I kissed a stranger in a white dress

She put a crown on top of my head

Said every king needs a queen in his bed

I said, hey

Girl, hey girl

I like to stay

Here for a while, just you and I

Far from the places we can't get away from

She said, hey

Boy, hey boy

I like your style

I let you play me for a while

Play me till the sun rises

Play me like a violin

- Stephen "Play me like a violin"

Here are secrets that nobody knows but Roy; Riza's lips taste like honey, she's shameless in bed and she is absolutely defenseless when it comes to neck kisses.

He pins her to the wall of her living room and here's the best part – she lets him do this, smiling against his lips and skillfully sneaking her hands underneath his shirt to spread them between his shoulder blades. He shivers when she gently traces the line of his spine with the very tips of his fingers and then opens her lips wider so that he can slip his tongue inside her mouth.

She's so playful today; he can't wrap his mind around it. Carefree in the way she bits on his lower lip and humms in appreciation when he pushes his leg in between her tights. And not that it's something he's not happy about- because saying that he's unhappy right now would be an understatement of a century- but he just doesn't know why. It normally takes more time to coax her into this mood; she would double check the curtains in the room, go through their daily schedule to make sure that he was not seen entering her apartment and lock Hayate in bathroom with a bowl of water and few dog treats before he could even steal her a kiss or two.

And he doesn't complain about it, wouldn't even dare to complain because he knows why he's so careful, so restrained. Why she keeps herself in check at all times, on high alert. His very existence depends on this instinct of hers.

But well, it's fun to just- have fun. To just kiss her, just hold her without going through the whole security protocol beforehand. Just feel her against him, so warm and so eager, with her bright eyes and hair unbound. It's almost as if they were kids again, chasing each other through the forest near her house, playing hide-and-seek in raspberry bushes and ending up scratched all over and joyful. Her hair was shorter then and he was scrawnier and they were both idealistic and innocent, but she still enchants him with everything she is and does, even after all those years.

There are her fingers in his hair, tugging on strands more forcefully than usual and she wines impatiently as he takes too much time with the buttons of her blouse. And as much as he likes this penned up frustration of hers that shows, he doesn't want her to be tense, so he smirks and presses a wet kiss just underneath her jaw and – as if he pressed some secret button- she just sags in his arms, her legs giving up beneath her, only his hips and hands keeping her standing.

He laughs. She grows.

"God, fuck you, Roy."

She only ever uses his name like that, when they are both stripped out of their clothes and their ranks and positions, and it is a really strange experience to be turned on by the sound of one's own name, but well, they are a strange pair. And when she calls him Roy like this, with lips swollen and eyes half-lidded, with this husky, breathy voice of her- it makes his blood boil.

" You're welcome." He shots back, pushing his hips against hers and making her gasp louder and louder and he continues to kiss his way down the column of her neck. More teeth, more tongue; her nails clawing against the skin of his back, her legs trembling, the smell of her intoxicating.

He gets away with teasing for a while, but when he sucks on her pulse point she just straight-up moans and this is too much for both of them; quicker than his brain can register things her has her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck and he holds her up as she's kissing him with reckless abandon, spit on their chins and his five-o-clock shadow irritating her cheeks.

Damn this woman, damn her.

Suddenly she's all around him, she's all he sees and all he feels; his senses can barely keep up with her and he has lost this game before it even started, because all he can really do I hold her up as she presses herself to him as closely as possible, taking his shirt off him and leaning her head down to kiss his exposes collarbones.

He stumbles on his own feet as he rushes to her bedroom, blind and deaf and so achingly hard it's almost embarrassing. Then they bump into the doorframe and he mutters so-orry under his breath, grunting when she slowly rolls her hips against his in response, apparently to punish him, because she is the menace of his life.

He lays her down on the bed, kneeling in-between her spread legs and just looking at her for a moment. Half of their coworkers would not even recognize the woman lying in front of him as orderly Riza Hawkeye - not in this heavily panting, wild beauty with a mess of blonde tresses around her head, flushed cheeks, and red, wet lips.

They would never, in million years connected put-together Lieutenant Hawkeye with this woman. Her breasts are spilling out of her modest white bra and she deliberately licks her lower lip and reaches for his hand and places it in-between her legs to let him know how wet she is, her body twitching and spasming desperately when he covers it with his.

They would never recognize her because they have never seen her like that, nobody has ever seen her like that but him and this sight of this woman is his and his alone and this thought is roaring in his head, in his veins, makes him boil in his own skin.

Mine, he kisses the top of her breasts, nudging the cups of her bra down to suck on her nipples, his hand slipping underneath the band of her undergarments. Mine, mine, mine.

Yours, she throws her head back, breathing heavily and leaving crescent-moon marks with her nails on his biceps, spreading her legs wider. Yours, yours, yours.

Mine, she pushes up her hips and throws him off-balance so that he lands flat on his back, her hovering above him and undoing the claps of her bra, pressing kisses down his chest and letting him tangle his fingers in her hair. Mine.

Yours, he pulls his pants down, closes his eyes for a moment and seeing the stars burning on the underside of his eyelids as she sinks down on him, her body so warm and so familiar to him, even more than his own. Yours.

They know each other so well, get each other so perfectly, fit together just right.

And then there is the dance they've been dancing for so long that the steps are already familiar, but they never fail to make his breath catch; he lays his hands down, palms up and open and she takes them, her grip strong and sure. He opens his eyes to see her staring down at him, eyes hazy but shining, her smile blinding, her expression infinitely soft.

They wouldn't recognize you darling, because they don't know you; but I do, I know you, I've got you.

He raises one of his hands still laced with hers and uses his knuckles to brush loose strands of her hair away from her face. Her fringe is plastered to her forehead with sweat; there is a hickey already beginning to redden on her neck.

" I love you" he whispers, but he wants to scream. With him already half-buried in her, her tights shaking and naked, she looks like the ruler of the stars, the queen of this whole damn world.

( I'm gonna give it to you, I'm gonna get there; I'll wrap this world in ribbon and set it down your feet, he promised her once wordlessly, after they first slept together; she was asleep then, laying on her front, with her burns still fresh, trusting him with everything in her, even after he betrayed her so terribly. Best of women, a diamond amongst pebbles. I'll make it right for all, but especially for you).

"I love you too." She says and starts to move.

Here is the worst kept secret in whole Central City, a secret that still nobody knows and if they did, they wouldn't believe it anyway; the famed womanizer of Amestris is, at his heart, a one-woman-man.