Disclaimer: I don't own Noblesse. However, the dubiously delightful heroine of this piece and other such original creations are mine.

A/N: This one's for you, Twin!

Girl: The Tale of a Dire Lack of Contraceptives and Sensible Baby Names

Really, his life these days was a series of one novelty after another. Incomprehensible – nay, downright impossible things were happening. Cadis Etrama di Raizel stared round the room with restrained disbelief, his mental faculties unable to process the goings-on.

There was his poofy, downy couch, his favourite in the entire mansion, currently populated by the Lord of the Nobles, who looked practically droopy, like he hadn't been watered in a week.

There was his window, the one he liked looking out of, from which he was barred by the Lord's strange daughter, who was sitting on the windowsill and banging her heels against the wall, getting mud all over the paint.

It was a veritable family enclave and he – the family-less, chronically solitary Noblesse – had been pestered into being a part of it. A most important part, he had been assured, but so far no one had allowed him to get a word in edgewise. It was a very good thing that he did not actually wish to do so, he reflected, but the Princess was grumbling and he directed his attention to her.

"You're being silly!"

The Noblesse was devoutly thankful that for once, that patent phrase was not directed towards him. Really, with the amount of books the girl read, one would think she would have a wider field of words to choose from, but she'd picked up silly at a young age and had yet to grow out of it.

He secretly suspected that she enjoyed the effect it had on a Noble's dignity. Not that her father had any at the moment – not with his head nearly touching his knees in desolate frustration. Plus, he was being yelled at by the Noble equivalent of a fifteen-year-old.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel decided that this was very entertaining. It made him feel better about the couch and the window. A slow sense of satisfaction began creeping up on him; it was almost, but not quite, serenity. A conviction, perhaps, that the world was about to balance itself again.

And then that blasted girl decided to drop the egg. The hen that laid it, included.

"Papa wants to get married. He's in love." She punctuated this with a merry roll of her eyes and a sophisticated shrug that belied the cast of hurt that was slowly sliding over her gaze.

The Noblesse had little difficulty processing her announcement. That the Lord would marry had been a long expectation. He had an inkling who the bride was, and he could not pretend to be displeased with the choice. Moreover, the Lord was one to wed for love – all the Nobles were. He would not wed a shrew or a woman likely to be the stepmother of nightmares.

He supposed then, correctly, that the Princess was not so much hurt as she was jealous. She would be, with her human blood ravaging her equilibrium. The books he had read once Gejutel had confessed to him that Brutislava was growing up, turning into a woman, told him in plain terms what human adolescents went through emotionally over the short years of their maturity. He had memorised the myriad things they longed for and had not been unduly worried by most. Brutislava would never lack for comfort, education, responsibility or recognition for any efforts she chose to put forth in any field of study. She had been fortunate to be sired by that type of father.

Nevertheless, Cadis Etrama di Raizel had to work very hard to stamp down the roiling mass of pity and dread that coiled and unfurled in his belly to a rhythmic beat. The Princess could have everything…save the one thing Gejutel feared she would want more than anything, the one thing the Noblesse knew the girl would lack for the rest of her life.

It was a simple thing called love. Romantic, sexual love.

She would not be good enough for any Noble because Nobles as a rule were snobs, albeit kind-hearted ones. But to introduce human blood into their exalted family trees would be unthinkable. Really, the Lord was right to worry over his daughter's future. No one this side of creation would marry her. On the other side of Lukedonia's shores…the Noblesse was not so certain. Perhaps if she met a werewolf who was more sentimental than he was beastly? They had been known to mate with humans before.

But a Noble was absolutely out of the question. No doubt the girl was starting to comprehend the extent of her isolation. The Noblesse privately counted them all lucky that so far veiled hurt was the extent of her reaction. Now if she were to do what some growing Nobles – and most growing humans – did, and throw a tantrum…

The Noblesse looked desperately at his couch and window and prayed they would survive her wrath if she did choose to explode. He really was extremely fond of them. And heaven help him if she chose to fling the couch somewhere in anger. He had heard that human females tossed about vases and assorted household items on occasion when infuriated. No doubt the Princess, with her superhuman strength, would choose superhuman missiles. And then what would a poor Noblesse do, save swallow his pride and the loss of his dearest possessions?

And all because he understood only too well the near-crippling unhappiness and frustration that loneliness would bring.

Had he not spent his life the same way? Had he not spent night after night during his boyhood, waking flushed and hot and trembling with unnamed and misunderstood desires that he had no way of sating? Had he not, in desperation born of lust, once committed to memory every piece of lascivious trollop he could lay his hands on? Had he not, in the depths of darkness, with only the stars outside his window, resorted to touching himself, exploring and delighting in the exploration, just for a few moments of relief?

That had not lasted long. The first time had been mindless and rushed, almost furtive. For some reason, he had felt as though he were committing a crime. He had restrained himself as long as he could, then done it again, and this time he'd done it properly. He had taken time to know his own body, to learn the texture of his testicles and how the veins on his penis interrupted the smoothness of the rigid skin. He had learnt to distinguish the discomfort of the slight growth of hair around his member and thereafter taken the time to remove it during his daily bath.

Masturbation had been a great deal pleasanter after that, when he could discern his own length and girth. He had not been circumcised. None of the Nobles were, most likely. They did not look kindly upon chopping off body parts for aesthetic reasons. He was glad, because he had discovered how soft and distractingly sensitive his foreskin was. For long minutes, he used to lie back and trail his fingertips beneath it, brushing teasingly and assimilating the pleasure different degrees of touch produced. He had learned, most of all, to appreciate the pleasure before the orgasm, and then the slow exhaustion afterwards. He had not liked the mess that orgasm produced, truth be told, but that was his natural fastidiousness speaking. It hardly took a few minutes to clean up.

And then, gradually, he had stopped. There was no special reason behind it, just plain old boredom. His own touch had jaded him at first, then turned him more alone. He could not, after all, curl around himself and pet his own hair and kiss himself once the deed was done, could he? And he very much wanted to do those things, and have them done to him, much more than he valued the pleasure itself.

Yes, he could feel sorry for the poor Princess. It did not take much hardship to feel that way for her, poor soul. Women needed the touching and holding and – he deigned to mention the word in thought – cuddling – far more than men did, even needy men like him. In her place, any other person would have lashed out by now, at the thought that her father could find a companion with ease whereas she was doomed to be by herself.

But she'd do her duty. It was understood. She might not like it very much, this easy finding of love by people whose species would never love her romantically, but she liked the idea of having a family, judging by the spike in her emotions when children were mentioned. The stipulation that whatever child the Lord bore would be true heir to Lukedonia and the world did not seem to bother her. Cadis Etrama di Raizel had not expected that it would. She had known since she developed cognitive powers that she was not the heir, though she was the Princess. He suspected she was happy about that; she wasn't much of a one for stuffy paperwork and hefty decision-making.

Therefore the Lord, it was duly decided, would be married.

I hear baby feet coming up. Do you? :3