Chapter Text
“You’re staring.”
“Is that a problem?”
Winry adjusts her goggles to sit atop her head, scowling at the metal finger in her hands. She sets it down with an audible clank and angles her head to glare at the man seated beside her. He wears an innocent smile, a glint of mischief in his golden eyes. She huffs and turns back to her work, pulling her goggles back over her eyes. Sparks light up the room as she solders the electric wiring within the joints.
“I can’t get anything done with you staring at me like that,” she grumbles. She can still feel Edward’s eyes on her, observing her work with curiosity. It makes her feel like an animal on display at the zoo; she’s the lioness tearing apart a hunk of meat, and Edward is the wide-eyed bystander above. Were it a year ago, she would have grabbed him by the hair and tossed him out of her workshop. Now, however, she revels in the fact that he seems to actually enjoy watching her, making it that much more difficult to concentrate.
She sets the soldering gun and finger down and turns to look at him. He sports a lopsided grin.
“Maybe I like that you can’t work with me around.”
He’s always been cocky, but it seems to have gotten worse since returning home. With their feelings for one another laid out on the table, Edward took pride in making Winry squirm. From making eyes at her across the dinner table, to stealing kisses when Granny and Al have their backs turned. It’s why Winry gives him a long list of chores each week, simply to keep him out of her hair long enough for work to be done.
His hands reach out to remove the goggles from her eyes, setting them down on her workbench. His bottom lip—full, and nice to take between her teeth—sticks out slightly past the top. His golden eyes pierce through hers, and Winry swears that he can see her soul. She squirms in her seat, vulnerable in his presence.
“Ed…”
He quietly shushes her, taking her chin between his fingers and gently tiling her head up. He leans forward agonizingly slowly. “Mrs. Grant can wait a bit longer for her order.” His breath is hot against her skin. Goosebumps spread across her body, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end. As he closes the distance, Winry instinctively closes her eyes. Not but a second later, she feels his lips on hers, warm and wet, a contrast against her chapped lips.
Her heart pounds against her chest, threatening to burst free. Her face feels flush. She grabs desperately at the fabric of Ed’s tank-top. Their lips move slowly, losing their synchronization every now and again. Kissing is still new to them, but Winry has always said that practice makes perfect.
The kiss ends almost as quickly as it had began. Something inside of Winry urges her to pull him back to her, to refuse to let this moment end so soon, but Ed had grown to respect the time she took to work. Moments like this happened sparingly when she was to pull all-nighters. Edward had figured that allowing her to work uninterrupted through the night granted more time spent with him during the day. Of course, there were times when he simply couldn’t stay away, planting his ass on a chair he drug beside her workbench. Most of the time, he would stare at her face with this stupid smile. Others, he would watch her hands work with genuine curiosity. She would answer whatever questions he’d posed in regards to automail construction, and, in turn, he would answer questions regarding his studies. Those nights, they each learned a lot of the other’s hobby.
The wooden chair creaks in protest as Ed leans back against it. He stretches his arms above his head and yawns. Sadly, Winry is too slow to open her eyes to watch the muscles move beneath his skin.
“I should head to bed. You ought to soon, too.” He stands and pats her head. Winry guesses its become habit in order to compose himself after such vulnerability. Ed never was one to be so vulnerable willingly.
“We’ll see,” she answers plainly. She twists back toward her workbench and puts on her goggles. She listens to the thump of his automail foot as he walks toward the door. “Goodnight, alchemy freak.”
She swears she can hear him chuckle. “Night, gearhead.”