Hiya! A couple of nights ago I was bored and low on money, and suddenly realized that, though I've written a fair bit of fanfiction, I've never tackled a lemon! This was the result, of which 90% was done in a single setting. I've never tried writing a lemon before, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! Is it tedious and as about as stimulating as roadkill? Let me know! This story is unfinished--I've unfortunately run out of time--but I'm hoping to finish it off when I get back a small vacation, so C&C could only help. Also, this story (possibly) takes place in my Let the Curtain Fall story--but since that's only up to chapter five, and this draws on my outline for chapter seven, there might be a few spoilers there ("What? You mean Ranma and Akane are _still_ alive by chapter seven?"). Other than that, enjoy! -Mike Noakes Let the Curtain Fall Act One, Chapter Seven side story: Lemon by Night by Michael Noakes A fanfiction set in the Ranma 1/2 world of Rumiko Takahashi, though I seriously doubt that she'd approve of her characters doinking each other. (This takes place after Ranma and Mousse's escape from the Order of the Cup's attack on the auction. Though they previously agreed to rendezvous at the Nekohanten, after being separated during their high-speed highway escape, an extremely exhausted and wounded Ranma makes a stopover at the love hotel where Akane is hiding incognito. They enjoy a lemony moment together--their second; and pushed past exhaustion, he falls asleep, Akane cradled in his arms.) When he awoke he felt warm and secure and wonderfully lethargic, like a dog stretched out by the fire after a long run outdoors, he imagined, languidly basking in warmth and held in the soft embrace of a thick, luxurious rug. And the embrace he awoke to _was_ soft, and warm, and Ranma found himself smiling, eyes still closed, as he snuggled deeper into the arms encircling him. Still half-asleep, his body comfortably numb, his smile grew as he remembered last night. It had been only their second time together. And third--he felt his face grow briefly hot from his blush--by which point his reserves finally gave out. He'd passed out, exhausted. The last thing he recalled was lying in the bed, the faint sounds of Tokyo traffic a muted roar beyond their window, the night lights a slanted slash across the far wall; and Akane, nestled against his body, her head lying in the crook of one arm, her hand pressed lightly against the smooth expanse of his chest--almost as if to ensure he was still alive and hale, his heart beating steadily beneath her touch--as he slowly fell backwards into sleep, listening to the soft murmur of her breathing. He remembered passing the hand of one arm--the same one she was lying against--along the smooth expanse of her body, absently tracing the curve of her hip, the strength of her inner thigh, even occasionally dipping into the tight curls between her legs, still slick from their lovemaking; and he wondered that they could be this close. Somehow it felt even closer than when he was thrusting up against and into her: her hand over his heart, his ear to her soft breathing, his hand pressed against the thick hair covering her hidden cunt; he felt a profound love and closeness to her that he had never known was possible. What a fool I was, he thought to himself, lying half-awake the next morning and smiling, he knew, stupidly, and not caring in the least; what a fool I was to have not said 'I love you' so much sooner. That he would have to leave her soon--it was a truth he knew he had to accept--made him regret his hesitancy all the more. But he refused to allow such dark thoughts to ruin his pleasure of the moment. He snuggled deeper into her arms. Wait a second, Ranma thought. That's not right. What am I doing in _her_ embrace? She was pressed up against _me_--how the hell did she end up hugging _me_? I shouldn't even fit! His instinct was to fly from the arms encircling him--arms which he realized were far too large, and hairy, to belong to the woman he had fallen asleep with--but at the same time an even stronger instinct to not disturb Akane's sleep overtook him. The brief struggle resolved itself as a slight tensing of his entire body, even as his eyes flew open; but that was it, and he remained in her hold, the arm loosely thrown across his chest not even twitching as he suddenly became painfully awake. When did I turn into a girl? Ranma thought. With awakening came awareness, and his female form quickly made itself know. He was laying on his side, spooned up against his partner, his head resting comfortably against one of her folded arm, the other arm across his chest just beneath the slight droop of his breasts. One of her hands, Ranma suddenly realized, his blush returning and intensifying, lay in sleep against the tangled mat of his own pubic bush, much as his own had rested against hers last night. That hand, and the arm brushing up against his tits, was certainly those of a man. Even if their size hadn't betrayed their gender, there was at least one other sign. A slowly awakening hard-on was pushing with increasing insistence into his backside. Snuggling deeper into the man's embrace had obviously set it off; a sudden squirm he couldn't resist, at the realization of where he now lay, only served to set the thing to poking him harder. It remained a warm spot at the very bottom of his back that was impossible to ignore. He felt like leaping from the bed, flying across the meter of empty space separating him from the ceiling, and clinging there until the urge to vomit subsided. But once again, his concern for Akane miraculously overwhelmed his instinct to break free. When he first brought her the packets of Instant Nanniichuan to use, it had seemed like a great idea, the perfect disguise from both the hidden eyes of the Orders of Dzyan, and the psychic scans of the Children of Belial--but now, lying in bed nestled up against the growing hardness of his fiancee turned male, he deeply regretted his choice of disguises. Worse, the Stone of Deucalion he had been wearing tied around his neck seemed to have slipped off during the night. Without its ancient magic to overcome the power of the Jusenkyo curse, he had apparently reverted to his female form. [Maybe expand; why doesn't he leap away-Ilana's suggestion.] Well, that's just great, Ranma thought. I'm stuck in bed with the girl I love, except that she's turned into a guy, and I'm a girl, and even though she's asleep I've managed to get her excited, and now her cock is poking into my back. We might've gotten past a lot of that 'pervert' stuff, but she's gonna kill me for sure over this one. And even if she _didn't_ somehow get angry, he didn't want to spend another moment in a man's embrace. He suddenly felt so small--tiny, even, and vulnerable, held up against the broad, flat chest of his fiancee, easily held within the circle of her large, muscular arms. Nearly two years ago, he had taken a shivering piglet for a bath. A moment after plunging it into the steaming bathtub, Ryouga had risen from the waters. He had been naked, and very, very angry--Ranma could still remember how the porcelain edge of the bath had cracked under his rival's enraged grip. Most of all, however, Ranma remembered the sudden tremor that had shot through him. He had been naked, too, kneeling in front of the angry boy, and had felt very small, and exposed. His rival had seemed _huge_, his chest rock hard, his shoulders broad, and his arms thick and muscular. In contrast, Ranma had resorted to his 'cute' defence, blinking innocently, his hands clasped in front trying in a vain attempt to conceal the roundness of his breast, his slim tapered shoulders, his thin arms. Ranma had been scared; terrified even, he know realized, which galled him--especially when Ryouga had tried to yank him back by his hair, one meaty paw grabbing him by the buttocks. Only the sudden spray of cold water had kept the boy away. Something had torn his martial skills away from him, a decade of training forgotten in a moment. Instead of bashing his rival to the floor, he had scrambled away on all fours, girlishly and foolishly. He had been afraid. At the time, however, Ranma hadn't quite realized exactly what he had been afraid _of_. He had been too young, maybe, or just plain idiotic. Fortunately, so had Ryouga. Now, however, once again naked--but this time in the _embrace_ of a man--Ranma felt that same tremor run through him. He shivered, and at first thought it was fear; he quickly dismissed that, knowing he had nothing to fear from Akane, and settled upon disgust; but a moment later he realized that what he felt was loathing--self-loathing, at his own weakness, at his own failed masculinity, for the disgust he felt was only fleeting, and before he had been able to firmly clamp down on it, he had actually _enjoyed_ the feeling of being in Akane's embrace, strong and manly that it was. I have to get out of here, Ranma thought. He still didn't want to disturb Akane, however, and so he took a long uncomfortable moment to ease his breathing, and then, ever so slowly, began to push the arm that held him aside. It fell away, and for a moment Ranma thought he was free of his fiancee's unconscious grasp; and then the arm pushed back, and he realized that perhaps Akane wasn't as asleep as he had thought. The encircling arm closed enough to keep him from easily slipping away. The other hand pressed down briefly, the tight curls of his pubes bunching between the coarseness of her palm and the softness of his mound. The hand drifted away, to brush softly against the smooth skin of his inner thigh, and slowly continued to make its way up his leg. The body behind him shifted, slightly, so that both arms could be free. The first arm tightened its embrace, effortlessly lifting him as the man behind rolled onto his back, but kept Ranma on top. He laid between Akane's spread legs, still looking towards the ceiling, desperately wishing he'd taken his leap while he'd had the chance, her penis now pressing higher up against his lower back. It was a rude presence, still hard but held between their bodies, its length a disturbingly warmth along his spine. Both hands, now free, began to roam across his exposed body, fingertips brushing lightly against the taut expanses of his skin, reaching with a disconcerting familiarity. One hand swept invisible trails along his hip, tracing the womanly curve there, before turning inward, across his taut, hairless stomach, and finally coming to rest there, one broad palm pressed warmly against her abdomen. Her palm was slightly rough and calloused, markedly masculine contrasted with the smoothness of his own flesh, feminine, weak. Ranma began to feel hot--not with excitement, but with embarrassment. The other hand, after rubbing down one full side of his body in a possessive, controlling way, quickly returned to his chest. After a light squeeze of one full breast, one finger began to idly trace circles around his nipple. He felt acutely, overly aware of that single finger: the slight bumpiness of the areola beneath her touch, and then the press against the nipple itself. It felt, much to his revulsion, nice. The softness of his breast, the tenderness of that focal point; the coarseness of his fiancee's touch. Through the heat that flushed through his body, Ranma began to shiver. He felt himself tensing again, his limbs locking up even as he lay passively within Akane's grasp. He couldn't believe Akane was doing this to him. He couldn't believe she was being this forward, and couldn't believe he was allowing her to do it. But he felt paralysed within her embrace. The simple act of her touching him there--and _there_--with such easy familiarity seemed to have torn away his ability to resist. He didn't want this, he felt sick to his core that he lay in another man's embrace--that he lay in a man's embrace while he was a _female_--and yet somehow he couldn't bring himself to pull free. As lightly as that one hand lay against his stomach, and as softly as the other grasped his breast, they might as well have been iron chains, or a daruma stone pinning him to the bed; the femininity of his cursed form seemed to have robbed him of his will. Then a panicky, terribly thought struck him: how do I know this is really Akane? He had gone to sleep with a woman. He had woken up in the arms of a man. He knew how the instant powder curses worked: short of having taken a bath in the middle of the night--and Ranma felt certain that, as exhausted as he had been, he would have noticed Akane leaving the bed--there was no way she could have turned male again. And he hadn't seen the man's face since first awaking. How did he know, really _know_, that this was really Akane? That it could be somebody else seemed equally absurd--who could have possibly sneaked into the room, pulled Akane out of bed, and taken her place without him noticing?--but the mere possibility was enough to heighten his fear. Yet that very fear suddenly seemed to enhance the pleasure those arms curled around him offered. The hand at his breast continued to circle his nipple, the thumb pressing with increasing pressure as it rubbed at the base; and to his own shame, he began to respond. His own breasts seemed so pale from his vantage point, the skin of the large hand cupping and massaging them darker than his own; but his areolae were darker still, as their sensitive pinkish tips began to engorge, harden, and rise. The hand suddenly tweaked the nipple between forefinger and thumb, and the brief pain was pleasurable in itself; and then the hand glided over to his other breast, tracing a soft line in the pale valley between. Meanwhile the other hand began to drift downwards, still rubbing slow rings across the quivering tightness of his belly but gradually expanding their scope. With each full circle those softly pressing fingers, spread like a fluttering wing, began to reach further into the tangled weave between his legs. And through it all, that damn hard-on continued to push up against his back. I can't just lie here, Ranma told himself, even as his eyes unconsciously drifted shut as the pleasure he began to feel increased. It was a different sensation than what he was used to. Even his own experimentations, rare as they had been, hadn't felt anything like this. Shameful as it had been, masturbating as a girl had felt nice, but not terribly compelling; this was something completely different. What he was beginning to feel was far nicer, far more . . . indolent, then his desperate, furtive efforts. He couldn't believe he had told her, last night, in the quiet moments between lovemaking, that he had tried out his female body before. Ranma suspected she could have drawn _any_ answer out of him at that point. To his surprise, she hadn't been angry; hadn't even called him a pervert or anything. Somewhat sheepishly, she answered that she did, too, and then asked him how he liked it. He had answered with a shrug and a non-committal grunt, which had pretty much summed up his feelings; and bizarrely turned on by the conversation, he had put an end to it by jumping on her and silencing her with a deep, breathless kiss. But this--this was different, and the feelings were beginning to frighten him. And he still didn't know if it was Akane behind him! He forced himself to push past the comforting warmth that was slowly enveloping him. Ranma tried to sit up, and turn around to see the face of his partner. The hands holding him would have none of it. The lower hand pushed against his mons--an interesting feeling in itself--while the other gripped his breast firmly and resisted his twist. Ranma felt hot breath on his cheek; he tried to turn towards it, to catch a glimpse of his partner, but only managed to rub up against the manly cheek at his side. It felt slightly stubbly, the line of the jaw, strong. "Relax," the man said. "Lie back." Was it Akane's voice? He didn't know her male form well enough to identify it with so few words. But it had to be Akane. It had to be. And meanwhile, one hand continued to fondle his tits, while the other groped at his cunt, and he felt strangely powerless to resist and lay passively in the man's grasp. The mouth by his ear didn't move away. The breath remained hot on his ear. The breathing was heavy, and warm. Suddenly he felt something moist flick against the upper ridge of his ear. Again the man--_Akane_, he insisted--lightly brushed her tongue against his ear. Her tongue was soft, and warm, and wet, and continued to lightly lick along the edge of his ear. Her hand abandoned his breast--Ranma felt a moment's disappointment, and hated himself for it--and slid along the length of his body, which also felt good, his skin somehow more . . . alive, to her touch than before, as the other hand began to press more firmly against his mound, still rubbing small insistent circles. Then she bit down, briefly but surprisingly hard, against his earlobe. He gasped involuntarily, but not in pain--a brief tingle shot through him, like an icy chill down his spine but far more enjoyable--shooting from the base of his neck and diffusing somewhere near his belly. Ranma felt himself pulling away, but then leaning in closer and tilting his head aside, his hair--which he just now realized was hanging loosely--as Akane moved down the curve of his neck, kissing and licking as she went. When she switched to the other ear, Ranma pushed almost eagerly into her hot breath. He thought he heard her ask, 'Do you like this?' but the words were heavy and blurred, lost in the hot exhalation of her breathing. Consumed with nibbling at his ear, she seemed to have forgotten one of her arms; it lay heavily across his abdomen, and Ranma suddenly found himself wishing she was fingering his boobs again. Then, despite the passivity her masculine presence and the growing warmth seemed to have forced upon him, he suddenly remembered that he had arms of his own. Hesitatingly, almost nervously, he brought his hand to his own chest. He cupped the full weight of his breast, its heavy softness settling easily in his own soft grip. How different it felt, he thought, than holding onto Akane's breasts--or even, he suddenly realized, from having them held by someone else. When he tentatively brushed his thumb against his nipple, he felt how erect they now were--not fully hard, like on a cold February day, when training outside in his dogi could become distinctly painful--but not that far; and as he gripped his own breast and gently massaged himself he felt a pleasurable tingle in response, that again slowly made its way down through his belly and gently diffused there. His head slowly fell back, into the crook of her neck, his eyes drifting shut as he gave himself over to the feelings growing in him. He imagined how he must look: like some long-haired bimbo flaunting her assets while flung back in some man's embrace, fondling her own tits, the man nuzzling at her neck and dominated her, hand gripping at her crotch, threading through those coarse hairs to finally settled upon the slight puffiness of her outer lips, faintly outlining them with a gentle touch. Which is exactly what Akane was now doing. Her touch--and suddenly Ranma felt beyond a doubt that it had to be Akane; something in her touch resounded deeper within than he suspected anyone else's could--seemed unhurried as it reached a little deeper, tenderly rolling the soft flesh between her fingers. Ranma realized that his mouth had drooped open, slightly, though he hadn't released a sound. His head still lolled back, eyes closed, as he focused on the sensations she was giving him, on the sensations he was giving himself. His nipples were still responding to his own embrace, though mingled with a slight soreness; he thought he should rub softer, but didn't want to give up the extra pleasure. And then it seemed immaterial, as Akane dipped a single finger between the folds of his outer lips. It wasn't as enjoyable as he had hoped. In fact, it hurt slightly, and he realized that, as turned on as he was beginning to feel, he had a long way to go. He remembered his frustration with his few earlier attempts at coming to terms with his female sexuality: it just took so bloody long! Despite the spreading warmth he still felt quite dry; there was an incipient wetness, but deeper in than Akane's probing fingers had yet reached. So focussed on his expectations had he been that his hands had fallen aside. But Akane, it seemed, having checked that he wasn't quite ready, returned her attention to other places. One hand grabbed at his breast, this time with increased strength, nearly roughly, and she deliberately tweaked his nipple, a little painfully but again, as the blood rushed back in, with an unexpectedly intense burst of pleasure. Her breath was on his neck, and then his cheek, and finally his lips. She had pulled him up slightly to be able to reach his mouth. He could open his eyes now and see her properly--but didn't. His hair fell in a heavy veil across half his face, over his bare shoulders, and he unconsciously brushed it back as he felt Akane's tongue lightly dance against his upper lip. He felt her stubble, again--it was a wholly alien feeling, a man's stubble against his cheek; he couldn't remember the last time his father had kissed him, and that was the last time, he was sure, that he had felt a bearded face that close to his own. Akane then leaned back again, pulling him with her, as her hands continued to roam freely. Five fingers unhurriedly spidered up his chest, taking a moment to rub up against the peak of one unattended mound, and then caressed his chin, and cheek, and finally traced the contour of his face. Somehow such a simple gesture felt sensual in itself, and he felt his excitement grow. The wetness between his legs rose, like oil bubbling towards a swampy surface, and he began to feel warm down there as well. The early rigidity of his legs was gone, replaced by a willing looseness, and he even felt himself slightly ease his legs apart, the air a pleasant coolness against his mound. Akane's hand clasped his chin with a confidant grip, but the thumb snaked upwards and rubbed against his bottom lip. It followed the fullness of his mouth and circled around once, and it felt a little like an awkward kiss, though not as pleasant; and then it began to go around once again, but suddenly pushed inwards, and slipped into his open mouth. Ranma suddenly felt sick to his stomach again, the feeling of passivity slamming back, his awareness of exactly what he was doing and where he was painfully apparent. He began to feel angry with Akane, that she would force this upon him. His anger at himself redoubled, that he couldn't stop her from doing it to him. Why did this rob him of his strength, lying in her arms--no, lying in a _man's_ arms--when he was a woman himself? But he had little time to wonder about it, for Akane was slowly thrusting her thumb in and out of his mouth, and then her other fingers, and he found himself responding. He closed full lips around her fingers. He licked at the digits in his mouth, circled them with his tongue. Ranma felt dirty doing it: it reminded him of the blow job she had given him last night--his first--and he felt guilty, too, once again, like he had after she had agreed to suck him off. Much of his early enjoyment had faded under this new barrage of emotions. His stomach began to tighten, but with revulsion, and he felt the moist pool of anticipation draw back, draw back into its fleshy folds, the oasis of his femininity gone dry. Akane, perhaps sensing the sudden rigidity that once again gripped his body, and the angry passivity reasserting its grip, withdrew her thumb. A loop of saliva followed it out, connected drops of his own spit. He lost track of her arms for a moment, and was about to sit up and forcefully push her back, when he felt her hand fall heavily against his mound once again. This time she didn't waste any time: with a single deft movement, her finger--lubricated with his own spit--slipped between the dryness of his outer lips and reached deeper in. Ranma heard a gasp, and realized that it was his own. He felt himself jerk, unconsciously, at the suddenly feeling of being invaded by Akane's finger. She didn't reach far, no further than the second knuckle of her finger, probably, but it enough to make him squirm. He had felt something inside himself before, of course, during his own tentative probing of his vagina and clumsy attempt at pleasuring himself (he was just starting to realize how inexpert he must have been). Akane's finger felt _huge_ in comparison to his own slender female digits, even though he abstractly knew that the difference must be minor. He shuddered, caught between extreme discomfort and, he couldn't deny, curiosity, and bit down on his lip to prevent another gasp from escaping--the situation was embarrassing enough as it was, and he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing his agitation . . . or his pleasure. Her finger made a little swirl inside of him--which felt surprisingly nice--as if she were stirring a pot, which, in a way, Ranma realized she was, because he _was_ wet down there, still, and she was bringing those juices to the surface. Her moist fingers traced the outline of his cunt, passing easily where before he had been dry and resisting. If before he had been disappointed with how it felt, now he felt anxious at how easily her touch was stimulating him. Her finger would dip in, and withdraw, and gently brush along the edge of his inner lips, or reach further out, passing along the rim of the outer labia, slowly, even carefully, and Ranma found all his attention being drawn towards that single point, that single finger entering and pulling out of him, sometimes staying inside for longer, massaging the inner wall of his vagina; and he suddenly realized that Akane was finger-fucking him, and that it was starting to feel very, very good indeed. She had long ago reached beyond her knuckle, burying her entire finger within his moistening hole. As nice as it felt, however, it still made him feel uncomfortable, his unease growing with each thrust of her hand. He wanted her to stop, but couldn't force the words from his mouth. His buttocks remained clenched, his stomach taut, at the thought of what he was doing--of what was being done to him. Unconsciously, he brought his thighs together, to somehow capture or stop her hand from penetrating him. "I don't think so," the masculine voice by his ear whispered, and the tone of the voice brought back all his fears that it somehow, someway, might _not_ be Akane. His attention returned to the other hand, which had up to then been softly stroking his hair, in a way that definitely accentuated his feelings of helpless femininity. Now it roamed south, and firmly grabbed hold of one of his breasts. The hand massaged them roughly a few times, and then pinched his nipple, hard. It hurt, and he released an exclamation of pain, but must have also relaxed his thighs, because the other hand was suddenly reaching into him again. He went to squeeze down again but the hand had already withdrawn, sliding up his pelvis, but with the fingers trailing behind, passing along his outer lips, and the stopping. He could almost feel the middle finger, extended, hovering over his spread genitals. There was another place down there, Ranma suddenly remembered, that hadn't been attended to yet. When the finger first brushed against his clitoris, with a touch hardly stronger than a flowing wind, he nearly jumped. He jerked in her grasp with each soft, intermittent stroke of the sensitive nub, the fingers still lubricated with his vaginal fluids; and each time he released an involuntary gasp. He didn't know if he actually _enjoyed_ the feeling . . . but it was certainly _interesting_, and he suddenly kind of hoped she wouldn't stop, at least not quite yet. Again involuntarily, he felt his thighs slowly draw apart. The hand groping his breasts continued their ministrations, but softer once again, sensing, perhaps, his renewed interest. That hand withdrew, briefly, but when it returned the fingers were wet as well, perhaps with her own saliva, this time; and the warmth emanating from both swollen nipples spread further as the firmer but now less irritating circling of his areola continued. Perhaps as a result of his muted exhalations he felt the hard press of her penis, which had softened slightly as she attended to him, grow rigid once again. The rude poke of it in his back was annoying, but he realized it had to be somewhat painful for her as well. He faked a squirm--well not so much faked it as exaggerated and directed it, considering she was still stroking his clitoris and fondling his breasts--and shifted hard against her erection. The brief pause in her strokes brought a smile to his lips; he even thought he heard a half-repressed 'ow'. [...] [To be continued...] *** It's probably too long and repetitive to be an effective lemon. It's my first try! I've got some ideas on how I'll probably rewrite it, but any suggestions would be appreciated. And that's it! It might take me awhile to answer any feedback, but I will, eventually. -Mike Noakes noakes_m@hotmail.com http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m