Unwanted Author Commentary: And now we're getting into more smoochey stuff. I promise, there will be plot! Eventually. But I got things planned. Several things. It's gonna be exciting! Family drama! Motherly visits! Maybe even an action break where things can explode.
Maka's amazed at how long practice takes. An hour, maybe? More? Time lost any semblance of meaning. Was she really doing that for an hour? Augh. Today was just too confusing. Soul's at the dryer, pulling out clothes.
"Here." He says, handing her a folded lump of cloth. It's her favorite pajamas, the green ones with little bears on them. Maka is suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that she is in fact a complete dork. She goes into her bedroom and starts to change, trying to get the gown off. Wow. These knots were impressive.
"Hey, Soul?" She calls. It's just too embarrassing to ask for help but what else could she do?
"Yeah."
"I need some help getting this off..."
"Woman-" He comes in the room, half dressed in a loose pair of jeans. And no shirt. It was... uh... really distracting...
"I just need you to get these knots!" Maka says angrily, trying to maintain some tiny bit of dignity. Because she definitely still had any of that left.
"Ok." He says, leaning against the door and giving no indication he's going to do anything. "Clarify something for me. Is this an awful come on, or are you really just that clueless." He deadpans. Her cheeks turn bright flaming red, and she's reasonably certain they might actually be on fire. Why. Was he such. A jerk. And not just a jerk, but really good at being a jerk. Long hours of practice probably.
"Gah! I hate you!" He grins hugely and laughs.
"Ok, I'll go with clueless. Here, lemme get that off you." He leers suggestively, and Maka smacks him upside the head. But he sits cross legged on the bed behind her and starts picking at the knots. "Will you stop that?" He says with mild frustration. She's shivering at his every touch as his hands work their way up her back.
"Sorry." She mutters, silently vowing that his head was going to be introduced to the complete works of Shakespeare. Maybe multiple times. Finally, he reaches the last know and the gown almost falls off. "Eep!" Maka squeaks, and barely catches it in time. "Out!" She commands. He was not seeing her naked. Ever.
"Yeah, yeah." He says, barely restraining laughter.
"You are not supposed to think this is funny! Cut it out!" Maka yells in impotent rage.
"Bitch, don't tell me what to do."
"Bitch?" Maka shrieks. She's had it. He's going to die. Die, die, die. Wisely, Soul takes the opportunity to retreat. He shuts the door just as a hurled paperback slams into the space where his head would have been. Maka stalks to the shower. "I'm going to kill him." Becomes her mantra as she turns on the hot water. Delicately, she soaps around the puckered stitches, lathers her hair, and rinses, turning gently in the water. Somewhere over the past few minutes the two 'l's in kill have become a pair of 's'es, and that infuriates her beyond belief. "Practice time." She shivers involuntarily. Then, with an angry shake of her head, gets out of the tub and dries off, slipping on her pajamas. Time to find her good friend, the complete hardcover works of William Shakespeare. When she stalks out of her room holding the heavy book, Soul's ordering pizza.
"Extra cheese, mushrooms, and-" He stops. And goes pale. "Shit. Yeah, that's all. See you in ten. Maybe." He slams the phone down and starts backing away. "Ok hold up."
"No! You called me a bitch!"
"You may want to think this through a little more-" By this point, Maka is within striking range. Down goes Shakespeare, and ow ow ow. Their heads explode with pain. Stupid resonance. Stupid Soul. And she manages to agitate her surgery, falling onto the kitchen tile. Going. To kill him! There's this bubbling cauldron of rage in Maka's mind that ignores the fact that she may have done this to herself. He was going to pay. "Woman-" He growls. Then sighs. "Guess I deserved it. But seriously, take some care of yourself. We can't even tell each other apart yet."
"Owwww." Maka moans. Suddenly, she feels very silly. Did she really come out here intending to beat him with a book? And did it really hurt so much? Soul's snicker doesn't help.
"Oh man you're too pitiful." He tells her, half shuffling over the tile to give her a hug. She leans into it. No! No forgiveness! This was war- ok. Nevermind. Everything was fine now. She just couldn't stay mad at him, especially like this, his muscular arms encircling her waist, her shoulders. Suddenly there's a sharp knock on the door, and she jumps. "Pizza's here." Soul says, rising to his feet. Maka, determined not to act like a complete invalid, gets out plates. "Where's my wallet." Soul calls.
"Table to the right of the couch." Maka calls back. The delivery boy is payed, and Soul comes back in with a greasy, steaming box. Unceremoniously he plops it down on the table.
"Man. I'm already fucking starved. Or maybe you are. Hard to tell." He starts dishing out the slices, heaping them onto Maka's plate. She begins eating with a fork and knife. Soul stares in vague horror.
"What?" Maka demands.
"You're..." He looks shocked. Appalled "You're using a fork to eat pizza?"
"Um. Yes?"
"That's just wrong." He mutters, shoving a slice in his mouth.
"But you're getting grease and stuff all over your hands!" Maka says, confused.
"I'm also eating it. Properly. As in, no silverware involved."
"What is-"
"Shut up and eat your pizza wrong. Heathen." Maka goes back to eating pizza wrong. Is there even a right way to do this? What the heck was that about? Is he actually mad? Then she realizes what she's worrying about. Utterly ridiculous. And his fault. Because everything is his fault. In a somewhat startling turn of events, she finishes before him, and looks hopefully in the box for more. "You're going to get so fat." Soul mumbles between a mouthful of food.
"I've lost seven pounds or something! Fat would be good!" Maka angrily steals the last slice.
"Ice cream?" Soul offers a minute or two later. "It's the only thing we have left. That and milk."
"Oooh!" Maka says, struck with an idea. "Milkshakes!"
"You already had a smoothie."
"Milkshakes!" She chirps again. Soul sighs and gets up.
"Sure, sure." He finds the blender and grabs a couple things out of the fridge. Moments later a growly humm fills the kitchen. "We're having chocolate." He calls over the noise.
"But we have some-"
"Chocolate." He repeats, and Maka decides not to argue. Chocolate is good too, she supposes. Soul steadily pours it into a pair of large cups, casually setting it down in front of Maka.
"Thank you!" She sing songs, taking a big gulp. It's delicious, but now her upper lip is coated in chocolate. Soul busts out laughing.
"You look ridiculous." He informs her, as if she didn't get it. Being Mr. Cool, he's slouching in his chair, drinking it and not spilling a drop. Maka guzzles the rest, still hungry and plenty irritated.
"I need sleep." She mutters, glancing at a clock. Only eight. She was exhausted either way.
"I'm game." Soul replies lazily, with an exaggerated grin.
"Not like that! Cut it out!" Maka mutters. He's so annoying! She clears away her cup and heads for the bedroom. Halfway across the apartment she turns and looks at him. "Coming?" She asks, almost casually. Almost. But she's still nervous about this.
"Yeah." He answers, putting his cup in the sink. Maka heads into her room, Soul at her heels. She flicks the light out and they crawl in together, alone in the dark. She can hear him breathing, see his outline in the faint light. Almost hesitantly, he moves forward. "You still have a chocolate mustache." He tells her softly. "Here. Lemme help." And he's kissing her. Thankfully, practice has paid off, and Maka's able to respond somewhat. Their mouths are sweet and chocolaty, but the kiss is different, slower and sleepier than before. He breaks apart and his mouth travels down her jaw onto the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. He nips and she mewls a little. It was like little shocks of lightning everywhere he touches, a trail of electric fire where he has been. Slowly he moves to her lobe, worrying it. The curve of her ear fits his tongue perfectly, and a swirl elicits a moan. Her hands are wandering, hesitantly around his waist then up his back, feeling the muscles near his shoulder blades shift and tighten as he changes his grip around her. His fingers are dancing over her body like he's playing piano, shifting from a tug at the waistband of her pants to travel up her side and across her stomach. It's maddening and she wants him to do more, but... she knows neither of them are ready. Though it's still infuriatingly tantalizing as his hands slip an inch down her pants, across her rib cage, and his mouth finds every little place to nip and lick and bite... she revels in it. The girl makes a vague attempt at responding, taking one hand and suckling the fingers, her mouth working almost involuntarily, tightening and twisting around him at his every motion. She can tell through their bond he's enjoying this, and she hesitantly plays around up his shirt. Less of a reaction. What could she even do? Suddenly Maka feels useless, and her side hurts, and she just wants to drift off. Soul reacts almost immediately, his hands shifting to hold her gently, stilling and calming. Their legs are slotted together, one of his in between hers and Maka wonders how she didn't notice that happen.
"I just want to sleep now." Maka tells him. She's ashamed, ashamed she can't make him feel as good as he makes her feel. Sure it's dumb, sure he's happier pleasing her than the other way around, but she needs to be something other than dead weight.
"Mkay." He replies tiredly. There's a warm, joyous note in his voice that Maka will treasure no matter how incompetent she feels. And he understands, doesn't pressure, doesn't pry. He just accepts it, and Maka loves him for that.
"Hey, Soul." Maka whispers in the dark. There's something important, something she needs to say. It's a silly thing, but somehow it makes all the difference in the world. "I really care about you Soul." She tells him, pressing her mouth almost to his ear, just missing it by a breath. And there's this rippling wave of delight that flows through him, seeping through their bond. She's going to treasure that too.
"I... care about you too." He replies. It's like the last little piece between them has clicked. Nothing left between them, nothing left to admit, no secrets, no lies. They just are, in the dark, tangled together, unclear on where she ends and he begins. Two bodies, one soul. They aren't even resonating, not real resonance anyway, but somehow Maka feels closer than ever to him. And she resolves, tomorrow morning, to do some research. After all, there's definitely something out there on how to... um. Do things. Maybe she could borrow Soul's laptop, as she was fairly confident there wouldn't be anything in the DWMA library. Yeah. Tomorrow, that's what she's going to do.
Unwanted Author Commentary: Anyone else see where I'm taking this? *Evil grin* Accidentally looking up porn of course! More soon my ducklings. Be patient. And I'll try and introduce something resembling a story and not just an excuse for me to write cutesy stuff. There will be dramaaaa! (llama.) Until then, just acknowledge I am a flighty person who hates finishing things.