Fandom: Soul Eater
Characters: Spirit (Deathscythe)/Franken Stein
Word Count: 404
Warnings: vague frottage. slutty stitches. nice.
Summary: he weaves long strands between his forefinger and middle then tugs, lazily, "senpai."
Notes: i'm not homeless anymore! also, nostalgia.
"you really are…." a breath, gusting over the curve of his cheek. "that same creepy little kid from before. aren't you. haven't changed at all." a wan smile, creases at the corners of downcast eyes.
"does it bother you." he says, tilting his head to the side, pale hair spider webbing across his vision. "did you miss me?"
do you fear me
red and black and green and grey shift closer, slotting warm body against warm body and wedging into spaces carved by age and time and experiences spent apart. scarred, stitched together hands brace against shoulders broader and more bowed than he remembers, and he allows himself to be pushed into the thin cot. he lifts his chin, and lips drag over his pulse, damp and sighing and quirked. the taste of that crooked not-smile is branded into his heart.
for the first time since death laid his large hand over his soul, he is almost afraid of finding answers.
the sharp pressure lashed around his chest and throat expands, and he slants his gaze down to the crown of red spilling over his fingers. he weaves long strands between his forefinger and middle then tugs, lazily, "senpai." he urges, arching his spine and running his knee along the inside of rumpled slacks.
a huff of not-laughter sends a hollow thrill to pool low in his stomach. "once a brat, always a brat. what's to miss."
i'm wary of you. but i know you.
teeth scrape over jutting collarbones, a tongue touches out to sooth red marks. another sigh, another grumbling not-laugh flows over his skin and he blooms into tightly wound nerves. he presses closer, pulls closer, holds closer, pale knuckles blanching and lips parting. "senpai." he says again. the syllables break and drag apart, and he rolls his hips to do the same to spirit's control. "senpai. senpai. senpai."
"yeah. yeah. yes, stein." a wrecked groan rumbles through the nonexistent space between them, negates the absent years, and someone lurches forward, and someone yanks close, and mouths meet, licking open and full of biting teeth. his thighs splay open, he tenses, spine a tremulous arched line, and he moves, buoyed by rocking waves of friction and insistent staccato thrusts. "fuck. fuck. god. good. you feel…..you feel like i remember."
a smirk crumples around the hitch caving his ribs, but he still manages to gasp out. "so you did miss something."