Current music:	Eagles - Hotel California
Entry tags:	char: hitachiin hikaru, char: hitachiin kaoru, char: ohtori kyouya, fandom: ouran high school host club, type: fic

[fic] Ouran High School Host Club: 104.5° (Part 1: What happens in Asylum)
Rating: P. For Porn.
Pairings: Kyouya/Hikaru/Kaoru, Tamaki/Haruhi, and heaps of one-sidedness directed at Tamaki and Haruhi.
Disclaimer: Ouran High School Host Club and its characters belong to Bisco Hatori and other people who are not me. No infringement is implied.
Warning: None other than implied by the pairings and rating.

The party, if Kyouya says so himself, is a success. He was worried that the midsummer heat would make the temperature unbearable after a few hours, but whatever deity is in charge of ensuring that Tamaki lives in a permanent fairy tale has sent a nice breeze for the evening. Everything else is under control; light and music have been arranged to perfection, and the buffet is a masterpiece.

On behalf of his bride-to-be, Tamaki has expressed a shy complaint about the lack of ootoro on the menu, to which Kyouya didn't answer that this is the reason he picked French cuisine in the first place. It was all very sensible when he made the arrangements, but formulated in words it sounds terribly petty.

Haruhi’s former classmates tend to huddle in large groups against the sheer expensiveness of the main Suoh mansion, but the rest of the guests are mingling in a complex pattern around the happy couple. Although the term is somewhat inappropriate: while Tamaki is certainly cheerful enough for the both of them, Haruhi looks as put upon as she ever does. It makes watching them almost bearable.

The party is a success and Kyouya feels like beating something bloody.

Instead he pastes on his game face – there’s merit in making connections tonight after all - and walks back into the crowd, snatching a glass of champagne on the way.

He talks, sliding gracefully from one group of guests to another, never staying long enough for anyone to ask him how happy he is that his friends have finally found each other. Here and there he spots a few familiar faces whose smiles are obviously forced, and makes a point to at least exchange a few words with each of them.

“I confess myself somewhat disappointed. She could have made such a better choice,” Ayame Jonouchi comments, sipping gracefully at the glass she is grasping as tightly as Kyouya holds his own. He agrees politely and invites her to dance rather than telling her she isn't fooling anyone. Afterwards he changes tactics and puts on a brilliant smile, making it a duty to invite any lonely-looking lady onto the dance floor. Consolidating his reputation as a gentleman and working the frustration out: two birds, one stone.

What seems like hours later, he takes a break for another much-needed glass of champagne, and almost bumps into Ryuji Fujioka.

“Ranka-san. I haven’t yet had the pleasure to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” It is the absolute truth. Only those in on the secret of his true gender would see past the elegant dress, high heels and perfectly applied make-up. He's a credit to his daughter, which suggests he's recieived a stern talking-to before the festivities started.

“You look quite dashing yourself,” he replies. Then, just loudly enough for Kyouya to hear, “Unlike a certain idiot on whom I should have used a lot more bug spray when I had the chance. Who does he think he is, taking my Haruhi away from me?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t intend to,” Kyouya says soothingly. Protecting Tamaki in his absence is more or less instinct, now. “You may have noticed that Tamaki has trouble thinking things this far.”

He talks with the unhappy father longer than he has with anyone else the whole evening, comforted by the fact that at least one person dares to voice their displeasure with what's unfolding here. The man freezes in the middle of a sentence, his face twisted in a mix of horror and disgust, and he excuse himself quickly before vanishing into the crowd. Turning around to see what has caused such a sudden retreat, Kyouya sees nothing out of the ordinary except perhaps for Yuzuru Suoh looking left and right, as if looking for something.

“I swear gender blindness runs in the family. I really wish I coud see his face when he realizes that it's not really Mrs Fujioka." By the intricate patterns on the speaker's dark silk shirt and a mental note made when he first saw the twins earlier in the evening, Kyouya identifies him as most-probably-Kaoru. The technique has seldom failed, but the twins have been known to swap clothes and hairstyle in the middle of the day. Kyouya has learned to be careful when attempting to identify them.

“Are you suggesting that he is courting 'her'?” The irony would be rather remarkable.

Kaoru nods. “We’ve been following them for most of the evening. It’s the least depressing thing about this party.”

Kyouya can’t help but find himself a little offended at this apparent slur on his organizational skills despite fully understanding the twins’ plight. He wouldn't say so himself, but for a certain set of people, 'depressing' is a very appropriate description for what is happening around them.

“We’re not staying here much longer,” Kaoru says, perusing the crowd. Kyouya follows his gaze and spots Hikaru carefully approach Benio Amasuka. “We’re rounding up the losers for the after party”.

“After party?” Kyouya asks, mildly curious.

“That’s short for ‘crash at Asylum, take out the booze and commiserate with company’." No one but the twins seems to know when or why they started referring to their place as Asylum, but the name was found to fit, and stuck. "Looks like we’re out one Benibara, though.”

Indeed, she’s haughtily turned her back on Hikaru, who is making angry gestures of frustration behind her back. Kaoru sighs and puts his glass down, his little finger automatically slipping underneath to cushion it from the table. Some habits are hard to kill. “Are you coming with us?”

It’s nothing like the first time one of the twins surprises him, but they rarely catch him out of the blue like this. “When you say ‘losers’…”

“In the cruel game of love,” Kaoru says, with underlying sadness beneath the sarcasm. It takes Kyouya a second to overcome the surge of panic. They know? Of all the oblivious, self-centered people in the world, the Hitachiin brothers have figured him out? His first instinct is to make a threat, but he stamps down on that too, because Kaoru's offer is matter-of-fact instead of teasing.

A chorus of voices rises from the center of the ballroom. He looks there curiously, only to see Tamaki trying to pull Haruhi into a dance. She struggles for a few moments, then sighs and follows him.

The fair maiden and her knight walk onto the dance floor, and hard liquor sounds like an appropriate conclusion to the evening.

---

"What's with this turnout?" Hikaru grouches, sprawled in the limousine that has become the twins' ride of choice. "Didn't we use to be popular?"

"Perhaps others were worried of the long-term consequences of drinking large doses of alcohol in your presence?" Kyouya suggests, settling on the opposite seat.

"And you're not? Hikaru, move it."

Obediently, Hikaru raises his upper body long enough for Kaoru to sit, then plops his head down on his brother's lap.

"Should I be?" The question is rethorical: if anyone should be worried about consequences it's the two of them. Kyouya knows not to drink too much no matter the circumstances.

"Who knows," they answer anyway, with a synchronisation that has long ceased to surprise him. The smirks are identical as well, although it's rather rare for them not to be at the same height.

"We can even start right now." With the hand that is not busy playing with his brother's hair, Kaoru gestures towards a door at Kyouya's right, too far for either of the twins to reach in their position. "There should be some stuff in there."

There is: a bottle of single malt whiskey, six glasses and an ice dispenser.

"Well. To Haruhi, then," Hikaru says a minute later, sitting up and raising his glass.

"And Tono," Kaoru adds. The conversation that follows is quick and silent, imperceptible to the unpreared eye. Kyouya, though, has spent a lot of time studying each member of the club. So he sees Hikaru's confused frown, sees Kaoru's eyebrow raise significantly as he tilts his head toward Kyouya.

The subtlety of the exchange stops with the look of dawning understanding on Hikaru's face.

"To Tamaki and Haruhi," Kyouya says icily as he makes his glass tinkle against Hikaru's, daring him to comment. Kaoru's assurance in asking him to go with them had him so certain that they knew already, but that might have been the champagne talking. He really should have seen it coming: it's just like them to bluff their way into getting a confession. But Kaoru hasn't shown a sliver of doubt about his assessment of the situation, so maybe the only oblivious one was Hikaru. In which case it doesn't really matter, because his brother would have told him sooner or later.

"I still can’t believe she said yes,” Hikaru grumbles.

“The quote was truncated,” Kyouya provides. He wouldn’t have, usually. The information can serve no other purpose than to bruise the twins a little harder, but at the moment he fails to see how it matters. “According to her father, what she said was ‘Yes, whatever, just let me study in peace.’” By the time Haruhi figured out what she’d just agreed to, Tamaki had already alerted half the country. That goes without saying; some things simply never change.

The twins’ expressions would probably have been comical if Kyouya had had a few more glasses of this excellent whiskey.

“She’s going to marry him because she’s too lazy to clear a misunderstanding?” Hikaru says in pained disbelief. “If that’s all it took, I-”

“You’re not Tono,” Kaoru points out sadly. “None of us is.”

The three of them contemplate the truth of these words in shared misery until the car comes to a stop. Kyouya has been here a few times since a doting and slightly senile great-aunt offered the twins her penthouse atop the building as a high school graduation gift. So far, they're the only members of the Host Club to have moved out of the familial estate (or two-bedrooms flat). Asylum has thus become the most used place for the 'family' reunions Tamaki keeps insisting on; seen like this, the name does seem sensible.

They moved out the moment the papers were signed, but their proclaimed self-reliance does not extend to giving up on the perks of being sons of one of the oldest families in Japan: as far as Kyouya knows, two maids have been detached from the Hitachiin mansion to work here full time, and the chauffeur who has brought them to Ouran every day for over ten years now lives in a much smaller appartment on the lower floors.

Kyouya takes a walk on the terrace as the twins pull out their considerable stock of alcoholic beverages. The view of the city is fantastic for one unaccustomed to such things, and even the noises of traffic come up dampened and unobtrusive. From where he stands, Kyouya can see the looming shape of the Ohtori Zaibatsu headquarters, where in two days he'll have to be professional and unaffected by personal matters as some of the company's most important partners discuss the rising threat presented by the Shibaura Keiretsu.

He's spent his life preparing for this, but right now the thought just makes him turn around and head back inside, where Kaoru is displaying a surprising amount of skill at piling up layers of brightly coloured intoxication in too many shot glasses.

---

Hikaru raises his glass, but finds nothing to say. Toasts have been made in honour of a number of people in the past two hours: their elders of the Host Club, Ranka, Usa-chan, and a number of other personalities including but not limited to Renge, Kasanoda, Arai (the fourth glass had Hikaru feeling particularly generous), and Belzeenef.

They appear to have run out of names. Considering the quantity of alcohol that has been consumed between the three of them, it might not be a bad thing.

“I need something to eat,” Hikaru says after a moment’s hesitation.

Carried by the momentum, both Kaoru and Kyouya raise their glasses and chorus “something to eat!”, leaving Hikaru no choice but to drag himself to the kitchen grumbling about pulling the short straw.

Kyouya closes his eyes and leans back on the couch, trying to enjoy the silence for a moment. But his perception seems heightened, because under the creaking of leather whenever Kaoru so much as twitches and the fridge door being opened in the kitchen, he could swear he hears the rumbling of cars far below.

“I have an idea," Kaoru whispers conspiratorially from rather closer than he was the last time Kyouya saw him.

“That can't be good news." The answer is automatic, a reflex born of too many years having to take responsibility for the twins on behalf of the Host Club.

Kyouya's eyes jump open as a hand is set on his thigh.

“I think you'll like it.” Kaoru is incredibly present now, and the focused look in his eyes makes it very clear what is running through his mind. Objectively -and at this level of inebriation Kyouya can still think objectively- he's beautiful. It's nothing new or surprising; it was, after all, a prerequisite to even be remotely considered Host Club potential.

(Haruhi, all unkempt attire and thick glasses, was special from the moment she opened the door.)

Beauty isn't a surprise, but looking at him from this close Kyouya finds that Kaoru has grown luscious, all sharp eyes and soft skin and messy hair and the grace of a young man confident that he is temptation personified.

In this moment, he might very well be.

(But he isn’t Tamaki.)

Kyouya knows what he's going to do. He's going to politely pull away, call a taxi and go home. When they meet again, later, they'll either have forgotten about this or pretend to. It's the sensible thing to do, and Kyouya Ohtori is nothing if not sensible.

A minute later he's forgotten about the traffic noises, but he does hear a gasp and something like a plate falling on a thick fluffy carpet. Hikaru is back from the kitchen, and he was clearly not expecting to find them sprawled over each other on the couch, hands hidden under layers of formal clothes, rubbing, grinding in a most undignified but pleasurable way.

Kaoru takes his time, keeps biting-sucking at Kyouya’s neck for a few seconds before looking up at his brother, and by that time Hikaru has recovered from the shock. The twins’ deep-seated need to make believe that all their actions are scripted will be their downfall someday. Tonight it might be Kyouya’s, as Hikaru half-smirks half-pouts and grumbles “Could have waited.”

“But Hikaru, you were taking so long in the kitchen,” Kaoru protests, sounding meek and bashful even as his fingernails trail shivers down Kyouya’s sides. The exchange is a mere variation of the old Host Club act, something that Kyouya himself helped them perfect. He should be used to it.

He's not. He realizes it as Kaoru goes back to sucking at his neck, as Hikaru crosses the room and kneels by the couch - their kisses are different, Kyouya notices distantly. Kaoru was just a little tentative, like despite his brash approach he was afraid of being pushed away, where Hikaru demands and expects his due.

They pull back at the same time, leaving Kyouya to look at them through tilted glasses. "This isn't going to work," Kaoru muses right as his brother, always the blunter one, says "bed".

They get up and try not to be too awkward. The twins do this by keeping their hands on him and slowing the progress a few times by pulling him in for a rough kiss, and all through this all he notices is how carefully they're not touching each other.

Kaoru is the one who pushes him on the bed, he thinks, but maybe it was Hikaru. Kyouya has never been that interested in telling them apart for the sake of it. Right now, all that matters is that they don't stop touching him, don't let him start thinking again because this is a really bad idea, and if he takes the time to think about it he might back out.

But movement has stopped.

They're standing on either side of his legs, mirror image of each other -except for a few undone buttons on Kaoru's shirt and Hikaru's messier hair- staring at each other and seemingly unable to move. Through his skewed glasses Kyouya sees clenched fists and trembling arms, like they're longing to touch but can't or won't or are afraid to. Like two magnets resisting an external force trying to push them together. It occurs to Kyouya that he has to do something, anything, or they might break under the conflicting pressures and never be whole again.

He says, "you're drunk". The phrase bounces against the bedroom walls.

It's enough.

Enough of a reason, or an excuse, and as he watches them wrapping themselves around each other like they never had a chance to - like they'll never have it again- the thought pops up that the relationship between them might be a lot more complex than anyone ever anticipated. But the intricacies of brotherly love are not what interest him, not now. Not when they're right here in front of him, devouring each other on the spot,

(having forgotten about him)

their hands never settling anywhere because they need to touch every inch of skin at once. Being drunk may just be an excuse - doubtlessly they've wanted to do this forever- but it's the perfect one, both for them and for Kyouya who stares avidly and rubs his erection slowly through his tailored trousers. This is perfect. Tomorrow this won't have happened, therefore tonight they can do it. The logic is faultless.

Without a warning, the roving hands stop and the desperate kiss is broken and the twins don't let go of each other but turn around to look at him with that trademark grin that has always meant trouble.

---

Waking up alone in someone else’s bed is something Kyouya has little experience in, as he’s always made it a point to leave before he fell asleep. Sneaking out in the middle of the night might not be a gentlemanly thing to do, but neither is biting a woman's head off for waking him up in the morning.

It isn’t much of an experience. The bed is big and comfortable, the blanket just a little too heavy for his liking but bearable. Through the blinds he can tell that the sun is already high in the sky, which the alarm clock confirms. His glasses sit on the bedside table (definitely not where they were dropped) next to a glass of water and two aspirins. His clothes are folded on a chair in plain view. To the right an open door seems to lead to a bathroom, and Kyouya knows (and in this case appreciates) a subtle suggestion when he sees one.

He showers and dresses quickly, grimacing slightly at the smell of alcohol on his clothes. There is no noise coming from outside the room: no conversation, no tinkling of cutlery. The option to run out without having to deal with either of the twins has been made fully available. Only if he does, this encounter will lead to bigger trouble eventually. Some things should be sorted out now, such as this was a punctual event of which we will never speak again.

He finds one in the kitchen, and identifies him as Kaoru by the dark red bruises his highly fashionable, shoulder-exposing jumper do not quite hide. Kyouya closes his eyes against the rather vivid memory of how they got there: it wouldn’t do to get distracted now.

“Oh, good morning,” Kaoru says, looking up from the strange mixture he was peering at. “Slept well?”

He sounds distracted and not at all ironic, which makes Kyouya wonder if he has any recollection of what happened. But then, the twins are excellent actors. Kaoru might just be playing it safe, banking the hope that Kyouya doesn’t remember.

There’s a bite mark just over his left clavicle, only half-covered by the jumper. Kyouya

(put it there)

promptly looks back at Kaoru’s face.

“Quite well, thank you. Are you cooking?” Frankly, he hopes not. The thing in the bowl looks slightly leathery, and might be breathing. Not anything Kyouya wishes to have for breakfast, even out of the kind of reckless curiosity that led to last night's episode.

Kaoru makes a contrite face. “Pancakes,” he admits. “The maids don’t come on week-ends. I usually call Haruhi for help with the commoner stuff, but…” He trails off, frowns, and turns the bowl upside down.

The pancakes-to-be stubbornly stick to the bowl.

“I think this might be beyond help,” Kyouya suggests in as mild a voice as he can manage. To his relief, Kaoru nods. “Is there anything to drink?”

“Tea, milk or what's left of the pineapple juice. Hikaru went out two hours ago to get some commoner coffee.” Kyouya frowns. The thought of either of the twins doing their own shopping is preposterous.

“He thinks it doesn’t taste the same if someone was paid to buy it,” Kaoru explains. Kyouya doesn’t question the logic. When it comes to the twins, it usually only leads to confusion. “Also, I think he needed some air. He’s a little freaked out.”

“You don't seem to be,” Kyouya answers carefully. He never expected Kaoru to breach the topic so spontaneously. “I’ll take black tea, if you have some.”

“It was a long time coming,” Kaoru says, busying himself with a kettle. Kyouya doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be shocked by the assumption that he's been waiting for the occasion to fall in their bed, or offended that he doesn’t seem to be considered in the equation at all.

He goes for sarcastic and fakely surprised.

“Was it? I never knew.” Gratifyingly, Kaoru’s posture tenses, and the kettle makes a loud clonking noise against the counter.

“I didn’t mean you,” Kaoru says almost apologetically. Kyouya’s face doesn’t move. The response was expected. Such is the purpose of the third party: necessary to make things progress but ultimately unimportant. After all he’s always been the one in the shadows.

Rolling his eyes, Kyouya makes a mental note not to let Tamaki make him watch another romance movie again. They are doing bad things to his cognitive abilities.

The silence is broken by the shrill song of the kettle, and Kaoru serves his tea with a grace that would put a professional to shame. But then, he was a professional once, wasn't he?

“Is it going to be a problem?” Kyouya asks. He’s entitled to some curiosity at least, considering they picked him as a catalyst. Kaoru looks off in the distance, which would have been a lot more impressive if his gaze wasn’t directed at a white wall three meters away.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

The first thought to burst in Kyouya’s mind is Tamaki will expect me to sort it out if things go wrong between them. It is closely followed by but I won’t get involved. Kyouya can’t answer to every one of Tamaki’s expectations, and for the first time in years the thought doesn't feel like a failure.

Catharsis by sex. Kaoru's idea was a good one after all, even if he didn't put it in so many words. But now the deed is done, to speak crudely. Plus, planning the party took more time than expected, and there's a lot of work to be caught up on now.

"I should be going," he says, putting his teacup down. Kaoru's stance changes almost imperceptibly, in a way that Kyouya distantly associate with the twins' equivalent of gratefulness.

The door opens as Kyouya gets to the vestibule, and Hikaru stands frozen and wide-eyed in the doorway for maybe five seconds. Then he blushes hotly, looks down, and forces his way down the corridor despite Kaoru's attempt to stop him.

Seconds later, they hear a door slam closed.

Kaoru scratches his head, looking embarrassed. "Make that really freaked out. Sorry about this."

Kyouya nods silently. He understands, maybe better than he wants to. "Go talk to him. I'll let myself out."

"Yeah. Thanks." Kaoru's attention is completely focused on his upcoming conversation with his brother, and it annoys Kyouya, just a little, to be dismissed this easily.

"It was my pleasure," he says with a raised eyebrow.

Kaoru has the grace to blush.

---

There's a lot of work to be done, but even virtually alone in the building Kyouya finds that concentration eludes him. A few parts of his brain seem to have chosen to dwell on the previous night rather than focus on work. Talented as he is at manipulation, Kyouya still hasn't figured how to trick his own mind into submission.

He wonders what happened after Kaoru went to talk to his brother.

If they fought.

(Or gave in.)

If they decided to move to separate places.

(Or tumbled together on Hikaru's bed.)

If they agreed to pretend nothing happened.

(Or decided they don't need the excuse of a third party.)

After three hours of disgraceful improductivity he gives up, pushes away from the desk and goes to visit Fuyumi.