Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ The Greenhouse Effect ❯ The Greenhouse Effect ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT
A Fullmetal Alchemist Challenge Fanfic

Written by Miyu, Vampire Princess


CHALLENGE(S): What does the color GREEN represent AND Write a story for the fandom of the reader's choice: Fullmetal Alchemist (FMA).

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Roy is finally happy with me. For now. WARNING for LEMON content and possible SPOILERS. Roy x Riza pairing. Told from Riza's point of view. Possible OOC for her because...well, she's pretty cut and dry MOST of the time. It's the REST of time I'm having issues with. A Standard Disclaimer appears at the end of the piece.




"Are you certain this is safe?"

"No one will find us out here."

It was a pretty secluded place. But even surrounded by dark foliage, the large glass doors and windows left a little to be desired. I would've preferred a cozy hotel room with a soft, comfy bed. Even the stiff, cold bunks at the barracks would've been more desirable. Too bad it was too far away and we were far too desperate to have our hands all over each other. His jacket was already on the floor...somewhere. I didn't even see him take it off.

"Are you certain you want to do this here?"

"Are you?"

My answer is the hottest kiss I can possible give him.

Eight months. Eight excruciating months. I don't know how long he thinks I can last. I may be a damn good soldier, but as a woman, I have limits. These long absences are nothing compared to the years of distance once between us. Still, it would be nice if he'd be around for more than a quickie once in a while.

"There's still a chance we could be seen," I warn, backing away to tear off the next article of clothing.

"So?"

"It could damage your reputation, General."

His smile is as cocky as I've ever seen it. "Trust me, Major. It won't hurt a thing." He shrugs out of his shirt and steps closer, divesting me of the same. "Except maybe the plants."

Always so sure of himself, despite the hardships and pressure of his position. Of course, alone, there are no ranks between us. He's as determined to serve me as I am him. It's amazing really.

But there are far too many positions we haven't yet tried.

With that in mind, I hop onto one of the table, allowing my pants to fall to the floor. A few shakes of my feet and my shoes join them. With only my bra and underwear to protect me, I sit on the greenhouse table, surrounded by lush green, blooming foliage.

His look is both a thrill and a challenge, and I return his unshielded stare in welcome combat. I've never considered myself beautiful. Or even sexy. But when his fiery eyes gaze at me -- dressed or not -- I truly feel that way. Pride pushes aside embarrassment, at least for the time being.

"Do you need some help?"

As if returning from an out of body experience, he shakes his head and refocuses his efforts into unknotting the ties of the uniform. His anger is amusing, even as the ties finally give, but now the zipper won't budge. He sighs in exasperation, shaking his head again. Then, I see the light bulb turn on, and he's finally able to shed his pants. With another smirk he strikes a little pose so I can get a good view of him.

Dear God, he's not wearing underwear!

And he's just as beautiful as ever.

He chuckles at my surprised glance, quickly moving to stand in front of me and the table. There's a brief moment when I want to hide myself among the large green leaves and colorful flowers. Hide myself from him. But he's quick to act, grasping both of my hands and placing them on his chest.

As our lips meet for a more leisurely exploration, hands moving all about. With my eyes closed, I can picture his skin beneath my fingertips. Feel the scars, old and new. He is a soldier. A fighter. Marks such as these could be considered high honors and reflect a soldier's position. But I'm still sad that he has to bear these marks, small cuts and scraps that mar his beautiful skin.

Foreplay is short as I feel two, then three fingers prodding my entrance. And while it's enough to bring me right to the edge, it's not enough to give me what I need. He leans forward, forcing me backward to lie on the table. Maybe it is dangerous for the plants.

"Should I make you beg," he mutters against my throat.

I gasp as the tip of him glides across wet skin. The sensation makes me shiver, drawing a small whimper of need. I'm positive he'll torture me, tease me until I'm screaming for him to enter me. But it seems he, too, needs something more. And there's no begging needed.

The first thrust is hard, fast. A swift strike. The second is lesser, more gentle. As is the third and fourth. By the fifth thrust, I am pushing my hips forward off the table, wanting for him to ignite the flames in my belly. Needing for him to drive me ever onward. Silently pleading for him to push me over the edge.

His breath catches in my ear, and I think that it's over. But one particular thrust finally sends me tumbling. Moaning and squealing -- a noise I never thought I'd make -- as my body latches onto the rush of orgasm. Blood simmers as light explodes everywhere.

Shuddering still, I feel him slide down my body, pulling away. With a tug, he pulls me forward, into a sitting position. Then with his arms around me, we move from the table to the floor. The motion is swift and efficient, my mind still having trouble comprehending the new shift in position.

"Roy?"

In an instant I realize that it's not the end. That he's far from finished. The thought is cemented by the gliding penetration of his manhood, still hard and pulsing with life. My teeth capture my lower lip, my head falling forward until my forehead rests against his shoulder. He sinks in easily, filling me wholly, perfectly.

"Your so wonderful," he murmurs as he slides home.

My head lifts then, my eyes taking the features of his face my fingertips do not touch. His eyes are so dark...were so dark. He lost his left eye fighting a Homunculus. The one scar I cannot take away. One I cannot bear to look at let alone touch. A memory hidden behind a black patch of elastic and cloth.

It's my fault. A reminder of my negligence. Something that will forever make me work harder to be a better soldier. Push me harder to be a better protector.

The back of his hand brushes my cheek and tears begin to fall. The happy moment is gone and I am, again, to blame. Shame more than embarrassment colors my face and I once again feel the need to hide behind the plants.

"I'm sorry...."

He kisses my forehead, hands gently rubbing up and down my back. "There's no need for tears."

"I know. I just...."

"Don't blame yourself, Riza."

"I should have been faster...."

His smile is sad. "You still would've been too late."

"I was right there...."

His lips brush my temple. "Riza, we can't change the past."

"I know. But...."

"No buts," he replies with a groan. "Unless it's yours.... Moving...."

My hips were already moving, even as his hands reached for them. The movement is slow, meant to tease him as he teased me. And it works for a short time. I even manage to stave off his attempts to switch positions, grabbing the edge of the table behind him and using it for leverage. Trapped, distracted by my heaving breasts, I can do pretty much whatever I want.

Need is still strong, however. A new fire kindles in my gut, sweat beginning to trek slowly over my body. Whether from the new burning embers or simply an effect of the greenhouse, it only served to increase my want of him. The desire to consume him. To keep him to myself for just a little while longer.

His position within the military is moving with a pace even he didn't imagine. And while he may never be Furor, he is a hero. I can't argue that the world needs a hero like Roy Mustang.

"Faster...please...."

But right now, I need him more.

"Riza...."

The vibration of my name against my ear urges my hips to do a slightly different dance. Not only upward and downward, but also front to back. A grinding motion. He's satisfied, but not for long.

And neither am I.

My pace increases, my hands releasing the table and grasping his shoulders instead. His fingers dig into my hips in response, offering support and constant urging. The fire building in my gut threatens to explode, sweat encompassing us both as we move against each other. I see the fire blazing, the flames licking at my sanity. It surrounds me -- us -- and carries us over a precipice.

For me, there is no light show. Not this time. Instead, I'm awash in a sea of green and the scent of flowers. It is relaxing, comforting. Just like the strong band of his arms surrounding me and the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

"I need a few plants for the office."

"Plants?"

"Sure. Spruce up the place. Add a little color. Green is quite...."

"Intoxicating?"

His smile is wide, our bodies lowering to the floor. "Something like that."

"You'd never get any work done."

"I'm not getting any done right now."

"True."

His kiss is gentle, his tongue probing and hands not at all idle. Is he ready for another round already? I never would have guessed the greenhouse would have this kind of effect on him. On us.

Perhaps I need plants for the apartment as well as for the office.


~FIN~

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist or the characters contained in this story. That honor goes to Hiromu Arakawa. You rock! I'm merely borrowing the characters for my ebil, hentai purposes. Since I'm not making any money from this, you will not get any if you sue. I'm only having some fun. Truly I am! ^_^