(Author's Babble: I've gotten a few requests for a lemon, and it may seem I've been ignoring them, but really, I've just been really busy. I hope this tides you little hentais over ^_^.

(Oh, and I'm coming out of the closet, myself.

(*alcoholic mode*

(Hi, my name's SilverFox, and I'm a baaaad lil' hentai.

(*the list responds:*

(Hi, SilverFox!

(Anyhow, without further ado [and plenty of warning, I think]:)

_%Beautiful Dreamer%_

Nightfall, and he sat composed in his corner of shadow, unsure of how best to approach his other, unsure of the night itself, of the quality of the sleep being had. Still, he crept from his cold blanket, and knelt beside the worn pallet, watched the sleeper there stir slightly at the encroachment on his private space. Familiar.

He started to move a hand foreward, then stopped, and shook himself. All this time, and still, the sight of his own was painfully erotic. Spurred all the thoughts from his mind with others, lust and obsession with composure. He paused, then reached to the little bag he kept so constantly under his shirt, tight against his belly skin and warm from long contact. Withdrew it and pulled the cords that bound, took a pinch of the dust contained within and held his breath so as not to be affected by it. The dead air around him did nothing to stir the fine twinkling grains from his cupped palm, and he closed the bag again, even as he had some ten minutes before, and sat back on his haunches.

A light breath from the base of his hand, and the flecks rose and danced and moved in ethereal time, coming to rest in silver powder against the skin of his sleeper's face.

More stirring. A slight, calm breath as the dust was absorbed in through mouth and nose. He smiled slightly in musing, and tucked the little bag again against his skin. A secret of his family was his uncle's affinity for rare poisons and other sorts of drugs. The silver dust, as it was called casually but not its title by any means, was one of his little creations; a fine grain sleeping powder of great expense in its creation. The expense came from the lack of the common side-effects, and from its guarantee; the sleeper would sleep throughly, like a dead body, all night through with no stirring. It lasted eight hours with full-body blankness, and then stirred the sleeper gently into wakefullness. It was not to be taken too early in the day, and, as he had discovered, was most effective when the target was already in the beginnings of sleep.

He checked across the room, saw the slumbering form, the mass of fur just barely covered by his blankets. He, the powder had been slipped to earlier. He was a lighter sleeper than his son, and was a danger if he came awake in the midst of such activites as were planned. His finding the eternally lost boy in the room beforehand was only somewhat irritable, as it would only ruin any hopes of further meeting. He would throw them both out into the night as he had a habit of doing.

And he would not have that. Not tonight. It had been too long, almost a full week. As depraved and below him he considered it, he was addicted to this. He'd suffered severe withdrawl when Ranma had left him, and he would never let such be the case again. Ranma was his.

Even if he didn't know it.

He moved closer, always closer, to the boy who was, for all intents and purposes, his pray. Had been, for years now. And this preditor had been hunting for too long to let his game slip through his fingers.

Slowly, he laid hands on the sheet that was barely on Ranma anyway, and he shoved it aside, leaving the pigtailed boy in his customary pajamas. Ryoga prefered it when he slept this way; it was easier to undo the buttons than to maneuver around and slip off the undershirt. With fingers limber from long practice, he moved one hand down the clasps of the shirt in a flourish, opening them all in a single motion.

He permitted a slight smile to catch his lips.

Gently, moving as though there were a way to awaken his sleeper, he tilted up Ranma's head, pulled the sleeves off of him individually, and running the palm of his hands over the exposed chest possessively. Again, the slight smile, and then he kissed Ranma lightly, on the lower lip and just below, then pressed a little firmly, tasting just beyond the to the mouth threw the slight, parted opening. He withdrew instantly, somewhat shamed. Kissing Ranma deeply like that was a reward for later effort. For now, his mouth must remain closed and chaste, as the rest of him was not.

But Ranma was his. His only. His to hold and cherish and defile if he had to.

It was the only way.

He flecked a thumb over the left-hand nipple, his favorite for the slight variation in color he knew it had but could not see in this sort of lighting. The silver from the window was beautiful but chilled everything and left it in shades of gray.

Ranma's breathing was a little uneven now, and his eyelids tensed briefly in his sleep. In response, his hunter paused, watched carefully, then resumed his own breathing and carefully lifted Ranma's hips.

Sliding the pajama bottoms off was first priority, of course. Then he held them gently, rubbing his fingers against the skin in little patterns thoughtfully. Then he raised up again, pressed his mouth to Ranma's own trembling one, as the boy threatened to toss about in his slumber.

"Ranma," he whispered hotly against those lips.

In answer, his own name was breathed softly, just the barest sound. Blinking, he felt his face grow pink and looked away. Then moved himself down once more, lifted Ranma's hips and hooked the attached --there really wasn't another word for the way they joined limply-- legs gently around his neck. Kissing the inside of Ranma's thigh, and licking with just the tip of his tongue back towards the hardening penis, he breathed back, "If I didn't know better, my love, I'd think you were awake."

Ranma tossed his head a little against the pillows. Arched his back and moaned softly through half-closed lips.

Smiling the same, slight smile, he brought his mouth up and along Ranma's shaft, playing his lips over the heat beneath them, sucking on its side and moving slowly to the tip. More tossing, slightly fiercer now. He sucked up and over the top, then went back again and took the head of the now firmly erect member into his mouth.

Ranma jolted. Smiling around his mouthful, he sucked in a little more, darting his tongue out when he reached the bottom to lick a bit of what he couldn't take without deep-throating. Then he pulled off again, and buried his nose against the fragrant nest of dark hair, just for a breath so that he could catch his.

There were soft, pitiful noises from his inactive lover, and he sucked one of the little testies into his mouth to increase them. Releasing it again, he licked his way back up, and took the whole of it. He had learned to appreciate the salty taste of skin, and the fluid that would follow. He treasured every drop.

Unexpectedly, Ranma jerked his hips violently, causing his hunter to choke and gag, forcing him to spit out his mouthful and release Ranma's hips to a none-too-gentle land on the thin palate. He glared silently at the other boy, watching as he moaned softly, arched his back with a mildly confused expression, and then turned over all at once and closed his thighs.

Sighing with long patience and much resigned, he sat up and turned Ranma forcefully onto his back again, smoothed a hand over the peach fuzz on Ranma's belly, and pressed between his legs to open them once more. Again, he positioned himself, spooning Ranma's hips, and retook him, deciding not to try deep-throating again because Ranma was still squirming around an awful lot.

When Ranma came --as he did, inevitably, every time-- his lover drank it like water. The taste was so familiar, and he loved it so much.... He had come up with some rather poetic ways of describing it, and planned to share them with Ranma after their lovemaking was public as well as private knowledge.

He paused now in consideration. Looked around the darkened room and at the night sky showing the barest traces of light that you would only notice after your eyes had long adjusted to blackness. It was already in the AM's, and now the precarious hours wore on.

Not for Ranma. Ranma would have slept on as he did now through earthquake and flashflood. Slept on as he did now, face so gentle where the shadows caressed it; the only thing he missed in this was the myrid luke-warm afterglow that would be in those eyes now if they were not shielded from all the world by their fleshy curtains. He loved those eyes. Damn. But it was for the best that Ranma not know of his conquest. Their relationship was uneasy as it was, and this would not help. He could not risk Ranma knowing of such things until he had found the way to make his love plain. Love which he would have liked to make, but again, it was the dangerous time.

No, not for Ranma, not for him but for the others in this house. Akane was a deadly light sleeper, and her first thought upon waking would be to wonder where her little P-chan was. He winced at that; but the disguise was the only way he could ensure himself in this house at night. After she drifted off each night, he would make his way out of her bed and down the hall.

It wasn't just Akane, either. Although Nabiki slept with ear plugs and the radio playing, Kasumi had the oddest habit of awakening in the midst of the night and wandering around the house. Although not the sort to disturb anyone for the sounds they were making, he didn't want her to know, to even suspect. His cover was safe only because it was flawless.

During the day, he protected Akane like the little sister he had never had, pretended a foolish sort of love for her so that he could be closer, ever closer, to Ranma. Ranma didn't understand the depths of his passion, and had given evidence that he would only jeer or perhaps even been frightened in the aftermath of the confession. He had caught himself several times taking such frustrations out on his pigtailed, sapphirine-eyed koibito. It was difficult for him to love, to admit such love, and to know that it would only be scorned or ridiculed.

Ranma was a god. Beautiful and perfect, entrancing him ever since they were children, with the uncommon, and admittedly, badly-received, kindness. He hadn't realized what such things were then, when they were so casually given. When Ranma turned on him, as every god must turn on ungrateful minions --though he rather suspected the influence of that panda, damn him, he would have to be dealt with-- he had finally realized the divine salvation being offered him. Like Eden, perfection only known in its pain and its passing.

But Ranma was foolish. Left to his own devices, his virginity would have been taken by someone who cared naught for him nor his honor. It was better this way, he repeated to himself for the thousandth time. Better because only he who worshiped was worthy of such things.

He cradled the fragile body against himself protectively. He would not, could not, let anything like that happen to it, to him, to his god. The female form was bad enough --because his love clearly hated it, not for any flaw in and of itself, for his love was beautiful in all forms and thoughts-- and nothing must be added to it, to his pains.

The iinazukes...a wicked smile curled his lips...were an irritance. In his way, in Ranma's way. They would never, none of them, touch his prince, his god. Ranma was his. No matter the form, the circumstance, Ranma was his.

And those who tried to interfere with love at its most potent would suffer the consequences.

He considered again his options. He himself still so aroused and unfullfilled, Ranma peaceful and gorgeous as always, the house asleep, and most likely uninterfering.... Was it worth the risk of Akane's wrath, and harm to his beloved, to satisfy himself in this way, this unnecessary way, this night? Another, he would come better prepared, slip the powder to them all and have the house a stone unyielding. But now? Was it worth it?

The slight, devilish smile came back. Ranma had endured Akane's hell before, had been cast into that pit of anguish many a time, and surely, he would survive it yet again.

Beside that, this time, he himself would not hesitate to fight the banchee.

And so, his decision made, he released the gentle, perfect body, loosed the drawstring to his pants, removed his more obstructing garments, and positioned yet again. He just remembered to lubricate, and cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Had he entered without, surely a cry would have followed as to wake the whole neighborhood. And he did not want pained cries like that, at any rate.

It was a special type, another of his uncle's inventions, and again, very expensive. It evaporated with enough heat, so that there would be no -- uncomfortable-feeling traces of his presense in the morning. Perhaps a little of his seed, but that he would not help. The downside to the lube was the danger of it evaporating during the intercourse. As for condoms....

He didn't have any diseases, and neither feared nor cared that Ranma had any. Of course, it would be sensible to ask, but it would also be suspicious and awkward. Besides, if his god's life was shorted by something foul, it was only right that his should be as well.

There was a pause, and as always, a struggle. Not a conscious one, but that of a body that was not comfortable with an invasion that it could not see, and did not know was for the best. He whispered softly to Ranma, who tossed anew, black hair matting now with his sweat as he tried in sluggish sleeping jerks to prevent, to move away from this penetration.

"Ryoga," his lover mumbled in a half-breath, eyes drawing up in fine lines once more as he tried to pull away.

"Hush," he instructed. "It's all right, Ranma. Shh, now. Calm down."

To his surprise, the words seemed to work their magic, and Ranma did ease his struggles, grunting only now and then in time with the thrusts.

I don't think I'd be able to do this, he thought ruefully, admiring his silent partner's prowess in managing a peaceful, ukemi countenance.

It took some minutes, and rain started up against the window pane softly, while his god writhed there on his sleeping mat, moaning softly between parted lips. Occassionally, he would make a louder cry, and for that, a bandanna had been freed and placed in his mouth somewhat firmly. It muffled any of the more violent ones, and almost nullified the softer of them. Without much delay, since he wasn't trying especially to hold himself, he came over, and froze in motion while his orgasm filled Ranma's ass. The slight smile returning as he did so.

He was pulling out when he noticed Ranma's quavering member, erect again from the stimulation. The last little pleasure he felt from the exit pushed the unresisting martial artist over once more, and his seed splattered their joined bellies, as his hunter was leaning forward to deliver a last kiss when it happened.

Snorting a little in bemusement, he knelt once more, and licked away the fruits of his labor. A smirk holding his lips the entire time.

Two minutes, and the clothing, blanket, and everything was back in order. He strained for any sounds that meant someone might be coming to investigate the noise, heard none, and faced Ranma briefly. One last kiss, and he would have to hurry out the window if he wanted any sleep at all this night.

"Good night, Koibito," he whispered softly to the sleeper.

And left.

-

Ranma awoke the next morning, made his way past an irritable Akane and a snide Nabiki, and into the bathing room. After the shower temperture was right, he got in, and began scrubbing himself violently.

He didn't know why, but he felt strangely dirty. Warm, and pleasant, but dirty. And he spent the rest of the day wondering in consternation why he'd woken hard-on, with nothing but a head full of Ryoga.

_%Beautiful Dreamer 2%_

He sighed, and collected himself; ran an unconscious finger down the bridge of his noes and pressed the bandaged firmly into place. It had been, was, was going to be, one of those days.

He'd gone to Ukyo's that morning, once again taking refuge as another member of their exclusive, Ranma/Akane Opposers club. How many times had he done that, been foolish enough to mistake their common goal for actual friendship? How many times had it burned him? Still, this day had had its good points....

Ukyo had disappeared behind the counter and into the back of the restaurant to make a phone call, and had come out again to ask him if he wanted a date with Akane.

At first, he shuddered involuntarily, something he'd often been able to pass off as excitement, and remembered who he was talking to. Out came mask #2, the stupid expression and nervous stuttering everyone had come to associate with him and Akane.

Ukyo winked, and drawled out, "Is that a yes?"

He hesitated, considering whether or not to use response B to get out of the situation -- response B being to create massive property damage while singing off-key, and pretend to get lost; his sense of direction may not have been the best, but playing it up had saved him on several occasions. Finally, he decided that a "date" with Akane would bring Ranma here, ten to one, and nodded and smiled to Ukyo with the shared knowledge that it was already arranged. Whatever lure she had used, Akane would be here shortly, Ranma following as per normal.

Ryoga fidgeted; his boy-god was so terribly protective of that damned Akane girl. Oh, he had nothing really *against* Akane, and had even harbored something of a crush when they first met. But, eventually, as it did with every other such distraction, his love for Ranma won out. Still, Akane was amusing at times, and a useful tool for getting Ranma's attention. Despite how he acted, she was only a friend -- or would have been, if she wasn't constantly beating Ranma up for no reason, or, worse yet, because of him. Mask #2 and all other things associated with Akane were getting harder and harder to pull off, as his steadily-building dislike of the girl continued its trajectory.

He growled to himself, and, when Ukyo looked up, hastily grumbled, "Stupid Ranma." This earned him a thwak from her spatula, but at least she wasn't suspicious.

The door to the restaurant opened, and Akane, battle aura raging, stood their in her yellow gi. Looked like maybe Ukyo had challened her.

"Hello, Akane-chan," Ukyo grated with a plastic smile that suddenly melted wickedly. "Did you bring Ran-chan with you?"

Ryoga perked up. If the answer was no, he could probably escape while the girls were arguing.

"'Bring' isn't really the word," Akane replied crisply, and Ranma poked his head around her to peer inside.

"Hey, U-chan, Akane says you challenged her." He frowned a little as he said this, but his expression stumbled violently when he noticed the restaurant's other occupent. Face the shade of a ripe apple, he stammered out, "Y -- yo, Ryoga. Didn't expect ta -- ta see *you* around here." Sapphirine eyes fell to the welcome matt at his feet.

Ryoga smiled slightly. "Hello, Ranma,"

he responded, in something much closer to a purr than he'd intended it to be. He was feeling good; having his Ranma and seeing that it caused an unconscious change in attitude always lifted his spirits.

The blush on Ranma's face darkened at the unexpected tone; neither iinazuke seemed to notice. They, of course, were busy having their pointless little feud. He narrowed his eyes slightly; for daring to touch his Ranma, he should have crushed them both like insects. He wanted to, he knew he could...he was a much stronger fighter than either of them. But right now, picking a random fight with these girls would gain him nothing, save a little of the disgust Ranma had reserved for men who would fight girls.

No, definitely not worth it right now. But later...and there would be an opportunity later, perhaps when Akane got violent, or moreso...then he could use the situation to his advantage, instead of the opposite.

Oh, time to pay attention now. Ukyo had found some way to bring up the subject of dates, and was pointing out him as a potential canidate. Akane started to object, as did Ranma, who then promptly insulted Akane and said that a date with her would be a disaster.

From Akane's expression, she agreed, but snapped to Ranma that Ryoga would *so* be a good date --totally ignoring the fact that the comment had been meant for her-- grabbed a hold of the said boy, and dragged him out of the restaurant, a furious pigtailed martial artist on her heels.

As always, she was destined to prove Ranma's point.

A lot of quiet boring chatter, during which Ryoga forgot to stutter, was interrupted by an iinazuke he knew nothing of. Ranma, of course; the red hair was a dead giveaway, and Ryoga sighed, and wished it was its normal black. He knew Ranma was too ashamed to come after them au natural, but still longed futily for it. As he often did to Ranma's cheesy feminine personas, he found an excuse to glomp her shamelessly.

It may have just been the cursed Jusenkyo form, but it was Ranma, nevertheless, and opportunities to hold him while conscious were precious, treasured, and always left Ryoga with little hope of approaching him. If he reacted this badly to advances when he was a she, how could he be expected to be any different as a man?

This time, however, was one of those rare, up-lifting moments that gave him hope, for the reaction to his rough hug was to blush scarlet and stare at him questioningly for just the barest instant before running off, frightened.

He must have looked pretty stupid to Akane, he realized. Not knowing Ranma's girl form when he squeezed it, and coming all the way to China and then back to Nerima for some lousy curry bread? He didn't even *like* bread, certainly not enough to constitute a duel. But at the time, rivaling for the bread had been fun, and the duel had seemed like a natural extension.

Damn me, he thought irritably for the thousandth time. He hadn't missed a fight because of his stupid direction problem, but an opportunity. He had fully intended to propose something to Ranma, something he had finally worked his courage up enough for after three years of uneasy friendship. A confession to his late night activities --and Ranma's unknowing part in them-- and a proposal to move their relationship to something more.

Proposal. Yes, certainly a good choice of words, if unintentional.

He hated himself for missing that before-Akane window, and had hated Ranma for not waiting that fourth day -- would it have killed him to wait for one more stupid day?! He had gotten over that, mostly, and now just wanted that which had been so cruelly denied him -- quickly, before he'd sunken them so deeply in sin that neither would ever see daylight again. He sighed, depression building.

After the reflection that he could probably shoot off a good-sized shishi hokodan, he let the emotion drain and sighed weakly with the effort.

Then sucked his breath back in quickly, because there was someone behind him.

The air --or ki, ki would be more accurate-- was shifting, parting around him. After a tensed pause, he recognized the ki signature, and relaxed again, or put himself into the pose of relaxation, deciding to let Ranma get "the drop" on him.

"Yo, Ryoga," came the accustomed greeting, a soft tenor that sounded as tired as Ryoga felt. Perhaps the day's events had taken their toll, finally. Affected his buoyant lover and weighed him down to the bottom like everything else.

Playing the fool, he acted startled. "Ranma, he began, and realized it was wrong, very wrong. Wrong the way he was looking up at the other boy, who stared down and through him, then off to the side, the smallest lines creeping around the base of his beautiful jeweled eyes; just a little hint of how very tired that body was of living the life its inexhaustible spirit was deigned to live. Ranma who was supporting himself subtly against the tree trunk like a poseable teddy bear might be standing against a shelf, hands in pockets.

"Ranma Saotome," he added, "how did you find me, here of all places?"

Ranma smirked a little, causing the lines to deepen, and settled down next to him. "Dunno where you *thought* you were," the rough texture was coming back into his voice, "but I was just leavin' school, and spotted you up here. Furinkan's schoolyard. School's out, so..." here he fumbled, aware of repeating himself, looking apprehensively at the ground, "so I was wonderin' if you'd like to walk back t'the Dojo with me'n Akane...."

He was braiding his fingers. Ryoga blinked, and smiled fondly. He'd noticed that, the more uncomfortable Ranma was, the worse his grammar became.

"I'd be a good opportunity ta apologize f'r the mess you guys's date was...."

Mask #3.

"It wasn't my fault! It's never my fault! Another one of those damned 'iinazukes' that I've never met showed up!" It was with satisfaction that he watched Ranma redden in sudden embarrassment and look away uncomfortably.

"Oh. Gee, that's too bad," he managed, eyes telling the ground

that he wanted to spill it right then and there. Ranma had never had a good poker-face. "But you know how Akane is...it'd probably earn ya real points if ya apologize anyhow."

A lie. Whether Ranma knew it or not, Akane loved *him*, and no "points" would change that.

"You think so?" he responded instead, then shook his head to dismiss the notion. "Ranma...let's forget about Akane. Just for the afternoon. I'd...like to talk to you."

Ranma blinked, sapphirine eyes wide. "Oh?" He frowned slightly, looked a bit worried, and mentally went through the last few days, trying to find some reason, some point at which he had crossed over a line, that would cause Ryoga to want to "talk" with him.

"Yes. Can you do that?"

"Well...I guess so." He still looked a little confused, but that was understandable.

"Stay right here, and I'll tell Akane. Be right back. And don't you dare wander off on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." he replied crisply, and Ranma's discomfort seemed to increase.

-

The restaurant was fairly quiet at this hour of the afternoon. It wasn't U-chan's or the Nekohanten, either; too risky. And after the waitress had taken their orders, seeming a little more interested in gazing adoringly at Ranma than Ryoga was entirely comfortable with, he sighed, and turned to his companion with a determined expression. He was just going to say it right here, and get it over with. It was a good opportunity, wasn't it? And he had learned painfully about missing opportunities.

He went over in his head exactly what he would say yet again. He couldn't tell Ranma about...about *that* right now. No, that would risk him. He couldn't. Right now, he would simply tell his beauty of his love and adoration for him. That alone would be hard to understand, and harder to fully believe. It was so much easier to assume potion than to deal with stated emotions. Ranma had proven

that he felt that way when Akane had been wearing the Reversal Jewel. No, *afterwards* he would confess, if at all. When they had finally done all of that consentually, when Ranma was really his, and would understand better.

"Ranma," he began haltingly.

And before he could get any farther than that, the waitress had come back again, cooing, "Here you go!" and leveling a tray between them. He blanched. Then the waitress turned to Ranma, asking in a lilting tone, "Is there *anything* else I can get for you boys?"

"Uh...no thanks, I'm not really hungry. This'll do it."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Okay!" She turned and left, shooting Ranma a backwards glance and giggling.

Ranma sweatdropped. Ryoga ground his teeth together.

"So...uh, what were you gonna say?" Ranma asked, snapping his chopsticks apart, the sound unnaturally

loud in the silence that had fallen. He seized one of the little mushrooms on his plate.

Swallowing, and trying to gather his shattered composure, Ryoga answered, "Well, I...."

"Silly me!" the waitress interrupted again. She was smiling broadly, and had her notepad again. "I forgot to ask if there was anything you wanted to drink!"

Ranma snapped his chopsticks again, and the pieces fell into his lap. Ryoga growled low in his throat and tried to ignore the stupid girl.

"Um...how 'bout some tea, eh, Ryoga? It's that kinda afternoon, an' all."

Ryoga blinked. Sure! Tea was more formal than soft drinks. "All right," he agreed.

"Oolong sound good?"

"Miss China, do you, Ranma?"

"Nah, I just like the flavor. Kasumi sometimes orders away for it, but she hasn't gotten any in a while. Oh, an' another pair of chopsticks, while you're at it."

Grinning, the waitress seemed more than happy to hurry away. She had been standing there awkwardly, as there really wasn't a way to interrupt or change the subject, as he could tell she was just itching to do. Ryoga groaned. Better spit it out, before she comes back.

"Ranma," the named boy looked up in surprise at his serious tone, "I have to tell you something. It's just that...ever since junior high...the real reason I followed you to China ...I--"

"Here! I'm back!"

Oh, fucking hell. He was going to hurt someone. Was she doing this on *purpose*?!

The irritating girl set the tea one in front of the other, handed Ranma his requested chopsticks, and pulled a chair up to their table. Tossing back her thick dark hair, she turned to Ranma and cooed, "Hey, you doing anything later? I get off in about an hour, and I was wondering...."

The last straw.

Furious now, he grabbed the stupid girl by her wrist and slipped a wad of yen into her hands, violently yanking her away from Ranma. "Here's 5000 yen. Now leave us ALONE!"

Releasing her abruptly, and noting with a vague sense of satisfaction that she landed ungracefully on her rear before hurrying away yet again, he turned back to Ranma.

Ranma, who was staring at him with a trace of foreboding, and shivered slightly at the intense almost-glare

he received in return. He looked away in sudden discomfort, and a long silence ensued.

"Well?" Ranma interrupted the relentlessly ticking clock. "What did you wanna talk about?" His tone was calm to deny the fierocity with which Ryoga had secured the space for chatting.

He started to reply, and then remembered his chief obstacle. The question almost seemed like a joke to him, for how could his dearest love any of those harpies, but it had to be asked. "Tell me, Ranma, and tell me truthfully. Do you really...*love* Akane?"

The cautious little frown his boy-god had been wearing tripped over itself, revealing open nervous apprehension. "Wha -- what?! Love Akane?!?"

"Do you?" The fear Ranma had delivered his response with was unsettling.

Ranma sighed uncertainly. "I don't know Ryoga. I don't even know what I'm looking for. Hell, I'm only seventeen -- I'm supposed to know what *love* is? I mean, I was just a normal guy. No more attractive than any of the others -- just a normal guy without a girlfriend or even a date."

He could feel his stomach sinking. Ranma thought he was normal? Didn't he realize how

beautiful, how *precious* he was?

"Then all've a sudden, I got crazy chicks all over me. Chinese, Japanese, girls I thought were boys and vice-versa. All of 'em tryin' to convince me that we're in love. Damned lousy...."

"But what about Akane?"

"Oh. Her. How's she any different? She's just a lot more *violent* than any of the others."

"But you're always rescuing her, and...."

"Oh." Ranma looked a little sheepish. "That. Yeah. Look, Ryoga, I rescue her 'cause she needs it. She ain't anywhere near as good as the others. Man, if she could go five minutes without getting kidnapped...."

"...And defending your engagement...."

If Ranma knew that his relationship with Akane was being picked apart and examined, he didn't show it.

"Hey, if you mean with Kuno, she *asked* me to do that. As long as she's got me for an 'iinazuke', all the boys leave her alone. She don't care *how* it affects me, she just knows it makes it easier for her. As for the rest of it...I don't know. Sometimes it really throws the other guy off balance. Sometimes, it's just the first stupid battle cry that comes into my head."

"Shinnosuke?"

"Him. Yep. I don't know, Ryoga. Put yourself in my shoes. You've been traveling with your dad all your life, and all of a sudden, you've got all these crazy psychos on your back. The only one you even sort of like you thought was a boy, and counted a friend. You don't wanna marry her, or any of the rest, but you've become kinda attached to all of them doing their crazy little stuff...." He trailed off, and looked sort of lost for a moment. "I don't know what I'd do without all of them around."

Ryoga blinked, and nodded in understanding. Yes, he did indeed understand. Poor Ranma. His koibito was so very very lost in this world. Unappreciated. This swarm of insanity was all he knew, all he had ever known. He could relate, really. His family life was less than exemplory, and he knew that he'd been affected deeply by it. He even knew vaguely that his obsession with Ranma was a little unbalanced, a little wrong. That love oughtent to feel this way. But he was going to fix it. Ranma would be his yet; he was all that he had. The one constant in a swirling void of uncertainty.

Being around Ranma sure makes me wax poetic, he grumbled, shaking his head to clear it.

But he put a comforting arm around Ranma's shoulder, watched as the eyes found his with the sort of plead for salvation a drowning man might give.

"It'll be all right, Ranma," he murmured reassuringly. Moved his fingers through the thick bangs in a gesture that made his other pull back, startled and fearful. Reaching gently for his chin, Ryoga whispered a gentle, "There are better ways to live, my love. And I intend to help you find what you cannot find alone."

Again, there was a fearful expression. A concerned, worried sort of fear. Unused to any of this sort of soft love. He was always on its rougher end, always on the end of the terrible, mad things that one will do for love. Always on the violent end of passion. He was so weak when exposed to soft love, such a puddle of nerves and flesh. And, with this in mind, Ryoga dared to kiss him softly, and lead his numb, blinded body out of the restaurant.

Ranma was lost, as lost as he had always been. But Ranma was his path to follow, and in time, Ranma would see him in the same manner.

LEMON WARNING!! RUN, RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!

_%Beautiful Dreamer 3%_

He didn't dare head back to the Dojo. One, he wouldn't have been able to find it. Two, there were too many people around there, like Akane, for example, who might corrupt his beauty. And that wasn't going to happen, not if he could help it. None of them were allowed any influence over his god. They had not worshiped him properly when they'd had the opportunity; it wasn't his fault that Ranma deserved better.

Giving it to him was the only proper thing to do.

And so this rationale led him away from any street he recognized as winding to the Dojo, and toward anything he vaguely remembered from Ranma's leading him home after school. He would have asked Ranma directions, but his boy-god was so very out of it...he probably wouldn't have been able to tell him in which direction the sun was setting.

His house would be the perfect place to get reacquainted. No one was likely to be there; there was hardly *anyone* there, which had caused him to stop thinking of it as his home. It was really more of an empty house at a certain address than a home; the Dojo had been more "home" to him than this old place had ever been.

It was a nice house, he noted, heading up to it. A nice old house. It had been in the family for generations, Hibikis all taking turns hiring people to keep it in working condition. They would have fixed it themselves, except that they weren't there reliably enough to do so. The house would have been nothing but foundation by now if they had so much as tried.

He shuffled through his pockets for the key, noticing the way Ranma shivered and hugged himself in the swiftly-chilling evening air when he was released --yes, this child needed him. Perhaps as much as he was needed in return-- then unlocked the front door, and ushered his koibito inward.

Ranma hesitated, looking from house to him and back as though not entirely sure they were really there, and then followed his gesture, and moved in silently, wary of any noise. Ryoga could understand the feeling, following him and locking the door after. The whole building seemed so...isolated...that any sounds within it seemed ghostly-unnatural. He smiled slightly. It was ever-so, *ever-so* perfect.

"Nice place. Haven't been here in a while," Ranma uttered mutely, voice lost in the hallway.

There was no echo, though it seemed there ought to have been, for the house was overstuffed, cushioned with every imaginable convenience. Knickknacks dotted the many shelves, ones from all over the world and from different years and time periods. It looked like someone was desperately trying to furnish away the smell of disuse, and the lonely air the house had regardless.

It was filled with signs of people, but lived-in, it was not.

He went to the kitchen, forgetting to exaggerate his difficulties with directions. His problems had more to do with stubbornness, and a tendency to get off on the wrong foot than anything else. Also, an inability to follow directions properly. But he had been in this house often enough that familiarity override the problems he would have had if he had stopped to think about which way to go. Ranma followed him, as quiet as always, and watched him fumble with the refrigerator door.

It wasn't that it was stuck or anything; he couldn't find it for the multitude of notes and yellowed newspaper clippings that had been taped to it. He frowned irritably, wading his hands through the mess, and pulled the thing open. He was hungry, having eaten nothing at the restaurant, and suspected that Ranma was, as well.

"Want anything to eat?" he asked, and the air seemed to swallow up his voice as it had Ranma's.

There was a soft cough, and Ranma blinked at him a moment before nodding. "I guess. What...what do you have?"

So terribly endearingly confused. But he would remedy that, soon enough.

"Oh, lots of stuff. Everyone who comes here, except for me, must bring groceries. Look at all this junk. Anything you want in particular?"

"Um...ice cream, I guess. I wasn't really too hungry anyhow."

Smiling wickedly, Ryoga responded, "You'll spoil your appetite. What flavor do you want? Strawberry, chocolate, banana fudge, mango, mint chocolate chip, orange cream, neapolitan, rocky road...."

Ranma blinked again. "Uh...how about just plain vanilla?"

"Make it chocolate?"

"I guess."

Nodding in satisfaction, Ryoga pulled the carton from near the front of the large, over-stuffed freezer, and gestured behind himself. "Bowls? You remember where they are?"

"If you haven't rearranged things...."

"Are you kidding? We get into enough trouble as it is without shifting the house around."

"Oh," was the soft reply. Then the sounds of fumbling around in the cabinets, and he turned to find Ranma with bowls and ice cream scoop in hand. "Haven't moved this either," he said pointedly, and waved it in the lost boy's face.

"Like I said before," he responded, and sighed. "Anything else you want specifically?"

"A bath...but that'll have to wait till--"

"Nonsense. Few things better than ice cream in a bathtub. Come on, it's this way."

Without answering, Ranma followed eyes still holding that same, blown-away quality. "About what you said...." he ventured as they climbed the stairs.

"About loving you?"

"Um...yes. About that...."

"I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"Uh, no...." Ranma sounded confused. "Should I want one?"

Ryoga smiled, whirled on the landing, and gave his boy-god the lightest peck on the lips. He was so very, very priceless.

Blushing now, and uncertain more than ever, Ranma paused. "But, seriously...."

"Seriously, what?"

"Were you...did you...?"

"Mean what I said? Baka, of course I did." He smiled back reassuringly, but a little of the excitement he was feeling must have crept through, because Ranma looked startled, and somewhat cautious. Still just mostly confused, though. And he was so adorable when confused.

"You really...?"

Oh, he wanted to hear the actual words. No problem.

"Yes. I love you. Have for a while. Why do you ask?"

Ranma just stared at him. Bad response, he decided, and tried again.

"I mean, why are you so nervous about it? Is it because of all of your iinazukes?"

Slowly, slightly, Ranma nodded.

"Ah. I see. No worries there." No. No worries at all. But they did trouble Ranma. Another reason to get rid of the lot of them. "It doesn't bother me. I don't care *who* your father said you would marry. I love you, and I want you, and you are mine."

More startled confusion. Not quite fear; more like apprehension. But Ranma was clearly puzzled by the whole affair.

"Yours?"

"Yes, Ranma. I've wanted you for a very long time. And if you think I'm going to let you get away, you're sourly mistaken."

Now he definitely looked uncomfortable.

"And if I say no?"

What? If Ranma said no? But that was ridiculous. Ranma wouldn't say no. It was a non-issue. He smiled. "You haven't, and you won't. You're mine, Saotome. And I intend to keep it that way."

Still nervous, and still following him up the stairs. He very much doubted Ranma was reassuring himself with the thought, If he's a complete psycho, I can run. It seemed more like Ranma was simply curious. Curious and naive and innocent, as he liked his god to be. No, Ranma wasn't going to say no.

"And do you love me, too?" It wasn't really an issue, but like the other question, it had to be asked.

More confusion. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I guess I do."

"Of course you do. It's been planned out, Ranma. You. Are. Mine. And you have been for a long while." He paused, and opened the door. "So, who's going to bathe first, and who's going to assist?"

Again, confusion. "What?"

"I asked, who's going to bathe first, and who's going to assist? Who's going to wash, and who's going to *be* washed?"

"I don't know...." Ranma frowned. "I don't think...."

"Correct. You don't think. However, I still want your opinion. If you don't have one, you'll go first. Understand?"

"First at what?"

"Being bathed. You've never done this before, so unless you really want to, *I* ought to go first, don't you agree?"

He looked blank. "I guess so."

Smiling, because this was all as it should be, Ryoga nodded, and held the door open.

"After you, love."

This threw Ranma completely, and he stumbled as he attempted to comply.

Frowning slightly, Ryoga followed, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, still frowning, and murmured, "You don't ~mind~, do you Ranma?"

"Mind? Mind about what?"

"Being mine."

"Yours," he said again, chewing over the word thoughtfully.

He supposed Ranma felt the same sort of vague wrongness at the concept that he did. But Ranma would get over it. Of course Ranma was his. Whose else would he be?

"Yes, mine. Do you?"

"Uh...."

"Is there someone else you want instead?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, adopting a thinker's pose. "Hmm?" His voice was a throaty purr Ranma would be far more familiar with if Ryoga's uncle was not so good at what he did.

Eyes widening in return, Ranma looked like he might drop the bowls to a nasty landing on the floor, so Ryoga stepped forward and took them from him, setting them individually aside.

Softly, running his fingers over the blue satin of today's Chinese shirt, he added, "Would you rather someone ~else~ loved you as I do?"

One by one, the catches that went down the shirt's center were twisted free.

"Would you rather someone else ~wanted~ you, like I do?"

He thought maybe Ranma was going to pass out. The boy was breathing quickly, trying clumsily to back away from him without losing eye contact, and only succeeding in falling backwards to land painfully on his ass. Ryoga knelt beside him, unconcerned; it would have hurt a lot more, if not for the brightly colored plush carpet that cushioned his fall.

From his position on the floor, Ranma stared at him with the sort of pleading look a particularly large tiger might receive from a little boy who'd been separated from his family. He smiled wickedly in response, enjoying the discomfort visible on his lover's face while the other boy floundered in the shirt that had fallen open around his shoulders.

"Ryoga?" he asked, voice sharping to betray his uncertainty.

Ryoga frowned. No, he wasn't supposed to talk right now. A harsh slap across the cheek was the reward for this impudence, one which turned and cupped his chin to hold his face still while Ryoga ran a thumb over his lower lip. Both lips trembled slightly, groping reflexively for his finger, and it was at this moment that he kissed Ranma, fiercely and deeply, wrenching his mouth open.

He smiled again when they parted, watching his beauty's harried exhalations.

"Would you rather someone else was ~touching~ you, like this?"

He moved his hands over Ranma's heavy chest, playing roughly with the fine, sensitive hairs that ran along it, fingers slipping easily over the nipples and around his rib cage on a film of heated sweat. He was moaning softly, body so aroused out of habit; it had been conditioned by countless hours of unconscious love play. It recognized the hands and mouth that caressed it, and was all too happy at their attention, if it was several hours earlier than anticipated.

This clearly bothered Ranma, for his poor beloved hadn't the slightest idea why his body was reacting as it was.

Savoring the affect his worship seemed to be having on his boy-god, Ryoga lifted him gently out of his shirt, and suddenly, to his feet. Startled and dazed, Ranma watched him with feverish eyes as he gathered the bowls and melting ice cream and headed into the bathroom.

"Are you coming?" he asked sweetly, ignoring that he'd left his other so very close and so very much in need. "You haven't answered my question, yet, Ranma. Do you want someone else here instead? I love you dearly, and if you would want another --boy or girl-- I'd be happy to oblige."

Ranma's mouth opened and closed several times, no words coming out. Then he mutely shook his head. Words had only ever really gotten him into trouble, so it should come as no surprise that he abandoned them in light of more effective means.

"So, you *are* coming."

Ranma hesitated.

"You have to do one or the other, Ranma. Which is it going to be?"

For a moment, the other boy seemed likely to bolt for the door, and Ryoga stepped forward, taking Ranma's hand firmly and kissing his palm, then parting his lips and sucking on it gently.

Pretty blue eyes on the verge of rolling back in his head, Ranma allowed himself to be led into the steamed bathing room.

The furo had been long-since filled, but needed draining and refilling, as the last inhabitant of the house had been here several days ago, and the water was ice cold. Perhaps weeks, perhaps months, but he suspected a matter of days. It was better this way anyhow; you were expected to clean off before using the furo, and he didn't relish the thought of cold water. The steam in the room came from the running shower which he now told Ranma they would enter. Together.

Ranma actually seemed a little bashful. Inwardly, he laughed, If you only knew, and undressed himself with only the mildest feeling of trepidation, stemming from a vague certainty that Ranma would be disappointed somehow. Even after all the toning and sculpting he'd put in through the Art. He did everything, it seemed, to make himself worthy of this god, and in the end, he was still certain it hadn't been enough.

The way Ranma's eyes goggled when he shot a glance at his nude other was mildly reassuring.

He felt the strangest impulse come on, and ran with it, clasping Ranma's hands firmly. He wanted so much to tell him that everything and anything he had to offer was Ranma's, any and all that he wanted. Anything that Ranma didn't want may as well not exist, for his sole purpose had long-since become pleasing his beloved. Ranma was his, both the only he'd ever owned and the only thing he longed to possess. The rivalry had become just another extension of that, of the desire to dominate this gorgeous creature utterly. But defeating him was second to taking him, as most things were.

He wanted so badly to take Ranma's unsteady hands and press them against his chest, to whisper breathlessly that he was the only one. This body had been worked toward one purpose: Ranma Saotome. If he had succeeded in making it desirable, only Ranma would ever know, and that was as it should be, because only his opinion mattered anyway. That's why he hid himself under the bulky, concealing clothing as he did. He was Ranma's as surely as Ranma was his.

But Ranma was unfamiliar with the concept of possession, and would have to learn by example.

Those were the thoughts that went through his mind as he guided Ranma gently into the shower stall. "Now, I'm going to wash you," he said soothingly, taking a bath sponge and a little of the body wash his older sister had filled the linen closets with.

Ranma shivered a little, but nodded obediently, and leaned against one wall while a proper lather was built up.

"Is this gay?" he asked unexpectedly, watching Ryoga's hands as they worked the soap.

No talking. This earned him a half-slap, one that caught his face roughly and slid to the other cheek in a smooth caress. Ryoga kissed his forehead, undid his braid and wrapped the string that had tied it securely around his index finger. His own bandanna had been stripped away and lay in a heap by their clothes -- with some seven of its mates.

He drew his fingers through the freed silky mass, strummed the tip of one finger through the roots of his eyelashes, and began to soap the contours of his chest with the opposite hand.

"Really," Ranma murmured, expression as pensive as humanly possible while moaning, "is this gay?"

"Yes. Very," Ryoga answered in frustration, slipping his mouth down the hallow of Ranma's throat.

"Oh. Okay. Just making sure," Ranma breathed, and kissed Ryoga back when the other boy looked up in surprise.

Ryoga moaned softly, lowering his head again so that it was muffled by the flesh of Ranma's nipple, his washing hand moving lower, tracing the sleek muscles of his belly. He blinked when he felt Ranma's hand on his own, preventing him from going any further.

"Wait...." Ranma sounded like he could barely breathe. "Did you...really mean...what you said before? About...loving me?"

Why this question again? "Yes, of course. Why...why do you keep asking?"

"Oh...it's one'a...the few things that...really matters to me. I don't...ever wanna...be ~fucked~ Ryoga...by someone who...doesn't love me."

Ryoga felt his insides churning. But he dismissed it quickly. Ranma couldn't have lost his virginity to someone who loved him more. Still, it trickled in just the vaguest sense of wrongness.... He brushed that aside, and pressed his hand lover to touch Ranma's erection, cupping his testes in the same hand. The move took practice, but always delighted his boy-god. It was a good opener, but the real fun was yet to come.

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