lusi | MINGLE 001

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MINGLE 001

MINGLE 001: FOOD, FUN, FUCKING

Guests are 'gently encouraged' by enforcer robots to gather into what appears to be a central gathering place in the middle of the settlement area. Attendance is quite mandatory. Once everyone has gathered, holographic emitters kick on and display... static. Loudspeakers tell the captive audience to prepare for an important announcement, and moments later a proper but mechanical voice chimes in:

Greetings, organisms! R̷e̶j̸o̴i̴c̷e̸, for the portents foresee a time of glorious providence! We have recorded your actions a̵n̸d̵ ̴o̸u̶r̵ ̵c̶a̵p̸a̷b̷i̴l̸i̷t̵i̶e̸s̶ ̴have upgraded accordingly! The fabricator general automata grant you a boon, and shall provide much glamorous f̷i̶x̴t̶u̶r̶e̴s̷ ̴to aid in your future acts. Frolic and make merrily, all!

To honor your contributions and celebrate your arrival, you will be invited to attend our first sultry salacious soiree. Join your fellow chosen and f̵u̶l̵f̴i̵l̸l̵ ̵y̸o̷u̶r̷ ̷f̸u̴n̴c̷t̷i̶o̶n̶!

And with that, the display ends and characters are allowed to go as they please.

Upon returning, characters now find that dormant manufacturing robots have been reactivated, and will accept requests to build certain household fixtures, i.e., bedding, couches, loveseats. Because who wants to bang on a dusty cot, right? The quality will not be high. Imagine low-end IKEA. Build quality also varies dramatically and seems to depend on how old and corrupted the machine is. (As with all things in this world, quality is improved with intimate acts.)

But what is this celebration you've been invited to? That much is simple as sin. It's a mechanically sponsored party. Of particular note to hungry newcomers will be a fully stocked banquet ample spirits and naturally, a dedicated area for an all-out orgy. It's a good old-fashioned party, Roman style!

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These are no hospital rations. This is a full-fledged feast. It's no less dangerous, though.
Naturally, the robots have seen fit to add a little bit "extra." Some offerings are entirely innocuous, while others have bevy of effects that you'll soon discover.

You may find yourself only able to speak the truth, or maybe after one bite you find yourself instantly smitten with the next person you see. Some foods incite obedience, others rebellion. And some... well, you can't have an orgy without some good, old-fashioned aphrodisiac.

The music has been modulated to change the way you think. Of course it's electro-synth, what else would robots play?

Slower music induces sleep; maybe you fall into a cuddle-puddle with some of your fellow kidnappees. Faster music encourages you to dance. And some music? That's what upstairs is for.

Speaking of upstairs, what's an orgy without the orgy? You may find yourself auspiciously able to fill your decadent A5 squares. In a large room that seems unusually renovated, as if the robots had given it special attention just for this day, a floor covered in pillows awaits the beast with two backs. No one is turned away, and those attending will get a notification from their devices that they have received... additional credits? What could this mean?

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N A V I G A T I O N

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Well, shit.

He can't say he's surprised that Lelouch managed to ingest something potentially deadly, since he fell into the same trap. But this has now escalated from soothing a stomachache into shielding someone from grave harm. He's thin, thin to the point of frailty, and coupled with that queasiness... there's no way he could defend himself. He can't overlook it. He can't ignore it.

He'd kill a thousand men and a thousand more, all in the name of a peaceful world. He's betrayed so many and would betray many more, all in the name of revolution. But no man, not a single one, deserved to have their consent violated. So McGillis Fareed could be chivalrous, if only in this context.]

I shall stay until it passes, then.

[He gathers up Lelouch in his arms, what little there was to carry, and finds a quiet corner. Noticing the strangled motions, he pulls down that restrictive collar, although he keeps his touch clinical so Lelouch doesn't misunderstand what "stay" actually means.]

Keep your thoughts clear. Focus on the floor, on a single point. And remain still.

Edited (...I literally have no idea what I was trying to say there.) 2020-05-30 23:15 (UTC)

[ Everything's spinning so violently, like dreams swimming in and out of focus when he's lifted up. With the leisure to protest, vehement refusal would've been on the table to being whisked off to safety. He isn't so weak that he can't fight off an assailant, struggle back to cognizance, find his way back. Suzaku did the same, and they're equals in every regard that matters.

But he isn't retreating from that hand even as he curls into himself, cradling his face when he's unable to pass out. ]

I can't... I can't focus. I've never been poisoned before.

[ Whatever this is, warping even his breathing so it clots up. Lelouch is such a fan of antiquated terms, but then he's an anachronism in this world: someone dead among the living. His voice ebbs. ]

Don't stay. It'll pass. I'll be fine. [ Dying once, he's already forsaken himself. Lelouch shuts his eyes. ] Leave.

[It's more than a little awkward, trying to hold Lelouch still, so he sinks to the floor too and ushers the young man onto his lap. Which in itself was questionable, but he'll just double over without sufficient support so behold—the legendary Great Wall of McGillis, keeping him upright through the sheer power of an impervious figure. And in spite of all that stubbornness.]

Tantrums are also for children. Stay still.

[Ego versus ego, clearly on display. Once again, his fingers take action, sweep over that fragile chest and rub dead center to ease the choking and coughing. He's not quite a prince, and they're not quite as delicate, but they're elegant and precise. Neatly trimmed, but also quite powerful.]

...tell me about yourself. Something, anything at all.

[Anything was better than wailing and whining.]

I'm not a child.

[ There's a truth, inlaid in another truth. Murderer, liar, the demon who monopolized and then swallowed the world's evil after assuming its hateful form. Not a child. Children can be never a conscious, self-realized sin. Bleary-eyed, Lelouch shoves at him when he's dropped into his lap, palm flattened like his ego, but the protest itself is weak. There's no real belligerence in him for someone who means well. ]

...you shouldn't touch me like that. I'll end up doing something unbecoming.

[ In contrast, these long, spindly pianist fingers of his are not at all suited to displays of force, but they're all he has. Lelouch drops against his companion's chest, forehead sliding down once the weight's grown nigh-unbearable, panting and unable to concentrate. ]

[McGillis remains unimpressed, although Lelouch starting to piece together coherent sentences again might constitute something like progress.]

Somehow, I'll manage.

[But those are a pretty pair of hands he's got. Where did he even come from? The same place as everyone else, of course, but he looked as though he stepped out of some enchanted storybook. His features were so delicate, they seemed almost inhuman. He's not about to overstep any boundaries, yet it was tempting to touch his skin, just to see how smooth it felt.

That panting was becoming concerning, though. Was he hyperventilating, or...?]

If you're warm, I'd suggest removing a layer or two. It may help.

[Gingerly, McGillis sets a hand on the small of Lelouch's back and boosts him back up. Pushing him a bit closer, just a bit.]

... I'd rather not. That's... indecent.

[ His pride's so valuable to him, guarded better than his own life. What little Lelouch does cherish and prize above all else, he's already lost, and his those fingers of his smart and tighten about those shoulders, struggling to surmount the compulsion that's surmounting him. ]

What I want... I... [ Lelouch wants a foothold, something to lift him from the edge of hunger, but he also wants to fall backwards, right into the depths of his own weakness, and he shudders under the push-and-pull of the burden that is implacable desire. ] Leave. I told you, leave. I'm not myself.

[ As noted by the way he maintains this proximity. Another moment and he'll push too far. But he's still holding on to what he can of decency and self-respect for another human being when, with great reluctance, does Lelouch attempt to disentangle himself. ]

[...ah. So that's what they're dealing with here.

He'd seen a few under a similar spell, panting and pleading, rutting into whatever and whoever they could find. The most unfortunate kind of food, he figures, as it was by far the most embarrassing. Telling the truth was easy, even for a born liar, and obedience wasn't ideal but manageable. Arousal, however, was dangerous. Peeling off every scrap of clothing wouldn't accomplish much—not with your body burning up in a very different way.

At least he'd isolated Lelouch from a room full of people, waiting to take advantage. Except there he goes again, trying to scurry away like a cornered cat.]

I don't take orders from you.

[Which is why Lelouch just gets plucked right back into place, effortlessly and insistently. He's not dealing with a kind man, he's not dealing with man who ordinarily meddles in the affairs of others unless he stands to gain something, but he is dealing with a relentless man. A stubborn man. The kind of a man who could grapple with a demon and win.]

Regardless, we'll have to address your little problem. Unless you truly think you can will that sort of thing into submission.

[ Collapsed about him, Lelouch cedes, not in opposition and not in submission but in governing himself by the same belief that he's spent the last several months of his life perfecting into a delusion that could be accepted by anyone. The principle of control his father exploited. Might makes right.

It's a sick farce, like the sticky tenor of his panting, but it's also what he is deep down, unable to give up or atone. ]

... I don't take orders... from you, either.

[ The wound's exacerbated the plaintive quality of his voice, ticking like a bomb set into his chest. A sore reminder of what he's relinquished. But he's heeding more than the punishment he allowed Suzaku to bestow upon him when he stares up, eyes furiously sharp through the haze of arousal. ]

... Fine. [ Imperiously, he leans in, leans up, snatching at the collar of his shirt to negate the distance to nothing. His grip begrudges him everything. ] Then you're alright with what I'll do to you right now.

[ And he kisses him with the same mouth he'd retched with, close-mouthed, chaste, inexperienced. Every girl who's captured his lips has never asked him for his permission. Suzaku never asked, either. So Lelouch won't, trying to satiate that burning in him that won't be quelled, every inch of him trying to subjugate. He stands to gain nothing from this. It's just longing he heeds. His fingers tighten to perversity the longer he maintains this, since he does believe, to the very heart of him, that he can will any emotion in him into submission. ]

[A stubborn young man with a strange intrinsic beauty and a will to take on the world. Where has he seen this before...?

It happens so fast, and he finds himself caught off guard because of that, drawn into the orbit of someone so much smaller. But he spoke so bravely, so far beyond his station, that McGillis finds it difficult to look away. Granted, the longer they sat together, the harder it became to feign disinterest. He really did want to touch him, he really did want to hold him, and he really did want to examine him—that face in particular, framed like porcelain, with beautiful gems for eyes.

Beautiful yet deadly. There's some debased quality to them, some viciousness that almost makes him shudder. He's dragged in by the neck and that's unusual, too, hinting at hideously sharp fangs despite Lelouch's lack of strength. He's being lectured and it leaves a bad taste in the mouth, though no worse than that kiss, which he chokes on and rails against. Presses his thumb to those lips and pushes back, immediately assuming control as the experienced party with the authoritative sort of tone to match.]

You taste rancid.

[Also like a hapless virgin. Why do these keep falling into his lap? Will the torment never cease?]

And you kiss like a doddering schoolboy. Has no one taught you properly, how to satisfy urges?

[ The kiss breaks but Lelouch doesn't shatter with it; like his royal bearing he'd once denounced and then seen fit to attain once more, he holds his head high, pulls his head back enough to press his fingers to his own mouth. ]

I was vomiting.

[ Obviously. Sick with desire and sick from it, so it's a shocker he doesn't taste worse than that, the acid reflux in his throat leaving the rest of his mouth toxic and putrid, like a real poison. Lelouch withdraws the thumb he'd scraped over his mouth, nettled and still inviting destruction onto himself. But he's a good deal more composed than before, having accepted the violent impulses careening about in him. ]

So it can't be helped if that's unpleasing. ... Though that shouldn't be of any consequence to you.

[ Contentment to take on all responsibility is also the acceptance to drown in what awaits. ]

... Is that an offer, then?

[ To teach him how to properly satisfy an urge. ]

[Seriously, this boy...]

Indeed. I was there.

[Sass for sass. But if he's well enough to talk, he's well enough to listen. Given that raunchy move, or else a floundering attempt at one, McGillis assumes he doesn't need to lecture any further on the nature of consent. He's detecting impatience, and in light of that, it was best to proceed with the assumption Lelouch would permit intimate contact. For the time being.

Even if that pompous lift of his chin suggests he'll suffer every step of the way. And likely afterward, when he's less drugged and more dangerous. Dangerous, in a way he can't place yet.]

And yes, if you'd grace me with a name. These sorts of transactions are awkward, otherwise.

[He states "transaction" with some degree of pompousness on his end, as well. As if refusing to play that particular part, as if refusing to be forgotten.]

Lelouch. [ Through the muddled dazedness, it occurs to him to tack on a last name. ] ... Lamperouge.

[ Though he's acting only on the facsimile of clarity, continuing to sit on a lap he's abruptly cognizant he's perched on. Whatever he remembers of this party of this party is something he'll thoroughly commit to memory.

For now, though an absolute lightweight in all matters sexual and inappropriate in a public setting, Lelouch restrains himself. ]

By principle, if you're asking for a name... shouldn't you give me one in turn?

[ He can't go on like this, drawing comparisons to Schneizel in his temperament and physique, and this isn't something he desired from his older brother, regardless. So he'll do away with it now. ]

Edited 2020-05-31 04:04 (UTC)

McGillis Fareed.

[Taking up a delicate hand, he guides Lelouch's fingers over the emblazoned badge on his overcoat. Just across his heart, seven silver stars in a sea of sky blue. It's a simple gesture, but intimate in its greater meaning. Intimacy, achieved through respect and decorum. That's the lesson of the day.]

I am the Brigadier General of Gjallarhorn, seated atop the throne of the world. So rest assured, I understand the meaning of power and control.

[As if demonstrate that very thing, he gives Lelouch's thigh a pat. Controlled and calm, a sterling example to follow, even in the face of desperation.]

And understand that are not being judged. Spread your legs; you'll find it more comfortable.

A pleasure then, McGillis.

[ The solemnity's different. Lelouch's fingers brush over the stars, filing it away in the locked safe that is his mind for later perusal. Power and control. He'll remember well. The bout of vehemence fades from every extremity, only to jostle when he's jostled. Startled by the stray touch of that hand, like a flightless bird still provoked to movement. ]

... I would prefer someplace more private.

[ Even out of the way here, sequestered into one corner. No one else is gazing at him from each cursory scan of the room he takes, but the implication of being seen is tangible enough to ruin his composure a good deal, biting into him like each pang of the wound inscribed into his chest.

After a moment of intense deliberation, considering at least fifteen different viable choices, Lelouch spreads his legs flush over his lap. ]

[There's no point in playing coy, not with what they're about to do, so flirtation seeps openly into his expression as he leans down to address Lelouch.]

I am the only one looking at you, Lelouch.

[Looking with bright, vivid eyes, emerald into violet. His tongue works through those foreign syllables, slow and smooth and oh so deliberate—Le, lou, ch—and for a moment it seems like he might swallow him up. His mouth breaks into a modest smile, and now, he'll touch: dusting the tips of trim fingers over Lelouch's cheek, gliding along the edge of that beautiful face and coming to pause at the point of his chin.

Appreciative, respectful, and nothing like scandalous. Despite what they're about to do, what he's about to say.]

Getting off isn't the issue. Men are delightfully easy, in that regard, so instead you should ask yourself...

[His hand drops, a little less polite, brushing between those spread legs.]

"What do I really want?"

[ The fingers that sail down his cheekbone lure heat just below his skin when his head's tilted up just so, attention monopolized. Lelouch is inexorably compelled to give into his intent. He's also willing to deny him yet again, but his mind's busy gazing those green eyes, so much like Suzaku's in this moment, to pay that impulse much heed.

What he yearns for is the sun-like dream of peace in Nunnally's heart and the way her wish will burn through him entirely, but that isn't the right answer. Not in this context, not with this resolve.

He's intensely distracted otherwise, breath hitching as he's touched, perverseness a summit he can't scale down. His gaze shivers, thighs open and touched until Lelouch shudders to close them, gasps shallowly painting the inside of his throat. ]

Then, impress... impress me.

[ Unchecked ambition. That's what he wants, perhaps what he's always wanted. The willingness to destroy a world and create it anew. ]

[Impress me, he says. Borderline demands, and McGillis heeds the call. So close, so enthralled, it's easy to see the spark of something in his eyes—something dangerous, something deadly, akin to a snake preparing a strike. And he will indeed strike, but not to kill. To coax, to coerce... to control. He dips his head, as if obeying an order, and answers him thus:]

With pleasure.

[Which he will deliver on, in spades, as he always does.

There's no kissing that filthy mouth; instead, he looks to the pretty, pale pillar of his neck. He traces the tip of his tongue along his jugular, that sensitive vein which could bleed him out, and bites. And licks, and sucks, dutifully, to force that yielding flesh into surrender. His hand parts those thighs again—you can't hide from me, nobody can—and his hips start to move, drawing them together. Powerful, a beast on full display. Elegant and artful, like the prize he's captured now.

He's so, so beautiful, it's entrancing. His mind keeps looping back to that, over and over again. He wants to impress. He wants to be worthy. Even seated atop the throne of stars, looking down upon the world, he wants to regard this man. And be regarded by this man. That is the role of the gallant knight, guarding the princess, who could tear an entire kingdom apart in pursuit of her Lancelot.]

[ Fine. Serpent, dream your serpent-like dreams.

Thirst to enact vengeance against the world that opposes the individual and tramples those not fit to the task of subjugation. An endless era of those seven stars like the ones emblazoned on his jacket. A will to deny everything for the one thing that can be accepted. Lelouch can identify as much in those who seek to seize control. He's committed similar atrocities.

However, throat blistering around the jugular as he's bitten, Lelouch has already seen his wish to its end. He's a snake in his own right, and he doesn't rail against what he's asked for. What comes after McGillis are his hands. His fingers slither up, the points of them braced beneath the nape of the neck, the sting nearly as exacerbating as poison. Lelouch isn't surrendering; he's giving this to him, this moment, rutting to the degree of harshness as McGillis dictates.

Each breath provoked is congested, heavier and heavier with the lash of that tongue and the ruddied, forming bruise. His panting takes on a filmy and mercurial quality with each gyration of his hips.

But as someone who indulges in rash, violent impulses, he wants for more. Any glimpse of Lelouch's eyes are humored in the midst of the darkness that he himself entertains, lashes coyly lowered. It isn't regard this early on, though the shudder of his legs knotting up around what he can of McGillis, loosely linked at the ankles to snare his waist, is unmistakable. ]

Edited 2020-06-01 18:45 (UTC)

[It didn't take much strength to kill someone, snapping their neck or pushing in at just the right place with just the right pressure. It's why he pauses, feeling fingers graze over that sensitive spot. Surely he wouldn't, he thinks. But maybe he really was tougher than initially assumed. It didn't take much to kill, other than plenty of willpower. If you're going to shoot, prepare to be shot—far from an adage unique to Lelouch's world. Any general could understand that kind of philosophy.

McGillis pauses, but it only lasts for a moment. He returns to his task, making certain Lelouch would wake up tomorrow to many, many reminders of the previous day, peppering that pale neck. He tastes delicious and it's regrettable he can't have his mouth too. That he can't suck out every shaky breath and claim it as his own. Some other time, he figures. Some other day.

It's not long before he begins to stir, as any man would. And he forces Lelouch to feel it, shrugging off his coat and sash, pulling his prize closer to the shape of him.]

Mind yourself.

[There's the curl of a grin, against that skin, still nipping away. Muffled laughter.]

Don't get too greedy, or I'll take you for a ride.

[ He's no closer to atonement than before.

Under this stupor, pain still registers as pain, but pleasure is a fever that spills into absolute dizziness. Lelouch is chafing under his touch, broken out in a cold sweat, gritting his teeth shut to avoid anything too traitorously sincere ebbing out.

Lelouch doesn't laugh even then, dropping his face to bury against McGillis's throat, mouthing his answer into the skin while his own mottles, aching, ravaged. ]

I don't care. ... There's... nothing wrong, with being greedy.

[ What he wants can't be attained with goodness. So he'll be evil, incomprehensibly so. It's his own fingers yet again that frustratedly trek down McGillis's chest to feel him out for himself, prying past every last layer that divides them. If he's touched, then he'll inevitably touch in return, bringing about his own downfall. ]

[Isn't he adorable? Shaking and desperate, trying to stifle himself, though little sounds were bound to slip out. Like a scared child, almost, yet with such a sassy tongue. Pulling back, he combs his fingers through that dark patch of hair, cups the side of his face and fixes him with keen eyes—evidently he doesn't care either, at least as far as personal space was concerned.]

Certainly so, in pursuit of pleasure. But you should consider sex to be... ah, let's call it an equitable endeavor.

[McGillis yields, removing that wispy shirt. It does little to hide his figure, anyway, massive and muscular. Just like those pants aren't masking that sizable bulge between his legs. There's nothing to be ashamed of; as suited an instructor, he projects confidence, so Lelouch has something to fall back on. So he doesn't tumble all the way back down in the abyss, cold and dark.

Though that doesn't mean he's getting off easy, so to speak. He tugs at Lelouch's clothes, insistently.]

Let me see you, Lelouch. The rest of you.

[...he's insistent, but even so, he doesn't proceed without permission.]

[ Vulgarity to this extent is so incorrigible. He's lasted this long engaging in wars of sophistry with his mouth, but shamelessness past a certain threshold and Lelouch visibly jolts as soon as his fingers close about that bulge, gone so rigid he's become to resemble someone deeply catatonic. Why is it so huge? ]

Would I be permitting this if I— ah—... ah.

[ Can't remember subtlety if he's frozen in place, though the warmth of arousal melts him soon after when he's cradled. It's a good thing he'd secured his legs about him earlier, or he'd just topple outright. ]

That's... you have a problem with my clothes being on?

[ They're in public. Some modesty has to be observed. There's no reason they can't get it on exactly like this, give or take a compromise. Lelouch twists his face away and mostly ends up pressing it into McGillis's palm, which is counterproductive to his own needs over the long-term but feels a tad better in the short-term. ]

... You can see me already.

[ His voice sounds so frazzled. ]

[Then he's going to just love this next part.]

Because.

[Because, because, because. McGillis nips at an ear, though that's incidental. And mutters vulgarity into it, so many things no man should ever say to another man, all things Lelouch will hear now. Because he's a man of many talents, because it was easy to control someone, to manipulate a person. All you had to do was give them everything they never knew they wanted.

A little unfair, maybe, but from one war criminal to another... it was, arguably, exactly what he deserved.]

Because I want to put my mouth all over you. Right between those pretty legs of yours, until you're begging, until you're pleading to come.

[A little unfair, maybe. Every part of him was pretty.]

...of course, if you'd rather not, I'll just fuck your thighs. Though that might make something of a mess, as you are now.

[How equitable. He even looks pleased with himself, as if he'd just secured the biggest trade deal of all time. Or the prettiest princess.]

[ This is so offensive to his nature. Why is he indulging this, why is he here, why did he have to vomit so profusely?

Questions without an answer. And Lelouch, plagued and plagued again, troubled in a context for which he has very little experience. One time with Suzaku and a handful of kisses is nothing. He's learnt that now, and it's horrible to behold. Lelouch startles again, ear nipped, and his fingers unconsciously squeeze up around that bulge in response. ]

That doesn't sound equitable.

[ That's what his arousal-weighted, war criminal mind zeroes in on. In fact, it seems inappropriately skewed towards embarrassing him, which is probably the whole point. Lelouch hesitates, ear turning red the way his whole complexion has, and loosens his grip. ]

If there's no helping it... just the lower half should do.

[ With his thoughts tottering left and right, Lelouch can't explain away the wound carving out his chest very well. So allow him to take the initiative to sit up, ankles freed, and undo his belt, working off his slacks with extreme difficulty where he's folded into McGillis's lap.

Don't look at him. It's the principle of the thing. He's being extremely brave right now. ]

[Didn't he promise, though? He's only looking at you, Lelouch.]

Mm. Nothing gets past you, I see.

[Sarcasm, your name is McGillis Fareed.

Yet he offers no protest. At the very least, he's no mind reader, and so the most important secrets will remain just that—secret. McGillis accepts Lelouch's attempt at a compromise, and can't find fault with his reasoning. He also hasn't forgotten that he volunteered himself to teach, and bolsters that bravery by assisting with those pants and anything else in the way. It was important for Lelouch to take initiative; otherwise, he'd get the wrong idea about what sex was and wasn't. Although he has to wonder how much he'll even remember, much later on.

McGillis shifts forward, nudging Lelouch onto his back while maintaining some veneer of privacy. It's going to be very, very obvious what he's doing in a moment, but no one will see Lelouch. No one save for the man hovering over him, which might've been a great deal more intimidating than before, because now he really does look like a lion sizing up its next meal.

But at least he's a good-looking lion. So he'd argue for himself.]

Very good. I'll honor my commitment, then.

[There's not much time to think on "honor my commitment" before he's... honoring his commitment, bending down to lap the inside of a bare thigh with his tongue.]

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