A/N:
Warnings for male/male situations and prostitution. Don't
like it? Don't read it.
This drabble takes place in the
alter!World presented to us at the end of the series/Conqueror of
Shambala, before Edward meets Alfons Heiderich.
Dirty
Some nights are worse than others. Ed stands at a street corner, or occasionally near an alley, tarnished gold eyes locking gazes with passer-by's. It's hard to keep that plastic smile pasted on all night, hard to try and charm potential customers with nothing but body language at his disposal. He wonders how long it'll take before another john comes along; the cold bites at his exposed skin and it makes it hard to stay in that damned inviting pose for too long.
One more—two at most; that's all he needs to cover this month's rent. What with his father's money long-gone and his efforts to search for a real job remaining fruitless, this is the only way he can cover even the most basic of living expenses.
The sex is never enjoyable, not even when he closes his eyes and pictures a dark-haired man going down on him, not even when he pretends that the harsh words growled at him are actually soft and gentle whispers. He's continuously surprised by how many people get off on cripples, how people seem to enjoy the fact that two of his limbs are optional and can be removed at their discretion. It wasn't something he'd opted for at first; it left him weak and vulnerable. Eventually, though, it had worked itself into his routine and even managed to get him some extra money for expenses of leisure, such as a warm cup of coffee or some soap.
He straightens up as yet another car drives by, drenching him with mud and murky water. It's okay, though; they like him like that, they like him dirty. It makes it easier for them to treat him like what he really is; nothing but a filthy whore.
Walking towards the lowered window shield as he's beckoned forward, Ed leans over. With a low, sultry voice, he offers the man a good time for a reasonable price, but is absolutely floored once he catches a glimpse of his face. Those familiar dark eyes, that jet black hair and that god-damned signature smirk freeze him in place, and suddenly Ed starts to wonder if this place he'd always called his personal Hell could actually be Heaven.