Track Thirty-Four: Aloha O’e

“Bonjour, monsieur.”
“J’ai vos petits-dejéuners. Où dois-je les mettre?”
“Là-ba, c’est bon, merci.”

Stepping aside, the young man let the employee pass through the doors with the cart. Delicious aromas wafted after, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was hidden under the silver covers. Following the elderly man inside, he watched as the grandfather noticed the young lady, who was still in bed and had only maintained her propriety by covering herself with the duvet. Bowing slightly, he wished her a good morning.

“Bonjour,” she said shyly. The old man smiled not unkindly.
“Excusez-moi pour dérangeant votre matin. Bonne journée, madame. Monsieur.”
“Au revoir.”

When the door closed quietly behind him, she sat still for some time before whispering, “Do you think he knew?”

“Seeing from the saucy little look he gave me while leaving, I would presume so, yes.”

She groaned and covered her face with a pillow. Face flushed red, she couldn’t help but agonize. Not that she particularly cared for the old man’s opinion, but just thinking about how a complete stranger had known just what they had been up to in the early morning hours simply by glancing into the room mortified her. Did she really look that promiscuous?

Her husband gently peeled the pillow away.

“Don’t hide. Or else how am I supposed to see your pretty face?”
“He knows,” she moaned. “He knows…”
“Yes, and just think of how jealous he is, knowing he’s never had someone as lovely as you in bed with him all his life.”

She buried her face in his bare chest, and he laughed as he took hold of her shoulders. Smoothing her hair, he comforted her all the while trying not to let his amusement get the better of him.

“It’s really alright. Les français comprennent.”
“It’s just embarrassing,” she whined. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“You certainly didn’t care last night whether anyone knew or not.”
“It’s not funny,” she mumbled. “You know how I feel about…about this kind of thing.”

He sobered. Of course he did. They had had long conversations about it, in which she had detailed her conflicting emotions on the topic. While she led others to believe she didn’t particularly care about sex, the truth of the matter was, she very much did care who she slept with. In her youth she had allowed others to use her body without much thought as to what the cost of every use would be. All her life, among all those she had engaged in sexually had been blank faces. None had ever been admitted emotionally the same way they had been physically, so in a way, the previous night, she had been a kind of virgin too. All this he had known long before even their engagement because she had told him one night when she had frightened him with her sudden tears, and it was because of that memory that he tightly embraced her.

“Thank you, Cera. Truly.”
“What for?”
“For choosing me. I love you, sweet pea, and I promise you’ll never live another day without being reminded of how much you mean to me. Of how much I love you.”

Sniffling, she let him dry her tears. Stooping down, he kissed her long and hard. It was a chaste kiss in spite of its length, but it was all she could have asked for, and she felt comforted by it and him and his words and gentle touch.

“Now how does some breakfast sound to you? Since the Negresco was so insistent on interrupting our lovely morning with an old man and his trolley.”
“It sounds nice.”

Wrapping her silk robe around her shoulders, he kissed her forehead.

“Then lettuce begin our lives together with some BLT’s. Or whatever it is that they brought us. I have no idea, to be quite honest. A part of me thinks that they brought the cart to the wrong room. The French can be quite bad with numbers, you know.”
“Oh, you’re horrible.”
“Sorry. It’s just the British in me.”

Giggling, she nudged him. He grinned at her, glad to see her smiling again. Taking her hand, he led her towards the brilliant morning waiting outside, where together they stepped out onto the terrace to enjoy their first morning as the other’s dearly beloved.

. . .

A/N: And yes, there will be a continuation of their wedding night, I just wanted to get this out of the way while I had it in my head. And writing smut all the time is hard, no pun intended.


One Comment Add yours

  1. Sean O'Brien says:

    The idea of some kindly old man coming in to deliver them breakfast when they’d been getting it on right before and badly hiding it is hilarious in all sorts of ways, though at least he largely seems to be the epitome of polite about it all. C.C. getting all shy about essentially being caught was great too. That she was still whispering perhaps out of fear being heard when I’m sure they were being louder just prior is kind of silly but completely believable. I’m trying to imagine the saucy little look Lelouch got though. But wow, I guess they weren’t exhausted enough from the prior night that they couldn’t get right back to it in the morning.

    It does feel silly that she is so mortified about some random dude, but again it’s understandable. I’d imagine Lelouch’s smooth lines are both helping and not at the same time. Lelouch at least is taking the whole thing in stride. The bit about her feelings regarding sex and how she was something of a virgin in the more emotional sense does give more of a sense perhaps of why she is like this and certainly provides a bit of a contrast from her early demeanor when they met as well as they’re rather extensive sexual actions prior to formally dating. And again Lelouch displays his understanding and gets her to feel a bit better.

    That pun was awful but I’m always up for bad ones as I find it endearing. I don’t quite get the France joke but feel I should. I still occasionally forget he’s British. It’s always strange thinking of him with an accent. I am curious what the breakfast was and if it was any good. But then my ideal breakfast is waffles and nice, crispy bacon.

    Thank you 🙂


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