OK, possible trigger warning, since there's more discussion of self-injury, but also some sexual content today. Enjoy.
It was Serena's fault, since at the very last moment as he was almost out of the door she'd planted the stupid idea. "Why don't you take her out somewhere nice?"
Soul met her at the door with sweaty palms and feet that could barely stand still. He'd called her early that morning and done what he'd never, ever done before: told her to put on her nicest dress because he was actually going to listen to his mother. You would think that asking his, for lack of a less stereotypical word, girlfriend on a date would have been the easiest thing in the world but instead, he'd done exactly what he was best at, agonizing over every last detail. The fact that as soon as she laid eyes on him the giggling started didn't help things either.
Maka tried to tone down the utter amusement at his nonsensical worry, pressing a hand to her mouth as she let him shoo her directly back out of the apartment. "You're wearing a tie," she couldn't stop the renewed laughter as she reached for it and got her hand swatted away.
"And you're wearing a dress." He rolled his eyes at himself, As if that was anything close to a tease.
"Do you like it?" She twirled, letting him breathlessly watch as the fabric rode up her thigh.
He made sure to wipe his palm on his pants first before wrapping it around her wrist, tugging her back just enough to get her to pause. His other arm snaked around her waist, steadying her so he could leave a kiss on her cheek. "You're beautiful. And don't give me the 'you look handsome, too' thing back, I don't want it."
Another dizzy little laugh left her lips before she covered the blush on her cheeks. "No compliments allowed?"
"Absolutely not," he muttered as he fiddled with the fabric around his neck. He let his other hand slip from her waist to connect with hers, continuing the arduous process of walking her to the restaurant.
"I'll save them for later after you've taken it off."
Soul had to do a double-take, floored by that coy little smile that hit her lips compounded with the insinuation of undressing. He wanted it, God did he ever want to get undressed with her, but even with her scolding the other day he could still only envision disgust on her face as soon as his shirt hit the floor. I want it, though, I want it so badly that I have to try. I have to give it a chance.
It was one of those painfully hip, contemporary American restaurants that he pulled her in to, another pick from his mother. He was safe to follow any of her suggestions because while her looks usually would make one assume differently, Serena wasn't necessarily about the ambiance and was more often led by her stomach more than anything else. In his mind he inserted another one of her favorite phrases, 'Thank God for my personal trainer.'
As soon as they entered, Maka gave him an inquisitive pump of her eyebrows, pursing her lips as if she was going to whistle at the grandiosity. Soul ignored the playful mocking, continuing the walk to the hostess who led them back past the bar and into the dining room. As she sat he noticed that Maka had held onto that smile, a thin blush starting on her cheeks and he felt his heart betray him, beating up and out of his chest, crushing out any even remotely suave words he had on deck.
"So," Maka leaned forward but still kept her prim and proper, no elbows on the table posture. "What's the occasion, Soul?"
"It's not like this is our first time out," the grumble he tried to elicit seemed more like choking from his throat.
"No," that smile blossomed further, "but you haven't been this nervous since our first date ever, the Thai place, remember?"
"Because that wasn't a date, Maka," he huffed. "That was you trying to train a socially inept-"
"Ouch," she cut him off quickly. "That wasn't a date? Come on, Soul, let me have that one. We can call all the pizza place dates social experiments, but I want that one as our first date, please."
Soul's grimace stretched as her smile strengthened. "You want that as a date? I was a mess."
"A cute mess," Maka corrected. "And I was a little, too, remember?"
He leaned back in his chair, remembering his first experience with her on-off switch, the mention of meeting Liz and Black Star. That was still muddy, and as far as the deal was concerned she only had two weeks left to clear it away. "OK, it was a date, but I don't want to say it was our first."
"Meeting at the apartment can't count," she almost put on a playful pout, a plumping of her lip that Soul had trouble not concentrating on.
Soul had to run his hands along his pant legs to erase the moisture on his palms before offering one to her, reaching across the table and instantly getting her hand. "The piano bench. I want that as our first."
Maka had a million cute witticisms on deck for this evening and had practiced a bunch of teasing her head since he'd floated the 'dress nice' idea but all of it fluttered away like the muscle in her stomach. "Oh." That line of blush turned into a field, taking over her cheeks completely. "Oh, Soul, that's…"
"You don't like it?" He toyed with her fingers nervously.
This was one of those moments when she wished they were at home so she could bury her face against his neck and just melt into him, sending that skin to skin message of the way he made her heart race. "You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" she murmured.
"No," he balked. "I just, that's when we met. Firsts should come at the beginning."
"You're lying," she cooed. "But I'll forgive you because it's the best idea you've had since this date."
Soul was trying to look peeved but the smile was peeking through which he tried to hide with the menu, suddenly much more interested in the type on the page than the conversation. She let him be, perusing it herself as her fingers made lines in his palm. While Maka shared Serena's stomach-driven habits, she still wasn't that focused on the idea of a meal, no matter how fancy. Again, her mind wandered towards wishing they were alone, wishing she could fold into him as they did in bed at night. It was starting to become more than that in her daydreams, but only there since his practice was still fairly reserved and required sweet pushing and prompting to get him to go further than just gliding over what she considered safe zones. It was relief and want all rolled into one. He had done his job of convincing her he'd go at her pace, and she was slowly moving towards setting it.
"You're blushing," he grinned over the menu.
"Am not," she snapped, quickly raising her menu to cover her cheeks.
"Now who's lying," he chuckled back as he grabbed her playful fingers, now clutching her hand in his. "Just as long as it's good stuff, you know, that you're thinking about."
She let her eyes linger over his, finding a strange soothing in that piercing red. "It is."
The rest of dinner went without a hitch, Soul starting to feel that mostly unfamiliar confidence in himself. Every moment of this, every second of our date, I did it right, was the strange thought that continued to float through his mind. And as they exited the restaurant, both stuffed to the gills and just buzzed enough from the wine, Soul's arm wrapped around her waist, walking her closely, tightly to him rather than that loose hand. Getting home like that was slow, their pace cut by his want for closeness, but Maka couldn't argue, feeling his fingers burning into her side. He only detached from her for the stairs, since that was a recipe for a broken neck, and settled for watching her ascend in front of him, her dress swishing against the back of her legs.
Their silence was comfortable because there was a routine to it. As soon as the door to the apartment opened, Maka headed for the bedroom and waited for him. Soul gathered his pajamas, the trusty old t-shirt and basketball short combo, before moving across the hall to change separately in the studio behind the closed, locked door. Maka changed into a similar combination, only closing the door but not locking, making herself not watch the knob because what was the point? Because if he comes in, he'd never hurt me. He'd never just take, just use, just leave. With that thought, she plopped down on the bed, watching the door, waiting.
Soul entered slowly, tossing his clothes in the hamper. This was where routine abruptly and unexpectedly ended. Maka watched him carefully from the bed, the way his fists opened and closed at his side, his eyes trailing everywhere in the room but her. "What is it?" She wanted to reach for him but she was sure even with her fingers on him he'd be inaccessible.
"I'm going to take off my shirt," he murmured.
"OK." She wanted to rein in her smile in some sort of respect for his nervousness but she couldn't keep it from beaming. There was no way in hell he was going to look at her face anyway, so she let it be, let it glow in hopes that he could somehow feel it.
"Maka, please…" He wanted to have it all disappeared, the empty canvas of skin that he used to remember, but more so he needed her to be telling the truth, needed her to stay. The usual task of taking off his shirt became agonizingly difficult, panicked breaths starting to spurt from his lips as the fabric started its slow crawl.
"It's OK, keep going," she murmured.
He held his breath to dive into the deep end, inching the cloth up to his stomach, chest, and finally over his head. There was no relaxing, his fingers clenching into the material of the shirt as he held it at his side. His lungs were burning but he couldn't let the air go.
"Totally not fair," she said with a short little laugh, prompting his eyes to her.
"What?"
"Your abs," she pointed at his stomach before prodding at her own. "I know you work out half as much as I do and I still have a gut and you're ripped. How? Totally not fair, Soul."
"You don't have a gut," he spat back until his mind could catch up with the rest. "Stop joking with me, Maka, what about…?"
"I'm not joking." She slowly moved to her feet, afraid that sudden action might force him into bolting like a wild horse. "It's technically just the first thing I noticed." After a few aching steps, watching as his eyes darted from her to his chest at a dizzying pace, Maka was close enough to trail a finger along one of the thousands of lines that darted across his chest. It was nothing more than pinkish or white hash marks all over his skin, so many that she'd have to give herself until sunrise to do it justice. She had friends in the past who had a few faded white lines that took effort to see, but Soul was right in seeing these as obvious, multitudinous.
"Tell me the truth," his voice barely trembled out.
She sighed slowly, letting her fingers climb up his chest as she continued to map the grooves. "I'm scared." A sickly groaning sound choked out of his throat but before he could take a step back, Maka was grabbing at his shoulders, pulling against his will to push her away. "I'm afraid for you, not of you."
"What?" Again, the incredulity was there and this time as he finally looked her in the face, eyes searching hers.
"The accident, you trying to kill yourself, the cutting. All of it scares me," the pleading was starting to break through her voice, "but that's because I'm worried for you. I don't want you in that kind of pain anymore. It's not that I'm scared of you. You're not a monster."
"It's disgusting," he spat back.
"Different," the sharp tone of her word disintegrated the other. "And I'll get used to it, the more I see you, the more I get to touch you." She let her fingers trickle down from his shoulders back to his chest. The next question on her lips felt dangerous, and she wet them with her tongue before forcing it forward. "How long has it been since you hurt yourself?"
He could still practically break it down to the hour, the minute for her, but he stuck with the easiest. "Since before the hospital."
That urged a sigh of relief from her throat just in time for the next difficult question to build. "Do you still think about it?"
Lying here would be the easiest. That's how it always was at the hospital, putting on a good enough face to make sure that everyone else would let it go, let him go. Staring into her eyes turned that urge into a flimsy pipe-dream. "It's like… ask any sober alcoholic 'Do you want to drink?' and the answer's always going to be 'yes' because that's just when the world feels right. But you know that when you do that, it fucks everything up, so you can't. You hold back. But thinking about it, the thinking about it never goes away."
"Every day?" Maka murmured.
"No," his head was slow to shake, another sigh collapsing his chest. "It used to be, especially in the hospital. Sometimes it's still the gut reaction, like when I was pinching myself."
"And you stopped that, too." Her fingers tapped at his chest as she tried to bring back the infectiousness of her smile. "You're getting better."
"I am." His hands were trembling as he brought them to her face, tensing them along her jawline. "But I could go back. I have bad days, you saw that, and I could just…"
"You could fall off the wagon," Maka nodded. "I know, I get it."
Soul was wracking his brain for the words to make her understand the seriousness since it seemed like she wasn't getting the fact that this could be just a colossal waste of her time, her energy, her life, to try to love him in spite of it all. He was coming up dumb, nothing but the growing urge to kiss her coming to mind. But I can't, I shouldn't. How could she want to be kissed after this? Looking at this?
"Can I…" Maka bit her lip, taking in a deep breath through her nose before releasing it. "Can I take off my shirt now, too?"
That sent a flare of heat from her fingertips on his chest to his face. "What?"
"I know you're probably not ready for pants yet, I mean, I'm honestly not sure I'm ready for my pants yet, to be fair but…" She took his hands from her face, getting them to release so she could take a step back. Without waiting for his acknowledgment she slipped off her t-shirt, freely letting it flutter from her fingertips to the floor. "It's only fair, right?"
"Fair?" He wasn't proud of the squeaky quality in his voice or the way his eyes definitely bugged from his head. Soul was too busy absorbing the sight to calculate how long it had actually been since he'd seen breasts, even porn since when was the last time he really had the drive. But Maka's were perfect, just divinely rounded and little-more-than-a-handful size. Suddenly he realized how much his eyes had been lingering and he shot them back to her face, ready for the inevitable disappointment. Instead, Maka wasn't even looking, her eyes focused to the left and out the window, a furious blush on her cheeks. It took every last ounce of breath in his lungs and it still barely came out above a whisper, "Can we practice?"
Maka finally brought her eyes to his and looking at him was like a reflection in a mirror, face flushed, eyes hesitant but needy. "As long as I can get to touch, too."
He nodded slowly as his hands reached for her, settling on her waist to move her as if she needed the motivation to take the couple steps back to the bed. She tumbled out of his grasp, falling back into the mound of unmade sheets as he followed close behind. Maka assumed the regular position, laying on her back as he came to his side, fingers hovering over her stomach. "I guess, a touch for a touch?"
Maka nodded before grabbing at his wrist, trailing the fingers to start higher than their original destination, hanging right over her breast. "Please."
The anxiety was on par with that first-ever time when you're young and you're making out and unsure of boundaries but fueled by absurdly hormonal wants and needs. At the same time, rational Soul wanted to be tender and take his time, not fondle her like some idiot teenager in the back of a car. He lowered his hand slowly, falling flush with the swell of her breast, cupping but not squeezing as his thumb brushed over her nipple. A gasp left her lips, sending him halfway to panic. "Maka-"
She grasped his wrist tighter, keeping his hand in place before slowly letting go. "It feels good. It's…" she let out a breathy sigh before shifting her legs against the sheets. "The thumb again, do the thumb."
A bewildered smile started to tug at the corner of his lips. "Tell me when to stop." He brought his thumb back, making tiny revolutions around her peak, feeling it harden as her breath came out in another trembling sigh. Maka released her hand from his wrist, resting her fingertips just above the waistband of his shorts then drifting them along his rib cage. It didn't elicit the same kind of heated sound from his mouth, just something close to a grunt. She let them wander all the way to his chest, mimicking his action as she traced a finger around his nipple. A rough laugh left his throat, "Doesn't work the same way for guys, I think."
"What does, then?"
"Touching you," he murmured as he leaned in closer. "Can I kiss you?"
"Only if you don't stop." She didn't wait for what she could assume was going to be a smart quip, rolling herself on her side to meet his lips. That cupping hand moved to a soft kneading, his thumb tentatively capturing her nipple against his forefinger.
He pulled back from the kiss just in time to miss swallowing her moan. "Please tell me that was a good sound."
"Again." Maka was pressing closer, barely leaving him enough space to do as requested as she tried to get her chest flush with his.
That was a new sensation that threatened to swallow him whole, the feeling of her delicate, perfect skin against the marred mess of his chest. But at that moment he could forget it, focus just the heat searing through him, the idea that it was her and him, not with some sickness laying between them. It drifted directly to his head, teasing away his focus long enough for the insane drivel to leave his mouth, "I want to make you cum."
"What?" She was panting breathlessly against his lips, her hand just coming up into his hair to play.
Oh, fuck, came the withered groan from his mind but he tried to shake it off, inhaling a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I know you said you probably weren't even ready for, well, anything below the belt, but fuck, Maka, if you'll let me I want to. I'll do it whatever way you want, whatever way you like, just, I want you to feel good."
Fear gripped him as she started to pull away, but it was only just to see his eyes, to put some focus into a moment that was overrun with bodies that weren't exactly full of rationality. "What about you?" Her fingers played in his hair, smoothing it from his forehead.
He tipped his chin as he barely caught her lips, "Just you tonight, please."
"Then, no." That sentence could only warble from her mouth. That word never seemed to be part of her vocabulary, not in any bed or in front of a man, and at that moment every last ounce of fear in her threatened to swell to a climax.
"Alright." He didn't sigh, he didn't groan, only his lips changed into a hazy, sweet smile. "I guess I have to get my shit together a little more if I want to make you happy."
Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling his lips back to hers to pick up where they left off, to bring back that wave of pleasure. She wondered if he realized how much fear had just gripped her, threatened to pull her under and how suddenly it was whisked away. Half by his actions, but also by the fact that she had somehow developed the courage to do it. That maybe she wasn't the Maka of last year that disgusted her so much.
The kissing would never cool, the press between their bodies only creating a kind of euphoric discomfort, pent-up energy going nowhere. Even with all that as she finally coaxed her lips from his, all she could murmur was, "I am happy."
