[Fic] nebulous, like dreams
Title: nebulous, like dreams
Fandom: Code Geass
Characters: Lelouch vi Britannia, C.C. | Lelouch/C.C.
Word Count: 724
Rating: M
Warning/s: symbolic dream sex?
Summary: lelouch dreams - rarely. | lelouch, c.c., and a fantasy
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply, I own nothing and make no profit.
Notes: ehhhhhhh i dunno. rushed part of #30DaysofErotica. cut text from cosmic love by florence + the machine
lelouch dreams - rarely. most of them are hazy, indefinite - a nebulous space filled with pictures that refuse to form, slipping in his grasp when he tries hard enough to concentrate. he wonders if this is a by-product of dreaming too much while awake, his plans and goals and ambitions seeping away at his marrow until there's none left for when he's asleep.
what dreams he has, he forgets as soon as he wakes. it is all too well; he cannot afford to be distracted by the distorted products of his imagination. he prefers to be steeped in the stone cold firmament of reality, the better to formulate plans and back-up plans and back-ups to those back-ups should the need arise. he is poised to take down a kingdom in order to create a world where his sister could live in peace. his mind is his steel; he cannot afford the frivolities of distractions.
in this dream, it's an abrupt flash. like the silver strike of lightning, and suddenly there is heat, want - not for the intangibles far away in his horizon but a physical desire that tightens his skin, parches his throat, dries his lips, and he knows he craves for something he can't name, a frustration building up until he feels a cool hand against his shoulder, the imprint of a palm.
it's c.c., her hair bright green and vivid, too alive to be a dream. with a clarity that makes his head spin, his mind heady, he is certain she knows what it is he wants. he tries to say her name but his voice is soundless in this void of existence so he cups her nape instead, pulls her close until his lips rest against her ear. he asks her, tries to; she drops her hand to his chest and pushes him away, and he can see the amusement in her eyes, the quirk of her lips.
it angers him, makes his blood throb in his veins. from far away he can hear a laugh and isn't sure if it's hers but something staggers, breaks, and then she is hovering above him, over him, near him, against him, and somehow his hand is tangled in the weave of her hair, another laid against her hip. she throws her head back, a silent moan, her eyes shut tight with ecstasy and the simmering heat grows like wildfire.
he exhales, clutching her tighter. she presses her forehead against his, then her cheek, and then she's swiping her tongue against the corner of his mouth and he cannot allow himself the travesty of this fantasy but she feels real, her skin pale and smooth, and he wants to move, to sink into her and hold on to the only thing that will not change in this world. c.c., with her golden eyes, who will always stay the same, and she is his anchor throughout this tenuous fabric of reality as malleable as the one willing to control it.
he surges forward, presses his nose against her jaw, her neck - and it shatters, this image, because now he is on his knees in front of her open thighs and she has him anchored to her with one hand to his head. he goes by instinct, a response he had long since tempered out of him because instincts are wild, and reaches for her, presses his face against her, takes what she has before she even offers it, her body trembling beneath him, their mutual conquest.
no more, c.c., he whispers against her flesh, and the image snaps and she is below him, he is on top of her; he cants his hips and bears down on her as she receives him and they come together in the face of their mutual agony. she burns him, with all the fervor of her thin arms, her sleek body.
it is nothing and everything all at once, compressing, winding tighter, until something snaps, releases, and at that moment she is nothing and everything to him, all at once.
but he opens his eyes and it's the emptiness of his room he sees, a phantom sensation that lingers, one last memory of c.c. and her lips parting with the syllables of his name, before it flits away and he forgets. like all his other dreams.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/18467.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Code Geass
Characters: Lelouch vi Britannia, C.C. | Lelouch/C.C.
Word Count: 724
Rating: M
Warning/s: symbolic dream sex?
Summary: lelouch dreams - rarely. | lelouch, c.c., and a fantasy
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply, I own nothing and make no profit.
Notes: ehhhhhhh i dunno. rushed part of #30DaysofErotica. cut text from cosmic love by florence + the machine
lelouch dreams - rarely. most of them are hazy, indefinite - a nebulous space filled with pictures that refuse to form, slipping in his grasp when he tries hard enough to concentrate. he wonders if this is a by-product of dreaming too much while awake, his plans and goals and ambitions seeping away at his marrow until there's none left for when he's asleep.
what dreams he has, he forgets as soon as he wakes. it is all too well; he cannot afford to be distracted by the distorted products of his imagination. he prefers to be steeped in the stone cold firmament of reality, the better to formulate plans and back-up plans and back-ups to those back-ups should the need arise. he is poised to take down a kingdom in order to create a world where his sister could live in peace. his mind is his steel; he cannot afford the frivolities of distractions.
in this dream, it's an abrupt flash. like the silver strike of lightning, and suddenly there is heat, want - not for the intangibles far away in his horizon but a physical desire that tightens his skin, parches his throat, dries his lips, and he knows he craves for something he can't name, a frustration building up until he feels a cool hand against his shoulder, the imprint of a palm.
it's c.c., her hair bright green and vivid, too alive to be a dream. with a clarity that makes his head spin, his mind heady, he is certain she knows what it is he wants. he tries to say her name but his voice is soundless in this void of existence so he cups her nape instead, pulls her close until his lips rest against her ear. he asks her, tries to; she drops her hand to his chest and pushes him away, and he can see the amusement in her eyes, the quirk of her lips.
it angers him, makes his blood throb in his veins. from far away he can hear a laugh and isn't sure if it's hers but something staggers, breaks, and then she is hovering above him, over him, near him, against him, and somehow his hand is tangled in the weave of her hair, another laid against her hip. she throws her head back, a silent moan, her eyes shut tight with ecstasy and the simmering heat grows like wildfire.
he exhales, clutching her tighter. she presses her forehead against his, then her cheek, and then she's swiping her tongue against the corner of his mouth and he cannot allow himself the travesty of this fantasy but she feels real, her skin pale and smooth, and he wants to move, to sink into her and hold on to the only thing that will not change in this world. c.c., with her golden eyes, who will always stay the same, and she is his anchor throughout this tenuous fabric of reality as malleable as the one willing to control it.
he surges forward, presses his nose against her jaw, her neck - and it shatters, this image, because now he is on his knees in front of her open thighs and she has him anchored to her with one hand to his head. he goes by instinct, a response he had long since tempered out of him because instincts are wild, and reaches for her, presses his face against her, takes what she has before she even offers it, her body trembling beneath him, their mutual conquest.
no more, c.c., he whispers against her flesh, and the image snaps and she is below him, he is on top of her; he cants his hips and bears down on her as she receives him and they come together in the face of their mutual agony. she burns him, with all the fervor of her thin arms, her sleek body.
it is nothing and everything all at once, compressing, winding tighter, until something snaps, releases, and at that moment she is nothing and everything to him, all at once.
but he opens his eyes and it's the emptiness of his room he sees, a phantom sensation that lingers, one last memory of c.c. and her lips parting with the syllables of his name, before it flits away and he forgets. like all his other dreams.
This entry was originally posted at http://quadrantal.dreamwidth.org/18467.html. Please comment there using OpenID.