[fic] Ouran High School Host Club: 104.5° (Part 2: The Shibaura clan)
Header and disclaimer: see Part One.

"Thank you for your business," Kyouya concludes, bowing to the retreating men. They make the proper noises and expressions, and he manages to keep the charmingly professional smile on his face until they're safely sitting in their car, nodding to each other and furthering a conversation that could lead to the downfall of the Ohtori Corporation.

Then he goes back to his office, asks his secretary to get him a lunch from the cafeteria, and waits until she's off the floor to slam his office door as hard as he can. To his disappointment, it bounces noiselessly.

What were they expecting? The Shibaura Keiretsu has always had a strong medical department. For some reason they've always kept its development to foreign country, leaving the Ohtoris free reign over the Japanese market. And all these men, these long-time business partners, are acting like this fortunate and hitherto unexplained state of events was supposed to last for ever.

It won't. If he needed any proof of it, it's sitting on his desk now, in the form of a gold-embossed invitation to the party celebrating the return to Japan of the clan's youngest child. His name is handwritten on the envelope, but printed and misspelled on the card.

It's a studied insult, the beauty of which resides in the fact that he can't ignore it.

Something is changing. Their patriarch and head of family is well past his ninetieth birthday, and has been controlling the company for over fifty years. Business opponents of his have been waiting for him to drop dead for the past thirty years, to no avail so far. But he represents stability. He hasn't changed his methods in three decades, and the invitation Kyouya holds in his hands doesn't come from him, he's sure of it. This is the sign of a shifting of power within the Shibaura family, something the Ohtoris can't afford to not pay attention to.

Whoever is taking control clearly has views on the Ohtori hunting grounds. They must be identified and stopped.

Well, he needed a distraction, didn't he? And this might be the best time to prove himself to all those irreplaceable partners who see nothing more in him than a fresh Todai graduate with no experience of the real world.

Between that looming threat and the work Kyouya has been putting off to plan the engagement party to Tamaki's satisfaction, he barely has time to sleep for the next two weeks, let alone think about anything even remotely host club related.

That is, until Tamaki forgets about the very notion of time difference and calls him to describe the beauty of the French countryside (and Haruhi, but Kyouya has long since developed selective hearing) at sunset. Kyouya remains strained but civil, and waits until the very end of Tamaki's monologue to mention what time it is in Japan and hang up. He falls back asleep with a smirk, content in the knowledge that Tamaki will spend the rest of his trip agonizing about what form Kyouya's revenge will be taking.

He's still considering his options as he steps out of his family's car, walking half a step behind his father as they walk up the stairs in front of the Shibaura mansion. He takes a deep breath before going through the doors, shoving out all thoughts of sweet revenge for the time being.

The Shibaura parties are famous, but Kyouya has never had an occasion to attend before. At first sight, it looks like any of the events that happen weekly in this season. Decoration, food, drinks. In these circles, the choreography starts long before the music. Innovation is not usually welcome.

"Kyouya-kun. This might very well be a miracle." He turns around and sees a familiar if unexpected face.

"How is that, Watanabe-sensei?"

She smiles, her teeth so white that they reflect the lights from the candelabres. "I was expecting this evening to rewrite my definition of hell," she says in a confidential tone, looking around the gigantic ballroom. "Will you live up to the reputation of the host club and save me from death by boredom?"

"How could I deny such a request?" Kyouya says, offering her his arm.

"Thank you," she sighs in relief. Looking at her more closely, Kyouya notices how uncomfortable she looks. Not being an art student himself, and utterly uninterested in Hikaru's lasting grudge, he never paid much attention to her. But from her few appearances in the Third Music room, he's kept the memory of a woman in paint-stained clothes, flat shoes and messy hair. He remembers someone more likely to be found in an artist's studio than here, and she does look terribly uncomfortable in her designer's dress.

"Might I ask what brought you here if you dread this so much?"

She shrugs. "The old man demanded the presence of the whole clan tonight. There was no escaping it."

Kyouya stops dead in his tracks. "The old man?" Could she possibly mean...

"Oh." She looks vaguely surprised. "I thought everyone knew." She gives a sloppy, ironic curtsy. "Surely you've heard about the many mistresses of our head of family? I happen to be one of the youngest illegitimate children."

This is where Kyouya's high school training in reacting to the unexpected comes in handy. He starts walking again, still smiling amicably. Does she have any idea what she's doing, talking to him so freely? She never struck him as one to play in power struggles, but surely she can't be completely ignorant of the growing rivalry between her family and his?

"But enough about me. I heard your president got married?"

"Engaged," he corrects, not missing a beat. "To Haruhi Fujioka. You may remember her, she was a member of the host club as well. He has taken her to visit his mother in France for a few weeks."

"I thought he was very interested in... her," she says, sounding mildly confused. Kyouya tries to remember if she was around when Haruhi's gender was revealed, but can't come up with a definite answer. Not that it really matters anymore.

"What of the two terrors?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. To this day, Kyouya still can't figure out if she has taken the same approach to the twins as most other people: incomprehension followed by anger, eventually replaced by exasperated fondness. The alternative is that she despises them with every fiber of her being. It's a 50/50 chance.

"They were fine the last time I saw them," he lies. "They're both college students at the moment."

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Art?"

"Among other things, yes."

She nods, and leans towards him to whisper in his ear. "I'll trust you not to tell them that, but they were two of my most talented students. They take after their mother."

"You know their mother?"

"We've met. One of my sisters went to school with her. This dress is one of her designs. In fact, I believe most women in the family are wearing her creations tonight."

It's a small world, Kyouya knows. The Hitachiin family has no direct influence in the medical business, and it's not like the twins' mother has any reason to be loyal to the Ohtoris.

Nevertheless, it feels just a little like betrayal.

"Sae!"

They both turn around to face a young woman, maybe two years older than Kyouya, wearing another Hitachiin design and a thin-lipped smile. Watanabe grimaces.

"If you'll excuse me..."

He watches the two women exchange a quick, tense conversation before they both walk back towards him.

"I am told you are the wrongest person to associate with tonight," Watanabe says.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," he answers just as seriously, amused by her refreshing straightforwardness.

"So am I," she sighs, "so am I. Kyouya-kun, this is the belle of the ball, my niece Atsuko. And I will now leave you two to a business conversation that I'm sure will be fascinating."

She saunters away without waiting for an answer, leaving Kyouya to stare after her for a moment, thinking he understands just a little how Hikaru came to hate her so much. She's certainly a loose electron.

"Miss Atsuko," he greets, giving her his most charming smile. "How are you enjoying Japan so far?"

"It seems smaller than when I was a child," she answers with an identical smile and cold eyes. "But I'm sure something can be made of it."

He snaps to attention.

Her? A young woman who seems perfectly at ease here, born and bred to be sweet and pretty until such time as the family sees fit to marry her off. Surely she can't be the one-

"I'm rather flattered that you chose to answer my invitation, Kyouya-san."

But then, he once had a similar future. And the twins' mother, as an example, is both a perfect hostess and a business shark. The two are not necessarily incompatible.

"I would not have dreamed of missing an occasion to attend one of the famous Shibaura parties," he answers smoothly.

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Famous among businessmen, certainly," she says with a strange accent on 'men'. "Surely an attractive young man like you doesn't need the extra help?"

"Do you mean-?"

She smirks. "I expected you to be more observant." She moves aside, giving him a clearer view of the room. "If you pay attention, you'll notice a group of young women wearing a uniform not dissimilar to that of the caterers, yet carrying no tray of petits fours."

He does spot one, a beautifully plastic youth talking to a man in his fifties (Ryou Aizawa, leader in the marketing industry, father of one daughter currently in her last year of high school at St Lobelia's Academy - Kyouya's inner Who's who is as efficient as ever) standing just a little too close, laughing just a little too loud.

"Escorts?"

"A charitable word. Bought and paid for by the generosity of my grandfather. All young, flexible, imaginative, yet known to have the standing instruction to remember nothing about the people they may or may not have... entertained."

He takes a glance at her, and finds her looking around the room with sharper eyes than a woman this young should have.

"You don't seem very impressed."

"Should I be? Times are changing, Kyouya-san. This might be the last party of its kind to be held here. If you plan on enjoying the special service, I suggest you do it tonight."

"I don't," he answers more than honestly. Sex is the last thing on his mind these days, and the thought of having one participant pay for it, even by proxy, has always disturbed him to the highest point.

"I'm relieved to hear that." She gives him a brief smile. "Now that you've figured out the secret of the famous Shibaura parties, is there anything left of interest here? I have to make a public appearance later, but perhaps afterward we could move this conversation to a more private location?"

Kyouya is disappointed, just a little. The youngest of the Shibauras propositioning him less than ten minutes after their first meeting? Do they really expect him to fall for it?

"I wouldn't want your grandfather to misinterpret my intentions," he says, giving her a fake smile of his own.

Snorting graciously is no small feat, but she manages it. "Of course. In this case, would you come with me to the terrace for a few minutes? In full view of the ballroom and the three men in sunglasses who haven't left you out of their line of sight since your arrival."

"If it pleases you." He offers her his arm and lets her lead him to the terrace.

"By all accounts, you are most likely to become the next head of the Ohtori family," she says matter-of-factly when they're far enough from potential eavesdroppers.

"Am I?" This conversation is becoming surreal. She keeps taking him off guard, a position he is neither familiar with nor fond of.

She sighs. "You are. And I will be the one to replace grandfather."

She sounds so sure, so determined, that for a moment it doesn't occur to Kyouya to doubt her.

"Why are you telling me this?" More accurately, how can this possibly benefit her? She's throwing away information that will be precious to him, even if it turns out to be a false lead.

"Spirit of the samourai?" Her eyes as she says this are as innocent as those of Hani-senpai asking for a sweet, and therefore he isn't fooled.

"It sounds a little old-fashioned, for a young lady brought up in Europe."

"Japan is a small country," she says, suddenly serious again. "But it's a jewel. I want it, Kyouya-san. And I will have it."

"Forgive my impertinence, but you sound like you're planning a coup."

Her laughter sounds almost genuine. "No. But I will take over the Ohtori Zaibatsu eventually. And because I was mostly educated abroad by people who do believe in samourais, I decided you deserve a fair warning."

"That's very honourable of you," Kyouya says. He's thoroughly confused now, and suspects that this is exactly what she was aiming for. He can't think of a good reason why she would want to do that, but the odds are rising that she's doing it for entertainment.

"I suppose. Although I have to say, I really just wanted to see your reaction."

A test. It makes sense, somehow, and Kyouya can only hope that she got less information than she gave. "Did I pass?"

She shrugs and moves in front of him, backlit by the party. He can't see her face, but her voice is expressive enough. "Let us count this as my fair warning and keep it at that. It was a pleasure meeting you, Kyouya Ohtori. I hope we can do business together."

She heads back to the party without looking back.

Kyouya goes through the rest of the party on automatic mode. Atsuko's official speech is as dull as could be expected. She's perfect as the slightly overwhelmed, celebrated but minor member of an old clan.

One who just told him that she was planning on single-handedly taking over his family's company.

He doesn't know what to make of her, and goes home troubled and irritated. Even after a warm shower and a cup of herbal tea, he ends up laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. After a while he takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, which doesn't help much.

Normally, he'd call Tamaki. There's no better person to help him sort things out, even if it's only by distracting him long enough for his subconscious mind to do the trick. But Tamaki is in France, probably having dinner with his mother and his fiancée. Tamaki is moving on with his life. Tamaki, in short, has better things to do than counsel him. Which leaves Kyouya devoid of anyone to call for support.

The thought crosses his mind to call Hani-senpai and have Atsuko preemptively assassinated. Alas, Kyouya's personal Private Police is currently unavailable. The last attempt of his upperclassman's father to turn him into a real man consisted in sending him on a survival trip somewhere in the Himalayas for the next six months with nothing but Usa-chan, a mountain of cake and Mori.

And then there are the other ones, whom he's been so good at not thinking about after that first day of pathetic distraction. Of course, the thought of calling onto the Hitachiin twins for moral support is laughable, but he stays on it for a little while just for the sake of distraction.

Moral support indeed. Although... it did help, that time, the chance to stop thinking. An opportunity in exchange for which he may well have opened their personal Pandora's box. It occurs that checking on them would be the responsible thing to do, if only so he can answer accurately the next time a ghost from high school asks about his former club members.

It's not that he's curious as to whether they're regularly sleeping together now. It's hardly his business, and the brotherly love act has never been anything more to him than a reliable source of revenue for Tamaki's club. At least not until he had Kaoru naked on top of him, his neck arched, his eyes clenched shut and biting his lower lip in a desperate attempt not to cry out as his twin fucked him.

It seems it does do it for him now, if his body's reaction to this single mental picture is any indication. Kyouya groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. He considers shoving the thought down or waiting it out. But it's easy to reason that he needs to wind down, and this, starting with trailing his fingers slowly down his body, might be the easiest way to accomplish that.

So he lets his back arch and his legs spread as his right hand reaches between them, fingertips teasing the soft skin of his inner thighs. A little harder is letting out all the thoughts that usually accompany this sort of activity: usually they're made of anonymous soft curves and long dark hair, the very opposite of what he doesn't allow himself to think about.

But tonight it's not a safe, nameless symbol of feminity that comes to his mind, or even Tamaki. Tonight, the only images he seems able to conjure up are memories. And they're working. Oh, how they're working. With his eyes closed he can almost feel their hands on his skin, undoing the buttons of his clothes with surprising ease until he lay there with his shirt and pants open. Kyouya never considered himself to have a thing for exhibitionism, but the twins unlocked a number of his kinks that night, for the memory of them watching him spread out and exposed on Kaoru's bed has him groaning as he strokes his erection in a loose grip. The predatory looks were nothing to the touches, the hungry roving of their lips over his chest and finally, finally their fingers on his cock, all teasing and frustration because they were playing with each other as well as with him.

And then there was Kaoru reaching further down, and that's where the steam lets off a little, because despite lowered inhibitions Kyouya was not exactly fine with the concept. But tonight he's alone, and he rolls over to his side as curiosity wins out over discomfort.

How debauched he must look, naked on top of the covers with his legs spread and fingertips brushing against his asshole, now thinking not of what happened but of what might have been. The exploration only lasts a few moments, but as he rolls on his back and grabs his cock again the thought of one of them fucking him as the other rides him overwhelms all other, and he comes within a minute in hot, short bursts all over his hand.

He leans back, breath short, muscles loosened and thoughts even stormier than before. For something he wasn't supposed to think about anymore, his tryst with the twins seems to be pretty close to the surface. It surprises him, just a little, that right after meeting a woman as fascinating and intriguing as Atsuko Shibaura, his subconscious chose the Hitachiiin twins over her. He's always thought himself straight, and Tamaki an exception of which he seldom ever thought of in a strictly sexual way.

The thought that he may have been wrong isn't exceptionnally hard to formulate. Kyouya always expected that when he gets married (and he will, eventually), it will be out of a mutually beneficial arrangement that has nothing to do with personal affection. The fact that he might prefer men changes little in the long run. He never expected to love a wife.

Having come to that conclusion, he crawls under the covers, and as he falls asleep he could almost think there's someone cuddling up against his back, relaxed and affectionate and smiling the smile that broke the hearts of a thousand girls.

Back to Part One: What happens in Asylum