Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Balance of Power ❯ Balance of Power ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: This is a much belated b-day gift for the lovely Jojo-kun, a companion fic for her ever so naughty FMA pic “Balance of Power”. You can find it here http://www.paperdemon.com/rcart/view/12267. As a special treat for Jojo, there are song lyrics sprinkled through the fic, but she'll know exactly what song I mean. Here you go, baby!

 

 

 

Riza leaned forward to rest her elbow on the desk and wondered if it really was possible to die of boredom. The hours of her shift ticked by so slowly and she was getting edgy from sitting still for so long. It wasn't what she was used to and damn it, Mustang should have known better than to ask her to pull guard duty.

 

But it wasn't really guard duty and grudgingly, she had to admit that it wasn't such a bad idea. He'd been trying for weeks to get any of his people into the duty rotation for the security station outside the Fuhrer's office. Normally staffed by handpicked officers, every time he'd put in the names of one of his own people, that name had been soundly, if not swiftly, rejected.

 

Sighing, she let her cheek lean against her fist. Every name had been rejected all right, stamped documents arriving on Roy's desk with a punctuality that was too official to seem rude. It wasn't even particularly subtle, the Fuhrer had to know when someone was trying to spy on him. She'd even argued that fact, stating that any damn fool would see right through the ruse.

 

Why the hell would the Fuhrer let one of their people get in close to him? Riza didn't consider Roy to be a fool, but she wasn't a fool herself either. The only reason Fuhrer Bradley would do such a thing would be to lure Mustang into a trap, try to expose him, and potentially destroy everything they'd been working so hard to build.

 

Then her name had appeared on the approved duty list and Riza had damned near shit from surprise when she'd read the orders. She'd been temporarily assigned to the security station right outside the Fuhrer's own office. Seemed that the regularly assigned officer had had something of a mishap. He'd stepped outside to light a cigarette and somehow managed to catch his sleeve on fire, resulting in a short stay in the hospital that left him unable to attend his duties.

 

Roy hadn't even pretended to look innocent when he'd read the report aloud to her and Havoc.

 

So she wasn't going to waste the opportunity. Not that she'd even had a chance to sneak into the Fuhrer's office yet. It was frustrating, but every night she'd been at her post, either the Fuhrer or his secretary had been working late. Damn it, did they never go home to sleep?

 

And tonight was the last night she'd have the chance. She'd arrived at six to take her shift and the officer she'd relieved had merely given her a sour glance.

 

“Fuhrer Bradley is working late tonight,” he said in a bored tone that meant the day had been extremely dull. “He's not expecting any visitors, so you should have a quiet evening.”

 

“And his secretary?” Riza asked. Maybe if she waited around long enough, the Fuhrer would leave and she'd finally have a chance…

 

At the right time, the right place, maybe tonight…

 

“She's here too,” the man muttered, shuddering a little. “Creepy bitch, never says hello or anything.” At Riza's disapproving expression, he shrugged and walked away. No reason to get friendly, she wasn't here to listen to idle chatter. And she didn't like the way he'd been looking at her legs either.

 

If she'd known she'd have to wear a uniform skirt for this assignment, she would have told the colonel right where to shove it. Apparently, the Fuhrer preferred for female officers to disdain trousers. She'd thought for a long moment she was going to have to crack Havoc upside his skull when she'd first been informed of the requirement.

 

“Hawkeye in a skirt?” he'd said, grinning around his cigarette. “That I have to see!”

 

She'd given him her coldest glare and started fingering her sidearm before Roy cleared his throat. “Enough, Havoc. I'd put you in a skirt if it would get you inside Bradley's office. But since we're not trying to make the man ill…”

 

Riza tried not to squirm on the hard wooden chair, but it was no use. Her bare legs seemed far too exposed, she'd refused point blank to wear hosiery, and the damn skirt was at least a size too small. It rode up over her thighs when she tried to cross her legs and she damned Mustang to whatever hell would have him for this.

 

She was so intent on her annoyance that she didn't hear the office door open. Still grumbling and twitching, Riza was startled when a slender figure appeared in front of her desk.

 

“Is there a problem, lieutenant?”

 

“No, ma'am,” she managed to answer, meeting the Fuhrer's secretary with a face flushed by embarrassment. At the woman's quizzical look, Riza had to smile sheepishly. “I'm just not used to sitting still.”

 

“Ah,” the secretary said as she turned away. “Security must be boring for a soldier, especially when everyone else has left.”

 

“Pardon?” Riza threw a look at the closed office door. “Isn't the Fuhrer still working, ma'am?”

 

The secretary smiled faintly. “No, he left before your shift began. I've just been catching up on his correspondence. There were important papers that couldn't be left until tomorrow.”

 

“But…” Oh, how she hated to look like a fool. Fine security, she didn't even know what she was guarding! “Ma'am, the previous officer said the Fuhrer was working late tonight.”

 

“He was mistaken.” Disinterested, the woman continued to the end of the corridor before turning back to face Riza. “Have a pleasant evening, Lt. Hawkeye.”

 

“Well, damn,” Riza muttered, tapping her fingers on the desk. She eyed the clock and smiled grimly. Only forty minutes until her replacement was due to show up for the overnight watch. It seemed like some kind of luck was with them now…if the secretary hadn't been lying.

 

Quickly, Riza went to the door. And very quietly, she tried the handle and found it locked. She leaned against the wood, listening for any sign of life inside the office.

 

“Sir,” she said softly, tapping the door with her knuckles. “Fuhrer Bradley, are you in there?”

 

Of course not. The previous guard had been mistaken, or just so sloppy that he hadn't noticed Bradley leaving for the day. Now she had a golden opportunity to do some snooping, hopefully find something incriminating, or at least interesting enough that it made the last week of utter boredom worthwhile.

 

Digging under her uniform, she pulled out a small brass key. How Roy had been able to steal a copy of the key to Bradley's office, she didn't know. The man had ways of being sneaky and she didn't doubt him for a minute as the key slid smoothly into the lock.

 

Riza edged the door open and looked inside. It was dark and she fumbled for a moment before finding the switch for the lights. A brief survey concluded that the office was indeed empty and she exhaled softly before slipping inside and closing the door quietly.

 

“Now, where did she put those important papers she was working on,” Riza murmured as she started on the Fuhrer's desk. Each drawer was securely locked and she didn't have a key. Grimacing, she ran her fingers under the sides of the desk, hoping for maybe a hidden catch. Nothing.

 

Riza sighed and blew the hair out of her eyes. The office was scrupulously neat, almost criminally tidy. There was nothing here that wouldn't take hours to investigate. Even the wastepaper can had been emptied. She pursed her lips and rubbed her neck. That was one efficient secretary the Fuhrer had; she felt like a starving mouse searching for crumbs and was about to give it up when she spied a tiny slip of paper.

 

“Hey…” she whispered, kneeling down to get a better look. It was almost hidden in the shadows under the desk, something the Fuhrer probably wouldn't have noticed unless the man was given to creeping around on the floor. She crawled under the desk and grasped it, banging her rump against the Fuhrer's chair as she backed out.

 

The paper turned out to be a small list of names and numbers, but nothing she could make sense of. Riza felt almost disappointed, but had to content herself with what she had. Maybe Roy would know what it meant, hell, she was a soldier, not a spy!

 

And since it was all she was going to get her hands on, Mustang was just going to have to be satisfied. Grinning, she tucked the piece of paper down her shirt and turned to leave. And almost choked when she met the Fuhrer's smiling face, standing so close that she nearly ran right into him.

 

“Did you find what you were looking for, Lt. Hawkeye?” he asked, a jovial tone to his voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.

 

“I…I…” Damn it, she couldn't think up any good lies! Swallowing the panic that was twisting in her throat, she backed up a step and offered half-assed salute. Fuhrer Bradley only raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting some kind of explanation for why she'd been creeping around under his desk.

 

“I apologize, sir,” she said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice that had been known to intimidate unruly recruits. “I…thought I heard a noise and came in to investigate.”

 

The side of his mustache quirked as if he were hiding a smile. “You're a terrible liar, lieutenant,” the Fuhrer said mildly. “You were sent here by Colonel Mustang, I believe, for the purpose of spying on me.”

 

Riza's face didn't betray so much as a flicker of emotion. “You're mistaken, sir. The colonel is very concerned for your safety, he would never…”

 

Her words were cut off when the Fuhrer started laughing, a deep rumble of amusement that filled the otherwise quiet room. “Now, didn't I just tell you that you're a terrible liar?” he said, comfortable in authority. “I'm completely aware of the colonel's attempts to spy on me. It's well documented enough to have him executed for treason.”

 

The air in her lungs felt heavy and it took every bit of Riza's will to not panic right there. He knew? He knew everything? That was impossible, she refused to believe it. Damn that Mustang, he couldn't have been this careless. And they hadn't even found out anything yet!

 

“Sir, I…” she swallowed and straightened her back. “The colonel didn't have anything to do with this. I came completely on my own.”

 

The Fuhrer's right eye twinkled at her, the other hidden by a menacing black patch. “You don't have to cover for him,” he said quietly before giving her a smug gesture of dismissal. “And I have no intention of punishing his people for following their superior's orders. Treasonous as they might be.”

 

Riza scowled as the Fuhrer continued to chuckle to himself. “I am the only one to blame,” she said harshly. “Colonel Mustang had no knowledge of my actions. If your spies have reported that he's plotting against you, they have been lying to you. I am the only one guilty of treason. Not the colonel.”

 

“Your loyalty is impressive,” the Fuhrer murmured. His gaze clung to her face, sliding slowly down her body to stop at her knees before rising again to meet her eyes. “Very impressive. Perhaps you'd be interested in the colonel's position…after his execution, of course.”

 

“Hardly,” she spat; annoyed with the way he was leering at her. How dare he offer her the colonel's position? And what would be his price? “I would never betray him to advance myself!”

 

Fuhrer Bradley smiled, his cheek crinkling around the eye patch. “I believe that,” he answered, coming to stand even closer to her. “I'm not asking you to betray the good colonel, but I am curious how far you'd go to protect him.”

 

His hand reached out to grasp her shoulder, slowly sliding its way up to touch her cheek. “I suppose I can believe you might have been acting alone,” he said, his fingers pressing lightly against the bones in her jaw. “You might even be able to convince me to forget this incident, lieutenant.”

 

Outraged, Riza slapped his hand away before she thought about what she was doing. “Are you propositioning me?” she demanded. Then she suddenly chilled when she realized she had actually just struck the Fuhrer, the man who could have both Roy and herself executed with only a few words.

 

Surprisingly, he only looked amused. Fuhrer Bradley folded his arms and returned her glare, the jovial expression never leaving his face. “I'm not propositioning you,” he said, mock serious now. “I'm offering you a chance to get yourself and that colonel of yours out of trouble. I understand how ambitious Mustang is, but it's dangerous game he plays.”

 

Riza shivered a bit, already thinking of firing squads. “And I told you I am acting alone,” she said, her voice steady even if her heart was pounding hard. “I am fully prepared to accept the consequences of my actions.” Then she swallowed and decided she'd rather die that let him see her cower.

 

“Aren't you the brave one,” Bradley murmured. He leaned close, his lips brushing against the hair behind her ear. “Silly girl, are you a soldier or are you a coward? A soldier wouldn't hesitate to do whatever needs to be done.”

 

Her throat was dry and Riza forced herself to stare straight ahead, lips set in a grim, uncompromising line. She had a choice; she could storm out of here and threaten to report the Fuhrer for sexual harassment. She could pull her sidearm and put a hole between his eyes. She could kick the bastard in the crotch and make a run for it, hoping that she'd find a way to get beyond the reach of the military police that would come looking for her.

 

And none of these options would save Roy, or help him on his way to the top. That was what she'd sworn to do and anything else was nothing less than giving up on all the hard work and sacrifices so many people had made.

 

Riza swallowed. “And what needs to be done for you to forget about this?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

 

Bradley smiled, showing white even teeth under his mustache. “Persuade me, Lt. Hawkeye. As a soldier, you should be familiar with strategy. Right now the balance of power is in my favor. What can you do to tip the scales?”

 

She took a step backwards, facing him directly. “I understand, sir.” Deliberately, a stern expression on her face as if she were giving the orders, Riza reached up and started to unbutton her uniform. His smile just continued to get wider, wide enough to swallow her whole.

 

He wanted to humiliate her...she understood that. He wanted her to understand as well, exactly what he meant by balance of power. She killed people, shot them with her sniper's rifle in the name of duty. What kind of soldier would she be if she weren't willing to sacrifice even her own body for her cause.

 

A pathetic kind of soldier, one who could only be brave when she looked down the scope of that rifle and the blood didn't stain her fingers…

 

“Not bad,” the Fuhrer commented as the last button was undone. Riza dragged her eyes up to meet that hatefully smiling face. “I'm happy to see you understand the concept of compromise.”

 

She flushed and felt the blood heat her skin. “To hell with you,” she muttered, turning her back on him as she slid her arm from a sleeve. “I'll do whatever I have to…”

 

Riza hissed when a warm hand suddenly slid around her waist, flattening against her belly with possessive ease. His other hand had a grip on her shoulder and the Fuhrer pulled her closer, his breath in her ear like a hot whisper of shame.

 

“I want to hold you close,” he murmured, inhaling deeply as if he could taste her scent. “Skin pressed against me tight…”

 

Gasping a bit, she instinctively tried to pull away from him. His voice was a snake in her mind, coiling around her thoughts and stretching between her throat and the pit of her belly. The tips of his fingers slid between her skin and the waist of her skirt, almost impossibly hot…hotter than a man's fingers should be.

 

“What…what the hell,” Riza muttered, confused as a strange weakness made her want to tremble. She stiffened her spine and tried to shrug him away, but the Fuhrer slid his hand from her shoulder to her torso, squeezing her flesh like she might be made from clay.

 

He kissed her shoulder, his lips so hot, his mustache tickling over her bare skin and making it feel overly sensitive. Even his breath across that moistened trail from his tongue made her jerk and twitch with response. His hands cupped her breasts, gently lifting her bra until he could play freely with her nipples, pinching and teasing them with quick twists until she wanted to scream.

 

“Soft breasts,” he whispered, licking her ear. “Beating heart…so lovely, it feels so right.”

 

She felt dizzy, whimpering just a little in the back of her throat. Insane…she was completely insane to be feeling like this. Coerced into sex, she should be angry and sickened by those all-too-warm hands that were greedily caressing her body. She should want to fight, holding back the bile in her throat with a monumental effort. Not…falling against him as a boneless creature, moaning softly when he nibbled the nape of her neck.

 

Definitely not writhing…was she writhing…when his thick, warm fingers slid under her skirt and searched for the moist place between her legs…

 

“S…shit!” Riza cursed and swore to herself as the Fuhrer used his knee to spread her legs, one hand rubbing skillfully over that certain place. She knew he could feel how wet she was, how unbelievably aroused. It embarrassed her; she didn't know how she'd ever be able to show her face in public, grinding her hips into him as he worked one finger inside her underwear…

 

“Oh God!” she cried, arching her back. He muttered something intelligible in her ear, his voice rough and strangely different sounding. It was a bit lighter than the usual baritone. Disoriented, she tried to turn around and look at him.

 

His hand caught her chin before she could turn her face towards his. “Don't,” he growled, moving forward suddenly until Riza's thighs were against his desk. “Don't do anything, anything at all, unless I tell you to do it.”

 

Then, oddly gentle in contrast to his rough words, he pushed her down until she was bent over the desk. Her palms were flat on the polished wood, her left cheek against the smooth surface and she waited, half-eager and half-fearful, wondering what the hell was coming next…

 

Hands caressed the muscles of her back, the fingertips dragging in sensuous exploration over her ribs, the toned flesh of her waist. He cupped her hipbones between his palms, lifting her slightly as his knees spread her thighs apart. Her skirt was bunched around her waist and she trembled and damned near came from anticipation as his strong fingers slowly pulled her panties down just enough to expose her wet arousal.

 

“Lie still, and close your eyes, girl,” he whispered as she felt him press against her, thick and heavy, smooth like the grip of a pistol. He wedged inside her, tight and stretched, and Riza bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

 

Then…he did nothing, just held himself still while she panted and trembled and damned near wept. Why didn't he get on with it, why…why didn't he just fuck her already? She couldn't decide what was crueler, to be pressured into this, or be made to want it and be left wanting and unsatisfied.

 

“What…what are you waiting for?” she finally gasped out. She tried to thrust her hips against his, only to be stopped by those heavy, warm palms on either side of her ass.

 

“Do you want it?” he asked, and pulled slightly on her hips.

 

Riza ground her teeth, eyes tightly shut. “I…I want…”

 

“You want what?” Demanding, hateful, despising her…

 

She shivered and tried to crawl away, suddenly fearful of the chill in his voice. He stopped her with quick thrust and Riza was moaning again, sweating over the surface of his desk.

 

“I want fucked,” she said, the words coming from a deep and primal place within. “I want you to…fuck me now.”

 

He pulled back, the slickness inside her body making obscene sounds as he shifted, poised at the very edge of her trembling need. Slowly, he leaned close and whispered in her ear.

 

“You know what I want? I want to fucking tear you apart.”

 

And he thrust in and Riza screamed, clawing at the desk with both hands. He filled her, thrusting, pounding, and wracking her legs, her back, to the point of pain. But it felt so good, felt so right. Either way she wanted him and this was bad. She wanted him to do things to her, it was making her crazy. She wanted him to grab her by the hair and tell her…

 

I want to fucking tear you apart…

 

She shoved her hands under her, pushing into him with all her might. Snarling into her shoulder, feral like she'd never dreamed the calm and genial Fuhrer could be, he wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her. His other hand grasped the back of her thigh and lifted her foot off the floor while he continued to pound into her relentlessly.

 

Riza screamed when she came, reaching behind her and twisting her fingers in his long hair, holding on for dear life. He hissed and slammed into her, his palm slapping the top of the desk to keep them from both falling to the floor. She felt him spasm deep inside her, his hand gripping her thigh so hard that she knew she'd be wearing the bruises for days.

 

For a long moment, he laid against her, panting hard, his breathing every bit as ragged as her own. Riza felt utterly exhausted, lying limp across the desk and feeling something warm sliding down the inside of her thigh. Her legs were jelly and her heart was still racing when she felt him slip from her body.

 

The Fuhrer didn't say anything, but she felt his distance grow until she managed to lift her head and look at him. His back was to her, silhouetted against the dark window as he looked outside.

 

“You can go, lieutenant,” he said, his voice a little unsteady for all of its chill tone. “Consider the balance of power restored and yourself…relieved of duty for the night.”

 

“Sir,” she whispered, feeling shocked and shaken.

 

“Go,” his voice was firmer, hardening with each moment. “Now.”

 

Her face burning, Riza clumsily pulled her clothes straight, struggling into her uniform as she made her way out the door. Something hot was stinging her eyes, and mortal humiliation replaced the cold dregs of lust that has just consumed her. All she could think of was that she had to get away from him before she broke down and sobbed.

 

Riza slammed the door to the Fuhrer's office open and ran down the empty corridor. She had a moment of shocked embarrassment, red-faced and clutching her half-open shirt when she met the Fuhrer's secretary as she turned the corner.

 

The woman said nothing, only let her pass without comment and smiled knowingly as she continued on her way. Finding the office door still open, she sighed a bit to herself and plucked a scrap of paper from the floor.

 

“Was it everything you expected?” she inquired as she surveyed the room, the smell of sex still heavy in the air.

 

The Fuhrer was still standing at the window, but his form shivered a bit. Slowly he became more slender, pale skin and long black hair falling over his shoulders before he turned to face the secretary.

 

“More than I expected,” he said, a little bitterness in his voice. “Fucking her was fun, but you should have seen the look on her face when I threw her out.”

 

“I saw,” she answered. “I do not understand why hate them so, Envy. And yet you go to such lengths to have this one. Dante will not pleased that you did this in Pride's absence.”

 

“Dante doesn't have to know,” Envy said, turning away again. Down in the street, he saw a blonde haired woman running towards the officer's barracks. He didn't smile, instead feeling that hateful pang of bitterness where his heart would have been if he were human.

 

For a moment, he could have pretended that he was human, weak flesh and blood. He hated the feeling, hated remembering, but there wasn't much about Envy anymore that wasn't about hate. This emotion would go away, just like all the others it would go away. Or maybe this was danger and he just didn't know.

 

He could pray it all away…but it continued to grow.