A/a: Well, this is my first fanfic ever, and a friend told me that there would be an adoring public.. Hopefully.. Anyway, I own neither Ouran Host Club nor Black Butler, but I certainly wish I did. Enjoy!
Kyoya sighed tiredly, walking out to the lone limo in front of Ouran Academy. The cool fall breeze ruffled the notes and textbooks tucked under his arm, his blue uniform swishing gently as he pulled open the sleek car's door, ducking and collapsing onto the seat. "Drive quickly please, I have a headache." he sat his books heavily onto the spot next to him, leaning back and closing his eyes. Grammar had been even more of a nightmare than usual today, and the bubble-headed American teacher didn't understand that he just didn't care. He was passing, barely, and he of course was going to ace the class with all the extra credit tucked away in his binder.
"Excuse me."
Kyoya's eyes flew open as he whirled, face taut with shock. To his left sat a man, slender and tall yet threatening as he sat calmly next to the panicking teen. The man wore a butler uniform, glowing red eyes nearly covered by his midnight-black hair.
"I'm afraid this may be a bit confusing for you, but I assure you, the hands you are now in are quite safe."
Kyoya recoiled when the stranger smiled faintly. "Who are you?" he demanded, scooting away and flattening himself against the door, fingers reaching for the handle. "What do you want?" Stay calm, he told himself, taking deep breaths.
Before he could blink the man had gotten to Kyoya's side of the limo, a hand trapping Kyoya's hand mid-reach, the pressure making him gasp softly. His upper body was pinned the the door by the other gloved hand, fingers gently digging into his chest through the uniform. The man, kneeling on the plush seats, leaned over Kyoya, both their bodies and faces only inches apart.
"Pardon me," the stranger said with his mysterious half-smile. "But before I can do anything, I will need to know your name."
Fear seized Kyoya's heart; he knew this person, if only by the British accent and pale skin. Recently a deal with the Phantomhives had gone bad, yet the Ootori companies seemed almost richer. Wherever this man, the butler as his appearance suggested, went, the bratty Ciel Phantomhive followed. If he let on he was an Ootori, few people knew how truly numbered his days were.
"My name? It's Suoh Tamaki." Why?! his mind screamed. Why that name?! This was no time to hate himself, he just had to roll with the punches and get out alive. "Obviously, being as I have no idea who you are," his fingers deftly pulled on the door handle, "this isn't my limo." The door was flung open with Kyoya's weight pressed against it, sending the teen flying wildly backwards.
Suddenly, before Kyoya's head smashed into the concrete curb, the butler caught him. An arm under Kyoya's lower back and a hand supporting his neck aided in his miraculous catch before the man pulled him back into the car, slamming the door shut. "How noble of you," the Phantomhive butler said, adopting a small sneer. "But, young Mr. Ootori, I'm afraid it will take more than that to escape."
"Sebastian, get on with it." Ciel's bored voice came from the passenger side of the front seat, hidden by a tinted glass partition. "I have a very important meeting soon, and I would like to make the phone call before then."
The butler, now named Sebastian in Kyoya's overwhelmed mind, nodded. "Of course, bocchan." He drew a square of cloth from his pocket, pouring something from a small bottle onto the material. "Now, Mr. Ootori, I am very sorry to inform you that this will burn. I greatly apologize for any inconvenience."
"Oh no, this is fine," Kyoya managed to choke out, fear constricting his throat. "In fact, I believe the rest of my day is cleared."
Sebastian smiled pityingly down at him, a gloved hand holding Kyoya's head still. "Hopefully that is all the time we need." Slowly the wet rag was pressed against Kyoya's mouth and nose, Sebastian's eyes watching his with an almost predatory gleam. Instantly a burning sensation flooded Kyoya's mouth and throat, traveling to his lungs in seconds, where the pain seemed to sear away any breath he had. A survival instinct kicked in and Kyoya writhed, trying to pull the rag from his face. An anxious smirk was on the butler's features as he shoved the material harder onto Kyoya, leaning closer. A shudder ran through the teen as the man's lips brushed his ear, Kyoya's muscles tensing.
"Help me."
Sebastian's glowing red eyes were pleading, the last things Kyoya saw before his eyelids dropped, spiralling him into an empty black void. Help me? Kyoya wondered , floating in his drug-induced sleep. Shouldn't it be the other way around?
