I am going to HELL. It's now official. The papers have been signed. I'll see everyone who's reading and enjoying this there.
To him, she is towering – a head taller than him, which is unusual – she is miles of white thigh and curved, smooth, firm, and how he got into this position he's got no idea but he can't deny that right now he's enjoying himself. Her hair is long and just a few shades lighter than his; it tickles his face as she leans forward and crushes his lips against hers and Lelouch wonders is this obscene? Quite probably it's – she's talking now -
"You look nothing like Charles," and her eyes rove over him, angular bones and pale, ghostly skin and his cheeks tinted by a flush he can't quite hide. "Are you sure you've been eating properly? I didn't raise you to starve yourself-" No, this is getting out of his control and he doesn't like it when he isn't in control: angrily he moves and her sentence is cut off – she wasn't expecting that. Despite it she's composed – "my, my," she murmurs, her eyes half-closed but still smiling, infuriatingly – and he doesn't like this any more as her hands circle his neck and move down his back, touching, touching, touching –
and then she's gone and he is sitting up, still surrounded by sheets but this time they are cool against his skin, his skin which is hot and dripping sweat. Where did she go? The room is dark and empty, and he is empty and he doesn't miss her, does he?