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The two lay, late-night, side-by-side, in a California King Bed. The Emperor is on his side, legs entangled in silken sheets, while The Knight stays simple on his back. Each knows that the other has not slept yet. They had exchanged few words the previous evening beyond Lelouch’s request of Suzaku spending the night with him.
“It gets lonely,” he had joked, smile plastered on face, and Suzaku can imagine nothing lonelier than what Lelouch has chosen for himself. So, Suzaku had followed Lelouch after dark to his chambers, dressed down, and took the left side of the bed for his own.
It is not one of the tactile nights for Lelouch either, not until his fingers suddenly dance, featherlight, along Suzaku’s jawline. The knight rolls onto his side with a soft groan, taking Lelouch’s hand to his lips. The emperor lets him, eyes down, head resting on his other arm, trapped against the pillow.
Suzaku kisses the tips of each of his fingers one-by-one until he moves to the back of his hand, lips upon the paleness. It is a vintage gesture of an old feeling begun anew, or maybe not even having ended at all.
Suzaku’s thoughts are a whisper in the back of his head as Lelouch slips his hand back away, fingers curling slightly, not in any sort of evident emotion but instead with a straight face, eyes violet on Suzaku, until his face changes into an echo of a smirk.
“Arthur clawed you.” He states, taking Suzaku’s moonlit hand, previously splayed in the space between them, in his own. Suzaku lets him just as Lelouch had let Suzaku before.
“He does that.”
Lelouch allows a soft laugh to slip through his lips before the corners turn back down again, a forced grimace. He lets go of his hand.
Suzaku can tell that he is becoming shell-like on purpose. Lelouch’s playacting has become deeper and deeper over the time he has spent in Pendragon. If his mind dances even slightly over the concept of who he was before, who Lelouch Lamperouge had been before his Britannia emerged, he tamps it down and moves on.
Lelouch is The Demon Emperor. He is no saint in good meanings or man of any sort of love. At least, not in public.
“Relax,” Suzaku says softly, but he knows that it is hypocritical because he, himself is far from relaxed. His heart has been caught stark in his throat from the start of their plan. But, they have time.
Lelouch sighs, curls up a bit more in the sheets, tugging them closer with fists that unravel after the movement.
“I’m here.” Suzaku offers when Lelouch still says nothing in response, but this time, Lelouch does nod, does move a bit closer, does press his head in the crook of Suzaku’s neck. Suzaku wraps an arm around him.
He feels Lelouch’s warmth as he will not soon. The breaths of his emperor tickle his skin, as they will not soon. Suzaku holds Lelouch close, and he feels him slow into unconsciousness before doing so himself.