I know Kyouya might be a little out of character here, but hopefully it's not too dramatic. I wouldn't have added the swearing except that I didn't know how else to express the degree of awe in Kyouya's voice…

I don't know where this came from, except that Tamaki's piano playing seemed to give me a chance to be sappy and poetic. It's really just a PWP…

Flame or praise or constructive criticism, I'm grateful for anything you'll throw at me. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori. I would love to own Tamaki, Hikaru and Kaoru but unfortunately... :'(

"You look really fucking beautiful like that, did you know?"

Tamaki glances up, not startled even though Kyouya has showed up so suddenly. He is never startled, because he always knows when the Shadow King approaches. Yes, he'll put on a show of jumping in fright and placing a hand over his heart and gasping for air, but that's only when the Host Club is there and watching, and everything has to be faked and just how it's planned. Nobody else is here right now, and Tamaki thought it was only him until he felt a presence behind him, felt warmth at his back and heard quiet, controlled breathing.

The music slips away into the dusty air of the unused music room as his fingers slide off of the piano keys and he smiles up at the intruder, but Kyouya frowns. "Don't stop," he says quietly. Tamaki blinks in confusion but he has never questioned Kyouya, because everything the darker one says or does is for a reason, and Mother has always known best. So his hands rest on the keys once more and there is only a short pause in which Tamaki's violet eyes find his place in the flurry of notes and chords, optionals and trills, before the music is back again.

"What was that you were saying?" Tamaki questions idly, a narcissistic smile on his face and a playful tone to his voice. "Something about me being beautiful?"

Kyouya gives that same rolling, deep chuckle that sends shivers down the spine of any involved in his plans, but Tamaki is no longer frightened by it. He can no longer find the same dark undertones that send most crawling away in fear. The gentle laugh only makes him think of honey and melting butter, smooth and warm.

"It's the piano," he tells the older boy. "You make such beautiful sounds come from such a plain thing, and it makes you the same."

"How can you call this flawless instrument plain?" Tamaki demands, but there is no melodramatic flair to his voice. He is unusually placid, Kyouya thinks, but he isn't complaining. As much as he loves Tamaki for who he is, a break from the drama and flamboyance every once in a while isn't a bad thing.

"Compared to you, then," Kyouya amends, his long white hand coming to rest on Tamaki's shoulder.

"Ah, now, you can't compare everything to me. It's simply not fair to the piano—" The touch of arrogance and Host charm is back, and while it shouldn't really have any effect on Kyouya because he sees this every day, he tells himself it's the piano. Because the next thing he knows he is whirling Tamaki around, the chords stumbling and slurring until the blonde is pinned to his piano. Kyouya is firmly seated in Tamaki's lap, straddling him and pressing his back a little harder against the smooth black wood, and violet eyes widen almost imperceptibly when Kyouya traps his hands above his head.

"What's is Mommy going to do to Daddy?" Tamaki murmurs, still recovering from the surprise of such sudden movement. Around them the last remnants of the tangled chords fade away and sheet music flutters to the floor. Kyouya's smile is very much the cat who ate the canary as he trails his fingers down Tamaki's wrists and arms and eventually they halt tangled in Tamaki's thick golden hair. Despite the fact that his hands are free again, Tamaki does not move from the position in which Kyouya has placed him.

"Did you lock the door?" is all he says as Kyouya draws his fingertips down the sides of Tamaki's neck so lightly that the blonde cannot contain a shiver. In his shiny black dress shoes, Kyouya's toes curl at the look of desire in Tamaki's lust-clouded eyes. He doesn't answer the question, because it's so blatantly obvious, but Tamaki answers himself. "What am I saying, of course you did. Mommy always thinks of everything."

Kyouya decides that now would be a good time for Tamaki to shut up. He's always talked far too much. And Kyouya had long ago discovered the most effective way to shut up the Host Club King even in his most talkative moods.

Sure enough, Tamaki is hard-pressed to even breathe by the time Kyouya allows him air. There is a bright flush high in his pale cheeks and his eyes are hazy and half-lidded as he gasps for air. Kyouya only smirks. It is always ego-stroking to watch Tamaki's reactions to even a little kiss. Little in comparison only to what is to come, of course.

He shifts his hips against the boy below him, who gasps once again. Unfortunately said boy has apparently regained his power of speech. "I love it when you look at me like that."

"Like?" Had he not been so intent on the pale blonde underneath him he might have cringed at such inarticulate speech. But at the moment Kyouya is thinking only of how, while Ouran's uniforms looked very nice and proper, they are incredibly difficult to undo when one was in a hurry and not thinking very straight. Not that he would admit to ever being in such a state of mind, of course—Ootori Kyouya is always in control—but Tamaki has always had such an effect on him, particularly when he is pinned to the piano and making sounds that send waves of heat through his captor from head to toe.

"Like you're going to devour me." Tamaki's voice is low and husky as the uniform jacket slips off to crumple in a heap on the floor. It holds a sultry tone that Kyouya knows, with no small amount of pride, only he ever hears. He chuckles once again, leaning in to brush his lips over a flushed cheek and place his mouth by Tamaki's ear.

"Mommy would like that very much."

The contrast of Tamaki's creamy white skin against the dark, glossy piano is ethereal. His back is pressing into the piano keys and when he bucks under Kyouya's teasing hand, he bumps the keys in a slurred chord that filters through the thick air of desire in the room to make the two boys laugh softly.

Yes, Kyouya decides, it must be the piano.