#this is the silliest thing i've ever written I blame writer's block

[fuedalreesespieces]

the martial arts of a kiss

or: if ranma and akane had kissed during the ice skating arc.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even asked. 

Akane stared at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place, and that was startling on its own. Usually he could identify her emotions with ease; she never made any effort to hide them. The only thing he recognized was embarrassment blooming in her cheeks, spreading an even, rosy blush over her fair skin. Her shoulders rose up like mountain slopes, and the blush grew down there, too, scattering over her collarbone and neck.  

If...if you don’t mind...then I don’t.  

A shallow wind blew through the dojo. He wished he hadn’t said anything – the sudden silence bulged between them like someone shoving an extra crayon in a too-filled box. They’d been bickering like usual earlier, but it had only taken a single moment of stupidity to dismantle the casual, if not heightened, mood. He supposed it was his fault for even bringing up kisses in the first place, for daring to goad Akane – Akane, who’d shouted back as though kissing were a feat she refused to fail at: go ahead and try it!  

She kneeled in front of him now, eyes pinned on her skirt. The air was stiffening, nearly uncomfortable, and he searched for something to say. He grappled for a moronic insult that would dissolve the ice between them, and though those were always in reach, this time he had nothing to say. He hated to feel speechless, but she did that to him - only sometimes, he insisted.  

Akane made the first move. Her voice was quiet. “I...I don’t mind.” She added, reaching up to tug on one of her side-bangs, only to remember they were gone. Her hand drifted delicately to the cusp of her knee, “...if you don’t mind.” 

The distance between them shrunk to nothing with those words. He could make out every detail on her face, the exact pattern of her blush and the petite scrunch of her mouth, like she’d eaten something sour. Her eyes were wide as pots, filled with a stew of emotions he wished he could pick out. “Close your eyes.” 

He blinked owlishly. “Me?”  

“Yes, you,” she huffed. “If you can’t do it, then I will!” 

“I can!” 

“I’ll be as old as my dad by the time you get the guts!” 

“Oh, you-” He grit his teeth and placed either hand on her cheeks, pulling her closer than ever before. It was a brazen, idiotic move. He was sure she’d conk him on the head for this display, but instead, her left hand came to gently drape over his. Her skin was the color of a tomato – he would have told her if his own face was much better. Their mutual touch seemed to steam, like red-hot coals pressed together under a grill.  

He’d hoped to see the kiss coming, at first. His previous (and only kiss) had felt like a swift, unexpected attack, and to close his eyes after that was to give up his semblance of control. But this was Akane – he trusted her. He would know her in the dark, and he would know her by her rugged palms skirting over his skin, and most importantly: he wanted this. He wanted to feel her kiss. Just admitting it in his head made him senseless, and part of him wanted to run, maybe lift some weights, anything to settle the erratic energy him from within, but Akane’s presence kept him in place. 

So he closed his eyes. Swathed in darkness, the touch of her lips against his felt like a thousand colors bursting under his eyelids. She was...warm, and her lips tasted like sweat from her training, and she was clumsy. He almost forgot, what with her confidence, that this could very well be her first kiss, because after their mouths met she seemed to forget where to place her hands. Ranma laughed against her lips.

Akane tilted her head and the kiss found its balance. His fingers trailed down her shoulders, tapping at her collarbone. Her hands played with the stray, unruly strands of his hair, and the touch of her made him ache. It was both the pain and exhilaration of a night run, the awe and excitement of watching firecrackers explode in front of you. He could combust any minute with how tentative she was being.  

She drew away from him, breathless. There was ire in her eyes, though her lips were hiding a questionable smile. “You’re terrible at this.” 

“Me?” he scowled, but there was no heat to it. “You’re the one who can’t kiss.” 

Furious, she grabbed him by the shirt collar and reeled him in. This kiss felt more like a crash, a loving punch on the mouth, and when she felt her breath run tight, he would pull her back in for a second, and a third. It didn’t calm him in the slightest. He remembered how as a child he would sometimes take lit matches and squeeze the fire dead with his fingers the way his father used to. The sensation of flame against his skin was momentary, a hiss of pain that tore through him, made his heart squeeze, then faded. This felt like that, except the cycle was never-ending. The heat of each kiss was exquisite, and he wanted the moment to go on forever, to feel the same excess of uncontrollable, delighted energy, like somehow all their fights were being channeled into one momentous, if bumbling, exchange.  

Ranma Saotome didn't bumble at anything. But this felt right, like the sort of kiss only they could share and no one else. Not a spectacle nor a sport.

“Ranma, Akane!” Kasumi’s light voice danced through the hall. Their lips might as well have ripped from each other. “Dinner’s ready!”  

Her shadow lingered outside the dojo screen. Akane came to her senses first and shouted, voice all throaty, “We’re coming!” 

“Y-yeah! Just practicing!” he added. Goddamn that stammer.

They watched as Kasumi’s shadow disappeared. Akane pinched him on the nose. “Hey!” 

“’Just practicing?’ What kind of excuse was that?” 

“What kind’a excuse? It ain't no excuse. You do need practice.” He gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll help ya out.” 

Her face turned red again. “You....” Her fingers clenched into a fist. “Big words from a guy who couldn’t even get the guts to kiss me first! You were shaking like a wet duck!” 

“What?” 

“But don’t worry, Ranma,” she assured, using her hands to lift his jaw close. In a poor imitation of his voice, she crooned, “I’ll help ya out.” 

He groaned, his face leaning on her shoulder, as Akane’s laughs echoed in the empty dojo.