You can give me anything but love...becuase its not yours that I want.
Unspoken and unwritten, it was an agreement, a contract, they both had signed and held onto.
Kyouya gripped the strong shoulders, as the taller moved his hips forward, going deeper into his body. Both knowing whose shoulders he really wanted to hold onto, who he wished was inside him.
But he knew he could never have the blonde Frenchman, who shattered his heart with his music, and put it together again with his smile.
It what they desired, that brought them to this point.
Mori panted, his hot breathe falling on the younger smooth pale neck. But they both knew whose neck he wished his breathe could fall upon, that he kissed, and nibbled on.
But he knew that he could never ask for the beautiful and dangerous, boy-lolita that looked at him with those sparkling chocolate orbs.
They never became angry when their desires names fell from the others lips, they knew it was the pain of their hearts that mixed with the pleasure of their bodies.
"Tamaki" Kyouya moaned, tears in the corners of his eyes. Mori only pulled him closer and held him gently. "Mitskuni" Mori panted, and Kyouya would hold onto him and run his fingers softly over his back.
If the pain, was too much, they would stop and hold onto the replacement for their desires.
Mori would hold Kyouya, as the younger cried. Kyoua would hold Mori, as he became lost in his thoughts.
"Takeshi, this is bad for us" "I know, but can you stop it?" "...No" "Neither can I"
Kyouya was the only one other than Hunny who called him by his name. Mori was the only one other than his sister to ever see him cry.
By day, it would seem as nothing had gone on. Kyouya was as stoic as usual, and did his schoolwork and attended Host Club as usual, acting like he wasn't in pain everytime Tamaki would flirt with Haruhi or played The Host King. Or resisted the urges that came to him as he would hug or talk to him.
And Mori did the same, even if his heart skipped a beat at every giggle or smile Mitskuni made, or when Hunny would ride on his shoulders, the thoughts that went through his mind, would be kept to himself.
And by night, it was their ruotine. They left the Host Club, and would meet at Kyouya's house, and it would all begin again. The moans and pants, bodies just giving into the others, grasping to their sanity by the thread they had.
Giving to their secret desires, their loves, their wants and needs. It would seem strange or even sad to anyone else, but to them, it was the only way the could hang onto themselves and their sanity.
As Kyouya would lay in Mori's arms, he could only think of Tamaki. As Mori would stroke Kyouya's hair, he could only think of the soft, sandy-blonde locks of Mitskuni.
They could give each other anything but love...becuase it wasn't the love of the one they wanted.