Fic Post: The Right Answer
Mar. 19th, 2007 12:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
momebieHmm..this song is crazily appropriate. *loves on Sparta*
Title: The Right Answer
Pairing: Tamaki/Kyouya
Rating: PG for naked Tamaki butt! :D
Word Count: 1,309
A/N: Several notes. The first is that this was arbitrarily Tamaki/Kyouya. The image of someone at a window has been eating at my brain for a week and I didn’t know where to fit it in to any of the original things I was working on. I asked my roommate for a pairing and this is what she chose. That does not mean to say that I didn’t try to make it in character and pertinent. I actually really hope it works. I’m trying to get a better feel for the Host Club characters.
It’s only fanon that Kyouya’s mother is dead, as far as I know. I haven’t read all of the manga so I don’t know if she’s ever mentioned in it, but she wasn’t mentioned in the anime or the Wiki. *shifty eyes*
Takes place some time about a month after they’ve decided they like one another (shortly after the final episode) and is their first night together as more than friends. All love and flying Tamaki love tackles to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marilla82, who betaed, and remeciel, who fixed my horrid, horrid French translations. :)
...
The noise woke him. It was the softest, most imperceptible step, and it rang loudly through the room that was usually silent at that time of night. When Kyouya opened his eyes, Tamaki was no longer next to him.
He reached across the empty space to the nightstand and fumbled with his glasses before getting them on correctly. The blue digital numbers on the clock radio glared back at him. 4 AM. He panicked for a moment, thinking that Tamaki had gone home, but surely he would be questioned if he returned to the Suou estate at such an hour.
Kyouya slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and padded to the railing surrounding the loft. Tamaki hadn’t left. He was standing in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back, still naked. Well, Kyouya thought, he never has been modest.
Kyouya pulled on a pair of pajama pants that had been carelessly dropped at the end of the bed and then descended the staircase. Once at the bottom he sat on the second to last step and drew his knees into his chest. He crossed his arms over them and let his chin fall to his forearms. He watched Tamaki in silence.
Tamaki looked like a painting Kyouya had seen once. A water sprite, or some other mythical thing, he never could keep them straight. It had been standing at the water’s edge looking up at the moon, mouth partially open in reverence, perhaps even praying. The branches had cast tattoos in shadow across its skin.
There were no leaves for Tamaki, but his skin and hair still shone pale blue, and the strips of shadow created by the many panes in the window made him look trapped. As if he had only been a visitor in that place and Kyouya had managed to capture him and keep him indefinitely. Kyouya smiled. That was almost true. Haruhi had been the actual physical pursuer, but it was Kyouya whom Tamaki had come back to. And it was Kyouya who hadn’t been able to shake the presence of him from his daily life or sleeping mind, and who now feared the lack of that presence.
Tamaki whispered something in French. Kyouya could only understand a few words of from the classes he had taken. “Et où que vous soyez, Mère, je vous aime. Faites de beaux rêves."
Silence fell again and the minutes slipped past Kyouya without him being able to count them. When Tamaki spoke again, it was in Japanese. “I’m sorry to have woken you, Kyouya.”
“No, not at all,” Kyouya said. He lifted his head and clasped at his upper arms with his hands. “Do you think she hears you?”
“Yes,” Tamaki said with certainty. But then, just as forcefully he said, “Maybe, I don’t know. I want her to, you know?”
Kyouya nodded. He had talked to his mother after she had gone, until his father had heard and reminded him that Ootori men were not weak enough to weep for the dead. Ootori men celebrated life and the ability to do business, and then moved on. He was to leave the crying to his sister. “Yes,” he said.
“Kyouya,” Tamaki said softly. “Do you think I should have gone with her?”
Kyouya stared at him. He could see the muscles in Tamaki’s thighs as they flexed against the chill of the room and he watched them as he tried to imagine life without the all-encompassing force that was Tamaki Suou. He almost couldn’t remember what it had been like before Tamaki. “Are you asking me,” he said cautiously, “if you should have married her?” It was an unusually cruel question coming from Tamaki. Kyouya was the one who asked the hard questions, forced people to see what he wanted them to see. He did it so Tamaki didn’t have to.
He thought about Éclair. About her nice breasts and her slim legs and those damned opera glasses. They would have made a beautiful couple and had beautiful European children who might have had just a hint of something exotic about them. Kyouya would have played Uncle too, if Tamaki had been allowed to return to the Suou estate in Japan. Kyouya shivered. “I think,” he drew the words out and tried to measure his tone, “being in France would have been good for you.” And there it was. It hung in the clear blue light between them. Kyouya was selfish.
“Ah mais, mon ami,” Tamaki said. “That is not an answer.”
Kyouya looked off into the darker part of the room. He couldn’t look at this person and casually talk about losing him. Not when he’d only really had him for almost a month now. The shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked again Tamaki was crouched in front of him, nose inches from Kyouya’s knees. Tamaki kissed one of them lightly and then pulled back and squatted on his heels. Kyouya tried to look away again. That body was his now, no mere French woman could come and take it. Tamaki cupped Kyouya’s cheek with his hand and forced Kyouya to look forward again.
Kyouya stared at Tamaki, who was haloed by the light coming through the window. He didn’t want to answer the question, because he knew the right answer and he knew his answer. Tamaki should be with his mother, and not speaking French to the windowpanes in his bedroom. But Kyouya could take him France, right? The Host Club and all their many contacts could find one woman, surely.
“Well,” Tamaki said.
Kyouya reached out and grasped Tamaki’s shoulders. He leaned forward over his knees and pulled Tamaki closer until they fell together. Kyouya kissed Tamaki. It was a little too hard and a little too desperate. He pushed their mouths open and ran his tongue lightly over Tamaki’s. Tamaki sighed and wrapped his arms around Kyouya’s shoulders and pulled away from the kiss. Kyouya wanted to protest the end of his diversionary tactic, but he had his pride to consider as well. He closed his mouth around everything he wanted to say and rested his head on Tamaki’s shoulder. When he spoke it was halting and soft.
“What I think isn’t good for you. I don’t want you to go to your home because I want all of you here with me. I’m selfish, and I need your attention. There are,” he paused and tried to figure out how to say it without really saying anything. “Benefits. There are benefits for me, in this venture. I don’t want to think about you with some woman who would not recognize how beneficial you can be.” What he left unsaid was, ‘not when you’re mine now.’
Tamaki chuckled and Kyouya could feel it reverberate in his throat. He grimaced.
“Oh Kyouya, this is why I needed you in the club. You never fail to amaze me. Right now you are every bit the shadow king egotist you pretend to be.” Tamaki pulled back and beamed at Kyouya and Kyouya, even though he was trying to be detached and logical, melted.
Tamaki stood up and held out his hand for Kyouya to take. “Besides, you’re okāsan. I would never let two of those go in a lifetime.”
Kyouya swallowed, afraid that any reply he would have to that would hurt Tamaki’s feelings. But when he looked into Tamaki’s face there was no hint of darkness or regret. He grasped Tamaki’s hand and let himself be pulled off the step. When Kyouya was standing Tamaki wrapped his arms around Kyouya’s waist and lowered his face into his neck and held him there. Kyouya brought one arm around Tamaki’s shoulders and rested the other on his lower back and squeezed him as hard as he could.
...Finis...
French notes:
Et où que vous soyez, Mère, je vous aime. Faites de beaux rêves. = And wherever you are, Mother, I love you. Beautiful dreams.
Ah mais, mon ami = Ah but, my friend
Title: The Right Answer
Pairing: Tamaki/Kyouya
Rating: PG for naked Tamaki butt! :D
Word Count: 1,309
A/N: Several notes. The first is that this was arbitrarily Tamaki/Kyouya. The image of someone at a window has been eating at my brain for a week and I didn’t know where to fit it in to any of the original things I was working on. I asked my roommate for a pairing and this is what she chose. That does not mean to say that I didn’t try to make it in character and pertinent. I actually really hope it works. I’m trying to get a better feel for the Host Club characters.
It’s only fanon that Kyouya’s mother is dead, as far as I know. I haven’t read all of the manga so I don’t know if she’s ever mentioned in it, but she wasn’t mentioned in the anime or the Wiki. *shifty eyes*
Takes place some time about a month after they’ve decided they like one another (shortly after the final episode) and is their first night together as more than friends. All love and flying Tamaki love tackles to
marilla82, who betaed, and remeciel, who fixed my horrid, horrid French translations. :)...
The noise woke him. It was the softest, most imperceptible step, and it rang loudly through the room that was usually silent at that time of night. When Kyouya opened his eyes, Tamaki was no longer next to him.
He reached across the empty space to the nightstand and fumbled with his glasses before getting them on correctly. The blue digital numbers on the clock radio glared back at him. 4 AM. He panicked for a moment, thinking that Tamaki had gone home, but surely he would be questioned if he returned to the Suou estate at such an hour.
Kyouya slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and padded to the railing surrounding the loft. Tamaki hadn’t left. He was standing in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back, still naked. Well, Kyouya thought, he never has been modest.
Kyouya pulled on a pair of pajama pants that had been carelessly dropped at the end of the bed and then descended the staircase. Once at the bottom he sat on the second to last step and drew his knees into his chest. He crossed his arms over them and let his chin fall to his forearms. He watched Tamaki in silence.
Tamaki looked like a painting Kyouya had seen once. A water sprite, or some other mythical thing, he never could keep them straight. It had been standing at the water’s edge looking up at the moon, mouth partially open in reverence, perhaps even praying. The branches had cast tattoos in shadow across its skin.
There were no leaves for Tamaki, but his skin and hair still shone pale blue, and the strips of shadow created by the many panes in the window made him look trapped. As if he had only been a visitor in that place and Kyouya had managed to capture him and keep him indefinitely. Kyouya smiled. That was almost true. Haruhi had been the actual physical pursuer, but it was Kyouya whom Tamaki had come back to. And it was Kyouya who hadn’t been able to shake the presence of him from his daily life or sleeping mind, and who now feared the lack of that presence.
Tamaki whispered something in French. Kyouya could only understand a few words of from the classes he had taken. “Et où que vous soyez, Mère, je vous aime. Faites de beaux rêves."
Silence fell again and the minutes slipped past Kyouya without him being able to count them. When Tamaki spoke again, it was in Japanese. “I’m sorry to have woken you, Kyouya.”
“No, not at all,” Kyouya said. He lifted his head and clasped at his upper arms with his hands. “Do you think she hears you?”
“Yes,” Tamaki said with certainty. But then, just as forcefully he said, “Maybe, I don’t know. I want her to, you know?”
Kyouya nodded. He had talked to his mother after she had gone, until his father had heard and reminded him that Ootori men were not weak enough to weep for the dead. Ootori men celebrated life and the ability to do business, and then moved on. He was to leave the crying to his sister. “Yes,” he said.
“Kyouya,” Tamaki said softly. “Do you think I should have gone with her?”
Kyouya stared at him. He could see the muscles in Tamaki’s thighs as they flexed against the chill of the room and he watched them as he tried to imagine life without the all-encompassing force that was Tamaki Suou. He almost couldn’t remember what it had been like before Tamaki. “Are you asking me,” he said cautiously, “if you should have married her?” It was an unusually cruel question coming from Tamaki. Kyouya was the one who asked the hard questions, forced people to see what he wanted them to see. He did it so Tamaki didn’t have to.
He thought about Éclair. About her nice breasts and her slim legs and those damned opera glasses. They would have made a beautiful couple and had beautiful European children who might have had just a hint of something exotic about them. Kyouya would have played Uncle too, if Tamaki had been allowed to return to the Suou estate in Japan. Kyouya shivered. “I think,” he drew the words out and tried to measure his tone, “being in France would have been good for you.” And there it was. It hung in the clear blue light between them. Kyouya was selfish.
“Ah mais, mon ami,” Tamaki said. “That is not an answer.”
Kyouya looked off into the darker part of the room. He couldn’t look at this person and casually talk about losing him. Not when he’d only really had him for almost a month now. The shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked again Tamaki was crouched in front of him, nose inches from Kyouya’s knees. Tamaki kissed one of them lightly and then pulled back and squatted on his heels. Kyouya tried to look away again. That body was his now, no mere French woman could come and take it. Tamaki cupped Kyouya’s cheek with his hand and forced Kyouya to look forward again.
Kyouya stared at Tamaki, who was haloed by the light coming through the window. He didn’t want to answer the question, because he knew the right answer and he knew his answer. Tamaki should be with his mother, and not speaking French to the windowpanes in his bedroom. But Kyouya could take him France, right? The Host Club and all their many contacts could find one woman, surely.
“Well,” Tamaki said.
Kyouya reached out and grasped Tamaki’s shoulders. He leaned forward over his knees and pulled Tamaki closer until they fell together. Kyouya kissed Tamaki. It was a little too hard and a little too desperate. He pushed their mouths open and ran his tongue lightly over Tamaki’s. Tamaki sighed and wrapped his arms around Kyouya’s shoulders and pulled away from the kiss. Kyouya wanted to protest the end of his diversionary tactic, but he had his pride to consider as well. He closed his mouth around everything he wanted to say and rested his head on Tamaki’s shoulder. When he spoke it was halting and soft.
“What I think isn’t good for you. I don’t want you to go to your home because I want all of you here with me. I’m selfish, and I need your attention. There are,” he paused and tried to figure out how to say it without really saying anything. “Benefits. There are benefits for me, in this venture. I don’t want to think about you with some woman who would not recognize how beneficial you can be.” What he left unsaid was, ‘not when you’re mine now.’
Tamaki chuckled and Kyouya could feel it reverberate in his throat. He grimaced.
“Oh Kyouya, this is why I needed you in the club. You never fail to amaze me. Right now you are every bit the shadow king egotist you pretend to be.” Tamaki pulled back and beamed at Kyouya and Kyouya, even though he was trying to be detached and logical, melted.
Tamaki stood up and held out his hand for Kyouya to take. “Besides, you’re okāsan. I would never let two of those go in a lifetime.”
Kyouya swallowed, afraid that any reply he would have to that would hurt Tamaki’s feelings. But when he looked into Tamaki’s face there was no hint of darkness or regret. He grasped Tamaki’s hand and let himself be pulled off the step. When Kyouya was standing Tamaki wrapped his arms around Kyouya’s waist and lowered his face into his neck and held him there. Kyouya brought one arm around Tamaki’s shoulders and rested the other on his lower back and squeezed him as hard as he could.
...Finis...
French notes:
Et où que vous soyez, Mère, je vous aime. Faites de beaux rêves. = And wherever you are, Mother, I love you. Beautiful dreams.
Ah mais, mon ami = Ah but, my friend
no subject
Date: 2007-04-01 08:40 am (UTC)1. The French nearly never start a sentence with 'et'. Americans sometimes do, even though it isn't correct, but I have almost never heard anyone other than young children begin sentences with 'et'.
2. There are two ways to say 'you' in French. 'Vous' can be plural or singular, and 'tu' is only singular. Out of politeness you would say 'vous' to an elder or someone you had just met, but when speaking to a mother (or any other family member) almost everyone uses 'tu'.
Still, very good, and I am only being picky about these things. I am sure only the French will notice these things, because they are such small errors. I hope you continue! They were both very much themselves (in character, I think it is called?) and the kissing was wonderfully written.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-02 02:43 am (UTC)But thank you very much for pointing it out, because I like it when people do. :) Feel free to point out anything else you ever see. And thank you for reading it. I'm glad you liked it. \~_~/