Disclaimer: I do not own Rave Master (or Groove Adventure Rave) in anyway. They belong to… whoever
Vanilla and Lemons
He was sick really, deep down inside. Sure, he could hide it from himself and others, pretend it wasn't there. But at night there was only that twisting sickness that wrapped around his body and made him so hot, so claustrophobic, so utterly denied that he couldn't sleep.
Maybe it was starting to show. The friends—that too cool for school guy, the blue thing, the little dog with the sharp nose—were worried about him, mentioned the state of his eyes. He thought if they knew why he was so sickly looking they'd be disgusted. Maybe Mr. Tough Guy Musica would be amused, but everyone else would be disgusted.
He was climbing the stairs to his bedroom. Musica had said maybe he needed to lay down for a bit before they started moving again.
Yes, yes, he needed to lie down. But he wouldn't go to sleep. No, sleep brought dreams, dreams brought vague images of sweaty bodies and soft moans and breathless demands. Then he would wake up alone and feel disgusted and sick and totally perverted.
It was dark. He liked the dark, he decided. No one could see him there. There was no chance of those thoughts flashing on his face and someone realizing just how sick and twisted he was inside.
Cold. It was cold inside his room. He had left the window open, he realized, and the cold was slipping inside like an uninvited monster. The cold was better then the heat, he knew, because the cold would numb him and push those bad, dirty thoughts away.
He didn't climb under his covers even though he was shivering. Probably just end up hot anyway and kick them off. Better start out cold and fight the heat now. He was, after all, a fighter. Strategy was important to every fighter.
The moon was a lovely, unattainable lady in the embrace of her lord master the night. He stared up into her from the window in the corner of his room for a long time. Then he turned onto his side and looked into the dark, welcoming its oblivion.
There was movement in the darkness, sneaky movement. His mind didn't scream enemy! instantly. He could almost smell her even though she was feet away. Vanilla and lemons. An interesting mix that described her perfectly. Sweet and sour, cool and hot.
"Haru?" her voice was soft, lost in the deep darkness his room had been surrounded in.
He didn't turn to face her. He couldn't, his back went stiff. No. No. No. She was not supposed to be here. She needed to get out because he was sick and there was no telling what he would do in this weak moment.
"Haru?" she repeated and crept closer, thinking him to be asleep.
Knowing she would reach out and touch him and knowing he couldn't handle it, he rolled over. "What?"
She was beautiful in the moonlight. All chocolate hair and transparent eyes. Moonlight wrapped around her and she shone. He went hot and felt very, very, very sick.
"Musica said you looked sick," she answered with her simple honesty, shrugging her bare shoulders.
He wasn't really listening to her. He was aware of how her tight miniskirt and tank top left nothing—and everything—to a man's imagination. Those breasts pushed against the white of her shirt and made his mouth water. The tanned skin of her legs made him wonder what they would feel like wrapped around his waist.
You sick, sick pervert.
"You do look sick," she muttered and approached, her whole body moving with such a fluid motion that he bit back a groan. "Is something wrong?"
She was close enough now that he could reach out and grab her. He could pull her into the soft confines of his bed and be rid of this disease inside him once and for all. He could stand up and push her against the wall and have his way with her. She wouldn't be able to stop him. She wasn't that strong.
He shook his head when she came closer, sitting up on his bed.
It was all her fault, he decided. He didn't know how he got so sick but it started when she slipped on some rocks and that little, slender body of hers first pressed against his. He remembered the feel her body against his and wondered what it would feel like if they were both naked.
"Something is wrong," she decided and didn't stop her approach. "Haru, tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help?"
No. No. No! She could not help, she only made it worse. She was the parasite in his skin. She made his blood boil by standing so close to him, by smiling, by surrounding him with her damned vanilla and lemons.
"Elie…" he croaked, trying to warn her about the beast clawing at his resolve.
She had enough problems on her plate. She didn't need his lust, his sick, perverted lust. She needed him to be strong, to be her hero. He needed to battle the beast and win. If he didn't Elie was in trouble.
No, he couldn't let that happen. He had to protect her. From everything, from himself.
She was Elie. Little lost Elie with no memories. A young woman whose power made a man like Sieg Hart tremble. A woman who would be terrified by the hot thoughts and desires prancing in his head.
"What, Haru? What's wrong?" She sat down on his bed and her vanilla and lemons intoxicated him to the point of madness.
So close… all he had to do was reach out and…
Want was choking him, surrounding him, filling him with every dirty need that he had ever felt when it came to her. It threatened to boil over, take control.
She leaned closer, unaware of her own danger. The low scoop of her top gave him a full view of her cleavage. He almost wept in despair. It was too much for one man to take. How could anyone expect him to fight it?
Elie snapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she watched him. He wondered if it would taste like her vanilla and lemons. He had the picture of her pale, creamy skin melting against his tanned one.
"Haru," she speaking seriously now and his loins screamed. "I want you to tell me what's wrong. Now. I promise," a cheeky grin crossed her face, all seriousness lost, "I won't tell Musica if it's really embarrassing." Absently she ran her little pink tongue against the fullness of her bottom lip.
It was more than he could take. With her eyes wide with shock, he shot up and grabbed her face. Her gasp was the last thing he heard before the blood rushing in his ears blocked everything else out.
She did taste like vanilla and lemons, but he wasn't really surprised. If someone smelt like that then they had to taste like it, too. Simple logic.
His kiss was harsh and he didn't want it to be. All those endless days of sexual frustration poured into that one kiss. She was beneath him before he realized he had pushed her under. His fingers were exploring her body before he realized he wanted to. Her lips were parted and giving, frozen in her gasp of surprise.
Beneath him Elie gave a shudder.
It was like snapping back into reality. Like a teacher rapping her ruler across a daydreamer's desk. A jolt, a quick shock of surprise, and then embarrassment pushing everything else away.
He lifted himself off her, panting. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bring himself to look at the disgust on her face. He stared at a fixed point on the wall, above her head. He waited for the feel of her guns against his chin and her angry accusations. She deserved to do both things, after all.
She was quiet, uncharacteristically so, but her body spoke volumes. Her body was trembling, shivering, and each movement had her legs skimming across his inner thighs.
It was sick and twisted, but he thought he wanted her more.
Finally, he looked down. Her eyes were huge and shining and her lips were swollen and bruised from his harsh kiss. "Elie…" he managed, he didn't know what to say. "I'm…" Was he sorry? He was sorry that she got hurt, but was he sorry that he had kissed her? No, stupid prick he was.
He went to roll off her, but was stopped. He glanced back down in surprise. Elie's arms were wrapped around his neck suddenly, holding him in place. He saw something in her face he had not noticed before. He had looked over it in the shame.
Heat… heat in her eyes.
She brought his face down and their lips mated, gentler this time. She sighed against his mouth and he swallowed it. She tugged off his jacket, his shirt. He worked on the little tank top that was surprisingly very hard to remove.
His name was on her lips, she crying it out on a prayer. An angel wrapped in an earthly passion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as he clung to her. They rode the wave together.
Someone was screaming Elie's name, but he didn't realize it was his voice. Everything had faded into the black background. There was only Elie and her eyes and her body and the way her lips trailed fire kisses along his chest.
Heat. Heat. Heat. There was so much heat… and he didn't care if it was sick and twisted. He wouldn't trade it.
After, hours later, Elie lay in the crock of his arms, panting still. Her arm was laying limply on his shoulder with the other one thrown over his waist and her legs were twined with his, fused together. Their bodies glistened with the sheen of lovemaking. "So that was what your moodiness was all about?" she asked, seemingly amused.
"Yup," he answered and was surprised at how light his voice was.
"Shoulda just told me," she replied sleepily. "I felt the same way…"
It was a relief to hear her say it even though he had begun to suspect it when he had sunken into her soft body, yielding to the onslaught of vanilla and lemons.
"Sorry," he retorted and was.
She shrugged and her naked body scrapped against his own. He wanted her again. He wasn't upset though, and he didn't feel so sick and twisted.
He felt… normal…
"Guess Musica won't have to worry about you now. Now that Nurse Elie's done her job." She was laughing as she nipped at the taunt skin pulled over the muscles on his chest.
"Not yet," he answered and was rewarded by her bemused look. "See, Nurse Elie, I think I'm still a little sore."
Now she was catching onto the game. "Oh? Where at? I can't let my favorite patient go unhealed, can I?" Slowly, teasingly so, she made the trek down.
Haru laughed for the first time in days and felt at ease. Somehow being sick and twisted didn't seem so bad now. After all, Elie had to be just as sick and twisted as him. Nothing was too unbearable when you had a friend with you.
Elie tasted like vanilla and lemons…
And that was really all that mattered.
Word Count: 1858
Time: thirty minutes
Status: one-shot (complete)
Author: Lizzy Rebel
Characters/Style: Haru, Elie, fluffy fic
Notes: Okay, first let me say I don't know where that came from. It was just something in my head that would not go away no matter how hard I stabbed it. Second, I don't know Rave Master (or Groove Adventure Rave) all that well. I just started to watch it two weeks ago when my friend made me sit my ass down on the couch instead of going shopping. So far so good. If Rave Master keeps me interested I might do more work for it.