The Red Dress Chronicles: Chapter 1
How Not To Utilize a Formal Red Gown: The Red Dress Chronicles: Report A
2
Lyric: Pulling the trigger all wrong.
Song: It's Time to Dance
Artist: Panic! At the Disco
Pairing: Lloyd Asplund and Cecile Croomy
Rating: M for “My God! She wrote that!” (Sexual situations and language)
Cecile Croomy felt triumphant as she descended the main staircase of the Royal Colchester Institute’s grand ballroom. It was the last dance she’d ever enjoy hosted by the school as a student, this being the Graduation Ball. It filled her with a bittersweet feeling that she’d never parade around in the false skin of a member of the haute ton when in reality she was an endlessly fortunate scholarship student. There was a pride to be felt when a duke or heiress confused her for quality and treated her like a substantial being. Her knockoff brand dress, self-applied makeup and chignon thought to be the result of endless hours toiled by servants and a small fortune spent.
But on that same note there were the haughty self-important nobles that made it their business to root out the unworthy weeds in their decadent flower garden. She’d feel the icy chill of a polite but brisk brush off disguised as pleasantry: The look in their eyes that reminded her ‘You don’t belong here’. Once that happened her night was pretty much at its end since she’d become a social pariah rejected by the top tier of the hierarchy.
But not tonight. Tonight was her night to be acknowledged as one of them. She hadn’t been ostracized into secluding herself in the mechanics lab with a lazy immigrant and eclectic Earl as her only company for nothing. By some miracle she’d managed to make third in the school’s academic ranking. The top two being said Earl and foreigner.
She may have been the daughter of a veteran frame pilot and a middle class eleven sympathizer but tonight she was also better than the titled offspring of the rich and famous. Her pockets and pedigree may not have been full but her mind was. And along with her diploma she’d gotten a healthy allowance from the government to continue her scientific pursuits. Her first allowance had been spent on the dress she wore and the humble jewelry adorning her. She’d consoled her conscience by telling it that social anthropology was a science and that her gown was an experiment.
She knew she ought to feel ashamed that the opinion of the quality mattered so much to her but she’d endured so much bullying and loneliness at their hands. Maybe it would’ve been more of a blow to their inflated pride if she’d deemed not to show up and face them down. Still, she decided to make an appearance and see the begrudging respect they’d be forced to pay her for herself. It was her vindication and reward.
She reached the bottom step and already a small army of men were tripping over themselves to ask her to dance. The dress was doing its job: An investment well made. It was a sumptuous and daring red that hugged her shapely figure with a bunched cowl neckline and mermaid’s tail skirt. The fabric shimmered in the light as if it was made of rubies and her pearl opera gloves and high heels added another layer of class.
She could feel her heart swell in her chest and her eyes prick with tears of well deserved pride. The moment was so perfect as she extended her hand to alight on the palm of a gentleman. The small orchestra began a waltz and the lighting seemed to glow with a heavenly aura, as if she were in a dream.
And then her dream became a nightmare with the sound of a single laugh. A laugh she knew well, having listened to it on a near daily basis.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea so that she could see the origin of the mocking laughter. Earl Lloyd Asplund was nearly doubled over in a navy blue waistcoat with a dramatic cravat threatening to find its way into his open mouth. She half hoped it would so that he would be silenced.
With forced grace, she made her way over to him and pulled him back up by the dangling fabric at his throat so that she could look into his merry grey eyes. It still took him a moment to stop chuckling and he licked his lips before smirking in a way that sent an apprehensive shiver up and down her spine.
“Greetings, Cecile! You look lovely… For some untouched lamb. Really, could you be any more virginal? The color does nothing to hide the fact that you’re as pure as untouched snow” he purred before spinning away.
She shivered and clenched her fists, trying to hold tight to the delicate thread of her patience. “Perhaps you’ve imbibed too much champagne, Your Grace. I fear you may be speaking a bit too freely” she grit out, trying to diffuse her tension with a false laugh. She wouldn’t back down. This was her night!
He froze, an eyebrow rising as his hands found his hips. “Your Grace? Surely we’re on more informal terms than that, Cecile. And I’ll have you know I’m nearly sober. You know me well enough to know my tongue is always free with words. Now back to that abominable dress… You look positively matronly. Hardly enticing” he criticized.
“I think she looks enticing!” an enthusiastic blond announced.
“Yes, but you’d find a sturdy table leg just as enticing, Clovis” he replied, the crowd around him laughing nervously until Prince Clovis smiled and laughed good naturedly. Then it became hilarious since the threat of a royal temper wasn’t looming.
“Lloyd… You’re embarrassing me” Cecile said in an urgent whisper, hoping he’d see the pleading in her eyes that he not act like a heartless buffoon for once.
“No, dear assistant. You’re embarrassing yourself in that travesty. I won’t claim to be the authority on fashion but I do happen to be an expert at being male and I know that gown is ghastly and does nothing to gain masculine interest. I hope you didn’t pay full price for it”
All attention seemed to be centered on the Earl’s one-sided banter as he humiliated his subordinate. Seeing that he was of a higher rank and intelligence it was safe to laugh, which many titled ladies did. Men appraised her and she watched as the warmth left their eyes and the haze of lust abandoned the gazes of those that had previously sought to dance with her.
She spotted some sympathetic faces but none so merciful as to take up her defense or come to her rescue. She was alone and beneath everyone gathered once more.
But she wasn’t going down without swinging and so she looped her arm in Lloyd’s and smiled at him sweetly even as her grip around his spindly forearm had her fingernails digging into his coat. “A word in private, My Lord” she requested, pretending she couldn’t feel the stare of every occupant of the room.
She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled him with her into an empty antechamber and shut the door. For a few breathless moments she waited by the door and sighed with relief when the silence ended and the room filled with chatter and gossip once again. It may have all been at her expense but it was better than the dreadful silence.
She whirled on her companion with fury in her lavender eyes that hardly appeared menacing on her gentle features. “I can’t believe you would embarrass me in front of the whole school like that, Lloyd. I thought we were friends!” she snapped, the hurt obvious in her voice.
Lloyd just shrugged and fell back into a plush armchair set up among an array of couches and chaise lounges set up for dancers to rest their feet. “I can’t see why you’d be so shocked. I regularly undermine you seeing as you are my subordinate. Plus that was hardly the entire school. The Dean wasn’t there”
“Lloyd!” the exasperated bark of his name had him rolling his eyes.
“And we aren’t friends. I don’t have friends. Friends are a liability and hindrance. You are an associate” he explained as if it were something she should know.
Her jaw dropped even as her eyes narrowed in an indignant glower.
“Don’t look so offended. Everyone else is just a part, a cog in the substantial everyday machine. I view you above that. A peer, perhaps? Nonetheless it’s a compliment”
“Compliment? So I should be grateful you dissected me like some… some specimen?! In front of everyone?!” she screeched.
“I already told you it wasn’t everyone. The Dean wasn… Oh wait. Perhaps he was. My mistake. His back was turned to me when I saw him and so-“
“LLOYD!”
“What?! No need to be so blasted loud. I’m sitting right here” he defended, rubbing his ear and wincing.
“You’re… You’re missing the point” she moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off an encroaching headache. “Why did you do that? Why would you hurt me like that? I know you aren’t familiar with having feelings of your own but I thought you recognized I hadn’t spent what was left of my humanity on war machines” she sighed, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. Really it was Lloyd’s belief that in order to be a true scientist one had to abandon their conscience that chilled her.
“I was doing you a favor. You look awful” he yawned.
A blush ignited on her cheeks and she felt the prick of tears. “Well thank you, but couldn’t you have told me that in private?” she demanded, trying to keep the waver out of her voice.
“I believe I just did”
She let out a growl of frustration and pounded her newly clenched fists against her thighs in order to keep her hands from wrapping around his neck. She tried to remind herself that he wasn’t whole; he couldn’t grasp the enormity of his actions in the emotional sense. He didn’t see grief caused by destruction, just the effective explosion of a detonated warhead.
She felt the strength drain out of her and slumped down onto a nearby chaise, holding her head in her hands and groaning. Her night was ruined and it was a waste to try and explain to Lloyd just how he was at fault. She was best off just forgetting her anger and going home. She just needed to wait for her head to stop pounding and the threat of tears to pass.
There was no point to crying. Not in front of Lloyd.
Meanwhile he was studying her closely with a puzzled look on his face. “You seem upset. So you realize I’m right and your dress is horrid?” he asked, blinking innocently.
His response was a pillow thrown at his face, dislodging his glasses from their perch on his face. So much for abandoning her anger.
“Oh now that was uncalled for! I was merely trying to ascertain if you were ready to hear my advice!” he huffed with nobly wounded pride while he gathered up his spectacles. “It’s so blasted hard to read you when you’re being all… Emotional” he sighed as if there were no help for her, waving his hand dismissively. “Go on then. Have your fit. I’m in a giving mood and I suppose I ought to accept that you think your spoiled evening is worth my notice”
Cecile had never wanted to beat him with a wrench so badly. Not even when he’d informed her that the test frame they had in the lab hadn’t actually been safety tested… After she’d driven it through a battle simulation, essentially making her the test dummy. To him she was an inconsequential afterthought.
“I hate you!” she hissed, truly meaning it for the moment as a few tears fell loose from her lashes. She didn’t have a kerchief so she was forced to dab her eyes on the hem of the dress that was such an affront to his lordship’s eyes.
Lloyd huffed and leaned his head back on the edge of his chair to look at the ceiling, waving his hands as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “Yes, yes. Bring on the dramatics. Then work through the need to insult and wound me. After that you should fall silent because you’re so spent from your display”
“How can you be so unfeeling?! You’re… You’re a… a monster!”
“Scientist, but I’ve heard the terms used interchangeably. Lovely, you’ve lashed out at me. Are you quite finished?” he inquired, looking up at her in time to dodge the latest pillow thrown at him. He laughed and shook his head. “So very predictable” he chastised.
As predicted, the fight completely left her. It was pointless to try and convey emotion to a man that didn’t feel them and she was only getting stung further and further as he mocked her for possessing a heart. With a heavy sigh she let her body slide down so that she was laying in the reclined pose that the chaise was designed for. She pressed her wrist over her eyes to block out the light and attempt to hide her shame.
Her companion cleared his throat and repositioned himself in his chair as if preparing to make an address to a room of spectators instead of just a deflated assistant. “From careful study of the human mind and an enlightening thesis paper on the correlation between aesthetic triggers and psychological response I can offer my services to you to help you modify your current abomination into a garment that will effectively secure you as the dominant female in attendance in the eyes of the male collection” he explained, adjusting his glasses.
Cecile’s arm slid from covering her face as she lazily turned her head to face him. “If I’m going to hear you out I’m going to need champagne. Lots of champagne” she informed him, her voice sounding phlegm-filled thanks to her sinuses draining during her crying. Her eyes were swollen and her eyeliner was smudged around her lavender orbs as well as a few spots where it had rubbed off onto her glove. In short she looked far from anyone capable of enthralling any man at the ball.
Lloyd hopped to his feet with a hoot of delight and all but skipped through the double door before returning a short time later with an entire tray of champagne flutes and shouts of displeasure following him in before he shut the door again. “Drink” he urged, handing her the tray.
She didn’t even have the energy to half-heartedly laugh at his enthusiasm, just pick up a flute and drain it. The second one she sipped at a slower pace while her fellow scientist fidgeted impatiently. “Go ahead” she prompted.
Without warning he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to her feet, eager to share the schematics of his brilliant design. The flute she had in her hand tumbled to the carpet but he paid it no mind as he began to force her into an uncomfortable posture. “What are you doing?” she asked, annoyed at being man handled like a clay model.
“I’m trying to demonstrate the genius of my designs firsthand but I need your cooperation. Situate yourself as if we are waltzing” he ordered, taking up a formal stance and waiting for her to do the same.
She blinked at him a few times, trying to follow where his thoughts were leading. “Why?”
He rolled his eyes at her and started to position her again until she shook him off and took her stance with one hand lightly placed on his bicep and the other in his hand. His own free hand swept around her side to lock her in as he pressed his palm to the small of her back. It took her by surprise to realize that he was so regal in his formality. It was a far cry from the quirky and loud mouthed scientist she’d come to know so well.
Suddenly he wasn’t Lloyd to her anymore. He was Earl Lloyd Asplund of Holy Brittania and she was insignificant by comparison. Even though he wasn’t much taller than her or very muscular she was forced to acknowledge that he was indeed a male. It was painfully obvious when they were close like this and it made Cecile fairly uncomfortable.
In the classroom and the lab he was just Lloyd. There was no need to recognize that his flint gray eyes held a vast array of raw disconcerting intellect. She never felt the need to run her fingers through his silvery hair to see if it felt soft or coarse to the touch. The only smell she associated with him was chemical and metallic but tonight he was wearing musky cologne.
He’d never treated her like an outcast; like the rest of the titled and privileged did. Maybe they weren’t friends but they weren’t strangers or enemies either. And in this moment they were a man (possessing a questionable amount of sanity, true) and a woman alone and set to waltz about an empty room.
If it weren’t Lloyd with her she would consider the moment… Romantic.
He took the lead and they began to dance, narrowly dodging the furniture spread around the room as if it represented other dancing couples. She couldn’t help but be pleased that she could keep up with him, having only learned to waltz a week prior. In her mind she could hear the song played on the radio in the small dance studio as her instructor barked out ‘One, two, three’ over and over.
The temporary silence was broken as Lloyd began his presentation. “I’m going to go through several suggestions on how to modify your dress from drab to effective. You did get one thing right. The color is very fetching, I suppose” he informed her as his hand went up to the center of her back then slowly stroked down, warming the skin beneath the fabric.
“You should make it backless. Any polite gentleman would put his hand up between your shoulder blades, but even he couldn’t resist a sweep down your spine if the flesh were exposed”. His hand came to rest right on the top of her buttocks, making her jump.
“What are you doing!?” she squeaked as a blush formed on her cheeks and she squirmed to try and shake off his inappropriate touch.
“Oh will you be still? This is merely a demonstration. I’m acting the part of a suitor” he huffed. “Just go along with it. You can complain later”
“Fine” Cecile seethed, still blushing hotly.
With a nod he resumed his actions, stepping forward so that their fronts were pressed scandalously together. “You have a large chest and it would work to your benefit to flaunt it. I know your waist and stomach are trim as well… Unless you plan on gaining weight any time soon I’d recommend a plunging neckline. Probably down to your navel. Something loose so you give your dance partner hope that the fabric will shift easily and he’ll have immediate access to your nipples. Don’t make that face, you look like a fish”
Her jaw had dropped in the face of his blunt analysis and she shifted uncomfortably. She was fairly embarrassed by the wave of heat that warmed her when he’d spoken of her assets and hearing him say ‘nipple’ had shocked her. She tried to fish for words but nothing came forward but incoherent spluttering.
He removed his hand from gripping her own to trace it up her arm, lingering on the area above her glove. “No gloves. The more skin the better”
She nodded, swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat. His touch was sinfully arousing, even if it were just innocent exploration. His fingertips were calloused from working on the frames and there were a few scars as well as fresh scratches she’d personally mended. As his hand continued to move up to her throat she forgot how to breathe.
“Your hair should still be up, but have a few strands hanging loose around your face. It gives them the impression they have something to grab onto” he told her as he rested his hand around the column of her neck. “And your throat should be exposed. It insinuates submission and offers a tempting opportunity”
Somehow Cecile managed to find her voice to ask “For what?”
Rather than answer he simply showed her by bowing his head to press his lips to her pulse point, his fingers tangling in her hair to force her head back so he had more room to maneuver. His tongue slipped out to slide up and down the side of her throat. “Wear less perfume, I can taste it” he told her, mouthing the words so that his lips brushed over the newly sensitive skin.
She gasped, her heart hammering in her chest. Who in the hell was this man? The Lloyd she’d grown attached to was awkward and flippant. The stranger lavishing her neck with attention was sensual and intense, making her insides twist into pleasant knots.
A skillful flick of his tongue over the spot where her ear met her neck made her let out and involuntary gasp and she had to put her arms around him just to stay standing. He helpfully curled the hand that was resting on her derriere around her middle to hold her in place. She could feel him smiling and the rumble of an uncharacteristically deep chuckle in his chest.
When was the last time a man had touched her so intimately? She tried to recall, forcing herself to focus on something other than the way the Earl’s touch was making her body ache and tingle. She’d dated a few men but nothing had grown very serious. Most of her male companions were turned off or intimidated by her brilliant mind. That and she wasn’t some wanton party girl that would give herself up just to earn an “I love you”.
She’d been kissed, caressed, and teased but never with such passion. And, as hard as it was to admit, none of her suitors were as interesting as Lloyd. In his own strange way he was attractive but above that she respected and admired him. Plus he appealed to her sympathetic nature. Science had damaged his soul and she wanted to slowly nurture him back into some semblance of sanity.
He’d made her feel like someone of worth and earning his acknowledgement had boosted her confidence and bolstered her resolve to become the best version of herself. While he would sooner mock than encourage her he never intentionally hurt her and he’d defended her a time or two when close-minded peers questioned the talent in her common blood.
Even now, in his own crazy way, he was trying to help her be something better. It was touching and her heart warmed in her chest.
Then he groped her thigh and grunted as if she weighed a few tons and she wasn’t feeling quite as affectionate. At least he’d stopped kissing her, effectively halting the strange turn her thoughts had taken. This was Lloyd, no matter how polished he acted.
“This won’t do at all” he tsked, his fingers pinching into her skin through the fabric. “This needs… hmmm….” He let go of her quickly and began to look around the room. She had no idea what he was searching for and staying upright on knees that seemed to have liquefied was her priority.
He let out a victorious “Aha!” and held up the champagne glass she’d dropped as if it were the answer to everything. Before she could even ask he smashed the bowl of it on the edge of a coffee table and approached her while pointing the jagged edge of the stem at her.
Panic flared up in her at the determined look in his eyes and she froze like a deer in headlights. No sudden movements. Pretend you’re a tree. Maybe he’ll lose interest. If she weren’t so worried about being brutally murdered by her co-worker she would’ve laughed at her ridiculous survival instinct.
In the blink of an eye he was crouched down next to her and she said a quick prayer. It only made sense that he would take out her legs first so she couldn’t run. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for agony.
The sound of something tearing and a pull on her hem alerted her that she wasn’t in any real danger, just her gown, and an all new alarm rang out.
Of course he wasn’t going to kill her. If he’d wanted to do that he had plenty of opportunities, most of which with the added benefit of explosions. Lloyd Asplund was very fond of explosions. No, he was just going to maul her dress.
“Lloyd, stop! I paid a lot of money for this” she protested, trying to pull away but only making it easier to rend a tear in the fabric all the way to her upper thigh. She yelped and covered what she could of her exposed leg modestly. The cut he’d made was jagged thanks to the uneven teeth of the glass implement he’d used to make his modification. Already bits of thread were fraying and she knew it would take another allowance to pay for repairs.
“Much better” he announced as if he hadn’t heard her, taking her hands away from shielding herself so he could admire his work.
“No, not better. You ruined my dress! I know you hated it but I loved it. I thought it suited my personality and… And it made me feel attractive” she admitted, anger and embarrassment making her more free to express her true feelings.
He looked up at her and she was surprised by the annoyance she saw in his expression. She was used to exasperated boredom and even the occasional disbelief but to have an outright issue with her was something new. “The way you thought it suited you to act like one of those pompous sluts? I watched you, Cecile. You weren’t acting like yourself at all. All that moronic business of ‘Your Grace’ and looking over men in search of the most powerful bidder. You’re better than that. You’re better than them” he told her, standing up so he could use his height to loom over her at meet her eyes.
“You treated me like a damn royal when we’ve always been equals. You act like having an expensive gown will change you into one of them, like being a snob is a good thing. It’s not. You were far more attractive when you wore cheap knock-offs and a demure smile. That was how you showed all those rich bastards you were stronger than them. Why do you think they worked so hard to put you down? They couldn’t stand seeing a commoner among them fitting in, being beautiful and humble, disproving every stereotype they’d been spoon fed since birth”
Realization sank into her gut and she felt mildly ill by having everything pointed out to her. All this time she’d felt intimidated and belittled by the beautiful people when in reality they felt just the same about her. Suddenly her once lovely gown began to feel too tight and itchy. Her jewelry felt heavy and cold on her skin. Even her hair felt as if it had been pulled too tightly and was now giving her a headache.
“Oh” she managed to reply, still flabbergasted by the epiphany.
“Now she gets it!” he snapped, forcing her back into their waltzing stances. She was too dizzy to protest and mechanically followed his lead, unaware that he’d backed her into a corner until her back hit the wall behind her.
“Much much better” her dance partner sighed as he reached down to stroke the skin of her thigh, making her jump. Apparently encouraged by the start he’d given her he dragged her freed leg up and around him so that their most intimate places were separated only by the clothes they wore.
“Lloyd?” she asked breathily, confused to why he was still going on with his demonstration. She’d thought they’d finally settled the true matter behind his seminar but his actions said otherwise.
His reply was to grind himself against her, the sensation making her throw her head back and yelp when it bumped into the wall. A delicious heat spread through her veins and made her breath quicken. “Wh-wha-“ She wanted to ask what he thought he was doing but she was silenced by another thrust.
The friction between their bodies increased with his tempo as he held her leg tightly around him and his other hand crept up her side, fingertips playing over each rib before grazing the underside of her breast. All thoughts of protesting to his ministrations left her in a rush. The feeling was incredible and she greedily craved more. His hand continued to dance around the edge of her breast, avoiding her now puckered nipple.
Without meaning for it to happen a moan slipped out of her and she couldn’t help but blush at how naughty it sounded. However it made her partner finally tease her nipple through her dress so she supposed it was a good sound to make.
The feel of his thickness sliding against her made her ache in ways that felt new to her. On each stroke he paid special notice to a hidden part of her that throbbed with each touch. She couldn’t help but be impressed that he knew where her clitoris was without a map and a flashlight like most men, and she was thankful for it.
Her arms reached up to pull him closer and she tucked her head between his neck and shoulder, beginning to pant as she felt the tension coil in her body. More unbidden moans started to slip out and she felt his muscles clench each time she made the sound. Outside of his own quickened breathing he was silent for a change, the way he tended to be when focused on an important task.
When had it gotten this hot? How had it happened? At the moment Cecile couldn’t remember or bother to care as her eyes fluttered closed and his hands gripped her hips roughly. Still, something was missing for her even as she approached her release. This was all a demonstration, or so Lloyd claimed, but she knew that for her it was something more.
A part of her was waking up and it was thanks to the frustrating scientist currently pounding her senseless into the wall. She wanted, needed, to show him her gratitude. He deserved to know what she was going through thanks to him. “Lloyd… she pleaded, having to pause between her next words so that she could moan again.
“Kiss me” she whispered.
He froze in her arms and she whined and squirmed to get him to start again. He still refused to move and their ragged huffs of air were the only sound in the stillness. She managed to pull back enough to look at him.
His eyes were clouded with lust as well as something she couldn’t identify but she also noticed he looked pained. Not so much the pain a man felt when he was prevented from ejaculating but something more raw. His glasses were askew on his face and it made him look comical and unguarded.
Slowly, devastatingly, he nodded and leaned toward her. Her heart beat double time in her chest as his lips approached her at a snail’s pace, like he were afraid to move to quickly or she might shatter. She couldn’t divine what it all added up to but something felt off. There was a new aura between them that felt dangerous and powerful.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, his lips pressed her own with gentle force. He took his time exploring, nibbling her bottom lip then tasting her upper lip with the same care. The rest of him remained paralyzed even as she tried to pull him closer and get him to start making her lose her mind again.
She felt his tongue lick her bottom lip and she happily opened to him with a sigh, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair and bring him closer. His fingers dug into her hips, pinching her, but she was too absorbed in the kiss to care.
His tongue searched and caressed her mouth, dancing with her own tongue before she caught him between her lips and sucked on the invading probe. It was a naughty gesture that made her feel powerful when she heard and practically tasted his pained groan.
They parted to catch their breath but Lloyd didn’t lean in again. He was rigid in his stance and politely untangled her from his person. With a casual laugh he waved off the moment they’d shared. “Now do you see how effective the right dress can be? You were going about it all wrong” he sighed, his tone an odd pitch.
It took her a moment to get that he wasn’t going to kiss her again and disappointment overwhelmed her. They were both flushed, sweaty, and charged with energy and yet he managed to brush her off. She couldn’t fathom what she’d done wrong. All she wanted was a kiss. Considering she was about to hand herself over to him before even going on a first date it seemed like a generous trade.
His expression was dark and troubled and he refused to meet her eyes. Why? Why was this happening? Just when her night had become pleasant once more he had to ruin it all over? She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything before and he was going to leave her right on the precipice and walk away?
“Lloyd… I don’t…” she tried to convey how she felt as the passion died down.
“Demonstration is over. Good luck making that thing truly presentable” he ground out, sounding angry. “Goodnight”
“Wait!” she cried. Too many questions tried to spill out at once so that all she could utter was silence.
Lloyd shook his head. “I need to go. Work to do, people to please, weapons of mass destruction to design. You know the drill” he sing-songed with forced cheer as he fixed his glasses and adjusted his cravat. “I’ll see you in a few days. We’ve been assigned to the same squadron of Prince Schneizel’s research bureau. You’re to be my assistant. Congratulations”
With that he gave a mock bow and sauntered out of the room, leaving her breathless and wanting for more than just answers.
Lloyd Asplund yawned and set down the wine glass he’d been filling with anything he could find from fine wine to cheap tequila. He was reclined on two legs of a sturdy chair with his long legs perched on a lab desk, though his drunkenness threatened to make him lose his balance at any moment.
He couldn’t stop picturing Cecile flushed and hungry for him to take her. She was exquisite, like a fine piece of art to take time examining or a particularly devastating explosive blast zone that had to be scoured for research. She had looked divine in the red gown he knew she spent a great amount of money on. Too good for the likes of him to be near.
When she dressed like a noble he wanted to trick himself into thinking she was because that would mean she was just as fucked up as all the others. He could take her into his bed and ravish her without any worry that he’d ruin her or break her heart. If she were a noble that meant that she wasn’t Cecile and that meant that Lloyd could have her.
But bloody hell, she was Cecile. She was his virginal, innocent, optimistic, kind, beautiful, and brilliant assistant that managed to find the bridge between science and humanity. Even as she drew out designs for cluster bombs or trajectories for impact grenades she was hopeful that the war would end and that soon she’d be asked to design machines of peace.
“Idiot” he cursed before taking another long drink.
At first he’d tried to show her just how worthless humanity was. He’d often point out the dark truth behind the masks people wore. But instead of being disgusting she was forgiving and even went so far as to defend them. There were times when he saw the sorrow in her eyes knowing that the new blueprints they sent out were for destroying a terrorist cell. People that would kill her just for being a Brittanian had her sympathy.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It had driven him past the brink to realize that he was orchestrating the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. There were weeks where he couldn’t leave his bed out of fear that if he got back to work it would mean more blood. Finally, somewhere along the line he’d learned how to numb himself.
People became numbers, casualties became statistics. He shut himself off from any empathy he had knowing that if he let himself feel the weight of what he did it would crush him.
And then in walked Cecile Croomy, bright eyed and determined to prove her worth in the world. She listened to the death tolls with a grim look on her face and he knew that when she went home she’d cry herself to sleep. He watched her heart break a little bit at a time for anyone who died and for their families. She would become convinced to make a design more safe, more concentrated. She did everything in her power to reduce casualties.
It was awe-inspiring and he kept waiting for the day when the bottom would drop out and she’d realize there was blood on her hands too.
And damn her to hell for it but when he was able to shut out everything else he just couldn’t close himself off from her. She made him feel again and it terrified him. He lusted after her and monopolized her attention. He’d go out of his way to distract or irritate her when she was upset.
It had become his mission to take all the pain for the both of them so that she’d never feel the chill of reality for long. And it made him a little more insane every day but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. In her he’d found a safe place to put all of his hopes and desires.
As long as Cecile could stand to keep doing this then he knew he could too. It became impossible to imagine that it would ever manage to break her. She was too strong; far stronger than him. She became his conscience and humanity after he’d abandoned his own. She was his strength… And he’d be damned if he’d let himself fuck up something that worked.
But tonight, somewhere between champagne, a red dress, and feeling her body tremble under his touch he’d let himself feel too much. He was overwhelmed with want and hope and dreams of things that could be. He’d nearly thrown everything he’d carefully constructed just to make her scream his name.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot” he chanted as he grabbed a bottle from the shopping bag on the floor. After fleeing from Cecile still suffering through a hard on and a headache he cleaned out a shelf of the nearby grocery stocked with spirits and set about numbing himself the old fashioned way: By getting blackout drunk.
He just hoped he wouldn’t be one of those sad cases that drowned in their own vomit after they passed out. The mental image wasn’t a pretty one and his hearty chugging straight from the bottle became a slow sip.
How in the hell was he supposed to work with her? The next time she made him lose control like that he didn’t think he could stop himself. She sure as hell didn’t seem inclined to stop him like he’d hoped she would. Lord knows she slapped him for doing things a lot less dumb than dry humping her up against a wall.
He hissed as he endured another tantalizing picture of her naked and sweaty beneath him and his body remembered the way her body fit against his. The sound of her saying his name in that excited little gasp echoed through his head.
His hands clenched and unclenched into fists and he shuddered.
Cecily Croomy thought she might swoon. Before her was Camelot, the irregular military research and development unit funded by Prince Schneizel. It was heaven for Knightmare mechanics and engineers like her. Huge hangars, a full staff of highly trained workers, top of the line computers and tools, a real testing field… She felt like a kid in a candy store.
This was her new playground and office.
Her knees went weak and she grabbed onto the corner of a nearby table to steady herself. She couldn’t believe it. This mechanical paradise was waiting for her. She couldn’t wait to call her parents and tell them.
She was drawn out of her wonder by a man in a long white lab coat jogging toward her. “Quit drooling and take the tour” Lloyd told her, helpfully reaching up to push her jaw back up so her moth would close. She hadn’t even realized it was hanging open.
Her blood felt like it had gone cold even as she blushed brightly. “L-Lloyd” she stuttered, pulling away from his touch and unable to return his goofy smile.
“You were expecting Prince Schneizel?” he mocked, rolling her eyes.
He started telling her about all the details of their new work environment but she didn’t hear a word. In her chest her heart felt frozen. He was acting like nothing had happened. Knowing Lloyd it was likely he didn’t even care. To him it had all been a momentary thing. He didn’t feel anything.
It hurt but she kept a straight face. There was no reason to mourn the loss of something she’d never had; no matter how stupidly she’d wanted it. This was how it was going to be from now on, the same as it always was. She was going to pretend nothing ever happened and maybe one day she could hope to forget the way the Earl had.
He reached the end of his speech and she forced herself to smile. “I look forward to working with you” she told him with false cheer.
He watched her closely for a moment before nodding slowly and beckoning her to follow him to the drafting tables where he’d already been hard at work for several hours.
Deep down she braced herself and reminded herself that she could do this.
Author’s Note: I decided to try my hand at writing smut for one of my favorite pairings. I was always interested in their back story of going to the same school and joining the same military branch so I decided to flesh it out a bit. Lloyd may seem a little out of character but bear with me. Right now he’s still young and not entirely gone just like Cecile is still completely naïve. Thank you for reading!