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The threat of Resembool’s summer makes the air sticky even in May. The better part of July will be unbearable, and Ed will complain about it constantly. For now, the heat dissipates quickly in the evenings-- or at least, it should. High summer came early the night she’d kissed him in the kitchen, and Winry carries the heat of it around in her skin; it prickles and flares when she catches him looking at her.
That’s how it starts: his eyes tracing up her legs and his cheeks going pink when she catches him. Because she can, she walks right up to him where he is sprawled on the sofa, leans down and kisses him. It was supposed to be lighthearted, but as soon as she pulls away, Ed leans after her. One hand alights tentatively on her hip; in answer, she kisses him again, harder this time. Still, when his mouth opens for her, it startles them both.
The angle is bad, so gingerly she sinks into his lap; the hand on her hip comes to rest at the small of her back, anchoring her. They haven't quite worked out how to breathe and kiss at the same time. It doesn't seem like it would be that complicated, but if she does it for too long, it makes her feel a little lightheaded.
Winry breaks away from his mouth abruptly, sucking in much needed air. Ed laughs softly against her cheek, but it's breathless too; in retaliation, she twines her fingers in his hair and tugs his mouth back to hers. Perhaps he wasn't quite expecting it, or wasn't done laughing: their teeth bump together, but it does nothing to abate the mid-July noontide flush creeping into her skin.
Ed shifts her so she presses more fully against him, and the old sofa groans in protest. It’s not quite big enough for the two of them. Well, not like this, anyway. Ed's feet hang off the end, and she has to trust him to hold her securely on his lap lest she fall; but he's not likely to let her go anytime soon. If anything, he pulls her closer as their tongues twine easily together; his growing arousal presses against her thigh.
Experimentally, Winry rocks against him; Ed gasps into her mouth, and she smiles.
"Something funny?" he mumbles against her skin, his mouth swollen from her kisses.
"Not at all," she says softly.
His eyes rake over her, her hair in disarray and her blouse half unbuttoned; something soft lingers at the edges of his gaze. He looks away for a moment, swallows. A band of low golden light coming in from the window touches his throat. Winry brushes her fingertips against it.
"Ed? What is it?"
Ed turns back to her, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth "I--" He licks his lips, starts again. "You. You're just--" He sits up, pulling her more firmly against him; what he can't say with his words he says with his mouth, kissing her with startling fierceness. It's her turn to gasp then, and Ed swallows it greedily.
He kisses down her neck, making her arch into him. Whatever tender caution they had has burned off; their hands are certain as they strip off all the clothes they can reach.
Ed cups her breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. It's a tiny movement, but she presses into it all the same. He grins wickedly, bending his head to pass his tongue over the same spot; his arousal presses against her just so, and she rocks into him, seeking what little friction she can get through their remaining layers. When he closes his mouth around her and sucks gently, she muffles a moan into his hair.
He breaks away again, looking a little more smug than she thinks is strictly necessary. "I want to hear you do that again." he says, and it's not smug at all: it's low and a little hoarse, like he has surprised even himself. "I want--" he pauses, glancing up at her almost shyly. She nods.
"I want to kiss you everywhere," he says. She nods again, absently. "Everywhere," he says again, meaningfully.
Oh. A hot wave sweeps the length of her spine like a shudder, and her mouth goes suddenly dry. "Yes," she murmurs against his mouth, grinding down hard against his hips.
Ed shifts them both, pushing her back against the arm of the sofa, but she's not quite ready to stop kissing him; her leg gets trapped, and he lands rather heavily on top of her. They are not ungraceful people, usually, but their bodies don't quite know how to go together yet. His hand lands in her hair, tugging painfully.
"Ow, Ed!"
He doesn't apologize, but he sucks a hard kiss on her neck that makes her inclined to forgive him anyway. They adjust around each other, and while it's not exactly comfortable, it'll do.
Winry traces the broad plane of his back as he trails kisses down her throat and over her breasts. His body is an interplay of textures, the muscle of his back and shoulders interrupted by scars and keloids; she touches each one in thanks. When she rakes her fingernails lightly over his back, he shudders. He traces answering patterns over her belly, following them with his mouth.
Ed fumbles with the button on her trousers, like he had fumbled with the clasp on her bra the first time. But he gets them open, and off, and her underwear after them, with little enough fanfare.
Winry flushes, suddenly very aware of her nakedness, though he's not much more clothed than she is. The last slanting light of the evening cuts orange and gold across her body; it catches in Ed's hair. He trails his fingertips up her legs and over the back of her knees. A sudden knot of nervousness coils in her belly, but then Ed meets her eyes, and it makes her breath stutter and her body ache.
She parts her knees for him eagerly, his weight settling over her again. He kisses her belly again, and her hips, trailing soft, maddening kisses down the inside of her thigh. Ed glances up at her, head cocked in a question.
"Stop teasing," she admonishes.
He grins, and does as instructed. The first swipe of his tongue over her is fluttering, experimental; little more than a taste. But the next is hard and too rough, and her hips jerk away reflexively.
"Gentle," she mutters.
He softens, licking over her sensitive lips but avoiding her swollen clit; Winry bites her lip, little sparks of pleasure spreading out from Ed's mouth against her. His tongue is softer, wetter than his fingers, the sensations more diffuse. Still, she spreads her legs wider for him and the broad, lazy strokes of his tongue.
But soon it becomes either too much altogether, or not nearly enough. She presses at his shoulder and he stops, resting his head on her thigh.
"Yeah?"
"Um. Could you--maybe harder?"
In response he licks right over her clit; the angle is bad, or the sensation too sudden, and she yelps.
Ed frowns. "Show me?"
It feels like the blush springs up from the very core of her, and whether it's trepidation or desire, she couldn't say. Winry nods, letting her leg fall off the sofa, spreading herself for him with her fingers. Sweat has beaded along his temple and his cheeks are a deep red; the sunset gold of his gaze illuminates her.
She shows him, her fingertips tracing up and across her clit, and down, in the pattern that she knows well and he is beginning to learn. He mimics the movement with his tongue; when it draws a low moan from her, she can feel his smile against her.
Her hand settles on the back of his head as he works her, surer now than before. The sweep of his tongue is still soft and a little strange, but the rhythm now is perfect, and she murmurs encouragement in counterpoint. What were sparks before become bright lines of pleasure, her nerves lit up by the trace of his tongue over her clit. Her words quickly fall away, replaced only with his name and little blasphemies as she rocks into his mouth.
Her fingers tighten in his hair, and Ed moans a little against her.
"More," she demands; in a fleeting moment of coherence, she realizes that it was probably not a very helpful instruction. But Ed understands her; he rolls his tongue harder against her, and instead of jerking away she presses into him this time.
Sweat drips into the small of her back, and her calves tighten almost painfully. Her whole body vibrates like a string, beyond the pitch of human hearing. The bright, teasing edge of her climax makes her teeth ache; a low whine builds in the back of her throat.
Desperately, she scrabbles for his wrist where it rests against her thigh; she pushes his hand down without releasing her hold on his hair. Perhaps he smiles; but when he hooks two fingers inside of her, she cannot possibly be aware of anything else.
His name bursts unbidden from her lips and Ed glances up at her, his eyes wide. It’s almost enough to make her regret the onrushing of her climax, the inevitable end; but even if she wants to live here forever, her whispered demand is to keep going, don’t stop. He seals his lips over her clit, his fingers working inside her and his tongue against her. She cries out again, her voice breaking as she comes, her whole body shuddering and arching into his mouth; Ed steadies her through it, working the very last tremors out of her, until her oversensitive body can no longer bear it and she pushes him away.
When she opens her eyes, he is over her again, and definitely looking smug this time.
"I'd say that was a success,"
"You could use some practice," she says thickly.
"Hey!"
She cuts off his protest by wrapping her legs tightly around him; he jerks against her. When she kisses him, he tastes of her pleasure, and when she strokes her tongue against his he moans into her mouth. Her hand slips into his boxers and closes around his cock, and Ed shudders in her arms, murmuring her name. She kisses him as she strokes him, exploring his hypersensitive mouth. That, more than anything, is what makes him buck into her. It's only a few heartbeats before he thrusts raggedly into her hand and comes with a breathless, choked off moan.
He all but collapses against her, and it drives the remaining air out of her lungs; she breaks away from the kiss reluctantly to shove at his shoulder.
"You're crushing me," she says; it was supposed to sound pert, but mostly it sounds kind of hazy.
Ed makes a muffled noise into her skin and moves himself into a slightly less uncomfortable position. The old bolt in his shoulder digs into her, but she doesn't entirely mind it.
"I'd say that was a success," she says, teasing.
He huffs a laugh into the hollow of her throat. "I thought you said I needed to practice."
"You do."
He grins, promising and wicked. "Okay, good."
She kisses him again, softly, and there's that breathlessness again; it catches in his chest too, and maybe that's how it's supposed to be.