Title: Say What You Mean, Do What You Say

Genre: Drama, Kyouya x Tamaki

Rating: M

Warnings: Very dirty, rather mean, underage drinking, and some dubious consent here and there

Notes: I'm not sure I should be writing a story with such a grim plotline, but there's a message at the end if you can get that far. The fanfic will be 3 or 4 chapters long and should be finished within a month or two. I actively dislike the first few pages of this, but after them the story starts sounding the way I want it to...so I figured I'd post this and maybe just revise it later. Anyway, sorry in advance-this fanfic is very dark and very, very mean.


Chapter 1: Champagne room


"He turned 18 today," Kyouya said evenly, leaning back in his leather chair.

The cocktail waitress, attractive and made-up and probably no older than 25, beamed at Tamaki. "Eighteen!" she exclaimed as she set down his peach iced tea. "Aren't we all grown up!"

Tamaki flashed her a dazzling smile. He said something about how darling she was to say such a thing, but Kyouya barely heard it over the clinking of the ice in his glass. He wasn't in the mood. His father had made a back-handed comment at breakfast that had soured Kyouya's disposition, and all Kyouya wanted to do was forget about the world and his place in it for awhile. Tamaki reminding him of host club policy did exactly the opposite.

Kyouya downed his drink and clanked the glass down on a table. "I'll have another," he told the girl.

She smiled in that not-quite-fake way that good girls in bad jobs smile. "Sure," she said. "What were you having? Long Island Iced Tea?"

"No alcohol for us," Tamaki reminded her politely. "He's only 18, too."

She tapped her chin. "Oh...that must be what the note on the doorknob means." She raised her eyebrows. "How unusual, to have a champagne room all to yourselves when you're not even drinking."

Tamaki slapped Kyouya's back. Kyouya grimaced.

"My father said he'd sponsor a private night on the town with any one of my friends," he explained. "Kyouya researched this club himself. And I agree-the place is lovely." He batted his eyelashes at the girl. "As is reflected by its employees."

She laughed. "You're cute. I think Keiko would like you. I'll send her back with your next round of drinks, yeah?"

"But I'll miss you."

"Ha ha! Don't worry, I'll be back later."

Kyouya wished the thumping music in the rest of the club bled into their room better. He picked up his glass and sucked an ice cube into his mouth to try and drown out Tamaki.

The girl left. Tamaki reached for the menu and asked Kyouya something about appetizers, but all Kyouya heard was vague thumping music and crunching ice.

Tamaki blinked at him. Kyouya swallowed the ice and sighed.


"I asked if you were okay." Tamaki frowned. "You've been so quiet today, Kyouya."

Kyouya tapped long fingers against his glass. "Don't worry about me," he muttered. "This is your day."

Tamaki made some sort of a snort and pulled Kyouya's glass out of his hand. "I'd enjoy it a lot more if you were enjoying it," he said. "What's the matter? Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," Kyouya replied. "And no."

"Well, I'm hungry." Tamaki dropped his eyes back to the menu. "And you didn't have dinner, so you're probably just cranky because you have low blood sugar."

Kyouya didn't bother arguing. He looked up at the large windows in their darkened room, covered with thick, shimmering curtains. He briefly considered pulling back the curtains so he'd at least have the view of the rest of the club to distract him.

Tamaki picked up the phone on the table and ordered a few appetizers. He'd no sooner put the receiver down than another woman, this one with much more make-up and a short black dress that didn't look like a uniform, came in with a tray of drinks.

"Suou-san?" she asked in a honey-thick voice. "Which one of you is the birthday boy?"

Kyouya frowned. Tamaki, clearly missing the innuendo in her voice, smiled at her.

"That would be me...Keiko?"

"You've heard of me." She winked and put down the drinks. "I was wondering if maybe the birthday boy wanted a dance."

"With you?" Tamaki laughed. "I'd be honored! But I'm afraid I'm more classically trained than club-trained. I might embarrass you."

She gave a smile that was half wry. "You don't have to do a thing, sweetheart. I'll give you a dance."

"Oh." Tamaki wilted a little. "Here? But you can't hear the music very well."

Kyouya sighed.

Keiko threw a glance at Kyouya, as if in question. Kyouya blankly stared back.

"Do you...want me to ask your friend to leave?" she asked Tamaki.

"Why? He's my guest."

"Well...I don't want to embarrass you, baby."

"Why would you embarrass-"

"You know what?" Kyouya finally interjected. He sat up angrily. "I think we'll pass, miss."

Keiko slid a long nail between her red lips. "You sure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "A boy only turns eighteen once. Are you eighteen, megane-san?"

Kyouya ignored the question and gripped one of the new drinks. "We just ordered appetizers," he told her.

Tamaki opened his mouth to say something, but Kyouya just threw him a glare. Tamaki closed his mouth.

"Suit yourself." Keiko took her tray and left the room without a word.

The two boys sat in silence for a moment. Kyouya took a long drink of whatever fruit cocktail he'd picked up.

"I think you insulted the woman," Tamaki finally muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the couch.

Kyouya clanked his glass down with a little more force than was necessary. "She'll be fine," he assured him.

"I'm sure she will be. But it's a sad day when your negative mood affects the people around you." Tamaki glared a little. "This isn't like you, Kyouya. What's bothering you?"

"A lot of things are bothering me," Kyouya snapped back. "And I don't want to talk about a single one of them, all right? This is your birthday, so just enjoy it and get off my case." He went digging through his pockets, irritated. "Where are my cigarettes? Where's my coat?"

Tamaki let out a breath. "You know I hate it when you smoke."

"Spare me a single cigarette, Tamaki." Kyouya went over to the empty couch where he vaguely remembered throwing his coat. Tamaki's bag lay on top of it, so he pushed it aside.

And heard a clink.

Kyouya paused. As he unclasped Tamaki's bag, he vaguely heard Tamaki's tired lecture.

"Health risks aside, you know smoking increases the aesthetic effects of aging, don't you? And it smells, it's uncultured, and your father would be disappointed in you if he found out."

"It's not hard to disappoint my father," Kyouya said flatly as he dug through Tamaki's bag. He pulled out a flat glass bottle and tilted it to catch some of the dim mood lighting of the room. "Is this rum?"

Tamaki stopped whatever he was about to say next. "What?"

Kyouya held up the bottle and shook it. Tamaki sat up. "Was that in my bag?"

"Are you saying you didn't pack it?"

"Of course I didn't pack it!" Tamaki jumped out of his chair. "How would...ugh, it was probably those stupid twins! They said they packed me a present, but I thought they were kidding."

Kyouya snorted. "This is one of those rare occurrences where I appreciate their pranks," he said as he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig.

"Kyouya!" Tamaki ran over and grabbed the bottle away. The action knocked Kyouya's glasses askew.

The doorknob suddenly turned. Tamaki flew around and hid the booze behind his back.

The first cocktail waitress came in with their appetizers. She smiled at the two of them as Kyouya fixed his glasses.

"Everything okay in here?" she asked. "You're a little red, Suou-san."

Tamaki waved a free hand. "I'm fine," he said, his voice a bit higher than it usually was. "Thank you for, um...coming back."

"Sure. Keiko said you boys were a little shy. But you're not shy with me, are you, Suou-san?"

"Of course not. You're so kind, miss." Tamaki paused. "Not that Keiko-san wasn't."

The waitress laughed. "Don't worry about it."

Tamaki paused again.

Kyouya sat back down. "Can we get a few Cokes?" he asked.

"If it's Coke you want, it's actually in the mini bar behind you. Feel free to help yourself." She folded her tray in front of her knees. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Um...no, thank you," Tamaki said. "Actually, at this point I think I'd like a little privacy."

"Of course. Call if you need anything." The waitress smiled once more before leaving the room. There was a slight flapping noise as the sign hanging on the doorknob was flipped.

Tamaki let out a long breath and brought the rum out from behind his back. "It's illegal for us to have this," he said.

Kyouya fetched a few Cokes from the mini bar. "I'm going to tell you in complete certainty that they don't care," he muttered. "We're in a private room, it's your birthday, and your rich-as-hell father is sponsoring the night. The only thing that would bother them is the fact that you brought your own booze instead of buying it discreetly from them." Kyouya popped the tabs on both cans simultaneously as he sat down. "Give me back my glass with the ice in it."

Tamaki stared at Kyouya a moment. He seemed disappointed-which didn't really surprise Kyouya.

Kyouya rested the cans of soda on the table and rubbed at his temples. He closed his eyes for a second and breathed deeply.

Calm down, he told himself. You're making things needlessly complicated.

"Tamaki," he said at last, much more calmly this time. "I'm sorry."

Tamaki said nothing.

"I don't...mean to be a dick on your birthday."

Tamaki frowned. "I'm worried about you," he murmured as he slowly sat down beside Kyouya on the couch.

"Really, don't be." Kyouya carefully unpried Tamaki's fingers from the alcohol. "I'm just in a mood. I'll be okay in a few minutes."

"Did something happen today?"

"Nothing unusual." Kyouya mixed two rum and Cokes and held one out at Tamaki. Tamaki eyed it uncomfortably.

"You drink wine with dinner sometimes, don't you?"

Tamaki squinted. "Yeah, but..."

"If you're worried about getting in trouble," Kyouya reasoned, "you'd be better off getting rid of the evidence."

Tamaki blinked. He stared at Kyouya, then smiled sadly and accepted the offered glass. "You always make a good point," he said, carefully clinking his glass against Kyouya's. "Just promise me you won't drink and smoke, okay?"


The fingerfood Tamaki had ordered was classy, but unfilling. Kyouya didn't really care-he just wanted something to do with his hands. He was pouring rum into his third glass of Coke when Tamaki hiccupped.

Tamaki put down his glass. "I think I'm done," he said, a little embarrassed.

Kyouya lazily took a long drink, glad that his anxiety had lessened a bit. "Are you still hungry?" he asked.

"No, just...a little tired." Tamaki rubbed the back of his neck. "Want to talk?"

"As long as it's not about my problems."

Tamaki ran his tongue over his teeth. He blinked slowly, his eyelids a bit uneven when he did so. "Fine," he said at last. "Um...was that waitress earlier offering me a striptease or something?"

Kyouya pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, well."

"Don't make fun of me, Kyouya."

"You were just acting pretty innocent for a guy who knew what she was offering."

Tamaki frowned. "Not really...it just struck me after the fact. But the whole thing was pretty weird at the time, admittedly."

Kyouya found a toothpick on the table and slid it between his teeth. "This isn't a strip club," he said after a moment. "And she was dressed pretty crassly, but she wasn't a stripper. She was more likely offering you something more personal, like a lap dance."

"Oh, God." Tamaki dropped his head into his hands.

"Don't be such a baby."

"That kind of thing doesn't creep you out? I thought this was just a dance club."

Kyouya chewed on the toothpick. "Well, I knew they offered some gentleman extras for their V.I.P. guests, but I didn't expect them to be so forward about it. I didn't think it was enough reason to rule this place out when I was deciding where to go tonight."

Tamaki rubbed his face. "Ugh."

Kyouya ran a thumb up his glass. "You're not regretting turning her down, are you? A lap dance doesn't really seem your style."

"Of course I'm not regretting it. I'm not interested in...well, not interested in that kind of..." Tamaki trailed off, curling his shoulders in as he fell deeper into the couch.

Kyouya paused. It's not that you're completely disinterested, he thought, finishing Tamaki's dead line. Despite the extremely weird route his sexuality had taken through the formation of the host club, Tamaki was still a man. Kyouya had caught those blue eyes lingering a bit too long on the covers of adult magazines they passed in commoner convenience stores.

"Kyouya," Tamaki murmured at last, his gaze tilting up slightly. "Have you ever..."

The question was so predictable, it was almost funny. Kyouya was about to make a rude comment but decided against it. It was Tamaki's birthday and they'd been drinking, after all. If they were ever going to have the weird sex talk, there was no better (or rather, less bad) time.

"I've fooled around with a few girls," Kyouya said, pausing to drain his glass. "Nothing serious, though."

Tamaki froze, his mouth agape. "You...what?" he exclaimed. "When? With who?"

Kyouya reached over for the drink Tamaki had failed to finished. "Don't worry-not with anybody you know. I always have to go to parties and social events with my father's clients and their families, and sometimes a young lady is very interested and it would be, well, rude to turn her down." He turned the glass around in his hand until he found a spot where Tamaki's lip prints weren't visible, then drank from it. "It's never very much or for very long, though. It's much easier for things to go sour if it's anything more than a drunken hook-up in a closet or something."

Tamaki just stared, the slight flush to his cheeks and the slight haze to his eyes making him look more like a little boy than a drunken legal adult.

"I...I can't believe you would do that," he breathed. "You would actually put your hands on a girl for political reasons?"

Kyouya sighed. "You're the last person who can criticize me for that," Kyouya retorted. "We run a host club at our high school. We string girls along to fulfill your own twisted fantasies of romance and, lest we forget, for financial gain."

"But...we never touch them!"

"Are you kidding me? You always touch them."

"But not like that!"

"Like what? Kissing and petting with all your clothes on? I'm not sleeping with these girls, I'm fooling around with them." Kyouya reached for the rum bottle, but it was nearly empty. He drank the last of the booze from the bottle itself.

"Listen, Tamaki." Kyouya sniffed and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the warm feeling of being sloshed for a change. "It's not a big step between holding a girl's hand and kissing her on the cheek at the host club and grinding up with a client's daughter under a buffet table so she'll tell Daddy the Ootori's can throw a good party. It's emotional prostitution with the promise of a bit of physical contact. The only thing that differs is the severity." He thought a moment. "And I guess the fact that you get off on it, and I usually don't."

Tamaki stood up suddenly, a strange mix of anger and embarrassment on his face. Kyouya just stared up at him, bored.

Tamaki opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He looked away.

"...That's an awful way to think of things."

"It's not my perception, Tamaki-it's the truth."

"But..." Again, Tamaki started to say something, but the words ended up dying in his throat. He buried his face in a hand, his long fingers plowing up through his bangs.

Kyouya crossed one leg over the other and threw his arms out over the back of the couch. "We're not taking advantage of these girls," he decided to add. "They come to us, and they know exactly what they're getting. If anything, we're the ones taking the emotional and physical hit, since we're constantly letting them objectify us and take exactly what they want from us." His mouth continued to move, the rum calling out more words than Kyouya usually felt the need to let out. "Who do you think goes to the bathroom to jerk off after my little trysts? It's certainly not the girl leaving unsatis-"


Kyouya decided he'd said enough. He sniffed, then was silent.

Tamaki said nothing for nearly a minute, his eyes glassy from the alcohol and from whatever emotion roiled through him. Kyouya found himself getting annoyed with the sight.

Poor little prince, he thought sourly. Look at the awful forces around you, dragging your tender heart from its good intentions to cruel reality.

Eventually, Tamaki swallowed. "Kyouya," he said slowly, "I had no idea you were so...angry about all this."

Kyouya grunted. "Not angry," he corrected. "Frustrated."

Frustrated. Frustrated, frustrated, frustrated. The word was so apt at describing his persistent state of being. Kyouya could barely remember stretches of more than a day when he didn't feel frustration clawing at his insides.

Tamaki sighed and sat back down on the couch. "I know you don't have it easy," he murmured. "Your father can be very difficult, and you have so many expectations layered on top of you. And I think the expectations you have for yourself are much harsher than what your father puts on you."

Kyouya snorted, but said nothing.

Tamaki rested a hand on Kyouya's shoulder tenderly. "I'm sorry, Kyouya."

Kyouya sighed and ignored the physical contact. "I don't know why you're apologizing, Tamaki."

"Well...I'm sure I frustrate you, too."

Kyouya was about to affirm that statement, but decided it would be a nasty thing to do. Besides, his rare moments of relaxation usually occurred around Tamaki, especially when they were alone.

"Don't worry about it," Kyouya muttered.

Tamaki slowly leaned in closer, his face inches away from Kyouya's. Kyouya watched in confusion as Tamaki leaned his head to the side so his cheek rested against the dark leather of the couch back.

"Kyouya," his whispered, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Kyouya suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Wh-what?" he blurted.

"Can you...tell me what it's like to touch a girl?"

Kyouya blinked several times at him. Had he heard that right?

Tamaki moaned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm really tired, and this is probably really trashy. It's just...I don't know." He frowned. "I envy how you can look at all this so calmly. I know that what we do at the host club is only play-dating, and I know liking it as much as I do is weird. But I get frustrated sometimes, too. And unlike you, I can't look back and see the bigger picture and justify everything I do. I want to have a real relationship, I want to...have sex eventually, but I'm confused and don't know where to start and Haruhi never takes me seriously, and what's wrong with me, Kyouya? I'm not a kid anymore, but sometimes I feel like one because this is all so intimidating and I'm awkward and a little terrified and I don't want her to hate me." He slapped a hand over his eyes and pressed his trembling lips together.

Based on the speed with which the last few lines had been delivered, Kyouya figured he'd just heard a fair portion of the spectrum of Tamaki's insecurities. None of them surprised him in the slightest. He was a bit relieved, however, to know that Tamaki had actually thought about such topics instead of brushing them off and living in his own personal la-la land.

The mention of Haruhi was perhaps the least surprising. Kyouya knew Tamaki wanted her, Kyouya himself wanted her, Hikaru definitely wanted her, and probably most of the boys who'd ever met her wanted her in some way or another. It was her complete lack of all the bitching and nagging and emotional neediness that teenage girls were often loaded with that made her the ideal "no hassle" female, and it was her dismissive nature that made her that much more alluring, the perpetual wet dream of teenage boys who could never touch her and would never dare try.

Although Tamaki had a slightly better chance than most at eventually winning her over, that wasn't saying much. Wanting her was frustrating enough for Kyouya-he could only imagine what it was like for Tamaki, who (by his own admission) was bad at stepping back and viewing his life's potential from afar.

Frustration. It was a killer, and Kyouya was getting a little sick of it.

"Fine," Kyouya murmured, sliding off his glasses and folding them into his breast pocket. He rested his cheek against the couch, the mirror image of Tamaki. "Close your eyes."

Tamaki's hand slid from his face. "What?" he asked blearily, more tired by the moment.

"It's your birthday, so I'll humor you. Just as long as we never do this again or speak of it again."

Tamaki frowned, confused.

"Just close your eyes, you idiot."

Tamaki sighed and followed the order. Kyouya, whose vision was already hazy from the alcohol and the fact that his glasses were off, decided to block out the dim light of the room by closing his eyes as well.

"There was this one time a few months ago. It was a party we...you know what, it doesn't matter where it was. It was behind a curtain in an abandoned guest room in this mansion. She was...a little older than we are, I think. But petite and slim and a little curvy, with this...little mouth painted in red lipstick, which had a penchant for making naughty little smiles."

Kyouya could hear Tamaki swallow. Kyouya himself felt pretty weird doing this, but he was bored and antsy and hadn't really given Tamaki a present, and the room was warm and dark with an unending, muffled backbeat from the rest of the club bleeding through the walls and causing their couch to vibrate the slightest bit with every hard baseline. The mood was making his reservations seem silly and unnecessary. What was the harm in giving Tamaki a little jerk-off fodder? Maybe jerking off more would calm Tamaki the hell down.

"D-don't tell me who she was or how you got there," Tamaki whispered shakily.

"I won't." Kyouya took a breath. "She was wearing this little black dress. The kind where they have those thin straps that always look like they're about to slip down a shoulder but they never do, and they always annoy me and make me think dirty thoughts when I'm supposed to be paying attention to something else. So the first thing I did after we started kissing was push the straps down and run my fingers along the little fault lines they made in her skin."

Kyouya let his cheek sink a little deeper in the warm leather, letting the alcohol pull the words unhindered from his mouth. "She was...a little drunk, I think, and horny as hell, because she kept hooking a knee around my hip and running a stockinged foot up and down the back of my thigh, which was just making me more hard. There was a window behind that curtain, but it only looked out on the abandoned lawn, so I pushed her up against it so I could grind my dick through my pants against her stomach."

"Nn...did you touch her chest?"

"Just shut up and listen. No talking."


"No talking!"


Kyouya irritably tried to regain his train of thought. "Her dress was...it was a little clingy, so it was hard to push out of the way. I squeezed her breasts through her dress, but not hard, because I didn't want to annoy her. She grabbed at my ass and started ramming her crotch against me, so I think I underestimated how rough she wanted it."

Kyouya could hear Tamaki's breathing grow more labored. Kyouya's own breath was starting to hitch, his mind swimming with memories that simultaneously seemed very clear and very unreal. The blood started to drain from his brain and to his legs, making his jeans feel uncomfortably tight.

"I pushed her skirt up her thighs and grabbed her ass so I could lift her. I crammed her against the big rail of the windowpane and humped her through whatever other layers she was wearing under that dress. She was hot between her legs, the kind of heat a girl makes when there's sweat and lube trapped in her underwear. She was clawing at my shoulders before long, squealing in my ear every time I rammed into her. I was trying not to cum, but her ass was so tight in my hands and her breasts were squashed against me and she started gnawing on my ear and I couldn't stop grinding against her."

Kyouya swallowed. "She kept begging me to go harder," he said, his hoarse voice practically a whisper. "She asked me to fuck her. It was all I could do to keep from tearing through her clothes and nailing her against that window. But she suddenly started gasping and squeezed her legs against me, and she came so hard that she arched back almost in half and crammed her crotch even harder against me, and I couldn't stop ramming her until I came, too, and by the time I could open my eyes again the window was fogged up behind us and she was mewling like a kitten and she ran a tongue up the side of my face..."


Kyouya, his heartbeat suddenly much louder in his ears, blearily opened his eyes. Tamaki's face was still leaning up against the leather couch, his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth open just enough for him to breath heavily at Kyouya. His breath smelled like sugar and alcohol, and it was hot against Kyouya's cheeks.

Kyouya suddenly noticed that his own dick was straining against his jeans. He mentally cursed himself, but found the false lull of the alcohol made him less embarrassed than he knew he should be. So what if he was hard? He was talking about the last girl he dry-humped until he came. And if he was hard, choir boy Tamaki was probably...

Slowly, like molasses, Kyouya realized something. Tamaki's hand had crept up his own thigh. His fingers were extended toward the lump in his khakis, almost as if he were planning to jerk off right in front of Kyouya.

Something strange came over Kyouya then. Tamaki was clearly half-asleep, drunk, and horny enough to consider touching himself in front of a friend. But Kyouya was feeling oddly displaced from the setting himself, and the concept of masturbating away the uncomfortable hardness in his pants while he and Tamaki had privacy didn't seem very odd at all. They were comfortable around each other, right? Almost too comfortable. Comfortable enough to share the explicit details of a sex story in the back room of a club until they were both hard.

Kyouya closed his eyes again and shakily unbuttoned his jeans.


Kyouya could hear Tamaki moan and shift a little, the sound of moving fabric and skin against leather. There was something in having another warm body beside him, making noise and breathing heavily, that made Kyouya even harder. His slid his hand into his boxer-briefs and gripped his erection.

Kyouya opened his eyes.

Tamaki was staring at him through a heavy-lidded gaze. For a brief moment, Kyouya was petrified that Tamaki was looking at him while he had his hand down his pants. But the next moment he was even hornier, acutely aware of the way Tamaki's breath was hot against his face, and that his salon shampoo made him smell a little like a girl, and that Tamaki had hands and a mouth and other parts and that it had been months since Kyouya had gotten off with another person.

"Kyouya," Tamaki breathed.

Kyouya's mind swam. "Sh-shut up," he murmured, pulling his hand out of his pants. He gripped one of Tamaki's wrists, the wrist that had so hesitantly rested against Tamaki's hip, although Kyouya's fingers shook so badly that he had trouble gripping it. "No...no talking."

Tamaki's eyebrows furrowed together in a delayed reaction as Kyouya pulled his wrist closer. "Kyouya," he murmured, pulling back a little. "What're you-"

"Shut up, dammit." Kyouya slid Tamaki's hand into his boxers, his fingers closing around Tamaki's fingers, which, in turn, closed around Kyouya's dick. Tamaki's palm was hot and sweaty, so its confused trembling wasn't enough to deter Kyouya's libido. He squeezed Tamaki's hand, then groaned at the feeling of strange fingers on him.


"Have you ever had a tongue in your mouth?" Kyouya whispered hoarsely. He jostled forward to undo Tamaki's belt, bringing his face close enough to Tamaki's that their foreheads touched.

Tamaki looked...confused, and shocked, and a little scared, but more than anything he looked dazed and horny, and he whimpered something incoherent when Kyouya's hand went down his pants. That whimper opened his mouth, so Kyouya's mind went blank and his libido took over and he was suddenly frenching his best friend because he needed someone, anyone, to get off with him for no political or financial or even emotional reason. He needed to let go where it was safe and he could, for once, take as much as he gave.

"Mmgh!" Tamaki choked as they kissed sloppily. Kyouya could smell and feel rum-and-coke tinted saliva dripping down his chin, because Tamaki didn't know what he was doing and Kyouya didn't feel like being neat. He pumped his fist up and down over Tamaki's cock, simultaneously imagining that he was rubbing his own dick but reveling in the feeling of someone else's palm doing the job. Tamaki's jerks were shaky over Kyouya's erection, and his palm slid off several times from the sweat and the precum.

Harder, Kyouya's mind demanded as he shoved his other hand down his boxer-briefs to clamp down over Tamaki's fingers. He guided Tamaki to a rougher grip, concurrently doing the same to Tamaki's penis. More, he thought as Tamaki moaned into his mouth and starting making quick, high-pitched gasps. Kyouya's tongue snaked so crazily into Tamaki's mouth that he nearly felt like he could go down the other boy's throat. Tamaki gagged and whimpered and tilted up his chin as far as it would go with his mouth still captured.

Give it to me, Kyouya's mind screamed. Give it to me, you bitch.

Tamaki's mouth suddenly opened against Kyouya's lips and he cried out, his hips jerking forward into Kyouya's grip. Hot semen spilled from his quivering erection and over Kyouya's long fingers.

Kyouya didn't tolerate Tamaki's pause to orgasm, and at that point Kyouya was guiding Tamaki's hand so frenetically that Tamaki's palm was practically just a tool Kyouya was using to get himself off. Kyouya jerked that hand over himself faster, and when he finally reached his tipping point the world went white behind his eyelids and he grunted out as the surge of his cum erupted through his penis and squeezed through the tight tip.

It took a moment for the wash of orgasmic endorphins to clear out of Kyouya's body. He panted, his hand still weakly over Tamaki's and bunched up in his underwear. The room felt so hot it was stifling, the thumping of the music outside the room suddenly loud and invasive against his eardrums.

Tamaki was breathing hard. He weakly tried to pull his hand back from Kyouya, so Kyouya released him. Kyouya rubbed semen and sweat off his palms and onto a cocktail napkin, zipped up his fly, and tried to button his pants-but his fingers shook so much that he couldn't manage the simple action. He eventually gave up and stumbled to his feet, at the same time pulling his glasses from his breast pocket.

Kyouya heard some sort of audible sound from Tamaki, but he wasn't sure if it was a word or a whimper. He ignored it as he slid his glasses back onto his face and stumbled in the dim light to where he had left his jacket. His trembling hands fished for his jacket pocket, retrieved his box of cigarettes, and pushed back the top as he shook a tip free of its confines.

Kyouya caught the cigarette edge in his lips and pulled the box back. "I'm gonna have that smoke now," he mumbled without looking back.


Kyouya was silent for the rest of the night. Tamaki haltingly tried to talk to him a few times, but when Kyouya didn't respond, Tamaki gave in to his clear desire to not discuss the matter himself. He called for their ride not long after and spent the time they waited cleaning up a bit.

The waitress came back to see them off, but all she got from Tamaki was a weak smile and a polite thanks. The two boys cut through the thundering club and into the fancy car that waited for them out front. Kyouya slammed the door shut behind them a little weaker than usual.

"Going anywhere else, Suou-sama?"

"Take me home," Kyouya muttered.

The driver asked some polite confirmation, but Kyouya ignored it. Kyouya stared out the tinted windows and at the blurred nighttime lights as they rumbled through the streets.

Tamaki might've said goodbye, but Kyouya wasn't certain-he hastily shut the car door behind him when he left. He entered his house, stalked up his stairs, ignored the maid who asked if he needed help, and drew a bath for himself. He locked the bathroom door behind him before shedding his clothes.

His underwear slipped from his hand and silently patted against the floor as he stared at the running water. The small room filled with steam, warming him, touching him, choking him. The scent of fancy bath salts and soaps mixed with the smell of sex and sweat and alcohol and cigarette smoke.

Kyouya gritted his teeth. He rubbed a fist into his eye and swallowed down the bile that threatened to surge up his throat. Only one thought crowded in duplicates in his mind, cramming into every corner of his brain and making him dizzy enough to feel sick to his stomach.

What the fuck have I done?

To be continued