“Lelouch,” C.C. said to her sometimes unwilling partner, in a flat and totally serious voice. “There is an alarming lack of pornographic material in your quarters.”
Asdfghjkl;, went his fingers on the keyboard. Lelouch swiveled his chair around, turning to stare at C.C. in a mix of surprise, horror and disbelief.
“Porno. Porn. ‘The good stuff.’” C.C. twiddled her fingers into quotation marks. “You are a still growing, hot-blooded young man. Hot-blooded young men have particular needs. Your lack of stimulation may fail to satisfy these needs.”
“Why are we talking about this?”
“We are talking about this because I am concerned about you. Any failure to deliver on your part will ultimately affect me,” the green-haired girl added with a huff. “I will not stand for that.”
“Collecting, reading or watching porn is beneath me.”
“Is it now? Then what’s that I hear from your room late, late at night, well after Nunally has been put to bed? That pilot’s name, wasn’t it? Or maybe it’s that brunette’s?”
Lelouch felt the sudden urge to glue his forehead to his computer desk. He resisted this (a valiant act, on his part), took a deep breath and counted from one to ten before speaking.
“We will not discuss this matter any further! There is no porn in my rooms, and there will not BE any porn in my rooms ever!”
C.C. blinked. “Forever is a dangerous word,” she felt the need to point out, but by then Lelouch had put on his earphones and stopped listening to her. The girl considered her options, deduced the best possible response, and then put her plan into action. “If you’re not going to help yourself,” she declared as she sidled forward and reached for the zipper to Lelouch’s pants, “then I guess I will have to take matters into my own hands.”
Later in the evening, Nunally was left to wonder why her beloved older brother insisted on sleeping in her room.