On some nights, the Knight of Zero is summoned to the imperial bedchamber to speak with the Emperor of Brittania in absolute secrecy. Those are the nights Suzaku will not emerge from the Emperor’s chamber until past midnight, looking no different unless one knew how to watch for the signs of exhaustion in the dull green eyes, the slight limpness in the coppery-brown hair, and the hint of stiffness in the straight back encased in the thick material of the uniform. Most people, even those closest to Lelouch, believe those are the times when the Emperor and his closest confidant and protector quietly work out the next brilliant and ruthless plans to crush their opposition. Of all those who ever knew Lelouch, only Schneizel would know this isn’t true.
The irony doesn’t escape Suzaku, but the humor is too bitter to bring even a ghost of a smile to his tightly pressed lips.
Ever since their childhood, Lelouch has been the genius, the strategist. Lelouch always comes up with his plans all on his own, never seeking or requiring anyone’s help. And Lelouch never asks his opinion about the plans, simply ordering him to execute them. In a way, Suzaku is grateful: it takes away the burden of conscience from him, since Lelouch is his Emperor and he has sworn to serve Lelouch. But that part of the evening’s business is usually concluded in less than an hour after dinner: every word of Lelouch’s order is carefully chosen and delivered, unhurried and sure, and Lelouch never has to explain himself twice, not with Suzaku.
The rest of the evening is usually spent half-buried and lost atop Lelouch’s ridiculously large and overly soft bed, dissolved in moans and whimpers and harsh cries. And tonight, Lelouch is especially vocal, making Suzaku hope to hell the room is soundproof. Lelouch is also facedown on the bed, whimpering with every thrust into his body, back gleaming and rippling with exertion that he would never deign to make outside the bed.
Which brings Suzaku to his current position behind Lelouch, fucking him with almost mechanical precision that shocks even himself. Suzaku idly wonders what everyone would think if they knew the 99th Emperor of Brittania, soon to be the absolute dictator of the world, likes it hard and fast from the behind. Only if they could see Lelouch now, moaning louder than the best whores of the city, ass rising to meet him halfway, all but begging Suzaku harder, more, faster. Suzaku obliges even without consciously registering the words, movement changing to match the familiar commands out of sheer habit, pounding into Lelouch in a punishing rhythm. Lelouch’s whines gain a new edge of desperation, ass insistently pressing backward in a wordless plea, and Suzaku almost sighs before he catches himself.
Reaching for Lelouch’s hand feels natural, like the thousand other times he’d reached for Lelouch’s hand, paler, more slender, and invariably cooler than his own, so familiar. But what he does next is anything but. Harshly, Suzaku twists the arm behind Lelouch’s back, pressing until he hears a faint cry of pain, followed by a high-pitched whimper-moan that tells him Lelouch is close now. Suzaku does not relent, pulling on the arm, and tries not to think about what he is doing, or how Lelouch probably has tears running down his face by now. He is pushing with a force just shy of breaking the slender arm, knowing Lelouch cannot come without the pain, the extra edge of threat that makes Lelouch gasp and tense, like he is torn between fighting and enjoying it.
The lotion is dried out by now, and Suzaku grimaces at the rough burn of skin scraping against skin. He will probably be sore piloting the Lancelot tomorrow, but he has a mission he needs to finish here. Ignoring the burn that threatens to make his arousal fade, Suzaku increases the pace, slams into Lelouch with enough force to make him buckle, and Lelouch screams, now held aloft only by the arm twisted behind his back. Suzaku reaches around to twist Lelouch’s nipples, then drags his nails down the soft, vulnerable skin of the abdomen, feeling warm wetness spring under his fingertips over the last inch just below Lelouch’s navel, punctuated by a savage thrust that rips through the fragile resistance of Lelouch’s body. Lelouch comes hard, spraying the sheet and Suzaku’s hand with his come, his screams abruptly cut off, frozen in his throat. The irregular tightening of Lelouch’s ravaged and torn flesh tells him his duty to the Emperor is done for the night, and Suzaku comes, as much from the relief as the contractions that milk his cock.
Mindful of the thin body collapsed and shuddering under his, Suzaku carefully sinks to the bed next to Lelouch, who trembles and whimpers as he recovers from his release. The air in the chamber is cool, and Suzaku quietly drags up the mussed sheets over their bodies, pulling up the comforter next to cover Lelouch when the shivering does not ease. Suzaku knows without looking that the pillow is damp with sweat and tears, so is careful not to look, to even risk a glance at Lelouch’s face until the Emperor composes himself once more.
Finding his thoughts adrift, Suzaku clenches his hands, feeling the nails dig into his palms, and the flash of pain brings him back to the present, lying next to Lelouch. Lelouch has his back to Suzaku, and it is all Suzaku can do, to look and not reach out to trace the clean line of the back, to fondle the small ass and cup the curve of the hipbones. Then, Lelouch shifts under the sheets with a sigh, and the smell of the blood and the undertone of gasp lurking in the sigh snaps him back to the reality. Suzaku remembers drawing blood when he scratched Lelouch’s stomach, and hopes that is the only place, but knows better. The way Lelouch is shifting so gingerly, so carefully, is enough of the hint that yes, there is blood drying between his legs, slowly dripping to the sheets, and no, he won’t say anything. Lelouch will never say anything, and continue to command Suzaku’s body for the same purpose over and over again. Like Lelouch really needs to command him for that, or for anything at all. Like Suzaku isn’t already his, body and soul. Like Lelouch ever truly needed to use Geass on him. Even before Lelouch used his Geass on him, always, Lelouch’s every wish was his command. He’d belonged to Lelouch from the beginning.
And maybe, just maybe, Lelouch knows that, too. Maybe that is why Lelouch never asks, never commands, only ever directs with his body without words. In the end, Suzaku is the one who must choose to follow the unspoken directions for this nightly ritual of pain and oblivion.
Lelouch remains still and silent, eyes closed and breathing even, when Suzaku takes his leave. Of course, Suzaku knows better than to believe Lelouch is really asleep, at least not yet. But if Lelouch didn’t feign sleep, Suzaku would never be able to leave a gentle kiss on his forehead, because an awake Lelouch would never allow it. Instead, every time, Lelouch lies motionless and lets Suzaku kiss him with gentleness and never breaks the illusion. Perhaps, Suzaku wonders, this is Lelouch’s way of apologizing to him and thanking him at the same time.
Tonight, the Emperor’s sleep will be untroubled and dreamless.
-- November 2008