AN: I do not own Soul Eater, or any of it's characters. That right belongs to Atsushi Okubo. This is rater M due to sexually explicit content and language. You've been warned!
He never had extra-curricular activities after school before. He wasn't much for sports, and as much as he loved music, he never had been of the team/troupe mentality. The Bandies were all too enthusiastic for him to deal with anyway.
This though? He was always more orally inclined, and in this case, he'd taken a serious interest in the subject.
Miss Maka Albarn, top of their senior class, head of the lacrosse team, captain and holder of the record for pitching the most no hitters for Death City High base ball team, is currently undulating in his lap, moaning appreciatively as she allows Soul to slide into second base to palm a perfect, warm, soft tit beneath her sweat dampened practice jersey.
She's so very warm in his lap, her breath hot against his mouth, and neck, and oh god his ear, but the cement of the dugout wall is pleasantly cool against his now bare back. She had rid him of that 'pretentious band t shirt' (her words not his, Radiohead is fucking awesome okay), about five minutes ago, right before shoving him onto the recently vacated bench of the dugout and settling herself over his already stiff dick. She had rubbed against him so achingly slow, and bitten his shoulder so hard he was sure it would leave a mark, much to his delight.
Even now he can still feel the way his skin is indented with her almost perfectly straight teeth, a little 'o' of notches with just one notch tilted slightly out of alignment. Then he remembers that he's still got a gorgeous, badass mass of incredible woman in his lap/hands and gets back to trying to map the entirety of her torso with his fingers, massaging and pinching in the places that bring the sexiest, most content noises from her.
His world comes to a screeching halt when he hears the almost painfully loud metallic sound of two zippers being undone, then gets hurtled back into rotation when she puts her right hand into his boxers, and leads his right hand into her panties. She's absolutely scorching between her thighs, and so very wet, and yeah she may be all sweaty from practice, but he can tell the difference between her exertion and arousal easily. She's wet for him, and he feels so giddy, so high on her it couldn't possibly be legal. In reality it probably isn't legal to fuck around on school property, but one jerk of her wrist, and it's wiped from his thoughts easily. They didn't call her Magic Arm Albarn for nothing, hot fucking damn.
She whines desperately, and he realizes that she's still wet for him, and he really ought to help her out, cause she's certainly giving him quite the helping hand, and he's nothing if not fair. He teases her a bit, just to be sure, but she's already open and waiting, so he slips his index into her slowly, shuddering when she moans and clenches around him, the vibration of her voice running through his finger, up his arm, and back down his spine.
She grinds herself into his hand, and soon he slips another digit inside her sex and she cries out, muffling the sound into his shoulder, biting once more when his thumb starts tracing circles around her swollen clit. Her grip on him tightens, and his breath catches in his throat.
And suddenly, she's detaching from him, slipping his hand from her underwear and hopping off his lap. He whimpers at the chill of the faint breeze on his recently freed fingers and his aching cock, but his whimper turns to a groan as he sees her trying to shimmy her way out of those tight black baseball pants that make her ass look criminally fantastic.
He reaches out to help her, one hand hooking into a belt loop and tugging downward, the other hand threading into her now loosened pig tails. Her cheeks are flushed bright pink and littered with freckles from too much sun (damn stubborn girl refuses to put a cap on to shield herself because it messes up her hairdo), and her lips are swollen and parted with her excited breaths. He sits up straighter, ever so gently tugging one of her twin-tails to bring her mouth to his, and for a moment they forget that they're trying to get her naked enough to sink down onto him, they simply share their space and breath.
But it isn't long before their kiss turns heated, tongues tracing and landscaping areas unfamiliar, teeth catching on each other's lips in the most satisfying ways, and she's too hot in these damn polyester pants, she needs out, now.
They've managed to get her uniform halfway down those lovely, long legs, his lips peppering kisses all along her thighs, when they hear voices.
They're frozen, listening in horror as the voices of her fellow teammates, Tsubaki and Liz, get closer and closer. Maka looks absolutely horrified, and Soul can't imagine he looks much better. Then Maka snaps out of her funk and starts tugging her pants back up, whispering frantically for him to put his dick back in his pants, for fuck's sake Soul!
They're hardly clothed and she's shoving him out the other side of the dugout after checking if the coast is clear, giving him a quick kiss and telling him,
"Text me in 20, okay?"
And as he hides outside the dugout, zipping his fly as quietly as possible, listening to Maka try to convince her friends the hickey on her neck is really just a bee-sting, and them cackling at her poor cover, he knows for a fact that he's going to text her sooner than that.