Burn

"Burn it. So that no one will ever again be able to create a flame alchemist." Riza stands by the half-open window. The light curtains lift and swell in the draft, as if breathing. From the garden drifts the heavy, humid scent of summer and the fresh smell of cut grass. Roy can’t see Riza’s face, but he can hear the fear in her voice. Her elegant back is bare, her arms are crossed over her shoulders, fingers clutching her thin skin, kneading it in restless anticipation. In the darkness, the crimson weave of symbols looks like an amorphous black stain, a lace crafted by a masterful hand. Riza's shoulders tremble, as if from cold. She fights to stay composed, but she cannot deceive Roy. She is afraid of pain. They had spoken about this many times — that before Roy left for service again, he would help her erase her father’s dreadful secret. Now the time has come — and still Roy hesitates. He can't force himself to bring more suffering upon Riza. A deep breath — it has to be done. "I'll make it quick," Roy promises. He lifts his hand above the crimson tangle of tattoos, his fingers gently tracing each curve, bidding farewell to the past. He knows every letter, every stroke by heart. He had spent sleepless nights deciphering them, battling his own desires. He had promised his mentor to protect his daughter, not to drag her into bed. And Roy kept the promise even though sparks had flown between them. Riza was impossible not to fall for. Slim, beautiful, strong-willed. Not as simple as she might have seemed at first glance. Always cautious, never the type to throw herself into the arms of a powerful man. Independent. Someone you wanted to win over, to claim — and yet Roy’s ingrained sense of honour kept him from overstepping. Even after the mentor’s death. There have been many beautiful women around, women whose names carried no burdens, and still Roy has honoured and respected his mentor. Professor Hawkeye was a genius. He created a new form of ancient alchemical knowledge — he reinvented fire. By refusing to teach Roy directly, he only inflamed the already burning curiosity inside him, and at the first opportunity, Roy latched onto the secret. At first, he hadn’t thought of the living, breathing woman whose back bore the intricate cypher. Only at first. Service by day, sleepless nights spent deciphering the code together, mistakes, retries, blurred symbols. Roy couldn’t help but fall for her. Riza had not been a silent manuscript; she had stayed alive, present. She could not guide him, but she had eased his torment with her presence. She had not flirted openly, but she had been a good companion, a welcome distraction. Roy kept himself restrained. He had a task, a goal — and he had achieved it. But now his focus shifted. From the flame alchemy to the woman carrying the secret upon her back. "This is your father's legacy," Roy says, wanting to delay the inevitable for a little longer. "As if that matters to you," Riza replies. She is right. Destroying the tattoo means destroying the competition. Flame alchemy is a powerful and destructive weapon, and Roy has no intention of sharing it with anyone. He wants to rise higher, to reach power, to change the world, to protect those he loves. And to do so, he has to sacrifice the one he swore to protect. His thoughts tangle together, like a ball of yarn after a cat’s play. Power, danger, might, and pain walk side by side. After all the destruction, all the pain Roy caused with his own hands, the only right thing left is to destroy the source — the tattoo on Riza’s back. To leave this power to himself alone. He struggles with doubts once more. As if he hasn’t already made up his mind. But even the lives of thousands he has taken weigh less heavily on him than the prospect of burning a single woman’s back. For Riza, this is a burden. If Roy burns the tattoo, he will free her. She will be safe. The secret, ruined beyond recognition, will be buried with her father. Even if someone discovers the tattoo, it will be a useless remnant of lost power. No one will touch Riza. What purpose did the mentor pursue when he marred his own daughter’s back? Why reveal the secret at all? Even when Roy joined the military, the mentor had allowed him to learn the use of fire. Perhaps he pitied his daughter. Didn’t want to leave her alone. Perhaps he had wanted Roy and Riza to grow closer. If so, then he truly was a genius. "Are you afraid?" Roy’s own voice sounds foreign. A stupid question at its very core. Roy himself is uneasy at what he has to do. Riza stays silent. The heavy air wraps around them, suffocating. Roy traces the elegant lines of her body with his gaze, aching to touch her — but not to cause pain, not to scorch those cyphers, not to leave scars. He wants to touch her with his lips — gently, warmly. The fire burning within him cannot be extinguished — but it could be restrained. And Roy restrains it. He sighs — one last attempt to dissuade her. "It will hurt," he says. "Whom?" Her voice is empty, dissolving into the darkness. Roy hesitates. Riza, of course. "Burns hurt unbearably. It’s agony," he says. He knows it firsthand. He has burned himself countless times during training. But those are just scratches compared to what Riza is asking him to do to her. "Agony is living with the eternal reminder of what we did in Ishval," she replies. "And you want me to replace it with a new awful reminder — of me?" "Replace it with something else," she says. Riza turns abruptly. The pale night carves her silhouette out of the darkness. Moonlight silvers her light hair. Roy wants to turn away, not to look at her bare chest, not to meet the burning gaze in her eyes — but it is too late. His eyes devour her, and Riza steps forward, reaching out — and their lips meet for a fleeting moment. Roy doesn't let her pull away. He pulls her tighter against him, pressing her body against his. Riza is playing with fire — in every possible sense. Roy wants her, and she knows it perfectly well. He can't pretend otherwise. Riza has become far more than a comrade or a source of knowledge to him. She is a close friend, a support, an anchor. To spoil what they have with sex feels a shame — but how much longer can Roy hold out? He has planned to leave — even knowing that Riza will eventually follow him into the military. He would have had time to cool off. She would have understood that she would never be enough for Roy. She is smart. She knows he doesn't waste time. Roy reluctantly pulls away, removing her hands from him. "You’ll regret it," he says. "Let it be," she whispers. She reaches for him, her fingers sliding under his shirt, tugging at his trousers. Riza presses closer, her warm lips covering his again. Thousands of "buts" turn into a single "let it be," and Roy gives in. He grabs her seemingly fragile shoulders, caresses her soft skin, and buries his fingers in her light hair. Her heavy, scorching kiss burns him. Riza feels light in his arms. On the faded sheets, she curls up, covering her bare chest, finally shy, as if remembering that she is still a woman, not just a machine for following orders, not a toy in someone else's hands, not a sheet of her father's documents. Roy kisses her with all the sincerity he can muster, caressing her tenderly. He knows she is embarrassed — ashamed — but in this moment, she wants him to have her. At least in this, they are one. Roy explores her anew — as if he hadn't seen her half-naked a thousand times before. Only now he allows himself to see not the cypher, not the manuscript — but the woman. And deep inside, something trembles. Riza answers his kisses, timidly touching his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut when he pulls down her skirt and underwear — but she doesn't resist, lifting her hips to help him. Roy doesn't wait. He strips quickly, tossing clothes onto the bed, kissing Riza wherever he can reach. Underneath him, she is soft, pliant — not the Riza he is used to seeing. Flushed and shy, she is beautiful to him. She has never lost her composure before. Even when she had to undress for him to study the secret of flame alchemy, she had shown no sign of discomfort. She had simply done what was necessary. Roy has always admired her self-control. Now he sees her — truly sees her — without masks or barriers. He is leading her into unknown territory, where she has no control. And just the thought that he is her guide — it makes him almost lose his mind. His hands touch her firm thighs. He kisses her full breasts, moves higher to her slender neck, feels her shuddering under his touch. He savours every second. In the moonlight, her skin looks almost luminous. Her hair is spread across the pillow like silk. Her amber eyes watch him, pleading for him to go on. He doesn’t resist. Between her legs, she is already wet. His fingers slide easily over her softness, probing gently inside where it is unbearably tight and hot. Riza shivers, her fingers clinging to his shoulders. Roy kisses her mouth, tenderly tracing her lips with his tongue, opening her, slipping inside. Her tongue meets his, shy but eager. The ache below is unbearable. He can't wait any longer. Roy positions himself, rubbing his tip along her slick folds, coating himself, pushing slowly inside. Riza hisses and pulls away slightly, her nails digging into his shoulders, but Roy holds her firmly. There is nothing he could do to ease the pain — she has to endure it. And she does — she doesn't try to run, doesn't push him away, but stays, trembling beneath him. Riza wanted him to give her good memories, but will she remember this night with warmth? Or will it leave just another painful scar? Roy pushes deeper, feeling her tightness envelop him. It is almost unbearably tight, hot, wet, and so good. He squeezes his eyes shut from the pleasure, pressing his face into Riza’s neck, kissing her carefully, almost apologetically, for the pain he couldn’t spare her. Riza quivers under his kisses, moaning softly when his hands find her breasts, caressing her swollen nipple. He plays with her body, distracting her from the pain below. Slowly, Riza relaxes, her breathing evens out. Roy feels her fingers stop digging into his skin. He pulls back just enough to look at her. She looks at him with such devotion, such trust that his heart twists painfully. Roy knows — she understands everything. That she won’t be the only one. That there will be no bright, beautiful future waiting for them. That they will both be buried deeper in the army, serving faithfully like dogs. That this fleeting connection is all they can ever have. Roy will soon leave, as if nothing had ever been between them. And Riza will have to live with it. She knows it. Maybe that is why she has kept him at a distance for so long — to avoid this pain. Roy won — and yet he doesn’t feel victorious. In this closeness, there is only sorrow. Only the desperate need to fill the gaping void inside with each other. Her amber eyes shine with tenderness, and Roy surrenders. Nothing else matters anymore. At this moment, he simply wants to be with her. He slips out when he pulls back, his stomach tightening painfully with the need to return to her warmth. Riza looks at him, confused, and Roy pulls her toward him, guiding her to turn over onto her stomach. She obeys, exposing her slender back. The crimson traces of the tattoo twist over her shoulder blades. Roy knows every curve by heart. He has dreamed of this so many times, but never believed he would ever touch Riza this way. He kisses her back — the circle between her shoulder blades, the symbols along her spine, the salamander near the base — as if bidding them farewell. Tonight, they would be gone. He promised to free her from this burden. Roy lifts her by the hips. She arches her back obediently, watching him with sharp, alert eyes. He strokes her between the legs, spreading her wetness along his fingers, teasing her until she shivers. Roy positions himself again, sliding into her more confidently this time. Riza arches further, her hips rising to meet him, impaling herself on him, and Roy nearly loses control. He collapses over her, pressing close, savouring the hot, slick feel of her body against his. Roy kisses her shoulders, her neck, the back of her head. His hand slides around to her belly, then lower, finding her clit. Riza moans quietly when he rubs it harder, when he thrusts inside her with more force. Time stretches, thick and slow, like a dream. Roy pounds into her greedily, the wet slap of their bodies filling the room. The fresh scent of the garden mingles with the salty smell of sweat and sex. Roy breathes shallowly, almost gasping for air. Riza meets his thrusts eagerly, her hips moving in rhythm with his. Below, everything burns with impatience, the pleasure building higher and higher. Riza doesn’t hold back — she moans loudly, her voice filling the room. Roy drinks her in. Her hot, strong body, the elegant curves of her hips. He sits back on his knees, grasps her thighs, spreading them slightly. The view is just stunning. The delicate arch of her back, the way his cock disappears into her slick heat — it is maddening. Just a few more thrusts — and Roy pulls out sharply, spilling himself onto the crumpled sheets, collapsing to the side. Riza snuggles against him for a brief moment, then pulls away. She looks at him as if not believing what has just happened. Roy reaches out, tucks a lock of light hair behind her ear gently. "Please... help me," Riza whispers. It isn't a request — it is a plea, a cry. But Roy can't help her. Even if he erases the tattoo, the real pain within Riza runs too deep for him to burn it out. "I can’t," he says. "Roy." She lies in his bed, flushed from his touch, close to tears. The sound of his name — without rank, without distance — tears at him. "I want you to do it today. Now." He searches her face, looking for the slightest trace of hesitation — and finds none. Only cold certainty. Her amber eyes fixate on his, and Roy realises he has no choice but to surrender. There is no point delaying what is inevitable. Better to leave everything here — in this wrong, forbidden night. Roy pulls Riza close, wraps his arms around her shoulders, brushing aside her tangled hair. He runs his hands over her smooth back one last time, kisses her tenderly, stealing a few more seconds. Then — a sharp snap of fingers shatters the stillness. The sweat on her skin instantly boils. The stench of burnt flesh, terror, and pain fills the room. The skin blisters, bursts, tears apart. Roy can’t even hear Riza’s scream over the pounding of his own heart. He erases the most important parts of the tattoo, the ones that held the secret, without them, it becomes meaningless. Such destructive power — and so easily destroyed. Has this been the teacher’s plan all along? Riza claws at his skin, her nails scratching deep, trying to pull away. Roy lets her slip from his grasp. She trembles violently from the pain, burying her face in the pillow, whimpering, clutching the sheets in her fists. Her tears soak into Roy's skin, chilling it. He feels like shit. He should leave — give her space to breathe, to tend to her burns — but he can’t. Carefully, he strokes her unburned shoulders, staying close while Riza lies curled up on the wrecked sheets. Roy sits half-upright in the bed, leaning his head back against the cold wall. It does nothing to calm his thoughts. He wants to forget — not think about it for a second longer — but every breath Riza takes tears him apart. Roy understands — with the tattoo, he burned away something inside himself, too. He has bound Riza and himself together forever. And if they are to burn — they shall burn together. Down to the ashes.