A/N Lookkit- I wrote something else! New! Yaaay! Like most of my stuff, this was a request / giftfic. Happy Sweet Sixteen, Katizzle. (Incidentally, if you're familiar with my work, "Strawberry Pocky" was written at this same girl's behest! Have a look if you like Bleach.)

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"Oh, Mommy!" cried a flamboyant voice. The music room door banged open, admitting a tall, purple uniformed boy.

"I have a surpriiiissssseeee~!" He even sounded blonde.

The shrill mating cry of the wild French dofus didn't even bring the room's sole occupant to look up from his clipboard calculations.

"What is it, Tamaki?" asked the bespectacled young man.

The blonde balked. "Mommyyyyy!" he whined, "I'm not Tamaki! I'm Daddy!" "Mommy's" glasses caught the light and flashed as "Daddy" started doing pirouettes around the room. "What do you want, Tamaki?"

"I won't tell you until you call me 'Daddy'!" he insisted as he spun. "I shan't even speak to you until you admit that I am 'Daddy' and join me in our wedded family bliss!"

…

Silence resounded.

The king of Host Club (and ADHD) lasted for all of about five seconds. Then his resolve went down like Mori for Honey-Sempai. He charged on as if he hadn't just made his dramatic little vow.

"Anyway, Mommy," he spun over to the settee where Kyoya sat with his clipboard and flung himself across it, placing his head in the other boy's lap. "I learned a new game!" He announced, grinning up at him. He closely resembled a puppy that had successfully gone potty on the newspaper. Disproportionately pleased.

"Did you?" Kyoya asked with an air of disinterest.

Which flapped over Tamaki's head like an albatross. "Yes!"

It got suspiciously quiet again, as no one made any effort to further the conversation. Tamaki let it hang there for an eternity, grinning like a serial killer. The soft scritch-scratch of Kyoya's pen was the only sound to be heard in the echo-y music room. "The twins taught it to me!" the blonde announced suddenly.

"That's nice." Scritch-scratch. Clearly the seriousness of the situation had not yet sunk in for the nerd.

"Very nice!" agreed the hyper one, carrying right along, "They said it's an old family game! They play it with each other all the time!"

"Uh-huh. Good for them." Scritch-scratch.

"Shall I teach it to you? It's very simple!" It was a good thing Tamaki was wealthy enough to afford all of those exclamation points.

"As long as it doesn't distract me from my math," he agreed foolishly.

At the explicit invitation, Tamaki sat up, pulling his head from the boy's lap and rocking back on his knees on the sofa. And he waited. Staring. Just staring.

Then came the quiet question. In a voice so very tantalizingly soft, Tamaki asked, "Are you nervous yet?"

"…No," Kyoya replied, not glancing from his work.

Tamaki set his fingertips on his friend's arm. "How about now?"

No," he replied again, still utterly nonplussed.

Tamaki's hand pressed the palm flat and began to wander, tracing up the arm and setting to the boy's neck, where he began to ever so lightly stroke his knuckles back and forth. "Now?" He asked in a whisper.

Shock of the century: Kyoya replied "No"!

Though his attention span was that of an ADD goldfish, Tamaki also had the stubborn nature of an ass when he put his mind to it. His resolve strengthened and he upped the ante. "Nervous yet?" he asked again as the hand began to migrate down the boy's chest, fingering the buttons carefully.

"No."

He went to the waist.

"Nervous yet?"

"No."

He went to the hips. "Nervous yet?"

"No."

Tamaki looked a touch frustrated. He grit his teeth and allowed his voice to take on a sultry tone as it played with the hem of Kyoya's pants. "Nervous yet?"

"No." Kyoya deadpanned.

So Tamaki changed his approach. He removed his hand altogether. Now he leaned over the side of the couch and started at the teen's feet, brushing over uniform leather. "Nervous yet?"

Obviously, "No."

Blondie started working up the leg, tugging at the pant leg like an impatient five year old. "Nervous yet?" he asked someplace around the knee.

The budget for the club seemed to be proving vastly more interesting for Kyoya, because he still said, "No."

Tamaki traced Kyoya's thighs, drawing little circles over the fabric with his fingertips. "Nervous yet?" he whispered, so close that Kyoya could feel the warm moisture on the shell of his ear.

"No."

That was when Tamaki did something… drastic.

With the swift deft movements of a master pianist, his hand dodged the clipboard and Kyoya's scribbling arms to reach the serious teenager's crotch. His hand hovered above an extremely sensitive area before diving in for the kill, grabbing Kyoya's… well, anatomy.

The world stilled. All held breath for the next move.

"…nervous yet, Kyoya-Sempai?" Tamaki asked in his sexy voice.

Silence. Total, motionless silence. And then…

"No." Scritch-scratch.

A sweatdrop and depression lines appeared above Tamaki's head. He pulled away his hand. For a moment, it seemed as if Kyoya had won the game. But that was when Tamaki had a harebrained scheme (as he was ever so wont to do).

His hand abandoned those efforts… and redoubled in an unexpected (and not at all erogenous) zone. He clapped his hand over Kyoya's face, smushing his nose, distorting his lips, and totally blocking his view.

Kyoya stopped his math scribbling dead.

"Nervous yet?" Tamaki questioned triumphantly.

And the tables turned… on Tamaki.

With the speed of a cocaine-addled viper, Kyoya's hand shot out to reach for a matching area of Tamaki's body. His clipboard and pen fell to his lap as he gave the smallest squeeze.

The color drained from Tamaki's face as all the blood redirected to his nose, from whence it spurted. The jet shot the blonde backwards, reeling over the back of the seat and crashing to the cool marble floor. His legs from the knee down hung on to the back of the couch. One stocking foot twitched, as he'd blown off his own shoes.

"G-gyahh~!" he whimpered piteously.

Before either knew it, the black haired boy was on his feet, looming over the vanquished blonde.

"Tamaki," he said softly, tapping his foot.

The teenager in question made a vague whimpering sound.

"Don't try to play games with me… particularly not games that I taught to the twins in the first place."

"Guhh…!" he whimpered, eyes spinning in his skull.

Kyoya sat back down and returned to his calculations, murmuring, "Tch... you smudged my spectacles. Amateur."