Two Words

Based on a one line joke that turned into a ridiculous 700 words, that joke itself was based on an image I had screencapped from the first Dangan Ronpa that I'm sure you've seen. In fact it's the cover image for this fic.

Pairing: Naegiri.

This was it. The moment Makoto Naegi had been looking forward to since… since there had been a future to look forward to. Well, there's no way he would have imagined this moment in particular, let alone with someone as amazing as Kyoko Kirigiri– Kyoko Naegi, as of five hours ago (he had offered to take her name, considering it's heritage, but she turned him down flat, pointing out that he was definitely no detective). He wouldn't have dreamed of….
Crap crap crap! Stop that stupid blushing she's your wife for crying out loud! And it's not like you haven't seen each other and done… stuff, you just haven't… you know. A point which a certain large haired friend of his made sure to tease him about though he wasn't sure why, as he was pretty sure that his friend wasn't exactly "experienced" himself. At least, not according to Komaru, who seemed to have a decently close relationship with his bizarrely doting mom. If only his own mom were…..
Way to put a damper on things. Why was he thinking about this now? As if he didn't cry about at length already with both Komaru and Kyoko on separate occasions. Komaru cried too… She always cried whenever the subject came up, no matter how many years went by– she was now a young adult of course, but when Makoto looked at her, he still saw the sweet, short haired teen with the cheerful smile, though only the smile remained the same. Kyoko… did not cry. Not even for herself. Whatever tears Kyoko had shed for her own family, if any, that day in the Headmaster's office…
What is wrong with me! He took a look at himself, that idiotic piece of hair pointing back at him. He hadn't changed too much, had he? Maybe. At least his hair wasn't quite as shaggy, and still styled neatly from the ceremony, save for that one piece. He took off his shirt and folded it up neatly, putting it next to the cufflinks he had borrowed from Byakuya. Byakuya…. had changed, in his own way, too, more than he'd ever admit… They had all–
"Makoto?" "Sorry… Be right there!" the blush was back. He had told Kyoko he was going to freshen up and let her presumably do the same. She had promised a surprise for him and so they got ready in separate rooms, for…
If he didn't frantically splash some cold water on his face, he would have sworn his cheeks would have set fire. Man, now I got water on my pants. Wait, should I take these off or…. let Kyoko…! That's it. He sighed, exasperated, quickly taking off his pants and running out there, resolved not to get any redder.
"Nice socks." Kyoko smiled that half-smirk she was famous for, sitting there on the edge of the bed, in some kind of lacy lingerie. He was busy staring, a million things going through his mind, and probably didn't even hear. "You look… I mean, you-you are… amazing." He beamed, and she grinned, taking his hand in her own bare hand. "I think your talent must've rubbed off on me. Your original "talent", I mean. Seeing as how lucky I am to have met you."

He sat beside her, and they held each other close, sharing a passionate kiss. Kyoko teased along his neck, then, her breath warm against his ear, whispered the words that every red-blooded Ultimate male dreams of hearing a woman whisper to him:

"MUKURO IKUSABA."

AN: I don't know either. It seemed funny at the time. Feel free to comment, any feedback is welcome and thanks if you made it through this.