A/N: In this chapter, we return to Maka's POV, where we will be staying for awhile to come. We also veer into some M territory. There's no smut, but it does flirt with the line, so THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M/NSFW for mild sexual content. As usual, thanks to rebornfromash and ilarual for being awesome betas and just damned good sounding boards and writers in their own right. If you aren't reading their stuff, go do it now, because you've been seriously missing out.
After the salon and lunch, and then, more errands, Maka had figured they'd return to the house, and they did, but only to change. Apparently, the bridal party had plans for the evening, courtesy of the bride and groom, and both Soul and Maka were expected to partake.
She'd been directed to a large guest bathroom in the upstairs of the main house, told by Sophia that her stylist had left something for her just for this evening, and was only slightly disappointed to note that Soul was nowhere to be found. As Aria would tell her later when she asked, the boys had already come and gone.
Probably for the best. As much as she had missed him all day, she still had no clue how to behave around him after that kiss. The mere thought made her flush scarlet all over again and, spotting a large box on the dressing table, she strode over and opened it if only for the distraction.
What she saw made her jaw drop.
They expected her to wear-this?
She shook her head as she lifted the little leather skirt that was even shorter than her typical meister wear, along with the slinky silver backless halter, with a scoop front that looked as though it would dip far too low. The box also included some gold bangles, a small gold clutch, and a pair of strappy and very high black heels, along with a lacy black thong. No bra was forthcoming.
Maka cringed. She couldn't wear this-she'd look like-like-Blair.
But how could she not wear it when Soul's mother had gone to so much trouble? It was an odd choice, for her would be mother-in-law to dress her so-so-provocatively, and she silently wondered if the woman weren't desperate for grandchildren.
She flushed again at the very notion, at the idea of her and Soul doing-doing-well, what it took to make grandchildren, and thought that Soul's mother was in for a hell of a wait.
With a resigned sigh, she decided it was best to just get dressed and so she did, wearing her hair down to offer a slight bit more cover, and only just glancing in the mirror above the sink to assure herself that her makeup was still in place before making her way downstairs, feeling wobbly and awkward in the too high heels.
Again struck by the sheer grandeur of the place, Maka paused midway down the stairs to stare at the large crystal chandelier that sparkled above the entryway, far closer now in the curved staircase. She had to remind herself that this was a home, the very home her weapon had been reared in, yet it was more posh than the finest hotel, and for not the first time, the meister felt entirely out of her element. With another sigh, she took the rest of the stairs to find Aria waiting for her at the bottom. She was wearing a short, tight red sleeveless dress that flared out at mid thigh and highlighted her curves. It was vibrant yet tasteful, much like the woman herself-Maka thought it suited her well.
If her whistle of appreciation and wide smile was anything to go by, then Aria approved of Maka's outfit in turn.
"That what Jean Luc left?"
Maka just nodded, trying to ignore her embarrassed flush as she looked around for Sophia, who had mentioned something about meeting her downstairs.
"Well, that man may be a pretentious little thing, but he knows his stuff. Your boy'd better stick by you, 'cause the other boys'll be all over you."
Her would-be sister-in-law was grinning, and there was a smug glow in her soul that Maka didn't quite get, but she didn't have time to work it out as Aria grabbed her by the elbow and led her towards the door.
"We should get going if-"
"But what about Sophia?" Maka stopped, confused.
"Oh, right! Thanks for reminding me! Sophia really wanted to see what Jean Luc had come up with for the evening, but had to run out-some sort of emergency with the flowers for the rehearsal dinner-so she asked me to snap a picture."
The other woman pulled her phone from her clutch and said "smile" before snapping a few shots of a somewhat confused Maka.
"There we are. Now, ready?" Maka just nodded because she was as ready as she was likely to be, allowing herself to be tugged along to the sleek black limousine waiting just outside the door.
After they were seated and settled, a glass of champagne in front of each of them at the bride-to-be's insistence, Maka asked where they'd be picking up the others.
"Oh, we have this baby to ourselves! The others are in different cars, though we can rearrange the ride home to our liking-and if your liking includes some alone time with that fine husband of yours, well, I'd be more than happy to help a sister out," Aria said with a wink.
The meister colored at the implications but gave a short nod. "That'd be perfect," she somehow managed to get out without tripping over the words, and the knowing grin the other woman gave her had her flushing scarlet all over again.
It wasn't that the meister planned to use the car for that, of course not. She just knew her weapon, knew after a day like this that Soul would be in desperate need of time apart from other people, and she figured this was the ideal way to give it to him, implications be damned. It wasn't as though those implications really bothered her anyway, other than to remind her that they weren't true, never would be true.
Maka was a grown woman and she loved her weapon; she could admit that she wanted to be with him, wanted him, if only to herself. The very idea of it made her feel overheated, even in the air conditioned confines of the limo. The thought of it after that kiss, after the impossibly soft and warm feeling of his lips on hers, made her feel strange and entirely overwrought.
Yes, this trip was definitely going to be the death of her.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Maka asked after a moment, more because she needed to distract herself from her thoughts than because she cared.
"It's a surprise." The other woman smiled.
"A… surprise?" What type of surprise required Maka to dress like she worked at Chupa Cabras? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Aria laughed, then, shaking her head. "Not really, though your expression was priceless! Wes was right, you two really do need to get out more-so this'll be perfect."
"What will be perfect, exactly?" Maka couldn't help the suspicion in her voice, she really couldn't.
"It's just a Jack and Jill, hun, nothing to worry over. Wes knows the owner of this great little jazz club in Manhattan, so we'll have our own section. It's damned exclusive, but that's never seemed to stop an Evans before. Don't worry, you get used to it. I just try to remind Wes not to wave his big stick around too often," her laughter was rich and genuine as she finished with, "well, not that big stick, anyway."
Maka colored for the umpteenth time that day-she really did not want to hear about her weapon's brother's 'big stick'-before forcing out a reply. "Ah, that sounds nice, I'm sure it'll be fun. Soul really likes jazz, so he'll be happy."
"Oh, I know your boy's a jazz fan-it's one of the reason Wes settled on The Silver Trumpet for this thing. He really wants his brother to enjoy himself, you know? Wants this visit not to be a one time thing. He's missed him." She was smiling softly, fondly, and a little sadly.
"It-it won't be," Maka said just as softly. "I'll make sure, I promise. I can't promise he'll see his parents, but we will visit you and Wes."
Aria's smile widened. "That would be great. He really did catch himself a good one." She picked up her champagne then, motioning to Maka to do the same, and clinked their glasses. "To catching the good ones," she said, and though it wasn't quite true, Maka still couldn't help but to agree.
Their talk drifted away from the Evans boys to settle on the preparations for the wedding, and the rest of their hour drive was companionable. Aria insisted that Maka share the bottle of champagne with her and, not really knowing how to refuse though she had never really had much alcohol, she complied. By the third glass she understood why people enjoyed the stuff. Her head felt light, like it might float off if it weren't attached, the world was just a little tilted, and the giddiness in her stomach felt warm and right. She suddenly couldn't wait to get to the club and dance, and hoped her weapon would at least indulge her in a turn on the floor.
When they pulled in front an inconspicuous brick building of middling size with a line in front that stretched half way down the block, Maka knew it must be the place, though it wasn't exactly impressive. There wasn't even a sign! Aria didn't spare a glance at the line, just walked straight up to the bouncer at the door and shared a few quiet words Maka couldn't quite make out from the few feet she stood behind her. He nodded and ushered them both inside, and Maka tried to ignore the annoyed scowls of the people still stuck in line.
Aria wasn't kidding when she said being an Evans had its perks, though of course, Maka had already started to figure that one out on the plane. She also wasn't kidding when she suggested this place was exclusive. Dark, and smokey, dripping in red velvet and black lacquer, it looked like some sort of black room echo made real. Maka wasn't sure if Soul wouldn't hate it just for that, but with the sensual music coming from the group on stage, she figured he'd be fine if he had that to distract him. Distracted herself by the odd nostalgia that hit her in entering this completely new, completely crowded space, she had paused and stared, and Aria had left her behind. Maka began to look around, seeking the bride and the rest of their group, when she felt a light touch at her elbow, and feeling his soul reaching out before she even turned, she knew exactly who the fingers that had grazed her skin belonged to.
"Hey." She turned to offer him a soft smile.
"Hey." Soul was smiling back when she met his eyes. She hazarded a glance at the rest of him and noted the red dress shirt and black slacks. He looked hot, like a dressed down version of his black room self. His very presence made her feel suddenly too warm.
"Long day, huh?" she asked dumbly. Why was this so awkward? It was just Soul. Her weapon. Her partner. Her-no. She wasn't going to go there, wasn't going to let those thoughts take hold, even if her head felt light, even if the feel of his lips on hers still lingered so many hours later, even if she had the almost painful urge to repeat that experience.
"Mmmm, yeah," he agreed, taking her arm and steering her across the club. "Wes doesn't know how to shut the fuck up sometimes."
"Hmmm… I could see how that might be-" she began, then as she noticed they were edging around the dance floor, she tugged him to a halt. "-hey, I wanna dance. Can we?"
He stopped with her, surprised, and was shaking his head before she even finished. "You know how much I hate that sh-"
"Oh come on, pleaaase?"
He was decidedly unhappy. He eyed her up and down with the most guarded look she'd ever seen him wear, and he always looked guarded, before shaking his head again. "No, I don't think that's-a good idea, okay? Let's just go join the others. It's Wes and Aria's night, ya know?"
"Yeah, alright, I guess," she relented with a huff, and if she was sporting a decided pout, well, her head felt so floaty and warm that she really couldn't care.
He led her to an area that was raised and cordoned off with thick red velvet rope reminiscent of some sort of fancy red carpet premiere-clearly he knew where he was going, so he must have gotten there far before she had. There were several large half circle booths occupying the space, some filled with barely familiar faces she had met this afternoon, some with people she had never seen. Soul dragged her to one in the middle where Aria and Wes were snuggled together on one side, while Genevieve was chatting up a dark skinned man of similar age who was dressed slightly more casually than most of the other guys. As they approached the table, Wes and Aria looked up from where they had been talking quietly and animatedly together, and smiled almost in unison.
"Ah, little brother, I see you managed to find your wayward meister," Wes said lightly. "We'll scoot in so you can-"
"Wes, darling, nonsense. Eric and I can scoot. Can't be ousting the bride and groom, now can we?" And with that, Genevieve began to scootch over, followed by the man next to her, who must have been Eric.
Maka slid in next to the stranger, with Soul sliding in after her. He looked mildly annoyed, though about what, Maka couldn't say. As they settled, she heard Aria speak over the music, "you two should order drinks-this is a party, after all!"
Soul began to shake his head, though he smelled faintly of champagne himself so he must have had something, but Wes grinned his brother's way. "Mom and Dad's tab. May as well live it up."
Her weapon shrugged and his brother waved a server over, a short, perky girl in an equally short, perky dress. Soul ordered a whisky sour and, at the expectant look from the bride and groom, Maka chimed in with a request for a strawberry daiquiri. Drink orders went around the table, and the meister mumbled for her weapon's ears alone, "shouldn't they be carding us? I know we're allowed to drink in Death City at 16, but out here-"
The scythe gave a half shrug. "They don't card in the VIP section."
Oh. That Evans thing again. It really did take some getting used to, didn't it?
Their drinks came quickly, more quickly than Maka would have thought possible, and as a large, pink, iced number was set before her, the man next to her, Eric, whistled.
"Sweet drink for a sweet girl, eh?" He grinned at her, scootching a little closer. Apparently, Genevieve had become absorbed by talking to Aria and Wes, leaving him without company. "I'm Eric, by the way, Eric Jones. Aria's cousin."
"Ah-Maka. Nice to meet you, Eric," she smiled back, because after her time with the Evans' cousins, it was a nice change to talk to a friendly family member.
"So," Eric glanced between her and Soul, who was currently turned slightly away from her to listen to the jazz trio on stage as he sipped languidly on his drink. She wasn't at all surprised that he was avoiding small talk. "You came here with Wes's little brother?" His voice was pitched low, for her ears alone.
"Um, yeah. He's my weapon and he-"
"That's right!" Eric snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered something. "Wes mentioned the kid was a weapon, a Death Scythe, right?"
"That's right." She smiled proudly.
"So he turns into this giant scythe and you swing him around, am I right?"
"Yep!" she agreed brightly.
"That-is so-badassed." He looked genuinely interested, genuinely awed, and it felt good after all the Evans bullshit she'd had to stomach earlier. Yet, it was somehow strange as well-he seemed too close, too interested.
"Um, thanks?"
"Anyway, I guess that means we have something in common." Eric was grinning at her, and Maka took a long sip of her drink to avoid looking at him too long, her flush of embarrassment making her feel young and stupid. He was just talking to her. Why did she feel so flustered?
"We-do?" She managed after emptying a good half of her drink.
"Yup-we both swing big sticks around for a living." He laughed, sounding so warm, so at ease. She thought she heard Soul grunt at that, but it must have been her imagination since he was currently downing the other half of his drink, his eyes still pointedly on the jazz group. When the waitress brought him another drink, he didn't protest, but swallowed half of that as well in a single gulp, and Maka restrained the urge to chide him, sucking down the rest of her own fruity concoction instead. It was delicious and, as the warmth continued to spread through her, so at odds with the chill of the drink, she was grateful when the waitress set a second one down in front of her as well.
"So," she blinked at Eric, who was sipping at his own drink. "You're a meister, too?"
It was the only conclusion her hazy brain had been able to come up with.
"A what now?" That warm laugh escaped him again.
Oh. He couldn't be then.
"A technician. We wield human weapons. Like I was saying?"
"Oh!" He laughed louder, waving her off. "No, hockey. Minor league."
"He's damned good, too!" Aria called from across the table.
"You only think that because you don't know shit about hockey!" he called back, and Aria just laughed and returned to her conversation.
"Anyway," he said with a practiced smile. "You wanna dance? I'm sick of just sitting here."
"Um..." She looked to Soul, who was still ignoring them both, then back to Eric and shrugged. "I guess, sure." Because she didn't want to be rude and she had wanted to dance and Soul had made it clear he wasn't going to.
"Great," he said, the enthusiasm clear on his face. He seemed genuinely interested, friendly and good humored, and Maka thought maybe it would be a good thing, dancing with him. After all, she couldn't pine for a partner who didn't want her forever, could she? It might be nice, for once, to dance with someone who actually wanted to dance with her.
"Hey, Soul?" She nudged his arm and he turned to her, his expression decidedly sour.
"We need to get out. Please?"
"Whatever," he said, voice flat, before scooting out of the booth.
Maka scooted out after, followed by Eric, and it wasn't long before they found themselves on the dance floor.
It wasn't a slow song, and she had no idea how to dance to this type of music.
"I'm, uh, not a very good dancer," she looked up at him sheepishly.
"No worries, I'll lead," he smiled down at her as he grabbed her by the waist with one hand, pulling her closer.
And they started to dance.
It was nice. He moved well-though their bodies were heated and close and Maka kept wishing it were Soul dancing with her in spite of herself. And then, eventually, the song ended, drifting into something slower and even more sensual, and Maka was surprised by a familiar voice, low and rough, as he said,
"Mind if I dance with my wife?"
Eric spun around at the touch on his shoulder, and Maka just caught his frown.
"Of course," he nodded. "I didn't realize you two were a thing," he added, as if there were some need to explain his actions. Maka went scarlet. It wasn't as if anyone owed Soul an explanation about dancing with her! It was-
Her thoughts were cut short by his hand on her waist pulling her even closer than Eric had. She shivered at the contact, so warm, even as she glared up at him. "What the hell was that? You said you didn't want to dance!"
"Changed my mind," he said lowly.
"Well, it was rude," she was indignant even as she was glad. She would much prefer dancing with her weapon.
"Don't care," he half shrugged, his hands at her waist skirting dangerously close to her ass as they swayed together languidly, her own hands around his neck.
"You know," he said after several moments of simply swaying, "since we're supposed to be married and all, we should probably make this look good." His breath was hot on her face as he spoke down at her, the scent of alcohol strong.
"Look good?" Her eyebrows shot up in question.
"Yeah," he breathed, and his hands were definitely in ass territory now, resting just at the swell. It was nice. It was distracting. She should probably chop him, only she couldn't, not here, not now.
"Soul, I don't-"
"Look around," he commanded suddenly, spinning them towards another part of the dance floor. "Look at Wes and Aria and, hell, half the room."
And she did. And her eyes went wide.
Wes and Aria were on the dance floor, though Maka wasn't convinced what they were doing could be termed dancing. Wes had his face buried in his fiancé's neck, her hands were very clearly groping his ass, and their lower bodies were pulled flush against one another. Maka went scarlet, her eyes sliding elsewhere in embarrassment. They lit on Aria's two cousins she had met earlier that day at the salon. They were not quite dancing as well, bodies closely pressed and faces angled together in what could only be termed an extremely heated kiss.
Oh. Right. Her eyes moved away, the scarlet of her skin still bright. She hadn't realized they were an item. Maka found herself hoping that they were both related to Aria but not to each other even as her eyes slid over couple after couple in varying stages of get a damned room already.
"See?" Soul's mouth was at her ear now, his breath making her shiver again in something like anticipation, something frighteningly akin to want.
"Yeah..." she breathed in return. And then his mouth was on her neck, and his hands on her rear, and all higher brain function ceased, to be replaced by a haze of alcohol and lust.
Nobody had ever touched her like this, kissed her like this, and she wasn't sure if it felt so good because she was drunk or because it was Soul, and just then, she didn't much care. Her hands tangled in his hair and she guided him to her mouth, surprising him for an instant before he eagerly returned the kiss. It was longer than their first and even more heated, their tongues meeting and exploring, hot and insistent and oh so needy. And his hands, squeezing her ass, running up and down her torso to graze the sides of her breasts, running up her shirt and down her bare back-it felt like he was marking her, claiming her, with each caress, every touch.
Then again, her logical mind reminded her from the depths of her haze, wasn't that the point of this little act? They were playing their roles, had to play their roles, had to make it look real, didn't they?
The thought hurt, but this all felt so good that her rational brain, still swimming in a mire of intoxicated need, couldn't tread water for long, and she was plunged back into the depths as he spun her around to mold himself to her back, sucking on her neck in the most sinful way. If this was how he faked it, then Death help the woman who earned his lust in truth--Maka was pretty sure if this was just a farce, then the real thing would kill her. Her rational mind resurfaced just long enough to remind her that they shouldn't be doing this-that she would surely regret it in the morning, they both would.
The rest of her told her rational mind to fuck off.
He pressed himself further into her back, his hands digging into her hips as he moved his own hips against her, rubbing on her rear deliciously even as he sucked her neck yet harder. She gasped at the feel, of his teeth as they nipped her, of the hardness that was pressed firmly against her ass.
The hardness that was pressed firmly against her ass.
Soul was... aroused?
From her? For her?
It couldn't be. Surely not. There was want in his soul, pure and clear, practically consuming her in its intensity, but that didn't mean she was the cause. It must be all the women around them, the big breasts half exposed, the pert asses barely covered. It must be the alcohol, the music, the visual feast of flesh.
Surely it couldn't be her.
The thought overwhelmed her. This was wrong. This was wrong.
"I-need to go to the bathroom," Maka stammered out suddenly, tearing herself from his grasp to stagger her way to the back of the club. She didn't turn around to see his expression, but then, she didn't need to-there was confusion and something like hurt writ large within his soul, and she didn't understand and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
She found the bathroom easily enough-her meister instincts never really left her, so she'd subconsciously cased the place and spotted it from across the club on the way in.
Now she was grateful for those instincts as she stumbled inside and began to splash cold water on her face, ignoring the sympathetic stare of the sole bathroom attendant. She eyed herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing her as her, her skin flushed, her silver top dipping low to flash cleavage that, while modest, was absolutely there. She didn't see the child-woman now, the Maka she had grown accustomed to, no. This Maka was a full fledged woman with needs, this Maka was lusting for her partner in a way that couldn't end well for anyone, this Maka had just spent the last while making out with said partner and having the time of her life.
This was stupid, so very very stupid. She needed to get ahold of herself. She was drunk, far too drunk, for the first time in her life, and she knew, knew, she would gladly do things that would be phenomenally stupid in full sobriety and by the light of day. Alcohol made her stupid. He made her stupid.
And even if her weapon wanted the same things she did for the moment? It didn't mean anything. He was drunk, there were hot, scantily clad bodies everywhere doing hot, shameful things. Of course he was aroused. It had nothing to do with her. To-to let this go any further would be idiotic, so painfully idiotic. She needed to clear her head.
Grabbing a proffered cloth from the silent attendant, she smiled gratefully (if a bit forced) before making her way to a stall. After several glasses of champagne and two large, strong daiquiris, she had to go in earnest, and tried not to think about how she would deal with Soul when she was through.
The fact that Maka could still feel his soul and that he seemed unhappy, no, angry even, really wasn't helping. She made sure he would read little from her, as she had all night, as she did too often. Normally, he did, too, but tonight he was either too drunk or too overwhelmed to bother.
As she was finishing up, she heard the main door open, caught two newly familiar voices, and went rigid, her hand poised over the knob to the stall. She pulled it back, in no frame of mind to deal with them just then.
"You did see them, though, Minerva. It was disgusting. They looked like they were about to rut in the middle of the dance floor. And that outfit. If the skirt were any shorter she'd be naked, and the top leaves nothing to the imagination. No wonder he fell for her if she's that easy. Soul always was more feral than human."
It was Soul's cousins. Maka could hear the sink running, the nervous tittering of the younger sister. She clenched her fists tightly, anger rising. She needed to hold it in, hold it together. She felt a pang of sympathy for her weapon, sudden and strong, because if this was his family, no wonder he had run away and never looked back!
"You know, that's really not fair, though," Minerva said, voice timid. "Soul was always so quiet as a child, even if his looks were strange, and-"
"At least Soul has an excuse," Lucretia scoffed. "He is a freak-it can't be helped, I suppose, that he'd be like a trained dog on a leash for that slut who wields him-wields him, can you imagine? As if he could be anything normal when he can become-become a massive bladed thing. But Wes? Wes has no excuse, and his so called fiancée was all over him like a cheap coat."
Maka was shaking now. She wanted to knock down the damned stall and put them both in their place...
Minerva tittered again at that, then the sink shut off and she responded.
"You're terrible."
"No, they're terrible. Come now, you can't honestly tell me you're okay with this complete pollution of our pristine gene pool, now can you?"
If Minerva answered, Maka missed it as the door opened and both went through.
It was a good thing they'd left-she was shaking in rage. She was lucky-no they were lucky-she hadn't lost it. Perhaps the sluggishness the alcohol brought extended to anger as well.
She took in a few deep, calming breaths, counting back from ten before opening the stall door. After washing her hands and avoiding any further eye contact with the mirror, any further visual confirmation of just how flushed she was, of just how little she was actually wearing, she thanked the attendant and made her way out of the bathroom to find her weapon.
Soul was no longer on the dance floor, which didn't surprise her.
Maka could feel his soul back at the booths and he was pissed, absolutely livid, and she figured it must be at her. She needed to go-fix this, somehow, though she had no idea how she could, what to do. Everything was such a confused jumble, such a damned mess, that she wanted to run, to go back to Death City, to go back to before when things had seemed far less complicated, when her unrequited feelings weren't swimming in such dangerous waters.
Making her way through the crowd, she finally arrived at the booth where her weapon sat, and while his face was a mask of calm, his soul was in complete turmoil. Yet, it wasn't directed at her like she'd thought, no. It was directed at the three men who sat across from him, three men Maka had yet to meet. She felt relief wash through him as she approached, watched as he scooched in for her before she even had to ask. She scooched in next to him and gave his thigh a calming squeeze under the table, trying to soothe him with her wavelength. She was here for him and this much, at least, she knew how to do, even through the fog of alcohol, the confusion of the last half hour.
The waitress approached before a word could be exchanged, and Maka ordered a screwdriver-she'd heard they were good-and was surprised to hear Soul ask for bourbon. He already had another empty glass in front of him, and she silently wondered just how much he'd had to drink while she was trying to get her shit back together in the bathroom.
As the waitress scurried off, she felt the eyes of the trio across the table on her before she looked up to meet their bold stares. One looked bored, but the other two were practically leering. She felt her weapon's anger begin to spike at that and gave his thigh another gentle, reassuring squeeze before removing her hand to set it primly above the table and grasp her newly arrived cocktail.
"So, Soulie-boy. Gonna introduce us to your little friend?" The man on the end said with a lecherous smile. He wasn't bad looking, with his thick auburn locks and dark brown eyes, but his leer rendered him hideous.
Soul said nothing for a few moments, frowning, then shook his head in disgust. "Luca," he practically spat the name. "This is my wife, Maka. Maka-Luca, Antonio, and Miguel DiFranco, my cousins." The last word was spoken with decided distaste.
Maka nodded towards each in turn with a politeness she could not feel-anyone who had upset her partner this much didn't deserve her politeness.
"Soooo Maka," the sandy haired man Soul had introduced as Miguel leaned forward just slightly. "You're even more beautiful in person. How'd an asshole like Soul manage to snag a total babe like you?"
Maka wanted to punch that leer right off of his smug little face-she was afraid Soul actually might.
"Soul is a man of many talents," she said casually, her polite smile never wavering. "But as his cousin, I'm sure you already knew that."
Miguel shrugged, but before he could respond, the dark haired man Soul had introduced as Antonio shook his head. "Seeing you in person, it's hard to believe you fight monsters," he wrinkled his nose in distaste, and the meister had to stifle an eyeroll.
"Hell of a dancer, too," the man named Luca cut off any possible response. He was eying her like a particularly juicy cut of steak, and it made her stomach turn. Her fingers itched for a book again. "You gonna dance with us, too?" He continued, and his leer was wider, if possible, than Miguel's had been. "I mean, we're family now-it's only right."
"No," Soul snapped before she could answer and, finishing his drink in one rough swig, turned to her. "We're gonna go back out on the floor. Together." His gaze was no longer bored but fierce, relaying a possessiveness she could feel in his soul yet could not at all understand. Perhaps it was simply that he wanted her away from these men who belittled him, belittled them both, but she began to shake her head because she was nearly done with her oversized screwdriver, and her head was feeling light again, and, after last time, she knew that dancing was a very bad idea.
And yet. And yet...
Wasn't it part of the act?
They needed to maintain the ruse, right? The idea of dancing with him sent a pleasant tingle up her spine. Why not enjoy the show?
Though her head shook no, she said "alright," and scooted out of the booth to stand, Soul quickly following. He took her hand and began to lead her away, guiding her towards the dance floor, and Maka looked back just long enough to see his cousins gaping after them and to flash them her most brilliant smile.
She supposed it was time to show them exactly how her weapon had managed to snag a babe like her, nevermind the fact he didn't really want her in the first place.
As they reached the middle of the dance floor, the music thrumming and sensual, she held out her hand to run down his chest for a moment, before letting him pull her in closer. His stare was heated, intense, and she matched it with her own.
Maka knew his cousins were staring. Let them stare. Let them all stare. Let the whole damned room stare-this was a show, after all.
She dipped her body low for an instant, ran her hand down the length of him and back up, her whole body alight with alcohol and adrenaline and sheer lust. She heard him groan slightly as she brushed a hair too near his crotch.
It felt like they were the only two people in the room, in the whole damned world. Her blood was on fire and she burned for him. It was intoxicating, he was intoxicating as he pulled her close to kiss her again, fiercely, possessively, branding her as his for the world to see.
He pulled away from the kiss, dipped her low for an instant, then spun her around to press himself to her back again. His arousal had returned, and this time, she arched herself into it, into him, reveling in his groan of approval, in the feeling of his hands sliding up the outside of her bare thighs.
"Soul," she breathed as she felt his mouth hot on her neck again.
"Maka," he whispered against her skin.
It really was a hell of a show. Too bad it was only a show for one of them. Too bad the feelings that overwhelmed her were all too real.
As the song trailed off, she felt his hands graze the sides of her breasts again, and she couldn't help it, she let out a soft moan. It was so good, he was so good.
And then she flushed as she opened her eyes and realized Aria and Wes were standing a mere few feet across from them, wearing matching maniacal grins.
It took everything in her not to push Soul away and run screaming.
Feeling her stiffen against him, Soul stiffened himself and ground out. "Can I help you with something, Wes?" His hands still rested possessively on her hips.
"Well, little brother, if we're going to be alive for the family luncheon tomorrow, we should probably head out."
"Whatever," Soul grumbled without moving.
"You two need one of the limos to yourselves?" Aria asked innocently, far too innocently.
"Um yeah, if it's okay?" Maka could feel herself go scarlet, the heat of embarrassment and sheer possibility flooding her once more.
"No problem. Sure you two could use a bit of time alone after all that dancing." She gave the meister a ridiculously smarmy grin, one echoed again by Wes. Soul, for his part, didn't even dignify the matched expressions with a response, merely grabbed his meister by the hand and towed her through the crowd and out the door to the waiting limo.
They tumbled in together, and though Maka was surprised, stunned really, as her weapon pulled her onto his lap to kiss her again, his tongue hot and oh so right in her mouth, she didn't show it. His hands began roaming again, and she kissed him back because Death did she want this, she really did, and the privacy glass was up, and they were driving, and it was just them, alone, in this big cushioned space, and she could feel his desire spiking as his lips found her neck again and licked and sucked and bit. One of his hands began to creep up between her thighs, and, hell oh hell, her whole body was on fire, the heat between her legs nearly unbearable.
But there was no one left to act for, not here, and whatever lust he was feeling, it must be a product of alcohol and stimulation, all that bare flesh-it wasn't for her. They shouldn't do this. They couldn't do this. Soul didn't want this, not really, not with his meister.
It was difficult, it was impossible, it was the hardest thing she had ever done, but Maka pushed him away.
She was panting as she slid out of his lap, gasping out, "okay, we can-um-stop the act now."
For the barest instant, he wore a look of shock, like he had just been punched in the gut, and she felt a flash of overwhelming hurt from his wavelength before she felt nothing, saw nothing, his face the mask of apathy once more. She instantly missed the hungry look in his eyes, like he wanted to devour her whole. Even if it had only been the alcohol, it had still given her a taste of the forbidden, and she hungered for more of what she could never really have.
They sat in silence for a minute then an hour, and Soul still said nothing, did nothing. Eventually, Maka was convinced that the hurt had never been there-she had been projecting her own hurt, that was all.
It wasn't like he cared, not in that way. Sure he loved her-as a sister, as a best friend, as the closest thing he had to real family. That didn't mean he was in love with her. She had never been his type, she knew that. It wasn't like he wanted her, not really. Still, the pretence-the idea that in some universe he might actually desire her-had been nice.
When the limo pulled up to the guesthouse, both weapon and meister wordlessly slid out into the driveway, wordlessly trudged up the stairs to their bedroom, wordlessly changed into pajamas, Soul in the bedroom, Maka in the bathroom.
She spent several minutes in the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water for the second time that night, trying to dissipate the lingering heat and mounting dread. Once she was as calm as she could manage, Maka crept back into the bedroom, hoping he was asleep, and slipped into her side of the bed. He lay on the other side, over as far as he could go, his back to her pointedly.
He must regret it, even if it had been just for show.
Staying to her side of the bed, she turned her own back to him. Afraid to anger him. More afraid of what she might do if they were too close, got too close, afraid the heat might take her again, afraid he was still drunk enough to let it take them both, afraid of what they could do, no, of what they surely would do if it did.
If he regretted what they'd done in the club already, then Soul would regret that more; he wouldn't know what he was doing, he wouldn't mean it, even if she did. The thought of it was too much to bear. She would never do that, to him, to them.
This whole night was a mistake. This whole damned trip was one giant mistake.
As it was, she was barely hanging on by a thread, barely treading water. As it was, she was barely, just barely, staying alive.