milk + sugar
03
It was brutal outside, mercilessly so. The only saving grace was that it had only stormed during the final 20 minutes of the trek back to the hotel, but even then, it had managed to soak through every layer of their clothing – even the supposedly waterproof one. Trudging through the hotel lobby, the couple left behind a watery trail with each heavy, sodden footstep.
The moment the lone receptionist on the night shift saw their return, she vanished behind a door to fetch a mop and a sign to warn any other late-night guests. By the time she returned from the closet, she was alone again. Setting the sign down, she dutifully and silently cleaned up after the guests, as a good employee would, the only sound in the large, elegant lobby the squeaking of her shoes on the tile floor.
Their room was only on the fourth floor but the elevator ride felt like an eternity. C.C. tried not to say anything about it; it was easy enough, between her shivering and exhaustion. Beside her, there was a heavy sigh. No doubt he was irritated over losing the van. It'd only been a rental, but it also meant an argument with the rental agency. He'd most certainly been building his case the moment they'd begun on the 6-mile trek back to the hotel, but now safe from the pellets of rain hammering down on them, he didn't care enough to remember all that he planned to argue.
As L.L. unlocked their hotel door, C.c. began removing her drenched clothes. First the useless jacket, then the thin long-sleeve shirt underneath. By the time she got to her camisole, the door had been opened for her. Lowering her arms, C.C. handed what clothes she'd peeled off to her partner, who already held out a waiting hand. Stumbling inside, she pressed herself against the expensive wallpaper to let L.L. squeeze into the small stone foyer of their dimly lit suite.
At the far end of their bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling windows were pitch black, only broken by the occasional bolt of lightning jaggedly cutting through the storm to reveal the large green plains and tall trees outside their balcony. Not that either of them would have been interested in such a view. Slipping out of her boots, the young woman muttered something about a bath as she continued to rid herself of her wet clothes on the way to the bathroom.
Unceremoniously dumping them into a pile on the beautiful stone floor, she ran her fingers through a waterfall of hot water. Perched on the edge of the white porcelain tub, she carelessly pawed her way through the tray of available salts, soaps, and petals before settling on rose bath salts. Bubbles, she decided, would be too bothersome.
Scattering them into the rapidly filling tub, she dipped her feet in. Perhaps she should invite L.L.? Or maybe he'd simply invite himself? Over the years, they'd taken plenty of baths together, even if he might prefer the practicality of a shower. Of course, whenever she invited him or he himself, pragmatism had been the farthest thing from his mind.
As she sunk down into the warmth of the bath, she thought back to their first. He had been so shy, considering all they'd done the night before. Never mind the wedding vows they'd exchanged just the day before. She remembered giggling as he averted his gaze, all the while insisting that she enter the bath before he so much as joined her in the bathroom. He'd been a little too long for this particular tub, which he'd made known as his first complaint. He'd carefully placed his legs around her as he settled in across from her, so to help soothe him, she'd massaged his legs for him. She'd started with his calves with the intention of building up to his thighs, but she hadn't so much as made it to his knees when he'd suddenly closed the distance between them, so much in a hurry that the disturbed water, sloshing about, had extinguished some of the candles.
They'd agreed afterwards that, moving forward, she should sit in front of him, leaned back against his chest, to allow for optimal relaxation and ambience. And true to their agreement, all following baths had started as such, though whether they ended in that position was another matter altogether. But did he remember that first time? How they'd laughed in the near-dark, how they'd nearly dropped one of the dozens of lit candles into the bath, their fingers slippery from the bubbles, as they'd tried to relight the smoking candle. It'd been so long, she barely remembered. How could she, when there had been so many moments thereafter? 20 years of moments, lost to her because she'd grown too comfortable. Too familiar.
C.C. glanced at the glass shower door, all fogged up, as she listened to the sounds of water slapping the marble floor. She made out his outline as he washed his hair. Yes, she'd gotten quite used to his presence, hadn't she? Even before these twenty years, before she'd nearly lost him forever for the sake of the world. She'd gotten so used to his presence that these two decades had gone by in the blink of an eye. It was a different timelessness than the one that had come with immortality. All of the goodness of these past years, of this life they'd built together, could do little against the centuries-old habit of wondering when it would all go away. After all, it was a matter of when, and not if.
Of course, L.L. was kind and had been true to his word. But he still had others he loved – those with limited time. Maybe he felt that twenty years was sufficient? Certainly no one could accuse him of half-heartedness.
"Here."
She looked up. Seated on the edge of the tub in a bathrobe and his damp hair slicked back, L.L. extended a flute of champagne towards her. Reaching up with a dripping hand, she accepted the treat.
"To yet again another successful recovery."
That was right – by her own calculations, they had very nearly finished gathering all of the pieces of Geass that had been scattered around the world. The final day when they'd make this customary toast had crept that much closer today, and once they got there… What then?
He was looking at her over the rim of his champagne. She hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding everything, and as she placed her glass on the small teak bench beside the tub, she pretended not to notice his staring. Sinking deeper into the fragrant bath, she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold.
"Finished?"
She nodded.
Standing up, he took away her flute, emptying the expense champagne into the bathroom sink. Lightly rinsing away any excess, he delicately shook off the water and crossed the glasses at their stems to hold them in one hand.
"I'm going to bed."
She nodded again.
"Don't stay in too long."
Returning to her side, he bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead. C.C. only closed her eyes in response. She kept them closed and remained still until she heard the door quietly close behind him. Alone again, she sat back up, steam wafting from her now pink shoulders.
And if he did think that twenty years was enough? Would she be okay with that? Was she prepared for that? Could she let him go with a smile?
Of course she could. But she didn't want to. She hadn't wanted to twenty years ago, when he'd made good on his promise to the world, and she still didn't now. If anything, she hated it even more now. The mere thought of a morning when she wouldn't wake up beside him, when there wouldn't be a hand to reach out and take hers, that she would no longer see his smile or hear his laugh, made her feel sick. She shivered as she considered the very real possibility that she had little recourse for. After all, she'd been selfish enough as it was, keeping him all to herself for these twenty years.
She was still chilled as she quietly slipped under the covers. L.L. was already fast asleep, his back turned to her. C.C. did her best not to disturb him. He'd always been a sensitive sleeper – a childhood scar, and one his busy mind refused to let fade. Clenching her jaw, she faced the black windows, peering in to the endless void, as she tightly wrapped the blanket around herself and tried to make herself small.
Shuddering, she tried to relax enough to drift off to sleep. It should've been easier, considering their early start to the day and concluding trek back, when she felt something slip under her waist. Warmth enveloped her, and sleepily, he mumbled into her ear, "There you are."
Carefully, she turned to face him. His eyes were heavy with sleep but stayed true to her. Leaning closer, she embraced him, burying her face into his chest. Safe from those unflinching eyes, she squeezed him tight as she laid herself bare – how she'd been thinking that he might want to return to Nunnally now. He had paid his dues, done his time, and if he felt that Nunnally needed him…
"I've thought about it."
She clutched at his shirt.
"When she's older, I think I'd like to be there for her. But Nunnally is still young and strong and more than capable of caring for herself. She doesn't need me right now and she won't for a long time. However…"
She felt him gently lift her chin up to meet his eyes, now very much awake. Outside, the light patter of rain finally relented, and through the bright moonlight glimmering past the parting clouds, his gaze was unwavering in its solemnity.
"However, that's not why I choose to stay. I choose to stay because I know you're strong – the strongest I know – and I don't want you to feel like you have to be. I choose to stay because I want you to feel protected. Because, selfishly, I want to be that person to protect you. I choose to stay because when I leave, my first thought is of you – whether you're warm and safe, if you're hungry or tired or sad. What I can do to fix that. I choose to stay because I am myself only with you because you are the only one who understands me like no other. I choose to stay because it is all I am capable of. Because for me, there is no greater peace or joy or happiness than to be by your side."
Yes, it would be their twentieth anniversary soon. And while it was still early days yet, the first step in an endless journey, in his youthful immortality, L.L. was still proud of this particular achievement. To think that these twenty years had passed by in a blink of an eye – certainly it was because they had been spent in her company. This woman, who knew every inch of his soul and still accepted him for all that he was. This woman, who knew him like no other and still loved him anyway, who had taken his bloodstained hands in her own and kissed them. This woman who had given him not just power, but purpose, when the rest of the world had wanted nothing to do with him. Who made him feel remorse, regret, joy, and happiness, like any other man, in spite of his inhuman nature. Who cried with him and laughed with him, who he had promised to have and to hold, to love and to cherish for all of time. This woman he only fell harder and harder in love with from each passing day.
He kissed her tenderly, much too tenderly for what he claimed to be. His lips gently brushed against hers before settling into the familiar groove and pattern of her lips. Finding their place, they pressed against hers with the sweetest pressure. When his tongue brushed against her bottom lip, her lips parted. Lifting her hand, C.C. let it rest on his cheek. She could still remember when they'd first kissed like this. He'd been flustered by all of his overthinking. But what was there to think about, when body led the mind, when instinct and desire overtook them? Don't defend against them, she'd whispered to him. Surrender to them. Welcome them.
He'd certainly listened well over the years. Breathless, they looked at one another with a fondness reserved exclusively for the other. Lightly brushing her hair from her face, the warlock looked upon his heart and soul.
"Do you understand now, Cecilia? The depth of my feelings."
She studied him in the dark. Following the bridge of his nose, his dark hair feathered across his forehead, his cheekbones, his sharp jaw. All the features of the face most beloved to her.
"Yes," she answer softly.
And happy together, they drifted into dreams of a life without pain or sorrow.
A/N: how was that