robots don't like the rain (subtle_subtext) wrote in 30_kisses,
robots don't like the rain
subtle_subtext
30_kisses

Big Brother (Ouran High School Host Club, Kyouya/Tamaki, #4)

Title: Big Brother
Author/Artist: Cssndr (subtle_subtext)
Pairing: Kyouya/Tamaki
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Theme: #4, our distance and that person
Disclaimer: OKHC & assoc. property of Hatori Bisco. This is not for profit. ♥
Notes: I kind of interpreted this theme strangely. Feedback is appreciated for that reason.
Warnings: You probably won't get this if you haven't read Chapter 17 of the manga. Jonouchi Ayame appears there for the first time, and as of Chapter 21, we haven't seen her again. (Which kind of sucked, 'cos I dug her.) There are also spoilers for that chapter in this drabble, so read on at your own risk.




They'd come so close before; hovered for too many long seconds in that space between realization and capitulation, then turned away. Their lips would nearly brush, and their breath would be on one another's skin with every soft exhale... before one of then would look subtly aside, and the spell would break.

It was most often him, as conscious as he was. Conscious of who might be watching, of how tempting she would be once he'd had a taste, of how easy it was to get carried away. More importantly, conscious of her feelings, and of his own.

For him, they were similar enough that he could understand her.

Jonouchi Ayame was an artful liar, much like Ootori Kyouya was. She hid herself from the world, much like he did. She was clever and a disciplined scholar, much like he was. She loved Suou Tamaki.

Yes, Jonouchi Ayame was much like Ootori Kyouya.

He suspected she was a bit less enlightened than he was, but that was all for the better, in the end. After all, if she couldn't figure herself out, how would she possibly unravel the complexities of Ootori Kyouya? She wouldn't, and he didn't want her to. It was enough for just one of them to know, because if that one was Ootori Kyouya, Tamaki's happiness would be secured.

The next time that moment hung between them, suspended, they were alone in a classroom, and they were both seventeen. This time, he neither turned away nor allowed her gaze to stray, and their mouths locked in a strange array of sharp tongues and pressure.

One thing that Ootori Kyouya was, which Jonouchi Ayame was not, was a puppetmaster. He would pull her strings, leading her away from his precious King, and he was confident that his resolve was diamond to her steel.
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