The piano sings out, and dust motes dance. The tangle of fingers commanding the sound flies across its zebra backdrop of keys almost carelessly, enviously.

Kyoya sighs-perhaps with a catch in his breath?-and pokes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Final notes of a dramatic, tense melody tightrope-walk across the air, reverberating throughout the room. Kyoya settles himself on a streamlined sofa diagonal to the instrument.

"Impressive as always, Suou."

Tamaki smiles from behind the piano. "Thanks for letting me play."

"Help yourself anytime." Kyoya means it more for his own benefit than for Tamaki's. He is amazed at the power the music has over him, fascinated by it, can't help but explore the reason for the twitch in his lips and the stinging wet of his eyes. He has not so much forgotten his composure as shelved it temporarily, just to gain understanding.

Or so he tells himself.

Tamaki joins Kyoya on the sofa. The trees tickle the stomach of the setting sun; its laughter drenches the room in a color like a blood orange. Tamaki's hair and eyes catch the hue, chuckling along.

Looking at Tamaki in that light, Kyoya feels a wobble of sorts. A flinty bit of something sparks against his brain, jolting him through with...with what?

"Tamaki."

"Yes?"

Kyoya realizes he has nothing to say. He sits fumbling over words in his head, looking for a sentence to conceal the fact that, in that moment, he merely wished to taste the other boy's name in his mouth.

Tamaki sits blissfully unaware beside him, politely anticipating whatever sentence Kyoya would concoct.

Kyoya's need to be eloquent chafes against the novel emotion within him and fractures his stoicism. He dips his head, masking his face in the pitch of his hair, unable to withstand Tamaki's look of expectation.

Suddenly he feels a lift at the edge of his scalp. Tamaki is brushing his hair away, coaxing it back behind his ears. Kyoya grasps Tamaki's slender wrist, still unable to meet the gaze he knows would sear through him.

"What is it, Kyoya?"

Kyoya's eyes snap up to Tamaki's automatically at the question, a fatal error. The amethyst irises which greet him are alive with perception, with that same spark.

The spark Kyoya can now name as his face draws nearer, as if by inevitable magnetic force, to Tamaki's.

Pale, shapely hands quickly find broad shoulders. Tamaki's lips are warmed by a vehement scarlet blush as Kyoya's own lips close over them. Kyoya revels in the sensation of it; the warmth, the sculpted fingers balling his shirt into fists, pulling the fabric tight.

Tamaki gives soft moans against Kyoya's mouth and Kyoya shudders internally with fluttering adrenaline. His heart beats staccato in his chest as his hand slips under Tamaki's shirt and around to spread across his back.

Their faces pause, molecules away from each other. Tamaki's mouth wobbles into a shy smile.

How Tamaki stays constantly ahead of his own thoughts is beyond Kyoya. It's an eerie talent that reads Kyoya like an open book. Tamaki liberated him, saw his pain and relieved him from it in words Kyoya could never see.

You're the one that's given up.

Always he discovers Kyoya's burdens. Always he brings them forth and makes them lighter. He finishes sentences Kyoya doesn't even start.

Kyoya is amazed at the talent, fascinated by it. He kisses the boy again, shelving his composure temporarily, just to gain understanding.

Or so he tells himself, with wavering conviction.

~~~End

A/N: God I love Ouran. Especially these two. I felt fluffy today, so here it is. Ouran is not my creation, only the stuff of my fantasies. Again, reviews welcome. Cheers and a good day.