Hello people. This is my first shot at writing a fanfic, so please excuse any mistakes. As you could see from the summary, this is mainly a Rob/Rae story, so don't say you weren't given a fair warning. I'd love to hear any comments you have on my story, so please don't forget to review and let me know what you think (good or bad). Also, though I've already mentioned this in my profile, I would like to let everyone know that I prefer constructive criticism, meaning you don't need to curse at me to get your point across. Anyway, on with the story, and I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimers: I don't own the Teen Titan characters, Batman, or any other character that sounds familiar. Or "Bad Boy" by Cascada. I DO happen to own this story's plot and any characters I decide to create.
"Be My Bad Boy"
By Serena Noble
Remember the feelings, remember the day
My stone heart was breaking
My love ran away
This moment I knew I would be someone else
My love turned around and I fell You once made this promise Be my bad boy, be my man Won't you be my bad boy, be my man
Be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you in my life again
Won't you be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you again
No I don't need you again
To stay by my side
But after some time you just pushed me aside
You never thought that a girl could be strong
Now I'll show you how to go on
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you in my life again
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you again
No I don't need you again
Chapter 1
I met him on the weekend, Friday night actually, at one of those Gotham City dance clubs. I was attending a national literature competition with my group from Jump City High school. A couple of the girls had heard about a new dance club that opened up and everyone decided to go, etc, etc. Once we got to the club, I seriously regretted my choice to give in and go. The guys were leering at the girls; the girls were showing themselves off to their full potential, practically begging the guys to notice them. It was disgusting. Why, oh why hadn't I just stayed behind and read my book like I had originally planned?
I stood off in one of the corners as I watched the people around me, feeling exposed in the outfit my cousin had picked out: a black mini skirt, a blood-red-and-black halter top, and strapy red stilettos. My straight black hair (which I had recently streaked purple) hung loose, just brushing my shoulders. I blinked and fussed as some of the glitter decorating my eye-lids and lashes fell into my eyes. My cousin had picked the ensemble to try and make me seem less cold toward guys. I nearly chuckled to myself before glaring at yet another one of the males in the club who was idiotic enough to direct his leering gaze toward me.
All at once I felt another gaze fall upon me and my head jerked up. I scanned the crowd quickly before my gaze fell on the guilty party. He was your typical bad-boy: tall, dark, rugged, and dangerous. And attracting looks from almost every girl in the room. Even some of the girls that would claim to be happily taken gazed at him hungrily. Though I tried, really tried, to ignore his aura of pure male appeal, it was impossible. Me: the Ice Queen, the girl who every guy seemed to want only because of my body, because of my looks, was actually fighting an attraction to a guy. It usually came so easily to me, ignoring guys that other girls found irresistible, but there was something about him… something that made me want to take a chance, to do something completely stupid and reckless. So I gave in. I gave in and did the one thing I promised myself that I'd never do: I used my appeal to get a guy.
Making my way toward him, I let go of my hold on myself, I almost felt the pheromones seeping out of me, beckoning to every male in the room. My gaze stayed locked with his, even as I turned my body in order to minimize contact with the pulsing people on the dance floor. Finally reaching him, I merely stared, allowing my gaze to roam over his body. I barely held back a shiver. I didn't say a word to him, just looked into his dark eyes. The room was dim enough that I couldn't even tell what color his eyes were, just that they were dark, and I was falling into them.
I tilted my head to the side a bit, still saying nothing. He kept silent as well, returning my gaze. I raised my eye brows, he mimicked my expression. Finally giving up on trying to out-stare him, I shrugged, and lifted my hand. His gaze flickered as my fingertips whispered over his cheek, trailing down to his chin, then over his neck, down his chest, and ending on his hard abdomen. I let my fingers lay there a moment before lifting them up to my lips, kissing the tips, and blowing a kiss in his direction. I turned on my toes and started walking away.
As I was still turning, I felt a hand wrap around my upper arm. I turned and look up into the dark eyes of my Bad Boy. "Richard—Dick" I held back another shiver as his voice moved over my skin, tingling. "…You?" I hesitated only a moment before answering. "Rachelle." My voice came out sounding odd, as if I couldn't catch my breath. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice, so I did my best to forget about it. "Want a drink?" I shook my head; then nodded. I really needed something to wet my suddenly dry mouth. When we got to the bar, I just ordered water. He gave me a weird look but I returned it with one of my own, daring him to ask the question that I could already see in his eyes.
I don't drink alcohol. It's not because I'm under-aged, I could care less about useless laws like that; I just don't like the taste. Even more, I dislike what it does to me: it makes me weak and vulnerable. I got drunk once, when I was about ten years old. I was dizzy, I couldn't move without wanting to wrench, and I was scared. My mother always told me that my imagination was over-active, I just didn't understand how much until that day. Every time I closed my eyes, I would see someone coming toward me, wanting to hurt me. I was hysterical by the time my mother found me. Since then, I haven't touched alcohol.
Bad Boy—Dick—was staring at me when I came out of my trance. He seemed to know that I was somewhere else, but he didn't push it. I took a breath and arched a brow at him. He sipped his beer, his slender fingers hooked loosely around the neck of the bottle. His body continued to call to mine; causing a slow throb to begin in my stomach. As he drank, we continued to stare at each other. I gently took the beer out of his hands, placed it on the bar, and took his hand. A new song was just starting as we stepped onto the dance floor. The beat was fast and thumping, seeming to magnify the throb in my stomach. I turned from him, and we danced. I don't know how long we danced, or to how many songs, but I do know that it was the first time I enjoyed dancing with a guy.
It happened toward the end of the night, then we were dancing to one of those slow R&B songs about love and loss. My arms were linked behind his neck and his hands were placed firmly on my hips, holding me to him as we grinded to the slow beat. Though they didn't roam over my ass, his hands weren't still, and I suppressed a shiver for the thousandth time that night as he slowly drummed his fingers in time with the music. I cocked my head, looking into his mysteriously dark eyes, the heat that had been there since I first felt him looking at me seemed to leap and my breath caught in my throat. In one move, his mouth was against mine, hard and hot.
My first instinct was to pull away and run, but the throb that I had been experiencing was suddenly urgent. I felt heat spread through me, devouring me, and I gave in to the kiss. My arms tightened around his neck; his fingers dug into my hips and the kiss deepened. We kissed for what seemed like forever, our tempo changing with each new song. All too soon, I felt panic rise up within me, and I pulled away, panting. His eyes had a glazed look, my own were still half-closed. I couldn't help my tongue from running across my lips, savoring the taste of him, as I pulled away from him. He looked at me, and I looked away, not wanting to see what he was trying to tell me through his eyes. When I looked back up, I made sure my gaze was cool and impersonal. His eyes were shuttered.
I stepped back, widening the space between us. The spell that he has woven since I first saw him was wearing off, and I knew it was time for Cinderella to go home. And fast. I turned from him, struggling not to show my nerves. The club was almost empty, so it wasn't difficult to find my group. Making my way toward them, I was glad to see that at least one of them, Jake I think his name was, was sober enough not to need help out. Between me, two of the bouncers and Jake, we helped our intoxicated comrades out of the club and into the car. Thankfully, I had gotten my license last fall, so I was able to drive us all back to the hotel.
As I held one of the girl's hair back while she emptied the contents of her stomach, and helped her into bed, my mind kept going back to Dick, my Bad Boy. I mentally kicked myself as I caught myself calling him mine. Now that I was away from him, I was scared of what had happened between us at the club. The pull between us all night had been so strong, it had been like drug. And I was already addicted.
He had been aware of her since she first entered the club, had watched her as she stood with her friends, yet apart from them at the same time. She was dressed similarly to every other girl in the room, yet she kept an aloof distance from everyone. Her bearing was almost regal, but she emitted an aura of pure sensuality, darkness, and something else that he could not quite understand. It must have been the darkness that attracted him so, for he had been capable of fighting off sensuality many times before. Or, just maybe, it was that mysterious vibe that he was getting. Either way, he knew he needed her. He watched as she glared at every man looking her way, grinned in wicked satisfaction whenever she sent one packing. He knew when she first became aware of his gaze. She looked up, her eyes startled. He saw when she found him, her dark eyes meeting his eyes, causing the air between them to sizzle.
When she began to move toward him, he had almost grinned. As she neared him, her aura seemed to be made up solely of female sensuality. He stared at her, unable to speak, not wanting to attempt it. When her fingers had grazed his cheeks, he nearly closed his eyes in ecstasy. As she trailed those same fingers down his face, over his neck, and down to his abdomen, he fought back a growl deep in his throat. He began a mental berating of himself when her fingertips rested on his stomach. He had never before lost control over himself, especially never over a girl. He was always the one in control, he pushed the buttons. He was the pursed, never the pursuer.
Opening his eyes again, he saw she was turning away. He lost the internal battle and grabbed her arm, struggling to keep his grip gentle. She looked back at him and one word slipped through his lips. She hesitated a moment; his heart stopped. When she gave her name, he allowed himself to enjoy the huskiness of her voice. As they drank at the bar, he was surprised to find she only ordered water. He wanted to question her, but saw the dare in her eyes, and decided against it. When they danced, he reveled in the feel of her against him; enjoying the feel of his hands on her hips. And when they kissed… A shudder ran down his spine at the memory.
Her lips had been so tempting, like the forbidden fruit. As his lips first touched hers, he felt her stiffen, and found himself praying she didn't pull away. When she kissed back, he found she didn't kiss with experience so much as she kissed with her emotions. He was left reeling from the kiss as she suddenly pulled back. Her eyes were confused, and scared. Questions were running through his head, but before he could ask, she looked away. He worked quickly to mask his own confusion and, to his surprise, hurt, before she looked back. Her eyes were impersonal, but still so seductive. He tried once again to speak, but she was already leaving.
He had followed her out of the club, almost walked up and killed the guy who hugged and kissed her before she got into her car and drove off with one of her drunken friends. It had taken some money, but he had been able to bribe a taxi driver to follow the girl, Rachelle, to her apartment building. He knew better than to follow her inside, but at least he knew where she lived.
He lay in his bed, grinning. He didn't have a lot of time, but he was going to find out who she was, and then… he paused and chuckled a bit. Well, he wasn't too sure what he was going to do. His foster father, Bruce Wayne, might have been good at teaching him how to hook a woman, but Bruce wasn't the best role-model when it came to learning what you were actually supposed to do after you caught the prize. Dick's smile faded as he thought. Did he even want to keep the girl after he had her? Shrugging he decided that he'd figure that out when the time came. Until then, he anticipated a very entertaining game of cat-and-mouse.
Well, there's the first chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading it. The second chapter should be up in no more than one month, but in case it's not, sorry in advance. Please review!
