Maka isn't sure what she's expecting when she hits up the Thompson girls' apartment. It's in a reasonably decent part of town - a little better than where Soul's staying, easily. They're on the 5th floor of a walkup, and Pattie answers her knock with a wide smile.
"Come on in, Kitten," she chirps, and Maka rolls her eyes.
"Ugh. I could seriously hurt Blair for giving me that nickname," she says as Pattie shuts the door behind her.
"Awwww, I kind of like it. It suits you," she grins at Maka's scowl, and makes little cat claws with her hands. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Thanks, but I'm good for now." She stands awkwardly in their living room for a moment before Pattie grabs her by the hand and tugs her towards one of the back rooms.
"Come on, then. Liz has the pole set up for you and everything. Time's a wastin'." Maka lets herself be pulled, and finds herself in what she's assuming is Liz's room. Given what her space at work looks like, Maka's a little surprised that her room is as clean as it is. Despite Pattie's warning, she's still completely unprepared for the reality of a dancing pole set up in the middle of a bedroom.
"I, um."
"It's not going to bite you," Liz states. Of course, she's also upside down as she says it, so Maka isn't really sure how much she ought to believe her. She looks between the two sisters - Liz sliding with deceptive grace around the pole and Pattie flipping through an mp3 player with single minded determination - and feels suddenly and completely out of her depth. Liz dismounts with a flourish, and Maka just stares. "What's the matter?"
"I..." she swallows. "I have no idea what I'm doing."
"What like...not at all?" Liz asks.
Maka shakes her head. "I have never been on a pole before." Behind her, Pattie snickers quietly, and Liz cracks a grin that Maka can't quite interpret. "What?"
"N-nothing." Liz chokes a little, but before Maka can pursue further questioning, she asks, "So if you've never danced before, how'd you manage to convince Blair to hire you? She's usually pretty thorough with that kind of thing."
"I'm really good at faking it, apparently."
Liz stares at her for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. "Oh god," she mumbles.
"If that's the case, I think you'll do just fine," Pattie adds, grin enormous. Maka stares at them for a long moment before she gets it, her face flushing bright red. She resists the urge to bury her face in her palms.
"Really guys?"
"Ok, ok. Sorry." Liz does not, in fact, look the least bit sorry, but Maka lets it go. "Have you done any dancing before?"
"Not really. I ah, I did a little gymnastics in back in high school? But I'm not sure if that really counts. And it was ages ago."
Pattie gives her an approving look. "Oooh, gymnast. We can work with that."
"Consider your new line of work a whole new way to pole vault."
"I bet you'll be vaulting some poles in no time," Pattie adds. Liz, to her credit, manages to not start giggling again, even if she does turn a suspicious shade of red.
"I am pretty sure she's got that under control if Eater's been any indication."
"Guuuuys," she whines. She's not proud of it.
"What? Everyone knows he's totally into you." Before Maka can respond to that particular brand of nonsense with anything more than her best impression of a fish, Liz moves on. "Now, what you're going to want to do is grab the pole like so - "
They spend almost an hour going over what Liz assures her are very basic, but very key moves that can be utilized in a variety of ways. Both Thompsons claim that they don't really work from routines, but rather that they wing it, which does pretty much zilch in terms of Maka's confidence.
"You know," Liz teases as they break for water and a snack, "you're pretty fit for a Pig."
Maka rolls her eyes. "I try to limit my daily donut intake to five instead of the full dozen," she says wryly. "Gotta keep up my girlish figure." They laugh a little at that, and it feels good to be able to joke about her job for once.
"Seriously though, you've got good upper body strength and strong legs. That's going to help a lot," Pattie adds. Maka is pretty sure that her arms are actually noodles, but she takes the compliment. "And there's a whole bunch of stuff you can do that doesn't involve lifts."
"Biggest thing to remember? Keep it simple. If you don't think you can go through with a more complicated maneuver? Don't do it. It's awesome, and you get hella tips for it when it goes well, but if you fuck up?" Liz shakes her head. "It doesn't go well, and you're looking at being taken right off the pole again, or even fired." She cocks her head to the side and looks at Maka appraisingly. "Though I suppose that wouldn't really matter all that much to you, would it?"
Once again, she's reminded of the vast difference in their lives, and she gives a noncommittal shrug. "It's my job right now. Until we wrap this case up, or they pull me, I need to be here." She wants them to know that she's invested - this isn't some case of little rich girl plays at being a dancer. Maka has a job to do, and right now, this happens to be part of her job. She's not entirely sure what the Thompsons think of her, but Liz nods carefully and continues.
"The point is, no one likes a fuck up. And most of these douchebags can't tell if what you're doing is the chicken dance or fucking Swan Lake as long as you're showing them skin and grinding on the pole occasionally."
"Men are simple creatures," Pattie adds sagely. Maka's tempted to agree - thoughts of her father come to mind almost immediately - but unbidden, she thinks about her partner and stalls out a little bit in her snap judgment.
"Mm," she replies vaguely.
They keep going until it's time to go to work, and then hop a bus down to Chupa Cabra's together. Maka's noodle arms feel like they've gone completely liquid, and she isn't entirely sure how she's going to manage to hold her drink trays. She hopes that it's not horrifically busy. On the plus side, Liz and Pattie both seem more than pleased with her progress, even if they are completely unhelpful when it comes to actually planning out a routine.
"You gotta improvise," Pattie insists as she stretches out in the changing room. Maka watches her foot go all the way over the top of her head, and wonder if maybe Pattie had ever wanted to be a ballerina. She can't even remember if she was that flexible when she was doing gymnastics regularly.
Maka shakes her head. "I dunno, I've never been the best at improvising." It's not strictly the truth, but for her, there's a difference between improvising when your life's on the line and improvising when you're showing your ass off to leering gangsters. Even still, she keeps an even closer eye on the dancers during her shift, and is pleased to notice that she's able to pick out several of the moves that the Thompsons taught her.
Black*Star drops her off at Soul's again that night, and while she's not thrilled that he's on the futon again, at least he's still awake this time. He seems a little surprised to see her, but not upset. She shrugs a little at his unvoiced question.
"Wanted to make sure that Black*Star hadn't poisoned you."
"I did most of the cooking," Soul defended himself. "Well, ok. I told him how to make mac and cheese." She laughs a little and he smiles.
"Good. Don't want you straining anything."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "How'd your lesson go?"
She sighs heavily and flaps an arm at him. "I don't know how anyone ever beats up a dancer," she admits. "I'm pretty sure either of those girls are stronger than the both of us combined. My arms are useless." Soul laughs a little and she doesn't pretend that she doesn't like the way he rubs her shoulder comfortingly.
She spends every spare moment for the rest of the week practicing - most of her time is with the sisters Thompson, and as a result, she most of her nights are in Soul's apartment. It's closer to them and more convenient, she mentions casually when he asks, and he doesn't seem to mind at all.
By the time she wakes up Sunday, she's exhausted from both work and practice, and she might possibly be freaking out slightly. The club's been eerily quiet, and she's only seen brief glimpses of Medusa. Kid's been almost as quiet. She wants to get her hands around Giriko's neck and make him sing, but neither she nor Soul are allowed anywhere near him for the sake of their cover. Ox is still working on the drug sample Maka had given to Stein, and Chrona, well - Kid mentioned that, assuming Chrona ever came out of the coma, they would be interrogating the former cop. She tries very emphatically not to think about it. There isn't anything she can do, not even really the hospital, so she pushes the whole thing to the back of her brain.
She fixes a quick breakfast for the two of them, and wolfs down her half. She leaves Soul's in the microwave, and is out the door before he even wakes. She jogs most of the way to the Thompsons' apartment, nervous energy singing through her veins.
Liz greets her blearily at the door to their apartment. "Ma - Kitten? What are you doing here?" She's still in what looks like her pajamas, hair mussed. Maka realizes somewhat belatedly that, in her nervousness, she's up about three hours earlier than normal.
"Oh, god, I'm sorry I just - I just wanted to get in some more practice and I didn't realize it was so early."
Liz gives her a look that's partially sympathetic and partially what am I going to do with you and motions her in. "You know, there's not really much else we can teach you. It's all repetition and just, you know...doing it."
"I know, I know. You guys have been really great and I appreciate the help, but Blair's starting me tomorrow and..." she exhales noisily.
"You'll be fine, you know."
Maka squeaks, "Really?"
Liz clucks a little, and pats Maka on the back. For a moment, she wonders if this is what having an older sister is like - someone to encourage you and help you along. Then she remembers the sheer number of dick jokes she's had to endure since training with Liz, and she's not entirely sure why that's still comforting.
"Really."
The blond leaves her standing in the living room while she disappears into her bedroom. She reappears a few moments later with a large duffle bag that clanks slightly. "We thought this might happen. Consider this on loan."
"What?" Maka shoulders the bag, which as far as she can tell, is full of steel.
"Think of this as being kicked out of the nest. Don't wear yourself out dancing or stressing. And you know, be confident. This isn't really any different than what you're doing already; you're just performing a little more obviously. The audience is literal this time."
Oh, she realizes as Liz hustles her out the door, duffling banging into her spine and hip. It's her dancing pole. Liz prods her a little as she leaves. "If you're going to practice some more anyway, I'd make sure I do a little run through with someone who has a cock. You know, just to make sure it's really good." Maka blinks. "I bet Eater would volunteer!" And before Maka can formulate some kind of response, Liz gives her a giant, toothy grin. "See you tonight!"
The door slams not quite in her face, and Maka stares for a long moment at the peeling paint. "What." The door fails to respond.
Tsubaki, Maka finds, isn't much more helpful, though she's at least more awake and willing to sit through a run through of Maka's routine. Even after she's gotten the pole set up in their living room, and done a decent number of the moves that she's learned, Tsubaki's reaction is mostly, "Well, it looks good to me."
"Tsubaki - I need more than that! Is there anything I need to improve? How do I look? Do the moves flow together all right? Does it look stilted? It feels awkward. Does it look awkward?"
"Um," Tsubaki says, and Maka would like to strangle her best friend for the amused expression she is completely failing at hiding. "I mean, don't get me wrong," she says from her position on the couch. "I'm definitely enjoying you dancing around - I think you look fine, but I'm not exactly the expert, here."
"Thanks." It comes out dry as the desert.
"You did ask," Tsubaki admonishes her. "No reason to get snippy."
Maka's mouth twists. "I know; I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a pain in the ass."
"I know it's nerve-wracking. But you're going to do just fine, I'm sure." Maka flops next to her on the couch.
"Urgh. Don't you have any useful feedback?"
"You know," Tsubaki suggests, and Maka gives her a wary look. "If you're that worried about it - why don't you get a second opinion?"
"You are my second opinion."
"Well, if I were a guy, I'd totally fling some ones at you for that performance."
Maka can't help the laugh. "What? Just ones?"
"I'm telling you. Second opinion."
Maka groans. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
She doesn't like the sly look Tsubaki gives her. "What do you think?"
"You want me to do what now?" Soul knows that he heard her request, but he's not entirely sure that he's not hallucinating it, because there is no way in hell that she came into his apartment, took off her shirt, and immediately asked him that..
"I just need you to watch my routine and give me some feedback. Liz won't help me anymore and Tsubaki said it was alright, but she wasn't sure and they both said I needed another opinion, and, well..." She knows she's rambling, but it feels like she if she doesn't get it all out at once, she never will. It wasn't this hard to ask Tsubaki for this favor. "You are a guy."
Fuck, he thinks. "Um...thaaaaanks?"
"Well, I mean, you don't have to. I could ask Black*Star, I guess, but I'm pretty sure that Tsubaki would veto that and - "
"Do you want to ask Black*Star?" He cuts her off, voice weird and strained.
"Not really, no. He's pretty much my last resort. Except for like...Kid." She shudders.
"And your first resort?"
"As far as getting a male opinion? You, dumbass. Except you're not cooperating, and I need your help." She totally does not fiddle with the tie on her yoga pants. "Just...think of it as an assignment. You can do that, right?"
Can he? He exhales slowly and wishes in vain that he hadn't forgone his Vicodin earlier today. At least then, he would have some kind of excuse when this inevitably came back and bit him in the ass. Or other parts. Even still, he finds himself answering, "Yeah, I can do that."
She absolutely does not look excited, but her relief is palpable as she breathes a thank you and scrambles to set up Liz's portable pole.
"What is that?"
"It's a pole," she says, shifting the coffee table out of her way.
"So I see." It feels a little cramped between the tv and the futon, but she just asks Soul to stand for a moment, and scoots the futon back a little. He watches helplessly as she rearranges things to her particular specifications. "You didn't need to move all of that. I could have just moved."
She shoots him a look. "But I want you to be comfortable. You're injured." As though he was in danger of forgetting anytime soon. He doesn't bother mentioning that there is no place he can sit during this that is going approach being "comfortable."
Maka starts up her music and takes a deep breath. It is, she tells herself, just a practice run. There's no better way for her to simulate the actual conditions she's going to be working in aside from at the club itself. She can do this. The beat is heavy, on the edge of almost too slow, and it pulses through her feet and fingertips as she takes her first twirl around the pole.
She tries to focus on the music, on the bass, and not on her partner's face as she brings one long leg up and twists. She curls the other leg up, gripping the pole. Maka can feel the strain in her arms and, remembering Liz's advice, chooses to switch up her moves before her arms can give out and she falters. She rocks down, undulating against the pole, sinking into a crouch and another spin. Despite her best efforts, she can't help but look at him as she turns.
His jaw is clenched, fists tight against the fabric of his pajama pants. Soul swallows, and can't decide which he wants more - to ask her to stop or to beg her to continue. He's known since he met her that she has a sort of natural grace, even with the way she would falter slightly on her unfamiliar heels. He just never really expected to be confronted with it quite like this. The music fades into the next song on her playlist, and he realizes with a jolt that she's stopped and is staring at him expectantly.
"Uh," he manages. Her hands settle on her hips. He catches his breath. "It was good. Really good."
"Why is that all anyone will tell me? Wasn't there something that needed to be changed? Something I can do better? I think my turns are too jerky - "
"N-not really. I guess..." he struggles to find words that aren't essentially take me, I'm yours, and settles on, "You're a little...stiff? Maybe try to loosen up a little."
She scowls a little. "I am trying. It's...hard. I'm not good at this."
He would beg to fucking differ. She's more than good enough at this, and he's simultaneously glad and furious that he's not going to be at the club to see her perform. Soul leans forward gingerly, fingertips reaching out to brush her arm. "Really? You're going to be fine. No one there is going to be able to tell that you haven't been doing this for ages."
She gives him a small smile, "I can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not."
"Compliment," he assures her, and in that moment, he isn't sure just what it is that possesses him. "There is one thing, though."
"What?" She uncrosses her arms and focuses her attention on him. It's disconcerting and heady in equal measures, and he's waiting for this whole thing to go horribly, spectacularly wrong.
"Have you considered that being a dancer means that you're going to be...ah, available?"
"For the private rooms?" He nods. "It's crossed my mind," she admits. She swallows and licks her lips, and Soul is completely incapable of reading her face, and that is completely why he's still staring at her. "What do you suggest? More practice?"
Fuck. "It might not be a bad idea." He tries for a casual smirk. "I mean, I'm already here." Her lips twitch in response.
"For the assignment."
"For the assignment," he agrees as she moves a little closer.
The song on her mp3 player isn't one she's overly familiar with, but she doesn't take the time to change it. She's not sure that if she does, she'll have the guts to go through with this. Her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as she forces herself to slip back into the thrumming bass. Her hips move carefully in a slow sway, and Soul has never been quite so grateful for electronica before. It's hard not to be reminded of their first accidental encounter. Soul barely survived that one with his dignity intact, and as she leans over him, tips of her ponytail brushing his collarbone, her warm hands resting carefully on his shoulders, he's not really anticipating a better outcome. She backs away, fingers trailing along his arms, down towards his lap and twists, hips still moving. He's got a clear shot of the line of her spine and what has to be the best ass he's ever seen.
"How's this?" she asks, tone carefully neutral as she bends at the waist. He has never been more turned on by a pair of yoga pants, and it's starting to fuck with him.
"Good. Maybe a little closer." He wonders how long it is going to take before he can't stop himself from touching. His fists clench just a little tighter into his pants as she wriggles back towards him, arching back up. It's a hideously unpracticed move, and it might be the hottest thing he's seen as she looks over her shoulder at him. "Better," he croaks.
She grins a little at his approval and turns back to face him. He can only catch a moment's hesitation before she's hovering over him again. He presses back against the futon as far as he can go and tells himself that it's to give her the space she needs to move properly. She plants her knees on either side of his thighs, and rocks carefully in time with the music as it slides into yet another bass-heavy track.
"Hands?" she asks, and she's pretty sure she's failing at her attempt to keep this professional and clinical. Soul nods once, almost sharply, and she lets herself touch his shoulders again, bringing her fingers to chase lightly across his collarbones and down his arms. They hover for a moment at his hips and she gives him another look.
He nods again with a faint, "Careful," and she skims her hands back up his chest, barely tracing his stitches. Soul makes a noise in the back of his throat that she's never heard before, and she stops, terrified for a moment that she's hurt him. He must see the panic on her face because he hastily says, "Keep going."
She sinks back over her heels, hips and hands still constantly moving, and Soul bites his lip. He should stop her. He should stop her because she clearly has a grip on what she needs to do. He should stop her because this is more than the assignment, because he's hard and in half a second, she's going to start gyrating against what he considers to be the most unfortunate of boners - he can think of a million reasons to ask her to stop, and all he can do is bite his lip and dig his fingers into his thighs.
She doesn't stop, and he doesn't ask, and he can tell the moment she rubs against him. She pauses, green eyes impossibly wide as she looks at him. Maka wonders if he can tell how shallow her breathing is. There's something almost apologetic in his blown out pupils as he stares at her. She's not stupid, and she's not innocent, but this is her partner now. It doesn't matter that they'd started down this road before, that this isn't the first time she's learned what his erection feels like - that was a different situation, and they may as well have been different people. She can smell his soap.
Maka moves, eyes never leaving his. She rolls her hips and doesn't try to hide the way she's breathing - short and sharp.
Soul swallows thickly. His hands slide up her thighs to grasp her hips and he's not supposed to touch - in no possible scenario is it ok for him to be touching her like this.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat grinds against him, eyes still focused unerringly on him.
He is in so much trouble.