[[Totally late. You ought to know by now not to even obliquely and unintentionally imply I'm not up to a challenge. |D It causes me to do freaky things like this. Lelouch and a personification of Britannia, go. (And this won't even make much sense if you don't know Geass canon D|) ]]
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The gun's cold. The metal of the gun burns like ice as Lelouch taps the barrel against his chin as if in mock thought, before pressing it to the temple of the Holy Britannian Empire.
"You should know better," he hisses. "You should know your history, shouldn't you? That the ones who fight the hardest, who do the most damage, are the ones with nothing left to lose." He twists the gun slowly, rotating it, digging it into the soft flesh above the ear, until the man before him winces. "You have taken - everything - from me. I'm only here to return the favor." Despite the hot, searing anger that bubbles under his words, Lelouch is completely calm. Controlled. Neither a single tremor of expectation flickers in his skin, nor one twitch of his face betrays the complex snarl of emotions behind his mask. The fear. The betrayal. The despair. The anger.
The anticipation.
The visceral pleasure.
Britannia has his eyes squeezed shut, so tight his teeth are clenched with the effort. "You're done," he manages to choke out nonetheless. "You have nothing. That bitch Area Eleven finally betrayed you -"
Lelouch flicks the safety and Britannia swallows the rest of his sentence. "That bitch's name is The United States of Japan," Lelouch reminds him, calmly, as if correcting his grammar, "and we have, respectfully, mutually agreed that our goals no longer coincide." That's a lie, but Britannia doesn't know it.
"So you come to me," he spits, eyes still screwed shut, head still twisted to the side. "Because you have nowhere left to go."
"You're starting to grasp the picture here," Lelouch says with a cold, hard predator's smile. "And this is what's going to happen." He shoves, suddenly, and Britannia slams against the wall. Lelouch walks forward. "I am taking control of this country. I am taking you." The gun comes down and slams across a nose and mouth. Britannia flinches and recoils, his head thudding back against the wall behind him. Lelouch can see the blood climbing the cracks between his teeth when his lips part to gasp.
He steps. Closer. The gun, almost an afterthought now, held at his waist level, digging into Britannia's floating ribs because that's how close they're standing - Lelouch whispers, "And I am going to break you." His breath grazes Britannia's ear: "I'm going to use you, the way you once used me." The other hand, not holding the gun, grips a handful of hair. "Unmake you." His lips - at his throat. "Remake you." A low whine builds in Britannia's throat, a fear-sound, a prey-sound, as Lelouch's tongue parts Britannia's lips, skates along his clenched teeth.
Tastes like blood (perhaps the same blood that runs in his veins, a family line tied to the land, to antiquity). Disgusting. Sensual. Powerful. The trembling, a paralysis between something like terror and something like need, gravity, compulsion. Lips part. Lelouch moves back, when he senses Britannia's eyes have opened.
"When I'm done with you," he says, "you'll beg like a dog to give me what I want."
Britannia's voice trembles. "What do you want?" he asks, a curiosity born of fear and fascination. Sometimes you can't tell the difference.
from out the azure main;; lelouch/britannia [R? ish? :: what the fuck is this]
----
The gun's cold. The metal of the gun burns like ice as Lelouch taps the barrel against his chin as if in mock thought, before pressing it to the temple of the Holy Britannian Empire.
"You should know better," he hisses. "You should know your history, shouldn't you? That the ones who fight the hardest, who do the most damage, are the ones with nothing left to lose." He twists the gun slowly, rotating it, digging it into the soft flesh above the ear, until the man before him winces. "You have taken - everything - from me. I'm only here to return the favor." Despite the hot, searing anger that bubbles under his words, Lelouch is completely calm. Controlled. Neither a single tremor of expectation flickers in his skin, nor one twitch of his face betrays the complex snarl of emotions behind his mask. The fear. The betrayal. The despair. The anger.
The anticipation.
The visceral pleasure.
Britannia has his eyes squeezed shut, so tight his teeth are clenched with the effort. "You're done," he manages to choke out nonetheless. "You have nothing. That bitch Area Eleven finally betrayed you -"
Lelouch flicks the safety and Britannia swallows the rest of his sentence. "That bitch's name is The United States of Japan," Lelouch reminds him, calmly, as if correcting his grammar, "and we have, respectfully, mutually agreed that our goals no longer coincide." That's a lie, but Britannia doesn't know it.
"So you come to me," he spits, eyes still screwed shut, head still twisted to the side. "Because you have nowhere left to go."
"You're starting to grasp the picture here," Lelouch says with a cold, hard predator's smile. "And this is what's going to happen." He shoves, suddenly, and Britannia slams against the wall. Lelouch walks forward. "I am taking control of this country. I am taking you." The gun comes down and slams across a nose and mouth. Britannia flinches and recoils, his head thudding back against the wall behind him. Lelouch can see the blood climbing the cracks between his teeth when his lips part to gasp.
He steps. Closer. The gun, almost an afterthought now, held at his waist level, digging into Britannia's floating ribs because that's how close they're standing - Lelouch whispers, "And I am going to break you." His breath grazes Britannia's ear: "I'm going to use you, the way you once used me." The other hand, not holding the gun, grips a handful of hair. "Unmake you." His lips - at his throat. "Remake you." A low whine builds in Britannia's throat, a fear-sound, a prey-sound, as Lelouch's tongue parts Britannia's lips, skates along his clenched teeth.
Tastes like blood (perhaps the same blood that runs in his veins, a family line tied to the land, to antiquity). Disgusting. Sensual. Powerful. The trembling, a paralysis between something like terror and something like need, gravity, compulsion. Lips part. Lelouch moves back, when he senses Britannia's eyes have opened.
"When I'm done with you," he says, "you'll beg like a dog to give me what I want."
Britannia's voice trembles. "What do you want?" he asks, a curiosity born of fear and fascination. Sometimes you can't tell the difference.
Lelouch smiles, and there is nothing behind it.
"Everything."