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chineseinkIt has been so freaking long since I've written and I was so mad about it that I sat down and wrote this piece of undiluted fluff. You have my apologies, but at least I've written something. It makes me feel slightly better about the fact that this is so insanely cavity-inducing. Sort of.
Maybe I can write something else during this week off to make up for it? I shouldn't get my hopes up. (Now is when I wish I could write good Hikago fic. ::sigh::)
Right Where My Eyes Won't Shut
Ouran Koko Host Club, Kyouya/Tamaki, PG, 651 words
It's rare that Tamaki can't sleep, and now he wants Kyouya.
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7snogs theme #7: milk
Right Where My Eyes Won't Shut
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meitachi
When Tamaki used to have trouble sleeping as a child, his mother would give him a cup of warm milk and honey. She’d stroke his hair and murmur stories and promises until he fell asleep with his head in her lap, dreaming of the father he didn’t remember.
Nowadays, he doesn’t normally have trouble going to sleep at night anymore because he knows his father, and he has been returned his mother. He is cheerful enough about the morning because he sleeps at what he deems “sane hours,” unlike Kyouya. Tonight, however, Tamaki is tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position. At last, he rolls over onto his back in his king-size bed and stares at the ceiling with a woeful sigh. It’s tragic that such fate befall him, but it seems there is no escaping tonight, no matter how valiantly he struggles; insomnia has beset him.
Kyouya is on his side of the bed, where he isn’t, Tamaki is painfully aware, touching Tamaki in any shape or form. A stretch of three-hundred-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets in slate blue separate them, and all Tamaki has of Kyouya is the tap-tap-tapping of his fingers across his keyboard. It’s not uncommon for Kyouya to be up at this hour of the night (morning, Tamaki thinks with another long sigh), and in fact it would be all the stranger if the dark-haired boy were asleep before three or four, but Tamaki is not made for this kind of game. He doesn’t want to chase back sleep with the swirling thoughts in his mind or the unending sounds that are building like a crescendo, from the low breaths and the rustling of the sheets and the creak as the bed shifts and that incessant tapping and—
“Kyouya,” Tamaki says plaintively when he cannot take it anymore.
The tapping of keys stops for a moment, hanging in the balance between Tamaki’s complaint and Kyouya’s answer. “Tamaki,” he replies, and his voice is a little cool, a little curious, and mostly impatient. He’s never needed more words to convey that.
But Tamaki can’t sleep and he wants Kyouya, turning his face to cast a violet-eyed look across the bed. “Kyouya,” he says, and there could be a million different words that follow: stop working so hard, I can’t sleep, I need you, lie down beside me and hold me before I forget how you feel; instead, Tamaki stretches out his arm and brushes his fingertips along Kyouya’s bare arm, and says: “If there were a fire in the house tonight, would you save me or your laptop?”
Kyouya stills again. He turns his head to look down at Tamaki, and he is silent, his eyes dark behind his glasses. The lamp light escapes in a soft golden glow from behind him, casting his face even further in shadow as he opens his mouth, then closes it. “You,” he says after a long moment, brows knitting.
Tamaki smiles and props himself up on one elbow. “I would save your laptop,” he says directly into Kyouya’s ear, “because I know you can save yourself. And that you would look out for me.” His lips drift along Kyouya’s cheek before brushing his mouth in a quick kiss. Then Tamaki ducks back down, his hair bright against the pillowcase, as he curls across that wide-open space into Kyouya’s side.
Kyouya is warm, his pajamas made of Chinese silk, and Tamaki rubs the material lightly against Kyouya’s thigh with his nose. He can smell Kyouya—something familiar, he thinks, and comforting, like warm milk and honey. His eyes drift closed as he cuddles Kyouya’s hip, calmness coming upon him as it had eluded him earlier.
After a while, the typing resumes again, but erratically. Tamaki falls asleep to the sound of the low humming of the laptop by his ear as a hand strokes his hair periodically, gently.
--
Started/Finished: 03.13.2007
--
Notes: Be wary of undiluted fluff and sap; it brings all the incoming cavities to the yard. No idea where this came from.
P.S. Credit towakkawoo's iTunes for the title. ;)
Maybe I can write something else during this week off to make up for it? I shouldn't get my hopes up. (Now is when I wish I could write good Hikago fic. ::sigh::)
Right Where My Eyes Won't Shut
Ouran Koko Host Club, Kyouya/Tamaki, PG, 651 words
It's rare that Tamaki can't sleep, and now he wants Kyouya.
7snogs theme #7: milkRight Where My Eyes Won't Shut
by
meitachiWhen Tamaki used to have trouble sleeping as a child, his mother would give him a cup of warm milk and honey. She’d stroke his hair and murmur stories and promises until he fell asleep with his head in her lap, dreaming of the father he didn’t remember.
Nowadays, he doesn’t normally have trouble going to sleep at night anymore because he knows his father, and he has been returned his mother. He is cheerful enough about the morning because he sleeps at what he deems “sane hours,” unlike Kyouya. Tonight, however, Tamaki is tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position. At last, he rolls over onto his back in his king-size bed and stares at the ceiling with a woeful sigh. It’s tragic that such fate befall him, but it seems there is no escaping tonight, no matter how valiantly he struggles; insomnia has beset him.
Kyouya is on his side of the bed, where he isn’t, Tamaki is painfully aware, touching Tamaki in any shape or form. A stretch of three-hundred-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets in slate blue separate them, and all Tamaki has of Kyouya is the tap-tap-tapping of his fingers across his keyboard. It’s not uncommon for Kyouya to be up at this hour of the night (morning, Tamaki thinks with another long sigh), and in fact it would be all the stranger if the dark-haired boy were asleep before three or four, but Tamaki is not made for this kind of game. He doesn’t want to chase back sleep with the swirling thoughts in his mind or the unending sounds that are building like a crescendo, from the low breaths and the rustling of the sheets and the creak as the bed shifts and that incessant tapping and—
“Kyouya,” Tamaki says plaintively when he cannot take it anymore.
The tapping of keys stops for a moment, hanging in the balance between Tamaki’s complaint and Kyouya’s answer. “Tamaki,” he replies, and his voice is a little cool, a little curious, and mostly impatient. He’s never needed more words to convey that.
But Tamaki can’t sleep and he wants Kyouya, turning his face to cast a violet-eyed look across the bed. “Kyouya,” he says, and there could be a million different words that follow: stop working so hard, I can’t sleep, I need you, lie down beside me and hold me before I forget how you feel; instead, Tamaki stretches out his arm and brushes his fingertips along Kyouya’s bare arm, and says: “If there were a fire in the house tonight, would you save me or your laptop?”
Kyouya stills again. He turns his head to look down at Tamaki, and he is silent, his eyes dark behind his glasses. The lamp light escapes in a soft golden glow from behind him, casting his face even further in shadow as he opens his mouth, then closes it. “You,” he says after a long moment, brows knitting.
Tamaki smiles and props himself up on one elbow. “I would save your laptop,” he says directly into Kyouya’s ear, “because I know you can save yourself. And that you would look out for me.” His lips drift along Kyouya’s cheek before brushing his mouth in a quick kiss. Then Tamaki ducks back down, his hair bright against the pillowcase, as he curls across that wide-open space into Kyouya’s side.
Kyouya is warm, his pajamas made of Chinese silk, and Tamaki rubs the material lightly against Kyouya’s thigh with his nose. He can smell Kyouya—something familiar, he thinks, and comforting, like warm milk and honey. His eyes drift closed as he cuddles Kyouya’s hip, calmness coming upon him as it had eluded him earlier.
After a while, the typing resumes again, but erratically. Tamaki falls asleep to the sound of the low humming of the laptop by his ear as a hand strokes his hair periodically, gently.
--
Started/Finished: 03.13.2007
--
Notes: Be wary of undiluted fluff and sap; it brings all the incoming cavities to the yard. No idea where this came from.
P.S. Credit to
wakkawoo's iTunes for the title. ;)
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