I've Trained for This Moment

Chapter Summary: Ranma Saotome, 20 years old. He's been the husband of Akane Saotome for five months, but they've known each other way longer. His goal? Forget how the heat and humidity of August stayed long after the sun dipped from the party. Akane deconstructed and reconstructed some popsicles or something, so here's to hoping. And lower body temperatures.

Chapter Two: The Best You've Made

In the living room, Soun hollered at Pops for taking advantage of a sneeze. Apparently, he'd swapped their koma pieces while his father in law's eyes were closed. Ranma rolled his eyes from outside. That tracked. Not that he could hear the argument very well or cared. The TV murmured some crap too, but it sounded as fuzzy as the static he bet clung to the screen like the sweat stuck to his head. And his back. And the back of his knees. And his elbows. Nature was such a pain in the ass. Down to the bugs. The chirps of the crickets and cicadas and moths as they cozied up to the lights by the shoji doors sounded normal. Like the heat of August hadn't moved them in the slightest. Stupid. Not that Ranma'd been moved either, but in a much more literal way. Like he was a sitting duck, frozen but because of the summer heat. It was all so unbelievably dumb.

Blinking up at the clouds in the night sky, Ranma realized for the fifth time in the past half an hour that he felt disgusting. Never thought his cure-all hot bath would feel like a death sentence, so he was stuck like this. Stripped down to a white tank top and yellow patterned boxers. If it was just him 'n Akane, he'd have ditched the shirt. But with his family so close and Akane's hand in punching range, he let himself get drenched in the least sexiest way possible. His boobs felt too heavy, and while resting his head in Akane's lap was nice and all, she was also pretty hot.

Ranma blinked up at his wife. Of the two, she was supposed to be the most un-cute, but her pink sundress was really doing something to him. Pieces of her black hair stuck against her face like she'd placed 'em there on purpose. Sweat just gave her a dewy glow that the stars seemed to sprint to. Stupid.

"You think we'll make it?" Ranma asked as Akane threaded her fingers through his red hair.

Akane hummed. "It's supposed to be a little warmer tomorrow."

Ha! They were so dead. He could cook an entire four course meal in the dirt of the yard, even now, when the sun booked it. Ranma groaned, turning to face the koi pond. He splashed his feet in the plastic bin Akane'd brought him a few minutes ago. "Akane, the water's warm," he whined.

"Well you haven't turned back yet, so it can't be that bad."

"Aw, come on."

Akane handed him a popsicle mold. "Just shut up and eat another one. It's still cool."

Ranma grabbed the frosty mold, closing one eye to inspect the contents inside. There were way too many chunks, but presentation and Akane didn't go hand in hand. She'd forgotten to put the tops in so none of these things came with sticks, but with it being so hot out, it didn't make or break the experience. Ranma opened his mouth, watching as lumps of strawberries ambled out. Snails moved faster. "This is the best thing you've ever cooked," the martial artist droned, knocking back the chunky popsicle.

"I didn't make it though," Akane sighed, continuing to run her hands through Ranma's red hair.

"Sure you did," Ranma offered, watching the last few chunks meander down. He stuck his tongue out, waiting, but continued talking, "You stripped 'em and put 'em in the blender."

"Yeah and it was basically juice when I was done."

"So now they're popsicles again."

Akane sighed, "I guess."

Ranma raised a brow, but his wife missed it. How was it that whenever he tried to actually drop a compliment, Akane acted all weird about it? She should be blushing furiously, brushing off his praise yet soaking it all in like a sponge. Ranma sighed too. He knew how to reel her back in hook, line, and sinker. "Guess you're right; if you put this together from scratch, I'd be on a training trip."

Akane turned her head sharply, a familiar ire already in her brown eyes. Ranma couldn't help grinning. "You know I hate it when you say stuff like that," she huffed. The martial artist just brought his mouth to the frozen treat, licking the last of it. He tossed the emptied mold aside with far too much confidence for how gross he still felt. "Hey! Are you an animal? Our home isn't some dumpster!"

Ranma shrugged from his spot in her lap. "Can't move," he said, proffering Akane a face he knew she'd clock him for.

Akane growled, her fingers sprinting from his hair to be balled into a fist. "Ranma..." she warned and the martial artist snickered. He reached a hand up to clutch hers.

"I don't exactly see you runnin' over to pick it up."

"Just watch me!" Akane exclaimed before pushing Ranma off her. Light brown wood was everything he saw, but his ears were clear. Her stomps were as loud as an elephant's, and he pushed himself just in time for the plastic to whack his nose. "Look, I found the trash can!"

Ranma tried not to laugh.

-X-

A/N: To be honest, I've really hesitated on what pronouns to use while Ranma's Jysenkyocurse is on full display. A really fun aspect of fanfic writing for me is seeing how in character I can keep everyone, and I think being a "man" is important to Ranma. So, even though there are times when he rocks lady bits, he still identifies with he/him pronouns.