|hooloovoo_too (hooloovoo_too) wrote in kinkfest,|
@ 2008-07-25 22:55:00
|Entry tags:||a: hooloovoo_too, f: ouran host club, july 24, p: kyouya/tamaki|
A Cure for Common Boredom, Ouran Host Club (Tamaki/Kyouya)
Title: A Cure for Common Boredom
Word count: 2100
Summary: Tamaki and Kyouya ride home together after a party that bored Tamaki to tears.
Prompt: Ouran High Host Club - Tamaki/Kyoya - doing it on the backseat of a car - safe
A/N: Sorry this is a day late! It turned out to be longer than I thought it would, so maybe that will make up for it!
“I didn’t think it would ever be over. Kyouya, I am never letting you drag me to one of these things again.” Tamaki flopped back against the seat of the car, tugging at his bowtie and loosening the collar of his tuxedo shirt.
“Mm,” said Kyouya noncommittally. He draped his own tuxedo jacket over the passenger’s seat in front of him, tucking his bowtie and cufflinks into the jacket’s pocket. The cuffs were the worst part of wearing a tuxedo, they always seemed to restrict his movement. He rolled the loosened shirtsleeves up to rest casually at his forearms, so that they didn’t flap around his hands.
“I swear, the next ambassador’s wife who asks me when I’m going to get married, I will cause a diplomatic incident, Kyouya, and not even you will be able to clean it up. Thank you.” Kyouya loosened Tamaki’s own cuffs, and stowed the cufflinks in his jacket pocket. Tamaki would lose them if allowed to store them himself.
“They need to serve better champagne if they’re going to subject us to that,” Tamaki said, leaning his head back against the neckrest of the seat and closing his eyes.
Kyouya made another murmuring noise to placate him. “My townhouse, please,” he said to the driver, who acknowledged the request with a glance in the rearview mirror and a nod. Kyouya shifted a little closer to Tamaki, who collapsed bonelessly over lean heavily on Kyouya’s shoulder.
“Remind me why I let you talk me into this,” Tamaki said, and Kyouya ignored the driver’s little smirk in the mirror.
“For the good of yourself and your company.”
“Not good enough.”
Kyouya yawned, and watched through the windshield as the lights of downtown Tokyo flashed past. Tamaki wasn’t quite asleep against his shoulder, but he wasn’t far from it. “You didn’t save me from the harpies,” he accused fuzzily.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Kyouya promised, studying the path of the monorail as a train passed overhead.
“It had better be something good.”
Kyouya glanced down, quirked his mouth a little and checked the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror, then slipped his shoulder forward under Tamaki’s head for a better angle. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, and with as little movement as possible shifted his hand to Tamaki’s lap to grip him gently through the tuxedo pants. Tamaki went stiff against him, but thankfully managed to stifle any noise. Tamaki may have been startled, but he wasn’t making any motion to throw Kyouya off, so Kyouya settled in to see how much he could get away with.
He pressed small circles with his fingertips against the base of Tamaki’s cock, and Tamaki shifted to widen his legs. Kyouya carefully kept his face bored and sleepy, staring out the windows. He could feel Tamaki’s cock begin to fill out against the palm of his hand, but he didn’t dare look down. Instead he stared out the window, at the windshield, at the back of the driver’s head, and that gave him a wonderful, awful idea.
“Driver,” he said, and the man glanced back in the rearview mirror. Kyouya was fairly certain that Tamaki had ceased to breathe beside him, and to be a little malicious he shifted his hand down an inch or two further, cupping his balls and rolling them across his palm through the fabric. Tamaki had always been sensitive there, he loved it when you played with him in bed. “Could you put on the classical music station? I believe they’re broadcasting a Grieg concert tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver, and obediently turned on the music.
“Thank you,” said Kyouya, and used the words and the sound of the piano concerto to cover the flick of a button and the achingly slow glide of a zipper. Tamaki was breathing again, and relaxed a little at his side. “Shhh,” Kyouya whispered, too quiet for the driver to hear, just to remind him. Getting the zipper opened seemed to take ages, and Tamaki was hard and leaking when Kyouya finally reached in to touch bare skin through the flies of his boxers.
Tamaki gasped in a hard breath, and covered it by sighing and pretending to snuggle closer to Kyouya’s shoulder. The movement not-coincidentally left his legs splayed wide, and Kyouya glanced over at him fondly, taking in Tamaki’s glazed expression.
“Look,” he said, and pointed with the hand that wasn’t occupied with teasing the head of Tamaki’s cock. “They changed the lighting on Tokyo Tower again.”
“It’s the new colors for the Olympics,” Tamaki said, and if Kyouya hadn’t known better, he might have mistaken the breathiness in his voice for a need to sleep. Tamaki was trembling minutely against him, and Kyouya decided to be merciful, so he wrapped his whole hand around Tamaki’s shaft in a loose grip. It wouldn’t get him off any time soon, but it was better than the tease of just fingertips.
“I have a cousin that works on the Tower,” said the driver unexpectedly, and Tamaki jumped. Kyouya gave him one rough, hard stroke -- both promise and warning -- and Tamaki subsided back against him. “He said it takes them eighteen hours just to change all those lights.” Now the driver was looking back in the mirror, wanting to see their reactions, so Kyouya mischievously sped up his strokes and settled into a rhythm that he knew for certain could get Tamaki off in minutes flat if he kept it up. He’d perfected his technique in a series of quickies before board meetings; Tamaki, for his part, knew how to get Kyouya off in less than two minutes flat with his mouth.
The driver was still waiting for an answer, but Kyouya wasn’t going to be the one to give it. Eventually Tamaki raised his eyes to the rearview mirror with a heroic effort and muttered, “Fascinating.”
“I thought so,” said the driver happily, and Tamaki glared up at Kyouya through his eyelashes. A vicious flick of his wrist had Tamaki’s eyes sliding closed again, and Kyouya was glad of his foresight with the music when Tamaki barely managed to stifle a groan in his throat. His own heartbeat was thundering at their daring; he’d never even considered the possibility of something like this before, and now they were doing it. Tamaki was letting Kyouya jerk him off with an employee less than three feet away. The very thought of it was enough to have Kyouya hard, no extra touches or pressure required.
“Hey driver,” Tamaki said, and Kyouya began to consider that his lover might have a serious exhibitionist streak. His fingers explored lower and Tamaki cleared his throat to say, his voice far too husky for someone not getting his balls caressed, “What time does the Tower close?”
“You’ve got about an hour, sir.”
“Good,” Tamaki said, practically purring. “Forget the townhouse then, take us to the Tower. Is that okay with you?” and he looked up at Kyouya, calm as you please, grinding his hips in a slow roll against Kyouya’s hand. Kyouya pressed his thumb gently along the seam of skin between Tamaki’s balls, stretching the skin over them taut so that he could run his fingernails there and feel Tamaki’s cock jerk hard against his wrist. Tamaki’s face went slack, and Kyouya watched him try to moderate his expression, before realizing that the driver was still waiting for a response from him.
“Fine with me,” Kyouya affirmed, and the driver nodded. Tamaki’s breathing fell into the rhythm of Kyouya’s strokes, his hips working subtle circles to push his cock harder through Kyouya’s hand, looking for more pressure. Kyouya pressed the heel of his other hand against his own cock, needing something to relieve the desperation building up in the silence between them. He’d never seen anything as hot as Tamaki staying quiet for him, controlling his face and practically begging with his body.
Tamaki reached up and pulled Kyouya’s ear down closer. “If you let me get off before we get to the Tower I’ll make it worth your while,” he whispered, then resettled himself against Kyouya’s side with a flicker of seductive eyes. For a moment, Kyouya considered making him wait for it just to be contrary, but Tamaki’s breathing was beginning to take on the shallow pant that meant he was close, and Kyouya could see the flush of arousal above the collar of his tuxedo shirt.
“You’d better,” Kyouya whispered back, and slid a finger up to pay more attention to the head of his cock as he stroked.
Just because he’d promised to get Tamaki off before they got to the Tower didn’t mean that he couldn’t draw it out the whole way there, of course. Every time he was sure that Tamaki was about to come, he’d back off, switch his grip, or reach down to tug at his balls while Tamaki struggled not to give anything away in his posture or with a noise. They were at a stoplight two blocks away from the Tower before Kyouya finally shifted his fingers to run them over every sensitive spot he knew on Tamaki’s cock, circling the slit at the apex of every stroke.
Every muscle in Tamaki’s body went stiff, and his cock trembled against Kyouya’s hand. Kyouya glanced down at him, desperate to feel Tamaki come, wanting to watch his face as he tried to control himself through it. He shut his eyes hard and thrust his hips jaggedly into Kyouya’s grasp. Kyouya could feel the muscles shudder across his stomach, but it didn’t show beneath the shirt. The only slip came at the height of the orgasm, when his cock spilled hot against Kyouya’s hand and a low noise escaped between clenched teeth, half growl and half moan.
The driver glanced back when he heard. Kyouya almost froze, but Tamaki covered by faking a coughing fit, doubling over as Kyouya pulled him gently through the rest of the orgasm.
“Are you all right sir?” The driver asked, and it took every ounce of concentration Kyouya possessed not to burst out laughing. Tamaki’s cock was soft and slippery-wet in his hand.
Tamaki collapsed boneless back against the seat and sniffed delicately. “I’m fine. Do you have any Kleenex, though? I’m afraid it’s my nose.” The driver passed a travel-sized Kleenex pack back into Tamaki’s hands, and he shot Kyouya a triumphant smirk as he pulled out a tissue and pretended to blow his nose. The tissue pack was carefully placed between them, and Kyouya surreptitiously pulled out several to wipe his hand.
“We’re here, sir,” said the driver, stopping the car and getting out as Kyouya finished cleaning himself up. Tamaki zipped his pants when the man stepped outside the car, and not a moment too soon, because a second later he opened the door on Tamaki’s side and held it courteously back.
“Leave your jacket, Kyouya. We’ll only be a little while. There’s something I want to show you,” Tamaki said, pausing to turn towards Kyouya for a moment before stepping out of the car. Kyouya blinked twice, resettled his glasses on his nose, and carefully stood when the driver opened the door on his side. He was still hard from the thrill of jerking Tamaki off in front of an unknowing audience, so some discreet maneuvering was required to conceal his state.
After making the driver promise to wait for them, they headed off towards the Tower together, Kyouya walking a bit stiffly and Tamaki ambling along with the liquid relaxation of someone recovering from a truly spectacular orgasm. As they neared the base of the structure, he bumped his shoulder amiably into Kyouya’s.
“That wasn’t very nice, attacking me in front of that poor man,” Tamaki said. Kyouya shrugged and favored him with a superior smile. They stepped onto the elevators that would take them to the second observation deck, two hundred and fifty feet above the ground. “In fact,” he continued, drawing glances from the three tourist couples on the elevator with them, “I’d say it was the kind of not-nice that requires very public restitution.” His grin was lazy, sated, smug, and utterly terrifying.
Kyouya could feel the color drain from his face, but Tamaki’s implicit threat didn’t do a thing for the fact that he was still rock-hard. The elevator doors opened, and the tourist couples stepped off before them.
“Come on, Kyouya,” said Tamaki, still wearing that beatific smile and hooking an arm through Kyouya’s to drag him towards the windows, “It wouldn’t be sporting of me to leave you in that condition, not after you were so nice to me in the car. Let’s go try not to traumatize all these lovely people.” Below them, Tokyo had never looked so bright.