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A Helping Hand (birthday fic 2 of 2)

Horrible title because I'm mature.

title A Helping Hand
word count: 1,001
Fandom: Ouran Host Club
Notes: I've owed you this fic for like, ever so yea. worst birthday present ever, I'm sorry hun.

Kyoya snaps his little black book shut with a smile. “Then this meeting is adjourned. You’re all free to go.”

There is much yawning and stretching and discussion of what to do with the precious afternoon free-time they have left when Kyoya turns to Haruhi. “Make sure you lock up before you leave.” He passes her the keys to the music room, heedless of the sudden hush that has fallen around them.

“Hey, what gives?” whines Kaoru. “Are you trying to make Haruhi your slave, Kyoya-senpai?”

Kyoya gives him a flat glare. “Nothing of the sort. Haruhi has asked to borrow the music room for studying purposes; it seems her home is not quite a suitable environment.”

There is a reflective pause as all the boys consider the unfortunate lives of commoners.

“That’s enough you guys,” Haruhi mumbles, pointedly ignoring Tamaki’s cooing of “my unfortunate daughter, to be born into such inhospitable circumstances!”

“No worries, Haruhi! We’ll get M’lord Pest out of your hair!” chirps Hikaru.

“Yea!” says Hunny. “You gotta keep your grades up so we can keep you, Haru-chan!” They both grab a leg and all but drag Tamaki out of the room, leaving behind his echoing screams of “DADDY CAN MAKE IT BETTER!”

They’ve almost reached the drive when Tamaki realizes he’s left his bag.

Hikaru stares at him suspiciously. “This isn’t a ploy to disturb Haruhi, is it?”

“No!” wails Tamaki. “You brutes pulled me away so quickly, I wasn’t given a chance to gather my things!”

“Maybe we should go with him?” suggests Kaoru, sharing his brother’s distrust.

“Then Haruhi will definitely think we’re up to something, do you want us all to get yelled at?” hisses Tamaki. “No, just let me go by myself, I’ll be back in a jiffy, scout’s honor.”

“But you’re not a scout,” mumbles Hikaru, too late. Tamaki is already halfway back down the hall. “Oh well, guess there’s nothing for it. Let Haruhi chew M’lord out on his own.”


Tamaki cracks the door open and pops his head through. ‘Haruhi,” he sings, “I promise this isn’t on purpose, but I left my bag here.”

There’s no response. In fact, the main area of the music room is completely deserted. Tamaki can see his bag, right on the lounger where he left it.

ight nearby is Haruhi’s homework she’s supposed to be working on.

Struck with the sudden fear that some ill-fate has fallen his beloved daughter (kidnapped!? Has she injured herself and is too hurt to call out for help?! Have we left her to bleed to death!?) Tamaki throws himself into a frantic search, too breathless to even call out for her.

He does find her.

She’s in the little curtained off back room, the one they use as a dressing room. Tamaki is so over-come with joy that at first, he doesn’t even realize what he’s seeing.

Then it sinks in.

Haruhi is seated on the floor, her back against the wall, pants pulled down around her ankles. She’s biting at her bottom lip, face flushed, and one hand is buried in the space between her thighs. There’s a rhythmic motion to the way she moves that hand and something stirs inside of Tamaki.

She cracks open an eye and notices him. “Senpai,” she breathes. “If you’re going to stand there you might as well be useful.”

Tamaki’s legs move before his brain has fully acknowledged the demand. “Of course,” he says, switching over to auto-pilot. He sheds his jacket as he goes, rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. “What…what do you need me to do?”

Now Haruhi manages to look embarrassed, now when he’s kneeled in front of her, near enough to see the slick moisture of her sex. “I can’t quite reach,” she mumbles. “Press your fingers in here?”

He does, curling his two fingers inside of her, surprised by the sheer heat of her. She makes a little noise, shifts her weight and Tamaki tries a few experimental pumps of his hand, the way he saw her doing from across the room.

“Ow, no. Senpai, stop. This isn’t working.” Haruhi pushes at his shoulder, makes him sit back flat on his bottom and she crawls into his lap.

“Here, like this,” she shows him how and where to position his fingers, how to move in and out of her. Haruhi leans against his chest with a content sigh, one hand drifting down to rub at the little knot of flesh at her entrance; her hand occasionally bumping against his as he pushes inside of her and his brain skates away from exactly what is happening.

It’s a long minute and then something changes. Tamaki can feel Haruhi tightening up around his fingers, her own hand taking on a frantic pace; with just a quiet “ah!” and a small shudder that runs through her body, the whole situation seems to be over.

Haruhi wiggles back into her slacks, pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and wipes first her hand, and then Tamaki’s clean. “Thanks again for the assist,” she says. “It was being so troublesome today.” She pauses to take in the painful bulge at the front of his pants. “Ah, I guess I sort of owe you, huh?”

Tamaki’s brain goes from auto-pilot to complete black out mode when Haruhi takes his length in her hand. It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time, practically one-two-three firm strokes, and he was shuddering into her palm.

She made a face at the mess, wiping it off on the kerchief before disposing of it in the trash. “Boys are so messy,” she mumbles to herself.

“C’mon Senpai, I have to lock up!”

Tamaki manages to shove himself back into place and not get anything important caught in the zipper. “W-what do we tell the others?” he stammers, trying to sort out his feelings about the afternoon’s event.

Haruhi looks up at him, expression completely guileless. “That you gave me a hand with my studies, of course!”


Jan. 7th, 2013 07:27 am (UTC)
“That you gave me a hand with my studies, of course!”

Brilliant! ♥
Jan. 7th, 2013 10:29 am (UTC)
oh god you guys stop reading this!

because haruhi. she is blunt to a fault and this is why she gets away with things like this

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