Lust watched Armstrong stand in what would be considered a pose for anyone else, but for him was simply a natural posture. Honestly, of all the military men she'd seen, he was the only one that measured up to her standards. Strong, well muscled, tall, bright, and most of all disciplined. Her match in every regard.
Such a shame, really, that he wasn't her quarry.
She approached him slowly, moving her hips in a suggestive way. Armstrong turned, drawn by Lust's figure, and she noted with a delicious pang how his piercing blue eyes had raked her up and down for just a second before his infamous self-control kicked in.
"Ma'am, may I help you?" he asked, in a deep, resonant voice. Lust shivered and bit her lower lip. Self-control, yes she could use a little of that.
"Is Jean Havoc around?" she asked.
"Just inside, Ma'am," and he held the door to Mustang's office open to her. A true gentleman.
She turned to look inside. Havoc sat slouched limply over his typewriter, cigarette dangling from his mouth as if it were glued to his lower lip. He straightened at the sight of her and beamed. It turned out the cigarette was not glued to his lip after all. It fell onto his lap, causing him to jump up and dance in a way that was neither graceful nor dignified.
Lust allowed herself one last lustful glance in Armstrong's direction, but he was no longer looking at her. Such strength. Such dignity. Such discipline. So not the person she was supposed to seduce.
Then she turned back to see Havoc dousing his smoldering pants with the dregs of Mustang's coffee. He gave her a goofy grin and tried to muster some semblance of panache. Her warm smile never wavered, and she did not laugh.
"Are you ready to go, Jean?" she asked. "You'll love this bistro I've found."
"I... uh... yes!" said Havoc. "Yes, I'm right there."
Strength, dignity, discipline. Thankfully, they were qualities she possessed as well.