FMA -- Intention Things
Title: Intention Things
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: fem!Ed/Winry
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 735
Warnings: all aboard the speedfic train to Whatthehellsville; genderswap; schmoopy/mild sexual content
Summary: War breaks out between Winry's productivity and Ed's capacity for distraction.
Author's Note: For Pax and Pika! ♥ Forgive me if it's crap. Or if there are typos; zomg I don't think I even read through this properly, but now it's bedtime; I suck. :'D
INTENTION THINGS
The problem is the basic design-when the knee bends, it contacts the wires just a little, and over time the friction has worn off most of their insulation. If there’s much of any external movement at all at the time of the joint flexing, the bare wires will brush against each other, and bingo: blinding pseudo-nerve pain for one Mr. Fred Wrycker.
Winry likes to think she would have anticipated that pitfall and routed the wires more tightly to avoid it. But with the situation (literally) at hand… well, she might be able to replace these and restructure the underlying-
“Hey, Win.”
Mr. Wrycker couldn’t afford a whole new limb anyway; he probably couldn’t even foot (leg?) the regular consulting fee. Fortunately for Mr. Wrycker, he’s getting the gives Winry free samples of the best fresh produce in Rush Valley discount, and she thinks she can make the change to the existing…
Metal fingertips are flirting with the nape of her neck. “Hey, Win.”
“Hi, Ed,” Winry says. “I’m working.”
“But-”
“No buts.”
“You sure? I have a great butt. You say so all the time.”
“True as that may be,” Winry says, “I need to rewire this by tomorrow, and you were completely ignoring me earlier when you had your nose stuck in an alchemy book.”
“I didn’t ignore you,” Ed says. “Ignoring is an intention thing. I just didn’t even notice you were there. I was focusing.”
“You very clearly said ‘Fuck off, it’s Urbigerus’.”
A glance confirms that Ed looks legitimately pained.
Good.
“But I didn’t mean to,” Ed’s saying plaintively. “Would you blame a sleepwalker for crashing into a wall and leaving a dent?”
“You’ve done that, too.”
Ed waves her arms a little. “Exactly! And you didn’t get mad at me for it! You just kissed the bump and tucked me in bed again, because you knew I hadn’t meant any harm to the wall, and it just happened!”
Winry gives that one a good, long moment to settle in.
“So I’m a wall now,” she says.
The color actually drains from Ed’s face.
“Winry,” she says slowly, in her best placatory voice, “let’s… talk about this… like grown-ups… with our hands empty.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Winry says, swiveling around on her stool again to face Mr. Wrycker’s limb-in-progress. “I’m not going to drop what I’m doing to have sex with you just because alchemical revelations make you ridiculously horny.”
“They do n-I do n-ridicu-I didn’t say anything about sex!”
“Working,” Winry says.
“C’mon,” Ed says. “There’re a ton more hours between now and tomorrow.”
Ed, unlike normal people, does not seem to differentiate between daytime-hours-for-being-awake and nighttime-hours-for-sleeping.
“Besides,” Ed says; and a deft, cold fingertip trails down Winry’s spine while a deft, warm mouth ghosts over her ear, “you gotta let me make up for all the stupid shit I said.”
…it’s kind of hard to argue with that logic.
…and with the metal fingers hooking themselves into Winry’s ponytail and tugging gently.
“Fine,” Winry says, setting Mr. Wrycker’s leg down carefully so she doesn’t jar any of the wires she was fiddling with from their sockets. “But this better be good.”
It’s not good.
It’s spectacular.
Four orgasms later, Winry thinks that regular makeup sex might be very good for her work ethic. And for exercise. And just in general.
Except…
“Now I don’t want to get up,” she says to the Ed snuggling contentedly with her waist. “What if Mr. Wrycker comes banging on the door tomorrow demanding his leg back?”
“He won’t,” Ed mumbles. “First off, dude’s a total pushover. Second, he knows you, and he trusts you, and he knows your work’s worth waiting for.”
Sometimes Ed just says things like that-like she doesn’t realize how much they mean; like they’re a simple statement of fact.
“Third, not a whole lot of leverage for banging on doors if you’ve only got one leg. Guess he could bang with the crutch. But that’s not the same.”
Fortunately, Ed is excellent at reminding Winry that she’s not a sentimentalist.
She pokes Ed’s forehead, but not too hard. “You’re really lucky I think you’re so cute, you know that?”
Ed wriggles in a little closer and drapes her arm over Winry’s hips.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling fit to crack her face. “I know.”
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: fem!Ed/Winry
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 735
Warnings: all aboard the speedfic train to Whatthehellsville; genderswap; schmoopy/mild sexual content
Summary: War breaks out between Winry's productivity and Ed's capacity for distraction.
Author's Note: For Pax and Pika! ♥ Forgive me if it's crap. Or if there are typos; zomg I don't think I even read through this properly, but now it's bedtime; I suck. :'D
INTENTION THINGS
The problem is the basic design-when the knee bends, it contacts the wires just a little, and over time the friction has worn off most of their insulation. If there’s much of any external movement at all at the time of the joint flexing, the bare wires will brush against each other, and bingo: blinding pseudo-nerve pain for one Mr. Fred Wrycker.
Winry likes to think she would have anticipated that pitfall and routed the wires more tightly to avoid it. But with the situation (literally) at hand… well, she might be able to replace these and restructure the underlying-
“Hey, Win.”
Mr. Wrycker couldn’t afford a whole new limb anyway; he probably couldn’t even foot (leg?) the regular consulting fee. Fortunately for Mr. Wrycker, he’s getting the gives Winry free samples of the best fresh produce in Rush Valley discount, and she thinks she can make the change to the existing…
Metal fingertips are flirting with the nape of her neck. “Hey, Win.”
“Hi, Ed,” Winry says. “I’m working.”
“But-”
“No buts.”
“You sure? I have a great butt. You say so all the time.”
“True as that may be,” Winry says, “I need to rewire this by tomorrow, and you were completely ignoring me earlier when you had your nose stuck in an alchemy book.”
“I didn’t ignore you,” Ed says. “Ignoring is an intention thing. I just didn’t even notice you were there. I was focusing.”
“You very clearly said ‘Fuck off, it’s Urbigerus’.”
A glance confirms that Ed looks legitimately pained.
Good.
“But I didn’t mean to,” Ed’s saying plaintively. “Would you blame a sleepwalker for crashing into a wall and leaving a dent?”
“You’ve done that, too.”
Ed waves her arms a little. “Exactly! And you didn’t get mad at me for it! You just kissed the bump and tucked me in bed again, because you knew I hadn’t meant any harm to the wall, and it just happened!”
Winry gives that one a good, long moment to settle in.
“So I’m a wall now,” she says.
The color actually drains from Ed’s face.
“Winry,” she says slowly, in her best placatory voice, “let’s… talk about this… like grown-ups… with our hands empty.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Winry says, swiveling around on her stool again to face Mr. Wrycker’s limb-in-progress. “I’m not going to drop what I’m doing to have sex with you just because alchemical revelations make you ridiculously horny.”
“They do n-I do n-ridicu-I didn’t say anything about sex!”
“Working,” Winry says.
“C’mon,” Ed says. “There’re a ton more hours between now and tomorrow.”
Ed, unlike normal people, does not seem to differentiate between daytime-hours-for-being-awake and nighttime-hours-for-sleeping.
“Besides,” Ed says; and a deft, cold fingertip trails down Winry’s spine while a deft, warm mouth ghosts over her ear, “you gotta let me make up for all the stupid shit I said.”
…it’s kind of hard to argue with that logic.
…and with the metal fingers hooking themselves into Winry’s ponytail and tugging gently.
“Fine,” Winry says, setting Mr. Wrycker’s leg down carefully so she doesn’t jar any of the wires she was fiddling with from their sockets. “But this better be good.”
It’s not good.
It’s spectacular.
Four orgasms later, Winry thinks that regular makeup sex might be very good for her work ethic. And for exercise. And just in general.
Except…
“Now I don’t want to get up,” she says to the Ed snuggling contentedly with her waist. “What if Mr. Wrycker comes banging on the door tomorrow demanding his leg back?”
“He won’t,” Ed mumbles. “First off, dude’s a total pushover. Second, he knows you, and he trusts you, and he knows your work’s worth waiting for.”
Sometimes Ed just says things like that-like she doesn’t realize how much they mean; like they’re a simple statement of fact.
“Third, not a whole lot of leverage for banging on doors if you’ve only got one leg. Guess he could bang with the crutch. But that’s not the same.”
Fortunately, Ed is excellent at reminding Winry that she’s not a sentimentalist.
She pokes Ed’s forehead, but not too hard. “You’re really lucky I think you’re so cute, you know that?”
Ed wriggles in a little closer and drapes her arm over Winry’s hips.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling fit to crack her face. “I know.”