Author�s Note: This �fic was begun waaaaaaay back when, shortly after
I wrote "Shizuku." Several people had sent me comments on how they�d
like to see me write a lemon, and this was to be my answer to that
challenge. However, the more I wrote of the story, the more I realized
that this story itself was better off as something of a lime - for as
the characters approached "the event," they became less and less like
themselves, and the writing began to languish, and the disk I had it on
went bad, and when I had retyped most of it it got eaten again... and
eventually I abandoned this project for others (also incomplete, of
course). When I once again set fingertips to keyboard to work on this,
I came to the realization that while I may write a lemon someday, this
will not be it. I hope you can forgive me, and enjoy this story
anyhow. (I did leave in pleanty of Juicy Bits. :P)
C&C is always welcome, privately or to the list.
The story takes place on page 179 of manga volume 38, between panels 1
and 2.
Ranma �: Wedding Night
by Bridget Wilde
Akane carefully hung her wedding dress on its padded hanger. The
beaded lace of the bodice caught restlessly at her fingers as she
methodically fastened each pearl button up the back and arranged the
fall of the sleeves. The dress went in a gray vinyl bag with a
yellowed plastic window set in one shoulder and a heavy zipper that
growled petulantly as she pulled the tab up. The flowers on the
shoulder of the dress looked faded and aged through the window in the
bag. On impulse, she opened it again and ran her rough hand over the
whispery white silk of the skirt, eyes closed. There was something
exotic about Western-style silk dresses, as if they belonged in a
fairy-tale, the wearer destined to be carried off by a handsome
prince.... Her hand struck an oddly rough spot, and she glanced down
at the flaw - a streak of ashes, dusty black over a patch of snagged
threads. She smiled bitterly as she zipped the bag back up. The
cleaner would probably spend hours on that one spot, days on the dress,
and even so it would never regain its pristine white glory.
Next came the veil, its flower-studded gauze cascading nearly to
the floor. She wrapped it in crackling white tissue paper, carefully
arranging the barely-visible material in folds like white ribbon candy,
and placed it in its gold cardboard box. The box she set on her desk,
an odd partner to the desk lamp and textbooks.
Akane slid her everyday clothes over to one side of the closet to
make room for the bulky gray bag. The slick vinyl whispered sibilantly
under her fingers as the hanger clacked onto the wooden rod. The
garment bag was too long for the closet; it bent clumsily about a foot
from the end and dragged on the floor. Akane stared at it numbly for a
moment, then sighed with the full weight of the evening. She would
have to find some other place to hang it.
She didn�t want it in her closet anyway. She didn�t want it
lurking every morning as she got out her school uniform, or every night
as she put laundry away. She wanted to burn it, burn every bead and
button and scrap of lace until nothing remained. But the dress had
been too expensive; they couldn�t afford to destroy it. So she picked
up the garment bag and the boxed veil and left the room.
The house was already still and quiet; the chaos had ended hours
earlier. When it had become obvious that there was to be no wedding
after all, everyone had quickly scattered, though in a few cases it had
taken a little bit of a nudge from the residents of the house. When
everyone was at last gone and the dojo echoed with grim silence, the
family had stared at the wreckage and agreed it would be best to leave
cleanup for the next day, when they had all gotten some sleep. Well,
everyone agreed except for Ranma; he had still been unconscious at the
time, but Akane expected he would have concurred with their sentiments
had he been awake. She had left him lying in the crater in the dojo
floor and gone up to her room.
She had sat there at her desk and listened to the sounds of her
family preparing for bed. Water running in the distant bathroom.
Doors closing. Footsteps on the stairs. Voices. The last noise she
had heard was a final clack from Nabiki�s abacus on the next room, then
a satisfied sigh as Nabiki must have fallen asleep. Still Akane had
sat. It wasn�t until the moon crept around the edge of her window and
sent in pale, lonely rays to caress her wet cheeks that she had finally
stood to remove her dress.
The interior door of the dojo was battered but intact, sitting
half-open. She opened it completely, stepped in tentatively, and
closed it behind her. The huge double doors in the far wall were
crushed, the moon coming in through the gaping hole. She saw another
hole in the roof, through which a few stars shone remorselessly. Three
stars of the Big Dipper, pouring out the Milky Way. She unconsciously
hugged the dress closer to her as she stared at those stars. Somehow,
the wreckage seemed less severe in the moonlight, as if it would just
need a bit of picking up to set it all right.
But she knew better. Nothing could ever set it right.
She glanced at the gaping crater in the dojo floor. Ranma was
gone, probably sleeping like a log upstairs. The jerk. Why she�d ever
wanted to marry him... Not that she had, of course, she reminded
herself quickly, then sighed in resignation. Tonight she couldn�t lie
to herself, not anymore.
She set the garment bag and the boxed veil on the floor, sitting
and leaning back to look at the stars again. They were so distant.
Supposedly on your wedding night, there were supposed to be stars.
Stars in your eyes, as you gazed at the man of your dreams. The stars
of popping flashbulbs a you cut the cake, danced your first dance, ate
from each other�s fingers. Stars glittering off your wedding bands as
you held hands. And then later, when you were alone, you were supposed
to see stars, maybe even to join the stars in their burning dance
across the sky...
She shook her head, closing her eyes. That was just a stupid
romance novel fantasy. Besides, the only one who had seen stars
tonight was Ranma, when he had lost consciousness.
She wrapped her arms around her legs, gazing blindly over her
knees. Stupid romance novel fantasy or not, she had wanted those
stars. She had wanted Ranma to take them down from the sky and give
them to her. And obviously he hadn�t wanted to. The jerk.
Akane stood and walked towards the doors to look out into the
garden. It was serene in the forgiving moonlight, each leaf lovingly
lined in silver. She wished she could be like that, so calm and
tranquil. Kasumi was like that, and Nodoka. But she just couldn�t be
that way. She had tried that afternoon, tried to be gentle, but in the
end she couldn�t. Not even for Ranma. Maybe that was why he didn�t
want her. The jerk.
She heard the door slide open behind her, and turned in surprise.
There in the doorway stood Ranma, wearing his boxer shorts and a tank
top. In his hands he had a bucket filled with what looked like
cleaning supplies. He froze when he saw her, staring. She stared back
for a long moment, then turned away to look out the hole in the wall
again. The door slid closed, quietly, and she heard his footsteps
approaching her.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed angrily. She heard the
bucket being set down on the floor.
"I was just going to do some cleaning up. The place sure needs
it."
"We decided to wait until the morning." She would not turn and
look at him, she would not.
"Yeah, I figured. Everyone was gone when I came to. But I
couldn�t sleep, so..." He walked past her and looked out into the
garden, sticking his hands in his pockets. Turning away to continue
not looking at him would be too obvious, might make him think she
actually cared, so instead she glared silently at his stiff back.
He stretched like a leopard, sighing loudly, then peered back
over his shoulder just a bit too casually to be casual. "You�re mad,
aren�t you."
That gave her an excuse to present him with her back again; she
did so, laughing shortly. "Mad? Why would I be mad? Just because you
left me at the altar?"
"Hey, I didn�t leave you at the altar." There was a brief, lame
pause. "We never even made it that far."
"No, you let me know well in advance how you felt about getting
married. You wanted your cure instead." She could feel her voice
catching with those last words, and bit off her sentence sharply,
glaring helplessly at the crater in the floor.
"Well, excuse me for being cursed. I wasn�t aware that it was
one or the other. Besides, you wanted me to be cured, didn�t you? You
only got so eager to be married when I was going to be cured. I�m just
not good enough with my curse, is that it?"
"No! That had nothing to do with it!" That jerk, trying to turn
the tables on her to justify himself, when he was the one to blame.
"Oh, really. Then why did you suddenly decide to get married?"
"You asked me that already. I thought you loved me. Now I know
better, so I guess it�s not necessary." She glared at him over her
shoulder, challenging him.
He seemed to flinch ever so slightly at her words, and was
silent for a moment. Then he resumed, his voice low and intense with
something other than anger. "No, Akane. That�s not good enough. You
don�t marry somebody because *they* love *you*. Unless you�re planning
on marrying Kuno tomorrow?"
"No way!" She turned away again, fuming.
"Then why?" His voice was still low, like a heartbeat echoing
through her silence. He came up behind her, placing his hand on her
shoulder. She tried to shrug it away, but he refused to back down.
"Why? Was it just so I could get the water to cure me?" Silence
again; he answered himself, voice almost conversational now. "No, that
can�t have been it. I could have gotten the water anyhow. So what
were you going to get out of it?" His hand tightened slightly.
She whirled towards him, slapping his hand away. "I just wanted
to make us both happy!" Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks;
she scrubbed them away furiously.
"Both of us?" His voice was suddenly gentle, like the ocean at
rest. "I can see how you�d think the cure would make me happy, but how
would marrying me make you happy?" She stared at him miserably, at his
face begging honesty, then turned away again, wrapping her arms around
herself. "Akane... did you want to marry me?"
"I was wearing the dress, wasn�t I?"
"But did you want to?" His voice was nearly a whisper now. She
walked back over to the gaping doors and gazed up at the moon. "Akane?"
"Yes," she said dully, watching as the moon blurred in her
vision. "Yes, I did want to marry you." Her shoulders started to
shake, and she covered her face with her hands. She hated crying.
Crying made her feel weak and helpless, and she needed to be strong.
She felt Ranma�s hands on her shoulders, reassuring and warm.
She shook them off. She didn�t want him to touch her, not like that,
as if he cared about her. She wanted to hate him, and when he touched
her like that... She did hate him.
"Akane, look at me." His voice was low and desperate. Good.
She hated him. She could sense him close behind her now, feel the air
pressure from his body; she cursed her awareness of him, of his
nearness. He was probably smirking at her, laughing at her misery. How
she would love to wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face.
"Boy..." His voice sounded disgusted. "You really are uncute."
That was the last straw. She whirled, lifting both hands for a
strike at his solar plexus. But he was closer than she expected, and
as she tried to divert her aim, he grabbed her wrists, holding one out
to each side. "Made you look," he said smugly. Her momentum carried
her forward a few more inches before she could regain her balance.
There they were, nose to nose; she couldn�t move away with her arms out
to the side like that, and so she looked at him. It was supposed to be
a glare, but somehow her treacherous eyes were reveling in the curve of
his cheek, the straight line of his nose. She was so close she could
see the moon shining in his wide eyes, not smug at all now; she could
almost see her own trembling face. He swallowed, the quiet sound
seeming as loud as a gunshot. His fingers were firm around her wrists,
and she could feel his ragged breath on her lips. She licked them
unthinking as he tentatively closed the distance between them.
His lips were softer than she had imagined they would be -- for
now that it was happening, she had to admit that she had imagined this,
their first real kiss. It was brief, barely a brush of uncertain lips;
then he stepped back, eyes fixed on her face in a kind of wonder. When
had she started breathing faster? She couldn�t think of that right
now. She had to remember, she hated Ranma. She hated him.
Then his right hand released her wrist and came up to cup her
damp cheek. He stepped closer again, and she lost herself in the
sensation of his lips. His left hand still encircled her wrist, but it
had loosened, and as the kiss went on - dear God, how it went on - he
released her wrist entirely and slipped his hand up to interlace their
fingers. There was security in that hand, and she clung to it, her
other hand coming up to cover his on her cheek as her eyes closed. The
kiss ended with a sigh, and she lifted his hand from her cheek and
brushed her lips gently in the very center of his palm, tasting the
salt of her own tears. She heard him take in a sudden breath, and
wondered if it was for her, that gasp. It frightened her and
exhilarated her at the same time, and she hid her face in his shoulder.
Tentatively, his hands came up to encircle her waist, then suddenly he
was holding her to him like a life preserver, burying his face in the
top of her head. She could hear his heartbeat under her cheek,
thumping unevenly, and his hoarse breath warmed the top of her ear.
Then she was clinging as tightly as he, and she forgot to think.
But her arms were empty again, and she opened her eyes in shock.
Ranma had stepped back, his hands dropping jerkily to his sides. His
face was in the shadow of the door; all Akane could make out in the
moonlight were the very tip of his nose and a hint of his lower lip.
"I�m sorry," he said in a small voice, a voice not like Ranma at
all. That not-Ranma voice chilled her, and she banished the chill the
only way she could, flushing with sudden fury.
"Sorry for kissing me? Sorry for kissing an uncute tomboy like
me?"
"That's not what I meant!" He stepped forward, so that she could
see his entire face, scowling in frustration.
"Then what did you mean?" She folded her arms with a jerk,
daring him to answer.
He looked at the ground, his hands fidgeting in front of his
chest. "I meant... I�m sorry for... taking advantage. I shouldn�t..."
"Taking advantage? What, you don�t think I could have stopped
you?" She was pushing him, and she knew it, but she wasn�t letting up
now.
"No, I..."
"You don�t think I can make my own decisions?"
She could almost hear his temper snap. "Well, it�s not like you
ever have before. You�d never have gone through with the wedding on
your own."
She planted her hands on her hips belligerently. "How would you
know? And it�s not like you�ve ever made any decisions. You can�t
even pick out a fiancee! You just keep us all dangling along, never
choosing one of us. You jerk!"
"A jerk, am I?" They were inches away from each other, glaring
into each other�s eyes.
"Yeah! A big, stupid jerk! And for your information, I can make
up my mind who to kiss and who not to kiss by myself! I could kiss you
right now if I wanted to!"
"Ha! I�d like to see you try it!"
"Maybe I will!"
"Be my guest!"
"Fine then!" She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his
neck and crushing her lips to his. His arms came up automatically to
keep them from toppling over, and for a moment they teetered, then
suddenly his arms were rock hard around her and they were pressed
together, shoulder to thigh to knee.
She felt one of his hands sink into her hair, his fingers cupping
the nape of her neck, while the other hand pressed flat against the
base of her spine. She had laced her arms behind his head to hold him
still, but now she let the fingers of one twine into his hair, just
where it swirled tightly into his braid. The other curled between them
for a moment, hesitating, then slid around his ribs, ending up between
his shoulderblades, where his tank top dipped down to expose his back.
His hair was soft and thick, the flesh of his back warm and smooth
beneath her fingers. His mouth was warm too, warm and sweet, slanting
across hers. She had never realized he was so warm.
Ranma�s hand on her back had begun to slip lower and lower, half
an inch, then an inch, pulling her more firmly to him. She felt her
own hand mimicking his actions, gently tracing the hard ridge of his
spine under the ribbed tank top. Her hand reached the waistband of his
boxers, toyed with it - caught on the edge - slipped inside barely an
inch. The very tips of her fingers touched warm flesh.
They both jumped at once, not quite able to let go despite losing
their balance. Akane saw Ranma�s red face flash in the moonlight as he
fell backwards, pulling her with him. They tumbled to the ground. Her
hand went out behind his back to break their fall -- and sank deep into
the ruins of the wedding cake. Ranma landed in the middle of the mess
with a loud splat, Akane stretched out on top of him. Frosting went
flying. They stared at each other for a long moment, blushing. Then
they started to laugh, just giggles at first, then so hard that tears
came to their eyes. Somehow in the midst of it all, their lips found
each other again, dissolving into another kiss, one that bubbled with
their laughter.
When they eventually regained... not composure, but something
almost resembling it, Ranma raised himself up on his elbow, ruefully
picking some frosting up on his index finger. "Want some?" he said
lightly, sticking his finger in her mouth before she could reply. The
frosting was cool and sugary, and melted away quickly from the salty
warmth of his finger. It was good frosting, Kasumi�s best; Ranma�s
finger was a different story, but... A small sound from Ranma made her
look back at him, her mouth still around his finger. He had a
strangely intense look on his face, and she watched in fascination as
he slowly drew the finger out of her mouth, trailing it moistly up her
cheek and around the very edge of her ear. She shivered in a way she
didn�t quite understand, in a way that made her want to hide - and hide
she did, behind a playful smile.
"Your turn!" she giggled, pulling her hand out of the depths of
the cake. Ranma seemed to stop breathing as she brought her hand to
his face, hovering tantalizingly over his mouth - then squishing a glob
of frosting right on his nose. He looked at it crosswise.
"What am I supposed to do about this?"
"I�ll take care of it." She leaned forward and nipped the
frosting off his nose, licking her lips. "All clean."
"No fair," he said in a rough, faint voice. "I didn�t get any
cake..." There was a moment of nervous indecision in his eyes, as if
he were about to leap off a cliff, then his fingers encircled her wrist
and brought her hand to his mouth; his eyes met hers over her index
finger as he slid her frosted thumb into his mouth.
She exhaled slowly, her playfulness gone as she felt his rough
tongue circling her thumb. Her eyes closed halfway, riveted to his
face as her thumb has warmed by his mouth. She felt her mouth open
slightly, her lips dry.
He moved on to her index finger, sucking gently at the frosting
while her thumb cooled in the breeze. Her middle finger he nibbled at
gently; she saw his white teeth gleaming faintly.
Ring finger. His teeth scraped gently at her knuckle before cool
air claimed it.
Pinky finger.
The callused edge of her hand.
Her palm. His eyes never left her face.
With a final kiss, there between the lines of her hand, for love
and for life, he flattened her hand against his own chest. Their lips
met again in a sweet hot exchange that tasted of vanilla and sugar and
buttercream.
She couldn�t think - oh, God, she needed to think - she broke
free from the kiss, resting her cheek on her hand, gasping. His
heartbeat was muted, but she could still feel the vibration in the
silence of the dojo. His free hand came up to stroke her hair, sticky
with frosting, as if the soft strands were made of glass; she relaxed
slightly and moved her other hand to trace designs on his shoulder.
Past his shoulder, she saw the very top layer of the cake, off a
bit to the side. Poised atop the layer, almost mocking her, were the
small plastic figures of the bride and groom. Their faces wore twin
blank smiles; the groom�s black tuxedo was painted on a little crooked,
so one side of his neck was black, while on the other side a bit of his
shoulder was bare. Ranma had worn a white tuxedo that had fit him
perfectly. How they had gotten the right size she would never know; he
would never have allowed them to measure him for it. Would she and
Ranma have smiled like that? Was the couple on the cake an arranged
marriage too?
Ranma shifted beneath her. "Um, Akane?"
She kept her face down. "Yes, Ranma?"
"Can we get up? This cake is kinda uncomfortable." He sounded
regretful, but maybe it was all an act. She couldn�t be sure, she
could never be sure with him. She crawled backwards a bit and pushed
herself to her feet, offering Ranma her hand. Together they surveyed
the damage.
Akane had gotten off lightly, with just her hand (she blushed
thinking about it) and a few splatters on her pajamas. Ranma, on the
other hand, was practically coated. His tank top and boxer shorts were
crusted white the entire length of his back "You�d better go change,"
she said regretfully.
"Yeah, I guess so." He made no move to leave. Akane bent down
and picked up the bride and groom from the cake, looking at them again.
Maybe they weren�t too bad after all. She traced the line of the
groom�s tuxedo.
"Well, um, I guess I'll go change then..." Ranma backed towards
the door, then turned to leave.
As he reached for the door, Akane heard herself say, "Wait, Ranma."
He paused, looking back over his shoulder. "What?"
She felt her cheeks blush furiously. "Would you... would you put
your tuxedo back on? I just... want to see you in it again. Just once
more."
"It's not a real pretty sight right now," he said with a mix of
curiosity and embarrassment. "After the cold water and the exploding
okonomiyaki and the Happo-Daikarin, I can understand why the rental
companies won't do business with us any more."
"I know it's strange, but..." She looked at her feet, the dolls
behind her back.
Ranma was silent for a long moment before he looked back again.
"I'll go put it on. But there's one condition." He turned and stared at
the door uncomfortably. "You have to wear your dress. Otherwise, I'll
feel stupid." Akane stared at his back, unable to read him, then
whispered her agreement. Ranma smiled weakly over his shoulder, and
was gone.
Akane looked after him for several heartbeats, her hand
automatically coming up to brush her own lips. He had just... and she
had... oh my. Her lips still tingled from the pressure of his, she
could still taste a hint of frosting; a shiver spread from her fingertips
to the pit of her stomach. She should be embarrassed, she knew she
should, but all she could muster was a sense of wonder. She had never
thought kissing Ranma would be like that, so warm and shivery and...
comfortable. Yes, comfortable, as if the tension that had been between
them from their first meeting had snapped like a rubber band.
It must have been the moonlight. The moonlight, and the stress
of the past few weeks, and maybe a bit of her shattered hopes for the
evening. There was no other explanation for their sudden...
possession. It wasn't as if they cared about each other...
She shook her head, sharply, as if avoiding a mosquito. No more
self-deception. She did... care about Ranma. Maybe, maybe she even
loved him. She was just so confused...
If Ranma was as confused as she was, he might not come back. She
felt her hands fisting at the thought. He might try to escape, just go
to bed, or go out on the roof... The thought burned in her chest. He had
better come back. She didn't want to lose that comfortable feeling
between them. If it was nothing more than moonlight... well, there
were hours left in the night. And if it was something more...
She gave herself a mental kick, striding over to the garment bag
and unzipping it decisively. She'd be damned if he was going to come
back and find her still in her flannel pajamas. If he didn't come
back, well then, maybe she had her answer.
She slipped out of her pajamas, feeling the cool night breeze
caressing her stomach, then quickly stepped into the dress. Her arms
slid easily into the fitted sleeves, and she adjusted the bodice
fussily. The silk lining of the dress was cold and slick against her
bare skin - and without meaning to, she thought about how warm Ranma
was, how warm his hands were, and sighed.
Walking slowly towards the hole in the wall, she reached around the
back of her neck to begin fastening the buttons. A breeze ruffled the
leaves of the tree; she could hear a dog barking in the distance, a cat
yowling. Further away, there was some music floating on the breeze.
The top four buttons were easy, but as she moved down to the fifth,
she could feel her fingers starting to fumble. Kasumi had fastened her
up that morning, her gentle face beaming as she talked about the food
she had planned for the reception. And taking the dress off hadn't been
nearly this hard. Why did they put such small buttons on anyhow? She
ignored the nagging voice inside her that said she was never supposed to
deal with the buttons of her dress herself; before the wedding, she
was supposed to have bridesmaids, and after the wedding... She cursed
under her breath and struggled with the sixth button.
Then her fingers were brushed aside and she felt his hands on
her bare back, fastening each button one by one. She stood up very
straight, every nerve focused on those fingers. They passed between her
shoulder blades, then down to her waist, then lower to the very end of
the line of buttons. The hands paused, then traced the bodice around
to her hips, where they rested tentatively. Those light fingers, so
light she could barely sense them, were the only point of contact
between them, but she could feel him behind her, not more than a few
inches; his uneven breath warmed her hair, and she could hear the swish
of her skirt against his linen pants. She sighed, and leaned into him.
"You came back."
His arms crept shyly around her waist, encircling her. "I said
I would." His voice rumbled through his chest, making her hair quiver.
She gently covered his arms with her own, not quite pulling them
tighter. The linen of his sleeves was smudged and charred; he had fared
much worse than she in the chaos. "I guess you did." She let her eyes
close as she relaxed against him, her head lolling back against his
shoulder. His heartbeat seemed to match hers.
"Akane..."
"Shh..."
The resistance of his arms as she inhaled was a novelty, and she
felt herself breathing more deeply just to experience that pressure
across her ribs. Ranma didn't seem to be breathing at all; his chest was
rigid against her back - then there was a rush of warmth through her
hair, and he relaxed, his head lowering until his cheek brushed hers.
Now he was breathing, indeed - she could feel each exhalation on
her neck, faster than her own, ruffling the lace at her throat. His arms
were growing tighter as well, the palms of his hands cupping her ribcage
so that she felt cocooned in his embrace.
The gentle touch of his lips on her neck made her gasp.
Immediately he recoiled. "I'm sorr..."
"No." She pulled his arms back around her, gathering her courage.
"D... do that again."
She could not help but gasp again as he obliged her, once, then
again, then again. Her fingers were tightening on his sleeves, she
noticed detachedly as she focused on his uncertain lips, his nose grazing
her jawbone, the exquisite hot rush of each breath. She felt herself
tilting her chin so that he could kiss her there, on the column of her
windpipe - then proferring her jaw for a series of kisses back towards
her ear, which to her surprise he kissed as well - then she was turning
to face him, her hands coming up to clutch at his lapels.
His eyes were wide with something like shock, and she mustered
courage again to stand on her tiptoes and press her own lips just above
his collar. Her cheek slid down his shirtfront to rest against her own
fisted hands as he folded her close again, and they both struggled to
catch their breath.
Akane finally decided that she would probably never breathe
normally again, and with her laughter bubbling to the surface, she whirled
out of Ranma's grasp, holding out her smudged skirts. "How do I look?"
she asked merrily.
Then she got her first good look at Ranma.
Her first thought was that he really hadn't been kidding about the
tuxedo. The entire outfit was covered with soot and powder burns, and tiny
holes left by burning sparks spread in a constellation across his left
shoulder. The linen was completely wrinkled, and seemed to have shrunk
unevenly in places; his left sleeve was a bit short, and his right pants
leg was oddly tight across his knee. The tuxedo shirt seemed to be missing
a stud or two, and his left cuff gaped open, the cufflink long gone. His
feet were bare. The cap on the outfit was his bow tie, which he had
somehow managed to put on straight; it only served to accent Ranma's
disarray.
Ranma frowned at her obvious mirth. "Hey, I told you it wasn't gonna
be a pretty sight. Don't laugh." He jerked at his lapels, straightening
the jacket defensively.
Akane quieted herself with a conscious effort and stepped back up to
him, smoothing her hands over the jacket front. "I'm sorry. It's just...
surprising." She tugged a bit at the jacket shoulders, then ran her hands
down the sleeves. She had to admit to herself that she loved touching him,
even in such a cursory way; it was one of those little things a wife might
do, intimate in its very casualness. One of her hands finally came to rest
on his chest, the other one tugging gently at his tie. "You tied this
yourself?"
"Well, sort of." His voice was rough, his eyes dark with something
barely held in check. "I put it on myself. They come pre-tied, you just
clip 'em around your neck. So it looks like a real tie, but it's not."
His hands slipped casually around her waist, clasping in the small of her
back.
She lifted up the drooping points of his collar, noticing the little
clip in the neckband. "I see." She looked up at him wryly, lightly
slapping his chest. "Cheater."
He frowned again. "It is not cheating. It's like... like using a
calculator on a physics test. You can do it by hand, but it takes too
long."
Akane laughed again. "Some of us could do it by hand..."
"C'mon, quit it." He was starting to look genuinely annoyed, and
she calmed down quickly.
"I'm sorry. It's a habit, I guess." She fiddled with his tie again,
then rose on tiptoe again, thrilling at her own audacity as she kissed
him just below the Adam's apple, then a bit lower,at the base of his
throat just above the tie.
"O... okay." His voice was sounding weak again, and Akane was struck
by a sudden impulse. She stepped back so she could see his face clearly.
"Dance with me," she said softly.
"Dance?" He looked frightened for a moment. "Like, what, the
Macarena?"
"No," she said with some exasperation. "Waltzing."
"Oh..." He fidgeted with his loose cuff, glancing off to one side.
"I, um... I..." He muttered something under his breath. Eyes narrowing,
she folded her arms.
"What was that, Ranma?"
He looked at her with a sheepish grin. "I... I've never waltzed
before."
"Oh." She thought for a moment, then beamed up at him. "I'll teach
you."
"Now?"
She sighed. "Of course now! Look, if you can pick up any martial
arts technique in seconds, you can learn to waltz." She fixed him with a
challenging glare. "Even _I_ can waltz."
"Well..."
She could tell she had appealed to his competitive nature, and dealt
her final card. "Or are you too scared to try?"
He stuck his jaw out. "That's a low blow."
"I know it is." She dimpled at him. "But you'll do it now, won't
you?"
"...Maybe."
"Then watch me." She stepped back a few paces, heart fluttering
nervously. She had never danced for an audience before, and this wasn't
just any audience, this was _Ranma_, his gaze assessing and absorbing her
every move.
His eyes were burning her, and she spoke partly to ward them off.
"You need to hold my hand - like this - and your other hand goes... on my
waist." She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "My hand goes on your
shoulder... like this..." and with that she held her arms out and began
to dance before him in the moonlight.
Her first few steps were hesitant and stumbling under the weight of
his gaze, but soon she was whirling around the dojo, eyes half-closed and
focused on the still figure in the battered tuxedo. She circled once,
then came to a rest in front of him, dropping into a clumsy curtsey.
"Are you ready to try?"
He nodded mutely, and stepped forward, hesitantly taking her hand
and stepping into a half-embrace. Akane placed her trembling hand on his
shoulder, and took a deep breath.
"Okay... ONE two three, TWO two three..." They began to dance.
Within a few steps, he had caught the rhythm, and she smiled up at him
encouragingly. Then a few steps later, he was in control.
He danced like a martial artist - forcefully sweeping her around
with a feline, predatory grace that made no bows to superfluous
aesthetics, but was beautiful nonetheless. Not at all like the times
in junior high when she and Nabiki had giggled their way through the
steps, thinking dreamily of future dances when the partner would not be
a sister. Then she had envisioned a Fred Astaire, or a Baryshnikov, who
would float through the steps as if dancing on air, on the clouds.
Ranma's bare feet were as silent as her own, but she could still
feel the way his feet drew energy from the smooth wooden floor, from the
earth beneath it. She could feel life flowing through every motion,
a life that was immediate and powerful and undeniably real - and if on
occasion her feet did leave the floor as he swung her through a turn
with particular energy, she was still grounded by his arms, bound to the
present.
His hand held hers just a little too tightly, warm and sweaty
though they had only danced for a minute or so, and the breeze from the
garden was practically cold. She liked that his grasp was too tight,
that he danced like Ranma and not like an angel; she could tell from
these little imperfections that the night was real, and if the night
was real, then the look in Ranma's eyes, the gentle touch of his lips -
those had to be real, too.
They were moving in a spiral, and she giddily recalled Ranma's
most powerful special attack, the _Hiryuushotenha_. Ranma drawing
his opponent into a narrowing spiral, keeping his body cool until
he could strike out in the center, using his opponent's heat against
him... But Ranma wasn't cool now, he was hot under her hands, like
she was... He was growing hotter with each passing second, or
perhaps she was just feeling it because they were closer together now,
their chests brushing with each step, her hand caressing the nape
of his neck while his slid down to her hips, pressing her ever
nearer. She felt as if she were falling...
She was falling, she realized - into the crater in the dojo
floor. Ranma seemed to realize it at the same time; he muttered
a curse and twisted so that he took the brunt of the impact. Akane
landed on top of him with a grunt, one hand skidding painfully along
the ground.
"You okay, Akane?" Ranma pushed himself to a sitting position,
carefully hoisting Akane up to sit on his lap. She heaved a few deep
breaths.
"Y... yes..." She looked ruefully at her hand, red and striped
with dirt. "Mostly."
"Lemme see." He had her hand before she could reply, gently
wiping at the dust with his loose cuff. "It doesn't look too bad, but
you should put some antiseptic on it..." He traced the scrapes with
one finger, delicately. Her hand stung faintly, but the touch was
comforting nonetheless.
She wished he would kiss it. Her hand was trembling with the
thought, as his finger moved faintly along her reddened palm; she let
her head sink down to rest on his shoulder and watched his hands on
hers.
"Are... you okay, too?" she said at last, pressing her forehead
against his neck. "You landed pretty hard."
"It was nothing," he said offhandedly, still holding her hand,
his finger moving maddeningly.
"Good." Akane drew back to where she could see his face; he was
looking studiously at her hand, which he still had not kissed and when
was he planning on getting around to that?
She was tired of waiting. She drew her hand from his grasp and
placed it against his cheek, ignoring the sting. It took very little
pressure to turn his face to meet hers, none at all to convince him to
close the bare gap between their lips.
She was not quite prepared for Ranma's fervent response, the way
his arms snaked around her and held her fast, but she wasn't about to
complain. She was too absorbed in kissing him, enthralled by the sheer
variety of kisses available. She had never imagined that kissing him
on the side of the neck - like so - would make him quiver, or that he
might then lean to her ear, and - oh my, was that his tongue? She
could not tell anymore which gasps were his and which hers - there
were so many things to concentrate on. His rough hands moving urgently
on her back. The exotic sensation of his hard chest against her
breasts, silk sliding across rough linen with every movement. Most of
all, his lips blazing trails across her face and throat, teasing at
the threshold of her high collar, warm through the lace covering her
shoulders.
The world was tilting - but no, that was Ranma, leaning backwards
and taking her with him, until she was gazing down at him, her skirts
tangled in his legs. Not a bad idea, she thought as she kissed his
throat yet again. Staying upright definitely took up too much energy,
energy that could be better spent running her hands across his
shoulders. A moment later she realized another advantage as his hands
began to roam lower, past her waist, stroking at her hips in a
fascinating way.
She would be more comfortable if she didn't have his hipbone
jabbing into her stomach, though. She shifted to one side, then froze.
That wasn't his hipbone.
With a muffled squeak, she pushed herself away, tumbling to the
dirt. Ranma jerked back up to a sitting position, his eyes wild.
"What? What'd I do? I'm sorry!"
Akane felt her face flushing. "I... uh... you were..." She
couldn't stop staring... "You know."
"Know what?" He followed the direction of her gaze, then turned
the shade of a beet. "...oh."
Akane finally managed to tear her gaze away, focusing on her bare
toes peeping out from the hem of her gown. She scrunched them in the
dirt. Kissing she could handle, the kissing was definitely good, but...
she wasn't quite ready to deal with the next step. Nobody had ever told
her that it was so easy to slip from one into the other.
The dojo was eerily silent as she contemplated her toes. Finally,
she looked up at Ranma again.
He had his back to her, and was looking up at the sky through the
hole in the roof. She wondered what he could possibly be thinking.
Maybe he regretted having come into the dojo at all. Or maybe... maybe
he was feeling the way she was - bereft, and a little frightened, and
still very much in...
Akane scooted over to sit beside him, following his gaze. The
stars had shifted, and she wracked her brain for a moment trying to
identify the constellation. Maybe Cassiopeia? It didn't really matter.
Her hand was right beside his; it was easy, when it came right down to
it, to slip her hand over his, to squeeze gently. Why had she always
thought it so hard?
"I'm... sorry, Ranma," she said at last. "I was just... a little
scared."
Ranma was silent for an eternal moment, then sighed. "Me too,"
he admitted quietly. His hand shifted, turning to clasp hers. "But
don't tell anyone."
"I won't." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "It'll
be our little secret."
They sat like that until a new set of stars had moved into their
patch of sky, a sky that was beginning to lighten. At last, Ranma
stood with a huge yawn, pulling Akane up with him.
"Kasumi'll be up soon. We'd better take care of that hand." He
smiled down at her as if the night had never happened. Akane found
herself smiling back.
"Okay."
That didn't stop them from kissing five times as they crept
towards the bathroom, two or three more as Ranma gently soaped and
scrubbed her hand, and once again as the sting of the antiseptic sent
tears to Akane's eyes.
"You're such a crybaby," Ranma teased, earning himself another
kiss.
"You jerk," Akane smiled, leaning over just once more...
*******************************
The next morning, she didn't really have that option.
"Honestly, you are always such a..."
"It's all *your* fault!"
Kasumi had made the mistake of bringing up the fact that the
dojo was really quite messy, she expected everybody to pitch in and
help, and how on earth had Akane gotten so much dirt on her dress?
Akane wasn't quite ready to tell her.
It was really quite difficult not to fling herself at Ranma
and kiss him silly, because that was definitely the only way she
had found to get him to shut up. And he was assuredly in rare form
today.
Soun had been speaking for some time; it belatedly occurred
to her that she might be best served to stop thinking about kissing
Ranma at this particular moment, and she decided listening to her
father would at the very least distract her.
"And so..." he was saying monotonously, "... until we've got
financial affairs under control, we'll just have to put the wedding
off a bit more..."
What had he said?
Akane cast an innocent gaze up at Ranma, who was looking at
her thoughtfully. She smiled.
She hoped they wouldn't have to wait *too* long.
The End.
Author's Postscript (becasue there weren't enough notes at the top):
Well, as I alluded to in the preface, I just couldn't make them do
it... this time. Given the seriousness with which every single
kiss is treated in the manga and anime, I just can't see them
gleefully leaping into sex without some serious changes to the
status quo... But I hope you all enjoyed it anyway. *innocent smile*
For those who might care, yes, I am working on Monogatari. Part 6
is about 1/3 done, and I've been writing ahead when the mood strikes
me so the rest should come more quickly. Really.... I hope to have
part 6 out by the end of June.
Mata ne!
B. Wilde
