The persistent drizzle outside Riza Hawkeye’s modest Amestrian apartment did little to dampen the charged atmosphere within. Raindrops traced lazy paths down the condensation-streaked windowpane, mirroring the slow, insistent drip of the shower’s faucet in the adjacent bathroom. She stood in the living room, the dim lamplight casting long shadows that played across her usually composed features. Tonight, composure felt like a fragile shield, one she was on the verge of shattering. Her blonde hair, usually tied back in its signature severe ponytail, had been let down, spilling in soft waves around her shoulders, a rare display of vulnerability. The weight of recent campaigns, the constant vigilance, the unspoken anxieties that clung to her like battlefield dust – it all pressed down, demanding release. Her gaze drifted towards the bathroom door, a silent invitation, a whispered promise of solace.

Across the room, Colonel Roy Mustang leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a knowing half-smile playing on his lips. He watched her with an intensity that mirrored her own burgeoning desire, his amber eyes glinting with a mixture of concern and a deep, simmering longing. He saw not just Major Hawkeye, his loyal subordinate, his trusted right hand, but Riza – the woman beneath the uniform, the one whose strength often masked an equally profound capacity for tenderness. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, with years of shared hardship and quiet camaraderie that had, in recent times, begun to bloom into something far more potent, something that made his chest tighten and his breath hitch.

“Riza,” he began, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the quiet apartment. “You seem… preoccupied.”

She finally turned to face him, her blue eyes meeting his, and the carefully constructed walls she maintained seemed to crumble. “Just tired, Colonel,” she murmured, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. “The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t quite reach.”

He pushed off the doorframe, his movements fluid and deliberate, closing the distance between them. The air crackled with unspoken needs. He reached out, his gloved hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jawline. “Then perhaps,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, “you need something more than just rest. Perhaps you need… to let go.”

Her breath hitched. The suggestion hung in the air, potent and electrifying. Letting go. It was a concept alien to her, a luxury she rarely afforded herself. But in his presence, with his unwavering gaze and the warmth of his touch, the idea began to take root, a seductive whisper in the quiet storm of her mind. She leaned into his touch, a silent assent. He understood. He always seemed to understand.

He led her by the hand, not towards the bedroom, but towards the bathroom. The steam already hinted at the warmth within, promising a cleansing embrace. As she stepped under the cascading water, the hot spray instantly soothed her tense muscles. She closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her, imagining it carrying away the weariness, the weight of her responsibilities. Her uniform was discarded, revealing the elegant curves of her body, the pale, smooth skin unmarred by the harsh realities of the battlefield. Her breasts, full and shapely, swelled with the heat, their peaks hardening as the water cascaded over them.

Roy entered the shower, the steam immediately engulfing him, softening the sharp angles of his features. He watched as Riza turned, her back to him, her hair slicked back, revealing the graceful line of her neck. The water cascaded over her bare back, highlighting the subtle musculature beneath her skin. He reached out, his hands finding her waist, his fingers pressing gently into her flesh. She leaned back against him, a soft sigh escaping her lips. His touch was not demanding, but a comforting, grounding presence. Yet, beneath the comfort, a raw, undeniable desire began to surge within him. He had always found her beautiful, a stoic, elegant beauty, but now, stripped of her uniform, bathed in steam, her defenses down, she was utterly captivating, an almost overwhelming vision.

His hands moved lower, his thumbs brushing over the soft flesh of her hips. He felt her shiver, a tremor that ran through her entire body, a response he knew was not from the cold. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her damp hair, then trailing down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. Riza tilted her head back, exposing her throat, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He felt the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his lips, a testament to the storm brewing within her.

“You’re so beautiful, Riza,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. He moved his hands to her front, his palms cupping her breasts. They were full, yielding, the areolas darkening to a deep rose under his touch. He squeezed gently, eliciting another soft moan from her. Her fingers found his hair, her grip tightening as she arched into his touch. The steam swirled around them, a private, intimate world where only their shared sensations mattered.

He lowered his head, his lips finding the peak of one breast. He tasted her, the faint saltiness of her skin mingling with the water. He licked and sucked, his tongue swirling around the nipple, coaxing it to a hard point. Riza gasped, her knees threatening to buckle. Her hands were no longer in his hair, but gripping his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly. The sheer intensity of her reaction was intoxicating. He moved to the other breast, repeating the slow, deliberate caress, savoring the sounds she made, the subtle tremors that ran through her. He felt her surrender, a beautiful, willing submission that ignited his own desire to an almost unbearable peak. She was so much more than just a soldier; she was a woman with a heart full of passion, waiting to be awakened.

He guided her, his hands on her back, to the wall of the shower. Her legs trembled as she leaned against the cool tiles. He stood between her thighs, the warmth of their bodies radiating against each other. The water still cascaded down, a rhythmic punctuation to their increasingly frantic breaths. He looked into her eyes, seeing the raw desire mirrored there. He lowered his head, his lips finding the juncture of her thighs, the sensitive skin slick with water and her own awakening arousal. Riza cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His tongue explored, tracing the delicate folds, tasting the sweetness of her core. She arched her back, her hands fisting in his hair, her head thrown back against the tiled wall. He felt her climax build, a tidal wave of sensation washing over her. He held her through it, his mouth a fervent testament to her pleasure, until her body shuddered and she cried out his name, her voice a ragged whisper.

As her tremors subsided, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with passion. He saw the sheen of sweat on her skin, the flushed color of her cheeks, the lingering pleasure in her eyes. He knew, in that moment, that he had broken through her carefully guarded exterior, touching a part of her that had been waiting for him. He reached for her, pulling her close, their bodies fitting together with an instinctive familiarity. He felt her kiss him, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of gratitude, of release, of a love that had finally found its physical expression.

He slowly, deliberately, pulled away from her, his gaze never leaving hers. He stepped back, his own desire now a raging inferno. The sight of her, so beautifully undone, had awakened something primal within him. He unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric falling away to reveal his muscular chest. Riza watched him, her eyes wide, a newfound boldness in her gaze. The rain continued to beat against the window, a distant roar that faded into the background as their world narrowed to the space between them.

He reached down, his hand finding the edge of his trousers. He watched her eyes follow his movements, the blush deepening on her cheeks. He stepped out of his trousers, revealing the impressive length and thickness of his cock, hard and throbbing, an undeniable testament to his arousal. Riza’s breath hitched. It was magnificent, larger than anything she had imagined, a powerful symbol of the man she loved and desired. Her gaze traveled from the tip, glistening with precum, down the thick shaft, to the engorged balls. A delicious shiver ran through her. She had always admired his strength, his control, but this… this was a different kind of power, a raw, untamed virility that promised to consume her.

He reached for her, his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard length of his cock pressing against her, a burning sensation that ignited a fresh wave of heat through her. She instinctively opened her legs, a silent invitation. He nudged her gently back against the shower wall, her back pressing against the cool tiles, a stark contrast to the fiery heat now radiating from their joined bodies. He looked at her, his eyes burning with a fierce possessiveness. “You’re mine tonight, Riza,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

She met his gaze, her own eyes alight with a fierce, unyielding desire. “Yes, Colonel,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I am.”

He held her hips, steadying her as he entered her. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, satisfying fullness that made her gasp. He was so big, so impossibly thick, stretching her to her absolute limit. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body molding to his. He moved slowly at first, allowing her to adjust to his size, his deep, resonant groans mingling with her own choked cries. The water cascaded over them, blurring their vision, enhancing the intimate, primal nature of their encounter.

He began to thrust deeper, his powerful movements filling her completely. Riza cried out, arching her back, her hips meeting his with an urgent rhythm. She felt the slickness of their combined fluids, the friction of their bodies creating a powerful, intoxicating sensation. Her mind, usually so sharp and analytical, was a hazy blur of pure, unadulterated pleasure. She focused on the feeling of him inside her, the overwhelming sense of being completely possessed, completely loved. Her blonde hair, still damp, clung to her shoulders and back, framing the ecstatic expression on her face. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with passion, and saw the raw, primal desire etched on his face. He was utterly consumed by her, and she by him.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. Riza could feel herself spiraling towards a precipice, her body quivering with anticipation. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her moans growing louder, more desperate. She felt the intense pressure building within her, a delicious ache that promised release. He buried his face in her neck, his own groans of pleasure rumbling through his chest. The shower’s water seemed to amplify their sounds, creating a symphony of lust and love. He was pushing her, drawing her closer to the edge, and she was willing to fall, to surrender completely to the pleasure he was so generously giving.

“Colonel…” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din. “Oh, Colonel…”

He thrust deep one last time, his body tensing. “Riza!” he growled, his voice thick with orgasm. He felt her climax engulf him, her body clenching around him, pulling him over the edge with her. She cried out, her body arching violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. He shuddered, his own release coming in powerful, deep thrusts that pulsed through her. They clung to each other, panting, their bodies slick with sweat and water, their hearts pounding in unison. The intensity of their shared climax left them breathless, weak, and utterly content.

Slowly, the intensity subsided. He gently withdrew from her, their bodies still pressed together, the lingering warmth of their passion radiating between them. He held her close, stroking her damp hair, his lips brushing against her temple. The rain outside had softened to a gentle patter, a soothing counterpoint to the thunder of their hearts. He looked down at her, his gaze filled with a tenderness that mirrored the passion they had just shared. Her blonde hair was tangled, her eyes were still heavy with pleasure, and her lips were slightly parted. She looked utterly beautiful, completely vulnerable, and completely his.

“Are you alright, Riza?” he whispered, his voice still husky.

She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “More than alright, Roy,” she murmured, her voice filled with a profound sense of peace. “I… I needed that. Thank you.”

He held her tighter, his own gratitude a palpable force. “Thank you, Riza,” he said. “For… everything.” He knew, as he held her there, the steam slowly dissipating, that this was more than just a physical release. It was a deeper connection, a reaffirmation of a bond that had been forged in the crucible of war and had finally found its true expression in the quiet intimacy of their shared passion. The weight she had carried felt lighter, the anxieties momentarily silenced by the overwhelming power of their love. They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, the lingering scent of soap and their own mingled essences filling the small bathroom, a testament to a night of unburdening and unfettered passion.