prompt; may 3 - scar fixation, "He always starts with the scar on her breast."
notes; I started this a while ago and it's been sitting on my hard drive ever since. This is the first time I've written anything like this - to say I struggled with it is an understatement, however, I do want to continue this and explore the dynamics between C.C. & Lelouch. I do have a direction with this fic but it's not concrete yet so any form of feedback would be amazing!
edit note; I edited this a few times because I haven't been 100% happy with it and I've scrapped the second chapter more times that I can count. I still want to continue this one day, but I don't know when inspiration will strike. Thank you to those who reviewed/followed/favorited and thank you for being patient.
one | the world breaks apart in our hands.
Lelouch wasn't easily disconcerted, but he had realized through the passage of time that with C.C.'s intrusion on his life, normalcy was something he had long forfeited.
Since the summers of his youth in the aerial gardens of Aries, Lelouch knew he had a flair for manipulation. After all, he had learned from the very best: Marianne didn't rise from common blood to royalty based on merit alone.
Little Prince Lelouch was so adept at reading and twisting people around his tiny finger that few denied the young Prince the outrageous requests he made on his sister's behalf; the princeling had a counterplan and counterargument for almost everything. And even after stripped of title and birthright, Lelouch never ceased upon capitalizing his skills (why else would the Ashford's take a penniless, exiled prince into custody?) nor did he withhold from plainly speaking truths no one quite cared to hear.
Some called him arrogant, conceited, a narcissistic bastard full of hubris, but he simply thought of himself as astute.
So when C.C. shielded him from the rampaging Lancelot and took, for the second time, a fatal blow meant for him, he stood rooted in astonishment unable to scurry to safety. Because immortal or not, no one would choose to take a flying shrapnel in the chest, at least, not for a mere accomplice.
"You can't die yet, you still need to –," she choked on her blood, "– the contract. Run!"
The momentum from the initial blast forced debris through her chest and punctured her lungs. Her stance never faltered, but Lelouch could hear agony in her strained words. Despite the contractual pretense of C.C.'s actions, Lelouch knew that it was first time, since his mother's death, that he's been shown such unrestrained, altruistic kindness.
"Don't be stupid."
He grabbed her wrist and ran.
Her eyes widened in shock as he yanked her away. He wasn't sure if it was from surprise at his actions or the pain of being roughly pulled aside, but she didn't protest so he put it from his mind.
They stumbled through the forest until she finally collapsed. Exasperated and out of breath, he cursed the white Knightmare Frame before gathering her into his arms. Lelouch staggered the rest of the way (frustrated for the first time in a long time with his weak body) with the weight of her pressed against his trembling arms until he found shelter.
In the cavern, he set her down on the damp floor and eyed her warily. Her pallor was frightening, the grey hue of her skin was offset by the wounds that danced across her body - purpling bruises and bright red scratches. She looked ghastly and Lelouch would be worried, if he hadn't witness her survive a bullet to the head before. Regardless, he let out a breath of relief as he noticed the soft rise and fall of her chest - at least she was breathing again.
The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but her clothing was bloodsoaked and frigid. Lelouch was unsure whether immortals could fall ill or not, but he wasn't about to wait and find out. He didn't want to imagine how much of a hinderance she would be to his plans if she did.
He was grateful she saved him, but this was definitely a situation he never wanted to find himself in.
Dammit.
With tremulous fingers he undressed her, taking care not to aggravate the tender flesh. As he rolled down her under-suit he noticed a scar that marred her pale skin like a fissure in cracked earth. It rested upon her left breast in a shape eerily reminiscent of the Geass sigil. He wondered for a second if there was any significance to it, and blushed hotly as he realized where he was staring.
Lelouch liked to think of himself as a gentleman well bred, but he couldn't help but let his fingers linger and his eyes wander as he cleaned her wounds and watched them miraculously heal. It was his first time touching and seeing a woman's body so intimately and no matter how much he admonished himself, his body was reacting. It was foreign, the intense heat that pooled at the pit of his stomach and spread like wildfire to his groin.
He groaned at the tightness in his trousers. As a teenage boy, he knew he had needs, but whenever those needs arose he would quietly and efficiently attend to them, never reveling in the act but treating it as just another task.
Perhaps it was because he hadn't tended to himself since the Rebellion started or because lying before him was the most beautiful female form he's ever encountered, scar and all - whatever the reason, his yearning was so strong that Lelouch found himself timidly tracing the uneven flesh of the scar from the bottom up, stopping at its apex, finger pressed against her hardened nipple.
His breath hitched and his chest tightened as a low moan escaped C.C.'s lips.
Quickly, he withdrew his hand as if burned.
Had he been more experienced and versed in relations of the flesh, and had he possessed the audacity to do so, Lelouch would have held her breasts in the palms of his hand and lowered his lips to them. Curious to taste a woman, curious to see the reactions he could evoke, and curious to feel the slight ridges of her scar as he slowly slid his tongue across it.
Groaning, he squeezed his eyes closed in attempt to drive the unchaste thoughts away. But the image of her lying unguarded and exposed fueled his imagination. Lelouch never realized how attractive she was, then again, he never had time to when she frustrated him so with every word that came tumbling out of her lips.
Those soft, rosy lips and sharp tongue...
Ah, how they would feel wrapped around his length, her tongue licking and swirling as she took him in over and over again, lime-colored hair falling like silk over him and tickling his abdomen as she moved, her deft hands stroking and squeezing. She would twirl her tongue around his tip slowly as she looked up at him, citrine eyes glinting and lips upturned coquettishly, pushing him towards the precipice, but never quite enough to fall over. Such a tease. Frustrated, he would grab her by the hair and his hips would buck to the rhythm of her mouth as he went deeper and deeper and –
Lelouch startled to the sound of her groan and calmed when she didn't awaken. He looked down guiltily. What a sight he must be, sitting next to her, his body flushed and sweaty, pants unbuckled and hand wrapped around his straining length. He was so hard and so close. He entertained the idea of finishing himself off.
She stirred again.
He looked down guiltily. Where was his propriety?
His eyes rested on the curious scar that did not fade and sighed, 'Goddammit.'
He tidied himself up and willed himself to think about chess games with Schneizel or how stupid Rivalz looked that one time Milly made them dress up as cats, anything but the enthralling witch meters away. Once adequately sedated, he tucked his cloak snuggly around C.C. so only her face was visible. Lelouch sat as far away as possible and rest his head against the stone walls and stared up at the stalactites, concentrating on the constant drip of water to empty his mind.
It's not every day the meticulous dark prince lost control.
Calm and collected though he usually was, Lelouch was, first and foremost, still a man.
And he would find himself flushed with images of her scar and pert breasts for nights to come.
(It didn't help that she continued to brazenly climb into his bed in nothing but his shirt.)