Disclaimer: Code Geass – with its characters, settings, and all other borrowed elements here – is the sole property of its creators. Segment titles are titles from various songs, and I don't own those either. For overall warnings and general Author's Notes, see 'chapter' 1!
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(14) 'Heartbreak Hotel'
His shirt smelled like Lelouch and sunshine.
It wasn't hard to explain, really. Thirty minutes ago he'd drifted awake to the faint sound of traffic from the street below, and to slivers of light leaking in through tightly drawn curtains.
And: these weren't his sheets, and this wasn't his bed, and this most definitely wasn't his apartment.
"Good morning." It was that voice that finally cleared the fog from his mind - or made it worse, he didn't know. It was hard to tell. "Rather, what's left of it, I suppose."
Suzaku sat up then, allowing the blankets to pool around his waist.
These were the things he remembered: that the wooden stairs within the bar and the winding metal staircase from the rear of the building led to exactly the same place. A heavy door was unlocked by a key Lelouch wore around his neck, the silver chain hidden under his shirt; inside, two more, and one of them, it seemed, never to be opened. A short laugh came before a comment on how 'convenient' the pianist's living arrangements were, before Lelouch had shut the door and shoved him against it and claimed his lips in a demanding, feverish kiss.
(It was mostly a blur, after that. But he did recall endless alabaster skin, half-lidded violet eyes and lips that glistened, warm against his neck. His hands finding delicate wrists and pressing them against the mattress; legs wrapped tightly around his waist. And a voice that was only as familiar as it was low and soothing, soft and calm and reserved, as it was now, several hours ago was anything but. "Suzaku...!") "...Is that my shirt?"
Lelouch smiled. The white fabric was rumpled and swam on him, and unbuttoned it left a strip of his torso bare. "I was cold. It was within reach," was all he said, as he shifted and turned until he was lying on his side, facing Suzaku.
He didn't miss the momentary wince there. "Are you all right?"
The response began with a chuckle. "Better. Better than all right."
Suzaku bit his lip. "...I didn't hurt you?" he pressed, unable to help a twinge of guilt.
Lelouch shrugged. "Pain is a thing of beauty." He finally opened his eyes; they were just as arresting, and didn't draw his gaze so much as demand it, even from behind a curtain of tousled hair. "Well? Are you staying or leaving?"
("Slow down." A breathless chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere.")
He swallowed back the memory.
"I'm driving to Colchester at noon," he said, and barely even remembered that now. Damn, he had promised Gino, hadn't he? What time was it, anyway?
"For work?"
"Yeah." He finally found a clock: past ten already, shit. He'd always been able to haul himself out of bed just after sunrise, day in day out, save for those disastrous mornings he'd woken up with hangovers from hell. He'd barely had two drinks last night, and yet somehow this was more potent.
("Yes." Lelouch gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise. "Right there. God yes - ")
"You should go." Lelouch spoke for them both when he said this, and his tone was carefully neutral. Still, Suzaku felt his eyes on him, and it made his skin prickle. "Wouldn't want you to be late."
"Yeah." It seemed that was all he knew how to say. Suzaku pushed himself off the bed without further comment, eyeing the mess of clothes on the carpet. Buttoning his pants, he found his tie dangling off the back of a chair. To get to it, he had to sidestep a lamp on the floor, and ah - had that been his fault?
"Suzaku." He didn't turn around; he was struggling with his belt when he heard Lelouch's voice again, as well as the flick of a lighter wheel. He would have said something about smoking first thing in the morning, if he didn't so badly want a cigarette himself.
God damn it. His coat, where was his coat...?
(A surprisingly tender kiss on his eyelid, and fingers threading through his sweat-matted hair. Soft words coaxing him to sleep.)
But this was it, right? He'd finally slept with Lelouch, so perhaps... it was about time he got over this little obsession, or whatever it was he was supposed to call it. He would walk into Arthur's Castle in the coming days and be civil with him, and nothing more. After all, this was the last time, and it would be their little secret.
He was certain he'd had better; only, none of those encounters seemed to come to mind right now.
He shook his head. That didn't matter. What mattered was that this was over, and he was over Lelouch now, surely -
"Suzaku." When he heard his name again, it seemed suddenly much closer, and before he knew it Lelouch had draped his shirt over his shoulders. He'd wrapped himself in the blankets and pushed the cigarette off to the very corner of his lips. "I don't regret anything that happened last night. Far from it. I trust neither do you."
Suzaku tensed. Lelouch was speaking with his lips very close to his neck, and it was hard to suppress a shudder. 'Regret' wasn't even remotely close to what he would use himself, if he was going to be honest. But honesty was the same as weakness, in times like this. "What if I said I do?"
He heard a soft chuckle, and caught a whiff of smoke. "It's a bit late for that now."
"I - "
Whatever he was going to say next yielded to the cigarette forced between his lips, and a hand lifting his chin. He coughed, sending errant clouds of smoke to the ceiling as Lelouch sucked a bruise onto his neck, slowly. Thoroughly.
"You know where to find me." The words lingered in his mind long after Lelouch made his way to the bathroom, and he heard running water through the door.
Suzaku didn't leave his coat this time, but as he locked the door behind him he realized a part of him wouldn't have regretted that, either.
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(15) 'Mack the Knife'
He walked into the agency's lobby at half-past eleven, courtesy of the three parking tickets he'd found on his windshield that morning.
As luck would have it, though, it wasn't Marika who was the first to greet him (of course) but: "Well, now isn't this interesting." There was a glint in Luciano's eye as he stopped beside the coffee maker. "I haven't been on a college campus in years, but correct me if I'm wrong: this is what they would call a 'walk of shame', yes?"
Suzaku made a face. He was still in yesterday's clothes, after all, and he'd left Lelouch's place without once looking at a mirror. He probably looked like hell. "I wouldn't know. What do you want, Detective Bradley?"
"Oh, a number of things. Most of them questionably legal." He chuckled, before producing a decently thick stack of papers and all but shoving them Suzaku's way. "And, to give you this."
"'This'," he repeated, biting back a sigh. There was one staple in the top left corner that valiantly held, and puncture holes from several other attempts that had clearly failed. The front page was really enough, though, and he skimmed over it once before comprehending. "...Ah."
"We're at least making some headway, which should be just enough to not have Bismarck yelling over the weekend." Luciano filled his mug and continued in a careless drawl. "Most notably: Clovis is off the hook. He has at least fifty eyewitnesses who swear he was doing a sketch of Guinevere and her husband-to-be at the time of the murder."
"Which matches his alibi."
"Right. And of course this means the happy couple is clear of suspicion as well."
"Hmmm." It made sense, in a way, that Luciano had taken it upon himself to do the research on the royals - it was his theory, after all, that predicted their culprit would be among Odysseus' half-siblings. But from the summary on the front page, listing each of the Emperor's children by birth order, it seemed most of them either had solid alibis, or weren't anywhere near the mansion at the time of the murder. One was overseas, several left early, and - Suzaku winced as he read Luciano's blunt note after the unnamed eleventh Prince: 'kicked the bucket thirteen years ago, apparently.' He shook his head. "So from the Royal Family, that really only leaves..." He frowned. "Princess Euphemia. And - "
"And your client." Luciano finished for him, drawing out the last word in a mocking sing-song. "I think it would be nothing short of hilarious if it turns out he was the guilty party all along."
Suzaku scowled at the paper, at Euphemia's and Schneizel's names circled in red. "He's our client."
"No, he's yours." The other detective thrust an arm out at him - the one that was holding the mug, and he very nearly ended up spilling coffee all over Suzaku. "And I use the term very loosely."
"What?"
"Haven't been to your office yet, I see. Oh, right - walk of shame." Suzaku's eyebrows slid together in a frown, but by now Luciano was already walking away, carelessly waving. "Enjoy Colchester, Detective Kururugi. Oh, and about what I said earlier - I do want many things, but now I'll have to add Schneizel being guilty to the list." He paused at the door to his office, a particularly sinister grin gracing his features. "Just to see the look on your face."
He didn't have the time or the energy to fire back a retort to that, and so he simply walked to his own office, flipping through the pages as he opened the door.
He'd barely hung his hat and coat on the rack, though, before he noticed something on the mess of his desk that certainly had not been there last night: a medium-sized paper bag, unassuming at first sight, parked right next to the telephone.
He knew it couldn't be so simple, though, and it seemed even less likely when he saw the silver gift box inside.
'Both regretful and impressed to hear you'd quit smoking,' the flowing cursive read, rich and jet black against the expensive stationery. 'Perhaps this will be more to your liking then; from one soldier to another, there's no denying some vices are more difficult to get rid of than others.'
Suzaku put the note aside for a couple of seconds, just enough to lift the lid off the box. Inside, sitting snugly in carved-out hollows in the raised velvet, were two shot glasses and a sparkling crystal bottle of the finest gin this side of the Atlantic.
"...I hate gin."
For some reason he felt the need to announce this to his empty office. Of course there was no reply; it would have been terrifying if there was. Sighing, Suzaku pried the bottle out and held it up to the light: 104.6 proof. Unopened. A shame it wasn't anything else.
Unfortunately, the note went on: 'I'd like to meet with you to discuss your progress on the case as well. Monday, eight-o'clock. My chauffeur will fetch you at your office.' A signature at the bottom, as well as an all-too-familiar family crest right below it, sealed his doom.
"Recorded." By the time he noticed the flash of light, he was already blinking it back. "I think I'll call this one, 'Three seconds at the gates of Troy'."
"Anya." He didn't even remember leaving his door open, but the sight of her leaning against it, already wearing her coat and tucking her camera back into a satchel, proved otherwise. He blinked again, realized he was still holding the bottle of gin, and slammed it back down into the box, almost breaking one of the two. "This was a gift. I swear. It's not even opened - "
"I know. I saw the man who dropped it off." She waved away his protest and sauntered inside. Anya had always been a woman of few words, and today was no exception. "You just missed him."
Suzaku let out his breath as he stuffed the whole thing back into the paper bag. As it was, nobody knew he kept alcohol in the office, and he wouldn't have that changed by something as stupid as this. He had far more things to worry about. "Prince Schneizel?"
"No." Anya shook her head. "Shorter. Thinner. Strange hat. Some kind of hand injury." A pause. "He didn't leave a name."
"That's inconvenient." He didn't have to, though; Suzaku could already see Kanon's face clearly in his mind. He wondered if the man had told Schneizel about their little encounter at Odysseus' mansion. But what did it matter? "Did he say anything else?"
Anya shrugged, staring off to the side as though she were trying to remember. "He looked angry?"
"Right." Suzaku imagined he would be. Sighing, he rolled down the top of the paper bag, lifted it, and nodded at her. "You want this? I hate gin," he repeated, in case she hadn't heard him the first time.
"I think Detective Bradley likes gin."
"He would." Suzaku placed the box into his bottom drawer and slammed it shut, thinking. Bismarck had been more than happy to take the cigars off his hands, but he wasn't a very big drinker. "Where's Gino?"
"Waiting outside. I'm supposed to come pick you up," she walked forward then, withdrawing something else from the same satchel, "and leave this with you."
...The second time today, really. He turned over the sealed, unmarked yellow envelope in his hands before catching her eye. "Do I at least get a hint?"
"Prints. From the party. Duplicates from a number of sources." Anya glanced at her watch then, shaking her head. "But you can look at them later. Now, we have to go."
"Wait - !"
If she hadn't completely ignored him and pulled him out from behind his desk by his wrist, he might have argued more. But he barely had time to grab his coat and his keys from the side of the door, which left the envelope he'd just been holding to fall to the floor, its spilled contents going completely unseen.
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Author's (end) notes: I am actually not sure as to whether the content in (14) warrants an 'M' rating, if only for this chapter. If you think it does, let me know. I'll change the rating, or put up an extra warning up front at least.
As always, thanks for reading! Reviews make the author a happy child.