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Closer	By : alphabravo Category: +M to R > Ouran High Host Club Views: 5018 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High Host Club, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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your skin speaks soft

even if your lips can't say it

right now we could take a chance

�� - Nine Inch Nails, Deep

The sun through the massive windows of Kyouya�s living room
beats down on the back of his neck, and the skin there feels tender � the sweltered,
inelastic feeling that marks the beginning of sunburn. The day is the hottest
yet in a summer of very hot days, thinks Tamaki idly.

He�s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, legs spread
into a wide V, trousers unbuttoned. His breath comes in shallow pants.

I got myself off, and Kyouya watched, he thinks
tentatively, testing the thought. It�s not as unsettling as it should be. He
glances up to the stairs, where Kyouya disappeared, and levers himself off the
ground to follow.

His first stop is the bathroom at the top of the stairs.
Kyouya isn�t there, but his hands are sticky still, and he washes them
carefully. Kyouya�s soap smells oddly like jasmine. The scent seems out of
character with his usually practical nature.

Tamaki evaluates the person in the mirror dispassionately,
as though his reflection were a stranger: flushed cheeks, sloppy clothes half
buttoned, terribly bright eyes. A stain runs across his trousers, accidental
spray that could not be mistaken for anything except what it is. Tamaki
considers trying to clean them with a washcloth, but decides against it. He�s
still curious about where Kyouya�s gone, and if he dawdles any longer it will
seem like he�s being shy.

Kyouya, it turns out, is in the bedroom laid back on the
bed, pants open and staring at the ceiling. Seeing him like this sucks the
space out of the room, shrinks it to the flex of his toes, the curl of his
hands -- casual in the most studied way Tamaki has ever seen. There is a lovely
symmetry to the idea that Tamaki could watch now, stand in the doorway and not
make noise. He could force Kyouya to open up and achieve the same sort of
vulnerability that he had shown earlier: performance without reciprocation.

The thought doesn�t last, though; Kyouya is too beautiful not
to touch. Tamaki makes his steps deliberately heavy as he enters the room,
giving warning. Kyouya leans up on his elbows: long body, bare chest, open fly
showcasing hard, blush-red prick. The flush in his cheeks runs down his neck
and chest, past his nipples.

�I wondered when you�d catch up,� Kyouya says. Tamaki isn�t
sure that they�re talking about his sidetrip to the bathroom. He remembers with
perfect clarity the moment of revelation: a few weeks ago when he�d watched the
flare of Kyouya�s nostrils and realized with the force of epiphany that Kyouya
desired him.

�I�m sorry,� he says, leaning against the doorpost, �I
didn�t mean to keep you waiting.� His words are soft, and Kyouya can take from
them what meaning he will. Tamaki was surer of himself downstairs. There, he�d
been the brazen one. There�s a gulf of difference between showy words of love
for a customer and peeling himself back enough to allow Kyouya to see him in
orgasm, but both are essentially displays, and Tamaki has always been a performer.
Here he is an audience, and this is strange and unknown territory.

Kyouya watches him for a moment, slouched there against the
doorpost -- Kyouya has always been an audience, especially for Tamaki -- and
seems to come to some decision. He sits up, and strips his pants down his legs,
tugging them carefully over the bridges of his feet, and Christ, he�s naked.
Tamaki isn�t sure what Kyouya wants yet, what he�ll allow, but fuck. Naked. Naked
naked naked, says Tamaki�s brain helpfully. Naked means Kyouya is okay with
at least some of this, and Tamaki can work with that kind of consent. Kyouya
leans back against the headboard, relaxed, and lets Tamaki look for a while.

After a few minutes of studying Kyouya in silence -- coarse
hairs over his calves fading to thin and fine on his thighs, soft indentations
on either side of his nose where his glasses usually sat -- Tamaki crosses the
room to sit on the edge of the bed. Proximity makes it starkly obvious how
completely their positions from earlier have reversed. Now it is Kyouya who
lies unclothed, brash and vulnerable, and Tamaki who watches quietly, fully
clothed, waiting to be led.

�Come here,� say Kyouya, even though Tamaki is already
seated on the bed. Kyouya bends mostly with his stomach and pushes Tamaki�s
t-shirt up and over his head. Before the fabric covers his eyes, Tamaki can see
the tiny wrinkles of skin that the contraction of muscle causes over Kyouya�s
belly, and thinks about how thin Kyouya really is. It�s not apparent when he�s
fully dressed, but laid out this way, Tamaki wonders if perhaps his body
doesn�t sometimes pay a price for his mind.

The shirt gets tangled for a moment under Kyouya�s hands,
and Tamaki�s still sorting out the proper holes for head and arms when Kyouya
licks him, just below his armpit. He flinches. The contact is unexpected, but
not unwelcome.

�Pants. Come on,� Kyouya says as soon as he manages to get
the shirt off. He�s urgent, desperate, far more so than Tamaki, who already
came once downstairs. Kyouya�s fingers pull down ineffectively on his belt loops.
Tamaki lifts his hips and shimmies a little to help, then reaches down to strip
the pants off his legs. Kyouya takes advantage of his need to deal with clothes
again to bite lightly at Tamaki�s stomach, a bit above the belly button and to
the left. Then -- suddenly, thinks Tamaki -- they�re both naked.

As soon as the pants are gone -- flung in an unseen heap off
the bed to pool where they will � Kyouya has a hand on either of his shoulders,
pulling him further onto the bed, fingers bruise-tight and almost shaking him.

�Have you done this before?� says Kyouya, and oh.
That tone of voice is something they should discuss later. Jealousy? Anger?
Bitterness? All of the above? Kyouya has always liked owning things, thinks
Tamaki. �I need to know now,� Kyouya says. �Have you done this?�

Tamaki isn�t sure of the right answer here. He settles for
making an ambiguous sound in his throat, so that Kyouya can interpret it as yes
or no, whichever is best for him. Kyouya frowns, a brief flash of expression,
there and then gone again. He�s wondering who with, Tamaki realizes, but
doesn�t have a chance to think that hard about it.

Kyouya shoves him over onto his stomach, and it surprises
Tamaki. He never expected romance between them -- regardless of his gallant act
at the Host Club, he and Kyouya have never been like that, but Kyouya is matter
of fact in a way that Tamaki did not expect. For a moment he�s simply lying
there on his stomach, and he hears a rustle from the direction of the bedside
table. Then Kyouya is back, long body stretched out warm above his, chest still
just barely damp from swimming. Kyouya�s nose brushes the fine hairs on the
back of his neck, and Tamaki shivers from the unexpected intimacy of it.

Kyouya runs a hand down his side, starting over his ribs and
ending on the outside of his leg below the hip, and nuzzles again at the back
of Tamaki�s neck. He can feel Kyouya�s breath behind his ear.

�Breath in for me,� Kyouya says. Tamaki obeys, and feels the
hand on his leg cup over his ass, fitting neatly against the lower curve of his
buttocks.

�And out.� He still obeys. Kyouya�s voice is lulling, gone
deep and rocky: fast streams over hard stones. When he exhales, the hand moves
between his legs, fits against his crack. Cool, slick fingers circle his hole
once, no pressure, not yet, just touch. Tamaki takes a few gasping breaths and
Kyouya presses an open mouthed kiss into the hollow of his shoulder. It�s oddly
reassuring, and it makes his whole body feel desperately sensitive, attuned to
the slightest touch.

�In,� Kyouya says, barely more than a breath just behind his
ear, and when Tamaki does, Kyouya presses a finger in: no hesitation, just one
deep stroke. Tamaki�s body seizes up involuntarily, but Kyouya�s voice is there
to lull him. The finger presses around inside him, and he feels peculiar,
inverted.

One finger, then two, more width before he�s really used to
the feel of the first one, but his body grows accustomed in a few strokes. He
presses his hips into the mattress when Kyouya twists and scissors his fingers,
caught up between the unfamiliar sensations and the rub of his sensitized cock
against the sheets. It�s certainly not gentle, but it�s not really rough
either, just confident, as though Tamaki will know what�s going on and Kyouya
trusts him to get with the program. Tamaki isn�t used to having someone touch
him with such intimate familiarity.

�Okay,� Kyouya says, and settles back to sit between
Tamaki�s legs. For a moment, Tamaki misses the warmth along his back and side,
but then there�s the rip of a condom, hands in the sheets on either side of his
head, and deep deep, almost unbearable pressure.

Tamaki makes a twisted, confused sound, not really sure how
his body is supposed to respond. Kyouya presses his chest to Tamaki�s back and
licks at the nape of his neck, tasting the sweat there. Tamaki shifts his hips
minutely, trying to get used to all the new sensations.

Kyouya says, �Here give me --" and knees Tamaki�s legs
a little further apart. There�s a hand in the small of his back, just enough
pressure to cant his hips and make the angle a little easier. Tamaki can feel
his body adjusting, becoming accustomed to the subtle, maddening friction of
push-pull inside him. Kyouya�s hips are steady -- rhythmic flex of spine -- and
he pulls Tamaki to his knees, slides his hands over Tamaki�s, then braces them
both against the headboard for better leverage.

The change in angle changes the way the thrusts feel, and the
fourth time Kyouya presses him against the headboard, he gets it. He
hasn�t been hard before this -- too tired from having come before, too unsure
about the newness of it all to really enjoy, but this has his dick
twitching, swelling helplessly. It rips a surprised moan out of him, and when
Kyouya does it again he can�t help it. He cries out louder --half yell, half
scream -- balanced on the edge between shocked and pleased and anguished (nervous
system overload, oh god), dick half hard, helpless.

When he hears it, Kyouya�s whole body freezes behind him,
and Tamaki can�t decide if he dislikes it because he wants Kyouya to keep
going, wants to maybe feel that again, or if he�s relieved because it gives him
a chance to catalogue his reactions, lets his brain catch up to the overload in
his spine. He�s almost comfortable with it, almost decided that yes, he definitely
wants more of whatever that was, when Kyouya withdraws from him completely.
He�s not touching Tamaki at all, and Tamaki wonders what he�s done wrong.

�You haven�t really done this before, have you?� Kyouya
says. Tamaki doesn�t know why that�s suddenly important. But Kyouya�s hand is
back on him, stroking down his back, shockingly gentle compared to before.

Tamaki takes his hands off the headboard and turns around,
nervous, inadequate. �Kyouya --" he begins, but sees something click in
Kyouya�s eyes. Kyouya realizes what Tamaki must be thinking, feeling, and pulls
him closer. He cups a hand over Tamaki�s mostly hard cock and strokes him
softly.

�No, don�t worry about it,� Kyouya says. �It�s not a big
deal. I�d have gone slower if I�d known, though.� His voice is gentle, as
though Tamaki is a kitten he�s trying to coax closer. Tamaki doesn�t know
whether to be insulted or grateful. He settles for reciprocation, his hand on
Kyouya�s cock, and he�s surprised how different it feels from his own, and how
slippery from the lube.

�You never came,� Tamaki says. Kyouya�s been hard since he
watched Tamaki downstairs.

�No, it�s --� Kyouya says, then sighs. �Here. Were you okay with
before, once I found your sweet spot?�

Tamaki nods. It�s a little too embarrassing to admit out
loud that Kyouya had lit up his nerves like nothing he�d ever felt before.
Kyouya doesn�t seem to need words to understand though. �Okay. Here, let�s try it
this way.�

He props Tamaki up against the headboard, a pillow behind
his back for cushion. Kyouya crowds into Tamaki�s body, pushes him into a
slouch so that Tamaki�s legs wrap around his waist and his hips press against
Kyouya�s. He can feel Kyouya�s cock (hard, hot, god so hot) against his
balls, and Kyouya can�t keep from twitching his hips, rubbing a little when he
leans over Tamaki to press their cheeks together and whisper in his ear.

�I�m sorry I was rough with you earlier.� Kyouya nuzzles
down into his neck, and it feels good, but it�s not really what Tamaki wants.
He can feel himself getting harder just thinking about that sensation from
before, and he wants it again, greedy.

Tamaki starts, �I --." He�s not sure how to say this
without sounding like a total moron, so he settles for spitting it out as
quickly as he can. �Iwantyoubackinsideme.� He punctuates this statement with an
encouraging little rock of his hips, in case Kyouya couldn�t understand what
he�d said. Kyouya pulls back to stare down at him, braced on strong arms,
startled and so completely turned on it�s a wonder he hasn�t come yet.

�Yeah,� Kyouya says. �Yeah, okay.� He rolls on another
condom and reaches for the lube to slick himself again. Tamaki can see the
process this time, and is fascinated. Kyouya wipes his hand on the sheets, and
Tamaki takes it for a sign of how turned on he is. Kyouya has always been
meticulous.

Kyouya reaches for his hips and tilts him a little further
back against the headboard, then presses inside, slow glide this time, less
forceful. Tamaki watches his face, watches Kyouya (tight, cool, uplaced
Kyouya) struggle for control. The feeling of penetration is better this
time, not nearly as unfamiliar. His brain knows how to react to it and relaxes
his body, so it only takes him a little by surprise when Kyouya finds the right
angle again after just a few thrusts.

He can see why people do this willingly now. It�s good,
watching Kyouya above him: the sweat on his face and chest, the blown-out
intensity of his eyes, the soft wonder when he looks down their bodies. Then
Kyouya leans back a little more. It puts more weight behind his hips, and oh,
if that doesn�t make that stroke feel good. Kyouya�s face is fond and
open, and he slides his hands to the headboard on either side of Tamaki�s head.

�Touch yourself,� Kyouya whispers, rubbing his nose murmur-soft
against Tamaki�s. �You were so hot, jerking off for me earlier. Could�ve come
just watching you. I promise it�ll feel amazing when you put your hand on your
cock like this, just touch yourself for me.� Tamaki�s not going to resist a
command like that, so he reaches down and wraps his hand around his own cock.
He�s still got a little lube on his hands from earlier, so the strokes are
easy, and that�s it, that�s it exactly. It�s almost too much; Kyouya�s
dick pressing up against the good spot inside him, his stomach rubbing against
Tamaki�s balls with every thrust, and now a hand around his dick in pulse with
it all.

Kyouya�s saying something, but the words don�t really
register, just the sounds: low and thick and raspy. Tamaki�s eyes lose focus
and he lets himself drift with it, lets his body take over and work itself
deeper into Kyouya�s rhythm, head gone to white noise. He knows what he looks
like, spread out and asking for it. Kyouya takes the invitation, increases the
power behind his hips to just this side of rough. Tamaki�s panting -- short,
sharp breaths that let Kyouya�s thrusts press the air out of his lungs.

Kyouya shifts his weight briefly, just enough to lift one
hand and rub his thumb over the head of Tamaki�s cock. Really, that�s what puts
him over, although the next few pounding thrusts all pile on top and leave him
gasping, blind, shaking himself apart.

He�s already come once, and his body doesn�t quite know what
to do with another orgasm so soon. It�s so sharp it walks the delicate line
between exquisite and pain, but then Kyouya bites down on his collarbone (skin
as pale and thin as Tamaki�s, it�ll mark by morning) and that small real
pain is all it takes to shift the rest of the sensation firmly into exquisite.

Tamaki doesn�t quite pass out, but he�s not precisely all
there for the next few minutes. In his next moment of definite awareness,
Kyouya is slumped on top of him, breathing like a sprinter, boneless and
satiated. Tamaki brushes the hair back from where it hangs in Kyouya�s face,
needing to touch. The finer strands stick to the mist of sweat at Kyouya�s
temples.

Kyouya turns his cheek into the gesture, affectionate for a
moment, then levers himself up and sinks back onto his knees. Tamaki shifts
down the bed -- away from the headboard -- to lay out flat. He feels
desperately exposed. They�ve just finished fucking each other; afterwards is an
odd time to get modest, but the feeling passes quickly. Kyouya hauls himself up
from the bed with a visible effort and wrinkles his nose at the sight of
clothing thrown haphazard across the room. He disappears through the door and
Tamaki hears running water in the sink. A shower might be appropriate, but that
would require movement, and Tamaki is pretty sure he couldn�t move if the house
was on fire.

Kyouya comes back with a washcloth and settles onto the bed
again. He�s clearly already neatened himself up, and now he reaches over to
clean Tamaki gently. The washcloth strokes across his forehead, his chest, then
with very soft touches, his dick and his balls. Kyouya touches his shoulder to
turn him onto his stomach, then wipes away the strange, slippery sensation of
lube from his crack. It�s nice. Tamaki feels like a cat, stretched out and
being groomed.

The washcloth gets flung on the table by the bed. Kyouya
lies down close and on his side, head propped up on one elbow to study Tamaki.
Now that the sex is over, he seems content to touch. Tamaki lets his eyes drift
closed as Kyouya touches his spine, his shoulders. He feathers his fingers
curiously through the fine, pale, damp hair beneath one arm.

Eventually Kyouya�s exploring hand slips further down,
circling his hole and rubbing lightly. Tamaki couldn�t get it up again if he
tried, but the touches are oddly non-sexual, more comforting than arousing.
He�s pretty sure Kyouya knows that and isn�t trying for another round. He�s
just exploring, insatiably curious. Tamaki is completely relaxed when Kyouya
slips a finger back inside of him, still stroking gently. He�s still slippery
inside with lube, so there�s no real friction.

�Is this too much?� Kyouya asks.� He doesn�t slow his hand�s
gentle in-out movement; the question is more a courtesy than a real inquiry.

�Nah,� Tamaki murmurs. �Feels good.�

He�s halfway to sleep when Kyouya speaks again. �You�re a
little swollen here. I shouldn�t have been so rough.�

� �S fine,� Tamaki says, and moving his mouth feels like a
colossal effort. �It�s not like I was complaining.�

�Still,� Kyouya says. He adds another finger, a little more
width, but it�s still the same gentle exploration, still comforting. �Can�t
believe this was your first time. The way you touched yourself for me
downstairs, I thought --" He trails off; there�s no good way to end that
sentence.

�You�ve done that before, though,� Tamaki says. It�s a
statement, idly curious. He�s too content to be jealous. There�s nothing he can
do about it, anyway, and he�s pretty sure he�s got Kyouya�s exclusive attention
if he wants it.

�Yeah. A while ago.� For Kyouya, who is the king of
scrupulous detail, it�s a notably vague answer. A sore spot. Tamaki can�t
resist poking it a little.

�Tell me?� His tone is gentle enough that Kyouya can refuse
if he wishes.

�It was no big deal. He was older, in college. I met him at
a society party, we were both bored. He taught me a lot, then his parents
arranged a marriage for him, so we stopped.� Tamaki murmurs a noise of
acknowledgement. Kyouya twists his fingers a little for variety. �You still
okay with this?� he asks, and Tamaki thinks that he must mean the fingering,
but maybe also just themselves.

Tamaki answers the obvious question. �Yeah. You could do
that for about a week if you wanted to.�

Kyouya laughs softly. �Hedonist.� Tamaki doesn�t deny it.
Kyouya�s hand feels fucking fantastic. He�s got just the tips of his fingers
lightly on Tamaki�s prostate, rubbing circles. They both know it�s not about
getting off; it�s just about pleasure, no aim but the act itself, simple,
uncomplicated.

Kyouya stops for a moment with his fingers buried deep and
shifts his body closer, pressing up against Tamaki�s side. Tamaki can feel his
mouth against his shoulder.

�Hey Tamaki,� Kyouya says. �Next time we do this, can we
switch?�

Next time. As in, the time after this. Tamaki�s mind comes
back online to think about that, and his body tenses up involuntarily. Kyouya
withdraws his hand, somehow understanding that the touch doesn�t feel as good
when he�s not in that drifting mindspace away from all thought.

�Tamaki rolls onto his side to face Kyouya across the
pillow, noses so close. Kyouya�s hand drifts over to cup his hipbone casually.

�Next time,� Tamaki says, testing out the sound of more
times with Kyouya, of doing this often. Something deep flickers in Kyouya�s
eyes at the repetition.

�Or did you have Haruhi in mind for next time?� he asks,
because Kyouya has never pitied those who injure him. Tamaki watches Kyouya
slowly withdrawing, walling himself up behind his intelligence and his
unflappable persona. Tamaki hates it, so he leans in and crosses the last line
left between them, licks teasingly over Kyouya�s mouth.

It�s just a flicker of tongue, almost playful, but Kyouya�s
eyes go wide and he lunges forward, covering Tamaki�s mouth and stealing his
breath away.

�I wasn�t thinking of her,� Tamaki says in answer to the
question once Kyouya is satiated, a little more secure in how things lie
between them. �I was just surprised.� He nuzzles up beneath Kyouya�s chin, all
eager puppyish squirms and puckish kisses. �You�d have to show me what to do,
though.�

Kyouya laughs. �Bet you�re a fast learner.�

�You better hope so, it�s your ass on the line.� Kyouya is
still laughing softly, face smiling and open. Tamaki wants to keep it that way.
�Haruhi --� he says, �You were right about us playing roles. What you said
earlier. I was always the prince with her, things weren�t --" he struggles
to explain properly. �-- weren�t like this between us.�

He indicates the scant space between their bodies. Kyouya is
beautiful, now that he gets to look: pale and broad-shouldered, dick lying quiescent
in the curve of his thigh, still flushed and a little swollen. Tamaki reaches
out to touch him there. Kyouya hisses out a breath, but all Tamaki does is cup
him, fingertips resting with gentle pressure against the base, palm protecting
the over-sensitive head. He knows from experience that it feels good after he
comes. Kyouya relaxes again when he realizes what Tamaki is doing.

�I could never touch her like this,� Tamaki says
thoughtfully.

Kyouya chuffs out a laugh. �Well yeah, she doesn�t have a
dick. It�d be sort of difficult to touch her like this.� Tamaki regards him
balefully.

�You know what I mean.�

�Yeah,� says Kyouya. �I just wanted to make sure.�

�Trying to figure out where to fit me in your plans for
world domination?� Tamaki likes it when things are light and comfortable
between them.

Kyouya is unexpectedly serious. �Yeah. Planning,� he says.

Tamaki turns onto his back and pulls Kyouya across the
sheets so that Kyouya�s mouth rests against the swell of his shoulder. He
ruffles Kyouya�s messy hair. It dried in all directions after he�d gotten
distracted earlier while toweling off. Kyouya closes his eyes and wiggles a
little to settle in.

�Good,� says Tamaki into the chlorine-and-sweat smell of
Kyouya�s hair.

They sleep curled against each other, pressed close in spite
of the heat. Tamaki dreams about waking up, watching Kyouya blink blearily at
him and inform him imperiously that they are sleeping in. Kyouya dreams about
possibilities: the vast vistas of the world that are theirs to conquer in the
morning. Theirs. In their sleep, both are smiling.
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