Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction ❯ Love and Submission in the Stacks ❯ Love and Submission in the Stacks ( Chapter 1 )

 

Written in response to the week 82-83 challenge on the Yahoo Makin' Lemonaide group: “Pick a workplace: Library.”

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club or it's characters - they belong to Bisco Hatori-san. I am using them for very ecchi purposes but I gain nothing from writing this story except the ability to sleep again.

 

 

Love and Submission in the Stacks

 

 

“On your knees.”

 

Fingers still laced together behind her head in a gesture of helpless obedience, the naked 18 year old girl gracefully lowered herself to the required position in compliance. Her uniform - a boy's uniform that effectively hid her sex from almost everyone at Ouran - lay neatly folded on the bookshelf to her right as she sank down, knees held about two feet apart. This was the farthest distance her small frame could manage and allowed full access to those parts that her clubmates may - or may not - have dreamed about during nights that were followed by waking up to sticky sheets.

 

The one clubmate who had no more need of such dreams called out another order, “All fours. Crawl toward me.”

 

She released her hands from their hold on each other and lowered them to the ground. Her head was held upward the way he liked, her eyes on him as she made her way across the carpeting. The tangy scent of acid pulp would now forevermore be associated with this activity. Because it was invariably here that he took her for their extracurricular activities: the philosophy section of the school library stacks.

 

The location made sense. Most of the students had their own personal libraries to use. That combined with the fact that philosophy was not a subject touched upon by any of the instructors at Ouran made this possibly the safest and most ironic location for their trysts.

 

A sense of bitterness shot through her at the thought. Philosophically, she was not opposed to any of this. She was not ashamed. She had to be honest with herself: she had wanted this. At least at first. Okay, part of her wanted it still even now.

 

Her peripheral vision caught the title of one of the books on the lowest shelf. Crimes Against Logic. Yeah. That's about right. Why would anyone look forward to being made to service someone? Wasn't sex supposed to be between two people who loved each other? So why would she look forward to and enjoy her time with him? He didn't love her. He was just using her body to relieve his own stress. That's all. He didn't love her.

 

Her eyes were still trained on his face as she knelt up in front of him. She couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, but his tight smile was clear. Cold, calculating. But lonely. He was waiting for her to take the next step. After the past two weeks together, she knew what he wanted. Her body reacted to his need. She couldn't deny it, she reacted to his treatment of her, too.

 

At first, she told herself that this was a way to be closer to him. But now, she wondered. Was her desire hard-wired? Her father was bisexual. And from the few scenes that she'd accidentally walked in on, he preferred to “be the bottom” in his relationships, now that her mother was gone. Maybe the kink was handed down to her. Because she couldn't deny that she dreamed about how far he'd take things. How much he'd require of her. And how far she would be willing to go to please him.

 

He didn't love her. She would have wished that he did if she wasn't so practical, so dedicated to what was real. She accepted things as they were and he did not love her. But he wanted her. And she wanted him. She couldn't deny him anything. She loved him.

 

X

 

On her knees, naked before him, he couldn't help but marvel at her strength, her pride. His eyes were locked onto hers as she inquired, “How may I serve you today, Kyoya-sama?” There was no weakness in her voice, no simpering. Straightforward and direct, dealing only with the facts, that was his Haruhi.

 

His Haruhi.

 

And she was his now, too. She was his, naked, crawling before him, willing to do whatever he required. Whatever he required. And he had required much of her over the past two weeks.

 

Two weeks it had been since the conversation that had started it all. Two months since he first thought up the idea. Four weeks since he'd stopped trying to talk himself out of it and started planning how to make it happen.

 

He'd called her aside after the club, after everyone else had left. Shown her his calculations - her average earnings brought into the club versus her average expenditures. If things continued as they were, it would take 40 years of service in the club to pay off her debt. Even taking into account that after high school, she'd have a real job to make money, assuming average expenditures for someone of the commoner class and setting aside all extra funds toward her debts, she still wouldn't be able to pay the debt off until she was 31. And that, of course, assumed the minimum rent payments, no car, no extraneous expenditures.

 

She'd reviewed all his math. He'd expected nothing less. She was truly one of a kind.

 

And then, she'd nodded curtly and looked up at him expectantly. It was apparent she was waiting for the conclusion to be stated. So he'd stated it: “Serve me after the club every day til the end of the year, and I'll make it all go away.”

 

He had expected her to ask what he meant by “serve.” Or at least to ask, “Why?” He'd prepared an answer for both questions. “Serve me with your body.” “Stress can be distracting. I need a release. Using you means I do not have to seek another outlet and can return my focus to where it needs to be.” Answers that evaded the truth without lying outright. After all, he couldn't say, “I want to hold you and touch you so that I can stop waking up in the middle of the night every night with dreams that leave me unsatisfied and make me feel like I'm losing my sanity.” And he wasn't willing to admit even to himself that every time he saw the twins hanging off her, or Tamaki pull her into a rib-creaking embrace, or Mori rescue her from Tamaki or the twins, or Huni call her over to have cake alone with him, that his whole body tensed up (he'd broken three pens that week, snapped them in half without meaning to).

 

But she'd asked none of those questions. She'd simply inquired, “Shall I assume we're starting this right now?”

 

Startled, his eyes had widened for a second and then he'd nodded curtly. She'd responded by standing from her chair, crossing to him, kneeling in front of him and asking the same question that she was asking him now, “How may I serve you today, Kyoya-sama?”

 

It was like she'd opened a floodgate of passion with her simple action. Instantly, he'd become so hard it was painful. And she was looking up at him, patiently waiting, not condemning, just realistically accepting - almost as if she wanted to be there, wanted to be there with him in this way. Of course, he was just projecting images from his dreams into this moment.

 

He'd reached down and brushed the hair out of her face before he could stop himself, and then, realizing he'd just let too much slip - too much he wasn't willing to admit to even himself - he whispered, “I want, I want you to use your mouth.” He could get out no further words.

 

There, in the back office of the third floor music room, the girl he couldn't stop dreaming about had reached up, unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his erection, and then used her mouth to take him to completion.

 

Her technique was poor that first time. It was apparent she had never done this before. But that made it more perfect, allowed him to shape her into his own. And since he'd never done this before either, it allowed him to hide his own ignorance. He'd instructed her based solely on what felt right: how far to take him into her mouth, how to use her own saliva on her hand to hold the rest of his hardened member as her lips and tongue worked the tip, how to use her free hand to massage his sac. In time, she'd learned the clue that he was nearing completion and watched or felt for the tightening of his package. She'd learned everything he liked. She discovered that he usually preferred her to drink his offering, but occasionally, he would pull out and spray on her naked breasts and then require her to leave it there to harden before dressing again to go home for the day.

 

That first time, she was fully clothed and untrained, and he'd stained her uniform. He'd given her another one, no charge, for her to wear home. From that time on, he led her to the stacks and had her remove all her clothing so there would be no more accidents. It had nothing to do with his desire to see her naked body.

 

Her naked body was kneeling, waiting in front of him now. “I want you to start with your mouth.”

 

He stood still and allowed her to do all the work, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down, sliding down his boxer briefs. He moaned as she reached between her own open legs and gathered her own juices in her hand as her tongue licked up one side of his already erect phallus. Her lubricated hand grasped his prick and began stroking it as she started sucking on his balls and his eyes rolled back as if to better see the images her actions were bringing to life in his head.

 

Like a movie montage, her actions reminded him of the past two weeks together - all the firsts, all the seconds they'd spent together. But more than anything else, he remembered the first time he'd taken her.

 

He had taken her virginity. She had given it to him, seemingly willingly. He'd walked into the library. She'd been following two steps behind him as always and had begun removing her clothes immediately upon arriving in the philosophy section. Before she could even kneel, he'd come behind her and asked her to place her palms flat on the ground. As always she'd complied. He'd knelt behind her to taste her with his mouth. He wanted to seat himself within her and had expected she'd need him to show her plenty of attention to prepare her for him.

 

Up until that point, he'd taken from her at every session, but had never given back. So he had no way of knowing that she had been reacting to him. But as he placed his face in her cleanly shaven sex, he witnessed her juices overflowing, creating trails that dripped down her thighs. She was turned on and ready for him.

 

His plans flew out the window and he quickly licked her thighs clean, teasing her before burying his face and his fingers in her. When he encountered her barrier, he'd thought, `This is real. This is really real.' And then his tongue was lapping at her center and her moans, her muscles tightening, his fingers working to stretch her. God, he wanted to hear her scream his name. He sucked at her hidden pearl, silently willing her to orgasm so that he could finally feel her around him. Her muscles clamped down on his fingers and she made the most amazing sound - his name, no honorifics, in a voice that was halfway between a squeak and a sigh.

 

He wanted to have her face him. He wanted to kiss her until neither one could breathe. He wanted to see her face as she came with him. God he wanted her.

 

But this, he wouldn't allow. He couldn't get attached. She didn't love him. And someone like her could never love someone like him. Someone who would use his power to take advantage - to take from her. She'd never love him, so he would just have to take her.

 

He didn't see how his face was contorted with anger and sorrow as he placed his member at her entrance, grabbed her hips and with one quick motion as she was still shaking from her very first orgasm, thrust inside. He felt her tear, heard her cry of pain and held himself still inside her until she began to pulse around his cock. She felt like heaven around him, it was hard not to move. But he willed it to be so. His face was a picture of anguished torture.

 

Once he felt her muscles twitching, heard her breathing pick up pace, heard a moan that he imagined was not pained, he began moving slowly in and out of her treasure.

 

He'd taken her innocence. Plucked her flower. There was absolutely no way someone like him could be loved by someone like her.

 

She was bent over as he plowed her - there were no witnesses to see the tears streaming down his face when he came inside her, no one to see him mouth her name silently.

 

As he finished spasming inside her, wiping at his damp face, he wondered how his face became so wet - he must have had a hair poke him in the eye. He noticed her coming down from her own orgasm, her walls milking him almost mercilessly. He hadn't heard her cry out this time. No. Of course not. He'd stolen away her virginity. Now she could never give it to the one she loved. Tamaki or Mori, or some stranger whom she'd meet someday in college. There would be other times in the coming week and a half when he would hear her call his name as she climaxed, of course. Kyoya-sama, she would cry. And he loved and hated it.

 

In all their time together, he never allowed her to face him when he thrust inside of her. Because then she might see his face and might see. See how much he hated this. How much he needed this. How weak he truly was when it came to her.

 

He was weak with his misuse of power. That was why she was kneeling in front of him as she was. The only reason. She wasn't there because she wanted to be - she was there because he was blackmailing her. And he was too weak to stop now. There was no reason to stop now. Not when he could have her strip for him every day as she just had. Not when he could watch her crawl toward him.

 

Her mouth and her hand on his cock was only a prelude to the heaven that she promised every day. He put his hand on her head and stopped her ministrations. He called out his next order to her, “Hands and knees, facing away from me, Haruhi-dorei.” (AN: dorei=slave)

 

At the club, he was Kyoya-senpai. Except every now and then, when they were alone or there was no one near enough to hear, she'd call him Kyoya-sama. It was bad enough that every night in bed he'd have to fall asleep over the voices in his head that said, “Never, never, never.” Never would she love him. Never would she need him. And never would he allow himself to fall in love with her. But to hear her call him that name during their non-session hours - it was like condemnation confirmed. He lashed out in turn, calling her Haruhi-dorei. And she… she'd given her considering look, then nodded with her quirky half-smile before turning away to complete the club task he'd assigned.

 

He was Kyoya-sama and she was his Haruhi-dorei. The thought made him ache in want for her, made him want to plunder her again and again. And because she was his Haruhi-dorei, he could and would.

 

She got into position, actually on elbows and knees, so that her ass was pointing up toward him. She wiggled it enticingly and he saw her juices were overflowing again. Stifling a moan at the sight, he got on his knees and thrust inside her hot pussy. God, how he ached for her. With each thrust, he unknowingly called her name again and again - no titles, no dorei. Just Haruhi, Haruhi, Haruhi. Softly like a prayer for absolution.

 

X

 

She put everything she had into these moments. Her lips, tongue, teeth, fingertips, hands worked together to please him. It was truly odd. She never thought pleasing someone else would be so important to her. But it was. It was.

 

How had she gotten herself into this predicament? Was it the fault of that vase? She called the members of the club, “rich bastards.” Still to this day she called them that. Even Kyoya. Especially Kyoya. The one who left her no room to escape - every yen was counted and tabulated, added to her profits or her debits accordingly, even though he truthfully had no idea of the value of most household items. His accounting was unquestionably accurate because he never missed a detail.

 

Kyoya was the one who noticed everything, who manipulated people and thought no one could see how his manipulations always benefited those he cared about. And who thought no one noticed how even though he strived so hard to advance in his family, still almost never seemed to include himself on that list, that list of those who should benefit from his manipulations, that list of those he cared about.

 

He would pull strings to save Tamaki, his sister, Renge, the twins, Mori and Huni. But when things happened to benefit himself… If you caught him at the moment he realized his benefit there would be a split second when his face would go slack as if to say, “How the hell did that happen?” It only lasted for that one split second before he'd put on his cold mask of assurance that said, “I meant for this to happen, that's why it did.” But she'd spent so much time watching him when he wasn't looking that the sight was now one with which she was familiar.

 

The rest of the rich bastards never noticed when things were bothering him. The signs were so obvious that she felt they had to be completely oblivious to miss them. Even Tamaki, his supposed best friend, failed to notice until Kyoya'd driven himself into a migraine from worry.

 

This happened more frequently than one might expect from someone “so in control.”

 

And about two months ago, she noticed the signs coming on. It always started with him coming in looking tired, each day more circles under his eyes. Then, he would start to pinch the bridge of his nose every time Tamaki went on a rant. Once it started to get worse, he'd rub at his temples. And when he was truly upset, his face grew completely blank - as if his survival instinct kicked in to block out all intrusions that might upset him further.

 

Usually, his worry would only last about a week and then he'd get it under control, but that time, it had gone on for an entire month. Every day he came in looking more haggard, more under the weather. After two and a half weeks she'd waited until after club and confronted him, asked him if he was okay and if she could do anything to help. He'd barked out a laugh and then smiled sadly at her. No, he'd said. He just needed to get more sleep. She'd laid a hand on his shoulder as she told him to take care of himself, to let her know if she could do anything to help. He'd responded with a startled jump, staring at her hand as if it were a snake ready to bite him.

 

She remembered it vividly because when she went home to bed that night, she couldn't stop replaying the scene over and over again in her head. Why had he jumped? He must not like her touching him. For some reason that thought made her so sad that sleep took a long time in coming.

 

A week and a half later, he was back to his usual self: controlled, closed. Plotting something. But she found herself watching him even more frequently than she had before. At first she thought she was watching him to see if she could figure out what plan he had hatched. But three weeks ago, she finally admitted it to herself that wasn't it. The truth was she cared about him. She cared about him quite deeply. She found herself smiling when he was smiling and scowling, wondering what was upsetting him, when he was scowling. If she stopped to analyze it, she supposed she must love him - fat lot of good that emotion ever did.

 

She spent that week wondering about the softness of his lips, the smoothness of his skin. Not that she'd ever touch either. And she remembered the incident at the beach house, when he'd been trying to teach her - for her own good - that she needed to be more careful around guys. Except now, she almost wished he wasn't just trying to be nice.

 

But of course, that's all it was. He was being nice. Some would say that he was watching out for his investment, but she knew that it was he was actually watching out for someone who was special to Tamaki, his best friend. And that was the period on that thought. Tamaki was his best friend and was always claiming his interest in Haruhi. Regardless of the fact that she liked Tamaki as a friend only, Tamaki's interest in her meant that even IF Kyoya returned her feelings - which of course he didn't - he wouldn't act on them.

 

And then two weeks ago, he'd propositioned her. By that point, she had decided to pull away from him because being near him was starting to become painful. If she wasn't allowed to touch him, then she'd just evade him when she could. But he showed her how great her debt truly was and she knew he had something in mind. After all, she'd caught him wearing his planning face. And then he'd suggested that she use her body to repay him. Of course that's not how he said it, but that's what he meant.

 

She should have been offended. Did he assume that just because she was a commoner that she would resort to using her body to pay for debts? But instead, she thought, `I'll get to touch him,' and she agreed.

 

And when he touched her face, she thought maybe, just maybe, he wanted to touch her, too. Was she one of those he cared about? After all, he hadn't charged her for the uniform.

 

At home, in her bed, she would think, `Why? Why me? Is he doing this just to help me get out of debt? Is he simply a hentai?' And for the first several days, she wondered why he was only using her mouth for release. Maybe that proved he was a gentleman - that he would allow her to save her maidenhood for marriage, not that she cared about that. Or maybe he didn't want her that way.

 

She began dreaming about what it would be like to have him touch her there, to have his rod force itself inside of her sex instead of her mouth. Just thinking about it brought back the sense memory of his smell, his taste. Musk and spice. A hint of oranges. And the underlying scent of acid paper from the stacks. Her hands felt for herself in the dark, in her bed and she found herself experimenting to see whether what she wanted was him, or just release. When release came, she knew for certain - even though she doubted she'd ever get what she really wanted. Just to be safe, though, she'd prepared herself. She would keep herself clean shaven, moisturizing her skin to be silky soft - just in case he wanted her there someday.

 

He placed his hand on her head, drawing her from her thoughts to hear his next command. Unhesitatingly, she positioned herself to be ready for him.

 

She remembered the first time he'd truly touched her as a part of their exercises. She'd been surprised. From the position he'd put her in she had thought he'd just take her. The thought made her juices flow - she wanted to feel him inside her. But then his hands and his mouth were on her. He was touching her, trying to bring her pleasure. That thought in itself was probably more responsible for her shuddering orgasm. She'd sighed out his name in joy, “Oh, Kyoya.”

 

Yes, he was supposed to be Kyoya-sama in situations like these, but she loved him and she forgot.

 

Before she could realize what was happening, he'd impaled her with his sword. For a split second, that's what it felt like, too. `I am no longer a virgin,' she thought, quickly followed by, `Why isn't he moving? Isn't he supposed to move?' And then, `Is he… doing this for me? So that I can adjust?' She could feel his pulse throbbing inside of her. By now the pain had been replaced with an aching need. She moaned slightly and he slowly withdrew, only to follow with a slow reinsertion.

 

The pace was agonizing - like climbing a never-ending flight of stairs, you dragged yourself up one step at a time, so slowly. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he sped up, pounding into her furiously. Falling over a cliff, she called, “Kyoya-ai,” before she could stop herself. And then, she held herself completely silent. This was one of the most amazing experiences she'd ever had and she didn't want to ruin it by having him scold her for foolishness or by reminding her that this was just business. She wanted to feel that he wanted her too - just for a short while. She'd go back to being practical and realistic after the aftershocks concluded. It would be easier to deal with then.

 

Once her shudders had subsided, he had eased her down to lie on the carpeting in the stacks. He pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned them both up - capturing the traces of her virginal blood and his own release.

 

She'd smiled at him and thanked him. For providing a chance to be with the one she loved, even if the feeling wasn't returned. For the kindness of cleaning her up. For not breaking the moment and allowing her one selfish instant of fabrication.

 

His face had drained of color and he'd grabbed his glasses out of his pocket, placing them on his face so that he could use the reflecting light to hide behind. Her eyes turned sad for a second and then she just nodded, stood and asked if he needed anything further from her that day. It was obvious he knew what she was thanking him for, and he didn't want to be associated with it. No lies without profit. It was true Kyoya.

 

He shook his head no, not trusting his voice.

 

She nodded and then got dressed. When she was done, she noticed that he had was cleaned and buttoned up, watching her. She blushed and whispered, “Good night, Kyoya-sama,” and whirled out of the library in a rush.

 

All of this she remembered as he entered her from behind and set a slow pace to draw out her pleasure as well as his own. His hands reached around her to fondle her breast, tweaking her nipples and causing her to shudder around him.

 

Just once, she wished that he'd take her from the front so that she could see his face and maybe kiss him. He had yet to kiss her on the lips. She'd felt his lips press kisses along her shoulders and spine in rhythm to his thrusts. But she wanted to kiss him.

 

And she wanted to see what he looked like as he reached his limit inside her. Did he enjoy it? Could she do something to make it better? And even if no and no, if she saw his face as he took what he needed, she would at least no longer be able to deny how he felt about her. Maybe if she could see him like that, she'd stop trying to convince herself at night that he wouldn't be with her after club like this if he didn't…

 

After all, he was with her every day. That had to mean something, right? He didn't always pump into her. Sometimes he just used her mouth. Those nights, she had to bring her own release in her bed at night, but that didn't bother her. She enjoyed sucking on his cock, feeling him vibrate in her mouth. His taste was unique - like malt with a hint of orange - and she had a hard time deciding whether she preferred it when she was allowed to drink all he offered her and then sent her home to service her own needs or when he sprayed her chest and then made her lie back on the floor and play with herself as he watched, until his offering dried on her chest like a brand of ownership - just as he hardened again, flipped her and pounded into her furiously.

 

It really didn't matter which, though. So long as she had these moments to keep with her.

 

His pace changed abruptly and she heard him softly muttering. Straining to hear, she thought she heard him calling her name.

 

She could ask him, maybe. Ask to change positions to see his face. After two weeks of wondering, she decided it was worth a shot. The worst that would happen is he'd cancel the arrangement, she'd never get to feel him again, and still owe the club ungodly sums of money. But somehow, she didn't think it would come to that. He'd probably just say, “No,” and then keep going.

 

“Kyoya-sama?” she called between thrusts.

 

He paused halfway through the out stroke, surprised. She never interrupted - just let him use her until he came in her mouth, painted her with his come, or they both came to shuddering climaxes.

 

When he didn't respond, she continued, “Would… would you mind if we tried something?”

 

She was asking him if they could try something? What? He couldn't think what to say. Did that mean she was enjoying this? Or that she wasn't? Had her body lied and she never enjoyed anything with him? Or did this mean that she had thought about their time together and thought of something else she wanted to try? Without thought, his mouth opened and, “Okay?” came out.

 

Before he could even cringe at his traitorous mouth sounding so indecisive, she pulled forward and off his shaft. Turning, she placed a hand flat on his chest, both of them on their knees now facing each other. Her face was open and her eyes, though they held a touch of anxiety appeared as if that was mostly anticipatory.

 

She pushed slightly and said, “Lie on your back.”

 

He would have held his ground but she caught him off center and back he went. Once he was flat on his back, she smiled and crawled over him.

 

His eyes widened at the sight. It was like watching one of those dreams where you're off to the side watching what's happening, instead of in your own body, so you can't do anything but watch.

 

Her hand reached between her two legs where she was straddling him and she began to stroke him, positioning him to her core. Slowly she lowered onto him and he witnessed something that he'd only seen before in his dreams: her face softening into a sigh of contentment, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a little “O”.

 

“Haruhi,” he breathed and she opened her eyes to look at him. Riding him slowly, he saw her eyes were darkened with passion. Passion for him.

 

Why? Why was she doing this? She moved her hips up and down and her hands stroked his chest gently through his shirt.

 

In all this time, he'd never completely disrobed before her. She considered unbuttoning the shirt so that she could touch him skin to skin, but decided against it. It was enough to finally see his face. She smiled at him wistfully and then moaned as her hips rocked down on him again. “Oh, Kyoya-sama,” she sighed.

 

“Haruhi-dorei,” he growled, his hand grasping her hips, using his arms to set a faster pace.

 

She bounced up and down, her slight, perky breasts jiggling in front of him. Her eyes were closed and her head was tilted back slightly.

 

Kyoya-sama. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She'd taken him for a change. She rode on top of him, for the most part in control. So she wanted this? But she was still calling him Kyoya-sama. She could never love someone who would force her to do this. But she'd climbed on. And her walls were so tight in this position.

 

He shifted his hips up a bit and saw her expression change from a floaty enjoyment to a frenzied passion. Her eyes popped open and she began to convulse around him, shaking in a speedy rhythm. And she called, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, God!” as she continued moving. And then she threw back her head and called his name, “KYO YA!”

 

Her eyes were open, looking at him, but not really seeing anymore - she was floating in white light, her hips on automatic, maintaining the motion. The last thing she'd seen was his hungry, longing expression.

 

As she flew through the clouds of her bliss, she forced her eyes to see him - her desire was to see what he looked like as he came inside of her.

 

His teeth were clenched, his face tight, eyes closed. But what caught her breath was the pained expression. And then, he released inside her, his lips mouthing her name, a tear escaping one eye.

 

Startled, she paused and just held him inside of her. She felt his member twitching deep inside as he released the last of his load to coat her walls with his seed.

 

As he released, he remembered that she was facing him and he schooled his face into his normal stoic mask. It didn't matter that she'd called his name in the heat of the moment. Because he wasn't… could never be… Opening his eyes, he looked at her face, which had become a bit cheerless.

 

His hands were still on her hips as he said with forced coldness, “That was different.”

 

She nodded and quickly climbed off of him. Kneeling next to him, she asked her normal end of the evening question, “Do you require anything else this evening, Kyoya-sama?”

 

His eyes tightened, as if to hold all the emotion more closely and not let anything escape. He shook his head no.

 

She nodded and stood, crossing to her clothes. Pulling her underwear on, she whispered, “I'm sorry, Kyoya.”

 

“What?” he blurted. Damn it all, she kept startling him this evening. He usually held control better than this.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

And now he was completely lost. “*You're* sorry?”

 

She turned her back on him as she pulled up her pants and said, “I just wanted to… be with you face to face for once. I thought… It doesn't matter. I'm sorry. Tomorrow I'll come back and we can pretend it never happened if you like.” She wasn't certain what had happened, but she was certain she was responsible for that look of pain on his face.

 

“Wait.” He'd finished dressing and was adjusting his tie. “What?”

 

She finished pulling on her undershirt, slid into her uniform shirt and turned toward him as she buttoned it up. “I'll keep my end of the arrangement. I'm sorry I was selfish.”

 

She thought SHE was selfish? He'd pulled out his glasses and was about to place them on his face but stopped. Using them as a pointer he gestured toward her and asked, “Haruhi, why did you agree to this?”

 

She cocked her head in her confused puppy gesture. “Huh?”

 

“You're an exceptionally intelligent woman, you have a bright future no matter what you choose to do. So why are you letting me blackmail you into sleeping with me?”

 

She stared at him, blinking. His face was self-deprecating.

 

“Wh-?” she paused as realization dawned. “Blackmailing me?”

 

He wouldn't look her in the eyes, and he wouldn't answer.

 

She stepped up to him and grabbed his tie, pulling him down to face her. And then, she kissed him. His lips were so soft and they tasted like sweet licorice. Her tongue traced them and he opened for her and then thrust his own to explore the sweetness of her cavern. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him. His glasses, forgotten, fell to the floor as his fingers splayed across her back.

 

When they broke for air, he whispered her name, “Haruhi.”

 

“Haruhi-dorei,” she corrected.

 

He pulled back startled and looked at her, a frozen expression holding his emotions in check.

 

“Debt or no debt, I am yours. For as long as you want me.”

 

A wicked grin lit up his face - that smile that made her tingle, the smile that she hadn't seen for so long she'd forgotten that she missed it. “Is this just when we're alone?”

 

She shook her head no.

 

“Good.”