CG, "Defiance to the Dead"
The aristocracy is dead and the royalty is gone, but Kanon's prince still needs him. He's been broken, and Kanon will fix him. Through cosplay-- NO damnit serious fic here!!
Warnings for slight creep factor, vague sex.
.defiance to the dead.
It broke him, a little.
Kanon was not the sort of man who put others on pedestals: he was rational, reasonable, observant. He watched and judged, and let other men pretend to be things that they weren't. He wasn't going to pretend to be adoring for someone who hadn't earned his admiration, the same way that he wasn't going to pretend that he was like other men -- normal.
But Schneizel had earned it: his admiration, as well as his loyalty. Kanon had longed to see the future that he had envisioned, and he had been honored to be a part of building it, and he had been humbled that Schneizel had accepted him without reservation, even when everyone else sneered at him for his preferences and assumed he had nothing to offer beyond novelty. Schneizel, like him, was a man without a soul, and a man who had much to offer the world, and who could use a man like Kanon by his side.
Things were different now. The world looked at Schneizel and they saw that he had not changed, but Kanon knew better. He could never forget what he had seen. He had been broken, a little, by that sight, so much more than by the arm over his throat, the gun poised at his temple.
He waited eight months, gathering his pieces, and he heard nothing from his prince. Then he decided to pay Schneizel a visit.
He wore his best clothes, the kind of silken but androgynous garb that he liked to wear to feel ready for anything: when he didn't want to dress like a man, or a woman; when he wanted to be a cipher, enigmatic and not easily read. He chose his colors carefully: lavender, violet.
Battle colors, for this meeting, for his purpose.
The palace no longer held princes and princesses, pampered royalty and leeching nobles, the sins of old Pendragon left behind by Lelouch's decree banishing them and Schneizel's bomb erasing them. The new palace, a place of politics rather than an aristocracy that no longer existed, was filled with men in suits talking about budgets and legislation in low voices. They glanced fleetingly at Kanon as he passed, but no one questioned his presence in their elegant halls.
He was inspected before he entered the Prime Minister's chambers, and then waved in. No formalities; they served an elected official, not a sovereign.
"Kanon," said Schneizel, as if surprised to see him, and then surprise eased out into a smile, casual and lazy and with his eyes hooded; it looked so perfect that Kanon thought perhaps he had imagined the grim tableau of his memory, his commanding prince expressionlessly murdering his own supporters to protect the slight figure of the Black Demon King. "It's been some time."
"Yes, Your Highness." Kanon drew up from his bow, hands tangling together behind his back. "My apologies if you didn't intend for that."
"I have no expectations of you." The words were apathetic, but Kanon knew better than to think that Schneizel meant them that way. The Second Prince was not a man who assumed that he knew the future: he planned for everything, assumed nothing, especially for those who he trusted and held in high esteem.
"I'm pleased to see you in good health," Kanon said diplomatically. "You've looked well on the news, but the news doesn't show everything."
Schneizel smiled, gracious. "Of course. I'm not a man of fragile constitution. I haven't been sick in decades."
Kanon nodded his head in acknowledgment, and added, "I thought some subtle health issue might be a factor in why you've chosen not to run for re-election next year."
With the mostly-welcome loss of the aristocracy and the entirely-welcome loss of a man many called the cruelest dictator in history, the country had lost a great deal of its centuries-old political structure. But Schneizel, resuming his role as prime minister under Charles since no elections had been held since then, had stepped in and rallied the remnants of the elected Senate to draft a new constitution for Britannia, one that operated on democratic principles, a bicameral legislature, and was a solid foundation for a new Britannia, one that would be fair, representative of the people, and never again hold the potential to house a monster like Lelouch.
The people loved him. No one could possibly have run against him. He would have won any race for the PM's seat like a tidal surge, without lifting a finger.
But he would not be running again.
"Everyone loves a hero, of course," Schneizel said idly. "But what they need is progress. The legacy of old Britannia, its princes and princesses, is not necessary in the new Britannia. Cornelia is just an officer now; Nunnally is just an ambassador; but I cannot be just a prime minister. I think stepping down and choosing someone to endorse -- cut from the correct cloth, of course -- would be the best thing for this country."
Kanon murmured, "Is that what Zero thinks?" but he didn't know if Schneizel heard him, because he did not answer.
Kanon's gaze lingered on his back. His shoulders were so broad, so unyielding, strong -- even now, when he had been reduced to practically a servant for his little sister's bodyguard.
The blond man turned around, and considered Kanon, expression clear and confident. He observed, "Your hair is longer."
"Yes, Your Highness," he said softly. "I'm growing it out again."
It seemed to interest him. Schneizel crossed the room and reached out, touched the pale brown strands with gloved fingers, and Kanon felt his heart leap into his throat.
His Highness is a physical creature, Kanon reminded himself. He touches his brothers and sisters this way. It doesn't mean anything.
"I'm glad," Schneizel murmured. "I always regretted that you cut it on joining the military."
Kanon let out a hushed breath. "Discretion is the better part of valor. You never seemed to dislike it enough to consider it a downside of discretion."
He knew that he had been right to be reserved when Schneizel's touch stilled, and then drew back. The tall prince walked away, saying idly, "It isn't something that exactly merits my intercession."
Not exposing his weakness; distancing himself. Kanon had seen the play before, and he knew how to sidestep it. He forced his slim shoulders straighter.
"Your Highness," he said clearly, "are you telling me that you have no further need of me?"
The direct inquiry cut through the layers of smooth politics and edged suggestions. It appealed to Schneizel's pragmatic nature. That would award him answers where any more cunning approach, subtle and devious, would only be met with more playing.
It made Schneizel smile, at least. "...yes, Kanon. You have served me very well, in every aspect of our relationship. But that time has passed."
"I see." The words were so final. Kanon couldn't doubt them. He said, calm, "Have you found someone else, or have you lost interest in me?"
Schneizel looked at him, not surprised, but perhaps puzzled by his pursuit of the topic. "There's no one," he said. "But you should consider yourself free to pursue others."
"When you say that there's no one," Kanon continued, ignoring him. "Do you mean that you have no other lover, or that you have had no other lover?"
There was less amusement in Schneizel's refined features now. He said, evenly, "Kanon," and it was a warning.
And a confirmation. Schneizel had no interest in being with anyone -- it was not Kanon, but sex itself that had lost its appeal. A creature of control and naturally compelling, for Schneizel to have lost that control over his actions, even only when it came to Zero's commands, meant that he now subconsciously felt the need to excise his other perceived weaknesses.
Sex was the weakness of all men and women of power.
Kanon was excited, in spite of himself. It was dreadful, perhaps even tragic, for his lord to have sacrificed all physical pleasure to compensate for the geass that enslaved him, distancing himself from the one who had once given him everything he asked for. But Kanon had considered this possibility, and he had thought of an idea.
"I understand, sire, but I must question your decision. Are you set on this, or may I attempt to re-engage your attention?"
Finally, Schneizel glanced at him, the pale blue-violet of his eyes considering. He was curious, obviously. He had always been willing to be wrong, willing to try again. And if there was one thing Schneizel had ever cared about, it was his control of himself.
Kanon smiled for him, simple, the same smile he had always used on the rare occasions when his prince had required a second head to find a solution to his problems. "I suspected that even you would be unable to see the situation without bias in this circumstance."
But I can.
Long, measured beats passed in the stateroom, and Kanon knew that he was being evaluated from head to toe. Every factor of his presence contributed to Schneizel's decision -- his hair, his expression, his attire -- for Schneizel knew that it spoke to some extent of his intentions, and for that reason it had all been calculated to reinforce his appeal. Kanon kept himself straight, ready, composed. Waiting.
Schneizel straightened, smiling again lazily. "Very well. I should have known you would already have something interesting planned when you came here. You haven't disappointed me yet."
Kanon's lips curved up, and he made a reverent bow, the sort that was no longer appropriate for a man who was no longer royalty. "Do you have a restroom adjoining your office, Your Highness?"
Schneizel's eyebrows lifted, but he simply gestured politely to a small door off to the side. Kanon let himself in and closed the door behind him before he started to strip out of his fine silk. He began to dress again in the clothes that he had brought in his small valet case.
When he was clothed again, he looked at himself in the mirror. The sophisticated, dramatic lines of Zero's costume looked good on him, even the flashy cape; he had the self-confidence, if not the flair, to pull it off. Kanon would wager to say that he looked even more like Zero than Kururugi -- his build was more similar to Lelouch's, whereas the Japanese man was already, after only a year, growing into a slightly broader frame that made these same clothes look subtly different on him.
He rested gloved hands on the sink and closed his eyes, sending a brief prayer to whatever gods were listening that this worked. He couldn't have said himself why it was so important: Kanon was a man given to rationality and planning, and he didn't care for the stray impulses of emotional attachment.
Then he went back out into the stateroom.
Schneizel found him immediately and went still. There was a spark of something in his gaze, intriguing and promising, but he shook his head in the same beat, jaw set. "This isn't going to work, Kanon," he said, certain. "It isn't so easy to fool this geass. You are a man wearing Zero's clothes -- you are not Zero."
Part of Kanon's analytical mind was interested in that: wanted to take it apart, determine what made Kururugi "Zero" and not Kanon, what it would take to become "Zero", what that would mean if he did -- but anything like that would be a shallow victory, now that Lelouch was dead and had long ago won.
"I'm not here to attempt to outsmart your brother's conviction," Kanon said instead, shaking his head. Like Schneizel, he had admired Lelouch's grand checkmate, in an abstract way, far from his personal regret and horror. He drew the mask up over his mouth and nose, the final touch. The helmet had been the only part of the uniform he had not been able to replicate with minimal effort, and he had not wanted to draw attention to his actions, so he would have to do without.
"I am here," he said instead, "to give you the inspiration that you are missing."
He could tell that Schneizel was not pleased, and so he did not waste more time standing around making a fool of himself. It would work, or it would not. Kanon crossed the room, past Schneizel, to seat himself at the desk and cross his legs. The pose, like everything else, was deliberate; even the audacity in taking Schneizel's own chair, the prime minister's chair.
"Kneel," was all he said.
The response was immediate: Schneizel laughed, the sound rich and hearty. "Kanon," he said, fond.
"Humor me, Your Highness," Kanon said, smiling himself beneath the cloth mask. "You know I have no interest in -- taking the whip from your hand."
Which was, perhaps, the one reason that Schneizel might be willing to humor him; he knew, better than any man, that Kanon outright preferred Schneizel's cool, commanding dominance, and would never have sought to humble him for any personal reason. It took another long moment, though, before Schneizel took the step forward and slowly lowered himself to one knee before Kanon. And then without prompting he reached out to bring gentle fingers around the back of Kanon's boot, lifting his outstretched leg delicately and ducking his head to press his lips to the leather.
The air in the room changed so fast, dizzyingly fast; Schneizel's eyes flitted up to Kanon's, and they were darker, heated, and Kanon felt his own breath already threatening to come quicker. He knew that look, knew what it promised.
Oh, my prince.
Kanon murmured, eyes lidding, "Do things look a little different from down there, sire?"
"Jealous, Kanon?" the man asked. His voice was almost husky.
"That you would do this for Zero, but not for me?" he returned, so casually blurring the lines between Schneizel's forced submission to Zero and their bedroom play: Schneizel enjoyed an eager mouth as much as the next man, but he took little pleasure from returning the favor. "I think I am."
His grip tightened on the back of Kanon's calf, no longer quite so passive to the experiment. "You forget your place," Schneizel said, soft. "The one that you choose so eagerly. Or do you like being put back in it that much?"
"Ah, but... I am not the one kneeling, Your Highness."
And it was that easy. Schneizel was on his feet, fist in Kanon's jacket dragging him up out of the chair; he yanked down the mask and his mouth came down on Kanon's hard enough to bruise. Kanon bowed to the harsh kiss without even a token fight, readily giving everything that his lord's lips and tongue and firm hands demanded of him.
Afterward, they both rested against the desk, panting, in such disarray that no one who walked in could dream they had done anything but this. Then Kanon heard the blond man's low laugh again, strained with exhaustion, and Schneizel pushed himself upright, sinking back into his chair and tugging Kanon with him, to sit in his lap. He favored him with another kiss, pleased, and Kanon curved into it gratefully.
"How did you know that something so wild would catch my interest?" Schneizel asked, his lips turned up into a smile.
Kanon rested against him, rallying his breath. Then he said, "It was -- not so difficult to recognize. You were compensating for the geass -- by disallowing something else that caused you to lose control. --I introduced an element of that submission -- without the compulsion to obey." Kanon stroked fingers over his jaw, light. "And that inspired defiance."
Schneizel laughed again, allowing the caress, ignoring it. But his words were approving. "You are certainly... inspirational."
To be recognized so transparently made a thrill of pleasure go through him. Kanon smiled. "Does that mean I am not dismissed, Your Highness?"
The other man leaned back in his chair, hands trailing over Kanon's hips, casually possessive. "In retrospect, it seems like a waste to permit someone else to take such an advisor who has proven so very flexible."
It was hard not to smirk. Schneizel added, more soberly, "Provided, of course, that you would not rather find someone else. Soon I will be neither prince nor prime minister, and you would be better off under the wing of a more powerful man."
"Sire." He certainly already knew, but Kanon was happy to let him hear the answer he wanted. It was not a rational choice, but there was no other option. Kanon smiled for him. "There is no other prince in my eyes."
Warnings for slight creep factor, vague sex.
.defiance to the dead.
It broke him, a little.
Kanon was not the sort of man who put others on pedestals: he was rational, reasonable, observant. He watched and judged, and let other men pretend to be things that they weren't. He wasn't going to pretend to be adoring for someone who hadn't earned his admiration, the same way that he wasn't going to pretend that he was like other men -- normal.
But Schneizel had earned it: his admiration, as well as his loyalty. Kanon had longed to see the future that he had envisioned, and he had been honored to be a part of building it, and he had been humbled that Schneizel had accepted him without reservation, even when everyone else sneered at him for his preferences and assumed he had nothing to offer beyond novelty. Schneizel, like him, was a man without a soul, and a man who had much to offer the world, and who could use a man like Kanon by his side.
Things were different now. The world looked at Schneizel and they saw that he had not changed, but Kanon knew better. He could never forget what he had seen. He had been broken, a little, by that sight, so much more than by the arm over his throat, the gun poised at his temple.
He waited eight months, gathering his pieces, and he heard nothing from his prince. Then he decided to pay Schneizel a visit.
He wore his best clothes, the kind of silken but androgynous garb that he liked to wear to feel ready for anything: when he didn't want to dress like a man, or a woman; when he wanted to be a cipher, enigmatic and not easily read. He chose his colors carefully: lavender, violet.
Battle colors, for this meeting, for his purpose.
The palace no longer held princes and princesses, pampered royalty and leeching nobles, the sins of old Pendragon left behind by Lelouch's decree banishing them and Schneizel's bomb erasing them. The new palace, a place of politics rather than an aristocracy that no longer existed, was filled with men in suits talking about budgets and legislation in low voices. They glanced fleetingly at Kanon as he passed, but no one questioned his presence in their elegant halls.
He was inspected before he entered the Prime Minister's chambers, and then waved in. No formalities; they served an elected official, not a sovereign.
"Kanon," said Schneizel, as if surprised to see him, and then surprise eased out into a smile, casual and lazy and with his eyes hooded; it looked so perfect that Kanon thought perhaps he had imagined the grim tableau of his memory, his commanding prince expressionlessly murdering his own supporters to protect the slight figure of the Black Demon King. "It's been some time."
"Yes, Your Highness." Kanon drew up from his bow, hands tangling together behind his back. "My apologies if you didn't intend for that."
"I have no expectations of you." The words were apathetic, but Kanon knew better than to think that Schneizel meant them that way. The Second Prince was not a man who assumed that he knew the future: he planned for everything, assumed nothing, especially for those who he trusted and held in high esteem.
"I'm pleased to see you in good health," Kanon said diplomatically. "You've looked well on the news, but the news doesn't show everything."
Schneizel smiled, gracious. "Of course. I'm not a man of fragile constitution. I haven't been sick in decades."
Kanon nodded his head in acknowledgment, and added, "I thought some subtle health issue might be a factor in why you've chosen not to run for re-election next year."
With the mostly-welcome loss of the aristocracy and the entirely-welcome loss of a man many called the cruelest dictator in history, the country had lost a great deal of its centuries-old political structure. But Schneizel, resuming his role as prime minister under Charles since no elections had been held since then, had stepped in and rallied the remnants of the elected Senate to draft a new constitution for Britannia, one that operated on democratic principles, a bicameral legislature, and was a solid foundation for a new Britannia, one that would be fair, representative of the people, and never again hold the potential to house a monster like Lelouch.
The people loved him. No one could possibly have run against him. He would have won any race for the PM's seat like a tidal surge, without lifting a finger.
But he would not be running again.
"Everyone loves a hero, of course," Schneizel said idly. "But what they need is progress. The legacy of old Britannia, its princes and princesses, is not necessary in the new Britannia. Cornelia is just an officer now; Nunnally is just an ambassador; but I cannot be just a prime minister. I think stepping down and choosing someone to endorse -- cut from the correct cloth, of course -- would be the best thing for this country."
Kanon murmured, "Is that what Zero thinks?" but he didn't know if Schneizel heard him, because he did not answer.
Kanon's gaze lingered on his back. His shoulders were so broad, so unyielding, strong -- even now, when he had been reduced to practically a servant for his little sister's bodyguard.
The blond man turned around, and considered Kanon, expression clear and confident. He observed, "Your hair is longer."
"Yes, Your Highness," he said softly. "I'm growing it out again."
It seemed to interest him. Schneizel crossed the room and reached out, touched the pale brown strands with gloved fingers, and Kanon felt his heart leap into his throat.
His Highness is a physical creature, Kanon reminded himself. He touches his brothers and sisters this way. It doesn't mean anything.
"I'm glad," Schneizel murmured. "I always regretted that you cut it on joining the military."
Kanon let out a hushed breath. "Discretion is the better part of valor. You never seemed to dislike it enough to consider it a downside of discretion."
He knew that he had been right to be reserved when Schneizel's touch stilled, and then drew back. The tall prince walked away, saying idly, "It isn't something that exactly merits my intercession."
Not exposing his weakness; distancing himself. Kanon had seen the play before, and he knew how to sidestep it. He forced his slim shoulders straighter.
"Your Highness," he said clearly, "are you telling me that you have no further need of me?"
The direct inquiry cut through the layers of smooth politics and edged suggestions. It appealed to Schneizel's pragmatic nature. That would award him answers where any more cunning approach, subtle and devious, would only be met with more playing.
It made Schneizel smile, at least. "...yes, Kanon. You have served me very well, in every aspect of our relationship. But that time has passed."
"I see." The words were so final. Kanon couldn't doubt them. He said, calm, "Have you found someone else, or have you lost interest in me?"
Schneizel looked at him, not surprised, but perhaps puzzled by his pursuit of the topic. "There's no one," he said. "But you should consider yourself free to pursue others."
"When you say that there's no one," Kanon continued, ignoring him. "Do you mean that you have no other lover, or that you have had no other lover?"
There was less amusement in Schneizel's refined features now. He said, evenly, "Kanon," and it was a warning.
And a confirmation. Schneizel had no interest in being with anyone -- it was not Kanon, but sex itself that had lost its appeal. A creature of control and naturally compelling, for Schneizel to have lost that control over his actions, even only when it came to Zero's commands, meant that he now subconsciously felt the need to excise his other perceived weaknesses.
Sex was the weakness of all men and women of power.
Kanon was excited, in spite of himself. It was dreadful, perhaps even tragic, for his lord to have sacrificed all physical pleasure to compensate for the geass that enslaved him, distancing himself from the one who had once given him everything he asked for. But Kanon had considered this possibility, and he had thought of an idea.
"I understand, sire, but I must question your decision. Are you set on this, or may I attempt to re-engage your attention?"
Finally, Schneizel glanced at him, the pale blue-violet of his eyes considering. He was curious, obviously. He had always been willing to be wrong, willing to try again. And if there was one thing Schneizel had ever cared about, it was his control of himself.
Kanon smiled for him, simple, the same smile he had always used on the rare occasions when his prince had required a second head to find a solution to his problems. "I suspected that even you would be unable to see the situation without bias in this circumstance."
But I can.
Long, measured beats passed in the stateroom, and Kanon knew that he was being evaluated from head to toe. Every factor of his presence contributed to Schneizel's decision -- his hair, his expression, his attire -- for Schneizel knew that it spoke to some extent of his intentions, and for that reason it had all been calculated to reinforce his appeal. Kanon kept himself straight, ready, composed. Waiting.
Schneizel straightened, smiling again lazily. "Very well. I should have known you would already have something interesting planned when you came here. You haven't disappointed me yet."
Kanon's lips curved up, and he made a reverent bow, the sort that was no longer appropriate for a man who was no longer royalty. "Do you have a restroom adjoining your office, Your Highness?"
Schneizel's eyebrows lifted, but he simply gestured politely to a small door off to the side. Kanon let himself in and closed the door behind him before he started to strip out of his fine silk. He began to dress again in the clothes that he had brought in his small valet case.
When he was clothed again, he looked at himself in the mirror. The sophisticated, dramatic lines of Zero's costume looked good on him, even the flashy cape; he had the self-confidence, if not the flair, to pull it off. Kanon would wager to say that he looked even more like Zero than Kururugi -- his build was more similar to Lelouch's, whereas the Japanese man was already, after only a year, growing into a slightly broader frame that made these same clothes look subtly different on him.
He rested gloved hands on the sink and closed his eyes, sending a brief prayer to whatever gods were listening that this worked. He couldn't have said himself why it was so important: Kanon was a man given to rationality and planning, and he didn't care for the stray impulses of emotional attachment.
Then he went back out into the stateroom.
Schneizel found him immediately and went still. There was a spark of something in his gaze, intriguing and promising, but he shook his head in the same beat, jaw set. "This isn't going to work, Kanon," he said, certain. "It isn't so easy to fool this geass. You are a man wearing Zero's clothes -- you are not Zero."
Part of Kanon's analytical mind was interested in that: wanted to take it apart, determine what made Kururugi "Zero" and not Kanon, what it would take to become "Zero", what that would mean if he did -- but anything like that would be a shallow victory, now that Lelouch was dead and had long ago won.
"I'm not here to attempt to outsmart your brother's conviction," Kanon said instead, shaking his head. Like Schneizel, he had admired Lelouch's grand checkmate, in an abstract way, far from his personal regret and horror. He drew the mask up over his mouth and nose, the final touch. The helmet had been the only part of the uniform he had not been able to replicate with minimal effort, and he had not wanted to draw attention to his actions, so he would have to do without.
"I am here," he said instead, "to give you the inspiration that you are missing."
He could tell that Schneizel was not pleased, and so he did not waste more time standing around making a fool of himself. It would work, or it would not. Kanon crossed the room, past Schneizel, to seat himself at the desk and cross his legs. The pose, like everything else, was deliberate; even the audacity in taking Schneizel's own chair, the prime minister's chair.
"Kneel," was all he said.
The response was immediate: Schneizel laughed, the sound rich and hearty. "Kanon," he said, fond.
"Humor me, Your Highness," Kanon said, smiling himself beneath the cloth mask. "You know I have no interest in -- taking the whip from your hand."
Which was, perhaps, the one reason that Schneizel might be willing to humor him; he knew, better than any man, that Kanon outright preferred Schneizel's cool, commanding dominance, and would never have sought to humble him for any personal reason. It took another long moment, though, before Schneizel took the step forward and slowly lowered himself to one knee before Kanon. And then without prompting he reached out to bring gentle fingers around the back of Kanon's boot, lifting his outstretched leg delicately and ducking his head to press his lips to the leather.
The air in the room changed so fast, dizzyingly fast; Schneizel's eyes flitted up to Kanon's, and they were darker, heated, and Kanon felt his own breath already threatening to come quicker. He knew that look, knew what it promised.
Oh, my prince.
Kanon murmured, eyes lidding, "Do things look a little different from down there, sire?"
"Jealous, Kanon?" the man asked. His voice was almost husky.
"That you would do this for Zero, but not for me?" he returned, so casually blurring the lines between Schneizel's forced submission to Zero and their bedroom play: Schneizel enjoyed an eager mouth as much as the next man, but he took little pleasure from returning the favor. "I think I am."
His grip tightened on the back of Kanon's calf, no longer quite so passive to the experiment. "You forget your place," Schneizel said, soft. "The one that you choose so eagerly. Or do you like being put back in it that much?"
"Ah, but... I am not the one kneeling, Your Highness."
And it was that easy. Schneizel was on his feet, fist in Kanon's jacket dragging him up out of the chair; he yanked down the mask and his mouth came down on Kanon's hard enough to bruise. Kanon bowed to the harsh kiss without even a token fight, readily giving everything that his lord's lips and tongue and firm hands demanded of him.
Afterward, they both rested against the desk, panting, in such disarray that no one who walked in could dream they had done anything but this. Then Kanon heard the blond man's low laugh again, strained with exhaustion, and Schneizel pushed himself upright, sinking back into his chair and tugging Kanon with him, to sit in his lap. He favored him with another kiss, pleased, and Kanon curved into it gratefully.
"How did you know that something so wild would catch my interest?" Schneizel asked, his lips turned up into a smile.
Kanon rested against him, rallying his breath. Then he said, "It was -- not so difficult to recognize. You were compensating for the geass -- by disallowing something else that caused you to lose control. --I introduced an element of that submission -- without the compulsion to obey." Kanon stroked fingers over his jaw, light. "And that inspired defiance."
Schneizel laughed again, allowing the caress, ignoring it. But his words were approving. "You are certainly... inspirational."
To be recognized so transparently made a thrill of pleasure go through him. Kanon smiled. "Does that mean I am not dismissed, Your Highness?"
The other man leaned back in his chair, hands trailing over Kanon's hips, casually possessive. "In retrospect, it seems like a waste to permit someone else to take such an advisor who has proven so very flexible."
It was hard not to smirk. Schneizel added, more soberly, "Provided, of course, that you would not rather find someone else. Soon I will be neither prince nor prime minister, and you would be better off under the wing of a more powerful man."
"Sire." He certainly already knew, but Kanon was happy to let him hear the answer he wanted. It was not a rational choice, but there was no other option. Kanon smiled for him. "There is no other prince in my eyes."