Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2019957.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Ouran_High_School_Host_Club_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Hitachiin_Hikaru/Hitachiin_Kaoru
  Character:
      Hitachiin_Kaoru, Hitachiin_Hikaru
  Additional Tags:
      Post-Anime, Reconciliation_Sex, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn
      Without_Plot, Sibling_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-12 Words: 3633
****** Aloud ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Then Kaoru opens his eyes, and blinks the silhouette in the doorway
     into focus, and his regret evaporates as he pushes himself upright in
     bed. 'Hikaru?'" Kaoru has just started to get used to sleeping alone
     when Hikaru upsets his new routine.
Kaoru is almost asleep when the bedroom door opens.
It takes him longer to manage sleep, now, when the other side of the bed is
cold and empty more often than not; he has to stretch out across the mattress,
warm up the entirety of the sheets with his own body heat, and then wait for
exhaustion to creep up until it overrides the uncomfortable sense of being off-
balance, of missing a piece that has only ever been casually present before. At
least when he’s asleep he can forget, except for the lingering sense of anxiety
that permeates his dreams, and when he wakes he can sometimes go minutes, now,
without realizing what’s missing. He looks forward to that, usually, the slide
into unconsciousness, and in the first moment of its loss there’s a pang of
regret -- it’ll take him at least a half hour to get that back, if at all.
Then he opens his eyes, and blinks the silhouette in the doorway into focus,
and his regret evaporates as he pushes himself upright in bed. “Hikaru?”
“Kaoru.” Hikaru’s voice is soft, in deference to the hour probably, but he
sounds wrong, something beyond just exhaustion staining the familiar pitch of
his voice. “Can I come in?”
That’s wrong too. Hikaru never asks, or never asked before, before Kaoru became
aware of the edges between them, the gaps between their selves that he can’t
quite bridge on his own. But that was before, and this is now, when their bed
has become Kaoru’s bed, and in that context maybe it makes sense for Hikaru to
ask permission to come in.
It doesn’t change the answer, though. “Of course,” and Kaoru shifts over before
he thinks, the habit of years of orienting to Hikaru too strong to overcome
with a few months of novelty. He catches himself a moment later, momentarily
wonders if he should move back -- but Hikaru has shut the door behind him
already, is moving across the room and fitting himself back into that space as
if he never left. There’s no hesitation in the arm that comes around Kaoru’s
shoulders, stepping over the odd gap weeks in the making like it was never
there, never really existed at all except in Kaoru’s mind. And Kaoru doesn’t go
stiff with shock, doesn’t panic or pull away in surprise; there’s no time for
studied responses, just the instant rush of relief like the now-constant chill
of loneliness is melting away instantly under Hikaru’s touch. He tips in
automatically, leans in against his twin’s shoulder and it’s the same as it
always has been, it fits in against his collarbone so he can press his forehead
against Hikaru’s neck, fit his nose into the dip at Hikaru’s throat, breathe a
deep inhale of Hikaru’s skin into his chilled lungs.
Kaoru’s not sure which of them starts to lean back first; it happens so
smoothly it could be either, or both, acting in the easy synchronization more
nostalgic than immediately familiar. But the memory of it is deep in his bones,
pulsing through his blood like skin is a poor attempt to keep them separate,
and when Hikaru twists in to wrap his arm around Kaoru’s waist Kaoru is
reaching out too, fitting his fingers against the dip at Hikaru’s spine and
letting his breathing drop into the same pattern as his twin’s.
There’s a moment of perfect silence, the nighttime finally giving up the peace
Kaoru couldn’t chase down on his own. His breathing comes easy, the rhythm
borrowed from Hikaru more unconscious than his own alone; his eyes drift shut,
his limbs relax, and when he sighs all the accumulated tension of solitude
dissipates with the breath. In the quiet of his head, the stillness in his
body, the catch in Hikaru’s breathing is unmistakable; not audible, not even
felt as much as echoed, resonating off Kaoru’s own throat and sticking in his
chest in a clear sign of the other boy’s lingering tension. After a minute it
starts to catch his body too, just a faint tremble in the tips of his fingers
and a tingle of worry against his spine, and Kaoru keeps his eyes shut and
waits.
They don’t usually speak -- they don’t usually need words, just between them -
- but that telltale strain gives ample warning, and instinct tells Kaoru not to
interrupt, even when he knows what Hikaru is going to say. So he waits, and
breathes in Hikaru’s borrowed stress, and by the time the other boy starts to
speak Kaoru is ready with a response, speaking nearly before his twin finishes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be.” Kaoru’s eyes are still shut -- it’s too dark to see
clearly, for one thing, and for another he doesn’t need to see Hikaru’s face
when he can hear every catch on his tongue and every shiver in his breathing.
He thinks for a minute Hikaru’s going to keep talking, try to wrap words about
the meaning Kaoru doesn’t need to hear aloud. But then Hikaru sighs, and the
faint edge of nerves in his shoulders relaxes into true comfort, and Kaoru
smiles and tips his head up so he can press the curve of his lips in against
the other’s bare skin.
Kaoru’s not sure how long they stay there. He’d drift into sleep, except that
he can tell Hikaru’s not heading towards unconsciousness, and he’d rather be
awake while he feels all the rough discomfort in his mind smooth out, reach out
and resettle in against the mirror-familiarity of Hikaru’s own. The heat
radiating off the other boy’s skin catches on Kaoru’s, gains warmth and
reflects back until all the chill of the room is gone, until Kaoru is sure the
two of them have filled every corner of the too-large space with the warmth
between them. His mouth is still against Hikaru’s skin, and what was comfort
originally is just beginning to form into something more, take on the shape and
outline of intention. Then Hikaru shifts, moves his leg up to hook deliberately
around Kaoru’s hip, and Kaoru rolls back as Hikaru tips in to press him down
into the sheets, the weight of his twin against him flushing his skin hot even
before Hikaru murmurs, “Kaoru,” into his hair, like he’s asking and suggesting
and apologizing all at the same time.
Kaoru doesn’t need to speak. But he likes the way his name sounds on Hikaru’s
tongue, weighted with soft vowels and gentleness, and he likes the bite of
Hikaru’s name on his own, the edges and quick tumble of the syllables in his
throat. So he parts his lips against Hikaru’s shoulder, lets the other boy’s
name spill out into the curve of his twin’s collarbone, and he can feel the way
Hikaru shivers at the vibration, the way he pushes himself in against Kaoru’s
hip with the smooth motion born of of instinct and habit together.
Neither of them says anything else. Hikaru’s mouth brushes against Kaoru’s
forehead, hard enough that the other boy can feel the push of his twin’s teeth
behind his lips, and when Kaoru slides his lips apart so he can touch the tip
of his tongue to Hikaru’s skin the shudder of the other boy scrapes the promise
of sensation over his hairline. Hikaru’s fingers catch Kaoru’s hair, push the
strands back from the other boy’s forehead while Kaoru traces up the pattern of
Hikaru’s spine, sets his hand against Hikaru’s shoulder so he can feel the
motion of the other boy’s body as he shifts his weight, fits himself in better
against Kaoru’s hips and shoulders and arms.
There’s not a clear line they step over, or if there is their slide over it is
too smooth and too mutual for Kaoru to pick it out. It seems perfectly
reasonable to him that Hikaru should let his weight settle in against the other
boy, free his hand to edge his fingers down past the waistband of Kaoru’s
pajama pants, to carry the heat of his touch down under his clothes as well as
across his bare skin. And the movement up Hikaru’s throat is just as easy, a
smooth unthinking slide of lips across shoulder, neck, jawline, until Kaoru can
fit his mouth in against Hikaru’s so when they breathe in together he can feel
the pull of air over his lips. He doesn’t know if he opens his mouth first, or
if it’s Hikaru, or if it’s together, seamlessly synchronized until such
distinctions are pointless. It doesn’t matter; Kaoru can taste the next breath
Hikaru takes, can slide his tongue past his twin’s lips to press against the
roof of Hikaru’s mouth, lick against the edge of the other boy’s lips, catch
slick friction off Hikaru’s tongue, and for a moment he forgets to be separate.
There’s no point, not when the push of the hand at his hip is aligning with the
texture of skin under his fingertips, when he’s arching up as Hikaru grinds
down, when he isn’t sure whether to cry in relief or laugh in delight and can’t
manage to do either, can’t do anything but push himself in closer,
closer, closer.
Kaoru knows where Hikaru’s fingers are going even before the other boy lets his
hold against Kaoru’s hip go, before he manages to relax his half-desperate hold
enough to draw his fingertips sideways over his twin’s hip. He slides his leg
up higher between Hikaru’s, braces his foot against the bed to offer more
resistance for the push of the other boy’s hips, and Hikaru hums in
satisfaction against his lips, grinds down against Kaoru’s leg as his fingers
find the shape of Kaoru’s cock in the dark, curl gentle around him, and Kaoru’s
gasping even before Hikaru has started to stroke over him. It’s been too long,
just enough that he can distinguish the differences in Hikaru’s hold compared
to his own, just long enough that the variance shoots fire into his veins and
draws his arms tight around Hikaru’s waist so he can arch up into the other
boy’s touch.
Hikaru makes a sound that Kaoru can’t identify for the interruption of his own
mouth; it might be his name, it might just be a groan, it might be both at
once. It persuades him to let his hold go, enough that he can flatten his palm
against Hikaru’s stomach, slide his fingers down inside the other boy’s boxers
to offer the friction of his hand rather than his leg. That does get a moan, a
shuddering gasp that breaks Hikaru away from Kaoru’s mouth, leaves him catching
air from the other boy’s lips when he takes an inhale.
“Kaoru,” he says again, more deliberately this time, and there’s decision in
his voice, a request that he knows will be granted.
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Kaoru’s blood is rippling under his
skin, washing in waves up over his chest and into his cheeks until he’d be
flushed pink were there enough light to see by, and every new ripple of heat
brings intention with it as if Hikaru is the one directing the motion.
“The drawer,” Kaoru says by way of minimal direction. Hikaru lets him go,
slides his hand free so he can shift sideways and stretch for the table
alongside the bed, but his hand in Kaoru’s hair lingers, draws into the edge of
a fist like he’s holding the other boy in place, making sure he stays where he
is until Hikaru comes back. Kaoru leans into the touch, shuts his eyes against
the barely-seen movement of Hikaru’s pale skin in the darkness around them, and
navigates the edges of Hikaru’s clothing by touch as he slides the other boy’s
boxers off his hips. Hikaru’s coming back over him as he gets the clothing
free, shifting his weight to slide his legs free and dig his length in against
Kaoru’s leg, and Kaoru is reaching for the bottle he knows Hikaru will hand him
before the other boy even says anything.
Hikaru’s lips touch against Kaoru’s mouth, his teeth catching at the other
boy’s lower lip, and Kaoru lets him pull gentle pressure against his mouth
without resisting, lets the tightness in the back of his throat come out of his
mouth in a faint whimpered moan. When Hikaru’s fingers touch against his waist
Kaoru arches his hips up off the bed so the other boy can push his pajama pants
off to join the tangle of blankets and clothing at the foot of the bed. He’s
just coming back, close enough that his skin catches on Kaoru’s as he moves,
when Kaoru gets the bottle open and reaches out to close his fingers on
Hikaru’s wrist to hold his palm palm-up to catch the slippery lube.
He can hear how fast Hikaru is breathing, can feel how hard the other boy is
against him; their hips are slotted together, Kaoru’s length is pressed in
against Hikaru’s thigh and Hikaru’s cock is digging in against his stomach, and
there’s a part of him that just wants to stay like this, matched together in
echo of each other. It’s not most of him, though, and when Hikaru pulls away to
come up on his knees Kaoru doesn’t complain, even with how chill the air is in
comparison to the radiant heat of the other boy’s skin. Hikaru shifts in and
Kaoru moves out, tips his legs apart and lifts his hips so Hikaru can run his
fingers down against his thigh, tracing out shivering reaction before slippery
fingers touch against Kaoru’s entrance. Hikaru doesn’t hesitate, at least not
that Kaoru notices; there’s a moment of contact, just enough for Kaoru’s skin
to flash instantly hot in anticipation, and then Hikaru is easing two fingers
into him at once, gentle and slow and at just the right angle. Kaoru sighs,
lets all the air out of his lungs and all the tension out of his limbs, and
Hikaru’s fingers slide in deeper, still slow but sending flashes of sensation
sparking up Kaoru’s spine like his fingers are electrified.
“Kaoru.” Hikaru is drawing his name long, now, the sounds as slow on his tongue
as the press of his fingers is. There’s no question in the sound, worry absent
with any hesitation in Hikaru’s movements; it’s been weeks, months, Kaoru’s
been trying to not count but it’s been too long. But Hikaru remembers how to do
this, or maybe he’s just borrowing the information straight from Kaoru’s mind,
from the shivers under his skin and the faint whine in the back of his throat;
when he slides his hand back he sets his hand in against Kaoru’s leg, braces
the other boy in place in telltale expectation so Kaoru’s not even surprised
when Hikaru tips his hand up at just the right angle, and thrusts in with just
the right pace, and lights up Kaoru’s vision with a white burst of sensation.
Kaoru’s throat draws tight, turns his exhale into a moan so soft it would be
lost if Hikaru weren’t so quiet and so close. But he is close, and he is quiet,
and Kaoru can just make out his huffed laugh of responsive delight before
Hikaru’s fingers slide back, and forward again, and Kaoru’s sense of his
surroundings starts to disintegrate. It doesn’t matter where they are, it
doesn’t matter how late it is or how long it’s been or even what Hikaru is
doing, exactly; all that matters is the rush of sensation rippling up from the
touch of the other boy’s fingers, the bone-deep relief at Hikaru touching him
again.
Kaoru’s lost in the inrushing warmth, his awareness focused on the tingle in
his fingertips and the dull ache of want in his cock, when Hikaru drags his
fingers free, pushing hard enough as he does so that it pulls another shivering
whimper from Kaoru’s throat, another burst of white-hot sensation over his
skin. He’s still trembling with the fading aftershocks when Hikaru shifts his
weight forward, reaches out to settle his elbow in over Kaoru’s shoulder so he
can curl his fingers back into the other boy’s hair.
He doesn’t ask if Kaoru is ready. Kaoru doesn’t expect him to, really; it’s
perfectly evident, even to someone not Hikaru, how fast Kaoru’s breathing, how
superheated his skin is. But he doesn’t expect what Hikaru does, which is reach
down with his free hand to wrap his fingers around Kaoru’s length, stroke
slowly up over him with still-slippery fingers. The friction makes Kaoru jerk,
the movement makes him gasp, and Hikaru laughs, his mouth so close to Kaoru’s
ear that the sound is like thunder. Usually -- before, Kaoru corrects, this is
now and not then, anymore -- Hikaru wouldn’t think of touching him until after
he fit their bodies together, until he could feel Kaoru’s first shiver of
reaction as directly as he could manage. Kaoru never minded waiting -- if he
had minded they would have done it differently, after all -- but this has a
strange luxurious edge to it, like Hikaru is savoring just his pleasure instead
of the two of them together.
It’s touching, in a way, to have Hikaru thinking of him instead of them,
exciting and thrilling in its novelty as well as the raw physical satisfaction
of the fingers sliding over him. But it’s uncomfortable, too, Kaoru’s not used
to being on this side alone, not used to being so sharply aware of the distance
between them.
“Hikaru,” he says, the sharp sounds pulling taut and desperate in his throat,
and Hikaru laughs again, turns his head to kiss Kaoru’s cheek, and comes
forward in one smooth thrust, trusting to their joint instinct to fit their
bodies together.
Whatever else has changed, that certainly hasn’t. Kaoru’s body makes way for
Hikaru’s instantly, without any conscious effort on his part at all in spite of
that fact that Hikaru’s cock is bigger than his fingers, that it’s been a while
since Kaoru had anything to work with but his own hands. When he sinks into the
bed the shift in angle draws his body tight and hyper-aware of the feel of
Hikaru inside him, the pulse of sensation that runs through Hikaru’s length as
much as stutters in the breath he sighs into Kaoru’s hair. The sound Hikaru
makes isn’t a name, and it’s not quite a sigh; it’s like the edge of a sob,
drenched with the same relief that is lighting up Kaoru’s vision with illusory
glow.
They fall into a rhythm immediately, before Hikaru even starts to really move.
Kaoru inhales, and Hikaru exhales, and when Hikaru draws back Kaoru arches up
in expectation of his forward movement, and Hikaru’s fingers slip over Kaoru
with the gentle pressure Kaoru likes best. Kaoru’s fingers curl around the back
of Hikaru’s neck, lace into the softness of his hairline, and when Hikaru
kisses Kaoru’s cheek the other boy turns in, lines their mouths up for a
momentary press of lips before Hikaru thrusts forward and they both lose their
breath and focus together. Kaoru doesn’t know if it was always like this, if
he’s only hypersensitive due to his temporary loss, but his thoughts are coming
apart, fracturing and remaking themselves until they line up with the pieces of
Hikaru’s, until he is certain if they both opened their mouths to speak they
would have one voice, one thought, one body entirely. He can feel his skin
flushing hot, or maybe that’s Hikaru’s under his fingers, or both together;
he’s drawing his legs up, hooking them around Hikaru’s waist to pull the other
boy in closer, but Hikaru’s coming down, too, lowering his body until his skin
is dragging over Kaoru’s with every motion of his hips.
Kaoru can feel the edge coming for him in the friction on him and in him, and
he can hear it creeping into Hikaru’s breathing, turning every inhale into a
gasp and every exhale into a moan. His fingers are going desperate but so are
Hikaru’s, the other boy’s grip on him is pulling tighter as he moves, and when
Kaoru takes a choking inhale of expectation Hikaru’s throat resonates it into
stereo. He’s not sure if he says Hikaru’s name or his own, in the end, if
Hikaru wailed soft vowels or hard consonants into his shoulder. In the crash of
heat that swamps him the sounds come together, the syllables interlace into
poetry hanging in the air over them as they shudder into orgasm together.
Even as the first incoherency of pleasure fades neither of them move. Kaoru
blinks at the ceiling, idly counting the infinities of constants he can trace
with his fingertips. Hikaru’s shoulder still fits against Kaoru’s neck just
like it used to, Kaoru’s fingers still barely span the curve of Hikaru’s
shoulder. Hikaru’s mouth presses exactly into the fall of hair over Kaoru’s
ear, Kaoru’s leg lies heavy over Hikaru’s hip. He’s still tallying these, still
waiting for the shell-shocked heat to shift into the warm glow of satisfaction,
when Hikaru lets him go, curls his sticky fingers against Kaoru’s arm like he’s
pinning him in place.
“I want to sleep with you again,” he says, fast, like Kaoru didn’t know that,
like this didn’t more than speak for him. “Here. In our room.”
Still, it’s not a difficult request to answer. “Good,” Kaoru says. “I want you
to too.”
Hikaru sighs, like the words are somehow more important than the fingers at his
neck, the touch tracing over his spine. Kaoru blinks at the ceiling, and as the
haze of comfort washes over him, he starts to smile.
Even if he knows, it’s nice to hear it out loud sometimes, too.
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