I planned on putting this out on Xmas but ended up busy. Merry Late Christmas.
What happens when your mind wanders just a little too much. Inspired by TM 10th anniversary artwork, especially the Crazy Clover Club doujin.
Don't take this seriously.
In Which Sion Is Misinformed About the Nature of Special Anniversary Events
1/4
A Grand Order Celebration
“So he told me to bring the bunny suit, and…well…I couldn’t just say no. I mean…it’s a celebration, after all. We don’t do it regularly enough to…um…nevermind.”
Sion Eltnam Atlasia did not exactly mean to be eavesdropping, but it was simply in her nature to be quiet much of the time and gather data on her surroundings.
It was a celebration party they regularly had when certain events conspired to bring everyone together. Before it had been the company anniversary. Some time ago, a wrap party for a certain anime. Now, it was one to celebrate fifteen years since the release of a certain project that was now seeing a revitalization in the making. Certainly, in the future, there would be others.
The hot spring was only part of the draw, although considering the nature of their world—constant fighting, constant injury—it was not one that anybody turned down. Too, with the advent of a certain mobile game, it was an opportunity to introduce new faces as well. Unfortunately for Sion, her regular companions were late and not due in for another eighteen hours and fifty-two minutes (twenty-seven seconds, twenty-six, twenty five…) so the alchemist was left to her own devices for the most part. Not all of the major guests had arrived yet either—the Tohnos were going to be arriving in the morning, a certain titular princess had no confirmed itinerary, many of the new heroes had yet to report in—so those she would be comfortable around were also absent. But the party had started today at the insistence of a certain king-who-was-not-to-be-denied.
So Sion bathed in the open-air bath, unintentionally but remorselessly listening in on the conversations around her. And the words spoken by the elder magus—apparently on a late enough drink to have loosened her lips—struck a cord with her. Aoko Aozaki was the only one present to which Sion had any direct connection to, so she had paid the woman a little more attention just in case there was something of interest that came up.
And there was. Previously, Sion had not done much herself upon visiting this locale. Bathed, ate, and mostly followed her regular companions around. She thought that perhaps this was wrong, considering her own status as a pseudo-cover girl for a title.
But a bunny suit? What did that have to do at all with an anniversary celebration event? Surely, she would have noticed if there was some kind of requirement for such a thing. The invitation had not made mention of anything resembling that. Yet Aozaki was her senior and a major heroine in her own right, so most certainly she would not be mistaken?
“Yes, what do you do regularly at these celebrations with—?” Alice Kuonji questioned, a rise in her normally level tone, as the door slid shut behind her.
So she did not know either?
Both women were on their way out of the bath, so Sion could not make out anything more of the conversation. To be honest, it was probably a good thing; Aozaki was clearly drunk, which could be bad for her health if she remained in the bath.
It left Sion to ponder the meaning to celebrations as well. She leaned back in the heated waters, her head to the stonework and her gaze up to the sky.
Some time later, Sion found herself wandering the hotel aimlessly, contemplating the meaning of being present. The bath yukata she wore left her somehow feeling a little nostalgic, as the many many videos and reference books she had read about Japanese culture told her that she was in the perfect situation to wax poetic. It was not yet dark out, however, so she could not go searching for fireflies yet.
Still, she thought of her purpose. Of what it meant to celebrate this milestone. It was a dilemma beyond simply just understanding the meaning of Aozaki’s mysterious bunny suit, since Sion had ties to the thing being celebrated yet it was not her own title that was getting the attention. At the same time, it was not almost completely unrelated like those of the Heroic Spirits—
Of which one wandered into her view.
Absently, Sion noted she had found herself in a large, unused room. Before, it had housed the large dinners where the event usually took center stage—now it had chairs stood upside-down along their tables and none of the other guests or staff were present. But like her, he appeared to just be wandering, entering from the other end of the room. Although not wearing a yukata like she was, he did almost seem to be clad for bathing, as his lined chest was fully exposed and his boots were off. He scratched at his hair as he spotted her; she thought the probability was high that he was attempting to recall her name. She knew his, of course: Cu Chulainn, the Lancer-class Servant.
“Yo. Eltnam from the fighting game, right? No pretty boy or girl to give you company?”
Sion considered. “Not at the moment, no. I find myself wandering without direction since the others in my party have yet to arrive.”
“Ah. You don’t have to be shy or anything, missy. I don’t think anybody will pick a fight just because. Which is kinda boring, actually, but what can you do.” He grinned wide at her. “Unless you’re looking to pick a fight. That might be fun.”
“No, although I would pick at your mind for a moment. What does one do when confronted with a dilemma they do not have the context to formulate a response?”
Lancer blinked. Putting his hands on his hips, he appeared to seriously consider this question. Among the things he was famous for was his ability to deduce riddles, after all. “Fall back to what one does know and find the closest match? Or step back and observe, as they say, ‘when in Rome’ or the like?” He barked a laugh. “Care to clue me in on what you’re looking for?”
That indeed reminded her that Cu Chulainn was something of a seeker himself. His magical abilities were said to be related to hunting and tracking, among other things. “Oh. I was informed that anniversaries like we are celebrating are to be carried out in a specific fashion. I am unfamiliar with how to proceed. How would you respond?”
Lancer nodded, seemingly more to himself. “Well, I gotta say, it has been a bit different than those of my time. Not as much fighting. We often killed each other even during celebrations, see.”
Sion nodded sagely, not at all surprised. It was documented.
“But some things don’t change, looks like. You’ve still got drinks and bathing and while the fighting has gone to strange games where you hit a ball with a paddle over a table, it’s not that different from sword fighting. Especially with this lot.” He jerked his head back where, presumably, some of his fellow Heroic Spirits were engaging in such an activity.
“You are not joining in, then?”
“That goldie doesn’t take well to losing,” Lancer said, irritation creeping into his expression. “Pulled out some older version after I smashed him flat with what they had here and is now taking it out on all of us with some crazy rules. I left ‘fore it got too annoying.”
Sion had heard stories of the golden Servant and how his attitude often caused disharmony among his peers. She did not have any experience firsthand with it, but could surmise the need to retreat often presented itself. “So, drinking and bathing and fighting. I have already bathed and I do not wish to engage the golden one in a battle of games; the last time I played such a game, it took the younger Tohno hours to be told to forfeit.”
Lancer’s right eyebrow twitched. She remembered that he was in fact somewhat distantly aware of that game and its outcome.
“I do not regularly consume alcohol. Is there a recommendation?”
“Hah, actually…” Lancer made his way to one of the tables. He then reached underneath the tablecloth skirt and pulled out a bottle. “I was out here to grab this. Stowed it away from the others so they wouldn’t steal.” He motioned to where she stood and she obliged, moving to the nearest table and setting some chairs down. He put the bottle before them, summoned his spear, slashed the top right off, then reached for it and took a deep swig. “Sorry I can’t offer you a glass or anything.”
“That is not a requirement. I am curious, however, as to your placement. Third aside, fifth deep, if this room is laid out by a standard x-y axis. Was there significance?” She took the offered bottle and followed his lead, lifting it to her lips and taking a drink. It was actually rather sweet tasting and not bitter at all, which surprised her a little.
“Sacred numbers in my time and place.” He shrugged. “I’m sure that big brain of yours knows that.”
“Indeed.” She took another sip. “This is pleasing. I can see why you would include it in your celebrations.”
“So lemme ask you something since you’ve been getting all the questions. Why do you think this whole thing with my signature rune being Ansuz is the way it is, and a fire spell to boot? I heard you might be knowledgeable about that sorta thing.” He took a turn at a drink from the bottle, although his expression was one of attention. It was not as if he could actually be impaired by such a drink, unless it were magical itself.
Sion could feel the alcohol doing its work, as her skin felt a little sensitive. As she was not familiar with regular consumption of such drinks, she could not say for certain how much she was being affected. It was clear to her that the probability that she was, as they would say, a “lightweight” was high. “Ansuz is the rune of language, of the power words have over the world and over the people in it. Perhaps as a consequence of the loss of the Universal Language, words do not hold such direct might over us anymore, but the reverence of such power is inherent in many cultures. Since language can transform one’s consciousness, it has a transformative power which is often associated with fire. Additionally, I would harbor an educated guess as to say that while Heroic Spirits are not inherently aligned with the traditional Greek elements, their nature as an extension of conceptual human power aligns to what we understand of our world. It is possible that Cu Chulainn, the hero who transformed many times to do battle and who is associated with light, may be so inclined toward fire regardless of the rune.”
Lancer handed the bottle back to her, his expression rapt. “Transformative power? Huh. I would never have thought of that.” He considered. “Obviously Servants get it.” He looked fondly at Gae Bolg, left on the table. “So you people nowadays don’t think words got power?”
“It is conceptually different.” Sion took another drink. “We understand that the correct words can have influence and power, but there is no direct link in the minds of the masses between language and power. To speak of a thing is not to own or control it in the same way any longer.”
It was interesting to watch her, Lancer decided. Already a blush was developing on her pale skin, but her intellectual affinity did not seem diminished at all. He vaguely knew the reasons behind it, but now he was curious as to how much she could still conjure up with that mind while intoxicated. He decided he was going to do everything he could to find out.
If there was one thing that made Lancer feel hot and bothered, it was a woman who could riddle with the best of them.
To Lancer’s delight, his fact-finding mission had turned up an interesting answer. Sion did not lose her intellectual mind as she became inebriated. Instead, as her status became clearer by the grander, almost theatrical way she began to move, her mental direction turned to whimsy rather than academia.
“A ship is traveling north. Two of its crew stood on opposite sides of the ship, one looking east, the other west. Yet at the same time, they could see each other clear as day. How is this possible?”
Variations of such riddles probably spanned all the way back to the beginning of human travel. Lancer had heard such a riddle before, but he played along, as her reaction to stumping him had proven already quite amusing. “Eh, dunno.”
“They are standing with their backs to the edge and looking across the deck!” Sion’s face flushed in her excitement at the triumph as she doubled over, humming a sort of laugh somewhere between a giggle and a snort. She was sitting on the edge of the table and Lancer wanted to know how many times she would do it before toppling right off. Sadly, as his Servant constitution would not allow him to get drunk on mundane modern beverages, he could take no pride in having put someone under the table, so just seeing how far she would go was the single solace he could take. Which was not all that bad, as more and more she reminded him of someone from long ago.
Sion took another drink, although between her giggles she was almost spitting what she had right back up. Lancer wanted to find the most opportune moment to make her really do a spit-take and see if she would completely lose it. “That’s two you’ve got on me. Get three out of five and you win the bet.” They had not actually bet anything, although he would never be so lowly as to challenge a human at something as they lost their mental capacity while he was incapable of that handicap to begin with. Still, he would win the next two just to draw this out as much as he could.
“Hah. You should know better than to take oaths you cannot win, Cu Chulainn.”
He smirked wide enough to show teeth. “Bring it, little lady.” He leaned back in the chair he sat in, let it kick two feet up into the air as he put his own feet on the table.
Suddenly her expression changed and sharpened, her eyes narrowing. It was abrupt enough that he thought for sure she had cast some kind of spell. Leaning back on one hand, the arch of her back caused her chest to jut out in just the kind of fashion that was a little distracting, what with the rather flimsy garment she wore, and she peered at him in profile. “I have a strong, stiff shaft. My tip penetrates what is before it. I come with a quiver. What am I?”
That halted Lancer’s rocking. And made him rocking elsewhere. He stared at the alchemist, unsure if he was hearing things. The sly look he had been giving fell away or was perhaps traded, as Sion took it on instead. “When you say it like that—”
“An arrow, of course.” Her look turned coy. “Oh my, is that not an obvious one to a hero no arrow could touch? Or is your mind now firmly onward to other endeavors?”
If there was one thing that made a hot and bothered Lancer on fire and troublesome, it was a woman that was confident when making her move. This was surprising, since he never gathered that from what little he knew of her. “Little lady, you sure you know what you’re up against?”
“Perhaps you are unaware, but I do have certain urges myself. As a spirit, there is certainly some appeal to you…being up…that calls to the nature that I suppress. The alcohol has dulled the control I exert over myself.”
That almost made Lancer pause to think. Almost.
But now that the rules were laid out he was more than happy to partake.
“I’ve had quite a number of interesting foes and lovers,” Lancer said, taking the drink bottle from her hand and downing another gulp, “but never a half-vampire. Think after this you wanna try to kill me?”
“I find it unlikely that I could perform to your expectations,” Sion said. She watched in detached fascination as he tipped the remainder of the drink to her lips, and her bodily control was not up to the task entirely—perhaps purposefully—and some of the pale drink dripped from her chin down over her body. The Servant smiled, as if that was his aim to begin with. “However, I am curious as to what drawing blood from you would mean in my state.”
Dropping any further pretenses, Lancer leaned down, taking a long and deliberate breath along her neck, a creature sizing up his prey. His hands came up to pry open the tie to her robe, drawing out the exposure of her skin as he followed the trail of liquid down her body. He unwrapped her fully, then finding the lowest place the drink had fallen, just above her naval, he lashed out with his tongue and traced the path right back up. “Not unless I draw yours first.”
“That isn’t…blood…” Sion’s words petered off as Lancer drew his tongue up between her breasts, right back up to her neck. She squirmed as one hand brushed up under the curve of her right breast and the other slowly pried between her thighs, fingers massaging her open.
“For now I’ll do with other spoils of battle,” Lancer said right into her ear. He slid one finger between her folds in the same shallow, swiping motion until it started coming up wet. “But here I thought you’d put up a fight.”
“I believe I am too inebriated to…oh—” the alchemist moaned as he withdrew from her completely and her gaze followed his hands as he unclasped the waist to his leggings. “Take…the battle to you…” she finished, replacing where his hands had been on her body, brushing at her own sex and sliding up her stomach to cup her breast. Her bangles brushed against her body in the process and she realized how heated her body had become from their cold contact.
Lancer stripped himself as he watched her, his cock having caused a nearly painful tightness when confined. He grinned as he followed Sion’s eyes to his length and obliged her gaze by stroking himself to full hardness. “Some are big, some are small; it comes in many colors, and is larger up than down. When finished, you can shake it and make a mess.”
Sion had slid down in her chair, her chin now almost to her collarbone, her waist almost clear of the seat. Either her own rhythm had started to match his, or he was matching hers as her fingers stroked regular circles down her folds and up to her clitoris. He moved so he loomed over her, pumping up and down his length at the same pace. “An umbrella,” she said, her voice coming out a little breathless. It felt like the air she was breathing in had become far warmer and more difficult to take in.
“That too,” he said. “But this time, I know you were not thinking of that.”
“No,” she admitted. Her pace rose, concurrent with a shakiness that suggested she was about to lose further control over her motor skills. “I was imagining what men of war do to claim their spoils.”
Leaning down, Lancer almost looked like he might have bit at her like an animal, his teeth bared, but he stopped just short of her lips. “Mark our territory.”
Sion cried out as he kicked the chair right out from under her, caught her before she hit the ground, but as her back touched the ground yanked at her arms to pin them above her head. The sudden lurch had her eyes widening, but her dulled senses went into sudden overdrive at the brief feeling of falling. She moaned as he leaned over her, stroking himself, feeling a tiny jolt within her as he spilled his heated seed, marking her stomach and breasts, clinging to her smooth skin, to the pale pink tips of her breasts. But unlike a normal person, he did not seem to spend himself in doing so, his cock brushing against her as he re-positioned himself, mounting one leg while lifting the other.
Watching her toes curl, Lancer timed it just as the muscles in her thighs and calves appeared to tighten and plunged his length into her, deliberate and deep, pulling her lifted leg flush to his chest. Her teased body came at the stroke, and he drew away and thrust back in time with the way her body seemed to ride a wave. Her slick folds sucked him in as he did so, demanding his seed within, but he maintained a steady pace, watching with slanted, hungry eyes as her body shook with each motion.
Sion’s back arched, her body nearly forming the shape of one of Lancer’s runes along the floor. The alchemist seemed to gather some strength as she rode out the tail end of her initial orgasm, but he did not give her the chance to counterattack this battle. He twisted her around his shaft, eliciting a moan from them both, letting her bottom leg slip out from beneath him so he could lift them both into the air. Pushing her knees up toward her shoulders, he leaned forward and let his hips drive into her at a harder pace, the tightness within her body having relented somewhat, letting him almost stir himself into her with each thrust. Although he had let go of her hands long ago, they remained above her head, having taken hold of the upended chair leg.
“Get for me a cherry without a stone and a bird without a bone,” Lancer said. He watched the quick rise and fall of Sion’s chest, her cum-stained skin becoming slick with sweat. He reached up to grasp her breasts, as they bounced, tempted to twist at the peaks, pulling with each plunge into her body he made.
“A…cherry blossom,” Sion managed to whimper out, her own hands reaching up to run across his chest; she too pulled at his nipples, although he obliged her, allowing her tug to move him over her. Her gaze locked onto one of his earrings as it dangled over her, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. “A cherry blossom and an egg.”
Lancer’s grin became feral. “Good girl.”
With each thrust he drew further up and her body chased him, until once again she had her chin to her collar, her hips having completely left the floor. He drove into her until she was rocking in place, one hand coming around to slide down her back, between her cheeks, plunging a finger into her ass with the same rhythm. She came again, her ankles crossing behind his neck but unable to lock him in place as he continued to stroke into her, the wet noise of her body fighting to pull him in all she could hear.
He kept driving down into her until she moaned and her scent permeated the air and attacked his senses. He drew from her again and, slick from her orgasm, slid his length between her thighs as he came, spilling again down over her body, one eye kept open to watch as each spurt marked her pale skin in a reverse direction of the wine from earlier.
Mostly satiated, Lancer leaned down, grinning, ready to ask one more riddle when Sion rolled up just enough to meet him halfway, her mouth latching onto his shoulder with a hard bite, moving far faster than a human could have moved normally. The bite pierced his skin and drew blood.
Instead of drawing back, however, he bit her in return, though not hard enough to penetrate skin, and was rewarded with a soft moan from Sion, whose animal-like reaction softened, her teeth withdrawing. She licked at the wound for a moment before her lips moved up his neck, and he returned the favor.
Sion’s body could no longer keep her from collapsing to the floor in a messy heap as Lancer drew away. Despite her ability to process many thoughts at once and one part of her mind concerned over propriety, it was easily overridden by the physiological side of having been—she had to settle for the word “fucked” as there was nothing else she could consider both appropriately vulgar and emphatic—so completely her body had gone completely numb. Sion simply let her body recover despite the rather lewd pose she had fallen into, careful to focus on regulating her breathing.
That was when the doors to the hall swung open again. Sion hazily watched as two of the original Fate Servants, Artoria and EMIYA, passed through the archway and onto the floor. It appeared as if they had been in the middle of a discussion, but the moment they caught sight of the debauchery before them, both went ramrod straight—and not in the sexually suggestive way.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Saber demanded.
Lancer looked baffled. “What, you never seen a naked body before? I’d think it’d be obvious, dumbass.” He smirked and did nothing to hide himself; in fact, he put his hands to his hips and appeared as if he were posing.
Both Servants stared not at their peer, but at Sion. Sion briefly went through the calculations as to what they would be considering: her clothes open, her body limp, her skin soiled. Considering how much more powerful Servants were to humans and how Sion could not find the physical energy to lift herself up and explain everything, it was highly likely the two would come to the wrong conclusion as it rather looked like the tail end of a lewd movie rather than a post-coital scene between consenting lovers. Couple that with the stainless reputation of the King of Knights, then the knowledge that Shirou Emiya was himself rather conservative, which meant the likelihood of his future counterpart holding at least some semblance of similar perceptions—
“—ey watch it! Gya-ha!” Lancer let out a nasal cry as he ducked and dove around, grabbing for his pants as swords attempted to swipe his head from his shoulders.
There was a quick incantation that reached Sion’s ears as the Servants passed by, a blanket gliding over her in their wake. Sion caught Lancer’s gaze for a moment as he jumped back and atop a table clear of his new opponents, but all she could manage was a tired nod.
Like he was running on a bed of coals, Lancer took off as a pair of scimitars flew through the air like boomerangs from each side and an invisible blade thrust at his backside in a manner that might have been phallic if one could see the weapon. He bolted for the door that Sion had entered the room with, his fellow heroes chasing after him.
Sion idly wondered if Etherlite would work on a Servant and if, after regaining her strength and full motor control, she could help the luckless Irishman out of the misunderstanding.
At the very least, she hoped she gained strength soon to return the veined shaft he had not taken care of—as Lancer’s Gae Bolg remained on the table above her head.
To be continued
An Apocryphal Celebration
A Remake Celebration
A Current Code Celebration
Thanks to Bloble for a bit of back-and-forth regarding Lancer Getting Some.
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Originally Posted by Thedoctor
