[OKHC] Keep on Dreaming - part 1, PG, Romance/Angst, Yuzuru/Yoshio, Kyouya/Tamaki
Keep on Dreaming - part 1
Ouran Koko Host Club, Yuzuru/Yoshio & Kyouya/Tamaki, PG, 1686 words
Yuzuru and Yoshio discover their sons' relationship...and remember their own.
Sequel to Fins Heureuses; episode 26 AU. Spoilers.
FOR the_dw BECAUSE KYOUYA DESERVES TO BE HAPPY TOO. And high school!Yuzuru/Yoshio for the win. Before the angst. Um. :D?
Keep on Dreaming - part 1/3
by meitachi
They lay entangled - happy, sated - in each other’s arms, sprawled across Yuzuru’s huge bed. Yoshio had his arms looped around the other boy, who was making happy noises and cuddling Yoshio’s neck.
“Stop that,” Yoshio said but he was laughing. He batted half-heartedly at Yuzuru’s head before sliding his fingers through the sex-mussed hair. “We actually have to get up and do our homework at some point,” he said idly, stroking.
Yuzuru hummed against his collarbone. “Later,” he said, and licked.
Yoshio wanted to berate Yuzuru for not taking their studies more seriously, but he was relaxed and a warm body was curled up against him; he knew, also, that Yuzuru never truly abandoned his studies and consistently pulled some of the highest marks in their class - with Yoshio’s help, of course. Yoshio couldn’t really force himself to care that they had wasted their entire Saturday afternoon laughing and eating and having sex. It was like a perfect world, one he’d never dared to imagine, and he was thoroughly enjoying it.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows, golden and enveloping, and he tugged Yuzuru up to him, sealing his mouth over the other boy’s in a firm kiss. Their legs tangled as Yuzuru murmured happily and slid closer, opening his mouth and slicking his tongue against Yoshio’s.
They were sixteen, they had a mansion and a weekend entirely to themselves, and they were in love.
--
Suoh Yuzuru puts down his teacup. “A month in France,” he says, looking at the man sitting across from him. His expression is neutral.
“I can’t imagine that your mother was very pleased.” Ootori Yoshio lifts his cup and sips at his tea.
“She doesn’t know.” Yuzuru smiles briefly, without humor. “She is under the impression that they are in Spain.” He doesn’t mention the consequences should the Suoh matriarch discover her grandson’s true location. Both he and Yoshio know too well the power she wields and her strong disapproval for disobedience.
Yuzuru looks down at his half-empty cup. The tea is a pale green and he can see his reflection, distorted and discolored. He swirls the cup and the image fades. He is stalling.
Yoshio sits across the table, silent. Yuzuru knows that he won’t be the first to speak, though he knows as much and as well as Yuzuru. They do not meet for tea regularly; it is an affectation of companionship they have no wish to pursue. Not with their history. Yoshio won’t allow it.
“Our sons,” Yuzuru begins, lifting his gaze to Yoshio’s, because he has never been a man to run away from duty; he will face it head on, even if it breaks part of himself. “Tamaki and Kyouya,” he says, and then he stops. Yoshio’s face is carefully blank, though his brows are drawn low across his eyes. He knows what is coming and he does not want to acknowledge it. But he remains silent as Yuzuru starts again, voice steady, as he announces, “They’re engaged in a romantic relationship, seeking comfort after the shocking disappearance of Fujioka Haruhi, and finding what they claim is true love!”
“Stop that,” Yoshio says sharply, and now he looks angry. “You make it sound like a lurid affair.”
Yuzuru cocks a brow at him. “But what else is it?” he asks quietly, his dramatics falling away. He lost his right to be histrionic and exaggerated around Yoshio some twenty years ago.
“It is not,” Yoshio says firmly.
Yuzuru crosses his legs, the fine white silk of his pants shifting quietly. His hands come to a rest on the table, fingers tapping gently. He looks contemplative.
“Yoshio,” he says at last. He wears a troubled expression as he looks at the man he’s known for all of his life, the boy he loved who grew into a man who would never fully forgive him. He feels a pain in his chest as he thinks of their sons, now, replicas of them, playing out the same parts in a different play.
He doesn’t want them to be where he and Yoshio are now, ten years later.
“What do we do?” His voice is uncertain, unlike his typical assured confidence. His fingers still and his gaze lowers.
Yoshio simply shakes his head and remains silent, sipping at his tea. His grip on the delicate handle of the Wedgewood teacup is too-tight and unsteady, belying his thoughts.
Neither of them will subject their sons to their own past.
--
“Oh and she was beautiful, and she cried when she saw me, Kyouya, and I wanted to touch her but I was afraid she’d break but she hugged me and then it was my mother-” Tamaki’s eyes shine, a stinging bright violet-blue that is spilling over with emotion. He is curled up against Kyouya on the sofa in their room, richly embroidered in deep greens and gold, soft against their bare skin. Wearing nothing but his large sleeping shirt over his boxers, Tamaki is animated as he tells Kyouya of his meeting with his mother that day - hands gesturing, voice was hushed, almost reverent. Kyouya listens, clad in only a pair of pajama bottoms, his knees touching Tamaki’s, smiling because he hears the sincere joy in the other boy’s voice, and for once he is truly and deeply satisfied. He made the right decision.
He will never argue that his choice was a purely altruistic one; it was nothing but selfishness that had him removing both Haruhi and Eclair from Tamaki and keeping him for himself, but he knew then as he knows now, unquestionably, that to give Tamaki his mother this way is far better than the alternative.
There was devastation when Haruhi had vanished. There was hysterics and fear and guilt. Kyouya was forced to call Eclair in the end and ask for some sort of confirmation for Tamaki - reassurance that Haruhi’s whereabouts where known, though she said nothing of why Haruhi was taken or what relation she had with it. Tamaki grew angry. Tamaki grew frustrated. Tamaki despaired. And, after everything, after months and months of futile searching, he accepted his loss and moved on.
Kyouya was there all along.
Maybe someone will ask, one day, “Who gave you the right to decide for him?”
And Kyouya will simply reply, “I did.” Because he knows he is selfish, but he knows also that there would have been no happy alternative - for Tamaki, Haruhi was the most beautiful dream, one that would tear him apart when she shattered it. Kyouya has known all along that Haruhi never intended to involve herself in any sort of romance at Ouran, and after she became a lawyer, she would marry a hard-working man with his feet firmly on the ground, because she is practical and dreamers are not her kind.
Kyouya is selfish but he loves Tamaki.
And when Tamaki’s rushed jumble of words finally comes to a stop and he closes his eyes and leans his head against Kyouya’s shoulder, exhausted but happy, Kyouya slips his hand into Tamaki’s. They sit for a long time, silent, which is unusual for them but not unwelcome.
They have only been in France for one week and in the breathtaking Tonnerre villa for one day.
The following morning, Kyouya’s phone rings and it is his father.
--
Ootori Yoshio had known first and, with his usual caution and reserve, he had done nothing until Yuzuru’s eyes had flashed with realization one day, staring across the student council table at the boy who pretended he hadn’t seen, head bent over a ledger with the vice-president.
Yuzuru cornered Yoshio by the shoe lockers after the meeting. It was late and the school was mostly deserted, other than the odd shout that came from the track and baseball fields. Yoshio’s back met the lockers with a thump that made the metal rattle and echo. He glared at Yuzuru through his glasses, calm and defiant.
“What do you want, Yuzuru?” he asked.
Brown eyes stared into his, gold-flecked in the sunlight. Yuzuru was at least half a meter away but his presence had Yoshio’s back stiff against the lockers. He swallowed and found himself staring at the pulse point just under Yuzuru’s jaw, pale and inviting above a perfectly pressed uniform.
“You,” said Yuzuru and Yoshio watched the pulse under that skin flutter once, twice.
He blinked. “Oh,” he said, shocked, as Yuzuru stepped towards him.
“You should’ve said something!” Yuzuru admonished, the atmosphere lightening suddenly as he thrust his bottom lip out in a pout. “Yoshio is too secretive! People don’t appreciate you having the upper hand on them like that. You - do, don’t you?” His tone had changed again, without warning, suddenly uncertain.
Yoshio crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “Yes,” he said in his most dignified manner. Yuzuru wouldn’t outdo him in directness or brutal honesty.
Yuzuru’s eyes gleamed even brighter than before and Yoshio could see himself reflected, briefly, before his vision swam out of focus and Yuzuru was leaning into him, mouth on his.
--
“She wants to see you,” Tamaki tells Kyouya, his face alight. He has Kyouya’s hand in his own and they are waltzing across the empty ballroom to a priceless record, hundreds of candles burning brightly because the Tonnerre family can afford to display their wealth. Eclair watched them for the better part of an hour, at times stepping in with one or the other to be swept across the floor, hair swinging behind her and genuine enjoyment in her eyes, but she is gone now, vanished somewhere in the castle corridors.
Kyouya is leading because Tamaki is too distracted to fight him, his eyes and mind faraway. “She’ll love you, Kyouya,” he says earnestly, his other hand on Kyouya’s shoulder as he steps to and fro to the rhythm of the dance. The candlelight glints off his golden hair, shifting with their each movement.
“I will be honored to meet her,” Kyouya says and leans forward to kiss Tamaki. He says nothing of the message from his father.
Come home. Suoh-san and I have something to tell you.
--
TBC ASAP
Started: 09.28.2006
part 2 » | part 3 »
--
Notes: Tense switching totally intentional. AU is my friend - we have tea together often. NEXT PART WILL HAVE SMUT. Um. ♥
Ouran Koko Host Club, Yuzuru/Yoshio & Kyouya/Tamaki, PG, 1686 words
Yuzuru and Yoshio discover their sons' relationship...and remember their own.
Sequel to Fins Heureuses; episode 26 AU. Spoilers.
FOR the_dw BECAUSE KYOUYA DESERVES TO BE HAPPY TOO. And high school!Yuzuru/Yoshio for the win. Before the angst. Um. :D?
Keep on Dreaming - part 1/3
by meitachi
They lay entangled - happy, sated - in each other’s arms, sprawled across Yuzuru’s huge bed. Yoshio had his arms looped around the other boy, who was making happy noises and cuddling Yoshio’s neck.
“Stop that,” Yoshio said but he was laughing. He batted half-heartedly at Yuzuru’s head before sliding his fingers through the sex-mussed hair. “We actually have to get up and do our homework at some point,” he said idly, stroking.
Yuzuru hummed against his collarbone. “Later,” he said, and licked.
Yoshio wanted to berate Yuzuru for not taking their studies more seriously, but he was relaxed and a warm body was curled up against him; he knew, also, that Yuzuru never truly abandoned his studies and consistently pulled some of the highest marks in their class - with Yoshio’s help, of course. Yoshio couldn’t really force himself to care that they had wasted their entire Saturday afternoon laughing and eating and having sex. It was like a perfect world, one he’d never dared to imagine, and he was thoroughly enjoying it.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows, golden and enveloping, and he tugged Yuzuru up to him, sealing his mouth over the other boy’s in a firm kiss. Their legs tangled as Yuzuru murmured happily and slid closer, opening his mouth and slicking his tongue against Yoshio’s.
They were sixteen, they had a mansion and a weekend entirely to themselves, and they were in love.
--
Suoh Yuzuru puts down his teacup. “A month in France,” he says, looking at the man sitting across from him. His expression is neutral.
“I can’t imagine that your mother was very pleased.” Ootori Yoshio lifts his cup and sips at his tea.
“She doesn’t know.” Yuzuru smiles briefly, without humor. “She is under the impression that they are in Spain.” He doesn’t mention the consequences should the Suoh matriarch discover her grandson’s true location. Both he and Yoshio know too well the power she wields and her strong disapproval for disobedience.
Yuzuru looks down at his half-empty cup. The tea is a pale green and he can see his reflection, distorted and discolored. He swirls the cup and the image fades. He is stalling.
Yoshio sits across the table, silent. Yuzuru knows that he won’t be the first to speak, though he knows as much and as well as Yuzuru. They do not meet for tea regularly; it is an affectation of companionship they have no wish to pursue. Not with their history. Yoshio won’t allow it.
“Our sons,” Yuzuru begins, lifting his gaze to Yoshio’s, because he has never been a man to run away from duty; he will face it head on, even if it breaks part of himself. “Tamaki and Kyouya,” he says, and then he stops. Yoshio’s face is carefully blank, though his brows are drawn low across his eyes. He knows what is coming and he does not want to acknowledge it. But he remains silent as Yuzuru starts again, voice steady, as he announces, “They’re engaged in a romantic relationship, seeking comfort after the shocking disappearance of Fujioka Haruhi, and finding what they claim is true love!”
“Stop that,” Yoshio says sharply, and now he looks angry. “You make it sound like a lurid affair.”
Yuzuru cocks a brow at him. “But what else is it?” he asks quietly, his dramatics falling away. He lost his right to be histrionic and exaggerated around Yoshio some twenty years ago.
“It is not,” Yoshio says firmly.
Yuzuru crosses his legs, the fine white silk of his pants shifting quietly. His hands come to a rest on the table, fingers tapping gently. He looks contemplative.
“Yoshio,” he says at last. He wears a troubled expression as he looks at the man he’s known for all of his life, the boy he loved who grew into a man who would never fully forgive him. He feels a pain in his chest as he thinks of their sons, now, replicas of them, playing out the same parts in a different play.
He doesn’t want them to be where he and Yoshio are now, ten years later.
“What do we do?” His voice is uncertain, unlike his typical assured confidence. His fingers still and his gaze lowers.
Yoshio simply shakes his head and remains silent, sipping at his tea. His grip on the delicate handle of the Wedgewood teacup is too-tight and unsteady, belying his thoughts.
Neither of them will subject their sons to their own past.
--
“Oh and she was beautiful, and she cried when she saw me, Kyouya, and I wanted to touch her but I was afraid she’d break but she hugged me and then it was my mother-” Tamaki’s eyes shine, a stinging bright violet-blue that is spilling over with emotion. He is curled up against Kyouya on the sofa in their room, richly embroidered in deep greens and gold, soft against their bare skin. Wearing nothing but his large sleeping shirt over his boxers, Tamaki is animated as he tells Kyouya of his meeting with his mother that day - hands gesturing, voice was hushed, almost reverent. Kyouya listens, clad in only a pair of pajama bottoms, his knees touching Tamaki’s, smiling because he hears the sincere joy in the other boy’s voice, and for once he is truly and deeply satisfied. He made the right decision.
He will never argue that his choice was a purely altruistic one; it was nothing but selfishness that had him removing both Haruhi and Eclair from Tamaki and keeping him for himself, but he knew then as he knows now, unquestionably, that to give Tamaki his mother this way is far better than the alternative.
There was devastation when Haruhi had vanished. There was hysterics and fear and guilt. Kyouya was forced to call Eclair in the end and ask for some sort of confirmation for Tamaki - reassurance that Haruhi’s whereabouts where known, though she said nothing of why Haruhi was taken or what relation she had with it. Tamaki grew angry. Tamaki grew frustrated. Tamaki despaired. And, after everything, after months and months of futile searching, he accepted his loss and moved on.
Kyouya was there all along.
Maybe someone will ask, one day, “Who gave you the right to decide for him?”
And Kyouya will simply reply, “I did.” Because he knows he is selfish, but he knows also that there would have been no happy alternative - for Tamaki, Haruhi was the most beautiful dream, one that would tear him apart when she shattered it. Kyouya has known all along that Haruhi never intended to involve herself in any sort of romance at Ouran, and after she became a lawyer, she would marry a hard-working man with his feet firmly on the ground, because she is practical and dreamers are not her kind.
Kyouya is selfish but he loves Tamaki.
And when Tamaki’s rushed jumble of words finally comes to a stop and he closes his eyes and leans his head against Kyouya’s shoulder, exhausted but happy, Kyouya slips his hand into Tamaki’s. They sit for a long time, silent, which is unusual for them but not unwelcome.
They have only been in France for one week and in the breathtaking Tonnerre villa for one day.
The following morning, Kyouya’s phone rings and it is his father.
--
Ootori Yoshio had known first and, with his usual caution and reserve, he had done nothing until Yuzuru’s eyes had flashed with realization one day, staring across the student council table at the boy who pretended he hadn’t seen, head bent over a ledger with the vice-president.
Yuzuru cornered Yoshio by the shoe lockers after the meeting. It was late and the school was mostly deserted, other than the odd shout that came from the track and baseball fields. Yoshio’s back met the lockers with a thump that made the metal rattle and echo. He glared at Yuzuru through his glasses, calm and defiant.
“What do you want, Yuzuru?” he asked.
Brown eyes stared into his, gold-flecked in the sunlight. Yuzuru was at least half a meter away but his presence had Yoshio’s back stiff against the lockers. He swallowed and found himself staring at the pulse point just under Yuzuru’s jaw, pale and inviting above a perfectly pressed uniform.
“You,” said Yuzuru and Yoshio watched the pulse under that skin flutter once, twice.
He blinked. “Oh,” he said, shocked, as Yuzuru stepped towards him.
“You should’ve said something!” Yuzuru admonished, the atmosphere lightening suddenly as he thrust his bottom lip out in a pout. “Yoshio is too secretive! People don’t appreciate you having the upper hand on them like that. You - do, don’t you?” His tone had changed again, without warning, suddenly uncertain.
Yoshio crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “Yes,” he said in his most dignified manner. Yuzuru wouldn’t outdo him in directness or brutal honesty.
Yuzuru’s eyes gleamed even brighter than before and Yoshio could see himself reflected, briefly, before his vision swam out of focus and Yuzuru was leaning into him, mouth on his.
--
“She wants to see you,” Tamaki tells Kyouya, his face alight. He has Kyouya’s hand in his own and they are waltzing across the empty ballroom to a priceless record, hundreds of candles burning brightly because the Tonnerre family can afford to display their wealth. Eclair watched them for the better part of an hour, at times stepping in with one or the other to be swept across the floor, hair swinging behind her and genuine enjoyment in her eyes, but she is gone now, vanished somewhere in the castle corridors.
Kyouya is leading because Tamaki is too distracted to fight him, his eyes and mind faraway. “She’ll love you, Kyouya,” he says earnestly, his other hand on Kyouya’s shoulder as he steps to and fro to the rhythm of the dance. The candlelight glints off his golden hair, shifting with their each movement.
“I will be honored to meet her,” Kyouya says and leans forward to kiss Tamaki. He says nothing of the message from his father.
Come home. Suoh-san and I have something to tell you.
--
TBC ASAP
Started: 09.28.2006
part 2 » | part 3 »
--
Notes: Tense switching totally intentional. AU is my friend - we have tea together often. NEXT PART WILL HAVE SMUT. Um. ♥