Ouran Fic: The Hanged Man (R; Kyouya/Haruhi/Tamaki)
When I get upset... uh, I write fic. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first Ouran fic... but anyway.
Title: The Hanged Man
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine. Seriously.
Rating: R
Words: ~1,000
Spoilers: General spoilers
Warnings: Threesome; allusions to sexual situations
Pairing: Kyouya/Haruhi/Tamaki in all forms
Summary: They are normal - except for when they are not.
Author's Note: Thanks to hemlocke who shoved Episode 1 at me way back when, and to dolens_torpeo for constantly reminding me that I needed to write Ouran fic with her icon. :D
The Hanged Man
On bad days, when Kyouya-senpai makes sure to mention her debt at least six times by sunset, Haruhi thinks that he is the Black Man, a spectre lurking at the edges. He speaks when he must, each word effective and as deadly as a delicate knife between the ribs. He offers his opinion when needed, preferring to observe and collect what he considers to be valuable towards his own means.
He holds their ransom in hand, each word, fact and figure an ever-tightening noose. Kyouya-senpai, Haruhi realises, could destroy them without batting an eyelid, and none of them would know until it was too late.
# # #
My lord, the twins chorus, my lord, my lord, my lord!
Tamaki is an idiot, Haruhi knows. She knows this like she knows that the sky is blue and the grass is green - except for when the sky is dark with stormclouds, and the grass is brittle and dry from too little rain.
Tamaki too often says the wrong things before his mind has caught up with what his mouth is saying. He is foolish, and impulsive, and terribly endearing.
He has the unfortunate knack of seeing straight to the matter, and saying things that Haruhi most definitely does not want to hear at that precise moment.
Tamaki is an idiot, except for when he is not.
# # #
It takes her seven months, one week, and three days before she realises that the Host Club has taught her this:
She is the perfect man caught in a woman's body, for she knows how to charm a woman, spark interesting conversation, and endear herself to females.
She is the perfect woman for she knows exactly how they think, and react, and wish, and want. She knows them well, even if she does not know herself.
She is the perfect man, and the perfect woman, but she is not perfect.
# # #
She has never heard Kyouya-senpai play the piano, but she imagines that the melodies he would play would be dramatic tragedies of epic proportions. The notes his fingers would strike would sing of death, and destruction, and betrayal, and bloodshed, and the tenderest of hatred.
All of this would be in the grasp of a terribly gentle song, for that is the kind of person Kyouya-senpai is.
# # #
Do you love me? he asks her one fine afternoon, when the sky is clear and the birds are singing.
She considers. I don't know, she answers. If you have something to gain by my saying yes, then I will tell you that I love you.
He laughs, then, a quiet sound that makes her skin crawl. A good answer.
She does not ask him if he loves her. She is not that stupid.
They both look over at Tamaki, who is laughing and grinning and waving at them, and they both know that they will never ask him that question.
There are some truths that must never be told, for these truths are the ones that no one wants to hear.
# # #
Tamaki knows that Kyouya views the two of them separately.
Tamaki is familiar, a comforting and somewhat irritating presence that Kyouya has become accustomed to. He is Tamaki's comrade and protector all in one.
Haruhi is different, and they both know it. She comes from a different background, a different life, different experiences. She does not view the world - or the two of them - in the same way as they do, and this is part of the attraction. She offers them things that they cannot give each other.
Perhaps this is addiction.
They both ignore the fact that addiction can be deadly.
# # #
They are two sides of the same coin: a rich, privileged background. One is bright and overdramatic, exaggerated in the best sense of the world. The other is dark, and cunning, and embraced in shadow.
They are one, and the same, and utterly different, and they are both fatal to her.
They have changed her, even if she does not immediately realise it. It comes in gradual forms: her accepting the gift of a necklace, blushing at a well-turned phrase, feeling giddy at the opportunities at her fingertips.
They are both disastrous to her.
She will follow them to destruction, and beyond, for now she knows nothing else to do.
# # #
There are worse things out there, he tells her, and she knows he speaks the truth.
Others would find this relationship strange, between a woman and two men who all love each other equally. She finds as much satisfaction watching the two of them together as being curled up between them. To a stranger's eyes they do not appear to overly care for each other, but the three of them have never been very normal, have never tried to be, and have no inclination for ever being understood by others.
This is their life. It somehow works, and that is how it will remain.
# # #
She wakes up between them, warm and drowsy and sated. Kyouya appears asleep, but for the fingertips gently circling on her hip. Tamaki is asleep, muttering gibberish in the early-morning silence.
This is all right, she realises, swallowing the urge to laugh. No, this is more than all right, she thinks, and twists to press her mouth to Kyouya's, who politely obliges her.
# # #
It is on a perfectly ordinary Thursday night when Haruhi realises that she is, in fact, like most girls. She is naked, lying on expensive satin sheets, and Tamaki's mouth is moving against her neck as Kyouya's hand slips between her legs.
Haruhi is like most girls; the thought of being wanted equally by two men flatters her.
It is when she watches Tamaki and Kyouya press together, legs intertwined, that she realises that they, however, are not like most guys, but she doesn't mind this at all.
None of them has ever claimed to be normal.
# # #
I love you, she thinks one day, and her eyes widen. She could be thinking this towards one of them, or both, and it really doesn't matter because they are all one and the same.
Tamaki presses against her from behind, laughing as his arms squeeze around her waist. Kyouya smiles faintly, his fingertips brushing her cheekbone, and she realises, truly realises, that this is okay and that there is really nowhere else she would rather be.
Normality is frightfully overrated.
-> The Hanged Man (surrender to proceedings of life)
-> Reversed Hanged Man (lack of reflection)
Title: The Hanged Man
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine. Seriously.
Rating: R
Words: ~1,000
Spoilers: General spoilers
Warnings: Threesome; allusions to sexual situations
Pairing: Kyouya/Haruhi/Tamaki in all forms
Summary: They are normal - except for when they are not.
Author's Note: Thanks to hemlocke who shoved Episode 1 at me way back when, and to dolens_torpeo for constantly reminding me that I needed to write Ouran fic with her icon. :D
The Hanged Man
On bad days, when Kyouya-senpai makes sure to mention her debt at least six times by sunset, Haruhi thinks that he is the Black Man, a spectre lurking at the edges. He speaks when he must, each word effective and as deadly as a delicate knife between the ribs. He offers his opinion when needed, preferring to observe and collect what he considers to be valuable towards his own means.
He holds their ransom in hand, each word, fact and figure an ever-tightening noose. Kyouya-senpai, Haruhi realises, could destroy them without batting an eyelid, and none of them would know until it was too late.
# # #
My lord, the twins chorus, my lord, my lord, my lord!
Tamaki is an idiot, Haruhi knows. She knows this like she knows that the sky is blue and the grass is green - except for when the sky is dark with stormclouds, and the grass is brittle and dry from too little rain.
Tamaki too often says the wrong things before his mind has caught up with what his mouth is saying. He is foolish, and impulsive, and terribly endearing.
He has the unfortunate knack of seeing straight to the matter, and saying things that Haruhi most definitely does not want to hear at that precise moment.
Tamaki is an idiot, except for when he is not.
# # #
It takes her seven months, one week, and three days before she realises that the Host Club has taught her this:
She is the perfect man caught in a woman's body, for she knows how to charm a woman, spark interesting conversation, and endear herself to females.
She is the perfect woman for she knows exactly how they think, and react, and wish, and want. She knows them well, even if she does not know herself.
She is the perfect man, and the perfect woman, but she is not perfect.
# # #
She has never heard Kyouya-senpai play the piano, but she imagines that the melodies he would play would be dramatic tragedies of epic proportions. The notes his fingers would strike would sing of death, and destruction, and betrayal, and bloodshed, and the tenderest of hatred.
All of this would be in the grasp of a terribly gentle song, for that is the kind of person Kyouya-senpai is.
# # #
Do you love me? he asks her one fine afternoon, when the sky is clear and the birds are singing.
She considers. I don't know, she answers. If you have something to gain by my saying yes, then I will tell you that I love you.
He laughs, then, a quiet sound that makes her skin crawl. A good answer.
She does not ask him if he loves her. She is not that stupid.
They both look over at Tamaki, who is laughing and grinning and waving at them, and they both know that they will never ask him that question.
There are some truths that must never be told, for these truths are the ones that no one wants to hear.
# # #
Tamaki knows that Kyouya views the two of them separately.
Tamaki is familiar, a comforting and somewhat irritating presence that Kyouya has become accustomed to. He is Tamaki's comrade and protector all in one.
Haruhi is different, and they both know it. She comes from a different background, a different life, different experiences. She does not view the world - or the two of them - in the same way as they do, and this is part of the attraction. She offers them things that they cannot give each other.
Perhaps this is addiction.
They both ignore the fact that addiction can be deadly.
# # #
They are two sides of the same coin: a rich, privileged background. One is bright and overdramatic, exaggerated in the best sense of the world. The other is dark, and cunning, and embraced in shadow.
They are one, and the same, and utterly different, and they are both fatal to her.
They have changed her, even if she does not immediately realise it. It comes in gradual forms: her accepting the gift of a necklace, blushing at a well-turned phrase, feeling giddy at the opportunities at her fingertips.
They are both disastrous to her.
She will follow them to destruction, and beyond, for now she knows nothing else to do.
# # #
There are worse things out there, he tells her, and she knows he speaks the truth.
Others would find this relationship strange, between a woman and two men who all love each other equally. She finds as much satisfaction watching the two of them together as being curled up between them. To a stranger's eyes they do not appear to overly care for each other, but the three of them have never been very normal, have never tried to be, and have no inclination for ever being understood by others.
This is their life. It somehow works, and that is how it will remain.
# # #
She wakes up between them, warm and drowsy and sated. Kyouya appears asleep, but for the fingertips gently circling on her hip. Tamaki is asleep, muttering gibberish in the early-morning silence.
This is all right, she realises, swallowing the urge to laugh. No, this is more than all right, she thinks, and twists to press her mouth to Kyouya's, who politely obliges her.
# # #
It is on a perfectly ordinary Thursday night when Haruhi realises that she is, in fact, like most girls. She is naked, lying on expensive satin sheets, and Tamaki's mouth is moving against her neck as Kyouya's hand slips between her legs.
Haruhi is like most girls; the thought of being wanted equally by two men flatters her.
It is when she watches Tamaki and Kyouya press together, legs intertwined, that she realises that they, however, are not like most guys, but she doesn't mind this at all.
None of them has ever claimed to be normal.
# # #
I love you, she thinks one day, and her eyes widen. She could be thinking this towards one of them, or both, and it really doesn't matter because they are all one and the same.
Tamaki presses against her from behind, laughing as his arms squeeze around her waist. Kyouya smiles faintly, his fingertips brushing her cheekbone, and she realises, truly realises, that this is okay and that there is really nowhere else she would rather be.
Normality is frightfully overrated.
-> The Hanged Man (surrender to proceedings of life)
-> Reversed Hanged Man (lack of reflection)