Story: Carry the Ten

 

The morning sun bled through the shoji screens, casting long, honey-colored rectangles across the tatami mats of the guest room. Ranma groaned, burying his face in the pillow to escape the insistent chirping of a bird outside. He felt a sudden, soft pressure against his side, followed by the scent of vanilla and fresh laundry.

"Good morning, Ranma-kun."

He bolted upright, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp. Kasumi stood over him, her new short hair framing a face that radiated a terrifying level of maternal devotion. She wore a thin, pale pink slip that clung to the curve of her hips and left very little to the imagination regarding the weight of her breasts.

"Geez, Miss Tendo! Do you have to sneak up on a guy like that?"

Kasumi giggled, a sound that had grown significantly more playful since her divorce. She leaned in, her chest brushing against his shoulder as she reached for the curtains.

"I just wanted to make sure you were awake for the special breakfast I made. I tried a new recipe for omelets. I hope you like them."

Ranma swallowed hard, his gaze involuntarily dipping to the swell of her cleavage. He scrambled out of bed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just... maybe put on a robe or something?"

Kasumi tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Is something wrong, Ranma-kun? Do you not like what you see?"

"It's not that! It's just... we're in a house with other people!"

"But it's just us and the girls," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave as she stepped closer, the heat of her body radiating through the thin fabric.

"Oi! Are you two flirting in there or is the house on fire?"

The door slid open with a violent snap. Akane stood there, already dressed in her white gi, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes narrowed, darting from Ranma's shirtless torso to Kasumi's suggestive attire.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes. After that, Ranma, you're in the dojo. I've found a new grappling technique from a manual I got from Korea, and I need a punching bag."

"I ain't a punching bag, you old hag!"

Akane's eye twitched. In a blur of motion, she stepped into the room, grabbed Ranma by the ear, and yanked him toward the door.

"Who are you calling an old hag? I'll show you a 'technique' that involves your head meeting the floor at high velocity!"

"Let go! Kasumi, help!"

Kasumi just smiled, leaning against the doorframe with a dreamy expression.

"They're so energetic in the morning. It's truly refreshing."

An hour later, the dojo smelled of cedar and old sweat. Ranma and Akane circled each other, their breathing synchronized in a rhythmic huff. Ranma was in his male form, his muscles taut, his eyes locked on Akane's center of gravity.

"You're wide open, Akane!"

He lunged, a lightning-fast strike aimed at her shoulder. Akane didn't retreat. She stepped into the blow, her hip pivoting with a grace that belied her strength. She caught his wrist, twisted her body, and used his own momentum to send him sailing over her shoulder.

Ranma hit the mat with a resounding thud that echoed through the hall.

"Still too predictable," Akane remarked, looking down at him with a smug grin. "You rely too much on your speed. In a real fight, someone will eventually time your rhythm."

"I was just testing the wind!" Ranma barked, springing back to his feet. "Try this!"

He dove low, attempting a sweep, but Akane leaped clear, her gi fluttering. As she landed, she delivered a sharp snap-kick to his ribs. Ranma twisted mid-air to absorb the impact, landing in a crouch.

"You're getting better," she admitted, her voice softening for a fraction of a second. "But you're still a brat."

"And you're still a bossy old lady!"

"That's it!"

Akane lunged, and the two devolved into a chaotic scramble of limbs. They rolled across the mat, grappling for dominance. Ranma found himself pinned beneath her, his back pressed against the hard floor. Akane's legs were locked around his waist, her weight pressing him down. Her face was inches from his, her breath warm on his skin.

"Give up?" she whispered, her chest heaving.

Ranma looked up at her. The sunlight filtered through the high windows, illuminating the stray strands of hair clinging to her forehead. For a moment, the bickering stopped. The air between them grew thick, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with martial arts.

"Never," he murmured, but he didn't move to push her off.

"Ahem."

The sound of a slow, rhythmic clap broke the spell. Nabiki was leaning against the entrance, a tablet in one hand and a smug expression on her face.

"My, my. I didn't know 'training' involved such intimate positions. I wonder how much the student body at Furinkan would pay for a video of the 'Ice Queen' pinning the school's newest heartthrob to the floor."

Akane shrieked and scrambled off Ranma as if he were made of lava.

"Nabiki! Stop spying on us!"

"I'm not spying, I'm documenting," Nabiki replied, tapping her screen. "By the way, Ranma, your math homework is abysmal. I think we need another... private session... this afternoon."

Ranma felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He remembered the "reward" from their last session-the way her lips had felt, the way she had manipulated him with a single look.

"I'll do the homework! Just... stay away from me with that camera!"

"We'll see," Nabiki purred, her gaze lingering on his chest. "I'm a very demanding teacher, Saotome."

His eyes slipped down towards her legs, and Ranma cursed his own weakness. Those denim shorts were absolutely terrifying weapons, but those legs... the shape of that butt of hers... A temptation beyond normal temptation.

He slapped his own cheeks and made ready for his lesson this afternoon.