I will have you know that the things I did to procrastinate finishing this were grand and nothing short of epic. But yet, here it is.
It was on days like these that Soul felt like a special kind of pervert.
They sat on their apartment's couch, Maka's back against his shoulder. She was wholly absorbed by the book in her hands, propped up comfortably against him. Her hair fell delicately over her shoulders, head rested lightly on the back of the couch, transfixed by the words on the page before her.
Maka had always been trouble in a schoolgirl skirt and combat boots, but when they were home and it was just the two of them, Maka was soft and warm beneath her lean muscle and meister mentality.
Soul's legs were pulled up onto the couch, a blanket pulled up to his waist, despite the fact that he didn't need it.. He was tapping along on his thighs to the music playing lightly from the speakers, working abhorrent to not risk a glance over at his meister.
Maka was comfortable against him, warm and soft against the bare skin of his shoulder.
That afternoon, when he'd gotten back from his run, the tank top had seemed like a godsend. It was cool and comfortable for a night in with his roommate. But now, with Maka curled up against him, the scent of her shampoo filling his nose, the bare skin of her shoulder against his own, Soul was regretting it.
His body stood at attention with the contact, nerves on overdrive. Thoughts that he usually only allowed himself to dwell on when he was alone in his room late at night and he was feeling particularly self-loathing kept creeping into his mind.
Maka shifted, pulling his arm over her shoulder so that she could rest her head against his bicep.
Soul's eyes flared wide as his arm wrapped around her, hand brushing itself over her chest as it moved to sit on the right side of her ribcage. As if before wasn't bad enough, now Soul's forearm was situated directly between her breasts, the underside of one resting against his skin. He could scream (or, more accurately, make a much more indecent sound).
They had been fifteen the first time Maka made Soul's heart skip a beat. He hadn't been expecting it. They had fallen asleep on the couch after a movie marathon, her head just barely resting on his thigh.
As they had slept, Maka had shifted and by the time Soul woke up, she had her arms wrapped around his leg, cheek pressed firmly against his pajama bottoms. Her hair was down, swept over her shoulder and lips pouted from the position.
She roused, green eyes blinking blearily at him and sleepy grin tugging at her mouth. Soul had thought that he was dying. His chest ached, head light, as she burrowed her face against him, not wanting to be awake yet.
She was beautiful.
Breathtaking, really, Soul had settled on over the years. His meister was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
He risked a glance at her as she read, which proved to be his second mistake of the night. The skin of her neck was inches from his face, smooth and delicate, leading up to the sharp line of her jaw. A muscle in her neck jumped as she tilted her head down to read the bottom of the page. He could just barely see the pout of her lip as she concentrated.
Without his permission, his arm tightened around her, holding her tighter, and he prayed that the neediness of the action was lost in translation to her.
"Mmm?" she raised her eyebrows in question but never looked up from her book.
Soul could have melted as the sound rumbled through her chest. He ignored the twitch of his, uh, problem, that he had been very pointedly neglecting for the last half hour. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever go away.
His face felt hot, blush dusting across his cheeks as he thanked Death that Maka was too absorbed in her fictional world to turn around and see how flustered he was.
Soul felt weak, every muscle in his body refusing to work properly with his meister sitting right there and the smell of her shampoo making his head spin. He really wanted a drink.
Scratch that, if he was going to sit this close to Maka, Soul needed a damn drink. Something alcoholic and strong that could make the world a little fuzzy and let his brain shut off.
But he didn't want to disturb her reading-and he really didn't want to move his arm from the dreadfully heavenly position it was in.
His head fell back and eyelids fell brain toyed with ideas and thoughts that he really shouldn't be having about his meister in the first place. Soul tried desperately to lose himself in the music, blocking out everything that wasn't the beat of the drum.
If only it worked like that.
What Soul had come to realize he wanted wasn't anything that could be described with words. It was conceptual.
His brain swarmed with ideas of lips brushing, pressing, pecking; teeth dragging, nipping, biting. He wanted Maka in every single way you could possibly want a person. He wanted her heart, body, soul. He wanted her eyes raking up and down his body, her hands claiming him, he wanted her to want him the same way that he wanted her.
Soul loved Maka with every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his body. He would die for her. He almost already had on a few occasions; the jagged, discolored line of a scar peeking out of his tank top to confirm it.
He felt the humming of her chest as Maka laughed at something she had just read. Her voice, a soft, quiet giggle rattling his bones. Soul exhaled sharply, biting at his lower lip to subdue the jump of his own chest, the spike of his heartrate.
He went bright red when he felt Maka's head swing to look at him, ripped from her novel by the distressed sound he hated himself for producing.
Soul didn't open his eyes. He froze like a statue, praying that perhaps Maka would turn back around and go back to her book. Perhaps she would just assume that he realized he had forgotten about something he needed to do.
He felt her shift, heard her drop the book onto the coffee table, tried to suppress the knowledge that her shifting had moved his forearm from sitting between her boobs to now pressing rather firmly against one of them.
He sucked in another breath, cursing himself for being so utterly weak. Maka read while leaning against him all the time-why was it today that his hormones decided he wasn't horny enough?
"Sorry." Maka's voice swam through his head, the earnestness of her pitch a stab through his heart. "Was I squishing you?"
Death, he wished. Soul barely managed to choke out a strangled, "No, you're fine."
He hated himself. Truly, Soul hated himself.
It was a secret to no one that Maka had some daddy issues. She hated oversexed men who couldn't pull their head out of the gutter. Yet here he was, the personification of everything that she hated.
"Soul?"
His eyebrows fell and dick gave an obnoxiously demanding twitch. Her voice was high-pitched heaven and he knew that if he didn't do something-anything-fast his expression would tell her of his sins.
Soul, still refusing to open his eyes, jolted forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, burying his face into the crook of her neck. It only served to fuel the fire brewing in his nerves, his lips only one purse away from connecting with her skin, but at least now Maka couldn't see how everything about her brought Soul one step closer to ruin.
He couldn't look at her. If he saw big, big, soft green eyes staring at him, he would probably cry. Maka's voice curled around his name again and Soul drew in a ragged breath, arms tightening around her.
Soul had never been so happy about a blanket thrown over his waist. If she saw the boner he was sporting, Soul was 97.9% sure that he would die, either from Maka's rage or his own embarrassment. Probably a mixture of the two.
She was so unbearably soft under his hands. He couldn't stop his hands from working, moving, touching more and more of her. He felt her laugh gently as she dropped her face against his shoulder.
It was too much. It was just all too much for him to bear. His veins were on fire, heart pounding restlessly in his chest. She was in his arms, rubbing at his back, singlehandedly making every nerve in his body ignite. He was absolute putty in her arms, all but melting atop of her.
She scratched at his back, trying to calm him down, but it was having the opposite effect. Her nails against him, occasionally dragging against the bare skin of his shoulders, ceased the functionality of his lungs. Soul was caught, mindlessly.
He hated himself so much.
His lips were dragging across the skin of his meister's neck before he could snap out of the stupor she put him in. Maka gasped and Soul could have sworn that the noise tore straight through his chest.
Then suddenly he had pulled away from her, all but throwing himself off the couch. His face took up a new home, buried in his hands as he to fought stop the surprised gasp from echoing in his mind over and over.
He pulled his knees to his chest, chewing the inside of his cheek furiously.
When Soul finally risked a glance up at Maka, her lips were still parted and eyes wide. She was watching him with apprehension, hands fumbling awkwardly in her lap. He couldn't read the expression in her eyes, bright green, painfully beautiful staring at him.
His breath was jagged, chest heaving. He shouldn't have done that. He definitely shouldn't have done that and especially without Maka's permission.
Soul raked a hand through his hair, suddenly finding that gazing at literally anything but her in the room was better.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Maka's hand raise, fingers grazing over where his lips had just defiled her skin.
His brain flashed back to darker times, years of a depressed, self-loathing Soul Evans. A pocket knife, a lighter, pain and blood and then nothing dancing through his mind. He hadn't hated himself enough to tear at his skin in years, but Maka's silent, shocked expression almost had him there again.
Soul had been a mess when he'd first transferred to the DWMA. The small, thin, faded white lines on his arms that he could still see in certain lighting were a reminder of that. Soul had been pathetic.
But then there was Maka, kind and gentle when she wanted to be. She had been a godsend, slowly nursing him back to health, out of his apathetic hell one day at a time.
If Maka hated him, Soul honestly didn't know what he would do. He didn't want to think about that possibility.
Her voice was tiny, barely there as she whispered, "Soul?"
He whimpered.
She shifted, moving to sit close to him again and Soul could have sworn that he could hear his heartbeat. "Did you just..." her voice was still quiet.
Apparently the aversion of his eyes and blush deepening on his face were enough of an answer for Maka. She frowned, studying him and Soul's body shook with the sensation of the rejection.
His mouth opened to apologize, but nothing came out. He violated her personal space and demolished her trust in him. He was just like her father.
Soul choked on every word he tried to say, eyes squeezing closed.
He didn't deserve to look at her.
But then her hand was resting on his arm, nudging him.
Soul risked looking up at her, immediately regretting the decision. He was caught, transfixed by her eyes. Maka was fire, torching every fiber of his being. He could feel his bones turn to ash under her gaze, blood boiling.
"How long?" her voice was soft, warm, inviting. The frown had melted from her face, curiosity overtaking it.
He didn't know how to respond. This wasn't a conversation he had ever thought the two of them would be having. Soul had accepted a life of keeping this secret years ago.
Finally, he stared back at the floor, telling her, "At least five years."
The honesty twisted in his gut, dismay palpable. Soul had never been the type to open up. Maka had always been his one exception, but neither of them ever pretended that it would extend this far.
Maka looked thoughtful, chewing on her lip and Soul swiftly squashed the spike in his heartbeat. He had to get himself under control.
"Two," Maka said, decidedly.
Soul paused his self hatred to raise an eyebrow at his meister. She had crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as if she was cold. Soul hated that he couldn't do anything to help.
"What?" he asked, not letting his brain race to conclusions. Soul could only imagine the resulting carnage if he did.
Maka was silent, wavering, avoiding the question. She looked almost as uncomfortable as Soul was and he tried not to be too hurt by it. All of this was his fault. He deserved every ounce of this.
When her eyes met his, her gaze was worried, anxious. It took a long time for her to finally admit, "It's been two years since I realized that I'm in love with you."
Soul stopped. Breathing, moving, thinking, he stopped, completely useless. Clearly, Maka Albarn, the woman who had sworn off boys forever had not just said that she was in love with him. There was no way. Obviously she simply misspoke.
He wasn't sure he could handle the whiplash.
Soul stared at her for a long time, mouth gaping and wavering expression. He pressed his hands to his legs, trying to suppress their shaking. "So. What does that mean?"
Maka rolled her eyes, eyelashes long and beautiful as her gaze shifted down. She inhaled deeply, chest rising, tank top tightening around her bust and Soul willed his eyes not to betray him.
Silence lingered between them, his question hanging in the air. He didn't want to speak, to say something unwanted by Maka.
Even if she had said that she was in love with him, he couldn't be sure if it was something she would even want to pursue. She had, very much like himself, kept it a secret for a reason. The longer they sat, red faced and staring at each other, the less Soul wanted to know the answer to his question.
A strand of her bangs fell in her face, golden blonde streaks covering emerald eyes. Maka drew in a breath, gripping her arms tighter around herself.
Soul couldn't read her expression. He wished that he had soul perception, like her. He wished that he had something that would give him any kind of hint as to what was going on in her head.
"I'm not," Maka's response was timid, small, embarrassed, "opposed. What do you want it to mean?"
He felt like he'd been slapped in the face. The question was open-ended, and the ball wasn't simply tossed, but hurled back into his side of the court without warning. Soul raked his fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face, tugging on a fistful of his own hair nervously.
"I, uh-" He drew in a ragged breath, giving a tiny, nervous laugh, "-didn't think I'd get this far."
Maka followed his lead, letting out a snort of anxious laughter. The sound bubbled out of her throat and burrowed straight through Soul's chest, settling in his heart. It thawed him, his muscles loosening their grip, mouth hitching up in a grin.
"If you want to, um," Soul made a vague hand gesture, "I'm in."
Maka raised an eyebrow. "If I want to-" she copied his gesture, one of her eyebrows raised delicately.
"Yeah."
"Consider me woo'd." Maka frowned at him.
Soul shrugged at her, chewing on his lip, waiting for the rejection that he was sure to follow. But then, Maka's hands found his own, lightly pulling them from his lap to rest on the couch between them. She looked up at him, smiling.
"You're my partner, Soul," she told him, squeezing his hands, green eyes staring deeply into his. "When you became a death scythe, you could have picked anyone else in the school to be paired with, but you (quite aggressively) stuck with me. It's always been you and me, sticking together. So, I'm in too."
"Are you-" Sure. That was how Soul had intended to end the sentence, but Maka, clearly, had a much better idea.
One of her arms wrapped around his neck and Soul sat up straighter, surprised to be cut off and caught off guard by how close she was. Her lips were inches from his and Soul suddenly couldn't peel his eyes away from them, soft and pink and almost imperceptibly parted. He could feel her breath on his neck, sending goosebumps down his body.
Her other hand reached up, grabbing a fistful of the collar of his tank top, dizzyingly, drawing him forward, pressing her lips lightly against his. Soul melted at the contact, his hands finding her waist, gently, delicately, afraid to make a mistake.
She made a small hum at the back of her throat, pleased, pulling away. She was smiling, eyes bright, as she leaned down to peck him once, twice more for good measure.
Then, Maka scooped her book back up and Soul adjusted himself on the couch for her to lay against him, his head tucked against the couch, her back resting on his front. His arms fell around her waist, hesitating before the contact to ask for permission.
Maka simply laughed, grabbing his hands and pushing them against her.
.
Living with your new girlfriend was more awkward than Soul had originally estimated.
Everything seemed to take on a different context, convoluting casual interactions to give them perverse connotations. Before, Maka walking around the apartment in a sports bra and sweatpants in the morning had meant nothing. The bare skin of her stomach, sure, had always caused Soul's chest to feel tight, eyes lingering whenever she wasn't looking, but now, Maka seemed to always catch him staring. Her gaze would burn on his, her eyes jumping down to take in his bare chest and flannel pants as he held a cup of coffee. Her lips would press together, holding back words that killed Soul to not know.
The two of them could make out whenever Blair wasn't around, Maka's hands dragging him closer, head tilted up to meet his lips. Soul's fingers would grab onto the material of her shirt, holding it lightly between his thumb and index finger to steady himself as Maka kissed him drunk.
They were adjusting to being a couple amply-granted, the only big changes in their relationship were the kissing and sleepovers. They had always been close, emotionally and physically, but everything they did now had a new meaning.
When Maka crawled into Soul's bed one night for the first time since they had started dating, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Sure, they had slept in close quarters before, sometimes next to each other on the floor while on missions, but this was new.
"Do you mind?" Maka had asked from the doorway, holding up a pillow from her room and nodding towards his bed.
It felt like they were fourteen again, adjusting to life living together, figuring out each other's boundaries. Maka stood tentatively, ready to backtrack to her own room to spend the night if he would prefer.
Soul took the pillow from her hands, ogling the booty shorts of her pajamas, and put it on the left side of his mattress. "The wall side is mine."
Maka's face lit up as she plopped herself down in his sheets.
Pretty soon Soul came to the realization that having Maka in his bed was one of his favorite things on the planet. Maka curled up under his covers and pressed herself against him as she slept. Her skin was always warm, heating him up as she tucked her head under his arm. Maka would always steal his pillow sometime in her sleep, hers ending up discarded on the floor, so when she would spend the night in her own room, his bed would still smell like her.
As they seemed to finally be settling into their new routine, Soul eventually wormed his way into a few nights spent in Maka's bed. She giggled at the sight of him one night, standing in her doorway just as she had. His pillow was tucked lightly under his arm and he didn't say a word, unsure of how to ask for entrance into her bed.
Maka padded towards him, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a grin. She reached out towards him and Soul's eyes got lost staring past it, drinking in her legs, long and lean. His gaze moved as he felt her hand wrap around his own, past short, short blue pajama bottoms and lingering on the thin line of her stomach where her tank top rode up.
She tugged him forward, summoning him to her bed.
"Come on in," she pushed him to sit on the edge and spun around to close the door, hips swaying with the movement.
When she looked back at him, all green eyes and blonde hair flopping in her face. "Is there a reason for the occasion?" her hand gestured to him and his pillow.
Soul stood, reaching out, waiting for her to push into his arms, mumbling, "The bed's always warmer with you-even if you always steal my pillow."
Maka pulled back, pushing herself onto her toes to kiss the tip of his nose. "I don't know why you even brought it."
"For you, obviously," Soul pecked her forehead.
A smile tugged at her lips, hands brushing her hair from her face. Maka worked efficiently to finish her nightly routine, tossing the dirty clothes at the foot of her bed into a hamper and rubbing lotion tantalizingly slowly onto her legs before she flicked the lamp at her bedside on and turned her overhead light off.
Soul tugged his t-shirt over his head, dropping it as a challenge onto her floor as Maka carefully hung her sweater back in the closet. She stuck her tongue out at him. "You'd better pick that up in the morning," she told him, crawling in next to him from the foot of the bed.
It caught him off guard, stuck between the intensity of green eyes and the sway of her hips. His breath almost caught as she stopped midway, pausing to sit on her feet as she stared down at him.
Soul had never thought of himself as particularly attractive, but when his meister's eyes trailed down the planes of his chest to study the lines of his stomach, Soul felt his heart jump. She sat silent, eyes dark as he watched her gaze flick down to the waistband of his pants and then averting itself in a flash.
"Soul," she said, voice low, and the pounding of his blood doubled at the sound. "Have you ever…"
He wished he could pretend that he didn't know what she was asking. His cheeks tinged pink, pushing himself up onto his elbow to look her in the eye.
She looked flustered, blushing just as hard as he was, her fingers playing with the hem of her shorts-a pair of his boxers that had gone missing earlier in the week and he was far more than pleased to see their new home.
"Twice," Soul frowned, praying that she wouldn't press the issue. He really didn't want to think about when he was sixteen and stupid, thinking that sleeping with Liz would help him get over his crush on Maka. "It was a long time ago and a bad choice."
She paused, watching him, studying his face. She kept her expression neutral, not giving Soul any kind of indication about what she thought of his response.
"I've," Maka started after a long time, "I've never…"
Soul reached out, brushing his hand over top of hers. "And you don't have to if you don't want to." He was adamant as he spoke, "It's not all that important to me. I'm with you for you and because I love you, Maka, not for sex. I don't want anything that you don't want."
She stretched out next to him, minute smile pulling at her lips. Maka rolled closer to him, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck and planting a kiss on his shoulder.
"What if I do?" she whispered, wrapping her hand around his.
Soul inhaled, resting his head on top of hers. "Then I'm in."
When Maka shifted to kiss him, it was awkward and messy. Her lips against him were soft and warm and wet, everywhere her body connected with his burned. His hands yearned to wrap around her, to let his fingers dig into her hips, to tangle his legs with hers, but he wouldn't.
Soul was gentle, hesitant, cautious of touching her. He feared that one wrong touch would send his meister flying from bed, demanding he leave.
His hands were ghosts where he touched her, the desire brewing in his chest too much for him to ignore. Even that seemed like far too much, like he'd overstepped his bounds. Soul couldn't hurt her, that was his mantra that he chanted in his head every time he got the overwhelming desire to press her down into the sheets.
Her hand was on his neck, her fingertips electrifying his nerves and when her teeth dragged against his lip, Soul couldn't contain the low growl that escaped his throat.
Maka's fingertips dug into the flesh of his shoulder as she pulled back, panting. "Do you have, um. We probably need-" she made a square shape with her hands, face flushed.
"Yeah," Soul hated every second that he was gone when he stood, crossing the hall to his room and grabbing a condom from his nightstand. He swiped a bottle of lube, too, just for good measure.
He re-closed the door and deposited the items onto her bedside table before sitting back on the bed, suddenly feeling awkward and clumsy.
Maka pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around Soul's neck. "I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted after a few pecks on his lips.
"Well, you see," Soul deadpanned, "When a mommy and a daddy really love each other-"
Maka smacked his arm, indignant, "I know how it works!"
Soul laughed, lightly catching her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to kiss. Then she was pulling him down, her lips reverent against his. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders pulling him so that he might as well have been on top of her. Soul's elbows were planted on either side of her, vigilant to hold himself up off her. Her fingers found their way into his hair, running through it, eliciting another low growl from Soul, his fingers grabbing at the sheets.
"Soul," Maka breathed, her hands cupping his cheeks as he stared down at her, eyes dark and needing. "You can touch me, Soul. I won't break."
He watched her for a second, eyes wide. She smiled up at him, giving a short, chaste kiss. "I promise," she whispered, bumping her nose against his.
That was permission enough. He rolled them slightly over, his shoulder digging into the mattress, his legs tangling with Maka's, soft skin against him. His hands were on her waist as he kissed her deeply.
Then his hands were on her back, pulling, pressing, insatiable.
His lips left her mouth and moved to her shoulder, avoiding the strap of her tank top as he pressed hot kisses against her skin. Maka drew in a breath, head rolling to the side. She pressed herself further into him, needing more.
His fingertips found the hem of her shirt, boldly hiking it up to feel smooth, soft skin underneath. She was burning hot against him, igniting his nerves. Soul made an indecent sound, lips parting, teeth dragging across the skin of her neck and Maka mewled.
The next thing he knew, her shirt was gone, discarded somewhere he didn't care about and there was that sports bra that drove him mad most mornings.
Soul murmured her name against her jaw and Maka trembled. His hand ran down pale skin, skimming quickly over the material of his boxers on her, settling onto the silky skin of her thigh.
Maka's legs fell apart as he caressed the inside of her leg, drawing his fingers up, pushing the material of her shorts up teasingly before moving back down. She whimpered, clutching at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.
His movements were precise as he asked her to lift her hips and made quick work of the boxers. He hooked his thumb on the hem of her panties, looking up at her for permission before returning his attention to turning her to putty.
His teeth found her neck, drawing out high pitched gasps and his hand dropped down into uncharted territory.
Maka's back arched as his fingertips ran over wet, hot core. He rubbed tentatively over her panties, her fingers digging into his shoulders, his name tumbling out of her mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as her head fell back, eyes closed and eyebrows knit together.
He got bolder, pushing his hand under the waistband of her panties, fingers brushing over her with nothing between them and this time it was Soul who moaned. She was hot and wet and everything he could possibly ask for.
Her breath was short and light, panting as he stroked at her, fingers dexterous and skilled. Soul was learning quickly the things that she liked and what she didn't. It was the most he had studied since middle school.
He tried pressing a finger into her, curling it forward to rub her in just the right spot-Maka groaned, her fingers finding his hair and tugging on it as encouragement.
Watching Maka come undone was breathtaking, just like every other aspect of her. She was so concentrated and beautiful that Soul's heart was hammering in his chest.
"M-more," Maka stammered out the request, her back arching as she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Soul was more than happy to oblige, pulling her panties off and batting her legs to open. She whined in protest when his hand left her core, but shut up when his tongue flicked out over the small bundle of nerves that he had been playing with before.
He repeated, revelling in the high pitched gasp that ripped from her chest. As he continued the havoc he was reaping with his tongue, her thighs pressed together around his head, Maka's fingers grasping at the sheets next to her.
Sucking proved to be her favorite. The second he started in on it with her clit between his lips, he knew she was done for. Her breathing was ragged, hips moving, knees tightening around his ears.
She cried out, body racking with the sensation, gasping for air. One of her hands flew to his head, fingers knotting in his hair.
If Soul were to rank his favorite experiences on the planet, watching Maka come would be firmly at number one.
He licked his lips as he pulled away, quirking a smirk at his meister. She lie, recovering, chest heaving as Soul moved back up to pull her into his arms. She was sticky with perspiration and shaking as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her name.
Maka clung to him, pressing drunken kisses to his cheeks and shoulders and her fingers working a special kind of magic in his hair.
She rolled, throwing her leg over his waist to straddle him. He felt his heart jump at the sight of Maka, half naked, hair tumbling messily over her shoulders, on top of him. She smiled shyly down at him as she lifted her fingers to her sports bra. She was delicate with the item, her cheeks tinting pink as she wrangled out of it.
Here was the most beautiful, amazing girl Soul had ever known and she was on top of him, blushing. His hands skimmed over her hips, her waist, her ribs, and cupped her breasts. His eyes were dark, dark, dark, and lip caught between his teeth as he watched her face change with every movement of his hands.
Her skin was so soft and delicate and burning, Soul could have spent the rest of his life sitting just like that with his meister.
She leaned down, her lips slanting against his as she scooted her hips back. She paused for a moment, eyes shooting open as she bumped something hard and covered by pajama pants. Soul drew in a breath.
"Oh," she whispered, duplicating the motion and watching his reaction. "I don't know how to..."
Maka trailed off, staring at the pillow next to his head.
"You don't have to do anything," Soul told her, as much as the idea of her getting off of him pained him, "You don't have to if you don't want to."
Her eyebrows drew down, jaw set. "No," she told him, "I want to. When I said I'm in, I meant it."
It was a little bit awkward, but the next thing Soul knew, his pants had joined his shirt on the floor and Maka's lips found his again. Soul groaned when her hand palmed at him through his boxers, getting bold in her movements.
His world was shrinking. Everything in his vision was blurring and fading out with every move Maka made. She started pulling his underwear down, off his hips, and then it was gone and there was nothing between them anymore. Soul blushed, forever unsure of himself and lacking in self confidence, but Maka didn't take any time to stare at him. Her fingers wrapped themselves tentatively around him, gently, unsure of how much pressure to apply or how fast to go, but Soul was reeling. His breath came in short, ragged pants as she worked, his hand occasionally covering hers to direct it.
Soul's hands were on her neck and lacing through her hair, his eyes drooped closed and focusing. It was him and Maka and the rest of the world was gone.
He sat up, arms wrapping around her waist as he rolled on top of her, kissing her, hands running across her body until she was as intoxicated as he was. He moved to her neck, kissing along her artery, sharp teeth dragging and Maka was moaning, soft and high pitched.
Her hand flew to her nightstand as his fingers fell back between her legs, rubbing circles against her. "Soul," she breathed, holding the condom in one hand and cupping his cheek with the other.
Soul pressed his lips to hers before he moved to put it on, hands fumbling.
He reached out to swipe the bottle he'd brought as well from the stand, too, pressing his lips to her forehead and cheeks and nose. "Trust me," he told her, moving his assault back to her neck, "This will help a lot."
The lube was a godsend, they decided. As he moved to push into her, sufficiently coated in it, Soul bit at her collarbone, drawing a small cry from her. She was warm and strong and he went slow at first, making sure she was comfortable and okay with his every motion.
It didn't hurt at all, or at least, that's what Maka told him. Her back arched into him as he pressed his entirety into her, his lips slanting down against hers. Their kisses were messy, erratic, interspersed between Soul swearing incoherently.
He was falling, every movement pushing him farther and farther. Maka moaned beneath him, begging him to go faster, harder.
His hand cupped her breast and his lips followed, drawing out short, breathy sounds from his partner.
She came again, fingernails digging into the skin of his back, her voice right next to his ear. And the way she felt around him as her body rushed to compensate for the trembling of her muscles was too much for Soul.
It was like he hit a brick wall. He thrust once more, his hands iron on her back, pressing her against himself, trying to ground himself as everything in his world shattered. He moaned, everything in his body stopping, lip caught between his teeth as he focused on the feeling that burned through him like fire.
He rolled off of her, scooping her up into his arms and pressing his face into her neck. Maka held him, too, her legs tangling with his, palms flat against his back. He kissed her hairline once, twice, three times before he rolled out of bed, promising to be right back.
But Maka followed him into the bathroom as he tried to clean up, sitting on the edge of the tub as he started drawing the water, settling for a bath rather than a shower. The two of them sat in the tub together, Maka's back pressed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He dipped his head down to rest on her shoulder, content to spend the rest of his life with this woman.
When they finally had cleaned up, they curled up together, this time moving into Soul's bed to avoid the lube that had gotten onto the sheets in Maka's. Maka had pulled back on Soul's boxers and her sports bra and Soul had put back on his pants.
He couldn't imagine spending the night any other way than with Maka's head pressed beneath his chin and her legs tangled with his.