A/N: written for a prompt I received on tumblr that turned into something slightly smutty. I'm sorry.
She presses small kisses along each scar as she makes her way down his body. Starting with the ones that remind her of crescent moons against his tan skin to the ones that blend with him.
They each tell a different story, a different struggle, a different battle. They exist because of the profession they both chose to enter – the dangers of it always being close by. And most importantly, they're there because of her. It's her who puts him in the path of trouble more than he should be. He's a weapon who would lay his life down to protect her from harm no matter what, a fact that she knows all too well.
A hiss passes through his lips when she reaches the tip of the longest scar he has, the one that pierces his skin diagonally. The one where the skin around it still hasn't healed perfectly even though a decade has passed since it occurred. It's the scar that holds the most weight in their partnership because it's the one that changed both of them.
It's here that she takes her time.
Kissing along the outline of his old wound, whispering the promise she made back then that feel centuries old by now, and reminding them both that this is a product of their relationship. This scar is the one that defines their partnership and helps them grow as human beings. Its purpose is more than a reminder of the risks their job holds.
When she sees it, she remembers a young boy who jumped in front of her to protect her when she gave up. He remembers the time he almost lost his meister. They're both versions of a nightmare that haunts their dreams to this day and follows them in the shadows of Death City during daylight.
But their partnership has evolved and grown since then as well. There have been trials and tribulations that they've both undergone and conquered with the help of each other. His scars, her scars, they have both led them to what they are today. Even this scar that rules a large part of their life has helped shape them into a couple who trusts each other above everyone else, who love each other more than anything, and are willing to protect the other from danger because just like him, she's also taken the fall to protect her weapon.
Her own scars serve as a reminder just like his. The ones that have healed. The ones that still litter her skin like crescent moons and stars on an oil canvas. The ones that he has kissed and loved in the past; whispered the adoration he holds for her within his heart and let her know that he'll never hurt her again.
This is what she tries to convey through her own actions. Peppering kisses along the thunderbolt scars that lash out from old stitches, she tries to tell him how much he and this scar mean to her. How much she remembers that night every day and promises to never give him a chance to defend her like that again. Brushing her hands along his sides, she tries to send the same chills that he gives her when he does it to her, leading to the waistband of his boxers.
A loud moan fills the quiet room as she continues from the end of his scar to where his happy trail starts. Her hands grow bold as they bring down his boxers and she kisses down the white tuft of hair to where he's already hard and she peppers delicate kisses along his shaft. Another moan escapes him, and she feels his hand knit itself in her hair, his dull nails pressing into her scalp when she sucks on the sensitive part of him.
"Maka," he says, a cross between a groan and a whisper. She halts what she's doing to look at him.
Faint moonlight shining through his window doses his white mussed hair so that it appears translucent. A rose tint blotches across his skin from the heat that he no doubt feels because it's reflected in her own body.
His sanguine gaze is dark and heavy as he stares down at her. A fire burns beneath it that sets her blood to burn and the ache between her legs to grow more desperate.
"I love you."
The smallest of smiles forms on her lips as she leans back down to kiss the tip of his shaft, and she quietly repeats his words there before taking him in her mouth. The bedsheets bunch as he grasps them and groans out a small chorus of her name. His hand grips strands of her hair and knots it as she licks along the side of his dick; his hips buck up ever so slightly when she presses her thumb against the outline of the vein on the underside.
It's intimate and private, this moment they have together. A different kind of promise they make to each other that they don't share with anyone else.
A promise they make in the dead of night when the rest of Death City is asleep and well. A reminder that they belong to each other in a world that has helped shape them into child soldiers and secret lovers. A world where a meister and weapon can manage to conquer so many battles, gain so many scars, and still come out safe on the other side.
