Written in a flurry of creativity and suddenly dedicated to fringex1 LJ for her beautiful GaaTema story.

Everything I'll Never Tell You

Roy stumbled from the kitchen, biting his lip as the dulled pain of glass dug into his foot. The beer was all over his floor, he couldn't think well enough to find a rag and mop it up. He ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to think through the rising headache. A blood trail dribbled across his clean carpet. His curse trailed off into a murmur of discontent. Bleah, he'd figure it out in the morning.

The pile of papers waiting for him on his desk seemed quite hazy, and he was sure that Riza was not going to be pleased with him. He let out another muted groan at this realization, and felt his chest contract warningly.

The bathroom floor was freezing, and the icy chill momentarily freed him from his daze. Make up an excuse for why you're screwed up tomorrow, because she'll have your head, he told himself with a whisper of a chuckle. She won't believe you anyway.

He slumped, gasping and rubbing his lips against some toilet paper. "Fu-uck." The smell was awful, and he watched the lever waver in front of him before he finally was able to press it down.

Somehow he made it to his bedroom, and he curled up underneath the comforting sheets, wrapping his hands around his body. He wished he could turn on more heat, but for some reason he always seemed to be running out of money. Maybe it was all those flowers and that jewelry he bought for those stupid girls and the beer he drank for his poor aching head. Whatever. Right now he was drunk, cold, and his head was hurting like hell.

The beer couldn't block out the way Winry body made fire race over his skin and set his heart pounding in his chest. He was so smooth, so perfect around everybody else, and so every time he saw her he was forced to flee with a grunted excuse. The façade must go on. Roy was imperfect, so imperfect. Any other girl he could charm into his bed with ease, smiling and chuckling and generally carrying on like he was in love.

It was all a terrible lie, because he was a sick human being deep inside. He really couldn't help it, he told himself unconvincingly as he forced his shaking hands into his pants. She was beautiful, and he had ruined her already. The gun slipped from his fingers, and he stood, uncertain that they were dead, and uncertain that that really was blood crawling down her chest.

And now he wanted her with a desperate type of lust. He didn't really want her. Oh, he didn't know anymore. He slipped his hands down his shaft, shivering despite the sweat dribbling down his forehead. He wanted her beneath him, whispering words of forgiveness over, over and over again.

"I forgive you, Roy Mustang." No, no. "I forgive you, Roy." He moaned, forcing his face into his pillow. Sick, twisted human being you are. She would smile and kiss him, her beautiful eyes large and innocent.

But when she really saw him, her eyes would narrow and she would frown. He imagined that deep inside she was struggling not to cry, and he could barely keep on looking. He knew that some day his eyes would start to trail down her chest, examining her hips and her perfect legs. And then she would know without a doubt who he really was, and never speak to him again.

He shut his eyes and gasped out, feeling himself tense as he neared release. "I think you are a beautiful person." She'd open her legs for him, and pull him down towards her, her fingers caught in his hair. "I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you!"

His fingers were sticky and he rubbed them against his sheets. Chest heaving, he felt the self-loathing that automatically followed. It overcame him, rushing through his veins. "Forgive me, please…please…" he whispered, body drenched in sweat.

For everything you know I've done, and everything I'll never, ever tell you.