A/N: Not really smut, but a few moments that skirt the inappropriate, mostly thanks to Soul's drunk antics so NSFW. Written for the VDay Challenge on tumblr, Day 6, Flirt.

A backless dress and some beat up sneaks,

My discothèque, Juliet teenage dream.

I felt it in my chest as she looked at me.

I knew we were bound to be together,

Bound to be together.

She'd already had to turn down no less than half a dozen drunk assholes with beer goggles firmly in place that evening, so when the seventh tap on her shoulder came, Maka whirled around, ready for the fight. What greeted her were red eyes, white hair, and a sharp smile, so she let out a sigh.

"Death, Soul, I thought you were yet another wasted dudebro hoping for an easy score," she said as she eyed him. He was looking even more droopy eyed than usual, but then, he never had much liked this type of scene. Getting him to agree to come out to a club for Patti's eighteenth birthday had taken just the right mix of threats, guilt, and promises of an early retreat. Perhaps that was what he wanted now, though he had to know an hour wasn't going to cut it, not by half. "And we're not leaving yet, so don't bother asking," she added preemptively.

"Dunwanna leave," he said. "Wanna dance."

"Huh?" her eyebrows shot up.

"You know," he gestured to the dance floor behind him. "Dance? Like, to music? Wanna?"

"You want-to dance. With me?" she managed, slightly stunned because Soul never wanted to dance in public. Ever.

"Pretty sure I jus' said that. Twice. So?" He tilted his head, and he was grinning far too much which, along with actually asking her to dance heavily suggested to Maka he'd been drinking. May as well take the opportunity, she decided, since it would probably never happen again.

"Sure," she said with a small shrug. "Let's dance."

"Yes!" he half shouted, fistpumping, to which she just rolled her eyes as she hopped off the stool and led him across the dance floor. Suddenly, she was glad she'd insisted on wearing an old pair of Chuck Taylors she'd commandeered from Soul when he outgrew them years ago instead of the heels Liz had tried to coerce her into-sneakers were much better for dancing, and she fully intended to make the most of the situation.

Finally near the center of the floor, she turned to him and smiled. A new song was beginning, something with a beat, so she started moving and so did he, though he was a bit wobbly on his feet. Just how much had he had to drink, anyway?

For a minute they just danced. And then-then-Soul was singing along. Only badly. Very badly.

"Swing your butt round and round!" he shouted with the song, slightly out of time. "Hell yeah!" he grinned at her, stepping closer. "Do it, Maka! Swing it!"

She frowned at him, pointedly, her dancing halted.

"Awwww, c'mon Maka! I wanna see you swing dat ass!"

Oh Death, he must have had a lot to drink. A really lot. She should have known letting Patti drag him off was a mistake.

"Okay, first," she crossed her arms, frown deepening. "He said partner, not butt." Her own partner snorted and she shook her head. "And second, no. Just, no."

While Maka was standing, her weapon was still gyrating in the most grossly arrhythmic way. If sober Soul could see himself, he'd probably die, not just because of his ridiculous attempt at dancing, but because he was actually trying to sing along to music he absolutely loathed. He also appeared to be ignoring her words and her frown both, because he was singing along again.

"End of the night it's goin' doooooown!" He was grinning as he stepped closer, his face inches from hers. "I want you to go dooooown, Maka. How come you never go down?"

Going scarlet, because as sarcastic and gross as Soul could be, he was never, never this lewd, she stepped back and stifled the urge to slap him because he was clearly that drunk. "Soul," she said sternly, his name on her lips a warning. "Just shut up and dance."

"Actually," he stepped closer again, smirking down at her. "I could go down. I'd be down. Want me to go down?"

She smacked his chest, hard, growling. "Stop, Death Soul, just-stop."

The song changed, and suddenly, it was "wanna take a ride on my disco stick?" and Maka had had enough. Drunk or not, she chopped him, hard, causing him to collapse in agony. Ignoring the stares of the civs all around her, she hauled her weapon off his ass and dragged him, dazed and still completely plastered, over to where Patti was holding court with a line of shots in front of her, and a clearly flagging Black Star on the other side of the table, a crowd gathered to watch the stand off.

"What did you give him?" Maka gritted out at the demon pistol, who shrugged.

"He was drinking a totally lame rum and coke, so I ordered him a Patti Party and-"

"A Patti-Party?" the meister blinked.

"Yep! A shot each or orange, strawberry, and cinnamon schnapps, a fifth of vodka, and a some pineapple juice."

"Oh no, you didn't…" Maka groaned, appalled. Soul could barely hold a rum and coke. No wonder he was so far gone.

"I sure did~!" Patti sang happily.

"Oh yeah she did!" Soul put in from just behind Maka, before wrapping his arms around her and pressing against her back, resting his chin on her shoulder. She felt something decidedly hard against her rear and almost jumped, but forced herself not to react, not here, not in front of their friends. Death oh death, though, he was totally gone.

"I wanted my birthday to be fun-" the grin the demon pistol sported was positively maniacal "-And just look at him, Mr. Broody Death Scythe, he's actually enjoying himself instead of sulking in a corner!"

"Greeaaaat," Maka groaned out. She felt Soul's hands on her hips start to stray into ass territory and grimaced. "Well, we're going. I think Mr. Broody Death Scythe needs go home and sober up. Happy Birthday-have fun."

"Awwww!" Patti pouted unhappily. "You're no fun-or maybe you just wanna have fun without me back home." She waggled her eyebrows and Maka just rolled her eyes.

"You're as bad as he is," she grumbled. "Come on, Soul. We're leaving."

"Awwwwww!" he echoed Patty as Maka wrenched out of his grip and grabbed his hand to haul him bodily across the club resisting the urge to chop him again for practically groping her with that pressed against her. They were out quickly enough, though how they were going to get home was another issue. Well, Maka was sober. She could ride, awkward as it would be.

She fished out their riding jackets and he stuck his tongue out as he clumsily donned the jacket and scoffed at the helmet. "Pfft, you are being such a drag." He pouted, and it might have been almost cute if she weren't so irritated with him. "Someone needed a Patti Party of her own."

"Oh shut up and put the helmet on or I'm gonna chop you again," she growled and he grumbled about "mean meisters in stupid sexy dresses," but did as she asked.

Maka mounted the bike, gripping the handlebars, and when her weapon just blinked at her, snapped, "Get on. You are way too drunk to drive, but I'm pretty sure you can hold on." Again, he complied with more grumbling, pressing himself to her back and sighing as she revved the bike and took off.

Her driving was clumsy-he always drove-but she had done it once or twice so she at least she could. Though, admittedly, the fact his hands around her middle kept on moving up to the bottom of her chest was distracting and infuriating. She wasn't positive he was doing it on purpose, but with his earlier behavior, she really wouldn't doubt it.

Fortunately, the club wasn't that far from their apartment, and in ten minutes they were home, parked, and trudging up the stairs. Soul was still wobbly, so she ended up having to walk behind him to make sure the idiot didn't fall on his stupid drunk ass.

By the time they hit the second flight of stairs, Maka was practically carrying him up, and by the third flight she actually was. She had to scoop him up like a blushing bride and he grinned widely at her and slurred, "this mean I get ta kiss the bride?"

"Oh shove it," she growled as he clung to her neck even tighter. When she got to their door, his face was buried in the side of her neck and she was beyond fed up. Fumbling with the key while struggling to keep him in her grasp, she finally unlocked it and kicked open the door to march over and dump her idiot weapon unceremoniously on the couch.

"Hey!" Soul protested, but she was deaf to him, growling "just stay there!" before storming off to the kitchen for water and bread in what was probably a vain attempt to sober him. Patti did not mess around with her drinks.

She came back with her offering and, forcing him to sit up, shoved it at him.

"Eat and drink." She tried not to snap,

He waggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. "Got somethin' else I'd like to eat."

"Death you're disgusting." She sighed. Why was he suddenly so-so-lewd? And the worst part was, it wasn't like she didn't want his attention. But this? He was just being gross and ridiculous, attempting to get a rise out of her. It was really starting to piss her off, drunk or not. "If you're that hard up, I'm sure you can find a fangirl," she snapped.

"Pfffft, you're dumb," he said with a snort. "Dunwanna fangirl. Now who's gross?"

"Just. Don't talk. Drink."

He complied, dribbling water down his front and frowning. "But i's not vodka," he whined.

"You need more alcohol like you need a hole in the head. Actually, the hole would be better at this point, and I'll even be happy to provide it if you don't freaking drink that. Now."

"Mean," Soul grumbled but took another messy drink. "Cruel, cruel meister with her stupid hot dress and stupid water and stupid mean face. Ya know though," he said as he grinned up at her. "Even yer mean face is hot."

She rolled her eyes. "Finish your water and eat the bread, Cassanova."

He giggled. "Want me to casa your nova?"

"What does that even-mean?" The meister shook her head.

"Can show you, if ya want?" Her weapon offered with another lewd grin.

Her only response was to swipe the bread from his lap and chuck it in his face. Hard.

"Ouch, hey!" He glare-pouted at her and, again, it was actually almost cute. "Like I said, mean."

"Eat," she growled and his pout remained as he shoved the bread petulantly in his mouth and chewed.

She flipped on the TV, hoping to distract both of them while he started to sober, and after about 15 minutes without a single dirty comment, she figured he just might be.

"How you feeling?" Maka asked.

"Tired," he admitted with a deep yawn.

"Probably going to have a wicked headache in the morning, too." She smiled sweetly.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Soul groaned.

"You deserve it. What the hell was that anyway?" While he was sobering, she figured he was still well drunk enough to actually answer instead of avoiding the question.

"What was what?" He side eyed her.

"That." She waved a frustrated hand. "All the-" she lowered her pitch in imitation of him "-'I got something I wanna eat, ride my disco stick babe'-dudebro crap."

"Uhhhhh." He looked at her, scratched the back of his neck, and offered a hopeful little smile. "Flirting?"

She blinked at him. Once twice. "Flirting?" She questioned, incredulous.

"Flirting," her weapon repeated, his smile growing sheepish.

"Soul," she said with a sigh. "That-was not flirting. It was more like-sexual harassment, really. Seriously. Never flirt. You're terrible at it."

He was blinking at her stupidly, still too gone to process her censure properly, when suddenly her mind came to a screeching halt as realization hit her.

"Wait-why were you flirting? I swear, you must have the world's worst beer goggles," she groaned.

Soul actually laughed at that, choking on his own amusement, shaking his head. "Nooooo, you're just stupid," he chuckled, smirking at her. "Stupid hot," he added and began laughing uproariously at his own joke.

Heaving her umpteenth sigh that night, Maka stood up. "Alright, enough. Bedtime," she said firmly.

Her weapon looked up at her, eyebrows raised, a new hopeful smile on his face. "Really?"

"In your bed. Alone," she added with an eyeroll.

His face fell at that and she plopped down next to him, spent, muttering about stupid scythes who only flirt drunk and suck at it. She was starting to feel the toll of having to drag him around half the night, and exhaustion suddenly hit her hard.

Too tired to protest when he yawned loudly and dropped his head into her lap, Maka began to play with his hair absently, lamenting that it was so stiff from his crappy hair gel, causing him to murmur sleepy appreciation into her thigh.

At least he seemed done trying to 'flirt'-she wasn't sure her heart could take any more of that. It was nice, sitting here with him. Hell, even the idea he wanted to flirt with her was nice, dismal as it had been in execution. Too bad it was clearly just alcohol induced insanity rather than a heartfelt desire. How many times had she tried to flirt with him, only to find him either oblivious or uncaring? To have the tables turned like this, well, it felt like some sort of sick cosmic joke, the universe playing havoc with her poor, battered heart.

She let out a long breath. Nice as this was, being close, after tonight it also hurt, and they really should go to bed.

"Soul?" she said softly. He didn't stir so she shook him, said his name louder.

"Five more minz," he mumbled.

"Soul," his name came out as a soft sigh.

"Love you, Maka," he muttered sleepily as he nuzzled deeper into her thigh.

"W-what?" she gasped.

He didn't answer, just sighed in soft contentment. But-what he said-he-

"Wait, get up. Did you just say you love me?" She hauled him off her lap, startling him, causing him to shoot up in surprise and blink down at her blearily for a moment.

"'Course I love you, stupid. You're Maka." Then he sat on the floor, suddenly, heavily. "Tired. 'M gonna sleep." He yawned. "Hope I dream about you," he continued as he laid down on the floor, head pillowed on his arms. "Best dreams are-of you-" he sighed into his arms and then he was snoring softly, Maka peering down at him wide eyed.

Her heart was racing as she shook his shoulder because he'd just-and anyway she shouldn't just leave him on the floor. But his only response was "go 'way," so she gave up with a last heavy sigh and slipped into his room to grab his comforter and pillow to make him more comfortable, before slipping into her own room and retiring with her own comforter and pillow in tow to sleep on the sofa above him.

This whole night had left her completely spent, but with his last words, her heart soared, emotional clarity hiting her with the precision of a laser beam.

He had tried, pathetically, but tried nonetheless, to flirt. With her. And she realized with sudden force that drunk as he was, he hadn't even glanced at another girl.

Only her. Only her.

He was right, she really was stupid.

Resolving to have a long talk with her weapon in the morning, Maka buried her head in her pillow to get some sleep. Just as was true of all her best nights, that night, she dreamt only of Soul.