First attempt at a fanfic, hope its decent!

"Ccccceeeccciiiillle~~~~!" her boss beckoned, as he languidly spun himself around and around in his desk chair.

"My lovely assistant,"

He waited until the chair completed its cycle.

"Has arrived!"

Lloyd acknowledged Cecile Croomy in a whimsically dreamy manner that, despite his normal gaiety, caught the lovely assistant by surprise.

Lovely assistant?

Cecile had walked right into Lloyd Asplunds private party. His celebration, no doubt, for the Lancelot's recent appraisal as the "Knightmare of the Century" by the revered Regional Robotics/Mecha Review Panel.

"Uh, Lloyd..Have you been drinking?"

It was a stupid question. The empty celebratory bottles might as well of been rolling at her feet.

He slouched into his chair. The wide, goofy grin that bloomed over his face marveled that of some mischievous devil child.

The quintessential Lloyd grin, with a drunken twist.

Playful, and charmingly so.

Snap out of it, Cecile!

"Hm..." Lloyd pondered over the elementary question. "Yes, my dear, I have been." he replied, after the considerable pause.

Cecile was unsure of her next move. She had anticipated on visiting an empty lab that evening, and picking up the grimed up dishware that she had carelessly left behind before she up and left for her family's vacation cottage.

Instead, she found herself staring into the sleepy eyes of her inebriated boss; desperately trying to tame the urge to plant a mean smack across his drunkenly jovial face.

"This is so inappropriate, Lloyd!"

He stood up, and, apparently still caught in the wave of the chair spin, waddled over to where Cecile stood. He stopped so close to her that she instinctively drew her breath in and held it, as though done in an attempt to keep Lloyd's whiskey aura from infiltrating her preciously sober lungs.

Lloyd threw his arms into the air, and plopped his hands onto her shoulders.

"I've missed you, Cecile!"

He yanked her in. Cecile tripped on her own feet.

Tripped right into Lloyd's embrace.

Oh my god.

He dropped his head into her hair.

? ! ? !

The stunned woman stood rigid. She anxiously, albeit hesitantly, contemplated over what appropriate course of action to take against the unanticipated display of...affection?

He's just drunk.

"You're drunk!"

He squeezed her tighter.


Cecile's head was now, unintentionally and unwillingly, pressed against her boss' lab coat. Her face was a beet.

"I'm not, really. I just missed you," he affirmed.

Lloyd grabbed her shoulders and pulled their bodies apart.

Their eyes met.

Cecile tried to pace her breaths. She tried to convince her nerves that they were just two friends exchanging a friendly hug- a "hey, congratulations on the award!" kind of hug.

Yeah, and he's drunk, thats all.

Despite her meditation, her face remained hot.

"And so your trip went well?" Lloyd asked.

It surprised Cecile how cordial that cheeky and callow boss of hers could be sometimes.

"Yes, it did," she compliantly answered, while frantically shifting her eyes in attempts to avoid his fishing gaze. "Thank you for asking."

She spoke to the floor.

Cecile would never admit to it, but as his badgering subordinate, it felt good to receive the Earl's latent courtesy.

His hands slid down from her shoulders, onto her arms.

He could probably read her skin like some kind braille novel.


Lloyd suddenly dropped his head onto Cecile's stiffened shoulder; his face landing so close to hers that his soft exhales were enough to torment the skin of her neck.

What...the I do...

"'re drunk," she reminded him, again, in a more subdued tone.

Subdued only by shock from the electrifying tingles that jetted through her shaky nerves.

"It would have been a pleasure if you were here with us.."

The Earl's words were stern, and suddenly not so shrouded in the peppy haze of intoxication.


He nuzzled into her neck.

Cecile gulped.

"It would have been proper to celebrate ..."

He dragged his fingertips further down Cecile's pebbly skin. They stopped their graze at her knuckles.

"...Proper to celebrate this achievement all together, hm?"

It seemed as though a spontaneous maneuver. Executed in an instant, faster than Cecile could say please-stop-touching-me-Lloyd-someone-might-catch-us, Lloyd Asplund's fingers were laced in between hers.

Cecile's stomach flipped.

He threw his head back in a long yawn, while pulling their, now tightly interlocked, hands into a wide arm stretch.

"Ahhh Cecile.." he exhaled.

Why is he holding my hands ? !

Despite her strongest effort, she couldn't restrain her smile. Cecile finally caught Lloyd's pleasant gaze, and she felt like a schoolgirl again.

A silly, butterfly-infested, lovesick school girl.

"Ooohhhh Earl of Puuudddinngg~!"

Rakshata ? !

Lloyd's fixed grip rendered Cecile's spastic attempt at escape futile.

The pipe-toking Indian engineer poked her wavering head out from the restroom, and, seemingly unaware of the other female intertwined in Lloyd's grasp, flashed her former comrade a droopy-eyed, sloppy- suspiciously endearing- glare.

...Oh my Goodness.

Rakshata Chawla leaned up against the doorway, with her long bronze body clad in nothing, save for a few dollops of vanilla pudding covering her nipples and her..

Cecile suddenly envisioned herself wielding a giant, whac-a-mole style mallet, and clocking Lloyd with it, repeatedly.