Roy’s internal clock is a well-oiled mechanism indeed. Just after 6:30, with the weak light of dawn gathering strength on the other side of the curtains, he opens his eyes.
He always hesitates when he wakes up these days—he pauses, blinks, and then remembers that this is not a dream; Riza Hawkeye is, in fact, lying next to him, curled up with the comforter.
Roy smiles to himself and reaches out to trace one fingertip slowly along the edges of the scar tissue he left, the obliterated masterpiece, and then gets distracted from the familiar sigils by the curve of her shoulder-blade.
“You are a tease, sir,” Riza mumbles.
“Good morning to you, too,” Roy says. “It’s part of my roguish charm.” He would offer to bring her breakfast in bed, but, in his extraordinarily accomplished life, he has yet to produce a piece of unburnt toast.
Riza rolls partway over to blink at him. “What time is it?”
“Too early for even the best of lieutenants to start the day,” Roy says, sitting up, “but I want to get through that paperwork that you distracted me from last night.”
Riza props her head up on one hand. Roy has to concentrate on not looking at the edge of the comforter where she’s hugged it to her chest, or he’ll crawl right back into bed to share her warmth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Riza says. “I seem to recall agreeing that you should get some work done and then walking into the bedroom.”
“Dropping articles of clothing as you went,” Roy reminds her.
The corner of Riza’s mouth twitches. “I assumed you were too intent on working to concern yourself with my attire or lack thereof.”
Roy is not reliving the memory in detail. Certainly not. “And you think I’m a tease?”
“I don’t ‘think,’” Riza says. “I know.”
She sits up, folding her legs beside her, stretches, reaches out to curl a hand around the back of Roy’s neck, and drags him into a deep, heady kiss. Her fingernails graze the nape of his neck and send goosebumps flooding down his arms.
“Shall I make some coffee to help you work?” she asks.
“On second thought, Lieutenant,” Roy says, “I want you to make some official revisions to my morning agenda.”
“Yes, sir,” Riza says, and she sweeps the warm comforter over him again.