Mire (Part 10)
Author: Jusrecht

Pairing: Schneizel el Britannia x Kururugi Suzaku

Disclaimer: Code GEASS belongs to Sunrise.

Warning: Smut alert, mature content for the last part of this chapter.

A/N: This series is obviously an AU since the ending of season one, but the airing of R2 has revealed some much-needed facts as well as plot-destroying ones. To avoid further confusion, I’ll line up a few which matter to this series.
- Britannia is America. As much as I love to keep it where it should have been, I'll go with the canon fact.
- The capital city of Britannia is Pendragon. No idea where it is though geographically, so if anyone has any info on this, I'll be very grateful if you can share it.
- Despite being a sucker for Arthurian legend, I've decided to ignore the Knight of Round system for this series. The ruler of the empire has one knight, the First Knight, that's all.
- No R2 character will make an appearance here (except maybe Miss Romeyer, but nobody cares about her, right?)

Okay, with that bit cleared up, enjoy the read!

--

In the end, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

Walls had ears, even eyes in this place. A secret could not be kept for long and those who kept it would eventually – and inevitably – leave enough crumbs to bring it to light. Suzaku knew this. It was only a matter of time. Nowadays, he saw a pair of maids giggling and whispering behind one of the many towering pillars, and immediately thought of the worst. The guards and soldiers too, their hidden smirk, their stifled laugh a touch too derisive in his ears. And the nobles, always wrinkling their nose whenever he passed by or just as much as walked into their line of sight, pointedly turning their face away. Suzaku would tell himself that this was nothing new, but then he would remember what had happened that day in His Majesty’s private study – every single detail of it – and his feeble assurance would fall apart as easily as a bastion made of dust.

It was something else, a new depth, and he fell deeper inside, alone. Apparently there was no limit to how low one could sink. Refusal was not an option, sharing even less because even he was disgusted with himself. And somehow, who knows, if he bore it all silently, perhaps it would seem less pitiful – perhaps it would feel more bearable.

But secrets could never be buried for long, the gravity of truth was much too powerful. He walked the halls like everyone already knew what he was – a whore, first his instructors in the academy, then the Second Prince, and finally the emperor. One could say that it was paranoia, that nobody was actually talking about him, there was no proof of it, but when the prince himself had personally handed him the evidence, he simply ran out of excuses.

A part of him didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to live in the illusion, and then perhaps he could still keep that semblance of affection his lord had seemed fit to give him. There wasn’t a question of forgiveness if Schneizel found out and he had been naïve enough to think, hope that he could fool the prince.

He should have known better. That night, he had been too distraught to hold his pretence for long, and his body, complete with its weaknesses and flaws, had betrayed more than it should – the flinch, stutters, quivers, and to top them all, tears. To this fool’s parade he then had had to add a spectacular finishing touch, one which would have stunned even the most gullible, and Schneizel was probably the last person on earth he could pair with such description. But the recognition had dawned too slowly. A split of a second after he had asked his lord not to bed him that night, Suzaku realised that he had practically left his sordid tale open for anyone to read.

The evidence did not take long to manifest itself. The prince had of course complied with his request and never pursued the subject, something which Suzaku had been immensely grateful for at the beginning. It was fast to develop into blistering unease only a few minutes later. It was difficult not to, when he realised that there was suddenly a gulf between them, rising out of nowhere. He knew then, on some unspoken levels, that his lord had found out. Perhaps it was the sudden lack of affection, the absence of lingering touches and eloquent smiles which he had pathetically grown addicted to. Nowadays, the most he would get was a brief pat to his shoulder, affable but thoroughly impersonal. He did not flinch anymore, but the prince made no follow through either. He called him his knight, talked to him about his duties, allowed him to stand at his side, and yet…

Suzaku couldn’t even tell what he was missing. Days drifted past, one blending with the next and he felt himself growing numb with fear. It was how he lived then, every minute dreading another summon from the emperor, every second yearning for someone else’s touch, and that someone never came, never even looked at him anymore outside official meetings and audiences. He told himself that it was only to be expected. He must not ask for more than he deserved, and this was already more than what he deserved, after what he had done.

But it mattered but little when he lay in his cold bed at night, wishing that he had not fallen in love. Everything would have been easier. Less complicated. Less painful.

“Suzaku.”

There was an insistent note in Jacques’s voice and it yanked him out of his thought. His awareness came in bits, small disjointed parts that rolled in his mind like rounded pebbles. He was in the hangar. In his hand was a bundle of paper with details and instructions. Tomorrow he would return to Japan. His task was to oversee the preparation. Jacques was standing next to him and still whispering in an urgent tone, “His Highness, five o’clock.”

Suzaku whirled around hastily and had to keep a tight leash on his emotions when he caught the sight of his lord watching all the activities from the second floor, General Bartley at his side. He swallowed thickly when those eyes found him, and quickly reminded himself to bow. When he straightened up, there was a flash of a smile, fleeting and vague behind the thick glass window, but it left his heart beating violently against his chest. It disappeared as smoothly as it had appeared, and then the prince turned around to leave, his back once more toward him.

Suzaku pressed his lips together but returned to his task without a word.

“And here are the files of the current members.”

A stack of documents were pushed toward him, scraping a soundless sigh across the surface of the desk. General Bartley was eyeing him from his seat behind the massive table as he opened the topmost file and found the photograph of a dark-haired man in uniform, his face hard and firm with a trace of inborn ruthlessness in the shape of his mouth.

“There aren’t many of them,” the general said again, his voice as rigid and unsympathetic as his office. “Only sixteen, but to be given the chance to lead them is no small matter.”

“I understand, Sir,” Suzaku answered promptly and returned his hands to his side.

A frown appeared on that stern face, only a little less than a scorn. “Do you really?” The older man’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “You’ve won the Spring Tournament, I’ll give you that, but we are talking about a group of elite knights with pride higher than anyone else in the entire land. And they have a reason to be proud, I assure you.”

Suzaku resisted an urge to sigh. “I have no intention to look down on anyone, General, and certainly not on the Camulos Knight,” he said, as careful as possible with his wording so as not to offend the superior officer further.

It seemed to work, as the frown lessened slightly in intensity. “That is only wise,” Bartley stated firmly. “They are possibly the best company in Britannian military, personally handpicked by His Highness himself. Each member has remarkable individual skill and can easily withstand the attack from an enemy ten times their number. For the last few months, they were ordered by His Majesty to deal with a situation in Finland, but now that it has been resolved, they will return under the command of His Highness the Second Prince.”

“And without a doubt they won’t be thrilled to have a Number as their new commander,” Suzaku murmured. He was quickly rewarded with a second, much deeper frown for his troubles.

“Was that wit?”

Suzaku silently cursed himself for his inability to keep errant thoughts to himself. “Merely an observation, Sir,” he said meekly.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them while the general put him under intent scrutiny, as if he couldn’t decide whether the younger man was sincere or not. In the end, he dropped the issue and carried on with the briefing, taking refuge in the familiarity of facts and plain information. “The ceremony will take place back in Area 11, as well as the formalization of your promotion to the rank of Brigadier General. On the fifteenth, as it is said here, two days after our arrival. There will be the usual party as a celebration, and then you can officially start your duty.” The general looked up, training a solemn gaze on him. “Perhaps you have known that as the Commander of the Camulos Knight, you will have the right to elect new members, but I suggest waiting until you’ve had the chance know your men – and women – better.”

“Until they have fully accepted me.”

“A man who deserves respect must earn it by his own hand,” Bartley said sternly, apparently finding something offensive in his tone. Suzaku arranged his face to look as civil and unassuming as possible and maintained a respectful silence.

There was an irritated huff – a grudging acceptance – and then the general said again, “But yes, the right is yours since you clearly are going to be their leader. Remember though, that this is a distinguished company which has a certain level of quality to be maintained. And of course, each candidate must be approved by His Highness Prince Schneizel first.”

“I shall keep it in mind, Sir,” Suzaku politely gave his reply, only after it was made certain that one was truly expected. The older man nodded in approval but still regarded him with narrowed eyes. His hands had moved from the desk to rest on strained dark-blue uniform above an over-sized belly. General Bartley Asprius had never shown much cordiality toward him, but he was a fair man and treated him fairly if not warmly, despite having been initially prejudiced against his honorary status like most Britannians were. Not exactly an ally, but at least not an enemy either.

“I’ll say an exhibition match is as good a place as any to start,” the general suddenly murmured, a strangled note in his dry voice.

The ensuing silence was deafening. Suzaku stared, unsure what to make of the – suggestion? – speech. It almost sounded like the general was trying to help.

Bartley cleared his throat uncomfortably and repositioned his monocle before saying hastily, “Anyway, that is about the Camulos Knight. As for the rest, I will still command the Seventh Imperial Fleet in His Highness’s name for now, but I believe the responsibility will fall into your hand in due time.” The narrowed eyes flicked up briefly, not entirely catching Suzaku’s gaze. “I think that’s all for now, Lord Kururugi.”

There was an air of finality in that sentence, a certain dismissal, but it was almost overwhelmed by its hasty execution. Suzaku bit his lips and wondered if perhaps, he wasn’t the only one uncertain about his footing here. From what he could tell, the general seemed to have some difficulty in deciding whether he liked the younger man or not, and for some reasons the idea made him want to smile.

And so he did, earned himself another scowl – although it was clearly accompanied with a great deal of fuming embarrassment – and quickly excused himself from the office.

“Not even for a late drink?”

Suzaku groaned softly when his back hit the soft cushioning – the first sofa he had seen in hours. After running around for the best part of the day and making sure that everything was in perfect order, to sit down and just let his muscles rest for a few minutes felt like heaven itself. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the top of the couch, and brought his cell phone closer to his right ear. “I’m not sure, Kai– Milly. It’s almost six and the preparation isn’t done yet. Maybe if it’s all finished before six, but…” he paused and filled the rest with silence, letting doubt speak for itself.

“I understand,” her voice was subdued but there was enough disappointment in it for him to notice. “I knew you would be busy. It’s just… oh, never mind.”

“It’s just?” he encouraged quietly, picking up the soft sigh she had left at the end of her sentence.

“Nothing.”

Suzaku pinched the bridge of his nose to abate some of the throbbing headache he had been feeling all day. It helped but a little. “Milly.”

“It’s just you don’t look too well,” she finally explained, hurriedly but reluctantly. “I mean, these past few days, after the tournament particularly. Who knows if a dinner with a friend…” She paused, her voice dropping to an uncertain murmur, “I have a feeling that I’m meddling too much.”

“No.”

Her laughter sounded less vivacious through the line, but it still brought a smile to his lips. “Oho, a lie. You’re always much too polite even when it’s a lie. Sometimes I really hate that about you.”

Suzaku couldn’t help a chuckle. “I know,” he said softly. “But I’m all right, so please don’t worry yourself unnecessarily over me.”

“Well, then do it for me,” Milly said firmly. “We won’t meet each other for quite a long time, you know, maybe until the next time you visit the capital again and who knows when that will happen. By the way, my father has been hinting that he wants to buy a house here.”

“Isn’t that good? You can live close to your parents even if you’re already married.”

He could almost see the wince on her face, as it echoed through her voice. “And let them harass me about giving them grandchildren soon? No, thank you.” There was a mock sigh and then she added, almost ruefully, “I love Japan, you know.”

Suzaku felt a stab of pain in his chest but Milly chased it away just as quickly with another of her dramatic sigh, her tone of voice long-suffering as she added, “And you have no idea how dreary it is to be a countess. Nothing but balls and tea parties. And I’m not even one yet.”

He tried a laugh and was surprised when it flowed out of his mouth easily, perhaps also genuinely. “I think you just miss your crazy escapades in Ashford,” he suggested with an innocent tone.

“Wit, Suzaku-kun?” she teased him. “I thought you were depressed.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with being depressed.”

“So you’re admitting that you are depressed.” There was a triumphant note in her voice.

Suzaku felt a smile on his lips. “Through extreme coercion.”

“Details,” Milly carelessly waved it aside with a tittering laugh. He tried to picture her, dressed in a beautiful gown, sitting next to a window which glowed bright crimson in the setting sun, smiling to the receiver clasped in one hand. When she spoke again, her tone was a little more subdued. “We can’t discuss the cause of your depression over the phone, can we?”

Silence filled his ears, an awkward harmony with the air-conditioner humming stiffly in the background. Suzaku clenched and unclenched his fist, tasting how it felt like – while all the way aware that it was only an excuse for him not to think for a moment.

“It’s a little… sensitive,” he finally answered.

“I had a hunch,” she said gently. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He looked up at the sound of door opening and there was Jacques, looking into the room, relief flooding his face when he noticed Suzaku sitting on the couch. “Can I call you again later?”

“Anytime, milord.”

Milly ended the call with a soft chuckle. Jacques closed the door behind him and walked toward the couch, handing him a folder, black with gold tiny inscriptions at each corner. “So that’s why I couldn’t contact you,” he accused.

Suzaku only smiled and took the offered file. “Is it done?”

“Yes.” Jacques seated himself next to him. “An escort of two ships and twenty-eight Knightmares in total. Lancelot, as usual, will stand by on Avalon along with four other Knightmares. Halfway there, we will meet the Camulos Knight under the command of Lord Alaric Vandewalle, and they will join the escort until we all arrive in Area 11.” He shifted quietly, a slight frown evident on his handsome face. “I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. This is overwhelming.”

“We cannot be too careful,” Suzaku murmured, his eyes quickly skimming down the document. “I don’t want anything to catch us unprepared.”

The other man watched him in silence for a few seconds before relenting with a shrug. “You’re the commander, so it’s your call. But I’m still convinced that if something does happen, all we need is for you to ride out with Lancelot and follow Prince Schneizel’s instructions.” He suddenly grinned. “Do you know that this combination has become somewhat a legend among the soldiers? Unbeatable, they say. The sword and the mind that controls it.”

Suzaku said nothing and only added his signature at the end of the document, determinedly keeping his eyes down. He could feel Jacques’s eyes studying him closely, and knew that something must have leaked into his face.

“Maybe you should take her advice and go to that dinner,” Jacques suddenly spoke again, a little too carefully. “I can handle everything from here.”

It made Suzaku look up and raise his eyebrows. “You’re in this with her?”

“Lady Ashford talked to me yesterday and I must say that I agreed, wholeheartedly,” the admission came unabashed. “Why don’t you just take the night off? God knows you need it.”

“I have to be here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“The escort guard–“

“It’s done,” Jacques said decisively. “You’ve done everything you can but fretting over it. And if you do want to fret over it, you certainly can do so over dinner. I’m sure the good lady will be happy to give you a good smack over the head for it.”

Suzaku pressed his lips together and closed the folder, handing it back to Jacques. “I want to be here in case something happens,” he said, and there was this stubborn finality in his voice which made the other man look at him, recognition dawning on his face.

“It’s His Highness, isn’t it?”

“No.” The word slipped out unbidden, the closest he ever got to plain honesty. Suzaku took a deep, shaky breath as his fingers tried to crush each other on his lap, but found no relief from the action. “No, it’s me. I shouldn’t have…” The excuse deserted him and he looked down again, mumbling, “This is really stupid.”

“Nothing complicates one’s life like love,” the other commented sympathetically and earned himself a glare.

“You are not helping.”

Jacques smirked. “I wasn’t trying to,” he admitted freely. Suzaku threw him a scathing look, but the effect was ruined by the ringing of the other man’s cell phone.

“Sedgwick,” Jacques promptly answered to the line. “Yes, I’ve found him. I think there’s one more… oh.” A momentary pause, as his eyes flickered toward him. “Yes. All right, I’ll let him know at once. The Royal Study, you said?”

It had never been pleasant, the feeling of his heart violently plummeting into the pit of his stomach – and even less pleasant when Suzaku vaguely noticed that it was not all that unfamiliar for him. Numb with dread, he only half-listened as his fear lurched into reality and Jacques told him that he was expected by the emperor.

“You don’t look too pleased,” he added after a moment of observation. “I thought it was an honour to have a personal audience with His Majesty.”

“It is,” Suzaku said quickly and rose to his feet before the other man could get a better look on his face. “Jacques, you may have to take care of things here. I’m afraid…” He swallowed, the words constricting his throat. “I mean, if the meeting turns out to be long–“

“Don’t worry about it,” Jacques interrupted him and followed him to leave the room. “Just make sure you don’t screw yourself in front of His Majesty.”

Somehow, he managed to choke back the grimace and find a smile.

It was that music again.

A symphony of some sort, rich in tones and colours gloriously intertwined, but also menacing as each note struck a deep fear within him. It was the same symphony he had heard that evening, but the emperor had said nothing and Suzaku continued to stand there mutely, forced to listen. And remember.

Everything inside the study spoke to him about luxury and regality – of the cold and haughty sort. It was the second time he had been there, and the size, the details were just as overwhelming. He couldn’t say for sure if the impression wasn’t at all influenced by his underlying dread, but the wood-panelled walls and intricately carved friezes; and then the paintings of wars lost and won adorning them; the tall, sturdy bookcases at one side, filled by rows of thick, immense books with gilded cover; the floor-to-ceiling windows at another with heavy drapes in deep blue colour, overlooking a sky in decline, a mess of purple, yellow, grey, and rust; and finally the massive writing desk made of dark wood. He still remembered how his face had pressed against its hard but smooth surface as he had tried to block out the pain – and the humiliation – and the taste of blood on his tongue because he had bitten his lips so hard that they had bled and he couldn’t afford the risk of spoiling anything in this room.

Brown was supposed to be a warm colour. It was a pale, yellow light which permeated the room, but Suzaku could feel a chill running up his spine. Not even his standard military room aboard Avalon, chiefly furnished in starched white, had ever felt this cold. The fact that His Majesty had barely said a word to him but for a curt order to just stand there when he had arrived, and since then had completely ignored his presence in favour for a book did not help.

The emperor was the most powerful man in the Holy Empire of Britannia and, one could argue, in the entire world. If he was told to stay silent, then he would stay silent – and considering the kind of order he had obeyed just a few days ago, this was overwhelmingly petty in comparison. And it was not as if he hadn’t been trained to stand still for a certain duration of time during his military training.

But minutes passed and the Fourth Movement was rising to its finale and every movement, every turn of page still made him draw a sharp intake of breath. At least he could suppress the flinch now, although the small encouragement fell flat against the whirlwind that was his tangled emotions. If he could detach himself from them just a little, if he could pretend, like he had once in this same room not too long ago, that it wasn’t him who went through all these but his station, his role of a knight…

And then the music ended and there was silence, the kind that peeled off one’s skin because it was so sharp. It was more difficult to stay still then, but he couldn’t look up; it would be a breach of courtesy to do so in the presence of an emperor.

“Tomorrow you will return to Area 11.”

Suzaku started as the rumbling voice lanced through the stupefied silence shrouding the room. He struggled to hide his agitation and raised a pair of polite, inquiring eyes, although he could feel that they came off more frightened than anything. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Your homeland.” The emperor had not looked up from his reading material, and neither had the tone of his voice shifted from its flat drawling quality. “But it’s little more than a wasteland now.”

Suzaku remained silent, tight-lipped with barely contained anger – and yet some of it must have leaked into his expression since His Majesty was now looking at him. “Anger, is it your driving force?” he said and the words trembled, mocked, but his unfluctuating tone indicated that the emperor was not particularly interested in the question itself. Suzaku was not sure which he should take offence more.

Before he could decide, a respectful train of knocks reached his ears and almost made him cringe. He glanced at the door, hope suddenly swelling inside him for some heaven-sent interruption, and then His Majesty spoke again.

“You may leave.”

It was almost impossible to be true. Suzaku was stunned still for two seconds before quickly excusing himself with a hurried bow and making a beeline toward his escape. A part of his mind which could still function properly in the flood of relief wondered what the purpose of the emperor calling for him in the first place was, but the rest was simply too relieved to care.

Until he came face-to-face with the Second Prince, right outside the Royal Study.

Suzaku froze, his guard torn down completely by brutal waves of shock. Not only that this was the first time they had been in a fairly close proximity in the last few days, the fact that it occurred when he had just left His Majesty’s study seemed to erase all doubts on what he had been doing there. But there was only stony calmness on Schneizel’s face, and Suzaku bit his lips, reminding himself to make way and bow deeply.

He gasped when strong fingers seized his arm and clasped it in an iron grip. “Wait in my chamber,” the prince said, his voice low but tight – only a little more than a whisper but Suzaku could tell that his master was livid.

And then his arm was let go just as abruptly, leaving the skin tingling unpleasantly.

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.

“Suzaku.”

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.

End

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