A/N: Third prompt for SoMa Week, Insanity.
Summary: He inspires insanity in you.
Rated T.
The first time Soul kisses you it's a chaste goodnight peck on the lips before he shuffles off to his bedroom to sleep until noon.
You are frozen in place and stare after him, touching your lips lightly with your fingers, wondering if that really happened. It did and you're not sure what to do. Technically, you should expect it, you both confessed to loving each other earlier this week and you had kissed him on the cheek but that is not the same as a lips kiss.
It feels like a kiss after a date, which you guess it kind of was. It was movie night after all and even though you don't like black humour, your partner-come-boyfriend does so you sit through his favourite movies because you care about him and his happiness, even if it's the small things.
When you climb into bed you want to smack yourself in the face because it feels awfully like hysteria. Your heart won't calm down and there are butterflies in your stomach. He's already asleep though, you can tell by his wavelength, so he must not be feeling the same way you do. Somehow you settle down and sleep but all you dream about is the feel of his lips, not only on yours but on other places as well.
In the morning, you feel a little jittery for no discernible reason other than you want to kiss him again. You ignore the fact that it is eight thirty and your weapon is not due to wake for another two and a half hours and go into his room. You shake him awake and watch his eyes flutter open to reveal the crimson under delicately veined lids. He is groggy and you are suddenly conscious of your bed hair but you lean down anyway.
You press your lips firmly against his, harder than he had the night before and start to move them lightly against his. You stay like that till your lungs scream for air because you haven't figured out kissing and breathing at the same time, though it should be simple enough for you with your straight-A brain.
His face is flushed, even his ears are tipped pink, and he is very much awake now. You can see in his face and hear in his soul that he wants to ask what was that for? but something in your face must stop him because he only sports a silly grin. He tangles a hand in your loose hair and pulls you down for another kiss.
You climb into bed with him, not something you are unused to, though the frequent kisses he gives you are new and exciting. You feel like you want to nap but your heart thunders and you place your hand on his chest to feel his. It beats hard and fast and yours thunders louder.
The first time you taste his tongue, you feel like you've suddenly gone insane.
What started as a little kiss from him to try and wipe away your frown at a lower than expected mark (92% is still an A, idiot, why are you upset? You still got higher than Ox) turned into him slanting his mouth over yours and your back being pushed against the lockers behind you.
It's intense but all your kisses are intense (at least to you, you still aren't sure about him) but then you get the brilliant idea to run your tongue against his lips. It's been a month since you started kissing and you wondered why he hadn't once tried to seek out your tongue, though you can guess that he very much wants to, what with the hands that hold your hips or your arms in a grip tight enough to bruise. But then you run your tongue against his lips and he is hesitant to open his mouth to yours.
You worry that he doesn't want you like that, even if other parts of his say otherwise (but a girl is a girl and while his mind and heart may not feel for you, his body will) and so you pull away to look at him.
You stare at him and he stares at you and he tucks a stray ash blonde strand behind your ear. He cups your cheek and gives you a soft look and you open your mouth to say something but words are not needed so you close your mouth again. All you ask can be read in his eyes and soul. He was just waiting for the word from you.
The smile grows slowly but surely and you end up grinning goofily at him, overcome by some weird happiness you can't quite explain other than as gratefulness, because your partner understands you so well that he won't do anything unless he gets the go ahead from you first. And you love him. You love him. You love him so much it feels like your heart will never beat at rest again and it feels like some new madness has taken over.
It is a strange place to realize the full extent of your love (full and complete and irreversible) even though you already knew you loved him, that was what prompted the very first cheek kiss.
You pull him back to you with a handful of his leather jacket. This time, his mouth is not hesitant and your tongue slides into his mouth. He tastes how you might think victory would, tinged with the shitty lunch food you both had only an hour before. You suspect you don't taste much better but he holds you tight and brushes his tongue against yours with as much passion as one would expect from such a passionate man as your partner (though you may be the only one to see passion such as this from him and that thought makes you wonderfully smug).
It's messy and sloppy and there's drool everywhere. However, that just makes it all the better. It's intimate and the emptiness of the school halls adds to that. You sense someone coming and disengage. Before your soul-mate-come-boyfriend-come-weapon can question why you pulled away, he was enjoying himself, thank you very much, you grab his hand and pull him with you.
As nice as Miss Marie is, you have no desire to explain to her why you and your partner are so flushed.
He pulls you suddenly to the right and into a custodial cupboard. He shuts the door after he pulls you in and then reels you back into his embrace. You do not fight him. The insanity he sparks in your blood, that has nothing to do with black blood tainted resonance, feels like flying though your feet never leave the ground (yes they do, when he pushes you against the wall and you wrap your legs around his waist as he grinds against you, things get very intense, very quickly).
The first time you make love, some Friday between missions when the insanity gets too much to bear and the normal solution of a hand down your panties (pale or tanned) doesn't cut it, you don't feel scared like you've heard you should of and you wonder if you're doing something wrong.
Soul calls you a moron and reminds you that you should never be scared of him ever and that if you were scared, it meant that you weren't ready for this yet and that you should stop. You tell him you aren't scared and he grins.
He tries to go slow but it's over quickly. He blushes and flushes and looks like he feels out of place amidst his own bed sheets. You grab his tanned, pianist hand and place it between your legs. He makes you cry out for him and most of the faith in his abilities to love you and make love to you are restored (all is restored an hour later when he leans over you, connected as one and makes you cry for him again in the heat of the insanity you've been exploring together for the past three months).
Years pass and your relationship changes (the band on your finger strengthened the bond between you and him forged in blood and forced closeness; the little blond boy and even littler white-haired girl only strengthen it further) but the insanity never goes away, never even dims, you can just control it better. You still ache for his touch at all hours but with two toddlers, there is little time for indulgence.
Over the years, you also figured out the mystery of his feelings for this insanity. On your wedding night, drunk off love and expensive champagne, he had confessed to the madness you inspired in him years before you ever uttered the word love to him. He had kissed you soundly and made love to you three times before he murmured just before you dozed off that he doubted it would ever go away, even in the absence of the black blood.
And it hadn't. And it wouldn't.