes her decision in an instant, not giving herself time to change her mind.

"In the car," she says.

He misunderstands at first, going for the front seat with an air of dejection when she retrieves the keys and opens the door, but she stops him with a, "No." It isn't until the back door is unlocked and she gives him a pointed look before understanding finally graces his face. It shifts quickly into hungry excitement as he slips inside and she follows him into the dark of the car, pulling the door shut behind them.

For a long minute they stare at each other, breath coming fast and expectant. Eventually, Roy chuckles nervously and reaches for her. She doesn't delay.

This time, when they kiss, it isn't hesitant at all. She loops her arms about his neck, pushing a hand into his hair and drawing her nails over his scalp. He makes a little laughing moan against her mouth and then licks between her lips, his palm sliding down her side to her hip, then her thigh. He seeks out the slit in her skirt, runs a finger down her bared skin. Riza shivers, sucks at his tongue. His palm flattens against her thigh.

"Colonel," she mumbles between their kisses and she can feel the way his mouth curves against hers, smug and altogether him, setting sparks crackling in her blood.

"Lieutenant," he answers, and Riza can hear the urgency she feels reflected in the word alongside the strange intimacy that's always evident in it. He hasn't called her by her first name in years but that doesn't feel important, not even when they're like this, half lost to reason and desperate. They know without saying.

She tugs him closer to her and draws him back with her onto the seat cushions, half-propped against the door, the upholstery rough where her shirt has ridden up in back. Roy's hand slips further up her thigh, finds the dip between leg and hip and she gasps into his mouth.

"Can I–?" he asks, nuzzling at her jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses there. The space inside the car brightens as another vehicle drives past and she can clearly see the serious, intent look in his eyes before she closes her own and nods.

Her fingernails bite into his neck as his fingers press against her through her underwear and Roy mouths the sensitive spot behind her ear. Distantly, she knows that this is still a pretty bad idea. They're in the backseat of a car on a quiet but very much populated residential street and if anyone decided to peer through the windows there'd be no hiding what they were up to. He's still the Colonel, her commanding officer, and if someone were to recognize them all their plans could be put in jeopardy, or worse.

But beyond all that, it's him, it's Roy Mustang, and his touch scatters her thoughts faster than she can put them in any semblance of order.

He groans softly against her ear, sucks softly at the lobe, then says, "Lieutenant, I want to–"

"Yes," Riza says, then again, wetting her lips and pressing her hips towards him. A moment later, he pulls away. She's confused for a moment, opening her eyes to see him kneeling on the bench, silhouetted by the lights of another passing car that filters through the steadily fogging windows. She's got half a mind to remind him to get down before they're seen but then his hands are at her hips and the waistband of her underthings and his eyes are darker than she can remember seeing them. Riza swallows and then lifts her hips and Roy pulls the garment away and off entirely.

It's only a moment later and he's pushing her skirt up to her stomach, bending down between her legs despite the cramped space.

"I thought about this earlier," he mumbles against the smooth inside of her thigh, lips warm and tongue wet. His voice vibrates against her skin. Heat curls and tightens in her belly. "I wanted to kiss you like this from beneath the barroom table."

"Oh," Riza says, because it's hard to form words around the image that he stirs in her mind (his dark hair between her legs, a drink in her hand, trying desperately to keep quiet so they didn't get caught), and then because his mouth and fingers are there, licking and stroking into her, electric. She groans, one hand reaching down to wind into his hair, the other gripping at the shoulder of the front seat.

His mouth works steady and sure against her, sending little tingling waves of heat down her leg. Riza finds herself gasping out instructions between moans, directing him further over, a bit down, her hips starting to jump and twist beyond her control. He surprises her by using his teeth– gently– grazing them over her and she jerks beneath him, biting her lip hard so she doesn't shout. Roy pushes at her leg, changing the angle before doing it again. Her back arches and she chokes back a groan, her hand twisting hard in his hair, and for a blinding moment the only thing in the entire world is him and the blood roaring in her ears.

He's watching her when she regathers her senses, eyes half-lidded and a good-naturedly smug smile at his mouth. With anyone else she might feel a little embarrassed but with the Colonel there's none of that, even with sobriety starting to clear the haze from her mind in earnest. Riza slides her hand from his hair to his shirt collar, tugging gently and he crawls carefully over her, meeting her for a warm, lazy kiss.

"We should probably get going soon," Roy murmurs, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. She tilts her chin to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Already?" she asks dryly, pressing her knee to his thigh. He turns his head and kisses the hinge of her jaw.

"Before any of the locals get curious." He shifts backwards, leaning on his forearms and elbows. There is a slightly anxious look to his face, his forehead creased, little lines puckering around the ends of his mouth. "But we could always– That is–"

Riza presses her fingertips to his lips, quieting him. There's a little bubble of nervous joy growing in the pit of her stomach, coupled with amazement that this is suddenly possible.

"Alright," she says, striving for levelness but she knows he can read her just as well as she can him.

The smile they share then is small, but they are accustomed to speaking without words.

They draw apart then, Riza redressing herself quickly and without much trouble. A minute later, they're climbing into the front seats, Roy buckling in as Riza turns the ignition.

"You know, Colonel..." Riza muses as she puts the car into gear.

"Yes?"

She flicks her gaze towards the backseat. "I was just thinking. That's the sort of focus I'd like to see you devote to requisition forms, sir."

Roy snorts loudly and gives her an unspeakably wry look, but she can't miss the tenderness in his eyes.

"The likelihood of that is slim, Lieutenant."