Overview:Soul gets slightly plastered, and Maka takes control.
Genre:Humor/Romance
Pairings:MakaxSoul
Drive
"No. I'm driving," Maka fumed as she supported Soul; actually it felt more like she was dragging him.
"No, I'm driving, it is my motorcycle." Soul slurred, maybe he shouldn't have had those last few drinks.
"You can barely walk; much less operate any thing more sophisticated than a bottle opener." Honestly, she sighed, when did she sign up to be a designated driver?
They had reached Soul's coveted and "cool" ride. It rested, tilted on its stand, freshly waxed and gleaming cheekily under the street light. Maka helped Soul attempt, awkwardly and unsuccessfully, to swing his leg over and get situated on the seat. He slid off almost giving the lamppost a chummy greeting with his head.
"You see?" Maka pointed out sarcastically "you can't even sit down without falling."
Soul grabbed the lamppost and hoisted himself up and flapped his hands in a pitiful stab of dusting himself off. He sighed and nodded meekly, Maka was right it would be an absolutely preposterous for him to drive. Maka helped him back on to the motorcycle, bracing his hand on the lamppost for support. Gingerly she swung her leg over, careful not to upset the delicate balance that Soul appeared to be suspended in. When she was settled she cautiously grabbed Soul's hands and wrapped them around her waist. Her cheeks heated slightly as he pressed his hands against her sides. She placed her hands on his, checking that he was holding on tightly enough. Satisfied she grabbed the handles and started the contraption. As she glanced in the mirror she gained a glimpse of Soul's face, and she wondered if his face was flushed from the alcohol or from the current position of his hands.
"Take it slow. Don't go to fast, she can be a little temperamental." Soul had become more alert now that the engine was running. Maka smiled, nodded, and gunned it. She had studied how Soul operated the machine, she paid close attention to the way the ride felt, and had even practiced some nights in secret; in case the occasion, such as the current predicament, would ever arise in which Soul was impaired.
Soul gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't bear to watch and braced himself for sudden impact. But as he sat there gripping her petit waist he began to notice how smooth they were going, the constant breeze, and the steady roar of the apparatus. He opened his eyes and watched as the lights swirled by like colorful smoke tendrils. Maka weaved in and out of imaginary cars smiling brilliantly at her success and laughing with joy.
Soul sat in wonder as the world moved fluidly by. And as they passed by the large windowed shops he could help but marvel at their reflection, more specifically Maka's. She looked drop dead, dare he say it, sexy. Her face was lit with excitement, adrenaline, and, was that, smugness? Suddenly he become more aware of how hot her skin felt under his hands; his face turned as red as the stop sign Maka had just sped by.