Fandom: Code GEASS
Characters/Pairing: Schneizel el Britannia x Kururugi Suzaku
Rating: R to NC-17.
Warning: 4000 words of smut and molestation and a whole new meaning to submission (and perhaps angst too, but just a little…)
Challenge: 30_nights #32. I hate to love, but for you I’m willing to.
Summary: In which Schneizel is an utter bastard but Suzaku loves him anyway.
A/N: The last part of Mire.
He must have waited for hours. Suzaku rested his forehead against the cool windowpane, his eyes sweeping across the dark, sprawling garden beneath but seeing nothing. Every nerve in his body was numb with drawn-out anticipation. His fear had dulled into an unpleasant throb at the back of his mind, faint but unmistakably there. It seemed that his evening had consisted of nothing but waiting and more waiting.
Everything around him was elegant and soothing – or at least designed to be. The prince’s chamber was made of two rooms joined by a white, beautifully carved door, one a bedroom and the other a moderate-sized lounge which housed a writing desk and a high-backed chair among others. He had been here on several occasions – and most of them had ended up with his relocating himself to the next room and, inevitably, onto the bed.
He shook the thought off him with something that felt too much like desperation and started to pace the room. An antique clock sitting atop the long drawer under a watercolour painting of an old, prospering city informed him that it was now a little past eight. He wondered about dinner but couldn’t feel anything but a cold lump in his stomach. Something must have detained the prince. It could be His Majesty himself. He didn’t want to entertain the possibility that this might be deliberately inflicted on him.
But like father like son, wasn’t it?
As soon as the thought emerged, Suzaku began to berate himself. It was not sense which had spoken, but his tangled emotions, because it was only too easy to give into resentment when one’s heart was involved. That was why falling on love with his lord was such a bad idea.
Well, no use crying over one of the most irreversible things in life. As he had discovered firsthand, it was a complete waste of time.
He continued his pacing for a few moments, lost in another train of thoughts. There was no longer any doubt left within him that the prince knew. It had been reflected in his voice, all the accusations, anger and – god knows – disappointment. Suzaku hardly knew what to say if this subject was to be approached later, and if his account on what had happened tonight – that he had been summoned by His Majesty to play statue for almost half-an-hour and then provide a little conversation of an overwhelmingly trifling nature – would be accepted, let alone believed. Even to him, it still felt bizarre if not absurd. There seemed to be no purpose in it and yet he very much doubted that the emperor would do anything without clear purpose in mind.
And then Suzaku realised that his feet had stopped walking, and now he was standing right in front of the white door. A sudden urge to let himself into the prince’s bedchamber made his hand reach for the door handle. His common sense hurled warnings inside his head once his gloved fingers had wrapped themselves around the curved, ornate shape. But the urge was stronger, almost an unbridled hunger by now. In any case, how much more could he infuriate his master now?
The sound was loud in his ears, sharply tearing the silence when the handle worked its locks. He let it go quickly, but the door had given way, a small slit now visible between the edge of the door and the frame, curiously alight with warm golden glow. The slightest push from his hand widened the gap and soon he had stared into his lord’s inner sanctum.
It was slightly different inside. Everything seemed to be covered in velvet, in rich, deep red colour which fashioned an elegant blend with the white panelling and a little touch of gold here and there. Bright, but with more than a few secrets in its air and walls, all of them artfully concealed, even invisible. Suzaku dimly noticed that his heart was now hammering against his chest as his eyes set about the room slowly. His gaze eventually fell onto the bed and his stomach coiled at the burst of memories which suddenly ambushed him out of nowhere.
He swallowed. Had it really been no more than a week?
His first step into the bedchamber was an effort. He had visited the room more than a few times, but the knowledge hardly dispelled any of its imposing grandeur. His feet approached the bed, neatly made, with the same red, embroidered velvet serving as a canopy overhead. He bent down slightly to touch the sheet, silently wishing that he could feel its fine texture instead of dredging it up from memories.
Suzaku laughed at himself, the sound quiet but painful. He knew that he sometimes gave in to his sentimental side but this was nothing short of ridiculous. The stress must be starting to get him.
His moment of reflection ended abruptly when his ears picked up a sound coming from the front door. He straightened up and turned around, very much aware of the footsteps now moving into the other room. Panic suddenly flaring, he quickly put some distance between himself and the bed and stood unobtrusively near the sofa.
He did not need to wait long. Schneizel came in with long, elegant strides, eyes sweeping around the bedchamber and lingering on his rigid form for just a moment before he proceeded to discard his coat and let it fall in a careless sprawl across the sofa. Suzaku kept his gaze glued to the floor – out of fright more than politeness – waiting with heart racing in his chest as the prince seated himself down, one leg crossed over the other.
Suzaku discovered that he couldn’t breathe. He felt eyes on him again and dared himself to glance up, meeting a less-than-warm gaze.
“Remove your clothes.”
The flat, clipped tone made his heart sink even deeper, and deeper still when the words finally registered. Suzaku whipped his head up, mouth suddenly dry.
“Your Highness?” he inquired uncertainly.
“I said remove your clothes,” the prince repeated, his mouth set to a firm, expressionless line. “Start with your shoes, and then your gloves.”
Suzaku stared, his thoughts in a whirl, and almost did not realise when he mechanically knelt down to work on his boots. His fingers felt foreign as they pulled down the zipper, first the left, and then the right. He used the chance to close his eyes for a moment, struggling to regulate his breathing and calm himself. And then he carefully stepped out of them, making only the least possible noises before starting on his gloves. All the way, his lord was watching him with a pair of almost uninterested eyes, breaking the silence only to give brief instructions – the jacket, trousers, shirt – each word quiet and deliberate but with a storm raging beneath them. His fingers started to tremble as more and more parts of his body were exposed, but there was no indication that the prince had noticed – or cared to notice.
His clothes lay in heaps on the carpeted floor when he was done, but he made no attempt to tidy them – there was no order for it. It was a struggle to keep his hands on his side while he stood silently, without a single thread on his body as if he was an object on display. He almost flinched when Schneizel rose from the sofa and slowly advanced toward him, but managed to seize control back just in time and keep his eyes directed to the floor.
He waited, and waited until the older man stopped behind him. For a long, agonizing moment, there was only silence wrapped around his naked body like a cold blanket of ice. He could feel the weight of the prince’s gaze on his back, on the expanse of his bare skin, and it took him every sliver of self-control not to fight against the feeling.
It was different, however, when a hand touched the small of his back. He gasped, but the pressure increased – a warning – and Suzaku bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself still. Then the hand left him, only to be replaced by the tip of fine fingers, tracing up his spine and resting just below his neck. Another hand slinked past his waist, following the ridge on his abdomen until it stopped at the opposite side of his hips.
If it had been difficult to breathe before, it was practically an impossible endeavour by now. His muscles were all tense, caught between waiting, dreading, hoping for something to happen. This was the closest he had ever been in his lord’s arms since… he couldn’t even remember when now.
But the hands suddenly withdrew from his body, leaving only a trail of phantom warmth in their wake. The prince walked past him toward the sofa and began to pull off his gloves. “Lie on the bed,” he then said, his detached manner remained unchanging. “On your stomach.”
Just another order. Stowing his pride, honour, and everything else which would never allow him to lower himself and do this kind of thing for anyone into a box and kicking it to a dark, out-of-the-way corner of his mind, Suzaku walked toward the bed. The sheet was cool under his palms, and then knees as he climbed up to the mattress and quietly settled down on his stomach. He laid his head down on a white gold-striped pillow, on his left cheek, and tried to ignore the whisper of fabrics against skin coming from somewhere behind him.
It felt like an eternity had passed until he sensed another person’s weight to his left, the warmth caressing, taunting his cold, naked skin. The hand that touched the back of his knee was warm and light, rising slowly to his thigh, past the curve of his buttocks, and then the hollow of his back. He snapped his eyes shut when he felt the responding throb between his legs, not daring to make a sound.
“Is this what you do every time anyone touches you?” his lord suddenly said, mouth hovering just above the shell of his ear. “Just lie there and look helpless?”
Suzaku remained silent. He felt a painful tug in his chest but violently shoved it aside as the lips moved to the juncture of his neck, warm breaths stirring the brown locks on his nape. He couldn’t involve heart in this, not if he still wanted to survive long enough and realise his dream for Japan. This was just something, and like so many other somethings between him and his lord, it had no place–
“Raise your hips.”
Suzaku stiffened. Something inside him rebelled, shouting angrily that he didn’t deserve this treatment, it hadn’t been his fault what the emperor had done to him. It fell against deaf ears as he proceeded to do just what he was ordered to, arranging his limbs, spreading his legs a little like a doll too used to a mundane routine. The prince moved away from his side for a moment, and when he returned, there was a flowery scent that Suzaku recognised only too well.
The first touch to his entrance, cool and slick, sent an intense tremor throughout his body, making him tremble all over. No sooner that he had gotten a shaky grip on himself, a finger slipped inside without warning, rendering all his efforts useless. A second followed and the familiar pain writhed to life, a slow spread from his lower back along the fibres of his nerve. Suzaku pressed his face into the pillow, almost relieved to have an excuse for the worsening prickle in his eyes. It wasn’t so much the pain as the pounding ache in his chest, and the cold realisation that no one cared.
Suzaku almost groaned when he felt that sharp pleasure inside him, stabbing his senses and wrenching a gasp from his throat. His hips jerked once, sending waves of mortification throughout his body along with a raw undertone of arousal. He was painfully aware of everything, every sensation, every sound his mouth was making. The fingers continued to go in and out his body, sometimes stretching, sometimes making him bite back a sob after another stab of pleasure, building a rhythm from the broken splinters of his composure
The prince was silent all through this, leaving his quickened breaths a crude symphony in the barren stretch of silence. He tried not to think about it. All these familiarities, stark against the new differences were already driving him mad.
But when the fingers abruptly left him, Suzaku had to fight down a whimper threatening to burst out from his throat. Not only that it had been sudden, the loss of distraction left him acutely aware of his almost painful state of arousal. At this point, he couldn’t say he still cared if his conduct was too subservient, or improper, or even utterly demeaning to himself. All he knew was he needed those fingers to touch him again.
His thoughts splintered when the prince took his throbbing hardness in his hand, causing a long moan to slip out past his lips before he could stop it. He thrust into the firm grip a few times before realising what he was doing and stilling his hips out of sheer stubbornness. His breaths were now coming in short gasps, barely enough to keep him conscious. He could feel his thighs quivering when the hand traced a finger down to the tip of his erection, spreading the moisture which had gathered there across the head, making him whine softly.
“Where does your heart lie?” The question came as the hand suddenly left him – again.
Suzaku sank his teeth into the flesh of his lips, trying so hard not to buck his hips down onto the sheet for the sake of any kind of friction. “Does Your Highness not know?” he shot back when he finally had located his voice, unsurprised to its rough, patchy condition.
“Do not hide behind another question.” The voice rose slightly, a sign of growing impatience. And anger, he couldn’t help but notice. “Answer me.”
Suzaku heard a sharp bark of laughter rising from his throat and wondered why it sounded more like a little boy crying. “Why?” he spat out boldly, struggling against all of the bitterness and frustration mounting inside him. For a moment he forgot – didn’t care – who he was speaking to. “What does it matter now?”
“Answer me,” the prince repeated, his voice now a dangerous hiss, and tugged a handful of Suzaku’s hair, pulling his head back roughly. The younger man couldn’t help a small pained gasp, which quickly strayed toward another moan when those fingers found his leaking member again. Just touching, not doing anything yet. He gritted his teeth, salvaging the paltry remnants of his self-control, and turned his head around to stare defiantly at his lord.
“If Your Highness doesn’t know, then I have no answer either,” he said bluntly, meeting the dark, smouldering gaze, hating himself a little more for trying to catch a glimpse of something more affectionate in it.
His head sank back into the pillow when Suzaku felt the hand squeeze, and then begin to stroke slowly. He should be angry, being played like this – and he was – but his body had a mind of its own. It was more than ready to give in. The measured, rhythmical strokes rapidly burned his stock of inhibitions and the pillow under his cheek was now damp with perspiration. It was bordering agony how sinfully good the feeling of his lord’s fingers on him, skin against skin, sliding over his hardened flesh as gracefully as he had handled the pianoforte. He wanted more, more, more and his hips started to rock against the hand as the pace quickened into something unbearable.
“No,” Suzaku gasped into the pillow when he felt the beginning of a climax, almost incoherent with need. His feet, hands dug into the mattress even deeper as he tried to hold back release. He didn’t want it like this, just another indulgence for his body, utterly without meaning. Not with this person.
But Suzaku realised that he didn’t quite have any say in it. He felt a thumb brushing the tip of his arousal and came with a strangled cry, almost against his wish, hips jerking helplessly under the onslaught of pleasure. He clenched his eyes shut, to spare himself the mortification – and maybe the guilt too, and the need to think and heap the blame on himself since they would arrive soon enough anyway.
Suzaku lay motionless on the sheets once every drop had been wrung out of him. It felt like a punishment, and perhaps it was if the horrible emptiness in his chest was anything to go by. His limbs were numb and he could feel the tears in his eyes when he blinked.
Something hard brushed against his left thigh as the prince shifted upward, fingers trailing a slick line up his stomach and chest. Suzaku cracked an eye open when he tasted a salty tang on his wet lips. He tilted his head and took the long digits into his mouth, sucking and licking every drop of fluid left on them. There was a slight change of pattern in his lord’s breathing and Suzaku sucked harder, fully expecting the prince to take him while his body was still weak with tingles of orgasm. Instead, the hand left his mouth and turned him onto his back.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how pathetic he must seem. But the prince didn’t say anything, only taking his hand, kissing the base of his palm.
“You hate me,” he finally said, plainly, almost softly.
Suzaku decided that the world was mocking him. “No,” he answered weakly, followed with an even weaker laugh. “I can’t even if I want to.”
The violet eyes softened, but before he could convince himself that they did, his lord had looked away and proceeded to shower attention to his body, hands gliding over his skin as if appreciating the result of his work. And then came the kisses, on the contour of his shoulder, light, gentle, the silent ghost of apology. Suzaku wished he could scream when he felt it tearing down his walls, baring his heart open once more just as easily. He didn’t want to understand this, this sort of gentleness that flickered to life and died as it saw fit. Only because it was easy to play with his heart like this…
“Open your legs for me.”
Suzaku stifled a gasp when one hand reached the inside of his thigh, caressing the sensitive skin lightly. He stared at the red, velvet drape rising above his head to form a canopy, refusing to look at the other man, hate swirling thickly inside him like mud. It would have been easier if the prince just took what he wanted – not making him do and admit things that would only hurt in the end. Swallowing the humiliation, he spread his legs open to accommodate his lord’s form between them, and silently waited for the preparation to finish, still not taking his eyes away from the blood-red curtain.
The hands were now guiding his thighs, tilting them upward to lift his buttocks off the bed slightly. He shut his eyes, fighting against an instinct to recoil when the prince started to push inside, desperately telling himself that it was different this time. Not the emperor, not a repeat of his nightmare – although this could as well be another nightmare, the sharp sting, the pulsating pain, and the much dreaded satisfaction of being filled by the only man he ever wanted to. Suzaku tipped his head back as the thrust was repeated, again, and again, and again, and again until a cadence was established and it was a sensual dance of two bodies becoming one. He almost sobbed – this was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved. A strange – painful – mix of happiness, mortification, anger, and raw, almost searing warmth in the knowledge of what he was doing right now.
His growing arousal twitched when the familiar pleasure burst through him again, leaving him aching, wanting for more. He felt the trickle of heat gathering between his splayed legs, little rocks at the start of an avalanche, and failed to modulate the small, needy whimpers escaping his mouth into something more dignified. His hands, empty and much too intimidated to touch his lord, were prepared to mangle the sheets when another wave of pleasure shot up his spine.
His eyes snapped open immediately. The voice was strange, oddly quiet despite the hint of breathlessness underlying it, and the sight which greeted him was that of his prince, bent over him, watching him with a sort of intensity that pierced a needle straight through his heart.
Something inside him burst into tiny pieces. “I’m sorry,” the thin, choked words had fallen from his lips before his lord could say anything else, a series of panted gasps as he repeated them over and over again in a desperate litany. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–”
Suzaku froze, the rest of the miserable plea – because it was guilt, a distant part of his brain recognised, for allowing himself to be taken by the emperor – caught in his throat when a pair of lips pressed onto his half-parted ones. The shock that echoed through him was a paralyzing chant, and he moaned, first quiet, and then louder with the bliss of a child getting his most wanted present.
Coherent thoughts abandoned him when he felt the older man moving lower to kiss the column of his neck and wrapping a hand around his aching hardness. Every shred of restraint simply dissolved then, mere muted collections from the distant past as he wounded his arms around the prince, his legs drawing him in even deeper, hot and stiff and painfully good inside him. Every thrust, every stroke sent him closer and closer, reducing him to a writhing, moaning mess.
Their climax came too soon, a fluttering canon, a chase of two voices. It was like falling too fast, only that there was a person holding him – his shuddering body, and the fractured heart thundering inside his chest. He listened to the half-sounds leaving his mouth, a poor, unintelligible echo of refined words, but Suzaku didn’t care. Because he lived for it, gladly, this fraction of a moment when he could feel that his prince was his and only his.
It was mind-numbing, even frightening how everything fell into perspective, colourless pieces scattered across the span of now and then and the future, between Japan and Britannia, spiralling down to this moment, here, with him.
“You are mine,” the prince declared, stirring damp locks curling just above his ear and something else much more vulnerable inside him. Suzaku looked up, meeting his lord’s gaze, heavy with satiety and possessiveness which torn and mended him at the same time.
“Yes,” the answer rolled off his tongue faintly, a whisper, a simple confession. There was no use denying it, not when he had arrived to a point where he had to pause if he was asked to choose between his country and his lord. If it wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what it was.
And then his mouth was taken into another kiss. Not as loving, too much like a calculated study of control, claiming and taking and marking, but it might be just what he needed. There was balance in this, the good and the bad, the fair and the ugly, love and hate – all spelling a promise, making sure that he wouldn’t drown too deeply in one of them. A half-life, he thought bitterly, but at least not too devastating.
Suzaku whimpered quietly when the warmth of the other man’s body left him. A strange feeling of loss overwhelmed him, so much that he couldn’t breathe for a few moments. It gradually eased into something more bearable, and then a blurred awareness like cutting a first swath across the morning mist. He stared at the red, velvet canopy – the night hadn’t changed – and vaguely realised that he must clean himself. Legs still trembling slightly, he slowly moved toward the edge of the bed, taking great care not to disturb the prince.
“Where are you going?” The question was sharp and the grip around his wrist was almost painful. Suzaku turned around, finding his lord frowning at him, accusing through half-lidded eyes.
“I…” he faltered, unsure of where he stood now, what he was, apart from his role as a knight, to his lord. The night hadn’t changed, but something in his world had shifted, an excess trickle to the other end of hourglass. He swallowed and picked up his unfinished sentence. “I just…need to use the bathroom for a minute, Your Highness.”
The fingers loosened, letting him go, and Suzaku had stood up and fled toward the bathroom door before he could see those eyes softening – trapping him in yet another cycle of loving and hoping and despairing.
But as he closed the door behind him and sank to the cold tiled floor, arms wrapped tight around his body to keep the sobs inside, he knew that he had never really escaped from them. That stubborn, stupid part of him could never give up.
It was what he had been, what he would always be. A dreamer.
I seem to make Suzaku cry a lot…
Next Installation: A Matter of Punctuality