Been a while… :) Some inappropriate content probably, watch out!

As luck would have it, Honey and Haruhi were to be centered couple of the show. Renge and Kyoya had insured this with justifications swinging between pure desire to see the couple and the cold, hard facts of analysis. Apparently, Kyoya had been taking bimonthly surveys on all the clients, documenting this information, and manipulating it to the Host Club's benefit. On the poll following Honey's thug-like role in Renge's Host Film, seventy-six percent of the girls declared a profound desire for a reshowing of said role and on the poll (which was taken just twelve days ago) following that, eighty percent stated that the cutest Host Club couple would be Mitsukuni Haninozuka and Haruhi Fujioka.

When all the members discovered this secret assessment of their clients and their performances as members, there was some apparent discord struck up between Kyoya and the members. Naturally, Kyoya paid it no heed as he considered it a requirement which maintained the upstanding quality and the longevity of the Host Club; however, Tamaki went more along with the words 'mommy's betrayal' and Haruhi finally articulated her long-cemented, veritable thought: Kyoya was the Shadow King. His reasoning was satisfied with the idea that the surveys were genuine and enlightening outside of the Host Club's members' knowledge. Had they known, they would have undoubtedly ensured their standings in the eyes of the true brains behind the operation and worked against the very flaws which made them so desirable.

With these polls, Kyoya strategically seated each member beside each other or forced them to have minor interactions as a means of fueling the girls' desires. By maintaining tiny unknowing interactions between the month's 'cutest couple,' the girls would remain at a temperature just high enough for satisfaction but just low enough to leave them wanting more. Kyoya's hypothesis of the Honey-Haruhi borne relationship was that her job as the Host Club's errand boy/girl had provided interactions enough that the girls constructed an ideal fantasy of some hidden romance. Haruhi's natural tendency to mother Honey on his eating habits and Honey-senpai's countering actions only fueled the fire. Renge's video had only lured this thought from the subconscious mind to the conscious one and developed it into a firm belief that something was occurring between the two.

Haruhi's reaction to it was that it was foolish nonsense – something to be expected of the frivolous, untroubled females of Ouran High School; however, Honey, silently, agreed. In fact, that had been his very plan all along.

It wasn't until the short role play had been filmed that he had even instigated some sexual relationship between them. With the way he was powered over her, how innocent she looked, how the idea of doing anything he wanted to her existed, he logically experienced an attraction to the sole female of the club. The allure of tainting such innocence was too great. And that hug – oh, God – he would do that hug again.

Haruhi may not have known it, but he was in it for the satisfaction of nuzzling his face into that barely-there chest of hers. It was too easy to ignore! From that first taste on, he had triggered subconscious encouragements for them to be together. Whether it was wrapping his legs around her waist, jumping on her hard enough that they would collide on top of each other, or just plainly devouring a succulent piece of cake before her, he was always hard at work. Constantly, he prompted her to think thoughts very out of her realm of existence.

It was quite nearly like conditioning her to become a sexual deviant. It took time, but at last, he thought she was practically ready. The girls noticed it enough to conduct the surveys which Honey and Mori had long been informed about, so it could only prove that she was thinking the same.

"What was my line again?" Honey-senpai suddenly inquired, catapulting the group into another serious deviation from practicing their parts.

"We have lines?" One twin asked frantically.

"I didn't get a script!"

"Why are you two so irresponsible? Obviously we have a script, you two simply lost yours," Tamaki exclaimed. "Well then, I will assume the twins' roles, knowing now that they can't perform!" Swiveling around to face his Haruhi, Tamaki clasped her hands in his and brought them between each other's faces, "My princess, I'm sorry you had to see Daddy like that. I'll replace those silly twins for you!" Throwing his arms around the apathetic female, Tamaki nuzzled his face against the top of her head. "Don't worry, I'll be your husband and his evil twin! You don't have to worry about anything, my precious little girl!"

Sighing, Haruhi pinched Tamaki's arms, earning the space she desired from him with his recoil from the pain. "Tamaki…"

"Hey, we didn't lose anything, senpai," Hikaru shouted at Tamaki.

"Yeah, we just didn't get it!"

Kyoya decided it was time to inform them, once again, about the show. "Apparently none of you remember our conversation yesterday?" Upon receiving no response, the Shadow King took it as his cue to proceed. "What we are performing is an informal role play. Instead of memorizing a script, it has been decided that each character will possess a personality and a backstory, thereby allowing the involvement of our clients while also interacting with each other enough to create a faux play – as Tamaki would say it."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Haruhi asserted, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "It's either a play or it's not, you can't just make this up."

"Why, of course it does!" the Frenchman declared, fist clenched before his face. "My princess, why must you see everything in black and white? By acting without a script, we our improvising, which shouldn't be so difficult. Just think about it, Haruhi! We get to show the world the true love of a father and daughter."

The twins stepping between the overenthusiastic male and the undoubtedly indifferent female stated, "I don't know what kind of father and daughter have that relationship."

"Yeah, senpai. That's kind of weird."

Honey observed the trio of males fight over their females. When would they all realize that they had feelings for her? He brushed it off of his mind immediately. It didn't matter when it happened, as long as Honey got what he wanted from her first. "So we're just making this up as we go along?"

"Exactly," replied the dark-haired male.

"Then why are we here," questioned the twins in predictable unison.

Rising from the ground like an annoying fangirl out of Hell, Renge chortled as she ascended, pinky pointed towards the corner of her mouth as her shoulders rolled comically with her laugh. "Gentlemen, I thought I taught you better!"

The trio exhaled a confused "Huh?"

"In faux plays, there must be expert character analysis, perfect backstories, the magnificent ensemble of tragic characters and elegant, unchangeable circumstances!"

Hikaru raised a brow, "But what does that have anything to do with us?"

"Because," she interrupted, voice high and chiding, "you have to know your character!"

"Yes," Kyoya said as he scribbled down whatever in his little black book, "I invited Renge to provide her professional opinion on each of your characters. After all, role plays and character types are her field of expertise."

Cheeks burning a shade of pink, the manager proceeded after mumbling a thank you to her singular desire of the world. Though she would never again admit it, she still had a very strong thing for the Shadow King. Haruhi was only a half-assed illusion which satisfied five out of the seven club members. After Renge described the elaborate backgrounds of each character (Kyoya: Haruhi's vengeful brother, Mori: Haruhi's guard, Hikaru: the cruel husband of Haruhi, Kaoru: the evil twin attempting to steal Hikaru's throne, Honey: Haruhi's secret lover, Tamaki: Honey's charming brother), she obliged them all to attempt to act in those personalities.

Understandably, Haruhi was the most difficult one to work with – Renge stayed till nearly six p.m. whipping her into shape – but eventually each member of the Host Club was able to passably perform their roles. Tamaki was best at it, Hikaru not far behind with portraying his jealousy and anger, but each acted with a grace that equated them to angels. It was beginning to appear as though it may not be such a sham, after all. Each member remarked on it proudly, anxious for tomorrow.

After she thought they had all left, Haruhi pondered the idea of it: performing like that before an audience. It didn't seem so bad. She wasn't exactly against it, so maybe she could discover a new talent of hers. Nonetheless, it better pay off. If she had to stay this late to be good at it, she should do well tomorrow. As she unbuttoned the undergarments of her 'in-creation' costume, she gazed out the window.

Already, the sun was practically set from the sky. She heaved a sigh. There would be no time for studying. In fact, she didn't even think that there would be time for her to make dinner. Though she knew her father wouldn't mind greatly, she felt a pang of sadness. Would it be take out tonight? As her mind roamed to home and what could be done for dinner, Haruhi neglected her surroundings, completely oblivious to the click of the door in the changing room. Normally, she would rush to get dressed – God knows how many times she'd been caught half-naked in this school – but not having heard the entrance of her senpai, Haruhi persisted to unbutton the long row at her side. Absentmindedly, she fingered the buttons till they came undone, slowly removing the thin fabric.

Understanding the situation literally unfolding on the other side of the curtains, Mitsukuni loomed just behind the curtain. She couldn't see his feet, he'd made sure of that when he stepped out of the view of the mirror, but he could see her. Like a fierce predator, Honey was invisible – seen only when he desired and acting on pure – primitive – whim.

He was tensed for this moment: the moment when he'd catch a glimpse of her flesh or begun to actually put his plan into action. Honey was determined to have her perceive him as a man – not the occasionally gratifying Lolita boy role.

Observing her from a nearly nonexistent gap between the curtain and the wall, Mitsukuni opted to focus on the girl undressing before him. Unlike others time – because he had regarded her scantily clad on other occasions – she was taking her time. The medieval costume was providing an evident amount of difficulty for her, the thin buttons along her side dipping to a space which her hands could not reach.

For a second, an absurd thought crossed Honey's mind: a what-if inquiry, which evolved into a short-lived daydream of utter fantasy. A dream where he would offer assistance and she would, without shock of his arrival, accept and then proceed into a passionate period of fierce sex with him. Though he could imagine the actions – her flesh bending against his flesh, the cool mirror against his skin, his warm flesh against her skin – he couldn't realistically consent to that as a remote possibility. She was too sexually dim – a challenge. Something he liked. Something he would accept.

Finally the buttons popped. The outfit glided off of her flesh. It rolled smoothly off her skin, the silk lacing beneath the actual cover a thin, smooth material which warranted all the lust it evoked from Honey-senpai. Her sigh of relief only caused the pressure in his groin to intensify. If he shut his eyes, he could just imagine her beneath him with that sound. Soon enough it would be a reality, so closing his eyes was out of the question. Regardless, the sight before him was too marvelous to ignore.

She was completely naked.

He'd never seen her in this state before. She was always too boring, too proper, too set apart from the overwhelming sexual aspect of surviving a day panty-less. Of course, he could at least comprehend why she didn't have on a bra. Possibilities ranging from her lack of a requirement to dirty laundry could excuse that. But underwear? Perhaps the costume supplied underwear or simply did not permit it. With Renge aiding Haruhi in clothing herself earlier, it was too risky for even the most skilled of predators to avoid being caught. And Honey would not have his hard work sacrificed over a screw-up.

Fortunately, for Honey, this sight made up for his earlier loss. Her breasts – miniature and round – were unblemished, smooth and pale, her nipples like blossoming pink flowers floating on milky water. Her stomach – long and flat – was adorned by the silky fair skin that Honey so desperately desired to lick and nip and suck until it was marked by his hickeys and several scattered, playful bruises. Her ass – perhaps the most enticing of all body parts – faced him, round and charming behind her, so fleshy that it made every other part of her incomparable. Ordinarily, this feature was of no more appeal than any other female part; however, for the plain fact that hers was her only defining feature as a woman, Honey-senpai was so much more enticed by the idea of curling his hands behind her waist and digging his fingers into those mounds.

Like many others things, he would ensure that those actions were completed in their time together. There would be multiple guaranteed sessions, in which he could exercise all of his well-developed – borderline obsessive – fantasies. For now, he would plot and plan those times. Where and when he would have her.

In spite of all his planning, there was one feature Honey willfully ignored. There would be no planning for those moments. Whatever actions concerning that most intimate region would be guided by sheer instinct – whatever primitive urge would strike him as they fucked each other.

"Mitsukuni," a voice called, approaching steadily towards the changing room.

Paranoid, Haruhi spun around, hurriedly seizing her uniform from the wall to avoid a severely awkward encounter which, unbeknownst to her, had already occurred.

"Fuck," he hissed as he shot to the door and opened it uncaring of whether or not Haruhi heard.

"Get out! I'm changing," she hollered preemptively.

"It's me, Haru-chan," Honey offered in an attempt to placate her. "I just wanted to tell you goodbye!" He shut the door before she could respond. He thought he had told Mori to go home. Damn him for interrupting.

"Mitsukuni."

"I thought I told you to go home, Takashi." The club room was vacant by this hour. In fact, a majority of the school was unoccupied – an occasion reserved for truly late hours as most staff members and students lingered afterschool for social events or club activities. He understood that and meant to have Haruhi to himself, but this damn Takashi.

After presenting a stern expression to Mitsukuni, Mori sighed heavily – almost knowledgably – as though he was going to have to reveal the fact that he knew hard work was ahead of him.

Honey tensed.

"You should go home."

Returning Mori's patient gaze with an intensified, antagonistic one, Honey procrastinated in his response. He didn't want to be harsh towards his best friend and cousin, but his own anxiety on the situation had produced an overwhelming amount of passion and animosity towards his usual confidante. "You should mind your own business, Takashi."

"Mitsukuni –"

"I know what I'm doing. I'm not a child." Honey was being unreasonable – he was well aware of that. In fact, Mori was probably one of the very few people who regarded him with absolute gravity. But he was treating him – mentoring him – like he was a child. Of all things, he didn't need a conscience teaching 'self-discipline' right now.

"Mitsukuni, she's your friend. Don't use her." Honey faltered at his response

Dwelling on the thought, Mitsukuni did not provide a response for at least ten seconds. With scrambling thoughts, he attempted to move away from his manipulation of his fellow host. It wasn't really manipulation if he thought about it in technical terms: she wanted what he wanted, so why not work together on achieving that desire? But…was it right to do what she wanted when he had made her want it in the first place? Suddenly the vision of her came into his mind. Her naked and longing – all of those dreams in addition to his own awareness of what she looked like in real life, not just his imaginings.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and directed his line of sight to the floor. "Go home, Takashi." His cousin pressed his lips into a thin line. "I'll meet you there."

After a moment's hesitation, the loyal companion wordlessly pivoted on his heel and exited the room. Honey knew what he was doing: trying to instill some guilt by his own faith in Honey. But no one knew how much he wanted her. He desired her so much that it hurt. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

Every action she made, every breath she took reminded him of her potential – what she could be and what she had been (at least in his dreams). It was unbearable, like he had a volcano slowly erupting beneath his flesh and if he didn't just move – just kill – that desire, it would burn at him forever. No. He needed her. Now.

Takashi would have no say in that.

It wasn't but for another thirty seconds that Honey waited for Haruhi. He'd almost grown suspicious that she had heard something she shouldn't have, but when she emerged from behind those doors as oblivious as usual, his prey couldn't have been more relieving.

"Uh, Honey-senpai? What are you doing here?"

Smiling warmly despite the anxious chill beneath his skin, Honey replied, "I waited for you Haru-chan."

She quirked a brow. "Why did you wait for me?"

"It's late and I couldn't let you walk home alone."

"I've done it before."

"But not around me."

"Where's Mori-senpai?"

Mitsukuni was getting a little frustrated. He understood the time it would take to acclimate her to the fire currently blazing inside of him, but if he could just fast forward through that preheating phase, he would have in a heartbeat. "Takashi had to be at the dojo."

She adjusted her necktie just a little. "Hn. I think this is the first time I haven't seen you two together."

"We aren't together a lot, Haru-chan."

"Yeah, I guess." An awkward silence filled the air.

Honey did his best to transition to the topic he had been aiming for from the start, "So are you excited for the play tomorrow, Haru-chan?"

"Mm," she pondered on the thought, gazing up at the ceiling. "I guess. It can't be that different from the musical I was in at Lobelia's."

Honey's mind ventured in a flash to the memories of her in that play. Though her makeup was plastered on in layers as colorful and pasty as the layers of his cake, the general appearance of Haruhi was one of the first moments that Honey began to imagine spending his nights with her. Artificial curves supplied through a well-fitted dress and beautiful locks of hair supplementing her own tragically discarded strands allowed him to visualize her as more than a host member but a woman. The makeup on her eyes, cheeks, and lips were nuisances, but – if applied correctly – they could be the invitation he necessitated to desire her. One he, eventually, would not deny.

"But this one will be different, Haruhi," Honey boyishly grinned, faking excitement to keep her from suspecting the ill-intentions festering in his mind.

Apparently the statement garnered her attention as she glanced down at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "How so, Honey-senpai?"

"Because you will be in a play with Usa-chan and I," he beamed, hoisting up his friend to Haruhi's face and delighting in the flush with naturally flooded her cheeks. Haruhi smiled. "Do you want to practice some with us before we leave, Haru-chan?"

Though he had posed a question – one which Haruhi was inclined to politely deny – Honey refused to permit a response, snatching up a milky hand – one he had plans with for later – and zipping over to the mock stage in their not-so-little music room prepared for the play.

Haruhi weakly protested as Honey released her from his grip to settle Usa-chan as an audience member to what might become an inappropriate for all ages show. "Honey-senpai… I don't think I have enough ti-"

Deliberately glancing with tear-glazed eyes over his shoulder at Haruhi, Usa-chan slanted with an incriminating expression at the young female, Honey sniffled, "Do you not want to be in the play with Usa-chan and I, Haruhi-chan?"

Upon gazing into the glassy eyes of the stuffed bunny who, as time passed, had become more and more of the final persuasive influence in many of Haruhi's reluctant decisions, she faltered and shoveled the mound of studying she already must undertake to a later hour. "Why not, Honey-senpai," she uttered, smiling half-heartedly as he beamed in enthusiasm. As he leapt around the room, discarding his school jacket, and shifting the settings minutely to match his imaginings, Haruhi clutched at her growling stomach. She was hungry.

"Haruhi," Honey sang as he waved her over to a chair beside him, a mischievous grin in his eyes as he disheveled his hair and rolled up his sleeves.

She quirked a brow at him, meandering over to the indicated position, feeling somewhat like a dog following command until Honey finished his preparations and Haruhi blurted, "Woah, Honey-senpai, I don't think I've ever seen you look so…cool." Her eyes wandered over his finalized appearance as he scowled at her and she eagerly sought reparations, frantically waving her hands before her as sweat beaded on her brow. "No! No! That's not what I meant, senpai! It's just you're more into character than you were when we were filming Renge's video and you were the gangster type."

Pacified, Honey smiled at her and then inquired playfully, "So Haru-chan – where do you wanna begin?"

Thoughtfully tapping her chin with her index finger, Haruhi pondered the question before Honey chimed in once more. "How about when Hikaru leaves us two alone! We can pretend I was… going to bring you some cake!" Just as Haruhi opened her mouth to form a response, Honey had zipped away to grab some of the extra sweets remaining for the day, returning to Haruhi's delight with some of her favorites, enough to assuage the mounting hunger pangs.

Grateful for the relief, Haruhi extended her hand, the scent of the sweets swelling her longing for some of the delicious food before her, eyes shutting in pleasure when, without warning, her hand was clasped in another's, halting it in midair. "Huh," she exhaled, eyes peeking open in confusion.

Face imbued with intensity, Mitsukuni peered at her, his hand firmly clutching hers as it hovered over some of the fruits and pastries.

"Honey…senpai?"

"Haruhi-chan," he uttered unhurriedly, brown eyes shadowed in the dim lighting of the room as the sun vanished beneath the horizon. Anticipation triggered an anxious pounding of her heart, fear blooming from apparent nothingness at the stillness of their situation. Haruhi longed to repress the thoughts bubbling to her mind's surface, but the worries bloomed into hazed images of what was to come. Honey had never instigated this fretfulness in Haruhi before and she had to wonder was it she or was it him?

Honey's thumb swept across her palm once in an assertive gesture. He gazed up and met her eyes with only a partial smile, light cast across his right cheek.

"I have to feed you."

She gulped, Was...was that it? "O–kay," she mumbled as Honey shifted her hand to settle between their seats which, she now realized, were fairly close as he released her.

"Eventually, they're going to find out about us, you know," he trailed off once more, his hand plucking up a strawberry tipped with chocolate and whip cream, fingers tilting it up and gliding it delicately through the air to Haruhi's mouth. As her lips had already been parted, unease forcing their separation, Honey perched the fruit on her bottom lip, her eyes widening as she nervously retreated from her contemplations of what he could mean back to that moment.

"Find out about us," she questioned after consuming the delectable treat, fingers swabbing her whip-creamed lips.

"They can see how much we stare at each other, even though we try to hide it. I know you feel the same way, Haruhi-chan." Another pluck from the tray to her mouth.

"Stare at each other?" She furrowed her brows in worry. What was he talking about? "Honey-senpai, I don't know that—"

Sternly, "I caught you watching me the other day, Haruhi." Panic shuddered her heart to a halt. Honey fixed his eyes on the following treat, watching it intently as he escorted it to her mouth, his thumb brushing her bottom lip while his eyes refused to abscond from their resolved fixation.

Excitement prickled Mitsukuni's flesh as he placed his left hand strategically over hers as it fidgeted between them on the seats. He could feel her fingertips twitching against the fabric over his thigh as she became visibly unnerved. The time was drawing near.

One more fruit was delivered to her.

"Don't worry, Haruhi," he observed her lips as they molded around the messy chocolate and cream, maintaining particular interest in the second-long appearance her tongue made to devour the sweet, "I won't tell anyone."

With the tip of his thumb, he brushed away some food gathered in the corner of her mouth, hooking his hand slowly under her jaw to cup her face. Mitsukuni drew closer to the panicked female, the cart of sweets a distant memory that Honey had, himself, not yet indulged in. Frugality was his main justification for the desertion as he planned various uses of the treats for later.

"But we have to keep it a secret. If anyone found out…," his voice fading away with sinister insinuations.

Possibilities tossed rapidly in her mind of what may happen if they knew how she'd been so fixated on him lately. It wasn't until this moment that Haruhi thought anything of it as more than just platonic observation, her sidelong glances and frequent trips to him during club hours being something of a routine she maintained with all the members. Perhaps, somehow along the line, she'd aroused a fascination that evolved into an appeal, one which steadily matured into inquiring attraction. Sure, Haruhi was not prone to these sorts of temptations – anything beyond food needing to be cultivated and sown into ripeness over a long period of time – but, maybe, this was her first. This was the moment she would bloom and flourish into her hungers.

Regardless, she could not relax into the vise grips he had on her. Both hands, one fastened to her wrist, the other on her face, rested somewhat against her like a cage and she was paralyzed in fear. While part of her beckoned him forward, the alarm of naivety sounded wildly and she was riddled with vacillation. She tottered frequently between longing and reluctance.

Inches from her face, Honey was a livewire, entire body feeling like a dilated eye staring directly into the sun. Emotionally charged by the intensity, he whispered conclusively, "bad things could happen," before pressing his lips against hers.