Hey guys, it's Hime! As excited I am for this chapter, I'd love to know your thoughts on what should happen next? Is there an instance you'd like to see in a future chapter? Let me know in the review section, below! [But don't worry, I've got plenty planned. ;) ]


CHAPTER THREE- EXCURSION

MAKA

Deafening whirls of boisterous laughter billowed throughout the building. People were dancing, basking in the mixture of darkness and lowlight. Their bodies meshed and twirled like a sea of bliss, a few stragglers floating at the sidelines of the bar. There were actually a good number of tables, to her surprise. Plush, upscale booths lined the west side of the establishment; decorated with promise of bottomless champagne. As contradictive as the place was, there was a well-renowned dinner menu- and a stage for the entertainment. Her eyes caught on fliers for burlesque nights, hoping her partner never attended those days.

Maka had pictured him in more of a rusty dive-bar to match his biker gear back home. She'd expected leather jackets and barely-dressed tramps. Soul was a man that was rough around the edges, though she was often reminded he was a man of class. He wasn't exactly the type for mediocre joints. Recalling a time when he would criticize Maka's affinity for diner food, complaining he could whip up a better burger at home.

It was a welcomed divergence into her life. Soul led an air of bottled entropy and staggering ease for the lavish things of the world. He moved in stark contrast to her overcalculated steps. From the pace of his day, to the innate attention to his brand of shampoo or quality of dress- he skimmed over a dimension that Maka never dared to enter.

An arm coiled around her waist, Soul shot her a crooked grin. His eyes swam with chaotic glee, posing the question: "What do you think?" She responded wordlessly, laughing at his brimming enthusiasm.

Soul leaned in, the heat of his breath tickling her ear. "Let's get you something to drink, shall we?" There was a low, gruff quality to his voice that was easily distinguished apart from the clatter of the room. A shiver trickled down the length of her spine. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get you drunk." He chortled, leading her over to a table by the bar. The seats were so tall, her legs dangled above the floor.

He didn't ask for what she'd like. He didn't have to. Knowing each other for so long, she trusted him with a multitude of things. Namely her life- but also her taste buds. "It's red wine." The liquid sloshed around the glass as he slid it in front of her, temporarily painting the sides. She didn't indulge in alcohol often. What with an incredibly low tolerance for it.

"Thanks," she pressed her mouth to the rim, leaving an imprint of her lips. "So, what are you loosening me up for?" Maka pried, hesitant to comply with his plans.

Soul propped his chin atop his palm, tilting his head in the direction behind him. "Dancing. You're awful at it." She choked on her wine, returning the glass to the table. Her complexion nearly matched the color of her drink. She couldn't believe he still brought that up. The one time she stepped on his foot in the Black Room… "If you're a little buzzed, you might let me take the lead." As Meister and Weapon, there were few situations in where the Weapon could lead the Meister. Albeit, this was not a battlefield- and they were not the Meister/Weapon pair. They were Soul, and Maka.

"I am not as bad as I used to be!" She defended, puffing her cheeks.

He smiled, extending a hand. "Let's put it to the test, then." Warily, she placed her hand in his. She hadn't really been keeping track of the music up till then. Some songs were quick like swing, and some slow like the jazz records Soul would play on vinyl. This song was a slow song.

Music carried a level of intimacy that could rattle one's bones. It resonated down to the core, on a wavelength that demanded coalition. Hovering on that wavelength, there was a stillness as he drew her against his chest. She was acutely aware of every morsel of their bodies that were now touching. It riled her blood, her stomach doing flip flops as she tried to stifle her racing pulse.

He'll hear it. The intense drumming from the cage within her breast. The thought of being discovered triggered all forms of anxiety.

Why was she so nervous? They'd held hands thousands of times. And they'd been chest to chest more than plenty. But in the swallowing realm of darkness, her senses were heightened. Hollering and laughter became a hum to the melody that now shifted their feet. They were dancing. Effortlessly.

It had quickly become a second nature as he spun her in subtle fashions, reliably leading her back into him. They were soul resonating- just a little bit. She didn't have to look- to know that his eyes had been devouring her relentlessly. He could now feel the incessant palpitating of her heart; whilst she began to feel a fraction of his yearning. She couldn't make sense of it. What did he yearn for? What had him in such a state of turmoil?

"Does the dancing make you nervous?" He broke their silence, leaning down so that the reverberation of his voice could reach her.

Maka contemplated for a moment, her gaze drifting anywhere but his face. "No." She decided, realizing she found the dancefloor quite comfortable.

He paused, running his tongue over his lips as if considering something. Please don't do that. She thought, her stomach churning at the action. His eyes shot to her as if he'd heard the jumble of words in her head. Soul parted his lips for a moment, his brows furrowed, but then closed them. What was he going to say?

"I need a drink." He vocalized. Slowly, his arms slinked away. The more space he put between them, the more she ached for his touch. The place where his hands had been suddenly felt empty.

"Soul?" She stepped towards him, confused. He pushed a hand through his hair, his back to her.

"I'll be back. I'm on soon, anyway." With that, he disappeared in the direction of the bar. Maka huffed in protest, treading back to the table where she'd abandoned her wine.

Sitting with another full glass between her fingers, (albeit less wine, and a little more cosmopolitan) she grumbled. "What's happening to us?" She couldn't wrap her head around the new feelings that now coursed through her veins. "That idiot. He wanted me here so bad and then he ditches me."

A sound ever so familiar resounded throughout the club. It was unmistakable. A symphony of absolute madness cornered the stage, while a stand-up bass began to thrum along. Soul didn't look at her as his fingers soared across the keys, illustrating a piece of his undying emotion. It was wild and had the crowd in disarray. To them, he looked nothing more than a pained artist. Though tonight, through hazed eyes, she could see her best friend playing for her.

...

SOUL
...

That tempest of a woman would be his downfall. There was nothing worse, than thirsting for something you could never dream of having. Night after night he'd managed to suppress the feelings he denied himself. The same feelings he'd drowned in two shots of whiskey and the overbearing sound of piano keys. He drove his fingers into the instrument with all his might, cursing the urges that still plagued his body. This was wrong. Dancing with her, reveling in the way their breath mingled. Wondering what the glaze on her lips would taste like. She was his meister.

The music, and the club had become his place to unwind. It was here where he would deny his feelings over and over again. He didn't want to ruin their relationship. God, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He was the one man she'd let into her life after her parents split. After that scumbag of a father womanized half of Death City, he was the only living proof she had that men were not monsters. He couldn't fuck this up.

He was panting when his hands retracted from the piano, the crowd's applause culminating into a roar. "That was insane, Evans." Mark clapped him on the back, praising him. "What's gotten into you? It's like the Devil's come out to play." He went on, but Soul ignored him. There was nothing more imminent than his need to see her. Stalking away from the stage, he rumbled down the back steps and beelined towards the floor of bar tables. Maka stumbled off her chair to meet him, wavering as she struggled to find her footing.

"Maka? You okay?" He voiced with concern, steadying her with his hands.

A pair of jade eyes glimmered with verve at his arrival. "I wish I would o-of come sooner." He could tell it was an effort for her to form those words. "I missed hearing you play…" She said with a heavy sigh, clamping onto him to steady herself.

"Alright, I think you've had enough." He concluded, hooking an arm around her legs before scooping her up.

"Noooo my driiiink…" She whined, making grabby motions towards the table. He tried not to laugh. It was his fault for leaving her unattended. He knew she was a lightweight. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing this side of her.

"We're going home, you little drunkard." Soul adjusted her in his arms, carrying her out of the building. He'd managed to flag a taxi for the way home.

Once they were inside the apartment, he lied her onto the edge of his bed. Unsure of how many drinks she'd actually had, he figured to play it safe and keep watch on her. The poor girl might throw herself off the bed in the middle of the night, for all he knew. Loosening his tie, he prepared himself to deal with a very buzzed Maka. He began with the easiest obstacle, removing the pair of heels she'd worn. But there was no avoiding the alluring black affair that was her dress. It would be a miracle if she didn't slap him in the morning.

"Are you going to take it off, or what?" Maka griped, fiddling with the zipper at the back.

"You really are a handful, Maka." He reached for the metal zipper, giving it a gentle tug as the dress was cleaved in two. It was nothing less than a feat to ignore the increasing amount of exposed skin. The scent of honey and sugar sang to him, daring to reel him in closer. He did his best to remove the dress without making her too uncomfortable, though she didn't seem to mind. It was perplexing, how relaxed she was in his care. Folding the dress onto the chair, he began to search for something she could wear. It was unlikely she'd be pleased about him rummaging around her closet. Retrieving an old, slightly worn band tee shirt from his dresser- he kneeled in front of her. The fabric wrinkled into his fist, as he found his gaze fixated on a sheer layer of lace that confined her breasts. She was beautiful. He adored the prominence of her collarbones, and the milky quality of her skin. Her breasts looked so soft. Curious fingers brushed against the underwire, his breath growing uneven.

"I bought them for you, ya know." She mumbled softly, watching him. His hand quickly fisted into the sheets beside her. Soul grit his teeth, lowering his head in anguish. "Damn it, Maka. You're not making this easy." Get it together, Evans. He chided himself, shoving the tee shirt into her hands.

"You can at least handle putting a shirt on, right?" The girl pouted at his words, but complied. Thank heavens.

It took another fifteen minutes of struggling until he was finally welcomed by the mass of silk sheets and a cotton duvet. It'd taken an army of makeup wipes to clean her face, and even more time to braid her hair out of the way. Thankfully, he was no stranger to the art of makeup removal. What with his experimental years of wearing eyeliner.

The little monster lying contently in his arms, he allowed the woes of exhaust to consume him. He could no longer deny that this woman was designed to ruin him. He was inescapably, completely infatuated with her.