Fullmetal Alchemist, Hawkeye/Lust, gunkink
She shouldn't be out so late at night, not with Hughes' funeral in the morning, not with Roy still drinking back in that bar. But she'd be no good to anyone hungover and still stunned by Hughes' death. So she'd walk until her head was clear, and in the morning, she'd once again be what Roy needed.
The back of her neck prickled. Hawkeye tensed and listened. There, from the alley behind her, the click of footsteps. She turned just as a woman emerged.
Hawkeye tried to relax. Just another woman out to clear her head. Or on her way home from the theater or opera. Gloves were in style for the opera season this year, or at least they were in East City. Perhaps Central was different.
Anyway, the woman was certainly not a threat, not in that dress, but Hawkeye's body refused to believe her.
The woman smiled. "They say it's dangerous for women to be walking alone at night."
"Yes."
The woman's smile widened until it too much like a predator's for Hawkeye's tastes. "Perhaps you should hurry home," Hawkeye said. She looked the woman over, letting her eyes linger on the tattoo above her breasts. "You're not dressed for this part of town."
"Perhaps you'd be kind enough to walk with me a bit, soldier."
Hawkeye wanted to say no, but she was still in uniform. "To the theater district." That was close enough and, at this time, crowded enough that the woman should have no problem.
The woman fell in step beside her. "I make you nervous," she said after a few moments of silence.
"As you said," Hawkeye replied, staring straight ahead, "it's dangerous for women to be walking alone at night."
"But you can take care of yourself." The woman shifted closer. "Hmmm, soldier?"
The prickling on the back of Hawkeye's neck marched down her spine, and she was drawing her gun before her mind caught up with her hand. And a good thing she was, because the woman was fast. Hawkeye found herself pinned against the wall, her gun pressed into the woman's belly, her wrists burning under the woman's impossibly strong grip.
"Let go."
"No." The woman leaned in and kissed her, biting at her lower lip. She shifted and got her thigh between Hawkeye's, the pressure hard and wrong and also right, so when Hawkeye tried to squirm away, it sent a flare of warmth through her cunt.
"Are you going to pull the trigger?" the woman asked.
Hawkeye head-butted her. Her vision sparkled, but she wasn't so far gone that she couldn't take advantage of the woman's loosened grip. Hawkeye pushed herself free, got her gun trained properly on the woman. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "Call me Lust." She raised her hand and --
-- and Hawkeye tried to remember the exact number of beers she had with Roy. Too many, that was for sure, because the woman's fingers couldn't be knives, couldn't extend so quickly, couldn't have Hawkeye backing up against the wall again. And the woman -- Lust, how appropriate -- couldn't really be slinking towards her with that wide, hungry smile.
Hawkeye kept her gun steady. "What are you?"
Lust knelt. Her fingers shifted, sleek and cold against Hawkeye's jaw and neck. Hawkeye wondered if Lust could feel the thud of her pulse through them, because wondering why Lust was unfastening Hawkeye's pants, why she was leaning in and -- oh god -- taking the gun in her mouth.
Hawkeye gasped. At then Lust's hand was on her mound, Lust's fingers between her lips, teasing her to full wetness. And Lust's lips, red and luscious around the muzzle of her gun. And Lust's pleased little moans.
It was all too much. Hawkeye came, clenching tight around Lust's fingers, but her gun never wavered, though it took all of her will to keep it steady.
Lust drew back, smiling. "Impressive control." She rose. "I hope to see you again, soldier." Her fingers retracted.
Hawkeye stumbled forward. By the time she had steadied herself -- an instant, really -- Lust was gone. Hawkeye frowned as she tidied herself up. It had to be a hallucination. Yes, a hallucination brought on by the shock of Hughes' death, too many drinks with Roy, and her own fears and frustrations.
She wiped her gun clean and refused to look back at the nail-sized chips in the wall behind her. A hallucination. That was all. If it was real, she wouldn't be able to be the Hawkeye Roy needed in the morning.