If It Looks Good, Eat It!
Title: If It Looks Good, Eat It!
Pairing: Tamaki/Kyouya
Rating: R
Warnings: weight gain kink, fat fetish
Summary: There's so much you can lose when you gain. With Kyouya's help, Tamaki might get everything back. He might even get more than he ever expected.
This is inspired/based upon/etc., my favorite anonymous fill of the Ouran Kink Meme here.
He could have stopped it, Kyouya knows without a doubt. His opinion weighs more on Tamaki’s thoughts than anyone else’s, his careful tallying of the club’s requests and decrease thereof would have with one quiet conversation played to Tamaki’s business sense, and yet…
Kyouya could never have done that. To do that would be to put the club’s best interests before his own and, really, that isn’t an option. After all, it isn’t a true business venture, more like a game to entertain the perpetually bored female elite and amuse them with quietly ironic hosts who are unquestionably their equals, even, their betters.
And what, by chance, would benefit Kyouya while eating away at the success of the Host Club?
You have to understand, Kyouya loves Tamaki.
He knows this. He’s known it for a while now but Kyouya has always been a cautious fellow. He hasn’t yet decided when or where to make his move. He hasn’t yet decided to make a move at all.
It wasn’t always so. It is certainly possible to be close friends, best friends, with someone without feeling romantic interest for that person, especially when gender is one of the many things in common. Kyouya spent many a year looking at other people, girls, boys, maids, classmates. Where is the harm when an arranged marriage is a likely future? Dalliances are accepted, expected.
Tamaki, the richest and most beloved of Ouran’s students, will always be Kyouya’s close friend. It makes business sense. Even if he had detested Tamaki’s personality from the outset, Kyouya, with a sense born from the cradle and bred into every fiber of his being, would have dissembled and flattered until the relationship was assured. A partnership with Tamaki’s family has always been the prize.
Getting the prince was just a bonus.
Now, Kyouya has a horrible flaw, one that he has, with all his craft and guile, hidden as best as possible. Kyouya, you see, is terribly lazy. He despises putting out more effort than he can expect to have returned. He will let an amazing opportunity pass by if he knows he will have to exhaust himself to take it. He has, actually, several times.
So what is this all leading up to? Why do I, dear reader, waste your time with all this explanation and backstory? Kyouya certainly wishes no one to know of his imperfections. His laziness would be legend if he weren’t so very careful about concealing it.
You see, there has always been this golden opportunity sitting right in front of Kyouya. It’s one of the ones he would watch pass by, his desire for it fading as the bidding winds down and the sale finalizes, except, suddenly, this opportunity becomes ripe for the picking, in more ways than one.
It’s Tamaki, golden boy, crown jewel of the school. He’s let himself go, in the opinion of many a student and many a host, too. It started as a fondness for sweets that developed into a weakness for sugary things and now has turned into a full-blown dependency on pastries, cakes, and cannoli. It’s affected his figure considerably, turning a once widely desirable physique into something that has become the ridicule of Ouran.
You can guess how such a change would affect Tamaki’s standing in the Host Club. Not only do the girls shy away from him, some turning to Hikaru and Kaoru, others, inexplicably to Hunny-senpai or Haruhi, a few coming to sit by Mori-senpai- not that he ever does a great job at conversation, hovering next to his cousin and playing the straight man to Hunny-senpai’s sugary sweetness- it has led to disapproval and disgust among the hosts.
The twins took every opportunity at first: teasing, gentle bullying, poking and prodding, even special tailoring of his clothes to make Tamaki look even more immense. When time progressed, they, like Haruhi, gave up and muttered that he was wasting his youth. There was time much later, after marriage, to make a fool of oneself.
Hunny-senpai takes it personally, or he did before he and Mori-senpai graduated. He thought at the very beginning that Tamaki was a cautionary tale. Hunny adores sweets, his weight kept in check only by constant training. It really isn’t hard to imagine the fear he felt that he would go the way of Tamaki after only a few extra cakes and candied strawberries. Mori-senpai, in his never ending quest to make Hunny’s life one devoid of stress and pain, used to tell him that that would never happen. Then, three days a week, in place of Hunny’s afterschool nap, they would practice together, sparring right up until they had to leave for the Club.
Kyouya, you understand, sees things quite differently. Partially, he’s blind to Tamaki’s true looks. He has known him for many years. By now, it takes effort for him to remember what color Tamaki’s eyes really are or whether his chin has always been so round. He tries to remember the lithe body everyone whispers about. He looks at the photos stacked neatly in the drawer of his night table of the two of them together, last year’s vacation, this or that society function, sees the obvious differences, and puts the photos back, not caring.
That is not to say he is unaware of the weight gained. Much of this change of heart follows a change of Tamaki. He has grown immensely in the past year and a half, expanding outward with every sweet that passes his lips. The twins, as mentioned, hate how he looks now and Haruhi openly disapproves but this only increases Kyouya’s resolve to act slowly. He is very much aware of the fact that Tamaki is different; he just doesn’t think less of him because of it. He has noticed the decrease in guests asking for Tamaki and the migration to other hosts. He can tell you the figures, how they’ve dropped markedly, how the Club is hanging by a thread compared to how it was two years ago. He can also tell you that they’re going back up.
Kyouya wasn’t banking on it but the guests are returning slowly. It puzzles him and makes him more than a bit nervous that there are girls fawning over his best friend again. Tamaki, ever the perfect host, smiles sweetly into his plate of cake while regaling his entourage with some grand tale. The girls sit around him giggling, handing him boxes of homemade cakes and other sweets. Or, rather, what appear to be homemade treats. Kyouya doubts any of the gifts are actually products of the girls themselves and not their personal bakers.
Kyouya has been documenting this slight change carefully, curious beside himself as to the reason for this sudden surfeit of guests. The likely reasons don’t stack up. Tamaki hasn’t lost weight. He hasn’t started an exercise program or begun a diet less rich in carbohydrates and glucose. In fact, according to his last physical- which Kyouya has access to because he likes to average the weights the guests prefer for each host and advise them when to gain or to lose- Tamaki has done the opposite, namely gained noticeably. Kyouya doubts then that Tamaki’s weight is the reason for this return of interest.
“It’s not the weight,” a dry voice tells him. Kyouya turns his head, more out of courtesy than in an effort to identify the speaker. The curiously dull, genderless voice could only belong to one person.
“Ah, Haruhi-chan, how are you?” Kyouya asks, smiling winningly. It has no effect on the glum girl, who looks at him sourly. It’s such a pity she’s not more feminine, Kyouya thinks, her eyes would look wonderful against a cute, babydoll dress.
“Fine,” she answers, coming to sit next to him on the couch. That produces a titter of excitement from the girls surrounding Tamaki and, most curiously, a few cool looks. Tamaki smiles through all of it.
That, Kyouya decides, is what he likes most about this new Tamaki. The weight, from his doughy smile to his soft hips and rotund belly, acts as a panacea for his famously wild mood swings. There’s no more of the ups and downs, the fake over-happiness or the terrible, depressing lows. He’s simply, perpetually, happy.
“That’s wonderful,” Kyouya comments. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. At the moment, he has no guests to entertain directly, only the myriad girls who sit on the outskirts of the music room, watching their favorites, living vicariously through the hosts and their interactions. The hosts know this and leave the girls be. It is just another service of the Host Club; they are on display at all times.
“They think you two are in a serious, passionate relationship,” Haruhi says, her voice just barely showing her disdain for the idea. “There are rumors. I’m sure you’ve heard them by now.”
“Is that so?” Kyouya asks, carefully pleasant. He has heard many rumors. Many rumors ranging from romantic relationships between the hosts to connections to the Yakuza to family scandals. Often the timing of the rumor is more important than the information contained within. This one is only intriguing because it has resurfaced now, which is to say Kyouya’s heard it multiple times before. Kyouya’s hands itch for his clipboard. He wants to mark this recurrence as he does every rumor. This would be the twenty-seventh time this rumor has been brought back to life, the fifteenth time it has been taken to a high degree of seriousness by guests.
“Yes,” Haruhi continues. “This one is interesting. Someone told them that you’re the reason Tamaki has gotten so big. You wouldn’t date him because he was too skinny. He, pining for your love, became obese to please you.” Kyouya frowns at that, not liking Haruhi’s word choice. Tamaki is not obese. He is very close, only missing the official mark by a few pounds- Kyouya will have to remember to research that information. Perhaps he could even create a graph so that he might predict when Tamaki will hit that mark. The thought alone makes Kyouya’s stomach churn pleasantly.
“That is interesting,” Kyouya remarks, glancing at his watch. “Only, tell me, Haruhi-chan, why he is so popular if these girls believe him to be taken?”
“Yaoi. They like the idea of the two of you together. They think if they watch closely, they will see something happen.”
To test the theory, Kyouya smirks, looking over at Tamaki. It takes nothing for his best friend to smile back, leading to a rather interesting spectacle among the avidly watching girls. Kyouya watches in amusement as Haruhi’s words ring true.
Then he stands and announces that they, regrettably, have run out of time for the day. The girls whine and pout before heading for the door, many wishing Tamaki a good evening, something that hasn’t been done in such numbers in a long while.
The hosts pack their things and head out for the day. Kyouya and Tamaki are the last to leave. They will be eating dinner together and so are slow to leave. Kyouya stacks Tamaki’s presents neatly, leaving a note on top for the servants to deliver them to Tamaki’s address.
“Are you ready?” he asks when he’s finished. Tamaki looks around and nods in agreement. They walk to the door together, Kyouya holding the door open for Tamaki, one hand resting on the small of his back.
Just before he shuts the door behind them, he brushes a gentle, friendly kiss against Tamaki’s cheek. He’s rewarded with a smile. They leave, hands touching for a single heartbeat before sliding away.
ØØØ
They have been friends forever. They have always spent excessive amounts of time together. Afterschool, weekends, joint vacations, and numerous sleepovers have been spent together over the years.
This is all new. The flirting, the shared dinners, the shy touches, and the secret smiles. This is the way it has been for exactly two months and six days. Kyouya would know the hours and minutes but at the time he’d been too distracted by how Tamaki’s incredibly white smile was making him feel, the deep, hot blush that extended from his cheeks all the way down his neck, the feeling continuing down into his jittery stomach. He remembers smiling so hard it hurt but whether that was at eleven o’clock in the morning or three o’clock in the afternoon is a mystery.
They must have sat there for a half hour, simply staring at each other. Tamaki, surprisingly, hadn’t said a thing, just dropped his gaze and finished his tiramisu.
Kyouya had watched him eat with relish, noticing the way Tamaki licked the tines of his fork clean and took polite sips of coffee, only his slightly shaking hands revealing his nervousness. They were both nervous, turned back into twelve year olds with their desire for each other, unable to form any real conversation. “Um” suddenly had new meaning.
Tamaki ate slowly while Kyouya sat there, his coffee untouched in front of him. It was fascinating, how Tamaki could eat so single-mindedly, then look up and flash him a breathtaking smile, teeth perfectly clean. He looked adorable with his double chin and dimples, cherubic.
In the back of his mind, Kyouya remembered the conversations he had overheard, all disparaging, all making fun, none of them seeing the beautiful man he saw then in front of him. He remembered how Tamaki swallowed all those harsh words like he swallowed his tiramisu then and took another plate. So sweet, so unprotesting. Underneath, though, inside, what was Tamaki feeling? Was he hurting, did he need reassurance?
Kyouya was counting on it. He was waiting for Tamaki to show that weakness so he could make his move, offer himself up as bodily comfort. He would take Tamaki at his weakest and make him his own.
He was expecting it, banking on it, and was still caught unaware when Tamaki asked the question. It had all been so calculated in his head, so unfeeling, but the reality was anything but.
“Do you…do you think I’m fat?” Tamaki had asked hesitantly, adjusting his too tight jacket around himself. He needed new clothes. His shirt buttons were showing the strain of his ample stomach, pulling tightly at the center, the sides hugging his every curve.
Kyouya would have had to outright lie to give any answer other than an affirmative. Here was the perfect opportunity to snare Tamaki and his throat was closing up. How could he answer? What could he say?
It came to him, a way to avoid the issue and still get a chance to have that full body to himself, have his best friend in his bed, move their relationship forward.
Kyouya reached out and squeezed Tamaki’s hand, noting how much larger and fuller the fingers were than his own.
“Do I think you’re fat?” he repeated lightly, teasingly. Then in an act that had shocked even himself, he had moved his hand to Tamaki’s stomach and tickled that deliciously round stomach. Tamaki, the new, sunny-sweet Tamaki, had laughed, making his heavy sides shake, the flesh jumping up to touch Kyouya’s fingertips with each giggle. It warmed him inside and out. “Why would I think that? You’re beautiful to me, Tamaki. You always are.”
Are they, then, in a serious, passionate relationship like Haruhi had said? Not yet. Kyouya still has to find an appropriate time to make a move that wouldn’t completely jeopardize their friendship. Wait, test the waters a little before finding an appropriate time. Then, he will pounce.
ØØØ
The next time the Host Club meets, there are two more girls in the group surrounding Tamaki. The numbers are nothing compared to two years ago, nothing compared to even the very first meeting of the Host Club, but they are an increase. There had been weeks with no girls, when Tamaki had sat by himself, happily eating his sweet something-or-other. He hadn’t been worried about the decrease. He had been perfectly happy with just his plate and his fork, drawing only disgusted or disdainful attention to himself.
Today, he is just as happy as he was back then, teasing the girls gently and making them smile shyly. Kyouya doesn’t have much time to watch him as he has Odessa and her friends to entertain. Odessa is a regular of his. She is European, having just moved to Japan a few months ago. It takes effort to understand her with her heavy accent and misspoken particles of speech. She pays very well, though, and that’s all that matters.
Kyouya engages her in slow conversation, gently correcting her mistakes. Odessa becomes frustrated often, her bright blue eyes bursting into tears that her friends and Kyouya soothe quickly. He compliments her on the cut of her dress and the ribbons in her chocolate-brown hair. They talk about the weather, one bit of Japanese she has down perfectly.
Her family, he has learned through careful research, sells toothpaste and mouthwash in high-end European boutiques. It is a very lucrative business, apparently, as she has quite a lot of money to spend on her own. Not very glamorous but then business isn’t always.
Odessa has a friend whose company Kyouya honestly dislikes immensely. She talks out of turn, interrupting Odessa at the most inappropriate of times, to make rude comments about other girls attending the Host Club. Kimi is average looking, fashionably pale skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair with dyed honey brown highlights. She is, truthfully, only average-looking, which irritates Kyouya all the more. Kimi has no real skills; she isn’t interesting to talk to, her manners are less than fully refined, she has no interests outside shopping and gossip, her grades are average, and her family is only in the middle range for the school. Kyouya is certain Odessa’s friendship with the girl has more to do with the ease of understanding her less than stellar vocabulary than any real affection.
Kimi loves attention, always trying to draw Kyouya away from talking to Odessa or any other girl to talk to her, only to clam up and turn bright red when he gives her a polite smile.
Kyouya wishes every day when Kimi and Odessa leave, that next time Odessa’s entourage will be one fewer. It never happens.
ØØØ
Three days later, on the weekend, Kyouya has no plans. He ponders reading the financial sections of the week’s newspapers for any interesting trends but puts that aside when he remembers he has already read every one. He plays with his clipboards, looking through the notes and graphs he’s made for the month, reconfiguring a few equations and redrawing a few imperfect lines before putting them back, bored.
He lies down on a reclining chair in his wing, staring at the decorated ceiling above him. The paintings and carvings are intensely familiar. He’s looked at them all his life. Finding nothing of interest there, Kyouya sits up and calls a maid in for a phone. She brings it to him instantly, on a silver tray. The excessive pageantry goes unnoticed as Kyouya dials Tamaki’s number, invites him over, and puts the phone back down on its hook.
The maid leaves and Kyouya lies back down. Handsome. Rich. Bored. He needs entertainment, he thinks.
Tamaki arrives a short time later. Kyouya hears the front door opening, the ceremony as Tamaki hands his outer jacket to the butler and proceeds into his wing of the house. Kyouya sits up hastily, rearranging his clothes so he looks polished and not like a child who has been staring at the ceiling for an hour because he’s too lazy to find something better to do. There is no reason Tamaki needs to know what he's been doing, none at all.
Tamaki laughs at him nonetheless, making a rude remark about the state of Kyouya’s hair. Kyouya grins rakishly, tilting his head to emphasize the tousled look. It only makes Tamaki roll his eyes and tell him he looks like a fool.
It’s easy banter, ignoring the tension that hangs heavy in the air. Kyouya extends a hand and invites Tamaki to sit next to him.
“It’s warm,” Tamaki comments.
“Would you rather it be cold?” Kyouya rejoins, wanting to stick his tongue out at Tamaki like a commoner child. What are the rules of conduct now? Could he, if he wanted to?
Tamaki laughs softly, looking down, away. Kyouya watches him. He’s been doing that a lot lately, just watching his best friend. Everything he does is fascinating to Kyouya now, the way he moves, the way he talks, how he licks frosting off his fingers, one digit at a time, a little pop as he pulls his finger finally from his mouth…
Needless to say, Tamaki can be very, very distracting.
Kyouya comes back to reality to find Tamaki looking at him. Staring, really, looking at him with a sort of curious intensity, like he’s trying to decide something. He leans forward and Kyouya wonders if there’s something on his face other than his glasses.
The kiss, when it comes, is short, chaste almost. Tamaki initiates it and Kyouya doesn’t stop it. Tamaki pulls back almost instantly, eyes searching Kyouya’s. The fear and doubt in those beautiful eyes tears at Kyouya. Tamaki doubts that he, Kyouya, his very best friend, wants him? Has he changed that much, that what he would have accepted without question two years ago is now treated with disbelief?
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, stroking one thick cheek, feeling Tamaki shudder. “Exquisitely, tremendously beautiful.”
Tamaki’s smile grows softer, dimples fading into rolls of fat. Kyouya is in heaven. He nips Tamaki’s lower lip, asking without words for entrance. Tamaki gives it and they fade, mouths fused, into oblivion.
Then, as suddenly as it has begun, it is over. Tamaki jerks back, breaking the kiss.
“I have to go,” Tamaki says. He scrambles to his feet, sides jiggling with the sudden movement.
Kyouya, too stunned by the rejection to stop him, watches Tamaki leave, maid closing the door discreetly behind him. With no one to see him, he rams his stupid head into the gilt border of the reclining chair.
ØØØ
When a young man is sexually frustrated, it is acceptable for him to release his tension. That is what Kyouya tells himself when he skips the Host Club to hurry home and, well, release tension.
He knows it will cause concern and a small sensation among the guests. He knows everyone’s going to be jumping down his throat tomorrow, demanding to know why he didn’t show up and telling him about all the complaints from the girls. That is, if they don’t think he’s dying and try to visit him at home.
Kyouya, for his part, thinks it is worth the stir. He has pride and sense, and those things keep him from finding a quiet bathroom and getting off there. That would be horribly improper and, he thinks very quietly, open the opportunity for someone to happen upon him and, oh, that would not go over well. He can just imagine the gossip now: Kyouya, overcome with emotion over whoever’s beautiful face, was forced to lower himself to onaning in the bathroom. Kyouya thinks mild panic is a much better option.
He doesn’t take into account the affect it will have on Tamaki or that his friend, who at the best of times can be incredibly stupid and quick to make assumptions whose reality only exists in his own brain, might actually think he is physically injured.
Tamaki doesn’t quite pound down the front door trying to get to Kyouya but he certainly manages to get to his bedroom before any servant can warn Kyouya he has a visitor. For all his bulk, Tamaki can still move quite fast when he so desires.
It is amazing how even the most familiar knock can be impossible to identify when one isn’t expecting it. Kyouya mutters a curse, telling the maid to go away, and is shocked to hear Tamaki’s voice.
“Kyouya, are you alright?! Do you need a doctor?! Are you dying?!”
Kyouya about dies from embarrassment right then and there. How long has Tamaki been standing there? Does he know? Has he heard?
Kyouya does a decent job of getting himself back together.
“Oh,” Tamaki says, looking unnervingly nervous. He runs a hand through his blonde hair. “I should, I’m going to go,” he says, turning away. Kyouya reaches out a hand to stop him, gripping his wrist but Tamaki pulls away, eyes wide.
He looks back once as he waddles off. The look isn’t reassuring.
Kyouya stands there, feeling like he’s been gutted, his entrails ripped right out. His heart’s still beating but his body’s dying. He can’t- there’s nothing he can do, not if Tamaki heard and knows, and- Did he just ruin the best relationship in his life? Has everything changed between them? He doesn’t know, can’t know, and it’s killing him. Kyouya shuts the door, sliding down it, hands over his face, wanting to die, wanting to go back five, ten minutes, anything to change what just happened. He can’t have known this would happen, that Tamaki would find him like this and-
Kyouya’s throat closes up. He sits there, leaning his head back against the door, and stares at the ceiling with eyes that burn like fire.
ØØØ
It never occurs to Kyouya that Tamaki can’t hear his thoughts or that his carefully shallow breathing makes it almost impossible to overhear. Always, when he…pleasures himself, Kyouya is meticulously careful to avoid discovery.
In fact, it is seeing Kyouya himself, hair barely disheveled and breathing only a hair’s weight heavier than normal that has turned Tamaki skittish. Inside him are these suddenly requited feelings pounding against his ribcage in a bid to get out. It shocks him, burns through him every time Kyouya smiles his way or touches him, because, in gaining so much weight, Tamaki has lost something just as heavy. His confidence, the assurance that he is attractive, desirable. For all that his crazed temper has mellowed out, his cocky self-assurance has been dissolved.
Tamaki, when he leaves, doesn’t know where to go. He’s confused, mostly at himself, but partially at Kyouya. Something is going on, something that made Kyouya leave school today after spending all day with him in class and then just go home, like he couldn’t stand to be around him one second more.
Is it the kiss? Tamaki wonders. He knows it was a stupid thing to do, kiss Kyouya in the first place, but he had seemed to enjoy it before Tamaki chickened out and fled. They hadn’t discussed it, hadn’t even really talked during the past week. They hadn’t eaten dinner together or spent any time together over the weekend. Tamaki had chalked it up to a joint effort on their parts to avoid each other out of sheer embarrassment.
Now, he’s even more confused. He thought- well, he thought something else was going on and had pretended to feel the same terror as the worried girls this afternoon. He’d rushed off with the excuse that he needed to find Kyouya and they had eaten it up as he knew they would, sighing loudly about the love in their eternal friendship.
By the time he had reached Kyouya’s house, Tamaki hadn’t found a clear-headed way of confronting Kyouya so he settled on acting the worried friend. He had been worried, just not that Kyouya was physically hurt, sick, or worse.
Then to find that Kyouya was fine, relaxing in his room alone without a care in the world- it had infuriated Tamaki. He’d wanted to snap at Kyouya, demand to know what the hell was going on in his head because there was no doubt in Tamaki’s mind then that Kyouya really was avoiding him. He could have begged off an excuse, told Tamaki he couldn’t make it to Host Club today, but instead he chose to say nothing because he didn’t want to talk to Tamaki anymore.
Tamaki closes his eyes and bites his lip as a wave of emotion comes over him. He will not let himself fall apart simply because Kyouya has rejected him. There are many reasons for Kyouya to not feel the way Tamaki feels, myriad reasons that Tamaki can list by heart. He thinks about all of them every time he tries to convince himself that he’s imagining things, that for all the looks and half-smiles, Kyouya doesn’t really want him back. Every time, though, he thinks about the way Kyouya acts and comes out convinced that he really, truthfully, loves him, too.
This afternoon, though, proves that Tamaki was wrong every single time. Kyouya doesn’t care about him, not that way. They’re friends, nothing more.
ØØØ
Kyouya, sick with worry over what he might have done, shows up at Tamaki’s house that evening. The servants know him and do not even ask him to announce himself when he walks in. Taking off his coat, he hands it to the waiting butler and makes his way to Tamaki’s suite.
He’s so anxious his hands are shaking. What should he say? What should he do? There are no rules of conduct for kissing your best friend or getting caught in an awkward situation by said best friend after kissing him.
He knocks on the door and waits for several long minutes for an answer, smoothing down his hair as he waits. At long last, the door opens.
“Hello,” Kyouya says. Tamaki stands with the door half open, head leaning against the wood.
“Hello,” Tamaki answers back. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and it’s untucked, hanging at his sides. His eyes are just barely red-tinged. The most striking thing is his expression: sad, resigned, and hopeless. He looks like somebody has died.
“I’m sorry,” Kyouya blurts out. “I didn’t realize you were going to come looking for me and-”
“Were you avoiding me?” Tamaki asks, interrupting him. He frowns, looking tired.
Kyouya is taken aback.
“What?” he asks. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”
“Because-” Tamaki stops himself. “Look at me,” he says, gesturing to himself, especially his protruding stomach. “I’m repulsive.”
Kyouya forgets how to breathe, he’s so shocked.
“I don’t think so,” he says quickly. “Maybe other people do, but I don’t think that at all.”
“Truly?” Tamaki asks, hope shining in his beautiful eyes.
Kyouya grins, his charm falling into place.
“Truly,” he says, reaching out and grasping a handful of Tamaki’s shirt. He moves closer, angling his hips toward Tamaki. “I think you’re handsome, beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Tamaki, you look so good right now, you don’t even know.”
Tamaki’s face turns a delicate shade of red. Something inside Kyouya is urging him to kiss his best friend right here and right now, and he doesn’t ignore it. He slips his other hand around Tamaki’s neck and pulls him close. Their noses brush and Kyouya slips inside Tamaki’s beautiful mouth. It is the best feeling in the world.
ØØØ
Kyouya stares at Tamaki’s ceiling, chest heaving. The ceiling, usually white, is changing color, rapid bursts of purple fading to yellow with every much needed breath. He looks over at Tamaki lying next to him on the big bed, the two of them covered only in a sheet, and smiles indolently before turning onto his stomach and running a hand over Tamaki’s chest. His glasses are askew and he can only see clearly out of his right eye but Kyouya’s not in the frame of mind to stop and set them aright.
“Did we just…?” Tamaki asks, sounding breathless. He should be. Kyouya has to say, he’s a pretty good lay. Great, even.
“Yeah,” Kyouya answers, resting his head on Tamaki’s shoulder, the pleasurable buzz of post-orgasm ruining his usually polished speech. He feels punch drunk and fancy free, or however that saying goes. Not much in Kyouya’s brain is working at the moment. System overload and that sort of thing.
Instead of trying to calm his beating heart and reclaim his malfunctioning brain, Kyouya caresses Tamaki’s cheek and loses himself all over again.
ØØØ
The numbers of girls requesting Tamaki grow day by day. Of course, they still don’t come near his previous numbers but they are increasing. Kyouya watches Tamaki flirt with amusement, knowing it is all show, knowing Tamaki wants only him.
He completely agrees with Haruhi’s assessment now. The girls come to watch the two of them interact. Kyouya and Tamaki won’t make themselves public for various reasons, one of which is that part of the appeal to the girls is the possibility, not the conviction. They like to think Kyouya and Tamaki are secretly, deeply, madly in love but, failing having each other, will gladly fall into the arms of whichever girl happens to be poised to take the spot.
So they toy with the girls’ emotions, acting like a married couple when it’s appropriate, shooting possibly passionate looks at each other, saying things that could be construed as sexual, and so on. It’s a delicious game between them and Haruhi makes a killing discussing the aftermaths with the girls themselves. They won’t talk to Kyouya or Tamaki about it directly, being too polite, but they love asking Haruhi pointed questions about the pair.
“How much time do Kyouya-senpai and Tamaki-senpai spend together?” they’ll ask.
Or:
“Do you think Kyouya-senpai looks sad today? Are he and Tamaki-senpai not getting along?”
Haruhi will sigh and launch into a long diatribe about what Kyouya said to her the other day or how she, too, has noticed Tamaki’s sad looks. She can bring them to heavy sighs and gleeful giggles in a matter of minutes, drawing out their emotions without ever really telling them anything.
The gifts pile in, too. Mostly they are sweets, some supposedly homemade, many imported. Tamaki accepts them graciously, though even he couldn’t possibly eat all of them, thanking each girl in person and by letter. Kyouya reads the cards with amusement when they are alone together, loving how some girls are shy about mentioning his and Tamaki’s supposed relationship and how others hint heavily. He has been known to pass along some of the more amusing ones to Hikaru and Kaoru, who in turn tease the girls about their mushiness and sweet words.
It’s a big conspiracy among the Club now, Tamaki and Kyouya. It’s the most apparent secret and yet it’s still not confirmed among the actual hosts. Kyouya brushes off questions with a single arched eyebrow. Tamaki simply smiles and takes another bite of cake.
Why should they tell anyone? It can be their secret for a while.
ØØØ
Kyouya will remember it till the day he dies. Tamaki’s eyebrows knit as he swallows the first bite. The cake is one of the many gifts of food he has received recently. Neither thinks to question the safety of eating them. Who would stoop so low as to poison the richest boy in school? It is unthinkable.
This cake is some variation of red velvet, very dark and moist with buttercream frosting.
The second bite Tamaki never swallows, spitting it out into his napkin. At the time, Kyouya simply pushes it away as inexpert baking. Later, he realizes it is the result of a very different lack of skill.
The pains had started later that night. Kyouya had offered a stomach rub but that had only sharpened the pain. Only minutes later the cramps had worsened and Tamaki’s eyes started to flutter. Then they closed and he stopped breathing.
The doctors had had to pump his stomach. Amidst the vast amount of other things, they had found chemicals commonly associated with cleaning supplies. The cake had been laced with them. Had Tamaki swallowed that second bite, he could have gone into cardiac arrest. Had he eaten all of it, he would certainly have been killed.
Kyouya calls a meeting of the entire Host Club, pulling Mori-senpai and Hunny-senpai from university to come. This is deadly serious.
They are arranged in a rarely used sitting room at Kyouya’s family home. Haruhi sits on a gilt-edged, lily-decorated sofa between Hikaru and Kaoru. A glass table separates them from Kyouya and Tamaki who sit together on the sofa facing them. Hunny-senpai sits with his cousin, the two of them sharing a smaller couch to the right of Kaoru and Tamaki. Usa-chan sits in Mori-senpai’s lap, which would look comical if the man’s expression weren’t so serious. The setting is painfully formal, not even the steaming cups of coffee on the glass table easing the tension. A maid passes through now and then to refill the cups before skittering away quickly.
Kyouya explains the situation, sending withering looks the twins’ way when they snicker at how Tamaki was so very nearly killed.
“Regardless of how much Tamaki ingests,” Kyouya says coolly, “we must discover the reason behind this incident. I have sent all the other gifts for testing. It will take a day or two before the results come back. I would like you all to look at the package this cake came in and tell me who you think might have sent it.”
“Maybe,” Kaoru offers, “someone’s trying to tell Tamaki he needs to-”
“Needs to what?” Kyouya cuts him off. Anger is bubbling inside him, anger at Kaoru and Hikaru for not taking this seriously, anger at whoever was malicious enough to hurt Tamaki, anger at himself for not thinking to check the gifts for ill intent, anger at everyone for looking at Tamaki and not seeing that he’s still the same person he has always been. Kyouya’s quickly losing his control. Tamaki is a sore topic for him and the need to protect his friend and lover is growing stronger by the minute.
“Lose weight,” Haruhi finishes flatly. Everyone turns to look at her. Haruhi always sees the full situation, ignoring all their drama and hysteria to get to the point of things. “There’s no point in hedging around what we’re all thinking.”
“Do you agree with Kaoru then?” Kyouya snaps.
“No,” she says, looking him dead in the eyes. There’s no challenge there, only a need to be blunt and truthful. “I don’t think this was someone trying to warn Tamaki that he’s gotten too fat.” She pauses because Kyouya’s bristling and about to jump out of his seat and start pacing or, alternately, lunge at her. “Please calm down, Kyouya. This is much more serious than a little game. Tamaki was poisoned. I think someone was trying to actually hurt him, not tell him off.”
Silence. The air is pregnant with emotion. The Host Club has dealt with many things before, including wildly fanatic girls. Haruhi has a point: the cake was heavily laced with poisonous materials; far, far less would have been used if Tamaki was meant to merely become sick.
“It’s you.”
Every head turns to look at the most calcitrant former member of the Host Club.
“Huh?” Hikaru asks. Kaoru jabs him in the side. He shrugs. “What? I couldn’t hear him.”
“Takashi said, it’s Kyouya,” Hunny-senpai supplies, sitting up from where he is tucked into his cousin’s side. He glances at Mori-senpai quickly, for all of a half second. For them, it is as good as telepathy. “Whoever sent that cake to Tamaki wants him to break up with Kyouya.”
“But we’re not-” Tamaki protests.
“Oh no, we’re not togeth-” Kyouya says at the same time. He stops, catching Tamaki’s eye, both knowing that the very act of protesting has just made things worse.
Hikaru and Kaoru roll their eyes simultaneously. Haruhi looks unimpressed. Mori-senpai and Hunny-senpai don’t seem to care either way.
“Does it matter?” Hunny asks, settling back under Mori-senpai’s arm, directing his question to Kyouya. “Someone is trying to hurt Tamaki to get to you because they think the two of you are an item. With Tamaki out of the way, you’d fall right into that person’s arms.”
Kyouya’s lips tighten in thought. Sadly, this makes a great deal of sense. A single, misguided girl could easily become convinced that Tamaki was in her way to getting to him. Kyouya went through his mental list of all the Club’s guests, looking for any who had expressed special interest in him.
“Are you?” Hikaru asks. He, Haruhi, and Kaoru look at Tamaki and Kyouya curiously. Kyouya can feel Mori and Hunny’s eyes on them, too, though there is a completely different sentiment coming from the two of them. Almost like anticipation, like they are waiting for something significant to transpire, something they have known about for a while. It unnerves Kyouya that they have been talking about him enough to have decided anything.
Kyouya, his heart beating wildly, shares a look with Tamaki before both hesitantly reach out and slip their fingers together. They look up as one, Kyouya’s sharp glance daring any to object.
There is silence again.
“So it’s true,” Haruhi says. “I wasn’t certain.”
“We were,” the twins chorus.
Kyouya lets go of Tamaki’s hand, willing himself not to lash out at Hikaru and Kaoru.
“Regardless,” he says, setting the offending remains of the package on the glass table. “I would like you all to take a look at the box the gift came in. Any information would be helpful. Where the box is from, what boutique sells this wrapping paper, etc.”
There are curious glances at the box. Hikaru picks it up to examine it more closely before handing it to Haruhi, who in turn hands it to Kaoru. Mori-senpai examines it wordlessly. Hunny-senpai comments on how bland it is. Solid pink with no texturing or pattern. The paper is thin. It tears easily and weighs far less than a well-priced brand would. Hunny-senpai guesses it was bought at a corner shop, someplace common.
Kyouya’s heart sinks at Hunny’s words. Obviously, the perpetrator was careful. There is nothing to trace back to, no card, no high-end brand, nothing.
He ends the meeting, thanking all the Host Club members for coming and escorting them to the door. Rubbing the back of his neck, he returns to the sitting room and Tamaki. He sits down next to him, leaning against Tamaki’s bulk, and sighs.
“No luck?” Tamaki asks, though they both know the answer. Sometimes, it’s good just to hear each other’s voice.
“No,” Kyouya says, getting comfortable.
“I guess I’ll have to watch what I eat from now on,” Tamaki says, smiling. Kyouya laughs at the pun and punches Tamaki in the arm. It’s not hard enough to hurt, just enough to let him know he’s there.
Before long, they retire to Kyouya’s bedroom. There, they find a way to release the stress of the afternoon and their “announcement” until pretty soon neither can even remember what the meeting had been about.
ØØØ
The business side of Kyouya knows he’s losing them money, knows he’s lost them money that will never be regained, but there’s another side of him that looks at Tamaki and sees all he’s ever wanted. And that more than makes up for the cost of it all.
From then on, it’s like his eyes have been opened for the first time. Kyouya, if he were asked, would have once said with confidence that he knew everything there was to know about Tamaki. That quickly turns out to be incredibly false. There are buttons to press he never thought about (at least not outside his own, very personal fantasies), sensitive spots, and places Tamaki really doesn’t want to be touched, and that’s just the sex. Everyday there are more and more stupid little things to deal with, like how Tamaki can’t sleep with socks on or if the damn pillows aren’t arranged just so. It isn’t that Tamaki is particularly prissy; he’s simply a spoiled brat who needs everything to suit him perfectly.
Fine, Kyouya says every time, giving up without much fight, Tamaki can have his stupid pillows if he can wear his glasses to bed. Tamaki had nagged and nagged, and nagged about wanting to see him with them off. The result had been a complete and utter failure. Kyouya still isn’t sure where his hand ended up, only that in retrieving it, he had managed to slap Tamaki across the face and make his nose bleed. After that, Tamaki let him wear them to bed. Kyouya still doesn’t think it is as much of a concession as Tamaki makes it out to be.
Why? Because Tamaki gets away with a whole lot. For one, he makes weird noises when he sleeps, noises that wake Kyouya up precisely when he’s about to go to sleep. He doesn’t snore, he just…Kyouya isn’t even sure there’s a word for it. Sometimes it sounds like whimpering, other times like words. The one thing it is without fail is irritating. Kyouya is always on the verge of sleep when it happens. He’ll open one eye with a groan, nudge Tamaki hard with his elbow, and then it stops until Kyouya is about to fall back to sleep again.
Also, he is incredibly hot. Kyouya runs cold so he thinks at first that having a living furnace would be a great thing. It’s not. Kyouya has woken up precisely sixteen times from a burning hot appendage pressed against his shin or his thigh, or occasionally his chest because Tamaki sprawls like no one’s business. Every time he shoves his own cold parts against Tamaki, who then complains about him being cold. They repeat the cycle again and again, until they are both so spun up in the stupidity of the argument that they can't remember whether the leading emotion between them is hate or love, or simply perpetual aggravation, the common ground of both.
Kyouya takes careful note of all this. He has no intention of ever complaining about these things to anyone. He’s not vindictive, not when he gets to wake up morning after morning tangled up in the man he cares about more than anyone else in the world, the only man who doesn't mind that he's a venomous, spitting viper before coffee and an hour of wakefulness. He puts it all on his mental list of things he knows about Tamaki before spending the next night with him and starting the maddening process all over again.
ØØØ
Every gift Tamaki receives from then on is tested for abnormal ingredients. Kyouya doesn’t quite believe the sender would be stupid enough to send a doctored gift twice, but it’s his only real hope of finding the person.
The original cake had been wrapped in nondescript wrapping paper and had had no card. There was nothing to indicate who it had come from. It nags at Kyouya that he can’t find the person responsible for all this.
Then, finally, another red velvet cake is found, one as deadly as the first one. The package has no card, just like the first one, but the porter is intercepted when the wrapping is recognized.
It takes only a threat or two to get the porter to reveal his mistress. When he does, Kyouya’s heart turns icy. He knows this girl. Not well, but he knows her. He had thought she was harmless, merely a nuisance. Apparently not.
Kyouya sits down at his desk and writes a polite, flowery note. He hands it to a butler with instructions to deliver it to the girl’s residence.
Then, he waits.
ØØØ
He enters the room, closing the door gently behind him. His guest- for they are perfectly, completely alone- sits at the couch, sipping tea politely. She looks, for once, halfway refined. Polished, almost, now that she isn’t wearing her school uniform.
Kyouya looks at her and cannot see anything worth liking. Her once slightly pretty face now makes his lip curl in hate; her pale skin makes his stomach roil. Her slight perfume reminds him of a sewer. He wonders if the stink will leave the room with her or whether he will have to have it fumigated. He thinks he’ll do it anyway, just so the room feels clean.
Mizuno Kimi will be able to survive this, he reminds himself. The punishment is not too harsh. He isn’t condemning her; he isn’t leaving a permanent smirch on her reputation.
Kimi notices him but keeps her gaze lowered. She tries to look coy. It doesn’t work.
Kyouya grips the back of the chair tightly, refusing to sit down just yet. Kimi smiles, putting her cup down on her saucer. She places them on the table too harshly. Kyouya can hear the clink as the saucer touches the table. It only serves to remind him how different she is from Tamaki.
“Kyouya-kun, I was so glad to receive your invitation. This jasmine tea is wonderful.”
“We import it from India,” he tells her courteously, remaining standing for the moment. He will sit when he is ready.
“Mmm,” Kimi says, running her not-quite-full bottom lip through her teeth. Kyouya guesses she thinks the gesture is sensuous and inviting. “Delicious.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks, blinking rapidly. The move barely resembles a delicate batting of the eyelashes. Even Haruhi can do that move flawlessly. How can Kimi not?
Kyouya rounds the chair now and sits down. He pours a cup of tea for himself from the pot sitting on the refreshment tray. It sits on the table, has been sitting there while he’s kept Kimi waiting. The tea is still hot, however. Kyouya doesn’t drink it.
Kimi smiles again, shifting about slightly in her nervous excitement. She obviously expects to hear something very different from what he has to say.
Kyouya lets out a slow breath.
“I knew it!” she announces. “I knew it! You’re leaving Tamaki, aren’t you? You’re coming to me finally, aren’t you?”
She looks so happy, bursting with joy. Kyouya studies her, wondering when he ever indicated he so much as liked her.
“Kyouya-senpai?” she asks when he’s been silent too long. “Is something wrong?”
Yes, he thinks, you. He takes another deep breath, readying himself for this. She has to know this is deadly serious.
“You are hereby expelled from Ouran,” he says. “In addition, multiple restraining orders has been issued against you. You will never again be able to be in the same room as Tamaki or myself. Should you try, you will be escorted out by police force and prosecuted. I assure you, my family will make certain your sentence is…fair.”
Kimi’s jaw drops open. She gapes at him wordlessly and Kyouya stares right back.
“This is a joke, right?” she says, laughing nervously. “You’re not honestly going to expel me, are you? You can’t do that.”
“I can,” Kyouya assures her. “I have. You were actually expelled as of ten o’clock this morning. School officials were instructed to remove your things immediately after you left this afternoon. You will find them at your family residence if they haven’t been thrown out entirely.”
“No,” Kimi says, shaking her head in disbelief. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes,” he says simply, standing up and buttoning his jacket. He is done with this conversation.
“You’d stay with that fat pig when you could be with me?” she demands in disbelief, switching tactics. “Watching him grow fatter by the day? Soon he won’t even be able to walk; he’ll be a disgusting ball of lard! Why would you want to be with that cow?”
Kyouya looks at her coldly, biting his tongue. He will not stoop to her level. He will not let her be privy to the anger that simmers just under his skin.
“I do not have to discuss my choices with you.”
“But you love me, Kyouya. We’re meant to be together! You love me,” she pleads, grabbing hold of his jacket and dropping to the floor. She knees her way over to him. “You love me,” she says, her lip quivering.
“No,” Kyouya says, pulling her hands off of him. “I pity you.”
He leaves her in the sitting room, instructing the maids to escort her out in precisely fifteen minutes. He hears Kimi’s sobs turn into screams and the sound of expensive china breaking. That tea set was never his favorite in any case.
Surprisingly, the anger doesn’t fade as he leaves Kimi behind, not even after he’s left the house and gotten into a car. He tells the driver to take him to a five star hotel on the other side of the city. Tomorrow, he will wake Tamaki in his bed with breakfast. While Tamaki eats, he will press his face into that warm neck and breathe in his lover’s perfect scent. He will forget that anyone named Mizuno Kimi tried to tear them apart. He will forget that he wanted to tear Kimi apart piece by piece and toss her torn body to the gulls.
Tomorrow, everything will be better.
Tonight, though- tonight, Kyouya just wants to be alone.
ØØØ
They sit together after dinner over cups of steaming coffee, watching each other. There’s little need for conversation. It is peaceful, a gentle lull after the storm of the day’s events. So they sit and look at each other, saying nothing until the evening comes. Then they head to the bedroom and spend the night together, feeling like their lives are finally, entirely, complete.
