Work Text:
No Choice
His hands felt like ice upon the cool ivory keys.
He was playing only to distract himself, to try and make sense of what had happened during the previous hour, and he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. She was taking a shower and he was blessedly alone for a few minutes, but even that didn’t seem to help much.
The base promise she’d made had been that if he agreed to marry her, he could see his mother again.
He hadn’t realized in that fleeting moment that there was a deeper promise, one that unraveled in the following minutes like sugar spinning wildly in a confectionary shop.
Her hands had felt cool against his collarbone as she whispered the first promise, initially suggested by his grandmother. But then her lips touched his throat for the second promise, skimming the bob, and he felt his breath catch painfully. He could see his mother if he married Éclair... it was a promise his grandmother had arranged... but Éclair was offering the promise on an entirely different level. Marrying Éclair would mean...
Wrong, he thought frantically, this is wrong... he couldn’t...
“If you want to play house,” she breathed, her voice a silken murmur upon his skin, “then stop pretending and immerse yourself in the real thing. I promise you, it’s a thousand times better.”
Her fingers had already opened several buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. He attempted to grab her hands and push her away – he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t! – but she was faster. His cravat became a bind around his wrists and his eyes widened in fear; she merely smiled, catlike.
“Oh, Tamaki,” she purred. Her eyes were the color of frozen sky. “It’s easier if you just learn the lesson the first time. Although we are going to do this more than once...”
He struggled, but she had already opened his trousers and was pushing them slowly, deliciously to his knees.
Haruhi... He had to remember Haruhi...
Tamaki gritted his teeth and diverted his eyes. He shouldn’t imagine doing things like this with Haruhi – she was his daughter, after all… not his lover. And Éclair... she was...
Well, she was not Haruhi.
She was so different. She was nothing like what he wanted, and yet...
Éclair had gambled on one thing he had not: raging teenaged hormones that needed desperate release from a year of pent-up desire. When her fingers expertly stroked him, drawing him out of his slacks, he became ridged and alive beneath her touch. His breath came in gasps; it was so much better than touching himself, imaging...
Haruhi
She chuckled beautifully at how easy it was to undo him and continued to stroke him, watching him writhe beneath her for a few moments. Then she released him. Her hands hadn’t felt cool while they had pumped him. It was as though the fire in his engorged sex had warmed her fingers. He needed her to touch him again, but she didn’t – not right away.
Instead, he watched, his face flushed, as she stood up beside him and allowed her gown to slither from her body. Her breasts were pert and round, nipples the color of dark roses and pebbled against the porcelain skin. Her waist was slender, dipping to the junction of her thighs. Her soft mound was shaved, completely nude, and he felt his erection throb harder.
“You’ve never done this,” she said, climbing on top of him, straddling him across the couch. It was a statement, not a question. “I’m so honored I get to be your first.” He just did catch the sneer that he was inexperienced and the delight that she was taking his virginity.
She pumped him once, drawing him straight, and eased him between her silken thighs. The tip of his erection touched the damp heat of her cunt and his hips lifted unconsciously from the velvet cushions beneath him. He was gasping her name, his clothes half-off and his body taut.
She smirked, like a cat in cream, and eased herself onto him. Her head tilted to expose her long throat, and she breathed his name like a prayer, settling herself all the way on his hardness in a slow, fluid motion. All the way down, until her derriere bushed his tight testacies and he gripped his fingers together, bound as he was, in effort to keep from coming immediately as he gasped for breath. She was heat and fire and wet silk all in one, wrapping around him, squeezing him so tightly that he could not think. All he wanted was to feel more, to experience this beautiful connection for as long as possible, and it didn’t matter that it was Éclair instead of Haruhi, it only mattered that she was guiding him on this amazing journey so he could learn what to do.
She leaned over him, brushing the pale, platinum hair of his pubis, and he whined for her. She laughed mockingly as she continued, her fingers flirting up his abs and over his sensitive, tight nipples before she drove herself back on him. He thrashed beneath her, needing more, needing to be unbound so he could feel her body with his fingers in return.
She did not give him what he wanted immediately. Seconds later, he came so hard that he filled her, dribbling from her womb and down her thighs, onto his stomach. He heard her sigh longingly. She did not remove herself, though. As he became limp beneath her, his mind blank except for the feeling of ecstasy, she remained on top of him and waited, keeping his soft member tight inside her, her legs pinched together to prevent him from slipping out of her.
The wait was not long. He was hard again within minutes. He didn’t know how he could get hard again so fast, but this time, she sat up, unbound his hands, and they rolled off the couch together onto the floor. She pushed the rest of his clothes off and he kicked his shoes and trousers off. Now, fully nude and with her under him, he could finally kiss her and touch her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, those beautiful, long legs that gripped him as tightly as her slick passage. He drove into her harshly, needing release again, needing to escape his emotions and feelings and all of the weight that seemed to settle on his shoulders. He was sick of it – sick of keeping things inside, sick of hiding his real emotions and feelings, sick of being the leader.
Her lips were soft and full. He kissed her wetly, their tongues tangled together. His hands gripped her breasts, rubbing hard circles into her nipples, then moving to grip her hips and pull her flush to him to feel that soft, shaven mound against his stomach as he pulled back and stabbed again. Then he had to brace himself against the floor to continue the rhythm. It was hard and fast, desperate. She threw her head back and he assaulted her slim throat, his lips skimming her body, tasting her, not caring that she wasn’t Haruhi because he had no idea sex could be so incredible, because he wanted to forget his grandmother and father and how he had made everyone’s lives so difficult the past year.
She came during their second time. She froze beneath him, crying his name out in a high, choked way that made him stiffen above her. Her passage coiled around him so hard that he could not draw back and he came again, his fingers curling painfully into the carpet beside her head and into her hip. He collapsed on top of her, utterly oblivious to taking care of her as he normally would have done.
And now she was in the shower. He had showered first – or rather, she helped him shower, and then sent him out of the bathroom so she could be by herself. Which was why he was playing the piano. As a distraction. Only... it wasn’t working well.
What the hell had he done?
He grit his teeth and kept playing; he had no choice in the matter. His grandmother’s word was law, and he was desperate to see his mother again.
His cell phone rang, and he turned, but Éclair was there before he could even pick it up. She looked at the number and dropped it in the fish tank.
No choice, he thought. He had no choices at all.