Printemps
It is a stunning creature I find on my bed when I return, exhausted and numbed by a long day of instruction in the field of megalomania. The Emperor has spared no expense in my education, and it always seems that by the end of the day I can remember the minutest details of the history of our great nation but very little about such basic subjects as tying my own cravat. It does not concern me overmuch; I have always supposed that this is why we have servants in our employ.
But it is not a servant that I find sprawled across my bed as if he owned it, it is Lelouch. Winsome, fey Lelouch, draped thoroughly in one of Cornelia's frocks and bejeweled and beribboned as a maid on a fair day. He is asleep, a wilted daisy chain that droops over his dark hair saying more of his exhaustion than even the high spots of color on his cheek as it presses against the coverlet. The taffeta rustles against the silk bedding as a smooth, lean leg stretches from beneath the frock, and I am entranced.
His skin fairly glows in the early evening sunlight that ignites the heavy white drapes like a lamp. Dark, soot-colored lashes flutter against his cheek and I am overcome. With trembling hands, I stagger to the edge of the bed and lift the heavy fabric. There is a glimpse of dark material and the fabric drops from my suddenly bloodless fingers. My knees go weak as I already attempt to recollect the vague promises glimpsed. He peers at me through sleep-muzzy eyes. I've woken him.
"Schneizel...oniisama...?" His lips purse in confusion and I must sit down on the edge of the bed or risk falling. "Where--?"
"My room," I tell him, entranced by the plump softness of his lips, so pink against his pale skin. I can hold back the hand that strokes through his hair no more than I can refrain from breathing. It is as soft as it looks, and there are tiny plaits hidden within it. Untied, they unravel at my touch.
"I should--" He makes a half-hearted move to leave, but stops at the gentle shush I give as I push him back to the mattress. My fingers are tense with eagerness as he folds, pliant and trusting, beneath me.
"Shh. Stay. Sleep." His eyelids droop again and he curls beside my knee as I stroke his head, careful not to dislodge his delicate crown. "You look pretty today. Is this just for me?" I thrill at the thought, but he pries one eye open to glare at me balefully.
"Don't be stupid." He looks so indignant, like a cat caught in a rainstorm. "Nunnally and Euphie made me wear it. They wanted to put makeup on me, too!" He sees the grimace on my face and relaxes, leaning into my hand as I pet him. "I know, right? Isn't it awful?" Indeed. The thought of covering up that beautiful skin would be akin to scrawling graffiti on a work of art. He drifts. I drift with him, blissful at the feel of silky hair beneath my palm. His head is so warm. I scratch against his scalp gently with my nails--
He moans. It's quiet, a sound of absolute contentment, and in that moment I am suddenly painfully aroused. He looks at me beneath his lashes with a deeply seductive stare. "Schneizel oniisama?" He butts his head against my palm like a cat and my fingers knot in his hair instinctively. It is nothing to roll him flat on the bed, my body alongside his, my hip pinning him to the coverlet. He blinks up at me, pretending to be confused as I cover his mouth with my own.
He struggles, eyes wide when I break away from his succulence for air. His lips move as if he wants to speak, but I can hear nothing over the rush of blood in my ears. I brace myself above his head with one arm and reach down to undo the buttons of my pants. I am already straining against them, and he blinks down the length of his body at the feeling of my cock, full and heavy with blood, slapping against his stomach. I groan at the smear of precome I leave on Cornelia's gown, but if I'm not lying to myself, I know I wasn't going to return it, anyway. Not with the image of him in it, not to let her fade the memory of slender white legs disappearing into the mass of heavy fabric. I palm myself roughly and moan, imagining his tiny hands on my flesh instead.
My knuckles bump against his belly as I work, and I revel in the softness and the slick, wet sounds. My thumb slides in the precome as I twist my palm around the tip to grind it into his stomach. His lips work soundlessly as he watches in fascination. A tiny pink tongue darts out to moisten his lips and I can't help but shudder at the thought of it wrapped around me, sliding flat over the frenulum to dip into the slit. I squeeze tighter, milking a fat bead of liquid from the end and imagine it dripping from his lips.
"Close your eyes, Lulu," I command him, overcome with dark desire. His eyes flick up to my face from my cock, and I can see the urge to protest forming on his lips. "Close your eyes," I pant, gratified to see those thick black lashes dance like butterflies until I can no longer see the fever-bright glimmer of purple. My back hunches as I scoot closer to his face.
"Wha...what are you...?" His voice is hushed and yet loud in the room, the only sound beyond my own ragged gasping.
"Open your mouth." I press my lips to his ear and whisper, "Do it. Stick out your tongue." He does so.
The blood in my ears dissolves into white noise as I pump myself toward my target. It's wrong; it's filthy. The intensity of it has dragged me free from my soul and sent me hurtling to hell. It feels like someone has cut the wire stretched taut between my navel and my cock, and as if time itself has slowed down, I watch as the head of my cock flares, pulsing to release the first jet of milky-white cum. It splatters across his face with an indecent sound, from the corner of that smooth pink tongue to the opposite cheek, just below the eye. He peers through his lashes just in time for the next pulse, stronger than the first, to smear across his forehead and into his hair. His eyes squint closed, but he doesn't close his mouth. When I'm finished, I wipe the tip on the edge of his tongue and he winces, eyelids flickering open to regard me with a curious look. I can't answer his questions, so I cover his mouth with mine. I can taste myself on him. He tastes like sin.
It is more bitter than I would have thought.