Note: I own nothing. Also this is smutty so rated M for private parts and all that. This was actually a birthday gift. I'm so glad I live in a world where erotica can be given as a gift and no one questions it. A thank you to Professor Maka for always being an awesome beta! Okay, I hope you all enjoy!
She awakens to the quiet buzz of music coming from his room, and she's curious. He had tossed a sheet over her where she had fallen asleep on the couch, but she can see that his bedroom door is open, the flickering light of a candle glowing from within. He must be over thinking again; he tends to do that by firelight. That's something she understands deeply.
Everything seems more sacred when bathed in the light cast by the elements.
She pulls the sheet off herself, reveling in the wonderfully cool breeze that drifts in their open window, toes curling happily when she stretches her spine, their old couch squeaking quietly beneath her. Blair is out working tonight, probably how the window had ended up open to begin with. She can't say honestly that she isn't pleased about that fact, sleeping snuggled up with Soul without a fluffy cat tail in her nose is always a nice thing.
She tiptoes along the floorboards, not for the sake of surprising Soul, but for the sake of preserving the beautiful stillness of their home, and she realizes that there must have been a power outage. She can't even hear the refrigerator, and while she knows she'll hate having to deal with that later, for now, the peace is beautiful. She can taste the purity of the breeze, see the glow of the moon and stars filtering in the open window, feel the way the flame dances gracefully within Soul's room, and the way his soul flutters contentedly with the realization that she's awake.
Her face flushes, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool crispness of the air, and goosebumps dapple her skin.
When she makes it to his door, he's already standing, messing around with his ipod and pretending not to notice that she's there, but of course he does, he always notices. She can't see his eyes, obscured by the shadow cast by his bangs.
She watches his shadow on the wall, musing how strange it is to still recognize someone even by their vague outlines, the way his shoulders move and weight shifts from foot to foot, the way his hair casts messy darkness along the wall, and it's times like these where she's truly unafraid of the dark, because if it's something that's a part of him, she has nothing to fear from it.
She laughs quietly at the thought of his shadow peeling off the wall, hugging her protectively to shield her from the chill of the air while Soul's actual body vehemently ignores her for the sake of amusement. The chuckle gets caught in her throat when he finally looks up at her, ipod forgotten on the table, playing something jazzy and smooth. His eyes flicker in the glow, filled with something that makes her shiver, but he only smiles softly, pulling her toward him to place her hands on his shoulders, his fingers gripping her hips, curling around them possessively.
She's not as tired as she had been before, but she's feeling playful, so she sighs dramatically and whines about needing more sleep.
He's always been able to see right through such pretenses, and just chuckles against the smooth skin of her throat, placing a chaste kiss there.
"You don't wanna dance with me Maka? You used to ask me to all the time. Am I no good anymore?" He grins against her skin, nips at it lightly when she opens her mouth to give him some sort of snarky answer, chuckling when the words die before they can make it past her lips.
"Y-you're, hah, still uhmmdecent."
"Uh huh, just decent?"
"Wanna prove me wrong?"
She can feel the way his pulse jumps against her palms, the way his breath quickens, and she smiles.
"You know I'm all about fucking up people's expectations of me. But like-ah- in a good way?"
She loves and hates how he starts out so confidently, but always ends up looking to her to see if it's justified. Is he right to be so sure of himself? Is that okay?
It's always okay. Someday he'll be sure of that.
"Always. Now c'mon loser, show me those moves."
His arms wind around her waist, his thighs pressing against hers. He merely sways with her, fingers drawing circles in the skin beneath her uniform shirt, and she doesn't mind that he's not doing anything elaborate. She'd be too groggy to actually dance without crushing or stubbing toes in the process.
His hands drift further up the back of her shirt, fingers grazing the elastic band of her bra, but making no motion to unhook it, just strokes her skin, laughing lightly when she involuntarily arches her back pressing her chest closer to his. His calloused fingertips brush against her shoulder blades, and she moans, shuddering.
When the white noise is shut off, it's like all of her senses are elevated, the music buzzing in her veins, the smell of his skin overwhelming and arousing, his touch enough to make her knees weak. Maybe she should invest in some coolers and just 'forget' to pay the electric bill sometime.
She twines her fingers into the baby hairs at the back of his neck, nibbling at his collarbone as his nails drag down her back dully. He leans down, breath ghosting across the shell of her ear, and she shivers when his bottom lip brushes her skin with every syllable when he asks,
"Sick of my 'killer' moves yet?"
She presses her warm cheek against his before pulling back to kiss him, her tongue shy but insistent against his.
When she pulls back, a fire stokes in her abdomen at the look he gives her, at the way she sees the slick shine from their kiss still glistening on his lips. His eyes are dark and wanting, but he doesn't make a move, save for his slightly laboured breaths. He just waits.
"I could never get sick of your moves. But," her hands slip from his neck, down his torso, lower still,"I think I'm sick of this dance." She rubs his hardness through his boxers, and he groans, his forehead knocking against her collarbone as he lets out a shaky exhale. His mouth finds hers again, and he lifts her by the hips so she can wrap her muscular legs around his waist, backing up toward his bed and sitting down carefully on the end of it. He turns them both over so they're facing each other on their sides, stares at her dreamily while he tugs at the bottom of her uniform shirt.
"Can I?" he asks, fingers fiddling with one of the large silver buttons, his lips barely brushing hers as he speaks, eyes heavy lidded with lust (and a little bit of drowsiness, she can tell). She answers by brushing his hands down to the zipper of her skirt instead, unbuttoning her shirt herself, slow and meticulous, careful not to tear a single thread.
The sound of her zipper being undone is almost deafening in her hypersensitive ears, and she notices with mild amusement that his motions match the rhythm of the music still playing in the background, as if he's unconsciously bound to it. He pulls her skirt down her legs with the utmost care, avoiding the bruises that littler her thighs from bracing his staff against them while training. She can see in his eyes the way he makes a note to kiss them better, later, when he can put more energy into it.
For now though, she just wants him, wants to be connected with him, to feel him inside her. It's a need for comfort more than primal lust, waves of his soul lapping at the shore of hers, serene and obedient, waiting for her to accept and take whatever he has to offer.
When she's rid herself of her shirt, tie, and bra, she presses her chest against his, both of them bare and overheated, their skin sticking together slightly while the air kisses them cooly. His fingers slip between her thighs, pressing lightly against her core through her panties, and she shivers and moans when he gasps out against her mouth.
"You're so wet."
He breathes it so quietly, a secret just for them. Her hips undulate, grinding down into his hand, and he has the good grace to pull her panties off her while she pushes his sweatpants down his hips. She's about to turn him over to his back, sink onto him and ride him slow, but he grips her waist, a look of promise in his eyes burning like the coals of a smouldering fire, and leans over so he's hovering over her, his length sliding against her pussy teasingly. When he slides inside, her eyes roll back, nails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts hard and slow, his chest slick with a fine sheen of sweat, scar tissue brushing over her nipples in a way that makes it feel like his touch is electrically charged. The coil of pleasure tightens in her belly when she reaches down with a hand, stroking her clit languidly in time with Soul's thrusts and the music.
He kisses her, sloppy and sleepy but full of love, and when he tells her he's about to come, she wraps her legs around him tightly, takes all of him within her as they both shudder with orgasm. His warmth spreads through her, fighting off the chill of any worries she may have had through the day.
They fall asleep to their own heartbeats, the music mix long over, but their own song grown strong.