Drowning Lessons

Waking up from the worst night of his life, which had resulted in what were probably embarrassing photographs, near alcohol poisoning and sudden and very likely drowning, Suzaku thought, without hope or agenda, that Gino should be shot. He was cold and wet, his clothes feeling as though they were trying to strangle him, and it was dark. The rich, rotten smell of seaweed was thick in his nose, and he tasted salt and grit; cold water surged gently around him, lapping as far up as his ears before ebbing back to his hips, and he could hear the roar of waves not too far away.


And the headache. He could remember very clearly Gino pressing drink after drink into his hands: weird, exotic things that came in colors like pink and electric blue. He remembered girls and loud music, the thickness of cigarette smoke. He remembered a little less clearly how exactly he had ended up in the water. Or how he had managed to not end up swimming in the wrong direction (as in: down) or getting eaten or sucked into the boat’s propeller or something. He would feel grateful to be alive if he wasn’t freezing and too nauseated to try sitting up. Or if he wasn’t suddenly and without explanation being touched.


Cool fingertips explored his face, trailing over the curve of his cheek, his lips, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “Um,” he said, and tried to focus on the dark shape overhead. He stirred and fumbled, reaching up a weak hand from the sea as it swelled over him again, lapping at his hair around his face. He touched smooth skin and jerked with surprise, and the questing hand stopped its slow draw over the line of his jaw. “Hi,” he said, feeling stupid. “Who are you?”


The shape bent closer and resolved itself, and Suzaku thought suddenly that he must still be drunk. The person crouched over him was beautiful and slight and exotic, dark hair and pale skin and dark eyes, pretty and sharp and strangely sexless. This person--he? Suzaku thought, a little dizzy--smiled and there was a little plash in the water as it whispered up over Suzaku’s knees and hips, and he finally registered the dark shapes around them as the underside of the pier, and he lying in the shallow, sandy pools beneath. He tried to clear his throat and coughed, spitting saltwater as it washed up around his face.


That pale hand pressed to Suzaku’s chest, the space over his heart, and he dimly remembered tugging pressure under his arms (shifting, he could feel the bruises there even now) and long-fingered hands pulling him up in a rush of bubbles and current of the sea, vomiting water even as he broke the surface, too weak to swim. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Hi. Did you--um. Save me?”


The--man, or boy, something, Suzaku didn’t know, it was weird to think about, because he looked pretty close to Suzaku’s age, except Suzaku had never seen anyone his age or any age who looked like that--shifted and looked at him, humming thoughtfully low in his throat, and nodded. His fingers trailed over the sodden folds of Suzaku’s shirt, lingering over the dint of his chest, the lines of his belly. Suzaku shivered and felt himself flush, even cold as he was. “Thank you. I mean.” He winced, rubbing one hand at his hair and feeling himself smear sand across his forehead. “This is embarrassing. Sorry to have, uh....” He looked up into the darkness and tried to decide what he was apologizing for, thinking vaguely that he should either call Gino or get a drink of real water, and then there was a bit of movement too fast to follow and there were lips over his own.


His first thought was a flinch at the idea that his mouth probably tasted awful. He blinked, focusing cross-eyed on the eyes before his, and in the faint grey dawn, they were a deep, rich violet. He recovered quickly--he’s always had good reflexes--and shifted, muscles protesting as he tried to push at the narrow shoulder pressing against his. It finally registered that oh god he’s naked and he gave a shove. If he was on top of things (hah), that sort of shove would have sent anyone of reasonable strength staggering, but as it was, he felt stupid and weak and like he’d been dragged through a dishwasher, and it didn’t do anything. When his savior pulled back, bemused, it was because he wanted to, not because Suzaku had pushed him off.


“Sorry,” Suzaku said again, trying vainly to push himself up on his elbows. “I just...I’m not. Sorry.” He stopped half-propped up and looked at his savior again. The morning was dawning slowly, and they were shadowed by the pier, but yes, he was naked--Suzaku could see the dint of his spine and bare hip even as the sea washed up over them again. He was just as wet as Suzaku, lying belly down in the water, his back curving pale out of the gentle waves, his face very close to the brush of its ripples. He was cleaner, though, not smeared with wet sand; his skin had a pearlescent quality to it and was vaguely iridescent in the dim light. He was looking at Suzaku again, but not at his face: at the edge of his side, the bend of his knee and the line of his bare leg as he tried to give himself some leverage in the muddy sand. He reached out again and trailed curious fingers over the curve of Suzaku’s ribs, the ticklish skin of his sides, brushing over his hip and to the wet cling of his shorts.


He had fingernails, not claws or anything, but enough for Suzaku to feel them and for goose bumps to wash over his belly. He muttered, “Please, uh. God. Um.” His throat closed and he shuddered a little as his savior’s (that was a bad word, but what else could Suzaku call him?) fingers followed the crease of his jeans over his thigh and to his crotch, the pressure tantalizing and gentle and kind of really maddening and oh god. Oh. Suzaku groaned through his teeth, feeling helpless and really very dumb, and his savior gave him a surprised look that quickly turned a little evil as he reached up to the waistband of Suzaku’s shorts and pulled.


It was the alcohol, Suzaku thought, or the fact that he’d almost died and was still kind of in shock lying in a little tidepool underneath a pier, or maybe that it was all just so unbelievably weird--that was why he didn’t do anything to stop. Under normal circumstances that didn’t involve Gino’s stupid drinks or drowning, he would have apologized again and gently pushed a guy away, explaining that no, this wasn’t right, it was just...strange, or something that they would regret it later in the light of day and it wasn’t actually what either of them, uh, wanted, but it was getting harder to think clearly as his ghostly, pretty savior finally got his jeans undone and dragged over his hips along with his underwear and his dick was, against all reason, beginning to stiffen with arousal.


The sand was cold against his bare ass and (yikes) the water was colder, but any second thoughts came a little late as a warm mouth closed over his cock. Suzaku arched, his shoulders grinding into sand, his toes curling into the sand beneath the water level. His savior skimmed teeth over sensitive skin and he bit back a moan, bucking his hips as his savior gave a low, humming laugh around his cock and swallowed him down. Water surged up around them, cold and swirling, and Suzaku thought dimly that the tide was coming in, water rippling against the underside of his chin, washing through his hair, but as fingernails trailed along the underside of his thigh, the back of his knee, he realized that he did not care.


His hands fumbled down to brush clumsily through wet hair, and he gasped, twisting in the sand, as he felt himself growing close. His savior swallowed, the muscles of his throat contracting in a press of wet heat, and Suzaku groaned and thrust, stars sparking at the corners of his vision as he came.


He sagged limply against the sand and water as it washed up again, now splashing over his cheeks. His savior pulled back, tongue licking a stripe along the underside of Suzaku’s cock, and beneath the water level, fingertips ghosted over the lines of his calves and his feet. There was the press of lips against his ankle. Suzaku pushed himself up groggily, his heart still pounding, and peered into the dawn’s eerie half-light. The tide really was coming in, swelling at the supports of the pier and over his lap, startlingly cold across his bare groin. He was alone, and he hastily yanked up his wet jeans, struggling to pull them over his hips. “Hello?” he called softly, his voice a little hoarse.


Just as he was beginning to feel as though he was crazy, ready to check into a hospital--because honestly, this had to be some form of psychosis or a side-effect of severe dehydration and mixing alcohols--he saw pale fingers creeping around the curve of a support, and violet eyes peered at him from just above water level.


“Hey,” he called, lurching into a crouch. “Don’t--don’t, um, leave.” He felt himself flush and braced himself against the sand to push himself up, shaky on his feet and dripping wet. The waves surged around his knees now. He bit his lip and dug his toes into the sand. “I...I have a...a hotel room.” He raked his hand through his wet hair. “Not far from here, if--if you want.”


His savior shrank back and let go of the pier’s support, paddling around through the swell of waves, his eyes on Suzaku. The sky was lightening to pink, and as he swam into the light, Suzaku felt his chest clench at that skin tone, really, just like pearls or--or something, but beautiful and special, and he walked out from under the pier, feeling wet and gritty, and called softly, “I don’t know your name.”


His savior stopped, the waves rippling his dark hair around him, and his eyes caught the light and seemed very, very bright. He smirked and dove, his back dipping pale into the water and he seemed very...long and oh Jesus Christ that was a tail. Suzaku stopped breathing for a long moment, staring at what had been a flash of scales and fin, all cool violet and easy grace and then just ripples in the morning light, and nothing resurfaced. He looked at his feet, his toes curled into the wet sand, and wiped his hands on his jeans, his heart pounding.





Suzaku dreamed of the sea.


(Silver and violet, seeking hands and mouth. Eyes like a warming dawn and skin like pearls. Water, he said, and lips closed over his and he drank and drank, cool in his throat and his chest. His hands spreading over shoulder blades and a pressing kiss, hands tangled in his hair. Movement against him, cool skin and fingernails and lips swallowing him down. And all around, the crash and ebb of the sea.)


He woke as he came, his back arching, his legs tangled in the sheets, and he lay for a long time panting into his pillows, watching the morning dawn through his drawn curtains. When he finally rose and stripped the bed with a despairing look and went to the shower, he stood in the water and breathed steam and thought that enough was enough, and there would be no more, because he was not given to delusion or neurosis, and it was no time to start.


But that night, he would dream again.






“Suzaku is boring,” Gino complained, his hands clasped behind his head as he walked.


“Sorry,” Suzaku said, distracted, and he ran his eyes over the line of the shore. The beach was packed, the sun blazing down on bleached sand and rich blue sea. They walked along the edge closest to the boardwalk, the sand loose and shifting underfoot. The boardwalk above them was thick with people and vendors, and seagulls screamed overhead. Gino laughed and ruffled his hair, and Suzaku easily shrugged him off.


“No luck?”


“No.” He had told Gino an abbreviated version of what happened--after toppling drunk from the boat and then staggering back to the hotel sodden, he had to say something, most especially because Gino loved stories--but, of course, not all of it. Just that someone had saved him, with hair shortish, about to here, really amazing eyes, and no, he didn’t get a name because it had all been kind of fast. He’d flushed and stopped there. It was too easy to imagine Gino’s yelp of laughter if he heard that Suzaku had gotten an anonymous blow job underneath the pier after a drunken near-drowning. He also left out the part that was starting to sound very much to him like a psychotic break with reality.


“People don’t just disappear.” Gino lifted his sunglasses and winked at him. “You’ll find her, and then it will be true love, huh?” He made exaggerated doe eyes, and Suzaku scoffed, turning back to look at the waves, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.


“There’re a lot of people here.” He shook his head. “It’s dumb. I don’t care.”


“Liar,” Gino sang, looking at the sky. “Look, I’ll ask around. I’m sick of you moping. Vacation’s not for moping.”


“Not moping,” he muttered, kicking at the sand.


“Whatever you say. Listen, you know, there’s another party tonight, maybe...?”


“Maybe.” He squinted up at the deep sky and thought about his dream, about the press of cool hands and a kiss, sharp eyes and wicked grin. The thought of drinking, deep bass and the hot grind of dancing, of suffocating hot air, made him queasy. He thought about Gino’s friends, the girls who were willing to do just about anything for a night, and wondered if he could sleep soundly for once, without dreams of the sea. He sighed. “Maybe.”


Gino sniggered. “Puppy,” he teased. Suzaku glared at him, and he smothered the laugh and affected a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you, okay? It can’t be that hard, there are only so many girls on a beach, and you’ve got to recognize her.” Suzaku opened his mouth, gesturing incredulously at the press of people around them, but Gino waved away his protest and pointed triumphantly. “Her?”


Suzaku looked, uselessly: a girl in a blue bikini, her dark hair in a braid down her back. “No,” he said shortly. “Don’t--just forget it, seriously.” He shook his head.


“Her?” Right hair, wrong eyes, and an appraising look at Gino that turned into a pretty smile.


“No. I’m serious.”


“What? Jeez, I’m trying to help. What about her?” He put his hand on Suzaku’s hair and turned his head toward the sidewalk above the beach.


“Gino, that’s not a girl,” he said automatically, and then his head snapped around to look again. “Ah, I...forgot something,” he said vaguely, pushing off Gino’s hand. “I’ll see you later.”


“What? Hey! What about tonight?”


Suzaku waved an apology over his shoulder, and he saw Gino give a bewildered, despairing shrug. He turned back and fought his way up the artificial dune, boosting himself to sidewalk level, and ran, his flip-flops slapping loudly against the pavement. He shouldered between people and stumbled and almost fell, and then he lunged forward, his hand closing around the arm of his target. “Hey!”


The boy jerked and whipped around, his eyes wide, and Suzaku’s voice failed. He looked about Suzaku’s age, long and lean, girl-pretty, long eyelashes and sharp chin, dark hair hanging around his chin. There was a long, awkward silence, and then he frowned, tugging at his arm in Suzaku’s grip. “Do I know you?” His voice was low and pleasant and, currently, annoyed, and Suzaku blushed.


He said faintly, “Haven’t we...met?” He received a shake of the head, and he died a little inside, realizing he’d made a mistake. “Sorry,” he muttered, and let go. He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head, turning to go.


“You don’t look sorry.”


Suzaku froze and turned, incredulous. “What?” The guy was looking at him, catty eyes and crossed arms, bare foot just barely tapping the sidewalk. Suzaku really looked at him then: he was wearing a t-shirt and too-large shorts belted past the last notch to hang on his skinny hips. He looked like he had robbed someone’s laundry. He had a flush of sunburn over his cheeks, and he was all pale neck and wrists, skinny knees and ankles. “What?” Suzaku said again, stupidly.


“Make it up to me,” he said, and shifted his weight, cocking his head to the side. When he met Suzaku’s eyes, he gave a maddening little smirk, curve of lips and flash of teeth, and something clutched in Suzaku’s chest and he thought, not for the first time, that he was going to go to hell for a mouth like that.


“Okay,” he said, feeling a little light-headed, and started walking past the boy, reaching down to close his fingers around a thin wrist as he passed. “Come on.”


After Suzaku bought him ice cream, he learned a name (Lelouch) and thought of another one (runaway). After sitting on the edge of the boardwalk and listening to Lelouch talk for a while about his ambitious brothers who verged on ruthless and his sisters who were sweet enough but had somewhere to be and his father who didn’t care, Suzaku decided he was right. Lelouch talked slowly, as if tasting his words along with his ice cream, swinging his bare feet as he thoughtfully watched the people play in the waves below.


Suzaku let him talk and didn’t say much about himself--not because he was, you know, embarrassed, but just because he didn’t really want to talk about it-- and he folded his arms over the railing and thought that he wasn’t all that sorry to have made the mistake after all. Lelouch didn’t look like he had much in the way of natural defense mechanisms, and it sucked to think that his home was bad enough that he ran away. Suzaku thought, though, that he could done worse. He wasn’t stupid. Make it up to me. Lelouch had not, though, shoved him off and gone to find another tourist to bully. Gino could keep his girls. The sea could be too dangerous to think about, sometimes. He thought with great resolution that his dreams would end tonight.


“Who did you think I was?” Lelouch asked, looking at his feet as he curled his toes.


“No one. Someone I thought I met a few days ago.” His eyes followed the line of waves as they rolled in and rested his chin on his crossed arms. “No one.”


“Suzaku.” He hmmed and didn’t look, and then he felt the brush of fingers at his neck and he turned, startled. Lelouch’s mouth was sticky and sweet, cold. As he pulled back, he smiled, and his eyes were a jagged, pretty violet in the blazing sun. “I’ll go wherever you want,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning against his arms, tilting his head to give Suzaku a sly, sideways look.


Suzaku licked sugar from his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. “Okay.”


He summoned his courage and took Lelouch’s hand, feeling a bit cheap but not ill, not seasick or drunk, and Lelouch peered at their hands and gave a weird little half-smile and followed him, watching the climbing ridge of hotel rooftops. In the still half-darkness of his hotel room, Suzaku let go and hesitated. “Are you sure?” His hands hung empty at his sides, and he was suddenly unsure what he was doing.


Lelouch gave him a heavy-lidded look and kissed him again, smoothing one hand down the folds of Suzaku’s shirt to slide beneath the waistband of his shorts. “You were looking for me,” he murmured when they parted.


“I made a mistake,” Suzaku muttered, flushing, and then Lelouch gave a little laugh and tugged him down to the bed. Suzaku shrugged his shirt off before Lelouch was kissing him again, and he moaned softly into Lelouch’s mouth, grinding his hips against the curve of Lelouch’s ass. They were tangled in clothes for a long few minutes, sloppy and grasping, Lelouch’s arching back and Suzaku’s hands, and then they were naked and Lelouch was gasping something incoherent as Suzaku touched him, gentle and slow on sensitive skin.


The sun set.


Lelouch writhed beneath him, skin glistening with sweat, and he hooked a leg over Suzaku’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Hang on,” Suzaku whispered, and pressed a kiss to Lelouch’s knee before he ducked off the bed to fumble in his bags. He tore the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on quickly, all too conscious of Lelouch panting on the bed, his eyes hazy and his legs spread, his hands tangled in the sheets. Lelouch bit his knuckle when Suzaku slid his lube-slick fingers in.


“More,” he hissed, his voice muffled, and Suzaku went faster, two fingers to three, and then he removed his hand and braced Lelouch’s legs, lifting his hips as he pushed in. Lelouch whimpered a little and then gasped, arching his spine into a curve that looked beautiful and real, and Suzaku made a soothing sound and closed his fingers over Lelouch’s cock, thrusting in a gentle rhythm. Lelouch reached blindly for him and pulled him down into a vicious, rough kiss, need and heat and teeth.


“You were,” he panted against Suzaku’s mouth, “looking for me.” He shuddered and let his head fall back, his throat pale in the near-darkness, and he clenched around Suzaku and came.





Suzaku woke in the dark, his face buried in his pillow and his bare back exposed to the air, because the other side of the bed was empty. The clock beside the bed glowed: 4:30 am. He rolled over, stretching out his arm, and touched the cool curve of skin just barely within reach. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and focused on Lelouch’s form, hunched over his knees as he sat on the edge of the bed. He jumped when Suzaku touched him, and twisted to look over his shoulder, his eyes dark in his face.


“What’s wrong?” Suzaku said, his voice soft, mussing his own hair. Did I hurt you, he didn’t say, or Are you leaving, but he felt a curl of shame in his gut and blushed.


Lelouch gave him a long look, hugging his arms to his sides. “I can’t breathe,” he said faintly.


“What?” Suzaku pushed himself up and stared. Lelouch was panting shallowly, a sheen of sweat over his shoulders, glistening on his neck. He reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp, and Lelouch winced away from the glare. He looked ghastly under the light: trembling and pale, the sunburn on his cheeks high and feverish. “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said, and rolled up.


“No,” Lelouch said sharply, and coughed. “No need.”


“But you’re sick--”


Lelouch shook his head, gritting his teeth. “No.”


Suzaku looked at him helplessly, wondering what he was running from, wondered if Lelouch came to the beach to die. “Then what do you need?”


“Water. I...need water.” When Suzaku presented him with a glass filled from the bathroom tap, he shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut and buckling over his knees. “Real water,” he panted, his voice muffled. “The sea.” His fingertips pressed into the thin skin over his ribs, hard enough to leave marks. Suzaku bit his lip and studied the curve of Lelouch’s neck, his sweat-damp hair and shudder of his shoulders. After a few seconds, Lelouch turned his head against his knees and looked up at Suzaku. “Please,” he said breathlessly. There was an unhealthy bluish tinge to his lips.


Suzaku grabbed his discarded shorts and dragged them over his hips, not bothering with underwear. He shifted, looking at the pile of Lelouch’s mismatched clothes, and then reached instead for the hotel’s bathrobe. “Sorry,” he said. “But you have to wear something.” Lelouch looked at it doubtfully, and then reached with one hand to take it. As he shrugged it on, Suzaku saw his sides and what his hands had been covering: a deep gash on his either side in the soft flesh just below his ribs, raw flaps of skin that looked as though they should be bleeding. Lelouch hissed and pressed his palms over them again, panting raggedly over his knees.


Suzaku blinked, wondering if he had imagined it, and slipped his hand under Lelouch’s knees and easily lifted him, careful to tuck the bathrobe in around his bare legs. Lelouch was very light, like a jumble of bones, and Suzaku set his jaw and shouldered his way through the door and set out at a jog. When they met the night air, Lelouch pressed his forehead to Suzaku’s bare shoulder, his spine rigid, and Suzaku broke into a run, his bare feet slapping the sand-sprinkled boards of the walkway leading from the hotel. He slipped a little in the sand, but recovered his footing and battled on.


He muttered a curse as he realized the tide was out, waves crashing faintly across a long stretch of damp sand. The moon was a cool coin of light setting in the west, gleaming wetly along the edges of shell and debris, and the beach was empty. Water washed over his ankles, then around his knees. As it sloshed over his hips, Lelouch said, “Put me down,” his voice hoarse.


When his feet dipped into the water, Lelouch jerked, his spine arching, and something unfurled like a flower or a flame, and suddenly, he was much, much heavier, and Suzaku yelped and stumbled, his knees buckling. Suzaku’s hand slipped along something silky-slick that definitely wasn’t skin, and he jerked back as he absorbed the long line of scale and fin that was Lelouch’s lower half, melding seamlessly with the pale, soft skin of his belly beneath his navel to become fine, white scale, iridescent in the moonlight. “It was you,” he said, feeling stupid. “I was--” You were looking for me. Lelouch’s hand found his, cold and wet, and pressed it to the thin line of his chest, his eyes still tightly closed, and his heartbeat was frantic.


The bathrobe slid from Lelouch’s other shoulder, and Suzaku swallowed and gently lowered the rest of him into the water, his hand grabbing at the robe, and he slung it over his arm before it could float away. Lelouch’s eyes opened as his face sank beneath the water, and his mouth worked to swallow seawater, his throat jerking. The slashes in his sides--Gills, Suzaku thought faintly--opened and pulsed, and he could feel the current of water pushed from them against his stomach. He opened his hand to press his palm flat to Lelouch’s chest and thought about runaways, and Lelouch closed his eyes again and gave a little smile, his hair feathering around him in a dark halo.


He struggled to keep his footing, but the water pushed and pulled against him, tugging him into cooler, deeper water with the tide, and the water lapped at his chest when Lelouch relaxed and turned over with a flat slap of his fin on the top of the water. He swam a lazy circle around Suzaku and stopped in front of him again, just his eyes above the water. Suzaku swallowed, tasting salt, and the current of the waves lifted him gently from the sandy bottom. “It was you,” he said again. He paddled his arms to stay in one place. “I thought I imagined it. Why didn’t you say?” Lelouch ducked, the water closing over his head without a sound, and Suzaku shivered as he felt the cool trail of fingertips over his ankles, up his calves and across his knees, edging beneath the hem of his shorts. Lelouch’s dark head surfaced again, closer, his eyes glittering in the moonlight as his hands spread over the curve of Suzaku’s hips. “I thought I dreamed you,” he said quietly.


Lelouch’s hands followed the line of his arms and clasped his hands over Suzaku’s, bringing them to his mouth. Sorry, his lips said against Suzaku’s fingers, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to Suzaku’s knuckles. He let go and swam another slow circle, the current swirling. Suzaku reached out and felt the slide of scale beneath his fingers, the hard edge of whipcord muscle and thin ridge of fin. Lelouch twisted and splashed him, and as he sputtered and shook water from his eyes, grabbed at his hand again, tugging him further out, into bottomless water.


He hesitated only a second before letting go of the bathrobe and letting Lelouch pull him, fast and insistent. Finally, the pull angled down, and he stopped and took a deep breath before he dove, tightening his grip on Lelouch’s hand. When Lelouch let go, Suzaku almost panicked, and then he felt the press of hands against his sides, moving up to his collarbones and over his neck. He tried to open his eyes, but it was shadowy and dark, and the water burned, so he felt blindly for Lelouch, his hands moving up Lelouch’s arms. Lelouch shifted and buried his fingers in Suzaku’s hair, grabbing at Suzaku’s ears and pulling him in to kiss him in a rush of bubbles, a knock of noses and teeth. Lelouch’s mouth was cool, his hands strong, and Suzaku found Lelouch’s face with his hands and pressed his thumbs to the edge of Lelouch’s jaw.


When his air was gone, Suzaku broke away and kicked for the surface, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Lelouch’s hand caught his again and pulled him up, much faster than he would have been able to manage on his own, and when he broke the surface with a gasp, the sky was beginning to lighten. Blinking water from his eyes, he saw that the shore looked very far away, ridges of buildings and trees hazy in the distance. Lelouch did not surface; he brought Suzaku’s fingers to his mouth again and said Wait against them, and then he was gone, his fin breaking the surface to splash quietly as he dove.


Suzaku treaded water, pushing his wet hair up his forehead as his breathing slowed. The moon had set, and the stars were bright points against the deep sky, the edge of the sea to the east warming with the coming dawn. The sea was quiet, its rolling rhythm hypnotic and soothing. He had just moved to float on his back to watch the sky, his arms moving in slow arcs, when there was a rush of current below him, and a hand caught at his, fingers closing around his wrist, and Lelouch started to swim with him to shore. Suzaku turned over and spat saltwater from his mouth, reaching up to make Lelouch change hands, and as he kicked, his free hand sweeping through the water, Lelouch’s fingers squeezed his, pulling him strong and sure.


When waves ebbed and flowed around them again, Suzaku felt with his feet and curled his toes into sand again, pushing himself up to stand, the water lapping at the line of his ribs. Lelouch curved around him in a sinuous line, letting go of his hand. Suzaku twisted and tried to follow his movement, but Lelouch was too quick; he put on a burst of speed and reached up to hook an arm over Suzaku’s shoulder and hauled himself out of the water, pulling himself up far enough to kiss Suzaku again, pressing them chest-to-chest in the early morning air. Lelouch pulled back and smiled, his other hand seeking Suzaku’s, pressing something cool and smooth into his fingers, and then he let go, falling back into the water with a splash.


He pressed his lips to Suzaku’s hip and then let him go, swimming with a quick snap of his body, cleaving through the water back out to sea. Suzaku watched him go, his hand fisted over Lelouch’s gift, and then he turned and started his swim back to shore, feeling slow and weak. As he climbed from the crash of waves, he was panting and shivering a little in the cool air, his eyes stinging with salt and his mouth dry. He waited until his feet touched mostly dry sand, and then he finally opened his hand to look: a piece of rich turquoise sea glass, tumbled into the smooth form of a round teardrop, its surface frosted and glowing a vivid greeny-blue in the morning light that crested the horizon.