Stupid Kings

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Kyouya has always prided himself on his intelligence. Because his worth as a third born son had been significantly diminished by the births before him, he was well aware that he couldn't just do well; he had to be exceptional, and even then, that promised him nothing. He would never be held at the same level of respect as his brothers because they had done everything he had already and their father was no longer impressed by straight A's, extensive social circles, volunteer work, working full time, or getting accepted into a prestigious school. Even so, throughout his very pressured life, Kyouya has constantly been reassured that things might work out for him because he's smarter than the average person.

Which is why it hurts that much more when he allows himself to fall into this trap again and again because it's so fucking stupid.

The Ootori boy probably would have continued his personal pity party within the tortured confines of his mind had his thoughts not been completely blown out of his ears at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth swallowing his aching arousal in its entirety. Thin fingers coiling like electric wires into the crisp sheets below him, Kyouya's mouth parts to release a deep-throated groan that quivers low in his stomach. There is a pair of hot hands keeping his trembling thighs still as the moist lips tighten around his length with just the barest hint of teeth.

Kyouya's molars grind so hard he can hear the squeak of bone on bone because that damned mouth is working him just the way he likes it and it pisses him off to no end that he can be played so easily. He's reminded again of how stupid he's being, how downright idiotic this whole situation is, but it's hard to keep them constant because that goddamn magical tongue is swirling around his tip. Kyouya moans, his concerns about the volume escaping him along with his self-criticism.

He doesn't have to see to know that there is a cocky smile between his legs.

He comes a few minutes after, hips straining against the hands pinning him down, and then he collapses against the mattress with a thin sheet of sweat forming over his brow. The wake of his climax takes several minutes to subside and when his eyes open again, the white ceiling of his bedroom is blurred. Kyouya doesn't exactly remember taking off his glasses but he kind of prefers this unfocused world because it makes the whole thing seem less real somehow.

Reality comes back to him like a sharp knife in the chest, though, when Tamaki's face resurfaces - he's a little fuzzy around the edges but Kyouya doesn't need to have perfect vision to know every detail. He's grinning, naturally, a smug kind of satisfaction spreading over his lips, which he dabs at one corner with the tip of a pink tongue before he proceeds to plant a hand beside Kyouya's face on the mattress. The other boy's yellow shards of hair trickle down from behind his ears, close enough that when Kyouya exhales, they flutter with his breath.

"You are a wound ball of tension, Mom," the blonde muses, almost in a bored tone. Kyouya knows better - he doesn't even have to be aware of the hard erection pressing against the inside of his thigh to know that.

Kyouya lets out a long breath through his nose. Spreading his legs, he lifts them high enough to wrap around Tamaki's narrow waist. His ankles hook in the dip of the blonde's back. Violet irises swivel to capture his, the dim bedroom lights making them dark enough to pass as black, and Kyouya hates that he actually thinks they're beautiful, like he's some kind of art critic. But, he supposes, if any human could pass as art, it would be Tamaki.

Kyouya's smart enough to understand that human sexuality is the very definition of a 'gray area' - that nothing is definitive and no one is strictly this way or that. People do a great job of convincing themselves otherwise, but that doesn't change the fact that everything concerning this particular aspect of human capacity is very wishy-washy. So when he first saw Tamaki, much younger and shorter then, he was not surprised when he discovered the little blonde was an exceptionally good looking specimen. He knew why, after the Host club was created, Tamaki was so popular. He's suave and controlled, knows just what to say and how to say it, and has some god-given talent when it comes to how to touch a body and where, like that of all things is his sixth sense. Kyouya understood all of these things, but that did not stop him from feeling betrayed somehow when he discovered that Tamaki's presence had an effect on him, as well.

The Suoh boy had originally been dumped on him unwillingly but had, as he did most people, won Kyouya over with his charm. Although Kyouya had been nothing but infuriated with Tamaki's very existence for the first couple of weeks upon meeting him, it didn't take long for a rough patch of him to soften specifically for the other boy. It wasn't as if Kyouya had always been opposed to friendship as long as those friendships could benefit him somehow, but getting closer to Tamaki proved to be fruitless in the sense that Kyouya was to gain anything particularly valuable because Tamaki only had love to give. And despite being aware of this, that he would get nothing from this boy, he stayed. Tamaki became someone he trusted, someone he wanted to protect, what with his loud laugh and optimism and his sincerity, which Kyouya had originally mistaken for naivety.

Kyouya knows that genuinely good people just don't exist like they used to and that people like Tamaki are a dying breed.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden intrusion of a well-lubed finger sliding inside of him, making his hips raise from the bed and a long breath to patter out of his lungs, head stretching backward. He had been so lost in his memories, he hadn't even heard or seen Tamaki pull the bottle out, but now watched as Tamaki set it on the mattress to the left of Kyouya's head. Curling his finger within the other boy, Tamaki would then lean his head down and litter Kyouya's exposed neck with open mouthed kisses, hot and damp, causing the Ootori boy's eyes to flutter. Another finger is soon to follow the first, the slightest of cringes rippling through the muscles in his face before smoothing out again as the line between pain and pleasure began to blur.

Kyouya wishes he could remember exactly when and how this all started. After the Host club started for sure, but before Haruhi arrived. He also wishes he could blame it on something other teenagers did, like alcohol or drugs, but the two of them had been sober the first time and every time following and that, for some reason, made Kyouya feel like an idiot because he had no one to blame but himself. The first time had been just after a Host meeting - Honey had managed to drop a plate and cut himself on the glass. Mori had all but sprinted to the nurse's office with the small boy cradled in his arms and the twins had left solely so they wouldn't be give the job of cleaning up. Kyouya had begun doing it himself, Tamaki soon joining him, and somewhere between putting the pieces of glass in a garbage bag and disposing of it in the nearest trash can, he had somehow ended up tangling his hands in Tamaki's golden hair and shoving him against the wall, mouths smothering the other.

They didn't fuck the first time. It was casual heavy petting for a while, a handjob, a wet kiss a little too close to his bellybutton. And then one night Tamaki brought over a bottle of lube and a bouquet of roses, all grinning and bright and gorgeous as usual. That night, Kyouya had topped, though they were both comfortable in either position, and by then, Kyouya was so tangled up in Tamaki, he didn't know how to even start unraveling the whole mess.

For a long time, Kyouya was simply confused. It wasn't that he hated himself, necessarily, but he truly didn't understand what Tamaki saw in him. If Tamaki is the daytime, then Kyouya is definitely the night - he's mean and insensitive and a pessimist and isn't exactly known for being cheerful, and that's all Tamaki is. Kyouya had asked him quite bluntly once, just a few weeks into their weird affair, and Tamaki had looked genuinely surprised by the question, as if the answer were obvious.

"Because you're ..." Tamaki had gestured animatedly in the air. "Good. I mean, the rest of your family is so harsh and you probably would have turned out that way too if I hadn't swooped in and saved you." An arm had been slung across Kyouya's shoulders, a pair of wet lips smacking against his temple. "But I did, and you're a good guy, even if you don't see it."

Kyouya thought about cutting it off more than once, just because he was convinced it would end terribly anyway. But every time he plucked up the courage, he lost his resolve the next time he and Tamaki were alone together. They didn't always fuck - sometimes Tamaki would just talk, babbling about school and the other Hosts and the girls at the club while raking his fingers through the other boy's hair. When Kyouya was with Tamaki, he couldn't remember why he didn't want to be.

And then the meaningless fucking - which it had never been for Tamaki, and maybe it had never been for Kyouya, either, but hell, he had tried to make himself believe that - turned into making love and it hurt Kyouya more to imagine his life without Tamaki than with him, dumb as it is.

He knows it's stupid, that he's being stupid, because he's too smart for this. Ootoris do not engage in such taboo behavior.

But, he reminds himself, somewhere in the still rational portion of his brain, other Ootoris had not been blessed with a friend - with a lover like Tamaki. They may be in better graces with his father than he will ever be, they might accomplish more and make more money and bring more honor to the family name, but he knows they will die alone and angry without ever knowing what it feels like to be unconditionally loved by someone.

He gives a short shake of his head, as if that would scatter his thoughts away. Raising his thin, pale arms, Kyouya wraps them around Tamaki's shoulders and pulls him closer, tighter, until the other boy's hot chest melts against his own. He knows just how much Tamaki appreciates hearing the effect he has on the usually stoic black-haired boy, so Kyouya makes sure not to hold back, releasing every heavy breath and little moan that Tamaki pulls out of him as he works his two finger in and out of his shaking body.

"D-Dad," he pants, and Tamaki's skin shudders beneath Kyouya's hands in a hard shiver at the sound. The blonde's hips shift between Kyouya's legs, silently asking permission, and finally Kyouya gives a curt nod as a way to reply. Tamaki's fingers withdraw, an empty feeling lingering only briefly before Tamaki's length is there to fill it. Kyouya is more than used to the entirety of Tamaki, though he still has to hold his breath and give himself a minute or two to adjust to the sensation of being filled. Tamaki's hips are trembling with the effort to remain still - as always, he waits, biting his lip to hold his patience until Kyouya gives him another nod, and the rocking begins.

It's a terribly amazing feeling, being fucked. Kyouya knows he will probably experience nothing like it again - his muscles constricting in correspondence to Tamaki's thrusts, the way his body gives little twinges here and there at the invasion, that blissful nub inside of him that is often hit just right and makes him all but beg for more. Usually, Kyouya is good at containing himself, even when he's with Tamaki like this. But he's been so high-strung about this whole Tamaki secret for so long, for too long, and for once he wants to be able to feel as carefree as Tamaki does. His arms slither from Tamaki's shoulders to fist in the sheets, ankles pressing into the blonde's back to urge him on. "Faster," Kyouya moans, hips meeting Tamaki's in time with his thrusts as they pick up speed. "H-Harder, fuck, Tamaki - !"

Tamaki cries out. His fingers curl tightly around Kyouya's hipbones, thumbs pressing hard against the flesh until he's certain bruises will bloom later. The last few pumps are hard and fast and so deep Kyouya can't stand it and once more he topples over the edge, releasing onto both Tamaki's chest and his own stomach as a warm wetness pools inside of him.

Kyouya is neither smart nor stupid - he isn't anything, really, except a spent body as Tamaki crashes beside him, an arm wrapping loosely around his waist. A faint smile he isn't consciously aware of spreads across his lips as Tamaki presses his nose behind Kyouya's ear. Lazily, one of his arms drapes over the other boy's back, fingertips drawing figure eights on the damp skin.

"Kyouya?" Tamaki raises his head after he's composed himself. His cheeks are still a light shade of pink. When Kyouya replies with a faint grunt in his throat, the other boy's purple eyes shift from him to the mattress, teeth gnawing at the inside of his lower lip. "Y'know how I'm King? Of the Host club, I mean?"

Kyouya chuckles, turning his head so his lips can brush along Tamaki's brow. "Yes. What about it?"

Tamaki nestles his cheek on Kyouya's shoulder. He's silent for so long that Kyouya thinks he's forgotten what he was going to ask, but then the boy takes a deep, long breath and says in one gush, "' Iwasjust, I mean, I didn't know if maybe, Imeanit's -"

"Okay, woah, I can't understand anything you're saying. Slow down."

Tamaki's eyes close. He pushes away from Kyouya and positions himself on the bed with his legs crossed, head bent. For a time there is just Tamaki picking at his fingers and Kyouya studying him in silence, propped up on his elbows, one knee tenting upward. "Tamaki?" Kyouya presses, and then the other boy looks up, purple eyes holding a certain seriousness to them that Kyouya so rarely sees.

"I'd ask you to be my Queen since I call you Mom anyway, but that doesn't seem appropriate in a formal context." One side of his mouth raises. "So, I'm asking if you'll be the King to my King."

This is exactly what Kyouya was most afraid of. This is the least intelligent thing he could ever do. He imagines it, briefly - his father's and brothers' outrage once they found out, the way the Host club might react, watching his already slim chances of being a great Ootori being burned before his eyes.

But he imagines the good stuff, too - Tamaki taking his hand in school hallways, kissing him outside classrooms, buying him more flowers and being called Tamaki's boyfriend, not having to avoid looking at Tamaki in public for fear of what others might see.

It's a dangerous gamble, and only stupid people make bets.

He shifts to his knees and he can see the smart, safe option playing out in his mind; him scooting to the edge of the bed, pulling on his pants, buttoning his shirt and leaving Tamaki to curl in this empty bed, hurt and damaged and alone.

Kyouya has always prided himself on his intelligence. But he takes Tamaki's chin in one hand and kisses him in answer to his request because sometimes the stupid thing to do is the right thing to do.

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A/N: I should have been reading the Odyssey for homework but the Odyssey is lacking in homosexual smut, so.

Hope you enjoyed!