I thought I wasn't writing in Fruits Basket anymore - as evidenced by how long it took to update this. But apparently I was wrong. Pairing was suggested, many moons ago, by loretta537. "Boom, Like That" is a Mark Knopfler song which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, except the phrase sort of fits. -Adali
Boom, Like That
He's always looked like he could own a club, and at last he finally does. They're standing on the catwalk above what used to be an old warehouse in a run-down industrial district near the docks, but is now one of the most famous clubs in the city and in the middle of a bustling entertainment area. He's shirtless, but the long jacket he wears reveals only a thin, tantalizing strip of bare skin. Its thick fur collar - real? fake? impossible to say - doesn't look out of place despite the cloying summer heat, and that only goes to show how amazing he is. The goggles that nestle in his white and black hair should look strange, too, but instead they've become a trademark, and there's rumours that goggles will be the in-thing next season, as everyone tries to emulate him. He's young - just barely twenty - and gorgeous and completely in his element.
She, on the other hand, feels strange and out-of-place. Her yellow sundress would be more appropriate for running errands in town or working in the garden with Yuki than for a night in the heady, exotic world of the club. She's not a little girl, but she still ties her hair back with ribbons, and right now it's sticking uncomfortably to the back of her neck. It's all she can do to stop herself from sending up a prayer of apology to her mother, because Kyoko would have loved this, and would even now have been down there in the middle of the throng.
Hatsuharu catches her eye, and grins at her. Sometime - she didn't notice when, he's turned into Black Haru, and his eyes glitter with mischief and seduction and something else that she can't quite name. It terrifies her and thrills her all at once. "What do you think?" he shouts over the booming, echoing beat.
Tohru looks down over the writhing mass of bodies. It's sensual and erotic, but terrifying for her, who lives in a house where physical contact used to be a thing to fear, and is still uncomfortable. It makes her feel little and naive, because even though she lives with three men and has for years, they've always treated her as their flower, their princess, something to be handled with kid gloves and sheltered from this aspect of the world. "It's..." she begins, and doesn't know how to continue.
"Want to dance?" he asks. He's moved closer, but he still has to yell, and for a moment she thinks she's misheard him anyway. But she hasn't, and he's waiting expectantly, watching her with his deep eyes. No, yes, I don't know... she doesn't know which answer will come out if she opens her mouth, so she doesn't move. She just stares back at him and Haru - sweet, understanding Haru, who is still such a mystery to her - seems to understand everything she's feeling. He takes her hand gently, and leads her along the catwalk towards the stairs that will take them into the teeming mass below.
She squeezes his hand nervously. "I don't think I can do this, Haru-san." But of course he can't hear her over the music that pulses, now quick now slow, through her, seeming to carry her heartbeat with it. He flashes her a smile that's as dazzling as the lights that flicker across the crowd, and just as disorientating. It's special and sexy and seemingly just for her, but of course that can't be. This is Haru, after all, and the only reason he invited her tonight is because he wants everybody - even someone dopey and awkward like her - to share the success of his new club with him. Momiji's here somewhere, too: she saw him dancing on the stage earlier, golden and beautiful and surrounded by girls who adored him, but now that they're at ground-level she can't see him anymore. Ayame and Shigure said they were coming by later, too. So there's no reason for her to think that Haru's smile is for her - it's for all of them, but most of all for himself, and for his success that they're celebrating tonight.
The flash of the club lights on the lenses of his goggles is like a neon sign, drawing attention to them. Bodies shift to let him pass as he leads her towards the center of the dance floor, even as others press forwards, hoping for a word with Sohma Hatsuharu-sama himself. Here he is lord and emperor, and his subjects treat him as such. Tohru follows in his wake, bumped and jostled and ignored, or watched with thoughtful, speculative eyes.
At last they're in the very thickest part of the crowd, and he stops. She's being jostled from all sides, as dancers wiggle and pulse around them, as though they were no more than extensions of the music that fills everything. Haru pulls her close, pressing her against him. Hips and elbows still bump into her from behind, but she feels like she's surrounded by the solid, stable wall of his body. He's filling her senses: he looms in her sight, lit by the irregular flashes of the club's lights; her nose is filled with the scent of him, sharp sweat and musky boy; and all around her - hot and beautiful and captivating - his karate-strong body pressed against hers.
He's swaying to the music, but she's too terrified to move. "Relax." It's like a murmur in her ear, even though he's shouting. She tries: tries to let her muscles relax, tries to sway in time with him, but it's not working. The steady beat that pulses all around them seems to jerk and lag, going too fast or too slow, and she can't catch it. Her body moves awkwardly against his, and she's inexplicably terrified, but mostly she's just mortified that she can't manage this simple thing.
Haru-san laughs. She feels it as a tremor that shudders through his body and into hers, while the sound is snatched away by the heavy music. Before she has time to be embarrassed, his lips crash into hers. It's sweet and heady and powerful, like everything about the club that has overwhelmed her has been distilled golden honey that paints her lips and tongue. It's intoxicating. She can't help but press against him, wanting more of that glorious taste. Her heartbeat drums in her ears.
She bites back a protest when he starts to pull away, but he doesn't leave her completely. His lips linger on hers, but she's no longer so overwhelmed as to be insensitive to everything else. He's still moving against her, gently, and she's moving as well, in time to the beat that isn't her heart, as she thought, but the music. The pounding of the bass seems slower, now, but that's because her heart is beating twice as fast.
He grins at her - that special, sexy grin that really is just for her after all - and says something. The music's as loud as it's ever been, so his voice can't reach her ears, but she hears him anyway. "Just like that."
But anyway, that's Tohru x Haru. I'm still open to challenges, by the way - I'm just not promising to meet any deadlines.