A/N: Morning! I was looking a bit over the previous part and it struck me how it was a bit tame at times - well, at least to me. I wanted to rectify that with a continuation (also because these two are so fun to write), which I very much hope you will enjoy. This has the same warnings and disclaimer, evidently.

Thank you very much for reading and please, let me know what you think!

That being said, let us delve into the heart of the matter...

A Matter of Perspective, part 2 – The Talking Ladies

"Tsk, and they call this shit winter," Olivier Mira Armstrong spat dejectedly as she threw her gloves somewhere on the bed. She shrugged out of her dark overcoat, which she discarded on the nearest chair. With a heavy sigh, she plopped backwards on the mattress and bounced a little on it, its springs tensing and groaning under her weight.

The sheets underneath her were getting wet from the drizzling rain that has been following her like a particularly infuriating ghost – not that Olivier would ever find those phantasms terrifying or at least mildly relevant. She had seen real horrors - ghosts, ghouls or whatever people were afraid of would turn out to be one tasteless joke if they decided to pop up to say hello to her. They'd probably be scared by her, anyway.

Said rain soaked her to the bone and she was starting to shiver, so she guessed that it was a time just as good as any to change from her drenched clothes into something warmer and to do something better than strolling in the rain. Something that had to do with the great indoors, which, in her humble opinion, sounded much better than the water-pissing outdoors.

Olivier continued to sigh as she rose from the bed and then got up to her feet. She admired her work of art over the sheets that have turned grey from her sodden clothes. "Ah, fucking hell," she cursed and put her hands on her hips. She immediately regretted that, because her moist uniform pants started clinging to her hips and it felt so disgusting to peel them off her body.

She took her clothes off with a look of annoyance deeply etched in her features. It wasn't a pleasant ordeal to have to unglue layers after layers of thick fabrics which have decided that they very much preferred staying wrapped around her rather than drying off somewhere else. With a great deal of unneeded effort, the officer managed to get out of her uniform coat and shirt and then she opened her brassiere, its wired cups leaving angry marks under her breasts. The rashes stung her, but she swallowed up her discomfort when she bowed to untie her shoelaces and finally kick the boots out of her feet to dry.

The rest of her clothes soon found their counterparts on the floor, all gathered up in a soggy pile. The woman hugged herself and rubbed her sides harshly, the friction warming her up while she padded to the bathroom, leaving a damp trail behind her.

During the past few days, the Major General has been revelling in the wonders of a proper Western Amestris winter – cold rains and bone-chilling winds all day long. She wasn't a huge fan of staying out while it was snowing as heavily as it usually did in Briggs, but that damned weather surpassed all limits. It was simply outrageous. West City was, at the moment, the lousiest place to be in the whole country and she, because of her marvellous job as a commander, was stuck in it for the duration of an interminable congress.

Even if she despised the lengthy meetings, they sounded much brighter compared to the forecast. That weather was the kind one had to share with someone, because it was just that pathetic. Yet she was all alone in there and she had no one to complain to about the rain and muddy puddles.

For the first time since he's been assigned to the fort, Miles, her trusted adjuvant, couldn't chaperone her to a summit. He always followed her wherever she went because he was her assistant and that was one of his attributions, however, that singular time, he just couldn't come with her. They had mounts and mounts of work to do – much grander than the Briggs Mountains themselves – and, as the second-in-command, the Major had to answer to another request from his duty roll - supervising whatever had to be done and participating into finishing it, evidently. As much as he would have given up his arm to escape tedious amounts of paperwork and reports that always rushed in at the end of each year, he remained at the office instead of her.

Olivier submerged under the shower, hot water hitting her face and trailing down her body, heating her after the cold rain she had to endure on her way to the hotel room. She washed herself almost vengefully, like she wanted to take off her skin, frustrated that she had to go through those stupid meetings when she was needed elsewhere. She had better things to do than listening to aging idiots that rotted on their arses in their high chairs, talking nonsense and demanding blood for no reasons at all. The country needed proper leaders, she thought as she patted herself with a towel. She took another one and wrapped it around her wet hair, the other being tossed on the drying rack without a glance.

Naked, she walked to her travelling bag and took out a dark pair of pants and a blue-striped shirt, along with dry undergarments. After she was dressed, she turned to look at her sodden uniform, carelessly forgotten on the floor. She was thankful that she didn't have to wash it and she could just let it dry as it was – the seemingly unending meetings had finally reached their climax that day and she wouldn't have to wear it before she got back to the fort, where she had her other clean uniforms.

Naturally, she had a spare outfit with her, because she wouldn't go anywhere unprepared, and by all means, she didn't like to know that any of her attires weren't in top condition. At least that was the case with the uniforms she had at Briggs, which have been chosen with very much care to fit all of her and not to squeeze her like a sausage – mind you, hand-picked by her poor assistant who had to rummage through ceiling-high piles of blue coats and pants to find her right size because she didn't deem that task worthy of her time.

Now that she didn't have to wear either of the two that she has taken with her, they could very well burn, because she'd accidentally packed the ones that didn't close properly on her chest and she had to sit slightly bended so the coat's buttons wouldn't pop and take someone's eyes out. She only kept the ill-fitted tops because they usually spared her of any unwanted interactions with other officers at the mandatory parties she had to attend from time to time – most of the guests were men and far more interested in marvelling at her chest than talking to her when she wore them, which suited her just fine, as long as she didn't have anything to do with those speaking pigs and she could flee from the gatherings faster.

Armstrong settled with placing the drenched uniform pieces on individual hampers and let them sear on their own accord. Being done with that part, she turned to the sheets and scolded herself for soaking them, and probably the mattress underneath, too. She might have to sleep on the couch because of that. She could have asked for the hotel keepers to change them, but she didn't feel like doing it.

She took her book from the nightstand and sat on the cushy armchair by the window, opening the novel where she has left it the other night. She idly let the time pass, reading and listening to the rapping of the rain against the glass.

The pouring must have stopped, she noticed eventually, because the buzz in her peripheral had ceased. It was strangely quiet in the peach coloured room, too big to accommodate only one person. She didn't have to share it with anyone and she was grateful for that, but she didn't like sleeping in such large spaces that somehow seemed deserted. Though it could have been fully furnished to the point no one could go inside, it would still have felt empty to her.

Uneasily, she realised that the only thing that has kept her sane in that delegation has been the rain. Its monotonous tapping has made her feel safe in her lonely room, far away from her cold home in the North.

She loathed travelling alone, without her constant companion. Admittedly, Miles could get absolutely infuriating when he deemed that she was bored or maybe just a little under the weather, but she wouldn't have minded a bit of that annoyance. He would have probably started ripping pages from the telephone book and crumple them into small balls which he would have thrown at her. Or perhaps he would have put his pointy chin on her shoulder and read loudly in her ear, mindful to get ahead of her or to start from the middle of the page just to unnerve her.

Maybe he would have sat on the armrest of her chair and brushed her hair until it started to shine. He would have braided it and put ribbons in it, kissing each bow before he fastened it. He always seemed to have ribbons with him, all colours and sizes, ready to be tied in her golden locks.

Olivier closed the book with a smile. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she loved those little gestures that took her mind off her problems, that sought to soothe her and ail her pains. She missed him, all of him, with those endless talks he always seemed to start only when she was on the verge of falling asleep and his gentle embraces when she started to thrash around in her troubled slumber.

She clicked her tongue on her teeth and got up from the armchair. She didn't like thinking like that, she didn't like feeling weak and in need of company.

It was her last night in the West and she wasn't going to spend it in her room, sulking by the window and dreaming about colourful ribbons. She went to the mirror and looked at her reflection, blank and tired. She sat down on the little stool at her feet. Her hair has dried over the hours she has spent reading, so she brushed it, not gently, but purposefully. She pulled it back and twisted it in a thick bun, secured behind her head by a red tie she had snatched from Miles' infinite pile on one distant morning. He hasn't noticed it was missing, and if he had, he hasn't said a word about it.

She took her other coat from the rack, the one that didn't have any stars and tresses on its shoulders, and wrapped a luxuriant silver fox neckpiece around her neck. She liked that collar, not because it has been a ridiculously priced gift from her parents, but because it reminded her of Briggs and its heavy coats trimmed with fur.

Olivier made sure she had her identification papers and her wallet in her pockets and then stormed out of the room. She went unnoticed by the reception, skilfully avoiding being seen. No one needed to know she went out, that was one of the reasons why she had tied her hair in the first place. For some reason, very few recognised her if she pulled her fringe away from her eyes and styled her locks.

She pushed her hands inside her pockets and started walking aimlessly. After a bit of wandering, she entered a lavish pub, one that she would have never considered if she hadn't noticed the shiny handles of the barrels of beer going under the counter. Those looked enticing enough to Olivier, never mind those nicely polished tables and shiny stools.

One of the bartenders looked her over with an unveiled smirk, his eyes sparkling at her sight. "What can I offer you, my dear?" he asked, putting his elbows on the counter and gazing into her blue eyes. Olivier was aware she wasn't terrible to look at, but she didn't need some barman to ogle her. "Would you perhaps entertain a glass of our finest champagne, or maybe of a wine just as sweet as you?" he continued with a smile.

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from lashing out. That beer sounded too good to get herself kicked out of the bar just because of her big mouth and little tolerance to mindless flirts. "What beer would you recommend?" she said instead.

The man blinked, surprised by her choice. "We have a light-"

"Not light," she interjected, already getting tired of his approach. That's why she hated nice looking places - everyone took her as some feathery woman who couldn't hold her drinks. Real pubs with real drinkers had real bartenders who knew just by the look of her what she really wanted. Here, it all seemed faked.

She leaned over the counter and fixed the eyes of the man behind it, the honest colour of her gaze betraying her short temper. "I want something dark and potent," she demanded with certainty in her voice, clearly dismissing any advances the man would have dared to make on her. Her choice of words made her a little flushed for the obvious reason – it seemed her mouth went ahead of her mind and listened to what her subconscious was telling her she actually needed, and that was not something white and scrawny like the bartender-, but her determination didn't elapse.

He gulped, visibly startled by her intensity. Olivier drummed her knuckles on the wooden counter, waking him up from his reverie. "Yes, we have the best dark beer in this city," he assured her.

"I'll be the judge of that," she replied with a dangerous tilt of her full lips. She painted them red and she wore bolder dark lines around her eyes, all in hope that no one would recognise her in case she accidentally bumped into someone who knew her. Not that there were many brave enough to salute her – people usually cowered away from her.

The bartender poured the dark brown beer in a tall glass, the liquid seeming almost black under the foam at the top. She nodded approvingly. "And I'd like some cigars, the finest cut you have."

"I didn't take you as one who would smoke, not to mention cigars," the barman purred as he was pulling up a large, flat box.

She snorted. "Dear, you can keep those comments to yourself. I'm not the kind of woman you'd want to get involved with, even it was just one time, after a shift. Trust me," Olivier said with a little smirk. "How much do I owe you?" she asked kindly and paid for her order.

"Wave me if you need anything," the bartender called after her, looking with chagrin at her coat, its bottom margin floating around her ankles. She motioned her hand dismissively and went to one of the more secluded tables in the corner of the pub.

She took a swallow from her beverage and smiled. That man wasn't all that full of bullshit - he knew that what he served was good. She drank it like it was water and put the glass down with a low clink. She fished for the matches she was sure she has forgotten somewhere in her pockets, but a flickering flame rose under her eyes.

Her bartender appeared in front of her with a lighter and a new glass of beer. "I thought you might need these."

"Hmm, I sure do," she retorted and put the cigar dangling from her mouth over the flame, lighting it. She puffed it to get it started, then took a drag out of it. She leaned back to look for her wallet, but the man raised his hand.

"It's on me, Miss," he said.

"This one or-"

"Whatever you're drinking tonight from now on."

"Are you sure? I don't joke around with drinking nor with anything I do, you might end up spending all your payment for a few months if you're not careful."

"I will take the risk," he made, smiling.

Olivier tilted her head and her eyes narrowed. "Mate, I hope you do understand that I'm not interested-"

"Please," he interrupted her. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I don't see many proper drinkers in here, especially women. They're all classy and sweet, but they don't know what they're doing. I work here only because they pay me well, you see," he explained. "It's really refreshing to see someone who knows what they're doing, and I don't mean to disrespect," he added in case he had insulted her by accident.

"If that's so," she replied as she blew smoke over his face, "Let's have a deal. I pay for what I drink now and you can give me a glass or two on you after you finish your work. But nothing more than that."

The bartender grinned at her and nodded. "Let me get you some pretzels," he said and disappeared from her view.

Olivier sighed heavily and looked at the foam on top of her drink. She took Miles' advice and made some conversation with a stranger, but she still didn't think she was cut out for such things. She wasn't overly conversational, though that poor bartender didn't know that yet.

But she was getting a free drink later, so it was fine by her.

Time rolled about slowly as she nursed her second drink. She wanted to enjoy it, so she didn't gulp it down like she did with the first. She slowly smoked her cigar, looking through the window at the passers.

With the corner of her eyes, she noticed that quite close to her were four female customers, all of them wearing expensive clothes and jewellery. They were drinking wine, holding their glasses with panache in their small, gloved hands.

Olivier sharpened her hearing to catch what they were saying, because they looked like the kind who would be dumb enough to sound amusing after she'd drunk a bit more.

They were speaking with their high-pitched voices, laughing at their little jokes. Those were the type of women the Major General didn't like – the lovely wives with no brains but with a nice face on display. From what she has gathered, the red haired lady was at last getting married after they all have thought she would end up as an old maiden – though none of them could have been over twenty-five or at most, twenty-eight - and her already settled-down girlfriends were celebrating the happy event with her.

At first, their conversation didn't strike out, besides the occasional grumbling how their husbands – who were friends, probably - went out together because their wives weren't at home. After a few more sips of wine, which turned into glasses with time, their discussion deviated towards the more intimate aspects of married life.

"I'm so nervous about the wedding night," the future bride admitted to her friends, who all started to giggle around her.

"So was I when I married Frank," the one on her left said. "But he's been such a gentleman, and you know Richard is just the same."

The one with blonde hair, who seemed to be the oldest of them and married for the longest time, shook her head. "Yes, but men are always nice at first," she said sagely. "With time, it gets different and some men become... fidgety. You've heard what happened to poor Lisa, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?" the one whose hair was black and shiny asked with concern. She was gripping her glass tightly.

"Geraldine, you're so stupid," the blonde retorted. "You know what I mean, when they get tired of normal... intercourse and demand other things," she said, like she was revealing the greatest wisdom of their time. "When some start looking at less respectable individuals, outside their garden."

Olivier chocked on her drink. If that woman was as dull and uninteresting as she sounded, she didn't completely blame the husband if he started looking through the neighbours' bushes. But then again, that's what you get when you wed trophy wives with less passion than a log but possessing money-eating leeches in place of hands.

"I don't like those women who denigrate themselves like that, doing... other things," one of them said, a little embarrassed. "It's just so vulgar! That's not a thing a respectable wife should be doing."

"That's a thing for the prostitutes and other lowlifes," the future bride made disgusted.

"To think that some do it voluntarily - that is repulsive," the brunette said with a grimace. "I think it's a matter of education, too."

"But prostitutes? They do it because they have to," the blonde added.

"Only those with no status would work for a man's pleasure," the one with auburn hair interjected. "I don't know what I would have done if I had to work, that is not a living for a proper lady! But papa made sure my allowance is more than comfortable, he is so attentive with his girl," she giggled prettily. "Of course, Frankie doesn't need to know about that," she mouthed with complicity and the rest of the women joined her in her ringing laughter.

That was when Olivier decided she has had enough of listening to others' conversations. If a woman working honestly for her bread, no matter her profession - or a woman who was fucking her man sideways just because she wanted to, at that -, was considered some cast-off by the so-called high society ladies who probably didn't even know how to wipe their arses without a handmaid, then she didn't wonder why she has joined the army and lived in a fortification full of pricks.

Even her civilian sisters had their own professions and worked very hard. They belonged to an unquestionably wealthy family, but no Armstrong woman would ever stoop so low as to be assisted by their husbands or fathers without having to, Olivier thought with rage. Her mother, who came into the family by marrying their father, used to be a nurse before she'd retired and she has raised five children, still guiding the youngest of them – admittedly, with some help, but she has always been there for them. And, Gods forbid, their family didn't need the money from her mother's salary or retirement, but she liked knowing she had her own funds, no matter what. That's the way she's taught her four daughters and she has sworn she would strangle her only son with her own hands if he would ever marry some pampered princess who didn't know how to boil water or put the thread through the needle.

Olivier frowned. But if what those women said was true, then what she did in the privacy of her bedroom made her some sort of... what, a whore? That was a bit far-fetched, she thought, though it wasn't out of the question.

The four friends looked her way, apparently changing the subject to something concerning her. Probably they were commenting about what she was doing in a bar at that hour, smocking thick cigars and drinking by herself. Olivier didn't want to listen to whatever they had to say - she didn't entertain the idea of leaving the pub in a bloodbath.

Damn Miles and his stupid advices, she mentally complained as she crushed the cigar in the ashtray. She took what remained of her beer along with the bowl of pretzels and made her way straight to the nicely polished counter behind which her bartender was already pouring her another glass with a smile.

XXXXX

For the first time in ages, Olivier fell asleep during the train ride. She woke up with a start, feeling like she has just closed her eyes, and resumed looking out the window of her compartment.

She stood up with the friendly bartender later than she had originally planned. The man was apparently bored out of his mind with his job and wanted to open his own bar with a friend, but they needed to raise more money for that. They chatted amicably over a few drinks and by the end, Olivier was feeling so dizzy she didn't know how she'd gotten back to her room, but she could rightfully say she'd managed it somehow.

Her head didn't feel like exploding when she moved – not too much, at least - nor did she do anything stupid during the previous night, but the fatigue that has been piling up on her shoulders finally caught up with her and crashed down over her body like a wave against an unsuspecting fence. It appeared that she's slept almost throughout the entire travel and she didn't even know when that happened.

She was thankful that she had given herself a few days of leave from official business, because the first thing she did when she reached the fort was to land on her bed and sleep some more.

The following morning, shy knocking woke her up. She didn't understand how she could have possibly heard that faint noise when she hadn't heard the lively ruckus outside her walls, but there was definitely something more to it that it has made her get up. She hoped it was something worth her while, because she didn't know what she would do otherwise.

She opened the door and was instantly hit by the smell of coffee. She snatched the mug from the tray without looking at the one who was holding it and took a big gulp of dark brown liquid.

"It would be really easy to be poisoned if you do that without checking, you know," Miles said amusedly and raised the tray he was carrying to her face, signifying it hasn't been a genie that brought her coffee.

Olivier lifted her bleary eyes to the smiling officer, hoping that they looked menacing enough. They were definitely blood-shot, so at least she looked a bit rabid. "What do you want, Major?"

"Good morning to you too, Sir," he said, still smiling. "I brought you something to eat, you've missed lunch last night and today's breakfast."

"Damn, I could have died," she made sarcastically, but took the offered tray anyway. "Is there anything else?"

Miles looked a bit taken aback by her brusque tone. "Um, no?"

"Alright then," she said and closed the door in his face.

The Major blinked confused but then shook his head. "Mhm, great seeing you, too," he told to the door and headed back to the office.

XXXXX

As soon as she no longer felt, nor looked like a caveman, Armstrong started assessing the fort's doings in her absence. She was pleased to see that it was all working accordingly to her standards and that her men had acted like they had had their commander with them.

The inspection took most of the day and by the end of it, she was a little anxious to return to her usual business, but something held her back. Something that was resting menacingly on her tabletop.

She was shaped as a person of action, always on the move, and she felt out of place without her usual work. She took shifts with her soldiers and maintained the fort with them, and that was why she hated the end of the year in the military. She would have to do so much paperwork, she dreaded what dormant monster awaited her on her desk in the office.

While she was preparing herself to go to bed and finish her book, she realised that she probably wouldn't have that much work to do after all, because Miles definitely did some of her paperwork while she was away. He always overstepped his duties so they could finish quicker, usually overworking himself and looking worse for wear after that. He hated doing reports, however, he didn't shy away from helping his commander and she didn't know what she would have done if she didn't have such an efficient assistant. Buccaneer always made fun of the Major that he was married to his typewriter machine, but, at the end of each year, they took turns on making love to it so they wouldn't fall behind their daily chores.

Without thinking, she wrapped her coat around her shoulders and went down the familiar corridors leading to her second-in-command's quarters. She stopped in front of his door and frowned, bothered that she has gotten carried away when she could have seen him the following morning.

Though she was already there, so she knocked.

The door didn't open at first and she thought that it was better to leave. She couldn't explain why she has come there, because she was feeling too troubled to have any decent conversation with anyone. Miles would sniff her off immediately and start asking what was wrong. She didn't want to upset him or to be cheered up, either.

Just when she was about to leave, the door creaked open, the Ishbalan's head peeking out from behind the frame. "Oh, Sir, sorry for taking so long! I thought I've just imagined hearing the knocking, please come in," he said apologetically and stepped away from the entrance to make room for her.

Olivier entered and chanced a quick glance at her assistant, whose upper body was naked and had a towel around his shoulders. His face was wet and his hair was tied rather hastily in a messy thing that was neither a tail nor a bun.

"I'm sorry, but do you mind if I wipe this off?" he asked and pointed to his jaw, rimmed with something white that appeared to be some sort of shaving foam.

"I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"No bother, I was just finishing," Miles said and went back to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

After locking the front door, Olivier darted to his travelling bag under the bed, forever unpacked, and rummaged through it. She didn't find what she wanted and went to his nightstand's drawer. She found in there what she was looking for and put it aside, next to the hidden bag. She followed his trail to the lavatory and leaned on the frame, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Since when do you shave in the evening?" she asked, watching him wash his face and then his sharp razor.

"I have that feeling tomorrow is going to start really early and I thought that it wouldn't do me any bad," he explained and put a towel on his face. Voluntarily, the woman went to the small cabinet by the door and took out a bottle of alcohol. "Here," she said and passed him the bottle.

"Thanks," he replied and rubbed the clear liquid over his cheeks.

Olivier regarded him critically as he patted his skin with the astringent substance. "Did you ever consider growing a full beard?" she asked, looking at his neatly trimmed arched sideburns and clean-shaven chin. She really hoped he didn't. Those white arches were fun to look at and she took great pleasure from trying to pluck them out with her fingers, hair by hair - especially when he was sleeping.

His red eyes shifted to her, suddenly very serious. "And look like some old geezer? I'm a bit too young for that, thank you very much."

"Tsk, men and their facial hair," Oliver said unimpressed. "At least those things on your face aren't as stupid as Buccaneer's whiskers or whatever those shits want to be," she mimicked the Captain's moustache.

"That's rude, you know, and I don't think they're called 'whiskers'," he pointed out and walked past her. He picked up a long-sleeved shirt and put it on, covering himself. "So, Major General," he said officially," how was your delegation?"

"Don't get me started, Major," she made sharply, rolling her eyes even if he couldn't see her from his position, his head facing opposite of her.

Olivier watched his back muscles contort as he slipped under the dark shirt. She padded to him, silently approaching him. She got behind him and put her hands on his broad shoulders.

"Mm, that bad?" Miles hummed and rotated his neck to see her. He looked down at her with a warm smile. "What's the matter, Olive?" he asked gently and turned around. He cupped her cheeks within his palms and tilted her head up to see her better.

The woman narrowed her electric eyes. She had known that would happen, that he would catch the scent of her wariness and fatigue, but damn it, she didn't want to answer to any questions at that moment. All she wanted was to feel, to breathe and live. It appeared her infuriating travel has awakened something in her.

She slapped his hand away and rose on her toes. She grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head lower to meet her mouth. She kissed him hard, her tongue already pushing at his lips and demanding for access.

Miles' hands shot up to her shoulders in an attempt to unglue her from his face, but she didn't deter in her meticulous assault. She tangled her fingers in his snowy locks and he lifted her up, deciding they could talk about whatever was bothering her a while later.

With her legs around his waist, he turned them around and propped her against the wall, pinning her body with his. He cupped her cheeks and deepened their kiss, biting her lips and prodding her mouth with fervour as one of his legs trailed up the surface behind her back to support her weight. He pressed his knee between her legs and her hold around his neck tightened, her nails leaving crescent-moon marks on his shoulder blades. She rubbed herself against his raised knee, the friction insufficient through all those layers of fabric.

"Put me down," she managed to get out between the mindless spar of their lips. Her legs disentangled from around his middle. Miles rummaged his fingers through her hair as he slowly lowered Olivier to the floor. Like she was leading a dance, she spun him around and his back hit the wall. She captured his mouth again and pressed her shorter frame to his body, feeling him hot and hard through their clothing.

Miles bent down to accommodate her height, but he was pushed back by a sure hand. He looked at the woman, her sly eyes glazed over with mischief and something that made his heart skip a beat. The blonde slid lower on his abdomen, her chin snaking over his heated body as she descended to her knees. She stared into his eyes so intently, so sure of herself when she bit the little flesh that wasn't covered by the obnoxious shirt that didn't allow her to see the beautiful skin of her man.

He shuddered when her teeth grazed over his hip bone. Her fingers hooked around his pants' hem and she poked around with her nose, getting closer to the visible tent that erected at the front. She pressed her cheek to his hardened length, her blue orbs determined to hold his red gaze.

Olivier leaned back on the ball of her feet, her hands gripping his thighs for support. She raised one pale eyebrow and pointed to his groin, almost innocently surprised to find him so interested in her. "My, my, what is in there struggling to get out and see the sun, I wonder?"

"I don't think it's anything that awfully wants to see any sun or moon right now," Miles made jokingly and she smirked from her position on the floor.

"Of course not, it's hell's arse freezing over outside," Olivier commented and blew a cold breath over the poking prick to stand up to her point. She pressed her lips to the elongated form and bit its base, eliciting a little snarl from the otherwise composed man.

One of her hands rubbed up his leg and then got past the hem of his bottoms, fishing for the confined cock and freeing it without lowering his pants. Olivier curved her back and caught the tip of his dick between her lips, her eyes fluttering shut when she found him weeping for her attention. She rolled her tongue dreamily, lapping at the clear fluid that was spilling around her teeth and accepting more of the length inside her mouth with each twist over the throbbing organ. She nibbled at the thick pulsing vein on the underside of his member, getting a strangled groan from him. He languidly played with a loose strand of her hair, a hand clasped over his mouth as the woman opened her eyes and her throat along with them, engulfing more of the thick shaft.

Miles' hands grabbed her hair in a desperate attempt to get her away from him, because he didn't know how it would all unreel if she kept up with her ministration. Her angry eyes stilled him and she blinked approvingly, all the while swallowing more of his cock and breathing haggardly. Olivier pushed him to the wall with the bottom of her palms and she deepened the rein of his member inside her mouth, then withdrew until only the tip rested against her plump lower lip. Her gaze shot up at him expectantly.

The fingers in her hair tightened their grip and held her head in place as his hips moved forward. His cock slid wetly between her opened lips, touching him so delicately and driving him to the point of madness. He backed off then thrust back, slowly at first, listening to the little excited whimpers he got from Olivier. Her eyes were closed tightly and her pink lips were spread wide, almost in an open smile. Miles, for all his weaknesses as a man, wasn't fond of using her like that, but he couldn't deny her craves nor was he daft to ignore them. He lay his head back and his eyes instinctively shut, his vague strokes getting bolder and stronger, penetrating further inside the moist cavern.

Olivier let out strangled moans and her respiration became irregular, all her innards twisting each time the blunt head of his cock brushed over the back of what was accessible of her throat. It was overwhelming and she felt lightheaded in that panting trance, her breath constantly cut out and her muscles clenching to swallow down more of his length.

The sensation was intense but rather short-lived, because the blonde found herself being pulled upwards by the hair before she got to get used to it. She opened her mouth – suddenly dry and slack – to say something, but Miles covered it with his own, kissing her deeply and fully.

He walked them backwards to the foot of the bed and turned them around, so he could sit down. He leaned on his back and took her with him, each of her legs around his waist as she straddled him. He slowly revealed their naked bodies, discarding their clothes and throwing them away anywhere they landed. He raised his hands and cupped her breasts, his red eyes sparkling at Olivier as he rolled her nipples between his fingers.

She regarded him carefully, trying to decipher his expression, which wasn't awfully fitting for their situation. She felt a little like a cat caught with its paw in the cream jar and she didn't quite get where that feeling was coming from.

Smirking with what could only be seen as mockery, the quarter Ishbalan let go of her generous chest and tilted his neck to the side, his nose pointing to the edge of the mattress. She must have looked rather puzzled at him, because he snorted and shook his head. "Don't insult my intelligence, Olivier," he said, but he didn't seem in any way displeased.

"What do you mean?" she asked and put her hands on each side of his head, her heavy bosoms brushing over his freshly shaved skin and then on his sideburns, tickling her and igniting her core.

Miles pressed his index finger to her nose and indicated to the underside of the bed. She frowned, getting his signs. "How did you-"

"Mirrors, Olivier. They help you see what's behind you," he explained smugly. "You can take that out, it's alright."

She protruded her lips with a raised brow and he nodded most nonchalantly. She swung from his lap and dangled with her head turned upside down, looking under the bed. She grabbed the black box she has stashed away and pulled it up to the light.

Miles inhaled a little too evidently, but neither made any comment on that. Olivier stood up on her knees and put the package on the nightstand, then looked again into his crimson pools. He regarded her with utmost trust and adulation, and she couldn't help the heat creeping up to her cheeks in a rosy blush.

They kissed again while Miles' hand was blindly searching for something in the deep drawer of the nightstand. He put a clear bottle of lubricant next to the pillow he was reclining on and Olivier took it almost instantly, uncapping it and holding it firmly.

Long and sinewy digits grounded their tips in her hips, making her shiver when they moved to spread her buttocks apart and slid between her drenched lower lips. They tested her slickness, rolling around her clenching hole and brushing over the base of her clitoris most feathery, his touch supple and calculated. She bucked into the heel of his palm, but he caught her just in time and he continued his slow torture, one finger entering her then leaving the depth to swim upwards.

Olivier grunted something unintelligible and grabbed his wrist, steadying it under her departed hips and she rubbed herself on his palm, the bit of movement sending sparks through her spine and an incredible amount of wetness to his knuckles. She shakily rose from her position on top of him and went lower. She positioned herself on her elbows, between his legs, and looked up at Miles, whose messy hair was falling into his curious eyes. She chuckled lightly and caressed his inner thigh. He smiled at her and opened his legs confidently.

Despite appearing brave, Miles wasn't by any means sure if he actually wanted to repeat that strange experience from the previous summer, when his beloved partner fucked him from behind and slurred all sorts of profanities in his ear, but as he felt her hand skidding over his stomach, down his abdomen to his groin, he wondered where that uncertainty has come from. He wasn't feeling uncertain at all right then, having his lover sucking on the base of his cock and biting at where it jutted out of his body.

Her mouth opened widely as she swallowed the hard length with ease. She turned the bottle of lubricant in her palm, clear liquid pouring from it. She roamed her hand lower, squeezing the heavy sack under his pulsing need and finally reaching the junction between his bottom cheeks. He spread his thighs farther apart and one of his legs slid to the floor with a thump.

A coated finger encircled the ring of muscles and dived inside, penetrating the tight canal. She pushed it to the knuckle and then pulled it back. She plunged back inside and curled her finger, eliciting a little groan and a jerk of hips. She smiled around the dick in her mouth and sucked it harsher, sometimes rolling it with her tongue or hallowing her cheeks.

Miles' fists twisted around the sheets, his unfocused eyes set somewhere on the ceiling. He felt the rush of cold air over his member and he looked down. Olivier's cerulean orbs beamed at him as she disappeared between his legs, and he'd nearly bent down to see what she was doing before his spine curled backwards and a chocked cry escaped his throat.

Olivier licked around his arse and finally lapped at the clenched circular muscle, tasting the ridiculous quantity of lubricant she has poured on her hand. She moved her tongue testily, listening with half a mind to the more than approving noises she was getting. She backed off to look at her work and she grinned, seeing his hardened cock jumping irregularly and the muscles in his thighs spasm. She stuck her tongue out and pushed it inside the tight ring, feeling the muscles ripple as she advanced. Her hair was roughly grabbed but she wasn't pulled away, more like she was urged to continue. She thrust her tongue inside vivaciously, struggling to delve in deeper.

When she could barely feel her tongue anymore from the prolonged extension of the muscle, the blonde took his cock in a hand and brought it to her lips, enveloping it with her walls. One of her well-coated fingers slid inside his entrance and she thrust it precisely, wriggling around when it was buried to the base. Miles groaned and bit on his lower lip, unable to contain any sound but struggling to do so.

She didn't pay any heed to his sharp intakes of air and added another finger, then a third inside him, curling them and hitting his prostrate with each push. Thrusting himself upwards to meet her mouth and downwards to capture her moving hand, Miles thrashed around on the pillow and grunted gutturally, feeling every single nerve in his body ignite and send too much electricity to contain.

Her mouth suddenly filled with hot bitter cum and she swallowed it down, grabbing his hips to steady him as they shot up and his arse clenched on her fingers from the intensity of the orgasm. Just as brusquely, the hands in her hair disappeared and she pushed herself up on the elbows to look at the wheezing man.

Miles stared at her, his mouth agape and face in utter shock. "Shit, I'm so sorry," he mumbled and waved his hand indecisively.

Olivier shook her head. She smacked their lips together openly, letting him taste his spent on her tongue, and she groaned when he grasped her locks and twisted them around his fist, deepening their kiss.

Their lips departed, leaving them both gasping. Olivier touched the corner of her mouth and collected the small droplet of cum that has somehow evaded and sucked on the tip of her finger, looking straight into Miles' eyes. He swallowed drily, blinking in disbelief.

She tapped the same finger on his chin with a lascivious grin. "You'll feel really sorry if you don't get hard really soon," she slurred and grabbed his spent cock, "because if you don't, I might give you rooftops duty in your bare arse until your dick freezes over and falls off."

For some reason, he believed that she would keep that particular promise, so he nodded dutifully. If his body would be kind enough to recuperate as fast as his mind was demanding, he thought he would be fine as wind.

The woman straddled his lap again, that time to reach for the nightstand and take the black box. She opened it and turned it upside down on the bed. She started fastening the buckles of the harness around her hips, then overly-lubricated the rubber dildo standing ostentatiously at its front. "Open wider," she instructed and smacked his right thigh. Miles sprawled his legs and she slid between them, comfortably nestling over his body and kneading his cock to spring it back to life.

The heat in his lower abdomen reignited with each of her caresses and he was slowly gaining an impressive erection. Olivier smirked approvingly - she was pretty sure she has scared his organs into behaving accordingly to her whims.

She slowly pushed the dildo inside the fairly stretched entrance to his body and, to her surprise, one leg hooked over her shoulder. She buried the rubber appendage to the hilt, her stomach pressing to the base of his steadily hardening member. She didn't waste time on accommodation and she moved inside the man's arse, guiding herself by his elaborated breath and inadvertent grunts.

Olivier bent down to kiss Miles and she felt his burning length press between their bodies. It was a new sensation and it was quite enticing. She curiously rubbed her belly on the velvety hardness. He groaned in her mouth and planted a hand at the base of her skull, his hips moving in time to meet her thrusts to which he was becoming addicted. They were so much more exquisite than the previous time and he wanted to feel it all, to experience everything.

Something in him snapped and he pushed her away from him, their bodies losing their intimate contact. She panicked for a moment that she has done something wrong, but he put an assuring palm on her chest and straddled her lap.

He steadied the dildo with one hand and grounded himself on it, his insides accepting the intrusion more than readily. Olivier blinked dumbly at him. Seeing the man over her while he pounded her was one glorious image, alright, but seeing the same man on top of her, his thick dick standing proud for attention and his heavy balls resting against her stomach as he was lowering himself on a cock strapped to her hips was another thing. That was beyond praise.

He swung his hips, making her gasp when the strings of the harness moved against her cunt. He wore a feral smirk on his dark face, his loose hair framing his jaw like a halo. "I'm quite the sight, hm?" he purred smugly and rose from her lap, leaving only the tip of the appendage inside, then descending again.

Olivier nodded, her voice gone along with her reasoning. Miles started riding her, his cock jumping and slapping itself on her abdomen with each jerk. He increased his pace and she put a hand on his hips, feeling the muscles work under the glistering skin. She watched in awe watched how the dildo was being buried inside him and how he reeled and roared with untamed pleasure. Her own body was craving for its release and she shuddered whenever he was pressing himself over her, but nothing mattered more to her than how gorgeous he looked right then, like he was almost glowing.

She grabbed one of his wrists and with their hands entwined, she started rubbing his dick to match their pace. Miles groaned and regarded her with dilated pupils, gasping each time she nailed his prostate.

She could swear she would lose herself if she continued to look at him. Miles lowered himself a few more times until his cock pulsed spasmodically in their locked palms and he came again, all over her abdomen and chest. Olivier's legs pressed together to overcome the wetness that gushed out at that sight, the man discharging his load on her front and catching his breath with a hand on her hip.

He unsteadily dismounted her and opened the straps of the harness. He thrust three fingers at once inside her cunt and she screamed. Their mouths connected and her body convulsed, another digit joining its pairs inside her quivering heat. He fingered her hard, his hand entering her depth and stroking her insides with determination.

She clenched around his curled fingers and her pleasure rushed out of her with an unarticulated shout, helpfully muffled by his mouth. Olivier's eyes widened comically and she was panting desperately, the hand continuing to move inside her until she didn't hear anything but the blood boiling in her ears.

Spent and shaky, she fell to Miles' side, landing on his outstretched arm. He didn't even feel her falling, absolutely dazed by what has transpired between them.

Olivier snuggled closer to the furnace of his flesh. She let out a breathy chortle, the only sound she could make for quite a while. "Are you sure you're into women, Major?" she finally asked him.

Miles looked down at her and pulled a golden strand of hair behind her ear. "I quite like you, Sir, so I'm not sure," he replied with a straight face, then burst into laughter.

She elbowed him and he kept on laughing, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating in her ears. She pressed her head over his heart and listened to the organ's beat in tandem with the soulful laughter. She turned her head and brushed her lips over the rising and falling chest, then pressed her forehead to it. Miles' fingers slowly stroked her hair and he tenderly kissed the crown of her head.

Olivier gazed up at him and smiled. He returned her smile and studied her face, so radiant and beautiful, but it was impossible not to notice the drying mess on her upper body that was starting drip on the covered mattress. He coughed, trying to prevent the terrible flush slithering up his neck. "Let me get you something to clean that off," he mumbled and made to rise off the bed. Before he managed that, his aching knees gave out and his leg entangled in the loose sheets, and he dully fell to the floor, just like in a poorly-acted play.

"Um," Olivier started, but she wasn't sure how to continue that. Miles raised his head from the little carpet by the bed and thumped it back. "What was that supposed to be?"

He planted his elbows on the floor and slowly rose to his feet, still wobbly on his over-exerted knees. "I've got this," he said lightly and padded to the bathroom. He returned with a towel and threw it at Olivier's face.

She caught it and put it aside without using it. "Come back," she instructed and outstretched her arm to him. Miles walked to the bed and lay next to her on his usual spot, closer to the edge. Olivier absently rolled a finger over the thick liquid on her stomach, smearing it across her belly and then tasting it with her tongue.

She kneeled on the mattress and sat on the awestruck officer's lap. Still warm cum slid down her breasts, over what was left of it on her stomach and lower, toward the crevices of her hips. "You know what amuses me the most at you, Farid?" she said, using his given name for a touch of intimacy. "You can be absolutely adventurous one moment and then turn into the most prude man that has ever walked the Earth."

"I'm just balancing the odds," he shrugged. He raised his arms to her waist and stroked a dark scar that marred her skin. "What's the matter, my queen, hmm? What has upset you?"

"Nothing," she retorted and bowed over him. She caught the elastic that was holding his hair and untied it. She ran her fingers through his white locks, disentangling them and allowing them to fall on his shoulders.

"Try that again."

Olivier sighed and plopped to her side. Miles put his weight on his elbow and watched her wipe herself off with the towel. She was still not saying anything. "Olivier, my love, did something happen while you were away?"

"What makes you say that?"

He shook his head. He knew her approach on feelings – shoot them in the head and bury them deep. He knew her too well to let her go. "Not only that you didn't say a word to me since you've came here, besides when you've slammed the door into my face, but the moment I asked you about your delegation, you've pretty much jumped me."

"Am I hearing a complaint in there?"

"Ah, no, evidently not," he exculpated himself. "I'm not made of bricks, I'm not about to start refusing you just because the weather's not fine or I'm seeing things. I've got an overactive imagination, after all, it shouldn't be trusted."

She snorted. Mhm, overactive imagination indeed. "This can get a bit like a brick at times," she teased and brushed the tips of her fingers over his cock.

"Beside the point."

She breathed in deeply. "It was fine, kind of boring but fine, though on the last night, when it had mercifully stopped raining, I went out for a bit. It was all good, I met a bartender who was overly-talkative and we small-talked until the wee hours of the morning." She stopped abruptly and looked at him. "That doesn't bother you, right?"

Miles' eyebrow shot up. He didn't expect that question. "Um..., no? Why should it bother me? I'm always chatting with people, why shouldn't you? It's just surprising to hear you've interacted with someone without threatening them, that's all." He pensively rolled his tongue inside his mouth. "That's actually new. Are you sure you're alright?" he asked with concern.

"It surprised me too! But that's not it. While I was sitting at the table and drinking my beer most peacefully, I listened to some ladies talking. They made me... think," she admitted and started wondering if something was in fact wrong with her.

"Don't tell me you've been impressed by what some random women were babbling about."

"I told you I was tired, okay? It just got to me."

"What was that about?" he asked. He caught the curly end of one of her longer locks and rolled it around his finger.

"Miles, tell me honestly – do you think I'm easy?"

He blinked dumbly at her. "Easy? No, I think you're the most difficult person I know, but I've gotten used to that. It has become quite endearing, actually," he grinned.

She slapped him. "I didn't mean character-wise, I meant if you think I'm the kind who is willing to do anything in bed. That type of easy."

"Olivier," he interrupted her most seriously, "I've just rode a rubber dick on top of you, I don't know how objective my opinion would be." He stroked her hair and, finally, realisation struck him. "Are you perhaps... uncomfortable with what we did? Or do? I've got no problem if you don't want to do anything anymore, I'm happy if you only let me hold you or just talk to you or-"

"Ney, you're not getting out of this that easily," she said and motioned between them. "But they were talking about how only prostitutes and easy women do 'other things'. I can only guess what they were talking about, I stopped listening from that point."

Miles chuckled mirthfully. "No one's paying anyone for anything and I wouldn't bestow you upon my worst enemies, if that's what you're talking about. Did you seriously listen to some ladies talking about sex in a bar?"

"They called it 'intercourse', mind your language."

"Why, that's the proper word, but now that you've said it, I think I've made my case. Your youngest sister calls it 'fucking' and she's got the shiest eyes I've ever seen. Not to mention she's barely of age and looks like a doll." That was true, Katherine was the most suave and lady-like of the four Armstrong sisters, but whenever Miles came to Central accompanying his commander with business or simply on a permission, she snatched him and they talked of such rubbish that could easily rival to anything her oldest sister did when the mood struck her. "Honestly, Olivier, why did it affect you so much?"

She tilted her head in consideration. "I was listening to them and I was actually wondering if they'd suck a dick using a fork - they were all fancy and dressed up nicely -, but apparently that's too degrading for a proper lady."

He cringed. "A fork? That sounds painful."

"You know what I mean. Gods, those women were stupid, they don't know what they're talking about," she made angrily and looked up at him. She kissed him deeply, her tongue darting inside his unprepared mouth and exploring him passionately. When she let go of him, her pupils were blown wide and her breath was heavy. "You know what? Screw those pampered ladies who depend on their honourable husbands to pay their expenses - I've got money, I've got status and I can fuck my man however the hell I want."

"You tell them, sister," Miles encouraged her gleefully and laughed. She glared at him. "Sod off, I'm turning the lights out."

He raised his hand to stop her. "Let me-"

"You'll fall off the bed again, stay the hell down," she said and jumped out of the bed. It proved to be the wrong move, because she wasn't any much steadier on her feet than Miles. She padded to the wall switch and closed the ceiling illumination, the only light flickering in the room being the one of the feeble lamp on the nightstand. The pale light ghosted over Miles' reclining body and traced his hard body, from his broad shoulders to his slightly narrower hips and down to his long feet, all peppered with faint marks of his rocky military carrier. He was beaming at her and waiting for her to return by his side so they could finally sleep.

Olivier took another moment to explore his body with her eyes, then joined him under the cover. He hugged her tightly and she snuggled close to his chest, his warm skin making her feel safe between his arms. He stretched to the nightstand and extinguished the lamp, surrounding them with comfortable darkness. They said their goodnights and they closed their eyes, lulled into slumber by the heat of their chests pressing together.

The last thought she had before she fell asleep was that, if being 'improper' in the eyes of the 'high society' lead them to such sweet little moments, she didn't mind going down on her knees and enjoying herself with the one she would move the mountains for and she knew Miles was thinking just the same. None of them searched the approval of anyone and they didn't have to justify what they did together in the privacy of their quarters.

After all, no one needed to know that part of their story.

A/N: Ta-da, that was that! Thank you very much for reading and please, leave a review/follow/favourite! Thank you!

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And, until next time, bye, bye!