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All's Fair

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The training room was crowded, as it often was after hours, though perhaps not to the same extent. It wasn’t everyday, afterall, that the soldiers of Fort Briggs got to see their very own queen take on her men. They expected her to win, they’d be fools not to, but Major Miles was a worthy opponent.

At least, he hoped he was. General Armstrong was grinning at him in a very unsettling way and he could hear Buccaneer taking bets. Miles shifted his stance and glanced over at Karley who was holding the whistle. The communications officer gave him a look that strongly suggested he had bet against him and put the whistle to his lips.

Miles’ eyes shot back to the general, who looked calm and focused, her long blonde hair for once out of her face, plaited in a long braid, and both her bright blue eyes piercing him where he stood. The shrill of the whistle pulled him out of his revere in time to leap back as she struck first, leading in with a kick that narrowly missed his abdomen. Hand-to-hand unarmed combat was usually his specialty, few of the men capable of besting him, but only a fool would mistake Armstrong’s skill with a sword for reliance.   

Immediately he could hear the cheering and jeering begin, but he tuned it out, focusing all of his energy on her. She was barefoot, as most fighters were in these matches, and he couldn’t help but notice how small the absence of her boots made her seem, even as she came at him in a flurry of fists and feet. He dodged and blocked, letting her blows fall on his upper arms while he hunted for an opening. She was guarded and he didn’t dare make an uncertain move, knowing she would only be victorious.

“Did you come here looking for a beating, Major?”

He ignored her taunt, even as the crowd erupted in laughter, and dove at her. She leapt out of the way and he staggered whipping around in time to dodge the kick she aimed at his back.

“You were too far away when you started that move.”

Irritation flared in his stomach, frustrated that she had the breath and presence of mind to critique his form in the middle of a match. He took a deep breath and abandoned his defensive strategy in favor of a more aggressive one. She grinned, dodging his blows with ease. Soon, though, her smile faded and she began to have to work in earnest to defend herself from his assault. She ducked under his extending fist, ramming her shoulder into his ribcage and throwing him off balance.

He swung his arms in an attempt to maintain balance and possibly throw off her balance. Heat flooded him as his hand connected with the soft flesh of her backside and upper thigh. Though he doubted the slap was any louder than any of the other noises of combat it seemed to reverberate through the room, followed by the loud oohs and gasps of the watching men.

The flush on her cheeks could easily be attributed to the intensity of the match, but he doubted that explained the flash of rage in her eyes. He swallowed, but before he had time to so much as think of apologizing he was ducking, and failing to dodge, an onslaught of blows. She wasn’t holding back any longer and pain exploded through him at every contact. He fought back just as hard, the crowd fully drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears and the ringing cracks of fists landing on his body.

It wasn’t his fault, he’d reason later, she was short. Shorter than most of the men he fought, and his blow was aimed too high. She staggered back, off-kilter, as blood spurted from her nose. The opening was there; the victory his for the taking, but he hesitated, hands half-raised and she rebounded, throwing her full weight at him and knocking him flat onto his back, the wind knocked out of him.

“Tch!” She shot him a look of pure contempt as she straightened, clutching her bloodied nose. Someone was rushing to her side, offering ice, and someone else was shouting, and it was pure chaos. The general waved them all aside, storming from the room.

Buccaneer’s face loomed large in his vision, and Miles allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Tough luck, Major.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, and headed toward the locker room, the volume in the room already rising.

“What was she so pissed about? She won, didn’t she?”

“I can’t believe the major socked her in the nose!”

I can’t believe he spanked the queen!”

Burning in shame, he quickened his pace, trying to ignore the howls of laughter following him. There was a certain refuge in the showers, whatever locker room talk or jeers might be outside, the showers themselves were considered soundproof, however little they actually were, unspoken etiquette dictating that no conversation passed between the thin curtains and walls.

Miles slumped against the wall, hot water rushing over him and stinging several previously unnoticed scrapes and soothing sore muscles. He ran a hand through his hair and mentally double-checked that he’d remembered to remove his goggles, something he’d forgotten on far too many occasions, before slowly glancing down and confronting the true source of his shame. He was hard; had been from the moment the general had stepped into the ring, her workout gear no more revealing than anyone else’s yet seeming to cling to her curves in just the right ways.

He groaned quietly, disappointed in himself even as his fingers wrapped around his cock. Yes, her fists and feet hurt like hell, but he secretly revelled in every brush of her body against his. He wasn’t one to use the sparring as an opportunity to cop a feel, not on purpose anyway, but what he did feel was always enough to arouse him to dangerous levels. He was barely aware of his hand moving, pulling and squeezing, of his breath catching, yet, the memory, however accidental, however humiliating, of the feel of her backside beneath his hand was a nail in his coffin, and he came, grateful the shower masked the sounds of his moans.

The look Buccaneer gave him was entirely too knowing as he exited the shower and gathered his things, attempting an air of dignity as the men snickered and muttered to each other. With any luck, one of the men would get drunk and moon the mess hall so he could stop being the subject of embarrassing rumors, but in the meantime, best keep his chin up and try to act professional.


Olivier perched on the lonely stack of gym mats left over from the days when the room had been slated for combat training and waited. There was no guarantee Miles would be coming; the note she left had been vague enough should it fall into another’s hands and still, she hoped, clear enough that Miles knew it had been a request and not an order.

The corner of her lips turned up in a half-smile as the door creaked open and the major stepped in. In spite of the late hour, he was polished not a hair out of place, his PT uniform unwrinkled. It was something of a pity, she privately thought as she looked him over, the few times she had succeeding in catching him unawares she had found his sleep-rumpled appearance rather endearing.

“Hello, Miles.”

“Sir,” he saluted her swiftly, but she waved it away.

“This is an informal call, Miles, no need for formalities.” He nodded, but did not relax his stance. She rose, padding across the cold floor toward him. “Do you know why I called you here?” He shook his head slightly, as she came to a stop mere inches from him. “I desire a rematch.”

One silver brow shot upward, “I thought that particular right belonged to the loser?”

“Not in this case,” she smirked again, watching a faintly unsettled expression flicker across his face as she reached up and pulled his dark goggles off, “unless you’re afraid to be beaten again?”

“No, Sir.” His silvery-white lashes fluttered slightly as he spoke and she wondered why.

“Tch! I told you this is an informal meeting.”

“Indeed,” he acknowledged, sounding more perplexed by the minute.

She studied him for a long moment, and his brow furrowed as he looked down at her. Finally, she stepped back. “I’ll give you a few minutes to prepare; I don’t want to win on account of a pulled muscle.”

If being watched while stretching bothered him, the Major didn’t show it, and if she was being honest with herself, she rather enjoyed what she was seeing. He was well-muscled in a way that spoke of his hardwork and dedication, not the overblown muscles that vain fools like her brother developed.

He gave her a half-smile as he stepped into place before her, raising his hands. It seemed her staring had not gone unnoticed as in a surprisingly bold move the major let his red eyes sweep over her once, his smile growing slightly. It drops off suddenly as she shifts her stance, and he nods his readiness to begin.

No matter how many times they sparred, she was always impressed by how well he took her blows. He was balanced, steady on his feet and solid beneath her fists. Much like herself, he was solid on the defensive, but unlike her, easily frazzled if forced into an offensive role. They could go in circles for hours, but if she could get under his skin and unbalance him emotionally she could have him on the ground in a matter of minutes.

“So, Miles, why did you hesitate?”

He didn’t flinch, caught her fist as it swung toward his face, “what?”

She yanked her arm free and kicked at his thigh, “The other day, in the ring.”

He pivoted out of range. “I wasn’t sure if I could land the hit.”

She swung again, “you knew.” He didn’t respond, instead stepped back again. He looked composed, but he faltered just enough for her to know it was a front. She launched herself at him again, her attacks gathering speed in a flurry of limbs. “Do you think me weak?”

He backed up again, losing ground faster than he could afford. “I-”

“No lies, no bullshit!”

Miles swung back, regaining only a foot of ground, and breathing heavily. “I just hesitated.”

“No one ‘just’ hesitates,” she bit back a snarl of rage, “there’s always a reason!”

“I-” he broke off as her fist collided with his stomach.

She grabbed his shoulder as he doubled over, gasping for air. “Stop making excuses, you-” he swung toward her, grabbing her waist and throwing her onto the ground. They grappled for a moment, before he had her fully subdued, her hands above her head, their bodies pressed together, faces inches apart.

“This is why.”

She didn’t have to ask for clarification; she could feel the hardness pressed against her thigh. “Tch! Is that all?” The look of affronted confusion on his face was almost amusing. “Half the men here get hard ons when they fight me! The other half are gay.” She sighed, when he blinked down at her in silence. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Miles. It’s only a biological reaction-”

“No.” He shook his head, “No, it’s not.”


“It’s more than that.”

“How do you mean?”

“Fuck’s sake, Olivier!” He shook his head again, tendrils of soft white hair escaping his ponytail and swaying at the motion. “You know what I mean.”

She swallowed, “I-”

“I can’t stop thinking about you! I’m by your side all day, but at night I don’t want to leave you! Yes, I want to make love to you, but it’s not just that. I want to hold you and tell you how brilliant you are.”

“Miles, I’m your commanding officer.”

He stiffened, shifted as though preparing to rise, “yes, Sir. I’m sorry, I-”

“That isn’t what I meant.” She sighed quietly as he blinked at her. “Are you sure you’re not confusing admiration for something else?”

“I admire many of my fellow soldiers, there are a few I’m even attracted to, but none who captivate my mind and soul the way you do. I know it’s impossible, but I couldn’t not tell you. Not when you think that I-”

She pushed herself up to close the few inches that were still between them and kissed his lips. He fell silent, kissing her softly back until she dropped back to the ground. “I’m sorry, Miles, it’s just the regs-”

“Fuck the regs!” He squeezed her wrists slightly, “fuck the military! If they had their way I’d be dead now, so I don’t care what they say! I know, I’m supposed to be on this path of showing them how wrong they are, but I’ll be damned if I let them take away one more thing I care about!” Her mouth fell open in surprise at his outburst, and he seemed just as taken aback himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I don’t mean to pressure you.”

For the second time she silenced him with her lips on his, this time not so softly, but fierce and determined. He released her wrists slowly, shifting to cup her face with one hand, the other tangling in her hair. They broke for air only when they had to, and stayed close, their noses touching.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, so long as it’s what you want.”

Her reply was a swift movement that spun them, landing her on top of a rather stunned Miles. She grinned at his wide-eyed look. “You didn’t think you were really holding me down, did you?”

“Why you-!” He didn’t finish his exclamation, opting instead to pull her down for another kiss.

She rocked against him, earning a moan, and clawed at his shirt, deepening the kiss. He responded in kind, nipping at her lip and hands roaming her body, scrambling for purchase. She pulled them up, yanking at the hem of his shirt until he wiggled out of it. Muscles rippled under dark, scarred, skin and she murmured appreciatively as she ran her hands over his bare chest.

A tug on her own shirt made her grin, but she was determined not to make it easy for him, occupying his mouth and thoughts with her kisses, arms sliding around him and down to grab at his backside. He didn’t seem to mind, following her lead and shifting eagerly, his erection pressing against her crotch as she moved, hands stopping their tugging to ease under her shirt.

“If all our enemies were as easily distracted as you, Mustang might be onto something with his miniskirt army idea.” Her smug whisper had something of the desired effect as his fists clenched, nails digging into her hips.

“Mustang’s just hoping for a glimpse of your panties,” his annoyance amused her, but wasn’t quite what she was looking for, “not that I can blame him, I gu-”

She grinned, a wicked grin that stopped him in his tracks, “bold of you to assume I wear panties.”

That did it, his pupils dilating and grip tightening. This time she didn’t stop him when he yanked at her shirt, even wiggled her hips to help him when he tugged her pants impatiently, grinning when he found that she was indeed not wearing underwear. It wasn’t a graceful venture, tangled on the floor as they were, and her just as eager to get him out of his clothes, but they managed somehow, only her sports bra confusing the major who whined impatiently when tugging at it did nothing.

She grinned, “impatient much?”

“Very,” he pulled harder, “and you’re talking too much.”

“Whose fault is that?”

The look of dark annoyance he shot her sent a wave of arousal through her and she bit her lip, giving in to his tugging and freeing her breasts from the bra. He cupped her breasts, momentarily awestruck, and then recovering, pushed her onto her back. She went without complaint as he lowered his head, hot and wet lips enclosing on one nipple, his rough, calloused, thumb circling the other, and free hand shifting to her waist, pressing her into the ground, gripping with bruising intensity.

She scratched at his back, knowing she was leaving marks, probably even breaking skin, and wriggled to try and regain some control of the situation. He was persistent and skilled, but it wasn’t enough. She could feel his tip, damp with pre, pressing against her thigh and knew it was taking self-control to torture her with the lack of contact. Her foot hooked in the back of his knee and forced his ass upward, her hand squeezing it tightly as he switched his focus to her other nipple.  

Taking advantage of the space she had created, she reached between them to palm him, fingers scratching at his balls. He jerked, gasping and pressing into her hand. Squeezing elicited a desperate throaty groan and a complete cessation of his ministrations. Her thumb flicked across his head and then circled, and he seemed lost to the world, panting, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. She tugged again, ready to make him come undone when he grabbed her wrist.

“Olivier,” his voice was a breathless whisper, “wait.”

She froze at once, “what’s wrong?”

“Not wrong,” he drew a steadying breath and opened his eyes, half-smiling at her, “just too soon. I’ve waited so long, I want to make it last a little longer.”

She nodded her understanding, and he sat back with a grunt. His cock was dark and hard, and she was sure painful, but he ignored it. His hands slid down her thighs and she angled her hips to make his entrance easier, but he moved further back, long fingers brushing against her opening, pulling a gasp of her own from her lips.

“You are so wet,” he chuckled slightly, fingers dipping into damp folds.

She chuckled breathlessly, “and whose fault is that?”

He bent, pressing a kiss to her clit, and slid a finger into her. Between his tongue, flicking through her folds, lips sucking her clit and fingers sliding in and out of her she was in ecstasy. Her legs wrapped around his shoulder, her heels digging into his back and his ponytail, which she had secretly wanted to touch for a long time, was soft when she grabbed it. He didn’t seem to mind her yanking, instead pressing in that much harder, that much deeper.

Tension was building in her toes, spreading up her legs, through her torso and sending heat waves through her. Every muscle in her body was tight, and she was stiff and still, mentally begging Miles not to stop; not to mistake her stillness. Shockwaves of pleasure shot through her and she began to shake, Miles not slowing, instead twisting his fingers and pressing deeper into her. She tumbled over the edge, white lights exploding in her vision, hot pleasure washing over her in waves.

A kiss was pressed to her lips, soft and perfect, before Miles moved again, hands guiding himself to her opening, hovering in silent question until she nodded, still too breathless to speak, and his tip pushed in. Oversensitive and swollen, she gasped at the pressure, but his carefully controlled thrusts and thumb softly rubbing the nub of her clit swiftly changed the pain  to pleasure. Nails raked across the flesh of his back in earnest as he picked up speed, and her hips angled to meet him, legs wrapping around him to pull him in deeper.

Every thrust and changing angle of their hips sent familiar sparks of heat through her. She wanted him closer, wanted more and more, hands scrabbling desperately, thighs squeezing him and teeth sinking into the skin of his neck. He yelped, thrusting harder in response. She pressed a kiss to the bite and angled her hips to meet him, gripping his backside as he came, hips stuttering through his orgasm. He flicked her clit once more, sparking another wave of sharp pleasure to spread through her, followed by the familiar warm bliss that blurred her vision and slackened her muscles.

Miles collapsed, panting, beside and halfway on top of her. She could feel his heart racing and his breath catching as she pressed herself into his sweaty chest, shivers and aftershocks wracked her and he pulled her close, kissing her forehead gently. She supposed they should get up, but she had never allowed herself to indulge in her feelings for the man, except for in her loneliest moments. In spite of his outburst, she didn’t truly expect him to want to stay with her. It was unfair, perhaps, to assume that of him, but experience had taught her a good fuck was all most wanted from her. Implausible or not, she secretly hoped that if she stayed still Miles would think her asleep and linger longer.

“You know,” as if sensing her thoughts, Miles gave her a comforting squeeze, murmuring seductively in her ear, “there’s an old proverb in Ishval: ‘the man who tastes paradise but once will weep a thousand tears, but knows true joy. The man who never tastes paradise knows only sorrow.’”

She frowned, bewildered, and then laughed softly. “Is that your way of saying you would like to do this again?”

In response, he kissed her once more, “what do you think?”