Hi there! Welcome to my first Ouran HSHC fic! I hope it goes alright. Tamaki's not his usual craziness, so I'm sorry about that.

Just warning you - my fluffmonster unleashed itself here. Like you might very well not make it out alive. Be forewarned.

This is an alternate ending to episode 8 - the one where they go to the beach and Haruhi gets pushed off a cliff and almost raped by Kyouya and freaks out in a wardrobe during a thunderstorm. Good. Stuff.

His voice was silken cream against the ragged backdrop of a stormy sky. "You don't have to be afraid," he whispered, his arms tight and gentle around her. "I'll always be here for you, Haruhi. I promise that you'll never be alone again."

She was probably dying. This was what a heart attack felt like, absolutely. Sure, it was a little premature, and she'd stayed away from sweets, mostly, but these medical mysteries did happen. Fifteen-year-olds did just drop dead, sometimes. Or maybe she was the one freakish accident.

Whatever. Point was, she was absolutely on the verge of death. Her spasmodically pounding heart, her lungs that had shrunk to the size of wilted balloons, her gasps of air, the way her knees kept knocking together, the way her throat had swollen up rather painfully… they were all symptoms of her impending demise.

The lightening seared through the sky, and she cried out in agony, her bottled-up emotion bursting forth from her body in the form of gushing tears.

Typical, thought her logical side blandly, as she sobbed into Tamaki's chest. His shirt probably cost more than her apartment's monthly rent, and here she was getting snot all over it.

But then the thunder rattled the windowpanes and she quaked deeper into his embrace, all thoughts of his expensive wardrobe forgotten. And she noticed, through the thick film of fear in her mind, that she was still alive. So much for sudden and unexpected death.

But thunderstorms had never made her feel quite like…

So softly that she couldn't be sure it was real, Tamaki pressed a kiss against her hair.

…this.

Before she could determine what exactly had just happened, his lips were back, airily caressing her scalp in sweet, long kisses.

Her ribs locked up. Her knees buckled. Her stomach writhed like a pit of garden snakes. Oh God, what in the world was wrong with her?

No, never mind that - what the hell did Tamaki think he was doing? Did he think that - that - that this was some representation of his perverse father-daughter relationship idea? But didn't he realize that she hated being called his "daughter", and only put up with it because she knew the façade had long preceded her as part of the Host Club? No, of course he didn't, he was Tamaki. Totally and utterly dense. A complete moron. An idiot. A nitwit.

Alright, but even if he was emotionally clueless, didn't he understand something about the borders between relationships? Couldn't he comprehend that father figures didn't make out with the tops of their daughters' heads?

Yes - yes, he had to know that, because he was Tamaki, Master of Wooing, Prince of Seduction, Champion of Sweet-Talking. He had to understand that what he was doing was clearly a - a romantic gesture.

Haruhi shuddered.

And Tamaki was certainly doing this on purpose.

"Haruhi," he murmured, his lips sending vibrations through her skull, and tingles through her skin. Some lower part of her throbbed at the sound of his voice. God, what was the matter with her?

"Yeah?" she said. It came out as a rasp, so she cleared her throat harshly and tried again. "Y-yeah?"

"Forgive me for being so intrusive," he said carefully, "but - when I walked in - you and Kyouya…"

Sniveling, she pressed a watery smile against his chest. Lord, he smelled so good, all musky and rich and delicious, that scent of boy she knew she lacked (many a customer had often giggled at how Haruhi-kun smelled so flowery, almost feminine). "That was nothing," she said. "He was just… teaching me a lesson."

"HARUHI!" he cried, distancing himself from her abruptly and grasping her by the shoulders. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes, secretly grateful at how his yell had broken the tremulous deathly spell upon her; she no longer trembled, no longer gasped for air (though perhaps her fists shook a bit more than necessary). "I don't mean that in a dirty way, senpai, get your mind out of the gutter." Disdainfully, she shook her head. "No, he was trying to prove a point - about how I'm a girl, no matter what other people might think, and that I'm more vulnerable than I think I am." She tilted her head and looked Tamaki straight on in those violet-blue eyes.

Mm… pretty…

She shook herself back to earth. "And, uh, it was because of you, senpai. Kyouya-senpai wanted to make sure I apologized to you, once I realized that I'd… worried you." She set her jaw stubbornly. "I don't mean to say, either, that I was mistaken in doing what I did - I'm just sorry to put you through trouble, of course."

Tamaki chewed fervently on his lower lip. "But he wasn't wearing - he was - shirt, and you - bed - and - and…"

He wasn't very good at forming coherent sentences, was he? "Well, sure," she allowed, "he did kind of pin me down and all - wait, let me explain," she said, pressing three fingers to an open and wrathful mouth. "Kyouya-senpai was just showing me the facts - that I'm kind of small and not as strong as I could be, while some people use their strength to be predatory." She shrugged. "But he never would have done anything. Really." A faint smile spread across her lips. "He'd have nothing to gain from it. After all… I'm really not his type."

Those big-pretty violet-blue eyes widened theatrically. "You're not?" said Tamaki.

"He's your best friend," said Haruhi dully. "Wouldn't you realize that? Look at what I'm wearing, for God's sake." She fanned out the frilly hem of her pink dress. "I look like a cupcake. Not exactly suave and sophisticated for Kyouya."

Tamaki stared at her for a long moment, and astonishingly, a tomato red blush spread slowly across his nose. "Well," he said finally. "I don't think you look - I mean - I think - I think you look great, Haruhi."

She found her own face growing heated, but before she could think up an adequate response, yet another crack of lightning raced from the clouds, and she cowered back toward the wardrobe.

Grinning slightly, Tamaki grabbed her wrist. "Uh-uh," he said, "no more wardrobes for you." He glanced around the room; his eyes alighted on the coffee table near the wall. "I've got it." He dove towards the bed and in a moment snatched the lightweight blanket off the mattress. In a dramatic flourish, he spread the blanket over the table and placed a large book on top to keep it from sliding. Peeling back a corner of the makeshift fortress, he gestured underneath to Haruhi. "Your fortress, milady."

She eyed him skeptically for a moment, but the thunder made her scuttle like a sand crab beneath the fort; Tamaki followed her in and let the blanket flutter to the ground.

Inside, it was dim, but not completely dark. Tamaki's eyes glinted at her from his rather close proximity, and she felt herself growing rather flushed. God, he was beautiful. It didn't seem fair, or right, or legal for anyone to possess that level of good looks (although his complacency in regards to his appearance was turn off enough). Quite honestly, it was frightening. Haruhi didn't know how to deal with rich people, and she certainly didn't know how to deal with beautiful ones. And those who were rich and beautiful and had a habit of saying both the stupidest and wisest things she'd ever heard from a human being… well… Tamaki was quite an enigma.

"Commoners build these sorts of forts, don't they?" Tamaki asked her excitedly.

She rolled her eyes. "I've never done this, actually."

"Oh." He looked distinctly put out; he must have considered this to be a stroke of genius.

"It was a good idea, though," said Haruhi, and he brightened up again. A right damn roller coaster, he was. And sure, that could be really annoying on a day when you had a headache or a history test or a paper to write, but a lot of the time it was kind of funny. Sort of exciting. He spiced things up.

Flash. Crack. Boom.

She froze in fear, her hand instinctively reaching out toward Tamaki, but she drew it back, embarrassed. Her eyes felt ready to pop out of her head. But then Tamaki's arms were around her once again, and he pulled her into his lap, cradled her head to his shoulder.

"It's alright, Haruhi. You don't need to be shy. This is what I'm here for."

For a while, she was too afraid to say anything - afraid of the storm, and afraid of what he was doing. Afraid of how his hand roamed freely over her hair, down the nape of her neck, behind her ear, across her cheek. Afraid of the kisses he began to apply liberally along her scalp once more. Afraid how they turned her into a quivering mass of uncertainty and anxiety and… and… excitement…

She made herself speak. To know would be horrible, but not knowing was worse. Not knowing was torture. "S-s-senpai…?"

The tip of his delicate nose nuzzled into her hair. "Hmm?"

"What…" She swallowed. "What are you doing?"

He was still for a while before he answered. "I'm not sure," he said finally, his voice soothing and melodic. "Is that alright?"

He wasn't sure? But he was Suou Tamaki, for God's sake, Prince of Seduction and Master of… whatever it was. He always knew what he was doing. In… these sorts of situations anyway.

But maybe it wasn't that sort of situation. Since maybe Haruhi wasn't even a girl to him.

Re-enter point number 1: Friends with father complexes do not randomly assault Haruhi's hair with their lips.

Damn, this was complicated.

"Yeah," she said, after a bit more consideration. "Yeah, I guess." And really, she didn't have a choice; lightning tore her to shreds; thunder blew her to bits; so all she could do was huddle in Tamaki's lap and pray for survival. She'd deal with whatever came after in its time.

Although his nomadic hand certainly was distracting. But his heartbeat thumped steadily in her ear, and his breaths were natural and even, and his smell, oh lord, his smell… like shaving cream and violets and boy… musky and rich and delicious and boy…

As the storm crashed onward, her hand crept up to Tamaki's neck and rested there. With fingers like air, he took her hand away and pressed it to his unbelievably soft lips like rose petals…

Hysteria bubbled up inside her as he caught her eye with a searing gaze. Oh, God, she couldn't handle this, what was he doing, what was he thinking? She was Haruhi, just Haruhi, plain boyish bookworm Haruhi with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and a plain little face. But he - he was a goddamn demigod, his golden hair like freshly harvested wheat, his eyes just like the violets he smelled of, his features charming and chiseled and strong, and he knew everything about how this worked, and she knew nothing.

Nothing.

And if… if what he was doing really implied… what it seemed to imply… well, she didn't know if she could handle that. She simply didn't know if she was capable of being… of being…

(But what did he feel for her? Or was he just fooling around, like he always did? Like Kyouya had minutes before?)

(Desired? Loved? Respected? What?)

Oh, it would be terrifying, and it would be wonderful, and the answers were lying just inches away in the mind of the boy who was now applying fresh kisses to the underside of her wrist. (And how did he make her pulse like that? How did he make her lust this way?)

Tears leaked quietly out of her eyes, and for the second time in minutes, she cried, but silently now; and it wasn't until she began to wet his shirt again that he noticed.

"Shh, Haruhi," he whispered, mistaking her tears for fear of the storm. "It's alright. You're safe with me."

You don't understand, she pled to herself. It's you I'm afraid of. What are you doing to me?

She was so preoccupied that she hardly noticed the lightning fading and the thunder receding, until the loudest noise she could hear was Tamaki's heartbeat, or her own.

He shook her gently as silence rang deafeningly through the room. "Haruhi? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," she murmured.

"I think the storm's passed."

"Y-yeah. I guess you're right."

Neither of them moved. They sat, melded into one another, gently embracing, forever.

Haruhi jerked awake and found herself moving. Vaguely, she blinked and looked around. Darkness. Shadows of picture frames on the walls.

She inhaled. Violets.

"Senpai?" she croaked.

"You fell asleep," he said softly, as if she hadn't figured that out on her own. His steps were rhythmic and solid. Unconsciously, she snuggled up against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, uncertain as to what she was apologizing for.

He only chuckled.

Moments later, he stopped outside a plain door and, shifting her weight in his arms, jiggled the knob open.

The room inside was just as dark as the hallway, but wide windows on the opposite wall were dripping with post-thunderstorm rain. It made a pretty dancing illusion, the night casting its moonlight through the water and onto the floor where its shadows twisted and glided.

Tamaki carried her to the bed in the center of the room and sat on the edge; he slid her out of his arms and onto the blanket beside him. She blinked up at him sleepily. Dear gods on high, he was lovely.

"Thanks," she breathed. "For staying with me."

He smiled warmly at her and brushed her hair back behind her ear. "I'll always stay with you, Haruhi."

She bit back a yawn. "But - but - wh-why?" The yawn won. "It's not like I'm not grateful, senpai, it's just that I don't understand why you want to."

His head tilted to the side ever so slightly; his smile grew softer. "Because, Haruhi," he said, "I care about you very much."

She frowned, her brain already muddled with sleep; this was too much to comprehend. "How?"

"What do you mean," he said, "how?"

"How… is that… possible?" She wondered if those were the words she'd meant to say. They probably weren't. She couldn't think. Her brain was stuffed with cotton balls.

"I think that's a question for later," he said with a grin, "for when you're more attentive." He was very close. "But for now…" He drifted even closer, capturing her in those violet eyes. Damn him. "I may very well be taking advantage of your state right now, Haruhi," he whispered very quickly, "but let me say this before I lose my nerve; I have loved you ever since I set eyes on you and I will love you until the day I die."

That woke her up, alright, but not nearly as much as the fiery kiss that followed. How he managed to convey such raw passion while his lips were so tender and smooth and velvety, she had no idea; she was swept up in his movements, in the slickness between his lips, in the surprising moistness of the kiss, and before she had much time to react there was something even wetter painting the outskirts of her own lips; but he stopped there, and moved far away enough for her to focus on him.

"Tamaki-senpai?" she stuttered.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I - "

"It's just me," she interrupted. "I don't know where you went wrong, but it's only me. It's only Haruhi. Aren't you a little confused or something?"

He smiled again, beautifully, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Do you think I meant someone else?"

"Senpai," she repeated, "I'm hardly even a girl."

She tried to ignore how his eyes went straight to her flat chest. It was difficult. "You're right," he said, his eyes full and sparkling and gorgeous, sending jolts down her spine, "you're so much more than a girl, Haruhi."

She rolled her eyes.

Upon seeing this, he sighed and turned away, resting his chin on his palms. "Do you care for Kyouya, then?" he asked abruptly, and somewhat bitterly.

"What?" said Haruhi, cackling. "Kyouya? I - of course I don't - Kyouya's got nothing to - "

"Then who?" Tamaki urged her, a jealous glint fogging his eyes. "Is it Hikaru? He looks at you sometimes, you know. We pretend not to notice, but we do. I do."

"Hikaru - what - no, no, senpai, that's not - that's not the point! I - it's you, alright, it's always been you, except that was impossible, because you had everyone at your fingertips, every girl you ever dreamed of, and I honestly think there must be something wrong with you if you're going to throw that away and go after me!"

The puppy dog eyes appeared. Lord preserve her, what was she going to do with him? "But Haruhi… what if I want to go after you?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times; no sound came out. "You're crazy," she said finally. "You're plumb crazy."

It was strange, how his expression could be so sad and so joyful and the same time. "I'll make you see what I see," he said quietly. "I'll make you see how beautiful you are." His hand reached out for her cheek; his thumb stroked her gently. She was shaking all over when she leaned in, this time of her own accord, and took his lips between her own.

It was slower, now, languid and gentle, and Tamaki gently coaxed her into learning the patterns; which way to lean when he did that, how to adjust herself when he did this, how to position her nose so that it gently caressed his, when and how to breathe. She hummed contentedly into his mouth, and felt him smile in response. Parting, she gasped in his musky smell; it went straight to her head, like some hedonistic drug, and then she was devouring him, hot and wet and fast, her hands tight in his silken blond hair, and it wasn't enough, she wanted more, more of this beautiful boy who had somehow convinced her that he was hers for a moment or two -

Then the wetness was back, and uncertainly she let her lips fall parted; thickly, his tongue kissed her lower lip before delving carefully into her mouth, meeting her own tongue and acquainting her with the rough delicacy, the cumbersome pliancy of his art (because if there was something Tamaki had mastered, it was certainly this); she pulled away to breathe a bit, and she found him practically steaming at her through his eyes (how he did that, precisely, she'd have to find out some day).

"Haruhi," he whispered.

"What," she whispered back.

He grinned against her forehead. "Nothing." One kiss, simple and chaste, he left there. "You should go to sleep. You've had a long day."

"But I'm wide awake now," she insisted, somewhat saucily. An earsplitting yawn a second later, however, did not do much to assert her point.

"Hm," said Tamaki. "Really, now."

She made a face at him.

He stood, stretched a bit, and peeled back the blankets from the bed. Obediently, she climbed between them and sighed as her head hit the pillow.

Tamaki was leaning over her, and he was beautiful, and he was perfect. "Good night," he murmured, and he let her have one more kiss; he lingered, and she lingered, and she slid her hands behind his neck, and he held her cheeks between his fingers as if she were made of glass, and they kissed, and they kissed.

"Good night," Tamaki repeated against her cheek.

And then he was gone.

Eh. Not the best ending. I feel like this needs some closure, so keep an eye out for updates, if you dare.

Reviews would be nice, just so I know this fluffmonster didn't kill anyone. I would feel kind of guilty otherwise, you know? Eh.

Cheers!

~SB