Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction ❯ Tonight, They Sin ❯ Tonight, They Sin ( One-Shot )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: PaolaAdara 
It was just supposed to be a fantasy, something more desirable when out of reach...nothing more...
Anime/Manga: Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.30.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 778 | Status: Completed
It was just supposed to be a fantasy, something more desirable when out of reach...nothing more...
Anime/Manga: Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 07.30.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.5K | Visits: 778 | Status: Completed
Title: Tonight, They Sin (1/1)
Author: Paola
Disclaimer: Tonight, They Sin is based on characters and situations that belong to Bisco Hatori (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited. Beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author’s.
Warning: Yaoi. Incest (better yet, twincest)
Tonight, They Sin
Slick skin against slick skin feverish with the forbidden and the unaccepted, and they tasted the offence against what was moral, like syrup, sticky and hot and everything that should not be. But the echoes of disapproval were muffled by the moans and the groans and the names that spilled from lips rosy with desire, laced with incoherence from the burning headiness that made them careless, bolder, honest to the most brutal degree.
Whispers ghosted over pale flesh, demanding, yielding, soft, harsh, contradictions brought about by the shadow that hid what should not be seen, by the poison that settled and took over. There was no hesitance in movement, no shame in telling what he wanted, what they wanted, what the other wanted, and it was a haze that blurred the distinction, and they couldn’t distinguish where one ended and the other began, and maybe, that was how things were supposed to be, just like the ebbing pain that stilled their movements for a short heartbeat.
It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t routine, it wasn’t something they had done before. It was accidental, an answer to a question that hadn’t been thrown at either of them in the past, not by anyone and not even by themselves. It was just curiosity piqued, teasing and jesting and suggesting, and it wasn’t supposed to lead to anything else – didn’t need to lead to anything else – for even walking didn’t need to result in running, and kisses to something more. But it was there, and it was happening, and reason was beyond either of them, fleeing into the night with a gallop and a promise to return much later.
And they couldn’t stop succumbing to the provocation held by what everyone wouldn’t agree with, the beckon of sin that coaxed, enticed, dripping with a thrill that unsettled their stomachs with the wings of dark butterflies and horns and laughter of the devil himself.
And when they lay there, spent, tired, they couldn’t remember who draped over the other first, whose moonlight-bathed skin touched the other first. They didn’t care, and eyes the color of a thousand treasures buried in the depths of the Caribbean sea spoke more than words ever could, asking, wondering, explaining, a jumble of sentiments that they couldn’t make vocal because it was easier to understand them the way they knew how to communicate – touches, feathery kisses, assurances, action, reaction, weaving what was his into what was his.
Guilt.
I’m sorry.
The mirror even echoed the same voices because, just this once, the glass let them – or maybe because there wasn’t a glass to begin with – to soothe jarred senses, to cushion the blow that was coming from the return of reason, to prepare them for the ineluctable flood of emotions, tumbling one after the other.
Confusion.
Most of the treacherous adrenaline was gone, but their hearts had yet to return to beating normally, still too fast, still too frantic, still too conscious because tonight they had sinned, tonight they had become more than friends, more than brothers – they had done it, done what the others just dreamed, fantasized, and they were just too painfully aware of the step they had taken. But they needed to take a step back – society dictated that they relinquish their new positions in each other’s lives – and as gold seeped through gold, twins suffused with what one and the other really were, they became more anxious, more worried, less…reckless.
The bodies that had just thrummed with desire, inquisitiveness, possessive interests, now hummed with an uncertainty they loathed to acknowledge. And the tension was too thick, thicker than syrup, and it flowed so slowly between them that they wondered why they hadn’t drowned yet.
It was just curiosity, wondering why others thought it was beautiful, why others reacted the way they did whenever they would touch, embrace, and almost kiss. They weren’t supposed to end up skin against skin without the barrier of expensive swathes of fabric, but they had been too caught up, and before they knew it, they were knocking on hell’s door.
It was ironic. They were one before they came into the world, and now that they were one once again, it was suddenly wrong, suddenly unquestionably unaccepted, because even if their clients imagined it, swooned upon seeing their acts, they wouldn’t accept the real thing. It was just supposed to be a fantasy, something more desirable when out of reach.
But they didn’t thrive in awkward silences, unsure situations. They had always chosen circumstances they could have control in, and a look passed between both – agreement, consensus…understanding – and eventually, sensation won out, triumphed over reason, over logic, over what was right and what should be. Fingers, once more, explored territories that weren’t unknown but were gratified to be found again and again, and gasps filled the air as the traces of apologies vanished and held no more meaning. And then they were kissing, taking the other’s air like men drowned, and they couldn’t resist, couldn’t help but fall deeper into sin because it tasted good, it tasted sweet and bitter all at once, and they couldn’t get enough.
Temptation, that was what it was, and they fell.
Knowingly.
Willingly.
Slivers of moonlight bathed the room from the gap in the curtains, highlighting how one united with the other, how a gasp from one was answered by a groan by the other. Insatiable. They had always gotten rid of what wasn’t interesting, and silence and no contact were boring things, so they indulged in sounds, and feelings, and heat, and tactile sensations, and smooth, liquid motions that would be the envy of every god.
They were whole. And they were perfect. Perfectly sinful.
Perfectly imperfect.
We have to stop.
The same words, the same strain, the same desire, but they couldn’t stop meeting each other halfway, couldn’t stop giving and taking, couldn’t stop exploring new boundaries. They couldn’t stop thinking of how to take things higher, wondering where things would end…if things would end.
It was a downward spiral, and they were caught, and they were without intentions of escaping because they didn’t know better, because escaping was boring and this was not. Everything – from caresses, fleeting touches, almost kisses, insinuations, unknown seductions – boiled down to this, and in this moment of haziness, of careless abandon, everything was more lucid, everything was clearer, and they were elated. They didn’t need the opinion of others, they didn’t need the approval of anyone, they could keep it to themselves, and the gate that had once been opened was again being sealed, and they would drown in sin together because that was how things were supposed to be. Always together. Always both. Never one without the other.
Hurried kisses, heated touches, uncontrolled desires crested, and finally, calming breaths in the fading darkness as the moon said hello to the coming of the sun. Two hearts beat not the same rhythm, but a ballad that complimented the other, and through half-lidded eyes, through the mist of completeness, they grinned drowsily and contently at each other, still symmetrically beautiful, still uniquely aligned, conclusively privately appeased within the transgression they wouldn’t regret committing.
Things were always better in the morning, and what had been so grave the night before was now tempered with gentle complacency and the knowledge that they were two against one.
Hikaru and Kaoru against the world.
Because that was how things figured. That was how things were meant to be.
You’re my dearest sin…
…and my best kept secret.
-fin-
Author: Paola
Disclaimer: Tonight, They Sin is based on characters and situations that belong to Bisco Hatori (and other production affiliates that have the right of ownership). No money is being made, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Considerations: Similarities to other stories/events/passages are purely coincidental unless otherwise cited. Beliefs and points of view found in the story do not necessarily reflect those of the author’s.
Warning: Yaoi. Incest (better yet, twincest)
Tonight, They Sin
Slick skin against slick skin feverish with the forbidden and the unaccepted, and they tasted the offence against what was moral, like syrup, sticky and hot and everything that should not be. But the echoes of disapproval were muffled by the moans and the groans and the names that spilled from lips rosy with desire, laced with incoherence from the burning headiness that made them careless, bolder, honest to the most brutal degree.
Whispers ghosted over pale flesh, demanding, yielding, soft, harsh, contradictions brought about by the shadow that hid what should not be seen, by the poison that settled and took over. There was no hesitance in movement, no shame in telling what he wanted, what they wanted, what the other wanted, and it was a haze that blurred the distinction, and they couldn’t distinguish where one ended and the other began, and maybe, that was how things were supposed to be, just like the ebbing pain that stilled their movements for a short heartbeat.
It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t routine, it wasn’t something they had done before. It was accidental, an answer to a question that hadn’t been thrown at either of them in the past, not by anyone and not even by themselves. It was just curiosity piqued, teasing and jesting and suggesting, and it wasn’t supposed to lead to anything else – didn’t need to lead to anything else – for even walking didn’t need to result in running, and kisses to something more. But it was there, and it was happening, and reason was beyond either of them, fleeing into the night with a gallop and a promise to return much later.
And they couldn’t stop succumbing to the provocation held by what everyone wouldn’t agree with, the beckon of sin that coaxed, enticed, dripping with a thrill that unsettled their stomachs with the wings of dark butterflies and horns and laughter of the devil himself.
And when they lay there, spent, tired, they couldn’t remember who draped over the other first, whose moonlight-bathed skin touched the other first. They didn’t care, and eyes the color of a thousand treasures buried in the depths of the Caribbean sea spoke more than words ever could, asking, wondering, explaining, a jumble of sentiments that they couldn’t make vocal because it was easier to understand them the way they knew how to communicate – touches, feathery kisses, assurances, action, reaction, weaving what was his into what was his.
Guilt.
I’m sorry.
The mirror even echoed the same voices because, just this once, the glass let them – or maybe because there wasn’t a glass to begin with – to soothe jarred senses, to cushion the blow that was coming from the return of reason, to prepare them for the ineluctable flood of emotions, tumbling one after the other.
Confusion.
Most of the treacherous adrenaline was gone, but their hearts had yet to return to beating normally, still too fast, still too frantic, still too conscious because tonight they had sinned, tonight they had become more than friends, more than brothers – they had done it, done what the others just dreamed, fantasized, and they were just too painfully aware of the step they had taken. But they needed to take a step back – society dictated that they relinquish their new positions in each other’s lives – and as gold seeped through gold, twins suffused with what one and the other really were, they became more anxious, more worried, less…reckless.
The bodies that had just thrummed with desire, inquisitiveness, possessive interests, now hummed with an uncertainty they loathed to acknowledge. And the tension was too thick, thicker than syrup, and it flowed so slowly between them that they wondered why they hadn’t drowned yet.
It was just curiosity, wondering why others thought it was beautiful, why others reacted the way they did whenever they would touch, embrace, and almost kiss. They weren’t supposed to end up skin against skin without the barrier of expensive swathes of fabric, but they had been too caught up, and before they knew it, they were knocking on hell’s door.
It was ironic. They were one before they came into the world, and now that they were one once again, it was suddenly wrong, suddenly unquestionably unaccepted, because even if their clients imagined it, swooned upon seeing their acts, they wouldn’t accept the real thing. It was just supposed to be a fantasy, something more desirable when out of reach.
But they didn’t thrive in awkward silences, unsure situations. They had always chosen circumstances they could have control in, and a look passed between both – agreement, consensus…understanding – and eventually, sensation won out, triumphed over reason, over logic, over what was right and what should be. Fingers, once more, explored territories that weren’t unknown but were gratified to be found again and again, and gasps filled the air as the traces of apologies vanished and held no more meaning. And then they were kissing, taking the other’s air like men drowned, and they couldn’t resist, couldn’t help but fall deeper into sin because it tasted good, it tasted sweet and bitter all at once, and they couldn’t get enough.
Temptation, that was what it was, and they fell.
Knowingly.
Willingly.
Slivers of moonlight bathed the room from the gap in the curtains, highlighting how one united with the other, how a gasp from one was answered by a groan by the other. Insatiable. They had always gotten rid of what wasn’t interesting, and silence and no contact were boring things, so they indulged in sounds, and feelings, and heat, and tactile sensations, and smooth, liquid motions that would be the envy of every god.
They were whole. And they were perfect. Perfectly sinful.
Perfectly imperfect.
We have to stop.
The same words, the same strain, the same desire, but they couldn’t stop meeting each other halfway, couldn’t stop giving and taking, couldn’t stop exploring new boundaries. They couldn’t stop thinking of how to take things higher, wondering where things would end…if things would end.
It was a downward spiral, and they were caught, and they were without intentions of escaping because they didn’t know better, because escaping was boring and this was not. Everything – from caresses, fleeting touches, almost kisses, insinuations, unknown seductions – boiled down to this, and in this moment of haziness, of careless abandon, everything was more lucid, everything was clearer, and they were elated. They didn’t need the opinion of others, they didn’t need the approval of anyone, they could keep it to themselves, and the gate that had once been opened was again being sealed, and they would drown in sin together because that was how things were supposed to be. Always together. Always both. Never one without the other.
Hurried kisses, heated touches, uncontrolled desires crested, and finally, calming breaths in the fading darkness as the moon said hello to the coming of the sun. Two hearts beat not the same rhythm, but a ballad that complimented the other, and through half-lidded eyes, through the mist of completeness, they grinned drowsily and contently at each other, still symmetrically beautiful, still uniquely aligned, conclusively privately appeased within the transgression they wouldn’t regret committing.
Things were always better in the morning, and what had been so grave the night before was now tempered with gentle complacency and the knowledge that they were two against one.
Hikaru and Kaoru against the world.
Because that was how things figured. That was how things were meant to be.
You’re my dearest sin…
…and my best kept secret.
-fin-