A/N: For those of you who have asked me to write real smut, this is it. This is from a tumblr prompt given by the amazing fabulousanima, SoMa knitting smut, written as a follower landmark. It is my first attempt at true, non cracky, full blown sexy times.

Smut is hard to write and I make no claims that this is good. There is no real plot-this is smut for smut's sake. I also know squattall about knitting, so any details I messed up with that I apologize for in advance.

Soul decided to let her suffer for a bit.

Mostly, this was because Maka was really cute when she concentrated, brow furrowed, eyes focused, tongue sticking out ever so slightly as she tried to work the yarn into a knot just so, though a small part of him relished her frustration; she had refused to let him buy the ingredients for chocolate fondue when they went grocery shopping earlier in the week, calling it a frivolous expense they couldn't afford. He'd had plans for that fondue, damnit. Only last month they had finally, after a few months of officially dating, started to do more than just sleep when they shared a bed, and it was fucking amazing and he couldn't get enough, and when she denied him ways to enhance their time together, it pissed him right off. Of course, the fact that she'd been bleeding all last week and he had spent a good deal of time getting intimately reacquainted with his hand also wasn't helping his own frustration level.

Well. He was pretty sure the bleeding was done. Maybe he could help lower the stress level for both of them a notch or five…

"Damnit!" she growled as she eyed the dozenth tangled, knotty mess she'd created in the past half hour. She was biting her lip now as she tried to untangle the mess, destroying all the work she'd done to attempt to make it all anew for the umpteenth time. She let out a heavy sigh.

"It looked so easy on youtube," she pouted. Soul laughed and she threw the hopeless orange mess in his face, her aim deadly accurate and him just missing getting his eye poked out via knitting needle by a quick shift of the head. As it was, it hit him on the ear and he shrugged it off, picking it up where it fell to his lap and eyeing it, his laughter continuing.

"Everything looks easy on youtube," he shrugged, still chuckling as raised his eyes from the yarn to her. "I could teach you, you know."

"You…know how to knit?" she scoffed, shaking her head.

"I do," his laughter had ceased as he looked at her, his face serious. She blinked twice.

"S…seriously?"

"Mmmhmm," his smile was, he hoped, seductive.

"How?"

He shrugged. "Well, you know, Arachne had an affinity for threads, so it's a death scythe thing, I guess." It sounded plausible, but the superior smirk must have betrayed a bit too much the whiff of amusement because she snatched the thick knitting book up from the table in front of her, and he dropped the knitting and threw up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. My grandma taught me. Happy?"

"Really?" She raised one blonde eyebrow skeptically and he shrugged.

He rolled his eyes at her smile, frowning as she began to laugh.

"What?" he snapped.

"It's just—cool guy like you—I never pegged you for the knitting type."

"Hey, I was a kid, I was bored, and I thought it would be cool to make a hat, okay?" Clearly, he was not going to get the opening he had hoped for. He sighed, tossing the mess back her way.

"Okay," she said as she caught it.

"Okay what?"

"Oohhhkay you can teach me." She smiled.

"Oh, right—RIGHT. So, uh, come here." He patted his lap meaningfully. Things were looking up.

"And sitting there is going to help how?" She looked skeptical again.

"You don't trust me?" he said with mock hurt.

"No," she deadpanned, reaching again for the book.

"Fine, fine," his hands went up a second time. "Hand over hand. Now, come here already." He patted his lap again.

"Hand over what?"

"You know, like they teach little kids to write and eat and shit? I'll guide your hands with mine."

Her eyes narrowed. "Souul," she hissed in warning, her tone dangerous. "I am not a k—"

"Do you want to learn or don't you?"

"Fine," she huffed and stomped over to plop ungracefully into his lap. Rough treatment aside, it was Maka and she was warm and it had been a good week, so he had to will down his potential arousal. He really didn't need that. At least, not yet.

Once she was settled, Soul slid his hands slowly and lightly down the length of her arms, trailing goose bumps in his wake as he settled his hands on her wrists. She still had the monstrosity of knotted string and knitting needle clutched in one hand, so he slowly slid his right hand farther down to hers and unpried her fingers one by one, marveling, as he always did, at just how small her hands were. He had never been a big guy and he did not have large hands—long, delicate fingers, yes, but his hands were on the petite side. And yet, compared to hers, they seemed massive and he had always found it an odd contradiction that a woman who was so much the warrior could have such dainty extremities. That he knew what she could do with those extremities, both in battle and especially out of it, threatened a new rush of heat to his groin, so he quelled the impulse again, knowing this was going to end up a losing battle and hoping it was a battle she lost in turn. If the goose bumps and lack of resulting Maka chop were any indication, this outcome was seeming increasingly likely.

As she allowed him to slide the orange stringed horror from her hands, he transformed a scythe finger in a brief flash, cutting away the wasted yarn to slide the needles free, and then, transforming it back, reached past her side to catch up the ball of orange yarn at her knee. He moved it into her lap and then, trailed his own hand from her knee, up her thigh and side, to finally slide it down her arm and back to her wrist. He could feel the heat and sensation where his calloused fingertips met her exposed skin, her tank top and short shorts putting most of her flesh on display. Before, seeing so much of her so often when he was still quashing down feelings of love and longing and sheer want had been little short of absolute torment, necessitating more time alone in his room or the shower than he cared to recall. But now? Fuck, now he loved it because it let him do—well—this.

"Alright," he said softly, his head resting on her shoulder at the crook of her neck, his lips a hairsbreadth from her delicate earlobe, "you need to make a new slip knot. You remember how?" He felt her swallow thickly near his own chin, felt her slight nod. "Good," he breathed as her hands move beneath his grasp, lining up the needle and working the knot. This part, it seemed, she had mastered.

"Time to show me what you've been doing. Start knitting." Without questioning, she began to move her hands, but he had felt her small shudder at the heat of his breath against her neck and ear and couldn't suppress a smile. He was suddenly very glad he'd taken an odd interest in knitting the last summer he'd spent with his grandmother.

As she continued to work, knotting the yarn around the needles, she shifted her pace from hesitant to frantic quickly and Soul suddenly understood the problem.

"Maka, wait," he slid his hands down further over her own to stop her, then turned his head to speak into her ear again. "You're trying to move too fast too soon. You have to start slowly, then build up to a steady rhythm. It's not a race, it's a marathon, and if you try to do it too quickly, everything falls apart in the blink of an eye. This is why you keep making tangles. It's…more like a dance than a competition. Slow, steady, work together with the yarn and the needle, not against them. I know you can dance, Maka." His lips just brushed her earlobe as he breathed her name and she shuddered again. As he slid his hands back up to her wrists, she began to move them more slowly, rhythmically. But Soul saw another problem, and he slid his hands back over hers to stop her again.

"Too tight, Maka," he said softly, this time his mouth remained against her earlobe. "You should be caressing the needle with the yarn, not strangling it. There has to be room to slide the needle, to slide it out." He felt her swallow hard for a second time and nod as she left her knots more slack. She worked several more knots, moving her hands and the needles with the yarn steadily before Soul spoke again, moving his mouth back to her ear to enjoy her reaction.

"What are you knitting?" Her hands paused in their repetition for a moment.

"I don't know. A scarf, maybe."

"Mmmm…well, you need to decide how long and thick you want it," he got so close to her ear that he took her earlobe between his lips for the barest instant. "So you know where to stop." Maka couldn't hide her flush at this and he smiled against her ear. Death, this was the best knitting he'd ever done.

"I…I think this might be thick enough," she said hesitantly after a moment. The string of knotted yarn spread a good eight inches along the needle.

"You know how to slide it out and switch?" He had pulled his mouth from next to her ear to eye her work.

"I…yeah," she said hesitantly as she slowly moved the needle out and switched, then began a new row of ties. She had actually managed it with a bare but acceptable level of competence, so he let her keep working and, deciding she was doing well enough to allow him to relax his attention on her hands, Soul began to place light kisses, beginning on her earlobe and then trailing down her neck.

"Wha—Soul…" her tone was half warning, half breathless anticipation.

"Wanna make sure you can do it distracted," he moved his mouth back against her ear. "You should be able to knit through anything once you have it down."

She didn't respond, but returned to moving her fingers and he took her earlobe between his lips again and began to suck, then nipped it lightly, reveling in her quickening, stuttering breaths and small, suppressed shudders. Even still, as he moved his mouth down again and ventured a glance at her hands, they kept working, and he smiled and returned to his ministrations, opening his mouth to suck lightly on the delicate skin of her neck and relishing each and every shudder before finally murmuring against her skin, "you're doing well."

"Y…you, too." She managed to stammer out and that was all he needed.

His hands moved from their place on her wrists to trail goose bumps back up her arms, then down her sides, caressing her skin softly even as he shifted his head to pay his respects to the other side of her neck, his soft chaste kisses quickly graduating into sucking and nipping. He timed his first nip with moving his hands over the swell of her breasts and he felt her stiffen and stifle a soft moan as she leaned further into him. He moved his eyes back down to her hands again, but they had stilled as she panted against him.

"Souuul…" it was a breathless plea, a protest against his own stilled hands and mouth.

"You should keep knitting," he smiled against her and rubbed a thumb over the thin cloth covering her nipple for emphasis, eliciting another soft, stifled moan. She always went braless around the apartment, another once torturous fact that he had come to love. He knew he was long since hard against the warmth of her ass on his lap, and it was becoming increasingly torturous and uncomfortable to feel so confined, but he made no move to change it, instead keeping his focus on her, on sucking on the closest ear while sliding his hands back down and then under her shirt, a pert breast in each hand. He massaged for a short time, simply rubbing and squeezing while avoiding the nipples, before moving his fingers slowly, so slowly, to first rub and caress, and then, finally, as she writhed more and more in his lap, softly pull at them, enjoying the texture of the hardened, puckered flesh beneath his fingertips.

Occasionally, she would stop moving her hands as he worked her flesh, but he would always pause in his ministrations when she did and, getting the hint, she would keep shakily knitting through her moans and gasps and pants. As he pulled slightly more roughly on her nipples, timed with a hard suck and nip to the joining of her shoulder and neck, her wiggling became a hard grind of her ass down against her own hard arousal and he had to stifle his own gasp of need and pleasure. She had, as he glanced around to her hands, somehow managed to finish a third line now and was starting a fourth without a single tangle. Well, he meant to change that… clearly, he wasn't being distracting enough.

One hand trailed down from her breast, down her stomach to the low waist band of her too-short shorts, lingering for only a moment before diving under the fabric. He was met with the fabric of her bikini cut panties and trailed his hand down and around, even as his other hand kept rubbing slow circles on a nipple. Finally finding the jointure of her hip with her thigh, he slid his hand down, caressing just beside the heat radiating from her growing need, enjoying her gasps and the sheer hot moisture that could no longer be contained by too thin cloth, but had seeped to the place just beside, feeding his own mounting need.

"Soul," she panted. But her hands had stilled and so did he.

"Yes, Maka?" he replied huskily.

"I…"

"Knitting, remember?" he responded for her. She nodded shakily and, in reward, he slid his fingers over to caress over the fabric of her soaked panties, moving up and down the covered slit. Watching her hands and her body, he noted that even through her shuddering moan she did not completely still her hands, and he rewarded that diligence again by moving aside the fabric of her panties to slide his finger into the wet wonderland that was her sex, slipping past her labia and along her outer length to find her clit, already hard and aching for his touch. He stopped for the barest instant as he noticed, again, the stilled needles, then moved again as they did, stroking her with one long finger, his own need on fire at the feel of her so hot and wet and willing, at her writhing in his lap at his touch even as she kept fucking knitting.

Noticing that she was, even now, shakily starting a fifth row, he slid his hand down again, one long finger sliding along her hot, wet length for a second time to reach the source of the fountain. As he teased that finger along her entrance, he breathed against her ear.

"Maka, you're making a mess." She arched against him and moaned as he slid his finger inside of her, putting pressure against her textured inner walls, looking for that place inside that would leave her a shuddering mess. He knew he'd found it when she let out a high pitched wail, her whole body bucking and grinding down against him, causing him to moan against her neck in response. His own need was becoming almost overwhelming, the feel of her, hot and wet and tightening on his finger and the thought of how good that was going to feel when he finally used more than just his finger sheer torment, but he wasn't going to go there yet. Not just yet. If there was one thing he had come to know in their many weeks of experimentation, of getting to know her body and his own and how they worked together, it was that drawing it out, leaving her begging for him, having himself begging, it made it better, so much better. So he forced restraint, he was pretty damned good at restraint, and kept teasing that fold of flesh inside of her that had her keening.

The stitches of her knitting had become slightly less steady, he noted, but she was still working at it, shakily, breathlessly, slowly, between shuddering moans and gasps and grinding down against his arousal with her fucking amazing ass. She was working on a final stitch of the fifth row when she stopped knitting, pressing her back along his length after an almost sobbing keen. His own hand was soaked inside of her, and he could feel the hot moisture of his precum as he continued to strain against his jeans.

"Soul, I need…I neeeed…" she was practically sobbing, her plea vocal and broken.

"What do you need, Makaah…" he breathed against her ear. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when she twisted in his lap, the knitting thrown to the coffee table, his hand losing its purchase inside of her. She straddled him, her eyes green flame as they met his, as she ground down onto his long overstrained need even as she worked at the button of his jeans.

"You," she gasped as she ground down again, rubbing herself forcefully against the hardness in his jeans. All restraint gone, seared away by the heat of her gaze, he pushed her down onto the couch then awkwardly shucked off his jeans and boxers in an odd half standing crouch above her, even as he watched her struggle to wiggle out of her own shorts and panties from her place on her back.

"I think that's enough knitting," he managed, even as he felt her hand, warm and wonderful, grasping his length. He stepped hastily out of his pants, kicking his discarded clothing to the side and looking down at her, her eyes slits of want and promise as she stroked his length once, twice. He moved to kneel over her but she shook her head.

"Shirt too." She said huskily, and as she continued to grasp him, moving hot, skilled fingers down to occasionally stroke his balls or to spread his precum and work that maddening spot where his head met his shaft, that small, wicked, wonderful spot she had discovered without him even having to tell her early in their times together, he moaned and ripped his own t-shirt over his head forcefully before practically diving between her thighs in his own need. As his length met the impossible heat between her labia, he slid along it, reveling in the hot wetness even as all he really fucking wanted was to plunge deep inside of her and never come out. But he could hold back this much, this long. Finally having full access to her front with his mouth, he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses from one breast to the other, finally licking and sucking and nipping, moaning every time she bucked against him in the intensity of her pleasure. He was slowly working the tip of his dick against her clit and it had her keening his name; the feel of her heat and the sobbing of his name vibrating from her chest, it was almost too much. He was going to lose it before he even really felt her or she felt him and that just wasn't fucking acceptable at all. So he pulled back his throbbing cock, sitting back on his knees and moving the hands that had been tangled in her hair or under her ass, back down to caress her thighs.

"Soul…" it was half whine, half warning, her eyes narrowed further in need and frustration.

"Soon," came his promise and his prayer, his voice husky with want, followed with the placating presence of two fingers inside of her molten heat, caressing, seeking. Her sob let him know he had found the place once more, that spot within her folds that would soon have her begging, and he stroked with gentle force even as his free hand moved up to kneed a breast once more. He was willing his own overwhelming need to cool enough that he wouldn't lose it like a fucking virgin the moment he was inside of her (in truth, their first time he had lasted a good three thrusts and felt like a total chump,) though it was almost impossible with the feel of her clenching around him, her own need visible and slick on her now soaked thighs. Her moans and gasps were like a symphony and he played her like the musician he was, reveling in each wail, each cry of his name.

"Fuck, Soul, I need… please…" Ah, this was what he had wanted, what he had been waiting for. He stilled his hand, trailing it up her stomach and her breast, letting her feel her own urgency cooling against her skin. He was kneeling between her legs again, his eyes pinning her gaze.

"What?"

"Please?" Her eyes pleaded as well as she squirmed beneath him, bucking up against him, needing.

"What do you need, Maka? Tell me what you want me to do." He loved this part, loved hearing it, having her say what she would never say otherwise. Loved the complete trust she put in him, the trust he put in her in turn.

"I need…" she stammered as he moved himself against her clit ever so slightly, his own cock twitching at the delicious contact, causing her to moan again. Her eyes were heavily lidded as she looked up at him. "…you. Please. Inside of me." He moved his mouth to work against her neck, sucking, hot against her flushed and sensitive skin, but doing nothing more before he breathed against her ear.

"My fingers were just there, but you wanted something else. What do you want, Maka?"

"Fuck, Soul. I want you. I want your cock..in..inside of me." He grinned against her heated skin and slid himself down and slowly in, her molten heat surrounding him almost a form of madness. It took every ounce of his restraint not to do more, but as he slid completely within her he stilled.

"Soul…" she whined. "Please…?" Her voice was broken with want; it matched his own overwhelming desire.

"What?" his own broken voice demanded. "I'm inside you." He wanted, needed her to tell him, the culmination of their game. He felt her clench around him, felt her buck against him, even as she gasped.

"Move. Fuck me—Death, please. Please fuck me." It was what he had waited so long to hear and the dam burst, his own overwhelming need taking over as he reared back to thrust inside of her again. He repeated the movement, her delicious heat overwhelming, the feel of her clenching and tightening around him, the feel of having to force his way back in with every thrust as she became so tight it felt like she wanted to swallow his cock whole. He found her mouth at last, kissing her deeply, tasting every gasp and moan. This felt so good. It had never been this good, even when….

Fuck. Oh fuck. He stilled within her again, panting, so close to the edge it was physically painful not to continue, but he couldn't, wouldn't. About to pull out, to go do what must be done in spite of everything within him screaming no, she looked up at him in question.

"Soul?"

"Condom," he practically growled, and as relief and understanding flooded her features he was doubly confused. She thrust up against him, pulling him down into a searing kiss, her hot tongue sliding along the length of his own, before pulling back and speaking against his lips.

"Pill. I started the pill last month, remember?" Oh. OH. Well, fuck. Second month, no more back up. He growled against her mouth, reinitiating the kiss and thrusting again inside of her, but she pulled away from his mouth after a moment.

"Wait!" she gasped. He moved his head up, confused.

"I…I thought…" in spite of it all, the fact he was buried deep within her, that she had only minutes ago been begging for him, she looked a little embarrassed, her flush deepening. "Maybe we could, uh, try something. Um, new?"

"Okay…?" he knew his voice was husky with need.

"R…resonate with me?"

Oh. OH. Yeah, he could do that. That would be… oh. He nodded, and she whispered "Soul Resonance," and their souls reached, and touched, and grabbed hold, and suddenly he wasn't just inside her but inside of her and she was inside of him, and it was all sensation and need and as she thought move he did, over and over again as he felt it all, every move, every sensation, of filling and being filled, of thrusting, of pushing back, of tightening, of forcing past that tightness.

If not having a condom on, of feeling every fold within her, of her feeling every ridge and line of him, had not been different and amazing enough, feeling it all through this, this link, this ultimate oneness was exponentially greater, and as he lost his grip on all that he was in her, in them, and finally exploded inside of her, coming with a heat and intensity that was pushed beyond any limit as he felt her feel his throbbing, searing release inside of her, triggering her own, as she pulsed around him and they both cried out, mutual, wordless cries of ecstasy, beyond all sense, beyond anything but overwhelming pleasure, the overwhelming sense of being two in one, together.

Even with his release and hers, their resonance filling him with everything that was Maka and everything that was them together, he started moving again within her, hearing and feeling and knowing her gasp at the feel of him within her oversensitive core. He was still hard, and it still felt good, so he moved and she moved and they became lost in each other for the second time in as many minutes, his name becoming a chant of panted gasps on her lips, his own lips seeking hers again, their hot tongues sliding against one another a mirror to their heat sliding together once more below. He went slower this time, less desperate, letting it build once more. He felt her hand snake between them, felt her pleasure mount as she began to rub herself with the hand trapped by his thrusts. Another minute later of her slick, slick heat getting tighter and tighter around him again, of moans and gasps and increasingly forceful thrusts, and they were undone once more, hurled into the stratosphere and beyond for the second time in a brief span, left panting and twitching, his finally softening member still inside her own throbbing, sopping, overwrought flesh. The sense of one, together remained through their resonance. The awe and amazement of what had happened, of both having come twice, was still on their minds, overwhelming their every thought.

He pulled out with a soft hiss, laying atop her, panting, her panting beneath him. When her mind sleepily sighed bed he knew she meant sleep, and they both shakily got to their feet, her unceremoniously grabbing his wadded t shirt to try to stem the flow of other between her legs, before they both staggered into bed. They cut their resonance as they cuddled together on his bed, warm and safe as they drifted into their dreams.

The strip of knitting, Maka decided the next day, would be a bookmark. For awhile, she even tried to use it, but as she later admitted to him, found that she could never quite get any reading done because every time she saw it, her mind reeled back to that night and him andany other thought was beyond her ability to focus, then. So she put the bookmark up, but every now and again, when she was particularly absorbed in a good, long book, it would find its way back, and having no doubt how it got there, she would seek the culprit for appropriate punishment. Soul never, never minded taking her punishment.

There was, of course, another consequence to this little escapade, awkward and unforeseen. For the rest of their born days, neither Soul nor Maka could hear or speak of knitting without becoming instantly aroused, and while this sometimes proved embarrassing and inconvenient, knitting yet remained a source of pleasure between them for years to come.