A/N: Time for a standalone oneshot! Gonna dedicate this one to Lisp, because they're awesome. Yup.
Avert your eyes, little kiddies, because this one has a biiiit more suggestive themes than anything in Staccato has had so far.
They had been dancing around their feelings for each other for months now.
No longer did the pair touch only during resonance. Sometimes Maka would lean on Soul's shoulder as they sat watching television at night. Sometimes he would fall asleep on her lap, and she would wake him up in a huff, complaining about drool on her thigh but really just keeping up appearances. Sometimes, if their mission that day was too much of a close call, they would retire to the same bedroom, never commenting on how easy it was to just hold each other at night and get caught up in each others' quiet breathing.
Sometimes they pushed their limits, dipped their toes in the water, gauged the other's reaction to small displays of affection. Fingers brushed cheeks, heads rested together, hands tangled, lips grazed anywhere but the other's lips.
Somehow it felt right, so they pushed those boundaries more and more.
When Maka went out with the girls (shopping or some other girly crap that did not interest Soul in the least), she would always ask for Soul's opinion on her outfits, twirling in front of him in some ensemble or another. He would always stare for a moment, taking in what could be should be his, before dismissing her with a huh, almost looks like you have tits with that on, or you'd think you had curves with how well that bra does its job. She, in turn, would always notice his lingering stare, feel the butterflies in her stomach as he appreciated her, and pretend to be upset at his comments, really thinly veiled compliments.
When she came back, he would snatch her shopping bags away, making a show of searching through what she bought, and she would act like it was a big deal when he found a new bra (a B cup; her breasts were no longer nonexistant, no matter what he said!) or a pair of sheer or lacy panties. They handled each others' laundry, so it really didn't matter that he saw them, but they both knew it was the implication that counted. Those underwear never seemed to find their way into the wash, but what mattered was that Soul knew his meister had those pieces of lingerie, just waiting to be worn.
It drove him crazy.
They weren't just partners anymore. No, they both knew that line had been crossed long ago, somewhere between his lingering touches and her brushing her lips across his cheek.
No longer was she a flat and unappealing thirteen year old. By seventeen, she had filled out a bit more, but the bulk of her appeal laid in the smooth curve of her hips and the creamy skin of her long legs. More and more she would waltz around the house in shorts and a tank top, and during the hot Nevada summers her skin would glisten with a thin sheen of sweat. He wondered how her skin tasted.
At eighteen, Soul did not slouch as much; now that Maka had grown taller, he found it uncool to be shorter than his meister. He held his head high, and noted with chagrin that he was starting to resemble his brother. But while he and his brother shared the same garnet eyes, only Soul had the sharp teeth and lopsided grin that filled Maka's dreams. She wondered how it would feel to have those teeth scrape across her skin.
Riding Soul's motorcycle to Shibusen became a mix of heaven and hell. His meister's body was pressed against him, her arms wrapped around him. He could feel her small breasts against his back, and it took all his willpower not to swerve off some side road and show her how much he appreciated how she had filled out.
After weeks of practicing after classes, Maka tried to drive them one morning. Before they even set off, she gave up; mumbling weak excuses such as I'm too tired and I need more practice, she moved back to her usual seat behind him. When she had settled and could no longer see his face, Soul grinned, because she had only hesitated after he had whispered into her ear, breath skimming against her skin, and he could see the blush all the way down to her chest.
They pushed each other back and forth, seeing how far they could go without breaking.
When she kissed him, dear lord finally, it was a surprise to them both, but not unexpected. It had been a long time coming, after all.
Their mission had almost gone wrong; Maka had hesitated one moment too long, and Soul morphed back halfway to block for her. The blow was deflected, but as a consequence they had to separate to avoid the next attack, no longer acting as one unit.
Another hesitation of a second, before their fingers tangled together again and he became hard metal in her palm, would have meant the end of them both.
They had argued the entire way back to their apartment; obviously he thought it was her fault, did he have to transform back and fuck up their resonance, was she stupid or something, oh shut up it's over anyways, the weapon protects the meister.
Once they crossed the threshold into their home, the door slammed shut and she pinned him against the entryway's wall. With anger and sadness and something else Soul could not identify burning in her eyes and trembling in her soul, Maka pulled his head down and pressed their lips together.
They had been dancing around their feelings for too fucking long, and he'd be damned if he let this opportunity pass, he decided, so he kissed her back.
It was clumsy and they were nervous, but they were Soul and Maka, so it was okay.
He didn't know what to do with his hands, and she wasn't sure what was okay for her to do with their lips, so she guided his hands to her hips (they dipped under the hem of her shirt, brushing against her skin, leaving trails of fire) and he nipped at her bottom lip until she opened her mouth with a light moan (his teeth were sharp, but pleasantly so; she wanted him to do it again).
They explored, making up for lost time.
She flushed when his hands teased their way up to her chest, and he assured her that he wouldn't have her any other way. She languidly dragged her fingers across his scar, forcing a growl from his throat, and her lips pressed silent apologies against his skin for the times where she was not strong enough.
His fingers traced their ways up her thighs, and he looked into her eyes, questioning, because they had both been waiting so long. When she shook her head no, not yet, biting her lip, that was okay, because now they had time, so he returned his attention to her lips and neck. He could feel her soul thrumming with appreciation, and she could feel his smile against her lips. That time would come eventually, whenever they were both ready.
They were Soul and Maka, after all; this was right, and neither could deny it. They tangled with hell on a daily basis, and it only made them stronger. Their bond may strain, but it never broke. They pushed the limits, and found out how strong they could become. So the hours ticked by, and they made up for lost time, once again dancing around a new line not yet to be crossed.
Soul fell asleep with Maka in his arms, pulled close against his chest. The moonlight highlighted the scar that reached across his chest, and Maka fought back the urge to trace it. They had been through so much. This would be a new hurdle, but she was ready to face it if Soul would be by her side.
When the sun took the moon's place, Soul had a new scar to worry about; it was not cool to drool in his meister's hair.
But it was okay; they had time.
He apologized with slow open mouthed kisses across her skin.
She'd forgive him this time.