Love Nothing

G'morning, everyone. Posting now before I forget. Splitting this makes me feel dumb, as it's not really a chapter sort of thing. I think it makes it easier to read, though? Idk. Enjoy. Porn.

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Time was anonymous in a windowless room.

Lelouch slept fitfully, jerking awake to the empty room, its grey light unchanged. There was a vent in the far corner, the heavy door set into the wall, but nothing else. Dim light filtered from subtle panels laid into the ceiling, their glow middling. No sound came through the walls, no sign of life. He tried again at the handcuffs, worrying at one in an attempt to slip it over his hand. He padded his wrist with a scrap of the sheet and forced it vainly against the edge of his knuckles. His hands ached, hot, his veins standing out in purple lines spidering over tendon, and he gave up. He fought against the muddy haze of the drugs still working through his system, feeling stupid and slow.

He dreamed, brokenly, of gentle hands on his face and a woman’s low voice, and he woke gasping for CC, his chest aching. His thoughts flashed on Suzaku and his sad reproach, and his anger built to a hot wave, crested with blind rage.






Finally, Zero came.

“Well,” Lelouch said, his mouth twisting. “I’m still here.”

Zero crossed the room and didn’t reply. He cut a slim, impressive figure in that darkness. As Suzaku slid the mask from his head, he looked at Lelouch, and there was a peculiar sort of unease in his face. A sort of despair. He was thinner, sharper. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Lelouch wondered how long ago the Requiem was. Suzaku pulled Zero’s cape from his shoulders and folded it over the chair beside the bed. He smoothed the lines of the suit and sat, and when he could put it off no longer, he met Lelouch’s eyes. “Lie back,” he said.

“I’d rather not.”

Suzaku looked away. “Then sit up straight.” He drew the first-aid kit from under the bed and tugged off his gloves. “I have to take out your stitches.”

Lelouch sat stiffly, holding the bed’s rails as Suzaku touched him, his hands anxious-hot against Lelouch’s skin. He cut through the bandage with a pair of gleaming scissors and gently pulled the gauze away. It tugged at scabbed edges of the wound, and Lelouch flinched. He looked: the slash was healed, a wide arc of new skin stretching its burned edges from his hip to his collarbone, black lines of sutures holding its length together.

The scabs crusted over the stitches, where they had torn. Suzaku didn’t look at him, but his throat jerked as he leaned forward, clipping the sutures. Lelouch hissed through his teeth as Suzaku tugged the stitches through, and his hands tightened into fists on the bed’s rails.

When he finally pulled back, Lelouch fingered the scar. It tingled, hypersensitive, to his fingertips. Suzaku did not look at him: he stowed the first aid kit and stood, pulling his gloves back on. He ran a finger along the cravat where it met his throat and smoothed his lapels.

“Having fun?” Lelouch said. He watched Suzaku through half-lidded eyes. “Playing dress-up?”

Suzaku was silent. He pulled the cape from the chair and folded it over his arm. He ran a careful hand over it, smoothing its wrinkles, and then he turned to Lelouch. His face was closed off, emotionless. That maddening, deadened look that shut him down and made Lelouch want to hurt him.

“Well?” he said, finally, when Suzaku gave him nothing. “Is this it?” He watched Suzaku’s face. “Is this where your plan runs out?”

“This wasn’t my plan,” he said tightly.

“Oh?” Lelouch curled his lip. “Sorry. I thought you were the one who staged my assassination and then imprisoned me in a basement for the last...” he thinned his lips and flapped his hand dismissively, “however long. That was someone else?”

Suzaku gave him an empty look. “I’m sorry you’re offended that I didn’t kill you--”

“Not accepted,” Lelouch snapped.

“--but I’m not....” Suzaku stopped and swallowed, with difficulty. His eyes cleared a little. “I’m not sorry that you’re not dead.”

“Imbecile,” Lelouch hissed. “I don’t want your apologies.” His hands fisted, and as his arms tensed, the slash across his chest ached.

“What do you want?”

Lelouch clenched his jaw. “Do you care what I want, Suzaku?” He raised his hand, making the handcuff’s chain loud against the bed’s rail. He narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

Suzaku’s expression closed again, his eyes impassive. He said nothing and looked away, his shoulders rigid. He started toward the door. The heels of his boots were loud, echoing. Lelouch reflexively reached out a hand to stop him, forgetting, and pain bloomed at his wrist when the handcuff jerked him back.

He made a wordless, pained sound. Even through the bandages on his wrists, he felt raw and bloodied. He peered at his wrist, rubbing at it gingerly, and his fingers prodded the aching flower of a bruise. The shapes of Suzaku’s fingers, stained in ugly violet and greenish-yellow. When he raised his eyes, Suzaku was watching him.

“What?” he bit out, indignant.

“Nothing,” Suzaku said. He focused on Lelouch’s hand, and his brow knit. “Nothing.”

“How transparent.” Lelouch barked an angry laugh. “What a jailor, what a traitor you make. Sadism doesn’t suit you, Suzaku. How can anyone believe you? Have you lost the game yet? Has everyone seen through your lie?” Lelouch glared at him, his fury searing a hole in his chest. Suzaku gave no reaction. He watched Lelouch blaze on as if he wasn’t listening at all. “Have my siblings planned your murder yet? More lies for my little sister?”

Suzaku started, then, blinked at him, and a bit of tension leaked from his shoulders. His eyes focused, his brow knit again, the shadows on his face deepening. He crossed his arms over the cape and looked at the floor. He leaned his weight against the side of the bed. Lelouch shut up and watched him, his hands clenching at the bed’s rail.

Suzaku bit his lip and let out his breath. “No one wants to lie to her,” he said. “They do their best.”

“What about her?” Lelouch felt the fire in his chest dampen. He did not let go of the rails. He was afraid his hands would shake.

“She’s growing up well.” Suzaku was silent for a long few seconds, staring at his feet. His hands curled in the cape, hugging it close. “She’s good,” he said quietly. He looked up and met Lelouch’s eyes. He was so honest. “She’s doing things right.”

“Ah.” His weakness was a clear, shining target. Lelouch showed his teeth in a smile. “So you haven’t killed her yet.”

Suzaku moved faster than Lelouch remembered. He crushed Lelouch to the bed, his fingers locked around Lelouch’s throat. He didn’t squeeze. “Don’t start, Lelouch,” he said, his voice ragged. “Don’t.” Zero’s cape slid to the floor in a rustle of fabric.

“Or what?” Lelouch said. He swallowed. “You’ll kill me?” He laughed, without mirth. “You won’t do it.” His pulse pounded against the pressure of Suzaku’s fingers. “You can’t. Coward,” he said breathlessly.

Suzaku’s face twisted, like he might cry, but he leaned forward instead, pinning Lelouch’s shoulders to the bed with his other hand, and his lips met Lelouch’s in a knock of teeth. Lelouch recoiled and bit down, tearing at Suzaku’s lip. Suzaku made a sound low in his throat and kissed him hard, insistent and rough. Lelouch tried to twist away, and then Suzaku shifted and tightened his grip, closing his fingers tightly enough around Lelouch’s throat to choke him in earnest.

Blood roared in his ears. Lelouch kicked and missed, his feet tangled in the sheet, and Suzaku pressed closer, muscling one knee between Lelouch’s legs to lay him open. Lelouch made a strangled noise and thrashed, jerking vainly at the handcuffs. Suzaku was a hot weight against him, climbing over and into him, his hands blazing, on fire. Stars burst in Lelouch’s vision as Suzaku’s hand moved from his shoulder to the small of his back, jerking his hips up.

The sheet slithered down, leaving him bare, and Suzaku ground hard against him. Lelouch struggled weakly as Suzaku’s leg nudged his knee back, and Suzaku moaned into his mouth. He squeezed harder, his fingers crushing, and Lelouch fell limp. And just as suddenly, Suzaku let go. Lelouch sagged back, coughing feebly.

“Oh, fuck,” Suzaku said faintly. Blood was smeared across his face, and his lip was swelling a little around the cut. His eyes were wide and young. Open. He sounded as though he was close to tears. He crumpled and turned away, slumping to the floor. He buried his face in his hands. “Oh, fuck,” he said again, muffled.

Panting, Lelouch stared at him. He could feel the prints of Suzaku’s fingers around his neck, catch the hot metallic scent of blood on his own face. He clumsily wiped his cheek on the edge of his shoulder, and sticky red smeared over his skin. He coughed and reached futilely for the sheet. With it kicked to the bottom of the bed, he felt very, very naked. Suzaku didn’t move, his shoulders hunched miserably.

Lelouch cleared his throat and coughed again. “Suzaku,” he said, his voice a rasp. “Let me out of this bed.” Suzaku didn’t stir. “Please,” he said uselessly. Silence. “If you think I’m going to run, then your IQ has dropped,” he snapped. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

There was another long moment of still silence. Lelouch’s breath was very loud in his ears, and he was suddenly aware that he was hungry. He shifted uncomfortably and studied the huddle of Suzaku’s shoulders, the tangle of his hair. Finally, Suzaku stirred. He pushed himself to his feet and straightened, turned away from Lelouch. He slowly brought his hands up and slid his gloves back on in exact little movements. Without turning, he swung Zero’s cape over his shoulders and clasped it around him, the fabric hugging his shoulders tightly. He pulled the cloth mask over his nose and mouth and reached for that icon, Zero’s real mask, where it sat on the floor. Lelouch tensed as Suzaku finally turned, the mask’s glassy face betraying nothing. Lelouch swallowed, the motion painful, and let out his breath.

Zero--Suzaku--stepped forward, the gleam of silver in hand, and then he was clicking a key into the handcuffs. He did not touch Lelouch. He carefully tucked both pairs of handcuffs away in the suit and turned without a word and walked for the door. Lelouch rolled his wrists around and reached hastily for the sheet to cover himself. The room’s door hissed open, the hallway’s light spilling inside, and Suzaku stopped. Waiting.

Lelouch swung his legs over the edge of the bed and felt for the floor with his toes. He stood, his knees weak, and swayed on his feet. The sheet spilled over the side of the bed and wadded on the floor in a ridiculous train of sterile white. He darted a glance at the door: Suzaku did not react.

Lelouch gathered the sheet around him with as much dignity as he could muster and followed, his steps wobbly and awful. The floor was cold beneath his feet. Suzaku did not give him a second glance. Zero’s cape flared behind him, a flash of its red lining, and then they were outside in an empty hallway. Lelouch clutched the sheet closer around him and huddled his shoulders. He could not forget that he was supposed to be dead.

He peered at Zero’s mask in the elevator. It was so unforgiving, so featureless. He was almost alarmed at its perfection. Suzaku wore Zero well. He was different. He passed, but barely. His movement was more economic, less theatrical. He stood soldier-straight, the cape tucked around him like a shield, a careful three feet away from Lelouch. He wondered vaguely how many people actually believed the deception, that the old Zero was also this Zero. This rigid creature of Britannia.

Another blank hallway, and then a door. The only sound was the slide of Lelouch’s sheet over the floor. Suzaku keyed in a quick code at the door, and it hissed open to dim light. Lelouch studied Zero’s mask and didn’t move, and finally, Suzaku said, “I have to go. They’re expecting me.” His voice was low and neutral, surprisingly passable as Lelouch’s own through the mask’s distortion.

When Lelouch still didn’t move, Suzaku’s shoulders took on a defeated hunch. “No one will come here. It’s safe.”

Lelouch frowned at the plea. He folded his arms more tightly within the sheet, drawing it around him, and stepped through the door. Suzaku said nothing as he passed, and then his feet were on plush carpet, his eyes adjusting to a different sort of half-light. The door slid shut behind him, and he could very clearly hear a heavy bolt sliding into place.






The apartment was wide and open, its air different than the one downstairs. He padded through the rooms, his hands fisted in the sheet, running his fingers along the edge of a wall. There was a window, a pale shape in the room’s weird twilight, blinds shuttered against the outside light.

He scissored his fingers through the blinds and lifted them to the day: morning over the Tokyo Settlement, the sky warming from slate grey to rose. Steel and cement, reaching up in blocks of infrastructure. Far away was the edge of the wall that separated the settlement from the ghetto. He wrapped his hand around the blinds’ pull and jerked the blinds up, light sliding over his arm, the folds of the sheet. He shifted and peered over his shoulder at the dark apartment in this new light. It was huge and untouched, arranged in some sterile template of royal taste. He curled his toes into the soft carpet.

There was a study, its desk empty. A kitchen, clean of dishes or implements. Shelves for books and other comforts, all bare. A pathetic offering of food in the refrigerator. He could very nearly trace Suzaku’s exact footsteps from the front door to the bedroom (the bed a tangle of sheets) and the bathroom. All of the windows shut tight against the sun. The single door leading outside locked.

He fingered the sheet’s simple material between thumb and index finger and finally let it go, wadding it into a shapeless pile on the bedroom floor. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was wan and unfamiliar, dark hair and dark eyes against bloodless skin, everything about him jutting and grey. Suzaku’s blood smeared across his cheek in a clumsy streak of brown red. His mouth bruised, marks on his neck. He ran a finger along the streak of blood and tried not to think about that despairing look on Suzaku’s face. His lost desperation.

When he emerged from his bath, his skin smarting from the heat, it was late morning. He picked through the contents of the bedroom closet, pushing aside the spare Zero uniform that he himself had commissioned, digging deep for something normal. He surfaced with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both too large for him. Too wide in the shoulders, a little baggy on his skinny legs. Suzaku’s clothes smelled like him: a simple, clean smell, with the faintest edge of something that Lelouch vaguely remembered from his childhood. The Kururugi shrine had used incense before Britannia invaded Japan, that ancient sandalwood scent of tradition that he had thought soaked into Suzaku’s skin, his hair. That Japanese part of him that Britannia tried to cut out, as if with a bloody knife.

He ate what little he could find in the kitchen--plain bread and peanut butter from an unopened jar--and prowled restlessly through the apartment, rubbing at the sores on his wrists. The sky deepened from a rich, summer blue to twlight, and then night fell, and still Suzaku didn’t return. Lelouch planned tirades, furious speeches that would work much more effectively when he wasn’t naked and handcuffed to a bed, thought about how satisfying it would be to land a blow, make Suzaku hurt. He waited as the apartment darkened, until the night stretched on and lights outside dimmed. He paced until his legs were sore.

He fell asleep in Suzaku’s bed, and when he woke, spooning with a pillow and covers twisted around him, the morning a blaze of sunshine and blue sky, the apartment was empty.






It was late night when Suzaku finally came back. He stumbled inside and tugged off Zero’s mask, his hair tousled, as the door hissed shut behind him. Lelouch met him with a glare. Suzaku did not react to the fact that Lelouch was wearing his clothes. He dragged the cape off and threw it over a chair. Lelouch resisted the urge to snap at him to hang it up. “So?” he said, his voice cold.

“So what?” Suzaku said, pulling off his gloves.

“Unfinished business?” Lelouch hissed.

Suzaku gritted his teeth. His face had dark hollows to it. Lelouch wondered distantly if he’d slept. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he muttered. “Earlier.” His lip was still swollen, an angry mark where Lelouch had bitten him.

“Which part?” Lelouch bared his teeth. “The kiss or the asphyxiation?” Suzaku’s face went white, and then red, and he didn’t look up. Lelouch almost laughed. He knew the sound would be cruel. “Interestingly, that’s not what I mean.” He wet his lips. “I know how much you love your self-flagellation, but indulge me.” Suzaku finally raised his eyes, and his face was empty. He said nothing. Lelouch crossed his arms tightly. “Why, exactly, didn’t you follow the plan?” He tapped his foot. “Was there a viable reason?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Suzaku looked away again and thumbed the buttons on the suit jacket, shrugging out of its sleeves. He unpinned the cravat and pulled off the dress shirt. He was left in the black undershirt, his hair rumpled. The blush faded, leaving him pallid again.

“Answer me.” Lelouch clenched his jaw. “Just fucking answer me, Suzaku.”

“Because I couldn’t do it,” Suzaku said quietly. He swallowed, looking at the floor. “I couldn’t.”

His head snapped to the side with the force of Lelouch’s slap, a livid mark blooming on his cheek. He stood fast, didn’t try to defend himself, and Lelouch growled, trembling with the knowledge that Suzaku had allowed him to strike. “You’re weak,” he spat. “You’re so fucking weak, you and your stupid, butchered ideals. I was supposed to die, and you couldn’t even kill me. You--you’ve killed hundreds of thousands of people, and you couldn’t even kill me.”

Suzaku didn’t look at him, and Lelouch resisted the urge to hit him again. He fisted his hands. “I thought all you were good for was following someone’s orders.” He curled his lip. “The least you could do was channel some of your passive-aggressive frustration and do something right for once.”

“Do you want me to do it now?” Suzaku said, his voice soft. “Do you really want to die that badly?” He wet his lips, and his eyes sank closed. “You weren’t all that ready to go this morning.”

“Burn in hell,” Lelouch snapped. “That’s not my point and you know it.”

“That sounds a lot like your point.” He glanced up, met Lelouch’s eyes, and looked away again. “It sounds like you’re upset because you’re still alive, even though the whole world thinks you’re dead.” His lips thinned. “Like it would fix your problems if I just....” He darted his eyes up again, focused on Lelouch’s neck and the bruises that were still there. His hand clenched into a slow fist, and he shook his head. He looked vaguely at the carpet and swallowed, his throat jerking. His cheek was a blaze of angry red, the marks of Lelouch’s fingers. His face twisted and he swallowed again, and then the rest of the color drained from his face. He lurched, hand over his mouth, and shoved Lelouch away. Lelouch stumbled and stared as Suzaku scrambled for the bathroom. He followed in time to see Suzaku throw up, vomiting a thin, clear liquid, his hand grasping desperately at the sides of the toilet.

Lelouch stared, frozen in the doorway. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Fuck you,” Suzaku said hoarsely. He pressed his forehead against his arm and drew a ragged breath, his shoulders sagging. “Don’t talk like you don’t deserve any of this. Like you’re a--” He gagged. “Like you’re a victim.” He curled over his knees and trembled, his hands seizing at each other, and then he pulled himself up by the counter. He spat into the sink and splashed water into his mouth. “You’re only as innocent as I am,” he said, looking at his hands.

The faucet dripped. Lelouch stepped forward, studying the back of Suzaku’s neck. “What’s wrong with you?” he said again.

“I’m doing what you wanted, Lelouch.” His shoulders hunched, and his hands clutched more tightly at the sink. “I’m doing what you wanted. I’m Zero. So just back the fuck off and let me do your job.”

“Suzaku.” He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut when Lelouch grabbed his arm. “I’m talking to you,” he snapped. “When was the last time you ate?” Suzaku shook his head and didn’t answer. He was rigid under Lelouch’s hand. Lelouch jerked at his arm. “Come on,” he said roughly. He dragged him to the kitchen, Suzaku stumbling and directionless.

There was soup, stashed far in the back of a cabinet. Bland, generic things like chicken and beef broth, tomato. Lelouch nervously picked one and blew the dust off its lid. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, fighting with the pull tab. “What would you do if someone came looking for Zero, and you were too sick to do anything? Or if Zero collapsed in public? What then?” Suzaku didn’t answer, and after a few seconds of silence, Lelouch glanced over his shoulder: Suzaku had his face buried in his crossed arms, huddled over the table in an exhausted heap.

He only scorched the soup a little, which was impressive, in his opinion, considering he hadn’t cooked anything since Ashford. Suzaku didn’t react when he put the bowl on the table. Lelouch sat heavily beside him and gave the top of his head a disapproving look. “You’re a mess,” he sighed. He rolled his eyes and leaned back, lacing his fingers. After a long moment, Suzaku shifted, raising his head, and he reached for the soup with a reluctant little nod of thanks. Lelouch watched him from the corner of his eye as he slowly ate, and finally, he swallowed his pride and said, “What are they doing?”

Suzaku fixed his eyes on the soup. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. Unless you make it a habit to drive yourself to the brink of collapse. What is Britannia doing?”

“You mean Nunnally?” Suzaku slid his eyes up, then, to give him a pointed look. “You want to know what Nunnally is doing?”

Lelouch glared at him. “Yes, fine. Nunnally and my dear older siblings.”

Suzaku ate for a silent moment, and Lelouch fidgeted. “Nunnally’s trying to do the right thing,” he said finally. “She wants Britannia to withdraw from Japan completely. She probably wants to do the same thing with most of the other Areas.” He swallowed. “She wants to disband Britannia’s military forces and forge an agreement with the UFN. She wants to dissolve the Knights of Rounds.”

“Gallant of her,” Lelouch murmured. “I can’t imagine that the UFN will allow Britannia to join their ranks. And the military will never be completely robbed of power.”

“She knows.”

“Did she know before you told her?” Suzaku mutely shook his head. Lelouch crossed his arms. “And?”

He shrugged helplessly. “The UFN wants to help her. Schneizel and Cornelia want to listen to her. She’ll get her withdrawal, and most of the military retirement. That’s all. They don’t need me.”

Lelouch narrowed his eyes. “Nunnally still wouldn’t overwork you if she had a choice, and you know it. I imagine she knows exactly who her Zero is. What else?”

Suzaku spooned up the last of the soup and pushed the bowl away. He leaned forward onto his crossed arms again. “She wants me to stay,” he muttered. “She wants Zero to be the head of the embassy, as a symbol of Britannia’s and Japan’s peaceful alliance.” He closed his eyes. “And no one but Nunnally trusts Zero. No one wants Zero to have any power. They know I’m not you, but they aren’t sure that I’m not as powerful.”

“So Zero has reduced to a bargaining chip. Have you spoken to Schneizel?” A small, thoughtful voice in the back of his mind wondered at Zero’s worth, in the face of Nunnally’s Britannia. He hesitated and frowned at the top of Suzaku’s head.

“No.” Suzaku pressed his face into the crook of his arm. His hands fisted. Lelouch rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something like, Zero can’t be afraid to move, or I made him indebted to you for a reason, you idiot, but then Suzaku mumbled, “Not yet.” Lelouch gave a mirthless smile.






In the darkness of the bedroom, Lelouch feverishly searched Zero’s pockets, trying to make as little sound as possible. The coat yielded nothing. The folds of the tailcoat and cape were empty. He rifled through the closet again, more carefully, his hands searching. The handcuffs had disappeared. He glared at the closed bathroom door: Suzaku did not take anything but his underclothes and a towel inside, stumbling and exhausted and grey, looking very much as though he was not thinking terribly far ahead.

He swore quietly and returned to the front room, scanning its edges, under the chair where Suzaku had slung his clothes. The floor was clean. He clenched his jaw and decided that Suzaku had another office somewhere. A place with a TV or a computer, a cell phone for communication, a secure place for surveillance or files or a goddamn weapon, because he couldn’t be going around so defenseless. He couldn’t have intentionally left his home such a cell.

The bathroom door opened, and he hissed and slipped to the kitchen, its gentle light blinding. Wrenching open the drawer sent the cutlery all askew. He wet his lips and lifted a bread knife. Its wooden handle fit easily into his hand. He examined its serrated edge and caught a glimpse of his own eyes in its surface, their reflection blurry. He held his breath and listened; the apartment was silent. He tucked the knife carefully in the waist of his jeans and padded back to the bedroom, tugging his t-shirt down.

Suzaku was a huddle of blankets on the bed, his back to the door. The covers slid off his shoulder, showing an even curve of skin and muscle. He did not move as Lelouch crept onto the bed and folded his knees beneath him. For a long moment, he sat and watched Suzaku breathe, the rise and fall of his back. “You know,” he said quietly, “you need more furniture.” Suzaku said nothing. “It would seem that my only other options are sleeping either on the floor or in the bathtub.”

“Yeah,” Suzaku said, sounding not at all asleep.

“I can’t say either appeals to me.” Lelouch felt himself smile a little. “The idea of sleep at all is a bit troubling, to be perfectly honest.” He ran his eyes over the bare skin of Suzaku’s shoulders, the bumps of his spine. He could feel the heat from Suzaku’s skin. He shifted, his eyes dropping half-closed. He slid the knife from his jeans and leaned forward on one hand, reaching out to graze it lightly across Suzaku’s skin. “Tell me, Suzaku,” he murmured, teasing the knife over the angles of Suzaku’s shoulder blades. “Will I wake with you trying to smother me with a pillow? Or drowning me in the bathtub?” He hummed and pressed the flat of the blade against the curve of ribs. “Hoisting me off my feet to hang me in the closet?” He eyed the slope of Suzaku’s neck, his hair in damp curls against his skin.

Suzaku’s back was rigid. “What about you?” he said quietly. His shoulders twitched. “Are you faster than your own geass? Could you kill me if you tried?”

“What a question,” Lelouch purred. He pressed a little harder on the knife, applied enough pressure that he was sure it hurt.

“Lelouch,” Suzaku whispered. “Are you still my friend?”

Lelouch gave a startled bark of laughter. “Are you serious?”

“I’m glad,” Suzaku went on softly, curling into himself. “I’m glad you’re not dead. I missed you.”

The knife had sketched an angry red line over his skin. Lelouch glared at his shoulders and pulled back. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and he could not look at Suzaku’s huddled shape any longer.






He examined himself by the bathroom’s light: his scar was rather impressive. The skin was shiny and a little irritated, less stark now that he had regained some color, and he ran his fingers along its edge again and again, tracing this long slash that divided him in two. A bargaining chip. Zero was no babysitter, to be sure, but neither was he so cheap a symbol to be emasculated so easily. Zero was like a guardian deity, a power who could interfere, should the need arise.

He focused on his face in the mirror and narrowed his eyes. His power was not gone. He could feel it pulsing inside him like a bright ember, dormant and closed off. He was, at least for a time, the last living user of the geass. He lifted a hand and placed cool fingers along the edge of his brow, covered his left eye. “So,” he said quietly.

So.

An hour later, he finally slid between the bedsheets and laid down. His spine stiff, arm curled rigidly beneath his head, Suzaku’s warmth against his back. A careful, measured distance between them. Suzaku was still, but Lelouch did not think him asleep. He inched closer to the edge of the bed and listened to Suzaku breathe. His head hurt. He fingered the scar’s slash across his belly and thought about Suzaku’s unhappy face, his reluctance and his wild animal speed, that awful, stupid pure-heartedness--that idealism--that twisted into sadness. His heavy guilt. His desperate love. Suzaku was no god. Lelouch stared into the darkness and felt the flame of anger in his chest gutter and fade.

He woke later pressed against the strong curve of Suzaku’s back, his cold nose buried against the soft spot of Suzaku’s neck under his ear. Suzaku was lax, his breathing deep and even. Lelouch could feel the steady beat of his heart though his shoulders. He vaguely remembered when he had last been so close to Suzaku, when they were boys, lifetimes ago. Then, Suzaku had felt like sunshine, simple and warm and happy. Lelouch pressed his cheek against the edge of Suzaku’s shoulder and did not pull away.

Morning came again and he was alone. But when he started on his circuit of pacing, mad energy already stirring him into irritation, there was a laptop sitting in the study.






Watching Nunnally’s addresses to the nations was a study in equal parts pride and grief. She was so royal, so full of dignity and obvious love that it hurt. She held her chin high and she spoke well. Her eyes were keen, clear, and her voice was different than he remembered. Firmer. He had not realized how beautiful she was, displaced.

He skimmed over the news, headlines all unfamiliar. Scenes of meetings he didn’t recognize, negotiations for agreements completely alien to him. Cornelia in Southeast Asia, speaking with branch leaders of the UFN. Schneizel in the Motherland. Odysseus and Guinevere and Carine attempting to salvage their dignity. Ohgi and what was left of the Black Knights. Zhou Xianglin giving the Federation’s statement about Xing-ke’s health. He frowned at the screen and finally ran a manual search.

In press release photos, Zero was separate from Britannia, from the UFN. He had no seconds, no vice-commanders, no soldiers to pledge their loyalties. He gave no interviews, no grand speeches, spoke only as a representative of the Britannian embassy in Japan. The public adored him, still, but the UFN was wary. Britannia acted as though it had trapped a deadly, poisonous creature, subdued only for the time being. Zero was alone, choked off from his supporters, his sources of power.

Lelouch brushed a finger over the screen, tracing the line of Zero’s figure where he was carefully apart from Nunnally and Kaguya--the latter all-over tense, obvious even in the still frame--and wondered absently if his Zero had stood that way, just so. Feet apart, chest out, confident by nature. Suzaku’s Zero was a straighter, prouder figure, less gesture and more stance. He hid his sadness well behind Zero’s mask, but not his resignation. He looked as though he was facing death. Lelouch tapped his nail against the image of Zero’s mask and huffed out his breath in surprise as he felt the cool clutch of realization, of bottomless certainty: this grudging, doomed admittance of love.






“They’re killing you,” he said later, peering at Suzaku’s face.

Suzaku didn’t reply. He dropped Zero’s suit jacket in a heap on the closet floor and dragged a hand through his hair. Lelouch folded his arms and tapped his foot. “Ah,” Suzaku said, finally. He looked at the window and his brow knit. As though he did not recognize afternoon light.

“You don’t care?”

His eyes moved down to the junction of the wall and the floor. “Not really,” he said.

“Do you care to explain why?”

“Zero doesn’t need to rule anything. He doesn’t have to do anything. So long as he exists, he serves his purpose.” He wet his lips. “I can be that symbol, if it means peace. This is what you wanted me to do. This was the whole point.”

“Stupid,” Lelouch hissed. “I didn’t say they’re killing Zero.”

Suzaku’s eyes skimmed up over his face, fixed on a place carefully behind him. “It’s fine,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair again and sat on the bed, his elbows braced on his knees, his fingers laced. “It’s fine,” he said again. “It’s not wasting anything.”

“How noble,” Lelouch said. He studied the slump of Suzaku’s shoulders, his lax hands and his bowed head, as though in prayer, in endless penitence. He thought about strength and loyalty and love and his stomach twisted, a cold, sick weight manifesting itself in his throat. He felt as though something was unraveling. He lifted his chin and stepped closer and, finally, snapped, “Will you just look at me already.”

“What do you mean,” Suzaku said, his voice toneless. He raised his head but he didn’t look up.

“I mean look at me.” Lelouch glared at the top of his head. “You’re acting like I’m not real. Like I’m a ghost and you’re talking to yourself.” Suzaku said nothing. His eyes sank closed and he pointed his face away. Lelouch hissed and snatched at Suzaku’s cheeks, forcing his face up. “Look at me,” he breathed. “I mean it.”

And Suzaku did. He opened his eyes and he ran his gaze over Lelouch’s face, his lower lip caught on his teeth. His throat jerked as he swallowed. “So what?” he said hoarsely. His face was fever-hot.

“So remember,” Lelouch whispered, “you didn’t want a ghost. That was the whole point of what you did. This is what you wanted. So deal with it, you stupid bastard.” And he faltered for just a second, his breath hitching, and then he dipped forward and stole a kiss. Suzaku’s lips were warm and dry, open in surprise. Lelouch pulled back and looked at him, close enough that their noses touched. Suzaku swallowed and looked uncertainly back, and finally, Lelouch smiled a little and closed his eyes and kissed him again. He pressed against Suzaku, slid his tongue into Suzaku’s mouth. His fingers crept back to curl in Suzaku’s hair.

Suzaku made a small, helpless sound against Lelouch’s mouth, and his spine broke its rigid line. He grabbed at Lelouch’s thighs, pulled until Lelouch was straddling him. He was like waves in Lelouch’s hands, hungry and grasping and desperate. Lelouch edged up further into his lap and leaned, his knees at Suzaku’s hips and his hands in Suzaku’s hair, until they fell back, Suzaku sprawled beneath him.

Lelouch ran his lips along the underside of Suzaku’s jaw. “I’m sick of you,” he said breathlessly. “Don’t you know how to do anything but hurt?” He leaned close until his lips brushed the edge of Suzaku’s ear. “Poor little Suzaku,” he whispered. “Masturbating to his own tragedy.” Suzaku’s hands slid up his legs and to the curve of his ass, and he panted against Lelouch’s hair.

“Lelouch,” he said, his voice strangled. “Lelouch.” His hands burned. He lifted one, brought it up to hook his fingers in the belt loops of Lelouch’s jeans. Lelouch shifted and pushed himself up, his hands on either side of Suzaku’s head. He smiled. Suzaku stared up at him, his hair rumpled, and breathed, “Fuck.” Mutable shadows played over his face, the uncertain turn of his eyebrows. “Lelouch,” he said again, and swallowed. “I want you.” He flushed hotly.

Lelouch sat back, settling squarely on Suzaku’s hips. “Is that so,” he purred. “That’s what you want.” He tugged up Suzaku’s undershirt, the thin fabric sliding over lean muscle, and he looked up through his eyelashes as he arched his back, ground his hips down, and ran his fingers over the lines of Suzaku’s middle and over his chest. Suzaku shuddered and gave a wordless groan through his teeth, his fingers tightened on Lelouch’s thighs, his hips bucking helplessly. The sound felt like fire, stirring an answering heat deep in Lelouch’s belly. Suzaku let him pull the undershirt over his head, and then he was running his hands up beneath Lelouch’s shirt. Lelouch shrugged easily out of it and bent again, pressing his lips to Suzaku’s collarbone. He licked up the vulnerable line of Suzaku’s neck.

“I won’t let you waste away for this,” he murmured, brushing his nose through the soft hair at the nape of Suzaku’s neck. “I want you to fight. You aren’t allowed to run away.”

Suzaku’s breath came quicker. He grabbed weakly at Lelouch’s wrist. “You don’t--if you don’t want to, it’s okay. Don’t do it just because--”

“Shut up,” Lelouch breathed. He trailed a hand over Suzaku’s belly, following its trail of course hair to slide into his pants, his fingers closing around a stiff erection. “I want this,” he said. “I want you.” Suzaku sucked air and arched, his hands suddenly desperate, fighting to drag Lelouch’s jeans over his hips. One hand freed itself and fisted in Lelouch’s hair, pulling him down for a clumsy kiss. Lelouch smiled and licked into his mouth, humming gently. He spread his knees and removed his hand, working blindly to unfasten Suzaku’s pants. Suzaku kissed like fire, heat and energy and hunger, and when Lelouch slid his pants over his hips, freeing his cock, he moaned into Lelouch’s mouth and thrust into Lelouch’s hand.

And then he broke away, panting, “Fuck, wait. Wait.” He threw out a hand, reaching bonelessly for the nightstand. “That. Drawer.” Lelouch sat up, flushed and winded. He pulled himself off Suzaku and crawled to the head of the bed. He slid open the drawer and fumbled inside, surfacing with a small tube. He cast a surprised look over his shoulder: Suzaku was struggling out of his pants, and he burned with a vivid blush. Lelouch flashed on Suzaku, fucking himself on his fingers alone in the dark; the curve of his back, tense muscles of his legs, him biting his lip to muffle his cries. He smiled.

Suzaku broke their sloppy, open-mouthed kiss again, whispering, “Wait, no.” His hands went to Lelouch’s jeans, undone and hanging off his hips. “Like this.” His hands trembled a little as he pulled the jeans down Lelouch’s legs. He hooked his fingers in Lelouch’s underwear and pulled, and a shiver of heat went up Lelouch’s spine and he drew his nails down Suzaku’s chest and kissed him again, teeth nipping at his lip. They tangled, Suzaku’s arms curling around and under him, palming Lelouch’s own erection and pressing lube-wet fingers to his asshole.

Lelouch arched against him, lifting his face, and Suzaku pressed his lips to his throat. He slid another finger inside, fire and fire, and Lelouch gasped his name in a thin hiss. He spread his knees wider and moved his hips, Suzaku’s fingers sending sparks of electricity up his spine. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck. Now.” Suzaku pulled away and slicked his cock with lube, his hands shaking. His fingers reached closed around Lelouch’s erection, and Lelouch lowered himself onto Suzaku's cock with a hiss, stars exploding at the corners of his vision. He tensed and Suzaku groaned and moved. Lelouch trembled, his back arched, and shifted, thrusting into Suzaku’s hand. Sweat slid down the line of his back. Suzaku fisted him off slowly, his other hand cupping the curve of his hip, helping him move.

His legs cramped and his breath hitched, became pants in the back of his throat. Suzaku pressed a hand to the flat plane of the small of his back and he shifted enough to give Lelouch the room to unfold his legs and tuck them around Suzaku’s hips, the movement dragging a low moan from his throat. He linked his arms around Suzaku’s neck and Suzaku kissed him breathlessly, his hands still moving, his thrusts more insistent. “I want you,” he panted against Suzaku’s lips. “I want all of you.” His breath hissed through his teeth and he arched as he came, wet heat spilling over his belly and Suzaku’s hand. Suzaku’s breath was hot against his neck in short pants, and then he gave a wordless sound and went rigid, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of Lelouch’s back.

Lelouch folded over and pressed his forehead to Suzaku’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The salt of Suzaku’s sweat on his tongue. Suzaku trembling against him, breathing his name against his ear.






Later, he woke feeling pliant and warm, a hand rubbing absent, soothing circles on his back. He must have made a sound, because the hand stopped. “It’s dark,” Suzaku said unhelpfully. Lelouch grumbled and snugged further beneath the covers. The rest of Suzaku was very close to him, but not touching. He could feel his heat. “Lelouch,” Suzaku whispered, after a few seconds. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“It’s very convenient,” he murmured into the pillow. Suzaku’s fingers played through his hair, and he felt himself begin to drift. He felt a little sore all over, heavy. He breathed in Suzaku’s warmth and closed his eyes. “I think I might love you,” he added sleepily. “So don’t do anything stupid.”

Suzaku’s fingers stopped again, and then there was movement and an alarming feeling of proximity, and Suzaku whispered, “Okay,” very close to his ear. He pressed a dry kiss to Lelouch’s temple and pulled him close. I never asked for this, Lelouch wanted to say, the words slow and hazy in his mind, and then Suzaku smoothed his hand over his hair, and he thought, But it’s okay, anyway.