Chapter Two

Haruhi winced. "You don't have to make it sound so vulgar."

Kyoya nearly laughed. She was the one who wanted the "experiences" while keeping it "practical." To be fair, her description wasn't vulgar, but rather utilitarian. Of all the dark fantasies he'd entertained of being used by her, this wasn't quite what he'd pictured.

"Hmm. It's an intriguing proposition, I admit. We would need to discuss the particulars, of course. We wouldn't want any misunderstandings."

"I agree!" she said eagerly. "I really value your friendship, senpai. Most of all, I don't want to risk that."

The situation was absolutely ludicrous.

He said, "I suppose we should begin with what experiences you've had, and which you hope to have. Well?" Good god, could she get any redder?

"Uh, well, not a lot, I guess. That I've had, I mean. Not that I necessarily want a lot! That would depend on you of course."

"That is entirely unspecific, Haruhi. Am I to presume you are a virgin?"

Yes. Yes, she could get redder. She nodded.

"No need to be embarrassed," he stated. "As you said, we are friends. And we are likely to get to know each other much more intimately." He shouldn't goad her. He shouldn't goad her. Hadn't he always admired her frankness, her willingness to speak the truth no matter what? To hell with it. He would goad her.

"And what about non-penetrative sex?"

Her gaze shot to his, her eyes wide, her nostrils flared. She was close to panicking. Okay, maybe not quite so much goading. Just a little.

"I mean oral sex. Or heavy petting."

She reached up to scratch her ear. It allowed her to look away from him. "Um, there was that one time. At the, uh, beach…"

Shit. Shit. That's what she considered her sexual experience? He'd barely touched her then, it was all invading her space, holding himself just above her so she could feel his body heat, making her aware he could touch her if he wanted to. And it was almost four years ago! Surely she hadn't gone that long without a single encounter. Kyoya wondered if she had any idea what she was really asking for now.

"Look, I'm not as naïve as that makes me sound." What she sounded right now was defensive and a bit petulant. "I have access to the internet. I know what sex is and how it works. I know it can, you know, feel good."

Kyoya was going to lose his mind. Trust Haruhi to do her research and believe her academic understanding equated to a practical one. That word again, practical. Suddenly, he hated it. But fine, if she wanted firsthand experience, he'd be the one to give it to her.

"But you have been kissed before?" Please don't say that one time she slipped and kissed a girl during host club. Someone had to have noticed her that way since her first year of high school. Besides the other members of the host club, of course.

She fidgeted with her teacup, tracing her index finger along the delicate pattern of roses near the rim. "Um, besides that time Tamaki-senpai pushed me into Kanako?"

This was impossible.

"Yeah, besides that, only shortly after starting university."

Oh, thank god. There was something.

"It was after the first time I went back home to check on Dad, and I got back to the dorm pretty late. There were a bunch of people partying in the lounge, and one of the guys, I didn't realize it right away because I was thinking about a paper I needed to start, but he followed me up the stairs to my room."

Kyoya processed that for a beat. "He kissed you. Did you want him to?"

"Well, no, but it's not like it was a big deal. He'd had a bit too much to drink, but I told him I didn't appreciate his attitude and no one else would, either, and he backed off. I only had to push him a little bit before he realized he was being a jerk."

Kyoya removed his glasses to clean them with the monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and smiled mildly. "I see. And what is this fellow's name?"

Haruhi swallowed. Oops. She'd shared too much. "It doesn't matter," she said quickly. "He transferred."

"As you say." Kyoya made a mental note to find out who had manhandled Haruhi against her will, who had robbed her of a kiss. Who had dared touch her without permission. Her permission, of course. He continued matter-of-factly. "So, I imagine we'll begin with kissing, and work up from there—at a pace you are comfortable with, naturally." He waited for her to nod. "Eventually, you will need to see a doctor regarding birth control. Sooner rather than later would be the best bet."

Her pink face suddenly drained of color. Horrified, she squeaked, "What about, you know, condoms?" She looked like she wanted to die.

"Naturally we'll use them. But relying on a single method of contraception isn't the safest way to go about it, and if you think a boyfriend will take up too much of your study time, imagine an infant."

Just like that, the color rushed back into her face and she nodded dumbly. Her eyes flew to the door, to the clock, and finally, to him. She was a little afraid of where her proposition would lead them. Good. He smiled with his voice, if not with his mouth. "I won't push you for anything tonight, Haruhi. You'll be ready when we begin in earnest." As long as you don't expect me to wait too long.

She broke out into a smile and leaned over to take his now-empty cup into the kitchen along with the rest of the tea things, always the last thing she did before leaving.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

She shrugged, thanked him sincerely for not laughing at her, gathered her things, and departed. Only once the door snicked shut, the soft thunk following telling him she'd locked the deadbolt behind her, did he very carefully set the cup down. A tiny web of cracks now scarred the rose that had been under his thumb, the only physical sign of his struggle to contain his anger. The crack only blemished the very outermost layer of paint and glaze; the porcelain beneath seemed unharmed. The stupid, reckless boy at university. Kyoya hoped the boy hadn't shown too much promise, as his life as he knew it was about to end. It was definitely the boy who spurred his anger, not the girl who had just gone, leaving a soft scent of soap in her wake.

Ah, damn. He was pretty sure his own life as he knew it was about to end, too. He did not slam his palm down onto the cup to shatter it completely.

On Wednesdays, Haruhi had a slightly lighter course load, which made it a good day to run any mid-week errands Kyoya-senpai needed and throw in a load of their laundry. It was usually oddly homey, folding their clothes while something delicious simmered on the stove. Kyoya generally chose to bring his work home with him that evening—whether it was business- or school-related—rather than taking advantage of his own university's rather magnificent library. He'd never really preferred to work in a library, but he told her it afforded him the opportunity to do some useful networking with his fellow students and rich people. Well, "rich people" was her term, not his. Normally, he sat in the large leather chair with his notebook or at the kitchen table with his textbooks and laptop. Sometimes, when it was cold, he deigned to join her at the kotatsu—not that his posh apartment got chilly enough to necessitate one, but it was cozy, and he liked his creature comforts.

Today was different. Oh, Haruhi still followed her usual routine, quickly folding the laundry before hurrying back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. And Kyoya, sitting at the table this time, did, as usual, move his study things into his bag to make room for dinner. This time however, she was—as she had been for the last several days—distracted by the fact that although they had discussed her romantic experience thus far, they had not spoken in any depth about what each of them was expecting from their arrangement. Just those brief comments about pacing and, ugh, contraception. And what about his experience? Haruhi was certain his was significantly more far-reaching. He was almost certainly not a virgin. And, they probably ought to have discussed how exactly they planned on keeping any emotional complications in check without stultifying their easy camaraderie. And what would he expect of her? And when? Or did she need to be the one to initiate?

As for Kyoya, well, in spite of his correct but relaxed posture and calm demeanor, something about him loomed. She couldn't imagine what he must be thinking of her right now. She was terrified she had already irreparably destroyed some aspect of their friendship. But at some point midway through dinner, their stilted conversation about his classes and hers turned easy. She laughed at the wry way he described a classmate making a fool of himself by insisting the professor was mistaken on a particular point, and he listened with interest and helpful observations to her ideas on where she should apply for an internship for summer break. Haruhi was relieved and buoyed by the sheer, boring normalcy of it. This was going to be okay. Even if they never brought it up again, it could be alright.

Once the dishes were washed and drying, she returned to the small room housing Kyoya's washer and dryer. He had a whole room, in an apartment, just for laundry. Damn rich people. She carefully placed her items in the duffel she'd brought them in—no need to cause unnecessary wrinkles—then grabbed Kyoya's stack of clothes. Turning to bring them to his bedroom, she ran into him. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, but half the clothes she held tumbled to the floor.

"Kyoya-senpai, what are you doing here? This room is too narrow for two people." And he never helped with laundry, ever.

"I thought I'd help put things away."

Well, that was a lie, Haruhi thought, but instead said, "Senpai, you know your clothes just get messed up from the way you shove them in the drawers." He really was quite a slob.

"Mmm, I thought after last time, you might be uncomfortable going into my bedroom."

Another obvious lie. Anyway, she hadn't even considered being embarrassed about his room. It had been a long time since she'd even been rattled by handling his underwear—after all, it wasn't that different from doing her dad's laundry, even if Ryuji had a mix of masculine and feminine clothes. Either way, they were just clothes. It really wasn't that weird. What was weird was the way Kyoya hadn't stepped back or let go of her shoulders. As it was, she couldn't retrieve the fallen items to see if they needed rewashing or only refolding. He just looked at her, and there was something…

"You're being weird, senpai."

He laughed then, and it was an honest laugh with none of the acerbity he usually made sure to include. The sound made her own lips tip up in response.

"You really are something, Haruhi."

He tipped her chin up, pulling her a little toward him at the same time. She scowled a bit, reminded of practiced host club moves that she thought that had moved past using on each other. Then he traced her bottom lip with his thumb, and that wasn't a host club move at all.

"So oblivious," he murmured, but without malice.

Yep, she agreed silently. Oblivious. She had asked for this, after all. So why did she feel frozen and a little afraid? Not all afraid, though. There was something like the embarrassed curiosity she had felt when she'd unintentionally ignored the scrunchie-on-the-door warning her roommate had left, the simultaneous urge to flee and take a quick second look while she had the chance. Well, the laundry room was very narrow, and the door was behind Kyoya, so fleeing wasn't an option. Perhaps surprisingly, that didn't spur her fear—she knew he'd let he go if she asked—but rather the inclination to look.

Her gaze landed on his own mouth as his thumb continued whispering over hers. His lips had tightened slightly in concentration. He had sort of thin lips, especially given how wide his mouth was, but they looked soft. She became suddenly aware that her own were a bit chapped from the dry weather, and without thinking she sucked in a tiny bit of her lower lip to wet it. His mouth tightened further, and his nostrils flared. She didn't think she'd ever noticed a man's nostrils before, certainly had never considered they could heighten the curiosity she felt in her belly and behind her teeth. Is this what it felt like to want to kiss a man? They were friends, and he knew she didn't have the experience to know. She could just ask him.

"Kyoya-senp—" The word crashed to a halt when his face hurtled toward hers. He stopped abruptly, just a millimeter before her mouth. Instead, he pressed his forehead to her own and sucked in a ragged breath.

"I won't apologize if I scared you. But you've had two kisses you didn't want, and damnit, Haruhi, I'm going to need to know you do want this one."

It was so natural to her to want to soothe the worry and regret she knew he probably wasn't even aware of, so easy to tilt her face up just a little more and press her lips chastely to his. It was all he could to do limit himself to pulling her hard to him with the hand still on her shoulder, crushing his laundry between them and allowing the other hand to dive into her messy hair and just stay there. Don't pull her head back. Don't scare her. Don't scare her away. He wanted to ravage her mouth, drag his own down her neck to that damnable clavicle peeking out of her shirt, squeeze her delicate shoulder to remind himself and impress upon her that he was so much larger and stronger, and she was his to do with as he pleased. But the hand on her shoulder remained light after the initial pull, the hand in her hair gentle, if firm, and his lips hadn't moved an iota since she had pressed her own to them. Christ, was it even really a kiss when they just had their mouths pressed motionlessly together? This should be awkward or embarrassing, not sexy as hell.

Haruhi's eyes bored into his own, and finally, she made a discontented little mew. She didn't know what it was she should do next; she was wordlessly asking him to take over. But if he did that now, feeling her warmth up close, seeing her speechless with her pupils blown wide…

He yanked himself away from her, grabbing the few clothes she still held before she dropped them too. "I'll just—I'll just put these in the bedroom so you can grab the rest." And Kyoya Ootori fled.

Haruhi had refolded the dropped laundry but hadn't dared put them away. He might still have been in his bedroom. It wasn't until she'd gotten back to her dorm that she had really considered how the evening had gone. So that's what kissing was like. Huh.

She wondered why he had chosen that moment, why he had chosen the laundry room, of all places. It didn't exactly seem like the most suitable place for a seduction. It wasn't as if there was room to… Unless he lifted her up onto the…

Nope, nope, nope. It was too much. Besides, she was positive that hadn't been what Kyoya-senpai had had in mind. Knowing him, it was more likely that he figured she would use his laundry as a shield, her unfinished chore as a way not to dive in too deep. He hadn't chosen the laundry room because she couldn't get away, but rather because she could. And then she hadn't tried to get away at all. She chuckled a little as she realized she must have scared him out of his wits. Poor Kyoya-senpai.

When he finally emerged from the market reports, he had a couple of texts from Haruhi. He knew she had felt how hard he'd had to work to keep himself in check, though she probably wouldn't have guessed just how much he'd been tempted to bend her over the washer. He wondered coolly if he'd succeeded in frightening her away. It would serve her right, asking for such a thing from one such as him.

"About tonight…" was all the first text read. Interesting. Maybe he truly had scared her away after all. He clicked open the second message. "I'm worried I didn't refold your laundry well. And if you did put those clothes you took away… Do you even know how to use an iron, Kyoya-senpai?"

The little minx was laughing at him!