Worth It

An Ouran High School Host Club Original Fanfic

Summary: And there's nothing about this whole ordeal that is anything more than completely stupid… but when it comes right down to it, she's the only one who's ever been worth the effort at all.

Disclaimer/Author's Note: Hey, it's Electrical Angel, finally back to writing, this time with an Ouran fic. I just want to say that I absolutely love these two together and wish so much that they had been canon, please don't throw rocks at me! For the lawyers, characters aren't mine.

There has to be something that makes him come back again and again.

They're both breathing heavily when the two of them stumble through the door to his bedroom, the moonlight from the large bay window cascading in pools over the luxurious interior and reflecting on their faces as he pushes her against the door frame, kissing her harshly as her fingers come up to tangle in his hair.

Hastily, clumsily, his hands fumble with the buttons on her shirt as hers set to work on his tie, and he pushes the open door closed with his foot. And although there isn't much going through Kyoya's mind at the moment, there's one burning thought in his head when his shirt is discarded on the floor, and her skirt is pooling around her ankles.

It's happening again.

Trailing a line of kisses down her neck, licking here, biting there, stopping once to catch her earlobe between his teeth, he pushes her against the wall, feeling her heart beating in her chest as he presses himself against her, reaching behind her in one swift motion to unhook her bra. Leaning up to capture her lips in one last kiss, she sighs against his mouth.

So stupid.

Kyoya often wonders how this came to be – this hopeless dance with the Fujioka girl. After all, Kyoya is a man of intelligence, a man of business – and it isn't that she isn't a good lay, that he doesn't want this – but it's this damn stupidity, these needless actions, that have him worried. He has the Host Club for this, he has his family for this – he has other things he could be wasting his time on.

So fucking stupid.

So why…why is this happening again?

The adrenaline is rushing in his ears as he pushes her down onto the bed, climbing on top of her and straddling her waist, fingers gripping the sheets on either side of her face, running his tongue along the shell of her ear in that way he knows she likes.

How many times has this happened now? Twenty times? Thirty times? More?

Kyoya doesn't know, but there's something about the way Haruhi trembles against him, the way she arches her back when she's close, the way she looks him directly in the eyes without any ounce of hesitation when she leans in over dinner and says, let's do it now, Kyoya – there's something about all of this that's something of an illegal drug to him, and so it wouldn't surprise him if this was to be a crime he ends up committing a hundred times over.

And as a man of business, Kyoya is positive that he's committed enough crimes to know how this ends.

Trailing kisses down her neck and chest, he finally captures the nipple of one small breast between his teeth, teasing the other gently with his hand. Haruhi says nothing, but he can see the way her hands clutch and grasp at the sheets, the way her fingers tremble. It's always been like this. Sometimes it frightens Kyoya that he knows every step of how this will play out – but usually he doesn't think about it.

Usually.

"Y'know, Kyoya," she says through gritted teeth as he nips at her, "for someone who usually doesn't do anything if it isn't for your own benefit, you do seem to waste a lot of time on foreplay."

"Hn," he grunts irritably, and kisses her again roughly, bruising, biting. She struggles under him, but his hands are like shackles around her wrists. "And for someone with a debt to pay, you seem to forget who you're dealing with."

"That's debatable." Kiss.

"Or true." Kiss again.

She doesn't reply; instead takes his face in his hands and kisses him harder, as if that action alone can erase this stain – unwind this terrible web they've weaved. Even she isn't so naïve as to believe that this is right, that this is anything – because this isn't love, this isn't anything. This is just a cheap way of trying to recreate it, trying to convince themselves that there's more than this.

But there isn't.

Somehow, she manages to flip him so that she's the one straddling him, and his head falls back against the pillows as the room spins above him. He doesn't know what's real and what isn't anymore – all he can feel is her hands all over him, and his burning erection pressing against her thigh.

She kisses him once more, and Kyoya closes his eyes quickly, only to open them again when he's suddenly wrought by the sudden unmistakable but ever-familiar feeling of her hands on him, stroking him through his jeans – teasing him, in that subtle way that often makes him wonder if this is even real at all.

But he knows it is, because when he has to push her back down again so he doesn't come on her hand, her eyes, innocent and blinking, are the first thing he can't seem to wrap his head around.

To Kyoya, that's always the most wrong thing about this whole ordeal – it's not the red stain they've created, not the unmistakable sin – not the fact that Haruhi and Tamaki are practically a married couple already – no. None of that.

It's the fact that when he looks at her – at the brown waves of her hair, the dark irises of her eyes, the curve of her body under his – the word beautiful comes to mind.

He hates that more than anything else. Because there are too many beautiful women in the world; women who are wealthy and important and classy, women his family would approve of, women his father wouldn't hang him for being associated with.

Which is why it's so damn stupid, the fact that the only one Kyoya wants is the very one he'd never wanted to want less in his life.

"How short of a visit do you want to make this, I wonder?" he muses, hovering over her, their noses almost touching for all the space in between the two of them. He can see his reflection in her eyelids, and notices that up until now, he'd forgotten he even wore glasses. How odd.

"Your choice," she says with a careless shrug, looking away. "I'm only here for one purpose, Senpai. It's not my job to waste time."

"That's not really for you to decide, is it?" His face is expressionless as he slowly slides off her panties, waiting as she helps him with his jeans. "You're the one in my debt, Haruhi."

But that's not entirely true, is it? Because Kyoya never does anything unless it's beneficial to him – if all he had wanted was a good lay, couldn't he have gotten it from one of the girls who frequented the host club, or one of the ladies who attended his family's high-class parties? If he had wanted cheap sex, couldn't he have gotten it for free?

Kyoya never does anything unless it will serve him, and serve him well – and the Otori family always gets what it wants. So why is Kyoya even with her now? For the debt? Because surely, surely this commoner isn't worth eighty thousand dollars in cheap sex.

That's not it, and Kyoya knows it.

"Can you at least tell me why?" she asks, not so much as blinking when he slides a long, thin finger into her; not wincing at the second or third.

They've done this too many times for that – the two of them are bound by this, and each knows each other better than they know themselves, at least as far as the bedroom goes, and maybe even a little farther than that.

"Why what?"

"C'mon, Senpai." She smiles – and when he looks at her, Kyoya isn't surprised to see tears shimmering in her brown eyes, tears that won't fall. "I think by now I've repaid my debt to you a thousand times over."

His fingers curl inside of her, and her fingers fist themselves in the covers once again, her jaw clenched because the two of them know she won't make a sound. She never does.

"It…" he removes his hand slowly, his motions slow and deliberate as his other reaches up to caress her face, causing her to shiver, but not from the cold. "It was never about the debt, Haruhi."

And with that, he pushes himself in.

It's almost impossible to describe what it's like, each time the two of them have sex. Kyoya finds himself constantly surprised by just how electrifying it is – when he's with Haruhi, it's as if his skin is burning where he touches her, every touch in itself like fire, their kisses nothing but lips and teeth and tongue as they rock back and forth, as he slides in and out.

It's the same every time, but then again, it isn't – this is the time when he fucks her the same way, in the same place, at the same time – but it's also the way she moves her hips, the way she grits her teeth to stop herself from saying his name, the way his hand always finds hers and intertwines their fingers.

It's times like this when he knows that in all actuality, Haruhi is worth every penny.

Afterward – when he's lying on top of her, the two of them completely and utterly spent, the only noises in the room the occasional rustle of sheets and their quiet breathing – afterward, it's always a little surreal, and this time is no different. But for some reason, this time, when he leans down and kisses her, she looks up and blinks, startled.

"What was that for?"

"Um," he says intelligently, his brain a little fogged from the sex. "Thanks, I guess?"

"No problem," she smirks tiredly, gazing back at him. "You weren't that bad yourself."

She slides out of bed, and he watches her as she gets dressed, leaning on his hand, memorizing the way she is now, standing here, for those times when she's not.

Hi, you're beautiful.

"Well," she says a few moments later, shifting on her feet, "I guess I should go."

He mumbles a goodbye, and she turns to go – and in that moment, he's suddenly struck with memory.

Haruhi smiling, Haruhi laughing. Haruhi afraid, Haruhi crying. Haruhi breaking the vase – Haruhi's face during a thunderstorm, hiding from the rain. Haruhi smiling, face confident – I believe in you, Kyoya-senpai. Just now, Haruhi under him, his hand tangled helplessly in hers.

Inside, Kyoya is less intelligent, less put-together – he's rash, and volatile, and a complete idiot. He's good at putting on an act, at being superior, but it can never be who he is every second of the day – which is why his mouth chooses now, of all times, to blurt out the stupidest thing he's ever thought.

"Hey, Haruhi," he says, and she turns around, surprised, "do you want to go to dinner with me?"

There's a deafening silence. And then she smiles.

"Yeah." She exhales slowly, looking down at the floor. "Yeah, I'd like that."

She leaves after that, and Kyoya lets her. And although there are a thousand bad things that could come of this, there is only one thing he can think when he hears the door click in the room next to his, the room she's sharing with Hikaru and Kaoru for the night.

Despite sin, despite humiliation – despite everything –

Haruhi has been, and will continue to be, totally and completely worth it.

Thanks for reading, and be sure to drop me a review!

-Electrical Angel