kinkfest | Scent of Summer (Hohenheim/Trisha, Fullmetal Alchemist)

Title Scent of Summer
Author –

cornerofmadness
Fandom – Fullmetal Alchemist
Disclaimer – all rights belong to Ms. Arakawa
Rating – NC-17
Pairing – Hohenheim/Trisha
Timeline/Spoilers – set before Ed and Al are born, no spoilers
Summary – Sometimes he needs reminded
Author’s note: - Written for the prompt Fullmetal Alchemist, Hohenheim/Trisha: scents/perfume - a single whiff could take me back. Thanks to

evil_little_dog for the beta

X X X

“Some days, I think he’ll never come out of his library.” Trisha sighed over the empty remains afternoon tea with Pinako.

The older woman took a leisurely puff on her pipe. “Food still lures him out, doesn’t it?”

“Mostly.” Trisha slumped down at the table. “Why move in with me if he’s only going to spend all his time reading? I even got this perfume all the way from the border. It’s made from a southeastern flower.” She thrust her wrist toward Pinako as if the smoker could still smell after years of using tobacco.

Pinako blew smoke rings, contemplating the ceiling before answering. “Men are fools.” She snorted. “Foolish and blind. Sometimes, Trisha, you just have to corral them and do what you want to them.”

“So you’re telling me to jump Hohenheim on top of his precious books.” Trisha grinned.

“It’s worth considering. The way they talk about sex all the time, you’d think they wouldn’t need slapped upside the head to get them to notice you.” Pinako took another drag on her pipe. “My husband was like that. Bet you two hundred cenz my Urey is the same way, not that my daughter-in-law would ever tell me. It’s like ‘just suture him to a patient cot and have your way with him’.” The old woman chuckled, leaving Trisha no doubt that at some point in her life Pinako had done just that.

Trisha got up and got the egg basket off the counter. “I’ll give it a try, though it might be hard not to just club him to death with those books. Men.” Trisha sniffed. “Thanks for the eggs, Pinako, and the advice.”

“Any time.”

X X X

A small shadow fell over Hohenheim, obscuring his light. Scowling, he glanced up at an old woman, blinking a few times before his mind accepted the wrinkled skin and white hair as belonging to the fiery mechanic he had befriended so long ago. “Pinako, you’re in my light. I just got this book, a ninth century Xingese text, and I’m very excited to read it.”

“I should kick your ass, Hohenheim.” Pinako jammed her fists against her hips.

He gazed at her, bemused. “What did I do?”

“And if I don’t beat you, Trisha might.” When he didn’t say anything – his mind racing back to see if he could spot what he’d done wrong – Pinako continued, “Your fire was always slow to start, no matter who was trying to light it. I remember that much, but hell’s sake, man, a woman doesn’t buy a couple of fancy new outfits and expensive perfume from the Ishbalan-Xingese border unless she wants you to notice her.”

“Who did tha…oh.” A bluish rose up Hohenheim’s furry cheeks. “I’m an idiot.”

“Do you hear me arguing?”

“I just get so wrapped up in my books that I get lost.”

“She’s contemplating beating you to death with those books so before you’re black and blue with nothing but your hand for entertainment, you’d better get your head out of your ass.”

“You’re a hard woman, Pinako.” Hohenheim smiled sheepishly.

“You need one of those to keep you on the level.”

“Yes ma’am.”

* * *

Trisha wasn’t sure if she had walked into the right house. She had been out all day babysitting little Albie Nelson while his mom was sick. She had expected to come home to a cold stove and her lover locked away with his studies again. She had to forgo the new dresses she bought – Albie always had grubby fingers – but Trisha had dabbed on the spicy flower perfume, anyhow. If Hohenheim had noticed when she left, he gave no sign or so she thought.

The living room floor was covered with wildly patterned rugs she had once seen in Hohenheim’s storage. The record player had something soft and sweet playing. The most amazing smells wafted out of the kitchen. To Trisha’s utter surprise, Hohenheim was in there, just folding up a well-used apron onto the back of a chair. He smiled at her.

“Just in time.”

“What have you done, Hohenheim?”

“Something I should be doing all the time.” He took her hand and led her into the dining room then pulled out a chair for her. He lifted a ceramic lid off the plate before her. “Spiced eggs and tomatoes. I thought this would be a nice appetizer.”

Stunned, Trisha tasted the smoky, spicy eggs and had to agree. Hohenheim brought out carrot salad infused with southern oranges, roasted lamb with dates, apricots and mint, and tiny apricot pancakes for dessert. After dinner, he escorted her into the living room and, after putting on another record, served her strong coffee.

He sat next to her, taking her hand in his. “Did you like it?”

Trisha leaned against his broad shoulder. “I love it. What brought this on?”

“Occasionally, I realize that I’m being a fool.”

“Was it the perfume or did Pinako brain you?” Trisha smiled up at him.

“A little of both.” Hohenheim buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing her gently. His beard tickled. “You smell wonderful. You always do, but this scent, a single whiff could take me back to when I was young. You know my history.”

“You’ve told me.” Trisha tucked her feet up on the couch as she rested against him.

“There’s frangipani mixed into this perfume. It reminds me of desert nights, tanned sweet skin.” Hohenheim kissed her neck again. “It’s a comforting smell. I should have bought it for you myself.”

“You get busy. I understand that.” Trisha squeezed his fingers.

“You shouldn’t have to make excuses for me. So, for the next one hundred nights, I’m going to do something nice for you.” He smiled at her.

Trisha’s breath caught. “Oh, Hohenheim, you don’t have to go that far.”

He got up and put on some slowly danceable music. Hohenheim held out a hand. “I do. More importantly, I want to.”

Trisha got up and took his hand, letting him sweep her into a waltz around the living room. Several dances later, the record had played out and Hohenheim carried her to the bedroom. There were advantages to having a nearly-immortal lover: Hohenheim had years to build up a vast store of sexual knowledge.

As he undressed her, his tongue danced over her collarbone, moving to tease her nipples into points before traveling down to dip into her bellybutton. Trisha clung to his pony tail as Hohenheim licked and sucked at her clit. His tongue plunged into her, making Trisha moan. He knew exactly where to touch her.

After he left her shaking and wanting more, Hohenheim sat back. He had taken off the glasses before they had started. Without them, there were hints of the dangerous man he could be, the aspect of a hunter hiding in his golden eyes. Trisha stroked his cock, loving the velvet feel of its mushroom head against her palm.

Hohenheim bore her back onto the bed, their bodies fitting together like they were meant for each other. Her leg hooked over his as Hohenheim slowly pumped into her. They rocked together, in no rush to reach a climax.

Release came and went, leaving them clinging to each other, content. A warm breeze blew over their heated bodies, carrying the scents of summer. Trisha snuggled against him. “A hundred nights of this?”

“And that is just the beginning,” he promised her, kissing her forehead.

“I love the sound of that.”