Disclaimer: Ouran is not mine.

Summary: Mitsukuni Haninozuka is a thief. So, he steals. (Mitsukuni/Haruhi)

Author's note: It's Mitsukuni/Haruhi. Really. Just… read it.

Nimble Fingers

Mitsukuni Haninozuka is a thief.

There is always the danger of being caught. Mitsukuni doesn't mind. In fact, it adds a certain thrill to the whole act.

And he isn't just any thief, mind you.

He is a professional. Hunny knows all there is to know to carry out a flawless heist concerning the subject.

You see, it is like this:

Mitsukuni Haninozuka is a cookie thief.

And proud of it.

He knows it is dishonest. He also knows he doesn't care.

You see, Hunny is a self-serving creature at heart and the most important thing he learned in his childhood was this:

Nothing, (and he means nothing; not expertly made éclairs, not especially imported strawberry cakes, not limited too just a hundred bars white caramel chocolate and most importantly not cookies come by in a honest way.) really nothing, tastes as good as stolen cookies.

It had been quite a revelation for him.

He doesn't remember that much from his childhood (discipline, growing and training, training, training.) but he still remembers the first time his deprived taste buds had the pleasure to encounter their new favorite flavour.

(Sweet, sweeter, cavity worthy.)

Then, being a child had always meant a lot of things for a Haninozuka.

Or, to be more precise, being a child had always meant less than being a Haninozuka.

Throughout all, Mitsukuni had always known that he was (In some weird, distanced, formal way) very, very much loved by his parents. (He still does.)

And he had not been discontent.

Not really.

That much.

If he had been, he had at least not recognized it then and there.

After all, he had only been five.

It had been after training outside on a particularly harsh winter day and he had entered the kitchens.

A place, his father had told him, which was reserved for the servants.

A place which just so happened to be the warmest room of the whole complex.

He had been five years old, cold and ready to tear up and had just realized for the first time that discipline couldn't keep you warm, no matter how much was shoved down your throat along with healthy food.

And no one had paid him any heed in there anyway.

Might have been because everyone had been in a hurry to finish preparing dinner. That and no one had probably looked that far down.

(He had been a tiny child with eyes two sizes too big for his face.)

Whatever the reason, it had suited him just fine.

That way he had been able to mind his own business.

(Of getting as close to the ovens as possible without burning himself. Real serious very grown-up stuff.)

Then and there, a fateful encounter had taken place, meant to forever change the way Mitsukuni's universe and his blood sugar regulation worked.

Hunny had met his first batch of cookies up close.

Creeping closer and closer to the fire, he hadn't even noticed at first.

When he had, he hadn't been all that impressed. He had, of course, seen already quite a few cookies in his life. Five was no age to be underestimated.

Even if sweets were the cardinal sin to every known member of the Haninozuka clan, it was only polite to let guests sin some.

And he had already watched a lot of guests down a lot of cookies.

They had been nothing new to him, nothing interesting he hadn't seen before.

Young Hunny had known everything about cookies.

They were full of sugar and sweetness and sin and if you ate one, cavities would come for your teeth and a crumble monster for you and you would never grow up strong and tall and disciplined.

His left hand had closed around a cookie and taken it off the batch.

He had known it was a bad, bad left hand.

His mouth had been bad, too, because his mouth had bitten and chewed and swallowed.

The cookie had been dry and slightly burnt and he had felt guilty the whole time.

It had been awful and he had never ever wanted to eat another one.

Within the next few seconds he had downed another three with greed.

He would almost certainly have breathed in the remaining cookies if a voice hadn't rung out behind him.

"Mitsukuni, love."

He had turned and faced his mother (Why had she been there anyway?) and tried to not look as if he had just buried five years of rigid exercise under a mass of sugared dough.

"Mitsukuni, love," she had repeated in a tone of voice usually reserved to add such useful phrases like 'Shocking!' or 'Scandalous!' to her friends' newest piece of juicy gossip.

"Did you just… eat cookies?"

Mitsukuni had touched the cookie crumbles evidence on his face and said: "Um… no?"

She had stared at him, mother-like and disciplined. "Well, I'll say-"

And he had been rescued by one of the cooks, when said cook had politely interrupted his mother and asked about a detail for some menu. (Most likely the reason she had been in there anyway.)

Meaning his mother had been distracted.

Equalling him being off the hook.

Young Hunny had thrown a last longing look at a batch of burned cookies before he had stealthily moved out of the kitchen.

His mother had never caught him again. Though he had always suspected she suspected.

But he had learned quickly.

How many cookies he could take without anyone noticing. Where cookies were stored at night. When the occasional spontaneous vanishing of cookies was last obvious.

And every time he had hid in a dark corner of his room, sugared sin on his tongue, he had felt as guilty as the first time.

Perhaps even more.

He had been sick to his stomach each time and hated, hated, hated it.

It had been absolutely wonderful and he had wanted more, more, more.

And really, he had thought, it was just cookies. Just occasionally. Just sometimes.

It wasn't as if he carried a big fat stuffed pink bunny around with him, now was it?

Even one stuffed big bunny and one forsaking of discipline later, he still snuck into the kitchen to get stolen cookies.

They tasted as burned and glorious as ever, though without guilt and less thrill.

Mitsukuni found he was strangely dissatisfied.

But he has never stopped stealing.

It's who he is and he has stopped being what he is not long ago.

He just had to move on to bigger stolen cookies.

Like this.

Fingertips stray through hair.

Pages of a book are turned.

There is a small amount of no control whatsoever and he revels in it.

With unwavering confidence he knows that this is all wrong and he has only acquired it through deception.

Hunny is cute and pouts often and tears up easily and he is just a sweet boy.

Only he is not.

Not exclusively.

Mitsukuni is also eighteen and a teenager and he knows just how to pull off any heist he wants to.

He supposes now is when he should feel guilty. And he does. A lot, actually.

Then he shifts and sneaks his hands accidentally on purpose around a waist the same way he once stole cookies from batches.

For good measure he releases an extra-sleepy sigh and decides to sneak a peek.

Haruhi is concentrating on the book in her left hand and looking even plainer than usual.

But her right hand is concentrating on petting Hunny's head in lazy circles and to him she looks like sin.

Hunny is just a sweet boy, partly, really, so, when he had hopped up to the girl sitting on a couch in the Host Club Clubroom and said to her: "Haru-chan, I am just sooo tired…" she had cocked her head and contemplated and been oblivious.

To pick the lock, Mitsukuni had considered its characteristics and neither pouted nor teared up but just been very, very still.

She had sighed, the lock had turned and the door had opened.

"There is plenty of space, Hunny-sempai," Haruhi had said then. "Just don't disturb my reading."

And he went sneakily through the door; Bun-Bun clutched in his arms, he had practically pounced on Haruhi and rested his head on her thighs.

And since he was Hunny and cute, she hadn't pushed him away.

And since he was Mitsukuni and eighteen, he had leaned into the stolen touches on his head.

Just as he has been doing since that moment.

He has found a new thrill.

He is disgusted with himself and feels strangely almost satisfied.

Mitsukuni stretches a bit and at the same time snuggles into Haruhi's not quite there curves.

He breathes her in in a way reserved for dark corners in his room and a bag of sweet loot.

Somewhere in the background he can hear the twins harassing Tamaki and Tamaki altering between ranting at the twins and crying in a corner. (Officially, they are politely discussing the costumes for their next cosplay.)

Mori's silence is at his near left side. At his far right side, Kyouya hacks away at his keyboard.

He sneaks another peek and for a second he catches eyes concealed behind glasses.

He suspects that mother suspects.

Mitsukuni Haninozuka is a thief. There is always the danger of being caught.

So, he gives Kyouya a smile that is more grin and gets his answer in a raised eyebrow.

Mitsukuni doesn't mind.

In fact, it adds a certain thrill to the whole act.

His hands climb up just the slightest bit on Haruhi's waist and he hides back in his claimed place between her thighs and stomach.

Haruhi releases a sigh, soft and glorious, that leaves him wanting more, more, more.

He knows it is dishonest. He also finds he doesn't care.

You see, Mitsukuni is a self-serving creature at heart and the most important thing he fears to admit might be true is this:

That, in Haruhi's case, the cookies might taste even better if he didn't have to steal them.