Puberty smashed into them like a wrestler on steroids. They never saw it coming. The little world they shared seemed to grow exponentially smaller as the two of them grew up, and it was always inexplicably hot in their shared abode. Everything was surreptitiously turned upside down…or in Soul's case, very, very up. All the damn time.

They knew what masturbation was. They each knew that the other one did it. Sometimes they even knew when. Maka would exit her room, cheeks tinged pink, stating that she just couldn't put down the book she was reading. Soul would flop down on the couch after an exceptionally long shower, grumbling that he was sore from that day's training.

They both knew.

When they were younger, Soul would reach over Maka's head to grab a plate or some cereal, pushing her into the counter and annoying her with his proximity. Now he asked her to get things for him, or waited for her to move, because there was just not enough room in that goddamn kitchen and his dick had taken on a mind of its own. It was tense enough in the house without him having to worry about being smashed in the head because he couldn't settle things down in his pants.

And he worried about which head she would smash.

Eating together had become its own torture as well. She would suck on a popsicle to cool herself from the summer heat and he would excuse himself from the room to try and quell the ache in his groin. He would end up with food all over his face because he shoveled it in like he was a garbage disposal, and instead of using a napkin like a civilized human being, his tongue would snake out to clear his lips of anything he had missed.

She wanted to die.

He would walk around shirtless, flaunting hipbones she wanted to seize and guide as she allowed him to sin with her. She wore disturbingly short skirts (had they always been that short?!) that showed off legs that were creamy and endless. The things he wanted to do with those legs…

He was going to hell.

They sat together, distractedly watching a movie. She had her feet in his lap, her body spread along the length of the couch. He was doing his damndest not to stare at the sliver of skin that peeked out from beneath her thin t shirt. She was trying to pretend that he wasn't staring at her, and that she wasn't trying to peek at the long line of his neck.

Small feet were unceremoniously shoved to the floor, his broad arms crossing over his chest.

"Hey!" she protested.

He looked completely nonchalant and said nothing. But she knew.

"I don't need your fat ankles weighing down my lap!" he rumbled at her.

Maka was ready to clock him, had even picked up a thick book of Shakespearean sonnets to crack down on his head. But then curiosity got the better of her. The tome was returned to the end table and she crossed her legs, staring at his blank face. His attempt at indifference.

"Why does it do that so much?"

"Excuse me?" he raised a pale eyebrow at her.

"Your…you know, your…" she gestured awkwardly at his groin.

Internally, Soul was mortified she would ask such a question. What the hell!? Who the hell asks something like that! But he knew better. Maka asks something like that, because Maka has to know and understand fucking everything.

He gave her an answer that was 50% snark, 50% truth.

"Because the wind blew."

She scowled at him. "Be serious!"

He turned his head sharply, red eyes ablaze with a combination of annoyance and sexual frustration.

"You have no idea how much I wish I wasn't being serious!" he growled. He was angry at her, and he wasn't. He wanted to grab her, do horrifically lewd things to her. He was ashamed of himself.

"I need to...I have to…just leave me alone, Maka!"

He tried to get up and escape to his room, but her tiny hand had grabbed his wrist. He stiffened as the tingle of sexually charged energy coursed through his body. He was terrified to look at her and desperately wanting to at the same time. He was young, impulsive, and presently aware of how very male he was. How frustrated.

"Let go," he whispered. It was a demand, laced with fear, but he knew she wouldn't listen.

Maka tugged at him and though he tried to resist, he knew he was powerless. He slumped back onto the couch, eyes hidden by overgrown bangs.

She crawled closer to him. He could smell her. Lavender soap and honeysuckle shampoo. It was intoxicating. He was entirely unprepared for the inquiry that came next.

"Can I…see it?" she mumbled, cautious and unsure.

"What!? NO!" he barked at her and tried to scramble off the couch again.

It was too late. She had insinuated herself into his lap, her perfectly round ass settled right over his hard on. Her eyes went wide as he threw his head back and moaned. A combination of embarrassment and unbridled lust. She shifted on top of him, frowning in curiosity as she felt the stiff flesh twitch beneath her.

Soul moaned again, fists balled up in the material of the couch. He wanted to grab her and throw her off. But he knew if he tried, all he'd end up doing would be holding her to him and grinding the ever-loving shit out of her.

"Jesus Christ, Maka!" he whimpered. "Get off…you need to get off me, right now!"

Maka raised herself up on her knees but made no move to disembark from his lap. Curious green eyes bore into desperate red as she started tracing the outline of his jaw. Shaving was a new thing for him. He was still learning and there were patches of stubble left from that morning's attempt. Her fingers lingered on the coarse hair and she gazed at him with a silent intensity that rushed strait to his crotch.

The knot in Soul's throat bobbed as he made a weak attempt to swallow. Shuddering breaths escaped through his nostrils as he clung to the last vestiges of his control. He'd never get rid of her if he didn't give her what she wanted.

That's what he told himself anyway.

"Alright," he murmured at her. "Just…just this once."

Slowly, carefully she slid away from him, off to the side. She'd never seen a penis before, but she knew well enough from training accidents that boys didn't appreciate having their junk smashed. Soul was grateful for her cautiousness, even if the way she moved made him harder than granite.

For a brief moment, Soul contemplated changing his mind. This couldn't possibly be good for their partnership…could it? Unless maybe it could improve their resonance…

That is the most perverted thought you have ever had, Soul Evans. And you've had a fucking lot.

He became keenly aware of Maka staring at his crotch, a scowl marring handsome features as he admonished her.

"Could you not stare like that? Christ on a cross that is fucked up!"

She stuck her tongue out at him but turned her back, allowing him a modicum of privacy to shimmy down his pants. There was a deep sigh and the rustling of fabric, but she didn't turn back around until he said it was ok.

Maka saw his face before anything else. He was flushed red, his eyes narrow slits, and he made an awkward grimace every now and again. Was he hurting? Her gaze drifted downwards and she noted how he gripped his dick, seemingly fighting with himself and trying not to stroke, or tug. She understood he wanted to.

Her hand reached out for his, and after a moment's hesitation, she tapped at his wrist, silently asking for him to move his palm away. Her skin was calloused from wielding his scythe form, but somehow that made it all the better, and a high pitched whine leapt from Soul's throat as she touched him. There wasn't anything remotely sexual about it, but he was overstimulated and his meister was touching his cock, and…

"Maaaakaaaa…" he gurgled. "Imma come if you keep doin' thaaaaat."

His hips offered an involuntary thrust and she gasped. Her hand wrapped around him a bit more tightly and Soul gurgled again. She was enamored by all the ridges and veins, how he felt hard and soft at the same time, how he was practically a useless puddle of goo, just because she held him.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered at him, unsure. He was making that pained face again, his hips trying to shove backwards into the couch cushions, away from her teasing digits. She didn't even know what she was doing to him.

"It—ahhhaaa—it's a little soo-mmmf—sore. Lotsa pressure…I…I wanna…" he wheezed at her.

Trying to convey that erections were not generally painful, but one lasting too long could be was not high on his priority list. He desperately wanted her to stroke him again and simultaneously prayed to the gods that she would not. Because he was gonna fucking lose it.

Jewel toned eyes turned back to his cock and she noticed the clear fluid leaking from the tip. Her head dipped dangerously close and he felt her breath puff against overheated skin as she spoke.

"What's this? Did you finish already?"

Her thumb swirled around the head of his dick spreading the thin liquid around him. He practically leapt off the couch as he yowled. This was sweet, sweet agony! Oh, sweet death, he was going to die today! He. Was Going. To die. And at this rate, he would be buried with the world's worst case of blue balls.

A thick hand shot out and roughly shoved hers away. He couldn't take it anymore! Practiced fingers squeezed around his shaft and he all but beat himself into oblivion. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his meister's face contort into a startled "o", but he couldn't be bothered to decipher if she was enthralled or disgusted.

His hips bucked wildly and his back arched off the couch as his world suddenly tilted downwards. He was coming, and he was coming fucking everywhere.

"Holy SHIT!" Maka exclaimed excitedly. She almost never swore, but she was positively giddy as she watched Soul tip over the edge. It wasn't anything like she had been expecting. When he came, there was a spurt or two that exited him a bit more forcefully, and then he just kind of oozed. His jaw went slack as he moaned his completion and his hips flexed and rocked against the air of their own accord.

It was as if she had watched the world's sexiest volcanic eruption…and she wanted to see him do it again.

Soul's head was still tipped back on the couch, his breaths heavy and ragged. He knew his hand was covered in jizz, and it was so goddamn gross, but he was too tired to care.

A warm voice danced in his ear and he vaguely registered his sticky hand being lifted upwards.

"Smells like bleach," was her first comment. "It looks different when it's soft," was the second.

Soul immediately grabbed a pillow from the couch and shoved it over his crotch, ears burning red and hot.

"Is it always over that fast?" she asked casually.

"No! It's…I'm not…I don't usually…!" Soul spluttered pathetically, pillow still firmly seated over his lap. "That's not the kind of question that you should—"

"It takes me a lot longer than that," Maka interrupted. "How long until you can do it again?"

She was very matter of fact about the whole thing. Soul had expected her to be shy, but he should have known better. As long as Maka could make this a learning experience, there was little embarrassment to be had.

It was not lost on him that she had mentioned it took her longer to get off. That was not an image he needed in his head right now. His meister sprawled out on her bed, hand buried in her panties, chest bare and arching towards the ceiling as she called for him…

He groaned as his overly sensitive dick twitched. His recovery time was decent, but two minutes after a mind numbing orgasm was really pushing it.

"I dunno, an hour or so?" he pinked as he answered her question. "Can I go clean up now?" It wasn't an actual question, just a means to kick Maka out of bookworm mode.

She cleared her throat and felt her face heat up as she nodded. Her back was turned to him once more so he could slip his pants back on. She heard him heave himself off the couch, turning around just in time to see him strip off his shirt and wipe off his hand.