Fandom: Code GEASS: Lelouch of The Rebellion
Pairing: Schneizel el Britannia x Kururugi Suzaku
Rating: PG-13 for mentioning of sex
Warnings: No dialogue. This is really just a reflection-kind-of-piece.
Disclaimer: Code GEASS belongs to Sunrise. The quote belongs to Alcuin.
Challenge: 30_nights #23. Like an art piece
Word Count: 1416
Summary: A midnight reflection by Schneizel el Britannia. Subject: Kururugi Suzaku and the value of perfection.
Notes: This fic happens right before part 19 of Fairy Tale and has some vague reference to Infinity. Anyway, enjoy.
Previous Installation: Gambits Within Gambits
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It was within the understanding of the public that there was nothing such as surprises to Prince Schneizel el Britannia. Surprises were the company of lesser beings and he, faultless to a fault, was impervious to them.
Of course it wasn’t necessarily the truth, although most of the times the prince hardly felt any need to contradict this belief. People saw, judged, and decided. Their opinion was what made a king, a king. Such power ought to be calculated, manipulated, and then respected from afar once it had rung throughout the society.
Vox populi vox dei. The voice of the people is the voice of God.
It was not to say that he was completely immune to surprises. They came to him from time to time, these small puzzles with its colourful pieces scattered all over the wrong place. His sentiment to them was rather fluctuating. It was true that he took personal delight in watching the world revolve and the pages being written exactly the way he wanted them to, but there were times when surprises should remain as surprises and thus served as a wonderful source of entertainment.
Tonight, he decided that he could enjoy this small, unusual serving of surprise.
How long had it been, the prince contemplated silently, since the last time he had shared his bed with anyone? Not in the shallow sense of having his needs met and satisfied, but really sharing his bed. Through the silent hours of the night until the sky in the horizon was ablaze with fire and gold. He couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up and found not endless solitude but another person, slumbering peacefully next to him as the sun rose and bathed them with her warm, comforting glow.
A romantic notion. A little too romantic perhaps, but it was enough to persuade him not to rouse his companion.
The prince sat down, so very carefully as to not make the slightest disturbance to the other occupant of his bed. It had never happened before, but of course there was a first to everything. He had left the room for a short while after having his way with the young Eleven, and upon his return, discovered said Eleven still comfortably nestled in his comforter. In fact, Suzaku had fallen into a state of deep slumber and was utterly oblivious to the problem he currently presented the prince with. Schneizel had, in fact, found himself in front of too many crossroads, with more options laid before him than it should have been possible, each holding its own flaws and merits. Many if not most of them were difficult choices, requiring no less than a full exploitation of his knowledge and intellect in order to find the right direction, but this one, he must admit, provided him with a different challenge.
The first theory which had then occurred to him came from years of putting circumspection before everything else. It was suspicion, that a design of an unpleasant nature or possibly malicious intent was at work. After all, there was a deviation to their nightly routine and it was a widely accepted rule that any kind of deviation by and large indicated that something was not quite right.
The second theory however, vehemently opposed the first. Suzaku had his own interest to protect and it would do him more harm than good if he tried to go against the Second Prince. Besides, after a period of several months of observing the young soldier, Schneizel had arrived to the conclusion that if there was someone who wasn’t capable of executing any deceitful scheme at all, it would be Suzaku. He would rather take a chance which was so overwhelmingly against him head on and die a foolish man than backstab his enemy.
The third theory – in which there was an outside party pulling a lot of invisible strings behind his back – actually endorsed the first, but then Suzaku sighed in his sleep and moved slightly toward him and the prince came to a decision that he could postpone this evaluation for a better time. Besides, a good surprise must never go to waste.
The young Eleven had always been a feast to the eyes, Schneizel reflected in appreciation as his eyes slowly took in the sight generously displayed before them. Whether he was frowning or smiling, laughing or blushing, sleeping or fighting, there was a subtle pull in everything he did. But the one the prince liked the most had to be when he arched his back, eyes squeezed shut, the testimony to his pleasure no longer suppressible as nails sank into white sheets and a half-strangled moan tore itself from his throat. It was pleasure and agony all blended into one and it was breathtaking.
Sex with Suzaku was interesting, a mix of need and denial and embarrassment and who knows what else. Denial was especially recurrent, which made the situation not only enjoyable but also interesting to watch. There was always an internal battle going on under his skin and it was reflected on his face, by every muscle in his body, in everything he did. Tensing but giving in. Flinching away but pressing closer. He hated it but he wanted it, and these contradictions were driving him mad.
Outside the bedroom, things were a little smoother. Kururugi Suzaku, the Eleven and Britannian soldier, was a valuable asset either in the political stage or an actual battlefield, even though the person in question hardly ever realised the real extent of his own importance. It might be a weakness, but so far the prince was still content to let it be, particularly since this ignorance put his side of agreement at a distinct advantage. Why gave away the smallest ground if he could keep them all under his control? He had a powerful piece in his hand, as had been proven by this war which would hopefully end in two more days, thanks to the aforementioned piece.
Suzaku sighed again and curled closer to him, one palm laid bare and open on the bedspread as if asking for something. The prince found himself holding a silent debate whether to acquiesce to the request or not. He could not help being amused at how different the younger man looked when he was asleep. The innate fierceness which followed his every waking moment let go of their clutch and left behind this portrait of tarnished innocence, a boy of not-yet-eighteen who deserved, more than anything, to be happy.
The world had denied it from him for far too long. Or maybe it was the boy himself, always running away from every chance of happiness. He was a bundle of contradictions and paradoxes, with so much bottled-up anger and long-untended guilt. When Euphemia died, they only burned and swelled. Too much grief. Too much regrets. Too overwhelming that he was disposed to do just about anything.
Young loves – fiery, passionate, disappearing in an instant and yet lasting for a lifetime. They had their uses after all.
Slowly, almost gingerly, Schneizel let his fingers touch the openly spread palm. Suzaku didn’t jerk awake – he must have been either unconscious or very exhausted, a condition which the prince realized he took a fair share of responsibility for. Instead, the hand curled instinctively, long calloused fingers trapping his own in their warmth, and something in that infinitesimal, almost meaningless gesture caused a slight pang in his chest. Suzaku had never been one for gentleness. Being honest and blunt with him worked so much better than using compassion or benevolence, but sometimes, sometimes Schneizel wondered if it wasn't because he had never had any.
No matter what, the boy was a very useful piece. Very obedient. Not exactly obedient perhaps, but at least obedient enough to be useful. And at chess, even a pawn could turn the tide and deliver victory to its king.
But the young Eleven wasn’t a pawn. He was the dark horse – no, the white one. His white knight. Ready and willing to be nurtured, trained, sharpened, until the moment came when the knight would turn into the queen. The most powerful of all pieces, one only the king could command.
It was a good plan. Not perfect, but then again he had no need for a perfect one.
“Because at the heart of uncertainty, there lies perfection,” the prince murmured and drew back his hand before settling in the bed with a smile.
This is about the most obscure thing I have ever written. Maybe because it’s Schneizel. Oh well. Thanks for reading and please comment!
Next Installation: Outside Understanding