The initial reaction, Haruhi expects. Tamaki’s jaw drops to the kitchen floor and he looks personally affronted by the mere suggestion. His voice rises and splits down the middle, rattling the windows of their small apartment with a scream.
“You want to be the boy, even outside of club?” he cries in utter disbelief. When Haruhi doesn’t respond he tries another angle. This time, his eyes water dramatically when he speaks. “I thought we agreed that I’m the boyfriend.”
“You have to admit you make better bentos than me,” Haruhi says with a shrug.
The compliment mollifies him immediately. “Really?” he asks, eyes wide. “Do you think so, Haruhi?”
She resists the urge to give in to his usual baiting. “Your hard work really pays off,” she admits. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”
Despite the initial outcry he takes the shopping bags from her hands with nothing more than a sniffle. His face fills like a boiler as he combs through the first few articles of clothing over the kitchen counter. He covers his mouth with his hand and mumbles into his palm, pink all the way to the tips of his ears.
Haruhi doesn’t bother asking him to repeat himself. “I picked out a few things I thought might suit you, but if you don’t like them, I saved the receipt.”
He turns to her, eyes narrowed and voice level. “I’ll do it.”
When Tamaki disappears behind the bathroom door, Haruhi takes the time to undress from work. She slips into the sheer nightgown she knows Tamaki likes and takes a seat on the couch, waiting for him to peek sheepishly around the corner of the doorframe.
“It’s a little late to be coy,” she says flatly, toes curling into the carpet. When his slim hips swing into her sight, Haruhi swallows hard to hide her blush. “Wow,” she concedes breathlessly. “It’s even better than I imagined.”
The panties suit him as well as she expected: all lace and frill, no real substance. Haruhi can see his flaccid cock bunched behind the thin pink material. He slinks across the room like there’s nothing better than being the center of attention.
Tamaki bats his lashes. “You...you imagined it?”
Haruhi leans forward and squeezes Tamaki through his pretty underwear. He jolts at the contact, cock stretching the expensive lace. Her part-time job doesn’t pay much, but the surprise on his face is worth it.
“Of course.” Her eyes flicker to the dip in his navel and back to his face. “I bought myself something while I was out, too.”
Haruhi drags herself away and reaches into her backpack to remove the package she had delivered to the convenience store. She pops open the plastic and a black harness hangs lifelessly in her hands.
“What do you think?”
Tamaki frowns from where he’s inched onto the edge of the couch beside her. “It looks scary.”
Haruhi lets him hold it, like a puppy sniffing a strange new toy. She touches his hand to take it back and slip a vibrator into the attachment on the front. Haruhi kisses him when he stops to look at her.
“You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve put something inside you.”
Innumerable things from plugs to brush handles have brought Tamaki to the brink of orgasm, always at Haruhi’s hand. Tamaki always has been less of a king, and more of a pillow prince.
He sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “What if it hurts?”
Haruhi smiles softly. “I’ll go slow.”
Tamaki twines his fingers in hers. “And what if I don’t like it?”
“Then you’ll tell me,” Haruhi reminds him. “And we’ll stop.”
“Oh,” Tamaki says. “Right.” He slides off the arm of the couch and onto the floor in front of her. “And you promise you’ll be gentle?”
Haruhi laughs. “Have I ever been too rough with you?”
Tamaki nuzzles his forehead into her breasts, hands at the small dip in her waist. Haruhi pats his head, hair slipping through her fingers like silk. She can smell his flowery, overpriced conditioner when he presses his mouth to hers. They kiss until Tamaki is squirming on the floor, one hand inching close to his crotch.
“Can you help me put it on?”
They scrutinize the instructions and still she ends up wearing it backwards, twice, before it’s properly oriented. When it’s finally facing the right direction, they stare at it bobbing in the space between them. Tamaki touches it sheepishly with one finger and Haruhi laughs.
“Why don’t you get it ready for me?”
Tamaki blinks. “You mean…”
Her smile could convince him to do anything. “Well, I do suck yours.”
He drops gracefully to his knees in front of her; the opposite of what he’s used to. She waits patiently for him to take the lead, watching him curl his manicured fingers around it as carefully as if it were real. She can’t feel when he licks it, but she likes the face he makes with his lips stretched obscenely around the purple dildo.
“It brings out your eyes,” she tells him when he looks up at her.
The flattery feeds Tamaki’s ego, indecision flickering across his face as he reaches between his legs. His excitement is feeding into her own, and as he eagerly licks across the length, her hips twitch, cock slipping against his cheek. He sucks her off as pretty as a painting, stunning Haruhi into silence.
She’s still lost in looking at him when he asks if she’s going to put in him, now. At her assent he throws himself over the arm of the couch and wiggles his rump at her. She never asked him to keep the underwear on, but the suggestion is there, implicit because she never told him to take it off, either. Instead she pulls the fabric to one side so she can ease the nozzle of the lubricant into his rear.
Tamaki shudders, spine arched, and groans. “Haruhi,” he calls softly, with no intention of following it up.
When the plastic packet is empty she takes a moment to admire his ass in the tight panties, squeezing it while his cock leaks a wet patch onto the front. He already shaking when she plunges two fingers inside.
“You’re opening right up for me, senpai.” Haruhi curls her fingers a few times before retracting them. “But I want to see you,” she confesses.
He twists around to face her, spread out like an angel on the floral print. When he fans his eyelashes and smiles, it’s like her fast day in Ouran all over again. She stifles a noise and kisses him, sliding her tongue into his mouth and canting her hips to create friction between them.
“Okay,” she says, staring at his pink lips. “Now I’m the impatient one.”
She leans back, holding him open with two thumbs and tilting her hips until the silicone brushes his thigh. The head of the cock wobbles before Haruhi steadies it and sinks slowly inside him. Tamaki gasps, tears leaving track marks down his cheeks as she inches forward.
Tamaki always cries during sex, regardless of position or who’s doing the penetration. He carefully wraps his legs around her and hooks his ankles behind her back. Haruhi dries his cheeks with her thumbs when the toy is finally sheathed inside him. He slides a hand between their bodies to find her clit covered by the harness.
“After,” she mumbles into his mouth.
Tamaki repositions his hands at her breasts, craning to mouth along the curve of her neck. When he tugs on her nipples her hips jerk forward for several shallow thrusts. She can’t feel him tighten around the toy, so she compensates by turning it on without warning as she digs around his prostate.
Haruhi rests her forehead against him, breathing against his chest as the vibrations finally reach her clit. Each thrust knocks the buzzing base between her legs, building tension in her muscles but never quite peaking. She leans back to find a better angle; Tamaki’s eyes roll back and his legs shake when she hits the mark.
He reaches between his legs twice, until Haruhi bats his hand away and pulls his cock from the underwear.
“Go ahead,” she tells him. “You’re a big boy, you can do it.”
Dazed, Tamaki squeezes himself, two hands wrapped desperately around the cock trapped against his belly. Precum slicks his grip as strokes himself off, with Haruhi still angling each thrust until he’s seeing stars. His legs tighten around her as she struggles to keep pace, sweat trickling down her forehead as she pumps the flexible silicone inside his ass.
She watches his orgasm unfold in pieces, paying rapt attention to the way his cock jumps when he slides his hand over it. Tamaki twists his wrist with a sharp cry, blowing his load so hard the ribbons of creamy white cum reach his chin. He’s tense as a bowstring and tighter still with each consecutive thrust, eyes screwed shut while she plows him and forces the last of the semen from his twitching cock.
He whimpers until Haruhi flicks off the vibrator, skin chafed from where the harness rubbed against her inner thighs. She collapses without pulling out, chest heaving against his. When she can finally talk without gasping for air, she breaks the comfortable silence with a question.
“So, what do you think?”
Tamaki wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Well,” he mutters against her shoulder. “Maybe sometimes...sometimes I can be the girlfriend.”