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Product of Excellent Breeding	By : RowenRaven Category: +M to R > Ouran High Host Club Views: 3466 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High Host Club, not it's characters, I make no money of this nor any story

Chapter List
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Product of Excellent Breeding chap 4

Kyoya can’t figure out why for the life of him, he is out so late in a school night. Oh yeah, his father had sent him out to dinner with one of his colleague’s family to meet their daughter. He couldn’t believe it when his father had told him about it. Kyoya knows what he is trying to do and he isn’t happy about it. He isn’t even entertaining the idea of marriage at this time, if ever, and his father is looking for suitable prospects. He decided to play along tonight, but after dinner he is regretting it profusely. The girl-assisting to St. Lobelias- had clung to him like a leech. Her parents had listed and bragged about every trivial quality or achievement of the girl –that included but weren’t limited to her minor role in the Zuka club, to Kyoya’s horror. It had reminded him of an infomercial, and he could’ve sworn the family son was hitting on him! Dinner dragged on as they never cease to talk and then insisted Kyoya accompanied them to a private concert of a family friend who was a promising raising pianist. The music had been boring and conventional and nowhere near to Tamaki’s skill levels, the event had only serve to remind the third son of how much he likes listening to the blond play the piano, and that if Tamaki never inherited his family company he surely has a bright future as a piano man. That is how he has ended out in the city at 1:30 in the morning.

The limousine cruises through the streets, as it stops at a red light Kyoya notices a scene developing at a street corner. A guy manhandles what is for sure a reluctant prostitute. The brunette frowns; regardless of the woman’s social station the man has no rights to force himself upon her if she is not interested. Then he remembered what Haruhi had told him about her father being harassed by a drunken customer. The girl hadn’t called to accept the offer of an escort, he checks his cellphone, but there are no calls or messages. It’s way too late to ring Haruhi and ask her what her father had said. If Haruhi didn’t call it is obvious Ranka has declined the offer. Maybe the Okama has taken a few nights off to avoid the stalker. But the thought still bugs Kyoya, he absently observes the drama in the sidewalk as the limo starts to move. He smiles, a small group of street workers has crawled out of the woodwork; the tables have turned and the offender is chased away by a pack of fierce ladies of the night. The teen admires their protectiveness of each other, their loyalty. Their example strikes a chord within him and Kyoya directs the driver through the city streets, he is out anyway, it won’t hurt to make sure, he’ll just pass by, just a little detour.

oooOOOooo

The moment he arrived at work Ranka let the manager and bouncers know of the previous night occurrence and all the other okamas are on alert too. The tranny submerged himself in his work and soon the matter was pushed to the back of his mind. Until the manager approaches him before his shift is over to persuade the young okama to go home earlier, a change in his routine hopefully would help him avoid the stalker if he was still on the prowl. Surely the offender wouldn’t be waiting for him two hour prior to the end of his shift. Ranka reluctantly clocks out and leaves through the cargo door that opens to the alley next to the bar. The only thing he notices to be out of place is the slick black limousine parked across the street.

“It looks like we have some high up customers tonight,” he comments to himself, shrugging he walks up to the alley’s exist. He is almost to the sidewalk when he sees a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. His eyes widen in terror, a gasp stuck in his throat as he saw the stalker grabbing for him. The okama is too shock to react, it isn’t until the man takes hold of him that Ranka tries to run. The man has a firm grip on him, the transvestite shrugs of his coat in hopes to escape and leave the man with a handful of clothes, but he only took a few steps before the attacker was upon him again. The man grabs him from behind pinning his arms to his sides, Ranka struggles fiercely, he kicks hitting the man’s shin with his heels. The man curses in pain and anger slamming the redhead against the alley wall, he slaps the struggling would-be-woman hard enough to send him to the floor. Stars explode before his eyes and his ears ring with the force of the blow, and he screws his eyes shot as the man reaches for him.

Kyoya sits in the limo parked in front of okama bar. It’s been about fifteen minutes and he hasn’t seen the okama he is looking for, his fingers drum an anxious rhythm on his thigh. He should be going home, it is way too late and there is school tomorrow, or should he say in a few hours today, but something keeps him here an uneasy feeling and protectiveness he has only associated before with the Host Club members. He should’ve called the okama himself and insist until the harassed man accepted the escort. Kyoya sighs, he might as well go home, Ranka is probably safe and sound in his own home.

“Let’s go,” the teen instructs the driver, the servant had been strongly suggesting it since before they arrived at the bar. As the limousine start to move he glances one last time across the street, when movement in the dark alley beside it drew his attention.

“Damn!” Kyoya curses and throws himself out of the slowly moving vehicle.

“Sir!?” he hears the driver call after him confused and alarmed, the limo’s breaks screeching to a halt. He is lucky there is no traffic at this ungodly hour as he darts across the street. The teen reaches the mouth of the alley to see a man push Ranka to a wall and strike him across the face, the blow throwing the okama to the floor with a pained yelp. Kyoya’s blood boils and without thinking he tackles the assaulter.

The hands reaching for Ranka never made a grasp, he hears some grunting and cursing and the frightened man opens his eyes to see a slight figure barrel against his attacker. As the two figures scuffle he thinks his rescuer looks familiar.

“Get back inside!” Kyoya yells glancing back at the stunned okama. The man takes the opportunity and swings at the teen, knuckles connecting with the cheekbone.

A pair of glasses fly off and land with a clatter next to Ranka. That is when the tranny recognizes his savior, but before he can properly register it; his body is obeying the boy’s order. He doesn’t know how but he clambers to his feet and runs back into the bar.

The man has backed Kyoya against the wall. A vicious punch to the gut leaves him gasping for air. Kyoya has never fought in his life but has a good idea on how to retaliate. He takes a right jab at the man’s jaw, but Kyoya’s frame is slight and he is winded, his hit doesn’t pack enough strength to cause any damage to the older and obviously stronger man. The man sidesteps the left the teen tries to his side and retaliates with a solid hook to the kidneys. The boy’s legs give out under him and a kick to the diaphragm sends him careening back, his head colliding painfully with the wall.

A shout comes from the alley’s entrance, his driver seeming to finally catch up. At the end of the alley a door bangs open, announcing help arriving from within the bar. The stalker seeing himself outnumbered ran, shoving the driver out of the way he escapes out to the street and out of sight.

With the attacker gone Kyoya slumps, slides sideways arms hugging his middle, he gasps trying to regain his breath. The driver is at his side now, getting a hold of his arm he tries to get the boy up off the dirty floor and out of the dark alley. With every desperate tug Kyoya’s chest and lower back explode with pain.

“Fuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth a weak shaking hand tries to wave the fretting man away.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Ranka’s near shriek makes Kyoya’s head pound harder. He tries to focus on the face of the okama kneeling in front of him, but without his glasses it’s just a blur, of peach surrounded by auburn.

“You are welcome,” he wheezes.

“Ranka, how do we handle this?” one of the bouncers asks.

“I will personally take care of the matter,” Kyoya responds for Ranka, steading himself he sits up, suppressing his hard breathing and trying his best not to wince in pain.

“Excuse me kid but this is serious,” says the owner with a heavy frown. “I’ll call the police, Ranka come wait inside, you too kid the police will want your statement. Call your parents while we wait.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kyoya insists climbing to his feet one hand on the wall for support, the other still held over his chest protectively. “I will see to it that that man stays away from your establishment and its personnel.”

“No offence kid, you might have saved Ranka but you got your skinny ass handed to you in the process, what can you do to anyone?” chimes in one tall okama as if stating the obvious. His Osaka accent thick with sarcasm, contradict his action of handing Kyoya his glasses.

The teen accepts his eyewear and slides them in place; one lens is cracked. With his glass shield back in place, he stands straight and dignified. “I am no kid ma’am. I am Kyoya Ootori third son of the Ootori group and as such I can and will destroy that man’s life,” the teen’s face is hard, his eyes cold and his voice drips with venom.

Everyone present feels a chill run up their spines, as the Ootori boy promises hell to anyone who dares cross him.

Kyoya schools his features he sees Ranka’s coat and purse laying on the floor, forgotten during the attack. The bespectacled boy picks them up and frowns at the wet and dirty garments. He shrugs his suit coat off and drapes it over the okama’s shoulders it’s just as dirty but it retains his own body heat and it’s not soaking wet.

“Now I will escort your colleague safely home. I will call you during more suitable business hours to gather any information you may have about the man in question. Goodnight and my apologies for the disturbance,” he said with a curt nod. He places a hand at the small of the older man’s back and herds him across the street to the limo.

“Master Kyoya, that was dangerous, are you hurt? I’ll take you to your father’s hospital,” the driver says as he follows the third son.

“I don’t need a doctor,”

“But sir…”

“I don’t need you to fuss and nag, I need you to drive,” he says sharply. “First I want to take Mr. Fujioka home,” the driver makes a double take at Ranka only now realizing the lady is a transvestite. He manages not to stare too obviously and opens the door for them.

“Rioji!” a deep voice calls behind them, a hand grabs Ranka’s arm and pulls him back and around.

Kyoya reacts quickly to Ranka’s startled gasp, yanking the hand off of the okama. “Don’t touch him!” he growls menacingly only to find himself being grabbed by the front of his shirt and slammed against the side of the vehicle. He groans through his teeth in pain, his hand wraps around the wrist of the man standing over him, his nails digging into the skin.

“Seiichiro, don’t!” Ranka calls urgently, pulling on the raised fist aimed at the teen’s face.

Seii let’s go reluctantly as he find himself with an armful of shaking okama. His arms instantly circle the slighter man protectively all the while eyeing the panting young man warily.

Kyoya can’t help to notice the redhead’s relief sighs at this man’s soothing touch.

“Shh, you are alright, I’m here you are safe,” the lawyer coos gently. “Want to tell me what happened?” he inquires lifting Rankas’s chin to peer at his face.

“That guy from last night, he came back and he tried…” he tries to explain, but gets choked up, he doesn’t want to even think about what the man wanted to try to do to him. He is shaken and scared enough without going into what might have happened.

“Mr. Fujioka was assaulted by the stalker that harassed him last night,” Kyoya supplies. “If you excuse us Mr Fujioka has had a stressful night, and it be best if he goes home and rest,” he adds tersely.

“And who the hell are you?” Seiichiro asks in a barely civil tone.

“He is one of Haruhi’s friends, he helped me, he was about to take me home,” Ranka answers catching up to the mounting tension.

“Well thanks, but I can take it from here; Rioji will be spending the night at mines.”

“I promised his co-workers I’d take him home safely and that is what I intent to do,” Kyoya insists.

“Isn’t it way past your bed time, kiddo. I’ll personally walk him home in the morning,” Seiichiro jabs, the teen’s superior attitude annoying him.

“No offence but I do not know you, and I don’t trust your intentions, I’m not about to leave him alone with you,” the young man counters.

“Nor I with you, what is a boy doing out at this hour in a school night hanging outside an okama bar? Your intentions are just as questionable,” Seii shot back with the logic born from years in court rooms.

“Stop both of you,” Ranka sighs exasperated. “I’m flattered you fighting over lil o’l me, I’m more than enough for the both of you,” he jokes trying to defuse the tension.

He sighs as they continue to glare at each other. “Kyoya, I’d appreciated if you could drop us at Seiichiro’s place, I’d be alright there. I just don’t want Haruhi to see me like this,” the okama pleads making his decision known to the arguing men.

“As you wish,” the brunette boy relents reluctantly; he gestures for them to get into the limo conceding to the tranny’s judgment.

Seiichiro gives his address to the anxious driver, and they pile in to the black limousine.

Kyoya settles gingerly on the back-sit across from Ranka and Seii. He groans one arm hugs his torso, the other hand reaches to feel the growing lump at the back of his head. He closes his eyes and remains unmoving, one arm around his middle the other cushioning his head as he takes small shallow breaths.

“Are you hurt?” Ranka asks growing more concerned when he receives no answer.

“Don’t worry about him, he is just sulking, it’s called teenage angst” the older man says flippantly.

Kyoya gives the man a one eyed glare but decides it’s not worth the effort and shrugs off the comment. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m unhurt only a little sore. I’m not used to being a punching bag’s substitute. But thank you for your concern. How about yourself? He hit you pretty hard,” he diverts politely and inquires about the okama instead.

“What? Let me see,” Seii jumps in to action turning on the overhead dome light. He cups Ranka’s face in one large hand and gingerly prods the darkening bruise left by the harsh slap.

Kyoya smirks having successfully diverted the adult’s attention off himself. “There are hand towels and ice in the mini bar,” he offers as means of a first aids kit. He keeps his eyes closed, the sight of the two men’s –after all a cross-dresser is still a man- affections-he can’t deny there is a lot of it between them- sitting across from him makes his chest ache a little deeper than the bruising. He hears to the sounds of shuffling, tinkering and the clinking of ice cubes shifting. A pause and Ranka gasps softly, at what he guesses is the contact of cold ice on his face. A little mumbling some more shuffling about and then his glasses are slid off their perch on his nose and rough cold cloth is pressed to his cheekbone. The teen winces and his eyes snap open. The lawyer is crouching in the floor well between the sits holding the improvised ice pack to his face.

“By the looks of it you need it more,” Seii offers by way of explanation.

The third son takes the improvised ice pack and places it on the lump at the back of his head. “Thanks,” he says softly, putting his glasses back on.

Seiichiro slides back to sit next to Ranka. Now with the lights on he can see the extent of the damage clearly. Ranka looks a little worse for wear, strands of his red hair hang about his face in disarray, fallen from the now loose ponytail. His makeup is smudged and run downed, there is a dark bruise on his left cheek though nothing serious it makes Kyoya’s stomach coil with anger. The younger man’s coat hangs loosely around his shoulders a little on the short side for the older transvestite. The palm of his right hand and his right knee are a little shafted, the black stoking torn around it, most likely from the fall to the pavement when he was slapped. There is fine tremor to his frame and his hands wring anxiously on his lap. It’s all to be expected after that little skirmish, what he doesn’t expect is the look the okama is giving him, full of concern and guilt. And Kyoya turns to look his reflection on the window.

He gasps, he looks a mess. His hair is in disarray, his glasses cracked and a little askew. The ugly purpling on his face won’t turn in to a full shiner but enough vessels are burst to almost give him a proper black eye. His shirt and tie are crumpled and filthy. And by the way his chest and lower back are throbbing he won’t look any better under the ruined clothes. Now he realizes Ranka’s gasp hadn’t been from the ice pack touching his bruise, but from the pitiful state Kyoya is in.

“So, for what I can gather that stalker bastard jumped Rioji in the alley and you dashed into the fray, right?” he asks conversationally breaking the awkward silence.

Kyoya recognizes the tactic of a lawyer fishing for something and says nothing, Ranka simply nods.

“Not that I’m not grateful, but what were you doing there?” the more mature man presses again.

“Why didn’t you accept my escort offer?” Kyoya asks Ranka instead, choosing to ignore the oldest man for now.

“I honestly didn’t think it necessary. I thought that by tonight the guy would be sober and forgotten about the whole thing. Besides I can’t afford and Ootori escort,” Ranka says plainly.

“I never meant to charge you for it, it was a favor as a friend,” Kyoya replies frowning. His money groveling, penny pincher, greedy avaricious facade had influence the way the transvestite thought of him and how wouldn’t it; it is the way that even his closest friends see him. That somehow hurts and upsets him more than the beating in the alley.

“I was out late in some business socializing at my father’s insistence. Haruhi didn’t call to tell me what you thought of my offer and I had an uneasy feeling that urged me to pass by, I was out anyways and it would ease my mind,” Kyoya says answering Seii’s question to distract his mind from the disappointed sadness that has taken hold of him all of a sudden.

“What were you doing there Seii?” Ranka asks of the lawyer in turn.

The man looks sheepish, “I called Haruhi to check on you, and she told me you had gone to work. She was worried so I offered to pick you up and take you home with me to give her some peace of mind,” he explains.

Ranka frowns disapprovingly at Seiichiro using Haruhi to keep tabs on him but before the can call the man on it; they arrive at the man’s apartment complex.

“Thank you Kyoya,” Ranka says formally with a deep bow his voice grateful and apologetic. He shrugs the boy’s coat off and hands it back to him before sliding out of limo; the driver holding the door open for them looks relieved to be rid of him and Seiichiro.

The oldest man pauses and gives the teen an apprising look that settles into something akin to mild respect. They shake hands briefly.

“Thanks kid,” Seii manages to say it without too much condescension.

“Look after him,” Kyoya says and if there is a slight threat to his tone the older man lets it slide.

As the limousine drives away they both have a feeling it’s not the last time they will cross patch and collide where the redheaded okama is concern.
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Product of Excellent Breeding