The Wedding Night by Bridget Ellen Wilde
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 plenty 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.
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 as 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 shoulder blades, 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 butter cream.
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 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 (because 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