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The wonder of devotion

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Winry opens her eyes in Ed's - he's so close, so reachable. She clearly feels a drop of sweat slipping over her temple, losing itself somewhere on her skin. She can't concentrate on anything other than Ed's face so close she can kiss him, their bodies tangled like the sheets on their bed, his regular thrusts - inside and out, filling and emptying.

There’s always been something deep and untold in their relationship, in their being them. Like an alchemy you cannot recreate with some circle on the floor or putting your hands together like you’re praying. In fact it’s something far more sacred, something alchemy can’t even aspire to be, more similar to the very creation of life. The creation of something that has always been a “us”.

Edward will always feel like that impertinent and orphaned kid he was, looking into Winry’s blue eyes. To Winry, Ed will always be Ed, that little boy who preferred actions to words - shouted loudly -, too proud and awkward to express his feelings but with the very strong desire to protect her, comfort her whenever she needed it. That little boy without a leg and without an arm she wants to help, take care of, wait for.

Ed’s life is all about leaving, coming back for some time and then starting again, again and again - a lifelong search. And Winry knows that her Ed will never stop. But, like she said, “there’s nothing more boring than a man who stays still”… and then, she’s made to love him forever, tirelessly, with devotion. Everytime, whether on arrival or departure, is a slow way to love, meet, belong to each another. Like making love. To come and go, back and forth, in a constant motion to hold on to, to be filled and to be empty. Like sex.

Ed's hand now is resting on her cheek - perhaps grabbing that drop of sweat - and everything seems to stop. He seems to search for something he's trying to say. Winry surrenders under him. After all those years of fighting, she's now being offered the option of true potency: surrender. It's not like give up possession of, abandon hope or give oneself up. It boils down to two words: let go. And so she pours her heart and soul into their bed, feeling small under his warmth and strength. 
His amber eyes soften. "I'll be back soon," he whispers and his hand frames her face while he's so damn close she can feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Winry just nods and waits for him to start moving in and out of her. It's like a ritual every time before he leaves which cannot be interrupted, otherwise it won't work. If he leaves without first making love, like every time, it's almost like having no guarantee of his return. What last memory of those burning eyes will she have?

He stays like that, not moving, just looking down at her for a moment. Her lips are slightly parted, his eyes glazed with desire, her pain forgotten for the moment. His breath is hot against her lips. Holding her gaze, he moves inside her with long, slow strokes. Their bare bodies brush together and her breath comes faster. He increases the pace of his thrusts again, turning long and slow to long and hard. Gentle to forceful and possessive, leaving her gasping. Then again. Another thrust. Then another. Again and again, filling her. She moves her hips in time to his trusts.

Seeing him, feeling him, having him above her is disarming, and she lets herself go, helpless against his body. Ed's fingers are hot and rough. They're human - with flesh, muscles and bones. But the metal, the bolts, the cables are still there to touch the skin of her legs and make her shiver with their cold and solid touch. She lets out a long moan and he emits a low groan ending with her name against Winry's neck, vibrating on her trembling skin. He collapses on top of her and then rolls to the side. Slowly they separate, still short of breath. He lies beside her and remains silent for a while.

She looks into his eyes that have become more tired. She feels the urge to caress his face, but resists and keeps her hands busy, rubbing the sheets that cover half their bodies. She still feels her skin burning, the sweat slipping on her body, a strange and sudden desire to cry blurring her sight, a massive lump growing in her throat. But she doesn't cry. She never does.

"I'll walk you to the station," she says, and he nods.

She sees him staring out of the window, then looking for her hand in a rapid squeeze he almost immediately lets go.

"Let's get ready", he got out of bed.

There's a stifling air and it's hard to breathe. This is always what she remembers best of his departures: the almost unbreathable air. Her mind begins to imagine the moment they will see each other again, but she doesn't even know when it will happen.

When they leave their house and walk together to the train station, there's a strange silence between them as if their minds have to memorize and enjoy every detail while their bodies have to gradually get used to live without each other for a little while.

They prefer a simple hug, maybe a kiss on the lips. “Be safe,” she says and smells his scent in one big breath.

Ed nods, smiling at her.

But this time, instinctively, Winry raises her hand to reach the boy's face.
Ed lets her warm, thin fingers run down his well-defined jawline to tighten up at his golden locks, barely pulling them, like she's trying to hold on to something in the midst of the storm that's overwhelming her and to which Winry completely indulges, forgetting that, just a few moments before, she was trying to resist.
Without any warning, he lets the suitcase fall, seizes her face in both hands and his thin lips crashed violently against hers, full and soft, involving her in a hungry kiss full of desire until she starts to feel it too. Until she was his. And she let him do it.
He's stroking her cheek pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face, while her bright, blue, starving eyes are telling him it's all right: you can go now.
He locks her eyes to his and watches as she shudders until her hands fall from his cheeks.

"Come back soon," she whispers, trying to overwhelm the noise of people getting in and out of the compartments.

To me.

She sees a brief smile appear on his face - Winry will never stop seeing him like her Ed.
He nods.

She watches him walk in the train car, put the suitcase on the racks above his seat and sit down.

A few minutes later, the train whistles, slowly moving on the track.

Winry knows it will be weeks before, perhaps, she gets a letter from him or receives that call: “Winry, I’ll be back tomorrow.” And, exactly like that time, after the Promise Day, when he told he’d come back to her, she gets the real message:

Wait for me.

And she does it. Every time.