A/N: So this is a thing. Thar be smut here —and it's odd and sappy and—well, you'll see. I dreamed a dream and this is the result. NSFW, buyer beware and whatnot. RATED MA for explicit sexual content-GRAPHIC SEX PEOPLE. Special thanks go to rebornfromash for looking through this when it was still an unedited, phone composed mess.
It was supposed to be a simple thing—get in, wreak some havoc, take some food, get out.
She'd never expected they'd have another rider defending. It made no sense, but so it was; as Maka rounded the corner to make her getaway, she nearly smacked bodily into a young man who radiated a power eerily similar to her own. With his white hair and red eyes, that he had the blood was obvious.
"Outta my way, pigtails," the man looked her up and down dismissively before moving to sweep her aside.
"I don't think you understand," she said as she planted herself firmly in front of him, dropping her sack as he came to a halt only inches away. "You're looking for me. I'm dragonborn." To illustrate her point, she froze the ground beneath his feet, causing him to slip and fall back on his ass. He glared up at her as she danced back—if he would work to defend such people, then he was as bad as they were and deserved to face her wrath.
"Fuck," the man cursed as he used flame to melt the ice, crouching warily in the resulting puddle. "Fuck," he repeated as he got to his feet and scrambled back to put more distance between them. "Wasn't supposed to be another rider," he muttered, raising his eyes to meet her gaze before smirking at her to show off a set of too sharp teeth.
"Well. This oughta be fun," he said as a large plume of fire shot her way. She rolled to the left to dodge it, ignoring the explosion of the wall behind her as she sprang to her feet and shot off a plume of her own. Maka was about to let out a triumphant yell as he failed to move but it died on her lips when the ice shield came up. Ice met flame and the burst of steam exploded outward, veiling the entire market center.
"Crap!" she swore, trying to figure out where he was and sensing him behind her only an instant before he hurled a line of ice at her, and she whirled about and threw up a shield of fire, causing more steam to rise and flood the area.
"Later, tiny tits. Gotta run!" she heard before she sensed him leaving, faster than would be possible for a typical human. She didn't bother to chase him—she'd never wanted a fight to begin with and if he opted not to do his job, well, all the better. Picking up her sack full of necessaries again as the steam cleared, she grabbed another to fill before hurrying away. With any luck, she'd be long gone before reinforcements arrived—she had no wish to bring Angel into the fight.
Overall, the dragonborn couldn't help but to be satisfied—the place was a shambles and she'd picked up enough food to feed the handful of families in the hills for a few weeks—and enough gold that they might stay fed for months. Better still, she'd sown sufficient chaos that the Lord who had been so exploiting his tenants by underpaying for their labor and overcharging for food might just think twice about resuming his former practices, especially with the rather explicit warning she'd left at the market center.
The rebel dragonborn who the masses knew only as the Grigori had once again done the work of the people. And yet, that there had been another dragonborn there to intercede nagged at her. How could they have known where she would next strike? Maka hadn't known herself until she'd walked through the village this morning and heard their plight. Were they tracking her somehow? The thought was troubling as she arrived back at the large, quiet meadow where she had left her dragon.
She soon found that Angel wasn't exactly where she had left her, which wasn't that unusual. She scanned the area and caught sight of her finally, noting the blue scales flashing atop the rocky hill that edged one end of the meadow.
Maka began to stride forward again when she stopped in her tracks. There was a figure up ahead, an eerily familiar white haired figure just standing in the middle of the meadow and staring up at the rocky hilltop where her dragon currently was. She approached warily, but as he made no move against her, she stopped a few feet to the side of him, set down her overstuffed sacks, and focused again on the hilltop where she'd seen the flash of blue that had alerted her to the presence of her dragon.
She couldn't stifle her gasp, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.
Because Angel was…
"Is that—your dragon?" Maka managed to choke out.
"Yup." His voice was devoid of emotion.
"And are they…?"
"Yup," he repeated.
"Oh—oh no—ugh—no—" she stammered out, her horror knotting in the pit of her stomach like a stone, the weight stifling.
"Yup," he agreed, and she heard his sigh. "Not gonna attack me again, are you?" He gave her a sideways glance.
"It would hardly seem prudent to do so at this point," she said flatly, trying desperately to regain her composure in the face of—of—that. Especially since they would clearly be spending a lot of time together from now on, considering—
Oh. Oh no. She'd almost forgotten, what with the sight of their two dragons ahead of them, his very clearly having mounted hers and currently thrusting vigorously. It was a disaster playing out in front of their eyes because dragons mated for life, but it wasn't the worst part by a long way, no. As it was, with their dragons bonded, they would be stuck with one another for the foreseeable future, but there was more to it than that, and Maka could already feel that more beginning to stir.
She might have discounted it as some sort of overblown wives' tale if it hadn't happened to her parents. But it had happened to them, she was the result of it happening to them, and she had been warned when she came into her own powers at the same time she had been told that it was extremely unlikely; dragonborn were rare—mostly, their dragons mated with unbonded dragons and the rider gained a new, less predictable companion. For most dragonborrn, mating wasn't really a huge issue.
Unless, of course, a bonded dragon mated with a bonded dragon. Then—then it was a disaster. Maka felt the stirrings grow and willed herself to stand in place. She refused to give in to this, forced herself to take one step back and then another. Men were pigs who cared only to rut. She would not bind herself to one, even if it was already done, the choice made for her by her damned dragon; she would reject it, stand her ground, keep her heart, soul, and body her own.
He turned towards her and she could see it in those strange red eyes, the need flowing over into his heated stare. He would be just as affected as she was, the new forged bond between their dragons forcing the same bond between them, the same need. As with the dragons, it was a bond that would remain for life. She shuddered at the thought, half the aching need of her now overwrought body, half sheer revulsion at the reality she now faced. He was a stranger—a stranger who worked for assholes, a stranger who had, only minutes ago, tried to kill her, a stranger who she had tried to kill in turn. No, she wouldn't give into this. She was stronger than this.
"What—" he looked confused underneath the heat of his stare, and shook his head. "Why—"
Though he couldn't articulate the sudden rush of need sweeping through him, Maka knew what he meant, felt what he meant.
"It's the bond," she snapped, more harshly than she meant. "They are mated now, bonded. When already bonded dragons mate it," she licked her lips, swallowed hard, images flooding her mind of what her body now screamed for, "transfers."
"Transfers?" His voice was low, but somehow he was closer, had stepped closer—or had she? Her body felt strange and wrong, the tight ball of need in her lower abdomen, the slick heat between her legs, it all felt like it belonged to another. She wanted to take another step back, to put more distance between them, but her traitorous body refused the command.
"Yes," she said lowly. "Do you know nothing of dragonborn? Didn't your parents or your mentor—"
"I had none," he growled. "There are no other dragonborn in my line."
"Oh," she breathed and suddenly he was closer still, right in front of her, his face mere inches from her own. Too close. He was far too close and she should back away and yet, the trance was too deep, the spell too strong, she couldn't.
"When bonded dragons…mate," the word felt heavy on her tongue. "The bond is forged between their riders as well. It's—" she took in a deep breath to quell the overwhelming urge to smash her mouth to his, to smash her body against his. "—unbreakable. And dragons mate—for life."
"For life?" he croaked out hoarsely, grabbing her shoulders. Maka should have shoved him away, drowned him in a column of flame for such a move, but instead it only made her want to shove him to the ground and straddle him. But she wouldn't. She could resist. She had to resist. Instead, she just nodded.
He bared his teeth in a grimace, sinfully sharp, and she wondered what they would feel like scraping against her skin, anywhere, everywhere. She could hear the dragons rutting in the distance again but her gaze remained fixed on his, his red eyes burning, branding her with their impossible heat.
"It's why I want…" he whispered, fingers digging into her shoulders almost painfully. She swallowed hard, nodded again, her every nerve on fire, all screaming at her to take him, let him take her, to make him hers, to let him make her his. She needed to feel every inch of his skin, to bask in his scent and smother herself in it, to feel his seed hot within her. She shuddered, her defenses breaking down in the wake of this new bond, involuntary, overwhelming.
"Yes," she finally whispered back, "It—in our bodies and our souls, it is—done. We are mated. Our minds are our own, our will, yet—driven by the rest, resistance is—" she licked too dry lips again, "difficult."
He scoffed, shook his head. "Like I'm gonna mate or whatever the fuck with some violent tiny tits who defends asshole landlords. Fuck that," he growled out but did not release his grip, did not step away. Her own anger rising at his words, Maka pushed him back, hard, her fists clenching at her sides.
"Like hell!" she shrieked. "You were the one stopping me, acting like the trained security dog of that asshole lord! You were the one who—"
"Whoa—whoa!" He put up his hands placatingly because she had stepped forward and pushed him again. "I don't know what the hell you're on about. I was there to try to fuck the place up, hopefully pick up some shit for the villagers he's been screwing over, that's it."
"Oh," she breathed, her hands dropping, her eyes moving down. "I—I didn't realize. I just thought—"
"Yeah, well, maybe if you asked before just attacking," she looked up because did he sound—amused? Oh hell no, he was smirking at her, the bastard! Smirking! Like some sort of village kid who had just won first prize at the fair!
"You attacked first!" Maka pushed at his chest again for emphasis.
"And I suppose hitting me with ice was, what, you being playful? If that's how you flirt, pigtails, we're definitely—"
"It was a warning," she practically growled. "The ice was under your feet. If I'd wanted to hit you then you'd be dead and I wouldn't be dealing with—with—" she let out a shriek of frustration because he was still too close and the urge to touch every part of him was building like an inferno she didn't know how to quell, her anger only fueling those other fires to burn that much brighter.
"What do we do?" He broke off her spiraling thoughts, her spiraling desire, with too soft words. There was pleading behind the fire, in his tone, in his eyes.
"I don't know," she said softly, because she didn't. Maka didn't know and it frightened her because before, there was always an answer, and if she didn't know it, she could usually find it or figure it out, but here she knewthe answer—it just wasn't one she could accept. The choices were to give in, to embrace what had been chosen for them, to come together in the way their bodies were screaming at them to do, or to continue to resist, painfully, futilely, to try to live with the constant desire that would only build, would only grow. Either choice was untenable and for, perhaps, the first time in her life, Maka was at a complete loss.
"I don't know," she whispered again and sank to her knees because the effort of keeping from hurling herself at him bodily was overwhelming.
She closed her eyes and heard his own body sink down, felt his forehead suddenly against her own. The contact was soothing, their souls now bonded, so closely bound that his very proximity was like a sip of water in the midst of the desert, helping to quench her unending thirst if only for an instant. She let her soul reach out, moved to read him. Dragonborn were gifted with different abilities and one of hers was the ability to read the souls of others. With their newly formed bond, she could have merged their souls without the gift, could have read him wholly, but she would not do so, would not cross such a line with a stranger.
"Look, we're in this together now, whatever this is," he said, the forced calm of his voice barely masking the turmoil just below the surface. As the words washed over her, she delved into his essence, his truth. He was sincere. Strong, smart, apathetic sometimes, lazy sometimes, caustic—injured to his core by life, by the world. Rough and dark and fiercely loyal to anyone he found worthy of his trust. He was also fighting and fighting hard against the mating imperative that was screaming through them both; it was easy to forget that this drive was shared, but he was resisting as forcefully as she was, and she couldn't help but to be grateful. Instead of fighting off an attacker, in him she had an ally against this thing they both faced.
Together indeed.
"I know," Maka said finally, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around him driven not only by the imperative of the bond, but by a newly budding wish to take comfort in him, to let him take comfort in her against what they both faced. If only it would be a true comfort instead of fueling the flame, she could have acted on the impulse.
Instead, she acted on another impulse, one driven by a new need, to read deeper into the heart this strange boy who sought to do good even through his deep cynicism, who resisted the madness of the imperative as she did, who, for better or worse, she was bound to in one way or another for life.
"I—have an idea," she began, swallowing thickly at the thought of what she wanted to do, because the drive to be closer to him in any way, every way, made her shiver at the very notion.
"What?" He answered hoarsely.
Maka pulled back, dared to meet his searing gaze. "Our souls are bound, though we never sought it. Just as we are bound to our dragons. And just as we are bound to them, can share our souls with them, so we can with one another if we wish. I have kept myself away—my soul locked tight—and so have you, I know, but we could," she bit her lip involuntarily at the thought, "unlock them. It—it might help."
It was true, it might. It might help ease the imperative in fulfilling part of it, in allowing them to meld in half of the way they were being driven to so forcefully, and their resolve to resist this might mutually strengthen, might piggyback to make it easier.
Or it could backfire and the desire would piggyback and the inferno could become dragon fire, so hot it would incinerate all resolve on contact. It was a risk she was willing to take, one she needed to take; she had to know who she was bonded to, they both did, and this was the only way to achieve that, to learn in moments what might otherwise take years.
Perhaps he read the fear in her eyes because he searched them then, shaking his head. "You're sure it won't make this," he lifted one hand from his lap to gesture between them, "worse?"
"No," she sighed. "But we don't exactly have many options, and this way, at least we'd—know each other, I guess. I'm Maka, by the way," she held out her hand reflexively and he took it, his grasp firm, his fingers warm. The jolt of feeling, of desire, fueled just by that small touch had her gritting her teeth with the effort of restraining herself once more; the balm of their earlier closeness had clearly worn down.
"Soul," he responded, voice strained. "And I guess—I guess we can try it, if you think—if you want to," he managed.
Maka nodded slowly. "I do."
"Okay then," he squeezed the hand he had not let go of more tightly. "Let's try it."
And so, she did. She let down the resistance she had put up from the outset and felt her soul leap beyond its bounds, chomping at the bit to touch him, know him, be one with his essence. She felt herself flood him or him flood her, she wasn't sure there was a difference anymore, and then he and she were we and she knew him, almost as well as she knew herself. He was Soul Eater, once Soul Evans, son of a lord, outcast, dragonborn. Rider of the Red Menace, Oni, loner and would be hero. Reluctant musician, caustic rebel, and loyal, so loyal, to those he loved.
"Fuck," she felt more than heard. "You're the Grigori."
Oh, that. Because he knew her now, too. She felt the echo of his thoughts in her mind. The Grigori was someone he had heard tales of for the past year, someone who put the screws to the assholes of the world, someone he had been trying desperately to be like. She was the Grigori and they were bound. She was smart and powerful, beautiful and deadly. She was the Grigori and they were bound and he was sure he could love her. No, that was wrong. As his soul became one with hers, he was sure he already did. He wanted this, wanted her, not just because some stupid fucking bond told him to, but because she felt like the piece that had been missing all his life, that nameless something he had always searched for and never found. Until now. Still, even as the desire flooded him, overwhelmed him, he didn't act, wouldn't act, not unless she wanted it too, would kill himself before he did anything to hurt her.
She felt her arms move toward him, around him, unbidden, felt his arms respond in kind, felt his forehead on hers again, but it went no further, would go no further unless she willed it. She knew that as surely now as she knew that he could transform his limbs into wickedly sharp blades, or that he could blast with sound as easily as fire.
Maka felt his warmth, his love, flood through her, so impossible, so forceful. Ten minutes ago, she had only just met him, thirty minutes ago, she had been trying to kill him, and yet they were bound, and that he knew her now, soul deep, and had fallen in love with what he found was as clear and pure as a mountain spring and just as startling in its beauty.
She basked in the warmth, in him, and wondered if she could come to love him, too.
She knew him now, as well as she knew anyone. Could she learn to love him?
Yes, she was sure she could. She felt a warmth within her, within a part of her soul that had always been cold and empty, and knew with clarity that it was for him. She could love him. No, she did love him. Impossibly, so impossibly, she loved this man she had only just met, loved him when she had vowed never to love anyone.
It sounded so silly, like a fairy tale, a bedtime story where the prince and princess meet and fall in love at first sight and live happily ever after, and she wanted to laugh and she could feel his own chuckle deep within her soul. Real people didn't fall in love at first sight, well, first fight, his thought intruded to remind her. How could this be real? And yet, most people were not dragonborn, most people did not bond souls as easily as breathing, most people might not know each other as well over a lifetime as she had come to know him in an instant, and she figured that this was as real as anything and far more strong.
As she reflected on it all, felt his love and his patience, his longing and his loyalty, she thought that perhaps their dragons had known better than they did because she suddenly wanted this, not because the imperative forced her to, but because somehow, impossibly, she loved him too, they loved each other, and this, all of this, was good and right, and she knew somewhere at bottom that it was forever.
"You think too much," he whispered in her mind. "You know that, right?"
"I know," she sighed, and the imperative was so overwhelming that Maka felt like she was on fire, like they both were. With the realization that she loved Soul, that Soul loved her, the need for restraint fell away. She let the need take her and leaned in and whispered "kiss me," a hairbreadth from his lips and he did, oh how he did.
She'd never shared a kiss before in all her nineteen years, not like this. It wasn't as if pecking her dad counted, or even that weird smashing of lips she'd done on a dare when she was twelve, before she bonded with Angel and came into her power, before people began to fear her. Somewhere in her mind, really his, she knew that he had been kissed by one of the maids when he was sixteen, though it wasn't something he liked to remember—the woman had kissed him in his sleep and he'd responded groggily before waking up and pushing her away, angry, no, furious at having been so attacked, so violated. Later he'd found out it was done to win a bet, to prove that the woman could "break in" the youngest Evans boy. Mostly, people had stayed away from him because he looked so strange, and mostly, he didn't much mind because he had little use for others.
Maka was the first person since his older brother who the young man had ever felt much of anything for in all his own nineteen years.
So Soul had a better idea of how this worked than she did, and he showed it, his mouth hot and insistent, his lips feeling almost electric as they moved against her own, as she responded in kind. She couldn't be surprised when he pulled her into his lap, his intent clear in his mind before he acted, and she wrapped her legs around his waist wantonly, her scandalously short skirt riding up her thighs. She thrilled at the feel of his hands on first her thighs then her rear, thrilled as he nibbled on her lower lip with his deliciously sharp teeth, thrilled as he worked his tongue into her mouth, sliding it against her own, hot and forceful. She moaned in appreciation at the feel of it, of his mouth and his tongue, his heat and her own mingling as their souls had just before. Her hands moved from his chest to his stark hair, tangling themselves just above his neck, forcing his mouth even more firmly against her own. Maka moved her own tongue insistently and drew a moan from her mate, for soon, very soon, that is what he would become; the very idea sent a thrill through her entire being, the imperative driving her frantically.
She could feel something hot and hard against her rear, something she was aware, dimly, had been hot and hard for far too long now, since the moment this had begun, and she knew she wanted, no she needed, more.
Almost as if driven by her thoughts—no, absolutely driven by her thoughts—she felt his hands slide up around her waist to loosen and remove the belt from around her blouse before sliding up higher, the thrill of his warm, calloused fingers on her stomach eliciting another soft moan. He rested his hands just below her pert breasts, the question humming through her mind and the answer coming as her own hands moved from his hair to lift and remove her shirt before grasping his hands and moving them up to place one firmly on each breast. Soul gasped softly at her action, at the feel of her hardened nipples and soft flesh beneath his palms as she moaned at the feel of his hands where she'd never thought to let another touch her, never imagined she would let another touch her. It was bliss, the feel of his hands hot against her, squeezing, exploring, before finally beginning to pull at her nipples softly. She moaned again, louder, pulled away from kissing him to pant at the feel of his hands on her, her panting giving way to a soft cry of his name as his mouth moved down to her neck, licking and sucking and biting in a way that felt so good, far better than such a thing had any right to. She wondered if the fact that she felt like a raw nerve, overwrought, if the fact that every touch filled her with such overwhelming pleasure, was a result of the bond or the imperative or if it was simply normal, if such touching always felt so good.
"Still thinking too much," she felt his mouth hot against her ear, his deep voice thrilling her anew, before he nipped her ear lightly and moved his mouth down to attack her breast.
Maka arched her back at the feel of his mouth there, wondering how if each new touch or lick or bite felt better than the last, she would survive this when her soul already felt like it was about to shed her skin in sheer ecstasy. And yet, the overwhelming need growing between her legs, slick and hot like nothing she'd ever felt before, grounded her, tortured her. The imperative swept through her. She needed more of him and yet more again, needed to feel his skin, his seed, his everything. She ground down onto him, instinct driving her, eliciting a low groan from her mate, causing him to move his hands down to her rear and force her down harder. The contact, his heat against hers, was delicious, but would never be nearly enough and, frantic for more, she suddenly shifted her weight, moved her hands to his back, and pulled, sliding from his lap and pulling him down on top of her.
As they hit the ground, Soul began to grind against her, his mouth finding hers again, but It still wasn't enough, his weight on her good and right, yet her need to feel his skin was too much, far too much. She pulled away from his mouth, met his eyes with her own, the red a reflection of the fire burning between them, higher and hotter with every second that passed, threatening to consume them both.
"Off, everything off," she asked or pleaded or commanded, did it matter if the wish was shared?
He sat up, flinging off his shirt carelessly before squatting up long enough to remove his belt and boots and shimmy off his pants.
She used the time to shimmy off her own skirt and small clothes, before unlacing her boots and throwing them aside as carelessly as he had his own. Now bare before one another for the first time, bare before any man or woman for the first time, she couldn't help the flush that swept through her inspite of the mating imperative running so high, and remembering his earlier insults, she crossed her arms over her chest protectively even as her body screamed for him.
"Don't," he implored softly as his eyes seemed to drink her in. Maka could feel it, his intoxication with her skin, her mere presence, and when her mind questioned, puzzled over his earlier words, he answered aloud, "I was angry and stupid."
And she could feel that truth, too, as she could feel his every truth, and simply leaned forward to pull him to her, her mouth claiming his again greedily as she felt the soft meadow grass at her back, felt his skin atop her own, her whole body ablaze with the feel of him against her, the slick heat between her thighs ready to combust at the feel of him so near, that part of him it screamed for, deafening, maddening.
His hard length rested against the soft hairs of her womanhood as he settled firmly between her legs, hot and teasing and much too far from where she ached for him, where she could feel he ached for her. She arched her rear up towards him, trying to shift him lower, to shift him to where she so desperately needed him to be, but she wasn't alone, their goal was the same, they were of one mind and soul now, and soon, so soon, they would be of one body as well. Soul responded instantly, moving his hips to slide himself back against her folds. She was so unbelievably wet, the imperative driving her body into the human equivalent of heat, that he slipped easily between her folds, pressing hard against her clit and causing her to arch involuntarily into him and moan his name against his mouth. He was so hot against her, and the echoing thought of how warm and wet she felt against him caused her to shudder and moan in anticipation.
Neither of them knew what they were doing, not really—having a theoretical idea of the mechanics of the thing was not the same as knowinghow, really (she ignored his teasing thought of what a nerd she was in favor of bucking herself against him, causing him to moan in the most deliciously satisfying way.) No, neither of them knew, but both of them could feel where they wanted, no, needed to be, were driven into a state of desperate, frenzied need, so overpowering that it felt like they might die if he couldn't feel her, if she couldn't feel him, now.
There could be no question or hesitation as the need drove them. He slid himself down, his hard heat pressing against her, she wriggled and shifted, never thinking to use her hands which were far too occupied in his hair, keeping his mouth firmly on hers, but when he reached the apex of her warm heat, that part of her that shrieked to feel him, he could feel her desperation for him to push inside of her as clearly as he felt his own. In an instant, it was done, and while it felt strange, to be filled by his throbbing heat, more than anything, it was a storm of overwhelming pleasure, and she gasped against his mouth and he moaned lowly against hers, his thoughts of how warm and wet and absolutely amazing she felt screaming through her mind. There was no thought to move, not exactly, only the instinct that still rode them hard, so he reared back and began to thrust inside of her in a frenzy, compelled to be close to her, to feel all of her, as she was compelled to feel close to him, feel all of him, it was all one, the same. Her body shrieked pleasure at her and she could kiss him no longer, could only moan and sob and gasp his name into the skin of his neck as he thrust frantically inside of her, as she moved frantically beneath him, thrusting herself up to meet him, trying to feel all of him, desperate to feel all of him.
In minutes, as the frenzy reached a crescendo, as her every nerve was so ablaze she wasn't sure she could ever feel normal again, wasn't sure she wanted to, her desperation to reach and find—she knew not what—violently building within her very essence, she suddenly felt his body stiffen above her. She felt him twitch violently inside of her, felt his impossibly hot seed as he released it deep within her, felt his voice vibrate through her as he shouted her name, felt his overwhelming pleasure wash through her, and whether it was one or all of those things she couldn't say, but she found what her soul had been reaching for all along as she was taken by pleasure so overwhelming that she thought if bliss was something real and true, she must have reached it. She was sure she shouted his name in return and she knew that if heaven existed at all, then surely, surely it was in his arms.
The waves of pleasure pulsed through her as she came down slowly from her high, he core pulsing around his still twitching cock. He collapsed on top of her, panting as she panted beneath him.
They stayed like that for a time, simply reveling in the feeling of being so close, in the afterglow of being together so fully. Eventually, his breathing finally normal, he pulled his head up and smiled down at her, his content as clear on his achingly handsome face as it was in his soul, his dark, rough, beautiful soul. Maka smiled back and thought that this really was what she had been missing.
"So, that was.." Soul offered lamely.
"Yeah, it was," she agreed breathily, the idea that there was no word that was enough to convey everything that it had been, felt, meant, would always be and feel and mean hanging palpably in the air between them.
This was her mate, this was for life, and they both knew it and neither was sorry, not even a little.
He rolled off her, taking her with him to tuck her firmly into his side, and for a time they lay there, content. She stroked his chest, stroked the stray, fine white hairs she found there, as he stroked her head carefully, lovingly. For now, the imperative was sated, though both could feel it still at the edge of their minds, growing slowly but steadily. Soon, very soon, they would be driven by their new forged bond to mate again, though they hardly needed the imperative to repeat the bliss they had only just shared, each of them eager for more and more again even without it.
Thinking it would be nice to beat the imperative, Maka suddenly moved her head up to look at him and was about kiss him when she felt something tickle the back of her mind, nagging at her that there was something she had forgotten, something big, something important. The silence of the meadow was like a yawning echo in her mind, only his breathing, deep and steady, reaching her ears as he looked up at her in question.
It was then that it came to her—what felt wrong. The sounds of their dragons mating had ceased. She closed her eyes for a moment. Angel felt close, far too close. She looked up and blinked. Not twenty feet away lay Angel, a red dragon laying next to her. Both were looking down at their riders lazily, and Maka could feel the smugness from her dragon, could sense what the creature had witnessed, and felt the blush spread from her head to her toes, hot and fast.
"Oh shut up!" She practically growled as she scrambled up. Soul followed shortly, also red, also flustered.
"Go away, Oni. We're fucking busy!" her mate roared and the dragons both blinked down at the pair for several moments. Finally, with deliberate care and exaggerated dignity, the oversized pair stood and sauntered away, eventually disappearing behind the hill where they had earlier been… Occupied.
Maka heard several echoing roars and felt the arousal sweep through her again forcefully and knew exactly what the dragons had disappeared to continue. She flushed brighter at the thought and was surprised when she felt Soul's hand suddenly take her own, squeezing. She looked up at him, and he was grinning at her, his expression reminiscent of how a cat might eye a particularly juicy mouse. She shivered in anticipation at the flame rekindled within his red, red eyes, the same flame echoing within herself at the memory of his touch, his skin, the feel of him anywhere, everywhere still so fresh in her mind.
"So, I think Angel and Oni are gonna be—busy—for awhile," Soul murmured as he stepped closer. She took in his tan skin, stark against the white of his hair, his already stiff manhood, and she felt the inferno rise within her anew.
"Yeah," she agreed, closing the rest of the small distance to press herself against him.
"Should we…?" The question was a mere courtesy; he already knew the answer, read from her soul and spoken through her lips as they hungrily claimed his.
It would prove to be a long, exhausting day for dragons and riders alike. And if the Lord's men caught them naked and tangled in the clearing, well, they managed to escape, if barely, and the time spent before that was surely worth licking a few wounds. And if the imperative was always there, always writhing just below the surface, if they found themselves acting on it forcefully and often over the coming days, weeks, months, even years, neither of them seemed to mind, just as neither of them minded that like dragons, their riders mated for life.