Chapter 1: A Filthy Creature

Warning(s): Explicit M/M and M/F

Disclaimer: Don't own Code Geass

He rubs his thumbs against her hard nipples. She laughs.

Suzaku's eyes snap up. "What?" he asks.

She says nothing, pressing her lips against his; they are full, lush. Suzaku kisses back and feels the edge of a smirk. Kisses harder. No more smirk. He runs his fingers through her hair. It is soft and silky just like before, but it cascades down her back now. He is reminded of midnight-colored feathers.

The light illuminates the curve of her ass and the points of her breasts, turning her pale skin nearly incandescent. And then there are the boots. She is completely naked except for them. They reach up to her thighs, black and polished, juxtaposed against white, making prints on the sheets.

(Suzaku will not be the one washing those sheets. No siree.)

She pulls back, her lips starkly red, and Suzaku vaguely wonders if she put on lipstick beforehand or if she gave herself that color, like she gave herself rosy cheeks and long eyelashes.

The smirk is back again — more insolent than before.

"Do you prefer me like this?" she asks, voice sultry, eyes narrowed into slivers of violet.

"It's…different," Suzaku admits.

"Is that bad?" She bites the junction of his neck and shoulder. Suzaku gasps. Fists the sheets. "Or good?" Her words slither out in a purr.


There is a moment (albeit a brief moment) where she simply stares at him, pensive. She is kneeling on the sheets, her palms pressed against one another as if to pray. Her eyes are wide, and her lips are pursed. For a second, she is hallowed and pious, and Suzaku can just imagine her head bowed before a stained glass window, her face positively luminous.

…The only things ruining that image are her nudity and the dominatrix boots.

Then, she is pressing her hands against his shoulders and crawling into his lap, and piety is the last thing on Suzaku's mind.

"Ah, fuck."

She is grinding against him. Her eyes are devious. Her lips are devilish.

Her mouth on his is absolutely wicked.

Suzaku is so goddamned hard, and he grinds his clothed erection against soft skin. It is strange not feel the familiar bulge pressing against him. In fact, he is not used to this body at all. He gropes for straight lines, and his hands meet indents and contours. Parts that used to be angular and sharp are now supple and smooth.

"Touch me."

She tries to keep a domineering edge, but Suzaku can hear the desperation in that command. But he is more than happy to oblige, stretching out his arm to wrap his hand around —

Oh. Shit.

She looks thoroughly unimpressed, both eyebrows raised. "Would it be easier if I grew a cock?"

Suzaku flushes. "No," he says. "I've got this." I've got this. Jesus, he sounds like he's at his job. Well, (s)he and his work both contribute to his sleeplessness.

When Suzaku parts the folds of skin, he can feel that she's already wet. Very wet. He traces her labia, feeling the moisture on his fingers, but she has no patience for that. She grabs hold of his wrist and presses his index finger against her clit.

"Rub," she says.

And Suzaku rubs. The angle is kind of awkward with his wrist bent up and her on top of him, so he flips her over in a swift motion. She opens her mouth to protest but shuts it when he begins to rub again. She's not moaning, though. God, he thinks, maybe a cock would have been easier. Maybe…

His thoughts and worries are interrupted by the disproportionately loud sound of his pants being unzipped. Pants come down. Then boxers. She is staring straight at him.

"Um." Suzaku fumbles. "Should I…?"

"What do you think?"

Her tone is haughty and frantic, conceited and anxious, and Suzaku thinks it would be best if he just stops thinking right now.

So, he goes on instinct, pressing his cock inside of her. He grunts. She laughs breathlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Suzaku has never been inside a woman before, but he knows it is not normal to be this tight. Probably did it on purpose, he thinks. Everything is on purpose.

"Suzaku, move. Now."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

At first, Suzaku is afraid he will come too quickly because it's so tight and hot, and she's clenching around him damnit, but he manages to maintain a rhythm. He keeps his thrusts slow and measured. She is not satisfied.


So, he pounds her into the mattress, willing himself not to come. It's near painful, but she's noisier because of it. She moans, and the leather of the boots is chafing his skin, but it does not matter. He thrusts harder and harder into her, watching as those ruby-red lips fall open in an 'o.' Her moans crescendo.

"oh. Oh. Oh! Yes."

He kisses her, swallowing up each one of her "ohs." Her eyes are glossy, and those boots are making his skin hot. It feels like there is enough friction to make a fire. He knows he will be wearing red tribal bands in the morning.

"Fuck. Oh, ah, hah, fuck."

When Suzaku comes, his body shudders, and he curses and groans.

When she comes, her body arches off the bed, breasts rising, arms jerking, eyelashes fluttering, sweat pearling on her forehead, her boots digging painfully into his sides, mouth moaning, and those violet eyes swimming on cloud nine.

(Complete rapture.)

That cannot be on purpose.

Suzaku awakens to the sun in his eyes and the feeling of an erection pressing against the small of his back. His first thoughts of the morning are 1) he should have closed the blinds before hitting the hay, and 2) why the hell does Lelouch always get morning wood?

Suzaku turns around under the sheets to see Lelouch sleeping soundly. He looks much more innocent in a state of unconsciousness, his expression peaceful and guileless and so much unlike his wakeful form.

Strands of black hair hang in his face, and Suzaku has a sudden urge to brush them away, but that would stir Lelouch into consciousness. The cogs would begin whirring in his mind, his eyes would narrow, and his mouth would twist into a smirk. Suzaku wants to savor this slumber-induced pseudo-innocence – if only for a little longer.

Suzaku sighs and continues to gaze at him. Lelouch's face is sharp and angular once again, but it is no less pretty. Still elegant and fair. In some ways, it is very similar to the face last night.

It's the body that's different.

When Suzaku gently lifts the sheets off them, he is greeted to the sight of Lelouch's flat chest and his hard cock jutting between his thighs. Suzaku can only shake his head in wonderment. Lelouch looks like the stereotypical young man having a "pleasant" dream (sans the thigh-high dominatrix boots) — not some powerful being with the ability to metamorphose into anything his heart desires. He shows no sign of being buxom and curvaceous only a few hours ago. He is slender and very much male.

Suzaku just can't wrap his head around it. He doesn't think he ever will.

And it isn't as if Suzaku hasn't seen his fair share of strange phenomena. Along with the dying and misery, there are always the outliers that give people hope, the dark horses who resurrect from the dead and have their stories told in those Chicken Soup for the Soul books. He sees it at least a few times a month, and it helps him forget about the body bags. Fleetingly.

But, in the end, all those rarities make sense to some degree. There is no such thing as miracles – only good luck and bad. Lelouch, on the other hand, defies fortune, defies science, and defies reason.

Lelouch's vagina should be where his cock is. It should be there because Suzaku remembers it around him last night, impossibly tight and hot. He remembers coming inside, filling Lelouch. Where could it have gone?

Lelouch does not move a muscle when Suzaku lays a hand on his thigh. He continues to snore softly, and Suzaku becomes more daring. He raises his hand to Lelouch's pelvis, tracing his inner thighs and running his fingers through the curls of his pubic hair. Lelouch does not stir.

He does not stir even when Suzaku's hand trails over his cock and sac. Not even a subconscious shiver of pleasure. Suzaku spreads apart his ass and begins to prod his hole, searching, probing.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Suzaku's head snaps up in alarm. Lelouch is staring at him, eyes narrowed, and Suzaku realizes how weird this must look. "Searching for my come" would be the truthful response, but he can't bring himself to say it.

"Um." Suzaku blushes and withdraws his hand. "It's just…I have a question."

"Oh?" Lelouch's displeasure immediately vanishes from his face, and he sits up, his lips curling into a smirk. "I may or may not have an answer."

Suzaku relaxes into a smile at the fact that he successfully managed to redirect the conversation. "I was just wondering if your true form is male or female," he says.

For a moment, Lelouch looks to be deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand pressed against his chin like The Thinker. Several minutes seem to tick by, and Suzaku waits with bated breath.

Then, "I don't remember."

Suzaku's eyebrows shoot up in incredulity. "You don't remember?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Lelouch says, the smirk reappearing as he stretches his arms over his head. "However, I am very much a man at the moment." He gives a little pelvic thrust to emphasize his point.

Suzaku would protest such an insufficient answer if he knew any good would come from him, but he knows from experience that Lelouch is far from forthcoming. So, he sighs and rolls his eyes and wraps his hand around Lelouch's cock.

"You seriously don't remember?"

Lelouch smiles brightly. "It's the unfortunate truth."

It does not take long for him to come. Lelouch groans and thrashes about, making more boot prints on the already filthy streets. Suzaku wipes his hand off with a tissue, and Lelouch grins lazily like a fat cat.

"Would you like me to make you breakfast?" he asks.

"I was planning on going for a walk this morning," Suzaku says.

Lelouch's fat cat-grin widens. "Walk? You mean wander about aimlessly?"

Suzaku frowns. If anything, Lelouch should be thankful for his walks. "I just want to get some exercise in before I go to the hospital," he says.

Lelouch nods. "Fine, but at least let me make you breakfast."

He rises from bed before Suzaku can respond, and Suzaku has no choice but to follow. By the time he enters the kitchen, Lelouch is already rifling through his refrigerator, completely naked save for those ridiculous boots.

"What would you like?" Lelouch asks.


Lelouch opens the egg carton. "You're all out," he says.

"Lay me one."

The egg carton misses Suzaku's face by a mere inch. Surprisingly good aim.

It all began when Suzaku found a little raven with a broken wing.

The morning was frigid. Suzaku's hands were shoved in his pockets, and he could see his breath in the air like a mist. He could not feel his nose. Still, he pressed on. Weekend walks were a ritual of his and taking one off seemed dishonest somehow.

Cigarette butts crunched underneath his feet like new fallen snow, and people zipped past him. These people wore scarves and long coats, and they rarely bothered to look at him. However, Suzaku did not feel offended. They had places to be. No time for distractions.

Suzaku's mornings, on the other hand, were made of distractions: watching for birds in the gray sky, noticing the dull gleam of the skyscrapers, attempting to decipher graffiti.

Perhaps that was how he noticed the scuffle in the alleyway.

Suzaku had never thought a "meow" could be pugnacious until that day, but the cat backing the bird against the trashcan practically had a war cry. Its teeth were bared like a wolf, and it hissed malevolently at its prey. The bird flapped its wings uselessly, never rising from the pavement.

In most cases, Suzaku might have observed the scene for a few more moments and gone on his way. In fact, that's probably what he should have done, but something stopped him, caused him to pause.

The cat was not a typical stray. It was not skeletal and scrawny with ravenous eyes and overgrown claws. No, it was plump and pearl-white and, in all likelihood, a purebred. It possessed a fluffy and clean coat, appearing to have wandered outside by choice rather than abandoned by its owner.

It also took its sweet time with the bird. Rather than pouncing and killing it in a single stroke, it did pirouettes around it, paws swiping the air and just missing wings. It was tormenting the bird, Suzaku realized. Taunting it.

Suzaku had always hated it when the strong picked on the weak. If the cat had merely been a scrawny stray looking for a quick meal, then it would have been a completely different matter. This cat, however, was being a bully.

"Shoo," said Suzaku.

The alley smelled putrid and rank, and the cat turned around and shot Suzaku a look of complete disdain when it saw him. The bird hobbled a few steps back. Suzaku knelt beside the two animals.

"Shoo," he said again, looking the cat in the eye.

The cat regarded Suzaku levelly and then took a step toward him. Suzaku smiled in a way that he hoped was disarming and extended his hand, palm up, an olive branch.

Then, the cat bit him.

It slinked away just as the blood began to trickle down Suzaku's wrist, tail swishing in a sort of "talk to the hand" motion. Suzaku winced, wiped the blood on his shirt (it was worn out, fortunately), and looked down to see the bird staring at him.

"I'm not very good with cats," Suzaku said by way of explanation.

The bird cocked its head to the side. It was a small bird, but it had a thick neck and shaggy throat feathers. Every feature of it was black — black eyes, black legs, black beak, and feathers the color of a midnight sky.

Suzaku knew it was inevitable that the bird would face trouble again in its crippled state. It couldn't fly, and there was a good chance that another cat would come along again. For a minute, the bird regarded Suzaku before turning around and tottering away, its lame wing flapping uselessly.

"Wait," said Suzaku.

Astonishingly, the bird halted, as if heeding Suzaku's command. A silly thought. It had probably just been scared still by his voice. Still, Suzaku kept talking.

"I can fix your wing," Suzaku said.

The bird turned around and cocked its head to the side once again.

"That way you can fly again," Suzaku said.

Suzaku extended his hand, palm up, an olive branch. He smiled a disarming smile. The bird regarded him levelly.

Then, the bird hobbled a few steps and perched itself on the outstretched hand.

The bird resembled a raven, and Suzaku remembered reading something about ravens being intelligent birds. That was the reason why it responded to Suzaku's voice. That was why it stared at him with such sharp, bright eyes.

That was what Suzaku had thought at the time.

His eyes felt like they had been sealed shut with a hot glue gun.

"Rise and shine, beautiful."

Suzaku slowly cracked one eye open and then the other. All too soon it came rushing back: the tang of anesthetic, the stench of the sickly, and now bright blue eyes staring down at him.

Sleep called out to him like a siren song.

But Suzaku couldn't sleep. Duty called. "How long was I out?"

There was a crick in the back of Suzaku's neck, and he could feel dried drool pasted on his face. It had to have been at least a half an hour.

"Um." Gino glanced down at his wristwatch. "About two minutes."

"Jesus," Suzaku said, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Seriously?" Gino had the sense to realize that was a rhetorical question, but he wasted no time shoving a clipboard and folders into Suzaku's hands.

"Meds and stitches. You think you can handle it?" His voice was too cheerful. Much too cheerful. Suzaku looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"What are you on?" Suzaku asked. He meant for the question to sound teasing, but it came out acerbic.

Gino's eyes widened. "What?"

"Are you taking drugs or something?"

Gino laughed. "Nope," he said, grinning, "as a matter of fact, I am not taking any artificial stimulants. Gino Weinberg is au naturel."

Suzaku sighed, rolled his eyes, tucked the files under his arm, and stood up. He looked at the overhead clock. Only six more hours till break.

The problem was that, although the patients Suzaku encountered were kind-hearted and appreciative, they were also rapacious soul-sucking monsters that had converted him into the living dead. The only thing that differentiated him from a bona fide zombie was the fact that he didn't eat human brains, but he couldn't do that even if he wanted to because he wasn't allowed to pick people's heads. Yet.

As far as Suzaku was concerned, there was no known anecdote to the zombification of the hospital's residents. They knocked back cups of coffee by the hundreds and swallowed energy pills like candy but to no avail. Kallen struggled through it, continuing to glower at people even with bags under her eyes. Nina shouldered it with a grim acceptance. Gino seemed completely immune to it, which was why Suzaku suspected he was on some kind of drug. That was the only explanation.

The hospital had a "see one, do one, teach one" rule, meaning residents were expected to watch procedures, do the same procedures, and then teach others the procedures they learned by example. While the idea looked good on paper, it turned into a convoluted child's game of "telephone" in the real world. This is how you do the operation. This is why you do the operation. This is why you do the penguin. Yeah.

Luckily, stitches were easy enough, but, as it turned out, the man who supposedly needed stitches actually needed a liver transplant. Gino had mixed up the patient files. Yet again. Wasted twenty minutes looking for Stitches-Man. Administered meds. Gave a prognosis. Made an incision in the wrong place. More stitches. Another prognosis. Watched a man die on the operating table. Prognosis – was that his fiftieth of the day? Felt like it. Looked up at the clock. 12:30.


"I heard someone has a new roomie."

Suzaku looked up from his dressing-less salad. Kallen turned toward Gino, confused.

"Suzaku?" she asked.

Gino nodded. "Yup," he said, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Immediately, Kallen's eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth twisted into a frown. "Why didn't I hear about this?" she demanded, slapping her hand against the table, shooting Suzaku a death glare.

Probably because Suzaku wasn't actually aware he had a roommate. Before he could respond, Gino started up again.

"He's tall, dark, and handsome," Gino said, gesticulating wildly. "He's the muse of Edgar Allen Poe. He soars through the sk—"

"He's a bird," Suzaku said, cutting him off. "A raven, I think."

"A bird?" Kallen looked perplexed. Suzaku didn't blame her. Gino just kept going.

"You know," Gino said, "a warm-blooded vertebrate – has wings and a beak, covered with feathers, lays e—"

"I know that," Kallen snapped, cutting Gino off. "What I want to know is why Suzaku's housing one. Isn't a raven a wild bird?" She turned her full attention to Suzaku. "Are you keeping it as a pet or something?"

Suzaku stifled a sigh. He regretted revealing this tidbit of information to Gino. The guy wasn't exactly great at keeping his mouth shut, and Suzaku didn't need the hospital staff thinking he took in wild birds. For that matter, Suzaku wasn't entirely sure why or when he would have mentioned his newfound avian companion to Gino in the first place. Maybe he was experiencing a second-hand effect to anesthesia.

"No," Suzaku said, slightly weary. "I'm not. I found him near my apartment, and he had a broken wing. I'm taking care of him until it mends. Then, I'll set him free."

"I wouldn't take care of a raven if I were you."

Suzaku blinked and directed his attention to the far end of the table. Those words had been uttered in the soft voice of Nina Einstein, who was currently swirling her spork around in her fruit cup, eyes glued to the table.

Suzaku did not know much about Nina. Truthfully, he really only knew four things about her: 1) she apparently received a scholarship to some prestigious university in Pendragon as an undergrad student, 2) she religiously brought a fruit cup to work every day, 3) she sat as far away as possible from him during their breaks, and 4) she was constantly dropping papers in front of the pretty nurse, Euphemia, and Euphemia was always the one to bend over to pick them up.

(And God, she always smiled so sweetly, her starched skirt riding up, revealing smooth white thighs, and he could never quite catch a glimpse, but he imagined they would be lacey. And pink just like her hair.)

Needless to say, Suzaku rarely spoke to Nina. She was obviously more knowledgeable than he, and she might have been able to help him out, but she seemed rather…unapproachable. But that didn't mean he wasn't interested in what she had to say.

"What do you mean?" Suzaku asked. He tried to sound as pleasantly curious as possible; Nina still wouldn't look up. She spoke as if in a trance.

"Ravens," she murmured, "are vectors for several diseases. They are infested with parasites, and much of their sustenance comes from carrions — the rotting flesh of dead animals." Nina finally looked up, but she did not meet Suzaku's gaze. "They are altogether filthy creatures."

Suzaku swallowed. "I…I didn't know that," he said.

"Well." Nina stood up and threw her fruit cup away. "You'll see soon enough."

AN: I've seen a lot of fanfics with Lelouch as different creatures, so I decided to try writing a shapeshifter!Lelouch fic. I'm very excited! :)

Thanks for reading, and reviews are loved! :)