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His door slides open at fifteen past, right on schedule. Without taking his eyes from the board, Lelouch gives him his customary greeting:
“Welcome back.”
“Were you in class at all?” Suzaku inquires, a touch impolite.
“Something came up.” Lelouch slides his queen down the third row. “Got back a half hour ago, figured it wasn’t worth the trouble.”
“You know, an excuse like that really wears out the fifth time you’re using it.” But the warmth in his tone undercuts his disapproval considerably, as does the fact Suzaku still heads to the sofa and tosses his attaché to the empty seat next to him. Then he begins unbuttoning his blazer, collar-down.
Lelouch averts his gaze, sets the position back a few moves. “It’s true every time,” he says. “I suppose I’ll always have better things to do—unless class decides one day to quit being so dry.”
Today, however, Suzaku’s gloomier than usual. “You and the rest of class it seems.”
“So they all left, is that right?”
“Just for last period.” Their elbows brush as he takes his seat, folding his blazer across the armrest. “Milly took Shirley to get their nails done, and all the girls followed her—you should’ve seen it; she’s really like a mother duck sometimes.” The recollection brings out a faint smile, but it quickly wavers and falls. “Kallen was sick, as per usual—of course. Rivalz was gone already, something about a cellist?” His brow furrows, and he makes a vague gesture. “I don’t know. Milly was in quite a rush to leave—and Shirley only mentioned your absence.” The last part is said rather pointedly.
It always comes back to this.
Suzaku had given up on beating the dead horse of his gambling eleven days ago—on a Monday, a public holiday, when Lelouch had brought him along and alleviated his innumerable concerns—something about mobs and debt and his throat slit in a ditch somewhere. Very film noir. Now it’s just the matter of his absences, and Suzaku doubles down on this point with all the zeal freed up from not having to argue about gambling. It’s absurd—to be so persistent and inexhaustible and willing to die on the stupidest hills man could possibly invent.
“Beaufort Constantin,” Lelouch says instead. “She’s a cellist Rivalz is mad about. Buys all her records and attends all her performances so long as they’re in the same country. As soon as he heard she’d be at that conference his father funds, it was a foregone conclusion.”
“His dad lets him skip school? just like that?”
Lelouch shrugs. “There’s not much he can do besides yell down a phone line.”
“Typical,” he says, “that the both of you didn’t even show.” He frowns and sinks into the back of the sofa, leather creaking, head tipping back until the ends of his hair brush against the window ledge. The joyous sound of students going home can be heard from outside. Sunlight plays over Suzaku’s face, the crease of his eyebrows, the tense line of his closed eyelids—unhappy. Noble and unhappy.
“You could go with him next time if it bothers you so much.”
He glares at him without much heat, sun in his eyes. His gaze is bright—dazzling, the most pleasing shade of green. “No way. That’s totally irresponsible.”
“And if I forged you a note?”
“Is that supposed to be an improvement?”
“You’re responsibly letting our dear teachers know you won’t be present so they won’t need to worry.”
“I think you mean to say ‘cutting class is the definition of irresponsible.’ ”
“Only when you don’t cover your tracks—unless your goal’s detention.” Lelouch touches the grim line of his chin as Suzaku shifts his head out of his grasp.
“You know, it’s this undependable line of thinking that’s gonna to lead you to bad places.”
“The only place it leads me is exactly where I want to be.”
“Gambling, then?” he cuts in, like a dog with an old bone. He sits up and leans closer—in the way of his when he starts getting reproachful. “You know, even if you’re not losing money, I don’t think it’s right to spend your whole day at it. For one, it’s not healthy; you need food and water breaks—and coffee doesn’t count.” He eyes the empty mug on the table. “Not to mention, with all that sitting around you must do, have you considered going for a walk or something? It’ll sure do wonders for your back.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my back.”
“Not yet.”
“How about we find you a real doctor instead?”
“I don’t need one.”
Lelouch takes his hand, thumbs the calluses and then the fresh bruise purpling at the edge of Suzaku’s sleeve. “You’re always injured in some form or other, so a day off will do you a lot of good.” Lelouch narrows his eyes. “It is rather odd isn’t it…”
“Uh, yeah…” He sits up straighter, wrist slipping from his grasp, to direct his attention to his case at his side. Rummages through it with purpose. “Guess I am pretty clumsy, aren’t I?” And laughs self-consciously. “I’ll have to work on it…”
Lelouch sighs as Suzaku’s face screws up with guilt; he’s clearly hiding something. Usually he’d press the issue, and maybe he’s getting soft – he’s been in remarkably good spirits lately – but that’s the nature of trust, isn’t it? Even Suzaku will have his secrets, however senseless. “Just be more careful, alright?”
“Of course…” The relief’s palpable as he continues, quick to change the subject, “In any case, it was just me and Nina today. To be honest, I don’t mind that Mr. Richmond recycles his lessons.”
Lelouch shifts the board over to give him more space; snorts. “Your words, not mine,” he says as all the odds and ends of their school life jumble forth: maths book, chemistry textbook, a calculator, several dog-eared notebooks with worksheets spilling out. Last week’s history essay that Suzaku refused to have any opinion about, in spite of the flagrant revisionist nature of the chapter.
“You were definitely thinking it though. It’s what everyone was saying before they left.”
“Yes, suppose we can’t forget the charming drone of his voice. I doubt I’ve slept better other than with you.”
“That’s because you’re a nonbeliever.” He goes on to remove stationary. Light beams across his books, his hair, the expanse of his shoulder. “It’s another chance to learn the material, which I find invaluable given the amount of class I miss—and you miss even more than I do. Not to mention, he lets us out early, so there you go, his saving grace.”
“That’s a product of the mismanagement here. What admin ought to do is accept they’re wrong and fold.”
He smiles at that. “You just want a free period every period.”
“I didn’t realise I was so ambitious.”
Suzaku kisses him on the cheek. “Admit it, you’re always saying something like that for all our classes.”
“I’d settle for just the most tedious ones,” he says and picks out the old essay from the pile. “Take history. The failure rate has risen 15% since Brice Richmond’s employment last fall, and he’s regularly voted bottom-rung most boring, useless, and least favourably.”
“I suppose you’re not wrong,” he says, because even Suzaku’s optimism can’t deny the polls he’s edited himself. Then he leans back in satisfaction, all his items in neat little rows like a stationery store. “—but never mind that.” His arm settles over Lelouch’s shoulder. “What about you then? How was your day?”
He can’t help but think back to when the shrine was steeped in that scent, brash and airless like those nightmare mornings. Frankincense and katsuobushi, the clean aroma of cypress and rush straw that clung to Suzaku and followed him everywhere. A style of the era, of a country, pawns in the tracks of fate—but there was something exceptional too. Something powerful in that scent, in its pervasion, and as delicate as lilies burning in high summer.
Now he believes it's just Suzaku, seeping into everything he touches. Before he can think of some reply, they’re kissing impatiently—a new routine, the kind that makes him lose his train of thought, and Suzaku’s smile’s just as contagious.
“So good to see you too,” Lelouch murmurs.
Suzaku’s head settles comfortably on his shoulder. That’s when his attention catches on the board. “Oh, were you in the middle of a game?”
Lelouch peers at him. “Thought you had plans to revise today. Monday exam, half your grade, ring a bell?”
“It can wait, can’t it?” He absently leans over to right one of the discarded pawns. In the same motion, he slides his other hand – his closer hand – to Lelouch’s knee, as if he were steadying himself, but there’s only a pantomime weight to the motion.
His fingertips brush against the inside of his thigh.
Lelouch feels it there, blazing to attention, even after he takes it away.
So that’s his game.
“I felt very alone today,” Suzaku continues meaningfully. “All those times I’d look over at your seat and my boyfriend wouldn’t be there. I guess you could say he’s spent a lot of time in my thoughts. The whole day in fact.”
Lelouch swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Very well then,” he says, somewhat inanely. “I’m not currently in the middle of a game.”
It’s strange; this sudden, unprecedented interest in chess, and the way Suzaku watches him—with an ardent, laser-beam edge. The shine doesn’t wear off. A far cry from the kid who threw a tantrum, swearing off chess forever, after losing five matches in fourteen minutes. It’s not just about forgetting his vendetta; he glows from within, as if this willingness to play is just some faultless continuation in his lifelong love for chess.
“So this must be the part where you go over a previous one, right?” Suzaku looks to him for confirmation and when Lelouch nods, he continues with a grin, “How did that go then? win like usual?”
“It shouldn’t come as any surprise,” he says. “We even have a rematch scheduled tomorrow. That’s the thing about money; the more a fool possesses, the faster he parts with it.” Lelouch stares at the bishop, trapped by the c-pawn, too slow to escape. “Still, life’s not all about the relentless march of victory.”
“Uh-huh.” Suzaku nods. “If it’s going so well, then how come you’re scowling at the board – oh—“ he laughs “—I didn’t mean for you to stop.” And reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from Lelouch’s face.
“I’ll show you,” he says and rearranges the pieces a step before the critical position.
“It’s kind of cute when you get all serious like that, you know?” He brushes his thumb against Lelouch’s cheek.
“I’m not cute.”
“You so are.”
“It’s one of my online games,” he says, in lieu of descending into a childish argument.
Suzaku smiles in the way he gets. “And you won?”
“Yes, but I missed a tactic.” Lelouch shifts the pieces to demonstrate. “If he’d made this move —”
“But he didn’t, right?”
“—No,” he says, “but if he had, and if he didn’t play anything completely out of line, I’d be hard-pressed to regain the advantage.” He frowns at the unambiguity. “I realised my error as soon as I set down the bishop.”
“But would he have? If he didn’t even see the move anyway?”
“You shouldn’t make it a habit to underestimate your opponent. That’s how you start losing.”
Suzaku’s hand shifts to his waist. “I do plenty of that already and I never underestimate you. That’s why I’ll never be half the chess player you are; all this thinking.” He kisses his temple, and says, softer, “Are you sure you wouldn’t be happier in class with me? You could do some of this there, couldn’t you?”
“So you’re saying I have your blessing to slack off?”
“Being present is a major improvement, so no, I don’t think so.” He digs his chin into his shoulder, and wraps his other arm around him in a badgering half-embrace—his dubious method of persuasion. “You barely gave it any consideration.”
Lelouch sighs and loops an arm over Suzaku’s shoulders, kisses the side of his head. “I would’ve only distracted you, that much is apparent.”
“No worries there—” he gives a little smile “—you’re the best kind.”
At that, they fall into a kiss—this time to the gentle cadence of the warmest July in fifty years. Old CDs on loop, the blur of cicadas, red azaleas wafting through the courtyard. Suzaku’s hands inch under his shirt, thumbing the hemline of his trousers and Lelouch makes a sound at the back of his throat.
“Did you want to play a game,” he murmurs against Suzaku’s lips “—or did you have something else in mind?”
It surprises him that he picks chess every time.
Lelouch brings out his magnetic board and they play on their laps from the view of white. In any case, this kind of familiarity translates well to the greater ritual of dating, just as nearly anything can be reduced to sixty-four squares. It’s getting to know someone; his disposition, the construction of his thoughts, his reactions, his nervous gestures or lack of them. Suzaku doesn’t think long enough—or at all sometimes. He overlies on his queen and lacks pawn development. All easy to exploit. Lelouch informs him of these major weaknesses as he sees them, but maybe only half of his suggestions ever stick.
So improvement doesn’t seem to be his goal.
That’s the thing. Nowadays, Suzaku loses with both grace and self-assurance. Model sportsmanship, in other words. Three matches now, more than thirty losses over the course of two weeks, and his good mood never wanes. He treats the whole thing, well, like a game—to which neither of them, it seems, can say no.
Then there’s the overt flirting.
Arms brushing, sitting closer than necessary. Suzaku wants to hold his hand, or he’ll rest it on Lelouch’s thigh, and when Lelouch makes a move he finds particularly impressive, he’ll whistle lowly or jostle him good-naturedly or lean over and kiss him. Is this strategy, then? trying for a distraction?
Suzaku catches sight of him watching and smiles. Genuine, kind, without the slightest suggestion of an ulterior motive. The type of smile that makes him believe in a future.
So it can’t be that.
Suzaku returns to thinking over his next move, though it’s mate in two. His knuckles go pale around his blazer, which he’d moved at some point to rest over his lap. He has on that intensely distracted look, eyes glimmering, and worries the inside of his lip with the faintest flush on his cheeks.
“Between losing and chess,” Lelouch muses, “which turns you on more, I wonder.”
He tenses and relaxes suddenly—and he’s actually blushing. Huh. “Do you have to put it like that?”
“How would you like me to phrase it?” Lelouch tilts his head in frank curiosity, takes Suzaku’s hand from the lapel of his blazer. “You’re hard, aren’t you?”
The tension leaves his shoulders. “That obvious, huh?”
“Let’s just say I’ve grown accustomed to how you become.”
He frowns. “To be fair, you mostly started it.”
“I did, did I?” And reaches out, thumbs the edge of Suzaku’s mouth.
There’s a sharp exhale, and his lips shape into something more unimpressed, even as his eyes grow dark. “It’s just like you to forget—that time you implied you use chess to get off—” their gazes meet “—you weren’t in any way serious about it, were you?”
The memory comes back to him—vaguely.
In truth, Lelouch wasn’t expecting a revelation of any kind. His only intent – since Suzaku showed up, actually – was to bring a quick resolution to this…frankly unbearable tension. Smouldering low for hours now, ever since Suzaku left him at dawn with a kiss at his temple, hand on Lelouch’s bare hip, and a whispered “I’ll see you later,” in his ear. Because Suzaku had the completely unreasonable habit of drawing this out forever.
“So.” Lelouch smiles, amused. “You’re saying it’s all because of me that you’ve developed some sort of…chess fetish?”
His brow wrinkles. “…I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”
“Is school a part of it too then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why you’re always wanting to take me there—”
He huffs and makes the only legal move with emphasis, then shoves the board to him. “That’s not it at all; your attendance just leaves a whole lot to be desired.” It's funny: Suzaku, so rarely flustered by anything, but it’s suitable that it’s chess that gets the better of him. It’s sweet, though still a bit strange, that he would play so many games. “To be honest, I just can’t get it out of my head, that’s what’s so unfair about it.” His ears are red and he’s staring intently at his lap. “I mean, who goes out of their way to say something like that?”
And still, it’s not unworkable.
Lelouch sets the board to the side, and touches Suzaku’s cheek — until he looks at him. “So then,” he begins, conversational, “is it the king’s knight that does it for you?” He reaches out to undo the top buttons of Suzaku’s shirt collar, admiring the way his breath catches. “Or maybe it’s the queen, an obvious choice...of course, we can’t rule out that you might have more esoteric tastes; the bishop perhaps? standing staunchly beside his knight. Or the rook…? Or…” Then closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of Suzaku’s lips as he palms the hard line of Suzaku’s erection—to let him know he accepts him the way he is. “Or is it the king himself that’s caught your eye?”
Suzaku swallows thickly, ears turning a rich crimson, but his eyes don’t leave his. They’re so close, thigh to thigh, they could make out again. It takes everything he has to not laugh.
“…hm, or perhaps a bit of wood is too uninspired to set your passion aflame,” Lelouch says against the curve of his ear, “perhaps you just like the idea of me, playing with myself, in the privacy of my room…”
And so, halting but sincere, with growing fervour, Suzaku answers: “I like your voice, the way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought and how you have this tiny frown like you’re mad about something; your confidence, the way you move a piece, how you talk quietly to yourself sometimes. And then, once you find the winning combination, the way your eyes pretty much glow.”
Lelouch looks away, finds himself at a loss for words. “Ah, I see…”
Then Suzaku’s hand’s at his cheek, which he’s sure is burning up. “You’re beautiful this way too.” And then he’s leaning close. “I swear, I love you,” he says. “I love every part of you.”
In truth, nothing about Suzaku is the same. Not the clothes, not the house, nor the cheap army-issued soap. Nothing like the boy whose eyes glazed over the first time he learnt the rules, who couldn’t sit still, and preemptively declared chess to be the most boring game on earth. And to think, seven years later they’d be having this conversation all thanks to that same game.
“I love you too,” Lelouch replies, “always and forever—but don’t think it’ll save you from checkmate.”
Lelouch reaches for the black knight, but Suzaku’s faster; takes his hand by the wrist, brings Lelouch’s fingers to his mouth and kisses the back. Then palm up, piece still in hand; the base of his thumb, the crease of his wrist. Finally, Suzaku takes the knight and claims his mouth.
The precise series of events is trivial to the press of Suzaku’s lips, Suzaku’s hands, the scent of him buzzing like summer rain. The board clatters to the floor. Lelouch thumbs at the hollow jut of Suzaku’s hips as those lovely muscles rove under his hands. Loses his blazer, his belt too, and Suzaku, his shirt.
Lelouch says with his hands in Suzaku’s hair, “Did you, in all your careful contemplation, ever think about doing it during a game?” There’s a certain appeal, now that he’s given the idea some thought, and he’s curious how far this idiosyncrasy goes.
Suzaku stares at him. “Is that a serious offer?”
“I don’t see why not.” They’re past the point of shamelessness, grinding against each other very intentionally, at a standstill on whether to undress further or to continue making out.
“If that’s really alright.” His expression turns serious. ”But I want you to get it out of your head that it’s some kind of weird sex thing, because it’s—“
“Nothing to be ashamed about,” Lelouch finishes.
“Don’t say it like that.”
Their foreheads rest together and he can feel Suzaku’s erection strain against his. “Why not?” Lelouch says in a huff to his cheek. “Why should you let anyone criticise your study methods?”
“Because you’ve got it all wrong.”
“And yet they’ve proven so effective.”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
Lelouch smiles. “Face it, you’re a good student—”
Suzaku’s head shakes against his. “No no, no way—”
“And you’ve made great strides to your mid-game, credit where it’s due.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Does it have to?”
“—why would I go through all this trouble when we could’ve just skipped it completely,” he says, bucking indignantly against him.
Lelouch grunts. “But you enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Well…yes, but—”
“There’s your answer.”
Suzaku drops back a little to stare at him crossly, and it doesn’t take him long to come full circle. “I already told you, it’s not like that at all!”
Lelouch slides a hand down the firm line of Suzaku’s six pack. “Tell me about it then,” he says and grabs a handful of his ass, kisses his jaw. “What’s it really like for you.”
He frowns with a wordless kind of disapproval, but then he breaks into a sudden smile, fond and long-suffering. “I just like listening to you.” Kisses him again, then hoarser, “And spending time with you. The sex is fantastic of course—as an entirely separate, unrelated thing. Is that so hard to believe? You’re so sure of yourself it’s almost convincing, even when you’re being this way—”
“Honest, I suppose you mean. One of us has to.”
“—completely infuriating.” His expression softens. “And I miss you all the time.”
Lelouch brings both arms around Suzaku’s shoulder and tugs him closer, until there’s no distance between them at all. “I miss you too,” he says, staring into green eyes, greener than anything he’ll ever know, “every single damn moment we’re apart—and I want you inside of me.”
Suzaku shudders along his body.
“—Mm, and then I’d like for you to move for me. Is that alright? Think of it like a pop quiz.”
“Yeah,” he says softly, voice cracking. “No problem.”
“And I want to watch you.”
“Okay.”
And they make out again.
Lelouch brings the board to his side of the bed and kneels barefoot on the covers as he moves the pieces to position.
“Which side am I playing?” Suzaku murmurs a while later, against his nape, having tracked down the lube. Not that they’ll need it, but he wanted Suzaku to go do something else for a while.
“White.”
“How come I’m always white?”
“Thought you liked going first.”
“Not all the time.”
“We’ll switch once you last longer than eighteen minutes.”
“So exacting.” Suzaku trails a hand under his shirt, roving over his skin and his nipples perk at the attention. He’s hard again—they both are. “Alright, you want it like this, or properly on the bed?”
“The bed.” He sets the last piece down, clicking into place, and looks back to Suzaku, who’s watching him with eyes so dark he shivers. He’d undressed at some point and the voices outside had fallen quiet; they were completely alone. Lelouch bites the inside of his lip. “It’s more comfortable there.”
“You didn’t think that way when we were—”
“That’s different,” he interrupts quickly, “There wasn’t a bed then.”
“That’s what I like about you.” He mouths at the back of his neck. “You’re so resourceful.”
Lelouch closes his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Stay like that,” Suzaku laughs. “Just for now.”
He undoes Lelouch’s shirt and then his pants, one leg at a time, and then Lelouch exhales heatedly; Suzaku’s fingers are inside. The stretch is the right amount of snug – welcome and newly-familiar – but what he likes even more is the hitch in Suzaku’s voice.
“Got yourself all ready, huh?”
“Yeah.” Lelouch lets out an unsteady breath as his fingers sink deeper in. “We’re just so predictable.”
“What’s with you and cutting corners?” Suzaku kisses his shoulder, then kisses lower, down the line of his spine, and sucks another kiss onto the flesh of his ass. “Such lovely corners too.”
“You’ve made me impatient, there’s nothing more to it.”
Then his fingers are replaced with his mouth—and such fervour. Tongue and teeth and lips and his shameless desire to do the most embarrassing things in the most sensitive places—then equally: Lelouch’s knees turning weak, a curious hunger for more like a slow wave. Suzaku’s hands, warm against the bare skin of his hips, and his tongue teasing inside. He’s shaking already and has to sink to his elbows. For Suzaku, he’s always just that easy. He’d bare the most intimate parts of his soul to this man.
Suzaku pulls back, not before leaving a final, very sloppy kiss that makes him self-conscious with how bold it is. “Turn around,” he says. “It’s just occurred to me, but how will you know where the pieces are if you can’t see them?”
Lelouch turns onto his back, elbows braced behind him, and lifts an eyebrow. “It’s simple enough.”
“Oh?” He grins, hand on his waist, his erection standing equally proud. “Do you want a blindfold then? Or am I supposed to trust you won’t peek?”
“I said I wanted to watch you, didn’t I? How else will I see those lovely eyes of yours?”
Suzaku’s face falls open at that, and then he’s above him, between his thighs.
Lelouch’s smile turns conspiratorial. “The real question is how well you know your co-ordinate system.”
“Uh, yeah—” he glances away. “—about that…”
“You’ll give it your best effort, won’t you?”
“ ‘Course.”
The board’s to his left and Suzaku’s smile is so soft. He hears rather than sees him slicking himself—then the blunt tip pressing through and the steady, glorious slide until he’s seated all the way, right where he belongs. Lelouch groans shakily—surprised, even all these times later, by how very warm Suzaku is, how perfect he feels, and how it intensifies as Suzaku bends closer to kiss him—and then again when he starts moving, slow and leisurely. He’s ridiculously wet too – to the point where it’s obscene – as if the copious amount of spit wouldn’t have been enough. Of course Suzaku would do this to him. It’s all he can do not to come immediately.
“What’s the first move?” Suzaku asks.
“Hm?” It takes a while to remember. “It’s white’s turn.”
“But it’s not in the starting position.”
“Mm.” It’s harder than he thought it would be to maintain the pretence. “Openings are…so banal—lacking in finesse. I wanted it to be a test, and an interesting one.”
“Trust you to start things running.”
“But you like running, and you like tests even more.”
“ Yeah ,” he says, distracted, like he would’ve agreed to anything and rolls his hips without breaking eye contact.
Lelouch gasps and they make-out again, tongues meeting in the crude, breathless manner he never thought he’d be into, and the sounds falling from their mouths are perhaps even more shameless. To think, Suzaku wants him, even like this—skin shivering, heart swelling. To be so close and so full with another person, over and over. He forgets about the board entirely.
—until Suzaku whispers between a kiss, “What’s the move?”
He gazes at him through his eyelashes. “That’s your job, don’t forget.”
“Oh, right.”
He examines the pieces – lips parted, perfunctory – and then he turns back to Lelouch, shuts his eyes. His brows scrunch with the effort—like he’s really thinking about it. He groans as his thrusts turn shallow.
“I don’t know.”
“Think,” Lelouch murmurs and sweeps Suzaku’s hair from his face. “Try not to be so impulsive.”
“I’m having some trouble with that.” He drops to his elbows and kisses him sweetly, just the brush of lips and the heat of his breath. “Give me a clue? C’mon.”
“So unlike you to resort to hints.”
“You’re such a good teacher. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“Good teachers don’t spoon feed you—“ Lelouch begins, but then Suzaku turns more deliberate. Lelouch lets out a sharp gasp as precome dribbles out of his cock “—alright,” he says, his grip on Suzaku’s shoulders tightening. “It’s simple; what we went over yesterday.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s a major clue.”
“No it’s not. Knight to H7?”
“That’s illegal, try again.”
“Oh. Uh…H… 6?” he asks, hopeful rather than certain. It’s remarkable; the way he somehow finds the only losing move.
“Bishop to E5, check—a fork too. Now you’ve hung your queen.”
At that, Suzaku slips out and Lelouch’s cock is abruptly engulfed in warm, wet heat, the flat press of Suzaku’s tongue just under the sensitive tip. Just like that, fingers in Suzaku’s hair, his prized self-control is nowhere to be found. Lelouch comes at this little twist he does with his lips—embarrassingly so. Suzaku’s hands stay a solid presence at his waist, guiding him through until the pleasure turns soft and hazy.
Lelouch drops his head back onto the sheets as he catches his breath, blood rushing loud in his ears.
Suzaku smiles, playful, and Lelouch realises faintly that he swallowed everything. Touches the corner of his mouth, but then they’re kissing. He can feel the weight of him, Suzaku’s erection rubbing wet marks against his stomach.
“Idiot,” Lelouch says, fond and more than a bit reverent.
“You’re so hot when you get like that. It deserved a blowjob, I think.”
He didn’t know these things could be deserved, that Suzaku distributes them based on some internal judgement of merit, but then his mouth is back on his again and it doesn’t matter. Only the wet slide of lips and tongue, hands over bare skin, solid and alive.
It’s never quite enough.
These stolen moments will never be enough. Desire is just a bottomless hunger that carves itself deeper with each successive feeding—and Suzaku can’t let it end this way.
“Inside me,” Lelouch says, running his fingers across the base of Suzaku’s head, in the way he likes. “Again.”
His brows wrinkle, and he whispers against his lips, “You sure you want that?”
“You haven’t gotten off yet.”
“I don’t mind.”
Lelouch’s brow twitches involuntarily. “Now isn’t the time to play coy.”
“You didn’t come for years.”
“That’s a gross distortion.”
“When I think about that kind of self-denial, it gives me the strength to withstand anything.”
Lelouch drops his hand back to the bed and sighs wearily.
“No really.” He laughs even as he kisses him all over – along his exposed neck, his chin, then his mouth – and he says, “I’m happy when you’re happy.”
“And if I’m unhappy you won’t do as I say?”
Suzaku shifts to his side, mattress dipping, and shrugs, supremely sure of himself at half-mast. “I’ll just get off later if it’s really an issue—who knows,” he says with a teasing lilt, “maybe you’ll be ready by then too.”
Lelouch swallows at the thought. “You’re being ridiculous.”
In the end, it’s a simple matter of a raised eyebrow as Lelouch bends his leg back. There’s a few long moments, in which neither of them speak, until Suzaku scrambles on top of him with a breathy exhale, and eases into him once more. He had an idea of how he wanted it to go, and though the initial slide-in is slick and effortless, he can’t hide the grimace of discomfort as Suzaku touches on nerves so raw they make his teeth ache.
“It’s alright,” Suzaku says with a fond smile, kisses him affectionately, and prepares to pull out.
“Stay there.” Lelouch hooks his legs around him. He’s under no illusions about his strength, but Suzaku co-operates this time. Slides the rest of the way in with a groan. It’s…bearable, and quite a bit more intimate than he’d anticipated. Every sigh and every twitch and every miniscule change in expression is heightened. It must be difficult for Suzaku. Surely, not more difficult than his original (idiot) plan—and he stays so still, even as his breathing grows ragged.
“You okay?” Suzaku asks, nose brushing against his cheek.
“Yeah.”
They kiss once more from this new angle of appreciation. Suzaku is enthusiastic and graceless, doesn’t need to say he likes it for Lelouch to know. And then it’s even more self-evident when his hips begin to squirm in these tiny, helpless movements, and he makes such soft, delicate sounds as he tries to keep still.
“You’re doing so well,” Lelouch says. “Thank you.” And spreads his hands over the flat plane of his shoulders, then his back, his hair, and Suzaku’s expression pinches together with effort. He imagines how it would be if he were to let go of every one of those rigid little rules he created at some point for every aspect of his life.
“Lelouch,” he pants, foreheads dipping together.
“Hm?”
“I just remembered,” he continues. “The move. You still haven’t told me what it is.”
“Knight takes at F6 with check. Then rook takes. Then rook takes rook. Then—“
“Slow down.” He gives a raspy little laugh that reverberates through the places they’re connected. “I can’t move the pieces that fast.“ Yet he doesn’t make any action to the board, bowing his head instead, breathing hard.
Lelouch brushes the hair out of his face and smiles. “Has it occurred to you yet?” he asks gently. “What we’re doing.”
Suzaku’s quiet for a long while. “What’re we doing?”
Like they’re talking about something else. “It’s quite natural; we’re up a piece with the advantage of the queenside pawn majority, so it’s in white’s interest to dissolve into an endgame — Ah.” Suzaku’s cock shifts inside him, sharp after his first orgasm, and then he leans down to kiss him.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.”
Lelouch swallows. “It’s mate in fifteen.”
“I would’ve never gotten that.”
“It’s easier than you think.”
The angle isn’t great, but Lelouch tugs the board close anyway. And demonstrates, meandering and in painstaking detail, with frequent and unnecessary tangents into why certain other lines are inferior, as well as a brief foray into another game with a similar position—just because he can. Because Suzaku won’t stop him, because maybe he really is in complete denial about being into this. That’s how Lelouch hardens again, but Suzaku’s too busy staring into his eyes to notice. It’s quite natural after that. The way Suzaku’s desperation mounts until he’s one solid line of tension, muscles jumping, sweat glistening off his forehead, down the hollows of his collarbones.
That’s the other reason to pick the bed; his favourite sheets on his back, and his best friend secure inside of him, through no major exertion on Lelouch’s part.
“Lelouch,” Suzaku gasps. “I’m not gonna remember any of that…aah—” His hips stutter, and he sobs, “Lelouch, I can’t—”
“Alright,” he says, moving the board out of the way, and meets his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Okay!” Suzaku grunts as he gives in. “It’s real impressive,” he tells him between thrusts that send Lelouch’s eyes fluttering, “that you just have all that up there, in your head. So complex, you’re so smart, Lelouch, so amazing at chess, and you feel amazing too. You’re brilliant, that’s what you are—brilliant and so, so perfect. I love it when you win. I love you.”
His praises grow indiscernible until he’s groaning openly as he lets himself chase his own pleasure – like a trail of fire contained in his body – and it’s all Lelouch can do to hold on as he’s taken, all power and precision. There isn’t any leverage from Suzaku’s sweat-slicked back, but when Lelouch resorts to gripping the sheets, Suzaku takes his hand and pins it next to him—of course, even now he wants to hold hands. Lelouch tightens the grip he has on his fingers. He ought to be spent, maybe, but his cock leaks freely all over his chest with each shockwave of Suzaku’s movements, and then over Suzaku’s fingers as he’s stroked, firm but insistent. It’s almost too much.
Suzaku’s thrusts turn loose and careless and his grip slides from his knee to rest at his hip, and he trembles with a shout as he comes, whole face going slack. There’s a familiar heat, followed by a savage, brazen pride – to be the cause of all this – and then Lelouch tips after him. It burns at first, as his orgasm’s teased out before it's fully ready, and then it’s so intense and goes on for so long.
He can’t feel anything for a long while after—except the places Suzaku touches and kisses him, feathersoft, holding his face between his hands. He wants to stay like this with him forever but, almost too soon, sensation returns and Lelouch groans. He’s loose and sticky – in a good way – and when they disengage he blushes as a hot trail of come follows Suzaku out, as his legs are set down. What a sight he must make.
Suzaku draws up next to him, his arm across his chest and laughs, very lightly. “Jeez, you’re just full of surprises. I don’t know what to think.”
“I could say the same,” he manages.
He kisses his forehead sweetly. “You’re incredible, that’s what.” Then he’s sliding a finger through the mess at his stomach. “So much,” Suzaku comments, drawing lazy shapes.
Lelouch makes a face.
“I know what you eat and it can’t be that. So what’s your secret, huh?”
“Dunno,” Lelouch mumbles, watching him through heavy eyelids. “What’s yours? We need a towel next time.”
“But it’s nice, making a mess out of you.”
“So you’re offering to change the sheets, I take it?”
“Yessir,” he laughs and does a mock salute. “Anything else, your highness?”
Lelouch closes his eyes. “No. But thank you.”
And then Suzaku’s forehead is against his, kissing him enthusiastically, proving he’s inexhaustible as ever. “Thank you for indulging me,” he says, sincere. “You’re the best.”
“No need for that,” Lelouch replies, because Suzaku’s so strangely polite all the time and he thinks he knows why. “I had a wonderful time.” It’s true and he brushes Suzaku’s bangs out of his face, a little overwhelmed.
They kiss again, slow and warm and wonderful.
“You always seem the most yourself in the middle of a game,” Suzaku says, “did you know?”
“And what about you?” he jokes. “Are you most yourself when we’re making love?”
But Suzaku doesn’t return his smile. “I think…” he begins, sombre. “I think it’s when I’m with you. Sometimes—I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know myself anymore.”
Lelouch clasps their hands together, brings it up to his mouth, kisses Suzaku’s knuckles, and they stay like that.
He always felt lighter, lighter indeed, like all his troubles were very, very far away.
Lelouch snaps awake at his door opening—Suzaku’s there, smiling at him, and he slides the door carefully shut behind himself. Lelouch had been bundled up into his bed, sheets tucked underneath—very tight, military precision. It’s dark and the chess board’s put away and for a moment he wonders if it’s the same day. Then he relaxes back into his pillow, not in the mood for anything else, and says in a drowsy voice:
“I’m surprised you let me sleep for so long.”
“It’s because you need it.”
Lelouch yawns. “Now I certainly won’t go to bed at a reasonable hour.”
“You weren’t planning to anyway,” he says. “You can never get up in the mornings, that’s why.”
“So nothing changes.” Lelouch fumbles out of the blanket, then with the drawer next to him, until he finds what he’s looking for—and pops a mint. Sleep hangs gauze-like, but he’s awake and aware as the flat of a knife. “It’s a wonder how you get anything done.”
Suzaku switches on the lamp by his desk to the lowest setting, before returning to the coffee table to gather his books and papers and stationary, his hands illuminated gold. Did he get any work done? Or was setting out the table just a pointless show of something. Lelouch remembers, with the quality of a dream, the military communicator going off and nothing further.
Suzaku stills, and says like it’s incontrovertible, “Whatever’s meant to happen will happen.” Then he smiles at him playfully. “Just like someday you’ll realise the importance of a good night’s rest. I suppose we can only do our best until then, isn’t that right?”
Lelouch gets a better look at him. “You’re not a convert now, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He looks at him and then beyond him, strangely serious, impassioned; stubborn. “I just believe in a…” makes a vague turning motion with his hands, settles on, “—sense of rightness in the world, if that makes sense. That no matter how bad anything gets, it’ll correct itself—like the swing of a pendulum.”
It’s a passive worldview to say the least, but it explains some things. Suzaku’s old self, who hated Britannia with a searing passion equal to Lelouch’s own, would’ve taken every matter into his own hands. So what is it, then, that causes a seismic shift in someone he once believed to be unchangeable? What impels him into danger with an unseen force?
And how to best use that to his favour.
Suzaku appears at the side of his bed, jolting him out of his thoughts. He thinks he’ll say something more to that end, but he only crouches beside him and smiles, gentle and effusive.
“I’m guessing you don’t plan on getting up anytime soon?”
“Maybe later.”
He’s still in military uniform—that’s the other problem: how to steal him away, and permanently, because dating the stubborn idiot only does so much. He can think of one such solution for the meantime. Lelouch lifts an arm from the covers to cup Suzaku’s cheek, allowing the sheets to pool suggestively at his waist. They both know he’s still naked after their previous activities. He can still feel that phantom ache.
Suzaku’s eyes linger, but they quickly return to his face. “At least eat something before you fall back asleep.”
“I’m not falling asleep.”
“Good.” Suzaku smiles, pleased, and then it appears it’s not up for debate, because he gets up immediately and leaves. He lingers by the doorway a moment, just to tell him sternly: “Come on.”
Then he’s gone—with all his things too. The lamp’s glow may as well be a street light, and his skin’s tacky from residual sweat, even though Suzaku had cleaned everything up—including himself.
Lelouch sighs.
He gets up, begrudgingly picks out something casual from a drawer – his uniform nowhere to be found – and follows after him.
Suzaku’s already heating up dinner, which Sayoko had made at noon. Beef bourguignon with rice and roasted asparagus – one of her go-tos for when he’s busy. She’d apparently also left rather firm instructions for Suzaku to make sure he eats. Nunally’s at the table, on the side nearest the bookshelf, listening to the radio at a low drawl. Background noise, he thinks at first, but then the soothing voice of a man starts explaining how atmospheric pressure changes create a meteotsunami, and he remembers her geography project.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she says in her sweet voice and swaps a high-five with Suzaku in plain view.
Lelouch narrows his eyes. “Since when did getting me out of bed become a team sport?”
“Since you became the star player.” Suzaku winks and approaches him with extended arms. Lelouch accepts only because Suzaku gives firm, quality hugs, like he’s really embracing him with his whole being. He’s lucky to have him, it’s not the first time he’s thought so.
They kiss as the numbers count down. A part of him is mortified because his sister’s not even three metres away, but she’s engrossed by the documentary—or gives a good appearance of it. Suzaku’s arms are slung low against his waist, and Lelouch cups his hands around his shoulders, like some final piece sliding into place. This secret language between them, devoid of grammar or vocabulary or syntax. He might believe in souls because his could vacate at any moment.
They eat dinner together and Lelouch helps Suzaku when he gets stuck – less and less frequently as of late – and fills in the gaps he’d missed while he was away. Their feet bump under the table and Lelouch shares hand-holding time with the maths syllabus. Nunally switches to her headset and goes quiet as she progresses through her current knitting project, a stuffed black cat. Her face sets in this adorably grim look when she’s counting an unfamiliar pattern. Occasionally, she’ll hold up the cat and ask them if it looks about right.
“I just don’t think I’ll ever have a working relationship with maths,” Suzaku says half an hour in, chin cradled on the back of his hand, pen flickering in a nervous habit. He finished his food with typical speed. Now, he contemplates where he went wrong as he marks the tenth question on a practice quiz.
Something about all this still puzzles him. “Why does this mean so much to you anyway?”
He looks at him, pensive, and shrugs. “Opportunities don’t knock a second time, and…well, with how much you and Euphy have helped me, I don’t want to let either of you down. I’m very grateful, I just want you to know that.”
Suzaku takes his hand and Lelouch clasps it tightly. “You’re doing better than you think.”
“I’ve also never felt happier,” Suzaku continues. “Here at Ashford, with you—and Milly and Rivalz and Shirley. Everywhere else, it’s like I have no talent at making friends.”
Lelouch gets this increasingly familiar, prickly feeling when his best friend puts himself down. Reassurances are empty, maybe because Suzaku doesn’t believe them anyway. In better circumstances, someone as kind and considerate and loving as him shouldn’t find it so difficult. “Why don’t you join me tomorrow? Instead of heading to history.”
“Can’t.” He grins, amused, like Lelouch is joking around.
“We can use the time to go over trig.”
“You’re a terrible influence,” he accuses amiably.
Lelouch rubs the back of Suzaku’s hand with his thumb. “A wholly corruptive force.”
“The hardest-working slacker I’ve ever met.”
“I know what you mean,” he says. “Skip one class, skip another; before long, you find you’re not going at all. You’re right about your caution.”
“You think so, huh?” he says absently as he erases the y-axis.
“Soon you can’t make the credits to graduate. Then you’re homeless at eighteen and a dropout—prime target for the villains, criminals, and religious fanatics of the world. The only options then are a short ride to prison or death.” Lelouch idly flattens one of Suzaku’s fly-aways, which springs right back, but it gets Suzaku to look at him. “It just so happens that skipping history is the first step.”
He snorts, gaze skittering away. “Now I know you’re just pulling my leg.” Then settles into a solemnity as if someone had just died. “It’s about consistency. It’s how you build any habit, and good habits build a life.”
“So be consistent,” Lelouch counters, brushing his thumb against his cheek. “I’d like to spend more time with you and I’m happy to help you with your schoolwork. Do we have a deal?”
He’s sceptical. “And we’re really going to just study?”
“If you’d like. Believe it or not, I do want you to succeed.”
Suzaku makes a noncommittal sound as he redraws the y-axis a few degrees lower. “I’ll think about it—but I want you to join me in class after lunch, and I want your grades to start improving.”
“Bargaining, is that it?”
“Only because your deal is so one-sided.”
“Alright,” Lelouch says with a smile. “I agree to your terms.”
They shake on it – once, firm, clandestine under the table – like they’re ten again pretending to be important people. Suzaku has on that same sheepish smile, probably believing still that they’re being incredibly childish—as if he didn’t honour these rituals like they’re cast in gold.
Lelouch continues, “If you don’t get an A, your Mondays are mine.”
“Oh, come on.” His head tips to the side dramatically, as if shot.
“What was it you always say?” Lelouch pretends to think. “That’s right; you love a good challenge.”
“Not when it’s maths!”
“All the better to light a fire under your ass.”
“Well then—” he waves his pen “—you better get your attendance up, Mr. Pass-Is-a-Pass, or else your Mondays are mine.”
Lelouch picks up the fork and takes a bite. “Attendance is the most worthless metric of success.”
“It’s also the easiest. Mrs. Flemings always says it’s a free ten percent.”
“I think she’s a little biased. How else will she cope with the futility of her vocation?”
“Yeah, but you’re at what–? Fifty days? So you’re already mostly done. If you think about it, with how well you do on everything else, you can just sleep your way to an A.”
Lelouch pushes food around his plate, and rests his cheek on the back of his hand. “I’d rather make some money if I’m going to be wasting my time.”
He smiles at that, eyes crinkling. “You’re just too smart, sometimes.” And kisses his cheek.
After he’s done eating, he washes up and rejoins Suzaku at the dining table. Lelouch writes up next week’s English essay as Suzaku continues through more problem sets. Nunally joins them later to play a game of Old Maid on braille cards.
Then later. They say goodnight to Nunally and Lelouch draws the covers around her, kisses her forehead.
“Will Suzaku be staying over again?”
Suzaku looks to him, and Lelouch nods, a little bothered that he still feels the need to ask, as if Lelouch wouldn’t want him here. Even so, it’s easier and easier to convince him to stay.
“Uh, yeah,” Suzaku agrees. “If that’s alright with you,” he continues to Nunally. “This will always be your home first and foremost, and I don’t want to—”
“Oh, of course! You’ll always be welcome here.”
He smiles, cheeks dimpling. “Thank you.” And kisses her head.
“You’re part of our family.” Nunally takes them both by the hand. “Don’t ever forget that.”
At her pronouncement, Lelouch feels something settle in his chest, and holds both their hands very tightly.
“You’re real tired, huh?” Suzaku muses in bed, rubbing circles down his shoulder. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
“It’s been a long day,” he says, leaning into his touch.
“So it has.” Suzaku shifts to kiss his head, and tightens the hold he has around Lelouch’s waist.
When he closes his eyes all he sees are the dead, laid before and below and above, row upon row of nameless faces and names without faces and his father at its very peak. But it's better with Suzaku here, most of the time.