Fulfillment
The sex is terrible.
It's the same every night. Lelouch tries his hardest, and Shirley can appreciate that, but every time he finishes just as things start to actually feel decent for her, leaving him a sweating and panting heap on top of her and her just embracing him, feeling no different than she did just a few minutes prior. It's not like she's particularly surprised, to be honest – she knows Lelouch is terribly out of shape. She knows she's probably the first person he's ever been with like this, the first person he's ever held so close. Still, sometimes, part of her wishes he could at least last a minute or two more.
And, as expected, this night is no different. It starts and is all over in hardly any time at all – sure enough, Lelouch runs out of stamina all too quickly and comes with a muted gasp. Shirley says nothing, simply wrapping her arms around him and letting out a tiny, quiet – but content – sigh. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, and for a few moments they just lie there, not saying anything but just looking into each other.
He opens his mouth to apologize. Shirley simply lifts a finger in front of his mouth, smiling softly at him.
After a few moments, Lelouch finally breaks eye contact, still flushed red and panting, and the smile on Shirley's face stays where it is. It doesn't matter whether he's amazing or terrible at this, really - she's finally found perfection.
This is fulfillment, in all its unfulfilling glory.