A/N: I've been writing a bunch of one shots in between working on SOL. I just write as ideas come to me, and this one has been rattling around in my brain. I'm kind of surprised at myself, but in a good way. Enjoy.
He was unsurprised to see her standing in his doorway. Their last mission had been unusually difficult and she had looked haggard and worn upon its completion. They had been doing this for so many years now. It had been so long, all of them mature adults, and each of them had found their own ways of coping.
When she crossed the room and pressed her lips to his neck he closed his eyes and sighed. His hands found her hips and he pulled her closer, doing his best not to grind against her stomach. He was better than that. Well, he liked to think he was better than that, but he wasn't. It disgusted him that he was already hard and wanting. A Pavlovian response to their trysts.
She was already pulling at his shirt, her kisses forceful and rough, as insistent as her need to get him naked. He responded in kind, deft fingers tugging at the zipper of her skirt while another hand slipped beneath her blouse to palm a breast. It was always this way. An illusion of romance that they created to stave off the guilt of the secret she harbored in her heart.
When she began tugging at his belt he halted her, lithe digits closing around her wrist.
"Slow down," he implored.
Dusty blonde hair whipped her face as she shook her head.
"You know I can't," she panted before claiming his lips again.
He was never allowed to lead their carnal dance. No, he could only follow. He was powerless when he was with her. It never stopped feeling foreign to him. He did not feel that his masculinity was being threatened, but this role reversal was never something he could become accustomed to. He acquiesced because he was powerless against her and he reveled in it.
She had managed to divest him of his pants while he worked the buttons of her blouse, blissfully unaware that she had been maneuvering them towards the bed. A grunt escaped him as the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees and he collapsed onto it. The springs offered a protesting squeak as he scooted back, pulling her along with him.
Muscular thighs squeezed narrow hips as she wriggled on top of him, a heady groan slipping from his throat. Her blouse hung open, slipping down her shoulders to reveal a plain white bra underneath. She was so utilitarian that it almost made him laugh. That opportunity was stolen from him when she attacked his neck with lips and teeth and tongue.
Sex clouded eyes slipped close as he let her work, falling back amongst the pillows to force her to stretch out over him. So many things had changed as they had grown, but he was taller than her now, and if she wanted to continue what she was doing, she would have no choice but to lay atop him. It was his subtle, devious way to slip his hand beneath the elastic of her underwear and sneak a finger or two against her core.
She growled in his ear, low and feral. Her need had distracted her, and she'd made a mistake.
"Just fuck me!" she demanded.
A derisive snort blew through his nostrils as his fingers came away from her, barely damp. He adamantly shook his head and flipped them over, pinning her beneath his body.
"You know the rules," he breathed against her collarbone. I will do anything else you ask of me…but not that."
It was a frequent occurrence that she would try to force him to fuck her while she was nowhere near ready for him. And though he knew he had no power elsewhere, he refused to do that. Every time they stepped into battle she risked her life, her body, her soul. She almost always came away injured in some capacity, sometimes gravely. What the two of them did together was in no way sacred, but he would not aid her in further destroying herself.
A vicious glare was leveled at him as he slid thin white cotton down long pale legs. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had managed to find a book and brain him with it. She practically vibrated beneath him, but it was due to being coiled with tension and fury as opposed to any excitement of being with him. He had already forgiven her for her malice, and when a warm tongue pressed against her, she forgave him for caring so goddamn much.
It was then that she relaxed, sinking into the mattress, hips tipping towards his mouth. Gentle thumbs rubbed along her hipbones. She hated it, but did not have the strength to bat his hands away. He was given no verbal encouragement, only her fingers twisting in silken strands to hold his mouth in place. She offered no moans, no chuffs, not even a squeak. He was allowed nothing to let him know what he was doing was correct. He didn't mind. He knew what set her off and his tongue curled over her clit, forcing her to respond to him.
He was not as proud as she was, rumbling into her center as her hips rolled against his face. A self-satisfied smirk briefly alighted on his lips before he returned to his work. He knew she'd never see it. She closed herself off to him every time. Eyelids were all but sewn shut, her wavelength flat, save for the brief spikes she was unable to contain when he hit a good spot. Like when his tongue would dip inside her and flick upwards. That drove her absolutely mad.
She was shivering again, but he knew now that it was because she was close. She was right on that edge, teetering, ready to fall into oblivion. He desperately wanted to see her unravel, but he wouldn't. She wouldn't allow that. And then, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, a forceful tug on his scalp pulled him away from her. Her breath came in short bursts, skin aglow with a light sheen of sweat, and the lips of her sex slick and glistening as a result of dutiful skill.
He didn't need to hear her speak to know what came next. Obediently, he rolled over and stripped off his boxers. Stretched out along the sheets, cock standing erect and proud, he waited for her. She was pulling off her blouse and bra, back to him. Always as closed off as possible. When she straddled him, his lids slid down over his eyes, knowing that she wouldn't let him see.
One hand reached out to rest on her hip, the other holding himself still so she could sheath him in wet heat. They groaned together, he in pleasure, she in frustration. She despised it that he felt so good. He was thick, and she was full, and the fire in her gut expanded and contracted as he rocked into her. She could demand he be still and let her work, but she was not that unfair.
His body arched beneath hers, shoving himself deeper and deeper. Slack jawed and moaning he rolled into her again and again and again. A palm on her back guided her body over his, and while he was open and accepting, calmly offering whatever she wanted to take from him, she gave him nothing back.
His hips hitched as her walls rippled over him and he bit back a gasp. She was unable to hold back her own sob of pleasure, though she tried to muffle it by covering her mouth. This is how it was for her. The closer she got, the louder she became, try as she might to stifle her cries.
A tap to one of his thighs signaled him to bring his legs up, which he did without protest. She leaned back against him, pelvis jutting forward and changing the angle to something that felt obscenely delicious.
"I love you," she murmured, delirious in her enjoyment.
"That's a lie," he responded. It was not an accusation, just a statement of truth.
And then the begging started. A sign that they were near the end.
"Please," came the rasp. "Please, please, please, please…."
His legs dropped from behind her, hands seizing writhing hips, and he drove into her wildly. He was rough, and rude, and his head was thrown back as he plowed into her. This was the only time he had for her to belong to him. This was all she would allow him. The only control he would ever get.
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes yes. Harder, harder, HARDER goddamn it!" she wailed at him.
He obliged, once more flipping them over so he was on top. He was never able to finish the other way, and if he didn't come, she would find a way to make him. It was not always pleasant. Her pain was his shame, and she made it memorable.
His arms encircled her torso to lift her up to him, he panted roughly in her ear, told her he was going to come. She commanded that he do so, and with a guttural grunt of his own, he shattered over her. He throbbed, pulsed, twitched inside her, felt the sticky warmth of his seed as he let go. He felt her squeeze him mercilessly, and hissed with the overstimulation of it all, but did not dare remove himself before she said it was ok.
Silently, he waited, still curled over her. His forehead pressed into nearby pillows rather than touch her. When a small hand pressed to his chest he slipped away fluidly. She escaped to the bathroom to clean up, he tidied the room while she did so.
When she returned he was already beneath the covers, eyes to the wall, knowing that she would not join him any other way. When she slipped in beside him, her leg thrown over his hip, he understood that they would be going again in an hour or two.
She was hurting.
He felt guilty, but it was about the wrong things.
"Will you ever tell him, Maka?" he intoned, careful not to turn and look at her.
"He doesn't need to know, Kid. I don't want him to know. Our partnership wouldn't survive it."
He knew that was a lie. As big a lie as when she said she loved him.
Maka's heart belonged to Soul, even while she gave her body to Kid.