Flowers fill their everyday life, their tendrils creeping throughout the third floor suite, taking root in cracks and crevasses. They take turns blooming by the light filtering in through the curtainless windows, releasing their scents into the air. Sometimes he wonders if he will choke on their perfume, Lotor fleeing the suite, descending to one of the lower levels of the castle.
It’s better there, the flower’s haven’t yet begun their intrusion into the lower depths of the castle. He can think here, and his thoughts are never pleasant, Lotor wondering just what it was about flowers that fascinated his princess so. They hold her attention in ways that he can never hope to, Allura staring at them for hours at a time, a dreamy smile on her face.
He wonders if she talks to them in his absence, Lotor longing for a chance to hear her voice something other than the pained, panicked sounds she sometimes makes when he is loving her. But he’s never caught her in the midst of a conversation, try as he might to sneak up on her.
It’s always the same, even now as he lifts his head from his hands to gaze at her across the room. She’s sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her, the pink reminding him of the petals of the flowers she holds. It’s a colorful bouquet, reminding him of the rainbows that sometimes appeared in Arus’ sky after a storm. The rainbow is now in Allura’s hands, and she sits there with her head bowed, golden curls falling over her eyes as she stares at the flowers.
There’s more than she can hold, flowers spilling into her lap, surrounding her as they work to make their perfumes cling to her skin. She always smells like springtime because of her association with the flowers, and Lotor cannot remember what her scent was like years ago.
She always smiles when she looks at the flowers, a vacant, glassy eyed stare that misses little when it comes to the plants. Pity that she was unaware to everything else that surrounded her, never even noticing Lotor’s attention was on her face. Perhaps they are a suited pair after all, for as much as the flowers fascinate Allura, she in turn entrances him. Lotor could spend hours staring at her, watching and waiting, hoping for some crack in her broken facade.
It never comes, she remains the innocent but broken doll, lowering her face towards the flowers to rub against their petals. He’s seen the sight before but still it never fails to make his jaw clench, Lotor watching as she idly caresses the flowers stems with her fingers. It’s a torment to see her fingers stroking up and down their stems, Allura smiling, nuzzling kisses into her bouquet. It’s more affection than she’s ever shown him, and he resents the flowers for garnering it.
He’s never expected to be jealous of a plant, but watching her with them, seeing her smile and touch, seeing her bestow affection on them, makes him that way. He wants to crush them, to grind them to a pulp even as he banishes them from the castle. Maybe then she’d finally see him, and though he doesn’t expect she’d smile at him, he’d accept the recognition all the same.
She continues to stroke the flowers, fingers oh so careful as she handles the petals. Allura knows enough to not hurt the flowers, not a single petal is pulled out of place in her ministrations. He’s glaring at them now, hate in his eyes and it’s all for the plants she holds. He knows it’s wrong, and yet Lotor can’t help himself, the prince tossing aside his book and rising to stand.
She never even looks his way, Allura lost in a daze as she stares at the flowers. His echoing footsteps don’t even make her twitch, nor does she look up when his shadows falls over her. He knows if he was to speak to her, there’d be a fifty-fifty chance that she’d respond to his commands, but he doesn’t make the effort now. Instead he bends over her, hands reaching for the flowers. For an instant his fingers brush the back of her hands, but even that is not enough to get her to recoil.
It’s not until he’s tearing the bouquet out of her grasp that Allura reacts, a protesting sound issuing from her lips. Lotor straightens, eyes narrowed as he stares at the bouquet, Allura shifting to follow the trail of falling petals. He’s smirking as he tears apart a flower, noting her agitation at his moves. For one instant he feels bad about this, but then he shoves it aside, fingers ripping apart the bouquet, and tossing the remain down at her lap.
Allura stares, mouth gaping open, her hand trembling as she picks up one ruined flower, a pale purple petal valiantly clinging to it’s stem. For a second she looks as though she will cry, and then she is dropping the broken flower for Lotor has drawn his sword. He laughs a mocking sound, rushing towards the vases of flowers on the dresser, slashing at the ceramic containers with his sword.
The lazon easily shattered the vases, flowers exploding into the air. They are singed by the lazon of his sword, their perfume no longer sweet but burning, falling into a shower onto the floor. Some land on Allura, and she shrieks as though in pain. He ignores her for the instant, tearing apart the room, leaving no plant untouched from the devastation he unleashes.
By the time he is done, he is panting, and the floor is littered with stems and petals. Allura is staring, and when he turns to track her eyes, he sees the rose, one perfect specimen that somehow avoided his blade’s attack. He stalks towards it, snatching it off the wall, but he doesn’t crush it like he wants too. Instead he walks towards Allura, seeing her eyes brimming with silent tears, and hands it to her.
She immediately cradles it to her chest, reminding him of a mother with a child. The rose is precious to her, and she doesn’t even react when he pushes her backwards, knocking her off her knees. Her hair spreads out around her, strands mingling with the broken remains of the flowers. He can’t even get her to look up at him, even when he reaches under her skirt, and tears off her panties.
Lotor knows it’s sick to upset her in one instant, then to use her to satisfy his urges in the next, but he can’t stop himself. It’s her fault that he is this way, she’s bewitched him into a life of servitude, desperate for any way to make her acknowledge him.
A whimper is all he gets as he forces her legs to part, Lotor crawling into place on top of her. The rose is in his way, Lotor knocking it out of her hands. It lands to the side of them, and Allura turns her face to gaze on it. He has a stray thought, Lotor wondering if she’d see him if he put the rose in his hair, the prince kissing up and down the side of her neck as his hands work to get her bodice open.
The flowers are all over her, sticking to her dress as he shoves her skirts upwards to bunch around her waist. He’s kissing all over her, hands on her thighs and stroking higher, working to arouse her to the point she’ll be able to take him in her body. Allura doesn’t see anything that Lotor is doing, too focused on that rose, her body pliant and yielding when he thrusts inside her.
He goes almost mindless when joined with her, almost forgetting everything that has happened in so short a space of time. But the scent of burnt flowers is all around them, their bright remains a colorful accusation of what he’s done. He keeps on thrusting, reaching for the rose, guiding it up before his face. She finally looks at him, but even then she doesn’t really see him, not until he crushes the rose with his hand.