Everybody has a lot in life, and mine is to be a stand in
Everybody has a lot in life, and mine is to be a stand in. I exist as a glorified blow up doll so that whoever I'm with can substitute another name for mine when they come. I don't care though. I'm selfish, and if this is the only way anyone will ever want me, I'm fine with it. It's not a problem. Really. I can back out of this any time I want. I just don't want to.
Honestly. Completely my choice. Just as much as my necessary consumption of no fewer than six smokes a day. And sit back and think one damn minute before shaking your head in disapproval. Or pity.
Fucking hate it when I see the pity.
A guy like me, he takes what he can get. And if the only way I am going to get anything remotely close to what I want, well, I will just have to learn to play nice. Adaptive capabilities and all that. Looks great on a resume.
And damn am I good at adapting. Hell, it hardly ever bothers me anymore when the bastard growls out the boss' name anymore. Though, I think I might be running out of excuses to explain away the bruises. I am sure there is a limited number of stairs I can pretend to stumble down in a stubborn stupor, a finite number of brawls I can get into without being threatened with a drunk and disorderly.
That and, well, I'm pretty sure we aren't supposed to take the saying 'sleeping with the enemy' quite this literally. Odd times, odd bedfellows and all that jazz. I just don't think that sort of rationale will actually hold in any sort of military court, not even with the invincible Mustang to speak on my behalf.
Although...I don't know that Mustang would be all that inclined to help me out in light of my current bedroom escapades.
Risking it all to be a fill-in fuck.
Well, he might be thinking of someone else as he fucks me ragged, but I am damn well awake and aware of who I'm letting do the fucking.
And I am fine with it. More than that, it is exactly what I was, what I am, after.
So what if he is into shorter, far more aggressive blondes.
A blond currently engaged in a fascinating little bit of fraternization with his superior officer. If Mustang were ever to find out about my choice of bed partner, I guess I could barter for some sort of 'I don't tell you don't tell'. Oldest maneuver in the book really. Highly effective.
I mean, hell, a few years ago I was the one locking the door as unobtrusively as possible when entering Mustang's office, back when he was so upset over Hughes' matrimonial bliss. I know the drill, the quick looks and murmured excuses.
Hell, if I had a private office I would endeavor to fuck on every available surface. Just to say I had. So I cant really blame the man. There was something pleasantly, inappropriately, arousing about shoving important paperwork aside in order to be bent over polished wood, my pants yanked down, and have brilliantly rough sex knowing that there was an office full of diligent workers just past the door.
I guess Mustang developed a fetish for long hair or something. Or got bored of giving me a light after he was done with me. Can't blame a guy for wanting a smoke though, can you? It was a good run while it lasted.
Which led to my having a bit more free time than I was used to.
Which explains how I ran into my current partner. Ed sure is one popular little guy. I was approached, initially, as someone who knew the little pisser, who would be able to provide information.
Instead I provided relief for rather tense sexual frustration. Those first few times...damn did I have some tricky verbal footwork on my hands trying to explain away some of the more enthusiastic scratches. Looked like I had been mauled by a particularly irate wolf.
Not quite, but when the bastards violet eyes narrow in lust or anger (the two can be rather close) I can see the resemblance between him and some hungry predator.
And it really is a turn on.
It comes back to adapting. If displaced lust is all I am going to get, I am going to be damn happy with it. It's the kind of guy I am. If I wanted something better, I could damn well go for it. There is a ferocity in being fucked by someone who longs for someone else, there is an edge that frustration and desperation adds that makes it all the sweeter. It's damn good for me, so why the hell should I back out now? I am sure it must seem pretty screwed up- Jean the stand in screw toy being happy about it.
It isn't that I am happy, per se, but I damn well enjoy it.
And that's what sex is all about, right? At the end of the day my libido and I have a smoke, stumble home, and sleep a full nights sleep.
Eventually Greed will either get bored or manage to snag the boss. Either way, I will be out of a partner.
But, hey, Mustang might be feeling a bit lonely again...