"Mitsukuni needs a nap."

How many times has Takashi said this, standing up resolutely with the blonde nodding off on his shoulders? How many times has he caught Usa-chan in the crook of his arm as Mitsukuni's fingers unclench?

Takashi can't begin to guess, but every time, it's the same. The further he walks out of the Host Club's sight, the more the boy on his back begins to feel like a cross. Lead me not into temptation...

Mitsukuni's drowsiness had interrupted an outdoor gathering. The hosts and their guests were sitting on the lawn emoting over tea and pastries, except for Kyoya, who supplied the spring air with the tap of laptop keys. Takashi stood up, said the words; the Club nodded, eyeing the empty plate that once held a very large slice of cake with knowing smiles.

And now Takashi finds himself alone in the hallway with Mitsukuni and the echo of his footsteps. His breath is just a little uneven, his heart beating just a little fast against Mitsukuni's tiny limp hands.

Nothing new. Nothing Takashi hasn't willed himself to overcome.

He passes through the doorway to the music room, crosses over to the specially fitted couch waiting in the corner, leans backwards over it until he can let go of Mitsukuni without fear of waking him. Mitsukuni moans softly in his sleep. His sun-lined hair spills over his pillow, and his head lolls to the side, glowing with dreams.

Takashi shakes his less-than-pure thoughts away and ducks beneath the couch, drawing out a box containing the Favorite Pajamas. He unfolds them and begins untying Mitsukuni's shoes, pulling them off slowly while gently pinching Mitsukuni's heels between thumb and forefinger. Meticulously he rolls the socks beneath up, up, up past his toes. Each task is practiced, honed with time, radiant with the love Takashi gives it.

Takashi continues with Mitsukuni's blazer, removing it one sleeve at a time, his hands quickening with both familiarity and-Takashi would never admit it-anticipation. He makes fleeting work of the tie and the buttons of the shirt from collar to hem, and pauses.

The cloth of the shirt settles to either side of Mitsukuni's torso, framing a captivating image of porcelain stomach, slender shoulders, petal-pink nipples...

Takashi slaps himself in the face and takes a step back from the bed. "Stop it, Takashi," he mutters wearily. He resumes his work drenched in shame, careful to touch nothing but fabric.

As he reaches for the pajama shirt, motion registers in the corner of his eye; Mitsukuni's nose twitches against a stray eyelash. Takashi's hand cups to Mitsukuni's cheek expertly, as if it was always there. The blonde doesn't wake. Light as cotton, Takashi stretches his thumb to wipe the lash away.

His hand lingers.

And then it slides.

Takashi dazedly traces the line of Mitsukuni's neck down to his collarbones, below his collarbones. His fingertips circle one nipple, then the other, and then his hand fans out on the small, wiry stomach, palming the dip between hipbones, itching to continue its descent...

This time Takashi stumbles away, nearly falling to the floor in his haste to stop himself. He's never dared go this far. Ever. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenching one fist in the other so his knuckles are dots of white and his fingernails leave crescents in his palm. He stands there a while, breathing himself calm.

Barely trusting his hands, especially the left one, Takashi reaches shakily for Mitsukuni's belt, determined to finish his duty.

He freezes.

There is a bulge in Mitsukuni's pants.

With dawning horror his eyes click up to Mitsukuni's.

He's wide awake. Takashi can see bewilderment and drowsiness married on his face.

"Takashi." The voice is ponderous, not quite questioning.

Takashi's hands drop. "Yes, Mitsukuni." This day had to come sometime, Takashi thinks drearily. The day he let Mitsukuni down. Tears bite his eyelids.

"That felt really good."

It takes a moment for Takashi to hear it. But hear it he does. "Mitsukuni-?"

"Really really good. But now..." Mitsukuni trails off, unable to find the correct words. "...It kinda hurts."

"Hurts?" Takashi parrots, too shocked to think.

"Yeah. Down here."

Mitsukuni looks up imploringly at Takashi. Is he fooling himself, or can Takashi detect a hint of a smile?

"Can you make it better?"

SO MUCH BETTER, screams Takashi's libido.

"Is that what you want?"


Takashi sits on the couch, doing his best to hide the tremble ricocheting off his bones.

"Do you know what that means?"

"Takashi. I'm in the Host Club! Of course I know what it means."

Mitsukuni sidles up to Takashi so that they share the dip the larger boy makes in the cushions.

"It means I love you."

There was something bright in Mitsukuni's eyes, shining out from deep within his soul. Something ready to return Takashi's feelings, to satisfy him wholly.


Takashi was more than ready to accept that something."Right," he gasps. He kisses Mitsukuni vehemently and sets a personal record for ridding the blonde of his pants, underwear included.

Each subsequent kiss lands deeper into Mitsukuni's mouth, mirroring the desires of Takashi's bottom half. Mitsukuni relishes it, pushes Takashi down, slides his blazer off his shoulders.

"Y'know something, Takashi?"

Takashi grunts, dizzy with arousal.

"You're sweet just like cake!"

Mitsukuni babbles on happily as he continues to undress Takashi. "More like cake and chocolate and candy combined."

When he reaches skin, he licks. Takashi squeezes sheets between his fingers, struggling for his last inhibitions and failing miserably as Mitsukuni licks him again, further down.

"Warm too! Sweet and warm."

Takashi fairly rips his pants from his body, freeing the throbbing ache he's spent all these years restraining.

"Oh." Mitsukuni can't help but stare. Takashi is much taller, but still...

"Yours is a lot bigger."

Takashi's cheeks burn. "Er. Yeah."

"It hurts for you, too, huh?"

Takashi nods, embarrassed.

"You said you can make it better." Mitsukuni kisses the warmth on Takashi's cheeks. "Show me how."

Takashi hesitantly, disbelievingly sets Mitsukuni atop the arm of the couch.

And then he starts making it better.

Suddenly Mitsukuni's nerve center is between his legs; the wet of Takashi's mouth and the divine roughness of his hands reverberate throughout his body.


Takashi smiles around him, and his eyes close in tortured ecstasy.

They snap back open with a pang. "Taka-ah-!"

Mitsukuni buries fists in black hair as climax crashes over him. He slumps forward into Takashi's arms with a blissful moan.


Mitsukuni's hands waste no time. Takashi jolts.

"Your turn!"

Mitsukuni replicates Takashi's movements with the flawlessness of someone who's been trained all his life to replicate movements. Takashi's toes curl, and a guttural rumble escapes his lips. It doesn't take long for the sensation to overwhelm him.

"Mitsu-kuni. Stop."

Mitsukuni pulls back. "Did I do it wrong?"

"No." Definitely not. Takashi sits Mitsukuni up. "I..."

His hand traces the curve of Mitsukuni's thigh, curls around, dips in.

"Oh-!" Mitsukuni's back stiffens at the penetration, at the newness inside him. He bites his lip red and clings to Takashi.

Takashi leans down and their mouths meet again, stumbling over and over each other. Mitsukuni groans as Takashi adds the sublime pressure of another finger.


Mitsukuni's voice begs on hands and knees for something it can't convey. His lips degenerate into tongue and his tongue strays to Takashi's jaw with an indescribable hunger.

Sometimes, though, the unspoken words are the clearest.

Takashi's fingers slip free; Mitsukuni almost protests before Takashi repositions him, guides him slowly down to his lap. He inhales knife-sharp. This is not fingers. This is something raw and hot and thick.

"If you don't feel good, tell me."

The sincerity in Takashi's voice touches Mitsukuni. "I won't have to tell you that."

Mitsukuni starts to move, undulating slowly, and Takashi matches his rhythm. They tangle up in each other, breathe each other's air so that, at least for a moment, they need each other to survive. The intensity doesn't build, it blooms, unfurling into something heady and sanguine, growing through both boys until it overflows.

Mitsukuni shudders at Takashi's liquid heat, follows with his own and a final small cry. Takashi kisses Mitsukuni's hair and runs his hands down his sides, as if to ensure he's still in one piece.

"Takashi, I'm fine. I loved it."

Mitsukuni pushes his fingers through the spaces between Takashi's.

"I love you."

"Love you t-oo." Takashi's voice breaks. Mitsukuni chuckles.

"You're so shy!"

Mitsukuni nuzzles into Takashi's chest, talks against his skin.

"If I do this too much, I think my heart'll get a cavity."

"Mitsukuni." There is nothing else to say but his name.

The blonde yawns and stretches. He looks up at Takashi with cozy, blanketed eyes.

"I'm really tired now."

"You should rest."

"Stay next to me, okay?"


Takashi finishes what he started, clothing Mitsukuni in his pajamas, tucking him in, and, a new addition to the routine, kissing his forehead. Mitsukuni grabs his face and steals a kiss off his lips too.

"So sweet!"

He giggles himself to sleep.

Takashi dons his uniform and settles to the floor, leaning against the couch, head full of gentle thoughts.

The Host Club realizes it's getting late. They bid their guests adieu and gather themselves to return to the music room.

"Be quiet, remember. Honey-senpai is sleeping."

When they push the door open, they see Mitsukuni wrapped around Usa-chan and Takashi snoring on the floor.

"Oh, that is just adorable."

"Too cute."

"All those girls that just left would scream over this."

"It's too bad they want what they can't have."

"What, Kyoya?"



A/N: This was requested by a friend. I'd never really thought of HoneyxMori while I was watching Ouran, so I consider it a highly enjoyable experiment. Feedback=love, especially since I've never written for this fandom before. Cheeers!