Title: The Queen and Her Rooks
Fandom: Ouran Koukou Host Club.
Featuring: Kyouya/Kaoru/Hikaru.
Genre: Smut.
Words: ~ 740.
Rating: NC-17.
Warnings: Crack-esque, smut (obviously), some gratuitous uke abuse.
Notes: Written for the lovely lunatics at ouranparody. <3.



The thing of it was, they knew how likely they were to get caught.

And still, Hikaru was moaning — like a whore, he would have said, if he'd heard Kaoru making the noise — legs spread wide, splayed back against the cold glass tabletop. His fingers were entangled in his brother's hair, tugging in short, urgent pretty pleases and don't stops.

Kaoru's hands were shaking as he gripped the ornate edges of the table and closed his eyes, furrowing his brow as he sought breath around Hikaru's cock. The table's corner was digging into his hip and drawing small whimpers from him at every thrust, inviting Hikaru to echo him.

Behind him, Kyouya's grip was firm and steady, one hand on Kaoru's back and the other on his hip, and beyond the hitching of his breath, you'd think he wasn't involved at all. He'd done this too many times to be looking over his shoulder in paranoia. Without checking his watch, he knew that they had roughly six minutes before anyone else would be there. If the sounds the twins were making could be taken as any indication, that would be more than enough time.

He heard Kaoru choke, if briefly, and felt a thrill go through him when Hikaru didn't pull him back. This was his favourite kind of sex: blind, frantic and desperate, unrelenting and headlong. (Possibly his second favourite, he later mused, as he always got a kick out of bondage and power play.) Hikaru was writhing, on the verge of screaming, and had he been sitting upright, Kyouya may have kissed him solely for the purpose of shut up.

Grabbing the table suddenly and leaning forward, Kyouya let the table steady Kaoru (cruel though that was; he could hear Kaoru's muffled yelps as bared hipbones drove repeatedly against the glass and metal) in favour of getting a good look at what the younger boy was doing.

Kaoru's brow was furrowed, his eyelashes glistening with tears barely held at bay, and from his new vantage point, Kyouya could admire the convulsions of his throat whenever the elder twin bucked his hips.

As if in recompense, Kyouya reached beneath the younger of the pair, confiscating his long-suffering erection for the time being. From the first stroke — nearly from the very first touch — Kaoru groaned, and his knees weakened a bit — Kyouya felt him slip and pressed him firmly to the table, sinking deeper into him with the motion.

At his twin's renewed sounds of pleasure, Hikaru arched his back, everything in him tightening for a few suspended seconds. Then he was gone, Kaoru's name guttural in his throat and on his lips. He came so deeply that Kaoru didn't get a chance to taste it, and couldn't quite manage to swallow. He sucked hard, though, dutifully helping Hikaru ride it out until he was spent. When the hand on the back of his head went lax, Kaoru jerked away, taking a lungful of air and swallowing against the thick, slippery sensation in his throat.

Still trembling, Kaoru clung headily to the table, vaguely aware of a fountain of words babbling from his mouth in bizarrely-constructed strings; ohgodpleasefuckyesharder and yesyesyesfuckgodtheredon'tstop and some mixed mantra of Kyouya's name and his brother's.

In retrospect, Kyouya figured it was his name that did it. There was something gratifying about that; Kaoru was a mess of tears and pleas, and Kyouya, yes must have snapped something inside of him. That familiar soaring crescendo took over, and he gripped Kaoru's cock a little harder than he should have. Erratic, restrained moans broke from his mouth, and he pressed himself lengthwise to Kaoru, gasping softly throughout his release.

Somehow, through the white haze, Kyouya noted that Kaoru's keening wail and the warmth coating his hand marked two minutes remaining, and that cleanup would have to be rushed. He then noted that Kaoru seemed to be trying his hardest to fall over, so he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him to stand.

"Two minutes," he said, once he trusted his voice. Doubtless, the others would notice flushed faces, rumpled suits and tousled hair — but what proof did they have? The third music room's surveillance cameras all routed to Kyouya's house, after all, which meant blackmail, and jerk material for a month if Hikaru and Kaoru ever managed to get their hands on Tamaki.