Warning! This story is a m/m lemon.

An Evening at Home

"Stupid rain . . . "

Ranma-chan trudged toward home, looking soggy and miserable as a furious and unexpected evening rain shower poured down into the slick streets of Nerima. Her drenched red bangs hanging in her face, the slight girl absently tried to brush them aside, only to have them fall back into place as soon as they became water-logged once again. Sighing at the futility of her activity, Ranma pushed open the gate to the Tendo property and slogged up to the door.

At least there was something to look forward to tonight. Pop and Tendo-san were on a weekend training trip together, Kasumi was caring for a sick friend, and Nabiki and Akane had gone to a concert in Tokyo with a group of friends from school. This meant that Ranma was going to have the house all to herself until morning. Such an occurrence was a rarity, and the pig tailed martial artist looked forward to the peace and quiet of her own companionship. Her plans were pleasantly nebulous. Scarf down the dinner Kasumi had left for her, maybe watch a little TV; the novelty of being able to chose a program -she- wanted to watch was appealing, and perhaps catch up on some reading. She’d been trying to finish _The Art of War_ for months now.

The interior of the house was darkened and agreeably quiet, with the exception of a light on in the diningroom. Ranma frowned in its general direction as she kicked off her shoes in the entry and wrung as much of the moisture as possible out of her clothes. It wasn’t like Kasumi to leave a light on when the means for paying the electric bill were always in question, but perhaps she had simply forgotten. Leaving her red shirt wrinkled and untucked, Ranma shook the rain out of her hair and wandered into the diningroom.

She stopped in surprise in the doorway. "Err . . . Ryoga?"

The young man who was her chief and only serious rival knelt beside the table, head leaning against his hand while he wrote in a rather battered looking notebook, a glass of water and bowl of pretzels sitting beside him. He glanced up at the sound of his name, his expression passing through a quick gauntlet of different emotions, beginning with startled, passing through guilty, and finally settling on uncomfortable.

"Oh . . . uh, hi Ranma."

Ranma stepped a little further in, having quickly gotten over her own surprise and shifting back into her normal nonchalance. She plopped by the table and dug her hand into the pretzels. "What are you doing here?"

"Ahm . . . " Ryoga glanced down at his notebook. "Nothing really. I just happened to end up here this evening, before everyone left, and Tendo-san said I was welcome to stay the night. I haven’t slept under an actual roof for awhile, so . . . "

"That’s cool," Ranma said lightly. Her tone was one of indifference, but it served the purpose of letting Ryoga know that she was okay with the idea. He gave her a look of gratitude and they both silently agreed not to cause any problems for each other tonight. Ranma couldn’t say that she minded the Lost Boy’s company anyway, despite the fact that she had been looking forward to an evening by herself. Ryoga’s subdued presence almost served to enhance the feeling of quiet and solitude in the house.

"Whatcha writ’n?" Ranma asked around another mouthful of pretzels.

Ryoga tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the wood of the table. "A letter to my folks."

"Seen ‘em lately?"

A small smile appeared on Ryoga’s face. "Would I be writing them a letter if I had?"

Ranma thought about that for a moment. "Well, I guess not. Been awhile since you’ve been home, huh?"

"Ranma," Ryoga looked vaguely and unexpectedly amused. "It’s been awhile since I’ve been -here-, let alone home."

The pig tailed martial artist pressed a finger to her lips thoughtfully, glancing up at the ceiling as she tried to recall the last time she had seen either Ryoga or his porcine alter-ego hanging around. It had been months, at least, and now that she looked at Ryoga, she realized that the young man’s hair was much longer and scruffier looking than usual, and that he looked a bit on the tattered and weary side. "Come to think of it, you’re right. Where’ve ya been?"

"If I knew where I’d been, I could have just taken a bus home," Ryoga grumbled, though not entirely humorlessly.

"Well, how ‘bout I walk you to your house in the morning?" Ranma suggested, and was surprised and unexpectedly pleased to see Ryoga’s dark eyes light up eagerly, though the expression didn’t quite extend to his face.

"Uh . . . really?" the Lost Boy blinked.

"Sure," Ranma shrugged. It was no big deal, and it wasn’t like she’d never taken Ryoga home before, but the young man’s obvious happy anticipation was nice to see. He even smiled, and Ranma couldn’t help thinking that Ryoga would be much more pleasant to be around if only he smiled more often.

"Thank you, Ranma," Ryoga bowed his head.

"No problem." Ranma waved off the thanks, getting to her feet. She grabbed the now-empty pretzel bowl and headed into the kitchen with it, leaving Ryoga to finish his letter.

By the time Ranma returned, he was in his boy-form again, and he brought with him a tray of leftovers and the dinner Kasumi had set aside for him, to share with Ryoga. The Lost Boy had already sealed his letter in an envelope and was now idly drawing doodles in the back pages of his notebook. He glanced up with surprise as Ranma set the tray down on the table.

"What’s this?"

"Dinner." Ranma tossed the other boy a bowl and some chopsticks. "Dig in, Ryoga, there’s plenty."

The two young men shared a nice quiet evening, just as Ranma had hoped. They turned the television on while finishing off the food, and checked out a few programs, taking turns choosing what to watch. Ryoga wasn’t terribly familiar with anything that was on, but their tastes ran toward the same things, and when they consulted the TV guide, they were able to readily agree on shows that sounded good. Most of them consisted of a lot of action and gratuitous violence, but they did happen to catch a rather campy unlikely-heros-fight-giant-rubber-monster program that amused them both to no end.

"Look at that," Ranma pointed at the screen, nitpicking on the dubious marital arts abilities of the supposed heros of the series. "That baka left himself wide open. The mad scientist’s henchmen should have creamed him!"

"That -was- rather unrealistic," Ryoga agreed, twirling the chopsticks he still held in his fingers. It seemed that the Lost Boy always needed something close by to fidget with, and Ranma had found that habit a bit annoying when they first turned the TV on, but had now gotten used to it.

"Unrealistic? That’s put’n it mildly. Those last punches didn’t even touch the guy. They should at least choreograph their fight scenes better."

"I guess the point of the show is that the good guys are suppose to win, right?" Ryoga pointed out. "Which means reality doesn’t enter into it at all. No one seriously believes that a couple of punk kids could actually take on a evil scientific syndicate and monster like that with any hopes of survival, let alone winning."

Ranma glanced at him, then let a grin loose on his face. "We could."

Ryoga blinked, obviously a bit startled by the statement. He seemed to think it over for a moment, then a small hint of color blushed over the bridge of his nose and he laughed lightly. "You’re right, -we- could."

Ranma continued to grin, pleased at hearing Ryoga’s laugh. It wasn’t the near-hysterical laughter that he often blurted out with, but rather just a nice low amused chuckle. Ranma had to admit that it was appealing.

Ryoga cleared away the dishes, insisting since Ranma had gathered the food. By the time he made it back to the diningroom, after getting turned around only twice, the broadcast was in-between shows and Ranma was undoing his braid, irritably running his fingers through the length of his unbound hair and pulling at the tangles the rain had caused.

"Damnit," he grumbled as Ryoga sat back down and eyed him curiously. "I hate it when it does this."

"Long hair is prone to snarls," the Lost Boy said simply, reaching over to his nearby pack and digging out a stiff-bristled brush which he slid across the table to Ranma. "That’s why I keep mine short. Easier to manage when I’m on the road."

Ranma accepted the brush and began to work at a particularly tangled bit. "Since when can you find the road?" he teased lightly, glancing at the other young man. "But you know, yours has gotten rather long. When’s the last time you hacked at it?"

"I don’t - - " Ryoga started to protest, but stopped when he realized that Ranma’s description was accurate. Most of the time Ryoga just took a hunting knife to his hair when he thought it was getting too long, thus the word ‘hack’ was very appropriate. He shrugged, "I don’t really remember."

"Well, you should let it grow longer. It’d look nice on ya."

It took a few moments of Ryoga staring rather blankly at him before Ranma realized exactly what he had said. He made a rather poor attempt to stifle a blush and laughed, sounding more nervous then he would have liked. Ryoga continued to stare for a moment, then a rather rosy color came to his own face. He clasped his hands together and shoved them deeply into his lap, looking down.

Mentally scrambling to cover his statement, Ranma tossed his long hair over his shoulder. "Not as nice as mine though," he boasted smugly, wishing that his face didn’t feel quite so warm. He picked up his water glass and checked his reflection on it’s shiny surface, while flicking his bangs into proper place with his fingers. "Ah," he told his distorted image. "Absolute perfection."

Ryoga looked up, and smiled to see Ranma preening over himself, continuing to toss his head so that his hair would fall in just the right way. Just watching the young man primping in such a way reminded Ryoga of a song he’d been exposed to recently, and he uttered one of the lines without really thinking about it. "Disco diva y flamenco chico," he said lowly, shaking his head with an amused chuckle.

Ranma paused, tossing him a confused look. "Huh?"

"Never mind," Ryoga immediately waved the question off, once again blushing a bit.

"No, what did you say? Was that Spanish?" Ranma insisted, setting the glass back down, inwardly marveling at the proper accent Ryoga had given to the words, as if he were a native speaker of the foreign language. "Where did you learn Spanish?"

"Probably in Spain. Or Mexico. I don’t remember," Ryoga shrugged lightly. "But that was just a line from a song that popped into my head while you were flaming."

"What song is th - - flaming?! What do you mean flaming?!" Ranma yipped indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and hunkering down with a defiant look on his face. "I was -not- flaming."

"Please Ranma," Ryoga smiled fondly, apparently finding Ranma’s denial entertaining. "You’ve always been a flame. Even before your curse."

"I have not!" Ranma argued, banging his fist on the table in the manliest manner he could muster.

Ryoga rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful with a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes. "Remember when we were in junior high and that kid . . . what was his name? . . . Ah!" He snapped his fingers. "Yoichi, remember? He walked in on you in the locker room while you were - - "

"All right!" Ranma interrupted hastily, waving his hands to ward off what Ryoga was about to say next.

The Lost Boy continued, undaunted. "And you very nearly gave the poor kid a heart attack when you asked him to join you. If you had been flaming any more, the school would have burnt down. "

"Shut up!" Ranma bellowed, then groaned and let his head thunk down on the table so that Ryoga wouldn’t be able to see how much he was blushing -this- time. "Geez. Who knew you had such a memory?"

"I couldn’t exactly forget something like that. The image is forever burned in my mind," Ryoga grinned.

A bit of startled understanding dawned in Ranma’s brain as he reluctantly recalled the incident in question. "Hey yeah . . . " he looked up, locking a formidable glare on Ryoga. "You -were- there, and you didn’t exactly avert your eyes, did you?"

It was Ryoga’s turn to look extremely uncomfortable. He squirmed on his cushion and appeared to concentrate very heavily on the drop tile pattern of the ceiling. "Uh . . . well . . . "

Ranma smiled broadly, pleased to have turned the tables back on the Lost Boy. "Ryoga no hentai," he said sunnily, twinkling. Somewhere deep inside, he experienced a strange reaction to the thought of Ryoga having observed him in that rather embarrassing situation years ago, a reaction that felt sort of warm and not altogether unpleasant. But he could see by the young man’s reddened face that Ryoga was likely to die of mortification at any moment, so decided that he’d better change the subject back to something that wouldn’t result in the Lost Boy hyperventilating.

"So what song were you talking about?"

It appeared that Ryoga had some trouble switching gears. He rattled the chopsticks in his hand, looking blank for a long moment as if he were rewinding the conversation to find out where he had mentioned a song in the first place. His face slowly faded back into its normal wind-tanned hue.

"Ah . . . oh . . . yeah. Its called _La Gloria_, and I first heard it in the States, but I think the group that does it is British. It’s different from their usual stuff; they normally do electronic light techno, but this song is very Latin. Almost Salsa."

Ranma blinked. "Sarsa?"

"Salsa," Ryoga repeated, emphasizing the L-sound. "Uhm . . . you know, Latin. Rhythm. Very dancable."

The pig tailed martial artist wasn’t sure what Ryoga was trying to get at, not having been exposed to as much of the world’s music as his companion apparently had. "Do you have a CD?"

The Lost Boy sighed, looking a bit weary. "I did, but I lost it, along with my portable player, when I fell into a river last week. But Salsa has a beat kinda like this . . . " Ryoga proceeded to tap his chopsticks against the table, holding them like drumsticks. The result was a quick staccato rhythm that was very Latin in structure.

Not that Ranma really knew anything about Latin rhythm, but he liked the sound of the beat and sort of tipped his head in time with Ryoga’s tapping. He very nearly fell over in shock, however, when the young man across the table started to sing.

"/Oh Suzi, you’re shaking your red hair/" Ryoga’s low voice wrapped around a very believable Spanish accent as he sang. "/Disco diva y flamenco chico/ You know the eyes'll all be fixing on you tonight/ La bonita a la vista de un marinero . . . /"

Ranma was extremely disappointed when Ryoga stopped singing and set the chopsticks down. Just those four lines had sounded wonderful and sensual in the Lost Boy’s tenor, had sent delightful shivers down Ranma’s back, and the pig tailed boy wanted to hear more. "Aw, Ryoga!"

Ryoga was blushing as he had never blushed before, and seemed as though he were looking for a ready place to hide. "Sorry . . . "

"Sorry?! What are ya sorry for? Sing the rest, baka," Ranma insisted, giving him a good glare.

"No . . . no. I don’t sing very well, and it’s more of a dance song anyway . . . "

Ranma frowned for a moment, then decided the hell with it. He turned off the TV and carefully set his water glass on top of it, then stood up, grasped the table and heaved it gently to one side, opening up the entire room. Hands on his hips, he glowered down at an extremely startled Ryoga. "Time to loosen up, Ryoga. You have a nice voice and I want to hear the rest of the song, so if we gotta dance to it, then we’re gonna dance to it. Now, on your feet," he ordered, extending his hand toward Ryoga with an authoritative snap of the wrist.

The Lost Boy’s eyes were so wide and his face was so red that Ranma thought for a moment that he might pass out. But, avoiding Ranma’s hand, Ryoga slowly got to his feet and stood in the middle of the dining room, looking down and twiddling his index fingers together. "Uhm . . . w - well . . . we can tap out the rhythm with our steps but . . . but . . . "

"But what?" Ranma eyed him, secretly pleased that Ryoga appeared to be going along with this, rather than running off in terror, or clobbering him....

"I . . . I c - can’t dance with . . . with . . . " Ryoga glanced up and gestured helplessly. "I mean . . . well . . . you’re . . . you . . . "

"Oh for . . . " Ranma rolled his eyes in exasperation, grabbed his water glass and dumped its contents over himself. She faced Ryoga again, glowering hotly, long loose red hair falling damply over her shoulders. "There. I’m a girl. Is that better?"

She thought that she heard him mutter something that sounded like "Not really . . . " but couldn’t be entirely sure. However, he moved closer and placed a shaking hand on her hip and caught one of her hands in his other. Ranma stiffened slightly at the sudden feel of his touch, but covered her reaction quite nicely. As he paused to look down at the placement of their feet, Ranma-chan caught his freshly-scrubbed scent, which was underlain with a hint of the woods and wind. Apparently he had made use of the bath when he arrived at the Tendo’s, but a little bit of wildness that always seemed to be a part of him still lingered beneath traces of soap and steam.

"Uhm . . . " Ryoga used his foot to nudge hers into place. "I’ll show you a basic samba. It doesn’t quite fit the song, but we can adapt it as we go."

For the next half-hour, Ranma threw her entire attention into learning a few beginning steps, closely following Ryoga’s instructions. It was not unlike learning a new fighting technique, and as they progressed both young martial artists relaxed considerably. Ranma found herself unexpectedly interested in the Lost Boy’s tutoring and naturally grasped the moves quickly. There seemed to be a great deal of snappy motion to the dance that was very familiar and almost sensual as they moved together in tandem, and Ranma had to admit that dancing with Ryoga was at least as satisfying as fighting with him.

Before long, they were dancing in sync to a very sharp quick Latin rhythm, pelting out a beat against the wooden floor with their feet. R yoga had loosened up enough that there was a pleased smile shining in his eyes and he surprised her by throwing in a sudden spin that took her out to the length of his arm and back again. Ranma laughed as she found herself bumping into his chest, her small hand catching around his waist.

"Ryoga!" she twinkled up at him while they paused in place, swaying to the tune of music that was playing only in the Lost Boy’s head. "You’re just full o’ surprises, ain’t you? First Rhythmic Gymnastics and now this? Where in the world did you learn to dance?"

Apparently he was relaxed enough that he didn’t mind, or notice, that he was answering. "Madrid. The Victoriano School of Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing."

Ranma blinked. "You’re kidding."

Ryoga laughed lightly, a pleasant chuckle of amusement that sent a shiver down Ranma’s back. He took up a renewed proper position with her and began to move them to the beat he had tapped out earlier, rocking them together while he did most of the intricate footwork. Ranma recognized the rhythm and did her best to follow Ryoga’s lead.

"/Oh Suzi, you’re shaking your red hair/" Ryoga began to sing, again pitching his voice with a proper accent, and this time fitting the words into the dance they were doing. "/Disco diva y flamenco chico/ You know the eyes'll all be fixing on you tonight/ La bonita a la vista de un marinero/"

He swung her in a spin, and Ranma caught sight of the sparkle in his dark eyes. Apparently, Ryoga enjoyed dancing. "/The men in the _Casa de Rosa_/ They have a penchant for living/ She'll be dancing till the coca wears off tonight/" Ryoga paused for a beat, shifting his hands down to her hips and shaking her with a playful roughness, his voice lowering teasingly. "/Who’s a bad girl tonight?/"

Ranma’s eyes widened, but Ryoga was already moving her into the next phase of the dance, jouncing them down the length of the room, his hands back in their proper positions. "/Tonight she'll be having fun/ The likes of which we'll never know/ Tonight she'll be having fun/ See her go!/"

Ryoga backed away from her a step, though he kept hold of her hands, and did a little piece of very fancy footwork that tapped out a much more elaborate version of the basic beat, while he sang several lines of "/La la la la la la laaaa/ La la la la la la laaaa/" He looked like he was having so much fun that Ranma couldn’t help giggling. This was a side of Ryoga that she had never seen before, and she thought she really liked it and could definitely get used to seeing it more often.

He spun them in a tight circle, his voice lowering once again as he pressed his body close to hers, and gazed down into her shining blue eyes. "/Wo-oo-ah, estamos en la gloria . . . /" The words were more purred then actually sung, and Ryoga made sure that her hand was pressed against his chest so that she could feel the sounds vibrate within him. A knowing sensuous smile drifted across his lips as his heavy black bangs fell across his eyes.

Ranma caught a breath in her throat, feeling a strange fluttering in her chest. Either Ryoga had -really- mastered Martial Arts Ballroom Dance, or he was deliberately trying to look as sexy and enticingly dark as he could. Before she could properly decide which hypothesis was the most likely, Ryoga moved them back into the main set of steps for the dance they were doing.

"/Oh Suzi, you're shaking your red dress/ Viva tango to revive the bull/ She'll be dancing, she'll be clicking her heels tonight/" Purring in his throat again, Ryoga broke the regular pattern and pulled her back to his chest. "/If you see her estrellita, she'll make you king for a day . . . /"

They drifted in a circle for a moment as Ryoga trailed off, gazing at her as if this was the first time in the dance that he had actually seen her. Ranma nearly froze from the look he was giving her, as she wasn’t entirely sure if it was confusion or desire, or perhaps a bit of both. At any rate, the expression on his face made her want to melt right into the floor, and caused a warm flush to flutter up from her lower regions into her stomach. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Ranma took the opportunity to study the messy tousle of his hair, the strong lines of his face, the slight upturn to his nose, . . . the tip of one fang that peeped out from beneath the understated curl of his upper lip . . . oh yes . . . Ryoga was handsome . . . handsome in a not-quite-perfect way, a ferally quiet way . . .

Becoming aware of the close scrutiny and the shine of sudden fascination in Ranma’s eyes, Ryoga quickly guided them back into the dance, averting his gaze as a blush spread over his nose. "/Ole to the cabaretera!/ She'll sing all your troubles away!/" he sang with a renewed intensity, a slight grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. He rolled her down the length of his arm in another spin, but this time let go of her, leaving her to stop rather uncertainly in the center of the room while he used hard footwork to back away. He pointed at her with his fingers shaped like a gun.

"/Looking down the barrel of a loaded gun/" he sang, then cocked his finger as if shooting at her, coming up with a plausible gun shot sound in the back of his throat while his eyes glittered playfully. "Phwwoo! /Pata tendida!/ Si no la bandida/" He gestured for her to return to him, and once she had, he took her by the hips and shook her again, this time crouching down a bit to fix his gaze squarely on hers. "/She go - rattattatta!/"

Ranma laughed as he swung her back into the dance and almost managed to keep up with his continued footwork. This was more fun then the pig tailed martial artist had had in quite some time, and she couldn’t believe that she was enjoying herself this much with Ryoga, of all people. They twirled together while Ryoga hummed out what was obviously an instrumental bridge in the original song, tilting his head in time with the beat. He turned her hard and took her through another pass along the length of the room. "/!Ariba ariba ariba andale!/ Kiss all them working day blues away/ Till the light of day/ Estamos en la gloria-aaa!/ La la la la la la laaaa . . . /"

Ranma’s voice joined Ryoga’s as they built toward the climax of the dance. The Lost Boy kept her close, hand on the small of her back guiding her body against his. "/Wo-oo-ah . . . " he growled the exhalation out of his throat, nudging her hips with his own and prompting her to roll with him. Ranma clung to his waist and shoulder, looking up at him with surprise, but enjoying the sensation of their hips moving in sync nonetheless. She knew that her face was flushed, and she felt an answering wave of warmth settle into her groin as they continued to undulate together.

"/Estamos en la gloria . . . la gloria . . . la gloriaaaa . . . " Ryoga breathed, staring down at her. They locked gazes and Ranma felt his hand on her back tighten into a fist. In response, she gripped his shoulder a little tighter, and as the movements of their hips slowed to a reluctant stop, she pressed her chest to his.

After a long slightly uncomfortable moment of silence, Ranma blinked and heard herself muttering, "Is that all?"

"No . . . " Ryoga replied throatily, then bent down to press his lips against hers.

Ranma almost jerked back, she was so startled, but managed to hold herself in check. Ryoga’s kiss was hesitant and indecisive, and the last thing she wanted to do was discourage him. The warmth that had been plaguing her rose into full bloom within her body, and she felt an answering flush move through Ryoga’s skin, even beneath his clothes. Not feeling the least bit reluctant herself, Ranma stood on her tiptoes to make it easier for him and slipped her arms around his neck. Burying her fingers in the long soft hair at the back of his head, she pulled him closer so that she could properly proceed with the kiss.

Unfortunately, Ryoga’s discomfort was evident in the tenseness of his hold around her waist and the way he seemed unwilling to let the kiss evolve fully. He allowed it to continue for only a moment before he broke away, pulling his head back.

"Wait . . . " he requested, sounding a bit out of breath.

Ranma felt disappointment fall into the pit of her stomach and something inside cracked and broke apart. He didn’t want her? After the teasing and the heated dance, and initiating the kiss himself . . . he was rejecting her? Unexpectedly hurt and struggling not to let it show on her face, Ranma let her arms go slack and fall to her sides, releasing him from the embrace.

"I . . . I understand," she said quietly, even though she didn’t.

Ryoga looked momentarily pained, a bit of sympathetic hurt drifting into his eyes. He reached out and brushed his strong fingers along the line of her face, gazing at her. "No, you don’t," he said lowly. "Wait here a minute . . . "

Ranma watched wonderingly as he left the room, heading in the direction of the kitchen. The presence of his touch lingered on her cheek, and she lifted a hand to feel its warmth, not sure if she should still be feeling hurt or not. A dull ache sort of drifted through her chest as she waited.

About ten minutes later, she heard Ryoga call, apparently from somewhere else in the house. "Ranma?"

A slight fond smile ghosted across her lips. "This way, Ryoga," she replied loud enough for him to hear and follow the sound of her voice. Looking rather embarrassed, he found his way back, a steaming kettle from the kitchen held securely in his hands. Without a word of explanation, he approached her and poured the briskly hot water over her head.

Ranma sputtered and was about to ask what Ryoga what he thought he was doing, when he heard the sound of the kettle being tossed aside and found himself suddenly in Ryoga’s strong embrace once again. This time they were eye to eye, and the close press of their bodies seemed a much better fit than it had only moments ago. Before Ranma was given the chance to respond, Ryoga leaned forward and tried the kiss again.

The aborted heat returned swiftly, and with greater intensity. Stunned by the feel of Ryoga’s lips once again on his own, Ranma returned the kiss whole-heartedly, and his hands took up residence in the Lost Boy’s thick hair exactly where they had been before.

This time when they broke, it was because they needed to breathe. Noses nearly touching and the feeling of friction growing between them, Ryoga’s heavy brown eyes poured into Ranma’s blue ones and he smiled slightly, fangs showing.

"That’s better, much better . . . " he whispered lowly, hands on Ranma’s back shifting to slip underneath his untucked red shirt. The pig tailed boy almost gasped audibly at the feel of Ryoga’s strong warm hands against his skin, and little electric jolts seemed to follow the trace of the Lost boy’s trembling fingers. Ranma’s stomach twisted into welcome knots and the more familiar feel of his groin tightening replaced the vague fluttering that he had experienced in his girl form. Yes, this -was- better . . .

Then it occurred to Ranma just what was going on here. He had just shared a kiss with his rival . . . a young man who was a constant thorn in his side with his ever-continuing challenges and perpetual attempts to best him in the Art. And now they were pressed together tightly, heat rising between them, while the same hands that could shatter rocks massaged and explored the muscles of his back, and the same lips that had issued so many hateful words were drifting over his chin and neck, tasting the nervous saltiness of his flushed skin.

He couldn’t do this, could he . . . ? This was -Ryoga-! This was his rival! This was . . .

Oh, the hell with it!

"An opening!" Ranma yipped, grabbing Ryoga by the front of the shirt and easily tossing the startled young man to his back against the floor. The pig tailed martial artist was on top of him in an instant, straddling his hips and feeling the heat that was concentrated there in them both. Arms held in front of him in a belated block, Ryoga peered around at Ranma, uncertainty now tainting the heaviness of his eyes.

"Ranma?" he swallowed.

"Hush up," Ranma grinned good-naturedly, then continued in an obvious scoff. "Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing - my ass! You left yourself wide open, bucko." Ranma tugged Ryoga’s sash off and tossed it away, then pushed his shirt up, running his own hands over the hard warm surface of the Lost Boy’s flat stomach. He felt Ryoga tense beneath him, and the defensive arms lowered to his sides as Ranma’s hands made their way to his chest under the material of the shirt.

Ranma leaned forward, bracing himself on Ryoga’s chest and grinding their hips together in the process. "Ryoga . . . " he purred softly, tweaking twin nipples between his outstretched fingers. "Did I ever tell you -why- I was jacking off in the locker room when Yoichi walked in on me?"

Ryoga’s eyelids fluttered against the activities of Ranma’s fingers. The ability to think coherently at the moment appeared to have nearly left him, but he managed a weak sounding, "Ne?" in response to Ranma’s question.

Ranma pressed all of his weight against Ryoga, so that he could reach those appealing lips and peck at them with a light feathery kiss. "I was watch’n you during soccer practice that day . . . " he breathed, gently licking his tongue over Ryoga’s chin. "And seeing you move like you do, overheated and sweaty and stuff . . . man, I got so turned on, it wasn’t even funny . . . "

Ryoga’s eyes snapped open, and Ranma could feel the Lost Boy’s heart rate increasing. There was a fresh flush of heat between them and Ryoga’s breath started coming much harder as he stuttered around the words caught in his throat.

"N - n - nani . . . ? You . . . y - you’re k - kidding . . . "

"I kid you not," Ranma assured, secretly delighted by Ryoga’s stunned reaction. He started wiggling his way back down the length of his partner’s body, hands following his movements pressed as tightly against the play of Ryoga’s muscles as he could get. Ranma finally ended up tucked between the Lost Boy’s trembling legs, exactly where he wanted to be, and his fingers picked at the waistband of Ryoga’s pants, eagerly pulling them down. "And now, I’m gonna get exactly what I couldn’t have then . . . "

Ryoga’s eyes had closed again, and he tipped his head back slightly, overwhelmed by the extreme heat and hardness Ranma was prompting in his groin. His fingers clenched against the floor as the pig tailed boy worked his pants down and reached into his boxers, pushing them out of his way as well. Strong sure fingers wrapped around Ryoga’s hardening member, and the Lost Boy jerked involuntarily with the feel of that tight grip on his most private of parts.

"Y - y - you c - could have . . . " he managed to pant out, hips tensing and following Ranma’s hold as he tugged the treasure in his hand. "Just ask - k - k . . . I would h - have . . . "

"Now you tell me," Ranma grinned, and dipped his head down to wrap his lips around the perked head of Ryoga’s more than adequate manhood. The young man’s reaction to being encased by that warm moist mouth was delightful. His hips bucked and a long soft moan came from his lips. As Ranma lowered his head further and got a good suction going, Ryoga’s fingers dug into the wood of the floor, cracking the boards and pulling up splinters.

Ranma vaguely wondered how he was going to explain the damage, but decided it didn’t matter. All that he was concerned about was the silky feel of Ryoga’s warm hard flesh in his mouth, and the pleading noises that were coming from the young man’s throat as Ranma sucked and nibbled with all his strength. Oh, Ryoga was firm and every bit as endowed as Ranma had imagined during those uncertain days in junior high, and as he worked at the Lost Boy’s member with all of his attention, kneading his balls in his fingers, Ranma felt his own painful stiffening and an uncontrollable spasming in his anus. It felt good, and Ranma knew that he would love to have Ryoga’s cock within him, but that was something he had never tried before and doubted either of them would be comfortable enough to take it so far this time. Having only read about such things, Ranma wasn’t sure of the mechanics involved in such an operation anyway.

For right now, Ryoga’s member in his mouth, pulsing ungently at the back of his throat, was more than enough. Ranma had experimented with this particular activity in the past, though not with a partner as compelling and attractive as Ryoga was. That is -was- Ryoga seemed to make all the difference, as his sweaty musky taste was intoxicatingly unique and the way he moved, writhing like a snake on his back, was deliriously stimulating. His little anxious noises spurred Ranma on, enticing him to suck and lick and nibble and grip with all his enthusiasm and strength, until Ryoga was very nearly convulsing with pleasure overload.

It didn’t take long before Ryoga’s cock was jerking with anticipation and clear sweet dribbles of pre-cum were oozing from the hole at the top of his shaft. Ranma was happy to lick those drops away, but he could feel an odd straining in Ryoga’s hips that seemed a bit out of place with the rhythm of the Lost Boy’s unconscious humping. Ranma chanced to glace up and saw that Ryoga had his head tipped back, eyes tightly shut, and was biting his lower lip hard enough to cut the skin and draw blood. Concerned by the expression of pain on the young man’s face, Ranma eased himself up the length of Ryoga’s body. He kept one hand wrapped tightly around the Lost Boy’s member, continuing to yank and pump it as firmly as he could, and pressed himself close to Ryoga’s side where he could gently kiss at those lips, licking away the traces of blood.

"What’s the matter, Ryoga?" he whispered, letting his breath tickle along Ryoga’s cheek. He could see that the young man was physically fighting what Ranma’s hand was doing, the strain was in his face and in the lines around his tightly squeezed eyes. They locked together in a sudden tight kiss while Ranma worked at Ryoga’s over-swollen cock, trying hard to entice him into a release. The Lost Boy moaned plaintively into Ranma’s mouth.

The pig tailed boy blinked as understanding somehow came to him, and pulled out of the kiss. He pressed his face tight against Ryoga’s, nuzzling him reassuringly, twining their legs together while he continued to pull at the young man’s erection. "It’s okay, Ryo-kun," he assured warmly, wiffling soft puffs of air into Ryoga’s ear and causing a violent shiver to wrack the Lost Boy’s body. "It’s okay . . . let it come . . . "

Ryoga gasped desperately for air, fighting his body every step of the way, despite the blood pounding painfully hard in his head and the blackening that was threatening his vision. He was always so much in control of his body, so rigid with his physical discipline, that the overpowering feeling of pleasure and desire was almost too much for him to take. He couldn’t let go enough for a release. "I . . . " he exhaled, shaking beyond any restraint. "I’ve never . . . I’ve never . . . "

That confirmed Ranma’s suspicion. Ryoga had apparently never done this before and was holding back, whether from fear or embarrassment or some other reason, Ranma couldn’t guess. But it certainly wasn’t very healthy, and he had brought the Lost Boy too far to leave off now. "It’s okay," he repeated, nibbling Ryoga’s earlobe comfortingly. "Go ahead, it’s okay . . . " He increased the pace of his pumping, feeling his wrist and arm ache with the effort, but wanting Ryoga to know the delight of release just as much as if the climax were his own.

Ryoga stiffened like a statue, and his member vibrated in Ranma’s hand as the Lost Boy finally relinquished control enough to let his body do as it wished. Renewed warmth flushed through them both as Ryoga came, grabbing onto Ranma’s face tightly and dragging him close for an insistent and desperate kiss which the pig tailed boy was more than happy to reciprocate. As Ryoga spasmed, their tongues twined together and thrust with a corresponding rhythm. Ranma crawled fully onto the Lost Boy’s body and rubbed his own crotch against Ryoga’s cock as he came, gripping and massaging the tensed muscles of the Lost Boy’s shoulders firmly.

Ryoga had to break the kiss in order to breathe, and clung to Ranma like a vise, fingers clutching at his partner painfully. Dizzy, overwhelmed and overheated, the Lost Boy’s face was pale and damp, and Ranma eagerly kissed at the tears which squeezed out beneath his heavy lashes, settling his weight comfortingly over Ryoga’s body and stroking his face. Once the young man had caught his breath, his liquid brown eyes opened and he gazed up at Ranma with an expression of soft astonishment, mouth open slightly. Tears continued to trace paths down in his cheeks, and though Ranma tried to kiss them away, he couldn’t catch all of them. Ryoga’s arms tightened around him clingingly.

"You okay?" Ranma asked softly, pressing his cheek against Ryoga’s.

The young man nodded silently, then his eyes shut again and he was clutching Ranma in an embrace that seemed designed to suffocate him. Apparently overcome by the new sensations and pleasures that he had never allowed himself to feel before, Ryoga pressed his face into the hollow of Ranma’s shoulder and tried to stifle his tears. The pig tailed boy rolled so that they were laying togther on their sides, and stroked Ryoga’s hair, not condemning his partner for his crying in the least. It was difficult to believe that this was the same boy who had been leading him on and flirting with him while dancing only a little earlier, but Ryoga was a person of contrasts, which made him very difficult to deal with sometimes, but an interesting challenge nonetheless. And Ryoga always felt everything so strongly, it came as no surprise that something like this would be almost too much for him.

The heat and passion died down slowly, but Ranma experienced a different kind of pleasure holding Ryoga close and tight. He liked sheltering the Lost Boy, and discovered that he didn’t mind the feeling of protectiveness that fluttered in his heart as he cradled this young man of extremes in his arms. With any of the females in his life, Ranma knew he would not be so supportive or understanding. But . . . he didn’t care about them in the same way he cared about Ryoga. The pig tailed boy was always indifferent to the attentions of the girls, but he craved Ryoga’s presence in his life . . . whether it be fighting as rivals, or dancing together in the dining room of an empty house . . . just the two of them . . . spending a quiet evening together . . .

Ryoga sniffled and turned his head so that he could work his lips on the warm closeness of Ranma’s neck, and his partner felt a shiver of desire whisper through his body once again. He brushed through Ryoga’s thick black hair, feeling the silkiness of each lock whisper over his fingers.

"I’d like to learn this Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing," Ranma said softly, huskily, shifting onto his back while keeping Ryoga pressed tight against his side. "Will you teach me?" Anything to keep the Lost Boy coming back to the dojo . . .

"Mmm . . . " the noise sounded like an affirmative, though it was difficult to tell with Ryoga’s mouth clamped onto his neck. True to his nomadic nature, the Lost Boy’s hands began to wander without direction over Ranma’s chest and flat stomach, apparently looking for the way up under his shirt. Ranma squirmed, but loved the ticklish feel.

"Ryoga, what are you doing?" he asked lightly, tugging gently on a lock of the young man’s hair. As nice as it felt, he didn’t want Ryoga to think that he -had- to reciprocate the blow job, when Ranma had gotten as much satisfaction out of it as Ryoga had. Well . . . almost . . .

Brown eyes gazed up at him, looking slightly worried and uncertain. "Uhm . . . well . . . you didn’t . . . " A blush spread over his nose. "D - do you want me to . . . ?"

Ranma smiled warmly and squeezed his partner, catching that lovely mouth with another kiss, tasting the combinations of sweat, blood and tears on the soft yielding lips. "Do -you- want to?" he whispered.

Drowning in the kiss, Ryoga managed to nod weakly, and his fingers finally found Ranma’s bare stomach and began to inch their way toward his own waistband. Ranma barely suppressed a shiver of unexpected and happy delight, reaching across himself to take Ryoga’s hand and guide him downward.

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2000 raptor@lavadomefive.com

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