SPOILERS FOR ELEVENTH AND TWELVETH MANGA! Now that I've made your brain hurt from the CAPS lock…I've finally been inspired with OOC Ouran ficcage. As a result of finding new chapters and having my world turn into a couple 180 angles- I have deemed that the Host Club should have a giant orgy. But that's not what this is about; this oneshot is all about the crackage of MoriHikaru. Sound interested at all? Then you may proceed. Reviews are always thanked with heaps of virtual cookies.
Disclaimer: Let me take this moment to say Bisco Hatori is insane but I love her anyway. She can keep the Host Club. But I want the twins, do you hear me, woman?
The floor smelled of musky rainwater.
Quite deliberately, the tall figure standing out in the unlit corridor tossed a thin rag onto the polished wood tiles. Pressing and flexing his toes into the soft lanky material, he began rubbing the puddles from existence.
As Takashi lingered outside the meditation room, still drying the floor, his father prompted him to arrange the guest bed if the Hitachiin boy decided to stay the evening.
Nodding silently, dark gray eyes remained locked to his task even as the rest of the lights in his house were flicked off. Bending over to snatch up the colorless, tattered rag, the nearly-graduated senior noticed that the meditation room's door was cracked open several millimeters wide. And that Hikaru was talking aloud from within.
Curiously, the elder straightened himself and shifted his robe tighter around his body as he leaned as soundlessly as he could against the nearest wall. Hikaru's flowing, pleading voice wrapped slowly around him like a cosy melodious blanket.
"…I don't even know what to do anymore. Could Kaoru hate me for this? I never told him my real feelings before…not about him…"
From within the candlelit area, Piyo-chan chirped sympathetically for the boy.
This wouldn't have been the first time the redhead had found his way to the Morinozuka's home to seek solitude and reflection. Weeks before, Hikaru came on a different rainy night asking for a place to stay, seeming very thankful for the invitation of privacy.
In Takashi's memory, he had a very clear image of the first night where the freshman with the nervous amber eyes smiled wearily but sincerely up through dripping reddish bangs plastering his forehead. As his large, calming fingers swept the wet strands away from the other's eyes in a paternal-like fashion, Hikaru's face progressed into a fascinating shade of red and his anxious grip on Takashi's pet to nearly strangle the vulnerable creature.
"What about I suppose to do anymore?!"
Two hands smacked loudly against the ground in a cynical rhythm due to frustration or some other negative emotion, the older boy couldn't tell. "How am I suppose to tell my own brother…t-that I might… love—" A deliberate pause.
Maybe he shouldn't be listening with such prying, disobedient ears…this was personal musing for the twin…nothing at all to do with him…
A low, defeated sigh issued somewhere. "Screw it— Haruhi should be able to choose who she wants to be with. I don't think I care anymore if the King loves her. But Kaoru…Kaoru will hate me…I want it to stop. I can't keep thinking about him like this…L-like he's not…"
Dark gray eyes narrowed the slightest bit as an audible THUD interrupted Hikaru's frenzied self-proclamation. After a few seconds of cold, dead silence, Takashi decided it best to peer through the crack. In less then four, he was kneeling down beside the unconscious boy framed in candlelight.
In his arms, Hitachiin Hikaru couldn't have weighed more then Mitsukuni and the abnormally hot waves of body heat radiating off the younger began to worry him as well. Stress could have been the cause for low weight but was he running a fever too?
Cradling his head first onto the pillows, Takashi arranged the redhead comfortably on his back in the guest bed's mattress before catching the sight of a growing knot where Hikaru's head made contact with the floor. Using ice from the kitchen and the guest bathroom's decorative face-towel, the dark-haired made a make-shift icepack and touched it very lightly to the discoloration on the redhead's temple.
Feeling it instantly, the mild chill contrasting greatly to his high temperature, the twin came back to life, gritting his teeth and crying out in a garbled curse.
"Have you been sick recently?"
Hikaru tried pathetically to look up at him through heavy, fluttering eyelids, the faintness of his voice almost too jumbled to make sense, "Mori…senpai……tell me you…you didn't…hear"
Saving him the embarrassment, the senior re-touched the icepack to the bruise— causing the other boy to flinch in time with the pounding of an oncoming headache— and slid Hikaru's hand over the towel. "Hold this in place."
Feeling the oversized, foreign palm supporting the back of his skin, too real in sensation, the freshman flinched again— this time included blushing.
Realizing that it was his doing, Takashi withdrew from the redhead. At the last minute, the fragrance of musk, rainwater, and Hikaru's woody cologne almost accomplished its task in luring him to accept the most extraordinary wanting to gather the reddish orange locks between his trembling fingers.
"You can stay here tonight. I will message Mitsukuni to tell your brother. If you need anything, don't be afraid to wake me up." As he bowed his head, signaling his urgent need to collect himself, Hikaru croaked weakly from the mattress, "Is it wrong for me to feel the way I do?"
Takashi imagined that the other teen's breathing must be slowing now from exhaustion; drowsy amber eyes must be flushing with uncertainty and the fever; and a normally constrained mouth must be parting, lusciously waiting to be recieved—
Tensing the clasp on the lope of his robe's belt, and successfully overlooking a strong, hot sensation newly clenching the base of his throat and genital region at such images, he replied simply, "If it's love— no one else has a say about it except for you."
"But…I've never felt… this way before about a guy…"
He said very informatively without any catches in his tone, pausing at the doorway, "If gender matters that much to you, maybe you shouldn't be in love."
The creeeak of mattress springs alerted him to spin around in time to accept the most extraordinary wanting to gather reddish-copper hair between his fingertips, cupping and massaging the flesh beneath it, and acknowledging the collision of another greedy mouth against his own.
Sorry about this not being beta-ed and ending crappily. Wrote it out with no the time to send it to my beloved beta-reader. I love you dear—next story, I promise. Happy Birthday kittypirate17! I love you to the point of my spleen rupturing…that's love, I'll tell you.