kinkfest | Sensory memory [Fullmetal Alchemist; Roy/Riza

Title: Sensory Memory
Author:

oceanee
Rating: M
Prompt: July 10th - Fullmetal Alchemist, Roy/Riza: Sights, smells and touches. End of manga blind!Roy, "I will never be able to see your beautiful face."
Word count: 2186

Warnings: Spoilers until chapter 107, I guess, and goes AU from there.
Also contains explicit references to sexual acts.

A/N: Five days late, I'm sorry, my internet is going crazy. I don't even know if this will posted properly, and I still have another one to post (late as well)! It's not beta-ed, because really, if I send it now for editing, I'll never manage to post it this week. Therefore, all mistakes are mine, and given that english is not my native language, there might be a few.

So, my deepest apologies, please forgive me.

Somehow, he could still tell night from day even when he could no longer see any light. The feel of the sunlight on his skin, the sounds of people around him, of cars on the streets and birds chirping were enough of a clue, and it had only taken him a few days to even differentiate morning from early afternoon, depending on whether or not he could smell food being cooked through his neighbor's window. In time, he knew, he probably wouldn't need such reminders. Or, more likely, that little game of his would get old and he would get himself a clock that would allow him to read hours from touch alone.

He would need to find himself a new game, though. Anything to not have to think about how crippled his lack of sight made him, how unfair it was and how bitter the taste of defeat felt on his tongue.

They had won, yes, and some people had lost so much more... But his punishment, so ironically fitting for a man who had always been driven by his vision of the future, was one thing he sometimes had trouble swallowing. He had tried to save the world, half thinking he wouldn't survive and half hoping he would find redemption at last – at times, he really wished he'd been allowed to take a bow and leave this plane of existence.

However, that train of thought rarely went very far. Although he knew very well that he wouldn't ever be useful to his country again, that he wouldn't actively participate in the rebuilding of what years of dictatorship had mercilessly destroyed, there was one thing in this world still worth living for. And that particular reason for keeping holding on was the one that helped him through every single day, one at a time, taught him to move by himself in his own apartment, to mark the clothes that fit together so he could picture and choose what colors he was wearing, and so on.

It also helped that the reason was gorgeous, round-faced and blond-haired with eyes he remembered being the color of the Ishbalan desert at sunset – stained with blood, sweat and tears but still alive, savage and dangerous in its hypnotizing beauty.

How he loved the feel of her skin against his...

“Are you alright?”

The sound of Riza's voice surprised him, shook him out of his musings. She was sitting by his side, reading to him, but he had long tuned out her voice in favor of reliving some of his favorite memories - heated looks thrown over a shoulder by that very set of eyes as her smile beckoned him to follow her to the bathroom, her robe hitting the floor as she walked, her lips parted over a moan, her face contorted in pleasure as she came, her skin glistening with sweat and still those eyes with all the things they expressed that could never be told out loud... Those memories stung, if only because he knew he would never witness such things ever again. Nor would he see her in a dress, or quietly watch her as she fixed her hair, twisting it left and right until it was perfect, something he had always found fascinating in its sheer femininity.

The feel of her hand on his cheek made him turn his face in her direction, eyes downcast so as not to spook her with his unfocused gaze, even though she had told him that she didn't mind one bit. “I was just thinking, I'm sorry. I didn't listen.”

“It doesn't matter. The story is a little boring anyway.”

“Is it?”

“Hmm...”

Her non-committal answer prompted him to raise a hand to touch hers, intertwining their fingers. He felt her shift until she could lay her head on his shoulder, indulging in an intimacy they hadn't been able to really enjoy before that fateful day. Their relationship had been made of occasional, passionate encounters and whispered words behind closed doors, none of them willing to put the other's life at risk should anyone discover their deceit and use it against them. Even their linked pasts were kept secret, carefully hidden, so deeply that no one would ever suspect. They had disguised their affection with fake (and sometimes not-so-fake) trivial arguments about paperwork, procrastination and uselessness, with tightly wound uniforms and date books, doing such a good job that even their co-workers never realized.

They kept silent for a while, both basking in the quiet of late afternoon. Slowly, quietly, he ran his hand through her hair, that she had cut short again despite his many protests. She wanted to start anew, she had said. And come to think of it, this was how they had started in a way, she with her boyish haircut and shy smile, he having not yet opened his eyes to the wonders of fire alchemy, blind to its power and to the consequences of its use...

Suddenly feeling nearly a decade younger, he let his hand playfully run down her shoulder, until he could tickle her side, hoping to elicit the always anticipated response -

Ah, there it was. A suppressed squeak that he couldn't help to find simply hilarious. Not many people knew that strong, stern, reliable Riza Hawkeye who never let any emotion show on her face, became a giggling schoolgirl whenever nimble fingers lightly scratched her waist, and behind her knees.

“Roy!! Stop it!”

“Hm, I don't know,” he replied with a stupid grin, “what do you give me if I do?”

Panting, and trying to suppress uncontrollable squeals under his assault, she glared at him, knowing he would feel it even though he couldn't see her. “Why do I have to give anything?”

“Well, you know, equivalent exchange, all that...” His hands started to wander down, an obvious hint to what he was hoping she would give. She was now sprawled over the couch with his weight holding her down, his legs encircling her own so she wouldn't escape.

She probably could if she tried hard enough, but she didn't have the heart to. Things were slowly getting back to normal, or as close to normal as they would ever be, and it felt too good to deny themselves anything. Especially since she knew she would get just as much as he would out of the deal.

Freeing one of her hands, she brought it up to rest on the back of his neck, pushing his head closer to hers. “Alright, mister alchemist. I'll let it slide this time”

“You know you love it,” he said before he closed the distance between their lips.

He hadn't touched her for weeks after the promised day, scared that it wouldn't be the same, that he wouldn't be able to pleasure her now that he couldn't even see his own hands. His understandable case of performance anxiety had lasted a while, until Riza had taken matters into her own hands, literally. She had confronted him, kissed him, licked and sucked every available inch of his skin as she disrobed him despite his half-hearted protests until he had caved and touched her back. That had been one of the most memorable nights of his life. Everything had felt new, he had had to map out her skin with his hands and tongue to memorize every inch of her, every scar, trying to be able to find them without relying on his sight. She had moaned and whimpered at every turn of his fingers against her core, every touch of his tongue on her breasts and under them, where he had tried to find his favorite mole – among the rare ones marring her skin, he had claimed that one as his own the very first time they had crossed the line, young and foolish and believing it would only happen once, they would never see each other again so why not enjoy it while it lasted...

Right now, lying on that couch with her legs snug around his hips, her lips against his own and her hands buried in his hair, he wondered what had taken him so long. He pushed his tongue between her lips to find her own, relishing the little sighs she made as he licked her palate. Never before had he been so acutely aware of the warmth her body exuded, of the sounds of her pounding heart. Every love-making session brought a new rediscovery, had a new effect on him, from the sounds she made to the feel of her kiss-swollen lips around his cock as he lost himself in her.

What had started out as a playful embrace quickly turned heated, small chuckles evolving into needy moans and light touches becoming stronger, more precise and inexplicably desperate. Maybe it was him and his nostalgic mood that had prompted it, or her own wants and needs, but whatever the reason was both were more than willing to go with the flow.

Urgently, he helped her out of her shirt, let his mouth run down her neck and chest to realize that she wasn't wearing her bra, and he groaned. Licking a hardened nipple until she let out a small moan, he used his right hand to unzip her skirt while the other palmed a breast – the one with the mole, he recalled, grinning to himself. Not one to be passive, she was working on his belt and pants, trying to get them down his hips as quickly as she could, the urgency building in her belly ridding her of rational thought. They were on the couch, they could fall, and were the curtains closed? She didn't particularly care with the way his fingers now rubbed against her clit, his tongue still playing on her body and his other hand running up and down her thigh.

Using her feet to push his pants down, she raised her legs higher around his waist and grabbed his aching cock, slowly moving her hand up and down, applying more and more pressure until he snapped and slid into her with a long, drawn-out groan.

Bracing himself on his forearms next to her head, he bent his head down for her to kiss him – he still hadn't mastered the fine art of finding her mouth on his own in these situations, but they were ready to work on that.

They moved together, lulled by the resounding slap of skin on skin as her hips raised and rotated to meet his own when he thrust down, the only other sounds that of their heavy breathing and helpless moans as she took him, and he took her, loving like they fought for each other – relentlessly and without fail.

She was nearing release, he knew from the delicious feeling of her inner walls fluttering around him, when she grabbed his right hand and brought it to her face. He knew what she was doing. She wanted him to 'see' her, remember her face as he brought her to heights no one else could make her attain.

That simple action, allowing him to move his fingers as he pleased on her face, over the crease of her brow and between her parted lips to take in the sight she must make at that moment, was enough to make his heart squeeze almost painfully in his chest. The love he felt for that woman knew no bounds, the way hers would cross borders, mountains and oceans to find him regardless of any obstacle on her path.

When he felt her tighten against him, back arching before her shoulders bowed and she cried out his name in the throes of orgasm, he let himself go, blank eyes wide open and burying his face in the crook of her neck as a wave of thick, white-hot pleasure went through his entire body.

Through the numbing of his limbs and his last, short thrusts, he swore he could see stars.

When their breathing evened out and they shifted in an effort to fit better on the sofa, Roy could tell that the sun had almost set, even though nothing could clue him in on that fact. Maybe it was because he could feel Riza's eyelids flutter closed against his shoulder.

“I love you, you know?” he said.

“I know. I love you too.”

He went back to stroking her hair, knowing the slow movement would lull her to a peaceful sleep, but before he closed his own eyes, he brushed his lips against her temple.

“You know what I regret the most?” he asked in a breathy whisper.

“Hm?”

“I'll never get to see your beautiful face again.”

She brought one of her arms around his chest, getting comfortable, and knowing better than to argue with him about her presumed beauty. “Well, it's a good thing I won't ever stray so far that you won't be able to touch me to remember it.”