Ficlet:: Knowing
Title: Knowing
Pairing: Kyouya/Tamaki
Rating: PG
Notes: spoiler-ish for anime ep 24; total fiction/canon?what canon?
The Idiot was the first person Kyouya had ever willingly touched. With a howl of rage turning him inside out, he shoved Tamaki to the floor, hands fisted - digging - into the silky fuzz of that ridiculous blue vest, his knuckles hot against Tamaki's chest, knees burning against perfect hips. And then beat his fist against that golden pile of hair - wrist warm against the kitten-thick strands.
It was months before he gave in again. Months before he kicked Tamaki over, the sole of his foot singed, fire licking up his shin as Tamaki laughed, a shoulder shaking gently under Kyouya's toes.
Another month before he pushed Tamaki out of the way in an un-crowded stairwell, his palm hot long after the landing was empty.
A week before he slapped an angelically proportioned shoulder - twice. His palm and knuckles burning long after Tamaki stopped grinning under the blows.
And Kyouya couldn't stop.
The more he hit, kicked, pushed, grabbed and shook, the more Tamaki laughed, and giggled. Glowed, even. Under each and every blow. And when Kyouya finally shoved his prince down, long limbs scattered across the soft sprawl of a futon in a quiet Kyoto hotel, Tamaki smiled up at him - dark and knowing and every bit as evil as the reflection in Kyouya's own mirror - his arms winding graceful and hot around Kyouya's shoulders, pulling himself up into that first violent kiss.
And Kyouya wondered again, how can you know me as well as this?.
Pairing: Kyouya/Tamaki
Rating: PG
Notes: spoiler-ish for anime ep 24; total fiction/canon?what canon?
The Idiot was the first person Kyouya had ever willingly touched. With a howl of rage turning him inside out, he shoved Tamaki to the floor, hands fisted - digging - into the silky fuzz of that ridiculous blue vest, his knuckles hot against Tamaki's chest, knees burning against perfect hips. And then beat his fist against that golden pile of hair - wrist warm against the kitten-thick strands.
It was months before he gave in again. Months before he kicked Tamaki over, the sole of his foot singed, fire licking up his shin as Tamaki laughed, a shoulder shaking gently under Kyouya's toes.
Another month before he pushed Tamaki out of the way in an un-crowded stairwell, his palm hot long after the landing was empty.
A week before he slapped an angelically proportioned shoulder - twice. His palm and knuckles burning long after Tamaki stopped grinning under the blows.
And Kyouya couldn't stop.
The more he hit, kicked, pushed, grabbed and shook, the more Tamaki laughed, and giggled. Glowed, even. Under each and every blow. And when Kyouya finally shoved his prince down, long limbs scattered across the soft sprawl of a futon in a quiet Kyoto hotel, Tamaki smiled up at him - dark and knowing and every bit as evil as the reflection in Kyouya's own mirror - his arms winding graceful and hot around Kyouya's shoulders, pulling himself up into that first violent kiss.
And Kyouya wondered again, how can you know me as well as this?.