The baseball team had an unofficial rule that Blake once put as "we party together; we die together," and which would forever be known as that. Theoretically, the team was big enough that if one person got busted, there would be another member to replace them, but no one wanted to be that person who had gotten their position because so-and-so got busted.
Plus there was nothing that quite said "fraternity" like crashing actual Greek frat parties as one big, huddled mess.
Maka, though not a huge partier herself, liked the relative safety of having twenty of her (very large and very muscular) teammates to flee to if she ever needed to escape an awkward situation or to avoid needing to actually speak to any of the other party-goers. Which was how she found herself squashed, fully clothed, between Evans and a burly third year teammate in a very overcrowded and therefore very overflowing hot tub one Tuesday night, of all days. The hot tub had sounded like a good idea when her good judgment was impaired by a cheap tequila margarita, but as more and more of her teammates and their friends for the night joined, it had quickly lost its appeal.
Everyone was jostling each other, talking and laughing loudly enough that Maka couldn't even hear the previously blasting Top 40 music. Red plastic cups were being carefully held above the steaming water by some of the more conscientious and conscious people; Maka was pretty sure the rest were either so wasted or so baked they didn't even notice half of their drink spilling into the water or onto other people.
For her part, Maka was using keeping her (mostly empty) cup from being knocked from her hand to avoid focusing on how very close she was sitting next to a very shirtless Soul and how very see-through she was sure her own cute top was becoming. Soul moved next to her, back of his hand brushing her thigh before skimming up her side; she squeaked, leaning into the suddenly very interested boy to her left to try and avoid Soul's hand.
Soul sent her a confused look, eyes slightly unfocused from either the heat or the alcohol - or something worse. Maka knew he wasn't opposed to taking a hit or two on a spliff, but if he was high and trying to cop a feel - she would end him.
"Alright, Albarn?" the older teammate she'd leaned into said into her ear. Maka was sure he thought he was being quiet, but she would have classified it as closer to a shout. "Evans 'snot givin' ya hard time, righ'?" The well-meaning guy was slurring his words pretty badly, and Maka could smell the vodka and marijuana drifting from him even through the hot tub chemicals.
She sent him an uncomfortable smile. "Yeah, thanks. Soul just surprised me, was all." Satisfied, the guy turned back to whatever conversation - nonverbal conversation, Maka noticed with a wince - she'd distracted him from.
Maka turned back to Soul with a scowl. He sent her a lazy smile back, and asked, "Yo, Mak, what's your damage?"
He wasn't high, at least; Maka had been there as Designated Sober Friend several times when he'd gotten stoned, and could now tell the difference between high, fucking drunk, and pleasantly tipsy. Soul was hovering somewhere between the last two right now: loose and honest, but not exactly aware.
She blew out a lungful of air. He wasn't aware of his extremities, but her face was still burning and so was her side where he'd accidentally felt up, and that made her less than forgiving. "Keep your damn hands to yourself is my damage."
Except he looked so confused and so distraught as he looked between his hands - both of which were held above the water now - and her, that Maka couldn't stay angry with him long. "Did I...did I do something?"
"No," she shook her head, and started to try and extricated herself from the mass of bodies. "No, you're fine. But let's get out of this thing; you're gonna get even more dehydrated."
The night was warm for early spring in Nevada, but Maka's wet skin still erupted in goosebumps and shivers when the air hit it. She straddled the hot tub wall, trying to drag a whining Soul out after her; her clothes were clinging uncomfortably to her, and between the level of dexterity it took to get out of the overcrowded hot tub and drag Soul out with her, they were getting more attention that she wanted.
Someone - she wasn't going to look over her shoulder to figure out who; she just wanted to go - wolf-whistled, calling obscene suggestions for a bet on where Evans and Albarn were gonna go. If Maka thought she was blushing from Soul's accidental touch, her face was practically on fire from the bets being placed. She'd known that her teammates had long thought that there was something more going on between her and Evans - since they'd interrupted team tryouts with yells and pointed fingers, surprised the other was there - but until that moment, they tended to keep discussions about it to when Maka wasn't around.
She finally managed to drag Soul, limbs floppy and usually sharp smile goofy, out of the hot tub, and with one of his arms around her shoulders, the whistlers and laughers had moved on to something else. Both Maka and Soul were dripping and fully-clothed - with the exception of Soul's shirt, which Maka knew they'd never find again - and the pitcher had no idea how they were gonna make it back to either dorms across campus without either dying of hypothermia or getting hit by a car.
"Why are you so damn heavy and impossible," Maka snarled out, gasping for breath. She was trying to guide Soul towards the house, hoping to be able to raid someone's wardrobe for something dry. But a quick search in the downstairs rooms after sitting Soul on a wooden patio chair got her nothing but a couple of bath towels from the linen closet and an abandoned UNR Hockey hoodie; Maka figured she could return it eventually, but it looked too comfy to pass up.
Of course Soul wasn't where she'd left him, so she had to search through the party with a bath towel tucked securely under her arms. She spotted Blake by the bar - of course - and made a quick stop to fish her phone out of his back pocket, with a clap on his back in thanks. It didn't take Maka long to find Soul after that. He was by the radio - of course - bobbing and swaying in time with the beat. She couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight of his drunken attempts at dancing.
A couple of girls nearby were eying up the shirtless, fit boy dancing by himself, and Maka pushed her way through the edge of the crowd, with a scowl, until she could gently grasp Soul by his elbow. The catcher startled, jumping nearly a foot, and looking down at her with wild eyes. Maka sent the girls a sidelong glance and smirked when they looked away, muttering to each other.
"Maka! You almo' killed me!" He was panting from the surprise, and Maka squeezed his arm in apology.
"Sorry 'bout that. You ready to go? I got you a jacket and a water."
"Ye-absolute-le's go!" Maka couldn't help but giggle and roll her eyes as he tried to start three words at once.
She helped him into the hoodie, which must have belonged to a massive dude because it was big even on Soul, and he was one of the tallest guys on the baseball team. Soul slung an arm around her shoulder of his own volition this time, pulling her close under his arm as they navigated towards the exit. Maka tried to slow her racing heart and cool her burning cheeks with the chilled water bottle, but with Soul's heat pressed so close to her side, she knew she was fighting a losing battle.
Maka had known he was attractive and a good ball player and moderately engaging to talk to when they were in high school, but constant exposure and long nights spent talking - because of class, because of travel time, because they'd discovered they actually enjoyed one another's company - had only taught her how great of a person Soul Evans actually was. And Maka hated it. It was very hard to be Just Teammates when he was generally so hot and so great and she was crushing so hard.
She was sure Liz was sick of hearing about her panicky reports, after the fourth text-spam, as Maka was discovering how deep she was in infatuation, and those texts - which Liz had screenshot "for posterity" - were a mark of shame for Maka.
Out in the cooler night air, Maka could breathe something other than just hot tub chemicals and someone else's cologne, could feel something other than Soul's body heat. The boy started laughing then, hand moving from hanging in front of her to rest on the top of her head, even though his arm still was resting on her shoulder. Feeling his body shake in a laugh so close to her made Maka's stomach reknot itself, and she groaned, knocking her head into his chest.
"Do you want any water yet? Or a towel? It's gonna be a long walk if we don't make it to the bus stop in the next," she checked her phone, and winced, "20 minutes."
She watched Soul's face morph into a determined expression. "I'll take the wa'er when we get t'the stoop."
"Alright," Maka laughed, ducking out of Soul's grip and catching his hand instead. She wasn't sure when they'd picked up the easy - and completely platonic, Maka constantly reminded herself - habit of holding each other's hands, but she wasn't going to complain about it until Soul did. "Let's get going, then, big guy; it's aaaall the way down at the end of the street."
Soul groaned, head tilted back, and started shuffling forward after her.
They just barely made it to the bus stop in the twenty minutes before the last bus pulled up with a hiss and an overwhelming smell of diesel exhaust, and when the bus driver opened the door to let them in, he nearly shut it on them again. Two dripping students, one very clearly tipsy, with towels wrapped around themselves standing at his last stop on the last bus of the night was almost too much for him to handle.
But Maka sent him a desperate look. "Please, don't! We're just going over to Juniper Hall!"
Soul nodded happily, leaning his shoulder into Maka.
The busdriver sent Soul a measuring look, and as much as Maka relished the contact with Evans, now was not the best time. "Juniper Hall is a good 15 minutes from here, young lady. But…" he sighed, "If your friend there can keep his cookies down and if y'all stand here near the front, I guess I can take ya on over there. Got your cards?"
Maka winced and pulled Soul's soggy wallet from his equally soggy pocket; he was going to regret his decisions for many reasons tomorrow morning. Her card was tucked safely into her phone's case. With many, repeated thanks, she dragged Soul up the steps and handed the bus driver their cards and a limp five she'd taken from Soul's wallet. He was marginally more friendly after her very generous tip, and, with a hiss of hydraulics, closed the door after them.
Traffic was good, and they hit only green lights on their way, so they managed to make it to the dorm hall in just under fifteen minutes. Which was good, because Soul was whining about how he had to pee, and Maka was tired of having to hold him upright and steady while also making small talk with the bus driver. (His name was Roy. He was a burgeoning poet; did she want to hear some of his work? She should stop by Pub 'N Sub on Thursday nights. It's open mic night, which pretty much just mean it was his mic night.)
Roy wished them good luck when he let them off at their right in front of the building, and Maka smiled her thanks and good night. Navigating the stairs to the door was more difficult now that Soul was tired, but they somehow managed, and Maka breathed a sigh of relief when they stood in front of the elevator and it was operational. Five floors up gave her time to force some water into her friend, and halfway down the hallway gave her time to remember which room number was Soul's.
Finally - finally they made it to his door, and she managed to get him to swipe his card to unlock it. Maka was just ushering him through the door, when he stopped out of nowhere and turned around to face her.
"Maka," he said, deep voice rumbling way too intimately close. "Thank you. You're...you're amazin'." He had one hand tucked into the crook where her neck and shoulder met, and Maka stopped breathing under the serious look in his eyes. Red met green, and quickly, so that she barely had time to register what was happening, Soul leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek. Well, closer to her jawline than anything, but still a kiss on the cheek.
And the air came rushing back to her.
He was swearing, mumbling something about how he'd missed, damn it, he had to try again - and he'd gotten as far as to lean down close, smelling like cheap whiskey, when Maka pressed a hand to his chest to stop him.
"Yes, yes, I know," she laughed, crushing whatever hope had started to grow. "I'm the most amazing caretaker in the world. Go to sleep, you drunk."
Soul had stopped then, eyes searching her own before backing off with a quick grin. "Well, 's long as y'know it then. Night."
"Night," Maka answered softly, with a small smile. And then he was closing the door to his room, and she was turning around to trudge dutifully up another three floors to her room.
The next morning, he didn't mention anything that happened after leaving the hot tub, and so Maka didn't either. Why bring up false hopes to someone who didn't even remember them?
Their second year at University of Nevada at Reno (UNR for anyone who didn't hate themselves) came with several big changes. Sophomores weren't required to live in the campus dorms, and Soul managed to squeeze some extra change out of his parents in order to get an off-campus apartment with a two other of his year- and teammates. He'd offered to get an apartment with Maka, since Blake Hoshizoku was one of the already-committed roommates, but she'd already committed to a place with some of the softball girls she knew from high school.
The starting catcher Mifune had also graduated, moving Soul up from benchwarmer to Mifune's position, in a administrative decision that shocked everyone but Maka. She'd smirked and held out her hand after the announcements were made and they were headed to a graduating member's apartment for semester-end celebrations.
"I don't know why everyone was so surprised," she'd said, and Soul thought his heart was going to work its way up and out of his throat at the affection so plain in her voice. "If anyone's ever seen you catch, it would be the obvious choice. Tim's destined to waste away as bullpen or your relief catcher now, and I'm okay with it."
"Oh, yeah?" Soul'd managed to force out, even though air was seriously lacking now.
Maka had given his hand a squeeze before releasing it, and tucking both behind her back; she spun to walk backwards so she could face him as she spoke. "Absolutely. That means that I finally get to pitch to you."
Soul had frozen mid-step; the realization that Maka was a Varsity relief pitcher and the implications that held for him as the Varsity starting catcher only just hit him as she said that. "Holy shit." A grin split his face. "Holy shit!"
His pitcher - he could finally say that; his pitcher! - threw her head back and laughed with him when he snagged her around the waist and spun her around. When he came to a stop, still holding her, she knocked her knuckles lightly against his forehead, small smile still on her face. "All those strategic brains, and you didn't even realize that?"
The catcher shook his head. "It's been kind of a big day; cut me some slack." Slowly, regretfully, he put her back on her feet, hands lingering around her waist just a moment longer than necessary; he hoped she didn't realize it, just like he hoped it was dark enough to cover his flushed cheeks.
Maka didn't hesitate to grab his hand, though; it was as if she, too, needed some kind of physical reassurance that he was there, and that this was all really happening. They started back down the sidewalk as she spoke quietly. "We're gonna be the ultimate battery, Soul; like nothing UNR's ever seen before." Her hand tightened around his. "We're gonna crush my dad's records, right?"
Soul squeezed her hand gently back. "Absolutely."
The first day of summer training, Soul had never been happier to be back to crouching behind home plate. It meant he was able to leave his parents' forced socialization (if you're going to go to college in Nevada - the scorn was tangible - you will come spend breaks in Connecticut) and move back to freedom and the place he actually considered home; five years ago, deserts and antelope skulls had been foreign and disconcerting, but now there was nothing more comforting that the sight of endless sand stretching before him.
Being back behind home plate also meant that he had Maka Albarn to look at for the next three years, and the thought sent a thrill through him. He'd been wanting to catch this girl's pitch since he'd first seen her throw a ball when they were twelve. And now, here he was, one signal away from being the one to call her pitch.
Soul wasn't sure why they hadn't just practiced together during team breaks; it hadn't felt right for some reason, as though it would be like pitching and catching in a dreamland. There would have been awesome chemistry, innate understanding - and then they would have to go back to their ordinary batteries, and nothing would be able to match up.
At least, that's what Soul was hoping it would be like. What he had hoped and imagined off and on over the past seven years it would be like.
The catcher took a deep breath, recentering himself in his crouch. Maka was standing with her body turned to the side, head pointed towards him; waiting for his call - his call! The pitching coaches were somewhere over to the side, observing, Soul knew, and a couple of the other relief pitchers were watching as well, trying to find the new catcher's measure. But none of that mattered with Maka's attention focused exclusively on him.
He brought his knees together, and her eyes dropped to follow the motion of the reflective tape he'd wrapped around his fingers. Middle finger pointed straight down (low) followed by an upside down peace sign (two seam fastball) meant a sinker; Maka grinned at him, and tugged her ball cap low in assent. They'd gone over her pitching capabilities and favorite pitches until late in the night, and he'd been wildly excited to know that she had a sinker even as a submarine pitcher; finding out that it was her favorite pitch had just been the icing on the cake.
Soul dropped to a one-knee crouch, glove held low and steady in the middle of the strike zone. A few people murmured, not having seen his callsigns and thinking that he was just going to have her pitch up an easy fastball to start with. He grinned behind his catcher's mask as Maka pulled her knee to her chest in her (beautiful, textbook) windup. The newer players exclaimed over the girl's submarine delivery, and Soul's smile only widened. He'd been drooling over her pitch for seven years; it was time for someone else to join him.
The catcher had to move his glove minisculely to the left to compensate for the pitch's moving nature, and when he stood to toss the ball back, he knocked his mask back so she could see his excited grin.
Maka mirrored his expression, and Soul's heart leapt, filling with the hope that she liked pitching to him as much as he liked catching for her.
"84 mph, sinker," came the dutiful report from the pitching coach's assistant. "One of her fastest and most accurate."
The pitching coach hummed his interest, watching the pair from behind his oval glasses. He had an earring in his left ear, which he had a habit of turning while he thought. Coach Stein - Frankenstein to some of the older members, who had seen firsthand some of the coach's odder tendencies. Coach Stein repeated that interested hum, and a nod of the head to indicate to Soul and Maka to keep pitching, gaze becoming more analytical and ambitious as he watched them. When Maka was sweating, and Soul's thighs were stiffening, the coach signaled his assistant. "One more," the man called out, taking a sip of his iced coffee.
Soul looked at Maka with raised eyebrows, and she tilted her head.
Soul didn't need to call a sign, and just settled into a tall crouch. A fast curveball would round out the breadth of Maka's pitching style, would make the team and the coaches realize just how indispensable she would be - beyond just the rarity of having a submarine pitcher. They hadn't actually practiced the curve, had just discussed the mechanics behind it until both Blake and Soul's other roommate had kicked them out of the apartment with loud whines and a couple of thrown pillows (some people have an actual need to sleep.)
So when Maka's arm came out at that odd, titled angle - Soul was a little surprised to see it looked very similar to her last pitch. Just the smallest movement of her hips and fingers were what alerted Soul to the direction of the pitch, and he adjusted his glove accordingly. Maka had told him that for these pitches, she didn't need him to direct the exact location he wanted it to go, but rather to point out the middle of the strike zone and he would find the ball from there. He'd doubted her at first, but after she'd slowly and repeatedly told him about the mechanical signs to look for - well, Maka would make a great coach someday, when she was a famous, retired pitcher.
Soul placed his glove directly in the path of the ball, and grinned when he felt and then heard it smack solidly into his palm. He straightened, and met Maka halfway to the pitching coach; they would be a united front when he gave them his report. Most of the other relief pitchers had broken off to toss balls back and forth, to keep their arms limber until their turn, but Soul could see they keep one ear turned to catch Frankenstein's report.
Coach Stein looked between the two for several moments, while they shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze. "Albarn," Maka snapped to attention, "Submarine pitching is all about leveraging your body to get the fastest pitch, the greatest torque you can from it; you don't need to be strong to be good. Stop trying to be strong. We'll work on that."
When the coach's gray eyes shifted to Soul, the catcher had to fight his natural instinct to grab for Maka's hand. "Evans." Soul pushed his shoulders back. "Nice reading Albarn's pitches out there. Your first time catching for her, right? Very impressive. You had to correct yourself several times, though; that makes umpires naturally inclined to call a strike. We'll fix it. You and Albarn might not need callsigns in your battery, but they help the infield know what kind of hit they can expect, so use them."
Frankenstein offered the two a disconcerting hint of a smile. "Very nice, though, you two. I expect we'll have a very powerful battery on our hands when you get used to each other."
And with that, they were dismissed, practice finished for the day. A couple teammates clapped them on the shoulder as they passed, but all Soul had eyes for was Maka's proud grin.
The next time Soul and Maka found themselves in a hot tub together, it was junior year and they were miraculously alone - somebody from inside the house had yelled through the open slider something about body shots and keg stands, which had cleared the hot tub fasted than Maka had believed possible - and they had managed to remember to bring swimsuits with them this time. Maka stretched her legs out across the hot tub seat, crossing her ankles in Soul's lap, glad for the room to move that they had now.
"I am so sore, but so happy," Maka sighed, taking another sip of her mixed drink. She didn't know what was in this one, but it tasted vaguely of cherry and happiness, so she wasn't complaining. Especially not when Soul abandoned his beer bottle into the hot tub's cupholder and started massaging small circles into the tired arches of Maka's feet. The pitcher tilted her head back and let out a small whimper of a moan that would have embarrassed her if she wasn't on her second drink - and if it hadn't felt as good as it did.
"You are a magician with your hands, oh my god," she said, barely comprehending the words that came out of her mouth. Soul seemed to, though, because he slid his hands up from her feet to her ankle, and pulled her closer so he could reach her very sore calves.
He gave her a very dirty look from under his dripping, shaggy white hair - she'd told him multiple times that he needed a haircut, but now, with him looking at her the way he was, she'd never been more glad that he didn't listen to her. "What was that about my hands?" he asked, teasing the back of her knee where he knew she was ticklish.
Maka squealed and twisted in his grasp, inadvertently winding up almost in the catcher's lap, her hands resting on his chest.
They'd gotten progressively more handsy with each other as the years in college wore on, but Maka had always written it off as Soul being a natural cuddler, and that she was the only girl he was comfortable enough to cuddle with. Not that telling herself that they were just friends had ever eased her pounding heart when he'd pillow his head on her lap during Movie Night or pull her close so he could rest his head on top of hers as a makeshift pillow during long bus rides.
But with him looking at her like he was, and with alcohol burning in her belly, Maka carefully inched closer. "Y'know, it's really my back that hurts," she said, looking up at him through her lashes.
His fingers, which had been playing absentminded piano runs on the outside of her thighs stilled suddenly. She watched Soul's mouth as he licked his lips.
"Yeah? Should - Want me to do something about that?" his voice was low and husky, and she could feel it rumbling in his chest. He trailed his hands lightly up her sides and around to her lower back, automatically finding the spot that always plagued her. He'd discovered early on that her pitching style caused a lot of strain to be placed on her lower hips and back, and he'd taken it up as his personal job to make sure she never remained sore for long.
Maka's eyes fluttered shut involuntarily, and she arched back into the light pressure of his fingers, which were skimming lower and lower with each circle he rubbed into her skin. When his pinky slipped just past the waistband of her bikini bottom and stopped, Maka's eyes flew open.
Soul was watching her with hooded eyes, color from the alcohol or from the hot tub high on his cheeks. "You're amazing, Maka," he breathed, light pressure from his fingertips bringing her closer to him. The pitcher's heart started pounding in a way she was sure was dangerous, but at the moment couldn't bring herself to care about. "I told you it once Freshman year, but you just laughed me off. So I'm gonna tell you again. And I mean it."
She opened her mouth to say something, but for the first time in Maka's life, her brain failed to supply her with the right answer. So, she let her body do her talking for her, like she did out on the ball field. Closing the last few centimeters between them, Maka settled her knees lightly on either side of Soul's strong thighs, trailing the backs of her nails up his chest to cup his jaw. "You're drunk," she whispered, mouth close enough to that their lips brushed with each word. "And so am I; enough so that I think I might just believe you."
A wide grin crinkled his eyes in the way that made her want to kiss him, and so she did. Maka hesitated a moment over his mouth, not wanting to push him to something he didn't want, but he tilted his chin up and closed the hair's breadth she'd left between their lips. It was warm and sweet, with just enough insistence that Maka knew she wasn't dreaming; it was everything a first kiss with someone you loved should be.
They broke apart, short of breath, and Soul leaned back just enough that he could look her in the eyes. One of his hands had dropped lower to rest on the curve of her ass, while the other had slid up to splay across her back, holding her close to his chest. He brought this hand up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear with so much affection, Maka's alcohol addled brain could only process the emotion with tears Soul wiped away with a calloused thumb.
"You're amazing," Soul told her again, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. "And beautiful." He trailed his mouth across her cheek to kiss the tip of her nose. "And one hell of a pitcher." He lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. "And just so goddamn amazing," Soul murmured the words against her lips, before gently taking the lower one between his teeth.
Maka gasped, pressing herself closer to him. There was very little between them in the water, but it still felt like too much. "I think - I think you mentioned that last one before," she managed to stutter out as Soul moved his attention to her neck.
He sucked at a spot just below her jaw line, and Maka shuddered, unable to keep back a moan. "It's worth repeating," Soul said, and Maka could feel his smile against her skin. "And I'll say it as many times as you want to hear it."
"Are you asking me out?" Maka asked, tracing the stubble on Soul's jawline with calloused fingertips.
"Are you saying yes?"
Maka's wide grin made it really hard to kiss him, but she sure did try.
THE END
so this was resbang & i hope you all enjoyed it! s/o to professor-maka for being the number one beta and putting up with my whining all the time! also s/o to my artists (tumblr urls) ahshesgone & mrsashketchum for being amazing and creating amazing artIn fact mrsashketchum created the cover for this fic which is just really darn amazing ok
check their art out here: ash (ahshesgone . tumblr post/136011000560/this-is-my-contribution-to-resbang-2015-and-it-was) & Mak (mrsashketchum. tumblr post/136040011458) - without the spaces between things & with the (dot c o m) tho obviously
feel free to come yell with me about baseball on tumblr (url: absolutrash)
