Ouran High School Host Club Fan Fiction ❯ Rubbing The Lamp ❯ Ch 9b Haruhi Dances ( Chapter 15 )

Disclaimer: Ouran Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori. I make no profit off this story. If Bisco Hatori-san wishes, I will remove this from the web upon her personal request.

 

This chapter was written as a response to the week 45 Makin' Lemonaide challenge theme: “Use lyrics from your fave song as inspiration for a story. The story does not have to be a full blown song fic. Simply quote the lyrics (a line or several lines) in the intro and remember to credit the artist.” Okay, so it's not my favorite song. I don't have a single favorite. But I have been listening to it a lot recently…

 

 

Chapter 9b

 

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through the panic `til I'm gathered safely in

Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove

Dance me to the end of love

 

Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone

Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon

Show me slowly what I only know the limits of

Dance me to the end of love

 

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on

Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long

We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above

Dance me to the end of love

 

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born

Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn

Raise a tent of shelter now tho every thread is torn

Dance me to the end of love

 

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through the panic til I'm gathered safely in

Touch me with your naked hand, touch me with your glove

Dance me to the end of love

 

(Madeleine Peyroux, Dance Me To The End Of Love)

 

 

There are so many phrases, idioms that don't make any sense until you experience them first hand.

 

Swept off one's feet. `Ah, so this is what that means,' she thought briefly before his eyes captured her fully again.

 

They'd tried to teach her to dance for the Christmas dance. Unfortunately, they were trying to teach her how to lead. Even with the extra help from their china-loving customer, leading in dance just didn't make sense. She'd come out of it thinking that she must just have two left feet.

 

She didn't feel that way now.

 

Not with Kyoya's hand on the center-back of her waist, the fingers of his other hand gently holding her hand. He guided her with gentle pressure and release. She wasn't looking at her feet, her eyes were held captive by the depths in his own. The lenses of his glasses only magnified the intensity there.

 

Captive. That word wasn't quite right. She was trapped; there was no escape. But why would she look for escape? What could possibly be of enough interest to pull her away.

 

His body maintained a proper distance, but she could feel his heat caressing her. The silky material of her dress swayed over her skin, heightening her awareness of it. For the first time in her life, she was conscious of her clothing. Because underneath it was her skin, barely cloaked in this slip of a dress. It was such a fine line, him touching her on her hip, the fabric preventing her from feeling his fingers as keenly as she could now imagine.

 

Their feet moved in time with the music. Who was moving her feet like that anyway? Who took away the gravity? Why were they floating?

 

Her breath caught as he spun her out, and again as he spun her back into his firm embrace.

 

How long had they been dancing? The music had changed several times - starting slow, and then there was something fast. Since then, she'd lost track. They'd stopped a couple times to sit and watch some others dancing while they sipped Perrier and caught their breath.

 

During one fast dance that Kyoya had called… something about an insect on too much caffeine or something… he'd tossed her into the air and then caught her. She'd been too surprised to even react. Who taught him how to dance like this? And he ended the dance laughing. Kyoya. Laughing as he pulled her off for another rest.

 

Who exactly had switched realities with her? Had she been sucked into an alternate universe? They didn't really talk much. The music was too loud for them to hear each other anyway. But he never let go of her hand when they were off the floor.

 

A few minutes later, it was a slow, sensuous fox trot. His fingers traced down her arms, her sides, as he guided her through the steps. His gaze never faltered. Even when they spun, she felt attached to him, her eyes to his. The end of the dance, he dipped her slowly, his face hovering above hers.

 

His breath ghosted over her skin, a trace of cinnamon or some other spice in the scent it left behind. The air of the room was so cool in contrast.

 

They always called him cold. It wasn't accurate at all.

 

His breath warmed her lips. Unthinking, she opened her mouth, as if she wanted to taste the cinnamon, as if she wanted to let it in. His lips moved closer.

 

And then, he pulled her up from the dip and embraced her tightly. One hand cradled her head into the nook formed by his neck and shoulder. She could feel his breath heating her hair now, hear him inhale deeply.

 

It was only a few seconds. Her arms had just wrapped around his back when he pulled from her.

 

Ah. This was more familiar. He smiled his most calculating smile and thanked her for the lovely evening, told her he should probably see she got home.

 

Why did his cold smile hurt so much? And what was it she was seeing in his eyes just then? They didn't match, his eyes and smile, and it didn't make sense.

 

Still, he held her hand the whole way to her house, only releasing it to carry the bag containing her school uniform to her door for her.

 

She thanked him for dinner and he waved it away with one hand. Then she promised she'd return the dress to him at school tomorrow. But he responded, “Keep it. It suits you.”

 

Why did that make her heart beat faster?

 

Taking her hand again, he bent over it, and kissed it. That was a move that would have seemed more Tamaki than Kyoya, except his lips were so soft on her skin and left a mark of fire where they touched.

 

“Thank you for fulfilling my wish, Haruhi,” he whispered to her softly. But she could read his eyes. She knew she hadn't filled his wish yet. She nodded and entered her house, not wanting to see him leave.

 

If only she knew what his wish really was.

 

This evening had been different than she'd imagined. He'd trusted her to speak in front of his father. He'd been playful with her. He'd laughed and been carefree. And for a while, he'd seemed happier than she'd ever seen him.

 

Had anyone else, ever, seen him like that?

 

Part of her hoped so, but another small part hoped not.

 

What a weird night. Unconsciously, she'd brought the hand he'd kissed up to her mouth, her lips resting against it lightly.

 

Somehow, she knew that tonight's dreams would be about wishes and dancing and cinnamon.

 

That was okay, though. She liked cinnamon.

 

 

 

 

Secondary Disclaimer: All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age. While that might seem unlikely - as three of the characters are only sophomores in high school, I figure it this way: if Bisco Hatori-san can ignore the students graduating for two years in a row and keep everyone in the same grade, I can then apply that logic to their ages. Therefore, Haruhi, Kaoru and Hikaru are just 18. Kyoya and Tamaki are about to turn 19. Mori is about to turn 20, and Huni already is 20. (Therefore, according to Japanese figuring, Huni is the only adult. :P )