Fandom: Code GEASS: Lelouch of the Rebellion
Pairing: Schneizel El Britannia x Kururugi Suzaku
Rating: PG-13 for language and situation
Disclaimer: Code GEASS belongs to Sunrise.
Challenge: 30_nights #04. Darkness in my heart
Word Count: 765
Summary: The night proceeded to unfold just like its many predecessors.
Notes: This ficlet is a companion fic to my first Schneizel/Suzaku oneshot, Fairy Tale, and takes place somewhere after part 16 but before 19. You may want to read it first in order to understand this. Enjoy.
Previous installation: Fairy Tale
See the complete list of stories
As for the direct sequel that deals with the aftermath of Fairy Tale, you can find it here.
The night proceeded to unfold just like its many predecessors.
Suzaku lay on the bed, eyes closed, breathing gradually returning to its regular cadence. He waited, silently counting until sixty and listening for any sign of movement in the room. If the prince left the bed in that duration of sixty seconds, he would wait until it was safe enough to leave without being seen. If the prince, however, remained in the bed, Suzaku would take it as a sign for him to leave immediately. This was the procedure he had come up with since their second night together to spare them the awkwardness – more from his part obviously, since so far Schneizel had proven himself immune to such pitfalls.
It might seem incredible, preposterous even, to be concerned with manners and decorum in the middle of this… something which could only be considered as a corrupt, sordid affair. But once he had stripped down the dirty little details, the only thing left was the fact that he was sleeping with a royalty. One wrong move could mean the end of his career, which for the soldier was also the end of his whole dream for Japan. It was, in certain aspects, not unlike treading on the treacherous surface of thin ice.
As of tonight, the latter seemed to be the preferred course of action.
He had never liked this choice. The room was too silent, only the monotone whir of the air conditioner lending him some sort of half-hearted distraction. He had discovered that focusing his mind on other things greatly helped while he went through the ritual of picking up his discarded clothes and putting them on as quickly and quietly as possible. The air conditioner was one. The soft texture of the carpet under his feet was another. And then the cool waft of air on his bare skin, the brush of fabric as he slid his uniform back in place, the metallic click of his belt. Those little things.
But they were not nearly enough. Not to distract him from the man lounging on the bed. Or the wet, sticky sensation between his legs and inside him. Or the unpleasant voice in his head whispering accusation and condemnation of this new degree he had sunk to. So low. So despicable. So utterly unbefitting the man Japan had expected to save her.
The voice was languid, as if wisps of sleep almost had the issuer under their clutch, but Suzaku was too tense to notice. He raised his eyes slowly, meeting the prince’s indifferent gaze, and tried not to bite his lips.
“You may come again tomorrow night.”
The waves of anger hit him fast, rising, rolling, almost stifling him. He felt like he had been punched in the chest. It wasn’t a request, neither a permission, nor an order. The liberty to choose was in his hand, and yet it wasn’t. Double-edged words. Ambiguity. Third meaning in the depth of abstraction, under the mask of generosity.
The prince was clearly fucking with his head. Suzaku didn’t quite remember how he could overcome his rage in the end and force himself to bow and answer quietly, “Yes, Your Highness.”
He just did.
Even his voice was perfectly toneless. He would have been proud, but the satisfaction was as faint and fleeting as a midsummer’s night dream. There wasn’t a taste of victory in this. He knew that once he looked at the older man again, it would be utter defeat staring at him in the face.
It was almost natural to choose to turn around and leave without looking back. The wound in his heart was fresh and raw, smarting and throbbing in his chest. Each step brought him farther from the inflictor, but this wasn’t about distance. This had never been about distance. He was single-handedly carrying the pain and it was his and his alone.
It wasn’t until he was safe in the confines of his own room that he loosened the tight grip on his self-control and just let go. It wasn’t in tears, or wrecked sobs, or howls of frustration. Suzaku leant back to the closed door and slid down to the floor, head lolling backward, fingers crushing each other. Shame, remorse, anger, pain, all was wreaking havoc inside him, but he wasn’t crying.
He laughed. And laughed, the sound insipid, disjointed, endless. Until tears came and frustration subsided and exhaustion caught up.
And then it was the blissful oblivion for a few too short moments, until morning found him and dragged him back to reality.
Thank you for reading and please comment.