A/N: So, this came from one of those prompt memes, and was the request of the-self-diagnosis. It is smut-tastic, though the smut has a lot of humor. Yes, this is cheesy as fuck, and yes, I wrote this when I should have been working on my resbang fic, and yes, it's almost long enough to fill the minimum requirement. These things happen.
Thanks to rebornfromash for encouraging the silliness, and for betaing the thing.
WARNING: THIS IS RATED MA-NSFW. Thar be sex. You have been warned.
It had been all Liz's fault, but wasn't it always?
They were sitting at the bar, Maka nursing her third drink, Liz her fifth, their other friends having long since abandoned them for the dance floor, when the tall blonde elbowed her shorter friend.
"Did you see that?" she said with a wide grin.
"See what?" Maka raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Hottie at nine o'clock, checking you out!"
Maka knew exactly who her friend was talking about; she'd noticed him staring their way twenty minutes ago from the other end of the bar. With his odd looks, those strange eyes and hair and teeth, it had been hard not to notice when he'd leveled his red eyed stare in their direction. He was probably just waiting for her to leave so he could put the moves on Liz, which was fine by her; she hadn't wanted to come anyway.
"I think you mean he's checking you out." She rolled her eyes.
"Nah, he's into you. Trust me," Liz said, her grin broadening.
Maka shrugged. "Even if he is, I need to leave soon—and I'm certainly not interested in some—some—" she glanced at him "—goth vampire wannabe."
"Not even a super hot goth vampire wannabe?" Liz's tone was teasing, but her mouth was set into a slight pout.
"Nope. Especially when I have yet another newbie to train bright and early. Remind me to thank you for forgetting to tell me until yesterday, by the way." She couldn't help but scowl slightly.
Liz half shrugged in response. "Sure, what're assistants for."
Maka heaved a long suffering sigh. She was sure her personal assistant / friend had only been trying to spare her longer annoyance by not letting her know that Marie had dropped by the week before to tell her she'd be training yet another new Editor. Well that, and she'd probably wanted to avoid listening to her bitch.
They'd been dangling her take over as Editor-in-Chief over her head since Marie first announced the pregnancy a few months ago, and she'd gotten damned sick of being thrown every bit of extra bullshit to prove her worth.
She was beginning to want to tell them all to fuck off, but of course, she wouldn't; if she wanted to make Editor-in-Chief before she was thirty as her mother had, she would need to grin and bear it, even if it did mean training the new idiot Music Editor, a guy who had barely graduated, had just eked out first a bachelors and then a masters before spending the last two years doing who the hell knew what, a guy who had only been hired because apparently his family name meant something in the music industry.
Maka didn't know shit about music or the industry, but the idea that this asshole made Editor on name recognition alone had her fuming. And yet, she would suck it up like she always did because the Chief position was so closeshe could practically taste it, could smell the old leather of the head office chair more strongly with every passing day.
If training some lazy jerkoff who had won the genetic lottery was the price she paid to take that chair, well then, she would welcome said jerkoff to Death Magazine with a smile on her face and an eyeroll in her heart.
"Don't look now," Liz elbowed her again and Maka had to resist the urge to punch her, "but I think your bloodsucker is headed this way."
"Good. I'll leave you to him." And with that, she left a ten on the bar and got up to head towards the bathroom, figuring it was an adequate excuse to disappear for a bit.. If Liz became occupied with a guy, she'd finally be able to leave without being reminded that she needed to get out, relax, live a little.
Maka lived just fine with her books, the occasional lunch or dinner out with her friends, and plenty of evenings working, thank you very much!
As she took a few steps away from the bar, she heard a voice, low and a little rough, call out "hey, wait a sec!"
She kept walking, not thinking it was meant for her.
"Seriously," the voice was closer, just behind her now. "Can you hold up just a sec?"
"Huh?" Maka whirled around to find the vampire wannabe only a foot behind her, looking annoyed or maybe nervous for an instant before his face became neutral, unreadable. "Are you talking to—to me?" she asked, incredulous, because she'd fully expected him to approach Liz the moment she got up; most guys preferred her buxom blonde assistant over her, with her modest curves and decidedly guarded aura.
"Who else would I be talking to?" he scoffed.
"Oh—alright then," she looked up at him and fidgeted unhappily. "Can I help you with something?"
He seemed to consider this for a moment, which was absurd as he had been the one to stop her, then nodded slowly. "Was sorta hopin' you'd dance. Uh, with me, I mean."
She blinked up at him. "You want to dance?"
"Yeah, I mean, if you—"
"Did Liz put you up to this?" she demanded.
"Who?" he asked, knitting his brows together in clear confusion.
"Oh never mind!" She practically shouted her exasperation. "Look, I was just leaving, so if you'd—"
"One dance," his eyes looked almost pleading. "Then I'll leave you alone. Just. One. Please?"
He had scrubbed his hand through the back of his hair in agitation and looked decidedly desperate, almost dejected.
"I—uh—guess one dance can't hurt…" Her voice was quiet. She didn't want to dance with him, but he looked so sincerely defeated that she couldn't help but to agree. After all, what harm could once dance do?
"Great! Let's go then!" He held out a hand, she took it with only a moments hesitation, and they made their way to the dance floor. When she hazarded a glance to her assistant and noticed the woman was smirking, smirking, the fiend, even as she gave a big cheesy thumbs up, Maka had to stifle a groan.
Unfortunately, it was a slow song. Maka almost groaned again as they got to the dance floor, but let him put one hand lightly at her waist as she placed her free hand on his shoulder, and they danced.
And danced.
And danced.
Maka had never been much of a dancer, but there was something about dancing with him that just felt right, as if they'd been doing it all their lives. She found it impossible to break away as slow songs became fast ones, as Liz brought over more drinks, grinning conspiratorially. Several drinks and a dozen songs later and she was grinding against him, and it felt so damnedgood, for him too if the hardness against her ass was any indication, that she thought she'd like to take him home and figure out just how good that hardness could feel; yet, even as the desire struck her, she realized somewhere amidst the haze of alcohol and sudden lust that it was a very bad idea, and as the song ended, she excused herself to go to the bathroom because she needed to clear her head.
She should have expected Liz to be hot on her heels.
"Told you," the tall blonde's reflection grinned at her as she splashed her face with cold water.
Maka whirled on her. "Told me what, exactly?"
"That he was into you." Her idiotic grin never wavered. It was infuriating.
"So what if he is?" She raised one shoulder in a sort of lazy half shrug.
"So you should get on that. God knows you could use to unwind. Why not let the hot guy do it for you. Or to you."
"Liz!" She hissed as a toilet flushed and she realized they weren't alone.
Her assistant rolled her eyes. "Oh please, half the girls here are just looking for a quick fuck, and the other half came in with their fuck buddy. I know you're interested, so pretend you don't have a stick lodged three feet up your ass for once and go for it."
"But…" Maka shook her head as the toilet flusher walked up and washed her hands, pointedly ignoring them both. She had pink hair and a very short skirt.
"But what? Live a little. What's the worst that'll happen—you actually like him and a one time fuck becomes a standing arrangement?"
Maka sighed, because it was true, her hazy brain told her, and he was hot, and she'd never had this sort of instant chemistry with anyone—and she deserved to just let go… But—
"You should listen to your friend," the girl at the sink said as she moved to grab some paper towels and dry her hands.
"Beg pardon?" Maka's eyebrows shot up into her hairline.
"You were dancing with The Shark, right?" She turned to the other two women as she began to dry her hands.
"Um?"
"White hair, red eyes, sharp teeth?" Maka nodded slightly in response. "No one knows his real name so we've sort of improvised. Half the regular girls have been trying to get into his pants for months, ever since he started showing up every other weekend. He never dances with anyone—has never taken anyone home. So girl, if you can get a piece of that buried treasure, you'd be a legend. Go get it." Finished drying, she turned and left, leaving a flustered Maka in her wake.
She shook her head. What was that?
"Well?" Liz asked, expectant. "You heard the girl. Go get it!" And without ceremony, she steered her friend out the bathroom door.
The Shark, as the pink haired girl had dubbed him, was waiting near the small hall leading to the bathrooms, leaned up casually against the wall.
"There you are," he said as Liz pushed her in front of him. "Thought you'd fallen in."
She felt her face heat up, though whether it was from his words, proximity, or heated stare, she couldn't say.
"No, I…" she stammered, and he chuckled.
"Kidding. Damn you're cute when you're flustered." She felt like she was melting, the fire in his red eyes branding her. "You wanna maybe get out of here?"
She swallowed, her tongue feeling suddenly too thick. A small part of her, shoved into the back of her mind by alcohol and undeniable desire, screamed no. But she found herself nodding, her traitorous body ready to follow him wherever he chose to lead.
He smiled at that. "Good."
Suddenly he had grabbed her hand and was hauling her across the club. She heard Liz call after her "have fun!" and then she was out the door.
He led her to the parking lot across the street, to a large motorcycle, and dug through one of the saddlebags to hand her a black helmet emblazoned with orange flames before mounting the bike.
She looked between the helmet and the bike unhappily and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"You're drunk—we both are. I—I live closed. We could, um, walk. If—"
He sighed, but nodded, grabbing the helmet and shoving it away and then getting off the bike.
"Lead the way, then."
And she did, grabbing his hand to walk him the two blocks to her apartment, his hand large and warm in hers, around hers, a promise of what was to come. Maka shivered with anticipation, the full force of what she'd done hitting her. She had invited him back to her place.
She felt her whole body flush at the thought. This wasn't like her, at all, but then, she'd never wanted something like this with a stranger before—had never connected so instantly with anyone.
And wasn't Liz right, didn't she deserve to let go, to go for it, to live a little?
Too soon or maybe not soon enough, they reached her building and she led him upstairs and to her door. They'd both said little during the walk, nervous anticipation boiling between them.
And then her door was open and they were inside her apartment, alone.
And then they flew together as if they held opposite ends of a magnet, mouths meeting desperately, hands finding hair, hips, ass. He tasted of malt liquor, a bit sweet, a bit sour. He was delicious, intoxicating.
And then she was against her own front door, moaning at the feel of his mouth, hot and insistent on her sensitive neck. He growled against her at the sound, low and animal, making her shudder in want. He moved his mouth up, up, up, placing searing kisses on her flushed skin as he went.
"What's your name?" he breathed against her ear.
"M—Maka," she stammered out as he began to suck on her earlobe.
"Maka," he said, and her name sounded so sensual on his tongue that she wrenched her hands in his hair to pull his mouth to hers again. He complied, and once again their lips met greedily; she felt his tongue hot in her mouth again, felt his too soft lips warm against her own, and her hands moved lower, down his back, down to his ass to pull him closer, bringing his body flush with hers, allowing her to feel his erection against her lower abdomen, straining against his jeans. He groaned lowly at the feeling and pulled away from the kiss to meet her gaze, the sheer desire in his eyes sending a wave of her own desire coursing through her.
"Soul," he said, his voice low and breathy.
When her brows knit in confusion, he moved in to plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth, softly, chastely kissing his way to her ear again.
"My name," he said, "is Soul. So you know what to scream."
She might have laughed at that, because even drunk, no especially drunk, she realized how ridiculous it sounded, but he had grabbed her ass just then and hoisted her up, and as her legs wrapped around his waist almost of their own volition, she found herself thoroughly pinned to the door, the bulge in his jeans now flush against her own heat, her short black dress hitched up around her hips. She moaned along with him at the contact, so delicious, so necessary.
No, she couldn't laugh, wouldn't laugh, because she had heard the challenge in his tone, felt it in the pressing of his body against hers, and Maka Albarn did not back down from a challenge.
He wanted to hear a name being screamed?
Then he'd be screaming hers.
She pressed her hips against him, bucking herself against his erection, causing him to moan, before tangling her fingers in his hair again and drawing his mouth up to kiss him, plunging in her tongue to meet his before pulling it back and biting his lower lip softly, eliciting a groan. He bucked his own hips, thrusting himself against her, and she gasped at the force of it. She felt so hot, overheating, melting, the alcohol and lust an overwhelming cocktail.
She pulled away from the kiss, moved to speak against his ear.
"Soul." His name felt heavy on her tongue, weighed down by sheer desire. She'd never wanted anyone like she wanted this man, this stranger, and it was intoxicating. She felt him shudder slightly at his name on her lips and couldn't help her triumphant smile. "Let's go to bed," she finished, because she was tired of them both wearing clothes and her big, soft bed would allow them to do exactly what her body was screaming for.
"Yeah," he agreed, voice low. He put her down and she grabbed his hand again to lead him back to her room. She couldn't believe she was doing this, she had never done anything like this, not even in college. Sex had always come with relationships, with the few boyfriends she had been with, never with a stranger.
But then, she had never really wanted any of those boyfriends, not like she wanted him. Sex had always been an obligation. But this—this was a need, raw and powerful.
She pulled him through the door and dropped his hand, turning to face him.
"Shut the door and take off your clothes," she commanded. She almost couldn't believe what she was saying, doing, but it was too late to turn back—she didn't want to turn back.
"What about you?" He raised his eyebrows, turning to face her after shutting the door with an audible click.
"What? You need me to do it?" She smiled, looked him up and down, and took the two steps to close the distance between them. "Well. If you insist."
Could this really be her? She moved her hands to his shoulders, pulling at the leather of his jacket to slide it off. It hit the floor with a soft whump, landing in a dark heap. She then moved her hands to his chest, exploring over the fabric of his black band t-shirt with her hands, her eyes never straying from his heated stare. Her hands trailed down to the hem of his shirt and began to inch it up slowly, painstakingly.
"This what you wanted?" She said softly.
"Not even close," he growled, and then his hands moved to his shirt to rip it over his head at the same time he kicked off his shoes. Her eyes roved his tan, toned chest greedily, taking in the white puckered scar that cut across it before her hands strayed to the hem of his jeans, to the metal snap that held them closed. She unsnapped it handily, then brought her other hand down, the back of her wrist brushing against the bulge of his erection before she moved to pull the zipper. He moaned again at her touch and his own hands pulled down his pants roughly, taking the boxers with them and leaving him bare before her.
Maka swallowed hard, taking all of him in this time, fit and willing, taking in the darker skin of his penis, its length and girth. He was thick, though not so much it would hurt her, and his length seemed average. The thought of how he would feel, of how she soon would feel him, slammed into her, and as a new wave of heat and desire swept through her, her hand strayed down to touch him tentatively, enjoying the softness of his skin, taut over his erection and searing in its heat.
He groaned at her touch and rasped out "your turn," his hands moving to her shoulders, around her back, to work at the zipper of her dress. His hands moved back up to slide it down her shoulders, and it dropped to the floor in a pool of shimmery black.
"No bra?" Soul asked huskily, eyebrows reaching for his hairline.
She shrugged, the heat of his hands on her shoulders delicious. "Don't need it. This dress looks better without one."
"You won't hear me complain," he grinned at her as his hands moved down from her shoulders, down her sides, grazing over the side of her breasts and torso before resting at the strings of her black silk thong. "These too." It was less a question than a command, but Maka nodded anyway, reveling in the feel of his hands as he slowly slid her panties down her legs. She stepped out of them as he reached the bottom and kicked off her heels, leaving her as bare as he was. His eyes roved her body as greedily as hers had roved his, the heat of his gaze like a furnace, like an inferno.
"Exquisite," he breathed, then he was tossing her panties aside and grabbing her by the hips to pull her flush against him as his mouth moved down to hers again. She giggled into his mouth, pulled back to murmur "god you're cheesy," then they were kissing again and she couldn't care. Another minute passed, then two, their tongues sliding against each other a little desperately, their hands touching and exploring, groping and pinching. She ran her hands down his chest as he did the same, squeezing her deliciously before lightly pinching first one nipple then another. Her shiver of pleasure, the soft mewl of appreciation she let go into his mouth, was all the encouragement he needed as he moved his mouth away from hers and began to kiss and suck his way down her neck towards her breasts and oh god, oh fuck, was he biting her? It felt amazing, and she couldn't stifle her gasp. It felt—well, it felt better than anything she could remember, and she didn't know if it was the alcohol, or the clear and inexplicable chemistry between them, or if he was just that good, and really, she didn't care as she arched her back in pleasure and let out a heady moan when he took one breast into his mouth and began to lick and suck.
The move had her pressed even more firmly against his erection, resting against her belly button. She backed up, and her own hands that had frozen on his biceps as he worked so diligently ceased being idle as one moved to grip his hair and the other to trail down his chest, down his abdomen, a finger circling his belly button playfully before she trailed it down his coarse trail of hair to find his erection again. She ran a finger over it lightly, eliciting a soft moan from him, delicious against her breast, before swirling a finger over his wet tip, and then along the bottom vein.
"Fuck," she heard him groan around her nipple before nipping it with those ridiculously sharp teeth of his, causing her to moan herself, her fingers going nerveless for an instant as the sensation flooded her. She wrapped her fingers around his length in retaliation, using his slick precum to glide her hand over him more easily, paying particular attention the thick vein underneath, to the place where it met the tip. Soul would occasionally stop in his suckling to moan, and she smiled her triumph.
Oh yes, she would be the one to make him scream.
And then, suddenly, his hand was between her thighs, his fingers sliding across wet curls and between slick folds, and she was the one who felt like screaming.
"You're fucking soaked," he said low against her ear, because somehow his mouth was on her neck again, "told you I was gonna make you scream," and she threw her head back and gasped at the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers stroking her clit, her hands going slack again as she reveled in the feel before remembering herself.
"Like hell," Maka growled at him, pushing him away, and he frowned down at her at the action.
"What the—"
"Get on the bed. Now." She wasn't asking, but he wasn't about to give in easily and, instead of complying, he tackled her to the bed, kissing her soundly as his body covered hers, legs tangled, erection once again hard against her belly.
She kissed him back for a bit before pushing at his chest, causing him to sit up, half straddling her, and look down in question. "What?"
"I said get on the bed, not—"
"You didn't say I couldn't take you with me," Soul smirked at her, and she smacked his chest lightly.
"Whatever, loverboy," she rolled her eyes. "You have a condom? Because it seems like we're about to that point."
By the deer caught in headlights look that suddenly flashed across his face, she could guess his answer even before he spoke it.
"You don't have one, do you," she said with a sigh of exasperation.
"No," he looked almost sheepish. "Sorry 'bout that but—"
"What kind of guy picks up girls at a club but doesn't carry protection?" she asked, incredulous.
"I don't normally go home with random girls," he frowned. "Shouldn't you have one anyway?"
"What, you think I go home with random guys?" she sat up at that, and even drunk and horny, she couldn't help being angry, "I've never done this before you asshole!"
His eyes widened suddenly. "Oh god, you're a virgin?"
She couldn't help it, she smacked his chest again because clearly he was an idiot. "Noooo…I've just only, you know, with actual boyfriends. Not… I mean, not…"
"Oh," he said, relaxing visibly. One hand suddenly moved to her arm, trailing down lightly, teasingly, as some thought seemed to dawn in his eyes. "You on the pill?"
"Yes, but—"
Soul cut her off. "Well, I'm clean," he suddenly looked so damned eager, far too eager, "so if you're clean too, we could—"
"WHAT?!" it was her eyes that went wide this time. "No, fuck no—no way, are you crazy?"
"But—"
"Look, I think—maybe—there could be something in the drawer from…" She trailed off because she barely knew him, it's not like he needed her entire sexual history, and scrambled over to her bedside table. After several moments of rummaging through, she found the gold she sought, a line of three condoms in shiny gilded foil. "Ah!" she held them up with a triumphant grin.
For his part, he looked suddenly skeptical. "You're sure they aren't expired?" he raised a fine white eyebrow, and holy shit she'd almost forgotten just how hot he was, but those red eyes trained on her with a mix of naked desire and disbelief was a stark reminder. She suddenly scanned the packages desperately, as she stammered "I—uh—no!" —bingo!— "It's got two months left, we're good!"
She sighed in relief, noting his matching sigh as she tore one of the condoms off the line and crawled back over towards him on the bed. Maka tried hard to make it look sexy after that debacle, but really, who looked sexy crawling across a sinky memory foam mattress, even stark naked? Fortunately, he was sexy enough for both of them as he eyed her hungrily, his erection still shockingly, enticingly intact even after that embarrassing little interlude. Either she was that sexy or he was that horny, though since the first had never been exactly true, she guessed it was the second. Well, she was damned horny too, and still feeling giddy from the booze, so it worked out well.
Leaning in to kiss him again greedily, she ripped open the package and began to work it over him, a bit awkwardly without looking, but his own hands moved down to help her and, soon enough, he was sheathed in latex, cementing the reality of what they were about to do.
She should have felt mortified or wrong, she barely knew him afterall, but all she really felt was heat and desire as she kissed him desperately for several minutes, rekindling the heat between them, before sliding herself onto his lap, sliding her slick heat over his erection, grinding it against her clit and moaning at the contact because it felt fantastic, his stiff heat hitting her just right as she writhed in his lap. Good as it felt, though, it wasn't quite enough; she had seen him, touched him, she wanted to feel him, really feel him, could think of few things she'd ever wanted more. About to reposition, to move so that she could sheath him inside of her, she suddenly found herself on her back as he pushed her down to the bed, looking down at her with a grin, his face flushed and needy.
"Nice as that feels, I think I need more. Ready for me to put my hotdog in your bun?"
Maka giggled. Was this guy for real? "No," her voice was sultry, only half pretence as he held himself by the base of his cock and slid the tip across her clit and down towards her entrance, "but you can ride your skin boat to tuna town."
Soul laughed at that, low and throaty, his shoulders shaking, before he looked down at her, laughter gone. Still, she could see his visible struggle to keep a straight face and giggled again. "As—good as that sounds, I think I'd rather put my stinger in your honey hole."
They snorted simultaneously at that and he collapsed on top of her, their shaking together both amusing and somewhat arousing. Finally, he sat up again and looked down at her, eyebrow raised comically.
"But—" she grinned up at him as he once again began to move his tip through her slick folds. "Wouldn't it be better if you shot your baby gravy into my saucier?"
He started laughing again, throwing his head back, his chuckles deep and echoing through the small space as she awaited his response, giggling against him. And then, before she knew what was happening, he made it, thrusting himself inside of her, filling her fully even as he lowered himself to his hands to hover over her, even as he was still chuckling heartily. He kept laughing and so did she as he thrust himself into her again and then again. He felt big and hard and right, and she laughed with him as he filled her, as she surrounded him, so absurd, so perfect. It felt good, though, and as her laughs began to end in moans, just as she was ready to grab his ass and ride him into oblivion, she heard a chuckle end in a long, low moan of her name and felt him twitch inside of her.
That—wait—had he…?
When he collapsed on top of her, panting, she had her answer.
Oh crap. Crap. He was still inside of her, half hard, and that still felt good, but she was overwrought, needed to feel him thrusting inside of her, needed more of him, and he was done. It was over. Her laughter died in her throat as she felt utterly cheated.
"You're done," she said flatly, unhappily.
Yeah, he'd been the one to say her name, but she'd hoped there would be a bit more to it that that.
"Yeah, sorry," he said against her neck, sounding embarrassed. "Normally not that—um—fast," he raised himself on his arms again to look down at her. "But you're really hot and, oh god, I'm sorry but—" He was flushed red in embarrassment, his face a mask of mortification before a sudden epiphany flashed across it and he smiled. Soul sat up all the way and his soft dick slid out of her. Looking down at her, his hands sliding to her thighs to part them wider, his grin was suddenly the most wicked thing she had ever seen. "Stillgonna make sure you scream my name."
And as his head dove between her legs, as she felt that long hot tongue between her folds, Maka suddenly felt far less cheated.
Turned out he was true to his word. Between that sinful tongue, his long long fingers, and the two unused condoms, he did make her scream his name—over and over and over again. Of course, she was also a woman of her word, and his own screams of her name were like music to her ears.
When she woke up the next morning, blinking away sleep, she felt warm limbs entangled with hers, strong arms holding her, and saw red eyes looking down at her with a warm smile.
Shit. Shit. What the hell had she done?
"Uh, hi," she said cautiously.
"Hi," he returned fondly.
"You're, uh, still here," Maka couldn't help but to blurt. Weren't one night stands supposed to leave before morning to avoid this awkwardness? At least, that's what they did in movies and romance novels. As she saw the hurt cross his face, brief but absolutely there, she figured she'd said the wrong thing, but before she could do damage control, he shrugged.
"Fell asleep. I can—"
"No, no, it's fine, I just—" she glanced at her alarm clock and cursed. "Look," she sat up. "I gotta get ready for work, they foisted me with some entitled dumbass to show the ropes and I need to get everything set before he shows, but um, feel free to borrow my food and my shower. It was, really nice, but I need to—"
"Hop in the shower, I can make you breakfast," Soul offered, surprising her.
"I—"
"Seriously, Maka, it's the least I can do after—everything, I guess. I gotta get to my new job, but I don't have to be there until ten, so—"
"Um," stunned by how different this was from how she had heard these things were supposed to go, she nodded, getting up from the tangled sheets and hurriedly grabbing a shirt to throw on; even knowing he had seen and touched and licked every last inch of her last night, she couldn't help her embarrassment. In her haste, she didn't even notice she'd put on the same band shirt he had discarded last night. "That'd be great, thanks," she forced a smile and practically sprinted through the door of her en suite to close it quickly behind her. She heard him stirring on the other side and tried not to think about him walking around her room stark naked, about his morning wood she had felt pressed against her thigh, about how good their drunken escapades had felt last night (though part of her knew that, by the end, as they used the third condom, as she rode him desperately to the most powerful orgasm she'd ever known, she had definitely been sober).
As the water cascaded down her shoulders, Maka stifled the urge to touch herself at the thought, or worse, to grab him and do by the morning light what had felt so good last night. She wasn't this girl—she didn't just—didn't just— Only she did, and she had, and it had been fantastic. But that didn't mean she was going to ever do it again. Even if she suddenly knew what real attraction felt like. Even if it was the best sex she'd ever had. Even if she suddenly understood just why people liked sex so much.
No, much as the idea of spending the morning, day, week, year in bed with him made her body tingle, she would get through breakfast, send him off, and get on with her life.
She came out of the shower in a thick terry cloth robe and was relieved to find her bedroom empty. Clicking the lock just in case, she got dressed quickly—she needed to be at work in 45 minutes—and then, twisting her hair up in a tight bun because drying it was not a real option this morning, she came out of the room in her black pencil skirt and red silk shirt, looking every inch the professional. As she made her way to her own kitchen cautiously, heels clicking loudly on the hardwood, she heard him bustling, and was that… humming?
Oh god. He was humming.
It stopped as she approached, and as she rounded the corner, the sight of him in his jeans from last night, no shirt (for she had mistakenly grabbed it in her haste,) and her purple frilly "Cooking the Books" apron that had been a gift from her Dad was just too much. She choked down a laugh, trying very hard to keep a straight face. She was pretty sure she failed, but Soul grinned over at her anyway, looking her up and down appreciatively before motioning over to the table as though he owned the place, as though he weren't currently cooking a meal in the apartment of a virtual stranger.
"Sit, I'll make you a plate." Despite the fact that it was a little strange and borderline insulting being ordered around in her own home, he had cooked her breakfast, so Maka did as she was bid, and Soul walked over shortly after with something flat and tan, rolled and covered with strawberries and whipped cream.
"Is this—"
"—a crepe? Yeah." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Was that nervousness? She swallowed down her surprise at that. "Hope it's okay."
"I'm sure it'll be great, thanks!" She forced a bright smile through her awkwardness, started eating, and tried not to stare at him. Mostly she was successful, but hell, no one should look that good in a frilly purple apron.
Soul sat down across from her with his own crepe, and after she commented on how good it was (and it was, how he had coaxed such a meal out of her mostly bare cupboards she would never know,) they both ate in silence for a minute then two. It was too tense for her, though, too loaded, so she said between bites, "you didn't strike me as the cooking kind—where'd you learn to do this?"
He grinned in return. "I'm just that good," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. Her only response was a glare, and after a moment he put up his hands in surrender. "Aaaaaand I may have been a bored kid, and the cook maaay have taken pity on me and taught me a thing or three."
She raised an eyebrow. "You had a cook?"
He just shrugged at that, a little sheepishly, and changed the subject.
"You know," he said, his expression neutral. "I'm really glad I asked you to dance."
"Because I was easy?" Maka laughed, flushing with embarrassment and shoveling another bite in her mouth.
"Nah," he shook his head. "Lotsa easy at that club. Actually never thought you'd go for me or anyone, it's why I asked."
"Wha?" Her mouth gaped. "You asked me—because you thought I'd say no?"
"Not exactly," Soul let out a breath. "Just—I don't like that scene, but my friend keeps draggin' me along, right? I just go and mind my own business, have a few drinks, whatever. Make sure he doesn't do anything fucking stupid, which he's got a knack for. Well, this time the asshole decides to collect on a bet I lost—insists I gotta ask a girl to dance." He sighed at that, shaking his head. It was the most words he'd spoken to her and she wondered what he was getting at, exactly. "Anyway, I saw you sitting there, and it was pretty fucking clear you were about as happy to be there as I was, so I figured if I asked and you said yes, it would just be a dance. I've never taken a girl home, not interested in some random fuck, and you didn't seem like the type who would throw herself at me, and—"
"—what? Your think I normally take home random guys? I thought we covered this last—" she practically shrieked.
"—calm down, I'm not done," he cut her off. "You weren't. I know you didn't want to dance with me, but you were nice enough to do it anyway, and then—well, then you know what happened. You were really fucking hot and, I don't know…" His hand was in his hair again, nervous, but he pushed on. It was as if he were compelled to spew this—this—emotional diarrhea, and Maka found herself sick with what it might mean. "There was something about you, aboutus, I felt this—I don't even know, this connection, like I was drawn to you—god that sounds fucking cheesy, but anyway, between that and the booze and everything—we ended up here. But the thing is, even though I know this was some random fuck or whatever, I don't want it to be. I—I really like you. So I was hoping, maybe—"
Maka held up a hand, shook her head. "Like me? Soul, you barely know me!"
Something like hurt flashed across his face again, for the second time since she'd met him, before it was replaced by a predatory grin. "I know you whimper my name just before you come, and you scream it when it happens—just like I promised."
She went scarlet, she couldn't help it, and chucked her napkin at his face as he laughed. She shoveled another bite in, her eyes down on her plate.
"But seriously," he said as his laughter died down again, his gaze far too intense. "I'd really like to see you again, we could get to know each other better. Could it hurt to at least exchange numbers?"
She sighed yet again, shaking her head, but his gaze was almost pleading, and she doubted she'd be able to get out of here easily unless she agreed, and she was already going to be leaving later than she'd hoped, so she slid her phone towards him and let him program his number in and send himself a text from her phone. By the time Soul was done, Maka had finished her last bite—it really was delicious—and then stood from the table.
"Look, I've gotta go. Like I said, training the entitled dumbass. Feel free to finish breakfast, use the shower, and let yourself out. It was—" she couldn't help but to tell a bit of the truth, because he looked so earnest "—really nice." She knew her smile was too damned soft, but she couldn't help it, he was—so ridiculous, so sincere, so attractive sitting there in her frilly purple apron that she couldn't help it.
Even still, even if it had been a fantastic night, it was never going to happen again. People tended to let you down, men especially. Better to have this as a glorious memory than some future heartbreak.
Maka turned and left with that thought firmly in place, determined that Soul was very likely to keep his place as the best fuck of her life since she never planned to see him again.
Three hours later at work, she was exhausted. Liz was chattering her ear off about the hottie she'd taken home, bombarding her with questions about how it was, how he was, and see, wasn't it worth taking the stick out for once? But she didn't have time for Liz—she needed to look over the file for this guy she was supposed to train, figure out what she was dealing with before the prodigal son walked through her door, but Liz had forgotten to get the file from Marie's assistant Kilik (or, as Maka suspected, she was too busy flirting with said assistant to actually get the file,) and Kilik was being damned slow about getting it to them now, and the guy was supposed to be there in five minutes, and she still knew next to nothing about him other than the short blurb on the memo Liz had gotten from Marie originally, which didn't even include his fucking name.
This was not how she wanted to start her Monday. She was sipping on her coffee, eyes straying to her view of the city, waiting for Liz to finally return with the file, when she heard a tentative knock at her door.
"Come in," she said, unable to keep the irritation from her voice, because since when did Liz knock?
"Uh, Ms. Albarn?" A dark head of hair poked in and Maka tried to force a smile.
"What can I help you with, Tsugumi?" she asked the receptionist kindly. The girl was new and timid and Maka didn't want to traumatize her in her first month.
"Uh, well, Ms. Thompson is away from her desk, and um, there's someone here to see you, the new—new Music Editor, so if you don't mind—"
Maka heaved a lengthy sigh. Perfect. "Let him in," she waved a hand at Tsugumi, who nodded and stepped back from the door to scurry back to her haven behind the main reception desk. In her place appeared a tall man in a stylish pinstripe suit. A tall, white haired man. With red eyes. And sharp, sharp teeth.
"You!" they gasped at the same time, and she blinked and shook her head because there was no way, no fucking way. This was—a dream? Anightmare? She almost pinched herself.
"Y—you're—" she stammered, still shaking her head in disbelief.
"The entitled dumbass, apparently," he recovered first and smiled at her, far too warmly. "Name's Soul. Soul Evans. And you must be M. Albarn."
"Maka. Albarn," she offered stiffly. "Fiction Editor and Assistant Editor-in-Chief." She rose from her desk out of habit, held out her hand, and he took it, grasping it too long and too warmly as they shook, his eyes holding the same intensity they had last night. "I…" she shook her head yet again, and then, motioned to her desk. "Have, uh, a seat. There are a few things we should go over, and, uh—"
The door opened at that, and Liz came in holding the long overdue file marked, predictably, Soul Evans.
"I finally got it, Kilik was—" she noticed his presence, then, and her free hand flew to her mouth as she gasped "—oh—my—GOD! I'll just, um—" she shoved the file at Maka "—be leaving then. I'm sure you two have tons of—er—business to discuss so, um, yeah. I'lltalktoyoulaterMakapleasedon'tkillme!"
With that, the tall blond was out the door, leaving two stunned figures blinking after her.
Maka really was going to kill her assistant.
"So, uh," Maka broke the silence. "Like I said, have a seat." And she punctuated the request by taking a seat herself, feeling somehow more confident behind her large desk, in her comfortable chair. Soul followed suit and took the far less comfortable chair across from her, and they just stared at each other for a few moments, something like amusement clear on his features amidst the disbelief.
Finally, she broke the uncomfortable silence again after he cleared his throat pointedly. "So, you have a lot of responsibilities as a section Editor, and we'll get to all of them eventually, but—um—the jist of it is that you choose the topic, writers, and articles that are included in your section." God she was nervous; her palms were sweating and she felt almost feverish. She'd never been this nervous in all her time at Death Magazine, not since she'd been an intern several years ago. Why, why did it have to be him? "For, uh, your first edition, since it's a probationary period, I'll have final say over your section, sort of like—um—veto power, but unless you do something really stupid, I shouldn't need to use it." She met his eyes, still boring into hers, and sighed. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you Soul?"
"Nope," he said with a smile. "Guess we'll be working really closely together, then, right? Maybe we can even go out tonight and talk shop over dinner?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," Maka said, bristling. Clearly, he was going to do something stupid.
"And why's that?" Soul leaned in expectantly.
"Because, I don't date the people who work for me, Mr. Evans."
"Ah," he leaned back again. "Wouldn't be a date, though," he grinned. "Just work. I have a lot of questions. A working dinner definitely isn't a date."
She just rolled her eyes at that. "I'm here now. You have questions, now's the time, but our relationship is strictly professional from this point on and will be as long as you work for me, you'd do well to remember that."
"Well, then, I have a question."
She expected more snark, but she didn't get it. Instead, he asked her about the previous Editor for his section, a perfectly legitimate question. As it turned out, he had a lot of questions, most of them good ones—though Maka half suspected he kept coming up with them just to have an excuse to stay in her office.
From then on, they worked closely together because they had to, and eventually, inevitably, the awkwardness faded. It turned out he was capable if a little on the lazy side, and had a keen eye and ear for all things music related. Turned out he wasn't just a walking pedigree, that he hadn't even given his real last name when he applied for the position because he didn't want to be hired because of who his parents were, who his brother was—famous musicians, all. Turned out his wit was sharp and so was his mind, and that, above all, Soul was reliable. If he said he'd do something, he would, he did. Whenever Maka, or anyone really, asked him to do something, he might bitch, but it was always done.
So it went. After the first few days, Maka could meet his eye without blushing, after the first week, she no longer wanted to kill Liz, and as weeks turned into a month gone by, she found that as much as she was still attracted to the new Music Editor, and she really was—try as she might, she could never quite get that night out of her mind—she had grown to genuinely like him, and she couldn't help but to wish that they actually could go to dinner, that they actually could see if they had a chance together, and especially, that they actually could have a night like they'd shared together after the club.
But he worked for her, so they couldn't.
And for Soul's part, he hadn't even tried, hadn't even so much as hinted that he wanted to after that first day.
Then, five weeks after they met, five weeks since they'd started working together, Soul strolled into her office one day with a wide smirk on his face. He slammed something large and glossy onto her desk and leaned down. His predatory gaze was back, the one she had glimpsed in fleeting moments but hadn't really seen in a month.
"Wha-aat?" Maka asked, confused.
"August issue. I just met with Marie and my probation is up. I'm officially the new Music Editor. I don't work for you anymore." His red eyes looked like they might burn her, they were so intense; they certainly felt that way. It seemed suddenly far too hot in the room as that night last month back came rushing back to her. So this was what he'd been waiting for.
"That's, true…" she looked up at him and swallowed, hard. "You don't. We're—colleagues now—equals." Maka stood up because she couldn't take the way he was looming over her across the desk, and they were suddenly close as he stepped around the desk to face her.
"So," Soul looked down at her, one hand moving up to brush back a stray lock of her hair, and she had to fight not to lean into his touch. "Do you date colleagues?"
"I haven't," she said evenly, her own hand moving up to brush his white bangs out of his eyes, "but I suppose I could, if, I mean, the right colleague were to come along."
"Mmm," he hummed. "Well, when he does, he's gonna be one lucky—"
He never got to finish because her lips were on his, and a month's worth of pent up frustration sparked between them.
A locked door later, they got to work through that pent up frustration, several times, really.
Four months later, Marie went into labor and Maka was named Editor-in-Chief. Since Soul had moved in with her the month before, she decided to bend her policy on dating people who worked for her, just this once.
After all, as Liz would say, sometimes you had to go for it, to live a little, and sometimes, it really was no bad thing.