When Tamaki woke – fairly early, as was his habit – he was sad to have left the wonderful dream he'd been having. That is, until he realized that he was being held quite tightly by two lean arms that were obviously attached to the body currently molded to his own from behind, and it dawned on him that it hadn't been a dream at all. His heart seemed to stop for a few moments before stuttering to a near-painful overdrive. As often as he's thought about doing...well, exactly what he'd done last night...he'd never contemplated what it would be like to awaken held in a still-sleeping Kyoya's immovable grip. He thought about possibly sneaking out of bed and getting dressed but at the first careful movement he attempted his lover's arms tightened further, pulling them flush with one another. Tamaki was a bit surprised to find out that he was getting turned on by the Shadow King's restraining embrace and decided to give up the idea of leaving the bed in favor of rolling over to face his partner.
In sleep, the youngest Ootori looked innocent, somehow, more peaceful, the typical cynicism and emotionless mask wiped away by slumber. Tamaki found him to be beautiful. That he'd always been attracted to his best friend was no surprise, but to have gotten the chance to share such an incredible intimacy with him – it was a gift beyond anything he could have ever imagined. He sighed softly. Now all that remained was to see if Kyoya would still want to speak to him when he woke up.
As though he could hear the blond thinking of him, the dark-haired one – still dead asleep – adjusted his hold until Tamaki's head rested beneath his chin and he'd wrapped himself around the Host King, pinning his arms to his sides. Thus held, Tamaki chuckled quietly when Kyoya further immobilized him by pulling the princely one's legs between his own. Apparently this new configuration made him happy because after a low, contented hum he was sleeping soundly once more. His captive couldn't help but smile fondly – who would have guessed the cool, distant Host Club Vice President was a snuggler? With a smile on his lips Tamaki allowed himself to fall back asleep, cradled in Kyoya's arms.
Kyoya woke slowly, his first coherent thought being that he hadn't had such a restful night's sleep in longer than he could remember. His second thought was that his pillow had a warm tongue.
It took him a moment to realize that pillows do not usually have tongues, warm or otherwise.
It was a few minutes longer before he came to the conclusion that pillows also do not typically possess fingers, despite the fact that he was fairly certain that's what he felt against his skin, dragging slowly down his chest to his waist, past his navel...
He snapped fully awake only to see a pair of violet eyes, dancing with love and amusement and mischief to rival the twins.
"Good morning, mon amour," Tamaki's soft whisper washed over him. "You're so cute when you sleep." Kyoya, still not completely alert, raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"I hardly think I could be considered 'cute' at any time," he huffed reflexively, still quite groggy.
"I beg to disagree, love," the blond said with an impish grin and to Kyoya's mortification Tamaki leaned over and placed a gentle kiss right on the tip of his nose. That simple action woke him up completely and the events of the previous evening came flooding back.
"Tamaki," he growled. "What the hell are you doing?" Just like that, those amethyst eyes filled with shame and sadness.
"I'm sorry, Kyoya," Tamaki whispered. It wasn't until the dejected prince tried to move away that the dark one realized how intertwined they were. He flushed a deep red and let go immediately, sitting up and bolting out from under the covers. Without a word he snatched up his clothing from where it was scattered and began dressing, layer after layer donned like so much armor against the world. Too bad I can't protect myself from myself, he thought angrily. Fully dressed he headed for the door, but something made him pause. He turned slowly, carefully, to see the blond still on the bed, the blanket drawn up to his hips, head bowed and silent. As Kyoya stared at his friend – seeing how broken and fragile the gentle boy appeared – he saw tears like melted diamonds dropping slowly from ivory cheeks to trace patterns down his bare chest. And in the area where neck met shoulder there was a very obvious mark – proof Kyoya couldn't deny that he had been more than an active participant in their mutual passion. His breath caught, chest tightening at the sight of his friend – his best friend – disheveled and discarded like so much unnecessary baggage. For the first time in his life Kyoya was overwhelmed with pure disgust. Not towards Tamaki, but himself. What kind of monster was he, to use and walk away from the one person in his entire life that had ever shown him unconditional love?
"It's okay, Kyoya." In the silence the whisper floated like gossamer, the soft voice sounding more worn and weary than anything he'd ever heard before. "I understand. And I'm sorry. Just don't..." Tear-filled eyes met his own. "...don't take your anger at me out on the rest of the Club. This was entirely my fault. They don't deserve secondhand blame." He bowed his head again and the plea, the entreaty in that normally vivacious voice completely shattered the Shadow King.
"Tamaki, I..." he started to say, not knowing how to finish, knowing words couldn't heal the wounds he had just caused in his careless self-absorption. A memory of how broken Tamaki had been when he arrived the night before jumped to the front of his mind and he hated himself, loathed himself, for letting his own insecurities cause his friend even more pain.
He didn't know he'd moved until he felt the silky golden strands of Tamaki's hair under his fingertips. Just that small amount of contact destroyed the walls he'd hastily erected and he dropped onto the bed, hauling the shaking blond into his arms as, for the first time in forever, he felt tears cascading from his own eyes. He began to speak, to try and fix the hurt he'd caused, his voice a shaken murmur.
"I'm the one that should be sorry. I'm the one that tried to blame you for my own problems. I'm the -" a slender finger against his lips halted any further speech.
"It's okay. I understand. And I take all the blame. I mean, I've wanted to be with you for so long – it was my impulsiveness that started all this." From his position in Kyoya's embrace his tears had begun to soak into his friend's shirt, but for once Kyoya didn't give a damn about the fine fabric. He simply clutched Tamaki tighter, gasping in relief when instead of pulling away the Host King returned the desperate embrace.
"I just don't know...how to...I've never...well, I mean..." Where's your eloquence now, Kyoya spat at himself, inwardly cursing his lack of ability to voice his thoughts. It didn't matter, though.
"Me either. But we'll figure this out, together." The blond's voice had regained some of its surety and Kyoya looked down to see those gorgeous eyes filled with determination that nonetheless didn't disguise the nervousness. "I mean, that is, if you want to..."
Kyoya felt himself smile. It was a small smile, and he was still nearly paralyzed with uncertainty, but the warmth in his new lover's face gave him confidence.
"Together," he agreed.
Breakfast was, to Haruhi's surprise, absolutely delicious. A casually joking statement - "I didn't know you rich bastards could cook," - brought a smile to the smallest host's eyes.
"Takashi and I love cooking," Honey said proudly. "Though I'm better at desserts and he's the one that usually does the main courses. And Hika-chan and Kao-chan have this amazing skill with anything breakfast-y."
"Ngh," murmured the quiet one, mouth full of a bite of something sinfully fluffy that the twins had called a thrice-whipped omelet. Currently the devils were putting the dirty dishes to soak in the kitchen sink (carefully, having been threatened with bodily dismemberment should harm befall the Fujioka's tableware).
"Well, it's all really yummy, Honey-senpai."
"Haru-chan," he chided, amused reprimand in his voice. She stopped chewing and looked up at him, puzzled, only to be met by his playful glare. "Didn't we drop the formalities?" he chuckled, and the intimacy in his eyes made her flush as she nodded.
"Okay, Mitsukuni." He grinned and reached across the corner of the table to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek as he withdrew. Neither of them saw the wide-eyed expressions on the redhead duo's faces, quickly masked, or the silent communication between the two as they rejoined the others.
"So," they began, wrapping their arms around her, "are you ready to go get your camping gear?"
"Yes, but remember, I get veto rights." Somehow she knew that, even though everyone had agreed, her words were likely to carry far less weight than she wished. But as long as she could keep them from buying out the entire store (or stores) she'd probably consider herself lucky. They lifted her from her chair and gave her a gentle push towards the bedroom.
"Go get dressed," Kaoru said with a smile.
"Unless you want us to help you?" Hikaru said with a smirk. She just rolled her eyes.
"No thank you. I can never trust you when it comes to getting myself dressed." They feigned hurt expressions and she snorted as she closed the bedroom door in their faces.
Trying to choose her outfit for the day, she resisted the urge to grab her favorite pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt as she knew her best friends would simply drag her back into the bedroom and dress her themselves. And honestly, with the way her emotions (and libido, her inner self snarked) had been lately, the last thing she needed was her two sexy tormenters stripping her clothes from her. With a sigh that she swore to herself was not disappointment, she pulled out a seafoam green off-the-shoulder blouse her father had gotten her as a Christmas present. A strapless bra was a must with it, but it took her a moment to recall where she'd stashed the seldom-used contraption. She paired the shirt with a brand-new pair of black capris, not wanting a full pair of pants that might chafe her recently tended injuries, and chose a simple pair of sandals that wouldn't aggravate the cut on her heel. Thus attired, she ran her brush through her almost-dry hair again, stuck her wallet in her pocket, and took a deep breath.
God, she hated shopping.