Suzaku's fingers twitched where they were still trying delicately to separate bloody cloth from mangled skin, and he instantly felt another pang of guilt, even distracted as he was. Somehow he knew Lelouch was telling the truth, finally. Of course, Lelouch was a consummate actor and Suzaku might just be being gullible again, but all he could ever do was rely on his instincts, and right now they were telling him Lelouch was being honest.
Even laying aside his actual words, the fact that he was complying with Suzaku's request was enough to give him pause. It should be enough to question Lelouch's motivations as well, but Suzaku didn't think that far, not beyond the realization that Lelouch must want this to work as much as he did.
The knowledge was still uncomfortable, almost as uncomfortable as Lelouch speaking so plainly. These were things he'd never really wanted to hear, even as some part of him had always secretly hoped Lelouch would (want to earn his trust) understand what he was doing and not become consumed by it. In some ways, the fact that Lelouch hadn't been consumed by it made everything more difficult, but Suzaku had already wrestled with the knowledge that it was too easy to hate. The only thing left to come to terms with was the fact that he couldn't hate.
Yet he wasn't quite ready. He still felt ill with shock and misdirected anger, rage at himself tangled up with a deeper refusal to comprehend Lelouch's humanity. It was hard to hate something so human. And after all the mistakes Suzaku had made, he couldn't manage to accept that he'd made one so grave. He'd hate himself for the weakness, later.
The shirt finally worked free from Lelouch's wounds, Suzaku began to slide it down his arms, though of course Lelouch was capable of doing that part himself. Even shaking with helpless anger as he was, he felt some form of relief. He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? He'd wanted to know what Lelouch really thought, how he felt, and he'd been given more of an answer than he'd ever expected. A better answer than he'd expected, for all that the shock was painful. He suddenly realized that Lelouch hadn't actually explained why he needed to act like he enjoyed it, but at the moment the knowledge that it was an act was enough. That, and the knowledge that he wasn't going to act when it was just Suzaku. The relief hurt almost more than the guilt.
Suzaku took a shaky breath to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he whispered upon its release, voice nearly cracking and hands tightening for a second around Lelouch's arms. He couldn't bring himself to say for what, and maybe he didn't know himself. He had to trust that Lelouch would understand what he was really saying.
Swallowing and looking up again, he tried to bring himself under sufficient control to examine the cuts. They were unmistakably caused by talons trying to get a firm grip on Lelouch's shoulders, which meant they were in a rather tricky place to bandage. And they would definitely have to be bandaged, because that thing had been huge and he was surprised Lelouch was still conscious. "They look pretty deep," he said needlessly, voice more normal now. "I wish we had some water, but I can try to bind them up, at least." He started using the torn remains of the discarded shirt to carefully wipe the blood away from the edges of the cuts.
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Even laying aside his actual words, the fact that he was complying with Suzaku's request was enough to give him pause. It should be enough to question Lelouch's motivations as well, but Suzaku didn't think that far, not beyond the realization that Lelouch must want this to work as much as he did.
The knowledge was still uncomfortable, almost as uncomfortable as Lelouch speaking so plainly. These were things he'd never really wanted to hear, even as some part of him had always secretly hoped Lelouch would (want to earn his trust) understand what he was doing and not become consumed by it. In some ways, the fact that Lelouch hadn't been consumed by it made everything more difficult, but Suzaku had already wrestled with the knowledge that it was too easy to hate. The only thing left to come to terms with was the fact that he couldn't hate.
Yet he wasn't quite ready. He still felt ill with shock and misdirected anger, rage at himself tangled up with a deeper refusal to comprehend Lelouch's humanity. It was hard to hate something so human. And after all the mistakes Suzaku had made, he couldn't manage to accept that he'd made one so grave. He'd hate himself for the weakness, later.
The shirt finally worked free from Lelouch's wounds, Suzaku began to slide it down his arms, though of course Lelouch was capable of doing that part himself. Even shaking with helpless anger as he was, he felt some form of relief. He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? He'd wanted to know what Lelouch really thought, how he felt, and he'd been given more of an answer than he'd ever expected. A better answer than he'd expected, for all that the shock was painful. He suddenly realized that Lelouch hadn't actually explained why he needed to act like he enjoyed it, but at the moment the knowledge that it was an act was enough. That, and the knowledge that he wasn't going to act when it was just Suzaku. The relief hurt almost more than the guilt.
Suzaku took a shaky breath to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he whispered upon its release, voice nearly cracking and hands tightening for a second around Lelouch's arms. He couldn't bring himself to say for what, and maybe he didn't know himself. He had to trust that Lelouch would understand what he was really saying.
Swallowing and looking up again, he tried to bring himself under sufficient control to examine the cuts. They were unmistakably caused by talons trying to get a firm grip on Lelouch's shoulders, which meant they were in a rather tricky place to bandage. And they would definitely have to be bandaged, because that thing had been huge and he was surprised Lelouch was still conscious. "They look pretty deep," he said needlessly, voice more normal now. "I wish we had some water, but I can try to bind them up, at least." He started using the torn remains of the discarded shirt to carefully wipe the blood away from the edges of the cuts.