for jusrecht
this is an awkward little alternate universe for roses, because jusrecht wanted my geass non-canon otp. here goes!
Suzaku is fussy about his wings. The first thing he did, upon getting them, was to go through and preen every feather, sorting through big white-gold primaries and long flights and the soft pale-cream down, to look at every new piece of himself with something that Fuuma would call wonder, if this wasn't jaded, broken Suzaku he was talking about; things haven't changed, even though Suzaku's had them so long Fuuma's lost count of the days. Whenever he's not doing anything, Suzaku can always be found engaging in active wing hygiene, and there are always feathers scattered all over anywhere they're living; thankfully, they always have cats so that's all right.
Fuuma's much less conscientious about his own wings; they're great and big and dark, so stains don't really show (not like on Suzaku's, god, Fuuma is never giving him red wine again), and they're in a constant state of distress, Fuuma trailing dead feathers whereever he goes. They're more impressive that way, though; Fuuma's the dark looming one and Suzaku's the one that you like, the one that you smile at, the one you want to make sure gets home okay. Fuuma's the boy you fuck, Suzaku's the one you take home to mom; that's just how it works, how Fuuma's always been; he's just started to be okay with it.
Suzaku is this charmingly bright-eyed man, all green eyes and floppy hair and brilliant wings, all naivety and smiles, and Fuuma is sometimes a little disconcerted by how far in love he's fallen, by the fact that he'll wake up at night, sometimes, and just turn and watch Suzaku sleeping in the darkness and feel so content. It makes Yuuko laugh, when she checks up on them occasionally; she's not like anyone Fuuma remembers knowing (though he's not really sure how much he remembers; he had to give up a lot for Suzaku's wings); you've fallen so hard, she says, and Fuuma and Suzaku look at each other and blush.
They never stay in one place for too long; there's a wanderlust both of them have, a desperate need to run but it's a little subdued, these days; they've got each other in check. Fuuma's crap at navigating and every time he tries to lead them someplace new, they end up someplace dangerous; Suzaku is a better fighter than you'd think, looking at him. He's tall, yeah, but when the wings are folded and invisible he's slight and thin and there's a permanent half-smile on his face; he generally looks reasonably harmless, up to the point where you're on your back and your arm might be broken.
They do okay. Neither of them has much in the way of memories, but they've got each other (and that's a lot, it's something most people never get). They both have nightmares, occasionally, but who doesn't? They know they've got pasts but they don't bother them much. Fuuma can barely remember the world they came from, the one where everything started; Suzaku can't at all.
Yuuko sometimes asks them to help people, people who need it and who've traded her things; it gives them something to do. They fit together, dark and light, white and black; everything they ever needed they have, or they can find; Fuuma's got magic, Suzaku's got something else, some indefinable quality that no one really understands, and between them, they can take on all comers.
"Hi," the girl says, all billowing green dress and long light brown hair, "I'm Kotori, who are you?" She's peering delightedly at Suzaku's wings, spread out and flaring a little, snatching little glances out of the corner of her eyes at Fuuma.
"We're here to help," Fuuma says, smiling. There's something about her that he can't quite understand, something that makes him want to protect her, to hold her and never let go. He crushes it down.
"Oh," she says, "Did I dream you?"
"No," Suzaku says, "we're real."
Suzaku is fussy about his wings. The first thing he did, upon getting them, was to go through and preen every feather, sorting through big white-gold primaries and long flights and the soft pale-cream down, to look at every new piece of himself with something that Fuuma would call wonder, if this wasn't jaded, broken Suzaku he was talking about; things haven't changed, even though Suzaku's had them so long Fuuma's lost count of the days. Whenever he's not doing anything, Suzaku can always be found engaging in active wing hygiene, and there are always feathers scattered all over anywhere they're living; thankfully, they always have cats so that's all right.
Fuuma's much less conscientious about his own wings; they're great and big and dark, so stains don't really show (not like on Suzaku's, god, Fuuma is never giving him red wine again), and they're in a constant state of distress, Fuuma trailing dead feathers whereever he goes. They're more impressive that way, though; Fuuma's the dark looming one and Suzaku's the one that you like, the one that you smile at, the one you want to make sure gets home okay. Fuuma's the boy you fuck, Suzaku's the one you take home to mom; that's just how it works, how Fuuma's always been; he's just started to be okay with it.
Suzaku is this charmingly bright-eyed man, all green eyes and floppy hair and brilliant wings, all naivety and smiles, and Fuuma is sometimes a little disconcerted by how far in love he's fallen, by the fact that he'll wake up at night, sometimes, and just turn and watch Suzaku sleeping in the darkness and feel so content. It makes Yuuko laugh, when she checks up on them occasionally; she's not like anyone Fuuma remembers knowing (though he's not really sure how much he remembers; he had to give up a lot for Suzaku's wings); you've fallen so hard, she says, and Fuuma and Suzaku look at each other and blush.
They never stay in one place for too long; there's a wanderlust both of them have, a desperate need to run but it's a little subdued, these days; they've got each other in check. Fuuma's crap at navigating and every time he tries to lead them someplace new, they end up someplace dangerous; Suzaku is a better fighter than you'd think, looking at him. He's tall, yeah, but when the wings are folded and invisible he's slight and thin and there's a permanent half-smile on his face; he generally looks reasonably harmless, up to the point where you're on your back and your arm might be broken.
They do okay. Neither of them has much in the way of memories, but they've got each other (and that's a lot, it's something most people never get). They both have nightmares, occasionally, but who doesn't? They know they've got pasts but they don't bother them much. Fuuma can barely remember the world they came from, the one where everything started; Suzaku can't at all.
Yuuko sometimes asks them to help people, people who need it and who've traded her things; it gives them something to do. They fit together, dark and light, white and black; everything they ever needed they have, or they can find; Fuuma's got magic, Suzaku's got something else, some indefinable quality that no one really understands, and between them, they can take on all comers.
"Hi," the girl says, all billowing green dress and long light brown hair, "I'm Kotori, who are you?" She's peering delightedly at Suzaku's wings, spread out and flaring a little, snatching little glances out of the corner of her eyes at Fuuma.
"We're here to help," Fuuma says, smiling. There's something about her that he can't quite understand, something that makes him want to protect her, to hold her and never let go. He crushes it down.
"Oh," she says, "Did I dream you?"
"No," Suzaku says, "we're real."