A/N: At the particular request of the lovely and talented Yyeann, I give you this cracky fluffiness. She wanted jailbait SoMa, and jailbait SoMa she shall receive. This really isn't smut, but it edges the line, so it's here to be safe.

Jailbait:

They met at a party. She had been dragged there by her new roommate Blair, who insisted that no red-blooded college student could be caught dead in the library on the first Saturday night of the semester. The party and venue both let much to be desired—it was held in an apartment complex near campus, a few two bedroom units together seeming to have agreed to hold this first weekend bash. There were people everywhere, on the balconies, on the front strip of grass, pressed together into the two apartments. The music was loud and garish and uncoordinated, the stink unbelievable, sweat and booze and vomit. Maka would have much preferred the library and had decided to spend the night as far from the maddening crowd as she could manage. In this case, that meant the side of the building in the narrow gap between two complexes where they kept the garbage. She had spotted the alley after slinking away from Blair, who was busy getting her grind on on the makeshift dance floor, her barely there attire edging ever closer to indecency. Since she seriously doubted even the most drunk and desperate would choose to make out next to the garbage, it seemed like the perfect getaway.

As she rounded the large bin and noticed a figure in the shadows, she thought, at first, that she must have been wrong about how desperate people could get, but he was alone. He started as she came into view, looking up and pushing off from his slouch against the wall to stand. Once he was in the light, she almost did a double take at his appearance—white hair and red eyes shone under the electric lamp that illuminated the small holding area. Probably a trick of the half-light, but that didn't make it any less eerie.

"Oh—oh! Sorry, didn't realize this spot was taken," she spun on her heel to leave.

"I don't own it," he said with a snort. "Though it fuckin' stinks over here. You're probably better off leavin'." She turned around, not sure if she was meant to say something back or not, but unable to stop herself.

"I know it stinks, that's the point," she huffed. "I thought I'd have the place to myself."

He shrugged in response. "That makes two of us, great minds or whatever."

"You get dragged here by your roommate, too?" She asked suddenly; curiosity had always been her Achilles heel.

"Something like that," he admitted.

"Well, then," she said finally. Deciding that he seemed tolerable enough for the moment, and that if he tried anything she had adequate self-defense training to deal with him, she leaned on the wall across from him. "I'm Maka," she smiled slightly.

"Soul," he returned.

"It really does stink back here, doesn't it?" She said after a long pause, wrinkling her nose.

"Yep," he agreed shortly. Well, this one was talkative. So be it, she'd tried. Pulling a book out of the small bag slung over her shoulder, she settled more comfortably against the wall and cracked it open. Maka Albarn was always prepared, after all. She looked up as she heard the chortle across from her.

"What?" she asked, one fine blonde eyebrow raised as she took in his amused expression.

"Nothin'," he replied after a moment, and she shrugged and lowered her eyes to the book again.

This time, he started snickering.

"WHAT?" she hissed as she looked up, her eyes narrowed. He was not just snickering but outright laughing. He raised a hand to her as he tried to catch his breath, then managed to get out between gasps for air.

"What kind… of nerd…brings a book…to a fucking…party?" She wasn't sure what came over her just then, but his laughter and that infuriatingly superiour

expression of his made something in her snap. She strode over the few steps

between them and, without warning, slammed the spine of her paperback down

onto his skull.

He stood up straight at that, glaring down at her (he was tall when he wasn't

slouching) and rubbing his head.

"What the fuck was that?" he growled.

She shrugged, backing up and smiling sharply.

"I just figured the loser hiding by the garbage bins has no room to call anyone names."

"Says the other loser hiding by the garbage bins."

"Touche."

He shook his head. "Look, Maka, right? That can't be good for your eyes. Maybe—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a squeal. "THERE YOU ARE!" Even though she'd only known her for a week, she would recognize that high-pitched whine anywhere. Blair had found her. "Whatcha—Oh—oh! Maka, you sly little kitty. I'll juz' leave this here with you and you can get back to your little boy toy," she walked up, slightly wobbly, and set a pitcher at Maka's feet, offering an exaggerated wink, before tottering back out of the alley on her too high heels.

"What—was that?" the boy across from her had his jaw hanging open and Maka was positive he had gotten more than an eyeful of her barely clothed roommate.

"That was Blair, my roommate."

"Ah, your kidnapper."

"Something like that, yeah." Maka said absently as she eyed the pitcher at her feet. It was filled to brim with a brightly colored liquid that looked innocuously like orange juice. Possibly, Blair was just being solicitous, making sure she wouldn't get thirsty. She did that, sometimes, Maka had found—she was extremely mothering, when she wasn't busy being provoking or salacious. She picked up the pitcher and sniffed it. It smelled fairly orangy. Well, then. She took a sip. It tasted like orange juice. And she was thirsty, and she was stuck here until Blair decided it was time to leave (and had sobered up sufficiently to do so) since it wasn't quite close enough to campus to walk alone at night and Blair had driven. Well, then. Seeing a spare crate against the wall opposite her chance companion, she sat on top of it, then took a few healthy swigs from the pitcher.

"Uh, wait!" His voice was suddenly close and she blinked, noticing that he was hovering above her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. That's probably—"

"It's just orange juice," she huffed indignantly, taking several more large swigs that had his eyes widening in surprise.

"That's—" he began to shake his head and she took several more large swigs defiantly. A quarter of the large pitcher was gone, and she smiled up at him contentedly. He just let out a loud breath and shook his head again.

"Whatever," he said finally, shoving his hands in his pockets. She felt a little bad. He had seemed almost concerned, and really, as he stood nearer under the light, he was pretty cute. Her belly felt suddenly warm and her head a bit light. His eyes really were red, weren't they? Fascinating. And white hair. Odd, but striking. He was still looking down at her when she remembered her manners.

"You want some?" she lifted the pitcher and noticed it was sloshing a bit. Was her hand that wobbly or was it the world? She laughed, the warm feeling spreading to her toes. Definitely the world. Hum, maybe it wasn't just orange juice. Well, so what? She enjoyed the thick comforting haze of it, enjoyed being able, for once, to do as she pleased.

Soul began to shake his head then looked down at her, seeming to weigh something in his mind for a moment. "You know what? Why the fuck not?" He took the pitcher and drank, gulping it down to the halfway point. She watched in fascination as his throat worked down the liquid, Adam's apple bobbing. He slammed the half full pitcher down next to her as he finished, the liquid sloshing dangerously, and then wiped his mouth on a sleeve before grinning down again. She noticed for the first time that his mouth was full of teeth too sharp to be natural and wondered idly what those teeth would feel like on her skin, eyeing them in fascination. This was a side of herself that she always forced down, always repressed, and to think these thoughts, have these feelings with abandon, was downright liberating. And him, there was something about him she couldn't pinpoint. She wanted to know more, to feel more.

He took a seat next to her on the crate and they passed the pitcher back and forth, striking up a conversation about what a fucking drag college parties were and how even smelling garbage was better than that throng of drunk, sweaty, random horniness and terrible music. She babbled a bit about how much she was looking forward to earning her degree in English and he snorted and told her that her major sucked, which earned another half hearted thwap on the head with her novel. Finally, as they finished the pitcher, Maka noticed the music pulsing faintly in the background and her mouth split into another grin.

"Hey, uh, Soul? You wanna dance?" He didn't answer, but just pulled her up and close. The song was too fast for this type of dancing but neither seemed to care and when he she felt his mouth begin to work against the skin of her neck, she could not complain. It turned out those teeth felt every bit as sinful against her skin as she thought they might and she shivered and moaned slightly at the feel of them. As his mouth finally reached hers and he kissed her, it was warm and wet and his teeth nibbling against her bottom lip was absolutely maddening, and while her mind was hazy and she couldn't be quite certain, she was pretty sure it was her who had dragged him against the wall where she was currently caged by his arms, his body pressed warmly against her own. That his hands were beginning to roam into previously unexplored territory, that hers were also similarly finding new things to have and hold, these things could not bother her because it was all so warm and wonderful and felt so right. And if there was a nagging little voice that reminded her that she barely knew this boy, well, she quashed it down in favor of the feel of his mouth hot on hers, the feel of his tongue lapping at her skin, his hands roaming and teasing, and gave in to what the rest of her was telling her was not only right but crucial.

—-

Soul didn't know what had come over him, really he didn't. He was slumped on the ground against the alley wall, a girl slumped with him, her body warm and soft against his own. There was still music pulsing from somewhere near by, but it was fainter now, and the alley was still dark, only the over head light casting a glow that made his head pound in protest. Where was…? Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right. In a fit of lust or madness or he wasn't even sure what, he'd said to hell with it and decided to drink half the pitcher of screwdriver that the unsuspecting girl slumped next to him had unwittingly gulped down. She was just so damned—what was the word? Cute? Violent? Fascinating? Nerdy? Hot? It was all of those things, and none of them, he couldn't even say. He'd just felt suddenly compelled to go down the rabbit hole with her. Soul didn't drink, didn't drink on purpose because he hated losing control, but for once in his godamned life he didn't want to be the responsible one. And really, he didn't regret where it had led since she had come on to him, if his fuzzy memories served, and the resulting make out session complete with extremely heavy petting was far from unwelcome. For whatever reason he couldn't fathom at the moment, he likedthis girl. Really liked her, just in the short time he'd known her, and he wanted to take her out for a real date, hell, just date her if she was up for it. He could never remember being this interested. It was almost surreal. He felt something vibrate near him and realized it was coming from her and as she mumbled and snuggled in closer, he decided to fish it from her pocket. Getting no protest, she saw the caller identified as "Papa" and forewent answering. When the vibration stopped, he programmed in his own number and sent himself a text so he would have hers. This had been far too good for a one night fling.

As he worked the phone back into her pocket and she murmured again in protest, shifting against him in her annoyance, he heard footsteps round the corner into the alley and instinctively tightened an arm around her. When a bright blue head of hair came into view under the light, the figure turning to the wall across from him and audibly unzipping his pants, Soul groaned involuntarily.

"Wha?" the blue haired menace whirled, his pants still undone. Fortunately for all involved, his equipment was still in his pants. The other boy blinked down at him, scratching his head.

"Soul, bro, is that you? I've been lookin' for you all night, man. What the fuck you doin' out here? I just came out to take a le—Oh, ho!" he spotted the figure slumped against him, her features obscured by a mass of blonde hair, must have taken in that both of their clothes being askew, because his mouth twisted into a leer.

"Am I interruptin' something, dude?"

"No," Soul snapped, irritated. This was the very last thing he needed. At his too loud voice, Maka stirred against him and sat up. "S..soul?" She questioned, looking confused.

"Wait—wait—JAILBAIT, is that you?" Maka's head snapped up to look at the newcomer, and her jaw dropped in seeming disbelief.

"Bl—Black*Star?"

"OH MY GOD, IT IS YOU! Fuck, Pigtails, what are you doing here with him? Oh my fuck this is sweet! I can't believe you were doing the nasty with Jailbait next to the fucking garbage!" Black*Stat started to laugh uproariously. He was clearly drunk, so he'd probably forget about this in the morning, but that wasn't really the problem.

"Look, asshole, for one, we did not 'do the nasty'," he felt compelled to defend this girl's honor or whatever, partially because it was true (although they'd come pretty damned close, admittedly,) and partially because she seemed truly distraught, her mouth opening and closing in confusion. "For two, why the fuck do you keep calling her jailbait?" Yeah, she looked young, but fuck him for insulting his date—erm—make out buddy—whatever.

"Look, Soul," Black*Star grinned down at him maniacally, fists on his hips, "for one, if you didn't do the nasty, then you'd better thank your lucky stars man, because for two, she is jailbait. Albarn's only 16," and he began to laugh uncontrollably, seeming to find the entire situation hilarious.

"Black*Star," the jailbait in question growled from beside him before tossing his arm aside and standing up to face her accuser, fists clenched at her sides. And it was Soul's turn to gape, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he looked from Black*Star to Maka and back.

"Since when is this any of your fucking business, DorkStar?" She practically growled at him and he shrugged.

"Whatever, dude. Just, uh," he looked down at Soul. "A word of advice? You should probably stay away from her. Her dad is an overprotective ass, and he teaches here, so—"

"UGH!" Soul groaned, putting his head in his hands as he heard the footsteps move away. He heard her move back close to him, heard her slide back down the wall to sit beside him, felt her hand tentatively on his shoulder.

"Soul?" she said softly.

"Is it true?" he asked from under his hands. Fuck, how had it all gone to shit so fast? Fucking Black*Star…

"That my papa teaches here? Well, yeah, but…"

"No, not that," he looked up, meeting her wide, beautiful green eyes. He could get lost in those eyes. Only, really, he couldn't. Or shouldn't. "That you're sixteen."

"Um… yes?" She smiled sheepishly. "But I'll be seventeen in two days."

He groaned and put his head back in his hands. It fucking figured that the first girl he'd had this level of interest for in…well…ever would actually be jailbait. Fuck.

"I can't believe I took advantage of a drunk fucking minor," he muttered to himself. "What the fuck are you even doing here? How are you even.."

"I graduated early. And I'm emancipated, legally. And the age of consent in this state is 16. Plus, it's not like we actually had sex." Her voice practically cracked at the last and as he hazarded a glance her way, he noticed that while she was now as red as his eyes, she didn't seem upset.

"You were drunk," he said. God he was an asshole.

"So were you."

"I knew what I was drinking, you didn't."

"I figured it out pretty fast, Soul, I'm not a moron. I just—" she was twiddling her fingers. "I just, I don't know, didn't care, I guess." She sighed and he hung his head again.

"So, uh, Soul, I was wondering—" she seemed fidgety, nervous.

"I'm 22," he said, because he could sense where this was going.

"What?"

"I'm 22. I turned 22 last month."

"So?"

"So, I'm way too old for you?"

"Who said I was interested?"

"You're not then?" he looked up at her skeptically, and if he were honest, with more than a little disappointment. He was interested, very interested, he just… shouldn't be.

"That's not the point."

"What is your point, Maka?" He finally raked his hand through his already mussed hair in frustration. "Because I'll be damned if—" before he could finish, her mouth was muffling his words, warm and insistent and, jailbait or no, he couldn't help responding in turn. The kiss was hot, intense, and when they broke away, both were panting.

"Maka, we shouldn't—" he growled.

"My Mama was 22 when she met my Papa, you know."

"Wha?" This girl was insane. What did that have to do with—

"And my Papa? He was 16. That didn't end so well, but you know what? I'm willing to bet I can do better. Wonder if you could?" Her eyes met his, challenging. This girl was so strange. And passionate. And bookish. And strange. And somehow, he wanted to accept that challenge in her eyes. He wanted it very much.

"Mmmm," he said non-committally. "Tell you what. What do you say I give you a ride home, and we can talk about it over coffee tomorrow."

"Alright, " she said brightly, looking down at him with a warm smile and offering her hand. He took it, and hand in hand, they walked out of the alley.

It had been quite the night, getting drunk off his ass, making out in a garbage filled alley, waking up with a pounding headache, finding out that the girl he'd just come within a hairsbreadth of doing a lot more than fondling was actually sixteen, figuring out that in spite of all that he was actually ridiculously interested in this feisty, smart little thing. Fuck him, fuck the world, if he wasn't about to start dating jailbait, but for the life of him, as he felt her warm little hand in his, he just couldn't bring himself to care.