A/N: Karaoke Night is a birthday gift for the lovely and talented ilaraul. If you've never read her fic you should, for it is fantastic.

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll make fish tomorrow?"

Soul shook his head; Maka had been pleading and wheedling for the last fifteen minutes at least, and yet, he remained as unmoved as ever. She huffed in frustration, trying to come up with something that might sway him.

"I'll do your homework for a week?"

"Pfffft no."

"I'll, um," she looked around, making sure no one was listening, then lowered her voice, "make it worth your while later." She punctuated this with what she hoped was a seductive little smile.

That seemed to catch his attention, and after a moment he just shook his head in clearly conflicted exasperation.

"At least—look at the choices. Maybe you'll be surprised." She shoved the song sheet under his nose.

He sighed. "I seriously doubt it but if it'll-" suddenly, something on the sheet seemed to catch his eye and he grinned. Smirked was more like it. "You know what? Fine. Just remember, you asked for it."

She smiled back, though her stomach fluttered a bit with foreboding because nothing good could come of that grin.

The person who sang the last song had vacated the stage and as no one had taken her place yet, Soul suddenly leapt up and strutted towards it like he owned the place. Maka found her eyes drifting to his rear in appreciation. A few months ago, she would have looked away, red and embarrassed, and she was suddenly glad that she was allowed to think he had a nice ass and even touch it when she felt like it, one of the many miracles of dating.

As he took his place at the microphone, with his spiked white hair, smoldering red eyes, ratty band t-shirt, and well fitting black jeans, he looked like a rock god. Most of the eyes in the room settled on him expectantly, and Maka was fairly certain not one set of female eyes fell anywhere but on her weapon. A sudden surge of possessiveness took her and she was glad, very glad, that he was her boyfriend now, that they were on a date of her choosing, and that at the end of the night, she'd be the one he took home. Yes, very glad.

The music began, low thumping bass, thrumming guitar. Maka thought she recognized this song from somewhere, not surprising given they were in a karaoke bar and popular songs tended to be all they offered. Then he began to sing.

"You need coolin', baby, I'm not foolin', I'm gonna send you back to schoolin'," his eyes were locked with hers as he sang the song, his voice low and throaty, and she slouched down in her seat the slightest bit. She needn't have worried—all other eyes were on him.

"Way down inside honey, you need it, I'm gonna give you my love, I'm gonna give you my love. Wanna Whole Lotta Love."

Soul winked her way at this, and Maka went scarlet. He looked so hot, singing this for her and only her, but by Death, why this song? It was so—so—so—dirty. They'd fooled around in the two months they'd been dating, of course they had, making out, touching, groping—two weeks ago they had even started—well—doing things with their hands and mouths that felt really, really good, actually, but they hadn't done everything. Not yet. So was he telling her he wanted to? Of course he wanted to, so did she. She was just afraid of moving too fast and—

"You've been learnin', baby, I've been yearnin', all them good times, baby, baby, I've been yearnin.' Way, way down inside honey, you need it, I'm gonna give you my love... I'm gonna give you my love. Wanna Whole Lotta Love."

Oh holy Shinigami he'd just started torso thrusting her way. The meister was going to die of embarrassment, she was sure she was. And the worst part was she had practically begged him to do this, had dragged them on a date without their friends to this place hoping he'd sing for her, she'd just never expected he'd sing something like—this. But—but—it was also really hot. Despite all eyes being on him, his eyes were only for her, his deep, sensuous voice rumbling through her bones with the filthy things he sang about, the filthy way he moved his hips. The red that painted her face was from embarrassment, but it was also from sheer arousal, and the mix of feelings, not exactly new, had her overheated.

"You've been coolin', baby, I've been droolin', all the good times I've been misusing.'
Way, way down inside, I'm gonna give you my love, I'm gonna give you every inch of my love, Gonna give you my love. Gotta Whole Lotta Love."

Her weapon was smirking at her, his eyes still on fire. Had she called him a rock god? No, that wasn't right at all. He was a sex god, her very own sex god, because while every other woman in the room might want him, she was the only one who would get him. Maka found herself wanting to let him do exactly what we was singing about and it sent a shudder of anticipation through her. What had they been waiting for again? They had only been dating a couple of months, it was true, but they were adults—19 now. He loved her, she loved him, they'd been partners for eight years, they knew each other at the soul deep level. She'd wanted not to rush things, she'd been the one, of course, who was afraid to rush things, but it wasn't as if they weren't both in it for... forever, really. The thought that maybe, tonight, she'd grant him—no both of them—their wish thrilled her even as it mortified her, and as she watched him continue to sing to her so wantonly, she wasn't quite sure whether she was going to die of embarrassment or her ovaries would explode from sheer repressed need.

Wait, was he—oh Death he was—

Suddenly, the scythe leapt off the stage, grabbing the mic and hovering over his girlfriend to sing in her face, his own face flushed and needy.

"Way down inside... woman... You need... love." His hand was suddenly on her neck, caressing her hair, her skin, and she knew that every set of eyes was on the two of them but it didn't bother her even a little because though his face was full of smirking amusement, his eyes were practically begging for her.

His singing stopped abruptly as she pulled on his shirt, tugged him down into a kiss, hot, possessive, wanton. Maka heard murmurs from the entire place, but she didn't care. The music stopped, she still didn't care. His hands were in her hair, hers were in his, and it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Several moments passed before she pushed him away, panting. She forced a light resonance, just enough to convey two essential little words: Home. Now.

Soul stood, still flushed. Grinning down at his meister, he tugged her up by the hand and out the door, leaving the somewhat stunned patrons of the place behind them. He pulled her out to the bike parked outside and kissed her, longer, deeper, his hands roaming south to her ass to pull her close, before they pulled themselves apart to make their way back to the apartment.

Oh yes, it was going to be a hell of a night because Maka fully intended to keep her promise to make it worth his while. Uncharacteristically, but perhaps predictably, Soul never refused to sing at a karaoke bar again.