[OKHC] Keep on Dreaming - part 2, NC-17, Romance/Angst, Yuzuru/Yoshio, Kyouya/Tamaki
Keep on Dreaming - part 2
Ouran Koko Host Club, Yuzuru/Yoshio & Kyouya/Tamaki, NC-17, 1970 words
Love and betrayal between Yuzuru and Yoshio, and how their sons will not relive their fathers' story.
Part 1
For the_dw still (before your bedtime, right? :D). And I lied, this thing will apparently be three parts, not two. :/ Damn muses.
Keep on Dreaming - part 2/3
by meitachi
Yuzuru had a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries as his hips snapped forward, thrusting into Yoshio’s mouth. His other hand was in Yoshio’s hair, pulling hard, and Yoshio winced as he drew back slightly, dragging his tongue along the underside of Yuzuru’s cock and eliciting a muffled moan. His grip tightened on the other boy’s hips, opening his mouth wider and sucking as much of Yuzuru in as he could. He could feel the pulse of blood thrumming hot and heavy in his mouth. Free one hand, he let his fingers trail teasingly along Yuzuru’s abdomen, flirting with his bellybutton and making the skin beneath shiver.
The ground was hard and cold under his knees and Yoshio shifted positions, pulling back from Yuzuru to blow lightly on the slick tip of his cock. He panted, flushed and hot, the whimpers falling from Yuzuru’s mouth skittering like live electricity down his skin straight to his groin. “Yuzuru,” he breathed and licked a light circle around the head.
Yuzuru’s head hit the wall, his hand fisting involuntarily, tugging at Yoshio’s scalp until tears stung his eyes. His cry was sharp and high-pitched, escaping around the fist he’d stuffed in his mouth.
“Y-Yoshio,” he pleaded, his voice thick with need.
Yoshio leaned in again and sucked hard, gently scraping his teeth along the sides of Yuzuru’s cock. The edge of pain in the haze of pleasure had Yuzuru shuddering, gasping, and then he was spilling himself into Yoshio’s mouth, sagging against the wall as he emptied himself.
Yoshio sat back and wiped at his mouth. He looked up at the boy weak and panting above him, eyes bright behind his glasses. A smirk curled around his mouth as he tucked his hand in his pants and brought himself off with a few hard strokes, eyes on Yuzuru’s disheveled form, uniform undone and bared skin flushed.
“Yoshio,” murmured Yuzuru as he watched Yoshio come into his own hand. He slumped down onto the floor and crawled over to the other boy, leaning over to kiss him full on the mouth.
“That was nice,” Yoshio replied around the kiss, sounding satisfied. His wet pants were uncomfortable and they were nowhere near a bed in the deserted student council room, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything in the world.
Yuzuru pushed him until he was seated on the ground, legs spread, and Yuzuru slumped between them, resting his head on Yoshio’s shoulder. He said, “You’ve improved,” and flashed an impish grin when Yoshio pleased look became an irritated scowl.
“You weren’t complaining,” he pointed out in annoyance. True, their first time had been a rather clumsy affair, but they were sixteen-year-old boys and anything could get them off. Yoshio had tried to prepare by doing research ahead of time - discreetly, of course - but apparently application differed greatly from theory. Yuzuru had had to circle his arms around Yoshio and kiss the tension out of him, reassuring that he really didn’t care how skillful it was, as long as it was with Yoshio and they got off.
They’d learned, together, after that, discovering erogenous zones and ticklish spots, finding laughter and lust in each other’s arms. Yoshio was sure no one knew his body - knew him - as well as Yuzuru did. It was an almost frightening thought, but he was too busy drowning in the sunlight Yuzuru offered him to mind.
“This was hot,” Yuzuru said happily, tugging idly on Yoshio’s loosened tie. He mouthed the skin under Yoshio’s jaw, wet and obscene. “I’ll never be able to have student council meetings again without wanting to feel your hands on me.”
Yoshio chuckled and tilted his head to give the other boy better access. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
--
Four years passed and then Yuzuru’s father died. Yuzuru left in the middle of class one day, frantic, and the professor stopped his lecture because to watch the Suoh heir practically run out of the room. Yoshio followed him, held him, took him in the Ootori limo to the Suoh mansion because Yuzuru was too distraught to function.
It was a heart attack, Yuzuru’s mother told him, her hands small and trembling under the long sleeves of her kimono. Yuzuru held her tight and Yoshio hung back, heart aching for the lost, frightened look in those brown eyes he’d known better filled with laughter and mischief.
Yuzuru returned to classes the following week. His mouth was drawn and he looked utterly exhausted, but he held himself up. His eyes were dark, blank, and he refused to tell Yoshio anything. He stopped coming over to the Ootori mansion and staying the night - but his touches became more frantic, desperate, as he cornered Yoshio between classes, in empty corridors, outside in the campus’ more secluded spots. His kisses were too hard and his fingers left bruises on Yoshio’s arms and thighs, and he fucked himself on Yoshio so hard, so fast that he couldn’t stand for a good ten minutes after.
Yoshio didn’t know what to say, what to do. Yuzuru turned away his every attempt to find out what was wrong, leaving Yoshio frustrated beyond words. Four years and this? He couldn’t accept it. He pulled strings and put the Ootori assets to use.
He found out the day before Yuzuru’s wedding.
“I’m going to get married tomorrow,” said Yuzuru. He’d called Yoshio up as if it there hadn’t been an ever-expanding distance between them for the past five weeks, as if he still told everything to his best friend and lover. His tone was conversational.
Yoshio stared at the file in his hand, blood still running cold. He swallowed. “Your mother arranged a marriage for you?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
“I’m the head of the Suoh family now.” Yuzuru’s voice is emotionless, carefully restrained. “I have to do my duty.”
Anger was welling up behind the shock, behind the sense of betrayal. His hand clenched on his phone and he opened his mouth - only to find that he had no idea what to say. He sat in the leather chair in his study room and waited for Yuzuru to speak.
“I - I know this is unfair to ask of you, but…” This was the first emotion Yoshio had heard the other boy’s voice in weeks. He remained silent and then the only boy who’d ever broken down his defenses, who had kissed him in places no one else had ever had the privilege to see, who’d made him willing to break rules, who’d won him over completely and utterly, asked him: “Will you be my best man, Yoshio?”
Something broke in Yoshio at those softly uttered words.
He hung up without answering.
The next day, Suoh Yuzuru married Hanogi Natsuko, a well-bred girl of the wealthy Hanogi family, who had made their fortunes in the furniture industry. Yoshio saw the news broadcast, heard the widespread speculations of the hurried wedding, and closed his eyes. He left home in the morning for Tokyo University because his father would hear if he locked himself in his room.
He skipped all his classes that day and went back to Ouran Academy, feigning a smile for the too-gracious, overly enthusiastic headmaster, and walked through the halls of his past. He lingered inside the student council room and watched the cherry blossoms fall outside the window.
Three months passed before he answered any of Yuzuru’s calls.
--
Kyouya hasn’t been answering his phone.
Eclair raises an eyebrow as he comes to her side, accepting the phone she places in his hands. “Your father,” she says, unnecessarily. “It seems that he’s been trying to reach you for the past week.”
“Is that so?” Kyouya smiles, all manners and false sincerity. “How unfortunate that he hasn’t been able to reach me.” He lifts the phone to his ear and says, “Hello, Father.”
Eclair drifts away from him to the double doors of glass that lead out to the terrace. Tamaki is spread out across a chaise lounge, sunglasses over his eyes and a book in his hands. He looks serene and relaxed. Kyouya’s voice is low behind her, calm and unruffled. She smiles because now that he feels secure in the knowledge that he made the right choice, he will let nothing shake his faith. She is glad that they are here; she enjoys the company.
It’s a pity, she thinks, pushing the door open and stepping into the hot, dry France summer, that they will not be seeing Haruhi. But Eclair is a woman of her word - she may not have promised explicitly to keep Haruhi from Tamaki forever, but she knows the expectations she sees in the Ootori’s eyes. Tamaki has his mother now, she is pleased to know, who has recovered with the best care the Tonnerre family could procure for her. It has been three years since Eloise Laurent has seen her son.
She is seated beside Tamaki now, a large-brimmed hat shielding her delicate face from the bright sun. Ostensibly she is reading as well, but like her son she is sneaking glances at the figure beside her every so often, eyes bright and filled with wonder. Her feet dangle off the lounge chair to brush against Tamaki’s, finding reassurance in the contact, proof that this is real.
They look undeniably like mother and son from the golden hair to the slender build, delicate features and winsome smile, sweet on Eloise and shamelessly charming on Tamaki. Eclair rests by the door, in the shadows, and watches them. She doesn’t smile but she feels something in her calm, knowing for certain now that she has no regrets about the past eight months. Hers was not such a bad deal, she thinks, as she may have acted more selfishly than Kyouya to reunite mother and son...and make other gains besides. But Eclair has never been one to dwell on sins and consequences.
The door opens behind her and Kyouya steps out onto the terrace beside her. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and is surprised to find him pale, drawn. The set of his mouth is tight and he looks the way he sounded on the phone that fateful day they made their deal - tense, frustrated, and carefully in control.
He will never lose his composure in public, at least, no longer. She has heard stories from Tamaki about their middle school days but Kyouya has grown up since then.
She knows what he needs. She and he are not so different, after all. “Tamaki,” she calls, her voice rolling over the syllables of his name like honey, “Kyouya needs to talk to you.” Her hand lifts to touch the arm of the boy beside her in acknowledgment. Then she is flitting away to seat herself beside Eloise with a warm smile as Tamaki brightens and leaps to his feet, making his way across the terrace.
“Kyou~ya,” Tamaki carols, because his life has never been quite this beautiful, with a lover and a mother and the hot French sun scorching across his skin and highlighting the gold in his hair. He presses a swift kiss to Kyouya’s mouth when he reaches the boy standing in front of the double doors.
Kyouya relaxes slightly, Eclair is pleased to see before turning away and asking Eloise if she needs any more iced tea, or some sandwiches.
“We need to talk,” Kyouya tells Tamaki, voice low. His fingers tangle with Tamaki’s and draws the two of them inside the villa. “We may need to return home.”
It is the last thing Eclair hears. When Eloise’s gaze shifts down to her novel again, Eclair frowns.
She will have to conduct some inquiries as to the content of that phone call.
--
TBC ASAP
Started: 09.29.2006
« part 1 | part 3 »
Ouran Koko Host Club, Yuzuru/Yoshio & Kyouya/Tamaki, NC-17, 1970 words
Love and betrayal between Yuzuru and Yoshio, and how their sons will not relive their fathers' story.
Part 1
For the_dw still (before your bedtime, right? :D). And I lied, this thing will apparently be three parts, not two. :/ Damn muses.
Keep on Dreaming - part 2/3
by meitachi
Yuzuru had a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries as his hips snapped forward, thrusting into Yoshio’s mouth. His other hand was in Yoshio’s hair, pulling hard, and Yoshio winced as he drew back slightly, dragging his tongue along the underside of Yuzuru’s cock and eliciting a muffled moan. His grip tightened on the other boy’s hips, opening his mouth wider and sucking as much of Yuzuru in as he could. He could feel the pulse of blood thrumming hot and heavy in his mouth. Free one hand, he let his fingers trail teasingly along Yuzuru’s abdomen, flirting with his bellybutton and making the skin beneath shiver.
The ground was hard and cold under his knees and Yoshio shifted positions, pulling back from Yuzuru to blow lightly on the slick tip of his cock. He panted, flushed and hot, the whimpers falling from Yuzuru’s mouth skittering like live electricity down his skin straight to his groin. “Yuzuru,” he breathed and licked a light circle around the head.
Yuzuru’s head hit the wall, his hand fisting involuntarily, tugging at Yoshio’s scalp until tears stung his eyes. His cry was sharp and high-pitched, escaping around the fist he’d stuffed in his mouth.
“Y-Yoshio,” he pleaded, his voice thick with need.
Yoshio leaned in again and sucked hard, gently scraping his teeth along the sides of Yuzuru’s cock. The edge of pain in the haze of pleasure had Yuzuru shuddering, gasping, and then he was spilling himself into Yoshio’s mouth, sagging against the wall as he emptied himself.
Yoshio sat back and wiped at his mouth. He looked up at the boy weak and panting above him, eyes bright behind his glasses. A smirk curled around his mouth as he tucked his hand in his pants and brought himself off with a few hard strokes, eyes on Yuzuru’s disheveled form, uniform undone and bared skin flushed.
“Yoshio,” murmured Yuzuru as he watched Yoshio come into his own hand. He slumped down onto the floor and crawled over to the other boy, leaning over to kiss him full on the mouth.
“That was nice,” Yoshio replied around the kiss, sounding satisfied. His wet pants were uncomfortable and they were nowhere near a bed in the deserted student council room, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything in the world.
Yuzuru pushed him until he was seated on the ground, legs spread, and Yuzuru slumped between them, resting his head on Yoshio’s shoulder. He said, “You’ve improved,” and flashed an impish grin when Yoshio pleased look became an irritated scowl.
“You weren’t complaining,” he pointed out in annoyance. True, their first time had been a rather clumsy affair, but they were sixteen-year-old boys and anything could get them off. Yoshio had tried to prepare by doing research ahead of time - discreetly, of course - but apparently application differed greatly from theory. Yuzuru had had to circle his arms around Yoshio and kiss the tension out of him, reassuring that he really didn’t care how skillful it was, as long as it was with Yoshio and they got off.
They’d learned, together, after that, discovering erogenous zones and ticklish spots, finding laughter and lust in each other’s arms. Yoshio was sure no one knew his body - knew him - as well as Yuzuru did. It was an almost frightening thought, but he was too busy drowning in the sunlight Yuzuru offered him to mind.
“This was hot,” Yuzuru said happily, tugging idly on Yoshio’s loosened tie. He mouthed the skin under Yoshio’s jaw, wet and obscene. “I’ll never be able to have student council meetings again without wanting to feel your hands on me.”
Yoshio chuckled and tilted his head to give the other boy better access. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
--
Four years passed and then Yuzuru’s father died. Yuzuru left in the middle of class one day, frantic, and the professor stopped his lecture because to watch the Suoh heir practically run out of the room. Yoshio followed him, held him, took him in the Ootori limo to the Suoh mansion because Yuzuru was too distraught to function.
It was a heart attack, Yuzuru’s mother told him, her hands small and trembling under the long sleeves of her kimono. Yuzuru held her tight and Yoshio hung back, heart aching for the lost, frightened look in those brown eyes he’d known better filled with laughter and mischief.
Yuzuru returned to classes the following week. His mouth was drawn and he looked utterly exhausted, but he held himself up. His eyes were dark, blank, and he refused to tell Yoshio anything. He stopped coming over to the Ootori mansion and staying the night - but his touches became more frantic, desperate, as he cornered Yoshio between classes, in empty corridors, outside in the campus’ more secluded spots. His kisses were too hard and his fingers left bruises on Yoshio’s arms and thighs, and he fucked himself on Yoshio so hard, so fast that he couldn’t stand for a good ten minutes after.
Yoshio didn’t know what to say, what to do. Yuzuru turned away his every attempt to find out what was wrong, leaving Yoshio frustrated beyond words. Four years and this? He couldn’t accept it. He pulled strings and put the Ootori assets to use.
He found out the day before Yuzuru’s wedding.
“I’m going to get married tomorrow,” said Yuzuru. He’d called Yoshio up as if it there hadn’t been an ever-expanding distance between them for the past five weeks, as if he still told everything to his best friend and lover. His tone was conversational.
Yoshio stared at the file in his hand, blood still running cold. He swallowed. “Your mother arranged a marriage for you?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
“I’m the head of the Suoh family now.” Yuzuru’s voice is emotionless, carefully restrained. “I have to do my duty.”
Anger was welling up behind the shock, behind the sense of betrayal. His hand clenched on his phone and he opened his mouth - only to find that he had no idea what to say. He sat in the leather chair in his study room and waited for Yuzuru to speak.
“I - I know this is unfair to ask of you, but…” This was the first emotion Yoshio had heard the other boy’s voice in weeks. He remained silent and then the only boy who’d ever broken down his defenses, who had kissed him in places no one else had ever had the privilege to see, who’d made him willing to break rules, who’d won him over completely and utterly, asked him: “Will you be my best man, Yoshio?”
Something broke in Yoshio at those softly uttered words.
He hung up without answering.
The next day, Suoh Yuzuru married Hanogi Natsuko, a well-bred girl of the wealthy Hanogi family, who had made their fortunes in the furniture industry. Yoshio saw the news broadcast, heard the widespread speculations of the hurried wedding, and closed his eyes. He left home in the morning for Tokyo University because his father would hear if he locked himself in his room.
He skipped all his classes that day and went back to Ouran Academy, feigning a smile for the too-gracious, overly enthusiastic headmaster, and walked through the halls of his past. He lingered inside the student council room and watched the cherry blossoms fall outside the window.
Three months passed before he answered any of Yuzuru’s calls.
--
Kyouya hasn’t been answering his phone.
Eclair raises an eyebrow as he comes to her side, accepting the phone she places in his hands. “Your father,” she says, unnecessarily. “It seems that he’s been trying to reach you for the past week.”
“Is that so?” Kyouya smiles, all manners and false sincerity. “How unfortunate that he hasn’t been able to reach me.” He lifts the phone to his ear and says, “Hello, Father.”
Eclair drifts away from him to the double doors of glass that lead out to the terrace. Tamaki is spread out across a chaise lounge, sunglasses over his eyes and a book in his hands. He looks serene and relaxed. Kyouya’s voice is low behind her, calm and unruffled. She smiles because now that he feels secure in the knowledge that he made the right choice, he will let nothing shake his faith. She is glad that they are here; she enjoys the company.
It’s a pity, she thinks, pushing the door open and stepping into the hot, dry France summer, that they will not be seeing Haruhi. But Eclair is a woman of her word - she may not have promised explicitly to keep Haruhi from Tamaki forever, but she knows the expectations she sees in the Ootori’s eyes. Tamaki has his mother now, she is pleased to know, who has recovered with the best care the Tonnerre family could procure for her. It has been three years since Eloise Laurent has seen her son.
She is seated beside Tamaki now, a large-brimmed hat shielding her delicate face from the bright sun. Ostensibly she is reading as well, but like her son she is sneaking glances at the figure beside her every so often, eyes bright and filled with wonder. Her feet dangle off the lounge chair to brush against Tamaki’s, finding reassurance in the contact, proof that this is real.
They look undeniably like mother and son from the golden hair to the slender build, delicate features and winsome smile, sweet on Eloise and shamelessly charming on Tamaki. Eclair rests by the door, in the shadows, and watches them. She doesn’t smile but she feels something in her calm, knowing for certain now that she has no regrets about the past eight months. Hers was not such a bad deal, she thinks, as she may have acted more selfishly than Kyouya to reunite mother and son...and make other gains besides. But Eclair has never been one to dwell on sins and consequences.
The door opens behind her and Kyouya steps out onto the terrace beside her. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and is surprised to find him pale, drawn. The set of his mouth is tight and he looks the way he sounded on the phone that fateful day they made their deal - tense, frustrated, and carefully in control.
He will never lose his composure in public, at least, no longer. She has heard stories from Tamaki about their middle school days but Kyouya has grown up since then.
She knows what he needs. She and he are not so different, after all. “Tamaki,” she calls, her voice rolling over the syllables of his name like honey, “Kyouya needs to talk to you.” Her hand lifts to touch the arm of the boy beside her in acknowledgment. Then she is flitting away to seat herself beside Eloise with a warm smile as Tamaki brightens and leaps to his feet, making his way across the terrace.
“Kyou~ya,” Tamaki carols, because his life has never been quite this beautiful, with a lover and a mother and the hot French sun scorching across his skin and highlighting the gold in his hair. He presses a swift kiss to Kyouya’s mouth when he reaches the boy standing in front of the double doors.
Kyouya relaxes slightly, Eclair is pleased to see before turning away and asking Eloise if she needs any more iced tea, or some sandwiches.
“We need to talk,” Kyouya tells Tamaki, voice low. His fingers tangle with Tamaki’s and draws the two of them inside the villa. “We may need to return home.”
It is the last thing Eclair hears. When Eloise’s gaze shifts down to her novel again, Eclair frowns.
She will have to conduct some inquiries as to the content of that phone call.
--
TBC ASAP
Started: 09.29.2006
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