Warnings: Some sexual content, angst of course.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran.

Authoress Note: Wow, I think this is my first strictly hetero fanfic. This was written for Miss Avarice who in exchange, wrote me a KyouNeko. Please review.

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It somehow always ends like this. With his breath tickling against her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair, and the bed screaming beneath them.

It was a ritual act of sorts. A sinful dance that was so well-calculated and planned, they could do it in their sleep.

It always began with Kyouya reminding her of the mutual agreement that they didn't actually care for each other.

"I know," Eclair says, thinking, really, what does he take her for?

Then they continue their foreplay that began a few hours prior when they both agreed to have dinner together.

They kiss, touch, and enjoy the pleasantries of physical contact and when they grow bored of that, they have sex.

It is callous, done without thinking, and purely meant to fulfill whatever sexual frustrations either of them may be facing.

They rarely talk during intercourse, but when they do, Kyouya often says something that makes her lips twitch into an amused smile.
Tonight is not one of those nights.

"When I do this, do you think of him?"

Éclair frowns, but she answers truthfully.

"Yes."

The bed continues to scream as its headboard is assaulted by the wall.

"Do you?"

Kyouya answers without hesitation.

"Of course."

When they finish, they lay side-by-side, each of them wondering who will be the first to leave.

Éclair feels strangely upset at his answer. It is selfish of her, she knows, but she can't help but to think the whole thing was orchestrated with a pretty mask on to hide the ugly face of unrequited love.

She rolls over, still mulling over his answer, curious and bitter.

"If Haruhi never appeared, would you have gone after him?"

He faces her, wondering what prompted the sudden question and shakes his head.

"No. His heart was destined to belong to another."

His answer makes her angry. She has never been one for fate and she doesn't believe that he would be either.

"You wouldn't have known if you didn't try."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like you?"

That stings, but he has a point.

"So why do we do this, then?" She shoots back at him, her eyes narrowed. "Why do we pretend that this is just for sex when it's clearly about Tamaki?"

"Because sometimes it's easier to just look at the surface."

He gets up, pulls on his clothing, and leaves. And Éclair watches, knowing that the next time one of them calls the other, something similar will happen.

Because it is routine. It is ritual. It is habit and it is easy.

And Éclair absolutely hates it.